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notbang · 4 years ago

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the pursuit of happiness

or, an examination of happiness and the chase as recurring motifs in the character development of Rebecca Bunch and Nathaniel Plimpton

rethaniel appreciation week day 2 → pursuit

I could write a small novel cataloguing the endless parallels between these two—I have, in fact, thought about attempting it many times—but honestly the list is so long and varied and sprouts off in so many different directions that I’ve yet to think of a logical way to go about it. Which is why for the time being, I’m choosing to focus instead—in some degree of detail—on this particular mirrored thread between them.

As our protagonist, Rebecca functions as a major catalyst for change in West Covina, and just as surely as she stumbles along in her journey we see the (for the most part) positive effects of her friendship on those around her. With perhaps the sole exception of White Josh, all of the characters end the show as happier and healthier iterations of themselves, with many of the major aspects of their growth traceable to their involvement with Rebecca in some way. Nathaniel is no exception to this rule; arguably, his development, more so than any other character’s, is directly tied to Rebecca’s influence on his life. The main difference here lies in the fact that he moves to town good a season and half after her—putting him that much further behind in his inevitable development.

One of the major, ongoing setbacks Rebecca faces over the course of the show is her tendency to conflate happiness, or personal fulfilment, with romantic love, and more specifically, for the first half of the series at least, conflating it with a single person. Nathaniel, by comparison, at the time of our introduction to him, has little interest in the concept at all, something Rebecca is quick to sympathise with in 2x09—‘You know Nathaniel, I used to be a lot like you. Ruthless. But then one day I was crying a lot, and I decided to flip things around. Decided to put happiness before success. And when I did that, the world rewarded me with true happiness.’ Nathaniel doesn’t verbally dismiss the sentiment, but the wealth of facial expressions he supplies in response suggest what he thinks of that: happiness is frivolous, and he doesn’t have space for it in his busy schedule.

Nathaniel, probably: Sounds fake but okay.

In the season two theme Rebecca declares that as a girl in love, she can’t be held responsible for her actions, and the sweeping duet Nothing Is Ever Anyone’s Fault follows a similar thread of eschewing culpability. While this certainly works to help dismiss a season’s worth of questionable behaviour from the two of them—including, but not limited to, infidelity and conspiracy to murder—I’m not convinced the touted concept behind the song—that Nathaniel has learned the wrong lesson from being in love with her, as explained in post-finale interviews at the time—flies in the face of our understanding of Nathaniel’s character thus far. As a rich, straight, white, cis male whose privilege the show has only made clumsy attempts at dismantling, a disregard of consequence seems a lot less like something he needed to be taught by anybody and a little more like something that was probably ingrained in him at birth.

If we want to talk about misguided takeaways within their relationship, though, their relationship to happiness is the perfect place to start. Nathaniel begins the show with no concept of the pursuit of happiness, so it makes sense that when he does adopt an interest in it, he takes a page right out of the book of the person that introduced him and pins it all in the one place. Unlike Rebecca, though, Nathaniel’s preoccupation seems to be less wilful delusion and more of a case of ignorance being bliss—being with her feels good, so why change anything or interrogate the situation any further? For all his earlier talk, he is quick to give up the thrill of the chase under the hedonistic guise of contentment. Unfortunately, what he lacks is the emotional intelligence to navigate the implications of Rebecca’s disorder, highlighted by his belief that the mere fact that he and Josh are two vastly different people is reason enough for him to be able to dismiss her obsessive behaviour as ‘cute’ and ‘flattering’. Rebecca’s recent breakdown and consequential suicide attempt can’t exist as warning signs in their (what he perceives as superior) relationship because he isn’t planning on leaving Rebecca at the altar; he isn’t privy to the realisation that it ‘wasn’t about Josh, and maybe it never was’.

Nathaniel: I don’t want to get in the way of your therapy thing, but isn’t the point of all this to be happy? We’re happy. That’s what matters.

It’s a shame because despite there being so much more going on with Rebecca than Nathaniel is capable of comprehending at this point in time, he actually, perhaps entirely by accident, manages to get a few things right—he checks in with her about her therapy when her appearing on his doorstep contradicts the information she’d given him earlier (even if he is, at this point, all too easy to convince), counters her suggestion that they play hooky at Raging Waters with the compromise of a more sensibly scheduled dinner they’ll both enjoy, and, when they do come in to conflict over her obsessive behaviours, takes some time for himself before having a serious conversation with her. Though it’s certainly naive of him to think it’s a problem as easily solved as getting Rebecca to promise she’ll never do anything like this again, it suggests the capacity exists (given, with great guidance) for him to approach Rebecca’s mental illness within their relationship in a thoughtful way.

(This of course completely ignores the inherent issues in their boss/employee relationship, which come to a questionable forefront when Rebecca makes the decision to return to work after having broken things off, but we’re starting to get a little off-track from the intended scope of this discussion.)

The idea of romantic love as a chase—if not already sold to us by Rebecca literally moving across the country in pursuit of Josh—is hammered home most effectively in episode 2x11, but Nathaniel actually brings it up in the episode prior; before Rebecca and Josh leave for New York, at the same time as setting up the whole ‘man of my dreams’ idea that also carries on into the next episode, a sweaty Nathaniel beseeches Rebecca to imitate a land-based predator so he can amp up his workout under the threat of chase. Within this alignment, Josh, who ends up proposing to Rebecca at the end of 2x10, becomes even more clearly representative of an end goal—love, marriage, and, as an expected by-product, ultimate happiness. Nathaniel, by contrast for the time being, is all about the chase that comes before. After his speech at the beginning of 2x11 boasting of his dogged approach when securing clients, his passionate buzz words begin to permeate Rebecca’s subconscious, with ‘pursuit’ in particular going so far as to in an echo in a similar way that ‘happy’ does in the pilot. Such is the effect of his words on her that she parrots them back to Josh when she tells him she’s moved up their wedding—‘Finally, it’s coming to an end. The pursuit is over and I just want to celebrate that’. The title of the episode title may pose the question Josh is the man of my dreams, right? but in the most literal sense, the star of her dreams becomes Nathaniel, along with his personal brand of terminology.

Where Nathaniel thinks life is all about playing the hunter, Rebecca insists she doesn’t care for the chase, which makes sense—she doesn’t want to be chasing Josh, and furthermore, admitting that she’s chasing him would only be contradictory to her belief that they belong together. She wants her happy ending. She wants to arrive at her final destination—her destiny—because thus far all her journeys (which have in actuality been more of a kind of stagnation) have been left her unfulfilled. However obsessing over an idealised future only postpones her happiness with her inability to focus on the present. Ironically, the point at which she makes an active choice to begin shifting that focus—in 3x07, when Dr Shin encourages her to live in the messy in-between—is right around the time Nathaniel starts buying into her idealisation himself.

In a similar way to Rebecca, regardless of his purported love of the pursuit, Nathaniel’s infatuation is seemingly tied to the concept of a destination—several times quite literally. In 3x04 he’s ready to whisk her away to Rome to evade any obstacles to their being together, and in 4x01 proposes a similar escape to Hawaii, causing him to lash out when Rebecca turns him down—‘I want us to just be happy and be together. That’s what I want. You just said you love me, right? So can you just do that for me? Can you just stop overthinking everything? …seems like every time we’re happy, you try to ruin it.’ He sees their shared happiness as a nirvana state he’s caught a glimpse of that Rebecca is now determined to deny him access to, to the point that he seeks to make their version of a love bubble a physical one, where no outside interference (or, more accurately, internal reflection from Rebecca) can keep them apart. Still degrees behind Rebecca in the parallel arcs of their development, he’s stuck in the mindset that them being happy and in love is the only thing that matters. His behaviour is far from flattering, but with a quick review of his history of being on the continual receiving end of her rejection, it’s not entirely difficult to see where he’s coming from.

(As an aside, Rebecca’s relationship with the destination versus the journey as it pertains to the mural on her wall is something I’ve already discussed in a previous meta.)

When she breaks up with him at the beginning of 3x09, Rebecca responds to Nathaniel’s protest of ‘but we’re happy!’ with the qualifier that she’s ‘happy, but it isn’t real’, which probably isn’t the most pleasant thing to be told, even before you factor in Nathaniel’s implied inexperience with serious relationships. While her behaviour prior to this definitely calls for some self reflection, it’s an interesting backflip from extreme infatuation to sudden dismissal, and while it does align with the black and white thinking associated with BPD, it’s easy to see why Nathaniel feels blindsided and, consequently, spurned. She begged him not to break up with her not only to then turn around do exactly that, but to also (presumably unintentionally) throw in the humiliating implication he cared more than she did.

Dr Akopian: Maybe now you can see that your father’s behaviour in the past has set a pattern for you, seeking the love of men who don’t fully love you back. Who you have to pursue. Men who are taken or emotionally unavailable. Like your father. Like Josh. Like Greg. Like other men, I’m sure.

Nathaniel is an outlier amongst the three main love interests in that, for all his grandstanding about humans being hunters by nature, he’s the one constantly falling over himself to win Rebecca’s affection rather than the other way around; it’s ironic that the love interest that asserts himself as being all about the chase is the one that ends up later having to assign himself the title of ‘king of declarations’ based on his ongoing habit of blurting out to Rebecca how he feels, never achieving the level of emotional standoffishness he hopes to exude. Nathaniel’s unavailability—and subsequent cementing as one of the types of men Dr Akopian calls Rebecca out on being predisposed to pursuing—comes only when he enters into a relationship with Mona, and Rebecca, who supposedly ‘never cared for the chase’, with interest reignited finds a skewed sense of security afforded by the romantic roadblock, something Nathaniel seems to understand on some unspoken level, as hinted at by his eagerness to maintain the fragile status quo of their morally questionable arrangement.

As a result of this subversion of power dynamics within Rebecca and Nathaniel’s relationship, in amongst the many other parallels between them that only serve to support this, it starts to become apparent that, narratively speaking, Nathaniel is to Rebecca as Rebecca is to Josh, something that is visually co-signed by the show during 4x03, when we see the same golden glow of romantic epiphany crest behind Rebecca in the church during her speech at Heather and Hector’s wedding that suffuses across Josh when Rebecca encounters him in the streets of New York.

Nathaniel’s takeaway from Rebecca’s speech is that because he loves her, he should do everything within his power to get her back, which of course leads to his (frankly embarrassing) attempts to manipulate her and win her over in 4x04. (Fittingly enough to this discussion, the opening line of the Slumbered quote he plagiarises is ‘you are the only thing that makes me happy’. The irony of his failed use of her teenage diary to win her over is that I honestly do believe the speech is an accurate summation of how he sees Rebecca, and had he only chosen to put it in his own words, that final scene between them might have played out a little differently.) The part he probably should have focused on, though, is the part Rebecca is currently pouring all her professional energy into (and not so coincidentally, it’s right there in the episode title)—love (and therefore happiness) being about finding your own path.

Rebecca: I don’t believe in destiny anymore. I just believe in taking responsibility for your own happiness.

This is not the first time Nathaniel makes the decision to actively pursue Rebecca while her attention lies firmly fixed elsewhere. In 3x03 and 3x04, he is forced to grapple with his feelings alone when a distracted Rebecca eventually goes where he cannot follow, putting an abrupt end to any potential for chase when she flees back to New York in 3x05. Consequently, Nathaniel embarks on a mini-arc of struggling to accept the idea that Rebecca may never come back—initially incomprehensible to him, owing to the fact that she bears importance to him, personally—to conceding that his (thus far relatively unexamined) need for her to be in his life is secondary to her own wellbeing, something that acts as a precursor to a major thread in Nathaniel’s (often one step forward, two clumsily-written steps back) character development in the back end of the series.

Nathaniel: I just hope wherever she is, she’s happy.

In 4x11, Nathaniel’s dream world amalgamation of Maya and Rebecca begs him to let her be happy, and as the former fades into the latter we get another callback to the pilot—an echo of 'happy, happy, happy…’ reminiscent of the empty shell of New York Rebecca latching onto Josh’s description of laid-back West Covina. Unlike its instance in the 1x01, however, this is a wake up call of an entirely different kind—it is not the blossoming of a brand new delusion but the sobering dissolution of one. And unlike the speech a radiant Rebecca gave at Heather’s wedding about finding the one you love and holding on tight, this particular iteration is here to impart the contradictory wisdom ‘if you really love me, you have to let me go’.

Nathaniel: I want you to be happy, I do.

This moment is arguably the true beginning of Nathaniel’s lesson that his happiness isn’t necessarily (or in this case, due to the current circumstances, can no longer be) inextricably linked to Rebecca—she has the opportunity to find happiness independently of him and that in itself is something that should make him happy, as someone that loves and cares for her. His assertion to dream Rebecca that he wants her to be happy manifests in his concession to Rebecca in the real world—‘I’m glad you’re happy. I really am. And it makes me happy too’—an exchange that echoes two similar moments between them back in season three, during which Rebecca expresses the same sentiment regarding his relationship with Mona, first following the cool down from their 3x10 conflict, and again in the aftermath of their ended affair in 3x13:

Rebecca: I’m happy that you found someone else. Mona seems lovely.

Rebecca: I’m happy for you… I want you to be happy.

The more interesting callback here though, of course, is to Rebecca’s conversation with Greg at the duck pond way back in 2x02. After finally tracking down an AWOL Greg with the intention of breaking the news of her involvement with Josh, Greg makes peace with the situation by way of reassuring them both that everything worked out fine as long as Rebecca is happy. ‘You and Josh—you should be happy together. You’re happy, right? And he treats you well?’ Rebecca responds to this in the affirmative, though her expression—and the context of the episode—belies her answer. In contrast, her exchange with Nathaniel goes a little differently:

Nathaniel: Because you’re happy, right? You’re happy with Greg. Rebecca: I mean, I don’t know. I’m not there yet. But I could possibly be, yeah.

The evolution of Rebecca’s response is of course evidence of her development as a character and her own understanding of her relationship to happiness, but what I find most noteworthy is not that she lies in 2x02, but that in 4x11 she chooses to tell an unusual truth. She could just have easily have said yes the second time around and it would have functioned as a clear enough juxtaposition of what she considers close enough to happiness; after all, at the time of 4x11 she and Greg believe they are approaching their relationship in a mature and thoughtful fashion, they are warm and affectionate towards one another and, unlike in 2x02, she is not having to compete for her partner’s attention. She would, by all accounts, be completely justified in giving what could be considered the normal response to being posed such a question—that yes, she is happy with Greg. So even though it’s encouraging to hear Rebecca verbalising her newfound knowledge that happiness is so much more than such a simple dichotomy of yes and no, it feels significant that Nathaniel, as a person currently knee-deep in untangling his own complicated relationship with happiness, is the one that gets to be privy to this particular brand of truth.

And while it can be argued that all the strides Nathaniel makes in 4x11 are undone over the course of the following episodes, setting aside the very real fact that human emotions are fickle, and we can’t always stick as completely to our guns as we’d like, his blessing here still comes with a telling caveat: ‘I’ve got to let you go… because you’re happy’. And who shows up on Nathaniel’s doorstep during 4x12 to poke holes in that perceived state of happiness between her and Greg? None other than Rebecca herself.

Rebecca: You just want me to be happy, which is what I want too, and god, Greg… Greg doesn’t know what happiness is.

Such is the shared significance of this concept of happiness between them that the second Rebecca alludes to their conversation in the foyer, Nathaniel’s previously good-natured, albeit slightly confused, response to her drunken presence in his apartment quickly and very clearly dissolves into alarm bells and he eventually sends her on her way. Though he could easily have wielded Rebecca’s visit as a weapon to create dissonance between her and Greg in 4x13, he merely probes for clues by way of a convoluted metaphor, resigning himself to the fact that the issue has been resolved, while Greg, in actuality, is at this point none the wiser. It’s only once Greg himself tells Nathaniel that it is over between him and Rebecca that Nathaniel returns to entertaining his feelings for her.

Though we the viewers are all too aware (and at this point, probably screaming at the TV!) that Rebecca’s happiness is not, contrary to recurring belief, a vacant role that she needs someone to fill; unlike us, the characters have not had the good fortune of being able to watch the show Crazy Ex Girlfriend on the CW network. Nathaniel is still a fledgling in terms of self enlightenment, and it makes total sense for him to be nudged towards into pursuing her again once the clearest obstacle to her affections—her relationship with Greg—is no longer an issue.

When she breaks the news of her decision to Nathaniel in the finale, Rebecca is quick to assure Nathaniel that ‘the times that [they’ve] spent together have been some of the best of [her] life’, which is an interestingly bold statement all on its own, but it feels somewhat satisfyingly like finally giving Nathaniel a real-life answer to the ‘we’ve had such happy moments, you and I, haven’t we?’ that he throws at his Maya-shaped projection of Rebecca in 4x11; affirmation that contrary to what she says in 3x08, something in there between them was real.

‘You only get one life,’ he tells her in return. ‘And you’ve got to live that the way you want.’

Neither of them uses the word ‘happy’ in this exchange, but as we fast forward in time, we get:

Nathaniel: Happy to be here.

Rebecca: For the first time in my life, I am truly happy.

Nathaniel (who in an amusing reflection in 2x09, reveals that he, in a roundabout way, moved to West Covina because of Rebecca—‘it’s kind of your fault that I’m here’) has finally made the actual change that Rebecca taunted him with on their first meeting. And unlike Rebecca, he’s had a chance to interrogate what happiness for himself, removed from another person, might look like before he does so. Rather than starting with a life-altering change, he gets to make incremental changes along the way—which very much are tied to his entanglement to Rebecca—in order to make a more meaningful and deliberate life change for himself later on.

“When you find someone that melts the iceberg that is your heart…” - 3x03

“Provoking me, and zinging me, and challenging my world view. And warming my heart.” - 3x04

“You make me feel like I can be a different kind of person.” - 3x08

“You’ve awakened my heart and unlocked my soul.” - 4x04

“You’ve changed my whole life. Who I am, who I can be.” - 4x11

Rebecca describes her moving to West Covina in Nathaniel’s first episode as ‘[deciding] to flip things around. [Deciding] to put happiness before success. And when I did that, the world rewarded me with true happiness.’ In the finale, she tells the audience how he, by comparison, ‘upended [his] life’—‘You changed everything. But unlike me, you did it for the right reasons. And I am in awe of you.’ Alongside the nice progression from her proclamation in 2x09 that she ‘came to West Covina to search for happiness’ to her more self-aware announcement at the open mic that ‘for the first time in my life, [she is] truly happy’, (which feels like a subversive callback to a certain infamous butter commercial) we also get a reiteration of the sentiment— ‘I came to this town to find love. And I did. I love every person in this room’—that conflates happiness with love in what is now a healthy and satisfying way. It’s the perfect twist that she’s rewarded with the thing she was searching for all along just as soon as she realises she was looking in all the wrong places, and that the place itself still gets to play such a large part in that. And she is able to see Nathaniel’s journey as all the more meaningful in light of her own missteps along the way.

While I have my reservations on the bow they tied Nathaniel’s arc in for the finale (because despite Rebecca’s realisation that there is no such thing as ‘ending up’, there is in the sense of the scope of this series) being a well thought out resolution as opposed to leaning on a previous gag without laying any actual groundwork, the truth is it’s unclear what the true nature of Nathaniel’s sabbatical is/was/will be—mere extended vacation, permanent new career path, or just the initial spark of inspiration in some extended self discovery. That being said, much like Rebecca evolving towards a point where she can appreciate the interconnectedness of love and happiness in a less troublesome way, it is neat that Nathaniel’s resolution follows on from his tendency to want to escape to far-off destinations in an attempt to control his desired status quo. Though his fleeing town is still inextricably linked to having his heart broken by Rebecca, Guatemala, for once, isn’t about transposing his current circumstance to another place in order to cling to something, but rather a carefully selected, specific site for welcomed change.

Independent of any potential that may or may not exist between them as the show closes out—romantic or otherwise—it’s undeniable that these two characters have left indelible marks on each other, and without their respective involvement in each other’s lives, their journeys—and resulting transformations—would not have been the same.

#crazy ex girlfriend #rebecca x nathaniel #rethanielaw #rethaniel #rebecca bunch #nathaniel plimpton #crazy ex meta #stop! meta time

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anncanta · 4 years ago

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Horses of Carfax Abbey

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: Teen and up audiences

Warnings: None

My thanks to my reader Lanovh94 for making me think about this.

Read on AO3

Or read below

The clock in the living room chimed melodiously at noon.

Closing the glass door that protects the dial, Agatha took a step back and checked the chronometer on the chain she held in her hands.

That's right, she noted with satisfaction.

A large mahogany grandfather clock with an exquisite copper dial was delivered yesterday morning, but only now Agatha has the opportunity to set the correct time on it and check how fine-tuned the delicate internal mechanism is.

This Scottish antique clock by Joseph Taylor was chased by Agatha for probably two months. Maybe a little less. In any case, when, after a long search, she finally bought them at auction, intercepting at the last moment from the owner of a hosiery factory in the West End, the owners of all the antique shops in London (not to mention the sellers) knew her by sight.

Taking another step back, Agatha glanced at her acquisition. It was beautiful.

‘Agatha, return my pocket watch!’ a demanding voice from the hallway made her flinch and turn around sharply. Clicking on the silver cover, she hid the chronometer behind her back.

‘Why did you decide that I have them?’ she asked Dracula who appeared at the door in the most innocent tone possible.

‘By the method of exclusion,’ Dracula went up to her and, hugging Agatha with one hand around her waist, with the other pulled out the desired object from her palm. ‘The housekeeper does not understand anything about it, the coachman considers it a pointless trinket, and the maid is afraid of it.

‘I’m the only one left,’ Agatha admitted, following the watch with her eyes.

Dracula nodded silently.

‘Finally, perfect exactly?’ he asked, hiding the watch in his waistcoat pocket.

Agatha turned in the direction he was pointing.

‘I hope so,’ she drawled thoughtfully. ‘I thought yours was in a hurry,’ she added absently.

‘On the contrary, it is falling behind,’ Dracula laughed, pulling her towards him. ‘This is my peculiarity, I would say – my style.’

Agatha smiled, running her fingers over the velvet fabric of his vest.

It has been a little over a year since both of them set foot on the English coast, and they lived together for about the same time.

After Peter, Olgaren and the captain had left Demeter, which had lost half of the crew and all the passengers, Agatha sat in Dracula's cabin for a long time, until the sun began to sink into the horizon. She could not say what exactly delayed her – the desire to postpone the moment of the explosion, or simply the tiredness that had accumulated over the long days. It must be both.

In any case, she did not reach the hold.

Dracula intercepted her on the way, and before Agatha had time to recover from surprise at the fact that he survived, fear for the lives of people whom she tried to save from him at the cost of her own life, and an incomprehensible relief – all together – she found herself on deck in the midst of a hideous quarrel, screaming curses and crying.

Dracula later told her that he did not remember the last time he was so angry. ‘Suicide, seriously?’ he growled at her, as if, having conceived such a plan, she encroached on his personal self-esteem. ‘Double murder is better,’ Agatha hissed, looking at the flashes of fury in his dark eyes.

Somehow they managed not to sink the ship and get to the shore, after which Dracula, without saying a word, stopped the first cab that came across in the port, shoved Agatha into it, and sat down behind. They spent all the way to the count's London house in silence, and when they were in place, Dracula, having paid the cabman, dragged Agatha into the living room and, sitting in front of him on the sofa, said:

‘I'll be honest and won't hide anything from you. You saw who I am and you know me. I will always be like this, more or less. But I want you to stay with me. If for this I have to feed on... rats,’ without looking, he caught the animal running by (Agatha asked herself how long the house had not cleaned) and, after looking meticulously, let it go; the rat instantly disappeared in one of the dark corners, ‘then I ask you one thing: promise, that over time my menu will improve. I don't care how.’

He came close to her.

‘Promise.’

Agatha remembered that she was so amazed that for a couple of minutes she could only sit, looking at him and blinking silently. She didn't even really know what she finally answered. It probably meant agreement, otherwise, she wouldn't be here now.

A year and three months have passed since that day, and during this time Agatha managed to learn many things, some of which she never wanted to learn, the other, as it seemed to her at first, would haunt her in nightmares until the end of her life, and the third, although not become a discovery, still did not stop surprising her.

The danger posed by the sun and the cross, as it turned out almost immediately, was nothing more than a fiction – another legend about vampires, in which Dracula believed so long ago that he himself did not remember what for and why. It scattered like dust from old ceilings when they, examining the house, climbed into the attic, and the roof that had not been repaired for years collapsed on them. Agatha remembered how, lying on the floor, covered with debris, they looked up at the rays falling through the holes in the ceiling, gently caressing them, and how they whispered at the same time: ‘It should be the same with the cross.’

And so it turned out.

Much more effort was needed in order to solve the problem of vampire hunger. After sequentially going through several options and making sure that the blood of mammals close to humans in their physiology was the most suitable for Dracula, Agatha conducted a series of experiments and, discarding goats, sheep, pigs, and cows, settled on horses.

Dracula added a large stable to the west of the house and ordered ten thoroughbred riding horses from Yorkshire. And since Dracula needed food, although daily, but in small quantities, after a couple of months, in order to save noble animals from the blues and inactivity, Dracula began to put them on the races. As a result, his capital doubled in a short period of time, and after another three months, having looked through the settlement books, he called his attorney and acquired a stud farm in the suburbs of London.

Agatha looked at it all with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. At first, out of habit, it seemed to her that Dracula was having fun, striving, as he once told her, to learn to live among civilized people and study them properly, before tying a napkin and picking up a fork and knife. However, days, weeks and months passed, and nothing changed: Dracula was kind, led an active social life, went to libraries and theaters and rode horseback, in the evenings he went to the laboratory, which he equipped in the house at the request of Agatha, in order to give her a couple of ideas regarding the properties of horse blood and the similarity of its taste and the effect of influencing to him with human one and, in general, did nothing else.

Agatha tried to convince herself that the count lived for four hundred years, waiting for a convenient opportunity to enter the civilized world and that another two months meant nothing to him at all, but every day it became more and more difficult to believe it. And she had less and less desire to do it.

Agatha perfectly remembered the evening when it disappeared completely.

She was sitting in the living room and writing something in her diary – a new experiment with horse blood was in full swing, there was a lot of data and a theoretical basis, but the formulas did not agree. Deciding to take a short break, she put aside her notes and began to clean the dull nib. Agatha did not know what was the reason – whether the knife was not sharp enough, or the hand lost its dexterity from fatigue, but even before she could understand what exactly was happening, the blade proportioned the skin of her right hand and got stuck at the base of her fingers.

Agatha spent a moment looking at the scarlet streak of blood that stood out in her palm before a long shadow covered the chair in which she was sitting.

Looking up, she saw Dracula standing in front of her.

For a second, nothing happened. As if spellbound, they watched the blood dripping from her hand. Agatha wiggled her fingers to test. Finally reaching consciousness, a raw pain swirled in her hand.

Without looking, pulling up the second chair standing to the side, Dracula sank into it and, taking Agatha with one hand by the forearm, pulled out a knife. Then he took out a handkerchief and, wiping off the fresh drops that had come through, tore a flap from the sleeve of her shirt, and quickly bandaged her palm.

He did all this in silence, without looking at Agatha, and only when finished he raised his head and leaned back. His pupils were bloodshot, but he himself was absolutely imperturbable. Letting go of Agatha's hand, he went to the fireplace and threw the dirty cloth into the fire. The fabric hissed, cringing in the flames.

‘Tomorrow, samples of the second negative will come,’ said Dracula, glancing into the opened diary of Agatha, thrown on the sofa, ‘you can check the calculations,’ and, turning around, left the room.

Agatha sat for several minutes, listening to his steps, and then got up, climbed the stairs, went to the door of his bedroom and knocked. And he opened.

… ‘There will be guests in the evening,’ said Dracula, distracting Agatha from her memories. ‘Two stud breeders from Australia and a professor from Cambridge.’

Agatha raised an eyebrow questioningly.

‘He has ideas on how to improve the breed,’ Dracula shrugged. ‘He is unsociable and usually does not go anywhere. I promised him dinner in a pleasant company and access to a reprinted version of On the Origin of Species. I had to somehow lure him. We met several times in Cambridge, but apparently too briefly. I invited him to participate in the experiment, even offered a small stake, but he refused. I hope today I will be able to persuade him.’

Agatha sighed. She knew well what it meant to ‘persuade’ in Dracula's language.

Dracula handled business with the same careless ease and a certain mocking touch that were inherent in him when dealing with people in general. Not that he disliked or disdained them: watching him day after day, Agatha came to the conclusion that it was just convenient for him – as if, not being able to eat them, he nibbled them with words and a look, held some time in his teeth and let go.

‘The hunting instinct is not going anywhere,’ Dracula smiled in response to her remarks after another visit to another salon or to a party, on which behind him, like on a battlefield covered with black velvet and silk dresses, there were glades of silent condemnation and bloody spots of flaming cheeks.

What a truly warm relationship he had, was the one with the horses. Which at first puzzled Agatha. ‘You drink their blood,’ she said hesitantly when Dracula asked her what exactly she thought was strange about it. He gave her a long look, and, muttering something like ‘who would speak of it’, took her hand and led her into the stable.

There Agatha witnessed one of the most incredible things in her entire life.

She knew that Dracula can communicate with animals, can control wolves and bats if desired, and is able to establish contact with most mammals.

But it was more than contact, communication, or control. Standing in the stable doorway, Agatha watched as he opened the corral and, clasping the head of Lissa, a young mare that Dracula was one of the first to acquire, stood for a long time, pressing his cheek to the smooth skin, smiling and whispering something before embracing becomes stronger, – and after five minutes he opens his hands and, gratefully patting the horse on the withers, leaves the corral.

Agatha never thought it could be so... beautiful. Then she did not dare to ask, but later could not resist.

‘Do you hypnotize them? Fool? What are you doing?

Dracula smiled as if he was waiting for this question.

‘Horses are stronger and tougher than humans. The portion of blood that will cost you a serious illness or put an adult young man to bed is almost imperceptible for a horse. I had never tried drinking their blood before and therefore did not know how sharply and deeply they react to contact. Amazing animals.’

‘But they can't like it!’

‘They like closeness,’ Dracula said thoughtfully, ‘and they are incredibly generous.’

Yes, and also sincere and discerning. Resistant to Dracula's charm, they seem to have loved him for no reason.

During the time that they lived together, Agatha managed to find out that Dracula had two types of charm. The first is the very vampire charm that was written about in books and legends warned about. It was powerful, bright, and beating on the spot. It reminded Agatha of the scent of flowers that appeared in early spring in Holland – hyacinths. Thick, heavy, enveloping odor. Among the peasants, there were stories that if you fall asleep in a tightly closed room, in which there is a bouquet of hyacinths, you may not wake up.

Dracula used his vampire charm mostly for entertainment, or when he wanted to quickly get what he needed. He lavished it generously at balls and appointments, signing contracts with business partners, on walks and social events such as theater premieres and horse races, while sparing no one.

Once they were at the performance of the famous opera diva who came to London on tour, either from France or from Germany, – Agatha did not remember, – and after the performance, Dracula invited Agatha to go into the diva`s dressing room, – ‘to express our admiration for the singer,’ as he said... Agatha agreed, not suspecting a catch. The performance was really beautiful, the diva sang magically, and there was nothing surprising in the desire to personally pay tribute to her talent.

So they did, and everything went well until Dracula – the very kindness and the embodiment of secular courtesy – asked the diva if she would be an encore. Diva replied that, alas, she would not, as she was tired and would like to go home as soon as possible.

And then it turned on. Vampire charm. In vain the unfortunate singer babbled something about how exhausted after the performance she was, – when dark eyes flashed and a soft smile lit up the cramped dressing room, the diva's fate was decided. Hearing the words spoken in an intimate tone about how much his companion loves opera and how happy she will be to hear such a delightful performance again, the singer turned around and silently wandered onto the stage.

Agatha did not speak to Dracula after that for three days. She hated violence in any form.

But there was also another charm, the one that Agatha remembered from Demeter, the same, probably, that made her believe in a cozy living room and soft conversation at chess – more than vampire illusions and drug intoxication.

Agatha called it ‘a charm for his own’, and if she quickly learned to resist the charm of a vampire, and soon completely lost the interest, then she was powerless against this one.

Dracula looked at ‘his’ people with a gentle warm look and smiled with a cheerful, almost boyish smile. It was physically impossible to deny him anything when he was like that, which he shamelessly used during quarrels.

He did not ask, did not demand, and did not scandal. Did not push and did not try to confuse. He just smiled and said: ‘As you say, dragostea*.’

‘Better vampire charm,’ Agatha moaned and vowed to buy a bell so that she could inform him in advance and without words that he had crossed the line.

...Agatha pulled away from Dracula and, smiling, went to the sofa.

‘The poor professor deserves a second chance,’ she said, leaning back.

‘I gave him everything possible,’ Dracula answered, ‘he missed them.’

‘So maybe we should just leave him alone?’

‘No, I need him.’

Agatha waved her hand. It was useless to argue. All she could do for the Cambridge pundit was to arrange for a good dinner and a relaxed, friendly atmosphere at this very dinner. All the rest was, alas, beyond her power.

The clock struck a quarter to one. Agatha thought idly that she should go to the kitchen and discuss the menu with the housekeeper. And let her cook the steaks with blood, she decided vengefully.

***

Professor Theodore Clifferson was a great scientist and no less an idiot. A combination that Agatha did not believe existed until today. But after spending three hours at the table with the aforementioned professor, she had to admit that sometimes intelligence and learning are depressingly different things.

When the door finally closed behind the venerable merchants and the Cambridge celebrity, and it became possible to remove the kind smile from her face and give vent to the irritation that had pursued her all evening, Agatha wandered into the living room and, groaning with relief, fell on the sofa.

‘Why didn't you warn me?’ she asked Dracula, who came in after her.

‘About what?’ he sank down beside her and pulled her to him.

‘How can you know so much and be such a cretin?’ Agatha continued without listening to him.

‘A common story,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘You look from the point of view of someone who, for the sake of knowledge, was forced to fight the circumstances and mine them like gold,’ he said. ‘And your inquiring mind cannot imagine someone who, from his youth, having access to the fruits of progress, does not realize their value. And worse – to whom they are not useful.’

Agatha covered her face with her hands and shook her head.

‘I want to forget this.’

Dracula buried his fingers in her hair and sat for several minutes, fingering the thick strands.

‘Forget this or what he said at the end?’ he asked quietly.

Agatha, leaning back in his arms, straightened.

‘What did he…’

‘Agatha.’

She knew that look too well. Freeing herself from his embrace, she sat up straight, as if in a theology lesson. Come on, she never visited them. Although it might have been worth it. At least, she would have learned – if not to quote freely from the holy book, than to look calm and confident, when she had not a penny neither the first nor the second.

Damn Clifferson.

‘Dracula, you shouldn't, really…’ Agatha began.

He sighed.

‘I thought so. Should I say it myself, or, as before, do you perfectly understand where you are?’

Agatha shivered at the reminder. But he was right – the situations in which it sounded were too similar. And something had to be done about it.

She tried to smile.

‘Of course, I know. But that hasn't... Look, he's just a stupid boy. Saw something and said tactlessness.’

Well, if you could call it that. Agatha briefly thought that the dinner was already as unpleasant as it could, so that...

‘Clifferson said that you and I are lucky,’ Dracula said slowly, ‘since our age is not too different. And that means,’ he added in the deep silence, ‘we are not threatened to live the rest of our lives in separation, without another who has left this mortal world.’

Well, Agatha thought. Well, he said it. It will no longer be possible to pretend that what the unlucky professor blurted out does not exist or none of them heard him.

Turning away from Dracula, she began to look at the copper dial of the clock, which she was winding in the morning.

Time. Over the past year, she and Dracula were absorbed in settling in the new world, taking care of the house, experimenting, in the end, each other, so much that they forgot about time.

Anyway, she forgot. She hadn't thought about it at all. Looking at Dracula again, Agatha suddenly realized that she would not believe for anything, that he hadn`t.

‘I'm forty-two,’ she said quietly. ‘And if I'm lucky, I'll live long enough to bore you terribly.’

He was silent.

‘And even when I... When you live with people, time does not drag on as long as when you spend it alone,’ Agatha felt how with every step the ground beneath her becomes less reliable. ‘When it is filled with events... and meetings…’

Dracula still didn't say a word.

‘In fifty years, I will be…’ she made another attempt, in an almost inaudible voice, knowing perfectly well that it made no sense.

In fifty years, a decrepit old woman will be with him, but he will remain as young, no older than the same forty-five or fifty.

Pulling herself together, she finally looked into his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ she said in response to the silent gaze that met her, and, quickly getting up from her seat, left.

When Dracula went up after her into the bedroom, he pretended to believe her awkward attempts to pretend to be asleep, and Agatha spent the time until dawn, staring into the darkness, trying to figure out how to be and what to do next.

‘How could I forget that you are a vampire?’ having entered the next morning without knocking into the parlor and resting her palms on the table at which Dracula was sitting, she asked.

Dracula looked up from the settlement book, in which he was writing something.

‘Yes, that's my omission,’ he said, leaning back in his chair.

Agatha looked at him for a minute, then turned on her heels and left the parlor.

They did not see each other for the next two days. Early on Saturday morning, Dracula went out of town to choose a place for a new stud farm, warning her through the housekeeper that he would not return earlier than Monday evening, and Agatha, not knowing whether to enjoy the unexpected respite, or be angry with him, considered it best switch to something else, and completely immersed in experiments.

‘Why is your face black?’ were the first words that returned Dracula greeted her with. He stood at the door of the laboratory and surveyed the surroundings with curiosity. To tell the truth, a lot has changed here since he visited it three days ago: then there were many more whole flasks and jars and less broken glass on the floor.

‘When heated to the boiling point, horse blood explodes,’ Agatha said calmly and carefully placed the test tube she was holding in a tripod.

Dracula nodded and, looking out the door, took out a scoop and a broom and began sweeping soot, stone dust, and debris that covered the floor in the middle of the room.

Armed with a rag and a jug of water, Agatha joined him in cleaning the table and chairs from the burning.

‘I'm not angry about your silence,’ she said after about half an hour, distracted from polishing the gas burner. ‘I understand that the problem is not that this question has no answer.’

Dracula looked up. They both knew very well that the problem was that the answer was too obvious.

‘You know it can't be my decision,’ he said.

‘I know,’ Agatha nodded. ‘Give me time,’ she added after a short pause and began scrubbing the alembic.

***

‘Sir, I swear I would never…’

‘Remove your pockets.’

Agatha glanced into the living room.

Dracula stood by the fireplace with his back to her, in front of him was a terrified coachman, drawn to the line.

‘It's a mistake, sir. I beg you…’

‘It was a mistake to keep the silver cigarette case in the dresser. However, so was hiring you,’ Dracula's voice was cold and indifferent. ‘By returning it voluntarily, you will save time for all of us.’

‘I…’

Dracula tilted his head.

‘It's in your right pocket. Next to old tissue paper, dirty silk ribbon, and flakes of tobacco.’

The coachman hiccupped and recoiled.

‘How…’

Dracula held out his hand.

‘It rustles deafeningly,’ he said, taking the cigarette case from the coachman's shaking hand. ‘If you are attracted by the career of a pickpocket, then first learn not to stomp like an elephant when you take someone else's, and not to rattle with loot. You will come in the evening for the calculation,’ he finished, gesturing to let go of the unfortunate man.

Dropping his shoulders, the coachman nodded and went to the door.

‘Vampire hearing,’ Agatha said, letting the unlucky thief pass and entering the room. ‘Strongly interferes with maintaining faith in people.’

‘Those who had the one,’ Dracula smiled. He put the cigarette case on the mantelpiece and turned to Agatha. ‘Looking for the benefits of being a vampire?’ he asked innocently.

‘I'm conducting surveillance,’ Agatha said.

She went to the fireplace and looked at the cigarette case.

‘You knew he stole it because you heard it rub against the lining of his pocket.’

Dracula rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘He dragged around with it for a week. He had been looking for someone to sell it for so long that I could hardly resist not offering myself as a buyer, just to get rid of this annoying sound.’

Agatha walked around one of the armchairs by the fireplace and stood in front of Dracula.

‘Have you been waiting for his nerves to break down and he confesses, or for the right occasion when you can show me once again the benefits of being a vampire?’

‘How can you,’ Dracula was sincerely offended.

Agatha grinned and sank into a chair.

‘Okay, what else?’ Decently folded her hands on her knees, she asked.

Dracula shrugged.

‘You know all this. After all, you've been watching me for a year. I'm sure you wrote it down and sorted it into categories in those notebooks of yours.’ He nodded at Agatha’s diary on the table. ‘It is unlikely that I can add something else.’

‘Okay, then let's go over the main points,’ Agatha nodded, without changing her pose.

Dracula smiled.

‘You are strong and enduring, you have an increased ability to heal wounds, you can stay awake for weeks and understand some animals.’ She paused. ‘You can control some of them. You can climb walls and send fog.’ Noticing his approving nod, Agatha continued: ‘Let's add to this the ability to keenly smell and hypersensitive hearing…’

‘...tirelessness in bed...’

‘Um, did you notice that I fall asleep in the middle?..’ Agatha got up and walked over to him.

Dracula smiled again.

‘I'm working on it,’ he said, hugging her.

Agatha was silent for a moment and turned away.

‘Is it normal? I mean, how... how right is that?’ absentmindedly running her hand over his shoulder, she said.

‘What exactly?’ Dracula asked.

Agatha frowned and rubbed her forehead thoughtfully.

‘The world works the way it works, for a reason,’ she said slowly. ‘All living beings die, replacing each other. How natural is it to be immortal?’

She lifted her head and looked at Dracula.

‘Vampires are mortal,’ he said. ‘Agatha, the time when I offered you eternal life is over,’ he added after a short pause. ‘But it’s obvious that I would rather live long before I’m ready to face death. I do not know how much this is against nature, but I still have not heard of heavenly thunder punishing parrots, sequoias, and turtles.’

‘Oh my God,’ Agatha laughed. ‘Of the above, I know only sequoias. And then according to the pictures.’

‘And the parrots?’

‘Are they centenarians?’

Dracula shook his head.

‘The oldest ones are four hundred years old. Turtles can live twice as long. Ask Clifferson about sequoias, but as far as I remember, their exact age cannot be determined.’

Agatha grimaced, demonstrating her attitude to the need to learn something from Clifferson.

‘I will not become immortal,’ she said, summing up, ‘but I will lose the ability to eat human food, sleep at night, and breathe.’

‘A matter of habit,’ Dracula shrugged.

‘But I will learn to understand bats.’

‘What scope for your work on small rodents and nocturnal insects!’

Agatha sighed.

‘Are you kidding?’

‘Yes, I am.’

She nodded.

Everything is the same as before.

‘Decide yourself.’

***

‘Please, try to be more restrained in the future,’ Agatha said with a sad smile, holding out an envelope to the boy standing in front of her. The young man nodded, drooping guiltily, cautiously, as if afraid that his touch would burn her, took the envelope from her hands, and, saying goodbye, left the room.

For a minute Agatha looked at the door that closed behind him, and then she also left the parlor and went into the living room.

She managed to persuade Dracula to give the coachman decent recommendations, and a couple of weeks after the unpleasant incident, Agatha found a good place for the guy. Dracula watched all this with restrained skepticism, but remained silent and did not interfere. Agatha suspected that he had threatened the poor coachman with some terrible punishment – the boy was in too much haste to leave their house. But in the end, even she was forced to admit that he got off easy.

In the living room, on the sofa with a book, sat Dracula. When she appeared, he moved, making a place next to him.

Approaching, Agatha climbed onto the sofa with her legs and leaned back, resting her head on his lap. Several minutes passed in silence, broken only by the measured ticking of the grandfather clock.

‘Will it be like with Harker?’ Agatha asked. ‘Will you break my neck and sit down to wait for me to wake up?’

‘God, Agatha, no, of course,’ Dracula put down the book. He looked shocked. ‘Where did you get that?’

‘The first thing that comes to mind. I mean,’ she said, looking sideways at him, ‘the most obvious and simplest.’

‘Didn't you say that you would beat the barbarism out of me?’

She looked up at him.

‘Is that when you burned a five hundred pound electric kettle? I was on edge.’

‘I noticed.’

He brushed a lock of hair from her face.

‘How could you think that I…’

Agatha shrugged.

‘It must somehow... I mean, if in order to turn a person you need…’

‘No damage. This is out of the question,’ Dracula said in an unchallengeable tone.

Agatha looked at him thoughtfully.

‘There are other ways,’ she said, scratching her nose. ‘Strangulation, various poisons. Drowning…’

Dracula bent down and, choking with laughter, buried in her shoulder.

‘Agatha,’ he moaned, ‘your imagination is really scary.’

‘I'm trying to solve the problem,’ Agatha said. ‘That's what the smart do,’ she teased.

‘The smart ones like to complicate things,’ said Dracula, straightening up and looking at her. ‘The most obvious is not always the simplest. Why, of all imaginable and inconceivable ways, did not the most humane one come to your mind?’ He rolled his eyes at her puzzled gaze. ‘Which one of us is the prince of darkness and the lord of shadows?’

‘No one encroaches on your laurels,’ Agatha grinned. ‘Wait. You want to say…’

Dracula bent down again and brushed his lips lightly over hers.

‘My love, you forgot that a vampire's kiss can be very long.’

***

The fabric was red and the earth was red. Heavy woolen floors flowed like a scarlet stream over the horse's white rump, crumpled from above, and ended in a silver fox collar. The rider's long hair was messed and matted with blood, and crimson dawn caked in his wide-open eyes.

Bending down and grabbing the horse by the neck, the rider rushed forward, as if not making out the road, through the black and red forest, in a straight line, to the ancient castle, frozen on the rock.

Bursting into the courtyard, the rider stood up sharply, pulled on the reins. Dismounting, he threw them to the frightened horseman who ran up, unfastened an oblong large sack from the saddle. He walked with a quick step through the gate, dragging his load along the ground. In the great hall, he stopped and threw the sack on the floor in front of him. He raised his head and brushed the dirty, wet strands from his forehead.

‘I said he would be here before sunrise,’ he turned to someone sitting in a dark corner.

‘Is it really him?’ asked from the darkness.

Pulling a knife from his belt, the rider bent down to the sack and cut the thick cloth, soaked and hardened in the frost.

A pale human face appeared in the narrow gap.

‘I said I’ll deliver him,’ the rider said again, put the knife back in his belt and left, not looking neither at the one he was talking to nor at the dead man lying on the floor.

...

Two thick long candles were barely enough to light the middle of the room. Hands were aching from the cold, and he felt as if Transylvanian soil was poured into his eyes. The younger heir to the old Count Dracul raised up, turned several times, on one side, on the other, and finally lay on his back, his meaningless gaze resting on the carved canopy above him.

There are no younger heirs. Neither for princes and kings from distant lands, nor for Wallachian rulers. From ancient times the eldest sons inherit the ruler who has died in peace or fallen on the battlefield. But what if both the ruler himself and his firstborn left God's world in one day? From the elder brother, if he has no male descendants, the younger takes power. The one that survived.

The heir moved his head and gritted his teeth. God knows he did not seek this power, he did not want to. In vain the courtiers grinned in disbelief, clinked their tongues, suspecting treason, the squad whispered in vain when they brought them, father and brother, on a narrow sleigh – without a drop of blood on expensive clothes and without a single paint on their faces. In vain the brother's widow sobbed loudly, rushing in the yard like a thin hungry bird, in vain screaming and howling – you did not keep him safe, you did not rescue him. In vain she threatened to curse.

He did not wish death to either his father or his brother. Never wanted to become a ruler. Perhaps that is why he was not touched by the piercing words of the courtiers, or the cries of his daughter-in-law, or the sidelong glances of the squad. Standing motionless next to the sleigh, he silently looked at the gathered soldiers and household, did not say anything, only wrapped himself in a warm cloak. And only when the wrong old steps were tapping on the stone slabs of the yard, did he turn around.

Old Count Dracul, a patriarch of eighty-seven years of age, dressed in a light marching cape over a simple linen shirt, slowly walked over to the sleigh and sat down beside it. With long fingers, white and hard as a January crust, he stroked the dead faces. Raised his head to the gray sky. Said, addressing the younger:

‘Bring me the murderer.’

The younger nodded.

He did it all, he did it, – the young Count Dracula got up and ran his hand over his face damp with sweat. It took five hours to search, three of which the heir spent on horseback, racing to the border, hurrying to catch up the defector who had surrendered the lord and his son to Turkish spies, and who was about to join the foreign troops. Almost drove father's stallion. Intercepted, managed.

The light from the candle flickered, swept as if alarmed by a sharp gust of wind. Dracula looked around and lay back on the pillows. What a strange night. It feels like there is something, moving in the corner... As if sitting in silence and looking, waiting for the moment when...

‘What's wrong, young heir, not sleeping? Do ya not satisfied with the blood of the enemy?’ a voice, deaf and raspy, rang out very close to him.

Dracula jumped up and backed away.

‘What scared you, noble master? Why don't you meet a guest?’ squeaked mockingly from the shadows. ‘Or are you afraid to look?’

Dracula turned in the direction from which the voice was heard.

A thin, tall man with an unhealthy blush on his sunken cheeks emerged from the thick darkness that began two spans from the bed.

‘Why are you silent, master?’ he asked Dracula, who stared at him in horror. ‘Why don’t you offer a glass, why don’t you invite me to the table?’

Without waiting for an answer, the man stepped forward and stopped at the very edge of the bed.

‘It can't be. I killed you,’ said Dracula.

‘That's right, you did,’ the man bared his teeth and opened the tattered, worn-out sheepskin coat he was wearing. A scarlet slit crossed the shirt underneath from throat to groin. The man lowered his head and, touching the cut, plunged a knotted finger into it. ‘It hurts,’ with a barely audible smack, removing his finger from the wound, he said thoughtfully, ‘it hurts, but you can live.’

Dracula felt sick.

‘How did you manage...’ He straightened up in bed and reached for his belt for a knife.

‘Take your time,’ the man rushed forward, grabbing Dracula's raised hand. His fingers were inhumanly strong and cold as ice. ‘We`ll have all night.’

‘What are you?’ Dracula, recoiling, whispered with his lips, already knowing the answer.

‘I am Grigor Vostritsa, Grigor-The-Traitor, Grigor, whom your gullible dad warmed on his chest, and the crazy grandpa ordered to catch and feed the mad dogs,’ the man replied, grinning. ‘Grigor, who missed the spoil, and came for it. And what a feast it will be...’

Long, sharp teeth gleamed in the candlelight.

Dracula screamed.

...

‘Dracula! Wake up! Dracula! Come on, wake up, it's just a dream!’

Agatha struggled to shake Dracula, who was rushing about in unconsciousness. Not needing to sleep in the usual sense of the word, at night he plunged into a semblance of numbness, which helped him not so much to restore physical strength as to give rest to his mind. This state was in every way similar to a human dream, with the exception that it was more difficult to end it.

Agatha moved closer to Dracula. He looked even paler than usual, shivering and whispering something in Romanian.

Sitting on the bed, Agatha took a deep breath. The sounds made by Dracula were not loud enough to wake her up. But after what happened on Demeter, already here, in London, Agatha sometimes began to sink into his dreams.

Most often they were just scraps of images and vague impressions – reminiscent of flat shadows on a gray stone wall. They were short and blurry, and after them, in the morning Agatha got up with a headache, a feeling of loneliness, and dull melancholy.

Today, for the first time, the dream was so real and clear.

‘Dracula! Wake up, Dracula!’ Agatha tried again.

Dracula groaned and reached for her without opening his eyes.

Agatha bent down and ran a hand over his sweaty chest. Gently stroked, sliding from shoulder to stomach and back, lingering to the left, where the heart was silent, softly touched his cheek. As if alarmed even more by this short caress, Dracula got up and sat up in bed.

For a while, he simply sat without moving, in the light of the moon falling from the window.

Agatha was silent, not daring to turn to him again.

Dracula winced and took a deep breath, and then suddenly opened his eyes and looked at her.

There was such pain in his eyes that it stabbed inside her.

Without a word, she stirred and, sitting down on his lap, hugged him tightly.

‘Everything is fine, everything will pass,’ she whispered, ‘everything will pass, it's just a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream, you killed him,’ she said, kissing his hot forehead and cheeks, ‘you won, he's gone.’

She was saying something else, snuggling up to him and feeling how the nightgown was getting wet from the heat, putting herself under the hands and lips that were taking possession of her – for the first time so strongly, furiously – and so unexpectedly good.

When the splash of pleasure dies down and she opens her eyes, the moon seems higher – the light floods the room, leaving no corner untouched. Agatha looks at Dracula, who is holding her with both hands, and just sits for a couple of seconds, admiring his tired, peaceful face.

The rest is seen as natural as spontaneous. Slightly pulling back, Agatha pushes aside the collar of her shirt, throwing her hair back and exposing her shoulder.

‘Come on. I'm not afraid,’ she says, moving closer to him again and screwing up.

For several long minutes, nothing happens at all.

Opening her eyes, Agatha stares blankly at Dracula. He sits motionless and looks at her, smiling openly and tenderly.

‘No, Agatha,’ he says. ‘Not today. Not this way.’

***

‘You're avoiding me?’

Agatha met Dracula at the entrance to the living room and stopped, blocking his path.

‘Where did you get it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it's all because we haven't seen each other since last week.’ Agatha shrugged.

‘I have a lot to do,’ Dracula tried to walk past her into the room, but Agatha did not budge.

‘You leave home in the morning when I’m still asleep, and you come back after midnight,’ she said. ‘If you come at all. On Tuesday and Wednesday, you were not here, although the carriage did not leave the gate and all the horses remained in the stable.’

Dracula took a deep breath.

‘If I wanted to lead a secret life, I should have chosen someone not so observant,’ he said with a short smile.

‘At least,’ stepping aside, Agatha nevertheless cleared the passage.

After following Dracula into the living room and sitting next to him on the sofa, she was silent for a while.

‘I don’t believe it’s because of what happened that night,’ she said quietly at last. Lowering her eyes, she absentmindedly smoothed the folds of the dress. ‘You and I knew worse times, and I saw you in a much more unsightly light. If now...’

‘Agatha.’ She raised her eyes and met his gaze. ‘You know that's not true,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she sighed. ‘And I also know that you never lied to me or hid anything from me. Even on the Demeter.’ She waved off when she saw the protesting expression on his face. ‘You didn’t deceive me – all I needed to know about what was happening was in front of my eyes. I just didn't get it right away. Which, of course, doesn't make your behavior acceptable,’ she said immediately. And added: ‘You drank my blood and made me a favorite dessert, but you did not lie to me.’

Dracula was silent.

‘You were honest, although you fed on me, and took me to the ship against my will,’ Agatha continued. ‘That is why your behavior seems all the more strange to me... now when I said ‘yes’.’

Still silently, Dracula leaned back on the sofa. His lips were tightly compressed, and his eyebrows were furrowed, as if for a long time he had been trying to solve a problem that turned out to be too difficult, and could not bring himself to stop thinking about it.

Agatha regarded him thoughtfully.

‘Maybe…’ she began slowly, ‘maybe this is the whole point? That I agreed?’

Dracula turned his head and looked at her amazedly.

‘Count Dracula, the Wallachian ruler,’ said Agatha, ‘cannot choose the daughter of a merchant from a distant province as a life partner. Which has neither a title, nor a suitable name, nor a sufficiently well-born family.’ She looked straight at Dracula. ‘The laws of blood are harsh and unbreakable.’

‘Agatha,’ it was clear from his look that her suggestion took him by surprise, ‘Agatha, I have been living with you for over a year.’

‘It's one thing to live together, sharing leisure and bed, and even going out by the arm, and quite another,’ she smiled, ‘to enter into a relationship under the hand of the clan and under the coat of arms of the dragon. You could reject me when I become a vampire,’ Agatha said, not allowing him to object, ‘reject, as soon as I would bore you – but it was not accidentally that you called those you turned brides. Obligated to you with a new life – no matter how terrible and gloomy it might be – they have become part of your family. As I would. And even you wouldn't be able to change that. Wherever I went and wherever I lived my indefinitely long centuries, I would forever remain Dracula's companion, recognized and accepted by him.’

The silence that followed her words was long, but contrary to her expectations, it did not seem depressing. For a couple of minutes, Dracula just sat, still frowning and unconsciously rubbing the ring on his ring finger.

‘Four hundred years ago I was baptized in Orthodoxy,’ he said thoughtfully.

‘What?’ Agatha did not understand. She leaned back slightly and eyed him suspiciously.

‘I presume, you are a Catholic,’ Dracula continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘It is unlikely that we will be married under this condition, so, apparently, I will have to convert to Catholicism.’

Agatha looked at him in amazement.

‘Why not me – to Orthodoxy?’ she asked blankly.

‘Because considering what you just told me, it would be offensive to me.’

They looked at each other for several seconds until Agatha turned away, covering her face with her hands.

‘Am I making up nonsense?’ muttered, feeling him hug her.

‘You're too smart,’ Dracula smiled, kissing the top of her head. ‘I should have taken this into account when I suggested to you... I should have talked about it with you right away. Everything you said’ he pulled away and looked at her ‘is absolutely reasonable and absolutely real. Except that has nothing to do with you and me.’ He brushed the hair from her cheek and added: ‘I have not been a Wallachian ruler for a long time, Agatha. Not in the sense in which you described it. And even if I were still a sovereign medieval seigneur, I would be free to choose a wife to my liking. I would have offered you my hand and heart a year ago,’ he said when he saw Agatha trying to protest, ‘if I thought it meant anything to you.’

Agatha averted her eyes.

‘I thought... I thought after I agreed...’

‘I suddenly realized with all clarity how you would humiliate my good name,’ Dracula laughed. ‘This is perhaps the best thing that I have heard about myself in four hundred years.’

‘But still...’ Agatha did not stop.

‘You were right,’ Dracula interrupted. ‘That night I realized for the first time that it was serious. And I wondered if I really want this for you?’

‘You told me...’

‘Agatha,’ he said, burying his fingers in her hair, ‘it's a long life, Agatha. A life in which values, people, traditions, and customs change. The future and the present, as before, become the past. Only now you don't go with them. Others leave – relatives and acquaintances, faithful servants, and old friends. Not all of them you can take with you. And sometimes you just have to look after them. It hurts, Agatha.’

He fell silent again. Raising her hand, Agatha ran her fingers over his cheek. ‘You will be with me,’ she wanted to tell, but she held back. They both knew perfectly well what a world closed for two could turn into over the years.

Unexpectedly to herself, she laughed.

‘Changing faith can be easier than coming to terms with yourself,’ she said in response to his questioning look. ‘But if trees and birds can,’ Agatha added, remembering their conversation with Dracula about longevity, ‘then I can too.’

He looked at her uneasily and incredulously, and it was like their first evening in this house.

‘And you know what else?’ Agatha said. She hesitated. ‘I want to ask you: do not create any illusions by doing this. I want to know what's going on. I go for it with open eyes, and I want it to apply to everything.’

Dracula smiled and covered her fingers over his face.

‘As you wish,’ he replied.

***

November 15, 1898, Times

‘We are pleased to announce that on November 15 of this year in London, at Carfax Abbey, the wedding of Count Vlad Dracula and Miss Agatha Van Helsing took place.’

Agatha put the newspaper down on the dressing table and cast a thoughtful look at the ring on her hand. A thin strip of gold glittering in the twilight of the room seemed like a spark on the surface of the calm sea. Agatha chuckled shortly. A sea that she never intended to enter. It was not only about her past as a nun – her stay in the convent was short and rather forced than chosen at the call of her heart. Marriage as it was just never seemed attractive to her – or useful from any side.

She was distracted from the contemplation of the wedding ring and, straightening, began to remove the hairpins from her hair. Agatha hated complicated hairstyles, but for a sophisticated lady, especially in her current status, a wedding hairstyle was a must. Agatha sighed. It was already good that they managed to avoid a magnificent celebration, limiting themselves to a modest wedding in a local chapel.

The door to the room creaked softly as it opened and closed again.

Freed from bobby pins and hairpins, the hair fell to the shoulders in a heavy wave. Agatha looked in the mirror.

‘I look like a witch from old fairy tales,’ she said, turning in her chair, lifting her head and looking at Dracula standing in front of her. ‘Who appeared without an invitation to the royal palace.’

Dracula smiled.

‘Witches usually have a much more interesting past than the daughters of foresters and crown princesses.’

‘Maybe,’ Agatha agreed. ‘Did you let the servants go?’ she asked, getting up.

‘Gave them leave until next Wednesday.’

‘So long?’ Agatha, approached the bed and began to unfasten the hooks on the dress, anxiously turned around.

‘I think it will take less time,’ Dracula came over and freed a lock of red hair stuck in one of the fasteners. ‘Still, it’ll be better if you and I will be alone in the next week and we don’t have to look back at the door.’

Agatha nodded. Her fingers returned to the hooks and laces. Having straightened with them, she shrugged her shoulders, and the dress slid to her feet.

She did not see Dracula, but she knew for sure that he was watching her. Stepping over the dress, she straightened the lace shirt on her chest and, walking slowly to the bed, climbed onto it.

Slightly closing her eyes, she watches as Dracula locks the bedroom door, extinguishes the lamps one by one, leaving only the candle at the head of the bed to burn, and, going up to the bed, reaches for a silk scarf tied with an elegant knot around his neck.

Once next to her, he sits down behind and, holding Agatha to him, runs his palms over her hands. His fingers stop at the shoulders, freeze as if in thought, grasp the shock of hair that has been scattered down her back, and lift it up.

A slow, long kiss on the back of her head makes her arch and bite her lip. For a few seconds, Dracula does not move, and then he kisses her again and sinks lower, his hands slide forward, to the buttons of the shirt, lower the thin fabric from her shoulders.

Closing her eyes, Agatha completely surrenders to her feelings. From fleeting touches, the body burns and melts, filling from the inside with a silent ringing, opening and dissolving, almost disappearing, until it gathers again at one point to the left, where the neck passes into the shoulder.

...Soft darkness surrounded her from all sides. There was absolutely nothing frightening about it: Agatha stirred and tried to turn her head rather out of curiosity.

‘Don't resist,’ Dracula's voice rang through her head. And a second later – a chuckle. ‘You'll like it.’

***

The awakening was... sharp. And in a completely literal sense. Smells, sounds, colors were sharp. From the world hanging over Agatha, details seemed to appear and emerge at once.

Dust particles on the dark red velvet curtain of the bed. A scent of fresh varnish rising from a parquet floor painted three weeks ago. Spiky sheets that scratch the body with the skin of an ancient beast. Electric discharges from the back of the head and lost in the thick of long hair.

Agatha closed her eyes. The raging sea of spots of color disappeared and was replaced by a thin squeak.

‘When will the convulsions begin?’ Agatha asked into space without opening her eyes. Her own voice sounded low and hoarse, heavy in her ears.

‘So you want to try?’

Agatha opened her eyes. Dracula's pale face bent over her. A mosquito hovered carefree beside his right cheek.

‘Not that I wanted,’ Agatha said slowly, shifting her gaze from the mosquito to Dracula. ‘I just thought it was part of the process.’

‘Apparently, not always,’ Dracula held out his hand and helped her to rise and sit, leaning on the pillows. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Loud,’ Agatha muttered, wincing.

‘It's okay,’ Dracula leaned away and reached out to the side. ‘You are hungry?’ asked. Agatha lowered her eyes to the crystal glass that appeared in his hand. The dark scarlet liquid in it looked unusually tempting.

‘I don’t know,’ Agatha said barely audibly and looked at Dracula in dismay. ‘I can't,’ she blurted out and closed her eyes, once again dazed by the sound of her voice.

‘Agatha, this is not human blood,’ Dracula reminded her gently. ‘And if you're not ready, we can still wait. It's just that the sooner you satisfy your first hunger, the less strong and uncontrollable it will be later.’

Agatha nodded silently.

Swallowing shortly, she stretched out her hand to the glass – and immediately leaned back, groaning exhaustedly.

‘Agatha?’ Dracula asked worriedly.

‘So many... so many things,’ she said, shaking her head and licking her lips.

Dracula put his hand on her forehead. The rough skin of the palm felt like a touch of stiff paper, but it was cool and soothing.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ Dracula said quietly. ‘In the beginning, it is always like that.’

Agatha could not resist a skeptical smile.

‘It has advantages,’ Dracula whispered conspiratorially, bending over slightly. ‘And a lot.’

‘I remember,’ Agatha snorted. ‘The ability to hear rats scratching under the floor, to catch negligent coachmen...’ Hot lips, catching her earlobe, silenced her. ‘Give me a little time,’ she said with an effort, ‘maybe I can find more.’

He laughed.

Agatha turned and looked again at the glass on the nightstand.

‘Lissa?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Dracula shook his head.

‘Are you afraid that I will find out your secrets with her?’ Agatha teased him. She climbed higher on the pillows and made herself comfortable. The first shock receded, and the deafening world gradually became just unusually bright and clear.

‘Too much information confuses newbies,’ smiled Dracula. ‘Besides, Lissa is active and willful. Her blood may excite you unnecessarily. This is Richard, a stallion from Angola, who arrived four weeks ago. Gentle and meek like a sleeping child.’

Agatha reached for the glass. She held it in her hand for a moment, staring at the dark liquid inside. Then she raised it to her lips and took a quick sip.

Nothing happened, and the curtain of the bed did not collapse on her head. It felt as if she had taken a sip of old thick wine. The metallic flavor confused her at first, but the further she drank, the more acutely she became aware of her hunger and the satisfaction of being able to satisfy it. A piercing blue sky, humid winds, and a light rustle of hot sand were felt in the shades of taste.

Having drained the glass to the end, Agatha put it back on the nightstand and licked her lips thoughtfully. Neither the taste, nor the sight, nor the smell of blood made her lose her mind, which she most feared. Perhaps, she mused, the insanity of many newly turned vampires was not caused by the craving for blood as such, but rather a consequence of the ‘return’ and the wave of impressions and feelings that attacked them.

Suddenly the silence of the room was broken by a sharp, persistent rustle. Like someone... Agatha turned quickly towards the sound and saw a large rat crawling across the floor.

Agatha squinted at Dracula. He gazed at her in silence, without a shadow of a smile, but his nostrils fluttered in a very familiar way.

‘You will not get it,’ she said.

* Dragostea (Romanian) – love.

#dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #count dracula #agatha van helsing #dragatha #geth #drama #romance

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agentnico · 3 years ago

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A Quiet Place Part II (2021) Review

This film series is starting to remind me of The Walking Dead. Unfortunately, that is not a compliment...

Plot: Following the deadly events at home, the Abbott family must now face the terrors of the outside world as they continue their fight for survival in silence. Forced to venture into the unknown, they quickly realize that the creatures that hunt by sound are not the only threats that lurk beyond the sand path.

In a nutshell this sequel picks off straight after the events of the first film. The first film being a huge surprise that featured an original idea for the horror genre and the overall cinema viewing experience (yeah, try and slurp on your slushies loud now, ya bastards!!) and featuring a great blend of tone and tension with no release where you’re clinging to your seats real TIGHT. John Krasinski directed the hell out of that movie. He directed it FIRMLY and he directed it HARD!!… Sorry, I’ve recently been rewatching The Office (US) (ironically also featuring Mr Krasinski!) and now I’m all about ‘that’s what she said’ jokes. Anyway, naturally the first film was a huge success and garnered enough revenue for a sequel, and then the COVID pandemic hit which postponed this movie to this year and then it came out and I didn’t watch it because look, your geezer here has a busy life, he ain’t got so much time on his hands like he used to, he can’t just swashbuckle and see every cinema release on the planet, so I don’t apologise for this very very late (by numerous months) review of A Quite Place Part DEUX which is French for learn some French!!

A Quiet Place didn’t need a sequel. Yes you can say the first one ended on a cliff-hanger, but it was the kind of cliff-hanger which didn’t necessarily needed to be answered. The result is now we have a sequel which, though still filled with moments of tension and good performances, comes off as unnecessary. There’s a bit more world building however it is limited, and the plot progression is near to none. Following the discovery of how to kill the monsters in the first film, in this one we go ahead and learn... how to kill the monsters from the first film. Give them tinnitus, get a shotgun and George Ezra them in the face!! Rather than grow the story, they went in a circle and rehashed the same story on a slightly bigger scale. Heck, even the introduction of Cillian Murphy’s character is mainly for the purpose of replacing the father figure that died in the previous film. Even has the beard and all! There’s a reason I referred to The Walking Dead at the start of this review. There doesn’t seem to be an end goal. It’s just the same thing over and over again and honestly it drags, This movie isn’t particularly long and yet it feels long.

I should also talk about the characters. In the first film they all seemed more intelligent. They were aware of what they could and couldn’t do, so they behaved themselves sensibly and carefully. I mean, yeah, it all went to crap at the end, but that was more due to a load of heavy bad luck. In this sequel however all the characters fall into the horror movie trope of making purposeful stupid decisions. Characters now think it is okay to go around and take unneeded risks every now and then. For example, our central family split up early on in the film due to the deaf girl deciding to go on a solo suicide mission which makes me wonder why James Gunn didn’t cast her in The Suicide Squad. And yes, I’m going to keep referencing that movie in my reviews, I loved it, it was great, all hail The Suicide Squad!! So yes, deaf girl does her thing, the mother decides to take a detour and visit her son’s grave because, you know, who cares if monsters are lurking about and then the son decides to become young Sherlock Holmes and go out and about and investigate whilst everyone else is out cause you know, monsters don’t eat kids apparently. Cillian Murphy’s character to be fair seemed like the more logical thinker this time around and I warmed to him quite quickly, and Murphy delivers the emotional baggage of his character well. We also have Djimon Hounsou pop up in a role which literally reflects how stupid characters are in this movie.

It’s evident that this sequel was rushed and that John Krasinski originally only had a plan for one movie and a very good one in all honesty, and then business meant business meaning they wanted more dollar dollar bills and hence here we are. I don’t want to say that A Quiet Place Part II is terrible. The sound design is still incredible and as I said, there are real decent moments of tension that will tinker with your nerves, but overall I found myself to be disappointed with this one. I hear talk that they may be planning further sequels, and that’s all well and good, but I hope they take more time on them and maybe consider actually moving the story forward.

Overall score: 5/10

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papermoonloveslucy · 4 years ago

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HUMILIATED & UNHAPPY

July 16, 1960

TV Guide ~ July 16-22, 1960 (Vol.8, No.29 & Issue #381) Cover photo by Sherm Weisberg, Fashions by Sacks Fifth Avenue

This was Lucille Ball’s tenth (of 39) TV Guide covers.

“A VISIT WITH LUCILLE BALL” by Dan Jenkins

On January 19, 1953, Desi Arnaz rushed exultantly into the Hollywood Brown Derby, grinning that wide, idiotic grin common to new fathers for the past several eons. Striding down a side isle, he threw his arms excitedly in the air and shouted, "Now we got everythin'!" By "everythin'," Arnaz was encompassing quite a bit of territory - an eight-pound son born that morning, the birth of the Ricardo son on ‘I Love Lucy’ that same night and a gold-plated peak of popularity for a television series which, in all probability, will never again be approached. On May 4, 1960, just seven years later, Desi Arnaz and Lucille Ball, quite possibly the most widely known couple in show-business history, were divorced. She had sued for divorce once before (she didn't complete the proceedings), but that was back in 1944 when Desi was a corporal in the Army, Lucy was a star at MGM and World War II was getting all the headlines. By 1960, the Lucy-Desi combine had made so many headlines that no one even bothered to look at the press-clipping scrapbooks any more, or the countless awards that had rolled in on them from all over the country. On an overcast spring afternoon, just 10 days after the divorce, Lucille Ball was sitting in her small but tastefully decorated dressing room on the Desilu lot. That morning, during a short drive over to the neighboring Paramount lot to confer with the producers of her upcoming picture with Bob Hope, she had stuck her head out the window of her chauffeur-driven car and shouted to a friend, "Hi! Remember me? I used to work at Desilu." The remark was not only typical of Lucy Ball but an unwitting reflection of her character and a classic off-the-cuff example of the laugh-clown-laugh tradition. Like most true clowns, Lucy is not a jovial, outgoing person. Her devastating sense of humor, often with a cutting edge, is reserved for her friends. In her dealings with the press she is precise, truthful - and sparing with words. A newsman asked her recently if she had plans to marry again. Lucy stared at him for a few seconds and said simply, "No." (1) The newsman felt that Lucy had missed her calling and should be rushed into the negotiations with Khrushchev forthwith. Relaxing (which is to say, at least sitting down for a few minutes) with an old friend in her dressing room that spring afternoon, Lucy alternated between abrupt sentences and spilled-over paragraphs. On the subject of her immediate plans, she talked almost as though by rote. "I start rehearsals this week for a picture with Bob Hope. It's called 'The Facts of Life.' [She did not wince at the title.] I liked it the minute I read the script and said I'd do it if Bob would. It's written and produced by Norman Panama and Melvin Frank. We have a 10-week shooting schedule. "Then I go to New York with the two children, my mother and two maids. We have a seven-room apartment on 69th Street at Lexington. I'll start rehearsals right away for a Broadway show, 'Wildcat.' It's a comedy with music, not a musical comedy, but the music is important. I play a girl wildcatter in the Southwestern oil fields around the turn of the century. It was written by N. Richard Nash, who wrote 'The Rainmaker.' He is co-producer with Michael Kidd, the director. We're still looking for a leading man. I want an unknown. He has to be big, husky, around 40. He has to be able to throw me around, and I'm a pretty big girl. He has to be able to sing, at least a little. (2) I have to sing, too. It's pretty bad. When I practice, I hold my hands over my ears. We open out of town - I don't know where - and come to New York in December. [Ed. Note: ‘Wildcat’ is now scheduled to make its debut in Philadelphia in November.] (3) "I'm terrified. I've never been on the stage before, except in 'Dream Girl' years ago. But we always filmed ‘I Love Lucy’ before a live audience. I knew a long time ago that I was eventually going to go to Broadway and that's one reason why we shot Lucy that way. But I'm still terrified. The contract for the play runs 18 months. Maybe it will last that long. Maybe longer. And maybe it will last three days." (4) The phone rang. A man's voice, the resonant kind which a telephone seems to make louder, wanted to know if Lucy would like to go out that night. Lucy's expression indicated that the whole idea was a bore but the man prattled on. He apparently had a commitment to attend a young night-club singer's act. "I've seen him twice already," Lucy said into the phone, "and his press agent is now saying I've been there eight times. If I go again the kid will be saying I'm in love with him. He's 2-feet-6 and nine years old. I don't want any part of it." The voice on the phone turned to a tone of urgent pleading. Lucy held the phone away from her at arms length and looked to the ceiling for advice and guidance. She finally hung up. "I go out because people ask me to," she said. "I have no love for night clubs, unless there's an act I especially want to see. And I don't especially want to see this kid's again." She lit another cigarette. "Nervous habit," she said. "I don't inhale, never did. Just nerves.” "I get tired too easily. The reaction is beginning to set in. I've had pneumonia twice in a year. That's not good." There was a long silence. Even for old friends, Lucy is not an easy person to talk to. "I filed for the divorce the day after I finished my last piece of film under the Westinghouse contract," she said suddenly. "I should have done it long ago." Would there ever be any more Lucy-Desi specials like those Westinghouse had sponsored? (5) She stared. "No," she said abruptly. She paused. "Even if everything were alright, we'd never work together again. We had six years of a pretty successful series and two years of specials. Why try to top it? That would be foolish. We always knew that when the time came to quit, we'd quit. We were lucky. We quit while we were still ahead." Was she happy?

Another stare. "Am I happy? No. Not yet. I will be. I've been humiliated. That's not easy for a woman." She started to talk about the recent years with Desi. She talked in a quiet, factual monotone, a voice that had been all through bitterness and was now beyond it. She talked with an implicit faith that what she was saying was off the record. It was. Some day, it was suggested to her, somebody was going to write the story. She stared. "Who would want to?" (6) She looked over at the framed picture of Desi that stood on a small table. "Look at him," she said. "That's the way he looked 10 years ago. He doesn't look like that now. He'll never look like that again." The door was opened and a spring breeze began drawing some of the heavy cigarette smoke out of the room. Lucy smiled a little and turned to her desk. "Try to write," she said finally, "more than I said but not as much as I said."

FOOTNOTES

(1) Lucille Ball did indeed marry again - to Gary Morton (born Morton Goldaper) on November 21, 1961. They remained married until her death.

(2) Gordon MacRae, Jock Mahoney, and Gene Barry were considered before Lucille selected Keith Andes to play the role of Joe Dynamite. He was indeed 40 years old at the time of casting. He committed suicide in 2005.

(3) 'Wildcat’s’ Philadelphia tryout opened on October 29, 1960. The Broadway opening had to be postponed when trucks hauling the sets and costumes to New York were stranded on the New Jersey Turnpike by a major blizzard. After two previews, the show opened on December 16th at Broadway’s Alvin (now Neil Simon) Theatre.

(4) ‘Wildcat’ ran for 171 regular performances. The show was on hiatus from February 5, 1961 through February 9, 1961 during Lucille Ball's illness. The production was to take a 9-week hiatus after June 3rd, 1961 and re-open August 7, 1961, to complete Ball’s contract, but the show closed and did not return due to Ball’s physical exhaustion.

(5) Jenkins is referring to the 13 “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hours” which were part of the “Westinghouse-Desilu Playhouse” which continued the adventures of the Ricardos and the Mertzes, including guest stars, musical numbers, and travel-themed episodes.

(6) Lucy and Desi’s tempestuous marriage has been the subject of several books, two television movies, an award-winning documentary, and at least one stage musical!

TV Guide columnist Dan Jenkins had his name used by “I Love Lucy” in “Redecorating” (ILL S2;E8) in 1952 for the used furniture salesman played by Hans Conried. His name was also mentioned in “Lucy and Ethel Buy The Same Dress” (S3;E3) as a possible emcee for their television show. His qualifications? He plays tissue paper and comb!

In 1953, when Lucille Ball was accused of being a Communist, the real Dan Jenkins stood up at a press conference and said “Well, I think we all owe Lucy a vote of thanks, and I think a lot of us owe her an apology.” Lucy and Desi walked over to where Jenkins was standing and gave him a huge hug. Jenkins later said, “From that time on, we were very good friends.” His last interview with Lucy was in 1986 during “Life with Lucy.”

OTHER ARTICLES

“Shari Lewis and her Puppets” - Lewis was a ventriloquist who’s main character was the sock puppet Lambchop. In 1960, after years of guest-starring on television, Lewis got her own show, which lasted three years on NBC.

“Ty Hardin’s Whirlwind Career” - Ty Hardin and his western show “Bronco” (1958-63) was ABC TV’s answer to Clint Walker’s “Cheyenne”.

“From the Mouth’s of Babes Comes Happy’s Gimmick” - “Happy” (1960-61) was the nickname of a baby, who’s thoughts could be heard by the viewers in this one-season sitcom. It was filmed at Desilu Studios.

“The Untouchables - Fact and Fiction: Part 2″ - “The Untouchables” (1959-63) was a series that began on “The Westinghouse-Desilu Playhouse” and turned into a hit weekly show by Desilu.

PHOTO FEATURES

“Linkletter’s Packing Tips” - Art Linkletter was one of television’s most popular hosts and presenters. Lucille Ball appeared on his show “House Party” in 1965 as well as a 1966 episode of “The Lucy Show” and a 1970 episode of “Here’s Lucy,” both times playing himself.

“Connie Stevens’ Calorie Counter” - Connie Stevens was a singer and actress then playing Cricket Blake on “Hawaiian Eye” (1959-63).

REVIEW

“Mystery Show” - was a mystery anthology series broadcast on NBC from May 1960 to September 1960 as a summer replacement for “The Dinah Shore Chevy Show” with Walter Slezak as host, except for the last three episodes, which had Vincent Price as host.

At the time Evelyn Bigsby was the Associate Managing Editor for Women’s Features at TV Guide’s Hollywood Bureau. Her name was given to the new mother (played by Mary Jane Croft) who sits next to Lucy on the plane in “Return Home From Europe” (ILL S5;E26) in 1956.

Depending on the time zone, “I Love Lucy” was re-run every morning at 10 or 11am. Here it competed with “The Price Is Right” which was broadcast in color! NBC (RCA) was the leader in color television and staked its claim far soon than CBS. “The Lucy Show” didn’t air in color until the fall of 1965.

In another market, “I Love Lucy” ran weekdays at 10am. This edition (same cover and feature articles, different listings) included “Lucy” episode descriptions, while others did not. Notice that an hour earlier the same channel re-ran Desilu’s series “December Bride”. On Monday, July 18, 1960, the re-run was “Second Honeymoon” (ILL S5;E14). From this we can logically assume that this week, in this particular TV market, channel 2 and 8 presented:

TUESDAY, JULY 19, 1960 - “Lucy Meets the Queen (ILL S5;E15)

WEDNESDAY, JULY 20, 1960 - “The Fox Hunt” (ILL S5;E16)

THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1960 - “Lucy Goes To Scotland” (ILL S5;E17)

FRIDAY, JULY 22, 1960 - “Paris at Last” (ILL S5;E18)

On Tuesday, July 19, 1960, at 8:30pm, CBS aired the unsold pilot for "Head of the Family". The pilot had Carl Reiner as TV writer Rob Petrie, Barbara Britton as Rob's wife Laura, Sylvia Miles as Sally Rogers, and Morty Gunty as Buddy Sorrell. In 1961, CBS would score a hit with a new name and a new cast of Dick Van Dyke, Mary Tyler Moore, Rose Marie, and Morey Amsterdam, filmed at Desilu Studios.

For American TV viewers, this was the week between the Democratic National Convention (July 11-15) and the Republican National Convention (July 25-28). Both parties affirmed their November presidential candidates: John F. Kennedy (D) and Richard M. Nixon (R). Kennedy would prove the victor on Election Day.

Eight years earlier, in July 1952, an estimated 70 million voters watched the broadcasts, which ended with the nominations of Adlai Stevenson II and Dwight D. Eisenhower. Although the conventions were also televised in 1948, few Americans owned a TV set to watch them. There was a popular myth that Stevenson lost the election because of backlash from interrupting airings of “I Love Lucy” with hour-long campaign ads. Another story has Stevenson receiving a telegram from a Lucy fan that read: “I love Lucy, but I hate you.” The situation was paralleled on “I Love Lucy” in “The Club Election” (ILL S2;E19). By 1956, the conventions were less a novelty on television, and drew smaller ratings and less attention. In the summer of 1956, Lucy and Desi were preparing their sixth and final season of “I Love Lucy” and storylines had to revolve around big name guest stars (Orson Welles and Bob Hope) and the move to Connecticut.

Lucille Ball’s last appearance as Lucy Ricardo was on April 1, 1960, just four and a half months before this issue of TV Guide hit the stands. She wouldn’t return to series television until September 1962, by which time Lucille will be back on the cover of TV Guide once again. She remained a yearly fixture on the Guide cover until 1974 and then made only one more original appearance to mark her return with “Life With Lucy.”

After this article comes out, the next time TV viewers see Lucille Ball on their home screens is to promote her film with Bob Hope, The Facts of Life, on “The Garry Moore Show” on September 27, 1960. The film opened in November 1960.

For more about TV Guide and “I Love Lucy” click here!

#TV Guide #Lucille Ball #I Love Lucy #Dan Jenkins #1960 #Garry Moore Show #The Westinghouse-Desilu Playhouse #The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour #TV #Desilu #Eveyln Bigsby #Art Linkletter #Shari Lewis #Ty Hardin #Mary Jane Croft #Untouchables #Connie Stevens #Hans Conried #Wildcat

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msjr0119 · 5 years ago

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Hold On

Part 23- Al Fresco Lunch

Nobody got injured at the Homecoming ball, they all get separated into different safe houses- for safety.

Riley and Drake had confirmed that they had feelings for each other, however Drake believed Riley should be with Liam. Heartbroken, she moves back to New York. Only keeping in touch with Hana, Maxwell and Olivia.

Riley meets lawyer, Nate Cooper and begins a relationship with him. In Cordonia, Drake begins to court Kiara.

Nine months after Riley had left Cordonia- there is a reunion, but not the reunion the friends had hoped for.

*Characters belong to Pixelberry*

If you are under 18 please do not read this series. If you do you are consenting that you are over the age.

Series warnings: Suicide, domestic abuse, swearing, stabbing, smut🍋. If any of these triggers affect you do not read!

So sorry for the delay in posting this- as the series was due to end a few chapters ago, I’ve had ‘writers block’... 😫

Tags- @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @drakesensworld @ladyangel70 @butindeed @bbrandy2002 @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @pedudley @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @dangerouseggseagleartisan @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415

******

Liam was finally relieved that his meetings were all complete for the day, they took a bit longer than expected but now his priority was to spend time with Riley.

‘Gliding’ up to his chambers, still feeling like he was floating on cloud nine - he noticed that Riley was asleep on the couch. Deep down he just wanted to awake her from her slumber but would feel guilty. Instead he placed a warm fluffy blanket that covered her tiny frame perfectly.

Whispering- I love you in her ear, he decided to take a shower. Now she was pregnant, she would be tired all the time. Whilst showering he kept imagining what their baby would be like. Would they have blonde hair like him, or brown hair like their beautiful mom. What kind of accent would they speak? Would it be European with a twang of American? Would they be wrapped around his little finger- of course. All these questions didn’t really matter, as Liam knew the baby was already loved so much.

Bastien had helped him postpone some meetings tomorrow- tomorrow he had planned to propose to Riley again, hoping in his heart that this was now the right time. Liam left Bastien with one job to complete- to make an important phone call to someone close to him.

Liam sat admiring Riley whilst she slept- she was like a goddess, the beauty that surrounded her made her look radiant. She began to stir, he immediately knelt down near her, caressing her cheek. Her eyes blinked - eventually opening slowly, baby blues fixated on each other.

“Hey.” Riley noticed him smiling adorably towards.

“Hello, beautiful. Did you have a good sleep?”

“Yes, I didn’t mean to fall asleep it just happened.”

Liam smiled at her as she sat up and gestured him to sit next to her. Wrapping one arm around her, his other arm protectively went around her stomach as he kissed her cheek. Riley’s heart fluttered, knowing now that this was going to be her life- she was carrying the heir to the throne and Liam made her happy beyond words.

“I can’t wait to meet him or her..I’m going to treat you to lunch tomorrow.”

“I can’t either. I’m just scared. This is going to a long pregnancy if I’m already tired.”

“I’m with you for every step, Ri. I love you both so much.”

Riley snuggled into his embrace. After everything they had been through since meeting in New York, this was their new beginning. Scared. Relieved. Happy. So many emotions were running through her mind. As long as she had Liam she knew she could get through anything.

*****

The next morning, Liam woke up before Riley and ordered some breakfast. Hoping she wouldn’t feel nauseous and could hold it down. Suggesting many options- he wasn’t sure what she was fancying, if she had any cravings yet. He was intending on researching all the facts about pregnancy.

They quietly ate breakfast together, Riley sat picking at the food. She was grateful for Liam’s sweet gesture but wasn’t feeling entirely up to to eating. Liam ran her a bath, lighting candles surrounded it like he did that time in Lythikos with the hot tub. That night her eyes lit up. After her soak in the bath, she felt more relaxed and was hoping her appetite would be better for her lunch date with Liam.

“You look beautiful as always. Are you ready to go?”

“Thank you. Yes. Where are we going?”

“Not far. Take a walk with me?”

Riley nodded, linking her arm in his. She looked confused as they ambled towards the maze.

“This brings back memories.”

Riley noted, some good and some bad. The first night at the masquerade ball- they played ‘maze tag’ after secretly meeting up and the night of the coronation they shared a loving moment- Liam wanted more but Riley hesitantly just wanted to be held in his arms not expecting what was due to happen. Wondering why Liam had brought her here, her mind was racing.

“So, I wasn’t sure if your appetite had returned. I won’t be offended, if it hasn’t. But I thought we could have a light lunch al fresco style, ending it with a scrumptious cronut.”

Riley’s eyes widened and lit up. Remembering how she convinced everyone to sneak out on a cronut run. Remembering how Liam had to be the ‘naughty prince’ jumping out of his window- risking breaking a limb. Without realising, tears formed in her eyes and gracefully fell down her cheeks- damn hormones. Liam pulled the chair away from the table, allowing her to sit down- he was a gentleman after all. After eating, Liam became fidgety, he could swear that his heart was leaping out of his chest. Why he was so nervous, he didn’t understand- this time was different to last time. In the past there were so many obstacles- the break up of his engagement to Madeleine, Riley being confused about her feelings towards both Liam and Drake. Now it was fate- they were now having a baby together. They were going to be first time parents. Taking a big gulp, he stood up- gently taking Riley towards the hedge. Holding her in his warm embrace.

“Ri, I know this last year has been incredibly hard for the both of us. Losing you absolutely broke me. Seeing you fighting for your life twice- made me realise even more that I can’t lose you again. So many obstacles have prevented us from loving each other publicly, but you’ve always been in my heart-since the first night we met. It’s different now...”

Riley noticed Liam lose his usual stoic attitude, his voice was a nervous tone, he was shaking. Holding him tightly she had an inkling on what he was doing. They had been in this situation before. The night she broke his heart- for what? To be made a mug of. Regretting the first proposal rejection from the King, she had hoped this was why he was acting this way- in case she rejected him again.

“Li, I love you.” She said, providing him with a soft smile.

“Riley, I love you too. So much. I feel unbelievably lucky that you love me back.”

Liam cupped her cheeks, and placed a soft kiss on her cherry bud lips. When they parted, he slowly went down on one knee. Riley’s eyes became like a burst dam, pouring out uncontrollably.

“I am going to dedicate to be the best King and Father I can be, I am going to protect you both with all my heart. I know I will be a better man having you by my side. Riley Brooks, I’ve asked you this question before and I know that the last time was inappropriate timing. You’ve once again made my life complete, but... Will you marry me and make my heart burst with more pride? Please, say you’ll be my Queen?”

Riley bit her lip, before pulling Liam up and falling into his embrace. He held her protectively- impatiently waiting for her response. Both of their eyes contained tears due to emotion.

“I love you, my King. Of course I’ll marry you.” She whispered into his ear.

Liam was beaming, he rested his forehead against Riley’s. Taking her hand slowly, he kissed the side of her wrist- now knowing that his mothers ring would sit on her finger permanently. Taking her arm gently, he pulled her back into his embrace- before shifting her backwards towards the hedge, kissing her tenderly. The coldness of the hedge sent a shock down her spine. “Riley” he said softly. She’s mine, he thought.

“Liam, I want you my king.” Riley seductively demanded. A now mischievous smile formed on her face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Don’t you want to?” That was all Liam needed to know.

“Yes. Oh god yes!”

The next kiss was delicate before turning passionate and deepening. His hands roamed, her delicate frame. Both losing themselves in each other’s touches. Kissing her neck and shoulder, he slowly unzipped her dress, allowing it to drop to the floor.

“You are so beautiful. I know I keep saying it. But I will keep telling you until I take my last breath.” Riley blushed at Liam’s comment, he knew how to make her heart flutter constantly.

“Liam, you are handsome and the most caring man I’ve met.”

Riley eagerly removed his tuxedo, before placing her hands under his white shirt- feeling his abs, exploring his bare skin. Pulling his shirt over his head, She immediately felt the warmth from his body. Their baby blues both fixated on each other, taking in each other’s appearance. Liam cupped her breasts whilst kissing her neck , as she worked her hands down to his waistline- finally discarding his trousers on the floor. Running his hands down her thighs, he effortlessly picked her up- she wrapped her legs around his waist. Liam began to thrust against her holding her protectively and strongly- before their body’s rocked in perfect sync.

*****

After their moment against the hedge, he slid his mothers ring onto her delicate finger- the whole moment felt like a dream. Both still breathless from the waves of pleasure they had encountered, they both quickly got dressed- Liam held Riley in his arms, he could have stayed there all day but needed to discuss a ‘shotgun’ wedding as she was pregnant with Cordonia’s heir. Liam lifted Riley’s chin, whilst stroking her now ruffled hair idly.

“So, I don’t want to rush things. I’d do anything for you Riley. But...” Staring at Riley with sorrow in his eyes, he hoped she would agree to his plan.

“But?” Riley was now dreading what the King was about to suggest.

“Leo has just returned to Cordonia. If you want, we can have a small ceremony with friends and family - possibly just have Ana and Donnie there to keep our people in the loop. I know you’re tired and stressed with the baby- I don’t want you gaining anymore stress. Then once the baby has been born, we can have the big royal wedding including the heir- our beautiful baby.”

“Will it be acceptable to do that?”

She didn’t know much about Cordonian law- feeling like she was being naive asking such a question. Either way, for the first time in her life she felt content. After what seemed like an eternity, she was now getting the fairytale life- with a man she loved and having a baby who will be adored. This was both their second chance at happiness.

“I’m king. As long as we’re married in some way before the baby arrives it shouldn’t matter. We can get married tomorrow morning if you want?”

“That quick?” Riley needed to learn how to contain stoic expressions- she knew he would want to get wed quick, but tomorrow? Her stomach began to twist. Liam saw her eyes widen, as she stood frozen.

“Yes. If you-“ Riley interrupted, after the initial shock, she knew she had to do this. As long as she had Liam, everything would be fine. Tomorrow she was going to be Mrs Riley Rhys- Queen Of Cordonia.

“I’ll marry you whenever, Liam. I’m shocked at how soon. But I can’t wait to be your wife- your Queen.”

*******

His Majesty King Liam and Lady Riley Brooks announced their engagement earlier on today. They will have a small ceremony tomorrow between friends and family. Myself and Donnie Brine from the CBC have been invited and have been given permission to share photos with the public afterwards. We are all wondering why this ceremony is taking place so immediately. Is our future Queen possibly carrying an heir already?

The King has informed us, that at a later date they will have a blessing of their vows which they will share with the public of Cordonia.

We look forward to seeing Lady Riley as our new Queen. Congratulations to happy couple.

Ana De Luca - Trend Magazine.

#theroyalromance #choices trr #riley brooks #kingliam #liam x riley #liam x mc

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flych1 · 5 years ago

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Kehlani singer on her new album

Kehlani, singer on her new album

Photo: Pari Dukovic

Kehlani

In early March, Kehlani was due to meet his label. She was preparing to release her second album - her first since she had a baby and a return to her roots R-B. She was scheduled to perform the first part of Justin Bieber's Changes tour, as well as a number of dream solo dates. Atlantic executives told him they believed in the album, which was scheduled for release on April 24, its 25th anniversary, but the coronavirus pandemic made it impossible to develop a promotion plan. We'd have to postpone it. "I was casting actors and actresses. I was doing all kinds of things," she says of all the pre-production she had completed at the time of the mid-March meeting. We're talking about a video call from Zoom; Kehlani sits alone in a sunny room in his Los Angeles home. (Later, she will be joined by her dog, a pint of ice cream and a tequila-based drink with a slice of orange coming out). It just so happens that today is the original release date. They said, "We don't think you should take it out,"" she said. "And then I went to my room and made the 'Toxic' video on my laptop." She posted it on YouTube at the end of March. "People messed with it," she adds. When Kehlani's label accepted her request to release the album this month, it was stipulated that she had to do it all herself. "If all we do is make music and press the button, then you can do it," she says. "And I was like, 'Okay, challenge accepted fucking.'" So now Kehlani and her photographer, with whom she's in quarantine, are planning and editing music videos, photoshoots, and album coverage. (She also lives with her daughter, two younger siblings, a close friend and her assistant). His garage has been converted into a two-level studio, one side for music, the other for visuals. Kehlani has been a professional musician since the age of 13. A series of mixtapes - full of overshares about having a heart built and broken - and a random but successful debut album have already made her a leading figure in the industry. His music is R-B in its purest form: songs about how love defeats you, about floating on the pure adrenaline of a crush, about the desire of someone you can't trust in your heart. It's no coincidence that when white artists like Bieber and Charlie Puth want to look into an R-B sound, they call on Kehlani to help them. The new album, It Was Good Until It Wasn't, is part of a revival of the genre in the midst of its fiercest debates. It is also a transition disc, a bridge between adolescence and adulthood. Throughout her career, Kehlani has been considered the daughter of the R-B: sexy but boyish. In her old music, she played with both sides of the binary. On the new record, it got too big. She did so immediately after giving birth to her daughter Adeya, who is now one year old. (She is currently co-parenting with her ex, Adeya's father, Javaughn Young-White, younger brother of Jaboukie from the Daily Show). "People would always be like, Kehlani is adorable or, like, Kehlani is cool hella. But then I had a baby and it made me look more feminine," she says. "So I guess I thought, OK, I'm going to start shaking my ass and talk about it." (She wanted Bieber to do a song for her album, but he refused. "Because he's a super-married guy now, it didn't really fit," she said. Kehlani's self-managed music video for "Toxic", filmed with the only camera on her MacBook, shows the nervous figure of the singer slipping and squirming, rubbing her arms and hips. "Don Julio has ridiculed me for you," she tells her former lover that she won't reach out to him, even if her body urges her to do it out of instinct. Kehlani insists this is not his last relationship, which ended publicly and painfully, with Compton rapper YG earlier this year. It's the kind of personal drama that made headlines and made Kehlani's blog famous. She writes songs that address all of this openly. Her fans grow up with her career because she is transparent, sometimes to excess. Or, as she says, I do in public, and it makes people feel like I'm not a stranger. I'm a person with a human ass. I'm screwing up in front of the whole world." The conversation about the state of the R-B was revived last November, when Lizzo, often considered a pop artist, won album of the year at the Soul Train Awards, beating soul singer Ari Lennox. ("It's clear that I'm not cool enough," Lennox tweeted after his loss. Last February, rapper Young M.A. went further, saying that "we barely have R-B". Indeed, in recent years, the superstars of the genre - like SWV, Boyz II Men, Ginuwine, Toni Braxton - and their musical descendants have mostly failed to stop the charts as they did two decades ago; many contemporary black musicians evade the label, preferring to be called "alternative R-B", while others experiment more with genres that were once declared out of bounds by the guardians. Kehlani, on the other hand, is part of a coterie of artists who maintain the relevant R-B today, alongside newcomers like Summer Walker, Bryson Tiller and Lennox. She has a song for every step of a relationship: going under it, going over it, watching the door ahead, a personal promise to stop texting her. His music seems new - not as a consistent copy of a Brandy song - but the influence is palpable. She finds the current debate about gender - what the R-B is, what it was and where it has gone - boring. It may no longer sound like it did in the 90s, but rappers (think, more recently, Drake) have expanded it beyond the desperate desire (or desperate loves) of the last century. "I think people don't know enough about music to make these kinds of accusations [that the R-B no longer exists]. The R-B is simple lyrics and a great song. Lots of harmonies and batteries and melodic production," she says, as if it were easy. "I'll never be able to make 90s R-B music. I'm never going to be able to make R-B music from the early 2000s, because that's not when I was making music. It wasn't when I experienced things that shaped my words and my sound." Kehlani was born in Oakland and raised by her aunt. His mother struggled with drug addiction, and his father died when he was 24 years old and she was very young. A stint on America's Got Talent put her in touch with Nick Cannon, who paid for her to spend time in the studio to make her first mixtape in 2014. On Cloud 19, you can hear the beginnings of a great talent: his voice is more acute and younger, but it is overflowing with emotion. On the deck of Cloud 19's "As I Am" film, she sings and succeeds in the chorus of a Mary J. Blige classic. A week after the release of her second mixtape in 2015, she signed with Atlantic Records. Kehlani turned to pop with his debut album of 2017, SweetSexySavage, an album full of rushed and half-finished ideas. It was carried out amid a personal mental health crisis, sparked by rumors that she cheated on her ex-boyfriend, NBA player Kyrie Irving, in 2016. The relentless online bullying led her to attempt suicide. (Kyrie Irving later admitted that she had never been unfaithful.) "I started an album as a person and experienced the most traumatic event of my life," she says. Her label held on until the deadline, letting her make an album from songs she barely recognized. "I had no connection with the music," she says. "I was embarrassed about everything." The new record is a reset, closer to the Grammy-nominated mixtapes that made it famous. It Was Good Until It Wasn't Gives you the Pure B-R rush, the R-B "waiting for you to call me", the R-B "the only thing that interests me is you": the hits of Brandy and Monica in the 90s, the classics of Alicia Keys of the early 2000s who fall in love. She is also less affected by the nostalgia of adolescence than by the immediacy of adult desires. His first mixtapes were about childhood and adolescence; It Was Good Until It Wasn't at peace with the way most conflicts or heartaches unfold. The title comes from a conversation with a friend about her recent breakup. That's the life of this, you know? she said. The is good and then it's not good anymore. Although she has been in the industry since she was a teenager, Kehlani has never had any decisive success for her career, and it is unlikely that the new album will deliver one. "F-MU" is hot and dancing, and the collaboration with Canadian R-B star Tory Lanez, "Can I," is a sexy earworm - although neither song seems particularly suited to virality. His greatest successes are gossip blogs that overshadow his music. His three-month relationship with YG ended just after they released a song together proclaiming their love. (Their duet came out on the eve of Valentine's Day 2020; three days later, she released a breakup song after images of him cheating her surfaced). Minutes before one of our calls, Kehlani posted a series of tweets about a feud with another Oakland native, rapper Kamaiyah, who slammed her on Instagram Live about a previously unreleased mixtape and accused her of being a colorist, among other things. "She gave the green light to my family and me and told everyone in Oakland to kill us for a song," Kehlani says. (Kamaiyah later replied, telling Kehlani, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't threaten you," but added that "a green light means going like a fight, not shooting"). A moment after our discussion, she answered a phone call from a friend and nervously asked if her tweets - which had let the rapper know there was no bad blood - were correct, if she had handled the situation properly. Kehlani and Kamaiyah had long argued over a joint mixtape, which was to be released before the release of their two albums. Her production was difficult, and even the basic decisions - how many songs she should have, what it should be called, what the visual aesthetic should be - met, according to Kehlani, with Kamaiyah's resistance. In the end, she had had enough of back and forth, and the mixtape didn't seem as essential to her as the release of her album. When she came back to our call, her mood was appalled. I tried to contact her to do good business and she said, "If the project doesn't come out, you can't have it [one piece]," she says. "Even though I wrote it." Once again, she was swept away in a drama she couldn't control, tweeting clarifications about a quarrel she didn't care about, instead of celebrating the upcoming release of her album. But why challenge a misinterpretation if she is tired of getting carried away by the drama? How can I put this to rest and out of my body? Because I don't want to wear them," Kehlani says. "Even if you never want to piss me off again, how can I make sure you know it's love on this side?" she tweeted Kamaiyah to let the rapper know she wished him the best. She is satisfied with the way she has defused an unexpected quarrel. A few years ago, it would not have been as weighted. It took a lot of to get to this point, she says. The death of two friends in three months has put a lot of things in perspective. Philadelphia rapper Chynna overdosed in April at age 25; Minnesota rapper Lexii Alijai, whom Kehlani considered "a little sister," overdosed on New Year's Day at just 21 years of age. Lexii Alijai was scheduled to perform the first part of the post-Bieber tour as the headliner. "I couldn't believe it because Alijai was so young," she says. "It was a click, it was amazing, it was sad and it was heartbreaking. I'm always trying to find the best way to help them continue their legacy." Being 25 was also more than a quarter of a life. It was a horizon she never thought she would see. "I've always had a strange feeling about being 25 or older," she says. "It's a shock because I'm now older than my father was." that's part of what made It Was Good Until It Wasn't feel like the album she finally grew up on. "I wanted to be 25 on this one," she says.

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chatterbox-meta · 6 years ago

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On Narrative Consequence

Or, a meta on how every single one of Katsuki Bakugou’s and Enji Todoroki’s misdeeds have directly or indirectly resulted in their misfortune.

Before I begin, I would like to say sorry for postponing other metas I’ve promised to write in favour of this meta. Well, I say meta, but this is more of a rant than anything. Namely, by writing this, I am mostly venting my frustration with a certain belief somewhat widespread in the MHA fandom - that Katsuki and Enji have never been properly punished for anything they did.

First, let’s examine what “proper punishment” even means. The answers probably vary from person to person, but the most consistent ones I’ve seen centered around legal punishment, verbal calling out and, sometimes, an “eye for an eye” type of retribution. I’ll get to the last two later, but the first one - legal punishment - is genuinely not something either Katsuki or Enji have gotten.

“But Chatterbox! That means the people who say they weren’t punished properly are actually right!” Well, yeah, if this was real life then legal punishment would be the only appropriate response for crimes like spousal and child abuse, as well as certain bullying tactics like suicide baiting.

However, My Hero Academia is not real life and Katsuki and Enji aren’t real people. They’re fictional characters within a narrative and that narrative has a way of dishing out its own punishment. Just because the two of them haven’t been sent to jail/juvie doesn’t mean they were immune to karmic narrative punishment. Such punishment is obviously not possible in real life since karma doesn’t exist, only direct action, but in a story like MHA, the author can write events to serve that purpose.

With that in mind and to put it bluntly, you’d have to ignore large chunks of canon to claim the two weren’t punished. In fact, many events in MHA are designed to hit Katsuki and Enji specifically where it will hurt them the most and in a way that will make them learn their lessons and retain them. Let’s go over the things that happen to them and what actions led to that.

Katsuki Bakugou starts off the series as a bully convinced he’s standing at the top and determined to keep our loveable protagonist Izuku down because, deep down, he (perhaps irrationally, at that point) believes Izuku has whatever it takes to surpass him and fears the failure and loss of identity that would mean for him. Of course, this merely explains his actions and doesn’t justify them, so what is his punishment?

Well, the punishment the narrative decides for him is making those fears come true.The entire story until about the end of S3 (so, for the first 120-ish chapters of the manga) is about Izuku being built up and Katsuki being torn down.

Sometimes this is done incidentally (the Sludge Villain case, which both shakes up Katsuki’s belief in himself as the strongest and leads to Izuku earning One For All, while also serving as karmic punishment for Katsuki going too far with his bullying earlier*), but most of the time it’s a direct result of his mistakes (his loss to Izuku in the Heroes vs Villains excercise/DvK1, him being unable to reach out to Shouto to bring out his full power like Izuku did at the Sports Festival, his temper tantrum attracting the League of Villains and costing him any respect he might have earned by winning, his attitude making him fail the provisional license exam while Izuku passed, etc.).

*(Obviously this only works as punishment from a narrative standpoint, anyone who says a real 15-year-old deserved to almost be murdered because they were a bully is, uh, not someone I’d want to associate myself with.)

I already went into depth about precisely what and how Katsuki loses over the course of the series in this very long character analysis, but the tl;dr version is that he goes from believing that he is the strongest and Izuku is the weakest to believing that he is the failure who caused All Might’s end and Izuku is the prodigy chosen to be All Might’s successor. Izuku keeps building up his self-esteem while Katsuki keeps losing it. In other words, his punishment for trying to tear down Izuku is being torn down himself.

Some would argue that this doesn’t count because Izuku didn’t tear him down personally and instead that this is just the natural and inevitable result of Izuku getting stronger and Katsuki having to face reality. Putting aside that a character like Izuku wouldn’t want to personally tear him down, here’s where we go back to the verbal calling out, the “eye for an eye” and the more “direct” punishments.

A shocking amount of people believe that Izuku has never called out Katsuki for his behavior, some even going so far as to say that Izuku doesn’t realize what Katsuki’s doing is wrong due to Stockholm Syndrome or something. This infuriates me because it is supposed Izuku Stans doing a disservice to Izuku’s character. While it’s true that Izuku doesn’t hate Katsuki himself (I go into detail about why here, along with the reason why he’d forgive him), but he absolutely hates a lot of his actions and can and will let him know that.

Even way back in S1, when he is still a meek terrified kid, he stands up to him. When Katsuki confronts him after the entrance exam and threatens him, Izuku doesn’t budge, he tells him that he’s going to UA and there’s nothing he can do about it, causing him to back off.

During DvK1, despite Katsuki acting more unhinged than usual and trying to either beat him up or provoke him into using OFA, Izuku looks him in the eye and tells him the insulting nickname he gave him is now the name of a hero. He even kind of taunts him by saying he has Katsuki’s weaknesses recorded in the notebook Katsuki burned and threw away!

And he keeps doing it! When they have to work together to fight All Might and Katsuki refuses to do so, even lashing out violently, Izuku yells at him right back and even punches him hard eventually. Granted, it was mostly because it looked like Katsuki would give up on the one thing Izuku admires about him instead of for revenge, but still.

Izuku accepts Katsuki’s challenge in DvK2 not just because he wants to give Katsuki a chance to let out his emotions and find answers, but also because he wants to air his grievences (what he really thought of Katsuki, how it felt to chase after him) and give Katsuki answers in the form of a resounding “I’ll surpass you” and an OFA powered punch to the face.

Another common claim is that the adults and kids around Katsuki never do anything about him. This may have been true in middle school, but UA? Aizawa restrains him and negates his Quirk the second he tries to attack Izuku during the Quirk Apprehension test and tells him to stop wasting his talent after DvK1. When Katsuki grabs an unconscious Shouto by the shirt after their match, Midnight knocks him out and then he’s chained and muzzled.** All Might spells out what he’s been doing wrong after DvK2.

**(Sidebar: it amuses me that this is called out as inhumane treatment and too harsh punishment, even though the adults had no way of knowing whether Katsuki would attack again or what it would take to calm him down, by the same people who claim Katsuki isn’t punished enough. Well, which is it?)

The adults absolutely intervene when he steps out of line. And even when they don’t, they tend to have a reason. All Might didn’t stop the Heroes vs Villains excercise because he knew that if he stepped in, Izuku wouldn’t feel like he’s proven anything, to himself or to Katsuki. He didn’t step in for Izuku’s sake, not Katsuki’s.

As for the End of Term Exam, Aizawa didn’t put Izuku on a team with Katsuki because he “wanted Izuku to get along with his abuser,” but because he knew that Izuku had great leadership and cooperation skills except when he’s with Katsuki and his inability to force difficult people to work with him would cost him in the field. Besides, neither Katsuki nor Izuku can afford to have bad blood between them in high-stakes situations. It might be harsh, but Aizawa was doing it for both of their sakes.

The only thing the adults could have done differently is come up with a more long-term solution to the problem, preferably by actually talking to the people involved, but this was aknowledged after the duo broke curfew to fight.

In conclusion, Katsuki has, in fact, absolutely been called out by the people around him and punished by the narrative thouroughly.

Phew, that got longer than I planned... Where was I? Ah, yes, Area Man Misplaced In The Role of Father.

Enji Todoroki spent his life desperately trying to reach All Might’s spot as number one hero. When he feared his own skills would never be enough, he hatched a plan to get into a Quirk Marriage and then make one of his offspring surpass All Might in his place. Why he thought that was a good idea, I don’t know, but it fits the psychology of the typical Stage Mom, living her, uh, I mean his dream vicariously through his child, Shouto.

In any case, in order to accomplish his goal, Enji was willing to use any means necessary, icluding brutal training of a toddler, physical violence against his wife whenever she tries to interfere and... whatever... happened to Touya. Nothing outside of that goal mattered to him, “unsuited” children like Natsuo and Fuyumi (who presumably only or mostly inherited Rei’s Quirk) were tossed aside and ignored.

So, how does the narrative punish this sorry excuse for a hero, father and husband? By giving him exactly what he wanted, the number one spot? Apparently so!

“But Chatterbox! Isn’t that Endeavor being rewarded by the narrative?” You would think so, but interpreting it that way is actually completely missing the point of Endeavor’s Arc! Because everytime I think of how it’s presented, I’m reminded of a line I might have heard in Disney’s Princess and the Frog: “Did you get what you wanted? S’ what you got what you need?”

After All Might’s retirement, the number one spot was left open for Endeavor to take his place. This is what he’d wanted for a long time and believed he would never get himself. But Endeavor didn’t earn that spot, he was given it, and he knows it. He may have taken his place, but he never truly surpassed All Might and, now that he’s out of commission, neither he nor Shouto (who doesn’t seem to care anyway) ever will.

In other words, every single one of his efforts, every horrible thing he’s done to his family up until that point... It was all for nothing. He may have been at least somewhat aware that what he was doing was indeed horrible but just surpressed that knowledge for the sake of achieving his goal, but now that his goal has amounted to nothing and he feels lost and aimless, he’s finally forced to reflect on his deeds.

But even asides from that, who is Endeavor, the hero with the most solved cases in history, the one who saved countless lives? Well, not much of a number one hero, even with his family situation not being public knowledge, it turns out. After Kamino, the people didn’t just need a hero who would defeat villains, but a hero who would reassure them that everything will be okay and discourage criminals by his mere presence. That he would uphold Peace. Endeavor’s victory never felt more hollow, because the people don’t need him, they need another All Might.

So, Endeavor approaches the man himself for advice. But Toshinori tells him he can’t be him, nor should he attemt to. The age of All Might is over and the public needs to accept that, if they want to prove to Shigaraki that they can go on without him. Toshinori thinks Endeavor should be his own hero, the kind of hero people like Hawks saw in him, the only one who wasn’t lured into complacency by All Might; the tenacious, dedicated and efficient powerhouse against whom villains wouldn’t dare stand against.

And yet, that, too, feels hollow. Because even if All Might and Hawks believe in Endeavor, even if the rest of society comes to believe Endeavor... What does any of that matter for Enji Todoroki? The man who ruined his family for the sake of his own ambitions? Enji now knows that he’ll probably never be a true hero, let alone number one, because of what he’s done, even if the entire thing remains a secret.

Still, he has no other choice. He’s number one, understanding for the first time the enourmous pressure and burden that comes with the position. And, of course, the villain attacks, leading to Enji getting his face torn open by High End, coincidentally (really, within the narrative, it’s not a coincidence at all) on the same side that Shouto got his burn scar. But that is fine, because for the first time he’s fighting not for the sake of his ambitions but for the society that needs a pillar, no matter how unstable or rotten it is beneath its shiny and sturdy marble surface.

For that reason, though this is never expicitly stated, he can’t even “properly” punish himself by going public with his crimes - imagine the utter trainwreck the new number one hero revealing himself to be a former abuser would be, in the wake of the chaos and uncertainty caused by All Might’s fall? When it comes to his family, atonement really is the only option at this point.

So Enji’s punishment is getting exactly what he wanted, at the cost of carrying the world on his shoulders knowing he’ll never be what it needs, getting disfigured and having to face his broken family. Speaking of, what about that family? Aren’t they letting him get off scot-free? Contrary to popular belief, no.

Natsuo doesn’t want to forgive him or even aknowledge his efforts to change and be the hero they can be proud of, he wants nothing to do with him. Shouto is willing to see those efforts and is curious to see what the results will be, he wants Enji to make good on his words, but he still agrees with Natsuo and doesn’t forgive him or want him in his life beyond the pragmatic uses of his experience as a pro. Above all else, he wants to carve an identity outside of his father’s former wishes and outside his hatred for him.

Fuyumi does forgive him unconditionally, but it has less to do with Enji genuinely earning her forgiveness and more to do with her desire for a happy, normal family. Rei also seemingly forgives him, but for her, it might simply be a desire to let go of the hatred that made her scald her child’s face. It would be so easy for her to simply blame all of it on Enji, but she can’t, not all of it.

And Enji himself certainly hasn’t forgiven anything, nor does he demand forgiveness from others and fully accepts the consequences of both his sins and his dream.

I don’t think Enji’s quite done paying his debt yet, there is still the issue with Touya and I bet the LoV would be salivating at the chance to expose him if they found out (in fact I hope that happens, not because I have a thirst for punishment but because I think it would be a fantastic plot), but so far, he definitely hasn’t gone unpunished.

Before I end this long-ass rant (holy shit, this has gotten way out of hand), I have one more thing to address: what is the purpose of a punishment? It’s to stop bad behavior and make the perpetrators realise what they’re doing is wrong. In that way, I believe the narrative punishment of Katsuki and Enji was successful.

So, what, exactly, would even be the point of “properly” punishing them further? Vindication? For whom, the characters or certain audience members?

Again, in real life, learning your lesson, feeling regret and trying to do better isn’t a get out of jail free card (though certain places do prioritize rehabilitation over punitive justice, finding that the former significantly lowers the rate of re-offending), but in fiction, priorities are different. It’s not about making things even (would anything ever make them even?) or treating characters “fairly” or teaching the audience basic morals, it’s about what would be the most interesting to read about.

Everyone’s opinions are different, but honestly?

The story of two boys growing past their relationship as a bully and a victim, past even the destructive rivalry of tearing each other down, and embracing the relationship of pushing each other past who they are now by borrowing each other’s best qualities?

And the story of a man who wants to be a father and a hero even though it might be impossible, of a family that might just one day find closure in the belief that all the years of suffering amounted to something in the end?

I’d take those over some sanctimonious, heavy-handed morality tale of an ao3 “fix fic” any day. Yes this entire rant is actually me being salty after seeing too many self-righteous “I’ll adress what Horikoshi won’t uwu” fic authors, fucking sue me.

#my hero academia #bnha #bnha meta #katsuki bakugou #enji todoroki #chatterbox meta #first one who responds to this with 'so you think victims shouldn't want to punish their abusers???' owes me a drink #i'm just pissed off by ppl who think vindication is the only acceptable thing to want in these stories #and the general preachiness of fix fics #apologies for any offense though #i was feeling very spiteful

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depressed-sock · 6 years ago

Text

Reveal Au part 1

A Fallen Hero Fanfic

Alright, new series!!! =D

So a couple things before you read, this is based on several past prompts (One where Steel sees sidestep’s scars and one with how that situation happened), there will definitely be spoilers in this one, and Kiyo has the suicidal scar!!! (so there will be content based off that).

Plans in Motion

Kiyo:

You pace back and forth, worry gnawing at your thoughts. That fucking idiot, always sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong and now he's let himself get captured by Hollow Ground. Who knows what’s happening to him… he might already be dead… You let out a frustrated growl grabbing the nearest object intending to throw only to be interrupted by a cough.

“I would prefer you not break that since it contains acid,” Mortum leans against the doorway of his lab and you sigh placing container gently back down, “I know you’re worried Kiyo-”

You bark out a laugh, “I think I’m a little beyond worried right now.” Your nails dig into the palms of your hands, you don’t know what to do. There’s no plan, there hasn’t been since Ortega decided to come back into your life. You had, had one; become a villain and use every bit of yourself to take down the farm even if it led to your own self-destruction. But that’s gone out the window, Ortega showing up and refusing to leave you alone… again.

The present mirrors the past but it’s obviously different now. Like a spot the difference game where the people look the same but the entire scenery is different. And not all the people are there anymore, replaced by shiner new models. You shake your head, it doesn’t matter if there are new players in the game. It’s the fact that Ortega and Chen are...Fuck.

Ortega drags you back into his life causing the chaos he always brings with him and suddenly Steel is Chen and you want to fight every fiber of your being just to have a life. You should just leave him in Hollow Ground’s hands, let him suffer and die- you can’t do that… you could never do that to him.

“Fuck!” Your hands grip your hair and you fully intend to just tear it all out when Mortum puts a hand on your shoulder. You let out a frustrated sob and turn into him letting him wrap his arms around you in a hug. Mortum has been a surprisingly good investment… No, you should say he’s been a good friend. More understanding than you would have expected him to be but also cautious.

You’ve noticed it’s much harder to read his mind and though that put you on edge it also puts you at ease. He’s not hiding the fact that he’s being cautious around you, that he might like you but he doesn’t fully trust you. You prefer that over Ortega’s blind trust and optimism he has in you.

“I’ve already got my contacts looking for him,” Mortum murmurs to you, squeezing you tight, “As soon as I know where he is I’ll let you know.” You nod your head against him and you wait a moment before you pull away.

“I should get the suit ready,” you say already reaching out to wake up the Rat King, who happily responds back to you. You stop mid-step turning to really look at Mortum. He smiles at you sadly, worry creasing his brow, “Thank you.”

“Well I may owe Charge one or two things,” he coughs out a laugh, “And you’re my… friend. So I may as well help you look out for someone you love too.”

You can feel a blush starting to heat up your face as you start to stutter, “What? No… I..uhh.. No love..” He smiles quirking his eyebrow at you. “I was...using him and it was only a couple kisses and..”

“Kiyo,” he laughs at you exasperated.

“You know that can’t happen…” you frown at him willing your blush away. Mortum you had no choice but to trust with the truth but Ortega? Chen? The Rangers? You can’t do that, you can’t face the disgust they’ll feel when they know the truth. You can’t face the inevitable betrayal when they try to hand you back over to the farm.

“I think you should give him more credit,” Mortum’s smile softens into a slight frown. Probably remembering your break down when he was in the middle of saving your life. How you begged him to just let you die because you didn’t want to go back to that hell.

You shake your head in response, “I’ll give him credit when he stops being a fucking idiot.”

“That may be a long time off than,” he turns waving his hand letting you get back to readying your suit.

“Yeah,” you mutter sadly but you can already feel Rat King brushing gently against your mind trying it’s best to offer you comfort. “Thank you.” It responds by happily snuggling against your mind and you can’t help the small smile that makes its way to your face.

…

Steel:

You find yourself glaring at the supposed building that holds Ortega captive, along with a small army of people between your team and him. The frustration you feel is almost unspeakable; the fact that Ortega decided to go after Hollow Ground alone with no backup just brings home the irritating point that you have no control over your team... or at very least you have no control over Ortega. You wish he would stop this spiral of self-destruction, you thought he would with Kiyo back in his life.

A thought that irritates you more than you would ever like to admit. You thought it was over and done with, being jealous of Ortega’s and Kiyo’s relationship but now it’s become more twisted and complicated. Kiyo keeps seeking you out as a place of comfort; away from Ortega who smothers him in worry, away from Herald who idolizes someone who no longer exists, away from Argents when he steals her snacks. He kept being drawn to you, though you throw actual blame on him being more interested in being around Spoon.

You started to notice things that would have been better left unfound. The way he smiles and laughs around Spoon always seems genuine, a rarity that you found yourself looking forward to. He’s more honest with you about how he’s really holding up. Trusting you with something he would have never told Ortega. He’s attractive in surprising ways- No you need to focus on Ortega and not in the way Ortega is just as attracti- God-fucking-damnit.

“What’s the plan?” Herald asks standing nervously beside you. His stance shifting slightly as he also eyes the building. You're going to have to keep him out of the building and you can already feel a headache from his protests that are soon to come. But tight corridors and the ability to fly never seem to mix well and if Ortega's badly injured Herald needs to be ready to get him out of here.

“We go in, bash some heads, and save our idiot,” Argent responds for you her, no doubt adding kicking Ortega’s ass to her own list of things she's planning. You don't blame her, you too want to strangle him at this point. Letting himself be captured and to make it worse he let it happen in front of Kiyo. You can still see how numb Kiyo was after having to watch Ortega willingly be taken. How broken he looked because he couldn't do anything.

“We need to plan this,” you respond, “They will most likely have high security-”

“Are you all just going to stand here awkwardly glaring at the building? Because if that’s your plan on rescuing your ‘idiot’ it’s a shit plan,” A growling distorted voice comes from behind you and it takes a few seconds to comprehend what your hearing. Argent immediately turns to lunge at Heartbreak who easily dodges her attack. “Now, now I’m not here to fight you,” they hold up their hands in a placating manner, “Not today at least.”

You find yourself gritting your teeth, why are they here? To lead you all into a trap is the most likely answer. Get you all to go into the building and then help Hollow Grounds men pick you off one by one.

“How about we postpone the later and start the part where I kick your ass now,” Argent growls, though her face has contorted into a hungry grin. Goddamnit, you don’t have time for this and neither does Ortega.

“As fun as that sounds, I think we all have more pressing matters to attend to,” they tilt their head pointing to the building behind you, “Hollow Ground took something of yours and he took something of mine as well. As much as I despise all of you I know I can’t take on all his men alone and you happen to need a way in preferably a place where you find your stolen teammate fast.”

You cross your arms glaring at them, “You want to work with us.”

“More like… I want our goals to align in equal for a moment,” they shrug, “Or you could do whatever it is you’re planning and fail horribly but I at least will get a distraction out of it to achieve my own goals.”

You study them carefully, their entire suit screams of someone who prefers to give orders rather than follow them. They're not on your side and you can't trust them. Herald apparently fully agrees with you.

“You're a villain why would we ever help you?!” his fists tighten against his sides, you can already tell he's still put out about his first fight with Heartbreak.

“Listen I get it, you're all goody two shoes,” they pause in their arm sweep at Argent, “ Except you of course,” Argent snorts in response crossing her arms, “but flyboy here won't be able to fight in a crowded corridor and your ‘charge first think later’ player is who you’re going to save. Meaning you’re down two people and that you'll need to move a lot faster than is really possible or risk having your idiot killed.”

They pause a moment watching as you grit your teeth. Herald tries to let out a protest but you hold out your hand to stop him. “ And what exactly do you have in mind?”

“I'm so glad you asked,” they fold their arms behind their back. You pray for Ortega's sake you don't regret this.

#fallen hero rebirth #spoilers fallen hero #Kiyo Basri #Steel/Chen #the Rangers #Mortum #my writing #i have no idea how far this one is going to go #but kiyo/ortega/steel is a goal

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hellyeahomeland · 6 years ago

Note

Haqqani was part of Quinn’s story. I have no idea where the writers plan on going with this character, but they have no right to make any connection between him and Carrie. It’s insulting. They kill off a major character like Quinn, who’s so important to the story and then pretend he never existed?! Homeland is out of touch. Clearly a sign the series is coming to an end.

I’m sorry, but I need to disagree with a lot of this.

Of course there is a connection between Carrie and Haqqani — everything that happened in season four was a result of Carrie’s failed drone strike in 4.01. She honeytrapped Aayan to get to Haqqani. Tasneem targeted Carrie via her meds. Carrie attempted to take Haqqani out for the second time (along with Saul) and she was stopped by Quinn. When Quinn went off all half-cocked on a mission to kill Haqqani himself, Carrie tracked him — not because she didn’t want Haqqani dead, but because she valued Quinn more. She’d have killed Haqqani herself if Khan hadn’t stopped her.

Carrie avoided a lot of heartache in season four by not dropping the bomb on Saul, by not letting Saul commit suicide, by not letting Quinn kill himself (and a LOT of innocent people) in the process of killing Haqqani. But all of that could have been avoided if she’d just… not authorized the drone strike in the first place. But hindsight is 20/20 and it’s clear now that she just postponed the inevitable. I think season eight will see Carrie finishing what the drone queen started.

Season four is many people’s favorite and rightly so, because it is awesome. And it just happened to provide a really good vehicle for the character of Peter Quinn. Carrie Mathison was cold and disconnected and grieving, and I think Quinn’s feelings pretty accurately reflected ours. It was the beginning of a new era of the show, too, and by featuring him so prominently it’s obvious why literally everybody expected his storyline to go a little bit less terribly. But still, it’s like we forgot what show we were watching for a hot second, and by “hot second,” I of course mean “3+ years.”

I am glad they are revisiting the happenings of season four, because there were a lot of loose ends. I don’t know how many times people have complained about the way the season ended, not just because of Carrie and Quinn being complete idiots, but because they left Pakistan so defeated. They’d lost so many people, including Fara, and there was just… nothing. No payoff for an entire season of small steps forward and big steps back, watching Carrie Mathison — whom most of y’all still liked back then — seduce a teenager whose life she’d already decimated, and treat Fara like shit, and almost kill her mentor, and just generally make Quinn miserable.

All that and the bad guys still won.

The show is coming to an end, but from what we know so far, they’re finishing it the way this iteration of it began. Quinn was a big part of it, but ultimately so much of what has happened over the past four seasons can be attributed to Carrie’s drone strike on (she thought) Haqqani. It makes sense to see that through. Or to try to, of course, because this is Homeland.

As I said in an earlier ask, neither Quinn nor the Quinnspiracy has been on my mind a whole lot as of late. But whether or not Quinn comes back, which I firmly believe could still happen, he will be present. Because whatever comes next, Quinn was important to this particular story… but the story has always been Carrie’s.

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kainfamilyfortune · 6 years ago

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Thea - Journal Entry #9

I know it has been so very long since I thought about you Dustin, but today -Today it was the little things that led me to know where I stand with you.

I remember the dust settled upon the cargo that your dad lifted out of our wagon when we sought out refuge from Lordearon, after the fall. The dry tumble weeds of Westfall greeted me for the first time, seeing the nearly endless fields dropping off into the Great Sea and the smell of harvest hit me in a way I had never experienced. You and I were young. Innocent even. Okay, well more so then we are now. Were now. My heart still beats and your’s is still. Six feet under in Stormwind. I visited you everyday that I received graveyard watch when I volunteered my time in between deployments as Faith-keeper to the church, but war - It called to me again and again, so I took my leave from civilian life, hell, even guard duty never suited me anyway, despite how close I felt to the Light and the church, I knew it would protect and guide me so long as I was willing to listen elsewhere.

I handed in my crest and tabard to Jorah, exchanging it for the classic solider garb - the same one that was drenched in your blood, as I carried you from the last battle we shared. Now washed away clean, the royal blue and gold embossed lion shined in the morning light as I put on the chain mail and plate, attaching my belt and holy tome. Dust had collected upon my shoulder pieces and as I blew the light emanated once more streaking into the room. It was angelic, you would’ve said, “Turn the damn light out and come back to bed.” with your coy smile. You would’ve punched me in the arm playfully. You would have kissed me. I tied the strings around my breastplate, securing the pauldrons and finally slipping on my gloves. I stood before my mirror and took a long look at myself and where I was in life, noticing the slope of the A-Frame of the room, and the break of dawn outside. I nodded to myself, smiling. “You are their leader. You’ve got this.”

I forgot to mention. In the last four months, they promoted me thrice, it felt good - but at the same time, no one moves up ranks that quickly unless those above you are dying - Gaps in leadership. I had to say goodbye to my squad. Juliet was teary eyed when I broke the news, but she knew I would still check in and write, after everything we all went through - with the death of Dustin... I know we are on the loosing side of this war, but I have faith in my king, and that is whom I was going to meet today. The street lamps dulled as the oil depleted - it was crisp this morning as the dawn quickly cast shadows in every direction. I took the long steps up to the keep, it was the first time I’ve been here since my coronation as second lieutenant, but even then I never actually had been inside.

Making my way up the long stair I was greeted by a pair of guards, flanking me on either side, ushering me forward. At the end of the hall two more guards barred entry on a large ironwood door. The texture stood out to me - it reminded me of the trees in Silverpine. One of the soldiers did a curt bow in my direction as I was too distracted by the door, he then turned away from me, knocking upon it twice. Another series of knocks could be heard. Thud, thud, thud. He turned back to me, this time I was a little more attentive to his expression as he spoke aloud, breaking the otherwise silent exchange. “Three minutes, Lieutenant Kain. If you would like-” He waved an arm towards a bench not far from the entry and I gave him a curt nod cutting him off, still slightly nervous and distracted, “My thanks. As you were.” - Wow, still getting used to that.

A few moments passed before the sound of mumbles and hastily sounding footsteps and finally, a knock of the door. Thud. This one far more pronounced the previous ones. The doors opened, light filling in the hall that I sat in, I stood at once, peering into the circular chamber - domed ceiling with stained glass. It was gorgeous. White stone pillars, similar to the church, reached up high, framing the occupied throne, he sat there with a rather stoic but still friendly expression, sadly, looking like he had a lack of sleep. King Anduin Wrynn. Oh Light. This is happening. I locked eyes with him, not noticing his consul on either side of him. I carefully stepped forward until I was ten feet off from him, I unsheathed my hammer - kneeling to the ground. Waiting... knowing that everyone’s eyes were on me. My small frame nearly unable to keep from shaking slightly from the unwanted attention. Finally I heard his voice, and I was soothed. “Rise, Thea. Courteous as always. Please, we will have a word.” I rose meeting with his gaze once more, sheathing the hammer to my side.

His eyes were like crystal pools of grey-blue, like that of the sea. I stared for maybe a little too long, but let’s be honest - faith in your king, knowing that he has seen many of the same battles with those eyes that I have, grants permission to at least gather a sense of where he believes we are as a people. His voice filled the room, but was not as resonating as other leaders, it was calming and reassuring as he introduced me in front of the consul, “Lieutenant Thea Kain, nice ring to it, although we can’t discuss it further - unfortunately pleasantries will have to be postponed. Our consul and myself have a task for you.” His eyes narrowed towards another soldier, someone I haven’t met yet, but he looked burly as he spat in my direction as we all walked towards the war room. “It... It involves a delicate but powerful hand while still maintaining an outward level of composure. I need a leader. The situation we would put you in would be similar to Drustvar, although we won’t be having you deal with witchcraft. Voodoo, maybe, but not witchcraft.”

“Pardon me, my king, but Voodoo? Do you mean I’ll be going on enemy shores?” I asked, attempting to stay confident despite how nervous I felt.

“Not alone, but yes. Jaina tells me that we can finally move forward with our plans, and Spymaster Shaw has assured us that we can ground the Zanadalari fleet and seize the capitol, Dazar'alor. We have planned a diversion.” He points towards the northern portion of the landmass. “Nazmir will be first infiltrated and once we have the majority of their armies heading north, we will come in from the south, securing the capitol. This is where you come in. You will lead an infiltration team of twenty-five. One of four teams.” One of the consul pulls a new map out, this one of a more detailed version of the Zuldazar capitol. “Your team will be the first to go in and attempt occupation in the city, clearing the way for the second and third team to infiltrate the palace. Once you have done that, you will reconvene with team four at the docks and that’s where we will initiate stage two.”

The meeting went on for another hour, speaking with the other appointed leaders of the assault - as they joined into the war room. We were to execute the attack in a week, and we were shipping out to Boralus this afternoon. We had today to prepare, train and say goodbye to our loved ones. I am not the one to be pessimistic, but if this plan fails... It’s a suicide mission. I attempted to make sense of it all. Three main landings separate the dock to the entry point of the palace. Three landings in the one of the most vicious places on Azeroth - with thousands of cutthroat trolls, not to mention horde soldiers fighting along side them - and we were to start an occupation with a little more than a hundred, albeit some of those strongest both in strength and will... The numbers were against us. If the north aren’t able to pull the majority of forces from the city we will surely be vanquished.

Light be with me.

#OC #rp #WoW #Wow Rp #WoW RP character blogs #World of Warcraft #boralus #alliance #paladin #raid #battle #bfa #journal #writing #love #loss #horde #Wyrmrest Accord

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olispleen · 4 years ago

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So undoubtedly 2020 was for many of us the worst year in living memory. Tragically I lost some friends and acquaintances to suicide and it was the first year of my entire life where I haven’t seen my mother. Plus the best run of live shows of my life had to be cancelled. All in all it’s been a terrible year but I’m very grateful to have had the support of my sister and her family throughout this time so I’m going to try to focus on the positives with my rundown of the last twelve months.

2020 started for me with great anxiety; fires were raging throughout Australia and the political landscape was horrific with most governments of the world having voted in narcissistic sociopaths as their leaders; people who have no regard to the environment or human decency whatsoever. In the UK, despite my best efforts we were stuck with four more years under a conservative government. With Brexit looming and more austerity ahead, my last vestiges of hope were crushed by the general opinion that the greatest sociopath of them all Donald Trump would be sure to secure a second term as President of the USA. As a climate change denier (on top of a long list of other atrocities), four more years of Trump was sure to have a negative impact on the whole planet. To take my mind off all this I focused on the work I had started in 2019.

In January my main collaborator of the moment Nick Hudson and I were wrapping up the albums “Flowers for Foot Foot” and “Night Sweats and Fever Dreams” and we embarked on what was my first trip to Ireland as Nick had composed some music for the Derek Jarman exhibition at the Irish Museum of Modern Art. It was a fantastic few days soaking up the culture of Joyce, Bacon, Wilde and Beckett and soaking up a lot of whisky and Guinness too.

In February we released the covers album “Flowers for Foot Foot” digitally and made plans with Straydog Pictures for a music video for the opening track “Funeral Dirge” in which I was to play a corpse who jumps out of his coffin to conduct his own funeral. We booked a stunning church, St Mary’s on St James Street Brighton for the shoot in March and made plans organising costumes, props and extras.

Then on March 1st my band SPLEEN joined with Nick’s band The Academy of Sun and our friends in Idle Bones to release SPLEEN’s self titled debut album at Brighton’s Hope & Ruin. Though there was talk of coronavirus hitting Brighton then, no measures had yet been put in place and little did any of us know that our plans for the year were about to drastically change.

SPLEEN had some of our best gigs ever lined up with our first proper shows in London and beyond to look forward to. However, one day when out on my daily shop I couldn’t move for people panic-buying, the supermarket had four times the usual customers and no one was wearing a mask. I couldn’t get my usual food and toilet roll and I soon started to feel very unwell and decided that it would be unwise for us to go ahead with the video shoot as planned.

Talk of a lockdown became common news and the thought of being stuck in my tiny Brighton flat with no supplies and possible contagion all around was so horrifying that my sister made plans for me to be brought to her place just outside of Hastings where she converted a shed with everything I might need to get by in isolation. My friend Amelia had felt sure her family had also been in contact with the virus so we took the precautions necessary with PPE and disinfectants and she gave me a lift to St Leonards where my sister lives.

For the first few weeks while I still exhibited symptoms I stayed in the shed with my sister posting me meals through the window. I was also able to walk down the garden, into the adjoining field and commune with nature. At this time the main road at the front of the house was so quiet that I was able to capture the dawn chorus uninterrupted which I planned to use on the recording of the song "Nature Boy" which Birdeatsbaby and I had already started recording for the EP “The Eagle & The Dove”. I also started making daily vlogs which Jake of StrayDog Pictures asked me to send over as he thought it could make an interesting documentary.

I guessed then that the great run of gigs we had planned would have to be cancelled but I didn’t expect that first lockdown to last for four months. After a couple of weeks my symptoms disappeared and I got to spend more time with my family and the other animals who live with them. Additions to the family included a new puppy Daphne who I bonded with greatly, also Doris the sheep surprised us all by getting over the neighbours fence and becoming pregnant with twin lambs.

I realised how lucky I was to be among nature and with family throughout these terrible times; it was springtime, the sun was shining and life and beauty was bursting all around me. On top of this no airplanes in the sky meant that my usual anxiety around climate change and the environment was temporarily calmed. The world was living a nightmare but there was nothing I could do. It was as if the whole world was panicking (as I had been for years) so perhaps for once I could give myself a break and focus on just being there for my family.

I halved and eventually came off my antidepressants for the summer and made plans to release the AIDS themed album “Night Sweats & Fever Dreams” whilst working on a charity single “The Western Pier” with Mishkin and friends to raise money to keep venues running after the pandemic. Also fortnightly Zoom chats with the band meant we were able to outline plans for new songs as well.

With the music video and gigs cancelled and the new album scheduled for release twenty years on from the events that inspired it; (my hospitalisation at the hands of AIDS defining complications in the summer of 2000) - I decided to learn video editing myself to make my own promotional music videos for the album. The first of these “Just a Dream” echoed thematically with the anxieties of the current day. With no budget and only myself to shoot I found a green antique glass that my grandmother had owned and shot the whole thing through the glass, interspersing the selfie footage with clips of old horror and German expressionist films. Later I did videos for “Destroyer of Worlds”, “Kamikaze”, and “The Bedroom” among others.

When the first lockdown was relaxed I had a couple of friends visit my sister's for socially distanced outdoor gatherings and soon we tentatively made plans for my return to Brighton and to resume band practice. SPLEEN developed our new song “Beast” and we performed a live stream from our rehearsal studios at Brighton Electric for Coastal Currents. This performance was watched live by a few thousand people and a small clip of it was aired on local BBC TV. We also performed our first (and only to date) socially distanced gig at Bar 42 in Worthing.

Jake released his documentary of my lockdown from the footage I had sent under the title "At Risk: Surviving a Pandemic with HIV", the film won the audience favourite award at Brighton Rocks film festival.

When the second lockdown looked to be nearing I returned to my sisters in the country and made plans to release the covers EP which I’d recorded with Birdeatsbaby and Catherine T, called “The Eagle & The Dove”. Sadly, due to problems around getting clearance for my translation of Barbara’s French classic “L’Aigle Noir”, the EP was postponed and instead I released an edit of the opening track, Eden Ahbez's “Nature Boy”, to which I edited a video using footage from James Bidgood’s queer classic “Pink Narcissus”. The amazing artist John Lee Bird continued his “Is a Doll” series with a doll of me which got to hang out with my dear friend and mentor Salena Godden’s doll, as we couldn’t in real life.

As autumn turned to winter I could see how hard hitting this year had been for those of my friends who weren’t as fortunate as I in having family and loved ones for support. I did what I could to keep contact with friends online, when I discovered a couple of these friends had taken their own lives I felt devastated and wished I could have done more to help them.

This year has been a year of upheavals and altered plans for all of us and though it’s not been easy I’m hoping that all these upheavals in the world can be a catalyst for positive change.

I had become dismayed and utterly frustrated at the political landscape here and abroad. I loved being a part of Europe and hated to witness the ugliness and xenophobia that Brexit had unleashed amongst my fellow inhabitants of this doomed plague island which I now find myself stranded on. However, to witness the downfall of Donald Trump was for me a real ray of hope amongst the chaos, confusion and despair. Hopefully his brand of dishonest, hateful, scapegoating and gaslighting politics will be a thing of the past and we can all look forward to a far brighter 2021.

A Happy New Year as is possible to you all wherever you may be. Here’s to a far better 2021. 🥂

#2020 #2020vision #happy new year #goodbye 2020

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techcrunchappcom · 4 years ago

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New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/demi-lovato-on-new-love-new-management-and-finally-learning-to-cry-bustle/

Demi Lovato On New Love, New Management, And Finally Learning To Cry - Bustle

Demi Lovato imagined herself in the middle of the ocean. As the 27-year-old tread water, long black hair skimming over dark waves, she was given a command: Raise your hand if you want to lose weight. Because Lovato is a pop star who has produced nine Top 20 Billboard singles under the scrutiny of 86 million Instagram followers and a BMI-obsessed tabloid press — and because she has dealt with eating disorders for more than a decade — Lovato raised her tattooed and extravagantly nail-arted hand.

While Lovato kept herself suspended in the open water with one limb, she was given another directive: Raise your hand if you’re willing to do something about your eating disorder. Because Lovato was, at that point in 2018, not in an ocean but in treatment for that eating disorder — as well as for addiction issues that led to an opioid overdose — Lovato obliged the counselor’s command and lifted her other hand. Which, of course, left her with no paddles to keep her from drowning in the metaphorical ocean. So Lovato made the choice to pull down her salute to thinness.

“I used to have people watching me the night before a photo shoot to make sure that I didn’t binge or eat and be swollen the next day,” Lovato says right before her late-June Bustle cover shoot. “It’s just a totally different world now. … I don’t prepare for photo shoots, even. I can eat Subway for breakfast.” Lovato delivers this news from a table in the Los Angeles house she rents with her boyfriend, actor Max Ehrich. She is resplendent in full glam but sans bra under a Selena Quintanilla shirt. Lovato left her high-rise apartment in March when another tenant tested positive for COVID-19, and she initially moved in with her mother and stepfather before realizing it’s “a little difficult to be in a new relationship at your family’s house.” Behind Lovato, in her temporary living room, sits a surgically masked team of people who do not spend their time monitoring her weight.

The new squad is led by Scooter Braun, whom Lovato approached in 2019, a year after her overdose. It was time to move on from longtime manager Phil McIntyre, who had worked with Lovato since she was a teenager. “In the past,” Lovato says, “I projected my own abandonment issues onto other people, especially male figures that I looked up to as father figures. I had to reflect on, ‘What do I want my relationship with my manager to look like without enmeshing my own father issues onto him?’” (Lovato’s estranged birth father, who she has said was abusive and suffered from mental health issues, passed away the week after Father’s Day in 2013.)

Braun honed his ability to manage trauma and talent in a gantlet of wounded musicians. “I’ve been through that with Justin,” Braun says, not needing to clarify the surname of Bieber, who very publicly grappled with his own substance use and mental health issues, which manifested in behavior including mop bucket urination and monkey abandonment. “I’ve been through that with Ariana, you know?” (Grande has talked about exhibiting symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder following the 2017 Manchester Arena bombing. The next year, her ex, rapper Mac Miller, passed away after accidentally overdosing on fentanyl, cocaine, and alcohol.) “I felt like, because I’ve been through that a couple of times with people who started off very young,” Braun says, “I can understand [Demi’s] struggles a little bit.”

In Lovato’s meeting with Braun, he says, “my intention was to be respectful and decline.” He simply didn’t feel he could take on another client. “She was nervous,” Braun says. (“I was nervous because I wanted him to manage me so bad, and I was terrified of rejection,” Lovato explains. “Also, having gone through such a public overdose, I didn’t know if anyone would want to manage me after that.”) Then Braun had a revelation. “What I saw is that she needed someone who didn’t need her. And about halfway through the meeting, [my partner Allison Kaye and I] both looked at each other and instinctually kind of laughed. And then Allison texted me and goes, ‘You’re thinking the same thing I am.’ I knew I could help her. I knew Allison could help her. I knew that we were in a position, in our lives and our careers, that if Demi needed to take three years off, she can do that. And if Demi needs us to go and have an honest conversation and get her out of something, it doesn’t affect my reputation.”

The implication is that Lovato is the kind of person who repeatedly finds herself needing to get out of something. “The people that are there with me every single day,” Lovato says, “I have to feel very connected with them and that I can trust them. That I can be totally vulnerable, transparent, and honest. And if I’m having a panic attack in the middle of a photo shoot or something that I can sit in the dressing room with whomever is there, and they can help me with it.”

Asking for help instead of forgiveness feels like a newer approach for Lovato, whose problems, in the past, seemed to be hastily dealt with when they erupted in public. But she is also singular among celebrities in her fame bracket in her willingness to go into detail about her low points. In 2015, Lovato chastised a tattoo artist for inking a “drunken teenage girl” after the woman went on Instagram to complain about Lovato’s behavior during an inebriated tattoo session. Earlier this year, Lovato went on the Ellen DeGeneres Show to explain that her eating disorder fueled a 2018 relapse, describing how her old management team gave her watermelon with fat-free whipped cream every year on her birthday in lieu of cake. Lovato’s mother Dianna De La Garza wrote a bracingly revealing memoir of her own anorexia, depression, and substance use issues, Falling With Wings. The autobiography features anecdotes like the time Lovato texted her “I’m sorry ahead of time.” (De La Garza was somewhat relieved to learn this apology was merely in reference to Lovato physically attacking a backup dancer and not a suicide note. Lovato wrote the foreword to the book.) When Lovato finished her first attempt at rehab, triggered by the 2010 punching incident, she took the advice to give her first interview just three months after completing treatment. “It was too soon, in my opinion,” Lovato says now. “But nobody knew any better, because we were looking to people in the [recovery] field for guidance.”

“I just felt like here’s someone who is so sweet, so nice and has obviously been through some shit,” Braun says. “And she made mistakes along the way, but also as a child was put in positions…” He doesn’t need to say what the positions were.

To put herself into more advantageous situations, Lovato says, “I had to learn the hard way from ignoring my needs and wants for so many years.” Really, she says, she didn’t even know what those desires were. Self-destructive behavior was, Lovato says, “just doing something because I didn’t know what to do.”

Before quarantine, it was very difficult for me to cry. I had programmed the thought into my head when I was 16 that I’m only going to cry if people pay me to.

2020 was supposed to be Lovato’s post-relapse comeback year, beginning with the wrenching Grammys debut of torch single “Anyone” and her Super Bowl performance of the national anthem, both delivered in head-to-toe angelic white. Lovato acted opposite Will Ferrell in the June Netflix comedy Eurovision Song Contest, has been hired to host a Quibi interview show, and will release a four-part YouTube docu-series that promises to “show fans her personal and musical journey over the past three years.” Lovato had also planned to release her album and go on tour, endeavors that are now postponed until those kinds of droplet-spreading events are less potentially deadly. Now, Lovato’s project is Lovato. She is painting Hawaiian eucalyptus trees and Black Lives Matter-inspired portraits of George Floyd — “I’m kind of embarrassed about how that turned out because it doesn’t look anything like him,” Lovato says, accurately — and working with a vast constellation of dietitians and coaches and spiritual advisers, one of whom she says warned her this pause was coming. “She was like, ‘Don’t panic when your work stops. It’s going to slow down drastically,’” Lovato says of the prophecy. “So I was kind of prepared in a weird way, and I just adapted. I think the universe — God — shifted that to happen in my life.”

God recently re-entered Lovato’s life, courtesy of Braun, who took her to church for the first time in years this winter. Tears are another recent re-addition. “Before quarantine, it was very difficult for me to cry. I had programmed the thought into my head when I was 16 that I’m only going to cry if people pay me to.” Now, Lovato says, “I started doing all this work, allowing myself to feel the pains of all the losses that I’ve had or the adversities or traumas that I’ve faced. I think my ability to be vulnerable and be more intimate with people has really heightened.”

The pandemic has been a graceless slam on the brakes for everyone lucky enough to safely abstain from public life and quarantine with their existential problems. Lovato has experienced hard stops before, in the form of multiple rehab stays. But this is the first time the halt was not a reaction to her own behavior. It’s an opportunity instead of a rebuke. A chance to feel for herself, not for an audience or a paycheck. After acknowledging the sacrifices of frontline workers and expressing sympathy for the sick and dead, Lovato admits the time has been “really good” for her. “It’s very common for people to only really work on themselves when crisis happens or when they notice that they’re slipping into old patterns or behaviors,” Lovato says. “So to be able to walk into this experience without a personal crisis and just be like, I can do the work on myself now because I have the time. … It was a beautiful thing.” As an added benefit, she says, “I wasn’t in rehab; I was outside in the world with Netflix. So when I was too tired of therapy, I’d put on Schitt’s Creek.” (For those who haven’t experienced inpatient rehabilitation facilities, there’s generally no Wi-Fi there.) “I was given this opportunity,” Lovato says of quarantine. “And I was like, I’m going to adapt. I’m going to shift to this. I’m going to learn from it.”

The day before we spoke, Lovato wrote a letter to her father. Though they never reconciled before his death, it was a love note, albeit a backhanded one. “I am who I am because of you,” Lovato wrote. “And I’m grateful for that. Because of your absence, I am an independent woman now. Because you were a pathological liar, I am honest to a fault.”

Like many things Lovato says, the content of the statement feels at odds with its delivery: a deluge of raw truth relayed with the bright tone and smile of the former Disney star. Though Lovato had an eating disorder before she became famous, she says, “I kind of looked around and had a moment where I was like, ‘Wow. This is so terrifyingly normalized.’” So many beautiful people around her were grinning through self-abuse. Lovato’s exploits with substance use became increasingly well-documented, and when she got help, she wanted to both explain that the slender bodies people saw on TV were not “normal” and destigmatize the painful consequences of trying to look like that. “When I went to treatment in 2010,” Lovato says, “I came out of the experience with the choice of talking about my struggles or my journey with the possibility of helping people, or keeping my mouth shut and going back to Disney Channel. And I was like that doesn’t feel authentic to me. So I chose to tell my story. And I had this, like, savior complex, where I thought, ‘Oh, I made this pact with God when I was young’” — in which Lovato would become a successful singer in exchange for doing His work — “and now I have to save people.”

In 2013, Lovato published Staying Strong: 365 Days a Year, a New York Times best-selling book of anodyne daily wisdom like, “If you spend too much time living in the past, you aren’t able to live in the now. Make an effort to move forward today.” After procrastinating until just before her publisher’s deadline, Lovato wound up writing the book in what she describes as a matter of days. “But it was more people-pleasing than anything, and then I realized through all of that people-pleasing that I wasn’t being authentic.” Earning praise for her relationship with recovery and rehabilitation was a way of “fueling those patterns that I had and that were bringing me to destruction,” Lovato says. “I think that’s what you’re hearing when you read back that book. … I binged on recovery, where I switched my addiction from the actual addictions to the recovery.” Now, Lovato tries to balance an impulse to expose with a refusal to flay herself doing so. “I have to set boundaries in interviews so I don’t treat them like therapy sessions,” she says pointedly. “But I’m able to hear my progress through the words that I’m saying when I read them back.”

You can see the impact of Lovato’s honesty in celebrity culture, and the need for continued public processing. It’s hard to imagine Taylor Swift revealing her own eating disorder in Netflix documentary Miss Americana without Lovato’s precedent. Meanwhile, Beyoncé was lauded for being transparent in the Netflix doc Homecoming about her disciplined Coachella rehearsal diet: “No bread, no carbs, no sugar, no dairy, no meat, no fish, no alcohol.” (Beyoncé perhaps needlessly clarified, “I’m hungry.”) Previously, Lovato says, “I would have prepared for something like Coachella or a photo shoot. I don’t look like Beyoncé. But I can’t risk my mental health because I have things in my history that Beyoncé doesn’t or may not have. For me, it’s a riskier thing.”

Lovato’s friend Jameela Jamil met her more than a decade ago, when Lovato was a teenager and Jamil was a radio host. Jamil has watched Lovato navigate radical honesty as a celebrity and let it inspire her own activism around eating disorders and body image. “She is revolutionary in how open and forthcoming she is with her truth,” Jamil says. “It comes at huge cost and risk; once you open the door into your personal life, people feel entitled to you. And people project this savior complex onto you, which is impossible to maintain.

“She takes on so much scrutiny and does it boldly in the name of making sure her fans aren’t harmed the way she was growing up,” Jamil continues. “Nobody else has done what she’s done. I can’t stress it enough when I tell people she’s a big part of where I drew strength to really start speaking my mind.”

Jamil was motivated by Lovato to self-advocate, but Lovato says during that time, “Even though I had a big singing voice, I didn’t have a big speaking voice for myself. I didn’t express my needs… And then after a while of your needs and your wants being ignored, you burst.”

To keep from bursting, Lovato needed to finally figure out what she wants. “I want a career that has nothing to do with my body,” she says, imagining the possibility of being neither an object nor a statement against objectification. “I want it to be about my music and my lyrics and my message. And I want a long-lasting career that I don’t have to change myself for. Music brought me so much joy when I was younger, and I lost that joy throughout the hustle and bustle of the music industry. I got miserable. And I don’t ever want it to be like that again. That’s what I want.”

The question, then, is who Lovato is when she’s not experiencing trauma. Will she become a “normal” star instead of one constantly fighting the normalized standards of stardom? When a singer so publicly tied to her pain is happy and sober and at peace and with God, are the tragedies just bad things she experienced, or are they a part of her? “I don’t think there’s a correct answer to this question,” Lovato says slowly. “I know these things happened to me. They shaped me into who I am. So maybe it’s a bit of both.” As Lovato says this, she lifts her right and left hands, palms open to all possibilities. She smiles. She’s still afloat.

Top image credit: Carolina Herrera pants; Totême courtesy of Farfetch tank; Zero + Maria Cornejo cardigan; Jennifer Fisher earrings; Jordan Road necklace.

Video credit: Mara Hoffman dress; Olgana Paris shoes; Jennifer Fisher ring; Lana Jewelry earrings.

Photographer: Angelo Kritikos

Hair: Paul Norton

Makeup: Rokael Lizama

Manicurist: Natalie Minerva

Stylist: Siena Montesano

Set Designer: Kelly Fondry

Art Director: Erin Hover

Fashion Direction: Tiffany Reid

Bustle followed current guidelines from the CDC and put measures in place to maximize the safety of our talent and crew.

#Uncategorized

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dannycaing · 4 years ago

Text

JAMICH

JAMICH by Danny Caing Date Written: March 6, 2020

Scene 1 THE INSPIRATION

May 22, 2014, @ GMC Thursday Breaktime 3:28 PM

It was Thursday afternoon I was watching on the youtube channel, when I suddenly came across a program about a Girlfriend Proposes To Her Boyfriend (Jamich Proposal https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N29dKoxjHf4) at Jamich TV. I was astonished and heartily touched by their dramatic performances. I thought this was just one of their show like movies of Mandy Moore's A Walk To Remember, Ali Macgraw's Love Story and Lelee Sobieski's Here On Earth. I was sad to know that Jam has lung cancer. Right there on then, I wrote the song Sabi Mo Mahal Mo Ako, and later I change the title of the song called JAMICH for Jam Sebastian and Mich Liggayu Love Team.

Scene 2 THE FIRST OFFICIAL PERFORMANCE

July 19, 2014, @ Funky Monkey Bar, Q.C. Saturday 8:32 PM

Laykern Wredd of RADYO Band contacted me on the phone and invited me to join the PINOY WOODSTUCK gig event, a night with Arts show and Musical Talents of the underground bands like Howler Flowers, Roy Antonio, Alasmedya, Malaya, Trigger Happy, Lnguaje, ANO-Pilipinas, Earpens, and an American Wallpaint Artist - RAVEN. Good music, vibes, and drinks. This was the first time I sang the song Jamich live in public.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LL306WwHhsc

Scene 3 THE RECORDING SESSION

August 21, 2014, @ Funky Monkey Bar, Q.C., Thursday 8:23 PM

"REMEMBER... IT'S ALL ABOUT HISTORY" by Proud & Loud Production and Rakrakan Na Tayo, featuring - Lazaro, Radyo, Laculus, Kashmir, Godzilla Versus Tokyo, Hoodlum, Danny Caing, Earpens and MAIA.

It was Norman Buena, the drummer of Hoodlum, who suggested to write as many songs as I can, record them and then post them on the internet. At that time I have composed 70 songs in which I was able to create an album called Spiral Echoes that consists of 39 songs. So, I told him that I have this new song Pila Dito Pila Doon, which might be a first good try for serious recording. After two months, we were able to set an appointment date for recording at Audiofonix Recording Studio on October 17, 2014, Friday 2:38 PM. The Studio was managed & owned by Gino Rafael of Trapeze Band. During the recording session, Norman, as the Recording Editor, proposed to me to record Jamich instead of Pila Dito Pila Doon. It took us 45 minutes to finalize Jamich acoustic song track, and then we have some pizza & drinks. I got the mp3 copy and posted it in Reverbnation (https://www.reverbnation.com/dannycaing) the following day. I wish to thank Gino & Norman for this unforgettable experience, it was an honor.

Scene 4 THE MUSIC VIDEO

February 18, 2015, @ Tremolo Music Bar, Mandaluyong City Wednesday 8:32 PM

Khakara Production and Tremolo Music Bar invited me to join the lineup performers on LOVE OUT LAUGH acoustic night gig with RJ Sun, Sacred Foyer, Gibb Capiral, Edward, Theresa Mae, Warren & Carl of Ww Are Living Aahes (WALA), Ruzkaya, Falling Debris, Raffleesia, MJ Legaspi, Talaarawan, Missing Since Thursday, and hosted by Vince Recafrente.

Joeman Papilla, Manager of Khakara Production, approached me and introduced a young student Film Director, John Angelo Sergio of Tercera Productions under VIDPROD class from Asia Pacific College, requested that his team plans to make a music video of my Jamich song as their midterm project and without hesitation, I immediately approved his request.

JOHN SERGIO: What can we give you in exchange for this favor?

DUKE: Nothing, John. I am just happy to know that you are going to make a music video of Jamich. It's awesome.

JOHN SERGIO: Thank you so much, Sir Duke. We will invite you once the music video is premiered in our school.

DUKE: I wish I could sing this song to Jam, you know.

JOHN SERGIO: That could be arranged, Sir Duke. Jam family is our neighbor and friend.

From that moment, I never thought John was serious about what he just told me. I can never forget this brief meeting.

JAMICH Music Video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VjwSNx4tJrQ

Scene 5 THE UNEXPECTED MEETING WITH JAM

February 21, 2015, @ Mang Rudy's Grill Makati on February 21, 2015 Saturday 8:32 PM. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyvvfgH3ptc

5 PM: I have a big event that night, BAWAL SIMANGOT by Red Button Production, performing live with one of my favorites underground artists- Peso Movement, Jose At Musika, Consolidar, Black Wolf Gypsies, Tree Of Soul, Crab And Corn, Danny Caing, Injent, Fiasco project, Induljencia, A Series Of Fractions, Lem David, Izkala, WetDogi, and Blackboard.

While I was rehearsing in my room and preparing my things for tonight's gig show, my cellphone rang.

JOHN SERGIO: Good afternoon, Sir Duke. I have good news for you. We have arranged your meeting with Jam tonight at 6 PM, please be there on time in the lobby of St. Luke Hospital in Global City. My mother will meet you there.

DUKE: Wow! Thank you so much, John. God is good all the time.

JOHN SERGIO: Please don't forget to bring your guitar and a letter to Jam. I told them that you are going to sing your song Jamich to Jam. Good luck and God bless.

6 PM @ St. Luke's Hospital, Global City Saturday

When I arrived in the lobby at St. Luke, Mrs. Elvi Sergio (mother of John) was already there to meet me and escorted me to Jam's room. I could not believe that I will be meeting Jam Sebastian, one of the leading men on the very popular indie film called JAMICH at YouTube. Inside the room, there were few guests, close friends & relatives of the family including Jam's mother Ma'am Maricar. Later, Mrs. Charilyn Pajo (who arranged this meeting through Ma'am Elvi) and her daughter Maria Isabel arrived with 2 Jamich fans Jalai & Joseph Ahamil. After giving my letter to Jam, I explained to him about Jesus Words to feel His Words in his thoughts and pray the Lord's Prayer. We all prayed 3 Our Fathers for Jam and asked our Lord Jesus Christ to heal Jam's sickness. I touched Jam's forehead and asked him to repeat what I was about to say:

DUKE: Jesus Christ I need You. I open the door of my heart for my Savior and my Lord. Please take control of the throne of my life and make me the kind of person you want me to be. Thank you, Jesus Christ, for the forgiveness of my sins. I love You, Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ You are my personal Savior.

I could not believe I was singing Jamich in front of Jam, I tried to hold back my tears when I saw the expression of Jam's face, but I know deep in my heart, Jam will be fine in the hands of our Lord Jesus. Then, Jam requested me to sing more, so I sang one Beatle song called I NEED YOU, then the last song was one of my songs LIKE THE TUNE OF THIS SONG.

Jamich https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TS43eYQbTWM

Like The Tune Of This Song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGdo_A1Bxlo

I wish to thank John Angelo Sergio, the Director of the music video JAMICH and the Tercera Production crew who were shooting that day at Hagonoy, Bulacan for making this meeting with Jam possible, John's mother Mrs. Elvi Sergio and her friend Mrs. Charilyn Pajo. It's been an honor and great pleasure to meet you Jam Sebastian and Ma'am Maricar and to all the friends, fans and love ones who were inside the room. Likewise, thank you so much, Mrs. Elvi Sergio, for taking the 3 historical live music videos. This is one of my unforgettable experiences. I love you all for a million billion years.

Scene 6 THE UNEXPECTED CALL

March 4, 2015 Hightek Production & Entertainment Presents: SWABE NIGHTS VOLUME 7 @ SaGuijo Makati Wednesday.

Guest Performers: Sentido, Pop U, Jeeps Over Taxis, Suicidal Genius, Project Based, Mutya, Pernella, Summer Project, and Danny Caing.

7 PM: I was celebrating a birthday dinner with my brother Dr. Dino Caing at Max Fried Chicken in Glorieta Makati. I was also excited that night because it was my first gig performance at SaGuijo, a well-known place for the famous underground Pilipino independent bands & artists. Suddenly, my cellphone rings and it was Goo Aurellia, Highteck Production Manager and Sentido frontman.

GOO: Good evening Sir Duke. Where are you, now?

DUKE: I'm with my brother, Goo. I'm sorry that I'm going to be late.

GOO: Press people are looking for you here, from ABS/CBN. They want an interview with you regarding your song Jamich.

DUKE: Why would they do that? What's up, Goo?

GOO: They told me that Jam Sebastian died this morning.

DUKE (something hit in my stomach): Jam. Died this morning. I'm sorry Goo, I cannot go to SaGuijo right now. I'll make this up to you. Please tell them that I cannot attend the gig tonight. I'm so sorry.

DINO (my brother): Who is Jam Sebastian, bro?

I accompanied my brother to MIA-3 that night instead. I just told him that the gig show was postponed. When my brother entered the Departure Area. I took a taxi home, while on the way to Skyway, I prayed 3 Our Father for Jam's soul to rest in peace with our Lord Jesus Christ. Jam was just almost 29 years old. Life goes on.

Music Background: "Jamich" by Danny Caing https://soundcloud.com/dannycaing/jamich-by-danny-duke-caing

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dememarquette · 7 years ago

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ASHWATER: Epilogue [...pt 2]

[First Part by malum--in--se]

The only person I knew in this city was Adria.

I mean, really knew. As far as connections went, I was at a loss. My life had been rooted deep in good old California. Due to circumstances you can catch at 7 PM Central on HBO, it was violently severed last month. And while I was hitting it off in Modena better than expected, no one should have been at my door. Adria was also the only one who knew my address, but this early in the afternoon she’d be elbow-deep in CSI: Modena. My door beeped again. After the second time, sheer annoyance prompted to peek at the security camera. A stout woman, barely clearing five feet stood at the foot of the building. I don’t recognize her, but she sure was acting familiar with my buzzer. It pinged again, extended as she held her thumb on the button. This time I responded. ”Apartment 312 speaking; do you mind?” She stopped her pacing, pivoted, and jammed a finger on the intercom, a little too excited. “Mr.Marquette? Hello, hello! This is Kathy Grover- I’d like to sit down with you for a meeting. It’s- it’s confidential.” “Confidential?” “You’ll see, uhm." She adjusted the large messenger bag on her shoulder. "I'll only need fifteen minutes for a quick chat. It’s in your best interests, honest! Pretty please, please pleaseee.” Well that doesn’t sound creepy.

I glanced at my television. Noting that the Kardashian’s weren't going anywhere, I supposed I could postpone my afternoon plans a bit. I sighed, giving her the all-clear. “I’ll bite. Come on up.” She disappeared off the camera. Three minutes later, tiny knocks hit my door in record time. I welcomed her in. She rushed inside, already flipping open her laptop to make herself at home before a proper introduction. I smirked, admiring her spunk until it looked like she was about to have a mental breakdown on my coffee table. I require coasters, even for tears. “If Julia asks,” She exhaled. “I’m not here.” “If Julia asks, neither am I." I pocketed my hands. "What’s this about?” “Ashwater. I'm writing your account.” Right, I snorted. I knew she was going to milk it for everything it was worth. That line in the contract about a book deal was much more appealing a year ago. “If this is really about business you really should have made an appointment.” It's worth nothing that I'm using the terms ‘business’ and ‘appointment’ lightly. Things aren’t what they were. I was out of the limelight, but our personal notoriety in the city had gotten me somewhere within healing the community. To put it lightly, the mass suicides completely fucked up Modena. Not that they needed a dose of Catholicism to fix it right up- but my niche and trendy factor multiplied by survivor status gave me a leg-up on the competition. It’s not television, and it’s little more than a step higher than where I started at the inception of my career but the church I operate from is mine. Mine. At one month in, I’m wondering how lost track of that concept in the first place. "-And I have made it clear I'm done with that whole mess." “I am here for my business, but it is about your business.” She paused, nose wrinkled. “I’m sorry- she did tell me not to contact you, but I can’t help it. It’s your life. The history major in me wants it to be accurate.” I can't blame her for that. Part of me knows Julia would dance on the border of defamation of character all day if she could. I pulled up a chair. “Noooow that you mention it, I think I'd rather it be accurate too.” Sure, it was valuable time but I will never pass up the chance to talk about myself. "Most if it is on film though, what do you need to know? “This romance with Adria. It’s so confusing.” Record scratch. Uh. “What?” “It’s up, down- off, on- it’s difficult to fill in the blanks between takes.” “What do you mean ‘romance’?” Now she was confused. “W-what?” “There is no romance. Nada.” “Oh no..." She cupped her mouth. "Did it fall apart after you moved to Modena?” “What?! No. It never happened. Where are you even getting that? Don’t tell me the forums or I'll kick you out right now.” Suspicious, she turned her screen my way. Alright PAUSE. It's time for me to admit it: Adria and I's closeness has...never been an easy subject to broach. I'm not oblivious to my on screen chemistry with Adria. What am I saying- I'm not oblivious to our chemistry in general.What made Ashwater great, and not a repressed episode of trauma, was Adria. She was a breath of fresh air when Hollywood met a cornfield. Our banter was great, her devotion was pure, and I'll be the first to say I came out of that town a new person. The US audiences saw that within us. That was the whole draw- aside from all the spooky shit, of course. We just worked really, really well together. Miss Kathy thought so to, and decided to condense that down into a ten minute montage. She spliced together our interactions. Starting from a little bit before the family dinner, to post-Boris, to the kid's hospital, and then the whole Crocotta roller coaster that was only nuanced on television, but never clearly explained. I don’t blame her for losing track. While I can account for all the stupid stuff I did between takes, the cameras couldn’t. I found myself smiling when reliving Adria's candid honesty, and cringing like a kicked dog when I had fucked up. "Uh-" I stopped her as soon as the two of us stepped into the frame in disguise. "We can skip this part..." “Well fine- one last one though! This is my favorite.” Her cursor jumped ahead on the timeline, and my heart stopped. I had no idea the film was salvaged that far into the night. It was post-Modena in the heart of the cult warehouse. The entire scene was dark except the licks of fire on the edges. How the camera was still rolling, I had no clue. It was on its last leg. The footage shoddy at best. All scratched up, and battered. The woman I was following was barely visible, completely obscured by smoke, but by the time I had gotten out of the wooden shack the lens was clear. Adria was in the background, at the edge of the trees. You could tell the moment I saw her- she was my focal point. She was my purpose. It captured every step I limped towards her until I ultimately collapsed by her side, and the frame turned upward into the storm clouds. The feed went still. Nothing except the wave of trees overhead, and smoke clearing out until Kathy sped it up again. She stopped, just before- “Deme?” Adria’s voice cracked. It still gave me chills. But in that moment, a wounded and battered Adria had a different connotation. The view turned- energized, and sharp enough to catch a frame of our hands interlocked. Our voices were so bad it merited captioning, but miraculously every detail was intact through the trauma. I hadn’t realized I stopped breathing until the screen was ripped away. Kathy pulled up a littered word document, eyes wide and grin stretching ear to ear. “See! You can’t hide anything from me, Mr.Marquette.” I blinked, faltering when ripped out of the past and put on the spot. “I’m not hiding anything- what- what are you writing?!” I ran around the table. Her fingers, going a mile a minute, tried to capture my reaction. Something about warmth in my face, the light in my eyes. She completely scripted a flashback that honestly didn’t happen. The moment in the raw was way better than any metaphor she could twist around. “'That's the moment I knew we were destined to-what?! That is NOT how I’d say that.” “How would you put it?” “Uh- I’d say that yeah, I was happy to see her alive, but-” “No, no.” She primed her hands back at the starting line. “Start from the beginning?” Fifteen minutes, my ass. It was the longest two hours of my life. - - - 6 AM the following Sunday, I was setting up the chapel. I couldn't get her film off my mind. The scenes, everything. I'd never get around to re-watching the series because: A. My shoulder revolted just thinking about it. B. It was still a sore spot for both of us. Not the whole thing, obviously, but what it’d inevitably lead up to. Though we got past that. I’d like to think she forgave me after all this time, but I'd understand if she didn’t. Point is that we set it aside to grow as people. I was content with how our cards fell. We were close, and we cared about each other. A lot. That was sort of it... But then the weird part kicked in. Someone else saw something...Not some creep online, but someone trusted enough to write my fucking autobiography, for example. She saw something was there. That's when it really sunk in. Was it that obvious? And did its obviousness meant she felt...something too? The signs were there. It sounds nice on paper to say she did, but is that why we were here? Is that why I invited her? Did I pick Modena because I honestly thought this was the only place I could make it after Julia? And did she only join me because she was intending to go there anyways? Or was it more? I acted on impulse in that hospital- or at least that’s what I played it off as. Why? Because I don’t know how to explain an alternative. It’s truly what I wanted at the time. Now I have to figure out what it all means, and what's is going on in her head- which is easier said than done, by the way. She hasn’t said anything about it! And if there was any reoccurring theme from our time there, it was that I don't know what she’s thinking. I didn't know, and maybe I never will. She's so different. She's everything I'm not, and would never think to be, but inspiring. That's what made her exciting. Not that golden Jesus would agree. Throughout the course of this mental monologue, I didn't realize I had dusted His head so many times he was starting to get a bald spot- ah… These thoughts were best saved for a time outside the church. I coughed, trying to dismiss the shallow guilt wadding up in my chest. "Sorry Jesus." - - - Our schedules had a tendency to clash when she got into detective boot camp. Communication became sparse. We caught each other at odd times on odd days just to keep in touch. It was fine. I understand it was a whole lot of settling in for the both of us. I had a whole community to cultivate, and she had be rehabilitated into dealing with delicate humans instead of kicking monster ass. Reasonably, that'll take awhile. Still- that left me bored after services were said and done. I don't miss the danger. God no, I don't. I missed the interaction. I missed the dependency, my partner in crime. Restlessness became an itch anytime I had too much time on my hands. Small at first, until the two month mark when it became maddening. I thought it was attention deprivation at first. I put myself out there. I would do stupid AMA's online, and reply to fan mail in an attempt to catch the same high I did a year back. Surprisingly it.... Didn't help at all. Especially not when little postscripts on the letters asked how Adria was doing, too. It left a sour taste in my mouth when I didn't know what to tell them so that hobby ended rather quickly. Community events were my next go-to. That had more luck. They were equally productive and fun. I got the chance to raise funds to spruce up my chapel to what it should be, and could be the center of the attention while doing it. That cured idle hands a little more. One of the latest was a bake sale benefit held downtown. It wasn't exactly my scene, geared toward your more elderly audiences. Don't get me wrong, I'll always have fun charming the older ladies, but they had it under wraps. I snuck out when the chance arose but stopped cold on the stoop. “What the-” A sudden flash of fury sparked when I saw a pink ticket on my dashboard. I did not put that EXTREMELY tacky parking pass on my windshield of my 'Rari for nothing. I stormed over and swiped it off the dash, ready to raise all sorts of holy Hell with the city of Modena when I noticed it was a blank form. Nothing was scribbled on it but the word ’Lunch?’ in sloppy cursive. Her handwriting. I put it with the other one. - - - The weekly lunches started back up afterward. Absolutely non-negotiable. Not even the sickest orphan could make me work within the noon-3PM block on Fridays. Granted, we weren’t at Jo’s. I didn't have any show on the air, and she didn't have to play damage control for her mom, but it was pleasant. It was a tiny piece of Ashwater I'm glad we reinstated. Location changed weekly as I found new spots I thought she’d like. Hearing she'd never had sushi before was unacceptable. My hands around hers, I guided the grip of her chopsticks. With a little adjustment, they were functional. "-That's horrifying." I balked. "What? It was worse training to be a cop! This was more procedural stuff." "But running five miles in how long? How is that humanly possible?" "Hey," She grinned. "That's just keeping in shape. Join me at the gym sometime. I'll make you the buffest preacher in New England." "Pass." I said, rejecting that mental image. "But really, how’s the force?” “It’s great!" She beamed. "Surreal compared to Ashwater, which is saying something. Exciting but different. A good kind of different.” “‘Different’?” I asked, giving up chopsticks for a fork when her dexterity as a newbie already had mine beat. At least I know what a soup spoon is. “That’s not what I was expecting. Just not the same as running straight into monsters, huh?” “Maybe I don’t have anyone to chase.” She propped up her chin with a hand, warm smile from across the table. “Except, you know, the bad guys.” “Except the bad guys.” Somehow I don't think they'll have as much fun being tailed by her as I've had. Their loss; but that would be weird to say. Instead I accidentally opted for something weirder entirely, because I'm a teenager. “How’s your partner?” Her eyebrow flicked up. “Partner?” “Yeah, don’t you get assigned one? Or something.” I picked at the sashimi with practiced disinterest. "Cops are never alone on TV." "Well yeah. Uh. He's fine. We get along great. He's been on the team a lot longer than me, I've got a lot of learning to do." "Oh, he's way older?" "Uh...yes?" I tried not to sound too relieved. "Oh nice, nice. He'll be a good, uh. Mentor." Puzzled, she lost sight of where I was going with this. "...I guess?" "I'm happy for you." Great. Now it's awkward, but you wouldn't have known that from my attitude. She finished her lunch, and I flagged the waiter over. Adria reached for her wallet, and I stopped her. "No- no. Don't worry about it. I got this." "You? Pay?" She said, in exaggerated surprise. "Am I dealing with the fake Deme again?" I laughed, painfully. Ha ha ha. Now she did it. I felt even worse, itching to make a desperate call. "Consider it a congratulations for making it through training." "I was done two weeks ago-" "Oh, if you don't want me to, I won't." I recoiled, defensive. The beginnings of a coy smile crept into her lips. She let go of her wallet like it’d explode with any sudden movements, sarcastic. I wanted to run. "No, I won't stop you~" "Great." "Great." - - - For the first time in forever, I couldn't wait to shove her into her car to LEAVE. I screwed that up. Royally. What kind of message was I trying to put out? That I'm into her, or that I'm a freaky stalker? Subtly isn’t my strong suit, and if any RomCom had ever made it okay just to say ‘Date me, already, god.’ and skip the formalities, I would. Thankfully, my phone still had a very special number on speed dial. The second her vehicle turned the corner, I was on the line. "Ashwater Cottage, Margie speaking!" "Marg, I need your help." - - - Our call spanned the entire drive back to my apartment. I explained everything. I went over the signs I was seeing, to how badly I screwed lunch up. It was irredeemable in retrospect, but Margie didn't think so. In fact, she reassured me three separate times that hand holding wasn't something Adria did with just her best buddies (and that she was really, really sure) before I cracked. Little did she know that was another hour long conversation in the making. “Okay- how about this:" I splayed my fingers on the steering wheel. "DRIVE IN MOVIE. Or is that too much of a smalltown cliche?” “A drive-in would be lovely.” “I don’t know- Footloose was just on the other night, she might know it was uninspired.” "You're overthinking it, dear." “I don't think so! There has got to be a reason she hasn't said anything. I haven't really wow'd her yet. How did her parents do it?” “Uh…” “No! No, you’re right. That’s creepy. Ugh, do you see why I need help?!” Margie chuckled. “Honey, have you dated anyone before?” “Well YES-” I paused. “No? Maybe?” “Not like this?” She suggested. I slumped against the the steering wheel. Yeah, exactly… I've never had to deal with this. Any of it. Even in high school I was the type more interested in fun for the night than anything that spanned longer than a week. And before a year ago, that just made more sense. You want to know why? Because this is hard. She knows me deeper than a flash of the smile, and pretty words. She knows ME me, and some of the gross, off-putting selfish stuff Demetrius Marquette entails. Like, even the literal gross gore and inner tendons. If you asked me a year ago what it’d take for someone to be my better half, I’d have said “zeros and commas.” Now, I have a whole list of strangely specific virtues, and adjectives that would only come to a poet. I don’t want to ruin this because I am damn sure I’d never find something like this again, and I don’t want to. Margie sighed, the pleasant kind where you could hear her smiling as she did it. My silence was intuitively taken as an affirmative. “Don’t you worry about it. Adria isn’t a girl who is going to be impressed by a diamonds and opera theater. She doesn’t need grand displays or money- she just wants you." “..She does?” “Haha, well I won’t speak for her! You’ll have to figure these things out on your own, but don’t dilly dally. Be yourself.” “Right…” I shifted. “Don’t...say anything to anyone about this, okay?” “Your secret is safe with me. Good luck!” - - - So drive-in movie wasn’t happening. Regular movie is too basic (and cheap). Not much else wasn’t much jumping out at me. Scraping the bottom of the barrel, I came up with nothing. Margie put emphasis on a personal flair instead of flashiness. But what if my personal flair is flashiness? I had to find a middle ground between, and that idea didn’t come to me until a horse and carriage tour clopped outside the chapel. It helped me come up with a plan. Mentally, too. No, I wasn’t going to take Adria on a stinky, over-crowded novelty ride around the town. I went on my own time, for a better grasp of the city. Something around here had to be us and I found it. The reservation to a five-star was an afterthought and the catalyst. This dinner itself would be the two of us. Despite the exuberant exterior, we’d content in our world just as we’d have been on the hood of her cruiser or on a bale of hay. I made the conscious effort not to think about what I was doing or what she was thinking because I never had before, and that’s what worked for us. What Adria was to me was comfort. I needed to stop saying things I thought I should and just...go with it. The skin-tight red dress was just a bonus. Afterwards was more important, anyways. I told myself if we got to that point, there was no longer any room for doubt. - - - After dinner, we took to the streets. I walked. My eyes were studiously focused on the sidewalk ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her double take in the opposite direction. This was the part where I normally walked her back to her car, but she didn’t say a word nor miss a step. Wordlessly confirming, my hand slipped out of my coat when the cool autumn air would normally advise against it. Our fingers didn’t brush against each other. Instead, they instinctively clasped. The city was gorgeous this time of year. And the park? Beautifully abandoned. Kids were in school, and the homeless populace had found shelters above forty degrees. I scoped this spot out via tour before booking our reservation. It was only a block away. It spoke to me. When you got past the statues and benches, the main attraction was the fountain. The guide warned that it’d be the last few days of the season where it’d be in up and running. Soon the ice would claim it; it felt like a metaphor, in a way. For now, it was left on, lights and all. We stopped to sit on the fountain walls. Sign dissuading it be damned, we only paid attention to the plaque. It was engraved on the side with the names and descriptions of heroes from another calamity before our time. Adria took the time to read over it. I was less patient, finding more to revere in the woman before me. I patted the concrete beside me. “We should have really got one of these in Ashwater, huh?” “Yeah. But they already dedicated a day to us.” She said, taking the spot. She shimmied closer until our arms touched. “What more do we need? Wait- don’t answer that.” “What?” I said, offended. “I wasn’t going to say anything. Well, except I don’t know how they’d fit Kyriakoulopoulos on it.” “Hey,” She nudged. “You learned my name.” I winked. Learning a woman’s name on the first date, Dating 101. I didn’t trust myself to say that out loud. Instead, the stillness baited our eyes to the water. The colored bulbs shifted under the icy surface in a continuous luminescent transition. Blue, green, yellow, orange, red... The glow on the half profile of her face was driving me crazy, even when I tried to ignore it. There's no word in English to describe the feeling when there’s so much comfort it hurts. It’s been full year of memories, broken boundaries, and new horizons. It all jumbled together into a rocky formation to spite me. It urged me forward because staying still was no longer an option. The fingers that curled around mine burned. Pulsing, like they threatened to disintegrate if I let another moment pass me by. If there was more to us, I had to have more. “Adria…" I broke the tranquility, stilted. "I need to say something. You’re...really important to me.” “I already told you I can’t get you out of a parking ticket,” She chuckled. I ignored the bite of sarcasm, moving my hand away from hers to free it. I rehearsed this so many times. I don’t know the words that go along with the scenes, only the motions. They're intimate- like a silent film. When she looked back at me, all humor drained away. ‘Oh no, he’s serious.’ Maybe I am. No- I bit my lip. There’s no maybe. I am serious. I am I am I am. We were heading for uncharted territory, but I needed to go. The change of scene wasn’t doing anything if we were staying in the same place. I couldn’t be satisfied with where we were anymore. Tonight, I was cashing in everything. “Deme...” Her voice broke. Instead of moving closer like she was scripted to, she leaned away. I twitched. Just as I was about to reach for her, the muscles in my palm turning to stone. “I always do this. I’m sorry.” …? My brows furrowed. Scratch that- what?! Okay, I was heading into uncharted territory, and she was fumbling on the opposite side of the map. “Adria...what- what are you talking about-?” “It’s so stupid- I went too far. You don’t have to say it.” Her freed hand balled into her other one, nearly aggressive in nature. “I’ve already made you leave once, and I can’t- I can't do it again...” My head was reeling trying to figure out where we got off track. She got up to leave, and I grabbed her hand. Her lack of conviction to keep going proved she didn’t really want to go. “Are you crazy?” “The whole priest thing, I know you-” “Can’t wait?” “What?” Her eyes finally met mine, glassy. “You’re not serious right? Adria, you're not asking me to do anything I don’t want to do. If I’m doing anything it’s because I want you.” I squeezed her hand like she had in the clearing. “Very bad.” “Deme, I-” Oh God. No. I pulled her down beside me to trade her hand for her cheek. Delicate- I held her chin, examining her slightly smudged mascara from different angles. “Are you- are you crying? You’re literally crying!” I laughed, brushing an icy tear from her cheek with my thumb. “You’re ridiculous." "It's not ridiculous!" She said, cheeks flushing at the touch. She was burning, too, but on the outside couldn’t decide what emotion she wanted to embody. That was…relieving. In that moment, I realized two things. One, we both really, really sucked at this, and two: if this- this unsaid, indescribable thing between us was wrong, I had zero will-power to stop myself. The time for talking was gone. The mist from the fountain was steaming off of us. Dead in the middle of Autumn, we were on fire. Our breaths fogged up everything around us except each other. The timing was right, so right. I went for it. I kissed her. With bated breath, I pulled her in. One firm hand on her cheek and the other at the base of her neck, I wanted her. So bad- and I let her know. She wanted me, too. She was waiting for it. Unlike the talk before, there was zero awkwardness. She was fluid. Her lips moved in perfect sync with mine with an ease stated the obvious. We held back too long, but it was the wait that ignited it. A warmth that pushed through our entire bodies. It drove us into each other, both equally fighting to make up for lost time in the other’s arms, and to say the things we had no words for. The girl with walls a mile thick melted into me. And I lured her in just so we could go down together. The hand supporting her followed the curve of her spine. Past the scars, past the pain- she fell with me, recumbent on the fountain’s edge. Her hands gripped tight onto the collar of my coat, while her legs went weak on either side. I held her steady when we threatened to throw ourselves over the edge. I’m not going anywhere. Nor did I plan to. Things were changing again, but there’s no way we’d hesitate.

#LONG OVERDUE #adria #ashwater #cop au #ngl i wrote this to 'I wanna - All American Rejects'#one day i want to tweak until it feels like that too #its so how i picture it #epilogue #story

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