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miladylocksley · 6 years ago

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Carry On | Pride and Prejudice

Ok so I may be completely way off or too slow not to have realized this before, but Carry On and Pride and Prejudice parallels???

Let’s start with enemies to lovers.

“We were enemies.” “You were the centre of my universe,” I say. “Everything else spun around you.”

(Carry On, 506)

“Lizzie,” said he, “what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have you not always hated him?”

(Pride and Prejudice, 272)

Baz and Simon are already on opposite sides before they even meet on account of magical politics. The Old Families vs. the Mage.

Magicians don’t have kings and queens, but the Pitches are the nearest thing we have to a royal family—they probably would have crowned themselves at some point if they’d ever expected anyone to challenge their authority.

(Carry On, 82)

They want Watford to go back to the way it used to be—a place for only the most rich and the most powerful.

(Carry On, 83)

Which then grew into a difference of status on account of Baz’s ability to excel at magic and Simon’s struggle to catch up.

What did he say to Agatha? What did he promise? Maybe he didn’t have to say anything. Maybe he just had to be himself. Smarter than I am. Better looking. Wealthier. Fucking horsier—he could go to all her events and wear the right suit and the right shoes. He’d know which necktie went with which month of the year. If he weren’t a vampire, Baz’d be bloody perfect.

(Carry On, 145)

Lizzie and Darcy were again established as opposites purely based on social class.

but his friend Mr. Darcy soon drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his having ten thousand a year.

(Pride and Prejudice, 8)

And later on, on their snap judgment of each other solely based on their first impressions.

His character was decided. He was the proudest, most disagreeable man in the world, and everybody hoped that he would never come there again.

(Pride and Prejudice, 8)

She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.

(Pride and Prejudice, 9)

Similarly, Baz rejects Simon when they first meet.

I stumbled forward and looked around, and Baz was walking towards me. Looking so cool. Like he was coming my way because he wanted to, not because there was a mystical magnet in his gut. The magic doesn’t stop until you and your new roommate shake hands—I held my hand out to Baz immediately. But he just stood there for as long as he could stand it.

(Carry On, 167)

From then on, they are kept apart by external forces bigger than themselves.

“What if,” he says, stepping closer, “ I help you find out who killed your mum, then you help me fight the Humdrum, and we just forget about the rest?” “ ‘The rest,’ ” I say, turning around. “Way to oversimplify a decade of corruption and abuse of power.” “Are you talking about the Mage?” “Yes.” He looks pained. “I wish you wouldn’t.” “How can I not talk about the Mage when I’m talking to the Mage’s Heir?” “Is that how you think of me?” “Isn’t that how you think of yourself? Oh, right. I forgot—you don’t think at all.” Simon groans and rakes his hair. “Jesus Christ. Do you ever not go for the lowest blow? Like, do you ever think, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t say the most cruel thing just now’?” “I’m trying to be efficient.” He leans against the shelf where I’ve set the whiteboard. “It’s vicious.” “You should talk, Snow. You always go for the kill shot.” “When I’m fighting. We’re not fighting.” “We’re always fighting,” I say, going back to the board.

(Carry On, 362)

“It’s not that I don’t prefer this. It’s that . . .” I sigh. “I can’t even imagine it. My family objects to everything the Mage stands for.”

(Carry On, 364)

In the case of Lizzie and Darcy, it is the latter’s lack of tact that causes the most trouble but, much like Baz in the example above, Darcy is portraying—though clumsily—just what and whom stands in their way. They come from different worlds.

His sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit.

(Pride and Prejudice, 138)

“I might as well inquire,” replied she, “why with so evident a design of offending and insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your will, against your reason, and even against your character?”

(Pride and Prejudice, 139)

We’re now moving on to one half of the couple and their secret crush.

And when I felt myself slipping too far, I held on to the one thing I’m always sure of— Blue eyes. Bronze curls. The fact that Simon Snow is the most powerful magician alive. That nothing can hurt him, not even me. That Simon Snow is alive. And I’m hopelessly in love with him.

(Carry On, 176)

Occupied in observing Mr Bingley’s attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself becoming an object of interest in the eyes of his friend. Mr. Darcy had at first scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he had looked at her without admiration at the ball; and when they next met, he looked at her only to criticise. But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally mortifying. Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing; and in spite of his asserting that her manners were not those of the fashionable world, he was caught by their easy playfulness. Of this was she perfectly unaware; to her he was only the man who made himself agreeable nowhere, and who had not thought her handsome enough to dance with.

(Pride and Prejudice, 17-18)

A crush which not only becomes much more, unbeknownst to the other party, but which is left unspoken for so long it becomes unbearable.

“For a long time,” I say. “Hmmm?” he opens one eye. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Almost since we met . . .” Snow closes his eyes again and smiles like he’s trying not to. I smile, too, only because he isn’t watching. “I thought it was going to kill me.”

(Carry On, 356)

“In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 138)

“I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 275)

Though both Baz and Darcy start by trying their utmost to completely deny having any romantic inclination.

“If I’d known it was this easy to get rid of you,” Baz called after me, “I would’ve let you catch up with me weeks ago!”

(Carry On, 106)

I hated the sight of him—I hated what the sight of him did to me.

(Carry On, 180)

He began to feel the danger of paying Elizabeth too much attention.

(Pride and Prejudice, 43)

The whole situation does not look to be improving anytime soon for Baz and Darcy when it comes to any hope of reciprocation because Simon and Lizzie—at least in the beginning—never forgive, never forget.

Ebb nods and pets the goat. “To think you used to be at each other’s throats.” “We’re still at each other’s throats.” She looks up at me doubtfully. She has narrow blue eyes, bright blue--brighter somehow because her face is so dirty. “Ebb,” I insist, “he tried to kill me.” “Not successfully.” She shrugs. “Not recently.” “He’s tried to kill me three times! That I know of! It doesn’t actually matter whether it worked.” “It matters a bit,” she says. “‘Sides, how old was he the first time, eleven? Twelve? That hardly counts.” “It counts with me,” I say. “Does it.” I huff. “Yes. Ebb. It does. He hated me before he even met me.” “Exactly,” she says. “Exactly!” “I’m just saying--been a long time since I had to spell you two apart.”

(Carry On, 90-91)

“Another time, Lizzie,” said her mother, “I would not dance with him, if I were you.” “I believe, ma’am, I may safely promise you never to dance with him.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 15)

I mean duh, ‘cause they keep being dicks.

I cannot put down the numerous examples of Baz trying to hurt Simon over the years, whether physically through a monster or a magical recording device or with his unforgiving tongue (yes, the double entendre was on purpose), which has understandably rendered Simon paranoid.

I step out of Niall’s way. “If he’s planning something, I’ll find out,” I say. “I always do.”

(Carry On, 84)

Darcy keeps being rude or just legit ignoring Lizzie (’cause denial), so how he ever thought she might welcome his addresses is beyond me. Lizzie only meets any attempt at civility with suspicion.

Mr. Darcy, with grave propriety, requested to be allowed the honour of her hand, but in vain. Elizabeth was determined; nor did Sir William at all shake her purpose by his attempt at persuasion. “You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you; and though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half-hour.” “Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” said Elizabeth, smiling.

(Pride and Prejudice, 20)

Thankfully, Simon and Lizzie begin to see their respective love interests in a whole new light.

Baz’s mouth is colder than Agatha’s. Because he’s a boy, I think, and then: No, because he’s a monster. He’s not a monster. He’s just a villain. He’s not a villain. He’s just a boy. I’m kissing a boy. I’m kissing Baz.

(Carry On, 343)

There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth’s mind, a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in the height of their acquaintance. The commendation bestowed on him by Mrs Reynolds was of no trifling nature. What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant? As a brother, a landlord, a master, she considered how many people’s happiness were in his guardianship!—how much of pleasure or pain it was in his power to bestow!—how much of good or evil must be done by him! Every idea that had been brought forward by the housekeeper was favourable to his character, and as she stood before the canvas on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.

(Pride and Prejudice, 180)

But they still do not know when their feelings began to change.

The looking at Baz and thinking about the way his hair falls in a lazy wave over his forehead . . . Yeah, nope. I’ve thought about that before.

(Carry On, 351)

“Why did I kiss you?” “Yeah.” “I guess I wanted to,” I say, shrugging. “Since when?” I shrug again, and it pisses him off.

(Carry On, 353)

“Will you tell me how long you have loved him?” “It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 270)

But there is not doubt; they are each other’s perfect match.

“I’m not the Humdrum,” I repeat, when I get the chance. “I’d know if I were.” “What you are is a fucking tragedy, Simon Snow. You literally couldn’t be a bigger mess.” He tries to kiss me, but I hold back—“And you like that?” “I love it,” he says. “Why?” “Because we match.”

(Carry On, 420)

“What do I not owe you? You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 267)

“It is settled between us already that we are to be the happiest couple in the world.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 270)

“Well, my dear,” said he, when he ceased speaking, “I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to any one less worthy.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 273)

BONUS

How did it take you so long to figure it out?

“Baz,” I say. “My roommate.” “The dead one? With the pretty eyes?” “Yes.”

(Carry On, 99)

“And do not you think him a very handsome gentleman, ma’am?” “Yes, very handsome.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 177)

I’m a mess, but I’m the mess that you wanted™

“His hair is a mess, and his face is flushed, and he looks like he might go off right there, without any provocation.

[…]

All the blood I’ve got in me rises to my ears and cheeks.”

(Carry On, 290-291)

Mr. Darcy said very little, and Mr. Hurst nothing at all. The former was divided between admiration of the brilliancy, which exercise had given to her complexion, and doubt as to the occasion’s justifying her coming so far alone.

(Pride and Prejudice, 25)

Trying—and failing—to be subtle

“It was just flirting,” Baz says. “It’s not like I tried to feed her to a chimera.”

(Carry On, 277)

Mr. Darcy drew his chair a little towards her, and said, “You cannot have a right to such very strong local attachment. You cannot have been always at Longbourn.”

(Pride and Prejudice, 131)

They’re all such disasters

When the figure steps forward, I recognize him at once. Tall. Black hair swept back from his forehead. Lips curled up in a sneer . . . I know that face as well as my own. Baz.

(Carry On, 150)

They were within twenty yards of each other, and so abrupt was his appearance that it was impossible to avoid his sight. Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush. He absolutely started, and for a moment seemed immovable from surprise; but shortly recovering himself, advanced towards the party, and spoke to Elizabeth, if not in terms of perfect composure, at least of perfect civility.

(Pride and Prejudice, 180)

Carry On : St Martin’s Griffin (Paperback) Pride and Prejudice : The Modern Library Classics (Paperback)

#snowbaz #carry on #rainbow rowell #pride and prejudice #jane austen

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paralleljulieverse · 6 years ago

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“One day I’ll be famous. I’ll be proper and prim...”

Sixty years ago, more or less to the week, the famed Italian painter Pietro Annigoni unveiled his latest masterwork: ‘Eliza’, Julie Andrews in ‘My Fair Lady’ (1959).

At the time, Annigoni was the most celebrated portraitist in the world. His dreamily romantic 1954-55 oil of Queen Elizabeth II catapulted the hitherto little known Italian painter to international fame (Wynne-Morgan: 17). Almost overnight, Annigoni became "the most sought-after portrait painter of the decade” (Shearer: 4) attracting a glittering line-up of celebrity subjects including Princess Margaret, Prince Philip, the Duchess of Devonshire, the Shah and Empress of Iran, the Maharani Gayatri Devi of Jaipur and Margot Fonteyn. His services were so in demand that he reportedly “had to refuse thousands of commissions –– 90 out of every 100 ––as the queues of VIPs waiting to be immortalised stretched around the world” (Turner: 8).

It was against this backdrop that Julie Andrews’s longtime manager, Charles ‘Uncle Charlie’ Tucker, approached Annigoni in 1958 with an invitation to paint his client who was riding triumphant at the time as the star of My Fair Lady. Tucker made the approach via a mutual friend –– Max Farber, an American newspaper editor and PR man who handled publicity for Annigoni’s first US exhibition in 1957 (Randolph: 6) –– which no doubt helped seal the deal (”Surprise”: 7). In his memoirs, Annigoni (1977) recalls:

Although I hardly knew who Julie Andrews was then, I agreed, but nearly a year went by before I was able to start the portrait. On the day I arrived in London, the manager Charles Tucker, took me to see the show and to meet the young actress. I was pleasurably surprised by both and decided there and then to paint her in the costume and character of Eliza Doolittle, the show’s Cockney flowergirl (121).

The meeting of these two disparate celebrities –– the serious, gruff Continental painter and the trilling English Rose –– was the stuff of PR dreams and it drew considerable media attention. “There’s no need to say she is very pretty,” Annigoni is reported to have remarked as he sized up his subject in her backstage dressing-room, “But I expect I shall need some 30 sittings before I am satisfied” (”Surprise”: 7).

In the end, Julie went to sit for the artist at his Chelsea studio exactly 28 times between April and June 1959 (Rydon: 5). Following these sessions, Annigoni would continue to work on the painting for hours, often late into the night. Ever the perfectionist, he even arranged for a copy of Julie’s flower-girl costume to be sent over from Drury Lane and worn by a model so he could hone the finishing touches (ibid.).

Throughout the more than two month period of the portrait’s production, Julie continued to perform in My Fair Lady, as well as prepare for her wedding to Tony Walton in mid-May. It was a pressured schedule that inevitably led to the odd timing mishap, a source of great irritation to the exacting Annigoni. When, on one occasion, Julie arrived at his studio more than twenty minutes late, the artist was so enraged he refused to answer the door, necessitating a diplomatic flurry of contrite telephone calls to smooth his ruffled ego (Andrews: 258; Annigoni: 121). “He was an arrogant man,” Julie recounts, “the epitome of the temperamental artist” who “demanded total dedication and punctuality” (Andrews: 258).

For all his irascibility, Annigoni in his memoirs looked back fondly on Julie as “a very sweet girl” (Annigoni: 121). He was especially grateful when, after complaining of a pain in his right arm, Julie arranged for a special house call from Tony Walton’s doctor-father who diagnosed “a cracked humerus” and “treated it successfully” (122). Annigoni was, by all accounts, equally pleased with the portrait itself, quietly considering it to be one of his finer works (Rydon: 5).

Once the commission was complete and the portrait delivered, the enterprising Tucker set about negotiating the sale of reproduction rights to select newspaper and magazine outlets. It was a canny move that not only helped recoup much of the initial £2000 commission fee but ensured optimal publicity for both the portrait and its star (Annigoni: 122). Images of the painting were carried in the international press as far away as Australia (“Annigoni’s Fair Lady”: 122). In October, Tucker licensed Woman’s Own –– a high-circulation magazine that had previously published several stories on Annigoni –– to run a lavish full-colour centrefold “presentation copy” of the portrait (”Star Feature”: 29-31). This special issue was strategically timed to coincide with the PR lead-up to Julie’s four-part BBC TV series in November/December 1959, the first episode of which featured Annigoni as a celebrity guest (Cottrell: 126). Tucker also floated plans –– ultimately unrealised, alas –– for future portraits of Julie as Guinevere in Camelot and “all the different characters of every show she has been in” (Private Correspondence to Max Farber, 21 April 1959; see also “’My Fair Lady’ Star”: 4).

As with much of Annigoni’s work during this period, the Julie Andrews portrait was well received by the public and middlebrow commentators –– “a breathtaking canvas” (Rydon: 7); “surely will rank...in the future with the famous ‘Mona Lisa’" (Cartmel: 16) –– but it proved far less pleasing to ‘serious’ art critics. Indeed, for the most part, the arts intelligentsia of the day took a pretty dim view of Annigoni. The artist’s predilection for representational classicism, coupled with his vocal opposition to then fashionable traditions of abstract modernism, made him an "isolated anachronism” in the post-war arts scene and a frequent target of critical scorn (Turner: 8). Many critics dismissed Annigoni as little more than a technically-accomplished draughtsman, a “purveyor of Old Masterish pastiche” (Rogers: 96).

When the Julie Andrews portrait was shown at the annual Royal Academy Summer Exhibition in 1960, many reviews were openly derisive. “I suppose it has a faded Victorian charm,” sniffed The Observer (Clutton-Brock: 19). “Signor Pietro Annigoni’s Julie Andrews in My Fair Lady...belong[s] in every fibre to the times and dull skill of late Victoriana,” echoed the Daily Mail (Jeannerat 1960: 7). While The Stage huffed: “With his oil of Julie Andrews in My Fair Lady, Pietro Annigoni could not have been more conventional and unexciting if he had tried with all his might” (”Not Much”: 21).

The intervening passage of time and the resurgence of interest in figurative portraiture has afforded a less jaundiced view of Annigoni and his place in art history. Following the artist’s death in 1988, his work was subject to a growing critical reassessment that saw him redeemed as an important figure of twentieth-century ‘classical realism’ (Lack: 50-59). A 1995 feature-length documentary mounted a passionate defence of Annigoni as “a prolific and complex artist...a philosopher with the skill to capture a person’s soul” (Bond and Smith). Major retrospectives of his work have since been held around the world and in 2008 a dedicated Annigoni museum was inaugurated in the artist’s native Florence.

It is a context that encourages renewed consideration of Annigoni’s portrait of Julie Andrews as a serious artwork. Pace knee-jerk dismissals of it as mere decorative Victoriana, close reading reveals that, beyond the attractive veneer –– what one critic sneeringly termed “the prettiness of the chocolate-box” (Jeannerat 1961: 3) –– lies a work of considerable intelligence and interpretive depth. For all his technical realism, Annigoni approached the practice of portrait painting as effectively that of an expressive character-study. “I have always painted to please myself,” he declared, “and interpret the sitter as I see and understand [them]” (Shearer: 4). A good portrait needs to be accurate but also communicative, he believed, an expression of character and moral quality beyond the mere impression of outward appearance. It’s an approach that orients his portraits to structural and conceptual duplexity: “he captures the soul of beautiful women...but he also catches the deeper side” (Sullivan: 92).

Here, it is worth recalling the ‘official’ title of Annigoni’s portrait of Julie: ‘Eliza’, Julie Andrews in ‘My Fair Lady’ (Jackson: 84). It suggests that, far from a simple depiction of a single physical subject, the portrait is in fact a complex study of plural subjects. It ‘portrays’ Julie Andrews –– in technically consummate, if idealised, likeness –– but in the guise of Eliza Doolittle, a celebrated character as reimagined in a contemporary hit musical. There are thus three interacting spheres or layers of representation in the work: real person, fictional character, and theatrical role. Looking at the portrait, the observer’s mind moves inexorably between all three, posing an interpretive conundrum: are we looking at an actress in character or a character as realised by an actress?

Taking the idea of layering further, the portrait, like much of Annigoni’s work, is quite literally a work of layers. As part of his commitment to traditionalism, Annigoni was noted for his exacting use of Quattrocento production techniques. Chief among these was the practice of tempera grassa whereby an artwork is painstakingly created on a chalk-gessoed panel through composite layers of pigment mixed with a binding agent, typically egg and oil, interspersed with coats of lacquer (Cookson: 43ff). It is a labour-intensive form of stratified image-construction that lends Annigoni’s paintings their characteristic luminosity with dynamic hues and complex interplay of shadows and light. It also enhances their disarming trompe l’oeuil effect where minutely detailed realism –– limpid eyes, flesh flushed with sanguine warmth, textured fabric–– and precise geometric perspectivalism combine to simulate a sense of perceptual depth that draws the eye in and across the painting’s spatial field and its various objects (Hoopes: 21).

Annigoni’s portrait work is equally characterised by a parallel layering of compositional form. Much like his Renaissance masters, the artist typically sets his subjects in and against a background rich with symbolic import. His celebrated 1954-55 painting of the Queen, for example, was as famous for its romantic depiction of the young monarch resplendent in her ceremonial robes as for the fact that she appears Diana-like towering triumphant over a sylvan English landscape at misty dawn, gazing into “the light of...a new Elizabethan age” (Wynne-Morgan: 17).

In the case of the Julie Andrews portrait, Annigoni chose to depict his subject against a backdrop of peeling theatre posters. Such was the importance of this background to Annigoni’s vision that he reportedly scoured London to obtain historical playbills from the very date Shaw’s original production of Pygmalion, the source text for My Fair Lady, opened at His Majesty’s Theatre on April 11, 1914 (Rydon: 5). Cracked and peeling in burnished hues of faded gold and green, the backdrop is clearly redolent of age and historical memory. In fact, the curled strips of paper look not unlike autumn leaves falling with the passage of time. Combined with the work’s classical style and bronzed patina, it strikes a decided note of wistful, even melancholic, longing. But what redeems the endeavour from being a simple exercise in sentimental nostalgia –– a common criticism of Annigoni’s work –– is that this elegiac reference to times-gone-by sits within a broader frame of markedly mixed temporalities.

In a way that neatly parallels the painting’s fusion of representational levels mentioned above, the portrait conjoins past, present and future in convoluted, and ultimately irresolvable, ways. Out of the golden past of Edwardian theatrical history, Shaw’s Eliza –– herself a resurrection of the ancient Greek figure of Galatea –– is reborn anew in My Fair Lady, the contemporary hit show of the painting’s ‘present’ in the late-1950s. That she is embodied here in the form of Julie Andrews, a then-tender 23-year old on the cusp of global superstardom, adds additional layers of futurity to the mix –– as does the fact that Annigoni chose to paint Julie in Eliza’s early flower-girl guise where she is still dreaming of an as-yet-unknown “loverly” tomorrow.*

The multi-levelled temporality of the portrait was not lost on commentators at the time of the painting’s unveiling:

Annigoni has painted Julie Andrews, who created the leading musical ‘My Fair Lady’ but it is Shaw’s eternal Eliza (46 years old next year––the first performance was in April 1914) who shines through...The portrait was commissioned by Miss Andrews’ manager, Mr Charles Tucker. The woebegone waif, clutching her purse shawl, with her melting mouth and a tear n her cheek, will hand in house. Until he dies. He has willed the portrait to Miss Andrews, a legacy of her first fame (“Annigoni’s ‘Fair Lady’”: 122).

This 1959 prediction as to the ‘future’ of the portrait was close to the spirit, if not quite the letter, of what transpired. After hanging for many years in Tucker’s London office, the painting was eventually put up for auction at Sotheby’s in late-1975 where it generated considerable interest (Hickey: 9).* Following spirited bidding, the painting sold at fall of hammer to an anonymous bidder for £7000 (£60,000 in inflation adjusted prices) (Jackson: 84; Walker: 11). The bidder was subsequently revealed to be a proxy advocating on behalf of Blake Edwards who had bought the portrait as a gift for his wife. So, in the end, ‘Eliza’, Julie Andrews in ‘My Fair Lady’ came back full circle to its subject who, in her own words, is “thrilled to own it and it hangs in my home” (Andrews: 258).

Notes:

* Some commentators have pointed out that the portrait contains another coincidental allusion to the star’s future as one of the playbills glimpsed in the background appears to spell out the half-hidden words: The Sound of... “How prophetic!” notes Julie (Andrews: 258).

** Several sources, including Annigoni himself (1977: 122), state that the painting was put up for sale by Tucker’s widow after his death. The Sotheby’s catalogue does indeed list “Mrs Charles L. Tucker” as the lot consignor but Tucker was still alive in 1975––he passed four years later in 1979––so his wife’s name was possibly used for taxation purposes (”Obituary”: 6). In her memoir, Julie alludes to the fact that she and Tucker had a gradual professional alienation which resulted in a change of management sometime in the mid-60s (Andrews: 221). She also mentions apropos the auction that: “I heard that Charlie asked whether [the portrait was being bought] on my behalf, and he seemed happy when the fact was confirmed” (Andrews: 258).

Sources:

Andrews, Julie. Home: A Memoir of My Early Years. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2008.

Annigoni, Pietro and Wright, Robin. An Artist’s Life. London: W.H. Allen, 1977.

“Annigoni’s Fair Lady.” The Sydney Morning Herald. 11 October 1959: 122.

Bond, Richard and Smith, Stephen. Annigoni: Portrait of an Artist [DVD], Italy/Canada: Artatak/Rainbow Films, 1994.

Cartmel, Frank B. “Splendid.” Daily Express. 1 October 1959: 16.

Clutton-Brock, Alan. “New Non-Conformists.” The Observer. 1 May 1960:18-19.

Cookson, Dawn. Painting with Annigoni: A Halcyon Decade as a Student in Florence 1958-68. London : Unicorn Press, 2000.

Cottrell, John. Julie Andrews: The Story of a Star. London: Arthur Barker, 1968.

“Fair Deal.” The Guardian. 13 November 1975: 6.

Hickey, William. “Under the Hammer: Annigoni’s Fair Lady.” Daily Express. 29 October 1975: 9.

Hoopes, Donelson F. Pietro Annigoni: A Retrospective Exhibition. New York: Brooklyn Museum, 1969.

Jackson, Anne, ed. Art at Auction, The Year at Sotheby Park Bernet, 1975-1976. New York: Rizzoli, 1976.

Jeannerat, Pierre. “Christ at Cookham...the Epitaph of Genius.” Daily Mail. 29 April 1960: 7.

_________. “Just Chocolate (Annigoni flavour) Likenesses.” Daily Mail. 26 April 1961: 3

Lack, Richard. "Classical Realism: The Other Twentieth Century," Utne Reader. July /August 1989: 50-59.

Laws, Frederick. “Annigoni’s 1961 Old Masters So Depressing.” Daily Herald. 26 April 1961: 39.

McIlhany, Sterling. “Pietro Annigoni: Contemporary Florentine Master.” American Artist. 36: 359, June 1972: 24-30.

“’My Fair Lady’ Star Seen as Fairest of Them All.” The Age. 18 November 1959: 4.

“Not Much at the Academy.” The Stage. 5 May 1960: 21.

“Obituary: Charles L. Tucker Dies; Impressario [sic].” Hartford Courant. 14 May 1979: 6.

Randolph, Nancy. “Chit-Chat.” Daily News. 11 December 1957: 6.

Rogers, Malcolm. From Elizabeth I to Elizabeth II: Master Drawings from the National Portrait Gallery. London: Art Services International, 1993.

Shearer, Lloyd. “The Ladies Love His Portraits.” Parade. 5 January 1958: 4.

“Star Feature: Annigoni’s Portrait of Julie Andrews.” Woman’s Own. 3 October 1959: 29-31.

Sullivan, Robert. “Pietro Paints the Queen.” Daily News. 5 June 1955: 92.

“Surprise for Julie: Annigoni arrives to paint her.” Daily Express. 16 April 1959:

Turner, Francesca. “Annigoni: Isolated Anachronism.” Evening Post. 9 May 1977: 8.

Walker, John. “Meet...Understated Superstar.” Observer Magazine. 6 June 1976: 10-11.

Welles, John. “Meet Julie Andrews: Understated Superstar.” The Observer Magazine. 6 June 1976:

Wynne-Morgan, David. “Painter of the Queen: Annigoni, a Dazzling Story of Success.” The Age Literary Supplement. 15 December 1956: 17.

Zeri, Federico. Italian Paintings: Florentine School: A Catalogue of the Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. New York: MMA, 1971.

#julie andrews #Pietro Annigoni #My Fair Lady #eliza doolittle #portrait #artist #charles tucker #musical theatre #west end #Broadway #1959 #art #painting

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mariequitecontrarie · 6 years ago

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All of Me: Chapter 16

The Fic: Belle French is a pudgy librarian who’s in love from afar with “town monster” and ace reporter, Mr. Gold. Little does she know, he’s head-over-heels in love with her, too. Chapter Summary: Belle and Emma go shopping in Portland to prepare for a big night out with Gold and Neal at the Storybrooke Winter Gala. Emma runs into an old high school rival and shares a secret. Rating: T A/N: Guys, it’s been 84 years! Much love to @galactic-pirates and @magnoliatattoo for putting up with me. Artwork by the talented @wizzygold @a-monthly-rumbelling: “I’m not dressed for this.”

Stay with Me (bet. Ch 9&10) | Spiked Chocolate (bet. Ch 16&17) | Pieces of Me (Q&A)

ON AO3

“The quickest way to know a woman is to go shopping with her.” - Marcelene Cox

***Three weeks after Belle has moved out of her parents’ house and into Marco’ s.***

Belle picked up the telephone to call Gold at the newspaper, her day planner spread open on the desk.

Yes, it was old-fashioned, writing things down on a calendar and lugging the thick planner around in her bag, but she liked old-fashioned. She liked books, and fountain pens, and the rustle of paper—both crisply new and faded with age. Besides, she didn’t trust iPhone calendar apps.

She’d forgotten Daddy and Edith’s anniversary one too many times thanks to those finicky electronic calendars. Whenever it happened, she rushed to write a card at the last minute but instead of being grateful, Edith seemed to enjoy shaming her for “neglecting her family.” Personally, Belle felt anniversaries were about the couple celebrating each other…but her thoughts were veering way off course. If she ventured down the dark road of worrying over Edith, she could end up in bed with a box of snowball cakes for the rest of the day.

But falling into depression was less likely now that she no longer called her father and Edith’s house home. After three weeks of living with Marco, there was no denying how much better she felt; the freedom of coming and going as she pleased was a heady sensation. Sometimes Gold joined her at Marco’s house in the evening and the three of them played Scrabble together. Once, she had insisted Marco not cook dinner after cooking at the restaurant all day long and dragged him to Emma’s house for a family dinner where Henry chattered about school and his friends and made everyone laugh until their sides ached.

But most often, Marco would come home from the restaurant and the two of them would eat a pasta and salad dinner, and then spend the evening in the comfortable quiet of his small, cozy living room. His overstuffed couch and chairs were such a contrast to the hard, slick leather furniture Edith filled her house with, and Belle loved sinking into the corner of Marco’s huge couch and covering up with a fluffy throw blanket.

Sometimes they would make small talk about their days but on most evenings, Marco would be bent over a notebook making notes for the next day’s specials at the restaurant, and she would pull out her laptop to research books to add to the library. Usually, either the Cooking Channel or HGTV played in the background. She’d had an older television in her bedroom at her parents’ but no cable connection. Marco, however, had a new flatscreen and Belle indulged in her love of watching House Hunters International, which combined two of her favorite pastimes: seeing home interiors and a peek at exotic destinations.

Gone were the days of being chased into her bedroom, hiding her diary, and hoarding snacks. Some days, the years spent in Edith and her dad’s frosty household seemed like a bad dream.

At least twice a week, Belle offered to pay Marco rent. It didn’t seem right to eat his food and live in his space and offer nothing in return. But he refused every time she asked. “No,” he had said this morning over breakfast, flipping eggs with a stubborn twist of his lips. “We are family, Bella. La famiglia. And when life is hard, family is a soft place to land.” Her eyes had burned with grateful tears, but she kissed his cheek and ate her breakfast and let him fuss over her until they went their separate ways—he to the restaurant and her to the library.

Besides, she thought as she punched in Gold’s number, she didn’t have time for wallowing.

She needed to talk to Gold about the annual Storybrooke Winter Gala today. On impulse, Neal had bought four tickets and insisted he and Emma and Belle and Gold make a double date of the occasion. He’d even arranged for their next-door neighbor, Ana, to watch Henry.

Every December, the Mayor’s Office hosted the gala to benefit the city schools. This year, all proceeds would go toward school Arts programs—music, theatre, writing, and art workshops. Emma and Gold usually attended every year, Gold to cover the event for the Times and Emma to capture photographs to accompany the story. Belle had never been invited to the ball before, though, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Part of her didn’t want to be seen in public with so many shiny glossy people she couldn’t measure up to, but another side of her was excited to play princess for an evening.

She glanced again at the date and punched in Gold’s phone number. Today was Friday, November 16th. Thanksgiving was next week, which meant the gala was only three weeks away. There wasn’t much time to get ready. Finding a dress could be difficult and she would probably need to take it to a tailor, too. The thought of shopping for formalwear made her palms begin to sweat.

“Gold,” he answered on the first ring.

“What are you wearing?” she asked in a rush, followed by a breathless pause.

He answered with a laugh, the deep, rich sound making her spine tingle. She imagined him setting down the newspaper proof he was holding to turn in his chair to peer out the window toward the library. Since her office was in the back of the building he couldn’t actually see her, but she felt the admiring burn of his eyes all the same.

She heard a rustling sound as he set down the pages. When they talked or spent time together, he always gave her his full attention. It was certainly a refreshing change from Sean distractedly glancing at her during one of his marathon video game sessions and asking her to repeat what she’d said for the third time.

“A naughty call in the middle of the workday?” Gold drawled into the phone. “Sweetheart, men dream of these sorts of calls from their girlfriends. It’s not even my birthday.”

Belle blushed. She hadn’t stopped to think how awkward the question would sound out of context, but now that it was out, she teased him right back. “Mmmm nothing naughty to say today but just wait till it is your birthday,” she said. “Now that you mention it…”

“Yes?” He drew out the word, filling it with expectation and making her giggle.

She could almost see him leaning forward across the desk, a mischievous gleam in those caramel eyes.

“When is your birthday?”

“January 14th,” he answered promptly. “And tell Marco I prefer ice cream cake.”

“You prefer every cake,” she shot back, smiling into the phone. When it came to baked goods, Gold had an enormous sweet tooth. “But I think it can be arranged.”

“That’s excellent news. Just don’t tell Marco how many candles to put on it because the thing will be melted before we have a chance to slice it.”

Belle knew he was still self-conscious about the difference in their ages. She also knew exactly how to soothe him when he worried. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer mature men.”

“Indeed,” he said, sounding pleased.

She flipped her planner forward and marked his birthday on the calendar in bold, red ink, surrounding the date with fat, bright hearts. The birthday of the man she loved was an important day—far more worth remembering than the wedding date of her stuffy stepmother and emotionally unavailable father. At least she knew Marco wouldn’t snoop through her things and read her planner or her diary. But she was digressing again.

“Now, back to my question,” she ordered, feigning sternness.

“You have my full attention, General French.”

She laughed and rubbed the thick holiday gala invitation between her fingers. Its embossed gold lettering and sprigs of holly in metallic ink screamed expensive. Everyone knew the Storybrooke Winter Gala was the social event of the season. From the chilled seafood towers bursting with crab claws and lobster tails to the elegant champagne cocktails, no expense would be spared.

Belle fanned her warm cheeks with the cardstock, her clammy fingers leaving damp smudges at the top of the matte stationery. “The invite says formal attire, but you’re almost always formal. Were you thinking suit or tuxedo?”

“At the moment, I’m in my usual. I did opt for the socks with the turkeys today as a nod to next Thursday.”

Belle giggled and dragged her teeth over her lower lip. His Thanksgiving socks were adorable and he was being terribly sweet in his attempts to put her at ease. She wanted to go to the gala, but she didn’t want to look like a country bumpkin who had never been anywhere. Gold had attended fancy dinners and parties all over the world. He’d been to a State Dinner with the President, for goodness sake, while Belle had never ventured beyond the Portland city limits. “You know what I mean. It’s not like we can show up in sweatpants and be all ‘sorry, I’m not dressed for this.’” Oh, how she wished.

“Sweetheart, you can wear anything you like. You’re gorgeous no matter what you have on. That said, I’m not really the proper person to offer advice on evening gown selections. Why don’t you talk to Emma?”

She sighed. “Honey, I have talked to Emma. We’re both going shopping and we both need to know. It’s not like we can ask Neal for guidance.” Exasperated, she pushed a curl off her forehead, wondering why she had to explain this. “You know what he’s like. Emma said, ‘Neal would dust corn chips off his construction clothes, zip a hoodie sweatshirt over it, and head out the door.’ That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

Gold burst out laughing. “Sounds like my boy. I’ll make sure he’s dressed appropriately.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “there’s not much of a boutique circuit here in Storybrooke and I’m not exactly a candidate for Rent the Runway.” She sucked in the inside of her cheek as soon as those last words were out. Since they’d started dating, she’d been making a concerted effort not to say self-deprecating things about herself. At least not out loud.

Gold hadn’t seemed to notice her negativity, though.

“Which would you prefer I wear? Tux or suit?”

The image of whirling on the dance floor with Gold in a sleek black tuxedo was doing crazy things to her insides. “Tux,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Tux sounds good.”

“Tux it shall be then. And Belle?”

“Yes?” She was still picturing Gold in black tie and her stomach was doing gymnastics.

“Love, I meant what I said: you’re gorgeous no matter what you wear. We’re going to the gala so we can dance and eat shrimp cocktail and support the Arts, not so you’ll worry over competing with silly girls and stupid women who wouldn’t know true beauty if it ran over them with a sleigh.”

“I wish you and Emma and Neal were going to be the only ones there,” she murmured, feeling silly. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known about the gala and been given every opportunity to decide against going. The event had been on the calendar for weeks, yet the closer it came the more she fretted about fitting in. An inexplicable craving for belonging tightened her chest.

Gold hummed into the phone. “This is about more than a dress, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath, letting the weight of his understanding settle over her like a comforting mantle. Her head lolled forward until her forehead rested upon the top of her desk. The smooth, cool grain of the wood felt good against her flushed skin and she forced out another lungful of air. Gold didn’t deserve to be at the wrong end of her short fuse. She tried to tell herself she belonged at the gala because he’d invited her, but the heart didn’t always believe the head—no matter how sensible the head was being.

“It matters to me that I at least look like I belong, even if it isn’t true,” she admitted.

Gold was quiet for a long moment. “It is true, sweetheart. For as long as I draw breath, you will always have a place to belong. If Marco, Emma, Neal, and Henry were here, I know each of them would say the same. I also know it’s going to take more than hearing the words to make you believe it. You have to know the truth deep down. I love you so much, and I only hope and pray that one day you’ll see yourself the way we see you.”

Belle pressed her lips together, muffling a sob. “Thank you for understanding,” she whispered tearfully. “I love you.”

“It’s nearly five. I’m coming over to the library.” Through the phone, she heard the distinctive click of his pocket watch as he snapped it closed. “When I get there, I’m going to kiss you till you’re breathless, then take you out for a nice, quiet dinner, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Belle smiled and wiped her tears and her worries away with a tissue from the box on her desk. “It sounds perfect.”

“So we’re here.” Emma sucked down the dregs of her iced latte in a noisy slurp and wiped her hands on her black jeans. “Portland. Boutique Row. What do we do now?” She tossed the cup in the trash can inside the door.

Like aliens on a foreign planet, they hovered inside the doorway of Posh, the largest formal boutique in the city.

Belle eyed Emma suspiciously. “I thought you said you knew about shopping.”

“Yeah, for denim and dry fit. Where to get the best doughnuts. And the occasional piece of leather. Not evening gowns.”

“But you’ve been to this gala before?” she pressed.

“Yeah, as the photographer. No one pays attention to what you’re wearing when you’re behind the camera. I got away with black pants and a dress shirt three years running.”

Belle looked her friend up and down. Perspiration was dotting Emma’s temples. Her cheeks, ruddy from the winter air outside just moments ago, were ashen. She knew that deer-in-headlights look: Emma was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

Belle ran her teeth over her lower lip, discouragement slithering around her and squeezing the air from her lungs. “Are we in trouble?”

“It’s possible,” Emma acknowledged, then shook her head hard enough to cause her ponytail to sway. “No. No! We’re two grown women. We can handle one small town formal.”

“You make it sound like war,” Belle said wryly.

“It’s worse. Other women. Rich, polished, cold as ice.” She rolled her eyes at a chic blonde dripping in Chanel and carrying a Louis Vuitton handbag bigger than Belle’s suitcase. “Maybe we should invest in suits of armor.”

“Or maybe we should eat them for supper.”

Emma snorted, their laughter breaking the tension. It was rare for Emma to be intimidated, and Belle patted her shoulder. Misery loved company, and somehow knowing she wasn’t alone in her insecurity gave her hope for more than the hunt for an evening gown. “We can do this, as long as we do it together.”

Emma’s reached for Belle’s hand and squeezed. “Right. Together is better.”

”Exactly.”

Emma gave a long, slow whistle and they moved into the store like two people tied together in a three-legged race. “Where should we start?” Belle stared at the array of gowns and began to shuffle through the racks, heading in the direction of the plus sizes. She’d come here expecting to have maybe two choices in style but after a few minutes of browsing, to her surprise, there were many gowns in her size—short and long, tight and flowing, beaded and glittery. And though she hadn’t tried on a solitary dress, she was still convinced there wasn’t one in all of Portland designed to flatter her physique. In one fell swoop, she’d gone from zero choices to too many. So many dresses, so little time, and so much Belle.

Even the eggnog lattes and cream-stuffed doughnuts she and Emma had feasted on in the car on the way here left her feeling hollow. She was at her worst at formal events—the last one she’d been to was her high school senior prom and not one person had asked her to dance. She’d gone stag simply so she didn’t have to sit in the house with her father and Edith. With the exception of going to the refreshment table to sneak brownies, she had sat in the corner the entire time.

But she wasn’t in high school any longer. She had a handsome escort in Gold and friends to spend the evening with. The steeply priced gala tickets had already been purchased and paid for and supporting the Arts in their schools? She couldn’t think of a more excellent cause. Besides, backing out three weeks before the event was paramount to announcing you had no interest in seeing Hamilton. It simply wasn’t done.

She squinted in the direction of the lingerie. Spanx were what she needed—something to suck her in and smooth her out—injected with industrial-strength elastic.

“Black. Black is the slimming choice,” Belle decided aloud, pushing through the rack toward a plain A-line silk sheath gown.

At least if she stuck to basic black, she and Gold would match. Like two penguins. One sleek and sophisticated, the other round and plump, carrying a lot of blubber around to make it through the hard, cold, South Pole winter.

“No black! Black is the safe choice,” Emma countered, smacking Belle’s hand when she reached for the hanger on another simple, nondescript black gown with clean lines.

“And that’s bad why?”

“Because it’s drab and washes you out. Go for color. Like gold.”

“Suddenly you’re a Pantone expert?” Belle winced. “A gold dress? Isn’t that a touch…cliché?”

“Alright. We’ll keep looking.”

Belle nudged Emma in the direction of a tall, willow-thin woman with striking black and grey hair and the pointiest red stilettos she’d ever seen. “Maybe we should ask someone. I think she works here.”

Emma squinted and slid more dresses down the rack. “The one with the scarf on?”

“It’s a poncho.” She knew that much.

“Wait! Wait! Try this emerald one! Gold will go crazy when he sees you in this!” Emma whipped a dazzling, jewel-toned gown with a daring thigh-high slit off the rack. Belle stared at the stunning gown then glanced back at the saleswoman. “Five minutes ago you didn’t know anything about dresses.” “You’re right, I don’t. But I know my father-in-law and he’s going to love that dress. Well, he’d love you in a life-sized paper bag, but this dress will make even Mr. Smart Ass Newspaper Dude speechless. God, I can picture him drooling already!” She thrust the dress into Belle’s arms and gave her a playful shove. “Go try it on. And remember, the only person who has to know how beautiful you are…”

“Is me,” Belle finished. They’d had this conversation often during their walks over the past few months, and Emma had reminded her yet again on the two-hour drive here. She fingered the rich velvet skirt with trembling fingers. Now she had to walk the walk. “I’ll try it. What color are you looking for?” she asked, backing into the fitting room.

“Black.” “Emma!” she whined.

Emma yanked the fitting room curtain closed with a laugh. The dress was crushed velvet with full-length sleeves, hard to find, even in the middle of a brutal Maine winter. She slid into the gown, the silk-lined velvet feeling decadent against her skin. Even without the back completely zipped, she liked the look. Emma was right, she realized, turning this way and that in the three-way mirror.

The scoop neck hugged her shoulder blades, emphasizing her thinnest feature—her shoulders—and the color made her blue eyes sparkle and skin creamy even under the garish fluorescent fitting room lights. It was a few inches too long for her 5-foot, 1-inch frame, but the skirt length was easily remedied at a tailor. Not hating it, she took a deep breath, lifted the skirt so she wouldn’t trip, and opened the curtain. She hoped Emma was nearby because she didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself. Those stupid little fitting room closets were designed to thrust you back out onto the floor where commission-hungry salespeople could tell you how good you looked and convince you to buy.

“Em,” she called out, “could you zip—” She swallowed the rest of her words. Emma was face-to-face with a dark-haired woman, and looking even more nervous than she had when they walked into the boutique. “Emma? Emma Nolan?” The stranger wore a smart navy pantsuit and a light blue silk blouse, and her blood-red lips spread in a wide smile. Everything about her, from her perfectly coifed hair to her buffed, nude pumps, screamed suave and important.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” “It’s me, Regina Mills. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. We graduated together from Storybrooke High! I sat next to you in Mr. Walsh’s English class.” “Oh, hey.” Emma kicked the carpet with her boot, looking anything but thrilled to meet an old high school friend. “Good to see you. You remember Belle French, I’m sure. She graduated the year after us.” Regina frowned at Belle, making a small scar on her upper lip stand out. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a...bell.” “It’s fine. We didn’t really travel in the same social circles anyway,” Belle said. Regina pouted, as if trying to decide if Belle’s remark was a put-down.

Well, she could interpret the comment however she wished. Belle didn’t care for the change that had come over Emma since Regina had appeared or the barely-veiled insult that she wasn’t worth remembering. Now that she’d had a good look at her, she remembered Regina well enough. Then again, it was hard to forget the most popular girl to ever come out of Storybrooke High School. Student body president, prom queen, and girlfriend of Daniel Colter, captain of the football team. Belle would have called her a high school cliché, except that Regina had carried her smooth, flawless reputation into adulthood. She was still the most beautiful woman Belle had ever seen close-up. “I’m just in town for meetings today. I’m an attorney and planning to run for office next term.” Regina’s frozen smile was back in business. “I’m thinking start small with state Senate and work up from there. So, Emma, what have you been up to since graduation? I haven’t seen you since we walked across the stage.” “Um, well.” Emma shoved her hands in her pockets and looked toward the racks of dresses. “Emma is a gifted photographer,” Belle said, sliding to her friend’s side. If Emma wasn’t going to boast about her accomplishments, she sure as hell was going to do it for her. “How exciting!” Regina’s grin was wolfish, her dark eyes sparkling. “Are you exhibiting your portraits at any galleries?” “Uh…” Emma looked at the floor. “No time,” Belle put in. “Right, Em? You’re much too busy with your son, Henry and your husband, Neal.” “Oooh, a husband.” Regina’s eyes flashed again, reminding Belle of a shark circling its prey. “Is he a doctor?” “Nope.” “Hmmm.” She tapped a red nail against her jaw. “A lawyer then?” “He’s in construction,” Emma said, looking to Belle for help. “For your information, he runs his own construction company. He’s built most of Storybrooke’s new buildings in the last ten years.” Belle glared at Regina, daring her to make another cutting remark. “So he’s a working man,” she said, managing to make the term sound neither positive nor negative. “Yeah. Yeah. He’s great.” Emma’s laugh was feeble and she ducked her head. Regina clapped her hands. “This has been fun, catching up. We should do this again sometime.” She flashed another gorgeous, winning smile, and moved in the direction of the lingerie. “Best of luck on the campaign trail,” Belle called after her. Waiting until Regina was out of earshot, Belle whirled on Emma. “Excuse me, but what the hell was that?”

“Never mind. We have shopping to do.” Emma cleared her throat and tried to slide past her, but Belle held her ground.

“The shopping can wait. Who died and crowned Regina Mills queen?”

Belle had zero patience for people who clambered for social standing and pronounced themselves better than others. Having been so often on the receiving end of other people’s sarcasm, Belle rarely talked down to people. But standing up to bullies didn’t count. Something about watching Emma cower in front of Regina caused an angry fire to blaze in her belly. Maybe she was lousy at defending herself, but she’d be damned if she’d let anyone walk all over her friend. Emma shrugged and studied the dresses. She was pretending not to care about the awkward encounter, but Belle knew better. “I don’t like small talk. ‘Hi. How are you?’ she parroted. ‘Oh, I’m fine, how are you?’ News flash: nobody’s fine.”

“Em…”

“No matter how she makes it sound, Regina and I weren’t friends in high school, we were competitors.” She rolled her eyes. “She reminisces about Mr. Walsh’s English class like that was the only time we saw each other. I guess she forgot about the four years we spent one-upping each other on the cheerleading squad, softball team, and the debate team. Always trying to be smarter, stronger, and skinnier than the other. We were out for blood.”

“Then why are you letting her get under your skin?”

Emma sighed and pulled on her ponytail. “You know Cora Mills?”

“Cora Mills, the mayor? Of course.” Belle suppressed a shudder.

Regina’s mother, Cora, had been mayor of Storybrooke for as long as Belle could remember. Cora was a cold, calculating woman, but what she lacked in lovable qualities, she made up for in efficiency. She ran Storybrooke like a machine and no one could argue with her methods, not even Gold, who was paid to search out everything. From the few times Belle had met her, she realized Cora wasn’t mean so much as devoid of emotion. Beyond a perfunctory review of the library budget once a year, Belle was fortunate to rarely communicate with the Mayor’s Office and even when she did, it was strictly emails between Belle and Cora’s assistant. The library and its services were beneath Cora’s notice; so long as Belle didn’t ask for too much money, she stayed under her radar—which was exactly the way she liked it.

Emma wandered to a bench next to the row of fitting rooms and plopped down. “My mom always wanted to be like her, you know.”

“Really?” Belle would never have expected sweet, kind Mary Margaret Nolan to want to emulate Cora Mills.

Emma smirked. “Once, a long time ago, Mom even tried bidding against her for Mayor but she was too nice. She was laughed out of the first debate, and it’s a good thing because the town would have walked all over her. Since Mom couldn’t be like Cora, she decided the next best thing would be for me to be like Cora’s daughter, Regina. I spent every day of high school trying to beat Regina for one reason: because my mom couldn’t beat hers.”

“Wow,” Belle said. “I would never have known. Your mom is such a great teacher and your parents are like a fairytale marriage. Talk about relationship goals.”

“Exactly. The thing with my mom is she’s incredible just as she is,” she said. “Former prom queen, straight-A student, a born teacher. She’s smart and pretty and married to the perfect, charming husband. And she loves Storybrooke—but not for me.”

“But your parents live in Storybrooke.” Confused, Belle furrowed her brow. “That seems like a bit of a double-standard.”

“Yeah.” Emma shook her head. “’Why do you want to take pictures of engaged couples and local pet adoptions?’ she said, mimicking her mother’s innocent tone. “She would rather I was out on the front lines of some war documenting the dying.” “Like Gold used to?” Belle nodded in sympathy and claimed the empty side of the bench. She knew all too well the feeling of being expected to be someone you couldn’t be and dashing parental hopes in the process. “She feels like you shouldn’t be satisfied with a simple life.” “Bingo! And she resents the hell out of Gold for telling me what it’s really like out there. I think that’s why I’m closer to him now than I am my own parents. He understands weakness and failure in a way I don’t think they can. I’m not some conceited little bitch who’s hiding in the bathroom to throw up everything she eats to fit in anymore, but sometimes that really sucks, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” Belle’s heart clenched in sympathy. Sometimes she still got sucked into the vortex of her own self-pity and forgot that everyone—even gorgeous, wonderful Emma—was fighting a battle. Trying to be yourself was hard work. It was so much easier to toe the line of people’s expectations, to do and say what made others feel comfortable and safe. “So there’s Regina, first conquering the state of Maine, then the world.” Emma put her head in her hands. “And here I am...not running for a spot even on the PTO. Married with a kid and pregnant again.” “You’re pregnant?” Belle slung an arm around Emma and dragged her against her side in an awkward hug. “Oh, sweetie, that’s amazing!” “Ya think? Emma sniffled but looked hopeful for the first time since they had entered the boutique. “Really? I wasn’t expecting another baby. It just happened.”

“Henry is going to be a big brother!” Belle squealed, excited enough for both of them. “Does your mom know yet?”

“Are you kidding?” “What did Neal say?”

Emma shook her head and touched her belly. “You’re the first soul I’ve told.”

“Me?” Belle crowded closer to Emma and drew her head down on her shoulder. She smoothed Emma’s hair back from her temples, soothing her the way her mother used to when she was little while she tried to process the news. To think she was the first to know about the new addition coming to the Cassidy household. She hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been first in someone else’s confidence. At least not...well there’s Gold, of course.” She felt Emma nod against her shoulder. “I know what you mean. I’ve had friends. Acquaintances. Then when I met Neal he satisfied any need I had for friends. He’s a great husband and I love him to pieces, but it’s not like this. Like us. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Belle.”

“Me too,” she said, tears scalding her eyes. She’d known it was true—had felt the stirrings of their bond deep in her spirit ever since their first real conversation at Henry’s birthday clambake. Between family dinners, walks, and girls nights out, the invisible force between them only grown stronger. Somehow acknowledging their friendship out loud made it seem more solid. Precious. As important to her as her love for Gold, but in a different way.

“Now stand up,” Emma said, fishing into her pocket for a crumpled tissue. “I wanna see this dress!”

Belle shot to her feet and smoothed the skirt, her fingers fluttering around the waist and hips while Emma zipped up the back.

“I love it,” she said, motioning for Belle to twirl around.

“Really? You don’t think it makes me look like a medieval strumpet?”

“Hell no!” Emma whistled as Belle turned around again. “You’re stunning. All we need now are Spanx and shoes. And maybe some lingerie for the after-party?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Maybe.” Belle’s face flamed at the thought of wearing a negligee for Gold. “What about you?”

“We’ll get to me after lunch.” She patted her still-flat tummy. “There’s a place down the street serving yummy cheese-covered waffle fries and this kid wants some now.”

Belle’s stomach growled in answer. “Lead the way.”

Their waiter was clearing the lunch plates at the café when Belle heard a knock on the window. She did a double-take as her father waved through the glass with a sheepish smile. Her turkey club sandwich, which had tasted so delicious a few minutes ago, now lodged in her stomach. What was he doing here in the city?

“I’ll grab the check, Belle. You go talk to him,” Emma urged. “If I see things are getting bad I’ll come outside and rescue you.”

Nodding, she gathered her coat and made her way outside, wondering what would bring her father looking for her in Portland of all places, when she hadn’t seen him once on the streets of Storybrooke in the three weeks since she’d moved out.

The air was frigid even in the sunshine, and she seemed to grow colder with every step she took toward her father.

“Daddy?” She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from reaching for a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the Portland flower show.” He brushed a bit of pollen off the sleeve of his coat. “I was in the neighborhood and saw you having lunch in the window.” “Ah.” Her dad attended the vendor-focused flower exhibition every year. She should have prepared for the possibility of running into him in town, but she’d completely forgotten it was this weekend.

“We haven’t heard from you in weeks, darling. Edith was devastated when you collected your things and left us.”

Belle gave a noncommittal grunt and thrust her cold hands in her pockets. Edith was devastated? Perish the thought her own father actually missed her.

“Marco treating you well?” he asked gruffly.

“Like family,” she retorted, her voice carrying a sharpness she hadn’t intended.

Her father’s face paled and she instantly regretted her tone. There was no call to be so mean-spirited, especially when it somehow succeeded in making her feel worse instead of better.

He sniffed. “Will we see you for Thanksgiving?“

Belle looked into the clear blue sky, distancing herself from his hopeful gaze. "Marco’s cooking a huge feast, so I’ll be eating with him and Gold and the Cassidys.“

“Christmas?“

She blew out an exasperated breath and hugged herself again. “Let’s push through one nightmare holiday at a time, okay?“

He huffed. “I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad.”

“Are we still talking about holidays, or are you referring to other bad situations?” She thought back to the horrible family dinner she’d put Gold through when she’d tossed a roll at Edith’s head and stormed out. “I can’t live like that anymore. I won’t.”

“You’ve changed, Belle. Is this…is this Gold’s influence on you, then?” He seemed to deflate before her eyes, this giant of a man shriveling down to a pathetic shell. “When did you become this way? So stubborn. So willful.” His lips shook as he spoke. “If your mother were alive, she…”

“But she’s not, Daddy,” Belle interrupted. “Mother hasn’t been with us for years. She’s not here to tell you what to do and what to say, and for that matter neither is Edith. You’re the one who changed. It’s as Erskine said, you don’t even see me. Maybe you never did.”

“Belle!” Emma jogged over to the rescue, her breath a white cloud in the cold afternoon air. “Hey, Mister French. We really gotta get going if we’re going to finish shopping and I promised Henry I’d be home in time to tuck him in.”

“Great. I’m freezing anyway.” She looped her arm through Emma’s and mustered a sad, parting smile for her father. After years of trying to gain his attention and approval, she wasn’t sure when she would see him again and at the moment, she didn’t care. “Take care of yourself, Dad.”

###

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #a monthly rumbelling #chubby belle #chubby!belle #mr. gold x belle french #swanfire #regina mills #marco #moe french #mqc writes

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bipabrena · 6 years ago

Text

A Second Chance Chapter IV (AO3 Eruri fan-fic)

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 84 AND MOST RECENT ANIME EPISODE.

Half-arsed summary: Events from chapter 84 had Erwin been given the serum and not Armin. The Ackerbond awakens in Levi again and he gradually becomes obsessive after the fright of losing Erwin.

Read the fic from the beginning here.

The pain… it was unbearable. It wasn’t sharp like a needle or knife, it burned Erwin’s insides like boiling water. Everything around him felt scorched, but aside from the heat, the worst thing was how he was barely able to move his body. It’s as though he was tied underwater, being dragged down by something impossibly heavy. He opened his mouth as his jaw trembled. He then grit his teeth and screamed at the top of his lungs.

What was left of the Survey Corps were forced to cover their ears, using their full strength to stay in place and not be blown away by the immense gust of wind pushing past them.

“Ah!” Sasha yelled as she was blown back. She anchored her hooks on a nearby tree to stay in place.

Levi took a step forward, drawing his blades, biting the inside of his lower lip in concern.

He was prepared to anchor his hooks onto the Colossus, climb up to tell Erwin to please stop, that he was overexerting himself.

But Hange noticed and she held his shoulder, eye barely open from the amount of wind slapping her face.

“Don’t!” she yelled. “You’ll get scorched!”

“But he’s in pain! He’s going to—“

“He can regenerate!” Hange pulled Levi closer to her. “You can’t! Just stand back!”

Levi looked at her, then up at the Colossus and back down at her. He chose to obey.

Mikasa put her hands up to protect her face, unable to see anything as her scarf flew up and covered her vision. She grit her teeth when feeling heat engulf her skin. She heard a guttural groan and looked up to find Eren’s titan lowering his hand. He placed it in front of her, and she immediately jumped on. He groaned again and captured the attention of Sasha, Connie, Jean, Floch and Hange, but Levi was still too concerned looking up at the Colossus. They all ran towards Eren.

“Captain!” Mikasa yelled.

“Captain, hurry!” Floch followed.

Levi scowled at them, and angrily looked up at the Colossus once more. “Tch!” he sheathed his swords and ran towards Eren, hopping on his hand.

Eren ran to create as much distance as he could between Erwin’s titan and them.

Around three hundred metres away from the Colossus, Eren hid behind a large, thick tree. He peeked his head over it to look in the distance. Even from here they could feel the residue of the hot, gusting wind.

“Shit!” Hange yelled. “He’s going overboard!”

“What do we do?” Floch asked. “How do we get him to stop? We can’t go anywhere near him!”

They all looked at Hange, awaiting instructions. She looked back at them and frowned when noticing Levi’s worried, imploring expression. She averted his gaze and looked back at the Colossus.

“We have to let him burn out,” she sat down. “It’s all we can do.”

This is not even close to how Eren’s first transformations were, she thought.

“How did Bertolt do it?” Hange muttered. “He had excellent dominion even after years of not using it. What kind of training did they put him through?” she asked to herself.

“Bertolt was third in our class,” Connie remarked. “He was really shy and didn’t have any initiative, that affected his grade a lot. But he was skilled, that probably has to do with it.”

“How do you know that?” Mikasa asked.

“The instructor gave us a final report after graduation, remember? After we joined the Corps, Jean was arguing because he scored lower than Eren. We compared reports with Reiner and Bertolt. The instructor said he excelled at everything and had crazy potential, but lacked initiative, which brought his grade down.”

“So, he was skilled,” Hange observed. “That’s why they entrusted him the most dangerous titan.”

Connie nodded sadly, taking a short glance at Sasha, who hugged her knees. These two had been the most affected by Bertolt and Reiner’s betrayal.

“But that still doesn’t answer what experiments they put him through. We know so very little about titan shifters. Every titan, be it Eren’s, the Female Form or Armoured—all must have different training regimes.”

“It’s possible, but I think Connie means that it must not be just the experiments themselves, but the ability of the person wielding the titan,” Mikasa observed.

Levi stifled a scowl, “Are you saying Erwin doesn’t have the skill to carry the Colossus?”

Mikasa’s eyes wavered, and his imposing eyes made all fall into an uncomfortable silence.

“Of course not,” she said coolly. “I just meant that it may be one possibility to why Bertolt handled it so well even after years of not using it, Captain.”

“And we don’t know how it was for Bertolt in the beginning, or if he even used it at or to its full potential” Hange continued. “So, how skilled or talented he was is meaningless. The key is in constant experimentation, just like we did with Eren. It’s the burden of being ignorant.”

Suddenly, the ground shook, almost like a short earthquake, and a violent gust of wind pushed past them.

“Hange-san, look!” Sasha shouted.

The Colossus had fallen.

“Let’s go, Eren!” Hange commanded.

Eren stood up immediately and ran at full speed. He covered the distance in merely fourteen seconds.

“Erwin!” Hange shouted, jumping off Eren’s hand. Levi followed behind her.

She hopped on the giant nape. “Ah, shit! Hot, hot, hot!” she ran in place. She then slipped and fell back, landing on the ground. Her quick use of the 3DM gear lessened the fall, preventing injury.

“Hange-san!” Jean yelled in concern.

Levi ran to her aid. “Is he okay?” he helped her up.

She looked at him blankly for a couple of seconds, and burst into subtle chuckling. She wasn’t expecting that.

“I don’t know,” her worried expression returned. “It’s too hot. We have to wait a few minutes.”

“Tch…”

Eren’s titan kneeled. He then emerged from the nape, careful to not tear the connected flesh. “Is the Commander alright?” he asked.

“We have to wait,” Mikasa said, crouched on his shoulder.

“Conny, Sasha!” Hange called. “Bring the water and towels!”

“Yes!”

Levi anchored his hooks and hopped on the Colossus’ nape.

“Hey, wait!” Hange yelled. “It’s still too hot!”

Levi completely ignored her.

He made a clean cut on the nape, ignoring the burning on his knees. His eyes widened when seeing Erwin. He sheathed the blade and locked his arms from behind. He tightly held Erwin against him and worriedly looked at his face.

“Erwin?” he whispered in his ear.

He placed two fingers over his windpipe and took his pulse. Yes, he knew Erwin was alive, but he still felt the need to do so.

“Ugh…” he mumbled, resting his forehead on Erwin’s steaming shoulder.

He hated having him do all this.

“Captain!” Sasha’s voice drew his attention. “Here!” she handed over the large water sack and towel.

He opened the sack with his mouth, wrapping one arm around Erwin to keep him in place. He felt the fabric of his pants gradually rip, exposing his knees. They were starting to hurt. He’ll need to put some ointment on them later.

He poured water over Erwin’s face. He slicked his hair back, damping it, too.

“Levi?” Hange called.

While they waited, Eren’s mind began to wander. He thought deeply about how Armin should be in the Commander’s place, and he in the Captain’s. He should be holding Armin like that right now. If Mikasa had fought harder… if her heart hadn’t wavered over Hange’s speech. No, it wasn’t just her. If he hadn’t been too weak to move, he could’ve snatched the serum.

Dammit, it shouldn’t have been Erwin. He shouldn’t be alive.

His lip began quivering. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control himself, prevent the tears from welling up. Mikasa noticed this.

“Eren…” she frowned.

He looked at her, trying to hold back a scowl. He had to stop blaming her. He had to stop. She was hurting, too. And they were on decent terms since leaving the basement, he shouldn’t ruin that.

But every time he recalled how she gave up… it made him sick to his stomach. It made him hate her.

He flinched when feeling her comforting hand on his shoulder.

They heard a small cough.

“Erwin!?” Levi called.

Erwin slowly opened his eyes. They remained half-closed, and he opened his mouth slightly to take a breath.

His pupils trailed up to look at a blurry Levi, who intensely watched his every move. He blinked several times, until Levi’s worried expression became clearer, and Erwin immediately noted his eyes.

That new expression, there it was again. The larger eyes and pupils, the new gleam. Why? Even in his intense exhaustion he wondered why it had changed so much.

He tried to speak, but could only produce a very faint, inaudible murmur.

“It’s okay, Erwin,” Levi comforted. “You don’t have to do anything. Just blink if you can understand me.”

Erwin did so, and would have laughed if he had the energy.

“I’m going to give you some water, try to open your mouth.”

He closed his eyes as Levi fed him water.

Worried about the steam, Levi poured water all over Erwin’s body, and he noticed how his expression immediately relaxed. He completely ignored the painful burning on his own knees.

“I’m going to get you out of this filth, it may hurt so brace yourself.”

He pulled Erwin back, and Erwin groaned when the flesh connected to his face tore.

Despite his size, Levi managed to hold Erwin under his arm, and landed gracefully on the ground.

Hange noticed the exposed flesh on his knees. She ignored it.

“He’s alright,” he told Hange.

“Alright,” she sighed in relief. “Put him down.”

Erwin slowly gained full consciousness after fifteen minutes. He was resting his head on Hange’s thighs.

“You alright, Erwin?” she smiled at him chummily.

He snorted, “I’m alright, Hange.”

“Alright, then get up,” she pushed him up. “You’re not exactly lightweight.”

He chuckled, putting a hand over his head as he sat up. “What happened? Did I lose control again?”

“Yeah,” she pursed her lips. “But you didn’t hurt anyone. You just emitted a lot of heat. Do you remember anything?”

He sighed, dizzily trying to get up. Levi hastened to help him, which he accepted.

“It’s so hot,” he rubbed his nape, slowly spinning his head around. “It feels like I’m chained and boiling alive, all at once.”

Eren looked down, trying to hold the tears in. Boiled alive, huh? He thought, looking back up at the Commander. Armin was scorched to death. He clenched his jaw, eyebrows furrowed in anger. You have it easy.

“If only he had died before Floch got to him…” was what Eren was truly thinking.

Levi, at once, noticed the belligerent way in which Eren observed Erwin. It didn’t take a genius to understand the situation. Knowing how temperamental and impulsive Eren was, and how he was willing to threaten his life along with anyone else’s who got in his way to save Armin, Levi was able to see right through Eren—as though he emitted an aura with an unmasked state of mind.

Eren’s trance was then broken when feeling Levi’s darkened eyes pierce him.

He tried to glare back, stand up for himself, but immediately regretted his hasty, arrogant decision. Levi’s eyes sank colder, and it made him feel utterly naked. Like he was standing in midst of a blizzard. He was forced to avert his gaze almost immediately.

He was unable to concentrate on the on-going conversation. He could only think of and feel the cold eyes looming over him.

He felt like if he made one wrong move, Levi’s fangs would surely reach his throat.

Was Eren’s hostility really so strong that Levi picked it up with such ease? Or were his senses simply honed to the extreme?

For a moment he felt guilty, because the Commander had done nothing wrong. He was more resentful of him, who did not choose to be saved, than of Levi and Hange, who fought to let Armin die.

His anger was misplaced.

He pursed his lips and felt a drop of sweat run down his forehead.

“Eren?” Mikasa’s comforting voice brought him back to reality. Her soft gaze made him feel a little better. “What’s wrong?” she asked, noticing his mortified expression. “Have you remembered something?”

Sure, he could pretend to be swarmed with the memories he had been recollecting recently. It would be easier to explain.

Or…

“I just miss him today, that’s all,” he muttered weakly.

He could just tell her the truth. A modified truth.

She looked down sadly. There was nothing more to be said.

Eren looked forward again, wanting to hear what the Commander and Hange were talking about, but he willingly took a quick glance at Levi, and found him still staring at him.

“If he were an enemy, he might cause more trouble than that intel’s worth. He still can’t stand against me, though.”

“Can you do it, Levi?” asked Premiere Zachary.

“If you mean killing him, it’s no problem.”

What the hell… Eren put a hand over his face. Why the hell am I thinking about that right now?

He pursed his lips, looking at the Captain like a frightened child. He wouldn’t kill me just because I resent the Commander. I’m not even a threat to him, I'd never actually do anything.

Would he!? He gulped, averting Levi’s gaze now.

“Huh?” Levi then mumbled to himself, Eren’s expression sinking in a bit too late. He looked down in surprise. What am I doing?

He bit his inner lip, somewhat distressed at what was going on inside him. He didn’t understand it. He felt so different—from the moment he felt that power surge when his body lay underneath Mikasa’s, and specially from the moment Erwin declared he’d die with happiness so long as it meant Levi lived.

“Tch,” he angrily walked away, putting a hand over his head.

Another headache.

Hange stopped her discussion with Erwin about their findings thus far to follow Levi with her gaze. “Levi?” She turned to him. “Where are you going? We’re not done yet.”

He continued walking with a hand over his head without responding, gritting his teeth as a belligerent scowl overcame his face.

“Levi?” Hange furrowed her brows in puzzlement.

She walked towards him and held his arm. “Levi!”

He stopped and his head shot to her. His eyes were widened to their limit, pupils contracted—all light completely gone.

He looked furious.

She instinctively took a step back to create distance between them, his sudden outburst catching everyone off guard.

What the hell is with this guy? Eren thought.

After glaring at her for a few seconds, he resumed pace, feeling more irritated by the second.

He was always in control. He had always been able to have perfect control over his body and emotions. No matter how many of his valued comrades died, his heart wouldn’t waver. He’d continue looking forward.

He was always in control.

But not this time.

Being unable to understand his own mind frustrated him more than anything in the world. He was furious.

The way he felt at this moment reminded him of the days after Kenny abandoned him. He’d willingly provoke nobodies just to have an excuse to beat someone up. He wouldn’t mind going to the underground right now for a few hours. The filth would be worth enduring if he got to have some respite.

And this only served to piss him off even more. How could he think such a thing? This was so unlike him. And it’s exactly what Hange was thinking of.

“Man,” she scratched the back of her head. “That’s a lot even by Levi standards,” she looked back at Erwin and her subordinates, embarrassed. “Clean up here and go to your barracks. You can have the rest of the day off.”

“Yes!” the 104th soldiers said.

Erwin, who had been sitting on the grass drinking water, stood up and silently walked up to Hange.

“Hange,” he drew her attention. “Have some tea with me, at my office. At six.”

“Well, now. Look at you, Commander Handsome. You’re asking me out on a date?” she placed a hand on her hip. “How low have you sunk? Oh,” she shook her head. “If only Mike could see you now.”

She was jesting, naturally. Trying to. She was taken aback by Levi’s behaviour.

“No need to deprecate yourself, even as a jest. Moblit would have agreed with me you’re a worthy specimen,” he smiled slightly, understanding of how she felt by the way Levi embarrassed her.

She smiled uneasily.

Read the rest of the chapter here.

I do recommend you read from the beginning tho ehehehehehhe PLS *hides*

#snk fic #levi ackerman #levi #Erwin Smith #Eruri #levi x erwin smith

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seeselfblack · 6 years ago

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why we need to radically rethink the power structures of the art world

Kimberly Drew is an art world activist who works at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and uses social media to give visibility to artists under-represented by institutions.

These days, almost every interview starts the exact same way. You sit across from a sheepish 20- or 30-something reporter, with hopes of landing the perfect job in an imperfect field. If you’re in the same room, they lean across the table and ask: “So, how did you get started?”

Sometimes I’m the sheepish 20-something, and if I’m on my A-game, I’ve already researched my subject well enough not to start with such a bland question, but life happens. Writing, to me, has always been the duty of anyone in proximity to culture. We all have opinions and they are all worth recording. Words can be our tools for building the architecture of cultural memory, and art without the written word is like a protest without its organisers. Inciting changes requires commitment. And so, I show up, sometimes as a sheepish writer and sometimes as an interviewee. Since the beginning of my career I have been taught that it is an honour and privilege to record and be recorded, but sometimes I dream about how different the questions could be.

Last spring, I had the opportunity to engage in a public dialogue with Thelma Golden, Director and Chief Curator of The Studio Museum in Harlem, whom I had interned with seven years earlier. That evening I was excited to ask Thelma about her career and to learn more about her work at The Whitney Museum, where she was the first black curator to be hired at the institution in 1988 (interestingly enough, the museum, which was founded in 1930, only hired its second black curator, Rujeko Hockley, in 2017). For me, working at The Met, which has only had one black curator, Lowery Stokes Sims, I was curious about what it must have been like to be the first and only for so many years.

Being a highly visible, queer black woman in a field that is overwhelmingly homogeneous across lines of race, class and disability often leaves me with more questions than answers. According to a 2013 study funded by the Mellon Foundation, 84% of curatorial roles in museums are held by non-Hispanic white people. This means that nearly 84% of the people who are making critical decisions about who is added to the canon, who becomes the subject of monographs and which art is important enough to be remembered, are from the same racial group (and in most cases, the same socioeconomic background). What might happen if the 20- and 30-something-year-old reporters asked more people (of all backgrounds) about this crisis? What if the artworld was constantly held to account for exclusion, with every opportunity?

These inquiries and hundreds of others swirled through my head as I prepped for my dialogue with Thelma. I revisited her conversations with Glenn Ligon, her best friend, and an artist with whom she’s been in dialogue with for decades. I wanted to challenge myself to ask her questions she’d never answered. Naturally, I wanted to impress one of my biggest heroes. Instead, I failed forward just a little bit...

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snkpolls · 6 years ago

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SnK S3E09 Poll Results (Anime Only Version)

The poll closed with 145 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note this is the anime only viewer version of the poll. Manga readers, please click here for the results of the manga reader poll!

RATE THE EPISODE 132 Responses

Another episode with mostly positive reviews. Only a few were unimpressed with the episode.

HOW ABOUT THAT BARRICADES ORCHESTRAL REARRANGE? 124 Responses

The majority of voters continue to agree Sawano continues to kill it with the soundtrack.

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING WERE YOUR FAVORITE OVERALL SCENES? 128 Responses

Rod’s titan face reveal was the overall favorite moment of the episode, followed up by Levi finding Kenny. Rod’s demise created a tie between the Survey Corps defeating him and Historia giving him the final blow.

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING WERE YOUR FAVORITE MC CHARACTER INTERACTIONS? 126 Responses

Levi telling Kenny he’s going to die was the favorite character interaction for anime only watchers. Followed closely behind that was Eren showing Armin that he is gaining his confidence back, and finally Eren realizing horrifyingly that he insulted Levi while calling Rod a tiny, old man was another favorite.

HOW COOL WAS IT TO SEE THE POV OF A MINDLESS TITAN? 129 Responses

The majority of people definitely appreciated getting this new perspective. We agree this was a really nice touch!

YOUR REACTION TO ROD’S TITAN’S FACE REVEAL? 129 Responses

45% of respondents thought Rod’s titan was awesome, but 47% thought it was disgusting or horrifying - we think it’s safe to say some combination of all three.

Horrifying for sure, but in an awesome way!

It was simultaneously horrifying and impressive.

Sexy!

Ugliest Titan ever to grace the fandom.

WHO DREW IT BETTER - ISAYAMA OR WIT? 128 Responses

The majority of people thought WIT’s simplified version of Erwin’s sketch was drawn better.

WHOSE GRAVE DO YOU THINK EREN WAS VISITING? 129 Responses

61% of respondents thought Eren was visiting Hannes’ grave, but there were also a few interesting thoughts below.

An old friend in the survey corps?

His Mother’s

His fathers

Marco

HOW MUCH DO YOU RELATE TO EREN PUNCHING HIMSELF? 128 Responses

This question is much more evenly split than it was with manga readers, with nearly ⅓ of voters relating to each category.

HOW DID YOU LIKE THOSE THROWBACK FLASHBACKS FROM SEASON 1?

127 Responses

A majority of respondents enjoyed the throwback or thought it was surreal to see Season 1 animation alongside Season 3.

I think the quality of the first and second season was great. Frankly, Season 3 has been a bit disappointing in comparison, because its scenes (for the most part) have been very simple without a lot of movement or detail (despite being animated and not a still image). I think S03 is the least visually-striking season so far, with minor exceptions.

It made me reflect on the overall quality of this season. While I don't think is a bad season, it's definitely a downgrade compared to the first 2 seasons. On the first 3 episodes, the show got me excited as the first 2 seasons, but after that its just not that much exciting anymore. I really hope it improves on the next arc, since everyone are saying next arc is the best arc

WOULD YOU ACCEPT HISTORIA AS YOUR RULER? 127 Responses

The overwhelming majority of respondents would accept Historia as their queen.

ROD IS A TINY OLD MAN. IS LEVI A TINY OLD MAN TOO? 129 Responses

43% of voters agree that Levi is not old. 42% are ready to pay their respects to Eren for even considering such a thing, even if accidentally.

Eren insulting Levi will be remembered for eternity.

WHY DO YOU THINK EREN WAS UNABLE TO CONTROL ROD’S TITAN? 127 Responses

Plenty of different theories here but the majority of people thing that Eren is just not able to access his full titan power, just like Rod said.

Eren cannot control titan shifters

I don't think he has a very good grasp of how to do it. Karate chopping the air and shouting "YOO TITAN PLS STOP" is probably not the secret to unleashing that skill.

Noble blood immunity

eren is a noob when it comes to using the power of the titans

EREN WAS REALLY DOWN ON HIMSELF THIS WEEK, DO YOU THINK HIS BEHAVIOR WILL CHANGE MOVING FORWARD? 127 Responses

84% of voters believe that Eren will step up his teamwork game, but are divided on whether he will continue to be his usually bothered self or if he will find his chill more easily. A small 13% believe he will not change after his breakdown.

HOW DID YOU FEEL ABOUT THE PARALLELS IN THIS EPISODE OF THE SMALL CHILDREN POINTING TO ROD LOOMING OVER THE WALL IN COMPARISON TO EMA DOING SO TO BERTOLT’S TITAN FIVE YEARS AGO? 129 Responses

Looks like everybody loves Isayama and his trios!

A little emotional

Childhood trauma! Yay!

They will be traumatised for life cos Rod was more horrifying.

DO YOU THINK HISTORIA WILL BE A GOOD QUEEN? 128 Responses

Overwhelming support for Historia as queen here, with a smaller portion of people believing she’ll be a ruler in name only.

I think she'll be very difficult to work with. She's strong-minded, but she's not a leader and she doesn't have the knowledge necessary to rule a kingdom. She has some foolish ideas and unrealistic expectations, and I think they are going to cause conflict.

I'm certain that she'll try her best

HOW DID YOU FEEL ABOUT HISTORIA STANDING UP TO AND COUNTERING ERWIN ON HIS ORDERS? 126 Responses

Historia standing up to Erwin has overwhelming support from respondents.

I expected it; she outranks him now after all.

I still think everyone is stupid for allowing such an important person to participate in battle. I was promised a real explanation for this silliness, and then Erwin was just like "Well I only have one arm so I guess you can do what you want" and I was angry at everyone.

WHAT DID YOU THINK ABOUT HISTORIA CARRYING OUT THE FINISHING BLOW? 126 Responses

Mostly everyone thought Historia being the one to finish her father was super positive.

WILL KENNY USE THE SERUM? 127 Responses

85% of total respondents are certain that Kenny will not use the serum.

DISCUSSION QUESTION! HOW DO YOU THINK THE STORY WOULD HAVE CHANGED IF EREN HAD BEEN EATEN IN THE CAVE? 47 Responses

We enjoyed reading your responses and theories to this open discussion question:

Historia enslaves humanity like the biggest femme dom the world has ever seen

Historia would inherit Grisha's and Founding Titan's powers. If she would be able to resist the First King's will then Rod would be able to save humanity from the titans. If she wouldn't be able to resist the First King's will then Rod would lose another family member to the FT and the rest of humanity would get their memories erased.

Historia, with memories of the first king, would’ve probably erased the memories of everyone inside the walls

I doubt they would kill Eren at this point, so if he got eaten they would do something like the first season again (Eren "dies", but he is back because of some random reason), but that would be a horrible choice on the plot.

I think humanity would be screwed bc then Mikasa, best girl, would be too depressed to continue to help fight.

I thinking lots of shit will be avoided and more people would be saved I don't trust eren

Mikasa would've absolutely wreaked havoc, possibly even killing Historia. The Survey Corps would've had to fight Historia (assuming she got taken over by the First King's memories like Frieda and Uri), and maybe try to get her eaten by a mindless titan to regain humanity's 'ace'.

Mind control-->shit machine dismantled-->Ackerman/oriental rebellion

Things would have remained the same as it has always been for the past 100 years. Historia would have been controlled by the will of the first Reiss King. She wouldn't have saved humanity from the Titans and the Reiss family would have altered the memories of humanity and our main squad probably would have been caught and executed.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

The sight of Eren's Titan carrying the bomb was awesomely surreal.

Mixed feelings overall. It was an exciting watch at the time, but in hindsight, it still feels like they're cutting critical details for the sake of time. Rod was too easy to defeat and didn't really amount to anything as a character or a threat, and Erwin's decision to let Historia participate in the battle didn't make any sense. It looked like they opted to give us Eren's POV on that scene instead of giving us Historia's, and I think whatever she said to convince Erwin was pretty obviously cut. This is disappointing because it makes the characters look like fools for taking unnecessary, unjustified, and illogical risks.

According to the poll this was the best episode so far in season 3. I, personally, didn't like it THAT much, but I wager there will be even better episodes in the future. If WIT keeps the streak of really good episodes going on, then Attack on Titan will regain it's popularity in the West.

Best episode so far S3

Felt sorry for Rod in the end. He was being more honest than I thought.

I wonder if erens titan will be recognised by the civilians in the future. If he will ever be considered a hero or not.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 110 Responses

Thanks again to everyone who participated! We’ll see you again on Tuesday!

#snk poll #snk polls #snk spoilers #snk s3

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bigskydreaming · 7 years ago

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So, disclaimer at the top here that I’m white and aiming the following questions at other white users who are taking the Russian blogs thing and running with it in all the wrong directions. That said....

The question shouldn’t be: Are these 84 pro-BLM blogs that tumblr deleted Russian trolls?

At least, that shouldn’t be the only question.

Of just as much importance is: Why are we only hearing about 84 pro-BLM blogs being deleted for being Russian trolls? Why is the media running with the story about tumblr being ‘home to a powerful, largely unrevealed network of Russian trolls focused on black issues and activism’?

Like, okay. Let’s assume for a minute that all 84 of the blogs tumblr deleted were in fact Russian trolls and bots posing as black activists.

But where are the rest of the Russian troll blogs?

You know, all the ones we’ve been hearing about for the PAST YEAR AND A HALF. When the knowledge that Russian trolls and bots have been spreading Fake News and pro-Trump and anti-HRC propaganda for months leading up to the election has been there ever since the election?

Where are all the rightwing conservative blogs that were actually Russian trolls in disguise? Where are the Neo Nazi blogs that were actually Russian trolls in disguise? Where are all the blogs that were aimed at stirring up and radicalizing conservative or undecided white tumblr users?

We know that those blogs are there too. We literally know there is evidence that targeting right wing users of social media was a major aim of the Russian troll/bot farms, if not THE major aim.

Is it possible they cast their net widely and diversified their tactics, leading them to create superficially liberal blogs where they posed as black or pro-black activists in order to create dissent among the left? Sure, absolutely. Every one of those 84 blogs named as linked to the IRA could possibly be a Russian troll, sure.

But here’s the thing: according to everything we’ve been hearing for the past year and a half straight, there were thousands upon thousands of Russian trolls and bots aimed at generating fake news and misinformation to keep conservatives riled up. And yet.....when tumblr, notorious for not giving a single shit no matter how many times PoC or other marginalized users come to them with screencaps and physical evidence of Neo-Nazi blogs and the like running campaigns of harassment against them....when THAT tumblr finally comes forward and in an unprecedented move for them provides a list of confirmed Russian troll blogs....

It’s not pro-Trump, conservative, hate group, Neo Nazi blogs. Nope. it’s 84 pro-black activism blogs.

Umm. C’mon. Really? You’re really sitting there not thinking there’s anything kinda suspiciously backwards about that?

Like.....whether those blogs are actually legit or not isn’t even that relevant at this point, y’know? It’s kinda just as big of a deal that for ‘some reason’, the first time tumblr decided to put on its Nancy Drew hat and go digging around for fake troll blogs, they either decided to focus their efforts on looking into black activism blogs instead of like, Neo Nazi blogs....or else if they had knowledge of both conservative and liberal Russian troll blogs, they still for ‘some reason’ decided to focus on revealing and pushing forward the black activism blogs they uncovered as fake. And yes, I realize that part of this ‘investigation’ or whatever was twitter uncovering bots/trolls with the same names as blogs hosted on tumblr, and sharing those names with tumblr led to the site determining that they were trolls as well. But either way? Same problem. There are Russian trolls aimed at white users on the site, stirring them up and radicalizing them with hate speech, racist rhetoric, and the like, and apparently there are Russian trolls aimed at black users on the site, posting BLM and anti-police brutality content....and tumblr picked which was of bigger concern to them, and prioritized accordingly.

Which leads right into the second problem, and the next big question we should be asking ourselves: What purpose did this serve? Who benefits?

Like, its also just as big a problem that freaking BUZZFEED, in its Pulitzer-worthy reporting, along with several other news sites by now, decided that this was a story, a big story, and the angle to takeaway from it was: ‘tumblr is home to a powerful, largely unrevealed network of Russian trolls focused on black issues and activism’.

Digest that for a second. According to Buzzfeed, 84 Russian trolls masquerading as black activism blogs are a powerful network. Here’s the thing though.....the reason all the Russian trolls spreading fake news and misinformation among right wing social media circles is such a problem is...IT’S FAKE NEWS. IT’S LIES. THE INFORMATION THEY SPREAD ISN’T TRUE.

Look at everything Buzzfeed and tumblr et al’s investigative journalism turned up though when they dug into these fake black activism blogs or whatever. I read every article written up about these 84 blogs so far. I clicked on every link citing prof of how these blogs encouraged black users and other PoC not to vote for HRC. Problem is? Out of all of it, the only thing on those blogs I found cited as actually being misinformation was when one of them posted a video about a black girl being harassed by a cop and INCORRECTLY LABELED THAT COP A MEMBER OF THE NYPD. That’s it. That was all the misinformation. A video about a cop harassing a black girl being mislabeled as to where the cop was from.

Everything else spread by those blogs though? Actual, sourceable, verifiable news. Those articles made a big deal about how one blog got a ton of notes after posting a clip of HRC’s infamous super predators quote and calling her a monster for it. But like....she actually said that though? It wasn’t fake news? Just like the reactions of any black user who saw that and thought hey fuck you is reasonable and legitimate regardless of whether it was posted on a ‘real’ activism blog or a Russian troll blog?

Then add to that the fact that if you actually LOOK at polling data from the election, black voters and other voters of color pretty much ALL showed up to vote for HRC anyway, despite how they felt about her, and we all got screwed over because it was white people who looked at those posts and used them as an excuse not to vote for her.

So any which way you cut it, there is no angle in which those 84 blogs, even IF they really are Russian trolls, actually constitute some powerful network of misinformation which as the articles try and infer, leads to the conclusion that PS, we were right all along guys, BLM cost Hillary the election.

Yeah, reality is, at most, those blogs spread largely accurate information about HRC that confirmed what many black users already thought or felt about her and her policies but didn’t actually affect their willingness to show up and vote for her anyway if that was what it took to try and keep Trump out of office. Just like, at most, those blogs spread largely verifiable and accurate information about police brutality (including actual photographic and video content), which only confirmed what most pro-BLM users following those blogs already knew and thought?

The source of posts that aren’t actually made up of misinformation doesn’t actually invalidate content that’s, y’know...accurate information. And YET. Twitter, tumblr, Buzzfeed, and many users all seem pretty comfortable thinking that the shocking discoveries and implications extending from the reveal of these 84 blogs is far more important and newsworthy than like, uncovering Russian troll blogs spreading active misinformation among white supremacist hate groups hosted on the site.

The implicit takeaway is that if Russian trolls have invaded our social media spaces, we’re in far more danger as a result of any resentments they might foster or encourage among pro-BLM users protesting police brutality and white supremacist hate crimes, than from say, any resentments those trolls might foster or encourage among white users who already harbor violent racist ideologies. Like the Parkland shooter, who was reported to be openly antisemitic. Or the Austin bomber, who had a history of racist behavior. Or many, many others.

At the end of the day, tumblr unveiling these particular 84 blogs as Russian trolls changes nothing about the state of our government. Changes nothing about our relationship with Russia. Changes nothing about anything UNLESS you draw the conclusion from it that huh, if those pro-BLM blogs were fake, who knows how many others are, maybe they all are, maybe BLM or police brutality ISN’T that big of a deal.

Regardless of the true nature of those blogs, the problem here actually has very little to do with Russia, or Trump, or the election. It’s a problem we’ve perpetuated endlessly throughout our history in this country, and we don’t have any excuse for falling for it anymore. This is simply someone offering us a narrative that lets us justify not caring about something that for whatever reason, many of us don’t really seem to want to care about. And predictably, many of us are leaping at that justification, flimsy as it is.

Like....don’t. Just think about it honestly. Ask: what did this ACTUALLY accomplish. Who did it ACTUALLY benefit.

And if the answer you come up with is ‘any white person who wants an excuse to stay detached from black issues without feeling guilty about it’, like....stop uncritically reblogging posts that are not so subtly implying that all pro-BLM blogs and black activism blogs should be regarded with suspicion.

#long post

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 7 years ago

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Good Touches

This was prompted by a lovely nonny (thank you!) - #84 (Can I touch you?) from this list. After their passionate first time, they take the opportunity to explore each other.

NSFW

@timepetalscollective for Hardy adoption drive

“Can I touch you?”

Hardy rolled his head on the pillow to face his partner, the recent orgasm making his movements lazy. “You didn't feel the need to ask twenty minutes ago,” he drawled, yelping when she pinched his side.

“That was different,” she said primly, as if she hadn't expertly brought him to the edge with just her hands. Ellie was lying to his right, on her side and propped up on her elbow, the light streaming in from the window framing her.

She was breathtaking, and he couldn’t understand why she was here, with him. Why she let him worship her. “Aye,” he said, folding his arms behind his head as she pushed the sheet low on his hips.

Her fingers settled gingerly on his stomach by his belly button, and he automatically tensed. This already felt more intimate than when he’d been inside of her, and her hand hadn’t even fucking moved. The fire deep in his gut rekindled, but there was no embarrassing evidence below the sheets.

Yet.

Hardy exhaled as her fingers skimmed down and to the left, brushing lightly over the scar there. “Appendix?”

“Aye,” he said roughly, watching as she bent over to kiss the mark. Though she cuddled the sheet close to her chest, her back was gloriously bare and he dared to touch her, resting his palm between her shoulder blades. “I was fifteen.”

“I was nineteen,” she shared, and he vaguely remembered noticing a similar scar on her. He hummed, gaze focused on her as she trailed her fingers up and over to his ribs. “This?”

“Got stabbed. First bloody day on patrol. Responded to a domestic – never saw the woman had a steak knife.”

“You really are a shit cop,” she snickered, pressing her lips to that spot as well.

Ellie spent long minutes trailing her fingers over the skin of his ribs and stomach, dropping occasional kisses to the pale skin. She delighted in counting his freckles, mercilessly teasing him, but her touch was intoxicating and he couldn’t hide the effect for long, the sheet tenting. A quick squeeze drew a strangled moan from him, but she otherwise ignored it, continuing her lazy exploration and inching ever higher on his chest.

“It’s all right,” he finally muttered, taking his hand from where it had been tracing circles on her back to guide hers up to the pacemaker. It wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying her caresses – he was enjoying them too much, and was eager to move on.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ellie whispered back, ghosting her fingers over the bump.

“You won’t.” His hand returned to her back, dropping lower until it rested just over her bum. Using its new position, he pushed her hips a little closer to his own, and let out a contented sigh when they were skin to skin.

“It looks like it’s healed well.” She shifted up a little to get a better look, the sheet getting caught between their bodies and expose the tops of her breasts to his gaze. “All things considered.”

“Aye.”

“And to think you were so bloody scared of the surgery.” Smirking slightly, she rested her chin just below the device to meet his gaze.

He shrugged one shoulder, the hand on her back slipping lower until it firmly cupped one bum cheek. “Well, if I’d known we would end up here…” he teased back, squeezing. She yelped, hips jerking forward, and he laughed.

“Does it hurt?”

Still smiling, he shook his head. “Barely notice it, now. It does its job, and I don’t set it off very often, so it’s just… there, mostly.”

Ellie sighed, nestling her head on his chest below the device. There was a warm, gooey feeling he’d never admit to in his gut when he stared at her dark head so casually leaning on him. It had been years since he’d had any type of intimacy, and he’d almost forgotten how good it felt to be comfortable being bare to someone; even in a non-sexual way.

Especially in a non-sexual way.

She snorted, then, turning her head to grin up at him. “Guess you really didn’t mind me touching you,” she teased, and when his brow furrowed she slipped her hand down his stomach and beneath the sheet to lay her palm flat over him, pressing down against the warm flesh.

“Shit.” The pressure was unbelievable, and he involuntarily thrust his hips up against her. She snickered again, lightening her touch and wrapping her fingers around him, beginning a lazy, gentle glide.

In retaliation, or perhaps in thanks, he let his hand slide down from her bum to between her thighs, delighting in the wetness he found there. “Seems you liked it to,” he challenged, finding her clit just as she opened her mouth to answer.

Instead of whatever certainly-biting remark she was going to unleash she moaned, an incredible sound that sent what little blood was left in the rest of his body rushing southward.

“Here, can you-” they maneuvered around, shifting until they were both on their sides facing each other, Ellie’s knee thrown over her hip to open herself wide to his touch.

Taking their time they leisurely explored each other, seeking what would draw out the loudest moans and curses. Hardy delighted in watching her expression change as his fingers wandered, pressing and rubbing, learning her beautiful body just as she did his.

She was building, quickly, letting out soft pants and whines as she ground down on his fingers, gripping him tighter in her pleasure.

This wasn’t going to last long.

“Hardy, please,” she begged, trying to roll onto her back.

“No.” He pulled her back to him before rolling to his back himself, tugging her astride him. They both cursed as she guided him inside, steadying herself with her hands on his stomach before beginning to move. Her hips rocked against him, grinding down as she sought her release. He brought one hand down to help her along, the other skimming up her body to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them. Every time he pinched her nipple, she’d cry out, rhythm stuttering against him.

Ellie shattered first, and the moment she did he flipped them, finding her mouth for a kiss. She reciprocated enthusiastically, and a dozen thrusts later he broke as well, freezing on top of her before collapsing, panting into the crook of her neck as the shockwaves rolled through him.

“Shit,” he groaned, trying to breathe deeply and calm his pounding heart.

“Oh my God,” she muttered back, and he became dimly aware that she was running her hands over his back.

“Good?” He pulled back, and they both made a face as he slipped out of her.

“Amazing.” Hardy balanced himself over her, resting his weight on his palms on either side of her shoulders. Her hands slid around from his back, coming down to caress his forearms. He dipped his head hesitantly, and she raised hers to meet his lips in a tender kiss.

When they parted for air he groaned, rolling over and making for the bathroom. Wetting a flannel, he cleaned himself up quickly before returning to her and doing the same. Tossing it back in the sink, he joined her under the covers, pleased when she rolled into his arms.

“Hardy?”

“Hmm?”

“We’re gonna keep doing this, yeah?”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

She nuzzled into his chest, pressing a kiss over the pacemaker. “After a nap, though, I think.”

“Aye. Then it’s my turn to explore you.”

#bbatcfic #timepetalscollective #Broadfic #Broadchurch #HardyxMiller #Hardy #Miller #Good Touches #prompted fic #oohlala

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dustenough · 7 years ago

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what was your last

1. drink - water

2. phone call - my mother

3. text message - “ok just phone me whenever x”

4. song you listened to - why won’t you love me by 5 seconds of summer

have you ever

6. dated someone twice - no i haven’t even dated anyone once

7. kissed someone and regretted it - no

8. been cheated on - if when your best friend calls someone else their best friend is cheating then yes

9. lost someone special - yes

10. been depressed - i’ve been clinically depressed for five years and counting

11. gotten drunk and thrown up - almost

fave colours

12. fave colour - yellow

13. fave colour - burgundy

14. fave colour - baby blue (and any other light/pastel colour)

in the last year have you

15. made new friends - yes, i met @soundshoodfeelshood last year and it was the best recent friendship that i’ve made i appreciate and love her a lot and it feels like i’ve known her forever

16. fallen out of love - no

17. laughed until you cried - yes, the most recent was when i was watching bottom with my parents

18. found out someone was talking about you - yes

19. met someone who changed you - i don’t think so

20. found out who your friends are - yes, i’m still finding out

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list - no

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl - all of them

23. do you have any pets - i have a cat named harry he’s 16 now, i used to have another cat named hermione who passed away last year at 15. i also used to have a hamster named pumpkin, three chickens named jessie, lilo and buttercup and fishes. my family also fostered a dog for few days who we named lola

24. do you want to change your name - no, i really like my surname too and don’t want to change it so if i ever get married i’ll probably still keep it baha.

25. what did you do for your last birthday - i spent the day at home with my family and my friends in the evening

26. what time did you wake up today - 8:30am

27. what were you doing at midnight last night - watching loey lane’s most recent ghost adventure on youtube

28. what is something you can't wait for - a miracle, no mental health issues, to know what i’m doing with my life and what career i want, for my parents to sell our house and finally move into their dream house on the coast and for me to be accepting of myself

30. what are you listening to right now - explore by sundara karma

31. have you ever talked to a person named tom - i don’t think so but i’ve spoken to people i never knew the name of so maybe i have talked to someone named tom

32. something that's getting on your nerves - eveything tbh i get irritated really easily i don’t want to write a list otherwise i won’t stop

33. most visited website - twitter or instagram??

34. hair colour - brown

35. long or short hair - my hair is in the middle; its quite long but not really long and sometimes my hair is super curly so that makes it significantly shorter

36. do you have a crush on someone - no but i’ve been thinking about this one boy for almost four days straight now lol help me

37. what do you like about yourself - literally nothing

38. want any piercings - i’ve wanted a nose ring for a really long time, i also want an orbital ear ring and a rook ear piercing with a heart shaped ring

39. blood type - i have no idea

40. nicknames - lillian and lily-pad. my english teacher used to call me lilith which means the mother of all evil which is lovely

41. relationship status - um i never went to oovoo javer

42. zodiac sign - my birthday is on 20th january which is the end of capricorn but the start of aquarius, every website and book says something different so i don’t know

43. pronouns - she/her

44. fave tv show - i don’t really watch tv shows but i have a list of ones i want to start watching. i grew up watching miranda so i’ll always love that. i also really like stranger things and i’ve watched a lot of episodes of friends and only fools and horses with my family which i enjoy

45. tattoos - i have an idea of a tattoo that i want, i like really small and delicate ones that are meaningful

46. right or left handed - i’m right handed

47. ever had surgery - no but my wisdom teeth are almost fully grown and i’m scared to get them removed

48. piercings - i think some of them are nice but i can’t stand some of them, i don’t like gauges and for some reason studs in the flat ares of the helix in the actual ear make me cringe

49. sport - i used to do a lot of sports including: dance, gymnastics, netball, basketball, and swimming but stopped during secondary school; i also used to go running with my father and sister and do annual charity runs. i want to get back into dance again since i really enjoyed it and loved performing at the theatre and start running again.

50. vacation - i’ve only ever been abroad to paris when i’ve been to disney land with my family since we go to cornwall every year and have been for as long as i can remember. (this is the first year we’re not going because we can’t afford it lol)

51. ?

more general

52. eating - i just ate some grapes

53. drinking - tea

54. about to watch - probably a random youtube video

55. waiting for - a miracle of some sort

56. want - myself and my family to be happy, content and healthy

56. get married - i need to find a significant other first which is already a huge and almost impossible task alone

58. career - anytime someone asks me this i’m on the verge of tears i’m literally begging for someone to choose out of a hat for me at this point

which is better

59. hugs or kisses - hugs are nice. ( never been kissed is a 1999 romantic comedy film and stars drew barrymore a-)

60. lips or eyes - eyes

61. shorter or taller - taller

62. older or younger - older

63. nice arms or stomach - arms

64. hookup or relationships - relationships

65. troublemaker or hesitant - troublemaker

have you ever

66. kissed a stranger - no

67. drank hard liquor - yes

68. turned someone down - yes

69. sex on first date - no wtf

70. broken someone's heart - i don’t think so

71. had your heart broken - no

72. been arrested - no

73. cried when someone died - yes

74. fallen for a friend/ as in crush?- yes

do you believe in

75. yourself - not at all but i wish i did

76. miracles - i dont know?? if it counts i think that everything happens for a reason

77. love at first sight - maybe?? like true love?? i think that exists because of my parents

78. santa claus - i believed him for too long

79. angels - no one is an angel

misc

80. eye colour - dark blue on the outside then light blue then green then like an olive?? i just say blue

81. best friends name - chloe (and my school friends of course)

82. favourite movie - i like a lot of films i don’t think i have a favourite, at least i can’t pick one just now so i’ll just say any disney film

83. favourite actor - i don’t know, any films which tom hanks and robin willims act or voice over are always great, they’re great

84. favourite cartoon - the cartoons that i watched when i was younger from the 80′s/90′s cartoons like bear in the big blue house (the songs are still on my family ipod) to the ones on disney cinemagic before i left for school (i used to watch emperors new groove everyday before and after school.) my little sister watches we bare bears and the amazing world of gumball which is great

85. favourite teacher - my old textiles teacher was really kind and supportive of my and my work which had a huge impact on my quality of work e.c.t. also my photography/art teacher, shes so lovely and wonderful, i’ve cried, threw up, had a mental breakdown and complained in front of her on occasions and she she helped me every step of the way, i always went to her for advice and such so i appreciate her a lot

i was tagged by @everyteardrop and i tag @soundshoodfeelshood @amazingseren @00my-secret-world00 @palettegguk

(i don’t have a lot of mutuals on here so if you want to do this then just do it and pretend i tagged you lmao)

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your-dietician · 4 years ago

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Kopps joins likes of McFadden, Williamson

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/ncaa-basketball/kopps-joins-likes-of-mcfadden-williamson/

Kopps joins likes of McFadden, Williamson

FAYETTEVILLE — Kevin Kopps’ spectacular 2021 season inspired a study by the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette of the best individual seasons in University of Arkansas history.

Kopps allowed 9 earned runs in 89 2/3 innings spanning 33 appearances for a nation’s best ERA of 0.90. The 24-year-old right-hander from Sugar Land, Texas, also led the NCAA with a 0.76 WHIP based on 50 hits and 18 walks allowed.

Kopps struck out 131 batters to average 13.15 strikeouts per nine innings, a rate that ranked 15th in the country. The sixth-year senior credited his workout routine, dietary discipline and beet juice for improving his stamina and bounce-back ability.

He has already earned college player of the year honors by winning the Dick Howser Trophy and from various other outlets, and he’s a favorite to win the Golden Spikes Award given in July to the best amateur baseball player.

In Saturday’s edition, the Democrat-Gazette presented 10 remarkable Razorback seasons in a variety of sports, in alphabetical order: Mike Conley (men’s track and field, 1985); Alistair Cragg (men’s track and field, 2004); Maria Fassi (women’s golf, 2018); Katherine Grable (gymnastics, 2014); Jarrion Lawson (men’s track and field, 2016); Stacy Lewis (women’s golf, 2007); Aurelija Miseviciute (women’s tennis, 2008); Brooke Schultz (swimming and diving, 2018); R.H. Sikes (men’s golf, 1963); and Erick Walder (men’s track and field, 1994).

Today, we tackle football, basketball, baseball and softball for the other half of what we deemed the best individual seasons in UA sports history.

A reminder of the loose criteria: The chosen athletes were to have won an individual NCAA championship or national award, earned All-America honors, been chosen conference player of the year or broken a school record.

The entries are not ranked and are presented in alphabetical order.

Andrew Benintendi, Baseball, 2015

The Razorbacks’ first winner of the Dick Howser Trophy and the Golden Spikes Award, Andrew Benintendi helped send Arkansas back to the College World Series for the first time since 2012.

Benintendi’s monumental season would have been hard to predict, though Dave Van Horn and the Arkansas coaching staff thought he’d probably have a breakout sophomore year.

Benintendi was the top signee in the Razorbacks’ Class of 2013, but he broke the hamate bone in his hand prior to the season and had trouble swinging the bat without pain for a while.

As a freshman, he hit .276 — third on the team behind fellow future major-leaguer Brian Anderson’s .328 — with 1 home run, 27 RBI, 17 stolen bases in 21 tries and 5 outfield assists.

The next year, the left-handed hitting whiz from Cincinnati tore it up. He raised his batting average 100 percentage points to .376, hit 20 home runs, drove in a team-high 57 runs, went 24 of 28 on stolen bases, drew 50 walks against 32 strikeouts and had 2 outfield assists.

Benintendi was the first Razorback to be named SEC player of the year after batting .415 during the regular season and .443 in conference play. He had an NCAA-best .771 slugging percentage entering the postseason and had not struck out in 46 plate appearances entering the SEC Tournament.

Braxton Burnside, Softball, 2021

Braxton Burnside’s whopping final season is still fresh in memory because she just completed it in late May. The Paragould native and graduate student hit .357 with a school-record 25 home runs and 54 RBI.

Burnside’s home run count tied for the SEC lead with Texas A&M’s Hailey Lee and was one shy of the conference record of 26 held by Alabama’s Bailey Hemphill and Mississippi State’s Mia Davidson, both in 2019.

Burnside’s robust .892 slugging percentage was second in the SEC behind Lee. She earned first-team All-America honors by the National Fastpitch Coaches Association and was a first-team All-SEC selection.

A transfer from Missouri, Burnside started all 25 games at shortstop during the covid-19 shortened 2020 season and hit .392 with 3 doubles, 5 home runs, 16 runs and 20 RBI.

Bettye Fiscus, Women’s Basketball, 1985

Razorback women’s hoops was a fledgling sport when Bettye Fiscus arrived in 1981 after leading Wynne to a AAA state championship and earning player of the year honors from the Arkansas Democrat.

Fiscus was a household name in Arkansas by the time she finished her career as the first superstar in the program with a school-record 2,073 points.

Fiscus holds several distinctions, having become the first female athlete inducted into the UA Sports Hall of Honor in 1994 and having her No. 5 jersey retired as the first male or female athlete to be afforded that honor in basketball in 1986.

Fiscus averaged 16.9 or more points every year at Arkansas, capped by her career-best average of 19.8 points in 1984-85.

Dan Hampton, Football, 1978

Before this Cabot native earned the nickname “Danimal” as a regular member of John Madden’s rugged All-Madden team, Dan Hampton was a “Junkyard Dog” on an Arkansas defense that helped the Hogs to big seasons in the mid-to-late 1970s.

The epitome of the era came in Hampton’s junior year of 1977, when the Razorbacks went 11-1, smothered No. 2 Oklahoma 31-6 in the Orange Bowl and finished No. 3 under first-year Coach Lou Holtz.

However, Hampton turned it up a notch individually as a senior in 1978, when he earned first-team All-America honors and was named Southwest Conference Defensive Player of the Year after racking up 98 tackles, including 18 for loss. The Houston Post tabbed Hampton as its SWC player of the year.

A member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame Class of 2002, Hampton recorded 57 sacks and 10 fumble recoveries as an inside-outside force for the Chicago Bears’ famed 46 defense from 1979-90.

Kevin Kopps, Baseball, 2021

Kopps came out of the gate slowly, allowing an earned run in the season opener against Texas Tech, then turned into college baseball’s most dominant pitcher.

Kopps’ ERA of 0.90 was 0.39 better than the second-place pitcher in the NCAA statistics.

He led Division I with a 0.76 WHIP, a product of walks plus hits allowed divided by innings pitched. Only 36 Division I players have a WHIP lower than 1.0 this season.

The sixth-year senior right-hander, who notched 13.15 strikeouts per nine innings, was named a finalist for the Golden Spikes Award on Thursday along with Vanderbilt starters Kumar Rocker and Jack Leiter.

Darren McFadden, Football, 2007

Darren McFadden’s sophomore and junior seasons in 2006 and 2007 represented possibly the most sublime individual campaigns in Razorback athletics.

But which McFadden year was better?

He rushed for 1,647 yards and 14 touchdowns and accounted for 19 touchdowns in 2006. He racked up a school-record 1,830 rushing yards and 16 touchdowns and accounted for 21 touchdowns, including 4 as a passer, as a junior.

McFadden won the Doak Walker Award as the nation’s top running back both seasons and finished as the Heisman Trophy runner-up each year. While he probably was more deserving of the Heisman Trophy over Ohio State quarterback Troy Smith in 2006, rather than Florida’s Tim Tebow in 2007, the latter season was arguably his best. He earned the Walter Camp Trophy that season as the best player in college football.

The Little Rock native played through a rib injury suffered in midseason and had a monster game in the Razorbacks’ 50-48 triple overtime upset at No. 1 LSU in his final regular-season game.

McFadden also tied the SEC single-game rushing record with 321 yards in a 48-36 win over South Carolina on the night “Frank Broyles Field” was dedicated at Reynolds Razorback Stadium.

Arkansas played in the SEC Championship Game during his sophomore year, but McFadden’s 2007 season just might be the best in Razorback history.

Sidney Moncrief, Men’s basketball, 1979

Little Rock’s Sidney Moncrief was one of the famed “Triplets” with Ron Brewer and Marvin Delph on the Razorbacks’ first Final Four team in 1978, where his defense, rebounding and all-around game made him stand out.

With Brewer and Delph gone from the 1979 team, Moncrief increased his productivity and his value as a senior and helped lead Arkansas to the Elite Eight, where it lost in controversial fashion to an Indiana State team headlined by Larry Bird.

Moncrief was a consensus All-American and was named Southwest Conference player of the year in 1978-79 after averaging 22 points, 9.6 rebounds, 2.7 assists and 1.5 steals while leading the Hogs to a 25-5 record.

Moncrief averaged 38.6 minutes, shot 56% from the field and 85.5% from the free-throw line that season. The 6-4 Moncrief held the school scoring record with 2,066 points until it was eclipsed by Todd Day, and his 1,015 career rebounds still stand as the UA record.

The No. 5 pick by the Milwaukee Bucks in the 1979 NBA Draft, Moncrief won the first two NBA Defensive Player of the Year awards in 1983 and ’84, was a five-time NBA All-Star and was elected to the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in 2019.

Loyd Phillips, Football, 1966

A key performer as a sophomore on the Razorbacks’ 1964 national championship team, Loyd Phillips went on to have two more big seasons.

His work in 1966 as a relentless defensive tackle led to his selection as the Outland Trophy winner as the best lineman in college football. Phillips earned consensus first-team All-America status that season by The Associated Press, American Football Coaches Association, Football Writers Association of America, Sporting News and Walter Camp as well as first-team All-SWC for the third consecutive year.

Phillips posted 97 tackles in 1966 after notching 100 the year before, and he finished with 304 career tackles, including 22 in a game against Tulsa.

The native of Longview, Texas, who died in December was proud to say his teams at Arkansas never lost to Texas.

Clyde Scott, Football/Track and field, 1948

Clyde “Smackover” Scott transferred to Arkansas in 1946 after resigning his post at the U.S. Naval Academy in order to marry Leslie Hampton, whom he met as the reigning Miss Arkansas when he escorted her around Annapolis, Md., while at the pageant.

Scott became a legend with the Razorbacks, an All-American in 1948 as a two-way star and self-taught sprinter on the track team.

Scott rushed for 670 yards on 95 carries to average 7.1 yards per carry in 1948, but his contributions were perhaps more critical on defense, where he was already famous for stopping an LSU ball carrier at the 1 in the 1947 Cotton Bowl to preserve a 0-0 tie with the favored Tigers.

Scott held the UA record in the 100-meter dash at 9.4 seconds, and he won the 110 high hurdles at the NCAA championships with a 13.7 to edge Northwestern’s Bill Porter.

At the London Olympics later that summer, Porter edged Scott in a photo finish, giving the Razorback a silver medal.

Scott, who passed away in Little Rock on Jan. 30, 2018, at age 93, had his No. 12 jersey retired by Athletic Director John Barnhill in 1950, the first Razorback to earn that distinction.

Corliss Williamson, Men’s basketball, 1994

Corliss Williamson, a native of Russellville, was the best player on the best Arkansas basketball team of all time, easily earning a spot on this list.

Williamson averaged a career-high 20.4 points per game as a sophomore during the 1993-94 season, leading the Razorbacks and Coach Nolan Richardson to a 76-72 win over Duke in the NCAA title game in Charlotte, N.C.

The 6-7, 245-pound power forward, given the nickname “Big Nasty” as a teenager, earned Most Outstanding Player honors at the 1994 NCAA Tournament, and he earned consensus All-America honors that year and also in 1995, when the Razorbacks fell to UCLA in the NCAA championship game.

Williamson was named SEC player of the year in his sophomore and junior seasons while helping lead the Razorbacks to SEC West titles all three years.

A longtime NBA assistant coach after serving as head coach at Arkansas Baptist (2009-10) and Central Arkansas (2010-13), Williamson won championships at the AAU, NCAA and NBA (Detroit Pistons, 2004). Williamson was inducted into the UA Hall of Honor in 2009.

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wantisamlindyla · 7 years ago

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Your Ghost - Chapter 1

New York, 1999.

He wanted her to live again, even if she could only come back to him through the pages of a book.

A/N: Hi all. I’ve been sitting on this for a while I finally decided to post the first chapter. I have a rough outline but I don’t know how many chapters there are going to be, maybe 6? This is AU, Mileven, takes place 15 years after Eleven disappeared. Most of season 2 still happened, but there was no Mike/Eleven Reunion at the end of episode 8. Will eventually post on Ao3, but I dunno when I’m gonna get my invite to set up an account. Enjoy!

28 October 1999

“Ladies and gentlemen thank you for coming here today. There will be a book signing of this amazing book after this session. Now, the reason for why we are all here today, and why some of you have been lining up outside the venue all night, is currently backstage, waiting patiently for me to stop nerding out and pull myself together to introduce him!

After publishing his first novel and topping the New York bestseller’s list at only the age of 23, he is here tonight to talk about his newest novel, titled the Ides of Winter, and the third book in the world famous Montauk series. Everybody, please join me in welcoming to the stage, Michael Wheeler!”

***

It was one month and 17 days into the book tour. Mike had one more stop in New York before he could call it a day and go home.

He was so goddamned tired, he still had several book signings, an interview with the New Yorker (with that pretentious prig, Howell), a TV appearance on the Today Show, and, a few radio interviews, before he can escape back to the Lake house in Lovell, Maine which he now called home.

It’s not all bad news though. New York means seeing Will again for the first time since Christmas.

Not that Mike has completely lost all touch with his old friends, quite on the contrary.

After graduating from a fine arts course at his brother’s alma mater, NYU, Will had decided to stay in the city. He’d eventually landed an unpaid internship at a small start up animation studio. Now Will split his time travelling back and forth from California to New York as the head character designer on a number of superhero animated cartoons that Mike watched religiously on Saturday mornings.

It wasn’t hard to stay in touch with Will, it was just that this last year had been manic. Mike had barely fit in time for sleep what with working frantically to get his novel finished, having to attend stressful and tense meetings with his editor, forcing himself to return his lawyers’ phone calls about a copyright infringement litigation his publishers had commenced on his behalf, and having to deal with ideas about for the short story anthology he had been working on springing up at the most inconvenient times.

He and Will still managed to talk every other day though, either by telephone or AIM.

Ever since Nancy and Jonathan officially became a couple around Christmas of ‘84, Jonathan and Will became regular dinner guests at the Wheeler residence. He and Will had become almost inseparable, more than anybody in the party.

During his parents’ divorce, which took place during Mike’s sophomore year of high school, with Nancy and Jonathan away at college, Mike spent more and more time at the Byers’ residence, trying to escape the tensions at home, right up until he left for college in ‘89.

At college, Mike made new friends, attended dumb keg parties, dated girls, but he never lost touch with Dustin, Will, Lucas, or Max.

You didn’t help save the end of the world with your friends, twice, and then drift away from them over trivial things like distance and attending different colleges.

In fact, Mike had just met up with Dustin only a few months ago. Dustin had been in Maine for some reason connected with his annoyingly mysterious job.

After Dustin had graduated from MIT he had immediately been recruited by a secretive tech company in California. Dustin couldn’t talk about where he worked or what he did at his job. Whenever people asked him where he worked he’d tell them Cyberdyne Systems with a straight face.

He and Dustin had attended the Phantom Menace premiere together with Dustin’s then-girlfriend, Cindy. The boys had left the movie theatre deflated and heartsore while Cindy had tried valiantly to console them by saying all the wrong things.

Dustin called Mike a few weeks later to inform him that he and Cindy were no longer going out.

“I had to dump her Mike, she said she thought Jar Jar Binks was cute. Also she refused to share her food with me when we went out.”

“So?”

“So? So? It’s weird. We go out for Italian and I end up having to eat an entire Pepperoni pizza on my own, which I don’t really mind, but then her ravioli looks good too, but she won’t let me have any because she likes us to have our own meals. And don’t even get me started on that time I took her to Wang’s Treasure Palace.”

Besides those occasional and surprising visits during the year there was always Christmas and New Years at Lucas and Max’s place to look forward to.

Of all of them only Lucas and Max had opted to return to Hawkins. Lucas quit his mechanical engineering job and got a position as an assistant professor, teaching at the community college only after a few years in Chicago. Max got a job as a mechanic at a garage. They bought a house, got married, and got busy starting a family.

Mike smiled at the memory of last year’s Christmas.

He’d practically lived at Lucas and Max’s house the whole time he was there since the picture perfect Wheeler family Christmases that his mom had worked so hard to create during his childhood was now only a distant memory.

Nancy preferred to spend her Christmases in New York with Jonathan and Mrs Byers. The Wheeler home had been sold a few years ago when Holly had left to go to college. Holly preferred to spend her holidays in Chicago with her boyfriend’s family.

His mom was away on another cruise, and, his dad was busy with wife number two.

So, Mike spent his Christmas and News Years at the Sinclairs. He’d taught their three-year-old son, Robbie, how to build a snowman. He conducted a twelve-hour D & D Campaign, pelted Dustin with snowballs, watched a pregnant Max eat all the ice-cream and listened to her complain about how gassy pregnancy made her, watched a star wars marathon and gorged on pizza on Christmas day (just because Max was the only girl in the party did not mean that she would be cooking and cleaning for four man-child wastoids who liked to mooch off her and Lucas).

Mike considered a detour to Hawkins for a visit after New York so he could meet the newest addition to the Sinclair family, baby Grace, who was about to turn 6 months old. He decided to bring it up with Will tonight at dinner.

Mike pulled himself back to the present and to the interviewer who was introducing him to her broadcast audience.

“You’re listening to Terry Gross on Fresh Air. Joining us today is Michael Wheeler, author of the best selling book series, Montauk. The series is set in the 60s, in the small town of Montauk in upstate New York, the town is haunted by the misdeeds of its occupants.

The main protagonist is Millie, a brave young girl, with a few secrets of her own.

When Millie’s best friend, Noah, goes missing in mysterious and sinister circumstances, she sets out on a journey into the woods near the town to find him. The first two books in the series have already sold over 80 million copies worldwide and a movie adaptation of the first novel is currently in the works. The third book in the series, Ides of Winter, was released recently.

Michael was only 23 when the first novel in the series was published. He was awarded the Hugo Award for best new author in ‘95 and he has been named one of Time’s most influential people of the year. Michael thank you so much for joining us today.”

“Of course, thank you for having me.”

Terry was one of the best interviewers Mike had the pleasure of meeting. Her soft spoken and inquisitive questions put him immediately at ease, so much so that so he almost forgot he was being interviewed on radio.

He didn’t forget to lie though.

When Terry asked him about where he’d drawn inspiration from for his twelve-year-old girl protagonist, he told her Millie was a blend of himself and the two sisters whom he’d grown up with.

When Terry asked him what drew him to the supernatural and horror themes prevalent in his novels, he only talked about the books and authors he’d read growing up.

“Michael, my favourite chapter of your second novel is the Cave of Horrors. I’m sure you get that a lot. I just wanted to ask you about that chapter, because it’s pivotal, its when Millie comes to believe that she may have truly lost her friend forever, and you write so well about grief, and loss, and the trauma associated with that at such a young age. I guess what I wonder is, was this kind of loss something you had experience with?”

Mike pauses for a long moment.

He doesn’t know what it was, perhaps it’s the kindness in Terry’s voice.

Maybe it was the year he’d just had, it’d been especially difficult.

Maybe it was the tour.

Maybe it was the thought of that big empty lake house waiting for him at the end of the tour.

Maybe he’s just so tired of the lies and the bullshit. He didn’t really even understand why he still did it; it’s as natural as breathing, but its been almost 15 years. All the men who could punish him or his friends for saying the wrong thing are long gone.

He doesn’t know why or what it is, but all of a sudden his chest feels as if it’s been cracked wide open and its like everyone can see the wound inside him, vulnerable and raw as the day it happened. He wants to tell the world about her, he wants to scream it from the top of the Empire State Building.

He’s twelve years old again, he can smell the tang of blood and the smoke of ashes that had never touched fire. He can hear the violent and desperate screams of a dying creature ringing in his ears and in between darkness and the flickering fluorescent lights, he sees her eyes, tired, resigned, and filled with pain.

Goodbye Mike.

He wanted her to live again, even if she could only come back to him through the pages of a book.

So he’d saved her the only way he knew how. She came back to life by people reading his book, by growing to love and adore Millie, the brave and wonderful girl that would face monsters and death in order to save her friends.

“I….I lost a friend when I was a kid Terry. I don’t really speak about it often. But the way that it happened….it was violent and sudden. I don’t think I was able to come to grips with it for many years. It’s hard to admit sometimes, I think I lie to myself about it, but so much of her is in my writing.”

Terry nodded thoughtfully even though though the gesture won’t be captured by the microphone.

“Did writing help you with dealing with that loss?”

Mike answered honestly, “I don’t know. Some days I think it’s made it worse, because she’s with me, everyday. I live and breathe the loss of her in work. But its just become inseparable from me, the pain. I think it’s just like an arm, or a leg. You heal, but you’re not ever the same. And you never really forget what you lost.”

#mike/eleven #mileven #fanfic #stranger things #au mileven #chapter 1 #authormike

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talesfromthesnogbox · 7 years ago

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To Have and to Hold

Summary: Mike can't wait to propose to the girl of his dreams, the love of his life, but he forgot about a certain tradition... asking her father first.

Notes: Alright so don't kill me, I know this tradition is really outdated and I personally kind of hate it, but I thought it would be really sweet to watch Mike go through with it, and I've seen the idea being bounced around on Tumblr so I went with it.I promise it's not as painful as my last fic. Oh... and two in one day? Who even am I?

Oh, this is totally part one of three?

Karen watched her only son Mike close the front door and lean against it, smiling blissfully.

She hoped he didn’t notice her watching him, knowing his mother snooping on his private moment of contemplation would embarrass the boy… no… man.

Now twenty-two years old, Mike had finished college top of his class and secured himself a good job. She couldn’t be more proud of her boy, but she knew there was one more “adult” thing he wanted to do, one more thing they’d spoken about briefly before moving out on his own.

See, Karen knew her son’s heart better than he knew himself. He was an open book, and although he’d tried to keep his emotions hidden from her, she could always tell what he was feeling, and Karen knew what he was currently feeling would never go away. She herself hadn’t felt that romantic tug of the heart since she was young, but she knew Mike’s flame wouldn’t die out.

El had been a constant in Mike’s life since that fateful November day in 1983. Karen once again could tell her young teenage boy had his heart broken, and for a year, he was nearly insufferable to be around. Until one day, one day after Snow Ball ’84, he was a changed kid. Chief Hopper had come to Karen and explained everything about his strange adopted daughter and how her son had come to know her. She didn’t believe it at first, but he was adamant that she had to trust them.

At first, she went along with their little practical joke of a backstory, engaging with El when she came around the house, treating her like any one of Mike’s other friends, until one day she saw it. Her mind reeled as the girl made Mike’s Dungeons and Dragons game pieces float in mid air, putting them away in their respective places before wiping the drip of blood from her nose. Holy shit, Karen thought, heart pounding as she descended the stairs, snacks in hand.

Despite the… telekinesis, her son was absolutely enthralled with El. His face lit up at the mere mention of her name, and his pale cheeks turned red at his nonchalant attempts of warding off questions. They “officially” labeled each other as boyfriend and girlfriend when they hit sixteen, but Karen knew that they’d been together far earlier than that. Nancy had told her about their sweet kiss at the Snow Ball, and Karen already knew he was in it for the long haul. She suspected their waiting to announce anything officially had much to do with El’s father, the chief of police.

Mike’s bounding up the stairs brought Karen back to the present, and she followed after the boy, knocking on his door lightly.

“Mike, sweetheart? Can I talk to you?”

He opened the door and smiled at his mother, allowing her in and taking a seat on his bed, patting the spot beside him.

“You know, you’ve been dating El for a few years now.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Mom, you had this talk with me when I first started dating her, I don’t think I need it again.”

“Oh! No, no, that’s not what I came up here for. I wanted to give you something.”

He looked at her inquisitively as she drew something from the pocket of her apron. It was a little velvet box, and instantly, Mike wanted to cry and throw up at the same time.

“Mom…”

“I know you’ve been talking about proposing to El for a few months now. I saw the ring catalogues in your room last week and thought I might help you out a little.” She opened the box to reveal a delicate diamond nestled atop a thin gold band. The ring was familiar, it was beautiful, it was perfect. “Your grandmother gave it to me to pass onto you years ago. The woman’s intuition… she knew right from the moment she met El that you would end up with her. She wishes she could have been the one to give it to you, she thinks you’ve had it for years, but I told her I wasn’t giving it to you until I knew you were ready.”

Karen handed Mike the box, and took it without hesitation, lifting the ring from its careful holder and turning it in the light.

“Now, I know it’s not the style right now, you don’t have to take it if you wanted to—”

“No! Mom, it’s perfect.” The smile that crossed Mike’s face was one of the warmest she’d ever seen on him, and she knew he was absolutely right. It would suit the girl wonderfully, not flashy, nothing elaborate, simple and beautiful. “I… thank you… oh my god thank you. I have to call Nana.”

“Yes, you should. She’s been waiting by the phone for this call for years.” Karen let out a giggle. “So, when are you going to ask her?”

He’d planned on doing it in the New Year, maybe just before Valentine’s Day, but now that he had a ring, he wanted her to have it now. “Tomorrow. I’m just going to–”

“Whoa, hold your horses there loverboy. You only get one shot at this, don’t be like your father and just hand her the ring, you should do something special.”

He thought about what his mother had said for a moment. “Alright, Christmas morning. We were planning on staying at the cabin anyways, I’ll ask her then.”

Karen smiled. It was a wonderful idea, really. Christmas was a perfect time to celebrate the couple, and it was only weeks away.

“You should go talk to Chief Hopper this week then. Not down at the station, maybe go visit him and Joyce at home.”

Mike’s face fell. Right. He would be expected to ask for her hand first.

#mileven #mike wheeler x eleven #why do I keep writing these #somebody pls stop me #I HAVE TO WORK IN THE MORNING.#anyways #enjoy #my writing

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corneliusreignallen · 5 years ago

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Fare evasion costs cities millions. But will cracking down on it solve anything?

Most fare evaders are one-time offenders, according to research from the Public Transport Research Group in Australia. | Drew Angerer/Getty Images

New York City has increased policing to curb fare dodging. It’s resulted in outrage and protests from some riders.

When Allure editor Rosemary Donahue witnessed New York City transit workers installing cameras in front of subway turnstiles, she posted a photo to Twitter on November 1 that quickly went viral.

Part of her tweet — “are you...fucking....kidding me?? — captured the unique frustration and anger New Yorkers reserved for the Metropolitan Transit Authority (MTA) in the wake of the city’s renewed focus on fare evasion this year.

“My mom waited an hour at Lexington-63rd after leaving work yesterday for the F train... but okay, this is the problem,” responded one Twitter user. “The cost of those cameras, installing those cameras, and paying someone to monitor the cameras is definitely a better way for the MTA to spend money than fixing the trains,” said another.

are you...fucking....kidding me?? they’re installing cameras in front of every single turnstyle at the fulton stop in manhattan right now pic.twitter.com/6QbirJSVSg

— Rosemary Donahue (@rosadona) November 1, 2019

The online outrage has largely stemmed from riders’ dissatisfaction with the transit system’s efficiency and accessibility that, in their opinion, has not improved much, combined with anger over the perceived treatment of marginalized riders.

Within the past two years, the system’s on-time performance has fluctuated from terrible (58 percent on-time in January 2018) to satisfactory (84 percent in August 2019), but breakdowns, unexpected delays, and service changes still frequently occur. (The MTA also has a history of overstating its performance, according to Jalopnik reporter Aaron Gordon.)

According to the MTA’s estimates, the system will lose about $300 million from fare evasion this year, from both train and bus fares. But officials’ fixation on reducing this offense are misaligned, activist groups say, especially when these policies are likely to affect low-income riders and communities of color. Those who are fined or arrested for fare evasion in New York are disproportionately black or Hispanic, according to MTA data of arrests. The MTA has not responded to a call for comment at the time of publication.

Some activists have called for fare evasion to be decriminalized, which means offenders will have to pay a fine instead of facing arrest or jail time. Currently, people who don’t pay the fare are expected to pay a $100 fine, and the MTA said police will not be focused on making arrests. But according to The Appeal, those with an open warrant or a history of similar offenses could still be arrested if caught fare evading.

Fare evasion doesn’t just occur in New York. It’s an endemic issue for transit systems around the world, and current tactics used by authorities to reduce fare beating are far from perfect.

According to transit experts, we — the transit board, public officials, and regular citizens — might be simplifying the motives behind fare dodging: Why do people hop a turnstile or sneak through a gate in the first place? And what is it, exactly, that we’re trying to fix here?

Fare evasion is more common than you might think. But most people are one-time offenders.

While fare evasion has been studied by data scientists and engineers, few have looked into the psychological aspects that drive this action — a form of “consumer misbehavior,” according to researchers from the Public Transport Research Group in Australia.

The group’s findings, explained to me by Graham Currie, a professor of public transportation at Monash University, examine how common fare evasion is among the general public and the intentions of re-offending evaders, who are a small but significant population in transit systems worldwide.

Currie’s research evaluated rider behavior in Melbourne, but his team also conducted follow-up research in ten cities around the world, including New York, to determine the public’s perception of transit systems with high fare evasion rates.

Currie told me that in New York City, about 40 percent of transit riders evade a fare once a year, intentional or not. “This is a big share of the population,” he said. This one-time fare evasion could be due to a variety of circumstances: The ticketing booth wasn’t working, a rider left their Metrocard at home, or the emergency exit door was left open, which provides for a quick entry.

“But according to the law, even if you do it once, you’re committing a crime,” Currie continued. “So riders’ immediate reaction to the authorities calling them criminals is to feel that the system is incompetent.” (The Public Transport Research Group favors policies that don’t punish riders caught in their first attempt of fare beating.)

Activists have pointed to other cities in the US, such as Washington D.C. and Philadelphia, as examples of places that have passed measures to decriminalize fare evasion in the past year. According to Philadelphia news outlet Billy Penn, only 13 people have been charged with the harshest penalty — a total ban from the transit system — since the city decriminalized the offense in January.

“But according to the law, even if you do it once, you’re committing a crime”

Riders’ resistance and disdain for the MTA in New York overflowed into a protest in early November against increased policing on the MTA. The outrage was prompted by multiple videos of viral arrests that appeared to involve unnecessary force by police toward passengers of color. Hundreds of people occupied a subway platform and took to the streets in downtown Brooklyn. They hopped turnstiles and posted stickers to encourage mass fare evasion, a tactic taken from demonstrations in Santiago, Chile.

Protesters decorated the walls & trains during the #FTP march in Brooklyn earlier tonite. You can tell that they were inspired by the #EvasionMasiva protests in Chile. #SwipeItForward pic.twitter.com/8wL1yLobe0

— Ash J (@AshAgony) November 2, 2019

The following week, more videos documenting police action on the subway surfaced. A viral video on November 9 showed officers arresting a churro vendor in a station to the outrage of bystanders. (The NYPD told Gothamist in a statement that the vendor, who had 10 summonses for unlicensed vending, “refused to cooperate and was briefly handcuffed; officers escorted her into the command where she was uncuffed.”)

Tonight as I was leaving Broadway Junction, I saw three or four police officers (one of them was either a plainclothes cop or someone who worked at the station) gathered around a crying woman and her churro cart. Apparently, it's illegal to sell food inside train stations. 1/? pic.twitter.com/sgQVvSHUik

— Sofia B. Newman (@SofiaBNewman) November 9, 2019

When I asked Currie if he found any correlation between fare evasion and people’s perception of the transit system, he said his research group theorized that would be the case. Their theory was predicated on research done towards shoplifting — how shoplifting rates increase if a shop appears to be old or unkempt and workers are unhelpful.

“I suspect it’s still true, although we didn’t find any link,” Currie said. “If people aren’t happy, it will affect their compliance with what the rules are.”

According to surveys conducted in Melbourne, recidivist fare evaders are not typically poor or disadvantaged. “A high share of them work and a number of them are wealthy, actually,” he said. In surveying this group of people who consistently fade evade, Currie found that they’re driven by the thrill of risk-taking.

“If people aren’t happy, it will affect their compliance with what the rules are”

This behavior is also tied to how much people perceive to be in control of the situation, which means they weigh the risk or likelihood of being caught. Stricter policing does reduce fare evasion, Currie said, although public officials need to implement it “carefully and considerately.”

People are more motivated to pay up if they think they’re likely to be checked for a ticket, Currie said. In Melbourne, for example, the transit system deploys plainclothes officers to inspect tickets randomly at stops and stations.

There’s also the “proof of payment” system that’s popular in Europe where there are fewer gates or barriers to entry, but occasionally, an inspector on a bus or train will demand to see a rider’s ticket. These methods have helped lower rates of fare evasion in cities like Oslo. The idea is to make paying for fares easier and faster — in addition to increasing the possibility of a passenger being checked.

The cost of fare evasion and why cities care so much

Andy Byford, New York City’s transit president, has maintained that fares are crucial in improving rider experience. “Every dollar that doesn’t come to us, in terms of fares that should be paid, is a dollar that we can’t improve in service,” he said at a news conference in September, according to AM New York.

Fares aren’t the only source of revenue for the MTA; the system also earns money from tolls, taxes, government subsidies, and advertisements. But fares account for the largest chunk — about 38 percent (or $6.2 billion) — of the MTA’s annual earnings.

The MTA, despite approving a much-needed $54 billion plan in September, is expected to reach a $1 billion operating budget deficit by 2023. The authority board voted to raise fares in April, and the city deployed an additional 500 transit and NYPD police to 50 subway stations and 50 bus routes where evasion is most common.

Vince Talotta/Toronto Star/Getty Images

Andy Byford, the city’s transit president, has said that fare beating is an issue that the MTA can’t ignore.

The deployment would cost the MTA $249 million over the next four years, according to chief financial officer Bob Foran during the 2020 budget proposal on November 14. The agency is also expected to raise fares and tolls in 2021 and 2023 and cut back on 2,700 jobs.

As Streetsblog NYC reported, the police deployment will be partially financed by the $200 million the MTA is expected to save through anti-fare evasion efforts. But the projected cost of these efforts raised eyebrows among activists, local politicians, and city residents.

Say we had $249M and we could do anything we wanted to improve the subway system, what would you want to see prioritized? https://t.co/OxCGA2I6Jk

— Jessica Ramos (@jessicaramos) November 14, 2019

In September, Byford said that he would “like to see cameras on every train on every bus on every station on all the gate lines,” according to the New York Daily News. Yet subway fare evasion hasn’t curbed despite increased policing, officials said in October. It’s actually risen from 3.9 percent of riders in June to 4.7 percent in August. (Bus fare evasion has dropped from 24 percent to 22 percent during the same time period.)

Cracking down on evasion is one way to rake in more funds for the MTA, which is also struggling with a decline in ridership. Still, it’s not likely that the MTA, or any American transit system, for that matter, is going to turn a profit any time soon.

Few public transit agencies in the world are profitable, and most of them are based in Asia. Hong Kong’s Mass Transit Railway system operates on a “rail plus property” model that profits off real estate developments above its stations. It’s also partially owned by the Hong Kong government and privately run.

Most transit systems don’t follow this model and rely on government subsidies or taxes. That’s why — even in cities where public transit is financially sustainable — fares do matter, and public officials are willing to crack down on evaders despite outcry.

It’s not just in New York City, which has estimated a loss of $300 million in annual fares. London Travel Watch, a transport watchdog group, said the system will lose 100 million pounds this year to fare dodgers. And in cities like DC, where fare evasion is decriminalized, the Metro expects to lose $36 million in 2019.

The promise and the price of free public transit

As transport fares continue to rise in cities around the world, a number of activists and organizations are calling for them to be eliminated. In other words: make public transit free. This is a radical demand — one that’s been considered for decades — that aims to reduce inequality in our transportation system. Research has shown that poorer communities have shoddier access to public transit systems.

As Joe Pinsker writes in The Atlantic, “Maybe free public transit should be thought of not as a behavioral instrument, but as a right; poorer citizens have just as much of a privilege to get around conveniently as wealthier ones.”

Luxembourg will be the first nation to offer free transit starting in 2020. With a system as complex and old as New York’s, though, the idea could sound far-fetched. After all, if the MTA can’t turn a profit, how will it subsidize fares for millions of residents while ensuring that the trains run on time?

Cities have been grappling with how to reduce fare evasion for decades, but making the system free, according to Currie, isn’t a viable solution for many. “High-capacity mass transit costs a fortune,” he told me.

Academics and activists have made in-depth, research-backed arguments for decades as to why we should or should not make public transit free. Transit advocate Ted Kheel, who lobbied for free transit in New York City for over 40 years, proposed a plan that included congestion pricing, taxi surcharges, and higher parking fees to cover fares.

“High-capacity mass transit costs a fortune”

Meanwhile, a 2013 report in the International Journal of Transportation that analyzed free fare schemes in Europe discouraged entirely free systems. While subway use drastically increased, the study found free transit to be costly and required “broad political support and long term commitment.”

Ultimately, before New York even considers a new fare system, it needs to improve its “ancient and unreliable” infrastructure or the city’s growth will soon be stifled, Currie said.

For the time being, it seems like the only thing passengers can do is pay for it. And people, for the most part, are doing so. It’s just that frustration arises when riders feel that their conditions aren’t improving, when fares are rising, and when more and more of that money is directed towards enforcement.

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