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atthediscowithoutpanic · 5 years

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Not everyone is as they seem

A/n this was my entry for @sherrybaby14 fall into you challenge. I rewrote this several times as I kept having different ways to approach it. Thank you so much for letting me participate! this is my first time sharing my writing on here. Prompt is in bold!

pairing: Bucky x OFC (belle)

word count: 1384

warnings: a bit of cursing, darkish themes.

Bucky hated Stark fundraising events with a passion. The small talk with people you may or may not know, who may or may not know the horrid things in his past. While the other Avengers were accepting, for the most part, knowing that what he had done was not him, the public was not as nice. After a week-long mission with the entire crew, this was the last thing he had on his personal agenda.

Walking through the doors of the Plaza ballroom, Bucky spotted Sam in a corner talking to some other men in stuffy suits. Subconsciously during his stride to the corner to be close to Sam, he realized the glove covering the metal hand was not fastened at the top and stopped in the middle of the room to fit it immediately. Not even a second later Bucky’s suit coat was met with white wine that had gone flying and a brunette shortly behind with an empty flute.

“Oh shit, I am so sorry! Like so sorry!” The brunette was taking the napkin that was in her other hand and dabbing it on the stain. She moved her glance to meet his showing her glossy blue eyes. They looked like pools so deep he could swim in them. Bucky’s eyes wondered down, taking in the sapphire dress that matched her eyes, with a tight plunging neckline. Grabbing her wrist with his ungloved hand, smiling at her all he could muster out to tell her was that it was okay. Whoever she was, she was intoxicating to him. Letting her hand linger on his arm, “I’m Belle.”

Belle charmed Bucky all night with sweet words and such small physical gestures. Sam could tell some of the tension in Bucky’s shoulders were loosening up, the knight in tin armor lost his armor quickly around Belle. Tony Stark had to stroll into the conversation eventually as another round of men in women dressed to the nine’s went in and out of the group of conversation. It seemed that the charmer was being charmed. Belle kept even Tony on his toes by quick words and smiling glances. Since Pepper was not attending tonight, Tony attempted to get touchy by trying to place his hands on Belle’s soft and petite shoulder to initiate an intimate contact and Belle would shrug him off and continue talking. Once Bucky realized that she was ignoring the advances of the playboy it made him grin and feel the warmth inside. Something he has not felt in quite a long time. There was something in Belle’s face that he recognized as something familiar in himself. Demons that he fights with on a nightly basis himself, only she could drink the pain and he could never get drunk. The price of being essentially immortal. Bucky could tell in her tone getting louder throughout the night and shakier conversation and steps that she was feeling the five glasses of wine, or was it six at this point… or seven.. He had lost count when he started noticing the fact that her face had developed a rosey tink to them as well as the part of her chest that peeked through the gown. “Stop staring so much at her there moron you are making it obvious.” Sam leaned over and whispered into Bucky’s ear chuckling.

Bucky made a mental note as Belle had turned her head just right and pushed away a few locks of chestnut hair from her face he could see what he thought was a comm piece in her ear. Strange to be at a party wearing one of those he thought, and tried to tie it to her job but then realized that she had not disclosed what she did for work. A well-spoken, beautiful woman could hold any job these days. As she floated around the room like a gazelle speaking with others, Bucky kept his eyes glued to her. While Belle was turned speaking to a few politicians about advocacy work for the poor with her back to Sam and Bucky, she reached behind her right arm to where the end of the three-quarter sleeve of the gown was and scratched her arm. During this, she removed a small amount of foundation on the back of her arm that was covering a small tattoo of a red star.

You have got to be fucking kidding me…bucky was yelling at himself internally, his internal dialogue was going off the rails. The anger boiling deep inside of him with a taste of revenge, but then, what if this sweet woman was a byproduct of the wrong place and the wrong time just like he was? He knew Hydra had a long-standing history of corrupting anyone they could force their will upon. Now, he had to find out which side of the coin she stood on. During a lull in the conversation and Sam had not made his way to refill his drink “If I am not back in thirty minutes come to look for me on the roof.” Sam’s furrowed brow it was evident that he was absolutely clueless as to why Bucky would want to be found to the point of telling him. “Yeah, whatever man.” and went to go refill his own glass. Feeling like a volcano ready to erupt with frustration and anger inside, he bounded toward where Belle was standing and proceeded to grab her arm by the gloved, metal hand. Belle cocked her head to the side with a smile, “What’s up, James?” in her enunciation, she had popped the P with great emphasis to show that

“There’s something I want to show you.” He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. The hustle and bustle of some catchy pop song blasting, over the never-ending chatter, it felt like the party was deafening. Belle continued to talk with his hand that wrapped around the majority of her bicep, proceeding to pull her with him. Bucky’s voice had lowered an octave, “let’s go, now.”

She played the willing follower, asking him tons of questions along the way about himself, and then talking to others they walked past. Soon as they walked past the door separating the ballroom and the hallway she was all over him. Lips grazing his neck and jawline while hands wandered over to the button on his suit jacket and attempted to unbutton when he stopped her by stepping back away from her. “Not here.” It felt like they waited for hours to Belle to finally get into an elevator to go up.

“Why didn’t we take the stairs? Obviously, it wouldda been faster.” She was leaning on him to support her body in the elevator car

His grip on her arm got a bit harder, “Because you are too drunk to climb all those stairs.”

Once they got to the rooftop with the ability to be out of the line of sight of everyone else, Bucky took the glove off his hand and cornered her.

His breathing was heavy trying to control his mind and the stirring in his pants as well. Bucky’s voice was still low and gravley “I see through that angel costume, I know the devil inside.”

Belle’s eyes gravitated toward the metal hand and her eyes became as big as saucers.

He inched closer to her, his nose buried in her hair by her ear. There was a foreign noise a second later that wasn’t her speaking and he realized it came from the comm in her ear. Bucky knew that thick accent anywhere. “Longing…. Rusted…”

Belle started shaking her head back and forth like she was trying to lose the voice speaking in her head. She starts sobbing, chest heaving. “Make it stop, make it stop.” Her eyes with no life left in them and look like a wounded animal someone left to die. Bucky pulls the piece out of her and brings her to the ground where she is sitting in his lap. Bucky has no soft words for her, the anger is still boiling now at Hydra and not at Belle. The front of him is now soaked with her tears and snot, makeup running down her face. With a shaky voice, she looked up at him, “Don’t make me go back to them.

#sherry babys fall into you challenge #first attempt at this #bucky x ofc #Bucky Barnes #darkish theme

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lunakinesis · 7 years

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Taking Credit

I once had a friend – Amber was her name – who never did anything for herself, never earned anything of her own accord, and never achieved anything from her own work and effort. Everything she had come from someone else:

Her parents – who were not in any way rich, they certainly weren't poor but they weren't middle class either – who did everything around the house for her, who she threw tantrums at to get her own way, who she manipulated into complaining to the school every time a teacher noticed she hadn't done her own work or was failing or being disruptive.

Her siblings, whom she domineered over. She blackmailed and bribed them into doing her chores and every other task she didn't feel like doing. She's the youngest of three, I should mention.

Her classmates, whom she bullied. The smart kids were forced into doing her homework or letting her copy, the same went for classwork. Anyone the slightest bit 'different' was basically a gazelle to a lion with her, and with her leading the charge the general popular crowd-sheep soon followed in their teasing that quickly escalated.

Her teachers, who were powerless to do anything against her lest she raise all hell and cry to her parents. I don't begrudge them for barely doing a thing about her, they had bills to pay and most had kids to feed and they couldn't afford to lose their jobs.

I could go on, but I'm sure it's clear now just what kind of person this friend was. Now I imagine you're wondering why I'd be friends with someone like that in the first place. I can tell you it wasn't really a choice I had, our families were friends going back to our great-grandparents. Whether I liked it or not – and believe me, I didn't – I had to socialise with this girl during joint family vacations, barbecues, parties, the works. My parents knew what a little witch she was, but they dared not ruin a friendship spanning generations by bringing it up to her folks.

So my little sister and I had to endure this human parasite that fed on other peoples' ideas, influence and achievements. For the most part I was spared her bullshit, I think she had been wary of sparking a family feud...not that that seems in line with how she generally was, but it's the only reason I can think of.

For whatever reason, she decided the countless innocents at her mercy were not enough and she needed to add me into the mix. She couldn't do it in her usual, obvious way. No, instead she decided to be as sly as she could manage.

She stole my journal.

Now, this wasn't a journal full of my private thoughts and secrets that she planned to blackmail me with; I fortunately did not have one of those, though what was stolen from me in its pages is arguably just as bad in a different sort of way.

My ideas.

I used the journal for world and character building, as well as setting up the plot for a story I wanted to write. A story I hoped to publish. I wrote it out because it was precious to me, and I was always worried my laptop would die and I'd be unable to recover it. I'd already drafted up a few of the early chapters too, once I was happy with them, I planned on typing them up.

I didn't get a chance.

She took it. Took MY ideas, MY hard work and passed it off as her own. She used it for our creative writing class at first, I didn't know until the teacher passed around copies she'd made as an 'example' for us. That's when I saw my characters, my plot...a piece of my heart and soul, on the page before me.

I could feel tears prickling in my eyes when I realised what had happened. I hadn't even realised the journal was gone; I'd been too busy with homework in the days before to write in it.

There was nothing I could do about it in class; it was my word against hers even if the teachers knew what she was like. They all bent to her will in the end. All I did was raise my hand and say I didn't feel well, I think the fact I was on the verge of tears added to the lie and I was excused.

The school nurse let me go home with what she presumed was a 24-hour stomach bug.

I wanted to tell my parents but at the same time, I didn't. I didn't want to be the one to blame for tearing apart our families, even if it was really her fault. So I kept it inside, cried in my room. My parents just thought it was because of whatever bug I had. I hadn't been sick before, but letting it bubble up within me gave me knots in my stomach that turned into me vomiting into a bucket my mom left beside my bed.

My parents kept me home from school the next day. I thought maybe I'd get over it, maybe it'd be better the next day and I could tell them and get my notebook back. Until a friend sent me a text:

Hey. Amber gave Ms. Temple more of that story. Think she wants to put it in the school magazine!

I don't know what happened to me as I read that, but I knew something broke. A mixture of anger, frustration and sadness flooded me. Hot fury mixed with heartbreak.

I couldn't tell my parents. Not now. It wouldn't be enough.

A plan was forming in my mind as I lay in bed crying. It wouldn't be something I could do overnight, but it'd be worth it.

Let me tell you that years’ worth of cosplay experience was invaluable to my plan. I could dress up as pretty much anyone or anything with the right amount of effort and materials, and I already knew what I intended to do once my outfit was complete.

She wanted to steal from me? Fine. I'd get even.

You see, Amber had this boy she liked. His name is Adam. Adam was...kind of a pig. A pig not interested in her, much to her frustration. No, his interests lay in Mrs. Winter and her 'E's'. Though I'm pretty sure – like all assholes – they'd somehow drift together; that's my experience with these sorts of things anyway.

That's where my plans come in. Now, Amber and I are the same height with the same fair complexion; however she has blonde hair and green eyes, whilst I have auburn hair and blue eyes. These traits were easily fixed by a long, wavy wig and a set of my innumerable contact lenses.

The one other difference was that I was 'blessed with a chest', as it were. A fact I'm sure he'd overlook...or be too preoccupied with staring at to pay much attention to anything else. I did have a plan in mind for that too if I was questioned. Amber always got her way; it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine she'd convinced her parents to let her get a boob job.

I knew he tended to hang out in the alley beside the local arcade, blowing out smoke like he was some 'cool dude' from the 50s or something. He thought the games were too 'dumb' and 'for kids' so stayed there whilst his friends played. As if it somehow made his douchebag self more mature.

I was waiting for him as he swaggered down the alley; the shaded passage was helpful in concealing my identity. It was a good disguise, but not fool proof. The dark helped with that.

"Hey, Adam!" I called out, trying to up the pitch of my voice to the sickeningly-sweet tone Amber had. He barely looked up from his phone as he approached, unlit cigarette held between his lips.

"Hey...Emma...right?"

"Amber."

"Close enough."

I managed to laugh. If it was anyone else I'm sure Amber would've thrown a hissy fit, but with this creep she'd let anything slide. Idiot.

"Think I could bum one of those off of you?" I asked, nodding towards the cigarette.

"What's it worth?" His eyes were trained on my chest as he spoke. Ew, teenage boys.

"What? You want a free grab or something?" I felt gross just uttering those words. Now, I have no issue with any guy or girl messing around however they want. It was just sickening humouring this waste of oxygen.

"If you're offering."

I really wasn't, but needs must and all.

"Fine, but I want that smoke first."

He sighed, but stepped forward, putting his phone away and pulling out the box instead. "Here. You women always want it your own way."

If I had been me, I would've responded to that casual bit of sexism, but I had to keep up the act for just a little while longer. "That's because I know what I want." I said, batting my eyelashes.

It was true; I did know what I wanted. But it certainly wasn't to let this ass fondle my chest whilst he came in his pants.

As he stepped closer I clutched at the purse hanging from my shoulder. Amber and I both had always made sure to carry large ones around, so it didn't look out of place on me here. We also happened to have an identical pair. Fancy that.

Milliseconds passed like hours to me as he drew within touching distance.

Closer, closer...

"I'm sorry."

"Wha-"

My bag came down over his head and Adam fell to the floor.

I was knocked off balance, stumbling due to the weight of my weapon into the wall. Adam didn't move, he didn't even grumble or swear or any of the other things I assumed a person would do when smacked over the head with a concealed brick.

I took a breath and straightened myself before finally looking back at Adam properly, my body was shaking. His head was bleeding, unsurprisingly, but it wasn't just bleeding on the side I hit it. He'd manage to crack his head on a step leading into a back entrance of the arcade.

He was staring up with blank eyes, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth as well as his head wounds. The one from the step was deeper than my hit. I was sure I could see his skull, but the blood was pumping through my body so hard and fast I couldn't be sure.

I'd done too good of a job, but no going back now.

When my legs stopped shaking so much, I ran. As I had always intended to do. Back past the building site where I'd picked up the brick and taking it back from my bag and returning it, straight back into my house and into my room. From there, into my en suite.

Costume dumped on the floor, I let the still-cold water of the shower wash over me. It was done. I couldn't take it back. But it had gone even better than planned, really.

I feigned shock when my parents sat me down the next day and broke the news to me that one of my schoolmates had been murdered. I forced out tears when they told me CCTV footage had caught Amber in the act.

A part of me was proud, I was so convincingly disguised that even my own parents didn't recognise me.

"We'll be keeping you off school for a while, honey."

"If you need to go lie down, Maddy, that's okay. The police might be back to talk to you about Amber but you don't have to talk until you're ready."

I sniffled and stood to hug them both before retreating to my room. Oh, I was ready. But I had to play the part of the shocked childhood friend who couldn't understand how someone who was practically a sister to her could do something so heinous.

Yes, she'd always been prone to aggressive outbursts but they were like a toddler's temper tantrums, she never physically hurt anyone...Well yes, she did prey on some of the meeker kids that were easy targets for bullying but it just seemed like typical teenage assholery, nothing really malicious.

Now that you mention it...she did have a crush on that boy and has never liked being told no. Maybe she snapped. I don't know. He parents could never really discipline her, she walked all over them...she definitely had some issues.

I had it all planned out and delivered my lines flawlessly when a pair of officers came to our home to ask a few questions. Amber's reputation was fuel against her. Even her parents who had understandably been trying to defend their child's innocence ended up questioning it and exactly what she was capable of.

Our families grew apart with the weight of the trial on Amber's parents' backs, but my parents were distantly supportive in their own way even if things were tense and awkward.

Amber continued to deny it even after the 'Guilty' verdict was given. I'm told she was sobbing, pleading with the judge and jury, with her parents, begging everyone to believe she was innocence, that it wasn't her.

Poor, poor Amber. She liked to take credit for work that was not hers, so I made sure she got the credit for my greatest work yet.

#stories #scary stories #horror stories #horror #writers on tumblr #my work #HERE YOU GO GUYS #FINALLY

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marcusssanderson · 5 years

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50 Mother and Son Quotes Praising Their Bond

Our latest collection of mother and son quotes praising their unique relationship. These mother and son quotes will help you celebrate their special bond.

Mothers play a critical role in the life of their sons. There is a deep connection between a mother and son that starts from the time a woman gives birth to her son.

Although fathers also play an important role in the life of their sons, the bond between mother and son is simply special. A mother is the first person who truly understands and knows everything about her son since he has been inside her for nine months.

Mothers play various roles in the life of their sons. A mother is her son’s best friend, his protector and hope, a source of encouragement, and most of all, a mother is an adviser to her son.

While fathers are teachers, mothers are advisers. It is due to these special roles of a mother to her son that the bond between mother and son needs to be celebrated.

Below you will find our collection of inspirational and wise mother and son quotes, mother and son proverbs, and mother and son sayings, collected over the years from a variety of sources.

Mother and Son Quotes Praising Their Bond

1.) ”There has never been, nor will there ever be, anything quite so special as the love between the mother and a son.” – Anonymous

2.) ”A man loves his sweetheart the most, his wife the best, but his mother the longest.” – Irish Proverb

3.) ”Mothers are inscrutable beings to their sons, always.” – A.E. Coppard

4.) ”Sons are the anchors of a mother’s life.” – Sophocles

5.) ”All that I am, or hope to be, I owe to my angel mother.” ― Abraham Lincoln

6.) ”A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials, heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine, desert us when troubles thicken around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.” ― Washington Irving

7.) ”Holding my Mother’s ashes in my hand. A thunder of pain smashes in my heart. The beauty of her smile, always allowed me to go the extra mile. As thoughts pile up in my mind, the sound of her voice brings comfort. Even though she is gone, she taught me how to be strong. I am thinking of the day you were taken. A Son’s memories shattered in silence. But your life is a beacon for my soul. Mother, dearest Mother, no other woman compares to you. You were strong in the darkest hour and you showed me the strength to achieve victory. So at this moment my victories and achievements belong to you.” – Mark Frank

8.) ”A mother’s arms are made of tenderness and children sleep soundly in them.” ― Victor Hugo

9.) ”My mother is my root, my foundation. She planted the seed that I base my life on, and that is the belief that the ability to achieve starts in your mind.” – Michael Jordan

10.) ”If a man has been his mother’s undisputed darling he retains throughout life the triumphant feeling, the confidence in success, which not seldom brings actual success along with it.” ― Sigmund Freud

Mother and son quotes to celebrate their bond

11.) ”You may have tangible wealth untold; Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold. Richer than I you can never be. I had a mother who read to me.” ― Strickland Gillilan

12.) ”Every mother hopes that her daughter will marry a better man than she did, and is convinced that her son will never find a wife as good as his father did.” – Martin Andersen Nexo

13.) ”Even more than the time when she gave birth, a mother feels her greatest joy when she hears others refer to her son as a wise learned one.” – Thiruvalluvar

14.) ”Raising boys has made me a more generous woman than I really am. Undoubtedly, there are other routes to learning the wishes and dreams of the presumably opposite sex, but I know of none more direct, or more highly motivating, than being the mother of sons.” – Mary Kay Blakely

15.) ”Having a child makes you realize the importance of life, narcissism goes out the window. Heaven on earth is looking at my little boy. The minute he was born, I knew if I never did anything other than being a mom, I’d be fine.” – Jenny McCarthy

17.) ”My father died when I was seven, leaving a widow and five sons, ranging in age from five to seventeen. My mother was the most highly disciplined and hardest working person I have ever known, and this, combined with her love and gentleness, enabled her to make a success of each of her children.” – Arthur Lewis

18.) ”The best love in the world is the love of a man. The love of a man who came from your womb, the love of your son! I don’t have a daughter, but maybe the love of a daughter is the best, too. I am first and foremost me, but right after that, I am a mother. The best thing that I can ever be, is me. But the best gift that I will ever have, is being a mother.” – C. JoyBell C

19.) ”There will be many times you will feel like you have failed. But in the eyes, heart and mind of your child, you are supermom.” – Stephanie Precourt

20.) ”Happy is the son whose faith in his mother remains unchallenged.” – Louisa May Alcott

Mother and son quotes to celebrate this special relationship

21.) ”Every man looks for a girlfriend that has his mother’s qualities. – Anonymous

22.) ”Mother is her son’s first god. She must teach him the most important lesson of all – how to love.” – T. F. Hodge

23.) ”To be a mother of a son is one of the most important things you can do to change the world. Raise them to respect women, raise them to stand up for others, raise them to be kind.” – Shannon L. Alder

24.) ”The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always find forgiveness.” – Honore de Balzac

25.) ”The mother’s heart is the child’s schoolroom.” – Henry Ward Beecher

26.) ”A mother has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.” – Sophia Loren

27.) ”No matter your age, you always need your mom. – Anonymous

28.) “Every beetle is a gazelle in the eyes of its mother.” —Moroccan Proverb

29.) ”A mother’s arms are more comforting than anyone else’s.” —Princess Diana

30.) ”To wake up to the sound of my son saying ‘Mama, mama!’ It’s the best sound ever.” – Miranda Kerr

Inspirational mother and son quotes

31.) ”A mother’s love doesn’t make her son more dependent and timid; it actually makes him stronger and more independent.” – Cheri Fuller

32.) ”We almost lost my mom to cancer 10 years ago — she survived. Every day we’re a grateful family to have her and all our loved ones around us.”- Dwaye “The Rock” Johnson

33.) ”[My mom]’s a cool chick. We can hang, and she can roll with the punches.” – Bradley Cooper

34.) ”My mother never gave up on me. I messed up in school so much they were sending me home, but my mother sent me right back.”- Denzel Washington

35.) ”Mothers yielding Bibles, contemplating smearing the blood of lamb chops over her doorway. Anything to keep her son alive another day. ― Antonia Perdu

36.) ”Mother’s love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved.” ― Erich Fromm

37.) ”So there’s this boy. He kinda stole my heart. He calls me ‘mom’. ― Anonymous

38.) ”Let France have good mothers, and she will have good sons.” ― Napoleon Bonaparte

39.) ”Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same, and most mothers kiss and scold together. ― Pearl S. Buck

40.) “When I was a child, my mother said to me, ‘If you become a soldier, you’ll be a general. If you become a monk you’ll end up as the pope.’ Instead I became a painter and wound up as Picasso.” – Pablo Picasso

Other beautiful mother and son quotes

41.) ”A wise son makes a glad father, But a foolish son is the grief of his mother… A wise son makes a father glad, But a foolish man despises his mother.” – The Proverbs of Solomon

42.) ”My mom was the person that I most looked up to for her point of view, her humor.”- Ben Stiller

43.) ”I wouldn’t be doing any of this if it weren’t for her, both my parents. She supported this little kid who said, ‘I want to be an actor,’ at 12 years old, which is ridiculous, and she drove me to all these auditions … She’s the only reason I’m able to do what I do.”- Leonardo DiCaprio

44.) “A mother understands what a child does not say.” – Jewish Proverb

45.) ”That strong mother doesn’t tell her cub, Son, stay weak so the wolves can get you. She says, Toughen up, this is reality we are living in.” – Lauryn Hill

46.) ”You are ugly when you love her, you are beautiful and fresh, vital and free, modern and poetic. When you don’t, you are more beautiful as an orphan than as your mother’s son.” – Witold Gombrowicz

47.) ”Being a mother to a little boy and helping him discover the world is one of the greatest experiences in a woman’s life, which makes objective goals dull in comparison. The connection between a mother and her son opens the gate to a new world of wonder and love.” – Anonymous

48.) ”A boy’s best friend is his mother.” – Joseph Stefano

49.) ”No mother wants to hear her son say he’s gay. Those two words rip the picture of a daughter in law and grandchildren into pieces. I felt sorry for my mom and wanted her to know everything was going to be alright. But then she said, ‘I don’t really care, Johnny, as long as I know that you are going to be happy.” – Johnny Weir

50.) ”Ain’t a woman alive who could take my mama’s place.” –Tupac

Which of these mother and son quotes was your favorite?

No matter where a man goes or whom he meets in his life, he will always have a special place in his heart for his mother. Mothers are pillars in their son’s lives and she is the only person who truly understands her son best.

The bond between mother and son teaches the son about being gentle and enables him to be confident and secure. A healthy relationship between a son and his mother is critical for his development.

To celebrate this bond, feel free to share the above quotes with your son or mother. Do you have any other favorite mother and son quotes? Let us know in the comment section below.

The post 50 Mother and Son Quotes Praising Their Bond appeared first on Everyday Power.

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smartgirlsaremean · 7 years

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The Question Falls - Chapter 9

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle (with like, a dozen little side pairings)

Rating: E

Summary: Divorce attorney Gold knows better than to fall in love with a client. Really he does.

AO3

Chapter 9 - Gold meets Belle's friends and has a bit of a revelation.

The Rabbit Hole was, by anyone’s standards, a dive. Management had a fondness for hair bands and glam rock, the pool tables were uneven and missing cloth in places, and the drink choices weren’t exactly top shelf. It was Belle’s favorite spot for drinks and girl talk, and she was positively vibrating with excitement over the fact that at last her two worlds were about to collide.

Of course, there were some nerves mixed up with that excitement, too. She wasn’t worried, exactly, but she wanted Rum and her friends to get along. Their reception of her previous boyfriends had been lukewarm at best, and she’d been disappointed, but this time - well, she wasn’t sure what she would do if they didn’t like Rum.

“Belle!” Ruby waved her over to their table, and Belle slid onto a stool next to Ariel and across from Mulan and Ruby. “God, I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Belle grimaced.

“You don’t need to be sorry. You’ve got a new guy, everyone’s allowed a bunny rabbit stage.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“It’s the most crucial stage, when you figure out if you’re compatible,” Ariel said.

Ruby leaned forward, crossing her arms and resting them on the table. “So…”

“So?” Belle asked innocently, waving the server over.

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

Mulan rolled her eyes and Ruby growled. “Compatible, you doofus!”

Smiling, Belle mirrored Ruby’s posture. She waited for a few seconds, allowing the suspense to get to them. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Yes.” The server approached them, and she leaned back and ordered a Long Island iced tea. When she looked at her friends, they were all staring at her. “What?”

“What? What?” Ruby looked ready to explode. “You talk about this guy for weeks. You disappear for days at a time doing God knows what with him. You...you... I mean, you might as well have big pink hearts floating out of your eyes. And that’s all you have to say!?”

“We’re compatible,” Belle said. “Very compatible. Sometimes we’re compatible two or three times in a night.”

“But he’s older, right? He doesn’t have any...issues?” Ariel said delicately.

“Not so far, but even if he did, that wouldn’t necessarily be a problem.”

Mulan grinned. “Good for him. Everyone appreciates a lover with multiple skill-sets.”

“So, it’s good,” Ruby said. “Really good.”

Belle sighed and took a sip of her drink. “I’m not giving you the details, Rubes, but...it’s the best sex of my life.”

The ladies went silent, and Belle was able to take a few more sips in peace.

“Wait. Really?” Ariel said incredulously. “Better than Will?”

“Better than anyone.” Belle sighed. “I really, really like him.”

“No, you don’t,” Mulan said seriously. She studied Belle, her gaze somber. “You don’t like him. You’re in love with him.”

Belle nearly choked on her drink. Sputtering, she stared at Mulan through watering eyes. “What?”

“You’re in love with him.”

“I think she’s right,” Ariel said, her eyes going wide. Ruby’s face was carefully blank, and Belle tried to laugh them off.

“Guys, we’ve been dating about a month. We just decided to put a label on it.”

“Silver fox at two o’clock,” Ruby said suddenly. “Is that your guy, Belle?”

Belle turned and saw that Rum had, indeed, entered and was standing uncomfortably just inside the door. Her pulse picked up when she saw that he was dressed as impeccably as ever despite the fact that she’d warned him about the less-than-refined atmosphere of the Rabbit Hole. His suit was a black pinstripe, his shirt royal blue and his tie darker with a red pattern. The gold handle of his cane glittered in the low light of the bar, and the silver in his hair gleamed.

God, he was gorgeous.

“Yeah,” she said with a slow smile. “That’s him.”

She lifted one hand to get his attention and he smiled, raising his hand in response before walking toward them.

“Huh,” Ariel said.

“What?”

“I just...never found a limp attractive before.”

Ruby and Mulan laughed, but Belle knew exactly what Ariel meant. There was a sinuous grace in his unsteady walk that had captured her attention very early on, and it had taken her by surprise too.

When he came up to their table, Belle spun her stool around to face him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He leaned in to give her a gentle kiss, and Belle smiled against his lips. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay, gave us a chance to catch up. Ladies, this Rum - Roderick Gold. Rum, this Ruby Lupin, Ariel Delmar, and Mulan Fa.”

“A pleasure,” Ruby said as the other women nodded. “So tell us, Rum.” She leaned forward again, a wolfish grin on her face. “Just how many times did Belle have to offer to sleep in your office before you got the hint?”

Belle had warned him that her friends were forward, but she wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d got up and walked out. She buried her face in her hands and groaned, but Gold smiled. “Well, dearie, I can’t say I ever did actually get the hint.”

“You must have or you wouldn’t be here now.”

“I owe that entirely to Belle’s...tenacity.”

All three ladies laughed and Belle emerged from her hiding place. “That’s very diplomatic of you, darling,” she said dryly. “You can just say that I pounced on you like a tiger on a gazelle.”

“A very beautiful, graceful tiger,” he said, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips.

“I’d tell you to get a room, but that’s probably happening later anyway,” Ariel smirked.

“Where are Archie and Eric and Aurora?” Belle asked desperately. “I thought this was a group outing.”

“Are you kidding? This is an interrogation.” Mulan waved the server over again. “The SOs would close ranks and protect him. Right now we have him at our mercy.”

“I’m still here.”

“Like we can’t end-run you,” Mulan scoffed.

“There’s no reason to protect me, sweetheart,” Gold reassured her. “I’ve faced cross-examination before.”

“But…”

“Belle, do you remember what you said to Archie the first time I brought him around?” Ruby asked sternly.

“Uh…”

“You asked him if we’d ever used the couch in his office for extracurricular activities.”

“I…”

“You asked Eric if the skills needed to play the flute were useful in other settings,” Ariel pointed out.

“Well…”

Mulan shook a finger under Belle’s nose. “You asked Aurora if she liked morning sex since her name meant ‘dawn.’”

“Wait, I was really drunk that night,” Belle protested. “That was a terrible question and I thought it’d been expunged from the record.”

“Our point is that you’ve dished it out, so now you can take it,” Ruby said triumphantly. When Belle descended into sulky silence, Ruby grinned and turned her full attention on Gold. “So. Rum. All the lawyers I know are really smooth talkers. How does that translate to the bedroom?”

“God, I’m so sorry,” Belle moaned as they stood on the curb trying to hail a cab. “The things they asked you…”

Gold wound an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s fine, sweetheart. They’re protective and only want the best for you. I just hope I measured up to their standards.”

He’d been more than a little terrified, walking into that bar tonight. Despite his limited experience with women, he knew that they cared deeply for the opinions of their friends, and he’d been anxious to make a good impression. Thankfully, he felt he’d accomplished that.

He liked them all. Ruby, who was brazen and outspoken but loved animals to distraction and was seriously involved with a mild-mannered psychologist. Ariel, the daydreaming sculptor with a passion for music who was seeing a flautist in the symphony orchestra. Mulan, a lieutenant in the army, older than the others and married to a woman named Aurora, and currently on leave and determined to make the most of her vacation.

They were fascinating women, all of them, and he found himself imagining similar get-togethers in the future that combined his family and friends with hers. He sensed that Mulan and Emma shared a penchant for hiding their vulnerability behind tough exteriors. Regina would delight in crossing verbal swords with Ruby, and he was sure Neal would appreciate Ariel’s musical taste and artistic ability. When the cab arrived, Belle had to poke him to jolt him out of his imaginings.

“What were you thinking just then?” she asked.

“That I liked your friends, and I hoped they liked me.”

“Oh, they did,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Look.” She showed him a group chat, which featured three thumbs-up images in a row, one from each of the women. “Congratulations. Or condolences. I’m not sure which is more appropriate.”

“Anyone would consider themselves lucky to have those ladies as friends,” he said, and she sighed.

“Yeah, well, they haven’t pulled out the big guns yet.”

“There are...bigger guns?” Gold’s mind started to race. What more could they possibly require of him? Drinking contests? Arm-wrestling?

“They didn’t ask the tough questions.”

Considering that they’d asked him about his favorite positions, his favorite fantasies, and his favorite flavor of body paint - a question he’d had no idea how to answer, never having heard of such a thing - he dreaded discovering what those questions were. For now, he saw that she looked worried, so he pulled her closer to him.

“They can ask me anything they want and I’ll answer honestly, unless you ask me not to divulge something.”

Her eyes searched his face, warming when she recognized his sincerity, and she snuggled into his shoulder. “You’re so sweet.”

Sweet. A word that he’d never have used to describe himself before he met Belle French, but here he was comforting his girlfriend in a cab after her friends had run him through the wringer. “Must be contagious,” he said.

When they reached her apartment, Belle made tea and brought it into the living room. He was used to this now, the quiet domesticity of just sitting in a room with someone, sipping tea and sometimes making the odd remark. Belle’s expression, though, told him she had something on her mind.

“I feel bad,” she said. “You answered all of their questions so calmly and now I feel like I know a lot more about you than you know about me.”

“Well, it’s not as if we’re keeping score.”

“Yeah, but…” she waved a hand. “I want to level the playing field. Go on, ask me anything.”

Gold stared at her helplessly. What had been casual and fun in the dingy bar felt intimate and tense in her immaculate living room. Here there were no others to absorb uncomfortable silences or distract them from unexpected embarrassment. Belle watched him over the edge of her mug, and when two minutes had ticked by without his saying anything, she took a deep breath.

“Okay, since you won’t ask...there’s something that’s been bothering me...something I want you to understand.”

He swallowed. “Oh?”

“Beryl - at one of our meetings she called me a - a whore. And it made me so angry and you were so gentle…”

“She had no right to…”

“It’s not like I don’t have a past,” Belle interrupted. “I do, but - I always wanted to meet the right guy, get married, settle down, all of that - and you can’t do that without dating.”

“Belle…”

“And I like sex, and I never saw any reason why I shouldn’t be with a guy I liked, so…”

“Sweetheart, stop.”

“I just don’t want you to think…”

“I don’t. I never would.”

Belle finally took another breath and smiled uncertainly. “You say that now, but…”

“I had an affair with a married woman while she was still my client,” Gold said flatly. “I’m hardly qualified to pass judgement. But even if my history were as pure as a monk’s, I would never think badly of you for yours.”

She still looked unconvinced, so he shifted closer, set her mug on the coffee table, took her hands in his, and pulled until she was encircled in his arms.

“I don’t care if you had one lover before me, or a dozen, or fifty,” he murmured, kissing her gently. “Your past is part of what makes you the person you are, and I happen to like that person very much.”

With a tiny sigh, Belle melted into his embrace, returning his kiss with a feverish intensity. After a moment she pulled back, her eyes slightly misty. “God, you’re so…”

She broke off abruptly and pulled back a little, her eyes widening and her mouth falling open. For a moment she looked frightened, and then the expression melted away and she reached up to brush his hair away from his eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

Shaking her head, she leaned in and kissed him again. “I’ll tell you some other time. Come on, you earned serious brownie points tonight, and I think you should start redeeming them right this minute.”

She rose from the couch, one of his hands still clutched in hers, and he grinned, following her. If she were this easy to please, he might actually stand a chance in hell of keeping her around a while longer.

Later that night, as he watched her sleep, he imagined what it would be like to see her thus every night, to wake to her smiles and kisses every morning, to curl up and watch TV after dinner every evening, to receive joint invitations to events, to have his friends see him and ask “And how’s Belle?” He imagined squabbling over takeout menus and dissecting plays they’d seen, making her chicken soup when she was sick and massaging her feet when shows at the gallery ran late and she was run off her feet. He imagined that one some nights they’d both work too late to do anything but fall into bed and sleep like rocks, content in each other’s presence even without an amorous interlude.

Realization hit him and he sucked in a quiet breath, the blow almost physical. Somehow, despite carefully guarding his heart for twenty years, despite being certain he had everything and everyone he needed, despite all common sense, he’d fallen in love with her.

They’d been together a month, and already he couldn’t imagine life without her.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for the dread to hit, but instead he felt utterly calm and at peace, as if his heart had known all along and had been waiting for his brain to catch up. Whether she felt, or could ever feel, the same way was a question for another day. For now, he had someone to share his nights and brighten his days, and he would enjoy it as long as it lasted.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #mr gold #belle french #the question falls

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acehotel · 7 years

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Interview: Bethann Hardison with Justin Strauss

New York, New York

Bethann Hardison is a powerhouse of vim and vigor. A household name amongst the upper echelon of the 1970s New York fashion scene, Bethann was a supermodel-cum-entrepreneur, starting her own agency Bethann Management before turning her efforts toward fashion activism. She’s since become an advocate of equal representation for POC models and is an outspoken consultant in an industry that turns over faster than a seven-inch. For this edition of our Just/Talk series, Ace friend, legendary DJ and music producer Justin Strauss reminisced with Hardison on “leaving them yelling your name,” rocking the fashion boat and why she’s fighting for models of color.

Justin Strauss: Bethann Hardison. I've known you for a long time.

Bethann Hardison: Yes, you have. Yes, you have.

JS: How did you start in fashion? Was it something that you felt a passion for, or something that happened by chance?

BH: No, I don't even give fashion any credit, I grew up in the garment district. I started at a button factory in the late 60s. That was where I got my first job. I stayed on there a bit and then went over to a low-end dress company. Then I went to a junior dress house before I got discovered by Willi Smith. And, eventually, I would start to work for Stephen Burrows.

JS: With Willi Smith, was that as a model?

BH: Yes... That's how I first started to model. He was the one who saw me on the streets of the garment district, on Broadway and 40th.

JS: This is still the late 60s?

BH: Yeah. He basically thought I was a designer because he'd always see me. He asked me to be his muse, someone he could work with, talk with, maybe do some appearances with. I was working in a showroom dress house at the time with Ruth Manchester, so I said yes and so we started to be friends.

JS: At that time, were black models a rarity?

BH: No, they weren't rare. Because at that time — what was so nice about that time, and what's not so nice about this time — is that there were two different divisions. There were the print models, and then there were models who service designers in the garment district.

JS: Fitting models and runway models?

BH: Yeah, they did fittings, they did runway. Those girls didn't do editorial work, and the girls who did editorial, catalog and advertising didn't do fittings. So yes, there were girls of color. They were more sophisticated around that time. I was a girl who came along to sort of start changing that mode, but they were definitely around.

JS: The first black model to be on the cover of British Vogue was Donyale Luna in 1960. It seems like that's not so long ago. And it wasn’t until 1974 that Beverly Johnson was the first black model to appear on the cover of American Vogue.

BH: Yeah, but the girl who really meant something to someone like myself, who brought something really to the table, was Naomi Sims. She was the one who someone could aspire to for the reason that she was a dark-skinned girl, the way she was very tall. She was gazelle-like, the way she walked. She was wonderful on the runway, but she had so much style and it was just genius.

JS: What was the attitude of magazine editors and designers as far as working with black girls? Were they very open to that?

BH: Well, when it comes to designers yes, because we had people like Giorgio di Sant’Angelo, Halston, Scott Barrie and Stephen Burrows who would hire me. You had a lot of designers who were open to girls of color. There's never going to be more girls of color than there are white girls because it's not how business works. It's something we know. First of all, we're like extras in the show. The show, to me, is America, and we're extras in it. We're not people who came here creating these businesses that are the majority — we're always going to be the minority in most spaces, unless it's basketball, football, you know, boxing. Then, maybe athletically we can.

JS: Today in popular culture, black music and black films are mainstream America.

BH: You can be creative, but you don't own it. You can be individual, own your own masters, own your own publishing, but what I'm talking about is industries. Industries where we don't own any of these things. We can be part of it. We can influence you. We can make you happy. We can inspire you — but at the end of the day, we're not strutting around and saying, "This is what's going to go down," and everybody sort of bows down to it. You know what I mean? Eventually, yes. People are successful, but it's not our industry. I don't know one industry that's our industry. Do you know one industry that's a black industry? Industry, not company.

JS: I'd have to think about that. But I’d say yes, you are right.

BH: I know, that's something. That's something to think about, huh?

But at the end of the day it's kind of a good thing that we had those moments and times that came along, because it helped us. There were white kids who were in the advertising industry who really wanted to see change. “Black Is Beautiful” was a slogan from the civil rights movement that carried over. Those white kids who worked in those advertising industries wanted something different, and they pushed for it. Meanwhile, there were agencies that had all blacks, like black agency Ophelia DeVore. But these were agencies that really acted to service the industry, because people would want black.

JS: When you saw Donyale Luna on the cover of British Vogue, or Beverly Johnson on American Vogue, was that inspiring for you?

BH: Obviously she was beautiful. But I really always felt that she was someone where it happened for her because of the people who pushed for her. And yet, once you get anyone across the line, you can see that they have beauty. When Beverly Johnson happened, I had known her a little before. She was still in school. She would come down from Rochester and she'd come to the atelier that I had worked in, so of course I felt it was a little sort of familiarity. You felt like you were part of it. You saw this kid come down, and she was coming for a go-see with my designer that I worked for. Then, next thing you know she was gone. A year later or so later, she was on this cover of a magazine, and you said, "Right on!"

JS: So it didn’t seem like a big deal when it came out?

BH: You got to remember, you're coming up on the heels of “Black Is Beautiful” and also of the Civil Rights Movement. There's a lot of that information around, and so girls on the cover of Vogue really meant nothing, we got some other serious issues going on. I guess in some ways, it meant something to somebody.

JS: At some point, you decided that you didn’t want to be involved in modeling. What was the transition? Did you go right into working for agencies?

BH: There was a lot happening in-between because I was very well known, and so I did a lot of things to help other people. I worked with Valentino, I was in Europe for a minute, and then I came back and he wanted me to work with this company that did his licensing for bathing suits so I wound up doing that. That sort of took me in another direction. I just quit modeling right around that time because I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to go on that stage anymore.

It's always nice, as I say, to leave them yelling your name. I went back to working in showrooms. From there I wound up working for a designer, Bill Kaiserman, and then I wound up working for another designer. I was doing everything that I could, helping each when they needed help. People called me, and I worked as a freelancer.

Then, this guy scammed a bunch of us. He was hiring me to be the editor of a magazine and we all found out — luckily I hadn't left my job, but others had and found that the guy never had the money. This woman who had started a modeling agency named Frances Grill called me and said, "You’ve got to help me. I hear you're going to be an editor." I said, "I was, but it's no longer going to happen." She had me look at her agency and she had all these white boys. All these white boys and black girls. It was the strangest thing.

JS: The agency was?

BH: It was Click. She reached out to me again and said, "Are you working? Are you doing anything? We really could use someone." She knew everyone knew me, so I went to work for them.

JS: Was the idea to bring more diversity to the agency?

BH: I never thought about diversity. I never did. I only think about when I see something not being right. For me, everyone just looked right. If you looked good, I didn’t care what color you were...white, black...

You look at different people and you just see something that's great about them. You believe, that's what I'm saying. Click was a place where we pushed the envelope. Where we pushed the envelope was with the type of kids we were finding to represent. We were different from what anybody else had. There were kids like clam diggers out of South Hampton, potato farmer kids.

JS: The photographer Bruce Weber vibe?

BH: Yes, Bruce started to work with Click. He was finding boys out there who were just kids, who were sports kids. We were finding kids, and they were all similar looking. Same thing with the girls.

JS: Were you working with Naomi Campbell at the time?

BH: No, but I went to London to represent her because her agent who found her called to tell me about her. I went to London and met her mother and her stepfather, and asked to represent her. By the time I got on a plane and got back, she had changed her mind, so I didn't represent her. When she came to New York, I was really the only person she knew, so she called me because I was the only person she felt comfortable with. She was then with Ford, but she didn't know them. We stayed close. Now, over the years, of course I went in and out of managing her team, being a consultant to her, in a way managing her expectations. She always could call me.

JS: I produced a song for her record. Remember, she did an album for Sony?

BH: Yeah, of course.

JS: You worked at Click for a few years?

BH: Two years, yeah. Two and a half years.

JS: Then you started your own Bethann Agency.

BH: Yeah, because I kept getting calls from people, but one person who was most attractive to me was Louise DesPointes out of an agency in Paris called City. When I was at Mick and Jerry's house, I met a lawyer who knew who I was and who said to me, "I have somebody in my life that's a good friend of yours and they tell me you work too hard, and you're not getting anything out of it. You're working all the time for these people, you're not even a partner. I need to help you."

The next thing I know, the man followed up on a phone call and I went to talk with him. That's how the idea of leaving the company happened. Then what wound up happening was I had to go to Paris, and I took the opportunity to meet with Louise, and she really wanted to do it. She really had a great eye. She was very successful with City, so I said yes, and I started looking.

JS: Were you kind of like their New York office at first?

BH: She wanted it to be, but what happened is that Francis Grill sent me to EST. She said, “If you go then I'll pay for it. You just go for the weekend." I said okay, I went to the weekend, and it was during that first session that the man said something to me that gave me the courage to leave them.

JS: It backfired on her.

BH: That's exactly what her son said, "You fucking go and pay for her to go, and then she leaves us." I walked right in there after the weekend and said, "You know what? I have to quit." I had the courage. I never had the courage before.

JS: What did he say to you that gave you the courage?

BH: He just said, "How many people in this room really try to respect the other guy at all times? Come on, come on. Raise your hands," so I raised my hand. He said, "And how many of you, if you think about it, would rather do right by that guy than to do right by yourself?" I knew that was me. I raised my hand. There were only a few of us who did. He said, "Okay, let me tell you all something. If you're afraid to ripple any water that'll make somebody else's boat rock, you'll never go anywhere." I thought to myself, "Wow, he was talking to me. You never want to hurt anyone else. You don't want to hurt their feelings. You don't want to upset things. You want everyone to stay happy with you.” That's the name of my game.

JS: You just stay still.

BH: Yeah, so you just do what's comfortable, But are you really gaining anything out of this? No. I'm helping everybody. That's what Joe McDonald told me. He said, "Bethann, you've got to get out there while every one of us still knows you. Use your talent. Stop working for everyone else." "But I like working for people. I like working with people." He said, "No, you need to do more than that."

JS: You started Bethann Management.

BH: Yeah, I found a good accountant, and I had that man who put the idea in my head, he was a partner of a law firm. They charged me nothing. They did everything for me.

JS: And you started with a few of the girls you were working with at Click?

BH: That's right. Five of them left, and they all each one went in there and explained why they were leaving. I remember Ariane's was the best. Ariane said — it will always stay in my head what she told them — she said, "I'm leaving, and don't think that it's because of any other reason. If Bethann leaves, I got to go. She's the one who took care of me. If Bethann is gone, I'm gone. There's nothing to discuss."

JS: How long did the agency last for?

BH: Well, the agency stayed as an agency for models till 1996. I started in 1984. Tyson Beckford came in 91, 92, but who came before him was Brent King. Now I can't even find him, because Calvin Klein is looking for him. I can't find him.

Brent King was my inspiration. He's another white boy. Blonde. He's one that Stephen Sprouse gave him to me. He called me, "Bethann, I got a guy. This time he's really right. I think this one's really right.” You know, he sent me a lot of kids, Stephen did. I don't do street models. I don't like that. That's what's happening now. That's what's ruined, half of what has ruined our business.

JS: I did the music for his first big show at the Ritz, which was incredible. What a spectacle.

BH: Yes, oh, my God. It was such a joy, right?

JS: I was so lucky to have been...

BH: Yeah, a big part of that. When you wrote that thing about Keith Haring, it was so true, what you wrote. I saw that on Facebook. It was so true. I mean, we are blessed.

JS: People are fascinated by that time, and the whole cultural explosion in New York at that time.

BH: I met a young artist, a furniture maker. She's a young white girl and she says to me, she said, "I go to these galleries in New York and I get nothing out of them. I don't feel any soul. I so wish I lived with y'all when y'all came up." I told her, "Go up to the Studio Museum, then go see Kerry James Marshall's show." Was that not some show?

JS: It was incredible. I hadn't been moved like that...

BH: When does this man sleep?

JS: I didn't really know much about him.

BH: I said to Thelma (Golden), “I've got a couple people in my life I've said this to, and you'll be the third. You are truly a national treasure." The people that she's found, because that's the way they all start. She's the one who has the eye that finds them, gives them a start, gives them a lift. But that show...

JS: It was beautiful.

BH: Amazing. I'm so happy you saw it too.

JS: Tell me about 1996. You were noticing that things weren't right, like you said.

BH: I was busy laying in my hammock in Mexico, having tequila and smoking. It was Naomi (Campbell) who kept calling me for like a year. 1996 I left the business. Well, I kept my office and two staffers.

JS: And you still had the office space?

BH: North Moore Street. I still owned North Moore Street but I got rid of the majority of the staff and I got rid of the models. The only one I kept was Tyson Beckford, because Ralph Lauren told me that they wanted to go forth with a deal.

That's what was nice about still having Tyson, because I helped to make something really great happen, which was historical. Ralph bought it, because he knew I didn't just want money. I gave them an idea for how Ralph could use Tyson in a better way than he had been.

JS: Historical in what way?

BH: Financially, and the fact that no other male model has ever had a five year deal with a designer, no other model had it. Josie had three years, Kate had it, and Tyson had it.

JS: That's amazing! So, Naomi calls you up. You're laying in your hammock in Mexico...

BH: Yes and she tells me, "Ma, you got to get back here. There's no black girls. There's nothing."

JS: Why do you think that it changed?

BH: It changed because culturally things started changing. Eastern Europe was some place that they could now go search much more strongly than they were doing before. The walls all came down. It became a situation where now they were scouting like they never scouted before, and that became competitive to what was out there already. The editors weren't seeing things, you know, Kim Hastreiter of Paper Magazine has always blamed me for that moment of change because she said the New York Times had written an article when I was leaving the business of what's going to happen now in the industry, because Bethann was such a force to keep things balanced. I really swear to God I was like, "Motherfucker, don't be talking, don't put that shit on me. I'm out." You know, I wanted to get out of that business so badly, you couldn't even. So when they started making me feel like, you know, who's going to carry —

JS: The weight of the world.

BH: Yeah, I was like, "Not me boy, you're going to be fine." I thought they really would be, and it wasn't. By the late 90s, I would come into town, I'd have dinner with Kim, and as Kim was saying, "I'm telling you, Bethann. You had something, and you came along at a time that kept everybody clocked in."

JS: They weren't booking models for shows?

BH: Yeah, it was change. They found the girl like Alek Wek and then it just seemed like it had just begin to disappear. It was before the Eastern European girls started coming in strongly. All of a sudden Alek Wek was someone that they found, even though, you know, Mrs. Wintour at Vogue�� has resisted, she had editors and photographers who believed enough in the girl and pushed her forward. She was walking in every designer show, and that seemed to be enough. Then, another little girl came along, like Kiara Kabukuru. Kiara came along and Mrs. Wintour, thank God, loved her, and pushed for her. That was another little brown girl, you know, she was on the cover of Vogue, so that was it.

Basically, it was dry. You'd come, and you'd talk, you'd go to a little show, and you'd see the editors, "Oh, Bethann, you have to get us black girls. There's no black girls." I'd call the same magazine that they came from, and I speak to James Scully and he was like, "Bethann, these people are bullshitting you. I bring them the black girls. I show them a black girl, and they go right back to the white ones. They're not serious." I let that be and then Naomi would call, and then Andre (Leon-Talley) would call and tell me the same thing. I said, "Oh, shit. Naomi was the one. You got to do something. You got to do something." It took me a while. I think from really 2004, that's when I knew I was going to do something, because you could really see the divide.

JS: You wrote some letters.

BH: That was 2013. This was coming up to that time where I actually was seeing that they had gotten to a place where there was no... You know, we never had casting directors before and suddenly there were casting directors. What the hell is that? Don't even get me started on that. We hate casting directors.

JS: I remember, at the time I met you, I was dating Ariane and I would go to Europe with her when she did the fashion shows, in the early to mid 80s. She would just walk into a room and meet Mr. Valentino, meet Kenzo, meet whoever.

BH: Yeah, exactly. It's designer to model. That was the genius about it. That's how you became a muse. Not with having castings. I'm so glad that my other cohort, James Scully, is out there blasting people right now. Got two casting directors fired just like that.

JS: It's such a different world.

BH: It's a different game. Same world, different game.

JS: It's like now everyone's a DJ. Now everyone's a model. Now everyone has a modeling agency. Now everyone has a record thing. It's a whole other mindset.

BH: Yeah, anyone can be. They get a computer, boom, boom, boom.

JS: Which is good, I guess, and also awful.

BH: That's the same thing I feel like saying. I'm sitting there at the FIT arguing my point — and it's not even an argument — it's a fact, just like you're saying. The model industry is a titanic, like the music industry was before it. It's a titanic. I don't care what anybody says, and what has happened has helped to ruin it. We have casting directors whose job every day is to go out and find more models. Then what happened to the kid we found last month? What's going to happen with the music?

JS: It's like music. I got something last week. I'd forgotten about it, because there's 6000 more things in my e-mail that I have to listen to.

BH: Yes. It's so much that it's really crucifying our industry. That’s what I was saying and Veronica Webb was sitting on the other side of the panel saying “But I think it’s something good about the internet when you can discover models that way.” I want to say, “no. You don’t mean that.”

JS: So what did you do?

BH: 2007 was when I said, "Okay, I can't keep putting this off," because I was putting it off. It's a lot of work to do what I do.

JS: You have your own life to live.

BH: Yeah, even though life is like lying in the hammock and being in Mexico. When you like being lazy and no one thinks you are, but you really are, and you're the only one who does all these things. Black Girls Coalition is me. I say everybody's a co-founder and stuff, but it's me. The great thing about having the Diversity Coalition, I have people I go to. I'm the front of the band.

JS: That's different from the Black Girls Coalition?

BH: Yeah, and that's what people didn't realize when I did this thing in 2007. I held a press conference, invited model agencies, certain models, editors, stylists and writers in a room at the Bryant Park hotel, had press, and I talked about —

JS: Just you?

BH: Just me, sitting in front with a whole room. I wrote out ten things that I found disturbing in the industry, which no one had ever heard before. I just came at it gangster. People were like, "Wow." They didn't know what they were coming to. They just knew Bethann said come, and they came. Naomi flew in for it, Iman came, Tyson was in the back, I got a lawyer to come, nobody knew he was there, but he was a human rights lawyer. He got up and spoke, and of course it upset IMG because they thought we were trying to sue people, which that was not the point.

That was the beginning. I brought up the reality about “no black, no ethnics,” and of course, in New York, the papers that covered it first were Women's Wear Daily and the Guardian from UK, and then it went on to every other news outlet.

Is racism truly in fashion? That really makes people uncomfortable, nobody wants to be a racist. I keep reminding them, “You may not intend to, but I'm telling you the road you're walking is that.” We do it very nicely because I do it organically. Then we had one at the Public Library one month later where we had 250 people, standing room only.

I just kept going, kept talking, because there were bigger rooms, big exposure, more people. Then it was the New York Times cover, then it was more. It was just to keep talking about it; to make people uncomfortable, you can't do one. I did four in a matter of so many months.

Franca Sozzani, the editor of Italian Vogue, was appreciating what was, and what wasn't, going on. She came to me right around that same time in September, 2007 to say she was doing an issue that was going to be all black, “private, private, private, don't tell no one. I want to do an article on you, and I got ten pages I've saved just for brand new girls. Ten girls you can find of color."

With all that's going on, the black issue came out, which was mind blowing because never in the history of Conde Nast did they ever have a reprint, but definitely not three times. It was all over the world. Wasn't that amazing?

JS: There were how many covers?

BH: Four. Four different covers.

JS: It was like a book almost, because it kept getting reprinted, and it was a phenomena. Sad, in a way, that that has to be a phenomenon.

BH: But it had to be the right source. Like I said, it's not our world. Someone of power decides to make it, shine a light strongly on something. If people say, "Why couldn't it be all black? Why were there white ads?” Well, because they’re a fucking Italian magazine.

Somebody has to pay for the magazine getting out. I mean, the white people probably saying, "What the fuck is this?" But she pushed, and did it. In the film about her she says that that is her shining greatest moment.

Franca Sozzani knew she was onto something and she was quietly getting ready to do www.vogue.it, which gave me another opportunity to expose black beauty. She asked me to be the editor of Vogue Black. Doing that gave me an opportunity, she put me with a great, great editor. I was to make little videos of all the black models I would find that I'd want to feature on the site. It was brilliant.

JS: Now the issues sell for big bucks.

BH: Yeah, the issues came out first. Then we did vogue.it, that was a secret, too until the time we launched. Then I was on as an editor for two and a half, three or so years. She couldn't get people to keep supporting this financially.

JS: Did you notice a change — other than the Italian Vogues that rocked the fashion world — did you notice a shift?

BH: Yeah, some things would get really better, especially with the discussions, but then it would all fall back. I sort of backed off for like three or four years and you could see it just shift right, it would start to shift. Edwin Enninful came to me in 2010 and said, "They're slipping back. I'm seeing less and less of the girls out there."

JS: What you're saying is that it's a constant battle?

BH: Yeah, I think the genius, though (to give the positive side of it), is that in 2010 we did some more editorials. But then just decided that that was not going to make things change. I was going to do something more radical. I asked my crew to start telling me what was really going on when they go to Europe, models, agents, all that. Then I started looking, and I had somebody go through all the shows, and then I made a list. That's when I wrote that letter from my home in Mexico.

It was short. It was to the point. We sent it to the Council of Fashion Designers of each city internationally, and I sent it to Women's Wear Daily. When they got it, they said, "Have you sent this already to people?" "Yes." "What's been in response?" "No one's responded." They said, "We have to call them. Are you the writer?" I had to admit that I was. They called them, and that's when it started hitting. The only person who responded very smartly was from England, Natalie Massenet, the girl who started Net-a-Porter.

She was running a British Fashion Council. New York was just so funny. They said, "She knows us. Why did she write us a letter? Why did she do that?" They act like I just sent it in the night and there was no way to connect. It had its affect. Right before that, Eric Wilson for the New York Times had written a piece on the whole thing and made it a cover story. He knew I was going to do something because I’d just gotten the Frederick Douglass Award and Women’s Wear Daily said that I was getting ready to do something.

JS: Did this go to the actual designers?

BH: No, only to the Council of Fashion, but it went to the press. We were on television internationally, nationally, all the newspapers. Everybody picked it up. Iman and Naomi stepped with me every step. They've committed. Iman said, "I don't care what has to happen in my life. This comes first."

After 2007, no casting director ever said again “no blacks, no ethics.” By the time the letters went out in September here, this fashion week, by October fashion week in Italy and London and Paris changed. I mean, Céline was the hardest one I hit. I love that girl, but she just was never having anyone of color. What wound up happening is that she had five girls in her show and then the next season she even did advertising with a black girl. Armani had a black girl open, a black girl close.

But we don't want just that. We also want permanent understanding.

JS: We don't want a flash.

BH: We want Asians, we want Blacks, we want Latinos. We want to mix it up. Come on.

JS: We want the world.

BH: At the end of the day, it changed and it really got better. From 2007–08, the model agencies had support. They were no longer told, "You can't." They started finding better girls. They started doing better, and now it is much better than it's ever been, and that's the truth.

JS: Amen.

BH: Amen, but you still can't take your foot off the clutch.

#Bethann Hardison #yes #70s #fashion #justin strauss #model righs #just/talk #bethann #just talk #interview

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national-anathemas-blog · 6 years

Text

12/2/17; rim 2 rim

CONGRESSIONAL DEBATE RIM TO RIM RALLY BALLOT 2017

NAME: Lyssa Ann Schei

SCHOOL CODE: 17LS

HIGH SCHOOL: Highland

HOUSE: 4

SESSION: 1

SPEECHES are extemporaneous and may be ranked on a 1-6 system, 1 being the worst and 6 being the best. If debater gives more than 5 speeches write critiques and rankings on back of this sheet.

SPEECH 1: RANK-5. Your use of a "waste of time" argument seemed a little nebulous at first, but you had good, solid, quantitative evidence to back it up. Try not to stumble over words as much, but great confidence and analysis of bill.

SPEECH 2: RANK-6. Amazing enthusiasm and powerful message with tons of tangible, reasonable, and reliable evidence. Best speech of the bill.

SPEECH 3: RANK-4. Watch for "umms" and "uhhhs" when you can't think of a word off of the top of your head, additionally, your stance when you get nervous while speaking can get a little awkward. Otherwise good speech.

QUESTIONS AND OTHER FEEDBACK: Questions allowed for elaboration and informative answers during questioning period without pushing for an agenda.

You are a strong woman in this session and great job not letting guys bulldoze you.

HOUSE RANK: Rank the highest-scoring members of the House 1-8, with everyone else receiving 9s.

Bulldoze.

I look at my ballot with slight disbelief as I try to choke down the saccharine mintiness of my Culver's milkshake, if one could even go so far as to call it a "milkshake." It's far too thick to be taken in with a straw just as I am far too intimidating to be taken in with a mere glance which is why every time I enter a room someone's face must completely turn away from my own.

I find this to be slightly odd wording, especially when my debate tournaments seem to remain rather formulaic -- I show up, give my two or three speeches, and leave. Simple as that.

Bulldoze.

I think about the boy in my round, one of the two to follow me to the final Super Congress consisting of the three highest speakers from each of the four houses of the day. There's only twelve of us, and only five girls. I know each girl by name and by heart. There's Stephanie, who only ever cites the constitution but continues to somehow beat me in every finals round I make it to, with the briefcase consisting simply of the gavel she won at Joust earlier this season and her glitter pens. There's Elsa who draws her eyebrows on deliberately so you're forced to stare into her steely gaze as she explains to you how she did at National Congress last year, but in the same breath will make a joke, and I'm forced to stare at her and try to forget my awkward middle school days when she and I loathed the sight of one another. Now we must be allies, since we're from the same city and quiver at the sight of the same opponents. There's Lucy, who bears the same initials as I but a foot worth of height difference, the newcomer, with eloquent wording and stacks of printed out evidence and ideas. She laughs loudly and discusses the ease of her classes whenever she takes her gigantic high heels off to rub her tired feet after giving a particularly impassioned speech. There's Celia, who is hypoglycemic or something and has to bring her service dog with her in round. The fluffy thing always curls itself at the tips of her sparkly silver pumps whenever she gets up to address the Congress on topics that particularly excite her like environmental conservationalism or gun control. And then, I, and he, the boy from my round.

Everyone knows his name. When you live in a state like Idaho and do an activity as obscure as debate, you interweave yourself in a close-knit community. He's notorious within our circuit and I shuddered this morning when I stared down his name just barely above mine on a menacingly white sheet of paper posted in the cafeteria.

Bulldoze.

He approached me on every questioning period after I spoke. I'd finish speaking, clear my throats and stare down at my maroon heels as the gavel hits the table to call for questions and he flies from his seat. He asks me question after question, forces agenda after agenda, and lies in wait like a lion watching some wounded gazelle for me to finally give in. Speech one, and I defend my argument, speech two, I do the same. Speech three he runs unopposed for the entire one-minute questioning period and fires bullets at me for an entire, excruciatingly long back-and-forth. To him, another fun little volley. He knows he'll win.

Because to our five girls there are six boys in Super Congress debate.

There's Dante who I think is cute but lives all of the way across the state, my fast friend who encourages me throughout even my worst rounds and Snapchats me between sessions. There's Nicholas who comes from an arts charter school in the West and holds himself on a pedestal because of it, and when I first met him I couldn't differentiate his Russian last name from a Japanese portmanteau I'd learned in the earlier days of my youth. There's Adam or Aaron or something, but he's tall and wears bow ties and shows me the docket because he's debated me so many times before he knows I never bring a paper copy, and there are others, certainly, and there is him.

And no discredit to him either, but boy.

Does he bulldoze.

Bulldoze.

I take another laborious sip of my milkshake or whatever the hell it is and think about this, the idea that he was trying to muscle his way to the top by taking out the easiest targets. I think back to earlier that morning, or to the afternoon, and consider the minutes I spent arguing with him on something that shouldn't have been a heated debate topic (THE FBI PROBABLY SHOULD HELP LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT AGENCIES WHEN IT COMES TO ENCRYPTION AND THE DARK WEB). And I think about it,

Bulldoze.

I think of the boys who bulldozed over me in elementary school and sent wood chips into my side splintering my soul into fragments and bruising my knees and my arms and my side and my everything. I think of the teachers who turned away when I told them and dismissed me that boys would be boys and I was taught that this stinging pain was equitable to the feeling of lips pressed against my skin.

I think of those awkward middle school days when Elsa and I avoided each other's glances in the halls, partly because I wore a scarlet letter on my chest and she didn't want to have to stare at it for too long. If she did, it would burn her just as it had been seared into me. I think of the herd of boys who followed behind him like mangy, disgusting mutts and shoved my young frame into a locker and said if I'd ever told anyone they'd make it a million times worse.

I think of my junior year of high school, when a boy grabbed me by the wrist and I flinched and he laughed a little. I think of the text I'd receive from him saying I needed to keep my pretty little mouth shut, how I'd ruin his life if I continued to scream the truth at the volume I'd been doing so, how I must've been a damn good author because he swore up and down that everything I said was fiction.

I think of the summer before my senior year when I was young and in love, when I swore the boy whose lap I sat in would the the same boy who took me into the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity, the same boy I'd raise my children with and share my small triumphs and pitfalls with. I think of how we're in the passenger's seat of my car and I love him, I love him, I love him but I love my God and the idealism that I could stay potentially pure forever. I think of the animalistic four months of torture I'd put my love through due to my insensibility, and how my skin would tense up the second his hand would wander any further down than my waistline, and how he'd automatically freeze but ask if it was okay. I think of how he asked again and again and again when it would be okay. And I was tired of denying my love and exhausted of the weight the idea of being touched drowned me with, and we were out of sight of the natural world, and so finally this time when he asked I naturally said yes. Because he'd bulldozed me into saying so. I didn't necessarily want it -- I'd want it later, when I realized the highs and the lows that came with it, but in that moment, I'd only said yes because he bulldozed my consent out of me.

I take a bite of an all-too-greasy onion ring and reluctantly thumb through the rest of my ballots, but unable to remove myself from the memories of times I'd been bulldozed. I've spent my whole life being flattened by the world around me, from the "boys will be boys" dismissals on the playground in the second grade to my sexual assault in the sixth to my fear of my own sort-of-boyfriend in the eleventh and the coercion of my first in damn near twelfth. No matter how empowered I'd felt by Marina and the Diamonds songs or how often I'd used my loudmouth to speak up for what I'd believed, never before had I stood before someone and actually, legitimately given them a piece of my mind without fearing it would take away a piece of me.

There are more lessons to be taken away from high school debate other than the cliche topics, cocky behavior of the kids, and argumentative attitude they present in government classes. There are more lessons to be learned when you allow a girl to speak her mind when she knows what she's discussing, to express her opinion and force a flattened world to spring back to life with it.

Bulldoze.

Because a little girl shouldn't be bullied into believing that a boy thinks she is beautiful the bruises he leaves on her skin.

Bulldoze.

Because someone should never feel intimidated into staying silent about their trauma instead of reaching out to help.

Bulldoze.

Because when she's in high school and she's dating boys, she's not going to understand the difference between love and heartache as she feels everything so detrimentally deeply intensely morbidly much, and she's going to stay with him.

Bulldoze.

Because when he looks up at her with his big, brown eyes it should never come down to the same schoolgirl intimidation she once felt when it comes to making a decision that even six months in the future she thinks about almost daily.

Bulldoze.

Because I deserve a voice, and I will not be bulldozed any longer.

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