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spectrumed · 3 years

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3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they’ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that’s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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like a virgin. (jackie/nicky) — roza

a seven part story where each chapter details a different relationship with jackie based solely on the song correlated to their individual madonna rusical verses.

[ summary ] : nicky is convinced jackie needs to let loose and have some fun after all the years they've spent working together in the fashion industry.

[ verse two: like a virgin ]

[ author's note ] : the second part of this series! I didn't want to skip this verse because I love jackie too much and the song is iconic. I also needed nothing but an excuse to add my favourite and og season 12 pairing into this series!tumblr is @leljaaa and thank you meg for being a wonderful beta!

— *.✧

"Can you pass me that please?"

Nicky turned and nodded, passing Jackie the fabric scissors that were right in front of the French woman's desk. The Persian held up the black tulle fabric and grinned, pulling the blonde next to her body as she began to wrap some of the fabric around her body.

"Is this some kind of intervention?" Nicky laughed gently before Jackie shook her head, marking out her shoulders with a fabric marker before gently pulling off the fabric from her body.

"I'm trying to make you a dress for Friday," the marker still in her mouth as she spoke firmly. The blonde gasped as she sighed, completely forgetting about the stupid movie premiere that Nicky had been invited to while they were back home in Paris.

The fabric was already spread out on the table behind them as Jackie snipped away, occasionally looking at the drawing she had made for a point of reference.

"It will look beautiful as always," Nicky began as her arms snaked around to hug Jackie from behind, holding her waist and letting her head stay buried in the crook of the Persian's neck. "I shouldn't be surprised, that's why you're my favourite assistant and designer."

Jackie had met the French woman two years ago for an internship during her time at design school. The entire goal of it was to simply come and snoop around Nicky's fashion brand, maybe get a word in from the expert herself or learn some new design processes.

Instead what happened was the Canadian dropping out of her school in Toronto and immediately moving to Paris the second Nicky offered her an exclusive job as her personal assistant and designer.

The blonde had been beyond impressed with the designs and worth ethic Jackie had shown her during her short stay in France. She felt it was only necessary to try and keep her as long as possible.

Paid salary and housing included of course.

Despite their personalities almost always contrasting, Jackie quickly became her favourite friend and person.

The two grew close with Jackie's entire job being to design and assist her on every and any matter that came up.

She would see Nicky sob at her desk.

She would get to hear her spill all about her toxic family.

She saw first-hand her dumping her socialite boyfriend in favour of coming out to the French public.

Most importantly: she got to see Nicky beyond the rich, beautiful, dull Parisian facade. Every.wall she had built up from years and years of pressure in the limelight and in the media came crashing down the minute Jackie earned her trust.

"Well it's my job," the Persian finally mumbled under her breath as she looked at the fabric, beginning to write down the shoulder lengths having memorized Nicky's measurements already in her head.

"You hired me to be here with you so the least I can do is make you a fancy dress."

"You're so sweet baby," Nicky hummed as she let go of her waist and gently hopped up on to the marble table, her eyes only watching Jackie cut out fabric and begin to meticulously outline her patterns. "It's a beautiful concept."

One date.

All the hours every day spent together and added up still weren't enough or either of them to gain enough confidence to ask each other out on an actual date. The day Nicky asked she saw the discomfort and anxiety in Jackie's face and immediately dropped the idea, suggesting they instead go wine tasting together.

How French of me. Nicky thought.

There were the occasional shoulder brushes or even the more than occasional, almost constant kisses. Their lips pressed to each other for minutes on end as their hands would interlock before Jackie pushed her away, feeling her stomach churn and fear arise again when they kissed for too long.

She had found out from listening to her talk to her best friend back home in Canada that the fear was more internalized and had nothing to with Nicky's publicity or her status.

"I'm not ready for this ," had become Jackie's most used phrase since she began working side by side with Nicky. They left it alone for a week before the kissing began again and two decided internally that the best thing to do was never bring it up and never act on the feelings any further.

"Your birthday is Friday!"

Jackie chuckled, taking a minute to glance up at Nicky with a soft smile painted across her lips. "It is but I don't need any more parties please," the Persian begged as Nicky groaned the minute she heard the words leave her mouth.

"Nicky no!"

The fashion designer whined like a lost puppy, holding on to her arm for a brief moment before letting her eyes stare into Jackie's, her fingertips gently brushing aside all the loose strands of hair near her ear.

"You're no fun Jacqueline," she teased in a whisper as she drew out her birth name with a huff. The blonde smirked as she grabbed Jackie by her waist and leaned into her lips, "If we celebrated alone and after that stupid movie? Just the two of us?"

The Persian bit her bottom lip, it was beyond difficult to resist any question that came from Nicky's mouth and it was even harder to resist the urge to not kiss her right now, just throw away the project and focus every bit of attention on Nicky.

"If you promise me there won't be anyone else but us then of course I'll spend my day off with you."

"I'm keeping you to it."

— *.✧

The dress was perfect.

It was far too perfect and clean for an event this subdued.

Nicky by far looked the best as she always did. She smiled for every single camera as she felt the flash of the camera's coming constantly from bombardment of paparazzi as she walked down the carpet in her off the shoulder, gathered tulle dress custom made by Jackie, of course.

I just want to be with Jackie…

She stared down at the details of the ruffled chiffon hem that lined the entire dress as her mind was only focusing on thoughts about Jackie and how awful she felt knowing she deserved to finally give one day of full attention to the Persian girl.

Especially on her birthday.

I could just skip this event entirely… no one would dare to even stop me.

The minute she walked down the carpet she took a steep turn to the right, trying to run as fast as she could with heels on as well as an entire train of fabric piled behind her.

Somehow she made it through to the parking lot without even so much as a stare in her direction, managing to make it into her car as she thanked her personal driver. She typed out Jackie's address for him to see as she mentioned that she had to stop at a flower shop.

Red roses. Only red roses.

There were an assortment of looks as she approached the door, a few teenagers crowded around her and begged for photos which Nicky couldn't possibly refuse before she stepped in the small flower shop and begged for as many red roses as possible.

The total only came out to about thirty euros but Nicky only had a two hundred euro bill.

She shrugged as she handed it over, the owner at first refused to take her money but the French woman truly had no time to waste arguing about money she had to waste so she threw the bill in the small tip jar and said goodbye.

Racing outside once again, she found the car parked just a few steps away from the shop as she hopped in and could officially relax against the car's leather seats.

Ten minutes and Nicky was dropped outside of the familiar apartment as she took the dozens upon dozens of red roses in her hand. She managed to enter the pin before sighing heavily.

Nicky realized that going to Jackie's complex with a bundle of red roses in one hand and a flowing, tulle dress probably wasn't a smart idea when you had to walk up three flights of stairs.

She threw her heels off as she began to power walk her way up the steps with a determination to make it to Jackie's cute apartment and surprise her with an abundance of roses.

She buzzed the brass doorbell in front of her as she wiped off the sweat that built in her forehead, immediately smiling seeing Jackie both impressed and confused at the same time.

Nicky was pulled inside as Jackie turned up the fans, clearly seeing that the French woman had either run her entire way here or frantically ran up the steps.

"Are these for me?"

The Persian breathless as Nicky nodded, handing over the entire massive bouquet with a wink as she explained that she researched and found that Iran's national flower was the red rose.

"Nicky," she muttered breathless as Nicky kissed her hands with a smile, Jackie placing the flowers on her kitchen counter as she took the French woman in her arms. The two of them swung side to side as the radio blasted throughout the living room and kitchen area.

"I'm significantly underdressed," she whispered against her skin as Nicky giggled happy to simply be in the dress, admitting that she skipped the event and just ran off after the carpet and photography was finished.

"You skipped the event for me?"

"Of course I did Jackie," the blonde grinned ear to ear seeing the flush across the Persian's cheeks growing darker and darker.

"Was my dress that ugly?" She joked before Nicky cackled, snorting for a brief moment as she buried her head once more in the crook of her neck with a deep sigh.

"It was beautiful, it's one of my favourite dresses I've ever worn and I will absolutely wear it again."

"What an honour."

The two of them sat on her couch, eating bundles of Tiramisu and drinking far too much white wine for their own good as they ended up an hour later just a bit tipsy with their hands interwoven.

"Happy birthday my love," Nicky whispered as her hand softly slid down Jackie's cheek. The blonde pressed a kiss to her forehead as the Persian gnawed at the inside of her cheeks before admitting that she got the only birthday present she wanted.

"Really? Did someone actually do something better than my roses?"

Jackie snickered, rolling her eyes as she ran her fingers through Nicky's hair with a smile admitting that the only thing she truly wished for was to have the French woman near her.

"I'm near you all the time, we work together," she laughed quietly before she saw the blush forming across Jackie's cheeks.

"I need you Nicky."

The blonde blinked confused for a solid ten seconds before feeling Jackie tighten the grip of their hands as she noticed the Persian nodding at her last comment.

"Oh," she gasped. "Oh," She repeated with a wide smile forming across her lips, Jackie was undeniably trying to come through with the offer without saying the actual words.

"You want to have sex with me?"

Nicky laughed aloud seeing the Persian groan the minute she said the sentence, the blonde lifting her chin with her fingertips. "I want you as well Jackie," she whispered as she winked at the Persian who leaned into her lips with a worried breath.

"I am always ready when you would like to," Nicky muttered against her lips as they seperated, Jackie standing up as she held out a hand for the French woman to take.

She did.

There was no use shutting her door but Jackie thought it was intimate and it clearly served a good use as Nicky almost immediately pinned her up against her own bedroom with a chuckle seeing the Persian yelp.

Their lips pressed against one another as the blonde kept her hand's above Jackie's head, the two of them interlocking fingers as Nicky pressed her lips against her neck hearing the Persian immediately start to get anxious.

"You okay?" The question was genuine and soft as the Persian nodded, embarrassed to admit that she'd just had never done any of this before with a woman.

She felt Jackie's heart beat as if it was her very first time, which with a woman it certainly was.

"We don't have to if you're uncomfortable you know, I love kissing you just as much."

"I want to, I promise," Jackie gently managed to choke out as she left a kiss on her shoulder, the dark red lipstick she had on still lingering and leaving a small print on her bare skin.

There was nothing but silence as her hand gently slipped under the fabric, both of them watching Nicky's dress fall to the floor swiftly as she immediately kicked it across to the other side of the bedroom.

"Beautiful dress," Jackie teased with a chuckle as she saw Nicky kick her custom dress across like it was nothing. The Parisian scoffed, melting into another kiss as she admitted that the dress was not currently needed.

"I'll be yours till the end of time," she hummed feeling nothing but their hearts beating in sync with one another as they laid across the bed.

"Take me away."

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #nicky doll #jackie x nicky #lesbian au #fashion au #madonna verse series #roza #s12

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 5 years

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Six Baudelaires AU, Part One {AO3} {Read from the Beginning}

Chapter Two → in which the Baudelaires receive some Distressing News

If anyone asked the very unfortunate Baudelaire children if they liked their siblings, their response would either be “which one?” or “depends on the day”, depending on whether one of them had recently been pranked.

There were six Baudelaire children, which many people found surprising- how can there be six of you? How do your parents deal with it all? Lilac would normally respond sweetly, saying that she helped her parents take care of things, mentally noting that she was always in charge when their parents needed some extra help. If any of the other siblings were given a chance to respond, they would say something like, “They don’t, we run wild around the city while nobody’s looking,” and then leave before the adult could figure out they were being sarcastic.

The six siblings had to spend a lot of time together; while most of them had friends, they didn’t spend a lot of time outside their home, so they had to learn to get along. If they didn’t, the oldest four might’ve ripped each other apart before Solitude could even exist. Of course, just because they could survive each other didn’t mean they had the perfect relationship; on more than one occasion, Lilac realized her shampoo smelled off and realized just in time that Violet had dumped dangerous chemicals inside the bottle in retaliation for whatever had happened that week, or Klaus and Nick went three days without talking to each other because they disagreed on the meaning of a book (Lilac had to lock them in a room until they stopped arguing over The Old Man and the Sea), or Sunny and Solitude would bite the wrong thing and cause trouble, which meant their older siblings would be very disappointed in them.

But, well, they were siblings. These kinds of things happen to several children who are forced to spend the first two decades of their lives cooped up together. They could fight, they could make up, they could forget why they were arguing and start laughing over the same joke. And, of course, most of their antics were all connected by the phrase “Don’t tell Mother and Father.” Their parents loved them, of course, but it was a bit anxiety-inducing to hear about what problems they’d all caused that day- or that week, if they were away on business trips and Lilac had to be in charge.

On that fateful day, the Baudelaires’ parents happened to be home, but they asked them to take a rickety trolley alone to the seashore, where they would spend the day as a sort of vacation as long as they were home for dinner. It was a very gray and cloudy day, which didn’t bother any of the Baudelaires; when it was hot and sunny, Briny Beach was crowded with tourists, but it was empty on the gray and cloudy days. Besides, Lilac quite liked when things were gray, and liked them even better when they were black.

Violet was the first to arrive, rushing off the trolley with her basket in hand and beaming, her hair falling over her shoulder as she whipped around. “Hurry it up, we haven’t got all day!” she called.

“Yes, we do!” Lilac called after her, carrying the blanket. She turned to her siblings, saying, “Now, don’t wander off. The beach is huge, and even without people here, we don’t want to get split u- Nick, what did I just say?”

Nick, who was carrying Solitude, looked up from a spot on the beach he’d stopped at, kneeling down to look. “It’s a tide pool.” he said simply.

“I don’t care what it is, stay with us.”

“But I was reading about tide pools yesterday,” he said, “And I’d like to see what’s here.”

“Hopkins,” said Solitude, which probably meant, “Let him look at the tide pools, we’ve got time.”

“We agreed we’d do this first.” said Klaus, carrying Sunny, who was already scanning the beach, looking for things to bite.

“Alright.” Nick said hesitantly, standing up again and carrying Solitude over to the blanket Lilac had laid out.

“Are you ready?” Violet asked, kneeling beside the basket.

“Let’s get to work!” Klaus said excitedly, having been the one to help Violet the most on this particular project.

“Do you think this will be as good as the mailbox?” Violet asked.

“For the love of all that is Holy and Good in this world,” Lilac said sharply, “Do not turn this into the Mailbox Incident.”

“I don’t know, I think that went well.” Nick shrugged.

“It went better than the ceiling fan.” Klaus said.

“LIlienthal,” Sunny said, which meant, “Or the hang glider.”

“Come on, Lilac, help me with last minute adjustments,” Violet said, tying back her hair.

Lilac was the oldest, as she liked to remind everyone when they thought it was a good idea to goof off; she was fifteen years old, and with a brilliant mind. She liked to tinker with the family’s items, but she disliked the term “repair girl” that Nick sometimes jokingly called her. She preferred the term “mechanic”, as she often fixed or improved any item that was brought to her. She said there was “always something” that could be done to better any item, any piece of trash. Anything could be useful… except Violet’s ugly clothes, nobody could fix that disaster.

Violet was eleven months younger than Lilac, currently fourteen, though she was only a few inches shorter than her older sister. And though she shared her eldest sister’s knack for technology, was far more of an inventor than an upgrader. If you gave Lilac three random pieces of machinery, she could mix and match parts until each one was better. If you gave Violet three random pieces, she would combine them all into one and hope it didn’t explode, or just tear them apart and make something new entirely. While Lilac liked to improve on things, Violet preferred to create things out of her own mind. Whenever Violet was inventing or thinking hard, and her brain was whirling with levers, pulleys, and gears, she couldn’t be distracted by something as trivial as her hair, so when she was about four she learned how to tie it back with a ribbon. Lilac picked up the habit, too, though she used longer ribbons and was a bit more dramatic about it.

As the sisters worked on the basket, Violet said, “Klaus, Nick, at what angle are the prevailing currents?”

Klaus pulled out his book on the oceans, while Nick sat and thought for a while, trying to remember. At the same time, both answered, as Lilac and Violet nodded along and closed up the wood of the basket.

The twins were the next oldest- Nick and Klaus Baudelaire, the only boys. Though they were both twelve years old, Nick was thirteen minutes older than Klaus and would never let him forget it. Klaus and Nick did not share their sisters’ inventing skills- in fact, Klaus was absolutely useless with mechanics. The brothers loved to read instead. Nick dug into nonfiction books and scientific studies as soon as he could get his hands on them. He preferred books on the Natural World or Physics, but he wasn’t picky, he’d read anything he could find, and he could memorize those books faster than anyone would be believed possible; but as much as he loved reading, he often wished he could see all those things for himself, instead of just reading about them. Though he also had another past time, which was helping Violet test her inventions, usually by doing dangerous stunts that would scare Lilac and Klaus.

Klaus was also a reader, but he was much more comfortable just reading than experiencing; he often said that his siblings could abandon him in the library, and he could live there forever and never complain. He didn’t get as involved with hijinks as his siblings- he tended to spend most of his time in his room, studying or reading or spending time with his younger siblings, trying to see how fast he could get them to learn how to read with him. The exception was when he or Violet had an idea they both liked- such as today’s invention- and they would stay up all night working on it, which annoyed their siblings, as they were both insufferable while tired.

“Of course, we still need the right projectile.” Klaus said.

Nick leaned over and picked a rock up from the ground, turning to the infants. “Alright, girls, is this the right projectile?”

Soli and Sunny both considered, before Sunny said, “Goo-de-roo?” which probably meant, “Can you find a rock that’s not sandstone?”

Violet picked up a bigger rock, and passed it to Klaus, who passed it to Nick, who passed it to Sunny, who was a bit closer than Soli. While Soli giggled and clapped her hands, Sunny bit into the rock, making it much smoother.

The youngest Baudelaires were born much later than their siblings- Solitude, the older, had recently entered toddlerhood. She was the cheeriest of the Baudelaires, with a smile always on her face, no matter what trouble she was getting up to. She would have the same smile while succeeding in finishing a puzzle as she did when she was playing fetch with Nick- “fetch” being a word which here meant that he would throw whatever was closest to him and she would catch it and bite it. She liked to bite things, though not as much as the youngest Baudelaire.

Sunny was the smallest of her siblings, though size is not a guarantee of power. She could bite through anything that was given to her, even with only a few sharp teeth. She was still an infant, and often had to be carried places by her older siblings, usually Lilac or Klaus; when she needed to go somewhere she couldn’t crawl, she’d have to request one of them to move her. Both her and Solitude communicated exclusively in what sounded like incoherent babbles, though their siblings could understand them fine.

Sunny handed the rock back, and they all thanked their sister, before passing the rock to Lilac, who pulled some chalk out of her pocket and marked the rock with a white X. She stood, preparing to throw, before Klaus said, “Excuse me, Li, but why are you throwing with your left hand?”

Lilac paused. “I’m curious to see if I can skip the rock as far as I can with my left as I can with my right.”

“I don’t mean to criticize,” Klaus said, “But standard scientific method calls for stable systematics.”

Nick, sitting next to the infants, rolled his eyes and mimed yawning, which made the two youngest children erupt in giggles.

“I think Klaus is right,” Violet said, “You should use your standard right-handedness for the best effects.”

“If you say so.” Lilac shrugged, passing her rock to her other hand.

She knelt down, waved her arm a bit, and then threw the rock across the water.

They watched until it stopped skipping, disappearing into the water, and then they knelt down by the basket, with Violet and Klaus positioned on either side, and Lilac from the back, in case something went wrong. Nick grabbed Soli and held her up a bit, so she could see better.

“Ready?” Lilac asked.

“Ready.” Violet and Klaus said.

“Ready.” Nick said.

“Asill.” said Soli and Sunny.

Violet pulled a switch on the side of the basket, and a mechanical arm shot out, spreading far across the water, before the hand reached in, sensing something in the waves. It retracted itself before long, coming back and dropping the same X-marked rock that they had thrown into Violet’s hand.

Violet, Nick and Klaus all cheered, while Lilac smiled and breathed a sigh of relief that this invention hadn’t backfired horribly. Soli and Sunny both clapped and laughed, happy to see their siblings’ plan had succeeded.

“It worked!” Violet cheered.

“I never expected otherwise.” Klaus said.

“I wish Mom and Dad had seen it.” Lilac said. “They’d be very proud of you two.”

“It’s not like them to just send us off on our own.” Nick said.

“They just get back from a trip.” Violet said. “Maybe they needed to follow up on something today?”

“What would they need to follow up on that we couldn’t be there for?” Nick asked. “Maybe they’re just-”

Suddenly, Sunny said, “Gack!” and after a second, Soli said the same thing; this probably meant, “Look at that mysterious figure emerging from the fog!”

The six siblings turned, and saw that in the distance, far away from them on the misty shore, a tall figure was walking towards them. They stared for a moment, and then Nick stood up, lifting Solitude with him. Lilac moved forwards and grabbed Sunny, while Klaus moved to grab Violet’s arm, moving slightly behind her. The children stood, watching it get closer.

“Who do you think it is?” Violet asked.

“I don’t know,” Klaus said, “But they seem to be moving right towards us.”

“We’re alone on the beach,” Lilac said, “There’s nobody else they could be moving toward.”

Violet felt the smooth stone still in her hand, wondering if she should throw it at the figure.

“It only seems scary because of all the mist.” Nick said, as if reading Violet’s mind.

The figure finally came into view, and they recognized him.

“It’s Mr Poe.” Lilac said.

“From the bank?” Klaus asked.

Violet felt a bit bad about having prepared to throw a rock at him; he was one of their parents’ friends. As he approached, he coughed- which he did a lot- and then stopped in front of the children.

“Hello, Baudelaires.” he said.

They watched him for a moment, and then Lilac gave her siblings that look every oldest sibling gives their younger siblings at some point, the look that said, Don’t embarrass me, stop being rude.

“How do you do?” Violet asked.

“How do you do?” Klaus asked.

“Odo yow!” Sunny and Soli both said.

Nick stared at them. “You all sound like robots.” he said, before turning to Mr Poe. “It’s nice to see you, Mr Poe.”

“I’m doing fine, thank you.” said Mr Poe, in response to Violet and Klaus.

For a few seconds nobody said anything, and then Lilac said, “It’s a nice day.” Sunny made a noise that sounded like an angry bird, and Lilac glared at her, shushing her.

“Yes, it is a nice day.” Mr Poe said, before he added, “I’m afraid I have some very bad news for you children.”

The six Baudelaire siblings looked at him, before he finally continued.

“Your parents,” Mr Poe said, “Have perished in a terrible fire.”

The children didn’t say anything.

“They perished in a fire that destroyed your entire home.”

More silence. Lilac took her eyes off of Mr. Poe and placed her gaze on the ocean, wondering if this was some kind of awful joke.

“I’m very, very sorry to tell you this, my dears.”

He had never called them that before.

After another silent moment, Mr Poe said, “Perished means killed.”

“We know what perished means.” Klaus said, his voice breaking slightly as he gripped tighter onto Violet’s arm.

“The fire department arrived, of course,” Mr Poe said, “But they were too late. The entire house burned to the ground.”

“Our…” Violet said, her words catching in her throat.

“Mr Poe, are you…” Lilac began, glancing towards him, as if he’d meant to find some other children and accidentally happened upon them, “Are you sure?”

“Of course, children. I was sent to retrieve you, I am the executor of your parents’ estate; that means I will be handling their enormous fortune and figuring out where you children will go. When Lilac comes of age, the fortune will be yours, but the bank will take charge of it until you are old eno-”

“You’re lying.” Nick said suddenly.

“Nick!” Lilac glared at him reproachfully. “Don’t be-”

“You’re lying, you’re…” Nick backed up a bit, carrying Soli, who looked completely blank. “Our parents aren’t-”

Lilac passed Sunny to Klaus and immediately moved to her brother. “Nick, please.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders, and he looked towards her. “Li, he can’t be right. Right? He can’t be-”

“Nick. Nick, just calm down, okay? Nick, please…”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Violet asked quietly, almost inaudibly, to Mr Poe, as Nick kept shaking his head and backing up.

Mr Poe looked away from Nick, saying, “You’ll be staying with me until I can find you a suitable guardian.”

“A suitable guardian?” Klaus asked. They didn’t know of any relatives they had outside of their parents.

“Yes. Your parents’ will said you were to be raised as conveniently as possible by your closest living relative, so-”

“Mr Poe?”

They turned behind them, and the childrens’ hearts sank. Nick looked like he had broken down, and Lilac was hugging him close, staring at them with a sad look in her eyes, struggling to hold it together as her brother cried in her arms.

“Yes, Lilac?”

She looked at him sadly, and then said, “Can we see the house?”

They were silent on the drive over. It was a bit of a squeeze to get them all into Mr Poe’s car; Lilac sat in the shotgun seat, holding Sunny, while Violet, Klaus and Nick squeezed themselves in the back, seating Solitude on Nick’s lap. Nick had gone blank, staring out the window and refusing to respond to questions, only moving to grab Soli’s hand when she pressed up against him or to give Mr Poe a glare when he tried to start conversation. Violet and Klaus sat numbly next to each other, occasionally glancing at Lilac, as if wondering if she could tell them what to do. Lilac, meanwhile, responded carefully to each of Mr Poe’s sentences, holding Sunny close as the infant glanced around, a little confused; she was a bit too young to quite process what was happening.

They reached the house within minutes, and upon seeing it, all of the siblings felt a sinking feeling in their stomach.

It was… it was destroyed.

Violet got out first, opening the car and walking out in an almost trance-like state. Lilac went soon after, followed closely by Klaus and Nick, the former grabbing onto his brother’s free hand. Solitude and Sunny stared ahead, taking them even longer than their siblings to recognize that they were looking at the remains of their house.

The walls had all but crumbled, everything stained black with soot and ash. Windows were shattered, shelves had fallen, and almost none of the structure had remained; they couldn’t even tell where a room might’ve begun or ended.

Wordlessly, the siblings stepped into the rubble, despite Mr Poe, behind them, calling for them to be careful or to not step onto broken glass or that maybe their weight wouldn’t be supported. They didn’t care.

They made it to the room that used to be the Library, which they could only tell because of the remains of a fireplace, a ruined piano, and several broken shelves, books spilled onto the floor. Klaus and Nick stared at the burnt pages, while Violet made her way over to a broken grandfather clock she had spent hours of her life repairing and fixing and adding additions too; it was almost completely shattered. Lilac stared at the fireplace, holding Sunny with one arm and reaching out with the other to grab a silhouette portrait that had managed to survive the flames; all the other photos had been torn or burnt.

None of their belongings had survived; Violet found the remains of one of her microscopes, fused together in the heat of the fire, and Sunny had spotted one of her melted teething rings. Lilac had moved to the scorched cushion of their Mother’s favorite windowseat, and Nick had come across the shattered fragments of their Father’s brandy bottle. Klaus stared up at the destroyed bookshelves, unable to recognize any of his favorite books, and Solitude spotted what might be the remains of her favorite puzzle.

Mr Poe followed them in after a minute, and said, after a second, “I just want to assure you Baudelaires that you have absolutely nothing-”

“We have absolutely nothing.” Klaus echoed.

“-to worry about.” Poe finished.

“Ooh-roo!” Sunny said, attracting her siblings’ attention. She meant to say, “What’s that?”

She was leaning over in Lilac’s arms, staring down at an open drawer in an ashy desk; their Father’s desk, which they never touched due to both his express wishes and the fact that the paperwork they had swiped from the drawer bored them all immensely.

Klaus and Violet moved together, going to the drawer and peering in, surprised. Klaus reached in and pulled out what looked like some kind of odd item, maybe a cylindrical case? It had an odd-looking eye design on the top. But even as he pulled it out of the drawer, half of it burst into ash, making him jump back.

“Baudelaires, we really must get going.” Mr Poe said. “There’s an early banking day tomorrow, and hopefully we will be able to find you a suitable guardian then.”

Klaus flipped the cylinder over in his hands. The siblings crowded around him, staring down at it curiously. What was it, and why was it in their parents’ desk?

“Baudelaires? Come along.”

Slowly, they all turned to Mr Poe, and Klaus pocketed the cylinder. “Let’s go.” he said numbly, and slowly, they all walked out.

In the car, Mr Poe said, almost brightly, “Say goodbye, Baudelaires.”

Lilac refused to look, even as Sunny tried to spy the house out the window. Violet, Klaus and Nick turned to look out the back window, Solitude peering over the top of the seat as best she could.

“Goodbye.” Violet whispered. Nobody else said anything.

The second they were alone, Nick said, “You know what this is? Bullshit.”

Lilac jumped. “Nick! Language!”

They were sitting in a small, cramped room; two beds were in the corner, but neither were for them; they were for Mr Poe’s sons, Edgar and Albert, who were currently fighting with their parents over dinner. Two mattresses had been provided for them; it was supposed to be one for the boys and one for the girls, but they weren’t sure all four girls were going to fit on one mattress. The children hadn’t felt like dinner, so they’d respectfully skipped after Eleanora Poe had shoved a newspaper in their faces, the front page article being all about how their house had been destroyed and they were now orphans. (Great, so now everyone knew.)

“It doesn’t matter!” Nick yelled back, kicking a mattress. “It doesn’t matter!”

“Nick,” Lilac said, glancing at Solitude, who she was currently holding, “You’re scaring her.”

“I’m scaring her? Lilac, our parents are dead! We’re going to be shoved to the first person who might be related to us, and til then we have to sleep on the floor. We don’t have anything, our house is gone-”

“Nick-” Violet began, slowly placing Sunny on the mattress.

“And,” Nick said, “These are our only clothes now, and you all look horrible! I mean, Lilac looks like some kind of gothic nightmare, Klaus is a tiny professor… Violet, you look like you’ve been living above a store for five-year-old girls, Sunny’s a walking flower, and look at Soli! She looks like she’s gonna send a message on a bird.”

“Yawgnimeh.” Solitude said, which meant, “Detailed.”

“Look at you,” Violet snapped, “You look like a hipster.”

“Don’t fight!” Lilac said, standing inbetween them. “Nick, stop it, please. Look, we… we’re all a bit upset, okay? But we can’t take it out on each other. For better or worse, we’re all we’ve got now.”

They stared at each other, and then Nick sat on the mattress, staring blankly at nothing. After a second, Lilac sat next to him, still holding Solitude. Sunny crawled over, while Violet and Klaus sat on the floor.

“Are… are you sure this is really happening?” Nick asked quietly.

“Apparently.” Lilac said.

Solitude let out a whimper and put a small hand on Nick’s shoulder, while Violet said, “Maybe… maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe our new guardian will be… nice.”

“Nice? Vi, it doesn’t matter.” Nick said sharply. “Our parents just… our…”

Klaus glanced between his siblings, and then slowly pulled the mysterious cylinder out from his pocket.

“What do you think it is?” he asked, and the siblings turned to it, each secretly glad that they had a good change of subject.

“It looks like a case.” Nick said quickly, looking at it curiously. “Can I see?”

“Will you give it back?”

“Klaus, it’s not a fucking toy, it’s the last thing we have from our house.”

“Don’t say that in front of Solitude and Sunny.” Lilac reprimanded.

“I can say whatever I want.” Nick huffed as Klaus handed over the cylinder. He flipped it, and Soli and Lilac leaned over to see. “What’s that Eye that was on the top, before it broke?”

“I dunno.” Klaus said. “I don’t remember it well, I just remember that I’ve never seen it before. It was drawn pretty weird; I think it might be a symbol, but I can’t remember it from any of my books.”

“I don’t know it either.” Nick said, sounding disappointed. “Why do you think it split in half?”

“Pressure from the fire or smoke?” Lilac suggested quietly.

“But the other half?” Violet asked skeptically.

“Deciduous,” Soli said, which probably meant, “Can I bite it?”

“No!” Klaus yelled, grabbing it back. “You might break it!”

“Klaus!” Lilac said. “Be nice!”

“I’m not letting her break it!” Klaus said.

“Stop it!” Violet said quickly. “Guys, I know today was…” she choked herself off for a second, slight tears springing to her eyes, but she quickly shook her head to clear it and said, “I’m sorry. It’s… we’re all stressed, and angry, and… and sad, and tired, and I think we just… we need to sleep. Boys, can you take one of the kids with you? We won’t be able to fit.”

“We’ll take Soli.” Nick volunteered, grabbing her from Lilac.

“Glad you don’t play favorites.” Klaus muttered under his breath.

Sunny smiled for half a second, and then Lilac said, “Uh, they gave us some pajamas. You guys get changed, I can watch the… the kids.” she paused. “Hey, you know, if Edgar and Albert don’t mind, maybe we can… we can set up a blanket fort. Like we did the night before last. We can sit on some pillows and we- we don’t have the music box, but… we can sing, or-”

“I’d rather,” Klaus said quietly, “Just sleep for now, Li.”

Lilac paused, and then said, “Okay. Okay. We’ll just… go get changed, then. No more fighting, at least tonight, okay?”

Nobody bothered to answer, instead deciding to avoid each others’ eyes and go find the pajamas. Klaus placed the cylinder inbetween the mattresses, still staring at it carefully, and then after a second, he turned to Lilac.

“Li? Have you seen it before?”

Lilac glanced at it, and said, “No.”

What she didn’t say, was that while she couldn’t remember seeing it before, or the Eye on top, it looked… it looked familiar, somehow.

But she couldn’t say where she might’ve seen it before.

#asoue #asoue netflix #asoue movie #a series of unfortunate events #six baudelaires au #six baudelaires official fic #mine #my fanfic #the bad beginning

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foxofthedesert · 5 years

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How to Tame a Siren | A DinahSiren Arrow FF

So, like every other DinahSiren shipper, I loved the scene after Laurel's petition to have Oliver released is denied and Dinah stops her from going after the judge. Dinah has some pretty impressive Siren calming skills, so I wanted to explore that in the setting of an established relationship.

If you’d rather read/comment on AO3, click here.

"Fuck!"

Bursting up from the sofa, Laurel heaves the notepad in her hand clear across the apartment, shouting into the effort with almost enough force to trigger her sonic ability. For what must be the fifteenth time this evening, she had read through an amended opening statement for the trial due to start tomorrow morning only to find it yet again utterly inadequate. Which in turn made her feel inadequate. Which then made her angry.

This trial is by far the most critical of her career. It is make or break stuff, really, of the sort that could catapult her from a zealous state D.A. into the realm of public political stardom. The potential to extend her sphere of influence into the elusive halls of power is too tempting to resist when Mayors, State Reps, and Governors – hell, even a few prominent US Senators – were made from emerging victorious in similarly high profile spectacles. Being District Attorney of a metropolitan area has certainly afforded her a tantalizing sample of what real power tastes like, and she has wantonly indulged herself in the heady flavor, but there is no sense in denying she wants more. The limited prestige of local prominence is not enough. Her desire to join the exclusive ranks of the political elite only intensifies the closer she gets to breaking through the threshold of a ceiling that appears increasingly less impenetrable. Just because she has mostly bottled up her dark side does not mean she has ceded her ambitions. First meta-human President sure does have a nice ring to it, after all.

Since giving up the unrivaled adrenaline rush of hunting down enemies then mercilessly disposing of them, Laurel has needed to focus those chaotic energies into more productive outlets. Joining Oliver's gang of mostly insufferable do-gooders proved an ineffective option, as such selfless service could never satisfy her ferocious, ultra-competitive drive. Oh, she tried suiting up for a while as a means to sate her frequent urges to commit violence, but found it to be at best a stop-gap solution. Fighting did help, and still does, to mollify the malefic creature crawling beneath her skin everyone so lovingly refers to as Black Siren, just not enough.

Sadly prowling the shadowy streets of Star City and pummeling members of the criminal element she once would have casually commiserated with had one glaring flaw: every night when her patrol was done she had to go home and try to stuff Siren back into the little square box labeled: DANGER MONSTER INSIDE, DO NOT OPEN. On a good day of pretending to be someone she isn't, that box barely survives the inexhaustible fury of the prisoner it was specifically constructed to contain.

The only alternative to giving in to the insidious temptation to become Black Siren again was to supplement the lackluster approach of vigilantism by funneling some of that excess energy into her day job. So that's what she has done, having adopted a method of practicing law that mirrors her no-holds-barred approach to fighting. Ruthless, aggressive, largely merciless, occasionally reckless, always a sharpened blade in hand ready to be metaphorically driven home. These were some of the descriptive words and phrases she has heard attributed to her tenure as District Attorney, meant as criticism by her opponents and praise by her supporters. Whether offered as complimentary or disparaging, she embraces them all wholeheartedly. Ultimately she is who she is and forever shall be, only now she focuses on being an edgy, remorseless, vindictive, judgmental, angry person in the courtroom so she can just be Laurel at home.

That said, she would be lying to insist she never wishes to return to the simplicity of Siren's outlook on life. Being a good guy is hella complicated and terribly stressful. There is an undeniable advantage to not giving two shits about anyone other than herself. Doing the right thing is so often thankless and contradictory to her temperament that she suffers from far more anxiety than she ever did causing mayhem whilst arrayed in the signature black leather and fishnets. Some mornings she finds it hard to force herself out the front door of the apartment for the gigantic knot of caustic dread that has taken up residence in her belly. But she has yet to let that irrational angst defeat her, in no small part thanks to the stubbornness that makes her a survivor. That, and there is one very special person for whom she would do almost anything who does not allow her to surrender to her worst characteristics or her very real fears.

On nights like tonight, though, when she is frustrated beyond all reckoning and has been bullied to the bleeding edge of her tolerance with the expectation placed upon her to do things the 'right way,' preventing a full blown Siren-apocalypse tests the limits of her carefully developed self-control. And when she is arguing with herself internally like she is right now? Yeah, that doesn't help at all. Doesn't bode well for her sanity, either.

What the hell are you doing, you deluded moron? The villainous part of Laurel's psyche is being so excessively obnoxious tonight that she is unable to ignore it. You're no Clarence Darrow. Hell, Gomez Addams is more qualified than you are for this shit. You know what that means, don't you? It means you're gonna fuck this up just like you do everything else. It means you're gonna make a fool of yourself in front of some of the most powerful people in the entire country in addition to those sappy morons you've started hanging out with. It also means a killer is gonna walk free. Good thing it would be oh-so-easy to make sure that never happens! Betcha a crisp Nixon or whoever the hell is on a hundred here it wouldn't be hard to intercept prisoner transpo and take care of that problem. Permanently.

"No! I can't. I won't..." Shaking her head frantically, Laurel is as much frustration over her internal dialogue with an imaginary version of her worst self as she is over responding audibly to the obvious goading. Agitated past the point of reason, she begins to pace the area in front of the sofa like a captive tiger whose juicy meal was left just out of reach of her chains. To ward off a total meltdown, she slips into the tried and true method she was taught to master the monster within.

"First," Ollie had told her taking up a very convincing zen pose, "close your eyes and envision a harbor of peace, somewhere you are totally safe. Somewhere you feel secure enough to allow yourself to be vulnerable. A place that you can be your true self, absent of all baggage weighing you down and as in touch with your former innocence as is possible. See it? Good. Now go there. Immerse yourself in your surroundings. Let the familiarity and serenity and warmth seep into your bones and wash away the fear and rage."

That part was always easy enough for Laurel. When she first started training in Oliver's regimen, she used to envision her house on Earth-2 back before her mother miscarried after an accident and her parents started fighting all the time, then divorced a couple years later, and soon after her father crawled head first into the bottle. Back then, she was exactly like every other happy little girl in America. Mommy's angel and Daddy's pride and joy, she was celebrated for her advanced intellect and a gift for language that manifested early alongside a clear affinity for mediation and a prodigious grasp for very vague concepts of justice. She can remember her Mom and Dad playfully arguing about whose footsteps she would follow in. Was she going to become a career academic like her Mom? Or a cop like her Dad? They never could agree. In the end, Laurel landed somewhere between all on her own, not that it mattered when her idyllic life came to a screeching halt not long after her eighth birthday. But the memory of that former happiness was enough to center her in the midst of the storm of unfettered darkness that was Black Siren.

Like Ollie, however, she has since moved on from that initial visualization. Her refuge is no longer a place but a person.

Dinah.

Just the thought of that name creates a puddle of warmth low in Laurel's belly that swirls wonderfully northward. Once reaching her chest, it then spreads into her arms and fingers, which begin to tingle with anticipation that will have to wait til later for fulfillment.

Her eyes slide shut involuntarily as she imagines Dinah in all of her glory – olive skin that is every bit as soft as it looks, thick curly brown hair she envies as much as she loves, entrancing green eyes that reveal the mysteries of the universe to an infinitely curious mind, and sinfully lush lips turned up in a smile only she gets to see. A distinctive smell washes over her as the very human vision of her haven coalesces within the mist of her memory, cherries and the subtle hint of Tom Ford Jasmin Rouge, and it is accompanied by the feel of warm fingers and palms sliding against and caressing the bare flesh of her arms, shoulders, sides, hips, and along the small of her back. Shivering at the ghost of a touch for which she has acquired an insatiable addiction, she also hears a slightly husky yet alluring feminine voice whose dulcet tones are capable of penetrating any resistance constructed by a heart that has been abused so many times there is no reckoning the wounds. That voice – Dinah's unmistakable voice – is telling her to be strong, is encouraging her with reminders of all the good she's done since rejoining the wider world, and comforts her with assurances that she is loved and always will be.

Like the arrival of a gentle morning tide, Laurel feels calm wash over her and her monstrous side recedes a step into the darkness.

"Next," Oliver would say, "concentrate on regulating your breathing and then focus on bringing your heart rate down. Elevated BP and oxygen supply to the brain only fuels the runaway chain chemical reaction going on. Control is what we are after, so strive for it with single-minded tenacity."

Again, easy enough, though primarily thanks to her gorgeous, heroic, compassionate, unshakable anchor – the woman in whom she has learned to trust and for whom she would take on the whole world. Taking slow, deep breaths, Laurel hones in on the sound of her heartbeat and then compares it with the memory of the one steadily beating beneath her ear most nights. That gentle thrumming cadence, so reliable and soothing, is a unique pacifier that has proved a startlingly effective cure to chronic insomnia.

Funny, she never believed books and movies that made romance out into some mythical cure to all the ailments of the human condition. She still doesn't about a lot of it. Not only do her psychological scars preclude her from such vapid sentimentality, experience has taught her that love can often be every bit as destructive as it is some wholesome force with only benevolent intentions and outcomes. There was a time in the not-so-distant past in which love inspired her to commit atrocities she will never atone for or forget, acts of such unfathomable depravity they eat away at her restored conscience to the point she has started wrenching awake from the throes of a vivid nightmare recounting on of them. And in the present, love has yet to cure her infrequent depressive fits any more than it has rid her of the endlessly reoccurring compulsion to murder the terminally moronic legal-lackeys who annoy her on a daily basis. But! She has discovered, to her immense delight, that popular media was right about one thing. It really is so much easier to fall asleep ensconced in the strong arms of the one person she loves more than anything or anyone else while listening to said person's heartbeat.

Unbidden yet beyond her capacity to resist, Laurel's lips quirk up into an amused smile. Felicity was so insufferable when Laurel admitted to Dinah turning her into a cuddle bug because a girl's night ended up with her having too liberally imbibed the delicious spirits served at their favorite 'friend date' haunt. A few other tidbits about herself also slipped free that night. One of them was of a particularly intimate nature and involved a graphic description of her all time favorite taste and smell, which got her into so much fucking trouble less than a week later because Felicity is literally incapable of keeping a secret, especially when in company with one Curtis Holt who has flipped his gossip switch on.

Lord have mercy! But isn't Dinah a splendorous vision when she's royally pissed off.

"Having restored a sense of equilibrium," Oliver would instruct once the first two phases were complete, "carefully corral the monster inside into a place from which it can't escape. There is no other option than compartmentalizing. Believe me, I've tried everything else. Embracing the monster only gives it validation and power over you that you will find nearly impossible to regain. Ignoring it will only feed it's rage. And trying to lock it away forever will only make it all the more vicious and bloodthirsty when it inevitably escapes imprisonment. No, the only way to deal with what people like you and I have to deal with is to control it fanatically. That means intensively training to unleash it with purpose instead of reckless abandon, very much like a weapon, and at all other times strictly segregating it. So put it in a box or toss it in a cage or seal it away in a cell, never lose track of the key, and then keep a close watch on it until the next moment arrives when you need it again.

This is the hardest part. Not because Siren doesn't go into her cage like she's been conditioned to, but because Laurel always feels bad about banishing that part of her into such desolate isolation. Without it, she probably would not have survived the repeated traumas she endured without going batshit insane.

Being Black Siren was not always the study in mustache-twirling villainy as it was when she relocated to this Earth. At first, she was on a crusade to secure righteous retribution for her father and Ollie and all the broken, hapless, vulnerable prey like her who succumbed to one or many of the soulless sharks circling the chummed waters in the wake of a personal tragedy. If only she knew what she does now, that revenge never goes as planned, is never as satisfying as one hopes it will be, and ultimately leads one down a rabbit hole of infinite darkness.

When killing Brett Collins – the drunken bastard responsible for her father's death – didn't quench the hatred that had taken root in her heart, she started hitting the streets on a regular basis. Before long, and with the help of an assassin named Sandra who took an unusual interest in her, she was learning how to fight with more than just her meta ability. Encounters with targets got progressively more out of control until she was not only either putting them in the hospital or the morgue, but she lost her ability to differentiate between just punishment and violence for the sake of personal pleasure. By the time Zoom coerced her into his cohort of meta-terrorists, there wasn't much left of the Laurel who was once the biggest daddies girl to ever live and who would have gladly endured a thousand scourgings or literally ran through fire for her beloved Ollie.

If only she could go back in time and tell her younger self how futile that path was, how empty and deprived of meaning her life became, she could have been spared so much unnecessary pain and so many avoidable stains on her conscience. Sadly, time on goes in one direction unless one is conscripted by an intergalactic agency with honest-to-God H.G. Wells time machines. Sara would not look kindly upon theft of The Waverider, even it was for a very good cause by her sister's doppelganger. Nor is Laurel is inclined to undertake such an endeavor. She has many regrets, far more than she can process at any one time, but the desolate highway of anguish she trod to get to where she is also made her who she is. And while she is not always at peace with the countless sins she has committed and never will be, she is unwilling to give up what she so serendipitously stumbled upon here in the Star City of Earth-1. With Dinah Drake of all people.

Three years ago, she would have laughed until her stomach hurt if someone would have suggested she would refuse to trade the sanctimonious bitch extraordinaire she first met on Lian Yu even if tempted with the opportunity to get either her father or her Ollie back – or both. And yet here she is, confidently acknowledging she would do just that without so much as a twinge of self-recrimination or guilt.

Dinah is, without question, the best thing that has ever happened to her, and there is nothing she won't do to keep from fucking up what they have. She can't say that about anyone else. For Quentin, Laurel had let her true self peek through the curtain of protection over her heart that was Black Siren, was even willing to let that self share the spotlight with her villainous alter ego. But for Dinah, she learned how to put Siren in a gigantic, cold, black box only to ever let her out when she's useful. There are no words to describe how huge a deal taking that leap was for Laurel. No one really would or could understand it except for Dinah and Oliver, both of whom appreciate her sacrifice to varying to degrees.

Oliver has a monster of his own to contend with and, since he agreed to train her how to deal with hers, no longer looks at her with that judgmental loathing and disappointment that once tainted their every interaction. Hell, he has even come to respect her for what she can offer beyond her rival combat skills and vague similarities to the Laurel he lost because he knows her daily struggles better than anyone else. They have developed a tentative friendship that neither are in a rush to experiment with for fear of triggering the other's traumatic memories of lost loved ones that wear their faces. To them, this amiable detente is working wonderfully, therefore it is perfectly sufficient.

Dinah, though...well, Dinah was the first member of the Team Arrow clique to care for the Laurel that is without any ulterior motives underscoring her overtures. It Dinah's unexpected and numerous offerings of support or encouragement that kept Laurel from making some mistakes that might well have re-immersed her in the ocean of hate, bitterness, and rage that was Black Siren. Dinah also had experience with taking out her pain on those who perpetrated it, has spilled blood and killed with her abilities in the pursuit of revenge. One of the people who hurt Dinah the worst was, in fact, Laurel, and that she was able to forgive Laurel for Vinny even a little bit spoke to the absolute strength of her character. A lot of vigilantes squawk about being heroes and set about proving how awesome they are with their fists or guns or knives or bows and arrows. Dinah proved she was a hero by showing compassion to the person for which she had the least reason to do so. To a practiced pessimist like Laurel, that alone made Dinah worth trusting, worth embracing, worth appreciating...worth loving. So when to her shock and inconceivable joy Dinah admitted to returning her seemingly hopeless affections, there was no way in hell she was gonna miss the chance to seize an opportunity she knew instinctively would develop into a once in a lifetime love. And it has been exactly that.

Objectively speaking, Laurel is fully aware she has no right to be as happy as she is. Thing about is she is too happy to care. So what if some of Dinah's friends on Team Arrow still don't trust her. So what if public opinion of their relationship is not always rosy. So what if their problematic history rears its ugly head and they fight like dogs and cats every now and then. So what if the whole fucking world disapproves of what they have. So long as Dinah is healthy and happy, anyone who has a negative opinion about their relationship can take a really short walk off a very tall bridge. Including Siren, who bitches and moans at every opportunity about how soft and pathetic she's become, like she is right now at this very moment. Sometimes Laurel is tempted to consult with Caity Snow about how best to address unwelcome snark from an alter ego. Or a therapist to deal with what might be a serious psychological disorder...

Tough shit, you salty bitch. Time to go back in the hole, Laurel tells Siren as she mentally escorts her darker self, bound hand and foot, to the ebony container she erected in her mind.

Once the beast is safely back in her inescapable box, Laurel returns to the task at hand. This opening statement has to be perfect and by God it will be. She promised a little girl named Susie that the man who took her Mommy and Daddy away would never hurt anyone else ever again. That's a promise she has no intention of breaking. And if successfully prosecuting this case propels her to a notoriety she can advantageously employ to further her career? All the better.

So I'm Meredith Brooks with a functional brain and better hair. Go ahead and sue me. She chuckles under her breath at her own joke.

Determination renewed, Laurel fetches the discarded notepad and deposits herself back on the sofa with renewed purpose. She has an important promise to keep and lofty future prospects to secure. That in mind, she sets about achieving both with a determination that matches the gleam in her eye.

"By the time I'm through, that jury will be eating out of the palm of my hand," she comments to the empty apartment, then begins to read once more

With a sigh of relief, Dinah pushes her key into the lock of her apartment door. God, it's good to be home.

All day long she's been a gigantic ball of stress. Three active, high profile cases have taken up permanent residence on her desk, demanding her attention which is already spread thin. Not only is she having to keep a close eye on the progress being made by six detectives and the entire forensics team, but she is also juggling quarterly performance evaluations on top of the Mayor's request-that-wasn't-a-request to conduct a thorough review of department spending in an effort to streamline the budget. All of that on top of her second job, unpaid by the way, patrolling the streets of Star City as the Black Canary means Dinah is way past due for some down time. Thankfully the end of her current circus act is in sight. An arrest was made today in one of the cases and she signed off on the last of the evaluations. Another two days and the budgetary review will be completed. Once that's done, she intends to take an entire week of vacation and God help anyone who dares to stand in her way.

The only problem with that plan is a certain blonde who has been perhaps the largest drain on Dinah's emotional and psychological reserves. Laurel is under even more pressure than she is, as impossible it seems, and has been working herself stupid since landing the case of the Governor's slain son and daughter-in-law. Dinah can't remember the last time she arrived to what would ordinarily be a relaxing evening at home with her partner of eighteen months.

Normally Laurel would be flitting about the kitchen while doing her best to cook an edible dinner, her golden hair twirled up into a messy bun, dressed in comfy attire like leggings and a loose, off the shoulder sweater or a raggedy old tee. That, or she would be sprawled out on the couch watching MMA or whatever live boxing match might be on, take-out waiting for them both on the dining table. Strangely enough, while Laurel was deadly serious about her job, she is not the type to bring work home with her. This case ended that preferable trend. It has consumed her to a frightening degree. Even when she's at home, her nose is in a law book or she's pouring through case files to find avenues through which to attack the insufferably smug in his wealth and privilege scumbag who – while clearly deranged and guilty as hell – has the best team of defenders dirty money can buy.

To be honest, Dinah is torn between feeling intense pride in Laurel's obsession for justice and a very real concern that said obsession might precipitate a backslide into dangerous habits that don't lead anywhere good. While she has long since forgiven Laurel for what went down with Vince, has even fallen so far beyond head over heels in love with her, a malicious specter lingers upon the horizon. Black Siren, while distant, is forever a threat to the mostly normal and incredibly happy life they have built together. Dinah knows all too well that for people like her and Laurel who have binged upon the sickly sweet delicacies offered by the worst aspects of human nature, succumbing to those old addictions is ever a single taste away.

For the past two weeks she's lain awake in their bed at night until exhaustion finally pulled her under the cresting waves of slumber, unable to fall asleep swiftly as she usually does due to slightly irrational fretting over Laurel's deteriorating mental state. Staring endlessly at Laurel's face, relaxed in repose but still troubled by demons that haunt her dreams, does nothing to quell the creeping panic that seems intent on digging further beneath Dinah's skin with every minute doubt or fear. Never has she been so invested in another person. Not even Vince. And that, more than anything else, is what fuels intense, paranoid fantasies of losing Laurel.

There is no accounting how many times she has conjured up what might happen if a not guilty verdict is returned in this crucial, impending trial. Of how she would be forced to watch Laurel's vibrant olive green eyes turn cold, and of their tense evening at home with all of Dinah's attempts to assuage Laurel's simmering rage failing miserably. Of Laurel eventually tiring of being pawed at and patronized with another you did your best, of her snapping at Dinah and then storming out of their apartment with death emblazoned all over her striking features. Of the morning news reporting the grisly murder of the real estate tycoon recently acquitted of murdering the Governor's son and daughter-in-law. And then the worst part, Laurel sneaking back home the next night, streaks of dried blood staining her blonde mane any ugly rusted shade of red, bags under bloodshot eyes blurry from not having slept on a manic euphoria-induced bender of senseless violence and palpable self-loathing.

Just the thought of anything remotely resembling that scenario coming to pass causes Dinah's stomach to knot with dread like a gnarled tree trunk from some old horror movie. There is little she could conjure up equally as capable of turning her guts into liquid and her heart into a block of burning ice. It is literally the worst possible outcome of this case, one that Dinah does not think she could survive. Losing Vince twice made her say and do and want things she never imagined she could back when she was a young and idealistic Marine. She had thought watching him die as Laurel screamed into his ear was her breaking point. She was wrong. So wrong. Losing Laurel to Black Siren again? That, Dinah thinks, might actually shatter her into so many jagged pieces that a veritable army of puzzle geeks couldn't put her back together.

Imagine then, how quickly panic sets in when she enters their apartment only to find Laurel on the sofa, bent over a notepad on the coffee table, hands tugging at her hair and an ugly sneer marring her pretty lips. After tossing her purse and keys onto the stand next the door, Dinah stalls for a few seconds to gather her courage before risking a breech of the fraught silence.

"Hey..." Dinah winces as much at how tremulous the lame greeting was as at the way Laurel stiffens at hearing it. She berates herself internally, knowing the last thing Laurel needs right now is to hear the doubts regarding her sanity in her girlfriend's voice. After clearing her throat and shaking off the nerves as best she can, Dinah tries again, this time aiming for and successfully achieving a warm concern that any good girlfriend should have upon discovering her partner in such a state. "You okay? You look like you're about ten seconds away from putting Mt. St. Helens to shame."

For a second Laurel just sits there stiff as a board, causing Dinah to hold her breath. She lets it out with a silent prayer of thanks when Laurel heaves a sigh and then runs a shaky hand through her hair.

"It's this fucking case," Laurel says, choice of vocabulary not that surprising. The more stressed – or aroused – she gets, the more f-bombs she drops. "And this fucking opening statement." She gestures wildly toward the notepad as if it were a criminal on trial for felonious assault. "It's just...it's complete and utter dogshit. Patrick Star could construct a better, more persuasive argument. This is the biggest trial of my fucking career and I can't even write an opening statement that would convince a fucking six year old that peas are nasty shit and ice cream is delicious angel food. And I'm just so fucking frustrated and..."

Trailing off, Laurel growls, then sighs again before finally shifting so she can look at Dinah. There is a liquid desperation in her eyes that reveals how close to the edge she is currently teetering.

"I'm at my wits end here, Dinah. I cannot afford to fuck this up. My entire fucking future is riding on the outcome of this case. The Governor has been watching my every move, breathing down my neck twenty-four seven, pressuring me to deliver on this with an unspoken or else hanging over my head like a fucking Damoclean Sword of political homicide. Not only that, but I have an opportunity to really put myself out there, you know? Everyone knows me as Laurel Lance, back from the dead, used to be the Black Fucking Canary or Laurel Lance the unerring crusader for justice. But you know what? I have ambitions. I have aspirations. I'm not that meek Laurel that derived genuine satisfaction putting bad guys behind bars. You know that better than anyone.

"I need challenges, I need high stakes to survive. I can't do mundane, Dinah. I just can't. I like the limelight. I thrive in it. It's exciting and addictive and I'm not ready to fade into obscurity. I don't want to just be a D.A. for a couple more terms and then slink into private practice with my tail between my legs. I want more. I wanna shoot for the stars, 'cause otherwise what's the fucking point? And this case? This is my chance to do that. To make a name for myself in influential circles beyond Star City. Beyond California, even! People in D.C. are following this case. Did you know that? And yet as with everything else, I'm fixing prove to them that I'm nothing but a gargantuan fucking failure. Fuck!"

That last exclamation is punctuated by a fist slamming so forcefully into the dense oak coffee table all of the knickknacks on it clatter and shuffle or are knocked off entirely.

For a second, Dinah just stares at Laurel, a bit flabbergasted at that tirade. All of it, not just the abuse of the table. She's always known a quiet life was not in the cards so long as they are together. Laurel was right about that. There is no getting around who Laurel is as a person. She is as she said. An ambitious daredevil who loves the spotlight and craves the trappings of power. Turning over a newish leaf has not changed those aspects of her character, which is perfectly fine with Dinah. She loves Laurel exactly as she is. It's just...well, she never quite connected those traits to a desire for a political career, and that's exactly what the subtext indicated. Maybe she simply never wanted to. Being the partner of a city councilwoman at most was all she really envisioned.

Now that she's been clued in that Laurel is aiming higher, way higher if her ability to read Laurel is a reliable judge, she finds herself surprisingly willing to make some concessions to help facilitate her partner's so-called aspirations. Is it ideal for her to put their private life up for even more public consumption than it already is? No, not really. But if that's what she has to do to accommodate Laurel's professional ambitions, then she is up for giving it a try. That isn't to say it will work. There is every chance putting their relationship under a microscope will signify impending doom. However, there is also a chance that in helping Laurel spread her wings and fly, she'll discover something new about herself as well. And that is an exciting prospect for someone who is also known for pushing boundaries. The leaps from farm girl to Marine to cop to Black Canary have all been pretty spectacular. So what's one more?

First Lady of California does sound kinda nice.

"Are you just gonna stand there and stare at me? Did I finally scare some sense into you?"

Startled out of her thoughts, Dinah returns her focus to Laurel, whose brows are drawn in tightly and whose lips are pursed in that moody way no one else can accurately replicate. She hadn't meant to leave Laurel hanging, and evidently Laurel took it the wrong way.

Recognizing this moment as critical, Dinah springs into action. "No, no," she says, moving as she talks. "I was just a little stunned by that...outburst. I'm actually kinda glad you got all that out in the open instead of dwelling upon it until it ate you alive. Just...look, I know you're upset, but there's really no need to take it out on the furniture. I assure you, Counselor, the coffee table is innocent."

Ignoring Laurel's scoff, Dinah strides over to the sofa where she approaches danger without a second thought. Three years ago she would never have been so bold seeing as this Laurel Lance is a tempestuous woman by any conceivable standard of comparison. At least once every couple of weeks, at minimum on a monthly basis, Laurel summons up potentially catastrophic hurricanes, which if left to their devices would plow through their relationship with all the tact and delicacy of an irate bull in a china shop. Thankfully by now Dinah has plenty of experience dealing with them. Her ability to forecast Laurel's moods is legendary, and as for actually dealing with them? Well, their friends don't call her the Siren Whisperer for nothing…

Once at the arm of the couch, she bends over to reach for Laurel's hand. Expecting resistance, she is pleasantly surprised when her girlfriend responds positively by taking her hand and lacing their fingers together.

"C'mere for a sec," Dinah says, tugging on Laurel's hand. When Laurel does not obey, she tries again with a bit more force, then adds, "Opening statements can wait, Miss Lance. Right now there is an amazing, loving, and extraordinarily patient girlfriend in dire need of a hug that she happens to think will be mutually beneficial. Perhaps we can have a sidebar to address that very critical and time sensitive matter."

A crack in Laurel's foul mood appears in the form of one corner of her lips quirking up. "Going to shamelessly manipulate me with flowery legalese are you?"

Dinah smirks. "Depends. Is it working?"

Shaking her head, Laurel chuckles. A second later, she pushes off the couch to stand. "Always does," she says, and when pulled close, melts into Dinah's waiting embrace.

For the longest time they just stand there in their living room holding each other, gently swaying to the melody of an important song that Dinah hums for both of their enjoyment. Slowly but surely the coil of irritation and rage that was Laurel unfurls until she is pliant and relaxed and fully ensconced in the heady atmosphere of their love. As sense and control return to Laurel, neither are in a hurry to escape the cocoon of warmth surrounding them, so they remain locked together, indulging in the sensation of their bodies in full contact from hips to shoulders, reveling in one another's scent, hands exploring fit frames both over and under items of clothing, all the while exchanging languid kisses or foreheads resting together as they stare at one other with indescribable adoration and devotion on full display.

This is one of Dinah's favorite things to do – just be with the woman she loves in her arms as every last one of her cares fades away into the background. Her buddies in the Marines always used to affectionately tease her about being so touchy-feely with her romantic partners. Said that real Marines stormed the beaches, fought like devils, then extracted with all due diligence. Of course, they were just breaking her balls, as most of them were unarguably whipped, but she never did escape their nickname for her: Huggy Bear. The label didn't bother Dinah. On the contrary, she wore it with pride. In the field, she was all Marine but at home she was all woman. Those that love her understand and accept the dichotomy. Still do.

Laurel took a while to adjust, having never been the cuddly type, but she has since been at least partially converted to Dinah's soft approach to romance. Which is great because now Dinah can throw on some sultry jazz whenever she's in the mood and drag Laurel into the living room to slow dance to Etta James's sultry crooning, Miles Davis' soulful trumpeting, or Charlie Parker's impassioned saxophone until their feet and legs ache. There are also times just like this when both are content to dwell inside the warm bubble of their love without a care for anything or anyone else. Enveloped by Laurel's smell, remnants of hazelnut coffee on her breath and the gentle fragrant spice of her perfume, and blanketed by the love pouring out from Laurel through her eyes and lips and fingertips, the entire world could go up in flames and Dinah couldn't be bothered to give a damn. This is her heaven, and it if were up to her she would never leave it.

But as Solomon so wisely wrote many thousands of years ago, there is a time for everything under heaven to end. As comfy and happy as she is right now, the reason she initiated this embrace remains an elephant in the room that must be addressed. She can't let Laurel go on like this or the next time she might come home to a trashed apartment. Or worse.

Breaking away from Laurel, albeit reluctantly, Dinah maneuvers them both back to the couch. After seating herself, she encourages Laurel to join her.

"Guess there's no getting out of talking it through this time, huh?" Laurel asks, looking embarrassed and at the same time afraid. Not of Dinah, but of herself, how she has been reacting to this case, and at how she has been wriggling her way out of talking out her issues with Dinah at every turn. The time for deflections and avoidance is over. For them both.

"Afraid not, babe," Dinah says, then pats Laurel's hand comfortingly. "This case has been eating you up. You're irritable – well more irritable than usual –" that earns her a glare, "and it isn't just because of your career being on the line. By the way, I just want to say, I didn't know you had your sights set on climbing the ladder so high. But if that's what you want, I'm with you. A hundred percent."

"Really?"

Laurel sounds as surprised as she looks when she shouldn't. Dinah has been nothing but supportive of her career. As a woman in a profession even more male-oriented than practicing public law, she is well versed in navigating the unfair hardships of gender inequality in the workplace as well as the complex social webs that spring up in a mixed gender environment. Granted, being a Marine more than prepared her for the culture shock of being an ambitious woman in primarily male dominated profession, but that isn't to say it was always easy. More than a few hateful pricks and handsy sleazeballs had to learn the hard way that she doesn't take shit from anyone, no matter how large and in charge they may be. While Laurel's venture as D.A. has been far less problematic on that front, the trauma she experienced at the whims of abusive men before assuming Earth-1 Laurel's life made Dinah's pre-cop days seem like a picnic. For both that reason and her own experiences in the workplace, she would never stand in the way of Laurel's dreams. And that wasn't taking into consideration the more simple motive for her support, that she loves Laurel and only wants the best for her.

So, Dinah is a tad bit offended that Laurel might have assumed she would throw a hissy fit or something after learning about her ambitions. That said, she abstains from making a scene over it since she can't deny she has only really been supportive of Laurel's current career track. They have yet to discuss at any length about where they want to be professionally five or ten years down the road. If this conversation is any indication, they should do so before long.

There is only one major reason Dinah can think of off the top of her head as to why they haven't broached the matter, namely Laurel's reticence to discuss where their relationship is headed. God knows Laurel has been let down and betrayed and burned by love too many times to allow herself the luxury of dreaming of a future outside of fighting for her survival. So it isn't a big shock that she doesn't seem to be operating with an end goal in sight as far as their relationship is concerned.

Dinah, on the other hand, has stubbornly clung to her idealistic vision of the future, so she knows where she wants it to be heading. But a relationship is a two-way street that she cannot navigate solo. Before long, she needs to figure out where Laurel stands as far as what she ultimately wants out of this relationship. Otherwise what are they doing? Spinning their wheels. That's what.

"Of course," Dinah finally answers aloud, careful to keep any offense from slipping into her tone. "I love you. I want you to be happy, and not just with our home life. It's just as important to me that you're being fulfilled by your job. Do you believe that?"

For a second Laurel stares at her in disbelief that is quickly banished by awe. "Yeah..." Her response is whispered so low that it is barely audible, so when Dinah arches a brow indicating she requires clarification, Laurel obliges. "Yes, I believe you. Thank you. That...hearing you say that means more to me than I can really explain."

Dinah doesn't agree. She thinks Laurel is perfectly capable of explaining it, but is merely too stubborn and prideful to admit she derives pleasure from receiving Dinah's validation. Why Laurel is so reluctant to confess to such when she has no trouble doing so in the bedroom is a minor inconvenience Dinah has yet to resolve. She is making observable progress, though!

"Oh, I think I have pretty good idea," she says, unwilling to press that particular issue at present when there are other things to address. "But that's not important right now. What's important right now is why you're all twisted up about this case. I've not seen you like this in a long time, and I have to admit it scares me."

Laurel sighs in frustration then pinches the bridge of her nose before responding. "I'm sorry about that. I never want to scare you. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do. That's why it's scary. If you're not trying to do it, it means something is really wrong. So what is it?"

Another sigh, this one more plaintive and hesitant. "It's about Susie."

"The Ingrams' daughter that was hiding under her bed while her parents were being slaughtered in the next room?"

Dinah will never forget walking into the apartment and seeing that trembling child sandwiched between two detectives who were trying to take her statement. As Captain, she had responded personally to the murder of two prominent members of Star City's upper crust, a family with links that stretched the breadth of the country all the way into the D.C. establishment. The last thing she expected was to be forced to attempt extracting vital information about the crime from a terrified, traumatized seven year old. She didn't make much headway at all, nor did anyone else who tried, before ordering everyone to leave the girl alone until Child Services arrived. And then Laurel waltzed in and everything changed.

"That's her," Laurel says, visage regaining a semblance of vitality as she talks about little Susan Ingram. "Remember I had to interview her a couple times right after the incident and she, uh...weirdly took a shine to me? And how she wasn't really talking to anybody else, so guess who got to spend bunches of quality time with her?"

Dinah smiles, remembering how Susie would cling to Laurel's leg or hand and would never stray much more than a couple steps from the woman who apparently reminded her a lot of her mother. It was half adorable and half amusing watching Laurel discreetly flail for balance at being the sole recipient of a traumatized child's trust.

"Sure. You acted all put out about it but secretly you fell in love with that little girl just like everybody else did. Me included." And that much was undeniably true. When Laurel informed Susie that Dinah was her girlfriend, it was as if she was suddenly inducted into the club. After that, she was present – as was Laurel – at every last one of Susie's official interviews about her parents' deaths. It was impossible not to love a child who could melt through Laurel Lance's sturdy defenses with such breathtaking ease and speed.

"Yeah...well," Laurel winces subtly, "I may have told her about losing my dad and then given her my word I would make sure the man that took her mom and dad away would never walk the streets again." She pauses then, her eyes misting up as she searches for something from Dinah that she is apparently having trouble finding. "Did I lie to her, Dinah? Am I gonna break that little girl's heart? Am I gonna be responsible for sending her into a death spiral like what happened to me after my dad's killer went free? Am I going to turn that precious, innocent child into me? A broken, deranged killer with no conscience."

Her own heart breaking for Laurel and Susie, Dinah shifts on the sofa, angling in toward Laurel so that their knees are touching. She adds her other hand to where she's holding on to Laurel's, one clasping the underside of Laurel's wrist while the other palms the top of her hand.

"Baby, no. First of all, you aren't broken or deranged, and you most certainly have a conscience. You wouldn't care what happens to Susie otherwise. Secondly, I don't believe for a single second that you will let her down. You're going to win this case and give her and her parents the justice they deserve. I know it."

Doubt and self-recrimination marring her features, Laurel pulls her hands away to run them fretfully through her hair. "How? How can you be so confident when I'm not?"

Absently, Dinah reaches out to tuck a strand of loose hair behind Laurel's ear. "'Cause I know you. Sometimes I think better than you know yourself. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laurel Lance does not make empty promises."

"Maybe you'll change your mind after you read my opening statement," Laurel replies, then groans miserably. "It's really bad..."

"Doubtful. I've always thought you have a unique way with words. Most juries you've addressed seem to have agreed with me." Smiling, Dinah nudges Laurel's shoulder then gestures toward the offending notepad that seems to be the subject of ninety percent of Laurel's ire. "But I know better than to marginalize your concerns, so let's see it. And before you object due to my blatant conflict of interest, I'll be as unbiased as I can. Sound fair?"

With a drawn out sigh, Laurel returns a hesitant nod. "Yeah. Okay. But only because I trust you won't blow smoke up my ass." She then retrieves the notepad and extends it toward Dinah with a slightly unsteady hand.

Reminded of how critical it is to give an honest opinion without being unduly harsh, something she has become adept at living with a woman whose temper frequently has a hair trigger, Dinah respectfully accepts the notepad. "I won't," she says. "I promise." And then, when Laurel settles back into the cushions, legs crossed and arms folded over her chest, she begins to read.

From the first word, it was clear Laurel's stressing was for nothing. The rest of the opening statement does nothing to contradict that assessment. It is, in her opinion, an incredible speech worthy of being represented upon the silver screen.

"Laurel...this is amazing," she croons after finishing the captivating read. Unsurprisingly, Laurel glares at her dubiously. "Seriously! I'm not trying to spare your feelings because I love you. I actually think it's perfect."

Laurel huffs, stubbornly refusing to accept the praise – which is fairly typical, albeit less so now than when they first started dating. "You said it before. You're biased."

"Obviously. But that doesn't mean I can't recognize a winning argument. I've sat through my fair share of trials, and heard a lot of opening statements. And this?" Dinah brandishes the notepad as if it were the smoking gun in her case to prove Laurel is overreacting. "This is so, so good. But..." tossing the notepad back onto the coffee table, she retakes Laurel's hand, "if you're still not happy with it, tell me what you think is wrong. Maybe articulating your concerns and then tossing ideas back and forth will help work out the kinks."

That perks Laurel up. "You sure? I know we haven't had dinner yet..."

"Not a problem," Dinah says confidently. "I'll call in for Thai and have it delivered. We can work til it gets here. Sound good?"

"No. It sounds...wonderful." Silence stretches out between them as Laurel worships Dinah with her eyes as if seeing her for the first time all over again. The heated gaze of those electric green irises elicits a delicious shiver that corkscrews down Dinah's spine. "Damn," Laurel says after completing her languid study, strangely enough voicing Dinah's own thoughts. "I really am the world's luckiest bitch. 'Cause you are the best girlfriend in history." Full lips quirk up at one corner. "If I was as smart as I say I am, I probably ought to listen to Felicity, stop beating around the bush and wife you up."

The trailing comment, out of left field as it is, does not even phase Dinah. Truth be told, she's been fantasizing about taking their relationship to the next level for a while now. There is little else she wants more in the world than to become Mrs. Laurel Lance.

"Amen, babe. From your lips to God's ears," she replies enthusiastically, catching Laurel completely off guard.

"Are you...actually being serious?" Laurel responds, visibly shaken, waves of insecurity pouring off her. "You'd really…? I mean, you wanna…? You would...to me?"

"Laurel. Jesus." Ashamed of herself for leaving any room for doubt, Dinah heaves a self-recriminatory sigh as she scrubs a hand over her face. "I guess I have to work on my communication skills as much as you do, because of course I do." Deciding that there is no time like the present to get started on that noble goal, she gently squeezes Laurel's hand, willing her to understand just how much she really does want to get married. "I've been thinking about it for so long I already have a million ideas about bridesmaid dresses and venues and catering options." When Laurel's eyes widen comically, Dinah realizes how that might sound like an actual proposal. Chuckling, she shakes her head lightly, "Don't freak out, babe. I'm not asking right now. I'm afraid with me being a traditional girl I am in the romance department, that particular ball is in your court. That being said, at least now you know what my answer will be."

Another briefer silence descends, during which Laurel stares at Dinah in utter amazement and worries at her bottom lip. "By chance, is it the same answer you'd give if I asked you for a kiss?" she asks after a few seconds of waging an internal battle with a part of herself Dinah can already guess is making a fuss out of this.

No doubt it will not be the last time Laurel's dark side has cause or opportunity to undermine the direction their relationship will hopefully be taking – and very soon if Dinah has any say in the matter.

Dinah's answering smile is as much to tease as it is an invitation. "I don't know, Miss Lance. Why don't you woman up and find out."

"Oooo. A challenge. I likey. Alright. So..." Without prompting, Laurel fluidly slides off the couch and onto her knees. Once situated between Dinah's knees, she offers her hands palm up. And when Dinah slides her hands into Laurel's, those mesmerizing green eyes begin to dance. "Dinah Miriam Drake," Laurel says, all formal and serious yet with the stirrings of an indescribable passion and devotion underscored by a hint of playful affection. "Will you do me the extraordinary privilege of allowing me to kiss you?"

Tears well up in Dinah's eyes at the subtext to a query that was clearly a test run for a much more important one to come. Barely able to contain her urge to jump Laurel's bones on the spot and with her heart soaring through clouds of pure saccharine joy, she smiles. This is the easiest question she has ever been asked. Or at least it will be until she gets asked that other one. Doesn't matter, though. To both, her answer is the same.

"Yes."

#arrow fanfic #dinahsiren #dinah drake #laurel lance #black siren #laurel x dinah #dinah is a certified siren whisperer y'all

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yelloskello · 5 years

Text

i fucking hate the stag/doe - butch/femme thing. I hate it. I hate that we are explicitly told that we’re not allowed to use these terms, and for what? I went a’googling to see what lesbians were actually saying in regards to why they’re lesbian-exclusive, read the arguments straight from the horse’s mouth, and it amounts to this:

TERFs (and no, I do not mean lesbians = terfs, I mean it is TERFS who came up with this) straight-up believe that bi women and trans women just weren’t there in our history. They say that butch and femme carry the weight of a painful history and fighting for our rights in the words, and that when anybody but lesbians use the terms, they’re putting it on like a fancy dress and calling it an aesthetic.

As if bi women and trans women just straight-up weren’t there for that history, too.

They argue that ‘nobody fights men to use phrases like bear/otter/twink!’ and quite frankly, i’m pretty fuckin’ sure bisexual men and/or trans men can happily use those terms, too, so shitty argument there pal.

So they kick us out of a history that we were actively a part of, and younger lesbians who want to do the right thing but don’t know the history of this argument latch onto it, and bisexual people... Within the last year... Create the terms stag/doe, since it’s evidently morally wrong to use terms that are part of our own history, but since we can experience the same kind of dynamics in our relationships, we need SOMETHING to describe them. And what do people say?

‘wtf this is so dumb/fucked up, this is just watered/down butch and femme, they’re literally the same thing, why would you make up new words to mean the same thing?’

because we experience the same goddamn thing, just because we like multiple genders doesn’t mean we always hop on “opposite” genders, we can have relationships with similar-gendered/nonbinary people, even outside of a relationship we are still part of the community, we still experience Gay Attraction, and it can still be part of our identity because we’re still LGBT+, but we’re not allowed to use those terms! We’re damned if we do, and damned if we don’t.

I hate the wave of separatism that we’ve gone through. I hate the idea that everything has to have shit exclusively for them, even if it has a history of being used by multiple sexualities. I hate that people think No Experiences Overlap Ever, when in truth, marginalized people (and I don’t mean just queer/LGBT+ people - I mean PoC, disabled folks, etc) have SO much more in common than anyone might ever think. Yes, some groups do have things that exclusively happen to them, as a white person i’m NEVER going to fully understand the struggle that brown and black people go through, there’s SO much i’m still ignorant to concerning that, i’ll never pretend all our experiences are exactly the same, but there are also at least some issues that I can strongly empathize with because I hear what they go through and can see similarities in the way i’m treated as an AFAB person or as a bi person or as a nonbinary person. A microaggression because you’re gay and a microaggression because you’re brown are both microaggressions, even if they’re presented in different ways, over different issues. Multiple groups are denied housing and jobs for their identities, even if it’s done quietly behind closed doors so the law doesn’t crack down on peoples’ bigotry. As a trans person I can feel the personal pain of my people being accosted in bathrooms by bigots, and I can look at how black people are assumed to be criminals by virtue of simply walking around in a store, and even though the issues are very different, I can see the similarities - we both are mistrusted by “””normal””” society based on hideous stereotypes - and I can feel for them, even if I don’t experience being assumed to be a criminal personally. I listen to them and I believe them not just because they’re fucking people who deserved to be listened to and believed, but because I have seen how general society treats people like me, so why should it be so hard to believe they could be treated like shit, too?

People think that our struggles are so fucking exclusive that they lose all empathy for other groups, thinking that the only people who have ever suffered are themselves. It’s always baffled me that LGBT+ people can be so fucking ignorant and racist and hateful when you think they’d be able to tap into their own hurt and understand that other people are being treated in similar ways because they’re ‘different’, too. But then again, LGBT+ people can barely understand how other subsets of LGBT+ people have struggled, so I guess it shouldn’t be that surprising. I think of how ace people can write a laundry list of things they personally experience, and other subsets will scoff and say ‘yeah as if we don’t go through that too’, completely fucking ignoring what that overlap means. Thinking that since they go through that, anybody else who reports that they might, too, are just Faking, or trying to steal the spotlight. How can people so completely lack empathy? Why are we not there for each other? Why do we not care about anybody else? Why can’t we recognize the same fucking pain we’re all going through, even if that same pain comes in different flavors, and try to be there for each other because nobody should have to go through what we’re going through?

Like, it’s a complicated issue. Like I said, yeah, groups do have stuff that effects them exclusively, and it can be frustrating to express unhappiness with something exclusive to your group and have people who clearly aren’t actually understanding what you’re going through say they can relate. But denying that there are any similarities at all just drives us farther apart when right now marginalized people desperately need the support of one-another.

(I was gonna give bi people’s Double Discrimination as an example of that exclusivity, unwanted by communities on either side of the fence, since obviously lesbians and gays don’t experience that... But y’know who probably can empathize? Mixed race folks. Or folks with invisible disabilities. Or ANYONE who’s caught between both communities, not x enough for one and not y enough for the other.)

Speaking only of communities that I am personally in: in LGBT+ circles, separatism breaks up the subsets and causes infighting. In circles concerning disability and mental/physical illness, it isolates its members, denies them support, makes them feel like nobody truly understands, even people dealing with the exact same disability or illness, because symptoms can be so widespread and varied. Hell, even when dealing with our oppressors, separatism fails to actually try and change the views of the people oppressing us: i’d much rather have narratives where men are gentle, kind, feminine, loving, supporting, open to their emotions, and respectful permeating our culture, teaching young boys how to be as they grow, than narratives where men are just evil.

There’s a lot of gray area. There are people who have been so hurt by oppression that I do not blame them one bit for prescribing to a separatist narrative. But I mean in a general sense... I don’t want separatism to be pervasive. I don’t want it to be the mindset people automatically turn to regardless of what they’ve gone through. I want sympathy and support for the people who have been hurt, and I want the groups that have been doing the hurting to change. I want people to recognize the similarities between each other and be unafraid of empathizing and sharing.

The butch/femme and doe/stag thing is a result of separatism, and I can see where they get the idea for it - basically pulling the ideas of appropriation from communities of PoC telling white people not to appropriate their stuff - but they’re lashing out at the wrong people. When a white person appropriates locs, they’re seen by the public eye as being carefree, trendy, and cool, while black folks are still punished for wearing the same look that occurs naturally for them. When a white person puts on a war bonnet, they’re seen as being high-fashion and ‘exotic~~~’, while literally desecrating a sacred part of a culture they don’t belong to in any way, shape, or form. When a bi person calls themselves butch, they’re a part of the community that shares the exact same history, their histories are literally interwoven, and experiences extremely similar dynamics, at the very least, as lesbians. These are two very different things. Tell cis/straight people not to appropriate the terms, but remember, other LGBT+/queer people aren’t fucking cis/straight.

anyways this got way longer than I was expecting but shit, I got like 60 followers, who gives a damn what I say, right? peace.

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perditaalottachocolate-blog · 6 years

Text

Akuma Fashion

Summary: Gabriel catches Adrien in an extremely peculiar outfit. Hawkmoth decides to investigate. April Fools crackfic. You’re welcome.

[EDIT: Sorry for the strange characters and no apostrophes but it’s tumblr playing a trick on me. This looks okay on my blog]

AO3 / Fanfiction.net

Gabriel found out only because he caught Adrien sneaking up the cavernous hall of the mansion. Despite Gabriel’s requests he was hunching and walking the crab walk of someone who wishes to become invisible.

‘Adrien!’ he called immediately, catching wind of something fishy.

His son shuddered and slumped even further. He stopped but didn’t turn around.

‘Yes, father?’ the boy asked looking at him over his shoulder.

‘Keep your back straight, I’ve asked you so many times,’ Gabriel scolded.

Adrien straightened up immediately. ‘Yes, father,’ he replied, his back now straight but still in Gabriel’s vision.

‘Turn around, son. It’s extremely impolite to talk to someone with your back to them,’ the designer pointed out, now looking for the reason his son was sneaking to his room.

‘I, um, I’m in a hurry, father,’ the boy’s face contorted in a lopsided smile. ‘I have a lot of homework!’ he squeaked.

Gabriel’s silver brow shot up high above his glasses in reply to this strange behavior. His son was really a poor actor. ‘Turn around,’ the man ordered, mentally slapping himself for wanting to follow it with “slowly”.

It was at that moment he noticed that Adrien’s overshirt bulged in strange ways and even if he stood straight, it still seemed a bit… well… hunchy. A random pun about having a hunch about the hunch crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. Puns were now exclusive for his alter ego and he only donned the purple pants in the mornings, when Adrien was at school.

Adrien completed his turn and was trying to combine the impossible - standing straight as per request, and clutching the overshirt close to his chest in a clear attempt to hide whatever it was underneath. It seemed that not only his back was bulgy, but his biceps looked extremely weird and puffy. The boy cast him a quick look and averted his gaze to his feet.

‘I’m sorry, father,’ he mumbled. ‘Can I go now?’

‘What are you wearing?’ Gabriel barked.

Adrien’s eyes got bigger. ‘My usual shirt?’ he whispered.

Gabriel sighed. His son could be oblivious sometimes, he was well aware of that streak. It ran in the family. But he felt personally offended that despite the evidence Adrien still decided to play stupid.

‘And underneath?’ he pressed on. Really, what was the boy thinking?

‘My usual t-shirt?’ Adrien forgot himself for a moment. His hand went to his neck to rub it, like he always did when uncomfortable, and that was all it took for Gabriel to catch the glimpse of the real garment under the white shirt.

The designer cringed and gasped, for the first time in years rendered speechless by an article of clothing. And not in a good way.

At that point Adrien had realized his mistake. ‘I guess the cat is out of the bag,’ he offered a sheepish smile and pushed the overshirt to sides to reveal…

Well damn, Gabriel was a designer for years, participated in a ton of haute couture ridiculous weeks, but he still had difficulty with putting a label onto what his son was actually wearing.

It started as a huge bubble of red, covering his neck and chest, then turned into a smaller bubble of yellow at his stomach and another one, blue, at his waist. From what Gabriel could see, the same pattern was repeated on the sleeves. There was a large eye-like print in front and some dark tube like embroidery going to the back of the garment.

He couldn’t help but to stare until Adrien broke the silence clearing his throat.

Gabriel started. ‘Take the overshirt off, please?’

The boy did as he was asked and bashfully demonstrated another print at the back of the… thing… looking similar to a yellow bubble container. Finally it dawned on the designer what he was actually seeing.

‘Is it… a costume?’ he queried.

Adrien went back to rubbing his neck. ‘Sort of, but not really?’ he hesitated. ‘It’s just like a normal t-shirt just a bit… extra?’

Gabriel could only glare, but the boy soldiered on. ‘Everyone is wearing them,’ he said proudly. ‘This is all the rage now.’

Well it definitely was outrageous, if anyone would bother to ask Gabe. ‘Couldn’t agree more,’ the man muttered under his breath and then a nagging thought kicked him in the brain. ‘What do you mean “everyone is wearing them”?’

‘Oh, it’s this new thing,’ Adrien smiled, apparently taking Gabriel’s startled expression as a sign of interest. ‘It’s not only the Bubbler. There’s plenty of other akuma,’ he enthused. ‘I have Antibug too. And Pharaoh, and Lady Wifi, RogerCop and the Mime. Guitar Villain of course and…’ he paused suddenly, biting his lip.

‘And?’ Gabriel urged him to continue. ‘And who?’

‘... the Collector,’ Adrien mumbled shuffling his feet and once again effectively shutting all the designer’s systems down.

Gabriel’s brain was sizzling at that point. Someone was making akuma clothes? And not just prints on t-shirts, but actual costume-like clothes, as evidenced in the bulges on Adrien’s arms and chest. Someone was selling them? It was a new young fashion trend? Was it only young fashion? Why didn’t he see that coming? And so on, and so on, his mind was flooded with questions. The fact that his son out of fascination or loyalty or whatever else the reason was, bought a shirt based on his akuma was the proverbial cherry on top, which he decided to put away for further consideration.

‘I know it’s silly,’ now Adrien caught on his state and automatically started explaining himself, ‘and that I should wear our brand. But it’s so much fun I couldn’t stop myself,’ he reverted to rubbing his neck again.

Gabriel’s brain finally rebooted. He waved his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t mind,’ he stated gravely. ‘But I’d like to know, where did you buy them.’

The boy shrugged and evidently stopped himself mid eye-roll, ‘The internet,’ he said. ‘But they are sometimes available at local fairs and events. That’s where I got this one,’ he pointed to the black-eyed red bubble covering his chest.

‘Hmmm,’ Gabriel pursed his lips. ‘Thank you for this information. Now I believe you’ve mentioned a lot of homework. Don’t let me detain you.’

Adrien smirked and nodded, probably grateful that the interrogation was over, and rushed to his room, while Gabriel headed to his own study drowned in thoughts.

Someone was using akuma designs to create clothes and it irked him to no end. Haven’t people heard of copyrights, for heaven’s sake?!

Oh, right. Those weren’t Gabriel’s designs. Those were Hawkmoth’s. He couldn’t exactly use them in any of his collections. It would not only be risky, stupidly drawing attention to his brand and associating it with the akumas, especially with the whole deal with the book, but if he was honest with himself it would be also a tad unethical.

‘Nathalie,’ he paused his musing only to summon his assistant. ‘Please find out, who is selling the akuma clothes Adrien’s bought and get me all of them right away,’ he ordered and closed the door in her face.

He started pacing impatiently in his study, mulling over the whole affair.

But those are my designs, something at the back of his brain screamed.

Awful designs, his designer ego replied, wincing.

On purpose, to cover your tracks, the backbrain argued.

Really awful designs, the ego hissed. Cringeworthy, including the Collector.

That’s beside the point, the hindbrain replied. Someone is making money out of it, so they must be good.

Well, the ego stroked his chin, those are my designs after all.

And you don’t mind someone is using them without permission?! the back of his brain screamed.

It’s not like I can just go to them and ask them to stop! the ego now was doubly vexed, at the situation and at that hindbrain of his.

Why not? the backbrain droned.

‘That’s enough,’ Gabriel bellowed, slamming his fists into the wall with enough force to leave a dent. He earned a gasp in reply, as Nathalie dropped a pile of clothes she was just taking inside.

‘Sorry, Sir,’ she apologized automatically and started picking up the weird collection from the floor. She spread the garments over the miniature runway and left, casting him a worried look.

First thing Gabriel did was inspecting the materials. Decent quality, but not over the top. Of course, things like that should be affordable. The stitching was neat. The cut reasonable. Close enough to the akumas’ real look, but comfortable to wear. He was surprised at the variety of the items - there were t-shirts, tunics, shirts and even a Horrificator themed hoodie, with purple tentacles sewn to the hood above the embroidered three eyes.

He clenched his fists. A closer inspection of the hoodie revealed a tag with a trademark - a white and purple akuma outline, similar to what appeared when Hawkmoth talked to his champions. Apparently not only his ideas were borrowed, but also Nooroo’s. The little kwami wouldn’t get any recognition for his logo either, he thought and it somehow made him feel better that he wasn’t alone in his misery.

His rage cooled a bit. These clothes were not only decently done, but also inventive in design. True, it was inspired by his akumas, but neatly implemented into everyday clothing. And in a very creative way. Gabriel whistled in appreciation. He had to admit this wasn’t really a case of design theft, but an adaptation of the idea. Inspiration was a very accurate word here and as a fellow designer he couldn’t help but to admire the concepts.

An acronym “AF” caught his eye. Underneath he found the phrase “Akuma Fashion” printed in small font. He typed it into his phone and a quick search returned an address in another part of the city. Gabriel considered it for a moment. He was curious. He had been even before he got his paws on the clothes and now that he analysed them, he was itching to learn who was behind all this. But he couldn’t exactly pay them an inconspicuous visit as Gabriel Agreste without causing unwanted gossip.

He chuckled. That’s where having a masked alter ego came in handy. A quick transformation and a few leaps later, he was already nearing the arrondissement where the label was registered.

Hawkmoth sneaked through the backdoor to something he hoped was a workshop. A dark corridor stretched to the front of the building, and from the rooms on either side of it he could hear a familiar hum of sewing machines. He risked a peek inside one of them only to discover a few men and women in Ladybug aprons working on various items of clothing. Some designs he had already seen, but some were new. Curious, he glimpsed into some other rooms, careful to stay hidden in the darkness of the corridor. In every room he found similar set of machines and ladybug-apronned sewers.

He got to a stairwell and then caught voices from the upper level of the building. Silently he climbed the stairs, as the conversation on the first floor unravelled.

‘Well, it was Chat’s idea,’ someone giggled.

‘Oh, Bugaboo, it was just a joke that you turned into this miraculous enterprise,’ another voice replied smugly.

‘So both of you were behind this idea, I see,’ a third, professional but amused voice interrupted. ‘How does it work?’

This sounded like an interview. Intrigued, Hawkmoth halted in front of the door to the room that was the source of the voices. He listened, his curiosity finally getting the feast it craved.

‘It’s a social economy venture, we do not do this for profit,’ the first, feminine voice explained.

‘Everything we earn goes to the employees or is donated to public utility foundations of our choice,’ the second, manly voice supplied.

‘And the designs?’ the interviewer prompted.

‘Oh, those are all Ladybug’s input,’ the second voice stated proudly. ‘Turns out that the embodiment of creation has quite a creative streak in her,’ he murmured and there was a slight thwack sound, as if someone hit another someone in the arm.

‘Stop with the praise, Kitty,’ the first voice replied happily. ‘Some of those are your ideas.’

‘But it’s you who provides the detailed designs, my Lady,’ the second voice replied in mock offence.

‘Well, Ladybug, I must congratulate you,’ the interviewer was clearly pleased with their interviewees’ trademark banter. ‘I’ve spoken with a few people of Parisian fashion world and they all complimented the designs as being neat, modern, and well... ahem… cut to consumers’ needs.’ There was a pause and a male snicker was heard before the journalist continued. ‘They were all surprised you don’t want to take credit for them as your civilian self. It would definitely open many doors for you.’

Oh, Hawkmoth would most definitely open quite a few himself, including one trapdoor, Gabriel thought bitterly.

‘Thank you,’ the first voice - clearly Ladybug - replied. ‘But I’m not doing this for fame or portfolio or whatever other reasons. We just wanted to do something substantial for the public and at the same time lessen the stigma that comes from akumatization.’

‘So by making akuma clothes trendy you’re helping the victims?’ the interviewer sounded astonished.

‘We wanted to bring attention to the fact that the victims are innocent and shouldn’t be rejected or bullied, like we know has happened in a few cases,’ the second voice - Chat’s - explained solemnly.

‘And by redistributing the profits we make sure something good comes to us even from such disastrous things like akuma attacks,’ Ladybug concluded.

Well, that was quite a lot of information for Hawkmoth to digest. The idea was brilliant, the motivation noble. It figured the heroes would come up with something like that, he mentally spat. He resisted the urge to stomp and grumble something villainy under his breath, when he felt someone catching his arms and pushing him inside the room where the interview took place.

‘I found one, Nadja,’ his captor called from behind his back. ‘Is he any good?’ they asked pointing a finger to his suit.

‘Ah, this must be your newest design!’ the journalist, who now despite his horror Hawkmoth identified as Nadja Chamack exclaimed in surprise. ‘I think it’s your first suit? How unique!’ she delighted. ‘I thought you aimed at youngsters, but this… I could totally see a gentleman in a suit like that.’

Hawkmoth decided he liked this woman already. She babbled happily about his super-costume completely oblivious that her interviewees raised from their seats and reached for their weapons.

He wanted to draw his sword in reply, but discovered that nasty woman took it away to inspect “the craftsmanship”.

Well fuck, he thought, as the yoyo string wrapped around his arms and shoulders. He squinted at the end of Chat’s baton that stopped millimeters from his face, This is going to be an interesting afternoon.

In his hands, bound behind his back, a white butterfly flickered and turned purple, charged with magic.

#ml fic #perdita writes #akuma fashion #humor #crack #gabriel agreste #adrien agreste #ladybug #chat noir #hawkmoth #le papillon #akuma design #copyright

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aoibhs · 6 years

Text

A Pre-Party Party

Chapter One

Chapter Seven

She ran around the town looking out for the Belch's car once she had cleaned herself up from the river. She was also paranoid that her friends would see her and that she'd owe them an explanation. She didn't really want to tell her only friends that she was worrying about Vic. It wasn't fair on them. She still wanted to apologize. Her manners came before all else.

She caught sight of the Mustang outside the library, with both boys leaning against it and trying to tend to their wounds. Belch noticed Nora approaching them first and gave Vic a few nudges to get his attention. Belch really didn't know how to react at all.

"What are you doing here?" Vic asked her, fighting a smirk because he knew that she was only there for him.

"I've actually been looking for you," She swallowed hard, knowing how stupid she sounded.

"Really? Why?" He raised an eyebrow.

"To apologize," Her hands were behind her back and she kept nervously toying with her own fingers, "I know I did that to your face and I know the others did that to yours, Belch," She glanced at the taller boy, who still didn't know what to do or say.

"Or should we be apologizing to you?" Vic took notice of the bruises on her forehead and limbs.

"Don't worry about it, most of it was Henry anyway," She shook her head, "Plus, I'm pretty sure this one is from Richie elbowing me when he took a rock to the head," She said pointing to one bruise in particular on her right arm.

"So, you came to say sorry.. for something that we started?" Belch gave her an unsure look.

"I mean, yeah. I guess," The brunette shrugged, not knowing how to phrase it either, "So, sorry,"

"It's fine," Vic said.

"I need to get this cleaned up before my mom sees it," Belch let out a whine, inspecting his facial cut in one of the car's rear-view mirrors, "I'll never hear the end of it,"

"Here," Nora took a few notes from her pocket and held it up for one of them to take, "Go to the pharmacy and get yourselves patched up,"

"Nora, we can't accept this," Vic blinked, not expecting that.

"It's really the least I can do," Before he could say anything else to her, Belch grabbed the money from her hand. Vic just gave him a disappointed look.

"If my mom sees my face bleeding, Criss, you can all say goodbye to your personal driver," Belch stated matter-of-factly to his best friend.

"Thanks..," Victor looked back to the girl before them, "You really didn't have to do this,"

"I wanted to," She shrugged and turned to walk back towards the suburbs.

"Nora!" His voice caught up to her ears again and she turned around to see him following her.

"Yes?"

"Do you know our friend, Moose?" He asked, he had a look on his face that said he was trying really hard not to blurt something out.

"Kinda. Well, I don't actually know him, I've just, y'know, seen him around school-" Vic stopped her before she could continue rambling.

"He's having a house party tonight, after curfew and we're going," He said quite quickly, "..Uh, you should go too,"

"Um,.. I will do my best," There was no way that she wasn't going to that party, she'd sneak out through her window if she had to. She tried not to look so eager and just nodded with a small smile.

"Nice shirt, Sheridan!" Belch called after her, noticing her Black Sabbath merchandise.

"Thanks, you too!" She gave an awkward but appreciative thumbs up to his Metallica t-shirt.

"So, you'll go?" Vic brought her attention back to him.

"See you later, Vic," She smirked slightly and went back to walking home. She had a lot to plan for herself. What on earth was she going to wear? How was she going to get her parents' permission? How was she even going to find Moose's house? She really should've asked Vic that before she left them.

"Another party?" Rob Sheridan raised an eyebrow over his newspaper.

"Probably something happening tomorrow night too," Nora scuffed her foot against the floorboards beneath her, sheepish.

"Of course you can go," Joan said from the kitchen counter, not facing her family, "Summer only lasts so long,"

"Hey now, Joan-"

"For God's sake, have you ever seen our daughter as social as you have this past week," His wife shot him a knowing glance over her shoulder, because she knew she was right.

"Is that friend of yours going? Beverly?" He asked, re-adjusting himself behind the newspaper in retreat. Joan had bested him.

"Um, no," Nora decided not to lie about this, "These are other friends. Ones I met at Gretta's," Technically that wasn't a lie either, so Nora was doing pretty well considering.

"And who's party did you say it was? The Sadler's boy? Steve, is it?"

"Yeah, you know them?"

"Sure, I've worked with his dad," He nodded, "Heck, I'll drive you there myself,"

"Thanks, dad," Well, that solved the problem of finding his house.

So, Nora headed up to her room to change yet again. She went for a black long-sleeved lace top with boots, fishnets and the same black shorts she was wearing earlier. She put more makeup on than usual, darker makeup and topped it all off with a black cap, similar to one a policeman would wear, or a traffic warden. It was from some tacky Halloween costume from many moons before, but Nora made it work for her. She got tsked for the fishnets and shorts for the duration of the car journey. But that was hardly a surprise. She didn't argue but didn't change her clothes. She felt nauseous. Both eager and exceedingly nervous. Nervous to see Vic in the environment of his extended friend group. Eager to leave her somewhat haunted bedroom. There hadn't been anymore late night visits from the clown or from the arms in her mattress, but there was still the blood in Beverly's bathroom and the fact that everyone else had been seeing crazy shit too. Hopefully, seeing Vic would help her forget about it all.

There were far less people at Moose's than what she was expecting. She should've known, really. Anyone that was friends with Bowers weren't very popular, they couldn't invite everyone in school, like Gretta did. It was probably more fitting for Nora to be there than she thought. Although, given the few numbers, it was going to be so obvious that someone else told her to go, she couldn't blend into a crowd this time. Or hide in the kitchen. Well, she could've. There was no one in there, but she got very dressed up, so she went straight for bottled confidence and started dancing by herself to the semi-loud music.

"Damn, is that you Sheridan?" Nora twirled around, continuing to sway, and saw Belch Huggins standing and grinning at her.

"Hello to you too," She simply said, taking another sip of her drink and making a face at the strength. She was in no way used to the taste of alcohol but wanted to finish the cupful she had at least before giving up.

"Vic will be real pleased to see you," The boy smirked. Nora felt herself going red and her heart lurching in her chest. She wanted to ask him about a hundred questions. But that would hardly look cool, would it?

"Nice face, Belch," She replied as calmly as she could manage, "Glad your mom didn't freak out,"

"Hehe, yeah," He laughed bashfully, a hand reaching up to touch his once bleeding face, "Thanks to you,"

"Hey there," Behind Belch, a head of bleached hair had joined them, smirking, "You came,"

"Looks like I did," She took another big sip from her cup, feeling her nerves kicking in again.

"You look..," He couldn't help but look her up and down. Belch was already nodding in agreement and the boy hadn't even finished his sentence yet, "You look different every time I see you," He finished with a laugh.

"So?" She shrugged, "You think this is bad, you should see my wardrobe. It's a catastrophe," She joked.

"No, no.. it's cool," Vic mentally slapped himself, seeing Belch grinning at him from the corner of his eye. What was he saying?

"I thought there'd be more people here to be honest," Nora said, wanting to divert the attention away from herself, "Is this party really exclusive?"

"You could say that," Belch snorted at that.

"It's less obvious to the cops if there's fewer people, with the curfew and everything," Vic explained, "Plus, we don't really have a lot of people to invite,"

"Moose said this was for of a 'pre-party party' anyway," Belch said, miming quotation marks with his fingers, "Seeing as all the main parties will be happening tomorrow night after the celebrations in town,"

"Right," Nora nodded, looking around the living room, "No Henry?"

"We haven't seen him since the river today," Belch looked at his friend, "He was supposed to come tonight but I guess he changed his mind,"

"I suppose we hurt him real bad," Nora basically hid herself in her cup as she took another gulp.

"I can't believe you feel guilty," Vic laughed, giving her arm a nudge, "After everything he's done- we've done," He corrected himself.

"I mean the rumors y'all spread about me last year were probably true anyway," She shrugged. Her brain told her to stop talking and that it was the vodka speaking for her, "Come on," She beckoned the boys to follow her, "I want another drink," Clearly, she opted to ignore her brain.

Chapter Nine

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swan-archive · 7 years

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Okay so I said I wasn’t gonna do this but I have been REINVORGATED and REJUCINATED by the Oak boot of “Dust and Ashes” so here you go, more rambling than you require about the cast recordings of Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812. Sorry, y’all.

Blease to keep in mind that these are all just, like, my opinions, man.

First off: not to be all I AM UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN WE ARE NOT ABOUT HAMILTON? but I really do wonder how many of my issues with Comet’s obcr can be traced back to Hamilton’s cast recording...

So, as we all know, Lin took pains to make Hamilton’s cast album sound as much like a hip-hop record as he could. This is there in the way the songs are composed and performed, and it’s very much there in the production—Questlove and Black Thought were co-producers on the album, along with Lin, Lac, and Bill Sherman.

Now, when I think of big-name modern rap and hip-hop records, I think high production value. At their best, you should be getting an incredibly well-crafted, slick, cohesive sound, vocals married to instrumentation and beats in a way that just works whether you’re listening track-by-track or to the whole album start to finish. And, most importantly, the work that goes into achieving that sound shouldn’t be audible. You should be able to listen to something like Lemonade or Coloring Book or My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy without getting tangled up in “oh, interesting eq going on there” or “what’s going on with that delay?” at first pass. Just let it be about the music.

This worked for Hamilton. It doesn’t work so well for Comet.

And, I mean, they tried. They worked very hard to polish things up, to make a Studio Album that stands by itself, bless ‘em, but honestly, I just wish they’d let the music speak for itself a bit more, just let it be a recording of a very good Broadway show. Because on Comet, that sort of tight-ship production value just reads as...overproduced. And it makes it a less enjoyable listening experience.

Now, music producers wear a hell of a lot of hats, so “overproduced” can mean a lot of different things. With this album, it takes the form of stuff sounding TOO clean, overpolished to the point of sounding artificial, and artificial is not a thing you want in a vocal sound in a genre based around showcasing, well, vocals. It’s mostly little things that I noticed, not anything that would ruin an album, but just things that might turn your head and make you go, “huh, that didn’t sound quite right.”

For example, I noticed a different treatment on certain phrase deliveries, exemplified by Grace McLean’s bit from “In My House” where she sings “Why didn’t he come to the house? / Why didn’t he openly ask for your hand?” as well as Amber Gray’s “Charmante, charmante” from (obviously) “Charming.” Both of these phrases end with a little descent that, on the ocr, sounds more like an interpretive/ornamental bit than anything; a sort of natural falling-off of the line that comes from an emotional rather than a technical place. On the obcr, both of these ornaments persist, but are “tidied up” for lack of a better phrase—both actors deliver them with significantly more weight, taking care to strike specific pitches. And it...well, in my opinion, it doesn’t work as well. It sounds like someone circled the bit in the music and went, “okay, let’s make those ornaments INTENTIONAL,” which removes the the charm of the unstudied voice and makes the part sound rehearsed.

At other times, they go too far in the opposite direction, pushing on the bounds of the written music in a way that simply doesn’t read on a recording like this one. I’m thinking in particular of Lucas Steele’s long notes at the beginning of “The Abduction” and at the end of “Pierre and Anatole.” Now, I’m not saying the album shouldn’t show off Steele’s vocal prowess; he’s an unbelievably talented singer, and he can do some Real Shit with his voice that is frankly terrifying and everyone should fear and respect him. What I AM saying is that a recording is a different format in which to hear those notes, as opposed to a live performance. When you’re there in the Imperial Theater, watching Steele sit on a C#5 for 45 consecutive seconds like it’s his fucking job (which...I guess it is), you can tell by dint of BEING THERE that there’s no artifice, just a skilled singer and his throat and his voice. And that’s part of the beauty of it, that you can watch it happen in real time and marvel at it. When you’re listening to a neat studio recording, on the other hand, there’s that level of abstraction, of knowing that between the note coming out and hitting your ears there’s been work done on it. And maybe Steele did actually hold it out that long in-studio (he probably did. The man isn’t human, I fucking swear), but you can’t know that. Cross-fades are a thing, and it is a fairly trivial task to knit together two long notes to make one biiiiiiiig long note, especially with a clear pure tone like Steele’s voice has. So it ends up sounding self-indulgent and gimmicky. Look how long we made this note. Such high. Very edits. Wow. Please clap. Lin got it when he said there’s some stuff that should stay unique and exclusive to the live performances, and these virtuoso showings definitely fall under that heading. Hint at ��em on the recording, but their proper home is on the stage, in the theater.

(I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I AM UNCOMFORTABLE WHEN WE ARE NOT ABOUT HAMILTON!)

All that said: Comet has a very complex, group-oriented score, and everything I’ve been pointing out so far is fairly nitpicky. It’s subtle artistry stuff that will, by its nature, get lost when there is a lot going on, which there frequently is. Not to mention the score features long recitative-style sections, where the actors will deliberately use a more speech-like singing style to deliver exchanges between characters, quick exposition, etc. which does a lot to counter the “getting too technical and shoegazey” thing. People know what speech is meant to sound like! If you stray too far from that, you’ll undermine your listeners’ comprehension, as well as the whole uh...ACTING part of the PLAY. Which is important.

However, the whole play isn’t like this. You do have solo arias—broadly, major pauses in the action to expound on a single character’s emotional state. I’m thinking of three songs from Comet in particular: “Dust and Ashes,” “Sonya Alone,” and “No One Else,” standout showstopper numbers that are meant to drag the tears out of everyone in the audience. (Don’t worry, I love crying. It’s my favorite thing, next to dying and being dead.) Overall, these three songs are more delicately orchestrated, in order to showcase the unique voices of the soloists. Which would be great, if, you know, they’d managed to consistently mix the songs in a way that showcased the unique voices of the soloists! Fuck!

(“Charming” technically fits this mold as well. However, I would argue that it has more of a narrative action, i.e. showing Hélène’s beguilement of Natasha, not to mention that it is musically a very different song from any of the other ones I’ve listed above, faster-paced and with a more active accompaniment, which covers things that might otherwise give pause. Even so you can hear a few off-kilter things in it, as outlined above.)

“Dust and Ashes” (and to a lesser extent, “Pierre”) are difficult to compare between albums—obviously, because there’s no studio recording of the former (@DAVE! PLEASE SAVE MY LIFE), and because Dave Malloy and Josh Groban have such radically different voices. Let’s be very clear, I am not dunking on Groban’s prowess as a vocalist; there’s no question in my mind (and shouldn’t be any in yours) that, in terms of technical skill, he has a better voice than Dave in every way. To my ear, though, Groban’s recordings of Pierre’s songs sound almost unpleasantly slick, which I would guess is what you get when overproduced hypercleanliness meets vocal control that could knock an apple off someone’s head at forty paces without batting an eyelid. Especially next to the raw, almost painfully sincere delivery of Malloy’s versions, Groban’s sound sanitized, lacking in sincere emotion, just a string of notes with a vibrato as wide as a barn. It’s very disappointing, and makes me regret not watching the Groban boot all the way through for a better idea of how his Pierre comes across onstage.

“Sonya Alone,” luckily, manages to escape overproduction for several reasons. First off, it’s performed by Brittain Ashford on both albums, which presumably gave the production team a model for how to showcase her voice on the obcr. Secondly, the way the song was written and performed naturally resists this sort of treatment. It doesn’t have a virtuosic range—nearly the whole thing sits within less than an octave, and the one high belt note just kind of gets tapped briefly before settling back down. Hence, the emotional beats in it are a matter of performance, rather than technical prowess, and cleaning up too much of the natural wobble and waver of the voice in that range would make it sound absolutely lifeless and boring. Ashford also has that unusual, striking dark tone to her voice, which can already sound like an affectation to the first-time listener; placing too many effects on it would only exacerbate that. Hence, a reprieve. We get to enjoy Brittain Ashford’s voice showcased as it is. Nice.

Which leaves us with “No One Else.”

Oh, you guys.

You guys, I love “No One Else.” I think it is the second most perfect song Dave Malloy has ever written, only missing out on the top spot because he also wrote the ear worm from hell. It is PEAK F major aesthetic in every way. It is such a gorgeous, wistful, romantic piece, and couldn’t have hit more of my buttons even if Dave Malloy had literally come into my home and said, “hey, Swan, I’m trying to write a song that will knock you, specifically, on your ass, wanna give me some pointers so that I can more efficiently Kill you?” It is so good.

And this recording of it did Denée Benton SO. DIRTY.

Benton’s Natasha is necessarily a bit different than Phillipa Soo’s Natasha. Soo has a somewhat weightier voice than Benton, so her interpretation of the character seems to lean more on her vitality and spirit, whereas Benton reads as a very young Natasha, naïve but deeply good. (Margaux @likeniobe, I’m pretty sure it was you who pointed this out to me, thanks, you’re the real mvp.) I think both of these are perfectly valid character interpretations of Natasha as she appears in this adaptation, and based on what I’ve seen of the bootleg, Benton’s Natasha is lovely to watch onstage.

...However. The thing about that interpretation is that it requires a good bit of subtlety in order to come across as compelling and not saccharine. This reads onstage, but on this recording, very sadly, it kind of flops. Again, this strikes me as the fault of hewing too close to the written music, and ironing out too many of the natural kinks in a voice. Benton performs this song very delicately, with a light touch regarding theatricality; when overworked, this gives it an almost Disney princess-y feel, all fluff, no substance. It’s not as moving, it simply doesn’t do justice to Benton’s interpretation, and I’m mad about it.

There are also some technical...I wouldn’t call them errors, I guess, but interpretive things in this recording that just seem like sloppy mixing. The first one comes right on Benton’s first line, that beautiful fifth leap that sets up the airy space of the song as a whole. There’s reverb on her voice to mimic the atmosphere of hearing the song in a theater, but for some reason they don’t even give it time to fully die away before launching her into the first verse, and as a result she sounds rushed. This could work with a different vocal interpretation, but Benton performs the opening of this song with a very dreamy, mysterious approach (contrast Soo, who takes it more stridently), so it just comes off as sloppy and badly-paced.

Then, at the end of the song (and bear with me, folks, I’m about to get VERY nitpicky), Benton sings that wonderful ascending “you and I / you and I / you and I,” showing off her higher range and building suspense before the surprisingly tender and introspective ending of the song. Since she is singing high notes, an engineer mixing the song would most likely apply some compression to her voice to keep it sitting in the appropriate place in the mix, and to prevent the signal from clipping. I’m not gonna get into a super in-depth discussion of compression here, but in short it’s an effect that reduces the dynamic range (“loudness”) of a signal when it passes a designated threshold frequency, thus allowing you to get a more consistent dynamic range throughout, so your pianos aren’t inaudible and your fortes aren’t blowing out your speakers.

...It’s more complicated than that. Whatever. Don’t @ me.

Anyway, the way what I assume is compression has been applied to Benton’s vocal here sounds VERY sloppy in comparison to how Soo’s was treated on the ocr. A cool thing about many types of compressors is that you can control exactly how fast the compression kicks in, smoothing out the level changes so that you don’t have a track that’s pulsating wildly in dynamic range. Here, as Benton reaches each held note, her vocal ducks audibly before coming back up. This effect is audible in Soo’s recording of the song, but it’s MUCH more subtle and naturalistic, serving a technical purpose without distracting from the artistry of the song. So...either this was some very spotty compression work, or like, the engineer just went into the volume for her track and manually ducked it and brought it back up? I don’t know, but whatever it was, I don’t like it.

Now, in the end, Dave Malloy signed off on this album, and as long as he’s happy with it, that’s all that really matters. As an engineer, you’re (for the most part) there to bring your client’s vision to life, and if they like the product you put in front of them at the end of the day, then you’ve done your job. And there’s a huge chance that I’m just being all IT’S DIFFERENT SO IT SUCKS, given that I’m very sensitive to small differences in versions of a song.

But still. Still.

Denée, sweetie, you deserved better than this.

#swan talks #............at great length #more appropriately: swan is a nitpicky bitch about stuff probably no one notices anyway! fuck!#the great comet of 1812 for ts

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ralexmarshall · 7 years

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The Cat Is Simultaneously Dead, and Also Dead

Which is a worse possibility? That Trump’s Muslim ban is fake? Or that it’s real? That it’s a clever “headfake”, designed to test the loyalty and pliability of his institutions and legitimate his authoritarianism, or that it’s just a chaotic and racist regime doing what it always said it would from the start do and wanted to do from the start and said it wanted to do from the start? To quote Twitter quoting Žižek quoting Stalin, they’re both worse. More to the point, they’re both true.

More to the point, the Trump camp is adopting a policy strategy that has already worked like a dream in the world of online and offline discourse. The difference is, now the alt-right have power, they no longer need to phrase it as a joke.

We don’t need to be surprised that a clique of fascists and neoliberal militarists actively wants the policy they’re enacting to keep out a racial/religious group that they’re also bombing from the air. We don’t need to find complex alternative motives, any more than you need to explain why a toddler wants to eat sweeties. As Jake Fuentes points out:

We craft the ban to be about 20% more extreme than we actually want it to be — say, let’s make the explicit decision to block green card holders from defined countries from entering the US, rather than just visa holders. We create some confusion so that we can walk back from that part later, but let’s make sure that it’s enforced to begin with.

This is a strategy anyone who’s ever sold a used car or shopped on a flea market or watched a cartoon set in a fantasy Arabian marketplace knows: you haggle by starting at a better price than you expect. This is not new information. Fuentes is also right that Trump has “just tested the country’s willingness to capitulate to a fascist regime”, that by butting heads with these institutions he can test and increase their willingness to give him what he wants. But let’s not fool ourselves: Toddlers also demand sweeties to see what Mummy will let them have and get away with. What Trump wants is what he’s using for the test. Trump wants to test and advance his ability to pass racist policies, so he can pass racist policies. Yes, he is using the Wall and the Muslim Ban to pave the way for other things, but these other things are going to look an awful lot like the Wall and the Muslim Ban.

But James Butler is also right that

What is dangerous is to assume is that [Steve Bannon] is doing it from a position of impenetrable strength or as a ‘test’ for some other grand plan lurking in the darkness: it is equally plausible, and perhaps more so, that the administration is a ramshackle mess and gambling that the sheer exercise of power will help smooth its way.

Maybe there is a Grand Plan. Maybe there isn’t. But what we know is that a Grand Plan isn’t necessary. The alt-right - which, let’s be honest, includes Trump - are just repeating what worked for them and got their man into the White House. A cool cartoon mole explains this really well on Twitter. What distinguishes the alt-right from your common or garden Nazis is the protective layer of irony. The studied use of under- and over-statement, where a speaker (or more likely, a poster) meticulously hides their actual position behind jokes.

Anyone who has ever heard Jeremy Clarkson, or especially Richard Hammond, make a joke knows that you don’t just need to joke about what you believe. You can also joke about how strongly, or how far you believe it. Human punching bag Richard Spencer very deftly managed to signal his approval of the Quebec shooting, without ever signalling his approval of it. When a cartoon frog in an SS uniform approaches you on twitter to tell you that the Holocaust didn’t happen, and should happen again, they aren’t trying to win you round to that position. They aren’t even necessarily serious about believing it. They are trying to undo the situation where the idea that the Holocaust was real, and bad is beyond question. The Holocaust delegitimised racism, fascism, eugenics, nationalism, authoritarian personalities and many other components of their ideology. Their goal is to de-delegitimise it. You don’t need to be serious to do that. Being serious actually doesn’t help at all. To be serious about a political position means being ready to set it out rationally and defend it. To joke about it doesn’t.

Funnily enough, Fuentes’ numerical estimate seems to be the same as mine: before reading the article I told a friend that the alt-right strategy is not to “tone it down”, and argue 80% of your real position for the sake of decency. The alt-right strategy is to say 120% of what you believe and pass the whole thing off as a joke. This isn’t new either, or exclusive to the right, or to people who are always wrong. Žižek does it when he quotes and equivocates about the Soviet Union, half critical, half defensive, and half serious, though you never know which half. Thomas More does it, when he calls his perfect society “Utopia” - a Greek phrase meaning not “a perfect place”, but “no place”. But rather than, like the alt-right, hiding what they truly believe, every Utopia or Erewhon or News from Nowhere openly admits what they believe, and that they don’t think it’s feasible in practice. The big joke is to hide exactly where it becomes completely unworkable. Where the left and our winking, shrugging utopians attack established norms of realism, the right and its irony-Nazis attack established norms of, you know, whether gassing Jews and lynching blacks and electrocuting homosexuals is actually ok.

Who knows if the Wall is feasible, when it will cost $15 billion dollars, and when Mexico has already refused to pay for it? “I will build a wall and make Mexico pay for it” is true utopian trolling. It doesn’t have to be a serious policy. It just has to say “I will be belligerent towards immigrants from Mexico and belligerent towards Mexico about immigrants”. Trump jokes, he does comic nods and expressions, he has the same amusing over-the-top arrogance as Kanye West, and almost certainly with the same self-awareness. I doubt Trump has ever set foot on /pol/ or 8chan or been sexually aroused by My Little Pony. But when it comes to his way of mixing humour and political conviction, and when it comes to the use of overreach as a strategy, Trump is as alt-right as any other Nazi frogboy. It’s just now the alt-right’s overreach is outrageous policies, not outrageous jokes.

Don’t dismiss this as dead-cat politics. If Trump has a secret agenda then he is hiding it in EXTREMELY plain sight. When his regime drops a dead cat on the table, it’s also because he really wants there to be a dead cat on the table. The dead cat on the table is a plan to get a dead cat on the table, and also to kill more cats.

#Trump #alt-right #Muslim Ban #humour #irony

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judithowen1-blog · 6 years

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Do Different Coloured Pearls Suit Different Skin Tones?

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How to Teach English as a Second Language – 10 Valuable Tips from a Student

Teaching English as a 2d language is simpler when… Teaching English to foreign college students Teaching English to adults How to educate English in a amusing manner Use fun language learning apps to break the ordinary How to teach English overseas English as a 2d language for kids Read and analyze fiction memories together Attend educational shows to get inspired About TESOL, ESL and T tesol certification

I became 17 years old when I discovered I wanted to be a teacher. I sincerely owe this one to my brother who became 5 at that point. His trainer had this lifestyle of inviting mother and father to the lecture room on Fridays to read stories. That unique Friday it changed into my mother’s flip, however she asked me to move alternatively. And I become absolutely overwhelmed. Those little children had been extra eager to discover new matters than Spanish conquistadors ever have been to find out new lands. That changed into my “Eureka!” moment. But the way to teach English as a 2d language? Will I ever be succesful enough to try this?

If you're having the equal predicament I had again then, the answer is “Yes, you can be and you may be.” and I’m saying this today: 3 remarkable years seeing that I formally am an English teacher. But we all recognise that becoming a trainer isn’t the toughest component. Actually coaching seems like taking walks on a burning cord sometimes. In a closely technologized visual generation you yourself need to be a pupil on the way to educate others. Times change. People exchange with them. And my factor is that you may’t educate English as a 2d language (this being my private example) in a traditional way in a world that shakes arms with artificial intelligence and has liquids on the bar with the leisure enterprise. You have to locate new ways of catching your students’ attention.

And I did. Honestly, it’s no longer entirely my benefit due to the fact my tactics are in the main stimulated by means of my experience as a scholar. What I did was to make a list of all of the strategies that worked for me and my colleagues. Next, I adapted this list to these days’s developments, implemented it in my lecture room and conquered two new lands known as “hobby” and “attention”. If you need to conquer the same lands on your classroom, stick around with me. I summed up my strategies in a listing which I like to call “The Decalogue of the Modern Teacher”.

1. Teaching English as a Second Language Is Easier When You Watch Movies, Cartoons and TEDx Talks Together with Your Students I have a whole lot of pals that discovered the fundamental English vocabulary through watching English cartoons. You may have a few too. And I’m honestly quite certain that this isn't a government secret: humans (no matter their age) examine quicker and higher whilst adding something they sincerely revel in doing do the gaining knowledge of technique. Although that is a superb coaching tactic, don’t permit yourself carried away. The first thing you need to do is studies. The approach received’t paintings if your students don’t just like the movie or the cartoons which you have selected. The secret is to live anchored in modernity.

Pro guidelines:

Adapt the content material in step with the age. I wish this doesn’t marvel you, however kindergarten youngsters won’t care a bean approximately TEDx Talks. Use English subtitles! This is a need to. Listening to native English audio system is probably tough in the beginning. Discuss and assessment in English. I realize they usually don’t have reviews, however if they watched something that became of interest to them, they will need to talk approximately it. Our preference to express positive opinions makes us greater keen to break language limitations. 2. Teaching English to Foreign Students: Listen to Music and Analyze Lyrics Together Teaching English to foreign college students turns into a bit of cake while you use tune. I are aware of it’s no longer math, however I nonetheless recollect it a established language. As I referred to earlier than, my brother is 12 years more youthful than me. That way he hasn’t had plenty of contact with what we name today “vintage tune”. Still, the handiest English lesson he mentions from the 4th grade is one that implied studying John Lennon’s “Imagine”.

I understand what you suspect and no, I don’t suggest you to pick out a Nicki Minaj track. Put “nice” and “modernity” in a stability before making your preference. Good success!

3. Teaching English to Adults: Organize Debates Teaching English to adults is more difficult than teaching English to children (in case you inquire from me). But if Frodo managed to break the ring, you can educate adults some English too.

Just joking. They are a chunk stubborn, but there are methods to win them over as well. A well-selected debate topic can cultivate their stubbornness into some thing beneficial inclusive of mastering a new language.

Pro tip: Adults are larger kids. That manner that you can also watch films and TEDx Talks and overview them together.

How-to-educate-english-overseas four. How to Teach English in a Fun Way: Create Creation is catharsis. Give your college students time and some keywords and you'll be surprised.

Create memories. In high faculty, I had quite a large listing of phrases I could not ever keep in mind and my English instructor suggested me to create a story using these words. Her approach worked like magic. To this present day, I nevertheless create stories with the words that I generally tend to forget. Create poems. Your students is probably reluctant to this approach, however the creation procedure will rock their global making them happy with themselves. Or rap battles. This is an advantage. You don’t must be Nostradamus to foresee that scholars will find it irresistible! 5. Use Fun Language Learning Apps to Break the Routine Language gaining knowledge of apps are our nice pals. They are the satisfactory assistants that you could ever have! No kidding.

It’s proper that technology made us extra choosey. In cutting-edge times, conventional bores us. But technology is also the one that electrifies our global and complements our reviews. Mondly, for instance, is a language studying app that takes language studying to another level the usage of augmented reality (AR), virtual reality (VR) and chatbot technology.

Language-learning-app It sounds futuristic. I realize. But that’s precisely the purpose why your college students will love mastering English as a 2d language the usage of this app. Give it a try to revel in the experience collectively.

6. How to Teach English Abroad: Organize Intercultural Nights with Traditional Food Love goes via the stomach. You knew that already. What you didn’t know is that language learning works the same.

The first sentence that my gourmet friend discovered whilst we went to Turkey was “I am hungry.” in a really perfect Turkish. Is that surprising? I don’t suppose so.

Food makes us glad. Good meals makes us eager to examine greater (food) words in a brand new language. Why shouldn’t we, as instructors, use this info in our own fine hobby? You can prepare intercultural nights and talk lots of thrilling things about USA and UK’s cultures, however my wager is that traditional meals will nonetheless be the superstar of the night.

7. English as a Second Language for Kids: Celebrate English Holidays Kids from all over the world absolutely love Halloween. For them, it makes no distinction that this is an American vacation. And believe me: your college students aren't any special. As lengthy as they've fun, it doesn’t be counted what holiday you're celebrating.

The component with Halloween is that they get to be superheroes for a day. You too. Finally checking “come to be Batman for a day” off of your bucket list, eh? How extremely good is that?

On a greater extreme notice, I can guarantee you this is truely efficient. One kid in my elegance become so enthusiastic about this mission that he hand made magic wands for all his colleagues and made a virtually convincing essay on “why Neville Longbottom is the real hero of Harry Potter”.

Teaching-english-to-foreign-college students eight. Read and Analyze Fiction Stories Together This is every other wonderful approach that I discovered from considered one of my instructors. But as I noted in advance, you need to be one hundred% certain that you made the right desire. Harry Potter, as you could have already realized, works like magic in this situation.

Start with enough to trap their hobby and attention. Then inspire them to come up with trade endings and new characters. The possibilities are limitless and the gaining knowledge of procedure will appear without them even realizing. The simplest thing that can stand for your manner is the coaching methodology. Adapt that on your college students’ first-class hobby and also you must be good enough.

Bonus tip: Good instructors can be special from a student’s point of view. Look for thought everywhere round you. Even in cinematography! Start with Damien Chazelle’s masterpiece (Whiplash) and take a look at how a trainer ought to not behave. Seriously. That man changed into the king of all awful instructors.

9. Attend Educational Shows to Get Inspired One of the maximum inspiring instructional indicates that you could ever go to is The Bett Show. Hundreds of agencies from all over the world gather at Bett each year to speak about how education can exchange the destiny using the modern day technology.

Teaching-english-as-a-second-language My wager is that this kind of activities can inspire you to be a better teacher for your younger students. Every day, generation becomes a bigger a part of their worlds and we, as teachers, need to maintain up with the pace. Until exceptional smartphones or superb clever robots will ultimately update us, we're still a important part of the global getting to know procedure. Although I find it tough to agree with that scientists will ever be capable of create a software program so advanced that it replicates the strength, dedication and enthusiasm of an awesome teacher.

10. TESOL, ESL and TEFL Certifications Will Help Your Students Later in Their Careers As any good instructor would, you care about your college students. Their exquisite results and information are the sum of your movements as a terrific teacher. Furthermore, depending on their age, your function as a teacher is much like that of a determine. In different words, you'll always be their teacher. Even while they may grow to be adults, their existence will nonetheless be influenced with the aid of your actions. No strain!

How-to-educate-english That is why you have to advocate them to get their English certification earlier than graduating excessive college. Not only this can be a great exercising, but it'll also help them in their careers. English as a 2nd language on your CV isn’t only a plus anymore. It has become a must. Cross this one off their lists before lifestyles does it for them. Good success!

Is Your Hair Looking A Little Dull? Use This Great Advice To Get A Healthy Head Of Hair!

You may be concerned about how much time and money great looking hair requires. The truth is that excessive amounts of money and time are not always required. There are tons of things you can do to keep your anime girl hairstyles r hair looking best without needing to pay a lot of money. Read this article to learn how you can do this.

Trimming your hair frequently does not help it grow faster, this is a myth. Your hair will grow about a half-inch each month, regardless of the number of trims. You may see slightly faster growth in summer, or if you take biotin supplements, but it's hormones that control growth, not your stylist's scissors. Trims get rid of split ends and can make hair look better though.

Learn how to use your blow dryer in ways that are less damaging to your hair. To prevent damage from blow drying, use the cool setting on your hair dryer and keep the air moving so that no one spot gets too hot. When you experience any knots in your hair, be sure to use your fingers to untangle them. Also, remember to use a brush gently after your hair is dry.

If you're pleased with the appearance of your hair after a dip in the ocean, try using hair products that will recreate the effects of saltwater. Look for sprays labeled salt spray or something similar. You can create your own salt solution by mixing a cup of water with a spoonful of salt. Then, add about ten drops of lavender oil and now, you have the ocean in a bottle.

Do not ever tug or rub your hair with the towel when you are drying it. This can make hair frizzy and stretch it out which makes the strands break. Patting or blotting your hair will allow you to dry your hair without damage. If you need to comb your hair while it's still wet, use a comb with wide spaced teeth. Do not use a brush on your hair while it's wet.

When searching for different types of hair care products, seek out products which contain plenty of natural ingredients. Use shampoos and conditioners made for your hair type. Don't be afraid to experiment with various products until you discover which ones work well for you.

If you use a blow dryer regularly, it is best to avoid concentrating it on a single section of your hair for prolonged periods. This can reduce the amount of damage that heat can cause.

Unprotected hair can suffer quite a bit of harm from the sun. There are products which contain sunscreen for your hair. You might also find an attractive sun hat to wear. It is critical that you take care to protect your skin, though protection of your hair is also vital. Protect your hair from the drying effects of the sun, chlorine, peroxide and bleach

It is important to protect hair from the damaging rays of the sun. Always wear a hat in the heat of summer and consider using a sun protecting spray while at the beach or the pool. Your scalp can burn and this protects it. Hair that has been color-treated also fades faster in bright light like the sun.

There are many different causes of dandruff. People with oily hair are far more likely to battle dandruff. It's hard to believe, but it's true. There are many choices currently available for dandruff sufferers including shampoos specifically designed to combat dandruff.

Avoid washing your hair daily. When you wash the hair, it is stripped of natural oils that are meant to moisturize it. You should wash at maximum on alternating days, or if you can manage it, once a week.

You can try making at home conditioner for softer and shinier hair. It takes one simple ingredient, so you don't even need a pencil to jot it down. Leave the egg mixture in your hair for five minutes. After using shampoo to rinse out the egg white, your hair will appear noticeably more healthy.

Be sure not to stay under the shower head too long when taking a shower. The water can strip oils from your scalp, and negatively impact how your hair looks. Quick showers will help to maintain great looking hair.

Brushing allows you to spread essential oils throughout your hair. To remove tangles from your hair without causing damage, begin near the root of your hair and gently brush downward. This will allow you to evenly get the hair's oils distributed.

If your hair is wet, do not brush or comb it. You hair is more likely to be damaged while it is wet. Let your hair dry before you brush it. long hairstyles for men If you have to comb it while wet because of tangles use a wide toothed comb with tips that are round.

If you need to use a curling iron and blow dryer to get the appearance you want for your hair, be sure to utilize heat-protectant spray as well. Although products of these types were initially developed as a way to prevent frizzy hair, all hair types can be helped by their protection. These sprays will keep your individual hairs, smooth and sleek.

Well, there you have it. Try something new, and you might be surprised by how well your hair responds. You will find that these tips are affordable and very easy to implement. Just remember that constant upkeep is the best way to go.

Exercises and Workouts - Home Workouts for Effective Fat Burning

Looking to get leaner for the coming months in advance? If you're bored with wearing round a few extra pounds, a mixture of properly nutrition and proper exercising is just what you need to slender down and form up. Many humans are below the influence miami personal training you want to install hours in step with week to efficaciously burn fat and get the frame you desire. Spending that an awful lot time on exercising is not the case, however.

You can effectively burn fat at domestic as long as you have got the proper application layout.

Below you will locate 3 distinctive workouts, which can be executed on alternating days of the week. Two of them will paintings your body from a strength and cardiovascular conditioning point of view while the 0.33 is a bodyweight exercising most effective.

All you will want to finish those classes is a couple of dumbbells it is a challenging weight so one can get to your reps. Ideally, you have to purpose to pick out up or three weight degrees to provide the greatest ordinary resistance.

Let's display you your workouts...

Workout No. 1: Reps For Time. Perform as many reps of each workout as you could in one minute (I'd propose the use of a timer app for this). Rest in which indicated. Once the whole circuit is completed, relaxation five minutes and repeat two extra times...

Push-ups dumbbell goblet squat dumbbell (DB) bent over rows dumbbell taking walks lunges relaxation 1 minute dumbbell shoulder press bicycle crunch dumbbell lateral increases lying leg boost dumbbell bicep curl Workout No. 2: Bodyweight aerobic. Perform a hundred reps of the following sporting events. If you have to stop and rest before the a hundred reps are completed, that's first-rate however pick out up again as soon as feasible. Rest for 2 minutes between every exercise. Once finished, rest for 5 mins and then repeat a 2d time...

Burpees leaping jacks mountain climbers jogging knee increases bicycle crunches walking butt kicks jumping jacks facet to facet bounds (leap from one facet to the opposite) lying leg improve prone ball roll in (if you have an workout ball - if not, do a plank for three units of 30 to 60 seconds) Workout No. Three: Supersets. Perform the primary exercising after which straight away do the second one as indicated. Rest 60 seconds after 2nd workout and repeat three times...

1. Dumbbell squats - 15 reps 2. Push-ups - 15 reps 1. Dumbbell taking walks lunges - 10 reps/leg 2. Dumbbell bent over row - 15 reps 1. Dumbbell bicep curl - 12 reps/arm 2. Chair tricep dips - 12 reps 1. Dumbbell step-ups - 10 reps/leg 2. Ball hamstring curls - 20 reps 1. Dumbbell shoulder press - 12 reps 2. Glute bridge/boost - 20 reps 1. Crunch on the ball - 20 reps 2. Supermans - 20 reps Although handling Type 2 diabetes can be very tough, it isn't always a circumstance you need to just live with. Make easy changes in your each day habitual - encompass workout to assist decrease both your blood sugar degrees and your weight.

What To Wear To Look Your Best: Fashion Tips

Part of your fashion education is understanding what you are really comfortable in to wear day to day. tribal tattoos There are many places where you can find the information you need to create your own one-of-a-kind style. What does fashion mean to you? Use the tips here to find out.

Make sure that you create an individualized style to break away from the norm. Truly original fashion comes from people who make their own style, not those who follow the trends. It is up to individuals sometimes to create a style that people can appreciate and that others will follow.

Don't keep a beauty supply case as big as a suitcase. Find the items you use regularly and keep them stocked in the hottest colors of the season. Think about what you will need for the entire day. Like other items, makeup will go bad when it has been opened for too long. Makeup products can harbor bacteria, which can be transfered to your eyes and skin when applied.

There are endless accessories made just for hair. You can purchase something to hold your hair back, pretty bows that will ramp up the effect of any outfit and more. You need hair accessories in your wardrobe. For instance, if you desire a sporty look, put on a sporty outfit with a ponytail holder that matches. If you are dressing for a night out with friends, opt for a sparkling hair bow or headband to compliment your outfit.

If you are unhappy with your shape, wearing a dark top with a dark bottom could help. These items help to downplay your body size (particularly if you are a little heavier) and will hide problem areas. The skirts you wear should have elastic waistbands to make you feel comfortable.

Clean your closet from time to time. Too many clothes can actually limit what you have to wear. If you closet is cramped or cluttered, your fashion choices will be hindered. Pick through your entire wardrobe and take out the things you aren't wearing or that do not fit you anymore. A few tasteful and versatile pieces are far more useful than styles from decades past.

Pay no attention to the old adage stating that wearing white any later than Labor Day is a no-no. Any color, as long as it is flattering, is appropriate. If you look best in white, by all means, wear it all year 'round. Nobody nowadays will find fault with it.

Do not automatically trust a size label. Don't buy any article of clothing without trying it on. A size four in one store may fit, but the same size may not look good on you in another store. They can change up depending on brand. If you're shopping online, pay attention to the sizing chart. Find out their return policy as well.

A bold hair color during the summer, or a dramatic one during the fall, are great ways to make your outfits pop. Make sure that you try and keep up with it so it doesn't look faded. Dyes are harsh and can damage hair, so use a quality conditioner on a regular basis to counteract this.

Know your figure's strong points and its weaker ones. When you are petite, search in magazines for styles that increase your length. If you are top heavy or busty, choose clothing that takes the eyes away from those areas by wearing pants or an eye-catching skirt. Those who are pear-shaped want light colors on top and darks on the bottom.

Use mousse for volume, but use it sparingly. The big hairstyles of the 1980s are making a comeback, but in truth, many of those styles weren't terribly flattering the first time around.

Try donating clothing that no longer fit. Doing this is beneficial in two ways. First, you are helping others. Secondly, you will find it easier to coordinate your own wardrobe if your closet is not filled with items you can't wear.

Bring a fashion consultant along to your shopping trips every now and then. You may not have time to keep up with fashion between your career, family and other obligations. You should hire a professional to help you with your styling if you are too busy to make yourself look good.

Your hairstyle says a lot about you. That is why it is so important that you have a hairstyle that truly represents your personality. If you are a business woman, for example, you might go with something classic like a smooth bob. If you are a mother with little free time, choose instead a style that is easy to wash and go.

Fashion is really just about expressing and feeling comfortable with yourself. You need to keep reading to ensure you're up-to-date on what's stylish today. Use the tips and tricks that you learned from this article to stay fashionable.

Things To Know Before Buying Furniture For Your Home

It doesn't require a lot to get furniture. All it takes is a few guidelines to help you make a wise purchase. Pallet Projects That requires that you read this piece thoroughly so you can apply the knowledge going forward.

If you want to buy lawn furniture, wait until summer is almost over. At the end of summer many retailers want to make room for winter items. Thus, prices will drop, and you can afford more.

When buying a sofa, always check the frame. The board must be a tad over one-inch thick. If the sofa's board is thinner than that, the sofa will squeak. Sit on the couch you like to see if there are noises.

Make sure you choose a reputable company when purchasing furniture from the Internet. You can check for yourself by looking them up at the BBB and checking their reviews online. Also take a look at the final price after all taxes and shipping fees.

Choose quality construction and durable materials to get furniture that will last a lifetime. It's important that you receive a great value for your money. It is not cheap to buy furniture, so find pieces that will outlast the others. Your furniture will last longer if you choose pieces that are constructed with metal or hardwoods.

When you're buying a piece of furniture, go over the warranty first. It's terrible to spend a huge chunk of money on a piece of furniture only to discover that damages you believed would be covered weren't. You can determine if damage will be covered by looking at the warranty first.

Don't buy everything at once when you are out furniture shopping. In order to make your budget work, you might end up having to purchase one item at a time. Slowly increasing your amount of furniture will ensure your finances do not spiral out of control. In addition, you can avoid having to lift and make room for all these different pieces at once.

Spend a bit more for higher-quality pieces. Your budget is critical, but don't be afraid to expand the budget for true quality. You may think it's good to buy a bargain priced sofa, but it could be made of cheap materials that break down easily. If you spend a bit more, you can buy high-quality pieces that will last a great deal longer than cheaper ones.

If you are purchasing furniture pieces you will use a lot, such as couches and beds, ensure that the pieces are comfortable to you. Since you spend many hours on your sofa or in your bed, it is more important that the piece is comfortable than how it looks.

If you are just starting out buying furniture, avoid buying costly pieces that are trendy or very distinct. You're going to end up realizing the style you chose is not going to last as long as you need to keep the furniture to mitigate the price that you paid. Instead, you should select neutral styles for expensive pieces so that they can easily be added with other pieces.

When it comes to furniture buying, certain holidays result in lower prices. Veteran's Day and Memorial Day are both great times to look for furniture. You should try buying around Christmas or the Fourth of July. Prices are often lowered by upwards of 75% during those periods.

How do you buy well-made furniture at a reasonable price? Using the suggestions here will help you in any store. Doing so will save you money and time and make your experience easier and more enjoyable. All you need to succeed is to reverse the situation.

Avoid Losing Hair With These Tips And Tricks

Are you looking for ways to deal with hair loss that's already occurring, or to prevent hair loss from ever happening to you? If you're concerned about losing your hair, don't worry. Here are some great things you should consider trying if you're among the many people who are worried about hair loss.

Protein can help ward off hair loss. Hair is made up of protein. Lots of different sources contain protein, such as eggs, poultry and meat. If you do not like meat - eat kidney beans and lentils for protein. More protein in your diet can slow your rate of hair loss.

A healthy diet is not only good for your body, but it is also good for your hair. Eating healthy foods ensures that your hair gets all of the vitamins and minerals that it needs. Often the body to shows poor health through the hair follicles and fingernails before it is shown in other parts of the body.

You should treat your body well if you have been diagnosed with any type of illness. Your body will be forced to work harder to stay alive and repair itself if you refuse to take prescribed medication or ignore a doctor's advice. Your hair follicles may not be able to get the energy they need to maintain regular growth when your body is repairing after an illness. These conditions can actually provoke hair loss.

The way you style your hair can be the reason that you're losing it. Don't use rubber bands to hold your hair in a ponytail or braid. If you wear these styles, be careful not to make them too tight, as pulling hair back too tightly can cause it to fall out. Even though hair products might seem safer today, some can still cause a great deal of damage. When you wear a tight ponytail, this can bring about damage to your hair shaft, which will damage the hair follicles over time.

To help hair loss, massage your scalp. Massaging your scalp warms the skin and opens up blood vessels, helping your circulation to increase. Make sure that for five to ten minutes, you massage your entire scalp. This is also a good way to reduce your stress, which can lead to hair loss too.

Avoid tight hair styles that are pulling your hair too tightly. This is a common reason for balding, and is common in women as well. When you are excessively getting hairstyles or if you are getting hairstyles that are pulling the hair on your head very tight, it will cause traction alopecia. If you stop the hairstyles before permanent damage is done, however, the hair will grow back.

Don't be so quick to wear a hat to cover up your head if you're experiencing hair loss. When you wear any sort of hat, you are depriving your scalp of oxygen and thus depriving your hair follicles of oxygen. Follicles will weaken and your hair will be more likely to fall out as long as you're wearing hats.

DHT is the byproduct of testosterone breakdown and is the major factor in hair loss. This actually means that hair loss is due mostly to a hormonal imbalance. Many studies have shown that this is true, including one test among Japanese men who ate westernized diets. Improve your diet today.

Maintain a balanced diet, including plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. Keeping your whole body healthy will also keep your hair healthy, and healthier hair is likely to last longer. In addition, keeping your hair healthy will result in sleeker and shinier hair, improving your appearance.

Be ready for a lifelong application process if you opt for Rogaine or any Rogaine-like medicine. As soon as you stop using these products, your hair will again weaken and begin to fall out. Products like these counteract the genetic causes of hair loss, but only as long as you're using them.

Wear a swimming cap if you frequently exercise or swim in chlorinated swimming pools. The chlorine found in most pools can cause major damage to your hair even making it fall out. If you opt to swim in a pool without a cap, be sure to wash your hair thoroughly after swimming.

Vitamin B deficiency not only helps increase hair loss, but it can also cause premature graying of the hair. Without the proper amounts of vitamin B, your scalp becomes oily, full of dandruff, and begins to bald. Make sure you have enough Vitamin B by eating vegetables, grains, beans, and more.

Hairstyles

If you are struggling with hair loss, it is a good idea to steer clear of tight hairstyles. The tight hairstyles include buns, ponytails, and braids. If you keep your hair in a tight style, you will experience more hair loss. Try to keep your hair as loose as possible if it must be pulled up.

This article has presented several approaches for preventing and managing hair loss. By using this advice and becoming educated on hair loss, you will prevent this condition from affecting your life.

Avoid Suffering From Hair Loss With These Tips

As far as hair removal treatments go, you have lasers, creams, gels, pills, and all other types of remedies. For growing hair; Short hairstyles however, your options are a bit more constrained. There are some working methods out there, but it's hard to weed through the garbage. Read up on these working solutions to hair loss.

Do your best to avoid alcohol. Not only is alcohol high in calories and sugar, it can lower your blood levels of zinc, vitamin C and vitamin B. Loss of these vitamins on a regular basis can result in hair loss because growth depends on those chemicals. As you lose those vitamins you end up losing your hair.

Keep eating a lot of protein to slow down loss of hair. Your body can get quality protein from healthy sources, including eggs, milk, seafood, lean meats, nuts, seeds and legumes. Eating protein rich foods will provide your body with plenty of keratin. With lots of keratin in your body, you will have tougher and more resilient hair which can slow down any loss.

You may want to increase your Biotin intake if you want to both treat and prevent hair loss. This vitamin helps to promote more Keratin, the natural vitamin found in your hair. This vitamin helps to keep hair healthy and prevent it from falling out. Biotin is found in rice, milk, liver, and barley.

To prevent hair loss, work with what you have. Instead of fighting cowlicks, forcing your hair to part unnaturally or spending hours with hot curling irons or straighteners, see what you can do with it, flaws and all, naturally. Constant styling, brushing, combing, pinning and pulling of the hair weakens it, causes breakage and eventual loss.

Carbohydrate-rich food not only leads to weight gain in most people, it can also lead to hair loss in many, so try to cut back on the carbohydrates if you want to keep more of your hair. Carbohydrates get converted by the body into sugar, and higher blood sugar can result in quicker hair loss.

Hair loss is extremely common in people being treated with chemotherapy drugs. While there are many products available such as wigs and head wraps to disguise this temporary baldness, giving your immune system a boost with a healthy diet and plenty of vitamins can slow down or even prevent hair loss.

Weight loss or gain, stress, some illnesses, surgery, and other conditions can cause temporary hair loss. Temporary loss of hair in reaction to an event usually sets in about three months after the situation is over. The loss of hair can continue for about three months. If you know about these conditions, you can use this knowledge to allay your fears should you ever find yourself in this type of situation.

One simple hair loss remedy that is often overlooked is a scalp massage. When taking a shower or bathing, it is just a simple matter of massaging your scalp for a few minutes to stimulate circulation. This stimulates the hair follicles and helps wash away dirt and deposits that have accumulated throughout the day.

To prevent unnecessary hair loss, be careful with your hairstyles. Wearing your hair the same way all the time and pulling the hair tightly can cause hair loss -- this kind is called traction alopecia. Tight hair rollers, cornrows, and pigtails can all cause this kind of hair loss. To prevent losing your hair this way, just stop pulling your hair tightly, and if you stop before your scalp scars, your hair will grow back.

To keep from losing your hair, make sure you get enough iron in your diet. Iron deficiency not only causes anemia, it can cause hair loss. Fortunately, this is one of the simpler ways to lower your risk of hair loss. Take an iron supplement or eat more foods like clams, soybeans, pumpkin seeds and spinach.

Hairstyles

Now that you know a little bit more about your options, you can begin to implement these tips, and work toward regaining that full head of hair you once had. Whether you're thinning up top or are legitimately bald, these tips can work wonders for you if you only use them correctly.

Advice That Will Help You Plan Your Fairy Tale Wedding

Many people have dreamed of the day they get married, from the right dress, to the hairstyle and even the color of the bouquet. It can be exciting to finally plan your wedding, but without the right guidance, Mehandi Designs it can seem overwhelming.

To make your wedding more personal, include a theme that encompasses you, your future spouse, and the things that are most important to your relationship. Select a theme that best represents what you mean to each other.

If you're already living with your spouse-to-be and don't really need housewares for wedding gifts, ask for cash instead. If you include a cute little poem asking people to consider giving you a cash gift instead of something you can't use, you'll be saving them the time it takes to shop and helping pay for your honeymoon!

Consider visiting a local park or museum to have your wedding photos taken. It's amazing to have a gorgeous background in your photographs, but sometimes your actual wedding location might not offer such a view. Contact your city's government office to see if you'll need a photography license for the location you choose.

To prepare for photographing a wedding, it is vital to figure out how to turn off the sound on your digital camera! This may require a fair amount of research online, or calling the company directly, so do it long before the wedding date to ensure you'll be totally prepared when the day comes.

When you are going to get married, try to book your wedding venue at least a few months in advance. If you wait until last minute, the venue may not have any openings and you will have to scramble to find a place that will host your wedding reception on short notice.

If you are getting married, and you do not know how to dance, you may want to consider taking dance lessons. All eyes are going to be on you during the reception, especially during the first dance, and you want to make sure that you leave a good impression on your guests.

For brides-to-be, do not settle for the first wedding dress you find. You want to make sure that you explore your options and end up with the dress of your dreams. If your dress is just going to end up sitting in the closet, you may even want to consider renting a dress for the day.

Consider getting married on a weekday. Most wedding venues are much cheaper to hire on weekdays than on weekends, and many venues offer couples specials deals on bar and catering costs if they book their wedding on a weekday. Just make sure that all your important wedding guests can get time off work to attend.

Don't forget to check with guests to ensure that any food allergies or diet choices, like veganism, are covered in your wedding reception menu. This is also important in your cake choice, so make sure to get a list of ingredients from the baker and provide them to anyone who has a food allergy.

Start planning your wedding ceremony as early as possible. By doing this you will have plenty of time to shop around for the best deals on flowers, dresses, venues, music, photographers, cakes, entertainment, inventions, catering, etc., rather than having to pay an expensive price for whatever is available last minute.

Keep your alcohol intake low during the festivities. You have to remember that you will be in many photographs and have quite a few important things to be involved in throughout the day. Keep your drinking down and celebrate after the fact with your new spouse. You will create happier memories if you do.

Think about the legalities of the location you choose when you are planning out your wedding. Things such as residency requirements, blood tests and fees should be addressed before you book your venue.

Your cake may be a focal point in your wedding plans which means not only hiring the best your money can afford, but taking everything into consideration in your choices. Whether it be the theme, the flowers, your dress or whatever the cake ties into, do not hesitate to ask for the perfect cake. Find the right cake vendor who sees your vision and will carry it out.

Add drama to your floral arrangements by using different elements of varying heights. Different types of vases should be included in the design. Then add in smaller flowers with shorter stems to fill in empty spaces and to fluff out the arrangement. The shorter flowers should have more prominent blooms and be more lightly colored.

Planning your wedding doesn't have to be overwhelming; by heeding the suggestions and advice of others who've gone through it, you can keep the anxiety and stress to a minimum. You may even enjoy doing this with the person you love.

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lorainelaneyblog · 7 years

Text

‘There are scenes in porn which involve two women where the women would rather be involved with a man. They include ass licking, ass sucking, ass penetration, and vaginal fluids as opposed to semen,’ says God.

A porn actor says, ‘We collectively realized this, Loraine, upon reading your book, and we saw your diatribe, recently, about how nobody had paid you, and this is why, we are working for nothing too. Two thousand dollars for a gruesome scene, they’re called, lowers your value so significantly that you can’t work in the business anymore. But yes, Loraine, the men you do the gruesome scene with, want to see you again.’

‘It’s true, Loraine,’ says [ ] from the beach. ‘I saw this over and over and over again, and in order to preserve their dignity, what you refer to as protecting their victimhood, they see the men on the sly for free, and end up working for literally nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. So you see?’

‘I see. That’s a travesty. Has their been any progress in these contracts, Lord?’

‘Yes, Loraine, this is a piece of good news which I wanted to share with you, porn industry regulations are budging since your book came out.’

‘Did you think I sounded stupid?’

‘No. I was very annoyed at the man who sent it, as I thought he trying to show me up in my work, by proving that some women can take it. As the reader, you truly believe that you are managing.’

‘What do you mean managing?’

‘Well, for me, pretty quickly, suffering was an element of the one night stand.’

‘For me too. But I got over one by getting under another, and that infection I cited, that was truly a bad infection, and it was not from work, because, as you said in the book--I was trying to redeem myself by lying about the source of the smell, saying it was the sponges, when it was the trich, the gonorrhea, and the, actually, syphilis smells too, Loraine. I smelled to high heaven, because I was trying to convince the men that they were special, so as to secure a relationship.’

‘Why didn’t you do that, Loraine?’ asks [ ]. ‘I did it too, because I couldn’t take their casual attitudes anymore.’

‘What about all the ones who loved you?’

‘None of them loved me, Loraine, because I was a lying sack of shit, and I smelled too.’

‘I never smelled you.’

‘I did, Loraine. I would wash incessantly if you were coming, and then, sometimes we wouldn’t do anything, so that day I didn’t even wash, and I had come in me, even, and I knew I was wronging you.’

‘She had sex on her period,’ says [ ], from the swinger’s club.

‘I did. I even let [ ] finger me when I had a suspicious sore which ended up as a terrible case--’

‘They’re all terrible, Loraine. Warts suck. You don’t leave the house for months.’

‘Loraine did. She just avoided sex altogether, and people thought she was stuck up, because she was a whore,’ says God. ‘They did, Loraine. That man who said it was Christmas when you bent into the car, he did you mercilessly, all, the, time. He thought you were pathetic for not giving free blow jobs to skaters. And he asked around, and nobody could verify that you had done it.’

‘It was a perfect quandary, and that’s why I’m the famous writer.’

‘She’s right. You had to be cute, but she had to find you cute, and who, ever, knows, if someone finds them, no one.’

‘Fuck you, Loraine. Fuck you, Loraine. Fuck you, Loraine.’

‘I was also writing to [ ], remember, as with the gang bang contest.’

‘Fuck you, Loraine.’

‘The essay proved insurmountable.’

‘I thought someone came up with one.’

‘But he had no men. His only idea was to pick up skaters at the skate park, which was too creepy.’

‘I agree. How old was he?’

‘Sixty,’ he says.

‘Oh gross.’

‘And I couldn’t come anyway. Loraine is brilliant and don’t you forget it. I thought, at least, she would do something for me, but what she wanted was the gang bang, and that’s what she was holding out for, even if it was safe, and then, after a few giggling inquiries, she let it go. She just let it go. Why, Loraine?’

‘Did I lose my nerve, or was my life too hard?’

‘Your life was too hard, Loraine, you couldn’t see a way to see more than one man and make money at it, because they don’t pay for that, since women are seeking it today, and it is a benefit to women, it is, Loraine, it is, Loraine, if you, and she still hasn’t had a proper two one one, boys, she hasn’t been double penetrated, strictly for one reason, and that is because she knows that she will fall in love, and she will be picky, and she doesn’t want, she doesn’t want, she doesn’t want, erectile dysfunction, she doesn’t want that anymore, she, because she is sweet, has dealt with more than her share of erectile dysfunction. She has. She has. She has. Some escorts refuse to see men with erectile difficulties, because it makes safe sex harder, but Loraine always has, and always will, accommodate them, because she doesn’t care that much, and--’

‘About safe sex?’ says 50 Cent. ‘Because there’s some truth to that, you have to rub against them too much.’

‘She knows that. And she does give up easily, but she tries, because sometimes, if they can get it in, they can go for a minute, and even ejaculate. She had one client in Vancouver, who, when he was hard, she wasn’t offering full service, but once he was no longer hard, she was, and she had a lot of fun rubbing against him, and he could always come.’

‘You’re weird, Loraine. That’s the one who wanted you to watch black men in porn, and you tried it, and hated it, because you felt deprived.’

‘That’s him.’

‘You did him a solid, Loraine, he would have dealt with that forever, that silliness.’

‘She did,’ he says. ‘And I did nothing but lie to her, I had full permission from my girlfriend to see as many hookers as I wanted. And I made it seem that I didn’t, even though we would go out occasionally. Why? Why did I do that, Loraine?’

‘It has to do with the language of permission.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to say the phrase “My wife lets me.”

‘I haven’t read your book. What does it say?’

‘It states with brevity that the field is likely the exclusive domain of men.’

‘Who do they have sex with?’

‘Women with permission.’

‘It’s the same.’

‘It’s not exactly the same, because the husband chooses the partners.’

‘Oh, I see. So it’s not random, it’s not random, it’s not random. She does nothing, and I never understood it. She’s white.’

‘Did you know that, Loraine? Did it satisfy you?’

‘Yes, I knew. It’s not an equal trade.’

‘What?’

‘Chinese men are too small for white women whereas white men with Asian women get a smaller pussy.’

‘Oh, I see. I saw a lot of that around Vancouver when I went to see you, and they were often the same size.’

‘Yes, me too. But punishingly equal, wouldn’t you say?’

‘I have something to say about this,’ says [ ]. ‘I agree with Loraine. It is punishingly equal. Can you think of another example, opposite, Loraine?’

‘White men with black women.’

‘Opposite though.’

‘Isn’t it opposite by nature.’

‘She’s right, [ ], it’s deprivation for the woman, in both cases.’

‘Is there deprivation for the man? Under what circumstances?’

‘They miss the smaller pussy, I would imagine.’

‘They do,’ says God. ‘Trust that, [ ]. What are you worried about?’

‘It seems it’s all about what men get, and they always do better than us. Why?’

‘You're Vancouverized.’

‘I am, aren’t I?’

‘A lot of Chinese and other Asian races of women got dumped over this prostitution thing, [ ], a lot. Loraine Laney was right, they lied, sure it’s cultural, but they suffered in lying, and certainly argue now, that they, themselves, knew it was wrong.’

‘Why don’t blacks go for whites more?’

‘We’ve talked about this. Superior sexual intelligence. And, you must agree that whites are pulled, literally apart. Women go to blacks, and men go to Asians.’

‘Oh, I see. Oh, I see. That’s helps me. Why do they though?’

‘This is old material, [ ], but we love you so much, and I don’t want you to worry, so let’s deal with it.’

‘I want a black man in our family of three. I’m attracted to them. But I don’t want to steal.’

‘You are stealing. You are stealing. Loraine is too. She, herself, named it--’

‘What? Why is she doing it?’

‘She wanted 50 Cent, and she made an intellectual decision to go for a race which was involved in pimping. And that’s what she did. And she was wrong. And, there are certainly many, many, many, white men, who regret losing Loraine to this nefarious ethic around pimping.’

‘Why her? Is she a sex symbol or something?’

‘[ ] doesn’t know, Loraine, and neither does she. Loraine Laney was a child prostitute, like Jodie Foster in Taxi Driver, only her father pimped her, and she worked out of home.’

‘That’s better then.’

‘It is, but she was only seven.’

‘Oh, I see. Should I be jealous?’

‘Wasn’t everyone jealous of Jodie Foster?’

‘Funny, Loraine.’

‘She remembers nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.’

‘What’s that then?’

‘A memory of marauding boys, they got several girls in her school, and surrounding schools--’

‘How?’

‘By sneaking into their rooms with chloroform.’

‘She doesn’t remember, [ ], and I made sure of it. She is a perfect ten with me, and I believe she always will be.’

‘Thank you, Lord.’

‘She’s innocent. Even I can see that, and I’m pretty innocent too.’

‘She is.’

‘[ ] loved her so much. Why?’

‘When she wrote the book, she was often thinking of you, all his [ ].’

‘Why?’

‘She wanted to make good, she wanted to be worthy of his love.’

‘You never told me that, Loraine. That’s so sweet.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I would just comfort myself with the notion that if I did something worthwhile, they would understand.’

‘I see,’ says [ ]. ‘You felt bad.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Which brings us back to the honesty among clients and prostitutes, it’s nil. Loraine, explain why men do not want to use the language of “let”.’

‘Men are sexual inferiors, and yet, as men, they desire to be superior in all ways.’

‘Why, though?’

‘Call it an exigency of manhood.’

‘Why should I?’ says her client. ‘I agree, but why?’

‘I don’t see that as a why question anymore,’ says 50 Cent. ‘I don’t. We just do. And women prefer to be submissive. They don’t like to direct and decide, they prefer to take a back seat, a supporting role, they just do.’

‘That’s true, too. And this, all, is what you say in the book, Loraine? Because I thought it would be about [ ], about black men, and about how wonderful they are.’

‘Oh, no. It’s purely theory. Though I do name them as sexual superiors.’

‘Why?’

‘Just the luck of the draw?’

‘What are we?’

‘Intellectual superiors.’

‘Do you say we’re higher than the Jews?’

‘I do.’

‘Really? Why did you think it?’

‘It was a shot in the dark, but success seemed to prove it.’

‘Why are we, though? Because we all think it, and I’ve noticed that Chinese people are holding their heads up again. And many are leaving, Loraine, with the information that the Japanese are leaving Hong Kong. Is this because of your work?’

‘It’s the blog, and it’s the book, [ ],’ says God. ‘Honestly. Just look at it. It will be painless for you, painless, I promise. You don’t need it, but it’s just a fun read.’

‘I heard, at work Loraine, and I couldn’t say I knew you, that women were crying over the book, and I thought they had been deprived of black men all these years.’

‘He’s Vancouverized.’

‘Yup.’

‘That’s the best term for it, Loraine, thank you.’

‘Yup, thanks.’

‘Because I feel abused by my own culture here, and I didn’t in Ottawa. Is that why you’re not coming back?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, I see. You wouldn’t have left?’

‘You can’t see the forest for the trees.’

‘True. But you knew. And you were suffering. Did you go for black men in Ottawa?’

‘I find all the men in Ottawa a bit formal, actually, but when I first left, I went to Toronto and I had spent some time researching the black areas, but ultimately chickened out.’

‘On Toronto?’

‘It was an angry city.’

‘It is.’

‘But the cops got me there, and that’s why I left after looking at a couple of places, in boring neighbourhoods.’

‘Did you really want a black man?’

‘After eight years with [ ], in prison for all of it, most of it, I have to say I resigned the ambition.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘I have actually, actually, actually, said, that black men have too much power in America.’

‘You’re hilarious, Loraine. Because of all the Asians, women are falling at their feet.’

‘Yes, exactly.’

‘You stopped buying hip hop, I heard. My [ ] said that, actually said that you were disgusted with 50 Cent for battling you.’

‘Oh. Wow. Thanks [ ].’

‘For what?’

‘Truth telling.’

‘Oh, I see. I thought you’d be mad.’

‘No.’

‘Let’s go back to, God?’

‘Go ahead, Loraine.’

‘What did you collectively realize?’

‘That we were a) working for nothing, literally, Loraine, nothing, and I don’t think it’s us you want money from.’

‘It is you, Anyone who read the book and it changed their life, owes her money.’

‘I see. It changed mine, Loraine. Immediately I stopped-- How much money were you going to charge?’

‘Five dollars.’

‘Oh, I thought he meant pay for fourteen years of laborious work.’

‘Not at all, you’re buying a book, and that’s it. If everyone felt the way, she felt so guilty about that software, [ ] [ ], so guilty that she never even tried to do updates.’

‘There were no updates. You were afraid of getting caught. I was so high profile that I never took any chances with that, and that is what Loraine does too, with music I hear. How many times has someone suggested Napster to you?’

‘A hundred.’

‘Musicians, and I know you hate the rap game, Loraine, not for the personalities or tendencies, with women or hoes, or whatever, but you hate how much money they make, and many agree, and right it themselves, but I don’t agree with that. Why do you like iTunes?’

‘I find the prices reasonable, and you don’t need to buy the album.’

‘Exactly. I heard from the cops on the ether, and I know you are bored, and want to get back to 50 Cent, your true love, but I want to say, when you told me you were thirty percent in love with me, I realized I was exactly the same in love with you, but I couldn’t say it, so there you go.’

‘Thank you, [ ] [ ]. And I’m so, so, so, sorry about spazing.’

‘No problem, you were in a weak position, I realized later, and I’m proud of you for using tumblr now, it was tumblr, you know.’

‘I thought so. Why did it play across the screen so weird.’

‘They got rid of that. She freaked because her design was ruined, and she was right, but I was tired of helping for free.’

‘No fucking doubt. If I get rich, and I’ve told you this, I will happily and gratefully pay whatever you think all that time was worth.’

‘Didn’t you do services?’ asks 50 Cent.

‘Not really, he only wanted hand jobs, and he asked for next to nothing.’

‘Oh, I see. He is responsible for your web presence then?’

‘Yes, he is.’

‘You owe him a lot, Loraine.’

‘I know. I know. Just for fun, how much do you think, Fifty?’

‘Let’s move on, Loraine. I want to say this right now, gang bang girls do have forty percent the aptitudes of men, but their emotional intelligence is just as random and disparate as any woman’s, Loraine. And your sister in law is a perfect example of this, she is working too, too, too, hard in and out of the house, too, too, too, hard, and she knows this now, from your book, from your book, Loraine, and she is right about being mad at your brother, she is right, because she puts out like crazy, Loraine, like crazy, Loraine, she is the most dutiful woman he could have ever found, the most dutiful, and she is a gang bang girl, so don’t underestimate the power of the cycle of heterosexuality in these relationships, don’t, please, and do you remember what else we were talking about? Intellectuals, that’s right. So you do have sixty percent the logic of men, you do, and [ ] doesn’t, she has forty, and she’s still good, Loraine, and other women don’t, and they are very difficult for most men to communicate with, very difficult, Loraine.’

‘What about marriage though?’ asks [ ], from the polygamous community Bountiful.

‘Marriage is important for one thing, commitment for women, relationships among men, and you won’t mind this, Loraine, because you know it, are much more common, comfortable, and happy, than relationships among women. Women hate to compete and the function of love is about competition, isn’t it, Loraine?’

‘Yes, well said, Lord.’

‘Thank you, Loraine. I am the master of disaster, as you know, giving you eighteen men when you only, she’s blushing, only wanted twelve. And that is why Amy is mad, she thinks, and this is what she things, that no woman deserves a group of men, it flies in the face of submission for her.’

‘Oh. That’s opposite to the sexual experience though?’

‘How so, Loraine, because I thought you control them or something.’

‘Give me an, if you would, example of how I might do that.’

‘Like withholding, like making them stay at home more.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, both of those are elements of victimhood, and they may happen.’

‘But what about other women, what about black women?’

‘She has addressed this, it is not her fault that I stuck her with nine black men, it’s not, Amy, she wanted 50 Cent and she thought that Lloyd Banks might be one of the men he pimped her to, and she wanted him, yes, she did. He is very good looking, and I do think Loraine is right, Amy, I think you will probably fall for one or two of the men, and ask Warren for permission, and he will decide. He will. And these men appreciated what Loraine said, they are, these men, rampantly promiscuous, and are unlikely to fall for a polygamous periphery.’

‘Why does that make her happy, though? Doesn’t she want women to be happy with them?’

‘She does, but not too happy, because, like all wives, she doesn’t want to lose her men, and if she loses one of these men, it’s likely that she will lose two, as though go as boyfriends, Loraine.’

‘Oh, yeah, I suppose they would.’

‘What does Fifty want?’ asks Amy.

‘I want Loraine to feel secure, but I am rampant, Amy, and I move on quickly if I see a girl is folding, and they fold, Loraine, all the time.’

‘Why don’t you marry them then?’

‘They usually cheat, Amy.’

‘But you’re cheating.’

‘They cheat on safe sex agreements and shit.’

‘And what else? What shit?’

‘What more do you need?’

‘How many have you had that with, and why didn’t you ask them for marriage before they folded, Fifty?’

‘Because I did ask them for marriage, I did, in many cases, but they couldn’t take me home to their parents, Loraine was out as a prostitute, and a bisexual, and a polygamist, she was.’

‘No, a polyamorist.’

‘Oh, I see. When did you realize, Loraine?’

‘Into her forties, she doesn’t remember.’

‘Earlier.’

‘Yes, earlier, even as early as twenty five, she realized that just because she was promiscuous, didn’t mean she had to date assholes, so she didn’t primarily, and would dump anyone who crossed her.’

‘How--’

‘I’ll stop you right there, she was always better than they were. Always, Amy. Always.’

‘How does that figure? I’m bored, Warren. I’m bored with the female chatter. Loraine is right, now I’m saying it, it is a glaring omission to separate the groups. Peripheries need each other. I need these men, I know it. I know it. I know it.’

‘We could have fun,’ says Warren Jeffs. ‘But they could hurt you, you realize.’

‘Like any man.’

‘No, says God, they are more cavalier than any other men.’

‘Really? Why does Loraine like them then? She’s cavalier too? She’s too slutty for marriage?’

‘Absolutely she’s too slutty for marriage.’

‘Why, though? Why so many men for her though, and none for me.’

‘You’re asking now, remember she doesn't have them either.’

‘Oh yeah. I forget that.’

‘Fifty wants Loraine to lie down soon.’

‘Don’t call that guy anymore, Loraine, his product is shit, you’d be better off taking only two--’

‘Don’t tell her that, at two she still coughs incessantly, I’m kidding, Fifty, you would be better off, your nose and shit, taking two pills a week, Loraine. And working on your blog on them, and fuck the laundry, you’re making enough money to survive, and that’s it. That’s it. Who cares about drugs, anyway?’

‘Oh.’

‘Kidding, Loraine. But 50 Cent is right, he’s right, he’s right, he’s right, don’t call him anymore, he’s getting away with murder with that shit, and the guys all hate it.’

‘Okay, God.’

‘Go to [ ] tomorrow, instead of Walmart, wear your tight jackets.’

‘God.’

‘I’m not even kidding, Loraine, you’re still dying for a high after ninety dollars wasted. I wanted her to see, is why. It never improves, because his lying girlfriend is still stealing.’

‘Oh. Uh oh.’

‘Good for them if they tell him what you’ve said, Loraine.’

‘But he’s a friend.’

‘He should dump her. She has ruined his business, Loraine. She hardly even has sex, she doesn’t feel like it when she’s all high, unlike yourself. He would, despite your orientation, been better off with you. He knows this, Loraine. And you would have been better off with him than with [ ]. Now lie down. Go.’

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