Sanity Taking A Dip Like 📉📉

He's so babyyyyy,

So excited for this trailer drop yesssss plzzzz gimmeeeeee

It's felt like we've been waiting for YEARS...

...especially since we got told he's ONLY in his Calvin's through parts of the trailer 🤭

REPOSTING TWICE BECAUSE I'M DYING

Eden found

Summary: In the shadow of a secluded New Mexican commune near Eddington, you, as journalist, seek answers from Vernon Jefferson Peak, a preacher shrouded in mystery at the wake of the Covid-19 pandemic. What begins as a quest to uncover his cult-like following spirals into an intoxicating world of biblical subversion, unbridled liberty, and a surreal journey through desire and control. As the line between observer and participant blurs, you are drawn deeper into a vortex of psychedelic rituals and forbidden ecstasy, orchestrated by Vernon’s commanding presence, in an attempt to find ultimate freedom in a worldly Eden. 

Tags: MDNI, erotic surrealism (explicit), cult fiction, biblical allegory, psychedelic rituals, spiritual awakening, gothic sensuality, pandemic exploration, psychological entrapment, power dynamics, hedonistic utopia, journalistic descent. 

Word count: 4.2k 

Note: inspired by Aphex Twin's Windowlicker on repeat for hours, pictures by @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal 

List of Austin inspired one shots

+++

You were scrolling through the Instagram page of a preacher from a small town called Eddington in the US, while your Amtrak train glided through the New Mexican landscape, through deserts and mountain ranges. As nearly every journalist, you too had been looking to cover the implications of the Covid-19 pandemic. With this profession you were exempt from several travel limitations, and your newest subject, a man called Vernon Jefferson Peak, had been more than willing to invite you out to his commune.

Stories reached you that he tried to have his little oasis protected against governmental restrictions. But why he was so adamant, what exactly he was trying to protect, that remained a mystery for you to uncover.

What you did not know as you cruised cross country, was that you would never use your return ticket back home. 

Clad with a mouth mask, you listened to his sermons for hours at an end. Rants, they were better called. He spoke about his absolute distrust of governmental authority, about his desire for ultimate freedom, his refusal to wear any protection. He spoke about the guns he owned, the drugs he used, the sanctuary he created. 

An intriguing man, scruffy shoulder length blond hair, deep dark eyes. With time, he seemed to become more ominous, as if emotion was eating into all his constraint. While he was an obscure, not well-known nearly 40-year-old preacher before Covid hit, his audience changed overnight. His teachings of complete autonomy appealed to many.  

You, not doubting the good intentions of the government, were not appealed by that part of his message. But you were captivated by his delivery, his passion, his shroud of mystery. He was so easy to listen to, yet so difficult to grasp.  

What made him like this? What was his background? How did he come of this vision? All questions you hoped to find. But none you would gain. 

After a long travel, a driver brings you to his commune, and wishes you good luck, while giving you a knowing wink. It grabs your attention, but not too much, as your focus soon shifts to the place you have arrived at. A ranch it seems to be, built in traditional New-Mexican architecture, showing influences of many cultures coming together into a melting pot.  

As you step through the front gate, smells of incense and marihuana plants hit your nose. Unapologetic.  

You traverse the plain to the main building. The distances between the walls surrounding this part, the gate and where you are walking towards are so grand, they nearly distort your view. Halfway you stop to close your eyes and shake your head, as if you are trying to recalibrate yourself. Probably the expedition and lack of food have taken its toll. But this would soon be resolved, as Vernon had kindly promised you a place to stay and bread to eat for as long as you decided to observe him. You had offered him pay, but he said the lord would decide how you would repay. 

It felt like ages before you arrived. As you stood under the steps you needed to take to climb up to the porch, it opened with a soft creak.  

And there he stood, as you lifted your head to look upon him, the sun coming from behind him, as if he was wrapped in god's appraisal. Wearing white flowy trousers and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up displaying his sun-tanned underarms graced with veins and tattoos, the strings left dangling showing his chest, giving a glimpse of more tattoos that covered his otherwise lily-white skin. Broad shoulders. He was fit, for a priest. His hair as wavy as you saw online. A man true to himself.  

Yet, still an enigma.  

“Come, my guest. Let me get you something to eat, so you can be refreshed.” Hearing these words caused a shiver to run down your back. His voice, softer than on social media, while still remarkably intense. It was the first time you heard his voice life, as he had refused to speak with you. He only sent text messages, at random times and long intervals apart. You did hope you would not be spending the coming three days and nights, before your return home, following with a man who only recited bible verses.  

He walked down the stairs to grab the backpack from your back, as he extended his muscular arm into the space beyond the porch: “All for you to traverse. You will find rare and beautiful treasures in every corner.”  

“Thank you, mr Jefferson Peak” you replied, thinking how you never knew a man of the lord could be so... so strangly appealing. There was something about him. Something that drew you to him. 

“Please, call me father Veron.” 

You followed him through his path of musk, orange and incense. Looking around you, in the cool and softly lit hallway, the rooms you passed held faint shadows of what appeared to be people wearing white dresses. He had told you before quite a few people lived here in freedom, under his protection. He did not wear a white dress, his lined trousers did a good task in hiding his curves, although you could not avoid seeing the sculpted round shape of his behind as he stepped up some stairs and the tattoos around the uncovered skin of his ankles.  

He brought you to another courtyard, about 10 by 15 meters of sand with a bit of shrubbery, surrounded with white painted walls, holding white painted wooden doors and windows covered with white painted shutters.  

“I will bring you to your room” looking over his shoulder, showing you a hint of a smile. For the first time, you felt there was life behind his dire eyes.  

Reaching your room, he pushed the door open, waved his arm to emphasise the room and said: “refresh and find me.” 

And that is what you did. You walked through the room, which was filled with the same smell as he had radiated. As if he had spent considerable time in this very place.  

You splashed water in your face, trying to get the lightness out of your head. As journalist you had learned that in places like these, you needed to be on your a-game not to be swayed by sweet words and pressing gestures. Emptying your backpack into the closets, you found similar white robes as you saw earlier. 

The water did not help. Whether it was the journey, the lack of food and water, or the penetrating smells, your brain was trying to escape your head. You tried googling to get some idea on how to quickly relief yourself from the pain, but your phone did not seem to have any reception here. A quick nap of 15 minutes might help you, you decided, together with a large sip of the carafe of water placed on the table. Your host did not give you any pressure to be somewhere on time, so he surely would be fine with this. 

15 minutes turned into 3 hours, feeling like days, awakening in the dark. You had overslept. But, your head no longer felt like exploding. Light yes, but no longer painful. You felt relaxed, at ease. More than you had experienced for a long time. Going this far from the city you grew up in, was a way to find a new story. But it was more of an escape from the daily pressure of your family's hope that started to mount on you. Expectations you would never be able to meet, as you decided – as their only child – not to become the desired doctor or lawyer. 

With a little bit of guilt, you took another sip of water tidied up your clothes and went out to find the man you came to visit. Walking past the courtyard, your path was lit by low-burning torches. The premises even more beautiful than during the day, you could not shed the eerie feeling this place gave you. There was something unalive about it. Something was off. As if you did not see everything. 

The walk brought you through different parts of the compound. Past many other white doors, buildings, trees.  

There, entering through a narrow gate, you found him. Sitting on a white wooden chair behind a fire, which was surrounded by a few dozen people sitting or resting on their knees on the ground. Big platters of food laying next to them, from which they jointly ate with their hands. Chatting. Nothing surrounds this place, other than mountains and far away forests. They are in the open, yet so secluded.  

Vernon saw you, as he lifted his arm to softly wave at you. 

Walking as softly as you could, not to have any dust arise on the dishes, you circled around to say hello. 

“I hope you slept well” he asked with a smile, the fire crackling as the light radiated on his face, emphasising his sharp jaw and high cheekbones, while making his eyes look darker than before. 

“Yes, thank you... father Vernon.” 

He chuckled softly. 

“Come, sit next to me” as he pointed at a place next to him that was evicted that very moment.  

You decided to play game. That is what you always did. That is why people trusted you. You immersed yourself, allowing you to paint the full picture. It made you a respected observant. 

Kneeling next to him, the only person not clad in white, you looked up and saw his eyes slowly grace over his followers that surrounded him in the circle. He looked pleased, until he found your gaze staring at him. 

His smile disappeared as he pursed his lips. “Why are you here?” 

“To learn about you” you replied, “father Vernon.” 

“Hmm. I see” he replied. “If you want to learn about me, you will need to understand why these people come to me to show them the path.” 

“I am all ears, father Vernon. I am here to be taught, to understand” you replied, truthfully, while glancing around and seeing his followers lean against each other, finding each other vicinity, chatting softly.  

“I see, my dear” as his smile returned. “Do you want to immerse yourself in my teachings?” he asked. 

“Yes” you responded immediately. 

“You know what this means?” he asked, as the wind blowed softly, giving the fire a bit more room to grow. 

“Uuuhm” you replied. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Please, do explain, father Vernon” with the smell of the incense infused bonfire hitting your nostrils, spreading through your veins, while the chatter of his people seemed to turn into something softer. But you only paid attention to him, so you failed to see the mood shifting around you. From a light feathery ambiance, transitioning into something more suggestive, more amorous.  

“I believe in liberty. Unencumbered liberty. We believe that through the ingestion of certain medicines we become conscious. We open a spiritual gateway to god through our joint entanglement. This combination will set us free” he bellowed as if he was preaching. At the same time, he spread his arm to your shoulder, as if to exemplify what he meant with entanglement: a physical touch. Human's becoming one. Finding each other. 

“I prepared the food myself, as I do every day for my flock” he said at a normal tone again, extending his other arm as if to embrace his people, only to find his heart. He did not offer you anything, nor did you long for it. 

You finally tore your gaze away from him, following his lead, and saw the people surrounding you finding one and other. Not just embracing, unpacking, cherishing, touching, kissing. You managed to zoom into what was happening, the new sounds now reaching your ears. 

It suddenly dawned on you. This was not just an innocent embrace, this was set to become a full-on psychedelic infused fest. As your mouth nearly dropped open, you heard him start to prepare for yet another rant: “take each other, ravish each other, become one. The lord has always intended that all people in Eden devour each other, regardless of bond and sex. The garden is meant to eat, to live, to enjoy - not to be ashamed and bound. Never did the lord proclaim that enlightened and free people should be shackled. Live, as life was meant to be in paradise. In this paradise we know no sin. Man and woman were both naked and were not ashamed in the holy gardens of Eden. We are made to consume, to unmake, to ruin, to claim, to desire, to take, to worship.” 

Upon hearing those words, the crowd responded: “to unmake is to worship, to take is to glorify.” 

As he continued to evangelize, nearly oblivious to what was happening around his feet, you just sat there and watched the sight unfold. In an atmosphere filled with divine lust, people started to fall on top of each other, help each other undress, bring each other to a state of oblivion. Every now and then united through another chant. Another mantra, solemnly spoken. All, to satisfy their god.  

Their bodies turned to unify into one throbbing thrusting mass, producing obscene yet blessed sounds, under the watchful eye of their father, Father Vernon, who enticed them with his rapid fire, almost speaking in tongues as the night grew older.  

Every now and then he would look at you, benevolently. See how you were still there. He enjoyed your presence, he saw the awe that you had for his work.  

You were not taken aback, or perhaps a bit, but only momentarily. You looked in trance at the marvel unravelling before your eyes, the people that came apart at his mere will. You did not consider to participate – you did not yet know that this would come sooner rather than later. But you allowed the sight to pass straight through you, and the react to the little particles within you, setting a chain-reaction in motion. 

That night, he physically only touched you on your shoulder, and only once. It was sufficient.  

Mentally, he already started to settle you to receive him. 

But you did not know that, not yet. 

“Sleep well. I will see you tomorrow night” he whispered, knowing you would return.  

+++ 

He knew. He knew that you would sleep for many hours, a longer stretch than usual. Breakfast displayed in your room, lunch brought to you on the porch where you sat staring at the never changing landscape.  

You were not sure what you had witnessed yesterday evening. You tried finding more information online, but your cell phone connection was still not working, and wifi was not available.  

So, you needed to rely on your other sources: other guests and your own deduction.  

Other guests remained shadows during the day, fleeting past you without making a sound. You knew you were not alone, yet you only saw servants.  

You did try to find your host, but not with too much urgency. You had two days and two nights still.  

On the porch, looking in the distance, you found solitude you had yearned for. It allowed you to dive deep into your mind. Yet, however you tried to formulate the right questions you needed to research here, you could only think of him. The man that had created this little oasis san sin. The preacher who tried to recreate Eden on the face of earth. The man that started to occupy you, dictate your thoughts. Vernon Jefferson Peak.  

Mesmerizing. He had this glow over him that drew you. Wild yet sophisticated. Dark yet welcoming. Enrapturing yet distant. The man was an enigma.  

What did you know of this man? Why did these people follow him? How did he manage to create this place?  

All legitimate questions, to which you would perhaps find the answer, after yet another lightheaded day. 

A day on which you failed to make any notes. 

+++ 

The second night repeated as the first. You woke up after a long nap, finding darkness broken by torches that set the path. 

A path you followed.  

Again, the person next to him allowed you to sit, the psychedelic laced food was served while he spoke. While he preached. Lecturing on freedom.  

This time, you ate.  

You knew that you ate. Not much, but a bit. You knew what this would mean. It would cause you to shed the line between observer and participant. 

But you decided, after all, you needed to experience the world he was creating here. And that meant following in the steps. 

The ritual of the day before was repeated. People started to undress and find each other.  

And that was when the drugs kicked in. That is when you started to understand. The impact of what Vernon had prepared in his kitchen found path into your brain to shed your inhibitions. You looked from the mass of people to the fire and back, and saw how this was all connected. They were just... recreating the dance of the flames. Recreating how paradise must have been, when all of humanity was still united. They were seeking and finding their salvation through this ancient ritual.  

It suddenly all made sense. You now knew why you felt off before, a feeling that had vanished. 

One follower found Vernon, as he sat in his chair, having finished his second monologue. She kneeled between his legs, and asked: "I am here to worship and receive blessings, father Vernon” while letting down her head. 

She was fully undressed while he was fully clothed, and he responded kindly: “come, my child.” Her signal to move closer and start to massage his thighs and waist, while he moved his pelvis a bit forward to allow her better access. 

As she opened the buttons of his shirt, he allowed himself to relax and look over to you, one hand on her head, while the other reached out to yours. “Observe, my dearest guest, this is what praise of the lord means” nodding at the sight in front of him.  

Soon, his chest and arms were fully bare, showing the ink that covered his body. Pictures that depicted Eden. Beautiful trees, water running, people in happiness. It could have been a fifteen's century Dutch master, recognisant of the style of Jeroen Bosch, were it not that it was covered on his sculpted body and not displayed in a museum. Beneath all of this, the constraints of his loose-fitting pants were starting to show. 

Her hands sought the divine, as she caressed his torso in a gesture of blessing. First with her hands, later with her tongue. 

You just felt, you just knew: ‘this is not what Vernon wants. He wants something else. His need for absolution is somewhere else.’ 

Just that moment, you saw Vernon lose some of his control for the first time. Just the tiniest of growls came from him. You eyes shot to his face, where you saw his smile disappear behind his luscious lips, his jaws clenching, his eyes further darkening. It had the right impact, causing an immediate reaction within her. She fell to her knees to unbutton his trousers, to allow her to unleash his growing length from its holding. This was less ceremonious, as she did not take a lot of time before opening her mouth and welcoming him in. 

You looked at this picture unfolding in front of you without any shame or constraints, your mouth falling open ever so slightly. As if you were readying yourself as well.  

It was a holy sight of a man who clearly received the blessings of his lord. She struggled to wrap herself around his girth and length, and he let her. He looked at you as he spoke: “this is her path. This is her struggle. She needs to earn her place in heaven by becoming a vessel for the sacred intent of god” as he petted her head, complimenting her for her efforts with soft hums.  

His other hand was still resting on your neck as you were still kneeling down: “you are no longer an observer, you are a participant. Disrobe. Take off those foreign threads.” 

A shock waved through you, but you did not protest. You had decided to see more of his world, and that meant following. It was just for one night, so you told yourself. And truth be said, being the only person not fitted in white linen, or now clothed at all, did make you stand out. 

“Yes” you responded, adding softly “father Vernon.” 

“My lamb” he answered pleased with his husky voice, while your clothing softly dropped to the ground. 

With his cock being consecrated and you kneeling next to him with his hand softly around your neck, undressed, he started yet another sermon. But the words did not find you anymore, it was the tone, the sound, the melody that hit you.  

It brought you euphoria. 

It brought them euphoria. 

It finally brought him euphoria. 

And that is when you understood. 

+++ 

On the third day, you woke up with an excruciating headache.  

Scavenging through your bag for pain killers, you found your return ticket, and hold it in your hand. You will be leaving tomorrow. Leave this place. A last day to find the answers you were looking for, to be able to finish your article. 

Again, breakfast has been brought to your room. Lunch served on the porch. 

Gazing over the mountain range, you found yourself, asking: ‘I feel so at ease here. Why is that? Is that not the question to ask?’ 

You could remember in vivid colours, sounds and smells what you witnessed the night before. 

It hit you. You knew. You knew what you needed to do to find the answers. 

That night, you followed the path in flames again, after you awake from your nap. For the first time dressed in the same robes. 

As you entered the ceremony, something was different. You could not identify what it was, as your eyes were drawn to the fire to guide you to your place next to father Vernon.  

No-one was sitting there, the place next to him was already yours. 

“Come, my child” as he pointed at the place next to him. “But don't sit. Today, I have a trial to show if your faith is genuine.” 

You gulped. 

“Have a drink” as he handed you a glass of water. “Fear not.” 

You took a sip. The water had tasted... differently in this place. You blamed it on the local sanitation process. But perhaps, perhaps that was incorrect. 

“The flock is yours. Tell them what you saw” he instructs with a tender yet forceful voice. “Stand in front of the spiritual fire and declare. Lead us tonight.” And on those words, he placed his hand on the small of your back, gently pushing you to take a step forwards, guiding you stand exactly in front of him. 

There you stood. A journalist, a writer, an observer – being observed, being witnessed. Eyes open in anticipation, nobody engaging with each other as all focus was on you. 

What more could you have ever wanted, than such undivided attention for your words? 

You started to speak, softly, but soon rapturing into reverie. 

You spoke, first of pleasantries. Of the nice architecture, the hospitality, the weather. 

His hands soon found you, separated just by fabric. Starting on the top of your buttocks, moving up, slowly, to the small of your back. You thought you felt him ever so softly raise your robe. 

Soon you declared. The kindness you met here. The solemnness. The liberty.  

One hand held the dress up, allowing his other to find the path underneath to the back of your thighs. 

As you proclaimed, he mapped. He mapped every single centimetre of the skin of your upper legs, getting closer and closer to your heat. 

You recited, as the top of hand and thumb graced your folds. 

He whispered: “you are doing well, my good and faithful servant.” 

Soon, your sermon transitioned into your observance of the absence of limitations and inhibitions. 

His fingers rewarded you, pressing into you, sight hidden from the flock. 

You thought you were still making sense, failing to notice that you had started speaking in tongues, all eyes still burned onto you. 

Your arms lifted up to the sky, as you declared. Your response to his machinations. Through his thrusts he handled you as a puppet.  

The end of your homily coincided with the peak he brought you, his long fingers offering you salvation as your eyes were fixed on the fire. 

“Fall” he told you, and you fell, on your hands and knees. Worn. Spent. 

“Brothers and sisters, today we will embrace a new sister in our midst” he declared, as he let himself fall behind you. Folding away your linen, unearthing himself from his own, he took his length, placing it behind you, having the tip wait at your entrance, to entice your anticipation.  

“Followers, find your own way” as he joined your bodies with a fluid motion. The sign they needed as the group slowly but surely erupted into their own oblivion. 

While they met each other, embraced each other, mixed fluids and feelings, you were initiated into this group. This very group, led by the man behind you. 

You knew you did well, as he showed you the stars by thrusting into you with divine intent. 

You knew you found your place, as he allowed you to gain enlightenment through his torch. 

You knew you would not leave, as he blessed you with his holy seed. 

Your exile from humanity was over. You belonged. 

+++ 

Post note: daily sermons for our dearest Austin Vernon, taking naps every day, being fed, living a god alike – I mean... I would follow him... wouldn't you @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @f3ytal @austinbutlerslovers @peageetibbs-ab @houserautha @sandwormrp @thefloatingpickle @arianatheangel-girl @wiseyouthinfluencer @jjubilee-fluff @unicoo @pomtherine @buckysteveloki-me @eternal-love @aust-een @destinymoore05 @nextlevelstupidity @slowsweetlove? Thank you for engaging into my rambles, yesterday and today.

List of Austin inspired one shots

Have to agree with you on that....

FUCK

Honestly, though, I'm more so fantasizing about who he'd be at the end of the movie... in his overalls, with an actual job BECAUSE WTF DOES HE DO FOR WORK DURING THE FIRST 2 HOURS OF THE MOVIE????

Anyway, I digress..

Benny needs a good slap basically - a wake up call in the form of a slap- but a SLAP nonetheless.

Fuck I love him so much GOD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME TO LOVE USELESS SEXY MEN. Genuinely my last partner had no job (LIED ABOUT IT TOO BTW)

AND

To make things worse

WAS OBSESSED WITH MOTORBIKES....

WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK.

Anyway rant, do apologise

“You’re so funny” yeah thanks;

I have a hyper fixation on a heartless prick with a cheeky right hook, who smokes cigarettes more than he breathes and would take great pleasure in leaving me with no regard for my feelings wbu?

I wanna decorate this man's sun-kissed skin with SOOOO many hickeys 🫦

Lemme kiss, lick, suck n bite 💋

Plzzzzz 🙏🏻 and thankyou 🥹

This exactly !! But dare I say.. better than Shakespeare ? 😳

@austinslounge @peggyao3 @faegoddessog

Paul: I'm going to take you out.

Feyd: Great, it's a date.

Paul: Harkonnen, I meant that as a threat.

Feyd: See you at seven.

(Insp.)

His BICEPS when he wrangles those puppies has me seeing stars 😩

I want him to grab me like that 🥺

Austin Butler does Buzzfeed interview while playing with puppies. (2022) 2/3

I need him to spiritually guide me... to his bedroom 🥰

Austin Butler as Vernon Jefferson Peak in Eddington

[hear me out]

Not trying to shame anyone or cause a ruckus or fall out with ANYONE...

BUT, I think it needs to be said..

Let's stop slagging off Kaia Berger. I have zero idea what she's don't to deserve such hate - apparently posted a bad review online of Austin's movie... Ok, and? 🤷🏻‍♀️

Apparently called the paps on him and his family... Ok, proof? Oh.. none? Ok... 🤷🏻‍♀️

And in reply to the OG post, let's be honest guys, Austin's acting wasn't as great as it is now when he was 23... and he's said the same thing. And that's fine. He also didn't get the best scripts.

And hey, I know anyone in their 20s and up remember AHS being an ICONIC show... it really came off the tracks during season 5 IMO, and it only went down hill from there. Kaia, although in a "popular" franchise, had one of the worst scrips and characters. AHS was a dead horse at that point.

Let's not bitch about a real human being who has real feelings when they don't deserve it.

Seriously, what has she done to warrant this level of dislike? Date a hot man we all wanna date? Been a little childish and moved on top quickly? And??? Lmao

I don't want to speak for Austin, but I'm SURE he doesn't want her name to continue to be brought up in relation to him... I'm sure he doesn't want an ex-partner he spent 3 years with, who he probably has real feelings towards, to get dragged on the internet.

And I'm sure we all know how much of a nice guy this man is... I don't think he'd promote this bitchy drama, I don't think he'd want his fanbase posting all of this. It's just not kind.

Again, not trying to cause drama, but idk, just felt wrong to me. Wanted to talk about it, possibly create a dialogue about it?

And I see the hypocrisy of me talking about morals and such... posting my absolutely filthy thoughts of Austin on the daily 🫢 - yeah, he would not be comfortable with that (no shit). But at least there's some kind of love and admiration and praise shown in that ? Really measly excuse of redemption there, but it's better than hating on another person - surely.

ANYWHOooOoo this is getting tOO deep for tumblr haha I'll stop my rant there

"It's crazy that she's dates such good actors and can't show any emotion when acting geez!"

I wouldn't blame Jacob or Austin if they were low key embarrassed by Kaia's acting when they dated her. Austin is an academy award winning actor. Then you see his girlfriend act and its umm...it's awful. Same with Jacob. He killed it as Nate in Euphoria. Then there's his girlfriend Kaia on AHS, and again it's bad.

Incredible actors dating a model/wannabe actor. I'd be embarrassed by her acting too