#I heard that the writers strike ended because the studios needed to know what happened next with hannah and shira

[echofades]

"I fucking love you. I love everything about you, I always have, and this is what I want for the rest of my life."

SHIRA BOLITAR & HANNAH TAYLOR HARLAN COBEN'S SHELTER (Season 1)

[what-gs-watching]

“I’m not great at advice. Can I interest you in a sarcastic comment?”

Well. It's been a little bit of a weird mood swing week, I’m all over the board which is always super fun - sometimes I know what I’m doing and sometimes I don’t, but I guess that’s just life. Infuriatingly fleeting life.

And I’ve been thinking about Matthew Perry, obviously. I know I said that the Community gang is the friends you wished you had, but Friends was obviously a big part growing up for me - I was almost 18 when it finally ended. And it was such a cultural phenomenon. 

I watched it as it aired. And then I watched it as reruns on cable. Then I rewatched it on streaming a few years ago, and I can confidently say that out of all of them, Chandler was my spirit animal. Uncomfortable with himself and using humor and sarcasm as armor, that’s me. Awkward with a job nobody understands, just doing whatever it seems adults are supposed to do. Funny, and sometimes authentic when he needed to be. 

Also, I don’t care what anyone says - the true love story of Friends was absolutely Chandler and Monica. Ross and Rachel were pure trash, but Chandler and Monica just had that thing. That thing that most people want. The realistic friends-to-lovers story, messy and difficult but insanely sweet.

And in a way, Friends helped me learn that I’m the weirdo that’s drawn to funny, tragic people (we’re going to have to talk about Bo Burnham eventually). Chandler was always funny and tragic, even with Monica, and that was a part of Matthew Perry, as we’d come to learn.

When I heard the news though, the first thing I thought about was Studio 60 on The Sunset Strip. After Friends, for some reason, I got into almost every single random show Matthew did. And Studio 60 was my absolute favorite. It only aired for one season, but it was by Aaron Sorkin and it was meant to be a dramedy about a late night comedy show (and I have and will forever love SNL) and there was Bradley Whitford. It was entirely up my alley.

I remember being obsessed with it. 30 Rock came out around the same time and they were weird parallels of each other but Studio 60 dug into my heart. Because I loved Chandler and because I loved West Wing and I wanted Matthew Perry to keep going, tragic and funny and successful. But then the writer’s strike happened and people were hoping for another West Wing (y’all, it was never gonna be another West Wing) and it got canceled. 

I haven’t seen it since, I have no idea honestly if it was actually as good as my brain wants to remember it, it’s not streaming anywhere which is infuriating, but maybe that’s for the best. It’s one of those fuzzy shows in my heart and maybe it should stay that way now.

Later, I got into Mr. Sunshine (I watched all 11 episodes of course, as they aired on TV) and then Go On. I had high hopes for Go On. Silly ensemble cast, about a sportscaster who lost his wife and joins a support group. I remember thinking it had Community vibes. It was never going to be as good as Community, but it was cute and Matthew was charming and I enjoyed it. 

There was a storyline about how he kept waking up at a specific time of night, because his wife always did. He’d wake up with her and he couldn’t stop it after she’d gone, and after admitting it to the group, they all wake up at the same time for him, too. It had been sweet. Again, I watched all 22 episodes. And then it  got canceled, too.

The point is: I was watching. Because funny tragic people are tenuous, they need to be appreciated. It’s a tightrope. And I’m really sad that Matthew Perry was on that tightrope. He became a pop culture icon and I honestly don’t think it was intentional, he was just caught up in it like the rest of them, but it’s hard for funny tragic people. I can’t imagine the pressure. But he kept going, and I hate that he had a string of shows that never went anywhere (but were all worth something)

 and then the fucking tightrope just fell away. 

It’s horrific that people can be chewed up and spit out by an industry that’s supposed to produce things that make people feel happy, feel sad, feel excitement, just feel. I can sit in my house and channel my ridiculous emotions through content and that’s all well and good but it comes at a price. Everything in this world comes at a price.

Friends has been out of my rotation for a while now, and I think it’ll probably stay that way for a bit. Right now it’s not funny tragic, it’s just tragic. And I’m guessing he wouldn’t want that, but what can you do? Content’s meant to make you feel things, but you can never keep the world outside out for long. 

So. Chanandler Bong, just know I appreciated you. In all forms. Thank you for making us laugh.

[nihilnovisubsole]

so, about that lovestruck thing.

if you follow the dating sim world at all, you already know that voltage usa, maker of lovestruck, is closing up shop. in december, they announced that they would stop production on the app. tomorrow is the last day before the servers go offline. to be honest, before this week, i hadn’t paid much attention to it. i had so many plates to spin, it’d gone to the back of my mind. then @arthoure​ mentioned feeling melancholy about it on twitter, and i realized that it was kind of bittersweet for me, too. i wrote 25 seasons of voltage content. if i can trust my math, that’s somewhere between 750 and 800,000 words. linkedin says it was three years and ten months of my life. still, i had mixed feelings about the work i’d done for them. i shrugged it off.

lovestruck fans didn’t do that. within hours of learning that the app’s days were numbered, they set out to archive everything. i haven’t checked the numbers, but i’ve heard that with their combined effort, they managed to record almost every route. that’s astonishing. see, preservation casts a long shadow over the video game world. few studios care about it, and even fewer know what to do. a lot of old games are just gone. others don’t run on modern hardware. that’s especially true of mobile games, which often have to fight for respect. amid all that, lovestruck’s readers went, “we love these stories so much, we’re going to stare obsolescence down and find a way to save them.” when you’ve written for a project that people say that about, you have to be pretty jaded to not feel touched by it.

as a first industry gig, voltage had two things going for it. it taught me discipline, and it gave me a community. i learned how to power through writing when i didn’t feel like it. i got to work in genres that i might not have otherwise. i got to know the people who would become the VOW writers, who are some of the most talented friends and colleagues i’ve ever had. i never would’ve written “anniversary” without them. i never would’ve tried to stick up for myself as a worker, either. and for all the nights i worried about where my life was going, voltage ended up being exactly what i hoped it’d be: a foot in the door. you can draw a direct line between @sailorscooby​ giving me a chance to take reiner’s route and obsidian giving me a chance five years later. seriously, i met my current boss when they read a statement i’d given to the gaming press about the strike. networking, huh?

i would be lying if i said all of it was positive. you know me, i try to frame things in a flattering light, but it was hard work, and the writers organized for a reason. during the strike, it became public that voltage usa’s writers were paid less than half of a professional per-word rate. the deadline turnarounds meant i had to work seven days a week, even on vacation and from my mother’s hospital room. on top of that, the amount of agency that writers had over their routes could vary wildly depending on the project’s vision. i wrote some scenes that i got to pour my whole heart into. i also had to write some scenes that i try not to think about. i needed the job. it happens all the time in the working world, and at the risk of sounding mealy-mouthed, it wasn’t one person’s fault. all of the producers i worked with were sweet, generous people. from things i observed, i could tell their jobs weren’t that hot, either. that’s just how it goes when a company doesn’t leave room for departments to collaborate and play to each other’s strengths.

despite it all, we managed - slouching and largely burned out - to put together stories that the fanbase looked forward to. many of lovestruck’s most enduring, resonant moments happened because one of the writers wedged in a shard of themselves. some routes carried the weight of moral complexity, trauma, grief. others brought fresh, challenging new attitudes to genre tropes. in general, the producers tried to offer writers routes based on their personal interests, and that enthusiasm was contagious. i’ve seen the fanart. i’ve read the emotional posts and in-app reviews. i haven’t read the fanfic - our NDAs didn’t let us - but i bet it’s great. i’ve also heard that some fans made meaningful discoveries about their gender or sexuality from reading certain routes. as the village het, i couldn’t tell you anything about that, but i know it mattered a lot to the people who wrote those characters.

i think i was always a funny choice to write for lovestruck. if you’ve read my other work, you’ll know i prefer love stories that don’t feel like romance. between the breakneck schedule and not being their target audience, i don’t know that i sold the routes’ intended breathlessness. i have to admit, i’m not too broken-up about that. i had my fun tweaking expectations and digging into the action plots. in reiner’s route, that bore out in the politics and strategy, and the heroine growing into her enormous responsibility. even in leon’s route, i appreciated the detail work of planning the heists and delving into different types of organized crime. and diego’s route - well, it’s not a competition, but mystery? old guilt? an MC coming into her bossy side? it was an almost-perfect match.

and the wedding outfits, of course. at voltage, writers weren’t allowed to communicate with the art team, so we were the last to find out what characters’ designs would look like. when diego proposed, i threw a pile of photos in my producer’s lap, and thankfully, i think they were too busy to put up a fight. you can imagine my joy when they showed me the roughs of the sprite art. it had all the elements of transformation i wanted from his route. it was also a preview for some of the interdisciplinary teamwork that i’d be encouraged to do at bigger studios. i would’ve loved to get more art design ownership of certain characters. i had some ideas, let’s put it that way! at least i got that one.

but now i’m just telling war stories. thank you for reading my routes, and the routes that my dear friends wrote. i hope you got something from them. in fact, if lovestruck’s narrative decisions ever frustrated you, and that pushed you in a creative direction, that’s the biggest win of all. if you’re sad about the app going down, don’t worry. people have archived it, and you’ll find something else to love. besides, the VOW writers are working on new writing all the time. we’re not going anywhere. we’re just doing it our own way now.

[neoyi]

Continuing on from the last play session, this one covers Disney Castle/Timeless River, Port Royal, Agrabah, and Sora’s second return to Twilight Town.

*I’m fairly indifferent with Demyx, but I get why he was a fan favorite back in the days. He’s got personality: cowardly, lazy, and apathetic, Demyx probably mooches off the rest of the Organization XIII’s sweet pad, playing his sitar and doing weed, and never paying rent.

*Mickey Mouse Club was a horrifying choice to use as Disney Castle’s primary background music, it’s almost insidiously catchy.

*I love how little you actually need to fight within Disney Castle because Minnie’s holy powers mean she can fuck up a Heartless’ day anytime.

*Yeesh, I don’t miss Daisy’s portrayal as a Nagging Girlfriend at all, it's such a garbage characteristic. She’s so unreasonable here that it borders on parody.

*I feel like the writers had to squeeze in a small “We can’t mess with the timeflow here” in order to leave Timeless River as is. Er, was? Which, fine, time travel is a finicky thing, but it's especially a safety net because it prevents Sora and friends from trying to redeem Pete.

Like I think this is the only section in the game where we get any kind of sympathy for Pete, being so miserable working for Maleficent and longing for days gone by as a former sea captain. Sora and pals had no issue working with Past Pete to stop Current Pete, so one would think in another situation, they'd convince his retro self to stick with boats instead of any grand ambition of evil. It wouldn't be the first time Sora gave a shit about rules if it meant helping the greater good, but I guess he made an exception here or something.

*I'm also amused by Timeless River because the time traveling here is so innocuous and confined to this particular Disney World. I've heard the main plot in later games goes balls-off-the-walls apeshit with the time traveling in comparison and oh boy, I can’t wait till I get to those!

*I could see Disney telling Square Enix why Pirates of the Caribbean had to follow the movie’s plot beat-for-beat during game development, what with being the hottest shit at the time of the game’s release, but it means a hell of a lot more cutscenes than any of the previous Disney Worlds I’ve been in and the experience is poorer for it.

The Disney Worlds work best when they aren’t adapting its respective movie almost scene-by-scene, but utilizing their chief characters and setting that integrate with the bigger narrative while being self-contained (dear god, Kingdom Hearts is basically Disney Extended Universe.)

It’s stifling even for a game studio like Square-Enix and their notorious love affair with cinematic cutscenes, and an example of what happens when the game is restricted to playing an abridged version of its respective film.

*I will never understand why they censored the guns the pirates were holding. I get the characters are realistically designed and thus, might evoke a more visceral image of Characters Shooting Pistols In A Fictional Game For An All-Age Audience, but like Clayton from the first KH had a gun. Were they really concerned that Sora would get hurt from a bullet wound when they had no problem with Clayton shooting him in the face just because he looked more like a cartoon?

This problem also plagues Xigbar even though his guns are much more fanciful in design.

*My god, the models for the PoTC cast is still strikingly good even now. Square Enix had made a reputation as a studio that blew you away with incredible graphics that no one else was able to capture at the time. A lot of game companies has since caught up, but back then, they were on another level.

*Speaking of horrendous Disney executive meddling, this game also has the Chicken Little summon, a character who otherwise likely would never have appeared in the games because nobody goddamn loved that movie. Presumably, the little bastard got in because that was the latest Disney Animated Canon that was to arrive by the time KHII came out.

And man, Chicken Little is a wretched, wretched film.

*Bless James Arnold Taylor, he is a fine voice actor and he really tries, but he can’t capture Jack Sparrow.

*I was shocked the first time when they decided to adapt Return of Jafar. I assumed Disney sequels didn’t “count”, but lo and behold, there’s the Iago redemption arc.

*Kairi is only marginally better here than in KH1 by a significantly low bar. About roughly the halfway point of the game, she gets sick of waiting and when the first opportunity strikes, she decides fuck it, she’s gonna find Sora and Riku by herself. ...Then she promptly gets kidnapped by Axel minutes later. I mean, she tried.

*Pluto’s ability to just end up any goddamn place he wants with no rhyme or reason is the funniest reoccurring thing in the series. I love how he’s the first character to end up in the World That Never Was even though he’s just a dang dog.

*Kingdom Hearts is a game that you have to take at face value, otherwise questions start rising about the nature of an anime boy traveling with a sentient dog man and a disgruntled duck with no one in any world finding this strange.

Twilight Town is such a sleepy, ordinary town with local urban myths the closest to anything weird happening that in any other situation, would probably wonder just what is up with that kid, Sora, and his doofy traveling companions.

“hey guys are you also seeing a dark, magical floating portal with an axe symbol or is it just me?”

*The way Seifer just shoved the Struggle trophy into Sora’s (well, Goofy’s when Sora refused it) hands after the trio saved him and his friends from the Nobodies feels like a comical tsundere gesture (”J-Just take the trophy, baka!”)

*Sora being adorable again because he just missed Kairi in Twilight Town and he cannot stop thinking about her is wholesome as all get out.

*Twilight Town is established as A Normal Town that just happens to be a hot spot for weird multidimensional hoppers. So...what the fuck is Vivi?

In FF9, he's literally a sentient creature that was created (Black Mages being separate species in Gaia than just a class), but it's clear the FF characters in the KHverse are alternate universe takes on their prime counterparts. The implication is that Vivi is and has always been a resident of Twilight Town. But is he still a Black Mage? Or is he human, but his brimmed hat is so big it covers his entire face so it only gives the illusion that his face is shadowy?

(I know, I know, this definitely falls into overthinking territory.)

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

When Lightning Strikes Twice

Summary: Ten years ago, Steve Rogers made the mistake of letting go of the love of his life, Bucky Barnes. 

Today, Bucky is getting remarried. 

Steve is just gonna have to deal with that because lightning never strikes the same place twice. 

Everyone knows that. 

((essentially just a reworking of the ending of that movie Sweet Home Alabama))

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1.6k

Tags: past relationship, fluff, marriage

written for @captain-rogers-beard​‘s  Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge.

Prompt: 

Thunder claps overhead. Off in the distance, lightning scatters through the clouds. Steve walks along the shoreline, kicking up sand with each step. Under his arms, he carries a few more lightning rods. He’s already shoved a few into the ground. He wonders briefly about the wedding and immediately tries to push the thought out of his mind. The love of his life is marrying someone else tonight and there’s nothing he can do about it. 

Well, no. There is one thing he can do. He can be happy for Bucky. Steve loves him and has loved him since they were a couple’ve kids running around the streets of Brooklyn getting into trouble. All he wants is Bucky’s happiness. Even if that means he’s found it with another person. Steve can be happy for him. 

And he will be. He just...needs a little time.

It’s just hard when he remembers everything. Every kiss. Every fight. Every time they said they’d love each other to the end of the line. Steve even remembers when they were ten-years-old and walked along this very same beach to watch the storm clouds roll in and Steve first proposed the idea of marriage. 

“What’re you talkin’ about, punk?” Bucky had laughed. “I’m only ten-years-old. I’m gonna see the world! Travel! Learn about everything! I can’t do that with a husband.”

“Why not, jerk?” Steve asked. “What’s so wrong with bein’ married?”

“Nothin’.” Bucky shrugged. “But you want roots and I want wings!”

Bucky held his arms out and his head back, and just as he started spinning around in a circle, it began to pour. Big, thick drops of water dropping down on them in an instant. 

They shrieked and laughed and opened their mouths to catch the rain with their tongues. They held hands to dance and tumbled all over each other. They let loose a blood-curling scream when lightning struck just a few yards away from them. 

Steve turned to run back the way they came, but Bucky grabbed onto his wrist to pull him where the sand had been hit.

“Not that way! This way!” 

“Why?!”

“Because lightning never strikes the same place twice!” he yelled back. “Everyone knows that!”

When they reached the smoking spot on the beach, they were shocked to discover what the lightning left behind. It looked like glass. Smooth and iridescent. 

Without thinking, Steve reached out to touch it, but Bucky made sure that he didn’t.

“Don’t touch it, dummy, it’s hot.”

“What is it?”

“I dunno.” Bucky looked at him with a smile. “Why would you wanna marry me anyway?” 

Steve glanced into those steel-blue eyes. Like glaciers. Not cold, but sparking and filled with hidden depths. And he only had one answer.

“So I can kiss you any time I want.”

Those eyes widened and brightened with a smile, and Steve, smaller than him then, wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips.

They found out later that the lightning hitting the sand just right caused fulgurite. Steve’s made a living out of collecting it and turning it into glass sculptures while Bucky found his calling across the country as an author. 

Steve has all of his books. Romances mostly. Space adventures and magic and love in all its beautiful forms. 

Steve had been heartbroken when Bucky left for California ten years ago to pursue an education in creative writing. It wasn’t Bucky’s fault even though Steve tried like hell to blame him. Bucky asked Steve to go with him after he’d been offered a coveted writer’s fellowship to the University of Southern California. Steve, stubborn to the core, told him New York was their home.

He knew immediately that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life when he came home to an empty apartment. Steve even went out there once about a month after he left to try to win him back. To convince him to come home with him. 

When Steve got there with flowers and ready to declare his love for him, he happened to see Bucky coming out of his new building, he stumbled to a halt. Bucky looked amazing. Brilliant and beautiful as his eyes fell closed and he smiled up at the bright, sunny sky.  

There Bucky was. Wings spread and soaring. And Steve couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to try to clip those amazing wings and have him crash to the ground just because Steve wanted to be his husband. Bucky deserved better.

So Steve went back home to New York, signed the divorce papers so that Bucky could fly without him, and started his art studio. Wanted to make something of himself so maybe he could win Bucky’s love again. 

What he hadn’t expected was Bucky showing up about thirty days ago engaged to someone else. Almost as though he was seeking his permission. Or blessing. Or...Steve’s not sure. 

But seeing him after all these years, after the initial awkwardness, felt as though not a day had gone by. They laughed. They teased each other. They caught up. All the while Bucky and his family here in New York made the final plans for his wedding. 

Bucky even stopped by the other day with an invitation. A part of Steve wants to follow his mother’s advice and go to the wedding. But Steve thought the ex-husband at the new wedding would be a little weird. Not to mention heartbreaking. Sure, their marriage right out of high school didn’t even last the full summer, but still. Weird. 

Those dark clouds are rolling in faster now and the next thunderclap brings with it a downpour. Well, at least the world can cry with him. 

Steve chuckles darkly at his ridiculous thoughts and wipes those few tears away with the back of his arm as he works another lightning rod into the sand. He made his biggest mistake. Now he has to live with his biggest regret. 

“Hey!”

The shout from behind him, just loud enough to be heard over the pounding rain and rumbling skies, startles Steve. He turns. Sees Bucky standing there, wearing a tux, no shoes, and sopping wet. Water drips off the ends of his hair, which, up until a few moments ago was probably styled beautifully. Doesn’t matter that he’s soaked to the bone and in a ruined tuxedo. He still looks gorgeous. 

For a moment, Steve just stares. To be honest, he’s not entirely sure he’s not imagining this. 

“Bucky?”

“I got somethin’ to say to you, punk.”

“What’re you doin’ here?!” Steve calls back over all the noise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a wedding?” 

“Yes! Yes, I was!” Bucky sounds angry. He looks angry, too, but Steve isn’t sure what he did this time. “I was supposed to get married!”

“Did...did you...not get married?”

“No! No, I didn’t get married!” He huffs and shakes his head. “I didn’t get married because the person I’m in love with wasn’t there!”

Steve’s heart skips a beat. He knows he fucked up, but he can’t imagine someone else making the same mistake he did. How could anyone ever let him go?

“Were you...left at the altar?”

“Oh, no. No, they were there. But you weren’t! You weren’t there, Steve!” He stomps his foot and growls through his teeth. “Why didn’t you come after me?” Bucky steps up and punches Steve once in the arm. Hard. And then does it again and again. “I waited for you, Steve! I waited ten years and you never came!”

“I...I did...” Steve tries to say as he cringes away from Bucky’s anger which hurts a hell of a lot more than any of his punches. “I came after you, Bucky, I swear!” 

Bucky takes a breath, a step back, and wipes his face of some of the water dripping down it.

“You...you did?”

Steve nods. “I did. About a month after you left. But I saw how happy you looked and I...I couldn’t ask you to give that up. A-and, I thought that if you flew, then you’d fly away from me. But I also didn’t want to be a stone around your neck. Bucky, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you go without a fight. I”m sorry I didn’t go with you. I--” 

“Steve...” Bucky reaches out and touches Steve’s cheek. “You were never a stone around my neck. I thought spreading my wings meant that I couldn’t keep my roots. But when I saw you here again and...I realized that I can have my wings and my roots. I want you to be there when I land. Just like I wanted you to be there when I flew. Because I love you, Steve.” 

The glands in Steve’s throat swell. He thinks he might burst into tears. If Bucky’s really saying what he thinks is... 

“I...I love you, too, Bucky. But...what if we had our shot already?” he asks. “You said it yourself, lightning never strikes the same place twice.” 

This makes Bucky smiles with a shake of his head. 

“You silly punk,” he says. “It already struck. I wanna marry you and spend the rest of my life with you.”

Heart growing beneath his ribs, Steve can’t help but grin wildly at that. At Bucky saying he left his own wedding, tracked Steve down to their spot on the beach, and came out in the pouring rain just to tell him he loves him. 

“Why would you wanna be married to me, Bucky?”

Bucky’s smile makes his eyes sparkle brighter than any stars hiding behind the storm clouds.

“So I can kiss you anytime I want.” 

An elated giggle bubbles through Steve’s chest as Bucky flings his arms around his neck and they kiss, and when their own lightning strikes, something beautiful is created all around them. 

[daddystevee]

Crashing Down

(steve harrington x hopper!reader / billy hargrove x hopper!reader)

BLEHHHHHH I’m having a REALLY hard time writing this rn, just because I feel like the story isn’t really progressing that much. And like i'm just going over parts of the show that has actually happened.. But i'm gonna keep truckin through i guess. I think this chapter is gonna be pretty long because im gonna try to get through a lot. There’s not a whole lot of Billy or Steve in this chapter but more like sister bonding with the girls <3 I dunno feedback would be greatly appreciated!!! <3 Thanks to everyone that's been reading it and thanks to @harringtown​ whose been supporting me through this whole thing. I honestly don't think I would be able to do this without her. <3 so go check her stuff out shes my main source of inspiration- also she's just the BEST writer like ever! She’s totally tubular. ;)

catch up here

Warnings: Curse words? Angst? I dunno anymore man.

Part 4/?

Word count: 2.1k (a big boy)

Summery: Sometimes things just don’t go as planned and your world just come crashing down, but it’s a good thing that you have people in your life to be there to catch you when you fall.

So there you were sitting on the counter in the back room of Scoops watching Steve pace back and forth, trying to understand Russian and eating a banana. 

Dustin cut off the recorder and asks Steve what he thinks about it. 

“Sounds familiar.” Steve says finishing off his banana. 

“What?” both you and Dustin say at the same time

“The music, that music right there at the end.”

You sigh heavily and put your head in your hands,

“Steve, you’re such an idiot.”

The two boys start arguing about the fact that Steve should be paying attention to the words not the music when you butt in again.

“I can’t take this shit anymore,” you said looking back and forth between the two fighting boys, “I’m going home.”

You push yourself up and off of the counter and start to walk out the door when Robin burst through the door clearly fed up and aggravated.

“Alright, babysitting time is over. You need to get in there.”

She notices that her ‘You Suck’ board has been erased and looks at you as if you were the one to erase the board. You stick your hands up in surrender with wide eyes and looked back at Steve and Dustin.

“I guarantee you what we’re doing is way more important than your data.” Dustin said, looking to you for reassurance.

You just shrug your shoulders at him.

“Yeah? And how do you know these Russians are up to no good anyway?” Robin says.

You slowly start to back up towards the door with that question, “Yeah, I think I’m gonna go now..”

Once you make it out the door you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in. You hear Robin tell the guys that she’s fluent in 4 languages.

Dustin seems very impressed, “Russian?”

“Ou-yay are-yay umb-day” she says.

Both Steve and Dustin are extremely impressed by her fancy words, you pop your head back in the door before officially leaving to add a few words.

“It’s pig latin, for ‘you are dumb’, you dingus’ ”

They all turned their heads to look at you, Robin had a smirk on her face and sent you a wink while the boys had dumbfounded looks on their faces. And with your last few words, you left.

><

You walked out of the ice cream parlor and took a look around to see what you could do to pass some time.

After walking around, looking at a few stores you heard your name being called.

“Y/N!” Max screamed pulling El right behind her.

“Max! El? El, what are you doing here? You know you’re not supposed to be here right?” you asked Eleven, but looking at Max.

“SHE JUST- needed some girl time!” Max was quick to say, “The boys- they’re being real douchebags.”

You knew that all too well, especially with everything that’s been happening with Billy as of lately. 

“Yeah. We- wanted to go..” El turned her head to look at Max for reassurance. When max nodded her head, a smile creeped onto her face and she continued confidently, “shopping.”

You stood there with arms crossed looking at both of the younger girls. You remembered what it was like being their age, and you knew that the girls wanted to just have some harmless fun. So you smiled while rolling your eyes.

“Fine, BUT- only on one condition,” you started “you guys have to hang out with me.” 

The two girls both had giant smiles plastered on their faces. They looked at each other then looked back at you. They each took one of your hands and dragged you off to The Gap.

You and max both followed El around as she was looking around when she walked up to a display with a blue shirt with yellow, red and white lines on it. 

“Do you like that?” Max asks

“How do I know, what I like?” El responds

“You just try things on, until you find something that feels like you. Not Hopper, not Mike, Not Y/N,” she says as she points to you. You do a little spin showcasing your style, “you”

>cue shopping spree montage<

At the end of trying on lots, and lots of clothes El finally decides on two new outfits and a new romper. Max ends up with a new pair of sunglasses and you leave with a new hat and a few new shirts. 

You walk out of The Gap arm in arm with the two girls, giggling and smiling at each other like there is no one else in the world. The next thing you know, you’re being pulled into the Flash Studio.

You watch them dress up and take tons of pictures. Striking different poses and pretending to be someone else for the day. The even convinced you to take a couple of pictures with them. You truly were having the time of your life.

“How about some ice cream?” Max asks at the end of a fun filled day.

El looked at you with pleading puppy eyes begging you to say yes. She knew you wouldn’t say no to the puppy eyes.

You sighed and shook your head with a small smile on your face, “I don’t see why not.”

The three of you walk in to none other than Scoops Ahoy. You make your way up to the counter for the two girls to place an order. Right when Steve finishes making their cones and some other random cone Robin pulls open the divider,

“We’ve got our first sentence!”

“Really? Makin’ more progress than Harrington, huh?” you ask

“Can it Hopper” Steve says with a serious look on his face.

“The week is long” Robin says with a Russian accent.

“Well that’s thrilling.” Steve says sarcastically

“It’s progress!” she says before shutting the divider once again to continue her work.

Steve turns around holding three ice cream cones,

“Alright here ya go, you got a strawberry, and then a vanilla with sprinkles, extra whipped cream and a double scoop of peppermint stick.” he says handing the last cone to you.

The girls thank Steve but you just kind of look at him with a confused look.

“I didn’t ask for any ice cream Steve.” you say slightly confused

“It’s whatever, I know it’s like your favorite. On the house.” he says with a wink. He then turns to El, “Wait a second, are you even allowed to be here?”

Max and El start giggling and run away leaving you standing at the counter.

“Well, okay then.” he turns his attention to you.

“Guys, I think I’m just gonna hang out here until close! I’ll see you guys at home for dinner?” you half yell at the girls who are already out the door.

You walk around the counter and into the back room where Dustin and Robin were still sitting. They seemed to be discussing what they had found out and were trying to figure out what their next move would be. They just seemed to be all around struggling with the next few phrases. 

The week is long, The silver cat feeds, When blue meets yellow in the west. 

You weren’t sure if you should mention the fact that your mom, who knew Russian, taught you at a young age how to speak Russian, or if you should just wait to see if Steve remembers.

You choose to sit there and taunt them, making little side comments every now and then throwing them off track. The translation ended up taking well over 8 hours, seeing how they finished after the mall had already closed.

You all read out the whole phrase together for the first and final time for that day, the phrase didn’t really make any since, but you felt like this would be a good time to tell them what you had been hiding from them all day.

“You know we totally could’ve been done with this like 8 hours ago.” you say super casually.

“What?” the three of them as in unison looking at you like you were crazy.

“I mean you guys asked Robin if she knew how to speak Russian..” 

“But we never asked you- dammit!” Steve yelled.

“Steve, what’s she talking about.” Robin asks already kind of knowing where this is going.

“I’ll catch you guys tomorrow!” You say with a smirk grabbing your bag and heading for the doors.

“Holy shit.” Dustin says finally connecting the dots

“She knows Russian, (Y/N) fucking knows Russian! Her mom taught her when she was in like, the first grade or something.” Steve sighs as he puts his head in his hands.

With the biggest smirk on your face you were out the door and in your truck headed back to the cabin.

><

You walk into the cabin to music playing loudly, but coming from El’s room. You knock on the door a few times and you open the door to see Max dancing around and El looking through on of your older magazines.

“Hey guys, just wanted to let you know I’m here and was wondering if you guys wanted anything to eat.” you asked the two girls.

They both looked at you and shook their heads and then returned back to what they were doing before you walked in.

You closed the door and headed to your room leaving the door open in case they needed anything.

Suddenly you heard the music cut off but it was soon replaced with static, that could only mean one thing.

The next thing you heard was them giggling over whatever El had seen, putting a small smile on your lips.

There was a loud engine that sounded like it was pulling into the driveway meaning that your dad had finally come home for the night after his date with Joyce.

You emerged from your room to talk to your dad about how his night went. He was so excited to finally get to take her out on a date. But when he walked in the house, he obviously looked extremely drunk and would most likely be hungover in the morning.

He looked at you and then looked at El’s closed door, he suddenly became filled with anger.

“Hey- HEY! When I say 3 inches,” 

“Dad, wait it’s not what you-” you started to say as he marched furiously over to the door where he thought he would find Mike and El behind closed doors, “think.”

The door slams open and he finds not the couple, but only two innocent teenage girls lying on the floor looking at magazines and comic books.

 You stand there awkwardly with your arms crossed, watching as the mess of your father tries to hold a small conversation with the girls. He turns shuts the door and turns around to face you with a blank look on his face.

“You’re so annoying, you know that?” You ask rolling your eyes slightly annoyed but mostly playful.

Hopper just has this smug look on his face, he goes to the fridge crack open a beer and gets on his recliner knowing that the little stunt he had pulled with Mike had worked.

You were finally ready to retreat to your room when Max pops her head out the door and asks you if you want to play a game with them and you happily oblige.

><

You sit down on the floor next to the bed where El and Max have a poster with names written on papers and a glass bottle, it almost looked like they were playing spin the bottle, except they would be using Eleven’s powers to spy on people.

They spin the bottle once and it lands on Mr.Wheeler and they decide that he’s too boring to spy on so they spin again and it lands on Billy.

“I don’t know, this might not be a good idea” Max says

“No!” you say almost a little too forcefully, “No, I want to know what he’s been up to. I really haven’t seen him in a few days.”

El nods her head, and puts the blindfold on as you grab the radio from her dresser and put it on a channel with nothing but static.

The two of you wait in silence for a few minutes before El says that she’s found him.

“What’s he doing?” Max asks

“I don’t know, he’s on the floor?” El says kind of confused, ‘Talking to someone.”

There’s a long pause before she rips off her blindfold, breathing very heavily.

“What? What happened?” you ask.

She just stares at you with a distraught look on her face, like she had seen something, something she wasn’t supposed to see.

[libriselvaggi]

three books that changed how I viewed the pandemic

1. Infinite Jest David Foster Wallace

“You’ll never have as much time as you do right now” seemed to be the mantra circulating at the beginning of the infamous Quarantine during Spring of 2020 to boost morale and motivation to get in shape or discover a new hobby. There will never be enough time to read every great book, but I decided to plunge right into reading with Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace’s 1,079 page capolavoro. I did not know what the book was about, but from what I had heard, I knew it could change me in some way. I mistakenly ordered the book from libby, an ebook service through my public library. It was a painful few days of reading because of the sheer complexity of the book. I patiently awaited the paperback I later ordered and revisited IJ with gusto and a highlighter. My first great revelation was that my multilingual vocabulary was an embarrassment to DWF’s eloquence and creativity. I found myself repeatedly looking up words  and tried not to be discourage in adapting to the DFW’s English. I did not want my copy of IJ to end up on my shelf unfinished and unconquered as what happens to many victims of book’s the difficult structure. The so-called “experimental” endnotes are not to be overlooked and play a fundamental role in the precision of the novel. The book, written in a mosaic of stream of conscious prose, narration and dialogue must be read slowly and given time to process. 

Some of the major themes of IJ are addiction, competition, familial relationships, depression, which work together to offer an answer for the essential question of what makes us human. DFW’s characters are all looking for something as it becomes clear to the reader which aspects of IJ’s characters they embody. I found the chapters with Kate G particularly striking although seemingly non-essential to the book’s main characters, members of the Incandenza family. (N.B): this post will be written in more detail once I am able to retrieve my copy of IJ from home full of notes, post-its and highlights). 

DFW was a visionary and saw things in the 90′s that are still relevant. The passage on video calling is comical and pertinent to the Zoom era. In reality, we don’t want to video chat with people because we have to give them our full attention instead of discretely multitasking and we have to look presentable, which in Wallace’s world resulted in people replacing themselves with models. Wallace also predicted the rise of capitalism with his calendar of sponsored years as a form of advertising. He even could see the rise of the influencer. “The Entertainment” the holy grail of the novel in a sense, exposes the most beautiful girl and viewers are so incapable of looking away that they will die soiled in their couch. Is being the star of “The Entertainment” what influencers are aspiring to be? Over the past year, we are all trying to escape the boredom of staying at home. I absolutely fill my days from beginning to end to try to forget about the loneliness that DFW so poignantly represents in each of his characters. I know myself and I have tendencies towards addiction whether that be to certain habits, clothes, Netflix, even my own thoughts. DFW himself was a self-proclaimed TV addict, or he would have been he said if he owned a television. Especially through reading I have been trying to escape the boredom without trapping myself in something that will be unproductive and unhealthy. This book can be difficult to swallow because you will be confronted with your own addictions, sadness and relationships to loved ones. I will need to read this book again one day to truly understand and appreciate it. For now I am still ruminating and reflecting on my own search for distractions, which is what the book suggests makes us human. 

I reached the last page of the book with a sense of accomplishment for myself and both hope and disillusionment towards the world: hope that it is possible to understand and express such complex emotions, but disillusioned that this sadness and overwhelming amount of “distractions” (some good, some bad) still exist. 

2. The Decameron Giovanni Boccaccio

English: As an Italian major I am completely biased in choosing this title as part of my quarantine reading list. It is also the focus of my senior thesis, which I have also received a scholarship from Cornell to complete. My work is titled The Decameron in the Time of Coronavirus and has therefore earned a spot on this list. I began reading the Decameron in its original 600 year old Italian during the outbreak of coronavirus (Spring Semester 2020). The Decameron is a collection of 100 stories framed by the Brigata comprised of seven women and three men who escape the plague-ridden Florence during the Black Death. When I took this course on the Decameron I hadn’t given a lot of thought to the parallels between the Black Plague and the novel Coronavirus. At the time I was concentrated on the theme of the Decameron I had chosen to write my anthology on: adultery. I wrote 40 pages on all kinds of infidelity present in the Decameron and how it connects to social class, religion, gender, and the larger context of the Plague. 

The Decameron tells stories of love, wit, generosity, trickery, social class and religion and fate. Superficially it is seen as entertainment created by the Brigata to survive isolation during the Plague, much as we are entertaining ourselves now more than ever with film and literature. However, the Decameron presents a lot of themes under the guise of raunch or humor that can be endlessly analyzed, especially in the light of the current pandemic. If you are not up to the challenge of reading 100 stories, I highly recommend at least reading the author’s introduction for a description of the 14th century plague. It is chilling similar to how many have responded to Coronavirus: widening social gaps, abandonment and selfishness characterize Boccaccio’s eyewitness testimony and are clearly still relevant in a modern outbreak of a pandemic. In another post I will discuss some of my favorite novellas or stories from the Decameron as well as analyze the modern adaptation by the New York Times. 29 writers were asked to contribute stories taking place in the time of Coronavirus. The Decameron represents so much linguistically as Boccaccio was one of the first major authors to pen the Italian vernacular largely unchanged to the modern language and he realized the importance of empathy and storytelling in times of crisis. 

Italian: Mi laureo in italiano e quindi sono molto sbilanciata verso la letteratura italiana in questa lista di libri da leggere durante la quarantena. La mia tese di laurea e la mia ricerca, per la quale ho vinto una borsa di studio dalla mia università si concentra sul Decameron nei tempi di Coronavirus. Ho cominciato a leggere quest’opera di Boccaccio di un italiano da seicento anni fa durante il semestre in cui il coronavirus si è scoppiato. Il Decameron è una collezione di 100 novelle raccontate dalla brigata di sette donne e tre uomini che sfuggono dalla Firenze infestata dalla pesta nera. Quando ho seguito il corso sul Decameron non pensavo tanto ai paragoni tra la Pesta Nera e il Coronavirus. Invece mi sono messa a scrivere per un’antologia dell’infedeltà che caratterizza tante storie d’amore nell’opera. Ho scritto quaranta pagine sull’adulterio nell’Decameron nel contesto delle classi sociali, della Chiesa, dei ruoli dei sessi e certo della pesta.

Il Decameron racconta novelle d’amore, arguzia, munificenza, inganni, del divario tra le classi sociali, di religione e fortuna. Sulla superficie si vede il Decameron come un tipo di divertimento creato dalla brigata per sopravvivere l’isolamento durante la pesta proprio come oggi noi ci divertiamo con libri e film. Comunque il Decameron ci presenta tanti temi sotto il pretesto di un po’ di volgarità e umorismo che possono essere analizzati senza limiti, sopratutto vista la pandemia di oggi. Se non vorresti sfidarti con una tale lettura di cento novelle, ti consiglio di leggere almeno l’introduzione e il proem del Decameron. La descrizione di Boccaccio è spaventosamente simile alla nostra risposta al Coronavirus: si vedono l’abbandono dei cari, una disparità sociale e l’egoismo, tutti ancora rilevanti durante la pandemia. In un altro post vorrei scrivere della versione moderna del Decameron scritta da 29 scrittori invitati dal New York Times per scrivere un racconto dei nostri tempi. Il Decameron rappresenta tanto linguisticamente nella cultura italiana e dobbiamo ricordare questo lavoro anche per l’empatia e l’importanza di raccontare come aveva notato Boccaccio. 

3. Blindness José Saramago

English: I had heard a reference to a book about an epidemic of blindness in an Italian film. Living in a pandemic, I quickly discovered a remarkable work of “plague-literature” a new genre recurring on many reading lists over the past year. Blindness underlines the role of government and bureaucracy in disarming the invisible enemy, an epidemic. The first to fall ill are treated like lepers and essentially thrown into what feels like a prison for the sick. Fear of the unknown seems to blind even those who have not been infected. The wife of a doctor sacrifices her sight in order to remain by her husband’s side. Her compassion serves as an immunity to the mysterious disease. Using blindness as the characteristic symptom highlights the delicate human nature and our need for empathy and each other. There is such a raw, human nakedness that comes with suddenly being unable to see. The epidemic that unfolds made me think about whether I too have fallen ill to this disease; what in this world am I not seeing? Similar to Boccaccio’s description of the Black Plague and the empathy the Brigata develops by their decision to return to Florence, the darkness of the character’s fate is met with the brightness and warmth of compassion. Although it may seem like a grim choice, this book was surprisingly uplifting and is certainly a challenging read with a rich vocabulary. 

Português: Ouvi falar de Ensaio sobre a cegueira em um film italiano, ou seja sobre um livro que raconta uma epidemia de cegueira e depois achei o livro de Saramago . Vivendo durante uma pandemia, eu descobri um gênero emergente de literature que se chama “literatura de praga” que aparece em muitas listas de livros de 2020. A cegueira como epidemia salienta o papel do governo e da burocracia no desarmamento do inimigo invisível, a doença. Os primeiros a ficarem doentes são tratados como leprosos e jogados no que parece uma prisão para os doentes. O medo do desconhecido cega mesmo aqueles que não foram infectados. A esposa de um médico sacrifica a sua visão para ficar com seu marido. A sua compaixão torna-se uma imunidade à misteriosa doença. A cegueira como o sintoma caraterístico sublinha a delicada natureza humana e a necessidade de empatia . Há uma crua nudez humana que acompanha a cegueira repentina. A epidemia do livro me faz pensar na minha própria cegueira, ou seja o que na minha vido não estou vendo. Eu li este livro não só para aprofundar perspectiva sobre o vírus como também para encontrar mais literatura portuguesa. 

[gaiamax]

Don’t call me, Evan

Trigger warning: implied childhood sexual abuse 

All secrets are deep,

All secrets become dark.

That’s in the nature of secrets.

Writer, Cory Doctorow

The youngest member of the station had felt off all week, like the ground way swaying under him. It had made him irritable and brought long-buried feelings and experiences back to him. As he steps into the house that belongs to Athena and Bobby, he can hear the conversation about going to church for the coming Easter weekend. Joining the adults, he makes his way into the kitchen.

When Buck doesn’t join in the conversation, Bobby involves Buck directly by asking him a question. “Just about  everyone else is joining. Are you coming as well?”

“No” Buck answers much too quickly. “After everything I’ve been through. God is either a dick or not real”

“Buck I know been through a lot this past year but he never asks for more than we can handle” Bobby tells in a soft tone while placing a hand on his shoulder.

All the young man can do is stare at it and watch the flashbacks fade in and out, his brain can see both that man’s hand and Bobby’s and finding it really hard to tell which one is real. At last he bites out “Then your god asks way too much of twelve-year-old boys.” he pulls Bobby’s hand off of him and walks quickly to where the children are playing video games. Buck’s statement causes everyone to look over at Maddie for answers but she shrugs her shoulders.

……

It's the shift after the service most of the firefam had attended and now they were sat eating dinner with Maddie and Athena. The conversation had polite chat, catching each other up on their jobs for the day. The familial atmosphere changed when Athena brought up a new topic.

“So you know that man, I was talking to,” Athena starts. “He set up a community centre in a small town called Ridge Lake…”

Before Athena can continue Maddie buts and adds “That’s where we grow up, you wouldn’t believe Buck, it was Travis Miller.” For Buck that’s way to close, he ran away from that town and him, that off feeling he had been having all week has finally come to a head. It feels like someone has thrown a bucket of cold water over him. “He was like Buck’s mentor as a kid,” she tells the team before turning her head to her brother “You should go see him and thank him, I gave your number to him.”

Everyone waits for Buck’s reply but he never gives one instead he just bites his lips, willing any sliver of emotion down.

Hen speaks with the confusion the rest of the team is having “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

Trying to sound nonchalant Buck starts to speak “it didn’t come up.”

Athena, slightly annoyed at being interrupted, huffs and starts to speak again “he wants to set up one here but he needs donors. So I’ve agreed to help him set up his presentation but we need others. It’s Wednesday, I know the kids are on break, he’s fine with them coming.”

Everyone agrees to help out, Buck wanted nothing more than to say no but now he knows the children are going to be there, he has to say he’ll help too, to make that they stay safe. “I’ll help too” he manages to get out his voice, cracking.

……

Buck can see Travis’ hand on Christopher’s shoulder and his blood runs hot in his veins. He marches over one purpose in mind. Taking two steps at a time. When he’s finally at the two, he wrenches Travis’ hand off the shoulder it’s resting on and slams him into the nearest wall. “Don’t fucking touch him! Or anyone else. Why don’t you just leave, no one wants you here” Buck whispered harshly still holding the older man up against.

Taking a soft placating tone, that had a bite only Buck could hear the older man replied: “Now, Evan I know we’ve had our disagreements but that’s hardly reason for you to attack me”. He says his statement loud enough, so the attention in the room is silenced and brought them. “Think of the impression you’re giving your friends and their children. Your sister even” With that Buck turned his head around, seeing the looks of confusion of the adults and the fear in Christopher’s eyes at his outburst that seemed to come from nowhere.

He let go of the man and ran away to the small room jutting of the hall with his eyes trained on the floor. When he was finally in the room alone with the door close, he sets himself against and just chokes out sobs for a few minutes before hearing a knock on the door. “Boy!” Athena chortles in her usual, you’re in trouble voice that in this moment is somehow comforting. “You need to explain what the hell that was. Let me in.” Before doing her command he squares himself; clenching his jaw, standing to his full height and wiping the tears away with the back of his hand.

He lets her in the room, before stepping as far away from her as much as the four walls would allow. Buck can see that that action, has made an impression on Athena with her raised eyebrows which she quickly hides. “Travis Miller” she states, looking Buck straight in the face.

“What?” He replies, his face etched in confusion. “He’s here?”

“Travis Miller. He runs a community centre that helped you as a kid and is trying to set one up here.” She states again but the tone, more commanding this time while she stares at his face, he feels like he’s back in the bank heist interrogation. For a second Buck wonders if she figured it out but he watches her eyes wander over him for answers.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Buck asks, while trying to make his face impassive and make some distance between him and that man. He knows it’s a futile effort after his display but he has to try.

“He’s the one who helped you get records expunged,” Buck inches his head up from looking at the floor and just regards her with a dirty defiance, which falters her for a half a second. He knows it’s because it's a look you’d never see on his face or could imagine. “And he’s here now” she replies quickly trying to get the answer out of him.

“How do you know that? I told you to stay out of my business” he shouts slamming his hand on the table.

“We’ve been in the hall for two hours and you’ve haven’t spoken to once. Then out of nowhere, you attack him.” She tells him unfazed by the slamming of his hand against the wall and him moving closer. Buck can feel the heaviness of her eyes roaming over him, looking for any cracks in his brittle armour, so he stills himself.

“So, what?” He shouts even louder this time, trying to get that distance from everyone.

“Why don’t you want to talk to the man who made you being here possible?” She asks completely calm, only wanting an answer so she can understand.

Athena demeanour was in direct opposition to Buck who threw one of the spare chairs across the small room. “Damn you, Athena. It’s none of your damn business.”

“He says that what happened between you two is your fault,” Athena says trying to persuade him, to give her answers.

“I’m warning you, Athena,” He tells her with more poison than a scorpion while shaking his head “back off!”

As he spits out the final letter the door flies open, and Bobby, Eddie and Chimney are there staring at him in anger and disbelief. “We heard shouting and stuff being thrown,” Bobby says while checking over Athena, making sure she isn’t hurt. Which only convinces Buck that they can never know, they wouldn’t ever trust him again.

Choking down the bubbling cries in his throat, Buck speaks “I’m going to go home”

Even though it didn’t need an answer Bobby gives one infused with a striking bite “I think that would be best”

……

It’s five hours later and Buck is still sitting in his bathroom; where he had been since he got home, he had a panic attack in it and hadn’t felt well enough to leave. At his moment the bathroom was the safest place in his studio because that was the only room that had a lock on the door. The only place where he felt safe in his whole home. The safety of the room was interrupted by knocking, he had ignored for the better part of five minutes. It had only continued, but this time it was accompanied by Bobby’s voice. “Buck, I know you’re in there. Answer the door.” He was told by his surrogate father figure. All Buck wanted to do was pretend that he wasn’t home, but he knew couldn’t Bobby would just come back later so on shaky feet he made his way to the door. Before it was fully open Bobby walked inside and sat down, waiting for Buck to join him.

“What you did earlier was not okay!” Bobby told Buck who nodded his head agreeing. But then the older man continued speaking. “You're a different person than who were as a kid and the person who joined the station.”

Buck moved further back on the sofa, turned his head to the side and Bobby could see the defensiveness take hold of Buck’s features. “Are you trying to say something to me?”

“Only if you’re hiding something, you need to trust us” Bobby back-pedalled, speaking softly. “Trust us enough, to tell us about it”

But Buck's defensiveness was comfortable where it was “Bobby. It’s not about trust.” As he took in a deep breath to start to speak again, the stronghold of defence had been replaced by a desperate need to be believed. “It’s about having a little privacy. I got the right to keep something to myself.” Buck told him while pointing at himself during ‘his right’ and slamming his hand on the coffee table at the end of his sentence. “Look at us, man, we practically live together already” Buck moving back as he started putting even more distance between the two men, escaping any comfort Bobby was trying to give. The thought of being touched by anyone right now wanted to make him vomit.

Buck can see Bobby thinking before he speaks. Then he finally opens his mouth, “c’mon we’re going to miss dinner.”

Buck voice comes out like a sacred child looking for approval “I’m still allowed to come?”

“You’re still family. It’s family dinner” Bobby answers with how you would speak to a toddler. Under his breath, the older man continues on “maybe we’ll get something out of you.”

……

As he stepped into the house, Buck saw Travis sitting at the table drinking a glass of wine. The minute his brain makes the connection, he turns round on his feet to leave but Bobby blocks the door. “No, Evan. Whatever happened between you two, you need sort it out. He obviously cares about you, after everything he’s told me about you, I don’t think I could be as nice.”

“Don’t call me Evan!” Buck spits from a clenched jaw, trying to get through Bobby again.

“Look just stay with him alone for twenty minutes after that if you still want to leave you can” Bobby tells him, Buck eventually nods blinking tears away.

……

Bobby joins the others in the living room and asks “Do you know what happened?” to Maddie.

Maddie just her head and speaks with disbelief “He should be Buck’s hero. Travis practically raised him after our father died, took him on trips, mentored him, they spent all their free time together”

That when all clicks for Athena, her brain finding the final piece of the puzzle it had been doing in the background for the better part of two weeks. “We should have never left them alone. I think I know what he’s afraid of” She tells everyone, but the strange angry panic in her voice worries Bobby. The older couple share a look, Bobby eyes widened and shakes his head. They let a second pass, letting the new information wash over them before running to the two men, followed by the confused others.

They are just out of sight of the two, when everyone freezes on the spot at Buck hissing out “Travis.” It’s a sound so foreign coming from Buck.

“They won’t let you leave?”, the man replies in a casual uninterested tone.

“You already know” Buck answers getting more angry.

“I told them that you allow your emotions to control you” Travis begins to taunt his face curling into something barbaric “like a child. But they already know that.”

“Really because Bobby said you were saying good things about me.” Buck counters trying to spit venom and muster up any confidence.

“You’re good at football, is that meant to be secret?” He asks again unfazed by the man… no the boy

“No, that wasn’t” Buck answers after a second, turning his away to lose eye contact.

“I don’t follow”, Travis continues his tone moving back to casual.

“ All these years. I kept my mouth shut. I let you go on being the hero Travis Miller my mentor” Buck shouts with anger and confidence finally make itself known coupled with conviction. It’s Athena who unfreezes first but something tells her not to move just yet.

“What are you talking about?” The older man asked but this time slightly vexed.

“God, I was so afraid of you. I was afraid of the police, afraid of losing everything I was gaining. But that’s how you work isn’t it. You make sure there’s a hell of a lot to lose, don’t you?” Buck asks angrily through the silent tears. Bobby and Hen unfreeze together, she looks over at him for confirmation. Her answer in a sad soft nod, both of them go to step out but stopped by Athena who just shakes her head.

“I don’t know what you think you remember” Travis replies vexed but trying to remain casual.

“It’s not about what I remember. You sent videos to me of my own abuse” Buck shouts again, wiping the tears away. At that everyone else unfreezes, a blazing fury burning in all of them, but slightly brighter in Maddie and Eddie. Athena stops them before they interrupt telling them he needs this confrontation.

“Now, you’re just talking crazy.” Travis tries gaslighting half heartedly, knowing that he’s got himself in a situation he can’t get out of.

“God, I should have told somebody when I was a kid! When you were helping me. Well, you know what happens in cases like this; once the dam breaks, the flood comes. One person steps up, then another and another. Because we’re not scared of you any more, we know we’re not alone.You’re your own dam.” Buck his voice filled with sobs and cracks but he also holding his head up high with authority.

“Whatever lies your making up.” Travis shouted back.

“They are not lies, you did it to me. You did it to me and filmed it” Buck counters, leaving no room for excuses.

“I did nothing to you or any other kid” Travis tries again but faltering, he has nothing to fall back on.

“One by one, they are going to pile up until there’s so many accusations- you can’t say they’re all lies.” Buck tells him enjoying the fear that he felt on Travis’ face

“ Do you have any idea how many kids I’ve helped get out of our town? Hm?” How many lives I’ve provided.” Travis asks slamming his hand on his chest. At that Bobby can see Buck’s body start to shake violently with sobs. “Look at you. You’d probably be addicted to drugs or dead by now”, the older man says with disgust.

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t for free, was it?” Buck chokes out.

“I pulled you out of the gutter”, Travis tells him a look of betrayal in his eyes.

“I pulled myself out of the gutter, all the way to the LAFD!” Buck shouts back, with even more conviction, this man doesn’t get to claim he the reason for anything good he himself has done.“I did that!”

“You saying I had nothing to do with making who are?” Travis asks, spit flying out of his mouth.

“No, Travis. Actually I’m saying you have everything to do with making me who I am” Buck speaks calmer than earlier.“Because of you, I get to spend the rest of my life actually helping people”

“Look Evan, I never hurt you.” Travis tell Buck trying to hurt the younger man much as possible.“You could have said no.” Buck lets out laugh that is dry and humourless that quickly turns into more crying.

At that Athena steps into the room with her phone to her ear, “Dispatch, I need….”

Her voice is hidden by Travis shouting “I’ve helped a lot of kids.”

“Shut up, you’re lucky I’m not beating the shit out of you.” Eddie tells the man, anger dripping from every word while he and the others use cable ties to attach him to the chair.

“The community centres are needed, it’ll be worse without them.” He tells them, anyone who will listen trying to convince them to let him go.

“Somebody’ll keep them running. The emergency services will. Athena will.” Buck states back.

As he is turning to move to the other room, he hears “Wait. Wait. Evan… isn’t there something you can do for me?”

“You can go to hell” Buck tells him without looking back

Toss a comment (and reblog) to your writer, oh valley of plenty.

[dreamcatcherjiah]

🎐Bubbles (Yoongi!Producer x Reader!Writer)

Bubbles Masterlist

Part 10

Plot: Yoongi, a famous music producer, and y/n, a writer, had been neighbors for a couple of months when Yoonji and her dad moved to the apartment in between the two. Due to some unbelievable coincidences, these two weird incompatible people were appointed baby Yoonji’s babysitters. What will they do when something happens to Yoonji’s dad and she’s left alone in the world?

Tonight Yoongi arrived soon from the studio. He was always one to spend endless hours there, working on his music, talking to his artists and his friends about his lyrics. But tonight was different. After confessing to Y/N and having her confessed back, his day seemed a bit brighter than he expected. That morning had been nerve wrecking, after waking up tangled in a mass of limbs with a tiny hand pulling his hair and a leg flung over his torso, it had been a challenge to leave the bed and go to work. With both his girls asleep, it had been impossible to discuss where Y/N and his relationship stood. They were parents to Yoonji, and friends to each other, but all that kissing last night must have changed that… Right?

The text they’d exchanged that afternoon had laid his mind at rest, but something different had awoken in his chest, something that didn’t really allow him to concentrate and made it impossible not to jump for his phone every time her notification rang. If his friends could see him now, they’d say he was whipped, but then again it was a good thing his new relationship with the mother of his daughter was a secret… God, that sounded a lot better in his head… And he should really stop talking to himself.

Back to the topic at hand, that thing on his chest that impeded a normal day’s concentration was what urged him forward and Yoongi ended up leaving work for the day two hours before he normally would. He was anxious, a good anxious. He couldn’t wait to get home and have his heart do that little leap it did when he saw Y/N and Yoonji together, doing the most simple of things. It was way too soon to tell, but his heart shouted “HOME!!” every time either of them looked at him with that shine in their eyes.

Traffic usually was a pain in his ass, everyone who knew him well enough knew how much he hated being stuck on a traffic jamb, or crammed inside the tube for longer than should be acceptable, but tonight, oh tonight, it looked like everyone had agreed to leave work later than usual, and that put a smile on his face.

The ride on the elevator wasn’t so bad as it usually was, when he was feeling gloomy for leaving Yoonji behind or guilty because he arrived back way too late and she was asleep. Tonight he was arriving even before her bath time, and that alone made him feel a better father. He wasn’t the ideal one, but he tried hard, and today was an example.

He entered their shared apartment and found the house silent. That alone was weird, but he took his shoes off and entered the living room.

Do you know that sensation you get, when you see something you can’t quite believe it’s yours and your chest hurts so much you have to clench your fists to your heart and can’t really breathe? That exactly was the sensation that Yoongi felt when he was presented with the image of Y/N sitting on their sofa, with an ever-growing, but still tiny, Yoonji nested under her arm, with her chubby little cheek pressed against her mother’s chest and a sleepy look on her face. Y/N was gently humming the lullaby he’d heard so many times while she caressed the girl’s hair. They hadn’t noticed Yoongi at the door, so immersed in one another as they were, and he took his chance to observe and think about how lucky he was to have them in his life.

Before Mr Kang and Yoonji moved in, he had been too shy to even look at Y/N long enough to strike conversation, let alone to tell her he thought she was breathtaking. But then it turned out that she was Namjoon’s colleague and a true friendship started. They’d gone backwards for everything, it seemed. They hadn’t known each other for nearly two months when the situation with Yoonjinie changed their dynamics, and sure enough, they started to behave as her babysitters. Mr Kang was away most of the time, only being there on weekends due to his work, and him being a widower and an only child, left Yoonjinie without anyone to take care of her. His feelings for Y/N had skyrocketed from then onwards. Seeing her taking care of Yoonji had awoken something primal within him, and that new perspective had him nearly grounding his teeth every time something seemed threatening near his girls.

And then Mr Kang had gone and had gotten himself killed. Yoongi was now a father and Y/N was the mother of his child. A year ago, that would have made him ecstatic, but as things stood their responsibilities towards this little life that now depended exclusively on them became real. Yoongi became preoccupied with being able to provide for her for as long as she needed, and Y/N became anxious about her daily needs. That had done more harm to their relationship than anything could have, and he sincerely thought that was it, they’d have to fight for custody not even three months after the adoption.

But then she had apologised, and he had apologised and just like that everything went back to normal. Until last night when they both had confessed how they liked each other and he had snogged her senseless.

Apparently, it was too much to ask to remain unseen by his three-year-old, because as soon as he let out a content sigh, she jumped up from the couch shouting “daddy!” and straight into his arms she went.

“Hello, sweetheart. How was your day with mommy?” he asked, impressed by the speed at which the toddler could speak without getting tongue-tied.

Y/N was just looking at them fondly, with her cheeks slightly coloured red and a pretty smile on her lips. How could such small gestures brighten up someone’s day so quickly, he wouldn’t know.

He hugged his daughter tightly to his chest and made his way to sit next to Y/N, leaning and gracing his lips against hers, for a moment, so lightly he nearly didn’t feel it. She wasn’t having any of it and nibbled his bottom lip to deepen the kiss. Yoongi was feeling in cloud nine, he never would have guessed how much he could feel for another person, how fast his heart could beat, as if it wanted to beat in unison with hers.

And then a two minuscule fingers hooked his lip and separated him from Y/N’s mouth.

“Why are you kissing momma now, daddy?” asked Yoonji, innocent big eyes looking at them both with a gummy smile.

Yoongi really was at a loss. How do you explain this complex situation to a toddler so that she doesn’t tell your friends? Luckily, Y/N was fast enough to cover him up and she picked her up, and placed the girl on her lap.

“You see, my darling, daddy kisses you a lot right?” that really caught Yoongi’s attention, to see how she would explain that. “Well, daddy loves you very, very much, and when you love somebody, you show how much you love them with a kiss!”

That was a perilous road she was treading, they had confessed liking each other, but it was way too soon to know whether love was a possibility or not, but he really hoped that would be the natural course of their relationship.

“So daddy kisses you because he loves you!!!” the little girl was ecstatic. Yoongi decided to intervine, not wanting there to be a misunderstanding.

“Daddy likes mommy very, very much. And one day soon, he’ll love mommy just as much as he loves Yoonji.”

Yoonji seemed to think deeply about that, with a big pout that gradually became a big smile. “Promise?” she asked.

Yoongi hugged both his girls to his chest, kissing both their heads and said “I promise you both.” This was what he’d always wanted, his little family, and even though going public was not in the cards at the moment, he would be happy if they stayed like this a bit longer.

A/n: Even though I still don’t have a computer, I wanted to put this out so that you could have a snippet of our fluffy Min Family! If there’re some mistakes, keep in mind that I’m not a native English speaker and on top of that I don’t have my computer to do the proofreading. I love you as always, and I’d like to hear what you think!!

Send me an ask if you want to be added to the tag list.

Love 💜🌙

Tag list: @daydreamindollie @live-2-fangirl @mizz-kraziii @rjsmochii @jiminslovly @igotarmyofarohas @desteweirdo @chewymoustachio @lvnakook @sugapaste @salty-for-suga @expensive-grl @threedecadesofawkward @elegantfanshoelover @jisnuq @krystalizando @littlestsweetpea28 @chogiyeol-utopia @delilaahbards @agusttaegid @thebookishnerdsblog @kisskissshutmydoor @httppbaby @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @mabel-k3 @thenocturnalreadingotaku

[heauxplesslydevoted]

All I Have Is Memories (M!Raleigh x MC)

Summary: Raleigh isn’t handling the breakup well.

Word Count: 3.4K+ Honestly two thousand words longer than I originally anticipated. I have no self control.

A/N: My crybaby ass was in shambles writing it, so I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor. All italicized parts are flashbacks, and my MC’s name is Cassandra Paige

Tag List: @x-kyne-x @paulfwesley @ramseyandrys @choicesobsessedd @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @furiouscloddonutpeanut @livedinawomansworld

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So tell me again what I’m doing tonight,” Raleigh orders, putting on his sunglasses.

“Just a simple club appearance,” Raleigh’s manager Mason answers. “Luxe in Midtown is hosting a launch party for some model’s Ciroc collab. I think it’s one of the Hadids or some other nepotism model or another.”

“Ciroc?” Raleigh grimaces. “I don’t even like vodka, especially that cheap shit.”

“I don’t care what you do with the Ciroc. Drink it, pour it down the drain, use it to start a fire for all I care. It’s 75 thousand dollars for a few hours of your time and as much vodka your liver can handle, and you don’t even have to perform.”

Raleigh doesn’t give a reply. The rest of the car ride is filled with silence, for which Raleigh is grateful. He doesn’t want to talk, especially about work. He really wants to close his eyes and take a little cat nap.

He’s been on a run, doing pop up shows and club appearances almost every night for the past month and a half. Mason was loving it. Raleigh’s popularity had somehow skyrocketed even more after his “breakup” with Cassandra, and Mason Bentley was always one to strike while the iron was hot. And in the beginning, Raleigh didn’t mind either. He needed the distraction, he needed his mind to be on anything other than Cassandra freaking Paige.

He had been in multiple fake relationships. He knew they had a shelf life of 6 months at maximum before TPTB stepped in and put an end to everything, but he didn’t think it would happen with her. He thought she was different, he thought they were different.

What started out as something fake had quickly turned into something real. It was less paparazzi runs, and more kisses when the fans and cameras weren’t around, late night sleepovers, hookups in bathrooms and coat closets at big industry events, and tiny moments of intimacy such as hand holding, her tracing nonsensical patterns into his chest after sex, and staying up late at night, swapping childhood stories.

It’s been two months since their split, and it’s still as fresh as ever in his mind.

They’re sitting at an outside cafe not too far from Central Park, He’s eating a bagel and people watching when Cassandra finally speaks up.

“So we’ve been at this for a few months now.” she starts.  “And I think we’ve reached the end of the road with the fake relationship thing.”

Raleigh doesn’t say anything immediately. He honestly forgot the reason they were put together in the first place. He needed image rehab, and she needed publicity. “I think you and I stopped with the whole fake relationship thing a few months ago, Andy.”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a subtle nod.

She doesn’t speak again and Raleigh feels the hair on the back of his neck stand to attention. He sits up straighter and looks at Cassandra. He notes that she can’t look him in the eyes, opting to focus on her lap instead. “Cassandra, look at me. Just what are you trying to say?”

After a long while, she finally looks up at him. Her eyes are large and glossy, as if she’s on the verge of tears. “I think the real part of our relationship needs to come to an end too.”

In that moment it feels like all of the air has been pulled out of his lungs. Is he...being dumped?

“What?”

“If we’re ending things publicly, I think it’ll work out better if we severed everything,” Cassandra continues. “Things will be less messy.”

Raleigh’s jaw clenches. “Wow, did you just repeat verbatim some bullshit Fiona force fed you?”

“Raleigh-”

“What, I’m right, right? She’s putting you up to this?”

“Yes, but-”

“So don’t do it!”

“I’m not you, I can’t afford to blatantly disregard my manager and piss off the label. We can still be friends, but our arrangement snowballed into something different than what we intended.”

“But I don’t want to end this. I want you, I l-” He’s able to catch himself before he makes a bigger fool of himself, but it’s too late. They both know what he was about to say.

I love you.

Raleigh doesn’t have time to pivot and steer the conversation in a different direction because before he can open his mouth again, he spots a paparazzo taking pictures of them, barely hiding behind a bush. That’s when he gets angry. “Is that why we’re here? Why we’ve been in Central Park all fucking day, so these vultures can get a piece of the pie?”

He knows that this is how these types of things work. Things have to end with a bang, not a fizzle, but he doesn’t give a fuck. That was before. Before he actually gave a damn about the other person, before he actually felt something.

He composes himself though, closing his eyes. He isn’t going to give the tabloids the satisfaction of getting raw footage of Raleigh Carrera having a complete meltdown in public. “I thought you were different, you know. I thought you weren’t like the rest of these fake industry people.”

“I’m not!” Cassandra argues.

“I thought we had something real.”

“We do, we did. But I can’t just-”

“Whatever,” Raleigh interjects. He stands abruptly. “And for the record, no we can absolutely not still be friends after this.”

Raleigh is thankfully pulled out of his thoughts before he has to relive any more of that tragic day. He hates thinking about it, he hates being that vulnerable.

The limo he’s riding in comes to a screeching halt in front of Luxe, and he hops out, Mason not too far behind. They’ve gone all out for this party. Red carpet, tons of celebrities (though he’s clearly the biggest name there), and lots of press. Paparazzi is yelling, calling out his name, reporters are practically shoving each other in order to get closer to him, hoping to be the lucky SOB that gets to interview him.

Mason points Raleigh in the direction of a reporter from Charttopper. Raleigh plasters on his best industry smile and heads over.

“Raleigh, hi. Janet Carmichael from Charttopper News, thank you stopping to chat!”

“Oh, thank you for having me, Janet.”

“Can I just say that you are killing it right now!”

“Thank you.”

“Seriously, I mean. The start of your victory lap was your latest single, a sultry collab with fellow R&B crooner Bryson Tiller called Wrong. It’s been out for three weeks and it’s already gone platinum. How does it feel?”

“It feels great,” Raleigh says. “I’ve been in this industry since I was a kid, I’m just glad the people still enjoy my work.”

“That’s a complete understatement, we more than love it.”

“I’m glad.”

“Now tell me, the song is about a man expressing some angst and guilt over a relationship gone wrong.” Raleigh tenses. He already knows where this lady is going to go with her line of questioning. “You recently went through a breakup, with up and coming pop sensation, Cassandra Paige.”

“Yeah.”

“Was she the inspiration behind the ballad?”

“No,” Raleigh replies. “I had been working on that song long before Andy and I broke up.”

And that’s the truth. The song had been in the making for months. In fact, Cassandra sat in on a few of his sessions.

“You want to have a fake snowball fight with all of these pieces of paper,” Raleigh suggests, tossing a crumpled piece at Cassandra. She quickly bats it away before it can hit her forehead.

“You’re supposed to be writing, mister,” Cassandra teases with an eye roll.

“But I have writer's block.” The two of them have been locked up in the studio for hours, crumpled pieces of paper strewn about, Raleigh’s guitar haphazardly dangling from the back of a chair. He had sent the rest of his team—sound engineer, mixers, and producer—away a long time ago. “Nothing sounds right, and the label is being annoying, pressuring me. Raleigh Carrera doesn’t do well under pressure. Raleigh Carrera needs time and space.”

“You are such a dork.”

“Just don’t tell anyone,” Raleigh shoots back with a smirk.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Cassandra sits back on the comfortable sleeper sectional that takes up a lot of the studio space. “Come here, come sit with me.”

“Andy”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. Come sit.”

Raleigh obliges and sits next to Cassandra. She pulls him back further so his back is on her chest and she nuzzles her face into his neck, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders.

“What are we doing?” Raleigh asks.

“I’m hugging you,” Cassandra says simply. “Hugging is good for you, it lowers anxiety and stress levels. You were on the verge of spiraling.”

“You know how it is, releasing a buzz single to get hype for an album. They want something deep, something sad. Something that’ll make Toni Braxton’s music look cheery.”

“Yikes. Why so glum?”

“It’s a niche market that’s currently untapped. People miss the heartbreak of 90s R&B. The crying, the begging, the dramatic music videos. They need me to fill that void. They’re all but demanding it. I don’t work well with demands.”

“I know it’s easier said than done, but you need to relax.” Raleigh snorts at the suggestion. “I’m serious. Music can not be forced, it has to be felt. It has to flow.”

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t write my own music. It’d be easier to have someone else do it and then head straight to the booth.”

“Let’s see if I can help you. Tell me what comes to mind when I say these words. Heartbreak?”

“Crush.”

“Loss?”

“Gain.”

“Pain?”

“Hurt.” 

“Okay, so give me some bars,” Cassandra demands.

“What?”

“You heard me. Don’t think about it, just go. Start singing.”

“I can’t just—” Cassandra cuts Raleigh off by flicking his ear. “Hey! What was that for?”

Cassandra flicks his ear again. “You better get to singin’!”

Raleigh ponders the words. “I gave you my heart, all you did was give me pain. You played me like a fool, look at this mess you’ve made. I’m stuck with all of the memories, heartbreak’s my only gain. Caught in your web of love, I feel so ashamed.”

Cassandra smiles. “Look at you!”

“It still needs some fine tuning.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like you’re on your way to a bridge. It’s more than you had 10 minutes ago.”

“How are you so optimistic all the time?”

“I just am.”

Raleigh bends down to kiss Cassandra’s arm. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He turns around and lifts himself up so he’s hovering over Cassandra. “I feel like I should repay you in some way.”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you can think of something,” Cassandra runs her hands through Raleigh’s hair. “I accept payment in the form of kisses.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Paige, but I think I can manage.” Cassandra tilts her head up and presses her lips against his in a soft kiss that he instantly heats up. 

Raleigh manages to flip them around so Cassandra is straddling him without breaking the kiss. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in what he was doing, he’d boast about it, but he’s too focused on the task at hand. His hands dig into the soft flesh of her thighs and he’s sure there will be marks there come morning time. Good. He wants her marked as his

He sits up, his back against the arm of the couch, pulling Cassandra in closer to him. His lips travel, planting kisses on her neck and collarbone, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hands find the hem on the shirt she’s wearing and he tugs it up, yanking it off of her body. His hands roam her skin appreciatively. She’s soft, so soft it should be illegal. It was unfair for one person to be so perfect.

“Sh-shouldn’t we be working on your song?”

Raleigh quickly finds the class of her bra and he unhooks it expertly. “The song can wait, I have better things to do.”

“Aw, you have a nickname for her,” Janet coos. 

“Huh?”

“Cassandra. You call her Andy.”

Raleigh mentally curses himself for letting it slip out. Everyone else refers to the singer as Cassandra or Cassie, but not him. She was his Andy. She’d joke that if she was Andy, he was her Woody. He’s mad at himself for exposing their private, intimate thing to the world. He just shrugs it off. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Speaking of Cassandra, have you spoken to her since the breakup?”

“No, I haven’t seen her, I haven’t spoken to her. But she’s killing it out here, and I’ll always be supportive of her and her career. Always.”

Raleigh can tell it wasn’t the soundbite she was expecting, and he has to hold back his smirk. He’d never trash her publicly, despite the messy media outlets and overzealous fans stoking the flames.

“Well thank you so much for stopping to talk to me. Enjoy the party!”

Raleigh doesn’t even respond. He just shuffles through the throngs of people until he’s inside the club. It’s packed and he can barely hear himself think. Before he can register what’s going on, someone is ushering him into a secluded VIP area, and handing him a drink, which he happily accepts.

A few hours go by, and Raleigh has never been more grateful for the passage of time. He’s no longer contractually obligated to be there and he can finally leave. All night long people are coming up to him left and right, posing for pictures, offering to get him food and drinks.

And the women are relentless with their flirting. Everyone wants a piece of him, and they make no qualms about it. Between the half naked bottle girls constantly circling the section and the fellow VIP party goers clinging onto him in hopes that they’ll be the lucky girl that he takes home, it’s overwhelming. 

He never thought the day would come where he’s actually tired of clubbing, but it’s here. He’d rather be anywhere else. The only bright spot was the alcohol.

He stumbles into his Tribeca apartment a little after 1AM. He doesn’t even bother changing his clothes, he just collapses face first into his comforter.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket and he groans. After pulling it out, he sees it’s just a Google Alert for an article about him. 

‘Exclusive: Raleigh Carrera Opens Up About Singer Ex-Girlfriend for First Time Since Split!’

Underneath the title of the article is a picture of him and Cassandra together. She’s sitting on his lap and he’s whispering in her ear. Her head is thrown back and she’s laughing hysterically at whatever he’s saying. He can’t remember. The important thing is that he made her laugh.

Seeing that picture of them makes his heart thud wildly in his chest. He’d done a good job of blocking her out, for the most part. Skipping her songs on playlists because he wasn’t ready to hear her voice again, muting all of her social media account but never unfollowing or blocking her. He’s caught in a weird limbo of not wanting to see her and not wanting to let her go.

Before his heart or brain can object, his fingers are dialing her number. He knows the 10 digit sequence by heart.

After a few rings, the line in picked up. “Hello?”

“Cassandra?”

“Raleigh?” Her voice is deep, and Raleigh can surmise that she was asleep when he called.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I didn’t even trip off of the time.”

“I was just up. I was catching up on all of the recorded shows taking up space on my DVR and I must’ve dozed.”

“If you were sleeping, don’t let me hold you up.”

“Is everything okay?”

What a loaded question.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“What was streaming my songs not good enough?” He can tell that she’s teasing, her tone light.

“Nothing is better than the real deal, baby.”

“Well, since I’m on the phone, we might as well talk. How have you been? I heard your new single. It’s the one—”

“The one you forced me to start?” Raleigh finishes with a smirk. “Yeah.”

“I think I deserve a writing credit. I played a pivotal role in that song’s conception.”

“I’ll have my people call your people.”

“But seriously, you’ve been working like crazy. Good for you.”

“I hate it,” Raleigh confesses quietly. “I’m exhausted, completely burnt out. It feels like I’m running a race, but the finish line keeps getting pushed back. Or like I’m a hamster on a wheel.”

“Why don’t you stop?”

“Because I’m running from you.”

“Me?”

“I needed to stay busy. I needed to have always have something to look towards, because if I’d stop, I’d think of you. And I’d break.”

The line goes silent for a long time and Raleigh gets nervous. Did he say too much?

“So, what made you decide to call?”

“Because you’re all I can think about. You’ve consumed my thoughts all day, good, bad and in between. I was at the hottest event of the week and all I wanted to do was be with you. I wanted to be at your apartment, curled up in your blankets, binge watching It’s Always Sunny reruns.” Raleigh feels a lump form in his throat and he awkwardly coughs. “And how I wanted to smell the perfume of yours that I’m so obsessed with. And run my fingers through your pink hair. And you’d correct me and say it’s not pink, it’s rose gold, and I’d call it pink again just to annoy you.”

“It’s kinda sad. My latest single has received critical acclaim, it’s already certified, I’m getting early Grammy buzz. I just bought my parents the house of their dreams in San Juan, I made $75 thousand dollars tonight for a stupid appearance. Hell, I’m calling you from my multi-million dollar Tribeca condo, and I should be ecstatic. Raleigh Carrera is on top of the fucking world right now, and I hate to sound ungrateful, but I can’t bring myself to feel joy about any of it. I feel like my insides aren’t connected to my outsides, and my insides are just hollow. This celebrity shit is draining me. The appearances, the interviews, the fake relationships and feuds, all of it. Like I said before, I’m tired. And I just...really fucking miss you, Andy. You were the only real thing I had in this crowd of bullshit, the only person I cared about out here. I’m sorry for rambling, I’m kind of tipsy right now.”

“Oh god, are you going to wake up tomorrow and regret this entire conversation?”

“Of course not,” he says earnestly. “A drunk mind speaks sober thoughts, and all that jazz.”

“This hasn’t been the easiest for me either,” Cassandra admits, her voice shaking slightly. Raleigh frowns at the thought of her crying on the other end of the phone. “I really miss you too.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one struggling.” And he means it. Knowing she felt even slightly similar to him made all the difference.

“Not in the slightest.”

“So what do we do? Are we going to be slaves to our shitty contracts for the rest of our lives?” Raleigh asks rhetorically.

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I don’t know either.”

They sit in silence for a long time, not knowing what to say, but not wanting to the conversation to end either. They just listen to the sound of each other’s deep breathing.

“Hey, Cassandra?”

“Yes?”

“I’m really sleepy.”

Raleigh hears her giggle on the other line and his stomach flips. God, he’s missed that sound. “Go to sleep, superstar. It’s really late.”

“No,” he says stubbornly. “I want to keep hearing your voice. Stay on until I fall asleep.”

“And talk about what?”

“I don’t care. Whatever you want to talk about.”

Cassandra humors his request and launches into a mini rant about a fitting for some award show she’s scheduled to present at. She and Zadie aren’t seeing eye to eye on what she should wear at all, and they were in a stalemate.

He tries to keep up with her, interjecting with commentary and now and again, but after a few minutes, he stops responding all together.

“Raleigh?” She prods. “Raleigh are you sleeping?” He doesn’t say anything but she hears him breathing softly on the other line. He’s out like a light. “I love you too, Raleigh.”

And with that, she hangs up.

[apparitionism]

Sound 7

I haven’t done any public-facing work on this in some time, but I’m still very much in the middle of writing a sequel to Soon. Here’s a piece of it. When last we checked in on our intrepid Russian translator and her beloved violinist (and child), it was 1963, and they were finding their shared life in New York rewarding in many ways, while difficult to negotiate in others—which, I must say, describes my own feelings about this project. Writing is sometimes like pushing an overloaded sled in the weight room: if you can budge it a yard, that’s a victory. This maybe moves Sound along less than a foot, but even so. (No links to the other parts of Sound, or to Soon, but the former are findable here on Tumblr and the latter is both here and, in improved version, on AO3.)

Sound 7

1964

The device is crafted to appear innocuous.

It hides inside a dictating machine, a Philips, the newest model. The machine works just fine, both while concealing the device and not, and Myka has to learn to use it; she has to commit to it, so that its presence in her possession will appear natural. She finds that she likes recording her thoughts this way, though she’s embarrassed by how awful she sounds when she plays it back; even at normal speed, her voice is pitched higher than she ever imagined. Has she heard herself like this before? She’s listened to so many people’s speaking voices on tape—Russian-speaking voices, back in those days—but never her own.

Christina is fascinated by the Philips and begs to dismantle it. Helena wrinkles her nose at its sound quality: she complains of a high hiss and tells Myka she can find her a far better piece of equipment if she is committed to making notes in this way.

Myka has kept from Helena the real reason she has taken up dictation.

She tries a fast translation of a page of the text she’s working on now, Bryusov’s “V zerkale”—“In the Mirror”—by reading Cyrillic on the page, then speaking it in English into the machine. It’s difficult to keep from simply reading the Russian aloud, so she imagines it spoken in someone else’s voice, leaving her to translate simultaneously, UN-style. She tries Helena’s voice... too distracting. Her grandfather’s and grandmother’s are too familiar, and thus untranslatable. Lullabies. Max? He has a lovely voice, but the problem with imagining him speaking is that she senses him also whispering his own translation right along with himself, and that’s no help. She settles on a departmental colleague, a native Russian speaker whom she knows not well but well enough; his quiet, measured tones turn out to be Goldilocks-correct. “He” reads her the Bryusov story, and she tells it to the machine: “I have loved mirrors from my very earliest years...”

She’d been baffled when Abigail first handed her the machine and explained what it contained, for she couldn’t imagine she knew anyone Abigail would possibly have an interest in bugging. Myka doesn’t have that kind of access, and she certainly doesn’t have the expertise needed to secure this thing in place and make sure it works. Or the nerve, she tells herself, but while that might have been true in the past, she isn’t sure it’s true now. She feels a certainty in herself when she goes to Russia now. This reason, this deal she’s made, it defines her. It’s a mission, a discipline. Like Helena practicing her violin, though Myka doesn’t know what the honing of her nerve is preparing her for. What her performance will be.

“You aren’t planting it,” Abigail had told her. “And anyway it’s just a piece. You’re passing it along.”

Myka’s flicker of disappointment at this news frightened her.

She practices taking the Philips apart, removing the device, hiding it on her person, and putting the recorder back together again: quickly, silently. It’s useful to need to keep this activity from Christina, though equating Christina with KGB, even in this little way, makes Myka morally queasy.

Myka knows KGB officers listen to the hotel rooms that she and other foreigners stay in; she knows her movements are tracked; she knows that everyone to whom she speaks might be an informer. She doesn’t know how much time she’ll have when the moment comes to hand over the equipment, and she doesn’t know where it will happen.

“Why can’t I just carry it on me?” she asks Abigail. “The thing itself?”

“This is safer. Trust me.” The don’t ask why wall in Abigail’s voice: whatever she knows about what might happen to Myka—arrest, search, worse?—Myka will need not to know it’s coming. Abigail has told her in the past that an expression of genuine surprise is difficult to fake, and similarly hard for other humans to dismiss.

“Oh,” Abigail also says, offhand but not, “you may run into someone you know. Don’t react.”

Be surprised; don’t be surprised.

****

The session is intended to produce a simple demo.

Helena is in the hallway just outside the booth when she hears the sound engineer take a call. She is about to leave for the day; she has just checked in, on that very telephone, with her booking service, but nothing other than the brief rehearsal she just attended is scheduled—not a surprise, here on this relatively quiet Saturday morning.

“Hey, H.G.!” the engineer calls to her. “Want some more practice?”

She takes the phone from him. The bleary voice of Ben Cone, in whose booth she had lately sat while he produced a song that swiftly hit number three in the nation, tells her that he is supposed to be putting together a demo, but his hangover is too fierce; can she fill in? He knows she knows what to do, he says, and anyway, it’s just a demo. Everybody should be there in a half hour or so, bye. Oh, but she’ll have to find her own singer; his passed out only a couple hours ago, still sleeping it off. In no shape, you know?

She thinks of Rudy Lewis: “I’m your man for demo vocals,” he’d told her, years ago. “Don’t you call nobody else.” His sugar voice. She would have called him; he would have done it. Cruel of fate to hand her this chance, so short a time after... well. She should not dwell on that, not now.

But then she does think about it, when the song’s writer, who shows up to play piano on the track—where’s Ben; hung over; no surprise—hands her the music.

The song is titled “I’ll Pass.” “It’s simple,” he says. “Just a ‘thanks a lot but no thanks’ lyric.”

Helena can’t discern his real intent here, for the lyric strikes her as... multilayered. The verses suggest that the singer’s beloved finds the singer inadequate, inappropriate, in response to which, the singer says in the refrain, “I’ll pass, baby; I’ll pass.” A rejection? Or a sincere, bleak promise to show a different self to the world? Rudy would have sung it with the full range of meanings right there to be heard. But it isn’t Helena’s job to care about the meanings. It’s her job to produce a demo.

She is to do it with this songwriter-pianist, plus a guitarist, a drummer, a bassist... and a young saxophonist. Helena tries to send the latter home, but he says he needs the money. He says also that he would be happy to play anything she wants, if saxophones aren’t her bag, so she hands him a triangle from a box of orphan percussion and regrets to inform that the middle eight will not belong to him after all. He looks at the triangle, looks at her, pronounces this the screwiest session he’s ever seen—how many can he possibly have seen?—and then starts asking about when to ring, when to muffle, how much shimmer, and is there a brass beater anywhere in this studio because everybody knows the sound from stainless is too cold. (Helena takes his name and his number and files them away for the future.)

The musicians run through loose takes, tight takes; Helena likes the loose takes, despite the songwriter hitting an off note or several. It’s just a demo, and the looser renditions give a better sense of the song’s potential. She considers sitting down with them in the studio to add her violin, but there’s no string arrangement, and inventing one, even something simple, would begin to define the song. The demo should suggest no strictures, just a loose sense of what this melody and lyric could become.

She tries calling a few vocalists, but—again no surprise for a Saturday—she can’t find anyone, and no singer she knows well is in the building, so she asks each of the musicians to try a few bars. The guitarist wins the brief talent competition, with a soar of a tenor that Helena can’t believe hasn’t been put on record before. (She is filing him away too.) He says nobody ever asked, that he only ever sang in church—but he never goes to church anymore, which vexes his mama. Further, he notes, “I can’t sing and play at the same time,” and while Helena is outwardly expressing sympathy for his mother, she is also worrying about her ability, even with experienced engineering help, to lay in a vocal right on such a spare arrangement.

Can the now-trianglist take over the guitar part? “No strings, sorry,” he says, and doesn’t that just fit the day.

And indeed it isn’t quite right, in the end, the way the vocal lies against the music. But Helena rationalizes it, intellectualizes it—it’s trying to pass as a right part of the track. “I’ll pass, baby”? Some can. But: for only so long. The length of a pop song, perhaps.

“I was thinking about Rudy today,” she tells Christina when she finally arrives home, far later than she’d imagined, after the lengthy mixdown. “It’s just a demo,” the engineer had complained. “How rough would you be on me if it was a real track?” Which had made Helena think of Phil, but that association, and its implications, were too much for an already overloaded day.

Christina’s reaction to Rudy’s name is a quiet “oh.”

****

It had been an unremarkable day in late May, and Helena and the rest of the musicians who had assembled for a Drifters session were waiting, smoking, and growing a little irritated, for they all had additional bookings, and the more sweet time the singers and production took to arrive, the more likely the musicians were to be late for those other sessions.

Irritation turned to blank incredulity when Bert Berns, who was to produce, and the other men walked in, for Bert said, with no preliminaries, “Rudy died last night.” He added, “Overdose.”

They recorded four tracks that session. Helena could not have said, afterward, what any of them were, save the final one, a song that had been intended for Rudy to sing: a ballad called “I Don’t Want to Go On Without You.” Charlie sang it instead... that he could do so said something about professionalism, or shock, or both of them together.

Who, hearing any of those tracks on the radio, would discern that they were documents of grief? They would seem like the simple pop songs they were, and was that an obscenity, or was it just an extreme version of the work that pop music was designed to do?

“How do I tell Christina?” Helena asked Myka. “What do I tell her?”

“I don’t know—I don’t know anything. My only thought is ‘the truth.’” Myka said this as if it really was the only thought she had right then, the only thought she knew how to think about anything.

But Myka was right, so the truth was what Helena told Christina: Rudy took too many drugs, and he died. Christina asked why, and Helena thought she was asking a medical question, about what the body could and couldn’t tolerate. “No,” Christina clarified. “Why did he want to?”

Helena did try not to lie to Christina. Shield her, but not lie to her. So she said, “I think”—because she did not, in fact, know—“I think it was because he thought the world had no good place for him. He wanted a place, yet there was no place. I think that at times he wanted to let himself forget all of that. All of what surrounded him.”

Christina said a weary, “Misinformed beliefs,” and Helena could answer only with “That’s right.”

Helena had assumed she would attend the funeral alone, but Christina asked to go, then asked if Myka would go too. But Myka said, “That’s not a picture we should make.” At this, Christina nodded, and Helena could not hold back a small internal push of pride at that knowing assent. While Christina took great satisfaction in being far more American than Helena herself was, she was persistently British in her understanding of appearances.

They went out to buy her a black dress.

“Is it for a very special occasion?” the saleslady asked, because Christina was unsatisfied with the first three she tried.

“Yes and no,” Christina told her. Helena felt the push of pride again. She looked at Myka, who wore a “what is she becoming?” face, and Helena wanted to take her hand and echo “I don’t know—I don’t know anything,” then follow that with “But isn’t it miraculous that we’ll both find out?”

That miracle meant Helena would not need to find her consolation in a needle.

The night after the service, she would have been desperate to hold any woman in the dark, but instead she was lucky enough to hold the woman she loved. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” Myka said in that dark, the same words she’d said to Christina in her new black dress, afterward. She’d also said, to Christina, “How was it?”

Christina hadn’t cried at the service, but rather sat, eyes wide, holding Helena’s hand. She hadn’t even spoken until just now, and Helena was certain that only to Myka would she have broken her silence: “They said nice things about him,” Christina responded. Then she’d leaned against Myka, as if to reassure, as if Myka were the one in need of comfort, and said, “Not the right nice things.”

****

Tonight, late at night, Myka clearly expects Helena to be pleased, both about having been asked to produce the track, and about having done it. Instead, Helena says a bitter, “It’s just a demo,” and she doesn’t quite cry about Rudy, how he was not there but should have been, why he was not there to sing a song he should have sung.

“Nothing you do is just anything,” Myka says, kissing the corners of Helena’s almost-wet eyes.

“It was the work of just one afternoon,” Helena says, trying to shake off the sadness, yet also irrationally resentful of how Myka makes her want to shake off the sadness. “I’ll be surprised if I or anyone hears of it again.”

****

Myka’s handoff is easy. Like this: A week into her two-week stay, her two weeks of lecturing and researching, she is reading in Moscow University’s library. She is heavily supervised, of course, and she has already been told that she will be gaining no access to certain authors’ work: “Sorry, not available.” (The “to you” is implied.) The librarians are happy to hand her as many issues of Novy Mir as she wants, however, particularly since she is able to show them that she herself, Myka Bering, translator of many Russian works, was mentioned in a commentary written by its editor, Alexander Tvardovsky, in 1960. She does not point out to them that Novy Mir publishes several of those authors who are considered forbidden.

It is so easy: they do not want her to take notes, so she says, “May I use my dictating machine?” It is such a novelty that all the librarians must come and look at it, speak into it, hear snippets of their own voices. After all that, how can they say no? Myka promises to be quiet with it, but there is really no need. The library is libraryesque only in that books are on offer.

So easy: when a man approaches the table and points at the machine, her first thought is that he, like the librarians, wants to acquaint himself with the dictating technology. Instead he says the correct code word, and Myka answers him in kind. She demonstrates the Philips for him, and he thanks her. He then sits at a table of his own, not far from hers, and proceeds to ignore her completely.

She asks to visit the ladies room, which is of course in an isolated location, and she is given one of “the girls”—women who fetch books from the stacks for the mostly male scholars—as an ostensible guide. Ostensible because no American can be left to roam unattended, yet this particular girl wants only to go outdoors and smoke cigarettes. She doesn’t care in the slightest about Myka, who may be American but is just a woman, and old besides. So Myka goes into the washroom, calmly disassembles the Philips, removes the device, and puts it in the pocket of her suit jacket. She then just as calmly reassembles the machine, collects her watcher (who exhibits far more care in putting out her half-smoked cigarette, to save for later, than for her Myka-watching task), goes back to the reading room, reads and dictates for another hour, then goes to the man at his table. “I forgot to show you,” she says, “that the machine plays back at two speeds.” She hands him the machine and the device at the same time, listens to her own voice weirdly manipulated, and then it is done.

An hour more she reads and dictates, then she prepares to depart. The librarians, and Myka’s heedless escort who likes to smoke outdoors, wave her goodbye. She feels no need to look over her shoulder.

The summertime sidewalks of 1964 Moscow are full and bright. The weather is fine, just right for the young women to wear sundresses, for the young men to sport shirtsleeves. Their conversations are animated. They direct their eyes high, up at billboards, particularly film advertisements, and Myka tries not to read too much into the title of one: Den’ schast’ya, Day of Happiness. A girl in a lime-green shift pulls at the hand of her male companion and directs his attention to an elaborate wooden model train in a shop window; they both laugh. The train cars’ colors are washed out, too long exposed to light in that window, no buyers. While such a sight would have been sad in New York, here, for the young and sundressed and laughing, Myka infers that it’s a mark of all they believe they are leaving behind. The faded past; who needs it?

On these same sidewalks, though, as if they have been imported from that faded past, an older generation walks heavier. Silent. They dress as if they must wear all they own or lose it, no matter the weather. They find no distraction in advertisements, and they don’t bother with window displays. The past is always there; why be reminded?

Myka tries to remind herself, and keep in the front of her mind, that she has more in common with those who walk with weight. She is doing dangerous work. She will become careless if she forgets about risk and consequences. But a sharp lightness has come to attend her time in Russia... she keeps secrets all the time, no matter where she is, but the secret she keeps here, while she is here, is distinct: the threat of its revelation accrues to her and no one else.

The most salient secret she keeps at home is vastly different, in that its discovery would damage Myka, but reverberations from that discovery would very likely destroy Helena and Christina.

Walking down a summertime sidewalk of Moscow, responsible only for her own safety, affords Myka a guilty freedom. That such freedom should be one through which she is constantly followed and watched and listened to should be ironic, but instead it seems like part of a mistaken-identity comedy, one in which Russians have been told to follow and watch and listen to Myka Bering, but they are following and watching and listening to a person who feels free, and that cannot possibly be Myka Bering, so they are following and watching and listening to the wrong person after all. Who do they think she is?

Who does she think she is?

Her final event in Russia, a week later, is a reception for all the university’s visiting American scholars. Myka is one of only three lecturers who have come for these two-weeks; several more have spent the entire now-concluding summer term here in exchange for some Soviets who are probably at similar receptions on U.S. campuses. Different hors d’oeuvres, same receptions. More than a few are scientists, which helps to explain the heavy presence of people at this party who are clearly not academics. Myka meets several American diplomats, most of whom are probably straightforwardly State; some, though, must be CIA under official cover. Similarly, there are some actual Soviet diplomatic eminences, but also, plenty of KGB making their power known.

Myka finds herself chatting with two junior diplomats—or “diplomats”—one American whose name she did not quite catch, and one Russian, his name Nikolai. Nikolai will no doubt be reporting back to his superiors everything about his American interlocutors, regardless, but in this conversation he is just a young man, dark with a softness about his mouth. “What is happening in New York?” he asks her, and his English is all right, nearly full-speed, but she tells him he should feel free to speak Russian with her.

“Want practice,” he demurs. But he flashes her a small smile as he does so. In that soft mouth, his teeth are wolf-white. Nikolai has never skipped out to smoke, outdoors or anywhere else. He is clean.

The American glimpses someone across the room and makes a “come here” motion. Myka looks over to see who is approaching... and she understands why Abigail told her not to react. “Professor Bering,” the American says, “and Nikolai, I’d like to introduce you to Joseph Holden, the famous Olympic wrestler.”

Joseph has received the same instructions Myka has; he shakes her hand and says “A pleasure, professor.” Then he shakes hands with Nikolai. The clean Russian shows his wolf teeth again, more widely.

Myka does not know anything about this, whatever “this” might be. Her fizz of ire at Abigail for not being forthcoming is probably inappropriate and definitely fruitless in this moment, but she feels it. She looks at Joseph, who always seems to make easy situations less so, and she directs that fizz at him, too.

Myka and Joseph have one moment together during which they are unobserved, or at least less closely attended to. “Why are you here?” she asks him, because she can’t stop herself.

He laughs. “Oh, I’m finding Moscow really something,” he says, his voice fully corn-fed, but that is not the end of it. Quick, quiet, he adds, “I’m bait.”

Myka has no time or space to get more from him. Nikolai reappears, and Joseph turns back to him, his charm wide, open.

The burden of risk.

****

Myka returns home from her two weeks in Russia to find... difference. Her own blood is colder, because it always is after Russia, but also because she doesn’t know the contours of the operation she brushed past. She’ll find out soon enough—she won’t let Abigail fail to read her in, not on this—but she is still shivering.

Helena, meanwhile, is hot: her demo version of “I’ll Pass” is charting.

She’d had no idea, she tells Myka, that the demo was being cut for Lester Sill—he’d been Phil’s partner at Philles Records, but their relationship had soured. “As it would,” Helena said, and Myka recognized that little curl of lip. Sill was now at Colpix, hungry for talent... Helena had been told that when the demo was played for him, he’d listened through, then stood up and walked out of his office. “We’re done,” he’d said as he left. “Release it. It’s a hit.” Helena admits to Myka that she imagines—worries?—that all he had heard was some vestige of Phil’s style, some oddity that Helena had unknowingly reproduced. That that was what caught his ear.

“It’s just one hit,” Helena says, as if in apology, and Myka can’t understand why she isn’t thrilled to have done—on her first try!—exactly what she has always intended to do. Then Helena says, “It was an accident.” This gives Myka clarity: Helena doesn’t know how to make it happen again.

After any time in Russia, Myka is always a bit more Russian than she was before. Which is not to say that she will ever understand or feel with fullness what it is to be Russian... but some not-quite-Russian lives inside her, some unschooled child of all these: her grandfather, her grandmother, all the voices she has heard on tapes, all the words on the pages she has translated, KGB, dissidents, victims, perpetrators, even young girls in sundresses. They all wrestle for pride of place within her. Those real Russians never explain themselves, never step up and tell her, never sit her down and bleed into her bones. But those Russians, and even the not-quite-one who doesn’t fill her skin, they all know: there are no accidents.

TBC

[dcarevu]

DCAU #11: Two-Face (Part 1)

“All men have something to hide. The brighter the picture, the darker the negative.”

We’ve made it, guys! We’ve made it past the developmental/establishment stage of Batman the Animated Series for the most part, and from here on out, the show elevates to a whole other level. Like virtually all tv shows, there will still be ups and downs, and a few bumps on the road, but it is pretty well known that not only does Two-Face mark the true start of the masterpiece that is this series, but is also one of the absolute greatest episodes.

Villain: Rupert Thorne Robin: No Writers: Randy Rogel (teleplay), Alan Burnett (story) Director: Kevin Altieri Animator: TMS Airdate: September 25, 1992 Episode Grade: A

Oh man, so what do I say about this one that hasn’t been said already? Probably not a whole lot. While not a lot of people set themselves up to look at, analyze, and write about every episode of the DCAU, doing just Batman is more common. And granted, I don’t allow myself to read any reviews of any episodes until after my posts on them are written, I am still for the most part aware of what people’s opinions are with some of these high-profile episodes. So I think the best thing to do is continue just like I intended. Not caring about necessarily writing something that people haven’t heard before, but instead just writing whatever is on my mind for reactions, and also expressing Char’s thoughts as someone who has never seen the series before. After all, most reviews of this show come from people who have seen it prior!

This is Alan Burnett’s first episode of the series, and once he and Dini were both activated, oh man. It is clear that they saw eye-to-eye with Bruce Timm and Eric Radomski, and it was a collection of the right people joining forces at just the right time. Both Dini and Burnett had worked on some pretty basic Saturday Morning Cartoons prior (along with some higher quality stuff), and writing for those types of shows must have felt like interning and doing nothing but pouring coffee for those that hold the job you truly want. They could use their creativity, sure, but knowing their visions for this show, it is apparent how stifled they must have been. Which is fine, they were still doing what they loved for a living, and getting very necessary experience. Maybe without these formative years and working on these cheesy cartoons from the 80’s, they wouldn’t have had the jobs to come up with the beautiful stories that they did. Creativity and writing is something that can get worse without practice and training, and sometimes that training truly does need to work much like it did in The Karate Kid, not being apparent until after it is completed. But while I’m not a fan of everything that Alan Burnett contributed to the DCAU, there is no denying what a valuable member to the team he was. Welcome aboard, Alan. But now let’s talk about the episode itself.

Two of the things mentioned in the series bible are as follows: the villains were to much of the time be human and have motivations, and the show was to be a noir crime drama, sometimes focusing more on everyday mobsters than colorful super villains, and not necessarily being a “monster of the week” type of show. And while Harvey Dent/Two-Face is very much a monster when it comes to appearance, this episode falls right in line with these rules. I had to think a little bit when I wrote who the villain would be for this episode, because yeah, Two-Face is a well known member of Batman’s rogues gallery, but Rupert Thorne is the real monster here. And goodness, what a cool villain he is. His voice actor, his lines, even his motivation, while not as sympathetic as Harvey’s, makes a lot of sense! He’s a mobster trying to do mobster things, and Harvey Dent is a real problem for him. But you also totally wanna see the creep get creamed by Harvey, because damn, you feel Harvey Dent’s pain tenfold. Leave the guy alone, he’s going through enough!

And throughout the episode, things just go further and further downhill for Harvey Dent, exponentially. He lashes out in public. Okay, that’s bad and gets a lot of press. But it’s nothing he can’t recover from. Then we find out it’s a recurring thing that he’s seeking professional help for, and just now getting worse. Then Rupert Thorne gets involved and severely threatens Harvey’s career as a politician. Then we have that god damn explosion, and at that point, you just know that there is no recovery, particularly as he flees the hospital, abandoning any hope for treatment. You feel the pain at the pit of your stomach as you watch, and let me tell you, even though I have seen this episode before (albeit only once), my heart was beating during certain scenes, particularly when he is talking with his psychiatrist and when he is at the “meeting” with Rupert Thorne and his goons. A couple times I heard Char gasp, and when that explosion happened, she had her mouth covered for a good while, hardly able to believe that Harvey Dent, one of Bruce Wayne’s best friends, a surprisingly clean-cut, honest politician, and someone we have seen a couple times now, is the villainous Two-Face that she has heard about before.

It’s not even just his character. It’s the fact that the episodes of this show so far have been good, but not this level. This is a serious, adult episode that I think would actually be pretty intense for children. I made a joke to Char when we were discussing the episode, and I said, “But it’s just a little kid’s cartoon!” and she responded with, “No it is not.” We deal with politics in a way that’s actually engaging. We deal with the struggle of a severe mental disorder and childhood trauma. Gosh jesus, the way this episode handles the mental disorder! Char and I both applauded it. Bruce Wayne telling Harvey how proud he is that he’s seeking mental help just warms your heart, and looking back after watching the episode (along with part 2, which has been watched, but we’ll discuss that next time), it almost brings a tear to your eye. Especially since all that could have been done was done. Harvey was getting help. His finance, who is a great character by the way, gave him all the love and support she could have. Bruce Wayne encouraged him to get better and even stepped in as Batman to try to save his friend. But sometimes with life, you can do everything right and it’s never enough. That is what makes this story a genius tragedy. Much better than what they were originally planning with the character, where they would have had him get acid thrown in his face like his traditional origin, and then develop the episodes. Him struggling with these mental problems for longer than his scars have existed feels so much more real, and adds to what makes this character so complex.

Then we have the style and animation, and it does nothing but enhance everything. Director Kevin Altieri outdid himself here. Some of the shots, including one of the most iconic images ever of his other face being revealed for a second when the lightning strikes, are simply beautiful. There were a lot of other little things like the rain on the window at night, which Char specifically noted. There was a specific close-up shot as well when Harvey was bandaged in the hospital that was extra stylized, but it standing out and being different than the other animation worked in its favor. It fit the mood so well. A different animation studio would do Part 2, which is a bit of a shame, as it didn’t end up looking nearly as good as this one, but I’m glad they blew their load on this one at the same time and made the visuals match the episode concept so well. Animation similar to some of the first episodes of the series would have killed the vibes which they were going for. It was a mini horror movie, lacking any amount of camp (something that Nothing to Fear didn’t do nearly as well). Also, TMS is very well known for being a studio of amazing quality and detail.

Something cool that Char noticed was that Grace, Dent’s fiancé, didn't touch him when it came to calming him down and forcing “Big Bad Harv” away, and it’s evident at another section of the episode that touching him in this state tends to set him off a lot more. This is a cool subtlety, and it shows that Grace is very in tune and familia with Harvey, and is definitely the closest thing to a safe-haven that he has. When he is with Grace, it gives you hope, when he is with almost anyone else, well, Char put it best, you could cut the tension with a knife. I think this is what leaves your heart beating throughout the episode, and what makes it so suspenseful. That tension. But while watching, you hope that the pressure is relieved. Instead, it ends with quite literally an explosion. We’ll see how things resolve next time.

Char’s grade: A Major firsts: Rupert Thorne, Two-Face, a two-part episode

Next time: Two-Face (Part 2)

Full episode list here!

[theseventhhex]

Gaz Coombes Interview

Gaz Coombes

Photo by Steve Keros

For some, Gaz Coombes is just the mutton-chopped likely lad who peaked with Supergrass mega-single “Alright”. Those people are missing out. The trio were perhaps Britpop’s most underrated band and their talisman’s solo career has continued to burnish a robust and quietly brilliant talent. ‘World’s Strongest Man’ is Coombes’ most confident solo album yet - a satisfying coalition of Here Come the Bombs’ trippy chutzpah and Mercury Prize-nominated Matador’s melodic sure-footedness. This is a carefully layered record to play right through entailing wrestling personal demons, middle-age and digital interruption. All the while, Gaz is moving forward with experimental synths, raw-boned riffs and wistful vocals distributed throughout in a striking manner… The Seventh Hex talks to Gaz about his lyrical perspectives, soundtracking movies and family time…

TSH: With ‘World’s Strongest Man’ you’ve found a pace that not only suited you but also allowed you to better transcribe your ideas into music. How liberated do you feel in the wake of this release?

Gaz: Yeah, it definitely feels good. To be able to find a rhythm following on from ‘Matador’ is so useful and it feels like a seamless continuation for me. There are definitely things that I changed around for this record and I also had different approaches to my writing and my starting points stylistically were varied too. I started this album on a high point after ‘Matador’ and I felt a bit of pressure to make something better than last time. However, I embraced this challenge and everything was smooth all in all.

TSH: During your twenties and thirties you felt part of a bubble being in a band, riding the wave and not looking around much. Now you’re in a better place...

Gaz: Yeah, I think life’s just more colourful now, which isn’t always for the better, but things are more positive overall. I encounter more challenges and more layers to my life than life I did in my mid-20s. Back then my life had a singular direction, and like you said, I was in a band bubble. I guess it’s a good thing to have more colour around you. Maybe it’s the fact that you grow up and mature, therefore you tap into more shit as a writer, which is cool.

TSH: With this latest release you’re opening up about some of the darker viewpoints of life. Did you feel compelled to cover stark issues?

Gaz: I think so. I mean even with the first album I was trying to write lyrics that were direct and kind of uncensored. It’s all about being honest and instinctive really. We did the same with Supergrass too, where we would write together and kind of create the idea together on the same page. With my solo stuff I enjoy being clear and straight to the point. For me, it’s all about getting the tone right, I don’t want to write something that’s overly morose or up your own arse.

TSH: Knowing that it can be difficult to transcribe what’s in your own mind, how do you overcome this block?

Gaz: It can be a challenge but the main core of inspiration in my head comes in the early moments. I have little lines, an odd lyric or a hook that emerges early on. It’s good that there’s something there quite early on that I can keep a hold of. However, it can take quite a while to translate what’s happening in my head in the right way. I guess I like to mix things up... With the lyrics that I come up with I like to have some lines which are direct, clear and dark and then I may go off in the next verse and be more visceral and more abstract - I like to be vague at times. I like lyrics that are a bit more poetic but yet they have a hard hitting hook that’s quite direct - I like that combination of writing and keeping it abstract at times.

TSH: How does the song ‘Oxygen Mask’ involve your two daughters...

Gaz: Part of the idea of that song is that my daughters could hear it maybe when they’re older. It’s like a time capsule and sort of a reference to how I see things at this point in time in 2018. It’s to do with the advances in science and also this giant echo chamber that we all live in online. I guess it’s kind of in relation to just taking a moment and making sure that you’ve got yourself set before you kind of start to judge or comment on other people. Getting one’s own house in order is where the oxygen mask metaphor came from. The opening line ‘What lies out in front of you, I know you'll work it out’ has the message of navigating in the right way, but if all goes weird have a listen to this when you’re older.

TSH: Did you have a direction in mind as you started work on ‘Deep Pockets’?

Gaz: I didn’t have a direction in mind for that song early on actually. It just stated with a drum machine and a bass guitar in my studio. I usually start with this type of method to spark an idea. For this one, I just used bass guitar and a drum machine for ages. The hook really intrigued me, but it took a few weeks before I came up with the chorus and guitars which have a Robert Fripp kind of chaos going on, in addition to the underground kind of drone thing in the chorus. We spent a lot of time on that one and it took quite a few sessions to get right, but I’m really pleased with the end result.

TSH: Are you tampering much with the compositions when you play these songs live?

Gaz: I guess the tracks are very close to the record when we play them live. It’s also worth noting that at the start of the year we spent two months in a room, myself and the band, just working through stuff for this album. Over time the material evolved with my band and there was this really nice instinctive feel coming into play. So now when we play live it’s great to play with a band than can help to rework these songs and put their own personalities into it.

TSH: What was it like to perform on the James Corden show during your US tour?

Gaz: It was great. The US tv shows just know how to look after you. It’s a whole different ball game out there. It’s quite common in the UK to be sat waiting in some big car park. However, the glamour and scale of production in America is just off the scale.

TSH: Being a huge movie fan, have you seen any films lately?

Gaz: I haven’t watched as many as I’d like to in recent times. I actually watched Deadpool 2, which I thought was quite funny, but weirdly sick in places too.

TSH: Does soundtracking movies still fascinate you?

Gaz: Absolutely. We actually did a track with Jonny Greenwood for ‘Inherent Vice’. I’ve always had such a huge fascination with soundtracking for movies. I love how music in a movie changes things - how it can really alter a scene or a moment with the right music behind it - it can totally transform your viewing experience.

TSH: How beneficial is it to form your demos from home and do your work in your own space?

Gaz: It just means I can get ideas out quicker. I guess I’ve always done it, even with Supergrass I’d do demos on a 4 track cassette recorder just to get an idea and get it down for later. Now things are different because I can do the same thing but have something that can end up on a record and not necessarily be badly recorded or unlistenable in ways. It’s great to go down in the morning and bash out ideas and keep them and come back to them months down the line. I love the first takes and performances where I don’t know quite what I’m doing, I like it when the music feels instinctive and not calculated.

TSH: Does being at home with your family give you the high-levels of positivity that you need when you’re off tour?

Gaz: Well, that’s the trick isn’t it? Trying to maintain the positivity. It’s mostly the little things that keep you grounded, just hanging out with the kids, watching a movie with them or having a family lunch in town. Having a bit of family time always levels me out.

TSH: Looking ahead, is the key parameter for you not to repeat yourself whilst moving forward and progressing with fresh ideas?

Gaz: Yeah, that’s one of the elements I strive for and look to improve on. Also, the drive that I need to improve in all factors of my life is all encompassing for me too. Regarding the music, I know that in a couple of months I’ll get that feeling of little ideas or combinations of things emerging in my head for new music. I know stems will emerge from me just thinking about something I’ve not heard and thinking ‘I’d love to do that!’ These kinds of ideas occur and play through in my head and then I’ll go into the studio and try and make things happen.

Gaz Coombes - “Walk The Walk”

World's Strongest Man

[aion-rsa]

Visions of Dune: Bringing the Ultimate Sci-Fi Epic to Life

https://ift.tt/3zfRQIh

The story of 2021’s Dune begins with a kid falling in love with a book. Before he was the world-famous film director of  Arrival and Blade Runner 2049, Denis Villeneuve was a teenager who devoured sci-fi novels. When he was “between 13 and 14,”  he remembered seeing “these eyes.” The iridescent blue eyes were on the face of a man staring at the young Villeneuve, painted by Wojciech Siudmak, for the 1970 French paperback translation of Dune. Villeneuve was utterly mesmerized by the cover. “When you’re a kid, the covers can really make an impact,” he says. “The artists that were drawing them were so talented that even though I had never heard of Dune, I was drawn to that title and the simplicity. I was always attracted to the desert.” 

Like many serious readers of science fiction, Villeneuve’s obsession with Dune began free of artistic pretension. “I instantly fell in love with it for several reasons,” he says. “The way Paul is trying to find his identity while finding his home in another culture, with the Fremen. I was fascinated by the way they need to survive and adapt…I have always been in love with biology, the science of life, of nature. The way Frank Herbert used biology was insanely beautiful. To me, reading Dune is like a paradise. The book stayed with me all these years.” 

When you talk to Villeneuve now, childhood giddiness illuminates the corners of everything we’re talking about. Yes, Villeneuve loved Star Wars, too  (“The Empire Strikes Back is always good for the soul,” he says). But what makes Dune so much different from other popular heroic epics is that, despite the escapist sweep of the story, its underlying message is anything but escapist. The story of Paul Atreides is not an aww-shucks hero’s journey. In her 1978 review of Star Wars, Ursula K. Le Guin referred to the protagonist of that film as “Huck Skywalker.” And when you think of the story of Dune in that way, no one would confuse Paul Atreides with any member of the Skywalker clan. 

The story of Dune concerns a powerful family—House Atreides—being pushed into a terrible situation on the planet Arrakis by opposing forces on all sides. Smack dab in the middle of that is the notion that Paul could—and will—initiate a huge uprising against his enemies at some point in the future. Paul, and his parents—Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) and Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac)—set out to do good, but create even more conflict as a result. 

“At the very core of Dune is a warning,” Villeneuve says. “Anyone who is trying to blend religion and politics—that is a dangerous cocktail. I think Herbert wrote it as a warning, [against] leaders that pretend to know what will happen, who pretend to know the truth, who might be lacking humility. When someone behaves like a Messiah, you have to be careful.”

A Boy and His Sandworms 

One of the messiahs of Dune is a guy destined to have multiple names: Muad’Dib, the Kwisatz Haderach, and, of course, Paul Atreides. On our planet, he’s known as Timothée Chalamet. Ferguson says that Chalamet’s unique qualities as an actor were the “essential” elements that make the movie work. “Timmy brings the smaller to the grander,” she says. “He’s carrying this huge movie, and it’s lazy of me to use this word, but he brings such an indie feel to it.”

When it comes to “indie” films that nearly everyone knows about, Timothée Chalamet is one of the most famous male actors on the planet in 2021. From his roles in Call Me By Your Name to Little Women, Chalamet has the kind of star power that is subtle and undefinable, because as Ferguson points out, he’s not playing the role to seem like a big movie hero. Paul Atreides is the opposite of a Han Solo or Captain Kirk type, and so is Chalamet. “I always tried to bring Paul Atreides back to the ground,” Villeneuve says. “I told Timothée, you are the hero, of course, you are a tremendous fighter. But I think you have the burden of having a very strong instinct that will be boosted by spice.”

Chalamet reveals that in terms of becoming that “tremendous fighter,” some of his hand-to-hand training happened in a wine cellar while filming Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch. Chalamet also asserts that working with Villeneuve on Dune didn’t feel like being involved in a Hollywood blockbuster, and that transitioning from The French Dispatch to Dune made perfect sense. “It felt like working on a high-level indie,” Chalamet says. “I haven’t worked with the Coen Brothers, but I imagine it would be like this, just on a bigger scale. The Dark Knight is what made me want to act. It has incredible behavioral specifics. It has incredible performances and in the middle of it are sweeping cinematic sequences. In a way, Dune is like that. When you can get on a project of this size that has this much dramatic integrity, working with one of the best directors in the world right now, it’s exactly what I wanted.” 

Chalamet says that beyond fight training, immersing himself into the world of Dune and “spending time with the props,” was important to feel a connection to the objects of Paul’s world. He also didn’t shy away from the idea that this was yet another adaptation of a beloved book. “I learned that from Greta Gerwig when I did Little Women. Nobody minds another good movie based on a good book.” 

But for Chalamet, the journey isn’t quite over. “I’m champing at the bit to film Part 2,” he says. “I read all of Dune Messiah in lockdown. I’m ready.” 

A New Dune, For Everyone 

Perhaps unfairly, being really into Dune carries with it a kind of connotation that only the truly nerdy at heart get why science fiction devotees are so obsessed with the spice. John Hodgman makes two jokes about “Third Stage Guild Navigators” in his book Medallion Status. In Russian Doll, Nadia uses the phrase “Jodorowsky’s Dune” as a nerdy password to gain access to a back room. When Patrick Stewart was cast in Star Trek: The Next Generation, to his fellow castmates he was “the guy from I, Claudius,” while to writers like Michael Chabon, he was “the guy from Dune.” Unlike Star Wars or The Lord of the Rings, the broad appeal of Dune has always been tentative. But, in addition to Chalamet’s favorable comparison to The Dark Knight, Villeneuve makes it clear that the purpose of this Dune wasn’t to just make book readers happy.

“It would be so easy to make a Dune movie only for hardcore fans,” Villeneuve says. “My goal was to please the hardcore fans, that they feel the spirit, the poetry, and the atmosphere of the book—but to make sure that someone who had never heard about Dune would also have fun and understand the story. I had to make sure that everyone would be on board right at the beginning.” To that end, the new Dune sports a radical narrative shift from the source material. In this version, the opening narration and framing of the story is given by Chani (Zendaya), a member of the Fremen tribe, native to Arrakis.

Villeneuve describes this as one of his “bold” decisions but stresses that the narrative point of view doesn’t change the story at all. Logistically, the story of Dune is about House Atreides coming to take over the spice mining on the planet Arrakis. The native Fremen have been abused and tortured by previous occupiers, House Harkonnen, so in the new opening narration, Chani wonders “who will be our new oppressors,” a line not spoken in the book. Instead, the narrative framing of the novel is from the quasi-historical point of view of Princess Irulan, a woman Paul eventually marries for purely political reasons. So, what Villeneuve has done by giving the opening narration to Chani is flip the point of view from the aristocracy to the working class.

Villeneuve also says that elevating Chani’s role, and the roles of several of the female characters, was all because the movie required “bold” decisions to become the best film version of the story possible. “A book and a movie are totally different mediums. I had to make certain decisions. This is why I decided to make the first book into two movies. I had to condense some ideas to tell the story in the most eloquent way possible so that it will be understood by everybody,” Villeneuve says. But he’s also quick to point out that adaptation is not the same as leaving things out on purpose. “When you adapt it’s an act of vandalism. You will change things. But, from the beginning, I said to the crew, to the studio, to the actors: ‘the bible is the book. We will, as much as possible, stay as close as possible to the book.’ I want people who love the book to feel like we put a camera in their minds.” 

Ferguson’s Lady Jessica is arguably the character who sets the story of Dune into motion. In this future-world, the mystical matriarchal order of the Bene Gesserit can control the sex of babies that are born into its sisterhood. And in defiance of her orders from her fellow Bene Gesserit, Jessica had a son, instead of a daughter. Jessica asserting her right to choose, in essence, makes it all happen. Ferguson believes the emotional power of these stories is more important for audiences than the nitty-gritty specifics. “We can go into some kind of nano version of ourselves, but if it doesn’t read through on the screen, to the audience, it isn’t worth doing.”

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Talking about accessibility, Ferguson says that she believes the new Dune represents an ongoing paradigm shift of artistic and thoughtful science fiction in the 21st century. “Once the door’s open and you know that there are so many incredible stories within science-fiction storytelling, there’s musicality and rhythm that is needed to create these worlds within worlds, it’s very complex, everyone doesn’t get it.”

But, even though there are levels of “philosophy” and “complexity” to Dune, Ferguson feels that the film doesn’t operate in spite of its level of detail, but because of it. “The sandworms, the resources of the stillsuits, I could go on forever,” she says. “In this film, it’s the details, the smaller things that matter.”

Seeing the Future 

Spoiler alert: if you’ve never read Dune, the book itself actively tries to spoil the pages ahead. Whether it’s snippets of imaginary historical texts that open each chapter or the prophetic flashes of Paul Atreides, the story of Dune sprinkles flavors of its own future into the beginning, middle, and end. There are many reasons why Frank Herbert’s book reshaped the notion of what an epic science fiction novel could be, but the idea that the narrative is always a little ahead of itself is a big part of its addictive power. 

“It’s not something you’d have any sort of self-conscious perspective on,” Chalamet says, speaking of Paul’s early moments of clairvoyance in the story. Before Paul goes to the titular planet of Arrakis and meets Chani, he has glimpses of his future, and later, during a fateful first meeting with a sandworm, the near-magical spice brings that vision into focus. Chalamet says that in playing Paul, these scenes required careful subtlety in order to convey a realistic sense of knowing one’s own future.

“It’s a layer,” Chalamet explains. “As opposed to lucidly having visions of a pleasant landscape. These aren’t futures that are something [Paul would] would be happy to skip into. What he’s seeing and feeling is a visceral experience of a hyper-specific telling of tragedy, but also that he has a hand in that tragedy. If you were going through that it would be a hell of an experience.” 

As Chalamet points out, the spoilers for Dune “have been out there for four decades,” so, for old fans, the true lure of the new film version is discovering how the things we know are coming, will make us feel. For longtime spiceheads, watching Chalamet in the first Dune trailer was like the opposite of Paul’s traumatic flash-forward: we see the hyper-specific events, and we’re hoping for an emotional victory. For those who have waited for a perfect film version of Dune for several decades, there’s almost no “self-conscious perspective” left. From the tribulations of Alejandro Jodorowsky’s unmade film to David Lynch’s divisive 1984 version to the uneven Sci-Fi Channel iterations from the 2000s, hoping for a worthy adaptation of Dune, has, for fans, been a hell of an experience.

But this time, with this director, and this cast, the future looks good. And yet, even if you know every spoiler, and have every detail of every character’s journey clear in your mind, with this Dune, we still don’t really know what the emotional future holds, exactly. The Bene Gesserit Litany Against Fear tells us “fear is the mind-killer,” and so, for the new Dune, the hope must flow. 

A Dune Movie Trilogy?

When directing Timothée Chalamet through his visions of the future, Villeneuve says he was careful to point out that “the future is shifting, the future is always in motion, so it means sometimes these visions are not always accurate.” The same could possibly be said for what audiences can expect for a sequel to Dune. As Chalamet confirms, “we’ve only filmed the first part of the story,” meaning, what everyone will be waiting for next isn’t a sequel to Dune, but simply the rest of Dune. With a TV series in the works for HBO Max—Dune: The Sisterhood—how much more of this world should we expect?

According to Villeneuve, the goal is a trilogy.

“I always thought there would be two movies for the first book. And I always thought Dune Messiah would be a powerful film. I always saw a trilogy.” Chalamet is also primed for one more film beyond Dune: Part Two, revealing that he thought Dune Messiah “was amazing, and in some ways, more traditional than the first book. I’d love to do it, when and if we—hopefully—get to it.” 

In addition to a pandemic and the shifting schedules of various actors, completing Dune: Part Two any time soon seems overly optimistic. But Villeneuve is hopeful that he will make the trilogy. “Well, my mind didn’t go much further after that!” he says. “That’s already a lot. The books after that get a little more complex. But I do see three movies.”

In an uncertain time, Dune feels like a shockingly prescient social lens. Ferguson says she believes that “when people are depressed, they go for musicals or sci-fi,” and that Dune serves as a kind of balm for the anxieties of the culture at large. From climate change to imperialism, the book and the film shine an adventurous light on what Chalamet believes isn’t a prediction of the future, but rather “a projection” of what might happen. If Dune does its job, it won’t just start conversations about the future of cinema, but perhaps the future of the planet, too. In real life, there may be no golden path for humanity, but for now, with one ambitious work of cinematic expression, the sleeper has awakened. 

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Dune opens in cinemas and on HBO Max on October 22

The post Visions of Dune: Bringing the Ultimate Sci-Fi Epic to Life appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[followyourtruthandlove]

Will Dailey (* Interviewed while at CSB- so so nerve wrecking but so excited to expose him as songwriter/musician to folk who may have never heard him and to those in the music biz as well)

(With doing notes took over 1.5 hours vs the actual 50 minute interview)

Found instrument

Songwriting came out of

Sick of doing others music/covers

Learning other’s ways

Behind wheel of car finding you don’t like the roads

Songwriting was like making your own road

Sexy violent malleable- songwriting/music

Helped him as a child through everything

Between two houses and it became his own household

Seen as anomaly-musician famous- vs. songwriting as a person

(Circle of Fifths)

Pressure of being “something”

Starting writing “terrible songs”

“Grownup” and peer excited

About something I thought of?

Good feedback and believed it

Key part- believed it

Peer excited and making something you created

Addicted to being around people being better than me

To pull you

Songwriting

To get better

Only going to get better by doing it (AH)

Always try to be the worst person in your band

To learn, to grow, to be pushed

(Same as surrounding yourself with people “smarter” than you)

 Neil Young Crazy Horse changed as artists- with band

Parental advisory,

By 90’s pluralism at our fingertips

You can be whoever you are

Know rules and forms and having cohesive story

Or not having cohesive story

Like a dream

Hardcore Truth right in front of you

Music can be funny, Pop(py), Rock

Operate from that thing

(What I Love about Will, same as MF in many ways- she would agree “male version of (self)”

Never quite found/had genre

Never had niche, could hurt songwriters career

Never belonged anywhere

Too rock for indie crowd too pop for rock crowd too folk for pop crowd

Carve out own fan base

By getting in front of them

By striking one chord at a time

Jungle he grew up in, all that influence

Genre madness from 90s to now

Every song at fingertips

Algorisms send streaming service that find out something about you

“This algorism knows me so well” (smile)

From way back when or something new

Amazing, and daunting

And business of songwriting leaves him hopeless

Same time is exciting

If too many options will walk away and come back later(AH)

Overwhelming vs having structure or type of melody in mind (AH cont.)

When having a hit

How to do it again no idea how

Feel like never be able to have something that big again

Always potential to have that feeling

It is a craft and way of being

Learn every rule of songwriting

Then forget every rule of songwriting

Some songwriters only know 4 chords or one tuning

Being open to craft, learning rules

Talk to other artists, figure out what you can do

Ex. There is a verse, pre, chorus, verse, pre, chorus, bridge, verse, pre, chorus.

When you do verse chorus bridge, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus- then done.

When designing song what you want to do when pouring out of you

Be aware of the rule you are breaking because might be creating a hook

Or special pattern

Everything is pattern or pattern upset ( **Relatable to Sociology**)

Ex. Listeners singing along to altercation of pattern

Learn the rules to break them

Being able to predict what’s about to happen sometimes satisfying

Sometimes too much then can lose interest

Sometimes song shouldn’t have surprises

Sometimes should be a meditation

Also option of production making the surprises

Making those choices as artist and writer consciously

Or the emotion is making choice so definitely you don’t need to use your conscious decisions

Or know the rules you are breaking

Not just chasing knowledge- will leave you frustrated creator

Marry the two parts

Person inside who is in there that doesn’t know rules and it’s just pouring -marry that person with that person that knows the craft- effective to communicate and making the parts that are connected more effective (AH)

(Side note Loved hearing his story about title of album- really had impact/was felt moment live)

Obtuse

Writing while in studio, cleanse palette with

Doing things thought of as totally obtuse and irreverent

Would have haunted if not gotten them out- even not to share with others

Intent behind songwriting is most important part (Yes!!! Across the board in the world- all about intent)

Dogged as artist- using everything at fingertips

Always having intention behind his music

Always had in mind person who was going to freak out about it

Or who was going to totally connect to it

Someone imaginary, himself, someone he knows

Intention to reach them with this piece of music

Ideally in that someone else will hate it too

(Van, tour manager, VAN!! )

Kiss of death is someone says it’s nice or it’s good

You want reaction of wow whether love or hate

Have that fearless while writing (AH)

Not trying to please everyone trying to write for “that person” (AH)

Can write song in 5 minutes of 5 years

When 5 years see as so worth it (own Sistine chapel)

5 minute one like wth why didn’t I do with all of these

Can’t call on either one of them

Frustrated with unfinished- not the end of them (AH)

Just work at the end of the day

Pushing it

Ex. Gun n Roses- “Where do we go now” from “Sweet child of mine”

The rpducers thought song needing another part

Slash solo

Where do we go now came from that

Meaning where do we go in song

Came from him joking and producer saying yes keep doing that

Look up Led Zeppelin rehearsal demos

Robert Plant mumbling stairway to heaven

Coming up with gibberish while creating

If you don’t have a lot of songs with gibberish then not trying

Have to marry all these-

Cadence of vocal, delivery of vocal, words, melody having hook

Have to marry all these parts

Not all need to hit

Advice for someone who doesn’t do it for living but wants to carve out time.

Booking time, open mic- invite friend will

Also sets intention  help carve song out energy wise

Give self deadline to write (ex. starting Monday need to finish by Friday)

A little bit of work each day it will get there

15 minutes a day to work on a song

While creating, more focus on lyrics

If in love and/or married to cadences or melody and trying to fit with words together

Can screw yourself bc a lot of work to do- tough- but can be really fun at same time

Plays “It already would have not worked out by now” (THIS line!!)

Songwriting and music way of being

Huge part of being human

It’s not (a) business

Business is what we’ve manufactured around it

Referred to esp by Americans is in those terms

Really robs us of a huge part of our humanity

Remember while writing, Songwriting really engaging in being human

Engaging in this universal communication technique that we have with music

Don’t let anyone take that from you while creating.

(Side note- random ish I love that his site uses the word “Shows” versus “Tour”

And also not so random this was such an amazing interview prob I think even fav thus far)

Thank you again and again Anne Heaton

[ritacavaliere]

How to Get More Exposure For Your Music

It takes a few months, and mostly years, of effort and patience to finally strike the general public.The venues to get one’s creations noticed are many and few at the same time. The artist transmits the group on miscellaneous missions (never concerning money on the part of the group) and the very best street teamers are rewarded in different ways. As an artist entails a lot of things. Take a couple of days off, enjoy life, and keep coming back refreshed! It brings them exposure and makes followers a complete part of the artist’s achievement. At some point, in case you are like me, and function by itself 14-15 hours a day, you will get burned out.).

Another good idea is to design your personal exclusive merchandise (Tshirts, bags, mouse pads, mugs, handmade cards, etc. And to end up being honest, the royalties are really decent.

A street team is an organization of folks who are committed to help an artist spread the term about their work. And for that reason, I received more exposure in a couple of months than I had managed to achieve in a lot more than three years!

SELLING ONLINE AND OFFLINE

95% of poets go the self-publishing way.

BUILDING A STREET TEAM

You can only achieve this much by yourself. This is very easy to do, specifically if you are not computer-savvy, and it is free.

Finally, frustration and discouragement are area of the job. If you are an amateur photographer, you will want to sell your pictures to other performers for their book/CD covers?

UPDATING YOUR STATUS

Part of your promotional period should be used to revise your position across different networks you participate in. Always acknowledge your supporters and supporters, those that function in the shadows for you personally. Reverbnation enables you do this very easily!

Make a set of all your skills and find what you have to give you. When you sign up for their site, you receive access to an individual studio. From there, you can upload your own video clips or video clips from YouTube and stream them on a 24/7 basis.

NETWORKING

Public networking sites are crucial for promotion these days. All you have to is a Paypal accounts.

Reverbnation offers you an ideal way to accomplish it: once your objective is launched, the site keeps counts for you and all you need to do is check your stats! Finished . I love about this concept is definitely that it allows an artist to hook up with their group of fans on a different level. Make use of TweetDeck or Hootsuite. You will find loads of broadcasts every day and the neat factor is that you can also interact in boards. You should be capable to count on others. Do items YOURSELF! Also, people may also help spread the term by posting the widgets just about everywhere on the Internet!

If you are not camera-shy, you may also host your own show, making use of your webcam.

Also, do not hesitate to ask for tips and advice from anyone who has a confirmed successful background in your market. Sometimes, one little issue will make an enormous difference. Before throwing links at somebody, introduce yourself correctly and move on to know them just a little. I personally use Reverbnation & Audiolife. You can also promote yourself. That is something that I really do monthly with Livestream (and many people love it! They will print your books, CDs, calendars, image books, and pictures for you personally. Print-on-demand or POD is a great service and I recommend Lulu. And royalties are quite decent.

The great thing about diversification is that it creates it harder for individuals to label you in a single category. The best part is they are totally free! Therefore, you have the golden chance to “match” hosts and listeners who frequently happen to be hosts or promoters of the art themselves.

Start by asking yourself the next questions: “What is my long-term goal as an artist?

If you are a musician or a spoken phrase artist, you likely have heard of Reverbnation. I utilize it myself and I love the reality that I could send pre-formatted news letters to my fan base, build a street group and start missions with the click of a switch, and promote my CD and tracks through easy-to-share widgets. It means that you have to diversify.

WEBSITE/PROFILE PAGES

Nowadays, if you need to attract more supporters, you should build an online site or in least have a regularly updated profile page.. They provide you with a free of charge store that you could promote everywhere you need.) and offer it using providers like Zazzle or Cafepress. You can discuss anything, address questions and issues from your fans, educate them on matters that matter to you, and invite them to take part in discussions. It is also important that you be willing to support other performers and causes, and serve as a positive function model. While this is simply not a bad thought at all, additionally it is important to understand that sales obey the 10-90 rule: 10% imagination and 90% promotion/marketing. The best blog solutions are Wordpress and Blogger.” Be very honest in your answers, because they will determine your job and how long you may last in the business. I have hooked up with some of the most incredible performers and supporters in North America and have followed their tips and advice very carefully. A blog is an extremely nice tool to make use of. They think that they can depend upon the standard of their work for this to sell itself. , nor wait around for others to do it for you. They want to learn about you and everything you care for. You must become professional in your strategy, dedicated, and aware of your surroundings and global problems. Both sites have partnered to permit Reverbnation members to market their merchandise and music for free. I have already been a guest on many shows, which has allowed me to market my books and CD, and tell the globe why I am a poet and spoken term artist. I noticed that CD Baby is very good. I used this medium and got to know great people.. You will be surprised by how much help and support you will receive in exchange! Open a merchant account, upload your data files, fill in the necessary info, and you also are on your way. I recommend Blog Chat Radio. To me self-publishing is even more rewarding than complicated because I have to promote all my items myself, and it offers me the chance to really get to know my readers and listeners.

BLOG/COMMUNITY

If you need to build your online presence, it is crucial that your fans and followers be engaged. All you need is a PayPal account. What is my mission statement? Always keep a laptop and pen handy, and write any suggestion and idea given you.-)

For a website, use Wix or Weebly. And if you are actually fluent in several languages, you could also translate documents. Then, feel absolve to embed the display screen anywhere you want. On the other hand, street teamers get free stuff, which is always nice!

You can also join writing communities and forums like Red Room and share some of your stuff there. They’re excellent!

LAST WORDS

Remember this: treat others how you would like to be treated. This is the first step to obtain respect from fellow artists, and hence exposure. You also can do reverbnation promotion with some promotion service provider website.

DIVERSIFICATION

I have a motto: the more you have to present, the more exposure you will get! You will attract even more fans. Use your Paypal account address to get royalties when people purchase your products during your personal (free) store. What do I wish to perform with my creation(s)? You should be able to do it in one convenient place. Setup your shop (in two moments), upload your files, complete the information, and begin offering your CDs, MP3 albums, individual tracks, Tshirst and tote bags within minutes! However, it can be very time-consuming. I got introduced to many new listeners. The visitors to my site has been large since I started listening to BTR shows!; If you’re a poet/writer, you could offer poetry/speech-on-demand or proofreading services.

You can even use Internet radio.

If you only target music or spoken word, there are a few nice choices out there. Ensure that you have a look at Facebook, Twitter, Ning, YouTube, and MySpace.

You can also sell your music digitally, using major retailers like ITunes or Amazon. Ning is especially impressive, since it offers tons of options! And most importantly: build human relationships before thinking about sales!

IMPORTANT CONSIDERATIONS

Lots of independent artists assume that once their CD or book is available for purchase, the work is performed. You may expire up attracting a whole lot of different people!