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swanlake1998 · 3 years

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Article: For transgender dancers, progress can't come fast enough

Date: March 8, 2020

By: Avichai Scher

Sean Dorsey was tired of being the only transgender dancer in the room. So he took the bold step of starting his own company, the San Francisco-based Sean Dorsey Dance, and become the first openly trans director of a full-time dance company. It was a milestone for transgender and gender-nonconforming dancers and choreographers, and Dorsey hoped it would lead to a more inclusive dance world.

The company is celebrating its 15th anniversary this year, yet Dorsey remains the only openly trans artistic director of a full-time dance company in the country.

“We’ve definitely made progress since I started, when there was really no context for institutional or social support of trans dancers,” Dorsey said. “But there’s still a major lack of representation across the dance world.”

Dance, especially older forms such as ballet and modern dance, is mostly structured around strict gender lines. While the growing acceptance of transgender people in the United States has extended somewhat into the art form, trans dancers are often forced to choose between being their authentic selves and career opportunities.

Issues start in training

Dorsey’s choreography often deals with trans issues, and he is committed to being an advocate in the dance world for transgender people. But even in his own company, Dorsey is the only trans performer.

“In San Francisco, at least, I don’t have the luxury of holding an audition for trans dancers,” he said. “There just aren’t very many at the professional level.”

Dorsey said this is largely because barriers for trans and gender-nonconforming dancers start at a young age — as most training programs are gender-specific.

Jayna Ledford, 19, made headlines when she came out as transgender in an Instagram post in 2018. She was studying at the Kirov Ballet Academy at the time, a traditional ballet program in Washington, D.C. It was the first time a dancer at an acclaimed ballet school had publicly come out as trans.

Classes at Kirov, like most ballet conservatories, are generally separated by sex assigned at birth, and when students are combined, teachers offer different steps for men and women. Ledford, however, found ways to get the training that matched her gender identity, including dancing on her toes in special pointe shoes, which is done almost exclusively by women and requires unique training.

“I wanted to do what the females were doing,” she said. “I’d do it on the side and not pay attention to what the guys were doing. I’d also stay after class and practice pointe technique with my female friends.”

She hadn’t had the training other females at the school had, but she was hoping to transfer from the men’s program to the women’s.

“I knew I had a lot of catching up to do in terms of pointe work,” she said. “But just being in the room with the females, that’s what I wanted.”

The Kirov Academy told Ledford she could not join the women’s program unless she physically transitioned. Ledford was not ready for that, so she left the school. She was disappointed but now says she understands the academy’s position. The school confirmed Ledford’s account but declined to comment.

Maxfield Haynes, 22, who is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns, said the large, prestigious ballet school where they trained was not supportive of someone presenting as male wearing pointe shoes.

It wasn’t until Haynes enrolled at Tisch School of the Arts at New York University that they were able to explore the more feminine aspects of ballet technique. Ledford also found higher education to be more supportive than a conservatory. She now studies at Montclair State University and practices pointe technique daily.

Lack of professional opportunities

After NYU, Haynes chose to dance with Complexions Contemporary Ballet partially because the company is explicitly supportive of gender fluidity, and even had a specific role for Haynes that is gender-nonconforming. In the David Bowie tribute piece, “Stardust,” Haynes dons pointe shoes and was partnered with male dancers.

“It was everything I could have dreamed of,” Haynes said of the role. “As nonbinary, I like to get to show all aspects of gender. I don’t think about dancing like a man or a woman, just myself.”

Opportunities to dance roles that are gender-nonconforming are rare in the concert dance world, even if dancers are becoming more open about being gender-nonconforming in their offstage lives. And those who want to physically transition face a stark choice, as none of the major dance companies in the U.S. currently have openly transgender dancers on their rosters.

Alby Sabrina Pretto recently made the difficult choice to begin physically transitioning with hormone replacement therapy at the expense of her performing career. She was a dancer with Les Ballet Trockadero de Monte Carlo, an all-male comedy troupe, for eight years. While she got to dance in pointe shoes, the style of the company is rooted in the comedy of men portraying women, which ultimately wasn’t how Pretto identified.

“There were moments I wanted to do things like a ballerina would and be ethereal and pretty,” Pretto said. “To dance like a woman.”

She knew that physically transitioning would mean she could not continue with the company.

“I wanted to have a career, and that slowed down my decision to transition,” Pretto said. “I waited until I felt like I had done what I wanted to do there.”

Liz Harler, general manager of Les Ballet Trockadero, said in a statement that transitioning does not disqualify dancers from the company.

“Dancers who expressed interest in transitioning to female have been told that their job would not be in jeopardy, though none have chosen to do so while continuing with the Trocks’ rigorous dancing and touring schedule,” Harler said.

Both Ledford and Pretto hope for the day when they can attend an audition and be hired without having to explain their gender identity.

Ledford said. “I’ll audition as any other woman. If I get in, then I’ll sit down and talk with them.”

Ledford is “optimistic” that this can happen in the next few years, but Pretto isn’t so sure.

“I am not naive, I know I cannot just audition for a major ballet company and join the female corps de ballet,” Pretto said. “But I would love for that to happen for me. It’s the ultimate dream.”

Her skepticism is partly based on the experience of her former Trockadero colleague, Chase Johnsey, who is gender fluid. He made headlines in 2018 when he was cast in a female ensemble role in the English National Ballet’s production of “Sleeping Beauty,” though it was not on pointe, and the heavy costume concealed his body. No additional female roles came his way afterward.

The question of who gets opportunities as a dancer often comes down to the taste of directors and producers and what they imagine their audiences want to see, not just ability.

Pretto danced a couple of character roles recently with Eglevsky Ballet, a growing ballet ensemble on Long Island, New York. The director, Maurice Brandon Curry, said he would consider Pretto for a female ensemble role next year, because her pointe work is “excellent,” though he wonders how some in the audience will react.

“Casting Alby in a female role would not be about passing as female, but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge my concern about an audience member who was offended,” Curry said. “But art is not prejudice; it’s about inclusivity and open minds. If someone is not willing to have that experience, they don’t have a legitimate place in our audiences.”

Signs of change

Dorsey said that even having discussions about gender identity in dance is progress from when he started, and he’s encouraged by changes he’s seen: Most theaters either already have gender-neutral restrooms or create them for his company’s visit; trans and gender-nonconforming students attend his workshops in various cities and share with him their efforts to be accepted in their dance communities; the San Francisco Ballet persuaded him to lead a training session on gender identity in dance; and he was on the cover of Dance Magazine.

Ledford was recently a “Gaynor Girl,” a spokesperson for the popular pointe shoe brand Gaynor Minded. Pretto said she worked up the courage to use the ladies' locker room at one of New York’s busiest studios, Steps on Broadway, and no one seemed to mind.

Still, the art form has not yet caught up to reflect the audience, Dorsey said. His company has worked in over 30 cities in the U.S. and abroad, and he is usually the first trans choreographer a theater has presented. But he said the response from audiences is almost always positive.

“Dance audiences are ready and hungry for trans voices,” he said. “It's our dance institutions that are still catching up.”

#article #ballet #an article from last year but still important #sean dorsey #jayna ledford #maxfield haynes #alby sabrina pretto

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beelsnack · 4 years

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Obey Me! Boys and an Insecure MC

Alternate Title: Coping mechanisms? In my demonic dating sim? It’s more likely than you think.

I honestly didn’t mean for this to be so long, but hey.

CW: Depression, self hatred, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Lucifer: It was subtle, but nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. He saw them fidgeting with their tie before heading to class, watched the frown tug at their lips when all they managed to produce was a rumpled tangle of silk. Caught them poking ruefully at their acne scars in the reflection of their D.D.D. Heard the frustrated sigh as they tried to sit in a way that hid the meat on their abdomen. But, above all, he paid close attention to those comments.

“Wow, I can’t do anything right, can I?”

“You would have to be a professional makeup artist to fix this mess, haha!”

“It’s alright, you can say I’m ugly.”

That was it. Lucifer stood from his seat at his desk, an errant paper fluttering to the ground in his wake. The Firstborn made his way over to where they were sitting, working away diligently on their laptop. Their breath caught in their throat when they turned to face him, and Lucifer fought back a sadistic grin when he felt them shudder at the feeling of his gloved hand sliding beneath their chin. He would file that away for later.

“That’s quite enough.” his voice was low as he lifted their face. They averted their eyes, clearly uncomfortable, but he kept his hand where it was. “Self-deprecation is unbecoming on anyone, but I certainly will not have it marring that beautiful face of yours.”

Nothing escaped the notice of the Eldest. Especially not the shy smile they wore as they bade him goodnight.

Mammon: Call him an idiot all you like, but if there was one thing that a solid gambling career had taught Mammon, it was how to read a person’s tells. The way they stood with their arms folded and body turned inward said they were trying to hide. Their habit of avoiding mirrors told him they hated the way they looked. The twinge of resigned sadness on their face when they carefully deflected Asmo’s blatant flirting made it obvious that they thought they didn’t deserve it.

It must have been particularly bad one night. The two of them had made themselves comfortable on the bed in preparation for movie night, but instead of cuddling up next to him like they normally did, they sat far enough away that Mammon had to actually scoot forward to jab them in the shoulder.

“Hey, what gives, human? Why’re you all the way over there?”

“I’m just feeling a little warm.” they shrugged, pulling their knees to their chest. They were trying to pull some reverse psychology bullshit by purposefully staring him in the eye while they lied to him. Mammon snorted.

“You really think you’re going to fool me like that? You’ve got at least a millennia until you can even think of lying to The Great Mammon!” he opened his arms and his voice softened when he spoke. “Come here.”

They hesitated - eyes flicking back and forth between him and a knot in the branches that made up their bed frame, nervous - before they tucked themselves into his waiting arms.

He leaned his cheek against the top of their head, inhaling the sweet smell of their freshly-washed hair and internally purring (maybe externally, but you wouldn’t be able to get him to admit it) when he felt them snuggle in a little deeper and release a pent up sigh.

Mammon stayed silent, absently stroking the back of their neck. Words had probably done the damage, and they definitely weren’t going to fix it. He knew that from experience. But shielding his human from their own poisonous thoughts for a few moments was a good place to start.

Levi: Self-deprecating comments were one of Levi’s main forms of communication. It was a defense mechanism, a low-level shield someone would cast when the enemy was ridiculously OP but the game didn’t give you a retreat option. He knew this mechanic.

But when he heard them use it, it made him angry.

How could someone as amazing as them - smart, pretty, brave, loved gaming, made sure to feed Henry 2.0 when Levi was at a Sucre Frenzy concert - think they were anything less then perfect? No, more importantly, who hurt them so badly that they started thinking that way?

He felt like he did that one time Mammon had dropped one of his limited-edition Ruri-chan figures from a balcony. Someone damaged something precious to him, and he wanted blood.

Of course, that would involve talking about feelings and other mushy, normie stuff, and he just wasn’t ready for that. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

Leviachan: Hey, you down for a raid? There’s this new set of armor - it’s suuuuuuper rare, and you’re the only one good enough to get through the dungeon with me!! Pleeeeaaaassseee?

Satan: These little reading dates had started without him really noticing. One day, the human had came into the library seeking a quiet place to study and finish up their homework. Then, they came in with a human world book that Satan had never heard of tucked under their arm and were more than willing to talk about it. This lead to the two of them huddled on the sofa with their noses buried in the same book, and the human surprising Satan by being able to keep up with his reading speed. And here they were.

Satan had chosen a detective novel that he was positive they would like, and the both of them had taken advantage of a quiet Sunday morning to let themselves get absorbed into the story. Satan had his long arms wrapped around them holding the book, and they were leaning against his chest as they flipped the pages. An easy routine that the two of them had fallen into.

He felt them sigh heavily against him and he quirked an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, no, I just...” they trailed off, gazing out the window at the dusty purple sky before snapping back to the present. “The love interest in this book is amazing. I’m a little jealous of them.”

“Jealous?” Satan echoed, looking down at the small frame curled up in his arms. “Why would you be jealous?”

“They were able to do so much with their life. They’re so young, yet they’ve got their life sorted out, they’re smart, beautiful, charismatic, and they’re confident in themselves despite all the shit people put them through...” they sighed again, and this time Satan heard the note of self-hatred on the exhale. “I can’t do anything like that.”

“Now where did you get that idea?” Satan said incredulously. “In the few months you’ve been here, you have excelled in every class you’ve taken, stood up against all of us in our true forms at least twice each, solved a murder, and convinced me to stop plotting to rip Lucifer’s throat out. All while adjusting to life in a world where most of the citizens could kill you by poking you a bit too hard. I would say that goes above and beyond ‘having your life sorted out.’“

The blush that bloomed across their face was so hot that Satan was able to feel it through his shirt, right next to his heart. He chuckled softly as he bent down to kiss their hair.

“I could write for eons about how amazing you are and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Asmo: Emotions fell right into his area of expertise, and even if they were immune to his charm, Asmo still could smell their emotions like a perfume. And their low self-confidence reeked like rotten fruit. A beautiful arrangement that had been abandoned and left to decay.

The Avatar of Lust was an inquisitive soul (Lucifer would call it being nosy, but whatever.) He was also a firm believer in the theory that you can tell everything you need to know about a person by their skincare routine. So that’s what led to him sneaking into their bathroom while Mammon had dragged them out on one of his stupid get-rich-quick schemes.

“Oh, I don’t think so!” Asmo cried in alarm as he picked up the bottle of human world acne treatment. “They might as well be washing their face with snake venom!”

With a scoff, Asmo kicked the waste basket out from beneath their counter and tossed the face wash in. Bottle after bottle followed it, and Asmo was just about to dump the last bottle of what he assumed was straight rubbing alcohol when he heard the door open.

“Asmo, what the fuck.”

“Darling, we need to have a very serious discussion about your choice in skincare products.” Asmo grimaced as he glanced at the label on the bottle before unceremoniously dropping it into the bottle graveyard. “Can you even pronounce some of these?”

Ah, there it was. The sickeningly sweet smell of self-hatred. Asmo fought the urge to recoil as they practically dove for the trash can.

“Asmo, come on, I have gross skin as it is, don’t take away the only things keeping me from looking like a slice of pizza.”

The sound of glass breaking echoed somewhere in the back of Asmo’s head. That rotten smell was rolling off of them in waves, but he fought off his aversion and knelt down next to them.

They nearly hit the ceiling when Asmo clasped their hands between his own. “Now, now, none of that.”

“None of what?”

Asmo giggled. “You know I wouldn’t bother associating myself with someone unsightly.” one of his hands moved to gently cup their jaw. “You poor thing, you’ve been ruining that lovely face of yours.”

“I didn’t think I could make it any worse.” they muttered, looking away as Asmo stroked a thumb over their cheekbone.

Asmo’s heart clenched, and he leaned forward to kiss them gently on the forehead. “Oh, I can’t stand hearing that kind of talk, especially coming from you. That settles it, then.” he stood with an air of finality.

“Settles what?” they tilt their head in a manner that reminded Asmo of a very adorable puppy.

“We’re going to get you some proper skincare products, and I’m going to spend the rest of the night making you feel like the divine beauty you actually are.”

It was only for a second, but Asmo swore that overpowering smell of rotten fruit was replaced with something just a little fresher.

Beelzebub: Normally, the Avatar of Gluttony wouldn’t complain about someone not eating. More for him. But he didn’t like the way the human was pushing food around their plate without actually eating any of it. They usually loved fried bat wing, too.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, keeping his voice low so his brothers wouldn’t butt in. “Aren’t you hungry?”

They laughed sheepishly, pushing their plate towards him. “Nah, not really. I was snacking all day. Here, you can have it.”

“But I just heard your stomach growl.”

Shame flashed across their face before they looked up at him with a grin that didn’t quite make it to their eyes. “I guess, haha. Just trying to watch my figure, you know?”

Before Beel could swallow down the mouthful of bat wing - when did he even pick it up? They had stood from the table and excused themselves, saying something about having a lot of homework.

It was a few hours before they got back to their room. What had started as them doing their homework in the living room had turned into Mammon begging them to help him study, which then somehow turned to Mammon challenging Satan to a pillow fight. Finally, they had decided to give up and do their homework in their room.

Something delicious wafted out of their room when they opened the door. The source was an overly full plate of food - with extra bat wing, they noticed - sitting on their desk. Blinking in confusion, they shut the door behind them and approached the plate. When they got closer, the note tucked underneath the plate came into view.

Please eat properly. I don’t want you to starve.

-Beel

Belphegor: He never would have called himself needy or touch-starved before. But after spending so long stuck in that attic room with his only interaction being with Lucifer, Belphegor couldn’t seem to get enough physical contact. Especially with the human.

He knew he didn’t deserve their affection, not with how he took advantage of them, manipulated them, murdered them. But the human had enough room in their heart to forgive him, and he would take any ounce of affection they were willing to give.

But it still stung when they flinched.

It was only for an instant, but Belphegor could feel the instinctual tightening of muscles when he draped himself over their shoulder. Feel them jump when he bumped shoulders with them in the hall. Feel their heartbeat speed up when he decided to use them as a body pillow.

“You know you can tell me no, right?” he murmured sleepily as the moment passed and the human settled down.

“Would you stop if I did?”

“Hm...” he hummed, cracking open one amethyst eye to peer at them. “If you don’t like me touching you, why do you let me do it?”

The human sighed, scooting down from their position against their headboard so they were face to face with Belphegor, who still had his hands around their waist like they were a giant teddy bear.

“It’s more like...I can’t believe you want to touch me.”

Now that woke Belphie up - well, as up as he could be while still doing his best impersonation of a koala. “What?”

They laughed, but it sounded strained. “Come on, Belphie, look at me. I’m all...jiggly.”

“So?”

Silence. They looked at him like they were trying to solve a puzzle, and he met their gaze like he was trying to figure out why they couldn’t figure it out.

“It’s not like it matters,” he shrugged, snuggling down into the soft blankets and holding the human a little bit tighter. “I like touching you because you’re you. You being soft and warm is a side benefit.”

“Belphie - “

He yawned, and they genuinely couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. “Shh, I’m going to sleep. You’re my pillow, so don’t talk. Especially if it’s negative stuff like that.”

Honestly, that was the best nap they’d had in a while.

#obey me #shall we date obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #headcanon #honestly this was supposed to be short #I just wanted to write something quick and then this happened

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beca-mitchell · 4 years

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i wondered if i could come home (yours is the first face that i saw) (1/1)

Summary: Chloe works in New York. Beca works in LA. The quarantine brings them together virtually. God Bless technology.

Word count: 4,335

Read below or on AO3.

Beca had initially been ridiculously excited about the prospect of staying home. She hated dressing up just to go and sit, spaced out at her laptop.

Now she has free rein to just wear whatever the fuck she wants while spaced out from the comfort of her own home.

A quick glance around however indicates that there isn’t much to call home anyway. When Beca had moved to Los Angeles with nothing more than her laptop, twenty USBs packed with remixes and original music, and a luggage full of clothes, she had pretty much expected this.

This being the whole struggling artist thing. Her father had advised against it, her step-mother had advised against it (not like Beca really was planning on listening), and her mother was—

Well.

Beca would rather not think about it. Of course, she wouldn’t.

But she did—it was all she could think about for those first few weeks in Los Angeles. Those first few months.

When she had first made the move, she had fantasized about her mother kissing in her on her head (a phantom memory if anything) and telling her how proud she was of her for chasing her dreams.

She had imagined her mother’s arm around her shoulder as they made that final descent into LAX.

She had imagined her mother’s proud smile when she had signed the papers for her first real job in the music industry—that breath of fresh air that really cemented in her memory that she had made it. She was there in the city of her dreams. She had moved across the country from Atlanta to Los Angeles.

But eventually, with time, after one let-down after another, Beca’s USB pile grew smaller and thinner and her job became less of a temporary thing and more of a full-time thing to keep her afloat.

Are you still proud of me? She wants to ask.

She can’t quite envision the look on her mother’s face—hell she can’t quite envision the look on her father’s face or even Sheila’s face—if she were to look around her small (but cozy) apartment.

Is this what you wanted for me? Beca wants to ask.

Change just doesn’t seem to come quick enough in a city with plenty of time to spare and too many hungry dreams to fulfil.

* * * * *

And then there’s this.

The whole quarantine mess.

It’s a form of change, Beca supposes. Maybe not quite the one she needs at that moment.

*New Notification from Outlook You have a new message

From: Aubrey Posen

CC: Chloe Beale

To: Beca Mitchell

Subject: HR and A&R Documents and Procedure — Microsoft Teams Meeting Request

Beca groans.

* * * * *

Being a producer isn’t bad. It lets Beca flex her creativity from time to time (very, very minimally) and she gets to say she’s worked on interesting musical projects.

Grumbling to herself, Beca settles down in her chair after wrestling with her hair and brush. She figures she looks moderately presentable. She even swapped out her sleep shirt for a non-sleep shirt for the purposes of this video conference.

She has no idea who Chloe Beale and Aubrey Posen are anyway, but she’s already moderately annoyed that they both insist on video conferencing when this quarantine has made evident that literally everything can be done via email.

Beca takes a calming breath. The raise is a good thing. It came at a good time. It’s a good thing to get a raise at a job she hates especially when the alternative would have been to be let go. If she has to deal with HR for the sake of this, she will.

Not like she can do anything else.

The call comes in almost as soon as Beca wheels her chair closer to her desk. She fumbles, picking up her headphones and hitting Accept.

“Hi,” Beca says, waving awkwardly at her screen. “Uh. Wow. Hi.”

Almost immediately, Beca wants to clamp a hand over her mouth. She settles on dropping her hand into her lap and clutching the fabric of her shirt to distract herself from the embarrassment rising in her.

The young woman splashed across her screen is incredibly pretty. Almost intimidatingly so. Striking red hair, loosely draped over her shoulders in comfortable waves. Soft-looking lips pulled into a gentle smile.

And her eyes—Christ, Beca thinks—her eyes are what draw Beca in the most. Startling blue. The clearest of blues that Beca has ever seen.

“Wow?” The woman smiles at Beca. “That’s quite the greeting.”

“Sorry,” Beca mumbles hastily. She ducks her head. “Surprised to still talk to people during all this, I guess,” she lies quickly. She figures saying “you’re hot” wouldn’t be the most appropriate thing to say despite how true it might be.

The red-head quirks an eyebrow at her. “I’m Chloe Beale, nice to meet you Beca Mitchell.”

Beca can’t fight the smile this time. Chloe’s voice is nice. It’s beautiful and melodic. “Hi Chloe. Nice to meet you,” Beca parrots back. “Weren’t there supposed to be like...two of you in this meeting?”

“Oh, yes!” Chloe chirps enthusiastically. “Aubrey will be joining us in just a second—oh there she is,” she says just as Aubrey’s profile image pops into Beca’s screen, cutting the size of Chloe’s face on her screen in half.

“Good morning, Beca.”

“Good morning, Aubre–”

“It’s technically afternoon for us, but anyway.”

Beca clamps her mouth shut, choosing to push her lips into a forced, polite smile. She catches a glimpse of Chloe coughing behind her hand, clearly stifling a laugh of her own.

“Did you want to run through some of the documents and responsibilities, Chloe?”

Chloe clears her throat, professional mask back in place. “Yes, sure. Well, Beca, as a senior producer—”

* * * * *

With half-open eyes, Beca drags herself from her bed the short distance to her desk. Foregoing her chair for the moment because she has no intent on actually sitting down yet, Beca opens her laptop and logs in to Outlook and Teams before opening Logic Pro X and GarageBand.

She has been working on some tracks for an up and coming artist as well as overseeing the production on an EP for a new artist signed to a label, so she’s kind of expecting a shitload of emails to start her day off. That can wait for the moment.

When she gets back to her computer, coffee mug in hand, Beca notices a notification marker on her applications.

*New Notification from Teams

Beca frowns. She’s not the usual recipient of messages ever. But when she sees who exactly messaged her, she can’t fight the grin. She puts her coffee down with some reluctance and opens the message fully.

Chloe Beale Hey sleepyhead, you’re finally up Thanks for sending the paperwork back yesterday

Beca Mitchell fyi i am three hours behind you timezones or something as aubrey would say

Chloe Beale Who doesn’t start their day at 6am?

Beca isn’t quite sure what to make of Chloe entirely. She’ll blame the echoing loneliness around her—loneliness being all she feels these days—but she would be lying if she weren’t totally and shallowly attracted to Chloe Beale.

But she barely knows her. In fact, Beca would go as far as to say she doesn’t know Chloe at all. Chloe could just be another faceless entity in the long string of entities in Beca’s life. Just another missed connection.

Beca sips her coffee, blinking blearily at her screen.

Beca Mitchell do you start your day at 6??

Chloe Beale It’s good for you!

Beca Mitchell coffee’s good for you

Chloe Beale i’m more of a tea drinker myself good for the voice

Beca Mitchell singer?

Chloe Beale used to be

Beca arches an eyebrow. She had known, from the sound of Chloe’s voice alone, that she was something special

(And sure, Aubrey had a nice voice too, but it had been used primarily to grate on Beca’s nerves so she’s choosing to look past it.)

Beca Mitchell whats the story there?

Chloe Beale Hmm maybe one day :)

Beca Mitchell all i have are days to spare for you

Beca hits send before she can regret it and immediately winces at how unexpectedly flirtatious it sounds. She moves to type a quick cover-up, but Chloe beats her in sending a message.

Chloe Beale i like the sound of that

Beca’s fingers hover over her keyboard. She can’t bring herself to admit the same thing, even though it’s true.

She does like the sound of that. Almost as much as she had liked the sound of Chloe’s voice.

* * * * *

It ends up being so easy to fall into a routine when Beca realizes that she has something to look forward to with each subsequent day.

A routine that perhaps even involves waking up earlier so she can spend more time sending Chloe dumb GIFs and debate the best bagel spreads.

It feels nice.

It feels like something Beca could get used to.

Even if Chloe is incessantly cheerful and ridiculously chipper at any given point of the day. Beca kind of likes it.

It reminds her of sunshine and a much-needed breath of fresh air.

There is the added bonus (or nightmare) of Chloe’s incessant need to abuse the video conference tool.

“Beca, make sure you have those documents signed. A&R needs them as soon as possible.”

“You couldn’t have messaged this to me? Or emailed?”

Chloe grins, blindingly so. Beca doesn’t even try to look away.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Beca tugs at the collar of her shirt (another new shirt) unconsciously before she realizes what she’s doing and drops her hand away. “And you’d know all about fun, would you?”

“Maybe.”

Beca shakes her head, mostly to hide the smile that rises on her face.

“Nice shirt by the way.”

* * * * *

Okay, fine.

Even that isn’t something that Beca finds herself annoyed with.

* * * * *

Beca bites her lip, hitting SEND before she can stop herself. The email flies away from her, an email detailing a request to video conference with Chloe for some dumb, made-up reason.

Well, no, there’s an actual reason and it’s that Beca wants to hear Chloe’s voice. That’s a good enough reason.

*You have a new Outlook Notification. Chloe Beale has Accepted Your Invitation.

Beca smiles.

* * * * *

Chloe Beale I’ve always wanted to visit Los Angeles

Beca Mitchell Come over here then!

Chloe Beale Maybe once this is all over

Beca Mitchell Oh right

Beca Mitchell Well if you ever need a place to stay…

Beca starts to sweat. She thinks about deleting her message, but what good would that do? Chloe has already seen it.

“Fuck,” she mutters aloud and promptly chooses to chicken out.

Beca Mitchell I know a lot of people who’d love to have you and i’ll bring you to all the best spots around town You know, me being an expert and all hahaha

“Fuck why did you say that?” Beca asks herself, resisting the urge to slam her laptop closed. She winces when she notices her unfinished work in the background.

She’s kind of more focused on the little indicator showing that Chloe has seen her message and the subsequent lack of response.

She is unfortunately sorely disappointed by Chloe’s response, despite her own attempts at haphazardly diffusing the situation.

Chloe Beale Sounds awesome!

Right, Beca mulls to herself. There hadn’t been a situation to begin with.

She lets the disappointment carry her through the rest of the day. The disappointing feeling—It is familiar but somehow more striking.

* * * * *

The thing about Chloe is that she makes everything easy. She never makes Beca feel bad about asking too many questions and she never makes Beca feel totally lame for taking up her time. She assures Beca that it’s fine—that she doesn’t mind at all. It makes Beca feel like a rockstar for about two seconds before she remembers that it’s Chloe’s literal job to be kind and nice to people she works with.

Right.

They’re technically coworkers. Just that. Nothing more.

And then there’s the whole...is Chloe even attracted to women conundrum. It is nice to think that Chloe is attracted to women—that Chloe would be attracted to her of all people.

It’s just such a big what if question.

(And of course the “we live 3000 miles away” issue. That issue.)

There is a strange underpinning of something else—something that Beca can’t quite place. It sends a swooping sensation through her stomach when she thinks about it. The past month or so of communicating with Chloe was rife with tense, interesting moments that make Beca second-guess herself every time.

Barring the times when she word vomits all over herself, Beca is surprised that she’s maintained a connection with Chloe for this long.

* * * * *

The dreams start near the end of the first month of knowing each other.

The awkward part about waking up from a dream about somebody she’s never even met in person is that Beca has no idea how to conduct herself. She barely knows how to do it in-person—conduct herself—let alone doing it online.

She tries to settle on something to occupy her mind while she works through some musical/creative block.

Her fingers type in chloe beale into Google before she can help herself.

“Fuck it,” Beca whispers, hitting enter.

She is surprised by the breadth of hits that Google returns to her. Interesting ones, nonetheless. She learns in short order that Chloe does voice acting on the side. Nothing overtly taxing, but it pleases Beca that Chloe has somewhat of a creative streak. She notes a few well-known animated series and some other gigs here and there.

An old YouTube video catches her attention.

Acapella Finals 2011

Beca can’t stop the grin that stretches across her face when she recognizes Chloe, red hair and all, front and center and singing.

She knew Chloe was a singer at heart.

She pulls up her chat before she can stop herself.

Beca Mitchell *pasted link* I see

Chloe Beale Oh my god!

Beca Mitchell Google knows all

Chloe Beale You were Googling me?

Beca’s smile drops. “Shit, uh—”

Chloe Beale Kidding! i googled you too. Didn’t think you were a taylor swift girl. All those remixes… <3

Beca blushes before she can stop herself. That had been a brief foray of fame—literally five minutes—when Taylor Swift herself had linked to one of Beca’s remixes. Beca hadn’t been savvy enough to capitalize on that in any way, however.

Beca Mitchell oh those... I wish i had more original things to say

Chloe Beale Your music is beautiful, just like you are I mean that in a totally non-weird way of course

Beca isn’t quite sure they’re saying the same things, but maybe they are. Chloe’s unwavering faith in her feels wholly misplaced more often than not.

But it’s nice.

This is nice.

Beca lets a smile consume her.

Beca Mitchell Flattery will get you everywhere

Chloe Beale That’s the hope

Beca Mitchell Back to acapella… i was wondering if i could pick your mind for an idea i had for this track i’m working on

* * * * *

The transition to Facetime and phone calls as opposed to Teams video conferencing was a fairly recent one. Beca discovered that Chloe is an equally eager texter. Emojis and all.

“Your voice somehow sounds better over FaceTime audio,” Chloe teases.

“I was going to say the same,” Beca replies before she can stop herself. Her heart flutters. “I wasn’t the one in acapella in college, after all.”

“Oh you would have fit right in. I would have whipped you into shape, I’m pretty sure. Or maybe you would have helped us win instead. Being as talented as you are and all.”

“I wish I could have known you then,” Beca says bravely.

“You would have changed my life,” Chloe admits. She says it with a smile, but there is no hint of a joke in Chloe’s tone. “I don’t sing anymore,” she finally says. “Not after that last acapella competition. The one you sent me.”

“Oh, why not? Your voice is…” Beca trails off, struggling to find words. For all the time she spends with music—literally layering vocals and instrumentals—she cannot understand how she cannot find appropriate words to describe how Chloe’s voice makes her feel. “I’m sorry...I’m usually better at this. Why don’t you sing anymore?”

“I had to have surgery for my nodes in my senior year of university. I’ve been too afraid to sing again.”

That breaks Beca’s heart more than anything. “But your voice is okay now,” she says lamely.

“I haven’t really had an opportunity to sing again. Working for B&R Records is the closest I can get to the music industry. Not that I ever thought I’d sing professionally or anything.” Chloe sighs, then her voice softens even more. “I admire you so much for pursuing your dreams, Beca. You’re so much better than you know. I’ve listened to your stuff.”

Beca swallows.

Her heart isn’t fluttering.

It is racing, almost uncontrollably.

* * * * *

They talk for hours.

Beca tries not to think about it as she wakes up to her phone pressed against her cheek uncomfortably and the faintest memory of Chloe humming something hauntingly familiar.

“Shit,” she mutters, realizing that her heart has yet to stop thudding with the force of emotions she feels.

* * * * *

*Google search history

online dating

quarantine dating

flights to New York

amazon delivery time

online dating in quarantine

relationships in covid-19

online date ideas

* * * * *

*iMessage Notification

From Chloe Beale install netflix party!

Beca Mitchell Already did! waiting on you...

* * * * *

Chloe ends up being the person Beca calls when she receives yet another change request for the track she had been working on. She isn’t allowed to move on to another track until this artist is absolutely pleased with the track and Beca understands how contracts works and stuff, but holy shit, she’s had it up to her damn forehead with Pimp Lo and his incessant demands to keep his music trashy (Beca’s professional opinion).

“I want to quit,” Beca declares to Chloe. She knows Chloe is done with work for the day even though Beca has about an hour or so left in her “shift” (she has decided time is a construct and she’s signing out for the day due to creative differences).

“Don’t quit,” Chloe says quickly. “And um...don’t tell me that. Professional responsibility and all.”

She says it with a joking tone, but it still stings ever so slightly for Beca. The reminder that she and Chloe are coworkers and nothing more. She’s sure she’s going to hear even less from Chloe as time goes on and when everything kind of goes back to “normal”.

But she kind of doesn’t want to stop talking to Chloe.

“It’s just annoying,” Beca complains.

“Oh honey, I know,” Chloe sympathizes. Beca warms at the term of endearment.

“Beca, your music is good,” Chloe promises earnestly. “I’ve listened to a lot of music over the past few years I’ve been working here...just promise me you won’t give up, okay?”

Unexpected anger wells up in Beca. She identifies frustration, annoyance, and some measure of pain—all of which have to do largely with this entire situation. Somehow, she manages to tamp it all down and focuses on the sincerity of Chloe’s voice.

“I just don’t want to...have my ideas shot down like this anymore,” she finally murmurs, taking a breath to steady herself.

“I know,” Chloe promises. “It won’t always be like that though.”

“I’ve been out here for a year. Verging on two.”

“I know,” Chloe repeats, sincere understanding in her tone. “And it sucks that Hollywood just eats people up and just...I don’t know. Spits them back out like that. But...you’re special. I know you are.”

Beca shudders with her own attempt to stifle a sob. “And that’s your professional HR opinion?” she asks, trying to make it sound more like a joke so Chloe doesn’t take it badly.

Chloe scoffs, then lets out a giggle. Beca wishes more than anything she could see her face. “Yes, that is absolutely my professional HR opinion and I think you should take it. I don’t come cheap.”

It’s less than what Beca hoped for. She had hoped for something a bit more—something closer to the kind of reassurance Chloe had been giving her over the past little while. This feels like two steps backwards.

“I wish I could see you,” Beca blurts.

Chloe doesn’t say anything for a moment. A moment too long. Beca’s face heats embarrassingly quickly. She is so thankful that she is alone in her apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Beca apologizes. “That was weird. And I didn’t mean to make things weird. I’m not weird, I promise. Maybe a little. But not like that.”

Chloe laughs. “Beca, it’s okay. I know what you meant. Or what you mean.” She laughs again, this time sounding more breathless. “It’s just...I guess it’s just late and we should probably...table this for another day.”

Beca’s heart plummets.

“We don’t have to table anything,” Beca says quickly, stung by the rejection. “Forget I said anything.”

“Beca—”

“Goodnight, Chloe.”

* * * * *

*iMessage Notification From Chloe Beale Beca, are you okay?

*iMessage Notification From Chloe Beale Call me when you can

* * * * *

Beca notices she has a request from HR for a video conference. There are no other details, but she knows it’s from Chloe. Her stomach tenses uncomfortably as she stares at the words on her screen. The conference is set up from about five minutes from now so she has about five minutes to get her shit together.

She hadn’t meant to ignore Chloe, she had just been a bit too absorbed into her work (as a way to avoid Chloe).

But she isn’t mad with the music she’s been making recently. She probably has Chloe to thank for that. For being an inspirational source.

She can do this.

She looks around, taking a deep breath as she takes stock of everything that she has in her apartment. Her eyes land on something by her window and she goes to grab it.

She returns to her computer just in time for the call.

“Hi,” Beca says, blinking into her computer screen. “Hi, Chloe, is everything—”

“You know, radio silence is probably the worst way to woo somebody.”

Beca thinks she might still be asleep. “Sorry?”

Chloe seems to be fighting a smile. “You don’t even know how cute you are, do you?”

“I’m not cute,” Beca says automatically.

“You are. In a hot way.”

“In a hot way,” Beca echoes. She grins. “Are you calling me hot?”

“I saw you checking me out that first day. Obvious even through webcam.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t mind. I...never minded. Which is what makes this so hard,” Chloe says, lowering her head a little. She worries her lower lip between her teeth, leaning closer to her camera. “This is so weird and so hard. I didn’t expect to just...fall for somebody while we’re all just trying to figure out how to make things okay again, you know?”

“So…” Beca swallows, wondering if this is the appropriate forum for what she’s sure is about to come out of Chloe’s mouth.

“I like you,” Chloe admits. “I think you’re brave and talented and incredible. And there’s so much we still have to learn about each other, but I have been driving myself crazy thinking about how much I want to kiss you.” Chloe clears her throat and holds up a small pot of pretty, purple flowers. “These are for you. I couldn’t really go to the store to get a fresh bunch. But um. If I could, I would.”

Oh.

“Isn’t this against company policy?” Beca croaks out. She can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. “Like can’t they see everything? Even videos?”

Chloe shrugs. “I don’t care. Not really. Look around, Beca. Nobody really cares anymore. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Beca covers her face with her hand. “This is super embarrassing.”

Chloe giggles. “Oh stop. I’m the one literally holding out flowers to my screen.”

“No, it’s just—” Beca holds up the potted plant she had stolen from her windowsill. “Here. I brought this for you too.”

Chloe gasps. “A cactus? You shouldn’t have.”

There is a brief silence before they dissolve into giggles. It makes Beca feel the most complete and whole that she has in while.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

“Were we even in a fight?” Beca asks aloud.

“No,” Chloe admits. “I just...thought I scared you off.”

“I think I scared myself off.” Beca crinkles her nose as she frowns. “If that makes sense.”

“That makes a lot of sense. I think it’s the most sensible thing you’ve said so far.”

* * * * *

Eventually, the time comes where Beca can go outside again.

Beca knows what it means to have sunshine on her face. There is no shortage of it in Los Angeles.

There is no shortage of palm trees, of warm wind, of endless beach views.

There is no shortage of too many dreams and too little opportunities for those dreams to come true.

But this—the excited yelp Chloe lets out when she pushes off the pillar she had been leaning against and the solid weight of Chloe’s body nestled firmly against her own as her arms loop easily around Beca’s neck—this is so much better than anything Beca could have dreamed for herself.

She can feel her mother’s smile, warm like the gentlest of sunrises against the back of her neck. She can feel the weight of a new pile of USBs in her bag and a fresh outlook on life.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Chloe whispers, her voice real and solid and there.

“Me too,” is all Beca can say.

She kisses Chloe like it’s the first day of the rest of her life.

fin.

#bechloe #weeklybechloe #anna kendrick #brittany snow #pitch perfect #fanfiction #beca mitchell #chloe beale #gif #my fanfic #mine #text #queue

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shera-dnd · 3 years

Text

Face Turn - Tag In

So who wants to watch Weiss confront her emotional turmoil like a mature adult?

Sorry to disappoint, but this bitch is getting blackout drunk this chapter

Here is the AO3 link if you wanna watch the train wreck over there instead

Weiss had already gotten a headstart by the time Jaune came in. She wasn’t counting the bottles, she just knew it would be many and that she would regret this later. But that was a problem for future Weiss and present Weiss just wanted to stop thinking about things for a while.

She forced herself to her feet after she heard a knock and dragged herself to the door. She didn’t even check who it was before yanking the door open with far more force than necessary.

“Holy shit, Weiss!” Jaune nearly jumped back at that.

Huh, he also said her name correctly, but it didn’t register the same way Yang did.

Well, of course it didn’t.

“Are you okay?” He asked, making his way inside.

“Would I have fucking called you over here to get shitfaced if I was?” She countered, chugging the rest of her beer as she returned to the couch.

“Are you sure that drinking away your problems is a good idea?” He tried, but it only earned a bitter laugh from her.

“It isn’t,” she replied, already cracking open the next one, “and I knew you’d try to talk me out of it. That’s why I’ve been pre-gaming for an hour now.”

He let out a defeated sigh, before sitting next to her and cracking one open for himself.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened?” He asked, taking a sip.

“Jaune, what do I hate the most?”

“Your family,” he answered, far quicker than he had any right to.

“Okay, what’s the second thing I hate the most?” She tried again.

“Losing?” Once again his answer came far too quick, “damn it, Weiss, is this over that stupid match?”

“What?” Ah shit she had forgotten about that match, “I’m not that much of a sore loser!”

“Okay then who did you lose to that got you like this?”

She paused for a moment, trying to think about how she was gonna say this, but then she realized she was too drunk to say anything profound or coherent, so she just blurted out.

“Feelings, Jaune,” she sounded like a stupid teenager and she hated it, “I lost to my own fucking feelings!”

“I… what?” That stupid look of confusion on his face didn’t help her feel any better.

“Shut up!” she groaned.

“You,” he started, “Weiss Schnee, professional martial artist, former military, bonafide stone cold badass. You ‘lost’ to your own feelings?”

“Shut up!” she repeated after every additional bit of praise to her abilities, all of it just making her feel worse and worse.

“Huh,” he pondered for a moment, taking another sip, “Honestly it kinda makes me feel a little better knowing even someone like you can get like that.”

“Wow! Thanks, Jaune,” she mocked, “feeling so much better already.”

“Sorry,” he winced as he realized how much of a prick he was being, “so what feelings got you like that?”

At that she blabbered on and on about Yang and about the Freezer Burn shippers and about her stupid fucking behavior earlier that day. It all sounded so pathetically simple that it made her stupidity hurt even more in hindsight.

“Shit, I’m sorry Weiss,” he apologized, trying to offer his most comforting smile. It looked awkward and forced.

Unaffected by Jaune’s attempts at comfort, she simply continued to groan loudly.

“Ugh, I don’t fucking know how to deal with feelings!” She complained.

“Hey, what happened to ‘the first thing I taught myself was to let myself feel things’?” He tried to get her back on her groove, but it failed miserably.

“Well guess what,” she bit back, “I’m a shit teacher and a worse student!”

She laughed at her own comment as she took another drink.

“Then let me reinforce that,” he leaned forward and held her by her shoulders, so she would look at him, “let yourself feel things, Weiss. This crap isn’t healthy.”

“Like you’re the picture of emotional health,” she argued back, unable to put down her combative side.

“I’m serious,” he insisted, “stop getting so angry at yourself for having human emotions and just let yourself feel something positive for a change.”

Weiss refused. Even if just out of habit. Even if just because she didn’t know how to do otherwise. She refused.

“So what would you have me do?” she mocked once more, “walk back to Amity, cry about my feelings and hope Yang wants to hug it out afterwards?”

She tried not to get distracted by the thought of how nice and warm those hugs would feel.

“No! I mean, not unless you want to, but that would still be weird,” Jaune rambled, “anyway, what I mean is that you need to acknowledge what you’re feeling instead of going on the defensive whenever you think about it.”

“Fine!” she shouted again, “I like Yang Xiao Long! She’s sweet, and kind, and a colossal dork, but she doesn’t pull any punches or pity me. She is a god damn angel and she’s so fucking pretty and I want her to hold me!”

“Like… you just want her to hug you?” he asked, focusing on the wrong thing.

“Yeah!” She turned to fix him a death glare, “I want a hug! You got a problem with that?”

“Can I give you a hug?” he offered, very awkwardly.

“Fuck off,” she deadpanned as she sipped from her drink again.

“Okay that’s fair,” he took another sip and sat there in silence for a moment, “then why don’t you just go there and hug her?”

“And admit defeat? Never!” She deflected again.

“But who would you even be losing to?”

“We already went over this, Jaune!” she shook her head, feigning disappointment that they weren’t on the same page here.

“Your feelings aren’t some alien entity you can lose to, Weiss,” he insisted, “and you can’t keep fighting them like this.”

“Fucking watch me!”

“Weiss!”

“Okay fine,” she groaned, “it’s just… What if she’s a bad person? What if I let myself fall for her and suddenly she turns out to be a manipulative asshole? I know she’s a sweetheart and she doesn’t look like an asshole, but mom didn’t think Jacques looked like an asshole either. How can I trust that she isn’t lying too?”

At that they had both fallen silent. While Jaune didn’t feel comfortable drinking anymore, Weiss was already going for the next one. This heart to heart was nice, but she wasn’t planning on remembering any of it.

“You can’t,” he eventually answered, “but can you really live your whole life afraid that everyone will turn out to be just like your dad?”

No, she couldn’t. It was exhausting and terrifying. But could she really just stop doing that? Could she really just decided to make this end?

“I want to trust her,” she replied weakly, her though bitch act now completely gone, “I really do, but I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to at least try.”

Try.

Yeah, she could try. Even if she failed she could at least say she tried.

The weak smile that had formed on her face was soon replaced by an expression of complete frustration.

“The fans are gonna be insufferable about this,” she groaned as she leaned back on the couch, suddenly feeling really tired.

“Well, fuck the fans,” he declared in his best Weiss impression. It wasn’t very good, “this is about you and Yang and no one else. Don’t let them make this about them.”

“Yeah,” she nodded and repeated with more enthusiasm, “Yeah!”

“Yeah!” He cheered her on.

“You know what? I’m gonna go call her right now!” She declared.

“Yeah!” It took him a moment to realize what she had just said, “wait! No!”

“You can’t stop me, Arc,” she challenged, already picking up her phone.

“You’re too drunk to have that conversation!” He reached for her phone, but she pushed him away.

They struggled like this for a moment, before Weiss decided that it was a good idea to try to get up to escape Jaune. It wasn’t. It was a very bad idea.

The last thing she remembered before all that alcohol rushed straight to her head, was just how comfy her couch looked right now.

#rwby #freezerburn #Freezer burn #weiss schnee #yang xiao long #jaune arc #fanfic #wrestling au

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

Could you expand a bit on the "death of expertise"? It's something I think about A LOT as an artist, because there are so many problems with people who think it isn't a real job, and the severe undercutting of prices that happens because people think hobbyists and professionals are the same. At the same time, I also really want people to feel free to be able to make art if they want, with no gatekeeping or elitism, and I usually spin myself in circles mentally thinking about it. So.

I have been secretly hoping someone would ask this question, nonny. Bless you. I have a lot (a LOT) of thoughts on this topic, which I will try to keep somewhat concise and presented in a semi-organized fashion, but yes.

I can mostly speak about this in regard to academia, especially the bad, bad, BAD takes in my field (history) that have dominated the news in recent weeks and which constitute most of the recent posts on my blog. (I know, I know, Old Man Yells At Cloud when attempting to educate the internet on actual history, but I gotta do SOMETHING.) But this isn’t a new phenemenon, and is linked to the avalanche of “fake news” that we’ve all heard about and experienced in the last few years, especially in the run-up and then after the election of You Know Who, who has made fake news his personal brand (if not in the way he thinks). It also has to do with the way Americans persistently misunderstand the concept of free speech as “I should be able to say whatever I want and nobody can correct or criticize me,” which ties into the poisonous extreme-libertarian ethos of “I can do what I want with no regard for others and nobody can correct me,” which has seeped its way into the American mainstream and is basically the center of the modern Republican party. (Basically: all for me, all the time, and caring about others is a weak liberal pussy thing to do.)

This, however, is not just an issue of partisan politics, because the left is just as guilty, even if its efforts take a different shape. One of the reason I got so utterly exasperated with strident online leftists, especially around primary season and the hardcore breed of Bernie Bros, is just that they don’t do anything except shout loud and incorrect information on the internet (and then transmogrify that into a twisted ideology of moral purity which makes a sin out of actually voting for a flawed candidate, even if the alternative is Donald Goddamn Trump). I can’t count how many people from both sides of the right/left divide get their political information from like-minded people on social media, and never bother to experience or verify or venture outside their comforting bubbles that will only provide them with “facts” that they already know. Social media has done a lot of good things, sure, but it’s also made it unprecedently easy to just say whatever insane bullshit you want, have it go viral, and then have you treated as an authority on the topic or someone whose voice “has to be included” out of some absurd principle of both-siderism. This is also a tenet of the mainstream corporate media: “both sides” have to be included, to create the illusion of “objectivity,” and to keep the largest number of paying subscribers happy. (Yes, of course this has deep, deep roots in the collapse of late-stage capitalism.) Even if one side is absolutely batshit crazy, the rules of this distorted social contract stipulate that their proposals and their flaws have to be treated as equal with the others, and if you point out that they are batshit crazy, you have to qualify with some criticism of the other side.

This is where you get white people posting “Neo-Nazis and Black Lives Matter are the same!!!1” on facebook. They are a) often racist, let’s be real, and b) have been force-fed a constant narrative where Both Sides Are Equally Bad. Even if one is a historical system of violent oppression that has made a good go at total racial and ethnic genocide and rests on hatred, and the other is the response to not just that but the centuries of systemic and small-scale racism that has been built up every day, the white people of the world insist on treating them as morally equivalent (related to a superior notion that Violence is Always Bad, which.... uh... have you even seen constant and overwhelming state-sponsored violence the West dishes out? But it’s only bad when the other side does it. Especially if those people can be at all labeled “fanatics.”)

I have complained many, many times, and will probably complain many times more, about how hard it is to deconstruct people’s absolutely ingrained ideas of history and the past. History is a very fragile thing; it’s really only equivalent to the length of a human lifespan, and sometimes not even that. It’s what people want to remember and what is convenient for them to remember, which is why we still have some living Holocaust survivors and yet a growing movement of Holocaust denial, among other extremist conspiracy theories (9/11, Sandy Hook, chemtrails, flat-earthing, etc etc). There is likewise no organized effort to teach honest history in Western public schools, not least since the West likes its self-appointed role as guardians of freedom and liberty and democracy in the world and doesn’t really want anyone digging into all that messy slavery and genocide and imperialism and colonialism business. As a result, you have deliberately under- or un-educated citizens, who have had a couple of courses on American/British/etc history in grade school focusing on the greatest-hit reel, and all from an overwhelmingly triumphalist white perspective. You have to like history, from what you get out of it in public school, to want to go on to study it as a career, while knowing that there are few jobs available, universities are cutting or shuttering humanities departments, and you’ll never make much money. There is... not a whole lot of outside incentive there.

I’ve written before about how the humanities are always the first targeted, and the first defunded, and the first to be labeled as “worthless degrees,” because a) they are less valuable to late-stage capitalism and its emphasis on Material Production, and b) they often focus on teaching students the critical thinking skills that critique and challenge that dominant system. There’s a reason that there is a stereotype of artists as social revolutionaries: they have often taken a look around, gone, “Hey, what the hell is this?” and tried to do something about it, because the creative and free-thinking impulse helps to cultivate the tools necessary to question what has become received and dominant wisdom. Of course, that can then be taken too far into the “I’ll create my own reality and reject absolutely everything that doesn’t fit that narrative,” and we end up at something like the current death of expertise.

This year is particularly fertile for these kinds of misinformation efforts: a plague without a vaccine or a known cure, an election year in a turbulently polarized country, race unrest in a deeply racist country spreading to other racist countries around the world and the challenging of a particularly important system (white supremacy), etc etc. People are scared and defensive and reactive, and in that case, they’re especially less motivated to challenge or want to encounter information that scares them. They need their pre-set beliefs to comfort them or provide steadiness in a rocky and uncertain world, and (thanks once again to social media) it’s easy to launch blistering ad hominem attacks on people who disagree with you, who are categorized as a faceless evil mass and who you will never have to meet or negotiate with in real life. This is the environment in which all the world’s distinguished scientists, who have spent decades studying infectious diseases, have to fight for airtime and authority (and often lose) over random conspiracy theorists who make a YouTube video. The public has been trained to see them as “both the same” and then accept which side they like the best, regardless of actual factual or real-world qualifications. They just assume the maniac on YouTube is just as trustworthy as the scientists with PhDs from real universities.

Obviously, academia is racist, elitist, classist, sexist, on and on. Most human institutions are. But training people to see all academics as the enemy is not the answer. You’ve seen the Online Left (tm) also do this constantly, where they attack “the establishment” for never talking about anything, or academics for supposedly erasing and covering up all of non-white history, while apparently never bothering to open a book or familiarize themselves with a single piece of research that actual historians are working on. You may have noticed that historians have been leading the charge against the “don’t erase history!!!1″ defenders of racist monuments, and explaining in stinging detail exactly why this is neither preserving history or being truthful about it. Tumblr likes to confuse the mechanism that has created the history and the people who are studying and analyzing that history, and lump them together as one mass of Evil And Lying To You. Academics are here because we want to critically examine the world and tell you things about it that our nonsense system has required years and years of effort, thousands of dollars in tuition, and other gatekeeping barriers to learn. You can just ask one of us. We’re here, we usually love to talk, and we’re a lot cheaper. I think that’s pretty cool.

As a historian, I have been trained in a certain skill set: finding, reading, analyzing, using, and criticizing primary sources, ditto for secondary sources, academic form and style, technical skills like languages, paleography, presentation, familiarity with the professional mechanisms for reviewing and sharing work (journals, conferences, peer review, etc), and how to assemble this all into an extended piece of work and to use it in conversation with other historians. That means my expertise in history outweighs some rando who rolls up with an unsourced or misleading Twitter thread. If a professor has been handed a carefully crafted essay and then a piece of paper scribbled with crayon, she is not obliged to treat them as essentially the same or having the same critical weight, even if the essay has flaws. One has made an effort to follow the rules of the game, and the other is... well, I did read a few like that when teaching undergraduates. They did not get the same grade.

This also means that my expertise is not universal. I might know something about adjacent subjects that I’ve also studied, like political science or English or whatever, but someone who is a career academic with a degree directly in that field will know more than me. I should listen to them, even if I should retain my independent ability and critical thinking skillset. And I definitely should not be listened to over people whose field of expertise is in a completely different realm. Take the recent rocket launch, for example. I’m guessing that nobody thought some bum who walked in off the street to Kennedy Space Center should be listened to in preference of the actual scientists with degrees and experience at NASA and knowledge of math and orbital mechanics and whatever else you need to get a rocket into orbit. I definitely can’t speak on that and I wouldn’t do it anyway, so it’s frustrating to see it happen with history. Everybody “knows” things about history that inevitably turn out to be wildly wrong, and seem to assume that they can do the same kind of job or state their conclusions with just as much authority. (Nobody seems to listen to the scientists on global warming or coronavirus either, because their information is actively inconvenient for our entrenched way of life and people don’t want to change.) Once again, my point here is not to be a snobbish elitist looking down at The Little People, but to remark that if there’s someone in a field who has, you know, actually studied that subject and is speaking from that place of authority, maybe we can do better than “well, I saw a YouTube video and liked it better, so there.” (Americans hate authority and don’t trust smart people, which is a related problem and goes back far beyond Trump, but there you are.)

As for art: it’s funny how people devalue it constantly until they need it to survive. Ask anyone how they spent their time in lockdown. Did they listen to music? Did they watch movies or TV? Did they read a book? Did they look at photography or pictures? Did they try to learn a skill, like drawing or writing or painting, and realize it was hard? Did they have a preference for the art that was better, more professionally produced, had more awareness of the rules of its craft, and therefore was more enjoyable to consume? If anyone wants to tell anyone that art is worthless, I invite you to challenge them on the spot to go without all of the above items during the (inevitable, at this rate) second coronavirus lockdown. No music. No films. No books. Not even a video or a meme or anything else that has been made for fun, for creativity, or anything outside the basic demands of Compensated Economic Production. It’s then that you’ll discover that, just as with the underpaid essential workers who suffered the most, we know these jobs need to get done. We just still don’t want to pay anyone fairly for doing them, due to our twisted late-capitalist idea of “value.”

Anyway, since this has gotten long enough and I should probably wrap up: as you say, the difference between “professional” and “hobbyist” has been almost completely erased, so that people think the opinion of one is as good as the other, or in your case, that the hobbyist should present their work for free or refuse to be seen as a professional entitled to fair compensation for their skill. That has larger and more insidious effects in a global marketplace of ideas that has been almost entirely reduced to who can say their opinion the loudest to the largest group of people. I don’t know how to solve this problem, but at least I can try to point it out and to avoid being part of it, and to recognize where I need to speak and where I need to shut up. My job, and that of every single white person in America right now, is to shut up and let black people (and Native people, and Latinx people, and Muslim people, and etc...) tell me what it’s really like to live here with that identity. I have obviously done a ton of research on the subject and consider myself reasonably educated, but here’s the thing: my expertise still doesn’t outweigh theirs, no matter what degrees they have or don’t have. I then am required to boost their ideas, views, experiences, and needs, rather than writing them over or erasing them, and to try to explain to people how the roots of these ideas interlock and interact where I can. That is -- hopefully -- putting my history expertise to use in a good way to support what they’re saying, rather than silence it. I try, at any rate, and I am constantly conscious of learning to do better.

I hope that was helpful for you. Thanks for letting me talk about it.

#history #long post #anonymous #ask

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deeeelightfuldee · 3 years

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Are you better at cooking dinners or making cakes/biscuits/sweets? baking definitely. I want to get more comfortable cooking.

Have you ever cut someone else’s hair? yes. I used to be pretty good at doing my brothers hair-- even the fading. But I’m sure I’ve forgotten it all by now.

Who was the last guest in your house and what were they staying for? probably my sister or my nephews.

How many long term relationships have you been in? blegh. not many. Whenever I’d know that it didnt have long term potential, id drop it. no sense dragging out the inevitable.

Do you sleep with all the lights out, or do you leave a lamp or even the television on? so for the longest time I kept my room super dark. I slept well. once miller died and kile broke my heart, I couldn’t sleep without the tv playing. I needed to hear something calming and voices talking so I wouldn’t be left with my thoughts. I still can’t turn it off.

Who is one person you have forgiven, but still have not “forgotten” what they have done? i think its easy to say “forgive and forget” but the reality is that once we have endured trauma we don’t easily forget. I think its kind of unrealistic. I’m trying to forgive kile but thats going to take.. i dont know how long. As for what it was... it was just betrayal.. lying. for six+ years. lots of laughing at me.

Are you a fan of Lana Del Rey? I like some of her songs.

Do you know your blood type? o+

Do you know your mother’s birthday? Yes. its coming up.

Have you ever been pregnant? I dont think so. I was really late after my assault but who knows.

How old were you when you first went on a plane? like 7ish

Have you ever had to take out a loan for anything? Yeah, student loans. 15k feels so daunting right now.

Are both of your blood parents still in your life? One is. My mom.

When was the last time you went apple picking? highschool maybe?

Someone asked you what you wanted, what would you say? money.. or a trip.

Have you ever been drunk at school or work? definitely not.

How many bedrooms are in your house? four.

Are you smart about computers? I know some stuff.

Have you ever played Just Dance for Wii? oh heck’n yeah

Do you own a Xbox 360? I had one from my brother for a little while but I traded it for the gamecube since Kile was going to send me one of the 15 he had lol. That didn’t end up happening, but its OK i really dont need more gaming.

Would you ever do a sex tape for a million dollars? oooooooo.. probably not.

So, do you need a nap? all day is full of naps to try and get over this.

What would you rather be doing? school

What sport are you the best at? maybe volleyball or swimming

Do you have a little sister? What’s her name? Nope, im the baby.

Do you complain a lot? no, i try not to. I find complaining to be the most unattractive and yet common human trait and while there are definitely situations worthy of complaining, most of the time it just makes a situation worse than it actually was.

Would you rather go to an authentic haunted house or an ancient temple? temple

Do you like fruity or minty gum? definitely minty

Are you looking forward to any day of this month? i was really looking forward to Kile’s birthday on monday, but since we arent talking anymore then there is no joy in that. all the other special dates have been ruined by covid.

Have you ever gotten detention? Nope. homeschoolers and detention arent a thing.

Is there a traumatic event that you’ve experienced that’s changed your life? oh sure. heartbreak, deaths, assaults, etc.

Do you buy a majority of your clothes from a certain store, or do you just pick out items of clothing you could see yourself wearing, not caring about the store it came from? no, i can’t be super picky because not every store carries clothing long enough for me.

Have any of the artists you’re fond of released new albums recently? i havent got a clue

Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet? I mean I’m very fond of cats & dogs

Ever cried so much you threw up? this is what happened the whole 2-3 weeks following finding out about Kile.

Who is your best guy friend? I suppose now that would be Nathan

What do you two do when you hang out? drives, game nights, get food/drinks, or just talk.

What is a movie that you thought you would hate but you ended up loving? Her

Do you even like horror movies? not particularly. I’ll watch them if someone else wants to but its not my preference.

Do you live in the country? i live in the suburbs i suppose.

What is your favorite accent? Some southern and British accents. <same ... i have no idea how I made the font like this.

Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like? Not that I can think of.

Do you drink Pepsi or Coke? diet coke

What do you plan to do on your 21st birthday? my family celebrated during the day and then I think nathan took me out on the town

Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer? nope.

Do you take a lot of pictures? man. this question is hard. I used to love taking pictures of myself. I had much more self confidence and some of it was because kile LOVED my selfies -- or so he said. and I just had so much fun doing that. Since the heartbreak, I’ve maybe taken 10 selfies. I just don’t have any self confidence in my looks anymore. its so different now. most of my pictures now are of other people or scenery.

What kind of face wash do you use? cerave when I want to. otherwise i use water and a very particular type of fabric.

Does drama always seem to follow you? No, i dont think so.

Does anybody in your family race? like cars? running? no.

Are you closer to your mom or dad? My mom.

How much money did you used to get from the ”tooth fairy?” I think i got it like 2x and it was a dollar.

Do you have a laptop or desktop? Laptop.

Do you like your parents? i love my mom.

Do you secretly like someone? No.

Would you ever date your best male friend? I don’t see any romantic feelings developing between nathan and I

What are you currently listening to? I have gilmore girls on.

Do you want to be single? oooof. Um. I am torn on this subject. On the one hand, i really am ready to be loved, held, protected, cared for, etc. I love the idea of building a life together with someone and us both protecting our unit. I miss supporting, cherishing, loving on someone. Yet on the other hand, im fine being single. I have so much insecurity about myself lately that I dk that anyone else needs to deal with that baggage. Idk

Did you go out or stay in last night? I stayed in. ill be staying in for some time.

Have you pretended to like someone? romantically, no. professionally, yes.

How is your heart lately? Sad. heavy.

Are you wearing socks? not at the moment.

What do people call you? Di, diana, dee, ana, di-nan-na, dine-uh, deenah.

Do you get stressed out easily? no, I really dont

Have you ever been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance? yes

What is wrong with you right now? im sick. im heartbroken.

Do you own something from Hot Topic? not that I know of. if I do, it’d be from like middle school. I never shopped there but people tended to give gifts from there.

Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone? Alone. maybe I havent found the right sort of person to share a bed with.

Do you still talk to the person you last made out with? No.

Have you ever seen your best friend cry? Yes, several times.

Did you get any compliments today? No.

Have you ever gone to a beach? many many many times.

What would you say if someone asked you to get high right now? not my thing. at all.

Do you believe that everything happens for a reason? Yes.

Have you ever done volunteer work just because you wanted to? Yes.

Do you have long nails? they are healthy length. I want to grow them out a bit more.

Do you like the gender you are? Yeah.

Do you generally look nice in photos? Not anymore

Have you ever had a stick insect as a pet? no haha

What colour are your father’s eyes? Blue.

If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer? uhhhhm, blue october

Would you ever get into a long distance relationship? maybe not anymore.

What’s your favorite hot beverage? hot chocolate from dunkin

Did you ever play an instrument? If so what? i did. no comment.

Would you rather carve pumpkins or wrap presents? oooooohhhhhhhhh man i love both.

Do you think you’re important? I mean i offer some importance to this world but eh.

What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received? Hmm no idea.

Have you been diagnosed with any mental disorders? no

Have you ever moved to another state or country? If so, how did it feel to be new? No.

Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks? Nope.

What was the first thing you ate today? I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday

If you could spend the day, doing absolutely anything, with anyone, anywhere, what would it be like? for the longest time it was to spend the day driving aimlessly and getting food and talking about everything and nothing with Kile. now, its just.. idunno. blank.

If I were to ask you how you are doing, and you were only able to answer completely honestly, what would come out? I’m not doing well.

What is the one thing that you have been avoiding that you should do? There’s a few things related to school.

Is there anything that you wish you could take back? not really, no.

What, in your mind, could make you truly happy? this whole covid nonsense going away, heartbreak to soothe, and my miller back.

If you could change one conversation in your life, what would you say differently? Would it have REALLY made any difference? i dont know.

When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it? I just changed it up so itll be a bit.

Do people normally say you’re a fast typist, or are you rather slow? Fast.

Have you ever been considered the ‘smartest person in school?’ yes. several times.

How many drugs are in your system? lol lots of meds rn to kick this. usually none.

What’s on your schedule for tomorrow? the same as today.

Do you currently have any bite marks/hickeys on your body? No. i dont like the idea of bite marks but hickeys were fun for a time. in not visible areas tho.

Do you call anyone baby? Not anymore.

What’s your current mood? Bleh.

What were you doing before filling out this survey? Watching gilmore girls

How late did you stay up last night? I took PM meds at i wanna say 8? maybe 7? I don’t remember.

When was the last time you cried really hard? its been a few weeks since ive cried about Kile. I’m in the numb stage.

Is your hair longer than your shoulders? hahahahahahah

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zoocross0vers · 5 years

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Happy Halloween 2019! “Carcass Bride: Part 1″

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! Feliz Noche de Brujas a todos! Hope you eat plenty of candy and enjoy this little Halloween crossover between Zootopia x Corpse Bride!

Part 1 of 2

...

Carcass Bride

Part 1: Not According to Plan

She was married now…

She was MARRIED! But... she wasn't happy…

Earlier this morning, she thought her wedding would be happy...but that didn't turn out to be the case, because she was forced to marry someone else while her true betrothed had been snatched away from her. Snatched away...by a Carcass Bride.

Judy Hopps, the miserable bunny bride in question, sat traumatized beside her new husband -- a large, ‘wealthy’, and almost vicious looking brown buck with a mean face and clouded eye by the name of Lord Woundwort -- who had begun making a long speech about why Judy had been so lucky to have married him.

Judy meanwhile, continued to stare out vacantly into the distance -- wondering and thinking back on how all of this had happened in the first place…

Earlier that day…

She had sat at her vanity mirror, brushing the fur of her long ears to make herself look presentable in preparation for her wedding rehearsal. It was where she was to meet her future husband and to prepare for their wedding the following day.

Normally, she had always thought about marrying someone in the more traditional sense of meeting them, falling in love, and then marrying them. But then, the next thing she knew, her once wealthy family, had become completely broke -- without a penny to their name. And everyone knew that a broke rabbit household meant that it would be beyond difficult to feed over a hundred hungry mouths. Not only that, but access to a proper education would prove to be completely impossible for the younger members of their household.

Desperate for money and worried about their family's future, Judy's parents, Stu and Bonnie Hopps, thought it best to marry off one of their daughters to the bachelor son of the wealthiest family in Zootopia (after the Hopps’, of course), Nick Wilde.

Though the Wilde’s had agreed to marry their son to one of the Hopps daughters, there were only two small problems with the union. One, the Hopps’ weren't too keen on having one of their daughters married off to the nouveau riche. Seeing how the Hopps’ had been wealthy for generations, the Wilde’s were newly rich, and therefore common. This wouldn't have been much of an issue however, had the Wilde’s been rabbits like them, but then came the biggest issue regarding the Wildes. The Wildes were foxes.

Naturally, the Hopps’ were fearful and not at all thrilled at the idea of having one of their children betrothed to such a sly and untrustworthy species of predator. Their children weren't anymore thrilled than they were either as Judy, along with the rest of her single adult sisters, were all just as equally hesitant to marry a fox.

Despite her fears and insecurities over the arrangement however, it was the brave and big hearted Judy who stepped forth to accept marrying the Wilde’s son.

As she combed through her ears, giving herself the final touches to her appearance, she only hoped and prayed that she would come to like her future husband, even if he was a fox. She sat there for a moment longer when one of her tall ears stood one end. What’s that? She thought as she heard a gentle little piano melody playing from downstairs.

She wasn’t supposed to leave her room without one of her brothers chaperoning her, but that was the last of her concerns at the moment. Truth be told, who it was that was playing was a bigger concern to her. She had a few brothers who loved to play the piano, but those that did were all married and had left the Hopps household sometime ago. She had a few other brothers still at home who played, but none by their own volition. They all hated playing and it wasn’t time for one of their lessons. So who was it that was currently playing?

Judy left her room and wandered into her home’s main hall where the piano was located. She was pleasantly surprised to see that at the piano sat, whom she could only assume to be her fiancée, Nick Wilde.

From what Judy could see at the top of the stairway, the fox was tall (for rabbit standards anyway), slender, had a black tipped tail, and wore a charcoal gray suit. Judy placed a paw at her chest, touched by the music. She couldn’t believe her eyes and ears. All this time, her parents had made her believe that foxes were no good, uncultured brutes, and yet here was this fox playing a lovely piano melody with the same artistic grace as a professional pianist.

The speechless bunny walked down the stairs and curiously approached him, her arms at her back. She stood beside him, but he had yet to see her. He was so focused in his playing with those handsome emerald eyes of his. Handsome…

It was so odd, that that was the first word Judy could think of to describe him once she saw his face.

He continued playing without a care in the world until he moved his gaze in her direction and finally saw her. “Oh!” he pulled back, knocking down the piano bench back with his tail and nearly causing a decorative miniature vase and flower to fall from the piano. The fox quickly made a grab for it, ceasing the vase’s spinning and setting it back in place. He looked to her, embarrassed, and with his paws still around the tiny vase. “Uh...hehe, sorry about that.”

“Maybe I should be apologizing for startling you,” Judy said with a good-natured giggle.

“You didn’t startle me,” he defended, trying but failing at hiding his evident embarrassment. Judy glanced down to the knocked over bench. Nick’s gaze followed hers. “Oh, here let me get that,” he lifted it back up and began dusting it off, “Sorry about that. I guess it was kind of rude of me to just randomly start playing the piano.”

Judy’s eyes widened and she smiled, amazed and happy to hear how well mannered he was. “That’s okay. I was actually enjoying hearing you play.”

“You heard all that?” he asked curiously.

Judy nodded and answered honestly, “You play beautifully.”

Nick gazed into her bright amethyst eyes and suddenly felt his cheeks burn red, “Thanks, it’s kind of a hobby of mine,” he said with a bashful rub to the back of his neck. He then cleared his throat, adjusting his ascot, “Uh...say listen Miss Carrots?”

“What did you call me?” she asked with a cocked brow.

“I-I mean Miss Hopps!” he replied, trying to correct himself, “Sorry, sorry. I saw a bunch of carrots on my way in and their bright orange color really stood out to me, so I’ve kind of just had carrots in the mind. Didn’t know you guys grew so many, but then again you are rabbits so...” he chuckled nervously as Judy crossed arms, affronted. “I...probably shouldn’t have said that. That was probably rude right?”

“A little,” Judy replied a bit annoyed.

Nick sighed, deflating and unable to put up a confident facade in front of the pretty bunny. Normally, he’d have no problem hiding his fears and insecurities in front of other mammals, but he just simply couldn't with her. There was something about her piercing eyes that made him weak in the knees. It felt as if she was somehow able to see right through him. God did he hope that she was the Hopps daughter that was supposed to be his bride.

“Look, Miss Hopps,” he spoke sincerely, “I know that I'm not at all the ideal candidate for either you or your sisters when it comes to...you know.”

“Marriage?” she finished the sentence for him.

“Right, marriage,” he fiddled with his ascot, clearing his throat, “And--I guess what I'm trying to say is--I know that you're a fox and I'm a rabbit--No wait, ugh!”

Judy giggled, finding his shyness adorable.

Nick smirked at her, “And you're laughing. Good to know one of us is having an easier time at this than I am.”

“I'm sorry,” she giggled once more.

“Bet you can tell I'm no good at this sort of thing, huh?”

“Mm, maybe a little,” she teased.

Nick chuckled at her joke, “Wonder how my bride’s going to react when I make a fool of myself in front of her.”

“I think you already did,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

Nick’s eyes widened in surprise, “So you--You mean you're Judith Laverne Hopps?” he said with an all too pleased smile. She nodded in delight and Nick sighed in relief, “Oh thank goodness.”

Judy giggled with a bashful smile. “Goodness Mr. Wilde, I didn't know that you’d be so eager to marry a bunny.”

“Yeah well, you're the first one in your family so far who hasn't looked at me like she wants to run through a wall because she's so terrified of me.”

Judy frowned and her ears drooped at his statement. It shamed her to admit that she too had been hesitant about their union because she was so terrified of him being a fox rather than taking the time to get to know him and realize that he’s just a mammal, like everyone else. And so far, a very sweet and funny one at that.

Judy placed an understanding and apologetic paw at his arm, “I’m so sorry if either I or my family have made you and your family feel uncomfortable. I guess the only ones around here that were falling for their stereotype was us. Dumb bunnies, right?”

Nick smirked and shook his head. “I guess we’ve all just been a little dumb, jumping to conclusions before actually getting to know each other. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have my own reservations about all this. Especially after we first came in, one of your brothers was sharpening a stake, which I'm more than certain was meant for me given the evil eye he was giving me. I was terrified he might’ve been your chaperone in introducing me to you, Miss Hopps.”

“Knowing my father, he might've made Samuel my chaperone,” Nick's eyes widened in fear at her words. Judy giggled reassuringly, “Don't worry, you wouldn't be a special case. My father has had Samuel chaperone basically all of my sisters.”

“That's a relief,” Nick replied.

“I guess it's a good thing I didn't wait for him and just came down here to listen to you play.”

“Oh?” he smiled confidently.

Judy took a seat at the piano bench, hovering her fingers over the piano keys. “I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the piano, but I was never allowed to.”

“Why not?” he asked with genuine concern.

“Music is considered improper for does. My mother always used to say that it was too passionate an instrument and we shouldn't feed the stereotype that we rabbits are good at multiplying by playing it.” Nick frowned, feeling for her, “I remember that I used to secretly try to play it when they weren't home, but I could never get a good melody out of it.”

Nick sat beside her, “Would you like me to teach you how, Miss Hopps?”

Judy cupped her paws with an eager smile, “Could you?!”

“Of course. May I?” he hovered his paws over hers. She nodded in response, allowing him to place his paws over hers. He gently rested his larger paws over hers. The second their paws touched, they couldn't help but look into each other's eyes and blush.

“Uh…” Nick cleared his throat and continued with his lesson. Judy quickly shifted her gaze to her paws, allowing him to guide her. “Let's start with something simple.” He guided her paws and fingers to play the first couple of keys from the song he was playing earlier. “Now you try on your own.”

He released her paws as she carefully repeated what he had just taught her. She smiled eagerly with a hop in her seat.

Nick chuckled, finding her behavior to be absolutely cute, “Alright, now try this.” He played the next part, his paws over hers once again. And just like the first time, she repeated the notes when it was her turn to play alone.

They continued like this until Nick had practically taught her the whole song. “Alright Miss Hopps, let's see if you can repeat the whole thing in one go this time around.”

“Okay,” she paused for a moment before pressing the keys, “Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Seeing how none of my brothers or parents are here, could you please call me Judy instead?” she asked with a comforting smile. One which made Nick’s heart melt for her.

“Okay then, Judy. Though I could call you Carrots too if you’d like,” he teased at his own goof up from earlier.

“Har, har,” Judy 'laughed’, not minding the name anymore. She played on her own, carefully attempting to recreate the song in its entirety. So far, she had been hitting every note to a tee. “I'm doing it!” she squeaked with joy. “I'm playing the piano!”

Nick chuckled as he watched her with pride and admiration. She almost reached the song’s ending without a hitch, but then she accidentally played a wrong note. Her ears immediately flopped in embarrassment.

Nick couldn't help at laugh at how adorable she looked. “It's okay Judy. No need to be embarrassed. You’ve proven to be a fast learner. You’ll get it in time.”

“But I was doing so well. I accidentally thought that this was the right key to press, but I guess it wasn't.” She scanned her eyes over the keys again. “Which one was it again?”

“This one,” he pointed out, “”Remember, it goes,” he hummed the notes as he guided her paw once more over the keys, “And then you finish strong right…” he gently pressed his paw over hers and kept it there. Judy turned to him as he turned to her as well. He felt his heart flutter as she stared at him, “...here,” he said slowly, his brain struggling to keep up with him as he was caught in her gaze.

It was Judy who slowly ended the quiet moment once she very hesitantly removed her paw from under his. An evident blush decorated her face. She looked away bashfully and cleared her throat, “You know, since I was a child, I dreamt of my wedding day. It was just this silly little fantasy that I used to have--that I’d meet a young buck and we’d fall deeply in love and then we’d spend the rest of our lives together. I guess, in hindsight it's kind of dumb now isn't it?” she asked him shyly.

“Yeah, I guess it is kind of dumb,” he chuckled, “No! I-I mean, not that's not dumb at all. I completely get what you're saying. I also had different expectations for my future,” he said with a casual lean on his elbow toward the little vase, “But I think I'm actually pretty okay with how things turned ou--” he accidentally knocked the little vase over with his elbow.

Judy gasped, quickly reaching out for the little flower, while Nick picked up the vase. “I'm sorry,” he sincerely apologized. Judy didn't seem to mind, she simply brought the flower to her nose and smelled it. She then handed it to him with a sweet smile and he took it just as sweetly. Both of them knowing without any more words that their union, though not exactly what either of them had envisioned in their youths, would prove to be just as happy, if not better than what they had imagined.

…

A/N: What? That's it? No, there's more to this story, hurray! This is just Part 1 of this 2 parter story. I'll try to post the rest of it tonight, but since it is Halloween and in case I’m unable to post the rest today, the next part will be up tomorrow Nov 1. Just in time for all those boys and ghouls who aren't quite ready to move on from Halloween just yet. ;)

By the way, in case you're wondering who Woundwort is, he’s an evil rabbit from a movie/Netflix series called Watership Down. Check it out if you haven't it's good. Though I do suggest check out the Netflix one if you're not good with violence. Now there, you bwill believe that bunnies can INDEED go Savage! O.O

P.S. I know a lot of people really like Emily (I do too), but I also really love Victoria. She’s so sweet and worked really hard to get back to Victor, so I thought it would be nice to see a little more from her perspective (through Judy though, of course)! ;)

Happy Halloween everyone! :D

#zootopia #wildehopps #corpse bride #nick x judy #judy x nick #fanfic #halloween 2019

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henry-stein-art · 5 years

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The Ink Demonth [by Halfusek] Day 14: Theories

SPOILER TIME!

\Also, you will get some violence (but no blood), sad and mature things/

I drew, do costume, animated a cutscene, I think it’s the good day for Writing! I never go watch, read or know theories because I’m not a fan of, I just wanted play the game, appreciate it, and try to understand myself the story, without any influence of others. Of course, it’s like I have do myself a theory, because I headcanon some details about some element in game (like the reason of the visible name of Frank Fontaine in the administration room) and write a pre-story for explain the game. Sorry for mistakes, english is not my main langage! Now, time for the (very long) reading and I hope you will like it!

One day, while Joey Drew, Wally Franks and Henry Stein share a dinner, they talk about this project to create an animation studio. Joey wanted to be between Warner Animation studios and Walt Disney studios, Henry was an artist, daydreaming and love drawing - and how beautiful was his draws - and Wally was a devoted man who help so much the both. In this era, making cartoon was a good thing, and has really a public for, because people needed sweet and happy thing to watch for forgot the society problems. Joey Drew and Henry Stein was two brother of a modest family, living in a rural area. Henry work with their father, and Joey choose general study. He couldn’t work like his brother because he was born with a bad leg, make him limp and can’t support heavy charge. The both mutually supportive but Henry keep a certain distance, seems being more independant and less talkative than his bro. Wally was their neighbour and becoming a friend. He come from rich family and studying at the city highschool. Before he meets Joey and Henry, he wanted become a pilot, but Mr. Drew has completely changed his view of the future, and now he want that people smile and laugh with some silly cartoons. And today, Joey Drew studios is a place for Bendy cartoon, a character born under the pen of Henry, on his desk. He had created a first version, but finally leave him because Joey told him that this Bendy look likes Felix the cat and he doesn’t want deal with Mr. Messmer for “copy” his work. Also, Henry rework on it, and finally found the final design. Shaped head round with two sort of horns on the top, black circle pie eyes, and a gentle smile of eight teeth. Dressed with a big bowtie and white gloves, for see the hands even if they are on his black body. In the corner of the hall, where the desk of Henry was, the cartoonist work on story-board and do some keyframes. Because the studio has no windows, there is few lights for keep his eyes safe.

Few days later, Wally bring to Joey and Henry a new guy. The name is Norman Polk, he told to Mr. Drew that he can give him some old projectors who belonged to his sister. The man was a little shy, no really talkative, and leave them quickly. Henry turn his head for see the eyes of Joey. A genious spark was in. With a little irony, he says:

“I know what you think, but you can’t take his life for our cheap studio.

— Don’t be so rude, Henry. It’s cheap for now, but it will becoming a big empire!

— What’s that mean, uh? Big empire? With only me for make cartoons? You want kill me!

— You’re alone for now, and it will be hard to found someone who is talented as you in drawing, but this dream will come true. Trust me.”

Henry sight and smile. Weak body but strong will. And a little stubborn too.

Days and months passed and as Joey told, it was only the begining. Now, there is a woman for story-boarding and the sound. At first, Henry didn’t notice her, doing his work hard and stay at his desk. He don’t see the time, when the sun leave his place for the moon, and just leave his keyframes for basics vital thing, like eating or drinking. And there is this guy who bring them the projectors, Norman is a calm man, and do the work without say any words. The studio become a little more bigger, with some new room. Henry choose to stay in this corner of the entrance hall. As he said: “A cartoonist take some habit for a long time. And when he has it, he never change!”

Because this woman was a story-boarder, she leave the plan to Henry, but she never see him directly. Joey talk about him, and sometime she can hear the two man talk. But when she cross the hall, he’s never at his desk. The lady think this strange, and feel like he avoids her. She wants know why, so, in this morning, she come to the studio in a really early hour and wait at Henry’s desk.

“Hello? Miss? It’s my desk here.

The lady turn his head, surprised by Henry soft voice. When she see his face, his heart miss a beat.

— Uhm... Oh, uh... Sorry mister “the strange guy who is hiding of me”. Mr. Drew was not lying. You draw beautifully, she respond, trying to stay professional. — Thank you. But now, I need to sit here and continue my work. — You are so rude with a sweet lady! So, you win! I will not move!

Henry get distraught. That’s right, it was cold response. Fault to the fact that he works so much that he doesn’t take the time for friendship or even talk with others. He pick up a keyframes lying down on the floor and arrange his messy desk. The woman still not move, as she tolds. Embarrassed, Henry scratches his neck and respond:

— Yeah. It was rude. You will forgive me if I offer you a coffee? — I drink tea with honey in and two lump of milk. Coffee is for rude man as you, mister.”

She crosses her arms on his chest and close his eyes. Henry understand this little game of her and go buy what she wants.

When he comes back with the tea, he sees Joey, talking to a tall guy, with a rude face. He hold a paper in his hands. The cartoonist see only the word “Money”. When Joey see him with the cup of tea in hands, he gives him a grin smile.

“I see you finally see Mrs. Weddersburg. So? Isn’t a beautiful lady? — Oh, please, keep your eyes right off of my personal life. she's keeping my office hostage for this tea. It’s only this. — It’s not only this, Henry. I know you. We are brothers. — Not when we work, Mr. Drew.”

Henry leave and give the tea to the woman. She thanks him and say:

“I think you should put this keyframe after this one. And clean up a little your desk. See! A real mess! How you do for not lost yourelf? — It’s an organized mess. — So, Mr. Drew is your brother?

Henry raises an eyebrow, surprised of the question.

— Yes. But... We was always not really close. I consider him as a friend more than my brother. — You are the less loved child of the both. Because is the younger one and his limping leg. That’s why you are independant, calm and rude with others.

A embarrassed silence echoing between them. Also, the lady stand up and smile.

— Sorry for that. I... — No, its okay, don’t worry. — Maybe we can talk about this in my home, this evening? — Uh... Wha... I mean, yes. Seems a good idea. — I will buy coffee for this rude man who hide a sweet heart. — My name is Henry. — Yeah, of course, mister “I have an organized mess”.

The both laugh. Before leaving, the lady says:

— My name is Linda Weddersburg. I will come after your work for go home.”

One year later, Henry and Linda share their life together. Henry and Joey arguing more last time. The cartoonist feel tired of work, but Joey promise him that will becoming better in next week.

And the next week, while Henry working on a new cartoon, with a new character named Boris, a friendly wolf who love eating, he feel a little dizzy. So, he leaves his desk a little for walking around the studio. He falls on something, in the corridor where the desk of Linda is. A big pipe cross the floor. A sign advertise “watch your step” but it’s too late. Linda come out of his desk and help Henry to stand up, ask him if he’s okay. When the both follow the pipe, they found a new room, with Joey and this same tall man that the last time. Joey notice Henry and Linda and show the imposing machine in the middle of the room.

“ I present you the Ink Machine! With this thing, we can create more easier the cartoons! — Thanks for that. It was nice if I didn’t fall on this pipe in the middle of the corridor. — Are you ok? — It’s late for the question but yeah, thanks for worry about my bones. So this thing can do my work? A machine? — It’s more complicated. Just keep drawing. I will come later for show you how it’s work.”

The evening, the machine is started. Henry’s heart miss a beat and fall of his chair when he hears the machine start. He mutters to himself, a little frustrated because his ink fall on the floor, and ruined his keyframes. When he recovers and try to clean his work, the ink on his hands suddlendly moving by itself. Surprised, Henry scream, and go back from his desk. The ink cover his skin on his hands and soon his arms. When he look for someone can help him, his eyes cross something more horryfing. A creature, melted in the ink, stand beside the desk. Henry freezes, feel scary. His eyes are rolling back and he hears his own body fall on the floor. When Henry wake up, he sees the walls of his bedroom. He’s lying down on his bed. Linda is sit beside him. She look him with big eyes.

“Oh! You come back in the world of the living! How you feel? — My head hurt like hell. What’s happened? — When we found you, your desk was covered of ink, and you too. You had screamed, seems like you had see a ghost. — It was not a ghost. It was... uh... An inky thing. — Yeah, your eyes was covered by ink. How have you done this? It was like you take a bath in ink pool! — Bendy. — What are you saying? — It was Bendy. It’s... It’s standing in front of me... The... the ink moving by... — Shht, it’s okay. It’s okay. Calm down. You’re safe now. It was just overworking. You need sleep. I keep an eye on you, okey?”

When Henry goes back to sleep, Linda look him, worried. It’s more than overworking. It’s seems that his mind slowly break.

A week later, Henry finally come back to his work. He’s more quiet than usual and he losts his smile. His eyes are dull. Linda talk about it with Joey but the man seems doesn’t realize the mental state of his own brother, more worried for the future of the studio. Henry hears Linda arguing with Joey, saying: “You have no future if you kill your only one cartoonist!“ And Joey response scare Henry. His response echoing in his mind: “So, if I risk to kill him, I keep him alive myself!” Keep him alive? What’s that’s mean? Henry notice that he lost a reference drawing. The one for Bendy. He search in all his papers, and look on the floor. There is nothing. When he’s recovering, he sees a black four-fingered hand on the surface of his desk. This time, the cartoonist cover his mouth and nose. Maybe this ink creature can feel him only if it hear him. Suddendly, the creature grab Henry by the neck. He tries to scream for help, but the inky thing force on his neck. With his right hand, he cover the face of Henry. The man cry, despite him. He wants call for help, but no sound come out of his mouth. He chokes because of the ink dripping in his mouth and cough violently. The move save him, the creature lets him fall on the floor.

Henry stay lying down on the floor, he throws up some ink. He feels like his heart will explode, and try to calm down. But he fails. If it’s a hallucination causing by overworking, that’s mean he need to stop the job. He hears Linda run at him and cries: “Oh my god! Henry!” Linda shake him but he can’t move. He feels something wet fall on his face. Linda take his hand. “Henry! Please! Stay with me!” Henry found a little strenght for move his finger, but it’s the only thing that he can does.

In an far echo, Henry hear Joey’s voice, arguing with someone else.

“It was an accident! I don’t even know what’s happened!”

And there is Wally’s voice.

“The pipe burst often...”

After a moment, Henry try to open his eyes. He hears Joey again.

“It was really an accident, Wally. I found the room open, this grinning thing wandering around. I can’t understand why it’s attacked Henry!”

Linda’s voice intterupt Joey and Wally.

“Because this thing wanted his soul. If it wanted kill him, Henry would be dead.”

And an unknow voice.

“About death, what will you tell to others? You will fake his death and replace it?”

28 years later, in a little city, Henry come out for take the letters from the mailbox. He lives with Linda and has a beautiful child. He leaves finally Joey Drew with his studio, and found another job, far away from animation. His wife has a new job too, and the child go to the school. She sees sometime his uncle Joey, when he’s home or come here. Back to the living room, Henry sit on the sofa and take his cup of tea, prepared by his wife, and read the newspaper.

“See, honney? Local artist pushed himself too hard, found dead at desk. Heh! It’s my face! — Joey could has doing better. It’s not your best profile. — And black clothes doesn’t look good on me. It’s make me rude. — Talking about the old things, give me your arm. It’s time to take your medicine. — Great. — Don’t give me that face, sweetheart. It’s for your good sake. It keeps you human.

Henry sight. He’ cleenching his teeth when the needle go throught his skin. When it’s done, Henry rub his arm and says:

— You mean it’s keep me alive. With this body stuck between an ink thing and a human. — It’s okey, sweetheart. You have the same face that before. Your body is stable with this thing, even if it’s not pleasant. — Thanks Joey, you have ruined my young life. That’s why I don’t want let our child alone with him. Joey is a specialist for take others’s life for his “empire”. — It’s your turn to go wake her up, by the way.”

Henry kisses his wife softly and go in the child’s bedroom. Since the “accident” where Henry drown in ink, he’s not a normal human anymore. So, with the help of some others worker of the studio, they found a medicine for keep him human, the more as possible. Of course, because his ink part, he can does strange thing with his body, like the physics of the cartoons that he’s drew before. Linda comfort him by saying some joke, like is usefull for take too higher or far stuff that’s she needs for cooking. Or for keep an eye on their child when she sleeping, without disturb her. Also, he dreams almost all night the same thing, about him alone in the studio, wandering for get out and encounter ink monsters. Alison Pendle send them a letter for say that its normal, she get the same dreams where she meet Henry and try to explain that all of this never exist, just tought. Henry is right, his life was ruined and now, even if he lives, it’s changed. He can’t come back to the old town, because the newspaper announce his death. Linda sigh and see a letter from Joey Drew. She take the envelope and says: “You even cheat the death itself, Joey.”

#The Ink Demonth #Bendy and the Ink Machine #fiction #fanon #theory #pre-story #Long Reads #joey drew studios #joey drew #Henry #linda #wally franks #norman polk #the projectionist #thomas connor #gent #ink machine

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verytamenow · 5 years

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Getaway Car is About Leaving BMG

Okay, okay, I know it's a reach, alright? You can stop typing out those anons telling me I'm on crack. I know. This very much so IS a crack theory. This is something of a followup to another crack!theory I wrote with @yourmarkonmeagoldentattoo (who I also owe a thank you for proofreading this) back in September 2017. Where I wondered if there wasn't a bit of a power struggle for how Taylor Swift™ was being presented to the public and if Taylor herself and her label were on the same page. So here's a little backstory: I watched the Reputation Tour Movie on Netflix last light and since I wasn't overwhelmed by the fact I was just feet away from our Lorde and Saviour Taylor Alison Swift herself in person, I was able to notice, or really - focus on, a few details I hadn't before. Such as Getaway Car having a Neon font that while not a match for the 1989 font, was reminiscent of it to me. And while it could have be the old fashioned Vegas imagery of neon lights on a desert getaway run, what if Taylor Swift - queen of hidden meaning - intended it to be more. We've all questioned the origins of Getaway Car. Was it a convulted reference to Kissgate and it's fallout? Was it about bearding with CH and that ending? Was it just a fun escapist fantasy what was originally meant to seal reputation as being about TH before that crashed and burned? But what if it's not about a personal relationship, but a business one? Taylor vs BMG and reputation era vs 1989 era.

Let's rewind to 2016 before everything went to hell. It seemed such a promising year. 1989 had won Album of the Year, Taylor's second in less than a decade and before 30. She'd come off her most successful era - both album and tour earnings millions. On the verge of overexposure but not there yet - getting the standard criticism that has always mystifyingly surrounding her but seemingly about to dodge the cycle heavy criticism that followed her achievements. And on time to release another album - her rumoured last on her contract - in the fall of that year. Surely there wouldn't be a better time to renegotiate a contract? When her star was burning so brightly and she'd been able to deliver the ultimate “I-Told-You-So” to Scott Borchetta about switching to pop? Surely BMG would want to make sure their flagship artist and crown jewel in their lineup wasn't going anywhere? So why didn't they? The best way Scott could have capped off that era would be announcing he had re-signed Taylor Swift for a few more records ensuring number 6 wouldn't be her last with them. It would have been almost guaranteed money in the bank at that point, especially with her then steady every other year cycle. Something Scott could have used, either knowingly or unknowingly about to face several setbacks, including the future loss of Tim McGraw in 02/17 to Sony (and to what degree Taylor would have known this was coming or heard it might be or the two not re-signing could have influenced each other, I don't know), several rumouredly expensive projects such as the attempt to turn Steven Tyler country going nowhere, and the folding of Dot Records in 03/17. On the pro side of the pro-con list for Taylor: Scott had seen potential in her at 14 and they'd both taken a gamble. Scott in signing such a new and unknown artist and putting his fledgling label's comparatively limited resources behind her, Taylor in signing with a label that may go nowhere rather than holding out for a bigger name. They had grown up and changed the industry together and few would be more invested in the continued success of Taylor Swift than Scott Borchetta who had built a label group around her. Their rumoured family like relationship meant it was a tight bond to break and BMG had always given Taylor a freedom most other young artists would never have had. So why didn't it happen? Well we know from the new deal there was one thing Taylor wanted: her master recordings. And with 5, soon to be 6, albums in BMG's hands, they had the ultimate bargaining tool if they'd wanted to keep her. Except when 80% of your revenue comes from one artist? You're not likely to want to give that up, even if that revenue is more limited by Taylor's rights as a songwriter in regards to licensing. It's still a valuable commodity as long as we're in the streaming bubble. Especially if you're investing in objectively risky pet projects. It was well rumoured to be the major sticking point, making it's way into multiple articles as the deadline drew closer and closer, and the Variety Article from 08/18 breaks down all the major players and what was at stake pretty well. Was it any surprise Universal wanted to keep such a major artist? Enough to negotiate it's spotify payout for ALL artists and ensure her master recording would return to her even if not immediately. But what does any of this have to do with Getaway Car? Well, let's take a look at the lyrics through this lens. No, nothing good starts in a getaway car... It was the best of times, the worst of crimes I struck a match and blew your mind The best of times is easily explainable as the brief post-Grammy's high. An album that as the time had sold over 9 million copies worldwide, a tour that had grossed $250.7 million globally, numerous endorsement deals, streaming revenue, and to cap it all off a second Grammy for AOTY. The worst of crimes? Not re-signing immediately when offered. For both both this would have been a shock. Taylor that Scott wouldn't consider compromising on her masters and Scott that Taylor would consider another deal. But I didn't mean it And you didn't see it Maybe Taylor wasn't 100% sold on leaving BMG just yet and a compromise could have been reached, but Scott saw it as all or nothing. The ties were black, the lies were white In shades of gray and candlelight I wanted to leave him I needed a reason This seems such a good summary of a business deal. A professional atmosphere with promises that may or may not hold up being offered to get a signature. All of it being a shade of gray in terms of who would benefit and having to be viewed in the right light. Taylor realizes if she'd going to leave BMG, she needs a far better deal. A really good reason. X marks the spot, where we fell apart He poisoned the well, I was lying to myself I knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed We never had a shotgun shot in the dark “X marks the spot” would easily be the signature line on a contract and would be the obvious place where things would fall apart between the two parties. Taylor was fooling herself to think they could reach an agreement that they both wanted after Scott had drawn the line in the sand. Perhaps it was something she had known from the beginning of the meeting, the idea of two familiar business associates having a drink over talks being well known. Chorus You were driving the getaway car We were flying, but we'd never get far Don't pretend it's such a mystery Think about the place where you first met me We're riding in a getaway car There were sirens in the beat of your heart Should've known I'd be the first to leave Think about the place where you first met me In a getaway car No, they never get far No, nothing good starts in a getaway car Scott was ultimately running the show to a degree, being the label president. He was releasing and pushing reputation, the last album of the deal. And while she predicted, hoped, it would be a success it wasn't going to take them further. Taylor's reminding Scott this wasn't unforeseeable. He'd met her at 14 in a cafe and she'd been every bit as ambitious and set on how her career should look then as she was now. Scott's aware of what's going on and maybe worried or even panicked, alarm bells going off as he faces losing the crown jewel of his label group. But he should have known this was coming, that she'd walk if she didn't get the deal she wanted. She'd already walked from a development deal at 14 because she didn't see a future in it. The end of everything, surely not something good, starts with reputation. It was the great escape, the prison break The light of freedom on my face Perhaps reputation was more than just the last album for Taylor. It was freedom. Freedom from the press and the heavy interview and promotion schedule that had defined 1989. Freedom from the pressure to be Taylor Swift™ at all times. Freedom from caring about major awards that would make the label look good such as Grammys. Freedom from anything but fulfilling her own expectations and her fans'. She's no longer carrying a label. Soon to be no longer under a contract, along with whatever other clauses - regarding public behaviour or image that can exist in contracts - might have existed. But you weren't thinking And I was just drinking Scott didn't think things through. Didn't weigh the costs and is now feeling it as the clock ticks. Meanwhile, Taylor is unfussed. Calmly sipping her drink as she watches the fallout. Well he was running after us, I was screaming 'Go go go!' But with three of us, honey, it's a side show And a circus ain't a love story And now we're both sorry (we're both sorry) A reference to new contract negotiations. Scott still trying to get Taylor to re-sign while Taylor courts new options. He's trying to chase her while she's telling her own team to prepare to jump ship. Maybe there's even a bit of a struggle for control as the new era kicks off and each side tries to leverage it to their advantage. It makes negotiating a new contract more interesting. Any other label aware of BMG's history with her and continued attempts to court her and the industry and media beginning to realize there hadn't been news of a contract and beginning to weigh in. It's becoming a sideshow to the main exhibition that is her music. Both Taylor and Scott probably have regrets over how this is ending. X marks the spot, where we fell apart He poisoned the well, every man for himself I knew it from the first old fashioned, we were cursed It hit you like a shotgun shot to the heart Again referencing a contract, and Scott's refusal to budge. This time Taylor voicing it became more about them each trying to get the best deal for themselves, or maybe Scott looking out more for himself in their negotiations, rather than a team working towards a mutually beneficial deal. And it's a harsh realization for Taylor after over a decade, hitting her like a slug to the heart. Chorus We were jet set Bonnie and Clyde Until I switched to the other side It's no surprise, I turned you in 'Cause us traitors never win They had been a team, an unknown artist and fledgling label against the world and the industry. Moments like winning the Horizon Award at the CMAs which inspired the song Change and winning AOTY for Feearless probably building that bond. Something that remained in place until she switched to viewing herself as a potential free agent. It shouldn't have been a surprise it happened, though maybe it was, but it certainly felt like a betrayal to both parties. I'm in a getaway car I left you in the motel bar I put the money in a bag and stole the keys That was the last time you ever saw me She's talking again about reputation and this era as a getaway car. She walked out of that negotiation into a new era, taking her earnings and control over her career with her and declaring this would be the last era Scott got with her. Chorus I was riding in a getaway car I was crying in a getaway car I was dying in a getaway car Said 'goodbye' in a getaway car A reflection on their separation to come over the era. It hurts and it's painful but it's also a phoenix moment forever. BMLG Taylor dying and being reborn in the next era, this one being a goodbye and her send off to them. I was riding in a getaway car I was crying in a getaway car I was dying in a getaway car Said 'goodbye' in a getaway car

#taylor swift #gaylor swift #getaway car #reputation theory #a crack!theory #my writing

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saltpepperbeard · 6 years

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Coming to the Lake ~An Everlark One-Shot~

A/N: Hello hello! In the midst of the Trashcan Fire that is Tumblr right now lol, I’ve decided to post this shot I’ve been working on. What started out as a simple prompt request [x] from @gabzep evolved into much more, as it usually does when I actually get writing! Writing a simple drabble is quite the struggle sometimes...I guess it’s difficult when you start off writing Everlark partaking in an activity that would DEFINITELY lead to other things lol!

I will say that I’m a bit nervous about what Tumblr is going to do the more Adult Fanfiction like this one; saying a little prayer that my fics Stay Alive. But I do believe I’m going to finally make an AO3 account. You can expect this shot and my other works to appear there if and when that happens!

As it stands however, it’s going to be posted on here lol, so I hope you all enjoy it!

Disclaimer: This fic contains smut/NC-17 material. Fight me, Christian Minecraft Server that is this website.

And without further adoooooo....

Coming to the Lake

Never in my wildest dreams would I have pictured myself doing this. I never thought of myself as being this bold. Yet, here I lay aside the natural beauty of the lake, showing off my natural state as well.

I’m not uncomfortable though. A bit modest perhaps, as usual, but not uncomfortable. Hardly anyone in District Twelve knows about this location, and an even smaller percentage actually comes to visit. It’s pretty much for Peeta and I’s eyes only.

And my body is for his eyes and his eyes alone.

He’s seen me like this plenty of times before. Ever since I, we, first worked up the courage to take pleasure in each other, it’s become something of normalcy over the past few weeks.

I suppose there’s something a little special about this instance though, a little more sacred. This in itself isn’t inherently sexual. It’s sensual though, maybe. There’s something about laying like this for him, presenting myself in this manner, and watching his gaze scouring my every curve with masterful concentration.

I’d normally get nervous under such an intense stare, but I know he’s deep into his work, deep into his beautiful craft. And while he observes me, recreates me, it gives me time to indulge in observing him as well.

The way his eyebrows furrow slightly as he strains to get the details just right. The way his hair and eyes seem to capture the golden hue of the sun. The way a slight blush smooths across his cheeks when his eyes occasionally catch mine. The way he can remain professional, stoic, despite the current situation.

Will there ever be a time where my adoration doesn’t soar for Peeta Mellark? Doubtful.

He must sense that I’m returning his strong stare, because he finally breaks the comfortable silence with a gentle murmur.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I reply, shifting myself slightly on the blanket beneath me, a warmth spreading across my face.

We venture back into another quiet between us, listening only to the bustling morning around us. His chuckles however, are quick to break through the seamless stream of bird songs and animal calls.

“What yourself?”

“Nothing...” he says, before grinning wider and continuing, “Well, actually, I just...can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“Me? Haven’t you always wanted to do this?”

“Yeah, of course,” he chuckles, admirably continuing to paint throughout our exchange, “I just...never really pictured you proposing it.”

“Neither did I...”

He gives me a harder laugh, one that gets my heart twittering in my chest and a smile splitting my cheeks.

“How are you feeling by the way?” he asks once he settles, “Are you still comfortable?”

“As comfortable as I can get lying naked on the ground.”

Again he laughs, which sends a huff of mirth through my nose.

“Seriously though.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I murmur, giving my sun-warmed limbs a small stretch.

“That’s good. I shouldn’t be much longer. Capturing such beauty onto a canvas is definitely a challenge though.”

I feel myself blush immensely, and I must be making some kind of face, because Peeta gets chuckling all over again.

“What? It’s true! I don’t think I can really do you justice.”

My embarrassed yet playful scowl deepens, and I grumble to shut his compliments down.

“Then shhhh and concentrate.”

He laughs again, but obliges, falling back into his artful quiet. I smile softly to myself, the two of us watching each other without a care in the world. It’s oddly relaxing really, despite being so exposed out in the open. The feeling of being this comfortable with him, this comfortable with each other, this comfortable with life in general is...so incredibly soothing.

I could almost doze off under the warmth of the rising sun and the gentle protection of Peeta’s stare. Unfortunately, the tranquility comes to a slow stop with just a few words.

“Okay...I think that does it.”

I hesitantly pick my head up off the blanket, before sitting up fully. He’s grinning at me of course, but I watch as a bit of shyness dots the corners of his mouth.

“Want to come see?”

I bite my lip, my body flushing with warmth, but nod. Not even bothering to dress myself again, I walk over to where Peeta’s situated, sliding next to him to appreciate his work. I can feel his eyes on my body yet again, but this time I pay it no mind.

Because what I see causes my quickly beating heart to practically deaden.

The almost photo realistic quality to the scenery, the striking colors, the overwhelming presence of myself in the center of it all. The lake and the trees around it are enough to take my breath away. But the way he depicted me...

My cheeks must be redder than the colors he used for the flowers. He chuckles nervously; my lack of words is probably slightly unsettling.

“Katniss?”

“I...You made me look...”

The word I have poised on my tongue feels incredibly strange to say, making my mouth run dry, but it’s definitely true. And it’s something Peeta uses to describe me all the time. I have no choice but to utter it.

“...Stunning.”

Peeta practically deflates next to me, before laughing and snaking a hand around my hip, pulling me taut to his side.

“I only painted what I saw, love,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek.

I open my mouth to fire back with a retort, but come up empty handed. It’s all the more difficult to deflect his compliments when I’m completely captivated by his work, by...how I look to him.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt more beautiful.

Shutting my mouth, I continue to blush immensely, and instead go for burying my face into his collar, uttering the three words reserved just for him.

“I love you...”

His body practically explodes with warmth, challenging that of the sun.

“I love you too...more than anything...”

He’s back to kissing me again, pressing his lips against my jaw and neck. Though, these kisses feel a bit more passionate, a bit more fiery.

I lean back away from him, but only for the purpose of finally lifting my lips to his, pulling him into a passionate kiss. He sighs appreciatively, his hands finding purchase on my cheeks as he holds me close.

It’s no surprise that our kiss begins to evolve, to warm up like the air around us. I knew this would have happened anyway.

Gentle glides and passes of our mouths become more rushed, more desperate. Our reverent, loving silence turns into heavier breaths and soft moans. Peeta’s hands leave their perch and begin to slowly wander, slipping down my backside and leaving small fires in their wake. When he reaches the small of my back, sending a jolt up my spine, I suddenly become very aware of both the situation and my current exposed state.

“Peeta...”

He grins against me and pulls away, but not without tugging on my bottom lip with his teeth.

“Guess I couldn’t keep the artist facade going forever,” he chuckles softly.

“You were very professional,” I whisper back, before my cheeks flush with a bolder thought, “I guess a...proper thank you is in order?”

He slowly licks his lips, giving me another intense stare as his blue irises run stormy. I go a bit weak in the knees, but he barely gives me time to process anything before he’s locked me in another deep, claiming kiss.

I half-expect him to quickly pack up his things, and hurry us back home to the solitude of our bedroom. He surprises me however, when he begins to toy with the bottom of his shirt with a hand, slowly working up his abdomen.

He breaks away when he’s hiked it up enough, pulling it fully up and over his head. I’m momentarily frozen, enraptured, as I watch him join me, quickly making work of his pants and boxers.

Seeing his bare form as well, seeing him ready, causes the reality of the situation to sink in fully. My modesty, my nerves, are quick to jump back in with the possibility of another first for us.

“Here...?” I somehow manage to breathe.

“Yes, here...” he murmurs.

He snaps our tension momentarily as he surveys the area around us, looking for just the right place to lay his claim to me. When he turns back to face me however, he must notice my facial expression, pick up the feelings of unease starting to run through me. It’s very quick to bring him out of his lustful haze.

“I mean, only if you’re alright with that of course,” he says, “Would you be more comfortable at home?”

I let out a shaky breath. I would be more comfortable there, yes. Not a lot of people come to the lake, surely. Peeta and I are definitely the most frequent visitors. But of course, with our luck, it’s very possible someone could stumble upon us.

Peeta using my body as a subject of his masterful craft is one thing, a bit more on the appropriate side. The two of us delighting in each other for all to see however...

I bite my lip, my heart likely visible beneath my skin with its intense, fast beats.

“Hun...” Peeta murmurs, his voice ever so gentle, “We really don’t have to. I’m sorry, I just got a little carried away.”

My first instinct to nod and agree to go home. The twittering thumps in my chest urge me to go down that path. The more I look at Peeta however, the more I eye his every muscle, his every bit of definition, I begin to understand the desperation.

Now I feel like the artist with him as my subject, appreciating everything about him. His golden blonde hair, practically casting off light like its own sun. His soft, blue sapphires, sparkling away. His muscles hidden just beneath his skin, taut from his work. His ever-engorging erection, swelling and coaxing with every passing second.

I can see where he’s coming from. Picturing myself having to look at him like this for hours on end...

I clench embarrassingly hard, feeling the extent of his want.

“Sweetheart...”

I don’t give him time to speak further. I practically pounce on him, locking him back into a kiss and puling our bodies flush. I kiss him so hard, so long, that we both have to break away for air, panting against each other’s lips.

“...Here,” I agree in a breathy whisper.

“Wh-”

“Here, Peeta...It’s okay...”

He still seems unconvinced, so I decide to try something he does to me so often, something that causes me to utterly melt beneath his touch. I move my lips to his neck, messily kissing and occasionally throwing a small nip in.

“It’s okay...” I murmur again, before sucking his skin like he always does to me. To my delight, I feel him relax with a breathy groan, pulling him back into the moment.

“We’ll...make it quick...” he pants.

I nod quickly, hungrily, still amazed that he’s able to get me this needy. With one final kiss to his skin, I enter the same mind-numbing fog as him, desperately searching the area for a good spot. I’m a bit shocked at myself with how quickly an idea clicks, and I dart away from Peeta to snatch up our blanket.

I can feel his eyes on me, intently and curiously watching. I throw the blanket over a flat tree trump, before running back, gently snagging his wrists and tugging him towards me. I flip us around and give Peeta a nudge, beckoning him to sit. And before he can question, I’m straddling his lap, lifting my hips just so and poising myself to proceed.

“Oh...hun...” he breathes, his voice coated with awe.

I cannot help but smile at him, leaning my head forward to rest upon his. My facial expression is quickly mirrored, his hands coming to gently grasp my hips.

“You...You don’t have to-”

“My thanks,” I whisper, before lining myself up and sinking down onto his length, enveloping him deep within.

Instantly, it’s like the surrounding world doesn’t matter. The gorgeousness of the lake doesn’t match up to the beauty of sharing this with him. We’ve done this so many times already, but each time feels entirely new, entirely wonderful. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of the feeling, tire of him.

We both sing our approvals; I moan softly and Peeta grunts my name. I pant against him and give myself a moment to adjust, repeatedly clenching my muscles around him and savoring each moan I’m able to coax out. I then begin my bounces, rising up and sinking down repeatedly.

When I get my rhythm going, when I can feel him driving into just the right spot, his hands begin to aid my movements. He helps lift me up before slamming me down, allowing him to traverse deeper and deeper. My whimpers turn sweet the moment the sensation inside does, a wonderful burn already starting to ignite.

“I didn’t think...I would be able to...keep it together...while painting you...” Peeta growls.

“You did...” I whisper between my various gasps.

“Not without...great difficulty...”

I angle myself slightly differently with the next pass, drawing a high pitched moan from my throat.

“But...it was worth it,” he groans.

“Mmm...” I breathe, gripping his shoulders a bit tighter, “Now shhh and...concentrate...”

He lets out a huff of laughter, but it rapidly dies off from my movements, my pelvis practically bucking against his now. He’s hitting me in such a way that the colors of his painting flash through my vision, my lower half completely coming alive. My head involuntarily begins to lull back, my mouth dropping open, a plethora of vocalizations leaving my mouth without a way to hush them.

Our hips are drawn together like magnets, Peeta chasing to match my movement thrust for thrust. We’ve learned so much about each other’s bodies in a relatively short time, what makes the both of us tick. It’s like a sort of dance, the two of us moving in harmony to work each other just right.

“Godddd, Katniss,” Peeta groans, his voice already gaining pitch.

“Yes...Yes...” I breathlessly chant, feeling my wings opening in preparation for flight, what with the flames practically roaring down below.

Peeta clamps down on his bottom lip, his eyes shutting tightly and his nostrils flaring. I know he’s fighting so hard to slow himself down. I know he wants nothing more than for me to soar up before him. It’s never been a concern of mine; just having this is heaven enough. But of course, he manages to dazzle, manages to take me higher.

When I lift myself up again, he halts my downward thrust with his strong grasp. Surprising even more, he gets me to sit further up until I’m practically kneeling over his lap, deprived of our precious connection. My eyebrows furrow slightly in questioning, but I don’t have time to inquire. His hot breath huffs against one of my nipples, and his fingers trail against my center.

And suddenly, I’m blindsided with two new sensations, his mouth sucking and his pads circling. It’s electricity and fire, combining together to create an absolute inferno. My moans intensify in both volume and frequency, my hips continuing to gyrate at everything flowing through me.

“Peeta......”

He takes my nipple between his teeth, giving a nip that sends my form reeling.

“Peeta...”

He hits the sweet spot I was trying to focus on with his fingers, sending both my eyes and hips rolling.

“Peeta!”

When I’m a Mockingjay readied to fly, a girl swirling in fire, he sends me back down to Earth, roughly connecting us once more. And it’s perfect, it’s just what I needed. It’s like I bounce right back up into the clouds, everything exploding in a lightning storm around me. I soar through the strikes in utter ecstasy, with white flashes in my eyes and jolts through my core.

Peeta continues to hurriedly thrust into me, so I swoop down and take his hands in mine, urging him to join me. After just two or so more jerks, two or so more groans, he does. We twirl together, holding on for dear life, embracing all that we are. I repeatedly breathe out that I love him, and the same words are echoed back without hesitation.

We float and glide and dance for a few moments more, before slowly the clouds begin to part, revealing the lake’s scenery once more.

I practically droop against Peeta, leaning my head on his and panting heavily in my exertion. He shakily wraps his arms around me and holds me close, inside and out, pressing the occasional kiss to my dewy skin.

There we remain for a few minutes, recovering and reveling. I release a few, small whimpers at the tiny aftershocks coursing through me, causing Peeta to lean back from me. The gorgeous blue with a glassy sheen I’m met with earns him a loving, slow kiss.

“I should ask you to paint me more often...” I lazily murmur into his lips, unsurprisingly earning his wonderful laugh.

“I think that’s a request I can live with...” he chuckles back, his hands tracing patterns on my back.

I sigh and break our kiss, leaning my head atop his again. Grounded once more, my heart flutters slightly at the notion of our passions, how...loud we must have been in an otherwise serene environment. I bite my lip, my eyes cautiously surveying the area for any signs activity, any signs that we might have been heard.

I find nothing out of the ordinary, everything how we left it before we got wrapped up in each other. I let out a slow exhale, relaxing against Peeta. Though, I relax even further when my gaze stumbles upon his painting again, a beautiful, physical slice of these memories to keep forever.

“Thank you...” I whisper.

“Hmm? For what, love?”

“For...all of this. Everything. I love you...”

His arms snake tighter around me, and he presses a few stray kisses against my skin.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, “And you don’t have to thank me. I’m honestly a bit rusty with paintings like that.”

My eyebrows furrow slightly, but just as my mouth is opening to retort, he sends a laugh out instead.

“Guess we’ll have to do this all over when we get home!”

#Everlark #Everlark fanfiction #Everlark smut #NC-17 #Katniss Everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Mockingjay #thg #Post-Mockingjay #I feel BALLSY posting this during such a Trying Time lmao #And I guess it'll be a test whether or not it gets flagged #If it does then I'm DEFINITELY yeeting my stuff to AO3 with zero questions asked #Ugggghh I really hope it doesn't though fjskldjksds I've always enjoyed posting my stuff solely to Tumblr #I'M SO NERVOUS TBH LIKE #SURVIVE???#STAY WITH ME

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nevergiveupneverrun · 5 years

Text

Bodyguard - Chapter Eighteen “Leave or stay...”

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter eighteen of my Story Bodyguard. I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

I had not slept the night. The scene of the accident was running through my head. And another scene interfered regularly to chase her. A bathroom for decor, a wonderful young woman for heroine… And a myriad of sensations and emotions that tormented me. I was afraid to understand. Afraid to define what was happening in me. Afraid it’s already too late.

I got up in the middle of the night at four in the morning. I had taken a blank sheet of paper and started to write the letter that seemed to myself the only adequate solution to the situation. But after I finished writing it, I didn’t manage to sign it. As if an invisible force was holding me back. But I had to find the strength to go all the way.

That’s how I had been for two hours in the kitchen. The pen resting on the bar. The letter finalized before my eyes, which I realized for the hundredth time. Muffled footsteps are heard. I check the time on the clock in the room, surprised that it is up at 6 o’clock in the morning… a Sunday. When she enters the room her appearance strikes me: disheveled hair, the face down, the appearance depressed… and a simple big T-shirt on her, as pajamas, revealing most of her legs. For my part, I was already dressed, in casual mode for once: jeans and a simple tee-shirt. - Amelia, it’s 6 o’clock in the morning… She steps forward and sits on a stool against the bar, facing me. - I know… but I can not sleep… Her look finds mine for the first time of the day and I am upset by what I see there: weariness, worry, disarray. - Why can not you sleep? Her gaze leaves mine and goes on my hands, put on the bar, and then on the sheet of paper in front of me. I shift the sheet of paper a little more and place my hands on it to hide as much as possible the words written on it. - What are you writing? I could not tell her. Her condition this morning is half crazy, the opposite of her attitude the day before. I could not tell her… - Nothing important, some ideas, things to do… I look for her eyes and finish by re-adjusting her attention. - What’s going on Amelia? She remains silent for a few moments. And then I watch a show that squeezes my heart: brilliant reflections that settle over the seconds in her eyes… the reflection of tears that are born and just waiting to escape. - I don’t know… last night, I thought it was going… but I think I was not completely aware of what happened… and… as soon as I put my head on the pillow, I saw this scene scroll under my eyes: the headlights of this car that blinded me… the violence of impact… and this reality that I could have died… that he wanted to kill me… A tear runs down her right cheek just as she whispers the last word… kill… A word that resonates in the room and makes me perceive the traumatism this experience represents for her… an overwhelming experience where the threat is no longer just virtual but very real. - I thought I was strong… stronger than him… but he was able to reach me… I am terrified… - You are strong Amelia… some would have abandoned before you…would not have gone on stage, but you did it… without letting anything appear… - It’s thanks to you… I would not have arrived without you… - You give me more importance than I really do… - Owen, I would probably be dead without you… Her last sentence is whispered while staring at me. Her gaze is distant and almost extinct. - It’s ironic… to say that initially, I was reluctant, almost opposed to Richard’s idea who wanted to engage you at all costs… and now, it’s obvious… how much I need you… My eyes leave her grip and I look down, finding the letter in front of me, with a word that catches my attention « resignation ». My resolution wobbles in front of her confession. In front of this fragile, vulnerable, and upset appearance. Could I sign this letter and give her after this exchange? Would I have the strength to turn my back on her?

I fold the letter in front of me and slipt it into the pocket of my jeans. I find her eyes tired, shining with tears, and ringed. - Don’t dwell on all this, Amelia… what happened yesterday, you have to try to leave it out… I will do my best to stop it as soon as possible… I promise you. But you should go back up and try to sleep for a few hours, you have to rest… - I can not… she answers with a sob in her voice. Her answer associated with her image makes me crack. I get up, get around her before handing it to her. - We will try again… She looks at my outstretched hand for a moment, then raises her right hand to me: I slide my fingers against her palm to grab it. I move slowly, and leads her to the stairs: I am attacking the climb of the steps while keeping our joined hands behind me. I then go to her room and take her inside again. It only arrives in front of her bed that I let go of her hand to open a little more sheets. Understanding the message, she slips inside and I fold the sheets over her, paying attention to her injured wrist: tucking her as I could have done with a child. I then sit on the edge of the bed: I lean slightly above her, a hand on the sheets near her waist. - It’s okay? Are you well settled? - Yes… - So now, close your eyes… try to relax… think about the stage, your concert, the pleasure you felt at the moment… the rest is not important… I observe her close her eyelids and breathe several times more deeply. - I stay a little… fall asleep quietly…. I’m here… She moves slightly until her waist comes into contact with my hand lying flat on the bed… as if she needed proof of my presence near her… I look at her carefully until I notice a slight change in her breathing, longer and deeper, a proof of a long-awaited sleep that begins to win her. I still stay several minutes to study her… noticing her face relaxed, her features smooth to give way to a peaceful and relaxed appearance, the opposite of what I had seen a few minutes earlier. The questions that tormented me all night come back to me as I watch her sleep: the resignation had appeared to me as the only reasonable solution. Because I knew that I was fragile when she is concerned: unable to remain impassive… distracted and less professional than I should have been… The man was waking up more and more to the bodyguard. But this morning, I did not feel the strength to leave. She needed me. I could not leave her so quickly when she seems most vulnerable. I was aware of what she meant to me, not just a mission, but a woman who had already become so special in a few weeks, who had touched me like no other had. I could not, however, an act of selfishness, starting as a thief: because I no longer felt able to take on this mission… without deviating from my legendary professionalism This letter I had to keep and choose the right moment to present her, to reveal my decision at a time when she will be able to hear and accept it.

My priority was this: identify this crazy and put an end to these incessant threats. Everything else, I had to put it in the background and do my best to stay lucid: it was not me the subject, it was her and her security… for now.

I decided to leave her room as quietly as possible to find mine.

I take the resignation letter with my fingertips pulling it from my pocket: I stared at the letter for several moments.

Then I go to my dressing room and slip between two sweaters, to hide it… while waiting to use it.

I sport my phone on my bedside table and dial Nathan number, my best asset to succeed in my mission.

- Hello Owen.

- Hi Nathan, I don’t bother you? - You call me a Sunday at 7am so I guess it could not wait!

Taken in my tracks and my thoughts, I had not even paid attention to the time it was…

- Excuse me, Nathan, I did not pay attention.

- It doesn’t matter… I’m used to calls at any time, you know what it is… What’s going on?

- Things have evolved… the threats materialized yesterday at the concert…

- Amelia is okay?

- Yes, everything is fine, some scratches but nothing serious… I did not expect him to act so fast, let alone the way he had to manifest himself…

- It happened at the concert? - No…after… he plowed into Amelia… he tried to knock her over…

Nathan is silent for a few moments.

- Could you identify something on the car?

- Nothing special, just that it’s the same vehicle that followed us the other night. On the other hand, what is rather disturbing, it is that I took care that one leaves by the technical access and not by the access of the artists… remote access… - And the car was waiting for you at this exit? - Yes, because as soon as Amelia went through, the vehicle moved into the street.

- That means he has everything coordinated according to your exit: it could be that he has an accomplice… as if someone had given him the signal that you were going out… or he knew perfectly the organization of the concert… who knew you were going out by this access?

- Richard, the musicians, the technical team… by the way, it is quite common that some artists choose this exit apparently… - Be on your guard… we may not be facing a single person… he may give an accomplice in the team… or he managed to find out very precisely… - Thank you, Nathan, I will be careful… - How did Amelia take things?

- She is very agitated: this morning, she was really badly affected… she did not sleep a wink all night…

- You have to show her that she is not alone O’… you, you are used to this kind of experience where you play your life but for her, it is all-new, and it is upsetting to live…. She doesn't need to let herself be defeated, this crazy is only trying to ruin her life and probably her career… Must she get back on top quickly. Does she have close friends with her?

- Her best friend left yesterday… and apart from her, Amelia looks pretty lonely…

- Be vigilant… try to forget your distance reflexes today, if she only has you by her side, you have to take care of her… as a friend, attention, a presence so that she take over directly.

Nathan’s advice resonated strangely in me and only confirmed my resolve: I did not have to act thinking only of my little person, she had to come before… for a while

- Thank you, I’ll do my best.

- I know you’ll get there O’… and don’t hesitate if you need…

I remain silent a few seconds, something that I naturally did: and this specific case revealed it even more clearly.

- See you soon Nathan…

Thank you for reading 💛

#greysanatomy #amelia shepherd #owen x amelia #amelia x owen #Owen Hunt #omelia #omelia fanfiction #omeliafics #nathan riggs #bodyguard

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daggerzine · 5 years

Text

Eazy Peazy- The Chills’ Martin Phillipps speaks! (interview by Jeremy Grites)

So, thanks to our esteemed editor Tim Hinely, I have been a fan of the Chills since I was just a lad way back in 1988 in southern NJ. Flash forward 31 years to February 2019, and I have the good fortune of finding myself sitting on a couch in the backstage of the Trocadero Theatre in Philly with none other than Martin Phillipps. It's been 30 years since the Chills have played Philadelphia and will be my first time seeing them in person - I was underage on the last tour. After meeting the other members of the band and the road crew (all of whom were absolute sweethearts), Martin and I sit down for a few minutes before their dinner. In 25 years of doing interviews and articles for Tim/Dagger I don't think I've ever met anyone more gracious, well spoken and thoughtful as Martin and his mates. It was at once a thrill, a pleasure and a lesson in how a professional musician and lifelong artist conducts oneself. I was nervous as hell. Enjoy...

The current lineup

JEREMY GRITES: So, with the new Lp, label and the recent increase in touring - it seems like a new era for the band. Does it feel different and if so, in what way?

MARTIN PHILLIPPS: Well actually James and Todd have been with me 20 years and Erica for 15 years, Olie 18 years - so the band has been together and functional for years, we just couldn't financially afford to tour overseas. It wasn't until we played at the 50th birthday party of a millionaire art dealer who couldn't believe that no one was working with us and he got the ball rolling. The "Somewhere Beautiful Live" LP which was actually recorded AT that party and we didn't plan on releasing it but we did. Then that lead to the "Molten Gold" single and "Pink Frost 13" - we were sort of testing the waters as a band and then everything got handed to Fire records and ever since then we've sort of been on a roll. I've been writing material constantly - even through my health problems when I was feeling a bit sick and exhausted all of the time. One thing that has changed is not sort of doing things on a 4 track recorder anymore. Generally we are doing like decent studio recording to sort of 'realize the vision' so to speak. And I think we've proved that with the last two albums. JG: Oh absolutely. The fidelity, the layers - those records are awesome. It's probably sacrilegious for a Chills fan to say, but I think they are turning into my favorites of your catalogue. MP: Oh that's good! Yes, especially with the new record - I think it's brought us up to a competitive level now if you know what I mean. It really shows what we're capable of and is a sort of jumping off point for us to really start exploring what the Chills can be. I think these last two albums were sort of a bridge to our past and getting the band up to highly functional level, like a machine and particularly with "snowbound" we work really well together. JG: Yeah, it really shows. I mean right out of the gate with "bad sugar" - it's just a perfect pop song, perfectly executed. MP: Nearly didn't make the record!

Martin dreaming about....... In-N-Out Burger’s secret vegetarian menu.

JG: What!? How?? MP: Well it was one that I didn't even want to bring to the band because I thought it was TOO poppy, you know? But then we started playing it and it really turned into something - same with "complex" - the band only heard a rough home demo of that song about a week before we did it in the studio. So that was very much assembled in the studio together, and turned out to be one of the very interesting tracks on the album. JG: Right. And now the record is out and this US tour has just begun - do you like the touring and traveling? I know how difficult it can be. MP: I've really been enjoying this, especially now because we're getting into a pattern, we've been well received, we're playing well and we've always gotten the warmest responses from American audiences so that's a great feeling. I was bit nervous when we started doing gigs in Europe because I hadn't sung even 3 nights consecutively in many years so I wasn't sure how my voice would stand up. So we stagger our gigs a bit now and I'm careful about that. You know "heavenly pop hit" is top of my range and can really destroy my voice for a few days if I'm not careful. More importantly though, I was going back to Europe not knowing how I was confront all of my old wonderful memories from my 20's and the first wave of interest in the Chills. But Erica our multi-instrumentalist said something very wise to me - she said " don't worry about old memories, create new memories." And she was right. Plus, everything turned out to be so different anyway - I mean the last time we played Berlin there was a wall in it! (Laughter and talking about how cool East Berlin is now...). Yeah but even London is different - the Channel tunnel wasn't there when we were there last, so everything is very different. JG: and is there more touring after this stint in the US or back home for a bit? MP: No we go straight home after this for a bit. As you'll see Erica is about to have a baby so... JG: Wow she's a trooper! MP: Yes she is indeed. Part of the reason for doing this tour is to end at SXSW and talk to some international booking agents about taking the Chills to regular festivals and going out for longer runs that are more financially do-able. That is definitely the way forward. We're back in business so to speak you know and there's a new documentary film being made about us that's going to premiere at SXSW while we are there which is lucky.

The latest album (out on Fire Records)

JG: So even thought the new record just came out, you're already thinking ahead... MP: Oh yeah - I think I already have about 23 songs or concepts for songs, plus a few older things that were never done that I think are worth doing. JG: Wow, that's a lot! MP: And that's just starting to tap into what I really want to do. The main difference with the next one is I'm going to heavily demo everything before into getting studio. The last 2 records I was not feeling well and it was very hard to concentrate and even now, we're still adjusting the songs as we go. It started to be that way after I got my first porta studio, like post "Brave Words," where I did all my demos for "Submarine Bells," and "Soft Bomb." JG: Ah yes, I loved each of my porta studios! MP: Yeah, you sort of had to become a master of bouncing tracks (laughter) and I got really good at it. JG: Oh for sure. We used to do that too - you really had to plan it out in order to make the most of what little space you had. MP: Yes definitely

The Chills in Philly at the Troc. (photo by ???) JG: So there's a lot of Chills stuff happening and even more to look forward to then. MP: Yes exactly. And we're really interested to see what the impact of this movie will be. You know it's a feature length film that is both about the entire history of the band, but also about my health struggles and ups & downs and also my complete eccentricities (laughter) and as a collectors of weird things and maker of strange artworks. JG: That was another thing I wanted to ask you about actually - your artwork and what's been happening with that lately? MP: I really stopped for a long time, mostly because there was no outlet for it. In the beginning I did nearly all of the art for the record covers etc - that was always part of the whole process. But then later when we're on Warner Brothers there was less to do because things needed to be done quickly, unlike Flying Nun where this could be held up for months. JG: Yeah I can't imagine the major label scenario. MP: It's amazing to watch how that machine works. It's fantastic. That’s another interesting thing about the documentary actually is that in going through all of this old stuff we found a lot of the original artwork (through Otago museum having a collection of Martin's works and history of the Chills). Yeah we found the "Rolling Moon" cover as well as the original, unused cover. They found the actual construction that was in pieces and spent 4 months repairing it and its pristine again. JG: wow, amazing! MP: Yeah and all of this stuff is going to be in the movie I think, although I haven't seen the final edit yet.

The Chills on stage in 2019 (I believe this photo was from Detroit and taken by Chipper Saam)

JG: Yes I'll be interested to see the old footage and all of the stuff about the old days especially - that was one hell of a graduating class for Flying Nun back then. MP: yeah back then mostly everyone in all of those bands came from 1 of 3 high schools, everybody knew each other and everybody had seen Chris Knox. You know you used to go see cover bands and stuff, but then we all saw the Sex Pistols on tv and saw Chris Knox who is still one of the most formidable performers I've ever seen - especially when he had the Punks of Anger - it was terrifying and then the Enemy, who were more powerful than Toy Love - who were the people's favorites. They were sort of THE band of the time and the whole Flying Nun community has either played with Toy Love or been to see them and it all came together very quickly. Plus there had already been a few other indie labels but Flying Nun was very lucky to pick bands like the Clean and suddenly - zoom. JG: Yeah we were fortunate here that we had the Philly Record Exchange which was one of the only places you could find those records because of people Tom Lax and Jacy Webster. We would ride the bus up from Atlantic City to go there just to buy NZ records - like this one: my "Wet Blanket 45" still with the record change sticker on it. (Presents 45 and nerdish-ly asks for autograph) MP: Wow, great! You don't see that one very often. JG: Another thing I was wondering about was what you've been listening to lately and are there any new NZ bands that you are sort of bringing along or appreciating these days? MP: I'm not as in touch as I really should be. But a band I haven't seen yet but have heard are called Soaked Oats - they're part of a whole scene of bands that are coming up, which seems to happen every 7 or 8 years so. I think they just started out for fun but they've become quite big now and I think you'll start to hear about them - full on sort of power pop, very strong band. So that's one to watch out for. I'm also a big fan of Aldous Harding. I did some solo support gigs with her and she's obviously really going places. She's an extremely courageous artist. It's different in the van now because it's sort of 'headphone world' and everyone has their own soundtrack. JG: Yeah not like the old days when everyone would get their turn to pick a cassette to listen to and the whole van was stuck with it! MP: (laughing) Yes, exactly! but out our manager Fiona has some really good choices so it's been fun. It goes from 70's / 80's post punk to girl groups, and then classic like Bowie. I couldn't believe - we've been eating in that supermarket... JG: whole foods? MP: yeah that's it. The other day we were in one and they were playing the Seeds! (Laughter). And then all this 60's garage stuff. JG: Man they must have a cool manager, haha MP: yeah must be. JG: SO what was the first stuff that you really got into? Like, what was your first record you can remember buying or a band that made you want a guitar etc?? MP: the first stuff that made me realize that I was outsider and a little different was probably the Sweet. Everyone always talks about Slade, but I never heard Slade for years! Gary Glitter too, although we're not supposed to talk about Gary Glitter anymore (laughs). But that sort of stuff very quickly lead me to discovering David Bowie so I think probably the first proper album I bought was "Pinups." I asked my misinformed older sister which was the best Bowie album to get. She should of told me "Ziggy Stardust," but she told me about the one that was currently the latest. Haha. For years I didn't even know they were covers because I didn't think to look at the label to see who wrote them. JG: Yeah you're like 'wow this Bowie guy writes a lot of hits!' (Laughing) MP: Yeah, and they're all so different from each other! JG: Indeed! Well I believe I have used my allotted time with you sir. Thank you so much and break a leg tonight. MP: Cheers. You're staying for the show right? JG: Of course! Wouldn't miss it for anything.

The 2019 U.S. tour!

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shemakesmusic-uk · 3 years

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Liverpool based artist and new name to the music scene - Amber Jay ended 2020 by giving us the first teaser of her debut EP with her single ‘Pencilled Brims’ - a futuristic synth fueled bedroom-pop adventure. Now, Amber Jay is delighted to be able to share the stunning visuals for ‘Pencilled Brims’ with her new 80s themed sci-fi video: "It all begins at a dinner table. We see the image of a 'nuclear' family tucking into stacks of waffles with syrup but it is clear that something is not quite right. After stumbling across a ‘how to know if you're an alien' quiz in a magazine, hiding under the kitchen table at night I take the quiz searching for answers. Everything starts to make sense as matters appear to take an extraterrestrial turn."

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London-born Dublin-based singer-songwriter Anna B Savage is sharing new track, 'Baby Grand,' the final single from her debut album A Common Turn, to be released Jan 29 via City Slang. 'Baby Grand' is both the title of Anna B Savage’s latest single from her debut LP and the title of a short film she has been working on with ex-boyfriend and filmmaker, Jem Talbot, to be released later this year. The pair have co-directed the 'Baby Grand' music video, which reworks a scene from the film and blurs the lines of reality where art imitates life imitating art imitating life. The cross-discipline, cross-genre piece seamlessly blends real life footage with actors portraying the pair’s younger selves. Savage says of the music video: “Jem was my first love. For three years we’ve been working on a film together about our past relationship. This song is written about a night Jem and I had, just after we’d started work on the film. This night was – like much of the filmmaking process – very confusing. Taut with unexpressed emotions, vulnerability, and miscommunication. 'Baby Grand' (the film) and A Common Turn (album) are companion pieces: woven together in subject, inspiration and time. Jem was, for want of a better word, a muse for A Common Turn. Expressing ourselves through our different mediums (mine: music, his: film) became a way for our disciplines to talk, perhaps in place of us.” Talbot says, “Having not spoken to me in seven years, Anna sent me a text out of the blue saying she’d had a dream about me. Perhaps by chance, or by cosmic serendipity, I’d been listening to her EP and already dreaming up a film idea the two of us could collaborate on. Three years later, she’s releasing her debut album and I’ve finished that film. In that time, both our mediums have been in a constantly shifting dialogue with each other, a dialogue that has mirrored the ebbs and flows of our connectedness in the present day."

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Anna Leone releases a new single ‘Once’, produced by Paul Butler (Michael Kiwanuka, Hurray For The Riff Raff) and released via AllPoints/Half Awake. Released alongside a stunning video shot on The Azores, the new single follows 2020’s ‘Wondering’ - also produced by Butler - which arrived close on the tail of Stockholm native Anna’s win at the 2020 Music Moves Talent Awards (alongside Flohio, girl in red and Pongo). Rueful but unmistakably hopeful, ‘Once’ considers naivety, regret and efforts to break certain patterns of behaviour with Leone’s disarming candor and the bell-like clarity of her voice. The track’s quietly insistent urging to move past impulses to close off from the world is brought to life in Savannah Setten’s startlingly surreal video, created with Anna on The Azores. With the changeable weather systems of the Portuguese archipelago mirroring the tender, dream-like sequence, Anna notes; "The narrative loop comes from the idea of being stuck in your ways, going through the same patterns, but then choosing to break out of that and do things differently. Towards the end I reconcile with the past, symbolised by the little girl. I choose to embrace what once was in order to move forward. It was incredible getting to shoot the video in that beautiful environment. The weather was really unpredictable - we went through almost all four seasons in one day."

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London-based Danish-born singer-songwriter Amalie Bryde has revealed her powerful new single ‘Lay Down’. A bold commentary on gender inequality, ‘Lay Down’ confronts what it means to be a woman in the 21st century and sees Amalie refuse to surrender to stereotypes. With a catchy jazz sound at its core, Amalie’s elegant vocals are layered with playful whistles that create a vibrant track with bags of confidence. It’s video - directed by Luke Logan - is equally striking, and sees many different versions of Amalie joined together by a rope that restricts their movement before they’re finally able to break free and stand up. It’s an empowering representation of the song's message, and perfectly demonstrates Amalie’s promise as an artist - she’s original, driven and not afraid to express herself. Speaking of the release, Amalie explains: “In ‘Lay Down’ I sing about a man only wanting to have sex with me, but it’s so much more than that. ‘Lay Down’ is a commentary on gender inequality and what it means to be a woman in the 21st century; religiously, politically, professionally etc. In the music video we see hundreds of versions of me all lying in a field, linked together with rope to represent the universal nature of the issues addressed in the song. The video starts with me lying down in the field revealing all the different Amalie's (all the different situations where I had to lay down) and ends with all of the versions standing up and walking away at the end, representing Woman’s refusal to accept the gender disparity in society.”

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Yawn has unveiled the video to her latest single ‘Wasting Time’. The video features incredibly lush and moody visuals, coupled with a dancing flower monster. Bordering the realm between art and pop, it reflects the song’s message about carrying on against the odds, accepting who we are as artists, and persevering in spite of everything.

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Belgian-Bolivian artist IMAINA presents new track 'Glass Box', as the lead single from her upcoming debut EP. Using her signature melancholic sounds and lyrics, 'Glass Box' uncovers the hidden symbolism behind the toxic ideal of love. This electropop track confronts you with the violence and the dynamics of a suffocating relationship, characterised by layered and lush instrumentation, elegant moments and engaging percussion, setting the tone for her debut EP Wounds, which will be released on February 19. True to her cinematic style and passion of storytelling, IMAINA reveals a thrilling music video that tackles the ‘Madonna-Whore Complex' and explores the idea that women are expected to be many things. Inspired by the intimate confidences of a close friend, IMAINA has transformed herself into a vessel to translate experiences into a strong haunting song and video. “I feel like we all have a tendency to worship an unrealistic idea of love. We search for love and have high expectations but we don’t always accept, and really want to know the person in front of us. We end up projecting our desires, wants and wishes onto the person, locking them up in this glass box where they can be admired but never truly loved or known,” she says.

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In the music video for Anna Akana’s ‘Run,’ Akana appears as an opulent demon. She dances alone in the shadows, donning golden headdresses and draped fabrics. “Why meet my demons when I know you’re gonna run?” she sings over an eerie pop beat. ‘Run’ is featured on Akana’s upcoming EP, slated to release February 19. [via Forbes]

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Celeste has treated fans by releasing the official video for her single ‘Love is Back'. The video features a quirky 1960s office theme based around a newspaper headline stating that ‘Love is Back,’ and featuring Celeste herself in an office singing the lyrics of the song into a bright red telephone in a montage with some stylish animation which echoes the live action scenes in a stylised fashion. The video’s retro styling which takes us back to the dusty days of paper, desks and telephones are a breath of fresh air in a music industry saturated with hypermodern cliches or equally gadget laden 80s throwbacks and gives us something to really think about. The gentle nostalgia evoked by the video combines perfectly with the simple yet emotive song which tugs at the heart strings in both its musicality and its lyrical content and marks Celeste once again as a master of combining music with the moving image, a skill she first demonstrated with her incredible song composed for the Waitrose & John Lewis Partnership’s Christmas advert 2020 ‘A Little Love.’ While the John Lewis Christmas ad showed Celeste’s talent for writing to a brief, the work she has done on ‘Love Is Back,’ is very much her own, with the laid back R&B style fitting perfectly to her dusty, emotive vocal style which is in all ways unique and incredibly powerful. The video comes just over a week before Celeste’s debut album Not Your Muse, is due to be released a month earlier than planned. [via mxdwn]

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Ayra Starr is the afro-pop princess up-ending expectations. Signed to the taste-maker imprint Mavin Records, her emphatically creative, hugely soulful blend comes straight from the heart. At times, it seems like the entire world is listening. Her new EP is out now, a five track statement that illustrates her depth, and her incredible potential. Take 'Away'. Mellifluous, potent, and dynamic, the vocal touches on R&B while retaining elements of that alté sound. It's cool as hell, in other words, a song that affords Ayra space to truly connect with her audience. Discussing the track, she says: “I freestyled half of ‘Away’ at a time I was feeling down. It was like therapy. Singing the song out loud was like freeing myself from my burden. ‘Away’ is not just a heartbreak song, it’s a song that empowers you to stand up to that thing or person that is causing you sadness.” We're able to share the sensational 'Away' video, a depiction of a star coming into being. Ambitious, stylish, and incredibly well shot, it's the perfect platform from which to launch Ayra Starr into the cosmos. [via Clash]

#videos of the week #amber jay #anna b savage #anna leone #amalie bryde #yawn #imaina #anna akana #ayra starr #celeste

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ratherhavetheblues · 3 years

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INGMAR BERGMAN’s WAITING WOMEN “The distress button is broken”

Our film today, Waiting Women (1952), will forever be understood as only a “minor” effort due to being an early film in Ingmar Bergman’s history and therefore supposedly lacking in the full sophistication of those titles having convinced the ‘experts’ to be the best. Here’s the difficulty of that position. There is no evolution of his gifts. They began exploding world history from day one, and have marched across many decades in hopes that his dramas would find those aware that a catastrophic myopia has left planet earth to remain a “minor” phenomenon.

Within such strictures, the artist has shown that even a dying planet can supply light years of fruition. The way of such supply is truly majestic. As we touch upon our early hope today, we soon realize that one of Bergman’s most rich manifolds has spread its dark and persistent invitation to us at this site. Three women, waiting in a fine Swedish summer cottage for the annual arrival of the spouses, they being Marta, Rakel and Karin, have a mind to entertain their friends with vignettes of their past. (Before hearing this remarkably candid series of earthquakes, we have, for the asking, other such women occupying those names, in other films by Bergman. Another Marta, having been a professional symphonic musician, and going on to [feebly] transcend the pitfalls of showy skills, appears in the film, To Joy [1951]. Another Rakel, having been a professional actress on the stage, and going on to declare that the theatre is shit and sees fit to commit suicide, appears in the film, After the Rehearsal [1984]. A Karin, having resisted heavy pressure from her family to become a solo cellist, opts for being a very small-town classical orchestra player, which leaves her a pariah and seen to be responsible for her father’s suicide, appears in, Saraband [2003]. All three films are discreetly shot through with incest.) Waiting Women, deletes the arts in favor of big business. But incest races apace there, and its malignancy brings corporate advantage and pedantry to a fresh critical perspective.

By way of a tonal cue, the preamble pertains to very young children being hidden in play along the shore and thereby a worry. The kids embrace the hidden side, and gently (this being the area of gentrification) reap a scolding from the forces of pedestrian safety. Later, when dusk falls and the mysterious forest and sky are given a quick view, the darkness speaks to no one on the premises.

Not that the startling is entirely absent. But, as we get down to business, the startling, here, brings dangers of serious destruction. The aspect of incest in the few films we find ourselves in the midst of, consists of only one of the ravages bearing down upon a population rife with crude advantage. Once again, as so often, our guide tries to take us by the hand and confront the ravenousness needing to be outmaneuvered. These films do not present the traditional soothing which mainstream film viewers crave. In sharp contrast—along with scintillating drama—we meet an endeavor as to an unsung ontology (an unsung dynamics), where mathematics are not the rule and paradox go to school, forever! The several surprising approaches punctuating the scenario, with touches of cosmic, ironic force, offer the viewer a highway of daring, not for shut ins, not for pedantic, “intellectual” craving.

Those worried women compose a gaggle of patricians (the credits showing a rococo idyll), being a major target of Bergman’s critique. This film, in fact, being a vigorous scrutiny of that social power-play, rotten to the core. The women at the seashore are in anticipation of the arrival of the moneybags about to grace an instance of idleness and lavishness. They think to improve—one of them cursing her fate about a dull spouse—by commiseration in the failings of their households. In doing so, the women reveal that their attentions are, with a slight exception, feeble. But this being Bergman, strengths also reign, to possible rich enlightenment.

With the rubric in the air, “It can’t be meant to be that way,” Rakel, addressing the group, begins with, “You’re not as unique as you as you think…I remember the day Eugene and I were forced to wake up and face the situation. It was both ridiculous and appalling. But that’s nothing to talk about…” More naïve interjection insists, “Why not? We can learn something about each other, and thereby make it easier living together during our vacation and maybe afterwards as well…” Rakel—a lady with a bombshell—takes a breath and remarks, “Well, if you want to… It was two years ago. Eugene and I were alone out there that summer. Eugene was writing his history thesis, and I took care of the house. Upstairs and idle at her mirror, her brother Kaj walks in. ‘Good day, little Rakel.’” (The relationship is never explicit, but on the other hand it is crystal clear.) “Where’s your wife?” she demands. His statement of fact is, “She can’t make it. She didn’t feel well with her pregnancy.” Another statement of fact is by Rakel, namely, “Eugene has gone to town.” (Kaj is there for another going to town.) As to Eugene’s studies, the visitor sneers, “Colossally interesting!” She maintains, “Eugene has always been interested in antiques”[and their capacity to deliver quiet treasures]. That he’s despised by the affluent family having to keep Rakel and her supposedly useless husband afloat, becomes another “Colossally interesting” juncture, namely a license to make love to his sister. He fondles her neck. And soon, after feeble resistance, they share a passionate kiss. He continues, “You’re just like when we were kids. You’re as soft and indulgent. Just as pretty and fragrant. And just as flushed and irritated afterwards.” Her stance, as it veers crazily, comes to, “No, thanks, Kaj. That’s good enough.” (She goes back to the dresser and her image in the mirror flies wild and ignored.) “You’re probably talented and wonderful; but I’m very much in love with Eugene…” He, not to be fooled upon this matter, quietly rebuts, “I can tell by your nose that you’re lying.” She feebly cries, “I really do love him… Get away… And you have a wife…” The unrepentant crasher ridicules his sister with, “You have pangs, Rakel, yes, of morality.” This hard-core soap opera says very little of interest about those in action, but very much about a planet needing to drop dead. Nostalgic Kaj perseveres with, “They [the pangs] are located in your stomach, and can be operated on like your appendix… Have you told your husband we were in love when we were young?” (Apparently the matter had been smoothed over by illusion that they were only toddlers.) He rushes to her gut. She holds him there. (Far less emphatic is her spiel. “No, it’s madness! Don’t you understand? It can’t be like this.”) A fiery kiss follows. He’s brought his swimming trunks and they come to the boat house. She locks the door. Before she takes a swim by way of an egress in the floor, he tells her of a couple whose intensity of lovemaking kills them. He adds, ‘They had strokes… It’s a moral story. It shows the danger of longing.” He claims to be citing Freud. (In Saraband [2003], another bizarre Freud note is struck. Bergman’s seeing the famous exponent of sensibility to be bogus. Rakel calls Kaj’s story “dumb.” His point being that fooling around is the best policy.) Do you remember the time in our childhood when we laid here in the sun completely naked, and compared each other’s shape? We were eight years old. You remember…” She adds, “And [my] dad knocked on the door and said we weren’t allowed to be alone. He had a big hat. And that night there was a thunderstorm. The flagpole snapped in half and burned up.” (Poetry and the putrid intense.) Rakel’s painful appreciation of the “dumb” is too little and too late. “I’ve only been unfaithful toward Eugene once before. It was completely wrong. It will always be completely wrong for me. Something is probably wrong with me. I don’t know. Eugene becomes impatient and berates me.” She looks at Kaj. “Do you think it’s strange?”/ “No, not really…”/ “It was the same time I was unfaithful, needing warmth. I’m probably completely hopeless. Even though I do everything Eugene wants, neither him nor I are happy… When you grabbed me up there in the room, and pressed your head against my stomach… it was so strange [now not completely wrong?]. You have to be nice to me.” Kaj the reasoner, promises, “I’ll be just like you want.” He kisses her shoulder from behind. Fade to the moonlight on the water. The water’s stature. Their statures elsewhere.

Next day the roaming brother-in-law bests Eugene at shooting targets at a bull’s-eye. The unflappable intruder sees no need to be modest about his shooting. “I can crown myself champion now.” (Champion of what? Champion of destruction being too gutless to grow up? Certainly being useless in managing dynamics.) Earlier that day, Rakel had mastery of their sailboat. An athlete, but incomplete. Eugene is surprised to hear that Rakel was skittish in a blustery sea. Over drinks she smashes her glass. “It’s disgusting, disgusting, disgusting…,” she shouts. (Eugene is alarmed.) She asks Kaj, “How can you? What kind of a man are you?” His response is spot on: “A bastard, like everyone else. Nothing.” She counters, “No, you’re a coward. A terrible coward.” (A moment to savor a hilt of human corruption.) On the winds of her courage, Rakel flashes out, “That’s why I’m going to tell Eugene that we cheated on him today… You think I enjoy sleeping with you, don’t you? Because you’re a nice, talented and considerate lover. But let me tell you something, Kaj. You disgust me. And you’re not a good lover… You only love yourself. Only yourself, and nobody else in the entire world. Only yourself.” He retorts, “If I’m disgusting, so are you, my dear, Rakel. (Bergman in full flight. A nuclear meltdown, as only he could frame it. And a toss away of melodramatic hopelessness. All in the service of taking the step away from dotage to religion and science, and their pedantry, their advantage and their flaming cowardice.) The incestuous patrician insists, “You needed that. Eugene always denied you.” (Maybe he didn’t find intercourse the most important thing in the world.) “And I gave it to you. And now you mock me afterwards…” (A case for an ombudsman?)

The aftermath comprises a triumph of sorts, in making what some folks call reality. “You slept with him?” the bookworm asks./ “Yes, Eugene, I cheated on you. And I’m not asking for your forgiveness.” Eugene’s fragile notion of pedantry does not stomach full bore errantry. “You have destroyed my entire existence. You, the only person I ever trusted.” He swings into divorce matters which do not maintain the pepper. “The one thing I can’t stand is to be exposed to others” [to fail in pedantry and advantage]. He suddenly covers his face. Rakel kneels by his seat. “What is it? Can I help you?… Can you realize that we have to try and get through this together. We have to forgive each other. I know we can, if we want to, you and me.” (His mind turns to, “I should probably have a talk with Kaj’s poor wife. It’s unnecessary for her to walk through life unaware, like I have.”) “Don’t do anything you might regret.” At this point we have an impressive form of blustery sea within their hearts. As to regret, Eugene can’t resist saying, “You’re one to talk! If I wanted, I could kill you. It would feel liberating.”/ She tells him, “You’re just a bastard! I don’t know what’s become of me, but I’ve probably gone mad. Why should I help you? I’m not your property that you can treat as you want.” He rushes toward her. He grabs the gun and runs out to a nature he doesn’t deserve. After a farcical rescue by a more measured soul, the latter floats the dubious notion, “The worst is not to be deceived but to be alone.” As we slog through this hugely presumptions, and not all that unusual family, “to be alone” seems pretty good.

Back in “real time,” Rakel tells the ladies, “We shouldn’t be affected by men’s silly need for prestige and secrecy. We should talk to each other more openly and more often.” As to her unusual background and tastes, discretion reigns questionably. “You might think the story seems ridiculous. And it probably is.” But does “ridiculous” well cover the action. (In another episode to come, at another family gala, the leading light of the corporation is heard to describe Eugene being the black sheep of the family.) Rakel and Eugene subside to near paralysis. But Rakel, the fountain of small gifts, thinks their lives to be quite fine. She’s asked, “Are things better now than before?”/ “Probably not,” Rakel admits, “for Eugene, but for me.”/ “How do you mean?”/ “I’ve come to realize that Eugene is my child… It’s my duty to take care of him. I feel sorry for him. He suffers greatly from what he calls his meaninglessness… Yet he means everything to me now.” The ladies call this “beautiful.” (She adds, “Sentimental, maybe. I don’t know. But Eugene is my meaning in life. We support each other in that way… It’s very simple.”

A little turn around the coffee table, and we have Marta, “Kaj’s poor wife.” “Since Rakel has been so brave [another unsound description] to tell of her awakening, I’ll have to show some courage and tell about mine… It was in Paris, three years ago.” Some exacting structure is in play here, due to, not one, but two flashbacks. The Paris incident coming later, while being chronologically first; the Stockholm incident, with Marta in her eighth month of pregnancy to Kaj, coming to us first. Her first statement is well put: “I had suspicions… I was awakened by the contractions…” She drops a water glass and reaches down to her lovely feet and hands. Those digits could be, if not the most, at least an almost equal to the most important phenomenon in sight. But it takes another, more daring, black sheep to make it shine. She primly packs a small bag and a rather large, framed photo of Kaj. (A premature birth on tap.) Someone, at the frosted glass door, appears and disappears. “There had to be an explanation. Yet I was overcome by a paralyzing fear of dying. And my loneliness was suddenly the loneliness of death ” (Many years later, with the film, Face to Face [1976], that apparition becomes active as a black sheep whom the protagonist needs to know well.) The other singularity is her kitten, whom she palms off to the cares of the maternity department. (Never neglect an animal. It’s your better.) The Marta in the film, To Joy, turns out to be overdependent to family ease and middling skill. Already, in this episode, we hear Kaj (AKA, Martin) unwelcome (the message from Eugene). “Don’t you want to answer? You can’t treat me like I’ve committed a crime… Don’t toy with me. I didn’t know better…”/ “You are the way you are, poor thing. I never want to marry you.”

Waiting in the hospital for her baby to come, Marta has a reverie of the Paris days. The shadows of dancing leaves on the wall of her room become the dancing women in the cancan dance hall. “I was in Paris again, and in that awful nightclub.” (Young and snobbish.) Splits; but real splits take more than that. Her date is a G.I. who bores her. She has some trouble getting away from the man’s man in order to win a bottle of champagne by holding her thighs around a two-frank piece. Another rich youngster at the club, namely, Kaj, who, Hollywood style, was her neighbor at the hotel, and easily seen to be more saucy than the date, attracts her that night at the Toulouse-Lautrec shrine. She adds, “The Swedish painter who was always so diligent with his paintings, not to mention being of the same language.” (You can, however, have the same wording, without having the same language.) Back at the cancan, the “diligent” had sent a server to her table delivering a becoming sketch of her and the stiff being a Rocky Mountain goat. (Always about advantage.) Marta, from her poor little rich girl perspective, opines, “I had to admit that his indifference toward me irritated me…” (“He was cute.”)

From there, we have an episode inspired by Audrey Hepburn. She ditches her overreaching date by escaping the parked taxi in leaving the champagne bottle on the street to lure him being left on the pavement, while she returns to the cab and the hotel of the “cute” stranger, the strange romantic. Reaching her bohemian vantage point, we notice the hotel’s name, “Le Tournant,” (the turning)—far more complicated than she had ever imagined. (The enterprise next door to the hotel is called , “singed chops.”) Passing the landing, she enters her room and finds that the lamp doesn’t work. Darkness that she could never have imagined. (She tries a second lamp, only to find nothing—her future.) Moving to the window she’s confronted with a fantasy moonlight. (The moon, a bright curtain and Marta. A task of friskiness never touched. Nevertheless, she raises her arms in some kind of triumph.) That was the moment for Kaj to pounce, carefully. Something comes under the door. She grabs the paper and hears the beginning of his orders. “Open the door, but only a crack.” He presents her with a glass of wine. While she sips her wine, he recites a poem. “Marta is a blossoming tree. She is as bright as a little fish./ Why are your eyes so sad, Marta?” (Perhaps the touch of moonlight presented a problematic he would never know, being a confirmed “Nothing.”) “Your true love is sitting outside, rippling your door in the flickering moonlight./ Right now my love has no limit. Yes, eternal is my love at this moment…” She feels that her unique daring has begun to reap its rewards. (Advantage all over Paris.) “Let me be,” the dubious friend gushes. “Let us play in front of the poor, the sick, the terrible… Let us play in front of death itself… My sister (sic), my bride, my blossoming tree.” He adds some fiddling on his guitar. Then he presents her with a small sculpture in her image. She ventures into the dark hallway, where his hand is illuminated from a strange source, and the arrogance from him, as supported by her, begins the train wreck.

The whirlwind romance is not without rare beauties of the City of Light. Despite their various superficialities, a strain of ambiguity gives them a fleeting pass of frisson. They begin their tour at Sacre Coeur Basilica and its links to real art. The alphas commandeer a horse-driven cart, setting off their march to the Arc de Triomphe, where serious sacrifice may be noticed. The play of sunlight and shadows from the foliage institutes something deft and loving, far beyond their concerns. At a stand of large, magnificent trees two dead presences along the Seine where they had rented a rowboat. At a lull for a nap in the bottom of the boat, Marta’s thoughts return to her other adventure. The preamble of the departure finds her leaving a gynecologist’s with a big smile on her face. She’s close to the river and immediately goes up to a baby and her mother, enjoying a warm, sunny day. She smiles to the baby, and the baby smiles to her. But when an elderly man also enjoys the company of the baby, Marta, losing her sense of priority, quickly leaves with an angry look. (At the end of the film, we’ll find Marta making a disinterested, generous decision. It is the capacity to make such a gesture, after many faux pas, which matters in this saga of dynamics, where families don’t count. On the other hand, we have the inexplicable mystery of the vanishing of Marta’s child. At the outset of her episode, Marta’s parents are mentioned going on a vacation. Do they cover that drama?)

The two are routed by the “iconic” family. (“Martin has chosen the wrong occupation.”) Marta, lost in the shuffle, chooses not to tell of their baby. The sweaty arts at the maternity ward now take over. The waterfall on the Parisian canal reshapes to the birth. Filtering out the strong from the weak becomes a labor that never ends. The nurse encourages Marta to count to five. Another venture consists of that figure at the door, only for grown-ups. (Her baby seen trying to fathom her mother. Squeezing her face. Kaj joins in. He kisses her.) Marta’s baby at the maternity ward. She glowing… First simple moments of a long, difficult life.

Back at the coffee table, a perception- deficit looms. “That was a real nice story.” (The flashback of this depressive romance is not only outrageous, but it’s lacking in strict temporality.) The matter is saved by adding, “But why did you end up marrying Martin?”/ “I love him.”/ “You should have lived on your own with your child and fought for yourself. That would have been style!” The opinionated speaker is Maj, Marta’s young sister. She continues, “You ruined it by compromising.” The jumbler argues, “Life isn’t so stylish, dear.”/ “Life is what you make of it.”

On that note, Karin, wife of the CEO, prepares the women for not having much to tell, but being funny, not a dramatic discovery. At a centennial gala of the corporation, with the Crown Prince in attendance, Karin approaches Kaj, “How’s your wife?” He corrects her, “She isn’t my wife” (technically). One of the other women had remarked she saw Marta in town and she looked to be in the last month. That elicits from the non-black sheep, “So what! She doesn’t care about me. She won’t even talk to me on the phone. I’ve begged her to marry me, but she doesn’t want to. Can you believe it? She says that I’m incorrigible. She won’t even give me a chance.” That was one, inflected, dead-end. Here comes another.

Karin (on the way home) is driving, due to her husband’s having had quite a bit to drink. From the back seat, Fredrik discusses his understanding of “style.” “I’ve made Father’s company into a worldwide organization, which we own 79% of the shares. Personally, I am in the prime of my life, full of job satisfaction, energy and great ideas for the future which appears quite bright… I’m revolutionizing our export industry… I’m a little drunk…” (Karin, played by actress, Eva Dahlbeck, had also played the part of a high spirited and very limited wife to a renowned gynecologist in the film, A Lesson in Love [1951], where her husband was played by actor, Gunnar Bjornstrand, who takes up the role of Fredrik here. She being perfect to tell the 79%, “And you don’t have any friends, either.”) Cruising on, the millionaire brags, “I sleep well. My stomach’s fine [a touch of irony]… Good teeth… It is as if annoyance abruptly fled the moment I showed myself…” She inserts the motion of irony when responding, “You truly are exceptional.” He takes the route of great geniuses, when using the cliché, “No man is great in the presence of their wife.” She ripostes, “God is probably not married.”

That kind of contention will flow beyond the drive and into their elevator, which promptly breaks down. In addition to various slapstick routines related to attempting to escape the little jail, some personal issues of note get illuminated. By way of a profound rubric, we are eventually provided with the repair man telling Fredrik, “The distress button is broken.” The man who will tell you he is always right makes a big mistake, in broaching the matter, “Have you ever been unfaithful to me?” Karin, the wit, of course, would have to say, “Sure,” leaving him to ask, “Really?”/ “And you acknowledge it, just like that!”/ “You asked me.” He goes on, “Has this occurred often with different people?”/ “Yes, of course. What did you think?” Fredrik asks, “Do you have a lover at the moment?” She explains, “I have two, but I don’t know which one to choose… Exciting, don’t you think?” Fredrik becomes annoyed—“I am still your husband.” This opens the question for Karin to ask, “How many times have you been unfaithful to me?” She points her finger at him, and the tone, “the style,” becomes dark. He refuses to touch such a matter, being so remote from his integrity. But that doesn’t stop him from declaring, “I have never been unfaithful to you.” Karin, trying to defuse a moment far from her best, tells him, “What I said was just in fun.” But Mr. Perfect pounces to the tune of, “You don’t have any proof.” This overbearing thrust by him causes her to look for blood. “Actually, I do” [have proof]./ “What?” he challenges./ “Now you’re scared, aren’t you? Well, well, well!” (Cut to Fredrik, shocked.) She hasn’t any more playful style this long night and, after hearing him sneer, “I think you’re bluffing, dear,” she replies, “I’ll just say a name… Diana.” (He sits down, deflated.) She sneers, rather tritely, “He’s blushing like a schoolboy. A little boy caught with his fingers in the cookie jar…” (Advantage without tempering.) His adjustment is, “She was crazy, so it ended very quickly.” Karin adds, “Did you know that that 19-year-old American put two detectives on you? For two years, she watched your every step.” That Karin overdoes the facts—”all your adventures over the last two years… I have the list here in my purse”—becomes, rather than a little joke, a (momentary) trajectory for severing their relationship. He tells her, in this desperate embarrassment, “Almost every episode I’ve had has been fun. I’ve never regretted it. Each of us lives our own lives.”

His leg cramp and her massage is all it takes to recover their famous love. A policy of ironic generosity has reinstated the powers they live for. They live for being two disparate vehicles. When the morning arrives, the custodial crew and a few of the cleaners laugh as the elects ascend to their penthouse.

One other constellation, very unlike those who have shown us the sadness of the weak, bring to us their readiness to meet a new day. Coming to us, first of all, after the story of the plight of Marta, the girl chasing “style,” namely, Maj, is now accompanied by her boyfriend, Henrik, calling her to go out the open window and go a long way. Henrik had just been told by the family high flyers, who shut the door upon Kaj’s surely hopeless arts dabbling, that he was to enroll in a business program at a university. He resolves not to pursue what he might meet in the way of constrictedness (but, on the other hand possibly something quite fascinating). His plans had been to see what the wide world meant. Only running away from the overrated family could fit the bill. Of course, Maj would be his soulmate in plumbing the ways of style. In the confusion of the arrival of the menfolk’s dispensing with introspection (Marta, in a distant shot, passionately hurling herself upon the widespread lover), Marta rushes upstairs to put on better clothes, where she bumps into Maj packing her bag. The brush goes like this: “Are you going to stop me?”/ “Yes, I am.” / “With force?”/ “If necessary… I’m responsible for you.” Maj moves the action to better focus: “Should you talk about responsibility when you’ve been so irresponsible and done so much?”/ “I beg you, Maj…” / “I don’t care. I know what I want…” After a pause, they embrace. After a glitch with the motorboat, they move for their moment. (Cuts between a noisy dance party and the dark, silent waters.) En route, they do have something to say, particularly Maj. “Swear that you’ll always love me as much as tonight.”/ “I swear.”/ “Swear that you’ll never compromise, never stray, never lie, cheat or behave like everybody else.” / “I swear…”/ “Because otherwise we might as well be dead…” Cut to Marta on the veranda, speaking with a quiet reveler who notices the distant departure. She tells him, “They’ll be back in time.” (She covers her face. The water is calm. She is not.) She tells him, “I’m just so happy.” (Yes and no.) A last look at their boat, about to test their seaworthiness, their style, which could mean they won’t be back, pending a ripple of play with nature itself, and an integral play of attending to creature comforts.

#ingmar bergman

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