#that I have aspirations of setting up like a trust fund (or something?) for my disabled friend in case I die

[darkisrising]

I was gonna say 43 for BobaDinLuke but seeing as how you’ve basically already written that… 22

Oooooooooo... fun! Thanks for the prompt! (as you can see I am blatantly ignoring my WIP because I have zero chill and needed to dive into this one right away) 22. two miserable people meeting at a wedding au When the synth opening of the evening’s fourth ABBA song starts up, Boba has officially had it. He needs a drink, maybe three, and since the Skywalker/Naberrie contingent have pulled out all the stops at this reception he knows it’s in his best interest to take advantage of the open bar while he can.

“Whiskey,” Boba tells the bartender. “The most expensive you’ve got.”

When the drink is set before him he shoots it back exactly like he knows he’s not supposed to with whiskey of this caliber and when he catches the bartender watching him he grins, unrepentant. “Another,” Boba says and when he shoots that one back, too, the bartender fixes him with dark eyes that glint in the bar’s blue uplighting.

“Let me guess.” His voice is a rasp, and every bit as intoxicating as the whiskey. “Another?”

“You’re smart. I like that in a man,” Boba says and when his own wicked smile is answered by the slightest flicker of one on the bartender’s face he feels a warmth spreading liquid smooth through his chest. Some of that could very well be the whiskey. Not all of it, though, he decides when the bartender is flagged down and he turns to reveal the curve of a muscular ass in horrible cater waiter black slacks.

“That kind of a night, huh?” the man says when he comes back to where Boba is holding down the end of the bar.

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Oh, it would be better if the DJ would stop playing so much ABBA. And,” he confides, holding up his hand so that Boba can see the red that stains like blood on his palms. “If a certain someone would quit ordering pomegranate appletinis.”

“Boba,” he introduces himself, and the bartender says “Din” before their hands meet in a handshake. He’s got nice hands—broad and warm. Callused just enough to hint at a life spent doing hard, honest work and Boba can’t help but wonder what his chances are that he might get jerked off by one of those nice, warm, callused hands later.

“So how are you related to the happy couple?” Din asks, running a rag across the bar.

“Went to college with the bride’s brother. He never would have graduated without me.”

A raised eyebrow and a silent stare are all the prodding Din does, but it’s effective.

“I used to be his Adderall dealer. Sold it to half the fuckers in here, not that they’d ever admit it. Might crater their political aspirations.”

“Drug dealer to the D.C. trust fund set, huh? That’s a pretty good gig, how’d you manage that?”

“I went to law school right along with them. Graduated top of the class,” and how that had burned some of his peers up inside: the scholarship kid whose Daddy was a nobody that had effortlessly snatched all the top honors out from under their legacy student asses.

If he hadn’t kept meticulous notes of everyone he’d ever sold to he might have worried about someone narc-ing on him. Instead they all knew that if anyone tipped the administration off on Boba’s side hustle he’d be taking down the entire student body along with him.

In college his empire was secure and he’d been untouchable. Sometimes he misses those days.

“Impressive.”

“I am at that,” Boba says with easy arrogance and the bartender’s lips twitch in another smile so Boba decides to go for it. “In ways you can’t even imagine.”

Eyes fill with an answering heat and Din says “I don’t know. I have a pretty good imagination.”

Oh, Boba’s chances of getting those callused hands on his cock are looking very good.

Din catches sight of something behind Boba’s shoulder and gives a quiet “Fuck.”

“Hi! Hello!” a chipper voice says and one very inebriated Luke Skywalker sidles up to the bar. “Another pomegranate appletini, please!” His voice is a little louder than is strictly necessary and Boba doesn’t need to see the red flush that’s spreading beneath the carefully knotted tie to know he’s had an awful lot of those pom-whatever something-tinis.

Din turns away to make the drink and sparkling blue eyes brighten even more when they find Boba. “Hey! There you are! You missed Dancing Queen! But don’t worry, I bribed the DJ and he’s going to play Waterloo next.”

“Great,” Boba huffs and Luke doesn’t seem to hear his sarcasm, only proclaims “Isn’t it?” in the tone of a guy living his best life before he’s kissing Boba with wandering hands and an enthusiastic tongue.

“Your drink, sir,” Din says, and any hint of flirtation is wiped clean from his face.

“Oh, perfect,” Luke’s grin is sun-bright, the kind that used to make Boba’s knees weak back when they’d started hooking up in college.

Still does, truth be told.

“Hey, bartender—”

“Din,” Boba supplies quietly and Luke quickly amends his words with a cheerful “Din. You’re really cute, do you know that? Any chance you want to come home with me and my boyfriend when this is over?”

Boba watches as Din’s cheeks turn pink beneath his dark spread of stubble. Solemn eyes slide between Boba and Luke, considering them both with all the weighted pull of gravity. Luke’s arms around his waist tighten, and he knows Luke well enough to know he’s getting every bit as turned on as Boba is.

“Yeah,” Din says at last. “Yeah, I could do that.”

[thiswaycomessomethingwicked]

If you ever wrote a Griomer fic set in modern times, what job would Grima have? What car would he drive? What kind of beer or wine would he drink? Where would he live? What would he do to relax? How would he and Eomer meet? Curious minds would love to know :)

A BEAUTIFUL, BOUNTIFUL THOUGHT. 

May your crops be watered and your cows plentiful. 

Ok so the first real question is setting. I’m going to go with Portugal. Lisbon, to be exact. Because I don’t know any modern AU that takes pace anywhere other than America and England. With a few exceptions that just prove the rule. 

Grima works for the government in the legal department of one of the ministries. Maybe Foreign Affairs or Finance - something in that vein. Is he on the take? Probably. Can you get things done by shoving him a handful of dirty 100 euro bills? Yes. 

He was also absolutely was running a book during the dust up between that one anti-masker judge and the director of police over Covid. When the judge challenged the police director to hand to hand combat saying that if he won the police director would have to publicly state “I’m an idiot, a puppet and the government’s bitch.” 

Grima LIVED for that whole hot mess. He also absconded with all the funds from running the book because Grima is here for that sweet sweet cash money.

But yeah, he works in a government legal department and people just refer to him as “Grima from legal,” as if there are other men with his name running around. Mostly people avoid him, yet somehow he keeps climbing up the ladder and no one understands how or why this is happening. 

He is a riot to have on calls though because when people are like “if we pass this legislation would that contravene the constitution” he always answers “I can make it so it won’t”. 

Examples of a day with Grima at the office: 

Grima: I’m not sure I like this language in the contract as it stands - it makes it seem that we would be liable to pay the local municipality a bucket of money. And we’re not going to do that. 

Random civil servant: That language came from the city’s mistrust of us at the central government. 

Grima: Completely fair, I don’t trust us either. But we’re taking it out. The municipality is on their own. Shame them with their bad fiscal planning if they kick up a fuss. 

[...]

Civil servant: Can we even do this? Like, are we actually allowed to pass this kind of legislation?

Grima: I mean you can. The courts will hate you and you will have judges out for your blood. But you can. Theoretically, government can do anything. 

Grima: Anyway, there are regulations already in place to support the legislation’s implementation. We’re cart-before-horsing it here but trust me. It’s fine.  

Civil servant:

Grima:

Civil servant: 

Grima: I mean, I do maintain that it was a mistake to pass the regulations so quickly but uh .... things got out of hand. Which is typical. 

Civil servant: Got out of hand? The regulations are a mess. 

Grima: They’re a mess because we’re just making it up as we go along. 

-

As they’re in Lisbon I suspect Grima takes public transit or walks to work on the average day. Also, I don’t know enough about cars to have an opinion of what kind he would drive.  

Grima, as a contrast to other Portuguese people, prefers wine to beer but will drink whatever you put in front of him. I enjoy head-canoning that his preference is for rose and he tells people who judge him about this to go suck a metaphorical dick. That said, I suspect his table wine/what he always has in the house is red. Probably from the Duoro region. Also your bog-standard liquor collection.  

That said, those little 15cl glasses that beer comes in Portugal. He finds that acceptable. 

I think he’s a snacker. Like he just snacks through the day instead of eating real meals. Five minutes between meetings and he’s casually eating a sandwich. Where did he get the sandwich? Who knows. Why is there a bag of chips suddenly appearing? Magic. 

I head-canon, in both universes, that Grima a) likes pickled things, b) hates asparagus and walnuts, c) consumes vast quantities of coffee and d) has a serious sweet tooth. How many pastéis de nata can this man consume in a single sitting? So many. 

For how he spends his free time - he does like the football and has many spicy opinions about everything relating to it. Especially the latest fiasco in the UK. Also, the UK in general. 

Grima: England was a mistake. Shouldn’t have happened. 

Eomer: Guess we’ll just visit Ireland and Scotland. 

Grima: Why would we do that? It’s cold up there. I want to go to Croatia or Naples.

Eomer: We went to Naples last year. 

Grima: ... Your point?

Though he pretends to be disinterested in it for Reputation Reasons, I suspect he’d be a big fan of Eurovision and does one of those March-madness style betting pools with his siblings over it. It’s the only time he talks to his brothers. 

Christmas? No. Civic holidays? No. World Cup? No. Eurovision? Yes. 

Eomer thinks this just demonstrates that Eurovision is the solution to most problems. 

In terms of day to day hobbies/way to spend spare time - lots of reading. Many books. Eomer is like “One day we’re going to be eaten alive by your books. There are so many of them.” 

As it’s Grima, he has a chaotic organizational system for them that makes sense only to him. Also, he never re-shelves them so there are very neat and precise stacks of books around the flat which he finds rather soothing. He makes upset noises whenever Eomer tries to tidy up. 

Eomer believes in de-cluttering. Grima does not. 

Puzzles - I firmly believe Grima likes puzzles. And those crazy ones too, like 7k pieces of the moon. So it’s all white and grey. 

Also strategy board games and trick-based card games. 

And for where he lives? I assume a flat - one bedroom, nothing too fancy those he has Aspirations and Dreams of being filthy, stinking rich one day and being able to spend money like an American. 

-

Oh man, how did they meet? I feel like they’re on opposite sides of some legal issue or argument. Like Eomer works for the Lisbon government and there’s a jurisdictional dispute and Grima’s representing whatever Ministry is involved and it’s all knives out. 

Then afterwards they keep running into each other because Life is Full of Trouble. Grima’s like “can a man not drink his coffee and eat his pastries in peace?” and Eomer slides into the chair across from him, “How’s my favourite corrupt government lawyer?” Grima gives him a rude gesture. 

Grima’s all, “Excuse me, I’m busy.” Proceeds to take out a deck of cards to Very Visibly play solitaire. 

Eomer is thinking, Oh my god what a freak. What comes out of his mouth is, “So you want to grab dinner or something?”

Grima, “No.” 

Eomer, “Drinks? Go for a walk?” 

Grima: 

Eomer, “.... I know a book store with a cafe in it that sells really good croissants and does like an overly fancy charcuterie board”

Grima, “I’m free next Friday at 8.”  Immediately goes back to his cards. 

Oh he’s also permanently attached to his cellphone. Like it’s probably glued to him at this point. An additional limb coming out of his left hand. 

Eomer: We’re on holiday. 

Grima: government never stops babe. 

-

Thank you so much for this ask. I love them so much they’re both so dumb. 

<3 <3 

[ronsenburg]

i saw this post and IMMEDIATELY started writing an essay, so I moved it here so as not to clutter up someone else’s post...........

it absolutely blows my mind that, today in 2021, i honestly can’t remember what’s canon from the turnabout serenade case, what i read in a fanficition, and what is my own personal HC. like, it’s been more than a decade since i played the case for the first time and it’s probably been 5ish years since the last time i played AJ (definitely forgot to play it again before writing youngblood which is.... contributing to this) so i really don’t know if what goes on in my head is accurate, but, over the years, i’ve come up with a Lot of Thoughts, which i’ll discuss below. 

tldr; it’s all about power (the desire for, the subversion of, the need to maintain), but if you’d like the specifics, here you go:

daryan: i think the explanation that he did it for “the money” is a line. please don’t mistake me, daryan is an asshole and a murderer, im not discounting that, but in court ive always thought that he was playing the part that everyone- especially klavier- is expecting of him. he’s the bad guy. might as well make it a finale for the books.

i’ve always seen daryan and klavier as opposite sides of the same coin when it comes to family and career aspirations. where i imagine klavier came from a well off and well loved family before his parents died, i see daryan from a working class, difficult upbringing. i read a few papers on the psychology of children/parenting style of police officers and decided early on that daryan’s dad was also a cop. his mother is either dead or (more likely) left them early on. dad coped by working a little too hard, gambling/drinking a little too much, and was overall not around a lot and kind of an authoritarian/controller when he was. it left daryan with a lot of anger he had to cope with, about what it means to be a cop, the idea of a “just cause” and the ends justifying the means, and an issue with authority (which is laughable, considering what a bully he turned out to be. sometimes we emulate our parents unintentionally; it’s the only thing we have to model our behavior on). so daryan started off at a disadvantage. klavier started off loved and supported and surrounded by expensive belongings, but the death of his parents and the subsequent emotional and financial abuse by his newly appointed guardian/brother left him in a similar place by the time he and daryan met. i think it was probably the foundation for their bond, and i think it’s why klavier decided to become a prosecutor instead of following in his brother’s footsteps and why daryan ultimately decided to enter law enforcement as well. i think they had a lot of optimistic, idealistic thoughts on being better than the people that hurt them, on utilizing the law to make the world a better place. i don’t think klavier ever conceived that kristoph could have wanted him in the prosecutors office as another pawn to play, and i don’t think he realized how fluid daryan’s morality could be.

shipping alert—you guys know me, im crazy for the idea of a “best friends to on again off again lovers to tenuous coworkers to bitterly disappointed in but still harboring feelings for the other person despite being on opposite sides” dynamic between daryan and klavier. i honestly can’t separate the ship from the case and im sorry about it. if you read youngblood you know that i think daryan started to resent klavier pretty early on, when they were still together, when the band was still successful, because klavier was able to move forward and work through the issues of his past while daryan was seemingly stuck. yes, daryan had made detective and the gavinners were a hit, he’d risen above his initial social standing and thrown off the control his father, he had money and fame and a future. but everything he had was because of klavier. daryan needed klavier, emotionally, morally, financially. but even when klavier was professing his love for daryan, both privately and in the form of chart topping songs, he didn’t need daryan. it was obvious (and of course, healthy, but how do children of abuse learn what a healthy relationship looks like without help? especially when the only relationships you’ve ever had are codependent and, in some ways, just as toxic?) and so things spiraled. daryan got possessive and angry again and klavier got distant and they broke up and got back together and broke up and didn’t get back together but kept ending up back in each other’s arms for comfort and for support and because how the hell do you move on when the person you’ve been in love with since you were 15 is sitting next to you on a tour bus and is also your partner in a homicide case and singing songs he wrote about you on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans?

okay, shipping glasses off, sorry. but no matter how you look at their relationship, daryan’s promotion out of homicide was probably the most distance they’d had from each other in years, as it removed a large chunk of the daily “working relationship” aspect. and without klavier there to act as a moral compass, it was likely easier to slip back into his earlier thoughts about what constitutes justice and his intense hatred of being pushed around by someone who has more power than you. so enter the chief justice with a son who is sick, dying even, but can’t get the medicine he needs because there’s a government out there telling them no. The reasons are arbitrary: the medicine could be used as a poison and can’t be found anywhere else so it might come back to bite the country in the ass if it’s misused by criminals. newsflash: pretty much all medicine is poisonous if it isn’t used correctly, should we stop using penicillin entirely because some people might be allergic to it? they’ve essentially condemned a whole bunch of people to death because they’re worried about their reputation. and that doesn’t sit well with daryan, who is caught up remembering the bullshit justifications his dad would spout when he knocked him around, that kristoph would give when withholding every single penny of money klavier was entitled to until he agreed to do what kristoph wanted. it isn’t right, it isn’t fair and unfair laws shouldn’t have to be upheld, especially when they’re the unfair laws of a country you most definitely did not swear to uphold and protect. it was never about money, though daryan agrees to take it when the chief offers it to him, more for his comfort level than for daryan’s need or desire. it’s about justice and putting a bully in it’s place with a (seemingly) victimless crime that should be so easy given his role in the international division of criminal affairs and klavier’s sudden hard on for the country of borginia. seriously, how could this have been any more straightforward? daryan is capable of murder, though. all cops are. and if it came down to a “them or me” shootout, of course he’d pull the trigger. 

machi: when you come from nothing, the desire to have something of your own is overwhelming. the idea that machi is famous and financially set is disingenuous; he is not individually famous, he is Lamiroir’s “blind” pianist. yes, she views him as a son and seems to care deeply for him, but his main purpose in her life is to perpetuate a lie. machi has been abandoned before; what will happen to him if lamiroir suddenly remembers who she was in the past? what if she has a family and a true son of her own and has no use for him? what if their secret is found out and the public rejects him for his role in it? he is 14. what does he know about being provided for? about contracts and trust funds and royalties? he ended up in an orphanage originally because he was unwanted, and that led to a life of poverty and hardship. abandonment issues are rooted in fear and are rarely logical. i find it far easier to believe that machi did it for the money, but more for the power money might have given him towards independence in an unfeeling and capitalist world.

kristoph: i won’t get into this, because this is supposed to be about daryan and machi and the guitar’s serenade, and kristoph is not really involved in that at all. but i think everything that kristoph has ever done in the game, good or bad, is rooted in a pathological need to constantly be in control. i think that kristoph and klavier both have very intense personalities that they have sought to control over the course of their lives for the sake of their careers. kristoph believes that to be a good lawyer, you need to play your cards close to your chest, that to show your hand is to expose a weakness that the enemy can exploit, that to show no weaknesses at all places you in a position of power. klavier believes that to show his true self, to display his weaknesses and fears to the public, would result only in their rejection. as such, they both wear masks of their own creation even under the most intense of pressures: kristoph as pleasant and calm, klavier as magnetic and dynamic. note the primary difference in their rational? klavier wants to be wanted, while kristoph wants power. and power corrupts, after all. once you have it, what could be more overwhelming than the idea that you might lose it all? it can drive even the most rational people to commit acts of passionate irrationality in the name of holding on to that power. and kristoph has so many pieces involved in his strategy to maintain.  

[oasisspringstownie]

FAME: A Legacy Challenge

Sul sul simmers!

Like many of you, one of my favorite things to do in The Sims is play Legacy Challenges. They lead you to explore new aspects of gameplay, give you new imaginative ideas, and facilitate storytelling. So, a couple of nights ago I got the idea to create a new kind of legacy challenge revolving around different aspects of fame.

The goal isn’t exactly to become the most famous using said career/ skill, but to play around with different elements of the fame system in the game. You by no means need all the packs to play through this legacy. While the experience would be more complete and you will be missing careers and skills and stuff you can obviously adapt it to your need. Also, you are more than welcomed to use mods to enrich your gameplay. I myself can’t play without mods and look forward to see what kind of chaos mods can add to this challenge.

So without further a do below are the 10 generations I concocted like a fever dream at 2 am on a Saturday evening:

Gen 1: A Shaky Foundation

Traits: Cheerful, Ambitious, Self-Absorbed

Career: Acting, Style Influencer (Trendsetter Branch)

You move to a new city full of hopes and dreams. You initially pursue your dream of becoming an actor. However, your career is cut short by the unexpected arrival of your first child. You retreat from the spotlight in order to raise your baby and put all of your energy into making sure they have the best future possible. The rest of the time you spend either working or trying to unwind from your demanding life. What will fate bring you and your descendants?

Goals:

Move into an empty lot with 1600 simoleons for the bare minimum.

Start in the Acting Career, but abandon it for the Style Influencer career once your first child is born. Remain in the Style Influencer Career and eventually choose the Trendsetter Branch.

Max out the Style Influencer Career.

Reach level 10 of the Parenting and Wellness Skills.

Be close friends with all of your children and make sure they each age up with at least 2 positive character attributes.

Gen 2: Get Your Head in the Game

Traits: Active, Music Lover, Outgoing

Career: Athlete, Entertainment (Musician Branch)

Your parent might have seemed very overbearing at the time, but they instilled a work ethic in you like no other. Your entire life you were split between your two passions: basketball and singing. Okay, fine, you're Troy Bolton. After succeeding in the sports world you still find yourself feeling somewhat unfulfilled. You enter the entertainment career later on in life to live out your dreams. Will this be the start of something new?

Goals:

Max out the Athlete Career and then switch to the Entertainment Career (Musician Branch).

Max out the Fitness and Singing Skills.

Be in the drama club in high school.

Gen 3: Going for the Stars

Traits: Clumsy, Loner, Genius

Career: Astronaut

Your parent always told you to shoot for the stars, you just took it a bit too seriously. This world was always a bit too pedestrian for you and you yearn to finally lay your eyes on the astronomical craters of Sixam. There's just one problem: you're terrible at it. It's not your fault, you're just a bit clumsy; but will your two left feet keep you from reaching your dreams?

Goals:

Work in the Astronaut Career your entire life. Get demoted and fired at least once in your lifetime.

Destroy and repair a rocket 3 times.

Live in a tiny home for your young adulthood and adulthood.

Have at least one set of twins. *You can cheat for this!*

Gen 4: The Finer Things in Life

Traits: Materialistic, Hates Children, Lazy

Career: None

You've seen all the generations before you work their little pixelated butts off for every simoleon, but you're not about that life. You were destined for the finer things in life.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Charisma and Mixology Skills.

Marry and survive 5 spouses. Take that wording however you want. Divorce is not allowed. You must be the last once standing. After all, spouses are like infinity stones. Meaningless.

Never have a job. Only make money from spouses, family, or children. If you get desperate enough you can ask a friend for a loan or steal, but no working of any kind.

Each child you decide to have with one of your rich spouses comes with a 20k trust fund. If they get taken away or die before coming of age, all the money has to be returned to the evil capitalist overlords. You can't get rid of them that easily.

Own at least 1 restaurant/ retail/ business with one of your spouses. Decorate it, assign the uniform, and hire everyone, but you never run it. Why would you go through the trouble?

Gen 5: My Precious

Traits: Art Lover, Kleptomaniac, Self-Assured

Career: Criminal

Your childhood was pretty hectic and you felt like you barely knew your parents. Who needs them? You've never needed anyone else anyway. On your 18th birthday, you receive your inheritance and use it to buy yourself an unfurnished apartment in the nicest building you can find and that's when your money runs out... literally. However, will a new job as a tough guy be the first of many great ideas or will it only be the beginning of the end for this famed family?

Goals

Once you become a young adult give yourself enough money to buy one of the apartments in the Uptown Neighborhood in San Myshuno. It must be unfurnished. After moving in set your money to 0 simoleons.

Complete the Criminal Career.

Reach level 10 of the Mischief and Dancing Skills.

Gain an atrocious reputation and spend the rest of your life trying to cover it up.

Steal 10 paintings from a museum and exhibit them proudly in your home. You are never allowed to sell them. As an adult, hide them in a secret attic nobody else has access to or knows about. They are your precious.

Gen 6: The Muses

Traits: Creative, Family Oriented, Insider

Career: Painter

You could have anything you wanted in the world thanks to your family's empire so you pursued your passion: painting. While you were never close to your other family members you were always very close to your art teacher. This led you to have very close ties to your friends, co-workers, and eventual children. Will your legacy remain for longer in the memory of strangers or your loved ones?

Goals

Complete the Painter Career

Reach level 10 of the Painting, Cooking and Baking Skills

Have a better relationship with your art teacher than anyone else in your family until you're a teen.

Move to a new world once you become a young adult and cut ties with your family.

Be the leader of one club for all your young adulthood and adulthood.

Be close friends with 3 co-workers and all of your children.

Prepare a meal at least once a week with the help of your children. *I know we don't have this in the game yet technically, but I'm hoping to have Cottage Living by the time I play with this generation*

Hang 5 paintings in a museum.

Retire from Painting Career to help care for your grandchildren.

Gen 7: Mole

Traits: Good, Perfectionist, Paranoid

Career: None

You always had a good relationship with your parents. You told each other everything... well, almost everything. You never understood why but one of your parents never talked about the rest of your family members. They explained that they simply never had a good relationship and would rather not talk about it. You respect this until their death when you return to their seemingly abandoned childhood home. While exploring the house you find a not-so-subtle bookcase door and a long forgotten attic filled with paintings. You take them in hopes of returning them but unbeknownst to you, you are being watched.

After an unfortunately unavailable nail-biting car chase, you shake off your attackers. You can't just lead them home to the rest of your family and what would the police do? They don't even arrest Vlad when he's trying to bite all of your sims!

Sorry, different rant.

So you do the only logical thing: you sell the paintings you just stole for some cash to buy an empty lot and skip town. A new life awaits you... just a bit underground.

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Writing, Logic, and Handiness Skills.

Complete the Best Selling Author Aspiration.

After your parent dies, you visit Gen 5's main home and retrieve the paintings hidden in the attic generations ago. Sell them and use the money to buy an empty lot in a completely different world.

Use your remaining money to build a small underground bunker. You can now never leave your bunker or risk immediate death.

You make your income by writing books under your new name. Oh, didn't I mention that? You changed your name to avoid detection. Your children may carry this new fake last name or your partner's.

Gen 8: Part of Your World

Traits: Loves Outdoors, Outgoing, Geek

Career: Social Media

All you knew was the bunker and it's not that you hated it, you just wanted a bit more. You're basically the little mermaid, except you don't get to be a mermaid. You just get a bunker you can never leave and a desperate yearning to explore the outside world.

Your outlet is the internet. From a young age you loved using it to play video games and make friends. As a teen you began to make videos and fostered a community online. Will you finally take your place in the world or remain hidden underground?

Goals

Reach level 10 of the Media Production and Video Gaming Skills

Complete the Social Media Career.

You're never allowed to leave the underground bunker until you're a teen.

You aren't allowed to go to school. Instead you play video games and use your computer for outside interaction.

As a teen you start developing your online presence by posting on social media and making videos on the video station.

You are only allowed to move out of the household once your parent dies and you have enough money in reserves to buy a furnished home.

Gen 9: Natural Born Performer

Traits: Gloomy, Unflirty, Adventurous

Career: Entertainment (Comedy Branch)

Due to your parent's fame, it was always expected you would follow in their footsteps. While a bit more gloomy than most, you are happiest when you make others laugh. So you join the Entertainer Career where you flourish as a comedian. You're also a bit unlucky in love. Will the family name's fame and your own notoriety keep you from finding true love or are you destined to a lifetime of gold diggers and one night stands?

Goals

Complete the Entertainer Career (Comedy Branch).

Reach level 10 of the Comedy and Rock Climbing skills.

Complete Serial Romantic Aspiration

Have four children.

Die suddenly and *mysteriously* in your adulthood.

Gen 10: A Grand Finale

Traits: Kleptomaniac, Ambitious, Perfectionist

Career: Actor

After losing your parents at a very young age, you and your siblings were sent to live with some distant relatives you didn't even know about. While you and your siblings are all very different and you bicker plenty, you always stick together.

After learning you are a descendant of some of the most famous and infamous sims in history, you are determined to meet and surpass their achievements. Will you come out on top or have you flown too close to the sun?

Goals

Complete the Actor Career

Achieve level 10 of 10 skills of your choosing.

Become a Global Superstar.

Get a star on Starlight Boulevard.

Throughout your lifetime you must go on vacation to every house you lived in throughout all previous 9 generations. Oh, and your three other siblings need to come along too. Think of it as Narnia meets It. Also make sure to steal something from each of the houses as a souvenir and display it proudly in your own home.

After you've completed all the things above, get turned into a vampire and choose to end your mortal legacy here... or start a whole new type all together.

Thank you so much for indulging me in this insanity. While I haven't played through any of these generations myself as of yet, I look forward to see the chaos and cuteness possible in The Sims.

Happy simming!

V

[yegarts]

“I Am YEG Arts” Series: Kristi Hansen

Photo credit: Ryan Parker Photography

Kristi Hansen. If the name sounds familiar, it’s for good reason. She’s an actor, creator, and advocate for inclusivity who’s disrupting traditional leadership models to create opportunities for equity-seeking communities. Impressed? So was the Edmonton Artists’ Trust Fund committee, who recently recognized her as one of their 2020 award recipients. But that’s not the only place you might know her from. If you’re lucky, you saw her in The Silver Arrow or Woody—her one-woman show that compares and contrasts her life as an amputee to other amputees (real and imagined) around the world. But as impressive as what she does may be, her greatest accolade is who she is. A person unafraid to look deeper, feel deeper, question deeper, and present truths that aren’t always put forward.

Actor, teacher, co-conspirator, and self-proclaimed brat in the making—this week’s “I Am YEG Arts” story belongs to Kristi Hansen.

Of all the titles used to describe you and what you do, which do you use to describe yourself? Is there one you hope to add?

I have started to refer to myself as a “co-conspirator” when entering an art practice. I am always hungry for a collective process and am constantly looking for how each artistic process can create an ensemble of co-conspirators who develop a language and community agreement for how we want to work. I am drawn to other co-conspirators who are “brats” (artists who are constantly finding ways to gently subvert and find new pathways in the process). It is my greatest aspiration to be a brat. ; )

What was it about the arts that made you feel it could be your community?

I had a sneaky feeling when venturing into my life as an artist that as someone who never really had a community growing up, the arts could be my place where people weren’t afraid to look deeper, feel deeper, question deeper, and present the truths that weren’t always being put forward.

What keeps you choosing Edmonton as your place to live and work?

I came to Edmonton in 1999 to study at the Grant MacEwan Theatre Arts program without any real sense of how special a place Edmonton is. I didn’t imagine myself still being here 22 years later, and yet the more places I work outside of Edmonton, the more I can’t imagine myself calling anywhere else home. After Grant MacEwan, I went to the University of Alberta’s BFA Acting program and continued to meet folks within the Edmonton theatre and arts community who inspired me with their DIY punk attitudes. I’ve always been attracted to folks who make their own paths, and Edmonton artists seemed ripe with that resilience and subversion. I always felt like transformation, curiosity, and FUN were at the center of so much of the work in YEG. I got hitched to a really cool Edmonton artist (Sheldon Elter), I bought a very affordable house in the Alberta Avenue neighbourhood (which I love), I can bike downtown in seven  minutes, I have a great dog, and I get to work with so many different companies in so many different artistic mediums. I am truly #LivingTheDream.

Photo credit: Ryan Parker Photography

More people are wanting to build inclusive communities and spaces that don’t exist—like what you did with The Maggie Tree. Tell us about that experience and the first steps you took to make it happen.

Inspired by the Edmonton “If you are looking for an opportunity, create it yourself!” creation method I’d seen in so many other Edmonton artists and art companies, my friend Vanessa Sabourin and I saw a need for more women theatre artists to work and create together and to be IN CHARGE of their own productions and careers. We started an ad-hoc women’s theatre company, The Maggie Tree, in 2007. We had no money, but we had a community of supporters: Azimuth Theatre had a small space at the time that they rented to us for a cut of our box office. Vanessa’s dad built the set for us. Edmonton art superstars Amber Borotsik and Lori Gawryluik joined us in the process. Lori let us use the Artery (which she was running at the time) for a fundraiser. Then we did a run of a show. People came. And then we were a theatre company. It grew from there.

We learned how to write grants. We learned and continue to learn how feminism is intersectional and how to be inclusive and welcoming to gender diverse humans and other equity-seeking communities in our practice of what we want our inclusive, feminist theatre company to be. I often get to sit down with young artists who want to know “how to do it.” Honestly:

1. Find a thing you want to do.

2. Find a place where you can do it.

3. Commit to dates.

That’s the foundation. Once you have those three things, you’re off to the races. Not to simplify the other producing aspects of getting something together (all that grant writing, contract building, budgeting, policy creation, and marketing stuff is hard), but I honestly find once I have the three basics decided, I am flying.

Is there a particular piece of feedback you lean on when days are tough?

I’ve had the good fortune of working with many amazing artists who have given me GREAT advice/feedback over the years, but I want to offer a mantra that I came up with years ago (Ha! How hilariously self-congratulatory of me, but it’s honestly my go-to) that serves me well any time I enter a new artistic process: We are going to try some things: Some of them will work, some of them will not, and we are going to keep trying. This mantra keeps me going on the tough days, and keeps me brave when I want to retreat into the safety of what is already known and maybe not as interesting.

Tell us about the role funding and awards have played in your career. What doors do they open?

I first started writing grants for The Maggie Tree as an individual artist to fund our productions. I learned the art of grant writing from Vanessa Sabourin, Steve Pirot, Murray Utas, and Vern Thiessen: All brilliant artist and producers who know how to weave an undeniable narrative and craft a beautifully specific budget. The Maggie Tree started being successful in our asks for Edmonton Arts Council, Alberta Foundation for the Arts, and Canada Council for the Arts grants. This enabled us to engage more and more artists in our projects and to start moving into being able to offer equity contracts for artists and to create viable work opportunities for Edmonton artists. These grants allowed me to advance myself as an artist and producer and to be able to PAY myself for the art I was creating and/or producing. I’ve been lucky enough to receive a few awards in my career that have helped to launch my profile as an artist locally, provincially, and nationally, and I am grateful to now be known inside and outside of Edmonton artist circles.

Grants and awards offer artists the opportunity to create their own opportunities and to expand their profile so OTHER folks can offer them opportunities, as well. Before you know it there’s a career in the arts in front of you.

What excites you most about the YEG arts scene right now?

I am constantly inspired by the younger generations of YEG artists coming up. I am here for the push for a kinder, more inclusive, more transparent workplaces (cuz let’s face it: Art is WORK, and as much as we love our art, we are still workers). I am excited for new art spaces: CO*LAB, the new Roxy… I’m also pretty hyped for new performance technologies being created right here in YEG with Moment Discovery.

Photo credit: Ryan Parker Photography

Tell us about your workshops and commitment to being an educator/mentor. What do you hope people will take away?

I am pretty into the idea of educating/mentoring folks by being led by them and the artist they are. I’m not interested in people changing themselves into what they think is marketable or palatable for whoever their “audience” is. I want them to be the best and most authentic THEM they can be in their work. When I work with a group of humans, I am most interested in ensemble training and dismantling hierarchy in groups. I return to the idea of the co-conspirator and the brats: How can we work together? What agreements need to be made in order for us to do our best work together? What are the rules? And when do we know it’s time to break the rules (cue the brat)?

I had the good fortune of many wonderful mentors who taught me so many important lessons and also taught me things that no longer serve me. I hope that for any of the folks I have helped mentor that they take anything that I pass on that is useful and let go of anything that is not or that no longer serves them in their practice. We are all on our own artistic journeys, but it is as a community—or ensemble—that we grow and move forward. Ultimately, we need each other.

You’ve talked about the importance of artists generating opportunities for other artists. Can you speak to that a little more?

I truly believe this is the way it works. When you care for your community, the community cares for you and those you keep bringing into the circle. I also think it’s important to nudge people when you see opportunities that could be good for them. Let them know you’re thinking of them. They may not have the confidence to apply on their own, but that little push can go a long way. There is nothing more encouraging as an artist than to know that someone else believes in you and your work.

Who’s someone inspiring you right now?

I’m pretty inspired by Carly Neis, Cynthia Jimenez-Hicks, and Cameron Kneteman (along with producer Mac Brock) as they continue to workshop and produce their new TYA play focusing on disability, Tune to A. They are being giant brats and being kind all over the place on this one, and I couldn’t be more proud of the accessible practice model they are building in their process.

Describe your perfect day in Edmonton. How do you spend it?

Breakfast on my patio in Alberta Avenue, putzing in my garden, taking the dog on a bike ride through Dawson Park, a piece of cheesecake from Otto, seeing a show (art show, theatre show, music show), then finishing the night off with a beer and burger from the Next Act. I’m a simple creature, really. ; )

Want more YEG Arts Stories? We’ll be sharing them here all year and on social media using the hashtag #IamYegArts. Follow along!

Click here to learn more about Kristi Hansen, her workshops, and upcoming projects.

About Kristi Hansen

Kristi Hansen is a disabled theatre artist who has called Edmonton home for the past 22 years. Kristi trained as an actor at Grant MacEwan’s Theatre Arts Program from 1999-2001, and then at the University of Alberta’s Bachelor of Fine Arts Acting Program from 2001-2004.  Kristi is the co-founder and co-Artistic Director of The Maggie Tree and the former co-Artistic Producer of Azimuth Theatre in Edmonton, AB.

Acting credits include Candide (Edmonton Opera); The Silver Arrow, A Christmas Carol, and Alice Through the Looking Glass (Citadel Theatre); The Invisible: Agents of Ungentlemanly Warfare (Catalyst Theatre); Mr. Burns: a post-electric Play (You are Here Theatre/Blarney Productions); The Bad Seed, The Jazz Mother, Pith!, The Scent of Compulsion, and The Ambassador’s Wives (Teatro la Quindicina); The Hollow (Vertigo Theatre); Small Mouth Sounds, 10 out of 12, and Passion Play (Wild Side Productions); Irma Voth (Theatre Network); Christina/Philippe (Northern Light Theatre); The Sound of Music (National Arts Centre); Comedy of Errors, Hamlet, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, King Lear, Romeo and Juliet and Love’s Labour’s Lost (Freewill Players); The Snow Queen and Apocalypse Prairie (Azimuth Theatre); The Supine Cobbler, Monstrosities, Age of Arousal, Hroses: An Affront to Reason, Folie à Deux, and Hunger Striking (The Maggie Tree). Her one-woman show, Woody, explores the themes of privilege and disability in a reflection of her life as a disabled human living in North America in contrast with other amputees (real and imagined) around the world.

[hoplessdreamer9796]

BTS 8th Member - Your Friends

Best Friends: Kim Hanbin (B.I from Ikon. (Pretend he’s still in Ikon and YG didn’t snake one of their best artists.) Your mothers are best friends and so when you moved to Korea, he was the only person you knew so you clung to each other. He was also one of your best friends through high school. He is your best friend and you both have always been there for each other. The both of you tried alcohol for the first time together, which you stole from his father’s liquor cabinet. Were there for each other’s first relationships and first heartbreaks. You were there for his parents’ divorce at 12 (I made this up idk if it’s true). You ditched classes and went to go sit on the roof of your apartment building to talk about your futures together. His aspirations for music and yours to live peacefully. In your friendship group he is the grandfather that clings to his youth. He hates any physical activities other than mountain hiking but loves going on nights out. You both even got matching tattoos as soon as it was legal, and it will be explained later. “You can’t push me away Y/N! So, get angry, scream and shout but I’m not going anywhere! I’m your best friend that shit doesn’t work on me!”) Park Shinhye (Despite your age difference you two are best friends, you consider each other sisters. Grew close because you both work in the entertainment industry but both don’t have girls around you, you by being in BTS and her by being an actress so when you both met at an award show soon after BTS debuted you clicked. You both were there for each other threw everything. She’s one of your best friends and you often have movie nights when you’re both free. She cried for you when BTS won a daesang for the first time, that moment went viral. BTS walked off the stage, and were still visible by fans but near backstage, and you two ran at each other like dramatic losers as she was crying more than you were and you were both shouting at each other to stop crying while continuing to hug. Fans love that moment and your friendship. She often states that you are her best friend both in this industry and in life. “I never really thought it was possible to connect to someone like that. But I honestly think that in another life we were sisters.”) Min Sooah (Best friend from high school is your secretary, for now, and is one of your pillars. You would not be able to function without her. There’s an ongoing joke that she is basically your mother, you worry her to no end. She is very grateful to you. After her father broke his hip and was not able to continue working, she had to drop out of university to go to work. You gave her the job as your secretary despite her not being qualified. You needed someone you trusted, and you knew she would work hard. Now she is one of the most important people in your company. She is the Dad of the group always complaining about how “I gave up my youth to look after you brats and none of you have time to spend with me? Okay I see how it is. Daehyun this is your influence on them!”) Ok Hwayoung (Best friend from high school now she is your personal shopper. After university she became a personal shopper, and you thanked the sky’s because she chooses all of your clothes to pack when traveling or when you have formal business meetings. You like buying clothes but you hate the process of shopping and trying things on, so you tell her what pieces you want, and she’ll get it. She also organises your wardrobe ‘cause she’s OCD like that. She also is a hopeless romantic and is constantly trying to talk you and Hangyeol into giving up your partying lifestyle because, “How are we supposed to have a group wedding if you don’t let yourselves find the ones you idiots?!”) Lee Hangyeol (Best friend from high school he owns a mechanics and auto repair shop and he is the only one you trust with you cars. He is also the only one of your best friends who encourages you attitude towards your love life as he is also not into committed relationships. You're both each other’s wingmen. You guys are basically the epitome of lads’ lads when around each other. You’re the loud, annoying people in a bar gassing each other up to chug your drinks down. Whenever one wants to go on a night out the other is always down. “Who needs a relationship? Tequila is just as good. Gives me a fun night and then when the fun wears off it give me a headache and regrets. That’s basically a relationship.”) Tae Daehyun (Best friend from high school he works as a pd on tv shows mainly running man. He was also on the track team back in high school. The two of you often go out on runs together. After seeing what the industry is like behind the camera, he worries a lot for you. Especially since he knows no matter how crappy you feel you’d rather down the nearest bottle of alcohol than talk about it. So, he always tries to let you know if you need to talk, he’s there. Also hates how much you and Hangyeol drink and always tries to make sure you guys eat a proper meal before going out and drinking. He’s also the one in your friend group who can be bothered to cook, he got so offended when he found out you hired a personal chef but then he tasted her food and is okay with it. He’s the Mum of the group. “What the hell is wrong with you all? You can’t throw a knife at the apple on his his head! Are you crazy? See this is what I have to deal with Sooah. But if you weren’t so busy working, you’d know that!”) Ryeo Chungae (Best friend from high school and she works on the public relations for your company. When she first joined your company, she always felt like she got the job because she’s your friend, but you wouldn’t have given her the job if you didn’t think she could do it. She went through a hard time when her boyfriend cheated on her with her old boss. Instead of being scared of falling in love again she wants love. Trying to convince you and Hangyeol that it’s is amazing when secretly she is glad that you won’t be able to get hurt. She is a pushover in all aspects of life except for work. When it comes to work, she is a force to be reckoned with. So instead of staying at her old job with her boss she resigned after making a scene about the boss sleeping with her boyfriend which got said boss fired. When she is with all of your friends, she is also very outspoken and opinionated. However, when it comes to people she isn’t comfortable with her anxiety acts up. You and all your friends are protective of her in situations where her anxiety gets bad. Her ideal life is a Hallmark movie. “One day I’m gunna meet the man of my dreams. He’s gunna be tall and handsome and most importantly he’ll take me away from all of you dumbass motherfuckers.”) Hak Daeho (Best friend from high school he works at Songsun’s shop as and is in charge of customising cars. He is the one that never wants to go out and always wants to stay home. He prefers a night in with his friends than at some stupid club where Y/N and Hangyeol ditch a half hour after arriving, most of the time. He doesn’t have the best relationship with his family after they found out he didn’t want to become a lawyer like his parents and siblings. His parents kicked him out and cut him off. Y/N payed for his college tuition even though he protested, you just said it was a loan and that he can pay you back someday. However, after he had been able to save up to pay you back you told him to shut up and buy a damn apartment which is what he did. Thanking the universes for his friends. He stayed in an apartment with Hwayoung, Daehyun and Chungae during college and no matter how many times he couldn’t pay rent his friends always had his back. It also helped that every time you visited you stocked the fridge and freezer. He thinks of you all as family more than he does of his own family. “You guys are a bunch of fucking idiots. Like you’re my family but damn you guys are stupid.”) Park Soomi (Best friend from high school. She is the most subscribed to female Korean youtuber with 11 million subscribers. She is also and ambassador for Jeonsa cosmetics although at first, she didn’t want to be as she felt like it would be using her friendship with you to her advantage. However, after you convinced her to accept, she did. You also knew that you could trust her since she has always been honest with you and never expects anything from you. You also knew that she would be advantageous for your company so it’s not like you’re just giving her money your promoting your company through her brand. After you explained this she reluctantly agreed. She is the loud, chaotic crackhead of the group. Constantly doing dumb shit. “Hey guys my pineapple was being difficult long story short we no longer have a microwave.”) Im Kyungmin (Best friend from high school, he is a part of Soul & Bones, a hip-hop and house dance crew. When you were younger all of your friends would go to his contests. Everything you learned about dancing you learned from watching that crew. You always loved the way their dancing looked and the atmosphere they created. But you were realistic with your situation knowing you’d never get to dance. When Bang pd wanted you to be a trainee you were hesitant, but he practically dragged you to that audition. And during trainee days he helped you with your dancing. He says your better than him now, but you know you’re not. Soon after you became a billionaire Soul & Bones were set to end. Their investor pulled out and most dance crews are under entertainment companies unlike soul & Bones. Kyungmin was devastated, Soul & Bones was his whole life. So, when you decided to fund it he was conflicted. On one hand he was thankful and on the other hand he was guilty. But after you told him what the crew meant to you, how you were also friends with everyone else in the crew and couldn’t let it end when you could do something about it he was on board. You however made it clear you don’t own Soul & Bones you just pay for things. Now it is considered the best hip-hop dance crew in Korea and one of the best in the world. He is the one in your group who seems high most of the time but isn’t. “I think that pizza is thinking shit about me... I’m gunna eat it not ‘cause I want to but because it needs to die!”) Close Friends: Mark Tuan (You met at a BTS and Got7 collaboration for and you both clicked immediately because you were both from western countries, you were both raised in similar cultures so you had become close friends easily. It is also less lonely when you both miss your home countries if you’re around each other. It was surprising because your personalities are the opposite, but you bring him out of his shell. Whenever you guys meet you always speak in English and it’s a relief for both of you since it is your first language no matter how long you’re in Korea. You both also relate on how different your home countries’ standards are compared to Korea in terms of public image, behaviour and many other things. It’s very easy to be your true selves around each other. ) Choi Youngjae (You guys are the same age so you clicked easily. Even though you’re closer to Mark you’re still close to Youngjae. The guy is literal sunshine it hard not to like him. There is also a group of idols born in 1996 who he is a part of.) BTS and Got7 are both close to each other so you are friendly with all the members. But you are the closest with Mark. Woo Jiho (Zico. You both met when BTS and Block B did a collaboration at mama. Namjoon and him knew each other but they weren’t that close, so it was unexpected when you and he hit it off. You are both close friends and hang out when you can. He often asks for your opinion with his music and the two of you once spent an entire night just messing around in the studio. He says that you are one of the only people to get him to take a break, when he’s in work mode, and to have some fun. Clubbing isn’t really his scene so you and Jaemin often have to beg him to go out drinking with you guys. He used to have feelings for you but after some time in the friendzone he realised he is okay with you not having feelings for him as long as you are in his life. No one knows about the feelings he had for you.) Lee Jaemin (A YouTuber who has 7 million subscribers. The two of you met through Jiho and got along very well because you both like alcohol and clubbing. However, he maintains a clean public image, so your company is fine with you being seen in public together. Your members aren’t very fond of him since the time he showed up at the dorm drunk looking for you and threw up in a plant. They think he is a bad influence, but you know what he was going through and know he’s a good person. He feels like he can be himself around you without feeling judged. Yoongi really hates him and the friendship you two have.) Kang Yujin (She is an Instagram model who has 18 million followers and 2 million subscribers on YouTube. She met you and Jiho through Jaemin. However, once the public found out about your friendship many thought she was using you in order to work with Jeonsa cosmetics. But you knew this wasn’t true. Yujin was the kind of person to drive to McDonald's for you at three in the morning when you had a nightmare about your father and wouldn’t tell her what it was about. The kind of person to kill spiders for you even though she’s scared of bugs too. And due to the public’s reaction, she was scared you would end up thinking the same of her. You told her how you knew what kind of person she was and in order to make a statement to the public you both posted a photo together on her Instagram announcing her endorsing your company. She is a very close friend and an older sister figure to you.) You, Zico, Jaemin and Yujin often go bowling together or go out to eat and are also drinking buddies you are very close to them. The four of you are often spotted in public together. Kang Seungyoon (You both met through Hanbin and both of your personalities go very well together. Musically you both also mesh very well together. You both also often play pool together and he gets triggered at how he’s played longer but you kick his ass at it. Whenever you both have the time you go out for food and drinks and spend all nigh playing pool and all night, he complains that you’re a cheater and he won’t stand for it. He’s a very good friend.) Kim Jisoo (You met her first, soon after they debuted, in the bathroom. The two of you clicked and then you met the rest of the group through her. It was easy to become friends with them due to BTS and Blackpink both being at the top of K-pop, so you were a lot more understanding of each other’s situations. She is a very close friend of yours and is an older sister figure to you. She always gets excited when you send her the new launches of Jeonsa cosmetics and does vlives talking about it.) Kim Jennie (Despite Jennie being introverted you charmed her during your first conversation. She found it very easy to talk to you despite being slightly nervous and you were her sunbae. She was surprised how easy it was to talk to you. You are a people person, and she is not so like most other extroverts she’s met she thought you would clash but surprisingly your personalities match very well. You bring out the fun in her.) Lalisa Manobal (Lisa. She looks up to you a lot in terms of your dancing. She is very clingy towards you when you meet, and you love her crackhead energy. You learnt to speak Thai early after BTS’ debut, this made Lisa feel like she could connect to you on a deeper level. You have also helped her with the racist side of K-pop, her being Thai and you being half Arabic you’re both no stranger to how harsh netizens are. As you have been going through it for longer than her you are able to comfort her (kind of because you’re emotionally stupid but you try and push that aside for your friend).) Park Chaeyoung (Rose. She was also born in a western country so when she met you it helped her feel less homesick. You both often talk about childhood TV shows together and relate to each other when people talk about Korean things from their childhood that you have no idea about. Even though you’re from different places it’s nice having someone who understands the difficulties of moving from western culture to eastern.) Kwon Jiyong (Gdragon. You guys met backstage at an award show when BTS and Bigbang met. The groups are casual with each other, but you and he became very close especially because you’re friends with many YG artists. You also both like to party a lot and often go out together. He views you as a very close friend and is often nagging at you to eat and rest properly You try and hang out whenever you both have time.) Matthew Kim (BM. You two met during an inkigayo. He got lost and was swearing in English. So, you approached him and asked in English if he was okay. You helped him find his way back to his dressing room. He knew who you were and that you were British as BTS was well known then. However, he was expecting you to be arrogant and was pleasantly surprised with how nice you were. You and he got along well as you have similar personalities. Both extroverted. The two of you also quickly found out about your shared love of partying and clubbing and now you often go out together.) Peniel Shin, Ashley Choi, Amber Liu, Stephanie Young Hwang (These are some of your other western born K-pop friends.) Red velvet (You are good friends with the group mainly Joy as you are the same age. You, them and Blackpink try to go out together when you can. Irene is also very protective over you and sees you like a little sister.) Park Chanyeol (You have very similar attitudes you were good acquaintances but then you both worked together on the Goblin ost (Pretend it was you instead of Punch p.s I love that song so fucking much.) He always tries convincing you to let him drive your cars and you always say no. He’s a very fun person and you guys have a good laugh together.) You’re friendly with the rest of the Exo members but the closest to Chanyeol. Your best friends are: Hanbin, Shinhye, and all of your friends from high school. However, you are still close with the rest of your friends.

[ephemerlskies]

the beauty of after | pjm

⇢ pairing: jimin x f reader

[other members - taehyung]

⇢ genre: drabble, fluff, widower!jimin, angst (barely), artist!taehyung, the FLUFFIEST piece i've written so far, jimin is an old man

⇢ word count: 3.5k

⇢ warnings: themes of grief/loss, major character death (oc), mentions of death

⇢ summary: on your seventieth wedding anniversary, jimin celebrates in solitude by describing your face to an artist. it surfaces more fondness than grief to reminisce in the memory of his late partner.

♪ playlist: serendipity - bts • i'll never love again - lady gaga • lover - taylor swift • love of my life - queen • my everything - ariana grande ♪

[important] a/n: i am so so sorry to everyone for constantly reposting this, but my tags haven't been working. hopefully this is the last time i have to repost this!! also HAPPY PRIDE!

“Thanks for doing this for me.” The young artist had already begun mixing paints on his palette, eyeing the canvas before him to scale the size of his portrait.

Jimin was gentle with the way his eyes traveled along Taehyung’s face which was free from the age wrinkles that Jimin had grown used to seeing. He nodded as to say your welcome, a jaded but genuine smile reaching his lips to the ends of his face.

It was difficult to gauge which one was more nervous from how Taehyung had nearly knocked over his easel various times within the stretch of setting up his supplies and the lack of stillness that fraught Jimin’s hands which were trying, and failing, to fold politely in his lap.

“This is for an art project? For school?” Jimin asked, deciding that half-empty questions fit better in the air than the awkward silence funded by the lack of proper acquaintance. Not to say he wasn’t indeed curious about this whole ordeal.

“Yeah. My professor wanted us to have someone describe their significant other to us and we have to draw them based on the description! I hope I do your partner justice.” Jimin’s heart grew warmer when the enthusiasm from Taehyung’s voice made his intentions clear. He was an aspiring artist simply using his craft to procure something emotional and raw.

Jimin was the fortunate soul Taehyung had stumbled upon during his walk home. A single, elderly man sitting on a park bench, an appropriate setting for someone Jimin’s age, had aroused some curiosity in the younger man to strike up a conversation.

The slightly hung head, the pair of kind eyes trailing the various passersby, and the astounding hint of melancholy had colored Jimin in an entirely different light than anyone Taehyung had ever met.

Whatever his story was, Taehyung made it a goal to depict it with every bit of honesty and emotion he could engender from his paintbrush.

“I think it would be hard to make anything of ___ look bad." Jimin assured, feeling his shoulders fall away from his ears and his hands finally rest atop his lap.

“___? Is that her name?” Taehyung repeated it internally a few more times in an attempt to imagine what you looked like before Jimin started on his description.

He looked over to the older man, picturing an older woman sitting beside him on that park bench. His mind meandered to what kinds of things you two would talk about, or if you two were the type to construct a haven in sweet silence. Maybe Jimin would say something that would make you laugh and you would join in on the repartee with ease.

What made you laugh? How many times have you been on a plane? Did you like the color yellow? What was your favorite genre of music? What made you cry?

The questions began to bundle like a colorful bouquet of diverse flowers, waiting to be delivered into the hands of a loved one.

“Yes. Beautiful right?” Jimin’s smile faded a bit, the only evidence of it expressed through a slight curve sitting at the ends of his mouth and the crow’s feet incising his skin much more prominently than the rest of his wrinkles.

“Very beautiful.” Taehyung decided to arm himself with one of his finer brushes. He could already feel the unwavering desire to capture the most intricate of details partly for a good grade in this class but partly for the sake of keeping true to his word.

He wanted to do you and Jimin justice. To make this nothing but ornately accurate.

“How would you describe her facial structure?” The artist positioned his arm with his brush in hand, ready to dispatch the ink amassing at the tip of the synthetic hairs to the white, empty canvas.

“Soft. Perfect to fit into my hands.” Jimin stared down to the mentioned body parts, reminiscing the countless times he would scoop your face between his palms for no reason at all other than to revere your beauty. “Round cheeks. Smooth and warm skin.”

Taehyung couldn’t resist how the pang in his heart reflexively surfaced a fond smile in reaction to Jimin’s endearing description. He peeked away from the canvas before making any initial marks and gathered the loving gaze Jimin had been directing towards his matured hands cupped around the empty space that should have been your face. Then, he knew exactly which set of emotions he should embed into this portrait.

“What about her eyes, what do they look like?” Taehyung asked to acquire another image of how he should paint you, while already outlining the basic curves of a head that would quote unquote fit perfectly in Jimin's hands.

“They were kind. They always had this sparkle in it. A real sparkle, like she trapped the moonlight in her eyes.” Suddenly, Jimin's lungs were not merely occupied with air, but with an oxygenated memorial of your eyes which made his inhalations feel weighted. “They were bright and always looked at me with trust and care. Even when they had tears in them, you could have mistaken those for diamonds.”

The image was stark in his own eyes, and if he closed them then he could have been transported back seventy years to when your wedding vows were announced to the world. How your eyes looked at him and glimmered an overwhelming beauty that nearly evaporated the over-rehearsed words from his memory. Before you could roll those moonlit pupils at his fall to silence, he hastily declared the oaths that bound his heart to yours forever as if he couldn’t stand a second longer keeping those promises in.

“Were?” Taehyung articulated thoughtfully as he could with clear indication to question the past tense manner of Jimin’s narrative.

“Yeah. She has passed.” It was still difficult to feel those words ordered as such verbalized by his tongue. They tasted bitter and stale, as if they had been waiting somewhere inside to be recognized.

He wasn't aware of how his hand was now placed against his chest until he felt the heavy throbs of his tired organ. Through this, it might be that he was searching for your heartbeat that he could once identify through the his own.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Sir.” Taehyung’s hand almost fell away from the canvas, until reality restored his maneuvers and continued the lining of your face.

His focus was oscillating from the mostly white canvas, save for the thin strokes of black, to the man uncoated from his reserve through the smile that deepened the indentations of his face.

“Jimin. Call me Jimin.” He said, breaking whatever ice that froze the two of them in discomfort. That nervousness had melted away with the minutes until they both felt warm and comfortable.

“Okay, Jimin, could you describe anything else about her? It doesn’t have to be physical. This is more about emotion.” Taehyung’s brush had been hard at work, dutifully printing every hint of love that Jimin relayed and materializing it onto the portrait.

“Her smile was warm. The biggest one you would ever see. I swear, everyone she met noticed it. It was genuine. It was the smile of someone who never had mal intent and always ready to share her happiness to all those around her. Seeing it every day, it reminded me that, with her, I was always home.”

From the day he met you, eye contact was a difficult task to compass since your smile had always demanded his full attention. Each time you flashed your grin, he felt as if it was purposeful, the extension of your joy onto him. The way you made him feel every bit of bliss you felt because you were the type to believe everyone, especially Jimin, deserved to feel happy.

And each time he was endowed witness to your smile, it articulated his goal in life quite clearly: molding his actions into a kindle for your smile and doing everything in his humble power to cherish those angelic beams of joy.

“Whenever she would smile, your day would get a little bit better. And I was lucky enough to spend most of my life with her, so my days always got better. She always smiled. Like she knew how much it meant to me.”

“Sounds like ___ was very happy.” Taehyung said during the interval of giving shape to your lips. What remained on the canvas was the widest smile Taehyung could craft, knowing it was not nearly as big as the one Jimin described.

“She was. She was sad too, and angry. You did not want to see her angry, let me tell you.” A chuckle had fallen from his mouth as he postured the memory of your scowl to the forefront of his recollection. How you would equip this number when Jimin would do something particularly dumb, or when your kids were being scolded for reasons that didn’t seem as important now.

There was nothing that compared to how you could emote with your entire face in a poise that suggested your feelings willed your every movement. How you would scrunch your nose and your eyebrows would reach the middle of the space between them; the frown of your lips would pull your entire face lower. He would take your anger seriously at the time, but in retrospect, he would give anything to see that disgruntled expression again.

And he would simply smile, and perhaps snap a photo for a keepsake.

“I hope she was happy most of all. That’s all that matters, Taehyung. Make the ones you love happy. I hope I did that well enough.” Jimin began to question if he made you happy. One day, when he joined your parted soul, he would find that out for himself.

He knew beyond doubt that you had accomplished sparking joy into people's lives simply by being you.

“I will. That’s good advice, Jimin.” Taehyung made himself present in his wonders about you, despite how he was absent from your life.

From the way Jimin described you, he fully understood that Jimin wasn't speaking from the functions of a brain. The portion of his mind that conducted speech could have been rejected entirely. These words, the thoughtful description, the sentiment flowing from his voice were sourced straight from the heart.

One that felt incomplete without its other half.

“Do you miss her?” He had to inject a bit of courage in this question in the hopes it wouldn’t be overstepping any boundaries. Though, Jimin was ever so gentle with the way he moved through life and met Taehyung's requests with kindness so far.

“Very much.” A stout crack fissured through Jimin’s voice and prompted him to swallow down the sob ruminating in his throat. “I miss her more than anything in the world. More than the flowers miss the spring and wait for winter to pass so they may bloom again. These days, I’m just waiting for spring.”

Jimin had intertwined his hands together, pretending it could fill the hollow space of his palms just as well as your hands would. He knew though, this was an emptiness that would always remain unfulfilled the minute your heart stopped beating with his.

“It will come. Soon enough. She’s waiting for you too, I’m sure.” And your flower will bloom. Taehyung created the contours of your eyes and paid a sizable amount of attention to depicting that highly emphasized sparkle.

What would a painting of you be without those acclaimed glints of moonlight floating in your irises? It wouldn’t be a painting of you at all.

“Do you have a special someone in your life right now?” Jimin took over the role of the questioner and placed Taehyung in the position of the questionee. It was enough for now to repair his composure.

“Not at the moment, no.” The majority of his focus was fixed on the painting but spared just enough to answer Jimin’s inquiry.

“Well, whenever you find them, I hope you appreciate the small things. I never knew how much the small things mattered until ___ was gone. Like how she notoriously had every barista put extra cinnamon on her coffee drinks. When I would forget to add it, she would pretend to be mad at me. She'd roll her eyes and tell me I’m ‘losing it’ or she would say something dramatic like ‘what has this world come to, Park Jimin?’” His pause filtered the room with a peaceful property.

Jimin utilized the silence to ponder the moments he once hadn’t given as much as a second thought to. The same moments that would entrap him in a catatonic gaze on rainy days or during cold, lonely nights.

“She would still drink the whole thing, though. She was kind in that way. Never really letting those things go unappreciated.” His eyes fell to the floor, though he was not seeing the weathered carpet spread across the substructure. He saw none other than your eyes.

The moonlight he had the privilege of viewing up close and personal, and uncrowned the orbiting rock in the sky of its esteemed title.

“Now every time I see cinnamon, I think of her. Of her peculiar love of it and even though she loved cinnamon so much, she’d love the effort I put in even more. She always loved me generously.” There had been friction within Jimin’s throat that made it warm and swollen ever since he started talking about you. His words dislodged through labored projections, but his voice overtly strewn hints of sorrowful longing in each statement.

“She sounds very loving. I can’t imagine how lucky it was that you met her.” Though his eyes were trained on pressing the delicate illustrations of your face onto the canvas, his ears were employed in listening intently to Jimin.

He had no idea who you were, however, he was sure he too would have fallen in love. Of course, anyone would have done so through the perception of someone who had devoted his entire heart and life to loving you.

“How long were you two together?” He asked to obtain an addition to his bouquet of knowledge about you.

“We were married for seventy years but we dated for three years before that.” Jimin’s eyes were not alone anymore.

They loaded quite a collection of tears, barely keeping at the bay of his eyes, and the vision of your face when he proposed that the two of you should seal your love through something as trivial as a diamond ring.

It was irrational, not only the fact that pricey luxuries such as rings were well beyond his budget. Jimin knew that embellishing a silver band on your finger would not be enough to earn a lasting relationship or settle your commitment to him. A piece of jewelry could not entail the immense love harbored in his chest. The proposal wasn’t the end of a happy story, rather the beginning of a lifetime to learn and unlearn the elements of loving you.

Even the bumps in the road, knocking him or you away from each other, were never enough to conclusively sever the connection. Dedication and work knotted your heartstrings together. The biggest bump, your death, was the final blow that nearly disentangled them.

Nearly. But when Jimin said ‘until death do us part’ he never realized that vow held some false hope. Of course, he wouldn’t let you go, or rather he couldn’t let you go, even after you passed away. It wasn’t that easy when his heart synchronized with yours the moment he fell in love with you and he already decided to become someone who was worthy of loving you.

Now he was that man. Someone who matched the degree of kindness you always provided him. The man who would disregard any prior engagements if you called and needed him, rest assured you would do the same for him. The man who proudly held your hand, knowing the world envied him. The same man that was cultivated through growing beside someone that cared for every part of him, down to her last breath.

In that way, death was never a contender to part him from you.

“Wow.” Taehyung was not sure of how else to elaborate how genuinely impressed he was. “What's the secret? How did you manage to stay together for seventy years? I mean, people these days get divorces like it’s a quit button you can press when you get tired of playing the game.”

Jimin, despite the teary glaze over his eyes, pulled a laugh from his throat. Without warning, he fell into the trench of all the long-forgotten fights bred from pettiness or misunderstanding. Many of them were over financial or familial issues. And with the lens of a seventy-year perspective, Jimin traded shallow grudges for an important realization that certain things remain standing after the dust settles.

“We would fight. A lot, actually. Even in those perfect relationships, people always fight. But I remember now, if it were a fight over money or anything else that was expendable, there wasn’t a question in my mind of which to choose. Between the world and ___, I always choose her. I always choose love. It’s more important than anything because when you truly love someone, you want to understand them. You want to work through problems instead of leaving them to pile up and collect dust.”

Jimin’s eyes now settled on Taehyung, who had already been staring at Jimin, then continued with all the sincerity he could deploy.

“Taehyung, always choose them. Choose love. I know I did and I have no regrets. I know if I chose to stay angry at her, I would be wrestling to forgive myself.”

Taehyung’s face muscles felt tired, his smile’s permanence hadn’t allowed for them to rest.

“Anger, annoyance, frustration, jealousy? Those all fade away. In a week or a month, you’ll stop being angry at some point, but you will never stop being in love. So choose love. It’s a permanent fixture in your heart.”

Taehyung set his brush down, and the picture resting on the easel was completed and then some. He didn’t mind. Taehyung truly enjoyed the sentiments Jimin kindly shared with him, as it would have been far duller to paint in silence.

Not to mention, he discovered a love story that went untold by movies and fairytales. It was a true love story. Something so real, Taehyung fell in love just by capturing Jimin’s tale and translating it into visual art.

Because this image of you was what Jimin saw when he pictured you. The picture of you shrouded in abundance by the highest grade of love.

“I’m finished, would you like to see?” Taehyung lifted the canvas from its resting spot, turning it slowly since Jimin’s nod was geared with apprehension.

Jimin’s heart nearly bore a hole through his chest, and it would fall out to where you were resting. He was afraid of facing you, or any rendition of your face, since it would be the first time in two months that his eyes beheld anything resembling his late wife.

When the canvas turned, so did the final page of the story. The story Jimin had been purposefully writing with long-winded prose and repetitive words to stall the commencement of it. He wasn’t ready to let go, that is until his eyes beheld the painting which etched fruition of something that felt further from him than you.

Closure.

“It’s beautiful.” Jimin’s tears were disobediently running down his cheeks. “It looks exactly like her. My love. My ___.”

It was not simply a painting garnished under the guise of an academic assignment, but an ode to the grand love Jimin had carried in his heart for seventy years and counting.

“I’ll be sure to send it to you after it’s graded.” Taehyung declared in a decided manner, now fighting back tears of his own, though it was a losing battle since he already felt the empathetic stains wetting his face.

“Thank you.” Jimin whispered soft enough that Taehyung barely caught it, but loud enough that his gratitude glazed the painting with its finishing touch: acceptance.

Now it was time to let go.

“___.” He said once more.

Jimin realized what could emerge even after your physical existence had run dry. That, even though you were no longer alive, there was a ceaseless supply of lessons Jimin still learned from loving you. He learned he could guiltlessly reflect over the years and memories. Resonating the most with him were the ones he spent choosing something more powerful and decisive and resilient above all else. Choosing love.

It colored his world into something vibrant and enchanting. There was still an unquantifiable amount of love pouring from his chest without a hint of diminishing. It was a force that stretched its reign beyond graves and long, lonely years of mourning. This love was alive, and breathing joy into Jimin’s life. It would continue breathing joy into Taehyung’s life as well as the painting, marred with your semblance.

He also realized you can never fully fall out of love. Just as pain never departs, and one simply learns to live with it, to become stronger and versed in the realm of sorrow, one never falls out of love, you simply learn to live without them; you learn to trudge on without the deity that derived something as powerful as love through the biggest smiles, the glistening eyes, the heaps of cinnamon, the unremitting kindness, and the perpetual act of choosing love.

And that the beauty of loving you was no more breathtaking than the beauty of after you.

[ratnco]

How to Kill a Great Film in 2021

Good Films die every day in Hollywood. Contracts are written and thrown away, writers can be hired and fired as fast as old drafts can be thrown away and rewrites can be made days before production. And when that doesn’t stop a project from being a success, Producers can cut funding at the second to final lap around the track, locations can change, or in more recent cases, the entire world can change. 

But let’s pretend this pandemic isn’t currently still in effect and fast forward to 2023, when cinemas are open again (sadly not for the Cinerama Dome) and a new movie is released once a week and regardless of how much we enjoy it, we get to talk about it. In this fantasy land, let’s talk about the 5 ways you can kill a good movie before, while, or after Production…

Relationship between Director and Producer

Whenever the release of a certain cut of a film that isn’t what the Director intended on releasing makes its way to Theatres, the thing that comes to most people’s minds is ‘Studio Interference’. If you’re an aspiring filmmaker, writer or just a fan of Cinema in general, you’ve heard all of your favourite Filmmakers talk about how much they hate their Producers, you hear horror stories about the un creative old rich man trying to be creative, forcing their bad ideas onto a project and thinking they have creative control because they’re funding it. And a lot of those stories are true, but is that really all? Are Studios really that mean? Even so, there was still a moment where the Producer sat down with the Director and said ‘I like your project, let’s make it.’ So they can’t be that terrible. 

The truth to this problem lies at that meeting. Whatever the problem is that the studio, Director or Crew will find themselves knee deep in down the road, its source will be born on the desk where that meeting takes place. The Producer may have bad, unoriginal ideas and is just out to make bank on your project, and you may be an unknown indie-filmmaker just trying to find an outlet for your talented voice, but as different as these two forces are, they need each other to survive. A Producer needs a film to be successful in every theatre in the country in order to keep their business alive, and the Filmmaker needs to successfully capture their vision onto screen so they can share it with audiences around the globe, and that won’t happen without Studio Funding, and the Film won’t be made without a Filmmaker. 

So what happens if you don’t get along, if the Producer changes their mind on the casting for the main character, or the third act of the script? Do you just say ‘Yes’ or ‘Fuck off!’? It’s up to the Filmmaker, but either answer won’t produce a good Film. 

Another thing you’ll probably find in common with any Director whose movies have suffered a great deal of box office failure to what they claim is Studio interference, is that they hate producers, they say mean things about them during interviews and they establish bad relationships with Hollywood, and more often than not, their line up of upcoming projects grows thinner and thinner as the years go by. 

A Filmmaker shouldn’t be surprised when they have a hard time getting their films made when this is how they treat the people funding them. As attached as you are to the movie you’re making, getting your film properly released involves your key role in a game that must be played, and played extremely well. If you have a disagreement with somebody, is the most wise next step to scream in their face? No. If you’d like somebody to see your point of view, it’s done only by a genuine back and forth dialogue, allowing both parties to level with one another, acknowledging each other’s perspectives and reaching a common goal they can both agree on. 

A Filmmaker can still receive these requests and still say no and still have a great relationship with their Producers, it all comes down to the trust you establish with your collaborators, and yes, they are collaborators. 

Not Getting Final Cut

Reason number two is exclusively caused by reason number 1; Getting the Final Cut for your film means that you alone have creative control over what the version of the movie you’ll one day be showing to audiences will look like. If you’re passionate about how you're going to eventually show your story to an audience, this is pretty important, as failure to do so will result in a version of your film reaching audiences that you did not play much of a role in. 

Nobody wants somebody to take something they’ve made and turn it into something else entirely. If you’d like to see a prime example of this, watch Natural Born Killers. One of the most talked about Tarantino films isn’t even really a Tarantino film. ‘You don’t fuck with my material’, Quentin Tarantino told Oliver Stone when handing over his original script, to which Oliver and his team responded by taking his characters and plot and flipping it on its head, creating a new film that doesn’t even come close to resembling what Tarantino originally wrote, to which Tarantino responded by requesting his name be taken off of the writer’s credits.

How the Director Controls a Set. 

When a Film is made, hundreds of people are involved other than the Filmmakers, Producers and their cast, there’s also a massive crew who must be considered. If you’re a Director, all of these people are working for you, which means you’re also responsible for feeding them, managing how fast or how slow they work, and their overall mindsets while making a movie and if you at any point assume that these decisions play a key role in the result of the final product, just walk into any retail store and see what happens when a Staff is treated poorly by its managers. 

I’m glad I brought up Quentin Tarantino, because the Writer/Director has a very interesting rule on all of his sets: No Cellphones. At the door of a Tarantino set, a ‘Checkpoint Charlie’ will retrieve your device and give it back to you at the end of the day or in case of emergency. On Top of that, there are speakers planted on set, blasting music, chosen by Tarantino for the cast and crew to listen to while working. What results is a very chatty cast and crew, forced to engage each other in between takes or set ups, rehearsing lines and enjoying and embracing the atmosphere rather than trying to escape it. QT also has another very interesting rule: No Sleeping. But breaking this rule won’t result in death, only something worse… Floating around the internet is a photo of Brad Pitt and other Cast members of past Tarantino Films with a giant purple Dildo held against their sleeping faces on set. Morale is key. 

Marketing

When shooting's wrapped, editing is almost complete, and everyone involved is very excited and thrilled that the release of their movie has met and maybe even exceeded expectations, now it’s time to release it. But to make sure that goes smoothly, you’ll need to advertise it so that people will know about it. 

Which means it’s time to make your trailer. Making a trailer involves just as much writing as the birth of the Final Draft of your Screenplay.. The Filmmaker has a chance here to control how the future audience of their movie will perceive their story, how they absorb it and how they will use that information to make a decision on whether or not they’ll leave their house to go see it. 

Here’s another place where studio interference may come into play. Say you’ve got a 3 hour long Western Drama that you’re trying to advertise, but the studio says that since this is a slightly more niche genre of cinema, and given the runtime it would be more wise to make the trailer feel rather fast paced and action packed, containing loud and fast music and sounds of gunshots and screaming! That way when people at home view it, they’ll feel excited, their hearts are racing because you've tapped into a very common human emotion that everybody on the planet could respond to: excitement. 

Sure, this approach may sell a lot of seats on opening night, but what will the rest of opening weekend look like? Chances are, pretty blique. Because your Western Drama may indeed be a beautifully executed masterpiece filled with tension and tear jerkers, but the problem you’ll now face is that all of the people who went to see your movie left their houses because they’re big fans of high octane action films and that’s exactly what they were expecting when they came to see your movie. But that’s not what they got, so now they’re upset. 

One thing that a lot of Producers today won’t admit is that a Film may not be for everybody, and that’s okay. Because rather than marketing to a broad selection of people who may or may not like your movie, your Audience will do a better job at championing your Film if you chose to only Market to the people who will want to go see it. Even if these numbers are fewer, if those people really enjoy your movie, they’ll do the rest of the marketing for you, which will get you an even bigger fanbase, which can maybe even turn into a cult following. The long term success of what you release will have a major effect on your ability to control future releases. The battles you fight now will win you the war of your career as a filmmaker. 

As frustrating, controlling and sometimes crazy Hollywood can be to its Talent, at the end of the day, it's only an outlet for voices looking to speak out, it’s a malleable mechanism used by all of us, and without us it wouldn’t survive and vise versa, so we coexist. Any Film can be a great Film, but aspiring talent may not like to hear that talent will only put words on a page or a subject in frame, the true impact of what you create comes down to something as simple as knowing how to talk to people who aren’t like you, a method also referred to as ‘empathy.’ 

By Ezra Crittenden

[phroyd]

When I ask my European friends to describe us — Americans, Brits, who I’ll call Anglo-Americans in this essay — they shake their heads gently. And over and over, three themes emerge. They say we’re a little thoughtless. They say we’re selfish and arrogant. And they say that we’re cruel and brutal.

I can’t help but think there’s more than a grain of truth. That they’re being kind. Anglo-American society is now the world’s preeminent example of willful self-destruction. It’s jaw-dropping folly and stupidity is breathtaking to the rest of the world.

The hard truth is this. America and Britain aren’t just collapsing by the day…they aren’t even just choosing to collapse by the day. They’re entering a death spiral, from which there’s probably no return. Yes, really. Simple economics dictate that, just like they did for the Soviet Union — and I’ll come to them.

And yet what’s even weirder and more grotesque than that is that…wel…nobody much seems to have noticed. There’s a deafening silence from pundits and elites and columnists and politicians on the joint self-destruction of the Anglo-American world. Nobody seems to have noticed: the only two rich societies in the world with falling life expectancies, incomes, savings, happiness, trust — every single social indicator you can imagine — are America and Britain. It’s not one of history’s most improbable coincidences that America and Britain are collapsing in eerily similar ways, at precisely the same time. It’s a relationship. What connects the dots?

Let me pause to note that my European friends’ first criticism — that we’re thoughtless — is therefore accurate. We’re not even capable of noticing — much less understanding — our twin collapse. Our entire thinking and leadership class seems not to have even noticed, like idiots grinning and dancing, setting their own house on fire. They are simply going on pretending it isn’t happening — that the English speaking world isn’t fast becoming something very much like the new Soviet Union.

So what caused this joint collapse? How did the English speaking world end up like the new Soviet Union? To understand that point, consider the fact that you yourself probably think that’s an overstatement. But it’s an empirical reality. The Soviet Union stagnated for thirty years. America’s stagnated for fifty, and Britain for twenty. The Soviet Union couldn’t provide basics for its citizens — hence the famous breadlines. In America, people beg each other for money to pay for insulin and antibiotics, decent food is unavailable in vast swathes of the country, and retirement and paying off one’s debt are impossibilities: just like in the Soviet Union, basics are becoming both unavailable and unaffordable. What happens? People…die.

(The same is true in Britain. In both societies, upwards of 20% of children live in poverty, the middle class has imploded, and upward mobility has all but vanished. These are Soviet statistics — lethally real ones.)

Politics, too, has become a sclerotic Soviet affair. Anglo-American societies aren’t really democracies in any sensible meaning of the word anymore. They’re run by and for a class of elites, who could care less, literally, whether the average person lives or dies. In America, that class is a bizarre coterie of Ivy Leaguers pretending to be aw-shucks-good-ole-boys on the one side, like Ted Cruz, and Ivy Leaguers pretending to be do-gooders on the other, like Zuck and Silicon Valley. In Britain, it’s the notorious public school boys, the Etonians and Oxbridge set.

That brings me to arrogance. What’s astonishing about our elites is how…arrogant they are…and how ignorant they are…at precisely the same time. Finland just elected a 34 year old woman as a Prime Minister from the Social Democrats. Finland is a society that outperforms ours in every way — every way — imaginable. Finnish happiness is way, way higher — and so is life expectancy, mobility, savings, real incomes, trust, among others. And yet instead of learning a thing from a miracle like that, our elites profess to know a better way…while they’ve run our societies into the ground. What the? Hubris would be an understatement. I don’t think the English language has a word for this weird, fatal combination of arrogance amidst ignorance. Maybe cocksure stupidity comes close.

And yet our elites have succeeded in one vital task — what an Emile Durkheim might have called “social reproduction.” They’ve managed to reproduce society in their image. What does the average Anglo-American aspire to be, do, have? To be rich, powerful, careless, selfish, and dumb, now, mostly. We don’t, as societies or cultures, value learning or knowledge or magnanimity or great and noble things, anymore. We shower millions on reality TV stars and billions on “investment bankers.” The average person has become a tiny microcosm of the aspirations and norms of elites — they’re not curious, empathetic, decent, humane, noble, kind, in pursuit of wisdom, truth, beauty, meaning, purpose. We’ve become cruel, indecent, obscene, comically shallow, and astonishingly foolish people.

That’s not some kind of jeremiad. It’s an objective, easily observed truth. Who else in a rich society denies their neighbours healthcare and retirement? Nobody. Who else denies their own kids education? Nobody. Who else denies themselves childcare and elderly care? Nobody. Who else doesn’t want safety nets, opportunities, mobility, protection, savings, higher incomes? Nobody. Literally nobody on planet earth wants worse lives excepts us. We’re the only people on earth who thwart our own social progress, over and over again — and cheer about it.

How did we become these people? How did we become tiny microcosms of our arrogant, ignorant, breathtakingly stupid elites? Because we are perpetually battling for self-preservation. Life has become a kind of brutal combat to the death. For jobs, for healthcare, for money, for the tiniest shreds of resources necessary to live. We wake up and fight one another for these things, over and over again. That is what our lives amount to now — gladiatorial combat. Meanwhile, elites and billionaires sit back and enjoy not just the spectacle — but the winnings.

People who are battling for self-preservation can’t take care of anyone else. If I ask the average Brit or American to consider paying for their society’s healthcare, education, elderly care, childcare, increasingly, the answer is: LOL. In America, it always has been. Why is that? The reason couldn’t be simpler. People can’t even take care of themselves and their own. How can they take care of anyone else — let alone everyone else?

The average person is living right at the edge. Not at the edge of the middle class dream and an even better one. But at the edge of poverty and destitution. They struggle to pay basic bills and never make ends meet. They can’t afford to educate their children, and retire, or retire and have healthcare, and so on. Let me say it again: the average person can’t take care of themselves and their own — so how can they take care of anyone else, let alone everyone else?

A more technical, formal way to say that is: our societies have now become too poor to afford public goods and social systems. But public goods and social systems are what make a modern, rich society. What’s a society without decent healthcare, schools, universities, libraries, education, parks, transport, media — available to all, without life-crippling “debt”? It’s not a modern society at all. But more and more, it’s not America or Britain, either.

What makes European societies — which are far, far more successful than ours — successful is that people are not battling for self-preservation, and so they are able to cooperate to better one another instead. At least not nearly so much and so lethally as we are. They are assured of survival. They therefore have resources to share with others. They don’t have to battle for the very things we take away from each other — because they simply give them to one another. That has kept them richer than us, too. The average American now lives in effective poverty — unable to afford healthcare, housing, and basic bills. They must choose. The European doesn’t have to, precisely because they invested in one another — and those investment made them richer than us.

We are caught in a death spiral now. A vicious cycle from which there is probably no escape. The average person is too poor to fund the very things — the only things — which can offer him a better life: healthcare, education, childcare, healthcare, and so on. The average person is too poor to fund public goods and social systems. The average person is too poor now to able to give anything to anyone else, to invest anything in anyone else. He lives and dies in debt to begin with — so what does he have left over to give back, put back, invest?

A more technical, formal way to put all that is this. Europeans distributed their social surplus more fairly than we did. They didn’t give all the winnings to idiot billionaires like Zucks and con men like Trump. They kept middle and working classes better off than us. As a result, those middle and working classes were able to invest in expansive public goods and social systems. Those things — good healthcare, education, transport, media — kept life improving for everyone. That virtuous circle of investing a fairly distributed social surplus created a true economic miracle over just one human lifetime: Europe rose from the ashes of war to enjoy history’s highest living standards, ever, period.

That’s changing in Europe, to be sure. But that is because Europe is becoming Americanized, Anglicized. It has a generation of leaders foolish enough to follow our lead — now remember the greatest lesson of European history, which is one of the greatest lessons of history, full stop. That lesson goes like this.

People who are made to live right at the edge must battle each other for self-preservation. But such people have nothing left to give one another. And that way, a society enters a death spiral of poverty — like ours have.

People who can’t make ends meet can’t even invest in themselves — let alone anyone else. Such a society has to eat through whatever public goods and social systems it has, just to survive. It never develops or expands new ones.

The result is that a whole society grows poorer and poorer. Unable to invest in themselves or one another, people’s only real way out is to fight each other for self-preservation, by taking away their neighbor’s rights, privileges, and opportunities — instead of being able to give any new ones to anyone. Why give everyone healthcare and education when you can’t even afford your own? How are you supposed to?

Society melts down into a spiral of extremism and fascism, as ever increasing poverty brings hate, violence, fear, and rage with it. Trust erodes, democracy corrodes, social bonds are torn apart, and the only norms left are Darwinian-fascist ones: the strong survive, and the weak must perish.

(Let me spend a second or two on that last point. As they become poorer, people begin to distrust each other — and then hate each other. Why wouldn’t they? After all, the grim reality is that they actually are fighting each other for existence, for the basic resources of life, like medicine, money, and food.

As distrust becomes hate, people who have nothing to give anyways end up having no reason to even hope to give anything back to anyone else. Why give anything to those people you are fighting, every single day, for the most meagre resources necessary to live? Why give the very people who denied you healthcare and education anything? Isn’t the only real point of life to show that you beat them by having a bigger house, faster car, prettier wife or husband?)

That is how a society dies. That is the death spiral of a rich society. In technical terms, it goes like this. A social surplus isn’t distributed equitably. That leaves the average person too poor to invest anything back in society. He’s just battling for self-preservation, and the stakes are life or death. But that battle itself only breeds even more poverty. Because without investment, nurturance, nourishment — nothing can grow. Having become poor, the average person only grows poorer — because he will never have decent public goods or social systems, let alone the rights and privileges and jobs and careers and trajectories they become and lead to.

A society of people so poor they have nothing left over to invest in one another is dying. It goes from prosperity to poverty, from optimism to pessimism, from cohesion to distrust and hate, from peace to violence — at light speed, in the space of a generation. That’s America and Britain’s story today, just as it was the Soviet Union’s, yesterday, and Weimar Germany’s, before that.

You can see how a society dies — with horrific, brutal clarity — in the self-destruction of America and Britain. The hate-filled vitriol of Trumpism, the barely-hidden hate of Brexit. Why wouldn’t people who have grown suddenly poor hate everyone else? Why wouldn’t they blame anyone and everyone they can — from Mexicans to Muslims to Europeans — for their own decline? The truth, as always, is harder. America and Britain’s collapse is nobody’s fault — nobody’s — but their own.

They are in a death spiral now, but no opponent or adversary brought them there. It was their own fault, and yet they still go on choosing it. They don’t know any other way now. Their elites succeeded at making the average person truly, fervently believe that battling perpetually for self-preservation was the only way a society could exist.

And though it’s too late to escape for them, let us hope that the rest of the world, from Europe to Asia to Africa, learns the lesson of the sad, gruesome, stupid, astonishing tragedy of self-inflicted collapse.

Umair December 2019

Phroyd

[leo-geller]

hey there, hi there, ho there! it’s ya boi zack (he/him/his) here with one of my newly-favorite muses! read through Leo’s overly-detailed & long as hell intro & give it a like if you want to plot! can’t wait to bring him to you all!!

( jacob elordi, cismale, he/him ). hey, isn’t that [ LEONARDO “LEO” GELLER ] walking down bennington street? i think the [ 26 ] YEAR OLD [ COOK/ASPIRING ACTOR ] is from [ QUEENS, NY ]. i’ve heard some rumors down at ginger’s, saying that they're [ RECKLESS & IMPULSIVE ], but then again they’re known to be [ PROTECTIVE & FLIRTATIOUS ].  either way, they seem to be interesting, hope they’ll stick around.

STATS: 

Name: Leonardo “Leo” Henry Geller

Date of birth: October 25, 1993

Age: 26

Pronouns: he/him/his

Zodiac sign: Scorpio

Sexuality: Heterosexual (for now)

Fc: Jacob Elordi

Height: 6′3″

Background: (tw: mentions of abandonment, alcoholism, rehab, & abuse)

Leo was born on a cool October morning in 1993 to Solomon & Joanne Geller. They were a perfectly happy family according to the friends & neighbors of their neighborhood in Queens, but appearances can be deceiving. When Leo was 12, Joanne left her husband & son, leaving Leo alone to care for his dad & his new drinking habit. 

Soon, Saul’s drinking got worse and Leo ended up in foster care while Saul entered rehab. Leo was bounced from home to home & each time he prayed would be the last. The father of his last foster family had a habit of beating Leo whenever he acted out: stealing, setting small fires, talking back; and left more than just physical scars on 13-year old Leo. Eventually, he was taken out of the system & reunited with his dad when he got out of rehab. 

He hung out with a rough crowd in high school and began smoking, sleeping around, and getting in fights. Leo wasn’t a bad student, however, and aced nearly all of his classes, but could never let his so-called friends find that out. He just kept up appearances like he had the first 12 years of his life until graduation. 

Leo had no intentions of going to college & instead planned a cross country trip on his motorcycle to find himself. But as the trip got closer and closer, he was worried about leaving his dad alone. The two always had the other to count on, & this would be the first time since Leo was in foster care that he’d be away from his dad for more than a few days. He canceled the trip, blaming it on bad weather & low funds to Saul who didn’t pry any further. 

He started working at the deli in high school “to gain work experience” he claimed, but in actuality Leo was there to keep tabs on his dad & make sure he didn’t slip back into his drinking addiction. At first he hated working there, but came to love it over the years & considers his co-workers like family. 

Leo decided he needed to move out of his childhood home - he was quickly approaching 27 - & as fate would have it, he found an apartment on the same street as the deli. Saul loved having someone close by to keep an eye on the place & Leo didn’t mind saving Saul an early-morning Saturday commute into the city, even though he does it anyway. 

Personality: 

Leo’s your stereotypical bad boy with a heart of gold. He doesn’t really express his emotions something he learned in foster care but will to those close to him. Leo’s got some trust issues and worries that if he ever gets close to someone romantically, they’ll just end up leaving him like his mom. Still, he does flirt with any cute girl that comes in for a pastrami sandwich or that he meets at Ginger’s. He’ll break your heart or your face, depending what side of his you get on. 

Headcannons: 

His most prized possession is the motorcycle he restored himself in high school. He keeps it at his dad’s house in Queens because he doesn’t trust parking it anywhere in the city. Her name is Polly. 

Leo takes his coffee black with his morning cigarette. He knows smoking is a filthy habit, but he picked it up in high school and just can’t bear to give it up. He tries hiding his habit from his dad, but suspects Saul already knows about it. 

Leo & his dad have a standing poker night every Thursday and have kept up with it since they were reunited over 10 years ago. It’s their thing and, Leo even lets the old man win once in a while. 

He can always be found wearing boots and a leather jacket when the weather cools down, but trades that in for a tee-shirt and jeans in the warmer months. The boots stay on during summer, too.

Has a secret journal he writes his thoughts in whenever something of importance comes to him & is hidden in plain sight amidst a stack of books in his bedside table. It’s an inconspicuous brown, leather-bound book he picked up in a shop one day after his english teacher commended him on his writing. 

Though he excelled in all of his classes, Leo’s favorite subject in high school was English. He loved reading the books his teacher, Mr. Kincade assigned in class, and would get books passed on to him under the table (sometimes literally) that weren’t required but that Mr. K thought Leo would like. 

Leo doesn’t have any set career aspirations, but has always thought that becoming an actor would be cool. Acting allows him to escape into someone else’s story, allowing Leo to forget his troubles and focus on the feelings of someone else. In high school, his friends dared him to audition for the school play and he was given a small role. Ever since then, he’s been itching to get back on stage. 

Plays the guitar, and is a (very secret) Taylor Swift fan. He thinks she writes great songs that evoke a multitude of emotions. Obviously no one knows this, as he likes having at least one secret to himself.

[beatnikchick]

Commitment Phobe Series

The Princeton Graduate

We would have meals together reading our preferred sections of the newspaper, mine was the art section, and his economics. We would sit there quietly, I would occasionally peer at him from the top of mine, just watch him chew, and read. He acted like Nutella on toast was a delicacy only he knew about, and he bought his coffee from a street vendor. As if he were getting a badge in boho at Girl Scout camp. I joked about the seedy coffee vendor incessantly. Lowering my voice to a creep factor, and offering him drugs from the alley. He would get flustered as if the implication itself could tarnish his pristine, and finely polished image. I would maniacally giggle, and like the end of an 80s song my giggle would slowly fade into another agonizing bout of silence.

He lived in a house given to him by his wealthy parents. The house was riddled with pics of his ex girlfriend, and his parents on a yacht that graced the Chicago harbor. He would swear it was a condition of keeping the house, this weird shrine of this box set of beige people. I would wave a hand of dismissal to indicate it was of no consequence. As if he were just a train stop to my next destination because inevitably he was.

Having been a Princeton graduate I expected more from him intellectually, as if mommy, and daddy’s trust fund baby needed a brain but I was young, and naïve. He was instead consumed with material wealth, what someone had, owned, and everything that could be bought. Sell his soul for the good bagels one morning, eating them with deadpan chagrin at how the world couldn’t satisfy his monstrous appetite for consumption. While I couldn’t afford a bagel before work at the local coffee shop because I was out the night before listening to bad karaoke while drinking stone sours. 

Which led me to speculate about him slumming it with me. Essentially that’s what it appeared he was doing. I had none of the things he valued. I was a waitress living with my parents. I usually slept until 1pm everyday, watched Kids in the Hall while I got ready for work. Started work at 2pm, and went to the bar afterward with friends. My material items had been stolen by a former friend, because I had moved all my stuff in before signing a lease. So I literally had three outfits I switched between.

I got the feeling further into our relationship that he was in love with me but with no presence of mind it was lost on me. He expressed it at some point. I remember this moment so clearly. Him, “I think I love you.” Me, “why?” So romantic. Honestly I don’t remember the monologue that followed my inquiry but eventually, and retrospectively I decrypted his true motivation.

At first I believe I was a novelty. His ex, the shrine etc. was also a Princeton grad, and highly coveted by the family lot. He dumped her, ironically for the same reason I thought about eating a bullet every morning for breakfast with him, because she was boring.

He came from a vanilla background, everything sorted, and laced with potential. I was the antithesis of motivation at the time. I lived, and breathed in the moment. No thought to my future, no aspirations, and I struggled between paychecks just to make ends meet. Which was a shock to the guy heavily subsidized by parents. I was to him a drug of sorts. Not in the oh so trite “beautiful disaster” way but literally an escape. 

Being young I think it was just jam packed in my psyche that this guy must have worth. He had money, a prestigious education, a house, two cars, a motorcycle, and a family yacht.  I kept telling myself that I was not seeing his value, that I was missing something because I had been told by so many adults that this guy was the goal. I floundered through space and time every moment I had to spend with him. If I wanted to go to a museum or an art show he would chuckle, and say, “you bohemians, and your art shows”. I was Alice clawing my way out of a hole procured by a Marxist. My Cheshire grin splattered beneath my empty gaze. “Get me out, get me out, get me out”.

I broke up with him on Valentines day. I didn’t know. He called after a weekend away with his parents on the yacht. I told him so long, and thanks for all the fish. He said, “It’s Valentines Day!!” I said, “should I call you tomorrow instead?” He said, “bitch!” I couldn’t argue with that logic.

[guilianafms]

            new  york’s  very  own  guiliana  rasananda  was  spotted  on  broadway  street  in  gucci  marmont  logo - embellished  leather  sandals  .  your  resemblance  to  lalisa  manoban  is  unreal  .  according  to  tmz  ,  you  just  had  your  twenty  third  birthday  bash  .  while  living  in  nyc  ,  you’ve  been  labeled  as  being  doctrinaire  ,  but  also  pragmatic  .  i  guess  being  an  aquarius  explains  that .  three  things  that  would  paint  a  better  picture  of  you  would  be  the  lingering  scent  of  her  perfume  after  she’s  long  gone  ,  a  fenty  beauty  gloss  bomb  as  her  staple  to  any  makeup  look  ,  and  the  glitter  of  diamond  encrusted  jewelry  on  tanned  skin  .

            hello  ladies  ,  gents  ,  and  nonbinary  pals  !  my  name’s  jin  and  i’m  super  stoked  to  be  here  !  i’ve  seen  this  group  in  the  tags  over  the  years  ,  and  i  decided  that  it  was  high  time  for  me  to  slide  in  (  and  now  that  my  school’s  closed  ....  indefinitely  ....  i’ve  got  the  time  )  .  giuliana  is  fairly  new  so  i’m  still  working  out  some  kinks  that  may  arise  ,  but  i  have  a  pretty  good  idea  of  the  direction  i  want  her  to  go  in  !  i  can’t  believe  that  this  is  my  first  time  playing  lalisa  in  a  couple  of  years  ,  but  since  the  chance  arose  ,  i  decided  to  take  it  .  i  won’t  chat  too  much  ,  and  i  need  to  make  a  new  d.iscord  since  i  forgot  the  password  to  my  old  one  but  if  anyone  wants  to  plot  ,  feel  free  to  slide  into  my  dms  (  or  i’ll  slide  into  yours  !  )

basic  information  .

FULL  NAME  :  guiliana  kanya  rasananda  .

NICKNAME(S)  :  gigi  ,  lia  ,  liana  ,  ana  .

BIRTHDATE  +  AGE  :  february  12th  +  23  .

ZODIAC  :  aquarius  .

HOMETOWN  :  new  york  ,  ny  .

GENDER  :  cis  female  .

NATIONALITY  :  thai - american  .

ETHNICITY  :  thai  .

HEIGHT  :  5′6″  .

LABEL(S)  :  the  amaranth  ,  the  vixen  ,  the  trust  fund  baby  ,  and  the  princess  .

ROMANTIC  ORIENTATION  :  biromantic  .

SEXUAL  ORIENTATION  :  bisexual  .

LANGUAGE(S)  SPOKEN  :  english  ,  thai  ,  japanese  ,  and  learning  spanish  .

OCCUPATION  :  socialite  ,  ‘  model  ’  ,  and  youtuber  /  social  media  influencer  .

POSITIVES  :  clear - headed  ,  assiduous  ,  self - reliant  ,  pragmatic  ,  and  cosmopolitan  .

NEGATIVES  :  disputatious  ,  exigent  ,  doctrinaire  ,  selfish  ,  and  unscrupulous  .

PLAYLIST  :  roxanne  /  arizona  zervas  ,  bad  guy  /  billie  eilish  ,  body  /  loud  luxury  ft.  brando  ,  nasa  /  ariana  grande  ,  mother’s  daughter  /  miley  cyrus  ,  sway  with  me  /  saweetie  w.  galxara  ,  say  so  /  doja  cat  ,  mad  at  me.  /  kiana  ledé  ,  apeshit  /  the  carters  ,  elastic  /  joey  purp  ,  watermelon  sugar  /  harry  styles  ,  ain’t  my  fault  /  zara  larsson  ,  lemon  /  n.e.r.d.  ft.  rihanna  /  nice  for  what  /  drake  ,  sugar  /  brockhampton  ,  icon  /  jaden  smith  ,  zimzalabim  /  red  velvet  ,  come  thru  /  joji  ,  in  my  head  /  ariana  grande  ,  broke  bitch  /  tiny  meat  gang  ,  honey  /  lay  ,  deserve  /  kris  wu  ft.  travis  scott  .

biography  .

let’s  see  if  we  can  keep  this  short  ,  am  i  right  ladies  ?

ratana  saelim  has  humble  beginnings  in  bangkok  .  her  parents  owned  a  small  restaurant  in  their  neighborhood  ,  and  they  lived  comfortably  ,  but ratana  still  had  to  work  hard  to  ensure  that  she  got  into  college  and  could  stay  in   college  .  she  often  did  her  homework  behind  the  counter  of  the  restaurant  ,  and  eventually  went  on  to  attend  bangkok  university  .

she  met  her  future  husband  at  bangkok  university  ,  a  fellow  student  named  kamnan  rasananda  .  he  was  studying  business  while  she  was  studying  law  .  in  contrast  to  ratana  ,  kamnan  grew  up  in  an  extremely  affluent  home  and  was  set  to  inherit  his  family’s  company  .  he  was  a  year  older  than  ratana  ,  and  the  two  got  married  after  her  graduation  with  her  master’s  degree  .  they  settled  in  bangkok  following  their  wedding  .

the  years  passed  ,  and  the  couple  established  themselves  in  their  respective  fields  .  kamnan  started  his  own  business  in  real  estate  and  construction  ,  so  they  decided  to  expand  out  of  asia  and  into  the  states  .  they  made  their  home  new  york  city  ,  and  settled  easily  into  a  multi - million  dollar  penthouse  on  the  upper  east  side  .  since  they  were  to  focused  on  their  careers  ,  it  wasn’t  until  they  reached  their  mid - thirties  when  they  had  their  first  and  only  child  ,  a  daughter  they  named  guiliana  .

guiliana  was  a  beautiful  little  baby  who  has  an  infectious  personality  while  growing  up  .  ratana  and  kamnan  may  have  been  busy  people  ,  but  they  never  had  an  issue  with  putting  work  on  pause  to  spend  time  with  their  daughter  .  the  couple  supported  their  daughter  in  everything  that  she  did  ,  and  that  even  included  when  she  turned  fourteen  and  decided  that  she  wanted  to  start  doing  youtube  videos  . 

going  through  high  school  ,  guiliana  had  been  a  member  of  the  photography  and  yearbook  clubs  ,  and  this  was  at  the  same  time  that  she  started  to  truly  focus  on  her  channel  .  of  course  ,  her  content  at  the  time  was  quite  cringy  (  shoutout  to  that  one  song  that  everyone  used  in  morning  routines  )  .  as  the  years  passed  ,  she  obtained  the  right  equipment  to  make  her  content  better  .

by  her  senior  year  of  high  school  ,  her  channel  grew  to  massive  numbers  .  she  dropped  the  makeup  videos  since  she  found  that  she  was  more  interested  in  fashion  than  makeup  ,  and  was  comfortable  with  sharing  her  personal  style  .  she  got  a  lot  of  backlash  because  she  grew  up  rich  and  people  often  felt  that  she  was  ‘  flaunting  ’  her  lifestyle  ,  but  really  ,  most  of  her  clothes  from  the  places  that  were  often  the  rage  at  the  time  (  urban  outfitters  ,  brandy  ,  etc  )  with  the  occasional  luxury  piece  like  a  purse  or  something  .

now  ,   she  isn’t  that  active  on  youtube  anymore  since  she’s  grown  into  more  of  a  socialite  ,  but  she’ll  still  do  weekly  vlogs  ,  catching  up  videos  ,  and  her  fashion  videos  .  despite  not  being  that  active  ,  her  channel  is  still  growing  and  has  now  amassed  five  million  subscribers  .

personality  .

guiliana  has  been  a  part  of  youtube  since  she  was  a  fourteen  year  old  ,  so  she’s  been  able  to  start  ignoring  the  haters  !  quite  honestly  has  the  most  idgaf  attitude  towards  people  who  have  anything  to  say  about  her  only  showing  luxury  outfits  and  such  on  her  channel  .  that’s  all  she  knows  since  she  grew  up  in  that  ,  but  quite  frankly  she  doesn’t  care  !

out  of  all  of  her  labels  ,  i’d  say  she  mostly  resonates  with  the  trust  fund  baby  .  outside  of  her  youtube  channel  ,  guiliana  doesn’t  do  much  other  than  spend  money  and  sleep  until  eleven  so  don’t  expect  her  to  be  out  there  making  businesswoman  moves  .

don’t  give  her  a  compliment  because  what’s  the  saying  ...  give  her  an  inch  and  she’ll  take  a  mile  ?  that’s  guiliana  to  a  T  !  she  knows  that  she’s  cute  and  her  parents  have  only  ever  praised  her  ,  so  she’s  got  something  of  an  over  inflated  ego  at  times  .  she  can  go  on  and  on  ,  so  please  tell  her  ass  to  shut  up  if  she  starts  taking  it too  far  !

headcanons  .

a  born  and  bred  new  yorker  ,  guiliana  doesn’t  possess  a  driver’s  license  .  she  gets  driven  around  in  a  bentley  bentayga  and  when  her  driver’s  not  available  ,  she  exclusively  uses  uber  black to  get  around  the  city  .

her  style  is  pretty  similar  to  lisa’s  where  one  day  she’s  exclusively  wearing  streetwear  ,  another  day  she’s  a  bit  more  feminine  ,  and  then  sometimes  she’s  wearing  pieces  straight  off  the  runway  !  when  it  comes  to  her  more  feminine  style  i  think  of  the  youtuber  kerina  wang  .

she’s  most  comfortable  when  she’s  in  her  apartment  .  usually  ,  she’s  only  wearing  a  lingerie  set  (  not  the  entire  thing  )  and  lounging  around  .  she’ll  throw  on  a  robe  or  something  to  answer  the  door  ,  so  just  call  her  ahead  of  time  .

i  can’t  make  up  my  mind  on  how  guiliana  usually  has  her  hair  (  since  lisa  switches  between  long  and  short  )  so  we’ll  just  say  that  she  gets  extensions  a  lot  !  currently  ,  i  love  her  long  brown  hair  so  click  for  reference  here  .

she  has  no  real  plans  for  the  future  ?  she’s  kinda  of  taking  it  day  by  day  and  enjoying  her  twenties  while  she  has  them  .  right  now  her  main  focus  is  her  instagram  and  her  youtube  ,  and  she  has  no  real  aspirations  to  do  anything  outside  of  that  at  the  moment  .

never  leaves  the  house  without  wearing  a  pair  of  heels  ?  even  when  it’s  cold  outside  ,  she’s  wearing  ankle  boots  with  a  heel  or  the  ever  elegant  over - the - knee  boots  .  

her  go - to  drink  from  starbucks  is  a  cold  brew  with  vanilla  sweet  cream  .  she  doesn’t  drink  coffee  with  sugar  .

wanted  connections  .

            i’ll  more  than  likely  end  up  reblogging  things  into  the  tag  i  made  for  these  ,  but  since  there’s  nothing  there  right  now  ,  i’ll  just  list  off  some  specifics  that  i’d  love  to  have  !  if  none  of  these  are  to  your  taste  ,  we  could  always  brainstorm  ,  work  off  chemistry  ,  or  let  me  know  if  there’s  something  that  you  think  guiliana  could  fill  !

i  might  end  up  sending  this  in  to  the  main  ,  but  i’d  love  to  have  the  fiancé  that  she  left  at  the  altar  !  truth  be  told  ,  i  kind  of  feel  as  though  she  may  have  done  it  simply  because  she  finally  realized  that  things  were  moving  too  fast  and  she  kinda  of  needed  to  pump  the  breaks  ?  she  definitely  didn’t  do  it  in  the  best  way  ,  but  it  could  be  an  interesting  relationship  /  dynamic  to  explore  .

she’s  been  in  new  york  since  forever  so  i  just  imagine  there  being  a  slew  of  connections  stemming  from  that  ?  friendships  ,  rivalries  ,  and  romantic  connections  !  idk  why  i  love  them  so  much  ,  but  i’d  really  love  for  her  to  have  an  ex  best  friend  .  we  can  determine  why  their  friendship  ended  ,  but  i  really  love  exploring  the  demise  of  relationships  .

my  brain  is  blanking  so  🤠  .

[notanecromancer]

This is How a Society Dies America and Britain are Textbook Examples of a New, Gruesome Phenomeon: Rich Nations Self-Destructing Into Poor Failed States Umair Haque

When I ask my European friends to describe us — Americans, Brits, who I’ll call Anglo-Americans in this essay — they shake their heads gently. And over and over, three themes emerge. They say we’re a little thoughtless. They say we’re selfish and arrogant. And they say that we’re cruel and brutal. I can’t help but think there’s more than a grain of truth. That they’re being kind. Anglo-American society is now the world’s preeminent example of willful self-destruction. It’s jaw-dropping folly and stupidity is breathtaking to the rest of the world. The hard truth is this. America and Britain aren’t just collapsing by the day…they aren’t even just choosing to collapse by the day. They’re entering a death spiral, from which there’s probably no return. Yes, really. Simple economics dictate that, just like they did for the Soviet Union — and I’ll come to them. And yet what’s even weirder and more grotesque than that is that…wel…nobody much seems to have noticed. There’s a deafening silence from pundits and elites and columnists and politicians on the joint self-destruction of the Anglo-American world. Nobody seems to have noticed: the only two rich societies in the world with falling life expectancies, incomes, savings, happiness, trust — every single social indicator you can imagine — are America and Britain. It’s not one of history’s most improbable coincidences that America and Britain are collapsing in eerily similar ways, at precisely the same time. It’s a relationship. What connects the dots? Let me pause to note that my European friends’ first criticism — that we’re thoughtless — is therefore accurate. We’re not even capable of noticing — much less understanding — our twin collapse. Our entire thinking and leadership class seems not to have even noticed, like idiots grinning and dancing, setting their own house on fire. They are simply going on pretending it isn’t happening — that the English speaking world isn’t fast becoming something very much like the new Soviet Union. So what caused this joint collapse? How did the English speaking world end up like the new Soviet Union? To understand that point, consider the fact that you yourself probably think that’s an overstatement. But it’s an empirical reality. The Soviet Union stagnated for thirty years. America’s stagnated for fifty, and Britain for twenty. The Soviet Union couldn’t provide basics for its citizens — hence the famous breadlines. In America, people beg each other for money to pay for insulin and antibiotics, decent food is unavailable in vast swathes of the country, and retirement and paying off one’s debt are impossibilities: just like in the Soviet Union, basics are becoming both unavailable and unaffordable. What happens? People…die. (The same is true in Britain. In both societies, upwards of 20% of children live in poverty, the middle class has imploded, and upward mobility has all but vanished. These are Soviet statistics — lethally real ones.) Politics, too, has become a sclerotic Soviet affair. Anglo-American societies aren’t really democracies in any sensible meaning of the word anymore. They’re run by and for a class of elites, who could care less, literally, whether the average person lives or dies. In America, that class is a bizarre coterie of Ivy Leaguers pretending to be aw-shucks-good-ole-boys on the one side, like Ted Cruz, and Ivy Leaguers pretending to be do-gooders on the other, like Zuck and Silicon Valley. In Britain, it’s the notorious public school boys, the Etonians and Oxbridge set. That brings me to arrogance. What’s astonishing about our elites is how…arrogant they are…and how ignorant they are…at precisely the same time. Finland just elected a 34 year old woman as a Prime Minister from the Social Democrats. Finland is a society that outperforms ours in every way — every way — imaginable. Finnish happiness is way, way higher — and so is life expectancy, mobility, savings, real incomes, trust, among others. And yet instead of learning a thing from a miracle like that, our elites profess to know a better way…while they’ve run our societies into the ground. What the? Hubris would be an understatement. I don’t think the English language has a word for this weird, fatal combination of arrogance amidst ignorance. Maybe cocksure stupidity comes close. And yet our elites have succeeded in one vital task — what an Emile Durkheim might have called “social reproduction.” They’ve managed to reproduce society in their image. What does the average Anglo-American aspire to be, do, have? To be rich, powerful, careless, selfish, and dumb, now, mostly. We don’t, as societies or cultures, value learning or knowledge or magnanimity or great and noble things, anymore. We shower millions on reality TV stars and billions on “investment bankers.” The average person has become a tiny microcosm of the aspirations and norms of elites — they’re not curious, empathetic, decent, humane, noble, kind, in pursuit of wisdom, truth, beauty, meaning, purpose. We’ve become cruel, indecent, obscene, comically shallow, and astonishingly foolish people. That’s not some kind of jeremiad. It’s an objective, easily observed truth. Who else in a rich society denies their neighbours healthcare and retirement? Nobody. Who else denies their own kids education? Nobody. Who else denies themselves childcare and elderly care? Nobody. Who else doesn’t want safety nets, opportunities, mobility, protection, savings, higher incomes? Nobody. Literally nobody on planet earth wants worse lives excepts us. We’re the only people on earth who thwart our own social progress, over and over again — and cheer about it. How did we become these people? How did we become tiny microcosms of our arrogant, ignorant, breathtakingly stupid elites? Because we are perpetually battling for self-preservation. Life has become a kind of brutal combat to the death. For jobs, for healthcare, for money, for the tiniest shreds of resources necessary to live. We wake up and fight one another for these things, over and over again. That is what our lives amount to now — gladiatorial combat. Meanwhile, elites and billionaires sit back and enjoy not just the spectacle — but the winnings. People who are battling for self-preservation can’t take care of anyone else. If I ask the average Brit or American to consider paying for their society’s healthcare, education, elderly care, childcare, increasingly, the answer is: LOL. In America, it always has been. Why is that? The reason couldn’t be simpler. People can’t even take care of themselves and their own. How can they take care of anyone else — let alone everyone else? The average person is living right at the edge. Not at the edge of the middle class dream and an even better one. But at the edge of poverty and destitution. They struggle to pay basic bills and never make ends meet. They can’t afford to educate their children, and retire, or retire and have healthcare, and so on. Let me say it again: the average person can’t take care of themselves and their own — so how can they take care of anyone else, let alone everyone else? A more technical, formal way to say that is: our societies have now become too poor to afford public goods and social systems. But public goods and social systems are what make a modern, rich society. What’s a society without decent healthcare, schools, universities, libraries, education, parks, transport, media — available to all, without life-crippling “debt”? It’s not a modern society at all. But more and more, it’s not America or Britain, either. What makes European societies — which are far, far more successful than ours — successful is that people are not battling for self-preservation, and so they are able to cooperate to better one another instead. At least not nearly so much and so lethally as we are. They are assured of survival. They therefore have resources to share with others. They don’t have to battle for the very things we take away from each other — because they simply give them to one another. That has kept them richer than us, too. The average American now lives in effective poverty — unable to afford healthcare, housing, and basic bills. They must choose. The European doesn’t have to, precisely because they invested in one another — and those investment made them richer than us. We are caught in a death spiral now. A vicious cycle from which there is probably no escape. The average person is too poor to fund the very things — the only things — which can offer him a better life: healthcare, education, childcare, healthcare, and so on. The average person is too poor to fund public goods and social systems. The average person is too poor now to able to give anything to anyone else, to invest anything in anyone else. He lives and dies in debt to begin with — so what does he have left over to give back, put back, invest? A more technical, formal way to put all that is this. Europeans distributed their social surplus more fairly than we did. They didn’t give all the winnings to idiot billionaires like Zucks and con men like Trump. They kept middle and working classes better off than us. As a result, those middle and working classes were able to invest in expansive public goods and social systems. Those things — good healthcare, education, transport, media — kept life improving for everyone. That virtuous circle of investing a fairly distributed social surplus created a true economic miracle over just one human lifetime: Europe rose from the ashes of war to enjoy history’s highest living standards, ever, period. That’s changing in Europe, to be sure. But that is because Europe is becoming Americanized, Anglicized. It has a generation of leaders foolish enough to follow our lead — now remember the greatest lesson of European history, which is one of the greatest lessons of history, full stop. That lesson goes like this. People who are made to live right at the edge must battle each other for self-preservation. But such people have nothing left to give one another. And that way, a society enters a death spiral of poverty — like ours have. People who can’t make ends meet can’t even invest in themselves — let alone anyone else. Such a society has to eat through whatever public goods and social systems it has, just to survive. It never develops or expands new ones. The result is that a whole society grows poorer and poorer. Unable to invest in themselves or one another, people’s only real way out is to fight each other for self-preservation, by taking away their neighbor’s rights, privileges, and opportunities — instead of being able to give any new ones to anyone. Why give everyone healthcare and education when you can’t even afford your own? How are you supposed to? Society melts down into a spiral of extremism and fascism, as ever increasing poverty brings hate, violence, fear, and rage with it. Trust erodes, democracy corrodes, social bonds are torn apart, and the only norms left are Darwinian-fascist ones: the strong survive, and the weak must perish. (Let me spend a second or two on that last point. As they become poorer, people begin to distrust each other — and then hate each other. Why wouldn’t they? After all, the grim reality is that they actually are fighting each other for existence, for the basic resources of life, like medicine, money, and food. As distrust becomes hate, people who have nothing to give anyways end up having no reason to even hope to give anything back to anyone else. Why give anything to those people you are fighting, every single day, for the most meagre resources necessary to live? Why give the very people who denied you healthcare and education anything? Isn’t the only real point of life to show that you beat them by having a bigger house, faster car, prettier wife or husband?) That is how a society dies. That is the death spiral of a rich society. In technical terms, it goes like this. A social surplus isn’t distributed equitably. That leaves the average person too poor to invest anything back in society. He’s just battling for self-preservation, and the stakes are life or death. But that battle itself only breeds even more poverty. Because without investment, nurturance, nourishment — nothing can grow. Having become poor, the average person only grows poorer — because he will never have decent public goods or social systems, let alone the rights and privileges and jobs and careers and trajectories they become and lead to. A society of people so poor they have nothing left over to invest in one another is dying. It goes from prosperity to poverty, from optimism to pessimism, from cohesion to distrust and hate, from peace to violence — at light speed, in the space of a generation. That’s America and Britain’s story today, just as it was the Soviet Union’s, yesterday, and Weimar Germany’s, before that. You can see how a society dies — with horrific, brutal clarity — in the self-destruction of America and Britain. The hate-filled vitriol of Trumpism, the barely-hidden hate of Brexit. Why wouldn’t people who have grown suddenly poor hate everyone else? Why wouldn’t they blame anyone and everyone they can — from Mexicans to Muslims to Europeans — for their own decline? The truth, as always, is harder. America and Britain’s collapse is nobody’s fault — nobody’s — but their own. They are in a death spiral now, but no opponent or adversary brought them there. It was their own fault, and yet they still go on choosing it. They don’t know any other way now. Their elites succeeded at making the average person truly, fervently believe that battling perpetually for self-preservation was the only way a society could exist. And though it’s too late to escape for them, let us hope that the rest of the world, from Europe to Asia to Africa, learns the lesson of the sad, gruesome, stupid, astonishing tragedy of self-inflicted collapse. Umair December 2019 Eudaimonia and Co.

[magicdepressive-blog]

Meet The Harveys

NWI native and Chicago resident Charlie Evans wants to introduce you to his one man band The Harveys, whose debut album, after over a year in the making, is nearing the completion stage. As Evans labors through the finishing touches of the LP and prepares it for public release, he sits down with me to talk about the project and tells us what we can expect from his esoteric alter-ego.

HW: You're getting ready to release your first LP; a collection of songs you're putting out under the name The Harveys. But essentially The Harveys is just you. What made you decide to release music as a fictional collective rather than under your own name?

CE: The Harveys isn't a real band right now, so the idea that it can be locked into only one thing doesn't appeal to me since I don't have to fight other people to have it be whatever it needs to be. I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of existing as a solo act. I feel like the idea of the Harveys started as a crutch of being afraid to do this on my own. For whatever reason, the idea of having a fictional band made it seem like a more viable project in my head, and more approachable as something to present out to the world.

HW: But you're not literally the only player on the record. Who else appears on the album, and in what capacity?

CE:  One song is an old one that was written as a group by Patrick Biancardi, Sam Evans, and myself....

HW: Right...that's Werewolf Teacher, isn't it? That's a great song and I remember you telling me that it has its origins in your time as a member of (now defunct Region band) Greenstone.

CE: Greenstone was a great time as a band, and helped form a lot of the stuff that I wrote and created on this album. When I began working on recording I wanted to get an old song down that we had never had the chance to properly record. It was a great point to learn how to use recording software and to test the viability of the fictional band project. A lot of the music I wrote afterwards feels similar in some ways to what we were working on with that project, but definitely is a different animal. Not writing in collaboration with other people or having to compromise things is both a blessing and a curse.

HW: Who are some of the other people who pitched in to help make this LP?

CE: Alex Akers contributed trumpet to I Sit Differently at the Piano. I met Alex while I was working for New Oberpfalz brewery, and we struck up conversation pretty naturally. I had completed about half of the the track, adding in the vocal snippet and guitar, but I felt that guitar all the way through would be frankly boring. I basically asked Alex if he wanted to add trumpet to a weird track that I had made and sent it over. About a week later he sent me his layered tracks and it was amazing! My primary instrument is the electric guitar, so it's always really awesome to work with other instrumentalists that can bring a completely different feel to a track. That song wouldn't work without Alex's contribution. Jake Egli plays the keyboards on The Somnambulist and helped me mix and master the record along with production work.

I'm definitely open to the idea of adding a more collaborative element to The Harveys. I would love to be able to flesh it out into a full band setting. I think a lot of these songs would translate pretty well to a live setting, and there's lots of song ideas in reserve. There's always ego involved in adding other people to a band, but I enjoy the collaborative aspect of writing music a lot. Sometimes it's okay to come in with an idea and see how it gets morphed into something completely new, original, and different that way.

HW: Having grown up as an aspiring musician in NWI and now living in Chicago, can you compare the two locales where musical heritage is concerned?

CE: I would say that both have a lot in common with each other, with Chicago getting the edge of diversity simply through pure numbers. Not unlike most other suburbs of Chicago, NWI filters a lot of its musical identity from Chicago, which I think is great. The Chicagoland area has an abundance of amazing music that doesn't always get the attention it deserves on the national stage.

HW: You recorded this LP at home on your computer. Were there any technical limitations that you encountered while making the record that, had you been in a studio, you might not have had to deal with?

CE: I think the biggest hurdle for doing all recording on my own is that my ear wasn't as trained, especially in the beginning, at what was good and what was bad. I improved rapidly, but especially early on I think that having a 2nd set of ears to hear everything is very helpful.

HW: Why did you decide to release a physical LP and how do you plan to market it? What streaming formats will you be utilizing?

CE: I love the idea and the ritual of vinyl...placing the vinyl on the turntable, setting it to the right speed, and letting the needle hit the record. There’s an art to creating a track list and an album that flows correctly from side to side. I think the best records still work with that duality; breaking it down into two shorter playlists and making sure those statements stand on their own and complement each other. That being said, I think the songs stand on their own, so I don’t mind pushing it to streaming as well where the majority of people (myself included) discover their music. I’m planning on releasing The Harveys on all major streaming services. The LP version of the album will be funded through a Kickstarter.

What I like about the idea of a vinyl release and giving yourself those limitations is that it really forces you to look at how songs flow as a cohesive unit. Balancing the amount of time you can put on a side along with making sure that each track is keeping the listener along for the ride is so important. Additionally, the 2 side nature of vinyl makes you look at it as a mini suite for each side. My process was mostly trying to balance all of these things to make the strongest single unit of an album. Sifting through all the songs I had written to put together what I feel is a cohesive album was a bit difficult at first, there’s definitely enough material left off to have an extra EP in the future or work towards another album. For me, I think the unifying threads that make this album stand as a whole are some of the themes touched on like growing up and the somewhat lonely existence that adulthood can be. There’s plenty of humor on the record, though, as well, which I feel is always needed. I don’t trust people who are too serious about everything. There's a lot of genre exploration that I wasn't able to make work cohesively on this record that could definitely fit in better on a slightly different project. I would love to create a great medley style suite, ala Abbey Road. I'd love to do something soaring, epic, and heartfelt like that.

HW: There are very few recording artists who so confidently pull off such a varied palette as what you've proven capable of on this LP; some that come to mind as exceptions are Ween and Captain Beefheart and Zappa and Guided By Voices. Were any of those artists a lighthouse for you while you were crafting these songs?

CE: All those bands and artists are huge influences, Ween in particular. Reading and getting into Ween was a huge part of what made me finally get off my butt and start making music again. The independent spirit that drove each of these artists to create despite not necessarily having the big push of a label was a huge inspiration. Learning about Ween using a drum machine and writing silly songs and just generally not caring what other people thought of them was a liberating idea, and also made my excuses for why I wasn’t doing anything seem like just that: excuses.

HW: Speaking of tracks that DIDN'T make the record, Feed Me, Human is one of your standout songs and I feel like it exists in a world of its own stylistically; some kind of avant garde heavy metal oddity...definitely something I haven't heard before. Is metal a big part of your musical tastes, and if so what can you tell me about this track? It sort of skirts a strange territory that's both playful and sinister.

CE: I love metal! Metal as a genre is so tongue in cheek, and I love that about it. I never trust any metal band that takes themselves 100% seriously. I remember reading a story that Adam Jones from Tool told about how when he met Buzz Osbourne from the Melvins he told him that Boris was his favorite song and was a foundation for a lot of how he built his songwriting and sound, and Buzz responded something along the lines of, "Thanks, it's about my cat." Metal is so great because it can occupy both territories of sinister and silly.

HW: Let's focus on what did make the album. Metropolitan Malaise is unabashed power pop exuberance; Hydration is Key is a blissed out, psychedelic signal from another galaxy. You cover Big Star's 1972 acoustic masterpiece 13, and then there's the aforementioned I Sit Differently at the Piano; four minutes of Badalementi-esque guitar and trumpet noodling atop which sits a bizarre sampling of an interview with a mental patient from the early 60s. The Funkalator struts and swaggers with ballsy, bell bottomed moxie, and Werewolf Teacher is textbook singer-songwriter gold. And that's just HALF the album. But maybe the standout track here is The Somnambulist, a disarming number that begins with a tribal, measured acoustic bounce before exploding into a veritable roman candle of life-affirming guitar-fueled adrenaline.

CE: I'm particularly proud of The Somnambulist. It has the most overdubs of any track, and took me the longest to assemble out of any of them. I'm particularly proud of my vocal performance, which incubated in my head for a pretty long time, and took even longer to build up the ability to properly sing. It's the classic rock track I always wanted to write.

HW: What's your writing process like? What do you find is the most challenging part of the formula?

CE: Wake up, make some coffee pick up my guitar and start playing something...pulling up Garageband and a virtual drummer and see if I can get anything useful out of it. Record it, and see if there’s enough there to develop. Sometimes there's something good there for a full song, sometimes there isn't. I built a lot of songs on the fly, and would do multiple takes of things to see what worked or didn’t work. Having a good feedback network of people to send songs to certainly helped as well to guide the directions that were working and not working in the music. I think the most challenging thing for me with this project was not really working with other musicians to create. If I wanted to finish the song, it was on me!  

HW: I really appreciate you taking the time to offer a little insight into what we can expect from The Harveys. I really think you've assembled a great collection of songs and I'm really looking forward to the vinyl.

CE: I think the biggest thing I’m hoping to offer is a bit of a blast of nostalgia that isn’t hopefully too derivative. Power pop and dad rock have reached the level of being uncool, but I still love making it. I’m hoping that I can bring some uncool music to people and hopefully get them to dig into the same things I love too.  I was talking with Jake while we were mixing and mastering and we both said waiting for lightning to strike will involve you mostly waiting. It’ll happen, and does happen, but you have to work at it no matter what.

-End-

The debut LP from The Harveys will be available soon pending a Kickstarter. Please stay tuned to Charlie's Facebook page for more info and show your support for this gifted musician. You can stream the unmixed demo of Metropolitan Malaise on Bandcamp here:

https://theharveysarentreal.bandcamp.com/track/metropolitan-malaise

Album art by Grace Calderone, 2019. Bar photos by Harvey Woodlawn, 2018.

[themagiciansreccenter]

Five @ Five @thursdayeuclid

As a part of our author spotlight, we’ve asked each writer to highlight 5 fics and tell us a little about their experience writing (or reading) them.

Modified Aspect Ratio by @sabrinachill

Quentin flinches when party hats suddenly appear on all three of their heads - the pointy, cardboard kind, with elastic straps that bite into the soft underside of their chins. Crepe paper streamers float in the air and balloons drop from where a ceiling should be, drifting down to scatter across the white expanse that serves as a floor. Tiny multicolored fireworks explode into shapes like smiley-faces and stars, and a three-tiered cake coated in yellow and red icing pops into existence in a puff of flour, hovering to the monster’s right.

But the biggest decoration - and weirdest, by far - is the enormous blue neon sign with the words “Welcome to Hollywood!” strobing insistently against the white blankness.

The monster is now wearing a wizard costume, for some unknown reason, and bouncing up and down while clapping its hands and performing a horribly off-key rendition of “Party in the USA.”

“This is officially the worst party I’ve ever attended, including the one where we murdered a couple of gods,” Eliot mutters.

Quentin’s answering sigh is epic and professional-grade, containing all the exasperated resignation in the galaxy. “Why is it that everything that happens to us is always equal parts absurd and terrifying? I mean, I could accept regular old fear and tragedy, sure, whatever, everybody gets those. But it’s like the universe gets off on dicking us around.”

He wants to slump, all dramatic and defeated, but he’s still pinned in place by the monster’s powerful will, like a butterfly in a display case.

This has to be my favorite Queliot AU. It's patently ridiculous but just believable enough to really touch your heart. Which, honestly, is most of the show too. I laughed and cried reading this. It's amazing and unpredictable and goes places I would never have imagined.

to be unbroken or be brave again by @milominderbindered

After the fourth time it happens, Josh decides to go for it, and as they’re bathing in the sweaty afterglow, he asks Margo if she wants to go on a date.

Margo looks at him, up and down, and says, “No offence, Hoberman, but no.”

“Oh.”  Josh’s stomach sinks a bit.  He pulls up his pants and takes a joint out of his pocket.  “Okay, that’s chill too. Wanna smoke?”

“Oh, don’t look all sorry for yourself,” Margo says, rolling her eyes as she picks herself up from the bathroom floor and inspects her hair in the mirror.  “It’s nothing personal. You’re nice, the sex is good, whatever. But, listen. Eliot is my best friend, and he’s going through this incredibly shitty time right now.  Specifically to do with love.  It’s been a couple months since that Mike shit went down, but he’s still seriously messed up, and he’s my first priority, capiche?  I’m not gonna start dating someone and just leave him by himself half the time, or shove a bunch of lovey-dovey crap in his face.  No way. I’m not gonna date anyone until Eliot’s dating again, too.”

“Right,” says Josh, slowly, as he lights his joint and thinks about it.  “Not until he’s dating someone too. Got it.”

He thinks about the party raging downstairs, and about what he knows about Eliot.  Eliot’s had no problem hooking with guys recently, everyone knows that, but he’s not kept anyone around for more than a night.  He’s heard Margo calling it Eliot’s attachment freak-outs when he drops the guys as soon as they suggest sucking his dick more than once , which makes sense.  Except. Well, there’s that one first year, with the floppy hair and the Lord of the Rings t-shirt.  Eliot and the first year with the weird name haven’t hooked up, according to Josh’s well-informed rumour mill, but he certainly seems to be the only person other than Margo who Eliot’s remotely interested in spending time with when he’s not drunk.

There aren’t a lot of things in life Josh Hoberman has an excess of.  But he’s not hard up for money. He’s got a trust fund and a drug hustle.  And he’d spotted Eliot’s first year at the school noticeboard taking the number for a three-headed-dog walking ad, the other day.

So, just like that.  The threads tangle together.

So this is a 10 Things I Hate About You AU (which was itself a reimagining of Taming of the Shrew), and I'm living for it, just right off the bat. I love Hoberman wanting Margo so badly he goes to all this trouble. I love Quentin being morally compromised but just wanting to spend all his time with Eliot... I love it. This story deserved more attention. It made me laugh and 'aww' and have feelings, plus it's on the shorter side so you have no excuse not to read it.

we can kiss like real people do by VeryImportantDemon

“No offense,” Quentin began, squinting at the stranger, “but I don’t know you, um… Janet.”

“None taken,” the man said. “And my name’s not Janet, it’s Eliot. None of the names on these things are right, we just grab a nametag.”

“Oh,” Quentin said. He supposed that made sense. “But I still don’t know you.”

Eliot shrugged again, taking a sip of his coffee and licking his lips afterwards. Q tried to pretend like he wasn’t staring, but he and Eliot both knew that he was. “In that case, it can’t hurt to tell me, then,” he added.

“Why are you even here?” Quentin asked, stalling for time. Maybe the ridiculously attractive barista was on break and if Quentin talked long enough, that break would be up and he wouldn’t have to confess his embarrassing predicament.

“You’re sad and cute and I was bored,” Eliot said. “Now, spill.”

He was not to be deterred so Quentin didn’t have very long to dwell on the fact that he’d just been called cute. “I, um… I kind of lied to my dad,” he said.

“Ooo,” Eliot said, leaning forward. “Exciting. About what?”

“It’s not that exciting,” Quentin said. “I just… He’s worried I’m lonely and he keeps asking if I’ve met someone. I just told him I had a boyfriend once to get him to stop asking and now he wants to see a picture of us.”

“Mmhm,” Eliot said. “I think I’m following. Why didn’t you get that snack that was here earlier to take a pic with you?”

“I can’t,” Quentin said, wondering how his life had gotten to the point that he was having an impromptu therapy session with a barista. “That’s Penny. He’s my… Sort of friend? And he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Pity,” Eliot said. “This your phone?” he added, gesturing to the phone on the table.

“Yeah,” Quentin said. Before he said anything further, Eliot scooped it up, unlocked it with Quentin’s face, and then set about doing something Quentin couldn’t see. “Hey!” he protested. “That’s my phone!”

“I know,” Eliot said. He rose from his chair, crouched down beside Quentin, and flashed a mesmerizing smile. Quentin was sure he looked a little startled and confused in the selfie because he really was confused. Eliot moved fast. He tapped on Quentin’s phone for a few more seconds as he crossed the table and sat down in the chair he had previously occupied before tapping a few more times and sliding the phone back to Quentin. “There,” he said. “Problem solved.”

I am a complete sucker for fake dating, and this story has a delightful array of truly ridiculous fake dating tropes. Also, it has transgender Penny dating Margo, and as a trans man, I can only aspire to such absolute game. Well done, trans Penny. Godspeed you, good man. There's a scene where I was freaking out and very upset and the author had to reassure me in comments it would be okay, so I kept reading, and everything was lovely in the end.

The Honor of Your Presence by Page161of180

One of the first years-- Elliott (oh no, that is too confusing, even in his own internal monologue), ah, Todd doesn’t remember her name, not because he doesn’t care, but because there are two Emilies and an Emilia in the new class and he hasn’t quite sorted them out yet. Maybe he should ask them about their middle names?-- makes it halfway down the stairs, before coming to a dead stop at the sight of the PKC’s friendly neighborhood post-grad locked in a silent stare-off with a six-foot-something R-rated Disney prince in head-to-toe-- Todd’s pretty sure it’s brocade? It’s very shiny and kind of between mint and seafoam. Definitely a nice color, against pale skin and dark hair. Which Todd knows from dressing himself , not because he spends that much of his time thinking about-- Not that there’s anything wrong with--

Ha. Ha ha. What? Not the point.

Todd shakes his head frantically at Emily, Emily, or Emilia, and she gets the message, turning back up the stairs and retreating to the safety of her room. Todd wishes he could go with her. Not, like, with her , specifically; he’s more into Emily (other Emily? Or maybe she’s Emilia?), honestly. But, you know, away . Would be good. 

Neither Eliot nor Quentin seem to notice she was ever there.

Eliot has been staring at Quentin for one minute and forty-five seconds, Todd’s face going more ashen with each moment that slips away, when the former (still?) king finally says, “I’m sorry. What ?”

And if it were Todd facing down Eliot like that (not that it would be; why would he be dating Eliot? Crazy.), he would have basically just, become one with the carpet, because that only sounds like a question. It is very clearly, obviously a trap. But Quentin-- man . Quentin has always been, just, super brave. Way braver than you would probably expect from someone who’s all, sort of, pocket-sized and, um, no judgment but, not really all that good? At magic? Like, not bad-- definitely not bad! Just. Kind of normal and-- soft? If that makes sense? He just sort of always looks like he needs a hug. Which is maybe why Eliot basically always has at least one arm wrapped around him.

Not now, though. Now, Eliot has both arms down at his sides, hands dangerously still, while Quentin crosses his own over his chest and sets his jaw.

This is just one of the greatest fics I've ever read in any fandom, for any pairing, and it's hilarious and feelsy and I had to keep pausing when I was reading it just to sit with my emotions for a minute. I recommend it to absolutely anyone who likes Queliot at all.

Ask Me, I Won't Say No by @veganshailseitan

None of them linger too long in their booth after they collect the gift certificate that will almost cover their drinks for next week-

Wednesday Night Trivia Rule 2: Only Penny and Alice are allowed to handle the gift certificates because they are the only ones who won’t lose them.

-exchanging hugs and kisses on cheeks. He’s walking out of the bar while texting —a grave mistake he should have learned from by now, but he just has to let the sitter know he’s going to be late real quick— when he suddenly smacks into something solid, sending his phone clattering to the floor.

Something solid which oh, fuck happens to be a person.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” the stranger says, despite the fact that Quentin should clearly be taking the blame here. 

He’s ducking to pick up his hopefully-not-shattered phone before he can even spare a glance at the person, “You’re fine, I wasn’t paying attention to-” he loses the sentence as he stands back up, looking up to a face he’s only seen from across the room “-you?”

His brief interaction with the enemy-

”I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Eliot. Waugh.”

“Um, yeah, I’ve seen you here before, hi. Quentin Coldwater.”

“Quentin Coldwater?” -sticks in Quentin’s mind for the next week. He’s excited for trivia. More excited than the usual eagerness for his night out of the house with grown-ups, and nervous for the first time since he could remember. Which is so dumb and shows Quentin how painfully out of practice he is at interacting with other human beings.

He and the guy —Eliot— had barely exchanged two sentences and he’s pretty sure one of them had just been Eliot making fun of his name. But then again, his type has always been the ones that pulled his pigtails on the playground —which, yeah super healthy there Quentin, way to go— except for Arielle.

And there it was: the surefire way to kill whatever ill-advised excitement he’d been holding onto for the night.

He’s early this week, for reasons he’s already overthinking, so he goes ahead and grabs their usual table. It’s his week to pick-

Wednesday Night Trivia Rule 1: The person in charge of choosing the team name will rotate on a weekly basis in alphabetical order. That week’s decider can only be overruled by a unanimous vote from the rest of the team (per the March 2018 addendum).

-so he lets the group chat know he’s there, checks them in with the Quizmaster as To Be Perfectly Queer, (because he’s at least self-aware at this point in his life) and heads to the bar, trying to focus on whether or not he wants to try the new local craft brew they were pushing this month-

And immediately runs into Eliot.

Thankfully not literally this time.

“Well, hello, Quentin.” Eliot looks as surprised to run into him as Q is, which is stupid on both their parts.

“Uh, Eliot. Hello. How are you?” just talk like a normal human, Quentin, Jesus.

Eliot smiles, sultry and so over the top that Quentin almost laughs, “Fraternizing with the enemy, are we? I’m sworn to hold our knowledge in secrecy, so don’t you dare try to seduce it out of me.”

Quentin does laugh at that, somehow put at ease by Eliot’s carefree flirtation, “I’ll try to restrain my charms. Scout’s honor.”

I actually -just- got around to reading this one and I liked it so much it made me squee out loud on a couple of occasions. It's hot, it's kidfic, it's sweet, and there's feelings and fluff and smut. Basically a ridiculous AU where Eliot and Quentin are on opposing pub trivia teams. However, that premise accounts for only a fraction of this story's considerable charms. I didn't expect to love it like I did--I did, in fact, expect to love it in a totally different way--and then it hooked me and dragged me panting and squirming through a smorgasbord of emotion. 

[angrylizardjacket]

strangest night of our lives {Joe Mazzello/OC}

Summary: Cate’s 10 year high school reunion is coming up and Joe agrees to go with her, except that she had a garbage time at high school, and the idea of seeing those people again stresses her out more than she cares to admit.

A/N: 5354 words. Self indulgent cate/joe fic that is neither of the things i promised. i write this shit to make myself happy because there’s v few people who actually care lmao ANYWAYS enjoy (thanks, i will) no smut, but i put it under a readmore because it’s a long one.

Cate doesn’t get stressed, it’s one of the great things about the Taylor family, Joe had found, they’re very loud but very chill, they each had their own outlets for rage and stress; Barney boxed, Astrid worked in her garage and drank whiskey like it was her job, and Cate had her music and her daughter. So, to say it was strange to see Cate frantically pacing back and forth beside the craft services table liked a caged lion, phone to her ear, frown adorning her brow, was an understatement.

“Rowan, this is import-” whoever’s on the other end of the line cuts her off and she stops pacing, squeezing her eyes shut and sighing deeply, “I get that that’s important too- listen to me - if I find someone else to go with, will you look after Claud?” There’s a long pause and Cate finds herself nodding along, “yes, I know she’d love to come with you, she loves playing with the sound desk-” another beat and her eyes snap open, exasperation written all over her face, “well then you tell her to stop playing with the faders, I can’t astral project myself to-”

Joe’s fidgeting now, feels like he’s intruding on a private moment, and when Cate finally spots him, finally meets his gaze where he’d stopped on his way to grab some food between takes, her smile is tight.

“I’ll drop Claud off on Thursday, okay?” She says into the receiver, gentler this time, and there seems to be something akin to relief flowing through her as the tense set of her shoulders eases a little, “okay, take care, bye.” And she hangs up, sighing heavily. Scrolling through her phone with one hand, the other reaches out to take one of the egg and lettuce sandwiches being offered on the table beside her, and Joe feels less like he’s intruding.

“Everything alright?” He asks tentatively, and Cate grunts around her sandwich, before finishing her mouthful and heaving yet another sigh, her third in what feels like less than a minute.

“Everything’s fine, just had all my plans for this weekend completely fucked,” she turned off her phone and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans, putting down the sandwich and opening up a bottle of water, downing a third in a few quick gulps.

“It’s Tuesday.” Joe frowned.

“Yeah, and I’ve had these plans for almost a month; just like Rowan to fuckin’ screw all this up,” she grumbled. This came as a shock to Joe, who’d never heard of her ever speaking ill of anyone; everyone in her family, Cate had always been equal parts the rowdiest, and the most sincerely kind, whoever Rowan was, they must have really screwed up.

“And Rowan is…?” Joe prompts, and the tension in Cate’s shoulders cracks a little.

“Claud’s dad; my ex,” oh, “he was meant to come with me to this high school reunion thing this week but he’s - surprise - found out he’s working.” She rolls her eyes. She looks tired, which is, again, an uncommon look for her, and she pulls out her phone. “You wouldn't happen to know someone willing to spend the weekend in London putting up with me and and a bunch of asshole private school grads for a weekend-” And Joe's about to make a suggestion, but she keeps talking, still looking through her phone, “you know, Barn would go if I begged him, but fuck it'd be pathetic to turn up to my high school reunion with a brother who's objectively more successful than me, and Trid has been banned from all further reunions last time I heard-”

“Wait, why?” Joe frowns, half laughing, and Cate grins.

“At her reunion she ended up hooking up with the biology teacher she had a crush on in her final year, and it was a big scandal because when you go to a terribly fancy private school, everything's a scandal-”

“I'm free this weekend.” Joe finally interrupts her, and Cate's mouth snaps shut and she turns slowly to him.

“I- no, dude, no, you're busy as shit, don’t- no.” Cate's shaking her head, finishing off the last of her sandwich, and washing it down with another gulp of water, trying to ignore the way her cheeks are heating up at the suggestion, “Dude, you don't need to do that.”

“Wow, alright I get it, I get it,” Joe laughs, though it's a little off, he actually seems a little hurt by such a thorough rejection, and Cate's ears turn pink as she finally turns to him.

“No, I just mean - like it's a lovely offer, but I don't want to be a burden and I'm sure you have better things to do with your time, I can find -” she's floundering, flustered, fidgeting with her phone, and this time when Joe laughs, it's genuine.

“Cate, seriously, we're-” he hesitates slightly, “friends, and all I was gonna do this weekend anyway was lay around in my hotel room and maybe practice the bass for a bit,” he says, and Cate's eyes glaze over a bit.

“God that sounds nice,” she murmurs under her breath, and in that one moment, she looks so tired.

“Come on, let me tag along, it'll be a nice change of scenery.”

“You sure?” She asks tentatively. Joe nods, clapping her on the shoulder.

“It'll be fun; we'll make it fun.” He assured her. For just a moment, there’s an unfiltered look of relief that washes over Cate’s face before she throws herself at Joe, wrapping him up in a hug.

“Oh thank God, I really didn’t want to ask my brother to come with me.” She laughs gently, hugging him tighter than was probably necessary, though to be fair, Joe wasn’t even close to complaining as he hugged her back.

They meet on Friday, the day before the reunion, at the hotel in the middle of London where it was taking place according to Cate, and the moment Joe steps into the lobby and sees her wearing her black jeans and leather jacket, draped on a gilded sofa that wouldn’t have been out of place in Garden Lodge, that he realises what type of people she must have gone to school with, and how absolutely ‘fuck-off-wealthy’ that makes her family; he’s actually a little humbled. He’s also never been so grateful to see someone so out of place as Cate. in that moment.

She’s twitchy, fidgety in the uncomfortably fancy elevator ride to their floor, carrying a black duffle bag and a garment bag on a coat hanger.

“Seriously, you can run away now, I’m not going to stop you,” she offered quickly before the elevator doors open, and she can’t bring herself to look at him. Joe’s got his own suit in a garment bag slung over his shoulder, and he can feel the nervous energy radiating off her in waves almost. The doors open.

“Not going anywhere,” he chanced her a look, a half smile, but she just looks doubtful, and steps out ahead of him, “what’s got you so worried?” He asks, and Cate visibly sighs. It’s so strange to see her like this, she’s usually so bright and outgoing, seeing her tense and nervous is almost uncomfortable to witness, and if he wants to help her try and relax, Joe knows he needs to find out why she’s so tense in the first place.

“High school didn’t agree with me,” Cate says, glancing at the numbers on the doors as they walk past, slowing down in front of 2318. She opens it with the key card and when they step in, she moves about the luxurious spacious room with an almost practiced ease, hanging up her garment bag and pulling off her shoes, “it’s a school for trust-fund babies who have more money than sense and aspire to be bigger, richer jags than their parents, or trophy wives, or both.” She flops back on the bed, gazing up at the roof as Joe takes his time putting his things away before moving to the window.

“So are we trying to mess with them or are we trying to get on their good side?” He asks, and when Cate laughs, he can’t help but grin in return, looking from the spectacular London skyline to her, smiling for the first time since he’d arrived.

“I’d tar and feather them if given half a chance, but honestly I’m just out here trying to rub it in their stupid faces that I actually amounted to something.”

“High school really wasn’t kind to you,” Joe winced, and she gave him a wry smile, but doesn’t disagree. It’s when she sits up, suggests getting dinner, that something clicks in Joe’s head and he hesitates before he answers her; “yes on dinner, but there’s- uh,” he can see Cate’s a little amused by the way he’s turning faintly pink, but it’s her turn to get a little flustered as he voices his next thought; “where will I be sleeping?”

The bed was enormous, could easily fit two people, could probably easily fit at least four, but the last thing Joe wanted to do was make her uncomfortable when she was already so stressed about the upcoming reunion.

“I- here, Joe,” she makes a face like she doesn’t quite understand why he’s asking, patting the bed, while her voice is so painfully casual it almost stings, “we’re adults, dude.” And with that she breaks away, scrambles across the bed to the bedside table where a menu was waiting by the phone. “Room service?” 

They eat their room service dinner in bed, and Cate does her best to catch Joe up on any gossip that may be important knowledge for him to have before he ‘walks into the hornet’s nest’ as Cate put it.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the saying,” Joe snickers, but Cate waves him off, mouth full of pork chop. 

“Whatever, dude, the point is, these are the kids of bankers and lawyers and fancy athletes and stuff like that; they’re exactly like their parents, just as awful as they were in high school, at least according to their facebooks, and none of them like me.” She picks at the salad at the side of her plate before eating a cherry tomato and avoiding Joe’s gaze. 

“Are- really? How can you know that?” He asks, tone light, mostly convinced she’s joking, but she shrugged.

“When I clicked that I was coming on the event, I was added to a group chat for it that it turns out most of the rest of the year was already in, apart from like the, you know, the ‘weird kids’, the kids they assumed weren’t coming.” The mood is quickly dropping, and Cate takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. There’s a beat of time in which Cate’s smile is already slipping, and Joe sort of wants to ask why she’s even going, but then all he can think about is how good it would feel to rub Cate’s success in the faces of those assholes, and he gets it. He leans in conspiratorially.

“You wanna go egg their cars?” He asks with a grin, and there’s an indescribably relief and amusement written all over Cate’s face that just lights up the room, and Joe just wants to be able to bottle that emotion so he never forgets how damn happy her smile makes him. He’s sort of been thinking that a lot lately, if he’s being honest, but he tries not to think about it to hard; he’s not here to worry about himself, he’s here to support Cate.

“Literally nothing would bring me more joy,” Cate sighs wistfully before shaking her head, “but I’m trying to be the bigger person.” And there’s a moment where Joe can’t help but marvel at her; if what she’s said is true about these people, she has every right to be the pettiest person in the world, but she’s trying to rise above it, trying to put it behind her.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Cate admits, snapping Joe out of his thoughts, and she moves her mostly empty plate onto the table and flops back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling again, “seriously, I owe you.” Joe puts his own mostly empty plate beside hers, joining her, taking her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“No you don’t, there was no way I’d let you go to this alone.” He assures, and Cate is strangely quiet, her hand still clasped in his. When he looks at her, he’s surprised to see her looking back at him, expression a little unreadable, a little awed, and she looks like she wants to say something, but when his gaze meets hers, it’s as if he can see her hesitate, and she just gives him a soft smile.

“I appreciate it.” Is all she says, voice uncharacteristically soft.

It’s much later that night that Joe learns that Cate sleeps on her side, curled up, with blankets all tucked up around her, doing things on her phone until well past midnight. 

[go to sleep] Joe messages at about twenty past twelve, grinning to himself. He hears Cate’s message tone go off and he suppresses a little giggle, but is surprised to hear Cate herself snicker, though she doesn’t turn around. After a beat, he hears start typing.

[u first.] [hypocryte.] [*hypocrite] She sends in rapid succession, and Joe doesn’t even try and hide his soft laughter at this.

[not tired]

[neither am i] She’s quick to respond, and she shifts to get more comfortable on the bed.

[guess we’re at an impasse] He sends, and there’s a long moment of silence before she slowly starts typing out a response.

[that spelling doesn’t look right.....] [impass] [impasse] He hears her make a little, thoughtful huff, and there’s a long pause before she starts typing again. [no you’re right]

[i know 😂] He’s shifted from where he was leaning on his headboard to laying on his side facing away from her, and the with the two of them both engrossed by the other’s messages on their phones, in the middle of the night, in the same damn bed, it feels like a high school rom-com. It makes Joe feel a little giddy, a little warm inside like he doesn’t quite want to admit.

They get donuts from Seven-Eleven at one in the morning at Cate’s behest, and she admits it was her favourite part of high school. Sitting at the bus stop outside the store, Cate takes only the barest moment to lament her lost youth around bites of donut, but quickly thinks better of it.

“I eat better because of Claud, I gotta set a good example, you know?” She’s sitting probably too close, leaning against him, but he’s not complaining. The night is cool enough that they’re both wearing jackets, but it’s otherwise calm, even in the inner city. “I want her to be healthy and strong, and yeah like I’m not a hardass, like I’m not a hypocrite, you know,” and she takes another bite, before taking a swig of the milk she’d bought to pair with it. Joe is quiet, just looking out at the street, unable to help the fond smile that was caught at the edge of his lips, “but I miss like, being on tour with dad, god we’d eat absolute garbage after the gigs had finished. Whatever was open late was dinner; there was like a week in Japan when I was sixteen, where I just survived on dessert crepes.”

It’s little moments like that, where she says a lot without saying much at all, how she’d been afforded indulgences, perhaps at the expense other parts of her life. He asks if it was in the school holidays; it wasn’t. She goes quiet. She leans her head on his shoulder and eats another donut, and they watch the cars pass by in easy silence. 

This time when they get ready for bed, Cate plugs her phone in to charge and puts it on the bedside table, ready to actually sleep, and Joe finds himself doing the same. 

The space between them on the luxurious bed feels like miles, feels too far away. There’s a beat of hesitation before Joe turns, wants to say something, wants to reach out, but Cate is already facing him, arm outstretched, surprise written all over her face, and though he can’t see it in the darkness, she’s quickly turning red.

“Hey,” her voice is soft, a little nervous, and she retracts her hand quickly, but doesn’t turn away, doesn’t look away, just smiles, a little bashful.

“Hey,” Joe can’t help but grin back.

“This bed is huge,” she laughs a little in the darkness, and Joe hums in agreement, and then she’s shuffling over, propping herself up, “hey I- contact makes me less nervous, would you mind if I?” There’s a little bit of reservation in her voice, like she’s not sure how he will react as she holds her hand out to him, going to lay down beside him, but something in Joe’s heart softens and he huffs out a laugh.

“Come here,” and he opens his arms for her. Even in the darkness, he can see her visibly relax as she rests her head gently on his chest, arms tucked carefully to her chest as he wraps an arm around her shoulders. It’s all very tentative, like they’re both hesitant to get to close, but her shampoo smells like something fruity and she’s surprisingly cool to the touch and something about holding her, even gingerly like this, fills him with some sort of contentment. “You have nothing to be nervous about, you know; you’re gonna make this reunion your bitch.” 

Cate is quiet, but he feels when she tenses at his words. It lasts only the barest moment before she relaxes, and shifts against him, uncurling one of her arms to drape across him and pull him a little closer. He holds her a little tighter.

Joe wakes first, on his side, one arm beneath his head and his pillow, the other slung over Cate, who’s also facing him where she’s sleeping on her side. One of her hands is curled loosely in the fabric of his shirt, and when he moves to get up, her grip on his shirt tightens just a little and she makes an unhappy noise in her sleep. Joe considers his options for a moment, before shrugging and settling in to go back to sleep, at least for a little while longer.

Cate’s in the shower when he wakes up, and she stays there for a full half an hour before he calls out asking if she’s okay. He gets a tentative and unconvincing ‘yes’. Not five minutes later, the water shuts off and Cate comes barrelling out clad in a bathrobe and her hair dripping onto the carpet.

“This was all a mistake; I should go home.” She announces, sitting at the edge of the bed. Joe, still in his pyjamas, having not left bed at this stage, frowns as he sits up. “They don’t want to see me.” She says softly, voice so raw, and Joe’s heart breaks for her, just a little.

“Absolutely not, you’re successful as hell, you’re a kind person, and an incredible mother,” and he wants to add something else, to wrap it up, something about being better than any of them could even hope to, but Cate looks at him and there’s something in her expression, the same thing he saw last night that was unreadable, followed again by a hesitation and a smile.

“You’re too nice,” she brushes off the compliments easily and Joe sighs, rolling his eyes.

“You’re just nervous.”

By the time Joe’s gotten out of the shower, Cate’s got her hair wrapped up in a towel and is frantically chattering away to someone on a video call. There’s a small fortune’s worth of makeup scattered on the bed, and she’s rifling through it with something akin to nervous irritation.

“Mickey, I don’t know what the shit a cut crease is or how to do it,” Cate sighs, and the person on the other end of a video call, dark haired and exasperated, pinches the bridge of their nose.

“That’s why I’m here, don’t worry.”

Mickey turns out to be Cate’s brother’s partner, professional makeup artist and part-time Taylor-Sibling wrangler so it seems, judging by their endless patience and exasperation. It’s a little awe inspiring, Joe thinks as he watches quietly, moving about the room, ordering lunch, passing makeup brushes and pallets when asked to. 

“How’s this look?” Cate turns to him once she’s finished putting a pretty impressive wing on her eyeliner. The rest of her eyeshadow is in shades of rich, blood red and shimmering pink, but Joe doesn’t have time to answer before her gaze catches on the bowl of wedges he’s got sitting between them that had arrived not long ago, though Cate had been so immersed in her work that she hadn’t noticed.

“It looks lovely,” Joe assures her, and her thanks is spoken around where she’s crammed three wedges into her mouth.

“You’re a menace,” Mickey informs her.

“I’m hungry!” Cate protests, mouth still full of food, and there comes a secondary voice from Mickey’s end; it’s Barney, asking what she’d done this time.

“Speaking with her mouth full,” Mickey sighed, looking incredibly put upon as they moved from where they’d presumably been sitting to join Barney on what looked to be a sofa, the two of them in frame as Cate flipped them off.

“Watch it, grub,” Barney warned, and Cate made a horribly gross noise as she opened her mouth wide and showed all her half chewed food. Even Joe, though he was amused, made a noise of disgust at that.

“Wait, who’s that? ‘that Rowan?” Barney asked, frowning through the screen, and Cate made another face, shaking her head as she swallowed her food. Joe takes that as his moment to make an entrance, maneuvering about the makeup on the bed to sit by Cate, popping into frame and resting his chin on her shoulder. Seeing who it actually was, Barney’s face lit up.

It was strange to wrap his head around at times, the idea that the Taylor family all collectively seemed to like him. It wasn’t something he’d expected; apart from Undrafted, he had never found himself close to the, for lack of a better word, source material for a film. Roger himself, and Astrid to an extent, were probably the most distant, but he half-jokingly calls Ash ‘mom’ on set, and Cate and Barney are always there, Barney because he’s in between projects and helping out Ash, and Cate because-

“Hey,” Joe’s frowning, looking in the mirror as he does up the buttons of his dress shirt, while Cate’s in the bathroom curling her hair, “I never actually asked what you do.” The video call had ended almost half an hour ago, and by now they were both a little antsy, getting ready in different parts of the room.

“What do you mean?” Cate calls back, tone blithe, followed by a yelped swear.

“You okay?”

“Burnt myself on the curling iron, I’m fine.” She assures quickly, and Joe goes back to the question at hand.

“Like, for a living, or study, or, I don’t-”

“I’m Queen’s social media coordinator.” She says it likes it’s the most obvious thing in the world, cutting him off before he can even finish his thought. In the silence that follows, Joe makes a noise of interest, though it’s clear he wasn’t expecting it. “It’s not-” Cate hesitates for a moment, and once more Joe hears her sigh, “okay, it’s almost definitely nepotism, I get that, I’m not blind-”

“I didn’t-”

“No, not you,” Cate gives a humourless laugh. “I know how it looks from the outside, but I do have a Masters in Public Relations.” The fact hangs in the air for a moment as Joe takes the time to process it, before his frown deepens, and he’s moving through the hotel room with ease to find her standing in the bathroom. She’s frowning at herself in the mirror, though it’s closer to scowling, and even when she catches sight of Joe in the reflection, her expression doesn’t change.

“And you’re worried about tonight? Cate, seriously-” 

“Stop it, stop being so fucking nice, okay?" She snaps. Joe physically recoils, eyebrows raising in surprise as he watches her turn on him. It’s as if the air itself is crackling with the hostile energy she’s radiating, tense and angry, though he’s not sure what he’s done to warrant it. “You don’t have to pity me or whatever, I got practically everything handed to me, I get it.”

Its in this moment that Joe sees the way she’s not really looking at him, the way she’s looking through him and projecting her old fears and frustrations on him, and he gives her a thin, understanding smile.

“I think you need some time to get ready,” he says softly. There’s a beat before her expression shifts, cracks and falls, and she turns back to the mirror, nodding quietly and picking up the curling iron again. He leaves the hotel room, sits in the lobby and rests his head against the wall for a very long time.

[Hey Ma Rocket, I need some advice about Cate.] He deletes the text before he even sends it, has no idea what to ask or how to ask it, thinks that he might be overstepping his bounds to go to her mother about this. Something about this whole event has Cate acting so out of character to him that it’s jarring; Roger and Ash have told a few stories about her high school days and early days of uni, and this, whatever this version of Cate is, seems to best align with those.

[hey so i think cate’s mad but not mad at me but im not sure] Instead, he talks to Barney, who only waits half a minute before just ringing Joe.

“I told her it was a terrible idea to go to this reunion. She gets so shitty about high school.” Barney sighs, so blase that it’s almost committal as he forgoes a greeting.

Though he doesn’t go into details, from what Barney does say, it’s clear that ‘high school didn’t agree with her’ didn’t even begin to cover it. More than anything, Joe’s heart just aches for her; she was a kid. He wants to go to her, let her know that it’s okay, wrap her up in a hug and keep her away from the assholes who convinced her that she’d never be able to earn anything in her life.

“Mumma, you look like a princess!” 

When Joe gets back to the hotel room, the first thing he hears is Claud, and without even taking a step over the threshold, there’s a relief that washes over him as he hear’s Cate’s laugh.

“I feel like a princess, sweetie,” Cate’s smile is clear in her words, and as Joe closes the door behind him, Cate looks over and gives him a soft, apologetic smile from where she’s sitting back on the bed, still wearing her bathrobe, holding up her phone, “are you having fun at daddy’s work?” 

“It’s loud,” Claud says, and Cate beckons Joe over with a smile, “but sometimes I can push the things and,” the little girl giggled, “sometimes I push them when he’s not looking-”

“Claudia,” Cate says, her voice taking on a surprisingly Scottish lilt as she gently reprimands her daughter, sounding so much like her mother it’s a little hilarious, “what’s dad told you about playing with the faders when he’s not looking?” 

Claud is sulking by the time Joe is sitting beside Cate on the bed, and the moment she spots him, her whole face brightens into a grin.

“Joseph!” It’s always amused him how the little girl would always insist on calling him by his fugll first name, and he’d always respond in kind as it made her smile. Cate grew quiet, content watching Joe and Claud talk and joke around, leaning against him as she held up the phone; she seemed far more at ease than she had for most of the past twenty-four hours, and for that Joe was grateful.

“You okay?” He asks softy once they hang up. Cate hums and nods, taking a deep, slow breath, centering herself in the moment.

“I don’t wanna go to the reunion.” She finally admits, and Joe wraps an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t have to prove myself to anyone, and-” she pauses for a moment, looking up at him, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I’m actually really glad you’re here.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he gives her a warm, fond smile, and she looks for the barest moment like she’s going to brush it off, but it hits her how sincere he is and something in her chest tightens.

“You’re too nice to me.” But it’s not dismissive this time, it’s soft, it’s that same unreadable something that Joe had seen on her face last night, and she’s smiling back at him. “You actually like me as a person, don’t you?” She sounds so bewildered at the concept, searching his face for some hint of a dissenting opinion, but he just frowns in confusion.

“Of course, you’re awesome, Cate.” 

Her answering smile is blinding. It’s as if she’s found a whole new energy, jumping from the bed and tugging Joe to his feet.

“Let’s do whatever; ditch this shitshow reunion and just-” she laughs a little, throwing open the closet, “I don’t know; let’s do anything, everything.”

“In a suit?” Joe asks, a little hesitant, but still smiling. Cate pulls out her garment bag and opens it, revealing an exquisite, red, cocktail dress.

“We’ll paint the town red,” she enthuses, before she falters for a minute, expression falling slightly, “I mean, if you want to, don’t feel obliged or -”

“Oh, I’m always down for an adventure; it’s Saturday, baby, let’s tear it up away from these,” he pauses for a moment, grinning, “what did you call them, jags and trophy wives?” 

Cate is elated as she swans over to the bathroom to get changed, and Joe pulls on his suit jacket, tying his bowtie when Cate throws open the bathroom door and strikes a pose in her dress. 

“You look pretty damn good,” Joe grins, trying not to let it show how the sight of her had left him a little out of breath. Cate’s grinning and laughing, making her way over to him, nudging his hands out of the way to fix his bowtie.

“Same to you; cute penguin suit,” voice dropping to soft and amused, Cate’s eyes were fixed on her tying efforts as she continued, growing more serious, “I am really sorry I yelled at you, I- this whole thing had me fucked up and I got in my own head about it, and about how fucking hard it is being the bigger person this weekend, and I just thought-” 

He gently places his hands on her shoulders and Cate freezes, words dying in her throat as she looks up at him with her big, surprised eyes. 

“You worry too much.” 

“I have to, I’m a mum.” Her voice is quiet as she says it, expression softening to a smile that he returns easily. 

“Not tonight; Claud’s safe and happy, you don’t need to worry about her. We’re going to go out and kick some ass, or egg some cars, or maybe we just catch some live bands, but Cate?” And she nods in acknowledgement, half amused, “It’s gonna be fun; we’re gonna make it fun. I promise.”

With that, she bounces up onto her toes and kisses him like it’s most natural thing in the world, and he kisses her back, smiling against her lips. Her grip on his bowtie loosens and in a oment she’s got her arms wrapped around his neck, and he’s holding her close, pulling her to him, lifting her up just a little. With a soft laugh, she breaks the kiss, holding him tighter until he puts her down again, though they don’t let go of one another.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here.”