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thecatsaesthetics · 1 year

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I saw someone on twitter discussing Rhaegar, and other problematic elements of the series, and they basically said GRRM had no idea what trash Rhaegar was in the 90s when he first came up with the character but he probably is now aware of how awful literally everyone (except the targ stans) think Rhaegar is so when/if he ever gets to the part of the series where Martin explains the relationship he will have to do some serious damage control to 'fix' R/L.

They also said, which I fully agree with, that because he's taken 30 years to finish this series, social mores and cultural norms have shifted so much that a lot of plot points and characterizations he was probably planning are now deeply, deeply problematic whereas back in the 90s, the fantasy-reader audience the books were originally marketed towards would not have cared. Like you said, the post-me too era has brought forth a lot more awareness about grooming, age gaps, power imbalances, etc. I definitely think one of the reasons its difficult to finish the series is because GRRM is now aware of certain plot points he has been planning no longer being palatable and knowing he would get crucified for if he went forward with them. Like San/san was definitely something that was meant to be more romantic or sexual but the ages of the characters, lack of five year gap, and knowing people would rage at him if he made San/san canon in anyway means that romantic ship is over imo lol. Sa/ndor's love for Sa/nsa will be a lot more platonic and self-sacrificial going forward as opposed to romantic undertones.

For R/L though, I do wonder if GRRM telling HOTD writers to include the ice and fire prophecy in the show means that he will lean way more heavily into 'Well, ackshually, Rhaegar was saving the world it wasn't about wanting to fuck a teen he became infatuated with. Also, Elia was chill with it because Dornish(tm).' Basically, I can see Martin leaning way more heavily toward Rhaegar doing what he did to save humanity versus him not being able to keep it in his pants. But we'll see if/when the series is ever completed, which is a big if.

Sorry this is so long I'm putting it underneath:

I do agree that Martin came up with this series in the 90s and did not expect it to become such a cultural landmark. I am not sure he agrees Rhaegar is "awful" as Martin has said and done things within his book series that make me believe he does not see much wrong with a 16 year old running off with a 23 year old. I do think he always intended to add the magically bits in the story with Rhaegar and Lyanna but that they were suppose to be look at as the human incarnations of Ice and Fire and Jon being the offspring of that magic.

And even if Martin did realize after much discussion how problematic the Lyanna and Rhaegar situation is I don't think he would change it. The unfortunate truth is they are fundamental to the story. Not in a way where we need to see them, but they are similar to Paris and Helen. Without their actions the story doesn't exist, and without Rhaegar and Lyanna running off the story does not happen. Our world is reset.

And the book has expanded so much, including a list of characters Martin never intended for us to see, that it makes us really resent both Lyanna and Rhaegar as readers. All the while the narrative itself does not seem to be aware of how horrible the actions of them (especially Rhaegar) is. Adding the Aegon storyline in the book and if he doesn't turn out to be a fake and does end up dead and Jon ends up somehow having a "happy" ending it feels super insulting to Elia and the rest of the characters who suffered due to Rhaegar and Lyanna's actions.

The inclusion of the Ice and Fire prophecy in HOTD had nothing to do with Martin and more to do with the HOTD writers wanting to include a reason for why Viserys was choosing Rhaenyra. In the books Viserys is just a shitty king and has no reason at all for not naming Aegon after his birth. In the show it's hinted he believes the Ice and Fire prophecy would only be fulfilled under Rhaenyra's line.

As for what Martin will do with Elia, I really am not sure but he has said he will make it "complicated". I tend to think he wouldn't make Elia "okay" with it but he might have a situation where Elia believes her son is the Prince that was Promised and wants him to have his "Visenya". But I'm not sold on that just because I don't think Rhaegar would use Lyanna to get a Visenya, he would likely assume the child from Lyanna was the Prince that was Promised simply because of the "ice" connection.

But on the topic of why Martin hasn't finished the series. I have several thoughts:

First, he's written himself into a nightmare. If you read A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons, they are interesting but they expand the plot in a way I've never seen done before. For any type of novel. He has multiple POVs with incredibly complex and interesting storylines, most of which aren't connected to the main plot. I don't know how he's going to handle closing all of those storylines within two books. I love Feast and Dance so much but as a writer I cannot image having to close all of those storylines.

Second, GOT took up so much time. In the first years GOT was airing Martin did a lot of media for the show, cons, and even wrote a whole episode up until season 5. That's a lot of work and it doesn't leave a lot of time to write and complete the story. Also once it became clear Martin wouldn't even complete Winds before the show closed I don't think he had the same motivation to write faster. Why not take his time? Plus D&D had clearly branched out from all the book storylines by season 4.

Third, the reaction to the ending of GOT (which were his intended endings) must have hurt. I cannot image a world where you as the writer of this series see people reacting so poorly to your intended ending (even if D&D butchered it) would not feel at least disappointment. People hated Villain Dany and her death (does matter if I love fallen Dany) and I 100% believe he's going there in the next book. He might be worried or concerned about the reaction. Martin has admitted that seeing fans discuss the series and figuring out things have made him want to change course. And that was back when the series was limited to forum discussions online. He had major news outlets discussing how "awful" Dany's ending was. That likely affected him and his writing.

#got #asoiaf #asoiaf critical

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yhwhrulz · 10 months

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Today's Daily Encounter Monday, August 28, 2023

Taking the First Step

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. All who rage against you will surely be ashamed and disgraced; those who oppose you will be as nothing and perish. Though you search for your enemies, you will not find them. Those who rage war against you will be as nothing at all. For I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, 'Do not fear; I will help you.'"1

Martin Luther King Jr. said, "Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase."

Taking that first step in any situation, especially difficult ones, requires a great deal of courage, something I would lack greatly if it weren't for the Lord being with me. I am an introvert and prefer to avoid any kind of confrontation. However, over the years I have realized that our society is going deeper and deeper into sin, and there are things that I cannot stay silent about or "just go with the flow". As Christians we are called to stand out and apart from the darkness, therefore it is a guarantee that we will suffer some type of persecution from those around us. The Bible tells us in 2 Timothy 3:12, "In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted."

Whether it be defending the lives of unborn children, standing up for those who are not able to, obeying God's Word even when it goes against peer pressure, or loving our enemies and praying for those who hurt us to name a few, it is possible. Not because of who we are, but because of who God is!

If we look through God's Word and see all the people God used to do His work, we find that none of them felt capable. We think of Moses who made all kinds of excuses when asked to go free God's people from Egypt, we see Joseph who was bullied by his brothers because of jealousy, we see David who appeared weak in comparison to his brothers. However, we see all of them take that first step in obedience and God's plan unfold in great ways. They made mistakes along the way, just as we will, but I encourage you to take heart and be courageous. We may not be able to see the big picture of what God has in store, but I can assure you that anything done for God is not in vain. God will be our strength and help us. We can have an impact in this world, but God is asking us to take that first step and trust that He will be what we are not.

Suggested prayer: Dear God, there are so many times I feel in inadequate when it comes to serving you, but this is only because I focus on who I am instead of who YOU are. I have weaknesses, but you say you will be my strength. I pray that you help me have faith and the courage to take the first step in obedience, trusting that your plan is greater than what I can see. Thank you for hearing and answering my prayer. In Jesus' name, amen.Isaiah 41:10-13 (NIV).

Today's Encounter was written by: Crystal B.

NOTE: If you would like to accept God's forgiveness for all your sins and His invitation for a full pardon Click on: http://www.actsweb.org/invitation.php. Or if you would like to re-commit your life to Jesus Christ, please click on http://www.actsweb.org/decision.php to note this.

Daily Encounter is published at no charge by ACTS International, a non-profit organization, and made possible through the donations of interested friends. Donations can be sent at: http://www.actscom.com

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theowritesstuff · 2 years

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Just Friends My Ass

Jake Martin x gn!reader

Summary: You confess your feelings to Jake, but it may be after he rejects you that he realizes his feelings for you.

Warnings: mentions of injuries

Working as the official Bobby Spencer Racing nurse shouldn’t seem like a difficult job. The team’s crew were smart, and took care of themselves, making your only patients their two drivers. Jake Martin and Jessie de la Cruz.

You’ve decided that Jake Martin is very talented in injuring himself. Racing was a dangerous sport, but you’d never seen someone get hurt so much from it.

Your heart rate would always quicken when you saw the car get hit, or spin off the track. But Jake would always get out with a grin on his face, concussion and all.

You’d had to admit, when you were first hired, you were confused about why they’d wanted a nurse dedicated to their team, but after seeing Jake race, it was clear. He was definitely a talented driver, but definitely accident prone as well.

You’d spent many an afternoon patching him up after a race. Of course anything serious and he would be sent straight to the hospital, but you were there to treat minor injuries.

A burn here, a cut there, you’d sooth his aches, then he’d be on his way. You did get to know the racer, in your brief interactions. He wasn’t the brightest, occasionally saying things that didn’t make sense. You never had the heart to correct him though. He genuinely loved racing. He fought you hard about being able to drive after his concussion, you had to put your foot down and tell him no.

And of course, there was the obvious, he was very attractive. He knew it too, constantly throwing pickup lines to whoever’d give him the time of day. That being said, you couldn’t help but admire his toned body whenever you patched him up, or whenever he decided to walk around the garage sans his shirt, which he liked to do more often than not. Catherine had to have a strict talk with him about that.

Honestly, how could anyone not fall for him? He was sweet, his often-simpleminded responses to things were endearing, and he was incredibly easy on the eyes. Anyone within a twelve-foot radius of him would just be pulled in by his charm.

You often found yourself being pulled into empty offices by Beth, who found joy in questioning you about your feelings for the driver.

“Did you see the way he was looking at you?” She’d squeal, hopping up and down.

“No, because he wasn’t looking at me, he looking past me at his reflection in the car window.” You’d tell her.

She seemed to have made it her mission to get the two of you together. She claimed it was because you were both so cute, and obviously into each other, and would be a perfect couple.

You had to admit, you and Jake did get along really well, and he occasionally said things to you that some may deem “more-than-friendly”.

When you told Beth that you were going to ask Jake out, she practically screamed. You had to quiet her down quickly, afraid that others in the garage would hear.

“Beth, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you’re at a ten, I’m gonna need you to take it down to a five.” You said, laughing.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m just so excited for you!” She cheered quietly.

You decided to wait until you could find a moment alone with Jake to talk to him. There was no need for the rest of the team to watch you ask him out.

You found him alone in the gym, practicing on the simulator.

“Hey Jake.” You greeted him.

He glanced over at you, then back at the screen in front of him. “Hey Y/n, I’m good here, it’s just the simulator, I can’t actually get hurt here.” He told you.

“I’m sure you could find a way.” You chuckled to yourself.

He quickly swerved the car to the side, crashing into the stands. “See, I’m fine.”

He turned to see you, a horrified look on your face. “Please don’t do that at an actual race.” You asked him.

He laughed. “Y/n, I never hit anything on purpose.”

“Right.” You let out a laugh.

“So, what’s up?” He asked, as he turned to you, giving you his undivided attention.

You could feel your nerves creeping up in you. “Oh, uh, I just wanted to know if you, uh, maybe wanted to hang out, like after work?” You asked.

A smile broke out on his face. “Sure! Is the crew going to Pit Stop tonight?” He asked.

“Uh, no, I thought it could just be you and me…” You trialed off.

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably. “Oh…”

“It’s cool if you don’t want to!” You said, trying to save yourself from embarrassment.

“Uh, it’s just, you’re awesome, I just don’t think about you that way… we’re just buddies…”

Buddies. You’d never hated a word more.

“Yeah, no, it’s cool, I’m sorry-” You said, backing out of the gym.

“Y/n, it’s okay, seriously, we’re just teammates…”

You could tell that Jake was trying to let you down easy. He isn’t the kind of guy that would blow this up in your face.

“Yeah, you’re right.” You say, trying to end this conversation before it goes on anymore. “Uh, I’ll see you later.” You quickly leave the gym before he can get another word in.

Beth tries to stop you when she sees you, but you brush past her, telling her that you’re taking the afternoon off. Catherine would get upset about it, but you’d deal with that later.

The days following your rejection were awkward to say the least. The team all gave you sympathetic looks when they saw you in passing. Great, they heard about what happened. Whenever you were around Jake, it was like he was walking on glass around you, careful to not say anything that might hurt your feelings.

You caught him at lunch. You were sitting at the table in the garage, eating the food that Beth had brought you. She’d gotten in the habit of doing it when she heard about what happened with Jake. You chocked it up to her motherly instincts.

Jake walked up to the table, to-go box in hand, but stopped when he saw you. You looked up to see him contemplating his next move.

“You wanna sit down?” You asked him, kicking out the chair across from you with your foot.

He slowly sat down, and put his food on the table. He kept looking back and forth between you and his box.

You sighed. “Jake, is it going to be weird like this forever? Look, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, but now I’d really like to go back to the way things were before. Where I could do my job without people looking at me like I’m a kicked puppy.”

“Yeah, I don’t want thing to be weird between us either.” He told you.

“Okay then, great. So we’re back to normal.”

Sure enough, things did go back to normal pretty quickly. It was almost as if you hadn’t ever actually asked Jake out to begin with.

You’d accompany the team to races, and help Beth with things in the office. Life had finally gone back to normal.

Life in the garage had started to get a little more stressful as you started getting nearer to a race. You could constantly hear Catherine and Kevin fighting about something, Chuck and Amir arguing, and Jake and Jessie insulting each other.

While it was clear that Jake and Jessie were both phenomenal drivers, Jake was the team’s go-to pick for races, and was statistically most likely to get injured on the track. This kept you checking and re-checking your inventory on medical supplies to take with you.

The trip to the race wasn’t too long, you spent most of it trying to get some sleep, as did the rest of the team. Once there, everyone got ready to do their jobs. Your job usually happened post-race, minus that time Jake crushed his ankle getting into the car prior to the race, so you just hung back and let everyone do their things.

Once the race starts, you sit with Catherine, Kevin, Chuck, and Amir. They all have headsets on to communicate with Jake, while you sit there, watching the cars on the track.

Your eyes are glued to number 74 though. Watching to make sure he’s okay.

Another car manages to pull up next to him, and hits the side of the car. You feel your breath catch in your throat.

“You good Jake?” Kevin asks.

The same car hits Jake’s car once again, this time pushing it into the wall.

“Jake?” Kevin tries again.

“Is he not responding?” You ask.

Another car hits 74 from the back, causing the car to get trapped between the wall and the two cars. You can see the right side of the car is heavily damaged, and the right side has concaved inward, due to the crash.

“Get him out of there!” You shout to the others, rushing down to the track.

When you get down there, he’s being pulled away from the car by the pit crew. He’s walking fine enough, but you can see blood staining his suit.

“Hey Y/n, what’s up?” He asks you.

“Sit.” You command. The pit crew sits him down in a chair, then leaves to go examine the car.

“You need to get the top half of your suit off, you’re hurt.” You tell him, gathering your supplies.

“I’m all good-” He tries to tell you.

You give him a stern look.

He sighs, then takes the top half of his suit off, the shirt resting just above his waist. Theres a large gash across his chest, oozing blood.

“Oh my god Jake!” You rush over to him, pressing against the cut with cloth you had brought.

He winces, trying to pull his body away. You grab a hold of his shoulder, keeping him still. Once the bleeding slowed down, you wrapped it up in gauze. You could see it slowly staining as well.

“This is fine for now, but I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, really, I’m fine! I feel great!” He quickly stood up, but immediately felt dizzy, like he was going to fall over.

You managed to catch him before he did. This was the closest you’d ever been to him, his chest pressed against yours, his face just inches away. Your breath caught in your throat. He gave you a goofy smile, his eyes sparkling.

“You’re going to the hospital Jake.”

When the others came in Chuck and Amir helped you get him in your car, and you drove him to the hospital.

The doctors there were able to give him stitches, then send him home.

The days following Jake leaving the hospital mostly contained him begging you to let him drive, you telling him absolutely not, and Jessie making fun of him for it.

Jessie was pretty much just happy to be driving again.

“Keep him off the track as long as you want.” She told you with a wink.

At first, Jake would wander the garage aimlessly, often bothering Chuck as he tried to work on the car.

“If you don’t leave me alone I promise I will make it so that Y/n never lets you drive again.”

Jake didn’t know whether he was threatening to hurt him or just talking to you, but honestly both scared him.

He found you at Beth’s desk going over some paperwork with her.

“Guys, I’m really bored.” He slumped down in the chair on the other side of the desk.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the pout on his face. He had been moping around the garage for the past couple of days, kind of bumming everyone out.

“Alright, come on, get up. I’m making you an honorary member of Team Y/n.” You told him.

“But I’m already on a team…” He looked at you confused.

“No, Jake, I mean, you’re gonna help me with my job.” You laughed.

“But no one’s hurt.” He shrugged.

“They don’t just do the nurse stuff Jake.” Beth said.

“Okay, sure, what’s the plan for today?”

You took Jake along with you on your adventures for the day. Well, your chores, but if calling them adventures made them more entertaining, so be it.

You went to the bank to deposit some money, which was easy enough. You went shopping for more medical supplies, and had to say no every time Jake asked for bandaids with characters on them. You did buy one though, without telling him. You arranged a few meetings with some potential sponsors, which honestly having Jake there was actually helpful. And lastly, you picked up food for the team.

“That was an insane amount of work.” Jake told you at the end of the day.

“Yeah, I guess, but I can’t be a nurse all the time so…” You shrugged.

“When do you think I can drive again?” He asked you.

You knew he really wanted to, and that as soon as you said it was okay he would.

“I just wanna make sure that you’re really okay Jake. How about, I let you back in the gym? You can take some baby steps towards driving again.”

He nodded his head, eagerly. “Yeah! Absolutely! Baby steps!”

The next day Jake was in the gym bright and early. He was lifting weights when Jessie came in.

“Ooo, I’m gonna tell Y/n you’re here.” She teased.

“Go ahead, they said I could be here.” He replied.

Jessie rolled her eyes at him. “My turn. Spot me?” She pushed on his shoulder.

“Fine.” He sighed. He got up, and moved to grab his towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead.

When he turned back around, he bumped into Jessie, who raised her hands up trying to steady herself. Unfortunately the bar for the weights was held in her hand, and swung up to meet Jake’s cheek.

“Ow!” He shouted, stumbling back.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” She dropped the bar, and walked up to him. “Should I get Y/n?” She asked, a nervous grimace on her face.

“Yeah.” Jake sighed.

There you found him, sitting on the bench, and hand over his cheekbone, a sheepish smile on his face.

“I let you go for one day, and you’re already injuring yourself again.” You said teasingly, shaking your head.

“Actually, it’s Jessie’s fault this time. She hit me with a bar.” He said.

You pulled his hand away from his face to see the skin starting to turn a light purple color. There was a small cut, that looked like it wasn’t bleeding much, but you’d put a bandaid on it just to be safe.

You opened the small first aid kit you brought in, and pulled out a box of bandaids.

“Characters?” Jake asked, excited.

“Yeah, characters.” You told him.

You found one just small enough to cover the cut. You sat down next to him, and scooted as close as possible. After opening the bandaid, you slowly placed it on his cheek.

Jake kept his eyes on yours the whole time. No jokes or comments or anything. He liked being with you, even though it usually involved him being hurt.

He couldn’t help but think back to the last time you were in the gym together. It was when he’d rejected you. In all honesty, he was scared. He knew that he found you attractive, but he’d never really been in a real relationship before. He was used to jumping from person to person.

He was scared of being fully committed to someone. But also scared of someone being fully committed to him. He saw the way people looked at him, and heard the way people talked to and about him. He knew he wasn’t the smartest person in the garage, and he pretty much felt useless when he couldn’t drive.

You were smart. You were caring. You were kind, and funny. You were perfect. And Jake knew that there were plenty of other people better suited for you than him..

“Okay.” You pulled away, after pressing the bandaid on his cheek.

He pulled out his phone to look at his reflection on his camera. Sitting on his left cheekbone was a small, hot pink bandaid. It had a picture of Hello Kitty, giving a thumbs up.

“Like your commercial.” You said.

He smiled to himself. “Yeah.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna go put this back,” you grabbed the first aid kit off the bench “try not to get hurt again.” You winked at him, and left the gym.

When you finally told Jake that he could drive again, he looked like he was going to explode from joy. He picked you up in a hug, and spun you around, thanking you over and over.

“Yeah, yeah, just be safe, okay? Don’t stress me out.” You told him.

The night after Jake’s first race back, the team had decided to go to the Pit Stop to celebrate. Even Catherine joined in. You all sat around a table, beers in hand, plates of wings being passed around.

Jake sat across from you, glancing at you every so often. When he got out of the car after the race he was greeted immediately by your open arms. You wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug, happy he came back in one piece. He committed the smile you were wearing for him to memory.

“I need another drink.” You announced.

Before Jake could get up to go to the bar with you, Beth called out “Me too!”

The two of you made your way back to the bar, chit-chatting about the race. You weren’t there long, before you felt a hand tap on your shoulder.

You turned to see a man, about your age. He was tall, had dark swoopy hair, and dark brown eyes. He was very handsome.

“Hey, Y/n, right?” He asked.

You furrowed your brows. “How do you know my name?” You asked him.

His eyes widened. “Sorry, that was creepy, uh, I’m Rich, I was in the race today.”

“A competitor?” Beth asked.

“Yeah, I like to know who I’m racing against, so I look up all the teams. You guys did great by the way.” He says.

“Oh, thank you. Jake is an amazing driver.” You nod back to the table.

You can see Rich’s face fall, just a little. “Oh, are you two…” He gestures between you and the table.

“No! No! Me and Jake are buddies. Teammates. Just friends.” You said, quickly.

“Just friends my ass.” Beth mumbled, taking a sip from her beer.

You elbowed her softly, silently telling her to be quiet. She raised her hands in surrender, then left you there with him.

“Oh, okay then. I just wanted to talk to you because you’re like amazing on your team. My team could really use someone like you.” He said, leaning closer to you.

“Well I’m not looking to switch teams, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad getting to know each other. Maybe get in the enemy’s head.” You joked.

He laughed, and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, exactly.”

Back at the table, Jake couldn’t take his eyes off you. The man that was standing with you was far too close for Jake’s liking.

When Beth sat back down, he gestured to you, eyes still on you, and asked “What’s that?”

“He’s flirting with Y/n.” Beth shrugged.

“Why? I don’t like it.” He pouted.

“Why? Because Y/n is cool, and a fun person, and deserves to be happy. And you have no right to ‘not like it’ not after you rejected them.” She told him.

“Yeah, I know, I was dumb. You can make fun of me for it later.” He said as he got up from his seat, and made his way over to you.

You were laughing with the other driver when Jake walked up. He pushed himself between the two of you to get to the bar. You looked at him your eyebrows furrowed, and stepped back and around him, so you were standing next to Jake, and across from Rich.

“Hey Jake, did you need something?” You asked.

“Yeah, another beer.” He said. He turned to look at Rich. “I’m Jake.” He held his hand out for a handshake.

Rich shook his hand. “Rich.”

It was clear there was an awkward air between them.

“Good job on the track today. Looks like you came out without a scratch. Y/n says you’ve got a tendency to leave races on your deathbed.” Rich quipped.

“Yeah, thanks. Hey, where did you finish again?” Jake asked, feigning innocence.

“Jake.” You hit his arm, trying to get him to leave Rich alone.

Rich rolled his eyes. “34.” He mumbled.

“Huh, I came in 22.” Jake shrugged.

“Neither is impressive.” You mumbled to yourself, rolling your eyes.

“And yeah, I may get hurt a lot while driving, but it’s part of the job. At least I’ll always have a nurse to fix me up.” Jake bragged.

“Oh my god.” You walked back to the table, slapped some cash on it, then told the others you were leaving.

You walked out and toward your car, then felt a hand on your arm.

Jake stood there, an apologetic look on his face.

“What the hell was that Jake? Seriously?” You asked crossing your arms over your chest. “A cute guy flirts with me, and you turn it into a pissing contest.”

“C’mon Y/n, he was a competitor!” He tried to defend himself.

“Oh my god.” You sighed, then continued to walk away.

Jake ran to stand in front of you, blocking your path. “I’m sorry, look, we can go back in there with the rest of the team and have fun-”

“If I go back in there with you, it’ll look like we’re together, so no. I just wanna go home Jake.”

“No!” His exclamation surprised the both of you. “You should go back in there, and if that guy doesn’t wanna go out with you because of me, he’s not worth it. I’ll head home.” He put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

“No Jake, this party was for you, you have to be there.”

“I don’t wanna be there without you.” He said, his eyes locked onto yours.

You shook your head, and turned away from him. “Stop.”

“Stop what?” He asked softly.

“Stop making me fall for you all over again.” You tried to keep your composure. You took a deep breath, and turned back to him. “I’m going home.”

You brushed past him, toward your car, but he quickly ran in front of you again.

“Jake-”

You were cut off by his lips. They were pressed against yours, his hands cupping your face.

“Don’t go out with that guy.”

Another kiss.

“Don’t date my competitor.”

Another kiss.

“Don’t leave the team.”

Another kiss.

“And please go out with me?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. After all this time, Jake did want to go out with you.

“But you said-”

“Yeah, I know, I was stupid.” He said.

You gave him a small smile and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “You know, it’s probably not very professional for teammates to date.” You teased.

“I don’t care.” He laughed, then dove in for another kiss.

#the crew netflix #jake martin x reader #jake martin #freddie stroma #freddie stroma x reader

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daisybeewrites · 3 years

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Academy Blues

sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes to bag punches you

word count: 4.5k

warnings: none. heavy handed use of italics

ship: Dousy (Daniel Sousa/Daisy Johnson), background Fitzsimmons and Philinda

ahaha.. and the fun begins (the cryptic-ness is for a reason i promise)

“Ow!!” Daisy exclaimed. This was the second time today she had gotten distracted and let the punching bag swing into her. Sans Bobbi or Mack, her usual workout partners, there was no one to hold the bag still while she was pummeling it. Her side of the gym was entirely void of people, most opting to use the treadmills or other cardio machines lining the wall of large windows that faced the forest to the south, or stick to circuits on the resistance machines throughout the middle of the gym. The universe seemed to be telling her to get in some boxing, so she walked over to the bag with the intention of punching until her arms hurt.

Now her nose hurts, too.

“You need a spot?” May asked, silently crossing the padded floor to Daisy.

She nodded. Waiting for May to get into position, Daisy stretched out her arms over her head and across her body, twisting her torso to feel her abs stretch. When May gave her a thumbs up, Daisy started to punch the heavy bag again, this time with a little more force now that she knew it wouldn’t fly back and hit her in the face.

“Something on your mind?”

“No,” Daisy grunted. “Just slacked off the last few weeks. With everyone gone on break there wasn’t as much of... everything, I guess, to keep me in a routine.”

May nodded. “Breaks can be tough. No classes, schedule disrupted, more free time than you know what to do with. I get it. If you ever want a time-filler, text and I’ll be there.”

Daisy nodded, going back to silently punching. The breaks weren’t all bad. They only happened eight times a year, five two-week breaks and three three-week breaks. Enough time that those with families and lives outside of SHIELD could visit and vacation, but not fall behind. Plus, it gave Daisy the campus pretty much to herself. Only about forty students stayed at The Academy over breaks, and it seemed to decrease every time.

Another good thing about breaks was that Daisy got to know more people personally. Whether it was how the tall, fifth-year red head took her morning coffee or that the new group of first-years liked to run the same trails through the forest as she did. So, when an entirely new face had cropped up out of nowhere, Daisy was intrigued. He walked with a limp, had nice hair and kind eyes. She didn’t recognize him, and despite the fact that he had arrived the same day as the rest of the first-years, he was definitely the oldest of the pack. That was unusual, Daisy had thought, SHIELD almost always recruits directly out of high school or college. The last time anyone over the age of twenty-five had been accepted to the Academy was when Daisy herself had started. However, that was a bit of a… special situation.

Every morning, New Guy crossed through the computer lab and waved, smiling confidently at Daisy. His sudden appearance and amicable interactions confused her. Classes weren’t in session, but he always had a backpack with him. Maybe he had tutoring with one of the professors? A new student trying to catch up before the term even began — an enigma.

Once classes had started, he still came by everyday. Daisy liked to think it was because he wanted to see her. They had never spoken more than tired greetings to each other, and yet Daisy felt herself pulled towards him. She shook off the thought. It made her skin crawl, thinking about the last time she felt such a magnetic attraction to someone.

She realized May was studying her through the mirrors lining the wall next to the row of punching bags. She cleared her throat and asked, “Is my form okay?”

May gave her a long look that clearly said, ‘You know that your form is fine.’

Daisy pulled her eyes away from May’s stare, announcing, “I’m going to fill up my water, do you need any?”

May shook her head, pulling out her phone.

Daisy bent down to grab her water and headed to the back of the gym, towards the locker rooms. A couple of reusable bottle-filler stations were stuck into the wall, right next to the PT rooms. Daisy couldn’t help but peer into the closest one as she listened to the sound of water streaming into her bottle. It was filled with floor ladders, yoga balls, sports med supplies... New Guy. Huh.

Wondering why he would be sitting in a dark PT room by himself, Daisy took a swig of her water before continuing to fill it up. He hopped off the table as the lights came on, a young doctor-type walking in a smiling. She was reminded of his limp when he walked towards her, shaking her hand and flashing a large smile. Cute, Daisy noticed. Wait, no, what?

Daisy promptly turned and headed back to the wall of mirrors, choosing to ignore the smirk on May’s face.

“Ready?” Daisy asked.

“Actually,” May began, “Why don’t we get in some sparring? You’ve been at this for over an hour.”

Daisy caught the glance May threw at the half-assed wraps on her hands and nodded. With only a few jitters, Daisy quickly helped May unroll the sparring mats onto the floor. Daisy had only sparred with Yo-Yo since she got back from Columbia visiting her cousin. Sparring with May was an entirely different level.

After some warm-up drills, May silently took charge and got into a fighting stance. Daisy rose up on her tip-toes, then rocked backwards. The grey padding beneath her looked a lot softer than it felt while being slammed onto it. A quick lunge from Daisy and a swift deflection by May, and the two women were off.

Across the gym, Daniel Sousa and the doctor were chatting, watching Daisy and May.

“They look like they’re barely breaking a sweat,” Daniel commented after May leaped off Daisy’s leg, flipping forwards and attempting to grab Daisy around the shoulders. Daisy rolled backward, throwing May over her and getting to her feet as the shorter woman jumped up into a wide stance.

“You’ll get back to that level,” The physical therapist assured him.

Daniel shook his head. “Maybe. I hope so. If not, I’m a damn good shot, anyway.”

The doctor chuckled before motioning back to the PT room. “C’mon, you still have thirty minutes stuck with me before I release you from daily therapy.”

“It’s only been three weeks?” Daniel questioned, confused. They walked through a black door to a small room. Grey cabinets on one side, a black table on the other, physical therapy tools lined up in organized sections.

“Most of which was just assessing you. You already know the exercises and stretches, and you completed the physical therapy recommended by your primary care physician before you came to us. You have the strength mostly back in your residual limb, at least to the point where sparring shouldn’t do any damage. I still expect you to show up at least twice a week. Especially since you’re starting field training with May.”

He smiled. “How do you know about that?”

“I have access to your file, Sousa,” She reminded him, “I also know you were late to her class on the first day. Not a smart move, in my opinion.”

Daniel cringed at the memory of heads turning his way, watching him limp to the only open seat in the very front. May’s comment— “Thoughtful of you to join us, Agent Sousa,” —still turned his face a slightly embarrassing shade of red when he thought about it.

Noticing his uncomfortable silence, the physical therapist put on a sympathetic face. “I’m sure you’ll be fine. I was late to my first class, too. Professor Martin, advanced physiology. Granted, I was seventeen...”

Daniel playfully glared at her.

“...but I suppose that’s no excuse. Let’s get started.”

The rest of the day went by without Daisy or Daniel seeing much of each other besides a fleeting glimpse while changing classes. Not that they were looking for the other, or anything.

A few hours later, before dinner, Daisy was sitting on the counter in the girls’ dorm bathroom, watching Jemma curl her hair.

Jemma Simmons was one of the only people she immediately loved at SHIELD, and the first person she had trusted on Coulson’s team. Over the course of a couple months, they became closer than Daisy had ever been with anyone, spending almost every waking moment together. Over time, Daisy had grown to love the rest of the team, too, learning that they had also been hand picked by Coulson. Though, technically, Daisy hadn’t been chosen for the team. She was picked up as a consultant. But it didn’t matter, as the ragtag team had quickly been disbanded.

Knives shoved into your back can have that effect.

After the end of the team, Code-named Bus Kids, Daisy, Fitzsimmons, Tripp, and May and Coulson had come to the Academy to continue working with SHIELD. Daisy and Tripp were assigned as partners in their ops training, Fitzsimmons were partners in the lab, and May and Coulson still checked on them as if nothing had changed.

But people get busy, and it had been awhile since Jemma and Daisy had properly talked to each other.

“Does the bruise on my nose look like it’ll go away any time soon?”

Jemma glanced up through the mirror, shrugging. “It should. What did you do to it?”

Daisy fiddled with her hands, only answering when Jemma turned to face her fully.

“I kinda, uhm, got punched...”

The stern look Jemma gave Daisy quickly melted into laughter as the brunette added, “...by a punching bag.”

Reaching up to turn Daisy’s face towards the fluorescent bathroom lighting, Jemma gently ran a finger along the angry red splotch on the top of Daisy’s nose. She jerked her head a bit, wincing at the contact.

“You should be fine, I’ll grab some of the good anti-inflammatory meds from the medical storage.”

Daisy thanked her, hopping off the counter to grab an eyeliner pen. “So, how is Fitz? Is this a real date night or are you guys ‘just hanging out’?”

Jemma smiled at his name and rubbed her neck. Daisy smiled back at the subconscious reaction.

“You two are so meant for each other,” She teased.

Jemma tilted her face up towards Daisy, allowing her to start applying eyeliner.

“He hasn’t really defined it. We’re ‘going out’, but we aren’t dating.”

Daisy finished the subtle cat eye, shaking her head. When would he learn that Jemma would only believe they were together if he said, ‘Hey, Jems, I’m completely and totally in love with you and I want you and I to live happily ever after!’

Daisy watched Jemma inspect herself in the mirror, touching up her mascara.

“You look amazing. He’s a fool if he doesn’t see it,” Daisy assured.

Jemma smiled. Her Sheffield accent had gotten thicker over break, Daisy noticed, as Jemma responded, “He does, I know he does. We both just have trouble, you know? Voicing our thoughts and feelings.”

Daisy definitely knew…

“Well, he could do with a good reminder sometimes. If y’all are going to keep going on these not-dates, you might as well show him what he’s missing by staying just friends!”

Jemma laughed, smiling gratefully. She took one final look in the mirror, swishing her knee-length royal blue dress and fluffing her hair. “Okay, well, off I go. Have a good night, Daisy.”

Daisy gave her a thumbs up and went to watch out her window as Fitz handed Jemma a hand-picked bouquet of (slightly squished) wildflowers and took her arm to lead her to the parking lot.

Daisy sighed and turned away from the gold and pink sunset. She opened her personal laptop, immediately bombarded by three windows running programs. One was running an innocent algorithm to clean all the useless, unused files from her computer, one was a simulation that could (hypothetically, no harm no foul) hack the Pentagon, and another was trying to find video and audio feed from Los Angeles, four months ago.

Daisy’s gaze lingered on the last one, not expecting anything new. She sighed and picked up her laptop, deciding to go visit Mack in the garage. It was only seven on a Friday, he’d probably be there working on the run-down, close to falling apart Harley he had bought off an old friend for $200. Mack had been working on it for months. Daisy wasn’t even sure it had half its original parts.

A short trip across the grounds and a trek over a winding path cut through a field of thick tallgrass later, Daisy arrived at the garage.

The monstrous steel and concrete building was like a plane hangar and mechanics lab forged into one. Workstations around the edge were strewn with tools, motors, and half-finished pieces of tech. Shining black SHIELD vehicles and even two quinjets sat in the middle, outlined by rectangular blocks of tape and paint. Catwalks crossed the upper level so that mechanics could reach the tops of planes when necessary, though SHIELD planes hardly ever came to The Academy unless they were being used for a lesson.

Daisy followed the sounds of tinkering and the quietly moving shadows to Mack’s workstation. She carefully leaned against a nearby SHIELD van, not wanting to interrupt his work.

Now, to say that Mack wasn’t easily frightened was an understatement. Daisy had hardly ever seen the muscled giant of a man so much as jump. Ever since discovering this, Daisy had taken every opportunity to try to scare Mack. It was not going great.

Daisy pulled out her phone, silently thumbing through emails and checking Instagram. She was about to walk over and tap him on the shoulder when Mack turned around and screamed.

Clutching his chest, Mack exclaimed, “Tremors, what the hell?!”

“I just wanted to come check in,” Daisy giggled, happy that she had finally snuck up on Mack.

Mack stood with his hands on his hips, smiling wide, before cocking one thick eyebrow and gesturing at her face.

“What happened to your nose?”

“Punching bag won this morning,” She shrugged.

Mack shook his head, laughing in a deep rumble. “You wanna help me with this?” He asked, pointing to the small device on his desk.

She didn’t answer, just reached out to take a small screwdriver from Mack’s very large hand. He showed her how to twist it to create leverage without it slipping while he messed with some wires, and eventually he seemed satisfied.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Mack asked casually.

Daisy nodded, her grumbling stomach betraying her.

Mack eyed her up and down. “Sure. Well, I’m hungry, so let's get something to eat and then we can take the bikes out.”

Daisy liked the feeling of being on a bike, the wind in her hair and steady vibrations from the engine soothing her ever-present headache. Ever since this revelation, if Mack went out on his motorcycle, he invited Daisy to ride with him.

At first, Daisy had been skeptical. What was so great about a two-wheel speeding death trap? One of her best friends had driven a gleaming 1969 Dodge Charger, and she had enjoyed riding with the windows down, but it still wasn’t the absolute best experience of her life, like most motorcyclists claimed a ride could be. However, once Daisy had finally taken Mack up on his offer, she was never hesitant to accept another invitation.

In the canteen, Mack piled a plate high with salad ingredients and baked spaghetti, scooping some off into a bowl for Daisy once he got back to the table. She took a fork and picked at it, chewing the crisp lettuce slowly.

Once they were both finished, Mack put his plate and utensils on the circling dish belt. He let Daisy lead the way back to the garage. She immediately grabbed two helmets and Mack’s gloves.

“That leather jacket gonna be enough to keep you warm? I have a couple old flannels in my bag if you want one.” Mack offered.

Daisy picked at a loose thread on the worn black jacket, nodding and throwing a ‘Thanks’ over her shoulder. She quickly rifled through his duffel bag, pulling out a faded black and blue flannel and shrugging it on under her jacket.

Mack mounted his black and silver bike, Daisy choosing a smaller SHIELD one. She kicked the kickstand back with her foot, finding her balance. She followed Mack as he revved the engine and took off out of the garage. Daisy heard him speak into the helmet’s mic.

“I upgraded the bikes, bigger tires and a better visor. It’s more efficient. Plus, when I’m out on the highway, cars don’t push me around.”

Daisy gave him a thumbs up, focusing on the feeling of air flowing around her. She sped up as she reached the road. She felt as if she was flying high into the air, fighting the laws of physics. On the back roads surrounding the Academy, as familiar as the back of her hand, Daisy relaxed and let herself fall into autopilot.

She heard Mack in her ear, still talking about the bike. She had heard it all before, but there was something centering about listening to Mack retell the evolution of his bike for the hundredth time, like a kid who begged to hear the same bedtime story every night.

It was freeing, speeding down a deserted road on the bike, stars above and pavement below. Pine trees reached for the sky on each side of her. Shrubbery and grass waved to Mack and Daisy as they raced forward.

A slight burn pricked her eyes that she knew wasn’t from the wind. Daisy needed this after a stressful first couple weeks back in class. To be honest, it was what she needed all the time. Daisy was exhausted. Her powers may not be visible, but they were always on, always bouncing around her body. Times like these, though, Daisy felt free. Releasing the constant grip she had on her self-control, she let the vibrations of the engine flow through her. Slowly, surely, Daisy let her guard down. A whispering warble crept into her ears over the wind. She could feel the way the pavement below and the humid late-August air around her absorbed the miniscule quakes, bouncing lightly off the tall trees like a quiet laugh reflecting off the walls of an echo-chamber.

About an hour later, Daisy and Mack were rolling back into the garage. Daisy couldn’t hide the slight redness in her eyes, but the smile on her face told Mack he didn’t need to worry. The pair silently did maintenance on the motorcycles, re-fueling them for later use and checking for any loose parts on Daisy’s.

Daisy headed back to campus, refusing Mack’s offer to walk her back to the dorms. She would be fine on her own. Besides, Jems might be back by now, she could ask about Fitzsimmons’ date. Or she could wait until breakfast tomorrow and tease them both.

Daisy stopped in her tracks. Out of the corner of her eye, a shadow slipped behind a building. Daisy felt her back tense, her hands curling into fists.

Any remainder of twilight light had faded while Mack and Daisy maintenanced the bikes. Daisy couldn’t imagine that any of the trainees that went to parties at the nearby universities were back yet, but no student in their right mind would want to simply walk around the dark campus of the Academy.

She kept walking, more alert. No sounds apart from her steady breathing and the rustle of grass beneath her feet reached her ears. She walked slowly toward where the shadow had disappeared. It looked as if it was headed to the biochem building. Daisy raised her hands, quietly running towards the white building, slightly crouched. She circled it once, twice, before deciding she had been imagining things, the shadow was only a trick of the light. It seemed so real though, so solid…

Daisy shook her head and crossed the courtyard, heading towards the dorms. It was late, and she had important things to do tomorrow. She was probably just tired from her ride with Mack.

Behind her, unnoticed by Daisy, the shadow quickly crossed the field behind the biochem building, slinking into the tallgrass.

The next day, Daisy woke to the sound of her alarm blaring 90’s RnB at six thirty AM, sharp. She quickly shut it off and stared at the ceiling for a moment before groaning and dragging herself out of bed. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night after her encounter with the shadow.

The sun was slowly ascending in the sky, golden light filtering into her windows. It was early, but she didn’t have the energy to go workout. Instead, Daisy stretched on her bed and sent a quick text to Jemma asking to meet up later to gossip about her date.

She grabbed shorts and a cropped sweatshirt, quickly dressing and making her way to the bathroom. She clipped her hair back, brushed her teeth, washed her face and headed back to her room. Trying her best to cover the bruise that had turned from red-violet to a blue-ish tinted black, she did minimal makeup. It’s not like it could get any worse, she thought bitterly. The concealer wasn’t much use.

Deciding to ignore the bruise, Daisy stood up, grabbed her backpack with her personal laptop and journal and headed to the canteen.

There weren’t many students around campus this early in the morning. Most were either asleep or nursing a hangover in their dorms. A few dedicated trainees were scattered amongst the different buildings, either in the gym or studying on their favourite bench. Daisy made a beeline for the canteen, hoping that no one had drank all the fresh coffee yet.

She slipped through the doors, sending small smiles to the students she made eye-contact with, faltering when her roving gaze reached a set of twinkling eyes the color of coffee. Maybe, she thought, I should go over and talk to him. What’s the worst that can happen?

She quickly poured herself a cup of coffee and grabbed a cinnamon raisin bagel from the pastry cart. Checking to be sure he wasn’t sitting with anyone (she wouldn’t want to intrude), Daisy walked around to the back of the large room, sitting in a spot diagonal from him.

After a few minutes of silence where Daisy ate her bagel and pretended not to feel his eyes on her, she turned and faced him.

“Good morning,” she said.

He dipped his head and raised his paper cup of coffee at the same time in response.

Does he not want to talk to me? Daisy questioned herself. She tried again. “So, is the coffee good?” He glanced at her cup that she had been sipping. Daisy recovered, “You know, in your opinion. I love the coffee here, the slightly burned aftertaste goes well with cream and sugar.΅

To her relief, he smiled. “Yeah, it’s good. I don’t usually use cream or sugar.”

Daisy raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Ah, more of a bare necessities, no-nonsense guy?”

His nose scrunched a little in thought, as if he was assessing his entire personality to see if it aligned with Daisy’s coffee psychology. He nodded finally, elaborating, “I was in the army. Most of us drank it black while deployed. I never got out of the habit. But, to answer your question, I like to think of myself as low maintenance.”

He sent her a small smile that had her insides melting just a bit. Daisy hid behind the rim of her coffee cup, trying to think of a response. Luckily, New Guy saved her.

“How do you drink your coffee?”

Daisy lowered her own paper cup, clearing her throat. “One half and half, just a bit of sugar. If I’m super tired I’ll add more.”

“So you probably adapt easily and have a deep hunger for answers to all your questions?”

Daisy’s eyes quickly flicked down to her coffee, wondering if her coffee order really exposed that much about her. Daniel laughed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. “I’m kidding. I noticed how you’re always in the computer lab before class, and Yo-Yo told me that you use that time to research.”

Daisy felt a blush creep up her neck. Yo-Yo knew New Guy? And gave him information about her schedule?

Daniel quickly explained, “We see each other in the halls a lot. And we have a class together. She noticed me in the lab and thought I knew you.”

Daisy relaxed. Yo-Yo had become increasingly more friendly to strangers the longer she spent at the Academy.

“I remember the first time I met her. She was so angry that SHIELD had stopped her from exposing the police in her city as corrupt. Our team was sent in to help her finish what she had started, destroy weapons and take down the corrupt members of the department. It was fun,” She chuckled.

Daniel watched her through his thin clear-frame glasses. She winced a little as her nose scrunched with laughter, recalling another story about a mission gone awry that Yo-Yo saved.

“How did you get that bruise?”

“What?”

He pointed to the spot on his face that mirrored the position of the bruise on hers. “The bruise. It looks like it hurts.”

Daisy shrugged, “Not as badly as getting shot. But you know, sometimes you punch the bag, sometimes the bag punches you.”

Despite the playful nature of the statement, Daniel couldn’t help but hear alarm bells in the back of his mind. She had been shot?!

Daisy noticed the change in Daniel’s demeanor and switched tactics, “It’s just a bruise. I wasn’t paying attention and the punching bag flew back and hit me in the face.”

Daniel laughed, becoming more and more intrigued with the enigma sitting across from him. Well, at least this enigma was beautiful, even if she had lost a fight to a punching bag.

A look of pure confusion overtook Daisy’s features. “Excuse me?”

Daniel’s face flushed bright red. He said that out loud. Daisy was still smiling though, Daniel let out a nervous chuckle. The two lapsed into an awkward silence. Daisy was finishing her bagel when he spoke up again.

“It was good talking to you,” he said softly.

Daisy’s eyes wandered his face with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, it was.”

He resisted the urge to offer to walk Daisy to wherever she was going as she headed out of the doors of the canteen, coffee with one half and half and pinch of sugar in hand.

————————————————————————————

hi hellooo! whatd you think? comments and notes are appreciated! (will go back and edit this later, for now i sleep)

tag list: @jaanulore

#agents of sheild #aos #dousy #timequake #fic #angst #fluff #fitzsimmons #mackelena #philindaisy #jemma simmons #leo fitz #daniel sousa #daisy johnson #/#melinda may

21 notes · View notes

themagicalmysticalboy · 3 years

Note

Rarepair week, george&paul? Angst/comfort maybe? Let it be era? Hurt my soul :)

a/n: you’ve got it babe! i actually did some research for the flashback scene so it’s pretty accurate to reality, according to Ringo’s and some crew member's accounts.

Don’t Let Me Down

For as cold as it had been for the last month, the sun was shining high in the sky. A peculiar sight that brought a hint of warmth to Paul’s face but did not extend further than that. He could be in a summer's day desert and still feel the cold churn in his stomach. Looming tall and strong over him was the Abbey Road studio. The uncharacteristic beams of sunlight lit the many windows with a yellow glint. A million-eyed monster ready to tear him to shreds if he dared step closer. And he did dare. He peeled himself off his car and stiffened instantly. He’d been leaning against the passengers' door so long that when the wind hit his back it sent a shiver right through him. Or maybe it was solely his nerves. Either way, he didn’t plan to dwell on it.

A few Scruffs were waiting outside with paper coffee cups in hand and drink carriers stacked against the wall. So George was in. He had really come back. The cold churn rose to his chest. At this rate, he’d be a human popsicle by lunch.

There was a disjointed chorus of “Hi Paul” and “Good Morning” which he replied to with a courteous wave. He’d been largely turned off by the Apple Scruffs for some time now but there wasn’t really any malice. Having your house broken into was more than a bit off-putting, though. So he felt justified. George was the most tolerant of them, buying them coffees and breakfast foods every so often. They must have missed him while he was gone. Yeah. Surely they did. Because I did. Paul pushed the sentiment to the wayside. They still had an album to make. They still had songs to record and a documentary to be part of. He couldn’t let his emotions get the best of him again. That had only led to an explosion.

Preparing himself with a stiffened posture and pushed back shoulders, he walked into the studio with a smile. It was almost painful to keep up but the cameraman was already in his face and he refused to let on to his nerves. He needed some inkling of control here and there was so little of that to grab hold of these days.

When he walked into the recording room, he found people scattered across the room but he didn’t find John or Ringo. It was still early in the morning so it made sense but he was undoubtedly rattled by the realization, becoming more rattled when he noticed George looking at him. Paul didn’t dare meet his eyes, drifting down to his feet. He looked soft, despite his sharp features. Cozy in his furry boots and warm jumper. He missed looking at that face and touching that body and kissing those lips. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d been able to do any of that. Too long.

George gave a thin-lipped smile before turning to Billy Preston at the piano. Was that a good sign or was this small sign of grace feigned for the cameras?

Whatever it meant, it drove Paul mad. He didn’t think he deserved forgiveness but he sure as hell would take it. There was no helping the intrusive memories of the aftermath of George walking out. He had done it so nonchalantly that no one was sure he had actually left until they got to the recording room and found him and his guitar missing.

Something had shifted in the room as soon as the three remaining Beatles looked at each other. John was breathing heavily with an icy glare. There was a glint in his eye that screamed danger. It was focused on Paul. Picking up the bass with a death grip on the neck, Paul just stared John down. There was a mutual understanding in the moment. The rage in both of them was bubbling over more and more by the second.

John yanked his guitar from the rack and they both plugged into the amps. No one seemed to remember the camera crew was still around. They just turned to Ringo, who was already at his drums, drumsticks in one hand, rubbing his eyes with the other. He was pushing so hard it had to hurt. And that was it. John squared up to the mic and began to scream the lyrics to a song they'd already wrapped up but they all threw themselves into it without question. Screaming, banging, and heavy riffs filled the studio. Nothing made sense and every fiber of Paul’s being hurt so much that he didn’t care. He wasn’t alone in the feeling, at least. They all felt some level of hurt.

Ringo was even mad- at the situation or at George or at Paul, it didn’t matter. He banged and slammed away like never before. It sounded so wrong coming from him but at the moment it was the only right thing to do. They sounded perfectly horrible. There was a distinct addition to the vocals and Paul turned to find Yoko sitting on George’s little blue stool, wailing along with John’s screams. Yes. Perfectly horrible.

When the song was up the energy was still poisonous and thick in the air. They weren’t done, not by far. Paul stepped up to the mic and John did not move away. With little notion of what he was doing, he went at the lyrics of another song. The words spat from his tongue with vitriol and fire.

They all needed to scream. Ringo was at the mic at some point, coming up with random words on the spot. Really just to have something to yell about.

When they finished, panting out the last seething breaths, Paul felt empty.

“Way to fucking go,” John yelled, eyes fixed on Paul. “Way to go.” his voice was drastically quieter, more tired and sad and hoarse, eyes drifting to his feet.

Paul’s bass suddenly felt a thousand pound heavier, pulling the strap down against his shoulder painfully. Maybe it was more the weight of his mistakes than the bass. Everything felt painstaking and dreadful for the rest of the day. The anger was gone and the screaming was done. There was nothing else to keep his mind from wandering into a wall of depression.

In the present, sans John and Ringo, he shyly grabbed an acoustic guitar and went to sit in a corner. He worked on one of his own songs, quietly strumming and murmuring. He didn’t like it yet, keeping it to himself. The awkward air in the studio only exemplified his need for privacy. So he stayed tucked away, only speaking when spoken to, like a good little schoolboy. George had even come over to ask about the song but Paul told him it wasn’t right just yet. There was no way he was about to embarrass himself on top of all this.

He went back and forth for most of the day. Playing several takes of various songs before turning back to his own song. There was a part on one of the songs that Paul found needed a quieter guitar part. The thought of addressing this issue to George was met with resistance. Was he really ready to address him? The guitar part could be addressed later, maybe. He could suggest another take tomorrow. But the song. It just wouldn’t be right. And maybe no one would be willing to do another take later. That struck a nerve in Paul that rang louder than the rest of his rationale.

“Maybe,” Paul started, resolving to look directly at George for the first time since he walked in. “The guitar could be a bit quieter next take, y’know? Just sounds a bit heavy.” He tacked on quickly, glancing at Ringo, “The drums too.”

Ringo gave him a pained expression. Paul looked George dead on with a weak smile, though he could see John’s cautioning glare in his peripheral vision. George’s eyes were dark and apathetic. His jaw was set tight.

George Martin came over just when he was about to respond. Oblivious to the tension between them, he clapped a hand on John’s shoulder with a grin. “That was a great take, lads. Why don’t you take a lunch break with the film crew.”

“Wasn’t good enough for Paul,” George huffed, leaving first. “But what is?”

George Martin didn’t hear the remark and walked off to talk with Mal.

“You’re really going to cock it up already?”

“What!” Paul went quickly to his own defense. “It was a suggestion, is all. I’m not treating him with kid gloves just because we had a row.”

“A row? He left the bloody band.”

“Not being a prick for one day isn’t kid gloves,” Ringo suddenly chimed in.

Paul gaped. “Caring about the songs is being a prick now, is it?”

John huffed an indigent laugh. “You’re painfully stupid.” He left with Ringo in tow before Paul could ask for any clarification. Not that he was sure he wanted any.

Stunned by the attacks, he stared blankly at George’s guitar. He had absolutely none of his friends at his side. He had managed to push them all away when all he wanted, so desperately, was to bring them together. They were slipping through his fingers like grains of sand and all he could seem to do was open his hands to quicken the fall. He’d lose them forever. It was all his fault. How long would it take? When would they figure out he wasn’t worth the trouble?

He just wanted them to be alright. He wanted to go back to how they were and just tour a bit. Play on stage like they all used to love. The band couldn’t rip apart. It just couldn’t because Paul would tear apart with it. And yet here they all were, at wit's end with one another. The connecting link to this free fall was Paul, of course. He had made Ritch leave and then George. It was all too obvious that John wanted out - surely Paul’s fault as well.

He couldn’t imagine a world without Ringo, John, and George playing at his side. He didn’t want to. It was something new and terrifying that had no qualms with keeping him up at night, even when three glasses of scotch in. He couldn’t recall the last time he slept without drinking. Even still, nightmares filled his dreams and made sleeping seem worthless and just as tiresome as not sleeping at all. What a poor excuse of a man he was becoming.

With a tight chest and burning eyes, he got up. Thankfully, the film crew had truly gone to lunch. He was mostly alone with a few straggling technicians in the booth.

There was no way in hell he could go to lunch now. Not while it felt like the world was out to get him. Not while he felt on the verge of crying. Instead, he decided to go outside for a smoke. The cold winter wind cooled his hot skin. He fell against the wall with a thud and bit his lip. His eyes were pricked with tears but he wouldn’t let them fall. Not here. Not now.

Dragging a hand down his face, he dove into his pocket and pulled out a spliff he’d rolled that morning for this very reason. His hand was caught on his chin as he eyed the thing. A beacon of hope.

He wasted no more time in lighting it. The earthy taste coated his tongue and warmed his throat. He relaxed on the exhale and repeated the process until his mind was a little numb. The carefree smoke floated high above before disappearing into the brisk wind. It would be so much easier to disappear with it.

“Stay gone too long and they’ll think you quit too.”

Tension pulled at his neck and traveled down his body. With an involuntary jerk of his fingers, the spliff fell to the concrete. He didn’t look at the newcomer and didn’t need to. The calming drawl could only be from one person.

“So?”

Paul reluctantly turned his head to find George’s steady gaze on him. Words abandoned his brain. “So,” he asked stupidly.

George’s features suddenly dropped and Paul noticed there had been a hint of lightness seconds before. Great. Already cocking it up.

“Oh, fuck you, then.”

“George! No, no!” He jumped forward and grabbed George’s wrist. “Please, love.”

There was hesitation in George’s step. He shook Paul’s hand off but did not leave. “Do you even care? Care that I left.”

His brow furrowed and his mind swirled back to life. “Of course. We were all-”

“I didn’t ask about the others. Did you care?”

It seemed like such an absurd question. There was nothing to suggest he didn’t. He was downright miserable. Was that not plain to see? Something inside him made him want to switch back on the defense. Deflect and reject. But he couldn’t let himself slip anymore. Everything was on the line now. His entire relationship was up to bat. He’d just be honest. And honesty wasn’t all that hard when your heart wrenched at the thought of this charade continuing for another second.

“Yes! I cared. I thought you’d never come back and I was terrified.” He was desperately searching George’s face for any recognition of belief. “You didn’t answer my calls for weeks and I thought you wanted nothing to do with me. If you don’t I can't even blame you at this point. Just tell me what I did wrong.”

There was no hint of emotion from George. He had a corked brow that could mean anything. The time passing with no answer couldn’t be good. Maybe he wouldn’t answer at all and just leave Paul standing here like an idiot.

“You want to know what you did wrong?” A look of contempt screwed up George’s features. “I don’t even know where I’d start.”

A weight crushed every bone in Paul’s body. He deserved this. He deserved the heartache and pain. The more it hurt the better George might feel. He just had to hold his asinine tongue.

“You treat me like I couldn’t find writing talent if it bit me in the arse.” Paul tried to interrupt, despite himself, with an explanation. “Shut up and listen!” George moved closer, sizing Paul up. “When’s the last time you took any suggestion I’ve made seriously? You’ve been screaming from the damn rooftop about staying together and getting back to basics yet you sit in your little fucking corner like a punished child, ignoring us to work alone. What’s the point, then? Just to show how much of a pain you can be? You act like you don’t want me- any of us- near your songs and then boss us around on our own.”

George was pulling in unsteady breaths. He leaned forward slightly, really looking into Paul’s soul.

“You weren’t even the one to ask me back. Had Ritch do it for you, you coward.” George pushed him into the wall and Paul took it. “And you have the gall to ignore me! Even when I came to you like a stupid loyal puppy! That’s how you see me, isn’t it? Your little puppy that you get tired of when it makes too much noise. Well, fuck you and your damn songs. Fuck whatever you think you’re doing. You’re not keeping us together and you never could.”

Just punch me. The thought was screaming at the forefront and wouldn’t settle. Too angry with himself to stop, he yelled back, “Don’t you think I know? I see everyone slipping away and turning from me and all I can do is push you further! No matter what I try or how good I think I’m doing, you’ll just leave me out cold.” Caught up in it all, he shoved George back. “And you’re not a puppy! You’re my mate. You’re- I love you, alright.”

His voice cracked and, god, he was crying. He was actually crying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Really just didn’t think you’d come back if I asked. And if that makes me a coward then sure. That’s what I am. If being a coward is what I need to have you near, fine.”

A muscle in George’s jaw tightened. He was stiff and his eyes were damp. His voice was so soft when he said, “Why didn’t you look at me? When you walked in you wouldn’t even really look at me. And when I tried to talk you just buried your head in your notebook.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But as soon as you have an issue with a song you go in with those big eyes of yours and I don’t want to hate you. It’s not fair.”

“You’ve said it, y’know. I’m a right coward. Scared to lose you if I speak and losing you just as fast when I don’t. Shouldn’t have turned you away. I shouldn’t have ignored you. The song- the stupid song. Don’t know if I even cared about how loud your guitar was. I just wanted to look at you, I think.”

“Looking at me now, aren’t you?”

And he was. They had been staring relentlessly and it felt good, no matter how much yelling they’d done. He wiped harshly at his cheeks to clear them of tears. “I’m sorry for being a prick.”

“Aye. You should be.” The words might have hurt if the corners of his mouth didn’t twitch up. He rubbed Paul’s shoulders and arms. “Just talk to me, okay? I won’t disappear, I promise.”

His smile was sad but genuine. All Paul could ask for. He nodded but then realized he already missed the point. “Okay,” he voiced. “Talking. Always been my strong suit.”

George’s smile grew and he pulled Paul into a hug. He hugged back fiercely, balling his hands up in George’s jumper.

“I don’t deserve this.” The words weren’t meant to leave his mind but they seemed to come of their own accord.

George moved him back and Paul almost pulled them right back together. “What do you mean?”

Bringing a hand up to caress George’s cheek, he tilted his head. “I don’t deserve to have you. Don’t deserve to have this band. Wouldn’t you be better off without me? I’m just here to cock it all up.”

“You… really mean that, don’t you?” With a shaky breath, George brought him back into the hug and gently held Paul’s head to his shoulder, petting down his hair. “No matter what happens to the band, it’s not because you don't deserve to have it. It’d be because we all need space, alright?” He held Paul a little closer. “And you don’t get to decide if you deserve me. That’s my decision.”

Paul nestled into the crook of his neck, scared to ask but not willing to keep it back. “And you think I do?”

“No. No. I just fancy hugging people I hate.”

Paul smiled into his neck. “Arse.”

#beatlesrarepairweek #mcharrison #mcharrison fanfiction #the beatles #George Harrison #paul mccartney #John Lennon #Ringo Starr #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles one shot #the beatles rare pair week

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icecreamkink · 3 years

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so i watched cobra kai all in two days and i have so many -

this show has so many cool and smart angles to it, but the same time.... its so stupid oh my god everyone is so dumb literally mr miyagi held all of the braincells in this whole universe

like i am but at the same time i am not surprised it was made like this, bc in hindsight of course there were hordes of ppl simping over johnny lawrence .... but it still amuses me that this is like... an Actual Official Thing

ok this will get long so cut it is

how much fun this cast has is super visible and i love it

i rly enjoy how the world was expanded ! i did grow up watching the karate kid movies, so watching how they progressed the world of the movies so organically was pretty cool. it rly feels like its the same universe

i fucking LOVE stories that are largely about a Thing. dancing ,skating, sports its just so thrilling to experience this all consuming relationship people can have with this type of activity? and martial arts are just that much more intense, so yeah, grown ass men kicking each other around at the lightest provocation and a war veteran caring so much abt teen karate is Ridiculous.... but i love it all because thats the intensity i find so thrilling

was kinda surprised with how much im missing mr. miyagi. first because, like everyone is so unhinged jesus christo, it just really throws into relief how much his character grounded the narrative of the movies. but also hes just a really great character

and on that note it rly Gets Me that the show itself aknowledges that and plays that into daniels angst and all the little ways they sorta weave myiagisms into the whole show........ im not getting emotional over this dumb karate dads show OK

related - i really miss hearing ‘daniel-san’ 🥺🥺

ACE DEGENERATE oh god oh no

they really went down the down and out johnny lawrence route huh. like i was always kinda bummed we see kreese choking him and then we never see him again in the movies, and while i love dumpster fire problematic trash himbo ck johnny, its like......................... actually really sad that his life turned out like this fjngn

everytime i hear ‘babes’ and ‘pussy’ i die a little inside. i know thats the point but i am a v cringe easy person, have mercy (ehe)

loved the way they are constantly drawing parallels between johnny and mr. myiagi of all people. hes the handy man of his building that has a bullied kid asking for help and eventually steps up to teach them karate, beats up a bunch of bullies for him, creates a friendship with said kid, estranged from family, drinks his sorrows away, surprisingly one of the least quick to anger characters (which says more about everyone else really but.... Well.), no schemes or ulterior motives hes just tryna vibe here.... oh and ofc magically heals miguel of is asthma apparently. the true disciple.. meanwhile daniel is his usual messy petty self even tho he wants to be mr myiagi so bad

also interesting about that is how miguels character is a parallel of both johnny and daniel at the same time

overall the parallels in ck are done really well, drawing comparisons and also subverting them constantly. theyre well thought out

THE PARALELOGRAMS

fr tho, the angle being explicitly the cycle of trauma and its effects and how trumatized adults in turn traumatize kids, maliciously or not, is so interesting

but! on the flip side of that, it feels like the writers are getting in their own way @ letting the characters grow. especially this last season. theres only so many times you can do "johnny and daniel are getting along but 5mins later they are (literally) fighting over some dumbass random issue" or "johnny puts in 20% of effort with robby and then gives up" before it gets on your nerves yknow?

i see daniel no longer talks like macchio ingested 15 shots of espresso before every take and idk how to feel about that tbh

interesting tension in daniel, as in, in tkk mr miyagi was there and daniel was frankly, kind of a lil shit, this messy petty spitfire hot tempered sassy kid,(johnny lawrence voice: just... stop being so annoying) but now hes the adult, and he wants to be mr. miyagi... but hes just not, and never will be to his very core and it shakes him and in a way hes trying to find who he is now that he sees himself in a position to be a not! cobra kai figure. i kinda really like that

plus how that relates to his cobra kai trauma. idk if the writers thought abt it Like That, i think so, but in any case, its interesting bc it seems like daniel has told everyone whod listen about johnny lawrence his Pretty Boy Karate Rival and high school and 84 cobra kai... But. no one seems to know what went on in 85 (or 86? idk) which was just so much worse

like ye og cobras were shitheads, but tkk iii is just two hours of daniel being emotionally and physically tortured.

like, the third movie is.............chaotic, to put it nicely, and many people ignore it, but the writers clearly didnt. daniels actions are, in a way, responding so much more to the events of tkk iii than to the first movie ie. johnny himself, AND. daniel doesnt rly seem to have dealt with that trauma? he never told sam? doesnt feel like hes ever told amanda? he doesnt even say terrys name out loud? freaks Out over kreese ? the way he reacts to robbys deceit? his FACE when he walks past the new "fear does not exist in this dojo" paint or kreeses photo? hmMm i sense Pain

his fashion tho........... disappointing. where are the flower shirts daniel huh we had one (1) shirt what a tragedy STOP WEARING SUITS ALL THE TIME . also the band ts/grunge bi are a look for johnny but part of me longs for the preppy lovable 80s bully chic johnny lawrence getups

weird that they never used that last moment of karate kid where johnny kinda... snaps out of his anger and hands daniel the trophy almost in tears. like “youre alright larusso, good match” “thanks a lot” that being their last direct interection seems like itd be perfect fruit for cobra kai but... they just dont. weird.

especially when, the FIRST SCENE they see each other, suposedly in 30+ years, the first thing to come out of daniels mouth is QUOTE "u still got those golden locks huh?" WHO SAYS SHIT LIKE THAT DANIEL FUCKING SAN

also amandas immediate reaction "your pretty boy rival?" like. can we talk about the fact that daniel had to have imparted to his wife the very important information that his high school bully/karate rival was like Really Cute and Fucking Hot Actually

the writers Knew exactly what they were doing and honestly.............. power to them

tkk director voice: and billy was just so cute

also I was thinking that daniel sounded strangely fond in that first scene, and i wonder if he developed a weird affection for johnny on the grounds that of all of his Karate Rivals johnny was actually the only one who didn’t actively tried to literally kill him

i was actually delightedly surprised with how great the chemistry between them is, like from the get go i am Invested. their rl friendship totally bleeds through and its fantastic

. granted, idiots enemies to lovers friends is my Thing so i am biased

johnny lawrence: i am down in the dumps, i fucked up my whole life and my sons probably, largely in light of the trauma that the father figure sensei and the philosophy of my karate inflicted on me and all my friends. u know what i should do, as a traumatized, unreliable mess of an adult? teach that same philosophy to some other kids! what could go wrong!

but really i enjoy the setup of it. i kinda like that i watched it late because, season 1 was johnny setting himself up for failure in a way and it was exciting to watch it all go to shit sjfn

Like. his heart might be in the right place, but theres just.... not a way to teach something like ‘strike hard, no mercy’ and not have it fuck up a kid

case and point: aisha, miguel and hawk become annoying as all hell over that bullshit in the end of s1, even before shit gets truly fucked up

billys subtle panicked eyes when he sees hawk and miguel fighting dirty in the all valley was SO GOOD especially in parallel with the panic that is so visible in his face in the movie when kreese tells bobby to injure daniel and in the sweep the leg scene

seen people question wether kreese should have returned and i absolutely think he needed to. johnny needed to realize that cobra kais fundamentals are flawed, at the root, beyond kreese himself being a toxic piece of shit

also who are we kidding? we are here to see the tkk characters play on new playgrounds!

i get what they're doing abt kreeses backstory, ( also. cobra kai. pq eles caem nas cobras djjs sorry) but did it need to take up that much time? feels like they couldve done it in half the run time and developed some other stories better

martin kove has such an evil eye. i love it

love that we get a good follow up to kreese breaks johnnys trophy and tries to CHOKE HIM in the parking lot, which happened in the movie and then....................... was never mentioned again

“the gang is all back together again” aaaa u piece of SHIT

also. terry silver is definetely appearing ha ha ha PAIN i cant wait

seen ppl say kreese was too much of a cartoon villain like..........................oh......... sweetie........... u dont even Know

interested how johnny will fit into that bc kreese was simping rly hard for johnny here. like i did not expect him to be so adamant to have him with cobra kai ... under his control, sure, but he really wants johnny by his side despite already having control of the dojo and how will terry silver self appointed jon kreeses forever simp going to feel abt that?

like bitchs dropping by every episode like ‘joooooohnny ..... come bacc to me joooonny......... this ur last warning! for real this time johnny! i wont say it again! watch me ! im leaving johnny! im rly leaving ! im dragging a chair” and johnny is just like. dont let the door hit ya bitch it was so funny pls

and on that subject oof, johnny! doesnt! Know! he doesnt get that side of daniels cobra kai trauma. and i kind of.............. cannot wait for ck 2021 johnny lawrence to meet terry silver like. what a shit show i need a front row seat and popcorn (imagine terry tries some greasy charm and johnny just roundhouse kicks him in the teeth bc he just doest Not Have the Patience for This. glorious)

feels like we, as a society, should acknowledge that cobra kai will never die................ bc their sense of design is just chefs kiss. their name is COBRA KAI. they have sexie sleeveless black gis. theyve sneks. colorful leather jackets with embroided naja insignia, the get ppl thru the aesthetics. evil geniuses

the flashback cuts : masterpiece behavior

the other takes!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! of the movie!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! the differente angles!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! of the FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THE CLOSE UP ON JOHNNYS FACE AT THE KICK

that scene of daniel and johnny vibing to 80s music in the car. just. oh my god. the fan wish fullfilment. no thoughts head empty.

the new characters! theyre .... good. but. idk. i really like miguel (save for the annoying phase mid s1 - end s2) and amanda, who is a damn riot and has some functioning braincells, but everyone else is

like dont get me wrong, i dont hate anyone,its not a jane and rafael from jtv situation, and i am interested and invested in their arcs, but i wouldnt say i like Like them, as in, personality wise

like, sams grappling with ptsd was rly gutting and i enjoyed that plus her slight rage issues,

which nicely parallel torys rage issues. torys background is all over the place tho so im pretty on the fence abt her so far

robby deserves better in every way, and i like how smart and cunning and surprisingly sweet he is

hawk............... is there i guess,

demetri is annoying in the best way possible,

carmen is sweet but. i just feel like her character is blunted to make the johnny relationship easier. like when shes furious with him after miguels injury but then forgives him like an episode later? and then convinces him to fight for the tournament bc she had a karate epiphany off screen even tho she was always against it? meh. feels like with the plot thiccening she was swallowed and now shes like a crutch for johnny mora than anything, which is disappointing.

aisha was cool and im kinda mad she wasnt in s3, especially bc a storyline with her tory and sam was like RIGHT THERE , but also... cant say i was super super fond of her... doesnt feel like we ever spent enough time on her

moon the bi icon,

overall its a good cast but the main draw for me remains the og cast

the tory/sam miguel/robby Thing. enjoy how theyre Narrative Foils and i like how their stories were so dramatically entangled but oh god give me a break with the teenage love square for the love of god. if u gonna put us through that at least have the decency to not make it so straight

and honestly some sam/tory miguel/robby romantic tension would even make more sense. just saying!

also im not sure how i feel abt the cobra kai: red miyagi do: blue theyre going with since some of daniels most iconic looks in tkk are also red. like it was a color they (johnny and him) sorta shared. i get it, opposite but complementary but idk... a little too fire nation and water tribe for me .

and like the cobra kai kids are so funny abt it bc their outifts grow progressively more ridiculously coordinated. its like do they group chat every morning before leaving their houses?

robby still sticks out like that tho. he went thru an athleisure/daniel san tsleeves phase and now hes back in the bandts grunge, but his color scheme doesnt fully blend with the other cobra kais. hmmmm.

LOVED LOVED LOVED both the okinawa episode and the cobra kais easy rider episode just such good good heart aching fun

bobby is an icon. he was in tkk and he is now ck hope appears more and more

tommy is like the most iconic background character. all his lines, freaking gold then and now. sigh :(

the framing in the okinawa trip was so good everything was so good

i stand by the fact that kumiko was the love interest daniel had the most chemistry with and shes is overall such a joy to watch, loved to see her again, idola, fashion icon

also tkk ii is good u guys are just mean

also really enjoyed chozens role in the episode, his evolution; i love that they introduced the pressure points (ty lee the blueprint) and! the honk + karate! cousins! absolutely iconic

when kumiko reads mr miyagis letters........ oh my god, my eyes FILLED with tears, it was so heart wrenching :(( tamlyns delivery was so emotional and lovely and its so obvious everyone involved in ck has so much love and respect for pat morita and mr miyagi as character, and i adore that it exists like this electric current through the show

when we were watching i told my sister i thought that ali would be miguels big shot surgeon and ngl i am so disappointed that didnt happen. hire me cobra kai writers

also the johnny ali daniel amanda chemistry? off the charts

AND the sassy retconning of daniel and alis breakup! LMAO ‘I HOPE U DIDNT TELL MR MIYAGI IT WAS MY FAULT’ HFDJJGNKFKSD

i am preeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetty sure back injuries dont work like that but oke

daniel and johnny are so good together whenever, like they never actually help the kids or get shit done and end up fighting anyway but its just so much fun when theyre hanging

JOHNNY LAWRENCE AND DANIEL LARUSSO FIGHTING TOGETHER

daniels “plan” on how to get robby to juvie was so stupid. literally were u TRYING to make him hate you. dumbass

parents at those hearing rly brave for ppl that did not do ANYTHING as their kids got involved in a karate gang war until now

“bullshit i heard u were the real bully!” i mightve screeched

this s3 ending was SO DRAMATIC omg

everyone is such a MESS go to THERAPY u unhinged motherfckers

also im sorry but uh. a richass neighborhood in california doesnt have some type of neighborhood watch? the larussos rly dont have any security at all? neighbors wont hear the sound of a damn karate brawl happening next door??? also wasnt tory all like ooo i cant go to juvie, my mom yada yada yet shes always running around town getting into fights even at the rich girls house she was kicked out of school for fighting?? ? ?? ?? ? ? ? ?? ? ? girl??

stop destroying the larussos house, its so pretty :((((

sam finding her center looking at mr miyagis picture... uwu maybe

robby yelling ‘U ARE WEAAK’@ johnny \as he is easily blocking him is like.... so funny and so sad to me. sweetheart.

also i know it was meant as ‘oh johnny pushes him and HURTS HIM’ but it just looks like robby runs himself into the lockers and IM SO SORRY I FEEL SO BAD BUT IT WAS SO FUNNY

i like that he and tory are the cobra kai kids now. we need ppl we care abt there to not revert to a good vs evil schtick, and this is the most engaging it could be... tho it hurts that these kids cant catch a break

ah yes "lets bet some real shit on the result of this teen karate tournament bc that is always a great idea" is BACK

so daniel saves johnny from kreese..... maybe johnny will save him from terry 🧐

and dojos unite ohohoho. lets SEE how that’ll work out

miguels face of Despair when the ck defectors and the md kids are bickering like 'this is never gonna work' : gold

also. Johnny Lawrence is gonna learn some myiagi-do karate AHAAHSJAKDFH

ive been waiting for this moment all my lifeeee oh lawrd

final thoughts! there are def things i hope the writers will improve on the next season, but i am very excited for it either way AND i feel like it has made me enjoy the movies even more and that is a win for a reboot/sequel to me!!

#m.#did i procrastinate watching this since it came out and only watched it now bc my sister nagged me to when i said we should #watch karate kid over the holidays?#and then binged the whole thing in two days??#mayhaps and what abt it #cobra kai #the karate kid #its funn #y bc like karate kid is a Childhood movie but i wouldnt say #it was like particularly special for me?#like i wasnt in a fandom or anything #but now.#i might be invested #maybe #talvez

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aflyingcontradiction · 3 years

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The Magnus Archives: Episode 123 - Web Development

First of all, let me just respond to the title of this episode with a long, drawn-out groan. Oh god, the punning of these people!

Jon: Coma, great! Let’s rearrange his office. Sleeping people don’t need – pens.

I can't explain why but 'Sleeping people don't need ... pens' is hilarious.

Melanie: Get away from me.

I love this entire Melanie scene just for how UNEXPECTED it was. So Jon comes back to work and yeah, things have changed, clearly, it's been six months, but Basira was basically the same aside from the fact that she's grieving and Georgie was also - basically the same, even though that means she has both absolutely no chill and way too much chill about the situation. And you think "Oh, he's going to talk to the others and he'll find out what has happened in his absence and it'll maybe be a shocking conversation but it'll be a conversation." Enter Melanie - who we last met already infected by the Slaughter and noticeably angry, but in a controlled manner - going COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY OFF ON JON WITH ABSOLUTELY ZERO WARNING! It's excellent.

Basira: Yeah, it was bad. We took them all out. Melanie did most of them. She was… she got a knife from somewhere and –

I know Basira probably means that Melanie found a knife somewhere but in context all I can imagine is Melanie straight-up materialising a knife out of sheer rage and thin air and going nuts on the Flesh avatars in the bloodiest sort of fashion.

Basira: He’s been restructuring. Separating out the departments a bit. Not a surprise, I guess, with his pedigree.

I mean, I'm terrified of the Lonely and this is obviously an isolation tactic but given that I've witnessed the suffering of friends under a regime of so-many-meetings-you-can't-get-your-work-done and even my exceptionally chill boss has recently instituted a "be logged into Teams at all times in case of spontaneous video calls" policy ... IS HAVING AN AVATAR OF THE LONELY FOR A BOSS REEEEEALLY SO BAD?? (I'm only half-joking here.)

Basira: Rumor is a couple of researchers up on the third floor decided to ignore some of his new directives, and… whoosh.

Okay, but this is genuinely terrifying.

But he’d intended the evening as purely platonic. Do you know how long we “dated,” before I realized what had happened and actually pressed him on the whole misunderstanding? Two months. Sometimes I think if I’d just been a little more oblivious, we’d be married by now. - Statement of Angie Santos

Greg or "a person who basically exists as an illustration of why it is a good idea to be aware of and openly express one's boundaries". He's not even a challenge for the Web, he's a snack (says a person who could absolutely imagine herself sticking to a loveless relationship for way-too-goddamn-long just because it's uncomfortable to break up. Like, I've done basically exactly this with friendships that had long run their course or were never anything but me being too-damn-awkward to openly admit that me and the other person have nothing in common. Greg is basically me but a few levels worse.)

Anyway, all of this is to try and explain why, when it started to get really weird, Greg didn’t just quit the job. I mean, it’s a freelance web project, and from what he said it doesn’t even pay very well. He wouldn’t be breaking any contract, and the client hardly ever even gets in touch. There is no reason he couldn’t just walk away, but I honestly don’t think he ever will.

Again, I could absolutely imagine myself doing a Greg! (Also again, the punning of these people. "Freelance web project" indeed.)

Chelicerae, which he made sure stood prominently at the top in a tasteful Sans Serif.

I just had to look up that word, apparently it's what the mouth parts of arachnids are called.

But still the emails came. “Bring them back.” “What is happening?” “I’m sorry I lied.”

I feel like a lot of the horror in this statement is happening off-screen, but in this case that's actually a good thing because it sends the imagination absolutely reeling.

Now, the last few years there had been a lot more homeless folk around Woking – I know, welcome to Tory Britain

I know this is on the nose, but I kinda love it when TMA takes political sideswipes so quick you might miss them if you fail to listen for half a second. It helps that I actually think this particular sideswipe is UTTERLY DESERVED AND ACCURATE.

It was definitely human once. At least, based on how it was screaming.

Honestly, I feel like the rest of the description isn't even necessary. These two sentences are more than enough to paint a picture.

I cannot help but note that there seem to be the names of several statement givers who found their way to the Institute, including noted arachnophobe Carlos Vittery. - Jon

This is the guy haunted by that one spider that really hated him.

Perhaps a coincidence, just people shopping their traumatic incidents around, but…but I have to wonder… how much their actions were their own.

That's a fair question. Is the Web specifically SENDING its victims to the Institute?

I wish I could talk it through with Martin. Or Tim. Or Sasha. But we never really did that, did we?

Oh god, that is a relatable feeling. "I have an overwhelming craving to do a thing and it's so strong that I practically forget it's not a thing I did much or at all before, but back then I had the option and now I don't."

My impression of this episode

I think this is the most unsetting statement we've had in quite a while. It helps that I find the character of Greg somewhat relatable and that he finds himself in the situation he's in because of character traits that I know I share to some degree and really need to work on. It hits close to home, I suppose. The surrounding conversations are also pretty riveting. As I said above, I really did not expect Melanie's outburst there at all. And Jon ... man, poor Jon.

#tma relisten #the magnus archives

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yellowocaballero · 4 years

Text

Small Joke Story Bc I’m Not A Coward

“Everybody shut up, we only have three hours to detail the greatest conspiracy theory of our time,” Melanie said severely, uncapping her marker. Jon perked up. “You don’t get a fucking vote, Jon.”

“Why not?!”

“Because this is the greatest trick the devil ever pulled,” Tim said seriously, moving to stand on the other side of the whiteboard from Melanie and uncapping his own dry erase marker. “Convincing the world that he was from California.”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead.

Under her breath, Sasha muttered, “Not this bullshit again.” At Basira’s flat look, she explained, “Every single solitary time Tim has a few margaritas too many at our favorite Tex-Mex place he goes on about this stupid theory he has. He’s been convinced since, like, our first month of working here.”

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously.

“My Buzzfeed background has made me perfectly suited towards collecting evidence and making neatly formed lists,” Melanie said. She drew a T-chart on the whiteboard and wrote on either side ‘PROBABLY CALIFORNIAN’ and ‘DEFINITELY A BODY STEALING PURITAN GHOST FROM THE SALEM WITCH TRIALS’. “I reached the inevitable conclusion independently of Tim, and we worked together to put together this rhetorical argument. I know by the end of it all you’ll agree with us that Elias Bouchard is an evil ghost.”

Hm.

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him.

TMA American AU, made as a result of four hours of increasingly inane text messages between myself and @lazuliquetzal. Every time we bring this show further from Britain it is brought further into the light.

Read the rest of it under the cut!

The timing had to be exact.

They had agreed to wait for the 55th Annual Historical Salem Convention to roll around. It was the closest thing they had to security while working at the Usher Foundation. After a while you really did get used to eyes constantly watching you, all the time, never feeling quite safe in your own skin, but it never really hurt to be careful. Especially when it came to Elias Bouchard.

Personally, Martin really didn’t see what the big deal was. Of course there was a mysterious, malevolent entity always watching you, judging you, finding you wanting, and finally condemning you to eternal suffering. God existed.

Still, it seemed to bug the others, so Martin bribed Rosie with a loaf of his trademark sausage and cheese loaf to let him know when Elias excitedly left for his favorite event of the year. When he got the text from Rosie, Martin stood up from his chair, cupped his hands around his mouth, and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Bouchard has flown the coop!”

On the turn of a dime, everyone stopped pretending to work. Tim threw down his pen, Melanie jumped up and ran to go wheel out the whiteboard, Basira tossed her book over her shoulder and pulled out her secret legal pad, Daisy logged off her favorite website GunShoppersUSA.com, Sasha spat out her chewing tobacco into the tin on her desk and put her boots back on the ground, and even Jon emerged from his office with a grim expression.

“It’s time,” Tim said grimly. “It’s time that we all find out the fuckin’ truth.”

“I keep on telling you, you’re over-reacting,” Jon insisted. He dug his hands in the pockets of his Harvard hoodie, scowling. Martin fastidiously arranged the plaque on his desk (“Your Life Is A Gift From God: What You Do With That Life Is Your Gift To Him”) as he imagined ripping it off him. Best not to be inappropriate during work hours. “Why put forth all the effort for such a stupid lie?”

“It’s hardly his first lie to us,” Basira said, seemingly bored and watching Jersey Shore on her phone. “He also lied about not being an omniscient serial killer.”

“This is different!” Tim said, slamming his fist on his desk and Melanie rolled the whiteboard in. “That’s a matter of common sense. Who wouldn’t lie about being a serial killer?”

“If I was a serial killer I wouldn’t lie about it,” Sasha said with a straight face. “I’m not a pussy.”

“I am a serial killer,” Daisy said, bored.

“You guys are fucking freaks,” Tim said.

“Jesus christ, just say y’all,” Sasha said, yet again. Martin nodded fastidiously.

“All’a youse be quiet,” Jon muttered. He walked forward and sat down in the chair next to Martin’s desk, which made him flush. Martin quietly pushed over his big candy bowl full of fudge, which Jon absently took and stuffed in his mouth seemingly without realizing it. “What’s alla this ‘bout, then?”

“Wow, he really must be tired,” Basira muttered to Daisy, who looked strongly as if she was pretending not to mark down whenever Jon’s hilarious accent jumped out.

“Why not?!”

Everybody stared at Tim and Melanie, who were both wearing matching expressions of grave seriousness. Martin began kneading his forehead.

“I’ve been building evidence for years,” Tim said furiously.

Hm.

Martin slowly fed Jon another piece of fudge, knowing that this conversation was going to upset him.

Sasha, from where she was sitting across from him, noticed the action. She smiled reassuringly at Martin. “Don’t worry. I kinda...I kinda get Tim about the Elias secretly being British thing, but there’s no way there’s any witchcraft going on here.”

“I just heavily disapprove of witchcraft,” Martin said haltingly. “And I really don’t think it’s something we should joke about -”

“We know,” everyone said.

“You tried to exorcise Jane Prentiss,” Tim pointed out.

“She was of the Devil! So sue me!”

“She was definitely of the Devil,” Sasha agreed. “I’ve seen hordes of insects that big plenty’a times, and they’re definitely Devil work. One time, I saw this spider the size of a dinner place eat a bird -”

“Shut up about the bird spider,” Jon screamed, “I am sick to death of the bird spider -”

“She was of Portland,” Basira said flatly.

“What’s the difference?” Daisy asked.

Basira fixed Daisy with a cold, beady stare. “Unless you want everyone in this room to know exactly what place you got in the Miss Kentucky County Fair Pageant -”

“Second,” Jon said, “it was humiliating.”

Daisy took out her hunting knife the size of her forearm, which Basira quickly wrestled from her, and it took another twenty seconds for Sasha to call the room to order. Martin stared longingly at the gun cabinet they kept in a corner of the room underneath a big pile of boxes, which everybody had a key to but Jon.

“Okay,” Tim said loudly, after the room had returned to relative order. Mostly through Martin feeding Jon the toffee fudge that kept his mouth glued shut for at least the next few hours. “To recap. Our evil boss, Elias Bouchard, is a well known douchebag asshole cuntface. He is gnarly as fuck. He is uncool.”

“Mfmf,” Jon said.

“No, it was pretty fresh how he framed you for murder. Let’s cover what we know of his background.” Tim rapped the whiteboard. “Pothead rich kid from San Diego. Now, everybody knows certain things about people from San Diego. Rich! White! Hipster! Dope on the waves. But not as dope as me. Really rockin’ zoos. San Diegoans are cool dudes who are great to hit a vape with.” He rapped the whiteboard again, much more empathetically. “Elias Bouchard is none of these things but rich and white!”

“That’s all you need,” Basira said flatly.

“Vaping is really bad for you, you know,” Martin said reproachfully.

Melanie took out her vape threateningly, making Sasha throw the stuffed alligator she kept on her desk at her to knock it out of her hands. “No sources of ignition in the archives, Mels!”

“Now, let’s go over my evidence,” Tim said loudly. “In the interest of fairness, I will list reasons that Elias may actually be from California.”

“Are we going to go over his means, motive, opportunity, anything?” Jon asked, seemingly bored, having finally swallowed his fudge.

Tim’s eyes locked in on Jon’s. Jon quailed. “I’m sorry,” Tim said pleasantly, “are we going to actually stop and wonder about why someone would, hypothetically, want to do something stupid before accusing them of it and, perhaps, stalking them to their homes?”

“Massachusetts isn’t a stand your ground state,” Daisy whispered to Jon. “We’re in coward territory, you can take him.”

“If you call the North coward territory one more time, Daisy -” Basira said threateningly.

“Anyway!” Melanie said loudly, as she wrote on the whiteboard. “It’s possible that he is from California because he’s rich and white.” She wrote down ‘privilege’ in big letters on the board. “However, as we know, there is rich ethnic diversity in California. Do you know where else rich and white people live? 17th century Puritan England.”

“I have a reason why Elias could be from California,” Sasha said seriously.

“You have the floor, hun,” Tim said.

“He’s an asshole.”

Melanie silently wrote down ‘ASSHOLE’.

“Pretentious,” Jon called.

“Big talk from the Brooklyn Boy,” Sasha called back. “Gentrified Gentleman! Colombia Copycat! Big Apple Asshole!”

“I oughta kill youse,” Jon hissed. “Disrespect the boroughs in my house again and I’ll show you how 84th street boys do it -”

��You and what square mileage?!”

Melanie, who was the most emotionally honest out of all of them, wrote down ‘PRETENTIOUS’ anyway.

“Now, let’s move onto the real arguments,” Tim said, clapping his hands to restore order. “Let’s review. Mels, make sure you get this down. One time, I saw him parking in December, and he drove well in the snow. He’s a natural at it.”

Silence bore down over the assembly. That was, by far and away, extremely incriminating. Californians couldn’t drive well in the snow if you held a gun to their head - Daisy had checked.

“Moreover,” Tim continued. “I tried sharing my korean-ecuadorian-french-thai fusion food truck take-out with him and he refused. Can a Californian refuse the siren call of food truck fusion cuisine?”

“That is suspicious,” Jon said grudgingly.

“Tim and I experimented,” Melanie volunteered, as she wrote down ‘EATS LIKE AN OLD PERSON’ on the whiteboard. “We tried cranking down the temperature in his office to - get this - sixty degrees. He didn’t even notice.”

“I haven’t heard him complain about winter once,” Tim pointed out.

“Winters in this infernal land fucking suck,” Sasha groused. “If it’s below 100 degrees it’s too fuckin cold.”

“Bood,” Daisy said.

“Agreed,” Martin said. “I had to figure out what snow chains are.”

“I can’t drive,” Jon said proudly. Martin patted his hand.

“Moreover!” Tim said. “I asked him his opinion on reality TV and he said that he didn’t watch it. I asked him what his favorite outdoors activity was and he said ice fishing. Every summer he goes to Maine with his shitty husband to go ice fishing. It’s bullshit.”

“Elias is gay?” Jon, Known Worst Gaydar In The Fucking World, said in surprise.

“Put that down in the pro-California column,” Daisy said. Melanie wrote down ‘GAY RIGHTS’ on the board.

“I hope you don’t let the fact that Elias is gay influence why you righteously hate him,” Melanie said to Martin seriously. “Gay rights are important, Martin. I believe this very strongly.”

“Aw, bless your heart,” said the guy who had been thrown out of his small Oklahoma town and excommunicated when he was eighteen. Not that anybody knew that. Martin didn’t believe in oversharing. Everyone took one look at the bolo tie and Precious Moments desktop calendar and assumed heterosexuality. What if he just liked bolo ties? What if Precious Moments was cute and sweet?

“Okay, back on topic,” Tim said, as if they had ever actually been on topic. “I have a finishing blow for all of you. This’ll blow your socks off. It’s really the coup d’tat. That’s a little something we say in California to show that we really got this sucker on lockdown. One time, Melanie saw him eating Taco Bell in the cafeteria -”

“ - and enjoying it,” Melanie said viciously. “Then I walked up to him and went, hey boss, what’s that you eating? And he said -”

“Just having some Mexican food,” Tim spat.

Everybody sat in silent observance of this crime.

Finally, Jon rubbed his chin and said, “I just don’t get it. Why would you pretend to be from California? It’s a mediocre state.”

“Say that to my SoCal beach bum face -”

“It’s to hide the fact that he’s the ghost of a 17th century Puritan witchfinder bodyhopping in order to feed his infernal god of paranoia and suspicion,” Melanie said, with a straight face.

Cautiously, Basira said, “And you got to that conclusion...how?”

“By using the investigative skills I learned at Buzzfeed,” Melanie scoffed. “Duh.”

But now Basira was actually looking thoughtful. “I mean, there is the fact that the Usher Foundation is built on a sacred Native burial ground and is precisely located on the ancient site where witches were sentenced to death, constructed using the wood from their holy pyres?”

Everybody thought hard about this.

“If he pretended to be from Florida I would have caught him out in a second,” Sasha said finally. “Man looks like he’s never seen a spider bigger than a saucer.”

“Shut up about the fuckin spiders -”

“I’ve seen the rats in NYC, they look like they could do my taxes -”

“That’s their prerogative, James!”

“I’d be able to call him out in a second if he pretended to be from Jersey City,” Basira said thoughtfully. “And, come to think of it, I have heard him call a trunk a ‘boot’ before.”

“I heard him call an elevator a lift once,” Daisy volunteered.

Everybody chewed over this new piece of information.

“God,” Sasha whispered, looking sick. “I can’t believe an English scum has been among us this entire time. It’s terrible. I never thought I’d be forced to interact with those fuckers.” She muttered something else under her breath in Spanish, which made Jon roll his eyes.

“You’re scared of Englishmen, of all things?”

“It’s their legs,” Sasha shivered. “Too many legs.”

Finally, Jon turned to Martin. “What do you think, Martin? You’ve been pretty quiet.”

Martin sighed. Martin carefully drank some of his world famous peach sweet tea. Martin took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.

“Of course he’s a heckin’ seventh century puritan body hopping ghost,” Martin said finally. “I’ve known that for, say, since I was hired.”

Everybody stared at him.

“Why the fuck haven’t you mentioned that,” Daisy said flatly.

Martin shrugged. “Y’all done never asked.”

Jon took a second to gather himself, clearly two seconds away from flying into sheer Brooklyn Rage.

Thankfully, Melanie was squinting furiously at him. “What makes you say that?”

Martin just shrugged again. “So I was interviewin’ wit’ him, right? And I wanted ta make a good impression, so I just said, oh, the Lord provides for our meetin’ and all that. Then he said some Bible quote at me. Then I was like, oh, I can totally work this angle. Then I quoted the New Testament back at him, and I guess we got into a sorta competition? This happens in the South. But I ain’t never met someone who can out Bible quote me. So I figured, oh, he must be a body hopping evil Puritan ghost from the 17th century.”

Everybody stared at him.

“He called me a nice young God fearin’ boy,” Martin said. “Only Puritans and Southern Baptists do that, and he ain’t no member of my church. Plus, you know, when were fightin’ over him framing Jon for murder and how dangerous that was, he’s the only person I ever met who could use cherry picked Bible quotes as effectively as me in order to win an argument. So...really, it’s just logical.”

Slowly, Basira said, “You figured he was evil because he was an expert in your tactics?”

“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” Martin said wisely.

“Fuck this shit,” Jon said, standing up abruptly. He threw on his coat over his hoodie, frowning down at everyone from his unfair height. “I’m going down to the deli and getting me a pastrami on rye. Martin, c’mon, I’ll spot ya a Pabst.”

He had never been more in love. Martin shot upwards, throwing on his own coat and hat. “Alcohol is of the devil -”

“Just drink the beer, Martin.”

Well, there were some benefits in being excommunicated. Martin saluted everyone, eagerly linking his arm around Jon’s. “Saints keep all y’all! See you after lunch!”

“Honestly, Martin, just say youse.”

“I would really rather die.”

#the reason why sasha is alive is because she is from florida #in case it's not obvious in the story martin is from oklahoma tim is from socal melanie is from LA basira is from jersey #daisy is from kentucky and jon is a brooklyn boy #DONT @ ME WE ARE SOUTHERN AND CALIFORNIAN #the magnus archives #the magnus archives au #tma au #tw gun mention #TMA but if everyone knew how to shoot a gun #my writing #this is the fault of so many people

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rokutouxei · 3 years

Text

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 8 OF 22

And how impossible it still is: to train the heart to sit. - "The Kindest Thing She Almost Did", Blythe Baird

The College of Arts’ student council has rotating schedules on who gets to organize the university-famous Halloween party. This year, it was the Literature Department and the Film Department that paired up to choose a theme, decorate, and make sure the party is getting smoothly—and the very specific, not-required but entirely funny, theme this year was “Film or Book that you’d love to be turned spooky, but isn’t exactly spooky.”

This is why she thought of coming in as characters from the Night Circus. The black and white stripes matched with red really gives off a very Halloween vibe to begin with, but all the circus-y magic that goes on in the book itself also makes it very viable for the spooky vibes.

She’s now standing in front of the College of Arts’ event hall, where the event is set to happen. She tugs at the locks of hair dangling at the side of her face, the ones she couldn't get to obey her planned updo, even with all the bobby pins.

There's something about scavenging a costume on your own that is so nerve-wracking. There's something more when you're portraying a character from a book someone introduced to you. It feels like it's a duty to get it right. She couldn’t find any entirely matching dresses in the thrift stores she went to, so this was the best she could do: some sort of modern but 1890s-inspired fortune teller mash-up of a costume. The dress was fashioned out of this dizzying deep blue-black velvet fabric, with little speckles of silver glitter like stars across it; she wore a striped black and white petticoat underneath it to give it some volume since the dress ended around the knees. She’d re-sewn the sleeves and the neckline to be similar to that of the era, revealing a nice V along her back and a nice, wide boat collar. Then, she’s put on a small, decorative hat with some red flowers on the corner of her head, and then draped a sheer black scarf with little rosy red designs on the ends over her shoulders. Then she put on some knee-high lace-up boots to add a little grunge to the entire attire. Lastly, she had a few Rider-Waite tarot cards in her pocket (The Chariot and Temperance) just for the vibe of it.

(All this costume preparation was really to wind herself down after submitting her initial requirements to the scholarship selection committee earlier that week.)

Just as she begins to spiral in her thoughts, “Sorry I’m late,” she hears Theo’s familiar voice call out, and she looks up from staring at her shoes and gasps out loud.

Theo’s wearing his hair a little curlier than usual, a lightly-tinted pair of green contacts on his eyes and—as he’s promised—a well-tailored suit, in black and white and red, to suit the general aesthetic of the circus itself. She figured he would come in a suit, but—she wasn’t expecting him to take the extra effort with the hair and the eyes, either. She could even see the little silhouette of a journal peeking from underneath his jacket—he’s obviously prepared even to the smallest details! Maybe, maybe he does look like the Marco in her head. Just a little. Maybe if his hair was darker. She finds herself staring at him for a ridiculous amount of time, so much so that he has to cough to get her attention again.

"The green eyes look lovely on you," she comments softly, hand curling up to gently press his finger at his cheekbone near instinctively, allowing her to observe his eyes better. Theo feels himself flinch in surprise, but he does not pull back.

"Thank you, grey-green was a very specific color."

She nods. "I do prefer your usual blue though." Her hand falls back to her side. "Too bad I can't magic it back?"

"You see it blue all the time. Stop complaining when this was your idea," Theo says, but he offers his arm anyway.

"So sour," she pouts. "How unbecoming of you, Mister Alisdair," she says, as she slides her arm into his.

Theo only snorts; he does not hide the half-smirk. "Only to match you, Miss Martin."

The event hall is lavishly decorated in some sort of spooky, old vampire mansion vibes, with all the matching spiders and fake candles. It is a little silly to see the DJ on the far end of the hall, with his set-up on top of what seemed like a desk older from three centuries ago. The caterers set up the food on a buffet table—also beautifully decorated, how many fine arts majors did the production team get to bully into helping them out?—to get it ready before dinner at six.

But the bar—the bar is open.

“Do you drink?” she asks casually, already one foot towards the bar.

He takes a nervous gulp she pretends not to notice. “Not a lot,” he answers.

“Then a glass will be alright. I told Arthur we’d meet at the bar. Come on!”

Because her college stupidly attempts to seem puritan, official drink menus are not allowed to actually say out loud that they contain hard liquor, so instead have really creative names. This time, they are references to different, random books and films, with fine-print descriptions of what it is. She orders a glass of Pride and Prejudice and Theo gets a serving of Kafka on the Shore. Both of them had just received their drinks when her phone begins to ring, and with a short excuse me she heads to a quieter part of the room and answers the call.

“Dazai?”

“Hello, Toshiko-san. I’m waiting outside the hall, but you’ve entirely forgotten that I haven’t actually met who I’m bringing in.”

Oh! “Well, I told him to wait on a stone bench there… Dark blue-ish hair, blue eyes, a mole on the side of his lip? He responds to ‘Arthur’.”

“‘Responds?’ Are your bookstore friends all a bunch of dogs?”

“Well, this drools at the sight of meat,” you say, unapologetically. “I didn’t see him there yet when I was still out, but—”

She hears a shuffle from the other side of the line, and Arthur’s familiar voice through the phone, a small “Hello, could you be Dazai?” and her friend’s very, very meaningful pause—she can almost see Dazai looking Arthur up and down—before he answers, “Yes, and you must be Arthur.”

The phone call ends and she grins for only a half a moment before realizing what she’d done.

She walks ever so slowly back to the bar, letting it sink in. But once she’s got her glass in her hand, she downs it in one go, surprising both the bartender and Theo. She shakes her head and then sits back down on the stool, half-laughing.

“Something happen?” Theo asks.

She groans. “I may have made a mistake with Arthur.”

Theo takes a sip of his drink, just the littlest bit smug. “Everything is a mistake if Arthur is involved.”

“I didn’t think he’d—”

“Hello, lovebirds,” says the devil, Arthur coming up behind them with—

With Dazai glued to his hip.

She’s known Dazai for a few years at this point, and because they’ve known each other for so long, there are little things she knows Dazai does that may not seem obvious to the onlooker.

First: Dazai is not fond of touching, but he is rather great at tolerating it. It usually takes a few months before Dazai is fine with being touched by someone. Even she took around half a year before Dazai would allow her to hug him freely. When he’s being touched by someone he does not particularly like, he clenches his hands and fits them into his pockets, so it’s not as noticeable.

Observer’s note: Arthur’s got his hand around Dazai’s waist. Dazai’s hands are wide open, resting at his hip.

Second: Dazai is also good at having his practiced smile. He says he practices it in the mirror, did it every day for a year until it became natural to him; it looks genuine and otherwise believable, that is, if you haven’t seen his actual smile. And even if you have, sometimes it’s still hard to tell. His actual, genuine smile, that goes up to his eyes, crinkling the sides of it, and he flushes sometimes too; it’s so wide it reveals the little dimple on his cheek.

Observer’s note: Dazai’s dimple is very, very visible right now.

Third: Dazai has this thing where the longer he considers a person, the less he becomes attracted to them, for some reason, even if the extended thinking time only makes him feel like they’re a better match by the second. Dazai is only genuinely, passionately, instantly attracted to people he knows will pose him some sort of danger and excitement.

Observer’s note: Dazai met Arthur today.

She bites back the groan that’s bubbling out her throat and grins. “Hello, Arthur, Dazai. Having fun?”

“Where’d you been hiding this cutie all this time?” Arthur teases, squeezing Dazai closer to him. “Much fun now that he’s here. I see you’ve started drinking ahead of us.”

“Just a little,” she says. “Shall we find a table?”

The four of them choose a table in the middle of the chaos—Arthur’s suggestion—somewhere midway the bar and buffet. The tables are for six, and the number makes her remember.

“I couldn’t get Isaac to come.”

Dazai shakes his head. “I told you he said he wasn’t interested. Must be working overtime like he usually does.” He nods towards her direction. “Good attempt, though.”

She frowns. “He should really let loose sometimes… I know he’s good at what he does, but a little, one-night-a-year party isn’t going to hurt him is it?”

“Ohoho, what’s this, have another cute friend I have to know?” Arthur interrupts.

Dazai taps Arthur’s nose gently and she wants to vomit. What has she done. “Isaac Newton, a Ph.D. student from the physics department. Too serious for his own good.”

Surprise fills Arthur’s face. “My, isn’t that Newt? Teaches classes sometimes?” She and Dazai nod. “Small world!”

“Next year we’re really finding a way to drag him in,” she says.

To which Dazai laughs, “you won’t be here next year, Toshiko-san.”

There’s a small sliver of silence that settles in between them, just long enough to be felt but not for the conversation to come to an abrupt halt. It makes Theo flinch a little.

“Then it’s up to you guys, isn’t it?” she takes her second glass of literary cocktail—she doesn’t even know what’s in this one, just pointed at the menu, it was titled Wolf Totem—and downs half of it in one go.

“Maybe if a girl came around to bring him, he’d be more persuadable,” Arthur teases, “Look at my chap Theo over here.”

“So you’re Theo, huh?” Dazai purrs. She throws a glare at him that goes ignored. “Nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Theo only nods as a response and she takes the chance to get the conversation back in a direction that makes her a little safer from their teasing. “But no, really, Isaac? Coming for a girl? You don’t know him at all, Arthur.”

“Oh, even the toughest guys fall back to romance, don’t they, Theo?”

Theo throws a glare towards Arthur; it is shrugged off as the newly-formed suddenly-a-couple laughs in unison.

Despite the ruckus, the four of them still have some good fun at the party. Arthur Arthur’s non-stop insisting that they play the party games has them rewarded with many things: a stupid award here or there, minuscule amounts of cash that could be used in the future for dine-outs, and even a nice bottle of high-end “water”—it was definitely vodka, the organizers just couldn’t announce it out loud. She and Dazai had to stand up a couple of times to go meet their college-mates in their department, but the four of them stayed mostly together until past dinner—that is until the dance music started to rev up, getting ready for the long night ahead.

“Excuse the two of us, we’re going to do some actual dancing, like people do at parties to have fun,” Arthur says, but his face is already littered in glitter from the poppers and his face is dusted pink from all the alcohol. Obviously, dancing isn’t required to have fun at all. Taking Dazai’s hand like a gentleman, sliding his arm around the other man’s waist, Arthur makes a comical bow to which she makes a face. The two disappear into the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, and the sight of them so obsessed with each other makes her lean back on her chair to take a sip on her—fifth? Sixth? Ah, who is counting?—nth glass of alcohol.

Wary of being the killjoy, Theo gently asks, “Don’t you want to dance?”

“I mean… you don’t want to, do you?” she asks, facing him properly, glass still in hand. “I just felt like it’d be great to hang out with you here and if you’re not up for dancing…”

“If you want to we should go.”

“I’m not going if you’re forcing yourself to.”

“No, I’m not, so—”

“Theo, sit down!” she says, laughing. The alcohol’s given her skin a beautiful pink flush, and her smiles have turned wider, more relaxed. “It’s okay, I promise. Just sit here and drink your—drink. It’s just nice to have company.”

He nods as she turns back to watching the crowd. A smile still settles on her face as she watches the mass of people dancing and shouting to the music. Theo asks, “Do you always go here with someone?”

She shrugs, taking another sip from her glass. “I came alone the first time, and then the next I went with Dazai. He’s pretty popular—when he’s alone, without anyone slung on him, you know? Lots of people dance with him.”

“And you?”

“Me?” she asks, forehead wrinkling. “I’m normal. I sit and drink until my liver begs me to stop. And then dance until my legs beg me to stop when I’m drunk enough.”

He scoffs, but only in that friendly way of defeated acceptance. “Sounds like fun.”

“So much more fun with you around though,” she asserts, tilting her glass to him. “Cheers?”

“For what?”

And she’s quiet for a moment, before she raises her glass again, saying, “To friendship and literature, of course.”

Theo thinks that’s good enough. They clink their glasses gently and then drink.

For the slightest of moments, Theo considers asking the one question that had been on his mind since she invited him to the party. Preparing the clothes to wear to the event only made his curiosity even stronger, but at the same time, he didn’t feel like he had the right to ask. Theo feels content sitting in his uncertainty, the mystery of it hanging in the air.

But the alcohol has made him a little more courageous.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot!”

“Why didn’t you go as Celia?”

It’s common for a pair of people to attend a costume party in matching outfits with characters that are paired as well. Celia is Marco’s natural pair in the book. Isobel is not. Why didn’t she go as Celia? Theo would not have minded if she did. Celia was fiery and romantic and could see through Marco’s every disguise.

And Isobel longed and longed and never got what she wanted.

“I kind of felt for Isobel, you know?” she answers, in that hesitant way that makes the asker wonder if it’s because of the embarrassment or because of the half-lie. “She was running away, after all. Didn’t you say that was what I was so fixated on?”

And Isobel is only the circus because she was the way for Marco to get to who he loved. Even before he knew who he loved.

“Wouldn’t have expected that from you,” Theo remarks, taking out his little Marco-journal to dust it away idly. “You seem like the type who always feels extensively for the protagonists.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but then, suddenly, her eyes widen brightly. She puts down her glass and quickly swipes the journal Theo kept with him before pulling him up by the wrist. “C’mon, let’s do the photo booth?”

“What?” Theo staggers up. Why so suddenly? “Who’ll watch over the table?”

She places her little hat on the table. “That’ll save it, let’s go.”

Theo can feel his pulse thrumming under his wrist where she’s holding on to him. Theo does not have the will to argue as she drags him to the makeshift studio on the far end of the hall. Instead, he focuses on her—the way her hair’s held up in an intricate braided bun on her head, the fall of her dress over her shoulders, the feeling of his hand around his arm.

She’s such a weird girl, he thinks.

When they get to the end of the line—a short one, bless the universe—she takes out the two tarot cards in her pocket and hands them to him.

“Switch props for the photo,” she explains.

When they get to the photo booth, they opt for two photos; one for her to keep, and another for Theo. They don't even bother with the poses, both half-drunk, holding up their character props as the cameraman fixes the shot. She settles, standing by his side, arms twined, head leaning toward him as the camera flashes once. And Theo can’t help himself when he turns to face her because of that, and before he knows it—the camera flashes once more.

She’s too far into her drinks to have time to think why Theo’s so concerned about seeing the photos first and choosing which one he wants to keep for himself.

It is just a little past midnight when she, Theo, Arthur, and Dazai hop out of the hall. She insisted that it would be better to wait until the end of the night before leaving—making most of the ticket, or something—and the most that they had gotten out of that was a free coupon to a fast-food chain.

That, and this:

She’s half-slung over Theo when she yells at Arthur and Dazai, who are very obviously becoming a little too comfortable with each other, handsy as they huddle together. She shouts: “Jesus, guys, get off each other!”

“Hmm? Right now? Sure, we’d love to, if you don’t mind—”

“NO! NO NOT LIKE THAT!” she yells, pushing away from Theo to nudge Arthur away from Dazai. The new lovebirds just laugh mildly at each other as she huffs and frowns, falling back into step next to Theo. “Oh god, I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.”

“Best mistake of my life,” Dazai says with a slurred laugh, leaning against Arthur. She makes a gagging motion, to which Theo snorts.

Relative to everyone else’s lodging in the university, the van Goghs’ apartment is the one closest to the hall, so the four of them make their way to it, drunk feet stumbling on uneven pavements all the way there. Arthur and Dazai are walking ahead of them—Theo doesn’t know how Arthur knows where he lives, not when he’s never brought him there; that’s a question for a more sober time—and she and Theo walk side-by-side a few feet behind.

She’s not entirely drunk, no, but she’s a little closer to drunk than tipsy, and it shows when she speaks. “Did you have fun today, Theo?” she asks, ignoring the little misstep her conversation has cost her.

Theo has his hands in his pockets, but they’re only seconds away from grabbing her by the arm to steady her. Any minute now. “It was okay.”

She grins. “Great! That’s all I want.” She looks back up in front of them, and Arthur throws one glance upon hearing their conversation, but then quickly looks away. “It’s kinda, uuuuh,” she squints, the words lost. “Different, to hang out with you with ‘thur and ‘zai around.”

See, this is exactly why Theo capped himself off at three drinks. Look—he’s long accepted his less than average tolerance, but to have to babysit a group of drunk college kids… “Bad different?”

“Nuh-uh,” she says. “Jus’ different. Used to only us. ‘t’s nice being alone with ya.”

I don’t want to take care of a drunk you on my own, she hears in her head, and she isn’t quite sure if Theo had actually said it or if it was just a figment of her imagination.

Soon enough, the four of them stumble onto the van Gogh’s front porch, Theo just not-drunk enough to get the key in through the hole. With a click, the four of them are greeted by the bright light of the living room. Arthur must have been the one that hissed. They stagger in, Dazai slamming onto the sofa, Arthur right after him, and she, heading to the refrigerator for some water.

Theo disappears for a moment to check on Vincent in the studio and to tell him that he’s brought his unfortunate group of friends to sober up, and it’s a good thing the drunkards aren’t around with him because the brightness of Vincent’s smile would have knocked them right out.

“I’ll go take a shower,” Theo announces to no one in particular, shouting down the hall as he disappears into his shared bedroom with Vincent. She tries not to think of what that would look like, blaming her wandering thoughts on the alcohol. She’s about on her second glass of water when she spots Vincent headed to the kitchen.

She beams. “Vin-ny~” she reaches out to him and Vincent catches her before she falls.

“Did you have fun at the party?” Vincent asks, half-laughing, as he helps her to sit on the counter—which was what she was trying to do. “How much did you drink?”

She raises her hands up to her face and tries to count, fully knowing she stopped counting after the second glass. “Enough to make me happy,” she answers instead, smiling dumbly at the older van Gogh. “Theo was so grumpy.”

“He was so excited to go, though,” Vincent says, standing next to her. Of course he has no qualms ratting on his younger brother like that. “You should have seen him, preparing for his costume. Did he look just as you imagined?”

“…And better,” she admits, before taking a sip of the water again to sober up a little more. The ice in the glass is helping her brain to chill. “I’m not sure if he had fun, though. I feel kind of bad.”

Vincent hums. “He looks like he had fun. He wouldn’t have brought you guys here otherwise.”

“You think so?” she asks, eyes wide. The blond man laughs.

“I know so.”

By the time Theo comes out of the shower, he’s a little more dressed down, in jeans and a button-up shirt. He looks at Arthur and Dazai, both already long out like a light on the couch, and sighs.

“I suppose you’re sleeping here too,” he asks, looking toward her. She shoots him an awkward grin.

“She can sleep on my bed,” Vincent offers, but Theo shakes his head.

“She can sleep on mine. You sleep on your bed tonight, Vincent. I can sleep in the studio. I’ll just pass by the drugstore a few blocks down for some…” he frowns at Arthur and Dazai, “…Ibuprofen, for tomorrow.”

“Take care on your way out,” Vincent answers, taking a scan at Theo up and down to see if he’s sober enough to go out. Theo really didn’t drink a lot—purposefully, he knew this was going to happen—so he’s standing pretty straight. He nods and makes his way out, the door closing with a gentle click.

After that, she slouches next to Vincent, like she was just holding herself up to seem a little put together for Theo. Vincent pats her on the head gently, like a little child.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

She sniffles a little, looking down at her shoes. “I was just thinking h’much I’ll miss this.”

“Are you going away?”

“Maybe,” she says, idly. “I want to. Don’t want to. Want to.”

Vincent smiles, the kind of disappointed-but-not-surprised, non-judgmental, gentle smile of an older brother one would give to a younger sibling. Carefully, he hooks her arm around his shoulders, saying, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” as he leads her to his shared room with Theo. She is pliant in his arms, legs wobbling but still planted with a balance onto the floor.

The costume she’s in doesn’t look entirely too comfortable to sleep in, so he offers her a loose shirt and some sweatpants to change into. It takes her two minutes too long to fumble into them, but right before he begins to get worried that she’s gotten stuck in the fabric, she knocks at the door to tell Vincent she’s done. He walks in with a glass of water.

“One last before you sleep,” he says, assisting her in drinking. “I hope you don’t have a headache tomorrow.”

But she’s intoxicated, and her brain doesn’t follow along with Vincent, so as she’s drinking the water her eyes are wandering the walls, where various canvases are hung. All of them are Vincent’s, and most of them are unframed, and perhaps have never been seen by anyone besides Vincent and Theo. Once the glass is empty, she turns to Vincent with a glazed look in her eye.

“Do you think there’s going to be something greater for us outside of this place?”

He blinks, taken off guard. She has officially transitioned from clingy, whiny drunk, to having an existential crisis, philosophical drunk. He only laughs lightly, placing the glass on the bedside table as he coaxes her into bed, tucking her under the blanket.

“I sure do hope so.”

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

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frankiefellinlove · 4 years

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This is it! The whole article where John Landau writes that Bruce “is the future of rock n roll”. Long but so worth the read, to see that quote in context.

GROWING YOUNG WITH ROCK AND ROLL

By Jon Landau

The Real Paper

May 22, 1974📷

It's four in the morning and raining. I'm 27 today, feeling old, listening to my records, and remembering that things were diffferent a decade ago. In 1964, I was a freshman at Brandeis University, playing guitar and banjo five hours a day, listening to records most of the rest of the time, jamming with friends during the late-night hours, working out the harmonies to Beach Boys' and Beatles' songs.

Real Paper soul writer Russell Gersten was my best friend and we would run through the 45s everyday: Dionne Warwick's "Walk On By" and "Anyone Who Had A Heart," the Drifters' "Up On the Roof," Jackie Ross' "Selfish One," the Marvellettes' "Too Many Fish in the Sea," and the one that no one ever forgets, Martha Reeves and the Vandellas' "Heat Wave." Later that year a special woman named Tamar turned me onto Wilson Pickett's "Midnight Hour" and Otis Redding's "Respect," and then came the soul. Meanwhile, I still went to bed to the sounds of the Byrds' "Mr. Tambourine Man" and later "Younger than Yesterday," still one of my favorite good-night albums. I woke up to Having a Rave-Up with the Yardbirds instead of coffee. And for a change of pace, there was always bluegrass: The Stanley Brothers, Bill Monroe, and Jimmy Martin.

Through college, I consumed sound as if it were the staff of life. Others enjoyed drugs, school, travel, adventure. I just liked music: listening to it, playing it, talking about it. If some followed the inspiration of acid, or Zen, or dropping out, I followed the spirit of rock'n'roll.

Individual songs often achieved the status of sacraments. One September, I was driving through Waltham looking for a new apartment when the sound on the car radio stunned me. I pulled over to the side of the road, turned it up, demanded silence of my friends and two minutes and fifty-six second later knew that God had spoken to me through the Four Tops' "Reach Out, I'll Be There," a record that I will cherish for as long as [I] live.

During those often lonely years, music was my constant companion and the search for the new record was like a search for a new friend and new revelation. "Mystic Eyes" open mine to whole new vistas in white rock and roll and there were days when I couldn't go to sleep without hearing it a dozen times.

Whether it was a neurotic and manic approach to music, or just a religious one, or both, I don't really care. I only know that, then, as now, I'm grateful to the artists who gave the experience to me and hope that I can always respond to them.

The records were, of course, only part of it. In '65 and '66 I played in a band, the Jellyroll, that never made it. At the time I concluded that I was too much of a perfectionist to work with the other band members; in the end I realized I was too much of an autocrat, unable to relate to other people enough to share music with them.

Realizing that I wasn't destined to play in a band, I gravitated to rock criticism. Starting with a few wretched pieces in Broadside and then some amateurish but convincing reviews in the earliest Crawdaddy, I at least found a substitute outlet for my desire to express myself about rock: If I couldn't cope with playing, I may have done better writing about it.

But in those days, I didn't see myself as a critic -- the writing was just another extension of an all-encompassing obsession. It carried over to my love for live music, which I cared for even more than the records. I went to the Club 47 three times a week and then hunted down the rock shows -- which weren't so easy to find because they weren't all conveniently located at downtown theatres. I flipped for the Animals' two-hour show at Rindge Tech; the Rolling Stones, not just at Boston Garden, where they did the best half hour rock'n'roll set I had ever seen, but at Lynn Football Stadium, where they started a riot; Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels overcoming the worst of performing conditions at Watpole Skating Rink; and the Beatles at Suffolk Down, plainly audible, beatiful to look at, and confirmation that we -- and I -- existed as a special body of people who understood the power and the flory of rock'n'roll.

I lived those days with a sense of anticipation. I worked in Briggs & Briggs a few summers and would know when the next albums were coming. The disappointment when the new Stones was a day late, the exhilaration when Another Side of Bob Dylan showed up a week early. The thrill of turning on WBZ and hearing some strange sound, both beautiful and horrible, but that demanded to be heard again; it turned out to be "You've Lost That Loving Feeling," a record that stands just behind "Reach Out I'll Be There" as means of musical catharsis.

My temperament being what it is, I often enjoyed hating as much as loving. That San Francisco shit corrupted the purity of the rock that I lvoed and I could have led a crusade against it. The Moby Grape moved me, but those songs about White Rabbits and hippie love made me laugh when they didn't make me sick. I found more rock'n'roll in the dubbed-in hysteria on the Rolling Stones Got Live if You Want It than on most San Francisco albums combined.

For every moment I remember there are a dozen I've forgotten, but I feel like they are with me on a night like this, a permanent part of my consciousness, a feeling lost on my mind but never on my soul. And then there are those individual experiences so transcendent that I can remember them as if they happened yesterday: Sam and Dave at the Soul Together at Madison Square Garden in 1967: every gesture, every movement, the order of the songs. I would give anything to hear them sing "When Something's Wrong with My Baby" just the way they did it that night.

The obsessions with Otis Redding, Jerry Butler, and B.B. King came a little bit later; each occupied six months of my time, while I digested every nuance of every album. Like the Byrds, I turn to them today and still find, when I least expect it, something new, something deeply flet, something that speaks to me.

As I left college in 1969 and went into record production I started exhausting my seemingly insatiable appetite. I felt no less intensely than before about certain artists; I just felt that way about fewer of them. I not only became more discriminating but more indifferent. I found it especially hard to listen to new faces. I had accumulated enough musical experience to fall back on when I needed its companionship but during this period in my life I found I needed music less and people, whom I spend too much of my life ignoring, much more.

Today I listen to music with a certain measure of detachment. I'm a professional and I make my living commenting on it. There are months when I hate it, going through the routine just as a shoe salesman goes through his. I follow films with the passion that music once held for me. But in my own moments of greatest need, I never give up the search for sounds that can answer every impulse, consume all emotion, cleanse and purify -- all things that we have no right to expect from even the greatest works of art but which we can occasionally derive from them.

Still, today, if I hear a record I like it is no longer a signal for me to seek out every other that the artist has made. I take them as they come, love them, and leave them. Some have stuck -- a few that come quickly to mind are Neil Young's After the Goldrush, Stevie Wonder's Innervisions, Van Morrison's Tupelo Honey, James Taylor's records, Valerie Simpson's Exposed, Randy Newman's Sail Away, Exile on Main Street, Ry Cooder's records, and, very specially, the last three albums of Joni Mitchell -- but many more slip through the mind, making much fainter impressions than their counterparts of a decade ago.

But tonight there is someone I can write of the way I used to write, without reservations of any kind. Last Thursday, at the Harvard Square theatre, I saw my rock'n'roll past flash before my eyes. And I saw something else: I saw rock and roll future and its name is Bruce Springsteen. And on a night when I needed to feel young, he made me feel like I was hearing music for the very first time.

When his two-hour set ended I could only think, can anyone really be this good; can anyone say this much to me, can rock'n'roll still speak with this kind of power and glory? And then I felt the sores on my thighs where I had been pounding my hands in time for the entire concert and knew that the answer was yes.

Springsteen does it all. He is a rock'n'roll punk, a Latin street poet, a ballet dancer, an actor, a joker, bar band leader, hot-shit rhythm guitar player, extraordinary singer, and a truly great rock'n'roll composer. He leads a band like he has been doing it forever. I racked my brains but simply can't think of a white artist who does so many things so superbly. There is no one I would rather watch on a stage today. He opened with his fabulous party record "The E Street Shuffle" -- but he slowed it down so graphically that it seemed a new song and it worked as well as the old. He took his overpowering story of a suicide, "For You," and sang it with just piano accompaniment and a voice that rang out to the very last row of the Harvard Square theatre. He did three new songs, all of them street trash rockers, one even with a "Telstar" guitar introduction and an Eddie Cochran rhythm pattern. We missed hearing his "Four Winds Blow," done to a fare-thee-well at his sensational week-long gig at Charley's but "Rosalita" never sounded better and "Kitty's Back," one of the great contemporary shuffles, rocked me out of my chair, as I personally led the crowd to its feet and kept them there.

Bruce Springsteen is a wonder to look at. Skinny, dressed like a reject from Sha Na Na, he parades in front of his all-star rhythm band like a cross between Chuck Berry, early Bob Dylan, and Marlon Brando. Every gesture, every syllable adds something to his ultimate goal -- to liberate our spirit while he liberates his by baring his soul through his music. Many try, few succeed, none more than he today.

It's five o'clock now -- I write columns like this as fast as I can for fear I'll chicken out -- and I'm listening to "Kitty's Back." I do feel old but the record and my memory of the concert has made me feel a little younger. I still feel the spirit and it still moves me.

I bought a new home this week and upstairs in the bedroom is a sleeping beauty who understands only too well what I try to do with my records and typewriter. About rock'n'roll, the Lovin' Spoonful once sang, "I'll tell you about the magic that will free your soul/But it's like trying to tell a stranger about rock'n'roll." Last Thursday, I remembered that the magic still exists and as long as I write about rock, my mission is to tell a stranger about it -- just as long as I remember that I'm the stranger I'm writing for.

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holdthosebees · 5 years

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La Belle Dame

Rating: T Pairing: John/Martin, pre-slashish. Background Melanie/Georgie. Summary: No powers, drag queen AU. In which John’s ex-girlfriend drags him to a charity show, and he has an awkward encounter with one of the queens.

A/N: A procrastination oneshot that I wrote while not working on any of my many, many WIPs. Shoutout to @jinxedlucky, who helped me workshop this idea and then told me not to work on it until I finish something else, and who was right. Also--Martin’s drag name, and the title, both come from the Keats poem La Belle Dame Sans Merci.

The drag queen on stage had glitter in her beard and the most impressive biceps John had ever seen. The red sequins on her skintight dress shimmered as she walked up and down the edge of the crowd, mic cord trailing behind her, as she reached out to regulars, all winks. Georgie tapped John’s shoulder; he had to lean in to hear her, her hair brushing against his ear.

“That’s Sasha’s friend,” she said. “Tim. The one I was telling you about.”

John nodded. He’d been struggling to keep track of all of people in Georgie’s new social circle, her girlfriend’s friends and their friends who were all supposed to be his friends by some sort of mathematical transference. The drag queen on stage tapped the mic, and grinned. Her lips were very red.

“Ladies, gentlemen, monsters, everyone else,” she said, pitching her voice low. “Welcome... to Eastbenders!”

There were a few half-hearted cheers.

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Anyway, for the virgins in the audience, all our queens are local and all our proceeds will go to providing shelter and services to trans youth.” Another pause for cheers, more enthusiastic this time. “If you have any questions, ask comrade Sasha over there in the booth. Wave to the people, Sasha!”

John had met Sasha a few times over drinks. She seemed a very sensible person, unlike Georgie’s new girlfriend Melanie, who hated him on sight. He resolved to go and find her after the event, and maybe donate a bit. That was why he was here, after all; the charity.

“And the rest of you old slags, go say hello anyway. I promise you she’s very friendly.” The queen punctuated her sentence with a slow roll of her hips and a leer. John scowled down at his ginger ale, and ignored Georgie’s knowing look. She wasn’t going to tell him to lighten up, because she knew that he’d just roll his eyes in response, and she didn’t need to, because he knews she was thinking it.

It was just that this, the lewd jokes for the sake of lewd jokes, the self-conscious decadence, it was very much not John’s scene. He didn’t have anything against it, exactly; he just found it childish, and strange, and there was something profoundly alienating about it besides. If it were up to him he’d be at home, reading, or putting a few more hours in on the project he was supposed to have in by Monday, somehow, although Elias clearly didn’t understand how long database work actually took.

But it was for charity, Georgie had said, and it had been ages since he’d been out and around, and he wasn’t going to meet anyone new if he just sat around moping. To which he had responded that he didn't feel the need to meet anyone new, and she’d looked at him with her eyes so knowingly sad, tinged with an insufferable pity. And so here he was, crammed into an uncomfortable booth in a dim bar, watching a man in a dress with a wig as tall as his head and heels you could punch through metal sheeting with croon into a cheap microphone.

“I am your host for the evening, Kinky Spice--” someone in the back booed. The queen sighed exaggeratedly. “Fine, you caught me. I’m your host, Kim Morningwoodburn--” More booing, and scattered laughter. “Tough crowd! I’ll deal with you later, you naughty audience members you. I am, cross my heart, your host, Diana Explosion, and I’m here to ask you to welcome in our first performer, the bizarre, the incomparable Honey Wilde!”

The lights dimmed, and turned blue. The crowd applauded as flog began to slip in from the corner of the stage, creeping across the floor. The music started, something slow and electronic. John was intrigued despite himself.

Honey Wilde slunk slowly out of the shadows. Her shoulders were hunched, and she moved with a slow lurch. Her straight black wig hung in front of her face, like a creature from a Japanese horror movie. The lights flickered out.

When they turned back on, she was standing at the edge of the stage, arms spread wide. She was tall, even without the heels; with them, she towered. Her hair was back, revealing a beautifully painted face; even John, who didn’t see the point of this sort of thing, had to admire the artistry. She was wearing a black gown of some sort of matte material, and black opera gloves. And on them, marching up her arms and around the curve of her bodice, curled around her throat--spiders. Huge, plastic spiders. And in her right hand, which she stretched out to the audience, slowly walking across her palm--

“Don’t worry,” she said, in a husky stage whisper. She stroked the back of the tarantula with one finger. “She won’t bite. Unless you ask nicely.” She snapped her teeth, and then smiled, looking suddenly self-conscious. Diana Explosion wolf-whistled. John shuddered. He looked around, plotting an escape route. When he looked back at the stage, Honey’s eyes were on him.

“If one of you could please do me a favor,” she said. “Tell the silver fox in the back row that I bite, too.”

John’s face burned. Georgie jostled him with her shoulder.

“He’s twenty-five,” she yelled back. The crowd laughed. Honey Wild ducked her head, and when she looked back, her smile was crooked.

“I suppose being with you has aged him prematurely, has it?” she said. Georgie laughed. John didn’t. The tarantula walked slowly along Honey Wilde’s palm.

“Only a joke,” she said. “Don’t let it... eat at you.”

Diana Explosion jeered. Honey shrugged. The gesture was strangely sheepish; it didn’t belong to the person in the gown and the dark red lipstick. Then the music shifted abruptly, pitched eerily up, and the performance began.

It seemed to be some sort of performance art, with slow techno interspersed with half-song stanzas of Keats’ Ode to a Nightingale. What that had to do with spiders, John couldn’t say. He stopped paying attention. As the queen lurched and undulated across the stage, John stared down at his drink and thought angry, vague thoughts about pointless, fatuous entertainment and pretentious artists and men who thought that having a cock counted as a political statement. The next number featured a queen in a ridiculous harlequin costume and some kind of calliope remix, and John ignored Georgie’s worried glances and insistent nudges and pulled out his phone.

When the break came, he slid past her and went out the side for a cigarette. It was a cool night; he stood with his back to the brick wall and looked up a the sliver of orange-grey sky above the buildings. He breathed in, felt nicotine fill his lungs, allowed himself a moment to relax.

The door swung open. The man who emerged was tall and trying not to be. He had unruly brown hair that seemed pressed down on one side, and was wearing a jumper, ripped shorts, and fishnets. There was a grey smudge of hastily removed eyeliner around his eyes. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. Hello. Mind if I share the alley for a bit?”

John shrugged. He offered the man his pack of cigarettes--might as well be polite--but was turned down.

“It’s just--need to get some air, you know? Decompress. I always get a bit jittery after a number. Can barely hold my hands straight, ha.”

“Hm,” John said.

“I don’t know how Tim does it. Of course, can’t hurt that he’s just like that all the time, I mean. It’s not really work for him, he just puts on a dress and goes out there, does his thing. Stuff really comes natural to him, you know?”

“I suppose,” John said.

“Sorry--you’re probably trying to relax, and here I am, talking your ear off.” The man ran his fingers through his hair, making it even more untidy, and looked down. There was a flush creeping up the side of his neck. “I, um. I’ll be out of your hair in a second, I promise. Just, while I’m here, I wanted to apologize.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“If I crossed some sort of line,” the man went on, as though that explained something. “I mean, it’s what most people are here for, to be honest, someone to flirt with and be mean to them, but you seemed sort of uncomfortable? So. Sorry about that. It’s just, I don’t really do this that often anymore, I’m only here because Tim made me, and for the charity. So I’m out of practice with the back and forth, is all.”

John squinted at him. The lighting was different; so was his posture, the shape of his face without makeup. But no, he recognized him now.

“You’re Honey Wilde,” he said. “The one with the tarantula.”

“Oh! Yes. Sorry. Not right now, I mean, right now I’m Martin. But yeah, that’s me.” Martin gave an awkward little wave. John took a deep drag on his cigarette and let the smoke out slowly.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Are you sure? You seem sort of...”

“It’s fine,” John said again, more firmly. Martin’s smile was pained. He had dimples, John noticed; they were slightly asymmetrical, the right one deeper than the left.

“Well that’s--good. I’m glad.” They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Martin kept looking at John, and then away; after a moment, John realized that he was being checked out.

He considered this. Martin wasn’t bad looking, as far as John could tell. He seemed nice enough. The apology had seemed genuine. And there was a part of John, a vicious, petty corner of his heart, that enjoyed the thought of leaving Georgie in the bar to go home with a virtual stranger.

“I’m sorry if it’s a step,” Martin said slowly, “but you don’t really seem to be enjoying yourself? Did your girlfriend drag you along, or something?”

“Ex girlfriend,” John said shortly. Martin’s eyes went wide.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh, I’m--that makes it worse, doesn’t it. I’m sorry.”

Of course, there were the negatives. Sex with someone he knew well was just as likely to be uncomfortable and awkward as it was pleasurable; with a stranger, the risk was doubled. Martin seemed courteous, but he still might take it personally when John asked him not to touch him, or have weird kinks, or just expect John to be more into it than he could possibly be and come to his own conclusions when John inevitably wasn’t.

John watched Martin run a broad hand through his hair again, and decided that it wasn’t worth it.

“It’s--it’s fine,” he said, shrugging. “It was a long time ago. She has a girlfriend now, actually, who’s working behind the bar.”

“That’s--Oh, you mean Melanie? That’s Melanie’s Georgie?” Martin smiled, more genuinely this time. “Melanie won’t shut up about her. They seem sweet.”

“I don’t know if sweet is the word I would use to describe Melanie King,” John said. “But yes. They do seem to suit each other, don’t they.”

“Yeah.” There was something wistful in the way Martin said it, and a little sad. They looked at each other. John felt an unpleasant roll of anxiety; this was it, this was the moment when Martin would make a move, and John would say no, and they’d both go back inside feeling uncomfortable and awkward.

But Martin just pushed off from the wall and looked back at the door and said, strangely tentative, “Well, it was good to meet you. I should get back in. I’m not performing any more, thank god, but I don’t want to miss the second act. I’ll, uh, see you around, yeah?”

John blinked at him.

“Right,” he said. Martin flashed him a quick smile, and then opened the door. Through it, John could hear Diana Explosion, calling out, “--your seats, my lovely monsters, let’s get this show back on the road.” Then Martin was gone, the door closed behind him, and John was alone.

He took another deep drag on his cigarette. His phone buzzed, a text from Georgie, asking him where he was. He muted his phone and put it back in his pocket. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

#the magnus archives #tma #my fic #jonmartin #jo(h)n sims #martin blackwood #JM

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harrisonstories · 5 years

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Pattie Boyd and George Harrison - assumed to be from their honeymoon in Barbados (1966)

NOTE: This is the “Something in the Way She Moved” interview Ken Sharp did with Pattie Boyd in 2007. I’ve posted a couple of quotes before and wanted to share the whole thing for Pattie’s birthday. Originally this interview was available through Goldmine magazine, but it seems they’ve changed their website recently, so I used the version from Record Collector . Unfortunately they slightly edited parts of the interview, so what I’ve done is add in as much as I could find from the Goldmine version in brackets. Anyway, hope you enjoy and Happy Belated Birthday Pattie!

Share your memories of first meeting the Beatles on the set of A Hard Day’s Night...

I was working as a model and my agent called me one day to tell me that there was a casting audition to go to. When I arrived there I recognized the director because I’d done some TV commercials with him. Then I went home afterwards and I heard from my agent that I got a part in a Beatles film, which was A Hard Day’s Night. I was a bit stunned by this. I had no desire or ambition to be an actress. They said, “Oh don’t worry, it’s just a walk on part.”

In the film I had to be a schoolgirl. So I turned up at the appointed place, a train station, caught the train and then a little way out of Paddington Station the train stopped. I looked out and saw these four very recognizable people were standing on a platform. It was The Beatles. There was nobody else there. They jumped onto the train, came into our carriage and introduced themselves as if we didn’t know who they were (laughs). They were so charming. We shook their hands, then they went off and filming began. I just thought George was so unbelievably good looking and adorable. They were all so funny and humorous, and seemed to be mucking about all of the time. George and I just hit it off.

I don’t know whether it was by design or deliberation but we ended up sitting next to each other for lunch. I remember feeling so silly because I was still dressed in a stupid schoolgirl uniform. We were both really shy but we enjoyed sitting next to each other and talking a bit.

At the end of the day, the train was headed back to London and George looked at me and said, “Will you marry me?” Because they’d all been so amusing and funny throughout the day I just laughed as if he were joking. Then he said, “Can I take you out to dinner tonight?” I said, “Well, actually I’m going out with my boyfriend (Eric Swayne), but you can come along too.” He said, “No, that wasn’t the idea at all.”

What were the qualities about George that made you realize he was the one for you?

I think it was his absolute charm and endearment. [He was very endearing. He was very easy to be with. He was very soft and lovely.] He seemed to really love my family and got on very well with all my brothers and sisters. He was just eternally sweet to everybody. When we first started going out together he was very quiet. As time went on he gained more confidence. And then there were times it was difficult to stop him from talking.

Did you get a chance to visit many Beatle recording sessions?

No, because really and truly we weren’t really allowed to. We weren’t encouraged to go to the studio. I remember once going through the studio to meet George Martin; I think they might have been doing recording with Mary Hopkin. But I never saw a Beatles recording session. When Yoko came on the scene, she was allowed to but otherwise none of the wives were. It was far better that there were no distractions from us. I mean, girls can be distracting, let’s face it. They wanted to totally focus on their work.

Bring us back to the first time you saw The Beatles in concert.

I saw them for the first time when they played at the Hammersmith Odeon London in 1964. George and I had met and it seemed this show must have happened a few months after that. I was given a few seats right near the front. The audience was screaming all of the time. To me, that was odd, because I didn’t realize that was what happened during their shows. The noise was huge, but the Beatles’ performance was really great.

Was it a different George onstage than off?

Absolutely. He was himself in his professional role of being a musician. Whereas I just knew him as my boyfriend, someone who was great to hang out with, loved my family and really enjoyed to hang out with my friends. So this was very clearly another role that I didn’t really recognize him in.

[Did he feel more comfortable off stage?]

[Yes], I always felt he was never very comfortable onstage. I think it made him nervous. He was much more comfortable being in the company of friends and family and people that he loved.

Through the years, George expressed how he grew tired of Beatlemania fairly early on in the band’s career.

After he and I met, we would have such a great time together. I don’t want to be boastful about it but I think he really preferred hanging out with me and actually enjoying life. Touring got in the way and he didn’t really enjoy it. He didn’t really see the point of touring because just as soon as they walked toward the stage the people would start screaming so loudly. When they started playing the screaming got even louder to the point where nobody possibly could have heard anything. He saw it all as a bit of a waste of time.

But when you watch The Beatles film showing them performing at Shea Stadium, it does seem like they’re having a blast.

Yeah. With Shea Stadium, of course, that was one of their big conquests in America. I remember George saying he couldn’t believe how enormous it was and how many people were there. He was overawed by that [and did enjoy playing that show].

You write in your book that The Beatles were “fearful” of their fans.

Obviously they couldn’t exist without their fans but their fans followed them everywhere they went. Before we had a gate put up outside of our house in Esher, fans would come to the house all the time. On a couple of occasions some of my things were stolen. Depending on his mood, more often than not if fans came to the door he would shoo them away. But if he was in a good mood and they were nice people he would be charming, sign autographs and have a few words with them. But it was an intrusion. He’d rather be getting on with his life than dealing with that.

Unlike many groups of today, there was a real bond of friendship and camaraderie among the Beatles.

[The Beatles were very close and tight and would hang out together.] They all grew up in the same area of Liverpool. Automatically when you grow up with somebody from the same sort of background and experiences, you have a bond. At a very young age they were sent to Germany to work in Hamburg for [very], very long hours, little sleep and little money. They took loads of pills to keep them up all night. That unites people. [It’s very bonding.] Their language to each other was so fast, almost encoded. It was almost a secret language. They were very tight, [very tight].

In the book you state that “The Beatles lived an unreal life and never had to grow up”.

Everything was always taken care of for them. I think they realized they had to start growing up when Brian Epstein died. He was a father figure for them. He enjoyed looking after them and taking care of all their needs. He would anticipate what they would like, when they’d like to go on holidays. Brian taught them the niceties of life, introduced them to fine wines, to London and Theatre.

When he died there was a period where they felt lost but then I think after that they gained their feet and realized they had to take control of their lives. The boys had to disappear and put on long trousers.

After Beatles played their last show in San Francisco, George said that now he was no longer a Beatle. Did he express his relief that their touring days were over?

Yes, he was very happy he didn’t have to go on tour anymore. He really didn’t like it. He was happy that they’d now be able to solely concentrate on working in the studio, which he preferred. That’s where he was happiest.

Did he ever express his frustration about getting his songs recorded?

Yes, George was in a difficult position. In any three-way partnership there’s always going to be one person who feels left out. Ringo didn’t really come into the equation; he was mainly a drummer, not a songwriter. John and Paul wrote most of the songs and I know George felt frustrated that he wasn’t contributing as much as he felt he could and should.

With the magnificent love song Something, he proved himself on par with John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

I don’t think George knew it was a great song, but it was clearly a very beautiful song he’d written and he was very happy that it was going to be a single. He was thrilled.

Knowing it was written about you, how did that make you feel?

Oh, I thought it was the sweetest thing he could have done. I loved it. It’s a wonderful song.

There’s a funny story in your book about your cleaner, Margaret.

Margaret was so funny. She was almost like an older sister/mother figure for George and I. She was a bit radical as well. Whenever John came over she would ask him, “Oh John, can you give me one of those lovely pills?” They were uppers. I always knew when she got one from John (laughs) because she’d suddenly start vacuuming like mad and dusting everywhere. (laughs)

Bring us back to the dinner party where the dentist John Riley secretly dosed you, George, John and Cynthia with LSD.

At about nine or 10 o’clock at night we were dosed. We were furious! I thought I’d be like this for the rest of my life (laughing) and maybe I am. That trip lasted about eight hours. It was terribly surreal. People started looking like animals and they would grow 10 times their height. It was like being in a movie where things come in and out at you.

How did acid change George?

I think it affected him in a positive way. He enjoyed the mind expansion part of it, but then he grew out of it and didn’t want to do it anymore.

You were the one who pointed the way toward transcendental meditation.

I think they were on tour somewhere and a friend of mine, Marie-Lise, saw a little ad about learning how to meditate. We went to London and took these lessons in transcendental mediation. We had our mantra and now we were off meditating. When George came back I told him about it. Shortly after that I think it was Paul who suggested we all go see a lecture in London being done by the Maharishi. I was thrilled because it was his form of meditation that I’d been studying.

The Maharishi couldn’t figure out why suddenly after he’d been coming to England for years doing his lectures that all the press were there. He couldn’t think what had happened because he’d never heard of The Beatles. He quickly realized that The Beatles were important people. So he invited us all to go to Wales where he could teach us privately about meditation.

Ironically, it was in Wales where the Beatles heard that their manager, Brian Epstein had died.

Strangely enough, isn’t life so amazing that Brian would die at a time that they would all learn spirituality from the Maharishi? It was like they were replacing a father figure with a spiritual father figure in a way. That’s how I saw it. It was the saddest day. All of them were just ashen with shock with the news of Brian dying. The Maharishi helped them cope with it. At least we all had the comfort of him to help us deal with our grief.

What are your memories of the trip to India to study with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi?

It was very nice to be a part of that enclosed life. There were probably about 80 people living there. George was very serious about meditation, as was John. But Paul and Ringo not so much. Ringo had a bad time there, especially with Maureen because she couldn’t stand flies. But for us, every day was glorious. There was nothing nicer than being in a very nice and calm environment.

John, Paul and George would play the guitar and write songs. It was absolutely the most lovely atmosphere. We’d meditate for hours on end. The food was delicious. It was lovely to go down to the Ganges when it started getting warmer. It was just a very nice time.

When George returned from India, there was a change in his personality.

Yes, he became more serious. After he returned from India the reality for George and the rest of The Beatles was that they now had to be businessmen and handle everything to do with The Beatles’ slowly growing empire. With Apple, they had to find business partners and then they were all arguing over who should handle them. From being musicians they had to wear the hat of being businessmen as well, and intrinsically that’s not in their nature. They’re artists. They’re creators.

George didn’t like to have to make these business decisions and play that kind of role. So then he started staying in the office or in the studio quite a lot and recording various artists like Billy Preston, Doris Troy and Jackie Lomax. After a few years, George and I grew apart. He wanted to hang onto his spirituality. He started chanting a lot. I think he was desperately trying to reach a nice calm space in his head. On top of everything else The Beatles all started arguing with each other on creative levels as well.

During the recording of Let It Be, George left the Beatles. What did he share with you about his disenchantment?

He came home and told me how he’d left the band. He was in a really bad mood. He said the vibes were so ghastly and that The Beatles were going to split up. I think in a way it was a slow breakup. They all saw it as divorcing each other. Gradually they all let go of being in the band. It was too difficult to sustain.

[Discuss the duality of George. ] On one hand, George was a seeker of enlightenment and spirituality, but on the other he was having affairs on the side.

[George was a human being.] He was human, terribly good looking and very famous. He had his ups and down. Temptations were thrown at him continually. If you’re gonna decide that you’re gonna be a priest it’s very difficult. I think George was far more aware than other people of the continual battle of one’s demons. [We all have demons inside of us. We’re all full of black and white.] He struggled with it. He always wanted to be a good man and do the right thing.

It was surprising to read in your book that George had an affair with Ringo’s wife. How did Ringo react?

Obviously, Ringo was seriously pissed off. But I don’t know whether his anger was directed more to Maureen than to George. Remember, I was going through my own hell at the time. I wasn’t really noting everyone’s pain and anguish. I was going through my own struggles.

Bring us back to when you and George visited Frank Sinatra for the My Way recording session.

We were in LA. I think George was finishing an album. Then we got a message that Frank Sinatra invited us to a recording session. So we turned up with Mal Evans and we were led into the control room. From there we could look through the glass panel and see this very large studio with a full orchestra. Then Frank walked into the studio and I was riveted. Here’s the famous Frank Sinatra. He took the mic and he sang My Way. He was absolutely stunning. All of us in the control room were silenced. Then Frank came into the control room, heard it back again and said, “That’s it!” He did it in one take. Then he said, “Let’s all go out for dinner.”

All these limos appeared and we all went to some restaurant on Sunset Boulevard. There was this huge table and everybody sat down. George and I tried to sit next to Frank but his best friends had to sit next to him, so we were shoved down the table (laughs). George and Frank had a good conversation in the control room and spoke at dinner as well. I think Frank was probably quite curious and wanted to hear about The Beatles.

In 1972, you and George met another legend, Elvis Presley, backstage at Madison Square Garden.

George had total respect for Elvis, he loved him. We were sitting in the audience; suddenly someone came up and said, “Elvis wants to meet you.” We obeyed like little lambs and went down into his dressing room. We went in and asked where Elvis was and they said, “He’s in the bathroom.” Then he came out and he was wearing his white suit. In my mind’s eye he was about 10 feet tall (laughs). He shook George’s hand and they spoke a few words and that was it.

I later met Elvis again with Eric (Clapton). We were in Memphis and Elvis invited us to the cinema to see a movie with him. We walked into the empty theatre and there was Elvis sitting a few rows from the front surrounded by a few people. So we said “Hi” and then we went to sit in the row behind him but his minders said, “No, no, no, you can’t sit there.” We had to sit a few rows back (laughs).

Being a muse for both George Harrison with Something and later with Eric Clapton for Layla and Wonderful Tonight, must have put tremendous pressure on you to be perfect.

You can’t help but think that people will look at you and go, “Oh my God, what is it about her that’s so special that a song is being written for her?” But what a great, great compliment. Maybe I never thought about the joys of it at the time because it was such a beautiful and flattering place to be in.

And you were at the kitchen table when George wrote My Sweet Lord.

I remember it very clearly. It’s a beautiful song and he was so proud of it. I know he wrote it. He didn’t copy it from The Chiffons. It was deeply upsetting and really hurtful when he was called into court in America for supposedly plagiarizing one of The Chiffons’ songs. That song became a bit tainted when we were told he’d have to go to court and defend himself with his guitar. George stopped listening to the radio after that so he wouldn’t be influenced by any music.

Can you remember when Eric first played you Layla?

Yes, of course. He played it for me on cassette. It was so beautiful. He kept looking at me for my reaction. He wanted me to realize that he had written it for me. It was inspired by a book that we’d both been given by a mutual friend called The Story Of Layla And Manjun. It was written by a Persian poet and it’s a beautiful love story. We were both very familiar with the book and story and the song was based on that story. I was totally mesmerized by the song. I still love it.

Eric pursued you for quite some time.

It may have been two or three years before we became involved. Things were going so bad at home, my relationship with George was collapsing. I thought it was best to go off and visit with my sister who was living in LA. I just wanted to get away and work out what I was going to do next. Eric phoned up and said, “Come join me on tour and see what it’s like.” I’d never been on a tour before. It’s really exhilarating and sexy. I thought, this is the life, this is wonderful. I think that was it. I’d made that choice. I was still not sure if I’d made the right decision.

Can you explain how George and Eric were able to maintain their friendship?

Their friendship was mainly based on music. There was a great respect for each other’s music. I suppose that was stronger than the other parts of their lives. I’m sure most people would think it’s surprising that they were civil about it. I mean, what can I say, that’s how it was.

Your wedding reception in 1979 featured Eric, three Beatles (George, Paul and Ringo), Mick Jagger, Robert Plant, Jeff Beck, Ronnie Wood, Jack Bruce, Bill Wyman and others jamming.

It was fantastic. It was an all-star band. It was a moving feast. The lineup kept changing. Everyone you mentioned played and more. There was a constant turnover of players. If a drummer left someone else was waiting in the wings to pick up the drumsticks.

You met with George at your cottage a few months before his death – had he come terms with his imminent passing?

I don’t know if George fully realized that. But on reflection I think maybe that was why he did come over to visit me. He brought me two little gifts and a plant. He had initially gone to see Ringo who lives near me and then just on the off chance phoned to see if I was in too. We had a lovely time.

You say that George’s near-fatal stabbing in 1999 may have weakened his defenses to the cancer that later claimed his life.

I think that is true. To have experienced that sort of seriously vicious attack would freak anybody out forever, and then your defenses are down and one can become vulnerable.

In describing your two husbands, you describe Eric as your “playmate” and George as your “soulmate”.

It was always great fun to hang out with Eric. It was always playtime. But this was when he was drinking and when someone is drinking they just think of the maddest things and the most childish things to do. We were in a lucky position because there were always people to pick up the pieces and look after us and cushion the fall. But then with George he was a true spiritual seeker. We had a very special friendship, a relationship that would last all our lives. [I knew that.] George was always there for me. He was a sweet and gentle person. [So what if he had demons. He'd been trying so hard to be good and spiritual.]

Lastly, apart from Something, Layla and Wonderful Tonight, can you select a favorite George and Eric song?

(Long pause) That’s a difficult question. For George, I have to say that I loved a lot of the stuff that he did with The Traveling Wilburys. I loved that music. And Eric? Oh gosh, that’s a hard one. (Long pause) How about Bell Bottom Blues?

Why that one?

(Laughing) Because I think it might have been about me.

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darrencrissource · 6 years

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With a just-wrapped concert tour, new music in the works and an Emmy nod forThe Assassination of Gianni Versace, multitalented University of Michigan grad Darren Criss just might be one of the most versatile performers of his generation—and he’s just getting started.

To television viewers used to seeing Darren Criss belting out pop tunes onGlee, his unsettling, riveting performance as serial killer Andrew Cunanan in Ryan Murphy’s blockbuster series American Crime Story: The Assassination of Gianni Versace was completely unexpected. One person who wasn’t surprised? Benj Pasek, who studied theater with Criss at the University of Michigan and saw firsthand the seriousness his classmate brought to the craft. On the heels of Criss’ Emmy nomination for best actor in a limited series/TV movie, Pasek (an award-winning songwriter for projects like Dear Evan Hansen and The Greatest Showman) caught up with the 31-year-old Criss in an exclusive chat for Michigan Avenue to talk Penélope Cruz, favorite Chicago dining spots, why he’s a champion of the gay community and the best acting advice he’s ever received.

Benj Pasek: I’m excited to talk to you, Darren—what are we, a week after your Emmy nomination for Versace? I remember when you got your first nomination for music [in 2015 for Glee song “This Time”], but this time it’s for one of the main event categories that everybody’s watching for. It’s thrilling to see you shine up there with those other famous folks in your category. Darren Criss: Thanks, Benj! We have a fun history of anticipating nominations together. I’ve been on that side for you as well, so I’m glad we can share that. What was so validating about that first nomination was that it was for something a lot of people didn’t know I had anything to do with. You know songwriting is a huge part of my creative life. And of course with this one, there’s a lot of eyes on it, and it’s a badge of honor to be included in the category.

BP: Versace received 18 nominations, which is extraordinary. Did you have a sense when you were filming that it was going to catch fire? DC: My mantra is, ‘One hopes for everything but expects nothing.’ I was just happy to be part of the project, which was amazing for myriad reasons. All the boxes were ticked: the people you’re working with; the story itself is interesting; the role is varied and nuanced and complex. This is a role I’ve worked and waited for my entire life. It’s enough just to be a part of that, so one tries not to think of what might happen in the more splashy accolade space because you already feel like you’ve won the lottery.

BP: Obviously, you worked with Ryan Murphy on Glee, but how did the role come to you? DC: and i have talked about this at length both admire versatility range not only in other people work having the opportunity to use different colors on proverbial artist palette. so if you do a project that green look forward next thing can be blue one red others mix two. want bring life forms personalities within yourself. something am deeply indebted ryan for. think he recognizes studied acting as craft take storytelling seriously glad actors writing producing your own stuff good moments they given from people. when arose grateful coach was like right kid made it varsity get there. ready.

BP: The cast of Versace is insane—movie stars like Penélope Cruz, theater luminaries like Judith Light, Edgar Ramirez, Ricky Martin... What was it like working with them? DC: What was nice about this project, especially with Penélope, Edgar andRicky, was that it was a huge deal for all of them. It was Penélope’s first foray into television. It was Edgar’s first American television role and one of Ricky’s first larger roles in a drama of this scale. So it wasn’t just another day at the office for them. If anything, I was sort of the veteran, which was crazy. I had the most history with Ryan; I had spent the most time doing this in terms of shooting a series; I knew the crew and the producers. At this point, a lot of these people are family to me. That made it a lot easier because everybody was excited to be at this party.

BP: Any funny anecdotes from set that no one in the world’s heard yet? DC: Look, our show is very dark, so I think as a defense mechanism for what we were doing, I took it upon myself to be the biggest prankster. Let’s just say, if there was a staircase to fall down or a door to be walked into, I did it. I was the quarterback of the bloopers.

BP: Moving on from Versace: You just finished touring with Lea Michele. DC: It was a good time. I really enjoy live performance. People always ask what I like most, but look: Performing is performing. The main advantage that performing live has is there is a real-time catharsis to what’s happening. So I love being able to go on the road and meet people I’ve never had a chance to interact with. I’m a fan of the more human elements. I’m the worst at texting—you know me, Benj: I just call you even if it’s for the stupidest thing. I always yield to phone calls and I always prefer in-person meetings. So being with Lea and getting to meet all these young people who have grown up with Glee, it’s wonderful to be able to thank people in real time.

BP: You have a lot of connections to Chicago. DC: Chicago is one of my favorite places to eat and drink in the world. Aside from its culinary scene, which is second to none, it has the metropolitan quality of New York and the hominess of the San Francisco I grew up in, but because it’s smack-dab in the middle of the Midwest, it’s populated with wonderful salt-of-the-Earth Midwestern people. So it’s this cocktail of all my favorite things about our country. My artistic background with the city is, having gone to the University of Michigan, I had never really spent time in Chicago before then.

BP: I had never realized how unbelievable Chicago theater is. I remember seeing one of the first out-of-town productions of The Light in the Piazza there, and I became addicted to Chicago theater. DC: There’s this pride in being a Chicago actor. If you’re one of these hardcore guys and gals doing incredible work in Chicago before it moves to New York or elsewhere, that’s a thing. I’ve even pitched buddies of mine like, ‘He’s a Chicago theater guy.” And the casting person is like, ‘Ooh, that’s good.’ It adds cache.

BP: You’re a real actor’s actor in Chicago. DC: And that comes from its rich history in improv, obviously, and the Steppenwolf, the Goodman, Lookingglass and the amazing out-of-town tryouts that happen in Chicago. Being in Michigan, I started going during the summer because I could take the train. Talk about a great way to go to Chicago for the first time. Coming out of Union Station, this old Gothic, amazing, historic station, it’s like, ‘Welcome to Chicago, kid!’ Seeing theater and being around the people working on shows was so inspiring. We founded StarKid in L.A. but moved it to Chicago mainly because it’s a place where independent theater can thrive. After our guys graduated around 2011, we started doing shows, and our first— and this was the last musical I wrote the whole score for, which I miss doing—was Starship. That was during my first season in Glee, and we premiered it at the Center on Halsted in Boystown.

BP: Do you have a favorite restaurant in Chicago? I remember you eating at Girl & the Goat. DC: The West Loop has exploded in the past several years. Soho House is there. Girl & the Goat opened a new restaurant, Duck Duck Goat, that’s also good. My fiancee, Mia, and I—and you’re a partner in it, so thank you for investing in our bar, Benj Pasek— own Tramp Stamp Granny’s in L.A., which is a cocktail club and piano bar. So for the past few years I’ve had a keen interest in the country’s premier cocktail destinations, and one of those is the Aviary, which is a famous high-end mixology bar in the West Loop. I make sure to visit if I can get a ticket. And Chicago has my favorite art museum in the world, the Art Institute. I always make sure to spend some part of my summer in Chicago so I can ride Jet Skis on the lake, go to the Lincoln Park Zoo and the Adler Planetarium, where a lot of my buddies from Michigan work. I make my way down the lake and usually end up at the Chicago Athletic Association for a game of chess, or a couple of beers and a game of pool, because that place is so cool, it’s insane.

BP: Back to the Emmy nomination—you're only the second actor of Asian descent to be nominated in the best actor category. What does that mean to you? DC: I feel fortunate to be part of that history. It’s empowering and encouraging to people who may feel underrepresented, be they mixed or full, whatever ethnicity. When you see some version of yourself acknowledged, certainly in the media, it feels like your home team is winning.

BP: What’s the best piece of advice you ever got about being an actor? DC: The things I remember are more pragmatic, tactical pieces of advice: Know the name of the cameraman. Know your crew. Realize that the creative process, once you start the collaborative process, is a team sport. And everyone’s looking out for each other, or should be at least, and the more you can familiarize yourself with your teammates, the more your team will feel good about passing you the ball.

BP: You have been such a champion of the LGBTQ+ community. How did your involvement in that cause come about? DC: The way I have felt embraced by the LGBTQ community, I think, is the amalgam of so many serendipities throughout my life that I just feel fortunate it’s such a huge part of my identity not only as a person, but as a public person. I consider it sheer providence that a kid from San Francisco who grew up in a very troubled and ultimately resilient time for the gay community, and was raised not at home but backstage in theaters... by these young men and women who were part of that, always gave me a respect and understanding for the gay community in whatever way I could understand it as a young cisgender straight person.

BP: Last question: What’s next for you? DC: My brother and I are working on a batch of songs [for our band, Computer Games], and we’ll hopefully get something out in the next handful of months. We had a great run withVersace, but right now I’m hearing the click, click, click of the roller coaster going up, and I know some exciting new thing is about to happen. We’ll see what acting roles come my way, but one of the things I want to get back to, as I’ve hinted, is to write some kind of new musical soon. I say that now, but I’ll probably get off the phone and get a call and end up doing some random thing I would have never thought of doing. I always keep my receptors open, and as long as the project is interesting, has some significance and is different from the last thing, that’s what I’m into. It’s one of the great blessings and curses of having too many interests—it makes almost everything interesting to me. So, I’m as curious as the next guy.

August 23, 2018

#darren criss #michiganavemag #press #august 2018

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lgbtessay-blog · 6 years

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LGBT Community

First and foremost, being gay is not a choice. Just in the same way that heterosexuals like the opposite gender, it is not because they were raised to be straight, it is just the way their brain is programmed. Sexual orientation can be defined, by the LGBT Communication Manual as, “each person’s capacity for profound emotional, affectional and sexual attraction to, and intimate and sexual relations with, individuals or a different sex/gender/ or the same sex/gender or more than one sex/gender” (LGBT Communication Manual). With each person’s preference to sex/gender, there comes a title so that within their community they can distinguish each other and know what each person prefers. For example, they use terms like bisexual, gay, lesbian, heterosexual, pansexual, transgender, intersexual, t-lover, and drag king or queen to name a few.

The LGBT community wasn’t always accepted for who they were, and it took much courage to come out into the nonaccepting time of the 50’s post-war. This is thanks to a man named Harry Hay because he found the first gay rights organization, that he called the Mattachine Society. Its founders, to the surprise of many, were former communists and radicals. Their goal with creating this group was not only to change the way that people looked at gay men and what they stood for but for men to start being comfortable in their skins. In a matter of three years, the Mattachine Society had grown to the point that you could attend a meeting every day for the rest of your life if that is what you desired to do, claimed Dorr Legg. At this point, the Gay community was peaking and not stopping with tens of thousands of people joining in the Los Angeles area. (Roscoe, accessed 20 October 2018).

Not too much after the Mattachine Society was created, the Daughters of Bilitis was formed. A lesbian group based in San Francisco, the founders Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon, were the first same-sex couple to be married after the legalization of same-sex marriage was passed. Initially, this group was created so that lesbians could meet other lesbians so that they could start socializing and dancing at the clubs together. Eventually, this secret club at the time had realized that many laws were “anti-gay” and instead of partying and having a good time, they needed to start making a change in society for the well being of their futures. Soon after this realization, they began to focus more on educating the public about lesbians, they started to participate in research about lesbians and started to repealing anti-LGBT laws. (Anti-Defamation League, 2011)

Coming out in the 1950s was a very bold act considering that the United States government targeted the LGBT members because politicians strongly and wrongly believed that homosexuals were infiltrating the U.S. poses a threat to national security. The leaders of the U.S. in this time believed that those who were declaring themselves as homosexuals were both weak and mentally ill, and this posed a threat because the U.S. was sure that anyone in these conditions would reveal state secrets to undercover spies if they were blackmailed. Because of the government creating this illusion to citizens, the “Lavender Scare” was created. A time where LGBT members were fired on a daily bases and were forced to go through police raids at gay bars, parties, and places that weren’t even morally okay… their homes. It was a hard time for those who were coming out in this era because laws started being made that would prohibit wearing the clothes of the opposite gender and dancing with someone of the same sex. As a result of all these laws and unfair judgment, many members of the LGBT community went into hiding. (Anti-Defamation League, 2011)

Coming out can be defined but the LGBT communications manual as “a process of self-acceptance which may take an entire lifetime. A person builds their identity as a lesbian, gay man, bisexual, or transgender person, at first keeping it to themselves. Later they may or may not reveal it to other people” (LGBT Communication Manual). In modern day today, coming out is not as hard as it used to be 60 years ago, but it is still and always will be a big deal. Coming out isn’t just about telling people what sex you are interested in, but about finally getting to show your loved ones whom you are and hoping that there is still a way that they will accept you for who you are. Depending on where these people live is and what goes on in their household depends on if their family and friends would accept them for who they are. For my mother coming out was not an easy thing to do. Her father and mother thought she was utterly disgusting and to this day don’t accept her. When she came out to her brother and sister they were not accepting at first, but in my family, there is one thing that will always be important, and that is you only have one family it can grow, but it will never change. Over time, both of them came to accept her and love her just for who she is. My second mom, Lu, has passed onto another life, but if it wasn’t for her I know that my mom wouldn’t have been strong enough to come out on her own to our family, and for that, I will be forever grateful. For two people my age, I have come to find out they don’t have coming out stories because they always knew and acted on being just who they were, which has to be the most beautiful change I have seen throughout society.

A big factor that has played a role in many people coming out is what religion they are. Almost all religions have an accepting or nonaccepting truth to it considering the LGBT community. The Christian faith does not approve of homosexuality but preaches that we must love and accept everyone. Which is why over time the Christian community has some who support the LGBT community and some who do not. Judaism sees the LGBT community as not natural and does not accept it, although there are Jewish LGBT groups. (LGBT Communication Manual)

Although many people in today's society accept those who are a part of the LGBT community, there are still those times where people who don’t accept these people start to harras these members, which does have its title and definition: Homophobia. This is described as the fear and irrational hatred towards homosexuals. Homophobia can be seen almost anywhere but is slowly dissipating as time goes on. Familiar places we can see this kind of hate is in areas of extreme religion, the workplace, and school.

In Bogota, Colombia nineteen people were interviewed as being a part of the Colombian LGBT community wanting to know their stories and what it is like for them living where they do. For Carmen, a 46-year-old transgender woman, her upbringing into this community was an extremely rough case. Before completing the gender reassignment process, Carmen had finished her military service, and here sadly she was taken advantage of because of rumors going around that she (he at the time) liked other men. Even though he had said no to this sergeant, he started touching her and forcing himself onto her and speaking to her “Lie down, I am going to be good to you.” After this experience, Carmen had started to have consensual relationships with other men in the army. As Carmen did eventually leave the military, she moved around and became successful again (Zea, Reisen, Biachi, 2013). However, moments like these are what people think is okay, to be able to experimental and force another person to try something that they do not want. This is a clear and horrific example of harassment that has happened, there are many other stories like these and to fix this we need to fight against it and bring attention to what is happening.

Furthermore, completing the process of a transgender person is not an easy process. There are multiple steps to getting to where they want to be, starting with the said person needing an official confirmation from a qualified mental health professional that they suffer from “gender dysphoria,” which refers to the distress that comes the wrong fit of expressed gender and one’s assigned gender. Next, they must undergo twelve months of feminizing or masculinizing hormone therapy, administering more testosterone or estrogens into the body to have the body change more into the desired one. Following, those undergoing this process must go through a most important part of their transition, the “real life” experience. Here they must see the importance of coming out to partners, friends, community members, and family here they must also see all the challenges that are going to be up ahead of changing their sex, such as family, educational, vocational, economic, and legal problems that they will be facing every day. The final step in this years-long process is finally the surgery. For male-to-female they must undergo breast augmentation, facial feminization surgery liposuction, gluteal augmentation, reduction of Adam’s apple, hair reconstruction, penis and testicle removal, and creation of neovagina and clitoris. For female-to-male, they undergo removal of breasts, create of a male chest, liposuction, voice surgery, removal of the uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries, vagina, and the construction of a penis and scrotum, and finally the implantation of erection and testicular prosthesis. (Bracanovic, 2017)

As you can see it is not easy to get to the end for the transgender community, and once it is all done, things can get harder. For the LGBT faculty in S&E fields, they claimed they felt that “gayness” was invisible and that everyone was just assumed to be hetero. This is assumed because in the Science and Engineering community it is all that what should matter seeing that everyone would fit the “norm” of being hetero. However, this has caused problems for those who have come out in this community, some peers even coming to the point of saying “I think she’s lesbian; I’d never trust her date.” This is a precise moment of work hostility. Those who are part of the LGBT and S&E community have been faced with many difficulties of how their peers feel around them. Some even reported that they knew of peers who were even uncomfortable and anxious to be in the same room as them. These conflicts have created many consequences for them in and outside the work climates. Internally the participants in this research reported that there is a fearfulness with being a part of the LGBT community because those who are not gay have become rude and not approving of them and their work. This created an environment that pushes members to not come out because of being afraid that their action will not be taken seriously. Externally, participants made it clear that they have not gotten jobs because someone had outed them before them receiving the position. Other participants even claimed that have tried to ruin their research and collaboration with others by outing them. (Bilimoria, 2009)

To continue the discussion of harassment that transgenders must face, it is commonly known among Portland, Oregon that public transportation is not a safe place for them. Public transportation is offered throughout the city, for all and is protected under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, that prohibits discrimination on race, color, and national origin. What it doesn’t protect yet is the discrimination of the LGBT community. Several participants in the social science literature on gender, public space, and urban mobility, had told of many stories of being not being harassed anymore on these public transportation sites. Even a white transgender man (most unlikely to receive hate because of white privilege) could say that he experienced hostility almost on a daily basis when he was a female. This goes to show that until someone looks more “correct” with societies norms that there will always be a hostility accountable for. (Lubitow, 2017)

Thanks to the Pew Research Center, we can come to see that there has been an 18% increase from the decade before in the acceptance of the gay community. There has also been a 19% increase in acceptance for the lesbian community (Drake,2014). Eventually, this won’t even be a number or a thought that will cross the mind, but how can we help to ensure that the LGBT community is more accepted quicker? A few suggestions would be to speak out against any bullying you could see going on towards an LGBT member, being accepting of those around you who come out to you, and most importantly be nice. Being a part of the LGBT community is not an easy thing but with the help of everyone we can change the way people view them and accept them.

Among those who are apart of the LGBT community, there are many ways that they are able to communicate with each other in today's modern age. Like most communities, the LGBT community has a strong online form of communication. By online communication, they communicate when events are, have hotlines, and so they can express who they are. They also have holidays that mean the utmost to many members of the LGBT community. Such as LGBTQ Pride (June), International Drag Day (July 16th), National Coming Out Day (October 11th), etc. Another form of communication that can be seen throughout the LGBT community is the LGBT rainbow flag. For the LGBT community, this is an unspoken form of communication that stands for being apart of this community. Usually, those who are apart of the community have found some type of way to incorporate the flag into a part of their social media or what they wear on a daily basis.

Although with all the hate and unnecessary hostility there are great and wondrous things that come with being a part of the LGBT community. This is also known as, PRIDE! The LGBT Pride march is a celebration of the LGBT community as a whole. If you don’t know what pride is, it is a giant festival where people from all over come an celebrate what it is to be a part of the community. Coming to these events, you can expect a gay version of the Macy’s day parade. There will be people dressed in fantastic costumes, dancing, singing, rejoicing, and have a phenomenal time. The point of gathering in these festivities is different for everyone, but it can be a place where the LGBT community can stand up to the political troubles they are going through as a whole. What is most important to understand when attending one of these events is that everyone will be accepted no matter what because it is supposed to place respect and mutual understanding. As well with visiting one of these events, it is critical to know that there will always be those who are going to protest but they are not the point. What is most important to understand and take away is that no matter what your choice is and what you decide to do with it you can love anyone you would like to because LOVE IS LOVE

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