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dahlia-coccinea · 3 years

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A few thoughts on the scene of Catherine returning to the Heights after her stay with the Linton’s - it is commonly cited in discussions about her character and generally, the narrative goes that she shows herself to be vain and narcissistic in laughing at Heathcliff, and this honestly confuses me? I think that is quite selective in what details are noted about the scene and misses placing it in a wider context. To start I think its best to reference the scene in its entirety, sorry it is quite long (bolding is mine):

Heathcliff was hard to discover, at first. If he were careless, and uncared for, before Catherine’s absence, he had been ten times more so since. Nobody but I even did him the kindness to call him a dirty boy, and bid him wash himself, once a week; and children of his age seldom have a natural pleasure in soap and water. Therefore, not to mention his clothes, which had seen three months’ service in mire and dust, and his thick uncombed hair, the surface of his face and hands was dismally beclouded. He might well skulk behind the settle, on beholding such a bright, graceful damsel enter the house, instead of a rough-headed counterpart of himself, as he expected. “Is Heathcliff not here?” she demanded, pulling off her gloves, and displaying fingers wonderfully whitened with doing nothing and staying indoors.

“Heathcliff, you may come forward,” cried Mr. Hindley, enjoying his discomfiture, and gratified to see what a forbidding young blackguard he would be compelled to present himself. “You may come and wish Miss Catherine welcome, like the other servants.”

Cathy, catching a glimpse of her friend in his concealment, flew to embrace him; she bestowed seven or eight kisses on his cheek within the second, and then stopped, and drawing back, burst into a laugh, exclaiming, “Why, how very black and cross you look! and how—how funny and grim! But that’s because I’m used to Edgar and Isabella Linton. Well, Heathcliff, have you forgotten me?”

She had some reason to put the question, for shame and pride threw double gloom over his countenance, and kept him immovable.

“Shake hands, Heathcliff,” said Mr. Earnshaw, condescendingly; “once in a way that is permitted.”

“I shall not,” replied the boy, finding his tongue at last; “I shall not stand to be laughed at. I shall not bear it!” And he would have broken from the circle, but Miss Cathy seized him again.

“I did not mean to laugh at you,” she said; “I could not hinder myself: Heathcliff, shake hands at least! What are you sulky for? It was only that you looked odd. If you wash your face and brush your hair, it will be all right: but you are so dirty!”

She gazed concernedly at the dusky fingers she held in her own, and also at her dress; which she feared had gained no embellishment from its contact with his.

“You needn’t have touched me!” he answered, following her eye and snatching away his hand. “I shall be as dirty as I please: and I like to be dirty, and I will be dirty.”

With that he dashed headforemost out of the room, amid the merriment of the master and mistress, and to the serious disturbance of Catherine; who could not comprehend how her remarks should have produced such an exhibition of bad temper.

Importantly Nelly specifies that Heathcliff isn’t just his usual level of childish dirtiness and unkemptness, which assumedly Catherine wouldn’t have noticed when she comes home eager to find him. She wasn’t expecting him to be so neglected and her worst fault here is carelessly misplacing the reason for Heathcliff’s dirtiness, and not recognizing the larger neglect done by Hindley and how laughing could very understandably have hurt him (I don’t think many 12 year-olds are particularly emotionally intelligent though). Initially, she doesn’t seem to notice his state since she runs to him and gives seven or eight kisses. What she does not do, is she does not come back and say she’s better than him, acts embarrassed of him, or indicates she doesn’t want to be friends anymore - she says “it will be fine,” he just needs a wash.

Catherine’s presence must have been part of what kept him tidier as Nelly notes that it during her absence is when he fell into such neglect. This would be in line with Nelly’s previous description of the two of them of when Hindley first comes home: “Heathcliff bore his degradation pretty well at first, because Cathy taught him what she learnt, and worked or played with him in the fields.” Just as she would teach him what she learned and worked with him in the fields I’d say in this scene she’s simply consistently showing care for his wellbeing, even if she isn’t completely considerate when expressing it.

Not to get too off subject but I think this is pertinent - the line, “They both promised fair to grow up as rude as savages” might be another quote that is taken too literally at times - I don’t think they were just running around dirty all the time as Nelly noted that Heathcliff isn’t generally this uncared for. Also, this line ends up being understood as their rejection of all society and their resistance towards growing up which I think may only be partly true. While I love that Nelly calls them “unfriended creatures,” I don’t take this to mean that they are simply elements of nature. Along with @astrangechoiceoffavourites’ recent post about how “Heathcliff does not reject Culture. Culture rejects him,” I think it’s also often overlooked that they both admire the beauty of the Grange. He describes the house in great detail:

“ah! it was beautiful—a splendid place carpeted with crimson, and crimson-covered chairs and tables, and a pure white ceiling bordered by gold, a shower of glass-drops hanging in silver chains from the centre, and shimmering with little soft tapers.”

He tells Nelly if they were in Edgar’s and Isabella’s position, “We should have thought ourselves in heaven.” Catherine is not more vain or materialistic than Heathcliff, or vapid just because she tells a 13-year-old boy who works on a farm and is only washing once a week he needs to wash more.

Still, Heathcliff has every right to feel hurt, he’s facing terrible physical and emotional abuse and as mentioned previously this has repercussions on his self-esteem for his whole life. Hindley in this scene is clearly trying to demean him to the level of a servant in the eyes of Catherine. A few months previously he was loved and cared for by Mr. Earnshaw but now any bright future is quickly disappearing. Heathcliff must know his situation won’t change under Hindley. The encounter with the wealth of the Linton family and Catherine’s acceptance into their world is also a stark example of Catherine’s ability to have something better than being with him forever. They both will grow up one day and she will eventually marry and there is no way Hindley would allow them to do so, nor would he give Heathcliff any means or education to provide for a family and have a home.

Seeing Catherine obviously well cared for I think ignites a little jealously and fear that he is already losing her company. He seems at least mildly aware of Edgar as a potential rival as we see the next day during his conversation with Nelly when he tells her, “...if I knocked him down twenty times, that wouldn’t make him less handsome or me more so. I wish I had light hair and a fair skin, and was dressed and behaved as well, and had a chance of being as rich as he will be!” He did already note Edgar’s reaction to Catherine at the Garage saying, “Edgar stood gaping at a distance...I saw they were full of stupid admiration.” It seems easy to assume he is at least starting to be aware of her - three months prior he mentions to Nelly Catherine’s “beautiful hair,” “enchanting face” and says, Catherine is “immeasurably superior to them—to everybody on earth.” Catherine of course doesn’t necessarily know he feels this way and most likely isn’t fully aware of all his feelings about the situation he’s in. Seems reasonable to assume that she’s somewhat blind to his inner conflicts - later when talking to Nelly she seems to think that Heathcliff understands her completely yet its apparent they aren’t on the same page. She is as blind to the extent of his feelings, as he is of her’s.

Anyway (getting a little off topic), Catherine’s subsequent reaction to this scene is totally out of line with the narrative of a wildly self-loving and cruel girl, and again we get a glimpse of a morose Heathcliff, nursing his pride and slowly pulling away from her. The fact that he storms off and they don’t immediately go back to their former relationship before her stay at Thrushcross Grange completely shocks her. After this encounter Catherine shows feelings of guilt and distress over the sour encounter. “She cried when I told her you were off again this morning,” Nelly tells Heathcliff the next day. And later again Catherine cries over Heathcliff’s mistreat by Hindley upon the Linton’s arrival. Later that evening when he’s locked in a garret Nelly details how she sneaks off to visit him:

“She made no stay at the stairs’-head, but mounted farther, the garret where Heathcliff was confined, and called him. He stubbornly declined answering for a while: she persevered, and finally persuaded him to hold communion with her through the boards. I let the poor things converse unmolested, till I supposed the songs were going to cease, and the singers to get some refreshment: then I clambered up the ladder to warn her. Instead of finding her outside, I heard her voice within. The little monkey had crept by the skylight of one garret, along the roof, into the skylight of the other, and it was with the utmost difficulty I could coax her out again.”

Later on she tells Nelly that his miseries have been her miseries - and she certainly isn’t ever as classist in her treatment of Heathcliff as her daughter is towards Hareton. When she misses Heathcliff for three years she’s only missing a “ploughboy,” as Edgar calls him. When he returns a gentleman she scoffs at Edgar’s suggestion that Heathcliff be let into the kitchen and mockingly gives the order: “Set two tables here, Ellen: one for your master and Miss Isabella, being gentry; the other for Heathcliff and myself, being of the lower orders.” And later tells him “Heathcliff was now worthy of anyone’s regard,” which shows she’s obviously blind to how many will always perceive him as an outsider and never a true gentleman.

For fun, here is how this scene was adapted for the 1939 film - in the scene Catherine dreads seeing Heathcliff and upon seeing him makes no move to embrace him, then they have this AWFUL exchange:

Heathcliff: Why did you stay so long? Catherine: Why? Because I was having a wonderful time. A delightful, fascinating, wonderful time...among human beings. Go and wash your face and hands, and comb your hair...so that I needn't be ashamed of you in front of the guests.

I have a lot of questions. Number one: how dare they? lol How did they extrapolate that from the book? This has become the lasting memory of her for many film viewers, and also somehow for people that have read the book.

I know there are many conversations that could be had on Catherine saying it would degrade her to marry Heathcliff, or at various time saying he is a baby, a pitiless wolfish man, and a brute. I’m not trying to gloss over when she is demanding and not always kind to him or other characters but people really choose to be blind to some of her actions in order to paint her as the villain of the story. Catherine Earnshaw is a wonderfully flawed and human character and these interpretations make her so 2D.

I feel like a lot of these views are an expansion on this discussion as well as this other post (credit to @princesssarisa) about the relationship between Catherine and Heathcliff before he leaves - I’ve found so few critics talk about them in a realistic, rather than metaphysical, way. Fewer yet discuss Heathcliff’s role in their failed relationship. More commonly they assert that Heathcliff’s feelings for her are true and hers are based on a shallow self love or whatever. So I guess I’ll just have to write it myself lol.

#wuthering heights #catherine earnshaw #emily brontë #she does not deserve the slander lol #this was supposed to be short...#i totally lied at the start - this isn't just a few thoughts #i get worried posting things this long because i'm sure the i forgot to edit something #thoughts

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theliterateape · 3 years

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I Like to Watch | Zack Snyder’s Justice League

by Don Hall

Mythology is fun.

As a kid I loved reading Edith Hamilton’s book on the Greek gods and the myths. Hercules, Perseus, Apollo, and Hera—this fell completely in line with my love for superhero comics. The strangely petty human traits of envy, greed, and lust combined with the power to level cities make for some great storytelling.

Zeus was basically Harvey Weinstein in the retroactive revision we’re mired in today. If Harvey could’ve changed into a golden animal and boned unsuspecting ladies looking for careers in Hollywood I’m pretty certain he would. The gods and demi-gods of the Greeks dealt with daddy issues, mommy issues, bad relationships, and fighting. Lots of fighting. Sometimes for the good of humanity but more often for the glory of winning.

Zach Snyder is in the business of tackling myths and reframing them with a style all his own. His career has become its own myth.

From Dawn of the Dead (not so much a reboot of Romero's zombie mythology but a philosophical reimagining of the genre that arguably jumpstarted The Hollywood fascination with it), 300 (a borderline homoerotic take on the myth of the Greek underdog), and Watchmen (a ridiculously ambitious attempt to put one of the most iconic takedowns on the potential fascism of the superhero legend machine ever written) to his nearly single-handed hack at answering the Marvel juggernaut with Man of Steel and Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice, Snyder is in the artistic business of subverting and re-envisioning the mythologies we embrace without even seeing them as such.

Snyder's style is operatic. It is on a grand scale even in the most mundane moments. The guy loves slow motion like Scorcese loves mobsters and Italian food. When you're tackling big themes with larger than life stories, the epic nature of his vision makes sense and has alienated a good number of audience members. With such excess, there are bound to be missteps but I'd argue that his massive take on these characters he molds from common understanding and popular nomenclature elevates them to god-like stature.

Fans of Moore's Watchmen have much to complain about Snyder's adaptation. The titular graphic novel is almost impossible to put in any other form than the one Moore intended and yet, Snyder jumped in feet-first and created a living, breathing representation of most, if not all, of the source material's intent. Whether you dig on it or not, it's hard to avoid acknowledging that the first five minutes of Watchmen is a mini-masterpiece of style, storytelling, and epic tragedy wrapped up in a music video.

Despite a host of critical backlash for his one fully original take, Sucker Punch is an amazing thing to see. More a commentary on video game enthusiasm with its lust for hot animated chicks and over-the-top violence that a celebration of cleavage and guns, the film is crazily entertaining. For those who hated the ending, he told you in the title what his plan was all along.

The first movie I saw in the theaters that tried to take a superhero mythology and treat it seriously (for the most part) was Richard Donner's Superman: The Movie. Never as big a fan of the DC characters as I have been of Marvel, it was still extraordinary to see a character I had only really known in pages to be so fully realized. Then came Burton's Batman movies. The superhero film was still an anomaly but steam was gaining. Things changed with Bryan Singer's X-Men in 2000, then Raimi's Spiderman, and those of us who grew up with our pulpy versions of Athena, Hermes, and Hades were rewarded with Nolan's Batman Begins. A far cry from the tongue-in-cheek camp of the 1966 TV Batman, Christian Bale's Bruce Wayne was a serious character and his tale over three films is a tragic commentary filled with the kind of death and betrayal and triumph befitting the grand narrative he deserved.

I loved Singer's Superman Returns in 2006 because it was such a love letter to the 1978 film (down to the opening credits) but by then, the MCU was taking over the world.

Snyder's first of what turns out to be an epic storyline involving perhaps seven or eight movies was Man of Steel. It was fun and, while I had my issues with the broodiness of Kal El, the odd take on Jonathan Kent, and a redheaded Lois Lane, I had no issue with Superman snapping Zod's neck. Darker and more tragic than any other version of the Kryptonian, it was still super entertaining.

Then came Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice. By 2016, Marvel had codified their formula of serious characters wrestling with serious issues of power and responsibility peppered with lots of good humor and bright colors. Snyder's desaturated pallete and angst-filled demi-gods was not the obvious road to financial competition.

I'll confess, I hated it. BvS felt half-rendered. Lex Luthor was kind of superficial and played as a kind of Joker. The whole Bruce Wayne wants to kill Superman thing felt undeveloped and the "Martha" moment was just stupid.

When Joss Whedon's version of Snyder's Justice League came out in 2017, I was primed for it to be a turd and I wasn't surprised. So much of it didn't work on any level. I dismissed it as DC trying and failing miserably and was comforted by the coming of Thanos.

Following Thanos and the time heist was COVID. Suddenly, we were internationally sidelined and the movie theater industry caved in. Streaming services started popping up like knock-off smartphones and Hollywood was reeling, doing anything and everything to find a way back. Since Whedon's disastrous helming of Snyder's third act, fans online had been demanding to #ReleasetheSnyderCut but no one was ever really taking them seriously until all movie production was shut down for a year.

The stage was set to remedy a mistake (or at least make some bucks on a do-over of a huge box office failure). Snyder had left the production in part because of the suicide of his daughter and in part due to the constant artistic fights over executives looking for the quippy fun of the MCU but he still had all the original footage. Add to that the broiling accusations that Joss Whedon was "abusive" during the reshoots, the path seemed destined. For an additional $70 million and complete control, Snyder delivered a four hour mega-movie streamed on HBOMax.

Of course, I was going to watch the thing as soon as I could.

The Whedon version opens with an homage to the now dead Superman (including the much maligned digitally erased mustache on Henry Cavill). The SynderCut opens with the death of Superman and the agony of his death scream as it travels across the planet. It's a simple change but exemplifies the very different visions of how this thing is gonna play out.

Snyder doesn't want us to be OK with the power of these beings unleashed. He wants us to feel the damage and pain of death. He wants the results of violence to be as real as he can. When Marvel's Steve Rogers kicks a thug across the room and the thug hits a wall, he crumples and it is effectively over. When Batman does the same thing, we see the broken bones (often in slow motion) and the blood smear on the wall as the thug slides to the ground.

The longer SnyderCut is bloated in some places (like the extended Celtic choir singing Aquaman off to sea or the extended narrations by Wonder Woman which sound slightly like someone trying to explain the plot to Siri). On the other hand, the scene with Barry Allen saving Iris West is both endearing and extraordinary, giving insight to the power of the Flash as well as some essential character-building in contrast to Whedon's comic foil version.

One thing I noticed in this variant is that Zach wants the audience to experience the sequence of every moment as the characters do. An example comes when Diana Prince goes to the crypt to see the very plot she belabors over later. The sequence is simple. She gets a torch and goes down. Most directors which jump cut to the torch. Snyder gives us five beats as she grabs the timber, wraps cloth around the end, soaks it with kerosene, pulls out a box of matches, and lights the torch. Then she goes down the dark passageway.

The gigantic, lush diversity of Snyder’s vision of the DC superhero universe—from the long shots of the sea life in the world of Atlantis to the ancient structures and equipment of Themyscira— is almost painterly. Snyder isn't taking our time; he's taking his time. We are rewarded our patience with a far better backstory for the villain, a beautifully rendered historic battle thwarting Darkseid's initial invasion (including a fucking Green Lantern), and answers to a score of questions set up in both previous films.

Whedon's Bruce Wayne was more Ben Affleck; Snyder's is full-on Frank Miller Batman, the smartest, most brutal fucker in the room. Cyborg, instead of Whedon's sidelined non-character, is now a Frankenstein's monster, grappling with the trade-off between acceptance and enormous power. Wonder Woman is now more in line with the Patty Jenkins version and instead of being told about the loss of Superman, we are forced to live with the anguish of both his mother and Lois Lane in quiet moments of incredible grief.

To be fair to Whedon (something few are willing to do as he is now being castigated not for racism or sexism but for being mean to people) having him come in to throw in some levity and Marvel-esque color to Snyder's Wagnerian pomposity is like hiring Huey Lewis to lighten up Pink Floyd's The Wall or getting Douglas Adams to rewrite Cormac McCarthy's The Road.

I loved Snyder's self-indulgent, mythologic DC universe.

So much so that I then re-watched Man of Steel and then watched the director's version of BvS (which Snyder added approximately 32 minutes). The second film is far better at three hours and Eisenberg's Lex Luthor now makes sense. Then I watched Zach Snyder's Justice League a second time.

After nineteen hours of Snyder's re-imagining of these DC heroes and villains, I saw details that, upon first viewing, are ignored or dismissed, but after seeing them in order and complete, are suddenly consistent and relevant. Like Nolan or Fincher, Snyder defies anyone to eliminate even one piece of his narrative no matter how long. With all the pieces, this is an epic story and the pieces left at the extended epilogue play into a grander narrative we will never see.

Or maybe we will. Who knows these days?

#I Like to Watch #Zach Snyder's Justice League

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girlsbtrs · 3 years

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Patriarchy and Pop Punk

Written by Theresa Cambe. Graphic by James N Grey

Yes, misogyny exists in almost every genre of music. Rap and country are usually at the forefront of this conversation, however, today we’re going to dive into the misogyny in pop punk. Lets face it, the misogyny is just covered up with layers of nice-guy, sad boy introspection but deserves the criticism just like everyone else. Just because a man holding a guitar gets vulnerable for a second, it doesn’t mean he is exempt from possessing misogynistic tendencies.

Despite the sexism built into this genre, I am more than guilty of partaking in my fair share of pop punk music. I would try to be at every State Champs, Neck Deep, Real Friends, The Story So Far, and every band of the sorts in between, concerts in Southern California between the ages of 14-16. I finger pointed and yelled those angsty lyrics right back at the bands while crowd surfing towards the stage in whatever sweaty venue in LA they happened to be playing at the time. I bought the merch, I hung their posters up in my room, I reblogged their concert pictures on Tumblr, I was about it. And trust me, “No Good” by Knuckle Puck could come on shuffle again and have me passionately screaming the lyrics while driving alone in my car around my god forsaken hometown (but I love my hometown, contrary to the popular sentiment). However now, I am more conscious of its problems.

I think this is the case for many other non-male enjoyers of this music when they also recognize its misogyny. Of course, there is nothing wrong with enjoying pop punk nor do I think enjoying this music makes you a bad person or inherently anti-feminist. A good portion of the demographic for these bands are women. With this large and important part of the fan base, we should start considering the safety of the environments and attitudes they create.

The attitude of misogyny and objectification is built into the foundation of pop punk. It is apparent in whichever “wave” of pop punk you want to point to. Early Blink 182 and All Time Low music videos had women in them to be silent sexual objects parading around the rock star band. There’s Weezer’s infamous sexist, nerd-rock anthems. “Thank God for Girls” sings “Called upon to employ your testosterone / In a battle for supremacy and access to females glued to the TV”. In a Genius lyric annotation of the song, lead singer of the band, Rivers Cuomo himself wrote “I’m so jealous of the hooker-uppers. Seems like it’s so easy to get laid now. All these good looking athletic guys are getting so much free sex. It kills me. Such a bummer. Such a bummer. To be evaluated by women. To be graded. To be rated. Where do I stand? How big? How strong? How enduring? How energetic? How inventive? So sad that it comes to this. So sad. It IS a competition and I AM being compared”. It is really quite ironic that Cuomo writes this but in the same breath has lyrics “The thing I finally found with these other girls in town / She got hot, and they did not” from the song “The Girl Got Hot” and also “You come like a dog when I ring your bell / I got the money and I got the fame / You got the hots to ride on my plane” from the song “The Greatest Man That Ever Lived”. Then there’s also every song on the album Pinkerton that we don’t have time to get into. Even if this self-deprecating behavior is no surprise from Cuomo, it’s concerning and rooted in some serious hate. If you want to argue that it's all satire, they’re still weird thoughts to have.

I can go on about these recurring lyrical themes. For example, there is The Story So Far’s song “Roam” with the lyrics “I know where you’ve been, you’re ruining men, never again will I let someone in”. And the classic from “Mt Diablo” that sings “Do you look at yourself straight in the eyes and think about who you let between your thighs?”. Then there’s FIDLAR’s song “Whore” which as we can expect from the title, says “Why did you go betray me? / You’re such a whore”. Then there’s the mess of “Me vs. Maradona vs. Elvis'' by the band Brand New, which writes “I got desperate desires and unadmirable plans / My tongue will taste of gin and malicious intent / Bring you back to the bar / Get you out of the cold / My sober straight face gets you out of your clothes.” Look into any corner of pop punk and you’ll find these questionable attitudes, but I digress.

These men play the nice guys and aim at making you believe he is the protagonist in every situation. The commonality between all these artists is that they obsess and fantasize over a girl then turn completely sour once rejects them or leaves a relationship. They want a “cool girl” to listen to underground music and really comfort their sad, misunderstood selves but won’t allow them to make a decision outside of his own benefit. Because god forbid these women have their own thoughts and exercise their own actions! Their fantasy is essentially a manic pixie dream girl that doesn’t speak or act out against anything. These men beg to be at the center, and get aggressive when they aren’t.

This is not to be confused with writing a sad song after you got broken up with or hurt by someone in a relationship. This is also not to say that all women are exempt from having toxic behaviors or from being written about. The guise of the patriarchy also harms those it seeks to benefit and therefore enforces rules of masculinity that restricts men from expressing their frustrations and emotions. I believe that writing music about unrequited love or difficult feelings is a healthy way to combat these roles. However, there is a major difference between processing rejection and hating women for rejecting you, which is an area many of these men seem to blur together.

I still have love for these bands and this genre. I can still go to their shows and have the time of my life, easily. But it wasn’t until I got a little older and more realized with my femininity did I revisit these songs and wake up to the fact that it might have not always been in my favor . I was probably too young to notice or care and was distracted by the catchy, yelly tone and how fun it was to jump around to that I never really sat with what some of the lyrics really meant. It was a major factor in my own internalized misogyny back when I was in the throes of it all. I didn’t want to be like those awful girls that these pop punk dudes kept singing about. They were always described in such a terrible way, that all they do is betray and backstab people. They wanted a “cool girl” to understand them and not be like them. So I rejected femininity and disliked other girls as if I’m in this sort of competition for the sad band dude’s attention. I was idolizing these men whose music mainly centered around their disdain for the women they had experiences with so much that it stuck in my brain that I shouldn’t be like them, that I should be appeasing these people I look up to. But I’ve grown to realize that I was only hearing one side of the story. It was a straight white man’s voice constantly, no one else. This one sided narrative created a false perception of reality, one rooted in a sad boy victim complex, that women are the enemy that shouldn’t be trusted because they couldn’t fit the weird male fantasy these dudes possess. Rarely are women represented in this music except through the lens of a man, which as we saw is almost always disdainful or as a character rather than a fully realized and autonomous person. Women are portrayed as commodities to obtain. It alters our perception of reality.

But with most things you love, you want to see them get better. This music has a fond place in my heart and signifies a really fun time in my life where I found my love for music and concerts. But the genre and the spaces it creates has its own set of problems that I want to see improve.

We have to realize that music has a greater impact on culture. The attitudes that create the genre of pop punk affects the audience that consumes it. The one-sided narrative they build implants harmful ideas about relationships and dynamics into their young fans, as it did to me. Regardless if you want to say lyrics are just lyrics and are meant not to be taken so seriously, artists have so much influence on their fans. They are perpetuating the nice guy narrative that men are owed something from women. And sometimes we unfortunately see this point of view reflected in these band member’s actions. The accusations against them for sexual assault, grooming, and manipulation of young girls runs rampant in these spaces and remains to do so. They abuse their positions of power and influence. Using self-pity in songs does not excuse the shitty things you do.

#Theresa Cambe

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cozy-the-overlord · 4 years

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Crimson Curls

Summary: A barista at the Avengers Tower coffeeshop goes missing. Her boyfriend, prominent Avengers engineer Michael Hauer, headlines a desperate campaign to find her, aided by the support of Tony Stark and the rest of the super-powered team. But as Hauer’s narrative begins to unravel, it becomes clear that a certain Asgardian prince knows more than he’s telling.

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 3: Solace

Previous Chapter |

Word Count: 4,281

A/N: Final chapter! Hope you like it :) Thank you so much for reading!

TW: domestic violence

Read it on Ao3

“Oh, did I mention that I finally convinced my mom to buy a smartphone?” Elaine was chuckling. “She just discovered the world of emojis. Every text I get from her is immediately followed by like twenty different happy faces!”

Laughter erupted up around the small table. Kristine found herself giggling too, despite herself. She almost hadn’t come tonight. She didn’t think the others had expected her to come, either: Curt had invited her with a nervous sort of hesitance that gave her plenty of room to back out. “It’s okay if you don’t want to come. We totally understand.”

The excuses had bubbled to her lips in an instinctual panic—I can’t, I have plans, I’m not feeling well—but she clamped down on her tongue before they spilled out. Her therapist was always telling her that the only way she could take back control of her life was to trust herself to control it. So, Kristine swallowed her insecurities and smiled at her coworker.

“I’d love to. What time?”

It hadn’t been a perfect night. Old habits die hard, and Kristine found herself looking over her shoulder more often than not. Every time, she’d turn back to the table, feeling stupid. What did she expect to see? Michael lurking behind the bar in his orange jumpsuit? Her fellow baristas had to notice—if there was one thing that this whole ordeal had taught her, it was that she was incapable of subtlety—but they were kind enough not to say anything.

It had been fun, though—more fun than she had expected. Kristine hadn’t realized how little she knew the people she worked alongside. She found herself learning all sorts of things. Curt played rugby on the weekends. Kristine hadn’t even known rugby was a thing in America, but apparently he was in an amateur league right in New York, and went straight to practices after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Tasha was a self-titled crazy cat lady, with five felines living with her in her small apartment. She passed around her phone with pictures of the newest kitten, a tiny orange fluffball named Tigger. Elaine was locked in a never-ending struggle with her 63-year-old mother to “introduce her to the 21st century.”

At first, Kristine had felt guilty that she didn’t have any captivating stories to contribute to the conversation. Her only hobby was her art, and there wasn’t much to say about that. I draw people when I’m bored. Certainly nothing compared to Curt’s gripping account of how his friend fractured his neck in a game two weeks ago. But there was no pressure for her to add anything, and slowly, Kristine relaxed, content just listening to the chat.

The couple at the table across from them caught her eye towards the end of their meal. They had been whispering to each other ever since they sat down, looking back and forth between Kristine and their phone screen. She stiffened as they gestured towards her. Getting recognized in public… that was a thing she still couldn’t wrap her head around. She didn’t understand why seeing her made people so excited… it wasn’t like she was a singer, or an actress, or some other type of celebrity. She was just… her. Normal. No different than anybody else she passed on the sidewalk.

Kristine tried to ignore the excited couple and turn back to the conversation, but it was hard with the tell-tale clicking of a cell phone camera to her right. She closed her eyes. Just ignore them. Just ignore them.

The camera shutter soon caught the attention of the others, however. Elaine stopped what she was saying and turned to glare at the other table.

“Hey!” she snapped at the couple. Kristine jumped at the sudden shout. “Knock it off! She doesn’t want pictures!”

The two were stricken. Mumbling an apology, they turned back to their dinner.

“Thanks,” Kristine murmured, eyes downcast. It seemed she couldn’t go anywhere these days without being interrupted by someone. She couldn’t imagine how annoying that must have been for those she was with. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Elaine said. “It’s not your fault that people act like dumbasses around famous people.”

Famous people.

Kristine wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Should she be upset that the whole world seemed to know every intimate detail of her broken life, or should she be honored that they cared? Because they did care—that was maybe the most shocking part of it all. Once she woke up in April, after the whirlwind of finding herself in the Loki’s penthouse room and getting examined by the Avengers’ private doctor team and being interviewed by police investigators for hours, she finally looked at the Twitter hashtags that had been trending while she slept. It was… surreal.

Just saw the news about the blood in the apartment and I’m crying. I want her to be alive so badly, but I don’t think she is anymore. Please, @NYPD, don’t let this monster get away with her murder. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

He controlled her, abused her, and tried to blame her for her own disappearance. Do NOT let him get away with it. #ArrestMichaelHauer #WheresTheBodyMichael? #JusticeForKristine

She’s such a beautiful girl. I hope they find her and that the boyfriend gets what he deserves. #JusticeForKristine

There were thousands of them. Thousands, and not a single handle she recognized. Perfect strangers, rushing from across the country to fight for her.

When Loki had returned with tea, he had found her in tears.

“What’s wrong?” he had asked, rushing to her side by the computer.

Kristine shook her head. “There’s just so many,” she whispered. “I never thought there would be so many!”

After the announcement was made that she had been found, alive and well, she thought the support would stop, but the floodgates had only just been opened. She started getting messages addressed directly to her, from tweets that read like letters to actual letters in the mail. Kristine had never gotten a letter in her life, and yet here she was having to open a special PO box because of all the mail coming into Avengers Tower addressed to her.

She got letters from people who followed the case, people who were so relieved to find that she was okay that they had to let her know. There were people she had never met, writing to tell her that she was beautiful and talented and deserved so much better than the likes of Michael. There were people writing to tell her that they hoped she knew that they would always support her, even if they could never understand what she had been through.

And then there were the people who understood exactly what she had been through. Some days, she found herself reading stories from women she didn’t know that read like pages from her own diary. Kristine had always been aware that she wasn’t the only person with a significant other like Michael—she had seen the PSA’s on television, she knew the words “domestic violence”—but somehow, she had always felt like the only one. Who else in real life was foolish enough to get into such a situation, and who else was weak enough to stay? But there were others.

So many others.

Those letters were overwhelming in a completely different way.

Kristine hid them all away, in a cardboard box underneath her bed in her Avengers Tower apartment. She had been staying there ever since she woke up: Mr. Stark had insisted. She had never really liked Tony Stark. He was fun to draw, because his face was so recognizable, but to her, that was where his merits always ended. Maybe it was because he adored Michael so much: every party she went to, he made a point of telling her how lucky she was that she snagged such a talented man. He provoked a deep bitterness in her chest, masked only by her anxiety. Kristine never had any doubts that if it came down to her word against Michael’s, Mr. Stark wouldn’t even bother to hear her out.

She couldn’t believe it when Loki told her Stark had fired Michael. He had done it early on, too: before the blood and the knife had even been discovered.

“The phone calls?” she whispered hoarsely. “That’s all it took?”

Loki looked at her sideways. “Those calls were horrific,” he said. “He’d have to be soulless not to terminate him after hearing them.”

And then, when she realized that she would have to find a new place to live now that Michael was in jail, Mr. Stark insisted that she stay at the Tower, at least until she found a suitable apartment elsewhere. He told her to consider it his way of apologizing.

“But—you don’t have to—to apologize for anything, sir,” she stuttered, unable to look him in the eye.

Mr. Stark was adamant. “This whole shitshow comes back to me. I hired him, I hired you, he met you because of it. Matchmaker, remember?” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it all comes back to me.”

Kristine wasn’t so sure of that, but she was touched by his guilt. He had even offered to send his Iron Legion to retrieve her stuff for her, but she elected to do that herself, with Loki. There wasn’t much to retrieve: clothes, art supplies, little bits and baubles she had taken with her when she moved to New York.

She froze in the doorway when they first walked in. The floor was as clean as ever, and yet in her mind she could still see the sticky red trail, the sickly warmth seeping down her shirt. It had taken a minute to process that all that blood had been coming from her.

Loki squeezed her hand gently. “If you’d prefer,” he murmured into her hair, in a voice just barely loud enough for her to hear, “You don’t have to go in. Just tell me what you wish to fetch, and I’ll take care of it.”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “No. No. I’m—I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Still, the events of that night played out in her head as she made her way through the apartment. How Michael had been ordering that she quit her job at the coffeeshop. He had been wanting her to quit for a while now, convinced that she was constantly flirting with other men while he was at work. If she loved him, he said, she’d prove it by doing this one thing for him.

Kristine refused. Honestly, her resolve surprised herself. At this point, she had learned that the only way to keep the peace was to cave to Michael’s wishes, but this demand stirred something in her. The barista job was the last thing she had left, the only thing he couldn’t touch. She told him he couldn’t make her quit even if he killed her for it.

She had regretted the words immediately. He lunged at her with wild eyes, that vein popping in his neck. When she tried to call Loki, he ripped the phone from her hands and flung her into the coat rack.

Kristine had scrambled into the kitchen area. She had grabbed the knife in a panic, some half baked idea of defending herself, but he was on top of her before she had time to think, shouting at her and wrestling for the handle.

And then it was in her.

She didn’t feel it go in. Even after it went in, it wasn’t that bad—just a dull stinging in her abdomen that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. She looked down slowly, dazedly, reaching out to grip the handle buried in her stomach. Michael looked down too, mouth agape. Kristine remembered thinking that he looked like a fish.

She wasn’t sure how she got back into the hallway floor, but Michael was yelling at her again.

“What the fuck were you thinking, going for the knife? Are you fucking insane?”

She was breathing hard, and it hurt more with every breath, sending shockwaves of pain through her body. Blood was dripping down her front. Her blood, she recognized dimly.

That was the scene Loki had arrived at. She didn’t remember much after that.

That moment ensnared her as she stuffed shirts into her ratty old suitcase. Loki didn’t talk about what he saw much, but it was clear from what he did say that he was certain Michael meant to kill her. She supposed she couldn’t blame him—had she seen what he saw, she probably would have drawn the same conclusion. But as it stood, Kristine wasn’t so sure. Maybe he would’ve finished her off, had her Asgardian knight in shining armor not come to rescue her, but she couldn’t forget his shocked fish face recoil when the blade pierced her stomach.

“What were you thinking Kristine?”

Why was she so hung up on this? What did it matter what Michael might’ve done if given the chance? The only important thing was what he did do: he hurt her, he manipulated her, he stabbed her. Wasn’t that enough?

It was enough for him to be arrested. Or… remain arrested, she guessed. Of course, the murder charge was dropped once it was proven that no murder had taken place, but police were quick to smack him with attempted murder and numerous charges of assault and battery. News outlets were constantly reaching out for comment, but Mr. Stark shut them all down for her.

“Ms. Ververs has been through a very traumatic experience,” he said at a press conference. “She has no desire to comment on anything at the moment, and we at Avengers Tower would greatly appreciate it if you all stopped pestering her.”

“Well, Kris, it looks like you’ve made it,” Agent Romanov said to her as they watched coverage from the television in the penthouse. “You’ve got Tony Stark acting as your PR. You can either celebrate or be extremely concerned.”

Kristine forced a laugh. Out of all her new super-powered roommates, the Black Widow was easily the most intimidating. Still, she seemed to like Kristine for some reason. Actually, all of the Avengers seemed to like her. Dr. Banner seemed to enjoy striking up quiet conversation with her, completely unbothered by her inability to get a coherent sentence out when she was nervous. Captain Rodgers was impressed by her artwork, always ready with some new compliment that made her day. Thor never failed to greet her with a smile.

Kristine was pretty sure they were just being nice because they felt bad for her, but she decided not to let it bother her. It made her feel nice too.

They were all outraged on her behalf when Michael took a plea deal. He plead guilty to attempted murder in the second degree in exchange for all other charges being dropped and was sentenced to seven years in prison.

“Seven years,” fumed Loki when the news broke. “He could have killed you, and he only gets seven years. It’s ludicrous.”

Despite popular opinion, Kristine was relieved. If Michael had pled innocent, there would have been a trial. She would have had to sit on the witness stand and face him down as she attempted to tell her story in front of dozens of eyes. Seven years was more than enough for her.

The check was paid, and the group made ready to leave, still laughing and telling stories as they walked through the door. Avengers Tower was only a short walk up the street, so Kristine said her goodbyes and started on her way. She never really went out much after the sun set. It was strange to think that even cloaked in night, the city still was wide awake. The night air sent shivers up her bare arms, but Kristine didn’t mind. She was wearing short sleeves a lot more these days, now that she didn’t have to worry about covering up bruises. It was freeing, in a strange sort of way.

Kristine noticed one of her missing posters taped to the stoplight while she waited to cross the street. The ink had mostly been washed away by recent thunderstorms, but she could still make out the outline of her face, grinning awkwardly at the ground.

It was a really awful picture they decided to plaster across the country. Michael had taken it, the morning after the first night they spent together. Her hair was a complete mess (but then when was it ever not?), and she had that uncomfortable photo smile she wore in every picture ever taken of her. She wasn’t even looking at the camera!—why on Earth had they chosen that one?

She glanced around for a moment. When she saw that no one was looking, she ripped the poster from the pole and crumpled it into her purse. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She hadn’t been missing for nearly half a year now, no reason to keep them up anymore. Still, Kristine crossed the street with the feeling in her stomach that she had committed a capital offense.

If her mother could have seen her now, she would have been laughing. Diana Ververs never understood her daughter’s desperate need to be seen by no one. It had been a problem her whole life. There was one time, all the way back in second grade, when Kristine had come home begging her mother to let her dye her hair brown so that she wouldn’t be the only redhead in the school.

At the request, her mom had tilted her head and frowned. “What’s wrong with that?”

“Everyone looks at me!” Kristine cried. “It’s ugly and I hate it!”

“Oh, Krissy, that’s not true!” she said. “They look at you because your hair is the prettiest color in the whole world. That’s why I married your dad, you know.”

The girl hadn’t been convinced. “I want brown hair!” she said. “Like Ashley and Erin.”

“But if you had brown hair like Ashley and Erin, I wouldn’t be able to recognize you,” her mother said, pulling her into her arms. “I’d say, ‘where’s my pretty little Krissy with her red hair?’ I’d be sad and lonely. You don’t want me to be sad and lonely, do you?”

Little Kristine had faltered at that. “Nnnooo…”

“Then you’ll keep your red hair for me?” she asked hopefully, kissing the crown of her head.

“Alright,” Kristine agreed reluctantly. “Just for you, Mama.”

Growing up, it had just been the two of them. Kristine’s father had died in a car accident before she was born, and they didn’t really have any extended family nearby. Kristine had been exceptionally close with her mother, closer than she had ever been with any friends or acquaintances she met at school. When the diagnosis came in, the ground just fell out from under her. What had been simple complaints of back pain was suddenly stage IV lung cancer, and Kristine was dropping out of her master’s program to help her mom through chemo.

Everything spiraled so fast. Within months, she was gone.

While she had been asleep, Kristine had dreamed about her mom. Her dad had been there too: Kristine recognized the diabolical red curls that he had so kindly passed down to her. They had swirled around her in a mist-filled limbo, smiling and singing to her in voices too quiet to hear properly. Kristine had wondered if she was dead. It made sense to her healing-stone-drugged brain: dying young was in her blood, after all. Death and her were old friends at this point, might as well embrace it.

Frustratingly though, her parents remained just out of reach. Kristine cried and screamed and begged, grasping at thin air for her mother’s hand, but she couldn’t quite bridge the distance. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes into the elegant chambers of Prince Loki and felt her groan vibrate in her throat that she realized she wasn’t dead after all.

Actually, it seemed her life might have just begun.

Kristine slid her ID card in the door of Avengers Tower, smiling awkwardly at the night watchman, then swiped it again in the elevator.

So much security. Sometimes, she almost forgot that she was living on what was essentially a government base. The elevator chimed as the doors opened at the top floor and she slipped into the common room.

“Did you have a good time?” Kristine jumped. Loki was stretched out on the couch, legs crossed elegantly, not even looking up from his book.

She raised an eyebrow. “Were-were you waiting up for me?”

“Of course not. Not everything’s about you, you know.” Loki turned the page, but there was a glint in his eye that made Kristine smile.

“Um…” she pushed her hair out of her face. “I think I’m going to make some tea. Want some?”

“That sounds lovely.”

Kristine fumbled around the kitchen as she heated the water, feeling his eyes on her all the while. She found herself stealing glances back at him as well—he just looked so regal, lounging there as if he owned the whole place. She wished she could get away with snapping a picture on her phone, just so she could have something to reference for a sketch later. Kristine had been drawing a lot of Loki recently—after all, she had promised—but she had yet to show any of these portraits to him. The floundering, bumbling part of her was convinced that they weren’t good enough, that he’d hate them. Stupid, she knew—he had nothing but praise to shower on the artwork she did decide to show him, but still she was nervous.

She wanted him to like her so badly. Like them. The drawings. But her too. Kind of. And that was stupid as well, because she knew he liked her. He had saved her life, after all. But even excluding that, Loki had always been so nice to her. Kristine had often wondered if he knew how badly she looked forward to his little visits every afternoon at the coffeeshop, the silly little chats they’d share for a few minutes. And he never stopped looking out for her: even now, months after everything had been resolved, he’d still check up on how she was feeling.

Still, sometimes she wondered. Did he actually like her, or were his actions just out of pity? It was a strange thing to consider, especially given his tumultuous past (imagine trying to explain to the average New Yorker that Loki of Asgard might have spent months being nice to some random girl just because he felt bad for her), but she considered it often, nonetheless. She didn’t know how to feel about it.

Kristine brought the teacups over to the couch. Loki sat up, moving his legs so that she could sit next to him, thanking her softly as she handed him the cup. For a while, they just sat there, sipping their tea in silence.

Finally, though, she found the courage to clear her throat. “Hey,” she asked. “Remember when you asked me to dance at the Christmas party?”

He grinned. “How could I forget?”

“Why did you?” she asked bluntly. Her cheeks immediately flushed red. “I mean—did you—could you tell? That he—Michael and I—that we—”

Luckily, Loki seemed to get what she was trying to spit out. “Not exactly,” he said, stirring his tea methodically. “I could tell that you were unhappy, and that he was completely unbothered by the fact that you were unhappy, and I found that to be concerning. But at that point, I never would have guessed the extent of the situation.”

No. It seemed no one could have guessed the extent of the situation. “Oh,” Kristine mumbled. “Is-is that why you asked me to dance? Because you were concerned?”

Loki raised his eyebrows, turning to fix Kristine with an amused gaze. “I asked you to dance because I wanted to dance with you.” When Kristine stared back at him in silence, he laughed. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“N-no.” Now it was her turn to focus on stirring her tea and ignoring her companion. “I just… I’m not sure what happens now.”

“That would depend,” Loki said. “What do you wish to happen now?”

Kristine gulped. He had put the ball in her court. Even months later, she still found herself expecting someone to pop up and tell her exactly what to do. But Loki was waiting patiently. This decision was hers.

“I guess…” she started, speaking far too fast. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you took me out for coffee. Not in the Tower, I mean. There’s-there’s a place down the street. Unless you’d like the Tower better, that is. I don’t really care—”

Loki hushed her gently. “I’d be honored to take you out for coffee,” he said. “Would tomorrow morning suffice?”

It took her a full minute for her to fully process what he was saying, but once she did, Kristine couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips. “Yeah. Yeah, that would… suffice.”

“Good.” Loki leaned back against the cushions, and silence lapsed around them once more. Kristine hesitated for a moment before following him, shyly resting her head on his shoulder. He stiffened at first, and Kristine made to pull away, but he wrapped his arm around her and held her closer.

She sighed contentedly. She was safe here.

Safe with Loki.

#loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki fanfic #avengers fanfic #crimson curls #cozy writes

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straykidsupdate · 5 years

Text

Stray Kids are shaking up K-pop’s status quo

The South Korean pop band Stray Kids are clustered around a laptop for a Skype interview, pale in the screen’s glow as heavy rain turns New York City to grey. It’s a fitting backdrop for the group: from their 2017 pre-debut release “Hellevator” to the latest single, the snarling, trumpeting EDM of “MIROH”, the K-pop group have made similarly dystopian environs their visual backdrop, where neon and CCTV screens flicker and the group are hemmed in by skyscrapers, tarmac, and tunnels as they attempt to escape or defy their surroundings.

This concept – of attaining freedom – is central to the group, and it’s an idea that’s rooted in reality. The group’s leader, Bang Chan, handpicked each member for the group from their parent label JYP Entertainment’s roster of trainees, a process unheard of in K-pop, where that power lies with executives and creative directors. Stray Kids write and produce all their material, too, and are one of the few idol groups to do so. Their music focuses unflinchingly on their youth – the anger and frustration, the ecstatic highs and ragged lows – while questioning their own shifting sense of identity.

With bleached bangs falling into one eye, Bang Chan recalls not the gravitas of the opportunity to form his own group, but the pressure of picking wisely. “There was a lot on my mind,” says the 21-year-old, speaking during the band’s run of sold-out North American concerts. “Choosing the right people was a must, because I’m going to be with them for a long time. Because I’d been a trainee for so long,” – seven years – “I think I had the ability to figure out what potential they had.” He turns to his bandmates and namechecks them: Woojin, the eldest at 22; Lee Know; Changbin; Hyunjin; Han; Felix; Seungmin; and the youngest, I.N, who turned 18 in February. “With everyone around me right now, I’m really glad we’ve become this team.”

Bang Chan and 18-year-old Felix, whose cavernously deep voice is at odds with his Bambi-innocent looks, were both raised in Australia, and the broad twang of their accent conveys a cheerful, anything-is-possible resonance. It’s the former who helms the conversation. He’s an engaging speaker and a careful listener, stopping to translate questions for the non-English speakers. At times he falters, and at others he deflects to well-worn answers (a reflection of their newness), but he’s unmistakably a leader, a role he wears effortlessly.

As a whole, Stray Kids are known for their friendly, indefatigable rambunctiousness, but with nearly a dozen rookie awards and five EPs in just over 12 months, it’d be foolish to underestimate their tenacity. Their start was a baptism of fire. On Stray Kids, the eponymously-named survival TV show that they were formed through, they were required to write tracks and perfect performances to short deadlines, then ruthlessly critiqued by the CEO of their label, JYP Entertainment. Two of the group members, Felix and Lee Know, were initially eliminated, although eventually reinstated in the final episode via a public vote. Felix, axed due to his less-than-fluent Korean, hasn’t forgotten the sting. “I still think about my Korean and how I use the language,” he sighs. “I try to learn, and fix it.”

You can see his determination when Stray Kids appear on Korean variety shows to showcase their work and their personalities. Felix’s shyness in speaking had resulted in less camera time but, in recent months, his studying has appeared to pay off and he’s a far more confident presence, able to convey the charm that's endeared him to their fans. It’s the result of constant help from his bandmates, he says, radiating positivity (which is, delightfully, Felix’s default setting). Lee Know, however, who’d had only a short idol training period and was cut early in the series, favours a more stoic approach. “I think I’m here thanks to that feedback. I worked really hard then, and I’m still trying to work hard now too,” he says, and although his small smile seemingly hints at something more pronounced, he settles on a double thumbs up and sits back.

“Choosing the right people was a must... With everyone around me right now, I’m really glad we’ve become this team” – Bang Chan, Stray Kids

Their rough-meets-polished sound was set up by the darkly anthemic “Hellevator”, but the thundering EDM and guitar riffs of their official debut, “District 9”, cemented them as a fresh force in K-pop. In its music video, they flee a clinical-looking prison and use a school bus to smash through to the safety of the titular District 9, although even there they’re left searching. “I don’t know who I am, it’s frustrating, it always worries me / Answer me, then give me an answer that will clear it all,” Hyunjin raps with a volatile urgency.

This ceaseless quest weaves through last year’s EP trilogy (I Am NOT, I Am WHO, I Am YOU) and into their latest EP, Clé 1: MIROH, the clear narrative allowing for sonic experiments (from the minimalist electronica of “3rd Eye” to the bright pop drawl of “Get Cool”) without losing momentum. In their song “NOT!”, they celebrate breaking out the “system” – the status quo – and the strength of being different. For Stray Kids, this is more about ambiguous storytelling than holding a deliberate ’us versus them’ mentality. “We usually don’t compare (ourselves) to others,” says vocalist Seungmin, in English. “Like in the song ‘My Pace’, we’re saying we don’t care about others’ (achievements), we’re just talking about Stray Kids’ own way.”

While Stray Kids have definitely created a richly empathetic musical tapestry, their chosen path raises a pertinent observation: in breaking out of one “system”, they’ve joined another. The idol system that they’re now a part of often appears more restrictive than the one they leave behind, and as they move towards the bubble of fame and money, there’s also the potential to lose a sense of oneself. Both feel paradoxical to their story. Bang Chan pauses. “Well, honestly, we wouldn’t call it a system, let’s say a ‘world’, and we’d call it a decision that we made. In order for us to get out of the main system, we chose being idols, and through K-pop we can show the message we want to express.”

Han, the 18-year-old rapper, singer, and songwriter/producer, drapes himself, cat-like, over Felix’s head and neck to get close to the camera. “I think fame and success can be dangerous to a person, depending on how they feel about it, but we’re going to try to always be positive and good natured about it,” he opines, gesticulating rapidly. “We’re still lacking so much, but we’re going to try really hard to understand other people’s feelings and be a good influence.”

Given Stray Kids’ formation, creative freedom, and growing success makes them something of an anomaly, might their presence provoke change in the idol world? Bang Chan furrows his brow. “I suppose so,” he says with the questioning tone of someone presented with an unfamiliar concept. “I guess it’s up to how people take it in.”

Stray Kids, evidently, have been more preoccupied with looking inward, and, when examining their new EP, it’s apparent their gaze has been in flux. Clé 1: MIROH, which Bang Chan describes as “us being really confident because all nine of us are together”, presents a new fearlessness on tracks like “Boxer”, “MIROH” and “Victory Song”, where Han triumphantly raps:“A laidback victor, a smile spreads on my face / Who else is like me, there’s no one.”

“When I was becoming a singer, some people didn’t support my dreams, so I was sad. I remember that and put those feelings into this song” – Changbin, Stray Kids

They pose fewer existential questions than on previous EPs, but, says Bang Chan, “if you look at tracks like ‘Chronosaurus’ and ‘Maze Of Memories’, it shows nervousness or anxiety, and a feeling of being lost as well.” The latter, its doomy hip hop propelled by tense piano and bursts of foreboding strings, was an emotional outlet for their silver-tongued rapper, Changbin. “When I was becoming a singer,” he says, in English, “some people didn’t support my dreams, so I was sad. I remember that and put those feelings into this song.”

Yet despite sieving emotions and thoughts through the music, their biggest questions, says Changbin, remain unanswered. “But we’re trying,” he smiles. He points to the close presence of their fans, known as STAY. “Maybe we can find the answer soon, through STAY.” How does he intend to discover deeply personal epiphanies through others? “I’m young and lack a lot of experience,” replies Changbin, reverting to Korean. “There are still a lot of childish elements about me as well. By watching those around me, I can find out what I like through them. I feel like I can find myself through (others’ journeys).”

For now, Stray Kids simply continue doing what they’ve done so well thus far – capturing the human condition, including tackling difficult subjects like depression (“Hellevator”), anxiety (“Rock”), and negative thoughts (“Voices”), all of which, Bang Chan says, they’ve experienced first-hand. The group’s core writing team (Han, Changbin, and Bang Chan, together known as 3RACHA) have not only refined their style over the past year but, according to I.N, “improved on their speed of making songs. They’ve gotten really fast,” he says with a sunny grin.

3RACHA’s Soundcloud days are far behind them, although, to their credit, they haven’t deleted the handful of songs that were posted pre-debut. Some will remain just enthusiastic learning curves, but others were raw and powerful, such as “Broken Compass”, which was refashioned into “Mixtape #4” for Clé 1: MIROH.

The “Mixtape” songs, which are only found on the physical versions of their EPs, are where, Hyunjin says, “we all contribute, and fill our individual verses with our personal stories”. In January, 3RACHA revisited a few songs during a Vlive broadcast, and cringed to the point of sweating profusely. As Changbin and Han crease up, Bang Chan covers his face, mock-groaning. “We can’t listen to them now!” But there’s a glint in his eye. “We do have to do episode two of that,” he adds, grinning.

It’s not just the songwriters who are evolving; from being wide-eyed, ambitious and nervous trainees who didn’t always get along, as Hyunjin recently revealed, Stray Kids have become compelling performers with close bonds. They’d clung tightly to Bang Chan during their survival show, but do Stray Kids today feel less lost – or at least more secure in their responsibilities? “I’ll just leave the room so the guys can talk more freely,” jokes Bang Chan, even as Changbin, owner of a bone-dry sense of humour, simply yells, “No!” Vocalist Woojin leans in. “He was very good to us while we were filming the show. At that time we always followed him very well, and relied on him a lot.”

“I don’t have a lot of confidence but when he’s next to me, I know I can do this,” adds Felix, as they ready to depart for the next schedule in a packed day. “But,” Woojin says, “now we’re all developing our own selves, too.”

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#stray kids #190606 #era: clé 1 miroh #t: article #dazed

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ladywinchester1967 · 6 years

Text

Made to be Broken: Part II

Summary: With their relationship out in the open; what’s next for Secret Service Agent Dean Winchester and Julianna Mills, the President’s Daughter?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Julianna Mills

Word Count: 5690

Warnings: Language, Domestic!Dean (yes, that’s a warning), SMUT, mentions of torture, PTSD, anxiety, depression, A.D.D and a past abusive relationship. Kidnapping

Square Filled: Mental Illness

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo and BACK by popular demand; this is the second installment for my series Made to be Broken. I hope you guys like this as much as you liked the first part. Per usual; unbeta’d, all mistakes are mine. Pictures and gif are not; I found them on Pinterest, tumblr and good, old Google.

Missed the first part?

Catch up HERE!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Normally, lying to one’s parents is easy. A few well placed sobs and a “I'm so sorry, I’ll never do it again” then everyone’s lives go back to relative normalcy.

However, when you’re on the cover of a national news paper with your tongue in your boyfriend’s mouth, who also happens to be your Secret Service Agent, lying to your Dad; the President of the United States, gets a little more complicated.

“Um,” Julianna said as she stared at the paper “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for this.”

“Riveting narrative,” her Dad said “tell me whose bright idea this was.”

“Mine.” She said as she picked up the paper and began to read.

President Joel Mills may have more than just the United States economy to worry about.

His eldest daughter, Julianna (25) was spotted at the Goo Goo Dolls concert last night canoodling her Secret Service Agent, Dean Winchester (30).

“They looked like a regular couple,” one on looker said “we had no idea it was Julianna until we got a good look at her.”

“THIS,” her Dad hissed as he pointed at the paper “was YOUR idea?!”

“Well, not the getting caught by the press thing,” she said as she sipped her coffee “but the relationship, that was me.”

Joel raked his hand through his hair

“God fucking damn it Julianna Marie!” He exclaimed.

She knew he was pissed if he was using her first and middle name.

“What did we talk about before I even started running?” Joel asked

“Dad, I KNOW what we talked about, I remember every conversation we had before you started running,” Julianna said “I didn’t do this to embarrass the family or to stir up trouble, we really care about one another.”

“How long has this been going on?” He asked, exasperated

“A couple of months after the inauguration,” she told him “no one knew until this.” She motioned to the paper.

Joel sighed

“Just go, I don’t even want to look at you right now.” He said

Julianna stayed in her room, trying to occupy her time. She’d turned on the TV, but seeing her and Dean’s faces plastered all over every news outlet was awful. She texted Dean

He didn’t answer and she added

Still no reply.

She tried to read, rearranged her Pop Figure collection at least twice, checking her phone every few seconds, hoping to hear from Dean, but nothing was coming through.

After a few hours, Julianna got a knock on the door.

“Come in!” She called

Sam walked in and said

“Your Dad wants to see you in the Oval Office.”

“Fuck.” Julianna said and then nodded “Thanks Sam.”

Julianna got dressed in a simple, olive green dress and sandals, then walked down to the Oval Office with some guy she’d never met before.

“Where’s Dean?” She asked

“In the office, with your Dad.” He told her.

Julianna nervously gulped; it was scary enough to have your boyfriend meet your Dad, but when your Dad employed your boyfriend, that was twenty times worse.

When they arrived at the door of the Oval Office, a bunch of people filtered out and Julianna was let in. Sitting in front of her Dad’s desk was Dean and behind him was the Director of the Secret Service, Bobby Singer and the Chief of Staff, Sam Winchester, who was also Dean's brother. Neither Bobby nor Joel looked pleased as Joel motioned for Julianna to come closer.

“Sit.” Her Dad commanded her and she did as she was told, she didn’t dare look at Dean.

Joel cleared his throat before speaking.

“Director Singer and I have discussed this,” he paused “matter at length. You, Agent Winchester, have broken nearly every rule in your employee handbook.” Joel picked up a file in front of him and opened it “a Marine Special Operations Command, a sharp shooter with six confirmed sniper kills and a spotless record. Not even so much as a parking ticket since you were sixteen!”

Julianna’s eyes went wide and looked at him, her mouth agape.

“He never told you?” Joel asked she shook her head.

“We haven’t had that conversation yet.” Julianna said.

Sam cleared his throat and asked

“May I interject for just a second Mr. President?”

Both Joel and Bobby stared at Sam as Dean subtly shook his head.

“I understand that what I have to say may be considered a conflict of interest since Dean and I are brothers,�� Sam said “but, given Dean's background and that this is his first major offense; who would be better qualified to protect Julianna if the occasion ever came up?”

Director Singer and Joel stared at Sam and he went on

“Is there anyone you would rather trust with the safety of your daughter than someone who really cares about her?” Sam added “If I've overstepped, I'm sorry-”

Joel held up his hand, cleared his throat again and looked at Dean

“I should fire you and send you back to Kansas where you came from, Director Singer even advised me that I should do so.” Joel said he sighed, closed Dean’s file and leaned forward “I’m not going to do that.”

“He can keep his job?!” Julianna asked in surprise as Dean looked at him, his eyes wide in shock.

“But that doesn’t mean you two can carry on like THIS in public.” Joel said and held up the paper “You need to go back to being discreet and not bringing any extra attention to yourselves.”

“Yes sir.” They answered in unison.

“This will be the first and last time I give you two this warning,” Joel told them “what you do behind closed doors, I’d rather not know about. In public, you need to be professional. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” Julianna said

“Yes Mr. President.” Dean said

“Then it’s settled,” Joel said “Dean, you’ll carry on as head of Julianna’s Secret Service detail. The only statement we’ve made is that it’s a family matter and that’s how we will settle it, within the family. Now, you two go on, I have a phone meeting with some congress members in a little bit.”

Once they were out of the Oval Office and on their own, Julianna and Dean hugged each other hard.

“I thought our gooses were COOKED back there!” She told him as she pulled back to look him in the face.

“Me too,” he said “I was mentally packing my bags and trying to figure out how I’d get back to Kansas!”

They both laughed and hugged again.

“I saw your texts,” he told her “I couldn’t reply because Bobby was chewing me out; I did what you said and blamed it on you.”

“Good, I’m glad.” She said

He sighed and pulled back from her

“I don’t think anyone’s taken a fall like that for me, not since the Marines.” He told her as he tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Dean, I care about you,” she told him as she cupped his face in her hands “is it really that hard to believe I’d fall on the sword for us?”

“No, it isn’t hard to believe,” he said “I’m just pleasantly surprised is all, and I care about you too.”

They kissed and he asked

“What are you doing tonight?”

“Trying to keep a low profile,” she told him “why?”

“Do you want to come over to my place and have dinner with me?” He asked

“I didn’t know you could cook!” She exclaimed

He nodded

“So, I’ll take that as a yes?” He asked and she nodded “Good, because Secret Service already swept my house and that was nerve wracking.”

She laughed and he said “I’ll get the car and take you over there myself.”

“Perfect.” She said and kissed him again.

That night, they arrived at Dean’s townhouse where he grilled steaks for them and she made mashed potatoes.

“I didn’t know you could cook either.” He said in amazement.

“Number one; you never asked,” she told him as she added butter to the potatoes “number two; my parents made it a rule that we had to learn to cook and balance a checkbook before we left the house. My Dad didn’t know how to do either of those things until he married my Mom.”

“So Your Mom whipped your Dad into shape?” Dean asked with a laugh and she nodded.

“She sure did.” She said as she continued to mash the potatoes.

When the food was ready; they sat down at the table, opened a few beers and kept talking.

“So when were you going to tell me about your military career?” She asked him

“Curious thing aren’t you?” He asked with a smirk and she nodded

“You had to know that was coming,” She told him “my Dad basically outlined you as a hero and you didn’t think I was going to at least ask about it?”

He laughed and took her hand

“Fine,” He said “I’ll tell you what I can, which isn’t a lot mind you. The stuff I did is classified information so I’ve sworn never to talk about it.”

“What can you tell me?” She asked

“That I went to some very bad places and killed some very bad people.” He said “That’s basically all I can tell you.”

“Will you tell me more?” She asked “Maybe not the classified stuff, but why you decided to join the Marines?”

He smiled at the memory

“My Dad,” he said “he was in the Corps and I wanted to be just like him. So on my eighteenth birthday, I enlisted and the rest is history.”

“How did you end up in the Secret Service?” She asked

“I had my choice of things that I wanted to do once I left the Marines. Director Singer is a friend of the family and thought I’d make a good fit. I was working personal security until I decided what I wanted to do so I could make ends meet.”

“Now we’re here,” she told him as he turned her hand over in his. “together. You and me.”

He gently kissed the back of her hand and said

“Yes we are.” Giving her a wide grin.

She got up and went to his side of the table as he pushed his chair out. She straddled his lap and held his face in her hands, her thumbs running over the apples of his cheeks as he let out a sigh. She slowly and tenderly kissed him as he held her hips tightly in place. It was silent in the townhouse except for the sounds of them kissing and the small moans that escaped their mouths.

“Dean?” she asked quietly as he started to kiss her neck.

“Hm?” He asked as he nibbled on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. She whined and then said

“Take me upstairs,” as she looked at him, he seemed to be memorizing every inch of her face “have your way with me.”

He audibly growled and said

“Sweetheart, as much as I want to comply with that request, I have to get you home. You have a full day tomorrow.” She pouted and he thought for a second “But, that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun at your place.” He said, looking mischievous.

“Never in my life did I think I’d be saying “come have sex with me at the White House” to a guy.” She said as she crawled off of him.

He laughed

“And I never thought I’d be dropping my girlfriend off at the White House, but here we are.” He told her.

They put dinner away and Dean drove her back to the White House, she scooted across the bench seat over to him and started kissing his neck.

“Sweetheart,” He said through gritted teeth “cut that out.”

“Stop what?” She asked innocently “This?” as she bit the flesh on his neck “Or this?” her hand working its way up his thigh. He let out a moan and said

“We’re about to get arrested for public indecency and then your Dad really will fire me.”

“What makes you say that?” She asked as she started to stroke his length through his jeans.

“I’m pretty sure bending you over the seat and fucking you senseless in the middle of traffic would cause some problems.” He squirmed under her touch as she bit his ear lobe. “Or you’re gonna make me crash my car, then I’ll be pissed.”

“Okay, okay Mister Cranky Pants,” She said and stopped “I’ll leave you be.”

“Thank you.” He said with a smirk as they pulled up to The White House.

Dean pulled his car around back, then they quietly made their way up the stairs and to her bedroom. Once inside, he pounced; using his large frame to press her chest up against the door, grinding his hardened length into her ass.

“Mh, see what you do to me?” He growled in her ear as he gently took her earlobe between his teeth and gave her a sensual bite. She audibly whined as she rolled her butt into his denim covered erection. “Eager are we?”

“Yes,” she choked out “please?”

He spun her around and pressed her back to the door as he kissed her hard. He picked one of her legs up, draping it around his waist as he worked his mouth over hers, grinding into her denim covered core. She buried her hands in his hair, his locks tangling around her fingers. He picked up her other leg and she hopped up as he held her by her behind. He turned and carried her over to the canopy bed where he gently laid her down. He sat on his knees above her quickly unbuttoning her jeans as she kicked off her sneakers. He wiggled her out of her jeans and gently caressed her thighs, biting his lip as he did this. She quickly pulled her shirt and jacket off leaving her in her underwear as she sat up.

“Are you okay?” She asked quietly as he gently touched her face with his fingertips.

“I’m fine.” he told her as she pulled his jacket down and off of him, leaving him in a grey Henley and his jeans. She tugged his shirt until they were kissing hard.

*********

Grunting and thrashing woke Julianna from a dead sleep. She blinked and turned on her bedside lamp. She looked to the other side of the bed and saw Dean broken out in a sweat, his hands clenched tightly.

Realizing he was having a nightmare, she rolled to her side and pulled him close.

“Shhhh,” She soothed him “it’s okay Dean, you’re okay.”

He cried out and thrashed harder, which only made her clutch him harder.

“It’s all right, I’m right here.”

He took a few panicked breaths before his eyes flew open, wide with fear. He looked around until his eyes landed on her and he started to shake.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured “I’m so-“

“Shhhh,” She interrupted him “it’s okay, come here.” As she opened her arms to him. He reluctantly settled into her, his head on her chest as she wrapped one arm around his shoulders and the other in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. She kissed his forehead as he breathed rapidly.

“It’s awful,” he said as he clutched her “the screaming.” She didn’t answer him and he went on. “I hear it; the pain, the fear; everything.” He said as she felt water hit her chest, he was crying. She tenderly kissed his forehead as he took a shaky breath. “I remember the looks on their faces,” he said “they begged me to stop. They plead, they offered me anything I wanted, but I didn’t. I did what I was commanded to do and I hate myself for it.”

He went silent as he shook harder. She ran her hand up and down his back and fingernails over his scalp as he broke down, sobs wracking his body. After a long time, his breathing finally evened out and he looked up at her, his eye tinged red. His fingers gently brushed over her face and he gave her a sad smile.

“You’re so amazing and beautiful and sweet,” he said “I can’t believe I get to-“ he cut himself off.

“Get to what?” She asked as she captured his hand in hers. He looked away, sighed and then looked back at her

“Get to have an angel like you in my life.” He said with a tender smile on his face. She returned the smile. She tenderly kissed his fingertips and then looked at him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she told him “I’m not afraid of your past Dean. All I care about is our future together.”

She closed her eyes and kissed the palm of his hand and to his wrist as he closed his eyes, her tender touches soothing him. She opened her eyes as he opened his, as she took a deep breath.

“I love you Dean.” She murmured

He tucked her hair behind her ear and let out a sigh.

“I love you too Julianna.”

They sweetly kissed as she rolled on top of him. They both shed their shirts as she lined his hardened length up against her soaking core.

“Tell me,” She choked out “tell me you want me and no one else.”

He let it a strangled cry as he gripped her hips

“No one else baby,” he told her as he looked her in the eyes “I love you. There’s no one else.”

She sank on to him, taking his entire length inside her as they both cried out. Just like their first night together, she steadfastly rode him as they sank their nails into each other’s skin. He sat up, placing one hand on the small of her back and the other on the back of her head, wrapping her into a heart stopping kiss. She held his face in her hands as the kiss ended and they looked into each other’s eyes.

“So, so beautiful.” he murmured, his fingers tangling in her hair as he tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck to him. He gently kissed and sucked on her flesh, making her whine and cry out.

“Dean!” She breathed, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she thrust into him, moaning.

For the first time in a long time, he gave in. He poured all of his emotions; the good the bad and the ugly into his next kiss. She felt the subtle change in him, he kissed with a little more passion, rolled his hips a little more gently.

“I love you,” he murmured between kisses “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” She told him and tried to lean back a little bit to give herself some more leverage, but he stopped her.

“No,” he said, caging her in his arms “I want you right here.”

She bit her lip and nodded as they moved together, the sound of their moans and grunts, mixed with declarations of love filled the room.

Some time later, they laid side by side, totally spent. They held hands as his free hand ran over her bare shoulder.

“Go to sleep.” He said sweetly as he kissed her forehead.

“No,” she whined sleepily “you’ll leave if I go to sleep.”

He always left after she had fallen asleep, not wanting to get caught with her by the wrong person.

“I’ll stay,” he promised “I’ll be the first thing you see when you wake up.”

“You better be.” She said as she buried her head in his chest. He chuckled and kissed the crown of her head.

“Sleep gorgeous,” he told her “dream sweet dreams.”

The next day, Julianna asked that her and Dean’s breakfast be served in her room so that Dean didn’t have to do the walk of shame until later. When she told him this, he laughed.

“We call that the stride of pride.” he said as he sipped his coffee.

“Really?” She asked

“I got laid. What do I have to be ashamed of?” He asked.

She groaned and shook her head

“Boys.” She said as she rolled her eyes and he looked over her itinerary for the day.

“So, conference call in twenty minutes,” he said as he pointed to the paper “and a doctor’s appointment after that. Dinner with Women in Literature tonight.”

“Shit, is that doctor’s appointment today?” She asked

“For what?” He asked as he looked up “You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” she told him “I mean, I’m not sick; don’t have a cold, but,” she fiddled with her hands, a nervous habit she had as she took a deep breath.

“Julie,” he said gently and placed his hands over hers and smiled sweetly at her “it’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I should,” she told him “this is the kind of shit you need to know.”

She took a few deep breaths, composing herself before she spoke.

“I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety a few years ago,” she said “the depression and anxiety seemed to get worse, so my doctor referred me to a psychiatrist. She diagnosed me with ADD, and I’ve been on medication to treat all three of those. This is just a check up so I can get refills for my medication.”

He gave her a crooked grin and said

“Okay, well, that’s no big deal. Thank you for telling me, but that isn’t anything you or I should be worried about.”

She nodded

“As long as I take my medication and use my coping mechanisms, I’m fine. I have my low periods, but I bounce back. Always do.” She told him.

“Always?” He asked, detecting a tremble in her voice.

“Okay, not always.” She said as she shifted in her seat “I went through a dark time a long time ago and that’s when all my issues got brought up.” She took another deep breath and went on “I had this boyfriend and he...” she trailed off, looking away from him and his heart froze in his chest.

“Julianna,” he said quietly “he didn’t put his hands on you did he?”

She didn’t look at him for a long few seconds, when she finally did, she nodded.

“He did.” She said solemnly “Frequently.”

“Frequently?” Dean asked, a boiling anger he hadn’t felt in years surging through his system.

Not her, he thought, not this angel he got the privilege of calling his. She was the single best person he had ever known; how could anyone even dream of raising a hand to her?

“No one knew,” she told him “I was terrible at hiding it, but I never copped to what he did until long after he was out of the picture.”

“What’s his name?” Dean asked

“No,” she told him “I’m not telling you that.”

“Why not?” He asked

“Because,” She said “you’ll kill him with a paper clip and a stick of gum.”

Dean shrugged

“I have diplomatic immunity in all fifty states, including all U.S Territories and some foreign countries, and it would be better than he deserves.”

She stared him down and said

“You’ll do no such thing. That was a long time ago Dean. Well before you were in the picture.”

“Doesn’t mean he should get away with it.” Dean spat

“And I want to strangle every person that shot a bullet at you with my bare hands, but that’s not gonna happen is it?” She asked “I want to hurt anyone who has tried to hurt you.”

“And what makes your desire any more legitimate than mine?” He demanded

“Because YOU can actually track him down,” she told him “and probably make it look like an accident.”

“See? I knew you’d see it my way. All I need is a name.” He told her.

“This isn’t the free city of Bravos and you are not a faceless man,” she told him “please Dean, just drop it.”

He gave her a stony face and said

“Fine, I will. But if I ever find out his name, they’ll never find the body.”

“You stop that.” She scolded him.

That night; Julianna got dressed up for the Women in Literature dinner and Dean had to admit, she was stunning. He had been with her when she picked out the dress but seeing the complete outfit made his heart pound. She was wearing cocktail dress with a black top and plum skirt with matching heels, she accentuated the look with matching purple and black accessories, her hair rolled up into a sleek bun and her signature eyeliner and red lipstick.

“Wow.” Dean said as she walked out of her bedroom and she grinned.

“What do you think?” She asked him.

“Perfect.” He said and stepped toward her, offering her his arm, which she took. “You know,” he whispered in her ear as two more Secret Service agents walked in front of them and he muted his mic “you’re way too hot to go to this event. What do you say I take you home and we see what that dress looks like on the floor of my bedroom?”

She laughed out loud and elbowed him.

“Don’t talk like that in front of my dress!” She hissed at him, making him smirk as he un-muted his mic.

“Hummingbird in flight.” He said into his mouth piece

Each member of the First Family had their own code name, Julianne’s was Hummingbird. Dean escorted her down the Grand Stairs and to the Center Hall where Joel and the Vice President Rufus Turner were waiting to see Julianna off.

“You look stunning.” Joel said as he hugged his daughter

“Thanks Dad.” She told him and then hugged Rufus

“Knock 'em dead.” Rufus told her and she laughed

“Thanks, I will. Promise.” she told him.

Dean took Julianna's arm and escorted her out to the waiting Suburbans. They arrived at the door and it opened, showing a guy who barely looked over seventeen. He had perfectly quaffed blonde hair, blue eyes and wore a remarkably well fitting suit.

“Julianna, this is Jack, he's my junior agent.” Dean told her

“Jack,” Julianna said with a bright smile and extended her hand “a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well ma'am.” Jack said

“Please,” she insisted “call me Julianna.”

Once they were inside, they took off into the night.

“I don't want to alarm you,” Dean told her “but in case the unthinkable happens, you need to be prepared.”

“I know,” she reminded him gently “stay with you and do as you tell me to.”

Dean gave her a grateful smile and quickly rolled his eyes when she made him pose for a picture with her.

The event went flawlessly; once dinner was eaten, Julianna gave another impassioned speech about how important it was for women not to be afraid to use their written words to inspire and educate.

“They say the pen is mightier than the sword,” she said “we need to take those words to heart. Our greatest asset is communication; in this day and age, we’re a mouse click or finger tap away from a cornucopia of information. Lets raise our voices to bring attention to causes we feel passionate about. I have the privilege of being here in front of all of you today because I’m passionate about literacy and supporting other women. You ladies have flawlessly blended both of those things together and I am honored to be in a room full of such powerful and strong women.”

Dean studied the way she spoke; her body language rode the line between confidence and humility. Her voice commanded attention but also compassion. He wondered if she had studied this or if it came naturally to her.

“They love her,” Jack said “look, they’re all staring at her.”

Dean looked around the room when a flash of something black caught his eye.

“North east corner, status.” He said into his mouth piece.

“North east corner,” Dean heard Cole, one of the other Secret Service agents say “we saw it too. Male figure headed to my exit.”

“Pursue and confirm.” Dean commanded and then looked at Jack “Eyes around the stage, I’ve got her.”

Dean listened as the agents chatted back and forth.

“Kitchen clear.” One said

“Side alley clear.” Another announced

“Cole,” Dean radioed “have you apprehended the male?”

Silence.

“Cole,” Dean practically barked “status update now!”

A loud POP was heard from the back of the room as Dean and Jack raced on to the stage, grabbing Julianna while several women screamed and ducked under tables.

“What was that?!” Julianna asked as Dean and Jack covered her, walking her behind the stage and through a back exit.

“Not sure,” Dean told her and then radioed in “Hummingbird is secure. Headed to rendezvous point.”

“PROCEED TO SECONDARY POINT!” Cole yelled over the radio “Male suspect brought his friends!”

Dean and Jack made a sharp left as they heard more loud pops that seemed to be getting closer.

“Dean, what is that?!” She screamed

“Baby, that’s gun fire and we gotta move.” Dean told her as they burst through another door.

There was supposed to be a second Suburban parked there and waiting for them, but the car was no where in sight.

“Jack, go get the car.” Dean told him “I have her. GO, NOW!”

Jack scurried off, keeping his gun low. As he rounded the alley corner.

“Second rendezvous point is compromised, headed to third!” Dean said

“Proceed to fourth!” A voice yelled in his ear “these fuckers have us pinned!”

“God damn it!” Dean cursed and held her tightly as she looked up at him, terrified.

“Listen to me and do exactly as I say, do you hear me?” He asked fiercely and she nodded.

With a hiss and a bang; a smoke bomb went off and he immediately tucked Julianna into his arms and pulled his gun out as the smoke enveloped them and began to burn their eyes and noses.

“DEAN!” She struggled to cry as she coughed

Dean tightened his grip on her and looked for a way through the smoke just as something cracked him over the back of the head, knocking him out cold. They collapsed on the ground, his sudden dead weight knocking her off balance.

“There she is.” A familiar voice said in a mocking tone. Someone grabbed her arm and dragged her away from Dean’s grasp.

“NO!” She screamed as the person wearing a mask yanked her up right. She flung her elbow back, connecting with the person's gut and knocking the wind out of them.

The person grunted and dropped her arm. She took off running back to Dean but was tackled to the ground. She hit her head hard just as Dean was coming around.

He felt like his head had been split open as his vision came into focus.

There was Julianna laying on the ground, her eyes closed and blood running out of a cut on her forehead as a guy jerked her arms behind her back and cuffed her wrists together. Adrenaline shot through his system like he’d been shot full of it as the guy pulled Julianna up and slung her over his shoulder.

“PUT HER DOWN!” Dean yelled as he reached for his pistol. The person took off and Dean fired his gun, shooting out the guy’s knee cap. He yelled as he fell to the cement and a black van pulled up at the mouth of the alley. The door flung open and two guys jumped out, grabbing Julianna and taking off, the tires squealing.

It was like something out of a nightmare, Dean ran as fast as he could to get to the van. He shot at it and clipped the bumper, the van hung a hard left before he could shoot again and took off into the night.

He swore like a sailor as he made his way back to the guy that had been left behind as he heard sirens in the distance.

Dean’s phone rang as the guy tried to stand.

“Stay on the fucking ground and put your fucking hands in the air!” Dean yelled as he pointed his gun at the guy and answered his phone “Yeah?” He snapped

“Dean, we got the call that there’s gun fire from your location, are you and Hummingbird okay?” Director Singer asked in his ear.

“Negative,” Dean barked into the phone “one suspect in custody and he’s injured. Hummingbird has,” he ground his teeth as the guy whined in pain “Hummingbird is gone. She’s fucking gone Bobby!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I know, I know, ANOTHER cliffhanger *hides from things being thrown* but worth the wait for the follow up right???

I hope you guys enjoyed this installment and keep an eye out for the next one! Yup, you read that right, PART III IS ON THE WAY!

Kind feedback is always appreciated, feel free to like and share...maybe hit that follow button?? There’s plenty of room on the Squad (aka my forevers) and tags for this series, so if you want either one of those; drop me a line.

See you lovely folks for the next one!!

The Squad:

@waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @familybusinesswritingbro @ain-t-bovvered @mrswhozeewhatsis @girlborninstorms @dacleverfox@emoryhemsworth @bobasheebaby @salvachester@myinconnelly1 @mogaruke @imma-winchester-addict@theworldiscolorful @dean-winchesters-bacon @animerose96@l8nit-l0vr @drakelover78 @curly-haired-disaster @roonyxx @snffbeebee @ezilyamuzed @mirandaaustin93 @srsllydunnodoncare @time-travel-bouqet

Made to Be Broken:

@sis-tafics @death-unbecomes-you @mystrie @becs-bunker @sylverminx @oldfreakything @jennifromtheblock1013 @roastmctoasyghostie @jinxremoving2

#dean winchester #lady winchester writes #supernatural #dean winchester smut #Supernatural smut #18 plus

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joshmspicer · 6 years

Text

lets get personal.

Nabbed from @pantherdaemon and somehow missed last week

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most? “One Foot”, “Voicemail Freestyle Mike Wiebe”, “A Walk Down the Trail” (though it’s been a bit), “First Time”, “It Ends Tonight”, and “Survival”

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? @pantherdaemon It’s about time bro

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17. “WWE maintained little interest in scouting, much less signing, Japanese or Mexican talent, widely considered the second and third points of the wrestling world’s triangle.”

4: What do you think about most? “So at what point...?”

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say? “Stopping for tear”

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on? I gots pants

7: What’s your strangest talent? I can curve my tongue?

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence) Girls deserve the fucking world but can go too far. Boys can be rude without knowing they are but can also be endearing.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you? Not to my knowledge.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar? A few moments ago when I was listening to “Undisputed”

11: Do you have any strange phobias? Not a fan of little bugs

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? Yes

13: What’s your religion? Agnostic Lutheran

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? Going to my car or walking into somewhere

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? In front

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? Breaking Benjamin, easy

17: What was the last lie you told? “I’m sick as a dog, can’t make it into class.”

18: Do you believe in karma? A form of it, yes

19: What does your URL mean? It’s my old OC from my Xiaolin Showdown days, Jack Spicer’s brother. Brought it with me during the brony days as my alias and it kind of became more than I ever though it would be.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength? Weakness is my need to please everybody. Strength is my ability to listen to everybody and offer advice even if I’ve never personally been in that situation.

21: Who is your celebrity crush? Emily Blunt

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping? Yes

23: How do you vent your anger? Either my listening to Linkin Park or venting in a text post

24: Do you have a collection of anything? Magazines, video game or animated posters, pictures, and t-shirts

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Phone, never done the latter

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become? I’m just happy I’m not completely like my dad.

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love? I loathe that one stupid fucking bird from Iowa that always does that same rhythm all damn day. I love an animal chirping that isn’t a bird.

28: What’s your biggest “what if”? “What if you stayed in Minneapolis after Dad died?”

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Yes and yes

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm. A pen and a water bottle

31: Smell the air. What do you smell? My usual media room. I’m used to it so it smells like normalty

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to? High School Homecoming

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast? East

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender? Sydney Sierota

35: To you, what is the meaning of life? Living and breathing in an attempt to survive.

36: Define Art. Creative outlet through various forms with an intent to tell a narrative, vent emotion, or for personal entertainment.

37: Do you believe in luck? Yes

38: What’s the weather like right now? Dark, clear, cold

39: What time is it? 10:47 PM mountain time

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed? Yes, YES

41: What was the last book you read? How WWE Should Have Booked The Book Vol. 1

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline? Yes

43: Do you have any nicknames? Toad, Toadman, Spicer

44: What was the last film you saw? Bad Times at El Royale

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? Worst pain at the time was a broken pinky. Worst pain over time was a fucked up shoulder that any movement caused it to just drive me into agony.

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly? No

47: Do you have any obsessions right now? Probably

48: What’s your sexual orientation? Rather not put a label on that right now

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you? Yes

50: Do you believe in magic? Yes

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? Don’t forgive so easily, much harder to gain back trust

52: What is your astrological sign? Cancer

53: Do you save money or spend it? Spend

54: What’s the last thing you purchased? Technically it would be Patreon

55: Love or lust? Lust

56: In a relationship? Nope

57: How many relationships have you had? None

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue? Nope

59: Where were you yesterday? At home

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you? Yeah the envelope that came right My First Girlfriend is a Gal

61: Are you wearing socks right now? Nah

62: What’s your favourite animal? CAT

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? God I could not tell you

64: Where is your best friend? Probably at home or asleep in the Canadian wilderness of the BC

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr. I am not going to do that. Not sorry.

66: What is your heritage? A whole bunch of European countries. My dad’s side is known to be varied and my mom’s side is the same, but I’d assume mostly Germanic

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM? Reading fics in my bed

68: What do you think is Satan’s last name? Murphy

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off? Of fucking course

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend? Yes

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? Save the fucking dog. If I’m that deep in my job that one more tardiness means I’m done than it’s not worth it. Plus, I can explain to them and my future jobs why I was late. I feel like people would understand.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid? A. Yes B. If I can, travel places, see all the people I haven’t see in a while or at all, and actually finish things I haven’t ever finished. C. Of course

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love. Trust

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it? Fuck me for it but “"Crepuscularity” but it’s a sad kind of happy

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number? Nice

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship? Trust and the ability to talk to each other about anything and especially when it’s about that trust or about things that are hurting the other person

77: How can I win your heart? Show genuine interest in me and what I like.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity? Yes

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far? Oh god. Um...submitting that audition for “This is Why I Clop”. I wouldn’t know any of my online friends if it wasn’t for that.

80: What size shoes do you wear? 11 1/2

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone? “RIP: This is empty because there’s no body in it, so feel free to go ham.”

82: What is your favourite word? Fuck

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart. Alone

84: What is a saying you say a lot? “To be quite honest”, “everyone and their mother”, “to be fair”

85: What’s the last song you listened to? “POP/STARS”

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours? Red/orange

87: What is your current desktop picture? Still the ME 2 collage

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be? I can’t answer that

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on? What’s the one kink you hate liking?

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? Ask if they can talk. If they can’t and are just looming, try to get back to sleep.

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? Control time

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? Oh this is a good question. That last 30 minutes of the Jan. 2012 BronyCon where I modded the stream and heard “You Only Got One Life to Live”

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? Goodbye that sexual assault in the common room

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be? Always music huh? I’m gonna say Cher

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? Los Angeles

96: Do you have any relatives in jail? Probably

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car? Nah

98: Ever been on a plane? Yep

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say? It’s...it’s not easy anymore. And I know I make a lot of mistakes and whine a lot and am in no position to hate who I am or what I’ve done and I know that I don’t deserve everything I’ve gotten, but...it’s hard to want to live life and enjoy little things when you’ve been told that you’re great at a lot of things and end up never getting there because you didn’t put enough work in or you weren’t lucky enough to get it. And then you’ve got this great big old dream looming over you that you can escape in because it’s so much to imagine what it would be like. But you know that deep down you’ll end up back home working at Menards and ending up just like your father. Well guess what? If I’ll never be shit, duck? Than I’d least like to fucking know if I ever had a chance in the first place.

#jmsanswers

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lovetheplayers · 6 years

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REVIEW: Taylor Swift plays snake queen at Reputation Tour stop in Santa Clara

SANTA CLARA — On her 2017 album Reputation, “the old Taylor” Swift is dead. But on the Reputation Stadium Tour, which arrived at Levi’s Stadium Friday for the first of two sold-out shows, Old Taylor is alive and kicking it with the new incarnation; the Taylor Swift whose image took a few punches in the superstardom spotlight from broken friendships, public breakups and the feud that inspired much of the narrative of the tour.

The new Taylor Swift plays the role of snake queen, a badge—tossed at her by Kim Kardashian—that she wears proudly. The feud was ugly, made both women and Kanye West look bad, and quite frankly is not something to get into in a concert review. But it’s significant because Taylor Swift decided to take the insult and turn it into an alter ego, and turning each stadium on this tour into a snake pit.

At the same time, the concert, just the second on this tour, gave Swift a chance to play both femme fatale and damsel, as some of her older songs, like “Style,” “Love Story,” “You Belong With Me” and “Shake It Off” found a way to coexist with “…Ready For It,” “I Did Something Bad” and “Look What You Made Me Do.”

Taylor Swift ascended the stage to Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation” and a video reel of newscasters reporting on the pop star’s recent public image slip-ups. “Taylor Swift is in hot water again,” one disembodied voice declared.”

Oh, and before we go further, let’s talk about that stage. Initially resembling a stadium-sized Rubik’s cube with a horizon of crane-like structures, the thing would go on to transform, with giant screen panels moving up, down, left and right, at times revealing the band atop a large platform, a skeletal structure, a tunnel from which dancers and Swift made an entrance, and sometimes taking on the appearance huge scrolls (kind of like the artwork that worked with the branding for the new album). The stage was connected to two smaller platforms in the back of the stadium floor by cables that hoisted Swift above thousands of—the “how” was also impressive.

Back to the show. As nearly 20 dancers appeared on the stage, Swift existed the cube, which had separated along one of its sides. This was the “new Taylor,” who vamped across the stage on “…Ready For It” and “I Did Something Bad.” The song featured synchronized fireworks as Swift sang, “They burn all the witches even if you aren’t one,” obviously in reference to the image bashing she has felt in recent years. Following “Gorgeous,” it was old Taylor’s turn to play, with extended medley of the previously mentioned older cuts.

After a brief video interlude (the first of five) the humongous screen was filled up with three-story-tall cobras, which were still smaller than the inflated (yet pretty darn realistic) king cobra in the middle, with its mouth agape and fangs out. This was the setting to, “Look What You Made Me Do.”

Swift used a quieter moment to talk about the break between her new and previous albums, which she used to figure out what her life would be like if there wasn’t a spotlight always on it. Two other new cuts followed; “End Game” and “King of My Heart,” during which Swift rode a lit-up fairy tale-like gondola to one of the smaller platforms at the back.

With the stadium awash in bright colors, Swift had her two openers, Charli XCX and Camila Cabello, join her on the platform for a rousing rendition of “Shake It Off,” as confetti rained down and another giant blow-up snake, this one happier looking, with his mouth closed and just a two-pronged tongue sticking out.

Two acoustic cuts followed, with Swift herself playing a guitar. That she plays really well should not come as a surprise for the former Nashville singer-songwriter. But the fact that she held a guitar for just the two songs, “Dancing With Our Hands Tied” and “Wildest Dreams,” was. She did later hop on a baby grand for “New Year’s Day.”

Anyway, following the two acoustic guitar songs, Taylor Swift made her way to the other B-stage like a mere mortal (or fallen angel): on her own two feet. That stage had it’s own inflatable snake, but if, by that point, it was unclear what motif Swift was going for, she was by then wearing a snakeskin-pattrerend dress. Following “Blank Space” and “Dress,” she hitched a ride back to the main stage on another gondola, but this one was more nightmare than fairytale: a snake skeleton. Fallen angel, indeed. By this point the show was reaching its zenith.

As “Bad Blood” roared to life, the screens on the stage structure seemed to spasm and separate like (spoiler alert) Nebula in the new Avengers movie. While there was no traditional encore, the last of six “acts” of the show crescendoed with “Getaway Car,” “Call It What You Want,” “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” and “This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.” The last batch of songs had more fireworks, pyrotechnics and another round of confetti.

What it didn’t have, unlike the tour opener a couple of days prior, was Swift explaining what inspired the snake motif. But now that she’s done that, it’s better for the songs to do the talking and for everyone involved to put their bitterness away.

Link

#taylor swift #rep tour #sc 1 #sc 1 reviews

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ssfoc · 7 years

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Good afternoon. I'm a fan of your interpretations. Today Harry asked for a song on BBC1 Bohemian Rhapsody. I read the lyrics, it seems like he wants to get away from something. Could you tell me if they have any relation to SOTT? Sometimes it seems to me that Harry would want to leave everything and run away. Sorry if I could not ask you correctly.

Hi!

I’m not going to interpret BR’s lyrics, because they’ve been interpreted to death, but I will offer some thoughts.

How to go about talking about Bohemian Rhapsody? I can’t even describe 10% of it, let alone how it relates to 1D. I’ll try to give some facts and then some thoughts.

All of the following is condensed from Wikipedia.

First, BR was written by Freddie Mercury and recorded by Queen in 1975, for the album “A Night at the Opera.” At six minutes long, the label (EMI) had thought the song was unplayable on the radio, but because of its structure, a shortened version couldn’t be made. The band got around this by sneaking a copy to a radio DJ and making him promise he wouldn’t play it. Of course he played it– and due to listener requests, the song was a huge success before it was even released. After that, radios had to play the six-minute song.

The song structure is one of the weirdest in the history of rock and roll. It is in six discrete sections, each different from the other: intro (“Is this the real life?”), ballad (“Mama, just killed a man,”), guitar solo, mock opera (“Scaramouche”), hard rock (this is where they all bop heads on “Wayne’s World”), and outro (“Nothing really matters”). The song goes through three modulations (in four keys): B-flat major, E-flat major, A major, and F major. The meter goes from 9/8 to 4/4. Because everything was recorded on analogue, the “wall of sound” that Mercury wanted had to be done with analogue overdubs. The great guitarist Brian May, Freddie Mercury himself, and drummer Roger Taylor all sang and overdubbed their own parts. The song took three weeks to record and some sections had 180 overdubs– the final tape was 8th generation in some sections (meaning the singer recorded, then sang over his own recording, then sang over those two recordings, generating a chorus with himself. Nowadays this is all done digitally).

Here’s what Mercury says about the song:

“I’m going to shatter some illusions, it was just one of those pieces I wrote for the album: just writing my batch of songs. In its early stages I almost rejected it, but then it grew.”

In interviews he has said it didn’t mean anything, it was just nonsense. His band mate Brian May said this:

“Freddie was a very complex person: flippant and funny on the surface, but he concealed insecurities and problems in squaring up his life with his childhood. He never explained the lyrics, but I think he put a lot of himself into that song.”

Interestingly, at the writing of Bohemian Rhapsody, Freddie had broken off a seven-year relationship with Mary Austin, and had just had his first relationship with a man. Freddie often referred to Mary as his “only friend” for the rest of his life, sometimes calling her his common-law wife. He bequeathed his home to her when he died.

The lyrics of BR are so theatrical and melodramatic, yet so disjointed, with various parts addressed to different people and characters, set on earth and in hell, and with tongue-in-cheek references to opera (Mama Mia, Figaro), it’s almost like an extended joke, a challenge to see what kind of twisted story the listeners can dream up. The song references many musical devices used in classical Italian opera– the aria, the recitative, the instrumental solo, the echoing call-and-answer of solo singer and chorus, the narratives sung in four-part harmony, the use of stock characters like the Devil, angels, a loving mother, a man condemned to die.

If you’ve ever watched Freddie in interviews, and knowing what we know about the last years of his life (Freddie Mercury died of AIDS in 1991. He announced his disease one day before he died), we know that beneath the theatricality, there were equal parts a person who went through the trauma of being closeted–of hiding his sexuality and illness, and the person who enjoyed being a dramatic entertainer, someone who liked being outrageous and funny on stage.

I think BR has a lot of both of these things. He placed both aspects– funny and hidden-serious– side by side so that interpretation was impossible. The sad parts could be interpreted as Freddie “just joking around,” – haha, gotcha. He could always hide behind a dramatic persona and say, that wasn’t me singing it, it was the character.

So that lyrics that go:

So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?So you think you can love me and leave me to die?Oh, baby, can’t do this to me, baby!Just gotta get out, just gotta get right outta here!

Nothing really matters, anyone can seeNothing really mattersNothing really matters to meAny way the wind blowsDoesn’t really matter to me

So, in terms of music analysis, the song goes through a lot of modulations and key changes. It starts in B-flat maj and ends in F maj, a dominant to B-flat, from “Is this the real life” to “Nothing really matters to me.” The ending feels sincere, because it’s arrived at a stable key. But is it sincere and personal? Or is it still part of the operatic story?

This game of “gotcha, I was just kidding” am-I-joking-or-serious? is played a lot by 1D, with its lyrics, with its fan interactions, only not in as theatrical or blatant ways as BR.

For example, Harry saying that SOTT was literal and personal. Is that a gotcha! statement? He keeps us guessing.

The bears dressing up as the cover of BR is probably the tightest connection of Larry to this song, and maybe Harry requesting it was supposed to evoke fandom’s memories. RBB was blatantly modeled after Freddie Mercury, down to costumes, crown, scepter, accessories, LGBQTA+ education and queer support. Not to mention the meta, fourth-wall-breaking oddity of having one of the Larry fandom’s most popular video artists named @freddieismyqueen and then having a band member’s real life son named Freddie. Queen and Freddie Mercury are very coded words in the 1D fandom. There are no accidents.

Other examples of the push-pull of gotcha!joke-as-not-joke are rife in Harry’s album promo, but not always, I think, benign. The Louis then-and-now tweet from Harry’s Twitter account last week. Gotcha? Kidding or serious? If kidding– what is that? The tattoos, most recently the tattoo that seems to be a bee on Harry’s arm– gotcha? The green and blue IG likes– what are they? These push-pull narratives have intended audiences. They’re not for the general public but for the fandom, specifically the Larrie fandom.

I think we are given a lot of signals to interpret, but these signals come from teams very experienced in audience manipulation. Every public action has a purpose. I hope I’m not taking away the enjoyment of the fandom or of the songs, because SOTT is a really good song (it’s not as good as BR, but few are!). I just hope we can enjoy with some awareness and not get our hearts broken too hard.

#Bohemian rhapsody #Harry #sott #Harry solo #fandom manipulation #anon ask #anon asks

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ulyssessklein · 6 years

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Book Review: My Cross To Bear by Gregg Allman With Alan Light

By: Arlene R. Weiss Photos: Courtesy William Morrow

When it was announced that the legendary Gregg Allman, singer, songwriter, keyboardist, and guitarist of one of music’s most influential bands, the equally legendary, landmark, Allman Brothers Band, was penning his personal memoirs, I very much looked forward to reading the autobiography of one of music’s most gifted and iconic artists. And upon reading Allman’s tremendous document, My Cross To Bear, what a thoroughly compelling, riveting, and wonderfully enjoyable book it is.

After considering several titles, Allman settled on aptly titling his life chronicle after the song, “It’s Not My Cross To Bear”, which he wrote for the Allman Brothers Band’s 1969 debut album. Only for the book’s abridged adaptation version, “My Cross To Bear” of Allman’s song title, it more than references the heavy load of life, endured by this world weary musical road warrior’s inspiring life odyssey.

Just as many of the countless, stunning songs that Allman has composed throughout his storied life have been deeply personal, resolute, and autobiographical, Allman’s memoirs lay bare his innermost soul. He speaks of his long struggle with, many rehab attempts at and ultimately successful sobriety over, years of self destructive drug and alcohol abuse. The book covers its ravages on his health, (culminating in Allman’s successful liver transplant in 2010), decades of turmoil, feuds, dissolution and reconciliations within the Allman Brothers Band. He opens up with loving memories and recollections of the heart involving the unforgettable people whose lives most touched his, with Gregg’s deepest reverence and love for his late older brother, legendary slide guitarist Duane Allman.

In a January 2002 interview with me, Gregg related that, “Well, they say you don’t have to have the blues to sing the blues, but it helps if you know what they are….if you had them before. And I have gone through one whole lot….two, three, lifetimes of fun and maybe one and a half of struggle and pain, or at least my share, let’s put it that way. I’ve been through my share of trouble and woe. I’m not unfamiliar to it, that’s for sure.”

No stranger to a life crossed by the seemingly unstoppable onslaught of the lowest of valleys, but also the highest of mountain tops, plagued at times by tragic events and personal and professional hardships, Allman transcends all through his steadfast perseverance, resilience, redemption, and triumphs. Allman’s new book is deeply confessional and introspective, painfully brutal, emotionally wrenching and powerfully cathartic, reflecting the intense pain and many scars that he’s accumulated in his turbulent life.

Yet, Allman’s comprehensive life story is also imbued with deeply fulfilling, touching, poignant, and emotionally uplifting personal and professional relationships, inspirational creativity and artistry, and endless rewards of the heart, that have shaped and informed his music, his career, and his life.

Throughout Allman’s moving and insightful narrative, he speaks with equal moments of reflective candor, wistful and pensive melancholy, and exuberant joy for the long, creative life journey that he has experienced.

Unlike many of the recent bitter and caustic, tell all, autobiographies of rockers Eric Clapton, Keith Richards, and Motley Crue, Allman’s book while still exploring the plaintive darkness that has often shaded his life, is also a surprisingly sweet, warmly humored, and deeply affectionate personal document that is just beautifully written.

Allman recounts and often regales with great exuberance and wistful joy, his and Duane’s childhood, their musical beginnings, and earliest musical experiences. He tells about honing their musical chops, starting from their high school dances, then touring cross country as the Allman Joys and The Hourglass, to Duane’s tenure with the 31st February, to Gregg being forced to stay in L.A. and fulfill his contract with Liberty Records. He reflects on the moment when getting that infamous life changing phone call from Duane who was living back east in Jacksonville, Florida, to come join what would evolve into the seminal, Allman Brothers Band.

After Duane’s and bassist Berry Oakley’s tragic and untimely passings, Gregg discusses how he pondered whether or not the band should soldier on. Thankfully, and all the better for us, the phenomenal, “Brothers Of The Road” realized how much they loved making and playing music.

Allman also generously peppers his book with tremendous anecdotes that are often imbued with a sweet, warmhearted, and delightfully witty, sense of humor. One story that Gregg relates, begins with Duane’s passing, and sets in motion an affectionate, playful windup with Gregg’s tongue planted firmly in cheek as he expounds with seriousness to his readers, that after Duane died, people only remember and spoke of the good things about Duane – to which Gregg then brings up that there were indeed “shi* parts to my brother as well”. Then as you fully expect Gregg to spill some shocking evils about Duane, Gregg proceeds to kiddingly and fondly accuse Duane of committing the ultimate crime of waking up in the morning with bed head hair…and there’s much more about Duane where that exuberantly fond whimsy came from, regaled throughout the book from Duane’s little “baybrah” Gregg, [Duane’s affectionate nickname for his baby brother].

Gregg’s spot on droll opinions of The Grateful Dead, and especially, his deadpan delivery observations recounting how playing the guitar changed him from being a budding virgin into becoming a mature man of pleasure, are beyond priceless. “Girls had never noticed me until I bought a guitar, and for a while I thought, “Well, is it because I play music? What if I sold insurance?”

My favorite story, and Allman’s good natured wit is indeed in rare form here, iswhen he recounts his hilarious experiences during his solo band’s tour of Europe in the late 70’s accompanied by his then wife Cher, with who he had just also recorded and released their 1977 duet album, “Two The Hard Way”. Both Gregg and Cher each had their own unique camp of just slightly overly zealous fans and when the two singers performed onstage together, things got a little messy between the two fan bases who didn’t quite mix well together, to say the least.

But, it is Allman’s remarkable gifts as a storyteller, when imparting the most unforgettable and meaningful cornerstone moments that have strengthened his purposeful resolve, and that have defined his career and life, that truly make Allman’s life and book so moving. He reveals, despite the immense adversity he has known, ultimately, that his life has indeed been very worthwhile, joyous, and uplifting.

Moments that stand out in Allman’s reflections. Gregg’s immense sense of family, as he and Duane forged an unbreakable childhood bond in military school, while their widowed mother pursued a CPA license and degree to care for her sons. That bond carried through to their adult years and beyond Duane’s untimely death, continually inspiring Gregg, serving to guide and propel him onward, even as he often has faced the firestorm of life.

Then there’s Allman’s wondrous stories expounding the spark that first inspired Gregg and Duane to learn to play guitar and the genesis of how these two burgeoning guitar playing brothers from Nashville went on to become two of music’s most consummate music artists.

Gregg proudly relates his somewhat unconventional relationships and utter devotion to all of his children. It seems that music runs deep and rich in the Allman family, with next generation musicians Devon Allman of the band Honeytribe, Elijah Blue, his son with Cher of the band Deadsy, and rock singer Layla Brooklyn of the band , Picture Me Broken.

There’s Duane’s first time learning to play slide guitar, with a Coricidin cold pill bottle, playing along to a Taj Mahal recording of “Statesboro Blues”. Gregg writing the elegiac “Ain’t Wastin’ Time No More” on a 110 year old Steinway Piano and many more glittering jewels from Allman’s spellbinding memories.

Most of all there is Gregg discussing how he first became a singer, how he learned how to sing the blues, and how he wrote, what was the inspiration for, and the immense stories behind, his exquisite and sublime songwriting repertiore, both with The Allman Brothers Band, and also his supreme artistry as an amazing solo artist. How, Gregg composed, what has become his signature song, the sublime “Melissa”, and how he at last came up with the song’s title. From the blistering “Whipping Post”, to the hope filled “Oceans Awash The Gunwale” to the iconic, transcendent “Dreams”, to the song that you’ll be happy to find out is the song that Allman is most proud of composing….but you’ll have to read the book to find that one out.

Allman’s ruminations also include much of the headline grabbing tabloid fodder that has plagued the Allman Brothers Band for over four decades, from recounting the infamous Scooter Herring debacle to relating his years of dealing with internal band friction from contentious former Allman Brothers Band guitarist Dickey Betts.

However, for those very familiar with and knowledgeable of Allman’s life, music, and career, his recollections display remarkable restraint and refreshingly reserved tact to many of the people who have passed through his life, in particular to many of the “multi-colored ladies” in his life.

Allman is especially reverential to ex-wife, pop singer and Academy Award® winning actress Cher. He seems to have developed a downright revisionist and extraordinary regard, respect, and affection for her after all these years. While fondly relating, that of his six ex-wives, Cher is the only one that he maintains a friendly relationship with.

Allman also carefully chooses his battles and his words. Though readers may be left unsatiated at Allman’s reigning back and abstaining discussing some of the insider details chronicling certain agrievous music industry personages and business dealings that have been part of the Allman Brothers Band’s career – Longtime, former tour manager, band archivist, tour manager Kirk West isn’t mentioned at all – Former ABB Manager Danny Goldberg gets little more than a namecheck – Though Allman expresses his well known disdain for the band’s undeservedly maligned two albums for Arista Records, the pop confectioned 1980’s “Reach For The Sky” and 1981’s “Brothers Of The Road”, helmed under the auspices of Arista President Clive Davis, Davis is also noticeably, completely absent from the book.

At the same time, Allman recounts in great detail, his and Duane’s trials and tribulations recording and touring within the constraints of Liberty Records in their Allman Joys/Hourglass Days. And Allman pulls no punches in recounting the gory details of many of the music business people who he feels dropped the ball with either his solo career (former manager Alex Hodges) or with The Allman Brothers Band. He recounts the career highs and lows of the late Phil Walden, founder of Capricorn Records who originally signed and managed Duane, and then later, the Allman Brothers Band to Walden’s pioneering record label, only to lose Capricorn, it’s entire artist roster, and the ABB, via his shady financial “chicanery”, which also included conniving Gregg out of all of his songwriting publishing rights at the time.

And yet, just as Allman also does with many of the people who pass within the pages of his memoirs, at Walden’s funeral Gregg makes his peace with Walden. Though unable to attend the service, Allman wrote a heartfelt tribute that he sends his daughter to read and eulogize, paying homage and giving credit to the late music business entrepreneur.

Allman pays tribute to the many people who have supported his career and music, including the legendary music promoter, impresario Bill Graham who staged the Allman Brothers historic Fillmore East and Fillmore West shows. He reminisces about Eric Clapton who, of course, asked Duane to collaborate on the legendary “Layla And Other Assorted Love Songs” album and who performed for the first time with The Allman Brothers Band at New York’s Beacon Theater for the ABB’s 40th Anniversary celebration in 2009. There are passages about the beloved longtime ABB road crew who have shored up the decades of grueling tour set ups and load outs. The countless musicians who have joined Allman in the recording studio, and on stage, with his solo band, and with the Allman Brothers Band, and many more notable people, all receive Allman’s heartfelt tip of the hat.

Sprinkled throughout Allman’s testifying, introspective parable, are gorgeous, vibrant archive photos of Allman’s family, Gregg’s childhood and adult band days with Duane, Gregg’s many musical colleagues….and of Gregg shown being at one with his music, sitting musically at ease behind his beloved Hammond B3 organ. And there are shots of him strumming both his many acoustic and electric guitars, crafting his breathtaking artistry.

What a remarkable musical journey this has been…..and it still continues to be for the iconic Allman, who just last year released the most successful solo album of his career, the critically acclaimed, Low Country Blues. Allman is also about to embark on the Allman Brothers Band’s 2012 summer tour.

And as Allman continues to write, record, and tour his dazzling and sublime soundscapes with both his solo band and with The Allman Brothers Band, this outstanding compendium serves as a profound and inspiring testament to the endless depth of passion, unbroken spirit, and stalwart resilience that has endlessly spurred Allman onwards to honor his craft. As Allman relates, “Music is my life’s blood. I love music, I love to play music, and I love to play music for people who appreciate it.”

Truly, like the lone “Midnight Rider,” for Gregg Allman, the road, indeed, does go on forever.

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romainlettuce-blog1 · 7 years

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Media Analysis: Fight Club

Fight Club as a Medium Fight Club, is a book and film written by David Fincher. As it fits within multiple narrative genres, the attribute that shines through the most is the psychological factors that play into its mystery: who is Tyler Durden? The reason this question is so important is made evident by this character’s motivations and enigmatic sense of charisma. Tyler Durden is the figment of Edward Norton’s imagination; an ideal image of everything his character wants to be. Tyler Durden is, in this case, as viewed from the main character’s, and thus our perspective as the picture of what every man should be. He displays charisma, principle, drive, and a sharp/silver tongue. He is goal oriented, and therefore easy to logically follow and thus become interested in. This is what makes this film as captivating in ideology as it is in storytelling. Tyler Durden is a representation of what people of the time looked at as the standard of male beauty in accordance with a certain lifestyle. He carries a certain aesthetic that appeals to a particular demographic and therefore is the manifestation of what people who subscribe to this particular set of values finds beautiful. In putting his character on a pedestal for the protagonist, we solidify for the audience that they should put him on a pedestal as well. This, in turn, causes the impressionable viewer to look for these traits other places, and mold their aesthetic to that which inhabits the film. In terms of bringing in mediated revenue from things like merchandising, Corporate sponsorships (via product placement/advertising), and of the like for the film, Tyler’s character and motivation for being is to not embody a single product per se, but rather, the commodity self; a personal aesthetic or identity founded in the purchasing and use of some sort of product. In our economy, it is goods and services. In visual culture, it is the idea of exchanging these goods and services in abstract and conscious way, understanding how each decision to decode and consume the media effects how we are perceived as well as how we perceive the world around us. And in this film, it is the idea of the self as a kind of independent brand image. Tyler’s character promotes the idea of not “selling out” for a cause, but the idea selling yourself to a cause; committing to something which in this case, is the commercialization of the self. He represents the ideas of the many in a single entity, hence his entrepreneurial spirit. The film preached anarchist agendas and hypotheticals in a very real environment—applying theories and lessons to live by (take that with a grain of salt) in situations the average joe can get into on a day-to-day basis. The fact that Edward Norton’s character is experiencing symptoms of insomnia and major depressive disorder makes it all the more relatable in the way that certain organizations operate their employees to the point of a tired, and thus, broken, inefficient mind. This also adds a fair bit of depth to an otherwise blank sleight character with no motivation. Edward Norton would be completely disinterested to the point of losing his character. Without this, he is two dimensional, and thus could be dismissed by the viewer an may as well be mistaken for a background extra. With the two characters bouncing anarchist theory and self reflective banter off of each other’s personalities, the audience is given insight into why Tyler is so set on causing so much chaos. In examining 1990s mentality on the subject of male beauty, a figure like Tyler Durden plays on people's insecurities, anxieties, and their overall desire to belong, and be seen as beautiful. In approaching the topic of popularly perceived standards of beauty, we must be able to approach the topic of docile bodies. The concept of docile bodies was invented by French philosopher Michel Foucault to describe the process by which social subjects submit bodily to social norms. In looking at these characters and trying to figure out their motivations, people can draw some truth about their own life by examining a different though fictional one. The lessons this film as well as every other forms of visual culture has a lesson or central message to be learned from it. Some of these messages are meant to advertise a certain product, lifestyle, or component of lifestyle. By people conforming to the lifestyle choices advertised by this film, people subject themselves not only to the psychological teachings, but the physical teachings as well. This only applicable to those who saw the combative nature of this film and decided to incorporate it into their daily life as well. However, to live the lifestyle emulated in this film subjects the body to a lot of different factors encompassing a dark, anarchist, aggressive, abrasive, logical mindset. These feelings of disinterest and negativity actually make way for the king force of his character, ambition. Even if his teachings were seen as radical, or disproven, or even just wrong; the fact remains that this film captivated, and indoctrinated those who gave it the attention it deserved through analysis and critique. Tyler Durden is the reflexive manifestation of man’s desire for freedom, and his capacity for violence, aggression, and progress. Male beauty and sensuality is not the only force at play, however. The male gaze is also demonstrated in two different ways throughout this film. The male gaze is a topic having to do with passive and active audiences, and what this is mostly referring to is the gaze of each. The female gaze is referred to as passive, for their role in cinema as seen by Laura Muvley as a sexual object or something to be seen and enjoyed, but not heard or seen as holding some sort of deeper purpose. She is the sum of the feelings she evokes in the hero, and nothing more than the the sum of these feelings. The inverse of this is the active gaze, or male gaze, which seeks to fully indulge in the practices of looking on a voyueristic and scopophilic capacity. Throughout visual culture, since the renaissance period, the visual arts has been a male dominated field of study. Most art depicts a woman as the subject, and most art depicts a woman either scantly covered, or bare to the viewer. The active gaze is the deliberate sexualizing of the subject in question and thereby, reducing the significance of the subject of the artwork. Within the film, exhibitions of sexual themes include several scenes between Tyler Durden, and Marla Singer. While she holds significance in the film as the main character's love interest, his hold on reality, and Tyler's downfall, she is also just used a way to evoke the confusion the main character feels, causing him to doubt himself and consequently Tyler. A lot of these scenes aside from minor contextual content, are insignificant until we see the sex scenes which are literally the cause of the main character’s symptoms and flaws. Through his sexual experiences with Marla, he not only gains his flaws, but some clarity as well, as it is his feelings for her that ultimately save him. However, it is this same reason that Marla’s character fits under this subject. She is not written as a character, but as a device to deepen the main character or hero’s sense of self. As for the male gaze’s literal execution it is done in three steps. In the first, the audience is shown short clips of bare subject matter. There is no secret to what is taking place onscreen. The second, leaves a little more to the imagination, which actually strengthens the effect of the male gaze because now the audience has to fill in the gaps. And lastly, we are given a scene where we experiences this Voyueristic experience from the outside perspective of the main character, whom, in a different part of the house, only has aural cues to work with. With only the audible as a sensory stimulus, the male gaze is actually being used to it's utmost. The male gaze in mainstream cinema is the art of visual seduction when relating to terms such as docile bodies, the commodity self, and standards of both male and female beauty. This film exemplifies media manipulation and changing people’s perspectives because of its use of consumer culture. Constantly harping on the concept wage-slavery to buy possessions that we don’t need made audiences think. This inception was furthered by the use of detailed product placement; the director placing a Starbucks coffee cup somewhere in nearly, if not every scene of the movie. There is also a scene designed for emphasizing both of these points in the first 10 minutes of the film where Edward Norton is walking around his IKEA clad apartment, the brand names of every stick of furniture being superimposed into the scene. The movie itself became so popular that the name, Fight Club was almost like a brand in and of itself—causing real, unsanctioned fight clubs begin popping up nationwide in corporate companies, and school districts alike. The violence never escalated to cinematic proportions as in the film, but the fact that it boasted a radical and unexplored anti-corporate line of thinking with such logic and gusto was enough to make waves. This mentality brought the corruption of consumer culture to the surface, and for the first time people were forced to accept that as well-informed and impervious to consumerism and advertising as they believe themselves to be, the consumer is forever at the mercy of the product. Even with the philosophies taught in this movie, the irony persists in making people pause, and go so far as to emulate the philosophies taught by our anti-hero in order to see if there was some truth to his teachings. People wanted freedom. And Tyler gave them just that both on and offscreen. The closest in comparison to this phenomenon is the release of a Grand Theft Auto game. When the franchise was new, every time there was a new release, crime rates would spike. This in correlation to the glorification and advertising of the criminal mindset in the game as presented to people in a sandbox environment. People are drawn to the idea, and naturally, will try to emulate it. Another play on the commodity self is demonstrated for us within the context of the film. Tyler Durden’s character occupation is the production and sale of soap. Soap as an image comes to represent Tyler’s mentality because it is a physical representation of how he wishes to tear down the corporate capitalist system from both within its rules, and out. In the film, Tyler mentions that his soap is made using human fat. To further drive this point home, he takes the main character as well as the audience through the process of production. This is the concept of the commodity self literally enacted.

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