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electrasev5nwrites · 1 year

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Ninja Daily: Vapors 66

Come morning, Aiko had managed to steady herself… as well as make plans to draw up some serious improvements to her home security. Root wanted to make the point that she wasn't safe within her own home? Fine then, she'd crisp their fucking fingers off if they so much as touched her property.

Of course, she would need a way to do that without endangering anyone who she wanted there… but she also couldn't give overrides into her security that would allow anyone to come back after they'd been tagged in. Aiko made a rather pathetic pout, since no one was there to judge her for it at the moment.

'I think I'm going to ask Yamato if we could move dinners to his place,' she mused. 'It would cut down on people needing access to my apartment.'

Was it odd to feel pain under your eyes when you were sleep-deprived? She felt like she was walking around with two black eyes (and couldn't stop rubbing at them), but a check in the mirror revealed nothing there. It was lucky that she'd had that sudden bout of vanity, because otherwise she wouldn't have known about the ugly hand-shaped bruise around her neck. Even better, she didn't think she had anything that could fix it. Aiko had exactly zero healing abilities, and she appeared to be out of the chakra-infused creams that could encourage minor surface injuries like that to heal.

"Jeeze, thanks a lot, Boar," she muttered sullenly, slamming the medicine cabinet with enough force to make the bottles inside rattle. "You make it so fucking easy to hide that I've been hanging out with your sissy club."

It obviously wasn't the type of bruise she would acquire during sparring, and it also wouldn't be easy to hide. The mark was positioned high enough that the natural movement of even her highest collars would give peeks of it as she moved. That would draw more attention than anything. She could slather makeup over it, but that would only lighten it and make it less obvious… and the smell would probably be like a flashing neon sign to Kakashi. She was severely tempted to just go to bed—there hadn't been any point in going back to sleep after being released from Danzo when she had to go to training in a few hours—but it was starting to look like going would raise questions.

Still, she had to face the music at some point. It would be too unusual to miss the scheduled practice this morning after Naruto had made such a big deal about her attending.

'I suppose I could claim I've been off having violent sex,' she thought with some amusement. That would probably get any concerned on-looker to drop the conversation.

Then again, Naruto might actually have cardiac arrest. That plan was a no-go.

"I'll wing it," she sighed, smearing on the makeup anyway and setting it with some powder. She covered her face as well. It didn't really look any different than it had before, but it would be less odd to have blended face makeup into her neck than just put makeup on her neck. "Maybe I could get Sasuke alone and ask him to take care of it before anyone else sees so I only have to lie to one person." Or just stay away from Kakashi, actually. Naruto and Sasuke were just not that observant about things like the scent of supposedly scentless makeup. Or hell, she could just claim that she woke up and wanted to look nice today. This was a stupid thing to worry about.

Of course, now that the idea of skipping practice to nap had been planted, it was hard to get out of her head. Somewhat resentfully, Aiko didn't delay heading out the door into what looked to be a balmy morning.

She had considered waiting until about the time that Kakashi would actually show up so that she didn't have to wait too long while self-consciously ducking her chin into her neck like a turtle, but that plan would out her little shadow when he inevitably had to trail in after her. That would be suspicious, but he couldn't leave her alone either. Poor silly Sai hadn't slept a wink all night, which made her certain that he was tailing her to be sure that she didn't do anything against Danzo. It made sense that they wouldn't want her to have much information at all before they judged her loyalty. It had been a stroke of good luck that she had tagged Sai last night—it was the only way that she could sense him. He was really fucking good at his job. That probably meant that if her tail had been someone else, she wouldn't even know that she was being watching.

For all she knew, she had more than one tail. If Danzo was thorough, he wouldn't count entirely on Sai. He almost certainly had at least one backup plan.

No matter what else she did, it was far too dangerous to report to Tsunade. The Hokage would not be happy about that delay when she did eventually debrief, but it wasn't like she really had any information of use yet anyhow. There was nothing to do but wait. Eventually, when she could be sure that she was alone, she could break off to make her report.

That plan would have been a better one if she know how to be totally certain that no one was watching. Aiko knew many tricks for hiding, but countering her own arsenal's weaknesses didn't seem to be enough to flush out Sai.

Not that she wanted to flush him out of hiding, exactly. If she knew where her tail was, she was safer than she would be while ignorant. And whatever problems her team might have with him, she was at least relatively certain that Sai didn't want to hurt her. He was developing an attachment. It was easy to see that the older boy had come to rely on her as a guide in social situations. She couldn't blame him—if he actually didn't understand that he was insulting people, it must be baffling to have such a hard time making polite conversation. His attempts to relate to other people's perspectives and fit in didn't even bear thinking about: she was probably the only person he knew outside of root who had any reason to pretend that his behavior wasn't off-putting.

Frankly, she was glad she'd chosen that route. Sai was more likely to make her laugh than make her angry lately.

It had been an enormous mistake on Danzo's part to ever let Sai leave the hidden program. It was one thing to be a loner or to display social ineptitude. Aiko was hardly the life of the party herself. She could plausibly see many ninja fitting that description managing to fulfill their missions. But Sai had no defense against the one major danger of infiltration missions: when a person wore a mask for long enough, it became their face. He had been wiped to such a blank slate that in an attempt to pretend to be functional, he was accidentally becoming somewhat human. If he had no identity to counter the façade he was learning, then he could hardly help but become the person he was impersonating.

She had already been seeing the signs: he displayed interest in other human beings in non-professional situations, started conversations unprompted, and occasionally something distinctly real flickered behind his mask, as if he was about to say something or react genuinely.

It wouldn't be hard to subvert him. He didn't have the skills to know when he was being manipulated with kindness, having been manipulated with cruelty all his life.

Perhaps that should be her next move. Gaining Sai on her side… that would be valuable. The fact that he was her tail implied that Danzo trusted him to be predictable and controllable. Danzo made the mistake of assessing him in a vacuum—as if his conditions hadn't changed so that something other than Sai's actions could become a factor. Most people were relatively consistent, so he could hardly be blamed.

"Hi, boys."

The three bickering teens gave her varying levels of disgruntled expressions. Inwardly, she applauded Sai for thinking to go slightly ahead of her. It introduced a small level of risk that she would change destinations mid-route, leaving her unobserved until he could correct his error, but it was worth it in order to give the impression that if anything, she was following him.

'He's a good tail. I wonder if he often has those sorts of missions?'

Outwardly, she scowled. "Oh, cheer up, you three. It's not that early."

"It's too early to deal with that jackass," Naruto mumbled. Of course, 'mumbling' for Naruto was something like regular talking for other people (only pitched lower than usual) so the sound carried just fine.

Sai tilted his head but said nothing.

'Thank you, Naruto. I can't imagine a way for you to be more helpful with my resolution to socialize Sai.'

"Naruto, that was rude." She frowned at him. "Does he really deserve to be called names?" It was an effort not to let her amusement show: Aiko was well aware of the irony in her words.

Sasuke wasn't even trying to hide his thoughts. She could tell. They were, 'She's finally cracked.' The sheer hypocrisy seemed to have momentarily broken him. Aiko narrowed her eyes at him, just daring the boy to say anything.

"Fancy seeing you here," Kakashi cut in dryly. As one, the group turned their heads up to see him sitting on a tree branch. He gave a heavy sigh, as if it really was an incredible bother to have to be present. Naruto was making a face that indicated he was having a hard time comprehending what he was seeing, and kept making quick glances at the sun as if to gauge the time. It was about ten minutes until they had agreed to meet. Which meant…

'I've never really noticed just how horribly contrary Kakashi is,' Aiko mused silently. Kakashi was either on time or using their training as an excuse to put off another engagement. It was hard to tell with him. He just looked disinterested and a bit sleepy, but for all she knew he was hiding glee at messing with their heads yet again. The man did have a strange fondness for playing with people in ways that left them unsure whether or not he'd done anything intentional. Generally, the best strategy was not to give him an entertaining reaction.

Then again, he really could just want to get the session over with. The way that he rattled off half-hearted orders seemed to corroborate that theory.

"Naruto, stop antagonizing Sai. Sasuke, wipe that smirk off your face. In fact, since Aiko showed up for once, why don't we switch things up?" He bent slightly, pushing off his branch and landing on the grass in a slight crouch. Then he yawned. "Instead of sparring, let's do a simulation. Naruto, you'll be leading Sasuke and I as a team in defense of a secured location. Sai and Aiko will be the enemy force. Your objective is to uproot us and secure the territory. Any techniques are permissible. Do you understand?" At the nods, he sighed and shifted his hips, looking bored to tears. "Alright. You two can re-enter the clearing in fifteen minutes."

"Be prepared to eat dirt!" Naruto hollered, hands held up around his mouth.

"And be prepared to eat dirt," the Jounin agreed docilely.

"Pfft, whatever," Aiko dismissed rudely, ruffling the back of her hair and turning away. "That's adorable, seriously. We'll play gently with you, but I'm not about to let you win."

It was a check she wasn't entirely sure she could cash, but she could hardly let the trash-talking pass without comment. Theoretically, Kakashi would only be interfering at such a capacity as to even the odds, and not actually trying to win. Hopefully. If not, they were totally boned.

"You want to be team leader?" she asked casually, cracking her neck and settling with her back against a tree several hundred meters away from where they'd left the others.

Sai deigned to glance at her. "That would be acceptable. Do you have any insight into the strategy that Ugly Girlfriend might employ?"

Aiko snorted. "He's going to trap the clearing and have Kakashi hunker down in their base while he and Sasuke engage us," she declared easily. Naruto would never miss out on the opportunity to spar. He had far too much energy. And Sasuke wanted to bash Sai's face in so much that it was just unhealthy. That boy was in desperate need of a chill pill. Why did he care if a male peer thought he wasn't especially virile? Shouldn't he only care about how people that he was attracted to rated his appeal? Unless he was put-out because he found Sai attractive…

A faint smile crept across her features.

'Oooh, good thoughts. Good thoughts suddenly occurred.'

Those were some pretty boys, after all.

"I see. Our real dilemma will be drawing out Kakashi-san, then." Sai let that statement hang in the air. The pause for an answer caught her wandering attention and drew her back to the real world.

"Which he probably has no intention of doing unless something goes horribly wrong," Aiko continued wryly, as if her focus had always been on Sai. She pursed her lips contemplatively. "You know, he didn't forbid that we seek out back-up. That might be our winning scenario. Other than that, we could force him to come out by getting a near-fatal injury, but it might not be worth it in a mock combat scenario."

"Yes," Sai agreed placidly, apparently unaware that she hadn't considered getting a near-fatal injury a viable strategy in the first place.

She made a mental note to stop expecting him to react to jokes. Despite knowing better, she had still somehow expected he would catch on.

'I spent too much time with witty people. The fact that Sai is generally intelligent doesn't seem to really affect his verbal intelligence.'

"I think that you assume that we cannot mitigate the disadvantage of our numbers prematurely, however. We both have clone capabilities and you have your hound."

"Kakashi is not going to fall for a clone," she pointed out with a little scorn.

"Ugly Girlfriend might, especially if he is distracted and separated from Dickless. To my knowledge, he does not have any extrasensory training that would allow him to discern that the technique was a distraction. In any case, both of them are head-on fighters and prefer to work in teams. It may not even occur to them that one of us would fail to be available to the other as backup when the mission did not explicitly require us to separate."

Aiko chewed on that thought for a moment. "As captain, do you want to engage their captain or their most powerful member?"

There were a couple ways that they could play this, depending on who was sent to flush out Kakashi. The most obvious would be to hide a clone (or group of clones) that would engage Kakashi after they had drawn away his reinforcements. That plan was just somehow lacking, though, even if he would likely be fighting on the lowest level to avoid hurting anyone.

Naruto could practically feel Sasuke's tenseness, despite the inches separating them. At least the bastard was interested—Kakashi-sensei was all but asleep on his feet. He spared a moment to glare at the older man. He could at least pretend to be interested in this exercise.

It was really weird to give Kakashi orders, though, even if it was just in training. He'd never led any sort of team before. Jiraiya had given him plenty of freedom and agency, but that just wasn't the same thing even if it did mean he was comfortable coming up with and enacting a plan.

Suddenly, the real world called in the form of a none-too-subtle rustle from the brush, as if someone was actually trying to draw his attention. Naruto had to roll his eyes. He wasn't so clueless that he needed her to make her presence that obvious. Still, his sister stood there, looking uncommonly smug. She had probably been pissed off by his claim that her team didn't stand a chance, but, you know, the truth is hard sometimes. All she had on her side was that dork in Ino's cut off shirt. Sai was probably going to be more of a handicap than a help. When he'd sparred with the pale jerk, all he'd used was ink beast after ink beast with a little bit of taijutsu. Bo-ring.

"I guess that's my signal." He crouched, ready to leap across the clearing and engage his target.

"What the…" Sasuke frowned, activating his Sharingan. Naruto jerked, turning to see the bit of forest that his teammate had been surveying. Then he blinked. Aiko was standing there, too.

'Of course,' he sighed. What a pain. The other two must have known that they had planned their strategy around who should engage whom. Sasuke had been chomping at the bit to get another chance to beat up the asshole, which had left Naruto with Aiko. He was more than prepared for that: the last time they had sparred, she had been miles ahead of him. But he'd spent two years training with the toad sage. If his sister thought she could beat him that easily -even with tricks- she was in for a surprise.

"Sasuke, which one is the real one?"

His forehead looked stupid when he crinkled it up like that. "They both seem to have Aiko's chakra signature. I can't tell. Is Sai a sensor type?"

"Ugh, figures," Naruto muttered darkly. Sasuke grunted in agreement. "Just pick one, then. Fifty percent chance that we'll get the right match-up, and we can switch if we guess wrong. They don't fight the same way at all. It won't take long to figure it out."

"Yeah, what a stupid ploy," Sasuke said, pitching his voice to carry. That taunt might have been enough to fake them out—but whoever the real Aiko was, she'd predicted Sai's reaction well enough to mimic it speedily enough that he didn't see which girl reacted first. Pity. "I'll just take that one, then."

It wouldn't matter. Naruto had been pre-warned, so he wouldn't resist if Sasuke needed to use the switching technique with him. Sasuke might have been able to do it even if Naruto was unwilling anyway, but that would be pretty poor teamwork.

"Hmm." Kakashi pried his eye a little further open, scanning both hostile figures, but didn't say anything before Naruto leapt to engage his target first. Shame. If Sasuke had trusted in his own senses and not what he thought he knew about the other team's strategy, they would have won easily. Sai was still hiding, after all. He pursed his lips into a pout under his mask. He had been sort of hoping to get a nap in.

About five minutes later, Aiko was all but cackling at two utterly filthy and disgruntled boys. Naruto had made the tactical error of using one of his pre-planted explosion tags just as she was powering a water jutsu. The resultant mess had created a seriously nasty wave of mud that had smacked into her clone with enough force to cancel it (surprising Sasuke, who had apparently determined that it was Sai). She was a muddy mess too, but she was having more fun than anything else. The mud wave had knocked her completely over and lost her the match, when Naruto had reflexively moved to pin her, but she couldn't bring herself to regret seeing the look on Sasuke's face when the two techniques had combined. The fact that her water clone had smacked into him and broke didn't make things any better.

At least it had washed off most of his mud. He didn't seem in a mood to appreciate that, though.

"Not cool," Naruto grumped, picking up a handful of sludge and flinging it at her. Aiko didn't even attempt to dodge, though she did protect her eyes from debris with a raised arm, one eye peeking open as she moved to speak.

"That's really mature," she began to tease-

Splat.

And was cut off by another mudball impacting the side of her head, courtesy of Sasuke this time. Slowly, her head swiveled to get him into her full field of vision. He looked awfully petulant, but that was sort of normal. The 'wet cat' impression wasn't, but it was a good look on him anyways.

In lieu of words or grabbing her own mud, she launched herself bodily at Sasuke and dragged him down into the sludge onto his back with a hilarious squelch. It was uncomfortable, not least because she still had her arms latched around his ribs and they ended up mildly squished by both their body weight. Without pause, Sasuke made an odd contortion that allowed him to tear her grip off his torso and heaved her up by her waist, pushing her ten feet directly into the air with a startling ease that suddenly made her remember he'd never used his Tsunade-esque super strength on her. She was still blinking in shock and adjusting herself to make a safe landing when Naruto barreled into her from the side and knocked her clean out of the air.

Their observers kept a safe distance. Sai looked bewildered.

'I'm not touching that situation for love or money,' Kakashi snorted fondly, shaking his head.

He didn't know quite what to think of this outcome. It was mildly embarrassing to see his soldiers brawling in the mud. Well… technically their team had won, if only because Sai had accidentally set off one of Sasuke's shuriken traps. He hadn't gotten caught in it, but even the Chuunin version of himself that Kakashi was portraying would have known he was there then. Sasuke would probably fume that it was one of Naruto's traps that got Sai, but he wasn't a miracle worker.

In true cooperative spirit, he'd herded the Root ANBU into a paralysis seal instead of subduing him physically before meandering over to see how on earth Aiko had managed to detain both boys for well over three minutes. They'd apparently managed to subdue her and technically win that fight, although he would have preferred that they figure out that they were fighting a clone and not a disguised Sai. It was an amateur mistake—Aiko tended to keep her wrist turned three degrees further inward than Sai did when blocking kicks, and if Sai had been transformed into Aiko there should have been sloppiness in his taijutsu when he overestimated his reach. Of course, if Aiko had let Sasuke take the offensive, that wouldn't have been readily apparent. So perhaps he couldn't give an accurate assessment without having seen most of the fight.

Eh. There would be other opportunities to get the full gauge of the boys' abilities. They tended to fall into rather repetitive patterns when sparring each other, but both were competitive enough that they also wanted to impress.

Naruto finally noticed his presence, homing in with a frightening intensity for an instant- and then pretended to be distracted by his sister.

'Nice try, Naruto.'

He'd never been particularly subtle, so that wasn't a bad attempt. Still, Kakashi called on a swathe of chakra and shunshined away. A clump of mud sailed elegantly through the air his chest had occupied only milliseconds before. Naruto scowled. His distraction cost him—Sasuke had turned on his ally and shoved a handful of filth inside his open mouth.

Sai just stared, feeling completely lost while Washboard laughed so hard that she fell over, bent up on her side.

Aiko tossed the grungy, mud-flecked towel into her laundry basket, mentally determining to camp out in the laundry room with a book and get everything washed when she had the time. That towel alone would probably require a couple of washes.

More pressing, however, was the ever-present whisper of the trapped seal she had placed on Sai's spine from somewhere nearby. It was hard to pinpoint his exact location without looking (and therefore giving away that she was aware he was observing her).

Aiko was both pleased and unnerved to note that there was a notable difference between the sensation of her regular seals and her trapped seals. It hadn't been designed with any such thing in mind—she hadn't even known it was possible for Hiraishin to sing at varied frequency. She would never mistake Sai's seal for Kakashi's or Naruto's, even though she couldn't tell apart the kunai seal that Kakashi carried from the one she had interlaced with the seal on Naruto's gut. It was a good thing she had a mark on Naruto himself—he seemed to forget to carry the kunai seal with him. Silly thing.

In any case, it was getting difficult not to react to the fact that Sai was still watching her. Idly, she began to pull her damp hair into two braids as she walked through the apartment and carefully scanned for the signs of his surveillance.

'He must be flagging by now,' she thought doubtfully. Sai hadn't appeared fatigued at all when she'd seen him, but she knew for a fact that he had been up as long as she had. Actually, he probably had less sleep than she did. Aiko had been in bed for several hours before Boar had come to drag her to Danzo, and Sai had probably just never gone to sleep yesterday. If she had to, she could stay up for quite a while longer, but it was an unavoidable fact that both her mental processes and physical reactions would suffer. She had to sleep, because she had to be at her peak condition when she was dealing with anyone as dangerous as Danzo.

It was hard to want to sleep when she knew she was being watched, by some creeptastic ink cockroaches no less.

Aiko outright grimaced and used the arm that she lifted to pin her braids to hide the expression from Sai's view. How insulting was it that he thought she wouldn't notice? Cognitively, she knew they were just ink, but it was still shitty that he was sending something so icky into her home. She had to tolerate being in close vicinity to nasty shit like that while she was sleeping or hiding in the woods (ew, nature) but she shouldn't have to her in her own damn bedroom. Ugh. She'd rather that he came in himself.

There wasn't a good way to make that happen without letting on that she knew she was being observed. In order for the fact that she had made no move to tell anyone about her late-night summoning and odd-but-not-criminally-incriminating conversation to count in her favor, they had to think that she thought it was an option in the first place.

That had never been an option, despite what Tsunade seemed to have thought. There was a very good possibility that Tsunade's office wasn't a secure enough location for that conversation. Either it was literally insecure in that there was a way for Danzo to gather information about conversations held there, like hidden listening devices, or it may as well have been bugged because she couldn't slip away to Hokage tower without being seen, even in ANBU gear.

No. Danzo would not risk letting her report to her scheduled shift two days from now without either sealing her or making sure she didn't remember anything sensitive. The short time frame was no doubt to pressure her into making a decision quickly, if he did indeed anticipate that she was alert enough to feel the noose tightening around her neck.

'That was a dramatic metaphor,' she snickered. 'A better one would be that the branding iron approaches, with little old me wide-eyed and not sure if I'm strong enough to make a break for it through the barbed wire. Does that make me a wild horse?'

Root wasn't a matter of life and death, after all. At least not directly, although it could very well put her on the mission that got her killed.

Disappointingly, it did look like she wouldn't be able to avoid it. As troublesome as it would be to get involved in real black operations work as opposed to the softer sides of ANBU assignments, the idea of intentionally failing to meet Danzo's criteria was unpalatable. Not when it meant that he would make sure she couldn't breathe a word anyways. She wasn't so loyal to Tsunade that she would bolt to give her the little useless information she now had, and she wasn't stupid enough to think that she could tell Danzo 'no' either. Aiko liked her mind the way it was—her own and not meddled with. Discretion was the better part of valor in this case.

Really, the success of her mission depended on whether or not she really was smarter and luckier in her circumstances than Danzo had taken into account. Even if that tongue-seal prevented her from designing a counter seal herself… well. She already had one. In the absolute worst situation, where it became clear that her counter seal was a failure and she couldn't make another one, she'd just find Jiraiya.

She was at least certain that the physical paralysis didn't activate from mere from seditious thoughts. It could only respond to attempted action that would demonstrate an actual attempt to sell Root out. It was either intent-based or specifically tailored to prevent the sealed party from writing or speaking certain combinations of words. So, cumulative action that alone wasn't seditious but could be combined to ask for help from a better seal master like Jiraiya wouldn't trigger the seals (until it was too late, if at all). Like holding up a copy of the counterseal she'd already made, looking sad, and sticking out her tongue, for instance. He was bright enough to figure that out.

Granted, that would mean publically associating herself with a splinter cell, but Tsunade had probably kept him in the loop. Even if he hadn't, Jiraiya was emotionally compromised when it came to her and Naruto. He would probably be disappointed, but justify it away unless she presented an actual threat to Konoha's interests.

Besides… she really would like to see how that seal went on. It probably wouldn't be pleasant, but it would no doubt be enlightening. Unless she was unconscious when it went on, then she would be able to gather some information about it.

She didn't bother to restrain her laugh at the conclusion that thought led her to. 'If curiosity like mine really killed the cat, it's a good thing that this isn't Yamato's mission. I think I'll be fine, though. Maybe I'm just arrogant.'

There wasn't any point in fighting her fatigue any longer, so she padded to her room and burrowed under the covers and intentionally relaxing her muscles. If she was getting off on tangents and speculations like that, it was probably time to get to bed. Anyone who came by to see her sleeping in the early afternoon would probably be horrified at her laziness or assume she was ill, but it was hard to care.

Hell, maybe Sai would come in when it became obvious that she was going to be too unconscious to note his presence. The boy would never complain, but he was probably roasting out there in the direct sunlight in his black outfit.

She woke up on her own when Sai actually ventured into her bedroom in ANBU gear, probably intending to wake her up. He still reeked of ink: if it mattered, she would now be able to admit to having recognized her guide for the night.

"Is it that time already?" The question was intentionally cheeky. Maybe he'd tell her not to take this so lightly. Boar had been full of cautions yesterday... But that might have been his own initiative, a subtle way of helping the rookie by letting her know what was expected of her. Whether it was an attempt of secrecy or because he saw no point in helping her, Sai said nothing at all.

He seemed to stare blankly behind his unpainted mask which could be construed as intimidating, but Aiko was unimpressed. Sai probably wasn't going to say anything, so she took his lack of badgering as permission to take her own sweet time to pull on the unflattering pants she only wore as an ANBU and the silly sleeveless shirt that she didn't actually mind. Aiko probably wouldn't have rushed as much as she had the first night with Boar, either, if he'd shown up again. She had let her nervousness overwhelm her, and that wasn't fitting at all. She had to portray calm and collected reserve.

But thinking of her sometimes-teammate's baffling behavior yesterday brought another memory to the forefront. Perhaps he had been genuinely concerned that she might harm Sai, but Boar had still been unnecessarily rough with her. She narrowed her eyes, glaring down at her hands while she pulled on the long gloves that went with her outfit.

'I need to remember that I owe him an ass-kicking.'

Her fingers easily slipped through the routine of fastening her armor, leg plates secured tightly over her boots. It wasn't exactly standard issue, but the blue sandals that most shinobi wore were a visual affront against nature. Nothing short of a direct order from the Hokage or critical village shortage of other shoes would convince her to clamp one of those blue monstrosities on her poor feet.

As soon as she was ready, Sai gripped her upper arm with surprising force. Displeased, she moved to pry it off—and found that she couldn't. She might have panicked, if he didn't hold up his free hand in a seal that broadcasted his intentions.

"Blegh," she said unhappily, but made no move to protest being caught up in his shunshin, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid the dizzying affect of swirling stimuli that she couldn't quite process. Root probably didn't want any paranoid assholes to notice ANBU coming from one area two nights in a now. They had only traveled a few blocks north with his technique before they started to run, meaning that she was directionally aware enough to be sure that the entrance he led her to definitely wasn't the one Boar had used.

'Maybe they're making a point about just how pervasive Konoha's roots are?' she theorized. Impressing her wouldn't be a bad recruitment strategy. People liked to belong to prestigious designations as much as they liked to imagine that they were somehow doing good.

This time, Sai didn't hide in the room with them. She gave him a sideways glance, half-expecting that he would leave, but that didn't seem to be in the cards.

"Danzo-sama." Sai gave a full bow, nearly scraping the floor. She murmured the same greeting, but gave him the same bow as the day before. The old man didn't seem to care either way.

"Masks off."

It was a bit unnerving to see that she couldn't catch Danzo glancing at her even though she was one-hundred percent certain that he was watching her to see if she'd recognized Sai.

'Of course he's a damn good shinobi,' she reminded herself. 'Don't forget that. Old age may have deteriorated his combat skills, but he almost certainly hasn't lost out on perception and observation skills. Shinobi don't live to retire – the real kind of retirement, not getting forced out because of a career-ending injury— unless they are very. Very. Good.'

There was no knowing what conclusion he'd come to, but she hadn't bothered to fake surprise or even given Sai a cursory look as if to check a theory. Danzo's dark eyes appeared to be boring a hole through her very being. "You are familiar with your companion tonight, if I am not mistaken."

It was not a question.

"Hai, Danzo-sama," she agreed politely.

The old man coughed lightly into a fist, frail shoulders shaking slightly. "I am disappointed in you, Sai. You must have been sloppy to have given away your identity."

'Am I supposed to defend him or let him get chewed out?' Frankly, it was a bit puzzling. If Danzo really know that she had recognized him yesterday, then he should have known that assigning Sai to follow her had been his error in the first place. There was no way to ensure that Sai could get within arm's reach of her without giving away his scent unless an equally able scent tracker had checked him over. Obviously, Danzo had arranged no such thing

Danzo might also be operating under the assumption that she had only recognized Sai tonight, which didn't portray him in a better light. If that were true, then not only had he underestimated her, but he had intentionally put Sai in position to give her a chance to prove her worth by recognizing him and then blamed him for Aiko's relative skill level.

'He's a 'big picture' kind of guy, isn't he,' she thought dryly. 'Not a real social butterfly.' Otherwise, he would know that even that absent-minded scolding could drive Sai away. Perhaps he was testing Sai as well by seeing how he reacted to the extra pressure? Or perhaps he was just a sadist.

Aiko kept her mouth shut. If Danzo outright asked how she knew, she would tell him that she'd caught Sai's scent and let him draw his own conclusions.

As it turned out, he was more interested in blaming Sai for supposed ineptitude and then moving on than he was in inquiring after the minutia of her abilities. That fit well with her theory that he was better with large-scale plans than dealing with people on a micro level.

"I have asked you here because I have reason to believe that you would be a beneficial addition to an elite group within ANBU." His hand shook slightly, but Danzo slowly poured two cups of tea and offered one to Aiko. It was hard to note that Sai didn't seem to expect one, nor did he receive an offer. An intentional display of the supposed power differential there? Was he trying to assure her that she would be important, and not just a pawn? If that was the case, it was an obvious lie. Danzo would want to use the benefit her future council seat could give him, not empower and prop her up.

'And that phrasing was nice, too,' she thought with bleak amusement. 'Root sounds very legal in those terms. I suppose it makes sense. If I didn't already know from Tsunade, I would probably assume that this ANBU subset is completely legal. How would someone who wasn't sure ever check what powers the Hokage does and doesn't allow Danzo?'

That probably meant that many of the recruits didn't understand what they were getting into was a criminal faction. Really, the job that Danzo took onto himself was a perfectly legitimate one. The other great powers all had elite forces that were closer to Root than to ANBU. Konoha's ANBU barely dabbled in the actual black operations that were other villages' bread and butter, and were often used as a sort of elite home guard. In Suna, for example, that would be done by Jounin. Konoha (and Fire Country in general) was wealthy and influential enough that there was hardly any need to scrabble out net village profits by taking work that the village had to deny responsibility for. It was part of why everyone else thought that Konoha was soft and insufferably smug.

"I am honored to have your consideration." Her tone was intentionally even, barely walking the line between 'professional' and 'brisk'. It was a rather infuriating obscuring tactic that she had picked up from Kakashi, in fact. He often used the technique to distract the listener from picking apart his actual words, or to elicit an emotional reaction where they might otherwise have been able to control themselves.

Danzo was highly self-contained. There was no indication that he had heard anything possibly insolent in her tone when he continued speaking. "As you should be." She lifted the cup, putting her lips to the cold rim and tipping it up as if to drink, but kept her mouth shut and subtly sniffed it instead. It really did seem to be just tea. There was no discernible benefit in poisoning her.

"If you accept, you will answer directly to me. Your normal duties will continue, but your specialized training will be supplemented by instruction from my agents once you are told to report for further ANBU training."

She allowed herself to look just a bit interested, carefully tilting a single fingertip to barely hover over the cup she was holding gingerly. It took concentration, but she slowly siphoned all the impurities out of the liquid below and gathered them into her hand as she would while preparing water for jutsu. Impure water like that in a lake or river could be used, but it meant fighting against the other elements washing around in the water. The flaky remnants of the tea stuck unpleasantly to her finger and her fist when she withdrew that hand and curled it up, but she didn't let on with her face that she was doing anything unusual.

But really, it would have been idiotic to drink anything he gave her. She didn't trust him. Aiko was polite enough to pretend to drink even if that meant drinking plain-but-scalding hot water, but not polite enough to risk ingesting a sedative or something of that ilk.

"As far as the outside world is concerned, Root does not exist." He leveled her with a stern glare. "The genin, Chuunin, and Jounin who operate in visibility are Konoha's leaves and trunk. But they cannot be strong without a foundation that supports them and allows them to avoid the dank unpleasantness that must be endured. Not all are suited for this role. Do not make your decision lightly… but make it now."

'I honestly did not expect him to frame this as my choice entirely. Pressure much?'

Aiko allowed just a hint of emotion to reach her face. Intentionally, she widened her eyes as if in surprise or dismay, but with a slightly unfocused gaze as though she was caught up in the picture he had been making for her.

The reaction seemed to satisfy Danzo. He gently set down his tea and rose to a standing position, tapping his cane deliberately as he crossed the room contemplatively. It simply had to be an affectation, but it was a convincing display of a man so caught up in his own story that he became restless and had to pace.

It was another pressuring tactic. The toc-toc-toc sound of his wooden cane rhythmically hitting the floor was meant to divide her attention between the real world and her thoughts, imparting a subtle hint of anxiety and need for haste as he moved ever-so-slightly faster.

The first time she opened her jaw, she kept her lips closed and silently put her teeth back together to give the impression that she had thought better of saying something. Danzo wasn't physically watching, but he had eyes on her. Either through Sai or some mechanism she was unaware of, he would be paying attention to her and note that 'slip'. She couldn't seem too eager to choose one option or the other, but now could she hesitate for long. That spiel had been intended to see if she was ideologically aligned with his goals: if she wasn't, she was of no use to him. Of course, neither was an idealistic idiot who said the first thing that came to mind.

"I would like nothing more than to serve Konoha at your discretion in whatever capacity I can, Danzo-sama." This time, her bow was in mimicry of Sai's full bow earlier.

It wasn't a lie. That was exactly what she wanted for her current mission… and in some small part, because she thought he was right. Konoha would be weaker without him, even if he was technically a dissenter.

#vapors #uzumaki aiko #electrasev5n #ninja daily #fanfiction #naruto fanfiction

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project1939 · 6 months

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100+ Films of 1952

Film number 107: The Jungle

Release date: August 1st, 1952

Studio: Lippert Pictures

Genre: Adventure

Director: William Berke, Ellis Dungan

Producer: T. R. Sundaram, William Berke, Ellis Dungan, Robert L. Lippert

Actors: Rod Cameron, Cesar Romero, Marie Windsor

Running Time: 73 minutes

Plot Summary: An Indian princess returns home to help her people when entire villages are being wiped out by stampeding elephants. A famous white hunter tasked with shooting them comes back with a harrowing tale- the elephants aren’t the real problem- it's... Wooley Mammoths?

My Rating (out of five stars): *½. Whew, this was bad. Like seriously, it's one of the worst films out of the 107 that I’ve watched! Everything was a mess- the threadbare plot, the acting, the special effects, the music... I’m sure at least 50% of the movie consisted of people just walking... and walking... and walking...

The Good:

It was shot entirely on location in India. For a low budget film, that was pretty amazing. The views of cities, palaces, and jungles were beautiful and fascinating to take in.

Much of the cast consisted of actual Indian actors and extras.

Marie Windsor in jodhpurs. Yummy.

The Bad:

Brownface! The three leads were all Westerners (two whites and one Latino), and two of them were slathered in brown makeup to supposedly make them look like Indians.

The thin thin plot. The actual story was basically a 30-minute drama padded out to more than twice that length. It had more filler than an aging Hollywood actor.

The structure and pacing. It felt like a rough draft, it was so disjointed and abrupt- “We need exposition! Now let's have some ‘exotic’ culture stuff! Now let’s have an animal fight scene! Now a love triangle! Now another animal fight scene!” Etc etc etc.

The acting. Rod Cameron as Bentley was the worst offender- he was as wooden as a pile of lumber. Even Marie Windsor was pretty stilted, and she was the reason I wanted to watch the film in the first place. She’s been very good in every other thing I've seen her in. The horrible dialogue here did not do her any favors, I'm sure.

The special effects. Looking for a laugh? Watch the special effects in this movie!

The sepia colored film. Instead of black and white, this was filmed in sepia. It just looked muddy, bland, and washed out.

The use of animals. The animals were transparently there to pad out the run time and add some action unrelated to the plot. We saw boars, bears, leopards, tigers, monkeys, elephants, scorpions, several varieties of snakes... Most of the time they were fighting humans or fighting each other. Instead of being excited by it, I just felt concerned about how humane it all was.

The non-diegetic music was distracting and monotonous. It tried to be some kind of Hollywood fusion of Eastern and Western, but it only succeeded in being annoying.

The mind-numbing amount of walking scenes. I might need to check my fitbit to see if anything registered on it! It was just plodding and boring.

I didn't care about any of the characters. They were all cardboard cutouts that we learned precious little about.

The utter ridiculousness of the premise. Wooley Mammoths deep in the Indian jungle? Yeah, that tracks.

Again with the horrible exploitative Lippert movie posters! “10,000 square miles of dangers and a woman was the greatest danger of all!” WTF?! Princess Sita was probably the least dangerous person on the screen! And what about those huge murderous monstrous Mammoths??

#1952 #1952 movies #100 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 film 107

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daemondaes · 2 years

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@batsl4yr:

“ hey hey! common sense is for the normals and you know it, it doesn’t exist between you and me. ” there was a grin of true insanity on his face, dear lord she might have been in real danger were eddie an actual threat in any sense of the word. how dare she try and use logic in a time for actions. if she expected him to think before he acted, then she didn’t know eddie as well as he thought. looking down at the red streaks that would likely forever stain his shirt eddie shock his head, no big deal, it’s not like he didn’t have a dozen more- but still, if she was getting worked up over a damn camisole, then maybe he could act up too. rubbing his crimson hands together, getting them nice and even, eddie could only laugh, stance ready- waiting for her to make a move. “ we’re only even when you’re as red as i am. ”

she was just ever so slightly began moving forward, her taunting words a distraction, an attempt to get him to focus on a retort- and yes while normally that would work, all eddie wanted in that very moment was to tackle her into the paint as use her as a mop while he dragged her through the puddle. too harsh? taking a step to the right, eddie raised his hands, teeth biting into his lip to stop himself from laughing. this shouldn’t be this much fun, but god damn he really wanted to cover her in paint. “ it’ll be easier if you just give in and let me make you look like carrie. i promise i’ll be gentle and not rip anymore of your clothes- unless? ��

There was something in his gaze that made her question his humanity. The glint was startling, partially for the fact of its very existence, but also because it drew her closer to him. Rather than the repellant it ought to rightfully have been, his twisted grin ignited something primal deep within her. For one fleeting moment, Cherry was comforted by the knowledge that at least one person in this school was just as shattered as her. Truly, she didn't know much about him at all prior to this confrontation, except what she gleaned by rumor or reputation. "What gives you the right?" Her brows knit and her jaw went slack with scandal. "Munson, you paint me up like that, you're deader than Carrie's mom." It wasn't her snappiest comeback. Her mind was not with her mouth. It was with her limbs and whatever athleticism she could muster as she dove toward the paint.

The dark makeup circling her widened eyes added to the ghoulish intensity of her stare. This was a gamble. At such a close distance, it would be easier for Eddie to embrace her than slather her front with paint as she'd done to him. But, in imitation of a baseball player's slide, she did, to her credit, place her palms in the red pool. Her brows arched and her lips pursed in hesitation. She hadn't meant to scuttle in so closely. "Rip my clothes all you want, but I'm claiming yours." Stained as they both were, this was only a matter of pride. Her freshly-coated hands were raised palm-out to protect herself, the opposite of a boxer's stance. With a nervous giggle, one hand jut out toward his face. Body painting or mud wrestling, this was not. At least skin was washable.

#batsl4yr #x. candy from a stranger.#look at me! continuing a thread with a deceased blog 😏#''rumor and reputation'' is the new pride and prejudice

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myartisdangerous · 2 years

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I've been on a personal feminist praxis journey regarding makeup. I've read so much makeup critical material, but it's been a struggle for me to move away from it. I understand the damage it does to expect women to paint their faces, and yet I find myself unable to go cold turkey. Honestly, I might not even want to. There is a universal human desire to decorate and adorn ourselves. I think I just want to fix my relationship with makeup and with my unadorned face.

I'm currently taking in incrementalist approach. This is a great dovetail with my anti-consumerist/minimalism “Low Buy” challenge this year.

These were/are my steps:

Financial Investment Steps

Stop buying any “high end” makeup. It's overpriced and rarely worth it.

Do a makeup inventory, and throw out any old/expired makeup. Here's a cheat sheet for when things should be thrown out. Be brutal!

Do a “Project Pan”! It's a challenge to use up the makeup you do have before buying any new.

Limit any new purchases to only very inexpensive drug store makeup that is cruelty free.

For me this is Wet and Wild and ELF. The quality of those “low end” products is actually very good. Get away from the mindset that makeup is or should be an “investment.” It should not be.

You are allowed to “invest” in skin care. If a certain moisturizer or cleanser or serum works for you, even if it's a higher price point, keep it in your routine. Skin care is just a part of hygiene. But be careful you aren't just recreating your makeup obsession/habit with elaborate skin care routines.

Time Investment Steps

Reduce the amount of products you're using.

Start with forgoing foundation. It's the worst for your skin and arguably the product that is the most physically unpleasant to wear.

Try to get down to the least amount of steps/products possible where you still feel comfortable/put together. Once you're used to that, take one more product away.

Try a time limit. Set a timer for 5 minutes, and allow yourself ONLY that time to give in to beauty standards. Yes, it's still a capitulation. But it's a step on the right path.

Try out semi-permanent products – for example, I bought lash and brow tint. It takes 5 minutes to apply and I can now forgo mascara and brow products and still feel like I look good. You only have to reapply once a month. Here's what I used.

Mindset shift

Unfollow any beauty influencers or makeup related content on social media and YouTube.

Get used to looking at your unaltered (or at least less-altered) face. As a daily makeup user, this can take a long time.

This is why an incrementalist approach seems to be working best for me. Makeup alienates you from your own face. So take small steps at first to get used to yourself with less and less products slathered onto it.

Read and learn about feminists critiques of beauty. This will give you a solid philosophical foundation that will underpin your actions.

Clearly define your ultimate goals

Is it to NEVER wear makeup ever again? Is it to simply have confidence to leave the house without makeup once in a while without feeling embarrassed or ugly? Is it to fix your relationship with makeup and see it as something fun to play with, rather than an expectation or a security blanket?

#makeup #anti makeup #feminism #beauty critiques

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p1harmonyofficial · 3 years

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[📰] P1Harmony May Be New to K-Pop, But They're Beauty Experts

By Devon Abelman

"Pots-and-pans music" is what Keeho, the leader of P1Harmony, lovingly calls the K-pop group's songs. They're loud, explosive, and essentially caffeine mainlined through your eardrums — all in the best way possible, of course.

"Because our music is so strong, we try to portray that in our hair and makeup as well," Keeho continues. "For me, my hair is all slicked back for our new song, 'Scared,' and our makeup is a lot darker than [for our debut single,] 'Siren.'"

In fact, Jongseob, P1Harmony's youngest member, adds their strikingly different hair colors, like Theo's whimsical light pink, Intak's sleek jet black, and Keeho's enigmatic navy blue, balance each other out and express the range of emotions portrayed in their lyrics and melodies.

But this is just a basic overview of P1Harmony and the intense aesthetic they've been building for the past six months since debuting in October 2020. In advance of the release of their new EP, Disharmony: Break Out, today, April 20, I sat down with the rookie K-pop group via Zoom to get a deeper look at each member, their individual relationships to beauty, and how they are choosing to present themselves now that they are on the world's stage.

Keeho

When I ask Keeho which P1Harmony song fits his personality best, he replies, "You can't really fit me in a box like that. There are various characters I can be." The 19-year-old from Canada even wears many hats throughout our interview. Not only is Keeho the group's official leader, but he's also their unofficial translator, color commentator, and storyteller — he truly has an aside or anecdote to share about everything.

The first tale Keeho tells dates back to second grade, when he begged his mom to let him get blonde streaks in his hair. "I was that kid in class," he remarks.

Then, Keeho delves into how his family introduced him to the wonders of beauty growing up. His mom, in particular, made him "do a five-, six-step skin-care routine," he recalls. Every morning before school, he'd splash his face with warm water ("must be warm water, so you open up the pores") and wash up with cleansing foam. Then, he'd rinse it off with cold water ("so you close them"). Although this isn't scientifically true, I'm glad this worked for him.

When layering on his serums and creams, "the first one you need to do is the most liquidy one and the last one you need to do is the one that is not liquidy at all," Keeho recalls his mom instructing him — a fact I confirm for him. Also, she'd tell him to never rub his skin-care products on, only pat.

Last but not least, Keeho would (and still does) reach for sunscreen — "always sunscreen," he emphasizes. "My mom said, 'If you don't put it on, you're going to age like a raisin.'"

Keeho's older sister, on the other hand, brought him into the world of makeup by employing him as her guinea pig for testing out new looks. "I would let my sister put makeup on me all the time," Keeho says, mentioning Halloween as a common occasion for her artistry. They even playfully filmed YouTube beauty tutorials and challenges together.

One aspect of beauty Keeho has yet to try is a manicure, but he's ready to dive into that realm. "I think it would be fun," he says. A$AP Rocky's eye nail art that he showed off front row at Prada back in October 2019 is Keeho's major inspiration.

Intak

Another unofficial title Keeho has taken on within P1Harmony is hairstylist. Intak, the group's 17-year-old charismatic rapper and star dancer, credits him for his hair-care routine. "I learned how to use hair serum to volumize my hair when I go out," Intak says. Keeho goes on to explain that they both have incredibly dry hair, so he recommended his favorite moisturizing products to Intak and told him to rake them through his hair while it's still wet and only slightly towel-dried. Intak was so pleased with the result that he went out and bought the same products that day.

Although he has kept his hair black throughout his career so far, Intak is quick to share he's very experimental with beauty. For performances in the past, he's adorned his eyes with bloody scratch-like liner and ultra-sooty smoky eyes. Plus, you're about to see some cheek art on him and dramatically flushed cheeks.

Unlike Keeho, Intak didn't get into skin care until after debuting. "I've started visiting the dermatologist frequently," he says. "They gave me a set [of products] that includes [everything I need]." His favorite is a mask infused with avocado and peppermint, like the Tonymoly I'm Real Avocado Mask Sheet or Skinfood's Pear Mint Food Mask, which quenches his dehydrated skin.

Jiung

Spoken like a true Libra, Jiung is the first to mention he enjoys expressing himself through beauty and fashion. "[They are] really important things," the 19-year-old explains in English. "I always try to learn how to express myself that way. So the more I know, the more I can do."

However, when I ask Jiung what kinds of looks he feels the most confident in, he laughs before taking time to think about it. (In the meantime, Keeho shares he knows what he, personally, is least confident in: T-shirts, due to his long arms.) "This is hard," Jiung groans. I must say his short honey-blonde hair — a look he's always been curious about trying — is definitely bringing out a particularly magnetic side of him, as seen in the P-side track video for "If You Call Me."

When he was younger, Jiung dabbled in all different kinds of haircuts, colors, and perms, he lists off. The latter of which he looks forward to trying out again now as a K-pop star.

When the members were just trainees, Keeho helps Jiung recount a time when he wanted to fill in his eyebrows. "He did not how to do it at all," Keeho says. "He got a Sharpie and started coloring in his eyebrows. It was devastating, to say the least, for the people who had to see it."

"It was art," Jiung interjects. Now, he proudly declares he has a proper brow powder.

Theo

Theo, P1Harmony's straightforward vocalist, is admittedly a sneakerhead. He strictly wears Jordans, according to Keeho's translation. Air Jordan 1s are Theo's favorite style, but he can't pick a color that he's the biggest fan of. He can tell you what he feels least confident in, though: shorts and short-sleeved shirts. So if you barely see Theo in summery clothes, now you know why. (However, he doesn't offer up an exact explanation.)

Since elementary school, the now-19-year-old has permed and colored his hair every shade of ROYGBIV, including red, gray, and even blue for one summer break — all thanks to his mom, who is a hairstylist. This is a revelation even many of the other members weren't privy to, much to the chagrin of Keeho. "It's annoying me right now because his hair is healthy," he remarks. "My hair looks like a broom."

Knowing his hair is healthy comes as a shock to me, though, as Theo has gone from white-blonde to rosy-pink over the past six months. (Let's be real, that's a transformation few people's hair can handle.) He's also been able to grow out hair; it falls past his eyebrows and is starting to graze his shoulders in the back.

Honestly, Theo is ready for it to be short again, he shares. "I like my long hair, but I don't like it being in my face," he asserts. "I can't really maintain it. I bleached it so much that it flips in all different directions."

Soul

Before our interview officially started, the members and I exchanged weird facts about ourselves to get to know each other better beyond our beauty routines. Keeho revealed his left eyebrow has been twitching lately, and he needs to cuddle a body pillow to fall asleep. Intak has a freckle on his finger that his grandma often mistakes for dirt and tries to wipe off. Jiung had pet geckos, scorpions, and tarantulas growing up. Jongseob loves mint chocolate. Theo can't burp, and Soul enjoys petting insects.

But that's not the weirdest thing about him or any of the members. The strangest thing about the boys is that "Soul doesn't do anything at all [for his skin-care routine], and his skin is actually pretty good," Keeho says. (You can scroll through Soul's selfies on P1Harmony's Twitter to confirm this, but spoiler: His complexion is immaculate.)

Soul, 16, goes on to explain that his skin is incredibly dry and sensitive, so much so that even cleansing makes his face turn red and any bit of friction causes bumps to form. Needless to say, he's scared to put anything on his face. "I just do cleansing foam and leave it at that," Soul admits. Makeup isn't off the table, though. Soul is no stranger to subtle washes of pink shadow on his lids and fake eyebrow piercings made out of silver studs.

Although Soul is seemingly one of the shyest members and keeps to himself for most of the interview, he's an intense rockstar at heart. He favors P1Harmony's more aggressive, hard-hitting songs, like their new title song, "Scared."

Raise your hand if you'd like to see Soul with thick, black kohl or graphic blue liner and long, raven hair, perhaps paired with a studded leather jacket over a ripped-up T-shirt. OK, great; I'm not the only one. For now, we'll have to appreciate his bob-length ashy-blonde hair.

Jongseob

Other than his nuggets of knowledge about the way P1Harmony reflects their music in their hair and makeup, Jongseob mostly listens throughout the interview. Luckily, the 15-year-old rapper/songwriter did pipe up to share his skin-care routine.

First, Jongseob double-cleanses to remove his makeup, starting with cleansing oil and following up with a foam cleanser. Serum is slathered on next, then moisturizer. When his skin is feeling especially dry, Jongseob layers a gel cream on top as a sleeping mask — a tactic I'd never considered before. Typically, I reach for them in reverse order.

Jongseob's hair has also been through the wringer since P1Harmony's debut. Last October, he colored his hair lilac and gradually went darker shades of purple until it was an electric violet hue. Most recently, though, his dye job has been a fiery orange. Next, Jongseob says he wants to try gray with an ash tone.

And this is just the beginning of P1Harmony's journey through the mystical world of K-pop beauty. This time next year, they're sure to have experimented with even bolder, brighter, and more eccentric looks. For now, you can check out a teaser for their brand-new music video for "Scared" of their latest EP, Disharmony: Break Out, below.

#p1harmony #ot6 #t:news #era:disharmony : break out #210421

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serendipitous-magic · 4 years

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Why Don’t We Read: An Impromptu Essay By Me Because I’m Mad

You know how everyone is always saying “oh, I was such a big reader when I was a kid but I just don’t read books anymore, I don’t know what happened”? And how old people are always griping about “This is called a BOOK, it has no commercials and no loading screens, hardy har har har snorf har”?

What if it’s because we just don’t have time anymore?

Think about it. More and more and more of our time on earth is eaten up at our jobs just trying to survive in an economy where “minimum wage” covers maybe 1/3 of bare minimum expenses. And not only that, but we’re expected to juggle more and more and more things every single day. Long, uninterrupted hours simply... do not exist anymore.

Every day you have to not only commute to work, and then work, and then commute back, plus all the little chores and mundanities that make up every day life, cooking food and then eating food and folding laundry and cleaning and putting gas in the car and don’t forget that dentist appointment and better call Mom and if you have a lawn you have to water it and weed it and you have to figure out if you have enough to pay rent this month and you still have to call FedEx about that missing package and now you have to cook again and now there’s more laundry and so many emails to respond to and it’s been months since you washed your sheets hasn’t it and

BUT THEN

You are expected to do and be and keep up with so many things.

You’re supposed to work out, or jog, or do yoga, and you’re supposed to meditate or do a breathing exercise daily because it’s good for you, and while you’re at it, make sure that your living space looks like a magazine or an Instagram post, you need X minutes of sunshine a day to be healthy and Y minutes of exercise and Z number of steps, and you need to be an environmentalist and make sure you’re doing your part to save the planet, and you need to be constantly self improving, you need to be learning a language on Duolingo and doing projects like crocheting or writing or antiquing, you have to be completely unproblematic and constantly monitor everything you do and say and post because one tiny little thing can have the internet jumping down your throat, you’re supposed to be a nutritionist and a fitness nut and an expert on everything you talk about because society has become so black and white that saying “I don’t know” or “I didn’t know that before” is looked on as unacceptable, you’re supposed to know what’s in your coffee and where it came from, you’re supposed to be a son a daughter a sibling a parent a student a mentor but also you’re supposed to be an interior designer, a small business owner (if you do any kind of Etsy or commission thing), a revolutionary (you’d better care about every overwhelming, exhausting injustice in the world and you’d better take action against it - see below), a curator (if only of your own blog), a rhetor (you’d better damn well know how to argue or you’re screwed in this society), a teacher (because school districts don’t teach anyone shit), a negotiation expert because it is car salesmen and insurance agencies’ job to fuck you over as hard as they possibly can.

Oh and don’t forget, you’re supposed to simplify your life and live in the moment. That one’s very important.

All of this is most likely while you’re already working anywhere from 20-40+ hours per week.

Keep up with your friends on Facebook, spend time to see what they’ve been up to, spend time posting your own pictures, catch up with your Instagram and Twitter and Tumblr feed, and for fuck’s sake you’d better make sure you’re reblogging all the right things about current social events, and you’d better also be caught up on the news, which all happens and changes so fast now that communication is instantaneous, keep up with all the politics, know every new outrage and be outraged about it, keep up with the politicians, the scientists begging us to listen, the latest news about the celebrity outed as a bigot, the latest shooting, the latest bombing, the latest protest, you’d better keep up with all of that and know what’s happening in the world, every minute of every day, and oh don’t worry about having to seek the news out, it comes to you. Every little ping on your phone is a new piece of news.

And you’d better care about it all. You’d better have enough energy in your body and mind to care about all the politics and all the injustice, and be rightly outraged every single day by the state of the world and every new horror, but you’d better also care about the dying planet and the burning rainforests, the oil spill, the glacial melt, you’d better be outraged about that too and you’d better be able to act on that outrage because those are all so important, and they are, but then you also have to care about insurance companies ruining people’s lives by making it impossible to afford healthcare, and you have to care about how agricultural companies have made cruel and byzantine webs of laws to drive farms out of business and make food, a basic necessity of life, a business, and one that’s designed not to feed and nurture people but to make money. And then while we’re on the topic of money you’d better care that the top 10 richest companies in the world create 70% of the world’s pollution, and you’d better care about how billionaires could fix most of the world’s biggest problems and they simply choose not to, and how Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos and everyone like them have an amount of money and resources that no single person could ever come close to earning, and how if that wealth was fairly redistributed and recirculated into the economy then maybe minimum wage would actually earn you a living and that’s not even to mention the other systems of brutality and cruelty and injustice in society, the racism, the homophobia, the ableism, the ageism, the sexism, the -ism -ism -ism on for infinity

So you’d better buy and use reusable straws and reusable coffee cups, you’d better cut down on your CO2 emissions, you’d better take shorter showers, you’d better recycle your plastics and spend time at the store thinking about how you can buy things with less plastic wrapping, while you’re also thinking about those big agriculture companies, oh and by the way your eggs? The chickens they came from live in cages, barely being allowed to move for their entire lives, and you’d better be outraged about that too. Where do you think that milk came from? What does that cow look like? How about those peas, were they picked by someone being paid $1 an hour? Every single item on the shelf has some deep horror woven into its backstory.

You’d better sign every petition you can and you’d better reblog the right things about taking action against injustice and you’d better be vocal about it, you’d better buy your soap and your clothes from small businesses instead of supporting the big evil ones that are much easier to access and much, much cheaper (because somebody suffered, somewhere along the line, to make it that cheap), you’d better remember to save your pasta water to water your plants with instead of wasting it, you’d better make your gifts by hand (if you have the time, which you don’t), and

And then there’s the beauty industry.

You cannot go a single day without seeing something about “lose weight fast!” or “The Skinny Girl Cookbook!” or “This Weird Thing Burns Belly Fat!”, and everyone you see on screen is twig-thin or muscled, and don’t forget that you’re supposed to take the time to love yourself and practice body positivity too, oh wait no it’s too late, now body neutrality is the right thing to say and think. Every part of your face and body has some malady and you can buy a cure! Spend this much to get rid of acne, spend this much to wax your legs, buy this for wrinkles and that for stretch marks, this cream smooths out your skin to look like an eggshell instead of human flesh, that cream “fixes” those bumps on your arms that apparently aren’t allowed to exist, a basic face of makeup is at least 5 products if not 10, there are countless tutorials on how to make yourself better, because you aren’t okay as you are and you never will be as long as somebody can sell you something to “fix” yourself.

Oh, and that’s more time spent, too. Take the time to shave, to moisturize, to do your 3-step skincare routine, to slather all different kinds of goops and goos on various parts of you, take the time to pluck your eyebrows and exfoliate your feet and

Everything wants your attention, every second of every day. Because attention is money. Netflix Hulu Youtube watch this ad look at this ad Twitter Disney+ Twitter again Facebook more ads look at this ad sign up for this subscription package watch this new season of this show, watch this new movie, watch this watch this watch this watch look at this this watch this watch this look at this look at this look at this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this look over here look at this look at this look over here watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this look at this

And then at the end of the day you still have to reserve time for the people in your life that are important to you, and leave time for those long conversations with your sister or time to bond with your kid or time to go on dates with your S.O.

And then you’re supposed to take time for yourself. Self care. Like social media is always saying to do. Take a bath, drink some tea, relax. If you have time.

And all of that. ALL of that. Most likely happens in the small slivers of time before and after your work day, or on the weekend in the small sliver of time before or after you fold that laundry and cook dinner and attend to your personal matters and maybe hang out with a friend if you’re lucky.

And I just described a fairly privileged, not-on-the-brink-of-poverty, not-in-and-out-of-the-hospital, not-constantly-targeted-by-violence-or-oppression life. I just described a cushy life.

Is it any fucking wonder that we all feel shattered? Like our time, even on free days with absolutely nothing scheduled, is made up of tiny pieces? Is it any wonder that it seems like nobody can sit down with a book anymore?

I’m so fucking tired.

#impromptu essay because I'm goddamn mad #long rant #sorry this blocks off your whole dash #but I don't think this one should have a read more line tbh #modern society #books #compassion fatigue #lifestyle #we need to change society but i'm afraid the inertia is too much #and the people in power who WANT it this way #are too powerful to beat #i should not be this fucking exhausted at 22

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altarflame · 4 years

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On Aging While Female

I’ve always felt pretty strongly that it’s ok to get old, that old women are beautiful in a really valid and striking way, blah blah blah. I still feel this way, but I am also 39 now, and I have some, uh, insights that I did not have yet when I was spouting this shit in my 20s.

For the record I don’t feel old. At all. I don’t feel like I look old, either. I have a lot of enthusiasm and energy and my sex drive takes up a massive lot of my consciousness for having so much else going on. I still get mistaken for my daughters’ sister pretty regularly, still have my patients assume I’m 10 years younger than I am fairly often. I’ve got a wide sense of possibility and of having a lot of life ahead of me, and I’ve got some perspective on 39 not even BEING old anyway, even if I 100% looked and felt it. I know too many hot, dynamic, interesting women in their 40s. They make it look good. They’re inspiring. I hope to do the same.

But ALSO. I didn’t use to get it, that like, YEAH OK being 80 and looking 80? Fine. Wondrous even. I am all the way here for the Iris Apfel, the Baddie Winkle, the Burning Lotus. Screw plastic surgery etc etc. ....but what about the transition? What about the starting to shift? This is the weird part, the struggle I didn’t really contemplate, the in between phase of like, appearing middle aged??? It involves things like, just looking tired to people. Someone assuming you’ve been sick when you haven’t. People thinking you look grumpy in a picture because of new lines that don’t go away. Realizing particular things that used to go away after being awake for awhile (like eye puffiness), are all-the-time things now. For instance, I’ve always thought long white/gray hair was gorgeous. Fuck, it’s a trend now for younger people to dye their hair that way. What I didn’t grasp was that one of my favorite things about how I look, historically, is the contrast between my very dark hair and my much lighter skin, and that with all the white clustering right at the very front, I lose a lot of that contrast. It kinda washes me out, at least comparatively. And the white hair is like, wiry wild, and goes all over the place of it’s own accord, which sounds great except that I’m trying to be a professional at least some of the time, now - one who doesn’t wear makeup or go to a salon and who still bites my nails and will only wear flats. So the fuzzy white hairs framing my forehead are not helping anything.

And so I started thinking, man, it would give me some polished cred, and it would bring that deep contrast back, to do something about this. Which is how I ended up slathering dark purple overtone on the front of my hair every few weeks - which works great by the way, all my white hairs turn dark purple and my still-dark hairs (which is the vast majority of my hairs) aren’t effected. It blends together invisibly indoors, but then the dyed hairs shine purple in sunlight. This has been going on for about a year now. It’s a good bridge between my personal aesthetics and my “part of a company” role, as a solution. The indian grandmother down the street from my last house? STUNNING with her brown skin and white hair. Truly. She had a Noxzema commercial kinda glamour that always struck me as she worked in her yard. It’s a different kind of contrast and one I can imagine rocking decades from now. Again, though, that is like.... finished? It’s not the in between place, of having 1/6 (or whatever) of dark hair be white, having them loose and randomized throughout and each bending away from the rest at odd angles. My (younger, did I mention) boyfriend is super into salt and pepper hair, he acted a little disappointed (in an encouraging, “it’s your hair” way) when I started the purple thing, and that’s something I appreciate but also I ACTUALLY RECOILED against the term “salt and pepper” and had never applied it to myself before it came out of his supportive mouth? God love him? That’s a Nana and Pa term, way back in my memory. Did I mention that my 33 year old boyfriend (not THAT much younger) works with a bunch of 19-22 year old women (....)? I’m secure enough that I’m objective, I talk about who’s hot with him, I feel like they seem young - to both of us - much more often than I feel like I seem old.

But it still makes me think about all of this more often than I would otherwise, which even in a neutral way, can turn sigh-worthy. Like his coworkers don’t have anything to do with me, but if he worked with people our ages (or older coworkers, like I mostly do) I wouldn’t be pondering all this so often because it just wouldn’t come up. Most of my friends are either exactly my age or 5-10 years older than me. And then there’s the one who’s in her 70s ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Like the other day one of his coworkers told him about a local 35 and under kink group, and luckily he automatically feels like he’d feel predatory being part of some fetish scene where he’s 33 and a bunch of the women are 18-25. But I was still double-taking inside myself for a moment, like excuse me, there are local kink groups I am too old to be a part of? Excuse the fuck out of me?

Note: I do not want to participate in local kink groups anyway.

It’s weirdly difficult to be comfortable with The Middle Part. Personally. That I can still look just like I did 7-10 years ago, IF I’ve been eating all the right things, getting plenty of sleep, it’s late in the day, and I’ve had sex recently; BUT that nobody at my job has ever seen that version of my face, because what I look like when I have to get up early and show up to print something is real goddamned different. And not what I want to be like, stuck with all the time, soon? But it is what it is. And it isn’t TERRIBLE, it’s just, thought provoking enough that I’m making this post. While glops of purple overtone sit on my head. FYI this stuff is great, it smells like mint and is deep conditioning, I really recommend it. It’s expensive if you have to wash your hair often, but I only wash my curls every few days anyway - and I’m really only using the overtone on the front - so it works out fine for me.

It’s strange to try to OWN a transitional time, to try to identify as a stage that signifies certain losses, and tends to make most people feel like they’re trying to “hold on” to various things. I’m pretty good about taking one day at a time. Being where and how I am. But I’m also gonna be, like, real sad when my titties drop. It’s almost a source of stress that they’re still amazing, because, you know, one of these times that my weight fluctuates they’re not gonna bounce back the same way. I assume. I have known a lot of moms who accepted and even promoted the normality of saggy post-nursing boobs, and that’s cool, but mine never sagged, and I’m real spoiled about it. It’s been a tepid surprise, that I think I look waaaaaay older in my business casual clothing, than I do in my personal clothing. It makes me not ever want to be seen out in work clothes unless I’m working. And that’s partially about struggling with “professional identity,” in general, but still.

Anyway - thus concludes my pondering, for today. Feel free to weigh in with messages or submissions if you feel so moved.

#personal #aging #feminism #aging while female #beauty

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emdythewriter · 5 years

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In my dreams | chapter three (elriel)

“Elain,” someone whispered against her ear causing her to curl further into her pillow. There was a chuckle and the next thing she knew the covers were being ripped from her bare body. “Come on my love it’s time to get up,” the voice whispered in her ear again. She could feel the heat of their body leaning over her frame but not touching her skin. “I made breakfast.”

“What did you make?” Elain asked in a sleepy voice as she rubbed her eyes and turned over to face Azriel who was still leaning over her.

“Get dressed and come find out,” he said with a smirk before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her bare chest. Before she could react or pull him back for an even longer and more heated kiss he was sauntering out of the room. Elain watched her boyfriend go before sighing and rolling out of bed.

She grabbed a new pair of underwear from her drawer and then threw on the shirt she had torn off Azriel’s body the night before. Her cheeks began to heat and arousal pooled between her legs as she recalled every dirty thing they did last night. After a couple months of dating and taking a step closer to finalizing her divorce they had decided to have sex.

It was the best sex Elain had ever had, built up over weeks of touches and foreplay and looks. It was everything she had hoped it would be in her little romantic heart. With a smile on her face she practically skipped out to the kitchen where Az was setting the table. Coming up behind him she kissed his cheek before heading to the record player.

“What are you choosing this morning?” Azriel asked as he wandered over to the record station they had set up in his living room. He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder as they began to sway.

“I’m thinking...this,” Elain answered holding the cover to a Billy Joel album and setting the needle in the right place to play ‘Piano Man’ which was her favorite.

“Of course,” Azriel chuckled, kissing the space that connected her shoulder and neck. “Let’s go eat,”

“Dance with me first,” she said latching onto his scarred hand and pulling him close to her. Elain wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as if to keep him in place. His hands went to her waist as they began to dance together slowly.

“Our food will get cold,” Azriel muttered as he leaned into her.

“I don’t care,” Elain whispered before kissing him. His mouth parted instantly for her and the next thing she knew he was laying her down on the carpet and peeling the close from her skin.

“Didn’t you say you wanted to eat first,” Elain said through a laugh as Azriel kissed a trail down her stomach.

“Fuck the food,” Azriel said as he looked at her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “I’m fucking you first.” She laughed again before he laid his mouth on her and had her for breakfast instead.

___

Elain woke up in a trance as the smell of bacon and pancakes wafted into her room. The door was cracked from the previous night before but as she sat up Cassian peaked in and opened it further. He smiled when he saw her awake, hefting Nathan up a little higher on his shoulder.

“Hey, Nesta made breakfast if your hungry,” he said. The little baby in his arms mumbling something as if he was trying to tell her the same thing.

“Good,” Elain said as she pushed the covers off her body. “I’m starving.” She followed them out of the room, making faces at the baby to get him to smile as they went. The aroma of food grew stronger as they got further and further down the hall until they were entering the open-concept kitchen and dining area.

“Morning,” Nesta said before kissing Cassian who had walked over to her. She took the baby from him, letting her husband finish getting breakfast ready as she strapped Nathan into the swinging chair. He looked up immediately at the rotating animals attached to a bar above him.

“It smells wonderful Nesta,” Elain said as she took the seat across from where her sister had chosen to sit at the table.

“Thank you, it’s a Sterling family recipe,” she said giving Cassian a look over her shoulder as he smiled in satisfaction.

“Us Sterlings know how to cook the best food,” Cassian said pointing a spoon covered in pancake batter at them. Nesta rolled her eyes with a smile before turning back to Elain.

“So did Azriel,” she said with a smile. She hadn’t meant to let it slip out but the dream that felt more like a memory was still fresh on her mind. When she looked up she found both her sister and brother-in-law looking at her, waiting for her to continue. “I had a dream about it last night. Az had made breakfast for me one morning at his place and it felt so real, I think it was a memory but I need to ask him to make sure.”

“It probably is,” Cassian said as he set food onto three plates for them, tossing dishes in the sink as he went. “He always liked cooking for you or anyone for that matter.”

“It’s true,” Nesta added looking from her husband to her sister. “We used to go over to his place all the time for Thanksgiving and Christmas because he loved cooking for us.”

“Used to? What happened?” Elain asked with a furrowed brow, confusion written all over her face. If the food had been so good what could’ve stopped them all from going over there.

“There was a falling out between Azriel and Rhys’s cousin, Mor,” Cassian said as he brought the plates full of food over the table and sat in the chair between the two women. “I’m pretty sure they still haven’t made up despite all Feyre’s nagging.” Cassian chuckled as he cut into his pancakes and slathered them in syrup.

“You used to always say he would talk to her when he was ready,” Nesta added as she started eating her bacon first. “You knew whatever it was holding him back when the rest of us didn’t, which meant you also knew talking to Mor would be on his own terms.”

“Now I just have more questions,” Elain said with a chuckle as she began to eat her pancakes. They all ate in silence and while Cassian cleaned up Nesta went to lay Nathan down in the living room for tummy time. Elain headed back to her room and decided to get dressed.

She found a baby pink sweater hanging in the closet and decided to wear that paired with some ripped blue jeans and brown leather ankle boots. When her hair was brushed and curled more tightly, light makeup was applied and her hygiene was properly maintained she headed back out to the living room.

Cassian was there now, sitting on the floor with Nesta and their son as highlights from a football game last night played on the TV. Elain came in and curled up on the armchair, paying more attention to the small family then the game.

“I’m going out to lunch with Feyre and some girlfriends later if you’d like to join,” Nesta said bringing Elain’s attention to her. “Maybe something else will click for you or they can answer some of your questions. How ever you want to view it, it beats staying in the house all day.”

“I’d love to go,” Elain answered, smiling softly at her sister. “Guess that leaves Cassian coped up with Nathan all day,” she tried to joke. Cassian smiled at over at her.

“Not the worst thing in the world,” he said before turning back and making a face at his son who laughed. “But me and the little guy are heading into the office, I’ve got some paperwork I need to go through before the couple of meetings on Monday.”

“What do you do?” Elain asked.

“I own a gym,” Cassian answered, shifting his position so he was looking at her but could still see Nathan if he needed to. Not that he did considering Nesta was watching the baby like a hawk. “Actually Azriel is a personal trainer there and Rhys co-owns the place with me, but he does more of the business stuff than me.”

“Yet you still have to be a part of meetings?” Elain asked, curiously.

“They like to see both owners together, see how we work with the other.”

“What did I do before the accident?” She found herself asking because she kind of hoped it was something as exciting as running a business.

“You and Nesta run an event planning business together,” Cassian said pointing at his wife. Her sister had picked up Nathan from the blanket and was whispering to him, totally lost in her son. It made Elain smile seeing how happy her older sister was. “She does more parties while you’re more on weddings and birthday parties, but you’ve got a nice little ranch set up. Feyre and Rhys live on the property actually since they like their privacy.”

“What does Feyre do?” Elain asked him. She figured she could keep going considering he was being so open with the answers.

“She hosts different camps and classes throughout the week when you guys have nothing planned.” Cassian answered just before a cell phone started ringing.

“Speak of the devil,” Nesta said before answering obviously having been listening to the two of them all along. “What’s up?...Alright...that’s fine...I’m bringing Elain by the way...I don’t know about that...you know what it’ll be fine...alright see you soon.”

“Everything alright?” Cassian asked his wife looking at her with concern. Elain loved that he looked at her sister like that, like only her and their son were the only things that mattered. Nesta deserved a love like that and Elain couldn’t be happier that she had found it.

“Feyre asked if it would be alright for Mor to join us,” Nesta said. Elain felt her breath halt remembering the conversation they had at breakfast only an hour ago.

“She’s back in town?” Cassian asked.

“Apparently and she’s staying with Rhys and Feyre.”

“Makes sense,” Cassian said as he rolled his knuckles, cracking a few of them. “Is she going?”

“I said it was fine,” Nesta said with a shrug. “I think she is.

___

A few hours later Nesta was pulling her SUV into the parking lot of a café looking diner. Elain got out, wrapping her hands tighter in her coat as they headed for the front door. The wind was the worst of the bitter cold weather today and she felt like she was adjusting to the cold all over again.

“They’re already inside,” Nesta said as they headed in and walked towards the back where a circular booth full of women resided. There was Feyre in the middle, Elain recognized her immediately. Next to her was a woman with pale skin and white hair, she looked like she was from a winter wonderland and her icy blue eyes only confirmed that. She was introduced as Vivianne and next to her was a woman with short brown hair, skin that was used to the sun and not the cold and glasses perched on her nose. She was introduced as Emerie.

“Nesta took a seat next to Amren, a pale and small woman with shoulder length black hair framing her face. On the other side of Amren was a blonde with brownish skin and brown eyes that could only be Mor. Elain to the seat next to Nesta, which just so happened to be across from Mor.

“How are you feeling Elain?” Vivianne asked starting the conversation. She looked concerned for her which made Elain think she must have been a close friend before the accident made her forget.

“I’m getting there,” she answered sweetly. “Remembering things here and there.”

“That’s good,” Vivianne said excitedly. It made Elain think that the woman didn’t know how to be sad but a closer look at her eyes revealed shadows that told a different story.

“I’m glad you could come today,” Emerie said from the seat next to her. Elain smiled at the woman gratefully.

“Me too,” she said. “What’s good here?” Both Emerie and Vivianne piped up trying to help her choose before the waitress or waiter came back around to take their orders. Elain smiled and laughed with them as they argued all the while feeling a glare from across the table, from Mor specifically. She wasn’t sure what had happened between her and the blonde but it didn’t seem like the other woman was over whatever it was, and Elain hoped it didn’t involve her boyfriend. She didn’t want to be having lunch with a jealous ex-girlfriend.

“How’s the demon?” Amren asked Nesta pulling Elain’s attention that way for the moment.

“Growing,” Nesta answered as she took a sip of her water. “Cassian is taking him to the gym today so he’s ready for the meetings Monday.”

“They’ve got to be important,” Feyre said cutting into the conversation thought neither Nesta nor Amren seemed to mind. “Rhys was actually nervous before he left.” It seemed that Feyre’s husband was never like that based off all the looks and comments that statement got.

“Cassian said it’s some big money for the franchise and could help them open their second location,” Nesta added.

“That’s a big deal alright,” Vivianne cut in forgetting her debate with Emerie for the time being.

“How old is your son now Nesta?” Mor asked bringing the conversation back to where it originally started. There was a bite in the blonde’s voice and her sister seemed to have noticed it too as Nesta sat straighter and held her head up.

“He’s three months,” Nesta answered calmly.

“And you’re letting Cassian watch him on his own?” Mor said and Elain knew her older sister’s blood was boiling over. It was one thing to ask why but a completely different thing to insinuate Cassian was a bad father, which seemed to be what the blonde was doing.

“Are you saying that my husband is a bad father?” Nesta asked with venom in her tone. Around the table Elain could see everyone getting ready for the fight that was sure to happen.

“No,” Mor said innocently, playing with the straw of her drink. “I’m just saying he might not be the best for a three month old baby.”

“A three month old baby that he just so happens to be the father of,” Amren said cutting in this time before Nesta was given the chance to shred the woman to pieces. Elain knew she would and could, after all Mor was insulting Nesta’s family which was something you never did to her face.

“How are you and Azriel doing Elain?” Emerie asked and though she knew the cute and geeky looking woman was only trying to change the subject she only seemed to make things worse.

“Oh yeah,” Mor said like she was just now remembering that Elain and Azriel were still technically together. “How is it going? Keeping him on a leash still?”

“A leash?” Elain said totally baffled. “Why would I be doing that?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve always been doing?” Mor said like it was something everyone should know about. “Or is that just when it comes to me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Elain said quietly starting to feel anxious about this whole situation.

“Mor,” Feyre said trying to get the other woman to calm down.

“No, she’s the reason Azriel refuses to talk to me, hell she’s probably the reason he stopped in the first place. She just spreads her legs open and shuts him right up!”

“Are you saying my sister is a slut?” Nesta asked with so much venom Elain was surprised they weren’t all falling over dead.

“No, I’m saying she’s a whore.”

“You bitch,” and if it weren’t for Amren and her surprising strength Nesta would’ve just committed a felony in that diner. And Elain didn’t feel like seeing her sister in a prison cell anytime soon.

Tag list:

@chemicha @sleeping-and-books @nightcourtstarlight @ifangirlninja @feyrecursebreaker @acotar-and-tog-for-life @eloeloeheheh @sezkins79 @tswaney17 @mis-lil-red @tonypetersteve @imheretooa @ttakeitbacknoww @musicalfae @emmejo26 @loysydark @court-of-fuck-me-daddy

(Let me know if you want to be tagged!)

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rulesofthebeneath · 5 years

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@lilmissperfectlyimperfect @oops-metoo @awkwardalbatros

Chapter 3

As much as Grace tried to forget about her weird feelings, the subject of them kept texting her.

Ajay: So, remember how we talked about theatre?

Grace felt like she should respond, but it was an early morning, the sun was shining through her window just right, and she didn’t want to bother to turn off her BiPap. None of this actually prevented her from responding, because she’d fallen asleep with her phone just out of reach on her bed, but she was grasping for excuses. Eventually, she caved.

Grace: Yeah?

It sounded a little hostile, and she wanted to take it back almost as soon as she’d sent it. To his credit, though, Ajay appeared to ignore it.

Ajay: This summer, I’m directing the musical Ragtime at Cedar Cove Community Theatre.

Grace: That’s nice, Ragtime is one of my favorite soundtracks.

Ajay: It’s only been a few rehearsals, but it’s been going very well so far. Skye’s my stage manager, and Rory plays Coalhouse, of course.

Grace: Naturally. They’ve got the baritone for it.

She wasn’t surprised at all. Back in middle school choir, she could always hear Rory’s booming, deep voice from the baritone section across the room. They had always had a talent for singing that Grace was envious of. She had been a good singer herself, but her flooded lungs made things much more difficult.

Ajay: I’m still trying to find someone to do lights, though. It wouldn’t be hard, because Skye’s already set the lights up in the right configurations.

Grace narrowed her eyes at her phone.

Grace: Are you trying to recruit me?

Ajay: Is it that obvious?

Grace: Why? I don’t have any experience.

Ajay: Skye can teach you everything you need to know, and of course I’ll let you know what I think about your lighting decisions.

Grace: Your criticism sounds terrifying.

Despite the sentiment in her text, she laughed a little. She allowed herself to fantasize, for a moment, working tech on Ragtime. She imagined herself up in the cramped booth, with Skye teaching her the controls and Ajay standing over her chair, supervising. She thought of having a headset and hearing his voice in her ear, telling her to correct one of the spotlights or change the color of the backlighting.

She thought about Skye’s small voice calling cues, and Rory’s strong one singing the songs that made her tear up just from the pure emotion. It seemed almost too good to be true, and she told Ajay so.

Grace: It just seems too good to be true.

Ajay: It can be grueling work. During tech week, we’ll be there all day and into the night. You’ll get frustrated, angry, bored to tears, but you’ll also never be happier in your entire life than you will be on opening night.

Grace: I still don’t understand why you want me, but sure. I’ll do it, but you have to promise to let me quit when I mess up too much.

Ajay: I have the utmost faith in you. And if you mess up, I’ll just blame it on Rory.

Grace: Fine, fine. When’s the next rehearsal?

Ajay: Today, noon to six for techs. I can pick you up around 11 and we can get food beforehand, if you’d like.

Dammit, there goes that feeling again, Grace thought as her heart warmed up without her permission.

Grace: Fine by me. See you then.

She checked the time, she had about three more hours until he’d be there. Begrudgingly, she unhooked her BiPap and set up her oxygen, making sure to hook one of the bigger tanks up to her cart. That one should last her all day. She left her room and ambled down the hall to where her family was eating breakfast. They all looked up at her in surprise.

“What?” she asked defensively. “I do stuff too, you know.”

“If by ‘stuff’ you mean ‘sit on the couch watching America’s Most Eligible’, then of course you do,” James said. Grace gave him the best stink eye she could muster.

“Want some breakfast?” her mom asked, quickly standing up and abandoning her own plate of perfectly-cooked fluffy pancakes.

“Sure,” she said, sitting down at the table across from James.

“What brings you out of your cave this early?” James asked. Grace shot him another death glare.

“I got roped into helping with a theatre production,” she said.

Her mom turned around from the pancakes sizzling on the stove. “Oh, that’s great, Gracie! You used to love theatre. I’m glad you’re getting involved again.”

“Don’t get used to it. I told the director he has free reign to make me leave when I inevitably ruin his show.”

“Hm, director. Is that by any chance the handsome gentleman who dropped you off last night?”

Grace ducked her head, her cheeks quickly warming. James saw her reaction, and quickly started teasing her.

“Yeah, I thought you were going to dinner with the Silvas,” he said. “What gives?”

“I was rude during support group, and I didn’t want to see Mrs. Silva’s disappointed face.”

“Grace,” her father admonished. “You shouldn’t be rude to her. She’s one of the few people who really knows what you’re going through.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. So anyways, I didn’t want to go with them but I had already told James not to pick me up, then Ajay asked if I needed a ride home.”

“Took you an awful long time to get home,” James mentioned. Grace glared at him.

“We got lunch and talked, normal stuff.”

“Oh, now that you say it, I think I know who this guy is. Honey,” he asked, appealing to his wife, “Isn’t that the kid who helped Mrs. Silva?”

“With the school play last year? Oh, yes, I think so! He’s a very talented director.”

“Can we stop talking about this?” Grace asked, making pleading eyes at her mother as she dropped a generous helping onto Grace’s plate.

The family begrudgingly agreed, and the talk changed to one of James’ upcoming summer league soccer games. Once Grace got up from the table to clear her plate, though, James followed.

“I didn’t even know you liked guys,” he said in a low tone, trying not to attract the attention of their parents.

Grace could only shrug. “I dunno,” she said. “I really haven’t had much time to like anyone. I might be misreading the feelings.”

“I don’t think so,” James said. “Looks like a classic schoolgirl crush to me.”

Grace hit him with the rag she was using to clean her dishes.

“Go away, I need to get ready. He’s picking me up at 11.”

James wiggled his eyebrows at her, but retreated before she could hit him again.

After she wrestled with her wig for an hour and freaked out about her outfit and makeup for another, she got a text from Ajay letting her know he was in her driveway.

Ajay: I’m here, but no rush. Just a bit early.

Grace quickly threw on an oversized knit cardigan and escaped her room, oxygen cart in tow. When she made it out into the kitchen, her entire family was staring at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” her father said, being the first one to recover. “It’s just… you haven’t gone out in a while.”

“Be careful,” her mom said. “And tell Ajay that he’s welcome here for dinner after rehearsal.”

Several retorts crossed through her minds, sharp words that she knew from muscle memory. She could see the way her family’s hesitant smiles would drip off their faces into the masks that she knew they only wore for her. Ordinarily, she would’ve let those words fly off her tongue, but…

She was just so tired. Tired of her own happiness always being a battle. There wasn’t much she could do about it, but she could let herself have this. A new friend, a new hobby, and maybe something that took a little weight off her parents’ shoulders.

So she ducked her head, letting a small smile cross her face, and nodded. Then she turned around and left the house.

Ajay was waiting for her in his stupid sports car right out front, and once he saw her, he looked confused but played it off masterfully.

“Nice hair,” he said once she’d gotten buckled in.

“Hmm, thanks,” she said, avoiding looking at him.

“Special occasion?”

“Pretending I’m someone I’m not,” she said.

“Fair enough,” he replied, backing out of the driveway and onto the main road. “I don’t think anyone at the theatre except for Rory and Skye even know that I only have one and a third legs. They might just think I have a bad knee or something, and that’s why I use the cane.”

“Little do they know,” Grace said. “Lucky you, that you can hide it.” She tugged self-consciously at her cannula. No matter if she wore a wig, if she slathered concealer under her eyes, the cannula meant she’d always look sick.

“Just tell them you have asthma,” Ajay said after a few seconds of thought. “And if they give you any grief, I’ll threaten to kick them out of the show.”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Grace argued.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t kick them out. I spent far too long choosing the perfect cast and crew for this show. But they don’t know that.”

Grace rolled her eyes.

Thirty minutes, two take-out burgers, and a couple miles later, the two sat inside Ajay’s car in the parking lot of Cedar Cove Community Theatre. Ajay’s feet were kicked up on the dash as he finished off his fries, but Grace felt a little too self-conscious in the fancy car to do something like that.

“So Skye will be a better person to tell you what to do, but essentially you’ll be sitting in the house with her and I. I have your predecessor’s notebook, he made some notes on the first few scenes we blocked before he left, and I’ll give that to you once we go in. You’ll make notes on lighting that might look good, and she and I will both give you some pointers there.”

“And if I mess up?”

“We’ll fix it.”

Grace narrowed her eyes. “It seems like you guys can handle this on your own. Why do you want me there?”

It was a challenge, and they both sensed it. Ajay looked like he wanted to say something, but something in Grace’s expression must have changed his mind, because he just shrugged and looked away.

“We need someone to operate the light board, at the very least.”

Grace felt disappointment and relief all at once. As much as his answer had made her heart sink, she had been more scared to hear his actual reasoning.

“I think I can manage that,” she said, barbs returning to her tone. Pushing him away was natural territory, and so was sitting on Skye’s other side when rehearsal started.

Ajay had been right-- there really wasn’t much to do. Her predecessor had already given her a sense of how to draw out the blocking diagrams, and Skye told her that was all she really could do during blocking rehearsals, since Ajay was so prone to changing things around. Occasionally, one or the other of them would whisper a suggestion for a spotlight or a fade out to her, and she’d dutifully scribble it down. It wasn’t difficult work, but she tackled it with more focus than she’d tackled anything in months.

The scenes crawled by, Ajay criticizing more details than Grace could even notice. He’d adjust the angle Rory was facing the audience with, and would tweak it for five full minutes until he was happy. Skye wrote everything down until her copy of the script had more eraser shavings on it than actual words.

Watching them work was intoxicating for Grace. They were like a well-oiled machine, catching every tiny thing wrong with a hand gesture or a prop placement and shifting it until everything just fit. There was no other way to describe it. On first run through the scene would be good, but something was always missing. Ajay’s job, Grace realized, was to find that thing. Skye’s was to record it for posterity. And they were good at it.

By the time he finally called for a fifteen minute break, Grace was overwhelmed. While Ajay patrolled the theater, possibly in search of that missing something, Skye noticed Grace’s internal struggle.

“Want to go somewhere quiet?” she asked.

Grace nodded quickly, and stood up as fast as she could without passing out.

Skye’s lips curled into a small, nearly invisible smile, and then she led the way to the tech loft.

It was on top of a rather nasty set of stairs, but with Skye close behind and carrying Grace’s tank, it was bearable. Once they got to the loft, though, Grace sat heavily in the closest chair and caught her breath. Skye sat carefully across from her, looking out onto the stage.

“This is the booth,” she said. “It’s where we’ll be during performances. You, me, and the sound guy.”

Grace cringed at the thought of having to climb those stairs every night. Once again, she cursed her stupid lungs. Why couldn’t they just work?

“How did you… get started… here?” Grace choked out.

Skye ignored the coughing, which Grace was grateful for.

“Needed to get out of the house,” she said. “I’m head tech at Berry, so it’s something I’m good at already. I danced some before I got sick, but after I went into remission I was too weak to do that, so I started poking around in the tech booth, and here we are.”

“You had leukemia, right?”

Skye nodded once. “ALL,” she said. “Pretty much the easiest cancer to cure.”

“Chemo can’t have been fun, though. Especially being young like you were.”

“Eleven when I was diagnosed,” Skye admitted, lowering her eyes. “It wasn’t. Less so when my parents decided to use me as a guilt weapon against their competitors.”

Grace furrowed her brows. “What?”

“Nothing,” Skye said, her face blank again. Grace recognized the trick; she also knew how to turn her features into a mask at the slightest provocation. Skye had let something slip that she’d rather keep private. “Just frustrated. Don’t worry about it.”

Grace let it go with a nod, and Skye turned back to the light board, pulling the dust cover off.

“This is your station. Basically, this is how you’ll get the right lights turned on and off.”

Skye held out a thick book for Grace to take. “The manual,” she explained. “It’ll be easier if you’re familiar with it.”

“Well, I don’t have much else to do,” Grace muttered under her breath. Skye heard her, and she arched a single thin eyebrow. Grace swore she saw the hint of a smile on her dark lips. That ghost of a smile filled her with a sense of belonging, a sense of home there in the foreign booth. She never wanted it to stop.

Grace and Skye talked over the board and lighting operations, soft voices filling the small booth, until Skye looked over at the clock.

“Time to go back,” she said. Grace sighed.

“It’s too overwhelming down there. Can’t I just stay up here with you?”

Skye seemed to soften a little bit.

“I wish,” she said. “But we have a lot of work to do.”

Grace rolled her eyes, but took the hand that Skye offered her to help her up. Before Skye turned fully around, though, she bit her lip and looked directly at Grace.

Since the other girl was still holding her hand, the effect was a little overwhelming. Grace resisted the urge to step back, and instead stared right back into Skye’s blue eyes.

“I know this is all kind of intense,” Skye said softly. “But it really helped me. Maybe it’ll help you, too.”

Help me? I don’t need help, Grace immediately wanted to fire back, but she closed her mouth just in time to keep the words from escaping.

Skye seemed to recognize her mistake, but Grace shrugged both the words and the person who’d said them off with a tight nod, She carried her own oxygen down the stairs, even though it took her twice as long as if she’d accepted help.

It seemed like everything she did these days was to prove a point.

As soon as Grace made that realization, fatigue washed over her. It wasn’t the ordinary, sick-person fatigue, but a social fatigue. She didn’t like having to keep these walls up all the time.

Rehearsal continued at a turtle-like pace, but Grace found the entire process a little mesmerizing. It was like watching a tower being built, starting with the foundation.

Hours later, the clock struck six and Skye wrapped up rehearsal, reminding the actors about when to be off book.

“...And I’ll send out an email with notes tonight,” she concluded. With that, everyone stood up. Ajay stretched out and pulled his blazer back on; he’d shed it sometime during a big group scene.

“Need a ride home?” he asked Grace.

“Yup,” she replied, shaking her legs out before standing up. “Oh, and before I forget, my parents invited you to dinner.”

Ajay’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Grace replied, trying not to look at him. His smile inexplicably made her want to smile too.

“That’s great. I was dreading going back home and facing my mom’s boyfriend. I’d love to come.”

“Good, they’ll be happy,” Grace said noncommittally. The wave of fatigue washed over her again. It was taking effort to appear bored, to pretend like she was uninterested in the world. Even her face muscles just wanted to let loose and smile back, and her brain was a little curious about how Ajay would react. But she suppressed it. No sense getting entangled in whatever this was.

Twenty minutes later, the two were walking up the front path to Grace’s house. They both took their shoes off on the porch before heading inside.

Grace’s mom caught sight of them immediately and abandoned her cooking, wiping her hands on an apron before walking up to them. She and Ajay shook hands.

“You must be Ajay,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Lee,” Ajay said, a polite smile on his face. “You have a lovely home, and the cooking smells wonderful.”

Grace rolled her eyes, but her mom seemed pleased.

“You’re very kind. And call me Rita, please. I have to go back to cooking, but Grace will show you around.”

“I will?” Grace asked, half-joking.

“Unless you want to cook,” she said. “Your father was called for dinner service, so it’s just the four of us tonight.”

Grace said nothing as guilt grew in her heart. She knew full well the only reason he worked such long, hard hours was to pay her medical bills. He hated missing family dinner, and here he was missing it again because of her.

Her mom had gone back to cooking, but Ajay had noticed the darkness growing behind her eyes.

“Come on,” he said, “You’re supposed to be showing me around.”

Snapped out of her guilt spiral, Grace nodded and stepped into the living room.

“Living room, kitchen, dining room, bathroom,” she said in a monotone voice, pointing to each room as they went. “My parents’ room and James’ room are both upstairs, but mine’s down here because stairs are kind of hard for me.”

“Understandable,” Ajay said. “Can I see it?”

“My room?”

“Yes. I think one can tell a lot about someone from their room.”

“You’re going to psychoanalyze my bedroom. Why did I invite you over?”

He laughed, and she rolled her eyes even though his laugh made her want to giggle. It definitely made her blush.

“Alright, then,” she mumbled, and led the way to her room.

It wasn’t much, a small but bright room with pink paint on the walls and her bed nestled into the corner. She hadn’t really had much cause or means to decorate the walls, but the floor and bed were covered in books, and her laptop laid open on the bed.

“Interesting,” Ajay said, looking around the small room.

“Interesting?”

“It kind of looks like mine, honestly,” he said. “Save for the paint. Mine’s green. And my books are a little more organized than yours.”

“So what are you learning about me from that? That I’m clumsy and messy?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning against her door frame, “but also that you’re a big nerd.”

“Nerd?” she asked, nearly laughing from surprise. “How do you figure that?”

“The sheer number of books is a dead giveaway,” he said, and then he crossed over to her bed before she could stop him and picked up a thick book with a blue cover. “And does any non-nerd read about advanced differential equations for fun?”

Grace’s cheeks turned red, and she moved to sit down in her desk chair because she was getting a little tired from standing for so long.

“You got me there. I’m a closeted math nerd.”

“I can tell,” Ajay remarked, flipping through the book. “How can you stand this stuff? I barely passed trig.”

“I don’t know, I just like it. Maybe I have a brain for math.”

“You and my mother,” he said. “She’s a math and physics professor at the community college.”

“I think I would’ve gone into physics,” Grace said. “You know, if I’d stayed in school and stuff.”

“Would’ve? There’s no reason you can’t still.”

“No college is going to accept a high school dropout, Ajay.”

Ajay furrowed his eyebrows. “You can get your GED, though,” he said. “It’s just a test. I’ll help you study for it, but if you can understand this stuff then you’re definitely smart enough to pass.”

“I don’t know.” Grace didn’t want to plan too much for the future. Especially because she most likely didn’t have one. “Maybe,” she said, just to get him to stop talking about it.

He put the book back down on her bed. Just as he opened his mouth to say something, his expression curiously soft, a knock at the door frame startled them both.

James stood there, a shit-eating grin on his face and mischief in his eyes.

“James!” Grace said, surprised. “I didn’t even know you were home.”

“I wasn’t until now. Hi, Ajay. Nice to officially meet you.”

Ajay nodded. “Yes, good to meet you. How’s your summer been?”

“Oh, it’s been fine,” James said. “Mostly summer league baseball. But Grace makes me marathon America’s Most Eligible with her when I have free time.”

“You like AME?” Ajay asked incredulously as Grace shot James a death glare.

“She loves it,” James said before Grace could say anything to defend herself. “She’ll watch entire seasons in one sitting, it’s actually impressive.”

“Shut up!” Grace managed, shoving James with the small amount of strength she had. Ajay just laughed.

“You continue to surprise me, Grace.”

“Anyways, Mom says dinner’s ready,” James said, then disappeared from the door frame.

“We’d better go,” Grace said, “or else he’ll eat everything and leave nothing for us.”

Ajay extended a hand to help Grace up.

“Who’s your favorite? On AME?”

Grace stared at him.

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “We all have our vices, Grace.”

Dinner went by uneventfully, Grace’s mom somehow knowing which questions to steer clear of. After the sun finally set, Grace walked Ajay out to his car.

“Thank your mother for dinner for me,” he said.

“You already thanked her five times, but I’ll tell her again.”

“It never hurts to be too polite. It’s important that I impress your parents.”

That statement confused Grace. “Wait, why?”

“Oh, never mind,” Ajay said, brushing the question off. Grace let it go, but she really wanted to know why he’d wanted her parents to like him. So she just squinted at him.

“I should go,” he said, patting the top of his car absent-mindedly.

“Thanks for coming over,” Grace said. “It was nice.”

Ajay’s smile reemerged, lighting up the dusk. “It was. See you later?”

“Yeah,” she replied. “Monday, right?”

He nodded. “Goodbye, Grace.”

With that, he got into his car. Grace almost felt disappointed as he drove off, but she couldn’t understand quite why.

#Ajay Bhandari #ajay x mc #hssca #High School Story #high school story fanfic #high school story class act #choices fanfiction #choices stories you play #playchoices #gloria writes #ria writes #my fanfic #moof

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southeastasianists · 5 years

Link

“Penatlah [I’m tired].”

Such is the sentiment expressed by renowned Singaporean playwright Alfian Sa’at in response to measures taken by the authorities’ against rising YouTube sibling duo Preeti Nair and Subhas Nair for their rap video on an E-Pay advertisement, which was made as a part of NETS’ campaign to encourage consumers to make electronic payments.

The controversial advertisement, which has since been modified to remove the offending material, portrayed Mediacorp actor and DJ Dennis Chew as multiple “characters” of different races in Singapore, such as a Malay woman in a headscarf and an Indian man with darkened skin, a Chinese woman in a pink jacket and a Chinese man with a moustache in the advertisement.

The advertisement drew flak from many Singaporeans, with parallels being drawn to “brownface” — the racist act of darkening fair skin for entertainment purposes at the expense of people of “brown” races such as Indians and Malays, regardless whether or not it is intentional. Many critics have also pointed out why actual Malay and Indian actors or models were not hired to portray individuals of their respective races instead.

In a Facebook post on Wed (31 Jul), Mr Alfian explained why the E-Pay advertisement is an example of how “brownface” is damaging to racial minorities such as Indians and Malays in Singapore, stating that the act “reduces an entire race to physical features that are supposed to be reproducible through makeup, while at the same time ridiculing those features”.

“[W]hen you get a Chinese person to do racial drag, you’re effectively saying that being Chinese in Singapore is the standard, and all other races are deviations from the standard.

“In one of the photos, Dennis Chew tries to play an Indian man called Muthusamy. His skin is darkened. He wears an oily-looking wig with curls. He has narrow eyes, so he widens them, and the effect is that he looks deranged,” he elaborated, adding that there is “nothing innocent” about attempting to portray an Indian man in such a manner.

“I see so many of my Malay friends say the same thing: ‘penatlah‘. It means we’re tired. We’re exhausted. Why are we facing this again and again? How come when we say that your amusement is the cause of our pain, we get told that your amusement is more important than our pain? What is it about brownfacing that people don’t get? Why is it that I see some people even asking ‘is it you’re ashamed of your skin colour and don’t want us to draw attention to it?’

“Why can I not let empathy just do this seemingly ceaseless work that minorities have to do in Singapore? What failure of imagination must there be to not be able to sense what it would be like if done to you–if someone squinted to make slit eyes, slathered on yellowish foundation, wore a China-doll wig to represent you?” Mr Alfian questioned.

Racists “get a wrist slap”; anti-racists “have the instruments of the state used against them”: Singaporean playwright Alfian Sa’at

Mr Alfian also expressed his exasperation at how in Singapore, “the ones perpetuating racism get a wrist slap”, while “the ones who call out acts of racism have the instruments of the state used against them” via “the weaponisation of police reports”.

“I’m really tired of witnessing this ugly dysfunction where a majority keeps on insisting that they should get to define what is funny, and what is offensive, and that their views should become the norm. Of course majoritarianism exists in Singapore but this particular form is one of the most wicked.

“Because what is ‘funny’, or ‘scary’, are minorities. We become the figure of fun, the brunt of jokes, the bogeymen, the ‘don’t be like that person’, the low-IQ long-drawl Malay accent, the head-bobbing Indian accent, the image of the drug addict, the drunkard, the prata-man President, the fake-Malay President, Ahmad the chauffeur, Aminah the cleaner, Apunehneh the whoever he or she is,” he lamented.

He also criticised politicians of minority races, who, in his view, appear eager to “perform the overpolicing of their own, as if to demonstrate to the majority that they’re still committed to majoritarian interests”.

Mr Alfian added that such instances of racism against minorities in Singapore is often glossed over and brushed aside by the oft-repeated narrative of multiracial harmony upheld by the government and the Chinese majority, which is “built on the eternal forbearance of minorities” who are forced to tolerate institutional and even “casual” racism levelled against them.

“Who was it who said that we don’t really have racial harmony in Singapore, what we have is racist harmony? Because that harmony is built on the eternal forbearance of minorities. To be able to take a joke, to laugh at ourselves, to inspect our flaws obsessively and self-criticise, because minorities are obliged to aim for self-improvement rather than to demand social justice. Tell the other side to take a joke and the police are summoned,” he said.

“Denial, defensiveness and hostility shape most conversations on racism. Messengers bearing a less than rosy picture are disbelieved and terrorised. If something is flagged as racist, it is not that racist thing that will earn censure. The flag however, will be torn to shreds,” he concluded.

#Southeast Asia #Singapore #Alfian Sa'at #Race #Racism

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web-of-fics · 5 years

Text

Illuminated

Requested by: anon (Can you do one where peter gets insanely jealous and it pushes him to confess his feelings pretty please?)

Starring: Peter Parker x reader, Flash

Fandom: MCU

Warnings: angst ➡️ fluff

Summary: After reader helps Flash with an assignment, Peter can’t help but reveal his true feelings.

Words: 2158

✎_____________________________________________________________________

“Hey, so something came up that I have to go take care of really quick but then we can study right afterwards,” Peter said, sidling up to your locker at the end of the day.

You lifted your textbooks and slammed your locker shut. You turned to him.

“I’m so sorry Peter,” you sighed, “I forgot to tell you but I promised Flash I’d help him with his photography assignment after school.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “yeah, that-that’s fine. That’s okay.”

You never knew anyone to have a more readable face than Peter Parker, and you were reminded of this fact as his expression deflated.

“Is... is it for the lighting assignment?” he asked.

“Um, yeah,” you said, remembering then that Peter had already taken that class. “I guess he’ll have to use different kinds of flash for it won’t he?” you added, hoping your lame joke might lighten Peter’s spirits. You hated seeing your friend lose his enthusiasm. And you despised being the one who caused that.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” you said quickly, trying to get rid of the look on his face. “You can still come over after dinner so we can study. I’ll text you when I’m headed home.”

He nodded glumly. “Yeah, that... that sounds good. I’ll see you later, y/n. H-have fun with Flash,” he said as he shouldered his backpack and walked away.

You zipped your own bag shut just as Flash sauntered up to the other side of your locker.

“Sup y/n,” he said, “Parker bothering you?”

“Nope,” you said curtly, “he just reminded me about a test tomorrow actually, so I don’t have a lot of time to help you with this.”

“All right,” he said, swinging his car keys from his finger, “then let’s get outta here.”

- - - - - -

Instead of going to a vacant park or someone’s house to do the project like most of your classmates, Flash drove you both to the middle of the city, where you wandered around until you found the perfect location. It took the form of a narrow, brick-walled alley situated between a restaurant and a bar. The opening wasn’t blocked by dumpsters and it didn’t possess questionable-smelling puddles like the majority of New York alleyways. It was even brightly lit by a string of yellow lights that zigzagged along an overhanging outdoor patio that extended from the second floor of the restaurant. A group of people stood smoking at the alleyway’s mouth, but maneuvered far enough down the narrow stretch until you were out of earshot of anyone milling about outside.

Flash directed you about where to stand and how to pose as he snapped away with a large Nikon. For the most part, you obeyed--only objecting when he suggested poses that would surely get you both kicked out of school. Even though he was kidding, your distaste for him grew stronger and you wondered why you hadn’t just refused him to begin with. Sometimes you really hated being such a people-pleaser, but at the same time you couldn’t help it.

“Make sure you send these to me,” you said as Flash took a break to look through all the photos he just took.

He nodded, zooming in and out of pictures as he debated whether he needed to retake any of them.

A yell pierced through the chatter of outdoor bar patrons, causing you both to look up. Bodies had lined the sidewalk shoulder-to-shoulder, surrounding what you could only assume was a bar fight.

Flash ran up to the onlookers, eagerly joining the crowd. Reluctantly, you followed. You weren’t sure who started the fight, but at that moment you recognized the person who was about to end it as he swooped down from thin air, clad in a red-and-blue jumpsuit.

Spider-Man.

He succeeded in breaking up the fight, but had trouble convincing the crowd to disperse. Once the police showed up a few moments later, however, suddenly everyone was eager to vacate the streets.

“Hey,” Spider-Man said in a gruff voice, pointing directly at you, “you better get home before you end up in the wrong place at the wrong time again, got that?”

“Yes sir,” you said. Grateful for such a solid excuse, you wished Flash luck on the rest of his project and told him you’d see him later.

You laughed to yourself as you escaped into the streets toward your apartment.

- - - - - -

It was dark out by the time you returned home. You immediately went to scrub your makeup off in the bathroom, slathering your face with cleanser and water before patting it dry on a yellow towel.

You collapsed facedown on your couch and pulled a blanket over your head, wishing sleep would consume you so you wouldn’t have to do anything else that night. You wondered if other people felt this drained after hanging out with someone like Flash for an extended period of time.

The thought that you could have spent that time with Peter crossed your mind.

Peter.

You rolled onto your side and dug your phone out from where it was wedged in your pocket. Your eyes adjusted to the screen and you saw you had several texts and a missed call, all from Peter. Was everything okay? You skimmed his messages. It seemed like was just checking up on you. Six different times. Seven if you count the missed call. You tapped his picture.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, y/n!” he said breathlessly.

“Hi Peter,” you replied, “sorry I didn’t see your messages until now. I haven’t done any studying yet if you still wanted to come over. I could use the help.” And your company, you thought.

“Yeah, I’m actually in the neighborhood so I’ll be there in a few seconds,” Peter said and disconnected. A loud thud was followed shortly by a knock at your door.

You yelled to him that it was unlocked.

“Y/n?” he called as he entered the room.

You stuck your free hand in the air so he could see you. He walked over and sat at the opposite end of the couch.

“Are you okay?” he said.

You sat up, surprised to see the level of concern etched on his face. You folded your legs underneath you.

“Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” you said. You tried to read his face. “Why are you so sweaty?” you added.

Automatically, he drew a hand to his face.

“Oh, uh, I went for a run.”

"Did you run all the way here?” you teased.

“Yeah,” he said. “The weather is good. For it. Running.”

“Mmm,” you mused. Your phone buzzed. You saw that Flash was sending you pictures from tonight.

“No backpack,” you said to Peter as you fired off a quick thank-you text, “how are you going to study without the textbook?” you pointed out.

A crease had formed between his brows and he was at a loss for words.

You laughed, “relax! I have mine. I’m just teasing you. I’m jealous actually. I wish I could run all the way here from Queens.”

He laughed nervously but his brows remained furrowed.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, suddenly aware he hadn’t smiled since setting foot in your apartment, which was entirely unlike the bubbly Peter you knew.

He shrugged.

“I-yeah, maybe. Kind of. Okay, yeah,” he decided.

“What is it?” you said, turning your full attention onto him.

He took a deep breath.

Your phone buzzed again. Flash’s face lit up the screen.

“Do you need to take that?” Peter said, frowning now.

You looked between your phone and his expression.

“No,” you said, declining the phone call and chucking your phone clear across the room where it bounced safely into a cushioned chair.

Peter didn’t even crack a smile.

“Peter, talk to me!”

Instead, he got up as if he was deciding whether to walk away. He shook his head.

“Sorry y/n, I shouldn’t have come here.”

“What?”

“I should be getting home. It’s getting late.”

“Peter, it’s eight o’clock.”

“Yeah but,” he stopped meeting your eyes, “I’m interrupting you and Flash. I get it. I’ll head home.”

What on earth was he talking about? You stood and followed him, attempting to force him to meet your eyes again.

“Interrupting us how? He’s not even here!”

Peter looked at your phone, but he might as well have held it up in front of you, pointed at it, and yelled: “Flash is clearly into you! Who wouldn’t be? I’m sure you can’t wait for me to leave so you can call him back and stay up all night on the phone with him.”

“Peter, listen to me,” you said, understanding his thought process for the first time. His jaw was tense and he continued to look past you instead of at you. “I don’t like Flash,” you said. “Look at me!”

He did.

“I don’t like him,” you repeated, shaking your head now, “actually, I like him even less than I did before, which wasn’t much to begin with.”

“Then why did you want to hang out with him?” Peter said quietly, looking at his feet.

“I don’t know!” you exploded. “Because I’m a nice person! He asked me during class and saying ‘no’ wasn’t really an option with everyone looking at me.”

“Sure it was,” Peter said at a volume barely above a whisper.

“Now it is,” you agreed, “because I would rather remove my own face than spend another minute with him. Or talking about him,” you huffed. “Can you just be normal so we can go study please? I seriously haven’t looked at my notes since I wrote them.”

“Then why is he still texting and calling you?” Peter said.

You sighed and in an exaggerated motion, unlocked you phone and swiped through the pictures he sent of you.

“I just asked him to send me the pictures he took of me. I figured I might as well get something out of the whole deal, so I was going to upload them to my profiles. Happy?” you snapped as he stared at the screen.

Peter’s face softened.

“What?” you asked again, exasperated.

“I just-” he paused. “Those pictures turned out really well,” he said.

“Thanks,” you grumbled, pocketing your phone and unloading your backpack on the coffee table. “If you don’t want to help me study, that’s fine, but please just go home instead of arguing with me any more about this, okay?” you said.

His face melted. “No, y/n I didn’t mean to-I’m really sorry. I was just really worried for you. That’s all. I don’t want to argue about anything.”

“Great,” you said, dropping back down onto the couch.

Peter sat carefully next to you.

“I just-”

“What, Peter?” you said, preparing to kick him out.

“I really like you y/n.”

“I like you too.”

“No, I mean that I... have feelings for you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he looked at you sideways. “I’m sorry that it came out mean but I really really hate Flash and I really really like you, so.”

You blinked.

“What a coincidence. I hate him too. You know, the whole time I was helping him I kept thinking about how much more fun I would’ve had just sitting here and studying with you.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Peter turned to your notes, thinking you were hinting at moving the conversation along in favor of exam preparation.

“No,” you turned his chin back to face you. “I’m trying to tell you that I have feelings for you too, Peter Parker.”

“Oh,” he breathed.

You interrupted him with a quick kiss, pulling back to see his face turn beet-red.

That reminded you of something.

“Oh!” you exclaim. “You’ll never guess who I saw tonight!”

“Who?” Peter said distractedly.

“Spider-Man,” you said with awe. “This fight broke out on the street nearby and he appeared out of nowhere and broke it up. Then he turned to me and he was like ‘you better get home before this happens again’ or something. So I guess I really have him to thank for letting me escape you-know-who when I did,” you said lightly.

Peter finally smiled.

“That’s awesome. He sounds pretty intuitive.”

You laughed, “yes, and very unlike someone else I know,” you poked him teasingly.

His smile didn’t falter.

“C-can you show me those pictures again?” he asked shyly.

You tapped your lips. “Tell you what,” you said, opening a textbook with a thump. “I’ll text you one for every chapter we make it through tonight. How’s that?”

“Okay,” he said with a grin.

“And if I get an A-plus tomorrow I might even ask you out,” you added coyly.

Peter immediately picked up the textbook and began asking the review questions as you rattled off the answers.

- - - - - -

That night, you both slept soundly. You aced your exam the next day.

_______________________________________________________________________

Just one more before bed? Click here for a masterlist of my fics!

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softeningthesound · 6 years

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Self care recommendations

1. Crystal deodorant

Crystal deodorant is basically a block of salt that you wet, rub onto your underarms, and let dry, and during the day, it kills bacteria that makes your pits smell. You can buy this in some pharmacies and shops, and you can also find it online. I was really skeptical about this when I bought it; I was in a natural products store in St. John's, Newfoundland and bought this, kind of wondering what it is. I used it a few times and it didn't seem to work all the time, but I've been using it almost every day recently because I figured out how/when to use it. Basically, your underarms need to be completely clean and odourless. I found that even strong-smelling soaps affect how the crystal deodorant works. I use St. Ives body wash a lot, and that product doesn't interfere with the efficiency of the deodorant. Anyway, so you need to start with clean pits. You need to wet the stone some way. I obviously don't have a sink in my bedroom where I keep my deodorant, so I put water in a spray bottle and spray the top of the deodorant. I rub it onto my underarms for 20 seconds each, and then let it mostly dry before I put my shirt on. Using this "method", after an entire day, my underarms smell like nothing. They smell like skin, basically. It's really strange how it works, and I don't completely understand it, but it's a natural deodorant (unscented, no aluminum, etc) that actually works in a weird, surprising way once you learn how to use it. To make sure I can use it two days in a row (because I don't shower every day), sometimes I apply it at night to make sure that the next morning, I still smell like nothing. So basically, it's just a block of mineral salts, it's unscented, doesn't leave any white marks (it doesn't look like you've put anything on your armpits), and you smell like absolutely nothing at the end of the day, so it's probably great to use with perfume because there are no interfering scents. Even after gym class, I don't smell like much. It's a really weird product that... actually does what it says it does. A lot of deodorants say that they work for 24 or 48 hours but they don't because all your deodorant rubs off anyway, but crystal deodorant actually works for an entire day. It's a natural deodorant, and sometimes there's a weird transition between "chemical" and natural deodorants but I use normal deodorant too sometimes, and the crystal one still works. It'll probably last you more than a year since most of them weigh more than 100 g and it's literally a compact block of salt. Also, be careful not to drop them on a hard floor because it will break (the first one I bought, I dropped on a hotel bathroom floor and it shattered into unusable pieces, so I had to get a new one whoops).

Keep a bottle of body oil in the shower. After you've washed everything, slather a bunch onto your arms and legs and anywhere else you need moisture. In the shower, the oil seems to absorb better, and it doesn't actually feel oily or slimey for some reason. You're already moisturized when you get out of the shower and the towel doesn't actually pick up a lot of oil because your skin has already kind of absorbed it. This saves you time because it's a lot quicker in the shower, and you feel soft but not oily afterward. (Lotion and body oil is so fucking annoying to put on dry skin anyway, save yourself the hassle)

2. Put body oil on in the shower

I wash my face in the shower or over the sink. I recently bought a toner even though I don't wear makeup (a toner basically cleans up any extra makeup or residue or whatever that a cleanser doesn't clean out of your face), so I use that, and also a serum (because I like feeling fancy and I have an employee discount at my pharmacy haha), and then moisturize! You can skip the toner and serum, it's not that important. I have a Pond's cream, and I've had it for months and haven't even used a quarter of it, and it cost me like 8$CAD. Basically, just keep your face moisturized, and your skin will be softer.

4. Expensive skincare products are not necessary

3. Moisturize your face!

You don't need to spend a lot of money to have a skincare routine. Daily cleanser and moisturizing cream. That's it, that's all. The basics are fine, and honestly my tonic and serums haven't done much for me so far, so you really don't need them.

5. Keeps those hands soft

I have a Glysomed hand cream that I put on every night when I'm done being on my phone and go to bed. It feels a little greasy because there's glycerin in it, but it smells good (like tea, and... fresh things) and keeps my hands soft until the morning. During the day, my hands aren't as susceptible to scratches. So keep a small hand cream in your room to apply to your hands and wrists, it should be the last thing you do in your day.

6. Lip balm, lip balm, lip balm

Use oil or a lip balm to have moisturized lips (if my lips are dry I feel like dying basically).

7. Cleaning out your closet

Every few months, go through all your clothes, bags, sweaters, etc and if there's something you haven't worn in a while or don't care for anymore, throw it away (old deodorant stains ew) or give it away. I had a bunch of plastic and broken bags in a corner of my room, and I just got rid of 2/3 of that pile yesterday and asked myself "Why the fuck did you keep all these plastic bags??"

8. Cleaning you sheets makes you feel like a new person

You know when you've just washed your sheets, taken a shower and put on clean pyjamas? Awwwww yeahhhh.

#self care #self love #skincare #moisturizing #body oil #crystal deodorant #body care #lip balm

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byjayr-blog · 5 years

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Divine Femininity, Power of Her Aura - Ella.

I’ve been in the arts and music industry for about 4 years or so now, and inevitably saw how the rise of women in the creative industry hasn’t been getting as much attention, so I’ve decided to start a series based on women all around the world who are in the creative industry. I ask them to share their story with me (and you :) ) as to how they got to where they are today. The series will introduce a new divine woman once a month, as my first post to this series I’d like to introduce July’s divine woman my friend Ella.

Ella is a Fashion Model currently based in Montreal, I’ve asked her to share her story with me, enjoy.

byjayr - Walk me through your story, and can you recount any specific pivotal moments (as much description as you can remember on where you were and how you were feeling)?

Ella - My story is a long one. I guess it’s not just one story at all, there’s a lot of events and challenges that have led me to where I am today. For this interview I’m going to specifically talk about the part of my story that concerns the journey I’ve been on regarding my physical appearance & health.

I’m not really sure how to start this, so I guess I’ll start at the baseline. I was a happy person. Grew up without financial burdens in a suburban white family. I kept honours in all of my classes at school, loved theatre, had very high muscle strength for my size from ballet & gymnastics, was super fit and healthy, conventionally attractive person. Everything changed in November of 2011 when I had to become a tough bag of knuckle and grit, being flown by air ambulance to Halifax for an extremely rare auto-immune disease (Rapidly Progressive Glomerulonephritis) that had given me stage 5 (end stage) kidney failure. I was a young body filled with dreams but my body disagreed with me. You lose a lot of trust in yourself when your own body turns on you.

For the first three months or so of my sickness I was undergoing chemotherapy as a method of trying to suppress and reboot my immune system in order to get my kidneys to work again. During this time, I had huge diet restrictions (basically all I could eat was white bread, gummy bears and water) and became extremely malnourished. On top of that, I was on high dose steroids with horrible side effects, making me extremely weak. All I know is that I spent the last hours of 2011 sitting on the floor, staring at my legs, being astonished by skinny they were. I was strangely proud of how undernourished and skeletal they were, I had always wished I had the will power to intentionally be that skinny- but that’s another story. Both physically and mentally my functions were imbecilic. That night I blacked out and received the a blood transfusion that saved my life, but gave me a rash from hell. Physically, you honestly couldn’t recognize me.

The transfusion helped me in gaining my strength back from the months of crawling on the ground like a helpless baby. Despite my new found dividend of health, everything I was going through at this point made me ugly. Chemotherapy had taken away my thick, luscious locks of strawberry blonde, it took away all of my fingernails and toenails. The rash that covered me head to toe was gruesome. My entire body kept shedding it’s skin like a snake, leaving behind fragile pink tender skin that wasn’t even ready to be exposed to air. I felt like an unflattering cardboard cutout of an ugly caricature of myself.

I stopped leaving the house for a solid chunk of my precious time. Alone and sad, waiting for the day I could finally close my eyes for the last time. I don’t think I saw anyone but my family and my friend Mia for at least three months. No photos exist of this time. Evidently this made it hard for me to keep up with my then “boyfriend”. In fact, I remember him asking if I’d take him back when I recovered, but all I said was “I’m not getting better”, and proceeded to ignore him. I couldn’t accept that he had the nerve to still adore me, I was so painstakingly un-sexual. How dare he want to kiss me. I knew I was no longer the girl who was all the perfect fashion, and eventually I really started to mourn for myself. I would never be glamorous, I thought, but at this point I desperately sought being able to be something completely ordinary and unremarkable. Staring at my familiar, tragic limbs- I believed my cold pink hands would never again feel pretty.

One very vivid memory I always think about is when I left to go to the mall for the first time since being sick. I slathered on a coat of the makeup watching actual centimetre parcels of skin peel like a million meaty sunburns that oozed out makeup. I started peeling and picking off the scabs but the more I peeled the more I bled. I came to the conclusion that I would have to peel off my entire face if I wanted to even out the texture of it, so I gave up. I slathered it in vaseline to glue the drooping flakes back onto my face in attempts to mimmic a smoothness and then used half the bottle of foundation to even out the colour. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror for what felt like hours. My face was the texture of a golfball; but more uneven and porous. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t even close to me. Even my eyes had grown so passive, my lids that were once a flirting device batted still- but with their sparsely fallen out lashes they were so dim, so dead.

By late February of 2012, they realized my kidneys just weren’t going to start working from the chemotherapy. They stopped the chemo and I was put on peritoneal dialysis. In a nut shell, that means they put a tube in my belly, the tube connected to a machine every night at home and ran for 8-12 hours, depending on what the circumstances were. Essentially, dialysis does the work for your kidneys, but its more of a temporary thing, and as I found out the hard way, it has lots of complications. Years went by and I had plenty of brushes with death. Plenty more stories to be told about that. But this story is about the growing pains of my confidence & beauty, not my psychical pain.

It’s 2019 and it’s been five and a half years since I received my life saving kidney transplant. My mind has a weird complex built up around how I see myself in the mirror. I often find myself comparing myself to who I was before I ever got sick. I have this way of idealizing who I was before the sickness came, and I’m always seeing the world through rose coloured lenses when I think about my childhood. Sometimes I take a look at myself in the mirror and it’s really hard. I’m so quick to notice how frayed I am at the edges like I’m some kind of hand-me-down lace. Sometimes I just feel like all of my bones are too old for me, that they creak like a dusty house full of empty photo albums because I lost so much opportunity to fill them up with all the teenage memories I had to miss out on. People tell my all of these experiences make me strong but for the most part I just find myself thinking they make me heavy. I had to grow up too fast and it hurts. It hurts but it’s going to be okay. The ocean is fucking heavy, mountains are fucking heavy, but they’re so perfect and beautiful and that’s all I should be seeing about myself too.

Today I feel secure, complex, and empowered. Maybe I won’t tomorrow, but taking things day by day is the best way I’ve learned to navigate through this world. There will always be people who take me for face value & my looks alone. It takes serious courage to love yourself in a world, in an infrastructure strategically set up to make people who have suffered trauma feel isolated, unworthy, and heavy. The caliber of experience I have endured has done nothing but expand my emotional intelligence, even if it isolates me. Our dominant culture is filled with violent myths. Break them.

J - What inspired you to do what you love?

E - The internet, contemporary situations, and people I surround myself with can be a source of inspiration/influence, but they can also be a huge form of intimidation/comparison. I used to try so hard to impress people but ultimately it just created huge insecurity blocks. Seeing other people competing for acceptance is toxic. I think it’s important to keep some things to yourself. Deconstruct the social construct of what “talent” is. You don’t have to cater to other people. The world doesn’t have to be this finite, limited space you think it is. Don’t let people devalue your creative ability and worth just because they don’t understand it. It’s their loss. My mom is the biggest loner I know and she inspires me every day. I think I work best alone and I get that from her. Maybe this sounds selfish to you but I think that more than anything, I inspire myself. My life has been one dark struggle after another and somehow I crawl my way out of it every time. I’m strong enough now to realize that being alone isn’t a bad thing at all. Isolation breeds individuality. Once I realized that, the world became a safer place for me.

J - What do you find yourself daydreaming about, and can you recount a specific daydream you’ve been having lately?

E - I want to be somewhere new. I’m so tired of Montreal. I dream of being somewhere where absolutely nobody knows my name or where I’m from or how I got there. I don’t want to talk about myself. I want to learn about other people. To get inspired by them. Lately I’ve been working on music lots. It’s something I’m really passionate about and I can’t wait to share it with people who are open to listening. All I daydream about is being somewhere warm and somewhere exciting. The last few years have been really hard on me. I struggle with a lot of issues that I’m not going to delve into right now, but my biggest dream is just to be happy. To be able to look at myself and be proud, and to make my friends & family proud too. Life moves really fast and I’m making lots of changes. Things are changing for the better, I have to believe they will. <3

Thank you Ella for sharing your inspirational and moving story! <3

Come back next month to see August’s Divine Femininity. :)

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that-fandom-sucks-tho · 7 years

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Circuits of the Heart

Title: Chapter 5: The Blue One

Warnings: Slight swearing, innuendo cause had to, and slight violence by sparing.

A/N: Hi so as you've probably seen I update at super weird and random times. That is because with school I have to stay up late editing and writing. That means this back to back thing might not always happen. Also my main computer is my school one which blocks Tumblr. When I get access to my mom's laptop I'll add links to the chapters and masterlist. Until then look in the tags or search it!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

With the announcement of the mission I started to train with Black Canary one on one. The gala only a few days away meant I needed practice with my new weapon. Wayne Tech had created a weapon special for my powers. When inactivated it just looked like a small baton, the kind someone would use in a race, but when I touched it the nanotech inside reformed to be whatever I wanted. The two main weapons they had me train with was a bo staff and a katana. I was told the katana was for more serious battle and was prohibited against regular humans; lethal wounds was not our style.

“Alright, try that move again but with putting more weight on your right leg. I know it hurts but babying it won’t help it get better” Black Canary coached as I ran through the drills she had created. While my training was supposed to be one on one, I had gained an audience. Everyone had showed up to see how I was doing and what I could do.

“Woo go Circuit kick that air’s butt!” Cheered Wally but was immediately shushed by everyone surrounding him “I was just cheering her on.”

“When you’re done you should download those moves and commands to help create a place for your training to go.” Black Canary still coached from the sidelines.

“While I find this helpful, I now know how to properly use and control my weapon, would it not be more beneficial to fight someone. The best computer cannot predict the unpredictable patterns of a human.” I asked still moving my bo staff through the air, twirling and striking my imaginary opponent.

“We don’t expect you to be in a fight while at the gala, this is just more precautionary.” At that I gave her a look. “But it can’t hurt to get real world experience. Nightwing you use escrima sticks which can be used in a similar way to her bo staff. Circuit we’ll start with you facing someone who fights like you.”

I looked over at Nightwing and noticed the dark look he was sporting. After I had yelled at him our interactions have not been the same. After the first day of his ignoring me I went and talked about it with Zatanna. I had asked her if he would hate me forever or if I again had stepped too far over the line during the argument. Anger was new and strange but the feeling caused by him ignoring me was worse, it felt cold and it felt empty.

She laughed. “Hun, I told you he doesn’t hate you, in fact I think he was impressed when you stood up to him. He’s just worried and reacting very badly to it.” She started to walk away but after a few steps she turned around, “The ignoring part might be more from what you said during your rant than the actual anger; you basically said you liked him. That shook him, he doesn’t know what to do with that.” She left me in shock and a sharp heat filling my cheeks.

My thoughts returned to the situation at hand. This would be the first time during the three days since I woke up that he would be forced to be near me. Even though he would be trying to hit me, it still warmed my heart at the thought.

“Quit dragging your feet Nightwing, get over yourself and step up here.” Canary yelled.

He just grumbled and walked over quicker. He got into his stance, this time holding the sticks her regularly used in battle. I could feel their electricity from here.

“Okay, no electric shocks Nightwing, and Circuit no katana. Begin.”

We circled each other assessing the weaknesses and strengths that would help us win the fight. If Nightwing was smart he’d go hard at my right side due to the weakened state it is in. He also still had the strength, weight and height over me, but with his main weapon being imbued with tech meant a simple touch would make them mine.

I attacked first this time, I lifted my leg as had been instructed and pushed all of my weight forward, my leg planting back down, striking in a downward slash at Nightwing’s shoulder. His escrima stick came up and blocked the blow and pushed the staff away leaving my right side open. His hit landed on my ribs and made me stumble back, continuing with his assault he made a jab for my throat with the butt of his weapon. I twirled the staff to knock the attacks momentum away from me. I turned my body and kicked him in the stomach. He retreated a few steps and started again. As he made his strike on my I decided to block it with my forearm, when it landed I wrapped my hand around it.

Though the escrima stick had little in ways of advanced technology, it had metal and wiring I could take advantage of. I asked the wires and motherboard to short circuit for me and when his stick started smoking I knew they had listened.

With Nightwing distracted by his smoldering escrima stick I sweeped out his legs and put the butt of my bo staff at his throat. I had won this round.

“Very good Circuit you used his weapons against him, smart” Black Canary praised me with a smile.

My chest was heaving and I had sweat running down my back. The fight had taken considerable effort on my part and from the way Nightwing was laying on the ground it had for him as well. I leaned over him and offered my hand.

“Do you still believe that I cannot do well in this mission?” I asked.

He stood up and dusted himself off, not looking me in the eyes. “You seem to be able to handle yourself well.” His voice was gruff and after a quick glance at me he stomped off.

“Don’t worry about him I think you just bruised his ego, men like to win.” Artemis came up and patted me on the back as she commented on Nightwings aggravating behavior.

“Being a dude is definitely the reason he stomped off but for a completely different reason.” Wally came up beside me as well. A smirk making his eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Wally what are you going on about?” Artemis glared at him.

“Circuit just kicked his ass and even from the sidelines that was hot; I can only imagine how he feels.” His eyebrows wiggled up and down in a way that was quite suggestive.

“I do not think his temperature would be a reason to exit in the manner he did.” I stated because Wally was being ridiculous, again.

“How can I put this in a way you’ll understand? You have done something very attractive and Nightwing wishes he could ‘mate’ with you, but since he can’t he went to fix it himself.” Artemis slapped his shoulder in disgust. I felt a heat rush to every part of me and my stomach did a flip.

“Gross Wally, keep walking and keep your thoughts to yourself.” Artemis dragged me away but I was not really paying attention. All my processor could focus on was the fact that maybe I would not have minded partaking in some mating rituals if Nightwing had asked.

“Hold still. I still need to pin this part.” Megan mumbled with a mouth full of bobby pins.

The gala is tonight and I am told that it is a black tie affair. I had not known that meant sitting in a chair for two hours as Megan and Zatanna poked and prodded me. They slathered makeup on my face that distinctly smelled like orchids. When I saw Megan pull out a metal rod that, even from a foot away I could feel heat coming off of it, I begged to be released. I started to stand but Zatanna roughly shoved me back into my seat. There was no getting out of this.

By the end my hair was curled into waves before it was pinned up behind my head in an elegant updo. Delicate tendrils came down and framed my face. I had a natural dewy look, though it was a big lie as I had over 15 different products on my face alone.

Next I had to choose a dress. The girls had laid out the few options Mount Justice offered. There was one option that had a dark scarlet bodice of crushed velvet and a full skirt of tulle. The next was a black dress. It had see through lace shoulders and silk that hugged the curves before it gently sloped outwards. The last dress was a dark blue two piece. The top was covered in lace with a solid blue underneath. After an inch gap came the skirt; the same lace covered the top layer and tulle filled out the rest of the full skirt.

“My personal favorite is the red dress” Artemis pitched in.

“Stop fantasizing about Wally and really focus. I think we all know the best dress she should wear” Zatanna responded with a sly look in our direction.

“The blue one.” We all said in unison.

I walked into the hangar prepared to leave in the jet that would take us to gotham. The teamed had gathered to see me and Wally off. Apparently Artemis, Zatanna, Megan and I were to make a grand entrance because we were the last to enter. The murmurs of conversation that had been happening ceased when we entered the room. All of the heads in the room turned our direction.

“What is wrong? Did I put the dress on incorrectly?” I looked down at the dress smoothing the invisible wrinkles. I looked over at Nightwing to see his reaction. His mouth hung open slightly as he looked me up and down. I brushed a piece of hair behind my ear suddenly bashful.

Wally cleared his throat. “Um, no. You-you look amazing.”

Zatanna walked over and elbowed Nightwing in the gut causing him to grunt and turn to face her. “Yeah Nighty what do you think? Doesn’t that color just look great on her?” Nightwing shuffled his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. After his first look he refuses to glance in my direction.

“Yeah, she looks breathtaking. Circuit can I, um, talk to you for a second?” He made a jerking motion with his head. I quickly followed him to the secluded corner he wished to take me.

“Hey don’t go making out now! She’s my date tonight.” A muffled ow could be heard right after Wally’s comment. I could only assume someone gave physical retribution to his crudeness.

“If you are going to try and stop me from proceeding I will exit immediately.” I whispered with a glare. I could not understand why he is so adamant that I did not go on this mission. For most this would be pretty simple, but he seemed to think I was walking into a lion’s den.

“No, no I’ve learned that I can’t stop you. You’re strong and capable but it’s still dangerous and you getting hurt it...You just can’t, okay? Promise me you’ll be careful” He whispered urgently his eyes full of concern. My anger sizzled out as his soft and panicked voice washed over me.

“While it is entirely possible that I will be injured, I will try to avoid that.” I smiled at my answer hoping it eased his worries. He sighed and shook his head.

“I guess for you that’s as close to a promise I’ll get.” With that he gathered me into a hug and pressed his face into my neck. This was unlike the hug Megan had given me; her’s was full of friendship and joy. This one felt like a whispered pledge that I didn’t know the words to yet.

“Hey, let go of my date we’ve got places to be and you’re holding us up.” Again Wally’s yelling cut in during our moment. I would need to have a talking to him about that. Nightwing and I slowly parted and his eyes said he wasn’t ready to let go but knew he had to.

“I’ll be in your comms the whole time. Just call if you need anything.”

Wally and I landed at the airstrip and made our departure in a fancy limousine. The inside held seats for twenty with still enough room for a mini bar. Our driver asked for directions and then pulled out never looking back at us.

The ride was short and uninteresting. We went over the plans again making sure we had everything in place. Nightwing had been right he was in our ears adding notes to our plan as if we did not already know them. After twenty minutes we arrived at our destination.

I stared in awe at the giant mansion; it had every light on and it shone as bright as a star. Guests were arriving in the hundreds. The women's jewelry and clothing looked expensive enough that I’m sure the whole of Mount Justice did not cost as much. The men held their chins high so all they could do was look down their noses at others; practice makes perfect I guess.

I held my arm out for Wally to take and then nodded in the direction of the house.

“Into the lion’s den then?”

@lilylovelyxo @jadedhillon @gingerrosecosplay

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