#I REALLY JUST HATE THIS CONCEPT OKAY SHE HAS NEVER CALLED HER FRIENDS IDIOTS TOSS IT INTO THE TRASH

[animated-antagonist]

Qibli has a terrible arc

HEAR ME OUT.

Before you attack me for this, I genuinely don’t care if you like or hate him. I never loved him, but he wasn’t as bad as moon. Sometimes he’s funny, I like his interactions with winter, but I never really cared about him. But the way his mind was described in moon rising made me excited for his pov in book 10.

Then I read it and realized that he’s a boring, whiny, obsessive character who I was immediately sick of.

Darkness of dragons as a whole is a fucking mess from start to finish. And because I have nothing better to do right now, im going to explain why.

This is all my opinion, and it is based on story structure and character arc guidelines and stuff that I have learned recently. Feel free to disagree. Qibli is a decent character with his charm and humour, but he has the worst character arc out of all wof books. Yes that includes the hive queen and dragonslayer.

 Ok so first, what I like about qibli: like two things: his relationship with winter, and his sense of humour. I like his playful banter with the shiny ice dragon prince. It’s entertaining. And he does have the occasional joke that manages to somewhat amuse me.

 Literally everything else about him is awful. So let’s talk about that.

 Memorable characters are driven by three main things: desire, fear, and misbelief.

 Winter’s misbelief is that his life’s worth is determined by a ranking on a wall and what his tribe thinks of him. This also results in him believing that working with others and expressing love and trust are signs of weakness. He’s afraid of being a disappointment to his tribe because he’s experienced that feeling in his past already, and never wants to face it again. And yet … he does want more. He’s more open and caring than the rest of his family, and in the two backstory scenes we get, it’s clear he’s far more willing to bend the rules to be even a little more free.

 Peril’s misbelief is that she’s too dangerous to make her own decisions. Therefore, she’s instantly loyal to anyone who expresses a hint of interest or affection to her. This leads to her being easy to manipulate, and Scarlet does just that. She’s afraid of displeasing the people she’s loyal to, but she does want to be free. But her backstory and eight years of living by Scarlet’s orders and not having a single thought of her own has lead her to subconsciously believe that she constantly has to have someone make all her choices for her. She doesn’t go after Scarlet for her own benefit, it never crosses her mind once. She’s doing it because she knows it will make Clay happy, and not herself.

 Turtle always wanted to be a hero. That’s literally in the book blurb. But the Snapper incident in his backstory makes him doubt that he will ever be anything more than just another SeaWing prince. Thanks to his mother’s stories, he believes that in order to be a real hero, he has to do great, epic things like slaying whole armies by himself. He wants to be a hero, but his misbelief and fear of being noticed get in the way of his wants.

 And they all grow and overcome their fears and misbeliefs. Winter realizes that his friends would never hurt him the same way his family would. He realizes that it’s okay to love and be loved, to trust and be trusted. He goes back to his friends because he knows that, even if they can be annoying some times, it’s so much better than having his worth determined by a family and tribe that never approved of him and probably never will. Peril discovers that her misbelief is leading her to make the wrong decisions. Her growth is so strong that she can take off an animus touched object. She knows she’s right. She can make her own choices, and she’s done letting others use her as a toy. Turtle saves his sister, not by taking down an army, but by tossing her his enchanted stick to keep her hidden from Darkstalker. In doing that, he’s proven that he’s evolved and changed as a character. They all still have doubts at times, but that’s normal. These three characters have some of the best arcs I’ve ever seen.

 Now back to Qibli.

 His family told him he was worthless and couldn’t do anything as an ordinary dragon. This sparked the misbelief that he has to have power, or in this world animus magic, to have worth. He’s afraid of being worthless, and wants to feel valuable. That’s a great setup for a great character. Qibli could have, and should have, been one of the best wof characters of all time.

 But no he fucking sucks.

 I’m going to focus on him as a character here. The Vulture stuff is boring as hell and I don’t care to talk about it. The whole book is shit and I will never read it again, so let’s continue.

 Again, Qibli is set up to be an excellent character. When he goes to find Ostrich, he brings with him Anemone’s bracelets, which makes perfect sense. He doesn’t want to be powerless, so of course he’s going to bring that magic, that power, with him. More setup that goes no where, because when he uses them, he doesn’t even face consequences.

 Pausing here because I hate it so much.

 CONSEQUENCES ARE WHAT MAKE CHARACTERS GROW. If they face ZERO consequences for their actions, they won’t LEARN anything. Qibli using the bracelets works for his character, but I just cannot believe that Thorn would just let him walk away after burying the ENTIRE FUCKING KINGDOM in sand. I hate it so much. Qibli just getting a free pass and facing no consequences is so bad. He doesn’t even express that much remorse or guilt. That could work for a negative character arc (which I genuinely would have preferred from Qibli but I’ll get to that later) but for a positive arc? The magic and power he craves so deeply just got his entire kingdom buried. He should have so much more internal conflict now, because the thing he wants so badly just did more harm than good.

 Okay. Next part. This one isnt’ really related to his character arc, just more of him being a kinda jerk for a few seconds. Winter expresses great concern over travelling over Darkstalker’s teeth, and Qibli just teases him about it. Winter has known about Darkstalker’s malice his whole life, was brainwashed by him, and is truly terrified of him. If Qibli had teased him about anything else I wouldn’t have an issue, but Winter was scared for his life in this moment and Qibli just completely ignores it. Or maybe I’m wrong I haven’t touched the book in years because I hate it that much.

 Back to his ‘arc’.

 Wait no this is an issue I have with the book: the cliffhanger of book 9 was Turtle losing his animus magic and they just kinda fixed it in two seconds here. It’s very upsetting and kinda comical that they fixed it so effortlessly lmao.

 Back to Qibli.

 Uh nothing happens for a while. Just boring Moonbli WHICH, might I add, is the worst wof ship (excluding problematic ones ofc). They have zero chemistry and honestly I find Qibli a bit obsessive. He always thinks ‘what would Moon do’ or ‘will Moon love me if I do this?’ which yeah it ties into his ‘I want to be loved and have value’ motivation but it still feels a bit excessive and annoying at times. Pair that with his constant nagging about how ‘oh no if only I had that gosh darn scroll!’ or ‘how can moon ever choose meeee when she has winterrrr’. Moon described his mind to be fast and full of commotion, but we never see any of that in this book. It’s just constant whining and complaining.

 Then he goes another step further and blames Winter for getting angry at Moon for??? being friends with the dragon who just tried to murder his whole tribe???? Moon’s a fucking idiot for continuing to be friends with Darkstalker after everyone keeps telling her how bad he is. KINKAJOU, HER SUPPOSED BEST FRIEND, tells her all about what Darkstalker did to Turtle, and Moon’s just okay with it??? And then when Winter confronts her about still trusting Darkstalker after everything he’s done not just to the IceWings, but her friends as well, that Darkstalker brainwashed Winter and he’s not okay with it, Qibli calls him self-righteous for exploding with fury. What else do you expect?? This moment killed all three ships for me. It was an unnecessary event that’s only purpose was to give Tui a reason to make Moonbli canon instead of Winterwatcher.

 Onto the climax (which by the way is like the only semi decent part of this whole book). Qibli again uses his power to save the day. SERIOUSLY??? Ok fine it makes sense because this book has zero structure whatsoever. Qibli doesn’t have to make the impossible choice at the end of act one. He doesn’t face a goal shift at the midpoint. He doesn’t look a disaster right in the face. You cannot convince me that he’s changed at all over the course of this book.

 Because he doesn’t. He uses magic at the climax and boom everything is fixed. I like the concept of the empathy spell but it just doesn’t fit with this kind of character arc, unless it comes before the dark moment and fits into the supposed victory plot-point (thinking again now I think it sort of does but I’m too lazy to go change things so deal with it).

 And then oh no we get the temptation plot point! This is often my favourite plot point in stories that have it because we get to see the protagonist drop their misbelief and refuse the offer because they’ve changed! Reading this and thinking, oh wow he’s going to refuse it because he’s gone through a super dynamic character journey and arc!’ … then realizing no he’s not, because Tui forgot to include that and now makes Qibli refuse the offer for completely different reasons.

 See in a book with a good character arc, the character will refuse this offer because they’ve outgrown it. They no longer see value in it because they now have something greater to live for. I like this plot point much more than darkest moment if I’m being honest. So Darkstalker offers Qibli all he’s ever wanted: animus magic. Will Qibli accept, or decline? And why?

 He declines. But not for the right reasons.

 Qibli doesn’t refuse Darkstalker’s offer because he’s changed or grown. He doesn’t refuse it because he now sees no value in this because he’s seen happiness anywhere else. He refuses because he knows he can’t trust Darkstalker.

 … wow.

 i hate this book so much istg

 If Qibli had gone through a dynamic arc, he would have refused for better reasons.

 It’s just so disappointing. He has no reason to refuse that other than the fact that Darkstalker is untrustworthy. Holy shit.

 I take character arcs and story structure very seriously, and Qibli is just AWFUL when it comes to this.

 After three books that had such epic, emotional character arcs, DoD feels like a downgrade. And that’s why I think Qibli is a terrible character.

 But hey you know what COULD have worked?? Giving Qibli a NEGATIVE arc instead!

 I know he’s Darkstalker’s foil. That’s cool I don’t care. GIVE HIM A NEGATIVE ARC!! I would have LOVED IT SO MUCH MORE if Qibli accepted Darkstalker’s offer and arc 3 was all about all the other protagonists coming together to stop him and Darkstalker. That would have made a much better third arc. And you can bring in the other tribes if you want to I don’t care just find a way to make it work.

 It would have made so much more sense and fit the story so much more if Qibli accepted Darkstalker’s offer and became an evil animus alongside him. It also could have given Moonbli more time and chemistry! I still would have shipped Winterwatcher because well, Winter, but I probably wouldn’t hate Moonbli if this was the way the story went. Or maybe Qinter could be a thing. Imagine like a really emotional moment where Qibli is about to kill Winter and Winter just talks to him or something idk something romantic and sad. Would be great because there’s zero mlm rep in wof.

 Fuck it I’m gonna make an au about this.

 Yeeah that’s my rant over. I don’t hate Qibli as a character and I think he had so much potential but the way the story is written, I honestly thought he would have a negative arc instead. Wow I really want that au now I can’t stop thinking about it haha. But yeah Qibli is charismatic at times and a bit fun but his arc is terrible. Moon had a better arc than Qibli. MOON.

Sorry if this came off as aggressive at times I just wanted to voice my opinion. If you like him, that’s cool! I just don’t. He’s not one of my favourites although he could have been. Missed potential in my opinion. This is a very long rant so if you’re still reading this … thanks lol.

 Have a good day/night. Im gonna make that au now lmao.

#rant post

[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

[This one is a bit longer than the others, mind you.]

My dearest Nieve,

Have you ever imagined what does the world look like when it freezes completely?

It’s something that has never really crossed my mind, curiously enough. Just a concept I never thought of. I saw this movie a while ago, a suggestion by an old boyfriend I think, about a man who had that power. Though not quite… he didn’t freeze the world, he froze time. And there was this voyeuristic element to it, because he was an artist and he enjoyed the peace and quiet of drawing the, I think he called it, ‘intervals of time’, and he went about lifting women’s shirts and painting their breasts, or pulling down their pants—it was a very skewed concept of sexual deviancy, if you ask me. Either way, it was framed around this notion of ‘guy just wants to appreciate women’s bodies so he freezes time’, because maybe the director was too much of a coward to call his fantasies ‘sexual assault’. I hated the movie, truth be told. My ex loved it, though. I wondered why, but never asked. To each his own, I suppose. And then I never thought about it again.

Now, let me tell you a story.

Last Friday, I didn’t really want to leave home at all. It was raining, really cold, and there were a few episodes on The Good Wife I wanted to catch up on. But… Jun was insistent on it. And you know how I am. A good, supporting friend. Plus, I might have been a little lonely. Ever since my flatmates moved out, living on my own, I have been missing that ruckus of two people shouting at each other over a lost game of Trivial Pursuit, or something. So, without them, most of the time, all I had was Julianna Marguiles.

Worst of all, it was Black Friday. And I hate Black Fridays. How the crowd goes ravenous for things, for materialistic things they will just throw away in five years’ time, how they all go animalistic on themselves for a price inflated for the sole purpose of being lowered drastically, with appeasing numbers like ‘50’ or ‘70’, splashed in red or yellow to make it all the more alluring, it just—it transcends me, honestly. I get the whole opportunity thing, of buying something you need on the advent of a big sale, but really? Really? You know what I mean. Those people, punching each other over a coffee machine, or a hair straightener, the majority of them don’t need it. It’s a greedy spur-of-the-moment thing. I try to understand it, really, but I can’t.

So, Jun really wanted to go to Black Friday last week, and I said, okay. I was willing to put up with an event I detested if only I was rewarded with some warm coffee or tea at a cosy shop and some nice catching up. It couldn’t have been too complicated, I thought.

Yet it was… far more than I can describe.

We got there at ten, and the crowd was already raging. If by crowd you imagine just a swarm of people wafting by violently like ants before winter, you’re severely down-playing it. Curiously enough, I noticed there was something new to the place. We went to the local mall, of course, but Jun wanted a new pair of skates, so our obvious destination was the sports store. And there, strangely enough, between Adidas and Nike displays, was a banner. It shined bright in blue and it was written with white letters that, for some reason, seemed to dance.

‘Special Show Today at 11 by Aleneus the Magnificent.’

 I laughed, of course. What kind of nerd would name himself that? What bloody LARPing, D&D, con attendee idiot would bother to name himself something straight out of a default Runescape character? And who the bloody hell was Aleneus the Magnificent? I thought: some trashed, bankrupted clown, at the end of his career, who was about to set up a kiddie show in the middle of the sports store. Maybe the manager had thought it would ease the frantic crowd and just take a moment and enjoy a card trick by some weirdo wearing a cape and pulling colourful scarves out of his sleeve.

I mean, this bothered me more than tit-spying lunatic from time-freezing movie.

The air inside reeked of body odour, absolutely unbreathable, and everywhere people ran and clashed against one another. Exactly what you’d expect of Black Friday, I suppose. I saw an older woman, clad in pink and the ugliest pair of crocs I have ever seen, entering a shouting contest with a suburban mum over one of those pairs of child sneakers that lights up at every step. Two guys—one muscly, clearly in the right store for him—and the other slender thought intimidatingly tall—reached over for the same pair of shorts and proceeded to try and conquer it through a game of tug-of-war. The shorts lost, in the end, being ripped at the centre, and nobody even bothered to call a worker or anything, they just tossed it aside into the pile of already discarded items. A group of teenagers started a brawl over a couple of pairs of Nikes, and it escalated to punches and scratching, until one of them bled slightly from the nose and security had to be called in.

Security had to be called in a lot, but the poor fellas waddled through the sea of rage, barely able to move, with warning shouts like you’d hear at a riot. Disperse! Disperse! Insane, I tell you. These poor chaps just marched on, at one point pushing people aside with swift enough force for a corridor to form, though even they weren’t spared the angry screams of customers just dying to get their hands on a 70% discount over some football team’s jersey. Even me, not being one for cops in general, I felt bad.

Now, imagine the poor workers, there. The sea of clothes scattered about, rising up to mountains of products either trashed under a brawl or left forgotten by some middle-aged, self-entitled office worker, who couldn’t even spare a second to fold a t-shirt back into place, just made you angry on sight. You’d see shoes being kicked around, boxes tumbled over, shoelaces spilling out like swarms of snakes, hangers thrown over their shoulders, footballs and basketballs thumping the floors loudly as one petulant child insisted they must try it out before deciding, only to kick it away and watch it hit a rack of sweaters and then the head of another angry customer who would turn back and scream, but got no answer.

I just wanted to get out of there, but Jun was set on getting a pair of skates, since the wheels on hers were too worn out and the boot was starting to come off, or something. So she spotted a pair on a rack, black, hot-pink and purple, and went straight for it. Though when her hand hit the boot, another came flying. This other person had, of course, been a tad too late, and I could vow for Jun’s first arrival, but that usually doesn’t matter to Black Friday attendees. With a violent tug, she plucked the skate out of Jun’s hand and then shoved her hard. She nearly fell, had she not bumped into my chest—but she was having none of it, of course. Even I was ready to throw hands. I mean, the face on that woman… Blistering self-entitlement, believe me.

This stranger—a woman that looked about her age, early twenties maybe, and quite fit—began to turn around, when Jun caught a grip of her ponytail and gave her a shove. Her neck almost snapped, and there was a cry, though in the midst of angry bellows, I couldn’t tell exactly if she had been that hurt. But in that moment, I began to panic, as the woman turned around with eyes glinting in fury and one hand raised. Now, I had not signed up for a fight, and the prospect of it sincerely scared the soul out of me.

Then, the speakers growled. Like someone was trying to use them but either a microphone or an old phone got too close and it wheezed and groaned and pierced all our ears. Everyone flinched—me included—like the sound shattered all our brains. Skaters fell on the ground forgotten, as did almost anything anyone was holding at all. And for a split second, everything was so silent I was starting to believe they did bring in riot gear and they were beginning to… disperse the crowd, I guess. It was just peaceful for one second a half.

It passed, and in the far end, between the sea of heads that jumped right back to tussling against each other for a new backpack, a figure appeared. Something cold then grabbed hold of me. He was a slender man, cartoonishly dressed in a top hat and a cape, and I suppose a typical magician’s outfit, modelled after some 19th century caricature—high-waisted pants and bland, white shirt, as you have. Ready to entertain a bunch of middle-schoolers with some cheap tricks. He smiled, too. And it was his smile that was disconcerting.

Nobody paid mind to him, naturally, but I was enticed. I was even ignoring Jun’s tussle with the woman over the pair of skates, and something drew me in. I walked. Amidst the ravenous tumble of bodies fighting each other, I pushed everyone away and walked ahead.

Have you ever felt you were doing something against your will? Your body is moving, but there’s a screaming voice inside your head that tells you to stop, yet you can’t answer to it. You just keep moving and moving, and the more you fight it, the more suffocating it becomes.

It’s frightening at first. But once you let it settle, it becomes… easy. Like walking up an escalator. It takes you where you need to go, not where you want to be. And to be taken where we need to be can be dreadful, but once you reach the destination, it becomes… comforting.

You might be wondering, at this point, Nieve—why am I writing to you? Why am I telling you this?

Oh, you will see.

The man raised his eyes from the crowd, and against all my expectations, found mine. I suddenly felt bad for all my prior misconceptions, upon reading his name—which, by all accounts, is quite ridiculous—because he was nothing like the stereotypical image I had composed in my mind. Something danced around him. Like the air rearranged itself, particles clashing against one another and atoms rubbing together to rearrange reality, but so faint, so slight, you could barely see it. And I was the only one paying attention to it. A soft vibrancy, like when you hear the humming of a television in another room before actually knowing it’s turned on.

I stopped, and his smile turned into a grin. Between the dimples of his amusement, something sombre fell, and I must admit, it was then I felt terror. Gripping, paralyzing terror. He leaned forward, his eyes now so close to mine I felt every muscle in my body contracting and tensing up, like the lid of a box smacking shut, and I looked into his deep, purple eyes. I remember thinking it was quite the unnatural colour.

He tilted his head and murmured: “Would you like to freeze the world over?”

I realize now he must have summoned me because, in the middle of this inane rumble happening inside a sports store, of people gnawing at each other like wild animals over a pair of sneakers or a new tennis racket, I was the only one grounded enough to pay attention. Because I didn’t want to be there at all. And he knew. Until that moment, I was quite shaken, terrified even, but then it felt like the truest, most honest beckoning amidst the rise of the Apocalypse. Like the archangel Michael handed me the sword of silver himself to decide upon the mortal souls who should enter Heaven. And besides, the confusion was brewing a headache in me. I just wanted everyone to be silent for a moment.

So I answered honestly: “Yes.”

He drew away, tipped his hat and cast one paralyzing glance over the crowd, and the world… froze. It just… stopped.

I cannot express to you, Nieve, how beautiful a sight it is to see a world frozen like God hit the pause button. Maybe tit-spying peeping Tom from the movie was onto something, because I have never before experienced such peace in my life.

Just try to imagine it. Chaos coming to a halt around you, all the sounds of the world sucked out of existence, and there’s only absence The people that, just before—minutes before—existed in a revolution of egoism, fighting and screaming and shouting over owning things, buying things, purchasing things, and things, and more things—suddenly turned into statues. I felt a queen amidst the blind.

I trudged down the cluttered aisles, stepping on discarded clothes and broken hangers, plastic cracking beneath my soles and fabrics caught into my fingers and hairs, and watched: hissing growls frozen mid-scream, clenched fists hoisted in interrupted challenges, even a couple of fingers gripping the hairs of one another. I touched the arm of a woman whose face was cast into stony anger, eyebrows pushed together in ravenous hatred, and she didn’t move.

The magician, or what was he, appeared next to me, calmly placed a hand on my shoulder and said: “Try hurting her.”

I should have fought it, I know, but I was far too curious to deny the opportunity. If one could freeze the entire world over like this, just to bring a moment’s peace, and watch the carved animosity of these brutes clashing over materialism, what else could one do with it? I mean, it’s wrong to do it, to take advantage of someone’s body who’s stuck into a liminal space between life and non-existence. I know that, I’m not a monster. But so is so many of the things these people were doing. You just had to look at the workers and cashiers there to understand it. And who’s to say they don’t deserve a little pain?

The magician produced an ice pick from his pocket; his hand touched mine softly—and, oh, I cannot express to you how cold those fingers were—and placed it gently on my palm. “Try hurting her,” he said again. The voice was tuneful, like a chirping bird, and I almost want to say it carried something charming with it, perhaps an enchantment of sorts (at least, he had the clothes to go along with it). But I’d be lying. I wasn’t moving against my own free will, anymore. I was too curious, and this world was too silent for me to let it go back to that irritable cacophony of screams and aggression from just seconds before.

So I did. I picked up the ice pick and pressed it gently against her puffy white skin; I felt the surface of her arm sink below the sharp tip as it pressed on deep into the flesh until the cold blade hit her bone and a silky thread of red sprouted from the puncture wound. She didn’t move; yet as I looked up at her face, I saw a tear sliding down her eye. Like a wax figure that somehow contained a soul inside of it, and upon the alien touch felt every pain a human could, only twice as hard. I thought I was enacting some proper punishment, I won’t deny. I saw that woman hit a kid with an empty box. It was an accident, but maybe if she hadn’t been so concentrated on shoving aside all and any who got to her precious ugly sneakers first, she wouldn’t have hurt a child—would she?

Do you want to know what I did next, Nieve? To each and every one of them? Because I did things. I simply relished in this immense power I was still unsure where it came from. So I did things.

Alright, I won’t tell you all of it. But I’ll tell you part of it. The muscly guy who played a game of tug-of-war and threw the ripped shorts apart, I poked his eyes out—oh, yes, both of them. That’ll teach him to watch where he throws things, next time. And the slender, tall man he fought—I pierced both his hands and feet. The woman with the ugly crocs? Who smacked three people that I could see with a plastic hanger? I broke every single one of her fingers and watched her tears run silently down her pale, reddish skin. The group of teenagers who had started a brawl? The one stuffing watches in his pockets—well, I stuffed socks down his throat—one, two, three, and four, and five, and six, until his trachea was so filled with cloth his eyes swelled and burst into red as he suffocated. At one point, I even stole money from a few of them and filled the pockets of every single one of the workers there. I think they deserved it.

There were more, but these, I think, are enough to paint the picture. Perhaps I’m more of a pervert than tit-spying freak from the movie.

I asked the magician then, after I had my fun, who had this amazing power. I certainly thought it had to be him, because he had called upon me, he had summoned me. But imagine my astonishment when he leaned into my ear and whispered: “You.” I asked how—how could it be possible, and why hadn’t I just… discovered it before. He simply said: “I gave it to you.”

We walked back to the doorway. Outside, the mall was packed full with people walking up and down the corridors, not minding the hell I had frozen over. As if they didn’t even acknowledge the existence of that store.

“You can do it again,” he said. “Whenever you like.”

I did, a few times, of curiosity, just to see how it works. And every single time, I watched their bodies turn rigid and stony, their muscles constrained by that burning wish of wanting to move, but utterly unable to. And me, their God, deciding what to do upon them as their lives hung suspended before my power. 

Though I’m not as greedy as I might sound. I didn’t do anything, this time.

When I was done, the magician chuckled briefly, tipped his hat again and said: “Use it wisely.” I watched him away, sliding through the passing customers, and in between the silhouettes, he disappeared. A flicker of reality, gone within a second. Maybe that’s all he had been. 

I think about just what he was often, you know. Maybe he was an agent of chaos, a trickster of some sort. Maybe he was a god, playing a prank on mankind by leaving this gift of immense power in the midst of chaos, waiting to see who would be worthy of possessing it. And he chose me.

When I turned my back to the sports store and walked home, the screams began. I can still hear them, Nieve. I can still hear those bellows of panic filled with just enough of a flutter of confusion as they wondered: where did all that pain come from?

Did you see the news article they published about it? ‘Black Friday Turned Bloody’. They just accepted, with no further ado, that these morons plucked each other’s eyes out and broke each other’s fingers over shorts and sneakers! There were a few mentions of something the press labelled ‘paranormal’, but the police just chalked it all up under ‘trauma’ or something. I mean, who cares, at this point?

I did leave Jun there, for pity’s sake. I didn’t want to hurt her, she’s nice, I like her. You, on the other hand, is quite the different story.

I’m sure, by now, you’ve figured out where I’m going with this. I mean, you’re one monumental bitch, but you’re not daft. Certainly, you remember—don’t you? We used to be friends when we were kids, in year nine, really close too. Until you decided you were too good for me. Oh, far too good for poor, ugly Suranne, with her thick hairs and bushy brows, and all that. Remember how it all ended? That day you invited me over for a study group at your house, only for me to find out it was a set-up?

I still have the scars on my body. They never really went away, and I’ve been forced to look at them every single day of my life since. Worst of all was erasing the mental scars you left me. Leaving school and some good years of therapy just didn’t seem enough. I think I found the right therapy, though. Freezing the world over can be chilling for others, but for me it’s just… peaceful.

But do try to remember, Nieve—how I cried that day and begged you to stop punching me, or how much I screamed when you pressed a burning hot rod against my skin to, and I quote you, ‘brand me like the cow I was’. Please, remember every single instance of pain you inflicted on me—the cuts, the pinches, the poking needles, the slaps—because, in no time, you will be the one feeling them. I will freeze the world—your world—and I will make it last three times more than it did for me, and you will feel every inch of horrifying, excruciating, humiliating pain I felt. And it will go on for so long your frozen body will try to wither and jerk itself free from me and nothing will happen, because that screaming, bristling terror you will feel will be all locked up inside that head of yours like in a panic room. No one will hear your thoughts, and no one will know your pain, and once you wake up, no one will hear your cries for help because I will make sure you will have no tongue for a plea.

You might think it a petty thing, to be given this power and then decide to use it in a quest for revenge, and one that’s over ten years old, but you know what? I’m not really one for heroism, anyway—never was. This world is far too big and complicated for me to go out and just become a vigilante or something. And I just… don’t care like that.

Then again, you did bring this on yourself.

So, please—do remember that day and keep the sordid details in mind because… I am coming for you, Nieve.

From your former best friend,

Suranne.

P.S.: I just remembered the name of the movie! It’s called Cashback, though it’s just dreadfully boring and too voyeuristic for me. Well, but—you know. Men.

__

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

#wordtober #writing #my writing #creative writing #fiction #my wordtober

[theshieldjanitor]

So what would Ted do if Emma was lost in the snap?

[This got way out of hand and way off topic, but I was inspired and wrote a thing instead of just answering]

“You gotta get up.” Ted nudged Emma softly, pulling the covers back. A few mumbles escaped the semi-conscious woman as he brushed some of her hair back with his fingers. “I know. Getting out of bed is the worst. But--” He took her by the hands, gently lifting her up to a seated position. “The sooner you get in and out of the shower, the sooner we can have breakfast.”

Another mumble later, Ted was slowly leading Emma down the hall towards the bathroom. “We can have whatever you want. Pancakes, waffles, large amounts of sugar.” He opened the door and guided Emma inside, letting go of her hands to turn on the water. “But first, shower.”

“You could join me...” Emma smiled sleepily. Smiling back, Ted leaned down to kiss her.

“I could. But then who would make breakfast?” He bent down to give her butt a quick pat before walking out. “Shower. It’ll wake you up.”

Ted kept the news on as he cooked, barely listening to what the anchors were saying. New York being trashed (again) was normally a horrible thing, but Ted knew it also opened up opportunities for work. He hated thinking like that and allowed the guilt to eat him for a minute as he stared at his skillet, but in the end, he had to take whatever he could get. Work wasn’t coming as easy as before. Plus, if he could help clean up and rebuild, maybe it’d be his way of helping people again. He hadn’t really felt like his work mattered since the fall of SHIELD. Maybe he could find himself again doing...well, basically the same thing as before, minus all the benefits.

He was too caught up in his own thoughts to notice how quiet the television had gotten. “Em!” he called over his shoulder. “Breakfast is ready!” When he didn’t hear her answer, Ted turned off the stove top, tossing his apron over a chair. “Emma!” He walked back to the bathroom, knocking twice before cracking open the door. The water for the shower was still running.

“Hon? Breakfast is ready.” He paused, frowning when she once again said nothing. “Em?” He pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. Concern crossed his features when he didn’t see a figure in the shower. With two large steps, he made it to the shower door, pulling it open to find it empty. Ted switched the water off, turning towards the bedroom.

“All right, ha ha.” He mocked, stepping into the room. “Very funny. Let’s pull a prank for waking you up. You shouldn’t waste water though.” He stood in the eerily quiet room, waiting for Emma to jump out at him. It didn’t happen. “Em.” Still nothing. “Emma. This isn’t funny anymore.”

Hearing a commotion outside, Ted turned to exit the room, calling out, “Emma, I’m not kidding. I’ll eat your breakfast if you’re not done by the time I come back.”

The hallway outside his apartment was full of dashing feet and panicked voices. Ted reached out to stop a kid running out, asking what was wrong.

“They’re gone!” she screeched, clinging to Ted’s arm. “They just..they vanished! Blew away like dust!”

“Dust?” Ted raised an eyebrow. This kid was crazy.

“I watched it happen!” One of Ted’s neighbors yanked him aside. “My husband. We were watching the news and the anchors...they started flaking away. I thought it was some technical difficulty, but...but...” The man teared up. “Then he flaked away too.”

Ted took a step away from the chaos, backing into his apartment. “Emma?” There was still no answer. He started back to the bathroom, his pace quickening as the panic set in. “Em, I’m not fucking around right now. Something serious is happening and...” His heart stopped as he noticed grey flakes stuck to the wet parts of the shower.

He didn’t remember calling out her name again. He didn’t remember running outside, yelling for her while maneuvering through other people searching for their loved ones. It wasn’t until he started choking on thick air that he even noticed he was outside. Covering his mouth so he wouldn’t inhale the...dust...he yanked out his phone and pounded in the number.

It didn’t surprise him when Emma’s father didn’t pick up. “I get it--you don’t like me and are probably screening my calls.” Great way to earn brownie points, you idiot. “But this is important. I need you to tell me if you’ve heard from Emma. She was here this morning and now she’s not and I...I just...” Ted was trying his best not to cry on the phone, but he couldn’t help his voice cracking. “I need to know she’s okay.”

Six months passed before the missing were declared deceased. It seemed too early for him, but Ted also wasn’t in charge of having to locate half the population. Countries were still counting, but that was the assumption made by the people. Half the world was gone.

It was no different for Ted’s world. His apartment, once full of laughter and life, was dark and cold. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. There was no point. Everyone he had loved, with the exception of his sister, had vanished in a matter of seconds. And no one could tell him why. That’s all he wanted. To know why the universe seemed to have it out for decent people.

He barely ate. He barely slept. His hair was too long and his beard itched, but he couldn’t bother to do anything about it. Today, every person he held out hope for finding again was dead--according to the government at least. No futures for them. Why should he get one either?

Two years went by before he started to feel even somewhat like himself. Ted started playing the piano again. He helped his remaining neighbors load groceries and take them to orphanages. He’d take time to play board games with the quiet kids and read to the younger ones. Every day, he was reminded of what he couldn’t have. Yet every day, he felt closer to her.

A community college reopened its doors. Despite being absolutely terrible at it, he attended every single linguistics class he could. Each professor wondered why a man who couldn’t seem to grasp the basic concepts would keep putting himself through this, but none of them noticed how he relaxed in the room.

It was baby steps for Ted. He still wasn’t ready to sleep in their bed again. He wasn’t going to touch her clothes. But he wanted to feel her spirit again.

Five years since the incident, the wounds still hurt. He was still too skinny. His hair still a mess. The beard still showing he didn’t understand how to grow one properly. But the sparkle in his eye was starting to come back. When asked by friends, both new and old, how he managed, he had a very simple answer for them:

“I don’t.” He’d smile and look off in the distance. “But I know I’ll see her again.”

Granted, Ted left out the fact that his idea of seeing her again would be when he was dead. But he had come to grips with that. If he died tomorrow, well at least he got to see her soon. If he died seventy years from now, then he’d have plenty of stories to share with her.

Emma was the love of his life. If he kept carrying that love, she wouldn’t be gone. So he did. And he shared her love. He’d tell stories of her to anyone who’d listen. He started doing little drawings of her to keep her memory fresh. He still attended those classes, and was still terrible. He played sad love songs at night, before smiling sadly and telling the patrons at the restaurant to hold their loved ones close.

He’d never get over her. He’d never move on or have children of his own. But when he’d look around at all the lives he helped in her name, it felt like she was there beside him. So he’d keep living. He had to, so that she’d keep living too.

[nineninefinest]

Growing up is never easy. Trying to find your place in the world was scary and difficult. Zoe Acosta had an especially hard time doing that.

For a lot of her life, she wasn’t even Zoe Acosta. Her name was Zoe Liberato. A small family that consisted of just her and her parents. She had no idea she was born into darkness. Her father raised her with ulterior motives. He never intended for her to be his daughter, just a pawn. Perhaps an heiress if she proved herself.

It was her mother that properly raised Zoe. Loved her the way a parent was supposed to love their child. The bond they formed was strong, but only got better as Zoe grew up. Skinned knees and bad dreams always had her mother coming to Zoe’s side. She never had to worry if her mom loved her or not.

Her father, however, moved like a ghost through their own home. Zoe could go days on end without seeing him sometimes. He didn’t eat with the family. He barely ever picked her up from school. She was always told he was busy working, but she never knew what to tell the other kids when they asked what her dad did.

Zoe was 10 the first time she saw a glimpse into the world her dad lived in. One summer night, the heat kept Zoe awake. Uncomfortably tossing and turning until she gave in to getting a glass of cold water. Everyone was supposed to be in bed, so Zoe crept down the stairs. Her pink flashlight was in her hand, but she found the kitchen light on as she approached. Her dad sat at the head of the table, more grown men around him. None of which Zoe recognised. She didn’t think to eavesdrop. This was her dad. She had no reason to be suspicious of him. Zoe didn’t even consider this was something she wasn’t supposed to be around until the arm that reached up to open the fridge was grabbed roughly. She was spun around to face her dad as he yelled at her. He took her back to her room and slammed the door. Zoe cried herself to sleep and ignored the dryness in her throat. She wore a long sleeve shirt to school the next day despite the other kids that laughed at her and called her weird.

It took a few days for her mom to find out. Not even from Zoe. From her dad complaining and saying hateful things about their own daughter for spying. When her mom told Zoe she knew, she was already preparing to be yelled at again but it never came. Her mother just sat on the bed next to her and stroked her hair. “Your father is under a lot of stress at the moment. He doesn’t mean to yell.” She nods and tells herself that the next time he does.

And the time after that. She repeats it like a mantra in her head.

By the time Zoe is 13, it’s just a part of life. Her and her mother have accepted they’re stuck in this situation.

Until one day Zoe’s friend cries to her at school. Her parents were getting a divorce. “What’s a divorce?” Zoe asked softly. Everyone else seemed to know. They started at the raven haired teenager like an idiot for asking, but the word had never been uttered in her household.

Her heart ached for her friend, but today she went home feeling lighter than ever. Perhaps her mother didn’t know either. She relayed the concept with a smile on her face and optimism shining in her eyes. Much to her surprise, her mom’s reaction didn’t match. She just sighed and told Zoe it wasn’t that simple.

The moment she’d been waiting for finally came. Her mother finally told him she was done. It was all the same screaming and fighting to Zoe, until her bedroom door swung open. Usually they kept their fights to themselves. Her mom would never let her get involved. The words spilt out of her mouth so fast, Zoe couldn’t even process it all at once.

“Pack what you absolutely need. We’re leaving right now.”

Zoe rushed around, shoving things into her suitcase. Always feeling like she was forgetting things but not wanting to spend another moment here that she didn’t have to. Worst case scenario, they could replace whatever they left behind. She could still hear her mother screaming at him from downstairs.

“Keep all your stuff. The only thing I care about leaving here with is my daughter.”

The last time Zoe ever saw her dad was looking over her shoulder as they walked out for the last time. As he yelled at her for being ungrateful. At her mother for manipulating Zoe against him. Swearing they’d be back and begging for his help within a week.

Quite the opposite, however. They took a while to get on their feet but they had each other. Zoe’s mom worked as much as she could, wherever she could. Zoe started applying for jobs the day she turned 14. A nice opportunity came to be a retail worker in the local mall. Late nights and weekends, so she could still go to school.

Once she was 16 and no longer needed both parents permission, they went down and legally changed their names. Her mom reclaimed her maiden name and Zoe was an Acosta by blood and now name.

Life only seemed to get better without him. Zoe ended up with an opportunity to work on the police force. She begged the universe to let her right her father’s wrongs and she strongly believed this was her chance to. Something to prove that same evil didn’t run through her veins. She kept her head down and studied, eventually landing a job in the 99th precinct.

That was where she met Logan for the first time. He was a rookie, just like her, but he seemed to have this air of confidence. Maybe it’s just because he wasn’t as jittery as he sat on the couch next to her. “Hey,” she forced out, eager to break the silence. Her head stayed forward, as if they were children trying to sneak a conversation in class. “I’m Zoe.”

He introduced himself as Logan. When a hand extended towards her to shake, she finally turned to face him. On leg tucked under the other as they talked. It wasn’t until the an older detective interrupted them that Zoe noticed she’d stopped shaking.

She considered Logan a fast friend of hers. He was always nice to her and made her laugh without even trying. Unlike lots of the people she went to school with, even ones she considered her friends, he didn’t look down at Zoe when she asked a question. He stuck by her side until they figured it out together. When her face lit up with happiness, she’d always see a smile on his face too. His arms wrapped around her without hesitation when she cheered and hugged him.

It didn’t take long before they started hanging together outside of work too. They spent ages discussing the movie between breaks at work. All different theories were thrown. Some serious, some making fun of each other. By the time their shift was over, they’d arranged to meet at the local cinemas later that night to see the movie together.

Zoe told her mom about the cute boy from work that had asked her to the movies with a grin on her face. Her cheeks rosy when her Mom teased he might be into her. Zoe would die before she told her mom she was into him. They spent ages raiding Zoe’s closest. Her mom pulling out something she thought was cute while Zoe shook her head and laughed. “It’s not a date, Mom,” she protested through giggles as her mother laid another outfit on the bed. They compromised of changing out of her work clothes, but still keeping it casual. A quick kiss on the forehead before Zoe left.

She wanted to get there early. Make sure didn’t leave Logan waiting on her. He must have had the same idea, because he was already leaning against the wall when Zoe walked in.

“Are you ready to get the tickets?” She asked as soon as she was close enough.

“I think we need to get our snacks first.”

“Those are from the same counter.”

“Overpriced ones are from the same counter. I have a backpack and the mall has a grocery store.”

“You’re not supposed to take outside food in.”

Despite her protests, Zoe walked with him. They moved through the different aisles, laughing and throwing more candy than they needed into the basket. “I’m still buying popcorn,” Zoe stated as they checked out all their food.

“I’ll eat some of your popcorn.”

“You will not.” Yet she put the bucket between the two and told him to help himself through the movie. Hands brushed in the popcorn and Zoe just prayed he couldn’t see her blush in the dark.

After the movie, they stayed back at the arcade. Versing each other on every single game they could find. Air Hockey seemed to be one of their favourites. Taunting and teasing each other when they were in the lead. She put a gold coin in one of those photo booths. Dumb poses for each picture. Bunny ears and swapping his sunglasses for Zoe’s actual glasses.

The next day, she stuck the photo strip onto the computer at her desk and realised how much she liked hanging out with Logan. He stuck with her through the good and bad times. One bad time in particular was Taylah running through cases with them. One hit too close to home for Zoe and left her feeling like the walls were closing in. She abruptly excused herself without wanting for the okay from Taylah before she left.

She expected to be alone out there, but Logan surprised her when he came out with her. Even though she rushed to wipe her tears away, he sat down on the bench next to her. They sat together in silence for a moment before Zoe broke the silence. “Who am I kidding?” She asked, trying to disguise a sob as a scoff. “Being a cop. I can’t do this.”

“It’s rough, but-“

“You don’t get it, Logan. I can’t do this. This was supposed to be something... life changing. I really thought I found right where I was supposed to be, but I cracked. Under the slightest pressure, I cracked. It wasn’t even real pressure. It was just trouble shooting with Taylah.”

His hand gently rubbed circles on her back, mirroring the way Zoe felt herself spiral. “It sounded like my mom,” she finally admitted. “She never actually stole anything. We’ve just been so low that she could’ve... and she would. Anything to keep me safe, she would have done. How am I supposed to bring justice when I can’t keep my life seperate?” Even though it was posed as a question, she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer. Just incase that answer was ‘you can’t’.

“I wanted to make this world a better place. At least, not make it a worse one. I thought I could set myself apart from him, but I can’t. It’s in my blood or my DNA or something.”

“Who, Zoe?”

“If I tell you this, you have to swear you’ll never tell anyone else.”

“I swear.”

“On your life,” Zoe added, extending her pinky out towards him.

“I swear on my life,” he told her as his pinky linked with hers.

“My father... wasn’t a good man. In fact, he was a terrible man. The kind of terrible men we deal with here. My mother and I left him when I was thirteen, but I’ve always felt like it was my responsibility to balance it out. Stop men like him from now on, but I can’t. God, I’m pathetic.”

This time when Zoe sobbed, Logan pulled her in to rest against his shoulder. Normally she would have protested incase she got his shirt wet, but right now she just liked the comfort.

“You’re not pathetic and you’re not a bad person.” She looked up at him, forcing a small smile despite her teary eyes while he gave her a goofy grin. He sat out with her for as long as she needed, complete with running back in to get her tissues and making sure it wasn’t obvious she’d been crying when they walked back in.

He walked her all the way back to her desk, dramatically pulling her chair out for her to make her laugh. Even when he was back at this desk, he’d pull a face every time they made eye contact. Anything he could to lift her mood.

It definitely worked. Zoe laughed at him now, as well as smiling at the photo strip blu tacked onto her computer. She never took it down. In fact, she dragged him to every photo booth they came across when they went out. Each strip being added to her computer to make her smile.

One day when Logan seemed down, she stuck one on his computer while he was out of the precinct. It was worth it to see him smile when he sat down and looked at his computer. When he looked up at the obvious culprit, she stuck her tongue out at him, hoping to make him laugh like he always did for her.

#ask meme #ask meme: zoe #( zoe ) #( zoe & logan )

[youveneverbeenalone]

Inktober for Writers/Fictober:

Day 13- Foolish (Darejones)

So, here’s yesterday’s. Sorry it’s late. And unfortunately, I am coming down with something and didn’t get today’s finished like I had hoped to, either. But tomorrow, I plan to stay in bed and rest… and also do some writing, so I can get caught up. Fingers crossed for that!

I had fun bringing Trish into the mix with this one. It’s general enough to fit with my other things and takes place after they’ve been together for a bit. Prompt list here, as always, and links to previous days at the bottom. Thanks for reading, friends!

Day 13- Foolish

Upon reflection, he can admit it wasn’t the best plan. Well, the trying to hide something from her part, at least. Not considering her preternatural abilities of observation, or how good she is at her job, despite the fact that she doesn’t have his senses. And, it might also have to do with the fact that he should probably be more careful about not letting her around his phone when trying to arrange a surprise for her. But a part of him had felt compelled to try to do something she would never expect. And he really did make a significant effort, setting up pieces and making moves weeks in advance, as though orchestrating a high-stakes chess game he was committed to winning.

It had all started with Trish, a number of months ago. In order to even contemplate planning something for her, he needed her birthdate, but he was relatively certain that if he didn’t ask someone who already knew, he wouldn’t be able to learn what he needed without violating a law, since she wasn’t technically his client any longer. Hence, Trish. Some seriously quick thinking had inspired him to ask Jessica for her number, all under the ruse that he wanted to put her in contact with Karen for networking purposes (though he hadn’t needed to because, unbeknownst to him, the universe had already seen fit to bring them together).

He had been eager to start planning in earnest a little more than a month ago, but he had even more questions for Trish. And these were much trickier, having to do with Jess’s preferences for a party. But Trish had simply laughed at him when he floated his idea to her the first time. In fact, she laughed so hard that he had to put the phone down for a moment because she was so loud. And then the conversation turned downright painful.

“I’m sorry, but did you just ask what kind of a birthday cake Jessica would want? Is that why you’re calling?”

He couldn’t keep from sighing into the mouthpiece. “…This was a bad idea. Please, just forget I asked-” But she didn’t let him finish, talking over him with an apologetic tone.

“No. Matt, I’m sorry. Forgive me. But… Okay, please don’t take this the wrong way, but why? Why are you trying to plan something for her? You may not have had the chance to witness her in action yet, but let me tell you that she’s terrible at receiving gifts. And the whole concept of a traditional birthday is lost on her. It’s a sweet gesture, but it’s not really Jessica.”

“No, I understand. It’s just that… Look, I’ve learned that just because someone may hate some typical tradition - might find it hollow or extravagant or all a part of a ‘sinister capitalist ploy’- that doesn’t mean that a part of them doesn’t wish for someone to make the effort anyway. Just once, for the sake of doing it. And I get the impression that, other than you, no one has ever made the effort for her. With anything. So I’d like to. Because she deserves to have someone make the effort, and I’d like to use things that she actually likes so she will be at least a little more inclined to participate.”

He had surprised her with that explanation, apparently, because it took her a beat to respond. “Huh. Maybe I underestimated you, Murdock.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“I’m sure you do. Well… alright then. She prefers ice cream cake, but there’s a specific kind she likes, and there’s only one place you can get it. I’ll text you the details and address. If you want to get her flowers, don’t get her roses- just make sure to get a bouquet with some purple iris and blue hydrangea. They were her mother’s favorites, and she planted them every year when Jess was growing up. And even if you’re trying for the traditional birthday thing, I wouldn’t do a surprise party… unless you want to risk getting the cops involved. It’s not a good idea to startle her.”

He had laughed at that, because it was the one thing he figured out on his own. “Noted. Thank you, Trish. I really appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just happy that she’s found someone thoughtful enough to ask.” He heard the smile in her voice when she spoke, and smiled back as he said his goodbyes.

“You and me both.”

So with Trish’s help, he had arranged what he hoped would be the perfect birthday, the bulk of which would take place when the two of them had retreated to his place, after he dragged her out to her bar of choice to have a few drinks with the gang. He even bought her an expensive, hard to find whiskey he was confident she’d love- the most practical gift he could think of. And he had been planning to have Foggy come over to his place and set everything up while they were out, so that she wouldn’t suspect a thing. If only he hadn’t left his phone on the coffee table while he made her dinner.

And as soon as he hears his phone chime, he grimaces, because he knows it’s too late. She’s there on the couch- right next to his phone- and already picking it up to bring it to him, narrating as she goes, even as he tries to stop her.

“Jess, wait-”

“Text from Foggy. He wants to confirm the time to come over and set up the cake and flowers…” Her voice trails off as she reads ahead and realizes what’s going on. With a huff, she pauses at the dining table, tossing the phone down and crossing her arms. “Seriously? You’re planning a party? I thought you said we were ‘just going to the bar to meet everybody for a few drinks, I promise’. So what the hell is this?”

He sighs as he closes his eyes and hangs his head, moving the pan he is currently holding to rest on the back burner of the stove-top. “It’s a fool’s errand, apparently. Since I’m terrible at being secretive.”

She just stares at him, and after a beat, he shrugs and turns to lean against the opposite counter. “I just… I wanted to do something nice. Something unexpected. But it wasn’t going to be a big production.”

“Sure about that? Because cake, flowers, and whatever else sounds like a production to me. Were we even going to go to the bar, or were you going to have them all come here instead and then make up an excuse for us to come back?”

He shakes his head, sighing in frustration. “No, it wasn’t like that. We were going to go to the bar to see everyone, briefly. Then I thought we’d come back here so that I could surprise you with a few things. But it was just going to be the two of us. I knew you didn’t want something big or ostentatious. And definitely not a surprise party.”

She scoffs and drops her arms heavily at her sides, voice sharp and flat. “No surprise party is great, but I don’t remember signing up for any of the rest of it- not the cake, not the flowers, not the balloons-”

Everything is backfiring, and he didn’t mean to upset her. He needs to try to make her understand, so he talks over her, a sliver of panic coming through in his voice. “Look, Jess, I know you hate anyone making a fuss over you, but if there’s one day a year that I’m kind of allowed to do that, it’s today. And I wanted to. Because I care about you and I wanted to do something that you would like, that you weren’t expecting.” He hears her heart rate slow the slightest bit, and walks a step closer, standing a fraction of an inch taller, but his voice is neutral as he continues. “And besides… there aren’t any balloons. You’re not a child.”

She huffs at him, and he’s fairly confident it’s to cover a laugh, so he smirks softly at her. After a beat, she rolls her eyes and blows out a long exhale. “So, in the interest of full-disclosure… what kind of cake?”

With that, he moves a few steps closer, a knowing smile drawing across his face. “Oreo-fudge ice cream. From a fantastic creamery I heard about at 45th & 11th.”

Her hair swishes softly as she cocks her head at him, voice hesitant. “And the flowers?”

He crosses the final few steps between them, stopping right before her. With a shrug, he places his hands on his hips. “A little birdie told me you like iris and hydrangea.”

The floorboards under her feet creak the slightest bit as she shifts her weight into her hip. “And the gifts?”

At this, he walks past her toward his room, speaking over his shoulder as he goes. “There’s just one. And I think you might get some use out of it.” He goes to the back of his closet, pulling out the bottle that he has been hiding for weeks, now. Present in hand, he walks back to the dining room. When he gets close enough that she can make out the label on the bottle, she stills.

“Shit. Is that a bottle of Macallan 18?” Her tone is surprised and incredulous all at once.

“Indeed. For your drinking pleasure.” He hands her the bottle and she chuckles at the ribbon he’s tied around the neck.

For a moment, she’s silent, turning the bottle over in her hands. But after a beat, she looks up, and he can hear the faintest smile in her voice. “You’re still an idiot for thinking that you could keep this from me, of all people. Though I will admit, it’s not nearly as bad as I expected.”

He flattens his mouth into a line to keep from chuckling and smiles back at her. “I think that’s your way of saying ‘thank you’, so you’re welcome.”

She sets the bottle down on the table and turns toward him, voice low. “Actually, I have a different idea of how to thank you.”

He listens as her heartbeat speeds and she prowls slowly across the floor toward him, before drawing him in for a long, deep kiss. When she finally lets him up for air, he raises his eyebrows and hums. “You’re right. This is a much better way for you to show me your gratitude.”

She doesn’t say anything in response, just goes back to kissing him while she brings her hands to the neck of his shirt, starting to loosen his tie. And before he loses his capacity for higher-order thinking, he has a fleeting thought that at this rate, they will probably be a little late to meet everyone. But suddenly, he can’t find it in him to care.

Day 12 | Day 14

#inktober for writers #fictober #my fic #a prompt a day #matt murdock/jessica jones #jessica x matt #mattjess #matt x jessica #matt murdock x jessica jones #darejones #messica

[christophersymes]

Celebrity Status

Celebrity Status, an ongoing L(G)B(T)+ story also on Wattpad and Quotev.

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Chapter Three

Later on that week, Jules was messaging Elías between class and work. He was sitting in his truck, adjusting his collar on his work shirt and frowning at the message Elías had sent about having something important to talk about.

familyjules: hey, dude. i have a bit of time between school and work right now. what's going on?

Mason's stomach flipped when Jules finally replied.

masonfucker1000: hey

masonfucker1000: i need to tell you smth

masonfucker1000: its been eating me up and i feel horrible about it

masonfucker1000: my name isn't elias

masonfucker1000: but i cant tell you who i am and im sorry

Jules looked at the messages as they came in, swallowing hard. He ran a hand through his hair, frowning. He felt like crying. Whoever this was was really torn up, but that didn't matter to him at all. He didn't care who they were, as long as everything else was real. That's all he fucking needed. He didn't really care, just as long as it wasn't...

familyjules: but everything else is real, right? idgaf about your name but we have something here

familyjules: be it friendship or whatever else it could be as long as you're not catfishing me to teach me a lesson or some shit i don't care about that

Mason let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when Jules replied.

masonfucker1000: no catfish. everything else i've told you is true.

masonfucker1000: uh wait are you saying you have a crush on me

It was a serious conversation, but Mason couldn't help it. He had blinked and reread the message, doubting its existence for a moment. This was the first time Jules had seriously mentioned them being anything other than just friends. He couldn't just let it go.

Jules blushed at the second message, realizing he had. And he wasn't being totally honest with them either, but... He didn't know what to do. It was too late now to change that, especially if whoever it was was straight and had a crush too, which seemed true. He hoped it was true.

familyjules: maybe. depends on if u feel the same

Mason grinned, face hot at the response.

masonfucker1000: maybe, u say. idk abt that, those sound like v conditional feelings

Jules smiled. Back to good old... whoever.

familyjules: shut up you dork

familyjules: maybe i do have a crush on you.

familyjules: also what should i call you now if not elías?

masonfucker1000: well i definitely have a crush on you, baby

masonfucker1000: you can call me anything you want ;)

familyjules: asshole is the perfect name for you, asshole. ;)

familyjules: okay i gotta get into work. have a good evening, asshole! i'll talk to you later

masonfucker1000: ofc thats what u pick

masonfucker1000: talk to you later, jules x thanks for being awesome

Jules frowned a little at the end of the last text. He could only hear it in Mason's voice from the concert. He'd said it so many times: at every fucking concert Jules had ever watched live and the one he went to. Either this was a Mason superfan who was adopting language, or it... No. It couldn't be.

He pushed the thought out of his head. It was ridiculous.

Yet, as he went into work and through the night, he kept coming back to it. He just kept thinking about how cool and terrifying it would be if he were talking to the actual Mason Hill, but also how unlikely that was.

But it was oh-so fucking likely! The way Mason had kept looking at him at the concert could have been a coincidence, or it could have been Mason looking toward that general area and Jules was just a wishful thinker. Or it could have been Mason looking at him because he knew him. Because he liked him.

But the chances of Mason Hill being Elias and liking Jules... It was so ridiculous. The chance of that was, like, one in a fucking million.

Anyway, shouldn't he be wishfully thinking it was Austin going by his middle name and Jules totally seducing him?

masonfucker1000: hey hey heyyy how's it goin how was work

familyjules: exhausting. underpaying. the usual. had some woman threaten to throw a salad at me tonight because there were tomatoes on it and she hates tomatoes so much it warrants violence supposedly.

familyjules: but i was in a good mood overall thanks to you and your mutual crush... speaking of we should talk about that

masonfucker1000: yikes! cloudy w a chance of tomatoes up in there i see

masonfucker1000: aww! you're welcome

masonfucker1000: alright (?) hit me w it

familyjules: i don't want to like... date or anything til we meet if we ever do

familyjules: don't get me wrong i like you a lot

familyjules: but it feels wrong to do ldr if i can't know your identity at all even though i dont care that much about it

familyjules: just in terms of dating i'd need a name, you know? and more than just your age and that we like each other

Mason groaned. He saw it coming, but fuck.

masonfucker1000: no yeah, that makes sense.

masonfucker1000: i like you a lot

masonfucker1000: shit

masonfucker1000: fuck

masonfucker1000: i want to meet you

masonfucker1000: but

masonfucker1000: i think maybe some more time would be good

masonfucker1000: figure out how im gonna do this

Jules stared at the messages, feeling really bad about it. He sighed, hitting his forehead against the wheel lightly. Idiot.

familyjules: yeah. i'm sorry dude

masonfucker1000: hey no

masonfucker1000: don't worry abt it, you're right

masonfucker1000: you're being super sweet and understanding and i appreciate it

masonfucker1000: have i mentioned i really like you?

Jules sighed, leaning back again. He was too smitten for this guy. This was great. He hadn't seen this yet from him.

familyjules: i really like you, masonfucker1000

familyjules: for lack of a better name

Mason snorted, wheezing and bending over in his seat.

masonfucker1000: wow.

masonfucker1000: you really have a way with words

Mason had been floating on air ever since he'd finally told Jules that he wasn't Elias and Jules said that she liked him. It was amazing! It was unlike anything he'd felt before! Which meant he obviously had to share every detail with his bandmates.

"Good morning, prisoners of the Junkmobile!" Mason announced his knowingly unwanted consciousness as he hopped off his bunk, narrowly missing slamming his head against the top bunk adjacent to his. Their tour bus, which they tended to give nicknames, was a mess, but it was their mess, and really, everything was where it was should be.

"That wasn't the name we agreed on, was it?" Austin frowned, pausing in the middle of a spoonful of cereal.

Andrew rolled his eyes as he tossed a pile of Hot Pockets in the microwave.

"The Rat Roller has many names," Mason ruffled Austin's hair. He froze and frowned at them making sad breakfast. "Hey! No tourfast! Don't we have a few hours for Bryan's break?"

Chris groaned from a bit farther behind them in his bunk, "Stop trying to give everything a tour nickname. I thought you'd given up on that."

Bryan was their driver, and he took his breaks very seriously. He was definitely passed out right now. Not that they interacted with him much to know much more than that. Bryan, as many band bus drivers tended to be (in Nosam's experience), preferred minimal contact with the rabid animals that usually inhabited his enclosure.

"Never!" Mason hollered, grinning. "It's fun. Where's your tour spirit? Now, c'mon, let's go and get some actual food."

Andrew grimaced as if the concept of leaving the bus had physically burned him. "Rather not."

Austin nodded in agreement. "Pretty sure there's fans right outside. We're due for a hotel in a day or two anyway, we'll go out then."

Mason bounced a little, annoyed and definitely going fucking crazy on that bus. He pushed himself off the counter, falling into the booth across from Austin and sinking into it. "Guys, I'm going to lose my shit if I spent one more minute in here. Who cares if there's fans out? We'll say hi. I need out of this bus. I need to do something."

"Then go, no one's stopping you," Andrew looked at him pointedly.

"But I don't wanna go alone," Mason whined, looking off to Chris' bunk, his curtains half-closed. "Chris."

There was loud groaning from the bunk, and the curtains were shoved open as Chris' head poked out, blinking tiredly. "What, Mason?"

"Tell them we have to go out."

"We don't," Chris sighed.

"You guys don't love me anymore," Mason went on, throwing his head back.

Austin rolled his eyes. "Mase, we just want a break. We've got a show tonight, Stella's calling soon and—"

"You called her last night!" Mason sat up to look at him.

Austin blushed, his face turning red like a curtain falling over his face. "So? I miss her, I haven't seen in her in a month."

Mason made multiple sounds that were a mix between constipated groans and a kid throwing a tantrum.

The microwave blared, only adding to the volume. Andrew yanked the door open, a disgruntled sound falling from his lips as he grabbed the burning hot pockets with his bare hands. "And I have a date with the PS4," he announced as he carefully placed a can of Redbull on top of the pile in his hands and escaped to the back of the bus. Chris promptly ducked his head back in so Andrew could pass by, giving Mason a pleading look as he closed the curtain.

Mason pouted, quieting down as he stared at Austin, who awkwardly pushed Reese's Puffs around in his bowl, taking out his phone. Mason groaned again. "How about brunch? In a few hours?" he asked, loud enough Andrew in the back could hear. "C'mon, I want to tell you guys something."

"If it's about cyber sex with your fan, nyet!" Andrew hollered back.

"I second that motion. I've heard enough about Jules' sexting skills," Austin gagged.

The bunk their bassist was in made a bunch of unintelligible, mumbled Sleepy Chris sounds that Mason roughly translated to: I agree and I'm happy for you Mason, but please, no more of that.

Mason grinned, "No, but it's important. Pretty please?"

"Yes!" Chris yelled in exasperation, followed by a noncommittal uh huh from Andrew. Mason smiled, and then quickly dropped it to give Austin a sad look, but his performance was rudely interrupted by Austin's phone ringing.

Austin's face lit up as he picked up his phone, glancing up at Mason. "Okay, okay, brunch, but go somewhere else, alright? Watch Andrew or something."

"Okay, but if you guys start talking dirty, I'll throw your phone out the window."

Mason settled in next to Andrew, who frowned and sighed quietly, but otherwise didn't complain. The back of the bus was, for the most part, an unspoken quiet area, unless everyone was playing a game or talking about a game, or it was a Serious Conversation.

Mason watched Andrew dominate, and then Andrew handed him a controller. Chris joined later when he wanted to get away from Austin and Stella's horrible phone call that was, of course, taking a turn for the sexual. Mason quickly opted out of the next game when he got a message from Jules.

familyjules: hey hey masonfucker1000

masonfucker1000: oh my god not you again

familyjules: ): u hate me that much already? didn't we just admit we have crushes?

Mason grinned at the reminder. Crushes! He felt like he was fourteen, but he didn't care. They had mutual crushes, and this felt genuine, and natural, and like it could actually be something. AKA, as he was realizing, the polar opposite of all his exes.

masonfucker1000: what? idk what ur talking abt man

familyjules: not-elías cmon

familyjules: don't be a dumbass ):

masonfucker1000: im always a dumbass, darling

masonfucker1000: how was work?

familyjules: eh, it was alright. people are rude, but it's expected

familyjules: how was ur day? haven't heard from u much today

masonfucker1000: its been p chill! day off! mostly been lazying around and playing video games w friends! i hate tony he beats me! almost always! im gonna kill him!! and you wont even know its him on the news!

Sometime early on in their online relationship, Mason had had a hard time not mentioning Andrew, Austin, and Chris. They were his coworkers, his bandmates, his best friends and his family. His bros! How could he not? So, he'd ended up using other names for them. Tony, from Andrew's middle name Anthony, Vic from one of Austin's last names, and well, he'd just been spelling Chris as Criss, which was horrendous but a necessary evil.

familyjules: i'll keep an eye out for tonys in the obituaries and let the cops know they should look for a traveling prostitute who sounds like mason hill when he sings. what game did u play?

masonfucker1000: alrighty but I'm like fucking Mary Poppins ill be up and out before they even get there

masonfucker1000: Halo 5

familyjules: you're fucking mary poppins and not me?

familyjules: D:

masonfucker1000: ohmy god

masonfucker1000: i wish

masonfucker1000: i had a disney boner for her i swear

familyjules: okay but do u mean julie andrews or emily blunt poppins?

masonfucker1000: UH COME ON

masonfucker1000: OBVIOUSLY JULIE ANDREWS

masonfucker1000: MY TASTES ARE RAD AND CLASSY

familyjules: just making sure dude

familyjules: emily blunt's pretty hot after all

masonfucker1000: MEH SHES ALRIGHT

familyjules: smh your tastes are awful

masonfucker1000: u just fucking dissed urself

familyjules: damn right i did.

familyjules: on the contrary tho

familyjules: i have amazing taste.

masonfucker1000: dont u dare! u are the most gorgeous! the MOST! gorgeous!

masonfucker1000: and shit i cant argue that

familyjules: making me blush again, mf1000? already?

masonfucker1000: anytime and all the time

masonfucker1000: okay but what if I had the biggest grossest mole like

masonfucker1000: on my nose

masonfucker1000: im not saying i DO

masonfucker1000: i DON'T

masonfucker1000: and I'm also not saying moles are gross

masonfucker1000: okay

masonfucker1000: what I mean is

masonfucker1000: what if i was your definition of

masonfucker1000: fucking butt ugly

familyjules: oh, you're mason hill?

masonfucker1000: oh

masonfucker1000: my

masonfucker1000: fucking

masonfucker1000: god

masonfucker1000: u KNOW you wish u were mason's hands !!!!

masonfucker1000: i cant believe you !!!

masonfucker1000: i thought we had something !!!

familyjules: i didn't say his hands weren't pretty

familyjules: just a joke!! you dumbass

masonfucker1000: His HANDS?

masonfucker1000: thats ALL?

masonfucker1000: what about his PERFECT FACE?

masonfucker1000: his MUSCLES?

masonfucker1000: his HAIR?

masonfucker1000: his ASS?

masonfucker1000: his AVERAGE DICK?

familyjules: they're not awful, i guess. i doubt you look too much like him tho

masonfucker1000: I LOOK perfect

masonfucker1000: THATS ALL U NEED TO KNOW RN

masonfucker1000: AND HE'S PERFECT

familyjules: god this is why i don't interact with mason stans smfh

familyjules: now if u look like austin.... i'll nut in my jeans as soon as i see u

masonfucker1000: FUCK U

masonfucker1000: MASON STANS ARE THE BEST

masonfucker1000: and i look BETTER than austin so u WILL nut

familyjules: better??

familyjules: than austin?????

familyjules: does not compute?????????

masonfucker1000: you're INSUFFERABLE

masonfucker1000: I'll murder him

Mason whined indignantly, earning a look from both Chris and Andrew as he grabbed a pillow and stood up to launch it at Austin, who stopped mid-sentence to Stella to stammer and glare at him. "We're not being gross!" He blushed at whatever Stella said in response to that, quickly turning away again.

Mason sat back down without explanation, only mildly satisfied.

familyjules: okay im starting to think you're a traveling murderer prostitute. is that more correct?

masonfucker1000: im too pretty for prison

familyjules: that... wasn't a no

masonfucker1000: 😉🔫🔥🗡️💼🕶🤖🖤😍💥

familyjules: what's the robot doin in there? do u kill via robot?

masonfucker1000: im an emotionless killer

masonfucker1000: ruthless

familyjules: OH. kinky

masonfucker1000: oh, yeah? youre into that?

familyjules: ;)

familyjules: maybe i am

masonfucker1000: wait ur into ruthless murderers or being ruthlessly murdered

familyjules: ;)

masonfucker1000: oh my god its the latter isnt it

familyjules: 🤤🔫🗡️🔥🤖

Mason had practically dragged the boys out of the bus. For all the constant complaining about how cramped and boring the bus was, they sure hated leaving it. Which was totally understandable, fans could be a lot, especially after hanging with them during so many shows and meet and greets, but it was definitely worth it for some food. Or at least that was what Mason thought.

With the help of a couple of bodyguards, the guys managed to get through a small crowd of fans and cameras near the bus, and into the nearest decent-looking restaurant. Mason sighed happily as they were seated. "You guys need sunlight and all that. Papa Rod said we shouldn't be shut in the bus if we can help it."

"Papa Rod can suck it," Andrew kicked lightly at Mason's leg, looking over the menu with interest.

"Do you think they have frozen yogurt? I've been craving it for weeks," Austin questioned, miserable and hopeful as he flipped to the back of the menu. Chris' eyes widened and he dropped his menu in favor of looking at desserts with Austin.

Mason laughed, "If you guys are doing dessert first, I'm in, but I want pie. Wait, you're distracting me! I need to tell you something—"

"They do!" Chris pointed out the froyo on the menu, and Austin gasped.

Andrew watched them deliberate excitedly over flavors in amusement, glancing at Mason. "What's up?"

"I sort of told Jules the truth. That I'm not who I've been telling her I am," Mason blurted, raising an eyebrow as Austin and Chris stopped to stare at him.

"What does that mean?" Austin gaped. "Does she know who you are? Did she faint? Have you checked social media?" Chris tried to discreetly check his phone.

"No," Mason rolled his eyes, laughing a little, "Of course she doesn't know— I just, I couldn't keep lying like that, I felt like shit. And after actually meeting her... I just couldn't, so I told her I'm not Elias, but that I can't really tell her much about me."

"Oh," Chris frowned, putting his phone down. "That's... still sort of..." "Complicated?" Andrew supplied, playing with his fingers anxiously as a few people around them stared and whispered to themselves excitedly. "How'd she take it?"

"Great, and we even admitted we had feelings—"

Andrew gasped sarcastically, smiling slightly as he dropped his chin in his hands as he leaned forward. "You admitted you had feelings?"

"You're not funny, Drew," Mason tried to hide a smile, his next words making it easier. "She said that we can't really... well, date, if she doesn't know stuff about me and hasn't even met me. I told her I'd need time to figure it out. I want to tell her, but... I don't know," Mason muttered, sighing and looking down at the table as he played with the corners of his menu.

"Makes sense," Chris smiled sympathetically, giving his hand.

"We would really like to not experience another Catherine," Austin teased.

Andrew shuddered, "Don't even mention it, I still half-expect for some agent to send us a thriller screenplay based on your fan stalker."

"Ha ha," Mason chuckled, "Okay, I know I've said I'm not really into the big screen, but I would totally do that one."

Andrew looked to Austin and Chris. "So, are we getting the froyo?"

They spent way more time than was necessary debating the validity of certain froyo flavors (honestly, an old debate constantly refueled), Mason checking the Nosam site after they had finally agreed on one.

masonfucker1000: real talk: whos the one person youre embarrassed to say you want to fuck

familyjules: real talk? mason hill

masonfucker1000: aw COME ON

masonfucker1000: what did MASON HILL EVER DO TO U??

familyjules: im KIDDING

familyjules: ur reactions are just hilarious

familyjules: honestly tho? my clone. i'd fuck myself.

masonfucker1000: sadist

masonfucker1000: wait

masonfucker1000: what

masonfucker1000: what

masonfucker1000: you'd what

familyjules: lots of shame in that

familyjules: you heard me

familyjules: read me?

masonfucker1000: 1) i did not expect that

masonfucker1000: 2) why would you have any shame in that

familyjules: 1) gotta keep you on your toes

familyjules: 2) it's fucking myself, dude??? you wouldn't feel any shame if someone walked in on u fucking ur clone?

masonfucker1000: not at all

masonfucker1000: thatd be hot

familyjules: anyway, who would you be embarrassed to fuck?

familyjules: you're biased.

masonfucker1000: biased? cuz i know im hot shit? yeah probably

masonfucker1000: and uh...

masonfucker1000: huh

masonfucker1000: Christina Ricci

familyjules: oh, i thought you were talking about u walking in on me fucking myself. damn. familyjules: misinterpreted

familyjules: and christina ricci????? she's fucking hot

familyjules: why would u be embarrassed

masonfucker1000: that would also be hot

masonfucker1000: and yes, she is masonfucker1000: you don't just fuck christina ricci, you take her out on a date and then get horribly rejected by her

familyjules: .....fair.

masonfucker1000: not to mention shes probably a top

familyjules: major top vibes from ricci too. u trying to tell me something, not-elías?

familyjules: HA

masonfucker1000: ... im a top

familyjules: what if u walked in on christina ricci fucking me

familyjules: what then

masonfucker1000: oh shit

masonfucker1000: id be so mad

familyjules: would u bottom for christina?

masonfucker1000: ...................................................................

masonfucker1000: yes.

familyjules: damn. u would be embarrassed to fuck her then huh

familyjules: wait would u be embarrassed to fuck stella? u could take her and i could take austin

"Ugh, gross," Mason grimaced, sighing at Austin, who had some froyo stuck to his mouth when he looked up at him. "Why is Jules so obsessed with boning you? It's like, the only turn-off."

Austin shrugged sheepishly. "You're finally into someone and she couldn't care less about Mason Hill. It's the universe telling you you're not that great."

"Don't slander, Sally, I'm the best the universe has ever made. The Goddess made me on the seventh day."

Austin opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. Froyo was vastly more important than Mason's ego.

masonfucker1000: oh jesus christ

masonfucker1000: i guess i would but i don't like the second part of that plan

familyjules: you don't? ):

masonfucker1000: nope

masonfucker1000: you can take chris

familyjules: ugh

familyjules: dont get me wrong i love chris but i don't love chris

masonfucker1000:

masonfucker1000: ugh?

masonfucker1000: HA

masonfucker1000: thats hilarious

familyjules: he's just big inspo!

familyjules: christo!

masonfucker1000: how bout Andrew?

familyjules: UGH

familyjules: BORING

masonfucker1000: OH SHIT cmon

masonfucker1000: what makes u think he'd be boring?

familyjules: i'd take MASON over andrew

familyjules: i mean, andy's cool and all but he's so quiet

masonfucker1000: you make it sound like fucking mason would be so horrible

familyjules: need someone to talk to

familyjules: puh-LEASE he would be

masonfucker1000: the quiet ones are always the freaky ones

masonfucker1000: oh he talks a lot to the band doesn't he?

masonfucker1000: WHY DO U SAY THAT

familyjules: the freaky ones? are you joking that andrew's freaky? interesting

familyjules: yeah but i'm not the band!

masonfucker1000: im just sayin its who hes close to !

familyjules: what, are u jealous of mason now cuz he's my second choice? this is hypothetical, man

masonfucker1000: masons above all, im jealous u somehow think austin tops him and me and apparently everyone else

masonfucker1000: do u have eyes??

familyjules: hey i didn't know you were in this equation

familyjules: i'd choose you anyday, ne

familyjules: definitely my top choice.

familyjules: 1. not-elías (tho i'd need a name to moan) 2. austin elías salinas vicente 3. mason hill

masonfucker1000: awwww SHUCKS scratch that i have never been jealous in my entire life

masonfucker1000: I read that as neigh tho

masonfucker1000: what's your favorite thing in the entire world

familyjules: is that even a question?

masonfucker1000: yes it is tell me

masonfucker1000: is it sour gummy worms

familyjules: oh that's a good one

familyjules: check out that list again, dude

familyjules: hello? did i kill u or something?

masonfucker1000:

YEAH how are you single ???

give a dude a WARNING

familyjules: whoops

familyjules: just found the right person, so... waiting on them

familyjules: OOPS. warning

masonfucker1000: im the right person, huh?

familyjules: pretty sure you could be

familyjules: not a 60 year old mouth breather? apparently hotter than austin? loves nosam?

familyjules: hilarious?

familyjules: sweet?

familyjules: only downside is: mason stan.

familyjules: but that i can live with

masonfucker1000: oh my god that's an UPSIDE

masonfucker1000: youre really in for it baby

masonfucker1000: im the definition of the right one

familyjules: oh, i'm sure

masonfucker1000:

despite your unrelenting obsession w Austin, you are absolutely heartstoppingly gorgeous, and the easiest person to talk to, with the lamest sense of humor (like me) and you are a huge teddy bear!! 🐻 so right back atcha, sweetheart

familyjules: dumbass. there's that sweetness i was talking about 💙💙💙💙

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #lgbt fiction #trans fiction #lgbt stories #celebritystatus

[771lljosephkwesiasemnor]

New post on Longreads

The View From 5-Foot-3 (and a Half)

by Soraya Roberts

Soraya Roberts | Longreads | June 2019 | 9 minutes (2,497 words)

Okay, I’m not even that short, but I just watched Reese Witherspoon get called “untrustworthy” on Big Little Lies for being 5-foot-1 so I have to talk about it. I’m actually 2.5 inches taller than she is — I’m aware that insisting on that half inch makes me sound like a pedantic asshole — but that’s still short enough that when I lost half an inch it felt like a betrayal. I don’t know where that half inch went; all I know is that one day I was 5-foot-4, and the next I was 5-foot-3-and-a-half. Who cares, right? Terry Gross is 4-foot-11 and recently interviewed Phoebe Waller-Bridge, who is 5-foot-9 and asked the Fresh Air host if being short affected her. I could basically hear Gross’s shrug through the microphone. And same. But now that I think about it, that's a heavy shrug.

Witherspoon was disparaged by Meryl Streep, who was playing the mother of a man who abused his wife. In a sense, the former was representing feminism; the latter internalized misogyny — that unpleasant habit we have of acting out sexism despite ourselves. What’s interesting is that most of us don’t actually need a Streep to do it. We're pretty good at hacking away at our own self confidence, conjuring imaginary competitions with other women, isolating ourselves from them, all of which has the self-sabotaging effect of perpetuating the behavior that keeps us down. It’s not really about height, but height is as good a marker as any for how the world sees us and how we see the world (and ourselves in it) — in other words, for how trustworthy 5-foot-3-and-a-half becomes.

* * *

In the Big Little Lies scene in question, Madeline (Witherspoon) is at a coffee shop and notices Mary Louise (Streep), the mother of the guy she saw getting pushed to his death last season (it’s a soap). The way Madeline’s holding her muffin, that blush-pink blouse with the bow and the matching makeup and the black cardigan — she looks like such a lady who lunches. A small lady. While she is phonily consoling the older woman, Mary Louise suddenly exclaims, “You’re very short.” The face Witherspoon makes is perfect. She says, “Excuse me?” but with her head a little down so it looks like her entire face is puckered and she’s time traveled back to eighth grade when she was a 13-year-old girl saying, “What did you say, bitch?” to some bitch. Mary Louise kind of backtracks but not really: “I find” — somehow Streep manages here to look down at Witherspoon while looking up at her — “little people to be” — at this Streep ever so slightly toggles her head back and forth like she’s not tossing off a total insult — “untrustworthy.”

There’s a lot going on here, chiefly the clashing of present and past: Madeline is now, Mary Louise is then. You’ve got this younger woman who watched as her best friend’s abusive husband was killed, then covered it up without losing much sleep because he was a piece of shit and the (fictional) world is better off without him. Then you’ve got this older woman, the mother of the abuser, who believes her son was done wrong, not realizing that he was the one doing all the wrong. So, really, if you want to be Feminism 101 about it, this is the patriarchy confronting feminist progress and trying to subvert it. But it’s a lot easier to fight that when you’ve got Streep right in front of you than when she’s in your head.

I don’t think I’ve ever been reduced to my height like this, but it often defines how I think of myself. As a child I was often one of the smallest in my class, and while I would’ve preferred to be one of the tallest, at least I wasn’t one of the kids you don’t even mention. Like being short meant being original. Like at least I owned one superlative — if not the smartest or prettiest — and it wasn’t one that was obviously bad, like being the dumbest or the meanest (although the latter I kind of liked too). I think that all came less from my actual stature and more from wherever my shoddy self-esteem did. I saw my shortness as a stand-in for the interesting personality I was pretty sure I didn’t have. It was like a flipped Napoleon complex, which isn’t about his height — he was 5-foot-7! — but about being compelled by what you perceive as a disadvantage to overcompensate by being outsize in some other way. My perceived disability was that I was invisible, so I outsized the meaning of my shortness. (By the time I grew out of my height defining my originality, I was memorable for other things. Like my sparkling personality.)

We aren’t a very tall family, but it’s always made sense to me that the men are bigger than the women, like that’s how it’s supposed to be, Darwin-style. The women are dainty and elegant and the men can be whatever the fuck they want — they’re taller, just like they’re smarter. So from the start, height was a moral issue, and if there was a discrepancy between mine and any other girl’s, there was a problem with one of us. Every time I’d see a much taller girl I’d think, Jesus Christ, thank God I’m doing one thing right. As if it were a conscious decision I’d made, as if I had anything to do with how I looked. It’s gone the opposite way in adulthood; whenever I’m in a room with a taller woman, I feel way less visible. Actually, that’s a nice way of saying I feel like shit. I feel like a farmhand from the Middle Ages or like some dumpy nursemaid from *waves absently* that same era — an uneducated unsophisticated plebe. The best women — richer, smarter, prettier ‚ are all tall and thin and long-limbed and I’m a runt.

Knowing that all of this has to do with historic myths about gender and health and beauty — not to mention that I literally cannot find a pair of pants I don’t have to hem — creates the shoe paradox, which is a thing I just made up but which is also very real. It’s the feeling of being very riot grrrl when you wear any sort of flat “unfeminine” shoe like a Converse or a Doc, like you are embracing your deficiency of not performing femininity appropriately (come to think of it, this is kind of an addendum to that short-being-original thing). The paradox comes in when you suddenly decide to wear heels, which don’t make you feel like a traitor but, on the contrary, imbue you with even more power because you are no longer suffering from that nonexistent deficiency. It makes no sense to me either, but then neither do the rules of a patriarchal society.

I’m not sure how much my outspokenness has to do with how I look as opposed to how I feel, but my size appears to affect how people react to it and, sort of, how I do too. Basically, I have this idea of myself as a bulldog-chihuahua, some small, pugnacious cartoon animal — growing up, my aunt called me chooha, or mouse, because I squeaked — like a fightercock with no real power. Scrappy. It seems like a lot of guys see me that way too, as endearingly mouthy but ultimately unthreatening. It has the dual effect of being simultaneously flattering and demeaning. That extends to my perceived helplessness, too. On planes I’ll be reaching for my bag in the overhead compartment and some dude will stretch over me and grab it, then smile like I’m an adorable idiot in a losing battle that he would’ve just as happily laughed at but decided on chivalry instead. I know that’s what some of them think, because it’s sometimes what I think when I’m helping someone smaller than me. When I have to ask for some item in a store that’s on an unreachable shelf, I hear myself invariably flirting with the clerk and it feels triumphant that there’s a reason to allow a (preferably hotter) person to help me. And I hate myself for it.

When I’m alone with a guy who’s bigger than me, regardless of how he looks or even how stupid he might be, I’m instinctually deferential. I thought this was weird until my editor just noted that it’s “a pretty understandable safety mechanism, no?” YES (although now I am actually questioning how stupid I am). (Ed. note: not remotely stupid.) But I think it also has to do with my even more problematic ingrained belief that most men are smarter than me (I know, I know) as well as being stronger than me (generally true). So height, regardless of the other person’s agency, becomes this zone of self-reflection where ultimately the shorter I am the less substantial I am. But then there’s the boyfriend paradox, which is not unlike the shoe paradox. I’m dating a guy right now who’s 5-foot-10, which means that when we hold hands, I can only really comfortably grab his last two fingers — yeah, it’s cute — but that also means that hugging him, because he can envelope me, feels more secure. The paradox here is finding comfort in belittling myself, which, magically, works no matter the height. I dated a guy who was 5-foot-6 and thinner than me — “I’m indie thin!” — and while hugging him felt more equal, the fact that he was thinner than me was more noticeable because we were basically the same size, which was like facing a constant living reminder that I’m unable to not be fat. The point being that internalized misogyny ensures that YOU WILL NEVER WIN.

Being a short woman in a group of women can make me as self-conscious as being a short woman in a group of men. With men I’m always struggling to be heard, although I don’t know how much that has to do with being short and how much that has to do with just being a woman. It’s fucking annoying and either makes me louder than usual or more quiet. Women don’t have to do anything to diminish me, they just have to be standing there. Most of my friends are about the same height as me, but when I’m with one who’s much taller I always feel like Ratso Rizzo from Midnight Cowboy — you know, the con man greaser who wheels and deals. I have no idea why I think I look like Dustin Hoffman. No, I do; it’s because I have this conception of myself as small and savvy and naughty and taller women generally as a bit more, well, Jon Voight as naive gigolo. It’s funny because when I’m with someone the same height as me, I’m less conscious of how I look; I’m not an outlier, so it’s a nonissue.

None of this has literally anything to do with who any of us actually are. It has to do with the false ideas I (we) have of myself in the presence of men and other women and the false ideas I (we) have of men and other women and how those things work together to make me (us) self-destruct.

Ironically, the Ratso Rizzo thing probably also comes from my unwillingness to be overlooked. I’m very much “I’m walkin’ here!” when someone taller stands in front of me at a concert or sits right in front of my face at a movie theater. It’s usually a man and I usually want to stab him for being inconsiderate even if he isn’t aware. BE AWARE! Speaking of stabbing, I’m not actually short enough for my height to determine how safe I feel. I think I would feel as unsafe alone at night with a man walking behind me even if I were 6 feet tall, because I assume men are stronger than me regardless of their size. What I do notice is that I have intense anxiety in a crowd that I might not have if I were able to see over everyone’s head. I remember this psychologist relating my anxiety to my size. She said that she commonly got small women coming in and she compared us to small birds or squirrels — you know, how they’re skittish and their hearts beat really fast? Because they’ll basically be trampled or eaten if they don’t have hyperawareness. Maybe that’s what reads as untrustworthy in shorties, their lack of trust in not being stomped.

* * *

A few scenes after the “untrustworthy” one in Big Little Lies, Madeline bumps into Mary Louise again in her real estate office because this is a soap and everyone’s always bumping into everyone else. Madeline has since exchanged her black flats for a pair of grapefruit stilettos, and Mary Louise notices: “I see you’re wearing heels.” At that Madeline confronts her about being an asshole and Mary Louise apologizes and explains that she had some shitty best friend in boarding school (of course) who made her this way: “She was just an itty-bitty little thing with a big bubbly personality that was designed to hide that she was utterly vapid inside. You remind me so much of her and I suppose I punish you for that.” Witherspoon’s face, again. And Streep, again, does this great thing, where, when Witherspoon basically tells her to eff off and walks away, Streep gives her shoes another look and chuckles, with an “Oh, sweetie” cock of the head. Like the idea that Madeline could transcend who she is is endearingly pathetic.

At the risk of playing into the sexist tradition of pitting women against one another, there’s a frustrating feeling that Mary Louise — who is only five inches taller, by the way — has won. That her misogyny has insinuated itself into Madeline to the point that she has actually changed the way she looks in order to appease it. But it’s only a short (ha) stay. Madeline later comes to the rescue of her best friend, Celeste, who is Mary Louise’s daughter-in-law, who vaguely gestures to some kind of emergency. Mary Louise, distraught, asks, “What kind of an emergency?” To which Madeline shruggingly replies, “The kind short people have?” As Madeline walks away you notice she’s wearing running shoes. I love how the connection between two women — Madeline and Celeste — can act as a shield against sexism (in this case, Mary Louise’s). Would that we could all be that strong. Which makes me think of the poll I tweeted asking how tall everyone thought I was. The majority answered 5-foot-5, almost the same height as Streep. I’m not going to pretend that doesn’t make me feel better, but I’m working on it.

* * *

Soraya Roberts is a culture columnist at Longreads.

Soraya Roberts | June 14, 2019 at 6:00 am | Tags: Big Little Lies, feminism, Height, identity, Internalized misogyny, Meryl Streep, Reese Witherspoon, Soraya Roberts | Categories: Arts & Culture, Essays & Criticism, Story | URL: https://wp.me/p4KhvY-wKE

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