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heyidkyay · 3 months

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And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Twelve

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: This part took way too long to write. Had a bit of writers block ngl, but I managed to get it done last night when I couldn't sleep. Be prepared for a load of fluff but also some surprises. It's a good chapter, I enjoyed writing it once I finally got into it! But I'm also sorry for long wait! Hopefully the next will be along soon.

> Just a reminder! We left off on the red carpet with Mouse and Matty:) You can look back here if you'd like!

Masterlist

Mouse Updates! @/MOAMupdates 22m ago GFC Charity Event! The gals are currently live and interviewing The 1975! So far we’ve had Jamie Bell, Peter Capaldi, Dylan and Jordan Banjo! 2TIME @/user1 WHAT was that? 102 @/user2 chemistrychemistrychemistry Ugh! @/user3 SHE COOKED FOR HIM?? Soloveme? @/user4 What’s going on at this event?? It’s all over my feed😭 MILK @/user5 Screaming this is honestly all so mental Parisin75 @/user6 Wait so they’re friends now? Or is something else happening?? > Too_shy @/user7 Last time I checked but he seemed so happy on the carpet, and he wouldn’t look into the lens at all. His eyes were always focused just above it, either on Adi or Mouse! >> Drumonmepls @/user8 Couldn’t have been Adi!! She was to the left of Ross on and off screen!

***

It was days after the event that things seemed to finally settle again. For Matty, at least. Me? I was still getting the odd DM and tweet here and there, but I couldn’t complain, not with how it had been at the very start. Hordes upon hordes of people had come to make their opinions known on the stance of Matty and I’s ‘sudden’ friendship; fans had taken to both Twitter and Instagram, they’d called into the show, and a few had even turned up outside of the studio.

Matty had been helpful throughout it all though, mainly just finding ways to take my mind off of it and sending security down to the building just to ‘be on the safe side’. It’d been a nice gesture, sweet even. But had also meant that his management team had cracked down on him and the band, cooping the lot of them up in a recording studio and pressing them to finish up the album they were currently working on.

That in itself hadn’t affected me much, the whole Matty being distracted by work thing, because it had happened around about the same time that prep work for the Christmas period had kicked in. Which was basically a time where Adi and I focused on pre recording a few shows so that we could sail smoothly into the new year.

This year it had been hectic, to say the very least, but Finn had been a Godsend. Offering to pick up Teddy from nursery on the days when we were filming late and even keeping him occupied on the one weekend that we’d lost the previous day's audio- which had been a fucking nightmare.

Today though, was finally a day where I got some time to myself. Well, myself and Teddy, seeing as I’d completely and utterly missed him even with only having been gone a few extra hours in the day than usual. Still, the kid was my little ball of light and without him I’d be utterly lost.

“Alright there, Teds, what’re you drawing?”

It was a Sunday, the 17th to be precise, and so we only had a week and a bit left in the lead up to Christmas. I’d spent the morning wrapping most of Teddy’s presents before he’d woken and demanded sustenance- which, fair enough. But he was always a little moody whenever he first woke up. Bit like me, I suppose. And so, whilst I’d started cooking him his breakfast, I’d settled him down at the table with some paper and pens to keep him distracted, an old album by The Cranberries playing.

“Plane.” The toddler retorted easily enough, tongue poking out one side of his mouth in utmost concentration.

Grinning at the small action, I settled a cup of juice before him and then stroked a hand through his unruly hair. “Is that for mémé then?”

Teddy hummed, nodding his head at the odd angle it was resting at. I chuckled, always enamoured by his every little thing.

“That’s brilliant, bubs! I’m sure she’ll love it.” I assured him softly, trailing my fingers through his hair one last time before withdrawing to finish up with cooking.

“How many days?” Teddy asked once I’d plated everything up and taken my seat beside him at the table, immediately I knew what he was on about- seeing as he’d only asked the same question a dozen times a day since the last time we’d phoned my mum.

I pretended to think about it long and hard. “Um… about this many days.” I said, holding up six fingers.

Teddy’s brow instantly furrowed as he set about leaning as close as he could get over the tabletop to point towards each of my fingers. “One, two, three…”

“Six!”

I beamed once he’d finally got it, clapping along with him. “So good, you clever boy! Six- six days til mémé gets here!”

Teddy repeated the words in a breathy murmur, grinning gummily back at me as he wiggled in his chair. Then it was just “six” over and over again for a short while.

I tittered faintly to myself, shaking my head before we went about the rest of our breakfast in much the same manner.

It was almost ten to eleven when the doorbell went and I frowned at the thought of who it could possibly be.

“Mum, door.” Teddy informed me, still so invested in his colouring. I hummed softly in turn, wiping my hands before getting up to go answer it.

“Remember to put the lids back on.” I reminded him about the pens, tucking his hair behind his ear as I rounded his seat, “I’ll just be a sec, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

I smiled softly at his monosyllabic reply, listening to him mumble to himself as I padded my way into the hallway. From here I could just make out the darkened shadow standing on the other side of the door’s paned glass and flicked through a mental list of who it could possibly be, wondering if I'd forgotten anything that was supposed to be happening today. But I reckoned it could just as easily have been Finn dropping by for an impromptu visit, or Adi even.

Flicking the latch and pressing down on the handle, I opened it up only to blink at the figure that stood before me. They gifted me an impish grin as they pushed away from the door’s stoop and onto steady feet.

“Figured I’d just pop by, say hello.” Matty mentioned by way of hello, fiddling with an unlit cigarette he held between his fingers whilst I continued to stare back in surprise, “Studio’s been booked for the day, so I managed an easy escape.” He added when I made no move to reply, “Thought we could grab a coffee or something- if you ain't busy, that is.”

He tacked that last bit on in a rush, as though he was beginning to understand why I was so silent. He’d really, really caught me off guard here.

“Er, I mean it’s a bit out of the blue and that. Should've really texted, I know. But I figured I'd try my luck.” He blundered again, shifting awkwardly on my front step now, looking enough out of place for it to finally blink me out of my stupor.

“I-” I went to say but was ultimately interrupted by another voice from further inside the flat, one that was approaching on toddling feet all too fast for me to react to its sudden presence.

Matty’s eyes bulged a tad at the little face that poked its way out from behind my knees, and mine followed when it finally hit me what was actually happening.

“God, sorry! You just- it’s- I just wasn’t expecting you.” I fumbled, arms reaching down on impulse to pick up the toddler by my feet. I forced out a heavy breath before plastering on a big smile for Teddy, who only seemed to have eyes for the curly haired man staring back at him. “Um, you wanting to come in then? I can do tea, I think. Coffee, even.”

I didn’t really give Matty much of a choice in the matter though, in truth, because I was sailing away to escape the sudden scenario that had started on my doorstep, simply so that I could wrap my head around it all. It was just as I made it back into the kitchen that I heard the door rattle close behind us though and then, as I'd perched Teddy back in his seat, I glanced up to find that Matty had in fact accepted the offer of a warm brew.

It was strange to watch it all fall into place for him, his eyes straying over toys that littered the livingroom floor, the tiny bike which sat in the corner, the star-chart that hung on the cupboard above the fridge, all of Teddy’s artwork and clothes that had been thrown about haphazardly over the last day or two.

I swallowed around my anxiety then, not really sure how I felt now that I knew that Matty finally knew. Because see, I had never really been sure. Teddy wasn’t much of a well kept secret amongst my longtime listeners but I didn’t go flaunting pictures around or mentioning him at every turn. For safety reasons and privacy’s sake. So I hadn't been too certain on whether Matty knew of him or not, having noticed that he’d failed to ever mention him in our texts or calls.

“Um, sorry for the mess. Work’s been a nightmare, and this is my first proper day off in weeks, you know? So." I shrugged a little helplessly, looking out at all of the chaos, then decided to pull on my big girl trousers and trek through this mess like I did everything else in life. “Tea, then? Or coffee?”

The small cough that escaped Matty’s throat echoed around the room once he’d found purchase in the kitchen’s entryway and his voice was tinged with a slight rasp when he finally spoke, “Yeah, uh yeah, please. Coffee.”

I smiled mostly to myself as I turned away to refill the kettle, my mind still whirling but finding relief in Matty’s obvious shock too. Whilst it began to boil though I had nothing much to occupy my mind with, so I decided to putter back on over to the table where Teds had started back up with his drawing and attempted to relax my shoulders.

“Go on, sit down,” I said to Matty, pointing to a chair as I tried to steer us back into easier waters, “Feel lucky you just missed breakfast, this one tends to get it everywhere.” I chuckled lightly in hopes to fill the quiet I was met with.

Teddy glanced up at me then with a prominent pout, obviously not too pleased about my comment. “No.” He argued and I heard Matty snort as he finally took a seat opposite, leaving Teddy to act as the buffer between us both.

“Uh, yes.” I fired back at the toddler, but little good it did me when Teddy only seemed to maintain his avid disagreement.

“Uhuh. I eat it all today.” He reminded me, lips pushed out as his brows climbed higher up his forehead, leaning against the table’s edge again on his elbows. “See?” He added on, pointing a finger over towards where a sink full of soapy dishes now laid.

I smiled, unable to do anything but, though it was Matty who actually replied to him, which both surprised me and put me on immediate edge. “I mean, the little guys got a point. If you ate it all then there can’t be any mess, right?” He directed that last bit towards the little rugrat attempting to evade all guilt and I paused in wait to see how Teddy would respond.

Teddy appeared wary for a moment, blinking over at Matty in a startle, probably having not expected to be roped into a conversation, before his lips settled into something more like a grin. “Right!” He mimicked with a short nod of his head, his ‘r’ sounding more like a ‘w’.

Matty all but beamed at the sudden attention he’d drawn and continued to do so once Teddy started prattling away to him at a hundred miles an hour. I just left them to it, listening in as I padded back over to finish making the drinks.

It was only after Matty had just about knocked back most of his coffee that Teddy grew tired of talking and asked if we could do something fun, eyes drifting over towards where we often kept his wellies. I knew just what fun he was looking to find.

I conceded easily enough, seeing as it was both his day as well as mine, and smiled with a gesture of my chin, “Go on then, but brush your teeth and find some proper clothes, then we can head on over. Alright?”

Teddy’s head shook up and down in rapid succession, already bolting up out of his seat to make a run for his bedroom. Matty wore an inquisitive look once it was just him and I, both of us sat on opposite sides of the table.

“The park.” I informed the singer, fiddling with the handle of my now empty mug whilst my eyes kept sliding back and forth from the counter to Matty himself.

The man simply hummed and leaned back in his seat, I was forced to watch on as he cast his eyes about the rest of my kitchen, taking his fill now that he had a moment to finally do so. I swallowed and struggled with the unforeseen worries of what he might see, what he might think of it all.

I wasn't well off, by any means. But I had a decent income, enough to provide for Teddy and I, as well as live comfortably. Though if the radio show suddenly dipped and we lost most of our viewing, then there’d be a whole different story to be told.

Even so, it was a much different life to the one Matty lived. That much I knew. So it wasn't too strange of me to wonder whether or not it met any of his standards. And how it alone made me feel.

“How old then?”

The question startled me somewhat, enough that I blinked and looked up at him without thought. My brows furrowed a tad and so he continued, “Teddy- was that it?” And at my nod of confirmation, he smiled at me for another answer, “How old is he?”

Caught off guard still, I gaped for a second and then forced myself to reply, “Um, four, he’ll be five soon enough.”

“Wow.” Was what Matty replied with in a soft murmur, his head moving in an ever so slight nod, “A good age though.” At my questioning look, he chuckled, “Or so I’ve been told.”

I hummed, mostly amused, then fiddled with one of the many pens Teddy had left behind at the table.

“They’ve all been good so far- the ages.” I said to him, rather stupidly, and grimaced around a low laugh at myself, “Just, I mean he’s a good kid, is all.”

Matty was smiling at me when I glanced back up, his eyes squinting with the strength of it. He knocked his fist on the table lightly, “Seems it. Just wish you’dve mentioned him sooner.”

I frowned at that, lips pursing as my nose wrinkled. I didn’t much like the way he’d phrased that last bit, because it’s not that I wasn’t proud of Teddy, I was always showing him off, constantly even. But I also didn’t feel as though everyone had the right to see to that. “Yeah, well he’s not a secret I’ve kept hidden. It’s just safer mostly.”

It was Matty’s turn to frown then, seemingly offended by the offhand remark. “What and that includes me, does it? You think that I’d be a danger to him?”

I stared back at him, brow dipped a tad, eyes squinted. Because I hadn’t meant to hurt him, far from, though could he really blame me for being cautious, for having wanted to keep Teddy away for as long as I had?

“No,” I answered him, and it was an honest one, “But only now, after having known you as long as I have. I mean, you can’t really be surprised by the fact that I didn’t mention him in the beginning, Matty. I hardly knew you! I’d only ever had the picture that’d been painted of you in my head, I didn’t want that around him.”

He scoffed quietly at that and I heard the way his boot kicked out under the table as he shuffled further back in his chair to run a hand through his hair. “Yeah and what about now then?”

He had me there, I supposed. I sighed and raised a hand to rub at my tired eyes, this wasn't a conversation I had planned for yet, let alone on a morning like this.

“It’s hard, okay? It’s hard to know when to introduce him to new people, he’s only ever really known those closest to me, and after that it’s just been his nursery teacher and the handful of kids in his class.” I explained, watching Matty and hoping he heard the truth in my words, “And you’re this fucking celebrity people love, you’ve got places to be, fans to meet! I never once thought that you’d stick around, not for as long as you have at least. Or that you’d eventually pull me into your life.”

He looked up then, expression so carefully made. “And that’s a bad thing?”

I folded in on myself a little at his question. Unsure.

Matty rolled his lips together and dipped his chin in a slow nod, “Right.”

“Matty, it’s not like that.” I tried.

He was quick with his reply though, all but leaning into the table’s edge now, “Then what’s it like, Mouse?”

He hardly ever called me Mouse, from the day we’d met it had always been Squeaks.

I dragged a hand over my face and then into my hair, perhaps in hopes to bide my time, but mainly because I felt cornered. How was I supposed to tell Matty how much I valued him? His chaotic presence in my life, his texts and calls, his friendship. It was something I hadn’t known I’d needed, but he’d come along and surprised me. He had stuck around, even when I thought he wouldn’t, and he wasn’t asking for anything more than just my company. He didn’t have an ulterior motive, some trick up his sleeve. Or at least that’s what I believed.

“Does this change things, knowing I have a son?” I heard myself ask him, it was a genuine curiosity but I also had to know. I didn’t want to be strung along or let Matty into Teddy’s life like I had Finn and Adi, only for him to then up and leave when he finally grew bored of the normality of it all.

Matty simply stared back at me, those brown eyes of his narrowed as they flittered back and forth between my own, his lips parted slightly as he thought the question over.

“Do you want it to?”

And that hadn’t been the answer I was expecting.

Instantly I shook my head, dropping the pen so that my hands could fall limply into my lap. “Of course not, I like having you around, Matty. Me keeping Teddy from you has nothing to do with that.”

He continued to watch me.

Then finally he conceded with a prompt nod and I felt myself breathe in. “So, the park. Is there a spare invitation going?”

I let the air go in a stilted chuckle, smiling at the common ground he’d gifted us but also at the image of Matty messing about in a playground of all places. “Yes, yeah, ‘course.” I assured him, “Just, be prepared for any puddles, alright? He will soak you if you're within five feet of the splashzone.”

Matty finally laughed too, this soft thing I hadn’t really ever heard from him before, not in this way at least, and then grinned, whirling around in his seat when a stomping toddler came darting back into the room.

“Wellies ta!”

My eyes fell closed as I released another heavy sigh, “Please! Teds. Remember? Please, not ta.”

Teddy merely blinked back up at me and so I decided it would have to be a battle picked for yet another day.

“Fine, go get them then.”

Matty snorted unhelpfully, which brought him to Teddy’s attention once more. “Need help with ‘em, little man?” He asked, raising a brow at me in hopes that it’d be okay.

I swallowed but ultimately nodded, I couldn’t not when Teddy’s curls started bouncing wildly with the nodding of his head at the question.

And so, I watched them go, Matty taking Teddy’s extended hand, praying that I hadn’t made a massive mistake here. Hoping that somehow Matty would prove me wrong and stay, for a little while.

–

The days after Matty’s impromptu visit came with little to no fuss, it was only when the man wasn’t in the studio that was on the phone to me- and by extension, Teddy as well, who’d taken quite the shine to him. Who could’ve known, hey?

Still, it was a massive change of pace. For me at least, I hadn’t managed to get a read on how Matty felt about it all, but I had yet to worry over it. Mostly because of the Christmas period and how stressed I’d been.

“Finn, I swear he’s driving me out of my mind!” I complained down the phone to my best mate, the thing was currently perched between my shoulder and ear whilst I attempted to throw my hair up into a half-arsed bun, if only to keep it out of my face. “The mess! I mean, it’s like a tornado’s gone and ripped its way through my flat!”

“He’s four, babe.” Came Finn’s unhelpful response. I huffed.

“Exactly! Four, how can someone so small create such a massive mess?” I stressed, trying to clear away as much of the clutter my living room was presently made up of as quickly as I could. “Mam’s gonna be here in,” I glanced hurriedly over at the clock on the far wall and felt my anxiety spike, “Just over an hour! I can’t let her walk into a bombsite!”

Finn laughed at that and so I scowled in retort, even if he couldn’t see me through the phone.

“Finn!” I admonished.

“Alright, sorry! It’s just, she’s your mum, babe. She won’t care what the flat looks like.” He tried to soothe me as he moved about on the other side, doing whatever it was that he was doing. “Why’s he made such a mess anyway?”

I gritted my teeth as I stepped on yet another rogue piece of Lego and just dropped down to start rounding everything and anything I could possibly see into a great big tub.

“He’s excited, wanted to look nice for when mam shows up but also wanted to showcase to her all of his drawings and sculptures.” I told him, grimacing at the penstained action figure I picked up before tossing it amongst the heap too. “I’ve been in the kitchen mostly, cooking for when she arrives, so I didn’t really bear witness to the fact that he’d taken my permission and flipping run with it! You should see my front room, Finn.” I shook my head for the umpteenth time since I’d walked in and blinked at the chaos I’d been met with, “It’s a proper tip.”

I was given a resounding chuckle once more and simply decided to slump there on the floor, glad to note that most of everything had now been packed into the box. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.

“Finn, I don’t even want to go and see what his bedroom looks like as of right now. I can just picture how his wardrobe’s been overturned and all of his clothes have been tossed about the room.”

I forced myself up onto my feet then, halfheartedly listening to Finn’s reply. I still needed to sort myself out before anything else and that thought alone stressed me out further.

And of course! Of course it would be in that exact moment that the doorbell went.

“Fuck.” I mumbled to myself, but found my feet already taking me towards the door. I paused only briefly by the mirror to catch sight of the mess my hair was in and tugged it free in hopes it’d help somewhat, “Listen babe, sorry for all my whinging but I’d best go. Door’s just gone and I’m guessing it’ll be that parcel I’ve been waiting on.”

“Cutting it pretty late there.” Finn said and I couldn’t agree more. It was the 23rd, Christmas was now only days away and still I’d yet to receive it- even after having ordered it well over three weeks ago!

“Fucking hell, tell me about it,” I groaned, opening the door up to be met with the sight of a big wrapped box blocking my vision. My forehead wrinkled in utter confusion, “Um, Finn? I really am going to have to call you back.”

“Why, what’s happened? Don’t leave me hanging! Who is it!”

The parcel dropped down an inch then to reveal a familiar grin and shining eyes.

“Surprise?”

I hurriedly hung up the phone and shoved it into my back pocket, the feeling of bewilderment unable to override the instant worries that washed over me about what a state I must've looked. But I bullied those thoughts back down, ignoring the massive part of me that was currently screaming at the entire situation, for whatever reason I couldn’t even begin to really understand, cause it was just Matty, right? And instead propped myself up against the doorframe.

“What’s this then?” I asked, unable to help my smile when he was looking back at me seemingly so pleased with himself.

“Christmas, in’t it?” He replied all too easily, shaking the rather large present he held in his grasp to further the point.

“I can see that.” I chuckled, shaking my head a little at the picture he made, all bundled up on my front doorstep practically dwarfed by the box he’d brought along. “I just thought you were headed home today.”

He shrugged, an action that was made funnier by the large parcel, but continued smiling, “Meant to, just couldn’t leave without seeing you lot first.”

I blinked, startled by his words. But grinned when he merely widened both his eyes in exaggeration.

“It is fucking freezin’ out here, you know! Could invite a mate in.” Matty reminded me, so I hummed, mulling it over. But he wasn’t one to give up too easily and bribery appeared to be his best tactic here, “I’ve got presents. So open up or they’re going back.”

I narrowed my eyes in turn, “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, but darling I would.”

I found myself grinning at him again, something I tended to do whenever he was around it seemed. There was just something about him, I supposed.

He went to take a step back then and I relented all too easily. “Alright.” I laughed, opening the door up wider to allow him in. Matty all but jumped over the threshold, bringing the cold in with him, and whilst he set about shaking off his coat I went to close the door behind him, only to be stopped by a bright red coat.

“Oh, thanks.” I said in surprise to the postie that managed to time his arrival so perfectly. “Thank you,” I repeated for good measure, shooting my head up from the packaged parcel he’d handed me, “Happy Holidays!” He grinned in return, already taking off back down the steps and parroting the same sentiment to me.

I finally managed to shut the door after that and was met with a ruddy-faced Matty, who was wrapped in a big jumper I was immediately jealous of.

“Last minute present?” He wondered with a smirk and I waved him off.

“Ordered it weeks ago, got here just in time.”

Matty hummed and turned back to glance down at the big box that now rested against my hallway radiator, level with my hip it seemed. “Where is the monster?” He asked me, using the name both he and Teddy had taken a liking to.

My brow furrowed slightly. “You really didn’t have to, Matty.” I said to him quietly, looking down at the present he’d gotten for my son.

He was having none of it though, rolled his eyes in fact and hunched over to pick the box up again. “Shut up.”

I snorted and couldn’t help but bite back, “You shut up.”

“Real mature, sweetheart. Ain’t you parents meant to be all boring and nice?” Matty quipped as he wandered his way into my living room, I breathed in a sigh of relief when I followed behind and found that my efforts in cleaning hadn’t been in vain.

“Ha ha. Should’ve taken up comedy.” I retorted to him, fixing a few pillows that sat askew on the settee, something to which Matty also rolled his eyes at.

“Nah, band makes more money.” He answered easily, like he’d thought about it before, as he glanced about for the best place to put the box.

“By the tree if you want, or you can leave it next to the chair so he’ll see it when he barrels in.”

Matty laughed and went with the latter. “You been alright then?” He asked me, taking the time to glance at all the holiday cards that rested on the mantelpiece nearby.

“Yeah,” I sighed with a small smile, “Hectic but that’s expected, isn’t it?”

He shot me a warm grin, nodding. “Christmas, babe.” Was all he replied with, which was fair enough, then he went to reach out to pick up a picture frame of me and a very very tiny Teddy. “When was this?”

I stepped closer and smiled down at the photo, “I was still in hospital with him then, my midwife took it.”

Matty hummed, looking down at it with a soft smile. It was then that I heard a thump sound somewhere down the hall, so I released a weighted breath and forced myself to step away, “I’ve got to go check on Teddy, he wanted to dress himself this morning and he’s been way too quiet.”

With another laugh, Matty let me go, nosing through more of the photos and cards which sat along the shelf. Something I could understand, he’d only been here just twice before, but even still, he didn’t care for how blatant he was with his nosing.

I took the parcel with me as I went, slipping into my bedroom to unwrap and grin down at it. It was Matty’s, which is why its arrival had been so perfect. I'd begun to think that I would have to give it to him the next time I saw him. But now was as good a time as ever.

In a rush, I pulled out a gift bag and some coloured tissue paper, having no time to actually wrap it, and plopped it in. Making my way into the next room to see where Teddy had gotten to.

When I pushed his door open further than it was, I was only slightly surprised by the state of it. The rugrat in question, though, was stood by his wardrobe door, pulling an array of funny faces in its mirror.

“Oi mister, what you been up to?”

Teddy startled slightly at my voice but was giggling when he spun around to spot me. “Got dressed myself.” He stated, pointing proudly at the t-shirt he’d managed to pull on.

“Hm, so you have!” Taking in the jeans and tee combo he’d picked, I then grinned over at him, “Looking good, boyo. Could be a little stylist when you’re older, you know!”

Teddy gave me one of his impish grins and then darted over towards me. “No!” He dragged out in reply, hands clutching at my legs now he was near, his sweet mischievous face staring up at me, “Gone be like you.”

I had to press my lips together then to keep the strength of my smile at bay, his words making my heart swell. “You little charmer.” I chuckled, running a hand through his unruly locks, “Come on though, you’ve got a visitor.”

His eyes widened as he jumped back to rock onto the balls of his feet. “Mémé?” He asked excitedly and I almost felt bad about it not being her, but I knew how much Teddy had also grown to like Matty in the recent days so I wasn't too fussed.

I shook my head, “Not yet, soon though. But somebody else came to see you.”

Teddy’s eyebrows rose as he thought about who it could be and so, knowing that we could possibly be here all day, I started to steer him out into the hallway.

“Finny?” He asked, then, “Santa?”

I snorted, then shook my head to both. “Nope and no. Why don’t we just go see, hey?”

And with that I pushed the door to the living room open wider and watched on as Teddy gasped at the sight of the curly haired frontman standing by our settee.

“Matty!” He all but squealed, practically catapulting himself across the room to make a dive for the man.

Matty laughed, though also seemed startled by the reaction he’d garnered. He swept Teddy up though, all the same, and jostled him around before settling the toddler on his hip, eyes bright with something when they glanced over at me. I smiled, a heavy feeling settling itself in my chest.

“Alright, mate? What you been up to?” Matty asked Teddy, falling back onto the cushions behind them and stationing the toddler next to him.

Teddy replied in earnest, excited to tell Matty all the tales he had stored away since the last time they’d spoken, which had been a few nights previous over a FaceTime call.

I shook my head in amusement and trailed over towards the kitchen, silenting motioning to Matty to see if he wanted a drink. The answer, as always, was yes and so I set about brewing him his usual, along with my own, taking the time to clean myself up a bit too.

By the time I walked back in, Teddy had just about finished telling Matty all the details of his last day at nursery (they’d had a party), which I’m sure the man had already heard about, but who acted as though it was the most brilliant story he’d ever been told.

“One coffee.” I said in greeting, placing the two mugs onto coasters before taking a perch on the armchair by them.

“Ta.” Matty replied, grinning madly when Teddy cackled gleefully and repeated the word over and over. I rolled my eyes at the pair of them and took a calming sip of tea, unaware of how much I’d been in dire need of it. Whoever claimed Sunday’s were a day of rest, were liars.

“He spotted it yet then?” I asked aloud, already knowing the answer seeing as how I didn’t currently have a bouncing Teddy on my hands.

The toddler’s face wrinkled in confusion and he shot his head over to see me, I grinned from behind my mug. “Huh?” He sounded.

Matty hid his next snort well but then hummed too, pushing forward in his seat to grab at his coffee. “Oh his present, you mean?”

That had Teddy’s head spinning. “Where!”

“Manners, bubs.” I reminded, and Teddy nodded so quickly I was honestly a little worried about the whiplash he might face before his eyes were back on Matty.

“Please, present?” Teddy asked, pouting up at the curly haired man with a sudden urgency, his words butchered by his missing bottom teeth.

Matty chuckled, glad for the fact that he’d put his coffee back down in the toddler's haste, and then gestured his head over to the right. “You mean that one?”

Teddy’s eyes, if even possible, widened further, eyebrows reaching the tips of his curls and mouth dropping open as he finally spotted it.

“For me?” He gasped in awe, shuffling down Matty’s leg to approach it, all of his movements now slow as if his shock was stopping him from reacting typically.

I leaned forward to watch on and Matty did the same, obviously nervous for Teddy’s reaction.

“For you, mate. Was walking by this shop the other day and spotted it, thought of you.” Matty told him seriously, smiling too whilst he wrung his hands together, foot tapping anxiously away, though unaware of it.

Teddy looked back at him, chewing on his bottom lip carefully, taking two more steps before he was touching the wrapping. He oohed at it softly to himself but I caught the way Matty’s face brightened at the sound.

“‘pen now?” Teds asked, his eyes drifting away from the gift, towards me and Matty both.

Matty looked over at me then too, the same question echoed on his face. I nodded with a small smirk, “Go on.”

Teddy’s eyes lit up and he spun back around to marvel at it once more, “W’ats it?”

The snort that escaped me at his ask went unnoticed by the pair as Matty moved to join the toddler on the floor. “Gotta open it up and find out, I ‘spose.”

Teddy’s grin brightened and then he fell to his bum so that he could pull the present closer. “Help?”

Matty blinked at the request and I was witness to the way his throat bobbed before he nodded, “Yeah, sure mate. Here, pull this, alright?”

Teddy did as instructed, tugging on a small opening in the wrapping.

I noted as he began to tear away at it, how oddly wrapped it really was, meaning that Matty had probably taken the time to wrap it himself. My chest tightened again at the thought.

“Box.” Teddy announced once all the wrapping paper had been discarded on the rug behind him, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from outright laughing at the befuddled expression he gave Matty.

The man had no qualms though, simply chuckled at the question and leaned in closer to force one side of the cardboard box up a little, “Gotta open up that too, monster.”

Teddy’s brows drew together in concentration as he followed Matty’s lead, forcing the lid open more before a loud gasp escaped him. Matty went back to wringing his hands, fiddling with the rings on his fingers whilst I moved over to the settee to get a look too.

My expression faltered at the sight of the beautiful gift Matty had given Teddy. Inside the box rested a guitar in an incredible shade of deep blue, it was small enough for Teddy to hold whilst also being big enough for him to grow with. Even with my obsessive love for music, not once had I ever really thought about buying Teddy such a thing, not one of this calibre at least. It must've cost a fortune.

“Matty.” I whispered, but the man didn’t even spare a look my way, eyes trained on my toddler, trying to garner his reaction.

“You know what it is, mate?” He asked after a moment and Teddy’s little head dipped in a slow nod. Because I knew he knew, he danced around constantly pretending to have one in his hands whenever we had the tele or radio on. Where there was music blaring, there would also be a Teddy playing air guitar.

“‘tar.” Teddy stated in a soft voice, both Matty and I smiled at the way he said it, but the former nodded, pulling the instrument out of the box so that Teddy could get a closer look.

“Cool right?”

Teddy nodded silently again, reaching out a hand to carefully touch the wooden neck, blinking and reeling back when a string strummed. Before he then giggled and reached out once more.

Matty seemed to slump in relief, evidently glad that Teddy liked it. But I’d go as far to even say he adored it, never had he ever been so gentle with anything.

“Have you got something to say to Matty, Teds?” I prompted, ignoring the way my throat caught at the emotion I felt. I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it.

Teddy pulled his eyes away from the guitar to gaze up at Matty as though he was something other. I merely blinked at the reaction and before I knew it Teddy had thrown himself into Matty’s arms, startling the man a tad. Matty welcomed him after a second though, glancing over the toddler’s head to share a look with me.

“T’ank you.” I heard Teddy muffle into the collar of Matty’s jumper then, actually saying the words this time. It seemed Matty knew what that meant too, because he tightened his hold on Teddy’s waist a little.

“You’re welcome, mate.”

The rest of Matty’s visit was used to teach Teddy a bit about the basics of a guitar, managing to play an E minor and get started on an A chord. Teddy listened to Matty with rapt attention, barely sparing anything else a second glance, which was startling for a toddler, let alone Teddy who was constantly go, go, go.

Watching them was all too lovely as well. For someone with such a cool front, Matty seemed to melt around Teddy, succumbing to that of the boy’s charm and easy going nature. It was sweet to see, surprising but endlessly sweet. Had me losing track of time, in truth. Which is why I jumped and cursed the way I did when the door finally knocked.

“Mémé!”

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aceofnace · 9 months

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I have no faith in these writers ever since Ace got stuck in the liminal space and Nancy didn't even notice and hooked up with Park in a closet while truth serum made her reveal her feelings for Park (with NO mentions or thoughts of Ace). Nace never gets good content. Even Tristan is treated better than Ace. 4x10 was everything the finale of season 3 should have been with ACE when he was in danger.

We the fans do all the hard work, the writers give Nace the bare minimum and I'm pissed. At the end of the day, fanfiction and what could have been is not enough for me, Nace failed onscreen.

Ace getting stuck in the liminal space and nobody noticing he was even gone until it was almost too late is actually my villain origin story. Actually, all of 3x10 was my villain origin story. The fact that Nace had been building up to be THE ship and then they put Ace in danger and instead of having Nancy going feral over trying to find him and save him, they had her hook up with Park in a coat check closet, even after finding out from Connor that Ace had missed his job interview with him (that should have been a HUGE red flag for Nancy, but nope). To be honest, I had never felt more insulted in my life. It felt like a slap in the face. And somehow, Ace took the news better than I did because I really, really, really loathe that episode. The only part I can rewatch is their hug at the end. The rest makes me feel icky.

It does seem like Nancy gets the best shippy content with all her other love interests and Ace is always left with nothing. The writers are like, "Hey Nace shippers, wanna see Nancy slow dance? Okay, here! You can watch her slow dance with Park! Wait, that's not what you wanted? Okay, here's her slow dancing with Tristan! Oh, you want to see her slow dance with Ace, the man she loves, her person? Haha, no way! That would make you too happy! Here, go back and watch this season 1 scene of Ace dancing with Laura instead."

And don't even get me started on how half of 4x10 was Nancy freaking out over Tristan being hurt when they never even showed us Nancy finding out that Ace had the last piece of Charity's soul and then they spent 3.2 seconds saving his life in 3x13 and nobody was freaking out over how much danger he was actually in. I will admit, these writers sometimes make very odd choices when it comes to this ship. Choices that make no sense to me. And it sometimes has me wondering how much they actually like Nace. Remember, a post season 2 interview did state that the writer's room was an even split down the middle between Nace shippers and Namura shippers, so maybe that explains what's going on here: not all the writers are on board with Nace, and maybe it makes it difficult for some of them to write something they're not into. I don't know. I can't think of any other explanation. Kennedy and Alex handed these people an absolute gift with their natural but insane chemistry and Nace has been a big part of the reason a lot of people have started watching the show to begin with, so I have no idea why they didn't take full advantage of any of that.

#i love this ship but sometimes wonder why #when we've been given so little #i think it's just the chemistry that gets me #so that even if there aren't shippy moments between Nancy and Ace #i can still feel how much they love each other #without that chemistry this ship would be nothing #nace #nancy x ace #ace x nancy #asks

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media-naranjita · 7 months

Text

Stick Season

01. Nightwing

You found yourself nervously chipping off the black nail polish on your fingernails, your editor-in-chief having called you into her office. You were sitting in a small chair outside her office, waiting for her to finish her phone call. A meeting with the editor-in-chief could only mean one thing: you were definitely getting sacked. God, you hated how this made you feel, you felt as the anxiety bundled in your stomach desperately trying to creep its way out.

The snap of fingers broke you from your anxious thoughts, your editor-in-chief was trying to get your attention. “You,” She huffed, pointing her perfectly manicured finger at you, “Come on, let’s go. I don’t have all day.”

You took a seat in front of her desk, “Am I in trouble or something, Sandra?” It took all your courage to get those words out without stuttering, people in positions of power made you nervous.

“No, the opposite.” Sandra swiveled her computer screen around, the article you had written on Gotham’s most famous vigilantes on display. You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding in. Sandra continued, “You wrote this, right?”

You nodded, “Yeah, a couple months ago, why?”

Sandra sat back in her seat, “It did well, surprisingly so. We don’t get many new writers publishing such well-written articles around here.” You gave Sandra a tight-lipped smile, unsure of what to say as she continued, “I want you to write another one.”

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion, “I’m sorry?”

“I want you to write another article like this,” she repeated. “I don’t know how you got the interviews for it, but I want another one and I know you can do it.”

You hesitated, “Look, it’s not like I’m personally friends with any of the people I wrote about. I’m not sure that I’d be able to replicate this article with other vigilantes, they’re not exactly known for being sociable and approachable people, you know?” You weren’t entirely sure where that burst of confidence had come from, but since you knew you weren’t being fired you were willing to take the risk.

“Oh?” Sandra raised her eyebrow accusingly, “Let me phrase it differently, then.” She paused and straightened in her seat, you felt the anxiety building in your stomach all over again. Fuck, you should have stayed home today. Sandra cleared her throat, “You haven’t put out another article of this caliber, as editor-in-chief I need to make sure my writers are not putting out mundane, boring work. So, if you want to keep your job here, you’re going to get me that article, you know?” She was mocking you, using your own words against you. Her words came out in a venomous tone, if looks could kill you’d have been dead five minutes ago.

You nodded reluctantly, “Okay, so who do you have in mind for the article? Red Robin? One of the Titans?”

Sandra smiled tautly, “No, they’re not people worth writing about. They’ve been written about a million times over, but you,” She pointed at you, “You know how to interview vigilantes in a way that makes them human. That’s the type of article I want for this person.”

You let out a small laugh, “Who are you trying to make more human? The Joker?”

“Close,” Sandra hummed, “You’re going to write an article about Red Hood.”

“Really?” You laughed, “What am I supposed to do? Hold up an orphanage and hope Red Hood shows up to stop me?” You stopped laughing when you saw the look on Sandra’s face, “You’re being serious?”

“Dead serious,” Sandra replied.

“Yeah, I might die trying to get you this article,” You shook your head, “I can’t do that. It’s an impossible task, Sandra, and completely unfair.”

“Then I guess you better start praying for a miracle,” Sandra mocked. “I expect a progress report by the end of next week. If you don’t have any progress by then don’t even bother showing up for work.” You opened your mouth to speak but she cut you off, “That’s all, you can leave.” She motioned towards the door, shooing you away.

***

“I fucking hate her!” You groaned, “How the fuck does she expect me to just stumble into Red Hood and ask him for an interview? Can you imagine? ‘Hey, Red, your mask looks beautiful in the moonlight, can you please tell me why you kill people? ’ What a fucking joke.” You grumbled.

Jo, your co-worker and best friend sat across from you in the diner booth, laughing along as you ranted. “You never know, she might be trying to covertly set you and Red Hood up.”

You rolled your eyes, “Jo, this is not funny.” You waved your hands around, “Sandra is trying to kill me. There is no fucking way I would ever come out of an encounter with Red Hood alive.”

Jo shrugged, “You never know, he might have a thing for bookish journalists.” She was holding back a smile on her face.

“I am not bookish, I’m punk rock, Jo.” You scoffed, “How the fuck am I supposed to do this? I swear God gives his weakest soldiers his strongest battles.”

Jo laughed, “Okay, everything you just said was incredibly punk rock.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“I fucking hate you, you know?” You chucked a spare fry at her, “I hope the little green Titan turns into a pterodactyl and shits on your car tonight.”

Jo only laughs louder, “Okay, I’ll stop, but eat your food so we can leave.” She pauses and points a finger at you, “And take back what you said about pterodactyl shit hitting my car.”

***

After having dinner with Jo at the diner, you started making your way home. She had insisted on driving you home, but you declined, arguing that you needed some time alone to think. After lots of hesitation and many promises of calling her as soon as you were home she drove off.

It was dark out, but you stayed where the streetlights illuminated the sidewalk. You’d learned not to walk in the shadows in Gotham, at least not if you wanted to stay alive and harm-free.

A cold breeze blew against you, making you shiver and curl in on yourself tighter. Even with a warm beanie and gloves, Gotham found a way to make everyone miserably cold. The backpack on your back made the cold a little more bearable, despite the fact that it was sitting pretty much flat on your back. It was a bad idea to carry a stuffed backpack in Gotham, you were more prone to getting robbed. But a flat-looking backpack? Most people would assume you merely had a couple of notebooks stashed inside, at least this was what you’d learned over the years.

Unfortunately for you, the next three streetlights ahead were out, creating a pathway of darkness for you to cross. You weighed your options, if you walked fast enough through the streetlights you could probably walk away unharmed. If you didn’t walk under the burnt out streetlights and took the long way home you’d be on the Gotham streets at night for much longer than you needed to be.

“Fuck,” You muttered to yourself, “I can do this, it’s just a little stretch of darkness, right? I can do this.” You were mentally preparing yourself to run through the stretch of darkness on the sidewalk but were interrupted.

“Stay calm and live, panic and die.” A man’s voice rang through your ears, your could feel the barrel of a gun pressed against your back.

You nodded in compliance, too scared to put up a fight. On a normal day you wouldn’t have been out so late and your route home would have been completely safe. Apparently, today was not a normal day: first the Red Hood assignment and now a robbery? Great.

“Good,” He pulled you into the darkness, “Now take out whatever money and possessions you have on you and put them in your backpack.” The man was smart enough to wear a ski mask, hiding any possible identifiers from you. His breath was warm against the side of your face, making your stomach churn at the thought of how quickly this could go bad. Despite this, you did as you were told and began to put all your belongings in the backpack.

“Can I at least keep my ID?” You managed to squeak out.

“Does this look like a negotiation, girl?” The man’s voice was cold, “Hurry the fuck up, I don’t have your time.”

Tears were building in your eyes, mostly from the anger and anxiety that had built in your chest. If you had just listened to Jo you wouldn’t be in this situation and you wouldn’t have to go to the Gotham DMV anytime soon. The whole thing was entirely unnecessary and completely avoidable.

Just as you were finished putting your belongings in your backpack, you heard something whizz past you. In an instant, the man who was previously robbing you was pinned up against the wall, being held by batarangs of some sort. Ill-timed excitement built in your chest, were you about to meet Batman?

“John!” A man’s familiar voice called from across the street, “What did I tell you about accosting the people of Gotham?” The man tutted, “We had a deal, John. I get you a job, and you would trade in your life of petty theft for an honest one.”

John's voice shook as he spoke, “How did you know it was me?”

The masked man stepped into the light and you finally recognized the voice, realizing it was Nightwing who had stopped John. You had interviewed Nightwing for your newspaper in the original vigilante article, building somewhat of a rapport between you and Nightwing. He gave you a brief smile as he approached, you didn’t know if it was recognition or mere acknowledgement on his behalf. You hoped it was recognition, mostly because it would make writing your article a lot easier if you had help from a vigilante who knew Red Hood.

“I never forget a face, John.” Nightwing said, never losing the kind but firm tone in his voice. “You do know I’m going to have to turn you in, right?”

John nodded in defeat, “Yeah, I figured.”

Nightwing removed the batarang looking things from their spot on the wall, releasing John from the grip they had on him. Nightwing had caused no damage to John having perfectly pinned him by his clothes rather than any of his limbs. He then took some cuffs out of his utility belt and placed them on John, sitting him down up against the wall.

“Now, back to you,” Nightwing turned to you, pointing accusingly at you. “What did I tell you about walking around Gotham at night? Do you have a death wish or something?”

He did remember you. Your eyes widened slightly at his accusing tone, “Not to do it?”

“And you did it anyway, didn’t you? This, ” Nightwing motioned between you and John, “is the exact kind of interaction I was telling you to avoid. No offense, John.”

“None taken,” John shrugged.

“It’s not like I had a choice, dude. It was either I walked home or I froze to death waiting outside of the office.” He didn’t have to know you had a choice and were definitely lying to him.

Nightwing groaned, “Okay, let’s go.”

“Where?” You and John said in unison.

“Turning you in and home, respectively.” Nightwing replied, “The station isn’t too far and I’ll make sure you get home safe, can’t rescue you twice in one night, can I?”

You bit back a reply, not wanting to frustrate Nightwing anymore. He looked like a mother hen who had too many chicks to take care of, only one chick’s misbehavior away from snapping.

You followed silently behind Nightwing, doing your best to keep from taking up too much space on the sidewalk. He eventually snapped at you for walking behind them, urging you to stay in his sight. You almost laughed, he really was a mother hen.

Nightwing led the rest of the way to the station, only a few minutes out of your usual route home. He made sure you were standing in a place he could see you as he left John inside of the station. He’d returned fairly quickly and let you know he was following through on his promise of getting you home.

“I really don’t need an escort home,” You argued, “I’ve gone my whole life without needing one. What’s one more night, huh?” Nightwing’s expression grew blank, he was frustrated with you and you knew it. “Okay, fine!” You said, caving into his silent demands, “But don’t stalk me when this is all over.”

“Thank you,” Nightwing flashed a stupidly smug smile, “Lead the way.”

You began walking side by side, internally grumbling at the smug look on Nightwing’s face.

“I wouldn’t stalk you, by the way.” Nightwing said, breaking the silence.

You snorted, “Why? Am I not interesting enough to stalk or something?”

“You’re a journalist in Gotham, unless you’re living a double life of crime, I doubt you’re doing anything stalk-worthy.” The tone in Nightwing’s voice was light, he was joking–at least that’s what you hoped.

“I take full offense in that statement,” You gasped, “I’m interesting as fuck.”

“Yeah?” Nightwing scoffed, “You’re wearing khakis, dude.”

“We can’t all wear spandex and have our asses on display, can we?”

“My ass is not on display!” Nightwing shook his head in disapproval, a slight smile on his face.

“Okay,” You trailed off, a smile growing on your face at the familiarity that Nightwing provided. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Not a problem,” he shrugged, “But can I ask what you were doing walking around Gotham in the dark?”

You groaned, “I already told you I was trying to get home.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly, not believing a word you just said. You continued, “Fine. If you must know, I needed some time to think.”

He scoffed, “And you thought Gotham at night was the right place for that?”

“No, I guess not.” You shrugged, “I was trying to wrap my head around the nearly-impossible article my boss wants me to write.”

“So you almost died because of work?” He snorted.

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t you literally risk your life every day because of work?”

He was silent for a moment, “Touché.”

You continued walking together towards your apartment, silently praying no one took a picture of the two of you and posted it somewhere. If word got back to Jo that you had to be escorted by Nightwing you’d never hear the end of it.

Nightwing’s voice broke you from your thoughts, “What was the article about? Maybe I can help?”

“Um,” You cleared your throat, “I need to interview Red Hood.”

Nightwing laughed, “Okay, what’s the real article assignment?” You looked at him blankly. The domino mask over his eyes hid any real expression, but you could tell by the way the mask shifted that his eyes had widened slightly. “Oh, you’re being serious?”

“Yup,” You ran a hair over your face in frustration, “The cherry on top of all of this is that if I don’t get that interview, I’m fired. God, I hate Sandra.”

“What kind of interview were you looking for?” Nightwing asked curiously.

“She wants me to write about him like I did for you and all the other heroes I interviewed. Unfortunately for me, Red Hood doesn’t seem like the type to sit down for an interview.”

Nightwing shrugged, “He can be difficult, but if you gain his trust I could see him agreeing to an interview.”

You snorted, “You have a plan for me to gain his trust by the end of next week? ‘Cause that’s when Sandra wants a ‘progress report’.” You groaned, “She’s trying to kill me.”

Nightwing laughed, “I think I could help you.” You stopped in your tracks to soak up every word he said, urging him to continue. “I could call in a favor with Red, one that guarantees you meeting him.” Before you could voice your excitement he cut you off, “But, that doesn’t guarantee him agreeing to a whole interview with you. He doesn’t do well with the press.”

You muttered, “Understatement of the year.”

Red Hood had just been harshly scrutinized by the press for shooting a paparazzo’s camera. He had been photographed in an incredibly negative light, pictured dangling a man by his leg over a balcony. What hadn’t been reported was that the man being dangled had stolen from some kids living on the streets. Red Hood had also paid the man for the damage done to his camera, tossing a small wad of money at him and walking away. Despite the good that took place that night, only the bad had been reported, causing an incredibly volatile media relationship for Red Hood.

“Do you think you could convince him if I get him to meet you somewhere?” Nightwing continued, “You’re gonna have to do your best to be charming, none of that smart ass shit.”

“I’ll do my best, but I can’t promise I won’t nervously let something slip.”

Nightwing nodded, “I’ll tell him to meet you on the rooftop of your building sometime this week, okay?”

You nodded, “Thank you,” A wide smile on your face. “I owe you one, yeah?”

Nightwing shook his head, “Nah, just don’t make him look like an asshole.”

You laughed, “I’ll do everything in my power to make him sound like the best in Gotham City.”

“Okay, you’re trying to sell a believable article here, right?”

The two of you began walking in the direction of your apartment building again, sharing idle conversation as you walked. Things were looking up for you after all.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #nightwing #i love jason todd #hes my baby girl #i posted this on AO3 #im also posting it here 🫦🫦🫦#dont tell me if u dont like it #ill cry #thank u #bye

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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 1 year

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hey there! my name is nura from canada and im very happy to have come across your blog! i used to casually watch ipkknd with my mom when it first aired more than 10 yrs ago but i didn't remember anything besides the leads so now im watching it all over again and im HOOKED. im glad that there is a fandom for the show, i would've hated feeling so alone in my love for this show.

i was going thru your posts and i noticed in one recent ask you had answered smth along the lines of the general disinterest of the cast for the show and i think their unwillingness to do anything more with the show. can you pls elaborate a little on this as i have no idea what this show was like behind the scenes. i apologize in advance in case i am misinterpreting your answer!

thank you and i can't wait to dive deeper into your blog and possibly bug you even more as i continue my rewatch 💙💙

- nura

Hello fellow Canadian :)

I am so glad you're enjoying watching IPKKND!!! Fandom makes things memorable for everyone :) I've met some of my closest friends due to this show and it's so exciting to chat up about everything you liked about it!!!

Oh don't worry, the cast is actually the best friends off screen. Barun (Arnav), Sanaya (Khushi) and I think Akshay (Akash) even live in the same building! And they all (which includes Daljeet [Anjali], Abhaas [Shyam] and the writer Gautam) often keep hanging out with each other and going on trips together!

The show was also amazing off screen, you'd roll off your bed laughing at their chaotic behind the screen interviews.

Interviewer asks about why Khushi wants to leave post Arnav telling her she's the biggest mistake of his life scene:

Sanaya: Oh nothing, you see my husband has some gas issues.

Barun (yawning and laughing): Haan I have gas.

Sanaya: Exactly, so I need to take a break from this.

LOL.

But yeah Barun himself quit the show (thank God) because he (accurately) didn't see where the show was going and why he needed to be a part of it. Also the cast in general, especially the leads aren't invested in simply seeing IPK again on screen. Which, understandable. A lot of writing and effort went into making IPK in the first place - to simply see it again as a cash grab (which they did with Ek Jashn) doesn't seem like reason enough. Also Sanaya and Barun have made it very very clear that they really aren't into daily soaps and would much prefer to be in limited series and they're both beyond what IPK is.

Barun has consciously chosen characters that are non romantic in nature to shed off the 'romance' projects. Which is a bit of a shame because few people sell romance the way he does! Sanaya is chilling. Lol she always is.

It's nothing bad, it's just that naturally they're probably not as attached to the show as much as the fans are because tbh, how famous or a classic IPK is was understood some time after the show ended as opposed to when it ran.

It's not like they don't like the show - of course they do granted that it put a few of them on the map, it was a different show and they found great friends out of it - but there actually doesn't seem to be any active engagement regarding the show.

Some examples of when you can see the cast being devoted to their shows like their fans would include the cast of Sarabhai V/S Sarabhai (there was a cute insta reel a few months ago of all of them singing the title song of the show) or Arjun Bijlani from Miley Jab Hum Tum - dude genuinely loves his show so much that when he's clean shaven he posts on Insta that it's #Mayank (which was his character's name).

And it's not a bad thing, it's just that the actors aren't invested in the show they did ten years ago - which happens. In several interviews Barun has little comments on Arnav, he has more of a critical analysis why IPK was different and the writing of the show (he's more inclined to writing in general). And Sanaya also has very little to say about Khushi apart from it being similar to her so she had fun playing it. I think in the recent most interviews where they had questions regarding 'what would their character do' currently or were asked to behave like their characters - they were both a little lost on what to do and had nothing apart from a few funny comments.

Which, again, isn't a bad thing at all.

In fact it probably tells what a big role the writer and director play in fleshing out these characters! Gautam Hegde (the writer) still waxes some of the most beautiful lines about IPKKND.

And if anything the Rewind showed that Barun gets ASR only if there's a purpose to it. And Sanaya can switch into Khushi when she's performing somewhere.

It can feel a bit bittersweet for a fan because a show means so much for a viewing experience. So I won't say that the cast is 'unwilling' - I'd say they're reluctant.

And that's different.

I don't think Barun and Sanaya would ever reprise Arnav and Khushi beyond an hour of shooting if there wasn't anything meaningful to it.

So keeping all this in mind I'm very happy not seeing IPK on screen because current Indian television landscape is terrible and if there's no actual purpose to bringing IPK on screen then what?

It'll just be a Season 3 of Kuch Rang Pyaar Ke Rise Bhi or Season 2 of Pratigya!

And canonically Arnav and Khushi got their happily ever after and I'd love it to remain that way.

Lol this was a long answer!!!

Much love Nura,

Jalebi

#ipkknd #ask #ipkknd off screen

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brian-in-finance · 1 year

Text

Video 📹 from Instagram

Karen Pirie renewed for season 2, based on Val McDermid's second book

Our favourite fearless Scottish investigator is back.

Karen Pirie has been renewed for season 2 after a hugely successful first run, which launched with 6.6 million viewers and averaged 5.9m across the series - making it one of the most watched new dramas on ITV last year.

The series, which was also in the top 10 dramas on ITVX, was adapted by Emer Kenny from Val McDermid’s hugely popular cold case novels. Now, the second season will again be based on the international bestselling books, this time adapted from A Darker Domain, the second in the Karen Pirie novel series.

The new season will see Lauren Lyle (Outlander, Vigil) return as the young and fearless Scottish investigator with a quick mouth and tenacious desire for the truth. This time round, she'll be reopening the investigation into the unsolved kidnapping of a wealthy young heiress and her baby son back in 1985.

Commissioned by ITV from World Productions, the well-known producers of Line of Duty and The Pembrokeshire Murders, this series will see Kenny (The Curse, Save Me) return to write and executive produce the three two-hour-long episodes alongside Scottish writer Gillian Roger Park (Sneakerhead, The Young Offenders).

Speaking about the news of season 2, Lyle said: “I'm thrilled that we will continue the life of our fearless young detective Karen Pirie, and of course, her bumbag. I've known for a while how well the show has gone down behind the scenes so it's been a joy to see audiences want more.

"It's a creative honour to work alongside Emer Kenny with the backbone of Val McDermid's story, season 1 was incredibly exciting building an original character we hadn't seen before. I look forward to getting the gang back together and finally being able to answer the question: ‘Please say there will be a season 2?’ with an ‘Oh yes.’"

ITV's drama commissioner Huw Kennair Jones also commented: “We're thrilled the audience loves Karen Pirie as much as we do and can't wait to get going on Val McDermid's fantastic A Darker Domain with World Productions. Returning to the world and characters that Emer so skillfully created and Lauren so brilliantly realised promises to be as exciting and fresh as season 1.”

In an exclusive interview with RadioTimes.com, Kenny previously said that she was “really keen to see what people respond to” in the first season in order to find out “what they like about” it and then “kind of roll with that after it comes out.” So, it’s safe to say we’re pleased over the news that the Fife-based detective will be returning to our screens once more.

Karen Pirie season 2 will premiere on ITV1 and ITVX, with the previous first season available to stream on ITVX now.

RadioTimes

Emer Kenny as River Wilde in ITV's Karen Pirie (Photo: ITV)

Remember… somebody hold my baby, I have work to do. — Emer Kenny, showrunner/writer, Karen Pirie

#Tait rhymes with hat #Good times #Karen Pirie #ITV #Season 2 #Radio Times #21 February 2023 #Instagram story #My screenrecording

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kakairu-rocks · 1 year

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We are excited to introduce our next shining star for the Creator Spotlight... My_Private_Tsukuyomi!

This is an activity where we reach out to one of the talented people in our community each month to find out all about them and their kakairu creations, and then show them off to the world!

We hope you enjoy learning about My_Private_Tsukuyomi & her creations as much as we did. Please give her some love ❤️

Pronouns: She/Her

Type of Creator: Writer

Where to find her:

AO3

Discord: My Private Tsukuyomi

Read the exciting interview below the cut, or on the forum!

If you would like a chance to be in the spotlight too, the only thing you have to do is be a member of the kakairu rocks forum or follow us, and be a kakairu creator; and we will contact you, ourselves!

1. How long have you been creating KakaIru fanworks?

Since January 2023

2. What are you working on right now?

I’m working on a Modern Day AU KakaIru Sugar daddy/baby fic with a twist. Iruka is the high-powered CEO type with a huge philanthropic streak but is trying to battle a hostile takeover that includes a marriage/business merger. Kakashi is a disgraced, down on his luck veteran. Kakashi needs a job and Iruka needs someone on his arm in public to stave off the marriage pressure but also someone capable of protecting him at events. But what neither expected is that the lines between the job and real feelings would get blurred so quickly!

3. What is your favourite trope to create for?

Angst with a happy ending seems to be my specialty. Kakashi and Iruka suffer a little, but that just makes the final resolution all that much sweeter.

4. Which of your creations is your favourite, and why?

Right now I’d have to say one of my latest creations, The Road of Life. It uses scrapbooking as an opportunity for Iruka to travel down memory lane to look at a life well-lived and well-loved with Kakashi. I tagged it MCD but it isn’t permanent - I could never permanently separate these two!

5. Do you have any WIPs you’re excited about?

Surprisingly enough I’ve only got the one WIP right now, which I described above. I have some half-formed ideas, but I haven’t started anything else yet. I think I’m waiting to see what the next theme will be on the kakairu discord server. I love meeting those monthly challenges!

6. Do you have any original characters? If so, tell us about them!

My first fic featured an OC female ANBU badass named Minako. I created her before I turned to writing KakaIru, realizing how perfect Kakashi and Iruka are together - they are canon, just mostly off screen. But yet they connect enough on screen to convince me that they are meant to be.

7. What was your hardest piece to create, and why?

I think I’m having the most trouble with my WIP because it’s completely different from anything else I’ve written. Plus I want it to be a bigger, multi-chapter thing with real world-building. That’s always a challenge.

8. Do you have any favorite scenes from something you’ve created?

I do! One of my favorite scenes is from my first KakaIru fic Of Romance and Holidays. Kakashi takes a candy conversation heart that says ‘be mine’ and carves a little question mark and the letter K into it before leaving it for Iruka to find.

My other favorite scene is from The Road of Life, when Iruka and Kakashi meet for the first time after the Pain attack. Iruka tries to tell Kakashi he wasn’t worth Kakashi’s sacrifice, that he’s nothing. Kakashi interrupts and tells Iruka that he is, in fact, everything.

9. Where does your inspiration come from?

My inspiration comes from many places. I often dream in KakaIru, so sometimes those dreams become fics. I also draw inspiration from songs. Three of my fics are based on song lyrics. Finally, I draw inspiration from the wonderful folks on the KakaIru discord server Forbidden Scrolls of KakaIru. The prompts and challenges posted there are phenomenal.

10. Which of your creations is the most meaningful to you, and why?

I don’t think I could choose just one. All of my creations are a piece of me. It’s both delightful and terrifying to share that piece in my fics, and it is humbling that people actually read and enjoy them. Thank you to all of my readers. You, like Iruka to Kakashi, are everything.

#Creator Spotlight #kakairu.rocks #creator interview #talented creator #kakairu fanfic #kakairu #kkir #kakashi x iruka #hatake kakashi #umino iruka

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kestrel-of-herran · 2 years

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what's your favorite 2521 episode and why? 🤍🤍

hii! thanks for the ask!!

i think my favourite episode is ep.9, because it has a very satisfying narrative arc in terms of heedo and yijin defining their relationship, and also probably because it was one of the happiest episodes to watch for me. i love how heedo and yijin communicate their feelings throughout, the build-up of tension for the interview plot, and the release of that tension when the damage done doesn't turn out to be as important as the relationship the characters are building together.

it lays such a strong foundation for their relationship that by the end of that episode, i was convinced that nothing could come between them, where before i had shipped them but kept in mind we might witness a deterioration of their romance, a love triangle, or any other kind of prolonged conflict that makes them an "almost" kind of romance.

but when i watched that ending scene, i wrote, "whatever happened to these people, they never hurt each other." and that remains true for me -- the person who hurt them is the writer.

up until the middle of the series, i was waiting to be convinced that they weren't meant to last, but instead all the evidence kept piling up in favour of their bond, until nothing could convince me to the contrary. i ask myself every day, why would you tell such a story? what good does it do? what does it achieve? and i have no answer, because for me, the story only makes sense if they're at the end of each other's misery. everything else falls flat and unconvincing.

i'm also partial to the ending plot of ep.6, where yijin picks up heedo from the train station and drives her to the match. i think the feeling of happiness is at the root of that, too -- i binged the first six episodes, and when i do that, i tend to unconsciously view whatever part of the show was released before i started watching as a complete mini-arc, as a world on its own. it's a completely arbitrary way to view story and has nothing to do with structure, just with circumstance. i started watching after seeing gifs of yijin giving heedo the 15th volume of full house, and i remember thinking, "ah, that's romance. he bought her the book she loves. that's peak romance." then i saw gifs of him holding hands with her on the pier in the snow, and the contrast of the cold night and the warmth of their hands and gazes practically held me at gunpoint. "you will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast", writes catherynne m. valente.

so when i got the end of episode six, i felt this sense of completion and triumph and elation. i had watched a meeting, a parting, and a reunion, and as the soundtrack played over the red car speeding through the empty street with just the two of them, i think what i felt most was confidence. i knew that they would lead me to a good place. and they did, but the story didn't.

#this turned out so personal rip #thank you for the ask!!!#lilly gets an ask #twenty five twenty one

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thesinglesjukebox · 4 months

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RACHIKA NAYAR - "HAWTHORN"

youtube

It's rare for us to cover instrumental songs, but Nortey is making sure our bases are covered...

[7.38]

Nortey Dowuona: The first seconds of "Hawthorn" are looped guitar. They keep spinning in the back, a solid place to step on for the listener, just waiting for the song to begin, and slightly slipping beneath the newly added guitar and synthesizers, lush and full playing in a loop as well, then building and growing, smothering all other sounds beneath them. Meanwhile, the looped riff just keeps swirling in the left hand channel, waiting for the rest of the song to dissipate -- before it is immediately cut off. [10]

Ian Mathers: I liked the idea of Nayar's Heaven Come Crashing LP more than I actually wound up playing it, but what "Hawthorn" suggests is: A. I should give it another try B. maybe I like Nayar better at miniature length C. It's time for Caribou's Up in Flames (originally released when he went by Manitoba) to get another revival D. All of the above. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: The best parts of Heaven Come Crashing were explosions of sound -- the breakbeat shattering the ambient guitars and vocals of that album's title track, the way drones and percussion creep in and envelop "Tetramorph" over the course of nine minutes. "Hawthorn" is too neat of a fragment to have quite that impact, but as Nayar brings in layer after layer of guitar she reaches some alternate catharsis -- less a breakthrough and more a resolution, everything in its right place for just a brief moment of grace. [7]

Kat Stevens: Very pleasant! A bit like when Karl H manages to persuade Rick S to let him do some guitar noodling in the middle of an Underworld album. [6]

Michael Hong: Gorgeous and glassy, yet I keep waiting, not for it to go somewhere, but for it to settle into stillness. [6]

Will Adams: The loops, the ascending chord progression, the build-up paced like a rising sun: I was surprised to learn that "Hawthorn" was released as a standalone single and not the intro of a longer body of work. But those intros are works unto themselves, too, and gorgeous is still gorgeous in isolation. [7]

Leah Isobel: My favorite Kate Bush song is "A Coral Room," for its drifty musical simplicity and complex emotional tenor, slipping gently between images and passages and memories. The question the whole song hinges on -- "What do you feel?" -- is both plainspoken and vast, impossible to answer. To write words on a page or musical notes in a sequence is to reach into the water and see what it's like. How does it feel? How does it feel? How does it feel? Earlier this year, I wrote about Vines' Birthday Party, a relatively experimental record for my listening habits; I spent weeks listening to it again and again in different settings, trying to come to a conclusion, pushing for an idea. I still think it eluded me, that I didn't have the capacity to get my hands around it. And yet it's slipped into my favorite records of the year, maybe because it's an outlier. I spent most of my formative years listening to either pop music or Pitchfork-approved indie rock, in the turn-of-the-decade boom times. That music worked to be articulated and likable because there was money to be made in it. Now, of course, everything is contracted. As a sometimes writer and occasional musician, I have (mostly) made peace with the fact that my art will not sustain me economically. I don't even know if I'd want it to. A music made to be monetized probably wouldn't hold what I'd need it to hold. In 2021, when I was living in New York, I met Rachika not at a show or via an interview, but through her day job as an electrolysis technician. She played incredible music while she worked. I didn't know that she was a musician herself until she told me about a show she was playing -- not as an invitation, just as idle chatter. I didn't go. Then I moved away, and then I found out that her music was incredible too. A cross-country move, two lost friendships, a new relationship, a new job, new and unformed ideas and fears and hopes: my context for "Hawthorn," inseparable from how it feels to me. The song curls upwards out of a maybe-sample, maybe-guitar, maybe-synth pulse; I'm stuck on the high plink that opens and closes the phrase, keeps the time, remains somehow unreachable. When the guitars and bass come in, folding and lacing around each other, that plink still sticks out, like the composition is either pulled in its wake or pushing towards the sound. It could be a radio transmitter or a metronome or a distant star, blinking, turning. It's corny to say but it pulls me, too -- whatever it is I'm searching for, however time reveals it or I distort it with my own insistence on rationalizing or controlling myself. I reach my hand into the water. What do I feel? What do I feel? What do I feel? [7]

John S. Quinn-Puerta: Catchy loops and post rock guitar that doesn't overstay it's welcome. It beats the sleepy allegations perfectly. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

#rachika nayar #music #music writing #music reviews #music criticism #the singles jukebox #Youtube

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smeckledorfed-by-association · 8 months

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Love, Liars, and the Hearts They Break

Synopsis: Cole is a writer. He ends up becoming the center of a huge problem, for him that is. He's about to make it a bigger problem for many people. Btw, there's eventually gay stuff. Like, seriously. So, enjoy that. I definitely will.

Chapter 1: Behind a Smile

The sun shines through the blinds of a room filled with paper and stories. Cole Mercer sits at his desk typing away at his computer, trying but failing to produce something great. Every word gnaws on his mind like a parasite. He can’t focus but can’t bear to drag himself away from the computer. Each thought snags on his fingertips, just out of reach. The room’s door opening is what forces him to sit up and turn around.

“Darling, you can’t spend your entire day hunched over your computer. We have an interview with Erin Taylors! She wants to publish this book you're working on. You have to get ready.” Angela D’Malow-Mercer, his wife, exclaims as she rushes to pull him from his chair.

Cole laughs, casually following Angela. “Angie, love, if I don’t continue writing, there won’t be a book to publish.”

Angela ignores his retort and pushes him into the bathroom. “Get ready! Your clothes are already in there and you better comb your hair. Not a single hair should be out of place since this is very important.” Cole smirks, leaning against the door, “Yes, your majesty…” He bows and quickly shuts the door before she says anything. He can hear her complaining behind the door and starts to get ready.

~~~

When Cole and Angela arrive at the building in which Erin Taylors operates, they are greeted by a small crowd of fans ranging from teens who know Angela from when she was a model to people of all ages who enjoy Cole's novels. Angela was unfazed by the number of people but Cole was slightly flustered, having been used to avoiding social events hadn't helped.

Eventually, after a few autographs and photos, they make it inside the building. Cole sighs, relieved to be away from various shouts and questions. This relief, however, is short lived when he is escorted to a room obviously designed for makeup. He gets "prepared for the camera" and is sent out to wait for his que, which wasn't discussed until that very moment.

Erin Taylors appears and begins speaking about the latest book she has taken interest in. With a few puns and audience laughter, she calls for him. "And now, readers alike, we have with us today the latest rising author. He's written one novel yet has many short stories. May I welcome…. Cole Mercer!"

After she shouts his name, he walks out, the audience applauding him. He awkwardly waves as he goes and takes his spot on the love seat beside her desk.

"It is wonderful to have you on my show today, Cole," Erin exclaims as she turns to him, "I'm glad I am the one to interview you about your new novel which is still in the works. What took you so long to come on my show?" She asks, the smile on her face turning into a questioning one.

Cole clears his throat nervously before saying the first thing on his mind. "'The pen is the tongue of the mind.' Miguel de Cervantes said that. If my pen won't work, my tongue doesn't either. Therefore, it's hard to get me to do interviews." Cole anxiously waits for everyone's reactions and is happy and very relieved when they applaud.

Erin laughs also. "Well, that's definitely a reason. But, I wonder how your wife feels if your tongue doesn't work…" Cole looked at her, unsure of why she would say that. He decides to trip her up. "Well, Erin, my tongue may not always work but my hands are very capable of keeping her happy…" Cole chuckles when people gasp and laugh, "... because I bring home money from my stories. What inappropriate minds you all have…"

Everyone enjoys this and soon, Erin decides it's time to know about Cole's novel. "Now, Cole, we know that your new novel is a secret and all but could you spill a bit about it? Just to keep us anticipating?"

Cole, finally getting a feel of what to do, complies. "It's about a man who races against an uncertain amount of time to save his life from people who are plotting his death. He has to secretly stop them while they keep an eye on him."

Erin gasps, seemingly interested. "That sounds amazing! So intriguing… What is it called? If I may ask…"

"It's called "Behind Closed Doors."

------------------

A/n: I haven't written anything in a while. I actually wrote this a while back and I decided to post it here. I'll just use this account to post my original stuff. Please like and reblog if you enjoy it.

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kamreadsandrecs · 10 months

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It’s 10 a.m. on a Monday, early February, and I’m stepping off a plane in Sarasota, Florida. I’ve come to visit Caroline Calloway, scandalous internet celebrity. (“Scandalous internet celebrity” is what I’m tagging her with now because I have to tag her with something, and it’s accurate if inadequate. Tagging her properly is, you could say, the point of this entire piece.)

A short Uber ride takes me to a building that’s very clearly a retirement home though not explicitly billed as such. No one in the lobby or on the grounds is a day under 80. Lots of bright white sneakers and denim pantsuits. I hold the elevator for a woman with a walker who wants to show me the package she’s just received from QVC.

I exit the elevator and there’s Calloway, framed in the doorway of her condo, one foot forward, the other back. She’s 31 but looks like a girl, like Alice in Wonderland: small and slender with smooth, honey-hued skin; a precisely molded forehead, chin, and mouth; large, clear eyes. She has an armful of cat, stuffed, I think at first, only realizing my error when it slow-blinks at me before turning away in feline disdain. A ribbon ties back her long hair, brown, though somehow not, somehow giving the impression of fairness, blondness. Her clothes are plain yet stylish—oversized white oxford, fitted blue shorts, blue flats.

How you know she’s Caroline Calloway and not Alice in Wonderland: her press-on nails, long and painted, a different theme for each nail, the theme for her thumbnail a fiery car crash. Calloway is a writer but one better known for what she hasn’t written than what she has. It’s the Instagram captions she wrote in 2014 and 2015 about her life as a bright-eyed American undergraduate among a glamorous and decadent elite at Cambridge University that made her (Instagram) famous. It’s School Girl, a book that was supposed to be an extension of those Cambridge captions, a book she never wrote, though she signed a contract worth half a million dollars to do so, that made her—started to make her—(real-world) infamous. In any case, she has a nonfiction writer’s eye for vivid detail. So I’m certain the nail is a vivid detail she’s planted. She means for me to pick up on it, include it here.

As she bends over to reposition the cat, her breast—the left one—is briefly exposed. That she’s without a bra in a shirt unbuttoned almost to her navel is also a vivid detail. It too might be planted. After all, she made her breasts part of the public discourse when, in 2020, she opened an OnlyFans account in order, she claimed, to pay back the advance for School Girl. And maybe she’s flashing me now so I won’t forget to mention that she was, for a period, the purveyor of what she termed “cerebral softcore porn.” (Translation: She dressed up as famous female characters in literature, except topless. Daisy Buchanan, topless. Juliet Capulet, topless. Arwen—“the hot elf in Lord of the Rings, the one Liv Tyler played,” she explained at my bewildered look—topless.)

Or maybe she’s just behind on her laundry.

Calloway and I have been talking for a year and a half, but this is only our second in-person meeting, so instead of hugging her, I say hi. She raises the cat’s paw in greeting, then scampers off. From another room, she calls out that she’s trying to find the bellhop cap she bought Matisse. (Matisse is the cat.)

While I wait for her to come back, I wander inside—the moment I remember the words my friend Mitchell, who is also Calloway’s friend Mitchell, said last night. He knew I was interviewing her at her condo this morning and wanted to prepare me for what I was about to see. “It’s Instagram Grey Gardens,” he told me.

He’s right, I think, looking around. That’s exactly what Calloway’s condo is, only Calloway’s condo is actually Calloway’s grandmother’s condo. Or was until Calloway’s grandmother died last June. Calloway had moved in after moving out of her apartment—a studio in Manhattan’s West Village—in the spring. She was staying to help take care of her grandmother. Then, when her grandmother no longer required caretaking, she was staying to pack up her grandmother’s things. She was also staying just to stay since she’d sublet (illegally) the West Village apartment to Rachel Rabbit White, former sex worker and poet, and White’s husband, convicted bank robber and novelist Nico Walker.

Everything about the condo is musty fusty old-lady: the furnishings, the fixtures, the smells. But then overlaying the musty fusty is the “girly bohemian chaos” Calloway prides herself on. Scattered across the dark wood surfaces of antique tables and nightstands and armoires are Glossier products, Diptyque candles, arts and crafts supplies, a MetroCard, mismatched earrings, real flowers in glass vases, fake flowers in glass Coke bottles. On a doily, a bottle of antidepressants (Fluoxetine). In front of a dollhouse, a bottle of anti-anxiety meds (Gabapentin). On the bookshelf, intermingled with her grandmother’s movie-star memoirs—Lauren Bacall’s By Myself and Then Some, Myrna Loy’s Being and Becoming—her reality-star and YouTuber memoirs—Audrina Patridge’s Choices: To the Hills and Back Again, Stassi Schroeder’s Next Level Basic: The Definitive Basic B*tch Handbook, PewDiePie’s This Book Loves You.

I crouch down to better examine the workstation Calloway has set up on the carpet. She’s assembling packages of “Grift (not gift) Cards,” an inside joke between her and her fans. In early 2019, she went viral as a grifter for launching a national “creativity workshops” tour that failed, rather spectacularly, to come off. She forgot to book venues; promised “mason jar gardens,” then, after 1,200 jars were delivered, had nowhere to put them; promised “orchid crowns” but only managed a single measly non-orchid flower per attendee; etc.

Months later, she went viral again as a different kind of grifter when her former best friend and NYU classmate Natalie Beach wrote an exposé for The Cut. In it, Beach claimed that she was Calloway’s ghostwriter: editor of the Instagram captions, cowriter of the School Girl proposal. “I Was Caroline Calloway” was an absolute sensation, The Cut’s most read story of 2019. (“It was supposed to come out the day Jeffrey Epstein died,” says Beach. “But fact-checking took so long that it got pushed back a month. You get lucky with how things hit and when.”) By the end of the year, Calloway was all-the-way infamous—a grifter two times over; canceled for being a grifter two times over.

Calloway, back with Matisse, looking très sportif in his bellhop cap, stops in front of a gilt-edged mirror to confirm her prettiness. She smiles at her reflection, the smile spilling onto me as she turns. We talk for a few minutes about how her lawsuit is going. (In March of last year, the landlord of that West Village apartment accused her of skipping out on $40,000 in back rent.) When she’d first informed me of the financial pickle she was in, she’d said, widening her eyes, “At a certain point, I realized I could either live luxuriously or pay my rent.” A statement so dumb, it’s funny. I remind her of it now with a laugh.

Instead of laughing back, she nods gravely and says, “Yeah, I made a choice. Honestly, I’m not even sure it was the wrong choice. The underlying humor is like, ‘Ha, ha, and I regret it.’ But do I? A bank wouldn’t have given me a loan with that low an interest rate to go party like a princess.” (She and her landlord have come to an understanding, she says: She’ll pay him $5,000 a month until she reaches $40,000, throwing in an additional $5,000 to cover his legal expenses.)

She chews her bottom lip as she thinks. “I’m often reductive about myself in a jokey way. Like, ‘Oh, 40 grand to party.’ But it was an opportunity. I didn’t know when we’d see again the white-hot molten center of what’s cool in downtown New York embracing cancel culture in the ways that it did in the summer of 2021. It was a pop-culture lunar eclipse that I wanted to take advantage of. I’ve created a brand out of thin air. I’m a business. But banks don’t see me that way. Nothing but writing a book could ever make me a writer, but being there, with the right people in the right places having the right conversations, could make me in a much better position culturally for when my book did come out. And being there took money. I want to be an It girl. It girls are start-ups, and start-ups need funding.”

I’m so astounded by the whole speech, the last line in particular, that all I can do is stare. Calloway does this frequently: Right at the moment I’ve condescended to her, she knocks me flat by offering an insight both radical and renegade in that sweet-girl voice of hers, high and bright and harmless. And then I remember: She looks like Edie Sedgwick, thinks like Andy Warhol. Is a living, breathing contradiction in terms, and my response to her is contradictory.

The writing on which she built her reputation, the Cambridge captions and the School Girl proposal—think Daisy Miller crossed with The Princess Diaries; think Brideshead Revisited but coed—I don’t like. It’s wish fulfillment for adolescent and postadolescent girls of the slurpiest, most trivial sort. It stirs my imagination not at all. And my official reaction to her stories is rejection.

My unofficial reaction to her stories, however, is rapture. Not the stories she writes, the ones about castles, gowns, garden parties, and impossibly handsome young men all bucking for the title of Prince Charming, which are silly shit and kid stuff and old-fashioned. The stories she tells, the ones about engagement rates, hashtags, clout fucking, and Dimes Square—about making it in America in the first quarter of the 21st century—which are serious shit and grown-up and wildly, emphatically contemporary.

Calloway on how she mastered Instagram:

“I got my Instagram handle in 2012. The app was up-and-coming. A typical post was an aerial shot of avocado toast and, for a caption, hashtag ‘Valencia.’ That Dior would one day hire Instagrammers to cover its shows, or that The New York Times would break news on Instagram in tandem with the website was unthinkable. It was in January 2013, after Cambridge accepted me, after I dropped out of NYU, that I really started investing in Instagram. I bought 40,000 followers for maybe $4.99, which makes me sound like”—she breaks into a mincing parody of an old person—“ ‘I remember when soda pop was a nickel.’

“I knew I wanted not just followers but readers, and not just any readers but readers who were predisposed to become obsessed with what they read. I targeted book fandom accounts—Harry Potter, The Hunger Games—and bought ads. So, I spent all of my savings on this, plus more of my dad’s money, which I would later learn he didn’t even have. I’d buy a package of 10 posts for $50, which sounds insane. But the thing is, the people I bought the ads from thought I was insane, that I was throwing away money. And they were like, ‘Oh, are you sure?’ Then I would take every ounce of my ability as a writer to study the way they wrote their captions. When they liked something, did they say it was ‘awesome’ or ‘amazing’? What emojis did they use? How many exclamation points? I would write the ads in the voice of the account owner so that they didn’t look like ads, they looked like captions.

Now the FTC has rules about that, but not then. And I’d be like, ‘I found the most amazing new account, her stories are so great.’ I’d time these little ad campaigns to go up just as I was posting original stories on my own account. And that’s how I started to get real followers.”

Calloway on how she survived getting canceled the first time after the creativity workshop fiasco:

“The rules that apply to surviving a riptide apply to surviving getting canceled. Your first instinct is to struggle. You want to clear your name, set the record straight. Don’t. If you do, you’ll expend your energy too quick and drown. What you do instead is follow the current, even if the last thing you want to do is go in the direction public opinion is carrying you. If you’re me, that means leaning into your scammer identity. You don’t point out that you offered everyone a refund. Or that the people the workshop was meant for actually had a good time. No, you name your next book Scammer. And then, once the undertow subsides, you can make your way back to shore.”

Calloway on how she survived getting canceled the second time after the “I Was Caroline Calloway” fiasco:

“Natalie stole my identity with that piece. We did write captions together in the beginning, when we were writing for an audience of no one—for bots. But my first two years at Cambridge, we barely spoke. I alone wrote the captions that got me real followers, that got me fame. And then we wrote the book proposal together, half her words, half mine, because I was too high on Adderall to do it myself. Natalie was never my ghostwriter. A few years later, I got an email from her. She told me she’d written about our friendship and that I’d be hearing from a fact-checker. There are a lot of things that I give myself credit for anticipating correctly. When I imagined how many stories would come from the piece, how many press miles, I almost nailed it. I knew it would be life-changing. What I didn’t know was that Natalie would utilize this regressive, misogynistic model of beauty equals dumb, ugly equals smart. But it wasn’t all bad for me. Listen, if you’ve never had any scandals, my advice would be to continue to have none. But if you’ve had one, have as many more as you can. It’s the Kardashian, Trumpian information overload fatigue. There’s a point where people can’t retain enough information to remember every little scandal. Whereas if you have one scandal, people remember, and it defines you.”

I’m still recovering from the “It girls are start-ups” line, my mouth hanging open as if on a hinge, when she suggests we begin the interview. With effort, I close my mouth and nod, follow her to the front of the condo.

We’re sitting on what Calloway refers to as the lanai, a word I’ve never heard outside of a Golden Girls rerun. She’s written something she wants to read to me, is scrolling through her laptop to find it. I await with interest.

It isn’t quite true that I reject her writing. It’s the pre-cancellation writing that I reject. Six months after Beach’s tell-all dropped, Calloway posted on her website “I Am Caroline Calloway,” a novella-length essay. She called it a response to Beach, but really it was the latest version of the Caroline Calloway story. The first version, the Cambridge captions, was the story told as a YA fairy tale. The second version, “I Was Caroline Calloway,” was the story retold as a gritty bildungsroman. According to Beach, the real Caroline Calloway wasn’t Caroline Calloway, a magnetic beauty whose life was a series of madcap adventures that demonstrated again and again the world’s inability to say no to her. Rather, the real Caroline Calloway was Natalie Beach, a smart and unhappy plain Jane, ignored by men when she wasn’t brutalized by them. In one scene, Beach recounted a sexual assault. An older guy took her for drinks, then to bed, where he choked her and hit her without her consent. The de facto takeaway: She was the brains behind Caroline Calloway; Calloway merely the body.

In “I Am Caroline Calloway,” Calloway is retelling the story yet again, this time as a lesbian gothic: the subtext of “I Was Caroline Calloway” made text. This version is about sexual repression and psychological vampirism and the domination of one personality by another—first Calloway’s by Beach’s, then Beach’s by Calloway’s. It’s also about addiction. (Beach, Calloway claims, turned her on to Adderall. “If Caroline says I introduced her to Adderall, she’s not making that up,” says Beach. “It’s a guilt and anxiety that I carry knowing how much she’s struggled with that drug.”) It’s about the fear of inherited madness as well. (Calloway’s father died by suicide, his decomposing corpse discovered in her childhood home in Falls Church, Virginia, two days after “I Was Caroline Calloway” went viral. In the second half of “I Am Caroline Calloway,” she does a literary exegesis of his autopsy report. “The medical examiner’s office still found living in his chest cavity a colony of maggots,” she writes.)

“I Am Caroline Calloway” isn’t without flaw, but it’s a mature work, dark and raw and powerful.

Calloway, unable to find what she’s looking for, shuts her laptop and just starts talking, telling me her plans. She’s been full of them for months now. Why she’s galvanized: the announcement that Adult Drama, a book of personal essays by Beach, will be published by Hanover Square Press in June.

Calloway on her initial reaction: “The first night I didn’t do anything. I just tried to sit with my feelings. Guess what? Didn’t work. Next night, absolute bender. I drink two bottles of wine. I’m super hungry, so I just start hitting up Hinge for someone who’ll take me out for what I refer to in my mind as a scamburger. I basically ask everyone on Hinge if they’ve tried hamburgers at this one spot where the hamburgers are like $20—not a cheap hamburger, but I’m not kept up at night for making them spend 20 bucks on me. It’s a good moral medium. So I find someone, a guy in a polka-dot shirt. He tries to go home with me, but I’m not feeling it. And I’m like, ‘You know what? I’m going to hook up with a girl. I’ve never hooked up with a girl, but I’m just going to go find a girl at a bar and take her home.’ And do you know what I do instead? I take home a guy who looks like Henry VIII—same belly, same beard, same haircut. Hooking up with a girl almost felt like a treat and this felt like a punishment.”

Calloway’s original plan was to do nothing. “I stay completely quiet, cut off Natalie’s oxygen source. Her book only works if I’m around and present and making headlines.” A solid plan but quickly discarded. Too low-key, I suspect. Too un-splashy.

Her plan—the opposite of low-key, ultra-splashy—is to self-publish the “Internet Trilogy,” bam, bam, bam: Scammer, which is “about 2019” (or was about 2019 when she first announced it in 2019) and which has been available for preorder since January 2020, will come out on March 23; I Am Caroline Calloway, an expanded version of the essay, on May 5; The Cambridge Captions, self-explanatory, on May 16. “I’d cap it at a thousand copies,” she tells me, “so that I could then resell and get an advance from publishers so they could have the mainstream rights.” She’ll finance the trilogy, she says, by peddling Grift (not gift) Cards; Snake Oil, her skin care product; Caro Cards—just like tarot cards but different—and other similarly themed merchandise for sale on her website.

Scammer she’s dedicating to Lena Dunham, who wrote a script after Paramount optioned her life rights back in 2019. The option, though, has expired. “The names Caroline Calloway and Lena Dunham are doused in internet gasoline,” says Calloway. “All you need is a match. Even the dedication will be a minor news story. Also, what else can I do to get this movie made except dedicate my book to her?” I Am Caroline Calloway she’ll dedicate to Greta Gerwig; and The Cambridge Captions to Sofia Coppola. “I’ve decided I want three movies about my life,” she says.

I’m nodding encouragingly at her but with a sick sinking feeling in my stomach. It used to be that all the plans she constructed, no matter how pie-in-the-sky, she made happen. She thought she belonged on the big screen and so climbed up there with Daniel Craig and Nicole Kidman, delivering her single line—“Sir, this was on our roof”—with conviction in 2007’s The Invasion. (“Yes, I was a child actor—a key piece of my villain origin story.”) She likewise thought she belonged at Cambridge University, got in on her third try. (“I couldn’t live the rest of my life with an NYU email address.”) The name her parents gave her at birth, Caroline Gotschall, didn’t fit her conception of herself, which is why at 17 she swapped it for a name that did. (“I decided Caroline Calloway would look better on the cover of a book.”) She believed she could use the social networking service known as “Twitter for people who can’t read,” i.e. Instagram, to score a book contract and scored one with Flatiron. (“The US deal was for $375,000, but foreign deals brought that number up to just over $500,000.”)

Then in 2017, she took to Instagram to declare that she was withdrawing from her contract because she’d changed her mind about writing School Girl, now called And We Were Like. “I promised a memoir where the only thing that happened to me were boyfriends,” she said in a 2018 interview. “It wasn’t long before I realized the boy-obsessed version of myself I planned to depict as my memoir’s protagonist was not one I could stand behind.” She was spinning her renege as a bid for integrity, and perhaps it was. But she was also in the throes of a debilitating Adderall addiction. (She’s since stopped using. Adderall at least. “I don’t take uppers anymore,” she says. “Well, I do a little bit of coke. A holiday amount of coke, you know? Like, I don’t do coke more days in the year than there are holidays.”) And there might have been something else going on as well.

She continued to make plans after 2017, yet, one by one, they’ve sputtered, conked out. There’s a Reddit thread created by SMOLBEANSNARK dedicated to tracking and annotating her Instagram posts about Scammer. She’s blamed holdups variously on the return of her mother’s cancer, excessive partying, solidarity with Black Lives Matter. Shipping dates have come and gone many times. On November 8, 2020, she vowed that Scammer would be “AT LEAST 400 pages, more likely 450.” (Flash forward: One month after my Sarasota visit, I receive a text. “Scammer update: It’s taking shape before my eyes into more a book of 65 prose poems than a ‘memoir.’ ” Second flash forward: As of the printing of this issue, Scammer has not yet shipped. Neither has I Am Caroline Calloway, nor Cambridge Captions.)

Calloway is still talking, and as I watch her mouth move, the realization dawns: Natalie Beach, c’est moi.

Beach isn’t who I want to be. That, though, is who Calloway has turned me into. First of all, she makes disinterested journalism impossible. You can’t stay detached. She simply won’t allow it.

For example, a few weeks ago, over Zoom, I was listening to her read out loud a paragraph she’d written: “For months, I let a pool boy who is also a plumber fuck me without a condom. I haven’t used a condom in years.”

Unable to help myself, I interrupt. “You should stop having sex without a condom.”

She looks up at me, looks down, then gives a small shake of her head. “Oh,” she says. “No.”

I sigh.

For another example, over a different Zoom, I notice that she keeps pausing to suck on a lemon wedge. I ask her what she’s doing. She’s just taken mushrooms, she explains, and the lemon enhances the mushroom’s potency. I express irritation because I’d blocked out two hours for this interview, and now she was going to be too high to answer questions. No, no, she assures me, she won’t be too high to answer questions. Five minutes later she whispers, “I’m too high to answer questions.” I sigh.

She can be sweet and funny and charming, yet she has no respect for boundaries, personal or professional. In the middle of a conversation, she’ll fasten her eyes on mine, say breathily, “I’ve always thought I’d meet a journalist that I’d be friends with. I really hope it’s you.” Last March, she randomly sent me a video of herself getting ready to go out for the night. She was wearing a minidress and kept flipping it up, flashing her Red Scare thong, and doing this obscene darting thing with her tongue. My sons, then nine and seven, were constantly stealing my phone to watch.

If I continue talking to her, researching her, writing this piece on her, I’ll end up scrubbing the period blood out of her comforter, same as Beach. (Well, Beach didn’t scrub the blood-stained comforter, but she did stash it.)

Really, though, Natalie Beach, c’est moi because Calloway makes me her collaborator. She needs one more than anybody I’ve ever met. There’s an air of purgatory about her. She’s been locked in a moment for six years, the moment she broke the contract with Flatiron. She’s doomed to try to write the book and fail to write the book over and over. She gives the book different titles—And We Were Like, Scammer, I Am Caroline Calloway—but it’s all, I’m convinced, the same book because it’s all the same story, the only story she has to tell: hers. And yet, for some mysterious reason, she can’t tell it. Not by herself, anyway.

How Calloway makes you her collaborator: She does cold reads on people. Is doing them on me all the time. Is alert to what I’m responsive to and then goes from there.

For instance, she knows I like “I Am Caroline Calloway.” And once I call it a lesbian gothic, she starts calling it that too. I ask her if she’s going to change it substantially when she turns it into a book, and she says that she wants to make it “more of a lesbian gothic.” I point out that that’ll be tricky since she and Beach weren’t actually physically involved. She nods thoughtfully. “I’m sure there’s a way to write this, and that way might just be me fucking saying it, but Natalie’s sexual assault story—she actually didn’t tell the full extent of it in The Cut.”

She checks to see if she has my attention. When she sees she does, she continues:

“Natalie called me out of the blue, crying, even though we hadn’t spoken in months. I just sat down on the sidewalk because I was so sad for her. I remember being interrupted because people kept being like, ‘Caroline, are you okay?’ No one just sits down on the ground in England. The thing is, I’m such a good crisis friend. It’s something that, especially during my addict years, I really doubled down on because I knew I was dropping the daily ball. I wasn’t returning texts or asking friends, ‘How are you?’ And it was great because I was awake for three days at a time. People could call at any hour and I’d pick up. When Natalie was talking, I was high on Adderall, and I wanted to speak so badly. But I was quiet. That was one of the only times I was a good friend to her during all those years.”

Calloway then proceeds to tell me the same disturbing story that Beach told readers, with a few additional lurid details. Perhaps the most lurid detail of all: that Calloway wasn’t disturbed by the disturbing story. At least, she wasn’t only disturbed by it.

“I’m thinking that there’s something really sad about it but also fucked up and hot,” says Calloway. “I’m with someone. It’s very trusting, lovey-dovey. I say to him, ‘Okay, I’m going to get blackout drunk. Let me be very clear with you about what I want.’ And then he did to me some of what that guy did to Natalie. I never told Natalie that.”

So, if Calloway never quite manages to get her revised lesbian gothic into book form, she sort of does because I’ve put it in this piece. Her new version is out there, and the new version—a fourth version of the Caroline Calloway story—feels like one we wrote together even though I had no clue that’s what we were doing. Which makes me yet another worker bee on the Caroline Calloway hive project.

As Beach was with “I Was Caroline Calloway,” is again with Adult Drama.

As Darren Star is. (He figured out how to write the big pop commercial Caroline-in-Cambridge book, only he wrote it as a TV show and the young woman is called Emily and she’s in Paris.)

As Ryan Murphy will be if he adapts Beach’s piece. (According to rumor, he snapped up the rights for a whopping million dollars.)

As Dunham will be if she ever films the script she wrote.

As Gerwig and Coppola will be if Calloway succeeds in turning their heads with her dedications.

Writers whose books are released by name publishing houses, whose pieces appear in name magazines, are, for the most part, bourgeois professionals, integrated into mainstream society. Calloway isn’t. She’s authentically on the outside and in opposition. Is, in other words, authentically avant-garde. Is also, I believe, authentically criminal. I don’t mean criminal in the literal or legal sense. (I seriously doubt she’s broken any major laws. The comparisons to Elizabeth Holmes and Anna Delvey always struck me as not just wrongheaded but flat-out wrong.) I mean criminal in the sense that she doesn’t do things on the up and up. The way she “gamed” Instagram is the way she “gamed” Cambridge University. (“I lied on my application,” she says. “I forged my transcript when I got in.”) And there’s an improvisatory recklessness to how she conducts her life that’s both thrilling and frightening. Like it’s all one big spree.

The term I’m groping for is con artist, emphasis on the artist because she’s authentically that too. It could be argued that she isn’t a writer but a performance artist’s take on a writer. Look at all the fascinating things she’s done with her failure to finish a book. There’s her foray into porn—paying off her publishers by desecrating the classics!—a desperate move, though also a witty and subversive one. There’s the “FACTS” section of her lawyer’s response to her landlord’s suit that’s written not in legalese, but Calloway-ese. (“Ms. Calloway had a very troubled childhood, which is why she spent so much money and time making improvements to the property—because 205 [West 13th Street] was not only her favorite home, but also her first.”) There’s the Reddit thread she inspired, which reads like Pale Fire for the internet age. And then there’s her feud with Beach, featherweight yet bloodthirsty, and the only game in town since literary types have gotten so milquetoast.

Beach, who understands what it means to have a career, to fulfill contracts and meet deadlines, did finish a book. Adult Drama is a respectable effort, if a little derivative—imitation Jia Tolentino crossed with imitation Sloane Crosley. It really only snaps to life when Calloway appears, which she does, first in “I Was Caroline Calloway” (retitled “Self-Centered”) and again in “Adult Drama or the Virgin Cunt Club,” the strongest piece in the collection by far. The problem could be Beach’s personality, the opposite of Calloway’s: self-deprecating, restrained, unpersuaded that she’s interesting enough to carry an essay, never mind a whole book. Calloway, on the other hand, is convinced she’s the heroine of a great drama. This belief gives even her shitposts a certain verve and flair. She might be shameless—“I’m a genius, Lili”—might be corny—why so many pictures of herself dressed like a Disney princess?—might even be nuts—“I’m not not mentally ill,” she once told me—but she’s always original, ever watchable.

Yet it could also be argued that Calloway is a writer. A new kind of a writer. A writer who’ll never finish a book because to finish a book is to kill the story. And a book is already a dead thing since it can’t change or adapt, be revised or edited or added to or commented on—not without a cumbersome reprinting, anyway. (Books even look like little coffins.) Digital media allows for an ongoing, interactive story, and maybe that’s the future and Calloway’s it.

Or maybe she’s what her haters have always said she is: an amusing fuckup so fame-hungry that she’s willing to turn her inability to function into a brand.

Or maybe she’s all of the above.

I don’t think Calloway can admit, even to herself, that the chances of her publishing Scammer in anything like the form she originally promised are slim. Except that she did admit it. On January 27, 2021, in a now deleted post, she wrote:

How will you expect me to deliver on writing when I am historically, famously, bad at doing exactly that?… If I could travel back in time and prevent myself from crumbling under the overnight public scrutiny into an avalanche of panic attacks, I would have liked to have tweeted out exactly this to the haters calling me a criminal during January, 2019: CHAOS IS THE BRAND, YOU DUMB, SNARKY FUCKS!!!!!

As afternoon turns to evening, I catch a plane back to New York. Leave Calloway in her old-folks home in boondocks Florida with Matisse, now in a Dr. Seuss hat. If Calloway weren’t the supreme comic ingenue of her day, her ending would be tragic. Her ending would, in fact, be that of the protagonist/antagonist of Todd Field’s #MeToo thriller, Tár. That Lydia Tár, like Caroline Calloway an American self-invention and natural transgressor, is exiled from the cultural establishment is treated as a calamity. What a devastating fall from grace we’re supposed to think when, in the final scene, we see this onetime maestro of the Berlin Philharmonic conducting the score for a video game before a collection of cosplayers in an unspecified Southeast Asian country.

But Calloway is the supreme comic screwball ingenue of her day. Therefore she understands that an audience of plushies and freaks—or retirees and kitty cats—is preferable to one of simpering, self-congratulatory members of a dwindling and increasingly irrelevant intelligentsia. Her fate is a joke, but the joke isn’t only on her. It’s also on the scared and conformist culture that laughs at her because it can’t laugh at itself.

Embrace the chaos, you dumb, snarky fucks.

#caroline calloway

0 notes

kammartinez · 10 months

Text

By Lili Anolik

Or maybe she’s just behind on her laundry.

Calloway on how she mastered Instagram:

Calloway on how she survived getting canceled the first time after the creativity workshop fiasco:

Calloway on how she survived getting canceled the second time after the “I Was Caroline Calloway” fiasco:

“I Am Caroline Calloway” isn’t without flaw, but it’s a mature work, dark and raw and powerful.

Calloway is still talking, and as I watch her mouth move, the realization dawns: Natalie Beach, c’est moi.

Beach isn’t who I want to be. That, though, is who Calloway has turned me into. First of all, she makes disinterested journalism impossible. You can’t stay detached. She simply won’t allow it.

Unable to help myself, I interrupt. “You should stop having sex without a condom.”

She looks up at me, looks down, then gives a small shake of her head. “Oh,” she says. “No.”

I sigh.

How Calloway makes you her collaborator: She does cold reads on people. Is doing them on me all the time. Is alert to what I’m responsive to and then goes from there.

She checks to see if she has my attention. When she sees she does, she continues:

As Beach was with “I Was Caroline Calloway,” is again with Adult Drama.

As Darren Star is. (He figured out how to write the big pop commercial Caroline-in-Cambridge book, only he wrote it as a TV show and the young woman is called Emily and she’s in Paris.)

As Ryan Murphy will be if he adapts Beach’s piece. (According to rumor, he snapped up the rights for a whopping million dollars.)

As Dunham will be if she ever films the script she wrote.

As Gerwig and Coppola will be if Calloway succeeds in turning their heads with her dedications.

Or maybe she’s what her haters have always said she is: an amusing fuckup so fame-hungry that she’s willing to turn her inability to function into a brand.

Or maybe she’s all of the above.

Embrace the chaos, you dumb, snarky fucks.

#caroline calloway

0 notes

castle-dominion · 11 months

Text

c3x21 the dead pool I think

everyonehasthoughts, if you're reading this, I tagged you with this: "btw shout out to @/everyonehasthoughts for reading a fic I was feeling unsure of!" when thinking about alex conrad & rick castle

Who would go swimming at night like that???

kindness : ) U better have asked beckett...

RC: Come on he's a writer, how much trouble could he be?

Food poisoning? He Should Not Have Been Swimming

It's a 6am swim practice & this boy was up at 1.30 swimming? Did he wake up early or stay up late? When does he sleep?

Oh there's an aussie

...Where do babies come from? Remembers her last name too? Wow Beckett lowkey checking him out

Interesting view of the morgue

We see montgomery's eyes a little bit teary. He must really care abt this case. I mean I get it, the poor mother. This is one of the best mom interview scenes we've had.

RM: It says here she's 5'2", you really think she can overpower Zack? KR: Uh, no, but her brothers could. In Grand Irish Tradition, she has four of them, each over six foot, (he says grand irish tradition while standing like 5'8" with three older sisters) each with his own claim to fame: KR: Assault. RC: Ooh KR: Ag assault (aggravated assault) RC: Bad (RM looks at castle making a comment for every one; if it's a long list it's going to be a lot of comments) KR: ADW (assault with a deadly weapon) RC: Eee KR: Battery RC: Mm KR: Assault on a city employee parking enforcement RC: Doesn't count (so valid bestie) RM: Easy KR: Dude KB: (just looks at him) RC: I.. just jokes! (acab bro) RM: RC: RM: ! RC: ..

ew steamed chix breast with no seasonings. Bodybuilders are just like that huh. (when does he sleep? wakes up for 6am swim team, stays up at night until 1am doing what he does & swimming...) Idk some scary looking guy. They went at it. Me, after hearing her say she thought he was with another girl: THEY WERE DOING WHAT Girl you might be able to say NOT a certain accent. Not british, not australian, not east asian, not baltimore, but you don't know what it IS?

... Does beckett have a sticky note pad of... dead people? wtf? Yo espt's outfit today! It's a maroon/burgundy shirt, button up, collared, but it has nice pockets, interesting fabric block placement, & even little straps that go atop his shoulders. Espt & Castle are doing the "build off of each other" thing that caskett does. Did those two have some offscreen action? (won't clip but I love the way they look at each other)

THEY USED TO HAVE WHAT RACES I'm so glad I live up north, it is not even that far north tbh... Remember Norman Jessop & how he helped crack the case by saying that the door was not locked? Yeah. Maybe they trashed the place before he was killed, you don't know! Wait a dental pick? Right after I mentioned Norman Jessop? I literally brought down my finesse picks (which look like dental picks) downstairs TODAY & practiced my lock skills! I have a real pick set too but I wanted to try out the carving/dental picks. (btw I am not a criminal, I just read a tumblr post once about some guy who got back into his office & impressed a girl & I wanted to impress girls too.) Oh come on the ones who trashed his apartment would have seen that! RC: Only one thing I know of comes in vials like that. Me: pee? RC: Steroids

Bro it's designer. & u can detect it if u specifically look for it. Why does Dr Parish know that? Also where is perlmutter?

WOAH OK DID THIS GUY GET BEAT UP IS HE DRUNK OR IS HE HUNG OVER? IT'S THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY WHAT? SO HE EITHER GOT BEAT UP OR IS DRUNK & EVEN THO HE'S A COP ASKING AROUND FOR THE SISTER'S MURDER CHARGE I FEEL IT'S JUST AS LIKELY HE'S DRUNK. IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY. (Ryan comes in all banged up & shabby looking. His tie is way off to the side, he looks like he hasn't slept properly in a week, his posture is struggling, his shirt cuffs are hanging out from his coat cuffs, his eyebrows are very low, & his jacket has a rip in it.) KR: Well, she wasn't lying about her brothers. JE: *leans back to get a better look at this man* RC: *sees ryan then looks harder as his face deepens its concern* KR: Talked to all four of them, JE: *looks his partner up & down* KR, putting his tie back on properly: one Irishman to another, JE: >:| KR, voice dropping in pitch as he stares into the distance: & another. JE: *raises eyebrows at castle & beckett* KR: Anyway, they alibied out. They were in New Paltz when Zack was killed. KB: All of them? KR: Mm. (confirmation) KB: For what? KR: KR: They were at a sporting event, of-uh ...sorts. *immediately turns around to walk away* KB: Which was? KR: *licks teeth to stall* KR: Leprechaun toss. *looks immediately to esposito* Don't. ask. (JE & RC share a look & try not to laugh) (a leprechaun toss from what I hear is where you take a little-person & literally throw them as far as you can. Usually into a mattress.) KR: Anyway, the, uh, older brother, he got *notices rip in jacket* first place. KR, toying with the shoulder of his jacket which is falling off at the seam, voice jumping literally an octave like I measured: Oh, man. KB: *trying not to smile* RC: Well, the merits of Irish culture aside, KR: Hey. >:( RC: Sorry & then when beckett asks ryan to do smth he doesn't answer with words, he just raises a fist. Like holy crap this poor man, what happened to him? That's a deleted scene I Want To See!

When did they learn that half the time he was leaving w/o his gym bag?

Ooh alex conrad! AC: *gives a good idea* RC: *proud of him* KB: AC: Well that's just me idk RC: don't worry it takes experience KB: no u'r right uwu uwu Keep in mind, she is also in a romantic relationship as well as being your so called muse.

five to ten in mythology jail Hold on he had a book called dead serious & his new book is called seriously dead? this is a game of concentration; category is plants: WEASEL This is like when Gracie came back & was hella goth

An edible way of saying thank you so much for last night? JE, walking by (beckett is talking abt the case) JE, stops when he sees the Big Basket of Mini Muffins (Beckett is mentioning smth that must be done) JE: Oh how about I run it down? KB: Thanks JE: yeah, *takes the file from her & one of her muffins* *looks at castle guiltily really quick before walking off* RC: Muffins KB: Mhmm, Alex Conrad sent them to me. RC: *drops the muffin immediately & it just falls to the floor* Girl she is literally in a relationship with josh rn wait no wait he meant "got together" in a normal sense not "Got Together" in That sense. & then she stretches Like That???

Ryan outfit update: Maroon sweater, doesn't look too loosely woven & not fraying/fuzzy/wooly, long-sleeved, high vneck; warm navy blue dress shirt; maroon tie. (Oh & later on he gets a grey jacket too, decently light) Castle's outfit is valid but kind of ugly, I don't like the shirt Oh no not an underground website mr castle (& then ryan in the background playing with the medical thing, showing beckett while castle makes a search on someone's computer, idk whose computer tbh) Ryan just.. letting the thing expand around his fingers for no apparent reason

Tommy Marcone is actually not all that wrong. He's dead; nothing u can do abt that now. Hey tommy, smart observation! *drops a hundy for the house & for the bartender, tip for a tip*

They have printers right on their desks eh? Ok but my question: Whose desk is whose? Does rysposito sit back to back or across from one another? does beckett have someone who sits across from her & uses that computer?

Oh nice, the boys made it & got the other side! Just in time! Kinda f'ed up the cops go into this business (probably at least partially legitimate) & just start waving around guns. (of jail in this country is vacation? That is the point. Vacate. Jail is to get dangerous people out of society NOT a punishment.)

NICE CAR!

Tommy is so right. RC: Like a dead mobster in the trunk? Just like that last episode! I like Tommy. He's cute

I don't like brian. He looks like he's made of plastic. He looks hella douchey. Wow that line was rehearsed Oh that line? It was the dad (hold on, the car guy has the accent but he is not the one supplying the eastern-european drugs)

Ryan my man! Already has the information needed! Reminds me of george crabtree. Since he got convicted (falsely but voluntarily) he couldn't make detective even tho he already had everything that murdoch asked him for. Ugh it was so sweet I want to cry. & he literally says follow the money like brax in his line: You practically need an MBA to follow the money RC: Especially in today's competitive market Me: it's like that movie where the assassins try to unionize! (great movie btw)

Woah & outfit update on esposito, man's got a lapelled jacket with a hundred pockets! Tho his shirt idk. Long sleeved dark reddish brown, a few buttons at the top, no collar. Jeans too.

Poor tommy. I love him sm. Probably bc he's cute & I like his tone. If he had a different tone then I'd likely be so mad at him

Girl she's right. it IS about how fat someone's wallet is. With power & influence & money you can get away with a lot of illegal stuff, even if they catch you. it's sad.

They got milkshakes or smth?? Is "struck out" a good thing or a bad thing? We struck out! that shot in the dark we sent hit & we got the info we needed! Ugh, we struck out. that last bat was another miss & we don't have any info. Nice laptop Not the one phone call, that was a dozen but they were all to one guy.

Hypothetically.

Why did they direct Ryan to sit? Is it to make him look Baby?

First names : ) Alex Conrad really does look like mini castle Like a piece of meat.

Oh right. May his memory bring joy to all who remember. I like how he pushes the chair back in I hope this boy knows how to play poker Treading water lol dead serious lol, that's his book title Guys cut him some slack lmao 23 more

No no no not the coach Audio changed whoa wow ok then

No no... no not the cologne guy BRO DON'T SEARCH HIS APPARTMENT HWITHOUT TELLING HIM HE HAS A RIGHT TO SEE THE WARRANT. No... (even tho guy on the cereal box comment was funny)

B plot much? Yeah u were p hard on him. Admitting to his jealousy! This is legit & beautiful & honest. I'm glad you at least feel bad about it castle

Wait are they discussing the torture from a few episodes back? Wow their pride (& I'd expect trauma) really healed fast. Except that ryan says: "& then he said, 'they used to do this to me for talking in class' " except ryan was the one to say that in the first place. (also ryan's outfit is kinda weird. blue/yellow gingham type patterned shirt, collared & button up at least, no tie tho, sleeves rolled up.) (& beckett looks good in a turtleneck) Riker's? That a prison? (is that why kate says don't feel bad or is it bc she set him onto the boys for muse?) RC: Will you still send me your writer's draft? AC: Yes as soon as I change the killer RC: Girlfriend? AC: Rookie mistake. btw shout out to @everyonehasthoughts for reading a fic I was feeling unsure of! (ryan & alex get going while espt hangs back) JE: So a dude can be a muse, right bro? I mean it isn't weird or anything,, is it? RC: No, it's not weird KB: No JE: No, yeah *walks off to catch up with his friend & the guy who is asking him abt stuff for a book* RC, quietly: It's a little weird KB: yeah me: mostly bc it seems like they are competing for his attention ACH IT'S ANOTHER ALWAYS

that's just so sweet

(btw I need a fic now where alex can't tell if they are lovers & things get awkward)

Ok so I went thru & grabbed some clips. I actually watched the whole thing while harvesting my pennycress. Well I listened & when smth worth clipping came up then I'd clip it. Usually I watch it sped up until I get to the points i want to clip, but I struggled to find parts I wanted & I was penny-cress-ing anyway

#castle 3x21 #castle 3x21 quote #castle 3x21 spoilers #the steroid pool episode

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kudosmyhero · 1 year

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The Amazing Spider-Man (vol. 3) #3: {untitled?}

Read Date: October 15, 2022 Cover Date: August 2014 ● Writer: Dan Slott ● Penciler: Humberto Ramos ● Inker: Victor Olazaba ● Colorist: Edgar Delgado ● Letterer: Chris Eliopoulos ● Editor: Nick Lowe ●

Synopsis: In a bunker, Silk is walking around on her ceiling saying to herself that she’s bored and has seen everything there is in the bunker. Then, she stops in front of a bunch of pictures, looking at them upside down. She notices her little brother in a picture and wonders if he’s in college, has a girlfriend, and if he wishes he had a big sister to seek advice from. She rips open a metal door and a warning system goes off, telling her to not leave zone one, although she still tries to crack the password. A video of Ezekiel Sims comes up telling Silk (whose real name is Cindy) to not leave the bunker, not only for her, but also for the rest.

Meanwhile, in the Upper East Side, the Black Cat breaks into Edgar and his wife’s apartment. She uses their wine and caviar while they’re tied up behind her. She says that it’s funny that she bought wine and caviar with what she stole and that she really needed to lose everything to realize everything is hers. Also, she said that she wanted to kill Spider-Man but wanted to torture him first.

Later, in Alphabet city, Electro is in an abandoned building where homeless people stay for the night. He has a nightmare in which the “superior” Spider-Man says, flinging him around carelessly, that Electro is his plaything and he loves to break his toys. Electro wakes up screaming “Nooooo!” just to realize that he had set fire to the newspapers he was sleeping under. He then says, while running out of the building, that it is all Spider-Man’s fault.

Back at Parker Industries, Peter’s employees are designing tech gadgets to stop Electro. They are talking about how they have the scariest boss ever, but then Peter walks in with a yellow t-shirt with orange flowers asking if anyone got the email about casual Fridays. One employee asks if he is bipolar. Than an employee shows Peter a device that tracks Electro’s energy signature. Peter says he’s going on a field trip to get energy readings from Electro’s last known location. Sajani then says she was happy that Peter was finished working with Spider-man because it would end the lunacy of all this. Peter says that the government contract wasn’t to capture Electro, but to develop tech for the people to catch him. Peter goes with some workers. Once Peter leaves, Sajani says that even though they spent all their time working on nano-tech he’s willing to throw it away on a whim. Anna Maria says that she could finish the project. When Anna Maria goes into Peter’s lab she realizes there is a lot of stuff she doesn’t know. Luckily, the Living Brain was able to give assistance or a tasty beverage.

Back at Alphabet city, firefighters are waiting for Ollie Olivera who is rescuing homeless people from a burning building. Then, Ollie saves a man whom the paramedics take away. A firefighter jokes that he was trying to make up for one day in the “Goblin War”, to see his girlfriend, Mary Jane Watson. When the firefighters turn to him he isn’t there. Peter arrives at the latest active scene and says he will go get snacks to really change into Spider-Man. His worker whispers, “He’s crazy”. He changes into Spider-Man and goes into the burning building. Black Cat is still at the house watching Spider-Man go into it.

Later, at fact channel studios, J. Jonah Jameson is sitting with a woman who asks Jameson if her producer told her why he was asked there. Jameson talks a lot about resigning and being the best mayor keeping the city safe and all. He says he will never have a teary-eyed apology and ends with, of course, it was all Spider-Man’s fault. The woman than says this isn’t an interview, but a job. He happily agrees saying the medium of television has finally justified it’s existence.

At Alphabet city, Spider-Man teams up with “Ollie” to save a kid stuck in the burning building. Spider-Man keeps the roof up while Olivare goes in and gets the kid. They save her on a web line lowering to the ground. The fire fighter than falls through the roof and the Black cat is in front of Spider-Man. Spider-Man doesn’t know why she won’t help and is hurting him until she says that he did something that ruined her. Spider-Man said he transferred minds with Otto and whatever happened was on him. Black Cat did not care and said that Spider-Man made her look like a fool so she was going to make an example of him. Spider-Man says, “Then the need for pretense is over” and almost takes her head off with his fist going inside a wall. He starts talking like Otto Octavius, saying he will kill Black Cat, which scares her away. Spider-Man saves the fire fighter, and then realizes when Mary Jane ran to see Olivera that she went through that nightly and needed a normal life.

Back at where the workers are, they realize they have lost the device and an employee’s wallet. On the rooftops, Black Cat finds Electro with the device she stole and persuades him to help her get Spider-Man.

(https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Amazing_Spider-Man_Vol_3_3)

Fan Art: Silk aka Cindy Moon by portfan

Accompanying Podcast: ● Amazing Spider Talk - episode 0?

#marvel #marvel comics #my marvel read #podcast recommendation #comics #peter parker #spider-man #comic books #fan art #fanart #podcast - amazing spider talk

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harrison-abbott · 2 years

Text

ON FICTION

I knocked on the door. There was a call. I opened.

“Mr Willard?” said this woman with a crimson suit on.

“Ah, a Ms Yewland?”

“That’s me, come in.”

I’d planned on a calm handshake when I greeted the interviewer. Knowing it was a woman, I knew not to press so hard during the clasp, the way men do when they’re nervously masculine.

But she didn’t even rise. Or look at me, only pointed to the chair. Scuffled about with some papers and then she found my name on one of them – a brown folder, I saw my name on it in black ink and it kinda made me feel like a school boy. Then Ms Yewland asked me questions.

“So you’ve worked in the media sector for how long?” she said.

“Seven years, ma’am. I’ve worked for culture magazines and a bookselling company and I’m a published author too.”

“Hmm …” she analysed the papers with a pen. Yewland had these icily thin spectacles; her pupils were cunning, once-pretty. She was maybe in her late forties. I realised she probably had all these physical judgements about me too the way I was judging her now.

“So why would you like to work for a charity?” she said.

“Well, as you can see from the CV, I’ve worked with charity groups before. I like it. Feels like I’m doing something worthwhile. I can empathise with people. Write for them too. And if you need a fast writer, somebody who can churn out stories. That’s definitely me.”

“Okay. So your last role with this, umm, bookselling company, that was – how long ago?”

“Three and a half years back. Before the pandemic.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Ah, it was a temporary contract. One of the lady colleagues was on maternity leave. For six months.”

“And this was your last full time role in media?”

“Yes but I’ve been working freelance since then.”

“On what?”

“On short stories and articles. I make little fees from those each month.”

“I see.”

“Concentrating on my fiction a lot.”

“On fiction?”

“My books. That I have published.”

“Who publishes them?”

“K.D.P.”

“What’s that?”

“Kindle Direct Publishing.”

“Ah, through Amazon? So they’re self published?”

I nodded.

“Cool,” she said.

Yewland had a picture of a golden retriever on her desk and she was wearing a hoody and jeans and hugging it with an enormous smile.

She leafed to the end of my CV and looked at the references. I couldn’t discern anything from her expression: nothing there to analyse. Then she looked up at me, for the first time, and I flinched.

“Thanks for coming in today, Mr Willard,” she said.

“And you. So can I tell you anything more about my experience?”

“No. Thank you though. We’ll be in touch if we want to take you any further. Just let my secretary know on the way out that you’re done, please.”

I said bye at the door and she had already closed my folder and was adopting the next one.. Then I went down the corridor to the secretary. She was about ten years younger than me and this was depressing. Wherever I went these days I seemed to be the only person ‘my age’ – as if I didn’t belong in any time period.

“That’s me finished, honeypie,” I said to her.

In the elevator I took off my tie. My armpits were all sweaty. Got off at the bottom and headed into this shiny atrium I knew I wouldn’t cross again. Fuck it: so I didn’t get a job. This happens to millions of people each day. Why should I think myself something special, that it’s all about my vulnerabilities?

I left the office building. Was in a stark outskirt of the city next to a howling motorway.

It so happened that there was an F.E. College in this barren part-o’-town too, and with me at the bus stop as I waited were all of these ‘young’ people. Late teens & early twenties. They all seemed like misfits, many of them standing on their own. With different fashion styles. (Not that I had any fashion sense myself: I just mean they were all dressed differently.) And I felt bad for them because the nation was heading towards another recession and the job market would probably be far worse for them in five years than it was now. And I hoped that they would be able to go to university after college, and not have to think about much for four years. Enjoy that halcyon chapter of their days.

The bus came. I put the headphones in and nuzzled the head against the windowpane. Long bus ride to the other side of the city. By the time I got to my home district it was nearly dark.

I knew my girlfriend would be home (the person I shared a flat with). She had a proper job herself. Emma. I used to love her and wasn’t so sure anymore. We hadn’t been getting on well. I had the suspicion that she thought I was a loser. Same notion I had. And if I went home and told her that I didn’t get the job then it’d probably fuel a rant or a snappy uncommunicative night. Couldn’t be bothered with that.

So instead of heading down to my street, I went three streets down and turned into the bar at the far end of the third. Wherein I was semi-friends with this mute chap called Georgie.

Georgie couldn’t speak – he’d been born that way. But he could understand you when you spoke and he knew sign language. Was always friendly; a naturally likeable man. Ageless too: was old but you had no clue whether he was fifty something or seventy something.

“Ola, Georgie!” I hailed him when I came in. He was the only person in the bar. I knew the tender too. I bought Georgie a drink. “You want a game of pool, George?”

He was also fantastic at billiards. I’d only beaten him once. In my hundred plus games with him. I was competitive and didn’t like to lose games. (But, hey – I’m a loser, right?)

“I had a job interview today, Georgie,” I said, as I stacked up the balls.

He smiled. He was chalking his cue tip.

“And you know how it went?”

Georgie jerked his hands and raised his eyebrows to say, ‘tell me’.

“I totally fucked it. Interviewer didn’t like me at all.”

He could laugh, inaudibly. His face reddened and he showed his teeth and no sound came out this throat … but he could still laugh.

“It’s a shame,” I said, “because I really thought I was qualified for this one.”

And he dealt this little sign language thing. This gesture which he’d taught me. Over the years I’d known him he’d taught me a little of his language. He’d half made this one up. But I knew what it meant. It meant, “Forget it.”

I chuckled.

Then he shot off the game. And the white pinged into the triangle and all of the balls exploded in new angles.

Georgie usually potted a ball on his break. He didn’t this time. And now it was my turn.

#short fiction #prose

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hurdlehoops · 3 years

Text

SPN did Market Research for Dean & Cas

Disclaimer: Yes this is a sock for safety reasons. Post is long, but please read it.

No shit there I was checking my email, as you do, and I saw I had a screener from one of the market research groups I’m signed up with. On average, I do a market research thing every 3-4 months because I like non-reportable money. And giving my opinions. And talking to people behind 2 way mirrors without having to go to a police station.

Market research itself was early December, 2016. First email contact with the screener was late October or early November.

I see it’s an “offsite,” meaning a market research company is subcontracted by another company who wants to do the market research at their own facility, but doesn't want to find the participants on their own, so they use the Market research company (in this case Schlesinger and Associates) as an intermediary. I can’t remember if this screener identified itself as being for TV, not all do, some might identify only as entertainment, and some might be even more vague until you get into the screener. Regardless of the identification for the screener (TV or entertainment), I fill out almost every screener I receive unless it’s obvious, from the subject, they won’t want me (ie looking for certain types of professionals)- it didn’t matter, then, if the subject matter was something I particularly like, I would’ve filled it out anyway.

After normal, but more detailed than usual demographics questions, the screener asked about TV habits. Eventually, it said the word “fandom” and asked what TV fandoms I’d count myself in. It was roughly a list of 20 shows and listed “fandom” (defined as I watch every episode and read additional materials about the show. Note this is not what fandom itself would consider fandom, but people most fandom dwellers would still count as GA). Beyond fandom, one could indicate they: watch all episodes but don’t seek out more, watch most episodes, have seen some episodes, watched a few, or haven’t watched. (I just got a screener for soap operas and realized that part was the same and made note). Therefore, fandom, to corporate, are people who watch everything and maybe buy some swag for the show- magazines/shirts. Then, they asked about conventions I might have attended. And then asked about my dream vacation, so I babbled a lot about my dream to go to SDCC (I hadn’t at this point). Supernatural was on the list of shows, so I made sure I answered the essay questions about it, because why not? It was my favorite of what was listed. It was a long screener. I don’t remember the rest. Though sometimes I might remember a detail if a screener reminds me of it. Most fun screener I’ve filled out.

A few days/weeks later, I got a call for step 2- the phone screener for the people that sounded good when filling out the form. And where they try and make sure your answers match or fit that same person who answered them. I passed step 2, and was told there would be homework, and asked ifI’d have time for it, since I would only have so many days to watch the assigned material and write essays about them.

Homework arrives: I have to watch and write essays on all the bonus features of Supernatural S10. There might’ve been something in there from another year, too. And all the bonus features from some season of Big Bang Theory. Essays for all of it, too. And I mean essays, not short answers. It was like the SATs, and I was analyzing blooper reels (among other things). I still don’t get why they wanted essay questions on blooper reels, but I’ll always happily write one again cause that was the funniest essay to have to write!

I had to both print and bring and email all my answers ahead of time. I did not keep them. I’m honestly curious what I might’ve written.

So in December, I get to go to WB’s market research department. Fun fact: the entrance to that building faces what had recently been the Supernatural poster. I check in. At this point I think it’s a group. Because most market research is done in groups. Also they said I was there for the “DVD bonus features study”

I wait in the lobby, but I’m surprised there seem to be very few others around. I don’t think I got there too early, but all the others were taken back before me. And they didn’t seem to be there for the same study. Oh and I wore business casual clothes but had some show-based earrings for fun.

Finally a nice lady brings me back to a room. She turns off the lights and gives me a fancy remote and has me play with a new system for watching bonus features. I had to start with BBT. Then we did something else. Then I was allowed to scroll through and I picked Supernatural, and answered all the things. By this point I figured I would be released soonish because I was supposed to be there only for an hour. And this was at least half an hour at the most. No clock, though and cell phone off. Maybe this part went faster than I remember, but it was less interesting so it felt longer? Or less interesting compared to what came next.

We switch gears. I’m no longer allowed to pick what we watch and talk about my thoughts on if SDCC panels belong in bonus features. (Me: should have a preorder and you get to watch it when the season airs with DVD to arrive when season ends. Silly to watch it after the season when it’s mostly vague spoilers for the first episode or so). Obviously WB doesn’t listen to me about everything.

Oh! In the screener as part of normal demographics, I was asked about my sexuality. It isn’t completely rare (I can talk about another market research where you had to be queer to be part of it), but there were some short answers about representation or something similar. Something that is significant *now,* but at the time I didn’t notice as being too weird. Since they probably had me listed to the people behind the mirror as X (if they even got my name) Y resident, bisexual, age. I very specifically said stuff to her about representation cause I wasn’t gonna miss my shot.

Anyway so we switch from dvd extras and she queues up video from another file.

She puts a scene of Supernatural on and has me watch. Then repeats it. And asks questions about my opinions on what’s happening. Then has me watch and only pay attention to Character D and tell her what I think his emotions are. Then again but with Character C.

Complete torture… lol… at this point I’m confused, but enjoying this torture.

So there I am watching the Crypt scene over and over and analyzing it. And talking about their feelings.

And then I stop her and say something to the effect of “look I’m bi. There’s not a lot of good representation on what being bi is like. But from episode 1 I’ve known Dean is Bi.” And I babbled about how important a macho badass but closeted character is for representation. And that I hoped they did more with that. I included some anecdotes from other lgbtq friends and straight allies and how they all felt as I did- Dean is Bi, Cas is whatever he wants to identify as, and we felt we recognized our experiences on the screen and hoped for continued and louder representation.

Bam. My interviewer was called out of the room by the people behind the mirror. Suddenly I’m getting a whole new set of questions

Like this is the most baffling and amazing thing that's happened to me in years. It imprinted in my mind, and I haven’t mentioned it to too many people, because of the NDA and being afraid to jinx things. But now I don’t feel like it matters to be as quiet. Obviously I don’t want WB to go after me but... market research isn’t unusual, just mostly used for spin-offs or new shows not for plot points of shows already happening. At least, that’s my understanding.

The interviewer comes back after a short discussion with whoever was behind the glass. Asks a few more questions

We’re now very much going into various things about what I’d just said. I took my shot. And apparently it paid off big time. At some point she’s pulled out of the room again and given a paper with more questions. Some were about Dean’s bisexuality, or how I, and anecdotally my friends, saw him as bisexual. Others were about the potential romance. None, that I remember, were about Castiel’s sexuality- I guess that was a given or not important.

I don’t know if any of the writers were behind the glass from the beginning, but I felt like they stalled to get someone there, maybe.

The interviewer was baffled and made sure I knew nothing that was happening was normal. They wanted to ask me more questions than they usually care to get out of their market research volunteers.

So those are the most important parts. Basically almost everything I was asked after that was about character analysis and queerness and a whole bunch of other things that were related (I also mentioned needing more disability rep, too). I was back there for at least 2 hours.

#supernatural #spn #destiel #deancas #castiel #dean winchester #misha collins #jensen ackles

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