#ask answer ii everybody sing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lookedupandfellasleep · 11 months ago

Text

“Casablanca” During World War II and the Impact It Created Then and Now

Casablanca (1942) is regarded as one of the greatest films of all time. It has undeniably made history and secured itself one of the top spots in every movies-you-must-absolutely-watch list. Using contemporary themes accurate to the era it was being made in, weaving in dramatics and fiction that made it just a little bit easier to digest, but nonetheless, delivering a powerful story, Casablanca managed to capture the hearts of its World War II audience and transcend time with its relevance and sentiment, as good cinema does.

Funnily enough, despite being a film enthusiast, I have never watched Casablanca. Despite the noses that would definitely turn up at me for saying this, I can’t pretend that classic films have the same appeal to me as modern films do. My attention tends to sizzle out with the sing-song delivery, dialogue-heavy style of old movies. However, there are exceptions to this and I will have to say that Casablanca is one of them.

Casablanca follows the story of Rick Blaine, former freedom fighter turned nightclub and gambling hub owner in Casablanca, Morocco. Rick's Café Américain has become the number one spot in Casablanca for displaced refugees that seek safe passage to America through illegally obtained letters of transit. Despite his past, Rick now chooses to stay “neutral” and isolate himself from any political affairs, “I stick my neck out for nobody”. At least, that’s what it seems like on the surface. This existence is disrupted when his former lover and the cause of his cynicism, Ilsa Lund and her husband, Victor Laszlo, enter his saloon. The past quickly resurfaces and the flame within Rick and Ilsa is rekindled. He now has to face the choice of keeping his love by his side or doing the right thing for the greater good and losing the love of his life again. In the end, Rick cannot help but go back to his roots and do the right thing, “… three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world”. He ends up saving his rival, Victor Laszlo, and helping him and Ilsa safely flee Casablanca for him to continue his work as a leader of resistance in the war.

Casablanca was adapted from an unproduced play by Murray Burnett and Joan Alison then titled Everybody Comes to Rick’s. The idea for the play's premise came about when Murray Burnett traveled to Vienna to help out his Jewish relatives. While he was there, he learned that refugees used a route that traveled from Marseilles to Morocco to Lisbon to then bring them safely to the United States. Many refugees stopped over at Casablanca during the Nazi invasion of France in 1940.

Casablanca, the film, came about when Irene Diamond, story editor for Warner Brothers, read the unproduced play while on a visit to New York City in 1941. Diamond, being a long-time collaborator of Hal Wallis, convinced him to buy the play’s rights for $20,000. The name was then changed from Everybody Comes to Rick’s to the iconic title, Casablanca.

The film started production in May 1942, during the height of World War II with A-list actors already in its roster: Humphrey Bogart, Ingrid Bergman, and Paul Henreid. Production for the movie had to be rushed when Stephen Karnot saw an opportunity that they could take advantage of when Japanese forces attacked Pearl Harbor. He saw this as a massive publicity boost and made the film’s themes extremely relevant at the time. Due to this and a couple of other hiccups, filming did not go too smoothly.

Julius J. Epstein, Philip G. Epstein, and Howard Koch were enlisted to write the screenplay. The script was only half-written when production began. Nobody knew how the film would end. Bergman came to Howard Koch to ask which man she should play like she’s more in love with, Victor or Rick. The scriptwriter couldn’t answer this specifically and instead just told her to play them both “evenly” as they also had no idea what was going to happen. The script went through many more rewrites during filming.

Production also suffered with shortages and limitations at the time of filming. Because of the ongoing war, production could not use materials such as rubber, aluminum, nylons, and silk because of the shortages. Costumes and sets had to be made differently. Filming also could not be done on location or at nighttime because of the looming threat of a Japanese attack in mainland California. Casablanca had to be filmed entirely on soundstages.

Casting was also affected by the war. Almost all of the cast of Casablanca were actual refugees, which, in part, may have contributed further to its success. Emotions ran high while the cast sang, “La Marseillaise” in the now iconic scene. Both on- and off-screen, this symbolized for them unity against the fascism and oppression that was happening at the time. The passion can be heard in their voices as they drown out the “Die Wacht am Rhein” of the Germans. Real tears are shed by real refugees who were displaced in the war.

Censorship also played a bit of a hindrance in the making of Casablanca. The film was dealing with a lot of sensitive topics at the time: adultery, war, and propaganda. It had to go through a lot of rewrites and plot changes for the film to be considered “appropriate” for the audience. Censors had to make sure that the film did not condone adultery and that it would send the right message when it came to supporting the war effort.

From an insider’s point-of-view, the film seemed lackluster and a bit of a patchwork with its unfinished script, production limitations, numerous rewrites, censorship, and actors that barely wanted anything to do with the project. However, the way it all came together was magical and exceeded the expectations of everyone who was a part of making the movie.

Much like how production was rushed for this film, the premiere was also moved from 1943 to November 1942. Additional scenes were supposed to be filmed but canceled to be able to hasten its release. This was to take advantage of another major moment in the war: the Allied landing in North Africa and the Battle of Casablanca. This was huge publicity and helped not only to draw the crowds for the film but to also increase its resonance with the people. The film continues to grow in popularity and has achieved “classic” status in today’s time.

I believe its success comes from the raw romanticism of sacrifice that this film portrays. Boy does not get girl. Instead, sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good. It’s a satisfying ending that had us all wanting to do the right thing. This film is about love but it’s not just about romantic love. It’s about the love that we have for people, in general. The good that we see in the world even in times of darkness.

1 note · View note

heartstringsduet · 1 year ago

Note

Nice ask day!

What’s you’re karaoke song? Not your favourite song, but one that if you’re asked to perform you’ll hit it outta the park

xoxo Kit (louis-ii-reyes-strand)🖤

Hi Kit <33 Okay, the answer that only works for German speakers is "Schwarz zu Blau" by Peter Fox. It's rap-y and a honest love letter about how ugly and beautiful Berlin, the city my heart was born and will be burried in, is, and I love it because I sing it with SO MUCH PASSION haha. And English songs it probably is a good old 90s early 2000s song by Britney or "Everybody" by the Backstreet Boys.

#what's yours? :DD #michelle answers #nice ask day

0 notes

camgoloud · 2 years ago

Note

top five colin hughes moments and top five hadestown songs!

OOOOOOHHH this is a delightful question let's go

top five colin hughes moments:

5 - "oh, like grindr" and EVERYBODY did a double take lmao

4 - the approximately five years between when keeley asks him if he can possibly manage to not make his instagram post about welsh independence this time and when he responds in the affirmative. he has to have a think about it first!

3 - "the doctor told me not to drink" *takes a swig*

2 - when he utterly fails to back his lamborghini out of the parking lot (this one is the most RELATABLE colin hughes moment for sure. not because of the lamborghini ofc just because of the. complete lack of driving skill lol)

1 - jumpman jumpman jumpman! i probably rewound those thirty seconds like six times the first time i watched that episode. it's just such a sweet moment.... he's so happy... 🥺

top five hadestown songs (all performances from the 2017 live cast recording because i generally prefer it, except for wedding song which tragically does not appear on that tracklist :/):

5 - epic iii

4 - way down hadestown (it’s fun! It’s my ao3 name for a reason! i will NEVER NEVER be over “you’re early” / “I missed ya...” agghhh i get chills every time)

3 - wedding song

2 - road to hell ii (breaks my heart every time)

1 - chant (the way that hades and persephone sing that twisted minor version of the wedding song melody to each other.... the layering of all the different melodies.... eurydice singing "shelter us, harbor me" while hades tells persephone to think of the walls as his embrace of her... the instrumentation... !!!!! i'm endlessly obsessed with it)

(put “top 5” anything in my inbox and i will answer!)

#ask game #thanks for asking!

5 notes · View notes

retro-duets · 2 years ago

Text

a question I am never asked is "what's your favourite album?" personally the answer is "glee LGBTQIA+ pride" and I went to the trouble of ranking all 96 songs from this masterpiece of an album

And I'm telling you I’m not going

2. The scientist

3. Thriller/heads will roll

4. It's my life/confessions ii

5. Hate on me

6. Bust your windows

7. Edge of glory

8. Lean on me

9. Cough syrup

10. Girl on fire

11. Mine

12. Time warp

13. Maybe this time

14. Go your own way

15. How will I know

16. My life would suck without you

17. Keep holding on

18. Shake it off

19. I lived

20. It's all coming back to me now

21. Rumor has it/someone like you

22. Paradise by the dashboard lights

23. Anyway you want it/lovin touchin squeezin

24. I feel pretty/unpretty

25. Start me up/livin on a prayer

26. Like a prayer

27. Don't rain on my parade

28. Americano/dance again

29. Hopelessly devoted to you

30. Like a virgin

31. Total eclipse of the heart

32. Empire state of mind

33. Me against the music

34. Songbird

35. Take me or leave me

36. animal

37. Holding out for a hero

38. Proud mary

39. There are worse things I could do

40. Jessie’s girl

41. Don't you want me

42. Somebody to love

43. Halo/walking on sunshine

44. Raise your glass

45. Last friday night

46. Everybody talks

47. Survivor/I will survive

48. Teenage dream

49. Rolling in the deep

50. Somebody that I used to know

51. Smooth criminal

52. Loser like me

53. Valerie

54. Summer nights

55. Uptown girl

56. Marry you

57. Don't stop believing

58. Faithfully

59. Gives you hell

60. I kissed a girl

61. It's time

62. Somewhere only we know

63. Silly love songs

64. I've had the time of my life

65. Wanna dance with somebody

66. We are young

67. Bad romance

68. Bills, bills, bills

69. Landslide

70. Toxic

71. River deep, mountain high

72. Touch a touch a touch me

73. Turning tables

74. Singing in the rain/umberella

75. Forget you

76. Roots before branches

77. New york state of mind

78. Defying gravity

79. Bohemian rhapsody

80. Born this way

81. Run the world (girls)

82. Misery

83. Pretending

84. You keep me haning on

85. Womanizer

86. You're the one that I want

87. You can’t stop the beat

88. Light up the world

89. Glad you came

90. I say a little prayer

91. Some nights

92. Poker face

93. Telephone

94. Hey soul sister

95. The only exception

96. lucky

#glee #glee opinions #glee music #somebody loves you should have been on this album #and it's sick that both lucky and you are the only exception made it on when somebody loves you didn't #also I don't know what qualifies a lot of these as LGBT songs #also if I die young and seasons of love were on this but I left those out #also so emotional should have been on it

5 notes · View notes

samnyangie · 3 years ago

Text

Since people liked rsl interview on dps, I’d like to share one of my favourite interview by him. I think it’s one of those rare interview where he wasn’t joking around that much but discuss acting quite seriously haha

So enjoy:DD

(Credit)

____________________________

1990 New York Times

Young Actor's Life Has the Makings of a Movie

by Lynn Mautner

New York Times

May 20, 1990

It would make a good movie. A 15-year-old sophomore at Ridgewood High School is playing the Artful Dodger in the musical ''Oliver'' with the school's theater group, New Players, when he is discovered by a casting agency secretary and whisked off to Broadway and the movies.

That's exactly what happened to Robert Sean Leonard, now 21, and a star of the 1989 film ''Dead Poets Society,'' which received an Oscar for best original screenplay.

''My mother took me to New Players' summer performances when I was 10,'' he said, ''and I loved the camaraderie of people, rehearsing and singing. I began spending more time there, painting signs and moving furniture, and soon became an element of the company, with small roles in 'The Miracle Worker,' 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,' 'Barnum.' ''

Starting as an understudy for three roles at the New York Public Theater (he never got on stage), Mr. Leonard amassed credits that include ''The Beach House'' with George Grizzard for the Circle Repertory Theater, television movies, ''Brighton Beach Memoirs'' and ''Breaking the Code'' on Broadway, plays at the West Bank Cafe on 42d Street and the recent ''When She Danced'' at Playwrights Horizons.

He has just completed a part as Paul Newman's and Joanne Woodward's son in the movie ''Mr. and Mrs. Bridge,'' filmed in Kansas City, to be released in August. ''I age from a 15-year-old Eagle Scout to 22, coming home from World War II with a mustache,'' Mr. Leonard said.

Mr. Leonard, who received a general equivalency diploma when he was 17, lives in New York City and attends Fordham University between performances. Soon to return from the Cannes Film Festival with his fellow actors in ''Dead Poets,'' he is next scheduled to go into rehearsal for the film ''Married to It,'' a romantic comedy.

Q. Do you remember when you decided on an acting career?

A. I never decided to pursue an acting career. It just has happened. I still think it's going to stop and I'll have to get a real job soon, but I'm afraid to question it because if I do, it will disappear.

Q. How do you think your theater experience in high school has helped you?

A. It was a great teaching experience that prepared me in a lot of ways. We did 10 shows in 10 weeks, so there was no time to think about method. It was running for the stage, hoping you'll make it in time for your entrance. In Steven Soderbergh's new book of his diaries when directing the film ''Sex, Lies and Videotape,'' he said that on a film set there should always be a chain of command, but never a chain of respect.

At New Players, those three to four years, everyone was given the same respect. You had to, because you'd be the lead one week and painting sets the next. That's a luxury that is not available in New York, unfortunately, because of the unions. You're an actor and that's it.

Q. Have you taken any acting lessons? Do you recommend them for others?

A. I've taken two classes - a video acting class to help me get from stage to film, with Marty Winkler, currently my manager, and an acting class at H. B. Studios.

Acting classes are tricky. It's like asking someone in therapy if they'd recommend going to a psychiatrist. For some people it's great; for some it's not necessary; for some it's harmful. The best way to learn acting is just to do it.

There's a danger to the classroom, because it's safe, and you can get addicted to it. The clique of people are there, and you might tend to remain with them and never go out on your own. So it can give you the safety net which can eventually strip away your courage to go out and really try. On the other hand, you can get a wonderful teacher who brings out the best in you and gives you the courage to go out and dazzle everybody.

Q. You went from high school to Off Broadway. What were your feelings and fears during your first professional performance?

A. The first time I performed in New York - in ''Sally's Gone, She Left Her Name'' - I played Michael Learned's son. I think I was too young. I wasn't even aware of reasons to be afraid. I was just there for the fun of it. Fresh out of New Players, I knew it to be fun. I've never worried about lines. In ''Brighton Beach'' I should have been tense, because it was Broadway. I was nervous, but not racked - more excited.

Q. What do you enjoy most about acting?

A. The people, and opportunities to learn, to travel, both physically and emotionally. To look at people other than myself and try to figure out what makes them tick.

Olivier said you never play a villain; you play a man considered to be a villain; that you have to justify everything he does first; you have to know that what you are doing is right and find a way to make it right - even murder.

I just played a conceited piano player in ''When She Danced,'' and I had to figure out what would make a person be conceited and make that O.K. with me. I learned where conceit comes from - from confidence and talent.

Worst thing you can do is play someone and judge him at the same time, saying: ''Here I am. I am so conceited.'' First you have to understand why you're that way so that people interpret you as conceited.

Q. Do you consider acting an escape?

A. I don't look at performing as escaping, as really becoming another person and leaving my problems for two hours, so I don't have to deal with me, because I don't become another person. I work, so that when I am working, in a way it is me at my best. I'm not leaving myself; in fact, I'm more focused on myself than ever. I don't become that person, but I fully understand him, fully explore him, as to why he does what he does and justify it.

You can't play a fool to play Bottom, who's the opposite of fool in Shakespeare's ''Midsummer Night's Dream.'' What makes people fools is that they're completely confident in what they're doing. They don't think they're fools; they think they're right on track, which makes them so funny and makes them look like fools.

Q. Who influenced you the most?

A. I have not had one person or experience that stands out that's a turning point. Every step in acting relies heavily on the one before. Everything I've learned colors everything I have known before, and suddenly changes it.

I have learned a little bit from everyone I have known, whether about acting itself, or living and working as an actor. Like a good detective novel, for every clue that is solved, two more appear. Every time I learn something, it opens two other doors. In ''Dead Poets,'' the rooftop scene, where I throw the desk set off, was improvised. Are instincts then a part of acting?

Q. Are there desirable qualities to have as an actor?

A. Concentration, perseverence, lack of inhibitions. There's no room for self-consciousness on stage. Also, there is an element in acting that is not fair. Whatever talent is, part of it can be learned and part can't. There are people that audiences like to watch or don't. In Soderbergh's book, he says that talent plus perseverance will equal luck. But I don't know what talent is; it is beyond definition.

Q. Do you learn by watching other films and plays? Your own? Other people?

A. Sometimes I watch for directing; sometimes for performing. There are lines in ''Dead Poets'' I would do differently, if given the chance. For example, Todd said: ''You talk and people listen to you, Neil. I am not like that.'' I answer, ''Don't you think you could be?'' I think I could have made it clearer. I don't get much from observing strangers, because although I see what they do, I don't know where they're coming from.

Q. What are the main differences between stage and film work?

A. I feel that as an actor, you should start in theater, to learn the process of creating a character, in rehearsal. Film is an arena for people who already know that, because on the set they expect you to know the character inside out.

Film work is harder, because this tangible part has to happen in your head before filming takes place. And it's more solitary. You create your character alone, without the give-and-take of other actors.

Q. What tips would you give young, aspiring actors?

A. Read plays aloud with friends at home; do any work you can do in high school. Hang out with jocks, leatherheads, and see what makes them work. Don't be a theater rat and only talk to actors. Read a lot. You really have to feel it; really want it; then take it. Don't take no for an answer. Seize the day.

___________________________

There’s another one I really want to share as well, I’ll bring it with me at some point:))

#robert sean leonard #rsl #theatre #acting #interview #I love how he ended the interview with seize the day

36 notes · View notes

2ndbat · 4 months ago

Text

@urbanoath sent:

[ DISCOVER ] for receiver to find sender at the end of a trail of blood. (crossover with my the batman verse maybe?)

even more injury memes || accepting

Even at night, the Gotham Terry was used to was never so... dark. He assumed the lack of vast neon lighting and hologram screens might have had something to do with it. But even still, there was something extra ominous feeling about this version of old Gotham. The thing that dropped him here wasn't kidding about the place not being like the Gotham he knew.

However, as he stumbled upon what looked like smattering of blood on the rooftop of a building in the middle of construction, the young Bat couldn't help but feel like he was in an odd way-- at home. Originally, he'd planned to use the roof to get a better lay of the land, needing to see what was familiar in the area and what was not. A way to take his mind off of... how he was feeling...

Blood in this kind of location, leading off in any direction... could be a number of things. He was unsure what he would do if he ran into a version of someone he knew. How would he begin to explain everything about himself? Could he even do that in the first place?

Ultimately, it didn't matter. He would cross that bridge when he came to it. Or fly over it. Blood always meant at least one thing, someone was hurt. And he couldn't just ignore that. Thunder in the distance coupled with the unfinished building threatened to wash away the trail. So he quickly followed the blood deeper into the scaffolding and concrete.

Soon enough, Terry found himself looking at a very familiar dark silhouette. He was looming over someone unconscious against a wall. There was enough of the color red on both figures that Terry wasn't sure who all of the blood belonged to. Although the teenager's hand hovered over the stealth controls of his suit, he felt somewhat entranced by the sight-- standing still, waiting to see if the larger bat showed any signs of being affected by some kind of injury.

#urbanoath #ic ii bat country #ask answer ii everybody sing

2 notes · View notes

zuzuxtara · 4 years ago

Text

Promises - II. Night

Chapter 2/ ? Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender word count: +2.6k Pairing: Zutara Characters: Katara, Zuko, steambabies :D

read on ao3 (with notes)/ ff.net or keep reading ♡

if you haven’t read Chapter I yet, read here: ao3 (with notes)/ ff.net or stay on tumblr

Night

Katara listened to the soft snoring of her husband and daughter, who’d both come down with a light cold the moment their ship had left Fire Nation waters.

The gentle waves that rocked their vessel usually lulled her to sleep easily, but tonight the moon stood full and high, inviting the Waterbender to come and play with the wide ocean around her. Katara tried to ignore the seductive pull of her element, though– it was late, and they would reach port early in the morning.

Frustrated by her own restlessness, she turned– only to be greeted by huge blue eyes that were staring right back at her. It seemed she wasn’t the only one the moon called upon tonight. Smiling at her youngest, Katara raised her arm and the boy snuggled closer to his mother. She buried her nose in his dark curls.

While Kya tended to smell of singed hair and mischievous adventure, little Iroh's sweet baby scent had just begun to fade.

After placing a kiss on his temple Katara whispered, “Can’t you sleep, little penguin?”

“No, Mami,” he tried to whisper in return, but his high voice echoed through their cabin nonetheless.

She glanced over her son’s head. Zuko shifted a little, but he and Kya were still sleeping as soundly as their stuffy noses permitted.

Katara felt the boy looking up at her and brought a finger to her lips.

If neither of them could sleep, they could as well enjoy the full moon night. Slowly, she pushed their blankets aside and, like thieves, they stole out of bed.

In half-darkness, they put on their matching parkas and went up on deck hand in hand. Illuminated by the moon, Katara took in the icy night air of her childhood home. In only a few hours they would be reunited with their friends and family, her very first home.

Iroh hadn’t yet been able to walk when they’d last visited the South together, and by now he was already old enough to play in the endless snow; just like she’d done with her brother so many years ago.

Katara’s excitement grew.

Where Kya’s face was a well-rounded mix of her parents, Iroh looked Southern Water Tribe through and through.

She loved both her children unconditionally– to the moon and the sun; but being able to bring her little Water Tribe boy home to the people who’d raised her, filled Katara with pride.

Iroh tugged at her gloved hand.

“Mami, look, the moon is sooo shiny!”

“My, you’re right,” chuckling, she kneeled to fix his hood. “Is that why you couldn’t sleep, Iroh?”

Katara had been observing him lately. With Kya, they’d known from the moment of her birth that she would be a bender. She’d been born with fire in her eyes; and over the years, she’d in fact proven to be as bright and unstoppable as the flames she could command.

Little Iroh took his time, though. He’d already passed the age in which the first signs of bending– any bending at that– usually occurred. She and Zuko weren’t particularly worried about it; if he couldn’t bend at all, they would be more than fine with it.

It was just that Katara had an impatient trust in the dream – or vision?– she’d had the night of Iroh’s birth.

Zuko would never call her foolish– she knew that; but he definitely didn’t believe in superstition. She also didn’t want him to think that she was envious of him and Kya sharing an element– because it wasn’t true. Some things were just best kept between her and the spirits.

So Katara had never told him.

The day before Iroh’s birth had been sweltering hot and her first contractions had gotten her by surprise; at that time, she’d had yet another couple of weeks to go. Assuming a false alarm, Katara had heeded Zuko’s suggestion and had gone to rest in their bed. Sleep had claimed her instantly, as had the dream.

She dreams of the moon.

It is not the same one she has come to know in the short Fire Nation nights, but the seemingly never setting moon of her childhood. Since it is a dream, she recognises this serene moon to be Yue; although she doesn’t appear to her like on the day Katara has seen her body become spirit.

In her dream, Yue does not have any shape. Instead, she is the moonshine and the stars that mirror the endless ocean on which Katara finds herself floating. Yue is the water herself, and the sky; maybe Katara isn’t even floating on water but moonshine? A profound peace settles in her bones, and her tears mix with this magical place. There’s a heartbeat echoing her own inside of her; the waves she’s so magnificently drowning in pull her down in tune to the sweet melody. But breath comes easiest to Katara in the depths of the ocean. Her lungs and her heart expand and double, burst on the dark ocean floor. And then she– the last Waterbender born to the original Southern Water Tribe – knows she is no longer alone.

After Katara had been woken by Zuko, they had discovered that her water had broken. Only a few hours later, their little prince had been born– a little early, but completely healthy.

To this day, he wore the shapes and colours of his mother’s childhood home and carried the name of the man his father cherished most.

Instead of answering, Iroh looked up at the sky.

Searching his face, Katara asked again, “Can’t you sleep because of the moon? Do you–”

“It’s it true that there is a woman on the moon, Mami?”

The question made her heart skip a beat. Could it be…?

Following his intense gaze, she could only whisper, “Why do you ask, Iroh?”

The silence felt endless, before he finally said, “Yaya said so.”

Suddenly feeling awfully silly, Katara gathered the boy into her arms.

Maybe she did pressure herself too much into having a waterbending child.

Maybe she did have too much pride as a Master Waterbender herself.

Maybe she did give one pregnancy-induced fever dream way too much weight.

But it would have to stop– immediately. If Iroh came to any harm because of her own arrogant desires, she would never be able to forgive herself. Katara wouldn’t let it happen.

She withdrew from the embrace and nodded solemnly, “Well, Kya is right. There is a girl on the moon.”

Iroh beamed at his mother, “I knew it!”

Laughing at his excitement, Katara rose some water from the ocean and coated a fraction of the deck in ice.

Iroh, knowing what would come next, tugged eagerly at her sleeve. Together, they stepped on the ice and began to turn in slow pirouettes under the bright moonlight.

“Her name is Yue. She is very brave and beautiful,” she held Iroh by one hand, lest he would fall. “Did you know that your Uncle Sokka and Uncle Aang and I know her?”

The child’s eyes grew even bigger. “And Baba, too?”

Katara nodded again. He didn’t yet need to know the circumstances…

“Of course! Grandpa Iroh does, too.”

Giggling, he dared a small jump. “And Auntie Toph, Mami?”

Carefully stepping off the ice herself, Katara guided him along the deck.

“You know that Auntie Toph knows everybody and everything...”

There would be no proper sunrise, but time passed either way. The ship had increasingly come to life and it had been the captain herself, who’d brought them blankets to keep warm.

As not to bother anyone’s work, they had snuggled up in some wind-sheltered corner on deck. Sitting on Katara’s lap, Iroh rested his head against her shoulder. He followed the movements of her hands with his own, awestruck by how easily the water listened to his mother.

“Can I do that, too, Mami?”

“Maybe one day, penguin,” she kissed the top of his hooded head.

After a moment, she let the water fall away and pulled her son closer to her chest.

“You know Mami and Baba and Kya love you, even if you can’t bend, do you, Iroh?”

Katara knew he was too young to comprehend her worries, so it didn’t surprise her when he answered, “But I want to make ice, Mami. Just like you.”

“We’ll see, penguin.”

He sighed like someone ten times his tender age, continuing his apparent monologue, “Maybe I could ask the girl on the moon to help me do that.”

Despite everything, this made her laugh.

“What a clever idea, Iroh! But you have to ask nicely, promised?”

“Promised”, he nodded so hard, his hood came off. “Can I go now?”

There was no use in telling him no, as he was already untangling himself from the blankets and his mother’s arms. Feeling oddly calm, Katara watched him take off.

“Stay away from the railing and let the guards be, Iroh!”

He turned back smiling and waved at her.

It wasn’t long before the rest of her little family joined her on deck.

“Well, well. Look who’s rising with the sun now,” she teased when Zuko and Kya looked sleepily at her.

After hugging them, she wrapped her blankets around her daughter. The girl was always freezing cold, since she couldn’t quite control her inner heat yet. Katara tucked Kya's braid into her parka and let her run off in search of her little brother.

“There is no sun to rise with, Katara,” Zuko muttered, pulling her gently into his arms. He rested his chin on her head and tried to keep an eye on their children.

The moon stood as high in the sky as it had for days; Zuko knew it was normal for his wife to be that strongly affected by its presence, but he worried either way.

His voice was low against her ear, “Didn’t get much sleep, again?”

Katara shook her head, telling him that Iroh had been awake all night, too.

For a moment, she looked up at her husband and pressed a kiss against his jaw. Then, she rested her cheek against his warmed parka. “And the bed was too cramped, I’m afraid.”

Although she couldn’t see it, she knew that a corner of his mouth rose in amusement.

Zuko’s warm hand came to rest over her stomach.

“To think that it will be even more crowded on our trip back...”

They chuckled softly. It was too early to see with all the layers she wore in the cold, but the reason for their trip to the South Pole was warmly hidden away inside her.

“Oh, on the trip back, I’ll be tired for years, Zuko. I’ll be able to sleep anywhere.”

It was probably true. Besides a growing family, they’d brought a lot of work with them.

There were still post-war agreements to be upheld, healers to be trained and allies to be made. The world did not improve itself.

Knowing they had the same thought, they grimaced at each other.

“Let’s take it easy, yeah?”

She was just about to agree when Kya’s shriek pierced through the air.

“Ma, Ba! Look!”

A small gathering awaited them at the harbour. Whenever Katara came home, it had grown by yet another dock or lighthouse. Wasn’t the one to the West the improved outcome of the rudimentary plans she and Sokka had made years ago?

New and old faces looked up at the family exiting the ship. Over time, Katara’s little village had become a small town– a welcoming home to whoever dared bracing the cold.

Her eyes found her father next to Sokka in the crowd, but she looked away when she saw Hakoda’s face fall. Despite the biting cold, Katara hadn’t noticed new tears running down her cheeks.

“Grandpa,” Kya exclaimed the moment she saw him. “Look what Iroh can do!”

Before she could drag her brother away, Zuko laid an arm around Kya and gently pressed her against his side. He knew how important this would be for his wife.

“Let your Ma and Iroh go first...”

They fell a few steps behind and watched as Katara and Iroh made their way to Hakoda. Katara bowed her head respectfully to her father. Zuko had seen her do it only once before– on their wedding day; without looking up, she presented Hakoda their son.

Katara sunk to her knees to be at eye level with Iroh and asked him to show his grandfather what he could do.

The boy nodded happily and moved his hands more or less the same way he’d seen his mother do only a couple of hours ago.

Slowly, little drops of water rose from the ground and gathered around Iroh's gloved hands.

The shape was sloppy and burst after a few seconds– but he’d done it.

“He’s a Waterbender, Father.”

It was not like there were no Waterbenders in the Southern Water Tribe, but most of them and their parents had immigrated from far up North. They were good people, but they had not suffered as the South had, knew not what prices had been paid in order to survive.

To the South, a Waterbender was a blessing and Hakoda’s beloved daughter had brought them yet another one.

Hakoda stared down at Katara and his grandson.

It was Sokka who broke the heavy silence when he saw tears rise in his father's and sister's eyes.

“Amazing, buddy! You look just like your mama when she did her magic water tricks for the first time.”

Blinking rapidly himself, he picked his nephew up.

Even the people who’d gathered to welcome the Fire Nation ship turned and silently went away, paying their chief and his daughter some respect. They would have plenty of opportunities to greet Katara and her family later at the feast.

Iroh giggled when Sokka sat him on his shoulders since he was now as tall as his father, who’d come to stand next to them.

“Long day, I guess?”

Zuko nodded. “You bet, Sokka.”

He watched his brother-in-law look back at Katara and Hakoda, who stood a few feet away. Their heads were bowed as if they were in prayer.

“She fine?”

“Yes. Just overwhelmed,” Zuko pulled Iroh’s hood back over his small head, “We could already see the port when our little penguin here bend for the first time.”

It was Sokka’s turn to nod in serious acknowledgement; but when Kya told him that she’d seen Iroh do it first, his demeanour changed once again.

“My, that can’t be my niece Kya, can it? Last time I saw her she was this small!”

He held his hand ridiculously close to the ground, which made Kya cry out in protest.

“Liar! You were on my birthday, Uncle Sokka!”

“And it has been what, princess? Three months?”

“I can make ice, Uncle Sokka!”

“Are you sure? You’ll have to show me that again, bud.”

Zuko laughed but only half-listened to Sokka and the children.. He stole a glance at his wife, who was now in a tight embrace with her father.

From where he stood, Zuko could see that Hakoda whispered something against Katara’s forehead before kissing it.

The polar wind hadn’t carried all the words to Zuko– but it had sounded like they had been giving thanks to the spirits.

“Last one to get to Auntie Suki and Gran Gran is a wet blanket!”

He saw Katara smile up at her father then. Hakoda wiped away her tears and pointed at the ocean. Not wanting to intrude further, Zuko turned away.

It was just before he followed the excited screams of his children, that Zuko bowed his head in his own gratitude towards the moon.

#zutara #zutarafic #zutara fandom #steambabies #atla #katara #zuko #southern water tribe #e writes

15 notes · View notes

hutchhitched · 5 years ago

Text

Social Commentary in The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

I haven’t written a lot of meta about The Hunger Games trilogy. When I first read them, I devoured the entire set in three days before I was part of tumblr or writing fanfiction. My own metas were in my head and part of things I taught my classes and discussed with my friends, but not something I generally put on my blog. I don’t know why. (I do have a meta about Peeta’s hijacking that I’ve been meaning to write for a while. Maybe once I’ve finished this book. Hint: It has to do with George Orwell’s 1984, which I used in my classes last year and was performed at a theater in Houston right as the pandemic hit.) I don’t know if reading this book when I’m a decade older and after a really rough few years of my own has anything to do with it or just that I’ve been exposed to so much by being in this fandom, but I’ve got a lot of thoughts about The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. I’ve only read Part 1 so far, but here are some observations. (It’s long, but at least read the last one—even if you have to skip to get there.)

Spoilers below:

Reaping day is July 4. We already knew it was during the summer, so that’s not a huge stretch. What intrigues me is the symbolism of July 4 for Americans since it’s Independence Day. For those of you who aren’t American or aren’t sure why that struck me, here you go. Independence Day represents the day the Declaration of Independence was signed (although, it was actually two days later, but whatever). The Declaration of Independence was issued 14 months AFTER the beginning of the American Revolution in April 1775 at the battles of Lexington and Concord and was not the cause of the Revolution as so many believe. Penned by Thomas Jefferson (at least colloquially), it famously discusses the celebrated (but sadly, not practiced) phrase that “all men are created equal.” That’s the phrase that’s trotted out and waved about, but the Declaration is mostly about tyranny and the role of government. In fact, the Declaration doesn’t start with “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” Instead, it begins with this: “When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another…” In other words, the Declaration of Independence does indicate that all humans are created equal. It also discusses what the government is supposed to and not supposed to do. Having Reaping Day occur on July 4 is a brilliant jab that adds an entirely new level to what Independence Day means and how it’s celebrated—with lots of flag waving and fireworks and BBQ (and very little knowledge of what the document itself actually says).

Which brings me to Sejanus Plinth. Bless him. He’s the voice of compassion and reason in part 1 as he speaks up about treating other humans with respect and dignity, about the humanity of those in the districts, as he feeds the hungry, as he challenges the inhumanity of the Games. In short, he’s the Peeta Mellark voice from the final council of the tributes in Mockingjay. I have no idea what’s going to happen to him in the rest of the book, but he’s the humanity I’m craving as I read. A note on his name: Sejanus was a close friend and ally of the Roman Emperor Tiberius. Sejanus worked to improve conditions in the Empire and served as a proxy to Tiberius when he was absent. He was strangled to death in 31 AD/CE. His last name is what makes me stop and want to hug Collins. Four years ago, I had no idea what a plinth was. I’d never heard the word, but I was the prop mistress for my church’s summer musical, and it was on the list of things I had to find. I googled it and found out it’s a base on which a statue (or something else) is displayed. In Mary Poppins, it was used as the base for a statue that came to life and talked to the characters in the park. In other words, it’s a place on which someone can take a stand and deliver a message—a platform, if you will, of the character’s compassion and humanity.

I don’t remember if we got that Tigris was Snow’s cousin in the original trilogy or not. What I do remember is that she was a former stylist who Snow thought was no longer useful and had her removed from the Games. I haven’t figured out yet how I feel about her in this book, but her banishment and desire to see Snow destroyed are even more intriguing to me as a result of her inclusion as his relative. I would not have pictured her as a Snow before reading the new book. I’m still waiting to be convinced. “Snow comes out on top” is awesome. I wish I could write half as well as Collins.

There’s so much Holocaust imagery in this book, it’s terrifying. The cattle cars, the inhumane treatment of the tributes, using a veterinarian to treat the tributes instead of a doctor, the numbers, the cages, the rats, separation into districts and restrictions on travel, the hunger and starvation. Ugh. I’ve spent the past several years studying the Holocaust with some of the leading Holocaust and genocide scholars in the world both here in Houston and in Israel. I’ve traveled to Germany and Poland to see the death camps and headquarters of the Gestapo and Nazis and so on. The Games themselves are genocide, by definition, as an attempt to reduce the population of undesirables by targeting the children so they cannot reproduce. Hearing Survivor stories always reminds me of how Collins discusses Victors. There are no winners, only survivors. Survivors have never forgotten the Holocaust, nor should they. It’s what helped so many of them find compassion and humanity and forgiveness (and equally what causes such despair and depression in so many, as well). During my time Yad Vahsem in Jerusalem last summer, one thing was repeated over and over and over. The real triumph for Survivors aren’t the children; they are the grandchildren and then the great-grandchildren. In Panem, there can’t be too many grandchildren if the children are killed before they reach child-bearing age. (There’s also something in there about Snow being raised by his grandmother, but I’m gonna let that one rest for now.)

In one of the seminars from last summer at Yad Vashem, a scholar of Holocaust music taught us about the role of bands and singing in the camps (all levels, from death camps down to prison camps). First, there are some achingly gorgeous songs (the lyrics of one which were preserved on a child’s shoe in the death camp of Majdanek). Second, she asked us what we thought were the purposes of songs and music in the camps, and we all gave the standard answers—an attempt to distract themselves, holding onto humanity, finding beauty in the midst of horror, and hope. As a faithful fan of The Hunger Games and the saying “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear,” I was just as astounded as others when she said, “There was no hope. People died in death camps. They were starved and covered in shit and piss and lice and filth. They wanted revenge.” I don’t think revenge is what music represents in this book or in the original trilogy, although I think that argument can be made with the use of the Hanging Tree song in rebellion in the movies, but I can’t get that woman’s statement out of my head when I read this book. Not everybody has hope. Katniss didn’t when she first volunteered. I think there’s something to that.

Lucy Gray Baird is not Katniss. I haven’t exactly figured out who she is, yet, but she’s not Katniss in the first part of this book, which I think some people were hoping she was (as an analogy, obviously). Her flirtations with Snow are fascinating, and her outgoing and peculiar behavior at the reaping in District 12 was my first indication that the title was not as clear cut as Snow=Snake and District 12 female tribute=Songbird (alluding to Katniss). She puts a snake down the dress of the daughter of District 12’s mayor. She also sings. Is she both? Is she the songbird only? If so, then why the snake? And Snow doesn’t appear to be the snake either. My bet’s on Dr. Gaul. She’s a piece of work. Or maybe it’s Clemmie. Interested to see where that goes, too.

Lucy Gray’s insistence that she’s not from District 12 is fascinating. She insists she’s Covey, which by definition is a group of birds. The Covey are a group of traveling performers, who were stopped in District 12 and not allowed to leave. Trapped birds—interesting. Also, besides the Jews, the Roma/Sinti were targeted during the Holocaust. This group was commonly and derogatorily referred to as “gypsies,” people who moved about frequently and were suspected of crime, stealing, and a myriad of other issues. The Roma and Sinti immigrated into Central and Eastern Europe from India. If Katniss and others in District 12 are descended from Lucy Gray, then that covers the non-white argument about her ethnic makeup. I have no idea if that was Collins’ intention, but it makes a lot of sense in my brain.

As for Snow, he’s not a villain in this book. At least he’s not yet. So far, he’s the hero (or maybe anti-hero is better), but he’s definitely not the villain. Since we’ve read The Hunger Games, we know he’s the ultimate villain later, but he’s not so far in this book. He’s got ambition and cunning, but neither of those are ultimately villainous. He mourns his mother. He loves his cousin and grandmother. He’s proud of his father’s military service. He’s sad about his friends who die. He’s interested in, if not attracted to, Lucy Gray. We know what he becomes, so it’s hard to read about him as a person with hopes and dreams and struggles. Why? Because it humanizes him, and when he’s humanized, it’s harder for us to say, “He’s evil, and that’s why he did those things.” This is much the same way people blame the Holocaust and World War II on Hitler. “Well, he’s evil, so of course he did that.” Or how we dehumanize gunmen in massacres—“Well, he was clearly a sick individual, so he shot up the place.” Please don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying these crimes are excusable (in real life or in Collins’ works). What I am saying is that knowing Snow was a child shaped by war, hunger, poverty, and loss makes it harder for us to distance ourselves from this “evil” person. His characterization is uncomfortable because it makes us face that we could also do terrible things in specific contexts. Evil people are rarely born. They are almost always made, which means any of us could be a villain. That is what’s really terrifying.

A couple of other notes before this gets way too long for anyone to read.

The role of the government: Sejanus argues it’s the government’s job to take care of its citizens. This is an argument that’s raged in the US (and other countries) for a long time. The question is how do governments take care of the citizens? By feeding them and giving them health care and making sure everyone has enough? Be protecting them with a huge army? By allowing broad civil liberties (e.g., choosing whether to wear face masks during a pandemic)? By instituting restrictive liberties (e.g., gun control, wire taps, screenings at airports)? It’s a really interesting point Sejanus makes early in the book. Not surprising not everyone agrees.

Mention of the three other book titles (almost): The Hunger Games are mentioned several times. There’s a reference to something that “really catches fire.” And then there are the jabberjays. There are no mockingjays yet. Probably because there is no mockingjay yet. Seriously, Collins is brilliant.

The role of war: War is not good for those who live through it. Snow is traumatized by the war, as are the rest of the Capitol’s citizens. It makes most have little empathy for those in the districts who rebelled against them. War has destroyed the city. It’s weakened the economy. It’s destroyed the Snow’s fortune. And then it also leads to the Hunger Games. This book is anti-war just as much as the original trilogy is. It is not anti-soldier, but it is anti-war.

The role of children: Suzanne Collins lives in Connecticut, right? Yes, she does. You know where? Sandy Hook. More specifically, Newtown. Where children were shot to death in their classrooms by a gunman a few years ago. A ton of gun control people thought the slaughter of children would be enough for gun control to be implemented in the wake of that mass murder. It did not. Since then, there’s been a meme that’s circulated (taken from a tweet) that says, “In retrospect Sandy Hook marked the end of the US gun control debate. Once America decided killing children was bearable, it was over.” On page 60 of the book (right at the end of chapter 4), Snow insists the Hunger Games are to show how much people care about children when Dean Highbottom asks what the purpose of the Games is. And then there’s a paragraph in which Snow wonders if people really do care about children. He concludes that children don’t seem to be quite as important as we claim they are. I don’t think that’s a coincidental commentary on Collins’ part.

So, that became a lot longer than I planned, but wow. This book is fascinating, and Collins is a genius. I’m so ready for more. Part 2, here I come.

Hey, @everlarkedalways, does this count?

#tbosas #tbosas spoilers #balladspoilers #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #spoilers #book spoilers #long post #hunger games meta #meta

127 notes · View notes

rin-the-shadow · 4 years ago

Text

Rin’s Love Never Dies Scriptdoctor Thing:

Act I:

Open with “Till I Hear You Sing”

Emcee enters to let him know they have acquired Miss Fleck’s contract, and that she will be joining them shortly.

He notices something is off and appears as if he is piecing together what, but the Phantom deflects to the matter of Miss Fleck’s arrival.

Fleck, Squelch, and Gangle (Emcee) reunite, and they show Fleck around Coney Island and the prototype automatons.

“The Coney Island Waltz”

After perhaps a verse or two, shift focus to Meg, who has written a letter enticing Christine to come and visit her.

Christine initially refuses because of the family’s tight finances of late, but Meg encourages her to cut a deal with Mr. Y—he could pay her good money in exchange for the publicity it would bring to Phantasma.

Fleck sees the in-development “freak” show and hears of the Phantom’s intentions for it, but is skeptical that it could be received the way he wants it to be.

Christine, Raoul, and their son, Gustave, arrive in New York, where they are badgered by journalists and photographers.

Raoul is frustrated to no end by this, less so by the rumors about himself than by their pestering of his son and determination to get interviews with Christine.

They narrowly escape to the hotel. Raoul does a revised version of “Dreadful Town,” angry about the prying journalists and fearful that the job Meg wrote Christine about will be a scam—that she’ll have been tricked due to her starry-eyedness over New York. As a backup, he reveals, he has secured a deal with Oscar Hammerstein.

Raoul leaves to finalize that deal, and once he has left, Gustave frets that somehow this is his own fault. Christine tries to reassure him, but is unable to tell him about the past Phantom incident. She does the best she can while still circling around it. (“Look with Your Heart”)

She attempts to distract Gustave with the promise of seeing Coney Island and meeting Meg. Her distraction fails as time rolls on and she becomes concerned about Raoul. She takes Gustave and decides they have to go and retrieve him.

On the way back, the trio passes by the Phantom and Gangle (themselves returning from obtaining supplies or something of that nature). They don’t fully 100% recognize each other, but they see enough to suspect.

Raoul and Phantom are immediately on alert and trying to verify what they saw, while Christine and Gangle are trying to steer them away.

Maybe use the first verse of “Devil Take the Hindmost” as each tries to scope without in turn being scoped. (I kind of like the passive aggressive “you bitch” quality, and especially if they don’t know 100% that it’s each other.)

Christine assures Raoul it couldn’t have been what they thought, that it must be a coincidence. Meg said Phantasma was an experimental type of place, and it’s close by, it must have been one of the workers.

But that night, in private, she fears that it was in fact the Phantom, and dreams of another version of events wherein she had made the opposite choice (“Beneath a Moonless Sky”) until she is awakened by Gustave, who has had a nightmare.

She reassures him, saying it will be all right because of Meg and the deal with Mr. Y.

The following morning, Christine takes Gustave and they head to the Phantasma. Christine and Meg run into each other, and they catch up. Meg mentions her newest act, and how much creative liberty she gets here, and the kinds of acts she’s been experimenting with.

She expresses excitement that Christine has decided to follow through with her suggestion, that in a way, they’ll be performing together again. But when she asks how Christine has been since she’s arrived in New York, Christine evades the question.

Somewhere in there, they realize to their horror that Gustave has wandered off.

Gustave is found by Fleck and Squelch, who take him to Gangle and Mr. Y. Gangle, not having failed the spot-check yesterday, has them stay with the kid while he goes to find the parents.

Phantom is of course internally flipping out, but when Gustave shows interest in the piano and the in-development stuff, the Phantom shows off the in-development “freak” show and automatons, resulting in their finding some common ground (“The Beauty Underneath”).

Might be a good idea to have Fleck and Squelch still part of this scene, given their earlier skepticism about the act.

This is interrupted when Gangle returns, announcing that he found the kid’s mom and will take him to her. Christine hears her son’s voice and comes to retrieve him, resulting in her and the Phantom recognizing each other.

“I didn’t know you had a son.”

“I didn’t know you were still alive.”

It comes out that Christine was advised to contract herself to sing for the Phantasma by someone who worked there, and asks if he works for Mr. Y as well. Which is somewhat awkward, because of course, the Phantom is Mr. Y.

There is some question of that other way things could have been, how they can’t go back to that way things were or know how that other way would have gone even if they wanted to, so it’s best to move on and do what you can to make the best of it (“Once Upon Another Time”). With that, he agrees to contract her to sing.

End of Act 1.

Act II:

Raoul is still frustrated and bewildered about the Hammerstein deal falling through (probably dropping some hints as to the implied reason why), but Christine informs him that it will be all right, that the deal with Mr. Y was a real thing.

While she is careful to skirt around his identity, Gustave, not knowing any better, chimes in with enough details about Phantasma and his ideas that Raoul is able to put two and two together.

Raoul massively stresses about the implication that he has driven Christine back into that situation from ten years ago. Christine insists that isn’t the case, but at this point Raoul is wound too tight to hear her. He storms off, intending to confront the Phantom and settle this on his own.

Naturally, this doesn’t go well for any of them, and they end up having a rather aggressive and probably somewhat suggestive dispute involving harsh words, with the implication that it may get physical (“Devil Take the Hindmost (Reprise)”). There are definitely more than a few threats, and although it doesn’t quite come to blows, it definitely gets close.

Raoul, understandably frazzled from this confrontation, goes to get a drink.

At the bar, Raoul laments that he has probably ruined stuff for Christine again, wondering why she continues to bother with him when he keeps getting her stuck in the same trap over and over (“Why Does She Love Me?”).

The bartender recognizes something is off and while he may be somewhat pushing the boundaries of his job, he steps in. He doesn’t exactly pry, but he gets enough info to be able to start talking him back and set him in the right direction.

Christine has sought Meg’s council and invited her back to her hotel room. Meg learns the truth of Mr. Y’s identity and while she regrets having lead Christine back to him, she’s somewhat amused by the irony. Meg had come to New York to escape the reputation of the scared little girl who screamed at ghosts, intending to get as far away as she could. (“Why Does She Love Me? (Reprise)”) She ends up suggesting that perhaps that’s what would be best for Christine as well, to get away from everything, at least for a little while.

Also sort of in that same time frame, the Phantom realizes what he’s done in picking a fight with Raoul right after making the contract with Christine, cue the massive Oh Crap! Moment. Gangle says something which is somewhat related to the line between letting go and straight up acting like a thing never happened. There’s this kind of back and forth about how do I move on when I can’t or something to that effect (“Till I Hear You Sing (Reprise)”) which doesn’t solve everything and may not give answers, but, still kind of gives a general sense of what direction to start walking in.

No idea how I would wrap it up from there but for now the plan is something something closure something maybe force the rivals to work together in the confusion of Christine and Gustave being missing? Work the title song in somewhere, something, something ending with people parting ways. Everybody lives.

#rin plays scriptwriter #love never dies #vague outline thing #writer things #rin does fanfic #phantom of the opera #rin rambles #rin plays with tropes #and also completely screws with the context of musical numbers because why not #long post #i feel like i gotta do something with gustave being a little creepy child and meeting someone else who thinks like he does #but i have no idea what that would be #especially since i am cutting the 'whose spawn is he anyway' subplot

3 notes · View notes

lonelypond · 4 years ago

Text

Au Yeah August: Café Quarantine, Part II

NicoMaki, Love Live, 2.7K, 2/3

Summary: Yazawa Nico's recovering from Covid-19 while she tries to learn more about her housemate, Nishikino Maki.

Café Quarantine

Nico woke up. Her head felt clearer, no headache, still so dry inside her mouth there was no saliva, and her lips were peeled and chapped. Sitting up, she was breathing easier, and the inhale of relief didn’t trigger a cascade of coughing. What time was it? She grabbed her phone. 1:25 a.m. Long past Café Quarantine time. Nico concentrated. She’d seen Maki earlier today, what had they talked about? They’d been texting more, Maki seemed to be getting friendlier, but there were no new messages on Nico’s phone.

Had Maki done a livestream? Her friend...Hana...something...Nico shook her head, details fled too quickly and new memories seemed hard to make...Maki’s friend, who was now TWIG-ing for the Café, probably wouldn’t let Maki take a night off. Consistency was key, especially in the beginning. And now everybody who could was supposed to be staying home to “flatten the curve.” Nico glanced around the large room, with a queen bed, a walk in closet, and two barrel chairs around a low table. This was a very nice place to be flattening the curve in, but Nico got a lost feeling from Maki in so many of the rooms, especially, Nico giggled, the kitchen. That triggered a cough, but the spasm was less painful. Another inhale of relief. Maki had said something about Day 6 being a turn around. Maybe Nico was on the upswing. Nico flipped on the bed, leaning into a pillow, and opening TWIG to see what Maki had done for tonight.

The first piece was instrumental. Fast, cheerful. Amazing technique. Nico didn’t know much about the piano, but Maki exuded such a sexy confidence, her fingers moving with strength and grace, not mistaking a key as she read the hand written pages of notes. And to then, Maki looked up at the camera, and suddenly, Nico got pulled in to the depths of amethyst, as Maki nearly almost didn’t smile, her voice playing all sorrow’s gentlest notes as she spoke.

“It’s a little lonely here. Maybe it’s a little lonely where you are. This is a moment of change, and we all have to think about how that happens.” Maki laughed and it made Nico’s chest feel lighter, “And when I think I don’t sleep and when I don’t sleep I think why not drink more coffee and so I can’t get this song out of my head and I’m gifting it to you.” Another laugh and then Maki’s voice, even from Nico’s phone, captured all her attention as Time paused.

“I'm feelin' mighty lonesome Haven't slept a wink I walk the floor from nine to four In between I drink Black coffee Love's a hand-me-down brew I'll never know a Sunday In this weekday room

I'm talkin to the shadow One o'clock till four And Lord, how slow the moments go And all I do is pour Black coffee Since the blues caught my eye I'm hangin' out on Monday My Sunday dreams to dry…”

Nico had this sudden urge to go find Maki, to hear if the sadness was lifted out of her voice, see if the brightness was stoked up in her eyes. But Nico was still contagious. Nico had been trying to stay isolated, complete exhaustion had helped with that, but whenever she stepped out of the room, she ran into Maki. Like magnets. And Nico didn’t want anyone else to feel like this. Or worse. Nico knew this wasn’t a bad case, but it was scary. And now Nico was hungry. Tired as she was, sleep wasn’t coming back until she ate something. Surely Maki was asleep. Nico couldn’t hear anything in the hall, so maybe.

Nico masked up. No sense in taking unnecessary risks. Decreasing the chances Maki might be exposed to the virus was important. Nico hoped Maki was sleeping and not snacking as she headed to the kitchen. Where Maki was sitting at the table. WIth a mug.

“Black coffee?” Nico asked.

Maki only jumped slightly. She must have seen Nico in her peripheral vision. The redhead had changed from the highlighting crushable curves black and lilac gown to blue pajama pants with stars and a gray Northwestern hoodie.

“Tea.”

“Are you feeling sick?”

Maki shook her head, “Just want to get some sleep.” She yawned, stretching out her arms, “it’s been a long week.”

“Seems like two.”

Maki’s lip quirked into an expression that a read amused, while not technically counting as a smile. “I know. It really does.”

“Nico will come back and raid the refrigerator when you leave.”

Maki shrugged, twirled a curl, and rose, moving to the window and opening it, “‘S ok, raid away. Can I get you anything?”

Nico shook her head, “So what was that first song.”

“It’s actually called the Coffee Song.”

“Does it have lyrics?”

Maki nodded.

“Sing it for Nico.” Nico decided on reheating a slice of sausage pizza. Maki’s favorite pizza place put fennel and basil and roasted garlic on everything and it was amazing.

Maki blushed and sipped her tea so hastily drops spilled down her chin.

Nico chuckled at the lack of verbal response, “Some other day. Hey, you talked a lot last night. Nico didn’t know you could do that.”

Maki rolled her eyes, “Pay more attention.”

Nico turned, making sure she had Maki’s full focus, “I will.”

###

Nico’s Mama’s ringtone went off as Nico was debating whether to dive under the covers for more sleep or actually get up and stretch. Grabbing the phone allowed Nico to delay the decision on exercise.

Her mom’s voice sounded cheery, “How’s my baby?

“Better, maybe. Nico’s been resting so much, if I didn’t have a window I wouldn’t have idea if it were day or night.” Nico pushed the blankets back.

“It’s morning.”

“Are you at work?”

“I’m telecommuting. Everyone in the office is. Your siblings are so happy.” Her mother paused, “Keeps them from getting upset by the bad stuff.”

“Good. I miss them.”

“They can’t wait to see you.”

“Yeah, Nico’s safe once the isolation period is up and symptoms go away.”

“Are you still coughing?” Now there was her Mama, Nico smiled, the concern making her less lonely, “You haven’t been singing.”

“Nico’s been sleeping through most days, but Maki took over.” Nico decided to sit up. Easier than yesterday.

“I know, we’ve been watching. Cocoro wants a piano so she play for you.”

“The one here is so pretty.”

“So is Maki.”

“Mama.” Nico's tone warned.

A pause. “Are you getting along?”

“Nico gets along with everyone.”

“I remember you complaining about her nearly every night after her parents made her take a job in the coffeehouse.”

“There are no customers to be rude to here.”

“Is she taking care of you?”

“Nico takes care of herself.”

“Nico.” Mama wanted real answers. Nico sighed.

“Maki’s go to move is ordering this really excellent pizza. And sending Nico mp3 files of songs she’s spent the afternoon playing while Nico recuperates. If she could do it by herself, she’d probably move the piano to the hall outside Nico’s door.”

Amused. “That sounds nice.”

Nico coughed, for two minutes, her mother waiting to speak until the coughs quieted.

Sharper. “That sounds scary.”

“Nico is brave, Mama.”

“I know, baby. I love you. And I’m so proud of you.”

Nico hated the crying. Yes, it was her mama and no one else was here to see it, but any weakness was weakness.

“Thanks, Mama.” Nico whispered.

“I expect to see you next week for dinner. Bring Maki.”

“But Mama…”

“No excuses. I owe her so much more than home cooking for taking good care of my daughter.”

Nico knew she wouldn't win this argument. “Okay.”

“Good. What are you going to do today?”

“Get up and get some sun.”

“Good idea. Eat breakfast first.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Laughter on the other end of the phone, “I don’t mean to treat you like Cocoa. I just want to have you here to take care of you myself. But you’re an adult. And you have...friends who care about you.”

“Yeah. Nico’s lucky. I don’t know how I can pay Maki back.”

“Just be yourself, Nico, and you’ll figure out what you need to do.”

“Nico’s got this.”

Nico could see her mother’s serious face, with just the slightest nod to confirm Nico’s abilities. “You do.”

###

Nico was in the backyard, wrapped up in this really superwarm, superbeautiful wool blanket Maki said was made by indigenous artists working for an indigenous company. So not only superwarm but points for exploring something other than the culture handed to her on a platinum platter. Maki, for all her rudeness, had this air of kindness that Nico instinctively wanted to save from the harder edges out there in the universe. Her parents had obviously kept her in a bubble and Maki had her own bumbling, oblivious charm that would have existed bubble or no. And then she sat in front of a piano and Nico was breathless because there was nothing but confidence and mastery. Nico had worked, worked so hard, on singing and dancing and music, and Nico was sure Maki had worked hard as well, but there was this other level, this native confidence, that music was the land where Maki lived and Nico though a long term resident, had never really truly tasted the water.

Nico closed her eyes and stared up at the sun, inhaling warmth. She heard a wooden chair scraping off to her right. Maki. If Nico kept her eyes shut, maybe Maki would pretend she was alone and talk.

“So many people covered the Dylan Coffee Song. I’m not a big Dylan fan, although we could make it jazzy if you like it..."Java Jive" is fun and fast, but do you have that much energy, are you going to sing tonight, Nico, because…

“Yes, Nico was planning to do a duet with Maki. But not the Dylan song. How about “I Get No Kick?””

“That’s about champagne. I thought we were keeping themes.”

“It’s about things you can’t do without.” Nico opened an eyelid, Maki was sitting up, staring out into the yard, twisting a curl in her fingers.

“Rin wants us to do “Cow Bells and Coffee Beans." She offered to drop off or play the cow bell, preferably play.”

“What’s that song?”

“Henry Mancini did it on his ‘Mr. Lucky Goes Latin’ album. There’s a cat on the cover and a song called “The Dancing Cat” so it’s Rin’s new favorite thing.” Maki paused, “They were looking up coffee songs for me.”

Nico laughed, “That’s a good way to pick music. I have to meet these friends of yours. Why don’t you and Rin do a duet and then Nico will step in for a second song?”

“Really?” Maki spun to face Nico, “Rin would love that.”

“Nico makes people happy.” Nico waved a hand airily, “She’s dating Café Quarantine’s social media jitterbug, right?”

“Hanayo? Yeah, they’ve known each other forever, like kindergarten. I’m not even sure when they ‘officially’ starting dating, but by the time I met them in high school, they were unbearably adorkable.”

“Doesn’t sound unbearable. Just cute.”

Nico could hear Maki shuffling, “I guess.”

“So were they big into PDA?”

“PDA?”

“Public displays of affection?” Really, Maki didn’t even know that. And that was an ancient thing.

“Oh.” Maki settled back into the lounge, Nico guessed, “Some hand holding, I think. Nothing big. Hanayo’s shy.”

“The person inundating me with questions and requests for selfies and promotional pics is shy?!?!?!”

There was a pause, “She gets really really hyped about...K-pop, celebrities, and cute singers, and…”

“So Nico’s a cute singer, huh?”

No reply.

Nico had more energy, but not enough for that level of pushing a tease. Plus, leaning back with her eyes closed seemed to be inviting Maki to share more things. If Nico was going to push, maybe it should be about something else.

“So how’s the doctor thing going? Nico feels better.”

“I’m glad you feel better, but it’s not because I’d be any good as a doctor.”

“Maki’s smart…”

“I know that.”

“And you have a hospital right there…”

“Which means I should just take over, right, like my parents want me to, take over and spend all my time alone in big houses, or alone, hiding in a supply closet, crying from exhaustion. Or working with people who won’t tell me the truth because I’m their boss.”

“You always told Nico the truth, right? And Nico was your boss.”

“I’m different. You’re different”

It was neither modesty or bravado, Nico had noticed. Maki just stated things that she thought were true. And if she thought they were true, they must be fact.

“Money makes people careful.” Maki said. “That’s the polite version of what my father always says.”

“What’s the impolite?”

“Crawling cowards.”

Nico snorted, “That wouldn’t make any friends.”

Maki sat up, “But it does. You can say anything.”

“Not to Nico.”

“No.” Maki sighed, “And my parents respect you for that.”

“You’re avoiding Nico’s question.”

“I am.” Maki stood up, “If I’m going to duet with Rin, we’ll have to practice. I ordered lasagna for lunch, I’ll leave yours on the table.”

“Do you have Italian sauces in your veins?”

A laugh so light and cute, Nico was forced to open her eyes. Maki was glowing, the sun halo behind her head both blinding Nico and tinting the edges of Maki’s hair a deep pink that matched lips Nico might have fantasized about kissing. Once. Maybe twice.

“Maybe.” Maki winked, almost touching Nico’s chair as she walked past.

“Figures.” Nico sat up. She was hungry. Give Maki a bit of head start, at least until Nico was sure she wasn’t contagious. No more coughing Covid cuties here if Nico could help it.

###

Nico had jumped into the stream from her room to say hi, but skipped singing. A low energy performance that ended in a cough would have been fun for no one. Rin and Maki had been adorable. Rin was a tiny ginger cutie with the energy of a bullet train. Nico tried to imagine how Rin and Maki ended up friends, but it was hard.

Why wonder when she could ask.

N: How did you and Lucky Cat, Jr. get to be best buds.

M: She tackled me.

N: Σ(･口･)

M: We had gym together, we were playing flag football, Rin forgot about the flags and tackled me, I dropped her in a rainwater barrel, we played desktop football during a week’s worth of detention -- I always won, no matter what Rin tells you -- and then we found out we had the same lunch.

N: So what happens if Nico tackles you.

M: ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

N: Nico was impressed you could swing “You’re The Cream In My Coffee” when your coffee’s always black.

M: I didn’t have to drink it.

N: Do you miss the coffeeshop?

M: No.

N: But you got to spend with the #1 Boss in the World, Nico.

M: My parents made me do that.

N: (T⌓T)

M: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Nico put her phone down. My parents made me do that? Is that all? Didn’t Maki miss all the effort Nico had put in to try to help her? And sure, she’d never said thank you, but Nico hadn’t gotten the impression that her less than stellar student had hated the situation. Was Nico only here because Maki felt some obligation.

There was a quiet knock on the door.

“Nico?” Nico heard sounds of Maki settling against the door. “Can we talk?”

Nico squelched her immediate “Tell Dr. Nico what's bothering you” with a quiet “Okay.”

“I...it’s not...the coffeeshop was okay, you were great, people were…” Maki paused, sounding amused and altering her voice as if quoting someone, “stoopid, but…” The door moved like Maki had pushed her back against it, “I hate schedules, I don’t want to just follow a path because it’s there, because my parents, because it’s...because the wheels lock in.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” A pause, “I’ve been liking this.”

“Nico nearly died.”

“No you didn’t. And I didn’t mean that. I’m enjoying working on music, performing...I’ve been playing the piano more than I have for years…” Maki was drumming her fingers on the door.

“Nico can't imagine you not playing; it seems so you.”

A laugh, first quietly pleased and then wry, “I don’t even really mind Hanayo harassing me to find something to wear.”

“Nico will harass you even more, if that’s what you like.”

A sigh, “But it’s not real.”

“Nico’s real, Maki’s real, why isn’t making music together real?”

“My parents…”

“Forget your parents. What does Maki want?”

A long pause, little movement.

“More.”

A/N: Decided to split this @auyeahaugust Coffeeshop AU next chapter in two so I could post this bit faster. I didn't want anyone worrying about Nico for too long ; )

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Love Live #Cafe Quarantine #AU Yeah August

9 notes · View notes

copias-thrall · 5 years ago

Note

I know you probably won’t be able to do this now and will probably be after this event, but finals for college is next week and one of them might kick me in the butt. How would Papa II, Papa III,&Copia comfort and help out their stressed s/o who is dealing with college and studying for their finals if that’s alright???

Hi nonny! APOLOGIES for not getting to your ask in time. I hope you did well on all you exams!! How about for midterms instead?

Papa Nihil: Nihil is not a subtle man. When he sees you surrounded by your notes and textbooks a hairbreadth away from tears, he can only think of what would take all that away. His very first thought (well, after he discounts murder as impractical), is that he’ll just pay off your profs. Everybody wins! You get your A’s without destroying your mental health, and your teachers get a windfall. As you lay face down in a book hoping to learn by osmosis, the thought is tempting … but in the end you know you want to make it on your own merit. Nihil thinks you’re making a foolish decision—he’s buying you piece of mind so you can learn better—but he respects your choice. (Lucifer knows his sons could learn a thing or two from you!) So, he just makes sure you take breaks, eat, and brush your hair. You even open your door to find a reluctant Ghouls sighing that he’s to help you with your flashcards. (After he eats the first five, you send him away.) The nicest gesture is that Nihil insists you join him for afternoon riposo—and you do find your brain marginally better ordered after a midday nap.

Papa I: Sometimes you often get annoyed at how calm Papa I can be. You’ve yet to hear him raise his voice, even when he’s expressing displeasure at a novice for breaking Abbey treasures. But now—when you’re looking at your notes as if someone else entirely took them, and you’re wishing the important scholarly tome you borrowed from the school library had a Satan-forsaken search function—you’re quite happy to fall into his soothing, dulcet tones. He hands you a cup of tea (that’s always the perfect temperature), and—when you’re finished—he holds your hand as you meditate together. (He calls it worshipping to the Olde One for His gift of clarity, but it’s definitely meditation.) The best, though, is how he takes an active interest in your subjects. It becomes a familiar sight to look for a book or the notes you need, only to find them in his hands as he scrutinizes. Next thing you know he’s come up with a 10-point study plan and is quizzing you himself. You’d push through the night to cram as much as possible, but he insists you get a good night’s sleep—either trundling you into bed himself or having one of his personal Ghouls do it, because: “Sleep is restorative, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Papa II: He thinks it’s great you have an interest in—what was it again?—enough to willingly subject yourself to such torture … ah. Darling, if you wanted to play, why didn’t you just say so? But in all seriousness, Papa II thinks you just need to get out of your head for a while and let him drive. This can be anything from kneeling quietly at his feet while he pets your hair or feeds you; to a fun, light spanking; to warming his cock under his desk; to a full-on session in his playroom. It all depends on just how out of your head you need to be taken—and Papa II is more than happy to try until you find the right one. He even gets an inspired idea to “help” you study—hint: it involves your flashcards and a table full of impact toys. On the chance that you scold him saying that your grades aren’t a game and you don’t have time to indulge him—an action you’re sure is going to earn you a punishment—he’ll just choose a different tract. He’s not his younger brother (romance is a means to and end, not part of the main course), but he knows his after care, and you seriously need some study aftercare. He’ll close your books and shut your laptop. That’s enough, he’ll chide as he leads you to a bubble bath where he reverently washes your skin. Once he sees the tension rinse off you with the soap, he’ll bundle you in a fluffy robe and make sure you eat and drink before giving you a massage in all your problem areas. He’ll let you sleep just enough before waking you again. No, don’t grump at him—didn’t you say that this was important? Up and at ‘em! You don’t want to fail, do you? He’d be very put out if you did, and don’t you want to please him?

Papa III: At first he’s no help at all. You’re trying to study and he’s all, “Lighten up!” “Let’s go out!” “Help me with this prank war!”—until you blow up at him. Your exams are important and you wish he’d respect that and stop trying to distract you! You expect him to slink away like a petulant child, but instead his face just falls and he sighs. Of course he respects you going for your degree. You just seemed so … stressed and unhappy, that he thought a little fun could help. This man. You explain to him that while you appreciate the thought, avoiding your studies might be fun, but they’re not going to help you pass. He vows to help you instead of hinder—even if all his ideas on what “help” looks like end in sexy times: A quiz where for every correct answer he takes off an article of clothing! A review where every concept you can explain earns you one orgasm! A promise that for every exam you pass with an A earns you a sex act of your choice. You roll your eyes, but—in the end—he has added some levity to your stressful days. And it is nice when he makes you take breaks so he can massage out your shoulders and ply kisses to your neck. When you’re bleary-eyed and the words are running together, he takes your hand and leads you to a bath scented with rosewater. He makes sure you’re quite comfortable in the V of his legs—and then he turns on the jets. Him washing your hair seems to just be an excuse for him to massage your scalp while he softly sings you into a trance.

Copia: In another Universe, Copia could be so like Papa I—but in this one he’s a nervous empath. He feels your stress and anxiety acutely enough that it puts him in a bad mood. The two of you sure are a pair of grumps that week! But Copia knows this about himself, so he’s good at being about to see past his own feelings. In fact, he may overcompensate! You already have 2, cold, half drunk cups of tea when he brings you a third. You’re trying to write down thematic parallels when your pen skitters across the page because Copia’s snuck up behind you to massage your shoulders. Again. (They already are kinda smarting from the first 3 times.) Next thing you know he’s on his knees, offering you oral sex like you’d be doing him the favor. When you’re not almost knocking an errant tea mug all over your books, you’re putting your hand down on another snack that has seemed to triple. You only ask him to help you study because if he tries to do one more nice thing, you’re literally going to start feeding his Church paperwork to his rats. Eventually, however, Copia suddenly remembers that study and note taking are what he excels in. Once he starts concentrating on something other than you, he is quickly able to parse the material and cater a study plan to what works best to suit you; he’s even able to explain the concepts you don’t understand in a very accessible way. You can’t stop all the pampering though—not that you’re complaining about where he puts his mouth or the foot massages.

#asks #the papas #cardinal copia #stress relief #gender neutral #I'm just now realizing this ask wasn't for all the papas #YOU GET TWO FOR FREE

46 notes · View notes

maviemesregles · 5 years ago

Text

Once I was an Eagle

Finally, the chapter is here. It took a while to get it done and it's been a struggle in some ways.

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it despite long waiting :)

Your comments mean the world to me even though I don't always have time to answer each of you. <3

BIG thanks to my beta @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur <3 She's truly a gem and has saved this chapter from miserable failure. I can't give you enough credits, Anne. But I'm glad to have you on this journey with me.

Part II will follow shortly after this one, possibly on Thursday :)

P.S. For the better atmosphere I recommend you to put on Dire Straits song "Romeo and Juliet" :)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iJmER493F4U

A link for AO3.

Enjoy! ♥

Chapter I: The beginnings

Chapter II: Sassenach

Chapter III: Catharsis

CHAPTER IV: Lovestruck. Part I

"I'm taking ye on a wee trip, Claire." Jamie stood in the doorway of the locker room, car keys in his right hand. "Ye need fresh air, ye look like yer about to fall down".

My mind froze for a second taken aback by his (dashing as always) appearance.

"Jamie, I can't. I -"

He did not let me finish raising his hand up, gesturing me to be quiet.

"There is no 'I can't' or 'No'. I dinna accept that." He stepped closer. "Maybe I am no doctor but I still can see when someone's worn out."

To be very honest he was right. In the last week, I’ve had ten major surgeries, several new patients to care for. I promised Terry to fill in for her and worked two additional shifts. And just thirty minutes ago I finished partial colectomy. I felt completely drained.

“But what about our… date?” I looked at him trying to find my keys buried in the depths of the bag. The word “date” still sounded strange, and sometimes inappropriate for me (I did not know if we were dating or having a friendship with benefits).

“A wee change of plan.” Jamie clicked his tongue, his hand laid at the back of my neck. “This will be our date then. Just ye, me and some nature.”

He pressed a quick kiss on the spot behind my ear. That soft, tender one that made me wonder, could this be forever? Or will we end up staying just Claire and just Jamie having fun?

"Take her will ye! She willna listen to me," smirked Geillis. "I'll take care of yer wee cheetie while yer away. So dinna fash, lovies.”

I rolled my eyes. Jamie coughed clearly trying to hide a laugh.

“I promise I willna be angry at ye for ruining our cinema time tradition. Just next time it’s my turn to choose a movie”. And just like that, grabbing the house keys from my hands she was gone.

“Tell me there is a hot shower where you’re taking me and I can borrow one of your gym's t-shirts for sleeping?” My head dropped back, fitting perfectly in the space between his collarbone and jaw.

Jamie’s hands circled around my waist locking just above my navel.

“There is a bath, Sassenach. An improvement to yer wee shower.” He nuzzled his nose against my hair. “And I can assure ye, ye willna need a sleeping shirt.”

A habit of falling asleep almost anywhere was my superpower. After we got into Jamie’s crossover Peugeot with Tesco groceries for our breakfast I immediately dozed off. The last time I sat in his car was two weeks ago, exactly three days after our first real date as Jamie called it.

Appearing at the hospital without any warning, he volunteered to bring me home after work. Though the GPS in Jamie’s phone had announced that the distance between Braid Road and Lauderdale street was just fifteen minutes I didn’t walk out of the car for at least thirty. I laughed needing to admit that sex in the car is not as comfortable as it looks on TV. Jamie frantically searched the glovebox for a condom while creating a mess of tissues, mints, and papers. I struggled with the front seat that didn’t want to go down. Though in the end, nothing was an obstacle. Later that evening as I prepared for bed, I welcomed the hickey starting to bloom bright purple on my neck.

I felt very much cozy in his car (despite previous activity here). Jamie had turned the seat warmer on (making fun of me for not handling Scottish weather “Ye English, weak creatures”). Shamelessly, I stole his coat to cover my always-cold-legs. The soft blur of Mark Knopfler’s voice on the radio and passing lights were the ones that made me sleepy. I awoke sometime later, noticing the familiar scenery disappeared and the darkness of the countryside had eaten all the electric lights. Jamie’s hand rested on my knee, his thumb drawing patterns that he only knew. He had a dreamy, faraway look about him. There was no GPS this time. Jamie knew his way, leading us through the Highlands where the history was almost palpable. Like that time (four days after car sex) when I had come back from a late shift at the hospital and called him.

It was the day I seemed to be annoyed with everything and everybody. I felt annoyed with Geillis and her endless discussion about her latest sexual encounter. With Adso for weeing on my fluffy bathroom rug. Even my touchpad on my phone betrayed me! Wasting my time on my coffee break with coffee that tasted like an old sock. Does it ever stop raining? And Jamie left for a four day trip to Broch Mordha. But most of all I was annoyed with myself for coming to the realization that I actually missed him.

I was exhausted. Too tired to cook, I ate three spoons of quinoa cold straight out of the fridge. Falling into bed, I felt each sore muscle in my back as I stared into the ceiling for minutes or possibly hours. I managed to get out of my clothes and just crawl under the duvet not showered, naked, with makeup on. Breaking all of my three own rules.

Jamie’s number was dialled in seconds without any hesitation (my fourth rule was broken as well). He picked up after five long beeps (I actually counted).

“Sassenach?” His voice deep with sleep.

Christ. What a smart one you are, Beauchamp. Normal people sleep at one am. He was asleep, clearly.

“Claire?” He shifted, readjusting position, sheets rustling in the background. “If someone abducted ye and yer calling me now to come and get ye, ye gotta let me know. Otherwise, I really would like to get back to my warm pillow. Of course, it’s not as nice as when yer with me but…”

There was banter in his voice but suddenly I felt ashamed, foolish for calling him like that. (Hoping for what exactly? )

"I’m sorry. I did not realize it was so late."

The incoherent mumbling poured out of me then. I was telling him all about how annoyed I was all day, about the rug I probably would have to throw away, how can’t I sleep now and a million other things before he finally shushed me.

“I miss ye too, Sassenach.”

My mind stilled then. The warmth rising up somewhere inside, behind my breastbone and running down to my cold fingers and toes, creating the sun under my skin.

“Do ye want me to tell ye a story to sleep?”

He told me then all about ancient castles, about the brave Highlanders and the battles they fought, Jacobite rebellions, mythical creatures and tales of the mountains. He was a born storyteller. Charming in fact.

I had fallen asleep feeling his presence even though he was away.

Jamie looked like he belonged here. With the mountains and grassy moors. With Knopfler’s voice singing "You and me, babe, how about it?".

“I did not know you were Dire Straits fan”. The smile crept in and took possession of my lips as I whispered my silent observation. His eyes fixed on me for mere seconds but long enough to drown in the blue depths of them once again. He looked at me in a way that made me shiver, made me feel a growing warmth mixed with lust that went deep down to the marrow of my bones. The navy of his slightly slanted eyes dug inside and stamped a mark at the very bottom of my core. That same look he gave me when I sat only-knickers-on at his bed legs crossed some days ago.

I could feel the blue marks getting born under my skin at the tender layer of paleness on my thighs where he held me just minutes ago (the bitterness of vague pain as his fingers pressed onto the tops of my flesh and the hot wave of my release making my stomach turn). Jamie’s place was a small studio on the outskirts of Edinburgh. It felt half empty and lonely, screamed for a touch of coziness. He’d explained he stays mostly in Broch Mordha with family. After his mom died a couple of years ago there was an aching hole and need for them to be together.

Jamie fell silent when we stood in the shower, hot water washing off the memories of my own parent's death. We slept. Together, limbs tangled under the rumpled sheets, Jamie’s warm hands soothing the marks he had left on me. That morning I’d said to him I wanted it easy and fun. “I don’t want to hurt you or myself. I want us to live in this moment. Just Claire and Jamie. No promises no regrets.”

“ I wouldna wish to hurt ye, Sassenach. Not ever.”

Then he stated more than asked, “It’s just Claire and Jamie having fun, see where it leads us, aye?”

For two nights, I dreamt about him. Of touching him. Of his swollen lip from my kiss. Of the way his breath hitched when he whispered “Claire”. I was painfully, utterly aware of him, of his presence making residence somewhere deep inside me. I lived with his smell (sharp and clean, hay and crisp air) which seemed to be everywhere, in each cell of mine and at the back of my throat.

Now my life consisted of flirty texting nonstop (I did not know I was able to do that being 32 years old anymore), of occasional Skype sessions when Jamie was away to Broch Mordha (me with a messy curly bun and old pajamas, glass of wine in one hand and Adso snuggling beside me; Jamie bare chest, bloody furnace he was, with whisky and his nieces and nephews popping to the screen from time to time).

One of those evenings young Jamie had asked his uncle who I was. (“that doctor lady ye talk a lot with, Ma says ye fancy her, is she yer girlfriend?”)

My heart skips a bit then waiting for Jamie’s answer. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to hear it (as if I hoped for something more, just drop it, Beauchamp). By now I’ve spent enough time with Jamie to know that his face could not hide any emotion. He would be the worst liar on Earth and there’s nothing that could be done about it. It was all there. Written on his face and easy for anyone to read. The tips of his ears became scarlet red as he shot a look to me on the screen and then back to his nephew who now was waving to me.

“Well, I do fancy Claire, aye.”

Before my smitten mind could conjure up any appropriate response wee Maggie was in the screen, climbing onto Jamie’s lap and pointing her little finger at me.

“Will ye marry her then, uncle Jamie?”

I choked on my wine and nearly spilled it on peacefully sleeping Adso.

“Should I call her doctor Claire, uncle Jamie?” Little girl shifted on Jamie’s laps looking up at him.

“Noooo, we should call her Auntie Claire!” Her brother grinned back.

“Yer wee devils, ye’ll make a lady uncomfortable and we dinna want that, right? Let yer uncle talk in peace. Jenny, mo cridhe?”

It was the voice of Brian Fraser. It was hard not to recognize as it had the same soft blur to it as Jamie’s. I haven’t seen him, neither the rest of Jamie’s family. Only his nephew and niece. It was a territory which was sort of forbidden to trespass. Because if we did it would mean we have something more than just a fling. The truth was we both did not know what it was between us. And what we wanted it to be?

“ C’mon. Get off yer uncle, the two of ye. There’s warm milk and shortbread cookies in the kitchen.” Jenny’s hands appeared on the screen helping the children off Jamie’s lap.

Of course, Jamie talked about me with his family. I did not know what he’d shared and how much they knew but I was grateful for them for respecting my private boundaries. I wasn’t ready to meet them but also there was never a discussion of such a possibility. It’s just that they knew about the existence of Claire Beauchamp as I knew Jamie’s family was very important to him. It was enough.

When we arrived at our final destination, it was pitch dark outside. On the way here I saw the sign that said Loch Lomond. We stood in front of the grey stoned cottage surrounded by mountains peeking out in the darkness. The stillness and quietness of the place was disturbed by the only sound of car engine still running on. A narrow stone walkway with shrubs of French Hydrangea and Azalea alongside led straight to a big wooden door. “Taigh Beann” it said at the very top of it, carved into the bronze plate that hung above.

“Gaelic.” Jamie explained setting our groceries bags down. “It means House of the Mountains.”

The inside reminded me of a house of my grandparents where I spent many summers until the age of five. It was filled with all kinds of vases and figurines, large, dusty paintings of nature in gold frames, books of all imaginable kinds. The old, burgundy patterned rug laid in the living room where I squealed happily to find a fireplace. In the centre stood big brown leather couch the kind I hated in the summer because it made my skin stick to it. In the corner where green velvet armchair nestled, we found an oak round table. The bedroom was small but light. The bed was centered under a glorious skylight offering the promise of a magnificent view of a starry night sky. But the main attraction was the bathroom. My mouth dropped open and I grabbed Jamie’s hand in excitement. What I saw was stunningly beautiful. The floor was lined with marble tiles, the windows extended from floor to ceiling and ran the length of the wall. Imagine what breathtaking scenery might be outside. The centerpiece of the room was a large clawfoot bathtub big enough for two.

“I told ye there’s an improvement to yer shower, Sassenach” Jamie winked leaving me to stand astonished by the view.

Sometime later I sat in the armchair that Jamie had moved for me to the fireplace (saying that I probably lived in Spain or Greece in my previous life). He himself retreated to the kitchen with a promise of dinner. I watched the flames dance and collide together all the same as we did. We’ve known each other for the past four weeks but sometimes it felt like a lifetime.

Our days together consisted of talking about everything and nothing, snuggling up on my couch watching Netflix, of Jamie cuddling Adso all the time. Of me ordering takeaways and only cooking breakfasts in case if Jamie stayed for the night. We used to hit the pubs once a week and get obnoxiously drunk. Then, of course, there was sex. And some more sex. We were travelling back and forth between my apartment and his studio. Jamie had fixed something in my car after he had driven it once cursing that I could have killed myself and how on earth I did not hear that sound? His toothbrush that we picked up together at Boots now lived in my bathroom and my pink cat pajamas took a residence in his closet. At the times we were not together my phone buzzed every other hour. We talked so much that I had to consider having a second mobile phone not to let my private life intervene with work. And suddenly now it struck me. What is going on Beauchamp? What has happened to you?

“I don’t like it.” My fingers typed a text hitting the button Send to Geillis.

Three dots appeared.

“What’s that?”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“Ye mean what he has in his pants? I thought it was all perfect till now…”

Before I could reply to her in a hateful manner another two texts appeared on the screen.

“Did he bring ye to a dark forest and now ye need help to escape? What was that movie about serial killer we watched..?”

“All joking aside, what’s wrong, Claire?”

My teeth sunk into the bottom lip as I tried to conclude what I felt. Control. There it was. I was losing it. Control over the situation, my feelings, over myself. Suddenly all my life always ordered and stable went down the hill adjusting to one James Fraser. I didn’t realize just till now how much I allowed him to creep under my skin in such a short time. Usual Claire wouldn’t let anyone take her away to some trip on a whim. At least I would have bartered with him or set my conditions.

A painful lump in my throat seemed to travel down and settle around my heart squeezing it. I thought there was actual physical pain. I knew what made me feel so insecure. It was the way Jamie made me feel. Safe, cherished, loved (?). He was always there. Ready to be my strength and help. My safe place to come back to, where all my masks would come off and my vulnerable self stands.

Like the time I caught a cold but have been so busy I had no time even to take any medicine.

Geillis dropped a pharmacy bag on my lap with a smirk on her face. “That’s from yer laddie. I dinna recall Frank ever did it to ye.” Inside there was a box of paper tissues, lozenges for sore throat, a box of Theraflu, and a little jar that looked like a jam with a yellow sticky note on it.

“I’m sure yer to busy being wrists-deep into a human that ye dinna have time to get any medicine. Even Jenny heard yer cough over the phone yesterday. Btw, that’s her handmade raspberry jam, especially for ye. I couldna get it to ye myself, have business at the brewery. Take care. Xxx.”

I grabbed a tissue from the box pretending I had a runny nose but in truth, there was a swell of tears. Geillis only smiled and left me alone staring at the bag Jamie put together for me.

Or the time when I had to cancel our date being summoned to work.

There were times I felt confident in what I was doing. But there were moments when even years of studying and experience did not give me enough confidence facing the difficult surgeries. I was half ready for the theatre play we were going to visit when our plans got interrupted. I had to be in the surgery for repair of aneurysm. Calling Jamie and mumbling “Sorry” every other second I could not stop myself from letting him know that I was actually anxious.

“There also might be a loss of blood flow to the legs from a blood clot…”

" Ye'll do just fine, Sassenach. Dinna fash. Ye have done this before, right?” He asked softly.

“Yes. But you can never guess possible complications and…” I sighed getting into my car. “Do ye think I am a bad surgeon?”

“I dinna think that, Claire. I ken that yer an excellent one. And ye shouldna ever doubt yerself. How long will it take?”

“ Three to five hours.”

“ I’m verra proud of ye, Sassenach.”

Despite my worries, the surgery went smooth. The patient was sent to ICU and was stable. I felt if the train ran over me. It was 6 am by the time I finally made it out of the hospital. Jamie’s car was standing outside and I rubbed my eyes thinking I’m imagining it. I wasn’t.

“What are you doing here?” I asked when I reached the car. “How long have you been here?”

Jamie took a sip of coffee, handing me a paper Starbucks cup.

“About two and a half hours I suppose. Didna want to miss ye.”

“Oh Jamie” I bit my lip and locked arms around his neck, my head dropped to his chest. “You didn’t need to do it but I’m glad you’re here.”

“Aye, I did.” His lips softly brushed over my temple. “How did it go?”

“Very well.” I whispered feeling my eyelids burn with the exhaustion of doing surgery for four hours.

Despite my weak protests, he brought me home. Sent me into the shower and by the time I was done he’d made scrambled eggs for me, watched that I ate all of it, loaded the dishwasher, cleaned up Adso’s litter tray and finally put me to bed as if I was a child. On the edge of sleep, I reached for his cheek, cupping it gently. “Where did you come from? Surely you’re not real”

He chuckled catching my hand to plant a kiss on each finger. “As far as I ken Ellen and Brian Frasers are the ones to blame for my existence. Sleep now, mo duinne.”

Another text from Geillis popped on the screen.

“Do ye like him?”

There I typed something I was afraid to acknowledge, something I would not be able to say out loud. But something that my fingers managed to write down on a cold white screen.

“I think I’m falling for him, Geillis. And it scares me. It scares the hell out of me.”

Three dots appeared and then stopped. And appeared again.

“Oh yer my wee poor thing. I tell ye this. Go with the flow, dinna force things but dinna resist either. I bet the lad likes ye more than ye think. He likes ye, ye like him. Just let it happen, Claire. It will lead ye to something eventually. And if ye need my shoulder to cry on, I am always there for ye.”

* * *

James Fraser was never sure what love is or what it felt like. Of course, he loved his family. He loved his sister and his nephews. Jamie would have turned the world upside down for them. He loved Ian who was like a brother to him. At the age of thirteen, Jamie thought he was in love with the neighbour’s daughter Maryl. She was bonnie. Tall and elegant with long ruddy hair just like his. He loved the feeling when they kissed. But then Brian Fraser told his youngest son that when he would meet the right woman he’ll feel it. From that time on Jamie has always remembered his Da’s words. Every time he tried to catch that feeling but it never was right. Until the moment he met Claire Beauchamp. It was as a stab into his heart and she was the only one who could stop the bleeding. As much as he tried to understand how this woman can make him want to ravish her until there’s nothing left of her and at the same time cradle and love her as the most precious thing in the world he still couldn’t. But Jamie knew he was falling in love with her and she would be the end of him.

Jamie’s voice was soft and slightly husky as he murmured along with the music playing from his phone. The kitchen was filled with a delicious smell of the meat he’d cooked and I needed to smile at the candles he had put on the table. Who would think there was a romantic inside this big Scot. My heart shattered just a bit with a sound of old cracks in it with each step I took finally reaching him from the back.

“Sassenach.”

My hands circled around him, face pressed to his broad back.

“You want to know a secret?”

“I do if it is something yer willing to share”. I could feel him smile without a need to see his face.

“I fancy you, Jamie. Very much.” My confession mirrored his that was said days ago.

“Do ye now, mo ghraidh?” He turned then to me grinning.

“What does it mean? You called me that before.” Now I smiled being trapped in his arms.

“I tell ye sometime later.” Jamie leaned in to kiss me. For a second it made me forget about our dinner. But he pulled off before I could make further implications on him.

“I have a lot of excellent plans for us tomorrow.”

“Oh do you then?” I could not resist patting his arse.

He smiled.

“Oh aye. I do.”

The rain started to fall down washing the day off as well as my worries.

#outlander outlander fanfiction #outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #once i was and eagle #maviemesregles #maviemesregles fic #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser

103 notes · View notes

xhxhxhx · 5 years ago

Text

“The Only Real Exception”

After writing about the education-polarization thesis and the future of Europe and Asia, I was curious: Has Japan polarized? One of Thomas Piketty’s students studied the question. They came to a surprising answer.

As Western Europe and North America have become increasingly polarized around education and income, Japan has actually depolarized.

Western Europe and Japan started in different places. In Western Europe, the educated classes traditionally supported parties of the right. In postwar Japan, they supported parties of the left. They moved in different directions. In Western Europe, the educated moved left. In Japan, they moved right.

From Amory Gethin, “Cleavage structures and distributive politics”:

7.6 The end of ‘cultural politics’

One of the other specificities of Japanese electoral behaviour is the fact that higher educated individuals have continuously supported left-wing parties, especially during the twenty years following the end of World War II. The historical strength of education levels in predicting party choice in Japan is well-known: it reflects the freezing of the party system which had emerged in the context of the ‘cultural politics’ of the 1950s (Watanuki, 1991).

Even when controlling for the significant improvements in citizens’ education levels since the 1960s, this pattern has persisted for most of the second half of the twentieth century. In the 1960s, 65% of the 20% least educated voters supported the Liberal Democratic Party, against 41% of voters belonging to the top education decile (figure 7.3c). During recent years, however, these differences have decreased considerably, and popular vote for the LDP has oscillated between 40% and 45% for all education groups in 2009-2014. Looking more closely at intellectual elites confirms this evolution (figure 7.3d). In 1963-1967, top 10% educated voters were indeed less likely to support the LDP by about 15 percentage points (8 percentage points after controls). This figure remained broadly stable, staying between 5 and 10 percentage points during the 1963-1996 period. Starting in 2009, however, education lost significance, even when including controls. The decline of the Social Democratic Party during the 1990s and its replacement by the Democratic Party of Japan – which culminated by its victory in 2009 – therefore seems to coincide with the disappearance of what was one of the most fundamental political divisions of Japanese society. The fact that this dealignment was sudden and occurred at the same time as shifts in the structure of party politics suggests that this process is driven by top-down mechanisms rather than long-run evolutions in collective beliefs.

7.7 From a multiple elites party system to political indifferentiation?

Bringing these two dynamics together points to a trend which is the exact opposite of the one observed in most Western countries (figure 7.4). In the 1960s, intellectual and economic elites were clearly separated into two different groups. On the left of the political spectrum, university graduates were highly supportive of the Japanese Communist Party and the Japanese Socialist Party, who based their appeal more on liberal values than on class antagonisms. Meanwhile, the Liberal Democratic Party attracted both low income earners and business elites. Through its defense of organized capitalism, it created strong ties with top executives and industrial leaders who participated in developing Japan’s growth model. This structure of political competition suddenly ended in 2009, when the LDP was defeated for the first time.

While these figures suggest that Japan was originally a perfect example of a multiple elites party system, this characterisation should not be over-emphasised. Persistently strong levels of support for the party among low income earners demonstrates that the LDP has never favoured exclusively economic elites. As was highlighted above, part of its remarkable hegemony came from its ability to distribute equally the fruits of the country’s long periods of growth. The non-linearity of the relationship between income and electoral behaviour is, to some extent, an interesting representation of the Japanese social compromise, which came with its dominant-party system.

Piketty describes Japan as the exception to the education-polarization rule. From Capital and Ideology:

The only real exception to this general evolution of the structure of political cleavages within the electoral democracies of developed countries seems to concern Japan, which has never really experienced a party system of classist type comparable to those observed in European countries and Westerners during the post-war period. The Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) has been in power almost permanently in Japan since 1945. Historically, this almost hegemonic conservative party has achieved its best scores in the rural and agricultural world and among the urban bourgeoisie. The LDP thus succeeded in synthesizing between the economic and industrial elites and traditional Japan, around a project of reconstruction of the country, in a complex context marked by the American occupation and an anticommunism exacerbated by the Russian-Chinese proximity. Conversely, the Democratic Party (main opposition party) has generally achieved its best scores among modest and average urban employees and among the most highly qualified, who are willing to protest against the presence of the United States and the new moral and social order embodied by the LDP, but without succeeding in sustainably gathering an alternative majority8. More generally, the specific structure of the political conflict in Japan must be linked to the particular form taken by Japanese cleavages around nationalism and traditional values9.

8. See A. GETHIN, Cleavages Structures and Distributive Politics, op. cit., p. 89-100. See also K. MORI MCELWAIN, « Party System Institutionalization in Japan », in A. HICKEN, E. MARTINEZ KUHONTA, Party System Institutionalization in Asia, Cambridge University Press, 2015, p. 74-107.

9. In The Game of the Century [The Silent Cry] (1967), Kenzaburô Ôé magnificently evokes the complexity and the violence of the relations between the intellectual elites and the popular classes in Japan, in particular around the urban-rural divide, traditional values and the question of the modernization of the country since the beginning of the Meiji era (1868), without forgetting the role played by the geopolitical positioning of the archipelago, the relationship with the United States and the antagonisms aroused by the presence of Korean workers.

Perhaps Japan was a precociously modern society in the 1960s, with an educated left and a uneducated right. Or perhaps it was a “post-colonial” society, with a self-consciously anti-imperialist left.

The Japanese experience of the 1960s can certainly sound precociously modern. In Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood (1987), one working class student was put off by the 1960s educated left:

"You know, when I went to university I joined a folk-music club. I just wanted to sing songs. But the members were a load of frauds. I get goose-bumps just thinking about them. The first thing they tell you when you enter the club is you have to read Marx. ‘Read page so-and-so to such-and-such for next time.’ Somebody gave a lecture on how folk songs have to be deeply involved with society and the radical movement. So, what the hell, I went home and tried as hard as I could to read it, but I didn't understand a thing. It was worse than the subjunctive. I gave up after three pages. So I went to the next week's meeting like a good little scout and said I had read it, but I couldn't understand it. From that point on they treated me like an idiot.

“I had no critical awareness of the class struggle, they said, I was a social cripple. I mean, this was serious. And all because I said I couldn't understand a piece of writing. Don't you think they were terrible?"

"Uh-huh," I said.

"And their so-called discussions were terrible, too. Everybody would use big words and pretend they knew what was going on. But I would ask questions whenever I didn't understand something. "What is this imperialist exploitation stuff you're talking about? Is it connected somehow to the East India Company?' "Does smashing the educational-industrial complex mean we're not supposed to work for a company after we graduate?' And stuff like that. But nobody was willing to explain anything to me. Far from it -- they got really angry.

“Can you believe it?"

"Yeah, I can," I said.

"One guy yelled at me, "You stupid bitch, how do you live like that with nothing in your brain?' Well, that did it. I wasn't going to put up with that. OK, so I'm not so smart. I'm working class. But it's the working class that keeps the world running, and it's the working classes that get exploited. What kind of revolution is it that just throws out big words that working-class people can't understand? What kind of crap social revolution is that? I mean, I'd like to make the world a better place, too. If somebody's really being exploited, we've got to put a stop to it. That's what I believe, and that's why I ask questions.

“Am I right, or what?"

"You're right."

"So that's when it hit me. These guys are fakes. All they've got on their minds is impressing the new girls with the big words they're so proud of, while sticking their hands up their skirts. And when they graduate, they cut their hair short and march off to work for Mitsubishi or IBM or Fuji Bank. They marry pretty wives who've never read Marx and have kids they give fancy new names to that are enough to make you puke. Smash what educational-industrial complex? Don't make me laugh! And the new members were just as bad. They didn't understand a thing either, but they pretended to and they were laughing at me. After the meeting, they told me, "Don't be silly! So what if you don't understand? Just agree with everything they say.'"

[...]

"So then what happened with your club?"

"I left in June, I was so furious," Midori said. "Most of these student types are total frauds. They're scared to death somebody's gonna find out they don't know something. They all read the same books and they all spout the same slogans, and they love listening to John Coltrane and seeing Pasolini movies. You call that "revolution?"'

"Hey, don't ask me, I've never actually seen a revolution."

"Well, if that's revolution, you can stick it. They'd probably shoot me for putting umeboshi in my rice balls. They'd shoot you, too, for understanding the subjunctive."

"It could happen."

"Believe me, I know what I'm talking about. I'm working class.”

But those dynamics changed. Today, Japan is about as polarized by education as France and the United States were in the 1970s and the United Kingdom was in the 1990s: the more educated and the less educated vote the same way.

I am still interested in whether Japan has depolarized at the level of opinion and policy. Under Shinzo Abe, the country has liberalized. It has more immigration and more women in the workforce. Perhaps that reflects the preferences of an increasingly educated population.

But it might be something else. The Liberal Democrats have a freedom of action that parties in competitive systems do not enjoy. In the United States, Democrats and Republicans must respond to changing preferences. In Japan, the Liberal Democrats can, more often than not, ignore them.

Perhaps Abe simply decided that cultural conservatism is not a winning program. But perhaps the country is changing beneath his feet.

#effortpost

22 notes · View notes