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herstarburststories · 4 years ago

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you and me and the devil makes three.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x reader, Demon!Dean Winchester x reader, past Lisa x Dean

Summary: Dean is a demon, he will take whatever he wants.

A/N: This got darker than I expected. I wanna make it clear I don't condone or engage with Dean's acts on this. This is my submission for @jawritter 's Make Me Cry Challenge. Congrats, honey! Hope you like it. Dividers by talesmanic and gif credit here

Prompt: I guess I should have been more like her.

Warnings: non consensual kissing, language, UNHEALTHY BEHAVIOR, non con (kissing and touching but no sex), dirty talk

Dean Winchester was a dreamer.

In the rawest way of the word, the meaning in the dust-collecting dictionaries and not the idealistic form. His eyelids shut close and, just like magic, Dean’s head was as haunted as the home he swore he’d never come back to in Kansas. The ghosts of the past, not ever so very friendly, coming to greet him at least three times per week. Sometimes they were happy films he could never starre in real life, his mom singing or a picnic with a lover saying that they needed to hurry up to get their kid at the baseball. The nightmares were sleepy visions of flesh and blood, mostly about his time underneath, Sam hurting, or his father spilling out his worst fears at his face.

Maybe it was how the eldest Winchester’s brain compensated for the lack of bedtime tales and docile affairs growing up. The own way that his brittle soul discovered and molded not to let him collapse, or to always keep him on red alert.

Good and bad deals are mostly a matter of which side you are betting your money on, really.

Because yeah, Dean did wake up feeling like he had shut his forest eyes briefly for twenty minutes instead of hours when he dreamed, but he also had never spent so long trapped in a better place. The green eyed hunter didn’t know which one was worse: the good dreams or the horrific ones. After all, he had went through all the atrocity and made it out alive, but the engulfed craving for light-hearted scenarios was suffocating. The hunter could never have it all. Trust him, he tried. Then, which is more agonizing: to have everything you ever wanted for a couple hours and have every scrap of it taken from you, or to undergo the calamity that accompanied your breaking point?

Dean didn’t know, he didn’t even know what to tell Sam when he wondered what his brother had dreamt about to wake up sweating and screaming, all the light and stupid apple pie desires and the sharp brutality crawling out of the back of his mind. He made a joke, Megan Fox really liked knives, man. He kept it in, shoved down a good amount of alcohol, and mocked the worry of doing the lawn. Ready for another day.

But now he was a demon, and apparently whatever he was made of - sulfur, cruelty, and black eyes under garden ones - wasn't worthy quiet reliefs in the middle of the night, or even frightening figments of memory. He became his worst dreams and all the dreams slipped beyond his reaches because of that. Demons, those unholy creatures, didn’t get the human peculiarities. You know what? Fine by him.

Who needed dreams when you don't need sleep, anyway? Even better: who needed dreams when you don't care about what you gotta do to put your greedy hands on the prize you had been eyeing for years?

Dean Winchester was finally free. Free for the first time since he was a four years little boy who watched his mother burning with a terrorized expression, ironically mimicking the one Mary wore on the ceiling. His dad’s shouting for him to grab Sammy and run, take your little brother and run, echoing through years and years. There was never time for Dean, for his grief or his questions or whatever the child frozen in time under his rib cage could come up with. They said, stupid psychologists with their fancy degrees and malicious bartenders with a unfriendly grun under the counter who learned a little too much, everybody said that when someone was so traumatized as a kid, that person would tend to get frozen at that age. Therefore, how tremendously alleviating was to kill any reminiscing emotion of the whiny child he used to be.

The kind of freedom that no traveler longed for; when one’s ruined and damaged enough not to care, and just take and take and take like hunger itself. Dean was an evil thing now, what else could he do but act on the figments of the worst intentions?

And feel so fucking good when doing that.

‘’Where do you think he's going?’’ Your eyes raked over the street, darting between the asphalt under Baby’s wheels and Sam’s weary features.

‘’I don't know.’’ He sighed, attempting to organize his thoughts. Even as a demon, his brother wouldn’t just run miles and miles away by himself for no apparent reason. There had to be something you and Sam were missing out, some unseen clue or a hidden meaning. ‘’What the localizator says?’’

At least you had managed to put a tracker in his boots during your last encounter. Whatever Dean was thinking of starting there, you and Sam wouldn’t let him.

‘’Still Cicero, Indiana.’’ You sighed. Sammy furrowed his eyebrows, a long forgotten memory rising. ‘’What?’’

‘’We had a case there once years ago.’’ He explained, opting not to elaborate. Your and Dean’s relationship was troubled enough with his new self. Sam didn’t want to blow it up completely. His brother would need you once he came back to himself. The look on your face, though, reported how you weren’t buying his cheap excuses. The long haired hunter sighed. ‘’Did Dean ever tell you about that?’’

‘’No.’’

He stepped on the accelerator.

To find the woman was excruciatingly easy. The freckled demon couldn't believe he opened his computer many times and gave up before today. He glanced through the glass window and there she was, standing in all her glory with a body that seemed to forget how to grow old. Her tan skin still glowing, as appetizing as ever. Brown eyes shining so bright, tiny hands that always seemed to know where he wanted to be touched. She was laughing like there was no tomorrow, holding a glass of wine with one hand and her cellphone with the other, while her dark hair was falling so perfectly over her shoulder, like waves against the rocks in the sea.

Dean can’t wait to smell her again, to taste her, to prove her. His fingers were tingling, begging to touch what was his as he hopped off the car, walking towards the porch. He had been gone for a long time, but now he was back.

He will destroy that quintessential, sequin woman so good.

The Winchester buckled in front of the white door, graced with the sound of the female giggle. Thin walls, he thought, those will be useful to make sure the neighbors know who’s back home. Her steps on the wood floor growing closer and closer as he heard a goodbye, probably aimed at whoever she was on the phone with. It was almost like the caramel skinned woman knew that whoever was on her doorstep wasn’t gonna be a hustled visitor. Or so the demon’s arranged mind said.

‘’Hey, Lis.’’ Dean’s voice lacked any cherishment as she opened the door, who would know that the absence of a soul wouldn't be gelid, just dry? As for her, Lisa’s face was drained of love. For all she was aware of, he was a stranger who knew her name. The male let out a chuckle empty of joy. She really didn’t remember, huh? ‘’Whoa. Cass really fucked up your head, huh? At least he did one thing right.’’

‘’Excuse me?’’ The man with dirty blonde hair and perfect teeth smelled like alcohol. She wasn’t having any of this tonight. ‘’Listen, I don’t know who you are and--’’

‘’Don’t worry.’’ He tranquilized her, although the lopsided grin on his lips held anything but good intentions. ‘’I’ll make you remember. I have a spell. You won’t believe how much you missed me.’’

The mocking laugh that left her lips utterly aggravated him. ‘’I don’t know you. Please leave or I’ll call the police.’’

Dean didn’t need a crowd for that part, a bratty woman in need of a firm hand should get a particular lesson.

‘’You always liked a little cat and mouse.’’

Speaking of, the demon pushed the door wide open without any effort. Lisa jumped at the sudden move, every instinct inside her deciding that man was a threat and not some harmless wasted guy. Her body was quickly erect, thinking about ways to run and get help, but Dean swiftly pushed her to him and kicked the door closed-- her small figure collided to his chest.

Human savagery was cut in urban ways, molded to civilize the animalistic instincts. Imagine meat. A dead animal on a silver plate, and we couldn’t wait to chew every inch of it. We couldn’t wait to eat it, put that dead thing inside us and hope it’ll be enough to control the predatory hungry. Humans will always be animals, but so will be their rests that constructed the demons.

Dean may not be a hunter anymore, but he’s still a predator who can't wait to taste his prey. He could small it, the fear in Lisa’s sweat making his mouth water. How much she tried to fight against him and scream other names when his was the only one he wanted her to need tonight. The resistance of a poor human barely made the monster shiver.

He closed his hands around her arms, throwing her against the wall like someone tossed an old toy away. There was no space for delicaly. In that moment, Dean Winchester was a tiger, a lion, the big bad wolf attacking the omega. Lis winced, her back hurting as her fibers. She couldn’t believe this was happening, that man was about to do something so terrible and disgusting to her in her own house, the place she was supposed to feel warm and safe. Why did he seem to know her? Why did he say she was gonna remember? Was he crazy, hallucinating, or drugged? Why was he so satisfied with how frightened her tiny body looked? How could she use all that information to somehow push him away?

‘’Let me go!’’ She demanded, her legs kicking the demon with ferocity. ‘’What’s wrong with you? LET ME GO NOW!’’

The brunette’s skilled body moved itself desperately, and the act of resistance only brought a hysterical laugh out of Dean. The wrong kind of goosebumps washed her skin, she had to run away for her life. This man was mad.

‘’FIRE! FIRE!’’ Lisa started to scream. Well-aware that people were most likely to come around and help a woman screaming if she said fire. ‘’THERE’S A FIRE. SOMEONE HELP ME!’’

One of his hands went to her neck, wrapping his fingers around it to shut her up. That was rubbing him off the wrong way. Lisa Braeden used to beg for his touch, how dared her not to want him anymore? Now that he was better, stronger, and thicker.

The brown eyed girl went quiet, probably scared by his brutal behavior. Dean smiled, a blood stained grin that carried mischief and pervertment. He licked the tears savoring the salty horror coming from her. Just like the day he was a vampire who almost gave in to drinking every drop of her luptuos blood. She may not remember but he did and he couldn't wait to get inside her, those tight walls squeezing his hard cock.

‘’You’re gonna do as I say, Lis. And I won't hurt you… Much.’’ He risped, crooked nose stroking her wet cheek. She whined. ‘’Don’t worry, honey. You loved it. Bet you’ll scream so much once I fuck you good.’’

‘’Please, don’t do it.’’ She begged as he coaxed his body against his. That man was stronger than her, she had no other choice but to plead to his human side. If only she knew.

‘’Begging already?’’ Dean lifted his head, smirking at her. Lisa just wanted to cry and close her eyes until everything was done. How could someone do that? ‘’I told you, don’t worry. I’m gonna make a lil’ spell that will give your memories back and you’ll remember everything. And then we’re gonna have so much fun, Lis.’’

His last murmur was finished with a kiss. A harsh, ruthless kiss. Actually, she wasn’t even sure if she could call it a kiss; teeth against each other, his vicious mouth pressed to her weakened lips, his tongue invading her like a robber and showing an unrequited dominance.

‘’Dean!’’ Your voice resonated stridently, louder than the door Sam had stormed open. You couldn’t believe what your eyes witnessed. ‘’Stop it!’’

Dean groaned, as if you and Sam were stepping on his territory. He simply turned his head to you two, not pulling away from Lisa. You couldn’t see her face, your boyfriend’s large shoulder and tall body covering her up. His eyes were still green, which set the scene in an even more atrocious light.

Your thoughts were racing. How could he come to her, crave her so badly that he drove away miles and miles as a demon? He was supposed not to feel a thing. You prepared yourself for a cold man, not an obsessive one. Apparently, a heart hidden under the black smoke. Choose if it's a gift or Pandora's box. Sam told you their history. Of course he would want that and not you. Dean never left Lisa because he fell out of love for her, he was ripped out from her life. You were so pissed at yourself; how could you picture playing the woman in his veins? How stupid were you? He may be a demon guided by wants and not emotions, but what was love but an amount of outrageous desires laced up with some pretty words and flavored with dependency?

‘’Y/N and Sammy--’’

Love was the wrong word here. Anyway. Go head and unwrap it.

‘’Please help me!’’ Lisa’s voice came to life once more through her quiet cry. Dean hardened the hold around her throat, making her cough a little.

Suddenly, your body is frozen. That, whatever that is, whatever he’s doing to Lisa. It wasn’t love. She didn’t want it. When his frame moved to face you and Sam, you caught a glimpse of her face. She was petrified, her delicate features contorted in wrath and fear and beg for help.

‘’Quiet.’’ Dean howled, glancing at her rapidly before his eyes fell on you and Sam again. ‘’You two are such killjoys. I told you to let me go.’’

You couldn’t believe what you were witnessing. You wanted to puke your guts out.

‘’And what? Kill your ex? Or do something even worse to her?’’ You elicited with disgust.

‘’She’ll come around eventually. Just playing hard to get. You know how frisky women are.’’ The corner of his lips curved into a barbaric grim, one of his hands touching Lisa’s cheek. The victim winced at the touch. ‘’Besides, I’m not just gonna take her. I’ll make her remember and she’ll want me.’’ He shrugged, unbothered by the horrified looks of everyone in the room. ‘’Are you really worried about Lis, Y/N? Or are you just jealous that I didn’t go for you?’’

‘’Enough, Dean.’’ Sam groaned, holding the gun up. It felt oily. ‘’Let her go. And come with us.’’

The demon tossed the brunette away with a simple sleight of hand, pulling his sleeves up with a marred beam. His eyes switched from starry green to black, showing his true facette. It was a peculiar relief. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t Dean.

Yet, Dean’s gruff voice said in a twisted playful tone:

‘’Come get me, Sammy.’’

Dean Winchester was cured. For most people, to heal is to let go or to learn with things. In the doctor’s case, healing is leaving a bruise to cover up a wound. Everyone believed the war started and ended, and that was it. But when something so ravaging is gone, you gotta deal with the trauma.

He was a trauma. Cured from a sickness, drowning in sorrow and waves of woe. All the worst things Dean ever did, he knew now, weren’t to himself or to the monster he so proudly killed. His unspoken acts were against the people he cared about.

The hunter never thought his hands, his bruised and tough hands could ever hurt Lis. The woman who was his lifeline when Sam died, who allowed him to be a father and live in his dreamland of suburban life. All she ever did was to love him, and what did she get for it?

He was disgusted with himself. What almost did to her was enough to hunt him and make him sure he was going back to hell, very deserving this time. Threating to do that to a woman, and enjoy it… Dean couldn’t bear driving into memories. He was selfishly glad he didn’t remember about that, only Sam’s explanation was enough: he went to Lisa, he kissed her without her consent, and Sam and you stopped him going any further. Would his unscrupulous, demon self go ahead? He was too scared to wonder, even though his brother said that he apparently had a spell to make Lis remember and wasn’t planning on just taking her. A forced kiss was disgusting enough. He just wished Sam had put a bullet in his black eyes right there.

You walked in the bathroom that you once shared with the eldest Winchester

She was everything he ever wanted, all the suburban dreams and acceptance of hunter reality without being in it. Lisa loved him completely and you could only love him sideways-- you never wanted to be a mom, or to have a family or live in a suburb. Those were valid goals, just not yours. You thought you and Dean were on the same page about it, but this other side, not only the pervert demon but the domestic man, hadn’t been shown to you until a couple days ago. Sam had cured his brother, his dirty nature washed away with holy water, but you couldn’t help the bruises that came from the dog days. Lisa had her memory erased by Cass again, you didn’t have the same unfair luxury.

‘’Dean.’’ You said, making him look up at you. Bags under his eyes and wrinkles more evident than ever. ‘’We need to talk.’’

He sighed and wiped his face. ‘’Y/N, I don’t want to talk right now.’’

‘’You never do.’’ You scoffed, gaining an incredulous glance from him. ‘’I know that what happened was disgusting and sick and the worst thing you could ever do, but we need to talk.’’

He took a deep breath. ‘’What do you wanna talk about?’’

‘’You went to her.’’ You stated as a lawyer in front of a jury. Dean furrowed.

‘’What?’’

‘’Lisa. You went to her.’’ When the arrow hit someone so damaged, it was like an animal with his teeth there that wouldn't let go. Yeah, his human soul wasn't the same brittle glass as before but it lingered in his demon self in the shape of delusion, and it was distorted by whatever he was made of, violence and darkness, and turned into something disgusting. ‘’You love her.’’

‘’Love?’’ The word burned his tongue, Dean didn’t think he had the right to ever use it again. ‘’I was a demon, Y/N. I didn’t love or feel anything. What I did--’’

‘’You didn’t do anything.’’ You interrupted, loyal as a soldier.

‘’I forced a kiss on her and wanted to bring her memories back to have sex with her. That’s disgusting and I did half of that.’’ He pointed out aggitadly, plump lips moving fast and voice deeper. ‘’It wasn’t love. Leaving her years back was love.’’

You didn’t miss how Dean didn’t even dare to say her name. ‘’So you don’t think about her? Not even once?’’

He scoffed humourless. ‘’Are you kidding me?’’

‘’I guess I should have been more like her.’’ You hugged yourself, glancing at the wall. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again, not for another woman. That wasn’t even your cicatrix to ache.

‘’Y/N, what the fuck are you talking about?’’ The fully green eyed man raised to his feet, glancing at you with disbelief. He couldn’t face how messed up it was. ‘’I can’t believe you are jealous of what happened. I thought I was the broken one here.’’

‘’I’m not her.’’ You two shared it, the glance that only two women who were hurt by the same man could. You both understood that when he got inside you, it was like the syringe in an eutanasia. Once you were happy because you loved him, now you were scared and not so sure this was what you wanted. ‘’I’m not her and you knew it. When you became just instincts and selfish and did whatever you wanted, you didn’t come to me. You came to her.’’

‘’I hurt her.’’

The next words fly out of your mouth, as weak and totaled as you felt: ‘’Why didn’t you hurt me?’’

‘’This is the most unhealthy shit we ever went through.’’ Dean’s right. You have her expression mesmerized on your brain. Dean was the man on top of her, teaching her how to hate. How to fear. You can’t trust yourself. ‘’I can’t believe you.’’

‘’Neither can I.’’ You were so sick. How ravaged and annihilated one had to be to wish to be a demon's object of obsession? To get jealous that another woman almost died in the arms of a beast that cried his blood out once he came back to being a man and saw what he had done? ‘’I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I was there and I saw how scared of you she was, how all she wanted was to push you away and run because she was so disgusted--’’

‘’Stop.’’ He groaned, but it came out more like a whine than anything. ‘’It wasn’t me. I would never hurt Lis. I would never force her to do anything! I--’’

You gave him a sad smile. ‘’You love her.’’

‘’I love you.’’ Dean approached you, fumbling in despair to fix yet another thing his hands destroyed. If Rome was built in ruins, he was a kingdom. You pulled away before his tough hands landed on you.

‘’But you love her too.’’ The hunter stopped on his spot, unable to answer. ‘’I ruined myself for you, Dean. I can’t-- I won’t do that again. You are right. This is unhealthy. The fact that you’ve been pining for her for so long, pushing down those feelings to the point they are twisted into something so cruel and disgusting. You need help.’’ What kind of ugly you have to have inside you for a monster to love you? And, even worse, what kind of sickness you have trapped, written in your blood to want it to be spilled out in his name? ‘’You really are venom. If this is how you love, it’s scary as fuck.’’ When you loved a broken man, you were never sure if his shattered pieces would glisten or cut your hand once the light came in. Here’s your answer. His parts crawled inside you through pulled up scars, scraping your insides to make into ruins, but you never liked Rome much. You had to be better than that. ‘’Goodbye, Dean.’’

He couldn’t bring himself to go after your steps.

Once again, it’s the kind of freedom no traveler wants. When you lost it all and didn't have any person or place to cling to, when you had to leave because you were becoming the girl you swore you’d never leave, when you walked away willingly without a map.

Still, it was all you had. You’d make a good use of it. You’d be okay. No more ugly emotions or sentiments that made you unrecognizable. No more knives that cut both ways, or situations so complicated you weren’t sure where your morals could rely on.

You’d be okay, healthy, and happy.

You’d be okay.

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csykora · 3 years ago

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Suits and more polos that have flashed by me at inexplicable speeds today

The NHL has flung 31 outfits into the air to see what sticks the landing. Let us begin.

1. Hampus Lindholm

If The Mighty Ducks had never existed, this might be concept art that inspires the character of the popular mean kid in a teen sports movie. Is that intriguingly recursive, or exhaustingly self-referential? Does the journey matter, when either way the result is...kinda fine?

I will say it fits him well. I like a slightly loose, upper-third t-shirt sleeve. My likes and dislikes are many and minute.

2. Oliver Ekman-Larsson

Now it begins. Listen, I can see what they're seeing: the fabric looks shiny, the cut looks slim, the shirt is not the shirt one expects under a suit coat.

I'll say the cut is...fine. It looks slim, because his body is quite slim, but it's cut enough bigger than his body that there's enough space in the shoulders, elbows, and from what I can tell at the hip and thigh as well for him to move inside it. The cuffs are just a smidge below where I like, but he may have done that on purpose because there are now shirt cuffs sitting below them.

I do not like that there are no shirt cuffs.

I do not like a sharply upturned lapel much, which is minor, but bothers me more because of the shine. This is almost certainly a high silk-content blend that I would appreciate on its own, I just think it should be allowed to drape and bend instead of making sharp points. Whatever. The real reason I am annoyed is the contrast between the rough-shine of the silk-wool woven and the sticky-matte look of the navy, probably cotton-polyester knit polo. The lightning isn't his fault so I won't dig into the color contrast, but I think the guys think tossing a polo under a suit jacket looks simpler, while I think it introduces new visual complexity.

has worn a color.

4. Vincent Trocheck

Someone has de-aged Jay Beagle.

The fit is probably fit. I have no complaints about any of the fabrics or how they fit together. There is an overall effect. Is it a good one?

5. Max Domi

Doesn't understand why the rest of your college creative writing workshop doesn't like his roman à clef about a young man who has oral sex with and gets dumped by a young woman and then has oral sex and falls in love with a young woman whose fashion sense is, like, alternative

6. Elias Lindholm

50/50 between also looking like the guy in your creative writing workshop and looking like the guy who beats up that guy. Is it bad? No. Is it good? I think it's fine.

7. Nikita Zadorov

The fit is fine, I guess. Big windowpanes are just hard to work with! I do think the shape of the lapel is a degree of difficulty move you maybe didn't need to make, because it introduces more lines running at wonky angles. A strict black-and-white feels less forgiving of that than if this were in muted colors. The combination of the big windowpane and the tiny tie pattern, and the unavoidable difference in the two shades of black which are both set against stark white, isn't bad. I mean, I don't like it, but it feels either dated to a specific time or a specific sub-genre, so I feel like it should go to a more goth official for review.

8. Gabriel Landeskog

Physically, there's a nice amount of space in all those layers. Everything but the tie is solidly proportioned.

Otherwise, the layers are close in a way I find a bit visually busy. I don't love the number of different shades of black and different textures--the shiny jet black shirt seems...fine, but a little extraneous against the matte blue-black overcoat. A white shirt would look lovely.

9. Jamie Benn

I am not going to insult people's looks just because they act like cocks. You might look back at #5 and quibble, but he insulted himself with that outfit.

The color combination here is fine. There's just one shade of charcoal and one shade of black, which aren't super close and don't conflict. The t-shirt isn't the worst, although maybe if he had tried on a suit shirt, he would have noticed that the suit does not fit.

The cuff is pretty big. I do not think it should be that far down his hand, especially when his elbow is bent. The shoulder pads and sleeve caps are doing something--my best guess is that the padding looks a bit bulkier than average now and the sleeve caps are both tightly angled vertically and set wider than the bones of his actual shoulders, so the seam is hanging off him. I think the project--trying to "compensate" for natural round shoulders--is a poor one, but he also might have been somewhat more effective in what he was trying for if the shoulder pad and sleeve seam were sitting on a suit shirt sleeve cap that was close to the same shape, instead of a structureless t-shirt.

We'll head to intermission tied at "sure, fine."

#long post #what the well-dressed goalie is wearing #hampus lindholm #oliver ekman larsson #rasmus dahlin #vincent trocheck #max domi #elias lindholm #nikita zadorov #gabriel landeskog #jamie benn

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roadtophantom · 6 years ago

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Down Once More - RTP Does a Double Show

(or as they say, a two doe shay - so in that light, this review is hella long)

March 16, 2019

It wasn't planned but to take advantage of a discount, I got a second ticket targeting a Saturday matinee show so I could catch Clara. This plan backfired as I already inadvertently caught her the previous week. Being that the Theatre at Solaire is hours away where I am and I don't want to shell out over a grand for Grab, I decided to see the evening show too.

The fun part about matinees is it's not a rush hour so the travel time is cut significantly. We got to the theatre early enough to take all the photos we want without queueing plus some decent drive thru food. We got balc right seats this time, second row. I certainly missed the prime visibility of orch seats but liked being able to see the whole set.

Clara was on as Christine and I'm delighted to say that as early as a week-gap she's able to put different touches to her Christine so you see a somewhat different interpretation. This one was less afraid and was drawn more to MOTN, that she was able to show a dilemma between the Phantom and Raoul. What I gathered from my first viewing of her was that she's obviously Team Raoul all the way. I mean, sure that is a very valid interpretation but I guess I also like a Christine who is able to show a conflict, some sort of loyalty to her 'teacher' who she didn't just happen to meet yesterday. So there's some joy when she sings AOM.

A notable scene is how she took a while to unmask the Phantom (Jonathan) The instrumentation has already changed and she was still peeling the mask. Jonathan took that extended lull as fuel for anger that Clara cowered in a fetal position as Jonathan, imposing figure that he is, hovered over her. He then punches the floor with his fist and kicked the mandarin hat (which he never got to wore) away. Pretty intense. By STYDI he becomes remorseful as he lamented 'Oh Christine'.

One thing I love about Matt's Raoul is we don't just know he is well to borrow from the Kingsmen: manners maketh man. He isn't only a gentleman at Christine but also to the managers when he makes it a point to excuse himself with a hand gesture when he is switching his attention to Carlotta, Piangi and Girys. And I think one takeaway I got from his Raoul is how he regarded the angel with dismissal and arrogance but slowly come to horror to know that this is a real thing plaguing Christine and that leads him to do what it takes even risk his life. Idk, he's just very real to me. When he does the disaster will be yours, he mounts all his fiery passion to threaten what he knows is larger than him.

Also the travelator worked and he does jump so whee.

Again I adored the ballerinas during the rehearsals because they're just playful girlfriends, when they get excited at the introduction of the Vicomte, when one of them yawns tiredly and someone gets instruction from the slave master, love love these cute dynamics. Plus they are so nice and supportive of Christine. Meg is just a dear, and I love how Kiruna-Lind nods sheepishly with a “I’ll be a good girl cross my heart” smile at her mom before stomping right off.

I finally looked up that lyric change in Notes, it's now using Broadway's: "Mystified baffled Surete say,we are mystified -"

After the show I accompanied my cousin and sister to stage door, whereupon Meghan came in looking like a rockstar, black ensemble, hat on. She's still somewhat ill but she's going on and it's to be appreciated because that means my evening ticket will finally see the other Christine.

My seats these time are way up because I got the cheapest tier. So it was going to be interesting to see Meghan who is probably one of the most petite ladies (she's probably 5 foot and a couple inches). But I immediately see how she compensates for the height with her hands. In Hannibal she grabs on to the nearest ballerina or Meg to seek comfort or to show excitement when the announcement of Vicomte came on, she holds Reyer's hands as he congratulates her. Later in the show she uses them in more heartbreaking ways (to plea for help at Madame Giry at Notes II and the managers after the PONR unmasking but all for naught).

I have to mention this, Meghan does not dance the slave girls track (and later most of the Masquerade track) but this may be because of an injury. Do not take my word for it, but it would make sense why Clara was on instead during the media call. I don't begrudge Meghan too in going off stage especially to protect her health.

BUT when she came on for Think of Me? Holy. Smokes. THAT GLORIOUS VOICE. Where did that come from such a tiny frame? It's so big and whole and powerful and she sings and extends the cadenza effortlessly. You'll know this is opera-trained.

My take with her Christine is that she takes on Meghan's personality, especially in Act I where she is bubbly and friendly with the ballerinas and when she tries to explain to Raoul that the angel of music is very strict (she does it sheepishly). Listening to her radio interviews it makes sense how it sometimes blurs who Meghan is and who Christine is.

She also mentioned how she and the character are utterly consumed by music, and she shows it not just as a trance state but also in a Sarah Brightmanesque possessed state. I want to take a closer look at this because from afar there's a danger of looking like she's doing nothing when she's been doing big gestures with her hands earlier. So it looks like on and off. But maybe up close it's possible she communicates more.

Her strength and her strongest weapon is undoubtedly that voice, because with it she isn't afraid to make the songs her own, to manipulate them as the scene demands for it and as she needs it. Her vocal control is incredible. She is able to communicate fear, panic and passion effortlessly because of that malleable voice that she need not stay the course of the song but give it her interpretation ("in that, <i>strange</i>. sweet. sound.") She could cry and scream in song if that makes sense? I just looooooove listening to her sing and there are just so much dimensions in her interpretation that way. And there's even more to it when she performs with her cast mates.

Okay this brings me to the next part of the review. I saw Jonathan earlier with Clara and it went without a hitch so to speak. In figure-skating speak he landed those lutz. The evening, told a different story. When he couldn't extend his BE in MOTN I started to get worried.

The figure-skating analogy will become very clear towards the rest of the performance as I waited in bated anticipation how he'll try to land his jumps. This was me the whole time basically.

He started stumbling losing breath and ending in rasps towards the end of Act I. Obviously this is not his norm, I've seen him 4 times after all, including the earlier matinee. There was something wrong. But the question now is what he'll do in the vocally demanding AND fast-paced Act II full of quadruple jumps?

Well Jonathan had to do a series of quick decisions, there were words he had to speak more softly, keys that he had to changed and lyrics recited so he can reserve his strength and give them to the money makers. But all in all? Led to a beautiful heart-wrenching performance as he took the show in One Emotional Ride I've never witnessed before. And I believe the person sustaining him, receiving this acting and spinning it to gold? Meghan. There was teamwork happening during the Final Lair as both characters were giving one fiery performance and receiving it, enhancing it, supporting another by giving so much to work with. Meghan comes at you at Final Lair with such fervor. There was a part where she rips the veil so angrily the hair mic went POOF but this is the kind of energy she comes at Jonathan. I don't know if I've seen a Final Lair come like a frenzied hurricane of adrenaline, distress and fury. There were a lot of tears on that stage. Jonathan’s limitations worked for him in the end especially in conveying the anguish of the character. In this way, the show finished in a heart-wrenching note AND thunderous applause.

Oh when Meghan returned the ring, the Phantom clung to her hand and they remained that way for a bit, until Meghan regretably retracted the outstretched arm and left.

So. Um, wow. It was a hell of a ride, and I have to say, guiltily, that I liked how unpredictable it was. That was just pure raw stage energy and thespians are olympians too.

I definitely need to see more of these two before the show closes in close to 2 weeks (cue weeps).

If you got as far as this um, thank you. You are very patient. I have no reward but here's me wearing the PHwhdjfis hoodie

#rtp feels #phantommanila #phantom of the opera #jonathan roxmouth #meghan picerno #clara verdier

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haulix · 7 years ago

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Learning to trust ‘The Pinch’

Next March will be a major occasion for me. I don’t know the date specifically, but that month will mark seven years of full-time employment in the music industry. I will be thirty when it happens and, hopefully, it won’t be the last year that I get to celebrate.

I still remember getting the call that changed everything, and it could not have come at a more opportune time. My friend and frequent collaborator, Ben Howell, was seated across from me inside a gas station in rural Arkansas when my cell phone rang. We had spent the night in a motel we could barely afford after my car blew a rod and left us stranded on the side of the freeway the night before. We were broke, hungry, upset, and - according to a kind mechanic who woke us to break the news that the car could not be fixed - stranded.

When the call came in, I was expecting the worst. If the past twenty-four hours had lead me to believe anything it was that the music industry might not be as interested in me as I was in it. Ben and I had spent the several days prior attending SXSW in Texas, which was fun and filled with networking, but ultimately did not provide any leads to paid work. Then the debacle with my car happened, not to mention the fact we were over one-thousand miles from home and several hundred miles from anyone we knew in a town of less than 1,000 people that was not easily found on a map. If the universe or God or whatever really gives people signs, this felt like a big one.

But then I answered, and within a few minutes I was offered a thirty-hour a week job in Boston at a music discovery startup that wanted to leverage my writing talents to help grow their business. It was exactly what I had always wanted to do, the very job I felt I had been training my entire life to do, and here it was being offered to me at a rate that would allow me to pay my bills and live away from my parents. I excitedly told Ben the news, but considering the fact everything good I had to say would do nothing to free us from our Arkansas predicament, he was less than amused.

Several years later, trouble struck again. The same job offer that brought me to Boston turned into a source of constant trouble after the business ran into trouble securing and maintaining investors. Weeks would pass without anyone below top ranking staff being paid, often with a handful of people being furloughed (a fancy term where you’re not really fired, but you’re also not getting compensated for any recent work you’ve done). If us lower lower employees did get paid it was usually a fraction of what we were owed, with promises that everything would come to as us funds were made available.

After a months of these erratic fluctuations with cash flow the company came to a crossroads where those in charge either had to close things entirely or cut the staff to a small skeleton crew. They chose the latter, keeping me on board, and cut more than a dozen people. They also sold our longtime offer, which was a sprawling space just outside of Boston, and moved the remaining eight employees into a shared working space in a different town. I soon found myself working in a windowless room smaller than my childhood bedroom with another individual, and between the two of us we were doing the work a team of six or more had been assigned just weeks prior.

As humans, we are often able to sense trouble is on the horizon. Something in our DNA alerts us to the fact that we are standing on unsteady ground and need to make changes. I could feel that uneasiness when the Boston gig lost its main office, then again when I found myself spending eight hours in artificial light working for a company that might not be able to pay more for the time I was putting in. To make matters worse, the financial uncertainty had put strains on my home life, including my relationships. I knew something needed to be done, but I was so set on continuing to work in the music business that I refused to sever ties until something else came along.

It was on a day like any other, tucked away from the sun in that tiny office shared office with bills piling up, that my life changed once more. For reasons I still don’t fully understand I chose to contact Haulix and inquire about their marketing efforts. I think my interventions were to attempt securing freelance work to cover bills while my primary job found funding, but after only a few email exchanges I was offered a role in the company that matched the pay I was supposed to be receiving from my current career. Better yet, I could work from home.

Over four years later, I still have that job at Haulix, and my position in the company has grown over time. There is still a lot of uncertainty about the music industry and where it is headed in the years to come, but for now we are a leader in our market and a trendsetter for promotional distribution. I would never dare take credit for all of that, but I do like to think I have found a home in this business that will welcome me as long as it can afford to do so. In this business, that is as close to ‘making it’ as any professional can hope to come.

But recently, something changed in another part of my life. After sever years together my partner, who only became my wife in the last year, decided she needed to leave. It hit me as a complete shock, one which I am still recovering from as I write this entry. In a moment I needed to find a new home and a new life without her. I never planned on having to do the latter, and I had yet to even consider where we might move next. Now I needed answers quickly, but I had no idea where to start. I packed my belongings, and in the process split our possessions into two piles of stuff. I loaded my cats into my car and headed to my parents’ home three states away so that I might get out from under the roof my wife and I once shared.

I would be lying if I told you I wasn’t scared about the future. The thought alone keeps me up at night. My brain tells me that if I could not predict her leaving me then there must be other things on the way in my life that I don’t foresee at this point. Maybe I lose my job due to an evolving industry, which would make me an unemployed divorcee on the edge of turning thirty who currently lives with his parents. The likelihood all that comes to pass is very low, but still — it could happen and that is more than enough to prevent me from finding any sense of peace.

But last night I had a thought, and that thought lead to this entry. Every time I have found myself cornered in ‘the pinch,’ which here means any situation I do not know my way out of, something happens to renew my faith in the path I am on. Sometimes it comes in the form of a phone call, an email, or maybe just a conversation with a close friend about how you’re really feeling. When you find the strength to admit you do not have control over the situation, but continue to do everything in your power to influence it in a positive sense, change happens. It might not be what you thought you wanted, and it might demand sacrifices on your part, but your path is much longer than it appears to be at this moment. You have more stories to write, more adventures to go on, and a lifetime of memories to make. I do too, and sometimes I need to remind myself of that.

Trust ‘the pinch’. Feeling pinched by life does not mean you made the wrong choice, it just means you are due for a change. Whether you believe it in the moment or not, change is good for you, and if you continue to pour your heart into everything you do the changes in life will not stop you from becoming the person you aspire to be. Just believe in yourself and it will all work out in the end.

James Shotwell is the Director of Customer Engagement for Haulix. He is also a ten-year veteran of music journalism, host of the Inside Music podcast, and a frequent commentator on the future of the music business. You should follow him on Twitter if you enjoy business talk, cats, The Simpsons, and in-depth discussion of the latest Law & Order: SVU episodes.

#Music business #life #life advice #advice #careers #career advice #motivation

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