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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

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[-lastcall]

how often do you look in a mirror, a day? I honestly avoid that as much as possible. If I need to, I spend as little time doing so. I’ve become extremely self-conscious these past few years.

you are thinking about somebody, and who might that be? I’m not, though.

who is the last person to see you in your underwear? Just me.

you need to vent about things, who do you call? No one. I’d do that in a survey and/or series of tweets.

do you enjoy deep conversations? Yes.

did you/are you planning on going to college? I did and graduated. did you ever place in the spelling bees in elementary school? I never participated in one.

do you remember your kindergarten teacher? I do.

what color is the shirt you are wearing? Like a lilac or lavender color.

the last text message you sent out said..? “Oh okay.”

do you ever feel like you are being watched? I haven’t felt that in a long time.

what color is your bedspread? Light blue.

you get a text saying they love your older sibling. you say? I’d have no idea who would send such a text. I’d assume it was a wrong number and just ignore it.

what is your biggest kept secret about? Hmm.

if you see a shooting star, do you make a wish? I’ve never seen one.

does it take a lot to make you in a bad mood? Not these days that’s for sure. It happens in the blink of an eye at anytime, multiple times.

what is your favorite relative? I don’t choose favorites when it comes to that, but there are family members I’m closer to than others.

your mom says she is in love with your principal. you freak out, right? I’m not in school, but yeah that certainly would have been shocking.

what was your biggest fear as a child? Bugs.

my biggest pet peeve is one-worded texts, what is yours? Eating sounds. Gahhh.

why did your last relationship end? He decided he was done.

did your parents ship you off to summer camp as a child? No.

in ninth grade, all you cared about is what? *shrug*

what would be your acceptance speech if you won an award? Uh, I don’t know? That’s something I’d have to spend a significant amount of time to think about. I couldn’t just come up with something like that on the spot.

have you ever lost a close friend? Yes. A few.

are you angry at anyone? if so, why? Just myself.

when was the last time you smiled truly? It’s been a long time. :/

pick: mcdonalds, wendys, or burger king. McDonald’s.

what is the most played song on your ipod? I haven’t used my iPod since like 2012, so I have no idea.

why did you choose this survey to take? I haven’t done it before and felt like taking it.

are there mosquitos where you live? if not, consider yourself lucky. Yes.

have you ever been inside of the statue of liberty? Nope. I’ve never even been to New York. I’d like to someday, though.

what is the first thing (other than clothes) that you see in your closet? A couple of my mini backpacks hanging up.

have you actually watched JONAS, or just assumed it was stupid? I did watch it. I was a huge Jonas Brothers fan at the time. I still enjoy their music.

what is the first thing you think of when i say blue? Sadness.

how old are you? I’m 31 years old.

what is your name, anyways? Stephanie.

have you ever built a snowman? Nope.

i fell down the stairs five minutes ago, ever done that? No.

do you still own any stuffed animals? I have a room full of stuffed animals, majority of which are giraffes.

where is the weirdest place you have ever had a bruise? *shrug*

what is the most addicting thing you have ever done? Drink coffee the first time.

do you visit your grandparents on a regular basis? No. They live out of state, unfortunately. They used to travel here to visit every summer, but a few years ago they just couldn’t make the long drive anymore and I haven’t been able to make a trip there.

what kind of deodorant do you use? The Secret brand in powder fresh.

did you basically waste your life in school, if the world ends in 2012? We’re still here.

do you sing to songs in the car when you are alone? I don’t drive so I’m never alone in the car, but I do sing along to songs in the car anyway.

do you laugh at other people when they are alone in their car singing? No. have you every actually written a song? I’ve attempted to before.

the world will end in an hour. what do you do? Die? <<< Ha, yeah.

ever visited time’s square? Well, no, since like I said I’ve never been to New York.

do you live in a place that is full of snow or only wishful, in winter? No, sadly. I wish it snowed here.

ever accidently sent a text message to the wrong person ABOUT that person? Omggg, no. I would die.

what makes you relax? I haven’t felt relaxed in a very long time. I really need a beach trip.

are you one of those camera whores? No? What’s a camera whore? Just curious... <<< Someone who loves to take selfies. I’m definitely not.

what is the longest amount of time that you have gone without sleep? A little over 30 hours.

ever cried in public? Yes.

what color eyes does the person you are currently head over heels about have? There’s no such person, currently.

does the weirdest dream you have ever had involve your history teacher? Uh, no...

d03z iiT b@hHt3R y3wH d@T ii R0t3 liiK3 diiz? it bothered me. YES.

how many christmas trees are in your home during the season? One real one and then the mini one in my room.

do you remember the reason for the season or are you all for the presents? I absolutely do remember the reason for the season.

how many trophies do you own? Zero.

have you ever played any sports that involve a ball bigger than a coconut? I’ve bowled before.

do you still watch cartoons? Yes. Just earlier I was watching Braceface.

what name do you think is the prettiest on a girl? I really like the name Autumn.

do ya know a guy named ben? Yeah, they go by that nickname.

ever told your date you were going to the bathroom and actually left? No.

what never fails to put you in a bad mood? The miserable summer heat.

do you journal/blog any? This is it.

have you ever read any sarah dessen books? No.

what is the first thing that comes to mind when i say green? Christmas trees on my mind now.

have you ever made a threat that you went through with? I don’t make threats.

how many pillows are currently on your bed? I’m surrounded by them.

do you share a bed with anyone, or is it allll yours? It’s alllll mine.

are you scared to be alone after you watch a scary movie? Nah. are you totally annoyed when taylor swift wins all awards at an award show? I’m personally not a fan, but hey good for her.

do you own any songs that are from limewire? Not since the late 90s/early 2000s...

have you smacked anyone’s butt today? No. I don’t smack anyone’s butt.

are you from the north/south/west/east? West.

ya live in America, right? I do.

would you ever want to be a celebrity? Nooo.

did you ever take ballet as a kiddo? No.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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aneverlandboi · 5 years

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A Belated Birthday

From: Ned [0.01am]

happy birthday dude!!

From: Ned [0.23am]

I can’t believe ur asleep!

From: MJ [2.35am]

Happy birthday, dork. I’ll give you your present tomorrow x

From: MJ [2.35am]

well, today x

From: MJ [2.37am]

I guess you’re asleep. Night xx

From: Ned [8.43am]

hey where r u?

From: Ned [8.49am]

ur going to be late on ur birthday?

From: MJ [8.50am]

Let me guess. Missed the bus? Let me know when you’ll be here x

From: MJ [9.00am]

When you can. Don’t text and swing!

From: Ned [9.00am]

dude, we’re waiting for you??

From: MJ [9.01am]

Also try not to get hit by a car x

Missed Call From: Ned [9.10am]

Missed Call From: MJ [9.11am]

From: MJ [9.20am]

Okay, you’re officially late. Not that Harrington is surprised.

From: MJ [9.20am]

That felt harsh, esp considering its your birthday. Sorry xx

From: MJ [9.22am]

Are you okay?x

From: MJ [9.46am]

If you don’t message one of us soon, we’ll contact May!

From: Ned [9.52am]

are you okay??? has something happened????? pls message me!!

From: MJ [10.34am]

Not that you can’t take care of yourself, but you’re not answering and I’m getting concerned. Gonna get Ned to check w May if ur okay. Don’t blame me if she spills some embarrassing secretxx

Peter scrolled through the stream of messages on his phone, mood souring with every passing second. The nurses at the hospital hadn’t been willing to let him even look at his phone for hours after he’d been brought in, even with it buzzing almost incessantly. Luckily, with a police escort and a couple of agents from SHIELD, he’d skipped the queue, and after a few pointed comments, the doctors had managed to patch him up without removing his mask, although Peter guessed they now knew he was white and skinny, and that they could probably figure out his rough age from, like, body proportions and stuff. Although ‘Spider-Man is young white man’ probably wouldn’t be the biggest reveal in the world. That was only, like, one in six million people, or something.

His phone buzzed again. A news report.

Because you follow ‘Spider-Man’ in the News:

The Daily Bugle: Spider-Man hospitalised after brawl with crime boss Kingpin.

Well, it wasn’t a surprise that the news had gotten out. Plenty of people had seen him get thrown out of a twenty-third-story window, and then there were the kind bystanders who called an ambulance when he’d crashed onto the pavement from about the tenth floor when his webbing snapped. Then there were the medics, and everyone at the hospital who had seen him come in with police and SHIELD escorts, who weren’t exactly subtle, even if his suit had been covered up. It was a miracle it had taken this long for the news to be released!

Incoming Call From: MJ

Peter hit answer and held the phone against his head with his shoulder.

“Peter?!” MJ asked as soon as the call connected, “Are you okay?”

Peter thought for a moment and swallowed. The drugs were already wearing off, but his tongue still felt a bit heavy.

“I’m okay, I suppose,” he answered vaguely, trying not to worry her, “Just had a bit of trouble on patrol.”

“You got thrown out of a window, dude!” Ned’s voice was slightly muffled. It took Peter a moment to realise he was on speakerphone.

“Where are you guys?” he asked nervously. He didn’t want to accidentally mention Spider-Man if they were sat in the middle of the cafeteria.

“We’re bunking off school to come see you,” Ned said lightly, “We’re in the park a block from school waiting for a bus to Manhattan.”

Peter sighed, then realised he was chewing on his lip.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, guys,” Peter said uncertainly, “There’s a lot of news cameras outside the door, so you guys wouldn’t be able to get in without being seen, and then everyone would be harassing you guys to see if you know who I am.”

“We could climb in the window,” MJ said suddenly. Peter wasn’t entirely sure if she was joking. “You could lower some webbing, and we could climb up it. Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your webbing.”

Peter laughed at that, then, pulling his mask down over his face, leant to look out the window. He couldn’t see much – he could only lean so far without risking pulling over the heart-monitor he was attached to – but he could definitely see some figures camping outside, cameras aimed at the window. He considered waving to them, or maybe flipping them off, but the part of him that had actually paid attention during the super-hero PR crash course with Miss Potts made him reconsider.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got some creeps aiming cameras at my window, so you’d be spotted anyway.”

He heard MJ sigh in irritation and found himself smiling slightly, in spite of himself. It was good to feel wanted.

“Well, this isn’t exactly the birthday celebration I had planned.”

Peter sat back, making sure he was clear of the window before pulling his mask up and replying.

“You had something planned?” Peter asked, feeling a flash of guilt. If he’d managed to beat Kingpin, or even if he’d just been more cautious and fled when the flash-bangs went off, none of this would have happened.

“No,”MJ said hurriedly. Peter grinned. “Quick, Ned, cancel the marching band!”

Again, Peter found himself laughing, clutching his side to avoid splitting the stitching. He could only thank God for his enhanced regeneration. He’d probably end up getting out of hospital by tomorrow, assuming the doctors didn’t try and cut him up to figure out how he worked. Not that he was paranoid about men in white coats – and women, for that matter, since MJ would kill him if he even internally implied that women couldn’t be doctors, and they were just as scary when they were dissecting you. But again, not that he was paranoid, just… sensibly wary.

“But seriously, guys. I’m already getting better. I’ll probably be out of here first thing tomorrow, if I can get through the crowd of reporters.”

“You could always climb out the window,” MJ pointed out, “Though if you were going to do that, you don’t need to wait to get discharged. You could just sneak out at night and go home.”

Peter’s mind immediately came up with an alternative arrangement – more of a daydream, really – which had him sneaking out, turning up at MJ’s window at night and… well, staying the night was a pretty good euphemism. Before he could get properly distracted by the idea, a knock at the door startled him.

“I’ve got to go,” Peter said hurriedly, already pulling his mask down, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow!”

“Okay, b–” Ned’s goodbye became distant as MJ turned off speakerphone.

“See you tomorrow, dork. Try not to break any more bones.”

Peter grinned.

“I’ll try. Love you.”

He hit the button to end the call, took a breath, then called out to whoever was stood outside. The door opened and Happy walked in alongside the doctor that had been treating Peter.

“Hey, Happy. Doc,” Peter said in greeting, nodding to the two of them.

“How are you feeling, uh, Spider-Man?” Happy asked. Peter shrugged.

“Like I got thrown out of a twenty-third-story window last night.”

“I must say,” the doctor said, looking over Peter’s medical chart with a raised eyebrow, “You’ve recuperated a lot quicker than I’d have expected. Even simply surviving fall like that is impressive, but you’re already healing up quite nicely.”

Peter nodded.

“Yeah, uh, enhanced regeneration,” he said wryly, “I heal up really quickly.”

The doctor raised his other eyebrow, then nodded. Peter supposed that when you were dealing with super-heroes, doctors just got used to hearing things like that.

“So,” Peter said, glancing between the two of them, “gimme the verdict, doc. When do you think I’ll be out of here?”

On the plus side, the doctors did not, in fact, cut Peter up and figure out how he worked. On the downside, he was kept for a lot longer than he’d intended. Peter supposed it was something about the idea that “this person just got thrown out of a twenty-third story window” that made doctors less willing to release said person, even if the person was actually medically fit to be discharged. So it was already 11pm the day after his birthday before Peter was officially discharged, herded past the throng of reporters and down a corridor by SHIELD agents, plunked inside the oh-so-subtle posh black sedans with heavily tinted window that government agents seemed to use, and driven through numerous back-alleys in a convoy of identical cars. SHIELD, and Fury in particular, seemed very determined to prevent any possibility of Peter’s identity being leaked.

Speaking of Fury…

“So, Parker.”

“Mister Fury.”

There was a moment’s silence as Peter tried to decide where to look on Fury’s face. It was a question he still hadn’t properly answered, even after a number of meetings with the director. His working eye? Or did that make a thing out of his missing eye? His nose? Or was that weird? Staring at his lips was definitelyweird. It was one advantage of the mask, that Fury didn’t know Peter was testing out looking at different parts of his face.

“What happened with Kingpin?” Fury asked, looking at Peter with what the boy assumed was his version of disappointment. It didn’t look particularly different to his usual expression.

“His people had a lot more weapons than I’d expected,” Peter admitted, “The flash-bangs took me by surprise.”

Fury frowned.

“And the machine-gun turrets hidden in the ceiling were a nice touch,” Peter added, a little defensively.

“Stark tech?” Fury guessed. Peter shrugged.

“I didn’t pay that much attention to the branding while they were shooting at me, but I’d say so.”

“How the hell did Kingpin get his hands on Stark tech?”

Peter was about to answer when he realised it was probably a rhetorical question.

“I’ll ask him next time I – ”

“No,” Fury said firmly, “Keep out of Kingpin’s way.”

Peter blinked in surprise.

“We’ll put eyes on him and wait until he gets more tech. Then we can find out where he gets it from…”

“And cut off a source of heavy weaponry,” Peter finished, nodding. “Smart plan.”

“I know,” Fury said flatly, “That’s why I came up with it.”

Peter shut his mouth.

“And if by some miracle it’s not Beck’s people, the source might be able to get into contact with them.”

Peter nodded, biting his tongue from saying something else obvious.

The car stopped suddenly.

“This is your stop.”

Peter leant over to look out the window.

“This is Brooklyn,” Peter corrected, “I’m over in Queens.”

He turned back to see Fury looking at him, expression blank.

“Get out the car, Parker.”

Peter got out the car.

It wasn’t that Peter had been planning on going to MJ’s house that evening, but since Fury had dropped him off in Brooklyn, and her house was pretty much on the way to his if you were heading into Queens from that direction, it kind of ended up with Peter perched on a lamppost opposite her house anyway. He could pop in, say hi, then head back and get a stern talking-to from May about the importance of not being thrown out of windows. Or, Peter realised with a flash of inspiration, he could put off the lecture for a little longer and stay the night at MJ’s… Share a bed with his girlfriend, or get shouted at by his aunt. It was a really tough decision to make. Honestly, he was torn.

The light in MJ’s room flickered on, and Peter saw her silhouette appear at the window. Then the window slid open. The decision had really been made for him, in that case, because it would just be ungentlemanly to leave a lady at her window in the cold night.

Sure, Peter had been perched outside her window for a good half an hour waiting for just that excuse, and then – because his legs were aching and he was quickly getting bored of waiting – he’d texted her to get her to come to the window, but that was all really neither here nor there, and he could just not mention that bit to May when he saw her in the morning. Or he could just head straight to school and put the lecture off for another day! That was much better.

#fanfic #Because its our boys birthday #Happy Birthday Peter Parker #And yes I know I'm late

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hmhteen · 6 years

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HMH Teen Teaser: MEET CUTE!

January can be cold and brutal, but we’ve got the perfect antidote to winter publishing right after New Year’s...MEET CUTE, an anthology of romances by incredible YA authors like Nicola Yoon, Ibi Zoboi, Meredith Russo, Jennifer Armentrout, and so many more.

Today we have a fun teaser for you from New York Times Bestseller Julie Murphy’s story! It’s adorable: two girls meet while competing on a reality TV show to win the heart of their favorite celebrities...but they wind up falling for one another instead. Scroll down to read more!

SOMETHING REAL by Julie Murphy

I would like to say that the first words I said to Dylan were some- thing to the effect of how thrilled I was to meet him or how much his work has meant to me, but instead it was more of a word salad: “Much tall you are.”

I’ve been sitting by the craft services table for an hour and a half now, contemplating each and every single one of those words. It’s been a constant stream of crew members grazing past as they each tell me we should be back to filming any minute now.

It’d be a lie if I didn’t admit that I was just slightly disappointed to find that after his initial hello, Dylan has been squirreled away in a super-fancy trailer with a security guard stationed outside the door. Some silly part of me thought that maybe I’d get to hang out with Dylan during downtime and we’d develop a rapport. Maybe we’d have inside jokes. I shake my head, and roll my eyes at my own naïveté.

“Hey!” says Martha as she plops down next to me. “You found the food. Good place to set up camp.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’ll be the first to admit that I’m pro-food, like, all the way, but my nerves have got me way too anxious to even gnaw on celery sticks.”

“Oh my God,” she says, leaning in toward me, her hand resting on my thigh for a moment. “Me too.”

I smile at her gratefully. I’m so glad she’s not the version of my competition that existed in my head. I didn’t know what I expected from my competitor. Cattiness? Bitingly rude? But Martha is just good. And I think that maybe she deserves this more than I do.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” I tell her.

She half smiles. “Me too.” After a moment, she adds, “She would die all over again if she knew I was here doing this.”

I cough, not sure what exactly to say. “That was a bad joke, huh?” asks Martha.

I let out a short laugh. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a good one.”

She shrugs. “Me and Marisa always had a vicious sense of humor. I think she’d approve.”

Something inside me unlocks. Something I didn’t even know was locked away to begin with. I have this wonderful and scary and heart-stopping feeling that I could tell Martha my most hideous thoughts and my most ridiculous hopes and she’d just sit here like she is right now, unfazed. And that’s sort of a wonderful thing if you think about it.

“All right, ladies,” says Jill as she power walks toward us. “We’ve got you all set up for the challenge portion of the show. So let’s head over there and Daria will freshen you up.”

“Cool,” says Martha. “What’s the challenge?”

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach. This is the part I’ve been most anxious about. There’s always one challenge. Sometimes it’s a race or an obstacle course or trivia or some type of competition, but whatever it is, it always ends poorly, with at least one of the contes- tants being humiliated.

“No can do,” says Jill. “We like for the on-camera reaction to be as authentic as possible.”

She walks off, and then turns, beckoning for us to follow her. “Yeah,” Martha says under her breath, “because the first thing I think of when I think of A Date Come True is authentic.”

I hiss out a knowing sigh that surprises me. And then it doesn’t. I don’t even know if I should be here anymore. I’ve barely even seen Dylan anyway. I take a deep breath, trying my best to shake off the negativity.

A few minutes later, we find ourselves standing in a studio with white curtains concealing the walls around us. And Dylan is there, too.

Daria flutters around touching up our makeup before dedicating her attention to Dylan.

“Nate,” says Jill, bringing over a man in a perfectly tailored tux. “This is Martha and June, our competitors for this episode.”

Nate doesn’t really need introductions, though. He’s the host and face of A Date Come True. There’s something comforting about the way his makeup settles into the creases around his eyes. Not everything is as it appears on TV. That’s for sure.

Nate’s smile dazzles as he winks at the two of us, reminding us that he’s a pro charmer. “You nervous?” he asks. “Don’t be nervous.” He holds up his hands for us to see. “You’re in very good hands, I swear.”

After he walks off, Martha and I turn to each other, and in uni- son say, “Gross.”

We break out in a fit of giggles, but we’re cut short by Jill. “Let’s do this thing. We only want to do one take here, so bring your A-game, people!”

Nate takes his position between Dylan and Martha and me as Jill counts down to action. “Okay, we’re back,” he says.

I feel my whole body straighten as I realize I’m on camera again. Nate turns to Dylan, his voice as smooth as a radio host’s. “Now, Dylan, you’ve thought long and hard about our challenge this week, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. Totally,” says Dylan. “I guess you could say I cooked up something really cool.”

“Let’s drop the curtains, shall we?” asks Nate.

All around us the tall white curtains whoosh to the ground and Martha and I find ourselves in a state-of-the-art double kitchen with brand-new stainless-steel appliances. Over one side hangs a sign that reads #TeamJune and the other side has a sign bearing #TeamMartha.

My anxiety washes away for a moment as I realize that — Oh my God! — this is a cooking challenge! I can cook. I can really freaking cook. I’ve got this shit in the bag.

Then I look to Martha, her eyes huge and full of terror. My stomach twists into a knot as I’m reminded that my success is her failure. It’s not that I feel bad for her or think she should win by default on account of her sister. There’s just this nagging feeling inside of me that wishes we’d met in real life.

But this isn’t real life. “Martha,” says Dylan. “June.”

My name! He said my name! Some animalistic instinct in my brain switches on and I turn into a monster fangirl with blurred vision for anything that isn’t Dylan. And hey, don’t forget about the freaking cameras, I remind myself.

“I’m a total foodie these days,” continues Dylan. “But back when I was just a little kid, my favorite meal was dinosaur-shaped nuggets with ketchup. So I’ve decided to ask you ladies to blend my foodie love with my old-school fave and make me some panko-crusted dino nuggets with ketchup made from scratch. You’ve each been given the same ingredients, and there may or may not be a few red herrings in there.”

Nate laughs. “A woman’s place is in the kitchen, am I right?” Dylan snickers quietly.

I nearly gag. Martha and I exchange a look. More like misogyny, am I right?

“Right,” says Nate, “so you’ll each have five minutes of Wi-Fi time sponsored by Tunez Headphones, and then you’ll each have one hour to re-create Dylan’s childhood dish. Aaaaaand your five minutes starts now!”

“Cut!” shouts Jill. “I should force you to do a retake for that sexist bullshit you pulled, Nate, but we’ll just cut it in post.”

Nate shrugs and walks off to his dressing room. “You can’t get rid of me, Jillybean!”

I realize that I have a quick moment to say something to Dylan besides how tall he is. I take a step toward him. “Hi,” I say. “Your, um, music means so much to me.” When I say it out loud like that, it sounds so much more generic than how it actually feels.

He turns to me, sliding his sunglasses on. “I would hope so.” He laughs to himself. “I mean, that’s why you’re here, right?”

I force out a dry chuckle, but I can’t ignore the disappointment settling in my chest. “Yeah. Totally.”

“Oh, but thanks,” he adds just as he’s swarmed by people armed with cell phones and itineraries.

As he’s quickly whisked away, crew members buzz around us like bees, changing the lighting for our contest. My throat goes dry, and my stomach feels suddenly heavy. It’s that same feeling I get when I’m driving somewhere and I know — I just know — I’ve taken a wrong turn or missed my exit no matter what my GPS says.

“Okay, girls,” says Jill as she hands us each an apron and ridic- ulous chef hat, both emblazoned with the show logo. “It’s just like they said. You get an hour to cook and five minutes on the Internet with these bad boys.” She hands over two tablets, provided by spon- sors too, I’m sure. “We’ll start rolling in a bit, and we won’t interfere, really, unless there’s an emergency. Oh, and uh, no talking to each other during this or trading secrets or something.” She smiles. “Not that you’d want to, right?”

We both nod.

After she walks away, Martha looks to me and says, “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.” It comes out like one of my brother’s long burps that he does on command.

I laugh. “It’s just a dumb challenge,” I tell her. “Dylan doesn’t really care if you can cook.” Or maybe he just doesn’t care in general.

She shakes her head. “You don’t get it. I really, really can’t cook. And not to be a total pain in the ass, but I’m a vegetarian, too. Just the sight of raw meat makes me want to puke.” The color begins to slowly drain from her face.

I take a step closer. “Listen,” I whisper, my lips nearly brushing against her hair, “I know we’re not supposed to be helping each other, but just, like, do what I do.”

For a brief moment, she squeezes my hand. “I don’t know how much that will help, but thank you. I really appreciate it.”

As we’re carefully positioned with our tablets and notebooks in our own personal kitchens, facing opposite each other, cameras hover around us. I search for things like baking instructions and tips for breading and ketchup recipes. I’m not sure what Martha is searching for, but she looks downright manic.

As our time ends, our tablets are taken away and we’re left with our notes, our ingredients, and our intuition.

I decide to bake instead of deep-fry — mainly because I think it might be easier for Martha to follow along. I start in on the chicken, pounding it into submission. I search my supplies and come up with a few different shapes of dinosaur cookie-cutters. I push through the chicken, using my weight. It’s not easy, but it works.

As I mix my bread crumbs and beat my eggs, I glance over to Martha, whose once beautiful velvet dress is covered in flour, despite her apron. She mumbles a stream of curse words, and I try to offer an encouraging smile, but she’s lost in her frustration. I feel awful for her, but the camera guys seem to be really into her cooking- nightmare meltdown.

I don’t think that cooking is specifically for women, but in my house, my mom was always the one in the kitchen. It was her happy place, and she let me share that with her. But unfortunately, the kitchen was her one and only happy place in our house, so when she split when I was in seventh grade, her kitchen became mine.

Nothing about being on camera makes me comfortable, but being in a kitchen can almost make me forget that millions of peo- ple will be watching me from the comfort of their homes in a few weeks’ time.

As our hour fades into minutes, I put the finishing touches on my ketchup, including a sprig of parsley.

“Time!” Jill shouts.

Martha and I wait in silence for a few minutes as Dylan is sum- moned from his trailer. We both look and feel like messes.

Nate and Dylan stand between Martha and me in front of a table with our presented entrées. Mine is a pile of dinosaur nuggets—some more misshapen than others — alongside what I hope is not-totally- disgusting ketchup made from scratch. And Martha’s dish is fury personified. On her plate is one uncooked chicken breast covered in ketchup with a giant chopping knife sticking out of it.

I sigh. There’s no competition. One is edible and the other is decidedly . . . not.

We quickly regroup, and Daria swings through to lightly powder our faces, but she takes no pains to hide the mess we’ve made of our hair and clothes.

“Well,” says Nate as the cameras begin to roll again, “I guess we won’t be doing a blind taste test this time.”

I look to Martha and can practically hear her gulp.

“Uh, yeah,” says Dylan as he chuckles nervously. “Looks like some kind of horror movie over there.”

Martha shrinks back a little. I guess there’s a chance she could still win, but it doesn’t look good.

“June, let’s give your dish a go,” says Nate.

I nod and hold my plate for the two of them, and they each swipe a nugget through ketchup before chomping down.

“Hey, this is pretty great!” Dylan says, his mouth still full.

“My wife’s gonna kill me if those bread crumbs have gluten in them,” says Nate. “But it was worth it!”

I roll my eyes.

“Cut!” shouts Jill. “Let’s get the girls all cleaned up and ready for the rose gazebo.”

Daria waves for us to follow her back to the makeup trailer, and once again Dylan is ushered away by a crowd of assistants and man- agers.

I practically jog to catch up to Martha. “Hey, are you okay?” I ask.

She shakes her head, but says, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“It’s just a dumb TV show,” I tell her as we come to a stop at the trailer, the door swinging shut behind Daria.

Martha turns to face me, and I can see that she’s pressing her lips shut in some attempt to hold back tears. She shakes her headagain before finally bursting, tears streaming down her flour-coated cheeks. “I just thought that if I came on this show, and won some dumb date with this ridiculous singer who I don’t even really like . . . I just thought it would give me some kind of closure.” She uses the tips of her fingers to press under her eyes, like she’s trying to push the tears back in.

I reach for her sticky hands and hold them tightly in mine. “That’s not silly or dumb or whatever,” I say. “I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to lose a sibling. Shit. I don’t even like my brother and I’d still be a wreck.”

We stand there for a moment, hand in hand. We’re just two people who were randomly driven together in the most ludicrous of ways by some reality TV show that I can now say, without a doubt, is more fake than it is real. But standing here with her. This is real. There’s just something about her that makes me feel like we could really be something to each other in real life. For reasons I don’t know how to explain, Martha makes every nerve in my body light up like a Christmas tree. It’s like when Joey Scheck kissed me after eighth-grade graduation and for the first time ever I felt like my life was a movie and I was finally the star.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen with this ceremony, but I hope that there was a reason for all of this,” I finally say. “And maybe it’s not something you’ll understand anytime soon.”

She looks up and squeezes my fingers tight before giving me a floppy shrug. “Or maybe I will.”

The door swings open and we startle apart, like we’ve been caught doing something much more than holding hands. “Ladies! I can’t do my job without your faces!” says Daria.

***

We look much more glamorous than we feel. In the makeup trailer, we gave ourselves glorified sponge baths in an attempt to rid our- selves of sweat and kitchen smells before Daria performed transfor- mations on each of us.

My waves have been refreshed and lay perfectly over my shoul- ders. Wardrobe has put me in a royal-blue chiffon dress that sweeps the floor. And Martha is downright stunning in a lacy burgundy dress with a trumpet skirt.

After a few hours of waiting to be beckoned, we’re driven on a golf cart to one of the far-off lots behind the studio. The set looks like a small town square with a gazebo, and the whole place is drip- ping with twinkly lights. I recognize it as the usual backdrop for the rose ceremony. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that this was a set and not some tiny little town center outside of Los Ange- les, but it’s just as fake as the rest of the show. Still, it’s hard not to get swept up in the beauty of it — if you can manage to ignore Jill’s shouting and all the grunting camera operators.

Nate is in his signature tux and Dylan wears his same holey jeans, but with the added touch of a slim-cut, flat, black button-down shirt.

I think I’m going to win. How can they even pick Martha after the kitchen fiasco? But do I even want to win anymore? It’s hard to imagine my “date” with Dylan doing anything more than ruining the version of him that lives in my head. The version of him whose voice cradled me, letting me know that even in my darkest hour, I was not alone. Already, there’s this sense of mourning settling inside me that I can’t quite explain except to say that maybe the version of Dylan I’d built up in my head never existed at all. It’s nearly impos- sible for me to even recall the edge-of-my-seat excitement I felt this morning at the prospect of this moment.

Nate and Dylan wait for us on the steps of the gazebo, where a propmaster stands with one yellow rose.

Dylan wipes his brow as we take our places. “These lights are killer, huh?”

I squint up at them, but they don’t seem so bad to me. Not any different from the interview lights at least.

Nate pats his forehead to avoid messing up his makeup. “Yeah, they must be testing out something new.”

Dylan cringes a little and calls out, “Lissa, we gonna wrap on this soon? I’m not feeling so hot.”

“Yeah, babe,” someone answers from behind the sea of crew and cameras. “One and done. We’re out.”

Dylan nods as Nate lets out a loud burp.

I reach for Martha’s hand one last time, and her fingers inter- twine with mine. “Almost over,” I whisper.

She winks. “Maybe it wasn’t such a bust after all.”

Jill counts down, and our hands drift apart as we await our com- pletely unreal reality-TV-show fate.

“Ladies, our time together has come to an end, and in just a moment one of you will move on to a very romantic one-on-one date with Dylan.” Nate gestures to Dylan.

Dylan steps forward, the rose in his hand, and says, “I’ve had so much fun getting to know you both.”

Getting to know us? Our paths barely even crossed.

“And I want you to know,” he continues, “that I didn’t make this decision lightly. June, I’m so impressed by your dedication to not only me, but to my fans. Mega fans like you are what keep me going. And you slayed the kitchen challenge this afternoon. And, Martha, I feel like, whoa, for you and your family. It means so much to me that the last thing your sister heard was my voice. It’s so, like, meta.” My skin crawls at the thought of that information feeding his ego. He holds his stomach for a minute before adding, “But after what happened during the kitchen challenge today, it’s hard for me to tell if your—” He burps into his fist. “Excuse me.” And then again. “ — if your heart is in it. Oh fuck. I feel like shit. I think I’m gonna — ”

And then I swear to God, everything that happens next occurs in slow motion. Dylan projectile vomits in my and Martha’s exact direction. The only thing that saves me is Martha pulling me out of the path of puke.

“No, man, don’t do that,” says Nate. “You’re just gonna make me . . .” And then Nate is puking, too.

Crew members and posse members crowd both Nate and Dylan, and Martha and I are pushed back even farther, reminding us both how very unimportant we actually are.

“Those gross-ass chicken nuggets!” Dylan moans. “It’s food poisoning. That bitch poisoned me!”

I turn to Martha, my eyes wide.

Her hand flies up, the back of her palm pressed to my forehead. “How are you? Are you feeling all right?”

I shake my head. “I was too nervous to eat all day.” She laughs. “Me too.”

I clap a hand over my mouth, stumbling back. “Oh my God. I poisoned Dylan. The Dylan.”

She waves off that notion. “Psh. He’ll live. They’re probably pumping him with fluids and gold as we speak.”

We both take a minute to glance around. No one is looking for us or checking on us. It’s almost . . . a relief.

Martha takes my hand. “Let’s blow this puke show!” She pulls me with her to a golf cart with the keys in the ignition.

She slides in behind the wheel and I take my seat next to her as co-captain. “I gotta get out of this dress,” I tell her.

“Me too. I feel like a total stranger.”

As the sun sinks down behind the horizon she speeds off toward the makeup trailer where we left our street clothes.

We both take turns changing inside the trailer, and when we’re done, it’s like a makeover reveal on a TV show except this time, it’s more of an un-makeover, where we just reveal ourselves. Our regu- lar, normal, everyday selves.

I stand beneath the dusky sky in my leggings and gold flats in my favorite dress — the bright yellow one covered in all kinds of food from, hot dogs and hamburgers to sundaes and doughnuts.

Martha slinks down the steps toward me in the same stompy boots she wore earlier today and a short body-hugging violet knit skirt with a black T-shirt that says Do no harm, but take no sht. She’s the type of person who if you don’t want to kiss her, you probably want to be her. And I think I definitely want one of those things.

“There you are,” I say, my words coming out breathier than I expected.

“Here I am,” she says.

***

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sootonthecarpet · 4 years

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if it's not too much trouble to answer, can I ask what's been the going on with doctor who that's bad? I've seen little bits of it when my parents watch it in the other room but not enough to really get a good sense of it?

heyyy sorry to keep ya waiting on this. i tried to keep this as short as i could, but it’s about five paragraphs long, sorry. it’s not in any way a comprehensive list of problems with the last few seasons, just a quick tour of the moments i shouldve let be my ‘i can’t keep watching after this’ point. i wanted to write it objectively but i got pretty aggro, bc this show that in some part i genuinely adore has been producing unforgivably bigoted content. (it’s kinda a ship of theseus situation, except where the parts of the ship were replaced with worse, shittier, fake-woke parts.) i ask ppl to avoid reblogging this, because i don’t want my words to contribute in any way to online buzz surrounding this show or make anyone want to see it, even if ONLY to hatewatch or criticize.

content warning for misogynoir/antiblackness, racism, bury ur gays, some shit with nazi germany (yeah lol) and just the slightest kiss of antisemitism.

(edit: i seem to be having some problems with the read more cut. it’s there on dash view and when i edit the post, but doesn’t show on some instances of my blog. i can’t fix this but gksfkgls. wanted to at least be overt that i wouldn’t post this kinda long ranty stuff without a cut.)

in the last season where peter capaldi was the doctor, two seasons ago now, he had a new companion, Bill. she was a black lesbian and literally the only reason i started watching doctor who again. i loved her, and i was really glad to see the show moving back towards the more diverse cast of characters that we saw in the late aughts. then the season had a repeated theme of FORCING her to either repress or not feel her emotions. there are two scenes that stand out most to me. in an ep set in like, early 19th century london, she and the doctor are talking to a racist rich white dude who is being super nasty to Bill. the doctor keeps telling her to cool it and not show how angry she is. then HE gets to punch the guy out and knock him to the floor.

this theme of the white man being the only one allowed to get angry was big all season, iirc. then at the end of the season, Bill is turned into a cyberman. they’re usually like. soulless scary automatons, but some characters keep their individuality, which has been explored in a few past seasons, usually leading up to a tragic/heroic death. in Bill’s case, they did this trick with filming where we could see her perspective of herself in some shots–an intensely emotional performance, Bill was completely traumatized and her actress was working her ass off–and in others, just this metal body incapable of expression, scaring people like she was a monster and monotoning these otherwise very emotional statements. it’s an interesting narrative device, but after a whole season of this show putting Bill through all kinds of terrible shit and forcing her not to show her feelings on the matter, it hit me as like. this nauseating exaggeration of how society treats actual black lesbians as monsters and tries to make them bottle up their emotions and especially their justifiable anger. anyway, then Bill died and got to be with her dead girlfriend from her first episode. wow, cool.

idk what made me watch the season after that. i guess i wanted to see the new doctor, and i liked her companions (one was like. a young man with disabling neurological symptoms, tbh even if i’d missed Bill’s season that might have had me back on board). i had plenty of problems with how the season played out, obvs, but nothing was standout horrible to me the way the shit with Bill had been (except maybe the episode that started out like ‘space amazon is a hellhole’ and somehow ended with ‘space amazon was taken advantage of by a broken AI that hurt some people and they didnt fix the infrastructure we explicitly showed harmed their workers but now it’s fine!’ if that sounds weird and heavy handed with an unsatisfying ending, it’s because it was). the new season tho? the OPENING EPISODES OF THE NEW SEASON, THO? it opens with alexa product placement, in an episode about how a fictionalized google was actually run by a black man who had ties to a large number of aliens who had secretly infiltrated our society, altered our dna, and shit like that. so uh, 1. brand war lmao, sellouts etc etc 2. y’all remember those conspiracy theories about jews? and white supremacist beliefs that black people are ruining the world but aren’t smart enough to do it on their own so they must be agents of jewish corruption? HUH. HUH! that’s not even my big problem with the fuckin thing, but it’s FOR SURE a suspicious writing move from a tv show with suuuuch a huge viewership. (and it’s just plain embarrassing for a show with alexa product placement to try to go all scary panopticon tropes specifically @ a google analogue.)

anyway, we run into an old recurring antagonist, the master, a time lord like the doctor. he’s a guy again after having been a woman for a few seasons, and now played by an actor of color. i figure the reasoning at least partly relied on “dude, how fucked up will it be if we force the doctor’s black friend to call a white dude master” but i was immediately afraid it might go to the like…. Righteous White Woman Gets The Better Of Evil Brown Man tropes and oh boy!!!! i tried to be good and give it the benefit of the doubt until i saw something racist but it wasted no time. the doctor got stuck in the past at one point, and met the master, who was currently a military official with the third reich. oh boy. so she asks him why they let him work with them and he explains he’s using a device to psychically disguise himself, they see him as white. (we missed a great chance for him to monologue about how they were willing to bend their morals when they saw how evil he could get or something.) this was awkward enough for me as a viewer, but i wasn’t prepared to go into it, in case there was some tiny shred of nuance somewhere that would make this situation anything but a clusterfuck.

well, the doctor executes a genuinely clever scheme and makes a radio transmission to the brits that she knows won’t reach em, talking about how helpful this officer has been–setting up the master to be falsely outed as a double agent when the nazis intercept it. she tells the master this and then skedaddles, letting him be arrested by his own men. could be a satisfying karmic victory where he presumably gets a military trial and weasels out of his fate, although i don’t like the implications of a white woman punishing a brown man for racism. BUT IT DIDN’T STOP THERE! she disables his psychic filter, causing his men to see his true identity as a man of color–she exposes her oldest frenemy and Basically The Only Time Lord Who’ll Talk To Her to nazi racism when he was ALREADY about to fall into their hands as a prisoner. what could have been a marginally satisfying defeat was instead a kind of emotional horrorshow for me as i had to stop and wonder what kind of hell they’d put him through and why the writers decided that the doctor (who has literally since the show began in like the sixties been set up as an enemy of naziism via allegory and has always been firm in the idea that NOBODY, including literal maneating space monsters, deserves to be treated as less than human) would DO that. IT’S LATER IMPLIED HE ESCAPED FROM A CONCENTRATION CAMP. the narrative DOES NOT allow time for that to sink in before moving on.

i dont have a conclusion 2 this. im just hurt as fuck about it. i hope i gave u the info u were looking for without getting too deep into my personal feelings, but it’s difficult, maybe impossible to be objective about stuff like this.

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