#like some good ideas maybe and mostly the wrong ones blame on Hollywood

[scarletfantasia]

I decide to watch again Alive (1993) to compare with Society of the Snow.

I discovered their story through a documentary and later with Alive that I liked so much that I read the book and Nando's book. And yes I havent seen again this movie after that. Because the choices they made with the reality and changing the names' deads disturbed me. Knowing the Survivors didnt like it was also a reason I hoped for a new movie and kept a distance with Alive. But I still genuinely thought it wasnt "bad" And I kept a "nostalgic" memory of it.

Well, after Society of the Snow, watching a old documentary and reading again Nando's book...oh dear Alive (1993) is painful to watch.

I could write already an essay about everything that goes wrong...and I am only at the thirtieth minutes.

#oh deat it will be long #really long #first I want to scream for how they broke the group and the friendship #they said they are friends but you dont see any friendship between them #or the one Hollywood imagine in 90s with american boys and for drama #like they want sooo bad to create conflicts so their brilliant idea is showing Marcelo being betrayed by them ?! #I remembered that the first time I saw the movie Antonio (Marcelo) wasnt kind and a good captain in my eyes #through the books I was able to change my mind but for god sake thirteen years later and Society of tje snow later IT IS SO DISREPECTFUL #how they were able to choose and to decide Eduardo and Fito would be disrepectful and cold with him??? #Marcelo was Eduardo's best friend #you never see it in Alive #urgh #gotta continue but I feel it will be complicated #like some good ideas maybe and mostly the wrong ones blame on Hollywood #society of the snow #alive 1993

[sheshirkat]

Euphoria, unpopular opinion and long rant :

Euphoria is accurate, it's just not a show for teenagers but for people who need to come to terms with their messed up teenagehood, or for adults in general to understand it. It is romanticised but it is in fact the way we tend to see things when we're in this cycle, this situation...we think it's so pretty and we're so cool but then we realise it's ugly as fuck. Maybe sometimes the show doesn't romanticise it, but the viewers do. Maybe some shows aren't meant for everyone. I'd love to see a show like euphoria where the last episode the aesthetic veil falls down and you see just all the disgust and despair the aesthetic covered up, as the characters starts to get it.

(Thought I lowkey defend euphoria in this (mostly I don't defend it's just expressing thoughts and opinions) I still think Sam Levinson has troubles with sexualising teenagers (all of Hollywood really) and stealing other artists' style and art)

Euphoria seems unrealistic until you grasp the concept of toxicity in your own teenage self and feel the unreadable depth of your own loneliness and guilt scratching at your back. No really, euphoria (and skins) is about fucked up kids doing fucked up shit cause they have no idea what the fuck they're doing and they're egoist and wrong and bad people but YOU'RE DOOMED TO BE FUCKING BAD WHEN NO ONE TEACHES YOU HOW TO BE GOOD AND ALL THERE IS IS HURT. Everyone hates Cassie but she's just an accurate representation of a girl trying to extermine herself just to fit in to please a boy she likes cause no man ever took care of her and her mother does the best she can but it's not enough cause she suffers too and she just feels abandonned. Attention seeking is often a call for help. Y'all just hate Cassie cause she doesn't fit into your "nice quiet sad girl" fantasy.

Same for most characters actually. Yeah they "act older than they should", especially with sexuality. But this show is about the shit we do as teenagers when we're trying to be independant and we've internalised trauma and patriarchy and so many shit comes out at this time of our lives.

Idk how to express that euphoria characters are flawed and each of them is deeply wrong in so many ways and it is precisely the point, at least in my opinion. For me, it is not a show for teenagers. It is a show for adults to understand what happened to them, or to teenagers in general, and to warn or to help come to terms with what you've been through and the shitty person you used to be in high school, the shit that happens to you, the shit you've done to others, but also to yourself...Not saying everything is forgivable, Nate's a downright abusive prick, but it's also an interesting character because it questions where morals come from : he has no other model growing up than his father. To change you have to have a shock, especially when you come from a wrong place. And school don't teach you morals, ethics, how to treat people right. You may think it's logic, and so do I, but because it has always been for us. But see further, see reality TV, history, the government, toxic masculinity, forcing kids to kiss their grandparents to "be polite"...violence has mechanism, and these mechanisms are intertwined with the way we grow up. Not saying to not blame grown ass men (and women sometimes) doing awful shit, we all got our responsabilities and abuse is not justified in any way. But the intrications of violence, to me, are something to be questioned and thought about if we want to make the world a better place, cause obviously prison and laws don't do shit about this part of society. Nate's a reflection of toxic masculinity.

Would have more stuff to say but gotta sleep, rant over and good night!

#euphoria #euphoria rant #ranting #rant post #unpopular opinion #euphoria unpopular opinion #euphoria hate #cassie howard #cassie howard hate #euphoria theories #show #tv show #nate jacobs #rue bennett #jules vaughn #other characters lmao #teenagehood

[lindszeppelin]

Linds… ugggggggh. Just ugh. I’m about thisclose to losing my shit. I agree with you on the Cabo pix and it’s absolutely disturbing to see him AGAIN hiding under a towel.

I’m distressed that he is not more distanced from this group and my patience is running thin. I wish I could completely shut out Austin’s non-work related images and info. But honestly there’s no way.

I have some musings about the situationship status — that (full disclosure) have no basis in knowledge or reality. It’s just the crap rolling around in my head. Anyway…

We have discussed the complex elements he was navigating in his personal and professional life as this arrangement was orchestrated. I wonder if he has conflated his own increased level of fame/attention due to his work with the amount of exposure he has by being associated with them. I mean maybe he doesn’t see it as a “Gerber” problem but mistakenly thinks it’s mostly due to his own fame. Like they would be able to live a more private life if not for HIM.

I find it hard to believe a man in his 30s who grew up in Hollywood would be that naive. But maybe his good heartedness has blinded him a bit to their ways.

AND/OR

He’s 100% not interested in a life partnership at this time and this will do for now so why bother breaking up with K and drawing down all the associated drama when he clearly invests minimal emotional capital in her anyway. It’s a great idea except for the downside that she/this tarnishes his image. But he is likely unaware of that part. And maybe no one whose opinion matters to him actually cares.

I don’t know.

This is what my brain resorts to because I fucking can’t stand STILL seeing him associated with her. It’s like pairing filet mignon with funyuns.

What is wrong with me??? Why why whyyyyyyy do I waste my time/energy on this????

Thanks for being there bestie! Thank god I’m not alone.

haha MJ I adore you so much, and i love your analogy of filet mignon and funyuns.

but i first wanna say that the reason why you or us can't stop thinking about this no matter how hard we want to just support austin's work and not want to be forced to see the cringe shit about his situationship is because we clearly see it for what it is. if he was with the woman of his dreams that he loved, we would support him and we would invest a lot less time musing over it because well...there would be no issues with said relationship to be concerned about. as women, we have the deeply intuitive knowing that SOMETHING IS WRONG and the problem is not being corrected. it's being left to corrode. plus, we care about him and so we worry. just like any person in our lives that we love, we worry and our brains can't help but get drawn to it and hope that they're okay. same applies here. so, you're not crazy for thinking about this or putting energy into it. we would not be here if he was in a truly loving relationship that was fucking obvious to the entire world. we would applaud him and wish him the best and have peace of mind. this situationship disturbs the peace because it is not right.

but secondly, i think the latter of your theories is where my money goes, if i was a gambling woman lol. she is a "here for the moment" chick, not "wife material". minimal investment, not wanting to deal with the litany of press and media about a huge breakup announcement. he's probably still traumatized from how the media has taken and spun the vanessa breakup so i don't blame him for being a little scared. but what we know is that kaia is not his forever. men that are serious about their intentions on a woman will waste no time, and will not only show their genuine interests for a woman but they will make plans and they will settle down faster. it happens all the time. my parents got engaged after 6 damn months and they're still together after decades of marriage. he clearly is not ready at this time for marriage and she is too young for that serious commitment. so, low investment and probably biding his time waiting for the right time and the right woman for him to drop this gerber baby.

he's a smart man, he would not propose to a 22 year old girl like this is 1942. he just got out of a 10 year relationship not long ago. men don't jump ship like that so soon. it's gonna take him time to be ready for that serious commitment. and men take a lot longer to be truly ready for marriage before women are anyway. he is focusing on his career before settling down, clearly, as he has stated a lot that he is career focused.

but i'll end this by just reinstating that the cabo pics from last christmas and after the award season this year were vastly different in tone compared to this christmas. he was out and about the last two times, yes he had a towel on his head once, but generally he was seen pictured outside. this time he was seemingly hiding away in the resort, left by himself and not wanting to be seen by the paps with her or her family. alarm bells ring off. if this man has to practically quarantine away on what is supposed to be a vacation then it seems like he's at the end of this rope. also, what man that had a 2 year anniversary with their girlfriend act like that? a man that doesn't give a damn about her. he never did this with vanessa, not even once. he was proud to be around her, and if the paps came around when he didn't want them around then he protected her first from the cameras, using himself as a shield. but the towel over his head in cabo is different. how much more he is willing to take before enough is enough is up to him, but this felt like a desperate attempt to be by himself. and if kaia was the one, she would never put her man in that position out on the beach to be readily papped when she knows he doesn't like it.

and no bestie you're not alone <3

[fangirlovestuff]

The Heart Wants What it Wants - Chris Evans x reader pt.1

a/n- Hey lovely people! i’ve actually been working on this one for a while now, hope you enjoy! summary is half taken from a pinterest post lol <3

Summary: Honest feelings and bad timing make the most painful combination. You meet Chris in a party and you hit it off, but what next?

Warnings: SMUT, age gap, angst, slight underage drinking

You entered the big house, your eyes shifting across the room to see who's there. With another fancy award show night done, all you wanted to do was go back to the hotel, take a shower and go to sleep. Alas, Scarlett convinced you to come to this after party someone she knew was throwing.

Now you were stuck here, in whoever's party, while your friend Scarlett Johansson – which was still a weird thing to say – was mingling about. Scarlett and you had an unlikely friendship, seeing as you were so much younger than her. You met her on set for your first movie ever, Enchanted Storm, in which you played half-sisters, quickly becoming close off screen as well. Now, one year later, you've guest starred on a few tv shows and made another movie, claiming your place as one of the youngest rising stars in Hollywood. You didn't know that many people personally yet, only recognizing them from movie posters. Scarlett always urged you to get to know more people, but you still felt like you didn't fully belong and preferred to mostly keep to yourself in these events. There was one person in particular Scarlett wanted you to meet – Chris Evans.

One day on the set, you were already pretty close and you asked her if it was really true that she and Chris never dated. Personally, you didn't believe it – how can two wonderful and super attractive people spend so much time together and not have feelings for each other, you didn't understand. "We never did," Scarlett smiled, "why? Do you have something in mind?" she raised her eyebrow at you. "Of course not!" you objected a bit too quickly, "I was just asking because of, like, the… the gossip, you know."

But from that day, Scarlett never let go of the idea you had a thing for Chris Evans. A ridiculous idea. He was so much more famous than you, likely not knowing you existed and also older, so being the realist you were, why would you like him, right?

Wrong. Very wrong. You were totally crushing on Chris Evans. But you never admitted it to Scarlett, because you worried she'll try and set you up and he wouldn't want you, or worse – that she'd outright tell you that you didn't stand a chance and it was just a joke.

At every possible chance Scarlett tried to get you two to meet, but you managed to avoid it, time after time. You didn't want to make a fool of yourself in front of your celebrity crush, and no one could blame you, you thought indignantly.

Your eyes continued their journey around the room, and you caught a familiar face from the corner of your eyes. Speak of the devil, you thought as your eyes registered who it was- Chris Evans. You knew it was only a matter of time until Scarlett realized he was here and try to get you to talk to him. And you didn't think you could escape it this time, seeing as you didn’t know anyone else in the party.  

At 19, you weren't allowed to legally drink, but usually no one cared in these places, so you made your way to the makeshift bar, asking for a glass of wine. You needed it if you wanted to survive the night.

As you waited, leaning your elbows on the bar with your back to the room, you felt a person coming to stand next to you. "One beer please," said the deep voice beside you, and you froze, immediately recognizing who it was.

The bartender came back carrying both your glass of wine and his beer. "Thanks," you both said in unison. You finally looked up at Chris and you smiled at each other. "Hi," you said hesitantly.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" he raised his brow at you, smirking. You chuckled, "Only a little."

"Chris," he introduced himself, put out his hand and you shook it. His hand was big and warm in comparison to yours. You could swear you felt a jolt of electricity when your hands touched, but you probably just imagined it. Cool the eff train down, you said to yourself, and introduced yourself warmly to Chris.

"Oh, you did that movie with Scarlett, right? Can’t believe I didn't recognize you!" He chuckled. "You were great!"

"Thanks," you said, your gaze shifting down before you willed yourself to look back up and smile at Chris. "You're Captain America, so I'm sure you already get tons of compliments, but you really are great in these movies."

He scratched the back of his neck. "Thanks," he smiled. "Can’t believe I didn’t meet you yet though," his eyebrows furrowed. He took a seat on a barstool nearby and you joined, sitting on another one beside him.

"So, how are you liking Hollywood so far? You've had some major jobs, didn’t you?" Chris asked, sipping his beer.

"I guess I was in some pretty mainstream shows," you shrugged, genuinely underestimating your fame. "Everyone was very kind, you know?" you said. "Like, I feel like everyone I've worked with has taught me something. And they've been very patient to the newbie, which I'm very thankful about," you smiled fondly. Talking to Chris was surprisingly easy. You avoided meeting him for so long, afraid to become a stuttering mess in front of the movie star, but so far it was going very well.

"Well I'm really glad to hear that. What's that like? I mean, getting such a big break on your first role must've been pretty overwhelming." He smiled sympathetically. "It was," you said, a bit thrown off by the question. No one ever assumes fame has a bad side. Other than famous people, I guess. "Don't get me wrong," you added quickly, "I'm incredibly thankful for the opportunities I've gotten. It's just, this world is so… different than the one I grew up in. Coming from a small town like I do, you know the type, where everyone knows everyone," Chris nodded in understanding, "it's hard to transition to Hollywood. I always joke about how everyone knows everyone here too, just from movie posters." Chris chuckled at that and you swallowed, flustered. "Anyway, everything's just really different here, but a lot of the time it's good different." You smiled, secretly proud of yourself for finishing the sentence without stumbling over your words.

"Yeah, I get that feeling too sometimes. Actually, it’s most of the time. I mean, when my brother Scott first came out here, he was shocked at how many people recognized me. But you get used to it." He smiled, one side of his mouth tilting upwards more than the other. "This one time, a fan came up to Scott and I, and we were…"

Chris and you spent the entire night together, exchanging stories that gradually became more and more personal as Chris drank a little more. You stopped yourself after that one glass of wine, you knew your limits. Except for the stories, the subtext became more and more prominent as the night went on. Looks were held longer, eyes lingered on lips pink tongues darted out to wet, hands swatted playfully when one of you laughed and stayed there for more than they should. Scarlett left at some point, but you didn't even notice. You and Chris seemed to have had this kind of bubble around you, surrounding you with a buzzing warmth. You each enjoyed the other's company, getting wrapped up in conversation to a point where you were feeling comfortable like you knew each other for years.

A small voice in your head whispered that maybe you do. You read somewhere that everything in the universe, humans as well, were essentially created from stardust. Some people were created from the dust of the same star; made to reconnect and shine. You dismissed the thought with an internal scoff at the cheesiness of it, but you couldn't deny something was drawing you to Chris like a moth to a flame, and it wasn't the fact he was famous, it was the fact he was him. But he was a flame nonetheless, you reminded yourself. You could never ever be seen in public with Chris. Even if it's something as innocent as getting coffee, people talk. Undoubtedly some people will say you're dating in secret; people love to invent that type of shit. And that's where the mess starts, because even if you felt so close now, he was so much older than you. That's a reality you couldn't escape – when he was starting to act, you were probably a baby. It didn't feel like that, but you knew that's what people would say, and how devastating the affect on both of your careers would be. He was a flame, and you knew that warmth was only temporary, because you couldn't possibly condemn your career like this. You couldn't do that to yourself or to him. You could have tonight, but that's it.

The night stretched on; the party dwindled. You realized Scarlett was nowhere in sight and cursed under your breath.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brows furrowed in concern.

"Scarlett left and she was my ride home," you sighed. "Guess I'll just call a cab, I should be going," you smiled.

"Let me split the cab with you," Chris offered. "Where are you staying?"

You told him the name of the hotel and he nodded in recognition. "My hotel's in that direction, let's go." He got up and offered you his hand, which you accepted and got up. You both got your coats and went into the cool night air to wait for the cab.

You were unsure of what to say, but the silence between the two of you was comfortable. It stayed around you, a protective cloud as you both entered the cab, Chris telling the driver the address of your hotel. You make small talk with the driver on your way, but your heart isn't in it. You hated that the night was over so quickly.

You got to your hotel, paying your part to the driver. "I'll see you to the door," Chris says.

"Well I ain't waiting around for you to come back," the driver said. "Alright, good night then," Chris said to the driver and went out of the car with you. "You sure?" you asked. "Yeah, I'll just catch another cab," he shrugged.

You entered the hotel, which was silent at this hour of the night. "If I'm already getting another cab, guess I'll see you to your room then," he moved his hand in an 'after you' motion and you giggled.

At last, you got to your room. "It was great meeting you," Chris started hesitantly. "Yeah, you too," you said softly.

His eyes darted towards your lips, quickly rising back up to find yours. You noticed how painfully close you were standing. Like magnets drawn to each other, you lifted your head and he bent down to meet you halfway, lips touching hesitantly, each of you unsure of how much the other wanted this. You wrapped your hands around his neck and his hands went to your hips, tentatively pulling you closer. You gasped into his mouth as his tongue touched your lips, asking entrance which you granted quickly. The kiss got more and more heated, tongues clashing passionately, hands exploring eagerly. You broke the kiss off to breath, your foreheads touching and your heavy breath mixing with his, your hands resting on his cheeks.  

"Chris, it's not that I don’t want this but…" you whispered, your voice nearly cracking. His eyes met yours and he closed them, eyelashes resting on his cheeks as he sighed. "I know. I just…" He breathed deeply and his gaze met yours once more. He bit his lip. "Can we have this, just for tonight?"

Your thoughts raced a mile a minute while the world around you seemed to stop. You both knew the implications of this, that much was clear. But was letting yourself have that one night was really a good idea?

Your brain might have thought this, but you knew it was in vain. Every fiber of your being wanted him; an army led by your heart.

You took the keycard out of your purse, moving away from Chris and unlocking the door to your room. You turned back to him and returned to his arms.

"Just for tonight," you whispered and smiled, a little sadly.

In a second his lips were back on yours, tongue entering your mouth, tasting hungrily. He led you gently into the room and you reached to lock the door behind you, mouth not leaving his. Your hand slipped under his shirt, feeling his toned, warm torso flexing under your touch. His hands traveled from your back, where they were holding you tightly, to your hips, grabbing your butt through the material of your dress.

Your hands reached his back, scratching slightly as he groaned into your mouth. You pulled off his shirt, admiring the view for about two seconds, before you couldn't bear being away from him. You expressed your admiration with your mouth, kissing along his jaw, his collarbones. His hands reached the hem of your dress, pulling it above your head. You lifted your hands and tossed it aside as his heated gaze settled over your underwear clad form. He started kissing your neck, sucking and biting until he reached the sweet spot behind your ear. "God, you're so beautiful," he whispered huskily, biting your earlobe playfully. You moaned softly, your hands reaching to undo his belt. His lips make their way to your upper breasts where he busies himself sucking a mark. You push his pants down and he steps out of them, pulling you flush against him. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around him as he carries you to the large bed.

He tosses you on the bed and quickly climbs up above you, your lips meeting once more as he reaches to unclasp your bra, freeing your boobs. His lips wrap around your nipple, flicking it with his tongue while repeating the action with his hand on your other nipple. You gasp and arch your chest into his touch.

"Chris," you moan. He meets, your eyes, eyebrow raised in a cocky silent question. You slam your lips against his, hand tugging at his hair as you move to straddle him, rolling your hips. You feel the length of him, hard, and through the two layers of underwear separating you both, you can feel how big he is. You begin to grind against him and he groans into your kiss.

He shifts you both, and you're once again under him as he cups your pussy through your panties, rubbing a little as your hips lift towards his touch involuntarily. He pulls your underwear off, leaving you completely naked under his gaze. "So pretty," he murmurs as his lips travel on your sensitive thighs. "So wet for me."

He's getting closer to where you want him to be and you buck your hips. He brings his lips to your pussy and chuckles, the sound against your sensitive parts sending a shiver down your spine. He starts sucking on you slowly, lapping up your juices. His lips wrap around your clit and you moan loudly. Your hips dart forward as your hand tangles in his hair, urging him on. He slips his finger inside you and starts moving it in and out of you as his tongue continues to tease your clit. You start quivering under him and he curls his finger, hitting your g-spot as his tongue flicks and sucks on your clit. "Cum for me baby," he hums against your clit, and the words send you over the edge. You tremble as he continues to press his tongue against your clit as waves of pleasure course through your body.

You come down from your high as his lips make their way across your body, leaving open-mouthed kisses as he goes. He kisses you deeply and you can still taste yourself on him, moaning into his mouth. Your hand reaches down inside his boxers, stroking his thick shaft as you pushed the material down with your other hand. He groans into your kiss as you continue to move your hand, grazing his tip gently as you tossed his boxers aside. His fingers trail along your body, reaching down and teasing your entrance. Your hips move against his hand in a silent plea to touch you. His fingers move inside you, his thumb pressing your clit as your hand continues to touch him.

"I need you," you whisper into your kiss. "God," he whispered huskily as his fingers left your clit and he lined himself with your entrance. His eyes met yours, silently asking for permission one more time. You moaned, bucking up your hips and kissing him heatedly. He entered you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his large size. You felt a burning sensation at the stretch he gave you, but it subsided quickly, left you feeling nothing but pleasure as he continued to move himself into you.

He finally bottomed out and you gasp, feeling so full you could burst. "Fuck," he muttered against you as he moved to suck on your neck, leaving a mark on your collarbone. When you felt ready you rocked your hips, needing him to start moving. He set a maddeningly slow pace, driving deeply into you. "Chris," you moaned. "Use your words baby," he answered.

"Faster Chris please, please go faster," you felt yourself throbbing around him as he rammed himself into you, going faster and faster, hitting your g-spot with every deliberate thrust of his hips. You felt a knot of pleasure forming in your stomach, and you were just about ready to unravel at Chris' touch. "I'm- I'm gonna-" you panted, feeling yourself nearing the edge. "Let go for me," Chris whispered in your ear, bringing his hand to stimulate your clit.

You came with a loud moan, your legs, wrapped around his hips were trembling, your pussy was clenching around him. He pulled out of you, his hand reaching to stroke his still hard dick. You came to your senses quickly enough, switching his hand with yours as you kissed him deeply. You sucked a mark onto his chest, picking up your pace. He came with a guttural groan, breath heaving. You kissed him once more before going to get a towel to clean you both up.

That night you both stayed there, wrapped around each other, legs tangled. You drifted off to sleep as you listened to the steady beat of his heart thrumming from his warm chest.

You couldn’t have tomorrow, but you could have tonight.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans smut #chris evans headcanon #chris evans imagine #scarlett johansson

[stringing-words-onto-a-chain]

Vampire!Ash AU (NOT SEXUAL)

I found a few different fan arts of vampire Ash recently, and I decided to write some. Yes, I fell into the “uncontrollable thirst” trap, but I’m a sucker for angst where the perpetrator can’t be blamed. Also there are like a bazillion different ways to tag this ship, so I just wrote   A L L   O F   T H E M.

Sal POV:

As Sal ate, his eyes wandered over to Ash, and he frowned, setting down his food and lowering his mask. She was shifting in her seat, licking her lips, and her emerald eyes were darting all over the street. While he watched, the whites of her eyes flickered briefly to a soul-piercing coal black, and back again. His movement drew her gaze for a split second, and she tensed as her eyes fell on his wrist, pausing momentarily before she shook herself.

“Hey, Ash?”

She finally met his eyes, still turning her head towards the slightest sounds around them.

“Yeah?”

“Is… something wrong?”

Ash tried for her signature smirk, but her fang caught the top of her lip in a way that reminded Sal of Larry’s nervous habit. 

“No, no, I’m alright.”

He raised an eyebrow behind his mask.

“Don’t lie to me, Ash. I may not have super senses or anything, but I can tell when something’s bothering my best friends. So get talking.”

“I -” she began, then sighed deeply, dropping her head. When she looked up again, her eyes were black once more, the green smouldering like an ethereal flame. “Sal, can you possibly do me a huge favour?”

His eyes narrowed in concern, and he swung round to face her, straddling the bench.

“Of course, you can ask me anything.”

Ash glanced round the room. Her unsettledness was beginning to unnerve him; it wasn’t like her at all.

“Okay, so usually I don’t drink from people. You know that. But it is better than most other blood - more fulfilling.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going…”

She laughed, but there was something off about it. Sal couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but his hand crept to the cross Ash had insisted all of them carry in case of an “accident”.

“Sorry, Sally. But anyway, I didn’t have time to drink bottled animal blood this morning, and I… wait, I never told you what happens if I don’t drink enough, did I?”

“I don’t think I wanna know.”

“No, you definitely don’t. Point is, I don’t drink, your friend Ash disappears, and something much more aggressive comes out instead.”

His fingers curled around the cross behind his back, slowly drawing it from his pocket. Ash’s eyes fell on his hand knowingly, and she smiled sadly.

“Don’t worry, it’s not desperate yet. I’m still me - for now.” He slipped the cross back in his pocket with an exaggerated sigh of relief, but he kept on alert, his hand still on it, just in case. “Now, I could, theoretically, go hunt some animals in bat form, but that will drain me quicker, and considering we’re in a relatively clean and busy town, if I can’t find anything…”

Sal laid his other hand consolingly on her shoulder, and almost immediately regretted his decision as Ash’s eyes fell hungrily on his wrist again. He settled for leaning forward and speaking softly, gently removing his hand.

“What can I do to help?”

“Well, as I see it, I have two options.” Ash’s eyes bored into him, not having changed back. “I can go bat-form and pray to… I don’t know, Satan or something, that I can find something in time, or…” She looked at him meaningfully, and he understood exactly what she meant.

“Or you can drink from me.”

“I swear I won’t take enough to kill you, or turn you, or even knock you out, and I will only do it if you let me. I’d never hurt you if you didn't tell me it was okay.”

Sal considered, weighing up how much she needed it with how much he trusted her.

“Alright.”

Her unnatural eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re clearly struggling to not… go psycho, or whatever it is that happens. I’m here, and you won’t actually damage me at all, so why not? Heck, I’ve probably gone through more painful operations.”

She threw her arms around him tightly.

“Holy crap, Sally Face, you’re the best!”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he returned the hug, letting his already unbuckled mask fall into his lap. She pulled back for a second, looking pleased at the visibility of his face, and running a hand through her hair.

“There’s one more thing I can do to make it easier for you.”

“Which is?”

Her eyes shifted sideways, and she smirked bashfully.

“One of my weird-ass powers is… sort of like hypnotism. I can’t control you or anything, but I can put you in a trance. If I do that, you won’t feel a thing while I drink. Otherwise, it’s gonna hurt. But again, I won’t do it unless you let me.”

“That’s probably a good idea. Thanks, I guess.”

“No, thank you. You didn’t have to do this.” She stopped, tilting her head to examine him. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this. I’m not sure what you think it’s gonna be like, but Hollywood lied to you. This would normally hurt like hell, and it’s blood, so it’s sticky, and messy, and gross, and… yeah. Just generally not fun.”

“I know.” Sal leaned forward again, knowing exactly how dangerous it was, but this time not caring. “I trust you. I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

“I won’t. I mean, I will, I’m literally about to, but I won’t do any major damage, and I’ll do my best to minimize the pain. Ready?”

He tugged down the front of his jumper quickly, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and shifting to face Ash.

“Yeah. See you in a minute?”

“Maybe a few.”

Ash POV:

“Maybe a few.”

She closed her eyes, focusing hard on the tiny pinprick of power inside her. It wasn’t much, vampires were an extremely diluted type of magic, but it was enough for this. She let her eyes slide open again, throbbing with her will, and met Sal’s eyes. She could feel him instinctively resisting the pull, trying to keep his head clear.

“Don’t fight it, Sally, you agreed to this. Remember?”

He smiled. Honestly surprising he could hold out this long.

“Is this the part where you tell me to stare into your eyes and just relax?”

She snorted.

“Pretty much. Kinda shocked you’re still lucid enough to make that joke.”

“Yeah, it’s not going to last. You do know how to wake me up, right?”

She just smirked, leaving herself the last laugh as Sal’s joking eyes widened in nervousness for a split second before they glazed over, and his expression became completely neutral. The smile faded off her face, and she looked over her statue-still friend remorsefully. She stuck a hand in front of his face and waved, but there was no acknowledgement. He was utterly bewitched.

“Sorry, Sal.”

She made to grab his wrist, then stopped. She looked up at his blank, scarred face, then gently rose up on one knee, kissing his forehead tenderly.

“You really are incredible”, she told him, but she knew he didn’t hear.

Sal POV:

“Sally?”

A voice cut through the haze surrounding him, and for a split second of clarity, he realized his mind had been completely shut down, not registering anything at all.

“Sal.”

Such a beautiful voice. Silvery, flowing, and gorgeous, like ribbon.

“Come on, Sally Face, you’re stronger than this.”

Familiar? 

“Goddamn it, Sal, snap out of it.”

The voice was almost pitying, but there was a soft edge to it, and it sounded like it was holding back laughter. 

No, not it. Her. 

Green eyes settled into focus in front of his own listless pair. The rest of her face spiralled into his vision as well, and the pieces of her slowly connected, becoming more and more familiar. Like an old friend.

Ash.

  All at once, everything sharpened, and Sal’s hand flew up to his head, an abrupt awareness of his rebooting mind. As he did, he registered a dull pain somewhere on his body, where she must have bitten him, but he wasn’t quite conscious enough to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from. The memory of what he’d just thought about her voice sprung up on him, and, realizing the mask was no longer in place to hide his blush, he decided to dismiss it as a result of the enchantment.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. You in there?” asked Ash teasingly, but there was something heavier behind her words, something a little too sober to be good. 

“I… I think so. Your weird power thingy really did a number on me, but I’m just a little groggy.” He let his hand fall back in his lap, bumping against his discarded mask as he did, and gave her a tired smile. Now he was actually himself again, he noticed a roll of gauze and a clinical looking spray on the table next to them, and he glanced up at Ash. Her eyes were back to their normal human-passing appearance, and there was a subtle smudge of red at the corner of her mouth.

“I figured it was best to keep you under while I cleaned up the bite. Antiseptic spray is a little bitch.”

He smiled at that, but it dropped off his face at the thought of what she’d had to do. Absently, he put a hand up to his neck, feeling for the bite mark, and frowned.

“Where’s the -”

“The whole thing about vampires and necks is mostly a myth,” Ash replied, the weight behind her words still prominent. “Check your other pulse points.”

A vague dread began to settle over him, and hesitantly he looked down at his hands. Gauze was poking out from his sleeve, and upon seeing it, he instantly knew exactly what was wrong. He pulled his jumper back to reveal two twin holes bound under the fabric bandages, where she’d drank, then pulled the thick cotton back further. The neat gashes lined up across his arm were bound as well. A quick tap on his other arm told him the marks there were treated too. Shame washed over him, and trying to meet Ash’s eyes was like fighting a brick wall with his non-existent powers of telekinesis. Her hand slid under his chin, cold from the wind like one of the undead bloodsuckers he’d seen in movies, and brought his face up level to hers.

“Sally…”

“What can I say to pass this off as not a big deal?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Ash curled back her lips, revealing her gleaming fangs, and her brow furrowed, her eyes earnest in their utter horror, before she dropped her head, letting out a long, slow breath.

“Listen, Sal, I don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself. I don’t know what could have driven someone like you to pick up a blade and… I just don’t. But I also know I can’t stop you. It’s an addictive habit, I know, and you’ll find a way to do it if you’ve made up your mind that’s what you’re gonna do.” He finally turned towards her, needing to see her expression clearly. It was pointless, though, as she’d looked away, hiding her face. “Knowing how deep your self-hatred goes, I don’t think I can convince you to stop. And vampire hypno powers only go so far. But please, I am begging you, stay relatively safe while you do it. I can’t lose you.” She met his gaze, desperation lining her body as she leaned towards him, cupping his face. “At least get yourself some fucking bandages.”

“I’m sorry.” The hoarseness of Sal’s voice caught him by just as much surprise as the hot tears that spilled over his lids out of nowhere. Ash’s face softened, and she leaned still further forward, her hands bunching up the back of the jumper as she pulled him in for a hug. He squeezed his eyes shut, the tears forcing themselves out, and tucked his head against her shoulder. 

“You should be apologizing to yourself, but I’m not delusional enough to think that’s gonna happen.” She stroked his hair understandingly, the feeling registering through the despairing numbness. “I know I literally just had you under a spell, which I did to give me an opportunity to take some of your blood, but… I genuinely don’t want you getting hurt.” Her grip tightened, and she rested her chin on his head. “I love you, Sally Face. You know that. And if you won’t take self-preservation as a reason to stop, maybe you’ll take the three of us needing you as one. We need you, Sal.”

“Thank you…” he mumbled, clutching at his mask. Ash seemed to understand; she gently pulled back, watching him buckle on the mask sadly. He paused, feeling her gaze still on him, and looked up. “I mean it, Ash. I love you too, and that… really helped.”

#tw self harm #sally x ashley #ashley x sally #sal x ashley #ashley x sal #ash x sal #sal x ash #ash x sally #sally x ash #sally face #sally face x ash #sally face x ashley #ash x sally face #ashley x sally face #asher #sashley #sal fisher #ashley campbell #sal-x-ash #ash campbell #portable moose #vampire au #salash

[piracytheorist]

So I went down some t*rf tags the other day to find which blogs I should block, as you do, and of course in order to avoid accidentally blocking people who were mocking the ideology or sarcastically agreeing with it, I actually read the posts there and scrolled down some of the blogs.

And with some of the things I saw... it made me understand how they reel people in. In some of the stuff they said, I understood them. I understood their struggle, and their anger, and I got how their feelings could make them burst out the way they do in their blogs. Also the fact that many of the blogs I scrolled down and blocked were by women between the ages of 15 and 19 didn’t help. That’s the exact age where you do the most reckless, the most emotional, and the least experienced thinking. It’s when you think of something and immediately think you’re right, because you’re not developed enough, neither mentally, nor emotionally, nor from the aspect of life experiences, to know better and reflect on how well developed your thoughts are.

And to see them act the same way older t**fs do, like in the ages of 26+... it’s fucking scary. It genuinely feels like a cult, where teen women, frustrated with the misogyny they experience, come to a website to vent out their feelings about that and find passionate adult women agreeing with and supporting them and saying that they’re in the right to hate men and trans women... it solidifies their at then immature thoughts.

Like, give me one (1) cis woman who during her mid- or late teens didn’t hate men, even for just a few months, in reaction to being treated as lesser just for having a female body. Just one. I specifically did. I was, for a couple of years actually, believing the bullshit going around that “Girls are more mature than boys”, that “Girls love truly, boys only want sex”, that “Women are statistically smarter than men” etc etc. But then you grow up, you reflect on those thoughts and you go like “Damn older people are right when they say that teenagers do stupid stuff sometimes”.

And that’s the thing with being a teenager; it’s the time to do mistakes, it’s the time to screw up, to vent out your frustrations, and when you grow older and have more life experience, look back at how you used to think and say “Wow, cringe. Good thing I grew out of that.” Absolutely not saying that everything teenagers do is stupid, if anything, most people start discovering themselves at that age. But that’s it; it’s a start. And on that road you’ll make mistakes, you’ll reflect, you’ll change your mind, you’ll learn, you’ll grow. The things that you start connecting with as a teenager which you keep on in your adult life also change, in the way that you look at them deeper, you understand them differently... it’s like with favourite films. Any movie you love as a teenager and as an adult, you’ll have a different mindset on the two occasions. Even if it brings you back to those times, you still have developed and you see it in a different way. Both ways may be positive, or fundamentally similar, but they’re still different, maybe one is the evolution of the first; it’s still not 100% the same. Because you grew up. It’s kinda sad, in a way.

So the issue I have with indoctrinating young women into the t**f ideology from so early on, is that it’s an ideology based on hate. By saying that women are only those who experience misogyny, you’re basically normalizing misogyny and abuse, and averting the blame. You’re saying that it’s expected from men to be misogynistic, and that women should band together against the oppression... instead of looking into why men are misogynistic and looking how you can inspire change in that. It’s victim blaming, basically.

By saying that “trans women are not women because they don’t grow up experiencing the effects of misogyny and patriarchy on themselves” (in a way that’s bullshit but as a cis woman I can’t expand on that, read trans women’s stories instead), you’re putting the responsibility of erasing misogyny on trans women. And again, you’re normalizing the abuse, and you’re defining your gender by the abuse you went through.

Like, fuck no. I was bullied for more than half my school life. It has impacted me greatly, many of the emotional scars I carry them still, my character has been affected by the abuse I went through, but by fuck no does it define me. I choose to try to be kinder. I choose to see abuse as wrong. I choose to be an educator so that I can help bullying stop being a thing in the schools I’ll be teaching. And not because I feel ashamed, or that I pity children who are being bullied, but because I want to make this world a better place, because I believe in teaching the younger generation into not perpetuating any kind of hateful ideology.

That’s not what t**fs do. They just say they hate men and perpetuate the idea of female supremacy... as if women, even women who are privileged in every way other than having a female body, can never do wrong.

Like on one hand, they deify JKR who said that “I am not a victim, I do not pity myself and I’m growing out of my trauma strong” in a very, very victim-shaming way, and on the other hand they define their femininity on the fact that they’re victimized by the patriarchy. Make it make sense.

And in general, it is still an ideology based on hate. When you take a group of people that are struggling both on the inside (either through gender dysphoria or through the pressure of not feeling free to express themselves) and on the outside (either because they’re bullied if they act “out of the gender norm” or because of transphobia if they come out), and you hate on them, when you put the entire responsibility of erasing unrealistic expectations on beauty and appearance for women on that specific small group that’s in a fundamentally disadvantageous position... bro I don’t know what you call it, I call it targeting. You have your frustrations with the patriarchy and sexist men, and because those people won’t listen to you - mostly because they’re privileged and assisted in that by the system they create - and you take it out on a group of people that’s just trying to live their lives in a way that doesn’t hurt anyone.

Like, I saw someone being upset by people comparing t**fs to nazis because she’s Jewish and I’m like... how the heck can you not see the similarities? How can you grow up Jewish and not see that it’s wrong to target an entire group of people, massively hate on them, say that they “have an agenda” just because they want to be themselves and aren’t hurting anyone? How can you not see that cherry-picking the unkind or misled ones and defining the entire group by those few people is wrong?

In fact, how can you not see that “trans women are perpetuating Hollywood’s beauty standards for women” has the exact same basis as “immigrants of colour are stealing white people’s jobs”?

And you may say, “Lillpon, you’re doing the same with t**fs right now. You’re going out there and blocking them after having said you hate blocking people” and I’ll say, I am not hating on them. As I said, I’m scared by seeing how many of them are teenagers, but at the same time, it’s telling. It’s a cult-like mentality, it finds people who are frustrated with how they are treated, who feel wronged, who feel they’re in an unjust world, and it takes those feelings and targets it to one specific group or characteristic. For t**rfs, that’s the XY chromosome set. For neo-nazis, that’s non-Caucasian races. The whole “finding young people who are alone, who see that the world is unjust, who feel no-one listening to them and indoctrinating them to an ideology of hate” is point-blank exactly how neo-nazi groups work. Here is a very interesting TED talk on the matter by a former neo-nazi, if you’re interested.

Also, I never said I hate blocking people, or that I think it’s wrong. I just don’t think it’s something to be proud of, and in fact I’m not proud for blocking those people, I even feel a little guilty as I understand how many of them are just victims of indoctrination.

You’ll say, “But Lillpon, a lot of neo-nazis are spoiled, privileged white men! How can you know how privileged t**fs are??” And to that, I’ll turn communist and whisper in your ear, “The privileged are few. They’re the minority. And they depend on the lower classes fighting against each other so that people forget that it’s the privileged who make all the laws and standards that hurt all the lower classes.” To that extent, you can never, never know who truly hides behind the blogs and twitter accounts with “r*dfem lesbian” on their bio. There are many occasions, especially on twitter, where accounts that claimed to be queer poc were found out to be run by straight white men.

... So, who can guarantee that everyone running a blog with “r*dfem lesbian” on their bio is actually a cis, lesbian woman? And again, on its basis, it’s the same.

Neo-nazism is putting the blame on people of colour; that not only causes a rift between neo-nazis and poc, but also between neo-nazis and white people who oppose them. It’s in fact a pawn so that the white people in power - the people who are responsible for the problems poc and lower class white people face - can avoid having everyone against them. They give poc and less-racist lower class white people a scapegoat.

T**f ideology is putting the blame on people born in male bodies - absolutely no matter what their character is. Again, that causes rifts between t**fs and cis men, t**fs and trans people, and t**fs and cis women who support trans rights. Instead of focusing on seeing how we can stop cis men from being sexist - which of course will inconvenience the men in power who rose so high because misogyny is holding women back - we’re fighting against each other. It’s again, a pawn, a scapegoat, to distract us from blaming the one who’s truly to blame.

If anything, if you’re a t**f, the fact that what you do is helping the white men in power - because absolutely nothing you or your friends can do can affect them in a negative way - should be a reason by itself to not be a t**f. But what do I know.

#anarchist lillpon coming out #long post

[ducklooney]

1-Do you have any headcannon that How do other Kids or the whole family treats shamrock?

Because he is so Lucky like his uncle , but I don’t think he really Likes to be Lucky....I think he just wants to be a normal kid , Like other Kids

(In my headcannon , nobody wants to be friend with shamrock , because they think he is so greedy and selfish and because he is like his uncle gladstone and he is really sad about this , and only Dugan is his friend because he understands shamrock’s feelings![ Huey , Dewey and Louie will be his friends in the future ]

2-do you think minima and shamrock would be friends?

1-Hm...Somehow, as you said, I'm thinking in that direction. I haven’t written fanfiction yet, but I could. I have some ideas in my headcanon and have been thinking about it for a while. Yes, Shamrock Gander has those traits like his Uncle Gladstone, that kind of constant happiness, but both his uncle and he sometimes have the same misfortune. This is how my story about him goes in part (one day I will write a fanfiction about it, when I am free):

“Shamrock was abandoned by his parents as was his uncle Gladstone, when his parents left, whose fate is still unknown. Gladstone has adopted his nephew as his son and protects him from various threats. In time, Shamrock becomes similar to his happy uncle and imitates him. But the guests who visited Gladstone were constantly patting Shamrock on the head, but over time as he got older, he no longer wanted to be anointed like his uncle. Gladstone understood him, because he himself lived in the modern world and followed what was happening. He was an actor who once acted for Hollywood movies and bragged to his cousins ​​about how famous he was and how he followed fashion. By doing so, Gladstone allowed his nephew to change and Shamrock no longer wears a small cap or wore smaller clothes resembling his uncle's, he decided to change his image, wearing a hat like some hipsters, for whom he did not know what they were, as well as a hoodie jacket wouldn't you act like a cool boy. He also changed his hairstyle. Although he is 9 years old, he was really popular at school and was often proclaimed the king of his class. Like his uncle, he began to behave very arrogantly and a bit jerkily towards his fans. He even bragged about some appearances in movies, in which he only had cameo roles, but he didn't care, because he still had his fans. 

Unfortunately, although he had fans, he did not have real friends. He never understood what true friendship meant. The only friends he had were his peer Dugan Duck (Fethry’s nephew), Newton Gearloose (Gyro’s nephew) and Huey, Dewey and Louie who were teenagers. Although, he mostly avoided them, even he chased Huey away, even though Huey was also a cool boy. They tried in various ways to dissuade him from his bad behavior, but Shamrock did not listen to them. Dugan Duck, who was a naughty and clumsy boy, but had a brave and gentle heart to admit his mistakes, often did tricks for Shamrock. Shamrock, whenever he got into trouble blamed Dugan for it, and Dugan was unfortunately often punished. Gladstone thus often told his cousin Fethry that he (thinking of Fethry) is a terrible parent and that he does not know how to take care of a boy in the right way, unlike him (thinking of Gladstone) who knows what his boy (Shamrock) needs. Fethry is often sad and doesn't even know how to take care of Dugan, but he had his cousin Donald, who taught him how to take care of boys the right way. Dugan was often friends with Donald's nephews, especially Louie, who was an athlete and knew a lot about pranks, but he was an honest and naive boy and in a way a moral vertical for Dugan. Dugan also helped Newton. Dugan also has some other friends. But Shamrock? Not at the moment, but one day that will change. 

One day, the Beagle Brats (nephews of the main Beagle Boys gang) found him alone and tricked him by stealing his clothes, and Shamrock was alone and sadly naked. Many laughed at him and teased him about it. The Beagle Brats also had other problems for him. Shamrock didn't know how to get out. He cried all week, Gladstone didn't know how to comfort him. However, there were Dugan, HDL and Newton who comforted him. Dugan prepared a good revenge for the Beagle Brats and with the help of HDL and his friends, they forced the Beagle Brats to admit their guilt and were embarrassed after that joke in which their pants were taken off and taken off. They realized they were wrong and apologized to Shamrock, and they went home embarrassed. Shamrock then realized he was wrong and apologized to his classmates, as well as Dugan and Donald’s nephews and Gyro’s nephew. Dugan, HDL and Newton forgave Shamrock and hugged each other as if they were brothers. Of course, Shamrock will continue to be partly a jerk, but he will always get into trouble because of that. However, he realizes that he can't do anything without his relatives and admits that and his relatives (Dugan, HDL) help him with that, even though the years between them are different. And Gladstone will someday admit the mistakes of both Fethry and Donald and realize he can’t do without the help of his cousins.”

This is just my interpretation of how I would see those things. This is more of a mix of Disney Duck comics with OG Ducktales and Quack Pack, set these days and has nothing to do with the DT17 universe. So, my headcanon.

Certainly, your idea is good and you have the right to create your canon as you see fit. It would be good to write a story about it, if you are free to do so. Which universe you choose is up to you.

This is just the beginning of what I said, so I will further develop the idea of family relationships between Shamrock and his relatives, as well as making some friends.

2-Certainly they would be friends. Maybe Shamrock would change his idiotic behavior for the better, so that he would no longer be a jerk, but a good and cheerful boy, but he would probably get bored if he hung out with Minima all the time. But surely Minima would have a lot of influence on Shamrock, but not in the way of a loving couple, because I don't ship children until they become older teenagers. If you have any ideas about Shamrock and Minima, feel free to let me know, I’m available. Sorry, I hope you are happy with some of my answers and if you have anything else, feel free to ask me. Thank you again.

[nancywheelxr]

I saw your post about Edward pretending to have detention and PLEASE DO THE PROMPT “Detention? Again?” THAT IS IN YOUR PROMPT LISTS

Hm hello?? Yes, please??

*

Being Edward’s friend is– Bella’s going with weird.

Mostly, though, because Edward is freaking weird, okay? They have biology and English together and sometimes Study Hall when he doesn’t ditch, so she figures she’s got some authority to say that after a month, they’re more or less best friends.

That being said, Bella is going to murder him.

“What do you mean you can’t take me home?” She asks very calmly because this is the second time her truck broke down and while both Jake and Charlie had volunteered to drive her, Edward had been adamant about being totally cool with doing it after school, they would be in the same place anyway. 

Bella pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Sorry,” Edward offers her a sheepish smile, “got detention.”

“Detention,” she repeats flatly, “again?”

“Oops?” He shrugs, too pleased to look anywhere near apologetic, the fucker.

“When did you have the time to get detention, we had the same classes after lunch–”

“Oh, look, don’t worry,” he cuts her off, waving at someone behind her shoulder that Bella just knows is going to be his siblings. “There’s Rose and the others, I’m sure one of them can give you a ride.”

Before she could say anything to that, Alice is slamming into her with a hug, and this is so not fair because Edward knows it’s impossible to be mad at Alice and he knows she’s going to distract Bella from being mad at Edward. Unfair. She’d have words with both of them if she weren’t already being distracted. “Bella! You’re coming with us today? That’s wonderful! I found this book in Rose’s room that I think you’re going to love!”

That’s. Okay. “Okay?”

A few feet behind her, Jasper waves a friendly wave that would’ve been a bit more friendly if he didn’t look like he might be one wrong move from bursting into tears. Or going into a murder spree, Bella can never quite pin it down. Still, she waves back.

And while Jasper is leaning against his jeep, waiting for Alice, Emmet is pulling Rosalie with him, approaching them with a shit-eating grin that can only mean trouble.

Trouble for Bella, specifically.

And, well, Rosalie is looking– god, is it always going to like this? Bella would like to have her heart back at some point, she thinks, and maybe not feel like the whole world is shifting under her feet every time Rosalie is around. Then again, in a town like Forks, where there’s hardly any sunlight, Bella can’t be blamed for being a bit in love with someone that shines like the sun.

“Bella needs a ride home,” Edward is saying, and he’s making some weird eye contact with Emmet and Alice is looking giddy, so really, Bella figures she should probably go look for Jess or Angela because Jess or Angela aren’t up to no good. Probably. “I had promised to take her, but I got detention.”

“It’s really not a problem, I can call–”

“Oh, shoot,” Alice cuts her off, making a really bad job of looking upset, “Jasper’s driving the Jeep today and you know how he is about overcrowding the car.”

“Seatbelts,” Jasper says helpfully, making a what can you do gesture.

“Right,” Bella blinks, deciding it’s better to just take it in stride, “I guess I’ll just call Jake, he said he’d be around–”

“There’s space,” Rosalie suddenly speaks, stilted and uncomfortable, “no need to call… your friend.”

Oh. Well. How can Bella say no, then?

“Awesome,” Emmet grins, throwing an arm around Alice, “Bella’s with you, then.”

“Not enough space in the Jeep,” Alice nods.

“We don’t want your dad thinking we’re breaking any laws,” Edward agrees with way too much confidence for someone who’s allegedly in detention again.

“Excuse me?” Rosalie grits out, glaring at her siblings.

And she looks like she has a lot more words to say on the matter, but Emmet’s already pulling Alice away and Edward is heading to– the library? Does he know that’s not where detention is?

In less than a minute everyone is gone, leaving Bella alone to try and get her shit together long enough not to make a complete fool of herself. No need to give Rosalie more reasons to think she’s a total dumbass.

Which reminds her, “it’s okay, you don’t have to, uh. Drive me,” she glances away, at the students still milling about the parking lot, “I can call Charlie or– I think Jess is still here? Really, it’s totally fine, I mean, I could even walk, it’s not like I live that far–”

“Bella,” Rosalie says and Bella looks up to find her almost smiling, and god, if that’s not a sucker punch in her chest, and her eyes are uncharacteristically soft for like, a full minute before she’s clearing her throat, back to the indifferent expression she always wears, “come on, car’s this way.”

Bella feels herself flushing as she slips into the convertible, tucking her hair behind her ears and smoothing out her hoodie, trying very hard not to feel too out of place in the leather seat, her battered bag at her feet. In the driver’s seat, Rosalie fits perfectly. 

It makes Bella think of old movies with Hollywood starlets– a car driving by the beach, large sunglasses, red lipstick, hair in the wind.

The radio crackles into life.

Startled, she snaps her eyes up, meeting Rosalie’s in the rearview mirror for a fleeting second before Rosalie glances away, back to the windshield.

“So, cars,” Bella blurts out without thinking, immediately cringing at how freaking lame it sounds out loud, “I mean. Edward said you liked cars?”

Strangely, Rosalie doesn’t look annoyed with the non-sequitur. Instead, she just looks amused. “Yeah, I restore them sometimes.”

“Really?” She can’t help perking up, grasping this crumble of information greedily and trying to fit it along with all the other things that make Rosalie, Rosalie. It makes for a mismatched puzzle Bella wouldn’t mind taking her time to figure all out. “That’s– that’s really amazing.”

Rosalie hums. “It helps pass the time,” she shrugs like it’s no big deal, uncharacteristically hesitant, almost as if she’s afraid Bella will think less of her for it, “I’m in the middle of restoring a Riviera right now, actually.”

Okay, honesty hour: Bella has no idea what that means. 

Still, she makes a mental note to look it up later while forcefully stopping herself from inviting herself over to see it.

Some of it must show on her face, though, because Rosalie huffs something a lot like laughter. “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Not even a little,” Bella admits, smiling sheepishly because hearing Rosalie laugh is a high she doesn’t want to come down from, “but I don’t mind listening to you talk, it’s interesting,” and you look really beautiful when you do, she doesn’t add.

Rosalie huffs again, glancing at Bella, then back at the road, only to look at her again. “You think car repairing is interesting?”

She shrugs. “I guess.”

“Unbelievable,” she shakes her head, but Bella thinks she’s still amused, “is your truck back from the shop yet?”

“Should be,” her father had told her so, at least, “why?”

“I don’t trust the mechanics here,” Rosalie says haughtily, then adds, almost hesitant, or as hesitant as Rosalie Hale can be, “I could take a look if you wanted, see if it’s properly fixed.”

Bella’s heart stumbles. “I– that would be nice,” she swallows thickly, “I mean, only if you don’t have anything better to do, I don’t want to bother you or anything–”

“I’m offering,” Rosalie points out, “it’s no trouble.”

I don’t understand you, Bella wants to say. Most of the time, Rosalie glares and scowls, flinching away from Bella like she’s got the plague or something, and then– she does things like this. She slides in the seat beside her in chemistry and salvages Bella's experiments. She drives her home and makes small talk. 

She offers to take a look at Bella's truck.

Probably just interested in the old thing, Bella reasons, putting a lid on the stray emotions fluttering about.

“Then I’d like that,” she finally answers, steady and not at all earnest.

Her house is just around the block now and Rosalie is not only going to drop her off but spend the afternoon around, tinkering in Bella's garage. It's no big deal. Bella can survive this, honest.

In the dimmed sunlight, Rosalie seems to glimmer.

Yeah, Bella tells herself, swallowing thickly with a dry mouth and wildly drumming heart, she’ll totally survive this.

#bella swan #twilight #twilight renaissance #rosella #rosalie x bella #rosalie hale #alice cullen #jasper hale #emmet cullen #look an ask #twilight tag #rosalie x bella tag

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Citizen Ghost

And now, we get a flashback story.  Yeah, this episode is mostly one big flashback.  And it’s probably fitting that it we get this episode right after the one that shows the original movie being made in the animated reality.  According to this episode, that first mission at the Sedgewick Hotel and the battle with Gozer weren’t just Hollywood executives taking artistic liberties. Those events played out pretty much the same way in the TV show as well.

The episode opens with Cynthia Crawford, that reporter we saw briefly in When Halloween Was Forever (hey, props for recurring characters!), coming to the Firehouse.  It turns out that she’s planning on having an exclusive news story on the Ghostbusters and has therefore scheduled an interview with Peter, in order to learn more about who they are beyond the general public appearance.   Upon entering the Firehouse, she’s immediately greeted by Janine, who informs Cynthia that the Peter is upstairs.  But when Cynthia starts to head up, Janine warns her that she can’t go up there, and proceeds to count down from 30.  For some reason, Cynthia seems incapable of putting two and two together and thinks Janine is playing some sort of game.  Of course, when Janine is finished with her countdown, a loud explosion is heard upstairs.  And Janine announces that it’s now safe for Cynthia to go upstairs.

Apparently, the Ghostbusters are working on building this machine up in Egon’s lab.  I’ll be really honest, I have no idea what this machine is supposed to do.  But apparently, Winston doesn’t either. However, if memory serves, we previously saw Egon and Ray trying to build this thing before, back in When Halloween Was Forever. I wonder if they’re building up to something in a later episode.   (I THINK they are, but my overall memory of most of the remaining episodes is hazy at best.)  Either way, the tests they’re running on this Mystery Machine seem to be resulting in loud sonic booms.  Which prompts Peter to joke that they probably just took out Bayonne, NJ and they should aim for the Bronx this time.  To which Ray protests, stating he was born in the Bronx.  (I thought it was previously established that Ray was from Morrisville. Was Mama Stantz just visiting the Bronx for whatever reason when her water broke, prompting her to simply go to the nearest hospital instead of the one back home? Or is this a continuity error?) At this point, Cynthia interrupts the proceedings, and she and Peter head off to conduct the interview.

Of course, Peter being Peter, he decides to basically tell Cynthia his entire life story.  Until Cynthia reminds him that this interview was supposed to be about the inner workings of the Ghostbusters, not just him.  It’s at this moment that Slimer shows up on the scene.  Upon seeing him, Cynthia remarks how peculiar it is for a group of ghost catchers actually live with a ghost.  Peter agrees that it is strange, which prompts him to go into the whole backstory of how Slimer ended up living in the Firehouse.

It all goes back to the aftermath of the Ghostbusters’ battle with Gozer, with them returning to the destroyed Firehouse.  (Remember the Firehouse sustained heavy damages when the Containment Unit got shut down and exploded.)  And I have to complement the attention to detail, as the Ghostbusters are all covered in marshmallow goo.  Once they arrive back at the Firehouse, they begin to access the extent of the damage and begin plans to rebuild, with Egon announcing his intention to construct a new Containment Unit, only one bigger than before in order to combat the previous issue of possible overflow.  However, Egon states that their first order of business is to destroy their jumpsuits.  The reason being that the battle with Gozer resulted in the jumpsuits absorbing a high level of psychokinetic energy.  And, as luck would happen, Janine announces that their new uniforms had just arrived. Well, that sure was convenient, that they ordered new uniforms that arrive right when they need them.  Though this does explain the in-show reason why the Ghostbusters have different uniforms from the ones they wore in the movie. (The actual reason was because the show’s creators wanted to give each of the Ghostbusters’ uniforms a unique colorization so they could easily be identified from a distance.)

And so, the restoration of the Firehouse begins. Eventually, things have progressed to the point that the new Containment Unit is finished, with Egon conducting finalized checks on it to make sure everything is in working order.  He ends up recruiting Peter to assist him in double checking everything, but Peter is clearly not taking things seriously.  Which leads to the following exchange:

Egon: Transtator?

Peter: Check.

Egon: Field generator?

Peter: Check.

Egon: Ionization decay meter?

Peter: Check.

Egon: Plasmatic refractor? Anti-Ectoplasm destruct mechanism? Bipolar adjustor?

Peter: Check, check, and *yawn* check.

Egon: Transwarp drive?

Peter: Check.

Egon: AH-HA! Caught you! We don't have a transwarp drive!

Peter: If we don't have one, then it can't malfunction. If it's not malfunctioning, then nothing's wrong. And if nothing's wrong, then it checks, right?

Egon: *Pause* I'm not going to talk to you again for at least a week. It's not good for me. (Walks off)

Peter: Hey, don't make fun. This is how I got through college.

Have I mentioned I adore the dynamic between these two? Because I do.  Anyway, Egon also reminds Peter that he’d promised to destroy their original jumpsuits, and states that it has to be done immediately. Peter says that he’ll do so, but then proceeds to simply kick the box aside, deciding that he’ll get to that later. So of course, he ends up forgetting all about the jumpsuits, resulting in them lying next to the Containment Unit for weeks as the Firehouse continues to be rebuilt.

Eventually, the Firehouse is completely restored.  So the Ghostbusters and Janine decide to have a full-on turkey dinner in order to celebrate.  However, it turns out that someone has been secretly watching the Ghostbusters for some time now.  When he escaped the first Containment Unit with the other ghosts, the currently unnamed Slimer ended up sticking around, and has been pretty much spying on the Ghostbusters since then. But when he sees the turkey dinner laid out, Slimer’s characteristic ravenous appetite leads to him revealing his presence, with Slimer grabbing the turkey and trying to make a break for it.  Immediately, the Ghostbusters give chase, with Peter announcing he recognizes Slimer from the Sedgewick Hotel case (and he clearly still holds a grudge against Slimer for sliming him.)  Slimer’s multiple attempts at getting away are initially thwarted by the fact that the turkey he stole can’t pass through walls with him (which is a bit odd, as last episode clearly showed that Slimer could extract the honey peanuts from their bags without damaging the bag itself.  Maybe Slimer’s hand has to be completely closed around the food?).  Eventually though, Slimer decides to abandon the turkey in order to escape his pursuers. Once Slimer gets away, the Ghostbusters begin to speculate why Slimer chose to remain close to the Firehouse when all the other escaped ghosts made a break for it.  Janine speculates that perhaps the reason is that Slimer was lonely, and the Ghostbusters were probably the first people who paid any attention to him.  Although, the guys are all quick to dismiss this theory.

Nevertheless, as time goes on, Slimer continues to show up around the Firehouse.  And each of the Ghostbusters respond to his ongoing presence in different ways.  Egon saw his chance to closely study a ghost and Ray viewed Slimer’s presence as an opportunity to turn him into a pet.  Even Winston seemed to be accepting of Slimer. The only one who wasn’t on board was Peter, who still felt as if Slimer had it out for him and was just waiting for another chance to slime him again. For that reason, Ray was the one who chose to name the little ghost ‘Slimer,’ knowing that name would annoy Peter the most.

However, there’s of course more to the plot of this backstory than that.  It turns there was indeed a tiny crack in the Containment Unit that the overlooked (most likely because Peter hadn’t been taking Egon’s security checks seriously.) What’s more, Peter left the contaminated jumpsuits right next to that crack.  Because of that, the contaminated jumpsuits have been slowly absorbing even more ghostly energy.  Until one night, when the buildup of psychokinetic energy resulted in the old jumpsuits literally getting up and walking away, even taking on the ghostly appearance of their former wearers.  Complete with spectral versions of the Proton Packs. The Spectral Ghostbusters make their way upstairs and proceed to try and attack the sleeping Ghostbusters, but they fortunately wake up in time and manage to drive them off. Although, this just results in the Spectral Ghostbuters to become loose in the city.  And Egon, Ray and Winston quickly figure out who is to blame for this whole mess.  Because, yes, this whole thing is Peter’s fault, since he didn’t destroy the original jumpsuits like he was supposed to. (Even though it’s shown in present day that Peter is still trying to deny his fault, as he tells Cynthia that they’d decided it was nobody’s fault this happened.)

Regardless, days go by without any sign of the Spectral Ghostbusters.  So it’s pretty much business as usual as the Ghostbusters continue their ghost catching jobs.  But then, the Spectral Ghostbusters reappear.  This time, it becomes clear that the Spectral Ghostbusters have decided to completely replace the Ghostbusters, as there’s only room for one team of Ghostbusters in the city.  And they therefore are out to eliminate the Ghostbusters.  In order to brainstorm a way to combat the threat the Spectral Ghostbusters, the Real Ghostbusters gather at the Firehouse.  As they brainstorm, they theorize that the Spectral Ghostbusters’ Proton Packs shoot off a kind of ectoplasmic energy.  Egon comes up with two different solutions to solve things. Either they could figure out how to disarm the Spectral Ghostbusters or force them to fire off the Spectral Proton Packs until they run out of energy.  Because the Spectral Ghostbusters are entities of ectoplasmic energy as well.

Of course, the Spectral Ghostbusters are essentially the identical evil twins of the Real Ghostbusters.  So they therefore have a similar idea.  And this is proven when they sneak into the Firehouse while the Real Ghostbusters are talking and hijack the Ecto-1, where the Proton Packs had been stored.  Because of that, the Spectral Ghostbusters have ensured the Real Ghostbusters are completely unarmed.  Fortunately, Ray notices that they still have a spare Proton Pack, so they’re not completely defenseless.  But of course, there’s a catch.  The spare Proton Pack was only half-charged, so it wouldn’t last long against the Spectral Ghostbusters.

Therefore, there was only one solution. Upon noticing that the Spectral Ghostbusters indeed grow weaker the longer they fire off the Spectral Proton Packs, the Real Ghostbusters realize their best bet is if one of them draws their fire and forces them to keep firing until they run out of energy. Of course, this would most likely be a suicide mission, as a direct hit from one of the Spectral Proton Packs might kill a person.  When he hears Ray volunteering himself for the task, Slimer refuses to allow this, as he doesn’t want to see Ray get hurt.  Instead, Slimer himself flies toward the Spectral Ghostbusters, forcing them to continue firing while Slimer effortlessly dodges their attacks. Until he gets distracted by Peter cheering him on.  The moment Slimer is distracted, he gets hit.  Of course, Slimer isn’t harmed too badly, seeing as he’s a ghost and therefore already dead.  But the important thing is that he did what he was supposed to do, and the Spectral Ghostbusters’ energy has depleted to the point where the Real Ghostbusters can take them out, capturing the residual ghostly energy in a Ghost Trap.  Once the day is saved, Peter ultimately relents and agrees to allow Slimer to stay in the Firehouse, in light of how the little ghost helped save their lives.

With that, Peter finishes his story, and Cynthia thanks him for his time.  She announces that she thinks she’s gained enough information to complete her news story. And as night falls, the Ghostbusters gather around the TV to watch Cynthia’s report.  However, to their surprise, Cynthia has ultimately decided to not make her news segment about the Ghostbusters, but of Slimer.  At first, Peter displays his agitation at Slimer for stealing the limelight.  But he’s clearly not really angry, as he then just kinda shrugs and allows Slimer to continue eating his popcorn.

All-in-all, this was a good backstory, as it helped bridge the gap between the events of the movie and the TV show.  If I had to pick something to complain about, it was the show’s attempt to make this whole ‘all things considered, I’d rather be someone else’ joke into an ongoing thing. Because Janine, Peter and Slimer all attempt to make that joke within the first five minutes of the episode. Thankfully, that’s nipped in the bud rather quickly.  Which is good, as I don’t think it was that funny the first time.  Though it’s interesting to note that Janine mentions she’d rather be Meryl Streep.  Why her of all people?  I realize she’s a big movie star and all.  But of all the famous women in the world, why would Janine choose Meryl Streep? Were the 80s particularly good for her? Considering I personally didn’t become acquainted with her name until The Devil Wears Prada, I’m not really sure.

(Click here for more Ghostbusters reviews)

#the real ghostbusters #rgb episode review #ghostbusters franchise

[miasswier]

miasswier’s ultimate glee ranking: no 64

64: The Untitled Rachel Berry Project

Written by: Matthew Hodgson Directed by: Brad Falchuk

Overall Thoughts: The New York arc comes to a close, and it does so decently. It’s an enjoyable episode with some fun music, some pretty hilarious scenes, and it properly concludes most of the stories that they’d introduced for this arc. Still, there are things I have a hard time with – the Samcedes break up in particular. Let’s get into it.

What I Like:

That Kurt and Blaine are actually allowed to have a conversation about their relationships and the fact that Blaine lied to Kurt. I don’t really like that Kurt took some of the blame, but Blaine was fully apologetic, and not in the way that he was when he admitted he cheated – genuinely apologetic, taking the full blame, not insinuating at all that anything Kurt did led him to this. Character development, anyone?

Sam having the opportunity to cheat on Mercedes and not taking it. Not only that, but thinking that another woman kissing him was cheating. As much as I have frustrations with his character, particularly when it comes to his views on sex and how everyone encourages those views, he is a sweetheart.

Kurt and Blaine proving June wrong about Kurt.

Rachel standing up for herself and her future (terrible) TV show.

The whole scene with the script, except for one part, which I’ll mention in a bit.

Mercedes going on a mall tour and taking Brittany and Santana with her and already having a group of people following her and excited to see her perform. It’s what she deserves.

Rachel is so adorably excited about her TV show.

What I Don’t Like:

That a fantasy script sequence shows Blaine and Brittany being more intimate with each other than they are ever allowed to be with their actual love interests. Also, the “mostly lesbian” line.

While I get that Kurt is in his right to be angry that Blaine lied to him, it does concern me a little bit that he has such a physically violent reaction. We’ve seen this only once before, when he kicked that chair over in season 1, which makes me think this is just a director thing (even though the episodes weren’t directed by the same person) and not actually a character thing, but it’s still a bit concerning. Kurt, you should be able to express your anger without hitting/kicking things.

The fact that they had Sam and Mercedes break up by Mercedes essentially saying “it isn’t fair for me to ask you not to fuck other women, so go do that”. Seriously, this entire storyline was so dragged down by the idea that men literally cannot survive without sex. I would have much preferred that they break up because they will be separated for a long time and their relationship is still fairly new. Instead we have Mercedes basically saying “Yo, Sam, go fuck all the girls you want, and then when I’m ready we can get married” like, what? ALSO Sam saying “no matter who I’m with or what I’m doing, just know I’d rather be doing it with you” aw how sweet that you’re going to fuck another girl and think of Mercedes while you do it like that’s not totally disrespectful to both Mercedes and the other girl? Think of the girl you’re with, damn Sam. But of course it’s played off as super romantic because Hollywood. Seriously, why does Hollywood think that a guy is going to literally die if he doesn’t have sex? Do they not know how harmful that is? How many women suffer because of men who think they are owed sex because they’re men and therefore they have Needs? Jesus Christ (I’m feeling particularly strongly about this right now because of the attack in Toronto that happened for exactly this reason, and it’s just so avoidable and unnecessary. Fuck).

Aaaaaaaand once again Artie has literally nothing to do.

Glee did so well with avoiding the quirky, special snowflake character right until now. Why, writer lady? Why?

Songs:

Shakin’ My Head: The song is so dancey and fun but the lyrics are so strange haha

All of Me: A nice duet, though I do feel it goes on a bit long.

Girls on Film: Kind of a weird one. I don’t know how I feel about the aesthetic of it.

Glitter in the Air: I mean, I get this is that writer lady’s first time hearing Rachel sing, but it isn’t mine, and these power ballads of hers just ain’t as powerful as they used to be. Sorry, honey.

No Time at All: Too long as well, and kind of unnecessary. I wish they’d just done part of it, like maybe the end? I don’t know.

American Boy: I was skeptical when they released that this was going to be one of the songs in this episode, but it ended up being really good!

Pompeii: A great finale song! Sam in particular sounds awesome on it, and that scene where he goes back to McKinley always gets me all emotional, even though he’s only been gone from McKinley for like 7 episodes.

Final Thoughts: It’s a fun episode, but the way the Samcedes break-up is dealt with really brings it down for me. I felt they deserved better than “It’s too hard for Sam not to have sex”, especially after all they’d been through. Other than that, though, it’s a decent season finale, and sets up next season in an okay way (aside from leaving Klaine on such a good note only to pull the rug out from under us in episode one of the next season).

#ultimate glee ranking

[writingjusttowrite8]

Warmth

Hi friends! So, I wrote a little thing about Tom Hiddleston. I recently saw Thor: Ragnarok and that awoke the inter Hiddles-trash that I truly am. I like to keep my intensive fandom love away from my normal blog, so that’s why I’m posting it on this account instead.

This story just kinda came to mind and I couldn’t get it out of my head until I wrote it down, so enjoy! Any feedback is appreciated. 

You can also read this on AO3.

       The mechanical sound of the wheel’s being lowered alerted everyone on the plane that we were landing soon. I flipped over the newspaper I was reading, finishing the last paragraph on an article about space travel. 

“Did you know that none of the crew from Apollo 11 had life insurance before going to space? They took pictures and singed them for their family incase something were to go wrong. If they sold the pictures they’d probably get more money than life insurance any ways.” I shrugged, talking to no one in particular. 

My stylist, Elaina, looked at me quizzically; “Everyone knows you have a bachelors degree, you don’t need to constantly throw out random bits of information to remind everyone.”

           “I read an article!” I defended, throwing the paper at her. She picked it up from where it landed on her lap and set it on the side table. Elaina leaned closer to me and took a minute to see if anyone was listening. The plane cabin was private, so it was only my team and I on board. We were flying into Los Angles for a party later tonight; it was under the guise of honoring someone, but it was just a chance for the studios to show off all their people and get more attention. 

“You know, you don’t have to go tonight if you don’t want to. Everyone would understand if you just wanted to stay home.” Elaina’s look was empathetic. 

I laughed a little, “We flew all this way to go to the party; it wouldn’t make sense if I did go for at least a little while!”

           “Plus,” I added, “I’m not seven years old anymore. People say mean things about me; that’s the nature of this business. I can’t go crawling back into my shell every time someone isn’t as nice as they could be. I got a nice dress for tonight anyways.” I said, taking a sip of water from the glass beside me. 

“It wasn’t like someone yelled something nasty at you; a whole op-ed came out detailing how terrible of a person they think you are!”  She said. 

“It’s been nearly two months! The outpouring of support I got after it from my actual friends, made it easier. I got to move on.” I said.

           “You do know about the other thing, right? That You Know Who is going to be there?” Elaina said. 

I rolled my eyes, “His name is Tom, not Lord Voldemort; you shouldn’t be afraid to say it.” I looked down at my phone, quickly scanning through emails, trying not to let Elaina see my face. 

“It just pisses me off! In your time of need, he just abandons you! I mean, I know you weren’t dating or anything, but the two of you were so close! For a while it felt like you two were inseparable! And then he just goes off when things got too rough. Despicable.” She nearly spat. 

“You can’t blame him for not wanting to be involved with drama right now. He’s dealt with too much of it; the guy deserves a break.” And…That wasn’t even the reason he left I wanted to say, but Elaina’s hatred of Tom was already solidified, so there was really no point in making it worse. Elaina didn’t respond; she just looked at me with complete pity.

-

Three Days Before the Article is Released

             “You clean up nicely” I commented to Tom as he walked over to me. 

“I could say the same for you, but then again, you always look that good.” Cheeky little flirt he his. I smiled and turned my face, trying not to let him see the blush that crept up to my cheeks. 

“Have you seen the birthday boy yet?” I ask, changing the subject. 

Tom shakes his head; “No I got sucked into a conversation with Ken Branagh about his next project.” 

“Shakespeare, I assume?” I asked looking up at him. He just winked and ordered a whiskey from the bartender.  

           The club we were in was pretty packed, mostly with Hollywood elites and their teams. Everyone was there to celebrate Robert Downey Jr.’s birthday, however, the guest of honor had yet to arrive. That didn’t keep the merriment from stopping. Tom and I were seated at the bar towards the back, where there was a little more room to breath. I sipped on a vodka martini and Tom drank almost all of his whiskey in one gulp. 

“Long day?” I questioned him. 

“What’s wrong with loosing up a bit?” He retorted, faking offense. 

“I’ve never actually seen you sloppy drunk; I’d imagine it would be very entertaining.” I laughed gently at the idea of Tom being beside himself drunk; He’s so proper and put together that it didn’t really make sense. 

“I’ve seen you sloppy drunk on quite a few occasions.” He grinned. I rolled my eyes at him. 

“Twice! Only twice have you seen me drunk enough to even come close to being sloppy! Considering how long we’ve known each other, that’s pretty impressive.” I said.

           “Six months, and you’ve only been sloppy drunk three times, that I know about. If that’s impressive, then at what point in your life were you more of a party animal?” He questioned. 

“You didn’t know me in college.” I winked at him. He laughed at me, and I couldn’t help but stare at his face. The way he looked in the low lighting of the bar somehow made him even more attractive than regular. Or maybe it was how close he was sitting to me, so much so that our knees were practically stuck together and his arm was behind me resting on the bar. I tried not to show how excited our close proximity made me, but my eyes lingered on his a little too long. I snapped out of my daze just in time to see RDJ walking over towards us.

           “Look! It’s the second most beautiful person in the world… and Tom.” Robert said to us. I laughed and stood up to hug him. 

“Happy Birthday to the most beautiful person in the world!” I said wrapping my arms around him. 

“Thanks sweet cheeks. Thomas!” He said, moving to embrace Tom. “This old dude giving ya trouble over here?” Robert asked me. 

“A little,” I said while retaking my seat, “he says he’s seen me drunk more times than I’ve allowed him to see me drunk.”

           “Oh, you’re hilarious.” Tom said sarcastically. 

“Well tonight seems as good as any to even up the score, so why don’t we all take a few shots to get the night going, huh?” Robert said excitedly. I grimaced, giving Tom a warning glance. 

“I think that’s a fantastic idea, Robert. Bartender, six shots please!” Tom ordered. All I could do was laugh at the two ridiculous men I’d chosen to spend my night with.

             Nearly four hours later, many drinks, and far too many embarrassing moments on the dance floor, Tom and I got into a cab to head home.  He lived just around the corner from me, so we split a cab most times we went out; unless he drove me in his jaguar.

      “I didn’t!” I declared too loudly, making the driver look back at me in the rearview mirror. “Why would I request a song I hate?” I asked Tom, who was laughing at me. 

“Because you know I hate it too! It was retaliation for that third shot!” He said. 

I groaned and slapped his arm; “I’m not that petty. How do I know you didn’t request it, just because you knew I hate it, huh?” 

“Because darling,” He leaned in so close that the tuft of my bangs were almost brushing his face, “I’m chivalrous. I would never intentionally make a lady that uncomfortable.” Thank God for the drinks, or else I wouldn’t have an excuse as to why my face was so red. 

“How come I don’t believe you Hiddleston?” I said, keeping my eyes starting straight in his, so they wouldn’t linger down to his (very kissable) lips.

      The driver cleared his throat; “We’re here.” I immediately pulled back, laughing a little, and looking through my purse for a tip. Tom was quicker and handed him some cash before opening the door for us. He held out his hand for me to hold onto as I descended from the car, and I let my fingers hold onto his longer than necessary before pulling away. 

“Nightcap?” I asked. “[Y/N], we just got back from a bar!” He said. I looked away and gently laughed, trying to hide my embarrassment of rejection. I couldn’t help it that I didn’t want the night to end. 

“I’d love to.” Tom said, surprising me. I gently hit his chest with my clutch before heading up to the front door.

      I wasn’t entirely drunk, but I wasn’t entirely sober. The drinks came early enough in the night for both Tom and I to be coming down from our buzz. I fumbled around in my clutch for my keys while Tom leaned against my doorframe, looking god-like. 

“Having trouble?” He mocked. Almost immediately after he said that, I finally managed to pull out my keys and give Tom a smirk. He rolled his eyes at me while following me inside. He walked into the kitchen with me and sat at the bar while I looked in my cabinets for two glasses.

      “Your place is so cozy. I like it here.” He said, looking around. He’s been inside my place many times before, but says the same thing each time he’s here. 

“If you spent more time in your house, I bet it would feel cozier. You’re gone too much, Tom.” I said, trying not to let my voice get too sad. He was always working. A few days in L.A. or New York, meeting with studios, different read through; Tom was usually only in London a few hours at a time. I was lucky enough that when he was in town, he spent most of that time with me.

         “No, that’s not it. I think it’s a woman’s touch. Even when we’re together in different cities, your hotel rom seems… warmer.” He said. I passed him a glass of rum and coke and made one for me as well. 

“Have you ever considered that it’s me that’s warmer, and not the actual place we’re in?” I asked facetiously, before taking a drink. 

“I have.” He said, smiling at me before he took a drink. I smiled back at him, but then looked down an furrowed my eyebrows, trying to cover how much that made my heart jump. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, genuine concern in his voice.

       I looked up replacing my look of distain with neutrality. “Nothing… it’s just too quiet. Want to put on a movie?” I asked, but before he could respond, I started towards the living room. I heard him quickly get up after me. I couldn’t face him just yet; I’d let my guard down for a second too long and he saw. I walked into the living room, Tom following me closely. I went over to the small side table where I usually keep the remote, but it wasn’t there. I turn around to look for it, but I almost slam face first into Tom. He was standing right behind me, so close that I had to put my hands to his chest to steady myself from bumping into him.

        “Tom… are you… is everything alright? “ I ask, so quietly that I barely hear myself. His hand reaches up to trace my jaw and brushes some hair behind my shoulder. My heart was pounding too hard in my chest, but my breathing was getting slower. 

“Of course you’re the reason I like your place better than mine.” He whispers. Our faces are getting closer to one another, and with his free hand he grabs mine and laces our fingers together. Instinctively, my other hand slowly starts to move up towards his face until it rests on his neck. Our breathing is heavy for a moment before he finally breaks the tension and gently places his lips on mine.

        I melt into the kiss, moving my mouth along with his and throwing my arms around his neck. I bring him as close as I possibly can, pressing my chest against his, and his arm wraps around my waist and hoist me on the side table. He stands between my legs and I open the to wrap them around his waist and pull him closer. Our lips are moving in sync and our hands are wandering all over; I feel him brush through my hair to put his hand on my neck and another to grip my thigh. I run my hands down his broad shoulder and down to his hips. We finally break away for a moment to get some much-needed oxygen and rest our foreheads against each other. We don’t say anything; just look into each other’s eyes before we start kissing again. This time, it isn’t gentle but forceful, like all pretenses have gone away.

         Suddenly, I don’t feel his lips on my anymore. I look up and see him standing about a foot away from me. He’s holding onto my hand still but the mood is completely different. His eyes are filled with something I can’t quite place… sadness or pity, or a combination of both. My breathing is heavy as I look at him impossibly confused and missing the feel of his body on mine. He parts his lips as to say something, but nothing comes out.

        After a moment too long of standing there, he finally speaks; “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” He says. I almost physically hear my heart crack. Before I could speak he says the words that finally break the spell we’ve been living under tonight. “I should go.”

         Before I could get a word in edgewise, he was gone. All of a sudden, I was just a girl, sitting on her side table, breathing heavily and with a shattered heart. What on earth just happened?

-

         By the time our plane touched down in L.A., it was almost 2 p.m. and we were already behind schedule. Paparazzi greeted us at the gate and my team did their best to shield me from their cameras, but nothing really stops them from getting the shots they want. We got to my small apartment that I keep in L.A. and immediately it became ''beautification central'. I stepped out of my shower to find that Emma Watson had texted me. 'Heard you were in L.A., mind if I stop by to see you? I miss your face. Xo' she wrote. I smiled and dialed her number.

        "[Y/N]!" She exclaimed, "Are you in town?" Emma asked. 

"Yes ma'am. Are you going to stop by to see me?" I ask. 

"I'm getting in my car as we speak." She said. Hearing her voice made me happy; she was one of the few friends that I felt genuinely cared for me. Through the whole process of staring in my first big role, to the flops I'd been in, Emma was with me no matter what. She didn't want to be near me for the attention or the money, we just like each other. Having a real friendship in this industry was rare, and I wanted to protect ours at all cost. "I'll see you soon!" I said. We exchanged goodbye's and hung up before I let my team make me into a version of myself that I didn't even recognize.

        30 minutes later I hear a knock on my door and open it to find Emma. Without saying a word, we hug each other tightly. "I missed you, Em." I said quietly. 

"I missed you too... how are you?" She questioned, pulling away from the hug. 

I shrugged, "I'm fine. I mean, I've been better, but that's life I guess." She gave me a small smile and followed me inside. My team was in my living room getting my dress out and pressing it while Elaina was setting up in the bathroom. I pulled Emma into my bedroom so we could have some privacy.

       "So what's really going on?" She asked. Emma knew that the article wasn't the real source of my sadness. 

I gave her a disparaging look; "Tom..." I said. She chuckled solemnly. 

"That much I know. What happened between you two. When I spoke to him the other day, it got super weird when he asked about you. Like he was nervous about something." She said. I looked down in my lap, unsure of whether or not I should tell Emma. Somehow, letting someone outside of Tom and myself know what really went on made it more real, and somehow, more hurtful.

        "What did he ask you?" I questioned. 

"He wanted to know how you were doing. I told him that you've been busy so I hadn't really heard from you. The way he asked though... it's almost as if he was afraid to say your name." She looked at me, waiting to explain what happened. 

"We kissed. It was a few days before the article broke. He kissed me and then he said 'I shouldn't have done that' and left." I sighed and looked away, letting Emma absorb the information.

         "You know the worst part is," I started, "I was doing a perfectly fine job of repressing my feelings before that! I know that it's unhealthy or whatever, but it's not like we would've worked out romantically anyways. I knew that for the sake of our friendship that I needed to keep those feelings to myself. And then he kisses me! I didn't ask for that! There wasn’t a neon sign above my head saying 'Please Break My Heart'. I did what I had to do to keep our friendship, and he had to go and mess it up."

       I figured I'd already revealed too much, so I told Emma all about that night. She sat back on my bed letting all that information sink in. 

"That... doesn’t sound like Tom." She said in disbelief. 

I shrugged, "It was him, though." Emma sighed and furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. 

"Was that it? He just left without an explanation?" She asked. 

I looked back up at her, feeling a little bit of guilt; "Not exactly...".  

"What do you mean?" She asked.

       "A few nights after the article was released, Tom came to my house again." I confessed. 

"What did he say?" She questioned. I told her everything.

-

        It was a rainy night in London, not unusual. I had Adele's album on in the background while I was facetiming with my dad on my laptop and sitting at the bar in my kitchen. 

"[Y/N], if you want your mother and I to come see you, we will. No questions asked. We'll be on the next plane out of here if we need to be." My dad said. I let out a small laugh. 

"You're sweet, but please, don't worry. It's a mean article. The person who wrote it got mad that my manager kept pushing back the interview date and he let his displeasure show. The really funny thing is the reason the interview was being pushed back was because our production schedule was behind and he wanted to interview me about the production! Even if we'd kept the regular date, the article would have been inaccurate. One guy doesn't like me, I don't have to lose my mind over it." I told him. The last sentence hurt to say, because it wasn't the vengeful interviewer who hurt me, but someone much more important.

       "Well, I'm proud of you [Y/N]. You're good about not letting these things get to you. How is everything else? Your friends?" My dad asked, in typical dad fashion.

 "Everyone is fine, dad." I said. 

"What about Tom? I have heard anything about him in a while. The movie was great! Did you tell him I thought the movie was great?" Hearing my dad ask about Tom stung more than I anticipated; I had to shift my head so he couldn’t see my face. 

I swallowed harshly before answering; "I told Tom, he said thank you. He's doing fine. Dad, I'm going to go get something to eat. I'll call you and mom tomorrow." I said, trying to get out of the only subject I really wanted to avoid. 

"Of course, sweetie. Your mother and I love you very much." Dad said, a little more emotionally than usual. I told him I loved him too, and closed my laptop.

       I ran my fingers through my hair and rested my elbows on the counter. I just had an article come out that basically said I was a spineless, talentless, slut, and the only thing I'm really sad over is Tom. It felt wrong, like I should be pissed at the author and I should be discrediting him. Instead, I was by myself drinking wine and forcing myself to stop feeling sad about a guy. He's just a guy, I reminded myself, this isn't the first time a guy has left me, and probably not the last.

        I just wish I knew why. Did he not like me enough to follow through with it? Was I a bad kisser? Did he suddenly realize he loved someone else? Maybe if I knew exactly why he stopped, it would make this easier. Sure, I could call him and ask him why, but that made me feel like I was defeated. I heard my phone go off from the living room, but I didn't feel like going to get it. So many people had called me today, wanting to know how I was, but I couldn’t tell any of them the truth; ignoring calls was really the best plan for me at this point. I took another sip from my wine glass and tried to resist the temptation of going online to look at comments. Online comments on articles like this can be a rabbit hole, and not one I was prepared to go down. A loud knock on my door made me jump in surprise. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself while I walked over to it. When I opened my door, I found Tom.

        His shirt clung to his torso, wet from the rain, and the expression on his face made it seem like he was surprised to see me. 

It took me a minute to adjust from the shock before I could speak to him; "What... why are you here?" I asked. Suddenly I realized he was still getting wet from the rain and I moved back to let him in my house. He came in, slowly, and ran his hands through his hair to get some of the rain droplets out. "Why are you here?" I repeated after we were inside. His expression of surprise changed to one of sadness. 

"I wanted to know if you were alright." He spoke. I looked down at the floor trying to avoid his eyes. 

"I'm fine." I said quietly. I started walking towards the kitchen and Tom followed me.

       "It's just... the article came out at a... bad time. I just wanted to make sure-" I cut him off. 

"Really Tom, I don't care about the article. Mean things are written about people all the time. I'm not the first, nor the last. And as for the timing... well, there really isn't much I could've done about that." I said, bitterness coloring my voice. Now, Tom is looking down at the floor, and all the emotions that I've been holding back are combining into one; anger. 

"I wanted to apologize for that night." He said, looking back up at me. I scoffed, "Which part? When you kissed me, or when you left without an explanation?" I didn't want to be mean, but I couldn’t help myself.

        "Both," Tom started, "I was wrong to do... that to you." I furrowed my eyebrows. 

"Then why? It's not like we were super drunk, it's not like I forced you into it, and it's not like I pulled away!" The anger was slipping through my voice. 

"[Y/N], I don't know why I kissed you, but I know I didn't want to hurt you!" He said, matching my louder voice. 

"Well you sure have a funny way of showing it! I mean... even if you don't know why you kissed me, why did you pull away? How would that keep you from hurting me?" I yelled, exasperatedly.

       "Because I need to protect you! The women who date me get slaughtered in the press. My past relationships will probably follow me around for the rest of my life because the press will not let it go. I don't want to put you through that. You deserve better than being dragged through the mud just because I've made mistakes." He said. Now, I was really furious. 

"You want to protect me? I don't know if you've been living under a rock for the past 48 hours, but I was put through the ringer, despite not dating anyone! So, your noble quest of protecting me was shot long before you had anything to do with it." My hands were in fist at my side; my eye's brimming with tears, but luckily, none spilled over. For a while, neither of us spoke. I didn't know if it was because he had said everything he had to say, or if he didn't know what to say next. The tension became too much for me and I had to speak.

       "I will understand if you don't like me like that and you believe kissing was a mistake, but please Tom, don't lie to me. If you wanted to protect me, you wouldn't have waited this long." I couldn't be angry at him anymore; I just felt sad. He looked at me with those blue eyes that could make anyone week in the knees and I felt my heart being squeezed, causing so much pain that I had to look away. He didn't say anything, which just made me feel worse. He has no right to stand there, looking as good as he does, being so sweet and comforting, and yet keeping me waiting. I wanted him so much, but I couldn't handle it anymore.

        "You should go...." I said, the words surprising even me. 

He raised his eyebrows in surprise; "what?" He questioned. 

"You've clearly said everything you needed to, and I can't handle this much longer." I finally looked back up to face him. "If you really don't want to hurt me anymore than you already have, please just... leave." My voice broke and the tears I held off for so long started to fall. Tom lifted his had up, as if to touch me the same way he had that night. I turned my head away, just slightly and he put his hand down. Taking the hint that I wasn't budging tonight, he finally left.

-

       I didn't feel bad about what I said to him that night, I just felt bad that I got so angry. He wanted to apologize, and no matter how hurt I was, he didn't deserve that anger. But in my heart, I know I did the right thing. I need to protect myself since I can't influence those around me. I can't rely on anyone, not even Tom, to protect me.

       Emma started at me blankly. "He really hurt you, didn't he?" Emma asked. 

I nodded; "This really is for the best, though. At least it didn't go too far, ya know? Ending this before it got to be too much is better for everyone." I said, partially trying to convince myself of that, too. 

"Are you sure? Is that really for the best?" She asked. 

I looked at her confused, "what do you mean?"

       "[Y/N], you like him, and he clearly likes you if he doesn't want to hurt you! Why would you need to end something that hasn't even begun? You're not giving yourself a fair shot. If you just give up now, before you even try to really make it work, you'll regret it." She said. I stood up and started pacing around my room. 

"Em, it's not like he came over to tell me he was sorry he stopped! He told me he was sorry for kissing me in the first place! He doesn't want me like that, I can accept that." I said, crossing my arms. 

"You didn’t tell him why it hurt you! You didn't tell him that you love him and that you didn't want the kiss to stop! You let him go! He isn't going to try to pursue you further if he thinks you're angry at him for kissing you to begin with! I guarantee you he wants you, but is worried that you don't want him. Because that sounds like Tom; he's not the type of man to leave like that, and he certainly isn't the type of man to push further if he thinks he's gone too far."

       Emma, was crazy, she had to be! He left me and then he came back to finish me off and couldn't do it! He's the wrong one here, right? I threw up my hands, fell onto my bead face first and groaned; a very mature way to react to this situation, I know. 

"Darling," Emma said, "you're beautiful, intelligent, hilarious, funny, and a whole other slew of things that I can't think of right now. But you are hopelessly dense when it comes to love. I still can't get over how you thought Henry Cavill was just 'being nice' when he sent over flowers after meeting you." She laughed, and played with my hair.

 I grumbled into the sheets "I mentioned I love flowers, and he sent flowers over the next day. It isn't so wrong to think he was just being... gentlemanly." I couldn't see her, but she probably rolled her eyes.

      I laughed to myself, thinking of the reaction Tom had to finding out Henry set me flowers; he got so worked up and wouldn't stop teasing me for days! Maybe Emma was right. Maybe it wasn't entirely his fault that things ended so poorly. I told him to leave the night he came to me. I just had such a clear view in my mind as to why he would have left. There's no way he could want me like that; he's Tom Hiddleston! It wouldn't have made sense, him and I together. But I guess that doesn't necessarily mean he wouldn't want it either.

      "Talk to him tonight, [Y/N]. Explain why it hurt you and give him a chance to explain as well. Even if things don't end the way you want them too, it will make you feel better if you get it off your chest." I sighed and rolled over to look at her. I needed to talk to him; that much was clear. 

"But... what if it hurts worse after. What if he says the exact thing I'm most afraid of him saying?" I say, quietly. 

She gave me a sorrowful look, "What are you most afraid of?" Emma asked. I sat up and looked out the window and pulled my knees into my chest. 

"That he never loved me like that... and that he never will." I whisper it so quietly, I'm not sure if she heard me.

      "He won't." She stated. I turn to look at her, trying my best to keep a brave face. A light knock on my door alerted both Emma and I just how late it had gotten. By now, my hair was dry and in desperate need of styling, and Elaina would be chomping at the bit to start on my makeup. "I should go." Emma said, standing up. I stood up to hug her goodbye. "It'll be fine, [Y/N]. Trust me." She said before pulling away. Emma exited the room and my team pounced on me as soon as she was out the door.

-

           Stop fidgeting, stop fidgeting, stop fidgeting I repeated to myself. Engage in the conversation that’s happening right in front of you; at least try to seem interested! Three movie producers were chatting in front of me, all trying to one up each other in terms of how much money the profited from movies they had nothing to do with. There was really no way to focus on the dude-fest going on with Tom across the room from me. It felt like his eyes were on me at all times, but every time I found the courage to glance over at him, he was talking to someone else.

           I suddenly felt a hand on my lower back and I jumped at the sensation. “Robert!” I said, realizing whom it was. I threw my arms around him and he did the same. 

“Hey there sweet cheeks. How’ve you been?” He asked. 

“Fine,” I lied, “I’ve been busy… working and… other stuff.” I tried my best to sound casual, but RDJ must have seen through me. 

“That’s good. A couple people around here we’re worried about you for a little while there, so it’s good to see you back on your feet.” He said.

 “We’re you one of those people?” I asked coyly.  

           “Nah,” He started, shaking his head, “my attention is on myself at all times. If I haven’t talked to you in the past… 8 minutes, chances are I don’t even realize you exist.” I laughed at him. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, Robert was truly a softie at heart. 

“It is good to see you back, though.” He said, sweetly. I smiled at him, the first time I truly smiled out of happiness in a while. 

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

           “Where’s Tom? Last time I saw you guys, you were stuck together like a barnacle to a boat.” I gently laughed at his choice of words, letting my smile fade. 

“Tom’s here? I didn’t even know. I really haven’t seen much of him lately.” I lied. He didn’t seem to recognize my bluff, but he didn’t fully understand it either. 

“Well you should say hi to him at some point; I’m sure he’d love to see you.” He said. 

“Well, you know what I would love? A drink. Do you want anything?” I asked, turning to go to the bar. 

“I wouldn’t kick a glass of champagne out of bed. I’ll be over there.” He said. I nodded and went to retrieve the much needed alcohol.

           I picked up two glasses of champagne and headed back towards Robert, who was deeply engaged in conversation with someone I couldn’t quite see. I called out his name and realized who he was talking to; Tom. 

“Ah, [Y/N],” He said, taking one of the glasses, “You know, I think I changed my mind about the drink. Tom, why don’t you take this one, and I’m going to get some bourbon.” Before Tom had time to protest, RDJ had handed him the champagne and was gone. I looked at Tom with wide eyes and cursed myself for not being able to anticipate this. His gaze nearly made my knees shake as he looked at me from head to toe. 

“You look… incredible.” He said. I smiled and blinked a few times before taking him in myself. 

“You do too.” I breathed. No matter my feelings towards Tom, his ability to wear a suit to absolute perfection still amazed me. His eyes bore into mine, and I couldn’t look away. Someone who I didn’t recognize bumped into Tom, pushing him closer towards me. I put out my free hand to steady him from running into me and it landed on his chest. When he finally was stead again, he grabbed my hand and kept it against his chest.

           “We should go somewhere to talk.” He whispered to me. 

I nodded before responding; “we should.” He laced our fingers together and started pulling me through the crowd. His tall frame prevented me from seeing where we were going, until we got to a small hallway, and Tom opened the door to a private restroom. I walked inside and set my glass on the skink counter, putting as much space between Tom and myself as possible.  His back faced me as he locked the door and he hesitated while turning around. We looked at each other for a few moments before I broke the silence. 

“How have you been?” I asked.

           Tom blinked a few times and set his glass next to mine. “Not great….” He trailed off. I gave him an empathetic smile. 

“Tom, I-“ He cut me off.

“Wait, I wanted to- may I … the last time I tried to apologize, I made everything worse, and I don’t want to do that again. So, if I may, I want to tell you everything I need to before you respond. Is that alright with you?” He asked. 

“Of course.” I said, my mind racing a mile a minute. He took a deep breath before running a hand through his hair.

           “I’ve made many regrettable mistakes in my life; not the least of which being the night I left you. My desire to protect you stems from the fact that my past indiscretions would follow you around and I didn’t want to put you through that, especially knowing how much people love you. I know it’s hard to see, but the way people see you is… they adore you. I didn’t want to ruin that for you; I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I did. The reason I pulled away that night is because I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if I’d gone further.

           “[Y/N], you’re like the sun; your warmth encapsulates everyone around you and I find it so addicting. There are times that I can’t believe I was blessed enough to have met you, let alone be a part of your life. There is not an ounce of my soul that doesn’t wish to be near you at all times. But I was willing to ignore that to, what I thought would, protect you. I see now how stupid that was, because the second night I came over, I saw the pain and it broke me. I thought I didn’t deserve to be with you because of how much I hurt you, and there is a part of me that still believes that.  But I couldn’t live with myself without explaining why I did what I did, in hopes that one day you’d understand that I didn’t leave out of lacking desire; I did it because I love you and I don’t want to hurt you.

           “Now, if you tell me that you wish to never see me again, I will leave; I will do everything in my power to respect your wishes. But if you believe that there is a part of you that love me as much as I do you, you would make me the most undeservedly happy man in the world. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to make you as happy as I possibly could, for as long as I possibly can. So please, [Y/N], tell me that you understand how much I love you.”

           I stood across from Tom in complete and utter shock. My mind was racing and my heart was beating so fast, I thought I might go into cardiac arrest. He… loves me? I was wrong, so unbelievably wrong about… everything. It wasn’t just me reading more into the quick glances and soft touches; we were on the same page and we didn’t even know it. And now we’re here, staring intensely at one another, holding onto the desire I was too afraid to express. He handed me his heart, and now it was my turn to hold onto it.

           After a few minutes, Tom looked down at his feet. He seemed to be hurt by my lack of words, but how could I possibly speak after all that. I didn’t know what to say, but I knew I had to say something before he went away and another opportunity was lost. 

“Tom,” I said, his head snapping up and eyes looking into mine with anticipation. 

“Please don’t ever leave me again.”

-

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston imagine #imagine tom hiddleston #fanfic #Sorry it's long lol #my husband

[harritudur]

rpf . jodie comer/jacob collins-levy . 3 155 words . rating M

note: as I promised, here my Jodie x Jacob smut. I tried to not turn this into a gratuitous smutty fic and so, I decided to add some fluff as well lol :) For @thefairfleming​ who gave me the courage to write and to post this shit fic (again, i apologize for the typos and my bad english)

-

Jodie couldn’t remember why she had ever thought it would be a good idea to start in the first place. Sometimes she blamed it on drink, on the nice French Rosé. And then, the annoying voice in the back of her head that sounded a little like her Mum telling her to stop being such a naive fool. She should have been enough of an adult to admit to her mistakes.

The thing was, she couldn’t find it in herself to stop.

-

Two weeks before, Jodie’s computer began to ring with the sounds of a Skype call from Jacob. Her former co-star whom she hadn’t made the least attempt to contact when she was still in the UK and he, in L.A. -or Australia maybe? They were not been in touch often recently. “Hello, Miss Comer,” he said, and then checked his watch. “It’s almost 7pm in L.A.! What are you doing up at such an ungodly hour?” “Working!” she replied proudly, showing to the camera the recent script she received for a new play in London. “What about you?” “Well, I am keep selling my soul in Hollywood for the sake of my career”. There was a hint of something in his voice that she can’t decipher, and yet it made her nervous. "I heard you were in the US recently and you didn’t even call me?” “Well, I wasn’t technically in the US,” Jodie said, taking a sip of her nocturnal tea. (British habits die hard) “I was in New York.” “East coast superiority problem,” he snorted, and he got this unreadable expression on his face. “How is England?” “Damp. And lovely,” she said, smiling brightly. “I will be there soon. To visit my father’s side of the family. It’s been a while… Can I come visit you at some point as well?” Jodie was slightly taken aback. He’d never asked if he could come visit. They’d been mostly cut off from each other since he’d gone to Los Angeles. “Yeah, Jake. Sure. If you felt like it.” “I will,” he said. “You mark my words, I will.”

-

To be honest, she wasn’t expecting him to show up. But, Jacob had always been hyperactive, a touch unpredictable and adventurous (she liked to call him Crocodile Dundee on set, just for the tease), so she was only about sixty percent surprised when he called her from Heathrow. “Jodz,” he said, “why aren’t you here to pick me up?” “Probably because you didn’t tell me you were coming! But I’ll come now.” She grabbed her keys and ran out the door before she could even think about what she was doing. Luckily for him, she moved to London the last week –a better decision for her career. “Finally,” Jacob said as she burst through the door at the airport, scrubbing a hand through his hair like he had just woken up from a long nap. “Finally, she shows up.” “Do you have any idea how far Heathrow is from London, Jacob!” Jodie said, trying to ignore the conspicuous lump in her throat and the way her heart rate sped up a little when he stepped forward and gave her a massive bear hug. “Missed you, Jodz,” he whispered in her ear, and suddenly, yup, there they all were, all those crazy feelings that she hadn’t let herself express for all those months she’d co-starred with him. “Missed you too, Jacob,” she said, and now she regretted not calling him while she was in the US.

-

True to form, he had no interest in actually sitting down for a proper meal, so they managed to navigate the interminable Tube of London for some takeaway Indian food that didn’t look like it would give them food poisoning. They sat on the floor in Jodie’s flat she just rented, cardboard boxes everywhere (and Jacob couldn’t believe how much of an improvement it was over any flat for a comparable -or even more expensive- price in Los Angeles) and chewed down. Just like old times in their trailers.

She brought out from her fridge a bottle of cheap French Rosé and they’d swapped stories about friends, family, one-night stands. He’d let her listen to a few songs on his ipod. She’d teased him about his Californian tan. She’d talked about Glastonbury Festival. He’d regretted to not have been there with her. They’d drunk the bottle dry.

Jodie hadn’t felt much nostalgia or sadness for her many former co-stars, realizing she’d gone off and lost touch with many of them. And more important, she’d had the possibility to meet them in London when she wished to. But now, she was nostalgic and sad -she didn’t know how much she missed him and how much she hated suddenly the Atlantic & the Pacific Oceans (and the Indian one too!). Jodie wasn’t aware that Jacob had been staring at her the whole time as she looked contemplatively in to her rice. “Jodz,” he said, “are you okay?” She exhaled, and looked back up at him. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just… missing the old days, you know?” There was a beat of silence. He smiled wistfully, which was an ability Jodie didn’t believe that people could develop before the age of thirty. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too. That’s why I’m here, I suppose.” “So you came all this way to sit on my floor and eat curry with me, and I suppose you’re flying back tomorrow in time for… your family right? Or an audition maybe? An event? Or a romantic dinner with whoever you are hooking up with?” The twinge of bitterness that Jodie heard in her voice was unintended, and she almost apologized to him right there. He laughed, harsh and bitter, like she’d never heard him laugh before. “God, we’ve been out of touch, haven’t we Jodie? No one is waiting for me in my cold cold bed.” “I’m sorry…” and instinctively, she reached out for him and grabbed his hand. Jacob sighed. “I miss you.” “Same, Jake.” “You’ve done an awful good job of hiding it.” “Oh come on,” Jodie said, reeling. “We’ve both been busy. I’ve been doing auditions and some new projects are in the coming. I’m an actress. It’s my job! I could say the same about you.” “I just thought… I just thought we were…” Jacob said, struggling to finish. Never once in her life, she had seen him at such a loss for words. If it weren’t for the emotional gravitas that she suspected the situation deserved, she would have whipped out her phone and taken a video. “Friends?” Jodie supplied, trying her best to be helpful. “Friends?” Jacob practically yelled back at her, his hands shaking. “Oh, sod it.” He got up and made his way towards the door. “Jacob,” she said, popping up and running after him, stopping him just short of her front entranceway, “what the hell?” “Friends, huh Jodie? Right, because I’m going to fly all the way across the goddamn Oceans for someone who I like as a friend. I don’t understand how you could possibly be so thick!” Quieter, he continued, his sharp blue eyes on her. “Did you really just want to be friends this whole time?”

A pause.

“No…” Jodie just managed, and finally, here, she was being perfectly honest; she was addressing the feelings that Jacob gave her, and everything that she missed about the last year and him most of all. “No, I didn’t not want to be just friends, but I felt that our hands were a little tied. There was this whole unspoken rule about not dating your co-star, and I had commitments in the UK and you had your life in Australia and then… then I just wasn’t around anymore, and you deserve more than a girlfriend half a world away, and you deserve to have a great career as well, and… it’s like life just kept getting in the way. Bad timing or whatever it is. But, yeah, the way I dreamed about you or us or… the things I managed to think up… it was just, you know? Just a dream…”

Based on the look Jacob was giving her at this exact second, Jodie could’t decide if he was going to kiss her, or storm out her flat door. But the next thing she knew he is crushing himself against her, arms wrapped around her waist and lips against hers. She felt his tongue prodding her lips, and she opened her mouth to him and mentally fist-pumped, and then shivered when he ran his tongue across hers and gently slipped his fingers under the hem of her t-shirt. The feeling of his fingers on her skin made her mind spin with anticipation. He pulled away, looked at her kind of funny, and said, “Is someone else dropping by tonight?” What? Oh yes, we are in London, she realized, and a Saturday night, and I have friends in the city. “No. No Jake… there’s not anyone coming, if that’s what you’re implying…” “Good,” he whispered, “because I am taking you to bed and we are not leaving there for a while.” “Oh,” Jodie said, and hoped that she wasn’t making too much of a dopey happy face. Then she was the one kissing him. An impulsive action –and she thought that she still had some part of Lizzie in her head when she did it. They had kissed so many times before. But this, this felt different from the working-friendly snogs they had shared in front of the crew ~for the job. The kiss tasted of darkness and the metallic hint of danger and excitement. It tasted new. She’d say that the drink had made her just the slightest bit reckless, but it wasn’t true. Not entirely.

She walked him back through her rented apartment. He stopped her somewhere in the middle of her living room not far away from their abandoned dinner (waste of good Indian food, she thought) and kissed her again, and something about how his hands were once again under her shirt and rubbing against her low back made her knees go conspicuously weak. Jacob took advantage of that and subsequently picked her up and carried her bridal style to her bedroom. She tossed her head back and laughed and was still laughing when he placed her down on her bed. “You literally cannot be serious about anything for more than five minutes,” she said as he climbed over her. “You’re about to be proved very, very wrong,” Jacob said, and Jodie had a snarky response forming in her head that died on her lips as soon as he kissed her again. And suddenly getting his shirt off was very high on her list of priorities. She gave up on the buttons and just ripped it, then mentally reminded herself to help him sew those buttons back on if they ever got out of bed.

He didn’t seem to care, but there he was, bare-chest, on top of her, with his lips on her neck and she moaned embarrassingly loud. She could feel him smiling against her skin, the bastard. She sat up briefly to aid Jacob in getting her shirt off, and her bra, and then he laid her back down and relieved her of her jeans and knickers. Not to be outdone, she started undoing his belt but he pushed her back on the mattress and settled over her, kissing a trail down her body. He slipped off the edge of the bed to kneel, kissed the inside of her thighs, and positioned his face between her legs. He looked up at her and opened his mouth to ask a question. She somehow (because she had no idea on how her brain would actually been working) intuited what he was about to ask.

“God yes,” half-spoken, half-moaned.

About a second later her head was thrown back as she felt pleasure course through her body as his tongue rolled against her clit. This simple motion made her gasp out loud. The sound seemed to please him, and he growled low in his throat before attacking her with tongue and lips and gentle teeth, until Jodie was biting her lips and forcing herself not to wrap her thighs around his head. One, then two fingers entered her and she literally gasped as they curled inside her. She dug her heel in to Jacob’s back accidentally, and as soon as he reached up and replaced her hand on her nipple with his she involuntarily pushed harder in to his back with her heel. That was probably going to leave a little bruise, she thought, but he didn’t seem to stop or mind, even when she threaded her hand in his hair. He started focusing intently on her nub, and next thing she knew she was arching off the bed and coming around his fingers. Pulling them from her body, he climbed up over her on the bed.  

Jodie wanted to move, to drag him down on her, to taste his lips once more and herself at the same time, and to return him the favor. But instead she watched him strip as he kept a safe distance between them. A part of her wanted to help, to shorten the torture, and to get rid of that satisfied smirk on his face –yet, another part wanted to enjoy the show, to savor each new glimpse of his skin and to memorize them for her lonely nights. But the impatience that curled in her low belly was hard to tame. Socks and shoes, then the belt and jeans followed, kicked off and the boxers flew somewhere and then he was naked, finally.

“Jodie,” he breathed looking down at her. Fuck! her name sounded so good on his tongue. His voice was broken, his Australian accent more marked, and his eyes were darker than anything she’d ever seen; she just wanted to kiss him absolutely senseless, “…do you have anything?”

Oh, that. How unfair that he should ask her where anything (especially something so infrequently used by her nowadays) was in her post-orgasmic haze. “Ummm,” she said to help, and flailed in the general direction of a cardboard-box by her nightstand. In vain. “One second,” Jacob said, and quickly dashed out of the bedroom, which at once was one of the most hilarious and sexy things that she’d possibly ever seen. She really hoped he didn’t trip over anything because she was not doing first aid on his naked… anything. She heard his suitcase unzip and zip and he came back with a fistful of condoms, swaggering triumphantly. “Bloody Hell,” she said, as he deposited all but one on the nightstand, “You totally planned this whole thing.” “The possibility crossed my mind,” Jacob replied. “Allow me,” Jodie said, with a wicked smile, and pushed him back so he was lying on the bed. She ripped the foil open with her teeth, tossed it aside, and rolled the condom on, never taking her eyes off of him. There was something extremely gratifying about the way that his head lolled back and his mouth fell open. Deciding that she relished the sensation of being in control, she straddled him and sunk on to him as slow as she could possibly manage. “God, Jodz… Jodie,” he sputtered out, “just do it already.” His hands moved to her hips and tightened. “Don’t know why you think this is any easier for me Jacob,” she sputtered out, but put on a veil of crazy confident feminine guile and started rolling her hips very slowly. She bit her lip hard, and looked down at Jacob whose pupils were blown out and just looked absolutely wrecked. His thumb found her clit and started rubbing it gently, and then harder, and then right when she was about to come, thanks Jacob, he rolled them over and started thrusting in to her. It was sinfully good to feel his skin against hers. She wanted everything, wanted to lose herself in the warmth of his skin, the taste of his lips, and to pretend that the world outside her flat didn’t exist. That they weren’t betraying any social convention for coworkers –or acquaintances? –or friends? Really? He was gentle, at first, one hand pressing her right wrist into the mattress, the other wrapped around her hip as he thrusts into her. Again and again and again and then he started to lose some of his control, and the hand around her wrist pushes down harder. It felt so good. They felt so good, fitted so well together and moved so in time with each other. Heat built in her and she could feel the rest of the world fading away into the background, and she wanted to close her eyes because there would be sparks behind her eyelids, but he wouldn’t let her out of his gaze. Just as she didn’t want to stop looking at the blue of his eyes. Jacob pulled almost all the way out of her and thrust into her again, deliberate and slow this time, and Jodie could feel the crest of her climax rising to meet his and she chased it eagerly, rocking her hips back against his. Maybe she was a little out of line, but the look on Jacob’s face told her she was doing something extremely pleasing. She buried her flushed face in the crock of his neck and bit down into the pale, pristine flesh of his shoulders and marked it hers. A low moan from him. And then, his hand at her hip loosened its grip and cupped her face instead and suddenly he was kissing her, all sweet tenderness and heat. Jodie kissed him back hungrily, whining into his mouth. So close. She was so damned close– “Let go,” he said against her lips, after pulling his mouth away from hers. “…you’re beautiful like this. So beautiful.” His accent, music to her ears. Then suddenly he was just hitting the spot, and then she was arching off the bed and seeing stars, and she was just barely aware of his hips stuttering and then giving one final prodigious thrust and collapsing on top of her. They just lay there like that for an indeterminate amount of time (Jodie wasn’t going to be counting anything, she knew that much) until he rolled off of her and dealt with the condom. She was still lying on her back when he got back to bed and he curled up beside her.

Taking this as her cue, she wound her arms around him, pulled him against her, felt his breath on her neck and shivered with post-orgasmic delight. He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, then to her neck, making her giggle, and then he kissed her so gently she could almost cry. Jodie wished there was more to this, more than just her London flat and previous stolen moments in trailers. More time. More of him. Her fingers ran through his messy hair and pulled him closer for another kiss. And then another, until she felt him stirring against her again.

“Fuck,” she stated as her hand moved down his body to cup the curve of his arse. “We’re screwed now, aren’t we?”

He didn’t even try to argue this statement. His hands cupped her face and before she could breathe he kissed her. “Oh yes, we are.”

For the first time in a long time, Jodie felt whole.

-

His return ticket had been booked for the next weekend, but he managed to worm his way out of further events and auditions (“My new agent will kill me later” he jested) so that he could stay two weeks. One morning, he disappeared for two hours, but re-appeared with red and white roses so she forgave him the minor heart attack. “Seriously? Jake?,” the reference obvious, but she accepted them anyway. He disappeared as well an whole day, but she knew it was to see an aunt or an uncle in Essex. Easy to forgive.

Later that month, she followed Jacob back to L.A. (“For work!” she had claimed to her friends who were not buying this shit). He was there, of course, waiting at the airport, and he took her to his flat without any questions. Unexpectedly, there was an extra chest of drawers waiting for her. “Thanks. It would make things easier,” she said in a smile. “I’m looking forward to this.” “Me too,” he said, and kissed her.

It was Jacob’s phone ringing that woke them, and Jodie blinked, the California sun already shining through the window. She didn’t realized she was so tired. The Hollywood way of life -and other private exertions. She was vaguely aware of Jacob groaning, his arms unwrapping from her as he stretched to pick up his phone. She turned back, spooning around him and scattering kisses over his shoulders and neck as he talked. “Hello? Oh, Emma, good morning. Yes, yes, I’m fine. I don’t know, we haven’t… Okay. Yes. Yes, she’s still here.” Jodie frowned. Even though she only heard half of the conversation, she knew he was talking about her. Telling Emma she had stayed the night might not be a good idea. “I’ll tell her. Yes. Thank you. Bye.” He hung up after this little talk and placed the phone back on his bedside table, before turning back and wrapping his arms around her. “Hello.” He kissed her nose and she couldn’t help but smile. “Hello. Hmm, what did Emma want?” “Oh, nothing, just be sure everything was alright. She is planning a dinner this week so, we could go? And she says hello.” “Jacob…” She tried to be serious but it was difficult with his hands on her hips, just upon her ticklish spot. “Why did you tell her I was here?” “It’s true, isn’t it?” “I’m not sure she had to know…” “Oh. She already knew.” “What?” He shrugged. “Said it was obvious and that we should have realized before.” Jodie turned pale, her blood freezing as she wondered what she meant by obvious, and who else knew. And then she remembered the many smiles and teasing and eye-rolling from her friends. Was the great actress Jodie Comer so easy to read? “Are you okay?” he cupped her face and brushed her cheeks gently, eyes full of affection. Oh shit. She was in love with this man -maybe she hadn’t realized it all quite yet. Or maybe she had, and this sudden understanding was like letting out a breath Jodie didn’t know she was holding since months. “More than okay,” she sighed, and let him kiss her, and more.

- -

#rpf #J² #*OOPS I MADE A THING AND I AM SORRY* #i post it now when everybody is sleeping so you don't have to endure this shit #can u believe it's my third fic about them? it comes from to 'awkward meeting' to 'let me eat you in your new flat' #it escalated so quickly #lol

[laughriotgrrrl]

Iliza is wrong. But it’s not her fault (kinda).

By Bobbie Oliver On Twitter: @TheBobbieOliver

Iliza Shlesinger begins her interview in Deadline Hollywood ok, “a big part of my comedy is wanting to speak to women and people that are my age in a funny and relatable way. I think the landscape of what’s available out there for women is not as extensive as it could be.” So far, so good (except the limiting it to people her age). But, then she goes on to say:

“I’m so glad you asked that [the way she portrays female comedy in her new project] because I put in those sketches and no one’s ever asked me about it because I think people were too busy laughing in agreement. As a comedian, I have a set of morals. I have a specific point of view. I think a lot of what I see out there, out in comedy clubs, watching contests, watching TV, watching movies—gathering data from these different matrixes…

When you’re a woman in comedy and you get a break, people get so excited about it, but while we have to work hard to get that attention, I do think many women think, “Oh if I just act like a guy, if I go for that low hanging fruit…” Everything’s about sex, or how weird I am. It all just kind of runs together.

I could walk into The Improv, close my eyes, and I can’t tell one girl’s act apart from another. That’s not saying that 30-something white guys don’t all sound the same sometimes, but I’m banging my head against the wall because women want to be treated as equals, and we want feminism to be a thing, but it’s really difficult when every woman makes the same point about her vagina, over and over. I think I’m the only woman out there that has a joke about World War II in my set. I think shock value works well for women, but beyond that, there’s no substance. I want to see what else there is with such complex, smart creatures.”

I included the quote so no one could say I misrepresented her words. Those were her exact words. Since this was released, Iliza has been bombarded with responses from female comics (myself included) because it turns out people weren’t just “laughing in agreement” and that she did not succeed at talking to women “in a relatable way.” Did Iliza look at those comments, think ‘hmm maybe I am missing something and should listen to these women’s collective experiences?’ Spoiler! Um, no. She doubled down; she attacked; she ranted and raved and blamed women with (since deleted) tweets to the effect of ‘women shouldn’t complain about what I said; women just need to get better; my experience is more valid than yours; I worked TEN WHOLE YEARS and nobody gave anything to me; everyone is just jealous; if it doesn’t fit you, don’t be offended...’

There is SO MUCH to unpack there, and I may be all over the place cause I’m pissed I have to sit down and blog about this shit AGAIN. I just got finished producing the 3rd Annual Laugh Riot Grrrl Festival, which features over 100 female comedians each year in a week’s worth of shows and activities. I was feeling pretty good about the state of women in comedy (rare for me) and thinking we just smashed the Patriarchy, even if it were just a little. And then, I turn on my computer to see yet another dick dissing women in comedy, setting us back instead of propelling us forward- and this time that dick was a fellow female comic. I am angry, yes, but mostly I am disappointed. But, Iliza said this is her experience and we have to take that as gold. Well, here is my experience...

I started doing comedy in college at 19 years old in 1988 (a little longer than TEN WHOLE YEARS). As a elder in the comedy community (I am 49, been doing comedy for 29 years, teaching comedy for 13 years, wrote a critically acclaimed book about comedy, own a comedy school, was on the road for years on the East Coast and moved to LA 20 years ago, etc), I feel like it is my OBLIGATION not only to create as many opportunities for women in comedy as possible (in addition to my women’s comedy fest, I produce women-only open mics, feminist comedy shows, etc), but to elevate other women as often as I can ESPECIALLY IN PUBLIC INTERVIEWS. No, I am not rich or famous. Probably never will be. But, I have made my entire living off comedy most of my adult life and my experience matters, too.

Saying women shouldn’t be offended by her lazy answer in an interview if it doesn’t apply to them is like Trump saying Mexicans are rapists and black people are criminals but don’t be offended if you aren’t those things. Nice try. And women just need to get better?? Seriously? Do you know how tired you sound? How many racists have said, in response to being confronted on lack of diversity in their school, business, organization, ‘black people just need to earn it like the rest of us.’ Yeah, cause Obama was the first black man to ever be qualified to be President? Not even close.

Iliza, your experiences are a lot more limited than you realize. Ten years is nothing in comedy and you know that. It is a well-known adage in comedy that it takes 10 years just to find your voice. Getting to your level of success in 10 years thanks to Last Comic Standing (and yes, I and many female comics voted for you, and don’t regret it) is a fast track to the top, bypassing decades of work that other women have put in. Did you deserve that? Sure, why not? You deserve it as much as anyone. But, don’t pretend it didn’t come fast and relatively easy. Because of that, you haven’t worked in as many low level rooms as most of us, so your experience is limited mostly to comedy clubs. Comedy clubs rarely book women, even more rare to have two or more on a single show. All the years I was on the road, I was only in a comedy condo with another woman TWICE. The comedy clubs that do book women are not booking a representation of the best female comedy. Just like Justin Bieber being mega rich and famous is not a representation of the best in music.  A more accurate comment would have been, ‘I walk into the Improv and they only book a few women and all the same kinds of female comics. Comedy clubs need more diversity.’

Iliza was right when she said that the “landscape of what’s available out there for women is not as extensive as it could be.” Therein lies the problem. But, you don’t begin by basing the state of female comedy on the “handful” of women you see around. For one thing, I know women who have been unbooked from shows with Iliza because her ‘people’ told them she doesn’t like to have too many women on a show (if those emails are false, she should take that up with her people). Also, most headliners, Iliza included (in my experience) don’t stay in the room and watch all the other comics. I am guilty of that, too. It’s easy to roll up in the club right before your set and leave the room right after. I mean, what comedian wants to watch every other comedian? But, that limits your ability to accurately report on the state of comedy. Because I produce so many events for female comics (and have to be in the room), I see hundreds of women perform yearly in open mics, standup shows, festivals, sketch groups, etc. By producing events like my yearly Women in Comedy Roundtable, I get to/choose to listen to women A LOT. Those women are trying to speak now, and we need to listen and really hear them.

Let’s also talk about smart comedy, low hanging fruit and using our comedy powers for good or evil. I have mutiple degrees, am extremely well-read and follow politics very closely. I don’t think I’m unusual. Most comics make it a point to have informed opinions. Iliza boasted that she’s the only female comic with a WWII joke. Well, she’s not. And, even if she were, what the fuck does that matter? I talk about politics, rape culture, feminism, homelessness, as well as marriage, kids, my Trump-supporting  dad, and occasionally, will make a pussy reference if I goddamn feel like it. Men are never policed on their dirty joke subjects, on their ‘bad language’ so I will not be, either. All the hateful rape jokes men tell, and we are worried that a women said, ‘pussy,’ really?? And my pussy does not hang low, thank you very much.

Iilza, like every person you ever hear say women aren’t funny enough, is a victim of the Entertainment Industrial Complex. Art is not TV. If you see a limited number of women and those women all make similar jokes (all jokes that Iliza herself has made), you are not seeing a fair representation of women. You are seeing the ones that made it past the gatekeepers in one way or another. Perhaps they are funny, but perhaps they are also hot, don’t rock the boat, know their place or were in the right place at the right time and got lucky. I have always rocked the boat, never accepted their idea of my place and have never been hot. I do feel lucky because I make a living performing standup and writing jokes for other comics. And I can tell you that I am AMAZED by the state of female comedy. Absolutely flabbergasted at the depth and talent and wit of the incredible women I get to (because I make it a point to) work with weekly. Right after the festival, I was quoted as saying that the only way I was able to get through 14 shows in one week is because every women was not only hilarious, but SO DIFFERENT from each other. My husband, comedian Chris Oliver, said the same. We also book tons of men and, frankly, some of them run together in my mind. Sometimes I can’t remember who made which shitting my pants in traffic joke and which ones told which rape jokes. I mean, let’s face it, MOST COMEDY IS HORRIBLE. It is. It’s painful. But, a lot of those comics get better and wiser and more likeable. Some are given regular spots at the Comedy Store (by some, I mean men, of course) and have an opportunity to grow and reflect and change and improve.

Feminism is already “a thing,” and we are equal, no matter who acknowledges it. As feminists, we need to use our comedy powers for good, to help a sister out. Iliza mentioned hiring women on her show and as openers for her. That’s great. Honestly. It is. Does it make you Feminist of the Year? No. In that major public platform, Iliza was given a chance to be heard by more people than most comics, especially women, ever get. She did not widen the landscape for women, she relied on tired old easily-disproven stereotypes that will not elevate us a profession, but will serve to help keep us as second class citizens in comedy. That statement validated every person who thinks women aren’t funny enough. I mean a famous female comic said it, so it must be true.

There is nothing wrong with misspeaking. We all fuck up. But, after the shock and anger wears off, it’s time to take a real look at our own misconceptions and the role we play in the fight as a whole. And did anyone ever figure out what that “one point” about the vagina is?

[theswiftarmy]

#24 – Click, Click, Click… Flash, Flash, Flash…

Click, click, click…  Flash, flash, flash…  The red carpet whispers secrets from the present and the past…

Hollywood, like the music business, and the rest of the entertainment industry certainly has its share of stories to tell, but it also has many storytellers.  As Emma Watson mentioned in her British Vogue interview, if the story is indeed genuinely told from the perspective of who it’s told by and this writer would add perceived by that to whom it is told, then you may have many alternate endings to the same story.  Or, perhaps, you have many different stories entirely.  Emma Watson may have discovered the greatest tale in that we don’t know for certain if the person we think is the bad guy really is the bad guy.  How do we know which story is the real story?  How do you know who to believe?  Whose side is the side to be on?  Wouldn’t it depend on the version of the story you hear?  Or is it up to those told the story to decide.  But, here’s the thing, even if the story seems to come from one person, it may in fact be written by another person all together, after all, how many women recite lines of dialogue in Hollywood movie after Hollywood movie, lines that were actually written by men?  So, anyone watching a movie might think those are the genuine thoughts of that character, those words must be what she represents, or she genuinely thinks, or feels, and is the story to believe.  And one might argue, well, anyway, if she didn’t condone that dialogue why would that actress sign up for that part?  She could just turn it down after reading the script, right? But to have that kind of voice may just be a luxury many women in the industry don’t have, or perhaps, many women in the world don’t have, or maybe, there are just simply many people around the world in general who don’t have that voice, or choice.

And you say, well, maybe there are scripts written by women that have male characters in that same situation.  But, how many scripts were written by men and how many written by women?  Is it an even fifty percent?  I’m guessing it is not.  I’m guessing it is not close to being an even number in the least.  But what do I know… a humble industry outsider simply speculating based on the narrative of which I have been told, or, the story that I’ve pieced together.  I have to wonder though, how many lines in scripts were changed after the contract was signed and production started, and how many women decidedly wanted out of a role, but couldn’t for it would be a breach of contract, so they could not say or do anything about it, as they soon found that the contract made it impossible or at the very least exceedingly difficult to part ways.  Let’s not forget how much money was spent on filming already, and of course, if a career is on the line, well, just be a good girl and stick to the script that the men have written for you.  

I don’t know, maybe that’s never actually happened and I just have a really vivid imagination.  It makes me wonder, though, how much choice is there really?  How many women were locked into recording contracts they hated, but they had no choice?  If you continue with that thought and place the blame on the person making the choice, and you say “well anyone can make their own choices, so that’s their fault” then I give you the following to consider:  Take a Super Bowl game for example, the game itself seems quite rigged as to which roles women can even play.  I don’t see many women on the field for the duration of the entire game, do you?  I suppose there’s always the halftime show, which in itself seems quite limited to the roles women are expected to play even within that choice, there seems to be a certain expectation.  The choice already seems to be made for any woman trying to work in that specific scenario.  Where is the choice?  If by choice you mean, here are a few of the roles you may pick from: You may sing on stage, in a cute outfit, or you may dance around on the field, also in a cute outfit.  Really, just makes sure the outfit is cute.  Oh, and keep it short, the men have to get back on the field.  Just keep it cute and short.  If we filmed ‘Super Bowl The Movie’ one might see the following: Open casting call, roles for women limited, screenplay mostly written by men (oh, who are we kidding, it’s all written by men).  And they argue, well we certainly allow women, what about the half time show and the cheerleaders?!  Just keep the outfit cute and the performance short.  Sometimes choice just seems like a luxury certain individuals don’t have.

Depending on whom you ask, you may get a different story all together.  You may hear that the good girl is really the bad guy and you may start to believe it, even if it’s not true at all.  And maybe, just maybe, that story after it takes hold started with her simply being late to the red carpet.  And you think, “well, that seems quite innocent, how could that be such a big deal?”  Suddenly it becomes an excuse to prove that she’s not perfect, and she’s left behind trying to find a way back to where she was before, finding her own way back, because let’s be honest, if you’re anything but perfect, perhaps that means you shouldn’t get the job.  Maybe they should book someone else, give the music gig to another who won’t show up late, or cast another in that role instead.  Can’t have anyone showing up late!  Because what else does that say about your character?  

“She just shows up whenever she feels like it!  She did it that one time at the red carpet.  Who knows what other flaws she might have.”  Or, “Well, okay you can still have the part, we’re just going to have to pay you a little less because how can we be sure you won’t be anything but perfect, I mean, after all Miss, there was that one time when you showed up to the red carpet… late.  I heard the story from someone who heard the story from someone else, so it MUST be true!”

And you have to wonder, how many out there have that version of the story to tell?  And if you let those with a story to tell be allowed to tell that story, maybe you’ll find out there’s much more to the story if we would just listen.  But we don’t and instead she tells her story any way she can, she fights for a voice using words displayed on clothing, her weapon of choice, worn to the red carpet, or during a performance—an almost inaudible whisper to the world when she would rather yell, but what other option is there?  Sometimes having a voice is a luxury that some just don’t have.

Click, click, click…  Flash, flash, flash…  The red carpet whispers secrets from the present and the past…

Is she a good girl, or a bad guy?  No one can seem to tell the difference, but why?  Why indeed.  Perhaps because we have been programed to receive… Check out any time we like, but never leave, so we just stay checked out, and let our minds continue to receive what we’ve been told we’re supposed to perceive.

Click, click, click… That sound never really leaves you.  What the public usually doesn’t see is the massive chaos of paparazzi.  What the public also never sees are the red carpet nightmares, the time a celebrity woke up in the middle of the night hearing the shutter sound, the camera… Click, click, click.  

The paparazzi are a bit like obsesses mega fans that have very few, or, possibly no filters or controls.  They swarm.  Their cameras click and clack, even long after the photographs snap… that shutter sound never goes away.  For a celebrity, it becomes the worst sound, though they may not realize it’s happening until it’s too late.  At first it’s fun, the idea of someone taking an obscene amount of photos of you might feel intoxicating, all that attention, no apprehension, but after the first few drinks, after the buzz wears off, it changes, the click… click… click… a subtly almost silent alarm going off—that sound never goes away, but just gets louder and louder, each waking day.  Then come the flashes of light, at first such a delight, but those as well eventually take a toll.  You see them in your dreams, just one small flash here or there, until eventually, they’re everywhere…

What the public also never sees is that nakedness one feels on the red carpet…

Am I perfect?  Do I look okay?  Is my hair okay, how about my clothing, did I stand right?  Who will see this photo, and what will they say, will something go viral that isn’t perfect?  What if it’s an awful photo and it’s front-page news?

And then you think about it, over and over, “What IF something wasn’t right?” and that ends up out there in the world, shared to the masses.  You then think about the next time you have to walk the red carpet, and it becomes a hill to walk up instead of a flat surface—the incline gets steeper each time.  The days leading up to the event starts to take over your mind because it HAS to be perfect.  If it isn’t perfect there’s backlash, and it’s that backlash over that one tiny imperfection that everyone gossips about.  But you don’t want anyone gossiping, you don’t want to make a scene because that’s what they will talk about… Not how fantastic you looked, or your amazing performance, but that one mishap is like a trap you can’t escape.  

And isn’t that the plan all along?  It’s what the whales want.  The way the Hollywood Whales see it, you are your own best guard, and you don’t need someone to keep you in step, because you’ll keep yourself in step.  What better way to control someone than to have them control themselves with the constant threat of the their own career being pulled out from under them, the red carpet, in an instant, can be pulled out from under their own feet.  Just keep the paparazzi on them and they will always strive to be perfect since one bad photo can make people talk.  And maybe that’s how Taylor and other celebrities got so good at going out into the public incognito, it’s not because they love to dress up, it’s because they have to.  Because the Hollywood Whales are always there with their paparazzi to capture one wrong step, anything to use to control her, because when you have something someone else wants, you can make them do things you want.  Pictures are worth more than a thousand words depending on the picture.  But without even having that picture, just the constant possibility of any picture can change someone’s behavior.  The Whales know this, and they use it to maintain control.  But, pictures aside, The Whales have many other tricks up their sleeves.  For them it all comes down to owning what their adversary wants or needs.

So, you smile for the cameras, and listen to the whispers, it’s those whispers that you wake up from in the middle of the night.  The whispers where you wished you could have had that fight right then and there on the carpet, to just say what you really wish to say, how you think and feel, but the paparazzi is right there to capture it all and there’s nothing you can do but listen, and try your best to ignore the sound, the click of the shutters, the whispers and mutters, all around you, and you stare at the flashes of light and delay that fight.  And maybe it feels so real, you’re so sure the whispers are so close that one of them touched you on your back, or neck, but you’re not sure, and you can’t turn around to check, you can’t look away from the camera, you can’t tell your story because your story is just another of the red carpet’s tales for those Hollywood Whales to twist and turn and spin in their own way, and anyway who’s going to believe you over them, so the present quickly becomes another whale tale locked in the past…  Click, click, click… Flash, flash, flash…

#SheFightsForHerVoice

[theliterateape]

(micro) Chips On The Shoulders of the Collective and The Increasing Problem of the Moral High Ground

by Don Hall

I’m on the Blue Line, heading downtown to get to Millennium Park. I’m tired — it’s been a long week so far — so I’m standing amongst the other commuters, my shades still on, staring blankly toward the floor. I’m not really focusing on anything at all and I’m sort of just drifting into my brain when I hear:

“They’re legs.”

Not assuming it is directed at me, I stay focused on nothing in particular.

“Hey! They’re legs! Surely you’ve seen legs before! Stop staring at me, you creep!”

I look up and she is directing it at me.

Maybe 25 years old, wearing a skirt, and she has come to the conclusion that I was giving her the once over or the long stare at her uncovered gams. I’m caught slightly off guard (and I’m fucking tired) so I mumble, “…No. Sorry. Uhm, I wasn’t…”

“Do you know what it’s like to be a woman on the train? Do you even care?”

She goes into a tirade about being harassed every day by assholes like me. For 20 minutes she drones on and on about her level of discomfort and the toxic masculinity she has to endure. Because I’ve decided to just stay quiet — I could never even come close to explaining that I wasn’t even aware of her until she started barking at me let alone convince her otherwise — she gets angrier. I turn away. 

“I’m talking to you! Don’t turn away from me!”

I turn back around to face her. “Don’t LOOK at me!” she yells. She’s now yelling. 

According to her, this is yet one more brick in her #MeToo shithouse. She calls me a stalker. She calls me predatory.

The people in the closest range are all looking into their phones as if the fucking secret recipe to Popeye’s Chicken lies within and then it’s my stop. I walk past her without saying a word and head to the street.

I get it. We’re in what we call a “corrective phase” in society. The pendulum has been stuck in the Male Gaze is Normal and Women are Fodder for the Dick for so goddamned long that we are pushing things hard to the other side. While tired and kind of checked out on the ‘L’ I’m not dense. I’m also not one of those unicorns out there who miraculously changes his behavior because I was barked at about it on a train.

On that note, I’d love for anyone reading this who is one of those unicorns to chime in and tell me how and why because I legitimately don’t know how that works for someone.

From a recent Faceborg thread:

“Republicans are going to mop the floor with us if this keeps up... valuing anger-release over effectiveness & impact is toxic.”

“Right, right, it will be our fault. Your somewhat lazily-constructed, blanket statement encouraging us all to be quiet yet somehow effective little mice, betrays your desire to cower in the corner when they finally come to knock at *your* door looking to take your last crumble of cheese.”

“Anger is like fire - we can use it to burn ourselves, or we can use it to build. Stuff like this puts it in the wrong place & doesn’t work, so it’s a question of valuing real impact vs. cathartic screeching. I prefer effectiveness.There’s a huge space between hysteria & silence.”

“Couldn't agree less with you, sir. Unfortunately I don't have the time this afternoon to give you the history lesson you seem to so dearly need. The answer is to be loud about EVERYTHING. Until he is gone, and his swine fucking base sobers up. 

Yes, be effective, but as soon as Tyranny reveals itself, there is no more discussion. Only resistance, and only at the top of your lungs. Trump has an end goal; your quiet efforts of compromise and bargaining are not only pointless, they serve him, as they divide us. There is no passive resistance to Tyranny.”

“Do what feels good or do what works - your call. And I’m happy to hear what you have to say at pretty much any time, as long as it’s well-reasoned. Even if I disagree with ideas, they can still be valuable, so feel free to write yours down at some point - I’d be curious.”

“Also, if you keep talking out your ass, I am going to embarrass you here, because people like you, that clearly don't know what the fuck they are talking about, yet act like they do, really, really get on my bad side. You clearly know nothing, or refuse to understand, the mechanics of Fascism and Tyranny. Your uneducated opinion on what our course of action should be, offered in vague platitudes I might add, are what will get us all killed.”

“hahaha ok, will do. As long as it’s not all nazi hitler nazi, it’s cool. Some hitler, ok, but maybe a Mao, Stalin, Pol Pot, or something else thrown in there.”

“You're a monster, sir. Also, my apologies ahead of time, for what I may or may not say further on down this rabbit hole of a thread.”

The whole thread (rabbit hole, indeed) was like this. It reminded me of when liberals go to Ben Shapiro or Dave Rubin lectures to ask him a question as a "gotcha" and look stupid for trying because, of course, stridency in the face of calm looks stupid.

Yes, she has a valid point that is worthy of a genuine conversation but she looks like a complete asshole in her angry attempt to school him. What I'm wondering is why? Why confront him at all? It isn't like her refusal to stop talking at him is going to change his mind. It isn't as if the women chanting is going to shut him up. What's the goal? What's the strategy?

The simple answer is that there isn't a strategy. It's moral posturing and wasted energy. It's an attempt to confront someone on the opposite ideological side of the questions and goad them into admitting some sort of hypocrisy. It's people barking "you lie" at President Obama in hopes that the moment will become a rally cry. It's someone throwing a shoe at George W. Bush. It's theater without a goal. It's a photo op in a YouTube world.

I remember the eighties. I mean, that decade was my Coming of Age time so I hope I still remember them.

One aspect of the eighties and specific to Wichita, KS, was Operation Rescue. As far as I can surmise, it is an extremely rare thing for a mentally stable human to wake up and shout out “Abortion is AWESOME!” The best we can do is to say abortion is a sometimes necessary thing and should be a right for women to utilize but, even then, I can’t imagine anyone adding it to their Disneyland trip as a lark. “Honey! Let’s go to Space Mountain and then go get that abortion — if we time it right, we’ll catch the fireworks!”

The thing is, Operation Rescue (with the help of the Ultimate Warrior in creating Moral Distinctions, the Church) decided that abortion was murder in the eighties in Wichita, KS.  And they protested. And when that didn’t do the trick, they stood outside of clinics and screamed at people. And failing to effect the kind of change they sought, some took to shooting and blowing up doctors.

Can you blame them? Once you’ve assigned a legal activity as a morally reprehensible crime you don’t have a lot of wiggle room in terms of context. If you saw a government gunning down second graders like they were taking out the trash, you might protest, then scream, then get some guns and TNT.

From their ideological zealotry, that’s what they saw.

As we’ve seen, you really can’t reason or compromise with a zealot convinced they are on the moral high ground. It’s almost impossible.

From a note to a professor friend of mine:

“I felt the words you used to address me was infantilizing and I want to express my discomfort of you labeling me a “young lady” thus shaming me in front of my classmates.”

What fresh hell…?

How does someone navigate this? In order to avoid any sort of offense, the ability to read minds is required. I'm of a type of white, heterosexual male who is not looking to run around and offend random strangers in normal discourse. Yes, I believe that offense is subjective and I've spent time creating art designed to shake that tree a bit. That said, I'm not the kind of person who engages in shock value tactics (anymore) or shaming individuals because I believe shame to be a pernicious societal tool that mostly suppresses the bad shit rather than providing a pathway to change.

Catcalling guys are idiots. Stalkers and sexual predators are criminals. The 50-something professor who refers to a 20-something woman in his class as "young lady" isn't either. Infantilization is the process of assuming people are too fragile and inexperienced to handle anything but the least of what society has to offer. So, who, in this case is infantilizing her?

It is a failure of strategy.

#MeToo, that vast and disembodied and ongoing protest march, has been subject to similar dynamics: the big tent, flinging its flaps ever wider; the entropic impulse as both a matter of promise and a matter of peril. Does being about everything, though, mean that the movement runs the risk of being about nothing? Has #MeToo, reconfigured as a broad attempt to rectify a broad host of wrongs, lost the plot? Has it dilated to its detriment?

Tarana Burke says, emphatically, yes. At the Aspen Ideas Festival, co-hosted by the Aspen Institute and The Atlantic, Burke pointed back to Milano’s October tweet—which was not, Burke noted, about pay equity, or representation in the workplace, or power dynamics in a misogynistic culture … but about sexual violence, full stop. “Part of the challenge that we have right now,” Burke said, “is everybody trying to couch everything under #MeToo.”

SOURCE

It's as if, anytime there is a large gathering of eyeballs or people in the name of any progressive cause, everyone must have some equal time and must try to shift the focus to them. It is both narcissism and desperation to be heard. #MeToo was about victims of sexual violence until it became about Hollywood actors until it became about black women in Hollywood until it became about equal pay until it became about being offended at a teacher referring to someone as "young lady."

Moral high ground and the assignation of labels like “monster,” “human garbage,” and, with the court of public opinion’s scorched earth approach, “racist,” “Nazi,” and “misogynist,” it all starts to feel strangely like religious fervor and more in tune with Operation Rescue than Civil Rights protestors. A witch hunt, at it's core, was about scaring the shit out of anyone who decided to live a different way from the norm and was ultimately about establishing an agreed upon morality. The Puritans believed that by singling out and "trying" women who didn't fit their moral narrative (and the trial killed the innocent ones) the rest of the flock would fall in line.

The McCarthy Anti-Communist hearings were the same. Any affiliation and any lack of sincere and enthusiastic repudiation was met by wholesale destruction. And protests without strategy don't effect these sorts of cyclical trends.

Conservative witch hunts are well documented against drug users, women, gays, transgender persons, blacks, pretty much anyone not in the white male club. These witch hunts are almost always marked by the moral righteous inherent in the hunt and the moral depravity of those being hunted. As they try to weed out (and scare the shit out of) their targets, others with less patience and less to lose take up the cause and, like the extremes of Operation Rescue, turn to violence.

The protests of old that were most effective (or effective at all, arguably) were non-violent and strategic. In a time when we equate hateful words as real violence, we’ve painted ourselves into a corner in that there is no longer the possibility of non-violent protest. If calling our opponents names is violence, society is as blocked a a colon filled with cheddar cheese.

When everyone is scrambling to claim the moral high ground, there is none left to claim because morality, in order to exist, has to be founded on common understandings of behavior. We don't have that anymore.

“There is no passive resistance to Tyranny.”

So many assumptions made in seven words. That avoiding a moral argument, reasoning with those on the sidelines of the process and resisting by example rather than reaction is passive. That a legally elected asshole who has a very different worldview than you is a tyrant. That his actions will inevitably lead to Nazism. That tyranny only comes in one form. That by labeling something tyrannical makes it so and the need to demonstrate the aspects of tyranny is erased by the charge.

It makes sense, though. In the most Operation Rescue sense, if you have decided that Trump is Hitler and distrust the rest of the country so completely to not see it, of course it makes perfect sense. I mean, if you throw them in the well and they float, they’re guilty, right?

Ask a strident anti-abortion activist to defend their position. If you don’t immediately agree that it is murder, the sparks of obstinence fly, the labels of “evil” and “monster” are thrown out and the barking becomes indecipherable. 

“Let's be clear: "Innocent until proven guilty" is for a court of law to decide, if that's where this story eventually goes. The court of public opinion operates under no such constraints, and in the post-Harvey Weinstein days of 2018 we believe the accuser.”

https://mashable.com/2018/06/16/chris-hardwick-nerd-culture-conversation/#PWbjglPnJmqq

Seriously?

The internet is an extraordinary tool. It has provided us with almost limitless communicating possibilities. I can see what friends thousands of miles away are up to and call my mother face to face. We can promote our ideas to more humans in one message than at any time in history. Can you imagine what havoc would have wreaked if Faceborg had been around in the eighties in Wichita, KS? Holy fuck!

I believe we need both the Malcoms and The Martins, the Magnetos and the Professor Xs. It’s just that right now, this magnificent technology has given the truly hysterical and morally righteous a louder megaphone than ever in history. It’s difficult to hear anything else when 10% of the population is screaming their own version of bloody murder and condemnation and it's 5% of morally outraged Trump Supporters vs 5% of morally outraged Identity Politicians leaving the rest of us to run, covering our ears.

The democracy is in rough shape but it is far from over, broken, or destroyed by a single president. Our flailing about is due to the fact that those who do not believe the way we do control all three arms of the federal government and protests aren't doing anything to stop it. Like Operation Rescue, we are doubling down on escalation and it will not go well for us.

Speaking again of Operation Rescue, once it became apparent to them that their protests were wholly ineffective, they changed their strategy. They started running anti-abortion candidates for local office, then state office, then Congress. And, what do you know? Not only have many states placed unconstitutional barriers to abortion over the past ten years but it looks like they're going to get Roe v. Wade overturned.

I’m on the Blue line. Headed to the park. I’m wide awake and in a great mood. I see across from me a genuinely beautiful woman. I take a look — not a stare but a healthy look. She sees me looking and she smiles.

#Operation Rescue #moral high ground for all #Dave Rubin

[wack-ashimself]

Changing the world requires a little bit of everything...

you can say change it from the inside, all you want, but when NOTHING has improved in my lifetime, either a-you are WRONG or b-if you are still right, then you are saying NONE of the politicians we have had so far could/wanted to change it from within (since it does suck so bad). So which one is it? 'Well, there's not ENOUGH good politicians.' Then...it can't be improved from the inside, since it's a rigged system. You just basically said that....

you can say change it from inside (yourself), to fix the world, but then you are saying a-no one has successfully fully changed themselves to an important level (again, since it does suck so bad) or b-that if everyone sat there and sincerely, earnestly, thought deeply, that NO ONE would still come out some kind of selfish asshole? Ha. That is a joke. You can laugh too.

It's not ONE THING that will change the world. It's not ONE THING that will cause the revolution. It's not ONE THING that will spark the flame in our hearts.

It's ALL of us. It's ALL of our actions. It's ALL of our duties. (haha. I said 'duties'.)

How about this? Let's admit some truths, in which we are INCORRECT in our beliefs, currently (not all of us, but enough of us)...

-'cops protect everyone'.

 Nope. Mostly the rich, and the status quo. The FIRST time I realized this (before many of these cops killing) there was a meme: 'When you see cops' lights in your rear view mirror, do you usually feel better or worse?' (or something like that) And I've never been able to answer better...I recently watched a cop speed, pull in, just to set a speed trap for oncoming traffic...2-3 days ago. Ugh. I HAVE called the cops. Almost every time-Midland Street. Every time-a drunk fight NO ONE was trying to break up. That's it. I didn't know the people, but I have seen enough fights to where someone was near the brink of really getting hurt (because this is over a cement/bricked area, and they were barely able to stand) because they wouldn't stop. I don't regret calling the cops. I regret that is the only scenario where I thought they could help. Other...2 times were accidents I was in where I thought the other may had been hurt. I ain't chancing someone dying because of a ticket. Which I never got either time. First time-bad brakes (drove from MI to CA with NO brakes, so when I got there....) Second time-she ran a light. Side story-it happened in the heart of Hollywood, and I was scared she was hurt, so I ran up, pounding on the door, you alright?! She was in shock, unharmed, but I didn't know it at first. Security came out, was about to detain me because they thought I was angry and about to attack her over the accident since 'it happens all the time at that intersection.' Their own words. That really made me sad-thought the worst of me because they are used to seeing the worst... Anyways, she was fine, I got my car totally covered. It was ok. Cops were nice, because we were all white. haha. But seriously-I have personally seen LA cops be mean to non whites with no real just cause, multiple times. Always nice as fuck to me. I swear, only time in my life I FELT white privilege.

Man, did that go off topic...

Some more truth we need to admit:

-the rich do not have the best intentions of anyone but themselves. Making them rich, giving them incentives, etc, gives them more control over us and the market. The rich are the true enemies of the world.

 I keep this vague because names, faces, titles, businesses, etc can always change. What never changes is their source of power-money. Whatever means it goes by in that day (gold coin, rubies, paper bills, digital FAKE numbers), those who control it are always the enemy. I say always the enemy because, logically, if they were good, control would be for all, not just some, not just a lot, but ALL, worldwide. The rich, nowhere, want that, so therefore, the rich, everywhere, are the enemy.

-Killing anyone, for any reason, will only make the world worse. Because it shows killers get killed which, DUH, makes more killers (those who killed the killers).

And that MENTALITY goes out there, and produces harmful actions by tainted minds. True punishment <no> justice, is letting those corrupted seeing the world improve with them cut entirely out of it. See how they only held us back. And if possible, teach them lessons. Don't just give negative reinforcement, but positive. How come we never try positive in prisons? We never try to reform, only punish. Want to see how it is done? Watch 'Where to Invade Next.' It shows the world's most effective prisons....

-My body, my rules, every time. Drugs, suicide, tats, vaccines or no vaccines, etc. Even if pregnant-her body, her rules.

 Now after...what, 42 weeks (brain waves), if she didn't have an abortion, then it can be debated. I sincerely can't say the moral implications of that one...but TILL then, her body, her rules. After that, abuse, maybe? I dunno.

-no taxation without representation, voluntary.

Simply put-you should see EXACTLY where every single penny of your taxes go. And if you want, you may opt out of some or all taxes. We'd have to find some agreement that after like 2-4 generations tho, they'd have to pay a fee to use public paid for things. For those who pay taxes, no dumb yearly fees (license, tags, etc). But eventually, the world's resources will balance out so well with tech that, even all that monetary worry will be a thing of the past.

-only laws pertaining to the welfare of all human kind or an individual shall matter or be reinforced.

Aka, no hurting/hording the planet, no hurting each other, no mental abuse. But, no benefits to businesses or organizations. Not to take away from their chances, rather, we will aim to endorse all ideas. You wanna paint? We'll find a way to get you a way to paint. But, you wanna rob a couple of their art? Ticket or jail. You wanna speed? Speed as much as you want. BUT, you endanger or harm someone-ticket, mofo. You wanna pee on the side of a building, fine! You wanna pee next to a 5 yr old during a parade, drunk, twirling your dick-ticket. See the difference? And like Canada, we could always do positive tickets-you did something good, here's some fucking money.

But four of the biggest lies we have to overcome are:

-that we have to work.

We have to work...together. We have to work to build a better world. Like, the actual physical and mental efforts that will be required to set up this...better world we have before us is insane! It will WRECK US! I do NOT deny that. But it will be worth it. Our work will have MEANING. We will create a world where everyone has the basics to survive. To travel. To get online. Tech and AI will replace....80% of the jobs in the next generation and 1/2. That's not pulled from my ass-those are real professional estimates. And it's cheaper, so why not ? Therefore, we need to aim to go with this new curve, play into it, and adjust ALL of society accordingly. It's not like this is something where I get magically rich. It's where we all magically win. There's like, no losers, except for those who were wrecking it before.

-that anarchy and the free market will be the best option.

No. It will lead to new, smaller, more powerful, kingdoms. That's it. Humans are social creatures, and if we are told the world as we know it is gone, we will HORDE any and all resources. Making new dictators. Then new slaves. Then new armies...and we start ALL OVER AGAIN. Because free market and anarchy are almost always embraced by 1 type of people: those who are already prepared and could easily survive in that world. Not the single mom, working 2 jobs, in Flint. Nope. She hasn't got time to think hardly at all, but it's cool to doom her? Because you know it would.

-that we NEED government or DO NOT NEED government.

Because at the heart of both of them are lies. 'Government' is just a group of people in power. Now, the questions of HOW they got to power, HOW much power, and HOW long they have power are the more important than anything to find its' validity. Because no government federally, state, city...you'll still make your own government. In your surrounding areas....neighborhoods....even house. People need guidance, from each other. To survive (with no main government). So 'government' will always exist on some level. What exactly it does, and how much it benefits us is what we need to ponder if to keep it, or replace it. I say replace it. If we seem to find good ideas in the old, we can bring them back eventually. Remember-every single human that ever existed was FLAWED in some way, humans wrote the Constitution, therefore, even in a small part, the Constitution is flawed....And whatever new world we create will be flawed in its' own way. That's why it needs to be always flexible with what the world needs, not stagnate like most systems have been for centuries. Make the system always answer directly to the people so they literally only have themselves to praise or blame.

-that there's one way to live life.

Nope. Kids, no kids. Career, wanderer. Lover, critic. As long as you don't live your life trying to make other's lives worse, there's no wrong way to live life. Period.

-that I'm 100% right on any of this.

I believe I am. But who the fuck knows?

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