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hlupdate · 4 years

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Variety’s Grammy-nominated Hitmaker of the Year goes deep on the music industry, the great pause and finding his own muses.

“We’ll dance again,” Harry Styles coos, the Los Angeles sunshine peeking through his pandemic-shaggy hair just so. The singer, songwriter and actor — beloved and critically acclaimed thanks to his life-affirming year-old album, “Fine Line” — is lamenting that his Variety Hitmaker of the Year cover conversation has to be conducted over Zoom rather than in person. Even via videoconference, the Brit is effortlessly charming, as anyone who’s come within earshot of him would attest, but it quickly becomes clear that beneath that genial smile is a well-honed media strategy.

To wit: In an interview that appears a few days later announcing his investment in a new arena in his native Manchester (more on that in a bit), he repeats the refrain — “There will be a time we dance again”— referencing a much-needed return to live music and the promise of some 4,000 jobs for residents.

None of which is to suggest that Styles, 26, phones it in for interviews. Quite the opposite: He does very few, conceivably to give more of himself and not cheapen what is out there and also to use the publicity opportunity to indulge his other interests, like fashion. (Last month Styles became the first male to grace the cover of Vogue solo.) Still, it stings a little that a waltz with the former One Direction member may not come to pass on this album cycle — curse you, coronavirus.

Styles’ isolation has coincided with his maturation as an artist, a thespian and a person. With “Fine Line,” he’s proved himself a skilled lyricist with a tremendous ear for harmony and melody. In preparing for his role in Olivia Wilde’s period thriller “Don’t Worry Darling,” which is shooting outside Palm Springs, he found an outlet for expression in interpreting words on a page. And for the first time, he’s using his megaphone to speak out about social justice — inspired by the outpouring of support for Black people around the world following the death of George Floyd at the hands of Minneapolis police in May.

Styles has spent much of the past nine months at home in London, where life has slowed considerably. The time has allowed him to ponder such heady issues as his purpose on the earth. “It’s been a pause that I don’t know if I would have otherwise taken,” says Styles. “I think it’s been pretty good for me to have a kind of stop, to look and think about what it actually means to be an artist, what it means to do what we do and why we do it. I lean into moments like this — moments of uncertainty.”

In truth, while Styles has largely been keeping a low profile — his Love On Tour, due to kick off on April 15, was postponed in late March and is now scheduled to launch in February 2021 (whether it actually will remains to be seen) — his music has not. This is especially true in the U.S., where he’s notched two hit singles, “Adore You,” the second-most-played song at radio in 2020, and “Watermelon Sugar” (No. 22 on Variety’s year-end Hitmakers chart), with a third, “Golden,” already cresting the top 20 on the pop format. The massive cross-platform success of these songs means Styles has finally and decisively broken into the American market, maneuvering its web of gatekeepers to accumulate 6.2 million consumption units and rising.

Why do these particular songs resonate in 2020? Styles doesn’t have the faintest idea. While he acknowledges a “nursery rhyme” feel to “Watermelon Sugar” with its earwormy loop of a chorus, that’s about as much insight as he can offer. His longtime collaborator and friend Tom Hull, also known as the producer Kid Harpoon, offers this take: “There’s a lot of amazing things about that song, but what really stands out is the lyric. It’s not trying to hide or be clever. The simplicity of watermelon … there’s such a joy in it, [which] is a massive part of that song’s success.” Also, his kids love it. “I’ve never had a song connect with children in this way,” says Hull, whose credits include tunes by Shawn Mendes, Florence and the Machine and Calvin Harris. “I get sent videos all the time from friends of their kids singing. I have a 3-year-old and an 8-year-old, and they listen to it.”

Styles is quick to note that he doesn’t chase pop appeal when crafting songs. In fact, the times when he pondered or approved a purposeful tweak, like on his self-titled 2017 debut, still gnaw at him. “I love that album so much because it represents such a time in my life, but when I listen to it — sonically and lyrically, especially — I can hear places where I was playing it safe,” he says. “I was scared to get it wrong.”

Contemporary effects and on-trend beats hardly factor into Styles’ decision-making. He likes to focus on feelings — his own and his followers’ — and see himself on the other side of the velvet rope, an important distinction in his view. “People within [the industry] feel like they operate on a higher level of listening, and I like to make music from the point of being a fan of music,” Styles says. “Fans are the best A&R.”

This from someone who’s had free rein to pursue every musical whim, and hand in the album of his dreams in the form of “Fine Line.” Chart success makes it all the sweeter, but Styles insists that writing “for the right reasons” supersedes any commercial considerations. “There’s no part that feels, eh, icky — like it was made in the lab,” he says.

Styles has experience in this realm. As a graduate of the U.K. competition series “The X Factor,” where he and four other auditionees — Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson — were singled out by show creator and star judge Simon Cowell to conjoin as One Direction, he’s seen how the prefab pop machine works up close. The One Direction oeuvre, which counts some 42 million albums sold worldwide, includes songs written with such established hitmakers as Ryan Tedder, Savan Kotecha and Teddy Geiger. Being a studious, insatiable observer, Styles took it all in.

“I learned so much,” he says of the experience. “When we were in the band, I used to try and write with as many different people as I could. I wanted to practice — and I wrote a lot of bad shit.”

His bandmates also benefited from the pop star boot camp. The proof is in the relatively seamless solo transitions of at least three of its members — Payne, Malik and Horan in addition to Styles — each of whom has landed hit singles on charts in the U.K., the U.S. and beyond.

This departs from the typical trajectories of boy bands including New Kids on the Block and ’N Sync, which have all pro ered a star frontman. The thinking for decades was that a record company would be lucky to have one breakout solo career among the bunch.

Styles has plainly thought about this.

“When you look at the history of people coming out of bands and starting solo careers, they feel this need to apologize for being in the band. ‘Don’t worry, everyone, that wasn’t me! Now I get to do what I really want to do.’ But we loved being in the band,” he says. “I think there’s a wont to pit people against each other. And I think it’s never been about that for us. It’s about a next step in evolution. The fact that we’ve all achieved different things outside of the band says a lot about how hard we worked in it.”

Indeed, during the five-ish years that One Direction existed, Styles’ schedule involved the sort of nonstop international jet-setting that few get to see in a lifetime, never mind their teenage years. Between 2011 and 2015, One Direction’s tours pulled in north of $631 million in gross ticket sales, according to concert trade Pollstar, and the band was selling out stadiums worldwide by the time it entered its extended hiatus. Styles, too, had built up to playing arenas as a solo artist, engaging audiences with his colorful stage wear and banter and left-of-center choices for opening acts (a pre-Grammy-haul Kacey Musgraves in 2018; indie darlings King Princess and Jenny Lewis for his rescheduled 2021 run).

Stages of all sizes feel like home to Styles. He grew up in a suburb of Manchester, ground zero for some of the biggest British acts of the 1980s and ’90s, including Joy Division, New Order, the Smiths and Oasis, the latter of which broke the same year Styles was born. His parents were also music lovers. Styles’ father fed him a balanced diet of the Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Rolling Stones and Queen, while Mum was a fan of Shania Twain, Norah Jones and Savage Garden. “They’re all great melody writers,” says Styles of the acts’ musical throughline.

Stevie Nicks, who in the past has described “Fine Line” as Styles’ “Rumours,” referencing the Fleetwood Mac 1977 classic, sees him as a kindred spirit. “Harry writes and sings his songs about real experiences that seemingly happened yesterday,” she tells Variety. “He taps into real life. He doesn’t make up stories. He tells the truth, and that is what I do. ‘Fine Line’ has been my favorite record since it came out. It is his ‘Rumours.’ I told him that in a note on December 13, 2019 before he went on stage to play the ‘Fine Line’ album at the Forum. We cried. He sang those songs like he had sung them a thousand times. That’s a great songwriter and a great performer.”

“Harry’s playing and writing is instinctual,” adds Jonathan Wilson, a friend and peer who’s advised Styles on backing and session musicians. “He understands history and where to take the torch. You can see the thread of great British performers — from Bolan to Bowie — in his music.”

Also shaping his musical DNA was Manchester itself, the site of a 23,500-seat arena, dubbed Co-op Live, for which Styles is an investor and adviser. Oak View Group, a company specializing in live entertainment and global sports that was founded by Tim Leiweke and Irving Azoff in 2015 (Jeffrey Azoff, Irving’s son, represents Styles at Full Stop Management), is leading the effort to construct the venue. The project gained planning approval in September and is set to open in 2023, with its arrival representing a £350 million ($455 million) investment in the city. (Worth noting: Manchester is already home to an arena — the site of a 2017 bombing outside an Ariana Grande concert — and a football stadium, where One Love Manchester, an all-star benefit show to raise money for victims of the terrorist attack, took place.)

“I went to my first shows in Manchester,” Styles says of concerts paid for with money earned delivering newspapers for a supermarket called the Co-op. “My friends and I would go in on weekends. There’s so many amazing small venues, and music is such a massive part of the city. I think Manchester deserves it. It feels like a full-circle, coming-home thing to be doing this and to be able to give any kind of input. I’m incredibly proud. Hopefully they’ll let me play there at some point.”

Though Styles has owned properties in Los Angeles, his base for the foreseeable future is London. “I feel like my relationship with L.A. has changed a lot,” he explains. “I’ve kind of accepted that I don’t have to live here anymore; for a while I felt like I was supposed to. Like it meant things were going well. This happened, then you move to L.A.! But I don’t really want to.”

Is it any wonder? Between COVID and the turmoil in the U.S. spurred by the presidential election, Styles, like some 79 million American voters, is recovering from sticker shock over the bill of goods sold to them by the concept of democracy. “In general, as people, there’s a lack of empathy,” he observes. “We found this place that’s so divisive. We just don’t listen to each other anymore. And that’s quite scary.”

That belief prompted Styles to speak out publicly in the wake of George Floyd’s death. As protests in support of Black Lives Matter took to streets all over the world, for Styles, it triggered a period of introspection, as marked by an Instagram message (liked by 2.7 million users and counting) in which he declared: “I do things every day without fear, because I am privileged, and I am privileged every day because I am white. … Being not racist is not enough, we must be anti racist. Social change is enacted when a society mobilizes. I stand in solidarity with all of those protesting. I’m donating to help post bail for arrested organizers. Look inwards, educate yourself and others. LISTEN, READ, SHARE, DONATE and VOTE. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. BLACK LIVES MATTER.”

“Talking about race can be really uncomfortable for everyone,” Styles elaborates. “I had a realization that my own comfort in the conversation has nothing to do with the problem — like that’s not enough of a reason to not have a conversation. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve been outspoken enough in the past. Using that feeling has pushed me forward to being open and ready to learn. … How can I ensure from my side that in 20 years, the right things are still being done and the right people are getting the right opportunities? That it’s not a passing thing?”

His own record company — and corporate parent Sony Music Group, whose chairman, Rob Stringer, signed Styles in 2016 — has been grappling with these same questions as the industry has faced its own reckoning with race. At issue: inequality among the upper ranks (an oft-cited statistic: popular music is 80% Black, but the music business is 80% white); contracts rooted in a decades-old system that many say is set up to take advantage of artists, Black artists more unfairly than white; and the call for a return of master rights, an ownership model that is at the core of the business.

Styles acknowledges the fundamental imbalance in how a major label deal is structured — the record company takes on the financial risk while the artist is made to recoup money spent on the project before the act is considered profitable and earning royalties (typically at a 15% to 18% rate for the artist, while the label keeps and disburses the rest). “Historically, I can’t think of any industry that’s benefited more off of Black culture than music,” he says. “There are discussions that need to happen about this long history of not being paid fairly. It’s a time for listening, and hopefully, people will come out humbled, educated and willing to learn and change.”

By all accounts, Styles is a voracious reader, a movie lover and an aesthete. He stays in shape by adhering to a strict daily exercise routine. “I tried to keep up but didn’t last more than two weeks,” says Hull, Styles’ producer, with a laugh. “The discipline is terrifying.”

Of course, with the fashion world beckoning — Styles recently appeared in a film series for Gucci’s new collection that was co-directed by the fashion house’s creative director, Alessandro Michele, and Oscar winner Gus Van Sant — and a movie that’s set in the 1950s, maintaining that physique is part of the job. And he’s no stranger to visual continuity after appearing in Christopher Nolan’s epic “Dunkirk” and having to return to set for reshoots; his hair, which needed to be cut back to its circa 1940 form, is a constant topic of conversation among fans. This time, it’s the ink that poses a challenge. By Styles’ tally, he’s up to 60 tattoos, which require an hour in the makeup chair to cover up. “It’s the only time I really regret getting tattooed,” he says.

He shows no regret, however, when it comes to stylistic choices overall, and takes pride in his gender-agnostic portfolio, which includes wearing a Gucci dress on that Vogue cover— an image that incited conservative pundit Candace Owens to plead publicly to “bring back manly men.” In Styles’ view: “To not wear [something] because it’s females’ clothing, you shut out a whole world of great clothes. And I think what’s exciting about right now is you can wear what you like. It doesn’t have to be X or Y. Those lines are becoming more and more blurred.”

But acclaim, if you can believe it, is not top of mind for Styles. As far as the Grammys are concerned, Styles shrugs, “It’s never why I do anything.” His team and longtime label, however, had their hearts set on a showing at the Jan. 31 ceremony. Their investment in Styles has been substantial — not just monetarily but in carefully crafting his career in the wake of such icons as David Bowie, who released his final albums with the label. Hope at the company and in many fans’ hearts that Styles would receive an album of the year nomination did not come to pass. However, he was recognized in three categories, including best pop vocal album.

“It’s always nice to know that people like what you’re doing, but ultimately — and especially working in a subjective field — I don’t put too much weight on that stuff,” Styles says. “I think it’s important when making any kind of art to remove the ego from it.” Citing the painter Matisse, he adds: “It’s about the work that you do when you’re not expecting any applause.”

#harry styles #variety #021220

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ronninoir · 3 years

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Can I Steal You For A Second Chapter 37 - Epilogue

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

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Start from the beginning Chp 1 on AO3

Epilogue

Marinette was floating on clouds. The entire wedding had been absolutely perfect. Alya and her Maman had helped calm her down before the ceremony, Adrien had cried as she started walking down the aisle with her father, and all of the girls from the show had sat in the same section together and had cheered the loudest when they were pronounced husband and wife. Marinette had barely even noticed the cameras swarming around, recording everything for their faithful viewers.

Rumor had it that because of their popular season, The Bachelor had been renewed for a second, with a different fashion company sponsoring it and a new man being chosen. Rumor has it that Lucy’s aunt from America may be taking a note from Gabriel’s book and is trying to get a Bachelorette going for next year too, with Lucie as the star. Marinette liked the idea of Lucie being able to find love and even told her that if they needed help with anything, like a guest appearance for a date or anything, Marinette would be there to help. Lucie gave her a big hug in a way of thanks.

Marinette was the happiest she had ever been, and she could tell that Adrien was too. He never let go of her hand. At one point she told him she had to go to the bathroom and he automatically offered to come with her, before a blush spread on his face and Alya escorted her instead, laughing all along the way. They had danced their first dance, she had danced with her Papa, who had blubbered throughout the whole ceremony and dance alike, and Adrien had danced with his new mother-in-law. By the end of that dance, neither Sabine, Adrien, nor Marinette had walked away with a dry eye.

Then came the fun part. The girls had asked Marinette if it would be okay to play a small prank on Adrien and Marinette had graciously let them run free. It started with Lucie asking Adrien to dance, and offering him a beautiful red rose while she did. Then she was interrupted by Juliette, who also offered him a rose before she was interrupted by Hanna and so on and so on until Adrien had a bouquet of roses and was laughing while dancing with all of his ex-girlfriend’s in attendance.

When Adrien was on the last girl, Marinette interrupted and said, “Can I steal you for a second?” to which Adrien laughed. As they danced, Adrien whipped out the rather large bouquet of roses the other girls had given him and he asked, “Marinette, will you accept these roses?” to which she laughed and said yes, kissing him once more. Everyone cheered for the happy couple.

Towards the end, as guests started dancing more and showing off for the cameras, Marinette and Adrien were slow dancing in the corner.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Adrien whispered into Marinette’s ear.

“What do you mean? It’s our wedding, we can’t just leave it early.”

“Come on! Come for a run with me! No one will even notice!” Marinette gave him a pointed look and he amended, “We’ll only be gone for 15 minutes. One lap around Paris and we’ll sneak back in and no one will notice.”

Marinette was about to say no when Adrien gave her those puppy (kitty?) eyes and she felt a slow smile spread across her face.

“Yes!” Adrien quietly celebrated while spinning and waltzing her closer and closer to the closest exit, which conveniently was right behind the band.

As soon as the coast was clear, they both whispered their transformations and took to the skies for the first time as a married couple. They ended up on the Eiffel Tower, hidden away from onlookers for the first time that night.

“Do you think this is what our life will be like now?” Ladybug asked, glancing around to make sure no one was close by, even though they were hundreds of feet up into the air.

“What do you mean?” Chat asked, pulling her close.

Ladybug rested her head on his shoulder, “Hiding from cameras and fans and just constantly being watched? Are we ever going to be invisible again?”

“We never were truly invisible. Not really.” Ladybug shot him a look and he chuckled before explaining. “Well, first off, we are the heroes of Paris. We’ve always been under a spotlight.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Chat began gently stroking her hair and she leaned into his touch. “Okay, okay. I’ve never been invisible. And truly, neither have you.”

“Please, before I met you, I was a nobody who led a secret life. No one knew who Marinette Dupain-Cheng was and probably never would have if it hadn’t been for the show.”

“I disagree. I would like to think that even without the show, we would have ended up together. You were meant to become Mrs. Agreste and even without Gabriel/Agreste Fashions, you would have made a name for yourself in the fashion world without me.” He pulled her chin up so he could look deeper into her eyes. “That’s why no one is going to blink twice when you and I become co-CEOs of Agreste Fashion. You have the talent to prove that you are where you are meant to be. I’m the only person using my name to get a position in that company. You deserve it.” Ladybug felt her eyes begin to fill up with tears and Chat leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss.

“So, are Ladybug and Chat Noir dating, married what? Are we going to have to have a whole separate wedding ceremony for our alter egos?” Marinette asked, trying to change the subject to something much lighter.

Chat laughed, “You know, Bugaboo, I would marry you every day of the week if I could. Plus, how fun would it be to say that you’re getting meow-ied every day!” Chat burst into laughter and Ladybug couldn’t help but join in.

“That was a terrible pun.”

“I do what I can,” Chat said with a wink.

“On a more serious note, what about Hawkmoth? We may be happy and Ladybug and Chat Noir have finally found each other and what not, but Hawkmoth is still out there and we still have no idea who he is.”

Chat paused for a moment before answering, “I guess we’ll just have to figure it out as we go. As long as we’re together, there isn’t a fight we won’t lose. He’s sloppy and we’ll be able to find him and return his miraculous to where it belongs.”

“Speaking of where things belong... I’m pretty sure it’s been longer than 15 minutes and we have an entire wedding hall full of people that expected us to be in attendance the entire party.”

Chat rolled his eyes but sat up and stretched like the cat he was before standing and offering Ladybug a hand. Instead of letting go of her hand after she had stood, he used it to pull her close to him and engulf her in a hug.

“Thanks for being my partner in every aspect of my life.”

“I’ll always be there for you, Kitty. No matter what stands in our way.”

The hug lasted a couple more seconds before they broke apart. Ladybug was just about to jump and head back towards their wedding when Chat pulled her back and held out his hand.

“Together?”

She smiled and nodded, “Together.”

And together they jumped.

In that moment it didn’t matter that Hawkmoth was still out there or that Lila had tried to ruin their lives, or even all of the hoops that Gabriel had made them jump through. Together, they had survived it all, and together they would thrive “Till death do us part.”

~~~

And that's the end!!!

Oh my gosh guys, this has been such an amazing journey! Thank you all so SO much for reading and supporting this story in the past year. It has been a wild ride and we have loved every part of it. My sister is thinking about possibly writing a sequel to this that would involve more Hawkmoth moments and bringing that section to a close. If you're interested... let us know! She also has some other random fic ideas floating around her head so be on the lookout if you're interested! Again, thank you all for your awesome support! YOU GUYS ROCK!

@momor3202

@legendaryneckjudgestudent

@discoveringmiraculouswriters

@adrianarfox

@verooquieremimir

@jeminiikrystal

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redantsunderneath · 3 years

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VAL and BILLIE EILISH: THE WORLD'S A LITTLE BLURRY

I shouldn’t be allowed to watch documentaries. All that any documentary seems to be about (at this point, to me) is the relationship between itself and the truth. I don’t know if it’s 2000's reality TV or that one time I watched Capturing the Friedman’s and Waco: The Rules of Engagement back to back that broke me, but what interests me isn’t the subject matter but standpoint epistemology of the thing. These two docs are very different, diametrically opposed in almost every way, but both are defined by the ways in which the text struggles against reality. Val is about an old man who used cameras (himself) to capture his entire life as he pretended to be someone else on film. He is infirm, occluding his laryngotomy tube to talk, and his handlers try to manage his naps around meet and greets where he sells the shell of the person he once was for the fans who still care. It’s forbears are archeological dead celebrity docs that try to find the elusive star at the center (Robin Williams, Heath Ledger, Amy Winehouse) and those about reclaiming memory (Alzheimer Project, Waltz with Bashir) but it’s just… he’s the cameraman and he’s still shuffling around. Closest comparison (minus the age part) is probably Kid 90, which was being cut at the same time. This doesn’t get at how weird this is, though. He used to make movies with his brother, who drowned during a seizure and haunts the movie (he would put up his brother’s drawings in shots on film sets, the talks about or around the event constantly). He often hands off the camera to people so he can be seen in his world with complex instructions (when I walk off, focus in on that speaker so when I go onstage you will hear my first line) and when the camera hits a mirror he lingers (as in the video of his newborn baby). He seems to always be performing, an aspect of life we are all familiar with by now but less common when this footage was taken. His wife is uncomfortable on camera, usually mugging or hiding, and you get the feeling the distancing from his life is intentional as he focuses on internal transformation away from ego resolution, but he still needs to be seen, his sense of self tied up in an object permanence issue. The movie is structured as someone trying to sort through memories of their life and come to terms with them, although the memories in this case is a small warehouse full of video tapes and film canisters. In his current life he can only communicate with difficulty and tries to convey reaction with meaningful-but-of-what glances and gestures. Effacement by time and looming death drench the whole enterprise - when his brother dies he says his father “lost his charisma” (just contemplate that). His current simulacra of celebrity makes him feel like a ghost, signing “you can be my wingman anytime” multiple times for people who this means something to. So he brings up the footage and tries to reconstruct his life (his credit as cinematographer is both funny, touching, and chilling). This thing is full of interesting moments. He is doing a line reading of Hamlet at Juilliard and Peter Kass stops him to ask where the performance is coming from. He responds that he has never considered killing himself which causes Kass to explode, insisting that no-one in the history of the world has not had that thought. This seems to rob us and him of a potentially revelatory moment as Kilmer seems different, spiritual in an unusual way… maybe the reason why he never thought of that was more interesting than that point. His entreaty to Marlon Brando to tell him what his earliest childhood memory is is responded to by Brando asking for him to rock his hammock with repetition of the question only yielding feedback on the rocking until neonatal-fat Brando’s satisfaction at being rocked seems like an answer. The argument with John Frankenheimer who does not want to be filmed is something else. The major things going on are here are being haunted vs feeling like a ghost and an arrested Lacanian mirror phase that complicates his intersubjective context, with the karmic

self-assessment of who he is trying to chill in the middle. The filmmaking knows this and orients itself as a process of evaluating memory where what is true seems elusive, heavily edited, and hall-of-mirrors-like. The question of what is performance is a subconscious struggle. Conspicuous in their absence are his own feelings on his decline beyond the fact that he “doesn’t believe in death,” real insight into his marriage (and breakup, other than an allusion to his method acting Jim Morrison being a problem) and relationship with his kids (who are around all the time, but seem like Sixth Sense characters), and the fact that he’s a legendary asshole on set. This last is, like, the one thing everyone knows about him. But you can sort of sense this stuff secondarily, right off the edge of the screen and in him relentlessly projecting onto his parents. The real crux is the study of a man who never feels seen, but tries to become so by disappearing into someone else, who needs recording devices so that he can capture himself properly, all controlled performance; someone unaware of his own loneliness brought about by not being very good at making himself available because his “self” is externally resolved and constant inner transformation masks the unformed nature of his ego at rest. The film accomplishes this by allowing him to reveal what is absent by his preoccupations and bearing witness to his deflection mechanisms, so that he is no closer to knowing himself but, by being manipulated in a way we can see the frame of, we kind of get a glimpse. Good experience, wish there was more Christian Scientist material (that seems like an angle of understanding the film wasn’t interested in). Billie Eilish: The World’s a Little Blurry is about a young girl who is followed by cameras capturing her entire life as she pretends to be herself on stage. She has a Simone Biles flavored psycho-physical compromise that everyone tries to “handle” while she sells herself as the person she isn’t to fans who care, at least right now. This is in the tradition of Truth or Dare mimics that seem de rigueur for female pop stars. Closest comparison is Miss Americana. This movie feels made by spreadsheet to contain scenes to develop the official narrative of an in-her-brother’s-room, in her suburban parent’s house, sui generis composite genius who is on the edge of mental unfitness trying to be as normal as she can in this crazy merry go round called fame. The obviousness of the put on is diffused by the relative lameness of the pieces. In some respects this is the typical documentary “look for the cracks for insight” play, but it is consciously using that as a tool too and doing it badly - the manufactured insight escape moments largely ring false. This comes off as a Zoom background era counterfeit, a series of YouTube clips where Markeplier or whoever lets the mask slip a little in the most forced bit of unbiddenness possible. There is a boyfriend who feels like a story mandated version of “from Canada.” But the interesting thing is the way it recapitulates the way modern pop is put together, not by writing, not by spontaneous “feel your way,” but by putting bits of ideas together and trying to emulate form. There are a lot of moments in the film that feel like they could have been real, but the non-actors were asked to do another take and can’t quite nail it. It actually has such a boner for produced casual that it is pretty much allergic to authenticity, which is quite a thing for a documentary. The major things going on are here are grappling with whether she brings anything musically to the table (the brother seems like the musical force, she’s afraid her voice is bad, they make a point to show her idea notebooks as work product), her wish to only perform if she can give the fans her best show (possibly her version of just wanting to call in sick, understandable) is at odds with her being the center of a machine that has to move, her as a product of a not entirely with it older parents who gave their kids an open creative runway

and now are instrumental in managing her as a resource that is tricky to work with, the work being her and her brother dicking around and making magic happen, and an attempt to paint her as a Beleiber who now is on the the other side of the fan dichotomy. Development of her style, arguably her #1 thing, is sort of left as her telling a video director “I drew this bleeding eye woman, can we do something like this?” and sort of suggesting through letting her point around that she is a de facto co director. At times, it feels like a try at icon forging that someone wanted to fail, but it is probably just the high school conception-to-production level tat ultimately comes off as a larger indictment of making a movie like you make modern pop music - overdetermined manipulation of flimsy elements without a satisfying ethos, that looks too be an insubstantial assemblage of spliced pieces that live of die by their stickiness. But it begins to feel, more and more, that it’s about how non-exciting pop stars can be as people and that a narrative that people respond to can kind of die if you show that’s it’s just work and somewhat normal people trying to be a piece of an illusion. It’s this partitioning away of the hyperreality and an attempt to show the official story acted by the sausage makers trying to pretend the banality is just crazy man. Where Val is a simulation of an habitual performer considering who they actually are selectively sorting their life and failing to confront the loneliness of age and death (more elusive to them than us), this is obvious hoax unintentionally (?) revealing the fabricated nature of the image-music industry by way of demonstrating the strangely normie creatives, green-yellow ombre or no, can’t be arsed to summon a proper freakout (the whining seems authentic, though). Music videos may lie to you, but the official story is strangely correct - kids living in mom’s house cobble together catchy stuff and pull off pop stardom due to social media age production savvy and a little zeitgeisty imagery, it’s just everyone is well adjusted if stressed and someone’s only donning the costume of the online archetype of a specific kind of girl. Val uses the constructed nature of these narratives as a tool wielded in the open to suggest the inner working of a mind failing to be honest with itself while the other is interesting in its transparency and failure to convince us of the loosely conceived fiction, leaving reality apparent as bong resin. Baudrillard would have liked this one more, probably.

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villlainarc · 4 years

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roceit highschool rivals to lovers? they argue and flirt in equal amounts and both of their respective friend groups are so tired of the romantic tension (so, maybe, they decide to take it into their own hands to get them together finally) ~ Lo 🍇

Here, Blinking In the Starlight

100 stars in the sky prompts

Summary: Roman and Janus are rivals.

(And despite what Virgil may say, that does not mean they are simply refusing to admit they’re in love.)

Pairings: Roceit, Platonic Logince, Brotherly Anxceit, Platonic Analogical

Warnings: vague fantasy(?) violence, death mention, weapon mention, an unnamed character gets stabbed (but doesn’t die and there’s no gore), what could be interpreted as non-consensual kissing (it isn’t but. the character doing the kissing doesn’t have explicit permission so. this is just to air on the safe side), implied threat of murder through poisoning, (this isn’t anywhere near as dark as those warnings make it out to be i’m just covering all my bases), three (3) swear words

Word Count: 4096

Taglist: @max-is-tired @raaindropps @kiribakuandcats @main-chive @emo-disaster @heavenly-roman

Notes:

me: *opens prompts in part so i can practice writing shorter fics*

also me: *write over 4000 words after vowing to make all of these no longer than 2k 😔🤙*

tldr this really wasn’t supposed to get this long i swear but also it’s roceit so i’m not gonna complain at least. not too much

ao3

_________________________

“Get down!” Roman cried, pointing at a spot just beyond Janus’s head.

Janus turned to see what Roman had been gesturing towards, ducking as they did. It was just in time, too, as the moment they had moved out of the way, a fist flew right over their head. They gave Roman a grateful smile before their eyes went wide and they pulled Roman flush against their chest, out of the way of someone else who had lunged at him.

“You saved me,” Roman said as soon as the danger had passed, fluttering his eyes innocently as he rested a hand against Janus’s chest.

Janus rolled their eyes at the way Roman’s hand moved to play with one of the curls by the side of their face, carefully extracting themself from Roman’s arms. “You can thank me later. How about we focus on getting out of here for now?”

“I think I’d much rather stay here with you.” Roman fluttered his eyelashes once more, peering through them to fix Janus with a pout.

“And I much rather not die, but to each their own.”

“Fair enough,” Roman conceded, twirling Janus out of the way of another incoming swing. “Dying really would put a damper on our relationship, my love.”

“Darling, you’ll have to finish saving me before we can truly call this a relationship,” they shot back.

“Oh, just admit it. You think I’m the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on.” Roman’s cocky grin refused to fade as he spun them through the surrounding chaos, never letting Janus stray more than a few inches from his arms.

“I think nothing of the sort,” they replied, letting themself be guided through a flurry of swinging swords and outstretched hands that continued their onslaught in vain as Janus and Roman waltzed their way past.

Roman merely smiled at that, lifting Janus into the air and spinning them out of the way, causing two guards with who’d been rushing towards the two of them to crash into each other.

After Roman placed Janus back on the ground, there were only three guards left standing. “If you’ll excuse me,” Roman said, lightly kissing the back of Janus’s hand. “I have one more thing to take care of before you can officially call me your true love.” Leaving Janus standing there, holding the hand he’d just kissed their hand to their chest, Roman drew his sword. In one smooth motion, he turned around and drove it cleanly through the first of the guards.

The final two took one look at their newly fallen comrade and tripped over their feet trying to get away.

“Now,” Roman said, turning back to Janus, his smile just as blinding as it had been before, “love of my life, what was the gift I was supposed to receive for rescuing the princess, again?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Janus claimed, though there wasn’t so much as a drop of venom behind it. The smile they wore as they strode towards Roman also didn’t help matters, and when they wrapped an arm around his waist and dropped him into a dip, there was no question at all that their words had been purely for show.

They held him there for a moment, smiling coyly. Then, without warning, Janus drew Roman back towards their chest as they leaned into him and met his lips in a kiss.

“Stop, stop, stop. What was that, Janus? I don’t think there’s a kiss in the blocking, is there?”

“No, you’re right. Sorry ma’am, I just got caught up in the scene.” Janus gave their director a winning smile as they set Roman upright again. “Now that you mention it though,” they said, casually adjusting their dress, “I think that final scene would be more impactful if it did end in a kiss, don’t you?”

The director frowned. “I’ll think about it,” she replied. “It looked good, I’ll admit, but both you and Roman would have to be alright with the change in blocking. So, what do you think, Roman?”

Janus turned to truly look at Roman for the first time since they’d kissed him. A smirk grew on their face as they saw the brilliantly red blush that had taken over his. “Yes, Roman, what do you think?” they asked, genuine curiosity seeping into their voice that was completely at odds with the smirk that remained firmly in place. “If I made you uncomfortable in any way, I truly apologize.”

Roman had to take several deep breaths to steady his voice, opening and shutting his mouth a total of four times in rapid succession before he managed to say, “Uh, yes. Whatever you think would be best is fine by me.”

“I’ll have to see both versions again just to be sure, so if you wouldn’t mind running the scene from the top two more ti—”

“Oh! Would you look at the time!” Roman exclaimed suddenly, gesturing towards the clock hanging on the back wall of the theater. “Doesn’t rehearsal end at five thirty? And, wow, is it really five o’clock already? You usually give us thirty minutes to change out of costume so you can give us your notes before we have to leave, right?”

“Ah, so I do. Time really does fly when you’re having fun, huh?”

“It absolutely does,” Janus agreed, offering their arm out to Roman with a smirk on their face and a twinkle in their eyes. “Let’s go get changed, shall we?” When Roman remained too frozen to take their arm, Janus dropped it to instead take his hand with a wink, leading him off the stage.

And oh, how the universe spun with that one wink.

_________________________

“They kissed me!” Roman wailed upon sliding into the passenger’s seat of Logan’s car.

“I beg your pardon?”

Had Roman been feeling like his usual fabulous self, he would have replied with a flippant, ‘Then beg,’ but as it was, he could barely manage to form a coherent thought and was far from being at the top of his game. So instead, he continued in the most melodramatic voice known to man, “Janus Adler kissed me!”

“Janus Adler, your co-star in the spring musical? The one who plays your love interest? I fail to see how this would come as a surprise.”

“No no, you don’t understand, Lo. There is not a single kiss written into that musical. Not one! They made it up, they—” Roman’s head fell into his hands at that, “Janus Adler had the audacity to improvise a kiss in the middle of a scene! And I— I’m going to have to bring this up with the director. We can’t ruin the integrity of the musical by adding a kiss that isn’t even there!”

“Mm. What musical is this, again?”

“That’s terribly unimportant. Besides, I have it on good authority that the author doesn’t care about the musical at all outside of its ability to be used as a plot device, so really, the only thing you need to know is that it must not be deflowered by a kiss that was never in any way intended to be there.”

“Is this musical a classic, then? Or is it specifically stated that there were to be no kisses, no matter how many other creative liberties are taken? Perhaps you meant that the author cares about this musical’s use as a plot device, it’s lack of kisses, and nothing else? Is it—”

“That doesn’t matter, it’s the principle of the thing, Logan!”

“Interesting.”

“What is?”

“How did you react when Janus kissed you?” Logan deflected.

“I— what? Why do you— That doesn’t have anything to do with this! At all! And for the record, my reaction to them kissing me out of the blue was perfectly normal!”

“So you cringed at the fact that someone you are not romantically or sexually interested in kissed you? Or did you shove them away and tell them to never do that again because you so clearly don’t have a crush on them? Perhaps y—”

“You’re absolutely right, I don’t have a crush on them, but why did you feel the need to point that out?”

Logan sighed. “No reason at all. Now, did you react in any of those ways?”

“…Yes.”

“If you insist,” Logan said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I very much do. Now, I would like to get home sometime within this century, so if you could drive me home and stop pestering me, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“I’m going to force you to get your own car one day, you know.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

_________________________

“I kissed him!” Janus wailed as they fell backwards onto Virgil’s bed like an ailing Victorian lady.

“That’s fantastic. Get the fuck out of my room now?”

Janus sat up with a huff, dropping their over-dramatized persona. “Virgil, my dearest brother whom I love with my entire heart, you are the worst.” They fell backwards once more. “You don’t understand,” they said, bringing a hand to their forehead. “I kissed Roman Kingsley!”

“Roman Kingsley, your co-star in the spring musical? The one who plays your love interest? Isn’t that, like… supposed to happen? Don’t love interests normally kiss in musicals?”

“Well, yes, but not in that scene. I improvised a kiss, Virgil. Do you not understand how weird that is? Roman probably hates me.” They pouted at Virgil, looking solely for sympathy as they knew, judging by the blush on Roman’s face, that he very much did not hate them.

“Wow, that really sucks,” Virgil deadpanned. “Must be so awful to have the person you have constantly referred to as your rival hate you.”

“It is— wait, no. I don’t— did I really call Roman— oh, that’s interesting. Well, we aren’t exactly rivals anymore, especially since I started presenting more feminine and getting more female leads than male ones, you know? Less fighting over roles. And I don’t think he ever hated me, even when we were more officially rivals. There’s a very specific connotation implied when you refer to two people as rivals, and it doesn’t involve flat-out animosity, so—”

“Right,” Virgil nodded in agreement. “The connotation is lots of sexual and or romantic tension followed by pining. You don’t have to tell me, I know rivals implies fanfiction-style rivals to lovers, four hundred thousand word slow burn—”

“You know what! I think that’s enough, thank you. That isn’t what I meant by rivals, and you know it.”

“Did I really? Are you sure you weren’t implying that you might have at least a little bit of a crush on Roman Ki—”

“Oh, you are hilarious, Virgil. Truly.”

“I try,” Virgil grinned, fully looking up from his phone for the first time since Janus had entered the room. “Now, what was that about Roman?”

“Rivals,” they said, completely ignoring the blush they could feel rising on their face. “Rivals, and nothing more.”

“For someone who was cast as one of the lead roles in this musical, you’re awfully bad at acting.”

“I have no idea what you mean, though I do believe you asked me to leave your room, and I’d loathe to ignore your request.”

“Aw, you sure you don’t want to stick around now? I was just getting started!”

“And now you’re done! Funny how that works, isn’t it? Thank you so very much for your input, Virgil, now I recommend watching what you drink for the next several days.”

“Love you too.”

_________________________

“Hey L?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Janus is an idiot.”

“While that is true, I’m now inclined to ask what they did this time in particular.”

“Y’know how they’ve had the most obvious, stupid, disgustingly sappy crush on Roman for the longest time?”

“Ah, how could I have missed it?”

“Right? Anyway, I want to rub their vehemently denied feelings in their face and get them and Roman together.”

“Hm, I second that. Roman has been similarly insufferable.”

“Good to know that they’re both utter morons.”

“You say that like it wasn’t already the most obvious thing in the world.”

“Touché.”

“Did you have a plan?”

“Oh, hell no. Please. Planning is for losers, procrastinating until the last possible second is where it’s at.”

“Virgil—”

“Yeah, yeah, procrastination is bad or whatever the point is that I am very much looking to you when it comes to understanding the allos. Help me Logie Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

“If you’re going to make a science fiction themed nickname, please do not make it a Star Wars one.”

“Fine, but only if you agree to help me.”

“You don’t need to bribe me, Virgil. Getting out of hearing Roman pine hopelessly after someone who is very much in love with him is incentive enough for me.”

“Good,” Virgil said with a smile, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder. ��But we’re finishing this movie before any planning is going to take place.”

“…Please tell me you don’t hope to enact this plan tomorrow.”

“Okay, I won’t then,” Virgil agreed, deliberately saying nothing else.

“You’re lucky you’re my best friend.”

“You bet I am. We’re still waiting until this movie is done, though.”

Logan sighed, but there was little more than fondness behind it. If he asked for it, Logan would give his best friend the moon. Compared to that, sacrificing a few hours of sleep was negligible at worst and at best, it would be beyond worth it to see Virgil happy.

And whenever Logan spent time with Virgil, the universe did always seem to favor the latter.

_________________________

“This is a horrible plan.”

“Look, you were the one who agreed to it, you can’t blame me entirely,” Virgil said rather petulantly.

“I was running on four cups of coffee, so I feel I very much can. And you know, even then I’m fairly certain I told you that aggressively telling people what they’re feeling until they admit it really isn’t the best way to go about this.”

“Yeah, well…” Virgil shrugged. “Too late to change it up now.”

“No, it really isn—”

“Shhh,” Virgil shushed, holding a finger up to Logan’s lips. “Just roll with it.”

Logan sighed at that, having known Virgil for far too long to believe that there was any way to change his mind at this point.

“Oh!” Virgil tugged on the sleeve of Logan’s shirt to get his attention, nodding towards the person who had just walked up to the locker in front of them. “Janus’s here.”

“Hm, how wonderful.”

“We’re still doing this, right?”

Logan sighed once more, nodding his agreement. “If you insist.”

“Great!” Virgil wrapped his arm around Logan’s dragging him towards Janus, who had since stopped trying to open their locker and was now squinting suspiciously at the pair making their way towards them.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re just stopping by to say hello,” Logan said in a way that was likely meant to soothe Janus, but only put them more on edge.

“Hi,” they replied, taking a slow step backwards, growing more suspicious by the second. “I’m just going to… head off to class now.” They gave an awkward sort of wave, taking another step away from Virgil and Logan.

“Oh no you don’t,” Virgil said, his bright smile at odds with his vaguely threatening words. “We need to talk, so you’re going to skip your first class.” Upon seeing Janus open their mouth to protest, Virgil cut in, “And don’t pretend you haven’t ever skipped class before. And even if you haven’t,” he added once Janus started to protest again, “don’t pretend your grade won’t be perfectly fine either way.”

“Look,” Logan said, his tone much calmer than Virgil’s, “this conversation is important. And Virgil is right, your grades will not suffer because of one missed class.”

“…What the hell is going on? Since when has Logan Doyle been okay with skipping class?”

“Oh, my first period is free, so I am not skipping class.”

“That wasn’t really the point,” Janus pointed out with a frown. “Seriously, what the hell is going on?”

“You’ll see. How does the library work for you?” Logan asked, his demeanor still infuriatingly calm.

“You realize I have still yet to agree to this, don’t you?”

“Doesn’t matter, we’re doing it no matter what you say,” Virgil said, his smile quickly growing tired as he latched onto the sleeve of Janus’s jacket and began to tug.

Janus let out a huff at Virgil’s actions. “This is a nice jacket, let go!” When they realized Virgil most definitely was not going to let go, they gave a resigned sigh. “If I go with you to the library willingly, will you stop ruining my clothes?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but he did release his hold on his sibling’s jacket. “Don’t be so dramatic, I was far from ruining anything. Come on,” he said, motioning with his head to indicate which way they were going. “I’m sure you don’t want to miss both first and second period.”

Janus gave Virgil a tired eyebrow raise as they followed him through the crush of bodies that filled the hallway, Logan just behind them. “You would be right.”

“Oh, I know,” Virgil said, shooting a grin over his shoulder at Janus. “Speaking of things that I know,” Virgil began, strolling the library doors in a way that was entirely too casual to alleviate Janus’s suspicions, “I know you’re in love with Roman Kingsley.”

Virgil was positively beaming at what was no doubt a horrifyingly shocked look on Janus’s face. And when they turned to see a matching smug expression on Logan’s, they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the universe absolutely despised them.

_________________________

“Roman,” Virgil sing-songed from behind his friend. “Roman, Logan and I need to talk to you,” he continued in the same ominously lilting voice.

Roman turned around from his seat at the lunch table with a frown. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Logan assured him with a kind and only barely forced smile. “You have nothing to worry about, there’s just an important conversation Virgil and I believe we should have.”

“If not worried, should I be concerned? You two are acting in a way that I feel should garner concern.” Roman’s question was met with a chorus of denial, and he shrugged. “Then what did you want to talk about?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Virgil said, sliding into a chair on Roman’s right.

“Just the fact that you’re in love with Janus Adler,” Logan said, nodding his agreement with Virgil’s words before sitting down on Roman’s other side as though he hadn’t just confirmed what Roman had always known to be true: the universe was working around to clock to bring about his doom.

_________________________

“Now, love of my life, what was the gift I was supposed to receive for rescuing the princess?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Janus claimed, wearing a smile as they strode towards Roman, and when they wrapped an arm around his waist and dropped him into a dip, that smile grew coy. After a moment of holding Roman suspended just barely above the stage, Janus drew him back towards their chest as they leaned down and met his lips in a kiss.

“Finish the scene now,” the director ordered, flipping a page of her script as she marked something down in it.

“But you love me anyway, don’t you?” Roman replied without missing a beat as Janus set him upright.

“Perhaps I do,” Janus said, their voice turning unusually quiet.

Roman paused, watching them intently. “Do you love me because I saved you? Or because I’m pretty?”

“I love you because you’re you, Ro— Your Highness.”

At this, the director looked up with a frown. As far as she knew, that line wasn’t in the script. Before she could interrupt though, Roman carried on with the scene. “Do you not think I’m pretty, then?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Quite the contrary,” Janus countered. “I may not have admitted it before, but I do believe you are the most gorgeous person I have ever laid eyes on.”

“Is that so?” Roman asked, trying and failing to hide how flustered he suddenly was.

“It is indeed. There’s much I haven’t told you, Your Highness.”

“Like what?” Roman’s voice grew hushed as he stepped even closer to Janus.

“Like the fact that I love you—that I have loved you for longer than I’d care to admit.”

“Is that so?” Roman repeated, watching with wide eyes as Janus brought their hands to his face.

Janus nodded, their smile growing upon seeing Roman’s deepening blush. “What about you, Your Highness? Is there anything you’ve been keeping from me?”

“I think I love you too.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Good,” Janus said, slowly lowering their face to meet Roman’s, giving him more than enough time to pull away.

He didn’t.

So Janus Adler kissed Roman Kingsley once more, showing no signs of ever wanting to stop doing so.

The director sighed, interrupting the silence that had fallen over the theater. “Look, you’re both great actors, but I think rewriting the final scene is a bit much as far as creative liberties go. Do you two have something more you want to say to each other, or…?”

Janus pulled themself away from Roman’s lips, blinking in a slightly dazed fashion. “Sorry, ma’am,” they said, smiling innocently at the director like they hadn’t been about to start shamelessly making out with their co-star on stage.

Roman coughed in an attempt to hide how out of breath he was. “What— what did you think of, uh, adding the first kiss to the blocking?”

“Or the second one,” Janus added, acting like both had been meticulously planned out over the course of at least several weeks.

Shaking her head, the director sighed again. “If you promise to stop changing the script, you can keep the first one, but I don’t think the second one really fits—”

“What about after the last line?” Janus asked, clearly having no ulterior motives when it came to wanting to kiss Roman at any and every given opportunity.

“You mean your last line?”

“No, the one that’s split between the four narrators, ‘and they lived happily ever after.’ What if we kissed during that? It seems like a pretty good way to show that we—we meaning the characters, of course—are indeed living happily ever after.”

“Fine,” the director said, sounding painfully tired as she marked down the change in her script. “Now go get into costume with the rest of the cast, we still have every other scene in the show to run through.”

As soon as the director turned away, Janus offered their arm out to Roman just as they had yesterday, the same smirk on their face and the same twinkle in their eyes. This time, Roman took it. “Something’s got you feeling bolder today, hm?” Janus said, setting off for the dressing rooms just down the hall.

“Blame Logan. And your brother. Mostly your brother, actually. He’s very convincing.” Janus raised an eyebrow. “And by convincing, I mean threatening,” Roman clarified.

“That he is,” Janus agreed. “I suppose I should really be thanking them both, though. I likely wouldn’t have kissed you that second time without their intervention, and that truly is a tragedy.”

Roman flushed. “You don’t have to do that anymore, you know.”

“What, flirt? Oh, but Roman, then I’d miss seeing you get all flustered,” they pouted. “And why ever would I do that?”

“Um… because you love me?”

“You make a strong argument, but I’m afraid no amount of love will convince me that your blush isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“I take it you haven’t seen a mirror, then,” Roman replied, looking smug.

Janus merely laughed. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, love.”

“Mark my words, I’ll figure out how to turn you into a blushing mess one day. You won’t even see it coming.”

Janus stopped and turned to Roman, fluttering their eyelashes. “Is that so?” they purred, taking slow, deliberate steps toward Roman and crowding him up against the wall.

“Yes?” Roman squeaked out, captivated by the way even the fluorescent lights overhead made Janus’s mismatched eyes look utterly enchanting.

Taking pity on Roman, Janus laughed and took a step backwards. “I look forward to it, my prince,” they said, keeping eye contact with Roman as they brought his hand to their lips and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of it.

And in that moment, the whole universe felt perfect.

_________________________

finding other things i’ve written in my masterpost

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justthehiddleswrites · 3 years

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The Reluctants | Chapter 1 | The Reluctant Landlord

Pairing: Adam (OLLA) x OFC (Charlie Bock)

Summary: Charlie can’t believe her luck when she lands an apartment all to herself in Quincy, Massachusetts in a decaying triple decker. But life gets more complicated when someone moves into the basement. Specifically her landlord, Adam, who also happens to be a vampire. As life collapses around Charlie, these two forge an uneasy and unlikely relationship. But is their relationship as doomed as the building they live in?

Warnings: Violence, Smut, Frottage, Dry Humping, Teasing, Coming In Pants, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex. Couch Sex. Kidnapping. Stalking. Non-Graphic Violence, Character Death

The hardwood floors creaked under Charlie’s weight as she pushed off the mishmash of sheets, quilts, and duvets to the side and her bare feet landed. She ruffled her impossible brown curls, which smashed flat against the back of her head after a night of sleep. It was only September but the old triple decker on the outskirts of Quincy, Massachusetts seemed to be in a wind tunnel. Every gust, bluster, breeze, or slight cough rattled the aging home. But Charlie wasn’t about to complain.

With her salary at Legal Aid barely covering the high cost of living in Boston, it forced Charlie to get creative with her living situation. Roommates were not an option after her last one during her third year of law school, decided instead of washing dishes, she would tuck them wherever convenient. Be that between couch cushions or in an early edition of The Hobbit Charlie kept along with her other books on a shelf in the living room. Charlie took to locking valuables in her room and swore off living with anyone.

It was a pure stroke of luck when the listing for an entire two-bedroom apartment in a converted house came up for cheaper than sharing something downtown. She submitted an application and was delighted when the property management company contacted her to do a walkthrough. The house was old and falling apart around them. When a piece of crown molding nearly took the agent’s head off, Charlie negotiated for a 15% percent reduction in rent. There was only one thing nearly stopping her from moving. The landlord.

For one, his name. No one in 2020 is named Nicolas Copernicus. Not Copernicus himself would be called that in 2020. He would change his name to something like Nick Copper and found a startup company in his college dorm room. Charlie attempted to use what little resources she had at her disposal at her job to determine the true identity ofher mysterious landlord. All searches ended up at the same place. NOZ, Inc. A company with no internet presence. But plenty of assets.

“I am telling you I think my house is front for the mob. Or WitSec!” Charlie protested as she slumped into her desk chair.

“Or maybe,” Elise retorted. “It’s just a corporation that bought up a bunch of buildings to make some easy revenue.”

Her green eyes shot daggers at her co-worker. “If that’s the case, how come every week there is something new falling apart? Wouldn’t they refurbish the place before renting it out?”

Elise opened her mouth to respond when she stiffened in her seat. Charlie spun her chair to come face to face with a stained dress shirt. That shirt belonged to her boss, Jason Chambers.

“Ms. Bock.” He stared down Charlie through wired frame glasses too small for his round face. “If you are done socializing, a word in my office.” He jerked his thumb to the glorified cubicle he called his “office” and walked away.

“Sorry,” Elise mouthed while Charlie smoothed out her Banana Republic Outlet blazer and skirt.

“It’s all right.” Charlie gave a tense smile.

“Take a seat.” Jason gestured to a stained chair covered in paper. Charlie shifted her weight on her heels.

“I’ll just stand.” The sooner she got of there the better.

“I make this short and to the point. Your spending too much time with the clients.”

Charlie opened her mouth to protest, but Jason held up a hand. “We are here to help with legal issues not listening to their life story.” Jason grimaced. Charlie learned early on Jason believed this job was beneath his Harvard education.

“Those life stories often have bearing on their legal cases.” she interjected.

“I don’t care. Move the cases along faster or I will have to terminate your employment.” Jason grinned over the table. “This is your only warning.”

He locked eyes with Charlie, who held his stare. “Understood, sir.”

Jason’s face broke out in a smug grin. “You’re dismissed.”

Charlie shuffled out and back to her desk. Elise leaned forward.

“What did the B.O.D. want?” B.O.D. standing for Bag of Dicks, their nickname for Jason.

“Just the usual. Stop talking so much, move the cases.” Charlie huffed, doing a poor imitation of their boss.

The two giggled until Jason popped his head over the top of his cubicle, glowering. Elise snapped back upright and returned to typing, while Charlie busied herself with the papers in her inbox until he disappeared again back into his hole. The day continued on like that until lunch when Elise and Charlie hightailed it out of the office to a nearby deli.

“Did I tell you about the weird note I got last week?” Charlie stood over at the counter in the crowded deli, crunching up oyster crackers into her clam chowder.

“Do tell.”

“So I got home late one night to find this,” Charlie fished a crumpled piece of paper out of her purse, bringing up a couple of rubber bands and a lipstick along with it.

Elise unfolded the paper while taking a bite of her Reuben sandwich. “Is this written with a quill?”

“You noticed the ink splatters too? And what about the handwriting? Is that the handwriting of a serial killer or what?” Charlie dribbled some soup on her blouse. She dabbed at the stain with a napkin.

“Who is Mr. Shelley?”

“My new basement neighbor.”

“What does he look like?”

Charlie dribbled more soup. “No clue. Haven’t seen him.”

“Nothing?”

“I have only heard the hum of some music through the floorboards. I think he is nocturnal. Like a bat or something.”

“Spooky.” Elise passed the paper back, and they finished their lunch, making plans for drinks later that night.

Jason slipped out around 4:30 in the afternoon claiming he had to make a “supply run” and would be back in twenty minutes. Everyone knew this was code for that he needed to go pick up his skinny ass girlfriend from work because she couldn’t drive having just racked up her third DUI. Charlie suspected they met at Jason’s previous job at the Public Defender’s Office, but nothing substantial turned up in her searches of public access records.

“Come on, Charlie, let’s knock off early and grab drinks.” Elise already shut down her computer and was pulling her coat on.

“One second…” Charlie held up a finger as she put the finishing touches on a pleading. She hit save and closed the document. “… there. Where to?”

“How about the restaurant across the street? Bar menu is half off for happy hour.”

“Looks like momma is getting drunk on beer and burgers tonight.” Charlie snagged her coat off the back of her chair and followed Elise out the door.

Charlie stumbled up her stairs, her heels in her hand. It was late. In fact, so late that she had nearly missed the last train home. But it was worth it to spend time with Elise and some other friends.

As she fumbled for her keys, a sound came from the side basement entrance. Crouching low, Charlie crawled over to the crumbling railing to see what was the source.

Charlie spied two men standing at the threshold. She squinted in the dark, making a mental note to schedule an eye appointment. One man appeared to be wearing scrubs underneath an old gray peacoat. While the other man leaned out of the basement. Mr. Shelley, Charlie surmised. He looked like something out of a punk music video from the 1980s. His black hair shot out like wires and his clothes were all black and either leather or denim.

In a flash of brilliance or stupidity, depending on how one thought about it, Charlie retrieved her phone from her pocket and turned on the camera to record.

Charlie now spotted the Stop and Shop bag in the Scrubs Guy’s hand. She covered her mouth as she gasped when Mr. Shelley pulled a wad a cash from his back pocket. His head snapped in Charlie’s direction and she ducked into the shadows.

The two men finished the exchange, and Charlie shifted her weight to relieve a cramp in her calf. As she moved, the termite-ridden porch gave way and her foot went clear through the crawlspace. Charlie scrambled to her feet as footsteps approached, slamming her front door and dead bolting it once she got inside. She remained motionless and boot steps stopped in front of her door. It seemed like an eternity before the footsteps faded away and Charlie exhaled. Now sober, she trotted off to the kitchen for a late snack before tucking into bed to watch old reruns of Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

The next day was a repeat of the one before, except today was Friday and payday which meant instead of the nearby deli, Elise and Charlie splurged on delicious Chinese food, side of egg rolls plus a trip to the store for candy to be stashed in the top drawer of their desks. Jason kept to himself, grunting to himself.

“Bets on what he is looking at in there?” Marie, the receptionist, asked.

“Nudes from the girlfriend.” Charlie chimed in.

“Porn Hub.” Elise added.

“Cat videos on YouTube.” Marie commented as she waltzed over and popped her head over the cubicle wall.

Elise and Charlie giggled as keyboard keys clattered at a frantic pace. Jason muttered to Marie before she jogged back to the girls.

“You owe me twenty bucks.” Marie commented, pointing at Charlie “and you owe me twenty bucks.” She turned to Elise. “Lazy Cat Turns Body Into Slinky To Get Down The Stairs.”

Charlie grumbled as she fished out her wallet. A receipt came along with her striped wallet, along with a bus ticket. “He watched that one last week too.”

“And yet you continue to guess nudes. Someone sounds sexually frustrated.” Marie snatched the bill away from Charlie and grabbed Elise’s, reaching across the desk.

“Which is why you should use that twenty to buy me a drink tonight, so I might loosen up enough to land myself a date.” Charlie quipped. She widened her eyes until they looked like huge emerald saucers.

Marie pursed her lips. “That Puss in Boots look won’t work today. I have to meet my mom out in Brighton for a family dinner. Besides, I thought you hated dates. Especially after what’s his name?”

Charlie’s nose wrinkled at the word “family”. To say her own family relationship was strained would be an understatement. Shattered to a thousand pieces and scattered to the ends of the earth might be closer to the truth.

“Richard.”

“Dick the Serial Dater.” Elise added. “Didn’t the hostess comment you were the fourth girl he brought in there that week?”

“Yes, and I don’t want to talk about it. I’m so sorry, Marie. I should buy you a drink.”

Marie giggled as she returned to the front desk. “Not every hates family and relationships like you.”

Charlie squirmed. “I don’t hate relationships. I just don’t like the fanfare that goes along with them. I just want a guy who is happy being him and let’s me be me. No strings, no commitments. And no dates.” She shuddered.

“You want a fuck buddy.” Elise commented as she pulled her phone receiver away from her ear.

Charlie shushed Elise. “I don’t want a ‘fuck buddy’. I just want a guy who doesn’t expect me to swoon after him or put aside my interests for his. I want to be me, fucked up me. And it doesn’t hurt if he is hot as hell.”

“That guy doesn’t exist, Charlie.”

She sighed. “You’re right, but a girl can dream.”

Jason snuck out even earlier than usual. Marie mouthed “anniversary” as he walked by before slapping on a fake smile as he exited onto the crowded downtown Boston sidewalk.

Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose before blinking and return to the writ she was drafting. The last hour of the workday flew by and Elise was soon tapping her shoulder.

“Drinks at McCormicks?”

“I’m shouldn’t. I partied a little too hard last night. I’m not sure my liver can take it.”

“I’ll buy you truffle fries.” Elise singsonged.

“Well, one drink won’t kill me.” Charlie capitulated.

“That’s the spirit.”

They linked arms and waved goodbye to Marie before heading down to Faneuil Hall.

Charlie was true to her word and only had one drink. Which was good fortune because she was sober enough to realize when she got home, her front door was ajar. She dropped her purse at the door and grabbed a commemorative hockey stick from a Bruins game from the umbrella holder by the door. Wielding it like a sword, she stepped first into the living room to find the place not ransacked, but rumpled, as though someone had gone through her things but attempted to put them back as they were.

“Hello?” she called out like every soon to be dead girl in a horror film. A noise echoed from her bedroom and Charlie tightened her grip on the hockey stick and made her way there. She nearly dropped the stick when she saw the man she presumed to be Mr. Shelley standing there, her silk pajamas fisted in his hand.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?!” She yelled.

In a blur, the hockey stick disappeared from her hand. She glanced around the room to find it but saw it nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until the end of the weekend Charlie noticed it back in its place in the umbrella holder by the front door.

“Are you going to answer my question or just stand there, creasing my best set of pajamas?” Charlie tapped her foot on the floor. “You can’t be in here. It’s my place.”

“Yes, I can.” His words slow like syrup. His accent British. Charlie’s chest tightened for a moment. “I’m the manager.”

“I thought your name was Shelley. The guy that owns this place is Nicolas Copernicus. Fake name if you ask me.”

“Shit.” The man whispered under his breath. At least he dropped her pajamas. “I used the name Shelley so you wouldn’t bother me when I moved in. So I have the right to be here.”

“No you don’t.” She planted her hands on her hips.

“I beg your pardon? This is my house. I don’t need permission to enter it.” His voice louder and the tone more not mad but irritated, as though he hated talking to people and this conversation had already gone on too long.

“Massachusetts Regulation 940 says you must give a tenant at least 24 hours before entry a residence unless it is an emergency.”

“Bloody fucking regulations. There was a leak.” His face contorted for a moment. If Charlie paid attention more, she would have realized he was in pain, but she was only concerned about him lying. About his name, about being there, about everything.

“There was a leak.” She made each word pointed. “… in my delicates drawer.”

He dropped his head and pushed past her. “I’m leaving.”

“Wait!” She called after him but he didn’t break his long stride to the front door. “I want to talk to you!” But the slamming of the front door and boots traveling down the stairs answered her plea instead.

Soon the basement door slammed, followed by the sound of feedback and music coming up through the floorboards. Charlie sulked for a moment before crouching down to pick up the bits of silk, satin and lace clothing on the floor.

“No respect.” she muttered before flopping onto the bed. The frame creaked as Charlie laid down onto the pile of pillows. At least five, not counting decorative ones. She closed her eyes and listened to the hum of whatever music, Shelley, or Nick, or whatever the hell his name was playing down there. Charlie had half a mind to stomp on the floor when a lightbulb went off.

“What a scathingly brilliant idea!” She grabbed her phone and scrolled until she found what she was looking for and headed off to take a shower before setting her plan into action later that night.

#adam #adam fanfiction #adam fanfic #adam angst #adam fluff #adam smut #only lovers left alive #only lovers left alive fanfiction #adam x ofc #the reluctants

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krispyweiss · 3 years

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Sound Bites’ Favorite Albums of 2020

- In a bleak year, music comes through

The year 2020 didn’t leave much to celebrate - unless pandemics, racism and the crumbling of American democracy are your things.

For all the bad - and there was a ton of bad - there was also a ton of good music. What follows are capsule reviews of Sound Bites’ favorite studio releases of his least-favorite year; read the contemporary pieces in the blue links.

The Wood Brothers - Kingdom in My Mind

Born from jams, authorship of the 10 tracks - plus a short reprise - is credited to guitarist Oliver Wood, bassist/harmonica player Chris Wood and multi-instrumentalist Jano Rix. Taken as a whole, the 38-minute LP - the band’s best to date - is full of lively numbers even as the trio spends an inordinate time singing about dying on cuts such as “Little Bit Sweet,” “Don't Think about My Death” and “Satisfied.”

David Bromberg Band - Big Road

If eclecticism equaled commercialism, David Bromberg would be one of America’s biggest artists. But it doesn’t and he isn’t. And instead, Americana’s best-kept, 50-year-old secret keeps the quality high with Big Road.

Gospel, rock ‘n’ roll, bluegrass and country are represented and Bromberg sings it all like Willie Nelson with a baritone - sporting the same quaver, the same emotional breaks in his voice and the same conviction.

Sarah Jarosz - World on the Ground

These are songs about “Eve,” who wants to ensure the world doesn’t spoil her inner goodness; “Johnny,” who just needs a bit of luck, love and light; and “Maggie” whose Ford Escape will hopefully live up to its name. Sarah Jarosz’s subjects - and sometimes Jarosz herself - drink cold coffee and wine; they want to stay and they want to leave; and they wonder why they left or why they stayed. Whether working with I’m With Her or on her own, Jarosz is among the best working these days.

Tyler Childers - Long Violent History

Nothing about Tyler Childers’ Long Violent History should work. Yet everything does. It’s a statement LP, yet it's mostly instrumental. It finds Childers standing with Black Lives Matter against a backdrop of old-timey fiddle music. And it opens with a creepy rendering of “Send in the Clowns.”

Childers, who plays fiddle exclusively, is joined by a band that includes Mandolin Orange’s Andrew Marlin on mandolin and Josh Oliver on guitar; fiddler Jesse Wells; and Dom Flemons on virtually everything else including banjo, bones, quills, jug, bass drum and harmonica. Together, they burn through seven additional trad tunes such as the mournful waltz of “Midnight on the Water” and the celebratory high step of “Sludge River Stop,” before Childers makes his point on the title track.

Tim Heidecker - Fear of Death

On Fear of Death, Tim Heidecker flips the script.

No longer simply a comedian who happens to make music, Tim Heidecker, on his fifth solo LP since 2016, proves himself a fully fledged musician who happens to be funny in the intelligent way Procol Harum and Crash Test Dummies are funny. Musically derivative, Fear of Death derives wisely from the Mamas & the Papas, the Byrds, Widespread Panic and others; special shout out to Weyes Blood, whose harmony and co-lead vocals add immeasurably to the proceedings.

Steve Earle & the Dukes - Ghosts of West Virginia

Steve Earle’s emotions are raw on the entirety of Ghosts of West Virginia, on which he and the Dukes tell the story the Upper Branch Mine disaster and the Mountaineer State’s coal-mining history with bluegrass on “Union, God and Country;” miners’ fates on the hard country of “Black Lung;” a widow’s side of the story on the heart-wrenching, “If I Could See Your Face Again;” and bring native son Chuck Yeager into the mix on the hard-stompin’ rockabilly of “Fastest Man Alive.”

Robby Krieger - The Ritual Begins at Sundown

After 10 years of studio silence, Robby Krieger returns with a killer Frank Zappa album. OK, the Ritual Begins at Sundown is a Krieger album masquerading as a Zappa album. But it’s killer, indeed.

Fine-tuned on stages before being transferred to the studio, the eight originals and two covers bear all sorts of Zappa hallmarks like odd time signatures, quirky tempo shifts and an overarching, unconventional quality that keep them interesting over repeated spins.

Willie Nelson - First Rose of Spring

A melancholic collection of 11 numbers, Willie Nelson’s First Rose of Spring covers country themes like death (“Stealing Time” and the title track, a sequel to “He Stopped Loving Her Today”), doing crimes (Johnny Paycheck’s “I’m the Only Hell My Mama Ever Raised”) and doing time (Merle Haggard’s “I’ll Break Out Again Tonight”).

Ben Harper - Winter is for Lovers

Through the pieces have titles and demarcation between them, Ben Harper’s all-instrumental, lap-steel-only Winter is for Lovers is essentially a 30-minute suite to be taken in totality. Sparse though it may be, it never lags and is a fulfilling listen in any number of settings.

Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer and Chris Thile feat. Aoife O’Donovan - Not Our First Goat Rodeo

No one player dominates the mostly instrumental proceedings as the quartet of Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer and Chris Thile - with appearances from vocalist Aoife O’Donovan - works together to create long-bowed, deep grooves on “Every Note a Pearl,” which seems a good thematic statement for the supergroup’s second Goat Rodeo. Every one of these musicians is a certified genius, which means the music is occasionally too complicated for its own good. But those moments are few on the 45-minute recording and Not Our First Goat Rodeo will leave the listener hoping a decade doesn’t pass before this quintet gets back on the horse again.

Honorable mentions

Chris Smither - More from the Levee

Recorded in 2013, including a slew of reimagined pieces from his songbook and featuring appearances from Alan Toussaint, Louden Wainwright III and Morphine drummer Billy Conway, More from the Levee is vintage Chris Smither, literally and figuratively.

Jeremy Spencer - Live in the Studio

Spencer’s fourth album of 2020 was actually recorded in 2005 and finds the former Fleetwood Mac axeman playing the blues for which he is best known as opposed to the languid, mostly instrumental atmospherics that characterized his most-recent LPs. This is the Spencer of light-touch, Elmore James-inspired slide guitar and Elvis Presley-esque vocal phrasing working his way through 14 songs in just under 50 minutes.

12/28/20

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jemej3m · 5 years

Note

Bro. I love your writing. Will there pls be a part 3 for the radio show ficlet 🙈♥️

yes because im trash here it is

p.1 / p.2 / p.3

The first time Andrew stopped by Neil’s recording studio, FM-OX Studios, it was a brief moment of panic. He had a coffee in each hand, and buzzed his studio with his elbow. The door made a beeping noise and slid open for him, and he was confronted by the dark inners of a radio station.

It occurred to him that despite his qualifications in media and communications, he’d never traversed into a real station. The reception desk was empty, the stairwell behind it scarcely lit. Andrew could still see the various photos, awards and promotional posters. It was odd connecting faces to voices: He hadn’t expected to recognise any of them, but one photo had him standing still.

Kevin and a middle aged man with full sleeve tattoos were standing side-by-side at some sort of award ceremony. Kevin held an award. They shared the same tight-lipped smile and shadowed gaze, Kevin’s dark hair a youthful version of the man’s grey streaks.

Andrew would ask Kevin about it, if he remotely cared about anything to do with Kevin’s strange realm of fame and glamour. The intrigue passed like a cold chill and Andrew kept moving up the stairs with no more than a disinterested huff.

He sidled past various closed offices and let himself into the main recording studio.

It only occurred to him as he looked through the com-glass that he’d never realised how insane this was. Yes, Neil was a public figure, and if anything happened to Andrew, records of their calls would be on the working phones and presumably recorded in this public space.

Still, Andrew had no idea what the man looked like. There was almost nothing on FM-OX’s online page on him, and there were certainly no photos of him. Andrew wasn’t going to know if he acted differently whilst on and off air. Andrew had almost no information on him, so what the fuck did he think he was doing, waltzing in like this?

And then Andrew had looked through the glass.

There he sat. Sitting under only the light of a lampshade, face illuminated by a programming screen as his hands moved across a soundboard. A phone sat to his left, and his hand tapped nervously by it, as if waiting for bad news.

Movement through the glass had Neil looking to where Andrew was stood, frozen. A look of slight shock flit across the man’s face and he stood to let Andrew into the recording studio, taking the coffee from Andrew’s free hand.

He was barely taller than Andrew was.

“Hi,” He said, a little mesmerised that Andrew was actually there.

Andrew only had to take one look at his decadent red curls, the dazzling blue eyes and distorted scars across his cheeks and hands before knowing he was absolutely fucked.

Shit.

Neil cocked his head to the side as he considered Andrew, who dozed lightly in an armchair he’d dragged into the studio with his feet up on the recording desk.

It wasn’t the first time Andrew had come in: He’d been here upwards of a dozen times by now. Neil was no less perplexed by the man, who spent most of his nights tending one of Columbia’s downtown bars.

Neil had actually looked into the man’s qualifications. He’d come through at the top of his class and denied various offers for positions in news presenting and show hosting on various stations across the east coast, as far north and prestigious as New York. Andrew even turned down down a Los Angeles placement that would have put him on a path akin to Kevin Day’s.

Neil was at a loss about the man. He never talked about presenting. He never considered a different life other than the one he’d garnered and bartered for.

Really, Neil couldn’t quite pin down what they spent their time talking about. All Neil knew was that it was easy, just as entertaining as it had been over the phone. Andrew listened in on the phone calls with him and made rude remarks under his breath, of which Neil muted but wished he could keep on air.

With November brought the holiday season, which always left Neil feeling a little hollow. Dan and Matt had invited him to spend Thanksgiving at theirs, but it felt like a little more than an intrusion: Neil still couldn’t see himself as their awkward, flighty coworker that they put up with because they didn’t have much of a choice. Radio didn’t stop for the holidays, but they’d insisted that he should put a pre-record on for the night and stay over.

It lead him to some intriguing topics of conversation. Who was going to see their families for the holidays? Who’s family drama was the most insidious? What awful gifts have you received? What are you thankful for?

Neil talked about these on air, but the most coveted discussions were those with Andrew. Andrew, who looked at Neil from under his lashes as he let his fingers brush over the soundboard. Andrew, who texted Neil songs he’d found that fit the theme or style of Neil’s show. Andrew, who was both brutally honest and impossible to read.

“What about you?” Neil asked one evening, letting his microphone go on mute as Billy Joel began playing. Andrew didn’t look at him or even acknowledge he’d spoken aside from the arch of a singular eyebrow. “What are your holiday plans?”

“My mother died when I was sixteen, I never knew my father, I havdn’t spoken to my brother since he moved to Chicago for med-school and my cousin lives away from his God-fearing parents in Germany with his husband.” Andrew said, spinning the Rubic’s cube in his hand. “Does that give you a clear enough answer?”

Neil hummed. “My father got locked up for life because of various reasons. My mother’s death was one of them. My only relations run gang operations between France and England. I think we’ve got the same sentiment there.”

Andrew finally stopped his fiddling and graced Neil with a heady gaze. “Let’s not talk about family.”

“Let’s not.” Neil agreed.

Andrew’s fingers reached out: They only just managed to brush gently across the scars on Neil’s cheek, the ones where his father and his assistant had cut bloody revenge onto his face for speaking out against him.

Neil smiled hesitantly with the odd gentleness in Andrew’s touch. Censure passed between them, until Andrew jerked his hand away like Neil’s skin was scalding to the touch.

The odd moment passed, being one of many. Eventually, he found that Andrew’s presence made his shifts pass quicker than normal: The toughest hours were the last, when exhaustion began to settle in. Andrew brought good coffee and quiet conversation, filling up the dark space that always swathed Neil whilst hosting.

It’d been a long while since routine like this, involving and revolving around someone else, had felt comfortable, rather than paranoia inducing or guilt-inspiring.

Neil put it down to the loneliness of the night shift, and assumed Andrew was there for the same reasons.

“You should co-host with me one night.” Neil suggested, as they turned off the lights of the studio and checked the pre-recorded hour of music would carry over until Renee’s morning show.

Andrew was particularly lethargic that night: He’d been growing more accustomed to the later schedules and was almost fully nocturnal at this point. But that night at Eden’s had been particularly gruelling, the slowness of the evening as people became more reluctant to go out due to the weather and the holidays.

That was the only reason Andrew gave a half-hearted shrug, rather than a flat out no. It wasn’t that he’d already entertained the thought. It wasn’t that he’d watched the way Neil came alive when recommending music and talking to various callers, letting his sharp tongue kiss the cheek of death as he pointed out prejudices and subjective opinions.

Neil’s hesitant smile was practically too good to deny.

But being a co-host meant being administered into the payroll of Wymack’s various presenters. His studio wasn’t loosely run, but it wasn’t exactly a commandeered ship either: Andrew’s presence had been mostly unnoticed for about a month and a half.

Six weeks, since Andrew had first walked in with coffee. Six weeks had been all it took for Neil to work up the nerve to ask him to present alongside him. Like presenting was a taboo between them, when they were together exclusively whilst Neil hosted his show. Andrew didn’t hate journalism and presenting. He couldn’t find enough interest in it to hate it.

Andrew did hate Neil, though. He hated that he’d wormed his way past Andrew’s exterior and persisted, until Andrew’s resolve crumbled and Neil could see all of his ugly truths and scars.

“I told Wymack I want to bring on an irregular co-host. That I’ve already found one.” Neil continued.

“Didn’t think to ask me first?”

Neil raised his chin. “You can say no.”

“Shut up.” Andrew muttered, angrier at himself than anyone else. If Kevin found out about this, Andrew was moving to New Zealand and studying fairy penguins for the rest of his life. “Fine.”

It’d only be temporary. Nothing more.

“I thought that was my line.” Neil snarked, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. He looked relaxed. Andrew really wanted to lean over and kiss him.

Oh, he thought vaguely. It wasn’t a new desire, but it’d never been so definite. That’s new.

“Fuck off, Josten.”

Neil only snorted.

He looked back to the phone that sat on Neil’s desk, and wished he’d never fucking called in the first place.

we will get there I PROMISE

#andreil #radio au #neil josten #andrew minyard #part three!! wow #all for the game #media presenter au #jem writes

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GEORGE’S CHRISTMAS PRESENT

December 16, 1949

“George’s Christmas Present” (aka “The Christmas Present Switch”) is episode #67 of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on December 16, 1949.

Synopsis ~ Liz vows to finish knitting George a sweater by Christmas. She finds George's Christmas presents for her and exchanges it too early.

This was the 16th episode of the second season of MY FAVORITE HUSBAND. There were 43 new episodes, with the season ending on June 25, 1950.

vimeo

This episode has been fully animated using the original soundtrack. The animation was created in 2010 by Wayne Wilson and is available to view on Vimeo.

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benaderet was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz, a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

Gale Gordon (Rudolph Atterbury) and Bea Benadaret (Iris Atterbury), do not appear in this episode, although their characters are mentioned.

GUEST CAST

Frank Nelson (Miller’s Exchange Counter Clerk) was born on May 6, 1911 (three months before Lucille Ball) in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He started working as a radio announcer at the age of 15. He later appeared on such popular radio shows as “The Great Gildersleeve,” “Burns and Allen,” and “Fibber McGee & Molly”. Aside from Lucille Ball, Nelson is perhaps most associated with Jack Benny and was a fifteen-year regular on his radio and television programs. His trademark was playing clerks and other working stiffs, suddenly turning to Benny with a drawn out “Yeeeeeeeeees?” Nelson appeared in 11 episodes of “I Love Lucy”, including three as quiz master Freddy Fillmore, and two as Ralph Ramsey, plus appearance on “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour” - making him the only actor to play two different recurring roles on “I Love Lucy.” Nelson returned to the role of the frazzled Train Conductor for an episode of “The Lucy Show” in 1963. This marks his final appearance on a Lucille Ball sitcom.

Eleanor Audley (Mother Cooper) would later play Eleanor Spalding, owner of the Westport home the Ricardos buy in “Lucy Wants To Move to the Country” (ILL S6;E15) in 1957, as well as one of the Garden Club judges in “Lucy Raises Tulips” (ILL S6;E26).

EPISODE

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Cooper’s it’s morning and there are seven shopping days left until Christmas.”

Liz is pressing Katie the Maid about what George may have bought her for Christmas. She is knitting George a sweater, but wants a fur coat from George. Liz sings “Jingle Bells” as George comes down to breakfast.

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“Jingle Bells” by James Lord Pierpont (1822–93) was sung in the “I Love Lucy” Christmas tag, the “I Love Lucy Christmas Special” (above, colorized), as well as in “Lucy Goes to Sun Valley,” a 1958 episode of “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour.” Lucy says that Ricky proposed to her at Christmastime, so their ‘song’ is “Jingle Bells,” or – as Ricky pronounces it - “Yingle Bells.” The song was also sung by Lucy Carmichael and Vivian Bagley in “Together for Christmas” (TLS S1;E13) in 1962.

Liz is acting lovey-dovey, but George is on to her games - he won’t tell her what he is getting her for Christmas.

LIZ: “Are you getting me a mink stole?” GEORGE: “If I got you a mink, it would have to be stole!”

George tells Liz he’s already bought it and that it is in the hall closet - but warns her to leave it alone! After George leaves for work, Liz is tempted to take a peek. She reasons she might need to go into the closet for routine reasons, and ‘clumsily’ rips the paper off the box. It is empty, except for a note that says

I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO STAY OUT OF HERE, NOSY!

Liz is adamant that George is just getting a sweater and starts knitting. Katie doesn’t even recognize it as a sweater. It has two neck holes and a sock knitted to the sleeve! Liz laments that she can’t knit like George’s mother, who Liz calls Nosy Rosy. Katie reminds Liz that Mother Cooper is coming over for a visit.

Mother Cooper (Eleanor Audley) waltzes in without ringing the bell. She first thinks the sweater is a dust rag, then a dog sweater. Liz tells her that it is a sweater for George and Mother laughs.

MOTHER (laughing): “I could die!” LIZ (grimly): “Yes, but you won’t.”

Mother has come over to tell Liz that she will be spending Christmas with Aunt Bessie, instead of with her and George. Before she goes, she bluntly tells Liz to give up on knitting; she hasn’t got the talent. Mother turns to go.

LIZ: “Are you driving, or shall I call the Yellow Broomstick Company?”

Liz is essentially calling her mother-in-law a witch! The Yellow Cab was a taxicab company in Chicago founded in 1907 by John D. Hertz, who later began the Hertz Rent-A-Car Company. In early 1950, Red Skelton, a frequent co-star of Ball’s, released the MGM film The Yellow Cab Man. Although it had not yet premiered, shooting was completed by October 1949 and Lucille Ball may have been short-listed for the role played by Gloria De Haven.

Before she departs, Mother Cooper tells Liz she has knit her son a beautiful cashmere sweater for Christmas, making Liz even more intent on making hers even better and more beautiful.

In Part Two, Katie discovers Liz asleep with the knitting needles in her hands, exhausted. After an all-nighter, Katie still sees that the sweater still has three sleeves!

At breakfast, Liz’s eyes are so bloodshot she mistakes milk for tomato juice! When George discovers that she’s been knitting him a sweater, he laughs. After George goes to work, Katie discovers another wrapped box in the closet. Liz opens it to reveal a bright red dress from Miller’s Department Store. Liz is upset because she cannot wear red with her hair coloring.

LIZ: “If I put that dress on, I’ll look like an ad for Unguentine!”

Unguentine is a commercially available topical skin ointment that helps alleviate minor burns and irritations. It was originally introduced in 1893. It was mentioned on “I Love Lucy” in “The Fashion Show” (ILL S4;E20) in 1955.

Liz dashes off to Miller’s to try and exchange the red dress for one in green. While waiting on line at the exchange counter, Liz busily knits. At the head of the line, the clerk (Frank Nelson) is confused as to why Liz is exchanging a present BEFORE Christmas! He sarcastically tells her she should exchange the red dress for a black one and give it a henna rinse!

Miller’s Department Store is mentioned in “Husbands Are Sloppy Dressers” (S3;E1) and “The Two Mrs. Coopers” (S3;E7).

LIZ: “Oh, I’ll bet you’re a scream when you get out your chicken inspector badge.”

Lucille Ball started coloring her hair with Henna Rinse (an Egyptian hair dye) in 1942 for the film Du Barry Was a Lady, to set herself apart in Technicolor movies. Irma Kusely, Ball’s hairstylist, later said that Ball had a safe of it in her garage! In “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25) in 1952, Fred Mertz struts around and proudly declares “I am the chicken inspector!” This is 1920s slang for a man who has an eye for young woman. He even wears a novelty badge!

Liz rushes home to tell Katie she exchanged the red dress for one in Kelly green. George calls to tell Liz that he is bringing his mother home to give her a Christmas present before she goes to Aunt Bessie’s! Liz realizes that this is the dress that she just exchanged.

Liz rushes back to Miller’s to be greeted by the same sarcastic clerk, who can’t understand why she wants yet another exchange.

Back at home, Liz tells Katie she successfully re-exchanged the green dress for the red one. Katie tells Liz that she finished knitting the sweater for her and has tucked it into the desk drawer.

George and his mother come home and Liz gives her the present - only to find out from George that the gift she handed Mother is for her, not Mother Cooper! While George is getting his mother’s REAL present, Mother Cooper asks Liz how the sweater is coming along. Liz opens the desk drawer and Mother Cooper accuses her of buying the sweater not making it.

As she’s getting into the taxi, George notices a piece of yarn leading from the taxi, up the sidewalk and into the desk! Mother Cooper has secretly taken the sweater so as not to be upstaged by Liz. Now the sweater has unraveled, leaving only two inches on the needles!

END OF EPISODE

Announcer Bob LeMond reminds listeners to watch for Lucille Ball in the Columbia Picture Miss Grant Takes Richmond.

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