#its a matter of life or death

[vivsballer]

I'm veryyyy optimistic that the resign announcement will come out this week (or next)

[hoodedjelly]

Still Feel by Half Alive

(there is a second of flashing at the start was unsure if i should tag it or not, but this is the warning)

[youtube video link]

[coddda]

I wish we could have met in some other way.

Lawlight Week Day 2: Soulmates

If you saw me repost and re-edit this several times uh No you didn't </3

Still frames/Individual gifs:

If you know what every frame is from you get a free cookie. by the way

[lets-play-gwent]

Spotted on my campus today!!

[puppyeared]

man

[irrationallyexcited]

an essential read for many 911 fans at the moment

tldr:

"...it might help to remember that ships don’t have to be canon in order to be transformative and meaningful on both a personal and cultural level. Look at Star Trek’s Kirk/Spock: that ship never became canon, but it remains one of the most compelling ships ever created, and within canon it gave us one of pop culture’s most enduring symbols of love — their hands touching through the glass.

Henry Jenkins famously said that queer fanfiction "is what happens when you take away the glass." And, sure, it’s increasingly possible that savvy creators might go ahead and take away the glass for us. But that doesn’t negate the power of fans being able to do it on their own, without anyone’s help.

Shipping is exciting, fun, and often a progressive and empowering experience. And if a ship ultimately becomes canon, so much the better. But when shipping becomes an ideology, tantamount to a religion, it makes a story’s creators pretty much tantamount to gods. In essence, even though that level of shipping may grow out of a wish to maintain parity with creators, it’s ultimately de-empowering to fans, making them dependent on creators for validation.

But fans are validated through their love for the source material; they’ve never needed more than that. Turning that source material into a game to be won only turns all involved players into winners and losers.

And when that happens, sooner or later, we all lose."

[notedchampagne]

nona the ninth has helped me to romanticize the impermanent which is equally healing and horrific

[chellodello]

"Fuck it if I can't have us. I might just not get up, I might stay down bad."

Dib only lets himself get sentimental about Zim when there's serious blood loss involved. And isn't that the truest love of all?

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Was thinking about your au and realized that whichever neighbour wakes up last is in for a very awkward reunion

Imagine waking up to your entire neighbourhood being in an apocalyptic scenario, and you’re the last to find out about it-

technically the last neighbor is Sally BUT Julie is the last "normal-sleeping" neighbor to wake and yeah! she sure has a hell of a time! i mean tbh it's kinda her And Barnaby? they wake up within a week of each other (the neighbors wake via Pacific Rim kaiju rules) so their breakdowns overlap <3

[kylejsugarman]

ok i swear ill stop talking about it after this, i know its been annoying and overbearing, but there's really something special to me about jesse's birthday in the context of him continuing to age. continuing to live :) he was doomed by the narrative in every sense of the word, but he survived and now he has the privilege, the hard-earned opportunity, to grow older. he would be getting close to 40 by now. getting some gray hairs. laugh lines. a little paunch. aches and pains from previous injuries, but now some from the general wear and tear of a normal life. nightmares and bad memories, good mornings and things to look forward to. jesse has experienced all the evil in the world, all the awful parts of life, and while the rest of his time won't be perfect, he gets to experience the good parts of life now. each year is another chance to live and keep living

[biblicalhorror]

Thinking about Life is Strange 2 and the absolute dust it got paid compared to the other games in the series. It's the ONLY video game I've ever played where someone in the story has Special Magic Powers, but it's not you. It's your little brother. And your father has been killed in a police shootout, and your little brother is just a kid who is so confused and terrified that he levels a whole block with a telekinetic boom. And then you, a teenager just a few years older, have to guide him to safety and try to parent him and help him use his powers for good while also dealing with the same traumas in your own life.

Also, there's a level where you just clip weed buds. Phenomenal game.

[crabbunch]

ethubs to me is like. tfw you kill and die for someone so many times that you can't even grow tired of it. it's mundane, sure, but in the way that loving someone is mundane. blood becomes like waking up to them every morning- an expected but beautiful nonetheless way of things being. it doesnt matter if they're killing each other or their enemies or pretending to do one and actually doing the other to them it is an act of devotion. and not the dramatic kind. tfw you die and kill for someone so often that instead of loosing meaning it gains sentiment. this is not a tragedy anymore!!! they are ripping it apart with their hands and laughing!!! is there anymore power to an actor than that? than turning the story to a comedy? they're sooo sitcom core. of course they love violence- there's no reason to be afraid of dying when it's not the end. they'll have another go at it, and another and another and another and another. the grief is real, sure, as real as the bloodlust- it's just not the thing that lasts

[get-back-homeward]

My queue was in the middle of 1968 India trip posts during the anniversary of Brian Epstein’s death and the statue unveiling, so it got me thinking about the connection of these two events.

It’s easy to forget the link between the two because they’re technically 6 months apart. But it feels underappreciated how much Brian’s specter looms large over the entire India trip. And not just because they delay the grief process several months in the name of Paul’s favorite coping mechanism. But because Brian dies the week they first meet the Maharishi:

Tuesday, August 22: The band’s first recording session since June; they record takes 1-8 of Your Mother Should Know

Wednesday, August 23: Recording take 9 of Your Mother Should Know and Brian stops by

Thursday, August 24: The Beatles first meet the Maharishi at a lecture in London. At the end of the day, they hold a press conference, get a 90-min private meeting with the Maharishi, and plan to go to Bangor, Wales for a 10-day training in Transcendental Meditation (TM) the next day.

Friday, August 25: They travel to Wales, the first time in years they’re traveling without Brian or Mal or Neil, and it’s chaotic; after they arrive, they get a message from Brian saying he will join them on Monday.

Saturday, August 26: Following a day of training, they renounce drugs in a press conference (well, LSD at least). Brian spur of the moment drives back to London from Kingsley Hill after the guests he invited for the weekend don’t make it.

Sunday, August 27: Brian dies from an overdose of sleeping pills the previous night; he’s found around noon, the Beatles are inducted into TM before the news about Brian reaches them. They had a private meeting with Maharishi about their grief (he talks about reincarnation and the need for positive thoughts about Brian to help this process). Then Paul goes back to London while John and George are forced to make a statement for reporters staked outside.

Monday, August 28: Paul presents the idea for the MMT film and convinces them to keep working rather than go to India now.

That’s one week.

Whether you want to look at it as fate, consequence, or coincidence, TM and Brian’s death are linked forever because of this timing. The simple act of losing Brian factors into the disparate grief reactions and subsequent burnout symptoms seen visibly in each band member after India and across the next year. But this timing would haunt anyone. And not just because those around Brian report him feeling jealous about their diverted attention toward the guru this week. Just dumb what ifs that grief can haunt your brain with: what if they hadn’t heard about the lecture, what if they hadn’t gone on the Bangor trip or had invited Brian to join them on the train, what if they hadn’t appeared on camera announcing they were giving up drugs because of the Maharishi’s influence, etc etc etc.

This link between TM and Brian’s death is especially worth considering for John, who I believe is the only one who ever directly expresses guilt over his death. This isn’t unique as he expressed guilt for all deaths around him in an opaque way believing he’s a curse on people he loves. But it also is understandable because he had some warning. Pete Shotton talks about a worrying tape message John receives from Brian a few days before. Brian’s father died only 6 weeks prior, and Brian’s secretary finds a suicide note dated just before that. There seems to be some uniformity among those closest to him at this time that while he may have been actively considering suicide earlier in the summer, he wouldn’t have after his father passed out of concern for his mother. Still, even with the idea it was all just a terrible accident, those dumb what ifs would creep up in a case like this.

When you add in that Bangor is a spur of the moment trip, that it’s the first one they’ve taken in years without Brian’s planning and guidance, and that telling Brian or inviting him to join them seems like an afterthought? Well, it’s not hard to see how that close link and the guilt that it inspires would have factored into John’s desperation for finding that answer in India. And his anger when it doesn’t deliver. It looks like a desperation to make a consequential choice matter. Searching for the answer to life guided by a holy man makes TM and the Bangor trip meaningful. It makes it important. But to a guilt-filled brain, the idea the man is a fraud means Brian died for nothing. It’s a 60 foot drop into the earth, nothing but a deep dark hole of emptiness.

Now add that John shares with Brian more than just a tendency for depression.

[sidesteppostinghours]

pulps law is that whenever i get insane enough about something, i will inevitably attempt to make a persona 5 au, regardless of whether or not i am successful at it.

[stergeon]

can someone please write this doropetra fashion designer/journalist modern au for me. i spent too long thinking about the devil wears prada today and now i have all the beats mapped out for this story i Do Not have enough time in the world to write.

please help. please. i'll give you everything. all of it. it's all right here. take it. mention me if you swap the names to sell the movie or streaming rights. i just want it to exist.

pitch: dorothea is a hot-nasty fashion mogul and petra is a journalist-turned-reluctant model who captures dorothea's attention (and her heart).

btw this is a Really long post so look out. also i know nothing about the fashion industry and Will Not Learn so don't tell me anything.

setting: various major cities in the USA. NYC, LA, Enbarr (you know, Enbarr, that major city somewhere between florida and texas. we've all been there).

cast

most everybody is in their mid-to-late 20s at the start.

petra: the last journalist with integrity in a world that's actively trying to eliminate journalism as a field. worked her ass off writing listicles and bullshit SEO articles for years until she caught a break and got in with a "Real Publication." she now works her ass off there. unfortunately there's rumors of her team getting laid off due to AI crap so she's stressed af trying to line up her next gig, just in case.

dorothea: hotshot young fashion mogul with a cult of personality around her. was a complete unknown barely out of college when she designed manuela casagranda's absolutely breathtaking met gala dress and her company blew up overnight. now does high-profile lines that are popular with movie star types and bougie social media influencers. notorious for being very, very friendly with her preferred models.

edelgard: petra's finance major/arts minor friend from college and her former roommate. nepo baby with Lots of connections. got petra her first big job writing PR crap for a division of the hresvelg business empire. caused a scandal by getting romantically involved with her TA (byleth) in grad school but they're still together. complains about her PA (hubert) and her lout of a stepbrother (dimitri), both of whom she's constantly texting or otherwise having to corral.

shamir: petra's boss/editor. admires petra's guts and her writing chops, as well as her ambition. somewhat of a mentor to petra, but is absolutely no-nonsense when it comes to work. she's been in this business a long time. there's no fucking around. leonie is another journo on the team. ignatz and linhardt also work with them doing layouts, formatting, and photo/video editing.

manuela: a famous singer from dorothea's hometown who basically adopted dorothea as a protégé after dorothea sent her sketches of designs she'd made. essentially responsible for dorothea's career. they have a bit of a contentious relationship these days as manuela's a bit jealous of dorothea's rising star and because dorothea's been ungrateful in recent years despite how much manuela's stuck her neck out for her. still, she's always there to give dorothea terrible advice when she needs it. her evolving relationship with dorothea is kind of a b-plot.

bernadetta: a reclusive, but well-connected social justice blogger and internet activist. one of petra's good buddies who regularly sends her scoops.

ingrid, ferdinand, sylvain, catherine, felix: models who commonly work with dorothea.

Jeritza: a nobody fashion photographer who thinks he's somebody. he's absolutely awful.

claude and hilda: paparazzi who work for tmz, buzzfeed, whoever will take em. petra thinks they are the scum of the earth. they are.

act 1

we open with petra on yet another bullshit assignment for her crappy job writing articles about things that don't matter. this one is a profile piece about a local fashion photographer, the mononymous Jeritza, who might be somebody someday and seems to think he already is. leonie was supposed to do the article but she flubbed it by offending Jeritza, who now won't give her the time of day, so shamir asks petra to please step in last-minute. petra's mad, but she gets her hustle on and goes anyway. it's not like she can be too picky with gigs in this economy.

by the time she gets to the shoot, she's late, and Jeritza is throwing a tantrum. the model isn't working out. Jeritza cannot work in these conditions. Jeritza fires the model and is about to freak the fuck out when petra walks in the door. oh, Jeritza says. i can work with you. petra did NOT sign up to be a model, has never wanted to be a model, has no interest in this whatsoever. but let's be real: it is a great angle for the piece. this could get clicks. shares, even. so she does it.

the shoot is a massive success, which is to say Jeritza is delighted with the results, but as it's just for a local streetwear company, the impact on culture is negligible. petra writes her article, which gets some attention due to the very funny portrait it paints of the histrionic artiste that is Jeritza. it's not much buzz, but it's just enough buzz to get shared around in fashion circles—enough for it to wind up in dorothea's inbox, courtesy of manuela. "Thought of you!! XD XD This is so funny!!" manuela writes. dorothea replies "lol" and is about to move on with her day when she decides to give the article a courtesy skim and scrolls down far enough to see the pictures.

oh. who is that model?

a few days later, petra's out at a bar getting drinks with edelgard and bitching about life when she gets a call from an unknown number. she figures it's probably spam, but they leave a voicemail. the transcription mentions it's from a dorothea arnault, whoever that is. edelgard almost shits a brick. DOROTHEA ARNAULT? you need to call her back. right now. petra's like okay jeez, i will. what's the big deal. edelgard facepalms. she forgot that petra doesn't follow fashion even a little bit ("isn't the gucci, like, the area between your butthole and your—?" "no petra it is not"). embarrassing for her, but there's no saving some people.

edelgard briefs her on the arnault situation. dorothea's studio is huge right now. edelgard's family business has been sponsoring some of her recent fashion shows and everybody who's anybody is trying to get an arnault outfit for their next event. while dorothea's very popular on social media, she's very tight-lipped about her private life. a profile on her could be a huge break for petra.

okay, petra thinks, what the fuck, okay. i'll call her back.

dorothea picks up on the fifth ring. uh-oh: she sounds hot.

hel-looo, miss macneary, she says, it's nice of you to pick up the phone. i saw that little article you wrote recently. you're sooooo funny. [her voice is sweet and smooth like butter. she sounds like she's twirling her hair as she talks. she doesn't say how she got petra's number. petra doesn't think to ask.] and those photos of you... my, my. you're quite the looker, aren't you? and you don't even model professionally? that's a terrible shame. you'd do well, you know. i'm in berlin right now but i'll be in enbarr's fashion district on tuesday afternoon. why don't you come by the studio? we're doing a shoot for some designs i'm releasing soon... a secret summer collection. oops, i shouldn't have told you about that, should i? well, i'm sure i can trust you to keep my secret. and maybe i could even trust you to write something nice about me? i think they'd suit you, you know, these new pieces i've got. if you have any interest in trying your hand at modeling again, i'd love to see you in them. 11 o'clock. ciao!

petra gets a handful of words in edgewise. most of them are yes. she keeps her phone held to her ear for too long after dorothea hangs up. she wishes she'd been sober for this conversation. she's not really sure what she just agreed to. she doesn't want to forget the sound of that voice.

she shoots a text to shamir. edelgard buys her a shot the instant she steps back into the bar.

tuesday comes and petra's nervous. she packed and repacked for this. checked twenty-five times that she brought her tape recorder and her good camera. arnault is gonna think that camera's a joke, but it is what it is. she's trying to play it cool, hyping herself up the whole time she's on the train. it's gonna be fine. just keep the tape rolling. write the profile. she doesn't have to model, she can just do what she does best. listen. pay attention. write honestly. move on.

sure.

if petra thought dorothea sounded hot, she's wholly unprepared for how hot she is in person. she's spellbinding. drop-dead gorgeous. positively unreal. and on top of that, she's so charming. she's graceful. smart. funny. flirty. and she keeps touching her—little touches on her hand, her arm. chaste things. friendly things. things that could be accidents.

she's exactly petra's type.

but petra is a journalist with integrity, dammit. she's going to be professional. and to her credit, she is professional. arnault makes it hard, but she manages. she blends in, listens, stays focused, stays out of the way. the model's cute—ingrid something-or-other. she can't remember but she got it on the tape recorder. told petra her instagram handle like six times, too, so she won't have any trouble finding her. the shoot is almost wrapped when dorothea asks if petra would be interested in modeling for her. she's not at all offended when petra politely declines. she poses when petra asks to take her photo for the profile. thanks her for coming out and talking to her. says goodbye with a polite handshake and that dazzling smile. she thinks about that smile and that touch throughout the whole train ride home.

skip ahead to friday. petra is working on the story and transcribing the audio recording when she gets a text from dorothea. so lovely meeting you on tuesday [heart emoji] [kiss emoji] [heart emoji] i know it's last minute, but the final pieces of the summer collection are coming in tomorrow and i think you'll like them for your profile. i'll fly you up tomorrow morning to meet me at my studio in manhattan, unless you're busy, of course~

petra is not busy tomorrow. shamir is considering opening a new style division of their publication.

the flight is the train ride but worse. keep the tape rolling, macneary. listen. pay attention. write honestly. move on.

she's resolute. committed. her resolve doesn't waver even when she gets off the plane, ready to call an uber, and there's a guy in a suit with a sign that says MACNEARY on it. it doesn't waver when the guy stops her and says no, he's not looking for another macneary, he's here for her, courtesy of ms. arnault. it doesn't waver throughout the ride—the chauffeured ride, in a fancy car, just her and the guy—from jfk through the streets of nyc, seeing the skyline she's only ever known from movies and on tv. it doesn't waver when she's escorted into a skyscraper in the garment district and guided up to the floor where ms. arnault is waiting for her.

it wavers when she sees her. when dorothea says her model couldn't make it that day and she could really, really use petra's help, it falls completely.

you can guess how the rest of that trip goes. petra barely remembers it herself. she gets back home to enbarr, trying to recover from the whirlwind week she's had by doing what she does best—working. she can scarcely believe any of it was real. she has to believe it when she gets back to her shithole apartment, sets to the task of transcribing the audio from her tape recorder, and realizes it was rolling the whole time.

the whole time.

and there's absolutely no denying any of it after dorothea sends her the photos for her review.

you look so good in these, she tells petra when she sends her the first photoset. i think you look better out of them, she says when she sends the second.

petra considers her options. considers freaking out. considers not replying. considers moving to australia. she considers and reconsiders and does none of those things.

what she does do is send dorothea the audio recording. dorothea sends her some photos of her own.

they meet up again in LA on the day the profile drops.

act 2

if that first week was a whirlwind, the summer is a hurricane. petra's being lauded for the quality of her profile on dorothea, as well as for being the only member of the press who can get close to ms. arnault. it's borderline scandalous, how she's also modeling the summer line despite not even being a real model. it's a thinly-guised affair—almost completely un-guised when their flirting gets a little too overt during a show in tokyo. who cares. petra's entranced. dorothea takes her everywhere, her personal reporter, lavishing her with gifts, showing her the world. she's keeping her busy between all this travel and all this passion. they go to show after show, shoot after shoot; petra works her ass off, keeping the tape rolling, listening, paying attention. so what if she doesn't have time to answer shamir's texts right away the way she normally would. the website's getting more traffic than it ever has, carried by petra's inside scoop on the world of dorothea arnault. shamir can cut her a break.

and she's surprised by how much she likes dorothea. how much she likes spending time with her. dorothea's all the things petra thought she was: glamorous, bubbly, charismatic. but she's also so brilliant, so hard-working, busting her ass every single day of her life. and she's sweet, too. she lavishes petra with attention, gives her all kinds of little gifts and things—nothing too expensive as to make petra uncomfortable (the jetsetting is bad enough as-is), but small, practical things she actually likes and could use. she asks petra about herself almost as often as petra asks questions about her. it's not petra's job to talk beyond getting the conversation flowing, to put more of herself into the discussion than there needs to be to get dorothea to open up. she's here to listen. to pay attention. write honestly and move on.

but she's finding she doesn't really want to move on.

one night they're hanging out in dorothea's fancy hotel room eating room service and drinking wine when dorothea makes a crack about how little petra knows about fashion. petra admits that she really didn't intend to get into it, that it just kind of happened. that what she really wants to do is investigative work, writing about events, exposing corruption, that sort of thing. no offense to dorothea! it's been fun doing this, don't get her wrong, but she's got goals, other things she wants to do—once dorothea gets tired of her, she jokes. sort of jokes. dorothea laughs. she smiles at her and asks why she wanted to be a journalist.

and petra's honest again. honest like she hasn't been before. she tells her a little about her childhood, her family life. about growing up in brigid (you know, the country on planet earth) and moving to enbarr as a teenager after her father died. seeing her super-smart, brilliant mother and grandfather go from these auspicious jobs in their home country to shitty ones that just barely pay the bills here, all in the name of long-term security. how they taught her to work hard and always act with integrity, no matter what she's doing. she tells her about the struggles of learning a new language, how it made her become a good listener, how she fell in love with writing because it gives her time to think about her words, to express herself the way she wants to. she wanted to be a journalist to speak for those who can't raise their voices loud enough on their own.

dorothea smiles at her the whole time she's talking. petra's not used to being on this side of the table, to being listened to like this. she almost doesn't know how to handle it; she's apologizing, feeling embarrassed for having said so much, but dorothea says don't be sorry. that's beautiful. she's lucky to have such wonderful people in her life who love her and support her. and she likes hearing petra talk.

things are different after that night.

act 3

the start of the Drama Arc. the summer's coming to an end. petra and dorothea are still spending so much time together, jetsetting around the world. petra's working on a piece that's a backstage look at the arnault company's leadup to milan fashion week. the stress is getting Real and the cracks are starting to show. petra's missing deadlines, blowing off shamir, blowing off edelgard, blowing off her family. she's barely in enbarr these days, jetlagged to hell, lost between time zones. her pal bernadetta reaches out and says hey, there's something Big i'm working on that i could use help digging into, can you give me a hand? petra says sure, i'll take a look. she doesn't. she forgets somewhere between london and são paolo.

things are still hot between her and dorothea, but she's starting to see the cracks in her, too. she's getting to see more of her, more of what lies beneath all that glam and bubbly personableness. you don't go from being a nobody to a mogul in your 20s by being nice, and what petra slowly discovers is that dorothea isn't just not nice, she is ruthless. she's nonstop, working her ass off, and anyone who can't keep up with her gets left behind. she hints at her past sometimes: at her shitty childhood, at growing up in poverty, at being orphaned, at having spent years in foster care. but she never opens up. she's 100% focused on the future, and it's all she wants to talk about. dorothea wants to live her dreams, yes, but more importantly, her goal is self-preservation.

petra finds this out when they're at a shoot one day. petra's off to the side, fucking with her piece of shit camera when who storms up to her but ingrid, and she's pissed as shit. she chews petra out. calls her an asshole. says she stole her job. asks what the fuck is wrong with her, doing that while posting her articles, publicly announcing to the world that she never even wanted to be a model. petra's floored. she doesn't even know what she's talking about. she asks ingrid to start over.

that "second date" of theirs in manhattan, way back when? turns out dorothea was telling the truth when she said her model couldn't make it that day. ingrid was supposed to be modeling. she was dorothea's #1 for ages. she'd just come off back-to-back-to-back shoots when she got sick, really sick. stuck-in-shanghai-and-probably-not-going-to-be-able-to-board-a-flight-to-manhattan-tomorrow sick. she told dorothea so, said she'd try her best. dorothea said not to bother and didn't call her again.

it'll happen to you, too, ingrid tells petra, once you aren't useful to her. you're giving her all this press now, but if you ever do anything else, she'll drop you like she drops everyone else.

ingrid storms off, leaving petra standing there, holding her stupid camera. she looks at dorothea, standing across the room, running the show, correcting this and that, getting everything perfect, exactly the way she wants it. petra looks at her and wonders. wonders what would happen if she wrote something dorothea didn't like. if somebody new caught her eye.

they get dinner that night and it's tense. dorothea's stressed. she's carrying on about this and that, talking about the shoot, texting and responding to emails, slamming back glass after glass of wine. petra's quiet, letting her talk. too quiet, apparently, because dorothea eventually takes her head out of her phone and asks her what's up. nothing, petra says, just thinking about everything going on, about the shoot today. dorothea rolls her eyes. i know, she says; on top of everything else, ingrid was there, and she wanted to have a whole conversation with me, like i wasn't busy and like she didn't fuck me over the last time i saw her. she texted me earlier, too. the audacity of this bitch, she gripes, going back into her phone, still mad. a little later into dinner, manuela calls and dorothea answers it; she's bubbly and sweet, all hi how are you omg it's been so long, i miss you, sorry i've just been so busy~ i've gotta go but we'll catch up soon. she hangs up and shoots petra a look. she's so needy, dorothea says, laughing. petra tries to laugh too and can't quite manage.

they're still going everywhere together in the leadup to milan fashion week, and petra's still working on the piece, but she's feeling a little gross and she's quieter than ever. she lets herself believe that maybe it's fine, maybe it's okay, maybe she's not really that cold and ruthless. but then dorothea shows her one day.

everything's been going wrong: there's equipment stuck in customs, marketing materials haven't been delivered from the printers yet, the studio they rented for pre-shoots is double-booked. then a model's late to the shoot and another one is complaining and dorothea is done, so done. she fires them on the spot, gets on the phone and calls two new ones who will get the job done and done without question. petra's quiet. listening. paying attention. keeping the tape rolling as dorothea justifies herself aloud, without prompting. don't judge me, she says. i do what i have to do, and everyone else should, too. i know no one is going to take care of me. i've got no reason to take care of anyone else.

she's a mess all night. angry. stressed. shutting herself off. petra's seen her get like this a few times, but this is the worst it's ever been. she's in her phone all night. practically snaps at petra when she asks if she can help her with anything. shrugs away from petra's touch.

they go to bed and petra barely sleeps. she just lies awake, thinking. thinking about dorothea. thinking about herself. thinking about how she's been blowing off her friends, her family, her boss. thinking about how swept up she's been in all this crazy stuff she doesn't even really care about, putting off her own career. feeling guilty about ingrid. feeling guilty about blowing off shamir and bernadetta. worrying about who she's become around this woman. wondering what happened to her integrity.

fashion week goes great. flawlessly. petra heads back to enbarr afterward. she's almost ready to publish her piece, but she's gotta make up with shamir first. she apologizes. says she's so sorry. sorry for blowing her off. sorry she missed her deadlines. shamir is pretty fucking done with her and has told her as much already, but petra's earnest, and her piece is ready, and she wants to give the girl one more shot. she tells petra alright, i'll forgive you, but i need this piece tonight or we're done. i can't keep waiting on you and your schedule.

okay, petra says, you'll have it tonight.

she's worried. nervous. there's so much on her mind. the piece is ready but it's not going to make dorothea happy. she wants to call her first. she tries and gets her voicemail. tries again. nothing. texts her instead, a few times. hey, she writes, i need to talk to you. call me when you get the chance. it's about the profile. it's important. i'm on a deadline.

nothing. the hours are ticking by. she calls her. texts her. it's really important, dorothea. i need you to talk to me. please.

nothing.

petra's left wondering. wondering what to do. whether she should hit send on this email or hold off. wondering what she wants out of this.

and what is this, anyway? a summer fling? are they dating? girlfriends? they've never put a name on anything. do they have a future? can petra even think about building a future with someone she doesn’t trust to keep her along if she ever should need help? maybe dorothea’s hot and smart and maybe she’s got incredible drive but if she doesn't share petra's values, if she’s not going to be able to live for more than herself, and be true to herself, can petra accept that? does dorothea even know herself well enough to be able to be authentic?

time runs out and petra sends her piece to shamir. dorothea leaves her on read.

the piece is published. it's a huge hit, and not just in fashion circles, because it's a perfect portrait of dorothea arnault, and who doesn't love a biography of a wunderkind. it's honest. it's real. it talks about everything: her light, her darkness, the ups and the downs of being with her. it's raw. personal. revealing. it's all her brilliance and all her evils, captured in the way only someone who really loves her could do.

when it drops, petra expects dorothea to call and rip her a new one. she doesn't expect her not to call at all. but dorothea's radio silent. a few days later, some dickhead paparazzi petra has the misfortune of knowing (hilda and claude) send her a picture of dorothea in LA, running around with some red-headed douche (ferdinand).

sorry, dorothea texts her eventually. i've been soooo busy. i've missed you, but we'll catch up soon.

sure, petra writes, knowing they won't. i'll see you soon, she writes, knowing it's goodbye.

act 4

petra goes back to her career. back to her friends. crashes on edelgard's couch for a while. spends time with her family. starts addressing the connections she fucked up, fixing things with shamir, trying to gain momentum again. despite the profile on dorothea being such a success, it takes a long time for her to get back on her feet. but it's okay, 'cause if she's busy, she doesn't have to think about her.

months go by. every couple of nights, dorothea drafts a text to petra and deletes it.

it's february now, which means new york fashion week is here, and although petra is branching into investigative stuff nowadays, shamir calls in a favor and asks her to help cover it. petra knows she might see dorothea there. knows it’s a risk. decides she’s gonna be so strong and brave, and she can’t really afford to pass it up anyway because it’s a big career opportunity, a chance to revisit fashion after her profile last year. so she goes.

and they see each other. and nothing happens. they don't even say hello.

but that night, when petra’s in her hotel room, spiraling, dorothea calls her. she's in a hotel up the street. she asks petra to come over. for all her sense, her morals, her logic, petra is no more than a lesbian, so she says yes.

they don't talk. they jump right to making out sloppy style and fucking nasty and holy shit, it’s just like it was when they first met: hot and intense and so good, so perfect. except it’s not, it’s not, because this isn’t going to work out no matter how much they want it to, and they both know it. they get into a big fight after dorothea makes a crack about the profile and petra loses it. she puts dorothea on blast for being such a piece of work, saying she can’t ever be with her no matter how much she wants to because dorothea won't ever put someone else first and she’ll never figure out how to be anything other than alone.

then petra drops another bomb. over the past few months, she's made up with bernadetta, and it turns out that the big scoop bernie uncovered is about exploitative business practices a certain scummy fashion company engages in. a certain scummy company that dorothea's company is partnered with. said company's dealings wouldn't get their business partners in legal trouble, but public perception would certainly change. she's been working on an exposé about it. she's going to release it soon. really really soon. like as soon as she gets back to enbarr.

dorothea looks like she's been hit by a truck. she begs petra not to release the story about the company. it’s going to fuck her brand. she'll be ruined. she offers petra whatever she wants. gets nasty, even, defensive. then she fucking breaks. she doesn’t fully open up, but it’s the closest she’s ever come to doing it. she says she's sorry, sorry for hurting her, sorry for shutting her out, sorry she cut and ran like she always does when she might catch feels, when she might be vulnerable for once. she says she's sorry and she asks her please, please, not to release the story.

petra doesn’t give her an answer. she just goes back to her hotel.

once she gets back, she doesn't sleep. she stews for ages, pacing, going back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. act with integrity and drop the story as-is. don’t drop the story and protect the person she cares about, in spite of herself. amend the story so maybe dorothea won’t catch heat...? no, that wouldn’t be acting with integrity either. she can’t win either way.

and dorothea’s having a think, too, which is to say she’s a fucking WRECK. realizing how bad she’s fucked up her life. realizing that petra liked her for her. wanted to get to know her for more than her name and her money and her connections. told her things about herself she didn’t even realize were true. and she hurt her at every single turn. for the first time in her life, she had a chance at something real with a good person who really loved her and she fucking blew it. there’s so much dissonance as she tries to defend her own actions to herself and can’t because petra’s wormed her way into her head, the only person who ever Really questioned her, the only person who ever made her question.

she's always figured things out alone. she's always had to figure things out alone. this time, though, dorothea's not sure she can handle it. so she does the only thing she can think to do: she goes to manuela with her tail between her legs. manuela's a little pissy at first as dorothea's been blowing her off for a while now, but she's also worried, because dorothea has never come to her like this. not once. and she's offered for her to, a lot.

when manuela hugs her, dorothea breaks. she ugly-cries into manuela's arms. tells her how bad she's fucked up. how much she hates herself. how sorry she is for being a dickhead when manuela's only ever wanted to be there for her. manuela comforts her. chastises her for being an asshole, yeah, but shores her up, too. tells her if she's really sorry, she'll figure out how to change. tells her that she's there for her, and she'll keep being there for her, so long as she tries. dorothea's blown away. she thought she'd lost her shot at having love in her life, but she was too blind to see there are other types of love she's been shutting herself away from, too.

dorothea leaves manuela's, still feeling like shit, but with plans to get lunch or at least call each week, and with the promise that she's going to do better, be better.

she makes an effort, too. she cuts ties with the skunks. changes her business practices. starts being more charitable, less ruthless, less aggressive. it’s a slog and it sucks and she’s bad at it but fuck she’s going to try. even if petra never takes her back, even if petra just thinks dorothea’s trying to cover her own ass again and protect herself from the impact of the story, it doesn’t matter. she’s going to be better. she’s going to try to do things right, because someone believed in her, someone thought she could be better. and she’d never thought so highly of herself, never thought she could be more until petra came into her life and saw the potential in her.

petra releases the story a week or so later, unrevised. she texts dorothea before she does. says she’s sorry. dorothea says it’s alright. she understands.

the story drops and it’s a clusterfuck. an absolute PR disaster. the scummy company folds overnight. a bunch of related fashion companies, including dorothea’s, are in huge hot water. dorothea’s on the press circuit, doing damage control. petra’s watching an interview with her, listening to her spouting off her PR beats. fully expecting dorothea is going to deny everything, throw everyone she can under the bus to keep her shit afloat. so she just about has a heart attack when dorothea admits she’s fucked up. admits she made the wrong decisions, did stuff she knew was scummy. takes accountability. is honest for once. honest in a way petra didn’t think was even possible for her.

dorothea outlines her plans for how she’s going to be better, the changes her company’s making, how things are going to be different. says she’s making a commitment. if it all folds, so be it. at least she’ll be able to sleep at night.

because capitalism is the way it is, the company doesn’t go under. they’re in the red for a while and the "Controversies" section of her wikipedia page is now significantly longer, but the news cycle goes on and consumers forget and a few months later, pieces from dorothea’s summer line are all the rage with the kids on tiktok. petra’s more than a little bitter about it, but mostly she doesn’t give it any thought. she did her part. wrote honestly. spoke the truth. kept her integrity. she’s become a big name since that scoop, too, with her career really taking off. she's writing books and shit, appearing on tv, what have you, doing the investigative work she's always dreamed of doing.

she’s in london one night on the final leg of a press tour, sitting in her hotel room, when she gets a call.

it’s dorothea. she’s in london too. would petra like to get brunch tomorrow?

yeah she would. bitch loves a mimosa.

they get brunch and it’s tense. they try small talk but don’t really know what to talk about. dorothea makes it more awkward by cracking a joke about petra writing an article about her after this brunch and petra only kind of laughs.

but then dorothea apologizes. earnest. honest. like she’s never been with petra. tells her she’s sorry. tells her how she changed her life and made her think about herself differently, made her think she could be a better person. made her Want to be a better person. convinced her it’d be worthwhile to try. and she has. she’s made so many steps since they last saw each other. doing better. living kinder. living true. says she doesn’t expect anything from petra at all. just wanted to say sorry, and thank you for seeing the best in me.

petra says you’re welcome.

dorothea pays for brunch and they go their separate ways. dorothea holds it together until she gets to her hotel room and then she loses it, bawling her eyes out like she has never ever done, like she’s never let herself do. but it’s okay. she loves petra, that hot journo with the cute accent and more morals than sense, but dorothea knows she doesn’t deserve her, and she’s going to be okay with that. she’s going to live better anyway, for herself, because she’s worth it.

act 5

a year and a half goes by before dorothea and petra run into each other at a formal Thing. they talk, cordial, business-like, just catching up. dorothea makes a crack about the tmz photos of petra with three or four different high-profile supposed gfs over the past year and a half, calling her a heartbreaker. petra laughs, a real laugh. says dorothea's one to talk. asks if she's been keeping up with her? how often does she google her? dorothea says she does it more often than she'd like to admit. petra blushes, laughs again, flattered.

she asks if dorothea's been breaking more hearts lately herself and dorothea says nah. she's been focusing on her business. she's got this non-profit going now too, and it's been taking off. just landed some pretty big investments that will bring arts programs to schools that don't have funding for them. she looks proud of this. she is. she's actually spending more time doing that these days than her fashion stuff, which makes her a little sad, but it's not so bad because it's given her a bit of a mystique: the designer whose work was once Everywhere, now dropping limited release lines every few seasons instead of keeping up with the fast fashion whirlwind. it's different but it's good. she likes it. she's happy.

petra says she's glad to hear that. that she's happy for her. makes a reference to the new line dorothea's rumored to be dropping this fall. dorothea's eyes almost pop out of her head. you know about that? yeah, petra says, i google you. she's known about the non-profit, about everything dorothea's been telling her about. she's a journalist. she likes knowing things. but she likes knowing about her. knowing that she's doing well. and it's really good now, knowing that she's happy. she tells dorothea she's happy for her. that she's proud of her. that she knew she could do it.

dorothea doesn't cry. just says thank you. she gets called away by somebody else, and petra does too, pulled in the opposite direction. dorothea thinks about hugging her first. almost touches her hand. elects not to. says it was good to see her. then they're both whirled elsewhere and they don't see each other again.

but that night when dorothea's in her hotel, she gets a text. it's from petra. would she like to get coffee tomorrow?

FIN

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

Oh no the main antagonist that killed the protagonist's son is just a repressed gay teen who hasn't realized he was in love with him and instead killed him after severely bullying him