#which felt like losing years of ME

[pastafossa]

SO. Let's do a GOOD NEWS thing regarding the fiberglass. With Ulta's Black Friday sale, AND mom and sis quietly using my rewards card when shopping to build up my points, I got two new palettes in the mail. These will FINALLY fill in the last major gap in my replacement eyeshadow collection, one I've rebuilt a bit with help from friends.

I love makeup, ok? Specifically eye makeup. I love doing bright colors, seasonal looks, movie colors, tv show colors, holiday looks, etc. It's become a thing for me, because I was very depressed and lonely as a teen and and tried very hard to fit the Good Christian Girl mold at church to make friends, which meant very low key makeup and conservative colors in the area I lived. But then I started to make fandom friends online, went to cons with them, and slowly became both more confident and more comfortable being me because they helped show me that Real Me was actually a perfectly likeable person, bright colors and all. Which means shiny sunglasses. Bright colors! Shirts with fandom things, and cool eyeshadow to match! Over the years I picked up a ton of it - collector's editions, gifts, sales on palettes too pricey to buy otherwise. I had maybe 50 individual colors and 20 or so palletes that covered the entire spectrum of the rainbow.

And I lost all of it in a single day to fiberglass.

If I hadn't had some of my basic makeup and two older palettes still packed away in my zipped up backpack , I'd literally have been forced to start back at square one. As it was, I was at... square three, maybe. I'm still not all the way there - it'll take years to build it all back up fully and a lot of those palettes were irreplaceable. But I've got all that I need to feel like me again, and I think that's what counts.

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Also I quit my job of what would in about a month or two have been 10 years, and perhaps now I will get to actually be a human being again.

[forestgreenlesbian]

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[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[irisbaggins]

The novelisation of the Phantom Menace has made me so incredibly sad, where little Anakin sees an injured Tusken and decides to disobey Watto to sit by the Raider until he wakes up. Anakin has such a deep, loving heart that he was willing to suffer the consequences of disobedience to make sure a Tusken Raider would be safe, a being he was taught all his life were brutal and cruel. And in this chapter, Anakin admits that the only thing that truly scares him, is of losing his mother. That juxtaposition, that note of I will care for this creature to I fear losing my mother, put so much more weight onto AOTC, and of Anakin's rage. He broke, and he lost himself to his rage. When faced with what he did, he rages against the world and his actions, before breaking down into further sobs at the loss of his mother and the actions he made. His worst fear was realised, and he became the monster that everyone claimed the Tuskens to be.

It'll be interesting to read the AOTC novelisation, to see if this scene is ever called back to. I just find it interesting, and further showcases the depths of Anakin's feelings and compassion, as well as the pitfalls that such strong emotions come with. For if you feel compassion and love as deeply as Anakin does, so will you feel the destructive nature of all of your rage. And that, that is Anakin's biggest weakness; he feels too strongly to ever truly control it.

[ducktollers]

got a sortof interview for a research assistant job tomorrow and sooooooooo scareds :D

[solradguy]

This isn’t Johnny discourse but it is kind of discourse about the discourse about him balding (which he isn’t).

What would it matter if he took off his hat and he was a shining beacon?? The dude canonically fucks (well not canon-canon but I feel like there’s implications of fucks-ing)!! At the most, he would be a Pitbull reference and that would be cool because good for Daisuke. Listen to Timber by Ke$ha (feat. Pitbull).

It kind of felt like they were making jokes at the expense of people loosing hair. It’s like that thing where you shouldn’t make fun of people for ‘X’ because then your friends who ‘X’ will know you think that about them.

John E is cool. I think he’s lame but he’s cool.

-A concerned Jellyfish Pirate

Idk anything about Pitbull, to be honest, but my GOD does he look like he's having the time of his life in the Timber video hahah Been a while since I heard that song...

Anyway, Johnny totally fucks. There's no way a man that toned, running around shirtless all of the time, with that slight yeehaw accent, couldn't find someone DTF with the tiniest bit of effort. He's absolutely gettin it rofl He could still get it if he was bald too, or receding.

I've complained about it on here a bit already, but yeah I don't think people making fun of Johnny because they think he's losing hair realize that a lot of people in real life are going to lose their hair as they age, and their jokes at Johnny are also jokes at these people. It's not even just an issue cis men can have either, everyone's hair thins with age, some just more (and sooner) than others. To make fun of someone, fictional or otherwise, for losing their hair is digging a trench to fill with future self loathing at one's own hair loss. And hair loss in >2023 isn't even that bad anymore!! There are so many ways to manage and style it now.

Johnny's a babe. Big fan of his "dad trying too hard to be cool but is actually somehow still really cool despite that" energy

[marklikely]

like that l.a. times article is rightfully being dragged through the mud so maybe my complaining is redundant. but i think if you wrote "maybe barbie would get a nomination if she survived a mass murder plot" you should never be allowed to write again

[britneyshakespeare]

don carlos by friedrich schiller is the most wild thing i've read all year and i'm only in act 2

[girl-bateman]

Feeling a debilitating sense of dread and despair 🤨 Which probably means nothing😍👍

[blueish-bird]

sorry if I don’t remember your name or conversations/experiences or basic things about myself, every few weeks my brain gets factory reset and I have to relearn how to be alive

[moinsbienquekaworu]

How have I been in fandom for - going on 8 years (?) and not gotten into fanvids before?? All the association I could have been making.... All the memories.... All the composition and clever editing....

[da-proti-toku-grem]

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[imurasakaw]

first impressions

redstarling, 1.9k, set a little over 5 years ago. pre-relationship.

•••••••

When Jodie found Special Agent Akai, he was, as the Special Agent in Charge had blithely suggested with a wave of his hand, in the break room, smoking.

“You’re not supposed to smoke in here,” she said, feeling the irritation rising, her patience already frayed from a rankling encounter minutes ago out in the office area.

Agent Akai looked up from his phone, cigarette dangling from his lips, nonplussed. He was slouched against the wall next to the trash can. And as Jodie got a better look at him, she grew even more unimpressed. Long hair that came down just past the shoulders—against regulations. A well-worn leather jacket with some noticeable scuffs and tears—dress code violation. As for the smudges of almost bruised-looking shadows and sunken bags under his eyes, she uncharitably decided were likely due to late nights spent smoking and drinking himself into a stupor at a pub. She knew the type; she grew up around the type.

No wonder the SAC asked her to come fetch him—she might have a glowing recommendation from Assistant Special Agent in Charge James Black, but she was still just a probationary agent, and newbies got crap detail. And this man? This man appeared to be a real piece of work. She couldn’t believe someone like this was an FBI agent. She couldn’t believe someone like this could remain an FBI agent.

He hadn’t said a thing since she entered the room, eyeing her in silence instead. She shook her head to herself, and proceeded with what she was sent to do. “Special Agent Akai? The Special Agent in Charge is requesting you in his office,” she announced, putting her hands on her hips, trying to project authority. “There’s an urgent matter that requires your presence.”

The man tilted his head ever so slightly. “Who are you?” he asked.

Jodie took a quelling breath before replying. “I am Special Agent Jodie Starling. I’ve just been assigned here to the New York Field Office today.”

“Ho…” Akai dragged out the single syllable into an idiosyncratic expression of emotion that was, objectively speaking, neutral in tone, yet Jodie couldn’t help but sense a hint of derision. “You’re the new probie?”

She bristled at the belittling moniker, but bore it. It wasn't the first time and until she proved herself to everyone else in the office, it wouldn’t be the last; she knew that. “Yes.”

“How old are you?”

She frowned and crossed her arms, not liking where this was headed. “I don’t see how that is related to the issue at hand, or any of your business.”

“You seem young for this position. That’s all.”

This time, Jodie had to physically swallow down the defensive flare of temper that threatened to disrupt the evenness of her voice. In her mind, she heard all the insinuations that weren't being said. How did someone like you get this position? What connections do you have? Who did you have to bribe or fuck? “I assure you, they would not have assigned me to the Violent Crimes Unit of New York City had I not been qualified.”

Akai’s expressionless, studying gaze did not waver, and as Jodie stared right back, she was beginning to feel as though it was a competition, or perhaps a test, and she did not like it, not from this man who looked like he should model the “Before” picture of an agent rehabilitation program’s brochure.

Finally, just as Jodie had about had enough, Akai seemed to come to some conclusion within his own head, chin dipping in the slightest hint of a nod. “Can I call you Jodie?”

“You may call me Special Agent Starling,” Jodie snapped.

The corners of his lips ticked up, ever so faintly, and the realization hit Jodie that he was probably just trying to get a reaction out of her. It made her feel even worse, because she had met no shortage of men like that, had encountered a group of men like that just minutes ago, her new colleagues. Men who would never view her as their equal in competence and ability, who would bait and provoke and taunt just to see her lose her cool—and she had just lost this round with this Agent Akai.

And now that the root of anger and humiliation had taken hold, it was even harder to keep it in check.

“Well, if you’ve had your fun,” she forced, hearing the bitter tremor in her own voice and feeling the rising sting of indignation clog her throat with heat, “are you capable of following orders, or do I have to report back that Special Agent Akai could not be bothered to part from his nicotine fix?”

She took some measure of satisfaction at seeing Akai blink, his self-possessed composure disrupted for all but a second.

He paused to consider his next words. “I had not meant to insult you,” he said, almost carefully.

How farcical. “Hadn’t you?” Her words were clipped—as far as she saw it, he had not done anything to deserve courtesy.

His brows twitched in displeasure.

“You can go tell the SAC, then,” he said, looking away, “that I will be there soon”—he took another drag on his cigarette, and smoke furled out alongside his next blasé words—“if he has anything new to say to me this time.” 

And what she did then—she knew it was rude, beyond rude—but slapped in the face with that man’s flippancy and his flagrant insubordination against a superior’s demand that would’ve gotten most disciplined if not fired, her self control splintered.

She strode forward in four brisk steps and yanked the lit cigarette from his mouth.

She would later learn that, at that time, Akai had just come off of a three-month-long deep undercover stint in a local crime ring, and that it was with an adamantine force of will that he managed to smother a reflex for violence into a barely-there flinch, but in that moment, she attributed his lack of response as yet another sign of either his ineptitude or his total disdain for her. The flicker of surprise in his eyes had been quickly suppressed, and he regarded her now with stony composure, as though an adult rebuking a wild, recalcitrant child: What do you think you’re doing? His hand that had been raised to his mouth, now empty, fell slowly into a crossed-arm position across his chest.

“You…” She wanted to scream. Am I not enough for any of you to even take me seriously? Is a child all you’ll treat me as?

Then, a more sombering thought struck: Is that all I am acting like? A child? Throwing a tantrum because she isn’t being noticed?

The cigarette in her hand kept burning in the severe silence—until the lit end finally singed her skin. 

The sudden pain wrenched her fully back to reality.

“I—” she began, the steam of her anger lost, a train sputtering to a stop. She took one step backwards. The cigarette lay on the linoleum floor between them, where she had dropped it in shock. “Agent Akai, I apologize,” she made herself say, face hot with shame. “My actions just now were totally out of line.” 

Her father had always told her, ever since she could remember, to not let anyone tread all over her; however, he had also taught her that, when the injury was not grievous, a noble person knew to turn the other cheek. And, divested of her father’s presence so early in her life, she had tried hence to cling hard onto every word, every doctrine, his teachings all the more precious for its scarcity. Her anger had just made her lose sight of it all, and now she stood there, beating herself up.

Something in Akai’s flinty demeanor softened.

He extended a hand, palm up, and she realized he was asking for the cigarette back. She swallowed, her pride balking against the act. But, there was no denying it, she thought; the one squarely in the wrong here was her.

She knelt and picked up the still-lit cigarette, and passed it over. 

As he plucked it out from between her fingers, on his hands, she saw knuckles that evidenced years of regular martial arts training and combat, saw scars and old injuries and gun calluses. 

This close, she can tell that her previous assessments of the agent, colored by personal animus and prejudice, had been wildly incorrect. Contrary to what she had assumed to be the case, she could now see that Akai was well-built under that scuffed leather jacket, and the marks on his hands said that this wasn’t a body cultivated in a gym to be looked at but something to be used. Even his slouch, indolent though it might seem, was controlled. It brought to mind the image of a panther—it might lounge lazily up on the branch of a cypress tree, but its muscles would always be ready to coil and pounce.

This was not some derelict who fancied himself a tough, daredevil guy—this was a true field agent, through and through.

Hadn’t she fallen prey to the very thing she hated others doing to her?

She swallowed again, and tasted something that was not quite humiliation and not quite apprehension. She forced herself to look up and meet Akai’s eyes again, but there, instead of the reprobation or animosity she had expected, she found with surprise a hint of a smile.

She noticed suddenly how startlingly green his eyes were, and how, when not overshadowed by a dour expression, his features, angular and striking and sharp, were exceptional.

“Well, as you said,” he said, “I am not supposed to smoke in here.” He reached to the table beside him for a plastic cup that held about a half-inch of water, and dropped into it the cigarette he had just gotten back. The cigarette fizzled and went out. Then, he tossed the whole thing into the trash. “So, how about we say the blame here was fifty-fifty”—he reached out a hand, and that ghost of a smile solidified into, nearly, a real one—“and call it even, Agent Starling?”

He did not have to give her an out, nor offer her the olive branch. But here he was, extending a hand to her, affording her the choice of whether or not to accept. 

I had not meant to insult you, he had explained, and she had spat in his face, thinking it a flimsy cop-out. Now she thought she might have been incorrect in her judgment of that, too. Perhaps she had just gotten too ingrained in the habit of looking for mockery, even when there was none.

She reached out and grasped his hand. His shake was firm, and his hand, unlike how the man himself had seemed at first sight, was warm. “Agent Akai.”

He nodded at her, once, in acknowledgment, in respect. “Welcome to the team.”

•••••••

[extra snippet, probably takes place during/after they work on a case together.]

“You need not be so defensive. You’re better than the majority of the rest of them out there. You have nothing to prove.”

“You don’t get it.” Of course he didn’t; he didn’t have people whispering behind his back that he only got here because he’s pretty and fucking someone higher up the line. Probably. “Proving myself and establishing myself as an outstanding agent is the only way I can get access to the files and data and resources that I need.” Realizing how that might sound, she added, “There’s someone that I’m looking for. That I need to find.”

The moment she mentioned that she’s on the hunt for someone, his demeanor shifted, ever so slightly.

“Long-lost family member?” he suggested, casually, but she thought she could hear an undertone of intrigued commiseration. 

“No,” she replied flatly. “The opposite. The woman who murdered my entire family.”

[piedoesnotequalpi]

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[glompcat]

The weirdest part of the timeline change was grappling with the idea that with the outbreak now being in 2003, I would be the same age as Sarah.

She’s always been a little kid to me, the outbreak of the game is set in my 20s, and reframing my idea of her to “my peer and contemporary” means also adjusting to the idea that in the TV world I would be 14 during the outbreak.