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serpentandlily · 1 year ago

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Last Solstice - Azriel x Reader, Eris x Reader

Last Solstice - Azriel x Reader, Eris x Reader

Summary: Last Solstice you had been ready to give Azriel your heart, only to stumble upon him and Elain in a near kiss. This Solstice, you’re ready to give your heart to someone else, someone special—your mate, Eris Vanserra.

Warnings: some angst, happy ending

A/n: Based on THIS request !! This was so fun to write !! Hope you guys enjoy this Christmas present 🎄☃️

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Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

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You had first met Feyre at her art studio, after attending a few lessons. The two of you had been quick friends and it wasn’t long before she started inviting you to her family get togethers.

Which is where you met Azriel, the Shadowsinger. One drunken night at Rita’s had ended with the two of you tumbling into bed together. What started as a one time drunken decision soon led to another night in the shadowsinger’s bed, sober this time.

When you and Azriel had started sleeping together, he had made you promise him to keep it between the two of you. You didn’t question it at first. Azriel was a private person; he’d never been forthcoming about his lovers in the past, according to Feyre. You figured eventually, if things lasted, he would want to tell his family, your now friends. You’d want to tell them too.

But then a few months went by.

A year.

As more time passed, you began to feel deeply for Azriel and wanted to take your relationship to the next step. To be able to loudly proclaim your love to him. To go on dates in public. To finally tell your family. But every time you asked him about it, he always said the same thing. He wasn’t ready, didn’t want the attention that would come with it. So you pushed your own feelings down and tried to pretend you were still okay with the arrangement you two had.

A secret love, only ever together once night fell.

It didn’t help that Elain Archeron seemed to be smitten with him, seemed to follow him around like a little puppy. You didn’t miss the looks she sent his way, didn’t miss the way she’d brush up against him at every chance she got. But you couldn’t say anything, not when Azriel wanted to keep things so private. So you sucked it all up for him, no matter how much it bothered you.

But when Solstice came around, you decided you’d finally confess your feelings for Azriel, would tell him that you loved him and wanted to be with him in all the ways that mattered. You were tired of watching Elain lust after him, tired of not being able to tell your family what was going on.

The entire night, you were buzzing with nerves.

You downed one too many glasses of wine, trying to relax. A part of you was worried about what Azriel would say. Did he love you too? Did he also want to take the next step? Was he finally ready?

You wished you could answer those questions with certainty but there was an ache in your stomach that kept screaming that something was…wrong.

You tried to convince yourself that you were just being paranoid when you noticed Azriel staring at Elain with longing and desire. Tried to convince yourself that he stayed isolated by the doorway because he hated Lucien and not because he couldn’t stand to be in a room with Elain while Lucien was here.

After all, he was in your bed most nights. Surely if he wanted Elain, he wouldn’t be stringing you along. Azriel wasn’t like that. He was a good male, a respectable male…right?

Later that night, you paced in the guest room you were staying in as you waited for Azriel. He was taking longer than normal and that had you even more on edge. You bit your lip, running a hand through your hair. Everyone else had retired for the night already and usually he would’ve snuck into your room by now.

You couldn’t sit still, couldn’t take the anticipation so you left the room, heading towards the kitchen for a glass of water to try and deal with your nerves and the alcohol still swirling in your system. You froze at the top of the stairs, blood draining from your face.

There was Azriel.

And Elain.

Inches from each other as Azriel draped a necklace around her neck.

She pivoted in his grip, twisting to face him. You saw it then. The look of affection and longing clear as day on Azriel’s face as he gazed down at her. A look he had never given you. Your heart snapped into pieces in your chest, nausea rising in your stomach. A hand flew to your mouth to quiet any noise you might make.

You took a step back.

Another.

And collided with a hard chest. You whirled around, trying to blink away the tears still forming in your eyes, to see Rhys standing there. He stared down at you, his expression melting into one of concern as he noticed your upset face.

“Y/n?” he murmured. “Are you okay?”

“F-fine,” you choked out. “I’m fine.”

And then you brushed past him and nearly ran to your room, quietly shutting the door behind you before taking in quick breaths. Elain and Azriel were just friends, you tried to convince yourself even though your heart and mind were screaming otherwise.

You heard Rhys stop on the landing on the stairs just as you had. A second went by and you heard his retreating footsteps to his office.

You cracked open your door a bit, against your better judgment, only to see Elain rush by, distraught. Your eyes widened and you waited a breath to see if Azriel was following after her, but no one else came by.

You wiped the tears on your cheeks and quietly stepped in the hallway.

Every instinct was screaming at you to go to Rhys’s office, as if something inside of you knew what you’d find. The pressure in your head was so strong, your stomach turning over itself again and again, and you knew you couldn’t ignore the gut feeling.

You crept along the wall, silently, just as Azriel had taught you, until you heard voices. You paused in your tracks, listening in.

“...about to kiss Elain, in the middle of a hall where anyone could see you,” Rhys snarled. “Including her mate.”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

That was Azriel’s voice. You covered your mouth with a hand, every nerve in your body lit up. You felt stuck in a nightmare, a terrible dream.

“What of Y/n, Az?”

Your heart froze at the mention of you.

“What about her?”

The nonchalance in Azriel’s voice caused a new wave of nausea.

“Don’t play stupid,” Rhys snapped. “I’ve seen the two of you sneaking off together.”

Silence for a moment. “It’s just sex.”

You weren’t sure your heart could break more, but it had and it did. Ripped and smashed and crumbled into dust. Just sex? Just sex? It had never been just sex to you! It certainly never seemed that way.

“Does Y/n know that?”

“What are you trying to say?” Azriel growled. “We’re just friends. I don’t care about Y/n…not like that. Not the way I care about Elain.”

You backed away, unable to listen to anymore of it. You felt drunk as you stumbled back to your room, your vision blurry with the tears in your eyes. It felt like the whole world was collapsing, like you had just found out everything in your life had been a lie. In a way, you had.

Azriel had never once made it seem like this was some friends with benefits situation. Not once had he ever told you he only saw you as a body to use for pleasure and nothing more, nothing deeper.

You had fallen for him. You thought he had fallen for you.

Gods, you were so stupid. Of course, he wanted Elain. Soft, sweet Elain. His opposite, a proper lady in waiting. You had let yourself be blinded by your feelings for him and now you were paying the price. You stumbled into your room and fell on your bed, erupting into quiet sobs.

Everything made sense now. Keeping it a secret so Elain would never know, so you wouldn’t ruin his chance with her. But why had he pretended to like you? Why would he do that to you?

He made you feel special but now you realized you had just been a shoulder to cry on and a distraction for what his heart really wanted.

You had been so ready to give Azriel your heart…you already had. But he didn’t want it. He didn’t want you.

Azriel never came that night.

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Happy Christmas, I wrapped it up and sent it

With a note saying "I love you", I meant it

Now I know what a fool I've been

But if you kissed me now, I know you'd fool me again

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You wished you could say that is where the story ended. But evidently, you were a fool. Because you let him back into your bed a few days later—didn’t speak a word of your feelings for him or what you had heard.

You wished you had more dignity, wished you could tell him to get lost. But you loved him.

Two more months went by before you finally pulled yourself together, tried to muster up the will to leave. You deserved better. You deserved someone who loved you and wanted you. You were tired of being second place to some other girl, tired of being a consolation prize.

You were worth more than that.

You reached out to a childhood friend who had moved back to Autumn, asking to move in with her for some time as you got your life together. The next day, your apartment was emptied and you were gone.

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Last Christmas, I gave you my heart

But the very next day, you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I’ll give it to someone special

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“Which ones would you say are your favorite?”

You jumped slightly, clutching a hand to your chest. You looked towards where the deep voice had come from and nearly stumbled back. Eris Vanserra was standing beside you, hands clasped behind his back, a half smirk on his handsome face.

He was dressed in a fine deep green coat and a white tunic, the top buttons undone to showcase the gold jewelry dangling from his neck. His red hair was tousled, likely from a recent horseback ride and his amber eyes were gleaming with a small flame.

“H-high Lord,” you gasped, starting to courtesy but he shook his head before nodding towards the flower cart you were working at.

“Which flowers are your favorite?” He asked again, a hint of amusement in his voice at how flustered he had made you.

You blushed a light pink, turning your gaze back to the many bouquets you had for sale. You figured he was buying some flowers for a lady in his life.

“Well, um, what’s the occasion?” You asked, fiddling nervously in his presence. He smelt like wildfire and cinnamon—it was intoxicating.

“I am taking a girl out on a first date tonight,” he said, his voice smooth like whiskey. He gave you a charming, fox-like smile. “I wanted to bring her flowers. I figured no one would have better taste than the flower cart girl herself. So which do you recommend?”

You bit your lip, looking at the many flowers. “Well, I’d say roses but that’s a bit cliche. Our orange and red carnations are usually favored by the ladies of this court. Perhaps a bouquet of those?”

“Are those your favorite? The carnations?”

You peered at him. He was focused on the flowers, rubbing a thumb against his bottom lips. You had seen Eris Vanserra at his coronation, but only from afar. He had been striking then. But this close, well, he was stunning, beautiful.

He glanced down at you, raising an eyebrow and you remembered he had asked you a question. You cleared your throat.

“No,” you answered. “My favorite are the fire lilies but they are not as popular.”

“I’ll take a bouquet of those,” he said with certainty, pulling a pouch of coin from his pocket.

“Are…are you sure?” You stuttered. “Are you certain she will like them?”

“Quite certain, yes,” he answered with another fox-like grin. He set down money on the cart, far more than what they were priced at.

You were quick to bundle up some of the fire lilies, adding a few complimentary flowers to fill in the empty spaces. You rolled them into some brown butcher paper and handed it over to him. “Here you are.”

“So, when and where can I find you tonight?”

“S-sorry, what?”

You looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

“When and where can I find you tonight,” Eris purred, “for our date.”

“Are you…being serious?” You asked, incredulously, because this had to be some sort of joke. The High Lord couldn’t possibly be asking you out on a date.

Eris reached forward with his free hand, grabbing yours and bringing it up to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles. “Indeed, I am.”

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swarming your stomach. You hadn’t had such a reaction to a male like this since Azriel. But looking at Eris, you wondered what you ever saw in the dark haired shadowsinger. Perhaps you had never needed shadow. Maybe you had needed…flame.

The next few months were a whirlwind of romance. Despite the reputation Eris had before he had been made High Lord, he had proved himself to be much more soft hearted then his cruel father. You were surprised by his kindness, his devotion and the heart he showed you.

It had been easy to fall in love with him.

So when the mating bond between the two of you snapped into place, it was only the cherry on top.

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A face on a lover with a fire in his heart

A man under cover, but you tore me apart

Oh, oh now I've found a real love

You'll never fool me again

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You were standing on the doorstep of the River House, a place you hadn’t been since that fateful night. You could hear the laughter from the Inner Circle inside. After you had left the Night Court, you had stayed in touch with almost everyone except Azriel. So when Feyre invited you over for Winter Solstice, you couldn’t say no—especially considering it was her birthday.

But you told yourself you wouldn’t stay long. Not when you had a fiance waiting for you back home. You were very eager to get back.

You knocked on the door, listening as the voices quieted down and footsteps approached. The door was pulled open and there was Feyre, dressed in a cozy get-up with a small babe perched on her hip.

“Y/n!” Feyre lurched forward to give you a side hug. You hugged her back, pressing a small kiss to the top of Nyx’s head before handing over a wrapped present. She took it with a smile.

“Happy Birthday,” you sang. “And Happy Solstice.”

“Thank you! I’m so glad you decided to come,” she stepped back, letting you cross into the house.

You hung up your coat and followed her towards the sitting room. You paused for a second, noting Azriel who was lingering in the doorway. You waited for the hurt to wash through you but none came. You felt…nothing. No, gone was the heartache and pain. Where an emptiness had lingered before, a new love filled it. A love so bright and fiery, it burned through everything else.

Your shoulders dropped and you breezed past him with a polite greeting.

You were actually here to make an announcement, before you and Eris were to go public with your engagement to the other courts. You wanted to tell Feyre and Rhys personally before they heard about it from someone else.

You were given a warm welcome and you ignored the feeling of Azriel’s eyes lingering on you throughout the night. Instead, you were content with sitting with Lucien—the only person in this room who knew about your engagement to his brother.

You were surprised to see Elain sat next to him, their hands entwined. You peered at Azriel, making eye contact, but his face was completely unreadable.

A wine glass was shoved into your hands and the night went on. It wasn’t until you made your way to the bathroom that you actually spoke to Azriel.

“Y/n,” he called out from behind you. You turned, watching him approach with his hands held behind his back, shadows swirling.

“Azriel,” you greeted, smiling blandly.

“Feyre told me you moved back to Autumn.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Why did you never say anything before you left? I thought…well—”

He trailed off and you raised an eyebrow at him. “Thought what?”

“Well I thought, maybe, there had been something going on between the two of us,” Azriel said. “But you left so suddenly and without word.”

Why did he care now? Because Elain was with her mate and no longer an option? Regardless, you didn’t care for the reason. You had found a love that transcended the stars and universe. Though you had no ill will towards Azriel, you obviously weren’t going to entertain this conversation.

“Something going on between us?” You questioned. “Az…you know it was only ever just sex, right? I thought…I thought that had been obvious.”

Alright, so maybe you were a bit petty.

“No, you’re right,” he said, awkwardly. “I just thought… well, nevermind.”

You smiled, playing dumb. “Happy Solstice, Azriel.”

He gave you a dip of the head. “Happy Solstice, Y/n.”

With that, you turned on your heel and continued down the corridor. When you got back from the bathroom, you knew it was time to make the announcement and head back home so you could celebrate Solstice with your new family.

You clanged against your wine glass to get everyone’s attention, standing up from your seat. Lucien gave you an encouraging nod that helped settle your nerves.

“I have an announcement to make,” you said before taking the glamour off your hand and revealing the large engagement ring on your finger. You heard several happy gasps of air. “I’m engaged! I wanted to tell you all before you heard through court gossip. You’re looking at the soon-to-be High Lady of Autumn.”

Cheers erupted in the room as most of them had already known about your relationship with Eris. You had told Feyre about it in one of your letters. Luckily, Mor and Eris had settled their differences once he became High Lord and there was now peace between the two courts.

“Oh my Gods! This is so exciting!”

Feyre jumped up and embraced you. You let out a small breath of relief and hugged her back. Once she let you go, some of the others also jumped up to congratulate you.

“When did he propose?” Mor asked.

“Two weeks ago,” you smiled before dropping another bomb. “Right after the mating bond snapped into place.”

“Mates and he’s going to make you High Lady?! Y/n, this is great news!”

It took another ten minutes before everyone settled down after congratulating you and pressing you for more details. You kept your lips sealed though, wanting to keep a few things just between you and Eris.

It was only then you noticed Azriel had disappeared from the room.

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Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I'll give it to someone special, special

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You let out a content sigh as you entered the High Lord and Ladys’ chamber, happy to be home. Eris was there, waiting for you with a smile on his face.

You rushed forward and he caught you in his arms, swinging you around. He held you tight against him.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he whispered into your ear. “Please.”

You giggled, pulling back to look up at him. “I was only gone for two hours!”

He pressed a kiss to your lips. “Two hours too long.”

You shook your head at him, feeling the love and admiration he was sending down the bond. The joy of having you back in his arms. “Don’t worry, I have no plans on leaving now that I’m home.”

His smile took your breath away.

“Good,” he said before lifting you into his arms and carrying you to the bed. You laughed as he tossed you onto the fluffy pillows with a wolfish grin. “Because I have to make up for lost time now.”

“You’re insatiable,” you teased as he crawled over you, kissing your neck and jaw.

“You love it,” he purred, his red hair falling forward to tickle your forehead.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss him.

“I love you,” you mumbled against his lips.

“And I love you,” Eris said with such honesty, you felt yourself soften underneath him.

You spent the rest of Winter Solstice wrapped up in his arms, the only place you truly felt at home.

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#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fic #eris fanfic #eris x you #eris vanserra #eris imagine #azriel fic #azriel angst

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zot3-flopped · 8 months ago

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Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

#this review is everything #anti taylor swift #taylor swift #travis kelce #3.6 !!!#hope Pitchfork comes for her too #jack antonoff #taylor swift reviews #the department of tortured poets #poets review #ttpd reviews

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krispyweiss · 20 days ago

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youtube

“Becoming Led Zeppelin” to Arrive in IMAX Theaters in February 2025

- Previously unheard interview with John Bonham among the threads in new picture

“The first time we played together, it was stunning - it was like a gift from heaven, wasn’t it?”

John Bonham is heard speaking these words at the tail end of the trailer for “Becoming Led Zeppelin,” the Bernard MacMahon-directed documentary that opens Feb. 5, 2025, at IMAX theaters in 18 cities before its Feb. 7 release in 200 additional theaters, IMAX only.

The never-released audio interview with the late Led Zeppelin drummer echoes contemporary interviews with Jimmy Page, Robert Plant and John Paul Jones in which the principal members, more than 40 years removed from Bonham’s death and the band’s breakup, marvel at what they found together.

“I knew we were on the right track,” Jones says.

Soundtracked with the studio version of “Whole Lotta Love,” the trailer includes previously unseen photographs and video from the band’s early days, which, as the title suggests, is the focus of the forthcoming “hybrid doc-concert” movie, the first sanctioned by the band.

“You could tell it was going to be a good group, but people wouldn’t even book the band,” Bonham says as his “Whole Lotta Love” solo plays behind his speaking voice.

Read Sound Bites’ coverage of the long-gestating project here: https://www.tumblr.com/krispyweiss/750584999322992640/becoming-led-zeppelin-to-hit-theaters-no

12/5/24

#Youtube #becoming led zeppelin #led zeppelin #john bonham #jimmy page #robert plant #john paul jones #bernard macmahon

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uno-universal · 5 months ago

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Marilyn Monroe in New York: May 6, 1957

On May 6, 1957, iconic actress Marilyn Monroe was in New York City engaged in promotional activities for her forthcoming film, *The Prince and the Showgirl*. A pivotal moment of the day was a photographic session with renowned photographer Richard Avedon. The resulting images, captured at Avedon’s Madison Avenue studio, would become emblematic of Monroe's complex persona, merging her glamorous public image with a raw vulnerability. These photographs represent a significant contribution to the enduring legacy of both Monroe and Avedon.

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jbaileyfansite · 6 months ago

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Jonathan Bailey launches LGBTQ+ Charity, The Shameless Fund, with help from Loewe (from Vogue)

Thanks to his starring role as Anthony Bridgerton on Bridgerton, Jonathan Bailey has catapulted himself into the public consciousness. (Plus, with the critically acclaimed Fellow Travelers and forthcoming turn in Wicked, he shows no signs of slowing down.) But today, Bailey launches his most personally meaningful project to date—his charity, The Shameless Fund—with a little help from Jonathan Anderson and Loewe.

The Shameless Fund seeks to harness the power of celebrity to raise money for LGBTQ+ initiatives. “A few years ago I thought, What can you do as an actor? There are so many amazing people who are on the frontline. They’re the real heroes that are working for organizations, and charities, and initiatives, which can speak to so many specific groups of people,” Bailey tells Vogue. “How can I raise money without asking people to actually donate and sponsor, [but rather] to invite people to experience art and beautiful, inspiring, naughty, and exciting collaborations?”

For a charity that aims to help members of the queer community across the world live freely and authentically, Bailey knew that he wanted to kick things off with a bang. Thus, he landed on a suggestive white T-shirt with milk dripping from the collar, inspired by a sexually charged scene in Fellow Travelers in which Matt Bomer’s Hawk tells his character Tim to “drink your milk.” “That is a line in Fellow Travelers, immaculately and robustly performed by Matt Bomer in a way that I think will send shudders through many people in the best possible way,” Bailey teases. “I wanted his performance to be immortalized, and I wanted my character’s reaction to it to be immortalized as well. I think this T-shirt does just that.”

A regular presence at Loewe shows, and a guest of the House at the 2024 Met Gala, Bailey has a preexisting friendship with creative director Anderson. But when the two got to chatting at a Studio Voltaire fundraiser, Bailey felt a sudden spark of inspiration. “We had a deep, dark, and brilliant conversation about life, and passion, and opportunities. I started talking about this idea of foundation that I’ve had that has been dormant, fizzing in my brain like a volcano,” Bailey says.

Bailey knew then that he wanted to launch the charity with a Loewe collaboration. “I was connected to queer taste way before I even understood what it was. And I do think that’s what Jonathan [Anderson] does. He’s naughty and he’s twinkly, and he’s so alive and curious,” Bailey says. “It just makes perfect sense that the first one is with him, with something as twinkly and naughty as ‘drink your milk.’”

Anderson, for his part, was equally inspired by the conversation. “I’m a strong believer in using fashion to share information, educate, and support great causes, so when Jonathan Bailey called with this idea, there was no way I could refuse,” Anderson tells Vogue. “I wanted to support The Shameless Fund for both its goals in advocating for LGBTQ rights and for Jonathan himself—he’s incredibly inspiring. He’s someone who really wears his heart on his sleeve—I love his dedication to his craft, to culture, and to being a champion for the LGBTQ community.”

Jonathan Bailey’s collaboration with Loewe, benefitting The Shameless Fund, will be available in select Loewe stores and online beginning June 27.

Source

#jonathan bailey #jonathan anderson #loewe #charity #the shameless fund #vogue #fellow travelers #matt bomer #lgbtq+#lgbtq #lgbtqia #NEW!

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historicity-was-already-taken · 5 months ago

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Very cool study titled "Recommendations for Gaming and Play in Holocaust Memory and Education" just dropped on my linkedin feed, via study contributor Dr. Christine Beresniova.

Its opening paragraphs read:

Digital games are becoming increasingly significant within Holocaust memory and education as professional memory institutions continue to explore the affordances of integrating digital technologies. The so-called Holocaust gaming taboo which has burdened both the mainstream gaming industry and small indie studios seems to show signs of lifting. Scholars have pointed out that major FPS (first-person shooter) franchises such as Wolfenstein and Call of Duty have only teetered on representation of this past, often taking liberty with Nazi themes while placing the Holocaust within the margins or completely eliding the persecution of European Jewry altogether. At the other end of the spectrum, game designers working with small budget proposals had been “promptly pressured to abandon the project” due to the backlash in public discourse, often prompted by professional Holocaust organisations denouncing the very premise of Holocaust games. However, the rising prominence of indie studios such as Paintbucket Games responsible for the historical resistance sim Through the Darkest of Times (2020), as well as the recent Forced Abroad (2022) and The Darkest Files (forthcoming), and Prague-based studio Charles Games who have produced Attentat 1942 (2017); Liberation Svoboda 1945 (2021) and Train to Sachsenhausen (2022) mark the significant shift underway. Indeed, professional Holocaust memory institutions such as the Neuengamme Concentration Camp Memorial and the Arolsen Archives are working in collaboration with game designers and developers to produce digital games on the subject. Furthermore, one designer, who faced public backlash for a game project designed as early as 2013, has since released The Light in the Darkness (Voices of the Forgotten, 2023) and is responsible for creating the first Holocaust Museum in Fortnite (Epic Games, 2023). This would not be the first Holocaust museum in a gaming environment, however. The United States Holocaust Memorial Museum launched ‘Witnessing History: Kristallnacht, the 1938 Pogroms’ in Second Life (c. 2008). The proliferation of interest in the medium’s potential to offer new modes for engaging with the past raises critical questions regarding opportunities for digital Holocaust memory practice, while also bringing into sharp focus issues regarding player/user experience, contextualisation, accessibility, funding and digital obsolescence. This report serves as an important first step in this work.

You may read the full report here. I'll be reading it later today or tomorrow. Very excited engage with this new(ish) terrain of Holocaust memory construction!

#holocaust history #holocaust memory #memory studies

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shownusgfayoooo · 1 year ago

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late nights + love songs

Pairing: Hongjoong x f!reader

Genre/Tropes: fluff, protective bf, caring gf

T/W: mentions of a stabbing in passing

Words: ~1.5k

my masterlist

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you creeped down the dark corridor. Surprises always set you on edge, and this one was really important. The heightened stakes only exacerbated your already jumpy nerves.

Your boyfriend Hongjoong had been going through a lot at work recently. He was so overworked that the stress of his life was bleeding into your every thought. It had been weeks since you had seen him, and even though you knew he barely had time to take care of himself, you couldn’t help but give in to the worry and pose a slight inconvenience onto his schedule by coming here tonight. You were just going to drop off food for him and make sure he got some rest, that was it! You wouldn’t distract him from his work and would leave as soon as you could make sure he was doing okay.

You carefully set the bags of food you were carrying on the floor outside of the door that marked your destination. You hoped to at least make it in the room without him noticing, and the odds were good because he was always so immersed in his work that he became dangerously oblivious to his surroundings.

You turned the knob slowly in your hands then pushed the door open, inch by inch. Coast was clear. He hadn’t so much as twitched, let alone turn around from his desk to see that someone was entering his studio.

You smiled at the sight of him. Being in the same room with the love of your life again put your soul at peace.

You tiptoed towards him, and before he could see your reflection mirrored in the dark window behind his monitors, you covered his eyes with your hands.

He jumped a little before laughing and covering your hands with his own. “Ya, who is it?”

You bent your head down to place a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll give you one guess.”

He laughed and turned his chair so that he was facing you. “Hm, Seonghwa?”

“Seonghwa better hope he hasn’t been kissing you like that, or I will need to have some words with him.” You finally took your hands away and crossed them over your chest in mock annoyance.

He laughed before leaning forward and wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your chest. “Hi, baby.” He sounded so exhausted.

You wrapped one of your own around his shoulder while the other came up to card through his pretty blue hair. “Hi, my love.”

He sighed deeply and squeezed you tighter. “Everything is better when you’re here.”

Your heart squeezed up at how forthcoming he was being out of nowhere. Hongjoong loved deeply and showed it well, too, but he always got a little shy when he had to say something serious. He must have been really worn down if the first thing he was saying to you was this.

“I missed you. I just wanted to make sure you were doing ok. I wasn’t planning to interrupt you for long-”

He leaned back so quickly, you got startled. “No, don’t leave.”

“Joongie, it’s already 1 in the morning. I know you still have a lot to finish tonight, and I know you have to be up early, too. I will not come in the way of your already limited sleep. I just came by to get some food in you and to see you for a minute, I swear.”

He pouted at you before he turned to the computer to see the time. He blinked, surprised. “How is it already that late? Wait, how are you here?”

You twirled a piece of your hair and looked at the wall behind him, trying to think of a way to change the subject.

His hand caught the one in your hair, immediately recognizing your tell. “Y/N.”

Caught, you smiled at him sheepishly. “Ah, I took the bus.”

“The bus?! How many times have I told you not to take public transportation by yourself at night? You know it’s dangerous.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Don’t you ‘yeah yeah’ me. I’m serious. Did you see the news from literally two days ago? A woman was stab-”

Before he could really get going, you leaned forward and kissed him, partly to shut him up and partly because it had been too long, and you missed him too much.

He responded immediately, and barring the first, it was the best kiss you two had ever shared. You held his face softly, and he pulled you down onto his lap.

You laughed at his antics and gave him another peck before leaning back to really look at him. Your thumb brushed at the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“How are you doing, love?”

“I’m okay. Just tired. I’m much better now that you’re here.”

You smiled at him. “I missed you.”

He kissed your forehead. “Not as much as I missed you.”

“Hm, I don’t know about that. I definitely missed you more,” you teased back.

He tugged on your hair. “Not possible.” You rolled your eyes in jest before he added, “In fact, I can prove it to you.”

You smirked at him, bemused. “Oh yeah, how’s that?”

He grinned mischievously and moved the chair to face the desk again. He started clicking away on his keyboard, minimizing the track he was working on before pulling up another MP3 file. You looked at him confused before he finally pressed the space bar and soft music started to fill the room. “You inspired this one,” he whispered. Out of the speakers crooned his beautiful voice, singing the most gentle and lovely lyrics you had ever heard. The next three minutes were the most profound of your life, as Hongjoong professed his love through the beautiful piece of music he had written for you, and you stared at him in awe.

As the song drew to a close, your unshed tears finally overflowed, and a look of nervousness flitted across his face. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Is it bad? Did you not like it?”

You laughed wetly before throwing yourself into his arms, your head tucked under his chin.

“That was the most beautiful song I have ever heard. In my whole life. I can’t even explain to you- like that’s obviously your best work, but beyond that- it’s.. it’s art.”

He rubbed your back. “I don’t know about all that, butt I’m glad you like it. I was a little nervous because I’ve never made anything like it before.”

You pulled back to look at him again. “Did it take a while? It must have been hard.”

He cocked his head at you with a soft smile playing at his lips. “Not at all. It was the easiest song I’ve ever done.”

You smiled back at him, and the moment could have stretched into forever, when you suddenly remembered your purpose for the visit. You gasped, sitting up straight in his lap. “Have you eaten today?”

It was his turn to be sheepish. “Kind of. Like hours ago.”

You frowned at him and went to retrieve the food you had left in the hallway. He closed his eyes at the smell of his favorite meal wafting through the room as you began to unpack. “Ah, you are too good to me, Y/N, I swear.”

“Just shut up and eat.” “Yes, ma’am.” Seeing him laugh was the most sweet privilege of your life.

You both ate in peace, the time spent quietly catching up on the past few weeks interspersed with lapses of comfortable silence. When you were done eating, your heart sank for having to leave him again. You were suddenly so sad at the thought that as you gathered your belongings, you didn’t notice Hongjoong doing the same and turning off all his devices.

When you turned to him, trying to keep your expression in check, you were surprised to see him packed up and ready to go, a beanie covering up his blue hair.

“Where are you going? I thought you still had work to finish.”

He grabbed the string of your bag off from your shoulder and put it on his instead. “I am taking my girlfriend home. I know I’m a pretty terrible boyfriend because I never get to see you, but I will definitely not let you go home alone at this time of night!”

You smiled at him, “You’re not a terrible boyfriend, Hongjoong, the exact opposite of that, yes. But honestly, there’s no need.”

He just rolled his eyes at you and pushed you gently towards the door.

You resisted, your back against his chest. “What about work? I don’t wanna get chewed out by your manager again for ‘being a distraction.’”

He wrapped his arms around your waist and lifted you into the hallway, “Hey!”, before turning and locking the room. “It’s nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow, I promise.”

“If you’re sure.” You worried your lip.

“I’m sure. Let’s go home and get some sleep, darling.”

You sighed in relief at the thought. You hadn’t been sleeping well either without HongJoong there to hold you through the night. And honestly, sleep was more important for your boyfriend than a track that was probably three comebacks down the line.

You slipped your hand into his and didn’t let go the whole way home, and the whole night.

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