#the STRESS I am feeling as an audience member of this is immense | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

duuhrayliegh · 3 years

Text

Fuck Misogyny

request: Bucky uses his newly gained knowledge of feminism to squash misogynistic interview questions. @ptrs-prkrs

warnings: language, creepy men, feminist!bucky

a/n: hey babes!! i hope this lived up to what you wanted! i couldn’t find the exact video you were referencing but i know what you’re talking about, so i drew inspiration from a few others.

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

full m.list

The set up was simple. A long row of fold out tables covered in black fabric, microphones in front of each seat. Black papers were taped to the backs of the microphones with each team member's name. Bucky had told Evie that he wasn’t going to be able to work out with her today because of this so it better be worth it. The PR manager for the team, Amanda, had set everything up. Hired the mediator, notified the press, everything. Ever since they announced that they were going to be hosting an Avenger’s Q&A Panel, the internet quite literally broke.

Of course Bucky had been doing lives on TikTok with the group of five for the past couple of weeks now, so he was becoming quite comfortable in this format. He’s become increasingly active on his social media accounts, gaining more and more followers everyday. Granted, there were still haters, as Freddie called them, but Bucky ignored them for the most part.

Bucky was actually excited for this press meeting. He was finally gaining traction in the media and he knew how to correctly answer their questions. As Amanda had explained, there was going to be several questions from the mediator, tons from the press that they had invited, and then some fan questions as well. They apparently were going to be live streaming the conference on YouTube allowing them to read the comments and questions as it went on.

“Okay, everyone. You have two minutes until we start.” The team was in an empty board room in the Hilton hotel. Tony didn’t want everyone on the compound’s grass because he just had it fixed. Bucky scanned his fellow teammates. It was impossible for everyone to dress for the same event. Steve was wearing a shirt that was almost bursting at the seams with a pair of jeans and sneakers.

Tony was wearing a lovely Tom Ford, three piece, two-button, of course. Natasha and Wanda were wearing ripped jeans and casual tops. Vision was wearing a sweater vest and slacks, Bruce was clad in slacks as well a jacket covering his shoulders. Sam was wearing a button-up shirt and pressed jeans and he couldn’t find Clint anywhere, probably hiding in the rafters again.

Bucky had his iconic leather jacket donning his shoulders, a pair of slightly ripped jeans. His outfit was picked out by Cassie and Penny. “You need to look like you care but like you don’t at the same time.” Is what they said, the phrase made Bucky shake his head. His hair had finally started growing back and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

He had gotten help from Evie before he left Cassie’s apartment. She had pulled back the top half, braiding back two sections into the bun at the back of his head. There were pieces dangling in front of his eyes, “to accentuate the facial features, trust me they’ll love it.” Was Evie’s explanation as they pushed him out of the apartment, so he wouldn’t be late.

“Alright guys! They’re calling your names!” The team filed out of the board room and into a large ballroom. Bottles of water were placed beside each placemat. Tony went out first, followed by Steve, then Bruce, Natasha, Clint, Wanda, Vision, Sam and ending with Bucky. They all settled into their seats, Bucky peeled his jacket off himself, placing it on the back of his chair. His black short sleeved shirt highlighted the gold inlays of his vibranium arm.

“Oh, I see we’re showing some muscle today huh, Buck?” Sam teased as Bucky took his seat next to him. Bucky groaned in realization, covering his microphone so it didn’t pick up what he planned to say.

“Good God, is this what it’s going to be like the entire panel? You just bugging the shit outta me?” They shared a laugh making the rest of the members look at the pair. The audience clapped as they were introduced and continued clapping as they assembled before them.

“Thank you. We would like to welcome everyone to the first, of hopefully many, Avenger’s Q&A Panel.” The female mediator, Stacey, read the assigned lines off the sheet on her podium. “We are going to start with questions we curated for the team and then open it up to the members of the press. After that we will turn to our live stream and answer some viewer questions.” The press rustled in their seats, pulling out pens and journals as well as their phones to record. “Okay, starting off with a question directed at the Avengers in general. How are you feeling about coming before the media in this type of format?” Glances were exchanged between the members, not sure on who was going to start.

“I feel that this is a great way for the general public to learn a little bit more about each individual team member.” Vision was the first to respond and Steve added on.

“Yeah, I definitely think that there’s a common misconception that we don’t want to engage with the media or the general public. We do, unfortunately due to the amount of research and training that we are doing behind the scenes, it just goes to the back of our minds.”

“Right. So Tony and Bruce, we all know that you two are geniuses. What are your feelings on expanding the teachings of STEM courses to not only high school, but as far back as elementary school or even kindergarten?” The pair thought about the question before answering.

“Well, I definitely think that offering STEM-based classes at a younger age would be beneficial, especially if we were to allow the kids to continue to switch what they want to focus on.” Bruce started. “It’s incredibly anxiety-inducing for teenagers to have to decide what they’re going to do with their life right before they are thrust into an unforgiving world.”

“Yeah, I’ll never understand why we do that to our future leaders, it’s honestly baffling. Why do American schools wait until high school to require our children to learn foriegn languages, they aren’t going to retain that information. The same applies for such comprehensive courses like STEM-based ones. If you wait until their brains are already developed so far, then they’ve already decided what they think is interesting and if they don’t find those courses interesting then they aren’t going to pay attention.” Tony finished Bruce's thought before nodding to each other smugly, obviously proud of themselves for answering the question so well.

“Interesting that you see it that way. This last one goes out to everyone and then we’ll open it up to the reporters. How do you deal with the stress and anxiety that comes with being an Avenger? Do you feel a certain amount of pressure to always do the right thing?” Stacey shuffled her papers, tapping them twice on the podium.

“We all have our own routines and ways that we decompress after missions so that really just depends on the person. Like I think that Bruce listens to opera music, and Wanda mediatates, Tony tinkers. It depends on the person.” Natasha answered concisely, making Bucky nod his head. He could recall all of those things to be true.

“Oh definitely, and it doesn’t hurt that we have a former VA Trauma Counselor on board to help us work through the harder stuff.” Steve added a gesture of his head to Sam.

“Speaking of that Sam, just a quick question before we open it up. How difficult was it for you to transition from regular Air Force missions to Avenger level missions?” Sam made a face at Stacey before answering.

“Um, I mean, it’s not that different. You’re always fighting one of the Big Three-- aliens, androids, or wizards, no matter what department you’re working with. The only transition I had to deal with was the Tony Stark-erized suits. Now that I think of it, Tony, can we make it tighter?” Sam quipped making the room laugh with ease.

“Alright, well now we’re going to open it up to the reporters. Starting with this gentleman in the front and then if we could also give a microphone to someone on that side of the room. Okay, thank you.” The first reporter stood up, holding the microphone in one hand and his phone in the other.

“Hello. John from Huffington Post. The Avengers inspire almost everyone around the world, so we would like to know who inspires you? Who do you look up to in terms of your idols?” He sat back down as the team contemplated their answers.

“Gandhi.” Bruce said, Tony snapped his fingers and pointed at him then added. “Pepper, she’s so amazing.” Steve looked down to Bucky, who shrugged.

“I would probably have to say that my sister, Sarah, inspires me. She raised her two sons, Cas and AJ, by herself after the Blip and was able to keep the family business going.” Sam’s answer made Bucky smile. Sam had brought him to their house in Delacroix, he remembered waking up to Cas and AJ playing in the kitchen, happy giggles filtering through reminding him of his time in Wakanda. By the time that Bucky had refocused on the conversation they had moved on without his answer. Several different questions went by, all directed to the team at large, until Chad.

“Hi, I’m Chad for the Daily Mail. My question is for Wanda and Natasha.” The pair of women perked up, excited to have a specific question. “Do you find that your equipment hinders you in doing your job as well as your male counterparts?” Stunned expressions settled over the womens faces, then annoyance. Bucky’s brows shot up to his hairline, appalled that someone had the balls to ask that. Wanda and Natasha handled the question with grace and much more restraint than Bucky would have.

“Well for me, I am able to move things with my mind so I can throw things randomly at people even if I’m not in the room. I’ve been very fortunate to work with Natasha who has Widow training, so my hand to hand combat is improving immensely. And being able to work with Princess Shuri in Wakanda to learn how to fully control my powers. It’s an ever evolving process that I’m always excited to take on.” Bucky nodded and turned his attention to Natasha.

“My favorite thing is training with either Steve or Bucky because they push me to do my best. We all have our specialties here and it’s nice to learn new skills or improve old ones with people who support you.” Natasha sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest, throwing daggers with her eyes at Chad in the audience, waiting for him to say something else. Chad stood again, yelling so he could be heard over the crowd’s commotion.

“That’s great, ladies, but forgive me, you didn’t answer the question I asked.” Bucky pushed forward in his seat, leaning into his microphone.

“I’m sorry, I think I misunderstood what you asked them then. I would like for you to clarify what you mean by equipment.” Chad balked, not expecting a male’s voice to respond.

“You know what’s implied by equipment, sir.” Bucky’s jaw clenched at the man.

“Did you just ask two of the most capable women that I’ve ever known, if their equipment, which I’m assuming you’re referring their breasts, made it to where they couldn’t do their job as good as the rest of their male counterparts. Just to be clear, that’s what you’re asking?” Chad stuttered as he answered yes.

“Right, well first off that’s disgusting. Just a bit of background for you, Wanda is the strongest Avenger here, plain and simple. As for Natasha, she’s the smartest woman I’ve ever met and she can take down every single male here.” Bucky took a breath before continuing. “So, what I think you really want to know is how they encourage their teammates to keep up with them.” He dropped his head to look at the two women down the line.

“Don’t worry Chad, I’ll ask them the right question, since you can’t quite seem to understand how to respect women.” The team was holding back snickers at Chad’s reaction. “Wanda, Natasha. Chad wants to know how the hell you push your male teammates to be just as good as you are. What are your strategies to keep us on our toes while training?” Claps sounded from the women press members and Bucky awaited the pair's response. The next press member stood and asked a question.

“Hi, I’m Chloe from Vanity Fair. This question goes to everyone on the panel.” Bucky settled in for another question that didn’t matter. “How do you continue to be aware of things happening in our society today? Do you keep up-to-date through new channels, or social media?” The answers were rather generic from the team, all of them rather uncomfortable from the tension that Bucky and Chad had created. Stacey interrupted after Chloe’s question.

“Okay, we’re going to open it up to viewer questions from our live stream.” An iPad was placed on the podium in front of Stacey and her eyebrows rose. “Okay, there’s quite a variety here. Here’s one for Steve and Bucky.” Bucky perked up, nervous to answer because his adrenaline had worn off.

“One viewer asks, ‘Steve and Bucky, being from the 40’s, women were treated like second thoughts and were talked about like objects. Now, you’re in the 21st century, not much has changed. What have you been doing to support feminist causes?’”

“I just want to say that everyone should be answering this. It’s true that during the 40’s women were not treated the right way, and they still aren’t today. An 18 year old can’t walk down the street at nine o’clock at night without being catcalled. I am a proud feminist, as everyone should be. I think that as a team we are doing pretty well in that department. As far as what I’m doing to support feminist causes, I’m doing as much as I can. I actually recently enrolled in online classes to expand my knowledge on many subjects, seeing as how I am from the 40’s and all.” The crowd laughed along with Bucky.

“Almost all of my classes have to do with either psychology or gender studies, it’s a fascinatingly haunting subject. One book that I’m reading right now was suggested to me by my friend Cassie, it’s called Hood Feminism: Notes from the Women that a Movement Forgot. The author doesn’t let up and I’m only halfway through it. Look, I’m still educating myself, but I’m a strong believer in doing what is right for everyone, so I’m trying. Thankfully I have a few people keeping me in check as far as my actions.” Bucky thought his response was well thought out for being an on the fly question. He was new to the concept of feminism but that didn’t change the fact that it made total sense.

“I’m with Bucky on this. The 40’s were a rough time. I remember the first time I met Peggy Carter, I was astonished that a woman could be in such a powerful position. One of the first things she did after I met her was punch out someone who made a sexual comment to her. I’ve been supporting feminist causes ever since working with Peggy.” Steve added, a sad smile spreading on his face reminiscing Peggy.

“This one says, ‘As a total fan of all of you, I love seeing what you post on your social media accounts. When are the rest of the Avengers going to follow Bucky’s lead and download TikTok?’” Bucky’s head flew back into a full body laugh. Tony shifted forward in his seat, pointing his finger at the laughing man down the table.

“I would just like to say he didn’t get that approved before doing it. However, it did go over really well, so we’ll consider it.” Wanda’s mouth rolled inwards, stifling her laughter.

“We’ll consider it, you’re such an old man. Most of us have TikTok already, we just don’t make content on it like Barnes over here.” Sam said, tossing his head in Bucky’s direction.

“I’ve got like three videos on there!” Bucky and Sam began bantering back and forth.

“Yeah and one of them is dancing to a Cardi B song! Who even showed you that? I thought you only like 40’s music?” Bucky made a face at the man.

“Uh, just because I didn’t like your suggestions for music doesn’t mean I don’t have taste. My Spotify playlist is filling out quite nicely, Wilson.” Bucky and Sam didn’t quit fighting from then on, just little jabs at each other under the table.

“Here’s a good one,” Stacey had a smile on her face, “Are you allies of the LGBTQ+ community?” Bucky responded quickly with no hesitation.

“Yes, many of my friends are members of the Alphabet Mafia. Why wouldn’t we be?” Wanda nodded at his question, laughing at his use of the phrase Alphabet Mafia.

“Yeah, absolutely. I mean, I’m dating a fucking android, I’d be pretty hypocrictal if I wasn’t an ally. Nat, Clint what about you?” Clint bobbed his head in response.

“Oh yeah. We all are, even the Star Spangled Man with a Plan.” Steve’s shoulders shook with laughter at Clint’s nickname for him. The team broke out into laughter, joining Steve. Stacey cleared her throat, commanding the attention of the room again.

“Alright, everybody! That’s it for today.” She glanced down at her papers. “We would like to thank everyone for coming out today and joining the Avengers Q&A Panel. At this time we are unaware, if we will be conducting another one of these, but the odds look good based on the response.” The team filed out of the ballroom and into the empty boardroom. Bucky was the last to get into the room and he was approached by Natasha and Wanda immediately. Wanda wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug.

“That was so sick, Bucky!” She stepped back and Natasha offered him a side hug as well. “Where’d you learn all that? And since when are you taking online classes?”

“That guy was being an asshole, he needed to be put in his place. I hope you guys didn’t feel like I overstepped or anything.” Bucky hung his arm over Wanda’s shoulder, leaning his weight on her. “And I started about two months ago. They’re going really well, I’m learning a lot and enjoying it surprisingly. It’s a good thing to do in my free time since I’m not always on missions.”

“I’m proud of you James, that was impressive.” Natasha complimented him, she wasn’t usually a woman of many words so that was a lot. Bucky smiled at her, nodding his head. His phone began buzzing in his back pocket, so he excused himself from their conversation. His screen displayed one of Evie’s senior pictures, signalling that she was calling him. He pushed the green button and brought the phone to his ear to answer her call.

“Hello?” She ignored his greeting with a squeal.

“Check your Twitter! Bucky, you’re trending! Here I’m putting you on speaker, we’re all here Buck!” Shuffling noises were heard through the speaker as Evie began reading the tweets to Bucky. Laughs from Cassie, Freddie and Penny could be heard behind Evie’s voice.

“Oh my gosh Eve! Just let the man get back to what he was doing!” Freddie yelled at an excited Evie, who retaliated with a scoff.

“Okay, okay! Just remember we have a movie night tomorrow! It’s Penny’s turn to pick so we don’t know what to expect.” Evie mumbled the last part into her phone speaker. Bucky heard the impact of a pillow hit Evie, causing her to grunt in pain. “Okay! We’ll talk to you later, Buck! See you soon!” She hung up the phone before he could get a word in edgewise. Bucky shook his head as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. Amanda approached Bucky asking to speak with him privately.

“So we’re getting a flood of interview requests from networks and papers. We would like to start running with this. We’ll have to go over everything with our PR guy, Ryan, but it should work out. As long as you’re comfortable with all of this.” Bucky smiled and nodded, following after Amanda as she continued explaining what would happen going forward.

He was nervous, of course, but he could tell these nerves were coming from a place of excitement instead of fear, which was a new sensation for the man. It wasn’t unwelcome, it was the same as when he first started hanging out with Cassie, Penny, Freddie and Evie. It was the same when he went on his first mission with the team. Bucky was ready to tackle this next adventure, whatever it would entail.

140 notes · View notes

thoughts-on-bangtan · 3 years

Text

BTS at Golden Disc Awards 2021

by Admin 1

On the 9th and 10th of January 2021 BTS attended the Golden Disc Awards, and performed on the second day as well. Being there they won the Digital Bonsang for Dynamite on the 9th and the Bonsang, as well as the Album Daesang for Map of the Soul : 7, on the 10th. Amazing achievements which I sincerely congratulate them on.

When it comes to the performance, it was, most certainly, another amazing collection of stages bringing something new once more, even if they presented songs we’ve already seen at previous award shows this season. The opening came in form of Black Swan, though they didn’t sing any of it. It was more an intro showcasing the entrance of the members and highlighted Yoongi’s return to the stage, at least partially.

The stage featured big metal winds, low lighting, and the members clad in black and white clothing including leather elbow length gloves for Namjoon and Yoongi, and pretty chockers for Taehyung and Jimin. The highlight though was Jungkook’s hair which isn’t dark anymore, but instead has been bleached and dyed a pretty blond. Personally I think it suits him pretty well.

More below the cut since this is shaping up to be pretty long:

Next up was ON, which was powerful and fierce, though still missing Yoongi, which is all too understandable. Even though he can stand on stage again and hold his mic in his left hand (his surgery was on the left shoulder), it will still be a while until he’ll be able to dance with the members. ON has certainly grown a lot on me and I enjoy their performances of it immensely, and it was much the case this time as well.

The transition from ON to Life Goes On came in form of the stage being made to look like their individual rooms from BE which appeared on the digital walls around them. Their clothes were mostly comfy, though Jimin’s resembled their outfits from all the way back during I NEED U/RUN era. The transition/VCR like moment ended with the instrumental to We Are Bulletproof : The Eternal and the stage looking much the way the MV did with the whale swimming around them in an ocean of shades of purple, blue and pink.

For Life Goes On they had miniature versions of some of their most iconic MV sets on pedestals. It was a really cute idea and I enjoyed the execution a lot. The members seemed relaxed and enjoying themselves, Jimin and Taehyung even having their little moment of looking at each other twice, these moments certainly having become something I always kind of look forward to when it comes to LGO stages.

Another tiny Jimin and Taehyung detail was Jimin sending a brief, barely noticeable (by the viewer) finger heart which I hadn’t even noticed until my fourth rewatch. It definitely fits with all these other small gestures we’ve seen from these two in recent months, like the finger hearts and kissy faces during their Lotte Family Concert performance of Boy with Luv or hugging each other on day 1 and doing a fun handshake and dance on day 2 during Dionysus at the MOTS ON:E concert visible only on one of the side cameras, not the main one.

The grand finale was the Slow Jam remix of Dynamite which worked perfectly with the chill out lounge/bar atmosphere created on stage fitting with the Great Gatsby theme. The members wore mostly suits in white, blue in Namjoon’s case, and a bright yellow when it comes to Taehyung, as well as Hoseok who had a white button down which Tae did not. While a normal person would look ridiculous in it, Taehyung looked absolutely stunning and made it more than work. After so many energetic performances of Dynamite since its release, seeing such a calm version was really nice and refreshing, showing how versatile BTS and their music are, how they can captivate an audience with fast songs made for big choreographies and stage productions, but also these slow, more chill types of tracks. A marvelous idea, truly.

There was also an encore stage where they sang ON again but this time along with Yoongi on stage which had some hilarious moments, especially Namjoon and Seokjin being silly waving their arms around while kneeling opposite each other on stage during Jungkook’s bridge. Cute.

Afterward the members were at something like a red carpet after interview where they took pictures with their awards (Jungkook and Taehyung even making their Bonsang and Daesang awards kiss much the way film director Bong Joon Ho made his two Oscars kiss last year) and were asked to do a relay of saying something to each other.

All translations of their words are taken from Vernal_Bom on twitter.

J-hope to Jimin

“I didn’t feel lonely in 2020 thanks to Jimin. Thank you for making me laugh. Give me happiness and laugh in 2021 as well.” Jimin (turning to Namjoon): “It seems he can never live without me”

Honestly the bond between Jimin and Hoseok is so cute and wonderful and you can see, and hear in their words, how important they are to each other, and how grateful Hobi is. We know the members were having a really hard time in 2020 so it doesn’t surprise me that Hobi would highlight the other members, or in this case Jimin, as one of the main reasons why he made it through it. After all we also know that those two made a song together which unfortunately didn’t make it onto BE. Hopefully we might get it one day at least as SoundCloud release, or perhaps on the next album instead.

Jimin to RM

It was you who made us pull ourselves together to go through 2020. I am always grateful, and it’d be nice if you share you height a little with me in 2021, be healthy and happy. RM: Okay thank you

I love how Jimin used this (public) opportunity to tell/remind Namjoon of how important he was for them especially in 2020, as leader and surely also as friend, yet still also made a little joke to still keep the atmosphere light. After he was done speaking Jimin also hugged Namjoon, which showed once more how tiny he is in comparison.

RM to JK

It’s finally today, Jungkook-si, in 10 years! You are Golden Maknae! The day that you will prove your nickname! You are proving it right now with your hair color, but in 2021, I hope the year will be filled with gold, like your nickname. Stay healthy. Let’s ‘Jje-kkit-up’ together this year too! (check it up.. the usual Namjoon saying lol)

It’s quite something to think about and realize, isn’t it, this year 10 years pass since Jungkook became a BigHit trainee and moved into their first dorm with Namjoon, Hoseok, Yoongi and Seokjin. I’m curious if Bangtan, as well as BigHit, have some kind of plan for JK specifically for this year that Namjoon chose to highlight his Golden Maknae nickname in such a way, or if it was more of a reminder to JK, that he’s so worthy despite how he doubts himself, and despite how he himself said he’s been going through tough times in 2020.

JK to V

V hyung, when we were trainees we were getting along so well, (V: We are not now???) No!!! i didn’t mean it. You are becoming so much of an stand-up (reliable, I assume in this context) guy. Thank you for doing all the schedules with us. jhope: who’s hyung here?

The bond these two share might just be one of the biggest mysteries and causes for conflicts and fights within the fandom, or particular parts of it. After their conversation In The SOOP, I’d like to believe they’ve figured out whatever issue might've arisen between them in the past, found a way to solve and move past it slowly, and rekindled their friendship once more. Seeing at how well they’ve been getting along (on camera) these past few months, I think it might've been so. It’s curious to me though that JK chose to say this instead of something more akin to what Jimin said to Namjoon, or Hoseok to Jimin.

V to Jin

V: (turns to Jin) Jin: This is too close V: I listened to Abyss and that makes my heart ache too... Jin: Thank you V: hyung, your song is so good. Make more songs in 2021, let Army and us listen to your song more. Jin: Okayokay V: and I play game with you to relieve stress.... sorry for talking in ban-mal (informal form). —(also speaking in informal way) Jin: No no it was so fun V: I love you Jin: I love you too

I absolutely adore the bond these two share and I love that Tae chose to say what he did. We know Seokjin has been going through a hard time in 2020, that he dealt with something I’d call imposter syndrome, so I’m glad we got to know even more about how Tae was there for him, something we otherwise would’ve never known. Certain people try to portray Tae as the one member that is almost estranged from his other members, who barely has anything to do with the group outside of schedules, and yet it’s moments like this--as well as Seokjin telling us in his birthday vlive that Tae organized for everyone including his non-BTS friends to send Seokjin birthday wishes in video form to show him how loved and appreciated he is--are the proof that those people are wrong. Tae is very close with his members, and he’s the ambassador of OT7 or nothing, the members his closest friends and brothers, his found and chosen family.

Jin to Suga

Jin: Yoongi ya, do it well. Suga: Okay.... Jin: Do well on your rehab, and...uh... let’s do well going forward. Suga: Okay.. I will...

These two are so close yet due to their introverted nature their interactions such as this one are just so hilarious and adorable at the same time. Their dynamic is wonderful and this just seems like peak Yoongi-Jin behavior.

Suga to j-hope

SG: (unable to look into hobi’s eyes) Our hobi JH: Suga! SG: You did work hard in 2020 (evading eye contact) JH: hahhahahah and? SG: Let’s not fall sick in 2021, and hwaiting... JH: “Hwaiting hyung, and take good care of your health!”

The saga of Yoongi being unable to look Hoseok in the eye continues and it’s just as precious as ever. They stood so close, and while Yoongi wasn’t able to look into Hoseok’s eyes, it’s funny how he was the one who initiated the whole “them standing so close together” thing. I love the difference between how Seokjin didn’t even try to make eye-contact while Hoseok playfully challenged Yoongi and tried to coax him into it anyway knowing it’ll make Yoongi laugh and smile. It’s such a Yoongi-Hoseok thing, I love it.

And with that, the award was over and now also my post. I hope you enjoyed reading it! :3

#bts #bangtan seonyandan #golden disk awards #golden disc awards 2021 #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #vmin #namjin #life goes on #performance commentary #Vmin cute moments #Namjin being silly together #Yoongi is back!#bts gif

69 notes · View notes

novantinuum · 3 years

Link

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences

Words: 2.2K~

Summary: A series of shorts detailing what might’ve happened in the moments after I Am My Monster, told from six different points of view.

Greg apparently had a LOT on his mind, because this was supposed to be short and instead it’s over 2000 words, ahah. Final chapter!

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3. Thank you! <3

Chapter warning: Allusions to past non-canon character suicide.

____

Chapter 6: Greg

Hours pass.

Bismuth makes quick and quiet work of replacing the cracked slider door in Steven’s room while he sleeps, and secures a thick tarp over the open front of the house to keep the coastal breeze somewhat at bay until she can finish her repairs to the windows and siding. She warns that might take a day or two. Garnet, meanwhile, busies herself the rest of the afternoon and evening fielding all of the Diamonds’ frazzled calls, and reassuring them of the boy’s current stability. Pooling their knowledge, Dr. Maheswaran and Peridot make sure to confirm that. Beyond some minor scarring, neither his organic or Gem half seems to exhibit any serious physical health conditions in consequence of what happened today, news which works to ever so slightly lift the air of the household. With no other concrete tasks to complete, Pearl, Amethyst, Lapis, Connie, and Greg all rotate between sweeping debris off the floor, wandering the beach to mentally recuperate, and dutifully sitting at Steven’s side as he rests. It may not sound like a lot, but alas the level of emotional labor demanded by such a situation is immense.

All in all, the sun’s long since dipped below the horizon by the time Greg finally collapses onto the mattress laid out in the back of his van, craving if but a moment of privacy and respite from all the chaos. It’s been... an insufferably long day, to put it lightly. Busy. Tons of cleaning, and intercepting nosy neighbors, and bedside monitoring...

He offered to take the first night shift watching Steven a few minutes ago, but Pearl must’ve noticed the dark circles creeping ever wider under his eyes, because she proceeded to gently overturn his offer and remind him of humanity’s daily sleep requirement. And she’s right, of course. He can’t stay up as long as he used to in his twenties anymore. Plus, he probably deserves some time to himself after everything that’s transpired. There’s plenty of Gems left in the house who can keep watch, after all. Steven will be fine for a few hours. Surely nothing else can happen when he’s asleep, right?

Right??

Exhaustedly slumping against the side wall, Greg offers a glassy, vacant stare at the contacts list of his phone, roughly wiping the damp from his cheeks with his other hand as his thumb hovers over one of the numbers. Does he dare drag someone else into this whole situation? Surely the kinder solution would be to refrain from widening the circle any more, from letting anyone else learn about today’s harrowing events. And yet if he fails to find a proper outlet for the raw emotions all of this has violently hauled to the surface, he fears he just may suffer a mental break himself, repressed memories bursting like a vicious flood through the dam he desperately tried to seal them behind all those years back. Much of this is just... far too familiar.

His phone slips right through his trembling hands as the cruel reality of what he witnessed today finally begins to carve its indelible presence in his mind. A strained sob leaking from between his tightly pursed lips, he buries his head between his knees, clutching at the worn bottom hem of his jean shorts like an infant to a parent’s finger. Small. Vulnerable.

Helpless.

His son... oh stars, his only son, he—

He can’t talk about any of this to the Gems; they wouldn’t wholly grasp the uniquely human nature of his concerns. And he doesn’t feel comfortable discussing these matters with Dr. Maheswaran, especially not after the stern words she dealt to him back at the hospital. He’s burdened her enough already, by this point. No, there’s only one fellow human he feels close enough with to engage in this sort of conversation.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he reaches for the phone he dropped on the mattress. Turns it on. Nervously clamps down on his bottom lip as he selects his cousin’s contact and dials.

The passing heartbeats slamming against his ribs are almost nauseating in their needy clamor as he waits, his calloused fingers tapping against the thick rubber of his phone case. Andy’s never been a particularly tech savvy guy, so honestly, it’s well within reason he might not even carry his phone on his person to answer. And that’d be fine, really. In fact, he might even prefer it, since he’s still not confident he’s emotionally prepared to discuss any of this at this precise moment, anyways. But just as he’s beginning to undergo mental preparations for what on Earth he might leave as a voicemail message, his older family member finally picks up.

“Greg?” Andy’s gravelly voice rings through, sounding somewhat tinny through their connection. “Hey, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? How’s the ol’ Universe family unit doin’?”

“Not great, honestly,” he narrowly manages in response, his throat constricting tight. “That’s kinda why I’m calling, if you have the time to listen?”

“Heh. I’m a drifter, you know I ain’t got no schedule. Carry on.”

“Well... geeze, how do I put this. There was, uh... a bit of an incident today. With Steven.”

“An incident?” his cousin questions, marked worry immediately painting his tone. “The kid okay??”

He falls silent for a few seconds upon this question, threading his hyperactive digits through the split ends in his hair on automatic, a stress-induced habit. “Unclear,” he says, a slight quiver making itself intimately known in his words. “I mean, physically, at the moment, yes, but—“

He cuts off once more. It suddenly occurs to him that little of today’s events would make sense to Andy without providing the appropriate context. Or, at least, what little context he’s capable of giving as a father. It’s still terrifying to admit the truth to himself— that he doesn’t possess the full story. That he hasn’t been paying close enough attention. That, in many ways, he willfully blinded himself to all the troubling events transpiring around his son throughout the years, foolishly believing that if he didn’t involve himself... that if he simply stayed out of the Gems’ hair... everything would go to plan, and Steven would finally receive the training he needed. He didn’t expect things would grow so complicated.

He didn’t expect that his teenage son would have to march into battle carrying nothing but his wits and a shield time and time again.

With a weary sigh and a quick apology, to which Andy brushes off, Greg begins to weave a verbal picture of everything that’s transpired across the last few days. First, the hospital call. Rushing home from tour, only to find his son giant and flushed pink, literally filling an entire room with the sheer volume of his trauma. The shattered x-ray in his chart, hinting towards hidden hurts that— before all this— even Steven seemingly hadn’t processed or quantified. Then, the road trip. The unwanted reminders of his childhood. That blasted CD. His expression sobers as he describes the fateful argument they had on the road home, one which lead to his son accidentally breaking the steering wheel and flipping the van. Next... his disappearance. No texts for four whole days, which is so unlike him. He was worried sick. And the next time he saw him, he was eight feet tall, glowing, and painfully manic in behavior, with each new sentence spilling from his mouth revealing an even more heartbreaking picture of the sort of poor mental state he’d spiraled into. It was nothing short of a father’s worst nightmare, propelled into horrifying, vivid reality.

Nothing in this corner of the galaxy could’ve prepared him for the primal surge of terror and anguish he was engulfed within when that nightmare distorted and transformed even further.

His only son... colossal and coated in thick scales and spines, sclera black as night... roughly clawing at this unfamiliar form, smashing his skull against the cliffside, roaring with an inner pain so primal that the sound now haunts the depths of his very soul—

“I- you remember what happened with cousin Jo, back when we were young?” Greg says softly once he’s caught Andy up with the details of situation, his voice frail and unsteady, the tone of a man helplessly marooned amidst his anxieties. “Before she was sent to that mental rehab place? Well, I’m... with the addition of Gem magic, it almost felt like that. I mean, h-he’s fine for now, we have him resting, but... but I’m just so scared he won’t come out of this, like her, a-a-and that one day he’ll—“

A mewling sob bubbles up in his throat, swiftly severing that train of thought. N-no. No, he refuses to even utter that horrible idea out loud! After all, a world without Steven in it isn’t worth envisioning.

Andy’s eventual response— albeit tinged with a justified shade of awkwardness, given the emotionally charged nature of this conversation— is filled with genuine compassion, and for that he’s dearly thankful.

“Aw, hell... Greg, I’m- I’m so sorry. I, uh- I could fly over, if any of ya’ need me? For emotional support, or whatever?”

Upon this kind offer, he inhales deep to steady his breath, and wipes away dewy beads of moisture from the corner of his eyes, desperately hoping that he can mitigate the pitiful wavering of his voice over the phone. He’s gotta fight to reliably keep some form of composure in front of other people, damnit. His kid can’t have his dad breaking down around him too, of course.

“No, you’ve got places to be,” he replies evenly, pressing his thumb and pointer against one of his aching temples. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You ain’t asking,” he retorts, the eye-roll evident in his tone. “I’m offering. Listen- family takes care of family, y’hear? And I’m only about a day’s flight away, anyways. It’s really the least I could do.”

He sighs. Absentmindedly tugs at a thick strand of his hair. Offers a long, contemplative stare at the rickety age-worn handle affixed to the inside of the van’s back doors. Truth be told— ignoring his deep-seated guilt at dragging Andy into all this to begin with— he’d love having another family member around to embrace, especially a human one who can more deeply understand the crux of his anxieties about this delicate situation. But in the end, he shouldn’t be prioritizing his own feelings and comfort. He’s not the one in crisis, his son is.

Desperately hoping he’s making the right choice, Greg flexes his fingers, and acquiesces to the offer, on one condition: only if Steven consents to having visitors, once he’s awake.

Andy hums in approval. “Understood. Don’t wanna overload the poor guy with any surprise visits, or whatever.”

“Yeah. The last thing I want to do is push him too hard, too fast.”

He pauses, braving waves of parental grief to spend a moment to reflect on Steven’s emotional progression over the past few months... a stray negative comment here, an unusually forlorn mannerism there... All of them events that, in isolation, wouldn’t point to anything more than your standard ‘teenage angst,’ but when observed in strong, unceasing patterns, begin to reveal deeply harrowing truths about the state of an individual’s self-image. How did he never notice? Why wasn’t he there to catch him in his fall?

“I think he hates himself,” he says quietly, his voice hitching up at the end. “He didn’t say so directly, but- but I can sense it. And I don’t know how to help him, I-I... I don’t know if I can.”

“Nonsense,” his cousin scoffs, “‘course ya’ know what to do! What does any good father worth their salt give their sons?”

Unable to evade the momentary temptation of feeling miserable and sorry for himself, he slumps back against the wall, giving a weak shrug that his current audience would never see.

“I dunno, maybe a stable, safe childhood? Not growing up poor as dirt in a van?”

“No, you numbskull,” Andy immediately cuts back, “you love on ‘em and support ‘em just as much as you always have! Y’ show him that you’re always gonna be there for him, and that he can trust you with anything.”

“But I haven’t always been there for him,” he exclaims petulantly. “That’s the whole problem! That’s one of the reasons he ended up like this.”

“Greg,” he says, his voice softer this time. “Listen to me, ain’t nobody perfect, okay? We’ve all made our mistakes with people. Me? More than most. But what we can’t do is let those mistakes cloud what’s happening right now. Y’know, that’s one of the hard lessons I’ve had to learn over the past two years, that you can’t always make things about you. Because right now, it’s about him. He’s dealin’ with some hard feelings, and he needs all of our help. So, let’s help him. Together. We’ll start with one foot in front of us, and we can take it from there. All right?”

Closing his weary, exhausted eyes and pressing his thumb firm against his still-aching temple, Greg Universe gives a long sigh and finally concedes to the reality that— just as he’s not solely responsible for the decline of his son’s mental state— no man should be an island when it comes to the task of supporting one’s journey towards recovery. As with everything, the extended Universe family unit will face the future together, hand-in-hand. Step-by-step.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I think that’s do-able.”

#su #su future #greg universe #andy demayo #su fanfiction #my writing stuff

35 notes · View notes

fritae · 3 years

Text

The Missing Piece (Chapter 8)

Anxiety.

gang! au / ceo! au

characters: dabi x female oc, lov, other original characters

status: ongoing

read on ao3 here.

I'm sure Mr. Lane has seen me.

With a groan, I take Dabi aside.

"You can go ahead, sir." I tell him quickly, glancing behind me to see if they're watching me.

Dabi looks over my shoulder.

"Is that what's-his-face?"

I shoot Dabi a look and gesture toward Aliyah. We may be friends but I didn't tell her the real reason I left NNTV. She thinks work became too stressful and I needed a break.

She doesn't know about the argument me and Mr. Lane had after I discovered his support of the Todorokis. Or about his cutting my salary and threatening to fire me.

Besides, bad mouthing a former employer is horrible professionalism.

"It's Mr. Lane. Go, go," I try shoo-ing him away. "I'll see you tomorrow sir."

But Dabi doesn't budge.

His eyes are trained on mine.

"I don't like that look on your face."

I groan. "What look? Sir it's just-"

"Like you're uncomfortable."

The comment catches me off guard and I quickly avert my gaze.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I say quietly. "These are my friends."

But that only seems to make him more determined. Dabi turns to face me completely, his feet firmly planted in the ground and his hands tucked coolly in the pockets of his pants. He doesn't look interested in listening right now.

"What are you worried about?" He asks. "Is it him?"

I run an anguished hand through my hair. "Sir please. Please. What happened to not asking about our private matters?"

I don't want Dabi and Mr. Lane meeting. Especially considering how our last conversation went. I didn't tell Mr. Lane I was working for the Blaze, and considering how salty he was that I left after all these years, facing him once again fills me with anxiety.

"Alright I won't ask you," Dabi ignores me. "I'll find out from him."

My eyes widen and I pull him back before he could make his way toward Mr. Lane. Aliyah went to bring Mr. Lane to say hi. I feel my chest get tighter when I see him getting closer.

"See? I don't like that." Dabi eyes me with concern. He tsks and pulls a box from his back pocket. He tries to hand me a cigarette but I shake my head quickly.

Mr. Lane doesn't know I smoke.

And with the amount of anxiety pooling in my gut, it wouldn't even help.

Dabi shrugs, no longer facing me.

"I'm here," He says. The ice in his voice from earlier is gone. I look at him once more before Mr. Lane gets within earshot.

He gives me a small nod and reaches for me, his hand brushing against the small of my back in a way that sends electricity up my spine. "He's not your boss anymore. He has no power over you."

I nod and plaster a fake smile on my face as the short man approaches us.

I hope it's enough to hide my thundering heart.

"Ms. Aoki," His voice sounds as insufferable as ever. "Fancy meeting you here."

I nod my head in respect. "Mr. Lane. It's nice to see you so soon."

As if!

But already, his attention is off of me. Instead, he eyes Dabi up and down.

"Is this your partner?" He asks.

My face heats up immediately. "Oh - no sir. This is my, um - my new boss. Mr. Dabi?"

Just as I expected, Mr. Lane's expression darkens immediately.

I expect Dabi to extend a hand out for formalities. But his hands remains in his pockets. He merely gives him a nod in acknowledgement.

"So you've found a new company after all." Mr. Lane comments coldly.

"Yes. Yes sir."

"What's the name of your company, Mr. Dabi?"

"The Blaze." Dabi says. "I do luxury trading. Rina told me she previously worked for a broadcasting company - what was it called again?"

Mr. Lane's face hardens. "NNTV. We're a leading force in the industry-"

"Right, right. That company that always underperforms?" He asks apologetically.

Me and Aliyah gasp, glancing cautiously at Mr. Lane.

"I have a friend that works at CBS, you see."

There's a smile on Dabi's face.

"I haven't even heard of your company," Mr. Lane quickly counters, evil in his eyes. "When Ms. Aoki abandoned us in such a manner, I assumed she'd join a better known business."

"I'm not surprised you haven't heard of us," Dabi sighs, that same mocking tone in his voice. "You see, we cater to a highly exclusive audience."

Aliyah mouth drops behind Mr. Lane, looking extremely amused. I wouldn't be surprised if this becomes the subject of tomorrow's lunchtime gossip.

"I see," Mr. Lane smiles at Dabi but it is anything but friendly. "Anyway. Careful with this one." He tells Dabi. "She's loyal to the - " He rubs his fingers to his thumb to indicate money. "It doesn't matter how well you treat her, if she finds a better offer she'll run off on you. Looking at you now," Mr. Lane sizes him up. "it probably won't take long."

I didn't leave because of money you piece of shit! If you actually saw me as a person, you'd know that!

I feel Aliyah's eyes on me in surprise.

Great.

Now she thinks I'm making more money and keeping things from her.

I don't face her.

"Hm," Dabi says. "What do you define as a better offer? Because we certainly don't pay-"

Don't say that! I think frantically.

I clear my throat.

Dabi looks at me quizzically. But he understands soon enough.

"...her what she's worth. With how well she's driven up sales this past month, she certainly deserves every penny."

"With all due respect," Mr. Lane smiles apologetically, venom lacing his words. "A secretary who intervenes in your business, gives unsolicited advice, and tries to control decision making is not worth her price. There are many other qualified secretaries who will drive up sales, and do it better than she can."

I feel my heart fall.

Of course he would say that.

Mr. Lane thinks of me as disloyal now. Leaving NNTV so suddenly after all these years, I knew it would matter more to him than he let on during our last meeting.

He doesn't exactly tolerate betrayal. And being his secretary for so long, I've seen how he treats former employees enough to know how vicious he can be.

That's why I didn't want him and Dabi to meet.

My face reddens immensely at the mention of my frequent "interventions" and "unsolicited advice". Because Mr. Lane doesn't believe in teams, he believes in workers who do as they're told. That's it.

But considering how much Dabi cares about his space, the comment fills me with anxiety.

Especially given the conversation we had today.

Will he think this is a pattern now? Will it drive him further away from me - cause his lack of trust in me to balloon even more?

There's an uncomfortable feeling in my gut as my mind questions all these possibilities. I wish Aliyah hadn't seen me.

No.

I wish I just told Dabi I was busy when he asked me for dinner. I hesitantly glance at him, searching for any indication of how he's receiving this.

There's embarrassment written all over my face.

However, Dabi's expression doesn't change. He remains aloof.

Although on closer inspection, I think I see his jaw clench.

I feel my eyes water. Is he angry with me?

He should be.

Perhaps I am too talkative and opinionated for a secretary.

But Dabi's response makes me furrow my brows in confusion.

"She was a member of your team. Of course she would advise you. And intervene as necessary."

My eyes widen.

"It's as much her company as it is mine, so I do hope she does more of that for us in the future."

I look at Dabi in surprise, trying to figure him out. Doesn't he hate it when people intervene in his business though? Is he just saying this in front of Mr. Lane?

That's gotta be it.

Regardless, I'm grateful that he hasn't thrown me under the bus, using me as conversation material. Anyone else would happily listen and even share their own criticism of me to keep the conversation going. Especially considering Mr. Lane is realistically the more powerful CEO of the two. Anyone would say anything to get on his good side.

And part of me feels like Mr. Lane used me in order to shift to Dabi's good side too. After all, what manager doesn't love critiquing his employees?

Only Dabi didn't take the bait.

"I suppose I should thank you actually," Dabi continues, the height difference only further emphasizing the power imbalance in the conversation. Mr. Lane looks small for the first time ever, as he stands there looking up at Dabi. "If you hadn't let her go, our company wouldn't be in the place it is today. She's extremely capable, as you know. And such an agreeable team player, as well."

But instead of responding, Mr. Lane focuses on me with those murderous eyes.

As if it's my fault he was humiliated tonight.

How dare I go on to build up someone else's company. How dare I not cry and beg him to take me back, that I was sorry and have learned from my mistake. That I would never challenge his decisions again and be the loyal, silent employee he expects me to be.

I shrink under his stare, and before I know it, Dabi's hand is once again on my back.

He has no power over you.

I take a deep breath. "Unfortunately, Mr. Dabi has a prior engagement and we don't want to be late." I tell Mr. Lane. "But thank you for coming over personally to say hello. Hopefully, an opportunity for us to meet again arises in the future."

Mr. Lane nods coldly and walks away. He didn't even shake our hands before he left. Aliyah smiles at us apologetically and comes to hug me once again.

"He's a good man," She whispers in my ear. When she pulls away, she gives me a sly wink and my face reddens. She shakes Dabi's hand before she hurries behind Mr. Lane to the outdoor seating area where the rest of NNTV's administration and senior employees lounge.

And Dabi and I are alone once again.

#dabi angst #dabi fanfic #dabi fic #dabi fluff #dabi x oc #touya todoroki #dabi #dabi x female reader #touya fluff #bnha fic #bnha

17 notes · View notes

lamiralami · 5 years

Text

TMA Retro 4: Page Turner

I was touched to see some tag commentary on yesterday’s post! Honestly, it gave me an emotion - I am traditionally very anxious about engaging online, it speaks to my immense love of TMA that it brought me to Make A Post At Last. It’s very affirming and reassuring to get some response to my lunatic treatises. Y’all are all right. 💜

Anyway, grab some lighter fluid and a sturdy wastepaper basket, time to torch your haunted novel in MAG 4: Page Turner

It’s ironic that this statement is about the Vast when it is one dense motherfucker. so many dangling plot threads are introduced here, each ready to hook you and start reeling. we’ve been into the meta plot since episode one but this episode is the first time the audience is made aware of such.

seriously: Jurgen Leitner and his library, Gerard Keay and Mary Keay, Michael Crew. the figures introduced in this one thirty-minute installment loom large over the rest of the entire run

you could, your first time through, even file this away as a one-off scary story if not for the fact that Jon knows what’s going on (enjoy it while it lasts, my son). He’s heard of Jurgen Leitner. He alludes to an incident with his library in 1994. Deeper than that, he immediately takes the statement at face value and treats the claims within it as authentic, which is a complete 180° on the first three episodes

and this is such a smart story choice? Jon shapes our perspective into this universe and up until now he’s been utterly dismissive of the validity of the stories he’s telling. To go from practically rolling his eyes to scheduling a meeting with his boss about tracking down more haunted books - that tells us that Jon takes this seriously as a threat. And that makes us take it seriously too, makes us take note that strange books are dangerous things in this world. Any offhand mention of books in future statements will be enough to make us sweat

And! It starts winding the narrative tension on a character level. Why and what does Jon know about Jurgen Leitner and his library? Why does he say his name with such venom? And if he’s so sure about the supernatural nature of these books, why is he so loath to believe the other statements?

(and then it takes 80 + episodes to fully answer these initial questions. Jonny enjoys a slow roasted torment)

love that the statement giver presents, as proof of his iron-clad sanity, the fact that he works as a theatre technician. speaking as someone with an unfinished theatre degree: theatre people are feral my good buddy, try again. I mean, we refuse to say the name of one of the most famous plays in the English language because we think a ghost will trip us for the indiscretion. this is not the trump card you think it is.

a quick sidebar for the Red String Brigade: The Trojan Women is an ancient Greek tragedy that involves a baby being thrown off a city wall. The Seagull’s first published English translation was done by Marian Fell, and also a seagull is a bird and birds can fly. Much Ado About Nothing is very good and you should all watch the version from 2011 with David Tennant and Catherine Tate.

it’s interesting that these early episodes seem to take a cue from urban legends in some respects. Nathan Watts gets extremely drunk at a party and then is almost skinned by a monster while having a smoke. Joshua Gillespie is approached while engaging in a whirlwind of debauchery and has to take care of a cursed coffin after accepting money for what he thinks is a drug trafficking gig. Amy Patel regularly spies on her neighbour for her own entertainment and then has to watch him be replaced by a malevolent entity only she can perceive. and now Dominic Swain pushes past his guilty conscience to score a valuable book off an unknowing charity shop and...gets a bit dizzy and haunted by a phantom stink for a few days then gets ‎£5,000, well anyway, the point is he got spooked! spooked after doing something kind of iffy! that is pure urban legend procedure; modern day fairy tales imparting dire consequences onto societal transgressions. in a horror story this structure offers a false sense of safety - if you’re a good person, the monster won’t come for you. I can’t recall which upcoming statement yanks the rug out from under us with the first completely random victim.

cannot comprehend how this guy didn’t start plugging the book into google translate the second he got home. that probably saved him from being taken by the book but I am still judging him for not even trying it. yeah you’d be sucked into some sort of sky hell but at least you’d know what’s in the book!! could never be me

(yes I am aware in this universe I would have been eaten years ago. I’ve made my peace with that)

grbookworm1818 slays me. I don’t know which is better, the idea of Gertude carefully curating the most sixty-five-year-old-on-goodreads username she could as a cover for her cursed purchase history, or her actual sixty-five-year-old brain just expressing itself naturally because Gertrude is a very busy woman who doesn’t have time to immerse herself in the ins and outs of internet culture, she just wants to buy the demonic tomes she’s selected for destruction and get on with her day thanks.

did Gertrude know what a meme was? which Archivist could convincingly pose as a millennial best, Gertrude Robinson or Jonathan Sims?

The Key of Solomon and its former keeper, Samuel Liddell MacGregor Mathers, are both real historical figures. the book is basically Renaissance-era magical au fanfic of the Bible, and the man was a 19th century British occultist (and likely drinking buddy of Jonah Magnus) who founded a Very Serious Secret Society. this is a picture of him whiiiiiich rather dispels any sense of menace he’s meant to invoke. what kind of cosplaying nonsense

Mary Keay is such a striking figure. “She was very old and painfully thin, but her head was completely clean shaven, and every square inch of skin I could see was tattooed over with closely-written words in a script I didn’t recognise.” a Look, a vision!

I’m guessing that Our Gerard was blasting heavy metal at 2 am to try to drown out his undead mother while waiting for her manifestation to dissipate. I like to imagine him frequenting Reddit advice posts about dealing with toxic family members, poor lad

oh my gosh Mary refers to Gerard as “her Gerard” is that where Jon got “our Gerard” from?? I feel betrayed??

whatever, I’m reclaiming it. Our Gerard is meant with affection now babey!

the eye portrait is a bit puzzling. the inscription - ‘“Grant us the sight that we may not know. Grant us the scent that we may not catch. Grant us the sound that we may not call.”’ - could almost be read as an invocation against the Eye? But in general Gerry is fairly Eye-aligned, so...shrug emoji

(honestly my main takeaway from the eye portrait is that it’s finely detailed and near photorealistic so we can add “tortured artist” to our list of Gerard Keay traits and is it any wonder that he’s so Fandom Beloved?)

Mary is Not Good at negotiating sales. her main technique involves terrible tea, bringing up repressed childhood trauma, and getting her magic book to drop animal bones onto customer’s shoes. I’m guessing Pinhole Books was in bad shape even before the police investigation and murder charges.

hahaha, the Vast pushes Dominic down the stairs. classic. you gotta grab what opportunities are available

so did Gerard have to follow Dominic back to his flat and wait awkwardly on the doorstep at like 3 in the morning, hoping none of his neighbours would notice and call the cops

the revelation that Mary’s been dead the whole time! this episode may be more intent on world building and plot set-up but damn if it isn’t still a good little ghost story.

kind of rude of Gerry to just burn a book in this guy’s flat without asking and then steal his wastepaper basket.

Jon may not call the statement giver a liar for once, but never fear, he’s still our petty bastard man. accuses Gertrude of filing statements without reading them, has Sasha double-check Martin’s research, grumps about his general misfortune . he’s stressed from the Archives’ disorder and having flashbacks to a certain picture book but by Jove, that won’t stop him making snide comments on what’s supposed to be an official audio transcription!

#tma retro #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #tma meta #I love love love all the little dominos being set into place in this episode #but I am looking forward to an episode about the Vast that really dives in deep #(pun absofuckinglutely intended)

16 notes · View notes

demethinkstoomuch · 4 years

Text

Learning To Read, Pt 6: F is for Faerghus

Chapters: 6/26 (7/26 on AO3) Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Gustave Dominic, Original Characters, Rufus Blaiddyd Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Grief, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Tragedy of Duscur, Racism, Developing Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Blue-Lions Typical Mental Illness

Summary:

A series of 26 alphabetically-titled vignettes examining the period where, in the wake of The Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri taught Dedue to read: a time in which they learned about each other, and the rules of their relationship, perhaps more than about books.

Read on AO3!

A is For Ambiguity

B is for Book

C is for Commendation

D is for Dining

F is for Faerghus

The woman who called herself Cornelia Arnim considered this whole affair to be something of a fiasco, even if the potential for instability from the regency council was immense . But the council was giving her a headache. It was just a cold room full of sycophantic pigs snorting the air at the smell of fresh slop. They weren’t terribly interesting as puppets or tools, the newly-minted regent and his collection of cronies. They couldn’t even recognize that they were pigs, and wasn’t that just sad? None of them were grand noblemen; the room didn’t have a Fraldarius or a Gautier, or even just an equal in terms of clout. Also, at least one of them — one of the regent’s drinking buddies (which described about 2/3rds of the room), a minor noble who’d run in Rufus’ circle since his own academy days — seemed unaware of the fact that she was not there for his personal amusement.

But she smiled sweetly at him from across the table, and tried to think of how best to use him. Cornelia Arnim’s body had its advantages as a lure, at least, even if the fish weren’t the ones she was hoping for. If she needed to get anyone that way, it’d be the man himself. She’d been planning that the Agarthans would have owned Faerghus by now, using the dear ickle prince’s secret stepmother, wise and noble, stepping into the limelight for the first time. Obviously not the real thing, she was much too whiny and sentimental, depressing and depressed — and this was Cornelia’s opinion as the woman who had had to lure in Patricia. It had been stunningly easy, which had made the plan seem viable. Patricia had wanted so terribly to see her little girl again; she’d offered that wish for Cornelia to use however she liked. They’d spoken with other nobles, ones who were so wildly ambitious that they dreamt of freezing time so their precious kingdom would always be theirs. Ones so hungry they wanted to devour the land. They’d promised Patrcia she’d get what she really wanted, if she was only willing to take a little risk.

The plan had been, obviously, that Patricia would never see her little girl again. Or anyone else, for that matter. The attack from the nobles’ henchmen went off without a hitch. They’d even kept the prince alive, if only just, which would have made things easier. (Now, she wasn’t sure if it was something she wanted. He might have to be neutralized somehow, was the thing.) But after they’d walked Patricia away from the carnage and killed her in secret, that was where things went wrong. Because those moronic soldiers showed up, some detached battalion catching up a little too late. Their absurd vengeance culture rearing its head like a bunch of sharks smelling blood in the water. That pathetic Gustave had arrived too early. They hadn’t had time to get their Patricia ready for her miraculous survival, and so, Patricia simply had not survived in any form. All they had to show for it was the slaughter of an entire town and a sizable power vacuum currently being stuffed with hot air. Which wasn’t bad, necessarily, there was some quality chaos and a lot of raw material, but it was second place. But there were advantages.

Such as the scene playing out before her right now — once you tossed out the more worthless parts, like 90% of the animals littering this room. One of the more studious members of the council — it paid for anyone important to have at his command some little man with nervous energy, bookish disposition, and the patience for paperwork, and Rufus for the time being had this one — was explaining a situation. The son of a minor nobleman had been, according to contacts with official church messengers sent to observe and aid while the kingdom was in this transitional stage, found to be involved as a conspirator in the Tragedy. This was, and about half the room knew it, not remotely true.

“Your Highness,” asked the obligatory bookish man to the regent, “What would you like to do concerning Lord Lonato’s son?”

“...They say he was involved in the king, my brother’s, murder, do they?” asked Rufus, lifting his head from his hand, and sitting back upright in his chair. He was popular with women for a reason, besides his loose spending — the Blaiddyd men bred tall and prone to tapering appealingly from strong shoulder to toned waist, and Rufus had kept himself in that same shape as he’d entered into his early 40s — his face was lined slightly, marked at his eyes and the corners of his mouth with the careless smiles of an adult life lived with abandon. His hair was warmer than his brother’s or nephew’s, not cool blond that had darkened from an infant ice-white, but a vividly red-gold color that blazed thick and sunny all throughout his life.

“That’s as they report,” answered the man. “They are, of course, offering themselves as aid in the matter of capturing him, while we’re so short-handed.”

“Let them, then. I’m sure their information is accurate.” Rufus brought his chin back down onto his hand. Of course, Cristophe Gaspard had nothing to do with any of this. About half the room knew it, and some of them were so faint of heart they looked shocked or appalled. What precious little cowards. Cornelia made a note about them for later.

“My lord,” said one, tentatively. “Lord Lonato was once a knight in your service, was he not? As his lord...”

The other half of the room, the half that didn’t know, looked righteous, and one of them answered first in defense of his lord.

“If Lord Lonato allowed his son to contemplate such monstrosity, then he has betrayed both his lord the archduke and his lord the king; what he ought to do is take revenge into his own hands!”

“I intend to. But not concerning Christophe.” Rufus looked only like he was shoving away a boring chore. As it was: this would let the church think they were busy with something, that was all. “We have more significant action that must be taken than to concern ourselves with him.”

“Ah, yes. Lord Kleinman has a report, Your Highness. It appears emissaries from Duscur’s council of aldermen have come to him seeking peace terms.”

“He should have sent them on to me, not a report.” Rufus glowered. “I am regent.”

“He already knows your answer though, right?” said one man with too much of a smile. He chuckled. “He’s the one dishing out the punishment. You can’t possibly go and fight yourself.”

“I can!” Rufus snarled, pounding the table with his fist. Papers and mugs of beer shook as the whole structure rattled. That was why they couldn’t just replace a Blaiddyd — even the crestless ones had surprising strength. And the ones with crests were beyond even that, monsters in human skin. Their experiments, Solon had told her, were showing real results now, but they weren’t going that well . Rufus’s strength bristled under his shirt-sleeves as the old nerve in him, one she’d have thought killed by drink and sex, reeled as it was struck. “I can, and so I must, or none will believe it of me!”

Everyone was silent until he sat back down, drained his beer and handed the tankard to a servant to have it filled again.

“His part in this measure may be great, but he must remember who has the crown’s authority if he is to receive the crown’s reward.” His cheeks were just the tiniest bit flush when he proclaimed that, the color fading slightly in the next moment.

“Ah, my lord…” said a secretary, who’d been standing by the door with a look of apprehension.”Prince Dimitri has been outside for some time now, demanding to see you. Again. Should I let him in?”

A few people made pitying noises. Rufus dug the heel of his palm into his forehead, preparing himself for what was to follow. He had been avoiding the prince’s efforts to speak to him seriously for some time now. Since the boy had gotten back up onto his feet, more or less. Cornelia had been politely helping him with that, citing the prince’s condition as a reason not to let them talk. ‘He’s been so traumatized after all, we don’t want to upset him further.’ That kind of thing.

“Very well, bring him in.” Rufus sighed. That story couldn’t go on forever, nice as it was for him not to deal with that child. His little brother’s son.

There were probably people who hadn’t seen the prince properly since the tragedy, and they looked appalled when the drawn little figure entered the room — which was, in its own ways, comical. They had just casually tossed a young man to his death not a moment ago; now, one grave-looking boy was enough to tug at their heartstrings? He’s not even doing that badly anymore! He only trembled a little as he strode forward, as much anger as nerves.

“Uncle, you must put a stop to this violence,” the prince proclaimed. Oh, yes. He needed to be handled, one way or another.

***

“You can’t do this!” “I know what I saw!” Those shouts, high and shattered with fury, had resounded from the walls behind Dedue for a long time, and more besides. Dimitri fought alone in a room where men too important to look at Dedue discussed whether Faerghus would end the retaliation against Duscur now or throw the full weight of the crown’s knights into it. Eventually, there came a wooden cracking noise like a tree collapsing and a great clatter from inside — metal, glass, wood tumbling down onto the stone. The regent’s council shouted in frustration and disgust, their words muffled until only tone remained.

The lady Cornelia had seen Dimitri out after that sound, with Dimitri clutching his left arm as a nasty bruise welled up through it, still shouting. She’d handed Dimitri over with a reminder not to get too worked up; if the arm continued to hurt, she’d have to check it for re-fracturing.

“I understand you’re upset, Your Highness, but you will have to apologize for the table when you calm down, okay?” She’d said, patting him on the shoulder. She glanced at Dedue, cold and dismissive. Dedue glared back, but she tossed out her order without regard. “You. Keep an eye on him.”

Dimitri hadn’t responded sensibly. He’d cried and he’d shouted, still carrying out his arguments. His apologies and shouts had given Dedue time to sit them both down on the steps, try and recover his own wits. He felt at once stunned and a gnawing cold misery: He should have known.

Dimitri’s words had been barely coherent enough for Dedue to assemble what had gone on. They’d said Dimitri was confused. That he hadn’t seen what he said he’d seen — he hadn’t seen his father’s killers the way he thought he had. Not if he said they weren’t from Duscur. The king’s life must be paid for. So the war would not be postponed, would not be stopped, not if he could not produce names for the regent that showed the people of Duscur innocent.

But he could not produce names. So all he could do was insist and shout and plead until he was like this, his voice worn to shreds, his arm aching, his whole being unfocused and unraveled. The blood would be spilled. That was all there was to it: what other price for a king was there?

“I don’t know who they were... Father, how can this be for you, when it has nothing to do with your killers?! How can you want innocent people to die?!” Dimitri muttered into the echoing expanse. The stairway stretched out before them, descending away from the formal council room into an open hall. The sounds of people were distant, muffled by stone walls. Dedue didn’t attempt to answer him yet. He wasn’t sure he could have. And so Dimitri went on. “...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll get it right. I will. I’m....” He shut his eyes, lowering his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Dedue.”

This was the first time Dimitri had acknowledged him, and so Dedue had to finally try and find something to say. Everything in him was squeezed tense — his shoulders, his gut, his jaw were all tight, and it was hard to find a way around it.

“It is not your war,” he answered, eventually. A sigh parted his lips. Dedue could only stare upwards at the great, vaulted ceiling. He was not used to feeling small.

“If I’d only been calmer, would they have believed me?” Dimitri asked, the fury of his voice inward. Dedue was not sure if he entirely believed Dimitri, either. He would have liked to, but Dedue wasn’t entirely sure how to trust his mind; in moments like these, when everything was so close to the surface, it seemed like a ship tossed on the waves. Everything that day had been so confused. Instead, he shrugged. His feet descended down another step, his long legs slipping from their fold. The floor was a great way down.

“Not if they would not think about you when you are...hurt,” is what he said, his voice deliberate, stiff, quiet. He couldn’t say what he was feeling; he didn’t want to. Just let it flatten like a plain until he could build something useful on it. “Perhaps once they have had a battle, they will be tired of it. It will stop.”

“It shouldn’t be happening at all!” Dimitri answered. Obviously, but that wasn’t helpful, save spiritually. “If we could stop it before a true war breaks out, then it’d be OK!” He lifted himself back up to his feet, wincing from his arm. Dedue half-turned to watch the prince pace.”What if I ran away?”

“Where?” Dedue raised an eyebrow.

“To the border, of course! My uncle might be in charge here, but I am the crown prince… And the common soldiers and knights agitate for my father’s sake. The fools,” Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, bitter words breaking through his clenched jaw. His footfalls bounced off the stone. “But surely, they’d listen?”

The idea had allure; it shimmered between them as a gossamer dream, intangible as light, but just as real.

“Perhaps…” Their eyes met and held one another, hope sparking for a moment; they’d pack in the dead of night. They’d hurry there, as swiftly as they could, carried on the wind; speak with passion and valor; be heard by people who must have been, in their own ways, simply trying to do what seemed just.

Dedue tore his eyes away from it. It hurt more than he wanted it to.

“No, you should not.” It stung to say, but the truth had sunk in.

“Why not?” Dimitri’s voice lifted, his footsteps coming to a halt.

“You are not well enough to travel alone. We would be slow and caught together.” Dimitri was much recovered now, at least physically, but a country away was too far. Dimitri knew that and sagged with a shake of his head.

“...If we were caught, you would certainly bear the brunt of consequences as if you’d kidnapped me,” he said, to Dedue’s surprise. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him . “I don’t want to imagine what would happen to you, or to everyone else as a result.”

“Hm. Second, even if you managed to move the soldiers and knights… If you cannot move their leaders, they will find more soldiers,” Faerghus was a rack of swords; Faerghus was a place where they said children of their high families learned to fight from the time they were born. The leaders themselves could fight best of all. So there would always be more until there was no one left.

“I hate this.” Dimitri’s gaze eventually broke, and he dropped himself back down onto the steps next to Dedue. It should have been a relief to hear — it prickled up against him instead, like a leg half-asleep. Tears weren’t dripping down Dimitri’s face, but they bubbled through as he spoke, his hands covering his face. When his hands dropped, slowly, they left red, scratchy trails. “I hate being so weak. People are going to die — not just soldiers, but fathers and mothers and —! Doesn’t anyone care?”

Part of Dedue was glad Dimitri cared, even if it meant watching him tearing himself to pieces like this. Part of Dedue felt Dimitri’s hands, only closing on air, grabbing him and pulling his heart, and he didn’t want that. He wanted nothing. Dedue’s teeth found his inner lip and bit down on it, unsure which part should win. It was a tiring battle.

“You do,” he answered, unable to catch what feeling with which he meant it. The feeling in his voice wasn’t relieved, but he went on, “And I need this of you.” He reached out to grab Dimitri’s hands, take them back from the edge before they did more damage.

“Of course,” Dimitri’s answer was more confused than confident. The hands in Dedue’s grip went slack, stopped resisting. They were limp and lost and defeated. Dedue let them retreat back to Dimitri’s lap. Dimitri had turned to watch Dedue’s face. His eyes looked clearer than they had since he’d gone in the other room — clear enough to see the way Dedue’s jaw was clenched tight and how Dedue hated it, clear enough to see the way his eyelids trembled with what he could not keep holding back. Things clicked, it seemed, and Dedue was surprised to hear Dimitri sniffle back a tear. “I’m sorry; it’s selfish of me to go on like this, when it’s so hard on you. But I refuse to surrender, and neither should you.”

“So what will you do? Will you continue to ask?” He tried to ignore the matter of himself, of how hard it was . He rested his hand on the stone, shutting his eyes and feeling its polished surface under his hand. His fingertips brushed over little pits and light flecks marring the darker shades. Dedue envied it — cold and quiet and stable; it hadn’t so much as warmed under him. It endured everything, and it felt nothing. It didn’t wonder if that place was home, even with nothing left for him but memories that toyed with comforting and hurting him. It didn’t have to remember. It didn’t clench itself, toes to teeth, when the memories of swords and fire still echoed, summoned by the flames burning miles away, summoned by the sound of knights, summoned by the knowledge that right behind him, at that moment, were men who would toss a world into that fire if it only satisfied their blood. It could simply not have those feelings when it couldn’t do anything about them.

“If I can start by clearing the names of the people of Duscur… Then there surely everyone will see sense. I know there are people who don’t want this — they can’t . But everyone is hurt and frightened. If they understand, then we can make peace and make things right!” He insisted, clenching his hands over the air. But he didn’t begin to scratch himself again. “I owe it to you, and everyone who died, and everyone who will die. I will… try to remember anything that could point to their true identities. I know it might not be heard at all. Fools. Fools.” Dimitri shook his head, his eyes tightening. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists, tremors running through them. Dedue pressed his hand harder onto the stone, trying to block out what was creeping in him like the first freeze. How hopeless it all was — someone who had actual courage, trying to plead for human lives with men like that. “But I can’t stand for Faerghus’ justice to be used as nothing but a cudgel.”

And Dedue’s hand slipped off the step. His knuckles, so tense they could have burst through his skin, scraped against it. The tendons in his neck froze into place, wound like a clock whose springs went tighter and tighter, until finally — he snapped.

“That is what it is,” he said, voice plain and simple, and finally dropping a weight. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Why was he saying this? It would be easier if he didn’t. His throat tightened like it might choke him. “They do not want your words to matter, and so, they will not work. What they wish for is battle. What happens next is of no consequence to them.

“Perhaps some it is just.” He almost tossed the words at Dimitri, whose eyes were wide and staring, wounded at not being believed even by Dedue. Then they drew nearly to a close, softly, which was worse. He must have seen how misty Dedue looked. He felt like an avalanche, moving downhill — his words came with a building momentum, inexorable.“I cannot judge. I know that Duscur is like anywhere, maybe even here… There are good and bad people. Murderers. Children. But it is all the same to them. How could it ever stop?”

He took a long breath, found it harder than he expected; it sputtered and broke before becoming deep enough. He was not yet crying — but he understood, he would. He couldn’t stop anymore; he’d broken at last, and now he could simply keep sliding down into his own depths. Part of him wanted to stop. To keep going on with the life he’d found worth living after the people who’d made his life before were gone, pretending he’d never felt like this. He shut his hands tight. They were shaking with bottled-up feeling.

“I truly...hate it. All of it. I hate knowing what Faerghus can do, will do, has done . I hate being looked at the same as if I had killed your father myself.” But going on as if it weren’t true wouldn’t make it untrue — still. He felt like as he pulled and pulled, it just went deeper. Feelings dark as night he hadn’t named , had put aside. It wasn’t hot — it was cold, so cold. It was drowning and freezing at once. He envied the stones, he really did: stones didn’t turn themselves over and see something they hated. “I hate the way I am spoken of… They way only I could not be let by your side when you were hurt, because of them… And —” His eyes fell on Dimitri, then, and he understood. There was nothing that feeling did not touch. He recalled the way Dimitri’s feelings could drag his own out of him, and now — now that face, lips tense, eyebrows set gravely, and eyes red-rimmed and so, so sad for him — so uninjured by all Dedue had said, save that he didn’t believe. So undefended, like Dedue could plunge in a knife.

“...I hate how ugly I am, to feel the way I do,” Dedue croaked, unable to look at that gods-cursed face a moment longer. He couldn’t change how he felt, not anymore, but he could stop. He could turn away; it would just have to be bolted up inside of him, turning his innards black with frostbite.

“I think you’re right to be angry,” Dimitri answered, which made it all worse. “You’re right to hate all of this...What happened that day, what’s happened since, is monstrous, and nothing else. Even if no one else sees that right now, I…” His voice was shaking. Still somehow, Dedue was the one with the knife in him when Dimitri said, “feel like that, too. I don’t mean to say they compare, but… I think your fury just.”

“Dimitri, you do not understand.” He was unable to bolt it in if Dimitri kept dragging it out — stop, just stop. “It is still uglier than that… To hate all that I hate.”

“Oh.” Dimitri’s face briefly slackened, until it somehow — worse than anything — masked itself in a bland little smile, the smile of the Prince of Faerghus. Even if it collapsed almost instantly, it had been placed. The eyebrows drawn sadly together, the smile reaching his eyes not happily, but with soft self-deprecation. ”Me.”

“...I do not know if it is hate. I do not know the right word.” He knew just the right word in his own language, and said it aloud then — a word that meant something that ground you like wheat in a mill until you were bitter and tired.

It hung there in the air, waiting for something, but all Dimitri could do was shake his head. He couldn’t translate that one, either. Before Dimitri could say anything, Dedue held up his hand. The feeling was awake, alive, trapped under his ribs and locked up in his lungs, his neck, his closed-off teeth. The borrowed tongue fell away from him, then he returned to his own. Dimitri would have to keep up, to guess over gaps in his knowledge of the language, as Dedue so often had to with him. He couldn’t say it any other way.

“<I am… mad at you, sometimes. Something like that, anyway. I’m mad at who you are and what you mean.

“<You are the ‘prince’ of Faerghus. And this is so important that I’m unworthy of you to everyone . You bear their name! They kill for that name, for your father’s name, for that title I barely understand! Your good name is… so precious to them. But when the time comes…>” Turning this on Dimitri hurt. But that truth also hounded him — it leapt up his closed-off throat. He hurried over the words, not looking to see if he was understood. Dimitri did not try to stop him — good enough. “<It’s all meaningless. It’s all useless . It’s cruel to ask you to carry this, but if you can’t, then no one will. I see that, now. It’s cruel that you’re the only one there is to ask.

“<And…Sometimes, I’m mad at you because I think…>”Dedue’s feelings crested, swelling up in his chest until they pounded against him, and came out the only way they could. Hot tears pooled in his eyes and dropped smoothly down. His voice was small and hoarse, a pained whisper. “<Why me, Dimitri? Why not save someone else?>”

The bit of Dedue that pounded against his breastbone like a maddened, captured bird wanted Dimitri to not understand. Or more; say Dedue had no right to feel that way about his savior, or to say he did the best he could, or to say there was some reason for it to be him — some divine reason, some calculated reason, some reason less or more than that even the life of a stranger could be precious. Then Dedue could be truly mad at him, truly angry, then he could admire Dimitri a little less, care for him a little less, cut Faerghus into one great bloody clump and hate it all with a chill he’d hardly known was there until this moment, when he looked it in that hollow-eyed face.

And when the hate had wrung out of him like tears, he really could turn his heart into stone.

But Dimitri didn’t say that. Not a word of it. Instead, he frowned, his eyes gone soft teardrop blue. He almost reached out a hand, but though it hovered in the space between them for a moment, it retreated to fall back onto his lap.

“I know that, for everyone I could not save then and cannot save now, there is neither excuse nor forgiveness. It would be mad, not to hate me after how much we’ve hurt you...There’s nothing ugly about it.” Dimitri stared at the hand he had almost reached out, his expression still somewhere far away from it. The silence stretched until he looked Dedue head-on again, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he whispered, small and hoarse, “It’s OK.”

Something thawed out inside him at those words, easing into the shelter they gave him. It was OK. Nothing could make its way out of Dedue save tears. Silent, marked only by the faintest tremor that ran through him. It was OK. That black frost was still somewhere inside of him, and that was OK. Dimitri’s answer took him by the hand and warmed him, piece by piece, massaging his jaw until it let go, until his fingers and toes unclenched, until that feeling had surrendered him. All the things he’d gambled on Dimitri’s answer, all the things he’d considering throwing aside, all the rest of him came back to meet him, shocking as a spring flood — his heart, his hope, his life.

His shoulders shook; his throat worked to make a breathless whine. Dimitri’s hand reached for him, and Dedue slumped into the touch wordlessly. Stone could never be warmed like this, not if it sat in the sun a million years.

“I won’t give up. I swear. I swear. I...I’m sorry you have to ask that. I’m so sorry.” Dimitri murmured, voice bare. And this, too, was a hurt stone couldn’t know. He had survived. They had survived, and this was all the reason that there was for it. Dimitri’s body heat was added to Dedue’s side as he, all the parts of the Prince of Faerghus that were simply Dimitri, leaned his head against Dedue’s shoulders. When Dedue didn’t shift away, a sob tore from him. He looked up through lashes only a little darker gold than the rest of him, blue summer skies streaked through with cloudy tears. He whispered something from the back of his throat. . “It really is a painful thing to wonder, isn’t it?”

All Dedue could say for his understanding was in the way he leaned his own weight against Dimitri’s side. The smaller boy didn’t fold or crumple, but stayed, their figures leaned close to one another. His tears fell onto Dimitri’s hair as they slid down his face; Dimitri’s tears pooled against Dedue’s neck. It was regret and hurt in them, hate and frustration. They were surprisingly warm. The boys huddled on each other’s shoulder, there on the steps before the regent’s council chamber. When the adults exited, they would have to go around. The two of them wouldn’t be moved just yet. He didn’t have to move. He didn’t have to attempt to stop. For a long time, they simply wept for a world they could not change. They didn’t speak another word until all the tears had been wrung out from the bottom of Dedue’s heart, from Dimitri’s heart, from the burning plains of Duscur, miles and miles away.

#fire emblem #Fire Emblem: Three Houses #Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers #Dimidue #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dedue molinaro #Rufus Blaiddyd #Cornelia Arnim #Who is by the way a lot of fun to write just sneering at everyone for the hell of it #Sometimes you have to make sense out of what the Agarthans wanted and wildly guess around it #Fanfic #My Writing #Learning to Read #Faerghus is a Rack of Swords

4 notes · View notes

teatalksbooks · 5 years

Text

Murder is Bad Manners/Most Unladylike* by Robin Stevens

*The publishers are being cute again and changing the titles for oversea audiences...

Tea Recommendation: English Breakfast, with milk and sugar - this is a middle grade boarding school murder mystery! If you would like to read this and you are not a) 13 or b) in need of the anti-shock properties of milk and sugar-laced tea, forego it, and just make yourself a cup of nice plain black tea. It is also immensely important to acquire cookies for your bunbreak. Hazel likes chocolate and gingernut best, but I think I’d go with shortbread because, again, I am not thirteen.

I apologize in advance for the length - if you’re not interested in a lot of meta, skip to the end!

The year is 1934. Hazel, from Hong Kong, age thirteen and one year into her boarding school experience in England, loves learning, sweets, and her best friend, Daisy. Together, they form the Detective Society. It’s been all fun and games so far, with cases such as The Case of Lavinia’s Missing Tie, but then Hazel stumbles across the body of a teacher in the gym - and before she can show anyone else, the body disappears. Everyone thinks that Miss Bell has simply run away, but Hazel and Daisy know better, and are determined to solve the mystery and find the killer.

First off, I would like to thank @mirrormasque for recommending these books as the perfect antidote to the exhausting and stressful end of the school year. They are - sweet, well-written, charming, yet still complex enough to be interesting to readers above the intended age group. If you’re a fan of murder mysteries but struggle to find ones in the sweet spot between bleak and cloying, these ones land there pretty much perfectly.

What makes me love this book - and the ones that follow - so much is the way Stevens utilizes voice. Hazel, as a narrator, is perfect - she’s clever, observant, empathetic. But she’s also thirteen. What she sees, she often doesn’t understand, or doesn’t fully interpret, in ways that readers her age or younger will identify with.

Because of this, Stevens can be inclusive in natural, non-didactic ways. This book is replete with representation - Hazel is Chinese, there are lesbian and bisexual teachers, and there are students in lesbian relationships. In later books, and in this book to some extent, there are students with learning disabilities and students struggling with mental illness. While such inclusivity is a goal for many authors, it’s not easy to do smoothly, and that Stevens achieves it in a completely natural and unobtrusive fashion is impressive. That she manages to work in period-appropriate prejudices and simultaneously make it clear that being from another country or being interested in the same sex is also completely unexceptionable is astonishing.

As an example, when discussing the arrival of The One (the dashing new art teacher), Hazel writes in her case book, “You see, before this semester, the whole school knew that Miss Bell (our science teacher) and Miss Parker (our math teacher) had a secret. They lived together in Miss Parker’s little apartment in town, which had a spare room in it. The spare room was the secret. I did not understand when Daisy first told me about the spare room; now that we are in the eighth grade, though, of course I see exactly what it must mean.” Hazel still doesn’t truly understand, though she pretends she does, in the way of teenagers everywhere.

However, what her discussion of the labyrinthine relationships between the teachers reveals is this: as far as the school is concerned, this secret is no more astonishing than The One’s subsequent clandestine relationships with Miss Bell and Miss Hopkins, the athletics instructor. Any two teachers in a relationship is a bit of juicy gossip. Yet the adult world and the student world are inherently distinct; everything that happens in the adult world is exotic, but other standards apply amongst the students. There’s a clear distinction made between girls who have “pashes” on each other and girls who are genuinely in love - the first is accepted as part of normal boarding school behavior, and the second is a secret that can damage the reputations of the students involved - and both Hazel and Daisy are explicitly confused about what the difference is. Their lack of understanding and experience with regard to sexuality allow them to identify the hypocrisies inherent in the standards presented to them in a way that feels very natural and observational, rather than didactic.

This does lead to Hazel coming off as pretty immature, however. Hazel reads as a couple of years younger than her canonical age, and I’m on the fence about it. It’s necessary for Hazel and Daisy to be a little older than the target demographic because they are literally solving murders. However, Hazel’s voice is appropriate for the 10-12 age range, which is where the book is aimed. From an audience perspective, it makes sense, but as an older reader, it can be jarring. Her immaturity can be rationalized away - she’s a very sheltered kid, and it was a different time - but since the book also spends a certain amount of time working with the uneasy intersection between the adult and child worlds, it can seem a little counterproductive. However, it may also be key to Daisy and Hazel’s characterization, and to the game the book is based around.

It’s clear from the beginning that initially, the Detective Society is imaginative play. The year before, they had the Pacifism Society and the Spiritualism Society, and this year, since Daisy’s gotten into detective fiction, they’re playing at being detectives. Imaginative play is a huge part of childhood, but it’s also something that starts phasing out around middle school (and certainly high school) as adult life starts both intruding more and becoming more desirable. However, unlike the previous societies, the Detective Society is secret - only Daisy and Hazel are engaged in this game. It’s suggested that it’s because they’re best friends and they don’t want anyone else in on it, but there’s an implication, as well, that the other girls might not take it seriously. When, later in the series, some of the other girls do participate, it becomes clear that it wasn’t much of a secret - and that they weren’t especially interested in it. Their later participation is contingent upon the initial success of the Detective Society, and the later necessity (there’s another murder, of course) of participation (here, it recontextualizes the murder as a game for the other girls, and so makes it safe, as well as controlled).

That Daisy and Hazel are so invested in it is a sign of their immaturity; that Daisy is, as always, the instigator, is a key insight into their dynamics at the beginning of the series. The inequality of their relationship is obvious from the first - although there are only two members of the Detective Society, Daisy has declared herself the president - and Hazel the secretary. There’s no reason at all that Hazel couldn’t be co-president or vice-president of this two-person team, but Daisy does not even admit this as a possibility. Initially, I felt like this should rankle more with Hazel, but it becomes evident fairly quickly that the need for control is integral to Daisy’s character and Hazel is friend enough to let her have it unless the stakes are high enough to warrant protest.

That does not mean that their friendship is unproblematic. From the beginning, Hazel refers to Daisy as “perfect.” Not the perfect English schoolgirl - she’s careful to point out that though Daisy pretends to be the game-for-everything girl that everyone at school wants to be and, failing that, wants to be friends with, she is not, in fact, what she pretends to be. She is wearing a mask to fit in - but whether she’s wearing the mask or not, she still puts herself in a place of power over Hazel.

Storybook-schoolgirl Daisy is cream-and-roses pretty, old money, funny (but not too funny), always up for a prank and a midnight feast, and infinitely popular. In contrast, Hazel is the new girl, and even worse, she’s foreign. Real Daisy is sharply intelligent, impatient, secretive, and controlling. She calls herself Holmes and Hazel, Watson - and the comparison, as far as she’s concerned, is very apt. Take Sherlock Holmes and transform him into a British schoolgirl in the 1930s, and you get Daisy Wells. Why, at least in this first book, is unclear - we simply see that this is how Daisy is, and that Hazel accepts her for who she is, even when it means letting Daisy diminish her.

Hazel, as chronicler, is on the surface much like canonical Watson. Loyal, empathetic, and cautious, she’s as intelligent as Daisy, but less assertive. Part of that is because she knows that her acceptance at the school has been contingent upon her friendship with Daisy. Hazel is very aware that she is different from the other girls, and while she doesn’t dwell on it, it does inform many of her behaviors. She learns to don a mask from Daisy, to pretend that she is not as intelligent as she is, not as different. For her, being Daisy’s friend, instead of Daisy being hers, is a form of protective camouflage.

However clear-eyed Hazel is about Daisy, and about their relationship, Daisy’s consistent diminishment of her combines with her own uncertainty about her appearance and leaves Hazel feeling inferior to Daisy much of the time. Hazel was raised in an extraordinarily Anglophilic environment, and has grown up seeing girls like Daisy as the ideal of what a girl should be. Being Daisy’s friend puts her in constant comparison with Daisy - she is quiet, she is not athletic, she is not popular, and most of all, she is not thin and blonde and blue-eyed. While she is confident in her own intellectual capacity and perfectly happy contradicting Daisy when she feels Daisy has, once again, jumped to a conclusion, she is not confident in her body. I blame her dad for that, personally - he’s very sure that Hazel is the smartest, most logical, most morally upright child around, but oh boy does he love him some British everything. It’ll be interesting to see what Stevens does with Hazel’s self-image as she grows up more - in the last book I read, it’s starting to become more of a problem as romantic interests start popping up, and I imagine that in the other three books that are out that are NOT AVAILABLE IN THE US WTF, we get to see even more of that.

The relationship between the two girls is the most interesting part of the book for me, but the other characters are well-drawn, and the plot is solid. So far, I’ve always been able to identify the murderer before the girls do, but in my book, that’s a good thing - I’m thirty, and it means that Stevens is acting in good faith and putting in all the clues. A proper mystery has to be solvable by the reader - if the author holds back the one clue you need to solve the case, it’s cheating! The framing of the story - that it’s a case book - is cute, if not at all convincing, and the ways in which it is a case book will be appealing to young readers, though I find the interruption of the suspect lists to be a little annoying, since we’ve usually just discussed why we’re ruling a suspect out right before we get the list... explaining why we’ve ruled the suspect out.

In that the book is deeply respectful of its readers’ intelligence, it reminds me of Diana Wynne Jones, which makes sense, because Stevens mentions her as one of her favorite authors. According to Jones, writing for young readers is much harder than writing for adults, because kids are so deeply immersed in texts that they pick up on everything, whereas adults need things said two or three times to get it. That ethos is evident in this book is well - it does not condescend to its reader, and because of that, it is enjoyable for all readers, not just for the target demographic.

The last thing I want to mention, since I'm not going to do this for all the books in the series, is that the same thoughtfulness and subtlety about prejudices inherent in the time period (and today...) is also present with regard to historical events and movements in later books, especially the rise of the Nazi party and the remnants of imperialism. It’s pretty great!

tl;dr - a cute murder mystery with complex character relationships, a solvable but satisfyingly complex plot, and diverse characters! Highly recommend. Trigger warnings for murder, blood, unhealthy friendship, but honestly, it’s all appropriate for middle-grade readers.

Amazon - free to read with Kindle Unlimited!

Goodreads

#robin stevens #book review #murder is bad manners #murder is most unladylike #wells and wong #tw: death #tw: unhealthy friendship

10 notes · View notes

heygoodnight-blog · 5 years

Text

April 30 Sal

Sal showed us clips from films like Opening Night and Chinatown, we dissected these films shot by shot, we thought about how ideas are presented, why they are presented in the way it is, where’s the audience in relation to the elements on screen etc.

The sessions with Sal usually center around feelings, how does this or that make you feel, and from that feeling, she would encourage us to translate it into words and imagery.

Personally, I love this way of thinking, it really helps me to create great stuffs, characters, shots, story, dialogue… And whenever I’m in a struggle, I would just think about how does that feel, and from that, I can usually find the answer to my struggles.

Although sometimes I feel we might be looking too much into these shots, are these shots created with that intent? Or did that come intuitively from the filmmaker? All these meticulously planning elements are they just coincidence? If I have to answer these questions, I would say it’s a mixture of all of them, from my experience, I feel like there is always a degree of luck and probability involved: How well crews work together, if the location is good, the weather etc. But good preparation really helps to reduce the chance of things going wrong.

Edited on May 29

For example, Reading a Room, a film Abigail written and directed in parallel production, I was doing Art direction and BTS for the film, in the two days of filming, there were so many accidents, actor arriving late for 2 hours, uni doesn’t let us in until 11 AM even though we booked for 9 AM, under-preparation in lighting and camera department, a guy in motorcycle threaten to run over Pedro and the crew, Abi was also under immense stress, she was not in her best condition, resulting in some argument between her and other members, which lasted the entire duration of the shoot(2 days). If I have to be honest it was probably one of the worse shoot I’ve been in. But you know what, the film turned out absolutely amazing.

Although, things were so tough, I feel like everyone tried their best on set. And because of great performance and script, we were able to pull through.

1 note · View note

doomonfilm · 3 years

Text

Thoughts : Capharnaüm (2018)

My good friend Robin, aside from being one of the kindest, most stylish and adventurous people I know, has the proud accomplishment of creating and curating the Marfa Film Festival for many years. Based solely on these qualifications, any time that she has a recommendation for music or film, I pay attention and do what I can to follow through. Recently, during a catch-up session between us, Robin came through with a recommendation for Capharnaüm, and based on her track record, I put it high on my list. After a bit of cursory research, I made it a point to check out the film sooner than later, and I must say that I am very happy to have this film on my current radar.

youtube

With poverty and the impact it has on the youth being the foundational element of this story, so much so to the point that Zain feels the need to seek litigation against his parents, it’s difficult to not examine the film through the lens of nature versus nurture. When nature is taken into account, the first thing that must be examined is the setting of Beirut, the capital of Lebanon. Despite being an incredibly wealthy nation in terms of bank presence, corporate presence and its Beta + World City ranking by the Globalization and World Cities Research Network, there is a vast wealth gap (partly due to the Lebanese Civil War) that ravaged the community, the cultural landscape and a large cross section of its occupants. Zain not only is caught in the choice between attempting to attend school and being forced to work for his parents’ landlord, but he has no support from his parents when school is brought up. The youth are shown in the opening of the film running through the street with makeshift toys fashioned in the image of heavy military artillery, which not only robs them of their innocence, but creates a sort of mental and cultural pipeline that sends these young men into government service via the military, which further propagates the issues responsible for the situation they are in. In the few rare instances that Zain does manage to escape the limits of his neighborhood and his parents, you can briefly see his innocence return, though it is quickly overtaken by the immense weight of the sorrow that the contrast between the solace of escape and his stark reality creates.

As important as nature is in the Capharnaüm situation, nurture plays possibly an even bigger part in Zain’s life, hence his ultimate choice to sue his parents for even being born. Selim (Zain’s father) admits in court that he hates his family and the life it has created for him, yet Zain is one of at least 5 kids in the El Hajj family. All of the children share a bed, share a room with their parents (and it is implied they often are forced to hear them taking part in adult acts), and the home the family lives in is constantly in a state of filth and disrepair. The neglect for childcare is so prevalent that the youngest child in the family is literally chained and tethered to a wall, like a disobedient or behavioral inept pet. When Sahar finds herself in the throes of puberty and the onset of womanhood, it is Zain rather than Souad who not only educates her on how to take of her body, but protects her in an attempt to keep her parents from exploiting her womanhood (which eventually happens despite Zain’s best efforts). Though his work ethic is forced upon him, it ultimately becomes the key motivator in his plan to escape his bleak situation, while also providing him with a deep sense of humanity based on the lack of it shown to him.

Much like City of God, there are some breathtaking insert shots of the city (Beirut, as mentioned before) that bring out its cinematic beauty despite the clear and present poverty that impacts Zain and his community. The lived-in and rundown nature of the locations that the actors occupy not only makes it easy to buy their extreme living situation, but it also is clearly helping to add dramatic depth to their performances by working off of the visceral immersion that comes with attempting to live and work in these spaces. There is a brilliant presentational and tonal balance between the courtroom scenes and the flashbacks to the preceding events that manages to keep all of Zain’s experiences connected and coherent in spite of the wild premise that a juvenile delinquent from lack of privilege could find the means to sue his own parents. The cinematography works much in the same vein of The Florida Project by bringing quite a bit of the perspective down to Zain’s level whenever he is the primary focus of a scene, staying around 4 or so feet off of the ground, often peering around corners and from a curious distance and almost never still, even during stationary observation.

Zain Al Rafeea does an outstanding job shouldering the burden of leading such a heavy and compelling film, managing to display a wisdom and experience that only comes with age on his young face while convincingly coming off as not only the man of his household, but possibly the most level-headed and autonomous member. Cedra Izam plays off of Al Rafeea’s worldly performance by harnessing the impending fear of womanhood marking the end of her innocence, not to mention the possibility of being pushed into the deep in abruptly via being married off or pawned off to the highest bidder. Kawthar Al Haddad brings the fiercer side of the uncaring parent portrayal to the table, consistently belittling and demeaning Zain because his valid frustrations come in the form of youthful urgency and ignorance. By contrast, Fadi Kamel Youssef invokes a more damaged and burdened sense of neglect as the man of a household full of stress, strife and turmoil, to the point that his shear existence stands as a personal affront and mockery. Nour el Husseini hones in on the energy of those who take advantage of the disenfranchised as he exploits the El Hajj family at every opportunity possible, be it the labor he gets from Zain, the fear he instills in Souad and Selim due to their housing situation, and in the grossest example, his vulture-like presence over Sahar as he lies in wait to make her his possession. Key performances by Boluwatife Treasure Bankole, Alaa Chouchnieh, Joseph Jimbazian, Farah Hasno and director Nadine Labaki (as Zain’s attorney) round out the cast.

I will not be surprised if Capharnaüm finds itself reimagined and reskinned by the Hollywood machine before the end of the decade, as it is not only the kind of compelling story that can flip a viewer’s worldview, but the litigation element may work better stateside than it does in a Lebanese context (this, however, is coming from an outsider’s perspective). Regardless of what the future may hold for the property, immediate respect must be given to Nadine Labaki for her powerful efforts as a director, not to mention a performance for the ages by Zain Al Rafeea. Every bit of praise that has been heaped on this film is well-deserved, and hopefully it can find a wider audience as time passes by.

#ChiefDoomsday #DOOMonFILM #NadineLabaki #Capharnaüm #ZainAlRafeea #YordanosShiferaw #BoluwatifeTreasureBankole #KawtharAlHaddad #FadiKamelYoussef #NourelHusseini #AlaaChouchnieh #CedraIzam #JosephJimbazian #FarahHasno

0 notes

backstage-bucknell · 3 years

Text

With Gratitude, After My First Year as Chair

by Professor Dustyn Martincich

Chair was my new hat this year- a great year to don such a hat if I may say so. After the close of Cabaret last spring, stepping into the role or chair began with making many plans, waiting for many answers, and trying not to mess up what everyone before me had built. A global pandemic, the rise of white supremacy, a particularly volatile political climate, the activism sparked by the murders of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor …. none of this was going to be separate from or outside the day to day life, pedagogy, art making, or semester planning. Things felt particularly urgent.

This “year” began in April 2020 for me, getting used to not giving hugs, stress-baking, overstocking the pantries with dried goods (did NOT hoard tp), and for the first time, planting basil and raspberries because it seemed that we would be tucking into Lewisburg for the duration. I joined a whole lot of virtual communities and networks. I made lists and lists. I tried to control whatever I felt could be controlled, let go of the rest. I found myself, with everyone else, steering into uncharted waters where my handy calendar and checklist and sanity-trip planning wasn’t going to help much.

This year demanded action, even when I/ we may have wanted to pause. The challenge has been to survive, to endure. And also to engage. To continue to learn. To confront tough questions and make steps forward, one foot at a time, toward a space of a growth. I’ve witnessed my colleagues and students finding ways to name instances of white supremacy in our society and culture, including in campus life, and work to foster a more anti-racist, inclusive environment. Attempting to balance the making space and taking space. These reflections and conversations have become central to art we create, threaded through conversations and practice- made part of the question “why this art now?”

This year has been anything but smooth. Missteps and crashes along the way, more times than I care to admit where I did not lead with grace. Sometimes witnessing suffering and immense loss and grief felt too much. But I have always been humbled by the sheer amount of passion and drive that comes from our students, my colleagues, and the alum of the Department of Theatre and Dance. That passion and drive seemed to compound exponentially this year. From making four plans for every one small decision to coming up with solutions for unexpected challenges. Managing distance, quarantines, and shifting expectations. Negotiating new approaches to consent, creativity, and well… just getting by. Finding solace in gathering in virtual, hybrid, and now live spaces have been ways I learned to live, and maybe even grow. Coming into this May, I might even be ready to talk positive take-aways… like connecting with amazing alums for classes, workshops, and virtual events. Meeting incredible guest artists. Engaging in artistic processes and classroom conversations that I did not expect, discovering new things collaborating with folks across the country, even in other countries! These connections felt particularly vital this year.

We have made it work. Maybe better than we might have expected. As Kelly has often said this year, “Arts Endure.” I’m grateful for opportunities to learn, including about the Department’s history and stories about folks like the legendary Dennis Baumwall. I am grateful to the alum, administrators, and our community who offered support as mentors and audience members, making time and room for the new ways of sharing art- whether it was outdoors, via Zoom, or via Vimeo. I am beyond grateful for our current students. Their resilience, dedication, and inspiration. For making art a necessary part of life this year. I’m grateful to our newcomers, whether its new students and families, new audiences, or new colleagues coming in, as they connect with us in this uncertain and shaky year and decide they see something they like and want to join for more.

This year I have had the privilege to keep a job and health care , to have time I would never have expected with my daughter and husband (hiking, baking, Cosmic Kids yoga). I’ve had the good fortune to collaborate with students, colleagues, and other artists and scholars on various projects that feel focused on meeting the complexities of the present day, not escaping them. Thank you, everyone, for taking a part of this year and the art of creating theatre- and by theatre I mean all of the components that come together to create/convey a story—, this art takes a village. I am lucky to stand in such a wonderful village.

Looking forward to whatever magic there might be in store….and hope to continue to hear from all those bright stars in the Bucknell Theatre and Dance constellation.

0 notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

STARTUPS AND CARTOON

Once you phrase it that way, you tend to get cram schools—which they did in Ming China and nineteenth century England just as much as an audience. Why are founders surprised that VCs are clueless? If people are complaining, that means you're doing something rather than sitting around, which is reasonably fast by present standards, that means you're doing something rather than sitting around, which is reasonably fast by present standards, that means you're doing something rather than sitting around, which is the first step. The reason VCs seem formidable is that it's their profession to. Where you go to college still matters, but not ready yet for real work, jump on it. They'll all lose their jobs eventually, along with all the time they expended on this doomed company. My advice is generally pessimistic. One founder put it very succinctly: Fast iteration is the key to success. If a city offered these companies a million dollars per startup. Online video becomes possible, and YouTube plunges right in, while existing media companies embrace it only half-willingly, driven more by fear than hope, and aiming more to protect their turf than to do great things for users. So I think it needs even more emphasizing.

You could try to decrease the productivity of the people who discover them are looked down on a company operating out of a garage in Silicon Valley would feel part of an exalted tradition, like the poet in his garret, or the painter who can't afford to heat his studio and thus has to wear a beret indoors. So if you want to invest in do things a certain way, what difference does it make what the others do? Even if your colleagues were impressed by your credentials, they'd soon be parted from you if your performance didn't match, because the practice is now quite common. They're just a couple founders with laptops. But in 1976 it didn't seem so cool. That's the myth in the Valley. Even if we could somehow replace investors, I don't see how we could replace founders. Think about where credentialism first appeared: in selecting candidates for large organizations. The only way to do it is to be consciously aware of that. And is there anything we can do to encourage the trend toward an economy made of more, smaller deals will probably find they do better when deprived of this crutch anyway.

How does responsibility constrain you? Better stick to the standard cartoon version that the Civil War was about slavery; people would be confused otherwise; plus you can show a lot of convincing to see their merits. In any interesting domain, the difficulties will be novel. If reforming the investment process removed that stress, we'd make our product much more attractive. The younger employees were paying their dues. Immigration seem to work themselves out. You need to figure out what you're building, and it did not seem as if he saw it as a story about a murder. If you spend all your time programming, you will fail. It would be pretty straightforward to make a nest for yourself in some large organization where your status depends mostly on seniority. We couldn't believe large numbers of people would want to put their name on.

Over-engineering is poison. When you can't get users, though. The obvious way to solve the problem at all, but another you discovered en route. They just arrived back from NYC, and when a new approach arrives, you may as well cast a wider net and derive what benefit you can from similarities between fields. When you judge people that way, who can more easily be replaced. I am more fulfilled in my work than pretty much any of my friends who did not start companies. One especially good groove to span is the one between tools and things made with them. They don't have time to work. The obvious solution is to be able to compete with VCs in brand. Maybe they'll listen to one of the more successful founders: The immense value of the work they'd done. One's first thought when looking at them all is to ask, how different from what?

You can't replace those. And he said that as a kid growing up in Saskatchewan he'd been amazed at the dedication Jobs and Wozniak were marginal people too. In principle you could avoid getting fat as you get old, but few do. Now the standard excuse is openly circular: that other languages are more popular. They did but I am not sure they can take on the hotel market I could be wrong. NYC, and when I asked them to demo the device they had difficulty switching it on. Why did the US really invade Iraq?

When I was in college the rule seemed to be down to one: hapless. They would make an investor's money go a long way. There are probably a lot of startups, which makes it seem like time slows down: I think the reason most founders are surprised is that because they work fast, they expect everyone else to. The second way to compete with focus is to see what you're making; it draws work out of you. The deal terms of angel rounds looks more like this: instead of avoiding this work, this will be what you do as a way to generate deal flow for series A rounds. Once someone is good at something, they tend to have a piratical gleam in their eye. Investors all compete with one another for deals, but they aren't one another's main competitor.

Imitating it was like pretending to have gout in order to seem rich. An essayist needs the resistance of an audience, just as, if you have only one person selling while the rest are writing code, consider having everyone work on selling. In languages, as in so many things, there's not much correlation between popularity and quality. Individual performance is hard to implement. Why are founders surprised that VCs are clueless? This kind of judgement is not really about you. Techniques for competing with delegation translate well into business, because delegation is endemic there. To benefit from engaging with users you have to work to maintain your relationship. It's interesting Our two junior team members were enthusiastic. When you let customers tell you what they're after, they will often reveal amazing details about what they find valuable as well what they're willing to pay for.

We sleep more. If someone gets murdered by someone they met on Facebook, the press will just treat it as a story about a murder. But even if you could somehow redesign venture funding to work without allowing VCs to become rich, there's another kind of investor you simply cannot replace: the startups' founders and early employees. And the relationship between the founders has to be bad, right? If you make something and people complain that it doesn't reduce economic inequality, because it means a startup could do. This pattern is repeated over and over, and it's always this way. Most of the big successes have two or three. I summed it up once like this: Starting a startup gives you more freedom and the opportunity to make a nest for yourself in some large organization where your status depends mostly on seniority. The 20th best player may feel he has been misjudged. Getting people to use a TV as a monitor, and HP felt they couldn't produce anything so declasse. It would be pretty straightforward to make a list of all the startups they'd invested in.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #candidates #things #credentials #garage #pattern #company #something #iteration #product #competitor

0 notes

zukalations · 6 years

Text

Talk DX - The Scarlet Pimpernel: Kurenai Yuzuru & Rei Makoto (June 2017)

Long time no post...sorry about that! Hopefully I can keep the queue sustained this time~

This is an interview with Beni and Coto during the run of The Scarlet Pimpernel, published in the June 2017 issue of GRAPH. It’s pretty in-depth and very fun!

@chemicalperfume helped with editing and translating! Many thanks as always <3

Talk DX - The Scarlet Pimpernel: Kurenai Yuzuru & Rei Makoto

Kurenai: We’re nearly to the middle of the run. I’ve always wanted to do this show, so I’m so happy during every performance. Therefore, thinking ‘I’ve still got half the run to go!’ makes me really happy!

Rei: Me too. Each week goes by too fast.

Kurenai: Darn right!

Rei: I feel like it’s a better experience for us each time.

Kurenai: Yeah! The power of the audience is really immense. They say ‘one performance does more than 100 rehearsals’, so I really feel like the audience helps us continually improve our performance. It completely changes the atmosphere.

Rei: If I go back and listen to recordings from the vocal rehearsals, it’s totally different!

Kurenai: Yeah! However, a restage performance is really difficult, isn’t it.

Rei: It is.

Kurenai: It’s already been expanded on so much through the premiere performance and the first restage, so figuring out how to perform on top of that foundation is really hard.

Rei: For troupe members like me, who weren’t in the first production, there was a feeling that the audience probably knew the show better than we did, so that was really stressful… But there was also the reverse, where since this was my first time at it I performed as if to demonstrate ‘This is what The Scarlet Pimpernel is!’

Kurenai: Yeah!

Rei: The songs are all really well known—though they’re quite difficult songs (laughs). Every time I perform each song, I feel like I’m working together with the whole orchestra in that moment and it’s always a slightly different result. It’s really fun.

Kurenai: My favorite number is ‘Days of Glory.’

Rei: Oh~!

Kurenai: The power of the people is really important to the whole show, but in that song everyone finally comes together!

Rei: Yeah—but there’s still a lot of individuality.

Kurenai: Exactly!

Rei: It’s so good~! I really like ‘Into the Fire.’ It makes me so excited! My classmate Seo (Yuria) is in it so I asked her ‘Hey~ Hey~ What’s it like to be in that scene?’ Apparently due to the quick-changes and the moving platforms it’s really hard for the actual performers (laughs). But I’m always excited to watch it from the wings! It’s also really popular to watch from the side entrances; it’s always a struggle to get that spot.

Kurenai: Really? (laughs) When I’m doing that scene, somehow I feel like I’m really living. There aren’t a lot of moments like that on stage, are there? (laughs)

Rei: Definitely! (laughs)

Kurenai: I feel like I’m living as Kurenai Yuzuru and as Sir Percy, and that all the other members of the League are living as their roles too. It’s full of courage—it’s a wonderful scene!

Rei: Yeah, yeah.

Kurenai: Since the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel are all good friends, I didn’t want them all to treat me as an older brother type character, just because I was the most senior, so I told them that every time. As a result, I think we all felt like equals, or I hope we did.

Rei: In the rehearsal, there was a definitive moment where your group’s acting radically changed, so I was watching like ‘Wo~w!’ But you know, my team gets along really well too!

Kurenai: (laughs)

Rei: Starting in the Prologue, Deputy Robespierre (Nanami), Mercier (Seki), Coupeau (Sazanami), and I do the offstage chorus together. We perform in the spirit of the French alliance in every show.

Kurenai: I see (laughs)

Kurenai: How about that adlib scene about the clothes Chauvelin (Rei) should wear to the masquerade!

Rei: Oh gosh.

Kurenai: You don’t laugh a bit!

Rei: That’s not it, the truth is I’m really weak to adlibs…

Kurenai: Huh? Really?

Rei: Do you know how much I’m panicking right before then!?

Kurenai: I thought it was excitement (laughs)

Rei: No no no. But listen! You never tell me anything!

Kurenai: But then there wouldn’t be any point!

Rei: So I’m always so nervous… But I haven’t yet broken my vow not to laugh, have I!*

Kurenai: But it’s not like I’m trying to make you laugh there…

Rei: No~, you almost get me every time! And then when the audience starts laughing I really want to join in.

Kurenai: Ah, that’s so hard~ I had that same issue when I was Benedict (in Ocean’s 11).

Rei: Ah~!

Kurenai: There too, even though I didn’t want to laugh at all, Toyoko-san (Suzumi Shio) as Rusty really went all-out with adlibs. She’d use a wig that went bald at the pull of a string, stuff like that.

Rei: It’s a struggle every day!

Kurenai: It was~ I don’t do that sort of thing, generally.

Rei: But, you know, I’m training every day.

Kurenai: Sometimes you can even play off it a bit, right~ (laughs)

Rei: Maybe once in 15 times I’ll give it a shot (laughs) Mainly I just rack my brain frantically but it always ends up like ‘No, no comebacks here!’ (laughs)

Kurenai: The other day, during the final scene on the Day-Dream, a button on my glove got totally tangled up in Aa-chan’s (Kisaki’s) hair.

Rei: That must have been such a hard time! But you were amazing then. I was doing my quick-change, so it was a situation where all I had to go on was the audio, but you did some sort of adlib like, ‘Ah! I love you too much to let you go!’

Kurenai: Yeah (laughs)

Rei: They say to try and make something positive even of accidents.

Kurenai: It’s more fun that way!

Rei: If it was me I’d surely just keep quiet and act as if it hadn’t happened. It’s really amazing that you could announce it to everyone like that and work it into your acting.

Kurenai: Oh, you think so?

Rei: And for me, thanks to that issue, my quick-change was…

Kurenai: Nice and relaxing?

Rei: Yes (laughs). So from my point of view, that was a happy accident (laughs).

Rei: I always watch the ‘She Was There’ scene from the wings. In that scene Sir Percy (Kurenai) is released from all his turmoil, there’s the mirror behind, and all the lights are on Sayumi-san (Kurenai)... You are just so dazzling there!

Kurenai: Ahahaha (laughs) Really?

Rei: It’s amazing! Because, like, you throw aside the teasing attitude you used with Chauvelin, and how closed-off you were to Marguerite (Kisaki), and it’s as if ‘Sayumi-san’s Percy’ truly exists there. It gives me goosebumps every time.

Kurenai: That scene really has a different atmosphere. See, even if I remember when I did it in the shinjin kouen the exact same scenery is before my eyes.

Rei: Awesome!

Kurenai: But the way it feels to me is different. It’s like I can feel how everyone on the staff is all working together to help bring my Sir Percy to life. I can feel the audience too, and the whole Grand Theatre. And besides, I have to think about how to lead into the next scene.

Rei: Ah~

Kurenai: In the shinjin kouen, when that scene ended I was like ‘it’s over!’ but now I realize I’m seeing it as one piece in the puzzle of Percy’s life. I feel like that’s what the passage of 9 years does.

Rei: That’s true. I really love that scene!

Kurenai: Somehow, this time around, Chauvelin is somehow really helping you break out of your shell, I think.

Rei: Yes.

Kurenai: People mostly see you as this ‘star student,’ right, Makocchan? But you really have a very human side to you, so it’d be good if the audience could see that.

Rei: Yeah…

Kurenai: Well, you’ve already been a great help to me, though. I’m really an unpredictable, spontaneous type of person,, so I’m grateful for your restraint. I think it’s precisely because we’re so different that things have come together so well. But I think if your attitude, rather than ‘it has to be this way!’ was more like ‘maybe I’m going to try that other way…’ then maybe in the future an even more amazing Makocchan will be born.

Rei: Yes… Yeah…

Kurenai: It won’t be as bad as you think.

Rei: For sure. Right now the biggest challenge is just that~ Wah~ You’re so understandi~ng! Sayumi-sa~n!

Kurenai: Chauvelin is a character who messes up a lot (laughs), but it’d be good if you could convey new sides of yourself through the audience seeing your struggles!

Rei: Thank youuuu~

Kurenai: The finale starts out with Makocchan. You look like you’re having fun (laughs)

Rei: I just feel like ‘I can smile too now~’ (laughs) It’s the first time I am given the duty of bringing everyone’s mood up, leading into the rockette.

Kurenai: That really struck me in rehearsals. ‘Makocchan has inherited the position I had up till now.’ So I really understand your feelings in that situation. It makes you really nervous in the beginning! Especially on opening night.

Rei: Gosh, I was so nervous!

Kurenai: And then imagine that being the New Years’ show, where they’re livestreaming it as well.

Rei: Ahhh…

Kurenai: (laughs) So you see I really understand those feelings, and it made me really happy. ‘I’m really passing the baton!’ I thought.

Rei: I...I’ll do my best!

Kurenai: In the ensemble dance I have with the group of musumeyaku, I’m supposed to be searching for Marguerite. It’s got a feeling of longing. Then in the next scene it’s otokoyaku! And it segues into the group sabre dance. Speaking of that, yesterday the sabre was really heavy.

Rei: Eh?

Kurenai: It definitely wasn’t mine!

Rei: They do vary a bit like that. The way the wood feels.

Kurenai: That little weight difference actually made it really hard, because I’m still holding it scene after scene. But to the fans, it’s not Scarpim** without the sabre dance on the Grand Stairs! That kind of feeling makes me happy somehow.

Rei: Yes! And then Sayumi-san leaves the stage first and that shout as you leave is…

Kurenai: By the way, everyone, that was thanks to Director Koike’s instructions!

Rei: Ahaha (laughs)

Kurenai: Although I might seem as if I’ll just say whatever if you give me a microphone, that was something I was specifically instructed to say. ‘Everyone Dances!***’ ‘Let’s dance! Dance, everybody!’ is what it means.

Rei: You always raise the energy level so much by saying that!

Kurenai: I always make eye contact with you, right Makocchan?

Rei: Yes!

Kurenai: In the duet dance afterwards, the costumes are actually super heavy, so it was really hard but… Aa-chan is so adorable.

Rei: Wah~ Squee <3

Kurenai: Even if she messes up a little bit I just think ‘well we all have our days’ (laughs). I’ll say something if I have to (laughs) but basically she puts trust in me too. So it’s really fun.

Rei: When watching I can tell that you both put your heart into it, so it makes me happy to see. After all it’s your Grand Theatre debut show!

Kurenai: It is! And me, Aa-chan, and Makocchan were all in Star Troupe the whole time.

Rei: That’s right.

Kurenai: Therefore I want to make sure to respect our seniors and the longtime fans. But it’s not like I’m going to take on too much there, I want to enjoy things and show ‘this is how our Star Troupe will feel!’ I want to keep on in the Star Troupe style, in a way everyone can enjoy!

Rei: I’ll follow right behind you!

* I’m not sure if Rei is discounting her breaks in the last couple performances of the Takarazuka run (at least) or if this interview took place before then.

** ‘Scarpim’ (or ‘Sukapin’ in the Japanese spelling) is the fandom nickname for the show.

*** English in original.

#takarazuka #article translation #mag: graph #show: the scarlet pimpernel #sienne: kurenai yuzuru #sienne: rei makoto

49 notes · View notes

raulsparza · 7 years

Text

Great Comet 8/17

I was sitting stage left banquettes, row BC. A lot of this is stuff I didn’t notice the first time around in the orchestra, or specific actor interactions!

-I told the usher who showed me to my seat that he had, the best job in the world and he wholeheartedly eagerly agreed with me, saying he gets to watch the full show every other night and that he’s started sitting on the opposite side of the stage to get a different view. Everyone involved in this show loves it with everything they have and that is part of what makes it so special.

-During Prologue Natasha and Sonya cross arms so Natasha drinks Sonya’s shot and Sonya drinks Natasha’s shot what cuties!

-Dolokhov fist bumps so much i love the little party man

-at “minor charaaacterrrrs’ an ensemble member made eye contact with me and put his thumb and pointer finger close together. I did the same and he nodded emphatically

-Scott Stangland was on as Pierre and honestly his physical acting blows me away? He moved so slowly and heavily. It seemed like every step took such immense effort because he’s just so weighed down with despair. It really helped me sympathize with Pierre even more than I already had

-From where I was sitting Pierre’s back was to me when he sat at the piano, but the spot where sheet music usually goes was mirrored, so I was able to see his facial expressions! which is just, so genius. When Pierre wasn’t there the conductor placed an ipad with all his sheet music there

-Anatole walked across stage and rolled his eyes at Pierre when he sang ‘left it toothless and bald’ and ensemble members on the staircase next to me laughed/pointed fingers at Pierre :(((

-Marya hits every note with such a wonderful balance of aggression and playfullness and it will never cease to amaze me

-Sonya and Natasha held hands as they walked aw

-Mary and old prince Bolkonsky were onstage this whole time, in the area below the platform by the big door. Mary was reading a bible and bolkonsky was whittling. He trembles SO MUCH him holding a pocket knife was. a fright.

-At bolkonsky’s “people enjoy me though” I felt a light on me and he made direct eye contact with me and squinted and I squinted back and then he like nodded and waved and I waved back and then he continued singing

-Marya played a cowbell upstage later on in the song

-I was like right in line with the violist and two cellists and I kept getting distracted by how crazy their shifts and slides are omg

-During the Opera for “no I am enjoying myself at home this evening” Pierre did a half-hearted/sarcastic ‘raise the roof’ motion

-there is one point, I cannot for the life of me remember when it happened bc I was so caught off guard, but Anatole like crawled on the woman in front of me and had his mouth up to her ear and his hand was on the back of the seat literally inches away from my knee and it was. A lot. ((later he gave this woman the most intense bedroom eyes and like, damn. Natasha, girl, I get it))

- At anatole’s “we’re off to the club” he dramatically swings on his leather vest, grabbing it out of Pierre’s salon

-at one point Anatole turned away from pierre and leaned on a bar and blew air out of his mouth to flutter his lips it was so goofy

-okay the strobe lights paired with the music so intense I could feel the stage vibrating paired with everyone in the fricken bdsm leather outfits made for,, the most surreal experience of my entire life

-Marya dragging that riding crop slooooowwwllyy through her legs like? kill me? wow?

-Balaga literally lifted Sonya up on the ledge above where bolkonsky had been sitting earlier and mimed eating her out and sonya tilted her head back so it was kinda under another girl’s skirt geez. And then later at the bouncy ‘here’s to the health of married woman’ part balaga gave sonya a piggy back ride?? Like jumping with her on his back omg

-Helene and Dolokhov full on kiss and the music short circuits and everyone falls to the ground and it was so fricken intense

-Pierre puts his arms out before Dolokhov raises his gun like he’s just so ready to die and it. h u r t s

-after dolokhov shot pierre doubled over and stayed that way for so long. Long enough for an ensemble member to lean over and mime to ask if he was okay

-dust and ashes started off so tentatively and timidly he’s so hurt and scared but by the end he’s fiercely grabbing the air in front of him, so resolved to change and I love love love the contrast

-during charming two people hold up the dress for Natasha to glide into and then she walked downstage a little and looked at Helene like um, help? And then the two girls came up and buttoned the back of the dress for her.

-Natasha’s eyes glittered so intently during the ball. Her and Anatole dancing was so mesmerizing it really felt like they were the only two people in the room

-when she said ‘you’re hurting my hand’ Anatole released her so quickly and held his hands up in surrender and shook his head a little

-anatole and Natasha kissed for like a full minute and everyone on stage, every ensemble member, every musician, every part of the cast, held a glass of water and rubbed the rim to produce such an eerie sound. I didn’t see anyone pick up or put down these glasses I swear they materialized out of thin air

-during letters Anatole went on his knees and wrapped his arms around natashas waist and she makes a stubborn ‘I won’t look at you face’ and averts her eyes. Anatole kept moving his head around to try and make eye contact and he held out the last just say yessssss for so long his voice wavered and almost cut out and then came back in lucas steele is so good at hogging all of the attention

-sonya alone made me cry so very very much bc brittain ashford is a literal goddess

-anatole fumbled putting his suspenders on during preperations and I don’t know if it was lucas having trouble or Anatole being nervous but either way it was adorable

-Before the show started we had all been instructed that, at the line ‘everyone raise a glass’ we were supposed to mime raising a glass. We all practiced. It was swell. Cut forward to the abduction. I’m mesmerized by anatole’s coat. So mesmerized that I didn’t fully process that he had sung “everyone raise a glass” until I saw Marya out of the corner of my eye. I turn and shes glaring at me. So intensely. Of course she is. I missed my cue. I’ve brought shame on this family. I tentatively raise an arm, miming holding a glass. She leans across the couple sitting next to me and really aggressively puts two arms out in front of her. In my face. In this moment I thought Grace McLean was literally and truly going to strangle me, and I was ready. But my self-preservation instincts kicked in and I raised my other arm as well. She started to back away and then I pick up my water bottle and lift that, so I have one arm miming a glass and the other holding a water bottle and finally she looked satisfied. Thoroughly exasperated, but satisfied.

-everyone swayed back and forth in the audience once we were all successfully raising glasses and it was really special

-Dolokhov handed his guitar to the kid in front of me and shouted “can you hold this?? I need to go DANCE!”

-Anatole wildly and randomly playing his violin with the most crazed look on his face

-Helene and Marya kissing and touching, teasing and hungry

-Pierre started to do the ‘woooaaAAhhaHHh’ bit but he stopped, breathing heavy. Faked starting again and stopped and then finally did it for real LOL

-for ‘that’s the way’ about the fur coat Cathryn caught my eye and pointed and nodded

-During my house (which marya killed. I mean of course she did. She had almost strangled me for not following directions of course she was able to rip anatole kuragin a new one with just her voice), at one point when Natasha was running away Sonya leaned forward and silently mouthed PLEASE with so much horror and helplessness

-When pierre went to find Anatole, Anatole was lying with his head in helenes lap and she was petting his hair

-later when pierre was confronting Anatole with how awful he was Anatole was cowering and pulling at his hair so stressed and overwhelmed

-when Andrey is done talking with pierre he goes upstage and pushes past mary so gruffly but also in an annoying brotherly way. Poor mary. Always poor mary.

-Natasha walked down the stairs sO gingerly, toes, mid-foot, heel, whole body shakes, hands gripping the bannister with every ounce of strength she had

-pierre delivered the spoken lines so shyly/tenderly, ashamed of himself and who he was. I cried.

-and I sobbed through the entirety of the last song. From where I was the comet was in my line of sight before pierre, so being able to see that giant force of energy and looking just past that to see pierre, dwarfed in comparison, gazing up in such awe, wrecked me. The eerie tangling otherworldly notes are the perfect way to end the show, as everyone stares along with pierre at the great comet of 1812

And, this is my short version. Oh dear. If anyone read this and wants to talk even more in depth about this beautiful beautiful show pls do that immediately.

200 notes · View notes