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hunnibee26 · 3 years ago

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References and Allusions to Male Same-Sex Relations in Chinese Literature

I am tired at this point of reading and watching Danmei/Dangai and be exposed to the same “cut sleeve” reference to allude to male same-sex attraction and relationships.

Don’t get me wrong, I thank the creative team and the writers for finding such a unique (?) way of bypassing censorship but there are so many more literary and historical references that they could use to allude to same-sex attraction. I’m kinda over the same old “Cut Sleeve” reference. 😖

Here are some of the most popular allusions used by writers in Chinese literature to reference male same-sex desire.

The Four Male Love Icons of Chinese Literature

I’m pretty sure that, if you are into Chinese history, folk, literature, etc, you have heard of the four beauties of ancient and imperial China. You have the four most beautiful Chinese women and the four most handsome Chinese men.

The same thing is true for the tradition of male same-sex love. Those are:

Mizi Xia (彌子瑕) and Duke Ling of Wey (衛靈公)

Lord Longyang (龍陽君) and King Anxi of Wei (魏安僖王）

Prince Zixi, Lord of È (鄂君子皙), and the Yue man (越人)

Emperor Ai of Han (漢哀帝) and Dong Xian (董賢)

Other literary allusions include:

Pan Zhang (潘章) and Wang Zhongxian (王仲先)

Lord Chan of Anling (安陵君) and King Xuan of Chu (楚宣王）

Hu Tian Bao (胡天保) as Tu’er Shen (兔兒神)

The four revered bottoms of Chinese literature and history are:

Mizi Xia (彌子瑕)

Longyang (龍陽君)

Dong Xian (董賢)

Chan (纏), Lord of Anling (安陵君)

If you ever come across a poem or prose that mentions any of those names to refer to a male beauty, just know that it’s an allusion to their stories. They were considered the peak of bottom literary reference.

The Passion of the Half-Eaten Peach (餘桃癖) 🍑

Art above credit: Felix d’Eon (@FelixdEon on Twitter)

The story of Mizi Xia and Duke Ling of Wey (534-493 BCE) takes place in the Zhou dynasty in the state of Wey (not to be confused with the other Wei). It was recorded by Han Fei (韓非) in the legalist classic Han Fei Zi (韓非子). The story goes as follows:

Squire Mi gained favor with Duke Ling of Wey due to his beauty. There is a law in the land that states only the duke himself can ride in the duke’s carriage and that, if someone else dares to do the same, they will have their feet cut off. When squire Mi learned that his mother was sick, he took the ruler’s carriage and rushed to visit her. The duke, far from reprimanding him, praised Mi’s filial piety and his willingness to risk his feet be cut off to visit his sick mother. On another occasion, Mi and the ruler were strolling through an orchard. He got a hold of a peach, started eating it, and, upon noticing how sweet and delicious it was, he stopped eating and gave the other half to duke Ling. He praised Mi’s attention and lack of regard for his own appetite in order to please his ruler. When Mi’s looks started to wane, the duke’s love did the same. Then, the squire was accused of a crime and the duke stated it was not surprising since he had broken the law before to ride in the ruler’s carriage and disrespected him by giving him a half-eaten peach to eat.

Han Fei recorded this story as a cautionary tale of what happens when one depends on the fickle nature of their lord for favor rather than one’s own merits. One day, you are praised and, the other, you are labeled a criminal and beheaded. From this story, we get “the passion of the shared peach (分桃癖)” and “the passion of the half-eaten peach (餘桃癖)” allusions to male homosexuality.

The Passion of Longyang (龍陽癖) 🐠

The next story comes from the Annals of the Warring States, Zhan Guo Ce (戰國策), in the section of the “Strategies of Wei”, Wei Ce (魏策). There is not one author signaled out as the sole writer and it’s theorized that the annals were written by multiple people. This Zhou dynasty story goes as follows:

Lord Longyang and the King Anxi of Wei went fishing on the ruler’s boat. The favorite, at first, was delighted at catching so many fish in a row. However, after he caught a big one, he started to sob and lament. The king asked his favorite why he was crying to which Longyang expressed sadness at the realization that, upon catching the latest fish, due to its incredible size and desirability, he wanted to throw away the previous ones he had caught. Longyang further confessed that he was afraid that the ruler would one day grow tired of him upon learning of other beauties and would discard him away in the same manner he had planned to do with the previous fish he caught before. With an air of resolution, the king Anxi declared that anyone who mentioned other beauties in his presence would be executed along with his entire family/clan.

This dramatic story serves as a way to illustrate how male favorites in ancient China that obtained favor at court and, with it, enormous privilege, would try to hold on to those positions as much as possible. From this story, is where we get the “Passion of Longyang (龍陽癖)” and “a better catch” allusions that are included in poems regarding male love. The former, most notably, in one of the Emperor Jianwen of Liang’s (梁簡文帝) love poems to his favorite.

Song of the Yue Botman (越人歌) 🎶

The following is an extremely interesting story. The earliest text translated into Chinese from a foreign language that we know of comes from “Song of the Yue Boatman” (越人歌). It is a poem of unknown authorship and origin that details the pleasure the singer feels at having met the prince (Lord of È) for the first time. What makes it special is that it’s the only written account we have of the Yue language spoken by the Yue people who are an ethnic group who lived to the South of the Yangtze River. The song isn’t written using the Yue language itself, instead, compiler Liu Xiang (劉向) in his book, Garden of Stories (說苑), used Chinese characters to write down the sound of the words. In Garden of Stories, in the section, “Virtuous Speech” (善說), Liu Xiang details the story of official Zhuang Xin (莊辛) and Lord Xiang Cheng of Chu (楚襄成君). The story goes as follows:

Soon after being enfeoffed (being given land), Lord Xiang Cheng visited his lands decked out in precious garments and sporting a jade sword. Upon arriving at a river, his attendant asked whether there was someone who could help Lord Xiang Cheng cross the river. Official Zhuang Xin, who grew enamored with the sight of his lord in finery, stepped forward and said he was willing to help in exchange for the lord to let him hold his hand. Xiang Cheng was speechless and disgruntled due to the lack of propriety the lower official showed by asking to touch the hand of a man much higher in rank. However, Zhuang Xin asked his lord whether he had heard of the story of the Lord of È and his boatman.

Here is when the author introduces a story within a story.

Lord of È was traveling in his barge when he heard one of his boatmen sing in a foreign language. Intrigued by this, he asked one of his servants to fetch an interpreter. After hearing the translation of the song, the lord grew endeared towards the boatman, hugged him, and covered him in his embroidered quilt (had sex). Once the tale was over, the official Zhuang Xin asked his lord how could it be possible that he thinks he sits higher than the Lord of È enough to refuse a humble official his hand when the Lord of È, who is a prince, had “embraced” (had sex) a low boatman.

Although the English word used is boatman, due to the Chinese language not being gendered, the gender of the boatman is not explicitly mentioned. Although the character 人 can be used to refer to a man, its principal meaning is person or people. Therefore, 越人 is more closely translated as Yue person/people. As such, there have been scholars who believe that the song is most likely sung by a woman and not a man. I don’t agree with this interpretation, however, for multiple reasons.

The first is the context. Liu Xiang added the song, which was written centuries before he was born, to his chapter on eloquent speeches as a tool the official Zhuang Xin used to convince his lord to let him hold his hand. Zhuang Xin found Xiang Cheng attractive and wished to physically express that attraction. Thus, he used the song and the story of Lord of È as a precedent to convince his lord that a low ranking man could take the initiative to begin physical contact with another of much higher rank. If Liu Xiang didn’t perceive the boatman to be male and his relationship to the Lord of È to closely mirror that of Zhuang Xin and Xiang Cheng, then he wouldn’t have included it in the first place.

The second reason why I don’t think that the Yue boatman was a woman is because Chinese scholars who read the tale back in its original form and with the same historical and lexical sensibilities, considered the boatman to be a man. Multiple Chinese writers included references to the “Song of the Yue Boatman” story with Lord È in their own writings to explicitly symbolize male love such as Ming dynasty scholar Feng Menglong (馮夢龍) in his History of Love (情史) anthology, Emperor Jianwen of Liang’s poem to his favorite catamite (孌童), Liang dynasty poet Liu Zun (劉遵), and influential Qing dynasty poet Yuan Mei (袁枚). They have all used fragments of the story such as the expression “embroidered quilt” in conjunction to Lord of È’s name as well as other male-love allusions in their poems. This indicates that Chinese scholars themselves, even those who lived closer in time with Liu Xiang, interpreted the tale and the boatman to be symbols of male love. From this story we get the “embroidered quilt” expression, Lord of È, and his boat as male love allusions.

The Passion of the Cut Sleeve (斷袖之癖)✂️

The next story was featured in History of the Former Han (漢書), also knows as The Book of Han, by Ban Gu (班固) in Volume XI, “Annals of Emperor Ai” (哀帝紀). Dong Xian’s autobiography and the story are written on the section dedicated to favored courtiers.

Emperor Ai of Han favored greatly a minor official by the name of Dong Xian and they often slept together. One afternoon, after waking up from a nap, the emperor noticed that one of his sleeves was caught under the head of Dong Xian who kept sleeping beside him. Rather than disturbing his lover’s sleep, the emperor decided to cut off his sleeve. From this story we get the terms, “cut-sleeve (斷袖)” and “the passion of the cut-sleeve (斷袖之癖)”

That’s it, that’s the story. Compared to the others, I don’t understand why it’s so iconic and well-known, probably because Dong Xian’s biography as a male favorite was much more detailed than others contained in the book.

Mount Luofu Joint Burial (羅浮山合葬) ⛰

This tale originates from the Three Kingdoms and Six Dynasties period in Chinese history and was recorded in a compilation titled Anthology of Tales From Records of the Taiping Era (太平廣記) by Song dynasty scholar Li Fang (李昉). The tale goes as follows:

A beautiful and poised scholar by the name of Pan Zhang drew the attention and admiration of others, not only due to his bearing but also due to his talent as a teacher and writer. Wang Zhongxian of the state of Chu came to know of the scholar’s reputation and requested to become his student and learn together. Upon meeting for the first time, they fell in love at first sight. Afterwards, they decided to live together in the same home where they shared the same sheets and pillow while being intimate with each other. They grew so close to one another that people would say they loved each other as much as husband and wife. After they died, the townsfolk buried them together at Mount Luofu (羅浮山). On the peak, there grew a tree soon after with green leaves and long branches that embraced each other. Considering this a miracle, the townsfolk started to call the tale the “Shared Pillow Tree”.

Such a wonderful and happy story between teacher and student! One of the few ones with a happy ending and overall positive feelings in Chinese literature. It reminds me of an alternate reality 2ha where Meatbun doesn’t rip out our hearts. Also, many of these stories of male love either take place in Wei or Chu; interesting…From this tale, we get the “shared pillow tree” reference.

The Yellow Springs (黃泉) 🔥

Another story that comes from the Annals of the Warring States and takes place in the state of Chu (again) is the one of Prince Chan or Tan (壇), Lord of Anling, and King Xuan of Chu. This specific account is mentioned in the section of “Strategies of Chu”, Chu Ce (楚策), and goes as follows:

Prince Chan or Tan, was favored by King Xuan of Chu. However, as he grew older, he became increasingly worried that he may lose favor once the physical signs of aging started to show. In an attempt to establish a deeper connection with his king, he consulted with the ruler’s advisor, Jiang Yi (江乙). The older man told him that his position in Chu was precarious because he had no family members in the state, nor had arisen at court due to talent. Instead, he received a high salary and others were made to bow before him when he walked past simply because he received the king’s favor. However, the position of a favorite, just as that of a concubine, was never assured. Jiang Yi proceeded to advise Prince Chan that what he needed to do was to say that he would follow the king to the afterlife. Essentially, to claim that he would sacrifice himself for the ruler. Three years passed and Chan had yet to do what Jiang Yi told him because the opportunity to say something like that had not yet arrived. One day, the king went hunting. Upon shooting an arrow at a great distance that landed in an ox’s head, the king, pleased with his accomplishment, asked who could possibly share his joy 10,000 years and 1,000 autumns from then. Seizing the opportunity Chan answered that he was willing to go to the afterlife (黃泉) and sacrifice himself for his king. As a result he was promoted and given the lands of Anling. From that day on, the people of Chu held him in great esteem.

The story features, both a cautionary tale and a lesson on the importance of listening to advice and waiting for the right opportunity to seize the moment. From this story we get “Anling” as term used to allude to same sex love but also to symbolize devotion, self-sacrifice and loyalty.

Rabbit God (兔兒神)🐇

Another story that originates on the south of China is that of Hu Tianbao, also known as the Rabbit God (or deity). The tale where he’s featured and that gave rise to his legend was compiled by influential Qing dynasty writer and scholar Yuan Mei in his collection of supernatural stories titled What the Master Would Not Discuss (子不語). Despite it being compiled and published in 1788, the tale has its origins as part of Fujian Province (福建省)‘s oral tradition. It goes as follows:

During the Qing dynasty, there lived a handsome provincial official in Fujian. A lowly soldier, by the name of Hu Tianbao, became instantly attracted to him. He followed the official wherever he went, even to other districts. After a while of being stalked, the official grew increasingly worried but dismissed it. While the official went to the toilet, Tianbao hid nearby behind some bushes in order to get a glance at the official’s buttocks. However, Tianbao was caught and interrogated. He confessed his love, attraction, and admiration for the official but the latter was disgusted by Tianbao’s affection and wanted none of it. He condemned the soldier to death. A month later, Tianbao appeared as a rabbit at night in the dream of one of the villagers of his hometown. Although resigned to his fate and agreeing that the punishment of death was just, Tianbao declared that his actions were born from a pure feeling and that love between men should not be condemned. He asked the man to build a temple in his honor from which he would help men find a male significant other. The temple was erected and became so popular in Fujian that the Qing authorities targeted it for regulation.

From this story, we get the terms “Cult to Hu Tianbao”and “the Rabbit God”. Rabbits were used before this story was even compiled in late imperial China to refer to homosexuals in general. If you are ever wondering, “what is up with all of the rabbits in Danmei/Dangai media?” There you go, now you know.

Other literary allusions to male love and sex include:

Mandarin Ducks (鴛鴦) 🦆

Although these animals have been used throughout Chinese literature and history as symbols of love in general, both same-sex and heterosexual, it was first used to symbolize “fraternal love”. The ancient Chinese considered mandarin ducks to be symbols of love and loyalty because they believed the animals mated for life.

The Rear Courtyard (后庭) 🍌🍑

One popular phrase writers used, mostly towards the end of Chinese imperial history, to allude to anal sex and buttocks was “the rear courtyard” (后庭). Variations include “the pleasures of the rear courtyard” and “playing in the inner courtyard”. You will find those expressions in multiple works by Ming and Qing dynasty poets and writers.

Male Mode & Southern Mode (男風) & (南風)💨

Literally translated to “male wind” and “southern wind” they are both references to male-homosexuality. For some reason, the south of China has been more historically and culturally inclined to same-sex love than other places. We find this from the many mentions of the state of Chu in early works of literary reference to male love, in the lesbian Golden Orchid Society (金兰会) in Guangdong Province (广东省), and in the male-male marriages of Fujian province. In fact, homosexual practices were such a staple of southern Chinese provincial life that multiple writers satirized it in their works such as Qing dynasty playwright Li Yu (李漁).

And that concludes this veeeeeeeery long post. If you read all of that then, damn, you really are bored lol. But I thank you, nonetheless. I apologize if I mixed traditional and simplified Chinese characters. I tried to use traditional characters for the names to preserve their aesthetic appearance and authenticity. I will leave some of the resources I used for this post. I welcome you to take a look at them whenever you want.

With that being said, I only scratched the surface of literary references with this post. There are many, many more, however, I touched on the general ones. With how rich the male same-sex love Chinese literary field is, I cannot help but grow frustrated and tired at the lack of usage by modern Danmei/Dangai creative teams. Let’s leave the cut-sleeve to the side for a while and focus on the other awesome male-love references in Chinese literary history. Ok?

Anyways, 拜拜 👋

hunnibee26

Resources:

Birrell, A. (1982). New songs from a Jade Terrace: An anthology of early Chinese love poetry. Routledge. [Translation of Birrell of Xu Liang’s classic anthology of the same name]

Hinsch, B. (1990). The passion of the cut sleeve. Berkeley: University of California Press.

Owen, S., & Swartz, W. (Trans.). (2017). The poetry of Ruan Ji and Xi Kang. (S. M. Allen., P. W. Kroll, C. M. B. Nuget, S. Owen, A. M. Shields, X. Tian, D. X. Warner, Eds.) De Gruyter.

Stevenson, M., & Wu, C. (Eds.). (2013). Homoeroticism in imperial China: A sourcebook. Taylor & Francis.

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a-duck-with-a-book · 4 years ago

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REVIEW // Bone Gap by Laura Ruby

★★★★★

Before I get into my rant, here is my very quick review where I parrot what everyone else has been saying:

Beautifully written, Bone Gap is a refreshingly different YA novel with a hypnotizing narrative and fascinating characters. I loved seeing their stories revealed amidst the magical realism of the story. Bone Gap itself was a fantastic setting that functioned almost as an extra character.

TL;DR -> read this book!

I've talked before about how much I enjoy many of the retellings in YA in a previous review, and this book once again shows why this trend deserves more academic attention. For anyone who isn't aware (which I certainly wasn't until I got about 60% of the way through the book... oops), Bone Gap draws from the story of Hades and Persephone. The myth of how the goddess of spring came to be in the Underworld has been a popular story for millennia, and in the past few decades it has (rightfully) faced some not-so-favorable scrutiny.

// image: official cover art Melissa Castrillon //

Largely, complaints stem from the kidnapping and r*pe of Persephone in most classical versions of the tale:

"He was riding on a chariot drawn by immortal horses. The son of Kronos. The one known by many names. / He seized her against her will, put her on his golden chariot, / And drove away as she wept. She cried with a piercing voice, / calling upon her father [Zeus], the son of Kronos, the highest and the best."

Homeric Hymn to Demeter, translated by Gregory Nagy

As I mentioned in my Circe review, the "retelling" of older myths and folk tales is by no means new-rather, humans have been adapting the stories each generation was raised with to suit their new needs and values. Stories meant to teach young girls how to prepare to become dutiful and doting wives in arranged marriages to ugly, older, and perhaps violent husbands (think the traditional versions of Beauty and the Beast) become tales of headstrong women who want more for themselves and *gasp* know how to read! See this description of Belle from the 18th century version by Jeanne Marie Leprince de Beautmont, then compare it with the "misfit", not-like-other girls bookworm of the Disney movies:

"When they came to their country house, the merchant and his three sons applied themselves to husbandry and tillage; and Beauty rose at four in the morning, and made haste to have the house clean, and dinner ready for the family. In the beginning she found it very difficult, for she had not been used to work as a servant, but in less than two months she grew stronger and healthier than ever. After she had done her work, she read, played on the harpsichord, or else sung whilst she spun.

Beauty and the Beast, by Marie Leprince de Beautmont

The Hades and Persephone myth has similarly gone through the 21st century transformation, but, interestingly, by way of two very different paths-"Good Hades" and "Bad Hades". "Good Hades" makes the god of the Underworld a sort of feminist character who, in a way, rescues Persephone from the misogynist world of Olympus and mankind, allowing her to blossom (as it were) in his realm. He is respectful of her body and frequently asks for her consent. Hyperaware of the history of the pair's relationship, authors will often beat the reader over the head with the "see! he's asking for consent!" element, which I'm not one to complain about. Rachel Alexander uses the "Good Hades" approach in her Hades and Persephone series (which I highly recommend). While the "Good Hades" stories make him into a misunderstood, kind, and respectful love interest who we are meant to want to end up with Persephone, the "Bad Hades" ones take his persona in an entirely different direction. "Bad Hades" is conniving, evil, and almost always described in ways that disgust the reader: corpse-like, cold, oily. He is a villain who Persephone must escape from, a foe with no regard for her bodily autonomy and twisted views of love and authority. This is the path that Bone Gap takes:

“Don’t worry. I won’t touch you until you want me to,” he said, as if he should be congratulated for such scruples."

The trait that both of these trends share is that Persephone becomes an independent, active participant rather than a pawn in the game played by Zeus, Demeter, and Hades. She often takes charge of her fate, sometimes outmanoeuvring Hades or even developing powers that outmatch those of the other gods. While Ruby's Bone Gap and Alexander's Hades & Persephone series take opposite approaches in their interpretation of Hades, both give Persephone similar authority and liberation. Ruby's Persephone (SPOILER) maims her own face in order to force Hades to let her and Finn go (END SPOILER) while Alexander's is revealed to be (SPOILER) the "true" ruler of the Underworld and has powers over Tartarus that even Hades is intimidated by. (END SPOILER) The myth of Hades and Persephone can be a controversial one to approach-some readers won't even pick up a story if it is such a retelling simply out of principle. I've seen quite a few posts floating around which condemn every Hades and Persephone retelling, especially those with the "Good Hades" storyline, and I stringently disagree. Many of the myths, fairy tales, and oral histories we rewrite have problematic pasts that reflect the standards of the cultures they were told within. Modern retellings can further mold those same frameworks into new tales that instead show us our current standards. Bone Gap is such a beautiful and well-written rendition of the modern retellings trend, and I will just keep hoping that academic circles will start paying attention to the old stories finding their way into YA books.

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ts1989fanatic · 4 years ago

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Taylor Swift, Britney Spears and the media cycle that demands pain from our pop stars

Emma Clifton 08:30, Feb 16 2021

Britney Spears was robbed of her public image during the height of her fame. Taylor Swift was robbed of her music during the height of hers.

Why does our pop culture system seem so intent on punishing the very women who keep it afloat. Emma Clifton looks at a decade in young singers – and the variously terrible ways they get treated while in the public eye.

There was a theory floated on the podcast You’re Wrong About that ‘fame is abuse’ and you’d be hard pressed not to agree if you were one of the many people who saw the recent New York Times documentary Framing Britney Spears, and realised just how badly we as a society treated Britney Spears before, during, and after her rise to fame.

The paparazzi, the media, the comedians – and then the fans and look-i-loos who continued to buy all the magazines that ran headlines about what a train-wreck she was, when really she was just someone in her early twenties, trying to raise two children while being one of the most famous – and hounded – people on the planet.

The documentary discussed at length how we as a pop-culture obsessed society love to build up a talented, attractive young woman and then buy popcorn in preparation of when we can gleefully watch them tumble from grace.

(And it’s not just pop stars, of course; the resplendent rise and then the racist fall of Meghan Markle’s position in public opinion is one of the most recent examples we have of when good headlines go bad.)

When I was working at Creme magazine, between 2009 and 2012, our pages were over-flowing with talented young pop singers: Taylor Swift, Selena Gomez, The Jonas Brothers, Miley Cyrus, Demi Lovato, Rihanna, One Direction, Justin Bieber.

When you look back on the decade that has passed by since, time has not been kind to any of these people.

Either the showbiz demon took something from each of them – or they had to completely disappear from sight for years at a time in order to survive. Sometimes both.

There have been eating disorders, drug overdoses, rehab stints, broken marriages, abusive relationships, chronic illnesses. These kids – and they were kids – were so young when they started, they’re already on their fourth or fifth reinventions.

Most of them haven’t hit 30 yet.

And when you’re a female pop star, so many of these reinventions revolve around your sexuality.

Heck, when I was at Creme, Demi, Selena and Miley were part of the ‘purity ring’ club, where they all gushed about staying away from sex until marriage while their stylists dressed them in the tightest clothes possible.

The message from the marketing teams behind each of them was very clear: Sell sex, but don’t ever enjoy it.

This is the same battle Britney faced a decade previously – look like a Lolita, but make sure you never have sex with your long-term boyfriend because then you’ll be expected to cry about the shame of it on national television.

This was also the time of paparazzi trying to take up-skirt photos (exactly what it sounds like) of female actresses as soon as they turned 18; 18 – the age where you can legally have sex in America – was a big deal in pop culture.

There was a countdown for when the Olsen Twins turned 18. When Lindsay Lohan turned 18, Rolling Stone ran a breast-focused cover shoot with the headline: ‘Hot, ready and LEGAL’. And it was just fine! Totally accepted. These girls, they were always up for it, right?

And then we get to Taylor Swift.

Taylor is re-releasing Love Story, the song that made her famous, the song that I first heard in the shower (yes, I had a shower radio) when I was 20 and immediately started crying, because it hit me square in the middle of my pop culture diagram: love songs and references to Romeo and Juliet.

It’s from her second album, Fearless, which she wrote when she was aged 16-18 and which won her four Grammys, including Album of the Year. It’s also an album that no longer belongs to her and she can no longer perform, due to some millionaire f...wittery committed by her former manager. But we’ll get to that.

From 2008 onwards, Taylor became a big deal for her music and then, like it always does for women, her love life became the centre drama.

She never talked about a purity ring (thank God) and she sung pretty openly about sex from her third album onwards (Sparks Fly, an iconic song), plus she had the audacity to date a bunch of boys and look happy while doing so. Naturally, her punishment awaited.

To this day, she is still ridiculed about lyrics she wrote in her first couple of albums… songs she wrote herself when she was literally a teenager.

If I had had written an album when I was a teenager, it would have been about my crush who caught the bus, Kevin from The Backstreet Boys, worrying about my thighs, and, I don’t know, my cystic acne.

I’m just saying – we let powerful men get away with s... they pulled when they were young with the old line ‘boys will be boys! They were just kids!’; it just never seems that generosity is never extended to young women and their far more harmless explorations of teenage sexuality.

Because she had yet to have a public mental health crisis or rehab stint, it was clear that Taylor was never going to be the architect of her own media downfall.

Luckily, one was invented for her. After a long-lasting stoush with Kim Kardashian and Kanye West, where absolutely no-one (including Taylor) came out looking good, Taylor suddenly because persona non grata in pop culture and the long-awaited comeuppance began.

And so, she disappeared – in a way that celebrities can do these days. (As a side note, can you imagine how different Britney Spears’ life might have been if she had been allowed to disappear for a couple of years?)

It was only when she released her documentary Miss Americana on Netflix that the public got what it had been craving the whole time – the dark side of Taylor Swift’s fame.

An eating disorder, a sexual assault that she ended up being sued for and, then, the poisoned cherry on top, losing the rights to all her past music thanks to her old manager.

Finally, our hunger for bad news had been satisfied. We had seen her scars and so we could allow her back into the spotlight again.

It’s been interesting watching the roll-out of new music from so many of these female artists during a pandemic: Selena, Demi, Miley, Ariana Grande are among the singers who have eschewed the normal long roll-out of publicity in order to release their own music, without much of the media fanfare that typically accompanies it.

Taylor herself released two albums, without any of the (slightly inane) games she normally includes in the lead-up. You can’t help but wonder that – stripped of their endless touring, performances and appearances, these female artists have found some freedom in being able to just get back to the actual work.

If a pop star releases an album in the middle of a pandemic and no-one is around to give a shit about any of the outfits she’s wearing, does it still count? Turns out, yes.

Following the betrayal of Britney, Taylor, Miley et al by the media, you can see the slow change to have total ownership of their voice these artists have taken.

Social media can be a devil for many reasons but it has overtaken journalists and publicists as the middle man when it comes to how these women get portrayed to the public. Beyoncé has been instrumental in this – it was she who first released an album overnight back in 2013; a move that came without warning and changed the entire industry forever.

She who stopped giving interviews almost entirely, choosing to use her own platforms to get her message and music across. As a result, she’s never been more powerful and she’s never been more private.

As an explicit ‘F... you’ to the powers-that-be who bought her music from under her, Taylor has announced she will be re-recording all of her old albums.

Stories about millionaires against millionaires rarely draw sympathy from a reader but it does highlight how little actually belongs to the artist at the end of the day.

They can have limited control over their image, their public appearances, their private life, their work and their songs. And these are the success stories – these are the people whose names we know.

You have to hope that anyone young and female entering the music business has their eyes very wide open as to just what can go wrong – and what can go wrong even when everything goes right.

The first album Taylor is re-releasing is Fearless, the album that is the most chock-a-block with fairy-tale imagery and glittery optimism.

She’s promised that the songs will be new interpretations on the old originals and that seems only fair.

You can’t help but think that those fairy-tale songs are going to sound a whole lot different being sung by a 31-year-old who’s been through the public wringer then they were as a wide-eyed 16-year-old, on the cusp of making her dreams come true.

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hlupdate · 4 years ago

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Styles has plainly thought about this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#harry styles #variety #021220

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hldailyupdate · 4 years ago

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This Charming Man: Why We’re Wild About Harry Styles

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

Styles has plainly thought about this.

Harry for Variety. (2 December 2020)

#harry styles #harry update #article #variety #hldaily #December 2020

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kassysyd · 5 years ago

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“Her Sweet Kiss” - A Short Analysis

Preface: In my job, a key part of my role is to select and analyse various different forms of poetry (yes, lyrics are a type of poem) so, I am keenly aware of the difference between what could be considered quality poetic verse and the doggerel we frequently hear passed off as lyrics in modern songs. I was expecting the latter from the soundtrack to Netflix’s The Witcher, I was wrong.

Although, at first listen “Her Sweet Kiss” appeared to be a simple love ballad, the uncommon depth and intricacy of the symbolism stunned and forced me to take another listen. Additionally, its arrangement within key scenes of the episode, as well as the inclusion of both alternative lyrics and instrumental versions was ingenious. I don’t have time to do a full analysis, instead, I have pulled together a basic overview of the key elements which stood out to me from this marvellously complex song. I hope this may assist you with your own interpretations.

Before we start analysing the lyrics, let’s look at the contextual placement of this song within the episode 'Rare Species'. It is featured at three key moments; the opening scene showing Jaskier composing the song, the sex scene between Geralt and Yennifer and then finally played over the credits.

In the opening scene, Jaskier is shown singing and composing while waiting for Geralt to return from a hunt. The lyrics are slightly different here and include the adjectives ‘gorgeous’ and ‘lovely’ in reference to the ‘Garroter’ character. He asks the men nearby whether the metaphorical use of ‘garroter’ is too ‘cerebral’, indicating that it is indeed symbolic of someone (Geralt). The lines “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting… Gorgeous Garroter, jury and judge”, are sung by Jaskier and introduce the concept that the narrator is in love with someone but is also conflicted about their choice to follow them on 'The Path' (more on this later). It is also important to note that the notebook resting on his thigh contains an alternative version of the lyrics which do not feature the secondary 'her' character yet and instead focus instead on the narrator’s own weakness and inability to leave what he feels in an unfair relationship 'If I were a man of more merit, if I were a man of resolve I’d leave you behind, get my fair peace of mind'.

The second time the song is heard during the sex scene between Geralt and Yennifer. This time the song is purely instrumental. The moment where they first kiss, the chorus line 'She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss' is playing. As the audience had already heard some of the song, they would recognize it. But as they only heard the earlier version, which describes only the narrator’s willingness to suffer to be with the one he loves, the full significance of the song is not yet established with the audience. This lack of audible lyrics further symbolizes the narrator’s uncertain feelings towards their relationship at this point in the episode. But also unambiguously associates the song with both Geralt and Yennefer, establishing it as a proxy theme song for their romance and further supporting the argument that the characters from the song are indeed Geralt and Yennifer.

The final time this song is heard is over the end credits, this time the song is sung by Jaskier and plays in full. The previous ambiguity is sharply contrasted here when the revised set of lyrics are presented to the audience and the true theme of the is song revealed (Jaskier’s anguish). The final scene between Geralt, Yennifer and Jaskier is key to contextualizing these lyrics as it directly foreshadows many lines and themes explored in the song. For example, in Jaskier’s line 'that’s not fair' echoing the lyrics directly and the show’s constant depiction of Yennefer using storm imagery (both themes explored in more detail below).

The Characters

The song contains three distinct characters 'I/Narrator', 'You/Garrotter' and 'Her'.

'I/Narrator' – The narrator of the song, possibly Jaskier – It has been established in songs such as ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher’ that Jaskier frequently writes from his own perspective and as clearly illustrated in the lines 'When a humble Bard, graced a ride along with Geralt of Rivia along came this song' frequently portray Geralt as their protagonist (this is also canonical for the books, but, I’m limiting my interpretations to the show). Additionally, many key themes and concepts from the lyrics directly reference Jaskier’s own life and experiences (explored in more detail in later paragraphs). It is later shown that Jaskier has written so many highly successful songs about Geralt that the prostitute in the opening scene of ‘Betrayer Moon’ was able to identify his scars by their relevant songs and was surprised to find one that she did not recognize. It can plausibly be argued that ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ is both autobiographical and includes Geralt as a key character.

'You/Garotter' - The love interest of the narrator and also addressed as 'My Love' and 'Fool' - We can connect this 'Garotter' character with ‘Geralt’ through both the phonological similarity between the words and in scene featuring Marilka in the episode 'The End’s Beginning' when she points out 'Geralt'… like Garroter?' a canonically explicit linking of the names. ‘Garotter’ is a term for a killer, specifically, someone who does so through strangling, symbolic of Geralt’s employment. Jaskier himself points out that the ‘metaphor’ may be to ‘cerebral’, indicating to us the audience the need to interpret the line figuratively rather than literally.

'Her'- The rival for the narrators love interest - A woman described as a destructive and unjust force, using wild, nature-based metaphors such as ‘storms’ and ‘currents’ to describe her ‘love’. Repeatedly throughout the show Yennefer is also described using similar nature/storm imagery, such as Geralt’s description of her 'like a tornado wreaking havoc' (a line Jaskier is shown to have overheard as the camera pans to him).

The evidence then supports the supposition that the song may well be written from Jaskier’s perspective, exploring his feeling regarding Geralt’s and Yennifer’s relationship (for a discussion on the dubious nature of consent in this relationship see my other post). For convenience of analysis, from here on I will be assuming the narrator is Jaskier, the 'Her' character is Yennifer and the 'You/Garotter' character is Geralt'.

The Lyrics

The ‘’fairer sex’’ they often call it, but her love’s as unfair as a crook.

Jaskier opens the song by comparing the cliché of women being 'the fairer sex' with the simile 'love’s as unfair as a crook' (an old-fashioned term for a criminal or thief). As ‘fair’ has the dual meaning of both beauty and justice, his description of her as ‘unfair’ attacks both her beauty and her morality. The simile comparing her to a 'crook' (an old-fashioned term for a criminal or thief) suggests that Jaskier feels that she acts both unjustly and steals her love (a possible oblique reference Yennifer’s willingness to use magic to coerce sexual behaviour and disregard consent – as illustrated by the scene Jaskier witnessed in ‘Bottled Appetites’ where she compels a large group of apparently unwilling participants to engage in group sex). The song also echoes Jaskier’s dialogue 'That’s not fair' after Geralt unfairly lashes out at him after his argument with Yennefer, providing further evidence for the autobiographical nature of the song.

It steals all my reason, commits every treason of logic with naught but a look.

Yennifer’s ‘love’, he argues ‘steals’ (continuing the symbolism of her immorality) and commits ‘treason’ (the crime of betrayal) furthering the description of her as being both unlawful and ‘unfair’ in her relationship with Geralt. These lines also illustrate the despair Jaskier feels over not being able to convince Geralt of her corrupt nature. He feels that she can defeat or prevent his ‘logic’ and ‘reason’ easily, ‘with naught but a look’.

A storm raging on the horizon of longing, and heartache, and lust

The show repeatedly correlates Yennifer’s behaviour with the destructive forces of nature, and storms in particular. Scenes such as that at Aretusa where she bodily subsumes lightning then uses it to attack another student and when Geralt describes her as a ‘tornado wrecking havoc’ among others, highlight this correlation. Jaskier describing her as a 'storm' that is 'raging' highlights his perception of her as both destructive and aggressive. The storm in this line is be symbolic of Yennifer herself, showing that Jaskier recognizes her arrival as leading to ‘heartache’ and ‘lust’ rather than genuine love between her and Geralt.

She’s always bad news, it’s always lose-lose

The repetition of ‘always’ in these lines clearly illustrate how desperately Jaskier feels about the situation. He argues that involvement with her will inevitably lead to pain and loss for all of them, there is no way to win.

So, tell me, Love, tell me, Love. How is that just?

This line is a direct address to Geralt (his ‘Love’), begging him to explain, to see, to speak to him and understand. The rhetorical question 'How is that just?' again draws back to the concept of the ‘unfairness’ and injustice of her relationship with Geralt, Jaskier feels that she ‘steals’ love rather than earning or winning it (again a possible reference to lack of consent). The use of a rhetorical question also implies that he feels powerless and unable to expect any response to his pleas.

But the story is this. She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss. Her sweet kiss

Here Jaskier is using juxtaposition to show how her ‘sweet kiss’ (symbolic of her sexual relationship with Geralt) will ‘destroy’ him. He sets the tone by stating as fact that ‘The story is this', affirming his opinion that no other possible narrative exists beyond her storm-like destruction of their relationship and Geralt himself.

Her current is pulling you closer, a charge in the hot, humid night.

This line again uses the theme of the destructive power of nature, Yennefer is like a ‘current’ pulling Geralt towards her. The repeated portrayal of Yennefer as a destructive force of nature somewhat dehumanises her, correlating her actions with an uncaring inhuman force rather than that of a woman with genuine affections.

The red sky at dawn is giving a warning. You Fool better stay out of sight

This line references an ancient mariners rhyme 'Red sky at night, sailors' delight.Red sky at morning, sailors' warning.' meant to warn sailors of an impending storm when a red sky is seen at dawn. Jaskier is again using the ‘storm’ metaphor to warn Geralt about Yennifer. He addresses Geralt directly, calling him a ‘fool’ and advising him to hide from her destruction.

I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge.

This line provides a key insight into the identities of the characters and their relationship to each other. In Witcher canon 'The Path' is the name given to the life of a Witcher as he journeys around the continent battling monsters. It’s somewhat comparable to the religious concept of a 'calling'. By describing his choice to accompany Geralt on his quests as 'trudging' indicates that he does not enjoy the journey aspect of their relationship, but also signals his acceptance of this as the price he must pay for a relationship with Geralt.

To further this point, in the show Jaskier does not always join Geralt in his actual monster battles, instead, it is implied that Geralt himself later recounts the stories. This is evidenced by the lines 'Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details' and later 'I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others'. This habit of receiving the tale after the events reveals that there is no need for Jaskier to continuously accompany Geralt on his journeys, multiple tales could just as easily be collected from Geralt or others (as seen in the tavern scene) at a later date. It can be supposed then that Jaskier, therefore, chooses to accompany Geralt for ‘love’, a reason which is also explored in the notebook version of the lyrics, 'If I were a man of more merit, if I were a man of resolve I’d leave you behind, get my fair peace of mind' It is implied here that he should leave but can’t because his love for Geralt is too powerful.

I’ll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance. Garroter, jury and judge

Jaskier’s conflicted feelings about his choice to accompany Geralt is explored further in the line above. He described the act of joining 'the path' as a form of punishment ('sentence' and 'penance') for being 'weak' and desirous ('wanting' Geralt). This ‘sentence’ is enforced by a 'jury and judge', the Garotter (Geralt).

The song’s repeated use of justice/legal symbolism is interesting. He places Geralt into the role of a 'Jury and Judge' passing out sentences from a position of power and control over Jaskier (and arguably Yennefer). Yennifer is described as a 'crook' who 'steals' and commits 'treason', but is not punished for these criminal acts. Instead, it is Jaskier himself who is punished, made to give 'penance'. He feels this is an injustice and 'unfair'. This sentiment neatly reflects the events of 'Rare Species', where after his disastrous romance with Yennefer, Geralt lashes out at Jaskier, accusing him of causing all of his misfortune.

It can be imagined then that Jaskier may have taken his half-composed love song and written new lyrics in direct reaction to that betrayal; his pain laid bare in verse.

#witcher netflix #the witcher #witcher meta #geralt x dandelion #geralt of rivia #geralt x jaskier #her sweet kiss #song analysis #meta #poetry analysis #jaskier #yennerfer #long reads #I should put this under a cut but I can't work out how

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quarantinemusiccalendar · 4 years ago

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Day 366: The Barry Sisters - Shalom (1961)

Tonight is the night when Passover and Easter meet. So to mark the Jewish origin of Easter, here’s a bit of klezmer flavoured swing/jazz sung in Yiddish.

Clara (1920 - 2014) and Merna (Minnie) Bagelman (1924 - 1976), Bronx-born daughters of Ashkenazi Jewish parents from Russia and Austria-Hungary, started performing in the late 30s, first as The Bagelman Sisters, but as they got more popular and joined a show on a mainstream radio, they changed their stage surname from Bagelman to Barry Sisters. They sung popular Yiddish tunes with the best jazz / swing orchestrations and became glamorous stars of the Jewish-American cultural circles. They performed as resident artists in Las Vegas and appeared in variety shows such as “The Ed Sullivan Show.” They were one of the few American acts to tour the Soviet Union in 1959.

Passover Medley was composed by Moshe Oyshern. It’s a funny medley consisting of 3 traditional Passover songs. The first song included is “Dayenu”. The word “Dayenu” means approximately “it would have been enough for us”, “it would have been sufficient”, or “it would have sufficed”. This traditional Passover song is over one thousand years old. The earliest full text of the song occurs in the first medieval Haggadah. The song is about being grateful to God for all of the gifts he gave the Jewish people, such as taking them out of slavery, giving them the Torah and Shabbat, and had God only given one of the gifts, it would have still been enough. (The Haggadah is a book that Jews read on the first night of Passover. It tells about our slavery in Egypt and the miracles G-d did for us when freeing us. The word Haggadah means “telling,”) The song appears in the Haggadah after the telling of the story of the exodus and just before the explanation of Passover and matzah. The second one is “Chad Gadya” which means ‘One little Goat’. It is one of the best known songs of the Seder and is sung after the meal towards the end of the evening. Its earliest known inclusion is in the Sefer Rokeach was about 1160–1238. The song’s canonical text is almost entirely in Aramaic, but in the Barry Sisters’ interpretation “Chad Gadya” sounds in Yiddish.What were they singing here about? Actually it’s a story that tells how one father bought a little goat, which is eaten by a cat, which is bitten by a dog, which is hit by a stick and so on. At first the song seems to be a child’s story but has traditionally been interpreted in an allegorical way, each of the verses connecting the song to one of the themes of Pesach and referring to the many persecutions of the Jews who, according to the song’s optimistic ending, will be redeemed by the one true God ‘slaying the Angel of Death’. In Yiddish slang, the term “chad gadya” is a euphemism for jail. A prisoner is said to languish in a chad gadya — that is, all alone. The third part of the medley is “Ki Lo Na’eh, Ki Lo Ya’eh” and it dates to the 15th century and is one of the later constituents of the Haggadah. It is constructed in eight stanzas, and it’s meaning is “For it fits and befits him…” Words na’eh and ya’eh are near synonims, both meaning "befitting, appropriate, proper" (2) Beltz is a melancholic ballad looking back at the childhood spent in the poor Eastern European town of Beltz (Bălți in today's Moldova). Roshinles un Mandlin (Raisins and Almonds) is a lullaby written by Abraham Goldfaden (1840 - 1906) and based on an old traditional tune. It’s lyrics go: “Under baby's cradle in the night - Stands a goat so soft and snowy white - The goat will go to the market - To bring you wonderful treats- He'll bring you raisins and almonds - Sleep, my little one, sleep.” Chiribim Chiribom is a happy tune with a playful lyrics centered around children and the Purim holiday. Shein Vi Di Levonne (Beautiful Like a Moon) is traditional Yiddish folk song adapted into a popular swing ballad by Joseph Rumshinsky and Chayim Tauber.

Happy Thursday, relax and enjoy.

Highlights: - Passover Medley - Beltz - Roshinled un Mandlin (Raisins and Almonds) - Chiribim Chiribom - Shein Vi Di Levonne (Beautiful Like a Moon)

Playlist: https://spoti.fi/2Uy4DUM

Links and references: (1) The Barry Sisters - Wikipedia (2) A. Gurevich (25 March 2015), Unveiling a secrets of ‘Passover Medley‘ by The Barry Sisters, What were they singing about?/Medium.com

#passover #yiddish #swing

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

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i love your medieval posts! i think you wrote a while back on how a first crusade film might go, and i have a question if you don’t mind me asking: I’m writing fiction around the third crusade and approaching the massacre of the acre garrison. do you have any advice on how to portray such incidents in a way which isn’t cheap/horror-porn, while not skating around the fact that this was a genuinely horrifying thing? (1/2)

(also on a lighter note: what moments from the third crusade would you absolutely love to be included in historical portrayals of the period? apart from richard x philip which is an obvious given) (2/2)

Oooh. This is good.

I have written about the massacre at Acre three times that I can think of: twice in fiction (in my novel about Richard and then in chapter 3 of DVLA) and once in nonfiction, in my academic book about the crusades. It’s one of the events in the crusades which gets a lot of attention when somebody has a particular Point To Make, usually about the barbarity of the crusades/crusaders, attempts to portray them as simple excesses of religious zealotry, Ye Olde Bad Violent Medieval Times, parallels to modern-day Western invasions and occupations of the Middle East, well-meant attempts to critique the West’s treatment of Muslims, etc. (I seem to recall that the 2010 Robin Hood has a Bad Take on this, though the rest of it is fictional anyway, so hey.) So if you’re coming into it trying to make a Point for your reader, I advise you to think carefully about what that Point actually is, and how you’re conveying it. Because while it’s certainly a thing that happened and should be dealt with sensitively, it’s also important to think about the larger context of the crusade and how this was treated by both sides, both before and after its occurrence.

First, Saladin’s army had killed or taken prisoner the entire Christian army at the battle of Hattin in 1187, and while there are a few high-profile stories about him personally ransoming Christian captives, there was also an episode where Richard and company freed several thousand (supposedly 12,000, though medieval round figures often have problems) captives from where they were destined to be sold into the slave markets of the Islamic world. Saladin has a well-deserved reputation as a great commander and leader, so this isn’t to attempt some kind of hatchet job on him, but point out that this was a way he would have (logically) expected to make money for his army and to fund his ongoing battles against the Third Crusade. The slave trade was a major part of the medieval economy, often concentrated through the Mediterranean, Eastern Europe, and the Silk Road (as I’ve mentioned before, the word “slave” comes from “Slav.”) On this note, despite their Tumblr-darling reputation as champions of conscience and liberal society and personal cleanliness, the Vikings were also big-time slave traders (which probably isn’t that surprising for people who made their living by jumping off boats and stealing other people’s shit; though the word wicing denotes a particular kind of sea raider within this society and not the entire society itself). Anyway: the point is that people were routinely used as human collateral, both as slaves and as hostages, in medieval society and warfare alike, and that included the crusades. The giving and taking of hostages was a very, very common feature of forcing trust and incentive to cooperate between warring sides; it happened in Europe, it happened on the crusades, it didn’t matter who the enemy was.

In fact, by the time the massacre took place, Richard had already taken a lot of flak (and would continue to take it throughout the crusade) for being so friendly in his diplomatic negotiations with Saladin, which was supposedly one of the reasons Philip decided to leave early. The fact that Richard kept entering into negotiations with the Saracens and trying to resolve Acre’s disputed status with diplomacy as well as warfare was a bit of a shock to the other crusade leaders, who figured that they were just there to kill the Muslims and have done with it. (They also had a grudge against Richard for swiftly dispossessing them and doing everything himself, which was just the way Richard rolled, my bros.) As also mentioned in DVLA, Richard was one of the Western leaders most sympathetically inclined to the Muslims (and especially Saladin and his brother Saif al-Din) during the entire crusades, not just the Third. We can’t know how serious he was, but he did offer to marry his sister Joanna to Saif al-Din, he and Saif al-Din hit it off during their in-person negotiations and referred to the other as their friend, he and Saladin wrote to each other fairly often even if they never met, they are both on record saying how much they admired each other, Richard was open about finding the Muslims more honorable than his Christian allies, and Hubert Walter (the bishop of Salisbury) had dinner with Saladin (when Saladin had invited the crusaders to Jerusalem after the Treaty of Jaffa in 1192, though Richard didn’t go) and told him that if he and Richard ever decided to join forces, nobody would be able to stop them. (I also had to write a novel based on that premise, for reasons.) So Richard and Saladin negotiated for the entire period of the crusades, they fought on the battlefield, they engaged in diplomacy, they respected the hell out of each other, they had a cordial-enemies relationship, and Richard became outright friends with Saif al-Din. And most of this happened AFTER the events at Acre.

That is to say: the Acre massacre, while it may appear particularly shocking to our eyes, did not end up being a major episode for either side during the crusade, at least in its ultimate course of events. Saladin and the Muslim high command had repeatedly dawdled and prevaricated and tried to avoid fulfilling the terms of the arrangement under which they had handed the hostages over, trying to delay Richard in Acre and prevent him from marching down the coast to Jaffa or Jerusalem, and thus, as utterly cold-blooded as it sounds: by the simple rules of medieval battlefield logic, the hostages were fair game. They were POWs and military combatants, and while hostages weren’t USUALLY killed, simply because it was the threat that they could be hurt that was the most effective at exerting compliance... they also could be killed, and both sides recognized that this was a possible option if the arrangement wasn’t fulfilled.

This again, as noted, wasn’t unique to the crusades. You gave up hostages precisely because they were supposed to impel you to keep your word, and if you didn’t, that reflected badly on your own honor, as much or as more than on your enemy’s. That’s why Yusuf is also pissed with Saladin in the aftermath of the massacre in DVLA; Saladin had a responsibility as a commander to free these men, he did not do that and deliberately used their safety as a pawn, so Richard called his bluff and had the prisoners executed. Which again: this was about what anyone in that situation had a right to expect, and Richard was often much more ruthless with rebellions against him by his European Christian subjects back in France; he had given Saladin over six weeks to cooperate, which was a lot more than he usually did. So this wasn’t a case where he was doing it specifically because of the religion of the captives or some mindless excess of religious bigotry, but because a military agreement had been broken. (Richard was many things, but not, so far as I can tell, really a religious bigot at all. This goes for his relations with the Jews as well as the Muslims.)

Obviously, it’s not a wonderful thing that this did happen, the Muslims were rightfully angry about it, and harassed the crusaders’ march repeatedly during the two weeks between the massacre (August 20, 1191) and the battle of Arsuf (September 7, 1191) where Richard defeated Saladin for the first time in the open field. Both of these events contributed to a dent in Saladin’s reputation, which heretofore had been about as glorious in the Islamic world as it was possible to get. There was a lull in hostilities after Arsuf as the fighting season ended, negotiations between Richard and Saladin were soon underway again, he met Saif al-Din not long after, and it doesn’t appear that the Acre massacre had a major impact on the resumption of that diplomatic relationship. This supports the interpretation that both sides recognized it as a valid if regrettable move in the circumstances, and Saladin had some awareness that he’d been outplayed twice in a row and this was, to some degree, his fault too. So while this should obviously be treated with care and not sensationalized, and given its due weight as an episode of warfare in the crusades, the broader context of this particular incident does not support it being some sort of terrible black-mark incident of mindless religious zealotry; the Muslims themselves did not view it that way and were once more negotiating with Richard a month later.

As far as lighter episodes: you DELIGHT me in giving me the opportunity to inform you about the Dueling Dirty Songs of the Third Crusade, featuring Hugh, duke of Burgundy (the commander of the French forces after Philip’s departure in July 1191) and Richard himself. This happened in July 1192, after the final failed advance on Jerusalem and before the battle of Jaffa, when relations between the French and English contingents had completely broken down. Take it away, Itinerarium Peregrinorum:

On top of all this, Henry [Hugh] duke of Burgundy, prompted by a spirit of worthless arrogance or perhaps led on by the most unbecoming malicious envy, composed the words of a song to be sung in public. Such shameful words should never have been made public if its composers had retained any sense of propriety, for they were revealed not so much as men but men beyond raping women [non tantum viris, sed et viros ultra rapientibus mulieribus]. Those who applied their efforts to such shocking and silly activities certainly made themselves conspicuous and revealed the hidden intentions of their hearts […] This invidious composition was sung all through the army. The king [Richard] was extremely annoyed about it, and thought that he should punish them by paying them back in their own coin. So he also sang something about them, and it was little trouble to compose because there was plenty of material at hand.

As I write about in my Queer Richard paper: The IP’s shocked tone in reporting this anecdote, the clear sense that Hugh’s song was too shameful to even be hinted at, and the curious comment that the ones responsible were men “beyond even raping women” gives the distinct impression that this was a musical slander on Richard’s sexual habits, especially given his public repentance in Messina prior to the crusade. It also fits in a tradition wherein which songs were used as one of the most versatile and popular methods of mass communication in crusading armies, praising crusaders’ successes and lambasting their failures. The IP author, for whom Richard was a figure of hero-worship, deflected the charges of sexual irregularity by the straightforward tactic of claiming that the French must be engaging in it instead, and thus by inference, homosexual sodomy was an even worse sin than heterosexual rape. It also shows that Richard’s own reaction was simply to sing a wittier and more scathing song about his accusers. And seriously, his nemesis (well, the henchman of his nemesis, since Philip was already gone) throws a shit fit and is all I’LL TELL EVERYONE THAT RICHARD LIKES DUDES NAH NAH NAH like it’s a middle school playground slap fight? And Richard just goes, “bring it on bro, I’m smarter than you, I’m a better singer than you, there’s TONS OF MATERIAL for me to write about how much you suck, and I will now proceed to destroy you in a diss track competition because I’m Queer N’ Awesome?”

I’m sorry. Legendary. We stan.

#history #medieval history #medieval warfare #dvla asks #ish #the old guard meta #richard the lionheart #long post #anonymous #ask

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justfandomwritings · 6 years ago

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United In Fear (Part One - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU (because Game of Thrones just didn’t have enough fantasy drama for me)

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Angsty fluff, someone get’s punched but it’s not super dramatic

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: so the thing is right... I didn’t really mean to write this. It just sort of came out. Long story short. It’s an idea I had. If people like it, I’ll finish it. It will probably take 3-4 Parts to complete the story arc I have in mind. Each part about this long.

It wasn’t her banner or her looks that tipped Robb Stark off that she was (Y/n) Lannister. It was her being. The way she dismounted her horse while all of Winterfell still knelt before Robert Baratheon, as though everyone, even the King, was beneath her. The way she took her brother’s helping hand as if Lannister blood was the only thing worthy of touching her skin. The way her chin never dipped, always keeping her head up and her gaze held high. The way her feet glided over the ground with quick, sure steps that spoke of how little she wished to touch Northern soil. The way she never met the gaze of anyone, save her siblings, Robb’s father, and the King. (Y/n) Lannister could not have hidden her identity even if she tried, and she most certainly did not try.

She kept beside her brother as the King motioned for them to rise and greeted Robb’s father. Her eyes took the time to wander over the keep, and she kept her expression unreadably passive wherever they went. She made no acknowledgment that anything important was happening around her until her sister exited the carriage. (Y/n) released her brother’s arm and stepped forward to stand at the queen’s right hand.

“My queen,” Ned Stark said as he bent to kiss Cersei’s offered hand.

“My queen,” Catelyn echoed with a curtsy.

Cersei greeted both with a weary, but polite nod. “My sister,” Cersei stepped aside, positioning herself in front of Robb, and held out her hand for introductions, “(Y/n) Lannister, Lady of the Rock.”

(Y/n) offered no hand, so Ned simply bowed before her. “My lady.”

She curtsied with the air of someone who would have preferred not to move at all. “A pleasure, Lord Stark.”

“The pleasure is ours, Lady Lannister,” Catelyn greeted, repeating her curtsy.

(Y/n) returned Catelyn’s pleasantries only to be interrupted by the King. “Take me to your crypt. I want to pay my respects.”

(Y/n) and Cersei averted their gaze to Robert with matching expressions of distaste. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.” Cersei’s tone was dismissive, but her expression as Robert called for Ned to step around her was nothing short of wounded.

Robb watched the sneer on (Y/n)’s face as she eyed Robert Baratheon’s retreating back. He wondered, to himself, if it was agitation at being spoken over, agitation on her sister’s behalf, or simply agitation with the state of the King. Robb wasn’t sure he would blame her with any of the three. He couldn’t recall his father ever speaking over a noblewoman of any standing, and Ned was certainly never so dismissive to Robb’s mother.

And the King. Well, the King was not at all what Robb expected from his father’s stories. He knew the man had aged some since his father had last seen him, but Robb thought he’d have aged with more dignity. He didn’t expect a belly fat with food, breath stale with wine, or a horse’s dismount that require a servant to bring the King a stool. Robert Baratheon was what Robb Stark expected of a wealthy village drunkard, not his supposedly heroic, noble namesake.

The Lannisters, for all the harsh words his father had to say about them, did not at all disappoint. The family measured up entirely to even their most fantastical tales. The Queen had aged some since the songs had named her the Light of the West, but she had aged with grace. Her beauty had changed, but Robb could say with some certainty that it hadn’t faded.

Jaime Lannister was ever the Golden Lion. A ballad of his bravery during the Greyjoy Rebellion had once been sung at a feast in Winterfell, and Ned Stark had grudgingly admitted the words to be true. The Queen’s twin was a formidable man who’s self confidence was only matched by the skill he used to justify it. All the poets had something to say or sing about Jaime Lannister. Some painted him a hero, some a villain. But all painted him the perfect image of a knight, and the man before Robb now proved them all to be right.

(Y/n) was not the subject of songs, but whispers. Tywin’s youngest child was no older than Robb himself, the product of a second marriage Tywin did not wish to make. She was rumored to be her father reincarnate. With her mother dead in the birthing bed and her siblings in King’s Landing, (Y/n) had been raised by Tywin and Tywin alone, entirely in his own image. Watching her stand in the grounds of Winterfell, Robb would say that Tywin’s quest had been a complete success. She was only a young woman, yet her presence demanded respect, and everyone gave it.

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya asked her older sister, with no attempts at hiding her words.

The words drew (Y/n)’s gaze, and for the first time, Robb watched his youngest sister cower back, afraid.

The Queen turned her head to her sister. “The little beast wandered off again.”

“I’ll find him,” (Y/n) didn’t bother to look at her sister as she addressed her. Her eyes stayed on Arya for a moment longer before she whipped around, marching back to her horse.

“My lady,” Catelyn took a step out of line after the youngest Lannister. “Perhaps, we can offer some assistance.”

Jaime Lannister responded with a chuckle as he offered (Y/n) a hand back on her horse. “Only in finding your nearest brothels.”

Catelyn Stark was thoroughly scandalized as Lady (Y/n) rode away, Ser Jaime following at her heels.

Robb sighed to himself and turned away. She hadn’t been introduced to him. He still couldn’t be sure.

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The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

In the North, they maintained the names were a mystery of the Old Gods, a force that no man could influence or pretend to understand. The descendants of the First Men claimed the names long predated the Faith of the Seven and dated all the way back to the Children of the Forest. No proof could be found of this, but given the Andals hostile takeover of the other kingdoms, much of the First Men’s culture and history had been lost. It fell to the Starks alone to remember, and they did their job well. The North remembered.

The Reach claimed they came from the Father. They argued that if the names were given by the gods, surely they came from the Father who was Above All. They weaved a tale of a man, loyal to no god but the Seven, who came to Westeros with the invasion of the Andals. He preached and pleaded with the First Men to convert to the one true religion, and everywhere he went they rebuked him. Everywhere but Oldtown. Everyone but House Hightower. As a gift, for the conversion of Damon Hightower to the Faith of the Seven, the Father gave the names to the Reach, and thus as the faith spread so did the names across all of Westeros.

The Stormlands claimed that, in fact, the Smith, mender of broken things, was responsible for the gift. Men, whether they were Andals or First Men or Rhoynar, were harsh, imperfect creatures, and nowhere was that more true than the Stormlands. The Smith had long made it his responsibility to put their world right, and that began with fixing the men themselves. He began with Hugor of the Hill, the first King of the Andals. The Smith touched Hugor’s arm to give him the name of his wife, so she might heal the scars the world left on him and his sons might find maidens of their own to do the same.

The Warrior was, in fact, the source of the The Vale’s legends. It made sense in that The Vale was the first place invaded by the Andals. They claimed the reason the names existed in Westeros but not Essos was because the Andals had never conquered the eastern continent. Where the Andals seized land in honor of the Warrior, the Seven would bless the soldiers out of gratitude for their service. Of course, this blessing started with the Vale.

In the Crownlands, the names were said to be given by the Mother. It was said that one day she looked down on a small, forgotten sept in the Crownlands and saw one of her devout, a young married woman, crying at her altar. The young woman had been married for two years and had yet to fall pregnant with her husband. He was an angry, cruel man, threatening to disavow her and name her barren if she did not give him a child within the year. The woman called out for the Mother’s mercy, for a child she could not have, and the Mother heard her cries. She wanted happiness for her good and faithful servant and knew she would not attain it with such a man. Reaching down, the Mother touched the woman’s arm, and a man’s name appeared, a name that was not her husband’s. Many years later, Baelor the Blessed would visit every sept in the Crownlands, looking for the place where the Mother gave the names, and when he sensed he had found it, he built up around that sept the Great Sept of Baelor, a sept worthy of the gift the Mother had given to man that day.

The Westerlands cited scripture. It was written in the Seven Pointed Star that Hugor of the Hill received a blessing from each of the Gods, and when it came to the Maid, she gave Hugor a maiden of his own, a wife of great beauty and innocence. The Westerlands maintained this must mean she gave the names; it was the Maiden’s way of giving the gift of love to every true believer in the Seven.

The Crone belonged to the Riverlands, in more ways than one. To the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands, the Crone was held in the highest esteem. The names were without fault or failure. How could anyone think the wisdom of age, that only came from the old woman, was not involved? They told a lovely story of the Crone looking on the youth of the Maiden with sympathy for her ignorance. Longing to spare her from making the same mistakes the Crone had learned from in her youth, the Crone spared her the search for a man who truly loved her by pointing her in the right direction.

Dorne had the simplest explanation, and they did not bother trying to justify it with tall tales or kingdom history. They said the names were a gift from the Stranger. So that no man need face Death alone. Robb liked that explanation best.

Still, he did not believe in the Stranger. He kept faith with the Old Gods. His mother had made a point that all her children at least understood the Seven and understood that, while they were the same gods everywhere, each kingdom saw them differently. Catelyn knew that Ned would have to raise them to worship at the weirwood tree, but she didn’t want her children to feel out of place if they ever joined her in the sept or journeyed in the rest of Westeros.

Robb knew all the lore, and he remembered it well. Not so well as Sansa, who longed to go South, but better than Arya who never listened no matter how many times she was told.

He would often lie awake at night staring at the name inked into his arm, wondering to himself what she thought of this. If she, like him, believed his name on her arm to be a gift from the Old Gods, beyond the understanding of man. If she thought his name was a gift from any one of the Seven for any number of reasons. Or if she was on the other side of Westeros, simply looking for a companion to her grave.

Her name was never far from his thoughts. He wondered where she was. He wondered her station. He wondered how she felt. He wondered if she wondered about him. How could she not? They were destined for each other, destined to be together, if not in this life than the next.

When he was younger, Robb had longed for her. His nurse had met her mate, a butcher from one of the smaller towns outside of Winterfell; and he longed for the love he saw in her eyes. He longed for frivolous things: someone to suffer through his lessons with, someone to ride the Wolfswood beside, someone to take some of the weight of Winterfell off his shoulders.

As he got older, he learned better than to dream of such things.

Not everyone met their match, and the odds were not in Robb’s favor. Most of Westeros lived and died without knowing whose name had mared their skin for life. There were too many people, spread out over too great a distance, over Seven Kingdoms and the Vale, and all anyone ever had to search for was their first name, their given name on their arm. Those who did find the one were usually those who were able to devote their lives to the scowering the Seven Kingdoms in their search.

Heir to Winterfell, Robb did not have the time to search for his mate. She would have to wait. He would see her in the next life. Robb would never be able to marry the girl whose name was on his arm. Even if he found her, he could not have her. There were millions of women in Westeros, and his mate would not be among the nobility.

It was an incredibly rare occurrence for nobility to be destined for each other, but it had been known to happen on occasion. Yet only once, in the millions of Westerosi, in the thousands of mates that found one another, in the hundreds of nobility that went searching, in the dozens of nobility that found their mate, and the few who found their mate to be someone of equal standing. Only once in history had two nobles found each other’s names and actually managed to be married. Two Lannisters, of all the undeserving families in the Kingdoms. As if anyone could have denied Tywin Lannister anything.

Tywin’s love for his wife, Joanna, was as legendary as his victories in battle. The Lannisters sang the Rains of Castamere at their tournaments, and the Lion and the Lady at their feasts. Every man, woman, and child in Westeros knew the words to both.

Tywin loved Joanna deeply, unconditionally, and once they touched, no one could keep him from taking her as his own. They shared a bond deeper than their lives and deeper than her death.

No one knew a greater love than Tywin, and no one knew a greater loss.

Aerys Targaryen could have gotten away with all his burnings, all his cruelties, all his madness; bare one. Bare the day of the Tourney at Harrenhal when he declared the end of Tywin’s mourning, when he stole Tywin’s son and declared before all the Seven Kingdoms the Hand of the King would remarry.

The stories said that was the day the Targaryens lost the war: long before it even started. Of course, Rhaegar snubbed his wife, Elia, in front of Prince Oberyn. Yes, he kidnapped Lyanna Stark from under Robert Baratheon’s nose. Sure, Aerys did give away the woman Ned Stark was pursuing. But more than all of that, it was the day the Targaryens crossed Tywin Lannister, and there was one certainty about Tywin Lannister. Those who crossed him only got to do so once.

Any other man in the Seven would have been thrilled, relieved even, to marry Ashara Dayne. Tywin Lannister simply looked on the girl and walked away.

It was common knowledge that Tywin only ever touched his second wife twice: once to hold her hand to complete the wedding ceremony and once during the bedding. The maids who came to collect the sheets the next morning swore they heard Tywin cry, but that could have just been a rumor. Neither maid was seen or heard from in any noble house in Westeros again to confirm or deny.

It was likely for the best that Ashara died giving birth to her only child. It spared her a lifetime of living in the shadow of a ghost. It spared her the pain of watching her daughter, (Y/n), twisted into the spitting image of her father.

Robb had heard her name once, (Y/n) Lannister, and asked his mother hopefully if that was the (Y/n) on his arm. He didn’t know her, but he hoped it was her, hoped it was someone he might actually be able to marry one day.

Catelyn had been aghast. She swore no son of hers could ever be bound to a Lannister.

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“My lady,” A knock came on the chamber door. “The feast is prepared, and the guests are assembling downstairs.”

(Y/n) threw the door open and leaned against the thick wood frame as she crossed her arms over her chest with a mischievous smirk. “My lady? Since when did you use such formalities?”

Jaime stood on the other side of the door, looking as golden and perfect in his armor as always. His lips were pulled wide in a smirk matching his little sister;s, the one he’d spent years teaching her on their father’s occasional trips with her to King’s Landing. “Well, when you are in the presence of the acting Lady of the Rock, one must always keep one’s guard up.” He extended his arm to her, “Shall I escort you?”

“I suppose that wouldn’t be entirely disagreeable,” She mused, lifting her golden skirts with one hand and accepting her brother’s help with the other. “Tell me, do you think Tyrion will grace us with his presence this evening?”

Jaime snorted as he pulled the door to (Y/n)’s room shut and led her down the hall. “Doubtful, though I could be persuaded to hunt him down if you or Cersei wished.”

“Cersei never wishes,” (Y/n) rolled her eyes.

She and Cersei had a mutual understanding that was heavily dependent on both sisters keeping their distance. Of her siblings, (Y/n) was closest to Tyrion, but she wasn’t about to get in a fight with Cersei over forcing his attendance at a meager Northern feast.

“But you always do.” Jaime said it like he was reminding her of something profound rather than her own opinion.

Jaime let go of her hand and descended the narrow, winding steps to the ground floor, staying one step ahead of her so he might catch her if she slipped. He knew it was an unnecessary precaution. (Y/n) never slipped, in actions or in words. It still made him feel better to know he could catch her if he needed.

“Because I love our brother dearly, Jaime, as do you.”

“Cersei loves him in her own way.” Jaime tried to placate.

(Y/n) only scoffed. “You always were a terrible liar.”

With a chuckle, he took her hand and helped her off the final step back onto the solid stone of one of Winterfell’s many long, dark halls. “You and I both know that’s not true. I can get away with lying to anyone I’m not related to. It’s only you three and father who ever really caught me in a lie.”

“Yes, but I believe I deserve greater credit than the others. They have far more experience; I missed all of your childhood antics. All I have are Tyrion’s stories and father’s criticisms to keep me company at the Rock.”

Jaime nodded in agreement. “The Rock can be quite lonely. Cersei and I only had each other for a long while.”

(Y/n) looked around for a quick moment before she dragged her brother back by his arm. Her eyes searched the stone in both directions to ensure no one was watching before she pulled him into a narrow walk off the main passage.

“Jaime,” her tone was a quiet, harsh warning.

Not for the first time since they’d started the journey North, Jaime heard his father in her voice. It always amazed him. He wondered if she knew she was doing, or if it came to her naturally.

“Do not do this here.” (Y/n) pressed.

“Do not do what, sister?”

Her head cocked to the side, eyes judging his every word. It was the way Tywin looked at advisors who spoke out of turn. “You know what. You and Cersei hide nothing from me. I remain silent out of respect for you, but don’t mistake my silence as approval of your behavior.”

The muscles in Jaime’s jaw tightened. A tell that he was about to lie. “I don’t know what you’re…”

She cut him off before he could finish. “Do not play games with me, Jaime. I am not Tyrion, too drunk to care; and I am not father who does not see what he does not want to see. I see you Jaime.”

“Sister, what exactly is the point of this conversation?” He wouldn’t bother denying it again. If the first denial didn’t put (Y/n) off, it meant she would not be dissuaded.

“My point?” She went on her toes and looked over his shoulder. Her voice was quiet enough not to bounce off the stone, and the walls shielded them from most prying eyes. Yet that did nothing to quiet her concern. “My point is that I will not have you risking this family, Jaime.”

“You think so little of me, sister?”

“Yes.” It was a blunt answer. An honest answer. “Jaime, unlike our siblings, I do not think you foolish, but I do think you arrogant. You know the consequences of being caught. You’re just far too confident that you won’t be.”

Jaime sighed and ran a hand through his hair. (Y/n) was impossible to argue with. Part of it was her mind. Jaime always joked she had inherited the portion meant for him. A greater part was their father. (Y/n) had a way of saying the things he knew Tywin would, but with a touch more caring that made him actually want to listen.

(Y/n) took the pause as opportunity. “Listen to me, Jaime. I know what you’re thinking, brother. You think, even if caught, there will be no consequences for your actions, because there never have been before. You know what the consequences should be, but you don’t think they apply to you. If you got caught in Casterly Rock, the servants would die with your secret, whether they kept it till old age or were hung from the gallows by father. If you got caught in King’s Landing, there would be whispers. Yet, no one would be foolhardy enough to question you of them, or Maester Pycelle would poison them by dinner.”

She growled, dragging his face down to her level by the collar of his breastplate. (Y/n) needed him to listen to her. “This is not Casterly Rock, Jaime, nor is it King’s Landing. This is the North. You are in the enemy’s camp, and your name will not protect you.”

Jaime measured his sister’s words carefully. “If it would make you happy, sister, then nothing will happen while we are under Ned Stark’s roof.”

“I would be utterly relieved, if I actually believed you.” Her tone was short, but Jaime could tell she was hopeful.

“All will be above reproach,” he offered her his arm again. “You have my word.”

(Y/n) accepted with a wary expression but allowed him to pull her back into the hall and west towards the feast. She could hear it now. There was raucous laughter and loud music filling the air.

“Lady Lannister,” Three more long hallways, and Jaime presented his sister to the Lady of Winterfell, Catelyn Stark.

“Lady Stark,” (Y/n) curtsied with an elegant twist of her hand. “Judging by the sounds, this will be quite the feast.”

“Indeed,” Catelyn’s smile was warm but not at all inviting. There was a distance to the woman as she stood awkwardly in front of her.

(Y/n) bit back a smirk. Catelyn Stark was smart. Distrusting a Lannister was usually the right idea. “It’s not every day the King makes the long journey north. I’m sure they are excited to be part of such a grand occasion.”

“Made grander by your presence, dear sister.” Jaime had gone to retrieve Cersei.

“My queen, I doubt you need me to accomplish such a task.” (Y/n) gave Cersei a friendly smile. “You are, after all, the Queen of Westeros. What could I possibly add?”

The formality of the conversation between the siblings visibly disconcerted Catelyn. She couldn’t tell what was heartfelt and what was show. Catelyn was caught in a conversation with three Lannister, unable to speak but unable to leave.

“Too gracious of you, sister.” Cersei deferred away. “Jaime retrieved me from my conversation with our host because I hoped to ask you a favor.”

(Y/n) shot her gaze after Ned Stark at the other end of the hall. She would ask about the discussion later; they both knew that. “Do share, my queen. If it is within my power, I will happily oblige.”

Cersei touched a gentle hand to Catelyn’s shoulder, dragging her, unwanted, back into the fold. “Robb Stark, your dear boy,” the Queen smiled to Catelyn, “is the male heir of greatest standing and is duty bound to escort my sweet Myrcella to the feast this evening.”

“That he is,” Catelyn wasn’t sure the explanation was meant for her. It would be far greater offense to ignore than to interrupt.

“It,” the Queen paused as though looking for the right word, but (Y/n) knew whatever was to come Cersei had practiced down to the last pause, “unsettles me.” She seemed to finally choose the word. “He’s an honorable man. I’m certain of that. Still, he’s a man nonetheless, and Myrcella is so young. As a mother of daughters, I am sure you can understand my hesitation.”

Catelyn didn’t, but she acquised. “Of course, my queen. What would you propose?”

“If my sister and your son will agree,” Cersei turned to (Y/n), as if she had a choice in the matter, “I would ask that Myrcella walk with your lovely boy Bran, while Robb escorts (Y/n).”

(Y/n) nodded, “Of course, my queen. If it would ease your mind.”

Catelyn stepped back from Cersei, removing the Lannister’s hand from her shoulder. “I will speak with my son for you, my queen,” She curtsied as she backed away towards the other end of the entryway, where her sons congregated with their father, Robert, and the Baratheon boys.

“Well that went well,” Jaime snorted as he watched Catelyn’s hasty retreat.

“She’s scared,” Cersei rolled her eyes after the older woman.

“She hides it well, though,” (Y/n) offered a subtle agreement. “Do you actually wish me and Myrcella to switch? Or were you just looking to unnerve her?”

When her face turned back to the safety of her siblings, Cersei’s lip curled into a sneer. “I have no intention of that Northmen touching my Myrcella. Robert already means to give my Joff to that wench, Sansa, but at least he’ll be able to stay with me. I won’t have Robert abandoning my sweet girl all alone up here in this waste. That man and this so-called castle aren’t worthy of her.”

“Voices down, sister,” (Y/n) warned with little concern actually seeping through to her tone. “I’ll walk with the Stark. No one will leave Myrcella in the cold.”

“Woman!” Robert’s voice boomed.

(Y/n) caught only a glimpse of Cersei as she turned. The twins truly did share everything. Cersei’s jaw clenched before she lied, as well. “Yes, my love?” It wasn’t a terribly good lie either.

“It’s time to feast. Walk with Ned.”

(Y/n) watched her sister’s hung head approach Ned Stark. If she was a fool, as Robert Baratheon most assuredly was, she would think Cersei humbled, but (Y/n) was no fool.

“My lady.”

(Y/n)’s hair whipped at her cheek, turning her head far too quickly for her to hide that she was anything but surprised by the voice. She hadn’t heard Robb Stark approach, nor had she expected to hear his voice. It wasn’t often that anyone caught her by surprise.

“Yes, my lord.”

“I was told by my mother that I am to escort you.” Robb offered her his hand with a bow. “Unless, of course, you would prefer the company of Rickon.” His smile was teasing but genuine. It was a refreshing change of pace.

“Do not tempt me,” She smiled politely in return. “He is a charmingly adorable child.”

Her hand reached out to accept his, only for his whole body to jerk back the second their fingers brushed.

She couldn’t deny she felt it to.

(Y/n) had long forgotten about the writing on her arm. It was an irritation she had to conceal behind her sleeves, nothing more.

Peasants had a habit of naming their children after their liege lords and other powerful men in Westeros. After Robert became King, Robb proved to be an incredibly common name throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Not that that would have stopped her. If she truly wanted, she could have offered a gold dragon as reward for every ‘Robb’ in Westeros that came to the Rock to touch her hand. She could have sent the Mountain through the lands to find every man with (Y/n) still written on his arm. She could have snuck away in the dead of night with some knights who preferred her to her father and traveled the Seven Kingdoms in her search. She could have walked the twenty paces from her chambers to the sept and prayed to any of the Seven to put Robb in her path.

Instead, she did nothing. Because, in truth, she had never considered searching for him. (Y/n) didn’t want to meet Robb.

Whatever god was responsible for the names was clearly not listening to her wants.

A burning sensation raced across her arm where she knew Robb’s name to be. She knew what was happening. She’d seen the scars on her father’s skin.

At the first touch, the ink in the skin burned away. It left a mark like the brand of an iron. The scars left behind once it healed would form a mate’s family name.

In a few day’s time, Robb’s arm would read ‘Lannister’, and (Y/n) would forever be signed with the name ‘Stark’.

She always knew finding her mate would be a very bad thing, but this was worse than she’d imagined.

(Y/n)’s aloof mask remained in place, completely ignoring the pain in her arm and Robb’s reaction. “Shall we, Lord Stark?”

Robb was frozen for several long moments in utter confusion. This was obviously not what he’d expected. Taking her hand, utterly baffled by her response, Robb led (Y/n) into the feast as though nothing had transpired.

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A knock to her door woke (Y/n) early the next morning.

“Jaime, if that’s you again, I swear I’ll tell father about accidentally dumping his prized chest in the ocean.” (Y/n) groaned loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear.

“Now, now, sister,” Jaime didn’t wait for any further invitation and slipped her door only just wide enough to step inside before he slammed it shut. “I’m here by orders of our King.”

(Y/n) rolled out from beneath the furs. “Oh, what could that oaf ever want with me?” She quickly slipped behind her changing screen to put on the dress her maid had left hung over the top of the divider.

“The King asked for you, but I don’t think it was by his own design.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Why would he ever wish to talk to any woman who could think?” (Y/n) quelled her laugh to a soft chuckle. “Help me with these laces,” she came to stand braced against her bed.

Jaime groaned but approached without hesitation, “Sister, you have handmaidens for this. Do you not? Has father so deprived you in my absence?”

(Y/n) commented snidely over her shoulder. “You’re telling me you’ve not helped our sister in more precarious positions than this?”

Jaime gripped the laces and jerked them tight around her body, knocking the wind out of her. “That,” He began to lace her corset back the rest of the way up, “was cheap, even from you.”

She hummed in agreement. “Perhaps it was, but we’re all allowed our days. Yours come once a moon. Tyrion’s come on any day you refuse to let him drink. Cersei’s on any day she has to pretend to enjoy Robert’s company.” (Y/n) twisted to face Jaime with a grin, “Father’s on any day the sun dares to rise.”

Jaime chuckled at that. “And what, dear sister,” he asks as he opens her door, “has you so downtrodden?”

She simply shook her head. “Not for your ears, Jaime. At least, not till I figure out what to say.”

Jaime frowned. “You know, I’m not half as smart as you or Tyrion, but I’m a far better listener. You can always come to me, even if you don’t know what to say.”

“Of course, Jaime.” (Y/n) doubted many things, but she never doubted that.

Their walk to Robert’s chambers passed in comfortable silence. (Y/n) had far too much to contemplate to maintain a conversation, and Jaime knew his sister well enough not to disturb her.

His knock on Robert’s door seemed to be the only thing to wake her from her own mind.

“Enter,” came the King’s voice from inside.

Jaime opened the door for his sister and froze when he saw the contents of the room. The King sat at the desk in the corner with Ned Stark leaned against the wall nearby. Catelyn Stark occupied the chair in the corner, and her eldest son stood at her side.

“My King, the Lady (Y/n) Lannister.” Jaime announced his sister as she stepped through after him.

As usual, (Y/n)’s expression gave nothing away. It was as if she was entirely unsurprised by this gathering. “My King, my lords, my lady,” (Y/n) dipped in acknowledgment of those in the room.

“Leave us, Kingslayer.” Robert spat to Jaime, ignoring (Y/n) as though she hadn’t spoke.

Jaime hesitated. For the first time in a long time, he considered disobeying his king. Jaime didn’t know where this was going, but he didn’t want to leave his sister to face them alone.

“Thank you, Ser Jaime,” (Y/n) only said the words as reason to turn to her brother. Her eyes flicked towards the door, a warning for Jaime to leave.

“Your Grace,” Jaime bowed and took the exit. It was Boros Blount’s turn to stand guard at the King’s door, but a glare at the man and a wave of Jaime’s wrist were all it took to send the knight off down the hall. Jaime trusted his sister in these situations, but he did not trust the rest of the room.

“How may I be of service?” (Y/n) asked as the door clanged shut behind her.

Without getting up, Robert managed to turn his chair with a loud scrape against the floor. “You know damn well how. Show us your arm, girl.”

Every eye in the room was on her, and she could read them all. Robert’s impatient agitation; Robb’s deep confusion; Ned’s sanctimonious disappointment; Catelyn’s misplaced rage. She was a lioness alone, and she was surrounded by the wolf pack.

“I see you’ve spoken to your son,” Her eyes rested on Catelyn’s as she jerked her sleeve, unceremoniously, up her arm. “He was not wrong,” (Y/n) showed the room the fresh burn on her arm that was already healing to form the word ‘Stark’.

“Damnit Ned.” That seemed to be a common saying of the King’s when he was in the presence of Starks.

“Well,” Catelyn huffed, turning on her husband and Robert, “What do we plan to do about this?”

(Y/n) honestly wondered how the woman managed to get a word out. If (Y/n) crossed her arms so tightly over her chest, she would hardly be able to breath, let alone form a coherent thought.

Robert forced himself from his chair with a sigh. It was before midday, and there had been a feast the previous night. This was far too early for the King to be awake, much less officiating important discussion. “What can we do? It’s a sign from the gods. We can’t ignore it.”

Catelyn was utterly fuming. Her son, her Robb, joined forever to a Lannister. She would not stand for such a thing.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” (Y/n) cut in before Catelyn could burst, “But it sounds to me as though you’re implying I wed Robb Stark.”

Robert snorted out a laugh. “Gods, and here I thought you were one of the smart ones. Turns out you’re as slow as Lancel.” Robert crossed the room and clapped his namesake on the shoulder, pulling the Stark boy into the conversation. “Of course that’s what I mean. Ned raised his sons well. Robb’s a good, strong man, and the heir to Winterfell. You’d be lucky to have him at your side.”

“I’m sure you are correct, my King, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have no intention of marrying Robb Stark.”

Silence.

(Y/n) thought, if she listened carefully, she would be able to hear the breaths of the Kingsguard stationed outside.

Of the rare occasions that nobility were found to be mates and did not marry, there had always been something keeping them apart. Never had it been because one openly refused the other. Why would anyone, noble or otherwise, refuse their perfect match put on this earth by the gods themselves?

“Forgive me,” (Y/n) spoke slowly. She was alone on shaky ground, and she desperately needed to keep the King’s anger in check, “but my hand is my father’s to give away as he sees fit. No one else’s.”

“You would stand against the wishes of your king.”

(Y/n) immediately refuted Robert’s words. “I would stand with the wishes of my family. Wherever that may lead me.”

“You will do as your king commands.” Robert’s hand slipped from Robb’s shoulder, and he took a step towards (Y/n) Lannister.

(Y/n) didn’t bat an eye. “After my father agrees,” was the most she would concede, knowing full well it would take more than a miracle from the Seven to get Tywin Lannister to send her to Winterfell.

“You think your father would refute a match to the future Warden of the North? You Lannisters think yourselves that much better than the rest of us. Don’t you?” Robert stood close enough that flecks of his spit landed on her cheek.

(Y/n) wiped them away with her sleeve and a completely blank expression. “I think nothing, my King. I think I should wait for my father’s approval before I agree to things such as this.”

“Robert, the girl is right,” Ned took a step toward his old friend, but Robert raised his hand in warning, causing the Stark to freeze.

He left his hand in the air in case anyone else dared to interrupt them. “I have had it with you Lannisters. I rule Westeros. I am your King, not Tywin Lannister.”

(Y/n)’s eyes narrowed. She had had it with the King as much as he’d had it with her. Her father didn’t hold the title King of Westeros, but he held all the power of one, more than one if that one was Robert Baratheon. She was more than capable of playing the game, of placating men like Robert. But she was every bit her father’s daughter. She did not stand insults in silence.

Robert saw (Y/n) open her mouth, but all he heard was Tywin Lannister as she said, “Any man who must say, I am the King, is no true King.”

A loud snap echoed through the room, followed by a crack.

Robert Baratheon stood, looking down on his handiwork.

(Y/n) Lannister laid sprawled out on the floor with the force of a hard punch to her jaw that no one had seen coming. For a man well past his prime, Robert Baratheon could still manage all the force in his fists that his hammer had made famous during the Rebellion. The blow had knocked the girl down before anyone could think to stop him, before Ned could pull him back, before she could raise a hand in defense, before she could take a step back to brace.

For years, Robert had dreamed of doing exactly that to Tywin Lannister. Dreamed of knocking the old man back down where he belonged. Dreamed of standing with the Lord of Casterly Rock at his feet. Dreamed of watching the arrogant man bleed the same red as his banners.

This girl, (Y/n), she wasn’t Tywin Lannister. She sounded like her father. She acted like her father. But when Robert looked down at her, he only saw a girl. He had punched a young girl for nothing more than speaking to him.

If he had punched the real Tywin Lannister, he would have lost the offending hand by now. Instead, in his fury, he’d punched the Lannister’s young daughter. He still might lose his hand. The girl was a lion, through and through. She had claws, and one of them was standing right outside.

Another was, apparently, behind him.

Robb Stark pushed the King’s shoulder in his hurry to check the girl. “(Y/n), are you hurt?” The Stark boy took both of her hands in his, helping her as gently as he could, to her feet.

“I will be fine,” (Y/n) slowly brushed down her skirts and gave a smile clearly only meant for Robb. “Thank you.”

“I should take you to the Maester.” Robb clearly meant it to be an offer, but it came out more as an order.

(Y/n)’s shoulder had caught her as she fell, keeping her head from the floor; but the crack as she hit the stone was still a sickening sound. It would echo in the room for years.

Every time Robb saw his mate, he would see the King throwing her to the floor, and remember that he didn’t stop Robert in time. Ned would never be able to speak of Robert as an honorable man again; down in the crypts, he would thank the gods Lyanna hadn’t lived to be his. Catelyn would pause every time she made to speak ill of a Lannister; she would remember Robb helping (Y/n) to her feet. She would remember (Y/n)’s response.

“Thank you, Robb, but I think I’d like my brother.” (Y/n) turned to the door and called out, loud enough to be heard on the other side, “Jaime!”

The door swung open in a second. Jaime had been waiting, ear close to the door, for any word that he could enter the room. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, and his eyes darted around the room for what had made the earlier noise.

A bruise was already flowering on (Y/n)’s face, and her dress was pulled askew off her shoulder.

“Would you be so kind as to escort me to the Maester’s?”

Jaime marched forward and caught his sister’s chin, tilting it up and away that he might examine the mark. “Is your maester a good healer, Lord Stark?” Rage dripped from Jaime’s every word, but he did not dare to ask how his sister was hurt. He already knew the answer, and it was one he could not stand to think on for long.

“That won’t be necessary, Jaime.” (Y/n) brushed his hand away and met his gaze. “I’m quite fine. I only need to send a raven.”

“For what purpose?”

How Robert Baratheon had worked up the nerve to question the woman he’d just injured was a mystery to even his oldest friend, but (Y/n) seemed unphased.

She turned to the King, smirking through her pain, “The North truly is beautiful, and I really do think father would appreciate seeing it before winter comes.”

“You-You will do no such thing.” It wasn’t fear in Robert’s voice. Ned was sure of that, but he thought it might have been defeat.

“Oh, I assure you I will.” (Y/n) grabbed her brother’s free hand, leaving the other in a death grip on his sword. The Kingslayer followed her without complaint, walking backwards to keep his eye on the King until they reached the door. “It’s high time Tywin Lannister sees Winterfell. Or do I need to remind you what truly unites the Seven Kingdoms, Robert Baratheon? Because we both know, it’s not your throne.”

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Next Time On... Part Two

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mcrmadness · 4 years ago

Note

Oooo, how about two from each of them? Fanfic asks: J and P, film asks: 15 and 16, music asks: 20 and 26.

OMG thanks!!! :DDD

Ask games: Fanfic asks, Film asks and Music asks. (People you can still send me asks if you want, asks are fun to answer to!)

***

FANFIC ASKS:

A little background before we get to the questions: I haven’t written too many, actually only 6 quite short ones (and one of them is a bit longer than usual) about Die Ärzte (Bela/Farin FTW) and all of these I have written between the years 2009 and 2012, so I was 18-21 which means they are not that good. And there’s lots of things I wouldn’t write anymore. I also have a WIP on my computer, I started it in 2012 but stopped writing altogether only to start writing again in the end 2018, it has bit over 28k words currently and tbh I have written 90% of that when I started writing again two years ago. I still have my old ones up on LiveJournal (ask for a link), but I haven’t published anything fron this later one as I’ve just been writing down all kinds of snippets whenever I have had an inspiration. I think those are also a lot better in quality than what I wrote before, the old ones are quite cringey.

J. What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I guess we talk about those fics I have also finished, now. It’s actually hard to decide but I would say my favourite is either Why not even once? or The Boring Book Freak. I think the latter is actually The favourite.

The first one (was actually my second dä ff overall) is set to happen in 2003 and in that one Farin is leaving for another vacation somewhere and Bela wants to go with him, but Farin wants to travel alone and Bela is struggling with that, as well as with Farin finally leaving and having to somehow survive his time at home without Farin there. The writing itself is bit stupid and I feel that the end got bit too far but otherwise I like the idea.

The second one (came actually after the previous one) is set to happen in the early/mid 90s (my fave Bela/Farin era btw) and on that they just are at some random summer cottage. Now, fuck cottagecores and such, I wrote it because summer cottages are a thing in Finland and I wrote it when cottagecore was not even cool yet. Somehow I imagined that it would be very Farin-like to rent a cottage from the middle of nowhere, in a forest and then spend a weekend or so there with Bela. Who then is not entertained at all and is bored because Farin won’t put away his book and won’t give him any attention, so he tries everything to get Farin’s attention. I especially like the visual images this fanfic gives to me, I can see their hairs and outfits so well and those are also aesthetically very pleasing. (They look the same as in that Absolut Live interview from the 90s, I don’t control their looks with my fics usually, I just have an idea and then my brain creates how they look in that particular scene :D)

I have also written a short songfic around the lyrics of their song “Ich weiß nicht (ob es Liebe ist)” and it was fun to imagine that as Bela/Farin. That was fun to write.

This got a bit long so I put the rest under a cut:

P. What are your favorite tropes to write?

(Had to google what a trope is lol. I’m old-school and no longer know most of the terms unless they’re old terms.)

Angst - I put my own angst, sadness and angriness into my writing often. It’s when I feel like in real life I would need other people but I don’t know how to reach out or don’t just feel comfortable about opening up, I open up a file and start writing. This is also where we get to the next trope...

Hurt/Comfort - But not so that X hurts Y, but that Y feels hurt for other reasons and then X comforts them. I kinda got obsessed with this theme after being bullied at school so I was always hurt but never comforted, so I often go back to those feels and emotions with my text to look for that comfort (hug, nice words, whatever) I never got in real life.

Fluff - This is bit complicated because I like writing fluff but I also hate reading fluff I have written. Because it does not sound like me. And sometimes when I write, I feel like standing behind my own back and vomiting a little on the inside because of how cheesy and disgusting that is but still I can’t stop writing. And then I feel like a different person when I read them because I can’t believe it’s ME who wrote them. The same way when I watch movies and people kiss, I always look away. And I want to look away when I read my fanfiction. But I can’t, especially because I know I looked at that scene in my head when I wrote it.

Humour - I love humour so much and I like to include this to my writing. Normally I put the humour in my comics but some of that fits also in the regular texts too.

***

FILM ASKS:

These are super tough but also fun - I have been trying to think of what to answer to these for days.

15. A film everyone loves but you hate?

The Avengers (-12). Sorry but not sorry. Well I don’t hate it but I don’t understand why everyone says it’s the best Marvel movie ever. It’s not. It’s full of clichés and stupid forced heteroromances and whatnot and the plot was just so, so predictive I don’t understand why it’s often talked about as some sort of cinematic master piece. I literally was able to tell everything that was gonna happen next when I watched it for the first time. Only cool things in that movie are Loki and Iron Man, whose character I already liked as I had seen the Iron Man movie and liked it. But I hated both Thor movies (the third one is awesome tho).

I like Marvel and I have seen I guess most of the movies - before MCU all good Marvel movies to come out were The X-Men movies and Spider-Man movies, and because I saw so many terrible Marvel movies, I was avoiding the whole MCU and I got into these movies much later and still, after seeing them all, I say The Avengers is one of the worst ones. Thor and Thor 2 are pretty much even worse (and I haven’t even seen the Hulk movie because it looks terrible), mainly because I just can’t stand the fact they’re mainly just built around Thor and his love interest...

16. A film you love but everyone else hates?

Spider-Man 3 (or the whole trilogy with Tobey Maguire). I see we continue with Marvel here but seriously I don’t understand why everyone is always picking on Tobey’s version of Spider-Man? And people especially hate the third movie and how Venom was portrayed in it (I’m obsessed with Venom’s human teeth pls I want his teeth), when it’s actually the best one for me. The second one is bit boring because it was again all about whining and Mary-Jane... Anyway, the reason why I am so attached to these movies is that I saw the first Spider-Man movie from TV when I was a teenager and in junior high myself, and I was bullied and a bit of a nerd so I could relate to Peter Parker a lot, and it gave me just so much strength to see him become Spider-Man and to stand up against the bullies and other assholes.

I also saw the third movie in the movie theater and there was one scene during which I started hysterically laughing with my friend because of an expression Tobey made as he was sitting on a bed, I don’t know why but somehow I just totally lost it at that :D It still makes me laugh so much when I see it! And when the movie ended, I heard a The Killers song “Move Away” for the first time during the end credits and TK was one of my favorite bands at the time (and still is).

***

MUSIC ASKS:

20. a song that empowers you

It gotta be Dead! by My Chemical Romance:

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This album was what got me through all the shit that happened when I was 15+ and especially this song always made (and still makes) me feel so good. I often listened to my old mp3 player while walking to school and back home and every time this song came by, I just felt like nothing can harm and that life FINALLY was so great! It’s so energetic and still makes me feel that living is actually super awesome.

26. a song that taught you a lesson

Hmmm. I think I will answer to this with Dusche by Farin Urlaub.

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That thumbnail is terrible but... And why did I choose this song? Well, I’m all for the sound what comes to music and I’d say at least 80% of all lyrics go way over my head. I just don’t have the skills for understanding poetry and also very poetic lyrics make me go crazy. I hate not knowing and when I have to assume, guess and interpret something. I don’t want to guess but I wanna know what someone has actually thought.

Dusche was the first song that had lyrics that for the first time ever actually spoke for me. I probably saw some video with English subtitles a fan had made and it just blew me away because holy shit, people are capable of writing lyrics even I can understand??? And that way I realized I can like lyrics but only if they make absolutely no sense (aka are funny or somewhat crazy, like Dusche) or when they are written in a story form or sung from the 1st person view or to “you” or in passive - but only if I can get behind the idea there.

After Dusche, Farin’s song Porzellan followed. And one of my absolute favourites is Karten. So, Farin is one of the only few people whose lyrics I have been able to understand. I still don’t hear lyrics and don’t understand a majority of the lyrics my fave bands write, and I have understood only a couple of Bela’s lyrics and I’m not sure if I’ve understood any of Rod’s lyrics. It’s not even about the language barrier anymore really, it’s just the topics or wordings I cannot comprehend.

Thank you again for the ask! This was very interesting to ponder and answer to :)

#useless-blog-of-a-moth #mutuals #ask games #mcrmadness' random stuff

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sweetteaanddragons · 6 years ago

Text

Implausible Character Interpretations: Maglor’s Wife

You might be wondering how it’s possible to have an implausible interpretation of her since literally all we know about her is that at some point in her life, she considered it a good idea to marry Maglor. Just about anything short of her being Sauron in disguise is plausible.

Except . . .

What if the wife of the greatest musician of the Noldor was tone deaf?

I don’t even know if elves can be tone deaf, but the idea interested me, so I ran with it.

A couple of notes: I am not tone deaf, and my knowledge of the subject consists of some quick research. It’s entirely possible I got some things wrong in this fic. It’s also important to note that as I wrote this, it occurred to me that in a world literally brought into being by music where evil was introduced by discord in that music, being tone deaf might be made into a much bigger deal than it is in our culture. Consequently, some characters direct a lot of negativity towards her and her disability in this fic and make some inaccurate assumptions about just what the problem is.

Sometimes Aranel wished she’d been born with a horrible facial deformity. If she’d been born like that, everyone would have sorted out their feelings about it by the time she was old enough to care, and every time she met someone new, everything would be in the open right away. There would be no hopeful, lingering days and months where she tried to hide it before the rumors inevitably hit them.

But she looked perfectly normal. Better than normal even, the sort of looks that meant she’d overheard more than one person say, “Such a shame that such a pretty girl should . . . Well, you know.”

The worst times were when the other person didn’t know, and she got to hear the whole thing poured out all over again.

The first hint that something was wrong was when her older sister tried to teach her children’s songs. She’d copied the hand motions enthusiastically and repeated back the words. The childish stumbling over some of those words wasn’t the problem.

Her complete failure to be anything approaching in tune was.

Not much of a problem. Not yet. She was still such a small child, after all, and even among elves, not everyone sang all that well, comparatively.

But the older she got, the more obvious it was. Not only could she not sing well, she couldn’t hear where she was going wrong. Or, in many cases, what the big fuss was over a piece of music in the first place.

The lyrics were pretty, but the rest . . . Well, there was no accounting for taste, she supposed, but apparently that wasn’t the problem.

She was.

Her parents dragged her to healer after healer, but there was nothing anything of them could do.

“There’s nothing wrong with her ears,” the last one said. “If there was, perhaps I could do more. The problem lies either in the mind or - “ He cut himself off.

Her mother’s brow wrinkled. “Or where?”

Her father had already caught on. “Or her fëa,” he said grimly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her mother snapped and turned to the healer for confirmation.

The healer looked away.

If Aranel was at first confused about what her fëa had to do with anything, the other children were happy to tell her, just as their parents were happy to whisper when they thought Aranel couldn’t hear.

Eru Iluvatar had sung three great themes, and Melkor had sewn discord by disrupting them. Music had sung the universe into existence; by music their people still shaped the world.

But she couldn’t hear the music. When she sang, all she ever produced was an inharmonious discord.

Any elf could sing disunity, but only she seemed destined to it.

It would be one thing if she was fully deaf. There were a few elves like that, who had suffered injury across the great sea before they came and had found no healing even here. To lose a sense entirely was unfortunate, but it was no real reflection on your character.

But to be able to hear everything else - gossip and taunts and every cruel name - to be able to say anything else - anything but the greatest and holiest of sounds -

That was a deeper flaw. Her parents never said it, but she could see it in their faces. Besides, what need was there for them to say it when everyone else already had?

Everyone but her sister. Thiriel said that it wasn’t her fault. Thiriel said that it was pretty obviously not Aranel’s character that was being shown to be flawed here. Thiriel said she would box the ears of the next person who said anything so hard that they wouldn’t be hearing anything but ringing for weeks.

Thiriel said she was moving to Tirion now that she was through apprenticing to be a seamstress, and did Aranel want to come with her?

In Tirion, no one would know. In Tirion, maybe she could hide it. In Tirion -

No one had wanted to let Aranel apprentice under them. She declared herself Thiriel’s assistant and went.

Thiriel needed a few more years of experience before she could take on an official apprentice, but Aranel learned under her anyway. Sewing was purely visual. Sewing let her make something beautiful.

Sewing was much better than singing in her firm opinion. She liked all of it - plotting out a project, making up a set of clothes, embroidering designs - but her favorite part was working on a project with her sister, no words between them needed, as they made something beautiful together, no discord in sight.

Making clothes for one of Prince Macalaure’s performances at a festival was a great honor. Thiriel was thrilled.

For her sister’s sake, Aranel tried to be.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like the prince. He was perfectly courteous and charming every time he came in, from the initial order to the final fitting.

It was just that in quiet moments he liked to hum or sing a snatch of a song to himself, and Thiriel and their new shop assistant always complimented him afterward and she . . . Well, it was probably better that she keep her mouth shut because she lied terribly, and the best she could honestly say was that it was nice, probably.

Everyone said he was the greatest singer of the Noldor and possibly the greatest elvish singer in Aman. She had no idea if that was objectively true or because he was a prince, though judging by some of the more gushing things the new assistant had said, he was at least very good.

Or maybe the gushing was just because he was handsome.

Because he was. Handsome, that is. He was definitely that.

Particularly when he smiled.

So she kept her mouth shut about his singing, but he didn’t seem to mind. He was perfectly happy to talk about her work instead, or, when she prompted him, the more visual aspects of his performance.

She made the mistake of telling him that it sounded wonderful, and that she was sure his performance would go very well. Surely, she had thought, she couldn’t go wrong with that.

Except she did, because he then promptly invited to her and her sister to some special box that was set aside as thanks for all the work they’d done, and he smiled when he said he couldn’t wait to see what she thought after the performance.

Her smile was frozen as she agreed.

She got through it. Somehow. Mainly by giving genuine compliments on the way he’d sung the flowered vines twined around the columns on the stage through the stages of life and then by giving paraphrased compliments she’d overheard other people saying in the interlude between the performance and him managing to make his way up to the box.

Unfortunately, that started a pattern. He’d liked their work, apparently, so he started coming to them for all his performances and then, in addition to their payment, getting them seats.

It wasn’t the work that was the problem. It wasn’t even Macalaure that was the real problem. He was sweet and funny and generous and never at all concerned with their rare mistakes. And his smile . . .

Well, if his music was half as good as his smile, she could see why everyone liked it so much.

It was just after the performances. He wanted her opinion. Every time. Specifically hers, not just Thiriel’s.

If he had just been fishing for compliments, it would have been one thing. A slightly vain thing, admittedly, but something she could bluff her way through.

But he always pressed her for her genuine opinion. Did she like this piece better or that one? Was there too much emotional whiplash between the two songs he’d put back to back? Next time he performed the new song he’d written, should he try it like this instead?

It was flattering that he cared for her opinion. She just didn’t think he wanted to hear the truth of what it all sounded like to her.

So she focused on the lyrics and the visuals when she could, relied on Thiriel’s hasty whispers when she couldn’t, and on the occasions when Thiriel wasn’t there and she was on her own, bluffed like crazy for the rest.

It might have worked indefinitely if three of his brothers hadn’t returned to the city, and he hadn’t given her a seat in the same box as those brothers at one of the performances.

He introduced her to them before the show, giving them a very significant warning look as he did so. She wasn’t entirely sure what that was for, though given the stories she’d heard him tell about what they’d gotten up to as children, she might could guess.

“Aranel,” Curufinwe said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name before.”

“In a letter perhaps?” One half of the Ambarussa asked dryly.

“Or ten?” The other suggested brightly.

Maglor glared. Aranel blinked.

Curufinwe waved this away. “Aside from there. With the slight familiarity of the face . . . I think I might have met your parents on the return journey. You aren’t Engol’s daughter by any chance, are you?”

Aranel felt the blood drain from her face. She could lie, she thought frantically, except -

Except Macalaure already knew full well that she was. She’d introduced herself properly the first time he’d walked into the shop.

“We’re not . . . often in touch,” she said. He might not know. He might really only have noticed the resemblance. He might -

“Curufinwe,” Maglor warned.

He had the grace to look apologetic. “Family troubles are difficult. You have my sympathies. Still, it speaks well of your fondness for my brother that you keep coming to these anyway.”

“Curufinwe.”

One of the twins, curse them, asked, “What makes you say that?”

Curufinwe raised an eyebrow. “Well, I can’t imagine you see much other appeal in a musical performance,” he directed towards her. “Seeing as you can’t - “

In the split second she had left, Aranel pictured the look on Macalaure’s face when he learned how she’d deceived him. What would the greatest singer of the Noldor think when he learned she was incapable of grasping his music at all?

She didn’t wait for Curufinwe to finish. She interrupted, so that at least she could be the one to spit out the hateful words. “Properly hear a single note due to some flaw in my fëa, yes. Excuse me.”

With all the dignity she could manage, she turned and marched out.

As soon as she was out of the box, she broke into a dead run.

Someone called after her.

She was not about to slow down.

It had been a night performance, so she was confident the shop would hold only her late working sister when she reached it. She slammed the door shut behind her and slid down to the ground as soon as she reached the shop. “I think I just lost us the prince’s custom.”

Thiriel was beside her side in an instant. “What happened? Did he try something?”

Try something? For a moment startled out of her misery, she could only blink up at her sister before shaking her head dismissively. “No, of course not, he - Well, I interrupted one of the other princes.”

“Given some of the stories he’s shared, I very much doubt he cares,” Thiriel said slowly.

The dreadful truth finally came out. “He knows,” she blurted out. “That I’m marred.”

Thiriel wrapped an arm tightly around her. “You are not marred,” she said firmly. “So what if you can’t sing? I can’t dance. Mother couldn’t sew. Father couldn’t tell a joke to save his life. We all have things we can’t do, and yours is no more important than any other.”

“But it’s music.”

“I don’t care,” Thiriel said. “And if Prince Macalaure is worth two thimbles, he won’t either.”

Aranel resisted the urge to remind her that by that estimation, there were very few people worth two thimbles in their lives.

The shop had barely opened the next morning when Macalaure walked in. Aranel resisted the urge to run to the backroom and instead just gripped the table she was sitting behind for support.

He looked uncertain. “About last night,” he began.

“If it’s going to be a problem, I can assure you that Thiriel - “

“It’s not a problem,” he said immediately before smiling ruefully. “Well, it is a problem, but mainly because my entire courtship strategy revolved around impressing you with my music, and I’m still not quite sure what I have left to impress you with now that that’s out, but that speaks to my deficiencies, not yours.”

“Courtship?” she said blankly.

He saw the look on her face and groaned. “Yes,” he said. “And apparently without the music my strategy’s been even more lacking than I thought if that comes as a surprise to you. I’m sorry. I’d thought to impress you, and apparently I’ve just been proving myself an oblivious idiot instead.”

“The shows were impressive,” she protested. “You always - there’s always a visual element. I like that. And your lyrics are beautiful.”

He perked up. “Really?”

Her brain started working again. “But - courtship?” If she hadn’t already been sitting down, she would have had to then. “You can’t - I’m . . . marred.”

His face softened. “They say that about my father too, you know. Because of - “ He looked away.

His grandmother. All of Tirion knew, and no one dared speak of it except in whispers.

“Curufinwe would tell you he isn’t, but I say - So what if he is marred? So what if that makes us marred right along with him? So what if you are? The whole of Arda’s marred they say, so that means us right along with it. We get along as best we can anyway.”

As best we can anyway. She liked that.

“So,” he said hesitantly. “If you’ll allow me to try again. My mother is displaying several new sculptures soon. Would you like to see them?”

“I would,” she said, smiling brightly as an almost painful relief mixing with joy. “I’d still like to come watch you perform though. I really did like them except for having to hide what I could hear.”

His answering smile was more beautiful than ever. “It would be my pleasure.”

#maglor #maglor's wife #silmarillion #tolkien #fic #alternate character interpretation

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thesinglesjukebox · 6 years ago

Video

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TAYLOR SWIFT - YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN

[3.65]

The one that's on our mind, 365, all the time...

Will Rivitz: The Singles Jukebox -- Corrections, June 21 2019: The author of this blurb has previously stated that the selection of Meghan Trainor as LA Pride headliner would forever be the nadir of Pride-related programming. The author regrets the error. [1]

Joshua Copperman: The discourse for "ME!": "What does this mean for Taylor's next era?" The discourse for this lyrical clusterfuck: "What does this mean at all?" It's a much more interesting production, without stock horns and with some nice "Royals"-y vocal layering, but it's the most incoherent thing she's ever released. Is it about stans? Is it about homophobes? Is it a coming out song? Did Taylor throw the first shade at Stonewall? What is HAPPENING?? I'm sorry, I need to calm down. [3]

Will Adams: Taylor said "Gay Rights!" Kind of! Sort of. Well... it's complicated. Not necessarily because of her status as a cis straight woman, but because the message itself is so damn muddled. Stans and trolls and bigots and music journalists are lumped in the same mass of "haters," and while it's worth noting that this by no means the first anti-haters pop song to exist, the overt political text here results in lots of crossed wires. The song suffers as a result too, throwing half-formed catchphrases at the wall to see what sticks: the chorus is a melodic void (odd considering Taylor's songwriting strength); the "gowns" reference is too subtle to register; the patter results in odd scansion throughout ("like it's PUH-trón"); and "snakes and stones never broke my bones" is no more clever than "don't need opinions from a shellfish or a sheep." Speaking of Katy, also wrapped up in all this is a resolution of a beef that never seemed that important except as something for either party to mine for big single launches. It's all too much, especially for a not-bad track that fizzes just fine on its own. It'd be churlish to ask Taylor to take her own advice; for now all I ask for is coherence. [4]

Jonathan Bradley: Taylor Swift has always had a talent for deploying sharp and piquant phrases, the sorts of lyrics that tell blunt little stories like animated gifs. It's an opportunity for her to go broad and get funny: "Some indie record that's much cooler than mine," for instance, or "I can make the bad guys good for a weekend," or "I don't love the drama, it loves me." "You Need to Calm Down" is like an entire song built from these lines, and it whirls by like a Twitter thread or an Instagram story. Taylor sass is a lot of fun, and many of these ripostes are satisfyingly catty in their insouciance ("I'm just like, 'hey... are you OK?'" might be the best of these). Swift has shrugged off detractors on "Shake It Off" and "Mean," but she is more single-minded this time, and that focus paradoxically dilutes the intent. Swift's greatest strength as a songwriter is her interiority; she's adept at examining and interpreting her own feelings. But a consequence of that is that she is far less certain when she needs to step outside the bounds of her own head. The worst song she has ever released was a charity single called "Ronan," in which Swift sung in the voice of a mother who had lost her child to cancer; so talented at realizing her personal traumas, she proved incapable of reconstructing her sympathy for that bereavement in her own voice. "Calm Down" has some things to say about homophobia, and in this terrain outside her own experience, Swift's words are not so much unpleasant as awkward and a bit superficial, particularly in their uncertain invocation of "shade" as bigotry. (If stan theorists needed evidence that Swift is indeed as straight as she publicly presents, it's here: a queer Taylor would not have written a second verse as disengaged as that one.) But even diluted, Swift singles are still constructed tight. This one continues finding the pastel inversion of Reputation's skeletal synth sound, and echoes "ME!" with a hook of vowel sounds as palilalia -- "oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh..." this time, rather than "me-hee-hee." It's a tic that works -- in moderation. [7]

Alex Clifton: (Puts on music critic hat) It's stronger than "ME!" (which isn't hard but worth noting), I'm glad she takes swipes at homophobia but equating that with personal shots is a little bit weird, it's super catchy but the lyrics are still a little lacking, and I still can't remember all the words even though I have the melody memorized. (Takes off music critic hat, puts on bisexual Swiftie stan hat) EVERYTHING IS RAINBOWS AND MY BRAIN WON'T STOP SINGING THIS AND I WOULD MARRY TAYLOR SWIFT, HAPPY PRIDE!!!!! [5]

Alfred Soto: I'm sure it will sound fine on the radio, especially played beside "Bad Guy" and "Old Town Road." The maximalist intentions behind the Everest-sized synth bass and her rat-tat-tat delivery bespeak a mind that recognizes it's the one needing calm. Except for the "parade" line, I wouldn't have known this alludes to Pride if I hadn't watched the video. I don't feel pandered to as a queer man because, after all, a Pride parade is superficial performativity anyway. [6]

Katherine St Asaph: Give her this: the stacked-up arpeggio in the chorus is an absolutely brilliant hook, particularly the second time when it goes over the top. The rapid-fire prechorus is pretty good too. But the beat is the same freezer-burned "Paper Planes"/"With Ur Love"/"Send My Love (To Your New Lover)" chill, the accents are so far from the right syllables they've filed a misSING perSONS REport, the conflating of trolls with professional critics with the literal Westboro Baptist Church is bad (as is the weird class shit in the video, as if you can't be anti-gay and present like a Pleasantville star), and all this was done much better on "Mean." [5]

Katie Gill: In a way, this song is hellishly brilliant. Taylor Swift has provided her standom with a weapon, something that they can wield against any form of criticism. Want to write an article criticizing the fact that Swift seems to put "homophobia" and "me having internet bullies" on the same level, the fact that the video tactlessly paints rural Americana as the enemy of LGBTQ+ people instead of the Mike Pences of the world, or the fact that the second verse leans way too close to the sort of tactlessness that only aggressively woke allies can pull off? Expect a flock of Twitter replies telling you condescendingly that "you need to calm down" and "you're being too loud," as people ignore the half-assed condemnation of standom during the song's third verse in favor of using Swift's lyrics as a cudgel against any perceived haters. For all that Swift is trying to shed the sneaky snake image, traces of it still linger between the lines. [3]

Edward Okulicz: The people who said "Heartbeats" by The Knife was the future of music were right in 2003, and based on this, have now been right for 16 years and counting. That enormous synth-bass takes a song that should have been awful on paper (ugh, a thematic sequel to "This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things," which itself is why we can't have nice things, like good Taylor Swift songs), with the second verse featuring the worst lyrics Swift has ever written, and makes it frisky and playful. The "uh-oh uh-oh UH-OH!" hook is legitimately her best in years. Obsessing about someone is tedious, obsessing about those people is even more tedious, but for once, Swift sounds like she's legitimately above it, even if I don't think she knows what "shade" is. I wanted to hate this for its posturing, but I can't, because of the "uh-oh" bit. But just between you and me, I liked Katy Perry's last single more. [6]

William John: I'm always happy to hear songs that approximate the "Heartbeats" melody, and the layered vocals here sound lovely, but Dorian Corey didn't keep a mummy in her house for fifteen years for "shade" to be misinterpreted so flagrantly. [3]

Danilo Bortoli: Is it fair to demand political accountability from artists? The question remains thorny these days, but when Taylor Swift blatantly goes after pink money, the answer is yes, loud and clear. The case made for "You Need To Calm Down" has pulled the identity politics card (as usual, The Onion put it better). That is, Swift's song oversimplifies an ancient struggle for recognition, making up a narrative that isn't Taylor's to call her own. But what is more infuriating is the sugarcoating: the fact that pride should come only from within, and the naive and painful suggestion that a homophobe would go silent after a line as awful as "shade never made anybody less gay". That is to say, when it comes to protest, I prefer it the French way. Which is why all of this begs the question: Would you tell Richard Spencer to "calm down"? No, of course you wouldn't. [2]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: There are probably 2300 words elsewhere in this post about the politics and rhetoric of Taylor's words here (and I'll get to that), but first I feel obligated to talk about how "You Need To Calm Down" works on a purely musical level. It sounds like ass. It takes the bag of tricks that Swift used on "Ready For It?," the most musically captivating of Reputation's singles, and sands off all of their weird edges. Yes, there's a bass thump to welcome you in, but without the distortion it just sounds like Taylor's doing "Royals"-lite (I mean, Joel Little did produce.) And with the fangs off the verse, the lift to the chorus fails to land. It's all just sound, an undifferentiated, imperial wave of midtempo banger signifier without a real hook. Even Swift's vocals, which have always been her most compelling tool, can't sell the song's vibe -- she's confused not giving a fuck for calm. Of course, it's not entirely clear what "You Need To Calm Down"'s vibe, or point, even is. It's trying to be clever, with its winking references to stale LGBTQ and feminist symbology, but by conflating (or at least juxtaposing) those struggles with the problems that Taylor Swift has as a widely hated famous person, it ends up saying nothing at all. In the end, "You Need To Calm Down" is less a coherent song in itself than a Potemkin village to situate endless thinkpieces in. Make it stop. [3]

Ashley Bardhan: I know the title is "You Need To Calm Down" but there are no human words that can aptly describe how much I hate this song. Think of a young pigeon cooing as it flies through a fish market, weaving over and through the glistening crates of silver-scaled fish and ice. Oh no! There's a problem with a shipment! The owner angrily tosses a fat fish into the air, and its scales glint as it smacks the pigeon mid-air and onto the ground with the full brunt of its weight. The pigeon sees the fish market, its final flight, behind its closed eyes in a hurried blur. It weakly wheezes its final birdsong, and then... nothing. Yaaas, hunty. [0]

Iris Xie: 🤷 This is so tired, I can't even be that mad about it. The only question I have, because this song and MV isn't even worth a QTPOC-centered thinkpiece from me is this: when is the Post Malone + Swae Lee + Taylor Swift collaboration happening? This sounds so much like "Sunflower" and is just as deadening. Even the excitement of one of my besties sending me an ~*urgent*~ text message about Katy Perry and Taylor Swift making up over their imaginary feud, once they realized it hurt both of their fanbases, can't even ignite an ounce of care from me. (Bless your heart, my dear friend.) If she really wanted to pander to the gays, she could've just written a sequel to "Look What You Made Me Do" and become a slicker conduit for the less graceful parts about being in queer scenes, which can be about petty, messy drama, rather than being the subject of rage and apathy about being another harbinger of happy happy HAPPY gaypropriation. Like, whatever, she can have her extremely meaningless self-declared ally medal. I've been calm, just give me actual music. [2]

Isabel Cole: It's like this: A while ago I was catching up with an ex who mentioned he'd recently come back into contact with someone we'd known in high school -- acquaintance of his, frenemy of mine, a few sparkling months of giggling BFF-ship deteriorating across a year I spent defending her while she shit-talked my fashion sense in the girls' room to the local blabbermouth -- and he told me, with an ironic arch of the brow, that when my name had inevitably come up she'd said, "Isabel and I used to be so close; I wonder what happened." Reader, I spent like a week losing my mind, repeating the story and relitigating the history to anyone who would listen while bitterly making fun of her internet presence. Was this because I am petty and emotionally volatile? Yes. But it was also because there is a certain level of willful detachment from reality which I do not have the cognitive capacity to process adequately. Taylor Swift having the gall to tell any human on earth to calm down makes me feel insane the way it makes me feel insane to see someone citing as evidence of their incurable adolescent unpopularity the dorky AIM screenname they picked based on an affectionate joke I made. Taylor Swift saying "take several seats" makes me feel the same combination of spiteful and enraged as reading a line recycled from Livejournal in 2005: please learn like everyone else to disguise the extent to which the human brain is a machine wired to seek validation, the transparency of your desperation is making all of us uncomfortable! God, I wanna snub her in a lunchroom so bad. The song is unappealing in ways that barely merit mentioning -- verses that sound like they were reverse-engineered from a MIDI file of the superior but hardly sublime "Gorgeous," chorus that throws in the plodding piano of roaring bravery -- but even beyond the equivalency it implies between Twitter making fun of her and, like, hate crimes, I find the bridge particularly embarrassing, because of how artlessly it reveals its origin: Taylor Swift literally read a Tumblr post (or, the algorithm we call Taylor Swift processed several hundred Tumblr posts) from 2011 saying "stop pitting female artists against each other [handclap emoji etc.]!!!!!!!!!!!" and thought, Wow! Feminism! As for the possibility that this is another masterful turn from Taylor the troll (or troll!Taylor as there is a distressingly high chance she'd say) and by falling for it I've let her win: (1) Taylor Swift is always already winning, this is exactly what Marx was talking about (2) Let me kick it back to my ex one more time: when I asked what she was like these days, he considered and said: "I thought she'd developed self-awareness, but then I realized it was just self-identification." Yeah. [1]

Scott Mildenhall: You know sometimes, when you read the annotations on genius.com, how their deductions and inferences appear to have been made by algorithm? For instance, the notion that this being released on that loud American guy's birthday "seems to support the theory" that one line is about him? This is what would happen if that algorithm was tasked with writing a satirical song. [5]

Stephen Eisermann: My take? This is more lazy allyship than commercialization of pride. Plus, it's kind of a bop. Sucks, then, that Taylor completely misunderstands what shade is -- but did we really expect any better? [6]

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#Taylor Swift #pop #music #music review #writing

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