ii.

Pronouns: she/her

Time Zone: est

Favorite sci-fi movie?: honestly? wall-e. come at me.

What would you take into space with you?: tie between my cats and my houseplants.

Would you join the US Space Force?: listen, at this point I'll take any job with a competitive salary, benefits, and a 401k.

shrinemaidens said: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS

i just got really sad about stuff this morning u feel me

ladybols said: Daphne being a gr8 radio host.

Sometimes I get really emotional about modern day Atticass. Modern day Atticass as in, modern day foreign city summer houses along the Mediterranean coast, NYC skyline residences overlooking central  park, sitting front row at Paris Fashion Week with sleek shoes with fingers intertwined on the cover of gossip magazines Atticass. As in Cassandra dressed strictly in flattering, tasteful Hermes while Atticus, with his craving for the absurd, is eternally crossing the line into the gaudier Italian Dolce and Gabbana-esque waters (to which she constantly [and gently, of course] has to dissuade him). As in private vineyards scattered along California's coastline and Cassandra's rolling of the eyes as Atticus insists his investments should have really instead been put into the French market (and attributes the folly to lack of foresight in his youth, as if he's currently old and wise, an irony that is not lost on her). As in nobody ever betrayed anyone and the only rift that ever took place between Atticus and Auguste was a late-night club brawl after Auguste had, without permission, put up a treasured yacht for a bet and lost it on a bad hand of cards, generating enough tabloid fodder to give TMZ something to chew on for weeks. As in Cassandra doing whatever the fuck she pleases and nobody particularly giving a damn if she was good at it or not, because even though she was given money she wasn't born with it in her veins and those shitty jobs she took in college waiting tables taught her the value of a dollar. As in Cassandra losing her first baby and, eventually, using her grief to benefit the lives of other women, opening a non-profit in the tangle of the city to which women in need could flock. Atticus proudly (and with frequency) making it known he pays all his employees far above the minimum working wage and (as a lost bet to Cassandra over a sleazy game of strip-tease poker [something he was always doomed to lose against her]) offering even to cover the costs of birth control along with a slew of other top-notch health benefits. The irony, of course, being that undesirable things in huge amounts are imported and exported under his watchful eye, and for all the good he does he counteracts with a great deal of the opposite, a secret, of course, that is only vaguely whispered by the federal government, only because they are well-paid not to raise their voices any higher.

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