You Can't Change My Mind, This Is 100% Him.

You can't change my mind, this is 100% him.

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All Vivzie has said about this is that he has a "weird moral code". We can suspect that it might include having more mercy on women, and a prequel comic shows him actually protecting an innocent vulnerable person... But we still have no idea how far he would actually go, where he would draw the line.

xmen origins logan, you’ll always be my favorite <3

Kuvira + Text Post Part II

These were so much fun!!! I can’t stop won’t stop, someone take my computer away from me XD

Matt Smith: Two Face

Imagine filming a fairly violent scene with Matt Smith for House of the Dragon, what happens when you have trouble distinguishing kind-hearted Matt from cruel Daemon:

The scene wasn't supposed to be taking this long, it was meant to be quick, but the director has us repeating it a multitude of times. Something about it not being as good as it could be. I, honestly, couldn't care less how good it was as long as it was over.

My character, though not the most important, plays a role in how Daemon manages to steal the dragon egg and escape to Dragonstone. I was cast as Rhaenyra's younger sister, Seraena, who had quite the different relationship with her uncle. Where Rhaenyra saw freedom and future my character saw terror.

Daemon systematically terrorized Seraena as he viewed her to be unworthy of the Targaryen legacy, unworthy to be the rider of the vicious Cannibal.

Daemon would inflict pain upon her when the option was available, mentally terrorizing her even more-so. These abusive interactions were kept a secret from the rest of the family though, as she was not in the favor of her father or sister; she was alone.

I've been an actress for many years, and oftentimes get stuck in the mindset of my characters, but nothing as severe as with Seraena. I would only notice minor changes, usually just in my vocabulary and way of speaking, but I've become so engrained in this character that it's becoming harder for me to distinguish other actors from their characters. 

The effects are minimal with most others, but with Matt... His character is so cruel and violent that I just can't help it. If Matt raises his hand or makes any quick movements, I can't stop myself from flinching away, and I know he's noticed it as well. The concerned looks, the way his eyes linger when I step away from him, how I suddenly have nothing to say when he joins my conversation.

I try to work through this, write about it, acknowledge how what I'm doing isn't healthy, that I know Matt is a really sweet person in reality; but whenever I see him, I can't help this urge of wanting to turn and run away. How could he have such a sweet expression on his face one second, and then an empty glare the next?

_______

Fingers roughly grasp the wig upon my head, I can tell he's trying to be gentle, but he still has to make the interaction seem realistic.

He had asked me beforehand if I was alright with the physical contact the scene required, I had nodded a 'yes' even though the nausea reminded me constantly how I had wanted to say no.

The scene we were filming has Daemon battering me as a way to gain information pertaining to the dragon egg for Viserys' unborn child. It wasn't the most violent scene to have occurred between our characters, but I would say it was the most emotionally charged. 

Threats of violence slithering from Matt's lips far too smoothly for my mind to distinguish. His hand gripping my neck as his fingers laced through my hair and pulled my head back. He was right behind me, body scarily close as I was sandwiched between him the the stone wall of the castle. I can't remember what I was doing, body running on autopilot; I spoke, but I can't remember if they were my lines or not.

There was a tremor spiraling through my body, settling in my hands as they shakily grasped the hand that strangled my neck. Was I supposed to do that? Would they make me reshoot this scene? 

"Cut!" That resounding word echoes through my mind, lights being turned back on to illuminate the area. The many faces of the other cast members as well as the film crew entered my vision. It was a scene, it was a scene. 

The hands were removed as I turned to look at Matt, that cruel emptiness was gone, replaced by his calm face, eyes looking at me with worry.

"Hey, are you alright?" I couldn't respond, as I had already turned away and began to walk hurriedly towards the bathrooms. My heart felt uneasy, as though the blood being pumped wasn't enough, I felt like I was dying.

I slammed the door shut, leaning forward against the sink as I glared into the mirror.

'You're not her, you're not Seraena, you're Y/N L/N. He's not Daemon, he's Matt! He has never hurt you, this is all for a show.' 

I raise my hand up, touching my neck gently, as though the skin would tear at the slightest contact. The shaking of my hand bringing up an anger I was unsure how to handle. I couldn't contain it, my hands curling around my neck as I glare at my reflection.

My fingers dig into my skin as I drag them down, relishing in the discomfort I experience, but my hands still shake. I hit my wrists against the sink, ignoring the shooting pain as they still shake. Resorting to biting my hand, not letting go until I taste blood.

When I release, I let out an angered yell as the shaking continues. I place one hand against the sink and hit it repeatedly with the other, eliciting a crushing sensation. 

I had no intentions of stopping, but soon realize that my actions are being hindered. Two hands holding my own with a firm grip, halting their violent actions. I look in the mirror and see none other than Matt stood behind me, concern emanating heavily from him. He is speaking to me, I know this because his lips are moving, but what is he saying? What words does he think will help me?

I can't help the torture I'm experiencing, the tears building within my eyes as the feeling in my legs disappears; I would've collapsed had Matt not been there. My sobs were awful, the pain and confusion filling my mind as I was being held and comforted by a man that I could not distinguish.

His arms were strong as they wrapped around my torso, though they were soft, steady. He had lowered us down to the ground gently, cradling me to his chest as we sat on the bathroom floor. His whispers were calming, though I could not tell what was said. 

Was this man the devil? Was he who I feared yet longed for, the man that could free me from deception? Or am I all that I should fear? Do I make my prison with the words I learn, she who lives within porcelain walls that sees enemies in her own reflection?

Look at us. Former detectives club.

Tilly Dunnage: I'll Be Here

Imagine being best friends with Tilly Dunnage, but it's time for her to return home to remember her past:

It was a cold morning when I was awoken by the front door being closed, the sun not even breaking the horizon yet. I could tell they were trying to be quiet, but I've always been a light sleeper.

Pushing off the covers, I recoil in distaste as a chill slinks through my body, my arms instinctively wrapping around my torso. The feel of my satin pajamas reminds me why I'm getting up at this ungodly hour; my best friend is up for some reason, and it's my job to figure out why.

_______

Myrtle Dunnage, prefers Tilly, but I'll always know her as Myrtle. We had so little in common when we first met, but that wasn't important to me. I can still remember the empty look in her eyes the first week at boarding school, and I knew I had to do something to make her smile. I found myself rushing to her aid against bullies, even offering to help her with schoolwork.

Our friendship set sail after that, I realized that I liked making her smile, more so than I did for any of my other friends. I found myself being drawn to her, she was so different compared to the other kids here; she was very shy and skittish, always carrying a sadness heavily on her shoulders. Even after all these years, that weight has never been lifted, I wish she would let me help her.

That shy girl is no more, her ratty and dull hair is now silky and long, shining luminously in the sunlight. Her meek form has matured confidently, her movements no longer made in uncertainty. I knew she was changing when we ran away, it was the first real decision she had made, and who was I to disagree.

But from that day on, I could tell she was different, no longer that scared girl, instead a calculating woman with a chip on her shoulder. She was never at peace, at least not completely; I would try to distract her, but I knew this day would come.

_______

The storm door quietly rattles against its frame as I walk down the steps. Tilly originally wanted to live in the center of Paris, closer to her mentor and the customers, but I managed to convince her otherwise. I, personally, can't handle city life, being bustled up next to people at all times, homes being stacked up right next to each other; I convinced her that we should buy a house in the rural outskirts.

It's moments like now that I am glad I made that decision, for you could never have this early morning serenity in a big city, nor would you be able to find the big Oak that Tilly is currently sitting under.

The sky is a cool blue, the moon sheen reflecting against the dew on the grass. Even in the dark, I can tell her mind is troubled.

I try to be quiet as I walk over, pulling my coat tighter around my body as a breeze sends chills down my spine. My footsteps must've disturbed her, as she turns to face me immediately, a neutral expression on her face before giving into a light smile.

"You frightened me Y/N." Her voice rings clearly with a slightly teasing tone. I can tell that she is putting up a facade... I sigh quietly before sitting next to her on the roots of the tree.

"Sorry, I just got worried when I heard the front door open..." I respond, my voice having an apologetic and worried hint to it. She isn't often up and wandering at these hours, she's usually very big on beauty sleep.

"No need to worry, I'm alright. You should head back inside before you catch a cold." She states, turning back to the clear sky.

"You should do the same." I say back, wanting her to stop being so distant.

Her silence could almost be called audible with how much it is saying.

"Tilly, what's wrong?" I ask the obvious question, but it had to be said. I can sense her body tense up, she clearly didn't want to answer my question.

"Nothing." She replies bluntly, her answer is curt; but that doesn't annoy me, instead it makes me even more concerned.

"You still think you can lie to me after all these years?" I allow a tinge of sarcasm, not wanting to make the conversation too heavy. A thick silence settles over us, as she stares out at the stars.

"You remember those nightmares I had when I was younger?"

"...Yes."

"Well, I'm not quite sure what happened, but I think... I think I killed a boy."

"You think? What does that mean?"

"I can't remember what happened. All I can remember is that a boy died, and then I was dragged from my mother and sent away."

We sit there again in the emanating silence. I'm not sure what to say, I don't think any different of Tilly, but this is an unusual conversation.

"So... What are you going to do?"

"I-I think I need to go back. Find the truth so I can be at peace."

"Alright, when do we leave?" I respond back, prepared to take on this battle with her. She looks at me surprised, stunned slightly at my response.

"That's kind of you Y/N, but I need to do this on my own." She states quietly, her eyes lightly lined with tears. I scrunch my eyebrows as I frown slightly, we've barely been apart since the day we ran away, now she'll be going away for who knows hows long.

"When do you leave?"

"I was going to leave tonight before you awoke..."

"Myrtle... Don't go..." My voice trembles

"You know I hate that name." She says in a stern voice, but I can tell by looking at her, that she's just as sad as I am.

"I know." My voice is downtrodden, there's no changing her mind. All I can do is look down as we get up, I help her with her luggage. Driving her to the train station in silence, the only noise being the sound of rain dotting against the windshield.

Our eyes are both silent waterfalls as we  exit the car, we share no words, not even as she gets on her train. The final straw was the heartbreaking embrace we shared, this could be goodbye forever or until next month, but I'll never know. All I will remember until her return is her sweet smile.

"I'll be here, should you ever return, Myrtle Dunnage."