#interesting to see they had the staging right from the national final

[clarkmied]

SMALL BUT FEISTY - caitlin clark x reader

It’s my first time writing again after a couple years of a hiatus, but i’m back in my caitlin clark obsession (i never left it 🤫), but bare with me cause it might be a little rocky writing. If there’s any spelling errors that make the story confusing let me know !

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Your relationship with Caitlin had started back when you were in Dowling Catholic with each other. You had been the new kid from Michigan, and Caitlin had taken a interest from you since the first day of your guy’s Sophomore year.

Caitlin had figured out very quickly that despite your height that you were quite feisty. Instead of being on the basketball team, you had played for Dowling’s soccer team as a CAM. Often you could be seen either arguing with the ref’s about another player not being carded for a foul, or a yellow card you had received.

Other times it was a player from another team, there was one time that the argument had turned physical leading to you being sent off the field with a red. The point being you had a problem with running your mouth (even though it was mostly justified).

Even though you had problems with arguing, your skills had managed to earn you a spot in the USWNT national camps before the 2019 World Cup, Jill had been very impressed with you and how you played that she had put you on the World cup roster. Managing to open the scoring for the United States during the group stage, with also managing to score the final goal against the Netherlands.

When you had won the World Cup, your initial thought wasn’t falling down on the ground in proud tears or celebrating with your team. You had B lined right toward the friends and family section where Caitlin, her family, and some of your family sat. Like a complete maniac you had jumped over a couple of barriers, before pulling yourself into the stands to kiss Caitlin in front of the world.

From then on your name had blown up all over social media platforms, and deals from all sorts of sponsors had flooded in. The picture of you on your tip toes in a passionate kiss with Caitlin had broken the internet for months (it was also in a small frame that you would end up taking with you to college.)

When decision day rolled around you had a few choices, University of Iowa (where you could be with Caitlin), University of Michigan, UCLA, Stanford, UW Madison, Purdue, or Rutgers. Obviously after seeing Caitlin’s choice, you had committed to Iowa.

So that’s how you found yourself in today’s situation. Facing off with UW Madison, a day that you hadn’t been looking forward too. With the Badgers knowing exactly how to get you to lose your cool, and the fact that not only was Caitlin in the stands but Monika and Kate were too.

“She does not look happy..” Monika mumbled, as she watched you get off the ground for what seemed like the hundredth time today.

“It’s not even halftime and she’s been on the ground more times than she’s had the ball.” Kate added, as she glanced over at your girlfriend.

Caitlin had been getting fed up herself with the Wisconsin players, every time she saw you go down she noted that it was starting to take a little longer for you to get back up again. Her hands running through her hair, as she watched you trying to keep your cool.

“They know how dangerous she is when the ball is at her feet, but I don’t know how much longer she can take this.” Caitlin told them, worry slipping into her voice. She knew when it came to Wisconsin that a potential red card could be coming your way, and no matter how hot you looked when mad, she worried about how far people would push you to your snapping point.

“Only a few more minutes before half time, Cait. After that it’ll be a home stretch.” Kate tried reassuring, as she reached over Monika to give Caitlin’s a reassuring squeeze to her hand.

“Hey Y/L/N !” Liv Curry yelled to you, as she came towards you. “I thought you were supposed to be some next big thing, but I guess your just another washout.” She told you, knowing exactly how you could doubt yourself.

“Why don’t you kiss my ass, Curry.” You growled, as you pushed her away from you. “Oh you got to be fucking kidding me..” You mumbled, as you saw the ref come towards you and holding a yellow above his head. “Yeah, I see. You keep booking us but not them.. sell out.” You mumbled bitterly.

“What was that?” The ref asked, as he turned back towards you with a slight glare.

“Nothing.” You told him through gritted teeth.

“This isn’t going to end well..” Caitlin sighed, as she watched your team and the Wisconsin team walk back to the locker rooms for halftime.

“What’s their problem with our superstar anyways?” Monika asked, as she turned her head towards Caitlin.

“Jealously for some, others just go at her because once my girlfriend gets the ball at her feet she’ll send it into the back of their net.” Caitlin replied, as she turned her head to look at her friends. She was so happy that her best friends treated you so well, and that they saw you as their own as well.

“I wouldn’t be surprised that the Wisconsin coach put a little money into the ref’s pocket for the lack of fouls and cards called.” Kate sighed, as she glared at the ref’s talking in the middle of the field. If she could she would’ve stormed down there to give them a piece of her mind.

“It’s not going to take much more of them pushing her before she gets herself sent off.” Caitlin told them, as she played with the chain around her neck.

“Caitlin!” You called, as you were jumping up to catch her attention. And when you did, you waved her to come down to talk to you for a few moments. Once she was looking down at you at the barrier, you jumped up to pull yourself up so you could be somewhat eye level.

“Shouldn’t you be in your locker room?” Caitlin questioned, as she tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Coach D let me come talk to you for a few minutes, said that if it helped me that it would be worth me missing out of some of the locker time.” You admitted, a slight bitterness filled you as you thought about the Wisconsin team.

“Speaking of helping.” Caitlin raised a brow slightly, before pulling you up over the barrier so you were in the stands with her. “What can I do to help ease that frustration?” She asked sincerely, as she held one of your hands while rubbing small circles over your knuckles.

“Help me murder them after the game?” You asked, mostly joking.

“I can’t believe i’m saying this, but don’t focus on the bogus stuff. Just worry about putting that ball in the back of the net.” Caitlin told you, ignoring the way your eyes gave away that you were somewhat serious about murdering the Wisconsin girls.

“Who are you and what have you done to my girlfriend?” You mumbled, before leaning your forehead into her chest.

Caitlin chuckled softly, wrapping a arm around your waist while the other rubbed your back slightly. “I’m proud of you.” She whispered, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I love you.” You mumbled, feeling somewhat better with the comfort Caitlin brought you. But you knew once the game was done and you were back in Caitlin’s arms that everything would be okay again.

“I love you too, baby.” Caitlin told you sincerely, as she pried you from her chest so you would look at her. “So so much. I love you more than you know.” She admitted, before moving to lean in to kiss you before being interrupted by one of your teammates.

“Sorry to interrupt.” Samantha told you both, before giving a kind smile. “But, it’s time for the line up again.” She told you, before jumping down and walking back to the tunnel.

“That’s my cue.” You mumbled, before leaning up to press a kiss to Caitlin’s cheek. “Kate. Monika.” You gave them a small smile, before jumping down from the stands and moved towards the line up.

Everything had gotten messier in the second half. More tackles were made not only against you but now the rest of the midfield were receiving the most of the ground. The refs had called a few fouls against Wisconsin this time, but they mainly called it against your team.

Your blood was basically boiling, just waiting for the right thing for the kettle to set off. The anger had only pushed you into scoring a hat trick, leading the team into a lead of one point.

It’s when the 85th minute hit is when you had snapped. Curry had made a comment about how you didn’t deserve Caitlin and then proceeded to almost take your ankle out in a bad tackle.

“What the fuck, Curry!?” You yelled, as you got up on your feet. “You could’ve almost ended my season!” You growled, as you came up to her.

“You should’ve been watching yourself.” Liv told you with a small smirk on her lips. “But then again Y/N you don’t really matter in this world.”

One minute you had been listening to Liv’s words, the next you found yourself punching her straight in the nose. Liv had taken a few steps back, before punching you straight in face. The two of you had basically charged each other, taking each other to the ground throwing punches at the other. The Wisconsin girls had been quick to try and come to Liv’s aid, but hell even some of them got into it with your team.

It was about another five minutes of both teams trying to break up the fight, when Samantha had managed to pull you off of Liv and away from the Wisconsin players. Once the Badgers had seen that the main source of danger had been taken away the fighting had died down.

The main ref had showed a red card to Liv, and then turned to you before holding up a immediately red to eject from the game. Along with holding yellows to a few members of both teams.

Kate and Monika basically had to hold Caitlin back from getting onto the field to run to you during the fight, both of them surprisingly struggling to stop your girlfriend. Once you had been taken off the field and to medical, they had let her go so that she could go find you.

After a good ten minutes of searching she had found you sitting on one the physio’s tables with a ice pack to your lip and nose that was clearly broken.

She moved to stand in between your legs, so that she could look you over herself. A hand brushing the messy pieces of hair out of your face.

“You scared me back there.” She admitted, as she placed a hand against your cheek gently. “Watching you get hit by Liv and those other players really scared me, Y/N.”

“I’m sorry..” You mumbled, as you looked down at the floor.

“I know, sweetheart.” She reassured, before putting her hand under your chin to make you look at her. “But, I know that it wasn’t your fault. I still love you, Y/N. Nothing will ever change that, Okay?” Caitlin raised a brow slightly, keeping her hand under your chin.

You nodded your head, as you kept your eyes on hers. Your face contorted slightly as a small wave of pain hit you.

“What’s wrong? Am I hurting you?” Caitlin asked worriedly, as she retracted her hand.

You shook your head slightly, before moving the ice pack away from your face. “I have a minor concussion.” You admitted, before leaning your head against her chest.

“What am I going to do with you?” Caitlin chuckled softly, as one of her arms wrapped around you while the other held the ice pack to your face.

“Take me home and cuddle with me?” You mumbled, a slight pout on your lips as you pulled away to look at her.

“Whatever you want, babe.” Caitlin chuckled softly, before kissing your lips. She pulled away from you, before turning so her back was towards you. “Hop on, Princess.”

“Yes ma’am.” You said teasingly, as you got onto her back.

“Ready?” She asked you, as she held onto your legs.

“Ready.” You nodded, before ducking your head as Caitlin carried you out of the physio room and out of the stadium.

“Look who it is!” Monika laughed softly, as they watched Caitlin carry you out.

“Damn Y/N, they got you good.” Kate told you, as she stood in front of you and Caitlin.

“You should see the other girl.” You grinned at her, despite your busted lip.

“We put your bags in the car.” Monika told you, before pointing towards Caitlin’s car. “Samantha brought it to us while Caitlin went to go get you.”

“Thanks guys.” You nodded, a small smile on your lips.

“I gotta get this one home, concussion and all.” Caitlin laughed softly, before beginning to walk towards the car with you still on her back.

“We’ll see you guys later!” The two called out, before walking to their own cars to leave.

Once both of you were settled in the car, Caitlin had started the journey back to your shared place. The car ride had been pretty much silent, seeing as you had fallen asleep pretty quickly in the passenger seat exhausted from the match and the fight. When the car was parked in the parking lot, Caitlin had left yours bags in the car and carried you inside bridal style.

You groaned lightly as you felt yourself being placed in bed, your eyes slowly fluttering open. “Baby?” You mumbled, as you reached out towards her.

“It’s okay.” She reassured, as she came back into view with some clothes in her hands. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable, yeah?” Her tone was more of her telling you than asking, and you had zero energy to argue with her.

You slowly lifted yourself up and with her help you had been able to change into one of Caitlin’s shirts and a pair of shorts.

“I’ll be right back, baby. I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable.” She pressed a kiss to her your forehead gently, before walking away to get changed.

You were about to whine that she was taking to long, but then you felt a dip in the bed and Caitlin wrapping arm around you so she could pull you into her. One of your hands moved to interlock with her hand that was wrapped around you.

“You’ll take care of me right?” You mumbled sleepily, as you glanced over your shoulder at her.

“Of course I will, whatever you need i’ll get it for you.” Caitlin told you honestly, as she rubbed your back with her free hand.

“Just hold me for right now?” You asked, as you felt your eyes fighting to stay open.

“Whatever you want, baby.” She told you, before pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Get some sleep, baby, i’ll wake you up when it’s time.”

“I love you.” You mumbled softly.

“I love you too.” She told you, watching as you fell asleep in her arms.

Caitlin had done what she had said. She was there for you every moment, when you were startled awake before rushing to the bathroom, Caitlin had sat with you holding your hair as she rubbed soothing circles on your back. When you asked for something to eat, she had left to go make you something that you could keep down. She made sure to wake you up at the intervals, before making small talk to keep you up before letting you fall asleep again. Despite getting little sleep herself, she didn’t mind it at all. You were her everything, and she would always take care of you.

[soon-palestine]

To Minister of International Development Ahmed Hussen,

Ahmed,

Our Dear Cousin

We cheered for you when you passed your bar exam. We cheered for you at your beautiful wedding. We cheered for you when you had your first child, your beloved son. We cheered for you when you were elected as a Member of Parliament, and finally a Minister. We were so excited to see you represent Canada on a global stage. The New York Times wrote a historic piece on you titled "In Canada, an Immigration Minister Who Himself is a Refugee" - we could not have been more proud. When you shared your experience with systemic racism but highlighted how Canadian generosity changed your outlook on life through your TEDx talk we were delighted to see you share a piece of yourself with the world. We shared your work all over our social medias, we proudly announced your accolades, we celebrated you with full belief that you would be the change maker Canadians needed and deserved. Sadly, our hopes have been met with a different reality. Once, we were blinded by our admiration of watching you turn nothing into something, but today we are seeing a sobering truth.

Since you have been appointed as a Minister, hundreds of thousands of Muslims have been killed around the world with impunity. Now, we don't fault you for those crimes, but your consistent silence has been deafening. Although your role is to represent the interests of all Canadians while remaining secular, you have proudly shared that your faith and identity has undoubtedly played a part in bringing you to where you are today. With this in mind, we see clearly that you have failed in your role as Minister of International Development. You stood firmly beside Ukrainian people and supported their refugees when they were resisting an oppressive force, but when it comes to Palestine and it's people today, your recent statement lacked the condemnation and passionate stance we have seen you are capable of taking. Your statement minimized the plight and struggle of your Palestinian brothers and sisters, lacked depth and clarity, and did not name today's current situation in the most accurate terms an actively occurring genocide. Although we will never minimize the pain of any civilian or refugee, we are compelled to clearly state the stark difference between your statements for Ukraine and Palestine. With Ukraine you said "Canada stands united with Ukraine and all those around the world, fighting for democracy, human rights, and justice" but when it comes to the struggle of Palestinian people, you fell flat.

Our hearts were broken at your lackluster words when referring to a historically oppressed people. Sadly, we have realized that you won't live up to our expectations and your own promises to be a change- maker and leader. Where is your condemnation of the Israeli occupying forces murdering thousands of children? Where is your condemnation of the genocidal language and unfounded aggression of Benjamin Netanyahu?

As a refugee, how can you ignore the ethnic cleansing Palestinians have suffered for over 75 years? Why have you let your position of power stop you from using clear language to stand with the oppressed people caged in a concentration camp being carpet bombed daily? Children the same age as our own are being blown to shreds or left as traumatized and injured orphans, does your blood not move?

The world is changed through the words of brave people who stand up for those who cannot stand up for themselves. Decades of unprincipled statements that shy away from addressing the root cause of Gaza and Palestine from politicians like you is the reason why this genocide has continued, claiming the lives and livelihoods of well over 1 million people.

Page two. We write to you this open letter today as your family to simply say -wake up! Open your art and recognize this horrific illegal occupation for what it is, A GENOCIDE. Do not let personal gain, a reputation, and a seat at a colonial nation's table make you complicit to this inhumanity. Announcing Canada's aid commitments without addressing the root cause of this genocide does nothing to recognize the dignity and humanity of Palestinian people. It is a slap in the face to see you announcing humanitarian aid to Palestine when you haven't taken a clear stance against the use of our taxpayer dollars funding weaponry being used to kill innocent Palestinians. We don't need band aid solutions, we need this genocide to be recognized. We need you to speak to the liberation of the indigenous people of Palestine. Your party leader has failed Canada in many ways, the average Canadian's quality of life has tanked according to our shrinking GDP.

There is no re-election in sight for the Liberal party. Is this how you want your legacy to end? With a stain of genocide complicity? You won't have the golden opportunity of standing on the right side of history if you choose not to make yourself clear. We are devastated that today we as a family can no longer cheer for you, you no longer have our respect or admiration. For the sake of saving your legacy and preserving the principles we expect all of our family members to uphold, we ask you to please wake up, take a clear stance, and step down as a Minister to side with the oppressed! You are a humanitarian lawyer, fight for the oppressed! Leave your mark politically to restore our faith on who we know you to be, and hoped you to be. One day your children will see your work as a Minister and they will question you, how will you explain your complacency with a population of indigenous people being massacred?

We leave you with one final note, when we all depart this world we will take nothing with us. Rich or poor, educated or not, we will all be wrapped in a white cloth and placed in the dirt left to answer for all of our worldly actions. So we ask you: Do you fear your maker that you are returning to? We pray and hope you will come to your senses before it's too late. Your role in this government no longer serves you in this life or the next.

#FreePalestine

#EndTheOccupation

#CeasefireNow

[transmascaraa]

♡!200 followers special!♡

"A valentine's dance."

bf!gaming x gn!reader

author's note: this is basically the longer version of the gaming hcs in my last post aka the valentine's day special ALSO 2nd time ever writing a fanfic shiver me timbers😰 i hope it okay btw i'll draw my (genshin or whatever )oc/self-insert tonight cuz i have school in 2 hours and i have a bit of homework left lol

"thank you, lion dance boy."

You and your boyfriend, Gaming, have been dating for a few months now. He loved you very dearly, just as you loved him. You were an inseparable couple, like you were glued to eachother. But, the relationship that you had was healthy, and really sweet. People talked about your closeness to other people, in the streets. You've overhead them quite a few times now. You were a famous couple in Liyue.

A really special date was approaching. The 14th of February, Valentine's day. A day to show your loved one how much you love them, to give them a gift. It was a heartwarming "holiday", for most. Not everyone, but most. And as soon at it sttarted approaching, the streets were bustling with the names of you and Gaming.

Gaming, he planned a dance show for that day, that night. He invited everyone from Liyue, and even other nations! As promised, he would amaze them and make them smile. But that wasn't all that much important to him. You were.

The whole dance show was actually just made so he could give you a rose in a more romantic and surprising way. Yes, it was a surprise. He didn't mention Valentine's day to you for the whole day, but that night...

When it finally came, that night, you started getting ready. Putting on your best outfit, ready to be looked at and praised by everyone. Was it the outfit, or the whole night? Nobody knows. The outfit was one of Gaming's favorite ones for you to wear. Whenever you wore it, he ended up staring at you too much and blushing more than usual. It was interesting, really. How can such a simple outfit make a man's heart go crazy? Make his blood rush to his face, his cheeks? The human body and mind is really impressive.

As soon as you were done getting ready, you got your bag and went out the door. Going to see your precious boyfriend perform on such a special day.

When you got there, everyone had surprised looks on their faces, but positive ones. They got out of the way, and let you stand in the first row out of the thousands of people in the crowd. Like I said, the two of you were really famous there.

Then, music started playing, the crowd went silent. The lights went out. Rose petals started falling out of nowhere from the sky, making it much more beautiful to look at.

Soon, 3 different lights were on the stage. 3

The 2 of them started dancing. They were dancers. Lion dancers.

It was nice seeing them dance, so many moves and talent. It was worth seeing it.

Eventually they stopped, and the third dancer started dancing. He was Gaming, recognizable even in the night. Flawlessly dancing and moving across the stage, everyone was amazed.

A few minutes passed, and the lights turned on again. The 3 dancers bowing down.

"Happy Valentine's day everyone! Here's a rose to a special person in the crowd!" He threw a beautiful red rose to the crowd, and coincidentally, it landed right in your hands.

Smiling, you spoke, "Thank you, Gaming!" and the performance ended there.

After there were only you and Gaming left there, you read a note that was connected to the rose by a beautiful orange string.

"Happy Valentine's day, [name]!" and just as you read it, Gaming said it himself.

"Thank you again, lion dance boy. I loved the performance."

"You're welcome, it was dedicated to you alone. I'm glad you liked it."

~~~~~

YIPPIEEEE I REALLY LIKE IT

i'm not good at fanfics imo but ig i like this one

adorable gaming frfr

[taruusmoon]

REWRITE THE STARS

Masterlist

BALLERINA TATTER! x RICH OC!

OC: Juliana Choi

Summary: After ending her secret relationship with Taeyoung, Juliana attends the Giselle ballet in which her ex stars, without knowing that it is possibly the last time she will see her.

Warning: angst, bad English, exes to…

˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Juliana Velez grew up as a child who lost everything. At the young age of five, her father died, and the following year, her mother remarried a man who took them to live on the other side of the world, far from home. She lost her home, her family, and her last name when her mother's new husband legally adopted her at the age of six, becoming Juliana Choi. There was nothing that really belonged to her, not even her life or her decisions. She grew up studying what her mother wanted, what she commanded, and what she thought was best.

Juliana was barely six years old when her mother decided that she would take ballet lessons. Even though the girl had no interest in dancing, Victoria insisted. Much to her dismay, Juliana traded her afternoons of writing with Professor Park for long, boring ballet classes.

The first day at the ballet academy was chaotic; her teacher was quite old and strict and did not hesitate to whipped her students legs with a ruler that she always carried in her hands. She hated it. Juliana was always sure that she detested ballet; however, when four years later an eight-year-old girl with beautiful eyes appeared in her classes, she began to like it a little.

Kim Taeyoung was a child prodigy in ballet; every time teacher Jung asked her a question or addressed her, the girl raised her head proudly and obeyed her orders. Juliana loved it because she had never met before someone as disciplined and consistent as she was in writing. The girl showed an innate talent for ballet, and in a short time she became the favorite of Mrs. Jung and also of the parents, including Juliana's. At every recital, the girl would get at least one solo, and every time she went on stage, Juliana felt that she hated to dance ballet but loved to watch Taeyoung dance, even though she didn't say so.

But they were not close at first, and it was not until Juliana turned fifteen that things changed, and the two teenagers became inseparable after playing the black swan and the white swan in a play that made them quite popular among the students of the National Ballet Academy. However, their separation was imminent when, two years later, Victoria finally made the decision that Juliana should start focusing on her real studies as heiress to half of her husband's emporium. They remained friends, though the closest of friends.

But one night, on Juliana's twenty-first birthday, things changed.

“Is it weird that I feel like kissing you right now? ” Taeyoung's voice came out in a whisper and was barely understandable to Juliana. The two of them are on Jul's bed, quite dizzy because, in the middle of the party that Juliana's mother organized, they sneaked into the wine room of the older girl's stepfather. “I don't think I should have drunk so much wine.”

“I don't think it's weird because I want to do it  too." Juliana took a long breath because, finally, after many years, she could finally express what she felt. “But I don't know if it's the right thing to do, Tata. I don't even think it was right to let you drink alcohol without being of legal age to do it in the first place.”

“Is there ever a time when you stop thinking about doing the right thing?” Tatter reached out and grabbed Juliana's hand and pulled it to her chest, where the girl could feel Taeyoung's heart beating excitedly. “Sometimes you should follow what your heart is trying to explain to you.”

“And what is yours trying to explain?”

“That I like you," the words came out of Taeyoung's mouth without shyness, and Juliana felt her heart start to beat much faster than before. “Bada said that if your heart beats fast when you are with someone, then it means something.”

“So you think you like me because Bada said so? ”She tried to question the girl. “Your heart beats fast every time you dance.”

“And I love to dance. Then that only confirms my theory.”

Juliana sketched a soft smile, not knowing exactly what she should do next. Taeyoung stared at her with a peculiar gleam in her eyes, still holding Juls' hand against her chest, while thinking that it's time for the older one to take the next step because she already did enough that night. For a long time, they have carried that rare relationship between friends and something more, where there were more than friendly frictions, furtive glances that meant something more, and hidden feelings.

“I hate you, Tata" Juliana said softly, leaning back on her elbow quickly and then pressing her lips against Taeyoung's without hesitation.

At first, neither of them moved; both were anxious and a little shy. Although it wasn't the first kiss for either of them, it was the first time they felt so many emotions with a simple kiss. Taeyoung parted her lips and was the first to move her mouth, catching Juliana's lower lip, who is still a little uncomfortable, not knowing what to do. Juliana's hand on Taeyoung's chest is no longer just there; it is now squeezing her pajama shirt tightly. In an attempt to tell her that everything was okay, Taeyoung gently stroked her knuckles. Then Juliana managed to let go, and the kiss became mutual, soft, and intoxicating.

They both know they have a lot to lose because Juliana has a life grounded in her family's customs and her mother already has her life planned, and Taeyoung doesn't even appear as a friend. But still, once they let the feelings come out, they decided that it might be worth a try and that they were going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

“Tell me you're not going to forget this tomorrow when we wake up." Taeyoung mumbled against Juliana's mouth “I don't want to forget it.”

“I won't, Tata.”

˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

Three years later, Taeyoung and Juliana are in the same place, but the situation is totally different. They are not on the older girl's bed sharing their first kiss and with emotions running high; instead, Juliana is standing in front of the window of her room with her arms crossed and her chin trembling from the tears she is trying to hold back. Taeyoung is sitting in the middle of the bed, confused by Juliana's elusive attitude towards her since a week ago.

“Why did you call me so suddenly?” Taeyoung asked after a long silence that made her very nervous. “My practice for Giselle starts in two hours, and the academy is not close…”

“There's something we should talk about, Tatter" Juliana interrupted ignoring the fact that Taeyoung tensed up when she heard her say the nickname she never used with her unless a fight was about to break out.

“You never call me Tatter” the girl stood up and walked slowly towards Juliana. “You can tell me whatever you want, Juls. I don't know what happened these days, but it doesn't matter. If there's something that's bothering you, then we can talk about it, and we'll work it out.”

Taeyoung's words hit deep inside Juliana; unintentionally, her eyes started to fill up with tears that she tried to hold back but couldn't. She wished they could actually talk and solve what was bothering her, but it was impossible because that discomfort had a name, and that was Victoria Choi. Her mother. The person who had discovered them a week ago among the rose bushes in the garden while they were sharing a moment alone had nothing wrong with it, but in the woman's eyes, it had been enough to understand the unlabeled relationship her daughter had with her best friend.

That same night, Victoria decided to confront her eldest daughter about the affair, and even if Juliana tried to deny it at first, she ended up confessing everything to her mother, with the slightest hope that she would understand. But it was quite the opposite, because the woman simply warned her that she would end Taeyoung's career if she did not stay away. And even though her mother didn't have a single piece in her favor to ruin Taeyoung, Eunwon, her stepfather, did.

“Juls…” she tried to speak again, but Juliana turned away with a wet face before she could say anything. “Why are you crying?”

“My mother knows, Tata” she finally muttered with a frown and shining eyes. ”It's over, Taeyoung, I'm sorry.”

“What do you mean it's over?” Tatter felt her hands shaking, and her heart began to pound harder against her chest. “Did you talk to her? You have to explain to her; maybe if I talk to her, then she'll understand" she mumbled, waving his hands under Juliana's bright gaze.

“There's nothing you can tell her to change her mind" Juliana denied, lifting her shoulders. “I've tried everything, and there's nothing we can do.”

“No, there must be something Juliana" she insisted. "This is yours and mine; no one can decide about our feelings or even less about the relationship we have." Suddenly, Taeyoung's eyes started to fill with tears too, but she struggled to hold them back as she tried to find a solution. "Juliana, why don't you say anything? Don't you want to do anything about this?”

“I don't know Taeyoung.”

“What do you mean you don't know?” Taeyoung became desperate when she sees the calm in Juliana's eyes, the girl doesn't answer her question, and then fury invades her body. “Are you telling me that you're going to let your mother define the future of our relationship?” She mutters in disbelief and turns around to turn her back to Juliana in an attempt to prevent her from seeing how disappointed she is.

“It's my mother Taeyoung" Juliana's voice sounds so calm that Tatter's skin crawls. But in reality in her heart she always knew that her relationship with Juliana was not going to last, because at any moment her mother would tell her what to do and Juliana would follow her without hesitation. “You think it's easy Tata, but it's not just my mom, what will we do when everyone ends up realizing it? Your career would be over along with my family, and I can't ruin us for this.”

“So that's it? You're so afraid of facing your family and the world that you find it easier to throw away everything we are” Taeyoung says with a lump in her throat. “We could leave here, get away from what your mother expects you to be, and I could make my career somewhere else. We can rewrite our history, but you're such a coward, you won't do it. You prefer to lose me”

“I’d lose you either way Tata. Everything you say feels impossible.”

Taeyoung bites his tongue and clenches her jaw as hard as she can. She wants to keep talking, to repeat again to Juliana that other people and her family don't matter, but she knows that for the girl, there is no one more important than her mother. Even though the woman won't even appreciate her. Without saying anything, Tatter closes her eyes, taking a long breath. Juliana knows that this is the end of everything, even though she doesn't want to admit it.

“Do you even care about this, Juliana?” The question takes the girl by surprise, and then she hesitates. “Because I'm sure that if you cared, you would try to find a way to solve this. But then you come and talk to me about my career and what people will think when they find out. Shouldn't you have thought about that three years ago? But of course, it's because you never thought this was serious, you knew from the beginning that as soon as your family found out, you were just going to leave me with some stupid excuse. I was such an idiot to think that Juliana Choi with her perfect life, was going to ruin her future for me.”

“It's not like that, Taeyoung, I really tried to fix it, but it's not that simple” Juliana tries to say, but Tatter's hurt look leaves her speechless. She remains silent for a few seconds, not knowing what to say, while tears begin to fall down her cheeks. “We can be friends; after all, before this, we were friends for a long time. I don't want us to stop talking; you are an important part of my life Taeyoung and you know it," she said as she tried to get closer, but Taeyoung denied taking a step back.

“I just don't want to be your friend; I'm sorry, Juliana” she whispered with a shrug, and with nothing more to say, she turned to grab her backpack.

If Juliana had been braver, she would have had stopped Taeyoung when she left her room; she would have told her that she didn't want to be her friend either, but “what if” doesn't exist, and she knows it. With an intense pain in her chest, she lay down on her bed, her hand on her neck, clenching the necklace Taeyoung had given her for her birthday. After a few minutes, Eunbyul walked through the door without knocking, encountering a scene she had expected.

“You look terrible, sis" she said in a soft voice, and then Juliana let out all the sobs she had been holding back.

And so the following week passed. Juliana stayed in her room every day alone with Eunbyul by her side, attending the university in the mornings and coming to her room every noon. She felt nothing; it was as if her body was anesthetized, but every night she cried because her mother again ruined something she wanted, and she had done nothing to stop it. Every day she tried to call Taeyoung but the girl never answered her calls or her texts; it was as if she had disappeared from the face of the earth.

She only saw her again when Taeyoung's face appeared on the banners advertising the Giselle ballet to be performed at the National Theater of Korea. A show her stepfather insisted on attending as a birthday present for Victoria who, even if she hated Juliana's relationship with Taeyoung, still considered the ballerina one of her favorites.

When the night of the show finally arrived, Juliana managed to sneak into the show's dressing room after convincing her old dance teacher, Ms. Jung. Luckily for her the place was a bit empty since most of the dancers were near the stage, except for Taeyoung whom Juliana knew liked to stay alone until the last minute before performing.

“Do you need help with that?” she said as she opened the door and watched Taeyoung try to put Giselle's headdress in her hair.

“What are you doing here?” The girl asked with a frown as she saw Juliana through the dressing table mirror. “I thought you didn't want to see me anymore.”

“I never said I didn't want to see you” she replied taking the headdress from Tatter's hands to place it in the tight bun she was wearing. “Unlike you, who haven't answered any of my calls or messages”

“Bold of you to asume that I wanted to talk to you after everything that happened." Taeyoung stood up and walked to the back to start stretching a bit since Juliana's appearance made her tense up a bit. “I think you said enough that night, Juliana.”

“I think there are still things we can talk about.”

“No Juliana” she spat a little rudely. "There's nothing to talk about anymore, but I'll give you some advice you didn't ask for; I don't think this is the way you should live your life, so take charge of it before you regret it. But I am not the one to decide how you should live. Goodbye Juliana.”

Without another word, Taeyoung walked past Juliana and out of the dressing room, leaving her alone. The former dancer felt as if the girl's words were a farewell and inevitably felt afraid of losing her, even though in reality she didn't even have her anymore. She took a long breath, smoothed the skirt of the long red dress her mother had recommended her to wear, and then left the place with a firm step. She made it as far as the balcony when Giselle's first act began.

“Where were you?” Eunbyul asked her in a whisper to avoid getting dirty looks from her parents. “Bada and Lusher are downstairs with Jessica, they asked me how you were”

“I'll look for them later to say hello” she answered, ignoring the question. Eunbyul understood instantly and decided not to insist any more.

The Giselle ballet was a tragic love story, and it was also Juliana's favorite work. It was the one leading role she always wished to have when she was still dancing, but she never got it because Taeyoung always beat her. But that didn't make her feel bad because, as much as she wanted to be the lead, she also enjoyed seeing the girl as Giselle. Taeyoung had beautiful eyes that managed to express all the pain of a broken heart, like Giselle.

When the second act started, Juliana sat upright on her chair, expectantly watching the Wilis dance which was her favorite part. Minah one of Taeyoung's close friends was in charge of playing Myrtha the ruthless leader of the spirits of the maidens abandoned by their lovers. She couldn't take her eyes off Taeyoung at all times, who danced with energy, giving her the air of youth that Giselle had.

“Taeyoung really has a bright future as a dancer" Juliana heard her mother say as she stood up to applaud when the play finally ended.

Everyone who attended the play stood up and applauded loudly when the dancers came out to bow their thanks. Juliana could not feel anything but proud of Taeyoung who had given an amazing lead role to everyone there. As the curtain closed, people slowly began to file out. Juliana sat back down on her chair as her stepfather was talking to an associate of his company. She didn't know how long she stayed there, but all the time she kept her eyes on the stage in an attempt to relive Taeyoung's performance. Deep down she felt that it was the last time she would see her. 

“Your phone is ringing Juliana," her mother's gruff voice interrupted her, making her quickly pull out her phone from the handbag she was carrying. She had five messages from Bada Lee; Taeyoung's best friend.

     Bada     

Tatter was offered a place at the Royal Opera House in London.      

I didn't want to get involved, but this is your last chance.     

Juliana answer the phone   

Her flight leaves at 9:30 pm   

Juliana!

The messages came one after the other twenty minutes ago. Without another second's thought, she stood up, walked past her stepfather and the man she was talking to, and ran down the stairs to the balcony as fast as she could, ignoring the voice of Eunbyul and her mother calling her name. There were still a lot of people among the aisles of the theater, She stopped for a moment among the people to grab the skirt of the long dress and pull it up to her legs so she could run with a little more ease, although the heels she was wearing made it a little difficult for her still.

Once she reached the outside of the venue, she felt anxious as there were a lot of people outside the theater. She tried to locate Taeyoung among the many women walking back and forth; even though the girl had long red hair it seemed impossible to find her. Se walked back and forth in circles hoping to see her but she couldn't find her, possibly Taeyoung had already left home.

”Juls!” she heard at the bottom of the stairs and when she turned her gaze she found Bada calling out to her with an effusive hand.

“Where is Taeyoung?” she asked as soon as she arrived with Bada, Lusher and Jessica.

“She's gone, she took a cab home about ten minutes ago to pick up her bags” Lusher took her hand and pulled her along the sidewalk. ”That's our cab, you take it and leave right now. But don't screw it up Juliana because this is really the only chance you have”

Not knowing what to say, Juliana just nodded and got into the cab. Lusher closed the door to indicate the direction to the driver, who started as soon as he sensed the importance of the matter. During the whole trip, Juliana's chest was rising and falling rapidly. She felt anxious to finally arrive at Taeyoung's apartment, but she felt the minutes passing too slowly. Every now and then, the driver would look at her and repeat that they would be at their destination soon and not to worry since there was not much traffic on the streets. He managed to calm her down a bit and used the remaining fifteen minutes of the trip to think about everything he had to say to Taeyoung. She wanted to apologize for putting her mother's wishes above what they had, to tell her that she loved her, and that she was sorry she hadn't tried a little harder to save their relationship. 

Once she was clear on what she wanted to say, she tried to calm down, but the driver's voice telling her that they had arrived at their destination made her nervous again. She paid the man, and without waiting for the change, she got out of the cab and rushed to the apartment building where Taeyoung lived. When she entered, the doorman greeted her as usual and let her in without asking her any questions. Juliana had spent so many days in the apartment that the apartment workers and Taeyoung's neighbors already knew her.

She entered the elevator with shaky legs and gasping for breath as she prayed that Taeyoung was still in the apartment. Once she reached floor three, she stepped out into the hallway and walked as fast as she could, her eyes on the floor, as it was very difficult for her to walk fast. Taeyoung's apartment was just around the corner, and when she finally stood in front of the door, she stood there, her heart pounding anxiously. She put in the code, and seconds later, the lock opened. She grabbed the knob, turning it to open the door.

“Taeyoung” she shouted in the darkness of the room, but no one answered. "Kim Taeyoung!” she shouted again, her voice shaking, but again there was only silence.

She ran to the main room of the apartment, and when she entered, she found nothing. The white sheets were perfectly laid out on the bed; on the dresser, there was no trace of Taeyoung's personal belongings, and when she opened the closet door, she found only the hangers. It was too late; Taeyoung was gone, and she could do nothing to stop her.

Her legs faltered and she slowly fell to her knees, she brought her hand to her chest as she felt an intense pain spread from her throat. At first it was only tears but soon her body shook from the uncontrolled sobs coming from her throat. She laid her head on the bed mattress and berated herself countless times for doing things wrong. She didn't know how long she lay there, but she was so deep in thought that she didn't hear when the door opened. But suddenly, a girl's arms wrapped around her body. 

 “It’s gonna be okay Juls" Lusher's voice came out in a soft tone lulling her into her arms.

“It hurts Lush"

“I know”

˗ ˏ ˋ ♡ ˎˊ ˗

[beauty-and-passion]

Eurovision 2023: more about the true winner because I said so

Hey, guess who is not over Eurovision 2023 yet.

It’s me, I am who.

I have never been so invested and still so obsessed over this year’s Eurovision. I mean, I am always hit by the post-depressive phase of Eurovision, but that lasts a couple days - during which I usually go through all the beautiful moments and listen to all the songs on repeat - then I’m back to my regular schedule of stupidly long analyses and fanfictions.

(By the way, sorry for all the Americans who follow me and have no idea of what I’m talking about or what happened in this year’s Eurovision. Just bear with me, I will come back to posting Sanders Sides stuff. Just not today)

This year... well, this year was truly something. And if the last year and the one before I was like “aww, what beautiful moments, I miss seeing these people having fun”, now it’s all mushed into one ball of feelings. I look at those artists having fun with the eyes of someone who saw how things went down. I look at them celebrating the true winner after the finale and I have this strange mix of nostalgia and heaviness.

I am not mad anymore for the result. Or better: I am and I will always be because 200 people stepped over the will of millions. But what this loss caused is just so fascinating and so unique, I want to keep exploring it - and maybe talking a little bit more about the true winner of Eurovision 2023 will help me process my feelings too.

Or I just will satisfy my need to ramble more about this incredible Finnish man, either way.

______________________

The sheer power of charisma

When you watch the entirety of Käärijä’s journey on this Youtube channel (and I suggest you do it, because it gives you a lot of food for thought), you notice a lot of interesting details.

From the moment he won the national competition and knew he had to go to Eurovision, Käärijä knew his only rival would’ve been Loreen. He said right from the start that it would’ve ended up with a confrontation between Sweden and Finland. He liked other songs and thought they could’ve been good opponents - but it’s pretty clear he knew the only one who could’ve opposed him was Sweden.

And he knew that Loreen was good. Even though I do not like her songs, even I have to admit she has good vocals. Sure, the vocals are the only thing I understand because she mumbles the rest of the song, but the vocals aren’t bad.

Käärijä knew she was the favorite to win. He praised her performance and called her “queen”, so he has been the first one to recognize her as a worthy opponent. He wasn’t so naive to think “I can easily beat her”.

However, he had some tricks up his sleeves. He knew his song was perfect for Eurovision, he basically designed it for that. He knew his performance would’ve got people’s attention. And he knew he had a lot of charisma.

You can say anything you want about him, but you cannot deny this man is charismatic. And this is a lot interesting, because charisma doesn’t have an exact definition and it’s not the same for everyone. And yet, we can all recognize and identify it as “charisma” when we see it.

The definition Wikipedia offers is that charisma is “a personal quality of presence or charm that compels its subjects”. And it’s undeniable that Käärijä has it. He has that genuine, simple honesty we see in childrens only and this activates our protective instincts, because we feel the need to protect him too. He is funny and makes us smile and everyone loves to smile and have fun. He is simple and humble and that makes him look more approachable and friendly than a superstar.

And his presence on stage is very, very good. He’s eye-catching and he knew it very well. He was the flashiest and the most interesting to look at - both because of his clothes and his appearance. Just compare him to the Cyprus guy: I don’t even remember the Cyprus guy’s face, but I doubt I will ever forget that iconic neon green bolero.

And I am sure he knew that very well. He knew the public would’ve loved him. He knew he would’ve gotten a lot of points because of the public. He knew he would’ve connected with them and not with the jury.

And so it was. The numbers are clear: he was and still is the public’s favorite. His result is the second highest in history right after Kalush Orchestra’s. The entire arena sang with him. During the voting portion, they kept calling his name. Everyone called him “winner”. As the Estonian singer Alika told him: “you had the public when they announced Loreen won”.

And by knowing that, I can understand why he was so bummed. He literally had everything: the perfect song, the charisma, public’s support. And I am pretty sure that, if the public gave more points to Loreen, he would’ve accepted his defeat easier.

But it wasn’t like that: he got more points than her in both the semifinal and the final. He has always been the public’s winner, right from the start. And even if he would've gotten the theoretical maximum of public votes from Europe (432), he still would've ended up behind Sweden.

Losing because 222 people gave your opponent an unbeatable lead isn’t something easy to digest. I mean, it’s been days and I haven’t digested it yet! And I am definitely not a singer, nor I did take part in the competition. However, I voted for him and, well, I am quite pissed that my money got wasted because of a stupid unfair system. The EBU should really refund everyone who tried to vote, considering there was no way to defeat the sheer power of the jury.

So, well, the competition ended with the public’s favorite losing the piece of glass. I will get over it, everyone will get over it. Käärijä himself will get over it - now he’s still rightfully sad about it, but as he said, life goes on.

And he will soon realize that losing the competition turned him into something more than a simple winner.

______________________

The birth of a legend

If Käärijä won, he would’ve been just the winner of Eurovision 2023. People would’ve loved him like they love Kalush Orchestra or Maneskin. Everyone would’ve been happy, a little bit of post-Eurovision depression as always and we would’ve forgotten it.

But losing had an even bigger impact, because Käärijä didn’t step down to second place, but over the first place. Being so spectacularly wronged in front of the world made him ascend to the status of legend and the public went crazy for him. Cha Cha Cha reached the top of Spotify's top 50 global, people from all European countries called him “the true winner” and I’ve seen more than one American, who knew nothing about Eurovision, watch his performance and protest for the result as well.

Even Tumblr was affected by this: the tag Eurovision trended for 3 days after its ending and, after it stopped trending, Käärijä kept doing it for days. And he’s still doing it, so good job people, let’s keep the party going on for a little longer: we all deserve it, after all. You know, as a little FUCK YOU to the jury.

What about Youtube? His grand final performance reached ca. 9 mln views in three days and if you check the comment section, is full of people calling him the true winner as well.

Heck, the Eurovision channel made a video specifically about his journey, like the usually do for winners only (in fact, they did one for Loreen. And Käärijä’s video got more views than Loreen’s in one single day).

And all over Europe people are still protesting and asking for the voting system to change. The Norway delegation asked it first and I fully support them, because they are constantly robbed by the jury. I liked Duncan Lawrence’s Arcade in 2019, but KEiiNO was a completely different level. (And if you loved KEiiNO too, please check their Youtube channel because they have made a lot of other songs and OH MY GOSH THEY ARE ALL GREAT)

Käärijä united Europe with his music and his energy and I understand why Finnish people are so proud of him: there are very few artists who are able to connect people so well. And he did it by using his mother tongue, not English! That’s an even bigger win imho, because it proves that if you have a great song, a strong performance and incredible charisma, people will appreciate you and go past the language barrier without any problem.

That’s why humankind loves music, after all: because it doesn’t need to be understood word by word, to reach people’s hearts.

______________________

The hero’s journey

There are many reasons why people fell in love with this funky green man and they all differ: someone loves his bubbly personality, others were touched by his genuinity, others just fell on the ground laughing and who doesn’t love someone that makes you laugh? And yes, there are some who are just horny for him and you are valid too, because he’s a good-looking man.

However, I think that the main reason why so many people got so invested, it’s because he had the perfect hero’s journey.

He already had a story perfect for a movie, even before starting Eurovision: when he was younger, he was diagnosed with colitis ulcerosa and the disease almost took his life (this post has an interview with all details). But because of that experience, he realized life is short and he should’ve pursued what he truly wanted - i.e. singing. I mean, this alone is perfect material for a movie already.

But now he got another story, and it’s even more like a movie: the story of the young man no one knew, who left his city in his small country, to reach the big European stage. A man with a funny spirit, who connected with everyone despite his broken English - and he wonderfully improved it along the way. Just look at how much more confident he became! Truly a masterful example of how we should just talk and make mistakes, in order to get better in another language.

So we followed the adventures of this funny man and of the friends he made along the way. We had fun and cried for the beauty of his friendship with Bojan (he literally called Käärijä “my new brother” and a small part of my heart that was broken got immediately healed). We got involved in his climbing to the top, we saw him face the behemoth that was opposing him and hoped for him to overcome it.

And he got the tragic conclusion of a hero’s journey: a hero who won and yet still lost.

People love this shit. We have always loved the story of the little one against the unbeatable enemy, the nobody who got the recognition he deserves, the kind heart defeated by the corrupt system. Those are all things that touch people and all aspects of the hero’s journey. And people naturally hope for a happy ending, so if we get a sad, bad or unfair one instead, we tend to feel even more empathetic towards the protagonist. And if your protagonist is as lovable as he is, the feeling is 100x stronger.

I really don’t know if the national juries expected this to happen, when they knew who the public’s favourite was and yet decided to award a different artist. But by doing that, they became the perfect enemy to close Käärijä’s journey and build a legend.

So, well, thanks for sucking so much. You built the legend you didn’t want to.

And yes, Käärijä’s enemy IS NOT Loreen. Loreen did her thing, she didn’t bribe the judges to give her votes. The problem is the jury’s power. So, for all the people who are still harrassing her: please stop hating this woman, she just did what other artists did too.

And since we’re talking about her, please stop saying shit like “She shouldn’t have participated!” too, because this is both very stupid (everyone is allowed to participate in Eurovision) and very disrespectful towards Käärijä himself. It’s a bit like saying that sure, he was good, but, like, you know, not enough good.

And this is totally wrong because this man has been able to defeat Loreen twice, both during the semifinal and the final (at least according to the votes that matter). So stop undermining his ability: he is a good artist. Actually, an artist so good only Loreen was able to compete against him.

And if you still think it’s right to hate Loreen for whatever reason, then I would like to bring this to your attention:

The king literally proposed to Loreen. And, considering how accurate was his foresight about the whole competition, I think it’s time we start to think about when it will happen and how many children they will have.

So if you are still harassing her: stop protesting for the piece of glass and ask her when will they get married, instead. We need to know.

Also, wouldn’t that be an even more perfect ending for Käärijä’s hero’s journey? Not only the great evil (aka the jury) will be defeated, but he will marry the only woman strong enough to oppose him. 100/10 I want a movie now.

And yes, I know Käärijä also proposed to Bojan and they are fathers of a baby sea lion. But what’s the problem? Doesn’t Käärijä have two hands? With one hand can hold Bojan, with the other Loreen, duh.

(Then he will probably need another hand for Selena from Austria, because I think she developed a little crush on him but hey, that’s the life of a hero I guess.)

______________________

Have you listened to his other songs yet?

I just want to confirm they are bops and you should listen to them immediately. Also, do not forget his concert on Saturday that will be available worldwide. Let’s show love to the king.

And yes, that means another post will come out. I mean, there are still so many things we need to know! I want to see the photos of that mural people are doing for him in Vantaa, I want to see the music collaboration between him and Bojan, I want to see them visiting little Edgar at the zoo. And I can’t wait to hear about his future European tour, because he has to do one. And maybe that will fully convey him how big his impact has been indeed.

As people told him in the after party, he conquered the world. Now he just needs to see it for himself.

[aus-wnt]

Alanna Kennedy: ‘It was the hardest day of my footballing career’

As a female soccer player on a national team, there is no bigger stage than on a pitch at the FIFA Women’s World Cup. But after being sidelined by a concussion, Matildas star defender Alanna Kennedy could only watch last month’s semi-final from her hotel room. As she reflects on the team’s history-making run and looks ahead to charting the way forward for women’s sport in Australia, Kennedy tells Stellar, “For a lot of people, the Matildas are just arriving on the scene. It feels like the start of our journey”

The Matildas had two goals they wanted to achieve at last month’s FIFA Women’s World Cup. The first was to win the whole thing. The second was to inspire a generation.

The first one didn’t quite come off, even if they did manage an epic run to become the first Australian soccer team in history to make a World Cup semi-final. Once there, they couldn’t get past the might of England. As for the second? Regardless of claiming any silverware, they certainly managed that.

Matildas jerseys have outsold Socceroos jerseys, thousands of fans swarmed the team’s hotels and airports to show support and a record 11.15 million Australians tuned into the broadcast of that semi-final, making it the most-watched television program since the TV ratings system started in 2001.

In a cruel twist of fate, star defender Alanna Kennedy was one of them. Just hours before the game, Kennedy – who made her Matildas debut at 17 and has played more than 100 games for Australia – was ruled out of playing in the biggest game of her career because of a concussion she’d sustained in a head clash with French striker Eugénie Le Sommer days earlier. Her symptoms were so heightened that she couldn’t even make it to the game to watch from the sidelines.

“I’ve never watched the Matildas play on TV,” Kennedy tells Stellar, the emotion evident in her voice. “We saw from a distance the impact we were having and the amount of people who were getting behind us. As a player you want to be involved in those big games. If I’m being honest with you, it was the hardest day of my footballing career. I watched from the hotel room. I didn’t even make it to the stadium.”

Her disappointment aside, the 28-year-old – who also plays for Manchester City in England and had already overcome a horror year of injuries to make it into the World Cup squad – says she came away with a unique understanding of how thoroughly the team had managed to transform its standing with the Australian public.

“It was an interesting one, to watch the pre-game and see all the people flooding into fan zones to support us. To watch it through the lens of an Australian supporter was really cool. Outside of my hotel window I could see the fan zone. And watching the fans watch the game was surreal.”

A month on from the team’s fourth place finish at the tournament, Kennedy believes it’s still too soon to fully comprehend all the team has achieved. “I look back on it with a lot of happy memories but then you revisit the moments where we lost certain games or we came so close but just fell short. Right when the nation was getting behind us and we were creating history and ready to create more, we lost the last two games,” she says. “But I also feel relieved. It’s a long time to be in such a high-pressure environment, and there are just so many emotions that you go through from here on a day-to-day basis.”

As an experienced player, Kennedy is already well-known in soccer circles, but there has been a dramatic shift in those who now recognise her in the street. Walking through an airport recently, she was spotted by a woman with three children in tow who approached to ask for a photo. “I thought, OK, she’s going to ask for the kids to get in – but it was for her,” Kennedy says, laughing at the memory.

“It has been a real change in people wanting photos more regularly. It’s little boys as well, and I love that. The demographic is so broad. That’s what football is about. It’s the world game. It’s a very inclusive space.

A lot of players are a part of the LGBTQIA+ community and I think this tournament has also brought attention to that. There are so many things that are bigger than football.

So to be a part of that moment is something that I’ll be grateful for. I’ll never forget the experience that we had at this World Cup.”

However, alongside the added attention came some uncomfortable intrusions into the players’ personal lives. A fan’s “WoSo Chart” that detailed the hundreds of queer relationships in the pro soccer world went viral during the tournament. Some criticised it as an unnecessary invasion of privacy.

As for Kennedy, she just wants the attention to stay on her playing ability.

“It’s slightly different for someone who wants to share those things and that’s how they create their profile,” she points out. “But I think at the core for us is that we’re footballers first. That’s my passion. I like to express myself through fashion and my tattoos and jewellery, but for me, I have my circle of close friends and family and that’s so important to me. It’s hard when people delve into things that you’re not particularly willing to share. It’s important to protect our space so that we can focus on what’s really important, which is our football.”

Kennedy is doing just that, having spent a mere week in Australia post-tournament before flying to the UK to start training with Manchester City, where she plays alongside fellow Matildas star Mary Fowler. And she has nearly recovered from her concussion.

“My game heavily revolved around using my head. It’s probably one of my biggest strengths, my aerial ability. I’ve never experienced a concussion before [the World Cup] and for a couple of days I was unsure exactly what I was feeling. I was nauseous. I wasn’t myself,” she tells Stellar. “I’m pretty close to [feeling] normal now, if not back to normal, which I’m really grateful for because it’s not a nice feeling. No-one likes to feel distant from their normal selves.”

Kennedy is also eager to reunite with her teammates – or, as she calls them, “my best mates” – in October in Perth, where they hope to qualify for the 2024 Paris Olympics. But they’re also looking beyond next year.

“For a lot of people, the Matildas are just arriving on the scene and it feels like the start of our journey; we’ve gained a lot of traction and fans and support, and hopefully that can continue moving forward for the Matildas and women’s sport. [But] our goal hasn’t changed from wanting to win a World Cup, wanting to win an Olympics,” she says, adding that the players have been working towards those goals for their entire careers. “We have so many goals and ambitions that we’re yet to fulfil and I think we have the potential to. Now we just have more people supporting us and on the journey with us.

“You can’t look past how much of an impact the team has had across the nation,” she adds. “I was disappointed with how my World Cup ended, but then I look back, and at one point I was working really hard to even be in the squad. It’s all about perspective. I’m just super proud.”

[freakingoutthesquares]

Mojo Britpop Special 2009 This Year’s Model. Transcription: Me.

A mix of Celtic yobs and art school wits, Pulp created a culturally momentous update of old school glam. But joining London's glitterati fragmented them. By Roy Wilkinson.

At the 96 BRITS, whilst Jarvis Cocker was making himself known to Michael Jackson via a stage invasion, bandmate Russell Senior was making another acquaintance. ‘I met Chris Eubank,’ says Russell of the monocle wearing former boxer. ‘We were getting on famously, but after the Jackson incident he folded his arms and turned away because he was a huge Jackson fan. I'd been having this interesting conversation, about art, philosophy... But Jarvis ruined it!’ [Laughs] ‘Though he had a point, of course.’

A phenomenon as chummy as Britpop was never likely to produce seditious acts similar to self-immolating monks or suffragettes throwing themselves under horses. Cocker's BRITS incursion was perfect - a commando raid as envisaged by Charlie Chaplin. If the Britpop was a national Jubilee, Cocker’s assault was the feat of bravado that marked the party at its peak - before dawn revealed the broken glass and trampled flower beds.

With nothing but a stylised posterior display and glare full of silent movie distain Cocker derailed Jackson’s plan to recast himself as a mix of Jesus, David Attenborough and Doctor Bernardo. Surrounded by children, images of wildlife and actors done up as representatives of the world's key religions, Jacko sang on through Earth Song, oblivious to Cocker’s presence. But the rest of the world noticed, and there were consequences.

Jarvis was locked up at Kensington police station, Brian Eno took out a pro-Cocker advert in industry paper Music Week, while Simon and Yasmin Le Bon appeared in the Daily Mirror wearing ‘Justice for Jarvis’ T-shirts. An act that united the ex-Roxy Music pop sage with the Duran Duran singer was an appropriately odd reflection of the way Pulp’s uneven career embraced both high and low art. By the time Cocker gatecrashed Jackson's performance, Pulp had been going 18 years. Jarvis, a single minded fellow, was the only surviving original member.

Russell Senior left Pulp after ‘Jacksongate’ in January 1997. He'd been with the band since 1983, effectively operating as Jarvis, his right-hand man. When I spoke to Russell, he was attempting to create a nesting site for kingfishers in the garden of his three-bedroom family home in Sheffield. Conversation ranged from Suede and Oasis to Russell’s fascination for central Europe. He recently visited Criona, a Serb enclave in Croatia. The band's guitarist and multi-instrumentalist, Russell quit Pulp, citing artistic frustration and the desire to spend more time with his family. He'd been part of Pulp’s slow ascent to 1995’s Different Class album, the band's commercial and critical peak, cut by a line up completed by keyboard player Candida Doyle, drummer Nick Banks and bassist Steve Mackey.

Jarvis wasn't the only member of Pulp to trespass at the BRITS. Cocker was accompanied by Peter Mansell, Pulp bassist, from 84 to 87. Mansell’s presence at the BRITS was a subtle reminder of the bands long torturous history. They survived years on the dole and lived through the Miners’ Strike, during which Russell served on the picket lines. Pulp finally reached the masses during Britpop's commercial peak in 95. But for Senior. Britpop began earlier, on a night in Paris in October 1991. Pulp were third on the bill to Blur and Lush.

‘My first experience of Blur,’ says Russell,’ was walking into their dressing room in Paris and seeing them smashing this mirrored wall. The floor was covered in glass and Alex (James) was pouring champagne out of the window onto the people below. Damon (Albarn) was flicking spoonfuls of caviar out of a window. The first thing Graham (Coxon) said to me was, ‘We like your band. We're going to copy you.’ I used to do this kind of Pete Townsend arm fling. Next time I saw Blur, Graham was doing it but making it look more like a Nazi salute.’

‘Later I thought their Girls and Boys single was very Pulp. (Blur producer) Stephen Steet did say, ‘I know we've nicked your clothes a bit.’ But I'm not griping at Blur because they had the balls to do it bigger. For me, that night in Paris was the start of Britpop. It's not something I'm going to knock. I mean, there was a period little later when I started wearing Union Jack socks.’

Prior to Senior’s Britpop flashpoint in Paris, he is band had a 13 year pre-history - unlucky for some including, it seems, Pulp. The band came into being in 78, formed by Jarvis at school in Sheffield. They were known as Arabicus Pulp, the Arabicus coming from a copy of the Financial Times. It alluded to a commodities index featuring coffee arabica, found in Ethiopia and Yemen. Spiritually cursed by such obtuseness, Pulp spent the next 15 years plagued by tragicomic levels of ill omen and commercial failure. There were rehearsals in the building shared with table tennis clubs and model railway enthusiasts. According to Jarvis, these hobbyist sects were at daggers-drawn and expressed their antipathy by crapping outside each other’s doors. Jarvis said in 1993 that he devoted much of ‘It’ Pulp’s 83 debut to ‘writing all these songs about girls when I'd never had a proper girlfriend.’ When he did secure female attention, Cocker had unconventional ways of making an impression. He attempted to walk along a second-floor window ledge outside a Sheffield bookshop. He fell, breaking a wrist and ankle and fracturing his pelvis.

Subsequent shows saw Jarvis singing from a wheelchair - a sight some interpreted as grotesque take on the kind of ‘disability chic’ launched by a hearing-aid-adorned Morrissey. Pulp made an album for £600. The sales figure wasn't of a dissimilar magnitude. Pulp made three albums in these wilderness years. It was followed by Freaks (1987) and Separations (1991) [Actually 1992!]. Freaks’ subtitle - Ten Songs About Power, Claustrophobia, Suffocation and Holding Hands – said Pulp were still some way from the matily exuberant dimensions of, say, Blurs beery, Britpop totem Girls and Boys.

I first interviewed Jarvis and Russell in 87 around Freaks. They were genuinely amazed that then record company Fire had stretched to some chocolate biscuits to go with tea. The resulting article compared Pulp to Ian McEwan, Bertold Brecht and Carry On actor Charles Hawtrey.

‘It wasn't all about me and Jarvis by any means,’ says Russell of Freaks. ‘There was also this Celtic yob element which was (Belfast born) Candida Doyle, Magnus (Doyle, Candida’s brother and Pulp drummer at that point) and Pete Mansell. If it was just me and Jarvis, it would have all been very art school. The other three liked Sham 69… Actually, we all liked Sham 69. Perhaps that was the only thing we all had in common. In fact, we sometimes played Sham 69s Hurry up, Harry live.

After Freaks, Jarvis moved to London, studying at Central St. Martins College of Art and Design. Steve Mackey had joined Pulp on bass and was also in the capital studying film at the Royal College of Art. Soon Pulp were exhibiting a more playful mood and an unknowingly pop-art retrospection. There were concert flyers advocating ‘Pulp-ish’ things to do, such as ‘doing a wheelie on a Raleigh Chopper’ and ‘Going to the supermarket wearing a lurex jumper.’

This increasing friskiness - and references to the kind of 70s bicycling design that would soon turn up in the video for Supergrass’, Alright single - began to manifest itself in Pulp’s records. In the early 1990s they released a string of singles full of a new vivacity. In title, at least one single could hardly have given clearer indication that Pulp were now ready for revelry. It was called Razzamatazz.

Pulp left Fire for Island Records. The band's first album proper for Island was His’n’Hers in 1994. Now Pulp finally reached the Top 10 of the UK Albums Chart. The sleeve featured an airbrushed portrait of the band by Philip Castle, the artist best known for his poster image for the film A Clockwork Orange in 1971 - Pulp were a vision of sci-fi second-hand chic. The music included the same pop art reconfiguration of the past.

‘Glam rock was a big part of the picture,’ says Russell. ‘I'd written this mission statement for the band - about making the fairground music of the future. The music of dodgem cars and girls with love bites - the modern version of Sugar Baby Love by the Rubettes, anything by Slade and Sweet. In the dour time we were experiencing, there was a wistfulness for the exuberance of glam rock. We believed in glamour. We absolutely wanted to be pop stars - on our own terms, but pop stars nonetheless.’

With its vandals, acrylics and tales of sexual initiation His’n’Hers was a critical and commercial success. The next 16 months saw Pulp - Jarvis in particular - become a national treasure. Where once Cocker had occupied the mildewed margins, now he seemed to be permanently addressing the nation with wit, charm and the ability to correctly answer every question that Mike Read [it was Chris ‘Talent’ Tarrant actually!] asked in the quick fire round on BBC 1's Pop Quiz.

Pulp’s years lurking in the backwaters could now be seen as advantageous, their own prolonged version of the way The Beatles had honed their craft hidden away in Hamburg. If Britpop was about taking age-old strands of British culture and re-styling them for the contemporary era, Pulp were masters of the moment. The Sheffield years weren't far removed from the formative grind endured by any traditional Northern stand-up comedian.

Russel: ‘On stage, Jarvis is always great at talking to people. But before Britpop, he kind of had them in his hand and then turned it into a joke. That used to drive me mad because I wanted him to keep hold of them and make it all really euphoric. Coming into the 90s he became a full-on master of ceremonies and it was great. The Pulp shows in that period was so exciting. That was the best of it for me. I don't think we ever truly captured it on record.’

When Pulp stood in for an injury-stricken Stone Roses at Glastonbury in 1995, they were greeted with the kind of open-armed gratitude Allied troops experienced while liberating Paris in 1944. These latter-day saviours brought with them a whiff of sex and nylons, but also Common People, a song that for the summer of 1995 became a universal anthem to match Lily Marlene or The White Cliffs of Dover.

When Jarvis guest presented Top of the Pops in 1994, he was met with a wave of communal good will. Even more so than when Chris U band appeared two years later, gamey lisping through ‘Suggs at six with Cecilia.’ Then Pulp became Top of the Pops themselves, their Different Class album hitting Number 1. It wasn't difficult to account for its success. The likes of Mis-Shapes and Something Changed have show-tune vigour that could have been as successful for Tommy Steele or Jesus Christ Superstar. There were also more left field inclinations. Common People was partly inspired by the drones of American minimalist composers Steve Reich and La Monte Young. But at its core, the album dealt in ancient methodology: narrative writing set to music everyone could understand.

While Britpop groups occasionally mined British music hall, Pulp surveyed the eternal verities of popular song less self-consciously than their peers. Here was a new folk music, but one that always felt like pop music. Musically, the album touched on The Beatles’ Revolution 9, drum and bass, the soundtrack to 1966 French film Un Homme et une Femme by Claude Lelouch and Gloria the 1982 hit from Laura Branigan. It amounted to a remarkable piece of populist art. However, the band have mixed memories of this period.

‘It did feel like vindication,’ says Nick Banks. ‘We were always confident that if only the masses could hear what we were doing, then they'd like it. When people did hear it, quite a few thought it was good enough to shell out for a record or two.’

‘At the time,’ says Candida Doyle, ‘We fought against the Britpop label. I thought we were the best band and there was no way we should be grouped with these other bands, but looking back, we were part of it and I'm glad we were. It was only in 2000 that I actually began to enjoy playing with the band. Before that, I was petrified on stage. Headlining Glastonbury, that was really fucking scary. But when we played Common People and they turned the lights on the crowd singing for miles into the distance, I'll never forget that.’

Russell has a more challenging version of events. ‘It had become a travesty,’ he says. Different Class was a kind of last gasp. It was over by then, but we still managed to get it down as a document. I rather hated Jarvis when he was in the studio singing Common People. He'd become so far removed. He was the villain of the piece because he was wearing trousers he'd been given by some designer. He wasn't wearing his jumble sale trousers. We were surrounded by coked-up knobheads.’

Senior also talks about an attitudinal North-South divide in the band at this point. In the Southern corner were London residents Jarvis and Steve. For the North, Russell, Nick and Candida, (though Candida was actually living in London by this point.) It's a perspective partly shared by Nick. ‘There was a North-South divide,’ says Russell, ‘Abso-fucking-lutely. I like living in Sheffield and one does have a chip on one’s shoulder about being patronised by poncy Southern bastards. To find there was a couple of members of the band who were doing the patronising was rather irksome! (laughs) The more they go all Kate Moss and London, the more I'd be, ‘By heck, where's me whippet?’ There was definitely a divide within the band.’

Russell left Pulp as they began to work on what would become 1998’s This is Hardcore album. By this time narcotics had become part of the picture, appearing in the lyrics of This is Hardcore and becoming a staple topic in Pulp interviews.

‘I thought that was a distorted image,’ says Steve Mackey. ‘I've never known Jarvis have a problem with narcotics. Ever. I was taking a lot more drugs than he was, but I didn't think I was taking that many. With Pulp no one ever went to rehab, no one was taking heroin. I don't recall Jarvis ever regularly taking drugs. But it did become a fairly regular part of the studio experience during This is Hardcore, and that's a dangerous thing. It became a bit of a self-indulgent record. But in a way that's also its finest hour, because something glorious came out of that. I feel very affectionate about that record. I think we really reached something with that.’

And the alleged north-south divide?

‘I never felt that,’ says Mackey, ‘My recollection of why Russell left is that after Different Class, it was clear he wanted to make a record that followed on in that vein. Me and Jarvis made it clear we weren't going to make that kind of record. Russell made it clear he didn't want to make our kind of record. The split was pretty amicable - we didn't fall out, but it cast a shadow over the band. I missed Russell - he was the person I loved watching when I saw them live before I joined.’

Before Pulp played their last show in 2002, they made one more album, the nature oriented We Love Life, released in 2001. There was also an underperforming greatest hits compilation in 2002, a record Jarvis has described as ‘the real whimper, the real silent fart’ of Pulp’s career. It charted Number 71, then disappeared. But if Pulp’s last years can read as forlorn times, that wasn't really the case. Recorded with Scott Walker, We Love Life has some of Pulp’s finest material, particularly the wonderfully elegiac, spoken word piece, Wickerman.

Nowadays, Pulp’s ex-members have a healthy view on all the past dramas, perhaps because Pulp isn't the only thing in their lives anymore. Jarvis was unavailable for interview because he was in America mastering his second solo LP. He also guest-edited BBC Radio 4’s Today programme and collaborated with Nancy Sinatra and Marianne Faithful. I spoke to Candida Doyle as she was visiting Disneyland Paris with six Shetland cousins and their ten children. She’s started a counselling course in London. Steve Mackey just finished producing Florence and the Machine’s debut album. He's produced and co-written for MIA and has remixed the likes of Kelis and Arcade Fire. While overseeing London's Frieze Art Fair’s musical programme, Mackey booked Karlheinz Stockhausen for one of his last engagements before he died. Nick Banks plays at private parties with The Big Shambles, knocking out covers of songs by The Damned, David Bowie and Amy Whitehouse. More typically, he runs Banks' pottery, a Rotherham based crockery business – ‘Crock’n’roll, as we like to call it.’

Of all the former members, Russell Senior has strayed furthest from music. He's written 50,000 words of a debut novel and has been setting up a ‘wild-foods processing plant.’ An avid lover of wild mushrooms, Russell has been furthering this. Rather than reducing trees to a pulp, he's utilised woodland in a more sustainable manner. ‘What I've been doing,’ he says, ‘is drilling little holes in Birch trees to collect sap – I’d highly recommend it.”

Scans from PulpWiki

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

which of your fics could you see making the best full length movie or novel? aside from the hotd references and context they are all such beautiful standalone stories in their own right.

I always visualise a really haunting trailer for 1968. Starting with a snippet of Aegon and Io’s beach conversation…. “If he loses on Tuesday, I can leave him.” or “I feel like you could kill me if you wanted to” or “Do you wish you could go back to when you hated me?”

then music kicks in. National Anthem or Sometime Around Midnight. And it’s constant camera flashes and brief moments from the story. Aemond screaming with a bloody eye, Aegon with his guitar, Io being chased through the maze, Greek statues, Io and Aemond waving to a crowd, Mimi’s coffin, Io dancing, Cosmo chasing one of the dogs, Aemond on TV, Aegon spinning on his boat, someone screaming for an ambulance in the rain, Io being wheeled on a hospital gurney, Someone driving through the desert in an open top car, Io sinking in the bathtub, Aegon on stage. Constant cuts to news reports and TV screenings.

The final clip is just a rat scurrying around with a voice in the background saying; “I don’t think she knows about Alys.”

(Or it’s Aegon whistling the opening notes of Here’s To The State and turning around to get punched in the face.)

anyway that vision has been haunting me so I had to share it. Love you!!

Ohhhh this is so cinematic, I can picture everything!!! I ADORE it!!! 😍😍

If 1968 was a movie, I imagine an opening montage ft. Olivia Rodrigo's All-American Bitch, alternating between scenes of Io on the campaign trail (shaking hands, Jackie Kennedy chic, praying demurely in Greek Orthodox churches) and flashbacks of her in college (smoking weed, going to parties, skipping class, having a boyfriend, student teaching), setting up the difference between her past/true and present/manufactured self. Then a fade to black and the sound of gunshots, then we go to the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach.

I've always felt that North To The Future translates most easily into an original novel (and maybe a limited Netflix or HBO series a la Sharp Objects?? 🤩). I do actually really want to novelize and self-publish NTTF, but between a full-time job and keeping up with my latest fic series, I haven't gotten around to it yet. But someday!!!

It is interesting that you mention 1968, because recently I've been thinking about that story's potential as an original novel as well. I feel some pressure to choose the right fic if I decide to novelize one of them, as since they're all HOTD fics originally, a lot of the characterizations and dynamics repeat, and I don't think I could publish multiple without seriously overhauling them to the point where they would lose whatever made them so beloved to begin with.

I'll let y'all know in advance if I am ever about to self-publish a story that started as a fic, as I'd have to remove the series from Tumblr and AO3 first, and I'd want to give readers notice so they could download a personal copy for themselves if they want it 🥰💜

[eurovision-revisited]

Eurovision 2005 - Number 56 - Donna & Joseph McCaul - "Love?"

This is a song in which several mis-steps were made, and I think the delegation knew they were making them from the start. Designed to appeal to a home audience who wanted past glories as well as a homely family vibe, what better than a brother and sister act with a little bit of traditional dancing in the bridge to add a flavour of Ireland and rekindle those memories of Riverdance?

It could have been so much more.

Donna & Joe McCaul are the brother and sister who won Ireland's third running of You're a Star, the Pop Idolesque competition to find Ireland's Eurovision representative. They hold the dubious status as Ireland's first ever representatives to participate in a Eurovision semi-final. They are also Ireland's first ever act to be eliminated in a Eurovision semi-final. It might be overdramatic to say that they mark the point at which Ireland's illustrious Eurovision past descended into a quagmire of a country's despair and self-mockery, but there's a lot of truth in that.

The song they won with was Love? It features some fairly generic lyrics casting love as an ordeal to be endured, but that is ultimately worth the trials and tribulations. It's a blasting, fast, vocal showcase for a strong voice and that is the first of the problems.

Donna has an amazing voice. She can carry this song confidently and it's really not at all easy to sing. Right from the first line, it's clear she has the lungs for a challenge and she does not hold back. There's a lot for her to do, but she's not at all out of breath at the end. If this song was Donna alone, it would be great. But it's not. Her brother is there and his voice is nowhere near as strong. He gets to sing the bridge and it's there that the clear disparity between their voices is apparent.

The delegation seems to have been aware of this. The levels on the microphones is different with Donna's much higher in the mix - her voice dominates his when they're singing together. It's sad to say this when there's a brother and sister on stage who are used to singing together and who are being sold a wholesome family act, but if this song was Donna on her own it would have stood a much better chance.

That's only one problem though. The other is the dancing. It's the thing everyone remembers from this performance. Ireland is trying to do Riverdance again. Only it's nowhere near as good as that and it's only a few bars in the bridge. It was a huge mistake to include it as it's not good, and it overshadows everything else in the song - including Donna's voice.

Love? is by Karl Broderick. I don't know whether he had any say in the staging, but it's interesting that his other Eurovision song was Maps by Lesley Roy in 2022 - another Irish song that is notorious for its staging.

Mentally subtracting Joe and the dancers from this and I'm left with something good. It's a huge performance with some interesting twists and turns in the melody, a contrarian take on Eurovision love that's strongly reminiscent of Nicola from Romania in 2003, which I also like a lot.

After this performance, Donna and Joe became a bit of a laughing stock in Ireland - and that appears to have been anticipated by some of the media. They got criticism from Louis Walsh - who had his own agenda here - who called them amateurs. They also had ads deliberately played over their live performance on a popular Irish comedy puppet show as a joke

Louis Walsh. Acerbic Irish puppets. You can see where this all leading for Ireland can't you? The bitterness within the country is building. At least Donna and Joe were able to laugh at themselves even as they were taken as a fit subject for mockery.

Donna carried on despite having her reputation trodden all over. She came out in 2008 which caused something of a tabloid media kerfuffle, but she has also released other music. She sang backing vocals for J. Anvil at the Maltese 2011 national final and came full circle to enter the Irish 2012 final. Joe got to the judge's houses in the 2015 X Factor while Donna got to the blind audition round of The Voice USA.

Perhaps the single best event that occurred as a result of this performance was Donna and Joe singing Love? at the wedding for song-writer Karl to his husband, TV Presenter Alan Hughes in what was described as Ireland's highest profile gay wedding since legislation allowing gay marriage was introduced in the country.

Donna and Joe, and Love? get way to much criticism for what should be an iconic modern Eurovision moment. It's time to start celebrating them and the song.

[storms-path]

FFXIV 2023 Day 30 - Amity

“...And so, it is my great pleasure,” Arashi managed to make it sound halfway sincere, “to introduce the esteemed Blade Hagen!” A polite ripple of applause echoed through the hall as Fareena took to the stage, looking smugger than she’d ever been and dressed in Bozja’s latest fashion.

It had all started with what should have been a good idea. A cross-cultural exchange of combat teaching between Bozja, Doma and Ala Mhigo, meant to nurture bonds between the three nations and encourage growth and diversity amongst their pupils. Arashi had entertained the idea over one too many glasses of wine with Y’sthola, Lyse and Krile, and soon one thing had led to another and letters were drafted and delivered. Doma’s response had been carefully worded, happy to hear the idea out but careful not to promise anything too much. It had her sister’s touch all over it. Bozja’s, on the other hand, had been rather more blunt.

“Swiving yes we’re doing this. I’ll see you soon.”

The response had been hand-delivered by a rather harried Hrothgar, followed mere minutes later by Fareena bursting through Arashi’s office doors and proclaiming herself guest speaker, teacher and resident arse-kicker. Arashi’s consent was apparently considered unimportant in the matter. It was an unpleasant but much-needed reminder of why, ten years after the Final Days had been averted, Arashi kept as much distance from her old adventuring companion as possible.

Fareena waited for the applause to die down and immediately launched into a long, rambling tirade about herself, her gunbreaking skills, her ability to “wipe the floor with all of you wet-eared saplings” and what inventive cruelties she would unleash on all those foolish enough to take up her offer of teaching. It sounded to Arashi like the worst possible way to advertise herself as a guest teacher, but looking over the assembled students Arashi could see the spark of interest alight in an unsettling amount of her students. I thought you were better than this!

Something in the crowd caught her eye. A familiar pair of eyes stood towards the back of the room, though not familiar for the right reasons. A large hood covered most of the figure’s face, but there was no mistaking her to someone who truly knew her. Sanda noticed her sister’s eyes on her and winked, then melted back into the shadows. How long has she been here? And why, more importantly, didn’t she just come and say hello? Arashi knew why even as she thought it. Sanda always did enjoy her little games.

Fareena seemed to be finishing up, from the way her gesticulations had slowly calmed down. Arashi resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the far-too-arrogant woman’s empty boasts. Then she felt a hand on her thigh, squeezing gently. To her left Lyse smiled sympathetically. To Lyse’s left Arashi could see the other teachers looking at anything else except for Fareena and her unending ramblings. Arashi tried to think of something encouraging to say to them, but the words died on her tongue. They’d learn to deal with Blade Hagen eventually. Or else they wouldn’t and they could collaborate on making Fareena’s stay as short as possible.

There was a sudden ripple in the crowd, a worried murmuring spreading through her students. Arashi stiffened, suddenly alert. Someone was moving towards the stage, moving with purpose. A slight figure, dressed in tight, black fabrics that covered every inch of their body. Fareena either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Lyse was already on her feet, Flowing Lily rising next to her with blade in hand. Then, in a single instant, all hells broke loose.

The figure leapt into the crowd, knives glinting in the lamplight. Aiming directly for Fareena’s throat. Just as quickly Fareena’s gunblade was ripped from her back and into her hand. Clashing against the knives with a resounding clang. The attacker leapt back into a crouch a few feet away on stage… then ripped off their mask, grinning. Fareena grinned back, extending a free hand towards her assailant. Sanda took her hand with a laugh, pulling it high into the air as the pair bowed elaborately. Arashi sunk back into her chair with a groan, barely registering Lyse making sure none of the other teachers tried to gut the headmaster’s wayward sister.

Of course they had planned this whole stunt together. Of course they had. Fareena had the crowd’s attention again, and she used it to its fullest. “You see? A good gunbreaker can stand against any foe, no matter when or how they strike! You want to learn? Then seek me out and I’ll teach you! But,” Fareena turned to gesture at Sanda beside her. “If you’d rather learn how to strike silently and swiftly at your enemies, my good friend Shinobi Washi will be glad to take you under her wing! Make your choice and make it wisely, sprouts! We’ll have you grow into adventurers yet!”

Arashi massaged her temples in a vain attempt to halt the blossoming headache. This was going to be a very long moon.

[artsychowroamer]

Our Town at The Barrymore Theatre

AUTHOR: ARTSY CHOW ROAMER

OUR TOWN

AT THE ETHEL BARRYMORE THEATRE

I love theatre and many of you may not know that I co-founded a community playhouse in my hometown in Tennessee where the local high school drama teacher could do her thing after retiring. It let me continue my interest and love for the behind-the-scenes kind of work that had thrilled me during my days in high school and college.

This led my husband and I to buy season tickets several times in Atlanta when Kenny Leon was still directing in our neck of the woods at the Alliance Theatre. If Kenny directed it, you would want to see it no matter what the play. That’s why I was excited to read that he will be bringing his version of the classic Thornton Wilder play Our Town to the historic Ethel Barrymore Theatre in New York City right in the heart of Broadway.

THE HISTORY

Named after the actress from the famous Barrymore family acting dynasty, Ethel was the it girl of her time when the theatre opened in December of 1928. Designed by Herbert J. Krapp in a combination of Mediterranean, Elizabethan and Adam styles, it is the last standing theatre built by the brothers, Lee and J.J. Shubert. It houses a large, beautiful stage with 1,058 seats. Run by the Shubert Organization to this day, the exterior is considered to be a New York City landmark in the heart of the theatre district in Manhattan.

Built from white bricks and rusticated terra cotta, the design was inspired by Roman baths with large arches and screens. The auditorium houses box seats at the balcony level with a coved ceiling and dome above. Roman arches and gold ornamental plasterwork abound along with a sloped orchestra level. An ornate lounge was located in the basement along with a now demolished stage house.

The Shubert brothers built the theatre in honor of Ethel when she agreed to have them handle her career and she stayed with them throughout performing in it the final time in 1940. It has remained a legitimate acting venue staging musicals and plays and is one of the few to have never been sold or renamed. It has been updated and refurbished both in the ‘80’s and early 2000.

THE WRITER

Thornton Niven Wilder was an American playwright and novelist winning the Pulitzer Prize three times for the novel The Bridge of San Luis Rey and two plays, Our Town and The Skin of our Teeth. He also won the U.S. National Book Award for his novel The Eighth Day. Born in 1897 in Madison, Wisconsin to parents, Amos and Isabella Wilder, his father was a newspaper editor and diplomat while his mother raised the family of five children. Thornton’s twin was stillborn.

The other siblings were writers with the older brother Amos becoming a noted poet at Harvard Divinity School and younger sisters Charlotte and Isabel becoming writers of note themselves. Said to be overly intellectual, Wilder would retreat to the library in school to escape the teasing and hide away from the humiliation of not fitting in. He would serve in both WWI and II rising to a lieutenant colonel status. He received his undergraduate degree from Yale University where he refined his writing skills and went on to earn his Master of Arts degree in French Literature from Princeton University.

After an eight-month residency in Italy, he published his first book, The Cabala, in 1926 followed by The Bridge of San Luis Rey in 1927 which brought him commercial success along with The Pulitzer Prize allowing him to quit his teaching job at The Lawrenceville School in order to write full time. In 1938, he would write the play Our Town and win his second Pulitzer and in 1940, The Skin of our Teeth would follow for the third prize.

THE PLAY

Our Town is a three-act play that playwright Edward Albee called “the greatest American play ever written”. It presents life in a fictional town called Grover’s Corners through the lives of its citizens between the years 1901 through 1913. Wilder uses metatheatrical devices setting the play in the actual theatre where it is being performed. A stage manager is the main character directly talking to the audience, fielding questions, playing some of the rolls and bringing in guest lecturers.

Left photo: Courtesy Historical Society of Princeton Right photo: Stage Publishing Company, Inc.; photograph by Alfredo Valente

The play is largely performed on a bare stage with no set while the performers mime actions without the use of props. The original stage manager was played by Frank Craven. In Act I, he introduces the audience to Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire and the people living there in 1901. We meet folks like the milkman, the boy who delivers the papers, the town doc, the Webb and Gibbs families and Professor Willard. Editor Webb will provide all the details about the town from socioeconomic status to the lack of culture and art while the stage manager leads you through pivotal moments throughout the day and evening. We meet the town drunk, the church ladies who gossip and the children of the Webb and Gibbs families who like each other very much.

Act II opens three years later and the kids are ready to get married. The stage manager takes us through their ups and downs together and how love works to get them to the altar. Act III opens nine years later and deals with death and eternity as the stage manager focuses on the cemetery in town where five people are buried since the wedding took place; some surprising and some not but one will teach us a lesson about appreciating the simple things in life.

THE CAST

It might surprise you to find out that Jim Parsons will be your Stage Manager for this run of the play. Parson’s, made famous by playing nerdy Sheldon Cooper in the Big Bang Theory, loves Broadway and can’t wait to get his chops around this more serious role. Katie Holms, the ex Mrs. Tom Cruise, will be making her come back as Mrs. Webb after sending her daughter off to college this year. Richard Thomas of The Waltons fame will be playing her husband while Zoey Deutch will play the doomed Emily Webb.

They lead a cast of 28 very talented actors including Ephraim Sykes as George Gibbs, Billy Eugene Jones as Dr. Gibbs and Michelle Wilson as Mrs. Gibbs. Julie Halston as Mrs. Soames and Donald Webber Jr. as Simon Stimson round out the main players in this wonderful version of the beloved play. You can bet Kenny Leon’s vision of the classic will be very different from any other you have seen before with this cast in place.

THE DIRECTOR

Last but not least, the talented Mr. Leon. While he may have been born in Florida, we like to claim him since he graduated from Clark Atlanta University. He gained prominence in 1990 when he became one of the few African Americans to head a major nonprofit theater as the artistic director for the Alliance Theatre in Atlanta. During his time there, the endowment rose for the company from $1 million to $5 million as he staged productions like Elton John and Tim Rice’s musical Aida that went on to Broadway and Alfred Uhry’s The Last Night in Ballyhoo.

He left in 2000 to pursue other projects including being a co-founder and artistic director for True Colors Theatre Company a group based in both Atlanta and Washington, D.C. He won a Tony Award for his direction of A Raisin in the Sun in 2014 and was nominated for his versions of Fences in 2010 and A Soldier’s Play in 2019. He received Emmy Award nominations for Hairspray Live! (2017), American Son (2019) and Robin Roberts Presents: Mahalia (2021).

A stellar reputation has gotten him gigs with some of the best in acting land such as Denzel Wahington, Phylicia Rashad, Audra McDonald, Blair Underwood, David Alan Grier and Viola Davis just to name a few. In 2015, Leon directed a musical version of The Wiz for NBC and partnered with Cirque du Soleil who plans on taking it to Broadway. In 2022, a return to his old stomping grounds brought Trading Places: the Musical! to the Alliance directed by Leon. In short, his range is unbelievable-second only to his massive talent.

CONCLUSION

As you can see, Kenny Leon’s version of a classic play, in a historic theatre, named after an acting family dynasty will not be one to miss. This cast will be bringing the street cred with them as they bring these characters to life and I imagine Kenny will be up for a load of awards next time at the Tony’s. I rather like that thought….don’t you? Home town boy makes very good. Break a leg Kenny.

If you liked what you read, you may also like other posts under Artful Ideal. There you will find posts on art, books, theaters and other artsy things you might be interested in. Until then…

Cheers,

ArtsyChowRoamer

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[evsvolunteerstotem]

A month full of surprises

28. 05. 2024

Čau, everybody!

Even if I don't want to commit myself too much, I'll go out on a limb here and say, that May was one of the best months in the Czech Republic for me so far. It was a month full of happy moments and surprises and because I want to have enough time to shed light on all the highlights, I'll keep the introduction short and will not spoil everything already. So have fun reading on and I hope you’ll feel entertained today.;) 

May started right away with a National holiday, the “Labour Day” and Tatiana and I used it to drink a coffee together and go to the cinema afterward. On the following weekend, Plzeň celebrated the liberation of the city by the Americans at the end of the Second World War. The city centre was full of onlookers who watched the parades of uniformed people in historical cars and learned more about the liberation at stands, lectures, and information boards. My friend Isabelle and I were also curious and therefore attended the festival. In addition to the lectures, we were also entertained by the concerts on three different stages, the performance of an American school orchestra and other acts in the city centre. There were also many booths with delicious food while the sun played along as well and made the day a wonderful experience for both of us. 

The next holiday, known as "VE-Day" (Victory in Europe Day), the official end of the Second World War in Europe followed on the 8th of May. But that day I didn't stay in Plzeň, but made my way off to Poland, more precisely to the beautiful city of Wroclaw. Even though the trip didn't go as planned and our bus was stuck in a traffic jam for almost 3 hours, I received an even warmer welcome from my sister, when I arrived at our flat. After breakfast the next morning, we made our way to Slodowa Island, then on to Wroclaw Cathedral, and finally, after a short lunch break, to the so-called “Hala Stulecia ". When we arrived there, we were very surprised, as we felt like we had seen this building before and after we searched for it on the Internet, we found out that it was indeed a film set for the latest part of "The Hunger Games", which was released in cinemas in 2023. We bought some tickets for the interesting exhibition and then had the chance to see the hall from the inside, and well, rumor has it that there were one or two fan-girl moments when we entered the hall. ^^ 

After the visit we sat down at the nearby fountain to enjoy the sunny weather and cooled down a little bit before we made our way to the Japanese garden and after that back to the city centre. By the way, if you plan to visit Wroclaw and want to use public transport there, I would recommend that you hold on well to something on the tram because the tram drivers can be little rowdies sometimes. ;D 

In the afternoon we had coffee and cake at a super cute café before heading home again, where we ended the day with a very relaxed evening. On Friday, things didn’t go quite as planned, as we went to the Sky Tower, the highest building in Wroclaw, just to find out that it wasn’t open already. Then my route planner sent me on a complete detour and my sister, who was already hangry, didn't feel like doing anything anymore. But then, thank God, we arrived at our destination, the Jewish cemetery, and the ticket seller, without knowing it, lightened our mood by asking "One way or return?”. ^^ The cemetery was very impressive and we spent some time there, before heading back to the centre, or to be more precise, right next to the Oder. At the “Café Odra,” we enjoyed our much-needed lunch and a cold drink and had a good time in the sunshine. After a walk home and an important little nap, we went to a pizzeria in the evening and finally to a nearby park, where we ended the day with a looooooong deep talk.

Our last day in Wroclaw started with checking out of our flat before heading to the so-called “Hydropolis”, a very interesting museum that we visited before making our way to the bus station, where we had our last coffee together – at least this was what I thought. Because, when it was time to say goodbye, my sister suddenly told me that she was not ready to say goodbye already and that she would like to come to Plzeň with me. And well, that’s how it went. She bought the LAST ticket for the bus and we made our way back to Plzeň and, even though I was very surprised in the beginning, I think it was the right decision because if I’m being honest with myself, I was also not ready to already say goodbye to her. ;)

This is why my next days looked different than expected, because we enjoyed the good weather together, drank iced coffee in my favourite cafes, went to the cinema and even at work my sister accompanied me. She attended the sports event we had on Tuesday and was our special guest at the English and German conversation. We even pranked one of my classes by having my sister pretend to be me and start the class before I joined in and finally clarified the situation. You should have seen the faces of my seniors haha. But of course, she was not able to stay forever, even though some probably liked the idea (including me) and so after she left on Wednesday, everything was going back to normal. 

Well almost everything, because in TOTEM some other special events were following. Like the "Sousedský jarmark" one week later, which was indeed the next little surprise. While the whole week seemed to be quite sunny and nice, Friday turned out to be the complete opposite. And so we had to reschedule everything and move all stands and activities from outside to inside. On the day itself, everyone was a bit nervous, because no one knew how many people would come and if the atmosphere would be good or not. But what can I say, I think it was a big success! The house was full of people -from children to seniors- and the performances in the large hall as well as the stands in the small hall and other activities went really well and it seemed as if no one was letting the bad weather take their good mood. I also had my own stand and of course, performances with Adeto again, which were -as always- very exciting and fun. We also performed with Adeto the next day and, in my opinion, delivered a great appearance in Beseda, "a 3-story centre for arts events, conferences, and children's activities in a magnificent Art Nouveau building." After that, I met with volunteers from Brno and spent a nice afternoon with them, where we not only laughed together but also reflected on our voluntary service so far and our thoughts of it ending soon. Well, we all came to the conclusion that we don’t really want it to end and that we would wish to stay a bit longer because, for all of us, it feels a little bit like a second home already.

Speaking of second home, on the following Sunday I once again had the feeling of belonging a little bit more to the Czech society, when we went to the finals of the Ice Hockey World Championship. As we arrived at the public viewing in the centre the place was already full of people and it was even hard to find a place, where we were able to watch the match without always standing on our tiptoes and craning our necks, but in the end, we found a good spot and followed the very exciting match. Even though the Czech Republic was dominating the match against Switzerland they only got a draw in the first two thirds, but then, 10 minutes before the end, they finally shot their first goal. And when their second goal 15 seconds before the final siren followed everyone in the crowd was cheering. And I was so overwhelmed and happy to be part of this historical moment. Well, this was what I would call the last real surprise in May, as the Czech Republic seemed to be the outsiders during the last years but then proved everyone wrong! For me, it was a great honor to be part of the spectacle and the great celebration afterward, and even though they say “Kdo neskáče, není Čech. Hop, hop, hop“, of course, I had to celebrate with all my might. =D

Sign at the “Slavnosti Svobody” festival ;)

One of our numerous mirror selfies in Wroclaw^^

Visiting the impressive ‘Hala Stulecia":D

Modern urban art in Wroclaw….

Watching the beautiful sunset from our flat <3

At the sports tournament with TOTEM:)

Summer is coming to Plzeň!!

Last smažák before my sister left us again:(

At the public viewing of the Ice Hockey match between Czechia and Switzerland =D

… and again, I’m very grateful for this month and everything I was able to experience during the last weeks. I promised myself to make the best out of my last months in Plzeň and I think that I have done quite well so far.;)

Next week I will be home for some days but then I’ll be back here and enjoy my last two months in the Czech Republic. I’m looking forward to summer and everything I will experience during it and of course I will keep you updated on everything about to happen. 

With that being said stay tuned and we'll see each other again in June.

Sbohem!

Laila ;)

[wintrwinchestr]

kiss it better

the killer & the sound - chapter 2

summary: you’re with the band, officially. you’ve met them, rehearsed with them all of two times, and now it’s the tour’s opening night. pretty nerve-wracking, but nothing you can’t handle, right? that is, until Joel asks you last-minute to perform their suggestive hit single Kiss it Better with them, live on stage. before you know it, your teenage dreams are coming true, in more ways than one.

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), heavy flirting, pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby, babygirl, etc), shy/anxious reader, a little dub-con bc reader has a couple drinks but is alert and consenting, joel refers to reader’s pussy as she/her, smoking, power imbalance & joel using it to his advantage, exhibitionism (suggestive performance onstage but no sexual activity), lapsitting, praise kink, finger sucking, tummy bulge, unprotected p in v sex, some angst, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 11.5k (i’m sorry or you’re welcome)

a/n: thank you so much for your patience and interest in this story!! i’m sorry i took so long, but i hope you enjoy another chapter of rockstar!joel that somehow turned out longer than the first one. thank you as always to my best girl kiers i love you so much and i’m so happy our baby rockstar brought us together <3 thank you for reading, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

next chapter

divider by @saradika-graphics

It was only a handful of days ago that you had received the life changing invitation to open for Death’s Head on their sold out national tour. And it was only a handful of years ago that something like this was an unachievable fever dream, something you could pantomime in the shower or in the car, but still unsure if your hard work and commitment would ever pay off.

It’s been a complete whirlwind, your teenage dreams coming true in the span of less than a week. And now here you sit, shut away in your dressing room, leg bouncing up and down like a jackhammer as you add a final coat of mascara and one last sticky swipe of lip gloss. Meeting your own gaze in the vanity mirror, you fidget with your necklace, eyes wide and unblinking as you try to suppress a complete freakout.

A sudden knock on the door startles you from your daze, followed by a familiar gravelly voice asking your name. It’s Joel. You invite him in, and although you had seen him at soundcheck earlier in the day, it’s the first time you’re seeing him in the clothes he’s chosen to perform in tonight: black button-down shirt with western-style embroidery on the pockets, generously opened at the top to expose his tattooed chest. He pairs it with his signature black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots with a pointed silver toe. He’s got various chains and metalwork adorning his ensemble, making him jingle and clink as he moves.

“Jus’ wanted to drop by before you go on, tell ya to ‘break a leg’ and everythin’...” He stands in the doorway, the thumb of one hand hooked on a belt loop while the other rests above his head against the doorframe. He looks you up and down quickly. “Look real pretty, darlin’, ‘s a nice dress.”

You look down at yourself, so flustered and not in your own head that you have to remind yourself of what you’re wearing. “Oh, th-thanks. Just bought it yesterday, got it special for tonight.”

“Certainly is special…” He muses, shutting the door behind him before taking a few long strides in your direction. “You feelin’ okay, sweetheart, feelin’ good?” He pulls up an extra chair from the corner of the room as he speaks, setting it down next to where you sit in front of your vanity. He spins it around in his grip to sit on it backwards, dark denim-clad thighs straddling the backrest of the chair. You resist the urge to stare at how his strong body stretches the material.

You opt to answer him with a lie, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Yeah, ‘m fine.”

He drops his chin, looking at you from underneath his dark lashes. “Now why don’t I believe you? We've been over this, darlin’. Nothin’ to be scared of, yeah?” He places a large hand on your knee in an attempt to halt its incessant movement.

“‘S just a lotta people… never played in front of crowds this big before. Mostly just did a bunch of bars before now, maybe a community center or somethin’ every so often, but never a crowd bigger than a thousand. And there’s gonna be, like, ten thousand people out there.”

“Try doublin’ that.”

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline, and it feels like your heart just dropped into your stomach, a red hot piece of iron ore sinking into freezing water.

“Shit, shouldn’t’a said nothin’.” Joel shakes his head, pinching between his brows before lightly gripping your chin so that you stay focused on him. “Look at me. Remember our talk in the car the other day, don’tcha?” You nod your head in his grasp. “Said all about how good you are. Believe force o’ nature is the term I used, wasn’t it?” You can’t help but crack a smile at his compliment, and he returns one in the form of that canine-like grin of his. “You can do this, babygirl, yeah?”

Oh, that’s a new one. You decide you like the sound of it already, how it rolls off his tongue coated in his gravelly drawl.

You nod again in understanding, but he seems dissatisfied. “Say it back to me, sweetheart,” he instructs.

“I-I can do this,” you reply, your voice quiet, embarrassed of having to reassure yourself to his face.

“One more time, lil’ louder, like you mean it.”

You try again, attempting to infuse the sentence with a little more confidence. “I can do this.”

He seems content with your second try, and swipes at your chin before rising from his seat. “Fuck yeah, y’ can. Gonna knock ‘em dead, baby.”

He takes one last look at you before he leaves the room, and reminds you that you’re ‘Sposed to be on in fifteen, darlin’. See ya out there. He winks at you before closing the door, and then you’re alone again. Savoring your last few minutes to yourself, you decide to pace a few laps around the small room, running through a few more vocal warmups in an effort to drown out the sound of babygirl, babygirl, babygirl echoing around in your thoughts. Jesus Christ. It’s like he finds it impossible to comfort you without throwing in a little something extra to work you back up again. Though, you suppose you’d rather have your nervous energy redirected to him than to keep it focused on the endless expanse of people you’re about to be introduced to for the first time. 

What if they hate your music? What if you forget your own lyrics? What if they think you’re not good enough?

You take a guess that they’ve hit the lights in the venue now, judging by the cacophonous roar of voices that just erupted from somewhere sounding altogether too close and too far away at the same time. Too late to back out now. Not that he’d let you.

You brace your hands on the vanity counter, looking yourself in the eye one last time before you make your way to the stage. “I can do this,” you repeat the little mantra to your reflection. “I can do this, I can do this, Joel said I can do this.” A final deep breath and a tousle of your hair before you’re swinging the dressing room door open, heavy lace-up boots carrying you to the wings of the stage where your band members are already waiting to go on. It’s dark backstage, and it takes your eyes a second to adjust before they land on Joel. The accents of silver decorating his face and scattered throughout the clothing he wears catch some of the light from the stage, helping you to identify his form. You acknowledge him, but keep your feet planted where they are, flexing your hands and then clenching them into little fists as you try to peek at the audience, relishing your final moments of being a relative nobody. Your chords, your lyrics, your innermost thoughts are still only known to you and a few handfuls of others, for the next few minutes at least. Your life, your career, begins tonight, there, on that daunting and expansive stage. Angel is already out there waiting for you, beckoning to you, if only you could just push off the balls of your feet and go to her. You wish Cat were here.

A rough hand perches itself on your shoulder, and a low voice begins to speak close to your ear. “Everythin’s all set, show starts whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” you half-whisper, giving a swift nod of your head, swallowing hard and worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. His hand applies some pressure to the slope of skin between your neck and shoulder, massaging the muscle.

“Gotta relax, sweetheart, c’mon. Breathe with me. In…” He inhales deeply, and you mimic the action, holding your breath until he permits you to let it go. “And out…” 

He moves his hand to your upper back, course calluses scratching against the patch of soft skin exposed by the low back of your dress. “Gonna be back here the whole time. You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, ‘kay?” He speaks the phrase slowly, like he’s trying not to spook a newborn animal. You suppose he’s validated in that, the way you do feel a little like a fawn about to walk out onto a frozen lake.

You turn your head to face him over your shoulder. “Okay. Um… wish me luck, I guess.”

“Don’t need it, babygirl.”

The both of you share a knowing smile once more, and it makes enough of your nerves melt away that you don’t even realize that Angel is becoming closer and clearer in your vision. Your feet had started carrying you out onto the stage before you had given them permission to, it seems, and now the embroidered luna moths are wrapped around your body. The hot lights are shining brightly in your eyes, and you’re suddenly enveloped in a dense cloud of white noise that sounds like cheering and screaming. 

You look behind you, and your band members have each taken their positions. They all give you a nod or a thumbs up, and now it’s up to you to kick off the tour’s opening night. When you turn your head toward the wings one last time, Joel is still standing where you left him, arms crossed in the darkness. He juts his chin upwards and mouths something to you, the shapes of his lips forming the phrase you can do this. You whisper the affirmative phrase back to him, the same way he had you do in your dressing room.

After you’ve introduced yourself into the mic using the steadiest voice you can muster, you shut your eyes, take a final stabilizing inhale, and then a metallic chord reverberates around the venue as you begin your set.

Instincts and muscle memory carry you most of the way through the first half of your songs. You can worry about building up your confidence and stage presence after you’ve come out the other side of this first night in one piece, you resolve. Right now, you’re just trying to work up the courage to unstick your eyes from the setlist taped to the floor in front of you. Those titles printed in bold black ink are the only familiar things you can see, and you wish someone else covered in black ink were standing in front of you for you to rest your gaze on. Someone to use his tattooed fingers and devilish grin to charm you like a snake, prevent you from curling up and hiding from him, from the tens of thousands of people who traveled and paid good money to see you. You can’t let them down, let him down. You won’t.

One of the songs toward the end of your set requires Angel to be the sole performer for the first few measures before your voice and your band come in behind her. The song starts with a repetitive, hypnotic strum pattern, one you’ve practiced hundreds of times by now. But, it’s easy to get lost in it, lose track of your place if you allow your mind to get distracted or your fingers to be on autopilot for too long. 

That’s exactly what’s happened, you realize, when the first verse starts without its igniting lyric. You come in just in time to sing the second line, hoping your voice isn’t coming out too shaky as you try to cover up your mitsake. Your face feels hot, fingers struggling to grip your guitar pick as they become sweaty with embarrassment.

You start gettin’ nervous, you look at me, he had told you, what seems like hours ago now. 

When you feel you’ve got a better handle on the song, you turn your head toward the wings to find him already looking at you. If he had noticed the slip-up, his face doesn’t let onto it, which helps to relax you. He wears a proud smile, and holds eye contact until you’re ready to let it go.

His reassuring presence allows you to finish strong, and the remainder of your set is over before you know it. When the drums and bass have faded behind you, and the remaining tones of your closing chord have dissipated into the air, you start to come back into your own body as the white noise filling your ears turns into voices. They’re cheering, whistling, screaming. You raise a hand above your brows, blocking the harsh spotlights so you can get a better look at the crowd, at the thousands of people you had been too scared to acknowledge the reality of earlier this evening. You break into a laugh, eyes becoming wet when you realize Joel was right, you could do it. You did do it. And the crowd fucking loves you. 

Unable to contain your elation, you step back from your mic to do a little spin in place, strumming out some final nonsense chords with your nose all scrunched up as the skirt of your dress flutters around you. You take a bashful bow and wave to the crowd, your cheeks burning with the stretch of your smile. Stepping forward again, your voice echoes around the venue as you extend some final “thank you”s to your incredible audience, reminding them of your name one last time before skipping offstage, your band following close behind. 

Although your vision is still recovering from the blinding lights, you don’t find Joel in your quick scan of the dark backstage area, and you figure he must be doing some last-minute warm ups or pre-show rituals with the rest of Death’s Head. You share a quick celebration with your bandmates, and then head your separate ways for the night, realizing when you go to change your clothes in your dressing room that you’ve still got Angel draped across your body. It’s going to take a few shows to get used to leaving her onstage for a roadie to pack up for you, you suppose. It’s difficult to remember that you’re not the only one taking care of yourself anymore. But if this was what the rest of your life was going to be like, what your years of hard work and trying and failing and rejection and acceptance had gotten you, you could certainly learn to get used to it.

For now, you detach yourself from Angel and lay her down gently on the couch in your dressing room, setting a mental reminder to find a stagehand later to surrender her to. You know it’s strange to feel such fondness toward an instrument, but she’s like a close friend to you now, a partner. “We did it,” you say to her quietly, smiling to yourself.

Your sentimental little moment is interrupted by another knock at the door.

“You in there, darlin’?” Joel calls from the other side of the wall.

“Oh, yeah! You can come in,” you permit, and he pushes the door open as you turn to him. “What’re you still doin’ back here?”

He scoffs and makes a face in mock disgust. “Damn, could act a lil’ happy to see me.”

“Sorry,” you giggle as he steps fully inside the room, shutting the door behind him. For a beat, you just stand facing each other in silence. You bounce on your heels and fiddle with the hem of your dress, waiting for him to say something.

“Fuckin’ incredible out there, babygirl. ‘Bout knocked me on my ass, I swear.” He steps closer to you, taking your face in both of his large hands. It makes your breath hitch, your eyes widening as they look into his. “Goddamn superstar, you are. They fuckin’ loved you.”

You break into a grin, swollen cheeks pushing into his calloused fingers. “Thank you… Took me a while to get it going, slipped up a little towards the end, but it was fun. Can’t believe I did it.”

“Well shit, I can. You should be proud of yourself, baby.”

“I am.”

“Good.” He studies your face for a moment, and for a split second, you think he might kiss you, and that you might want him to. You try to knock the thought from your head swiftly, and he drops his hands from your face as you do.

“So listen, came back here to ask you somethin’ actually. I know it’s pretty short notice and all, but the guys and I were wonderin’ if you’d wanna come back out and open our set with us.”

Your lips part in surprise, blinking quickly as you process his request. “Oh, um… That’d be really cool, but–”

“But what? C’mon, sweetheart, they loved you. They’ll go crazy for it.” He almost sounds like he’s getting impatient, the way he cuts you off. 

You try to justify your hesitation, hoping he’ll understand. “We just didn’t rehearse it together, I don’t really know the chords–” He interrupts you again. “Don’t matter, we’re changin’ the opener, anyway. Gonna play Kiss it Better instead. Gotta know that one, right? Since you’re such a huge fan and all.”

He’s caught you, and he knows it. Of course you’re familiar with Death’s Head’s biggest hit. When you first fell in love with their music, it was one of the first songs you taught yourself to play. He had probably heard you absentmindedly plucking out the chorus during your soundcheck. You know you can’t lie to him now.

You take a moment to consider, then nod. “Okay, yeah. I’ll do it.”

The stern look on his face melts into one of smug satisfaction. “Good girl. Now c’mon.”

You lean over to grab Angel from the couch, but Joel stops you with a hand on your arm. “Won’t need her.”

You pause, turning your head to look at him with your brows furrowed. “I won’t?”

“Thought you just said you knew the song, baby. You forget how it starts?”

Oh.

He wants you to perform that part of the song with him. You wish you had remembered how the intro goes before agreeing to go back out there.

Shit.

Joel jerks his head toward the hallway with a “c’mon”, and you follow him out of your dressing room and back to the side of the stage. The rest of Death’s Head is already waiting, looking exasperated by Joel’s tardy appearance. Tommy gives you a double take, a brief look of confusion washing over his face before adjusting his expression to offer you a friendly smile instead. He and Joel exchange a few hushed words, and it doesn’t take much for you to gather that the guys weren’t in on this at all. This last minute switch up had all been Joel’s idea.

When the brothers are done speaking, Tommy nods in understanding, then passes the change in plans along to Eugene and Jesse. Joel must hear the erratic metallic scrape of your crucifix dragging across its silver chain as you fidget with it, and he turns his attention to the thousand yard stare you’re wearing.

He nudges one of your shoulders with his own to jostle you back to reality. “Where’d my confident girl go, hm?”

“Nowhere. Just… wasn’t really prepared to do this.”

“Just follow my lead, sweetheart. It’ll be good, promise.”

You nod, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on his face in the dark.

“You ready?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Joel grins down at you in satisfaction, then turns to face the band. “Whaddya say we get this show on the road then, boys?”

Tommy claps him on the back with a “Let’s do it, brother,” and then Joel is taking your hand in one of his big paws, leading you back out onto the stage you thought you’d already seen the last of.

An explosion of screams and cheers even louder than the one you’d received nearly knocks you over where you stand next to Joel, unsure of what to do with yourself while you await his instruction. He lets go of you briefly to pick up his guitar and situate the strap across his broad chest, then replaces his hand against the small of your back. It feels a little grounding, reassuring, and prevents you from being consumed by too many questions of what the fuck you’re doing out here. You’re pleasing him, that’s what. Not letting him down, right? Doing what he asks, because you’d do anything he asks, and he knows that.

He introduces himself and the band to the crowd, not that they need reminding of who they shelled out a couple hundred each to see tonight, and then you realize he’s talking about you.

“Remember her? Beautiful, ain’t she? Hell of a performer, too,” he speaks into his mic. You turn to smile at Joel while the sea of voices threatens to swallow you up, and the way he’s looking back at you is doing much the same. His expression is hungry, almost, and it reminds you of what it is you’re about to do.

He turns to face the crowd again. “Y’all seemed to like her so much, thought she could be my lil’ helper for our first song this evenin’. That alright with y’all?” Another ground-shaking response from the audience, and he leans closer into the mic to huff a laugh and say, “Thought so.”

Joel covers the head of the device with his hand, so that he’s only speaking to you now. “C’mere, sweetheart. Stand in front o’ me.” His other hand tightens against your lower back, moving you to where he wants you. “Want you to kneel for me now, baby.” He moves his hand up to your shoulder, applying downward pressure and helping you sink to the floor. Your eyes are doe-like and sparkling as you look up at him, heart pounding and breath quickening as you settle at his feet. The sound of your own blood rushing through your skull almost drowns out the fit of ecstasy erupting behind you, the band’s most loyal fans already knowing where this is going. And so do you.

Joel removes the mic from its stand, holding it to his lips and speaking a final “You know what I wanna hear, go ahead, now,” before lowering it to your mouth, his hand now level with the growing bulge in his jeans. The other one begins to strum a steady rhythm against steel strings, building up to the crescendo into the crash of the song’s first verse.

You hesitate, opening and closing your mouth once as you reach a wavering hand towards the microphone. Joel shakes his head in disapproval, and his lips form shapes that look like “hands to yourself”. He smirks down at you when you quickly snatch your hand away, pleased with your obedience. His silver brow piercing catches the light when he jerks his chin upward, the bright lights making his eyes appear to flash like a cat as he encourages you to speak.

“Please…” you squeak out, your voice providing the queue for Tommy’s thrumming bassline to come in.

Joel swings the mic back up to his mouth to speak into it once more, initiating this depraved little game of give and take. “Please, who?” he challenges, and then it’s your turn again.

You swallow, knowing what he wants to hear. “Please… Please Da– Daddy…” The title catches in your throat, this being the first time you’ve ever spoken it aloud the way you’ve always fantasized about. What a debauched sight you must be, pretty young thing on her knees for her teenage rock idol, calling him Daddy in front of thousands and thousands of strangers. If only your mother could see you now.

A kick drum comes to life somewhere behind Joel’s towering form. It vibrates your already sore knees, the feeling traveling to the apex of your thighs. “Tha’s it. Now please, what? Use your fuckin’ words, baby.” His demanding tone prompts a soft whimper to escape your lips, and you shift on your heels. His eyes flick down to where the hem of your dress just barely conceals your panties, licking his lips before focusing on your face again.

“Please kiss it better, Daddy,” you plead, and a warm, fluttery sensation begins to wash over you. Your eyelids feel a little heavier, your brain feels a little cloudy, and he knocks the underside of your chin with the mic once to bring you back to him.

“Hm, I dunno… Still think you can beg a lil’ prettier than that. Try one more time for Daddy...” He flashes his canines as he watches your hips rock back and forth, unsure if you even know how your body is reacting to him. He’s got you exactly where he wants you now, making a mess of yourself for him, shedding the skin of that shy little girl he first met not so long ago. 

“Mmh, please, Daddy, need you to kiss it better, please…” Your voice sounds fucking wrecked, and you almost don’t recognize it as your own. It takes you a second or two to realize that Jesse’s guitar has joined in over top of the drums, and you know your little performance is over now.

Joel steals the mic from your panting mouth for a final time, slotting it back into its stand. With lips pressed against the device, he growls, “A’right, good girl, tha’s enough, baby,” and his shrieking guitar resounds all around you as your reward. 

You stay kneeling for the remainder of the song, recovering from the whiplash of sinking into such a soft, unfamiliar headspace for the first time only to have nothing come of it. Attempting to recenter and distract yourself, you study Joel’s fingers up close as he plays, trying not to think too hard about those gothic letters adorning his knuckles. It’s no use, of course it is, and you shift around on your sore knees as the memory of that title leaving your lips, being commanded of you by him, replays itself like a skipping record. You’re a little ashamed at the feeling of how soaked your panties are, only being made worse when you chance a look up at Joel to find him already staring down at you, singing the suggestive lyrics of the song to you.

The final chords ring out a few minutes later, and then he’s reaching an inked hand down for you to take. You use it as leverage to push yourself back up to your feet on shaky legs, and you attempt to smooth out the bottom of your dress while Joel maneuvers you to face the crowd again.

“What a performance, huh? God damn,” he praises, making your cheeks burn as he drinks you in again. “‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?” 

You nod, doing an uncoordinated little curtsy toward the roaring crowd, cheering voices peppered with a few lewd-sounding whistles and hollers. “A’right, you run along, beautiful thing,” and he sends you offstage with a wink and what seemed like an unspoken promise for more, later.

–

Earlier in the day, you had been looking forward to watching the band from the wings after you were done performing, realizing how cool it was going to be that your first time seeing them live would be from somewhere even better than the front row. You can’t even bear the thought of that now.

You make a beeline from the stage to your dressing room, searching frantically for the lighter and pack of cigarettes in your bag. God damn, you need a fucking smoke right now, and some fresh air. It’s like striking gold when you find them buried underneath receipts and gum wrappers and makeup, guarding them with your life as you head out the venue’s back door.

You let it slam behind you as you press your exposed back up against the cold exterior wall, shaky fingers trying desperately to flick the lighter on and ignite the cigarette between your lips. Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep inhale of smoke, letting the cool night air wash over your heated skin. It’s impossible to escape him entirely, even all the way on the other side of the amphitheater, his muffled timbre still audible as the breeze carries it across the dark sky. You let your gaze rest on nothing in particular as you puff through your cigarette, trying to process what the hell just happened out there.

The problem isn’t so much what you did, it’s that you liked it, the evidence of which is still smeared along your aching cunt and between your thighs. The light wind flutters the skirt of your dress, and the sensation on the cooling moisture at your core sends a shiver up your spine, igniting goosebumps all along your exposed skin.

When your cigarette is almost burned down to a nub, you’re tempted to put it out on your arm, just to see if the burn might wake you up from whatever insane erotic dream you seem to be having.

‘S all I need from you for now, sweetheart, catch up with you later, yeah?

For now. Catch up with you later.

You’re sure he meant nothing by it, the “catching up” most likely referring to a conversation where he tells you not to look too far into what happened tonight, that it was just a performance, all a part of his act. You had played your part, it was a one time, spur-of-the-moment thing, and now you navigate the rest of the tour pretending it never happened.

You toss the smoldering butt of your smoke onto the pavement, stomping it out before heading back inside, the majority of your racing thoughts now slowed by a dense cloud of tobacco. You feel a little more stable than you did twenty or so minutes ago, letting your heavy boots lead you to the venue’s green room. You plant yourself on one of the large couches upholstered in tacky paisley fabric, preparing yourself for the awkward but professional talk you’re bound to have with Joel once the show is over.

Eyeing the bar cart in the corner of the room, you decide to get up and pour yourself a drink to pass the time. You don’t typically go for brown liquor, but it’s what’s in front of you, likely at the band’s request. Joel certainly strikes you as a whiskey kind of guy, at least. You hope he won’t mind if you help yourself to some of his share, pouring a finger into a short glass with ice and filling the rest with half a can of Coke from the ice bucket on the cart.

There’s a small, square television in the room, which you notice is playing a live feed of what’s happening on stage. You spot its accompanying remote on the lacquered coffee table in front of you, and grab it to turn the volume up as you begin to sip on your drink. 

It’s not the most high-definition feed you’ve ever seen, and you can tell the television is a few years outdated. But it’s good enough for you to use to pass the rest of the time. You could woman-up and just watch from the side of the stage like you had planned on, but it’s nice to have this little room to yourself for now. The combination of watching Joel through the shabby screen and the sagging couch you’re practically sinking into reminds you of home, in a way, of the first time you’d ever seen his face aside from album covers and posters ripped from magazines. It’s still hard to believe you’ve met him now, performed with him, been on your knees for him. The memory makes you squirm uncomfortably, both from arousal and humiliation. 

You allow your focus to be shifted to the small pile of Rolling Stone copies on the coffee table instead of your little performance, and flip through the pages while the crackling sound of the rest of Death’s Head’s set plays in the background. You’d always had a knack for finding ways to keep yourself distracted, and you’re thankful for that skill now.

After another hour or so, your attention is pulled back to the television when you hear the words “thank you” and “goodnight” in the mix of what Joel is shouting to the crowd, and you realize the show must be over now. A glance at the clock on the wall lets you know it’s almost eleven thirty, and a yawn takes over the muscles of your jaw on instinct. Between all you’ve been through tonight and what ended up being two Jack and Cokes, you’re looking forward to finally changing out of your clothes and tucking yourself into your tour bus bed. You hope it’s at least somewhat comfortable, having not had a chance to lie down on it yet. 

But before you can succumb to the temptation of sleep, you have to catch up with Joel first. You’ve already gone over what he might say to you a dozen times in your head, prepared for any and all possibilities when he pulls you aside tonight to set the record straight between the two of you. 

The stage is dark and empty now on the square little screen, the sound of screams and applause replaced by baritone laughter and heavy footfalls approaching the green room door. When Joel pushes inside with the other men in tow, you sit up a little straighter and offer him a friendly smile as he heads straight for the bar cart. You were right in your assumption of his alcohol preferences, watching as he pours himself a generous glass of the same whiskey now working its way through your bloodstream.

“You stealin’ some of my good liquor, darlin’?” he jokes, noticing that the cap on the bottle had already been unscrewed and spotting the glass on the table in front of you.  

“Yeah, sorry, was hoping you wouldn’t mind.”

“Nah, ‘s fine by me. Want me to top off your glass?” He asks as Tommy relaxes into the other end of the couch you’re perched on. Jesse and Eugene sit down together in a creaking loveseat to your left, already engaged in a conversation of their own.

“I’ve already had two, I probably shouldn’t–” you protest.

Joel interrupts you, reaching a hand out and making a grabbing gesture towards your quarter-full drink. “We’re celebratin’, baby. C’mon, hand it over.”

You oblige, surrendering your glass, and it becomes more and more true with each interaction with Joel that he really doesn’t ever take ‘no’ for an answer. At first, you had thought Tommy’s warning was because Joel was just stubborn, which does seem to be the case. But he doesn’t have to argue much to get his way, he gets it just because his charm and demeanor warrant it. It’s like he cast a spell on you the moment you first met him, and now you can’t help but to say ‘yes’ to whatever he asks of you, even if it might be against your better judgment. 

Joel hands your glass back to you, a little more Jack and a little less Coke than you would’ve poured for yourself, but you only have to sip on it long enough to get through the “catching up”. Maybe the extra helping will make the whole thing a little easier, anyway. Joel plants himself on the black leather chair across from the couch you’re sitting on, groaning as he spreads his legs and relaxes his forearms on top of the chair’s wide armrests. There’s a lamp that sits in the corner of the room, and the warm glow illuminates the back of his head of curls, still damp and sticking in odd directions from the sweat he worked up while performing. The slight golden halo almost makes him look like a king sat atop his throne. 

He catches you staring, studying him, and his lips tug into a smirk. He chooses not to taunt you about it, instead turning his attention to Tommy to talk about the show. That’s what you assume they’re talking about, at least. You feel a little awkward, out of place among the group of men, and your eyelids are getting heavier with each passing minute despite their gruff voices and sharp bursts of laughter. You let yourself shrink into the couch's worn fabric, swirling your glass around and taking an occasional sip just to look like you’re doing something. You’re half tempted to reread one of the magazines you had already looked through.

Eventually, after each of the men have gotten a drink or two in them, Tommy is the first to rise from his seat. You had been playing with the lace hem of your dress, tracing the patterns with your finger, so engrossed in it you had almost forgotten you were sharing the couch with him.

“Well, you ready to head out, boys? Keep the party goin’ a lil’ bit longer?” he proposes. “You’re welcome to come too, sweetheart, if you wanna. Just not sure it’d be your kinda scene,” he adds, turning to you.

“Oh, it’s okay, I’ll probably just head to bed soon. Thank you for offering, though.”

Tommy smiles at you and nods in understanding. Jesse and Eugene accept his invitation, and then there’s only one member of Death’s Head whose plans you’re unsure of. “You comin’, brother?” Tommy asks him.

“Nah, I’ll stay here. Make sure our special guest gets to her bus alright ‘n all.”

“Good idea... Well, see y’all later, then. You were great tonight, darlin’, by the way,” Tommy compliments, and you smile politely as you thank him.

The three men leave the room, closing the door behind them, and now you’re alone with Joel again. It’s mostly silent, save for the squeak of the leather and light jingling of metal chains when he decides to get up from his chair, replacing Tommy in the empty spot beside you on the couch. He crosses one leg over the other, resting a calf atop the opposite thick thigh. You can feel his gaze on you as he stretches his arms across the back of the couch, not quite sitting close enough to you for his arm to reach across your shoulders. You fidget with your fingernails, avoiding acknowledging his presence until you have to. Please just get it over with.

“Said it once, said it a million times, but you really were amazin’ out there tonight. Appreciate you bein’ so willin’ to do that for me last minute.”

“Oh, um… yeah. I mean, the crowd seemed to like it, so–”

“And how’d you like it?”

His question takes you by surprise, and it finally makes you turn your head to look at him. Why does it matter if you liked it or not? You’re sure nothing like it will ever happen again as far as you’re concerned, as far as you’re sure he’s concerned.

“How’d I like what…?” You question, just to make sure he’s asking you what it seems like he is.

“You know exactly what I’m talkin’ about, sweetheart,” he speaks lowly, those carnivorous eyes of his scanning over your body, coming to rest on where white lace just barely conceals the tops of your thighs.

“Oh… I, um… I liked it, I guess,” you admit sheepishly.

“‘S okay if you did, I could tell.”

And there he goes again, always being fucking right about you. You should know by now that there’s no use in trying to skirt around the truth with him.

You continue to try, anyway. “I just haven’t really done something like that before, wasn’t sure if I was doing a good job.”

“Did a perfect job, babygirl. Looked so pretty on your knees for me, sounded so sweet when you were beggin’ for Daddy.”

Oh. 

You aren’t sure what you were expecting him to say next, but it certainly wasn’t that. The room starts to spin a little, either from the alcohol still floating through your veins or from the sharp turn your catching up has taken, you can’t say for certain. Joel huffs lightly through his nose, and you think he must have noticed your breath catch in your throat and the shift of your hips in response to his filthy compliment, punctuated by the title he used so casually. 

“C’mere, sweet thing. Sittin’ so far away, you scared o’ me or somethin’?” He teases.

“N-no…”

“Didn’t think so. Now don’t make me ask again, sweetheart.” He pats the empty cushion beside him as he speaks, brows raised at you expectantly.

You obey, of course you do, and your heart hammers against your ribcage as you slide closer to his side of the couch. Your eyelids start to flutter against their own volition, and that candy-sweet, far away feeling from earlier on stage begins to make its second appearance of the night.

“Good girl… So beautiful, baby, you know that?” he praises softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear before lightly rubbing his thumb across your pouty bottom lip. He presses it downward against the pillowy skin, and pushes the digit inside with ease when your mouth parts for him so eagerly. You close your lips around him and swirl your tongue along the calloused skin a few times, and he looks like he wants to eat you alive as he watches you fall apart for him so easily.

Joel pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it down your spit-slick lip so that it bounces back into place when his finger leaves your skin. He wears a satisfied grin at the way he has you completely at his mercy now, looking up at him with your glazed-over doll eyes. They scan back and forth between his glowing amber ones, awaiting your next direction.

“Gave you a compliment. What do you say, babygirl, hm?”

“Thank you, Da– unh…” The word starts to come out before you can catch it in time, shove it back into his cage. Your face runs hot immediately at your slip-up.

“‘S okay, sweetheart. You can call me that, if you wanna, say it real pretty for me. Don’t got it tattooed on me for nothin’,” Joel soothes, still-wet thumb rubbing across your cheekbone in placating strokes. “C’mon, finish your sentence, baby.”

“Th– thank you, Daddy,” you repeat, so lost in this saccharine headspace he’s coaxed out of you that you can’t even feel ashamed anymore.

“There we go, good girl… Y’know why I got that special word tattooed on me, hm?” He asks, already knowing you’re too far gone to come up with an answer. But it’s fun to watch those little gears behind your eyes struggle to turn. If you did ever know the reason, it’s long gone now. You shake your head, humming an mm-mm.

“Figured if it was part of the song that made me famous, might as well own it. Don’t you think, sweet girl? Think it belongs to me, that it should always be there to remind you who I am?”

You manage a weak sounding noise and nod in response, cheek brushing up and down against the skin of his palm.

“And who am I, sweetheart? Wanna hear you say it again…”

“D-Daddy…”

He smirks, enjoying how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into nothing more than a wet, pliant puddle of a girl. “Yeah, tha’s right… c’mere, baby. Lemme feel you.” He uncrosses his legs, returning them to their trademark spread so that he can pull you into his lap and situate you into straddling his hips. The position makes your dress ride up so far that your panties are exposed to him now, soaked-through gusset and all. His fingers make to tease the wet spot there, but change course to pay attention to something else first instead. Something scrawled in uneven black linework, peeking out from underneath your dress’ hemline. He pushes the fabric further up your bare thigh to fully unveil the shoddy little illustration, tracing around it with a roughened finger.

“Wha’s this, sweetheart, hm? This for me?” He prompts, hooking a knuckle of the opposite hand into the little dip in your chin, guiding your head downward to look at his discovery. A death’s-head hawkmoth, bearing a striking resemblance to the band’s logo, with its scribbled wings made of bleeding ink spread out across your skin.

You hum in confirmation, not trusting your own voice anymore. He squeezes at the plush skin of your upper thigh, massaging around the tattoo. A faint growl rumbles from deep in his chest. “Tha’s cute, babygirl. ‘S real cute.”

“Th-thank you,” you return, politely accepting his compliment the way he likes you to. 

His large hand migrates from the moth to your dampened core, nudging at your clothed clit with a tattooed knuckle. “All this for me too?” 

You’re so sensitive there, his touch sending a shock through your nervous system that makes your hips rock into his hand. You nod, your affirming noise sounding more like a whimper. He pinches the swollen nub between two knuckles, and you let out a pained little yelp. “Yeah?” he taunts. 

“Yeah, yes, Daddy,” you squeak out, so fucking gone for him already as his other hand guides your hips to move along his covered crotch. Even through his tight jeans, you can feel how hard he is, his cock straining against the thick material.

“Fuck, need to feel this lil’ pussy, baby. You gonna let me?”

“Uh huh, please,” you whine, ready for him to see you, touch you however he wants right here on the worn-down couch cushions. You’ve never felt anything quite like the hazy little cloud he’s got you floating in, shyness and inhibitions suddenly gone, replaced with unabashed submission.

Joel glances at the watch on his wrist, then over your shoulder to the door you’ve got your back to as you continue to unconsciously roll your hips in his lap. 

“Reckon someone’ll be back here pretty soon to clean up for the night, don’t want no one walkin’ in on what I’m about to do to you, do we?” You barely register what he’s saying, making some unintelligible sound in response as you fight to keep your eyes open. “Well, maybe you do… Had you whimperin’ and whinin’ for me in front of all those people pretty quick, didn’t I? Hardly even put up a fight, just wanna be good for me so bad, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Yes, Daddy, wanna be good.” Another wave of wetness seeps from your aching core, staining your panties a shade darker and making the fabric adhere to the shape of your swollen pussy.

“Yeah, fuck, know you do. Hang onto me babygirl, gonna take this somewhere else, let you prove it to me.” He stands up as he speaks, and you wrap your limbs around him as he carries you out the back door of the venue and onto the Death’s Head tour bus.

When he steps onto it with you clutched tightly against him, you can see the bus is spacious enough to have a bedroom in the back, which of course gets to belong to Joel for the next several weeks as opposed to a cramped bunk. You’re not sure there’s ever been a time in his life when he hasn’t gotten exactly what he wants, what he deserves, it seems, and tonight is no exception.

He tosses you onto the bed, and you don’t even have time to unlace your boots before he’s gripping your ankles and yanking you down toward the edge of the mattress. The movement hikes up your dress all the way up to your tummy, and you attempt to pull it back over yourself before his hands are replacing yours on the hem. “Nuh uh, way past that, sweetheart. Off,” he orders, and helps you sit up enough to shimmy it over your head and discard it onto the floor. “Get these off too.” His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, and you lift your hips to help him rid you of the ruined fabric. “Now lay down, baby, spread ‘em. Lemme see her.”

You pull your knees in towards you, and Joel places two rough hands on your inner thighs, pushing them apart to slowly reveal your glistening cunt to him as he crouches down to face her. “Oh, she’s pretty, ain’t she?” He marvels, collecting the slick pooling at your entrance with a calloused thumb and using it to circle your sensitive clit. All you can do is whine and let him play with you, so entirely blissed out that you can’t be sure if any of this is real. “Knew you’d have such a pretty lil’ cunt like this.” The sensation of his warm breath ghosting against your sensitive bud combined with his touch and his praise makes you squirm, shifting your hips into his hand and silently begging for more. He uses his thumb to tease your dripping entrance a few times, and laughs when it makes you whine a little louder, a little more pathetic-sounding, before abandoning it to pay attention to your clit again.

“What’re you makin’ all those pretty sounds for, sweetheart, hm? She feelin’ empty, ‘s that it?” He goads, fingers leaving your core entirely as he stands up to finally free his cock from his jeans, hard and angry and leaking. He taps the head against your hole, enjoying the sight of it constricting around nothing. “This what you want, baby? Need me to fuck you full?”

“Unh, uh huh,” you cry, still desperately bucking toward what he’s so close to giving you. 

“Might be a lil’ selfish of me, but I think I wanna hear you beg for it again. Just sounded so sweet tonight, can’t help if I wanna hear it some more... Look at me,” he barks, and you hadn’t realized your eyes were closed until he demanded you to open them. He towers over you, sliding a thick hand up and down his shaft, the wet sound of it making you salivate. “You want this cock?”

“Yeah, yes, Daddy, please…”

“Please, what?”

“P-please gimme your c-cock, Daddy, please… Please f-fuck me.” It almost sounds like you’re crying, the way you’re hiccuping and sobbing through your words, one slurring into the next as you beg him.

“So fuckin’ eager, Christ. Such a good girl for me,” he praises, moving to line himself up with where you’re aching for him the most. You’re probably dripping onto his nice sheets, so soaked that he’ll barely have to put in any effort to fully slip inside you. “I’ll give it to ya, babygirl, fuck. So goddamn desperate.”

You prop yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him before he spears into you, and you let out an involuntary little mewl at how big his cock is. You only have the one experience to go off of for comparison, but Joel is fucking huge. He’s thick and long, with a blushing mushroom tip and a prominent vein running down the length of him. Your reaction to him makes him refocus on your face, noticing how wide your eyes are as you take him in.

“Can’t promise I’m gonna be gentle, don’t got it in me. Say somethin’ if you can’t handle it, I’ll put your pretty mouth to use instead, ‘kay?”

“O-okay,” you promise, continuing to watch as he begins to push inside with a groan, just the tip at first, until he quickly loses his patience and sheaths the rest of himself inside you.

“Tight lil’ cunt, suckin’ me in already, sweetheart. So fuckin’ good…” He releases a strained breath once he bottoms out, and you swear that swollen tip of his is kissing your fucking cervix. You feel so full, letting out a debauched sound as you adjust to the burn and stretch of him. He lets himself sit inside you for just a second before he slides out almost completely, growling again when he pushes back inside.

“Oh fuck, look at that,” he muses, trailing a hand from your entrance to the expanse of skin just under your belly button. His touch tickles, making you shiver, and you direct your attention from where the two of you meet to whatever it is he’s suddenly become fascinated with. “So big inside you, huh? Tummy’s tryin’ to push me out, can’t hardly take it, Christ… You’re gonna, though, huh sweet girl? Gonna take it for me?”

“Y-yes, Daddy…” you cry.

“Yeah, y’ are, good girl,” Joel says through gritted teeth, and you let your back fall flat against the bed once more as he quickens his pace, rough hands gripped onto the underside of your thighs as he pistons in and out of you. Each slap, slap, slap of skin on skin is accompanied by obscene wet squelching, the sounds becoming more distant in your ears as you let yourself drift away into some dreamy, filthy space. God, you almost wish that stupid bartender you unfortunately gave your virginity to were here to take notes on how to actually fuck a girl. Joel’s got a dirty mouth, and he knows exactly how to use it to push and pull you, mold you into exactly what he wants you to be, at least for tonight. And you’re more than willing to give in.

You’re not sure how much time has passed before you feel a thumb and fingers squeezing either side of your face, forcing your lips into a pout as he jostles your head to bring you back to reality. When your fluttering eyes finally focus on Joel’s face hovering over yours, you can see that his lips are moving, teeth bared as he speaks. He’s looking at you expectantly, his pierced brow twitching into an arch, and you assume he must have asked you a question.

“Hm?” You mumble, and he gives your jaw another little shake.

“Asked you if it feels good, sweetheart. Tell me it feels fuckin’ good, need to hear it, babygirl. C’mon,” he spits through gritted teeth, that rockstar ego of his taking over in its need to be aroused. He punctuates his request with a particularly sharp thrust, one that makes you yelp.

“F-feels… feels good, Daddy. Feel so… so– unh,” you cry out, unable to finish your string of nonsense reassurance, the jumbled mess of sounds only spurring him on to fuck into you even harder. He returns his thumb to your clit, using your slick to rub quick circles around it. It’s all too much, too fast, too hard, too big, but it’s just the right amount of overstimulation to launch you to the edge of your orgasm. You can feel yourself constrict around him, abdominal muscles contracting as you shut your eyes so tight you start seeing stars.

“Oh fuck, gonna come for me, baby? Gonna soak my fuckin’ cock, huh? C’mon, pretty girl, come for me, can feel you chokin’ me.” All it takes is a few more rubs around your aching clit, a few more of his filthy words, few more stuttering pulses of his cock inside your walls so deep and powerful you know you’ll be sore tomorrow, and then you’re howling, spasming on the sheets as he groans above you. Fireworks are exploding on the backs of your eyelids, so vivid you swear you can really hear them. The imaginary booms muffle Joel’s voice as he floods you with his come only a moment later, grumbling good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl, so god damn perfect. 

Falling forward to brace his hands on either side of your head, he stays inside you for a couple of minutes, still rock hard as his cock finishes out its last few shudders. He pulls out all too soon, and you let out an involuntary little whine as soon as he does, your subconscious’ way of protesting the loss.

“I know, babygirl, I know. She misses me already, don’t she?” he placates, thumbing some of his spend still dripping from your fucked out hole and smearing it around your pussy. Not to provide any more pleasure, just to play with you, enjoying the sight of what he did to you. “Did so well for me, sweetheart.”

As you half-whisper a “thank you, Daddy,” you hear what sounds like the bus door open and close, followed by boisterous laughter and clumsy footsteps getting louder and closer. You’re quickly snapped back to the reality of your situation, and panic begins to set in when you fully realize where you are and what you’ve just done, and with who. You’d been so lost in arousal and pleasure you’d lost track of how much time had passed. Joel hears them too, and notices the fear in your expression as he sucks his finger clean from your shared release.

“Oh, shit... It’s fine, sweetheart, it’s okay. Listen to me.” You lock your eyes onto his, your brows knit together in worry as you push yourself up to a more alert sitting position. “Just stay put, alright? You can… just sleep here tonight, I guess. Not gonna sneak you out like a fuckin’ teenager.”

“Okay,” you reply, wrapping your arms around your body as you start to shiver. For some reason, you feel the need to apologize. 

He looks around the room, quickly shoving himself back into his jeans and running his hands through his damp hair. He reaches into a still half-packed suitcase and tosses you one of his t-shirts, black with a fading whiskey brand logo printed across the chest. “Here, uh… put this on. I’ll bring you somethin’ to clean up with, just try to relax.” 

You make quick work of slipping it over your head, enjoying the comforting feeling of the soft cotton on your skin, providing some warmth on your chilled skin as its thin layer of perspiration begins to dry.

Joel slips out of the bedroom in the second that the dark fabric covers your eyes, closing the door behind him. You can hear the men’s voices erupt at the sight of him, greetings coated in their slowly dissipating inebriation. Thankfully, it doesn’t sound like they’re asking him any questions, mostly just laughing at themselves as they talk over each other, struggling to recount some apparently hilarious story from earlier in the evening. From the sounds of it, you just had to be there, you guess. Tommy says something to Joel of a similar effect, and then the commotion seems to quiet down as they each collapse onto their bunks.

The bedroom door opens again a minute later, and you lean back where you sit in an attempt to duck out of the sight of the other band members.

He lets out a light chuckle at your stealthy movement. “They ain’t gonna see ya, darlin’. Wouldn’t remember it tomorrow even if they did. Here, brought you these–” He sets a glass of water down onto a nightstand with one hand, the other occupied with a damp washcloth. You extend your arm to take it from him, and he tuts. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Lemme do it. Lay down again, like I had ya before.”

You obey him wordlessly, resuming the same position he had just fucked you in a few minutes prior. His touch is much softer, gentler this time, as he uses the warm cloth to pet at your still-sensitive pussy, cleaning her of your shared fluids. It’s such a striking difference, the two sides of him you’ve seen tonight, and you’re surprised when he completes the task without so much as a suggestive praise or filthy remark. It makes you start to think that he might actually care about you, that maybe he could see you as something more than a plaything, something fun to tease. But he makes it so goddamn difficult to tell for sure. 

“There we are, she’s all cleaned up.” He discards the cloth into a pile of laundry, then bends down to retrieve something else from his suitcase. “Why don’t you cover up with these tonight, too. Since the pair you came in here with is a lil’... outta commission, for the time bein’.” 

You gather that he’s referring to your panties, how they wouldn’t be very comfortable to put back on again, what with how they’re still soaked through with your arousal. He seems to smile at the notion of that being his doing.

“Lift up,” he commands softly, and you raise your feet off the bed, still laid flat on your back with your knees bent. He slides a clean pair of his briefs up your legs, situating them around your waist, before applying light pressure to the tops of your feet to help you lower them once more.

“Alright… Just, uh, make yourself comfortable, then,” he says, laughing quietly when a yawn overtakes your face before he can even finish his sentence. “Think I’m gonna rinse off quick, so… ‘night, I guess.”

“Okay, yeah. ‘Night, Joel,” you reply, and he offers a quick nod as he slips out the bedroom door again. You infer that he’s expecting you to fall asleep before he comes back, which is fine, you suppose. You’re not sure you could force yourself to stay awake much longer to wait for him, anyway. Reaching over to the glass on the nightstand to take a few sips of the water he brought you, you let your mind wander to what he could be thinking right now, what any part of tonight could mean. He cleaned you up, he’s letting you sleep over, he didn’t sell you out to his bandmates. That means he cares about you, right? He didn’t kiss you, but everything happened so fast, and you could’ve been the one to kiss him if you had enough wherewithal to do so. Maybe he’s just not much of a romantic guy. But he cares about you, you’re sure of it now.

You pull back the sheets and curl yourself into a ball underneath them, then extend a hand up to turn off the bedside lamp. Now shrouded in darkness, the muffled sound of the bus shower running nearby prompts your heavy eyelids to pull further and further over your eyes. It only takes a few minutes for you to finally succumb to the temptation of sleep, feeling sore but satisfied, hoping that tonight will be the first of many spent like this with him.

–

You wake up several hours later to an empty bed, having been so exhausted last night that you don’t have any recollection of if Joel had ever joined you there in the first place. You don’t even remember hearing the shower turn off, or feeling his big, warm body slide into bed beside you, or even noticing the bus lurch into motion at some point to transport you to the next city. You wonder if he had pulled you close to him, let you nuzzle into his chest, if he had scratched the top of your head to soothe you after you had made some little noise in your sleep. You think at least one of those things might have happened, you’re just not sure which one. You smile to yourself at the dreamy memory.

Sitting up, you rub the sleep from your eyes, then reach out a hand to feel where the sheets are mussed on his side of the bed. The fitted sheet feels cool, indicating that he must have gotten up a while ago, but let you sleep as long as you wanted. The digital clock on the nightstand reads a little past 10 AM.

You peel back the comforter, swinging your legs around and letting your bare toes touch down on the carpet. You carefully pad your way to the bedroom door, staying quiet in case any of the other band members are out there. Cracking the door open ever so slightly, you check if the coast is clear. The men’s bunks look empty, but you can see the boots of someone sitting on a couch near the front of the bus. The silver tips make them unmistakably Joel’s.

When you make your way over to him, it almost looks like he’s just been sitting there waiting for you to finally wake up, the way he’s hunched forward over last month’s issue of a guitar magazine. He’s fully dressed, and you feel a little embarrassed to still be wearing his shirt and briefs.

He flicks his eyes up to you quickly before returning them to his reading, and greets you with a curt “Mornin’”. Not spoken playfully, not punctuated with one of his charming little names for you or a scan of his eyes over your bare legs, just “mornin’”. You repeat the word back to him, taking a seat on the couch opposite him. You’re not really sure what else to say or do, the air feeling tense and thick for a reason he hasn’t let on to yet. You decide to be brave and break the silence first, but he cuts you off, closing his magazine and tossing it onto the coffee table between you.

“Listen, last night was a mistake, alright? I shouldn’t’ve let myself get carried away like that, should’a shown you some more respect, treated you like a professional. That’s what this is gonna be from now on, okay? Professional. Tell me you understand that.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach at his words, and you try not to let your face reflect the cocktail of confusion and disappointment and hurt you feel. You take a deep inhale and nod your head. “I understand.”

He looks like he wants to say more, something with some actual emotion behind it, maybe, but he pushes it down. “Already dropped your clothes from last night back onto your bus. Best go on before the boys get back, get yourself somethin’ to eat before soundcheck this afternoon.”

“Okay,” you reply quietly, eyes glued to the floor so he doesn’t see the whites of your eyes turn pink and the shine begin to well up in them. “Um, see you later, then, I guess.”

“Yeah,” is all Joel says back to you, but you hardly hear it as you swiftly exit the Death’s Head bus and slam the door behind you. You don’t have far to go, you and your band’s bus being parked right behind theirs, but it feels like the longest, most shameful sprint of your life. You allow your tears to fall once you’re safely cocooned inside your own bunk bed, thankful to be alone. You figure your band must be out for a late breakfast or exploring the city together, and you’re grateful that even if they did notice you missing last night, they probably won’t ask any questions about it.

You feel so fucking stupid, like such a naive little girl, for ever entertaining any of your childish hopes that some playful flirting and a one night stand might ever turn into something real. He’s made it very clear to you now that you’re nothing more than a little mouse for him to bat around, toying with your emotions and your cunt any way he pleases, just because he can. Because you’re so inexperienced, such an easy target, too good and too eager and too willing. And he knows you’ll do exactly as he asks now, keep it professional, because it’s what he commanded of you. And you want to please him, don’t you? Despite the hurt you feel now, you still can’t make yourself disobey him.

You feel drained all over again once your tears finally run dry, but decide you can’t let yourself wallow on your own shattered girlish dreams all afternoon. You turn over and pull the curtain back on your bunk to check the clock on the wall, and realize you have a good handful of hours until you have to be anywhere. You’ve done more with less, you think to yourself, springing out of bed to pull on some of your own clothes. You rush to locate a pen and a notepad, and retrieve Angel from the storage underneath the bus. 

With all necessary items in your possession, you sit yourself down on your own bus’s couch, and let your tangled mess of feelings transform themselves into chords and lyrics. You’ve always used your music as an outlet to cope with what you’re dealing with, why should now be any different? He wants a goddamn professional, you’re going to show him one, and if he can spring a surprise on you as big as moaning for Daddy on stage in front of tens of thousands of people, you can certainly perform a brand new song just for him, tonight.

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75

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[transcendersmedia]

Cultural convention and content creation - February update

February is a short month, but it has felt rather long. This is indeed the last day of it - and it’s good that it included a bonus day so that we could make the update in time!

So what have we been up to since last time?

Showcasing at Folk & Kultur

We showed Truer than You and took part in a panel about games as an artistic expression at the cultural politics convention Folk & Kultur (People & Culture) in Eskilstuna. Yes there exists such a festival in Sweden, which is pretty cool! Our goal wasn’t so much to present the game as to discuss the conditions for being an indie game creator in Sweden. We have no national public support for game development as it stands right now, and that is something we wish to change. A bonus of us having the game at the festival was that it was shown in the background during this interview with the Swedish Games Industry association that was broadcast on national TV.

To discuss using games as a means for expression in a panel was also a great experience and something we really haven’t done before. There were many people listening and it led to interesting discussions afterwards. Lately, I think there has been a much larger interest for games as a cultural form - and that makes me really happy!

Assignments system re-design

Pixie is working on the systems for assignments that Rin can get in Truer than You. We decided to make some changes to it, to make it easier to put the whole game together. It turned out that the way we had previously solved it led to tedious manual work that also created a risk for getting bugs added in the process.

Back to the drawing board

In the last week of February, I finally got back to drawing. There has been so much other stuff going on, so I really haven’t had the time to focus on making any art. I see this as a shift back into production after a long period with funding in focus. Which is absolutely necessary, but making the game is, too. I have added some new character sprites for chapter three. There are two more characters to draw for this chapter, and then a number of backgrounds and other illustrations. Looking forward to drawing more, since that work is very relaxing compared to getting funding (!!), and having a calmer period is something I really need right now. Hoping to make more or less every graphic for chapter three during March!

The first pitch for our next game

We also did a first pitch for our next project at Sweden Game Arena’s winter pitch, and got feedback from publishers and investors. It feels like a big milestone to have presented this project to external people, even though it’s in a super early stage. Keep your fingers crossed for this project - we are super hyped about it.

Photo from Sweden Game Arena

See you next time!

Join our Discord server: https://discord.gg/Nk4JYuz6WT

[eurovision-del]

Luxembourg are back! I was so excited when this was announced back in May - I always feel the more the merrier, and with all their history in this contest it’s fantastic to welcome them back to Eurovision! I was very interested when it was announced they’d go for a national final, since we don’t have anything to compare it to in recent years, but here’s what I make of the songs:

Krick – Drowning in the Rain

EDSUN – Finally Alive

One Last Time – Devil in the Detail

Tali – Fighter

Naomi Ayé – Paumée sur Terre

Joel Marques – Believer

Angy & Rafa Ela – Drop

CHAiLD – Hold On

I think this is a decent set of songs, I generally enjoyed listening to most of them, but there was one clear standout for me, and that’s Krick’s Drowning in the Rain. Ballads can be hit or miss, but this one sounds so good to my ears. The melody is beautiful and dramatic, peaking at exactly the right moment in the chorus, matching the melodrama of the lyrics perfectly. I like how the music builds from just the piano at the start to the full orchestra by the final chorus, becoming almost tumultuous without getting messy. Krick herself sounds fantastic in the studio cut, and I really hope she’s got the pipes to pull it off live!  

I did also enjoy Finally Alive and Devil in the Detail a lot too. The throwback disco vibes of Finally Alive are a lot of fun, and the song makes me want to get up and dance. And while Devil in the Detail isn’t anything I haven’t heard before, it’s a solid pop rock track with a catchy chorus.

I really want Drowning in the Rain to win, I think it’s a great song and also Luxembourg’s best shot of getting to the finals – something I’d especially like to see since it’s been so long since Luxembourg have competed, they’ve never even had to go through semis before! If Krick can’t win, however, I would be happy with any of the rest of my top 5, they’re all songs I enjoy. I don’t think they’d have as good a chance of qualification as Drowning in the Rain, but it’s super early in the season, and with good staging, anything could happen. I’m excited to see what Luxembourg pick!

[the-hem]

Six Months Later. Jesus and the Coming Form.

Why did the Angel come to Mary six months later? We know God created the universe in 6 Days, why did it take six months to incarnate Himself as the Messiah? Why didn't He do it the moment He realized we were not interested or capable of forcing ourselves to live as He prescribed and all were suffering because of it?

That is the essence of self-direction, that's why- to be able to read, recite, pray, intuit the Nature of God and then transfigure. If Jesus popped out of the womb every time we didn't do it right, what would become of the Promised Land of human civilization? We would all wind up being slaves instead of servants to Christ. And slavery, even to God is outlaw.

Back to the math. by the Time Six Days pass, a man should meet the standards God established.

Biblical Scholars have established Nine Stages of human evolution based on the Torah and Annunciation of the Gospels by the Holy Ghost, which signals the arrival of the God of Israel Himself within the process. He ends up being much less than a rear rudder as we know when He should been the fleet admiral, but He is immortal and willing to wait and see if our generation is the one that finally understands.

Ethnonym of the Patriarch Biblical identity

Sons of Adam

Adam means Earthling or Terrestrial, and his story covers every living thing on earth. Adam is not historic but algorithmic: the story of Adam is the story of every living thing always and everywhere. Adam's wife Eve is the "mother of all life" (Genesis 3:20), what today we call the biosphere.

The original sin of Adam thus defines and affects all living things anywhere and anytime on earth (ROMANS 8:19-22).

Sons of Noah

Noah marks the level of complexity at which human behavior becomes distinct from animal behavior. Hence Jesus could say that "they knew not until the flood came" (MATTHEW 24:39). Likewise, the Bible frequently equates human beings without human reason with animals (Psalm 49:20, 73:22, Ecclesiastes 3:18, 2 PETER 2:12, JUDE 1:10).

The "sons of Noah" people the entire earth. The Noahites are what today is called "humanity" (Genesis 9:19).

Semites

Shem is one of three sons of Noah, and personifies both a trait of the human mind and a characteristic of human culture.

Shem's family of Semites (or Shemites) peopled the Levant (Genesis 10:21-32, 11:10-32), including Babylon, whence hailed Abram of Ur. Shem's brother Japhet corresponds to Indo-European languages and cultures, but that does not mean that third brother Ham corresponds to African languages and cultures, but rather the earliest stages of human development (anywhere on earth).

Hebrews Sons of Eber

Hebrews, or rather: Eberites, the "sons of Eber" (Genesis 10:21). It's not immediately clear which level of complexity of human mentality is personified in Eber, but since Eber's sons are Peleg (in whose days the earth was divided) and Joktan (whose many sons constitute the final generation before the tower of Babel), Eber probably marks the level of synchronicity needed for the development of modern human language(s). In our article on the name Hebrew (i.e. Eberite) we discuss how the Hebrew language relates to all other languages the way Homo Sapiens relates to all other animals.

Sons of Abraham

Abraham, the great-great-great-great-grandson of Eber and the first to be called Hebrew or Eberite in the Bible, marks the level of international commercial trade. Abrahamites, or sons of Abraham, are language groups that interact with other language groups.

Israelites Sons of Jacob

Jacob had at least ten sons and Jacob was one of his great many grandsons. Jacob was renamed Israel at his attempt to cross the river Jabbok (Genesis 32:28). Israel became a nation whilst in Egypt, was led out by Moses and centralized by David, whose son Solomon built the temple of YHWH in Jerusalem. All this has to do with the development of the alphabet — the alphabet "domesticated" Greek and Latin; our modern world is quite literally a farm of which Hebrew is the Good Shepherd. Israel marks the level of a global but spontaneous exchange of wisdom (i.e. technological sophistication, not the speculative, philosophical "wisdom" of the Greeks).

 Note that the Bible is not "Jewish" but "Israelish" (all characters from Adam to Jacob, including Job the Uzite, are even pre-Israel, so not remotely Jewish) as many of the key players are not Jew: Moses, Aaron, Miriam, Mary of Nazaret (and thus Jesus; see below), Elizabeth and Zacharias (and thus John the Baptist) were all Levite.

King Saul, the apostle Paul, Mordecai and Esther were Benjaminites. Samson was a Danite. Joshua and Samuel were Ephraimites (Ephraim was the half-Egyptian son of Joseph).

Jews Sons of Judah

Judah was one of twelve sons of Jacob (the fourth, actually, but he obtained first-born prominence after the crimes of Reuben, Levi and Simeon), and the ethnonym Jew literally means Judahite.

Judah was formally the only tribe to return from exile, but since Levites and Simeonites were dispersed in Israel, they also lived among the Judahites and returned with them. Also many Benjaminites returned (Ezra 1:5). The "land of Israel" was dubbed the "province of Judah" by the Babylonians (which was copied by the Romans, who called it Judea) and the people living in it became collectively known as Jews — later nationalism restricted this ethnonym to true and proven Israelites, as opposed to Samaritans and gentiles.

 Judah marks the level of a formalized (organized) global network of information exchange: the postal service (invented in Persia, to streamline the correspondence between the Jewish wisdom schools), which became the telephone system, which became the Internet.

Christs

Jesus' human genes came from Mary, who was a Levite female and only had Levite female genes to share. But he was a "son of Joseph [the Jew]" by law (LUKE 3:23; see for more on this our article on the noun αντλημα, antlema, which euphemizes the male genitalia). Jesus embodies the Logos, which is what moderns call Scientific Knowledge.

Science produces useful technology, which is what sets it apart from its closely related cousin: the mystery school (μυστηριον, musterion).

Jesus' earthly profession was that of τεκτων (tekton), which means Assembler, and which is closely related to words like technology, text and textile. A friend, brother or co-worker of Jesus Christ is also a Christ (an anointed one, a sovereign one, a temple-builder: Exodus 31:1-11). A Christian is someone who is not in Christ but under Christ: a mystic or sheepdog at best but no builder. In the very near future, Christ will govern the entire world.

Christ is very much alike a language: he is incarnate in all his people and is thus Many, but he never stopped being One, as he is not divided. He also never stopped being a Levitical Jew-by-law, or an Israelite, or a son of Abraham, or a Hebrew, or a Shemite, or a son of Noah, or a son of Adam, and neither did any of his people (ROMANS 11:17).

As for the Six Months, and why they are six and not five or seven, for this we are going to need Gematria. In general the higher the Number, the closer to Mashiach, Global Universal Order we get.

Luke Chapter 1

26 And in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God unto a city of Galilee, named Nazareth,

27 To a virgin espoused to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David; and the virgin's name was Mary.

28 And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.

29 And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be.

30 And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.

31 And, behold, thou shalt conceive in thy womb, and bring forth a son, and shalt call his name JESUS.

32 He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David:

33 And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end.

34 Then said Mary unto the angel, How shall this be, seeing I know not a man?

35 And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.

36 And, behold, thy cousin Elisabeth, she hath also conceived a son in her old age: and this is the sixth month with her, who was called barren.

37 For with God nothing shall be impossible.

38 And Mary said, Behold the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word. And the angel departed from her.

The Value in Gematria for verses 1 and 2, which involve the Archangel Gabriel, the god of writing, and Bringer of Customs, where it all begins, is 11666, יאו‎ו‎ו‎, "the yew."

= The yew tree, also the Jew, the Son of Thunder.

In Month Six, therefore, the Voice of God becomes a man, and His name was Jesus, and he was a Jew.