#I wrote forever ago that he did all the art for his articles and NOW HIS TIME HAS COME

[thegreatsharkleve]

Cannot wait for Elijah to finally have a second ic job class beyond Machinist.

Originally he drew dicks on everything out of passion -- now, it's for purpose

[theunderdogwrites]

In Defense of Marilyn Manson

Just kidding.

This is another one of those ‘if you live under a rock, you might not know what is going on’ pieces. But because this story appears to be unfolding daily, I’d think you’ve heard a murmur here or there even if you haven’t really paid too much attention to it because for many, I think this may fall into the “that guy has been a messed-up weirdo for years so I’m not surprised” category.

Please note that in NO WAY I am making fun of this situation, but I learned a long time ago that I require a certain amount of humor to be able to digest much of what this world presents to me.

As always, let me give you the Coles Notes version with the hopes you will go and do your own reading as well.

On February 1 actress Evan Rachel Wood posted this on her Instagram:

"The name of my abuser is Brian Warner, also known to the world as Marilyn Manson. He started grooming me when I was a teenager and horrifically abused me for years. I was brainwashed and manipulated into submission. I am done living in fear of retaliation, slander or blackmail. I am here to expose this dangerous man and call out the many industries that have enabled him, before he ruins any more lives. I stand with the many victims who will no longer be silent."

Quick history lesson – They started dating in 2007 when she was 18 and he was 34 and were engaged for a brief time in 2010.

This was Manson’s response to what she wrote:

"Obviously, my art and my life have long been magnets for controversy, but these recent claims about me are horrible distortions of reality. My intimate relationships have always been entirely consensual with like-minded partners. Regardless of how - and why - others are now choosing to misrepresent the past, that is the truth."

Since the original statement on February 1 a number of women have come forward with stories of their own ranging from physical and emotional abuse to human trafficking. And everyday something new is revealed. Evan Rachel Woods is feverishly posting on her Insta-Story and is slowly burying Manson in an ocean of consequences. She isn’t “fired up” or “a woman scorned”, she is a victim rising above the shame she has felt and the fear of what others will say about her to tell her story and encourage others to do the same. She is the voice that started the ball rolling. The ball that is about to crush Marilyn Manson.

Whenever I write stuff that is currently being heavily featured in the media, I always dive into articles so I can get as much information as possible. But more importantly, I plunge my sensitive little soul into the murky depths known as “the comments section”. I do this because unlike those polished, finished pieces the comments section will give you a better idea of what your fellow human beings think and feel about the topic at hand. And it is never polished or even polite. And often not for the faint at heart. In case you didn’t already know – people can be quite terrible.

The comments section is the modern-day gladiator pit. Only most (not all) of the participants are not ripped, athletic warriors but rather drooling basement dwellers with one hand down their pants (not gender specific by the way) and the other hand maltreating the letters on their keyboard.

Side note: Look, I am not the grammar police as I often just push past all the warnings from the Gestapo editing program in Microsoft Word. BUT I know the value of proper spelling, well placed punctuation and valid attempts to appear smarter than a domesticated turkey by making sure sentences are well-thought out and complete. Raising your argument doesn’t mean USING ALL CAPS AND ABUSING THESE THINGS -> !!!

I just deleted three paragraphs going over the recent “reckoning” that has taken place in the past few years with regards to sexual and physical abuse accusations against (mostly) men in positions of some kind of power. I eliminated all that writing because I started to tumble off topic. I’m not writing about all the dicks now getting their comeuppance, but rather the reactions to it being Marilyn Manson’s turn in the chamber.

Victim shaming is sadly a real thing.

The easiest way I can explain this to you – if a person gets pickpocketed and then blamed because they should’ve known better than to carry their wallet in their back pocket.

Evan Rachel Woods and others have come out to accuse Manson of some pretty appalling acts of abuse and what I’ve found to be the biggest reaction is, “How did they not know he was a bad guy? His music is so graphic and they thought it was all an act? Why did they stay so long?”. As innocent as those questions might seem, and I say that because our brains don’t always serve us or others well, it is a form of discrediting those women. Let’s be honest here… it’s hard to look at Marilyn Manson and his art form and not say, “What the fuck, this guy has bad idea written all over him!”. I feel that is a perfectly reasonable response, but that is where it should end. I think it is fair to pause and attempt to understand the choices of others, but it’s heartless to minimize their experience by placing blame on them for a situation we couldn’t possibly understand if it has never happened to us.

And like I’ve quoted before: People only understand from their level of perception. But that doesn’t stop them from laying on the judgement and damaging already fragile individuals with their inability to show compassion for a fellow human being. Reading through comment sections isn’t just maddening, it’s disappointing and sad but also a real look into how awful many people feel about themselves… to the point where they seem to derive some pleasure or satisfaction from condemning a rape victim for wearing a short skirt and getting drunk.

So… we have to touch on this to be balanced: innocent until proven guilty. Only these days it’s an automatic trial by media with the public acting as judge, jury and executioner. This is where “cancel culture” steps in and within days can destroy an entire career / life. I am not a fan of cancel culture. It does not give people a chance to learn from their mistakes or make amends as it immediately harms their very existence. Often times even before any proof has surfaced. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous this is… the fact that just an accusation could ruin your life.

Let me make this clear: if someone comes forward and claims they’ve been sexually assaulted/abused, they need to be taken seriously and not dismissed based upon the circumstances, their gender identity, the color of their skin, their economic position or profession or the person they’re accusing. In turn, the individual being accused should be given time to address the claims before the public begins demolishing their life.

A reoccurring comment in almost all these cases where someone comes forward and alleges abuse YEARS after it happened, is – “Why did they wait so long to come forward?”.

Is this a fair question? Sure. And I feel it is asked because our brain needs to find a way to understand the information we are being given. Because while we’d all like to think that if in the same situation we’d be unfuckable with and anyone who dared to bring damage to our doorstep would immediately suffer the consequences, we actually cannot predict our reaction. There are too many unknown variables to be able to confidently say we’d instantly speak up and seek retribution.

The fear of not being believed. The fear of being blamed. The fear of rejection. The fear of retaliation from the person being accused. The fear of being forever defined by your experience. The fear.

It does not matter the why, what matters is the chance they’ve taken by speaking up at all. Those who come forward should be embraced, not ridiculed. Not abandoned. Not criticized.

“Don’t ask why victims wait so long to speak up. Ask what systems were in place to keep them quiet”. Anonymous

I own a few Marilyn Manson CD’s. And I’ve even attended one of his concerts. Would I say I am a fan? Probably a number of years ago I was but truthfully, I’ve not paid attention to any of his music in recent years because I feel it devolved while my taste evolved. That’s not a slam against him or anyone who fancies his work, it’s more a statement on how I’ve matured and now seek out music that feels authentic to me.

The one concert I attended was opened by Courtney Love. I know, what a duo to pay money to see. Near the end of Manson’s set he made a disparaging remark about Love and trashed her music. At the time he was wearing some pretty hefty platform shoes so it made it all the more hilarious when from out of nowhere she charged like a rhino and tackled him to the stage; throwing punches at his head all the way down. When he finally was able to get up, he announced the show was over. There would be no encore and then him and his bandmates trashed the stage in a temper tantrum worthy of a toddler Napoleon. Still makes me laugh to this day.

Shoutout to Evan Rachel Wood and her most recent movie ‘Kajillionaire’. Watched it on demand about a month ago and it’s a brilliant comedy that will also pull at your heart. I highly recommend you give it a chance.

Check out the trailer:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiMPCevu8Wk

[harley-sunday]

The Draw - Epilogue

Summary: The whirlwind starts at the 2018 ACE Comic Con in Phoenix but you’re not sure where it will end…

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language.

Word count: 1.9k

AN: This it. It’s done. I don’t really know what to say other than that I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. The ending (part 17) was supposed to be something completely different up until last week, when eL convinced me to take the angsty-route. I’m glad she did, because it allowed me to include a piece in the epilogue I wrote a long time ago but never really got to use until now. Thank you, sweets! Here it is, guys, enjoy! ♥

Masterlist

His collar is up and his hands are tucked deep into the pockets of his jacket because it’s cold, much colder than it usually is this time of year anyway. He looks up at the dark sky and wonders if there’s any snow in the clouds that slowly drift by, trying to remember if he’s heard anything about it on the news earlier that day but not recalling a weather warning going out. 

He’s on his way home after another meeting with his lawyer, who, for some reason, always insists they meet in a restaurant rather than his office. It’s never during normal business hours either but always late at night, and always somewhere else. At first he was fine with the arrangement but it’s starting to annoy him that the restaurants have become increasingly more expensive and he’s always the one that ends up footing the bill. As if he doesn’t pay his lawyer enough to help him come out of this messy divorce as unscathed as possible. 

He shakes his head, trying to rid himself of the guilt that he feels about wasting three years of his life in a loveless marriage that never had a chance of succeeding in the first place. His therapist tells him to look at it as personal growth, but he doesn’t agree, not really, anyway. At least the court date has been set, he thinks, and this should all be over and done with two weeks from now.

He quickens his pace as he lets his mind wander, taking long strides, looking straight ahead and not paying much attention to the few people that are out this late. Most of them ignore him too. It’s New York after all. For a moment he debates the option of hauling a cab to get him out of this cold but he dismisses the idea quickly. He likes the walk home from downtown, it gives him an opportunity to clear his head and helps with the insomnia that sometimes bothers him. 

Crossing the street absentmindedly there’s something on the other side that catches his eye. He does a classic double take and then shakes his head, not quite believing what he sees. He must have walked by these storefronts at least a dozen times and tries to recall if the art gallery has always been there, but he simply can’t remember. The black canvas that’s displayed in the window is illuminated from above by a single light bulb, highlighting the various brush strokes going from left to right and top to bottom. He knows it’s called ‘Love’ before even looking at the little card pinned to the bottom right corner, and it’s like someone’s punched him in the gut. He first saw it a few years ago, when it was still a work in progress, standing on an easel in her guest bedroom in Charlotte, the paint still wet, and the black somehow less black. 

It’s then he notices the lights inside the building are on and it’s like his body has a mind of its own and before he knows it he’s on his way in. A bell chimes above his head as he enters and he hears a chair being pushed back in response somewhere. The space he’s in is long and narrow, only about fifteen feet wide, but the ceiling’s high and makes it feel more spacious than it is. There’s a wall about forty feet in, with a door that’s slightly ajar, and music flowing in from the back room, some song he thinks he recognizes but hasn’t heard in a long time. 

“I am so sorry but we are closed,” the voice is soft, coming from behind the door, but he would recognize it anywhere and he chokes up a little at the familiarity of it all. The door opens a little more then and all of sudden she’s there, exactly like he remembers her, “I must have forgotten to-” but she doesn’t finish her sentence because it’s then she sees him. Her eyes widen in shock and she actually drops the paintbrush she’s holding, her eyes never leaving his.

“Hey,” he says with a foolish grin, because never in a million years did he expect to run into her again, not here, and definitely not tonight.

“Hey,” she mimics, her eyes softening and the hint of a smile on her lips.

He takes the few steps needed to get to her, and for a moment he hesitates, unsure if she’d let him, but then he throws his arms around her and pulls her in for a hug. He can feel her smile against his shoulder, and he presses a kiss into her hair, because God, does it feel good to hold her again. 

“Here you go,” 

He takes the beer she hands him and waits until she’s uncapped hers before he raises it in a toast. She clinks her bottle against his and takes a swig and he follows suit. 

They’re sitting on the floor of what turns out to be her art gallery, their backs against the far wall, looking out on the dark street on the other side of the window. She turned the lights off before she brought him his beer, except for the lone bulb illuminating ‘Love’, and it feels like they’re in a little bubble, shielded from whatever’s going on outside and if someone told them he’d have a way of making this little moment in time last forever, he’s sure he would. 

He’s taken his jacket off, using it as something to sit on after she admitted she’s only got one chair here, his legs stretched out in front of him and his head resting against the bare brick wall. He’s got a million questions for her but he’s not sure where to begin and so he takes another sip of his beer instead, letting the silence settle between them.

She’s sitting next to him, close enough that her arm brushes against his whenever she takes a drink and it feels like there are little electric currents running through him every time she does. She looks up at him then, her eyes narrowed, almost as if she’s studying him, “You ok?”

He wants to tell her he’s fine, great even, but the way she looks at him tells him she’ll see straight through any bullshit answer he’ll try to give and so shakes his head, “Not really.” 

“Talk to me,” 

He opens his mouth to say something but then decides against it. They haven’t seen each other in four years and so much has happened but none of it they went through together and-

“It’s ok if you don’t want to,” her voice is soft and kind. She clears her throat then, “It’s just- I’ve read the articles about your divorce and- Well, the accusations she's made and- I don’t know, Seb, I figured maybe it has something to do with why you’re out this late.” 

“Yeah,” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He lets out a heavy sigh because he doesn’t want to bother her with everything that’s going on in his life, not really, but he also knows she’s a good listener and there’s no one he’d rather talk to than her right now. Looking down he plucks at the edge of the label on his beer bottle, deciding then to be honest with her, “I guess I should have fought harder, should have made it work, I-” another sigh, “They say you never know what you got ‘till it’s gone, right?” 

He sees her nod out of the corner of his eye, and then her hand’s on his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze and it’s like a bolt of lightning runs through him, “Then why don’t you?”

His eyebrows knit together in confusion, “Why don’t I, what?”

“Fight,” she explains. “Try to make it work. If that’s really how you-” 

“Would you let me?”

“I-” she hesitates and pulls her hand back then, “What?” 

“I wasn’t talking about her,” he confesses quietly and when he looks up at her he sees her eyes are wide in shock. He tries to smile, “It’s always been you.” 

“Oh,” she breathes, her eyes a little glossed over now. She doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t really know how to go from here so he keeps quiet too. But then she puts her beer down and stands up, holding out her hand to him, “Come on, I wanna show you something.”

He takes her hand and lets her pull him to his feet. She doesn’t let go when she leads him to the front of the gallery, her hand warm against his, and when he gives it a gentle squeeze she smiles at him from over her shoulder and it warms his heart in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

She stops in front of a painting, reaching behind it to turn on the searchlight, the warm light casting a golden glow on the canvas. “I made this one right after we broke up,” she says, her voice a little rough, “took me forever to finish because I couldn’t stop crying.” His heart breaks a little, but she dismisses her statement with a wave of her hand, “I got there in the end. It was like therapy.” A smile then, “I submitted it to a local art competition and I don’t know-” she shrugs but he can tell it’s important, “People seemed to really like it. Someone actually wanted to buy it but I couldn’t- I would never.” 

She gestures around her then, “This is all because of that.” He must look confused because she continues, “I kept painting, had some of my work on display in local art galleries, but it wasn’t until I decided to quit my job after Deb retired last year and Mark got appointed as her successor that things really took off. More art shows meant I sold quite a few pieces, enough so I could open my own art gallery anyway.” She looks up at him, “I don’t really know how I ended up in New York, but,” another shrug then, “here I am.”

“Here you are,” he agrees quietly. He doesn’t know how these things work, if it’s karma or faith or destiny he has to thank for this, but he likes to believe that her coming back into his life at this exact moment was meant to be and he vows right then and there to never let her go. There’s still so much he wants to tell her, has to tell her, and he’s sure the same goes for her, but it doesn’t matter. Not now anyway. Now he just says, “If you’ll let me, I’m willing to fight.” He squeezes her hand, “For you.”

“Me too,” she whispers. “For you,” she looks at him then, “and for us.” She lets go of his hand a little, only so she can intertwine her fingers with his, leaning into him, her other hand on his arm. She nods towards the painting, “Do you like it?”

He looks at it then, really looks at it, taking in the different shades of green she’s used, which, even when they’re on opposite sides of the canvas, seem to pull towards each other, always meeting or almost meeting in the middle, and somehow he just gets it. “I do.”

“It’s called ‘The Draw’.” 

[chemicallady]

Dr and Dr Reid

Part I , Part II.

A/N : Hello everybody! It's me again with the second part of my Dr&Dr series! I hope you will enjoy it! If you like this idea, tell me something about it. If is too boring, I’ll moving on another subject ^^

Couple: Spencer Reid x Researcher!Reader

Category: little angst

Warnings: descriptions of dead bodies and decomposition.

Summary: BAU is involved in a casa in Golconda, Nevada. Reader is an expert in tools' marks for the local FBI settlement and Spencer isn't aware of it.

*****

January 17, 2007

Golconda, Nevada.

After a seven hours trip by car, you are already done. God only knows how are you supposed to work after that. Nevada’s unpleasant weather is drying your lungs breath by breath, while you’re reaching the area under federal surveillance. Your supervisor have asked you to keep the tools’ marks on a dead body in order to determinate the object used on the victim because, if you will be lucky, you eventually use the results for an article or your thesis. If the Feds wont have any problem with that. 

The point is that... Well. The victim is not like you have figured out. You are an expert on skeletal remains but in front of you there is a full torso, coverd in tattoos and with a huge wound on the top of the sternal bone. No head, no legs or arms but a lot of dead meat. The view is awful but the smell is the worst. It’s taking your breath away. 

You put a hand over your mouth and apologise, but you need a moment. Leaving your kit under the tend, you move some steps along the path and start to breath slowly with your mounth. It's too hot for your first dismembered body, but you can't let go this opportunity. Some agents are already look at you with a glaze of pity and you can't accept it.

You are strong, you can do it.

Or at least you can try, you attended a lot of authopsy before. 

Back to the tend, your supervisor is talking with an old man and an awsome guy, both with the FBI badge. You look at them while you're wearing your gloves and this beautiful, fit special agent keeps his sunglasses off and look back to you.

With a blush, you start to work. The coroner gives you the permission to take some photos and apply a paste on the cervical bone and on the broken omerous. You are waiting it to be dry when the two agents approce you.

《 Hi ma'am. I am Special Agent Morgan and this is Special Agent Gideon. Can you tell us which tool was used on the victim?》

《Ah-Well; I need some minutes more but I believe that is more that just one....》 you slow while you're speaking, looking at the guy who are join the party right now. 《....tool.》

Morgan follows your eyes and looks at Reid, who seems to be really surprised by your presence. 《Hi pretty boy, don’t be shy. We are speaking with the expert to find out what was used on this poor guy. She is... I am sorry, I didn't catch you name.》

Because he didn’t ask. You open your mounth to answer but Spence is faster. 《She is (y/f/n). She is a PhD candidate at UNLV.》

《You really know everything . , says a young agent, following him. She is a slim brunette, sassy. You like her at the first sight.

Spencer blushes, 《I met her several months ago.》 He is speaking like you aren’t in there with them and that piss you off a lot. Then finally he speaks to you directly. 《Hi (y/n). Is a pleasure to meet you again.》

You are speechless. 《Yeah, whatever》 you cut the conversation, took off the paste and look at the marks closely. You dont wan’t to meet  Spencer’s eyes because the afternoon is too hot and dry to pretend to be nice on him and faking a smile. 《In my opinion the murderer used two tools for dismember the victim's body: a serrated knife and a hand saw. I can be more specific after a visual confrontation if you ask to》

《Thank you miss (y/s/n), you are really helpful.》

Morgan smiles to you and you answer as well, before rise up and go to your supervisor, ready to reach the morgue for working on that traces.

Gideon moves on the car and Spencer is left with Emily and Morgan. 《She hates you》, she says, with a smirk. 《What did you do?》

For the first time in a while, he seems speechles.  «Nothing», is the short answer he gives to them. ‘I was an asshole’ would be the real one. Or at last, what he feels. 

****

You hear that the criminal- the guy who is called Unsub by the FBI’s agents- had taken a couple of hostages before disappear again. One of them is the sceriff herself. Than, you recive a call from you supervisor, who ask you to go to another location in the nearby, supporting the BAU squad after they clean the scene. 

«There are probably human remains involved. Go and check with Supervisor Special Agent Hotchner.»

You start to believe that maybe the FBI needs you or maybe you need the FBI if even the boss is so hot like Aaron Hotchner is. You are young and always look at the bright side, even while you are keeping humans ribs off a lot of handmade garden decorations and it’s so gross even for you. You love Halloween and macabre arts project, but this is too far.  

And Spencer is here as well. The two of you don’t have a proper conversation since you have reached Golconda because both of you are working, but now, in the middle of the country side, while you are puking your guts out, on the burned grass of the garden, he is the one who offers help to keep your hair back. 

This isn’t you first crime scene, but the best part of your job is working on cold cases, if it’s need. You are a researcher (almost), a lab rat, not an investigator. You are use to bones and sometimes mummies from the desert, not to the harsh smell of blood and rotten meat which infested the shed in the backyard. There is a surgical room and a body inside, but they saved the sheriff at least. 

A light breeze is caressing your face and makes you feel better. You are greatful to Spencer when he offers a bottle of water to you. 

«When the work comes to the lab it looks nicer», you tell him, receiving a soft smile in return.  «If it’s true that I’ll never forget the first time, I’ll be ashamed forever...»

«You don’t have. It’s a normal response of your body in front of a situation which is fondamental -»

«Thank you Spencer. I approciate your scientific enthusiasm, but.... Chill out.»

You sit on the ground, tying your hair and keep a huge breath.  «How’s going on?»

«Better. Thank you for the approciation Dr Reid. You should go back to work before your sexy boss notices that you are wasting your time on me.»

«I am not wasting-wait. Did you just say that Hotch is sexy?»

«Hell, he is.»

Spencer looks confused for a moment, after looking around him, maybe to spot the subject of the conversation. That gives you time to reach for a chewing gum on your pocket. 

The silence between the two of us is really unpleseant, but you dont have nothing else to say. Is Spencer’s turn and he doesn’t disappoint you. Not at all.

«I know why you are mad at me.»

«Do you know, Dr Reid?»

He sighs.  «Can you stop, please? I dont like when you are so formal with me, I believed that we had passed it.»

«Yeah, well. You’ve stopped answer my letters and phone calls without having the decency to give me a solid explanation.... So guess what? We hadn’t passed over anything.»

He lowers his head, aware that he is in the wrong.  «I just.... My job is demanding...»

A small, bitter laught leaves your lips.  «You really believe that you’re the only one in the world who actually has a demanding job? C’mon you can find a better excuse. If you cared, you’d answered. Aren’t you able to write a message? with... 3 bachelors and 3 PhDs?» 

You’re being mean, you know that, but he hurts your feelings. You two had 3 intensive months of letter’s exchange. You wrote the first one a week after you got his address at the conference in Vegas. A four pages letter, in which you explained to him your PhD project and shared with him throughts and stuffs. He replayed with a 14 pages letter. That’s how it started. He told you about his mom’s issues, his scholar experience and how was growing up in Vegas. You shared with him your experinces, moving away from home, how your family is, how you are fond of cats and dogs. You talked about your own pet, with him ...

That’s how you two became intimate.  

It escalated fast. 

After a month, you gave him your number and the two of you started to call each others, first twice a week, than more and more. Even just to sei ‘hi’ and know about how the other feels in that specific moment. From you, it was enough to hear his voice to be happier. 

He helped you in the bad days and made the good days better.  

And you fell from him, because Spencer is a nice guy. At least, he looked like a nice guy untill letters and calls stopped. And he disappeared from your life in a couple of weeks. You hadn’t a news from him since ten days before Golconda’s case. The Destiny is involved for sure, because you believed that you wont see him again. 

But there you are, sitting next to him. In silence. 

Is too much for you. And no, he doesn’t know why you are so mad at him. You are mad at yourself, because you don’t let people in, usually. You were hurt so much in the past that know you are tired of being everybodies fooled.

Guys are nice ‘till they are not, your mom always says. 

That’s true. Men are all the same in the end.  

That’s why you get on your feet, taking away your gloves. You almost forgot you’re still wearing them.  «I need to go back to the morgue. Bye, Dr Reid.»

«Is better this way. (y/n)», he says, in a rush. You look at him standing fast and you rise a elbow. No clue about what he is saying.  «Maybe my job is not too demanding for me.. But it will be for you. Trust me. Is better for you not being involved with me... I wasn’t aware that our relationship could be that deep.»

«Relationship? We don’t have anything. This is so stupid and... Selfish!», you almost yell, angry at him because it doesn’t make any sense!  You calm down when you feel a glaze on you. SA Morgan is looking at you two, but he immediatly turns away when you notice him. «Have a nice day, Dr Reid.»

He watches you helplessly as you walk away. «Dont say anything», the warns Morgan, who is approching him with a smirk. 

«Can I say that she is on fire and you look dumb, pretty boy?»

Spencer sighs, scrolling his shoulders. «It’s a long story.»

«Yeah? Such a pity that we don’t have time. Gideon found our man, we need to move now», he says, before teasing Spencer a little. «You’ll have time for your love business after we close the case.» 

«There is no ‘love business’, Morgan. We are... fine. Friends. I guess we were...»

«You sure? That little bird probably thinks otherwise», Mogan says, claps him on the shoulder.

Spencer sighs again, looking you in the car, waiting the coroner to go back to the morgue. For a second, your glazes meet, but you look so... deeply hurt. And he understands that- again- he makes a mistakes on another, just because he wants to preserve someone who is dear to him. 

But yes, he has no time now, but he have to apologize to you. And he will.

As long as they close the case. 

[neveralarch]

Yuletide reveals!!

Happy New Year! I started writing fic in 2010 and also started doing Yuletide in 2010, so it's now been a decade :) Always one of my favorite things about December. For Yuletide this year I was gifted this amazing fic: How I Spent My Vacation Between Survey Missions (3727 words) by Satchelfoot Fandom: The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells Rating: General Audiences Characters: Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries), Asshole Research Transport (Murderbot Diaries) Summary:What happens when ART reunites with Murderbot during another break between research survey missions? Media gets viewed, of course, but there might also be some bad news for more shady corporations. It's a fun little adventure about two characters who were made by humans but don't entirely understand how humans think, trying to figure out how firendship works. I loved it!! It also looks like Satchelfoot maybe picked me up as a pinch hit, which I so so so appreciate. What a good Yuletide. I wrote 11 fics, as usual - though I'm reconsidering this tradition a little, haha. Christmas Eve turned into a pretty late night for me. My main fic is: Worthy of Attention (2563 words) for Xochiquetzl Fandom: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Gem of Sphene & Zeiat (Imperial Radch) Characters: Gem of Sphene (Imperial Radch), Zeiat (Imperial Radch), Queter (Imperial Radch) Summary: Sphene has a new captain. Ambassador Zeiat isn't sure what to think about that. I struggled with this quite a bit and actually ended up writing half of a different plot before starting over, but I'm happy with what I ended up with :) This is, coincidentally, also a fic of two not-really human people trying to figure out how friendship works. This might be, uh, symptomatic of the whole Transformers thing that's been happening over here all year.

The rest of the fics are under the cut - Gideon the Ninth, Nero Wolfe, lies about baseball, Hustlers, Inspector Chen, JSMN, Rivers of London, Matthew Swift, The Raven Tower, and Murderbot Diaries!

Good Morning (1132 words) for Griddlebone Fandom: Gideon the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Gideon Nav & Harrowhark Nonagesimus Additional Tags: getting swole Summary: Gideon's Guide to Doing Some Push-Ups, At Least, Have You Never Used Your Arms, Nonagesimus? Allow me to evangelize for a minute: Gideon the Ninth is a really, really, fun book, and also, very sad. I tried to lean into the fun part more for this, but it maybe got a little melancholy in places, haha. Nero Wolfe's Caffeine Agency (1386 words) for Nestra Fandom: Nero Wolfe - Rex Stout Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Archie Goodwin/Saul Panzer Characters: Archie Goodwin, Saul Panzer, Fred Durkin, Nero Wolfe, Fritz Brenner Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés Summary: At five fifty-three AM exactly, I was cleaning the heads of the espresso machine and arguing with Fred Durkin. Normally five fifty-three AM is a time of night that I don't see except to roll over in bed, but that morning I had maneuvered my way into opening the coffee shop for a very particular reason which Fred was obstructing. I think I've spent my entire life preparing to write this fic - or at least all the many hours I spent either reading Nero Wolfe novels or working with an espresso machine. A Narrative History of the Home Run (1031 words) for mayhap Fandom: An Oral History Of The 1998 Major League Baseball Home Run Chase (ClickHole Article) Rating: General Audiences Characters: Willie Mays, Barry Bonds Summary: Willie Mays invented the home run. Please read that ClickHole article, it's SO fun. The Way You Make Me Feel (1379 words) for angelheadedhipster Fandom: Hustlers (2019) Rating: Explicit Relationships: Destiny (Hustlers)/Ramona Vega Additional Tags: Mommy Kink, Lapdance, Vaginal Fingering Summary: Destiny and Ramona have a sleepover. I've been wanting to write Ramona/Destiny sex ever since I watched this brilliant movie. It was still very weird to write explicit fic with real human body parts, I'm so out of practice. Century Egg (1030 words) for james Fandom: Inspector Chen - Liz William Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Chen Wei/Inari/Zhu Irzh, Chen Wei/Inari Additional Tags: Getting Together Summary: Chen Wei is a model detective. He has the favor of a goddess and the blessings of his superiors. He brings packed lunches to work. He loves a demon wife. Zhu Irzh wants that. This prompt pushed me to finish a fic I started forever ago! Or, really, it was a few scribbled lines in a notepad document. But it felt really good to get this out there. Tincture (1069 words) for notkingyet Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke Rating: General Audiences Characters: John Childermass, Gilbert Norrell Additional Tags: Illnesses, Hurt/Comfort, (but only barely) Summary: Childermass was ill. His nose was clogged, his head felt like it was full of cotton, and his throat was full of sandpaper. If he was a wealthy man, he might have rolled over in bed and written the day off as a loss. Unfortunately, there were no days off from being Mr. Gilbert Norrell's right hand. I just. Love writing mild illnesses and people being bad at comforting. Hewn Through the Rock (495 words) for 20thcenturyvole Fandom: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Beverley Brook/Peter Grant Characters: Beverley Brook Additional Tags: Post-Book: Lies Sleeping Summary: Beverley runs an errand. I wrote a lot of my old book fandoms this year, because, I consumed almost no new media :p But Rivers of London is always so fun and comfortable to write. Butterflies (415 words) for Seiya234 Fandom: Matthew Swift Series - Kate Griffin Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Rhys Ellis/Sharon Li Additional Tags: Post-Book: The Glass God Summary: One of the odd things about saving the Midnight Mayor, or London, or, possibly, the world, is that life just keeps happening when you're done. See above note, haha. I miss the Matthew Swift books so much!! I want a new Sharon Li adventure... In All Its Guises (487 words) for tangentti Fandom: The Raven Tower - Ann Leckie Rating: General Audiences Characters: The Myriad (The Raven Tower) Summary: Here is a story. Some part of it is probably true. Oh, this one is a new fandom! I really liked the Raven Tower, highly recommended if you like (surprise) non-human characters trying to understand friendship. Rest in the Grass (562 words) for malachibi Fandom: The Murderbot Diaries - Martha Wells Rating: General Audiences Characters: Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries) Additional Tags: AU Post All Systems Red Summary: It was a hard decision, going home with Dr. Mensah after she bought my contract. Murderbot figures out what comes next. I also wrote Murderbot fic! A good bookend to my Yuletide :) I hope you also had fun, if you did Yuletide! And if you didn't, please feel free to ask me more about the exchange - it's my favorite fic event of the year, and I'm always happy to talk about it.

[metalshea]

Let's Talk About Alcest... and Agalloch... and Behemoth… and Racism

A couple months ago, I wrote an article about Alcest and their second single, "Sapphire", ahead of the release of their latest album, "Spiritual Instinct".  It was building off a previous post I had written about the use of space in metal music.

I never published it.

Nor did I publish my year end list because—spoiler—I list “Spiritual Instinct” on it. 

I've been struggling with how to square the circle that is my love of the Alcest's music with the thorny problem that is Niege's history performing in the racist band, Peste Noire, and the ties he appears to maintain to racist black metal and national socialist black metal (NSBM).  It didn't feel right publishing that article when I knew the history of the band but hadn't yet addressed it. 

To that same end, it doesn't feel right discussing black metal on a public platform without addressing some of the ethics of consuming the genre.

This is my attempt to do that.

For the uninitiated, Niege (née Stéphane Paut), is the musical mastermind of Alcest, one of the premier blackgaze bands in metal music today.  They are the genre's quieter, more contemplative yin to Deafheaven's cacophonous yang.  Alcest frequently use spacy and atmospheric effects, midrange tempos, and ephemeral vocals in their music, and contrast these with more typical black metal musical tropes like blast beats and shrieked vocals to create dynamic, haunting, intense, and beautiful songs.  Lyrically, Alcest is a vehicle for Niege to transcribe and memorialize visions that he had as a child of a distant, far off fairy realm.  As an act, Alcest are distinctly focused on bringing this artistic vision to fruition, and from what I've seen, I have to say they are pretty much laser focused on that task.  Niege has also been hugely influential to the development of the blackgaze genre as a whole and has participated in other successful backgaze acts, such as Les Discrets, as well as collaborated with Lantlos and Deafheaven.

However, Niege and the other members of Alcest have very troublesome histories and connections to Europe's white supremacist music scene.  Niege was previously a member of the French anarcho-racist band, Peste Noire, for 8 years before being fired.  During that time he performed on an album titled "Aryan Supremacy" and even holds writing credits on one of the band's songs off of their album, "Folkfuck Folie".  More troubling, the band members that make up Alcest's studio and live bands have similar resumes, and a number of them did time in Peste Noire.

As the black metal music scene has rightfully come under increased scrutiny for its racist associations, Niege's time in Peste Noire has similarly found itself under the microscope.  In a 2011 statement, Niege specifically addressed criticisms around his past in Peste Noire:

"I never was involved in any way with any political, racist or xenophobic ideologies. I was just a musician in Peste Noire, most of the time session musician, I never took part of the lyrics or philisophy [sic] of the band. At the "Aryan Supremacy" period I was 15 years old and I didn't think about the consequence of recording some music with that band, it always was just musical participation for me. Alcest has NOTHING to do with any hate-based philosophy like racism and as a person I am absolutely NOT into nazism, racism and such ideologies." [emphasis Niege's]

In an interview with Avantgarde Metal in 2011, Neige said about his time in Peste Noire:

"Oh, that was a long time ago now… Don’t even ask me about the concept behind it, it is very complex. It was basically the exact opposite of Alcest: love for evil, but in a real way. In any case, I was only a guest on his project as I played drums for him, but I did/do not share his views at all."

Finally, an article on stereoboard.com dated October 2019 quotes Niege as saying:

With hindsight, Neige dubs this tenure as one of his biggest regrets. Peste Noire are less well-known for their music than for their far-right views and racist imagery, which Alcest have since publicly disowned. “I was never into the ideas of the band,” Neige clarifies. “I was naive enough to think that just being a musician in a band like that didn’t mean anything. But, that really does mean something, and that was my mistake. I was a teenager when I joined, but it’s still a big regret that I have.”

Alcest is at the absolute pinnacle of their career.  They recently signed to Nuclear Blast, have a new album that has earned a number of year-end honors, and have honed a distinctive sound that is very much genre-defining; but in the face of all the accolades, Niege's explanations of his time in Peste Noire are still problematic.

Why does he still associate with other musicians from Peste Noire?

Why doesn't he specifically denounce Peste Noire or it's broader racist project?

If he was just a session or "guest" musician, how does he account for his writing credit?

If the timeline that Niege paints holds up, he was 23 when he was fired, certainly old enough to know better about Peste Noire's project and intentions.  Why did he spend 8 years in the band if he didn't ascribe to its philosophies?  Why didn't he leave Peste Noire voluntarily?  Why did he have to be fired?

Neige may indeed have very rational answers to any and all of these questions, and, to give Niege some credit, his statements are far more direct than similar statements from other artists that have found themselves in the crosshairs of concerned fans.  It's also probably worth noting that in comparing this statement to those from unabashedly racist artists, who fully make use of the opportunity to spout their atrocious beliefs on a public platform, Niege does the exact opposite by distancing himself from hate-driven ideology and publicly declaring his regrets. But even still, it's hard to simply dismiss Neige's time in Peste Noir, and his participation in spreading that band's racist philosophies will forever be a stain on Alcest.

--

After the release of The Faceless', "In Becoming A Ghost", I had a conversation with my wife around whether it would be moral to stream or buy the album.   Shorlty after the album's release, Michael Keene's drug addiction struggles came to light and were pasted all over the metal music press.  While I firmly believe that artists should receive financial benefits when others enjoy their creative output, I also believe that educated consumers should absolutely question how that material support is going to be used by the artist. I don't want to fuel Michael Keene's addictions.  I didn't buy the album.  I streamed it once.  I haven't listened to it since.  I probably won't see The Faceless perform again until I'm sure that Keene has cleaned up. Maybe he has, I haven't followed him that closely to know for sure.

I'm in similar straights with Alcest.  And Behemoth. And Agalloch.  And black metal more generally.

In the case of Behemoth, Nergal's disgusting position on an apparent sexual assault, his murky ties to the NSBM scene, and his continued defiance in the face of such disgusting behavior and views makes my decision about supporting Behemoth a no-brainer: I'm not going to spend my money on their albums anymore, I won't see them live, I won't buy their merch, and I'm not going to promote the band's output on any of my platforms.  I was wrong to do so in the past.  I know better now.  I'm not doing it any more.

But Agalloch was trickier: John Haughm stuck his foot in it when he made disgusting anti-Semitic comments in a facebook post.  However, the former members of the band quickly denounced him for it (as did his bandmates in Pilloran).  I'll certainly listen to the now defunct Khorada and whatever projects the non-racist members of the band move on to.  And, hey, Haughm apologized, so there's that.

But there are still some serious questions about Alcest that need to be wrestled with, especially because of Neige's ongoing relationships with musicians also "previously" connected to white supremacy.  Which begs the question: is it ethical to support or promote the artistic output of a band that on the face of it appears non-controversial, but when the views of the actual artists are themselves questionable?

Roland Barthes, in "The Death of the Author", once wrote:

“The modern writer (scriptor) is born simultaneously with his text; he is in no way supplied with a being which precedes or transcends his writing, he is in no way the subject of which his book is the predicate; there is no other time than that of the utterance, and every text is eternally written here and now.”

I have some issues with Barthes.  As I see it, a text is inherently subject to the influences and views of the author.  The creative force that is ultimately responsible for the artwork itself is inherently subject to the whims of the artist, and it is forever tied to the creator. However, artistic output can be siloed such that the created art can simultaneously stand separate from the completed whole that makes up the artist.  That is to say that while the artist as a person can be complicated or even problematic, the work that is created is an offshoot that is not necessarily subject to the full scope of experiences or biases of its creator. This siloing of the art from the artist means that a project can exist as an entity that can be examined on its own merits, when appropriate, rather than only within the framework of the creator.

Agalloch as a project was concerned with nature, death, the seasons, and nihilism. While John Haughm has been proven to have some despicable views, his collaboration with the other members of the band resulted in an output that seems fully divorced from his views on race. It feels wrong to punish the other members of Agalloch for Haughm's views, especially after they so thoroughly denounced him for it.

In the case of Alcest, I have found zero evidence that the band represents a racist project.  Its lyrics are decidedly apolitical, ephemeral, and esoteric.  They are an exercise in poetic worldbuilding and a sort of musical sleep diary for Niege's childhood dreams and visions. In contrast, Peste Noire is an unabashedly political and racist project that is a direct extension of its creator's views and philosophies.  Peste Noire's vision and project is to enable a world underpinned by racial supremacy, structural deconstruction, and personal elitism. There's a damned big difference between Alcest and Peste Noire and how their respective creators utilize the bands as thought vehicles, even though personnel have been shared between the two bands.

So, what to do about Alcest?  I'm certainly not going to be person that goes out and says: absolutely you should go out and buy their records.  The past associations of Niege and his compatriots means that Alcest will forever have an asterisk next to its name, and every consumer of their music should certainly take time to consider the ethical ramifications of supporting the band.

Niege asserts that Alcest is not rooted in hate-based ideologies.  Over the course of numerous albums, this has proven true over and over again.  At a certain point, you have to judge someone for their current actions while informed by their past.  Niege will have to continue to reckon with his time in Peste Noire and his current choice of musicians.  But Alcest as a vision has fully matched his assertion: there is no evidence that I can find that Alcest is itself a racist project.  I remain open to being swayed to the contrary, but at this point in time, the evidence simply does not exist.

I also believe we need to reward to people when they perform actions that are themselves moral and correct.  I reject that we should condemn a person in perpetuity while they still retain the ability to seek forgiveness.  I enjoy Alcest's music; I appreciate that it's apolitical; I want Niege to continue to make music that fits the vision he has laid out for Alcest; and I want to tie Niege's successes and the success of his compatriots to a benign project like Alcest. 

As a consumer, the only real way that I can have an impact on someone like Niege is through my wallet.  Capital becomes a vehicle for my opinions and my voice.  Boycott is one way to do it; providing material support is another.  Had I not known about Niege's history in Peste Noire, I would have had no idea that Alcest had this adjacency to hate.  And that's kind of the point: because that connection is so opaque and so irrelevant to Alcest's music output, it actually makes some ethical sense to materially support Alcest as a project.  It is the equivalent of rewarding my dog with a treat when he sits on command even though he used to gnaw on my socks as a puppy.

Above all else, though, we also have to have room to allow people the space to regret, feel contrition, and atone for their past actions.  Niege's statements seem clear: he regrets his time in Peste Noire, and he's worked hard to keep Alcest as distant as possible from Peste Noire's agenda.  If Alcest continues on as it is--a veritable sleep diary--and Niege and crew continue to distance themselves from their previous associations with white supremacy, then I think that it is moral to continue to buy Alcest's music, as it is to listen to Agalloch, and for similar reasons. 

There are still numerous bands in the black metal genre that have instead doubled down on their racism when confronted by fans, instead blaming PC culture and Antifa when really they are the ones that need to look in the mirror.  It is unfortunate that as consumers we need to research the bands we listen to so thoroughly.  But in our world of extreme information sharing, we do have to tools to do so, and indeed we should.  After all, it is the fans that truly hold the power to encourage and denounce such despicable bands, if through no other means than our wallets.

 \m/

[janiedean]

Bro the Queen thing was just for a laugh lol let gay people make jokes

bro, if you had said ‘let gay people make jokes that make them sound like four year olds that just found out kindergarten exists’ I could have taken you seriously, but since you still can’t get into your thick performative activist heads that it’s not funny for anyone except maybe the three of you, I’ll explain you a few brief facts:

one: ¾ths of queen are straight so assuming they wouldn’t understand song they wrote and played (beyond somebody to love) already shows that you haven’t thought this joke through;

two: freddie mercury made a goddamned point to not make his sexuality a selling point or the only part of him people would be interested in when listening to his *music*, so your dumb jokes are something he would most likely fucking hate;

three: sorry to break it to you, but with all the sales queen had, going statistically, I can assure you more than half of their fanbase is straight, so congrats on assuming millions of people don’t get the bands they like;

four: music is an extremely subjective thing that tells different things to different people regardless of the original target of the song. I’ve seen articles titled ‘how I, a lesbian person, realized springsteen’s music wasn’t just for male cishet middle-aged guys’ in which people said that to them, a song that’s blatantly about a guy who killed someone and hightails it out of town and hopes that the border patrol doesn’t stop him, felt like it was about wanting to leave somewhere you had to stay in the closet and felt suffocated because you couldn’t come out. now, that’s nowhere near the original meaning of the song, but if for the lesbian author that related on that level… who the hell am I to make posts like ‘lesbians don’t understand springsteen songs’? spoilers: no one;

five: one reasons queen actually made it big was that their songs are actually very much relatable on a bunch of different levels and as I explained some ass who made jokes about how *straights* wouldn’t get I want to break free (written by a straight man btw but I see that now at least y’all are having the decency to pick songs that freddie wrote to throw shade at the straights TM, huh?), just that ONE song can be relatable for, FOR EXAMPLE, people with depression, people stuck in a phase of their life they hate, someone getting over a bad relationship and lgbt people who want to come out. and the lyrics to I want to break free are hardly extra complicated or difficult or obscure. of course then you have borap which no one still understands and freddie refused to explain but like… it’s IT CAN BE WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT regardless of whether their lyrics are obscure or the entire contrary. that was what made queen sell the number of records they did - because they make songs people can relate to, genius;

six: the fact that your ***joke*** assumes straight people can’t in any way shape or form conceive a life where they feel like they’ll be forever alone and no one will love them or they will never find a relationship says all about how **funny** it is because it implies dehumanizing an entire category of people and assuming they don’t have feelings or can’t conceive what y’all go through, which then turns into People On This Hellsite sending straight people TM the worst kind of bullshit and vile anons just because since we have no feelings and we’re supposed to take all your dumb unfunny jokes then it’s fine. idk, since I’ve been here according to you I should have laughed at:a) people telling me at thirty I was too old for anything and I should look for a husband and get married already;b) people telling me I was a homophobe/half of this dumbass website blocking me on sight for informing y’all that straight women find men sexually attractive as a general rule - no, really;c) someone telling me once that they hoped I’d find someone I would trust implicitly and give all of myself to in bed just to have them tell me the moment after we’re done that I was ugly and unlovable and I deserved to die alone;e) being called a bitch/homophobe an insane amount of times for pointing out that straight women who don’t look standard attractive have issues;f) people questioning why I went to therapy because I happen to relate to a character in a straight ship that they hated and the reasons why I went are Issues That Character Has.that was just the first six instances I could think of because they were personal but I assure you, your rhetoric about straight people TM being dehumanized aliens who hate y’all isn’t helping literally anyone;

seven: as someone who has fucking struggled with years with the issues the somebody to love narrator has (I did look at the mirror and felt horrible/almost cried when I was a teenager, I did wake up each morning feeling like shit for half of my time in uni, I’ve been struggling with managing initiating contact with other people since high school fucked me up in that sense, I’ve been told that I could never be attractive enough to find someone who’d love me and that I was too brainy or ugly or extra or threatening for men to even look at me and so on) and who has always found that song immediately relatable which is why, surprise surprise, out of all the songs freddie mercury wrote on his own for this band - not counting the march of the black queen but that’s another story - somebody to love is absolutely my single favorite and has always been since the second I heard it, because to me it was relatable at seventeen and it’s relatable now, the moment I read that fucking ****joke**** I literally felt a bout of vomit rise up in my throat, my stomach closed up and for a second I felt like crying as your joke was implying that my straightness disqualified me from understanding/liking a song I’ve loved and felt deeply for half of my life, but I suppose that doesn’t mean anything in comparison to the fact that you **gays of tumblr** need to have a laugh at the expense of 85% of the planet and not, idk, homophobes? no, you never say HOMOPHOBES COULDN’T UNDERSTAND QUEEN or whatever the fuck it is, you say straight people can’t. if you don’t see where the fuck is your problem I’d advise you to really go back to kindergarten because usually you realize that other people have feelings at about that age and I have a feeling that if this is your reasoning for saying I should shut up and have a laugh at my own expanse, well, you’re just an asshole;

eight: newsflash, bro, some people use music to cope with just about anything. I’m not the only person I know who has a fairly damned visceral personal relationship with the music she listens to, to the point where I can do the art is not the artist thing np with just about any media except music - I can watch a movie made by a person I despise or whose political views I despise, if I think it’s a good movie, I can’t physically listen to music from people I despise or whose political views I despise. heck, every time my local rock music station airs current lynyrd skynyrd’s music I mute it because their lyrics make me want to hurl and I actually do like the melody half of the time, but I can’t listen to them. and I know people who are way worse than me about this. if you show up basically telling me (or whoever else) that bands we like and helped us through whatever fucking shit life threw at us are now Not A Thing We Can Like Or Understand Anymore you’re being an asshole and for a thing that makes no sense because the beautiful thing about MUSIC in general is that everyone finds the music they like relatable for different fucking reasons even if it’s the same artist and your dumbass attempts at **gatekeeping** bands that existed since before you were born and straight people listened to since before you were born and whose records they bought before you were born is honestly just so fucking ridiculous and really kindergarten-level that if that is what you need to have a laugh I advise you to develop some sense of humor, because you sure as hell ain’t got one.

good enough for you? your joke wasn’t funny. deal with it e stacce.

also: I’m fucking done giving a shit about what kind of dumbass jokes at the expense of **straight people** y’all think is cool to make on here. are we oppressed for being straight? sure af not. but since most straight people on here are actually allies and support your rights and uh, are also human beings that aren’t just useful when you need someone to reblog your info posts informing us that ***straight people can reblog!!! :)))*** underneath after having reblogged your fucking jokes ten minutes earlier, I really don’t give a fuck about your need to have a laugh at the expanse of other people’s feelings and I’m going to reblog all the people telling you that y’all ain’t funny until my fingers fall off.

ps: did you send this message also to the pansexual user who called that dumbass OP on their bullshit before I did? just for science.

pps: grow the fuck up, it’s been time since years and y’all have about played all of your ‘it was just a joke’ cards a hell of a long time ago.

[tswiftdaily]

In the 1960s and ’70s, Pattie Boyd stood at the intersection of fashion, rock ’n’ roll, art, and fame. Widely considered one of the greatest muses of all time, Boyd, who was married first to George Harrison and later to Eric Clapton, inspired the hits “Something” by the Beatles, and “Layla” and “Wonderful Tonight” by Clapton. Recently I devoured this intriguing woman’s memoir, Wonderful Tonight. A few weeks later, I had the pleasure of sitting down with her in the kitchen of her beautiful Kensington flat. As the sunlight poured through the windows, her blue eyes lit up as she spoke. There is a playful quality about her and, surprisingly—considering how much she has experienced in her life—a lightness.

TAYLOR SWIFT: I have been so excited to talk to you because we’re both women whose lives have been deeply influenced by songs and songwriting. I stand on one side of it, and you on the other. Does the concept of being called a muse feel like a correct fit?

PATTIE BOYD: I find the concept of being a muse understandable when you think of all the great painters, poets, and photographers who usually have had one or two. The artist absorbs an element from their muse that has nothing to do with words, just the purity of their essence.

TS: What do you feel might be a factor that artists want to communicate with you through song?

PB: I think in my case both George and Eric had an inability to communicate their feelings through normal conversation. I became a reflection for them.

TS: I wondered who and what situation “Wonderful Tonight” was written about, and now I know it’s about you getting ready for a party, changing clothes, and saying, “I don’t like this, I don’t like that.”

PB: I came downstairs with trepidation thinking [Eric] was going to be so angry that I’d taken far too long, and instead he said, “Listen, I’ve just written this song.”

TS: That is so incredible to me.

PB: But you must do that too. You must be inspired by a few moments or something, the way your boyfriend turns or says something to you or a little bit of a smile or “Is he thinking this or that?,” and that would inspire you. Can you write it the moment it’s happening?

TS: There are definitely moments when it’s like this cloud of an idea comes and just lands in front of your face, and you reach up and grab it. A lot of songwriting is things you learn, structure, and cultivating that skill, and knowing how to craft a song. But there are mystical, magical moments, inexplicable moments when an idea that is fully formed just pops into your head. And that’s the purest part of my job. It can get complicated on every other level, but the songwriting is still the same uncomplicated process it was when I was 12 years old writing songs in my room.

PB: Right, right…

TS: I don’t know what it is that makes some people really creatively inspiring. There have been people I’ve spent a lot of time with who I just couldn’t write about.

PB: Yes, now what is that?

TS: I don’t know. It’s just that some people come into your life and they have this effect on you. It’s really interesting because in your case you inspired that creative output from two iconic musicians. That just blows my mind. It’s very rare!

PB: Well, the more you say it to me, the more it’s blowing my mind.

TS: You met George Harrison at 19 on the set of A Hard Day’s Night. All of a sudden your life was changed forever because you fell in love with someone who the world was obsessed with. There was no band as big as the Beatles. Did anyone prepare you for the attention?

PB: No. Nobody took on that role. Nobody thought that role would be significant for a start. I remember a journalist coming to our house one day and saying to George, “In all seriousness, when do you think the bubble is going to burst? When are the Beatles going to be finished?”

TS: Wow.

PB: If they thought that, there’s no reason anyone would think, “Ah, I’ll look after Pattie and guide her through what is going to be a tremendously difficult situation for a young girl to cope with.” The only thing Brian Epstein, their manager, told me and the other wives and girlfriends was, “Don’t talk to the press.”

TS: Were the fans the reason you decided to live in the country?

PB: Living in London with George, there were so many fans every day, it became impossible to leave the flat. Brian Epstein thought there might be an idea that John, Ringo, and George move to the country, have little houses about an hour out of London. We would decorate the outside of our house with spray-paint cans. The whole house was like a psychedelic monster.

TS: I remember seeing a picture of the house, and Mick Jagger and Marianne Faithfull had spray-painted their names on the wall with the words mick and marianne were here. I read a book about Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor recently, and how there was this crazy frenzy surrounding them. In the book, Elizabeth is quoted as saying, “It could be worse, we could be the Beatles.” You are one of the only people who can say they experienced what Beatlemania was like from the inside. How did that feel for you?

PB: In my first experience, I found it absolutely terrifying. I got to see the Beatles play at a theater in London, and George told me that I should leave with my friends before the last number. So before the last song, we got up from our seats and walked toward the nearest exit door, and there were these girls behind me. They followed us out, and they were kicking me and pulling my hair and pushing us all the way down this long passageway.

TS: What were they saying?

PB: “We hate you.”

TS: That is my worst nightmare. You probably felt like, “If you knew me and I knew you, you would not be pulling my hair in an alleyway and saying, ‘I hate you.’”

PB: Exactly.

TS: Has the dynamic changed with Beatles fans now that you put on these incredible exhibitions of your photographs?

PB: George is no longer with us, or John. It was such a long time ago, and the fans haven’t held on to the same antagonistic feelings toward me. Actually they seem happy that I’m sharing the photographs I took. One time I was having an exhibition, and these girls turned up dressed like me in A Hard Day’s Night.

TS: It’s so cute when people do that. I love that.

PB: It is adorable.

TS: That is amazing that you could go from a place of feeling incredibly frightened by the idea of this attention from people who loved the Beatles, and now there is just a huge amount of gratitude from them. For me, one of the most heartbreaking moments in the book is when, years later, you and Eric get married, and George and his new wife, Olivia, come to the wedding party, Paul comes, Ringo comes, but John couldn’t go. He said later that he would have loved to come. That night there was a huge jam session, and had he been there it would have been the last time the Beatles played together.

PB: Can you imagine? I was heartbroken.

TS: My heart was pierced by that.

PB: John felt he couldn’t come because he thought if he left America they wouldn’t let him back in, and it was important for him to be in America.

TS: I found it staggeringly beautiful in the book how you had been through many ups and downs, and told these stunning truths about your relationships, but everyone seems to be on really good terms. I mean, Eric even gave you permission to publish his love letters. What did it take for you to arrive at such a place of goodwill with people you’ve been through so much with? Is that just time passing?

PB: I think time must play a big part. Because it all broke up for whatever reason, there is no need to carry on some sort of hate or dislike for this person. And then with time I thought, “I’ll just call on Eric and see if he’ll let me use these wonderful letters that he wrote, and if he needs anything from me, he just needs to call me, same thing, and I would say ‘yes’ to him.” I think this is all based on my memories of how it was when we were first married and what fun we had, the love that we’d enjoyed together as well.

TS: It sounds like you take ownership of the past, and not just the good parts.

PB: I do. Absolutely.

TS: Lastly, what advice would you give a 28-year-old who’s deeply inspired by your outlook? I would love to look back on my life with the same clarity, wisdom, and peace that you seem to have.

PB: You have to remember that nothing remains the same. It’s always going to change. The whole world keeps changing, we keep changing, things in our lives keep changing. Nothing remains the same. If you’re happy or you’re sad, it’s not going to last forever. You just have to keep remembering that.

This article originally appears in the August 2018 issue of Harper's BAZAAR, available on newsstands July 24.

[youvegotyourvictory]

Hamilton on Broadway

08.25.18

Yesterday was two months since I saw Hamilton with one of my very best friends. Making a list of some things I never want to forget.

1. I imagine death so much, it feels more like a memory

I’ve been listening to Hamilton for almost two and a half years. This line still hits me the same way it did when I was first learning the words.

2. Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now

At the most random times, this line hits me like a bus. It’s not every day, but sometimes I do think about how miraculous it is that any of us are alive. How lucky we are.

3. King George is even funnier live and the album really doesn’t do his facial expressions justice, there’s no way it could. Just.....every time he was on stage, I laughed

4. Dying is easy, young man, living is harder

I think about this line all the time. Washington says it to Alex and obviously it speaks to Alex’s character, because he’s always willing to die but never really willing to use his strengths to stay alive. He always wants to fight and is ready to verbally take down anyone he deems fit—willing to die in a war that’s never really going to be his own, just to prove himself. All of that is so much easier than living.

5. Eliza in Helpless

I already love Eliza so much—both fictionalized character and real life woman—but she’s so cute in Helpless. It’s so great to see her this in love.

6. King George saying, “Everybody!” in You’ll Be Back and people coming out of the woodwork just so they can sing along with him

7. If there’s a reason I’m still alive when everyone who loves me has died then I’m willing to wait for it

I’ve spent a few late nights thinking about this, thinking of the legacy Burr left behind—how he just wanted to keep his mouth shut and stay out of trouble, until the moment it really counted. I can’t imagine all that must’ve motivated him, knowing he was the only person he had left. Everyone around him had died, and still he wanted to keep his head down and wait for a reason to do more.

8. Tomorrow there’ll be more of us

It’s probably for the best that this song isn’t on the original cast recording because if it was I would definitely cry every time I listened to it. I can’t even begin to express how much it kills me that John Laurens died before he could lead his regiment to safety—and ultimately, freedom. And Alex’s reaction to it, his pause and then, breathless, “I have so much work to do”—his immediate need to work faster and harder than he had before. There’s no doubt anywhere that he was deeply in love with Laurens.

On Tuesday the 27th, my son was killed in a gunfight against British troops retreating from South Carolina. The war was already over. As you know, John dreamed of emancipating and recruiting three thousand men for the first all-black military regiment. His dream of freedom for these men dies with him.

9. The part of Non-Stop when Angelica and Eliza are on the outer ring of the stage and then Hamilton is talking about both of them and once he’s done talking to Angelica the stage starts moving so she drifts away from him and then Eliza comes in to view

This is really one you just have to see in person to fully appreciate

10. Jefferson in the purple suit

I have never seen an article of clothing transform someone so easily and completely. Before, Lafayette was careful, calculated, etc, but as soon as the purple suit came out, he did a total 180 and strutted everywhere, fully in control of the stage. It was like magic.

11. Hamilton’s green suit

It’s a look and probably an aesthetic choice that some people don’t care for, but boy do I love it

12. The cabinet battles

Honestly what took everything to that next level was the fact that we were in New York watching it. Hearing “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City” felt so....incredible because I had never even listened to Hamilton in the city before. And it was true—we really could’ve been anywhere else, but we were there, in the theatre, watching it all unfold.

13. Take a Break

One of my favorites in the play, due entirely to Alex and Angelica’s exchange in the second verse. Also, Eliza’s beatboxing and Philip’s pride when he raps for Alex is something I wish I could replay forever. Hearing the screams of “un, deux, trois, quatre, and CIIIIIIIIIINQ” was something that made all of us burst into cheers and applause

In a letter I received from you two weeks ago, I noticed a comma in the middle of a phrase. It changed the meaning—did you intend this? One stroke and you’ve consumed my waking days. It says, “My dearest Angelica” with a comma after ‘dearest.’ You’ve written “my dearest, Angelica.”

The breath between ‘dearest’ and ‘Angelica’ is so much more pronounced live and I really wish I could live in that moment for the rest of my life

I also really love how they both take the time to focus on this and show that it holds a lot of weight and meaning to each of them, and then after a pause Angelica says, “Anyway, all this to say...” completely moving on from the subject

14. Southern motherfucking democratic republicans

No need to even say more than that. Y’all already know.

Actually I lied. I didn’t remember a lot from the bootleg going into this because it had been a decent amount of time since I’d last watched the whole thing—usually if it pops up on YouTube again I just listen to the few songs I know will make me sob, the ones I really want to hear, and then I leave it alone. I think in my head I kind of wanted to save it until I could finally see it in person. Before seeing it live, I think I’d only watched the bootleg all the way through maybe two times. It just felt like something I needed to wait for. It was well worth it. Anyway, like I said, I didn’t remember much so I certainly didn’t remember the shot of Burr, Jefferson, and Madison all walking together across the stage with the spotlight on them as they sang this part. Power move.

15. King George pulling up a stool so he can watch everything unfold, see all the drama as it happens, and watch Hamilton destroy his own career

I lost it at this part. I knew that he does this, but seeing it in person just made it so much funnier. Again, I think it was mainly due to really being able to see his facial expressions there. Just the thought of King George sitting there as all of this is happening in the 1700s is so funny to me and it’s just.....god it’s good

16. King George throwing Reynolds pamphlets and dancing around Hamilton was just....top-tier comedy

17. Hamilton’s black suit

That velvety suede one. If you know you know

18. Eliza’s scream at the end of Stay Alive (Reprise)

This was one of the moments I couldn’t forget the first time I watched the bootleg. No matter what I’m doing or where I am, if I’ve been completely fine throughout the rest of the songs, this is the moment that gets me every time. It’s always guaranteed to make me start crying. Not only is it heart wrenching to hear her scream after Philip has just died, but to see her yank her hand away from Alex when he tries to comfort her is something that’s been with me ever since that first watch. I don’t think I’ll ever really forget it.

19. It’s Quiet Uptown

I knew I wouldn’t make it out of this without sobbing. I usually don’t make it through the OCR without crying, and seeing it in person is so much more painful. Alex pleading with Eliza, telling her he’d change everything if he could, telling Philip that he would love where they moved to. Seeing Alex grieving, and then to see Eliza come in and be completely stoic, refusing to even look in Alex’s direction. Also the fact that literally everyone looks weary and so incredibly run down—even Angelica in her narration looks like she’s been crying for weeks.

Can you imagine?

Alex turning one of Eliza’s phrases back on her—look at where we are, look at where we started—he knows he’ll never be able to make this all up to her but he still begs her to let him in and let him try to help her.

It speaks volumes that all records state that Hamilton was never the same after Philip died—a large portion of him died that day too. Can you imagine?

Eliza, do you like it uptown? It’s quiet uptown.

One of the parts that gets me every single time, without fail: Look around, look around, Eliza.

I started crying during the last song and didn’t stop through the entirety of this one, but one part that made the tears flow faster was Eliza’s gentle “It’s quiet uptown” and Alex’s breakdown as soon as she speaks for the first time.

There’s a part in the Hamilton companion book that Lin wrote where he describes something that happened to the company during rehearsals and every time I read it I cry and cry, so I’ll just leave you with it:

The power of “It’s Quiet Uptown” was intact from its first day: Actors cried while singing it, the production team cried while listening to it, Andy couldn’t bear to choreograph it, not with his daughter, Sofia, fighting cancer, and getting sick on the way to school, and the whole family hoping the next round of chemotherapy would work. ... On November 16, 2014, Oskar and Laurie Eustis’s beloved son, Jack, died. He was 16 years old. ... Oskar and Laurie were about to spend half a year or more in the world of a show that pivots on the loss of a child. ... Two weeks later, the full company assembled for the first sing-through of the show ... when Oskar and Laurie walked in. ... Hearing “It’s Quiet Uptown” for the first time since their unimaginable loss was bound to be wrenching. It was wrenching, for everyone. When the sing-through ended, we offered words of consolation that were heartfelt but inadequate before a grief larger than anyone could comprehend. There was one thing that the Hamilton company didn’t know that day. When Lin had learned of Jack’s death, he had sent an email to Oskar and Laurie expressing his deepest condolences. He also sent them the demo recording of “It’s Quiet Uptown.” “If art can help us grieve, can help us mourn, then lean on it,” he wrote. If they preferred to delete the song, he would understand.

Oskar and Laurie did lean on it. In the rehearsal studio that afternoon, nobody knew that “It’s Quiet Uptown” was the only song they had listened to in their first week of mourning. They had listened to it every day.

20. Best of Wives and Best of Women

This one gets me every time. I know I’ve said that about everything so far, but god....this one is so meaningful.

I can’t say anything that will be better than what Lin has already said about the song so I’ll leave you with the liner notes he wrote from the Hamilton companion book:

In the musical of my life after I’m long gone, my wife Vanessa is going to be the one who steps forward as the hero. Vanessa is not particularly fond of musicals—she only likes good ones. She is not effusive in her praise, or boastful. But when I looked up from that Chernow book and said, “I think this is a hip-hop musical,” she didn’t laugh, or roll her eyes. She just said, “That sounds cool.” And that was all I needed to get started. As I fell in love with the idea of a love triangle between Eliza, Alexander, and Angelica, she said, “Can you have Angelica rap? That would be cool.”

I am someone who is so averse to travel that I wrote a whole musical about not wanting to leave my block in Washington Heights. It was Vanessa who booked us trips and time away from New York. “You don’t get any writing done here because life keeps popping up.” Thanks to her, Hamilton was written in Mexico, Spain, Nevis, Sagaponack, St. Croix, Puerto Rico, The Dominican Republic—long trips where Vanessa would take me there and then leave me alone to write while she explored. She is my first audience, and she’s a tough audience, so I know if I impress her I’ve cleared the highest possible bar. She’ll come home from work and say, “Your king tune was stuck in my head all day—that’s probably a good sign.”

This started out as a note trying to explain how my wife really is the ‘best of wives and best of women,’ but I’m trying to get at something more important—this show simply doesn’t exist without Vanessa. It’s a love letter to her.

21. The World Was Wide Enough

There’s nothing I could say here that would accurately sum up this one, so I’ll simply put this:

Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints—it takes and it takes and it takes. History obliterates. In every picture it paints, it paints me and all my mistakes. When Alexander aimed at the sky, he may have been the first one to die, but I’m the one who paid for it. I survived, but I paid for it. Now I’m the villain in your history. I was too young and blind to see. I should’ve known. I should’ve known the world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me. The world was wide enough for both Hamilton and me.

One thing I’ll always remember: in the Hamilton documentary, Leslie Odom, Jr. is talking about Burr’s legacy, basically that he did all of these other things in his lifetime—a long war career, accomplished lawyer, worked with Hamilton on the first murder trial of the country, etc—but the one thing he’s most remembered for is being the man who shot Hamilton in a duel. Leslie talks about how much more Burr could’ve done if the duel hadn’t gone down the way it did, that it was a really sad moment in history, that Burr wasn’t a lonely man when he shot Hamilton. Burr had friends, a great job, so many things going for him, but still he chose to shoot Hamilton in that moment. Leslie goes on to say, “I think that our show is doing a really good job of...reminding us that....all of us are more than one thing.”

There’s another moment, from Lin’s episode of Drunk History, where he describes the duel and says, “And so, Burr’s the monster. And what’s ironic about that is Burr was never the monster. Burr was the cautious motherfucker who never let his opinion be known. And Hamilton was the reckless motherfucker who let his opinion be known about everything. And in the one moment where it counted most, Hamilton was cautious, and Burr was reckless. And that defined their legacies forever.”

22. There’s a moment that Lin took out that we don’t get to see, but I’m going to include it here anyway. Eliza, reading Hamilton’s last letter to her—the one he was writing when she begged him to “come back to bed, that would be enough.” Among his last words are these:

I need not tell you of the pangs I feel, from the idea of quitting you and exposing you to the anguish which I know you would feel. With my last idea; I shall cherish the sweet hope of meeting you in a better world. Adieu best of wives and best of Women. Ever yours

23. Eliza in the finale

As I said, I already love Eliza so much, but hearing this final song is something I’ll always think about.

Eliza lived fifty years beyond Hamilton’s death, something I can’t even begin to imagine doing. Of all the things Hamilton put her through, she still loved him in the end. In her own words—I am so tired, it is so long. I want to see Hamilton.

Again, during this I couldn’t help but remember the fact that we were in the very city where much of this musical takes place. All of these real events occurred in this city.

Hearing Eliza recount all she had done after Hamilton’s death is inspiring and exhausting and amazing, but the line that always got me and I knew would hit me even harder in New York City....

Oh. Can I show you what I’m proudest of? [The orphanage.] I establish the first private orphanage in New York City. [The orphanage.] I help to raise hundreds of children. I get to see them growing up. [The orphanage.] In their eyes I see you, Alexander. I see you every time.

Not only does she establish this orphanage, but it still lives on today. Eliza’s orphanage lives on in the form of the Graham Windham organization, a fact that always blows me away. She established and served as director of the orphanage for 27 years—she dedicated a significant portion of her life to this work. And to know that we were in the city where she did this, where she got to see the Hamilton legacy growing before her very eyes in the form of these children—I lost it.

Oh, I can’t wait to see you again. It’s only a matter of time.

Two months have passed and I still can’t believe I was there, really seeing Hamilton the way it was intended to be seen. I’ll never forget it, and I hope someday I’ll get to do it again.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Binary Star (Epilogue: Jaebum POV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: You / Jaebum / Mark

Rating: PG

Word Count: 2,131

Summary: “In some cases, these close binary systems can exchange mass, which may bring their evolution to stages that single stars cannot attain.”

You and Jaebum have been dating forever when Mark Tuan shows up in your classroom. You’ve always been against change - a bit debilitating, being a writer - but for some reason this new kid has you thinking there might be an upside to chaos.

Previous to this: [ Binary Star ]

Jaebum exhales, just to himself. Fiddling with his headphones, he flicks next on his playlist and starts to walk. He’s careful to keep his head low, hood up to mostly cover his face. Jaebum remembers when he used to think things like this were stupid. Wearing sunglasses at the airport, covering his hair – it’s not something anyone normal does. You might as well have a big, neon sign saying, ‘I’M FAMOUS.’ Jaebum is certain right now he sticks out like a sore thumb.

Pausing, Jaebum turns his volume lower. Where does that phrase come from, anyways? To stick out like a sore thumb. Opening a note in his phone, Jaebum jots this down – it might come in handy later, for a lyric. When he looks back up, no one is looking at him. Since becoming famous, Jaebum has learned the truth of the whole glasses and shades combo. If he dresses like this yes, people will look – but most of the time, they won’t identify him as Jaebum. They’ll just think him another punk kid, wandering through the airport.

After crossing security, Jaebum stops again. The most logical thing, would be for him to head straight towards the gate. This, or head for the airport lounge. It’s still early and while people might stare in the lounge, at least they won’t bother him. These thoughts are sidetracked, as Jaebum passes a bookstore. His footsteps slow, scanning the displays and Jaebum can’t stop himself from wandering in. It’s unavoidable, since airport book shops are his favorites. It’s so interesting to watch what people read when they’re waiting.

Jaebum wanders towards the back, pulling a book from the wall and reading its spine. He’s midway through the shelf when he hears giggling, loud behind him. Body freezing, Jaebum slowly turns his head. Over the spine of the book, he sees two women – both of them staring his way. One ducks immediately, giggling louder and Jaebum stops himself from rolling his eyes.

They’re fans, he reminds himself, sliding the book back on the shelf. Just fans – but then he pauses, because on second look, he recognizes them. Jaebum has seen their faces before, in other airports and upon realizing this, he quickly turns around. Fuck that. He can download the book on his phone, Jaebum reasons – no way is he getting stalked again.

Exiting the shop, Jaebum looks both ways and melts into the crowd. He tries not to run because if he does, the girls will spot him faster. From the sounds of their laughter, it sounds as though they’re not far behind. Jaebum closes his eyes, turning down another corridor. It’s annoying to him now – and thinking this, his heart sinks to his stomach. It’s always disheartening, to see yourself turn into someone else.

As he walks, Jaebum can’t help but think of you. Okay, not you, but a conversation you once had. It was a long time ago, lying on his bed in his parents’ house. Jaebum’s heart quickens, remembering the weight of your head in his lap, strands of your hair between his fingers. Fuck, it’s been a long time. It’s a bit ridiculous, he still remembers the touch of you.

It wasn’t so much that day, as the conversation you had. Jaebum was complaining about something – nothing new about that – and you were lying there, letting him vent.

“These people are so ungrateful,” Jaebum griped, scrolling down an article.

“Hm?” you exhaled, not looking up. You were reading – of course you were – and Jaebum had yet to prove himself worthy of your attention. “Who are ungrateful, where?”

“This band,” Jaebum huffed. The article was on a guitar player he loved, one who’d just posted to Twitter he’d no longer be taking photos in public with fans. “I mean, these people love him – they buy his music, put food on his table. They give him stupid amounts of money and he doesn’t want to hug a few, awkward teenagers? I don’t know.”

Lifting a brow, you set down your book. “Well,” you mused. “Think about it from his perspective, babe. Do you like it when people you don’t know come up and touch you on the street? He’s still a person, even if his job means a lot of people know him.”

Jaebum blinked, taken aback. He disliked PDA, even with people he knew – a fact you knew, and were using against him. “I,” he paused. “Well, no.”

“See?” you laughed. “It’s not that simple. We pay an artist for their art, for the joy that it brings. Anything more, I consider extra. Having a job doesn’t mean you sell yourself as a person,” you reminded him, words gentle. “Remember that, when you’re big and famous.”

Jaebum rolled his eyes then, but now he takes your words to heart. It’s okay to be himself, it’s okay to keep certain things to himself. It’s hard though, to identify the man he is now with the boy he used to be. It’s silly to think about you at all, Jaebum knows this. You’ve been gone to him for so long, and last he heard you were dating Mark. Jaebum can’t pretend he was happy, when he found that out. Still, though – he exhales, nodding once. Jaebum wants you to be happy, even if it can’t be with him.

Stopping before the lounge, Jaebum slides on his sunglasses. He pulls buds from his ears, shaking you from mind to push open the doors. The woman at the front looks up to greet him – freezing, when she sees his face. Jaebum’s stomach drops, since it’s clear that she recognizes him. She wears the same look they always do – surprise, followed by forced neutrality.

Jaebum merely smiles, handing over his passport. “Thank you,” he nods, when it’s handed back. Bowing slightly, Jaebum walks towards the elevators. He waits in the lobby, staring down at his phone – though he nearly drops this, when the doors open behind him. It’s them, the two girls from the bookstore and Jaebum ducks quickly inside the emergency stairwell. Better to arrive tired, then harassed and angry.

Taking the steps two at a time, Jaebum gets to the lounge breathless – just in time to see the elevator doors slide open, revealing the same two girls. One of their mouths drops, revealing too-bright teeth – and Jaebum makes a hard left turn. Scanning the room, he searches for a seat, preferably one far away from those girls. He’s looking around, fingers fumbling with his bag, when he sees you.

Everything freezes. There’s a pause, a long moment where the world seems to take a collective breath. Jaebum can’t help but think of song lyrics, at times like this. The one playing right now is Hozier – Cherry Wine, one of his favorites.

I’m all but washed / in the tide of her breathing.

He feels washed, drowned just looking at you. It’s only when you breathe, chest rising and falling, that his does, too. You move first – or maybe that’s him – but somehow or other, you end up before him. Jaebum stares at you and, faced with your presence, it’s suddenly impossible to speak.

He’s thought about this moment a million times before. Jaebum has revised the words so often, thought about you for so long that to have you here, it all seems suddenly wrong. Everything he did for you, everything he wrote for you – Jaebum wants to tell you that. The first album, when he was heartbroken. The second album, when he was angry. The third album, when he was healing and now – Jaebum pauses. Now, he’s writing the fourth album and doesn’t know where to go.

“Hi,” you say, managing to speak first.

Jaebum smiles, a shaky gesture. “Hi.”

You don’t meet his gaze for too long, glancing over his shoulder. “Your fan club?” you ask.

Fuck. “No,” he snorts. Angling his body, he moves so you no longer see them. “Never seen them before,” Jaebum states – a lie, but a white one. “How are you?”

Lifting a brow, it’s clear you don’t believe him. “I’m great.”

Stomach dropping, Jaebum nods. That’s good – you should be happy, you have every right to be. Jaebum isn’t happy, though. Jaebum isn’t doing great. He forces himself to smile in return though, to nod when you attempt to walk past. This is it, this is the end of your conversation. Thinking this, causes Jaebum to choke – it can’t end like this, it just can’t.

He turns around, to find you already staring. “I’m actually on my way to New York City,” you blurt. “I’m meeting a publisher about a book proposal I have.”

“Really?” Jaebum smiles, astonished. You’ve wanted this for so long. To hear you getting this, dreams finally coming true – it makes Jaebum happy, happier than he’s been in a long time. “That’s fantastic, Y/N. Expected, of course,” he laughs, looking down, “but fantastic. You did it – I always knew you could. That you would,” he corrects himself.

“It kinds of feels like a dream,” you admit, soft.

“Hm.” Jaebum doesn’t say more, since he agrees. This feels like a dream, you feel like a dream – but of course, he can’t say that. You wouldn’t want to hear it, for one, and then there’s the small matter of Mark. Mark, your boyfriend, the man who won your heart fair and square.

No. Jaebum stops himself. Mark didn’t win anything – the two of you didn’t work out, that’s all.

“What?” you ask, squinting suspiciously. “What do you want to ask?”

Jaebum bites his lip to keep from laughing. “I guess you still know me,” he murmurs, then frowns. “Is Mark here, too?”

There – he’s said it. Said that name, his name, out loud. Mark’s name used to swim in his thoughts, chase Jaebum’s when he tried to fall asleep. Thoughts about you, about him, together – it used to drive Jaebum crazy.

“Ah,” you respond, uncertain. “You know about Mark?”

Jaebum is having difficulty deciphering your expression. You didn’t used to be this closed off. He wonders if you look guilty, nervous – then his stomach sinks, realizing you must know about him. Jaebum’s relationship are front page news, of course you would know. He stares silently, thinking about all the girls he’s led on. The girls he’s hurt, trying to find out what he wanted. Jaebum has a reputation now, and not a very good one. He wonders if you believe it, wonders if you care.

Jaebum tilts his head, then nods. “Jackson told me when you two started dating,” he informs, remembering it well. “Where do you think our sophomore album came from?”

Now you’re the one staring, and Jaebum wonders why. Perhaps he’s said too much, been too honest. You’re looking at him like he’s grown three heads, and Jaebum feels his cheeks start to flush.

“I didn’t realize,” you swallow, then blink. “I – that’s a lot. But to answer your question, no – Mark isn’t here. He lives in New York. We’ll probably get lunch while I’m there.”

A strange sort of buzzing fills Jaebum’s ears. “Just lunch?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Lunch. That’s what friends do.”

It’s the second time today, Jaebum’s world has stopped turning. “Just friends?” he repeats, an attempt at confirmation. This can’t be – it can’t, because if it’s true… Jaebum stops himself, before that thought runs free.

“Just friends,” you agree, gaze curious. “Mark and I broke up after college. He went to medical school and I started writing. Somehow, we just made more sense as friends than boyfriend and girlfriend.”

There’s a pause, while Jaebum can think of nothing to say. Or rather – he can think of too many things, and they all choke his thoughts. His sentences make no sense, crammed with words that mean nothing and force him silent.

“Anyways,” you blush, looking down at your phone. “I should probably go.”

You’re leaving. The shock of this spurs Jaebum to action, barely a moment before he grabs hold of your elbow. “Wait,” he blurts, somewhat breathless. “If you… I mean, do you have time before your flight?”

He can’t watch you walk away – not again. Not now. The next moment is the longest of his life. Jaebum stares, and sees that you’re older. Older, yet also the same. In every way that matters, he still knows you. In the ways he doesn’t, he’d like to. You’re still staring at his hand, until you lift gaze to his. “Why?” you ask, slight tremor to your voice. “What do you have in mind?”

Jaebum smiles, hardly daring to breathe. “Everything. Anything.”

[ Master List ]

Author’s Note: happy birthday, Jaebum <3

[a-woman-apart]

Old Obsessions

In the spirit of trying to write at least one post a month- and out of a genuine desire to get a few things off my chest- here I am, writing a post.

I will begin with the life update portion of the post. My health has been somewhat imperiled. I won’t go into details on here (yet), but I’m getting some tests done because I’ve been dealing with some pain. I already have trouble getting out of the house because of depression and anxiety, and these problems are being exacerbated by issues of pain and fatigue. Whatever it is, I’m hoping for a diagnosis that A) shows that it’s an actual thing and I’m not just crazy, and B) is an actual thing that is easily treatable. In the coming weeks to one month I should find out what I need to know.

The second thing of note is that at the end of the month I will be returning to the community college where I graduated from to take some CORE classes. Since most of my courses were in music, and I only took a few COREs, I have two semesters worth of classes to take. I am doing this to save money, and to ensure that when I go on to the university in the fall of next year, I will be jumping immediately into undergraduate-level courses. I am in fact taking so many COREs that by the time I am done I will have an Associate of the Arts degree in addition to my Associate in music- all before I even make it to the university. I do have to take physical education to make that happen- a course that wasn’t required by the university- but that is just one extra thing.  

I have “mixed feelings” about returning to school this fall. It is true that I got the whole summer off, for the first time in years, but it still feels so soon to be returning. The thought of being piled on with classwork all over again has brought out feelings of depression and sadness in me. I know that I am following the path that I have set out for myself. My goal is to be college-ready in the fall, but it all feels so overwhelming. I feel excited about the thought of getting another degree in the process of taking all these COREs, but I’ve been in school for 4 years already and I really feel it.

Another discouraging aspect about going to school again is the fact that I probably won’t have the time or energy to get a second job to help pay for my living expenses, unless it’s a side hustle that I can do from home. When I got on SSDI, it meant losing my Medicaid, so I now have $134 taken out of my monthly check to go towards Medicare. In addition to that, I am required to pay $38 a month as a copay for the insurance I get for my mental health visits. That doesn’t sound like a lot of money, but my total income from my job and SSDI is not very much (S/N: I will probably talk to my clinic and see if I still need their insurance now that my Medicare part B has kicked in). Adding almost $200 to my monthly expenses is no joke.

I want to be able to take care of myself. I have always known that I needed to find more hours or better employment. In a way, going to classes again (full-time) is in fact a help to me, because I usually get a Pell Grant refund after my books and classes are paid for. That extra money helps me to put a little in savings and to pay pressing expenses. I’ve always known, though, that I can’t go on depending on those refunds forever. Before I got SSDI, I had SSI, and I was caught between a rock and a hard place where I worked too much to get any meaningful help from them, but too little for the help they did give to cover my expenses. That was the summer that I had to get a second- and for a while a third job- and literally almost killed myself in the process. Later SSI too gave me a huge refund (probably because they had withheld too much from my check) and I used that money for all sorts of things, like paying off my credit card, paying a big portion towards my car note, saving for emergencies and travel, and even giving a bit to charity.

Like I said, though, I want to be able to take care of myself. Whether it’s depending on the Pell Grant or my SSDI, I am still dependent on the government in a huge way. I know the way that my mental health deteriorated when I had my summer jobs was a sign that maybe I’ve been declared disabled for a reason, but I still sometimes feel like I am “not disabled enough” to deserve to still receive services. Without government help, though, I wouldn’t even have insurance for things like my medicine, therapy, and doctor visits, let alone just having enough money to keep my car and stay in my apartment.

When it was just a choice between working and not working, 35-40 hours a week was not a big deal. I worked that plenty of times when I worked in the food industry. I would put in the hours and SSI would give me my check- that had been reduced by around 75%- and together with that and sometimes having food stamps I had a comfortable life. Now that I am a student- and have even more expenses- I just can’t do that anymore. During the summer last year I worked 15 extra hours on the weekend in addition to my 20-hr-a-week library job. I was taking very condensed summer classes as well that took up a huge chunk of my time. My dad was also starting to get sicker that summer and later in the fall someone did a hit-and-run on my vehicle. It is true that today the circumstances would be different. I’ll be doing full-time, but it’s a regular semester. Maybe I could work weekends if I really needed to and if I really tried. The truth is though, that I don’t know if my mental health can withstand that.

Maybe some people can say, “Well, you don’t have to be a student” and that is very true. What is also true is that I may never be able to rise above the poverty line and become self-sufficient if I don’t go to school. Just like working, going to school is an effort to improve my well-being and my contribution to society. The government investing in me now will definitely pay off for them in the future. Even though I now believe that capitalism is bonkers, there is some part of me that takes satisfaction in being able to say that I help feed the economy. Until we have something better and everyone living below the poverty line- not just disabled people like me- gets a basic income from the government, this is the best that we have.

Now I am going to make a total 180 and talk about something that had been the main purpose of this blog when this first started- my religious journey. I think the last time that I wrote a post about where I was with my religion was a couple months ago, when I visited a couple of Universalist Unitarian churches. I haven’t been back since my initial visits, for various reasons, but maybe one is that I am starting to agree with my boyfriend- what I am looking for probably can’t be found inside a church organization.

When my dad passed away in January, I wasn’t angry at God. I had already decided that if there was a Higher Power, it was very possible that said Power didn’t have complete authority to intervene in earthly matters. What it demonstrated to me instead was the failure of the Christian Word of Faith movement and how it sometimes hurts and disappoints its adherents. It didn’t prove to me that miracles never happened, just that they were far less commonplace than evangelists led us to believe and probably explainable using natural terms. It also demonstrated something that is obvious to me but not to many, that people who try to “sell” miracles are misguided at best, or are all liars and charlatans at worst.

I guess that the main reason that I haven’t been writing about it as much is that I’ve just stopped caring. In one post, I mentioned the quote that states that the opposite of love isn’t hate, but apathy. When you hate, you are still giving energy to a person, object, or idea. When you are apathetic, that energy simply isn’t there. This is destructive in its own unique way. Somehow, the ideas of Christianity have lost their place in my life. My family members are all still Christians, but we don’t talk about it. I’ll hear about Girl Defined and shake my head ruefully, but I haven’t put a lot of energy into dismantling their ideas. I’ll skim through my recommendations from Patheos, but no articles jump out at me that I really want to read. I can hear a sermon or see a person preaching on a street corner and feel nothing. I used to want to be able to answer every argument, and I would take aggressive or passionate people stating their beliefs as a personal attack. Now it’s all so blasé to me. “What’s new?” or “Who cares?” are all that I can manage to ask myself in those moments.

In a way, getting here is a personal victory for me. I know that when topics of religion come up, I will always have a point of view to contribute. Crafting that point of view, however, isn’t central to my life anymore. Right now, I am concerned with getting to the next stage in my life. I am about to go to a big university for the first time, and I’m scared. My boyfriend and I have gotten really serious; we want to move in together and share our lives, but we are more than 2000 miles apart and we barely have any money. My youngest brother is preparing to go to college, and my other younger brother is a supervisor at his job. My older brother and my sister-in-law want to build a house on my mom’s property. My little sisters are learning to drive and they want to start working. My mom wants to travel but needs to find some way to get the farm taken care of. We’re all growing older.

Maybe, in saying that, I’m proving the point that it’s important to start thinking about things like “eternity.” To me, it proves the opposite. It takes so much energy just to be focused on the here and now, why waste time planning for an eternity that might not exist? I do know that my dad held on to the hope of eternity until the very end. He burdened himself by worrying that his loved ones might not be able to share it with him. I could never give him the assurance that he needed, but I think he believed that God would make everything right in the end, and I’m happy for him for that. Sometimes it saddens me to think of his way of life dying with him, but ultimately that way of life was not the one that was best for me.

I am turning 28 at the end of next month. Maybe getting older is finally starting to afford me some perspective about the things that really matter. Maybe I will have that zero-fucks-left-to-give attitude that everyone says that you get when you hit 30. All I know is that right now things are looking much clearer to me now. I still feel inadequate as hell, but maybe that never goes away. All I can do is keep moving forward.

[annviscom]

Year 3 - FMP

(14 April 2021)

‘Pamela Paul’s memories of reading are less about words and more about the experience. “I almost always remember where I was and I remember the book itself. I remember the physical object,” says Paul, the editor of The New York Times Book Review, who reads, it is fair to say, a lot of books. “I remember the edition; I remember the cover; I usually remember where I bought it, or who gave it to me. What I don’t remember—and it’s terrible—is everything else.”

For example, Paul told me she recently finished reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Benjamin Franklin. “While I read that book, I knew not everything there was to know about Ben Franklin, but much of it, and I knew the general timeline of the American revolution,” she says. “Right now, two days later, I probably could not give you the timeline of the American revolution.”

Surely some people can read a book or watch a movie once and retain the plot perfectly. But for many, the experience of consuming culture is like filling up a bathtub, soaking in it, and then watching the water run down the drain. It might leave a film in the tub, but the rest is gone.

“Memory generally has a very intrinsic limitation,” says Faria Sana, an assistant professor of psychology at Athabasca University, in Canada. “It’s essentially a bottleneck.”

The “forgetting curve,” as it’s called, is steepest during the first 24 hours after you learn something. Exactly how much you forget, percentage-wise, varies, but unless you review the material, much of it slips down the drain after the first day, with more to follow in the days after, leaving you with a fraction of what you took in.

Presumably, memory has always been like this. But Jared Horvath, a research fellow at the University of Melbourne, says that the way people now consume information and entertainment has changed what type of memory we value—and it’s not the kind that helps you hold onto the plot of a movie you saw six months ago.

In the internet age, recall memory—the ability to spontaneously call information up in your mind—has become less necessary. It’s still good for bar trivia, or remembering your to-do list, but largely, Horvath says, what’s called recognition memory is more important. “So long as you know where that information is at and how to access it, then you don’t really need to recall it,” he says.

Research has shown that the internet functions as a sort of externalized memory. “When people expect to have future access to information, they have lower rates of recall of the information itself,” as one study puts it. But even before the internet existed, entertainment products have served as externalized memories for themselves. You don’t need to remember a quote from a book if you can just look it up. Once videotapes came along, you could review a movie or TV show fairly easily. There’s not a sense that if you don’t burn a piece of culture into your brain, that it will be lost forever.

With its streaming services and Wikipedia articles, the internet has lowered the stakes on remembering the culture we consume even further. But it’s hardly as if we remembered it all before.

Plato was a famous early curmudgeon when it came to the dangers of externalizing memory. In the dialogue Plato wrote between Socrates and the aristocrat Phaedrus, Socrates tells a story about the god Theuth discovering “the use of letters.” The Egyptian king Thamus says to Theuth:

This discovery of yours will create forgetfulness in the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves.

(Of course, Plato’s ideas are only accessible to us today because he wrote them down.)

“[In the dialogue] Socrates hates writing because he thinks it’s going to kill memory,” Horvath says. “And he’s right. Writing absolutely killed memory. But think of all the incredible things we got because of writing. I wouldn’t trade writing for a better recall memory, ever.” Perhaps the internet offers a similar tradeoff: You can access and consume as much information and entertainment as you want, but you won’t retain most of it.

It’s true that people often shove more into their brains than they can possibly hold. Last year, Horvath and his colleagues at the University of Melbourne found that those who binge-watched TV shows forgot the content of them much more quickly than people who watched one episode a week. Right after finishing the show, the binge-watchers scored the highest on a quiz about it, but after 140 days, they scored lower than the weekly viewers. They also reported enjoying the show less than did people who watched it once a day, or weekly.

People are binging on the written word, too. In 2009, the average American encountered 100,000 words a day, even if they didn’t “read” all of them. It’s hard to imagine that’s decreased in the nine years since. In “Binge-Reading Disorder,” an article for The Morning News, Nikkitha Bakshani analyzes the meaning of this statistic. “Reading is a nuanced word,” she writes, “but the most common kind of reading is likely reading as consumption: where we read, especially on the internet, merely to acquire information. Information that stands no chance of becoming knowledge unless it ‘sticks.’”

Or, as Horvath puts it: “It’s the momentary giggle and then you want another giggle. It’s not about actually learning anything. It’s about getting a momentary experience to feel as though you’ve learned something.”

The lesson from his binge-watching study is that if you want to remember the things you watch and read, space them out. I used to get irritated in school when an English-class syllabus would have us read only three chapters a week, but there was a good reason for that. Memories get reinforced the more you recall them, Horvath says. If you read a book all in one stretch—on an airplane, say—you’re just holding the story in your working memory that whole time. “You’re never actually reaccessing it,” he says.

Sana says that often when we read, there’s a false “feeling of fluency.” The information is flowing in, we’re understanding it, it seems like it is smoothly collating itself into a binder to be slotted onto the shelves of our brains. “But it actually doesn’t stick unless you put effort into it and concentrate and engage in certain strategies that will help you remember.”

People might do that when they study, or read something for work, but it seems unlikely that in their leisure time they’re going to take notes on Gilmore Girls to quiz themselves later. “You could be seeing and hearing, but you might not be noticing and listening,” Sana says. “Which is, I think, most of the time what we do.”

Still, not all memories that wander are lost. Some of them may just be lurking, inaccessible, until the right cue pops them back up—perhaps a pre-episode “Previously on Gilmore Girls” recap, or a conversation with a friend about a book you’ve both read. Memory is “all associations, essentially,” Sana says.

That may explain why Paul and others remember the context in which they read a book without remembering its contents. Paul has kept a “book of books,” or “Bob,” since she was in high school—an analog form of externalized memory—in which she writes down every book she reads. “Bob offers immediate access to where I’ve been, psychologically and geographically, at any given moment in my life,” she explains in My Life With Bob, a book she wrote about her book of books. “Each entry conjures a memory that may have otherwise gotten lost or blurred with time.”

In a piece for The New Yorker called “The Curse of Reading and Forgetting,” Ian Crouch writes, “reading has many facets, one of which might be the rather indescribable, and naturally fleeting, mix of thought and emotion and sensory manipulations that happen in the moment and then fade. How much of reading, then, is just a kind of narcissism—a marker of who you were and what you were thinking when you encountered a text?”

To me, it doesn’t seem like narcissism to remember life’s seasons by the art that filled them—the spring of romance novels, the winter of true crime. But it’s true enough that if you consume culture in the hopes of building a mental library that can be referred to at any time, you’re likely to be disappointed.

Books, shows, movies, and songs aren’t files we upload to our brains—they’re part of the tapestry of life, woven in with everything else. From a distance, it may become harder to see a single thread clearly, but it’s still in there.

“It’d be really cool if memories were just clean—information comes in and now you have a memory for that fact,” Horvath says. “But in truth, all memories are everything.”’

[minaminokyoko]

The Princess Bride Live Reading feat. Hugh Jackman

Oh, dear friends. It’s not often that I get to treat myself, but tonight I did, and it was so freaking worth it.

Roughly a week and a half ago, the Atlanta Journal Constitution wrote an article announcing that none other than Hugh Jackman would be starring in a live reading of The Princess Bride at the Rialto Center for the Arts in Atlanta, GA. 

If you’re anything like me, the sound of Hugh Jackman and The Princess Bride in the same freaking sentence is like chocolate and peanut butter.

But then add on top that all the proceeds for the live reading go to Puerto Rico and basically there was no fucking way I wasn’t going to grab a ticket.

It was the best decision I’ve made in months.

The live reading was put on by Jason Reitman (Juno, Up in the Air, Thank You for Smoking), his father Ivan Reitman (Ghostbusters, Stripes, Evolution), and some odd cast members (I apologize--I didn’t recognize any but two of them, and unfortunately I didn’t see a program listing their names) from a biopic they are shooting starring Hugh Jackman. They’ve been filming in Atlanta for two months now and they thought it would not only be a great chance to raise money for Puerto Rico, but it was a lovely thank you for how much fun they’ve had in our city. 

I had so much fun that I’m pretty sure I’ve been smiling ever since the metaphorical curtains went up.

This was my first ever live reading. Basically, they had the actual screenplay for The Princess Bride film adaptation and the actors read the parts with a background behind them that changed with the scenery. It was a very fun, relaxed atmosphere. 

The kicker is that I didn’t know who else would be on the cast live reading and...

Freaking J.K. Simmons was there.

I just about lost my voice cheering.

I’ve loved the man forever. Since Spider-Man and The Mexican. I’ll watch any damn thing he’s in and he was cast as Prince Humperdink, and couldn’t have been more amazing. 

So basically I got to watch Wolverine vs. J. Jonah Jameson.

Aside from just needing to geek out, the reason I wanted to make a post is simply five priceless moments that I thought I should share with you guys. Keep in mind, this’ll have more relevance if you’ve seen The Princess Bride.

Moment #1:

During the opening where the narration is describing Westley and Buttercup’s relationship, Hugh Jackman says “As you wish” for the first time and I swear to God, the entire female half of the audience simultaneously swooned. It was so noticeable that Hugh chuckled and asked us if we were all okay and then we laughed before they moved on.

Moment #2:

During the confrontation between Vizzini and Westley, there’s that line of, “Because everyone knows iocane powder comes from Australia” and the actor pauses and stares pointedly at Hugh Jackman and he and the whole audience burst out laughing. It is then proceeded by the line, “And as we all know, Australia is entirely peopled with criminals.” We laugh even harder at that one. It was just a happy coincidence.

Moment #3:

During the scene where Westley is on the Machine, Hugh Jackman was acting out the pain and during his flailing, he pretends to whip out his Wolverine claws and mimics slashing things up and so of course we were all cracking up.

Moment #4:

During the scene after Inigo and Fezzik have revived Westley with the Miracle pill, there’s a line from Westley, “Well, I’ve always been a quick healer.” Cue the entire audience and the cast cracking up that yet again we have a happy coincidence line relevant to Hugh Jackman.

Moment #5:

During the scene where Westley and Buttercup are reunited, in the film, Westley’s on the bed and Buttercup gives him little kisses in excitement. Hugh and the actress playing Buttercup are sitting next to each other, naturally, and the actress picks up Hugh’s arm and starts kissing up his arm in a Gomez-Morticia fashion. Again, absolutely hysterical. We’re all laid out in the aisles. It was too cute. 

Everyone did a phenomenal job. I had so much fun. It was just a breath of fresh air in my dumpster fire life that keeps getting worse with every day. I just really want to thank the cast for their performances and thank them even more for donating the money to help Puerto Rico recover. 

I hope this post brought a smile to your face. 

It sure brought one to mine.

[artistic-writer]

Between Now and Nether :: Chapter 3

Title: Between Now and Nether by @artistic-writer  [full res fanart]

Summary: On their way to a Nolan Charity Gala, tragedy befalls Emma and Killian who is given just seven days to set things right.  Can he make Emma believe and escape the Nether before he is lost forever?

Rating: T+

AO3 Chapters: [1] - [2] - [3]

A/N: This one is shorter (1300 words) than i thought and a little more hurt before everything gets better ;) This was written for CS Halloweek : Spirits & Traditions.

Future updates will be for Friday (providing I can get the art made in time)

Huge thanks to @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @rouhn  and @wordsmith-storyweaver for your advice and suggestions.  This fic would just be so much worse without you guys! <3

Taglist: @mariakov81 @rouhn @resident-of-storybrooke @hookedonapirate  @kmomof4 @galadriel26 @yellow-bugs-and-pirate-ships @the-captains-ayebrows @yayimallamaagain @takhisismb @officerrogerss @ i-nvr-wrote-it 

If ou would like to be added please let me know for ch 4!

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Day one had been a disaster.  Killian had told himself everything would be okay, even when Dave had walked through him and ignored the odd sensation that had tingled up his spine.  Stubborn man, he would never change.  Probably put it down to the cold outside that day knowing Dave.  Either way, he was going to be no help.

Killian had spent the rest of that day following Emma around the house.  She wasn’t going to leave, she had no work to go to, and the more he had followed her, the more Killian realised how difficult this was going to be.  How do you convince someone you are alive, when you can’t even convince them you are there?

Emma was sitting on the couch, legs tucked up under herself and the blanket they had shared whilst they watched a scary movie less than two weeks ago thrown over her legs.  She held a cup of hot chocolate with one hand, the mug resting on her bent knee, the edges of the ceramic dusted with dried cinnamon.  She idly brushed her thumb up and down the outside of the handle, staring at the flickering of the flames in the open log fire in front of her.

The chocolate had long since gone cold.  Killian had watched her make it, stopping half way through to bury her face in her hands and wail some more when she had realised she was making two cups, one of which had been intended for him.  In an emotional rage, Emma has hurled the cup across the kitchen, ignoring the way it smashed against the refrigerator and huge chunks of porcelain had flown across the floor.  All Killian could do was watch and follow her to the lounge when she had finished screaming into the seemingly empty house.

Between the roaring log fire that Dave had stoked before he left, and the couch where Emma was sitting, they had a coffee table.  It was low and Killian had often perched on the edge when he was talking to his snuggled girlfriend, so without a further thought, he moved into the space and silently floated down onto the surface of the table.

“Emma…” He said softly, the hope in his words making his own heart wrench.  “I wish you could hear me.”

Emma simply stared through him, the hot, fat sting of a new set of tears building in her eyes.  She was exhausted, he could see that, and all that she had left was the gentle rocking of her body as her sobs hitched in her throat.  Her bottom lip quivered and Emma blinked slowly, sending the tear rolling down her cheek and under her chin.

“Oh, love, please don’t cry,” Killian pleaded and shuffled forward on the table.  A magazine he was sitting on shifted a little but Emma did not notice, hastily wiping at her face as she swung her legs over the edge of the couch and placed the cold cup of cocoa on the table beside where he was sitting.  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and bowed her head in her hands, watching as her tears fell to the floor beneath her.

Killian mirrored her position, his face inches from hers as he watched her cry, helpless to comfort her.  It was torture and if he had not known any better, Killian would have bet all the money he had ever had on the fact he was in Hell.  

“Why?” Emma groaned into her hands before throwing her head back and looking up to the ceiling.  Killian had never known her to be spiritual, but it was clear she had reached the end of her resolve, her anger directing at anything and anyone.  “We were happy!” She screamed, hands clenched on her knees so tightly her knuckles were white.

Killian reached out, smothering her balled fists with his transparent hands, desperately trying to feel anything beneath his fingertips.  He slid forward on the table again and the magazine toppled to the floor between them and landed pages down.  He looked down quickly and then back up, meeting Emma’s gaze and his entire being stiffening.

“Swan?” He breathed hopefully, holding his breath.

It was like she was looking directly at him, her green orbs sparking with a glow he felt like he hadn’t seen in forever.  Her breathing quickened and a tiny muscle in the corner of her mouth twitched, tugging at the edge of a smile that threatened to pull across her face.

“Killian?” Emma sniffed, her watery eyes flicking between his and the magazine on the floor in front of her.  She reached down and picked up the fallen magazine, turning it over in her hands to the open page.  It was an article about life after death, the possibility of accepting that when people died they didn’t simply move on.  Emma’s head snapped up once more and she sucked in a breath.

“YES!” He nodded quickly and inched even closer to her.  His lips were millimeters from hers now and a smile played across his lips.  Killian licked them, preparing to kiss the woman he loved and rid her of all of her sorrow.  “It’s me, Emma, I’m here,” he soothed as he ghosted his fingers over the side of her face.

“Killian?” Emma repeated, her eyes closing and her head involuntarily nudged to the side.  Her heart pounded in her chest and for a second her skin had flushed the way it used to when Killian touched her, only he was nowhere near her.  Her bottom lip began to quiver again and a fresh set of tears erupted from her eyelids as she sank back into the couch cushions, a desperately hopeless cry escaping her lips.

Killian’s smile faded instantly when he realised that Emma couldn’t see him.  There had been no divine intervention and no miracle.  Emma was simply calling out his name in desperation, willing the fallen magazine to somehow be connected to him.  If only he could show her that it was.

Emma hurled the magazine into the fire, embers flying up into the chimney and dancing around the edges of the paper as it ignited instantly.  Killian flinched a little as the paper tore through his form, watching it hit the back of the alight alcove and fall into the fire.  When he looked back to Emma she was on her feet, pacing the lounge with a shaking hand flattened to her forehead.

“Stupid...stupid…” She chanted, resting one hand on her hip as she scooted her slipper clad feet over the floorboards with a scuffing noise.  Killian jumped to his feet, reaching her in seconds and trying to grab her shoulders to slow her movements.

“You think this is funny?” Emma yelled to the ceiling again, her nostrils flaring with her anger.

“Emma, stop,” Killian pleaded, shifting a little when she pushed herself through his body and came out the other side.  “The baby…”

“I needed him!” She shouted, waving her arm.  “And you took him from me!  From us!”

Killian worried his bottom lip between his teeth and spun around, striding behind her and wrapping his arms around her.  The magazine had been an accident, but it meant that he did, in fact, have the power to influence things in the world, even from the Nether.  It seemed that all he needed was a little emotion and some faith.

Emma stopped dead when a chill whipped up her back, tossing her hair aside and stopping her rant instantly.  She felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, standing to attention and stretching their way out of her skin to the point of almost being uncomfortable.  She relaxed a little in his eidolic hold and Killian leaned into her shoulder, pressing his cool lips to her ear.

“I’m right here, love,” he whispered and Emma wrapped her arms around herself, her arms falling into the exact position of his around her body.  Killian felt her calm, the tumult within her evaporating instantly and then, just as quickly as she had begun her tirade, she was gone, slipping from his grasp and disappearing up the stairs once more.  

“I’ll always be right here,” Killian promised, even more determined to make sure he made his deadline and didn’t lose her forever.

[newstfionline]

Why We Forget Most of the Books We Read

Julie Beck, The Atlantic, Jan. 26, 2018

Pamela Paul’s memories of reading are less about words and more about the experience. “I almost always remember where I was and I remember the book itself. I remember the physical object,” says Paul, the editor of The New York Times Book Review, who reads, it is fair to say, a lot of books. “I remember the edition; I remember the cover; I usually remember where I bought it, or who gave it to me. What I don’t remember--and it’s terrible--is everything else.”

For example, Paul told me she recently finished reading Walter Isaacson’s biography of Benjamin Franklin. “While I read that book, I knew not everything there was to know about Ben Franklin, but much of it, and I knew the general timeline of the American revolution,” she says. “Right now, two days later, I probably could not give you the timeline of the American revolution.”

Surely some people can read a book or watch a movie once and retain the plot perfectly. But for many, the experience of consuming culture is like filling up a bathtub, soaking in it, and then watching the water run down the drain. It might leave a film in the tub, but the rest is gone.

“Memory generally has a very intrinsic limitation,” says Faria Sana, an assistant professor of psychology at Athabasca University, in Canada. “It’s essentially a bottleneck.”

The “forgetting curve,” as it’s called, is steepest during the first 24 hours after you learn something. Exactly how much you forget, percentage-wise, varies, but unless you review the material, much of it slips down the drain after the first day, with more to follow in the days after, leaving you with a fraction of what you took in.

Presumably, memory has always been like this. But Jared Horvath, a research fellow at the University of Melbourne, says that the way people now consume information and entertainment has changed what type of memory we value--and it’s not the kind that helps you hold onto the plot of a movie you saw six months ago.

In the internet age, recall memory--the ability to spontaneously call information up in your mind--has become less necessary. It’s still good for bar trivia, or remembering your to-do list, but largely, Horvath says, what’s called recognition memory is more important. “So long as you know where that information is at and how to access it, then you don’t really need to recall it,” he says.

Research has shown that the internet functions as a sort of externalized memory. “When people expect to have future access to information, they have lower rates of recall of the information itself,” as one study puts it. But even before the internet existed, entertainment products have served as externalized memories for themselves. You don’t need to remember a quote from a book if you can just look it up. Once videotapes came along, you could review a movie or TV show fairly easily. There’s not a sense that if you don’t burn a piece of culture into your brain, that it will be lost forever.

With its streaming services and Wikipedia articles, the internet has lowered the stakes on remembering the culture we consume even further. But it’s hardly as if we remembered it all before.

Plato was a famous early curmudgeon when it came to the dangers of externalizing memory. In the dialogue Plato wrote between Socrates and the aristocrat Phaedrus, Socrates tells a story about the god Theuth discovering “the use of letters.” The Egyptian king Thamus says to Theuth:

This discovery of yours will create forgetfulness in the learners’ souls, because they will not use their memories; they will trust to the external written characters and not remember of themselves.

(Of course, Plato’s ideas are only accessible to us today because he wrote them down.)

“[In the dialogue] Socrates hates writing because he thinks it’s going to kill memory,” Horvath says. “And he’s right. Writing absolutely killed memory. But think of all the incredible things we got because of writing. I wouldn’t trade writing for a better recall memory, ever.” Perhaps the internet offers a similar tradeoff: You can access and consume as much information and entertainment as you want, but you won’t retain most of it.

It’s true that people often shove more into their brains than they can possibly hold. Last year, Horvath and his colleagues at the University of Melbourne found that those who binge-watched TV shows forgot the content of them much more quickly than people who watched one episode a week. Right after finishing the show, the binge-watchers scored the highest on a quiz about it, but after 140 days, they scored lower than the weekly viewers. They also reported enjoying the show less than did people who watched it once a day, or weekly.

People are binging on the written word, too. In 2009, the average American encountered 100,000 words a day, even if they didn’t “read” all of them. It’s hard to imagine that’s decreased in the nine years since. In “Binge-Reading Disorder,” an article for The Morning News, Nikkitha Bakshani analyzes the meaning of this statistic. “Reading is a nuanced word,” she writes, “but the most common kind of reading is likely reading as consumption: where we read, especially on the internet, merely to acquire information. Information that stands no chance of becoming knowledge unless it ‘sticks.’”

Or, as Horvath puts it: “It’s the momentary giggle and then you want another giggle. It’s not about actually learning anything. It’s about getting a momentary experience to feel as though you’ve learned something.”

The lesson from his binge-watching study is that if you want to remember the things you watch and read, space them out. I used to get irritated in school when an English-class syllabus would have us read only three chapters a week, but there was a good reason for that. Memories get reinforced the more you recall them, Horvath says. If you read a book all in one stretch--on an airplane, say--you’re just holding the story in your working memory that whole time. “You’re never actually reaccessing it,” he says.

Sana says that often when we read, there’s a false “feeling of fluency.” The information is flowing in, we’re understanding it, it seems like it is smoothly collating itself into a binder to be slotted onto the shelves of our brains. “But it actually doesn’t stick unless you put effort into it and concentrate and engage in certain strategies that will help you remember.”

People might do that when they study, or read something for work, but it seems unlikely that in their leisure time they’re going to take notes on Gilmore Girls to quiz themselves later. “You could be seeing and hearing, but you might not be noticing and listening,” Sana says. “Which is, I think, most of the time what we do.”

Still, not all memories that wander are lost. Some of them may just be lurking, inaccessible, until the right cue pops them back up--perhaps a pre-episode “Previously on Gilmore Girls” recap, or a conversation with a friend about a book you’ve both read. Memory is “all associations, essentially,” Sana says.

That may explain why Paul and others remember the context in which they read a book without remembering its contents. Paul has kept a “book of books,” or “Bob,” since she was in high school--an analog form of externalized memory--in which she writes down every book she reads. “Bob offers immediate access to where I’ve been, psychologically and geographically, at any given moment in my life,” she explains in My Life With Bob, a book she wrote about her book of books. “Each entry conjures a memory that may have otherwise gotten lost or blurred with time.”

In a piece for The New Yorker called “The Curse of Reading and Forgetting,” Ian Crouch writes, “reading has many facets, one of which might be the rather indescribable, and naturally fleeting, mix of thought and emotion and sensory manipulations that happen in the moment and then fade. How much of reading, then, is just a kind of narcissism--a marker of who you were and what you were thinking when you encountered a text?”

To me, it doesn’t seem like narcissism to remember life’s seasons by the art that filled them--the spring of romance novels, the winter of true crime. But it’s true enough that if you consume culture in the hopes of building a mental library that can be referred to at any time, you’re likely to be disappointed.

Books, shows, movies, and songs aren’t files we upload to our brains--they’re part of the tapestry of life, woven in with everything else. From a distance, it may become harder to see a single thread clearly, but it’s still in there.

[toloveforward]

What Is Eternal Love?

What Is Eternal Love? Eternal Love Is When You Make A Choice Again And Again

You will not find the perfect person who will never disappoint. None of us are not without flaws, and you, including. And when these shortcomings surface, you have to make a choice. Very often and all my life.

Once I met a young man, let’s call him Brad. And then one day he ran to me all excited and said: “Listen, I read in the New York Times an article that experts made 36 questions, the answers to which help establish a deep connection and closeness of two people. In fact – to fall in love with each other. Let’s take this test, it should be very interesting! ”

What Is Eternal Love? Eternal Love Is When You Make A Choice Again And Again

What Is Eternal Love

Being very emotional in nature, I certainly agreed. Moreover, the researchers claimed that they really would “fall in love” with two people using well-formed questions. At first they were very light and simple, then – more complex and defining.

So, Brad and I decided to give fate a chance: to take a chance and take part in the experiment. However, despite the fact that these questions helped us to get to know each other better and become much closer (I admit, even cry at times), we did not fall in love with each other. Which is to be expected, of course.

Surprisingly, when we broke up with Brad, for some reason I often remembered this experience of ours. Indeed, in fact, this young man seemed to look into my soul when we sincerely and honestly answered questions. Nevertheless, he looked around, thought and decided that this was not for him. Now I recall this with some horror: “Lord! I don’t share these things with anyone! ”

But that was a few years ago. And although Brad and I did not succeed, I had many new meetings that were designed to catch up. After all, I really wanted real love! And each of the guys assured me in his own way that he loved more than life.

Nevertheless, today I am with Him. Thus, the only man. Why exactly him? Why, among all, it was he who stayed by my side, and today I can’t imagine that everything could have turned out differently?

Naturally, each relationship ended for some reason. That is, in our unions there were some special, “unique” flaws.

To love is a unique ability and at the same time art, because we can improve in it, developing certain skills and abilities.

As the American writer, author of the series of books “Five Languages ​​of Love” by Gary Chapman said: “It’s easy to fall in love. But continuing to love is the problem. ”

In order to make a decision to “continue to love,” we must make a choice:

No matter what happens, in moments of doubt, will we still choose love for this person?

Are we ready to do this, even if one day he does not choose us?

Uncertainty in love scares and disturbs.

How can we know that someone will become a great partner? The father of our children? A team player who will always shoulder up and help in difficult times?

How can we know that they will not betray us? What will not break the heart into small fragments? What will not take advantage of our vulnerability and will not give up?

And the answer is damn simple: no way.

We do not know how our life will change in the next second or in a few years. And this is especially true when it comes to love.

But the fact that we cannot be sure of anything does not mean at all that we should not even try.

Love is a choice. You meet a person who makes your heart beat faster. The person with whom you enjoy spending time, having fun and walking under the moon. You can imagine yourself next to him in old age, surrounded by children and grandchildren.

So you choose it. You choose life with him. But this is not the only time you have to choose.

Because from time to time you will be overcome by doubts. In the end, life is life, and your partners will repeatedly offend you (knowingly or subconsciously) and disappoint.

And the choice really comes down to whether you can, whether you are ready to work on relationships, despite all these points. To work sincerely and diligently, because the very fact of staying with loved ones is worth it.

I hear the words of my current boyfriend: “I love you and want to be with you forever.”

But how do I know that his words will always be the same? I can’t know for sure. But I can believe that he chooses me, and this is the most important part of this equation.

He chooses me. And I choose him. I hope this is she – true and eternal Love.

We are open and sincere with each other. And we constantly pass a kind of exam in front of each other. After all, we are not passive observers, but we show emotions, we are afraid and afraid of something, every day we open something new in our partner. Yes, we understand that life can develop in different ways, and we, like other people, will have bad times. But we are sure that we have everything in order to overcome them. Namely – the willingness to choose each other, no matter what.

And all this, wrapped in a package with the inscription: “Our Love”, will pass the test of time rather than physical attraction and passion.

This is because we both make a choice.

Recently I listened to a speech at TEDx Talk, in which one woman talked about how she fell in love with the help of … a questionnaire. He and the young man answered a number of specially designed questions, after which they realized that they were simply made for each other. It was Mandy Len Katron, who wrote that article in the New York Times about 36 issues that could make people fall in love.

By the way, in the comments on this publication, readers tried to learn more about her relationship with their young man. Everyone wanted to know if they were still together. But she answered very laconicly and carefully, because the success of their relationship was not at all connected exclusively with these 36 questions “for creating love”.

Because the success of their relationship was based on something else – on choice.

When two people choose to love each other. Or do not choose.

Just like Brad and I, who did not make this choice.

Just like my current boyfriend and I, who made this choice.

Of course, there are many shades and nuances in love. But the eternal love that can be won as a lottery does not exist.

You will never find the perfect person who will never disappoint you. Because such simply does not exist. None of us are not without flaws, and you, including.

And when these flaws surface (and this is an inevitable process), you have to make a choice. Very often and all my life.

After all, this is the secret of eternal love.

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