#Credits to @carrie-tate with this idea

[1drwstuff]

[sillygoose067]

Miss(ter) Possessive

"Yeah, I'll be nice up until I'm not. And oh-so generous, tonight I forgot."- Miss Possessive by Tate Mcrae

Synopsis: A night out takes a heated turn as Dick Grayson watches admirer after admirer flirt with you—until he steps in, effortlessly staking his claim with a quiet, undeniable possessiveness.

The dimly lit jazz lounge was alive with soft music and quiet conversations, the scent of aged whiskey and espresso lingering in the air. The kind of place that whispered sophistication, where people came to talk business, seduce strangers, or escape into the low hum of a saxophone.

You leaned over the polished wooden bar, scanning the cocktail menu with a slight frown. “Do I go for a Negroni, or is that too bitter?” you mused out loud.

“Depends on your mood,” Dick said from beside you, his voice light, but his gaze was sharp, scanning the room with the easy alertness he carried everywhere. He was in his civilian clothes—dark jeans, a fitted navy button-down with the sleeves rolled up, his hair slightly tousled from the ride over. He looked good. Unfairly good. And as much as he wanted to focus on your drink decision, his attention was already hooked elsewhere.

Because someone else had noticed you.

She was a sleek woman with dark red lipstick and a silky black dress, leaning on the other side of the bar just far enough to be casual, but close enough that Dick could see the way her eyes kept flickering toward you. At first, he thought she was just admiring you—who wouldn’t? But then she made her move.

“You should try the French 75,” the woman interjected smoothly, stepping in just a little closer, her voice carrying over the music. “Crisp, bubbly, perfect balance. It suits you.”

You blinked, looking over at her with a polite smile. “Oh, that’s a good idea! Thanks,” you said, completely missing the way her eyes traced over you with an interest that went beyond friendly.

Dick, on the other hand, saw everything.

The way she angled her body toward you, tucking her hair behind her ear just so. The way she held eye contact just a little too long. The slow, deliberate sip of her own drink, like she was giving you an invitation.

You, completely oblivious, just nodded thoughtfully at the menu. “I think I’ll try it. What about you, Gray?”

His grip on his glass tightened slightly, but he kept his expression smooth. “I’m good with my usual.”

The woman barely spared him a glance, which would have been fine—except she was very interested in you. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

You nodded. “Yeah, first time! My boyfriend suggested this place.”

Dick felt a flicker of satisfaction at the word boyfriend, but the woman didn’t even flinch. She just smiled. “Good taste,” she remarked, then, her gaze drifting back to you, “Though, I’d say you could have found this place on your own.”

You let out a small laugh, not thinking much of it. “I mean, maybe! I do love exploring new places.”

Oh, come on.

Dick took a slow sip of his drink, watching as the woman subtly edged closer, her fingers lightly trailing over the rim of her glass. He’d seen this game before. The slow build-up. The careful compliments. The not-so-accidental brush of a hand.

And you? Totally missing it.

“You know,” she continued, her voice softer, “you have the kind of presence that turns heads. You must get that a lot.”

You laughed, the kind of genuine, amused laugh that made Dick’s stomach tighten. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”

No. No, she was not.

Dick exhaled slowly, setting his drink down with just enough weight for the sound to thunk against the wood. The woman finally glanced at him, as if only now remembering he was still there.

He met her gaze with an easy, confident smile. “She does get that a lot, actually. But, lucky for me, she’s already taken.”

Something in his tone had changed—still polite, still charming, but unmistakably firm. A statement, not an invitation for debate.

The woman’s lips parted slightly, but she recovered quickly. “Well,” she mused, swirling her drink, “good for you.”

“Yeah,” Dick agreed, casually sliding his arm around your waist, his fingers pressing into your hip in a way that sent a clear message. “It is good for me.”

There was a beat of silence, tension thick beneath the soft hum of the music. The woman held his gaze for just a second longer before offering a slow, knowing smile. “Enjoy your night,” she said smoothly, stepping back into the crowd.

You turned to Dick, blinking. “She was nice.”

His jaw tensed slightly. He leaned down, his lips brushing close to your ear. “She was flirting with you.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “What? No, she was just—”

“She wasn’t just anything,” Dick murmured, his voice low. “She was very interested.”

Your brows furrowed. “You think so?”

Dick just shook his head, a mix of fondness and frustration in his expression. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

Before you could respond, someone else entered the equation.

This time, it was a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp cheekbones and an easy smirk. He leaned against the bar beside you, flashing you an effortless grin.

“Couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” he said, his voice smooth as he rested his elbow on the counter.

Dick took a slow breath through his nose, already bracing himself.

You, meanwhile, turned to the newcomer with a friendly smile. “Oh? Well, it’s a great place.”

“Even better now,” the man said, giving you a look that made something in Dick snap.

That was it.

Dick shifted, moving so smoothly it looked effortless, positioning himself between you and the guy, his presence suddenly impossible to ignore. He didn’t glare, didn’t tense—no, his confidence was something subtler. He exuded control, the kind that made it clear he wasn’t threatened, but he was done playing polite.

The man’s smirk faltered slightly as he registered the shift in dynamic.

“Hey,” Dick said easily, his arm still wrapped firmly around your waist, his fingers subtly squeezing your hip. “Appreciate the compliment, but she’s with me.”

The guy glanced between you two, as if weighing his odds, before letting out a short laugh. “Didn’t see a ring.”

Dick’s smile was slow, controlled. “Didn’t need one.”

The weight behind those words was final.

The man held his gaze for a beat longer before exhaling through his nose, giving a half-shrug. “Didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Good,” Dick said, his smile never wavering. “Now you know.”

The man nodded once before slipping back into the crowd.

You turned to Dick, still a little stunned. “Was he flirting too?”

Dick let out a small laugh, resting his forehead against yours for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. “Baby, if I ever leave you alone in a bar, you might end up with three marriage proposals before I get back.”

You snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”

Dick tilted his head, smirking. “Is it?”

His grip on you tightened slightly, possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice low, a promise wrapped in a claim.

You smiled, your fingers tracing lightly over his wrist. “Always.”

[rannie-moon]

🩰 profile!

❝ 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚, 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒉 달콤한 달콤한 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒆 ❞

| 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒆?

# stage name ; heran

# birth name ; lee heran [ 리 헤란 ]

# english name ; hailey lee

# nationality ; korean-american

# ethnicity ; korean

# birthday ; 20 july 2004

# zodiac sign ; cancer

# blood type ; o

# mbti ; infj

# height ; 168 cm [ 5'6 ]

# languages ; korean, english, and japanese

# representative emoji ; 🦋

# positions ; lead dancer, main vocalist, visual, fotg

| 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she ranked 1st at the end of i-land with jungwon

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she was the only female trainee to make it into the final lineup

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she was raised in the u.s for 13 years before moving back to seoul to live with her aunt

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she attended hanlim with jungwon, jay, and sunoo. her an jungwon were in the same class

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her parents are both lawyers

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she has an older brother

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she played football and volleyball throughout her high school career

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she captained her school's girls football team

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she chose to train at bighit because she was bribed with bts tickets

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she trained for 2 years and 1 month

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she started dancing at the age of 5—hip-hop, ballet, ballroom, and contemporary

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she has a third-degree black belt in taekwondo

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she was very quiet as a trainee and was scared to interact with the others

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ similar to heeseung and txt's yeonjun, she was seen as the company's ace

| 𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒔!

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her role model is soloist jiyeon [ oc! ]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she has been given the title ' 4th gen's backbone '

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she is a huge kpop stan and carries a hoshi photocard on the back of her phonecase

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she watches a lot of anime and cartoons because she doesn't like real people. " I prefer animation, real people make me feel uncomfortable "

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she auditioned with ' get up ' by ciara

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her favourite dessert is pancakes

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she loves strawberries

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she is a heavy sleeper

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she loves studio ghibli and old disney movies

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she was originally against the idea of debuting in a boygroup and wasn't going to take part in the survival show at first

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her favourite shows/movies are ' avatar the last airbender ', ' criminal minds ', ' brooklyn 99 ', ' mama mia ', and ' mulan '

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she loves to read, and has a bookshelf in her room. her favourite books are, ' the poppy war ' trilogy by r.f kuang and any books by rick riordan

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she has been headacanoned as a slytherin, a child of athena and a firebender

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she made her solo debut on november 10th 2023, with her full album her: aspiration

| 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒄𝒊𝒓𝒄𝒍𝒆

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she doesn't have many friends and prefers to keep her circle small

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she is close to newjeans' minji

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she is in a group chat with lesserefim's yunjin, iliit's chanelle, jiwoo, minju, newjeans' minji and hanni

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her and jiwoo have been friends since i-land

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she is close the txt members because they trained together

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she is the older cousin of boynextdoor's woonhak

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her and bts' jungkook are close friends, and recently made their friendship public when she got into a scandal regarding her " seeking male validation "

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she was officially initiated into seventeen's hoshi's horanghae club by the idol himself

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she is close friends with ni-ki's sister konan

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ her favourite artists outside of k-pop are gracie abrams, the weeknd, britney spears, billie eilish, tate mcrae, abba, rihanna, ciara, lana del rey, cigarettes after sex, kendrick lamar, sza, and conan gray

| 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒅𝒖𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕𝒔

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ a few months after their debut, she was given the opportunity to take part in the composition and lyrics for enhypen's ep border: carnival

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ she played a huge role in newjeans' debut ep, and has full credits for attention, hype boy, and super shy

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ writing and composition credits for enha ; drunk-dazed, attention please!, blockbuster, upper side dreamin', walk the line, future perfect, paradoxx invasion, foreshadow, shout out ( full credits with jake ), one in a billion, fate ( full credits ), bite me, sacrifice eat me up, chaconne ( full credits ), xo ( only if you say yes ), moonstruck ( full credits with jungwon ), hundred broken hearts, and daydream

[macabremadness]

fiddleford mcgucket is so AUUUUGHFHSHSGFJ like he is crazy he is a silly goose. just a guy from tennessee who knows how to build literally anything and wanted to make tech to improve peoples lives first like mf built the first portable laptop and cell phone and got NO credit. he wanted to make robot legs cuz he didn't wanna walk but imagine if he was able to actually make some as mobility aid anyways i think about that a lot

that one time ford suggested to gather the cute little living minerals to help them lead them out the cave tunnels while fiddleford instead just picked them up and banged them together to relight the lantern and they all just scattered and one bit ford. he's so smart <3

weird cows producing weird milk that might be dangerous for human consumption? fidds fuckin drank that shit straight out the bucket. and i think he took it with him the rest of the way cuz he dramatically spit it out upon seeing cso

hes like a chihuahua to me he just stands there and pathetically shakes but then he also gets really feisty and bites. he canonically growls as an old man

how many gifts has fiddleford given ford at this point? like hes given him an axolotl, handmade gloves, a handmade snow globe, a custom laptop, squash with a human face, essentially his life. "hey what is the universe was a hologram" had the trajectory of his life changed forever. LIKE BEFORE BACKUPSMORE HE NEVER EVEN DRANK COFFEE and then ford is just "oh yeah i gave him like 15 cups or something"

AUGH THE GLOVES AND THE SNOW GLOBE..... "gee ford how come you get TWO presents" says emma may with nothing. LIKE HIM AND FORD HAD SUCH A GREAT CHRISTMAS AFTER THE KRAMPUS THING BUT LIKE I FEEL BAD FOR TATE MAN AND YALL ALREADY KNOW MCGUCKET CARES ABOUT HIS SON SO GODDAMN MUCH

(violently cries)

his ass is NOT afraid to use the memory gun on people like hes made people build the portal and the bunker for free and wiped their memories and hasnt been afraid to wipe ford's too like damn man. hes a little too trigger happy. he also made an entire cult because of it and then forgot he made an entire cult

he made the bunker security room. he decided it would be a good idea to crush intruders to death. not to mention all the destructive robots hes made in his crazy old man era. i love him at his best and his worst your honor

we salute 45th president mcgucket, gave out free robot spiders. and he prevented the entire covid pandemic. it's so funny to me cuz he took over northwest manor first and then the white house. i would be fine if the whole world had one ruler and it was mcgucket and you know he would find a way to turn himself into an immortal robot he will NEVER die

he's married to a racoon. has not even questioned his marriage once. that racoon is tate's step mom and i don't even think he questions it at this point either. we salute first lady of the united states raccoon wife

also give it up for parallel fiddleford!! literally from the canon "everything went right" au. portal wouldn't exist without our fidds and the quantum destabilizer wouldn't exist without parallel fidds give it up for all two canon fiddlefords carrying ford 🙏 anyways where's all the au content of that specific universe—

not to mention mcgucket's entire story arc which i really cannot put into words rn in this dumb post because its so AAUUUGH you feel me?

anyways yeah. this post is absolutely not coherent but i just think fiddleford mcgucket is neat and underrated (and as much as i love fiddauthor/fiddleauthor/fordsquared/fordford/banjoportal/etc. i feel like he's getting stuck solely in shipping LET HIM BE HIS OWN GUY PLEASE). also thank you book of bill for existing because it made me remember gravity falls was a thing i was obsessed with as a kid and looking back at everything as an adult is CRAZYYY

okay peace out love you mcgucket stans

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas 2023: Day 10. Snow Prints | Alex/Reader

Read now on Ao3 or below the cut:

The cafe was getting full, but you didn’t pay much attention to the busy chatter around you. You were far too focused on what you were doing. You were sat at a table by a window with your sketchbook laid out on the table, various abandoned attempts at drawing the scene outside strewn across the table.

You were so absorbed in what you were doing, in fact, that you almost didn’t hear the voice of the man who’d approached your table.

“Excuse me - do you mind if I sit at the end here? All the tables are full.”

You glanced up and saw a dashingly handsome man with greying hair and glasses, balancing a pot of tea on a tray and carrying a newspaper under his arm.

“Sure, no problem,” you said, moving your strewn artwork aside to make room for him and his paper. “Sorry, I’m kind of hogging the table, aren’t I?” You looked up and glanced around, only just now noticing that the cafe was a lot busier than when you’d arrived, full of shoppers taking a break from the cold air to warm up with a hot drink. Those that had managed to find a table were blocking walkways with their bags of presents, making you feel a little less guilty about hoarding the table.

“Looks like the Christmas shoppers are out,” you commented. You glanced at the man, who had nothing on him but his paper and his tea, which he was now pouring out for himself. “You chose a bad time to come out.”

“Yes, it seems so,” the man agreed with a polite smile. “So did you.”

He glanced down at the drawings strewn across the table.

“You’re an artist!” he said, and he went to turn one of the drawings around towards him, but you pulled it back quickly.

“That’s a rubbish one. I’m trying to practise drawing snowscapes, but I’m struggling to make the snow look like snow.” You pointed to the ‘snow’ in the pencil drawing, which just looked like the normal ground. “See? Rubbish.”

“No, I don’t think so,” said the man, still peering over at the drawing. “You just need to add something to show depth. Footprints, maybe.” He pointed out the window. “See, the snow out there’s not smooth. It’s covered in footprints.”

You looked out of the window thoughtfully. Maybe he was right.

“Footprints. Good idea. Thanks, erm —“

The man stuck his hand out to you. “Alex Hughes.”

“[Y/n] [L/n],” you replied, taking his hand in yours, and in the brief few moments of contact his large, warm hands enveloped yours completely.

“Nice to meet you, Alex Hughes. I’ll remember that name so I can credit you when this ends up on the wall of the Tate Modern.”

Alex laughed, and when he did his whole face lit up, the laughter lines around his eyes making him look even more handsome. He turned his attention to unfolding his newspaper, and you buried your head back in your drawing, trying to incorporate a set of footprints into the scene.

After some time had passed, you sat up straight, examining your handiwork.

“The footprints were a good idea,” you said, mostly to yourself.

Alex looked up from his newspaper and glanced over.

“May I see?” he asked.

You turned the sketchbook around. At the same time, he reached across the table to pull it closer to him, and his hand accidentally knocked against your half-drunk cup of cold coffee, tipping it over and spilling the contents over your drawings and your lap.

You both swore loudly, drawing some attention from nearby shoppers, though none of them stepped in to help. You jumped up, grabbing your sketchbook to try and save it from the river of coffee running down the table, but it was too late.

Alex apologised profusely and grabbed a napkin from his tray to try and mop up the spillage, but it was like trying to dry a river with a kitchen sponge. A staff member appeared with a box of cleaning equipment, and Alex took the proffered handful of blue roll to start trying to pat down the soaked paper.

“[Y/n], I am so sorry,” Alex said for the fifth time. “I’ve completely ruined them —“

“It’s fine, honestly, they were only practice drawings. I’m more worried about this…”

You indicated the dark brown smudge on your nice cream jumper, and Alex sighed with irritation at himself.

“Oh, look what I’ve done! Here —“

He gathered up another handful of blue roll and began dabbing at your jumper, though it didn’t make much difference.

“I’m so sorry, [Y/n], I’m such a clumsy fool.” He threw his hands up in despair when he realised the stain wasn’t coming out of your jumper.

You pulled the jumper over your head to better allow you to examine the stain.

“I’d better get home and get it straight in the wash before it sets in,” you said.

“Here, let me give you something in case you have to get a new one,” Alex started, pulling his wallet from his pocket, but you shook your head.

“No, don’t be silly. Accidents happen.”

“Well, I’ve got to do something. I can’t just ruin your jumper and your drawings and let you go without making it up to you.”

You glanced down at his left hand, which was still holding his wallet and was noticeably without a wedding ring.

“You could buy me a drink,” you said hopefully.

“Well, that’s a given, of course, I’ll get you another drink —“ Alex started, gesturing back at the bar.

“No, I mean, like… an alcoholic drink? At a bar? Later tonight? If… you wanted to, that is.”

Alex froze, looking at you curiously as the meaning of your words set in, and you wondered if you could blame the cold winter air blowing in through the open door for the redness that was no doubt flushing up your cheeks.

“Oh… er, alright, then,” Alex agreed awkwardly. He steeled himself, then added, “How about dinner too?”

You smiled, your eyes lighting up. “Yes, that’d be great. Here, let me give you my number.”

You tore off a corner of the top page of your sketchbook (the part that wasn’t soaked in coffee) and wrote down your number with the pencil you’d been drawing with.

“Call me in a few hours and we can arrange something. I live just outside of town so I can get pretty much anywhere.”

Alex took the piece of paper from you and put it safely in his wallet where it wouldn’t be in danger of another stray coffee spillage. You gathered up your sketchbook, holding it carefully in one hand and your stained jumper in the other.

“Well, er… see you later, then. Thanks for the footprint idea. It worked really well until you turned the snow all brown.”

“Yes. I’ll call you. And sorry again for the…” He pointed at your ruined things, and you just laughed.

“It’s okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

With one last shy smile at him, you left the cafe, hoping you had something nice to wear later. With a smile like that, you’d let Alex Hughes spill any amount of coffee on you just to see him laugh again.

[jswayman1]

hi could I pretty please request a jacob trouba imagine? maybe some like off day fluff (or perhaps smut lol)? troubs doesn’t get enough love on here :(((

sketch me in your notepad with the stain of this city, stitch my anxious heart, painter; let's get lost in the chaos together

IN WHICH, the captain is spared from errands for his well-deserved day off, and finds perfection in imperfection.

2.3k words with pure FLUFF😮‍💨 hope this is good for you anonymous

— a song to listen to while reading: THE ONLY EXCEPTION, PARAMORE

Manhattan and I, we had a love-hate dance going on. The city's unyielding audacity seemed to waltz right into my nose with the scent of gasoline, sugar, and gross hot food—a ghostly perfume that clung to my clothes as I walked like some persistent ex-lover, refusing to take a hint no matter how much I quickened my pace. It was as if the city was trying to leave its mark on me, insisting I carry a piece of its soul wherever I roamed.

I had just moved here recently from Saskatchewan, settling into the chaos with my boyfriend, Jacob Trouba, and adapting to our new life together.

Despite the upheaval, my work remained uninterrupted; thank God for my employer's understanding of my desire to work abroad. From our charming apartment, I was able to immerse myself in the lively energy of the city. The move went surprisingly well, and I credit Trouba's steady support, even with his busy schedule.

Errands around here just seemed like an entirely new ball game. Thankfully, I already had the time this morning to grab myself some coffee and note that we needed groceries to keep the fridge from being declared an official disaster.

It’s also Jacob’s first day off in what felt like ages, so I had decided to let him off the hook from the usual grocery run. I'd actually much rather have him around, his tall frame towering over me as he fumbled through the many aisles, showing me right where to go rather than to fake-smile and actually talk to the folks in New York who are just absolutely known for their polite and kind nature.

Plus, seeing him navigate through everyday tasks with his usual mix of boldness and sincerity has yet to fail to bring a smile to my lips.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost collided with a hurried pedestrian. "Sorry!" I called out, sidestepping just in time to avoid a collision. The woman shot me a brief smile before disappearing into the crowd, leaving me chuckling at my near-miss.

I shake my head thinking about my own mistake, continuing my walk, feeling the concrete beneath my feet as I attempt to avoid another near-injury mistake on my way to the nearest grocery store. The familiar sounds of honking cars and distant sirens forced to fill my ears. While it didn’t feel new, and I guess I have no choice not to mind it, it didn’t feel familiar either.

As I entered the store, I grabbed a cart and weaved through the aisles, making mental notes of our usual essentials. Bread, milk, eggs—simple items that grounded me amidst the whirlwind of city life. I reached for a loaf of artisan bread when I felt a tap on the shoulder from familiar fingers.

Startled, I looked up to see Tate Green, the girlfriend of one of Jacob’s teammates and another person who had helped me find my footing in this city.

"Hey, you," Tate greeted me with a warm smile, her eyes sparkling with familiarity. Seems she had the same idea, picking up a few groceries herself. "What a small world, running into you here," she remarked, falling into step beside me.

I returned Tate's smile. "Yeah, hey!" I quickly reply, adjusting my grip on the loaf of bread. "Always nice to see you."

Tate glanced at my selection. "Mmm, going for the good stuff I see. The other half must be home today, then?"

I nodded, a fond smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, well, it’s finally their day off, so I figured I'd let him relax at home for once. How about you?" I asked, gesturing to the items in her basket.

Tate chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, no. Adam is out with the guys, probably watching some game or something, and they'll probably be out for the night. I decided to take advantage of having the apartment to myself and catch up on some reading." She held up a novel, its pages well-worn and loved.

"Apartment alone? Sounds like a dream." I commented, glancing at the book in her hands. "Hope you enjoy the peace and quiet."

Tate nodded, a content expression crossing her features. "It's rare to have the apartment to myself, so I'm, well, savoring every moment of it.”

I chuckled and couldn't help but envy Tate's solitude for a brief moment. The idea of peaceful silence sounded like a luxury I rarely indulged in, especially now that I moved in with Jacob.

Sure, I guess he’s not the most chatty person during the week, but those moments of complete quiet are few and far between. And when he is silent, it's usually because he's rewatching old plays on TV. I don't mind having some space, especially with how much I actually receive, but even thinking about it I can picture sounds of him right now replaying those games over and over, talking down on himself.

Shaking that off, Tate and I continued down the aisle, sharing tidbits about our week as we picked up various items.

We reach the checkout counter, and Tate and I bid each other farewell, promising to catch up soon over coffee—plans that will probably not be acted upon.

Bags in tow, I made my way back to the apartment, smiling of the thought about sharing this encounter with Jacob. The idea of him unwinding at home brought a sense of warmth to my chest. I couldn't wait to see the surprise on his face when I told him about bumping into Tate at the store.

The walk home was quicker with that thought in mind, and before I could finish that thought, green stairs loomed ahead as I climbed up to our floor, the bags feeling heavier with each step. Finally reaching our apartment door, I juggled the bags in one hand to fish out the keys from my pocket. The familiar jingle of keys against metal announced my arrival as I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

I look down at the floor of my entrance. Come on, Jacob. Put your shoes away.

The apartment was quiet, a rare occurrence when he has time off with both Jacob and me bustling around. I set the groceries down on the kitchen counter, taking a moment to appreciate the cozy space we had carved out for ourselves.

I exhale with a breath I didn't know I was even holding and see the sunlight filter through the windows, casting a warm glow over our living room. I smile to myself. I really did do a great job on this room, huh?

Unpacking the groceries, I heard a faint sound coming from the direction of our bedroom. Okay.

Curious, I made my way down the hallway, my steps quiet on the wooden floor. Pushing open the door, I found Jacob laying on the edge of our bed, my side by the way, engrossed in what seemed to be a sketchpad.

He was sprawled out, his white t-shirt and plaid pajamas creating a unique contrast only he could make work. Jacob's forehead was creased in deep thought, and I couldn't help but wish I could observe him unnoticed, just to see what had captured his attention so intently.

When he spots me, his eyebrows raise as he puts the book to his chest. “Oh, hey. You forget something?”

I couldn't help but laugh at his question. "No, I remembered everything. But it seems like someone forgot to put their shoes away once again," I teased, pointing to his discarded sneakers by the doorway.

Jacob chuckled sheepishly, running a hand through his scruffy hair. "Fuck, my bad.” He explains. “Got caught up in this idea and lost track of time," he smiles now, holding up the sketchpad for me to see.

On the sketchpad, bold lines and vibrant colors danced across the pages, forming a chaotic yet mesmerizing pattern. I leaned in closer, taking in the intricate details of his latest creation. My head turns to him, mouthing a 'wow' before looking back at it for another analyzation.

In a word: it's messy, but that’s usually what made Jacob's art so captivating. The raw energy and passion that bled through every stroke and splatter of paint never failed to draw me in. His unconventional method of skating into canvases was a reflection of his personality on the ice – fierce, unapologetic, and completely his own.

"What's the story behind this one?" I asked, genuinely curious now, taking the pad from his hands.

He looks at me with a mixture of pride and sincerity in his eyes, a rare combination that always tugged at my heartstrings.

"Well, it's a work in progress," Jacob began, his eyes locked onto mine, which were still eyeing over the drawing. "I think I’ve been so focused on hitting the mark lately that I forgot about the beauty in the mess. This is my reminder that perfection isn’t — always the goal." His words were gentle but carried a sense of vulnerability that he rarely showed. "And that it's okay to embrace what's not perfect."

I traced a finger along the chaotic lines, feeling the energy crackling beneath the surface. Jacob's vulnerability in his art was a side of him that he only shared with a select few, and I cherished these moments when he let me into his world.

"It's beautiful," words that spill from my head to my mouth, my voice filled with a smile and admiration for the intricate mess laid out before me.

Jacob's eyes softened as he watched me study the sketch, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his gaze. I could tell that sharing this piece with me meant more to him than he let on, his guard momentarily down as he waited for my reaction.

"It's powerful, Jack," I emphasize my statement, using the nickname I have for him, which has a story behind it that's too lengthy to explain. I finally tear my eyes away to meet his gaze. "You've captured something raw and real here. It speaks volumes."

I watch a wave of tranquility wash over Jacob's features, his shoulders relaxing imperceptibly as he took in my words. "Thanks," he murmured, a small smile playing on his lips. "Sometimes I forget why I started doing this in the first place. Your perspective always helps me see things differently."

I returned his smile, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. My hands dipped to put the sketchpad back on his chest, and now I returned to standing upright.

“Y’know, I just ran into Tate.” Biting my lip.

Jacob's eyes widened slightly at the mention of Tate, a flicker of curiosity passing over his features. He sat up a little straighter, setting the sketchpad aside as he focused his attention solely on me. "Oh yeah? How's she doing?"

"She's good, just keeping busy with work and all that." I paused, studying Jacob's face for any sign of jealousy or discomfort, but found only curiosity in his expression. "We had a nice chat at the store. It's always good to catch up with her."

Jacob nodded, his gaze fixed on me as if waiting for more information. "That's cool. She seems nice," he remarked, his tone casual but attentive.

"Yeah, she is." I shifted slightly, feeling a pang of guilt for bringing up Tate in our intimate moment. But honesty was key in our relationship, and I wanted to share everything with Jacob. "She mentioned that Adam and some of the other guys seem to be going out tonight. Did you plan to go, or…"

Jacob's eyebrows furrow, he ran a hand through his scruffy hair, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "I think I'll pass on tonight.” He nods as he speaks, confirming his decision. “Got some things I want to work on," he finally replied, his voice tinged with a hint of reluctance.

“I'd also rather spend the evening here with you.” He paused, his gaze locking with mine. "If you didn’t have plans already."

A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, touched by the sincerity in his voice. "Sure," I reply, a warmth spreading through my chest at his words.

I could feel the tension of the day melting away, replaced by a sense of contentment that only Jacob could evoke in me. I will make sure I keep the way he looked at me right in this moment— for myself.

Slowly, Jacob shifts on the bed, making space for his hand to pat twice beside him. As I settle down next to him, our shoulders brush lightly, and his hand found mine almost immediately, intertwining our fingers.

He leans down, his eyes pressed closed, and his warm breath brushes against my hand as he presses his lips gently against it.

The contrast of the cold city air against the warmth of their connection sends tingles through my upper half. I can feel the heat radiating from Jacob’s touch, and for a moment, I forget about the biting cold of Manhattan.

"I'm grateful for you, you know that?" Jacob utters, his voice soft and sincere.

His mouth still rests in between my thumb and pointer, grazing the two fingers lightly, obviously not aware to the chapped texture.

I smile at his chivalry, tilting my head and lifting my free hand to push hair behind his ears. “Mhm. Grateful for you, too." I reply softly, letting my hand linger against his cheek for a moment before leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Jacob's arms wrapped around me, pulling me closer as the sketchpad lay forgotten on the bed. I guess you could say his art mirrored the three best describers of what we have - messy, passionate, but undeniably real.

Maybe getting married isn't such a bad idea.

[beansbitch]

rating every song on the spotify today's top hits playlist (12th july 2024) for funsies

1. Please Please Please - Sabrina Carpenter

She's gotten a lot of mileage out of being a silly goofy girl. 7/10

3. BIRDS OF A FEATHER - Billie Eilish

2. Si Antes Te Hubiera Conocido - KAROL G

It's a vibe. 6/10

This new album is great, would definitely recommend. 8/10

5. A Bar Song (Tipsy) - Shaboozey

4. Good Luck, Babe! Chappell Roan

It's good luck babe by chappell roan. 10/10

I actually kinda dig this, I think it works really well. 7/10

6. Not Like Us - Kendrick Lamar

Physical manifestation of the phrase "get dunked on", and it's just fun to listen to. 10/10

7. MILLION DOLLAR BABY - Tommy Richman

The VHS version is better. 9/10

8. Too Sweet - Hozier

Hozier. 10/10

9. Beautiful Things - Benson Boone

Oh, objectively bad song, they could never make me hate you <3. 6/10

10. I Had Some Help - Post Malone, Morgan Wallen

Eh. 4/10

11. Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter

Once again, silly goofy. 7/10

12. i like the way you kiss me - Artemas

It's my understanding that all of the vocals in this are the same one dude and that's kinda impressive actually. 8/10

13. Stargazing - Myles Smith

Could go way harder. 6/10

14. LUNCH - Billie Eilish

Did not anticipate her preferred style of flirting to be "goofy" but you know what, it works. 9/10

15. End of Beginning - Djo

you take the man out of the city not the city out the man you take the man out of the city not the city out the man you- 8/10

16. we can't be friends (wait for your love) - Ariana Grande

Song that exists. 6/10

18. Tough - Quavo, Lana Del Rey

17. Lose Control - Teddy Swims

Got through this whole post without realizing I hadn't written anything for this song until the very end and. yeah, pretty much. 7/10

Weird collab, but okay. 7/10

19. Austin - Dasha

I'm still not entirely sure how boots could "stop working". 7/10

20. I Can Do It With a Broken Heart - Taylor Swift

Should've been the single instead of Fortnight. 6/10

21. Houdini - Eminem

This is so dated that when I first heard it I had to go check if it was a "Tiktok making a 20 year old song popular" thing, but no, it's just that cringe. 1/10

22. Nasty - Tinashe

Eh. 5/10

23. Belong Together - Mark Ambor

This one makes my skin crawl for some reason. 3/10

24. Slow It Down - Benson Boone

I have no idea what to do with this. 5/10

25. HOT TO GO! - Chappell Roan

H-O-T-T-O-G-O YOU CAN TAKE ME HOT TO GO!! 9/10

26. GIRLS - The Kid LAROI

is it bad that i think this direction kinda works for this guy? 5/10

27. greedy - Tate McRae

I forget who said it first, but song is a lot better if you interpret it as a semi-ominous warning. 7/10

28. Move - Adam Port, Stryv, Keinemusik, Orso, Malachiii

wow that's a lot of artist credits (I say that because I have nothing else to say about this song). 6/10

29. Fortnight - Taylor Swift, Post Malone

"i love you, it's ruining my life" would be a good all lowercase AO3 title. 4/10

30. Saturn - SZA

Amen, sister, there's gotta be a better life somewhere. 10/10

31. 28 - Zach Bryan

It's good but not in a way where there's much to discuss. 8/10

32. Close To You - Gracie Abrams

Eh, I don't get the hate, this is perfectly serviceable white girl music. 5/10

33. the boy is mine - Ariana Grande

That record skip effect on "divine" gets me every time. 10/10

34. Stick Season - Noah Kahan

Why is this still here. 9/10

35. I Don't Wanna Wait - David Guetta, OneRepublic

STOP. 1/10

36. Smeraldo Garden Marching Band - Jimin, Loco

Would I get killed for saying this sounds kind of cluttered and disjointed? 5/10

37. Stumblin' In - CYRIL

I feel like this shouldn't work as well as it does, but I can't put my finger on why... 8/10

38. 360 Charli xcx

I don't get the hype. 5/10

39. Rockstar - LISA

The beat carries this one for me but to be fair, it's a pretty good beat. 7/10

40. One of The Girls - The Weeknd, JENNIE, Lily-Rose Depp:

This gives literally nothing but unfortunately I have and will always be a sucker for this vibe in music. 6/10

41. Scared to Start - Micheal Marcagi:

The chorus of this is a callout post to me specifically. 9/10

42. Lies Lies Lies - Morgan Wallen

I just listened to this two minutes ago and I already forgot everything about it. 3/10

43. feelslikeimfallinginlove - Coldplay

Yeah this is what Coldplay sounds like. 7/10

44. Parking Lot - Mustard, Travis Scott

Pretty okay. 5/10

45. Gata Only - FloyyMenor, Cris Mj

I can't understand a single word of this. 7/10

46. BAND4BAND - Central Cee, Lil Baby

This kinda goes hard actually. 8/10

47. Santa - Rvssian, Rauw Alejandro, Ayra Starr

Have a negative amount of words to say about this one somehow. 6/10

48. Magnetic - ILLIT

Certified banger. 7/10

49. Water - Tyla

What if I said 10/10. What would you be able to do about that.

50. Illusion - Dua Lipa

I would like this more if she hadn't made some variation of this song like half a dozen times. 6/12

[jokerislandgirl32]

Ahhhh, such a cute idea! I love these types of shirts! For my s/i Violet and my f/o Zach if you would not mind? Thank you!

Art credit goes to @carrie-tate

new game! reblog this with a picture of you or your s/i (picrew/art/whatever) and a picture of your f/o and I'll give you a pair of millenial-esque couple shirts like...

[therobertfrasergang]

Robert Fraser in the Evening Standard, June 8 1967

Modern art: The currency between the financier and his son

This article appeared in the Evening Standard on June 8, 1967. It was part of a series on fathers and sons. Part 4 profiled the Fraser family, focusing on Lionel Fraser and Robert Fraser.

The entire article is transcribed below the cut.

A Name to Live Up To, by Tom Pocock

Modern art: The currency between the financier and his son

The rebel son being so essential a stock figure in family lore it would seem that Robert Fraser has all the qualifications of a particularly fine specimen. Seldom can the worlds of father and son have been in such stunning contrast and seldom can father and son have seemed, to outsiders, such opposites.

Robert Fraser is the son of the later Lionel Fraser.

At 29, Robert Fraser is founder and proprietor of the Robert Fraser Gallery in Mayfair, the most avant garde, far-out art gallery in London.

Currently, he is awaiting an exhibition by Mr. Andy Warhol, the American experimental artist, which, it can safely be forecast, will be unlike anything yet seen in an art gallery, or, possibly, anywhere else.

Mr. Fraser has suffered a lot of publicity recently having been fined £20 under the Vagrancy Act of 1838 for exhibiting “obscene” drawings and collages by the American artist Jim Dine, whose work is represented at the Tate.

Mr. Fraser was duly credited in Time magazine’s memorable discovery of swinging London. Mr. Fraser’s scene is one to make British squares close their ranks. His father, who died two years ago, was a man for whom the inescapable adjective was “distinguished.” Tycoon was too vulgar a word for Lionel Fraser. A financier, who made money-making seem like high diplomacy, he ranked high among the City’s royalty.

A self-made man (his father was butler to Gordon Selfridge, the department store emperor) Lionel Fraser carried himself as if born to wealth and position.

His influence in banking, investment trusts, insurance and industry came primarily through Helbert Wagg, the merchant bankers, Thomas Tilling, the industrial holding company and Babcock and Wilcox, the engineers, but his photograph—a dignified face, white hair and an immaculate bow tie—often appeared on City pages in connection with anything from publishing to cars, take-overs to mergers.

Tragedy

The Fraser family was, and is, conventional in a prosperous and intelligent way. Living In Belgravia and, like a surprising number of their like, Christian Scientists, the Frasers lived a contented life until touched by tragedy.

Ten years ago the only daughter, Janet, a beautiful, vivid girl, who, at the age of 21, had been secretary to Sir William Haley, then editor of The Times, was killed with her fiancé in a road accident. Then at 69, Lionel Fraser died.

Robert Fraser's mother and his brother, a stockbroker, continue to lead the lives to which they were accustomed. But not Robert Fraser.

Robert Fraser's quick, delicate person is so different from his father’s stately presence; his accent, Anglo-American; his conversation, stream-of-consciousness.

“Did I rebel? I never thought of that. I just do what I like doing. That's what everyone tries to do. I try to avoid doing things that I don’t like. Did my father influence me? I don't think that parents do have influences—the best parents don’t have influences. I might be influenced by ideas but not by parents. I never thought heredity plays a great part except that you react against it. It’s environment that matters.”

Robert Fraser was first sent to a Christian Science school but “could not get attuned to it. I feel religious but not interested in religion.”

Then to Eton, “which is better than anywhere else because it is eccentric. But English boarding schools are insane. Education is teaching but you are not taught. In 15 years learning Latin I never heard anyone stop and say: ‘This is a beautiful poem.’ I'm glad I was educated, but it would have been nice to have been taught."

But, by what Robert Fraser would put down as environment, his father did influence him. Lionel Fraser was a patron of modern art and, as a trustee of the Tate Gallery did, in his son’s view “much to improve that stale atmosphere. Many American cities have better collections and Americans who hear about the Tate go there and ask: ‘What’s it all about?’

The dust

“My father wanted the Tate to shake off the dust and tried to align it with the present. But this is not so much an indictment of the Tate as of England. In England it takes time to change things.”

After Eton, Robert Fraser went to New York and joined the art scene. Five years ago, he returned to London and, with his father's encouragement, opened the gallery in Duke Street. Then, says Robert Fraser: “London was very boring. Suddenly, around 1964, it was all happening. An eruption, you know. A social revolution.

“What the Beatles call The Beautiful People. These people—these young artists, writers and musicians—these people are the privileged class now. They used to have no voice. Now they are blowing off the dust.

“All this youth paraphernalia came from here. These people are original. These ideas are mainly coming from England. New York is sterile, uncreative, l mean, you go to the States— they have a fantastic industry for everything: machine-guns, cosmetics, Lichtenstein paintings. It’s an industrial thing. The English give them the idea and they make a thing of it.”

Robert Fraser thinks that his father would have understood and enjoyed 1967 scene. “He was a Victorian but the best of the Victorians were like really important business people today: they had imagination. My father's mixed with some very conventional people but he never belonged to them. He would never do things because they had been done before. The Victorians were like that before the calcification began. My father was one of the few people in this country who liked new things. Most people distrust new things.”

Balance

The obvious differences between father and son seemed less important. And as Robert Fraser talked he sounded less like an arbiter of the arts but more like an adventurous tycoon. “Art dealing the way l do it needs a fine balance of judgement. Most dealers buy something because they know they can sell it at a profit. I back my own taste. I show what I like.”

Robert Fraser refuses to have what he likes labelled “because people love to be able to pigeonhole things. I like to keep people on edge. Anything new is uncomfortable. I like people coming into the gallery to feel uneasy. A picture that makes you happy now may have made people acutely uncomfortable when it was first painted.'” Currently he is thinking of forms of art-dealing outside the gallery, something that he cannot yet define but obviously something of which Mr. Warhol would approve.

“As art widens its scope,” he says, “so must galleries.” The next move is the Warhol exhibition. After that, perhaps films. The Fraser imaginatlon roams farther and farther out.

The son of the discreet financier then reveals another of his father’s traits. “Some people who meet me say that they didn't know there was a person called Robert Fraser. But they still came to the Robert Fraser Gallery because they knew they'd find a certain kind of thing. I liked that.”

I suspect Lionel Fraser would have liked that, too. It is called reputation.

[justanotherwriter-fangirl]

You Broke Me First (K. S.)

Words: 2,309 words

Warnings: Not that I can think of... maybe a couple curse words  

A/N Hi!!! I’ve been working on this for a while so I wanted to post it before the requests I’m working on, it’s inspired by Tate McRae’s “You Broke Me First”. The lyrics will be italicized and I change the order a little bit but I hope you like it. Like always requests are open and feedback is always welcome <3

Gif obtained from Google. All credits to its owner. 

Thanks for reading

_______________________

Kelly and you had a lot of history, him being your friend since you were just childs, you knew everything about him or so you thought...

Like in all the cliché romantic movies, you fell for your best friend, hard, and even when it took several years, somehow along the way he asked you out wanting to make things between you two official, making you feel like the happiest and luckiest girl in the world that night.

As you grew up life started to get difficult but you always had each other, he became this super badass firefighter, soon turning into the lieutenant of the rescue squad 3 in firehouse 51, and you started working in your dream company as a executive assistant. 

Maybe you don't like talking too much about yourself

But you shoulda told me that you were thinkin' 'bout someone else

With the pass of time you realized things were changing between you two, you knew that he didn’t like talking much about himself or his job, always carrying so much baggage with him but when he stop talking to you at all you knew something was different.

You both had crazy lifes, he had 24 hours shifts and you were most of the time busy as well, your boss being super demandant, but tired of missing him, one day you asked your boss for permission to leave early, your to - do list already done and everything ready for the next day, he wasn’t very pleased but even then he let you go.

It was your anniversary night and you thought some quality time together and a nice homemade dinner would make things better, attributing the lack of communication to your busy schedules, so that day you asked Shay to let you in, them being roommates for a couple years.

You had met Shay and the whole firehouse crew a couple times, they were Kelly’s family after all, so once in awhile when the CFD celebrated some big events you had the opportunity to interact with all of them.

Once everything was ready, you left the lasagna you had just made in the oven, not wanting it to get cold until Kelly arrived. You had set the table, lit some candles and choose some nice music to enjoy, now all you had to do was wait.

You sat on the table taking out your latest book to keep you entertained until he got home. One hour passed and you were already halfway done with your book, three chapters becoming ten and then fifteen, the candles almost all melted over the tablecloth, when suddenly you heard the lock of the door being open,

As fast as you could you tugged your book into your bag again and stood up to welcome him and surprise him with the dinner you had made but when you got sight of him, the surprised one was you.

He entered the room with a girl pressed to him, their lips never leaving each other as they started to rip each others clothes, immediately bringing tears to your eyes. He had not only forgotten your anniversary but he was also cheating on you, that completely explaining why you had been radio silenced.

“God, I love you, Royce” he said still unaware of your presence, eyes closed as he tried to take off her shirt, that’s when you couldn’t hold yourself anymore and a sob escape your lips bringing their attention to you.

You saw as his eyes opened up in surprise and just for a second you saw hurt in them, quickly being replaced for shame.

“(Y/N)...”

Before he could say anything else you grabbed your bag and left, not only exiting his apartment but his life too.

Took a while, was in denial when I first heard

That you moved on quicker than I could've ever, you know that hurt

Swear for a while I would stare at my phone just to see your name

But now that it's there, I don't really know what to say

The first months after you caught him with another girl were the hardest you had ever lived, you still were so busy with job but that didn’t stop you from going to the bar almost every weekend to get drunk and call him. You knew it was stupid, he had someone else and every morning you regretted it, especially since he never picked up, but it was hard to stop.

After two months of the same thing, one night you decided to just stay home, tired of the same destructive routine that had you in tears and drunk most of the night, so you turned your phone off and put some movie marathon that was playing on the TV.

It wasn’t easy but eventually things got better and when you needed it the most a promotion was given to you, keeping you now busier than before and with almost not time at all to think about him.

It had been six months now, you were happy and you were living your life again when one night your phone ringed, his name appearing on the screen, you hesitated for a moment but still answer it, you had swore you would be friends forever and you had meant it.

“(Y/N)...?” 

You're drunk at a party or maybe it's just that your car broke down

Your phone's been off for a couple months, so you're calling me now

I know you, you're like this

When shit don't go your way you needed me to fix it

And like me, I did

“Please don’t hang up… I know that we haven’t talk in a while but I don’t know who else to call… I need your help”

“... What happened?” you said unsure of how to answer, you were expecting an apology, not this.

You knew you would regretted it but you couldn’t just say no, specially if he needed help, so like you had always done, you helped him.

It was stupid really, she was leaving to Spain and at first he thought he wanted to go with her, telling you all about his injury and how he thought he would never be able to do his job again but after he knew he could get a surgery that could fix him up in just a couple months, he didn’t know anymore what to do.

When he finished telling you everything you told him what he wanted to listen, you knew he already knew what to do, just wanted to hear it was okay. It had always being like that with him, always insecure about making the wrong decision.

“If you want to stay then stay Kelly, you love your job and helping people, I’m sure you will be unhappy if you leave, away from you family at the firehouse and away from doing what you love” you hold back the tears in your eyes and taking a breath to steady your voice you added “I know.. I - I don’t doubt you love her but I know you love your job more than anything so just keep that in mind” saying that had taking a lot from you so letting out a final sigh you said “I have to go Kelly, I have things to do. Take care and I hope you get better soon. Goodbye” 

After you hung up, you cried yourself to sleep that night, how could he do that to you? Telling you all about how he was still with her, how he loved her and had planned to run away with her to Spain without thinking how much it would hurt you? Was he really that blind? That selfish? He cared that little about you? He didn’t even apologized for all the hurt he caused you.

But I ran out of every reason

Now suddenly you're asking for it back

Could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve?

Yeah, you could say you miss all that we had

But I don't really care how bad it hurts

When you broke me first

You broke me first

A year flew by and when you least expect it you were back in Chicago after 2 months in London, a year ago you had been fired, your life was a mess and your heart was shattered but after hitting rock bottom you could only go up from there.

After that last call from Kelly where he asked you to help him a lot had happened, including a couple more calls from him that you refused to answer. That last time he made you cry also help you realize that you deserved better, yes, he had been your friend all your childhood and you had made everything in your power to be with him but looking back it was you who always tried the hardest to make it work.

So you focused on yourself, you started learning a new language and going to the gym, you applied for some new jobs and got a really good one as an executive so eventually you also moved from your apartment to a new one, you needed the fresh start.

Along with your new job came some new opportunities to travel, at first you got to know some other cities like Los Angeles, New York, D.C. or San Francisco but as your bosses were impressed with your commitment and hard work you got to travel to some other countries like México, Italy and most recently England.

Everything was going fine now and were ready to unpack your stuff before going to bed, the plane always leaving you so tired, until you heard a knock on your door. You had no idea who could it be, it was late and not a lot of people had your new address.

When you opened the door you couldn’t be more surprised.

“Kelly?”

“Hi, (Y/N)” he said scratching the back of his neck, he was nervous.

“What are you doing here? How… how do you get my address?” you said crossing your arms over your chest, you were no longer the woman who had cried for him a year ago.

“I asked around, it wasn’t easy but I really needed to see you, you changed your phone number”

“Yeah, I did. What do you want?” it hurt you a little to talk to him like that, you never imagined you would be in this position but you had justify him for so long, you were just tired now.

“You… I want you back, (Y/N)... I miss you”

What did you think would happen?

What did you think would happen?

I'll never let you have it

What did you think would happen?

Now suddenly you're asking for it back

Could you tell me, where'd you get the nerve?

Yeah, you could say you miss all that we had

But I don't really care how bad it hurts

When you broke me first

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, it was short and it kinda pained you but you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Sorry, it’s not really funny, it’s just that… where did you get the nerve, you know, to just come in here and tell me this like you hadn’t broke my heart a million times before?” you said watching him get more uncomfortable with every passing second.

“Look, I know I made some mistakes in the past but I really mean it, (Y/N), I miss you and I know I fucked it up but all I can think about is you, I lose my girlfriend and my best friend the same day”

“Yes, you did, when you cheated on my, may I add and not just that, Kelly, it wasn’t just like she was a one night stand, you told her you loved her in front of me on the night of our anniversary, you already had another relationship and I don’t know, I guess you just forgot to break up with me, you know?” you finished with sarcasm.

“You left, you didn’t even give me the opportunity to explain you anything” he said a bit exasperated, things were not going how he expected it and you were only raising your voice almost getting in a fight, not the definition of his perfect reunion.

“What were you going to say? I’m sorry? Because 6 months after that you called me to tell me all about the love problems you had with the woman you cheated on me with, then could’ve been a good time to apologize too, a little bit late but I was still willing to be your friend”

“I’m sorry, okay? It’s that what you wanted to hear? Because I do, I am sorry and more than anything I am sorry for being a jerk and letting you go, I never should’ve done that, please, just… give another chance, please, it kills me being without you” he finished with a whisper.

“No, I’m sorry but I won’t, Kelly, you’ve hurt me enough already. What did you think would happen? That you would just knock on my door after 18 months and everything would be fine? That I would throw myself at you and we would be what we were before all this?”

“No, I know and I don’t want to go back to what we were, I want better, I’ll be better for you, just, please, say yes…”

“I’m sorry but no, I’m better now, it took me a lot of time and effort but I finally got over you”

“C’mon, you’re killing me, (Y/N), please, don’t do this, you’re breaking my heart”

“You don’t get to say that, Kelly, not when you broke me first” and without any other word you entered back to your apartment and closed that door.

_______________________

Masterlist

[apprenticenerd]

"Anyone can send me an ask with one of the titles and I’ll post a snippet or talk about that WIP!" The Acropolis, Tacet, Checklist, A Tiny Galaxy, Hearsay, Going Back, Ella Disenchanted, Making Peace, The Slashed Circle, Wake Up, Tenno, Midnight, Heliotropism, Arrhythmia, the one about Among Us, the one about Library of Ruina, the one that’s a D&D world concept. Yes, all of them. I know you wanna talk about all of them. So go, go forth and do it!

Hoooo boy, this is gonna be a long post. Lots and lots of writing snippets under the cut to avoid dash stretch!

The Acropolis - original - length uncertain - 1.4k and counting

im not ready for this im not i thought it would be yrs i thought id at least get an english degree first

omg sal whats goin on

fuckin hell whyd it have to be now i have a chem lab tomorrow

sally-tate macpherson. u never swear. ever. wtf is goin on.

ok. jess. i need u to listen really really carefully. understand?

answer the goddamn question ur scarin me

shut up and listen and this will go a lot better

fine but u need to tell me wtf is happnenig

ok. im going to tell you a bunch of stuff. not giving u advice, thats not allowed, but im gonna tell u stuff it seems like itd be impossible for me to know.

?????????????

i said shut up this is really important dont question how i know it. just go with it and figure out what to do. and dont die. bc no matter how crazy stuff seems, if u die, ur dead. here and everywhere. ok?

This is an original story coming straight from a @/writing-prompt-s prompt about a crack in a kid’s hardwood floor that they fantasized was a portal actually being one. I originally intended to write the entire thing like this, as a conversation over text, but that may not be feasible given a certain world-building detail at the other end of the portal (and the limits of my creativity lmao).

---

Tacet - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 3.2k and counting

She closed her eyes again, and there it was. Hallucination? Some new science trick with electromagnetic radiation off the visible spectrum? Evidence that she was actually going insane? Whatever it was, it burned behind her eyelids in bright, incontrovertible red - and was completely invisible when she opened her eyes again. There was just the usual mess of club posters and one big one about someone’s exceedingly dumb-looking lost cat.

Eyes open, there was only Sargent Snuggles. Eyes closed, there was the normal darkness and then three lines of text where the poster had been, wavering like scarlet fire:

JOIN TBC JOIN TBC JOIN TBC

TBC? What the fuck was that? She’d never heard of any group with that acronym before. Hardly aware of the flurry of weird looks from half the other people in the hallway, she crossed the hall to examine the lost cat poster more closely. It felt like perfectly normal paper when she touched it, and there wasn’t even a hint of red with her eyes open, unless you counted the cat’s tacky pink sweater. How the hell was this even possible?

“You’re finally cracking, Bri,” she groaned under her breath, then headed for her locker. She did have to get home. Add another big fat entry to the weird shit list.

A backstory one-shot for my Blackout Club OC Briar, telling the story of how she got into the club in the first place. I’ve been stuck in the same spot for a while now, after Briar’s friend Dani explains the club to her, and I’ve come to the conclusion that the scene’s over as is. Of course, writing the next one is the tough part.

---

Checklist - The Blackout Club - one-shot - 1.7k and counting

8. You still have a headache. Shouldn’t you go back to sleep and try to do this in the morning?

9. (wake up)

10. Nah, you’ve always been a night owl, and school starts criminally early, too early to get much done beforehand. It’s quiet, except for Dad snoring. Your parents are asleep already. You can stay up until this is done, and they’ll be none the wiser.

11. Your head hurts worse. It’s getting harder to think. At only 9 pm? 9:30? Whatever. You should sleep.

12. (wake UP)

13. What are you thinking? You have to read at least a little of this chapter, or there’s no way you’ll be able to bullshit your way through class tomorrow. Besides, all of a sudden, the silence feels...strange. Heavier? You can’t describe it.

14. You need to sleep. You need a drink of water or something. You need to finish this damn homework. You need to sleep. You need to sleep.

15. Stare at The Great Gatsby. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense.

16. Realize what’s up with the silence. Dad’s not snoring anymore. You aren’t feeling like yourself. You need to sleep.

17. Something’s weird.

18. (WAKE UP) 

19. ...No. Something’s wrong.

Another Blackout Club story and another Interface Screw, as it were, this time in the form of a (very long) checklist. None of the characters have names (yet). It describes another way a kid could find themself running around at night with the Blackout Club, this time by fighting off the Song just enough to run into a club member who could wake them up the rest of the way. As with Tacet, I still need to write the suspenseful part.

---

A Tiny Galaxy - Warframe - 4 chapters planned, 1 complete, 1 in progress - 7.8k and counting

Try it if you don’t believe me, the kid in the vent had said.

It was impossible. It was physically impossible. All of this was impossible. Had the Void...? Could the Void...?

The ship was at a standstill. Her mother had tried to kill her, and something had happened. She’d made something happen. There had been no holoprojector in that kid’s hand. Nothing was impossible anymore.

Jhia took a deep breath. How the heck was she supposed to do this? Was she supposed to feel something, some internal guide? Blue Hair hadn’t said. Feeling incredibly stupid, she did a quick mental checkup on herself. Nothing felt wrong, or different - but now that she thought about it…

Afterward, she would try many times to explain it, and fail every time. The best she could come up with was that once she found the Void, calling on it was as easy and as natural as breathing. She opened her hands in front of her, concentrated on that force like an extension of herself, reopened her eyes, and there it was: a riotous little ball of energy, wisps and motes of light and not-quite-light like a tiny galaxy, the Tau system in the palm of her hand, raging.

More OC backstory time! This one’s for my Tenno, a nerdy fourteen-year-old (at the time of this story, anyway) by the name of Jhia, going through the hell that is the Zariman Ten-Zero and what happened on it. This is possibly the first part of the story I actually wrote: the roll-credits moment when Jhia realizes the Void’s changed her more already than she thought.

---

Hearsay - Lobotomy Corporation/Library of Ruina - one-shot - 1k and counting

"Oh? Did they investigate further?"

"They tried. Found a few fingerprints, but they didn't match anyone in the database."

"What's the update, then?"

"Reports from elsewhere in the district of someone not in uniform carrying a Zwei sword. They're slippery, good at avoiding us, which would suggest Syndicate operative to me and HQ. Except that in every one of the descriptions we managed to get, our sword thief is a child."

"What? How?!"

"You tell me, Iona. You're the one who went to the crime scene."

"Right... Jeez, if it's a kid, I guess that'd explain why Petrov thought they weren't a threat..."

"My thoughts exactly. HQ has a fair amount of hearsay to go on, but nobody can quite agree on how old the child is, or whether or not she's with a Syndicate. Most agree that she appears to be a girl, tall for a child, auburn hair, clothes and demeanor typical of a Backstreets native."

"We got a name?"

"They've heard Yeri, Kali, Redbird, Suma, Aelfin... No one knows which is her real one, or if it's even any of them at all."

"Damn. ...Say, are you going to drink that entire pot of coffee?"

"Help yourself."

This is one of those stories that turned into an accidental AU when more of canon came out. The idea behind it is that it’s Kali’s backstory told entirely in conversations in which she did not participate, showcasing the fact that a Fixer’s fame is their livelihood and Kali was about as famous as they come, before the whole L Corp thing happened. Of course, the vast majority of the headcanons here got invalidated with a certain Ruina update, so my motivation’s kinda down on this one.

---

Going Back has already been talked about here!

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Ella Disenchanted - The Blackout Club - one-shot (maybe two-shot??) - 1.4k and counting

She woke. Her stomach went through a series of panicked flip-flops as she thought something strange had done it, Dad or a little-kid-nightmares shadow beast had made noise, but no - why had she fallen asleep in the first place? Her butt and shoulder were sore where they’d been leaning on the bottom and side of the windowsill, presumably all night, since the sun was full up over the trees on Old Growth Hill. 

All night. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t fall asleep, but she did anyway. God dammit.

As she unfolded herself from her cramped ball, though, she froze. Under the comforter she’d pulled around her shoulders for warmth, she was wearing her gray jacket, a T-shirt, jeans, sneakers getting dried mud all over the carpet. 

Last she remembered, she’d been in her pajamas.

In which a Blackout Club kid’s little sister wonders where he’s gone when he runs away to the boxcar, and tries to get to the bottom of the mystery herself. Usually she’d be too young for the club to recruit, but her investigations and an incident involving SAO are more than enough extenuating circumstance. Unlike most of my other WIPs, there’s a whole outline at the end of my doc for this one.

---

Making Peace - Warframe - multi-chapter - 1.5k and counting

“I…” Iksoh finally said. “Sorna, I hope you realize. I’m not into this. I never - I’m not doing this. Whatever you’re doing, I can’t.”

“I know,” Sorna said softly. The decision tore at her heart again and she almost backed out of the vent, but no. She had to go. She wouldn’t see another innocent crumple in her rifle sights. “I hope you realize. I’m not coming back.”

Behind her, Iksoh let out a long, shaky breath. “It’s taking all I’ve got not to report you right now. Sorna… the Queens’ll have my head for this. Please, please, let it be worth it. Go. Don’t let them take yours.”

“I won’t,” Sorna promised, and meant it.

Later, after her last fight for her freedom was done, on the Steel Meridian ship headed for Kronia Relay, Sorna looked out at the planet retreating behind her and thought of Iksoh. She’d just learned a new word from a Meridian soldier: vaykor tal, the defector’s spirit. Iksoh had let her go, at risk of their own life. They’d had a bit of the vaykor tal themself, even if they hadn’t known it, even if they’d thought it was just some weakness that was bound to get them killed.

“Ranre treri, duf krun,” she whispered into space, a Grineer well-wishing passed down from sergeant to tube-fresh lancer since time immemorial. May your hands be steady, and may life be kind.

This is an AU born of me and some friends wondering why in the heck Perrin and the Meridian hate each other so much in game. It’s about a group of Kavor - Grineer defectors distinguished from other Meridian members by their pacifism - who get to a Relay and start wondering the same thing. Besides Sorna (and, later in the story, Iksoh as well), there would have been Chakh, Beket, and Sydon, plus at least four of the syndicate leaders and a bunch of side-character OCs, all caught up somehow in what turns out to be a surprisingly far-reaching web of intrigue.

--

The Slashed Circle - Warframe - one-shot, probably - 429 and counting

In addition to their written and spoken language, the Grineer have a full language of hand signs. It has its quirks, as all languages do - be careful of confusing it with the Corpus sign language, in which the sign for “to pay” roughly approximates the Grineer sign for...a certain portion of the male anatomy. Among these is the common Grineer sentiment against those who defect from their ranks, baked into the sign just as much as their spoken words. 

The sign of the slashed circle, the sedashkur - a finger drawn in a circle on the chest, followed by a diagonal line - is the highest of taboos to any loyal Grineer. It shows support for such scum as the Kavor and Steel Meridian, enough so that it forms the basis for the Meridian’s battle standard. To sign the sedashkur is to betray your siblings, commit a grave insult to your superiors, paint a near-indelible target on your back. It is an object of hatred and fear throughout the ranks.

She fears it, yes, but she does not hate it, for all her life and into her death as well. It shouldn’t trouble her now, though. It is easy to hide a language, and she burned her journals before she was called to the fortress.

This is a fic about Jhia and her one (1) converted Kuva Lich, namely about the process of said Lich’s defeat and defection, that kinda never got off the ground. Contrary to this snippet, I think most of it would have been written in what are essentially space emails back and forth between Lich and Tenno? I definitely got as far as Jhia sending an audio recording of a bass-boosted dog fart, anyhow.

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Wake Up, Tenno - Warframe - one-shot - 950 and counting

“Wake up, Tenno.”

She wakes. She is - she is Tenno, right? She is a Tenno? Her mind is confused, so full of fog and dead ends - how long was she asleep?

The voice that woke her seems familiar. She might have loved the speaker, in her scrambled past life, the woman in the purple helmet, the one called Lotus in her HUD vision. Her surroundings are a ruin of some sort. Her body is—

...what?

She can move just fine. Her fingers and arms and legs respond with suspicious ease, given how long she must have slept to be this scattered upon waking up, and yet there’s some fundamental disconnect. This is her Warframe, her body, but it’s not her body somehow.

...wait, where did the term “Warframe” come from?

A Tenno, unnamed but intended to be Jhia on my end, wakes up on Earth at the very beginning of the in-game storyline. Since the tutorial has gotten an overhaul in recent months, I may have to modify even what little I have on this a lot.

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Midnight - Iconoclasts - poem - 280 and counting

been anything smaller than been anything

never been anything smaller than

“good morning, how’s miss grump doing today? i heard about that last mission...if you didn’t sleep well i can call you in sick, it’s alright-” “oh, shut up, grey”

there has never been anything

“oh, shut up, grey” “love you too”

smaller

“love you too”

than

me

A very fragmented, stream-of-consciousness-y poem meant to represent Agent Black’s failing sanity near the end of the game. The words of her famous one-liner (“there has never been anything smaller than me”) are interspersed, out of order until the end, with poetic descriptions of other characters and bits and pieces of a flashback involving Agent Grey.

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Heliotropism - Iconoclasts - one-shot - 1.1k and counting

Lily, though she’s superstitious, will have none of these self-important truths, none of these semblances of certainty when really all it is is wishing on Ivory and hoping for the best. She calls for Miss Andress instead. 

A stout but severe woman with ten grandchildren and a great-grandchild on the way, Miss Andress is perhaps the quintessential matriarch: nurturing, selfless, brutally honest. She is the one the people of 17 trust when they feel they can trust no one else. Lily needs the kind of reassurance only she can give, with the authority of ninety-one years and the wisdom of two sons, one daughter, and some five dogs raised under her care.

When Miss Andress visits House 4, she asks Polro and Lily to each bring an object they cherish the most. For Polro it’s his largest wrench, pitted with use but still polished to a brassy shine; Lily surprises everyone by pulling out a tiny, unloaded stun-gun, and surprises them more by not explaining it at all. Miss Andress doesn’t question it. She just turns the two tools over and over in her hands, head bowed, squinting at them as if trying to read the secrets of the universe in the scratches carved into them by time.

Finally she straightens up and sighs, pushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear. Her forehead is slick with sweat, though the night is cool outside. “I don’t know what she’ll do,” the wise woman says, heavily, as if delivering bad news. “I just know she’ll change the world.”

Can you tell I like backstory fic? This one is for Robin, with one short anecdote for each year of her life, up to age 17 and the events of the game. It’s also an excuse to world-build a bunch, lol.

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Arrhythmia - Crypt of the NecroDancer - one-shot(?) - 4k and counting

The creature didn’t say anything, just beckoned to the shadows. Before I could move, two other creatures came for me, sending the other humans - former humans? - scrambling away in panic. One landed a hard blow on the back of my head that sent me to my hands and knees, seeing sparks; the other said “Freeze!” and I could only watch as ice sprouted from the leaf litter, cementing me to the ground.

The one who’d hit me produced a dagger from the inside of its cloak. I tried to pull myself up, to do anything at all to keep myself from getting shanked, but it was no good. There must have been a secondary effect on that spell; my limbs wouldn’t respond. I felt the dagger tear cloth in the region of my back, and prepared for the pain.

It didn’t come. The creature cut a slit in the back of my tunic, then another. Neither one touched the skin at all. I can’t really describe what happened next - my brain was having trouble computing how my arms were in front of me, visible, unable to move, but it felt like the creature was pulling them through the gashes in my tunic, but that was wrong, they didn’t feel like arms at all.

“Holy fuck,” I heard someone say.

The ice holding me down melted into nothing as the spell wore off. I jumped back up, head spinning a little, ready for another fight, only to spot two flicks of scarlet in my peripheral vision. I spun around, but they moved with me.

I think I already knew what they were. I just couldn’t admit it to myself.

You’ve already seen this one, Nick, though I’m pretty sure it was well over two years ago. It’s a pile of old headcanons, some of them now outdated I’m pretty sure, about how Nocturna ended up a vampire in the first place and a little bit about how vampire society works. According to Google Docs, I’ve been stuck on this one since March 2018. Whoops.

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untitled (working title “adult citra meets an impostor bc what is self-control”) - Among Us - one-shot - 572 and counting

“I know. You’re stuck, aren’t you?” Having well and truly gotten their full attention, Citra continues, “God, I can barely imagine. Having to take a weird-ass host whose biology might even be toxic to you, I don’t know. Needing to get to a whole other galaxy, feeling like the only way to do that is by deception and death.” “How…?”

She sighs. “I told you, this isn’t my first rodeo. One of your kind saved my life when I was a kid. Since he’d killed Mom and Dad had been out of the picture long before, he stayed here and helped raise me afterward. It’s how I learned to pronounce...a few of your words, at least.”

“You missed the ‘H’ sound.”

“Isn’t that the one that’s literally impossible to do right with Terran anatomy?”

“Maybe. You think I know Terran anatomy all that well?”

Citra chuckles. “Fair point. You let us find your buddy and fix the ship, I’ll raise Xai when we get comms back and he can try and help you get home. Deal?”

I found an Among Us comic on Tumblr, absolutely ran into left field with it to make a couple of OCs, and then made AUs of those OCs because of course I did. This one is from a future scenario in which Citra (typically orange) meets someone rather familiar on a mission with the crew of the Skeld.

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untitled (working title “library of ruina but they adopt half the guests”) - Library of Ruina - length uncertain - 1k and counting

“And what happened to not caring about others because it’s a waste of time and heartache?”

Now it’s Roland’s turn to sigh. “I don’t care about him. I just don’t want the guilt of killing - look at him, he can’t be older than eighteen or nineteen!”

Raised eyebrow. “Finn will be twenty years old in fifteen days’ time. He is a legal adult. I fail to see why this should matter to either of us.”

“He’s fresh off his first Fixer license! I have years of experience! He had no idea what he was getting into when he signed that invitation and you know it!”

Angela fixes him with a glare that turns his stomach, his freshly remade body reacting to the memory of its sudden, and extremely painful, dismemberment. “I could quite literally hold your soul in my hands if I wanted,” she reminds him in an undertone of steel. “I must do the same for him, following the invitation’s guidance, or my entire plan will be lost, my coworkers’ sacrifices all for naught. Do not disappoint me or ask any more impertinent questions. You know what to do, and what will happen if you do not.” 

Look, some of the people you fight in this game deserved so much better, okay? I came up with an AU concept where if a guest willingly concedes the fight and agrees to stick around, you can get their book without killing them. Finn doesn’t die; neither do Tomerry or Shi Association; all the former employees realize exactly what’s going on with Philip after the Wedge Office fight and manage to calm him down, avoiding the whole Crying Children situation. (And then Gebura makes him collect his jaw off the floor by revealing herself as the Red Mist.)

---

The one that’s a D&D world concept doesn’t have anything concrete written for it yet. (Don’t read this bit if you might want to play in my campaign at some point!) Instead of your typical Forgotten Realms planar setup, the world at large would be called the Seven Spheres, each of them different in terms of climate, geography, native species and magic, etc. The First Sphere would be the most “generic” one (to our way of thinking) and the main setting of the campaign; it would also be the smallest of the Seven, its primary continent home to a former empire of dragons that spanned most of the Sphere until its mysterious fall a thousand years ago.

Now, since the empire fell, the dragons and their children have slowly been dying out. Best estimates are that there’s only a thousand or two left in the entire First Sphere, with fewer eggs hatched every decade. The player characters enter a world with pretty typical low-level quests to start with, but every so often, especially if they engage with optional story stuff (this would be a more roleplay-focused than combat-focused campaign), they get wind of changes in the air - a failed harvest here, an unusually hot and stormy summer there, a trade war once they start hitting mid-levels.

It mimics real-world climate change in all but cause. As coastal cities struggle to contend with rising seas and, more alarmingly, wizards all over the Sphere start to notice their magic falter and wane, the PCs’ goal becomes getting to the bottom of this. And what’s at the bottom is...your typical Nerd fusion of science with fantasy settings.

The Seven Spheres are not planes of existence in the normal D&D sense, but seven planets in the same solar system, each with its own ancient god far more powerful than any god in any mortal pantheon; the First Sphere is so named because it’s closest to the sun. These planetary gods are incredibly large and incredibly alien, thinking in geologic time and concepts far too broad and slow for most sapient beings to comprehend. A thousand years ago, the fall of the dragon empire was caused by an ill-advised ritual meddling with the god of the First Sphere’s natural process of rebirth, causing said god to die without a replacement.

It’s taken this long for the First Sphere to feel the effects because, again, geologic time - a thousand years is a blink of an eye in this kind of time scale. But now the ancient earth-magic that had kept the Sphere’s climate temperate and its magicians in business is failing. The dragons, as beings of magic intrinsically, have been failing all along. And now it’s up to the PCs, up at level 17-20 if not higher by that point, to figure out how to fix the situation and find a new planetary god for the First Sphere before the whole Sphere burns to death.

[wa-sabi]

Once upon a time in...Hollywood.

[SPOILERS AHEAD]

I am very happy with Once upon a time in Hollywood, a plotless movie. The absence of a specific storyline made totally sense in my opinion as this isn’t a movie about people, but rather a movie about a microcosm that is cinema, with its ascending and falling stars in a very specific time in history, 1969, which becomes the perfect laboratory to observe dynamics that are as old as Hollywood: the rise and fall of an actor’s career. I believe it’s important to stress that in the case of Rick Dalton’s, it doesn’t occur because of a specific reason. Nothing or no-one can be blamed for the descending path of his career, actually when we see him he is in the middle of his professional crisis. Yet never is implied that he lacks talent, professionalism or that someone came to replace him. His alcoholism is the consequence rather than the cause of the crisis he goes through and, again, is not a personal crisis but much wider as it involves a whole genre. I believe this is well portrayed through Rick and Cliff’s friendship and even if at first I had the impression of the latter being nothing but the mirror of Leo’s character, the ghost of his past career lingering around to give him something to hold onto when his success slowly disappears, actually he is far from being Dalton’s mere acting double. Cliff has a distinctive personality and we see the story even from his perspective. He is much diverse from Rick, remaining solid through the struggles he is evidently facing no differently than his fellow friend: indeed he is suspected of murdering his wife, his frustration is violently released against the hippies he meets at the ranch, but I believe he was given the most beautiful piece of metaphor in this movie. If Rick lives on top of Hollywood, Cliff’s house is a caravan instead, one that happens to be located behind a Drive in: just like on set we can find him behind the scenes, so his home is behind a screen. 

Their roles in the industry are different and so are their reactions: Cliff doesn’t despise the idea of making spaghetti westerns in Italy to keep working, but Rick Dalton rejects the possibility of it because he is deep into the myth of his own persona. He wants to defend his status in Hollywood more than his career, it seems like he isn’t clinging onto acting itself but on the fame it brought him. Yet his character experiences an evolution, as we see him put his greatest effort in the scene he acts out with the little girl and Luke Perry. It’s where we see in him a passion for acting, the wish to prove his talent to himself and his on screen partners before exiting with dignity the scenes as he finally comes to terms with the end of his era.  But even if at opposite stages of their careers, Sharon and Rick are somehow comparable. They both experience the feeling of “not being recognized”: we see Rick in the changing room, talking with Lancer’s director about his costume and he complains that with the hair and the mustache Sam Wanamaker suggested to put on him “people wouldn’t recognize his face”. On the other hand we see Sharon Tate at the cinema hall, to watch the movie she stars in The Wrecking Crew, taking a minute to have herself recognized as one of the actors. It was an interesting juxtaposition, showing how a the beginning and the end of a career collide right in the moment when not many people recognize you: not as many as before or not many yet. A further parallelism can be seen during the airport scenes (hello Jackie Brown!): Sharon is returning to LA with Polanski at the beginning of the movie; later in the movie Dalton and his Italian wife do the same, but within a much different context. Sharon is received by a crowd of photographers, Rick passes by unnoticed while Cliff is carrying his baggage, both material and emotional.

Yet if Tarantino could rewrite history, we owe it to Rick Dalton and his successful series Bounty Law: the members of the Manson cult can readjust their murderous intents and target him instead (with no success) just because they recognized him, after being redirected away from the private street where he and Tate live.  So no differently from what he did with inglorious bastards, Tarantino changes the turn of events to serve his narrative intent and in this case, saving Sharon’s life was the only correct epilogue to a story meant to celebrate cinema and its ability of making everything possible. Just like Tarantino proved by changing Sharon’s fate.  If the title of the movie is supposed to recall a fairytale, it’s exactly a happy ending what we get: Rick is not discarded as only a memory of the past, as both him and Cliff triumph as the heroes of the night. At the end of the movie he is invited to Tate’s house and he is reminded as a great actor, praised for his talent and received by Sharon herself, hugging him as if to welcome him on her side in the Olympus of the legends of Hollywood, where Rick earned his righteous place.   He lives on in the memory of the new generation, Sharon herself remains in our and they will know no death, ever,  because cinema, just like every form of art, is what made them immortal.  

I have to say this movie pleasantly surprised me because the Manson cult had no space in it, if not to be ridiculed as they were by the hands of a stunt man and the bite of a dog. There was nothing intriguing in the representation they receive in this movie because they are shown for what they actually were: a bunch of toxic freaks, lobotomized by the words of a charismatic leader who isn’t shown for longer than a couple of minutes. I loved the distance it was visually created in the movie between him and Sharon on the day he walks up the hill and peeks at her who is standing by the door: she appears high and unreachable, somehow holy as the light in the scene of her dancing in her house envelops her in gold, as if she was a goddess. I believe Tarantino to be helplessly in love with her. 

Lastly the theme of television and violence. It is very clearly explored in the scene where the four Manson followers are in the car, discussing on what to do after Rick scared them away from his house and one of the girls( which is supposed to be Susan Atkin, Sharon Tate’s actual murderer) comes up with the plan of killing Dalton. Indeed they recognize him as the lead of the series Bounty Law and decide to cast punishment above him: tv shows have taught them nothing but violence and killing, and so as a sort of counterbalance, they come up with the idea of killing one of their tv mentors, which is Dalton himself who made a career off the role of a bounty hunter. Now the motif they fabricate is absurd as it’s only meant to be an alibi for a wish of revenge that originates elsewhere, being it in a disturbed personality, marginalization or a profound social unrest. When Cliff visits the commune at the ranch we see Squeaky and others stuck in front of a television, but their perversions cannot be blamed on television they so avidly watch: It’s more likely that it was the isolation from society, the large use of drugs and being brainwashed by Mason’s prophecies to shape the members of that commune into murderers. But after all Tarantino’s movies aren’t meant to be a social or psychological analysis and in this movie, where he is dealing with real life people, there is no real violence. None of the real characters is hurt or is hurt for real: Sharon isn’t killed; when Cliff is fighting the cult members (which portray real people) he is tripping off a cigarette soaked in acid and Rick is hella drunk, giving us the impression of it all being an hallucination. I believe that Tarantino was very careful in dealing with the killings in this movie, making sure violence remained confined to fictional characters and fictional ways. Realistically, who would ever die by getting hit in the face with a dog food can and burnt in the pool by a famous Hollywood actor who happens to keep flame thrower in his backyard? It’s the absurdity of it all that makes it acceptable.  Real life violence on the other hand is a different matter, and Tarantino doesn’t even try to approach it.  

Conclusively, this movie was not the movie of my life, but it was something from a point of view I never saw and very fun to watch. It was romantic, yet realistic, and I’d love to watch it again. 

FUN FACTS!

In the credit scene Rick Dalton advertises a cigarette brand, Red Apple, which Tarantino invented and we can see in both Pulp Fiction and Kill Bill (and more). 

A special mention goes to Brandy, who won at this year Cannes film festival the Palm Dog award. Speaking of Tarantino’s brand, we find a new one dedicated to her: Wolf’s tooth. Good food for mean dogs! 

The movie is also FILLED with references to other movies, a lot of which are actual Spaghetti Westerns from Italian directors (Sergio Corbucci is a real director) and we find a reference to Polanki’s own movie Tess which is based on the novel Tess of the D’Urbervilles: we see Sharon Tate buy a copy for her husband the bookstore before going to the movie theatre.

[my-claudia-cantarini]

Advanced Research Method 3

 9/10/2019

Week 3: Gallery Visit 1 - Olafur Eliasson at the Tate Modern 

Blog task: Write a reflection on what you saw today. Which methodology/ies could you use to analyse images from the exhibition?

Today we saw Olafur Eliasson, IN REAL LIFE. This exhibition features a series of installation, photography, and sculptures mostly interactive. The way in which Eliasson decides to make the viewer engage is by introducing natural phenomena such as rain, fog or rainbow to make us aware of our senses, of other people around us, the environment and, most importantly, the planet we live in. At first, I thought there were too many people in the gallery for me to be able to experience it, but I then realised that the whole idea is the engagement that society has with the environment and it was quite interesting to see how different people were reacting to each of the installations and mediums used by the artist. 

credit (Picture taken by me inside “Din blinde passager”)

The Methodology used to analyse the exhibition In Real Life is mostly aesthetic if we look at “Din blinde passager (your blind passenger)”, A 45m tunnel of fog where visitors are stepping forward with uncertainty and surprise - or the room called “Beauty, 1993″, a humid room of quiet rain&mist that creates arainbow in which the artist represent the sublime effect of nature.

credit (Beauty, 1993 Photo: Anders Sune Berg)

 Both are absolutely aesthetically beautiful as well as clever and, in my opinion, it is definitely different from painting as it gave me access to all 5 senses. 

Moreover, a piece such as “Your uncertain shadow (color), 2010″ gave me a doubt. 

credit (Tate Modern, London Photo: Anders Sune Berg)

Is there an ethical question there? I just found it aesthetically pleasing and it could easily be that the whole idea of the artist was simply for the visitors to have fun?

With no doubt, Olafur Eliasson’s reason for emphasising the immense power of nature could almost entirely be analyses from an ethical point of view. Looking at one of his most famous piece “Ice Watch” NOBODY could fail to be aware of what is the message is.

The artist is raising a question: these beautiful installations with glaciers and rains and rainbow that you are photographing and interactively enjoying is our planet and it is melting. But does the end justify the means? The artist extracted and carried with vehicles 30 blocks of glacial ice from the waters surrounding Greenland, placing them in London and leaving them to melt. Although his intentions are certainly honest and good, his ethic for some people could be questionable.

What I found extremely interesting was at the end of the exhibition. There was a wall full of newspaper articles, interesting facts, and quotes from the artist and other sources. Although this collage looked a bit confusing at first I started taking pictures of everything so I could read them more carefully at home. Most of the articles are extremely useful for my essay for the VISION&TECHNOLOGY module as they all talk about vision and perception and the way people experience art.

If I could change something from my experience I would go back to the exhibition by my self and spend more time reading the articles as the problem I have encountered while I was there is the fact that there were too many people around ( especially students) and it was a bit distracting.

( Phone picture of an interesting quote - will use in my essay)

( Phone picture of an interesting quote - will use in my essay)

( Phone picture of an interesting quote - will use in my essay)

( Phone picture of an interesting quote - will use in my essay)

( Phone picture of an interesting quote - will use in my essay)

( OVERALL Phone picture of interesting quotes - will use in my essay)

I have decided to go back and I have bought a ticket to go again on the 20th of December !!!! In addition, I have watched Olafur Eliasson's documentary on Netflix where the artist himself explains the reason behind his work, the technicality, the ethics, and his personal life. This was extremely helpful to understand the artist point of view as well as the reason behind his work :

(Trailer of ABSTRACT: THE ART OF DESIGN Season 2 Trailer (2019) Netflix - taken from Youtube)

[featuristicfilm]

Once Upon A Time In... Hollywood review

(Contains spoilers !!!)

Once Upon A Time In Hollywood proves Tarantino is the ultimate artist.

When a film can be successfully marketed merely as a sequential product of a certain director, that’s when you know it has to be something. The ninth edition to the Tarantino’s repertoire reinforces his status as a one-of-a-kind, visionary filmmaker whose work exudes style, taste and true passion. This period piece combines history, dreams and, in a familiar Tarantino fashion, bursts of violence, to present a tale that intrigues and surprises, and ultimately lands with a bang!

Films that Tarantino brings to life seem to carry a certain energy, each unique and alive with heart. Now, me saying this while not having seen every single picture in his body of works might seem silly and diminishing of the power of this statement, yet no one can deny that Tarantino is all about the vision. A writer/director credit affirms that with this film, as Once Upon A Time In Hollywood arrives from a long time in the making, and from careful crafting that appears to have been approached with the utmost thought and dedication. It’s fitting, knowing that Hollywood for him hits close to home, as, well, it is exactly that. The vibrant locations and the scenery of 1969’s Los Angeles are visually as appealing and enticing as it gets, and I especially loved the use of rich and saturated colours, almost as if mirroring the culture of the ‘Golden Age of Hollywood’, to which this film heavily reverts to. Indeed, the western-style action, the old-school culture of the film landscape of the time is entrenched in the way characters act and behave, as well as the environments they appear in. And while many keep saying that this is how Tarantino creates his stories and builds his films’ worlds - by taking from already existing material, trialed elements and using them to serve his story, well, not everyone can even do that successfully. Besides, clichés are often over-exaggerated yet accurate representations. And if anything, referencing something in your own creative pursuits is a way to recognise and give credit. At least he definitely puts his own stamp on. It’s evident in this new instalment too. The film does rely on the ideas already laid out by the Old Hollywood format but Tarantino ultimately shines a new light on how narrative and characters can come together.

With that in mind, this story is a refreshing account of fiction-meets-reality. The general premise envisions two friends working in the entertainment business during the 60’s, a struggling actor Rick Dalton (Leonardo DiCaprio) and his stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), as they figure out how to stay relevant and keep themselves afloat. These are fleshed out characters, and their buddy relationship radiates an energy that instantly draws you in to root for them, which is all due to the stellar performances by both DiCaprio and Pitt. Tarantino has hit the nail on the head with this casting, that’s for sure. However, these characters serve more as storytelling devices, than fully realised people. Here, they are being used as models to set the scene, move the story forward. As a result, a good chunk of the movie, about two thirds of the almost three hour long film, is of expositional purpose mainly to build tension for the grand finale. And while it’s understandable why Tarantino felt the need to lay out the ground work so meticulously, some scenes just fell flat or felt unnecessary. (I caught myself fixating on anything other than the screen, like how uncomfortable the chair was, quite a few times.) Throughout and in between those slow sequences, flashes of another character - Sharon Tate (Margot Robbie), a real life person in actuality - reignite that eagerness to see how it all plays out. And by it, I mean, of course, the infamous murders of Tate and 4 other individuals inflicted on them by the Manson family in 1969. It all crashes down in the absurdly violent way by which Rick and Cliff become heroes of an alternate reality by mercilessly slaying the known accomplices. Tarantino really doesn’t hold off in showing them no remorse, and by this time the audience is fascinated and amused by this turn of events. Rightfully so, many have praised the way fantasy and imagination is used here to attempt to mediate the harsh reality it takes from and also to subvert expectations in such a daring way. A flamethrower, or a tin-can to the face to counteract the aggressors did have quite an uproar from the crowd. However, there might be some truth to others saying that the boastful need for violence for the sake of humour or satisfaction is an inconsiderate approach of such a sensitive topic. But Tarantino deliberately accentuating the violence, knowing that the audience, the ones dreadfully awaiting for what’s to come, might be shocked and relieved at the reversal, is an ability to really understand what works on a screen and what doesn’t. And all those small, almost forgotten glimpses of Tate being excited about her growing family and rising career, unaware of her terrible fate, still full of life and joy inside of her (which was the baby she was carrying) felt both sad and mournful of what should have been, and honouring and respectful enough by not being sensationalised.

In full, the film tries to balance a longing memory of the glorified haze of Hollywood attraction, depicting history and faces in a secure and safe perspective, and a shockingly horrifying reality replaced by a fairytale resolution. The scenes revolving around Rick and Cliff are about everything and anything comedy-drama style, and actually feel profound yet, unfortunately, sometimes short-lived. Margot Robbie, for what we see of her, plays Tate with a genuine, heartfelt and warm regard. Intertwining an imagined storyline with a familiar truth gave the film a unique duality which Tarantino’s vibrancy and sharp taste made into a riveting portrayal. Whatever backlash this movie received is a testament to how a bold and unwavering creative vision should be used. Once Upon A Time In Hollywood proves Tarantino is the ultimate artist because without vision, inspiration and complete belief in this project, it probably wouldn’t have even happened. Oh and also, Al Pacino is in this movie. What do you know!

[viktorbezic]

Constraints Journal: How Yayoi Kusama started her path to becoming an artist after writing to one of her heroes, Georgia O’Keefe.

Discipline: Painting, Sculpture, Performance Art

Yayoi Kusama was born to an affluent merchant family in Matsumoto, Nagano Prefecture, Japan in 1929. As a child, her mother was physically abusive and would also send her to spy on her father who would frequently have extramarital affairs. This would cause Yayoi mental anguish later in life. She embraced art and early age. All Kusama wanted to do was paint. However, her family’s plans were for her to marry, become a wife and the head of a household. As there was no future in painting for women at that time in Japan. She dreamed of leaving Japan. Not only because of her family troubles but also Japan's conservative culture. Kusama described Japan at the time as, "too small, too servile, too feudalistic, and too scornful of women” (1). Yayoi had her sights on becoming an artist in America.

In a second-hand bookshop in Matsumoto, Kusama found a book of paintings by the American artist, Georgia O’Keefe. O’Keefe was the only American artist Yayoi knew anything about. She also heard from a friend that O’Keefe was the most famous painter in the United States. Yayoi would ride the train from Matsumoto to Shinjuku in Tokyo to the American embassy to go through their copy of Who’s Who and was ecstatic when she actually found Georgia O’Keefe’s mailing address.  Kusama wrote a letter to O’Keefe of her desires to be a professional painter in America and enclosed some of her recent watercolor paintings. To her surprise, O’Keefe wrote back. O’Keefe let the young Kusama know how difficult it was to be an artist, especially a female artist. O’Keefe promised she would do everything that she could to help Yayoi out, but she was old and had retreated from the city to the desert of New Mexico. This was the first of many encouraging letters Yayoi would receive from O’Keefe. (2)

O’Keefe’s response inspired Kusama to find a distant relative to sponsor her to get into the United States. Her official purpose on her immigration papers was to have a solo art exhibition in Seattle. In Japan, It was against the law to transfer any significant amounts of yen to dollars let alone leave the country with them. When Kusama was preparing to leave Japan, she sowed the dollar bills into her dress and stuffed the others into the toes of her shoes. Her ultimate goal was to make it to New York as she believed it to be one of the world's art epicenters. At the age of 27, she landed in Seattle. After a year in Seattle, she did just that and finally made it to New York City.

Yayoi described New York City as hell on Earth as she had tremendous difficulty there. She lived in abject poverty. Her studio windows were broken, and she used a discarded door she found out on the street as a bed and laid the only sheet she had on top of it. Dinner during this time would either be a handful of chestnuts from a friend or soup’s she would make with discarded fish heads along with the rotting outer leaves of lettuce the green grocer tossed out. Kusama said the only way she could tolerate the cold and hunger was to paint relentlessly as it was impossible to sleep (3). She suffered mental breakdowns and panic attacks. After being rushed to emergency on numerous occasions, the hospital strongly recommended that Yayoi go to a psychiatrist and potentially a mental institution.

To Yayoi’s surprise, Georgia O’Keefe would visit her in New York and determined to help her introduced Kusama to her own art dealer Edith Halpert. She kept painting her infinity net series. Which consisted of paintings of black dots enveloped by white nets. The paintings were large scale and repetitive. Out of the thousands of dots, Yayoi referenced that a single dot was herself. A single point in the universe. A single particle among billions. She carried one of her canvases of infinity net paintings 40 blocks for submission to be considered for the Whitney Annual. It didn’t resemble the Whitney of today as it was far more conservative back then. She was rejected and had to carry her canvas 40 blocks back to her studio. Through her introductions, she had her first solo show at the Brata Gallery and got some favorable reviews. Kusama made her first close friend in the art world, the conceptual artist and critic Donald Judd (4). Not only did he buy one of her pieces but wrote her a favorable review. This show would open opportunities for other group exhibitions and shows in New York, Boston, and DC.

Kusama would continue to receive favorable reviews for her work. However, artists who copied her work would get more credit for her creative breakthroughs than she would. Yayoi had an exhibition at the Green Gallery, where she created soft sculptures. The art consisted of objects that were covered in phallic soft sculptures. Claes Oldenburg was part of the same show and was working with stiff paper mache at the time. Sewing to create artwork wasn’t seen as masculine which is why Oldenburg stayed away from it initially. After Yayoi, went to see one of Oldenburg's new shows, he completely changed his approach and adopted soft-sculpture. Oldenburg’s wife and art assistant Pat, helped him sew his soft sculptures together. The influence was so blatant that Pat pulled Kusama aside and said, “Yayoi, Forgive us!” Oldenburg’s soft sculptures would gain critical acclaim and would launch his career as one of the first sculptor’s of the pop art movement (5).

Other artists, in addition to Oldenburg, found it irresistible to steal ideas from Kusama. This included Andy Warhol. But this isn’t as surprising as he built a career off of appropriation. At Yayoi's solo New York show at the Gertrude Stein Gallery in 1963, her work titled: “Aggregation One Thousand Boats Show,” she displayed a boat that was covered in her soft sculptures and on the ceilings, and walls were 999 black and white images of the sculpture covering the room. It was Kusama’s first foray into creating immersive environments. According to Kusama, Warhol came to her show and exclaimed, “Yayoi, what is this? It’s fantastic!” Warhol would later paper the walls and ceiling with silkscreened cow head posters at the Leo Castelli Gallery (6).

By creating environments, Kusama made another breakthrough. A pioneering move. Which was to create entire rooms that were works of art. In the Instagram age, this is commonplace now. Building environments people can take selfies in. One of the more well-known ones being 29Rooms created by the online publisher Refinery29. For Kusama portraits weren’t the objective. Immersion into the art was.  She extended her theme of infinity nets on canvas into infinity rooms. With space exploration and the various scientific discoveries that were in the media, people collectively became more aware of infinity. In March of 1966, she would make the debut of her piece “Peep Show” at the Castellane Gallery in New York. It was a room with carefully placed mirrors with openings you could put your head in into and feel a sense of infinity through the mirrored reflections. The mirrors were arranged in an octagon shape with colored electric lights. The lights felt like stars in the illusory infinite space. In the same year a few months later in October of 1966, Lucas Samaras made a similar mirrored room at the far more established PACE Gallery despite ever having used mirrors before. It appeared to be a blatant ripoff of Kusama’s work (7).

Yayoi made critical, creative breakthroughs in her work that other artists had copied and made part of their own shows. They'd be taken up by the art establishment and collectors while Yayoi was ignored. In the latter part of the decade, Kusama staged “Happenings” that were performance art pieces that became popular during the beat and hippie movements which involved sexual acts and nudity. The happenings were used sometimes for collective creative expression and other times for political protest. By 1972 Kusama would be listed in the book American Who’s Who. The same book in which in which she found Georgia O’Keefe’s contact details that began their mutual correspondence.

In 1973 Kusama's health began to deteriorate. She was in Japan for a brief visit and checked herself into a hospital when she had an episode of anxiety and hallucinations. Her condition worsened, so she decided to stay in Japan. She checked herself back into the hospital in 1975 due to her flickering vision and hallucinations. By 1977 she would commit herself permanently to the hospital in Shinjuku. Right around the corner from her studio. She would leave the hospital only to work in her studio. Since her hospitalization, Kusama continued to produce art. According to Kusama, if it weren’t for art, she would have killed herself a long time ago (8).

In 1993 for the 45th Venice Biennale, she was officially invited to represent Japan. It was the first solo exhibition by a single artist at the Japanese Pavilion. Yayoi's previous appearance at the Biennale was in 1966, uninvited. She is now exhibited in galleries worldwide and has had significant retrospectives including one at the MOMA in New York. There are long lines and wait-lists to see her infinity mirrored rooms at many galleries including the Broad in Los Angeles. A large of a portion of her works now reside in her hometown in the Matsumoto City Museum of Art.

Reference

1. Frank, Priscilla (9 February 2017). "Japanese Artist Yayoi Kusama Is About To Make 2017 Infinitely Better". Huffington Post. Retrieved 11 March 2017.

2. Kusama, Yayoi. Infinity Net: The Autobiography of Yayoi Kusama. Tate Publishing, 2013. p.10.

3. Ibid. p. 15.

4. Ibid. p. 23.

5. Lenz, Heather, director. Kusama: Infinity. Magnolia Pictures, 2019.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid. 

8. Kusama, Yayoi. Infinity Net: The Autobiography of Yayoi Kusama. Tate Publishing, 2013. p.226.

[untilthenextencore]

Beyond My Wildest Dreams Ch. 1 Pt.1

Might come back to tweak this as always~!

Hope you guys like it~!

"Puoi prendere Deanna?"

"Can you catch Deanna?"

That was how he first saw her, under that tagline. It was a rare off day between shows. A rare off day that he wasn't spending songwriting or recording or dallying & carousing. He'd done his share of dallying & carousing the night before. Though that wasn't to say he wasn't still intending on doing a fair share of dallying & carousing. He just wasn't going to be on the lookout for it. Why should he? It was getting to be where often enough, more times than not, it came looking for him. And often enough, more times than not, it tended to find him.

The hotel room he found himself waking in that day carried with it the scent of proof. It reeked of it. The scent enough to make a weaker person, or a person unused to the lifestyle he has since become accustomed to, stagger. The proof was in the remnants of her perfume, powdery & sweet & just to the left of cloying. That scent, mingling with the lingering traces of weed in a seductive dance that blurred the lines as to who was seducing who just as the lines had been blurred similarly the night before. Lines blurred & recollections blurred in smoke & fog - a fog that unfortunately for him obscured the finer points of just what exactly her name was - a similar rosy hue as the flowers that had stood erect & proud in a bedside vase as they greeted him the night before when he and his mysteriously named bedmate tumbled into bed & that now tilted their head in a soft & kind greeting that morning as he awoke to a bed cold & empty but for his own bleary-eyed presence.

Taking a deep breath & a swallow to rid himself of the dry mouth his light snoring had given him, he was then greeted with the bite of lime & metallic aftertaste that tequila can bring, bringing with it flashes of bodyshots off of tanned skin & nuzzles into honey blonde hair that still carried with it the faint scent of bleach, that had led to the high times in his room that had now all gone up in smoke.

Peering onto the nighttable beside the vase, he spotted the near empty bottle of tequila. Just enough for a swallow. Perfect. In seconds that swallow had been swallowed up as he sat up & swung his feet over, ruffling & fingercombing through his curls idly with his free hand.

Now all that was left was finding the day's entertainment.

Dallying, carousing, bodyshots, high times and tanned honey bleached blondes and all, Robert was still dissatisfied. What's more than that, he was restless. Perhaps part of it was just part of his entering manhood, becoming a man, growing pains, coming of age or whatever they called it. Perhaps though, another part of it was just a sign of the times.

Heavy times.

It was late summer, what some would call the dog days he supposed. The air outside most days - regardless of where on the map he found himself - was more often than not heavy with humidity. The papers he read from day to day were getting heavy too. They were absolutely filled with heavy. Positively bursting with it.

Whenever Robert saw his or Zeppelin's name bandied about it was often tied with that word. They dubbed their music as something "heavy". Whether it was or it wasn't Robert couldn't say. Different strokes for different folks and all that. As for his own part, he couldn't understand it when the label was put to him. How could peace and love and wanting to connect with people and share happy times with them through music ever be considered "heavy"?!

But that wasn't all.

Not much more than a month ago the papers had been filled with news that Judy Garland had died. Not weeks later - days really - came news that Brian Jones was gone too. Two people tied with rainbows in their mortal forms through their work & art, now becoming birds that finally found their way to fly over that rainbow. Robert had fielded a tearful call from his mum over the former, both recollecting earlier days when their house would be filled with her music, his mum singing & dancing around the house as she went about her day. Robert also remembered sitting in doleful, stunned silence over the latter, recalling later days when he would fill the house with Brian's music with the Stones and just chomping at the bit, dreaming, fantasizing, wondering when it was going to be his turn.

And now he was being bombarded with even more papers. Even more papers with even more articles. Articles dubbing his music as "heavy". And articles that carried news of a new "heavy".

They had taken a break for a moment of collective wonder & astonishment when man walked on the moon, bringing a much welcome moment of wartime levity only to return to what was getting to be their "regularly scheduled programming" bringing with them the new "heavy" of the day. The latest "heavy". The latest tales of birds who had flown the coop prematurely: Tate-LaBianca.

To put it mildly...

Robert had bloody well had enough! He'd had more than enough! Beyond enough! Enough of birds being forced to fly before their time! Enough of being called "heavy" & "heaviness" in the papers & just plain "heaviness" in general! He'd had enough! Enough! ENOUGH!

And just where did he turn to for solace? Just where did he turn to escape this all too oppressive "heaviness"? Why... To the papers of course! To those very same papers! Those very same damned, blasted, bloody & bloody "HEAVY" papers! Where else?

Lifting those said heavy papers from where they lie in a rubber banded roll also by the vase, untouched from the night before, he scanned the entertainment section, bypassing the article on Zeppelin for the time being & looked to the theatres. Robert figured he could do worse to spend a day off than to see a movie. He was feeling more for international fare that day. No True Grit or Easy Rider for him today. He just searched for the theatre with the most listings in different languages, tore out the address & after getting dressed went off on his adventure for the day.

He already had an idea of what he wanted to see. "Deanna - La Figlia De La Luna". "Deanna - The Daughter Of The Moon" they had translated it as, also stating that it of course would be subtitled in English. It was described as Italy's latest smash hit starring a young newcomer actress named Rosabella. That idea was only further cemented by the sight of the accompanying poster on the wall by the theatre's entrance.

In the poster they had the credits in gold script, the title in big white letters & a young, petite, tanned, brunette girl in what looked to be a long white nightgown, sitting perched on the railing of her balcony, hugging her knees to her chest & looking up at a full moon shining silvery white light down on her from the upper right hand corner.

And on the poster was the tagline:

"Puoi prendere Deanna?"

And its translation:

"Can you catch Deanna?"

"Well, I certainly intend to try..." He mused with a smirk, as he sauntered up to the ticket counter and after exchanging basic pleasantries with the girl in the booth, giving her his most charming smile as he made his request.

"One ticket for "Deanna" please, love?"