#illuminatingly

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

I love when I check out an e-book from my library (shoutout to Libby! And Hoopla!) and end up loving it so much that I'm like "Okay, under ALL circumstances I MUST own this book physically now (so that I can reread it)." My deepest gratitude to books so good that I would be more than happy to own them so that I can reread them.

[idkelly]

Painting

Travis bickle x reader

Summary: 3 encounters lead to 3 words on their minds.

Warnings: none; fluff

FIRST ENCOUNTER

Her knuckles were turning white.

Her grip didn’t soften as she pressed her notebook into her stomach. She stood on the edge of the sidewalk, shivering in her boots. She cursed herself for going out of her comfort zone that day. It was an important day on her calendar, yet at the end, she regretted her outfit. Upon moving here two months prior, she came to the realization that not many people had ‘style’. or at least a pop in what they choose to wear, everyone is so mundane in New York City that it clashes with what actually happens in the shadows.

As she stood there waiting, her mind wandered off to earlier that day. She had officially made it, and her agency is finally letting her step foot onto the field. Back in her hometown, she had worked tremendously for years on end on her craft; art wasn’t easy to master, or at least memorable art. Now that she's achieved what she’s been wanting, her work is recognized and in high demand.

But that was all on paper; she, on the other hand, wasn’t. She felt as if she were a ghost roaming around, creating what people thought were the most breathtaking paintings ever. At the back of her mind, an encounter a few months ago had stuck with her. She heard a higher-up phone call about the upcoming sales, and the topic switched to the products. Then he rambled on and on about how her paintings are basically Renaissance-made today. She was never much of a talker, yet she mustered up the courage to go up and talk to him, though his confused gaze threw her off.

"Uh, who are you exactly?"

It was fate; it had followed her everywhere. Sometimes she thinks that it’s because she was bland, basic, ordinary, and vanilla. But those thoughts left as soon as they came; she knew she wasn’t any of that. She was someone’s cup of tea for sure—not the vast majority thought so—and she was okay with it. Most of the time, she was alone, yet she never felt lonely.

Her cowboy boots were killer, red and bright, but so was the blood running down the back of her ankles; it was the first time she wore them. but she didn’t think it would mean a miserable way back home. Someone was supposed to pick her up, but guessing by the time they'd probably forgotten, she didn’t have anywhere near to go; her apartment was almost an hour away, and she hadn't seen a cab in a long while.

Behind her, illuminatingly, was a night café. Shaking her purse, she guessed she had enough money for some coffee and waffles.

She sat on the bar stool; she always liked it better than the regular seats; it was taller and bigger, almost like she was on top of the world. She liked the little stuff like this; it seemed silly to an outsider, but at least she’s having fun on her own, especially facing the window and looking at whoever walks by. A few minutes later, the waiter brought her food. She kicked off her boots to rest her feet a bit. It was going to be a long walk home.

She sat her bag on her lap and pulled out her small sketchbook. As if on cue, she noticed small rain drops clinging to the window before her; it added to the atmosphere, making her smile to herself. In her ear buds, killing me softly by fugees played, and her head swayed with the rhythm.

Half an hour passes as she’s lost in her sketchbook, her pencil dancing along the page, creating another beautiful portrait. That was her specialty. Her train of thought stops for a second when she notices someone sitting at the end of her row. Her head turns around, and she realizes that the place is basically full.

She glanced beside her at the figure; it was a guy in a green jacket and some jeans; he seemed to have ordered a coffee and some waffles; he had a mole on the side of his face. She didn’t spend much time staring at the man; it was rude. She just went back to drawing. but out of the corner of her eye, she saw what shoes he was wearing. cowboy boots.

"Cowboy boots!" It slipped out of her mouth before she could think.

The man looked startled. He looked at her, then turned his head behind him, making sure she was talking to him. His eyebrows rose as he looked at her confusedly. "Huh?"

She smiled, a bit embarrassed. I'm sorry, I meant—your boots! Cowboy boots, I like ‘em."

Her eyes never left his; they were dark, almost black, yet pretty. He hadn’t spoken a word yet, but he was smiling now.

"These are mine," she pointed to the pair that’s beneath her. I had to take them off because my feet were all bloody. She laughed, not taking it seriously at all. He looked at them and smiled, saying, "Hey, they’re just like mine, just in a different color."

She looked closer, and he could see her eyes light up at the realization. "we’re matching!"

"matching?"

"Yeah, matching"

A moment of silence passed, not an awkward one, though; they were both staring at each other, smiling a bit, her eyes drifting to his plate, then back to him.

"We don’t have matching taste buds, though; I hate waffles. This surprised him, making him chuckle and take a sip of his coffee. He wasn’t used to this; he didn’t know how to act when people approached him. Whenever he responds, he usually says the wrong thing, ruining the encounter. He didn’t respond to her; he simply didn’t know what to say. It felt like her eyes burned holes through his side, but soon enough she went back to her small book.

Her legs were crossed, and her black skirt hiked up to her mid-thigh because of her position. She wore a colorful dress shirt that was predominantly red, matching her boots. Her hair rested on her shoulder. A few pieces kept falling in front of her face, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Staring is rude, you know. "His head whipped straight back. She laughed; it was almost contagious, creeping on his lips. He mumbled an apology.

"What’re you writing?"

“I'm not writing, I'm drawing."

"oh"

She seemed focused now, unlike a few seconds ago, when she was pushing him to have a conversation. He felt a bit blue, but once he mustered up the courage to talk to her, she was over it. After the incident last year, Travis has been more weary of how he talks with other people, though that didn’t stop the screw-ups from time to time. He now understands how to read the room.

He was already done with his food; the coffee turned out to be bitter, so he barely touched it. As he got up and put on his jacket, he heard her.

"Wait, where’re you going?"

“Uh, I finished my food; I'm going home. Why?"

“Just," she started scribbling faster on her paper without looking at him, "sit down for a few more minutes, ‘kay?"

He stood still for a few seconds before agreeing to the request. He looked around the place; everyone had left by this point. Subconsciously, he yawns. He never feels sleepy, but he could feel his eyelids getting heavier by the second. She spares him a glance, smirking.

"Don’t fall asleep on me, alright? Here—ya go, take this." She handed him her right earbud between her slender fingers, and suddenly Travis took hold of it. They were sharing earbuds.

"Just two cowboys listening to music."

"You’re a cowgirl, not a cowboy."

"Saying cowboys is much easier than saying cow enthusiasts," they laughed.

She stayed quiet for a while, then suddenly stood up with her book in hand. The earbud fell out of her ear, and her face displayed an ear-to-ear smile. He had never seen someone smile this much in this city.

"It's done!" "Here you go. She ripped a piece of paper and handed it to him. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name."

"I'm Travis, he said, looking down at the paper in his hand, absolutely stunned. She could tell he almost lost control of his face as his mouth hung open.

"Well, Travis, you might want to close your mouth, or a fly might fly in there." She was getting her boots on with a bag over her shoulder with all of her belongings in it.

Travis was flabbergasted as he looked at the drawing of himself; it was almost like someone had taken a black and white photo of him, but she barely looked at him while drawing. How did she do this? She saw him. She’d seen him. The man’s hands started to shake a bit. He composed himself and looked up at her figure; she was smiling, as she always had. Words couldn’t leave his mouth once again. Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t say the wrong thing. Don’t say the wrong thing.

"Well, if you didn’t like it, it's completely fine; don’t sweat it."

"No! No, I, uh, do like it; I'm just, uh, surprised, that’s all. Thank you." He didn’t catch her name, but she chuckled and told him. He made a mental note that she wasn’t from here; it was the first time he heard a name like

"Now it’s time for me to go, Travis. See you around, yeah?"

Yeah, he breathed.

As she walked towards the door, his eyes couldn’t stop following him, but he raised a brow once she stood dead in her tracks, turned around, and headed towards him again.

"Did you forget something?

She kissed his forehead and went away, like it was nothing. Travis wasn’t sleepy anymore; his mind was working full force, and he was only thinking of one thing: the way her lips felt on his skin.

[costons]

Egghead - The Island of the Future. | Monkey D. Luffy x Reader.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter 1

~ New Emperors ~

Tw before story starts: Inappropriate Language (Not NSFW), Spoilers for Egghead Island Arc, Possible Angst.

Previously in Wano...

—

"That's all the time we have today. While our ways might part for now...may our paths cross again someday...somewhere."

The end

—

The ship sails away from the sacred land of Wano...and onward in the direction the log pose directs."

"GYAAA!!..." The captain yelps, as Nami: The navigator tugs at his cheek irrationally as he's bound inside the cage.

"You put all our lives at risk!" You are not fit to be captain! "You can't be so stupid!" Nami screams illuminatingly, tingling with alharaca. Tugging her hair.

Strolling over, I place my hand firmly on her shoulder. Looking up at the woman, I shake my head with a delicate smile. Praying she wouldn't hit the Captain even more, knowing the damage she can do though he's made out of rubber.

"I'm Bebby sobby..." The captain said blubbery as his eyes welled up from the beating he received, batting his eyelashes as tears glossed down his cheeks.

Translation —> "I'm very sorry)"

"Hey, Nami. I have a question...what did the captain do exactly? Certainly, it wasn't that horrific, right?" Staring into her eyes, awaiting an answer as I pull out a handkerchief from my pocket, handing it to the captain who is still sobbing away in the cage he's locked in.

The navigator hears her say, "Well, (Y/N) generally enough, he decided to be a morosis! AND... and -" The navigator gets cut off, much to her dismay.

"Wa-ha-ha-ha! Well, we're all fine now! It wasn't such a big fall!" Jinbe speaks up, interrupting Nami mid-sentence. Piercing her eyes into his head as she goes berserk.

"Don't cobble him, Jinbe!" Nami shouts, engulfing herself in flames from the annoyance and frustration getting to him, leaving Jinbe to suffer.

Facing back to the captain, I notice he's calmed down. Tip toeing to the cage, not wanting to get caught up in arguments. As he knocked on the metal, he was pulled out of his yonderly state. I whispered,

"Hey, Luffy. You seem adjusted, I mean... after the Nami incident with her character insulting... perhaps Marcid? And do you need anything?" Frowning slightly, eyebrows furrowed.

Gaining his attention, he looks up a gist, jaw tensed, eyes narrow.

- - -

Luffy's POV

"Hey, Luffy. You seem adjusted, I mean... after the Nami incident with her character insulting... perhaps Marcid? And do you need anything?"

Looking around to find the voice location, and noticing (Y/N). Their faces are tense and worried. Unclenching my jaw, I smile and nod thumbs-up.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about Wano...and thank you for the handkerchief (Y/N)."

- - -

From the (Y/N) POV

Noticing Nami, I step back a notch. Her voice pierces the sky again.

"Was that supreme king Haki?!" The navigator says, huffing and puffing quarrelsome.

"Stay back boss! Never confront a raging Nami!" Jinbe and Chopper announce nervously.

"Did you guys see how the sunny handled that fall?! All that height, and just one broken yard!" Franky disembarks loudly. Looking at the Cyborg unamused.

"Yes Franky we did...because we were ON the ship." I grumbled slightly annoyed.

—

Hearing a cawing in the distance, I turn around and see the mailman. (Or Mailbird...) Extending my arm, the bird safely lands, handing over the newspaper while accidentally dropping it.

"Thank you." Replying happily, patting the bird's head. Seconds later, the bird flies to its next destination.

Crouching down, picking up papers.

"Oh, we have some bounty posters." Announced to the crew, gaining their attention. Handing the papers over to Robin for safety reasons.

"Ooh, Robin, let me see...!" Sanji, the cook of the crew, pouncing towards her with hearts in his eyes. The only noise coming from the ship is whispers from down below and Sanji with his noisy shoes clanking against the sturdy wooden floor.

"Emperor of the Sea, Strawhat Luffy...leader of the 5,600 man strawhat fleet and his ten senior officers are wanted for the following bounty..."

Ship Doctor: Tony Tony Chopper - The Cotton Candy Lover (pet)

Bounty: 1,000 Beli (an increase from 900)

"Did mine go up this time? Oh come on! Okay, technically it did..." Chopper shouted, displeased with the tiny bounty.

Navigator: Cat Burglar Nami

Bounty: 366 Million Beli

"Nine digits?! Can I collect?" Nami asks, as if she was willing to hand herself in to the marines.

Musician: Soul King Brook

Bounty: 383 Million Beli

"Yo-ho-ho-ho!" Brook laughed cheerfully at the increase in his bounty.

Shipwright: Cyborg Franky

Bounty: 394 Million Beli

"Hey! What gives? "Where am I?" Franky shouts, pointing to the bounty poster with the picture of the thousand sunny.

Sniper: God Usopp

Bounty: 500 Million Beli

"NOOOO! NO MORE! STOP THE COUNT!" Usopp shouted, wanting nothing to do with the updated bounty increase.

Surgeon: Urologist (Y/N).

Bounty: 750 Million Beli

"Hm, Not bad!" I muttered, some may say it's eesome, clapping my hands together, closing my eyes with a lucent grin.

Archaeologist: Demon Child Nico Robin

Bounty: 930 Million Beli

"Cheer up Chopper." Robin hands Chopper Cotton Candy to brighten his mood. "Woo-hoo!"

Cook: Black Leg Sanji

Bounty: 1.032 Billion Beli

Helmsman: First Son of the Sea Jinbe

Bounty: 1.1 Billion Beli

Master Swordsman: Pirate Hunter Zoro

Bounty: 1.11 Billion Beli

Having been placed 4th overall, Sanji shouts depressingly, "Why am I inferior to him...you too Jinbe?". Laying on the grassy floor, Ass in the air, fire engulfed him in a

"Are you feeling alright, Sanji? What's wrong?" Jinbe asks, worried about Cook.

"Forget him. Who cares what fourth place thinks?" Zoro interrupts. Laughing at the pissed off cook.

Who are you calling fourth place?! Don't talk back for a second!" The infuriating cook shouts, trying to prove a point...rather then admitting he's 4th place.

........

Meanwhile:

Captain: Emperor of the Sea, Strawhat Luffy

Bounty: 3 Billion Beli

"I'm sowwy. Pweez wet me out...I'm hungwy..." The Captain cried out in the cage. Snickering at the scene.

(Translation —> "I'm Sorry. Please let me out... I'm hungry...")

—

Wattpad Account - Costons

The story is also in my Wattpad acc :)

CHAPTER 2 BELOW

[perkwunos]

what I particularly like in chapter 7 is Short’s insistence that Peirce both struggled to expand the range of what could be observed and took observation itself as a particular object of investigation. Here, Short illuminatingly connects a number of Peirce’s peculiar interests which have not been brought together before. One is his 1870s experiment of deliberately training an observer to determine the time of an observation’s onset with as much precision as possible, in the context of astronomical observations which were then still to a large degree based on individual perceptions. Peirce succeeded in training a young man, over a month of practice, to perform such temporal judgment with an error margin less than 1/80 second. The next experiment, much more famous, is the aforementioned one with Jastrow on perceptual discrimination, showing larger accuracy in guesses than the test subjects themselves knew about and thus proving the existence of subliminal sensation. Short does not hesitate to include Peirce’s famous course in the tasting of Médoc red wines by a sommelier during his Paris stay in the 1870s in the same context: this was not at all for pleasure but for experiencing in other sensory modes taste and smell, the fine-grained training of perceptual distinctions—although why should pleasure and theoretical interest exclude each other?—now also involving value judgments. Finally, Peirce’s famous experiment with his Johns Hopkins logic class in 1883: making lists of “Great Men” (including some women) in the West since the Renaissance, exposing the students to short biographies of each of them, and making each student estimate the relevant greatness on a four-grade scale. Peirce analyzed the results statistically and found that there was a surprising degree of agreement in their judgments, taking that as an argument that even such information—qualitative, imprecise, and based only on a narrow empirical basis—was accessible to scientific analysis to yield stable results. Peirce knew well that his students had similar backgrounds, influencing their choices, but still he found their judgments so concurrent as to surpass even common cultural influences (this claim, of course, could not in itself be directly measured). This chapter of Short’s is an instant classic and convincingly unites a number of curious Peircean activities under the headline of inquiry into inquiry.

Frederik Stjernfelt, “An Empiricism with High Metaphysical Ambitions: On Short’s Charles Peirce and Modern Science”

[il3x]

chris would be a fucking awful tutor btw. lab rat is a significantly better tutor than chris. not teenage lab rat because at that point he's deep in his "being horribly traumatised every single day by living in the care of a serial killer and has no way to cope other than going Feral" arc but adult lab rat would be chill-ish. would probably refuse but he might see it as a compliment that you asked. chris, much like sophia hess, is going on a mental tirade about being SURROUNDED by IDIOTS and how DARE they INSULT AND DEGRADE him by INSINUATING that he is ON THEIR LEVEL. >:(. he could point out where you went wrong efficiently and illuminatingly but he's condescending so hard at you in his mind that you take psychic damage

[mindlessblabing]

The social contract is the framework of society itself. The birth of state and citizen. At its core, most relationships from families to communities and government are under the framework of protection and submission. The discourse itself is more dynamic from a birds-eye view, especially when considering applying different contextual lenses. It's a lot to discuss so before we get complicated let's start with some background.

Initially articulated by Hobbes in 1651, he believed individuals entered a societal agreement to be ruled by the sovereign to escape the state of nature. The state of nature is characterized as “Solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short.” which some might argue is how our modern society still functions. The definition of the social contract has continuously metamorphosed over time. Locke in the 1690s counters Hobbes’ initial claims stating that the state of nature itself wasn’t a “condition of complete license”. In translation, he's saying people didn't choose to give up their freedom and liberty to be protected and ruled. Instead, the social contract came to be as individuals were forced to respect each other's rights to life, liberty, and property. To make a long story short he believed that the state of nature was consensually created to not relinquish liberty but to ensure it.

The next ferocious philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau condensed and deepened the conversation. As described in the book Discourse on the Origin of Inequality he argues humans chose to leave the state of nature to protect the rights to property and peace. As it always happens in history another old white man decided to throw his hat in the ring of social discourse. Emmanuel Kant deepened the conversation by distinguishing that every rational being had both an innate right to freedom and a duty to enter into a civil condition governed by a social contract to realize and preserve that freedom.

The common thread between these philosophers is the idea of free will to leave the state of nature. White supremacy has long dominated the creation of philosophical, political, and historical accounts of society. Although the idea of a state of nature and the desire for the right to natural freedoms ring true. We all know as exemplified by the men above who have been recognized for their developments in philosophy ignore the domination of white supremacy throughout history. Charles Mills concisely states, as a political system, white supremacy can illuminatingly be theorized as based on a “contract” between whites, a Racial Contract. The social contract was only ever truly designed to uphold the liberties of the white European population. People of color never consented to be protected or governed by the state which the state does little anyway. Indigenous people never consented to violent robbery of their history, lives, lands, and culture. Those enslaved never consented to the erasure of their humanity to build a nation that continues to oppress their access to life liberty and property. Exemplifying itself further through colonization and neo-colonization of states being exploited.

In the modern day, we see the lack of freedom and liberty in the lives of all the black and brown people lost to the criminal system or police violence. We see it in the native American reservations that struggle to have access to health care, nutritious food, and better education, all while still being exploited for what land they have. We see it in Puerto Rico where United states citizens struggle to survive hurricane after hurricane with little help from the government. Who exploit it for its land and resources and deny its sovereignty. The racial contract upholds prejudice against anyone who doesn't pass the paper bag test.

To echo more of Mills’ explanation it is important to note that while discussing the racial contract it's imperative to Include the sexual contract. Nuclear roles have historically oppressed women's ability to obtain the natural rights to life liberty and property. Women have always been non-consensually under the control of the patriarchy. White men have dominated the entirety of politics, the economy, literature, and diplomacy to dissect this discourse further Kimberly Crenshaw's term intersectionality can be made to view the complexities of the social contract. Now bear with me, no one can argue the global domination of white, mainly European, influence on our modern society and how it functions. We at this point all can recognize that wealth and power have been shared among a small group of monarchs, oligarchs, politicians, companies, lobbyists, lions and tigers, bears, etc., etc. The key differences in contexts are how certain individuals have historically actually been forced to leave the “state of nature” to create the society we have today. The seats at the table have always been unequal among races and gender. Yet that inequality is complex within itself.

The Sexual Contract reinforces the tale as old as the time of men being the ones in power. But in recent history, racial discourse has been evermore prevalent in politics and academia. There were times when white women would perpetuate the suppression of the right to liberty for their gain. Black men were notoriously mistreated by the government and gained the ability to own land and vote long before white women could. To counter my argument, the roadblocks and genuine access to these rights for black men were still far worse throughout the reconstruction era and Jim Crow era. Black women being in the middle of the oppression Venn diagram endured all of that combined.

In today's society, I would dare to include a sexuality and gender contract. To paraphrase the aforementioned definitions of the social contract it can loosely be viewed as a consensual agreement between members of a community or society to promote moral action to ensure the rights to life liberty and property for all. As globalization and the emergence of technology continues to spread like wildfire, more and more of what seems to be naturalized is being challenged. Beyond racial, sexual, religious, and cultural lines gender and sexual preference have always been violently condemned. From stonings, and conversion camps, to being killed on the streets just for just how you look, queerphobia plagues our society.

Queer and specifically transgender people have been continuously denied their natural rights. Reified through unprosecuted violence internationally and domestically. Gay people weren't allowed to even be married in the united states until 2015! 7 years ago! So much for the land of the free home of the brave. The social contract is flawed in its core conception. Genuine liberty and freedom have always been delegated to a select few and reinforced. Understanding the social contract for what it was intended to serve as and its truth helps us deconstruct ideas that reinforce the idea. So although the reality of the social contract is the equivalent of being tied to a chair being told that if you don't sign it you'll lose a limb; Not all is lost and there is a lesson in all the sadness.

Despite the failures of the state to transparently and equally exemplify a social contract. Our good old friend Rousseau sheds some much-needed light and hope. To paraphrase, the state should act morally through laws dictated for the general will with the intent to join together its people to defend liberty and equality. When the state abuses its power the social contract is void, no longer motivating submission but rather encouraging rebellion. So keep fighting, keep showing up, and speak out!

[gmqazi19739]

Mai Kazbano - Bio, Top 20 Best Sindhi Folk Music

The rich classical Sindhi music is woven with the voices of many talented artists, among them Mai Kazbano stands out illuminatingly. She not only contributes to Sindhi folk music with her beautiful voice but also her role in preserving and promoting Sindhi cultural heritage. Let’s delve into the life and legacy of this amazing singer.

Best Mai Kazbano Sindhi Folk Music Download

Early Life and Background Born in Badin, a scenic district in Sindh, Mai Kazbano spent her early years immersed in the musical traditions of her homeland. Hearing folk songs and cultural ragas in her village influenced her early foray into music. The Rise to Fame Mai Cazbano’s rise to fame was not instantaneous. She began her singing career in rural mehfils in Sindh, where her unique voice and emotional delivery quickly caught the attention of local audiences These early performances are important, as they laid the foundation for her future success. Her big break came when she started performing at conventions and cultural events, which allowed her Sindhi music to reach a wider audience. Performance and popularity Her repertoire was varied and included Sindhi folk songs, Sehra, and classical songs. Mai Cazbano’s ability to blend simple genres has made her a versatile singer. Her influence shaped the sound of contemporary Sindhi music and inspired a new generation of musicians. Performances and Popularity Mai Kazbano was a beloved figure in Sindh, admired by children and adults alike. Her performances at weddings, festivals, and other social events were eagerly awaited events. Her interest was not limited to live performances; Her songs were frequently played on the radio, in public places, and private gatherings, allowing her music to reach a wider audience. Collaborating with famous poets One of the most important aspects of Mai Kazbano’s career was her collaboration with prominent Sindhi poets. She has brought to life the poetry of some of Sindh’s most celebrated literary figures, including deep Sindhi coffee and Arafana Kalam. Her presentation of these volumes of poetry added a new dimension to Sindhi literature and music, making it accessible to a wider audience. Mai Kazbano's Most Famous Songs In her extensive catalog, some songs stand out for their enduring popularity. One such song is "Hotel Wari Kha Moo Ta Pan Ghurayo Aa", which became a hit due to its innovative and catchy style. Like many other songs, the song is still loved by audiences today and is a testament to her lasting impact on Sindhi classical music. Sindhi Traditional Music Sindh has a rich musical history, characterized by genres such as wai and bats. Also known as Sindhi Kafi, Wae uses stringed instruments to create haunting rhythms. Trials, on the other hand, are slow, soulful music. The songs of Mai Cazbano often incorporated these traditional songs, helping to preserve and popularize them. Shah Jo Risalo and Sindhi Music One of the cornerstones of Sindhi songs is Shah Jo Risalo, a poem written by Hazrat Shah Abdullatif Bhitai. This collection of poems is an important part of Sindhi culture and music, with 30 suras forming the basis of many traditional songs. Much of Mai Cazbano’s music was derived from this rich source, and her composition of this piece is among her most acclaimed. Mai Kazbano's Legacy She not only entertained but educated and inspired. Her music has bridged the gap between generations and ensured that the cultural rhythms of Sindh continue to grow. Future musicians see him as a beacon of professionalism and dedication to her craft. Sufi music and cultural understanding Sufi music has a special place in Sindhi culture, and Mai Kazbano was a connoisseur. Her Sufi songs were not just songs but spiritual experiences that deeply touched the audience. Through her folk music, she played an important role in keeping alive the Sufi tradition in Sindh. Archives of Sindhi Music The preservation of Sindhi classical music is an ongoing endeavor, and Mai Kajbano's contribution in this regard is invaluable. In today’s digital age, technology has played a key role in this archive, allowing her music to reach a global audience and ensuring future generations remain inspired. Acceptance and Awards Throughout her career, Mai Kazbano has received numerous accolades and awards for her contribution to Sindhi music. Even after her death, tributes continue to be paid to him posthumously reflecting the lasting impact of her work. Conclusion Mai Kazbano’s journey as a singer is a testament to her talent, dedication, and love for Sindhi classical songs. Her contributions left an indelible mark on Sindhi culture, and her legacy continues to inspire. Through her music, she brought joy, comfort, and a sense of identity to countless listeners. FAQs 1. What types of things did Mai Cazbano do? Mai Kazbano performed a variety of music including Sindhi folk music, Sehra, classical music, and Sufi music. 2. Why is Mai Kajbano important in Sindhi music? Mai Kazbano is important for her role in preserving and promoting Sindhi music, her collaboration with famous poets, and her influence on future generations of musicians 3. How did Mai Cazbano start her music career? Mai Kazbano made her musical debut by performing at rural mehfils in Sindh, where her unique voice and emotional delivery gained immediate attention. 4. What are some of Mai Cazbano’s most famous songs? Her popular songs include "Hotel Wari Kha Moo Ta Pan Ghuryo Aa" and various translations of Sindhi coffee and Arfana Kalam. Read the full article

[thecondemnedangelgabriel]

V

It is exceptionally interesting to Me

What the Angel has been Communicating

About My Father in This Life: Anthony Fletcher

Anthony Fletcher is Lucius Archer and he Died in 2004

20 Years Ago

And Sarah Tregonning who has been a Very Influential Karmic Soul

Challenging My Life with Greatest Unjustice since 2012

Who never knew that person in Life

But who was always Unusually Interested in his Story

And Hacked all of his Records, Very Thoroughly, YEARS AGO

Because I had not hidden the fact he had been in Mental Hospitals

Since I Strongly Believe And KNOW

That Secrecies and Shame Harm The Vulnerable

O

This is an Arena of Human Vulnerability and Misery

That Interests Tregonning

Though Tregonning doesn't Go Into Hospital herself or Care

For Those That Do

O O

V

Public Records do not really speak of a person, Stalkers...

And the Biographer Louis Barfe who also Hacks Sara Annwyl...

With the Serial Killer Tregonning...

Records!

They bring Informations about the State and Social Management

Of a Life

But they do not SPK very illuminatingly to Strange Readers

Of who a Person Was

Not Well At All

O

[heartate]

@umbane sent : "Kiss me until I'm sick of it."

shadows curl around their limbs where light fell to darkness as the sun sets beyond the horizon in a bleeding mural of blood orange and vibrant purple haze. a reckless smile curls upon the corners of ahri's mouth, all teeth when she looks deep into kayn's eyes, staring at the mirrored flames of hungering desire that yearn to consume her whole; she still doesn't know if they belong to him, or if they are a reflection of what dances bright in her own. the commanding note clinging to his voice is intoxicating. closing her eyes, she draws in a deep breath and drinks in the palpable aura emanating from the depths of kayn's soul, and she feels as though she could lose herself and every modicum of sense of faux modesty she wears beneath the alluring shroud of mystery wrapped around her limbs.

there is no need for that with kayn. they have seen the raw filaments of each other's souls, the very threads of their fragile hearts, each stitch that keeps the chambers bound and every vein in place. ahri has taken thread to needle upon his heart more times than she could count, learned how to heal the broken ribs, clean the cuts on his hands, and bandage wounds with delicate caution and care. now, glistening gold veins rest within the porcelain's frail cracks, sealed, but not fixed. ahri thinks there's a certain beauty in the mending wounds of what was once broken, though. each crack whispered of its strength, the story of what his heart endured, and that in spite of it all, kayn still found a way to allow her refuge inside its protective cage.

ahri's clawed hand slides up kayn's chest, fingers splayed out until the soft edges of her fingertips press gently against his skin and her knuckles curl, pushing her palm up into an arch. the tips of her nails prod lightly into him, but she's quick to move her hand to cup his face once she's straddling his waist and staring down into his eyes, drinking herself full of the breathtaking fire burning with the force the the sun staring right back at her.

even a million years would never be enough to bask in the resplendent, illuminatingly glorious light and its rapturous warmth of what it felt like to be loved by him.

" until you're sick of it? " ahri repeats, sending her long cascade of ink - black hair spilling over her shoulders with a sideways tilt of her head. her body is pressed even closer against him now, chest to chest, while her other hand comes to rest on kayn's other cheek. thumbs run along the edges of his jaw as her eyes run along the expanse of his face, over every carefully sculpted feature. a corner of her mouth twists up crookedly in tender admiration and adoration, and her chest swells with a flooding bloom of warmth.

she has never needed coaxing, and he hardly had to ask; ahri would kiss him for as long as they both held breath, and even into the beyond when their souls outlived the shells of their fragile flesh and brittle bones.

leaning in close, she presses her forehead to kayn's. the tips of their noses brush together, and she holds him like this for just a beat longer. for a moment, something lingered on the tip of her tongue, but it's unimportant now, in their solitary realm between shadow and dusk consumed by spring flowers and burning mahogany and bright citrus in her skin. her heartbeat is a roar of deafening thunder, and ahri is sure that kayn could hear it. fingers curling against his face, she grins at last, wild and fox - like and bleeding mischief, and dives in to press her plush, full lips against kayn's with hungering passion. she's sitting up only just a touch higher and her hips roll playfully into his while she slips a hand up to thread her fingers through his hair.

kiss me until i'm sick of it.

and so she would, until kayn found that, perhaps, he wanted a change of pace, a fiercer perspective, and a hunger for something more. until then, ahri is blissfully content to keep their mouths busy.

[postersdecinema]

Plunder Road

(Estrada de Pilhagem)

EUA, 1957

Hubert Cornfield

7/10

Um Plano Muito Pouco Perfeito

Plunder Road é um filme interessante embora não plenamente conseguido.

Conta a história de um fantástico assalto a um comboio, com um carregamento de ouro, minuciosa e inteligentemente planeado, mas fatalmente destinado ao insucesso, como, muito esclarecedoramente, afirma um dos personagens secundários.

A questão é que o suposto destino adverso se manifesta através de erros grosseiros e não de uma hipotética má sorte, ou sequer de um eficaz controlo policial.

Os aventureiros acabam vítimas da sua própria estupidez, o que contraria claramente a premissa inicial do filme, um plano perfeito, destruído apenas por imprevistos imponderáveis.

Um filme noir que vive sobretudo da tensão e não tanto de um bom argumento, pois este mostra-se, no essencial, muito mais frágil do que promete.

A Very Less Perfect Plan

Plunder Road is an interesting film, although not fully achieved.

It tells the story of a fantastic robbery on a train, with a shipment of gold, meticulously and intelligently planned, but fatally destined to failure, as, very illuminatingly, states one of the secondary characters.

The point is that the supposed adverse fate manifests itself through gross errors and not hypothetical bad luck, or even effective police control.

The adventurers end up victims of their own stupidity, which clearly contradicts the film's initial premise, a perfect plan, destroyed only by imponderable unforeseen events.

A noir film that thrives above all on tension and not so much on a good script, as this proves to be, essentially, much more fragile than it promises.

[acotars]

if you’re a romance reader of any kind i am once again begging you to read the flatshare by beth o’leary

[leviathanspain]

i love you much too much

druig x fem!eternal!reader

synopsis: reader cant handle druig’s dismissal any longer, very angsty proceed with heartbreak caution

part one

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“that’s a load of bullshit.” druig yelled at you. you could feel the waves of anger rolling off of him.

“you bother me for days, begging me to listen to you and when i finally do, you can’t come up with a better than your pathetic excuse? who are you to even dare try that? you’re not my y/n.” his words were like venom. tone was hateful. he wasn’t hurt anymore, he wanted to hurt you now.

you felt helpless to his verbal attack. the others had been pushed away from listening to the two of you argue. you didn’t need their judgement now as you pleaded with druig.

“but i love you!” you cried, your hair was petrified with the water of the river, slick backed to show your illuminatingly sad features as you pleaded with druig.

druig couldn’t help but feel cruel in this moment. the woman he had so adored throughout the many centuries on this earth, now begging at his feet.

“y/n..” he muttered through your sobs, “y/n” again, but you didn’t hear him. “y/n!” he had held back his tongue the entire time but he had yelled at you now. really yelled, at you.

you snapped out of your daze and now just stared straight ahead. druigs eyes went gold with power as you fell right onto your knees. your consciousness fell back into the passenger seat as druig took control of you.

he stood up from his seat on his bed and walked over to you, hand caressing your face as he closed his eyes. “this is the only way i can get you to calm down..”

druig continued, his face falling into his hands, “i made mistakes too. i wasn’t being very truthful to you about a situation that occurred right before you left me. i swore i’d never do that to you, but i could feel the guilt eating at me as i took my anger out on you for you leaving me when i knew i was too much of a coward to do it myself.”

his eyes faded back to normal and you snapped back into your body. eyes watering, you saw him sigh, “you..you cheated on me?” you whispered in disbelief.

druig looked up and he nodded very slowly. you stood up in anger, terror painted on your face as you really grasped the whole situation.

“you cheated on me and you did the second thing, you swore you’d never do.”

druig gulped, feeling the stirring of the river nearby. water splashed on the side of his house and he raised a hand, “please, calm down y/n.”

he was too late, your voice multipled into multiple voices, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you stood off the ground, water crashing through his window, flooding the room in an instant. you gulped, sadly speaking, “you used your powers on me..” you realized.

your anger preserved the sadness and druig was suddenly drowning in the river water.

“and i felt guilty for what i did and i never cheated on you!” you cried, druig feeling the water filling his lungs up.

“y/n! stop! stop this please!” you heard thena’s voice behind you.

“im going to kill him!” your multiple voices replied, your body slumping sideways as your tried to advance onto druig.

suddenly you were pulled to the ground, your body thumping as gilgamesh held you down.

he pleaded with you as he held you by the wrists, “don’t be like him. don’t do this, we need you, thena needs you.”

you breathed, the water releasing druig as he coughed, water exiting his body as he bent over on the ground. his house had been washed away to bits, half of the commune taken away as well.

you panted, the sunny sky suddenly getting darker as you passed out.

“she’s uncontrollable. shes stronger than all of us combined and we still keep her around?” a voice echoed as your eyes fluttered open. ikaris quieted as he saw you wake up. you took one look at him and he turned away sharply on his heel.

thena rushed to your side and kissed your cheek, “im so glad you’re alright.” she leaned into you and whispered, “don’t listen to ikaris, he feels threatened.”

you nodded, smiling sheepishly at her and gilga, who was looking at you with deep concern.

you wanted to swallow the bile that came up your throat when you thought of him.

“where is he?” you asked thena and she motioned over to the closed door to another room.

“he’ll be alright. but you really did a number on him.” sersi had suddenly appeared and she looked at you, “he’s afraid. of you, but he’s afraid he’s lost you completely.”

you sighed, “god, why are relationships so complicated..”

you shook your head, standing up out of the bed, “im leaving. i left once already, it’ll do everyone good to do it again.”

you heard a whisper in your head, “don’t leave.” druig echoed into your head. you curved your lip in anger and walked to the other door, to the protests of those behind you, you stalked into the room to find druig laid up into a bed, his eyes sullen into his pale skin.

“shut the fuck up. the audacity to even think id listen to you after that? you’re insane, druig. you’re literally insane.” you spat, “i feel sorry i didn’t kill you, it would’ve made you matter more.” you mocked his venomous tone, druig’s eyes falling to the ground in shame.

you saw sersi and thena pour into the room and your eyes teared up.

“im going now. please don’t look for me, i won’t save you from the treacherous waters if you do..” you warned, ripping the door open, the hinges squeaking at your strength.

sersi ran outside and saw you as you dove into the water, disappearing under her reflection.

[covered-with-ink]

It’s me, your sexiest mutual

For the writing thing!! Mikavanni!! And a few words to set the scene out— car accident, hospital, and the whole “waking up from a coma” kinda jazz… with fluff ofc :)) MWA HAVE A NICE DAYYY/NIGHT

Hello there, my dearest, I already told you this, but this was a delight to write though I was nervous about it first. It's fluffy at the end, I promise, but until you get there...well, enjoy some hurt/comfort!

For those two weeks, feverish disbelief numbed Stephen's mind like poison.  

Mikami was the one who stepped off the sidewalk too early. 

"You may visit him in the hospital room, sir."

It all sounded so wrong, he couldn't help but laugh when the news got to him. He took a taxi on the way there, and gazed out of the window, into the hot summer day, with a sun that not caressed, but burned the ground beneath, with birds singing as loud as an orchestra. It made it all sound like a stupid lie.

But in the hospital bed, covered with a white blanket, lay Mikami, with closed eyes and an illuminatingly pale face.

Stephen formed his hand into a fist until his nails dug into his palm, as tears filled up his eyes. 

While everything screamed life around him, Mikami was fighting to keep his. And this time, Stephen had no way of helping. 

("It will all get better, don't worry.")

*

He never cared about routine as much as Mikami did, but it slowly became mandatory as the first day turned into the second and the other didn't wake up. 

He might go mad otherwise.

Stephen never said a word during the visitor's hours, but he thought out every sentence he would say to him. He constructed it so carefully, so he didn't have to think about how he was a coward to say anything out loud. Hand in hand, he still tried praying movement into Mikami's limbs every day.

("You know I'm here, right?")

*

The hospital room's white lights got colder and colder as the days passed. This time, Mikami's hair was his newfound obsession, flattened out on the small pillow, it surrounded his head like a halo. In the course of the ten days, the weather turned gloomy outside. 

"What a coincidence," the voice was so faint, it could have been the wind, but Stephen wasn't the type to believe this. Though Mikami's eyes stayed closed, his mind was very much aware of what happened to him. And this was enough.

Stephen bowed his head to kiss his hand, and as he left, he received a reassuring smile from the doctors. 

("Coincidence or not, I will keep you safe.")

*

He was in the hallway when one of the nurses called out for his name. When he ran into the room, Mikami was awake, surrounded by doctors, he pulled himself into a sitting position. Stephen's heartbeat sped up as he felt the numb, black (but oh God, so familiar) eyes scan him. He sat down at his side when everyone else left and didn't say a word.

"Does he even remember me?" it rushed through his mind for a moment. It was only when the other lifted his hand to his mouth, cold lips pressing onto Stephen's skin. 

"I don't know how to thank you. It was so lonely before you came," Mikami whispered and lay his forehead onto his wrist. 

"I just couldn't have done anything else," he answered, still hesitant to pull closer, but Mikami clung to his hands. 

"Hug me. You feel more familiar than anything else now."

They kissed frequently in private, hugs were rare between them, but Stephen instantly obeyed. His hands stroked the soft fabric of the hospital gown, Mikami was fragile and skinny beneath the clothes, but he was careful.

Stephen couldn't stop the tears from streaming down his face, soaking the gown as they hugged. Mikami pulled away with a concerned look on his face, and he smiled.

("I'm just lucky to be here with you.")

~~~

I hope you guys enjoyed reading this, you can still leave me a request if you wish, though I have a lot to work on...

[unpopularwiththepopulace]

Michael Riedel vs Bernadette Peters – the Broadway Battle of 2003 and beyond

My previous piece gives a fairly comprehensive look at Bernadette and Gypsy through the ages; though there is at least one aspect of the 2003 revival that warrants further discussion:

Namely, Michael Riedel.

Today’s essay question then: “Riedel – gossip columnist extraordinaire, the “Butcher of Broadway”, spited male vindictive over not getting a lunch date with Bernadette Peters, or puppet-like mouthpiece of theatre’s shadowed elite? Discuss.”

It’s matter retrievable in print, or even kept alive in apocryphal memory throughout the theatre community to this day that Riedel was responsible for a campaign of unrelenting and caustic defamation against Bernadette as Rose in Gypsy around the 2003 season.

While “tabloids may [have been] sniping and the Internet chat rooms chirping”, when looking back at the minutiae, none were more vocal, prolific or influential in colouring early judgment than the “chief vulture [of] Mr. Riedel, who had written a string of vitriolic columns in which he said from the start that Ms. Peters was miscast”.

He continued to find other complaints and regularly attack her in print over an extended period of time.

Why? We’ll get there. There are a few theories to suggest. Firstly, how and what.

Primary to establish is that it perhaps would be foolish to expect anything else of Riedel.

Also an author and radio and TV show host, Riedel is best known as the “vituperative and compulsively readable” theatre columnist at The New York Post.

He’s a man who thrives on controversy, decrying: “Gossip is life!”

The man who says, “I’m a wimp when it comes to physical violence, but give me a keyboard and I’ll kill ya.”

“Inflicting pain, for him, is a jokey thing. ‘Michael has this cruel streak and a lack of empathy,’ says Susan Haskins, his close friend and co-host.”

And inflicting pain is what he did with Bernadette, in a saga that has become one of the most talked about and enduring moments of his career.

From the beginning, then.

Riedel started work at The Post in 1998.

His first words on Bernadette? “Oddly miscast in the Ethel Merman role,” in August of that year on Annie Get Your Gun. It was a sentiment he would carry across to his second mention six months later (“a seemingly odd choice to play the robust Annie Oakley”), and also across to the heart of his vitriolic coverage on her next Merman role in Gypsy.

 Negative coverage on Bernadette in Gypsy started in August 2002 when Riedel discussed the search for trying to find a new American producer for the show. It had initially been reported in late 2000 that a Gypsy revival with Bernadette was planned for London, before it was to transfer to Broadway. To begin with, Arthur Laurents was “eager to do Gypsy in London because it hadn't been seen in the West End since 1973”, and he “wanted to repeat [the] dreamlike triumph” he said Angela Lansbury’s production had been. But economic matters prevented this original plan, leaving the team looking for new producers in the US. Riedel suggested that Fran and Barry Wiessler step up as, “after all, they managed to sell the hell out of "Annie Get Your Gun," in which Peters…was also woefully miscast.”

He also quipped: “Industry joke: "Bernadette Peters in 'Gypsy'? Isn't she a little old to be playing Baby June?”, calling her “cutesy Peters” and again a “kewpie doll”.

Bernadette here seen side by side with the actual Baby June of the 2003 production – Kate Reinders.

Other publications to this point had discussed her “unusual” casting. Which was fairly self-evident. In contrast to being a surprising revelation that Bernadette Peters was not, in fact, Ethel Merman, this had been the intention from the start. Librettist Arthur “Laurents – whose idea it was to hire her – [said] going against type is exactly the point,” and Sam Mendes, as director, qualified “the tradition of battle axes in that role has been explored”.

It was Riedel who was the first to shift the focus from the obvious point that she was ‘differently cast’, to instead attach the negative prefix and intone that she was actually ‘MIS’ cast. According to him then, she was unsuitable, and would be unable to “carry the show, dramatically or vocally”. All before she had so much as sung a note or donned a stitch of her costume.

So no, it wasn’t then “the perception, widely held within the theater industry,” as he presented it, “that Peters is woefully miscast as Mama Rose”.

It was Riedel’s perception. And he took it, and ran with it, along with whatever else he could throw into the mix to drag both her and the show down for the next two years.

 As to another indication of how one single columnist can influence opinion and warp wider perception, just look to Riedel’s assessment of the show’s first preview. It is typically known as Riedel’s forte to “[break] with Broadway convention, [where] he attends the first night of previews, and reports on the problems…before the critics have their say”. This gives him “clout” by way of mining “terrain that goes relatively uncovered elsewhere”, and it means subsequent journals are frequently looking to him from whom to take their lead – and quotes.

At Gypsy’s opening preview then, he reported visions of “Arthur Laurents [charging] up the aisle…on fire”, loudly and vocally expressing his dissatisfaction with the show as he then “read Fox [a producer] the riot act”. Despite the fact that this was “not true, according to Laurents,” the damage was already done, with the sentiment of trouble and tension being subsequently reprinted and distributed out to the public across many a regional paper.

News travels fast, bad news travels faster.

 And news can be created at an ample rate, when in possession of one’s own regular periodical column. This recurring domain allowed plentiful opportunity for attack on Bernadette and Gypsy, and Riedel “began devoting nearly every column to the subject,” which amounted to weekly or even more frequent references.

As the show progressed beyond its first preview, Riedel brought in the next aspects of his smear-campaign – assailing Bernadette for missing performances through illness and accusing Ben Brantley, who reviewed the show positively in The New York Times, of unfair favouritism and “hyperbolic spin”.

The issue is not that Bernadette was not in fact ill or missing performances. She was. She had a diagnosis at first of “a cold and vocal strain”, that then progressed more seriously to a “respiratory infection” the following week, and was “told by her doctors that she needs to rest”. So rest she did.

The issue is the way in which Riedel depicted the situation and her absences via hyperbole and “insinuating she was shirking” responsibility. He went further than continual, repeated mentions and cruel article titles like “wilted Rose”, or “sick Rose losing bloom”, or “beloved but - ahem-cough-cough-ahem - vocally challenged and miscast star”. He went as far as the sensationalist and degrading action of putting “Peters' face on the side of a milk carton, the kind of advertisement typically used to recover lost children,” and asking readers to look out for “bee-stung lips, [a] high-pitched voice, [and a] kewpie doll figure”, who “may be clutching a box of tissues and a love letter from Ben Brantley”.

It was quantified in May of 2003 after the show had officially opened, that “out of the 39 performances "Gypsy" has played so far, [Bernadette] has missed six – an absence rate of 15 percent.”

As an interesting comparison, it was reported in The Times in February 2002 that “‘The Producers' stars Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick have performed together only eight times in last 43 performances due to scheduling problems and health concerns,” – an absence rate of 81%.

Did Riedel have anything nearly as ardent to say about the main male stars of the previous season’s hit missing such a rate of performances? Of course not.

 Riedel arguably has a disproportionate rate for criticising female divas.

One need only heed his recommendations that certain women check into his illuminatingly named “Rosie's Rest Home for Broadway Divas.” Divos need not apply.

Not that he was unaware of this.

In 2004, Riedel would jovially lay out that “Liz Smith and I have developed a nice tag-team act: I bash fragile Broadway leading ladies who miss performances, and she rides to their rescue.”

Donna Murphy was the recipient of what he that year dubbed his “BERNADETTE PETERS ATTENDANCE AWARD”, when she began missing performances in “Wonderful Town”, due to “severe back and neck injuries and a series of colds and sinus infections”.

This speaks to his remarkably cavalier and joyful attitude with which he tears down shows and performers. “The more Mr. Riedel's work upsets people, the more he enjoys it.”

He knows he yields influence – it was recognised he had “eclipsed Ben Brantley as the single most discussed element in marketing meetings for Broadway shows” – and he delights in his capacity to lead shows to premature demises through his poison-tipped quill yielding.

When it was reported Gypsy would be closing earlier than had been planned, he made mention of “hop[ping] around on [its] grave” and debonairly applauding himself, “I suppose I can take some credit for bringing it down”.

 His premonition from the previous year’s Tony’s ceremony was both ominous and prescient, when he predicted the show’s failure to win any awards “could spell trouble at the box office”. He was right. It did. The 8.5 million dollar revival closed months before anticipated and failed to return a profit.

Multiple factors can be attributed to Gypsy’s poor success at the Tony’s, but it’s clear to say Riedel’s continual bashing leading up to the fated night throughout the voting period certainly didn’t help matters.

His suggestions to do with Bernadette’s performances were not helpful either.

After alleging Laurents as the director of the 1991 revival “practically beat a performance out of” Tyne Daly when she was struggling with the role, he proffers that to improve Bernadette’s success, “it may be time for [Laurents] to take up the switch and thrash one out of Peters”.

Great.

It was irresponsible and unrelenting commentary that did not go unnoticed.

His “ruthless heckling of beloved Broadway star Ms. Peters” was deemed in print “his most egregious stunt so far”.

Vividly, in person, Riedel was accosted at a party one night by Floria Lasky, the venerable showbiz lawyer, who “grab[bed] Riedel’s tie and jerk[ed] it, nooselike, scolding, ‘It was unfair, what you did to Bernadette’”.

Moreover, the wide-reaching influential hold Riedel occupied over the environment surrounding Gypsy was tangible in the fact his words spread beyond just average readers, and even unusually “started seeping into the reviews of New York's top critics”. Riedel himself, as the “chief vulture”, was indeed what Ben Brantley was referring to in his own New York Times review by stating how the production was “shadowed by vultures predicting disaster”.

Even more substantially, the “whole Peters-Riedel-Brantley episode” became its own enduring cultural reference – being converted into its very own “satiric cabaret piece, ‘Bernadette and the Butcher of Broadway’”. All three parties were featured, with Riedel characterised as the butcher, and it played Off-Broadway later in 2003 “to positive notices”.

 But penitent for his sins and begging for absolution Riedel was not. “Riedel saw nothing but a great story and a great time,” and for many years after, he would continue to hark back to the matter in self-referential (almost reverential) and flippant ways.

In 2008 as Patti LuPone won her Tony for her turn as Rose in the subsequent revival, Riedel couldn’t help but jibe, “Not to rip open an old wound, but I'd love to know if Bernadette Peters was watching”. (He neglects also to mention that “Mendes’s Gypsy was seen by 100,000 more people than saw Laurents’s and grossed $6 million more”.)

More jibes are to be found in 2012 as he reported on the auction after Arthur Laurents’ funeral, or even as recently in 2019, as he asked, “Remember the outcry that greeted Sam Mendes’ Brechtian “Gypsy,” with Bernadette Peters, in 2003?”

As with in 2004 where he points to the “pack of jackals who have been snarling” about Bernadette’s failures, this brings up the canny knack Riedel has of offloading his views to bigger and detached third party sources – thus absolving himself of personal centrality, and thus culpability.

If there was an outcry, HE was its loudest contributor. If there were snarling jackals, HE was their leader.

Maybe Riedel’s third person detached approach to referencing matters was intended to be a humorous stylistic quirk for those in the know. Or maybe it was his way of expressing some inner turmoil over the event.

In some rare display of morality and emotional authenticity, Riedel would at one point admit “I find it kind of sad and pathetic that the high point of my life supposedly has been about beating up on Bernadette Peters”.

Fortunately for him then, a degree of absolution was eventually achieved in 2018, where Riedel visited Bernadette at her opening night in Hello Dolly in 2018, with the intention of ending their “15-year feud”. He “got down on one knee at Sardi’s and extended his hand,” with Bernadette reportedly yelling “Take a picture!” while he held his deferential and obsequious position on the floor.

So if eventually this “feud” has some kind of circular resolution and Riedel was glad it was over, why on earth did it begin in the first place?

One notion is that it was simply another day on the job. Riedel is a man who sees Broadway as “a game for rich people”. Positioned as an “an industry that brought in $720.9 million in the 2002-2003 season”, it is “not a fragile business”, he remarked. As such, he “[could not] fathom the point of donning kid gloves” in covering it, and reasoned the business as a whole was robust enough to weather a few hard knocks. “Thus, Riedel can coolly view Bernadette Peters as fair game, as opposed to, say, a national treasure”.

More to the point, he was a man in search of words. During the season in question, Riedel was “one of just three New York newspaper columnists covering the stage” – a “throwback to a bygone era when…Broadway gossipmeisters…such as Walter Winchell and Dorothy Kilgallen ruled”. Now at the time, as the “last of a great tabloid tradition”, Riedel presided over not just one but two columns a week at The Post. As a result, he was in need of content. “One of the reasons I've become more opinionated is I just have more space to fill,” he admitted. Robert Simonson hypothesises in his book ‘On Broadway Men, Still Wear Hats’ that Riedel may have consequently picked “the thrashing of Bernadette” as his main target simply because “it was a slow news cycle”. Options for ‘titillating’ and durable content were scarce elsewhere that season.

And after all, if Riedel would later cite Bernadette in an article concerning the Top 10 Powerhouses of Broadway in 2004, saying even despite a few knocks or bad shows, “she’ll bounce back” – surely there was no real damage done.

If her career wouldn’t be toppled by his continual public defamation and haranguing, what was the harm?

Feelings? Who cares about feelings or Bernadette’s extremely complex and personal history with the show stretching back to when she was a teenager.

It was just part of the territory, there was nothing personal in it.

 Or was there?

Maybe there was something personal in Riedel’s campaign after all.

He makes a curious comment while discussing ‘A Raisin in the Sun’ in 2004. The then incoming star of the show, rapper P. Diddy, had invited Riedel to dinner, and he makes judgement that this was “a smart p.r. move”. Then he ponders, “you do have to wonder: If Bernadette Peters had broken bread with me this time last year, would her chorus boys have to be out there now working the TKTS line to keep "Gypsy" afloat?”

Might he be going as far to suggest that if Bernadette had indulged him in a meal, her show might not have suffered so, by way of him being more inclined to cover it with greater lenience?

It may seem that way, at least in considering how Riedel reviewed P. Diddy’s performance thus after their dinner: “Riedel pronounced himself impressed. ‘He could have forgotten his lines or had to be carried offstage. He didn’t do anything terrible, he didn’t do anything astonishing.’”

Seemingly all the rapper had to do was remember some words and remain physically onstage, and he sails through scot-free. That’s a rather different outcome, one could say, to being absolutely eviscerated for what became a Tony nominated effort at one of the appreciably hardest and most demanding musical theatre roles in existence.

Though perhaps it’s hard to tell if that was really his insinuation from just one isolated comment pertaining to lunch.

This argument might be fine, if it WAS the only isolated comment pertaining to wanting Bernadette to have lunch with him. But it isn’t. Riedel continues to make a further two references over protracted periods of time to the fact Bernadette hasn’t dined with him.

One begins to get the sense of him feeling desiring of or somewhat entitled to such a private lunch with the lady he’s verbally decimated for years, and a sense of bitter rejection that he hasn’t been granted one.

“If Tonya Pinkins doesn't win the Tony Award this year, I'll buy Bernadette Peters lunch,” he simpered, and later, “I invite Bernadette to be my guest for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing. She can reach me at The Post anytime she's hungry”.

The embittered columnist in this light takes on now the marred tinge of a small boy in the playground who doesn’t get to hold the hand of the girl he wants in front of his friends, so spends the next three years pushing her over in the sandpit in revenge.

Moreover, the last statement makes undeniable comment on Bernadette’s troubled relationship with food, body image and public eating.

So now not only so far has he insulted and mocked her physical appearance and played into all the usual trite shots calling her a “kewpie doll”; suggested Arthur Laurents violently hit her in order to elicit a better performance; continually publicly harassed her regarding a show that strikes close to the nerve with deep personal and psychological resonances due to her mother and childhood; but now he’s going for the low-blows of ridiculing her over her eating habits.

Flawless behaviour.

 Maybe it’s far-fetched to suggest a man would have such a fragile ego to run a multi-year public defamation campaign after so little as not getting his hypothesised fantasy of a personal lunch date. But then again, this was the man who “left Johns Hopkins University after his first year because of a broken heart.” (“I was in love with her; she wasn't in love with me,” he said.)

And also the man described as “an insomniac who pops the occasional Ambien,” living in a “small one-bedroom” that is “single-guy sloppy”, who has “been living alone since a four-year romance ended in 1996”.

The man whose own best friend called “cruel” and with a “lack of empathy”.

The man whose own sister answered that “well, yes,” he’s always been mean; and after being picked on as a kid for “being the small guy and the intellectual”, he grew dependent on using “his verbal ability to beat someone” and put himself in positions of defensive impenetrability.

See, writing Riedel-esque, vindictive and provocative conjecture is no especially challenging or cerebral task.

Riedel may well see his approach to ‘journalism’ or reporting as “all fun and games”.

But I for one am not laughing.

 One final aspect to address when considering Riedel’s reasoning for the depth of his coverage on Bernadette demands attention of how he gets his information. His own personal opinions and motivations aside, crucially he depends on insider providers for insider details. Perhaps somewhat alarmingly then, “leading Broadway producers themselves are among his sources”.

“Half of Broadway hates him. The other half leaks to him”, John Heilpern titled his 2012 Vanity Fair profile on Riedel.

As such, in frequently taking his lead from “theater folk, usually with an ax to grind”, Riedel acts as the mouthpiece to bring secretive backstage reports out front. High-up, influential characters are thus able to funnel their agendas into public view, while keeping their identities hidden.

Notably, it was raised in the above article that Riedel’s “merciless running story” regarding Bernadette in Gypsy “was fed by none other than its renowned librettist, Arthur Laurents—or, more precisely, by Laurents's lover”.

Contrary to the smiley picture below between members of the show’s creative team and it’s beloved star, it was no secret that Laurents did not like Mendes’ 2003 revival. Laurents told Riedel that “Sam did a terrible disservice to Bernadette and the play, and I wanted a Gypsy seen in New York that was good… You have to have musical theater in your bones, and Sam doesn't”. In fact, Laurents admitted the only reason his 2009 book ‘Mainly on Directing’ came into existence was because of how much he had to criticise about the show – it grew out of the extensive set of notes he gave Mendes.

Additionally, it was no secret that Laurents’ lover, Tom Hatcher, demonstrated both a desire and capacity to influence Arthur’s productions. As well as being the driving force for the 2009 Spanish-speaking reworking of West Side Story, Hatcher had intense investment in Gypsy specifically. Patti LuPone writes in her memoir, “From his deathbed, Tom had told Arthur, ‘You have to do Gypsy, and you have to do it with Patti’. It was one of his dying wishes”. Laurents himself, in corroboration of this, explained Tom’s reasoning – “he didn't want the Sam Mendes production to be New York's last memory of Gypsy”.

The allegation in Heilpern’s profile might be hard to prove from an outsider perspective. But given that neither were happy with Mendes’ production and both actively took steps to ensuring it would be superseded in memory, it is not completely implausible.

 Overarchingly, as much as Riedel’s writing may benefit FROM insider sources, it is said he does not write in benefit OF them. For instance, although friends with Scott Rudin in 2004, an animated (nay threatening) warning from Mr Rudin asking Riedel to “back off” from “slamming” his show, Caroline or Change, seemingly “had no impact”.

That’s not to cite total impartiality or exemption from personal connections and higher up influences colouring his reports of shows. Theatre publicist John Barlow would describe that sometimes “if you ask Michael to kill [one of his pieces], he will, if it’s someone with whom he does business”.

But it would be remiss not to mention that his influences and sources stretch beyond just the big wigs. Amongst his other informants too are the more lowly, overlooked folk like “the stagehands, the ushers, chorus kids, house managers, and press agents… the guys who build sets in the Bronx”. Basically, for anyone who’ll talk, Riedel will listen.

“Michael Riedel doesn't work for the producers or the publicists; he works for the reader,” one publicist said. “Sometimes we're glad of that, sometimes we're not-but at the end of the day, that's the reality.”

Sometimes he’s nice, sometimes he’s not – but the world goes round.

Through all that’s been explored, it should be stated how painful and injurious it must be for individual performers or shows to fall upon the unmitigated, maiming force of being on the wrong side of Riedel’s favour. The way he approached coverage on Bernadette is deplorable from an emotional and personal standpoint. Some would argue that it was too far and crossed a line and was most definitely unfair. Others would say it was justified. It’s hard not to sound petulant as the former, or heartless as the latter.

While his actions may indeed be abrasively wounding in isolated (often plentiful) cases, it’s unreasonable to say Riedel’s intentions would be to cripple the Broadway industry as a whole. There are those who purport that Riedel in fact “keeps Broadway alive with his controversies”. His words may not always be ‘nice’ but it’s difficult to argue they're not engaging.

Many are quick to criticize or react impassionedly to him and his columns; but few are quick to stop reading them. And Riedel “knows that the most important thing is being well read”.

Hence it is understandable why Riedel is appraised as “the columnist Broadway loves to hate”. Through his enthralling and stimulating bag of linguistic and dramatic tricks, Riedel knows how to keep the readers coming back. “He’s lively, and he makes the theater seem like an interesting place,” one producer did reason.

“There are times when no one's going to care about Broadway if you don't have a gossip angle that focuses on the backstage drama,” opined George Rush, the Daily News gossip columnist who was once Riedel's boss.

Perhaps it is logically and principally then, if somewhat cynically, a matter of believing “it's just business” and knowing how to “play the game”.

As Riedel himself would rationalise, “It’s all an act. You gotta have a gimmick, as they say in Gypsy.”

It may not be pleasant, but in a world increasingly dependent on sensationalistic and clickbait-driven engagement, it’s probably not going to change any time soon.

 Well then, if he can live with the toll of the position of moral tumult his column puts him in, so be it.

That he described his mind as being “constantly on the next deadline”, saying “I always think about the column”, and likening writing it to “standing under a windmill”, where “you dodge one blade, but there's always another one coming right behind it”, may be some indication that he can't. At least not wholly easily.

I’ll leave that to him to figure out. Off the record.

[tvdsure]

Don’t jump to conclusions

pairing: eren jaeger x fem!reader, armin Arlert x fem!reader

genre: modern au, fluff and a bit of angst if you look hard enough

word count: 5.7k+

warnings: non

summary: eren has a tour so he’s leaving for three months, you’re absolutely broken but that feeling fades when armin comes over to stay at your place; however, eren isn’t too okay with that idea.

The wind advances through my hair, the jet black locks flowing loosely. It felt magical. However, nothing good ever lasts, they say, and they're right. Eren is leaving. He’s got a huge offer in England to work for this huge band, he's really exhilarated about it and couldn't pass it off, not to mention that it was only a global tour; nonetheless, i'll miss him drastically. 

He reminded me constantly that it’s only three months and that he'll be back in the blink of an eye. I know it won't be like that though, nothing will be like that. I’ve always done everything with him, even before we got together he, armin, mikasa, annie and I were always hanging out. Me and eren were always more than childhood friends though, we both knew that, he took me on our first date when we were 14. I remember  it just like it was yesterday, him anxiously fidgeting as if I would reject him. That date was the first of many.

“Baby,” he starts as he lifts his hand from my thigh and to my hand that was on the light pink bag. He gently caresses the back of my hand as he raises it to his lips and an immediate smile sneaks it’s way to my lips. He is such a sappy romantic but I swoon for it.

“I know you don't like the fact that I have to leave, I don't too, baby. But please promise that you won't lock yourself up in the apartment till I come back. I need you to be okay, i cant handle the fact of you being devastated in our apartment.” he smiles lightly against my skin as he keeps kissing up my arm. Till he reaches my shoulder then I scoot closer to him, pressing my lips against his.

He pulls away quickly after a few seconds to keep an eye on the road and I smirk seeing his distressed face. “Baby, we’re on the road!” he whines and I chortle once again as he does too.

For the rest of the ride I mostly sit there ‘vibing with the music subconsciously as Eren keeps a hand on the steering wheel and the other holding his cigarette. His arm extends to rest on the window as he occasionally bends his arm to bring the cigarette to his mouth then back onto the window. He’s always been thoughtful, caring about my health a little more than he should. He’s so protective, whenever he was smoking he wouldn't allow me in the room and he’d tell me to exit till he’s done, seeing as it is not an hourly thing or is something that repeatedly happens, I leave him.

The music carried me as I started falling asleep. I rested my head against the window and both my hands were left against my bag. He then, quite gently, takes one of my hands to attach his lips to it once again. I swear, he makes my knees weak with every move and I’m not even standing.

“I love you so much y/n, please I’m begging you to take care of yourself, I don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.” He tranquilly whispers while taking my hand to his lips one more time then letting them go -very gently- he would never hurt me, I know that.

Slowly, I swirl around to indicate that I’m waking up and I sense his immediate guilt forming, thinking he woke me up.

“‘We there yet?” I ask quietly. He hums, demonstrating a yes.

“Yeah, just got here.” His soft voice radiated immediate warmth towards me. Being next to him makes me so happy, I don’t want that to end, ever.

After hearing his words I stretched a bit then took the water bottle from the handle and took a sip of it when Eren suddenly hit the brakes. The cold water that was once flowing down my throat, is now all over my red outfit.

“That guy just stopped out of-“ he quickly cut himself off when he saw my soaked status.

“Oh my God, baby I’m so sorry, are you okay?” quickly, he tried to get tissues and I giggled lightly. 

“Don’t worry, it’s just water, It’ll dry in the chilly weather anyways.” He calmed down and I smiled at his actions. He’s such a caring person, I don’t know what I’ll do without him.

“Okay and…” he put an arm on my seat as he tried to park correctly. I smile as I take in his features, the white lights illustrating his demeanor. Gray piercing eyes glowing illuminatingly in the moon, he looked so handsome like that. With me. Next to me. Not away from me on the other side of the world.

“Done, let’s go, actually you stay here and I’ll move my bags, you can just get ready.” He knows that before I get out of the car I like to do a few things, it takes me three minutes to get ready. 

“Okay, I love you.” I chant as he smiles at me.

“I Love you more, gorgeous.” A blush forms on my cheeks at the cute nickname he gave me and I grin while looking at the mirror to get ready.

I fix some of my makeup then spray extra perfume. Once I’m done and feel satisfied I get out of the car only to see Eren already down with all two bags out. 

“Okay so these are the bags that I’ll let them take then this one,” he points to a smaller bag, “I’ll take with me on the flight, good?” I nod and walk over to him wrapping my hands around his neck.

“I love you.” I remind once again and he chuckles lightly then kisses my nose.

“I love you more.” 

——————-——————-——————-————-

“That’s it, I guess now I should go.” I said softly as he was showing his passport to the lady who let him in. This was the furthest I could go, I despise that.

“I’ll miss you so much, princess.” He smiles at me and I give him a sweet one back, God I’m going to miss him so much.

“Yeah, me too.” With one hand on my waist, the other lightly touches my cheek and I sigh contently at his movements, I don’t want this to ever end. His thumb rubs over my bottom lips and I instantaneously attach our lips together.

After a few seconds we both pull away and I sense tears threatening to leave my eyes. “I don’t want you to leave, Eren please don’t leave me.” I felt horrible about how selfish I am being but I was just voicing my inner thoughts, I really don’t want him to go.

“Angel…” he cooes and I feel a tear rip from my left eye. The salty, cold droplet against my skin creates a burning sensation. “You know that if that’s really what you want I can arrange it, right? If you don’t want me to go then just say it and I’ll tell them to find a drummer.”

My thoughts become clouded by supplemental cologne. I felt dizzy just hugging him. He leaned down, inching closer to me and kissed my lips.

The act of affection didn't surprise me but with tears in my eyes it was hard to focus on the kiss, so I didn't. I got lost in it.

“N-no, uh…” I stutter as I wipe my tears backing away from him completely, “I'm sorry, baby, I'm okay; plus, you have to follow your dreams, I am in no way going to stop you from that.” I smiled and he nodded lightly as he held my waist and pulled me into another hug.

After a few seconds, whilst tugging away he grabs my check and hands a light peck on my forehead.

“See you, handsome.” I chant and he laughs slightly at my enthusiastic tone.

“I’ll call you when I get there, pretty girl.” he chuckles then throws a wink my way as I fake a smile, afterwards I pull my eyes from his direction as they start to swell up with unstoppable tears.

——————-——————-——————-————-

I throw my shoes on the bedroom floor, my skirt and shirt along with it. On my bed lies an oversized hoodie, belonging to eren. I believe he left it here on purpose, for me. Without a second thought I put it on, feeling pleased with the warmth.

Just as I am about to finally close my eyes to sleep my phone rings in an obnoxiously loud way causing me to flinch and sigh heavily. “‘My baby💘👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 & miss hottie💞🥵 & gorgeous girl💕👩‍❤️‍👩 group chat....”’ I smile slightly at my phone seeing the screen and instantaneously grab my phone to answer.

“Heyy!” I intone and the three females wave at their screens.

“Hey y/n!” Historia exclaims as I smile at her zeal while she talks with me about her day. Mikasa is sitting there listening with the same bored expression on her face, on the other hand, Annie is quite invested in whatever is behind her screen. I’ll take a wild guess and say that she’s also listening to Armin and that's why she’s muted.

“Yeah, but overall it was quite boring, although Mikasa did prank me but that’s a different story.” She laughed and I did too. She’s so adorable. I love her innocence and that pretty smile of hers, it makes me so happy knowing I'm one of her best friends.

Historia and Mikasa are roommates; when they both wanted the same apartment yet found it to somehow cost a lot of money they decided on splitting the rent.

“God I can only imagine one of Mikasa’s pranks, I would honestly just faint, you’re scary as hell.” I add and all four of us chuckle as Mika glares at me but eventually crakes up with us.

After a while I check the time ‘11:16’ it reads, that means we’ve been talking for two and a half hours. I can't stall for sleep anymore.

“Guys, I'm gonna go to sleep now.” I question and they all nod consecutively.

“Love you, bye.” after i get i love you too’s from all of them i press the large red button covering my phone as it takes over the screen with a bright red making me squint lightly.

I change my LED lights to green, get under the blankets and slip my legs round the pillow as I shift into a more comfortable position.

“‘Ocean boy💙📖’ ‘Ocean boy💙📖’ ‘Ocean boy💙📖’” siri chants as i groan once again, armin your timing could not be more impeccable!

“Hello?” I answer with a grumble as I hear him chuckle lightly. He’s actually making me feel better by just hearing his voice.

“Asleep, sweetheart?” I nod but then remember that he can’t actually see me so I just let a light ‘mhm’ out as I shift again. Me and Armin's late night calls last endless hours so I'll be here for a while.

“Well, I won't keep you up too long, just wanted to ask if I can come over right now?” a smile makes itself onto my face and i eagerly answer,

“Of course, you’re always welcome at any time, that’s kind of why you have my keys, idiot.” he laughs at my retort and hangs up. That was quick… too quick.

I was also kind of expecting a reason as to why he’s spending the night here but I guess I'll get that when he comes over.

——————-——————-——————-————-

The sunshine radiated bright light into my eyes, stingin it ever so slightly. I stretch a bit when I feel a body lying next to me. An ample of cologne fills my nose; ‘212 vip black extra’, I can recognise it from miles away. 

“Armin?” I mumble, still half asleep. 

“Yeah?” he groans when I move a minor step away, “no, please i am finally able to sleep, stay.” he pouts so I giggle then get back under the covers.

After some minutes passing I pry myself away as I replace my body with a pillow.

“I can notice the difference between a pillow and you, sweetheart.” he chuckles, still lethargic and I grin at his comment but let him sleep as I get to the kitchen to cook breakfast up.

“‘Forever and always💓💍’ facetime ‘forever and always💓💍’ facetime ‘forever and always💓💍’ facetime” my phone annotates what’s written on the screen and my face lit up almost instantly.

I answer and put the phone against a bowl so I can check on the pancakes. “Hey, beautiful.” I hear his voice say, already feeling the smirk forming on his face, because of my blush,  even from millions of kilometers away.

“Hey, baby.” I answer as I set the timer and take a piece of gum as I start leaving the kitchen to sit on the couch.

“How was the flight?” I ask randomly as I see him tidying up his bed so he can go to sleep.

“Energy-consuming but it went smoothly, want to say hi?” I nod rapidly as he chuckles.

“y’all, say hi to y/n.” He announces and I wave at ymir, pieck, Sasha and Connie, they all do the same whilst smiling kindly.

Sasha ( the lead singer) is nibbling on some chips whilst her laptop is open, some light noise is heard so i'm assuming she’s on netflix. Ymir (band leader and lead Guitarist) is on facetime with someone, probably historia, and she’s also making her bed for bed. Connie (rhythm Guitarist) has his head on Sasha's lap, watching whatever she’s watching to probably entertain himself, nothing more, it looks as if he’s bored though. Pieck (bassist) is on her guitar playing loosely on some strings - probably out of fatigueness.

“Hey girl.” Sasha greets and I blow her a kiss.

“Hi y/n.” ymir accosts then goes back to historia quickly.

“Love, how are you?” Pieck salutes with a smile and her accent brings happiness over me, finally I can hear my best friend talk to me again. She was never free and especially now with the tour but at least I got to hear her again.

“y/n! How have you been? I've missed you, y/n/n.” Connie welcomes with a rhapsodic tone, he even called me by my nickname, which hardly anyone does.

“Hey guys, I'm doing great and I've missed you so much more, I can't wait to celebrate your tour when you come home.” I told them, they all smiled at me and thanked me as eren got out of this room and to his. They’re in a hotel until he is able to actually start the tour, which should be in two days tops.

“I miss you already.” I flatter. He laughs and then tells me ‘I miss you too’ in addition to that he, and I quote, ‘can’t live without me for that long’.

“And here I am thinking I am the one who’s going to be clingy.” he rolls his eyes at my sassy comment and we both burst out laughing.

“Y’all are way too loud.” I hear Armin groan from behind me as I laugh at his comment. Looking back at Eren, I see his face drop, I don't understand why though.

“Look, y/n, i’ll talk to you in the morning.” he quickly states and i give him a weird look but comply.

“Oh, okay then, I lo-” he hung up. There has never been one call where we didn't end it with affection, with one too many i love you’s, with too many compliments, with too many hope your day is absolutely amazing’s… what’s wrong?

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Armin says and I smile at him.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” he chuckles as i see him making two cups of coffee.

“It’s fine, I can make it. I was going to but eren called, you can just go watch something if you want.” I say as I walk up to the kitchen, but the two cups was already smelling fantastic. The smell of strong coffee beans was immaculate and it made me feel warm.

“Here.” he hands me my cup and a quick kiss on the forehead before grabbing a fork and flipping the pancakes that I forgot about completely. That is exactly why I let Eren cook everyday.

“Oh my- I’m so sorry armin, I’m horrible at this cooking thing.” I apologize laughing lightly to not sound too serious.

“Don’t worry, I do it for Annie everyday. Got used to it, sweetheart.” I nod and smile as he drinks the coffee in his hand whilst mailing breakfast and I just check Instagram.

~Jeagerbomb~ is active.

Why would he do that? Wherefore would he lie to me like that? I don’t even get why he’s so mad either, why is he making a big deal out of literally nothing!

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s with the long face?” Armin asks as he slouches next to me.

“Eren is ignoring me, he’s clearly active yet he wouldn’t talk to me because he ‘wants to sleep’ but he’s awake and scrolling through instagram,” i take a deep breath and keep going, “this is exactly what i was afraid of. I hate that he can just turn off our call at any time and I can't disagree and then not knowing what he’s doing all alone. But when we’re together I can get it out of him, I can convince him to tell me why he’s mad then we’ll fix it.” 

“y/n, Eren won’t stay mad at you for long, he never can. In the morning call him and check if everything is alright but for now you can’t be upset the whole day.” he reassures and I nod quietly.

“Enough about my problems, I want to know why you called me in the middle of the night like that and then said that you were finally able to sleep?”

“Me and annie got into a huge fight.” he explained, fidgeting with his fingers that were on his lap, “i tried fixing it but she wouldn’t listen to me, she kept saying how i don’t love her anymore and that she feels me drifting apart…” he zoned out for a second probably remembering exactly what happened.

“She even accused me of cheating on her.” I could see the tears sliding down his check as he quickly wiped them. “I love her, y/n, I really do, I don't understand why she doesn't trust me. I have never given her a reason not to, I mean, did I do something?" 

Armin looks heartbroken and it kills me that he feels like he did something wrong. Annie might be feeling insecure but it doesn't make sense to just lash out on armin like that.

“Why does she think you’re cheating?”

“I came home late yesterday and she automatically assumed the worst, I don't follow her logic though, she’s been very insecure lately which is driving me crazy. I just want her to trust me, y/n.” Practically feeling the tears he was letting go of, I hugged him tightly hoping to make him feel only a bit of reassurance. 

“Armin, I hope you don't mind me asking but why did you come home late?” he shuffled in his seat and let go of me.

“I was looking for a gift for our 2 year anniversary coming up this Wednesday, I couldn't tell her though, I kept begging her to just have some trust in me. It hurt seeing how easily she thought I could cheat on her. I give Annie everything I have and can give her, I don't know how else to prove my love to her.”

“I know Armin, I know, it's okay. Annie isnt stupid, she knows you would never do that to her, just give her sometime.” he nods and we stay in that position. It’s relaxing. Knowing that he is here for me, and me for him.

We spent the whole day together in my house. We did all kinds of things, sang a bit, danced around, baked up some brownies, had too many energy drinks and tried to call Annie but she didn't answer.

Once it was 09:30 pm, Armin went into the shower and I was on my phone, waiting for him so we could go buy some things from the grocery shop.

Scrolling through instagram i saw an article concerning Eren, normally i hated these but it actually caught my attention; ‘Eren Jeager seen with co-star Pieck Finger’. I can almost hear my heart thumping inside of my throat. It burns, badly. That isn’t true, it can’t be, Eren loves me. My first instinct is to call him but that thought is forgotten when Armin comes out of the shower, asking for something. He was still in a towel, one that covers his waist and the other around his hair as he moves it throughout.

The veins in his arms protruded beneath his pale skin, he’s drying his hair with the towel, clasping and unclasping his hand as an indication of comfort as he slid the towel on his hair down and into the laundry bin. 

“y/n, where’s my shirt?” he asks whilst his eyes are darting around. I nuzzled my face into the soft pillow case, tear stained cheeks leaving wet smears on the fabric. 

“You’ll find it on the kitchen counter.'' I sniffle lightly and hope he doesn't notice my broken voice. It was late, almost 10:00 pm and I'm here; curled in a loose ball under a stack of velvety blankets breaking down. I pulled the t-shirt I'm wearing over my nose as I heard him mutter a ‘thank you’ then get out to get changed. 

Taking a deep inhale and drowning myself in the sweet scent of my boyfriend’s t-shirt, or atleast, I hope he’s still my boyfriend. The t-shirt was one that he said was his favourite, it’s scent drove me fanatical as I kept taking more of it in, hoping all my worries would just fade into it.

“Incoming call from ‘jaegerbomb’,Incoming call from ‘jaegerbomb’,Incoming call from ‘jaegerbomb’” 

Hesitantly, my fingers scanned the phone a couple of times before I answered.

“Hey, y/n'' I hear from the other side of the phone. His voice doesn’t sound too enthusiastic but he also didn't seem bothered. No emotion.

“Hey, Eren.” I answer back and the line goes dead silent. He doesn't talk for about a minute, why did he call if he was just going to breathe into the phone the whole time?

“Oi, y/n, I still can’t find my shirt.” Armin approaches and my eyes go wide at what he says. This may be totally normal because I understand what’s happening but eren on the other hand, may understand it in a different way.

“Oh, try the living room.” he nodded and strolled away. I can practically hear Eren trying to control his temper because of what he heard but I know my answer assured him to some extent. I mean, I wouldn't answer armin if i was actually cheating.

“y/n what’s armin doing at your place?” The vexation is visible in each syllable he pronounces.

“He got into a fight with Annie last night, decided to stay at my place till they’re fine again.” I elaborate with insureness in my voice. I'm trying to sound as confident as possible but my throat becomes too dry to form assertive words.

“Couldn’t he stay in reiner’s or even Mikasa’s?” The annoyance was quite conspicuous as he keeps complaining.

“Eren! I can't kick him out because you’re somehow jealous, he is our best friend and in need of a place to stay. What would you do if I kicked you out?”

“Not stay at Annie's…” he mumbles and that was the last straw for me. 

“Excuse me?” I semi-yell into the phone, “are you saying that I should kick him out? Eren, he trusts me enough to tell me about his problems and for me to cooperate, how dare you even say that about your childhood best friend. He has been there for you every step of the way and this is how you repay him? By being a jealous boyfriend when he’s hurting?” exasperation ran through my blood as i let it out, he is being so unreasonable and i will not stand by this behavior.

“y/n, calm down! I’m just saying that it’s weird that he came to you. I don't like the idea of this happening without your boyfriend supervising.”

“You don't trust me?”

“What? No that’s not what I'm saying, I trust you y/n, wholeheartedly.”

“However, you have the audacity to say that you need to supervise me and armin’s hangouts?”

“Don't be like that, I don't mean it that way. I trust both of you, nonetheless, it just scares me that I'm not there, I mean…” he stops for a few seconds and I somehow make out a sniffle, “baby, what if you fall for him again? I wouldn't blame you, he's everything I'm not but I just don't want you to go. Please y/n, I don't want you to leave me.” 

“Eren,” my tone immediately softens at his change, he’s feeling insecure?

“I love you, okay?”

“Okay…” 

“No, I mean it. I love you more than i love myself and any human on this earth, i love you so much eren and i would never trade this for anyone else. I promise I'm not going anywhere, baby.” it shattered me, the fact that i have to say this to remind him how in love with him i am. He’s my everything, I would never give that up for any other human.

“I love you, angel.”

“I love you more.”

——————-——————-——————-————-

After me and eren caught up on everything else, assured each other and talked over some stuff, we ended the call as he was getting called into rehearsals.

“Hey, y/n.” I hear Armin's soft voice speak from behind the door as he slowly comes in and I let him enter. He is fully dressed but his hair is still wet and it looks really cute on him.

When eren mentioned me falling for armin ‘again’ he meant when we were both best friends long ago. Five years ago, I had the biggest crush  on Armin, it was known. Everyone knew it, even he did but we never confessed to one another, too cowardly to do so. I know he used to like me back though. We joke about the situation now, a small laugh; yet, eren never got over it. He always took it quite personally because Armin is ‘everything he isn't’ in his eyes. He’s always been insecure about that but I thought he trusted me, I thought he would let go of these worries if it’s me we’re talking about. I figured out worries are worries and he’ll feel that way. The only thing I can do is assure him and help him.

“Yeah?” I answer as I reopen twitter to have a chortle before going to bed.

“I'm sorry, for everything. Being a burden on both you and eren, for what happened with Annie, with how I'm disappointing you guys and everyone else. I'm so sorry.” The break in his voice was sorrowful as his eyes diverted the gaze from me to anything else around the room.

“No, oh my God. Armin you aren't a burden and definitely disappointing anyone. Annie is mad, for an invalid reason, it’s fine. If you heard anything, which I'm guessing you did, eren was also just furious with an invalid reasoning. And to me you are nowhere near a burden or such. Don't doubt yourself, ever.”

“Thank you, y/n. Thank you for all of this, making me stay over and your constant affirmation.” I smile slightly at him and get out of bed to hug him. We stay in the position for what feels like hours, his hands on my waist, my arms slung around his neck.

When we pull apart he looks into my eyes for a few seconds, his ocean blue eyes glowing enchantingly. They were beautiful, trancing, and I couldn't stop myself from being so intrigued by the stories behind them.

Suddenly, I snap out of the stupor I was once in. quickly, i push him away as we both pant lightly, the air seemed to become limited in the room as we both gain back our consciousness.

“y/n-”

“Armin-uh. I think I'll go to bed early. If you can't find anything in the fridge you’re welcome to go to the hypermarket. Goodnight.” he looks at the floor quietly as he moves out of my room.

I'm screwed.

I can't believe we just had a moment. No, absolutely not, just two friends hugging, that’s all. Eren will despise me, how can I be such a hypocrite? I have to tell him, I just have to.

Never mind, I won't tell him, he doesn't need to know anyways.

Silent. The room was cleansed and cleaned top to bottom whilst I was asleep. The lights are renewed, I can smell pastries from downstairs and (this next one is a shock) no one is sleeping next to me.

“Armin?” I call out loudly yet no one answers.

I get up, rubbing my eyes before noticing the large cup of hot coffee on my nightstand. The steam flowing, making sure to inform me that it was just made and brought to me.

Taking the cup of coffee in my hand, I saunter down the stairs deciding to take a sip of the perfectly made coffee. He made it just right and the way I like it, but it scares me knowing that after what happened yesterday night he still did it for me. Is he catching feelings again?

“Sweetheart, hey.” I cringe slightly at the name and I can practically feel his heart race at my reaction. He’s right here in front of me, calling me sweetheart and cooking breakfast after what happened yesterday? Unacceptable.

“I mean-- y/n.” it’s no secret he’s mentally face palming himself right now but i honestly find it adorable that he did that by just seeing my reaction.

“y/n, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened yesterday but I know that you’re infuriated by it and now won't talk to me. You even hate ‘sweetheart’ and I've called you that since we were like what? 14? I just don't want things to get weird between us, you’re my best friend, eren is my literal brother and Annie is my girlfriend. I just hope you aren't mad at me. I swear I'm not going to try anything of any sort. I'm going to Mikasa and Historia's place after breakfast, just wanted to do something as a thank you before i leave.” he ranted and i giggles softly when he finished, he;s so flustered by the time he’s done i find it a miracle he remembered to breath.

“Armin, you can stay as long as you want, honestly, don't worry about what happened. In fact, nothing happened at all, we’re best friends and I don't want to lose that. The nickname is very much acceptable, don't worry, I know you’re used to it.” he smiled and nodded then pulled me into a mug as i hugged back as the coffee mug in my hand jiggled.

We lug back from each other and beam at one another. Nothing wrong happened yesterday, why am I so worried?

——————-——————-——————-————-

“How was your day, angel?” Eren's deep voice filled my ear as I held the phone in a hand, the other picking out jewelry.

“Uneventful, me and Armin just spent the day together, Annie isn't answering him and he’s too scared to actually go there in case she kicks him out again or, worse,  breaks up with him.”

“I feel bad for him, I mean he didn't do anything really, maybe he should really go and test his luck.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the best option right now. He's trying to get ready, asked for a couple of your rings ‘cause he knows it’s something she likes.” he chuckles on the other end as a light laughter comes over me.

“Really want to swoon her over.”  he adds

“Found it!” i exclaimed as i found the set of rings that were just perfect for armin, they fit him perfectly and his style too, “Okay, let’s find him now.”

“Armin?” he pops into my room within a second with a tux put on (it looked really nice, may i add), he really cleaned up well; yet, his hair is still a mess. He can't do anything about his hair even if he tries.

“Here it is.” I call and he moves over to me as he takes the box with the set in it. He tries to pu it on but looks at me with wide eyes,

“What?”

“How do you even put all that on? That’s going to look horrible.”

“Are you doubting my skills, Arlert?” I test and eren laughs from the other side.

“Is that a challenge, jaeger? Okay then, I'll prove you both wrong.” they both chuckle and i take armin’s hand in mine, starting to move around the rings. It took three minutes but I did it, I got the best combination and how to put it. He looked great in my opinion.

“Woah, y/n, I seriously didn't give you enough credit.” Armin lets out a breath and I smile at his compliment.

“Okay time to send to eren!” I take my phone off of the table that has all of our jewelry on it then snap him a picture.

“You've done well, pretty girl.” he flatters once again and I smirk proudly.

“See? I told you guys.” Armin nods as eren hums and we both burst out in laughter suddenly.

“Okay, it’s getting late. Thank you for everything y/n, I couldn't have done any of this without you, not to mention I'd probably be homeless.” I nod and smile at him as he leaves the house. 

Everything, somehow, worked out in the end.

“Baby?”

“Yeah…” i answer, putting away the rest of the jewelry.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[bansheeoftheforest]

Ramble about angst from amnesia ghost au?

Oh boi here i go

ALSO DO NOT HOLD ME RESPONSIBLE IF I REPEAT STUFF. My brain is teeny tiny pea sized smooth like fucker and I do not remember what we have talked about before and I physically cannot come up with angst by myself <3

Ok ahaha I am not sure! If I came up with new ideas! Or if i accidentally mixed shit!! But !!! My brain physically cannot come up with angst and I TRIED to keep this angsty but... heh <3

At first, of course, Henry doesn’t even realise that he is dead. He wakes up somewhere-- he can see the stars, it’s night, yet the sky is illuminatingly polluted by the warm lights from apartment windows that all seem so far away. His body feels numb, and it’s so silent. He tries to sit up, he feels... Light. 

He feels his chest rising and falling, yet he does not feel himself taking in any air. He is hidden somewhere, he is sitting behind a few dumpsters and rubble, he doesn’t know where he is. He tries to look at his hands, they are see-through. He looks at his legs-- his legs aren’t see-through. It’s not his legs.

He turns, and on the ground where he is sitting, he sees the wrangled corpse of a man-- pale skin and blue lips, hair dirtied with coagulated blood, joints and bones and limbs bent in ways that shouldn’t be possible, clothes torn. The man had just died. He doesn’t recognise the man, but he doesn’t need to. It takes a few moments of staring into those wide-open, empty eyes and then looking back at his transparent body to know that it’s his corpse. But... Why can’t he remember anything?

His head is empty, and not only because he has no physical body. He sees how his tongue has rolled out of his limp mouth of his corpse, he sees the fractures in his skull, he can see the flesh. He has no physical body, but he can still feel it.

He stands up-- or whatever the ghost equivalent to standing up is. He watches his body, he looks down on himself. He is a mirror image of his physical form. He reaches up to his own head, and he can feel the crack in his skull. He reaches to his chest, and he can feel the broken bones poking out through his clothes. 

The body... It’s indifferent to him. At the same time, he gets overwhelmed by such an urge of protectiveness. He doesn’t understand it, not until he hears the footsteps of someone coming closer and closer.

He sees a shadow by the opening of the alleyway. He blacks out. He doesn’t know what he did until he hears an ear piercing scream and sees the body of a woman getting thrown against a wall. He doesn’t know what happened but he knows he did that. He doesn’t feel remorse, no, yet he has no chance of finishing the job before she has already fled screaming from the scene. 

Henry is not done just yet.

Henry does not let anyone go anywhere near the alleyway for a week straight. Anyone who dares come close will feel themselves getting tossed and thrown around like a chewtoy, thrown against walls or other people. It’s not until an unfortunate victim ends up with cracked bones and a hairline fracture in their skull that the police has had enough, they are going to get to the bottom of this. They question victims and witnesses, and in the end, they decide to call in the local ghost expert.

Maijabi arrives at the scene quite quickly, the police part to let him through. Surprisingly, Maijabi actually manages to enter the alleyway with no problem, yet his ghost detection device is beeping in warning. He turns a corner, and that’s when he finds it-- or him. On the floor, bloodied and rotten, lays the corpse of Dr. Henry Jekyll, unrecognisable from the consequences of his gory demise and his many days used as a feast by the rats and stray dogs roaming the neighbourhood. His eyes are gone, his skin has sunken in, patches of flesh has been ripped from his body. Maijabi drops his device. It takes five seconds before the Scotland Yard calls his name and tries to enter the alleyway in fear of the ghost haven taken him as a victim, too. They find Maijabi staring at the corpse, it does not take long for the police to gasp in a mix of fear, disgust, and horror.

They try to get to the body, they try to move it, but as they feared, the ghost as not calmed down. They hear screeches mere moments before they get thrown against a wall, making Maijabi snap out of it.

Ahah wowo i just realized I spent quite a long time with this alone but anyways so I dont repeat that one post; Maijabi manages to trap Henry, his haunting screams of agony only worsens the trauma and horror that has already infected those around him. He screams, he begs, he pleads, but no one can understand what he is saying. It’s not until the cops move his corpse and his wallet falls out that he calms down so slightly, suddenly fixated on nothing but the wallet. Maijabi picks it up and opens it, the first thing he sees is a group picture of all the Lodgers. He places it in Henry’s trap to calm him, and then he takes him back to the Society.

(Well, this is specifically for the vengeful branch of this au branch but ye <3)

Can you imagine the absolute horror and sorrow Maijabi would be going through in such a short time? After all, it was never unusual for Henry to be away for... Well, what’s it been, a week? Now Maijabi is left with Henry who doesn’t know who he is and who wants nothing but to hurt anyone in his path, now he is responsible for telling the other Lodgers.

When Henry isn’t destroying lab equipment or possessing Lodgers, regardless of if he is free to roam or trapped, he will weep and cry but he never knows why. He just feels terrible and lost, sometimes he gets struck by such an overwhelming sense of sorrow and anguish he can do nothing but to... Well, weep. No matter how scared or mad the Lodgers are, they all feel so terrible when the weeping echos throughout the Society.

Henry has the ghost equivalent of PTSD after his death. He gets flashbacks and panic attacks when he suddenly remembers his death or other trauma he suffered throughout his life or death, even if he can’t remember his life. Regardless of if he is generally violent or not, Maijabi always does his best to calm and help him.

Jasper volunteers to let Henry possess him and (I’m going to switch over to when he ISN’T violent for these ones) spends time with him. Henry doesn’t know who Jasper is but he feels a little less lonely and slightly better when he has someone who cares for him and spends time with him. In the beginning, they could only have Henry possessing Jasper for short moments because the poor boy kept getting overwhelmed with Henry’s emotions, and Maijabi and the other Lodgers worried that the amnesiac affect would bleed onto Jasper. It didn’t, though, so while they work on trying to regain Henry’s memories, Henry clings to him. It goes a bit overboard once Henry starts developing separation anxiety, and he constantly worries that something will happen to Jasper.

Jasper keeps having flashes of Henry’s life and how he died. He wakes up crying most of the time, and since Henry is the first person he sees when he wakes up, he gets panic attacks, yet he refuses to let Henry down and make things even worse for him, yet it makes Henry feel worse knowing he is torturing poor Jasper.

If it isn’t the vengeful branch of this au, Henry would be found by Maijabi curled up against the wall where his body was. Maijabi, at that point, would already have known that it’s Henry’s body has the ghost wasn’t violent and the cops could take the corpse no problem. He finds Henry weeping, but he gets overjoyed when he realises that Maijabi can see and hear him. Maijabi leads him back to the Society but Henry never stops crying. Maijabi is not sure if his shirt is wet with blood or his own tears.

Weeping. So much weeping. Exploring the Society while weeping. Dancing in empty ballrooms while weeping. Spying on the Lodgers while trying to stop his weeping. Henry weeps constantly and he can’t stop it. 

The weeping and Henry’s sorrow only got worse when Helsby snapped and told him to shut up. The Lodgers immediately began to yell at Helsby while Henry locked himself into an empty room and cried harder. He doesn’t know what he did wrong or why people don’t like him, he just wants to be liked.