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fiftyyearfilms · 4 years ago

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50 Years Later: The Still Sweet Legacy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory

Image source: https://people.com/food/gene-wilder-death-willy-wonka-pure-imagination/

I first watched Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory during the summer of 2001, when I was four years old. Sometime after the end credits rolled, I waddled into our little English garden and decided to have a nibble of one of the buttercups poking through in the grass. You will be unsurprised to discover that it tasted acrid and bitter and that I promptly screwed up my face and spat it out again. ‘But— but- -’ little four-year-old me thought, ‘��but in Willy Wonka’s garden the yellow butter-tea-cups are edible and filled with a breakfast brew! The toadstools and mushrooms ooze sweet white cream! And the trees don’t sprout boring old fruit, but giant jellified gummy bears!' According to my four-year old logic, in Wonka’s edible garden these synaesthetic saccharine delights could exist and so in our garden they could too. So was the bittersweet belief that ‘Anything is possible’ the film inspired - bittersweet because, of course, it's not true. Today marks the 50-year anniversary of Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, which premiered in the United States on this day in 1971. Time reveals a legacy that is more sweet than sour.

The 1971 adaptation of Roald Dahl’s 1964 book ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’ has an origins story that reads like a saccharine fairytale, complete with the requisite obstacles. Once upon a time, the story of Charlie Bucket and his lucky visit to a chocolate factory found its way into the hands of a 12-year-old girl called Madeline Stuart, the daughter of a Hollywood filmmaker, Mel Stuart. Madeline approached her father and asked him to make a film out of the story. In Stuart’s memory, his daughter’s innocent plea went something like this: ’Daddy... I want you to make this into a movie!’ A self-confessed chocoholic, Stuart said yes. And the rest was history? Not just yet...

The early 1970’s wasn’t Hollywood’s happiest hour. Low attendance and a struggling national economy meant that the U.S film industry was in a state of near-collapse and financing the movie was no easy feat; studios were cash-strapped. It was a stroke of sweet luck that the producer of the film, Mel Stuart’s friend David Wrober, had a connection to the Quaker Oats Company who, by happy chance, were looking for a way to break into the chocolate industry. In an unprecedented move in Hollywood, Quaker Oats agreed to finance the film on account of the fact that it would allow them to launch a ‘Wonka’ bar. A convenient if imperfect marriage was formed between the food company and the producers. A Happily Ever After? Still not yet...

There were active forces that didn’t want the candy man to make the leap from page to silver screen. Having long been vocal about Hollywood and its poor representation of black people, the NAACP objected to the adaptation because of the colonial overtones of the Ooompa Loompas in Dahl’s story (described as “a tribe of miniature pygmies” who were imported from Africa); they didn’t want additional attention being brought to the novel. The NAACP eventually suggested that “The solution is to make the Oompa-Loompas white and to make the film under a different title.” Mel Stuart agreed. The title was changed to ‘Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, a change that would also benefit the marketing of the Quaker Oat Company’s ‘Wonka’ bar. After Stuart consulted with some black actor friends, it also was decided that the elf-like characters would be carrot orange with grass-green hair. Whether this amounted to ‘whitewashing’ or not is a matter for the individual to decide but changing the skin colour was the only way to adapt the book without making more significant changes to Dahl’s story. After all, it was the man himself penning the screenplay.

Image source: https://www2.bfi.org.uk/news-opinion/news-bfi/features/search-perfect-willy-wonka

Dahl’s screenplay - bloated and too close an adaption of the book, was eventually revised by newbie screenwriter David Seltzer, but the fantastical elements of the author’s story remained largely intact: chocolate rooms with chocolate waterfalls and rivers, fizzy-lifting stations that send Charlie Bucket and his grandfather floating to the ceiling, and elevators that fly straight into the sky. Harper Goff, famed for his work on the 1945 Disney film ‘20,000 Leagues under the Sea’, was tasked with bringing Dahl’s demanding vision to life in the art department. Then there were difficulties in casting too, and a cross-country search took place for the Oompa Loompas and the lucky ticket-winning children (lamentably, only white actors were cast). With scouting and sketching underway, producers had the formidable challenge of finding somewhere to shoot the movie. After considering the Guinness Factory in Ireland and – wait for it - a national monument in Spain, producers settled on the Munich Gas works and Bavarian Film Studios in Germany as the central filming locations. It was cheaper than America and the location’s foreignness to British and American audiences would work in the favour of creating a ‘Neverland’ story.

Tinged with sweetness and sourness, pre-production on Wonka came to a close in late August 1970 and principal photography began. For the adults on set, budgetary problems were an ongoing source of stress and the unusual marriage between Hollywood and the food industry was one of the main causes. Unlike Paramount or Universal, who might have expected the film to go over budget, Quaker Oats viewed the film as one long advertisement for their new bar and were unsurprisingly less sympathetic when the weather was bad and shooting had to be delayed or when something went wrong on set and more money had to be poured in (or, in the case of the chocolate waterfall, a specially sourced anti-foaming solution). The kids also had their tribulations (and were only renumerated £60 per week for their hard labour). Stuart was a tough director. So tough, in fact, that the child actors used to joke that they deserved Oscars for their roles (or for putting up with Stuart). He treated the young actors as adults and perhaps that’s one reason why the performances are so strong. But Stuart reflected that overall, it was like ‘one big slumber party’ for the child actors. Stories from the set include Paris Themmen, who played Mike Teevee, releasing bees from underneath a bell jar in Wonka’s chewing gum machine. Denise Nickerson (playing Violet Beauregarde) and Julie Dawn Cole (Veruca Salt) fought over Peter Ostroff, who played Charlie Bucket, and took turns being his ‘girlfriend’ day-by-day. After lunch breaks, Ostroff and Gene Wilder, who played Wonka himself, would walk back to set together sharing a chocolate bar. There was an excitable atmosphere on set and, filmed without storyboards or pre-production rehearsals, it translated into authenticity in the final film.

Image source: https://www.thedelite.com/willy-wonka-and-chocolate-factory-movie-facts-you-never-knew/

Filming came to a bittersweet end in November 1970, cast members said their teary goodbyes, and then seven months later, Willy Wonka premiered in the United States. While time has judged differently, the contemporary reception to the film was, at best, lukewarm. From a $2.9 million dollar budget, the film only made $4 million in theatres and ranked as #53 in the box office. There were a number of reasons for this. Several reviewers panned the movie; a critic from the New York Times called it ‘tedious and stagy with little sparkle and precious little humor’. The fun and spectacle of Willy Wonka didn’t sit well with an anxious and cynical audience. In the Vietnam era, The French Connection, The Omega Man, and A Clockwork Orange were in, and optimism and fun were out. The film also had to contend with the declining weekly movie attendance across the U.S, which reached an all-time low of 14 million in 1971 (from 44 million in 1963). On top of this, Dahl didn’t exactly enthuse about the final product. Finally - and this is what the director attributed primary responsibility to: a lacklustre marketing effort on behalf of Paramount Pictures.

But box-office results aren’t everything. Like sherbet - sour at first and then Oh so sweet, Willy Wonka has gone on to gain a mass following of fans and gained the all-desirable ‘cult’ film status. The phenomenon happened over time. Six years after the film appeared on cinema screens, it was sold to Warner Brothers and became one of their best-selling video cassettes. Then, periodic screenings on cable and network television over the following decades meant that it gained an even wider following and stayed within Western cultural consciousness. The never-ending references to Willy Wonka in popular culture - from The Simpsons to Austin Powers to Marilyn Manson’s music videos, is testament to this. The same could be said about the upcoming Willy Wonka origins story, whether it turns out to be a good film or not. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory currently stands as the second most watched film of 1971 on Letterboxd (the Goodreads of film).

Re-watching the film in 2021, it seems almost inevitable that the film has found new and wide- ranging audiences and there’s one main reason for it: a stellar and totally captivating performance from Gene Wilder. The director attributed the film’s longevity to the fact that ‘it was made for adults; it was not made for children’ and it was Wilder himself that brought the grown-up fun. Wilder’s Wonka is sarcastic and witty, ensuring that the final film ended up as a ‘story for children’ only as much as After Eights are for post-dinner treats and Yorkie bars are just for boys. Wilder created a more nuanced and entrancing character out of Wonka than what is portrayed in the book - a Wonka who is dishonest but trustworthy, sarcastic but still empathetic, indifferent but deeply caring, and aloof but charming. Sure, the sets seem slightly dated (the chocolate room in particular) but watching Gene Wilder sing ‘Pure Imagination’ is so wholly captivating that one almost doesn’t notice the set’s limitations. Creating, let alone portraying, such an enigmatic version of Wonka is a tall order, but Wilder made it looks effortless. As evidence of his skill as an actor, Willy Wonka shows Charlie little interest until the very end of the film and then within minutes conveys a parental love to the boy that seems entirely believable. Wilder’s tantalising hot then cold, sugary then sour, sweet then salty performance sustains the whole film.

From the outset, it seemed like the Wilder-Wonka synergy was made to be. Wilder was a relative newcomer to Hollywood in 1970, making his feature film debut in the 1967 film Bonnie & Clyde, but when he walked into the casting room at the Plaza Hotel in New York, Mel Stuart knew he was the man straight away – ‘That’s Willy Wonka!’ he said. Wilder himself immediately seemed to have an intuitive understanding of how to bring the character to life, agreeing to take on the role on one condition: he said to Stuart, “I would like to come out [of the factory] with a cane and be crippled because no one will know from that time on whether I’m lying or telling the truth.’’ Like a magician, Wilder’s Wonka was going to draw you in and keep you in the palm of his hand. To the child actors on set, the Wilder-Wonka symbiosis was very much real. Julia Winter recalled that between takes the kids would crawl all over Wilder yelling, ‘It’s my turn to sit on his lap!’. In turn, Wilder would tell them jokes and stories; he ‘never got cross’. I remember feeling the same captivation as a child watching the film: I wanted to spend time with Wonka. It was only some adults who missed the magic trick. Dahl criticised Wilder’s performance as ‘pretentious’ and insufficiently ‘gay’. Wilder himself recalled hearing talk of mothers saying that the film was ‘cruel to the children’, but he understood that ‘maybe some mothers felt that way, but the children didn’t feel that way...there are limits and they want to know the limits’. The continuing classic status of the film is evidence that the kids (and Wilder) were right. The Wilder-Wonka magic has survived 50 years without souring. The only bittersweetness in watching the actor sing and twirl across the screen is knowing he is no longer with us.

Image source: https://cometoverhollywood.com/2016/08/29/musical-monday-willy-wonka-the-chocolate-factory-1971/

If Gene Wilder carried the film, then what about the story itself? The plot is simple, heart- warming, and doesn’t deserve close scrutiny. Willy Wonka really is a ‘show’, the story is secondary to the individual charisma of Wilder and the spectacle of the image and music. We don’t know if Charlie will be happy or sad once he’s inherited Wonka’s factory. We also don’t know what happens to the rest of the children after they’ve been punished. But who cares? The audience is taken to a joyful fun park where you want to eat everything on screen and play with all the gizmos and gadgets, and where the music is so catchy that you can’t get it out of your head for days and weeks after.

Select ideologues have (and will) taken issue with the story, discarding it as gauche capitalist propaganda. One Marxist criticism of the story even gained enough traction that the director took notice in later years. The parts seem to be there: a businessman running a competition by hiding five golden tickets in his candy bars, competition from other candy makers, the Wonka-Oompa Loompa relationship, and a ‘Rags to riches’ story for Charlie. But one might ask if this is an unnecessary and selective reading. The parts for an alternative vision are equally apparent: from the wild and uncontrolled creativity and experimentation inside the factory to the joy found within the chocolate work itself, and from the relentless drive forward ‘You have to go forward if you want to go back’ to the end picture of the elevator shooting through a glass ceiling and into the skies. If a critic really wanted to make the comparison, such images would sit more easily in Soviet Russia than capitalist America. Wonka might have a capitalist wrapper but take a bite and look closely inside and its ideological filling is incoherent (it is, after all, entertainment). One could imagine how the film might be set in a collectivist community rather than a ‘capitalist’ factory, but it would have made for a worse film. It is the sense of unease that runs throughout the film that has made it timeless, whether its Wonka’s frustration with August Gloop for polluting his pure chocolate river, his fear over someone leaking the secret recipe for the ever-lasting gobstopper, his nightmares in the tunnel sequence, or his anxiety over finding a worthy heir for the factory, which finally manifests as a misjudged outburst at Charlie. It’s the fraught relationship between abundance and greed that makes for such compelling watching. Anyway, as the screenwriter stated in an interview, the film is ‘...not the function of sitting down and intellectualising... it’s the function of scotch tape, cardboard, let’s put on a show!’ Why spoil the fun and examine the parts individually when the sum of the parts is a universal message people need to hear now as much as they did in 1971? Reward honesty and integrity, not greed.

A moral message delivered in an almost subversive tone is another reason for why the film feels timeless. Instead of adults dragging tired and bored children around, the adults in this film are at the mercy of their kids and Wonka. Young viewers can marvel at the gluttony of August Gloop, the smart-mouthed Violet Beauregarde, the wanton bad behaviour of Veruca Salt, and Mike Teevee’s devotion to cable. It’s escapism at its best to watch other kids do what you can’t do: speak back to parents and yell and scream. It’s equally as tantalising when the naughty children are punished in fantastical ways. Augustus, drinking from the chocolate river, falls in and then gets sucked up a chocolate chute. Violet chews forbidden gum and then blows up into a blueberry the size of a small horse. Veruca falls down a garbage chute. And Mike finds himself sucked into a television. Best of all, the parents are equally guilty of bad-behaviour as the kids - and, boy, do they pay for it. Wonka might be a film for children and adults, but you can guess who’s going to really have the best time. It is little Charlie, after all, who wins Wonka’s factory at the end of the day.

In the scene where Willy Wonka drinks from a yellow flower-shaped cup and then eats the cup, the cup itself was made of wax. Gene Wilder had to chew the wax pieces until the end of the take, at which point he spat them out. Adults that once watched the film as children now know that flowers in the garden aren’t edible. Our eyes can pick up the small imperfections in the film - the sweets that look plastic and chocolate river that looks like exactly what it was - ‘dirty, stinky water’. But through a child’s eyes - even coming to the film half a century after its release, the film really can be a ‘world of pure imagination’. In another fifty years, will children still wander into the garden, pick up a buttercup, and bite into it with all the belief in the word that it’ll taste like sweet, white chocolate? As long as parents continue to show children the film, they will - and what a marvellous legacy for a film to have. Fifty years on, it’s safe to say that Willy Wonka has had a sweet and indelible impact on our sadly mostly inedible world.

Sources for post:

Mel Stuart, Josh Young, ‘Pure Imagination: The Making of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2001.

Julia Dawn Cole, ‘I Want It Now! a Memoir of Life on the Set of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory’, 2011.

Pure Imagination: The Story (Making) of Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yyev_3S_Y4

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#Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory #1971

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kasienda · 4 years ago

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A Miraculous Reveal - New York

Ack! Apparently, I remembered to post this one to discord, but not to tumblr. I apologize to my tumblr followers if they only get stuff here. But here it is now! It’s a Ladynoir angst to happy ending reveal based on the New York Special. Please enjoy.

___

Adrien slipped into the silver limo and the door thudded closed behind him with a finality that made Marinette flinch. A moment later, the car pulled out onto the road. Watching the vehicle fade away into the grey haze of drizzly rain, two things were suddenly very clear to her.

She didn’t want Adrien to go. He was precious to her in a way that she could not define. He possessed an unending patience, he had the sweetest and softest smiles for her even when she was babbling or stuttering incoherently, and he was kind. She just didn’t know a lot of boys who were just so genuinely compassionate. She clearly had never really gotten over her crush on him despite her best efforts.

But in that moment as the car turned around a corner and completely out of sight, it was surprisingly easy to imagine her life without him. If Adrien disappeared she would grieve, but she would heal, and she would be okay.

No, the gaping hole in her chest had an entirely different source.

It was Chat Noir that she did not know how to live without.

Read on Ao3

Because it was Chat Noir who had her back every time hers was against a wall, Chat Noir who made her laugh when life seemed impossible to face, Chat Noir who offered her advice and insight whenever she asked even when it was about her feelings for someone else, and Chat Noir who built her up and encouraged her in her lowest moments.

And she was never going to see him again.

Marinette fell to her knees, barely noticing the unforgiving impact of the cement below or the cold water seeping up her pant legs from the ground. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks in contrast with the sky’s frigid rain drops. Her whole form trembled like a leaf in an autumn storm as her tears finally caught up to her.

She gripped his ring in her fist, its edges biting into her palm. It was wrong that she had it. It was his. But she couldn’t return it to him. She didn’t know his name. She didn’t know anything about him.

And now he was gone.

It wasn’t fair. Hadn’t she done everything right? She tried to be responsible, she always followed the rules, and she sacrificed so much of her normal life to make sure she could be the heroine that Paris needed. Why had everything blown up in her face so colossally?

Chat Noir was gone.

He had supported her through her worst mistakes. Had he not trusted her to do the same for him?

A warmth cuddled at her neck in contrast to the cold damp air around them. “Marinette?”

“I-I’m sorry, Tikki,” Marinette choked out, as she turned away from the red kwami on her shoulder. “I can’t do this anymore. Not… not without him.”

A black streak flew in front of her face. “Then why’d you yell at him?” Plagg demanded.

Her vision was too blurry with tears to make the kwami of destruction come into focus. “Because I was angry! I didn’t think he’d leave!” she countered sharply. “I had every right to be mad at him, Plagg. He promised me that he’d protect Paris in my absence. And then he didn’t.”

To her shock, the kwami wilted like a plant without water. “That… might have been my fault.”

“Plagg?” Tikki asked, a disapproval to her voice that Marinette rarely heard. “What did you do?!”

The miniature cat whirled to face his opposite. “You don’t understand! He never gets to have any fun! He’s always locked up! Every moment of almost every day is planned and scheduled. He’s not allowed to spend time on his hobbies if they are not pre-approved. He doesn’t get to just hang out with his friends! It’s amazing he manages to sneak away to become Chat Noir when he needs to!” He rose and fell in the damp air with a deep sigh.

“He’s my chosen, Tikki,” Plagg continued, his voice more subdued. “He deserves to have freedom.” He said it like a wish.

Salty tears flooded Marinette’s eyes all over again. Her partner didn’t have any freedom in his life? She hadn’t realized. He had always seemed so carefree. He seemed like such a goofball. But she had never asked.

How could she not have known? She should have known.

But they weren’t supposed to know anything about each other.

Another sob threatened to erupt from her throat. She fought it down.

Plagg continued. “A chance for a vacation popped up and he wasn’t going to go! He was all disgusting like, ‘I promised Ladybug I’d be here.’ I may have convinced him that the risk was really small, that he could watch the news constantly on the trip, and hurry back if anything happened.”

Tikki’s antennae vibrated back and forth in agitation.

“And it would have worked if there hadn’t also been villains here. How was I supposed to know that New York was infested with a cesspool of villains and subpar heroes?!” Plagg demanded with all the self righteousness of a wounded animal.

Marinette absorbed this new information stoically. The drizzling rain was starting to soak through her clothes and hair, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“He deserved the chance to go, too!” Plagg insisted childishly. “Why did your chosen get to go, and mine didn’t? And it’s not like you didn’t know he was here, Tikki! You’re so quick to point fingers after the fact.”

Tikki opened her mouth to argue, but Marinette put a hand up. “It doesn’t matter. He made his choice.” She honestly didn’t know if she was referring to his choice to go to New York, or to his choice to give up his miraculous. “And now, I have no way of finding him.”

And she dissolved into shaking sobs again. “It’s not fair,” she cried. “W-why did I have to realize that I loved him now? When it’s too late.”

She leaned back against a brick wall, the rain still falling down around her. Her pigtails were weeping with excess water. Her lined jacket faired a little better. The cold wet at least hadn’t seeped down to her skin yet.

Plagg zipped up to her face, his eyes searching her face. “You love him?” he whispered. “Chat Noir, him?”

Marinette just dissolved into a new round of wracking sobs.

The tiny catlike kwami patted her cheek. “It’s not too late!” he insisted. “I can help you find him. We’ll give him back the miraculous together.”

Marinette tried to stamp out the hope that sprouted in her chest at those words.

“She can’t know who he is!” Tikki objected.

Plagg whirled to face his counterpart. “Why not?” he asked seriously. “The old man’s gone. She’s the Guardian now.”

Marinette buried her head into her sopping wet knees. Her throat closed off again, making words impossible.

Tikki had no trouble forming words, however. “It’s still a risk. She’s been akumatized, Plagg! She almost handed her earrings right over. And if Chat Noir were akumatized she would be the only defense against unlimited destruction!”

Plagg hissed in displeasure. “Did it ever occur to you that they might be less vulnerable to akumas if they knew each other?!”

“Please stop arguing,” Marinette begged.

Both kwamis instantly stilled.

“I don’t know if I should know who he is yet. But I do know that I can’t be Ladybug without him.”

“But Marinette!” Tikki objected.

Marinette held up her hand. “I don’t want to stop being Ladybug, Tikki. So we need to get Chat back somehow.”

Plagg spun in a happy circle. “I always knew I liked you, Pigtails.”

“Do you have any ideas, Plagg?” Marinette asked, finally letting the sapling of hope in her chest grow unfettered. “Do you know where he’s headed? Is he close enough that you could go directly to him?”

“I don’t think I could get to the airport before he gets on a plane. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t think he’ll take me back. Even if I bring the ring with me. As long as he thinks you’re still mad at him he’s going to reject me.”

“Oh! I am furious with him!” she growled. “But I don’t want him to quit!” And then her face lit up. “That’s it!”

“What’s your plan?” Tikki asked excitedly, spinning around in anticipation.

She turned to her friend and confidant. “You know where he’s going, too, right?”

“The airport. But Marinette, Plagg is right. I likely can’t get to him before the plane takes off, and what if the earrings fell into the wrong hands along the way?!”

“So, you’re saying that I can only go to him once we get home?” Marinette asked, her voice heavy with disappointment. “But…”

“Ladybug?” A warm synthetic voice chimed in. “I need your help.”

Marinette started, whirling toward the mechanical voice behind her. “Uncanny Valley?”

“The akuma is back and it’s gotten worse. I need your help,” the other hero told her without preamble.

Marinette’s chest tightened in panic. She couldn’t face an akuma. Not right now.

Not without her partner.

“I… I want to help,” Marinette confided. “But… I can’t… Not without him.”

Uncanny Valley smiled. “I can help with that.”

…

Adrien leaned forward in the padded seat on his father’s private chartered plane, his head tucked between his knees as he silently berated himself for every decision he had made over the last three days.

What had he been thinking? He had known Ladybug was out of town and that Paris was undefended. And he had gone anyway.

And Paris had paid the price.

Just so he could have a few days in New York with his friends. How ridiculously irresponsible and childish of him.

The resulting damage to Paris could not be undone.

He buried his fists into his hair, tugging at the golden strands in self-loathing frustration.

And then, once in New York, he had almost failed in the worst way possible. He had almost killed Ladybug. His partner!

The woman he still loved despite trying to move on.

And if he had, he’s not sure how he ever would have recovered. If it hadn’t been for Uncanny Valley absorbing his cataclysm, everything would have been lost.

Everything.

And that was on him.

Uncanny Valley had died to save everyone.

He had killed her. He hadn’t meant to. But he had still taken a life with his own power. Even if it was an accident. He had killed someone. Chat Noir was supposed to be a good guy, a hero, and he had killed someone. And not just anyone.

Aeon.

The bright and precious girl that had been following Jess around the whole trip. Ladybug’s charm may have brought the girl back, but it could never erase the moment when the dark haired girl had lain in her mother’s arms, unmoving, from his mind’s eye.

Frustrated tears leaked from his eyes, and his form shook silently.

He knew he wasn’t worthy of being Chat Noir.

Not anymore. His selfish choice to go on a school field trip had ruined everything.

His father was right about him.

Dear god, he didn’t want to face his father.

He dreaded arriving home. He knew that his life was different now. He had no way to escape his hollow and empty room at any time of day or night, no Plagg to keep him company, and he would no longer be able to hang out with or help his lady.

He knew would see her. It would be impossible not to. She still lived in Paris, and Hawkmoth was still at large. But it would be from a distance, and even if they happened to be in the same place at the same time, she wouldn’t know that it was him.

But he couldn’t bring himself to grieve those pieces yet. Because that was only being selfish. And being selfish is what caused the whole disaster in the first place.

A loud pop interrupted his internal self loathing. The air around him was suddenly roaring with the change in pressure. It lasted only for a moment, before everything went still again.

He turned around. Uncanny Valley stood before him with a bright metallic smile.

He smiled back, tears burning at the edges of his green eyes at seeing her unharmed once again.

She stared at him for a moment without saying anything before holding out a familiar octagonal black box.

“Your services are needed, Chat Noir.”

He stiffened at the address. She knew. Knew that he was the one that had killed her and she had come to him anyway.

Adrien held up his hands defensively and took a step back. “No, I am not worthy of the ring.”

She should know that better than anyone.

Her silver smile never faltered. “Good thing I didn’t bring a ring, then.”

She held out the miraculous box again.

His curiosity got the better of him, and he opened the box despite his reservations, only to drop it to the ground immediately at sight of the spotted earrings.

Adrien was already shaking his head when the swirl of pink sparkles diminished revealing the red kwami he had met only once before.

“She can’t give me her miraculous!” he screamed. “Tikki! What is she thinking?! She knows that I’m irresponsible and can’t be trusted! I proved that today!”

“Adrien,” Tikki soothed, holding her tiny hands out in a placating gesture. “I need you to calm down.”

“You want me to be calm?!” He was shaking like a jet engine. “Tikki, I almost killed her today. Me,” he stabbed his own thumb into his chest. “I did that. It was only because of her,” he gestured wildly toward Uncanny Valley, “that I didn’t.”

“It was an accident, and it turned out okay,” Tikki reassured.

“It almost didn’t,” he repeated stubbornly, letting himself fall back into his seat with his hands clenched into fists.

“Who are you talking to?” Uncanny Valley asked him, her head cocked to the side in confusion.

His green eyes darted towards the other hero for a second, and then back to the red kwami. “Tikkis is the kwami that is bonded with the creation miraculous?”

“What is a kwami? I’m unfamiliar with this classification.”

“She can’t perceive me because we are invisible to cameras,” Tikki explained impatiently.

“Kwamis are like spirits or gods of an idea. Every miraculous has one. They embody the jewelry with their powers,” Adrien explained.

“Fascinating,” Uncanny commented. “What does this creature look like?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Tikki interjected. “Can you please tell her to just playback Ladybug’s message?”

“Ladybug left me a message?” he prompted.

“Yes, of course!” Uncanny held her mouth open, but it was Ladybug’s voice that filled up the room.

“Chaton, I…” her voice trembled, and he knew she was barely holding back tears. “I don’t know what to say to you. I just… I need you to come back. I don’t know how to do this without you…” she trailed off, breaking into a sob.

His throat dropped painfully into his chest. He had made his lady cry. Even after everything, it was her voice that could break him.

She managed to recover, and continued, her voice harder. “I was angry with you for leaving Paris when you said you would be there,” she paused for a second. He could picture her glaring holes through his mask too easily. “But I am more angry that you left me today. How could you do that?” she raged. “When things get hard, when we make mistakes, I need you more! I need you to step up! Not run away.”

“I can’t do this without you,” and here her tone had shifted once again. Now, she was all business, all confident Ladybug with a convoluted plan that would bring everything together. He couldn’t suppress the fond smile that sprouted across his face. “So, I’ve decided that I’m not going to.

“I quit,” she said firmly and decisively.

Wait! What?! But she couldn’t do that! Paris needed her! No one could replace Ladybug.

“Now there’s no one to protect Paris or New York except you. Good luck!”

Uncanny Valley closed her mouth, the recording finished, and looked at him expectantly.

He knew Ladybug was manipulating him, but god damn it, he was never not going to do what she wanted.

He wiped tears from his face that he hadn’t realized he had cried. “She can’t give up, Tikki,” he sobbed. “I’ll go today if she needs me. I will go and return her earrings, but she needs to find a new partner. I definitely don’t deserve any miraculous.”

Tikki shot up to his face. “Adrien! This isn’t about what you deserve or don’t! This is about what she needs! And she needs you! You are her opposite and her partner. You cannot just be replaced. That’s not how this works!”

“She deserves better,” he insisted again, like a broken record.

“Do you not want to be Chat Noir anymore?” the tiny bug asked softly.

He sighed. “Of course I want to be Chat Noir, but there’s a difference between what I want and what is best for everyone! I proved over the last few days that I can’t be trusted not to make selfish choices!”

“That right there is proof you can be trusted!”

Adrien’s eyebrows furrowed together in genuine confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re willing to step down and pass on your position to another, even though you don’t really want to because you think that’s what’s best. That’s the opposite of selfish, Adrien.”

“But how can she trust me anymore? I let her down,” he whispered.

Tikki spiraled in the air in clear agitation. “Do you think you’re the first miraculous holder to make a huge mistake? Ladybug screwed up just last month and Master Fu’s identity and safety was compromised! And as a result, every temporary hero’s identity was revealed!”

“But that was an accident!” he growled back.

The kwami whipped up to his face.

“Exactly! It was an accident!”

He felt like she had just punched him.

“And Master Fu responded to her mistake by making her the Guardian!”

The kwami pulled herself back with a sigh, her tone once again soft and patient. “Because he was wise enough to know that the biggest mistakes often result in the greatest learning! And that Ladybug is not defined by her mistakes.

“And you aren’t either, Adrien. Ladybug can trust you more after you’ve made this mistake and learned from it, than she could before you ever made it.”

She paused for a moment as if searching for words. Then she darted right back into his personal space. “Never making mistakes does not make you worthy of your miraculous. Learning from your inevitable mistakes and taking responsibility for them is what makes you the perfect holder of the black cat.”

He hung his head. He wanted to believe Tikki. He did. Then everything could go back to normal.

“Do you believe in her or not?” Tikki asked into the silence.

“More than anything on this earth.” The words left him in a whisper.

“Well then!” Tikki continued passionately. “Believe that she’s right when she says that you are needed.”

Adrien wanted to argue. He feared Ladybug was wrong about him, and he was positively terrified of disappointing her all over again.

But if her message was to be believed it was his leaving that disappointed her the most.

He sighed, feeling emotionally exhausted and battered, but he couldn’t argue anymore. Tikki has definitely given him a lot more to think about. “And here I was thinking you would be nicer than Plagg.”

“What?!” Tikki screeched indignantly, shooting up another foot into the air. “I’m definitely the nice one!”

He shook his head in disagreement even as he smiled, enjoying the rare chance to rib a kwami even if it wasn’t the one who gave him a hard time constantly.

“So, how do I find her?” he asked.

“It won’t be hard,” Uncanny Valley interjected. “You just need to go where the akuma is.”

He launched himself to his feet. “There’s an akuma?! Why didn’t either of you lead with that?!” he demanded even as he rapidly thrust the earring posts into his ears.

“Tikki! Spots on!” The creative energies crackled over his form, feeling somehow warm and soft, so unlike his normal destructive power. He stuffed down all his doubts and self-loathing. That could all wait.

There was an akuma to fight.

And his lady needed him.

…

“Watch out!”

Lady Noire dropped to the concrete, cursing the non specificity of the warning. Chat would have told her left or right, up or down in the same number of words. The blast of power rushed over her head and missed her, if only just, so she supposed she couldn’t complain. At least she had an ally in Sparrow. It was better than facing this akuma alone.

Because this akuma - she was blanking on his name. Techno something? But didn’t it also have something to do with the Miraculous? It didn’t matter! Lady Noire couldn’t keep it all straight! That’s what Chat and his love of comics and manga was for! The point was, whatever his name, this akuma sucked!

She vaulted upwards, launching herself from the ground to a street lamp, to one of the lower buildings in the forest of skyscrapers.

Remaining at street level was dangerous. There were too many alleyways and blocked sight lines. But leaping from rooftop to rooftop was almost as bad because it left no places to hide, no options for cover even if she could see all her adversaries coming. And she had to fend off Majestia, Knight Owl, and the akuma on miraculous steroids simultaneously.

At least she was in the clear for the moment. There was no sign of any of them. A distant crash thundered. Lady Noire sighed. Majestia was probably destroying more buildings trying to flush them out.

“Hey, Lady Cat!” Sparrow called. “Follow me!” Then she ducked through an open window a dozens of stories off the ground into a conference room of some sort.

And with another sigh, Lady Noire did just that. She and Sparrow huddled with their heads together out of sight, crafting a new strategy. And again, with Chat, the conversation would have been unnecessary. He could glean her plans from a gesture or three words of explanation.

But she and Sparrow didn’t have that level of intuitive communication. Lady Noire liked Sparrow. The Parisian hero related to the other girl’s desire to prove herself, and she knew the other girl's heart was in the right place. But they didn’t have any experience with each other.

So it took thirty seconds of rapidly exchanged words before they were on the same page and back in the air fighting. It had only been thirty seconds, but how many buildings had Majestia managed to demolish in that time?

Lady Noire honestly didn’t have time to count, as she ducked under yet another projectile - this one launched at her by Knight Owl.

The time delay had been worth it though. She and Sparrow were tag teaming better, grabbing the brainwashed heroes’ attention before they could take out their compromised morals on the city too badly, and covering each other’s back when their three adversaries converged on one of them.

But every move was defensive. They had no plan for an offensive strike. It was all they could do to not get hit by the akuma’s beam.

She wished Chat Noir was there.

She was certain he would come back. He would never leave her hanging. She had absolutely no doubt.

But would he make it back in time? Before her luck ran out completely?

She pounced out of the way of another strike, only to dodge into the blow of another. She had time to curse her mistake, but no time to course correct.

Just when she thought it was over, a flash of red body-slammed her into a third direction.

Relief flooded through her at the familiar sensation of his form pressed against her own. They both readily rolled to their feet, and slid into fighting stances side by side.

“You okay?” he called.

She flashed him a huge grin. “Never better, bugaboy!” Now that he was here.

And unlike the first time they had swapped kwamis, they were perfectly in sync. Even for them, it was impressive. It felt like she could read his mind and he hers.

Or maybe, it was just the contrast of working with Sparrow. Or was her name Eagle now?

Whatever the case, she could feel the difference. Chat Noir was her partner, her other half. He had stolen her heart somewhere along the way, and she couldn’t wait to tell him, even if she would never hear the end of it.

He called for a lucky charm, and she jutted her chin towards a parked taxi cab. He flashed her a grin, and dove into action. And that’s what she meant. He just understood.

“Sorry, Miraclonizer,” Mr. Bug called to the akuma an instant before Lady Noire shot out of the cab and cataclysmed his object. “Third time was not your charm.”

Majestia and Knight Owl cornered the healed villain within seconds of Mr. Bug purifying the butterfly and healing the city.

But Lady Noire paid none of them any mind. She launched herself into her partner’s arms the second it was safe to do so. He caught her as if she weighed nothing, absorbing her momentum with a twirl before pulling her against him.

She had never felt safer.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” she told him, her voice hard. It was the only defense she had against immediately dissolving into a puddle of tears at his feet.

“I wouldn’t dream of it m’lady,” he breathed into her braid. “Shall we go somewhere to talk?”

She nodded into his shoulder. “Go, recharge Tikki. And then we’ll meet up on the Statue of Liberty?”

She bounded away without a word to the American heroes, before ducking into a secluded alleyway three blocks away and letting her transformation shimmer away.

“I don’t have any cheese,” she reported solemnly as she offered one of Tikki’s cookies to the limp kwami that had just fallen into her hands.

“I’ll live,” he replied gruffly, eying the proffered pink macaron suspiciously as if she were offering him poison. He took it, flipped it over and inspected it, before taking the smallest of nibbles.

She sighed. “I’ve seen you inhale cheese, Plagg. I don’t suppose I could bribe you with a promise of a wheel of Camembert later to just hold your nose and inhale that, now?”

“What’s your rush, Pigtails?” he asked, taking another infinitesimally small bite. “The akuma has been defeated already. Your job is done.”

“I just…” she looked away. “I don’t want him to spook.”

Which was a lie. She knew he’d be there. But she… she had lost him today. He walked away once. He might do it again. She wouldn’t feel secure until she had seen him, until he had promised with more than words that he wasn’t going anywhere.

He eyed her. “You can trust him, you know. He’ll wait for you.”

“Like I could trust him to protect Paris in my absence?” she bit back.

Plagg said nothing. Just took another tiny bite if one could call it that.

She sighed, idly running her fingernail along the alley brick wall. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be angry. I don’t want him to run again.”

“You don’t have to be what others expect you to be, you know.”

Her eyes whipped to the kwami floating in the dim light of a flickering street lamp. “What do you mean?”

He darted around in an animated circle. “You don’t have to be the bigger person. You can be angry. He can take it. He has lots of practice.”

She hissed at those words, hating that any piece of them could be true, and that she still didn’t know enough about his civilian life to refute or understand them.

“But this isn’t about him, or your feelings for him,” Plagg continued. “This has nothing to do with him at all. This has to do with you being the Guardian.”

She frowned. “I’m not following.”

“You don’t have to be what Paris expects you to be. Or what Chat Noir expects you to be. You don’t have to be what Master Fu expected you to be either.”

Her eyes watered unexpectedly at the mention of her old mentor.

“You just have to be you,” Plagg concluded.

Her knuckles buried themselves into her eyes, as she tried to fight back tears. “But I keep messing up.”

“That’s because you’re trying to follow the rules instead of following your instincts!”

“A hero thinks with her brain, not her heart!” she countered hotly.

“No! You need to think with your gut! Your brain is not what helps you decipher Tikki’s charms. I love her, but that girl can be obtuse! No, you have to follow your intuition, and trust that even if you don’t know what the final piece is when you’re halfway through some convoluted plan, you’ll recognize it when you see it.”

She bit her lip, considering his words. His description of unraveling the mystery of a lucky charm wasn’t wrong.

“Like, why didn’t you bring the horse miraculous on this trip? I know you thought about it!”

Her eyes narrowed at his tone.“Because Master Fu said that having too many miraculouses out and active was too risky!” she began defensively.

“You already proved that your determination, creativity, and your faith in your partner was more effective than that old man’s paranoia when you defeated Feast.”

The miniature floating cat took another crumb off Tikki’s cookie. “The old man is gone! You need to figure out your own way of doing things. His ways won’t work for you because you’re not him.”

“But… I’m just a teenager. I don’t know what I’m doing. He had so much more experience. He kept you all safe for centuries. Who am I to say that his methods were wrong?”

“Who are you?” Plagg repeated indignantly. “You are Ladybug! You have never lost. You are now the Guardian. You are Marienette Dupain-Cheng who is quite accomplished in her own right!”

Her eyes burned at the praise. And coming from Plagg who pretended he didn’t care about anything? Well, that meant a lot to her. Especially today when she was feeling so raw and like she had screwed up just for coming on this trip at all.

“And just so you know, Master Fu took on the role of the Guardian when he was twelve. He didn’t know what he was doing either. He made tons of mistakes. You will too, but they don’t have to be the same ones.”

Marinette leaned up against the wall behind her, carefully considering every word. “Why are you telling me all this?” she whispered.

He flipped the cookie over on its end and nibbled into the untouched end. Really, the whole cookie looked unmarred. They were going to be here all night.

“You brought my kid back. You didn’t let him go. I figure I owe you a favor.”

She smiled softly. “You seem to care about him a lot.”

He frowned. “He gives me only the finest of camembert!” he gushed. “Not every holder can pull that off, you know.”

Marinette reached out and scratched the little cat behind his ear, and to her delight he leaned into the caress and purred. She suspected Chat Noir meant far more to the kwami than cheese, but she wasn’t going to call him out on it.

“Tikki says you can’t ever take anything seriously.”

He looked affronted. “I can be serious!” he argued. “When it’s important!”

She giggled. “I can see that,” she conceded. “Thanks, Plagg! I think I needed to hear this.”

“Like I said, I owed you a favor. It’s nothing more than that.”

“Oh, of course,” she agreed readily, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

He popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth, and gulped it down in one swallow.

“So are we going to go meet my kid or what?” Plagg asked. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting all night! He’s going to think you’re still mad at him or something.”

“Are you serious right now?” she screeched, staring at the stoic kwami in complete disbelief. “You were just pretending you had to eat that cookie so slowly?”

He did the kwami equivalent of a shrug. “You asked me to hurry it up. And I did! Don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“Oh my god! You’re impossible!”

“Still waiting on you, Pigtails,” he countered smugly.

“Plagg, claws out!” she growled out, his laughter echoing in the humid frigid air around her even after he was sucked into the ring.

Dark crackling energy enveloped her body from head to toe, thrumming with raw power and energy. Her normal transformation felt warm and comforting. And the black cat wasn’t cold - it was more like lightning. And once her transformation was complete she just needed to move, to run, to pounce, to be free.

She vaulted from the ground, shooting off towards the monument of liberty that she could see clearly now that it had stopped raining, eager and excited to speak with her partner.

As she approached, she could see he was already there - a spot of red that stood out against the green of the statue’s oxidized copper. He was sitting under that railing of Lady Liberty’s torch, his legs dangling playfully over the edge.

She vaulted up and landed next to him in a feline crouch.

“M’lady!” he greeted brightly as if they hadn’t planned on meeting not twenty minutes prior. “I was starting to get worried. What happened?”

“Plagg happened,” she growled. “Apparently, he eats cookies really really really slowly.”

He laughed. And god, it was a gorgeous sound. One that she would never take for granted again. “Yeah, he’s pretty annoying when it comes to food.”

She sat down next to him, closer than she normally would have, wanting to have him close. She crossed her legs at the ankles and they stayed relatively calm compared to his active swinging. Neither of them spoke for a minute, they were just staring over the city of lights. The city that was not their own, but they had just saved.

“Thank you,” she whispered into the silence.

His spring-green eyes snapped to her in surprise. “For?”

“For coming back,” she told him simply, still not daring to look at him. If she looked at him she was fairly certain she would cry. And while tears were likely inevitable this evening, she didn’t want to start off with them.

“I’m sorry for ever leaving,” he told her solemnly.

“It’s…” she broke off. She was going to say that it was okay, but it wasn’t. “Thank you for saying that,” she said instead. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said immediately. Her eyes jumped towards his face, surprised at his total lack of hesitation. He gazed back at her, his face calm and serene as the breeze that swept across their cheeks.

“You don’t want to know what it is first?” she asked.

He shook his head with a soft smile. The expression almost seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “I already know I would do almost anything for you, M’lady. I thought you would have known that by now. And the one or two things I wouldn’t be able to do, you would never ask.”

Heat bloomed across her cheeks at his raw faith in her. She was never certain how she had earned it.

“What did you want to ask?” he prompted when she still didn’t explain.

“Just that… next time, if there’s a next time, which I hope there won’t be,” she rambled. “But if there is a next time, can you please talk to me first? Before you make your decision?”

He stared at her for a second. “Next time for what?” he finally asked.

She glanced at him, then looked back down to her knees. “A next time you want to quit…”

“Oh…”

And then he said nothing. And she couldn’t stand it. Her gloved fingers writhed in her lap.

“It’s just… you left without letting me say goodbye,” she confessed, her voice softer than the cold breeze. But she knew he could hear her. She looked back at him again, gauging his face for a reaction, but for once she couldn’t read him. “I…” she bit her lower lip in thought, and looked back down. “I don’t want you to be trapped in this. You’re never obligated to continue, but…”

His hand, gloved in red and black, reached out to hers soothingly. “But?”

Emerald green eyes blinked at her from behind a spotted mask, and she found herself missing the vertical pupils that came from wearing the black cat miraculous. When had his eyes stopped looking alien and strange to her? When had they become a source of comfort?

“If you ever want to stop doing this, please… just let me say… goodbye,” she choked out over the massive rock that had just lodged itself in her throat. Hot tears fell from her eyes, over her mask. She hated crying in the mask.

He pulled her against him, she felt safe and warm in his arms. Her body responded by convulsing harder with wracking sobs. He rubbed her back soothingly, and rocked her back and forth.

“Oh bug, I’m so sorry,” he said softly, and then he kissed the crown of her head. “Of course I promise.”

“The last thing I said to you was out of anger,” she sobbed into his chest.

“Shhh… it’s okay. I’m right here. And I know you,” and she could hear the smile in his voice. “You were never going to let that be our last conversation. I’m apparently really bad at staying away even when I think it’s for the best.”

She stilled at his words, at the self deprecation in his tone. “Do you…?” she hesitated, carefully keeping her head down and not looking at his face. “Do you still... think it would be best for you to give up the miraculous?”

He didn’t say anything.

And suddenly, despite his arm around her shoulders, the night was freezing once again, overcast, dark, and grey.

“Chaton?” she prompted. She was terrified of what he might say, but she had to know. She had to know if she could rely on him.

His head dropped, his forehead rested against the top of her braid. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “In the moment that I renounced Plagg, I did it because I just didn’t see any path back for me. I just kept making mistake after mistake. I didn’t want to keep letting you down.”

“You didn’t let me down,” she objected automatically.

Her partner laughed, but there was no amusement here. It was not the bright, rich laugh that came from his belly that she coveted and cherished. This laugh was bitter and dark.

She huffed out a sigh. “Okay! Fine, you let me down, but not in some irreparable sense that you seem to be thinking.”

His arms tightened around her. “I almost killed you today,” he whispered so softly she almost didn’t hear him.

She sat up then, and traced the sides of his downturned face in both of her hands. She urged his gaze up to hers and waited until he was looking at her before speaking. “But you didn’t.” Her voice didn’t waiver.

His lower lip trembled and soon his whole body was quaking. She jerked him into her arms, and his head came to rest on her bony shoulder.

“I… I don’t know… w-what I would do… if I lost you,” he gasped out between sobs.

“You’re the one that was going to leave,” she couldn’t help but point out dryly.

His nose burrowed deeper into her shoulder. “Only because I am afraid that at some point I will screw up so badly, but instead of me… you’ll be the one to pay the price. I don’t want to be your partner if I am not the best one to protect you. You’re too important to me to let my ego or selfish tendencies get in the way.”

Her arms tightened around him.

He looked up at her then. His eyes were glassy and as green as new spring grass. “But then Tikki said some things that made me think about it differently. That maybe coming back was more important?”

He said it like it was a question. That he needed her confirmation more than anything.

“Kitty, I don’t know how to convince you. I know you won’t be perfect. I won’t be perfect either. I know our mistakes have very real consequences for more than just us. And I would definitely appreciate it in the future, if anything that affects our responsibility changes, you would tell me rather than pretend like everything was taken care of.”

He nodded in agreement.

“But you are it for me! I cannot do this with anyone else because you are the only person who was here with me through this whole crazy thing, the only person who has believed in me even before I believed in myself! You are the person that I trust the most. The only person that can really understand my life. That’s why today was so hard. I…” She broke off into tears.

She started sobbing uncontrollably, harder than either time before. Her throat was tight, and she felt like there was no air. She couldn’t talk, but she desperately needed him to hear these ones.

“I… thought I was… n-never going to see you again,” she choked out.

His hands traced her jaw as his thumbs brushed away her tears. “Do you want to know who I am?” he asked, his eyes serious.

She laughed hysterically through her tears. Of course she wanted to know; she had always wanted to know. But she was still scared. Plagg’s advice about being in her own kind of Guardian warred with every word of caution Master Fu and Tikki had ever given her. Because learning who he was wasn’t something they could take back.

She needed to think about this very carefully. But she wanted to just know. And she wanted to tell him.

“I’m serious,” he told her. “I will tell you right now. You don’t even have to reciprocate.”

She sucked in a breath, trying to calm her racing heart, and smiled brightly at him. She wanted to give into his offer with every fiber of his being. But even if she wasn’t scared to know anymore, it was still probably wise to give it careful consideration before rushing into anything.

“I know who you are,” she told him.

He started. “Y-you do? What gave me away?”

Her smile grew, and her fingertips traced the side of his face. “No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t know your identity. But I do know you. You’re my partner. And my best friend. The boy I trust more than anyone else on this planet. And the most important person in my life. I know your heart.” She placed her other hand on his chest. His heart was racing, too. “I know you.”

She leaned forward before she could think about it too much. He met her halfway.

His lips were chapped, and his breath tasted of mint. His fingers found a home in the small of her back while hers became tangled in his golden locks. Everything about their contact was warm, sweet, and soft.

She didn’t want the moment to end.

It was perfect.

So when he started to pull away, her hands held him in place. And she could feel him smile against her lips.

She finally pulled away with a gasp, and only because she had to breathe at some point, and she was rewarded with a dopey grin on his face with his masked eyes still slitted closed.

She watched him fondly for a few seconds, her giddy smile likely echoing his own. But when he didn’t move, and he didn’t open his eyes, she grew impatient.

“Chaton? You still there?” she teased lightly.

“Yes, m’lady!” he answered brightly. But his eyes remained stubbornly closed.

She poked him in the shoulder. “Why are your eyes still closed?”

He sighed happily. “Because I’m trying to memorize the best moment in my life so I can replay it later when I need it.”

She snorted. “I can’t believe I fell in love with such a dork.”

His green eyes snapped open. “You love me?” he breathed out as if he could scarcely believe it.

She curled her hands around his again. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded. “Did Uncanny Valley not play you my message?”

“She did, but…”

“And you were here for that confession and kiss, right? You remember it? You weren’t under some akuma’s control or anything?”

He shook his head, even as his fingers tightened around hers. “No, but you didn’t say love,” he objected.

She turned towards him again. “Chaton, the boy I told you about, the one I told you I loved?”

He went rigid, his expression suddenly carefully neutral. “What about him?” he asked casually.

“He came on this trip with me,” she explained. “But today he left. I watched him drive away and it felt like he was leaving me. And it was hard. But it barely registered in comparison to the devastation I felt listening to your echoing footsteps fade away after you left your miraculous behind.”

His gaze dropped to their joined hands. “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I’m not trying to make you feel more guilty. I just… that’s how I knew.”

She turned and kneeled before him, still not letting go of his hands. “I had to let go of both of you today,” she told him. “But you were the one where that did not feel possible. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the lines you snuck into my heart, made it your own, and I don’t want you to leave.

“Because I love you,” she whispered.

His eyes turned glassy, but he was smiling. “I love you, too.”

She couldn’t stand to see him crying even if they were tears of joy. So she leaned forwards and kissed him again. And then again and again until she lost count and they were both giggling like children.

“What does this mean?” he asked her later, when they were giggled out, and her head rested against his shoulder once again.

She sighed. What she wouldn’t give to just be! Be here and now, and not have to worry about Paris or New York or decisions that she didn’t want to be the one to make! “I don’t know. I want us to be together, I think. But this is dangerous. But… Plagg said I needed to make my own rules.”

He started. “Plagg said what?”

She ignored his interjection. “And he was right! I… I’ve been trying to emulate Master Fu because he is the only example I have.”

“Plagg gave you advice…? Like useful advice?” Chat objected again.

She frowned up at him. “You’re getting distracted, kitty.”

“Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free arm. “Go on.”

“I just worry that if Hawkmoth knows we’re in love, he’ll find a way to use it against us. Love makes us strong in so many ways, but it also makes us vulnerable.”

He threaded his fingers with hers. And she had never thought she would enjoy holding hands with someone as much as she did.

“Do you really think he couldn’t have already done that before when assuming we were just friends?”

She pursed her lips, considering. She supposed he had a point. She kept her identity a secret so that Hawkmoth couldn’t get at her through her family or friends. But Chat Noir had always been a friend she couldn’t hide.

“It’s just more pronounced, I think,” she concluded.

“Would you want to keep it a secret then?” he asked, his expression betraying nothing about how he felt about that idea. But she knew that was his way of being supportive by letting her take the lead.

“Keeping our vulnerabilities secret does offer some protection. That’s the way Master Fu did it. He always stayed in the shadows and was secretive and he was able to protect the kwamis and to stay hidden for almost two centuries!”

“But?” he prompted when she stopped.

And she smiled, pleased that he could read her so well. “But we’re on the front lines. We don’t have the luxury of staying in the shadows. It’s harder to build an impenetrable wall of secrets when you have to be out in public all the time fighting monsters. When you have to balance a double life without anyone noticing. When you struggle with so much, and can’t confide in anyone, or ask anyone for support…”

And suddenly, now that she was really thinking about it, she was angry. Livid that she had been put in this situation where she was almost alone in keeping an entire city safe, and told that she could share that with no one. How long would it be before she broke? How long before she was akumatized?

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

She shook herself out of her thoughts. “Yeah, I just… I didn’t realize that I was so angry. Master Fu dumped a lot of responsibility on me without leaving any avenues of support,” and she immediately tensed realizing how her words can be misconstrued. Her eyes jerked upwards to his. “I didn’t mean you,” she told him.

He smiled. “No, I totally understand what you meant,” he assured immediately. And then his smile faded and his gaze turned distant.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Do you want to give up your miraculous?” He asked softly, clearly afraid of her answer.

She jerked back violently. “What?! No!! I can’t give it up!” Even she was startled at how visceral her reaction was. “No,” she said again, her tone more calm. “It’s hard, yes. And definitely unfair. But it would just as unfair to put this burden on someone else.”

“But do you want to be Ladybug?” he asked again, this time his green eyes were intense and insistent, rather than worried.

“I love being Ladybug,” she whispered back. “I love knowing that I have helped someone. I love being able to protect the people I care about. And well, even the challenge of figuring out how to defeat an akuma or interpret a lucky charm… It's empowering,” her voice grew louder the more she talked. “Just knowing that when the chips are down, I’m capable of thinking stuff out like that. Most people have to run when an akuma strikes, but not me. I have agency. I can do something. And I’m good at it!”

“Damn good at it!” he agreed with a huge smile.

She smirked. “And I suppose flying over the city by yoyo is pretty cool too,” she tacked on.

“I had to ask,” he told her. “I want you to know you have an out, too.”

“Thank you kitty. I appreciate that.”

“So if you’re committed to sticking it out, what do you want to do differently than Master Fu as the new Guardian?” he asked. “And whatever you decide, know that I will always support you.”

Her eyes locked onto his. “I want to trust. I want to trust you completely. Maybe others too, but I want to start with you. I don’t want there to be secrets between us.”

She felt him freeze underneath her.

“So… does that mean…” he fidgeted nervously. “Tell me if I’m jumping the gun again, but may I tell you my name?”

The question hit her like a lightning bolt, sending both her heart racing and her gut fluttering. Even though he had mentioned it earlier, this time felt different. Now, she felt ready. But she was still nervous. But not in the way that she used to be. She wasn’t worried for her friends and family because this was Chat! Her partner. He would give his life for her, she already knew. The idea even brought a sense of relief.

No, the butterflies in her stomach were more a giddy nervousness. She tried to calm herself by breathing deeply. Knowing his name wouldn’t change how she felt about him. And she had to believe that his knowing hers wouldn’t change the way he felt either.

“Only if you want to,” she said. God, she wanted him to tell her so bad, but she didn’t feel she had the right to demand anything after she had already put him off so many times.

He grinned. “I’ve always wanted to. It works out for you, too, in this case because you’ll always be able to track me down when you need to yell at me for something without having to send a third party or worry that it will be our last conversation.”

She laughed. “You sure you don’t want to wait like two weeks when we’re not so emotionally raw? When our heads are on straight?” It was the more pragmatic choice. There was no rush. They didn’t really have to burn through all the secrets between them in one evening.

He barked out a laugh of his own. “Two weeks for you to come up with a million and three reasons about how bad of an idea it is?” He shook his head, even as he chuckled. “No, I don’t really want to wait for that.”

“I’m not that bad!” she objected.

“Oh, yes, you are,” he grinned, darting in with a quick kiss to her nose, which she scrunched up in response. “It’s one of the many things I love about you.”

“Yeah, well! You’re so impulsive!” she countered, even as she grinned.

“And you love me anyway,” he countered, cheekily.

Heat flooded her neck and face; even her ears felt hot in the cold air. “Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“I love you, too.” His voice was so soft, like velvet, and his eyes were even softer. Love poured from them. It was so intense it was hard to maintain eye contact. She had never felt more exposed or vulnerable. He had all of her heart. He had stolen it.

But he didn’t say anything more, and it was driving her mad.

“So…” she prompted, “What’s your name?”

He started, and then grinned again. “R-right!” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Adrien.”

She reeled backwards as if burned. “W-what?!” she exclaimed. She thought she had been prepared for anything! She thought his name wouldn’t change anything.

She had been wrong.

“My name… it’s Adrien,” he repeated.

Her eyes were bugged out of her head, and her jaw was on the balcony floor. But she didn’t know what to say. It couldn’t be him, could it? That would be too simple. And too unfair all at once! The universe was clearly laughing at her. It had been laughing at her for years!

He frowned. “Is that bad?”

She could hear the tremor in his voice. God, he was freaking out. She had to fix that.

“N-no…?” she stammered. Crap! She was stammering. He was totally going to see straight through her.

Would that be so bad?

“Just… unexpected,” she said lamely.

“Were you expecting a Louis, or an Antoine?” he asked jokingly, clearly trying to bury his vulnerability in silliness, but she could see through him. He was terrified. “What name did you give me in your head?”

“Chaton,” she whispered, squeezing his head, managing to look right into his anxious eyes.

His whole form relaxed and his jokester face melted into the softest smile at her admission. And oh god, it was totally him. How had she never seen it before? She was such an idiot.

“Okay seriously,” he laughed. “What is wrong with the name Adrien?”

“Nothing!” she insisted.

He kissed the knuckles of each of her gloved hands. “Then why are you freaking out?”

So many panicked thoughts swirled through her brain just like it always did when she was trying to talk to Adrien. But this wasn’t just Adrien anymore, she reminded herself. This was her partner, her best friend, her love, and her Chaton. She had just said she wanted no more secrets between them not five minutes prior.

She took a deep breath and prayed for courage. “Adrien might be the name of the boy I had a crush on,” she admitted. Somehow, it was easier to be indirect about it even though she already knew that it was him.

“What were the chances that I have the same name as…?” And then his whole body stilled and his eyes widened. “Unless… No! I cannot be that lucky,” he mumbled more to himself than her. “But… you said…” His eyes searched hers. “You said… your crush walked away from you today. If that was me…”

And suddenly his eyes watered and he was crying again. Only this time, she had no idea what was wrong.

He couldn’t be that disappointed it was her, could he? The possibility had never occurred to her.

“Chaton? What’s wrong?”

He yanked her to him, his arms wrapped around her petite frame from both sides and he cried onto her shoulder.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry!” he sobbed.

And she shivered at her name on his lips, laden with such emotion. She felt her panic begin to fade. He definitely wasn’t disappointed.

“For?” she asked.

“I walked away from you twice today.”

And with those words the last of her fear faded away. She rubbed circles on his back. She hoped he found them soothing.

“Chaton, it’s okay,” she reassured, feeling remarkably free herself. She had managed to confess to both of the boys she loved in one go! And she was feeling much better about this whole Guardian business just as a bonus. “This makes things surprisingly simple,” she said, framing both sides of his face in her gloved hands.

He shook his head and nuzzled his cheek into one of her hands. “I don’t deserve you,” he croaked out.

She shook her head. “I think you deserve the world, Chaton. That’s why I fought so hard for you to be able to come on this trip. I just didn’t realize you were also the person that I needed to stay behind.”

He laughed through his tears. “You’re so amazing, Buginette. I have thought so this whole trip. Until I screwed up royally, I was thinking about asking you out when we got back to Paris. Marinette you, I mean.”

“R-really?!” she squeaked.

“Really!”

“What changed?” She asked. “If I recall, Chat Noir already rejected Marinette.”

“I don’t know that anything did. It’s like you said… I think you snuck in a long time ago and I just didn’t realize it because I was so focused on Ladybug.”

“Ladybug is pretty great, I guess,” she grudgingly admitted.

“Ladybug is definitely amazing! I’ve looked up to her for a long time, but Marinette… she is so much more because she fights for justice without the benefit of a mask. She always stands up when it matters. She goes out of her way to include everyone, she gives people second chances. She gave me a second chance.”

Her eyes watered with his sweet, sweet words.

“She was the first friend I really made on my own, and I think it’s one of the best things I have ever done, and I save Paris on a weekly basis!”

A laugh tore through her tears, and he smiled back.

She tilted her head up and kissed him, trying to convey how much his words meant to her. Because she could not put it into words.

“I love you,” he finished when they pulled away.

She grinned even though she was still crying. “I love you!”

She studied his face, his eyes sparkled and his mouth couldn’t stop smiling. Happiness suited him. She realized that she had never seen her partner completely one hundred percent joyful. She had never understood before that half his jokes and tendency to want to play around was one part outlet and another part defense mechanism, but now, he made so much more sense to her. And she loved him more.

She hadn’t realized that was possible.

“It makes sense now,” she confided.

“What does?”

“Your attitude and personality as Chat Noir. You barely ever are allowed anything, so of course you go a little overboard when the opportunity presents itself. Ladybug has always primarily been a duty for me. Chat Noir is freedom for you. And well, if my miraculous was the only way I got to be free, I wouldn’t listen to my kwami either.”

He laughed. “Plagg actively encourages my rebellious moments,” he said, his eyes still gleaming.

“Really?!” she scoffed. “No fair! Why did you get the fun kwami?”

“He’s not that fun,” Adrien immediately disagreed. “Quite annoying really. He goes through so much expensive cheese you wouldn’t believe it. Nathalie still asks me questions about how much cheese I buy. And he makes a point of leaving cheese crumbs everywhere, which makes everything smell weird.”

She ate up every word like a child on Christmas morning. It was so mundane, but they got to do this now! They got to share every bit of how their civilian and hero lives clashed.

“But he’s definitely the nice one,” her partner concluded.

“What?!” she screeched in mock outrage. “Blasphemy! Tikki is the sweetest!”

He grinned. “She is definitely the mean one.”

“Whatever! I guess you should give her back to me then, since you clearly don’t appreciate her!” she bantered back.

She hadn’t expected the immediate flash of pink light.

Tikki materialized a split second later, but Marinette spared no attention to her constant companion. She was looking at her unmasked partner. He stood before her, unfairly tall. His blond unstyled hair looked more like Chat’s than Adrien’s and she loved it. His cheeks were slightly pink, but his eyes…. It was like she had never seen them before, which was ridiculous because he was Adrien. She had seen them thousands of times before. But she had never seen them knowing he was her partner. They were emerald-green, and they were shining with complete trust and love, and she was lost in their depths.

She traced the curve of his jawline with a gloved hand, but her eyes never left his even when she started tearing up all over again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

His golden eyebrows furrowed in genuine confusion. “For?”

“For making you wait so long for this moment,” she confessed. She was so mad at herself for costing them so much time when they could have been supporting each other completely in both parts of their lives.

He smiled. And she could see her kitty in his face and it was amazing!

He turned his head into the hand on his face and kissed her palm. “You had to be ready. I know I was less patient on some days, but I’m glad that we waited until we both were ready.”

Maybe he was right. It was better this way because if it had happened sooner she might have combusted realizing it was Adrien and been unable to talk to him. Or she might have been angry if he had shared before she thought it was okay. And this… this was better.

She dissolved her own transformation in a flash of green. Plagg was there immediately, glanced between them in their civilian forms, and he smirked.

“Oh thank god!” he exclaimed. That was as far as he got before Tikki swooped in, and wrestled him out of sight.

Adrien carefully took out his earrings, and they reverted to their red and black form in his hands. He held them up, gesturing to the side of her head. “May I?” he asked.

A blush bloomed across her face at the question. She nodded, not trusting herself to form words.

His bare hands gently pushed a few errant strands of her hair behind her ear, before he carefully slipped one earring into her right ear. “Thank you for making me come back and thank you for trusting me with… yourself and everything else.”

He moved to the other side of her head and slipped in the second earring just as gently. “I promise to do everything I can to live up to your trust in me.”

Then he kissed her forehead before pulling slightly away, but she captured his hand before he could escape entirely.

She caressed each finger one by one, and then took off his miraculous, which was a rose gold on her hand, but instantly turned black when it was free of her finger. She watched in fascination as it turned silver when she placed it on his finger.

“I want to thank you for always supporting me, for being patient,” she started.

“Mostly patient,” he interjected, his voice light with teasing. She pushed a finger to his lips.

“Hush! It’s your turn to listen.

He nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. It was such a Chat expression on Adrien’s face. And that made her smile.

“I want to thank you,” she began again. “For always being there when no one else was, for picking me up in my lowest moments, for giving me advice, for being a bright spot in the darkness.”

“Can I get a do over?” He asked, his voice cracking.

“Nope!” She snapped back playfully. She had loved what he had said. “And I promise to be transparent with you as the Guardian the way Fu never was.”

She kissed his hand. Then he pulled her up and his lips met hers again. He was so warm. And he was sending tingles down to her toes.

Would she ever get used to his kisses?

She hoped not.

He pulled away just slightly and her vision was filled with his green eyes. “It feels like we just got married,” he told her.

Heat rushed from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. “I don’t think I’m ready for that. But… maybe someday?” she suggested with a shy smile.

He grinned back. “I look forward to that day.”

She did, too.

…

#Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #identity reveal #ladynoir #angst #with happy happy ending #tikki gives tough love #plagg gives advice #ladynoir talk things out #A Miraculous Reveal #My Own Content

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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All Things Must Pass Remaster Brings Out George Harrison’s Voice

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A new remaster of George Harrison’s All Things Must Pass highlights why it was such an important record. Not just as an album, but of the time it was made. Besides the lead guitarist for the biggest act in showbiz history, it boasted players and a producer who each made an impact on the course of modern music. It’s been celebrating its 50th anniversary for a while now and it’s earned it. It was the first triple album by a single artist in rock history (the Woodstock concert album, released six months earlier, included a compilation of acts), and set the standard for longer long-playing albums.

Harrison set quite a few standards, including the first rock benefit project, The Concert for Bangladesh. As the Beatles guitarist, he demonstrated melodic and harmonic possibilities which hadn’t been explored in rock and roll, often changing the entire feel of songs with a single riff. As their in-house tonal experimentalist, his sitar-led songs didn’t just use the eastern stringed instrument as an exotic guitar. They captured the structure, atmosphere, tonality and shifting rhythms of Eastern music. The opening of “Love You To” can barely be classified as western commercial music, but had a universal appeal. As the band’s somewhat lesser-known songwriter, Harrison composed musical standards which eclipsed even the mighty songwriting team of John Lennon and Paul McCartney.

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The consistent hitmakers made for a competitive compositional atmosphere in the band. “I had such a lot of songs mounting up that I really wanted to do, but I only got my quota of one or two tunes per album,” Harrison admitted on The Dick Cavett Show in 1971. Even after a new arrangement was worked out for the group’s output, Harrison had quite a backlog of songs when the Beatles broke up. At least two of the best known songs from All Things Must Pass were written in 1966.

While still in the Beatles, Harrison released Wonderwall Music, which was a soundtrack to a film, and Electronic Sound, which saw him as one of the early experimenters on the synthesizer. According to the press statement for the remaster, George, along with Ringo Starr and bassist Klaus Voorman recorded fifteen songs at EMI Studios on the first day, May 26, 1970. The demo included “What Is Life,” “Awaiting on You All,” and “My Sweet Lord.” The next day Harrison played 15 more songs for co-producer Phil Spector, who covertly recorded them. The songs “Everybody, Nobody,” “Window, Window,” “Beautiful Girl,” “Tell Me What Has Happened to You,” “Nowhere To Go,” and “Don’t Want To Do It” never made the album. The whole session did come out on the bootleg Beware of ABKCO set.

The 50th Anniversary re-issue of All Things Must Pass includes versions of “Mother Divine,” and “Cosmic Empire,” which have never been officially released. The official music video reveals “Cosmic Empire” as a melodically catchy piece, with an instantly recognizable acoustic guitar run, and a change into a deep blues false ending.

You can see the video here:

The Wall of Sound

The deluxe 50th Anniversary Edition is executive produced by Harrison’s son Dhani, and his first order of business was to pull back on Spector’s reverb-heavy production. Spector was the man Lennon brought in to produce the song he’d written for breakfast, wanted to record for lunch and have out for supper: The Plastic Ono Band single “Instant Karma!,” which Harrison played on. Spector also produced the final mix of the Beatles’ Let It Be, as well as Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band and Imagine albums.

Spector was a legend in the studio. He created the “Wall of Sound” with the top session players of the early 1960s, and Harrison tasked him with doing it again with the current cream of the musical crop. This included two of out of three members of the band Cream. Ginger Baker drums on a jam, and Eric Clapton’s guitar gently weeps all over All Things Must Pass. Crying on the inside over his unrequited love for George’s wife Pattie Boyd Harrison, Eric was getting ready to wail about her on Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs. Harrison co-wrote “Badge” with Clapton for Cream’s Goodbye album, and played on Derek and The Dominos’ debut single, “Tell The Truth” backed with “Roll It Over.” Spector recorded it. It went so well, much of the band stuck around to be bricks in the contemporary Wall of Sound.

“Phil was in full control of this whole bunch of musicians playing,” Voorman remembers in Simon Leng’s book, While My Guitar Gently Weeps. “We played all at the same time – we didn’t record one on top of the other; it was all six people playing acoustic guitars and five keyboard players playing the piano all at once. It was crazy!”

The Players

To fill seats in the rock orchestra, Harrison dipped into the players he’d been on stage with since the waning days of the pre-breakup Beatles. Harrison, credited as “Mysterioso,” toured with Delaney & Bonnie and Friends. He was a backing guitarist beside Clapton, in a band which included Dave Mason, Bobby Whitlock, Carl Radle, Jim Gordon, and Leon Russell, who would prove invaluable for The Concert for Bangladesh.

Also called in for sessions were Procol Harum’s Gary Brooker, Badfinger’s Pete Ham, Tom Evans and Joey Molland; Spooky Tooth’s Gary Wright, sax player Bobby Keys; and trumpeter Jim Price. Besides Starr and Gordon, drums and percussions were played by Alan White, who was then the drummer for the Plastic Ono Band and would go on to drum for Yes, and Phil Collins. Peter Frampton played guitar on much of the album. Nashville player Pete Drake played pedal steel. Drake pioneered the use of the talkbox, and Frampton caught it first-hand during sessions before using it as the hook for his hit “Show Me the Way.” John Barham, a pianist and arranger who had worked with Harrison’s sitar guru Ravi Shankar, wrote orchestral scores.

Keyboardist and longtime Beatle associate Billy Preston is a major influence on the album. All Things Must Pass is a spiritual celebration. Harrison set up a small altar in the studio, and devotees of the Hare Krishna movement brought the players vegetarian food. Harrison was as much a spiritual student as a musical one of sitar maestro Ravi Shankar. The same could be said of Preston.

The Songs

Harrison made a special study of the structure and composition of gospel music for his work with soul singer Doris Troy, who he produced and co-wrote songs with. He delved further to co-produce Preston’s fourth studio album That’s The Way God Planned It, and wrote “What Is Life” for it. George also co-produced Preston’s fifth album Encouraging Words, which came out two months before All Things Must Pass, and included versions of the title track and “My Sweet Lord.”

You can hear several versions of the Beatles running through “All Things Must Pass” on bootlegs. Though not as many passes as the famously unreleased “Not Guilty” got. It might have been too pointed a self-reference for the group to deal with. The title comes from a passage of chapter 23 of the Tao Te Ching: “All things pass, a sunrise does not last all morning. All things pass, a cloudburst does not last all day.” It is more philosophical than spiritual, but is as uplifting as its chordal ascension. “Beware of Darkness” is lyrically devotional and cautionary, but its structure is a mystery of faith. It’s all over the place harmonically, as the key aimlessly wanders into melodic transcendence.

“Awaiting On You All” is one of the most blatant spiritual proclamations of the album. It describes Japa Yoga meditation, the repetitive chanting of a mantra, which is mystical energy itself, inside sound. “Chanting the names of the Lord and you’ll be free,” explains the lyrics. Though Harrison does get in a dig at the Catholic Church. “While the Pope owns fifty one percent of General Motors, and the stock exchange is the only thing he’s qualified to quote us,” the last verse opens. Harrison’s deep understanding of the spiritual music he was producing was most fully realized on the album’s most recognizable song.

“I thought a lot about whether to do ‘My Sweet Lord’ or not, because I would be committing myself publicly and I anticipated that a lot of people might get weird about it,” Harrison wrote in I Me Mine. Towards the end of the Delaney & Bonnie tour in December 1969, Harrison heard and fell in love with Edwin Hawkins’ piano-driven, modern gospel rendition of the 18th century hymn “Oh Happy Day.” Inspired by the joyful energy, Harrison wanted to merge the buoyantly devotional “Hallelujah” invocations with the “Hare Krishna” Maha Mantra of the Hindu faith. The subconscious mix evoked some not-so-instant karma when Harrison was sued for “unconscious plagiarism” by the royalty owners of The Chiffon’s “He’s So Fine,” which could be interpreted as a devotional invocation.

“My Sweet Lord” is also the song which best establishes and exemplifies Harrison’s signature, post-Beatles, slide guitar playing.

The album’s opener, “I’d Have You Anytime,” was co-written with Bob Dylan when Harrison spent the Thanksgiving 1968 weekend at Dylan’s home in Woodstock. They also co-wrote the song “When Everybody Comes to Town.” Harrison played on Dylan’s April 1970 New York City sessions for the album New Morning, performing uncredited on several songs, including “If Not for You,” the second of All things Must Pass’ vagabond troubadour trilogy. Dylan had spent a lot of time off the road after his motorcycle crash of 1966. Harrison encouraged the reclusive artist to make his comeback performance at the Isle of Wight festival in 1969. “Behind That Locked Door,” which comes later on the album, is part of that encouragement.

The Beatles passed on including “Isn’t It a Pity” on Revolver, so George gifts us with two fully realized versions of it for All Things Must Pass. The 50th Anniversary box set includes an even more “downtempo version,” with Nicky Hopkins on piano. “Wah-Wah” was the first song recorded for the album, which is fitting because it was written on the day Harrison walked out of the “Get Back” sessions. It’s a great, angry song, in the tradition of “Taxman,” though not as pointed as Lennon’s “Sexy Sadie,” or “How Do You Sleep,” which Harrison played on. “Let It Down” has some great vocal backing by Clapton and Whitlock.

Hearing Clapton’s opening guitar screams squeezed through his wah-wah on “Art of Dying” makes you wonder how the Beatles rejected it in 1966. Although the lyrics George brought to the band at the time might have sealed its fate: “There’ll come a time when all of us must leave here, then nothing Mr. Epstein can do will keep me here with you,” Harrison admitted singing at his bandmates in I Me Mine. “Art of Dying” is the hardest Harrison rocks on the album and Spector lets the band explode. Coming after the intimately amorous “I Dig Love,” it is suspense reincarnate. Listen for Phil Collins’ bongos on the remix.

Harrison brought “Hear Me Lord” to the Beatles when they were recording at Twickenham Film Studios in January 1969. It is as confessional as anything Lennon cops to on his debut album Plastic Ono Band, but primal in an entirely different way. “Apple Scruffs” is Harrison’s personal gift to the group of fans which used to camp outside the Apple Corps offices for a glimpse of the four when they was fab. Performed live by a solo George with Beatles roadie Mal Evans tapping along, it is acoustic fun with a wild and wayward harmonica.

The Jams

But not as much fun as the band had after Spector went to bed for the night. Harrison initially thought it would take just two months to record the album, but had to take a break in the middle to care for his mother, Louise, who was ill with cancer in Liverpool. Louise bought George his first guitar and encouraged all things musical, including allowing the early Beatles to rehearse at their house. She passed away in July 1970.

Bored with the lag time, Spector was drinking heavily, bracing himself with Cherry Brandy just to sit in the booth, and ultimately breaking his arm in a fall. He left the sessions in July 1970, and Harrison produced overdubs at London’s Trident Studios and Apple Studios. But most of the album’s backing tracks were recorded onto eight-track tape at Abbey Road, with the musicians normally playing live.

When Spector left the studios, Harrison and the other musicians would jam into the early hours. “Thanks For the Pepperoni,” pulls the toppings off Chuck Berry riffs. It was recorded along with “Plug Me In” on July 1, 1970, with Harrison, Clapton and Dave Mason on guitars, Radle on bassr, Whitlock on keyboards, and Jim Gordon on drums. “Out Of the Blue” must get its title from how it comes in. It sounds like the band was in the middle of a fun run, and someone rushed to turn on the tape. But listen for Voorman’s lead guitar part.

“I Remember Jeep” is named for Clapton’s dog, and Preston and Baker bring out the jazz while Harrison’s Moog playing breaks traditions. “It’s Johnny’s Birthday” is a mockup of Cliff Richard’s song “Congratulations,” which the band warbled to Lennon for his 30th birthday. These afterhours jams were the kinds of musical driftwood routinely collected by bootleggers before box sets made them standard extras.

Demos and extra tracks, like “Mother Divine” or “Nowhere to Go,” underscore the greatest flaw of the original album: George’s vocals. Even gruff, weak and not-yet-familiar with the songs, Harrison’s voice is a beautifully emotive instrument. During their solo careers, he and Lennon drenched their voices with effects. Even Spector complained in production notes how Harrison’s voice is buried on too many songs. The new mix brings the voices forward. It doesn’t completely take away the reverb, because some of it is artistically correct, like the slap back echoes which evoke a specific sound. It is very well used on “Going Down to Golder’s Green,” an outtake which finds Harrison channeling his inner Elvis. One of the deluxe editions of the All Things Must Pass reissue includes a 96-page scrapbook evoking the time.

The album cover shows Harrison at home in Friar Park. Photographed by Barry Feinstein, George is surrounded by four garden gnomes, which could be taken as an in-joke on his days with the Beatles. All Things Must Pass was released Nov. 27, 1970, as a triple vinyl album. To accommodate the extra disc, Tom Wilkes of Camouflage Productions designed a box with a hinged lid, similar to the packaging of classical music and operas. It is presciently fitting, as the record is a modern masterwork of a timeless artist.

All Things Must Pass 50th Anniversary Edition will be available on Aug. 6.

The post All Things Must Pass Remaster Brings Out George Harrison’s Voice appeared first on Den of Geek.

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yikesharringrove · 5 years ago

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Hi!! I was just curious about Nancy and Jonathan’s relationship in your mango series! I was wondering if Nancy was an alpha? If she is, does that mean that Jonathan is a Beta or an Omega? Kids??? I have so many questions and am way too invested in this tiny part of this universe lol Please feel free to make this into a part with Steve and Billy talking to them about pups and bonding if you would like.

Masterlist

Part 29

I realized I literally haven’t mentioned the Wheelers this entire time rip to them I guess

Also I’m using this part as background to everything esp how Billy and Steve got together. Also no monster au I guess? tbh this part just made me realize NONE of this series is thought out

I literally never established a timeline, so I’ve decided it makes more sense for Billy to come to Hawkins earlier. You’ll see lmao. (this started as a little nonsense thing so the timeline of the whole Mango series is so whack pls no one try and do the math)

+I had traumatic emergency surgery on my uterus several years ago, so I’ve based all of Steve’s stuff on that

Steve dated Nancy Wheeler for about a month.

He was always drawn to fiery alphas, liked when they had sharp tongues, weren’t afraid to speak their mind. He liked ‘em smart.

Nancy seemed perfect to him, but Nancy didn’t like how much work omegas were. They needed constant reassurance of love, so much touching and cuddling, and that’s just not how she operates.

They had been casually dating for about a month early in her sophomore year when he asked her to spend his heat with him. She knew that meant he was serious about her, and let him down as gently as she could.

He didn’t take it too hard, and even invited her to a party he was throwing at his big empty house.

That was the first night she really talked to Jonathan Byers.

Their families had always been close, and they had been uncomfortable acquaintances for a long time, but she found him making a pip out of an apple, sat in the kitchen with him and got stoned for the very first time.

They were sitting close to one another, leaning closer, about to kiss when there was a splash outside, there was screaming.

They rushed out to see Steve Harrington, wet and shaking in the cold November night air, doing CPR on, on Barb.

He yelled at Tommy H., told him to call an ambulance.

Barb looked bad. Her lips were tinged blue, her skin pale.

She sank down next to her. Jonathan gently touching her back.

Most of the kids ran when they heard authorities were coming.

She held Barb’s freezing hand until the paramedics arrived.

Steve hadn’t stopped doing CPR the entire time had heard Barb’s ribs crack and splinter from the force.

The paramedics called it.

Steve was never really the same after that. He had become more withdrawn, had quit the swim team and stopped throwing big parties, he started babysitting Dustin Henderson, ended up babysitting most of the party soon enough.

He was still nice to Nancy, would ask her and Jonathan to hang out sometimes. She always thought he was sweet that he was a big heart. Hell, she sat there while he did CPR on her best friend for twenty minutes, but it was easier with Jon. As a beta, she didn’t have to be someone she wasn’t just to keep him from emotional breakdown.

But then Billy Hargrove rolled into town in the beginning of the summer, was all California golden, a big imposing alpha, and she began seeing less and less of Steve.

She thought it was just a summer fling, Billy didn’t seem like the type to stick around for very long, didn’t seem like the monogamous type.

Steve had a bad habit of trusting alphas too quickly, had been with alphas that just wanted to be able to say they’d fucked a male omega.

They were so uncommon, and usually these alphas were just curious, knew male omegas were the only presentation identifiable at birth due to their genitals, had wanted to see for themselves.

But Billy stuck around, starting hanging around Steve wherever he was, joining him when he spent time with the party, or with Jonathan and Nancy.

Billy was starting to grow on her more, as she watched and realized he loved Steve, that he wanted to be as clingy as Steve needed.

They would go on double dates sometimes, and Billy would pull Steve to sit on his lap just as often as Steve would plop himself on Billy’s lap. So she guesses they’re kind of a match made in heaven.

And then Steve got pregnant.

And she expected Billy to run for the hills, but he didn’t. Got kicked out of his house for Steve, changed his whole world for Steve and their pup, and at this point, they were four years in, had two happy pups and we in the process of moving into their first house.

She and Jon hadn’t even talked marriage yet, let alone bonding, were focusing on getting through school.

They had both gone to New York without even consulting one another, decided they didn’t want each other’s college choices to affect the other, that they should pick the best school for themselves.

When they revealed to one another, Jon showed her his acceptance to NYU, his dream school, while Nancy had handed him her Columbia letter.

She got regular updates from Steve, letters stuffed full with photographs and weekly reports. She contacted a bakery local to him to send him a cake when he called and excitedly told her that he had finally gotten his GED, had dropped out of high school in the February of his senior year when he got kicked out of his house, when he was the talk of the whole damn town.

“Letter from Steve.” Jonathan placed the rest of the mail on the counter, ripping open the envelope. “He put in updated pictures of the girls, look.” Nancy cooed over the photos. There was a gorgeous one of all four of them at the beach, Steve had infant Zara strapped to his chest, Billy was holding Mina. It was so cute. “He said they finished painting the house and should be moving in this week.”

“He mention how he was doing?”

“Of course not, have you met him? The only reason we actually knew he almost fucking died was because Billy called us.”

“I guess you’re right.” She was still flipping through photos. “Oh look at this one!” It was Steve caught mid laugh while Mina was doing him hair behind him. “We should go out to California soon to see them. Especially once they’re in their house.

“I’m gonna write Steve back, maybe we could go for New Year’s, or something.” She smiled up at him, stretching on her toes to kiss his jaw.

“I think that sounds nice.”

Mina was currently in the process of showing Jonathan every single toy she owned.

His lap was full of plastic food, blocks, dolls, stuffed animals, books, everything. She was talking excitedly about her little toy Camaro, the one that looked just like Daddy’s!

Nancy was just laughing as Jonathan nodded along patiently. He talked to her like she was an adult, asking her details about each toy in a very serious voice.

Steve slowly set himself on the couch. His abdomen still sore from surgery a few months ago. He was holding Zara, all dressed up in a little onesie that looked hand-knitted.

“How are you doing?” Steve rolled his eyes. Jon and Nancy kept asking.

“Nance, I’m fine. Just sore is all.” He kept dodging her real questions. She knew that the doctor had told Steve there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to be pregnant again, knew it was probably weighing on him. She just looked back and Jon.

“How is Mina doing with Zara? I remember when Mike was born I wanted nothing to do with him.” Steve laughed, bouncing Zara a little.

“She loves her. I swear if she could get me and Billy outta the picture, she would rather raise Zara on her own.” Zara gave a little choked off wail. “Sweet Pea, you are fine.” He put her on his chest, patting her back. “How’s school and everything?”

“It’s good! Jon’s going to end up graduating a semester early, so he’ll be finished by this time next year.”

“Oh, wow. Good for him!”

“I hear you left work, how’s that going?” Steve shrugged.

“They could only offer me one month of leave, and with the surgery and everything, I needed much longer. But you know I don’t mind staying home with these two. I mean, Mina’s in full day preschool now, just Monday to Thursday, but Zara is pretty fussy, so it’s okay. Once she’s not breastfeeding anymore, I’ll probably find a new job.”

“And Billy’s school is going okay?”

“Oh you know him, just overachieving at every stage. He had to cut back on his hours at the garage, he got a really nice internship at a law firm in town, and he’s actually getting paid for it.” Billy had been studying pre-law at UCSD, wanted to go into some kind of prosecution, possibly specialize in domestic cases. His internship was more personal assistant work to one of the partners of the firm, but it was better money than the garage, and something to beef up his resume a bit more.

Steve could hear the garage door beginning to rumble and whine as it slid up.

“Speak of the devil.” He smiled at Billy as he came in, kicking off his shoes. Mina sprinted up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, standing on his feet as he walked over to everyone.

“You talkin’ ‘bout me, Pretty Boy?” He picked up Mina so he could perch on the armrest next to Steve, giving him a kiss.

“All good things. Kind of.” Nancy doesn’t think she’s ever seen Billy Hargrove in a suit. He loosened his tie, had take off his jacket to place into the coats closet, was currently rolling up his crisp sleeves. She could see edges of a few tattoos. She knew he and Steve had each gotten each others initials on their shoulder blades, adding the pups initials underneath them both. Apparently Billy was beginning to work on sleeves. “How was work?”

“Eh. Same old.” He shrugged, putting Mina down to go back to “playing” with Jonathan. He lifted Zara from Steve. “How are you doin’, Nancy? How’s the Big Apple?”

She waved a hand non-noncommittally. “Oh, it’s good. Jon’s working for some underground paper, shooting for punk shows.” Billy grinned.

“Well done, Byers. I’m sure your kid brother’s plenty jealous.” Jonathan laughed.

“He’s come up for a few of the shows he’s really wanted to see. Which is to say most of them.” The timer went off from the kitchen. Steve went to stand, only to have Billy push him back down, handing Zara back to him.

“Sit tight, Pretty Boy. I got it.” Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled softly at Billy all the same.

“He was a nightmare when we were moving in, wouldn’t let me lift anything over ten pounds.”

After dinner, Steve and Billy tag teamed putting the girls to bed.

It was kind of amazing to watch. Billy got Mina dressed for bed as Steve fed Zara, then they swapped, Steve made sure Mina brushed her teeth while Billy changed Zara, swapping again so that Billy could read a book to Mina and Steve rocked Zara to sleep.

They were so practiced and efficient, both girls were asleep with half an hour.

“You get a lot of practice with the bedtime thing. I mean, it’s every night.” They were sitting on the back porch, on patio furniture that had apparently been a gift from Claudia Henderson.

It was a perfect night, the Southern California air was just chilly enough to warrant a sweater, but perfect for just being in.

“There’s a park a few blocks that way that’s doing fireworks, we should be able to see them from here.” Steve had poured them each some champagne. Steve and Billy were sitting one the chairs across the little coffee table between them.

They chattered through as the clock ticked down, getting closer and closer to 1989.

Ten seconds to midnight, Billy helped Steve stand up. Five seconds to midnight, Jonathan was digging in his pocket.

The fireworks began as Steve pressed his lips to Billy’s. Nancy turned to do the same, choking on a gasp as she saw Jon down on one knee. Steve shrieked, scrambling for a camera.

“I wanted this to be the first thing I did this year.” Billy was grinning like an idiot, Steve was taking picture after picture, his big eyes full of tears. “I know you want to establish our lives before bonding or having pups, and that’s okay, we can just be engaged for a couple years, whatever you want.” Nancy had one hand in front of her mouth, tears dripping down her cheeks. “Whatdya say?”

“Oh my god, absolutely yes!” Billy and Steve cheered as Jon stood up, kissing Nancy before sliding the ring on her finger.

#yikes writes #mango #me before this part: I have never heard of the Wheeler family ever in my life #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove abo #steve harrington x billy hargrove #billy hargrove x steve harrington #omega steve harrington #alpha billy hargrove #mpreg

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lokiondisneyplus · 5 years ago

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In late March, when Robert and Michelle King convened the writers room for their supernatural drama Evil, they plotted out a second season premiere in a haunted New York City subway station.

Now, more than two months later, as the novel coronavirus continues to ravage so much of the world, the idea has been scrapped at the behest of their line producer, who warned that filming permits would be hard, if not impossible, to come by. When the CBS series does return, the season opener will explore the spiritual consciousness of its characters instead, with a storyline devoted to the "God helmet" and its virtual-reality-meets-peyote-style impact. It's a plot perfectly suited for a post-pandemic world, explains Robert King, because it relies heavily on visual effects. "You have to look at scope in a different way," he says, in this case referencing the scope of the brain rather than scope of a subway.

In virtual rooms all over Hollywood, writers like the Kings are being asked to rethink what could be feasible once production resumes. Many are waiting to actually tweak their scripts — "I don't want to have to rewrite everything six times while the guidelines change," says Shameless' John Wells — while others are already avoiding or scrubbing crowds, hugs and handshakes. Sex scenes and fight scenes will need to be carefully considered, too, and in some cases reconsidered as storytellers along with their line producers and studio bosses navigate an unknown future.

"What we're telling our writers is 'Don't be dumb,' " says one studio executive, who suggests that an elaborate crowd scene with dozens of extras would surely qualify. "We're not going to be able to shoot it, so don't write it."

Regardless of directives, which vary by studio, more than a dozen producers who spoke with THR say their anxiety lies largely in the uncertainty. "It's very hard when you don't know what the future looks like," says Marta Kauffman, showrunner of Netflix's Grace and Frankie, whose situation is made more complicated by the fact that the youngest of her four leads is 79 years old. She has yet to go back into her scripts and start making the necessary changes, but that's coming, and she's dreading it. "We had scenes at our assisted living facility with a crowd, and, well, we can't do that anymore. And we know we certainly won't be doing lots of kissing with elderly people, but it may have to go beyond that."

Though Kenya Barris' actors are several decades younger than Kauffman's, he's having trouble wrapping his head around how he'll make his Freeform series Grown-ish, which takes place almost entirely on a college campus. "It's literally about a place where people gather," he says, "and you can only do so many [contained] bottle episodes before it starts to lose the tone and feeling of what the show is." Meanwhile, Mythic Quest's Rob McElhenney was smack in the middle of shooting a scene set at the E3 gaming conference when production shut down. "There were literally thousands of people in the audience, and that's not going to happen anytime soon," he says. "So I'm going to have to rewrite it and reshoot it."

The days of doing a dozen extra takes are likely over, laments another producer, and shooting long just to have it, too. In fact, one executive suggests scripts could soon be five or six pages shorter ultimately, to make room in a show's budget for pricey protocols like crew-wide testing. There have been rumblings of putting line producers into writers rooms as well, though writers with any modicum of power are likely to resist additional infringement on the creative process. ("It's a terrible idea unless you have an irresponsible showrunner," says Kauffman.)

Writers will also be asked to lean on fewer characters along with special effects to provide scale. As one producer explains, if a pre-virus scene was set at a backyard birthday party full of children, the post-virus one will have two or three characters sitting around a kitchen table talking about the party — and any flashes to it would largely be CGI.

"The technology that brought you dragons and exploding people is the same technology that will be bringing you ordinary crowd scenes on shows you wouldn't expect [to use] visual effects," says You's Sera Gamble, who suggests CGI will be of little help on her intimate scenes, which she isn't interested in writing out. "We're not at the place in 2020 where we can talk about using visual effects to fake a kiss between [You stars] Penn Badgley and Victoria Pedretti — that's a separate issue and one we have to figure it out."

In recent weeks, writers such as Gamble have been looking abroad to see and study how productions elsewhere are grappling with the same challenges. All eyes are on Australia's long-running soap Neighbours, which announced it's resuming without extras or physical contact between castmembers. The show's producers have said they'll cut away before a kiss or punch, relying on the audience's imagination to do the rest. It's a strategy that some will consider stateside, too, particularly when it comes to intimacy.

Other approaches being discussed involve facilitating separate shoots, which can then be pieced together in post, and quarantining participating talent for 14 days, with testing done regularly, before shooting the scene in full. The actors involved with the latter would have to be OK with that plan, of course. "And if they're not, you're fucked," says one executive, "because you can't force an actor to do something that they're not comfortable with." At least two more predict those kinds of conversations about comfort levels — both general and specific — will start to happen with No. 1's on every call sheet in the coming weeks, if they haven't begun already. And the responses are expected to vary, particularly among the older and more vulnerable set. Regardless of how many safety measures are put in place, there will be some who simply won't feel comfortable and, as one network head warns, some shows could go away as a result.

For the time being, writers seem to be relying on their own gut to guide them. Barris, for instance, won't be writing in handshakes anytime soon, since he cringes every time he sees one on TV now. "I'd be less offended if you came up and cupped my girl's boob than shook her hand," he jokes. Curb Your Enthusiasm boss Jeff Schaffer agrees: "The handshake is gone," he says, "it's the VHS of salutations." And McElhenney's partner, Megan Ganz, reveals she'll be editing out a pre-pandemic line in which Mythic Quest's lead characters are asked, in response to their slacking, "What have you been doing for the past six months?" because it no longer feels right.

Studio and network execs must rethink their choices, too: Some are looking to their own libraries for contained shows that might be worth rebooting, while others are exploring potential series add-ons where only a couple of characters are needed. Working in their collective favor is an overwhelming desire among most casts and crews to get back to work. Says Black-ish showrunner Courtney Lilly, "If [our show] ends up being a one-act play for 21 minutes between two characters so that people can work and America can see characters they like onscreen doing something that isn't a repeat, we're going to find a way to do it."

It's a sentiment shared by many — just not all. Robert King falls among the skeptics: "Oh my God, network shows can't be made more boring," he says, horrified by the notion of having to scale Evil or The Good Fight down to a series of two- or three-character scenes. "You need to find ways that are visually interesting and inspired, and if you start limiting things, it'll just be, 'Why do I want to watch that? I'll wait for the newest Netflix thing that's shot in Hungary or somewhere where they will let people sit on each other's laps.' I just think everybody needs to calm the fuck down and not write with the idea of limitations in mind — or [at least] not as the guiding force."

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thecoleopterawithana · 6 years ago

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I have to once again thanks @vairemelde for her ask, because it brought to my attention this wonderful piece.

‘Scared’, produced by Giles Martin, is the hidden track at the end of Paul’s 2013 New, an album inspired both by his new life with Nancy and a return to the simple happiness of his pre-Beatle days, with tracks like ‘On My Way To Work’ and ‘Early Days’. This last track - about the early days of his friendship with John Lennon - shares the spot with ‘Scared’ as the songs Paul is proudest of in the album.

On the general tone of the LP, Paul had this to say:

Is New a joyful album?

This is a happy period in my life, having a new woman - so you get new songs when you get a new woman. But in actual fact there is a lot of sadness mixed in on the record - the more you listen to it you’ll find pain getting changed to laughter - there is quite an undercurrent of that. But generally I’m having a good time so I hope that’s made it onto the record.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Francis Cronin for BBC News (4 October 2013).

Though, in my opinion, ‘Scared’ goes into the pain territory and stays there, offering no catharsis or transformation into laughter.

Maybe that’s why it was included as a hidden track. Or perhaps, the fact that it was left ‘hidden’ is a clever play on - and emphasization of - the theme of the song:

I’m scared to say I love you Afraid to let you know That the simplest of words won’t come out of my mouth Though I’m dying to let them go Trying to let you know I have to say I’m sorry Don’t feel sad for me But the beautiful birds won’t fly out of their cage Though I’m trying to set them free Trying to let you see, how much you mean to me I remember the first time we met Tears in our eyes reflecting Something connecting from so long ago It might have been told in the stars, maybe that’s what it was It doesn’t matter because I’m still too scared to tell you Afraid to let you see That the simplest of words won’t come out of my mouth Though I’m dying to set them free Trying to let you see, how much it means to me How much you mean to me How much you mean to me now

If this sounds familiar, it’s because it is. Here Paul seems to explore more deeply and explicitly his fear of saying ‘I love you’, a demon that he has been trying to exorcise for quite some time.

‘Here Today’, written right after John Lennon’s death, was an exercise in just getting it out.

Songwriting is like psychiatry; you sit down and dredge up something that’s inside, bring it out front. And I just had to be real and say, John, I love you. I think being able to say things like that in songs can keep you sane.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Robert Palmer for the New York Times (25 April 1982).

And more recently:

It’s funny because just in real life, I find that a challenge. I like to sort of, not give too much away. Like you said, I’m quite private. Why should people, know my innermost thoughts? That’s for me, they’re innermost. But in a song, that’s where you can do it. That’s the place to put them. You can start to reveal truths and feelings. You know, like in ‘Here Today’ where I’m saying to John “I love you”. I couldn’t have said that, really, to him. But you find, I think, that you can put these emotions and these deeper truths – and sometimes awkward truths; I was scared to say “I love you”. So that’s one of the things that I like about songs.

— Paul McCartney, on the challenge of giving too much of himself away when writing meaningful and truthful songs. Asked by Simon Pegg and interviewed by John Wilson for BBC 4’s Mastertapes (24 May 2016).

Paul is also asked about ‘Early Days’ in this last interview.

In February 1985, Paul and Eric Stewart start working on a song that would come to be titled ‘Yvonne’s The One’. In the middle-eight, we find Paul’s first actual expression in a song of the regret of not having made his affections clearer to someone recently deceased:

She never knew how much I loved her I never got to tell her We never found a way to say farewell

The theme of his inability to express his feelings is revisited some years later, in ‘However Absurd’ (1986):

Something special between us, When we made love the game was over. I couldn’t say the words, Words wouldn’t get my feelings through, So I keep talking to you

However absurd, however absurd It may seem.

Paul had this to say of the track:

There’s a sort of ‘Walrus’ intro to this track, but of course any time you play that style on piano it evokes that. It’s a style I know and love. The lyrics on this song are a bit bizarre, but then again they make a kind of sense, a strange kind of sense. […] In the middle section it explains itself a bit, less surrealist: ‘Something special between us… Words wouldn’t get my feelings through… However absurd it may seem.’ That’s taking off into The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran – there’s a line of his that always used to attract me and John, which was ‘Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it just to reach you.’ So it’s that kind of meaning to ‘However Absurd’.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Patrick Humphries for Club Sandwich nº 42 (Autumn 1986).

And in another revelatory exploration of his love and his regret at not being clearer in his affection, we have ‘This One’ (1989):

Did I ever take you in my arms, Look you in the eye, tell you that I do, Did I ever open up my heart And let you look inside.

If I never did it, I was only waiting For a better moment that didn’t come. There never could be a better moment Than this one, this one.

In the video of the studio recording of this song, Paul can be seen imitating one of John’s characteristic silly smiles, after he sings the lines “Did I ever touch you on the cheek / Say that you were mine, thank you for the smile?”.

When asked about the meaning of this song, Paul said the following:

Q: One of the new songs, “This One”, is it about a marriage?

Paul: A relationship. Yeah.

Q: And about, not expressing emotions and feelings?

[…]

Paul: You get those moments, late at night or when you’re feeling good and you think: “I hope I tell her I love her, enough”. And then come the morning, when you’ve got to get off to the office and it’s [brusquely] “Love you, goodbye!”, and so on. Life’s like that, there’s never enough time to tell them, like your parents for instance, oh god just what you meant to me. You always think, “I’m saving it up. I’ll tell ‘em one day”. Something like John, for instance. He died.

I was lucky, the last few weeks, months that he was alive, we’d managed to get out relationship back on track. And we were talking and having really good conversations. But George actually, didn’t get his relationship right. They were arguing right up to the end. Which I’m sure is a source of great sadness to him. And I’m sure, in the feeling of this song, George was always planning to tell John he loved him. But time ran out. And that’s what the song is about. There never could be a better moment than this one, right now. Take this moment to say, “I love you”.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Bernard Goldberg for 48 Hours (January 1990).

I find it amusing that here he uses a fairly similar expression - “just what you meant to me” - to the one he would trice repeat at the end of ‘Scared’.

About the meaning of this latter track, Paul explains:

Well, I’m just like anybody else, man! You know? You get those moments. I don’t normally write about them; but it’s a good thing to use. I was feeling it, as well. I was newly in love with Nancy, and I was finding it a little difficult to say, ‘I love you.’ Number one, I’m a guy, and that’s a big excuse, I know, but it is a bit true to form… That song is basically about she and I, and the middle eight is about when we met. And we did exactly as I say in the song, we welled up.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Miranda Sawyer for The Guardian (13 October 2013).

And a month latter:

Q: Like ‘Scared’ – a ‘hidden’ track on New – which is a stark confessional about baring your soul to another person. Did you find that easy to write?

Paul: You can actually say, “I love you,” to someone, but it’s quite hard. And so that’s why it’s usually easier when you’re a bit drunk. It’s like ‘Here Today’ [on 1982’s Tug of War], which was for John, and there is the line, (sings) “Du du du du du du du, I love you,” and it is a bit of a moment in the song. It would be a bit like Keith Richards saying to Mick, “I love you.” I mean he does, but I’m not sure he’s going to say it. I’m sure the Gallaghers love each other on some level, probably quite deeply, but that certainly isn’t going to get said soon. I think it’s quite an interesting subject and I felt it most recently with [wife] Nancy, I knew I loved her but to actually say, “I love you,” you know, it’s just not that easy.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Pat Gilbert for MOJO (November 2013).

The quip about it being easier to say when drunk is probably in relation to the Night We Cried referenced in ‘Here Today’, an episode Paul describes as an “important emotional landmark” for it was “probably the only time we just got that kind of intimate with each other” and actually said the big ‘I Love You’.

And though he says he faced similar challenges with being emotionally open with his new wife Nancy, he shared this pain at his lack of expression in relation to John as well.

The sole verse in which he deviates from this main theme is also very interesting:

I remember the first time we met Tears in our eyes reflecting Something connecting from so long ago It might have been told in the stars, maybe that’s what it was

Paul has also explained that the first half refers to the circumstances in which he first met Nancy, on a surf shop in Long Island:

Out of the blue, I met this girl and we started talking and she happened to say, 'I knew Linda.’ So that was emotional. I wouldn’t meet, typically, many people who knew Linda, and who knew her during her cancer treatment – and Nancy did. She’s a cancer survivor herself. So it got very deep, very quickly, and it was like, 'What the hell was that?’ And then I ran into her a couple of more times on the holiday, and we got to know each other and started dating. So the song is about that, about this depth of emotion, of feeling – but totally being scared to say or do anything about it. Like a tongue-tied teenager.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Miranda Sawyer for The Guardian (13 October 2013).

But it’s interesting how even here we could read a shared inspiration in his relationship with John. Could the tears in their eyes be also double a reference to the shared pain of both losing their mothers around the time they met? This emotional connection was always something that Paul valued.

And then, in the second part, he seems to get to the notion of them being Cosmically Connected, soulmates fated to meet, part of each other’s karma, that John held onto throughout his life and Paul seemed to also embrace, as the passage of time proved again and again just of special what they had was.

It is also entirely probable that the song is exclusively about Nancy, with no direct references to John whatsoever. But we can’t deny how his relationship with John was also deeply impacted by this issue, and thus him facing this fear in relation to Nancy is invariably informed by his previous experiences with John. So even if Nancy was the motivator for this introspection, the exposition of his mental state is nonetheless useful in understanding what he was feeling in relation to John.

All in all, this song is a beautiful exploration of one of the core issues in their relationship, and I’m continuously grateful and overjoyed that their music to each other never seems to end, as I continue to explore their solo catalogues!

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johnfkennedyjunior · 6 years ago

Text

Favorite Son

It was madness, even by Bloomingdale’s standards. The customers that late-November lunchtime were possessed by an urgency that transcended mere pre-Christmas shopping lust. Suddenly, TV lights came on and cameras started snapping like piranhas as the day’s hottest item, John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr., the son of America’s thirty-fifth president, stepped onto a platform. Women screamed.

“It was mass hysteria,” one store worker says. “Poor man. I don’t think he had any idea.” Kennedy looked amazed and none too happy. “Oh, dear,” he said as he joined cousins Ted Kennedy Jr. and Willie Smith, Willie’s mother, Jean Kennedy Smith, and Lauren Bacall on the store’s loge level.

Very Special Arts, a Kennedy charity, was behind this sale of boxed Christmas ornaments produced by the retarded in Third World countries. But the TV crews and the screaming women and the pushing paparazzi didn’t care about that. They didn’t care about Betty Bacall, either, or the other Kennedy cousins — all associate trustees of the Joseph P. Kennedy Foundation who had funded the program. Says the Bloomingdale’s employee, “They wanted John.”

Kennedy took the microphone. “I hope you’ll all buy a few boxes,” he said. “I’m here to sell boxes, and that’s what I want to get to do.” Of course, by doing that-or, more precisely, by autographing boxes for a few minutes-he got the ornaments mentioned on seven local news shows and Entertainment Tonight. Jill Rapaport, a perky Channel 2 News reporter, even got a brief interview. “It’s really the boxes they should be coming for, not us,” Kennedy told her. Then he got boxed in himself as Rapaport asked how it felt to be one of the world’s most eligible bachelors. “C’mon,” Kennedy pleaded, eyes and hands turning upward. “1 dunno.” He glanced away from the microphone hopelessly. Finally, visibly embarrassed, he said, “It feels okay.” Cut to Rapaport happy-talking in the studio later. “Kinda cute, huh?” she said to the camera.

Although Bloomingdale’s sold almost $50,000 worth of ornaments that day, John Kennedy, 28, considered the appearance disappointing. “We didn’t want it to turn out the way it did,” says Kathy Walther, a Very Special Arts executive. “It was very obnoxious from the second he walked in. John hoped it would be more substantive.”

Unfortunately, substance isn’t ‘the first thing that comes to mind when most people think about John F. Kennedy Jr. First, of course, comes the awful, indelible memory of the little boy in a blue coat and short pants, saluting his father’s bronze coffin.

That image alternates with others not so sober: Kennedy pumped-up and shirtless as People magazine’s “Sexiest Man Alive.” Kennedy linked in the columns with an enviable parade-Brooke Shields, Madonna, Daryl Hannah, Molly Ringwald, Princess Stephanie of Monaco.

Those images melded at his political coming-out party, last summer’s Democratic Convention-where John F. Kennedy Jr., tabloid celebrity, was transformed into the living embodiment of a nation’s not-quite-impossible dream: that it will wake up one morning with another JFK in the White House. Uncle Ted Kennedy passed the torch himself when he had John introduce him to the delegates, and though the nephew’s speech didn’t rattle the rafters, there was a surge of emotion in the hall. This was the first time John had ever acted the part of “a Kennedy” on a national stage. And the moment suggested that he could become the ultimate postmodern politician-a blank canvas for fantasies of national destiny.

* * *

The boy in the blue coat is grown up now, and, whether he likes it or not, people still have their eyes on him. He doesn’t like it at all, and friends insist that his life is a quest for anonymity and normality. He may never find privacy (“He’s never known life any different,” says a friend), but he’s won the battle to be normal. Aggressively normal. “Disgustingly normal,” says a friend.

He is also understandably reluctant to give anything away, having already given so much. Kennedy “is trying to have an open life,” says Faith Stevelman, who met him on their second day of law school, in 1986. “He sure turned out to be completely different than I expected. The press makes him out to be a narcissistic celebrity brat, but he’s not. People want to see him that way, because of his father, because of his name, because he’s handsome, but-praise to him-he has a life that’s much more real than that. He likes being in the world.”

He doesn’t like publicity, though. “It curtails his freedom,” Stevelman says.

So, aside from lending his name to good causes, he’s done nothing to attract attention to himself. He’s given only one print interview in his life, to the New York Times, and it wasn’t particularly revealing. Not speaking to reporters “has always been a habit,” says his aunt Lee Radziwill. “We’re not going to start now.”

One former family intimate describes the Kennedy attitude as “a conspiracy of silence, mandated from above. But when they want to get the message out, they do.” John Kennedy declined to be interviewed for this story. But there’s a message his friends want to get out, so many of them cooperated, as did former coworkers and bosses and a few Kennedy-family members.

They are setting the stage for what a Kennedy Foundation executive describes as “John emerging into the public sphere.” After having worked for New York City, a nonprofit developer, the Reagan Justice Department, and apolitically connected Los Angeles law firm, the man who is perhaps the most famous presidential child of the century is about to become one of about 400 assistant district attorneys in the office of Manhattan prosecutor Robert Morgenthau.

Like a favored candidate’s spin doctors before a big debate, Kennedy’s friends are trying to lower expectations. “The most extraordinary thing about him is that he’s extraordinarily ordinary,” says one.

Public appearances to the contrary, friends seem convinced, and want to convince others, that John Fitzgerald Kennedy Jr. — JFK II — doesn’t really exist. “He wants to be perceived as his own man,” says Peter Allen, a friend since grade school. Says Stevelman heatedly, “He’s not John F. Kennedy Jr. He is himself. It’s `Hi, I’m John.’ ” Just John.

John doesn’t share the problems of some of the other Kennedy cousins of his generation. “Monsters,” the former family friend calls them. A friend of John’s agrees: “They might as well have the name emblazoned on their sleeves.” John does share many traits with his father, though-and people want to believe he shares even more. Just like his father, he is bound up with his immediate family. “All of our lives, there’s just been the three of us — Mommy, Caroline, and I,” John said at his sister’s wedding. Besides them, he’s got a coterie of intensely loyal friends-some of whom go back through prep school just like his father’s. At Brown University, where John earned a bachelor’s degree in history in 1983, his friends literally surrounded him, shielding him from the 14,500 spectators during their mile-long graduation processional. John’s also got his father’s charisma. “Even if he wasn’t John Kennedy,” says his cousin Cecil Auchincloss, “people would notice him at a party. Even as a kid.” Though he seems to disdain Kennedy competitiveness (when he was a child, the cousins called him “Mama’s Boy”), John shares his father’s love of athletics. An active outdoorsman, he skis; rafts, snorkels, hikes, and goes camping. “He’s an overenergetic, can’t-sit-still type,” a friend reports.

Also like his father (and like his mother’s father, Black Jack Bouvier, who had an affair on his honeymoon), John’s got serious sex appeal. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” says a young woman who knows him. “Girls come and go.”

In fact, only with women does John act as if he wanted to be noticed. “It’s no wonder rumors start,” says one woman he’s flirted with. Adds another who encountered him on the street, “He was begging for attention.”

He doesn’t always have to beg. Madonna, this generation’s self-styled Marilyn Monroe, set her cap for John. “He and Madonna were good friends,” says a fast-crowd friend of the Kennedy cousins. “She was obviously the aggressor.”

Friends of John’s also believe that their contacts were all initiated by Madonna. “I think they met when [John's cousin] Bobby Shriver made his Special Olympics album,” says one pal. “Then Madonna invited John to her concert at Madison Square Garden. She also works out with the same trainer. I don’t think that’s chance.” Though some insist that John has had “dates” with Madonna between rounds in her marital bout with Sean Penn, a close friend of the singer’s sighed when I asked her if the duo’s rumored relationship was real. “If only,” she said.

Many of John’s supposed assignations turn out to be fictions. Another Kennedy “date,” identified in some papers as Molly Ringwald, was actually John’s steady girlfriend of four years, actress Christina Haag. “A good thing,” a friend jokes. “Christina would have believed it.”

Haag, the daughter of a retired businessman, grew up in Manhattan. She is not the blue blood she’s sometimes made out to be; she’s an actress struggling to make ends meet. A graduate of Juilliard, she has played Ophelia at Center Stage in Baltimore, acted in A Matter of Degrees, an independent film about college students, and played the public-relations woman for a hospital in The Littlest Victim, an upcoming TV movie about a doctor who treats children with AIDS. Between jobs, she has checked coats at Elio’s and worked as an assistant to Seventh Avenue designer Christine Thomson.

Luckily, both John and Christina know Daryl Hannah and knew it wasn’t true when, late last year, Suzy said he’d proposed to the star. Says a Kennedy friend, “They’ve all known each other for years.” A gossip item once appeared saying that Hannah, the daughter of a Chicago real-estate magnate, had followed college-age John down a beach on St. Martin. “They were twelve at the time,” says the friend, “and I bet he followed her. If she’d been following him, he would have stopped.”

Then there are the models. Kennedy has met some through Richard Wiese, a Phi Psi fraternity brother at Brown who is now a Ford model. Audra Avizienis, a Click face, told People she had dated John. Now she claims the magazine misquoted her. People’s reporter denies it. So has she gone out with him? “That’s beside the point,” Avizienis snaps.

An older friend of the family considers this all par for the course. “Kennedys love beautiful people, winners,” she says. “They like movie stars, like everyone else. But everybody else isn’t moving in those circles all the time. Kennedy men are intensely, highly sexed. There’s a lot of activity. But the women they marry are solid gold. They need both and they get it. Why not have the cream of the crop?”

There are two other traits Kennedy shares with his father: wit and a penchant for pranks. While working for the city after he graduated from Brown, he kidnapped a secretary’s beloved teddy bears, sent her a ransom note (“We have the bears”), and then executed them in a mock mass hanging. He also sent a stripper to meet with a co-worker who was interviewing prospective secretaries. “I thought she was a good candidate,” the co-worker says. “More articulate than most.”

* * *

Carried to extremes, pranks can reflect an underlying carelessness. But “there’s an incredible amount expected of John,” a friend points out. “He has to sacrifice what a lot of us would consider routine.”

John has had several minor run-ins with the law. Last year, he paid $2,300 in parking tickets. “I later learned the reason [he paid them],” says J. Bertram Shair, the administrative judge who heard Kennedy’s case. “He has to clear himself of all judgments in order to qualify for the D.A.’s office. I don’t think he enjoyed writing the check. He said in view of all the tickets, perhaps he ought to get free parking in the future.” Shair gave him “a gratuitous little lecture. I told him he’s going places. He should take care how he’s perceived.”

The blackest mark on Kennedy’s record is one that will be understood by anyone with a passing knowledge of the habits of 24-year-old men. Between 1984 and 1986, he and a friend sublet a co-op apartment on West 86th Street. According to someone close to the deal, Kennedy was often late with his rent checks and could never remember his keys. “He rang everyone’s buzzer,” the source says. “He drove the super crazy. He had a water bed, which was against the rules. The board was within inches of evicting them.”

Finally, their sublease ran out and the owner returned. “It looked like a herd of yaks had lived there,” the source says. “Somebody had clearly put their fist through the wall. The carpet looked like they’d had cookouts on it. Every surface had to be sanded, spackled, and patched.”

The current president of the building’s co-op board is forgiving, though. “People tend to be tougher on personalities than on the rest of us,” he says.

An older and presumably wiser Kennedy now lives alone in a two-bedroom apartment in the West Nineties. He keeps his keys tied to his belt. Though his new apartment has been “nicely done” with his mother’s decorating help, a friend says it is often “kind of messy.” Christina Haag lives nearby. Kennedy often has breakfast at a health-food restaurant on Columbus Avenue. Then he bicycles 90 or so blocks south to the Village, where he spends his days completing his third and final year at the New York University School of Law. He also works in Brooklyn Family Court, where, as a member of NYU’s Juvenile Rights Clinic, he defends minors accused of felonies.

Late last year, after a series of interviews, he got the $29,000-a-year A.D.A. job, which friends say he coveted. Morgenthau’s office will not confirm Kennedy’s appointment, but friends say he will start work in August.

John and his sister seem to be remarkably solid young people, given the circumstances of their lives, and everyone directs the credit to their mother, Jacqueline Onassis. Under unbearable scrutiny, she raised them amazingly well.

John was known at the three private schools he attended as bright but more rebellious and troubled than Caroline. His most embarrassing teenage moment involved drinking. He and Caroline celebrated their birthdays (his eighteenth, her twenty-first) with a bash at Le Club, arranged by their mother. At five in the morning, as the party broke up, Kennedy and his school friends fought with a National Enquirer photographer. “I opened the door and John was lying in the gutter,” says Patrick Shields, the club’s director, who dusted Kennedy off and deposited him in a taxi. “Jackie’s comment to me the next morning was `I’m walking on a cloud.’ ” Adds Shields, “I don’t think she’d seen the paper yet.”

* * *

John Kennedy has been a public curiosity since he was conceived. He gave out a “lusty cry” at birth, according to the obstetrician who delivered him by cesarean section on November 25, 1960. Seventeen days before, his father had been elected president. As the first White House baby since 1893, John Jr. made front pages around the world. After his christening, his 31-year-old mother imposed a press blackout. The publicity-conscious president fought it with mixed success by sneaking photographers and the kids into the Oval Office when Jackie was out of town, but still, no photos of John were released for a year.

Tidbits about him did leak out, though. In May 1963, he sucked his thumb while meeting astronaut Gordon Cooper but took it out long enough to say “Cooper, Cooper.” And in November 1963, at a Veterans Day program at Arlington National Cemetery, John-John, as he was called, upstaged the troops by performing acrobatics while dangling from the hands of his father and an aide. A few weeks later, the president boarded a helicopter at the White House for a flight to Andrews Air Force Base and then to Dallas. It was the last time he saw the young son Jackie said was “his real kin spirit.”

As a child, John would talk about his father proudly. “He was fascinated,” says a family friend, “and he enjoyed hearing how people responded to that little boy.”

Friends say that now, though John rarely brings up his father, he is gracious when others do. Nevertheless, awkward moments do occur. “One time he was hanging out in somebody’s room,” recalls a fraternity brother, “and they were playing the Stones’ `Sympathy for the Devil’ ” (which contains the lyric “I shouted out, `Who killed the Kennedys?’ / When after all / it was you and me”). “Everyone realized, `Uh-oh.’ But at some point, he’d just walked out and then he walked back in again. He just avoided the situation.”

Friends are careful with him. “It’s never come up and I wouldn’t bring it up,” says Stevelman. “It can’t be an easy thing. During the week of the [twenty-fifth] anniversary [of JFK's assassination], I was worried for him. Who wants to be exposed to that? But he’s incredibly together about it. I’m sure it moves him. How could it not? But he’s integrating it into a sane life.”

“I think he’s very proud of what his father did,” adds another,

Aristotle Onassis died in Paris on March 15, 1975. Jackie’s $26-million settlement with his estate, negotiated with Christina Onassis, added to established Kennedy trust funds and left the children without financial worries.

During the mid-seventies, John was listed in the Social Register, regularly saw a psychiatrist, and changed schools again, transferring to Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts. After being held back a year, he finally graduated in 1979. “He certainly wasn’t at the top of his class,” says a longtime friend.

John also. spent some time at Xenon, the club owned by Howard Stein, who calls himself a “disco uncle” to the Kennedy cousins. They were treated like kings by Stein’s partner, Peppo Vanini, who considered them “the closest thing to royals in America,” Stein says, “and made overtures to induce them into our world.”

Robert Kennedy’s children became Xenon regulars, but “John-John was special,” Stein says. “He was less a disco baby. He was shier, ingenuous. He didn’t leverage his name off the way kids of the famous do in my world. He had star quality. So every time he was there, he got his picture in the papers. It took a scandal for the other Kennedy kids to be photographed.”

* * *

In the next half-dozen years, John would be photographed often in discos with a steady girlfriend, Sally Munro, who was in the class ahead of his at Brown. Kennedy, ever the prankster, identified her to photographers as “Lisa, my fiance.”

Nightlife wasn’t the only temptation. Girls slept outside the door of his dorm room when he was a freshman. He later moved into the Phi Psi house and then into a house off campus that he shared with several students, including Christina Haag. Kennedy was also attracted to the stage, appearing in campus productions of Volpone, Short Eyes, and In the Boom Boom Room. Producer Robert Stigwood even offered John a part in a film, as his father. He was interested. His mother, reportedly, was upset.

The professional offers kept coming after he left Brown “bad things, because of who he was,” says Peter Allen. “He thought it would be fun, but he didn’t want to trade on his name.”

Show business remained alluring, though, and in the summer of 1985, Kennedy finally appeared on a Manhattan stage, starring in six invitation-only performances of Winners at the 75seat Irish Arts Center. The show was a workshop mounted by friends from the drama set at Brown. Christina Haag was a costar.

Kennedy and Haag played star-crossed lovers in Northern Ireland. Leaving the theater one night, John told a reporter, “This is not a professional acting debut. It’s just a hobby.” And reports vary on his talent. A Brown critic once took exception to his “prep-school voice.”

Sometime after the short run of Winners, John’s relationship with Sally Munro ended amicably and Christina Haag stepped into the role of girlfriend. “John had had a secret crush on her since he was five,” says a friend. “Actually, I don’t think it was secret. He asked her out every week and she said no every time.”

Friends say Haag is whimsical, stylish, and quite serious about her career-and that her relationship with John has not always helped it. She never trades on him, they say. Indeed, she avoids publicity that might help her. “They make her sound like a hanger-on,” a friend says. “The fact is, her boyfriend takes away from her craft.”

Friends admit that John and Christina have had some rough sledding. For a while after college, John “was playing around a lot,” says a former co-worker. “He got along well with girls. He enjoyed it, like anyone would.” But now, according to friends of Christina’s, the relationship is strong. Haag even refers to herself as his “law widow.”

* * *

Until now, no one has asked much of John Kennedy. But quietly, off the gossip pages, he has built an impressive resume for a young man just starting his career. The summer before he went off to college, he attended National Outdoor Leadership School with students from the United States and Africa, studying mountaineering and environmental issues at 17,000 feet on Mount Kenya. The next summer, he met government and student leaders in Zimbabwe, and worked briefly for a mining company in Johannesburg. Maurice Tempelsman — Jackie’s diamond merchant companion-probably had a hand in planning the trip.

After his sophomore year, he worked for Ted Van Dyk at the Center for Democratic Policy, a Washington-based liberal think tank. Again, Tempelsman suggested that John apply for the student internship. Living with the Shrivers, Kennedy immersed himself in political organizing, advance work, research, and working the room on a fund-raising trip to Hollywood. That summer, he saw for the first time the power he had. “He began to realize he was a celebrity,” says Van Dyk. “He had his first contact with clutchers and grabbers. He handled it.” John even talked back to Norman Lear, who, says Van Dyk, “went on about what close friends he was with the president,” then said he was saving his money for his own lobbying group, People for the American Way. “You’d be better served giving the money to us,” Kennedy said.

John was “genuinely undecided” about his future, and Van Dyk was sympathetic. “You get a churning stomach thinking about all those Kennedy kids in politics,” he says. “You’re pleased to see them respond as several have, yet relieved when any of them decides to do something else. An expectation hangs over them. I don’t think John feels compelled.” Still, back at Brown, John worked for the University Conference for Democratic Policy, which sponsored disarmament forums on northeastern college campuses.

The summer after his junior year, Kennedy and his cousin Tim Shriver tutored underprivileged children in English as part of a University of Connecticut program. Finally, after he graduated, he stopped for some fun, signing on as first mate on the Vast Explorer, searching for the pirate treasure ship Whidah in the waters off Cape Cod.

Following the 1984 Democratic Convention in San Francisco, where he helped Van Dyk raise more money, Kennedy came home and took a job with the city. In his $20,000-a-year position in the Office of Business Development, he worked to attract and keep business in New York. “His references were extraordinary,” says his boss, Larry Kieves. “He worked in the same crummy cubbyhole as everybody else. I heaped on the work and was always pleased.”

John “wasn’t overly sophisticated,” a co-worker adds. “He was one of the few young people there who acted his age.” She fondly recalls how he would change from his bicycle clothes into a suit in the office, but often leave his shirttails hanging out. (Though he still sometimes dresses that way, he was named to the International Best Dressed List this year.)

In 1986, Kennedy switched jobs, moving to the 42nd Street Development Corporation as acting deputy executive director, conducting negotiations with developers and city agencies. Jackie was on the nonprofit company’s board. “John was an intelligent bargain,” says Fred Papert, the corporation’s president. “Salary was not of grave concern to him. He knew his way around the city. He’s unpredictable in a good way. He was both orderly and passionate-a rare combination.”

Kennedy entered law school that fall. The following summer, he worked for William Bradford Reynolds, the Reagan Justice Department’s civil-rights chief, making $358 a week as one of seven interns. Last summer, his salary improved when he became a $1,100-a-week summer associate at Manatt, Phelps, Rothenberg & Phillips, a Los Angeles law firm with strong connections to the Democrats, and worked for his uncle Ted’s lawschool roommate, Charlie Manatt.

* * *

At last summer’s Democratic Convention, major speakers chose the people who would introduce them. Ted Kennedy asked, and John was delighted. So was a party that was “trying to reach out to the younger boomer crowd,” according to a Democratic National Committee official. Backstage, John “was nervous as hell,” reports an observer. He needn’t have worried. “Stars are born at conventions,” the official says. “He certainly came out as a Democrat everyone will be watching for a long time.”

Does John want that? Friends and former employers say that he seems committed to some kind of public service. “He has a great way with people,” says Andrew Cuomo. “He’s as comfortable with homeless kids in a playground as he is at the Democratic Convention, and that’s truly a gift.” In between law classes, he works with Cuomo’s HELP program, the Fresh Air Fund, the Kennedy Library, and the Kennedy Foundation’s associate trustees. The foundation is behind his latest project: working with the City University of New York on a plan to assist the mentally handicapped. “He’s not doing it to get recognition,” says Dr. Jeffrey Sachs, who is working with John. “He’s a real mensch.”

His enthusiasm falters, it seems, only in academia. One of his NYU professors judged him “unremarkable. Given the opportunities offered someone so blessed, one would have wanted him to give more evidence of ambition, drive, and vision. But maybe my course didn’t inspire him.”

Kennedy has apparently found something to inspire him in criminal law. And it isn’t really surprising that a man whose father and uncle were both murdered should choose to become a prosecutor. The A.D.A.’s job is “tough work,” says his law school friend Stevelman. “It takes someone who really wants to get down and deal with real people’s needs. I don’t think John likes things easy or false.”

“His interest in criminal law is marketable and useful,” adds a fellow law student. “He’s not doing it for money reasons. He’s very curious. He’s interested and open. He’s much more comfortable with black people, for instance, than your average kid of his world.”

Before John ever appeared at the Brooklyn Family Court as a student lawyer, Joseph A. Esquirol Jr., the supervising judge, worried that the court would come to a stop. He recalls thinking that “every woman will leave her desk to come see him. “I couldn’t have that,” Esquirol says, so he called his court staff together. “Don’t make it any worse for him,” he told them. “Try not to drool till he’s gone. I want to give the young man a chance to grow in his profession. He has a right to that.”

* * *

Drooling stenographers aren’t the only obstacle Kennedy faces. “How would you feel, if you were a thirteen-year-old arrested for a chain-snatch, if the son of a president was your lawyer?” asks Esquirol, who has presided over three designated-felony cases in which Kennedy appeared. Says a fellow law student, “[Who he is] comes up all the time. John presses it away and goes on.”

NYU officials and teachers will not discuss Kennedy’s grades, but Esquirol gives him high marks. “I don’t know that he’s the best or the worst,” the judge says. “I don’t envy him one minute. I think he can cut it if he’s allowed to practice without pressure. He’s got the innate common sense, ability, anti presence. He knew what he was doing and why he was doing it.” Esquirol pauses. “If I was a father, I wouldn’t be disappointed to have him as a son.”

John’s work with the underprivileged and disabled, his experience bridging the public and private sectors, his inquisitive mind, sense of obligation, and determination to avoid the obvious, a quick run for elective office, reveal a commendable sense of purpose. “He makes good decisions, not facile ones,” says Stevelman. “He makes a point not to make broad decisions about life.” It’s not that he won’t want our votes eventually. He just doesn’t want them now, when all he would be is JFK II. But John F. Kennedy Jr. will always be America’s son, and that’s a hurdle he’ll face for the rest of his life. “I honestly think,” says one friend, “in 100 years, they’ll say that whatever he did, he succeeded not because he was John F. Kennedy Jr. but in spite of it.”.

By Michael Gross Originally published in the March 20, 1989 issue of New York Magazine

#articles

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womenofcolor15 · 5 years ago

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Wendy Williams Is Out Zippin’ & Zooin’ It With Jeweler William ‘Big Will’ Selby – Is THIS Her New Man?!

Wendy Williams enjoyed a date night last night with jeweler William “Big Will” Selby and if you watch her show, she has talked about him several times. Is this her new man? Decide inside…

Wendy Williams hasn’t been shy about her new life as a single woman even before the ink dried on her divorce from her husband of 20+ years, Kevin Hunter Sr. She openly talks about dating and how she would, in fact, want to get married again because she’s a “marriage type” of woman.

Well, it seems she may have been swept off of her feet by a man named William “Big Will” Selby. Last night, the daytime talk show host was spotted arm-in-arm with her possible new BAE as they headed inside Aroma Trattoria in NYC for a romantic dinner. And they were looking very much like a couple with their color coordinating outfits.

The 55-year-old also shared flicks from their date night on her social media account:

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He sent his car for me..dinner in pursuit. Happy Friday!

A post shared by Wendy Williams (@wendyshow) on Feb 21, 2020 at 3:50pm PST

"He sent his car for me..dinner in pursuit. Happy Friday!," Wendy captioned a photo of herself in the car. She clearly has a type. So much for that alleged doctor boyfriend.

They ate good too:

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3 meatballs plus good company equals danger! #dinner #friday #fridayvibes

A post shared by Wendy Williams (@wendyshow) on Feb 21, 2020 at 4:44pm PST

After dinner...

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Later on...studio with @blacpapipmh ...another Friday night.

A post shared by Wendy Williams (@wendyshow) on Feb 22, 2020 at 5:28am PST

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#WendyWilliams fully reveals her new boo thang.... ok gurl.

A post shared by TheYBF (@theybf_daily) on Feb 21, 2020 at 9:58pm PST

Wendy & Bill Will got cozy on a couch in the studio along with Hip Hop artist Blac Papi. The daytime TV host even busted out a quick twerk for the 27-year-old rapper:

Oh Wendy.

The alleged couple also hit up the Spotify x Cash Money premiere of mini-documentary "New Cash Order" at Lightbox in NYC the night before. And they appeared real couple-like.

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Last night out with @willdaboss1 for Cash Money documentary. Birdman & Slim have a piece of work to watch.

A post shared by Wendy Williams (@wendyshow) on Feb 21, 2020 at 8:15am PST

Big Will is a New York City-based jeweler who has created pieces for celebs like Drake, 50 Cent, and yes, Wendy. According to Big Will's Instagram page, the alleged couple have been spending time together for the last few weeks. They hosted an event together for the Super Bowl:

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@wendyshow and myself conducting our annual Super Bowl Pre-Game food challenge with all new pickle flavored @pringles Live on Hot Topics. #wsjewelry #wendy #pringles #super #bowl #2020 #cancer

A post shared by Big Will aka Willdaboss (@willdaboss1) on Feb 1, 2020 at 12:05pm PST

By the way, he's a Cancer just like her.

He also copped her some new jewels for Valentine's Day:

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V-Day Special for the incomparable @wendyshow #wsjewelry #heart #valentine #diamonds #luxury

A post shared by Big Will aka Willdaboss (@willdaboss1) on Feb 15, 2020 at 1:18pm PST

Bill Will gifted Wendy two heart shaped necklaces and told her to pick her favorite. She showed it off on the show. Peep the clip above.

In October 2019, Wendy also gave him a shoutout for a piece he made for her:

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Nice to be Acknowledged Sometimes... Congrats again to @wendyshow on her very own Hollywood ! #2677 #hollywood #star #diamonds

A post shared by Big Will aka Willdaboss (@willdaboss1) on Oct 22, 2019 at 5:41pm PDT

Sure looks like these two could be an item and Wendy's making it IG official. How you doin' Wendy?!

Photos: Felipe Ramales / SplashNews.com/Getty

[Read More ...] source http://theybf.com/2020/02/22/wendy-williams-is-out-zippin%E2%80%99-zooin%E2%80%99-with-jeweler-william-%E2%80%98big-will%E2%80%99-selby-%E2%80%93-is-this-her-

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watusichris · 7 years ago

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Replacements, 1st Time Around

In 1983, the Replacements hit Los Angeles for the first time. I followed them around for a week or two. This story, from the Dec. 2, 1983 issue of the Los Angeles Reader, is being posted in acknowledgement of the band’s splendid live album “For Sale,” which is being released on Friday by Rhino and is utterly tremendous. ********** During a Midwestern winter, when the seasonal temperatures gravitate toward the arctic, a rock ‘n’ roll band has to play hard just to stay warm. Judging from the rather limp records that emanate from the region, there are a lot of frozen butts in the heart of the nation. Midwestern rock hasn’t had much to offer since the garage-band heyday of Chicago’s Shadows of Knight and Minneapolis’ Litter, besides the pre-punk spasms of the MC5 and the Stooges.

Last week, though, a Minneapolis band pulled through L.A. and proved that there’s no energy crisis in their particular basement. The Replacements knocked out four superior sets of go-for-the-throat rock ‘n’ roll in the local clubs. I’ll borrow one of their song-title catch phrases: Color me impressed.

The Replacements have been together since 1979. They’ve released three records’ worth of original material (two albums and an EP) that could blow Violent Femme Gordon Gano’s precious little gonads from here to Maine. After hearing them on vinyl and in concert, there’s no doubt as to who the true Kings of the Great White North are.

The records, all on the Twin Cities-based Twin/Tone label, are all raw, unmanicured productions that opt for scurvy power rather than flat professionalism. Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash, the debut album released in 1981, is a sort of song cycle of 18 tunes about cruising, partying, romance, dope, drunkenness, and the other senseless pursuits of adolescent Midwesterners. Its 1982 follow-up, The Replacements Stink, is a harder, louder eight-song EP that refines the first record’s sound into a murderous ball-peen screech. The latest LP, Hootenanny, is a lovably sloppy, diversely programmed collection incorporating blues, country, and folk elements hitherto unheard on the group’s recordings.

The great virtue of the Replacements’ records is a charming insouciance about polish, cleanliness, subtlety, taste, and other non-rock ‘n’ roll concerns. The band comes on like a disarming juvenile trash compacting of the pre-’66 Rolling Stones, the New York Dolls, the Stooges, the Sex Pistols, and the Ramones. Crudity, humor (much of it self-deprecating), velocity, and high volume are the hallmarks of the Replacements’ style. The Dolls are their most obvious role model: The ear-scraping abandon of Bob Stinson’s guitar recalls Johnny Thunders at his most frenetic, and vocalist Paul Westerberg’s drunken, hoarse warbling is comparable to the caterwauling of the pre-solo David Johansen.

Westerberg writes the lion’s share of the band’s material, and it is largely terrific stuff. He’s at his best when confronting the trials of Everykid, whether goofing off at the bus stop (“Hangin’ Downtown”), lusting after the girl who works at the corner store (“Customer’), lamenting the necessities of lower education (“Fuck School”), or confronting the idiocies of average teenage social behavior (“I Bought a Headache” and “Color Me Impressed”).

Though many of the numbers are smash ‘n’ snarl thrashers, there’s enough variety in the Replacements’ sound to keep them out of sticky-floored identipunk corners. Many of Westerberg’s most effective and affecting compositions are ballads – “Johnny’s Gonna Die” (a premature elegy for the graveyard-bound Johnny Thunders, on Sorry Ma), “Go” (on Stink), and “Willpower” (on Hootenanny). The group also shows an increasing affinity for inebriated blues and boogie; the standard mode of Midwestern barroom bashing is utilized to ironic effect in “White and Lazy” (which sounds remarkably like the Dolls’ boozy remake of Bo Diddley’s “Pills”) and “Take Me Down to the Hospital.” Westerberg is also reportedly a prolific writer of folkish solo material: This side of his style is reflected on record in the non-LP B side “If Only You were Lonely” and the caustic, basement-tapey self lampoon “Treatment Bound,” which concludes Hootenanny: “We’re getting’ noplace as fast as we can/We get a nose full from our so-called friends.”

This daffy catalog of styles, as well as some wonderfully blatant cops (everything from the Dragnet theme to “Frere Jacques,” “Oh Darling,” and “The Twist”), combines with Westerberg’s nose-thumbing take on dumb youth angst and the band’s flat-out, heated performance methodology to make for rock ‘n’ roll that is alert, aware, pointed, and funny. On their records (and I wouldn’t part with any one of them), the Replacments are unbeatable. Onstage, even when approaching the boundary line of chaos, they’re among the most special of live bands.

I don’t know where you suckers were last week, but the Replacements shows in L.A. were without exception under-attended. Well, you blew it, chumps, and don’t let it happen next time. This is a band that can knock you out of your Nikes even on the slowest and worst of nights, and they shouldn’t be missed.

Visually, they’re an unprepossessing lot. Paul Westerberg is an emaciated rail who looks like he rolled out of bed just before the gig; his sole concession to onstage fashion is some poorly applied eye makeup, which just emphasizes the beatness of his wardrobe (faded flannels and T-shirts and well-worn jeans) and the comatosity of his appearance. His face is perpetually creased by a knowing smirk; like Popeye, he speaks and sings out of the corner of his mouth.

Guitarist Bob Stinson is the group’s fashion plate: He usually plays in a polka-dotted skirt, or in his jockey shorts. The pocket of his blue denim jacket holds his toothbrush. His brother Tommy, the group’s bassist, and drummer Chris Mars are little babyfaces (the junior Stinson joined the group when he was 12). For all his youthful appearance, Mars possess a deadpan wit: Shortly after Kristine McKenna pegged him as a Yale student in the Times, Mars showed up on the Music Machine stage wearing a T-shirt hand-lettered in Magic Marker with “YAIL UNIVERSITY.”

“Loose” is a term that can be used to describe a typical Replacements set. Some songs do not so much end as break down in a clatter of drums and a squawk of feedback. Westerberg and the young Stinson are often to be found in conversation during a guitar solo. Blown key changes occur with regularity. The band is frankly casual about its performance demeanor. At the Music Machine last Wednesday, Tommy Stinson leaned over in midtune to grab a beer, and his bass immediately came both unplugged and unstrapped; he unhurriedly refitted himself, in time to pluck the last two notes of the song.

This is definitely a group who hold to their professed sub-professional standing (“The label wants a hit/But we don’t give a shit,” they sing in “Treatment Bound”), but their carelessness and blithe disregard for even the basics of showmanship never interfere with the impact of the show.

They heave their way through a set at eardrum-crushing volume, with Westerberg, his vocal cords ready to snap at any moment, screaming to be heard over the din. Bob Stinson’s Fender spits out withering clusters of spike-toned notes, underpinned by Westerberg’s brutishly loud rhythm guitar. And Tommy Stinson and Mars provide a relentless backup. As wiggy as the band can get, its musicianship is generally of the highest caliber.

They provide more than a few laughs, too. They’ll switch instruments to play the title track from Hootenanny. They’ll rock out on “The Marine Corps Hymn,” essay Hank Williams’ “Hey Good Lookin’” or T. Rex’s “Twentieth Century Boy,” or perform a country-and-western version of their “God Damn Job” (lyric: “I need a god damn job/I need a god damn job/God damn it/God damn it/God damn/ I need a god damn job”).

I got hooked on the Replacements’ energy and sharp-incisored humor at Club Lingerie two weeks ago, where, looking a bit singed from the road, they wowed some of the assembled waxworks with a ragged but involving set. I wound up following the group around town during the next few days. They did a sizzling marathon hour-and-a-quarter show at the Cathay de Grande on Monday night, and a tough, nutty, erratic one at the Music Machine on Wednesday.

Musically, they were at low ebb at their return Cathay engagement on Thanksgiving, but that set may have been the most revealing of all. The house was filled with Mohawked dolts panting for Social Distortion. The Replacements, who could easily have mowed their audience down with a show comprising their short, fierce, hardcore-styled tunes, instead opted for the opposite tack. They began the show with the blues shuffle “White and Lazy” and made their alienating way through every ballad, country tune, and slow number in their repertoire. The leftover turkeys in the crowd were gobbling as the set oozed its way to a conclusion, but it was the Replacements who were having the last laugh on the fashion-conscious ex-surfers in leather. As Tommy Stinson said in mock admiration, “Wow, punk rockers.”

Remember when punk rockers gave their audiences the raspberry (or worse), disassembled rigid expectations, and guffawed at the status quo? At the Cathay on Turkey Day, the Replacements proved something besides the fact that they are a great rock ‘n’ roll band. They proved that they may just be the last real punk band in America. Come back soon, guys – there are some other folks in this sleepy town who could use some waking- and wising-up.

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hookedonapirate · 8 years ago

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Dammit Ruby!

Summary: Ruby forces Emma to go shopping with her, then forces her to try on a bunch of outfits. While Emma is in the changing room, Ruby decides it’d be funny to steal all of Emma’s clothes, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. As Emma decides she’s just going to have to try to sneak out in her underwear and hope no one notices, she bumps into a solid figure, and later learns his name is Killian Jones.

Prompt by: @irishswanff

Notes: This is another birthday gift for Rouhn, although it's very late, but it seemed appropriate to post it on April Fools Day. It might be too late for people who've already read this but I altered the ending from the original post. Hope you all enjoy!

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

“I am not wearing that.”

“Why not?” Ruby asked, a look of confusion washing over her features. “You don’t have anything else in your closet that even comes close to resembling a dress.”

“That's a shirt,” Emma corrected. “I wore that for Halloween three years ago, remember?” Her voice was a mixture of amusement and irritation as her best friend held up a long, black shirt that Emma had worn with a pair of black leggings as part of her cat costume for halloween. It was low-cut and very revealing. She had worn a long-sleeved shirt underneath it, but she would certainly not wear it by itself, especially as a dress with no pants.

“But it's the most normal thing you have.”

Emma sighed and took the shirt from her friend, hanging it back up in the closet. “Absolutely not.”

Ruby crossed her arms. “So what are you going to wear for your date tomorrow night then? Certainly not what you have on now.”

Emma put up her hands in defense, confused as she peered down at her clothes. She had on a long, grey shirt and faded jeans. “What's wrong with what I'm wearing?”

“Seriously? You look like a homeless person,” Ruby replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Emma shot her an offended look. “I do not.”

“Whatever you say, Em.”

Emma visibly sighed. She didn't even want to go on this date in the first place. It was a blind date that was set up by Ruby and her boyfriend, Liam, who was also her date’s brother. She had never met the guy, he had just moved to the States from England, but she already detested him based simply upon the fact that Ruby and Liam had practically shoved this date down her throat.

Emma grabbed a black sweater with colorful flowers over the shoulder and a long, jean skirt from the pile of clothes on the bed that Ruby had already disapproved of. “What about this sweater and skirt? I don't have to look like a slut for this guy to like me, do I?”

Ruby scoffed. “Oh dear lord, you are not wearing that. Killian is not shallow, but still, you’re going on a date, not trying to get adopted. That sweater in particular is absolutely hideous and that skirt is something my granny would wear. I wouldn't be caught dead in those clothes if I were the last orphan on earth.”

Emma scowled, unappreciative of the orphan remarks. Emma's parents had given her up for adoption as a baby and after being shuffled through the foster system for twelve years, the Nolan family kindly took her in; Ruby had lived down the street from them. Her parents had died in a car accident when Ruby was only six years old and was taken in by her Granny Lucas. Ruby was one of the few people who understood what it was like to feel alone, so they soon became best friends. They were inseparable after that even when they went off to college. They both moved to New York, far away from their hometown.

Ruby took the hangers with the sweater and skirt between her fingertips as though they were contaminated with some deadly virus and threw them back on the mountainous pile before grabbing the shirt-dress again. “You're wearing this.”

Emma huffed and put it right back in the closet. “I'm definitely not wearing this. You should know that I would feel very uncomfortable in this. Halloween was bad enough and clearly a lack of judgement on my part, but a first date? No thanks.” She really didn't know how she and her roommate put up with one another after all these years, they were so different. Other than the fact that they were both raised without birth parents, they had nothing in common. Ruby was boisterous and bold and had no boundaries. It was a wonder how her boyfriend was a straight-laced naval officer. Maybe it was the way the man looked in a uniform, Emma didn't really know.

Ruby expelled a heavy sigh, resting her hands on her hips. “Well, what do you propose you wear then? And don't you dare say a sweater and jeans.”

Emma shrugged. “This is all of the clothes I have, Ruby.” Her friend had already done a thorough search and had thrown everything she didn't approve of on the bed, which was everything except for the black shirt-dress.

“Fine, you're wearing something of mine,” Ruby decided as she started to head for the door.

“I already told you I'm not wearing your clothes,” Emma refused. She loved her roommate dearly, but Ruby had a very loud taste, with her bright, revealing clothes and over-accessorizing; there was no way Emma would wear anything in Ruby's closet. Emma shot Ruby a scowl that told her she was not backing down from her stance.

“Fine, we’re going shopping.”

~*~

Emma hated the mall. She hated everything about it. She hated the obnoxious stores and the clothes and posters with ridiculously good-looking models; like if anyone wore the clothes that the models posed in, this is what they would look like. That was definitely not the case with Emma, as far as she knew. She certainly would never look that good in a camisole or a pair of jean shorts. Emma had always been comfortable with wearing loose, baggy clothing. Grey hoodies and sweatpants were her forte.

“Ooh, this is my store. We’re going in here.” Ruby grabbed Emma's hand and hurried into one that of course had mannequins wearing ripped and revealing material. Seriously, who bought clothes that were pre-ripped anyway?

The store looked like a place where members of a motorcycle gang and their wives would go to shop. They walked around and Ruby grabbed every item that looked good to her, which was pretty much the whole fucking store, other than the men's section. Emma was amazed that such a small person could carry that amount of clothing at once.

“Okay, you're trying these on. Let's get you a fitting room.”

Emma sighed in exasperation. She already knew that she wasn't going to like anything Ruby offered her. This was going to be a long day.

It had been an hour of trying on hideous outfits, from black leather skirts and fishnet stockings to slutty red dresses and see-through leopard blouses that revealed her bra. Emma became exhausted from trying on clothes and she was only two seconds away from calling off the date altogether. “No more. Please,” Emma begged from the fitting room in a little navy blue wrap dress. She eyed herself in the mirror. No, she was definitely not wearing this. It had a very low neckline, showing off the valley of her breasts and it was laced up in the back, revealing far too much skin than Emma was comfortable with. She liked the dress, the lightweight fabric and how she actually looked in it, but she wasn't confident enough to actually wear it.

Emma was used to loose-fitting clothes that didn't show off her curves or other assets. She didn't really think she had anything to show off. But she to admit, as she turned to the side and studied the image in the mirror, she didn't hate what she saw. In fact she was very pleased with the reflection. Of course, that's how these fitting rooms were designed, with the dim lighting and specially-designed mirrors that were most likely altered somehow so that customers were happy with what the saw in the mirror and ended up purchasing the items.

“This is the last one, promise. Now let me see.”

Emma sighed in defeat before lifting her hand and turning the door handle. She drew in a long breath for stepping out.

Ruby's jaw drooped at the sight before her. A slow, broad smile graced the brunette’s lips. “Holy shit, Em. You need to show that hot bod more often, oh my god. If you weren't my best friend and roommate I'd hit that.”

Emma blushed as she looked down at her dress with a sheepish smile. “You really like it?”

“Ummm… duh. Now turn around, let me see the back.”

Emma reluctantly shifted and did a slow spin, revealing her backside for everyone to see. She was wearing her super girl bra and panties underneath and the blue strap was shown under the laced-up back but luckily they were similar hues of blue. She heard Ruby whistle as Emma finished, facing her roommate again.

“Of course, when you wear this, you will not be wearing a bra.”

“If I wear this,” Emma pronounced. “Emphasis on ‘if’.

“Okay come on, you look drop dead gorgeous. Killian's eyes are going to pop out of his fucking head.”

“Even if you were right, which is highly unlikely, I'm not sure I want that reaction.”

Ruby looked dumbfounded. “Why would you not want your date drooling over you? The guy’s hot and if he's anything like his brother, he'll be incredible in the sac.”

Emma's eyes blew wide. “Ruby!” she chastised. “First of all, that's way more information than I ever needed to know and second of all, there will be no ‘sacs’ of any kind involved unless it's a to-go sac from the restaurant. This is a first date and there's no way he'd ever want me anyways.”

Ruby's features lightened. “Don't sell yourself short, Emma,” she said softly. “Any guy would be lucky to be with you. When are you going to realize that?”

Emma looked at her doubtfully.

“Alright, I have an idea. Why don't I pay for the dress and when you decide you feel confident enough to wear it, then it's yours,” Ruby suggested. “And if you want to wear sweaters and jeans on your date, I'm sure Killian will like you nevertheless.”

Emma narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Really? You're just going to be okay with me wearing that ugly sweater with the granny skirt?”

Ruby's nose scrunched up in disgust. “Not really… but if it's what you're more comfortable in, then you should wear it.”

Emma was not buying it. There was no way Ruby would settle for that outfit as long as Emma was going on a date with her boyfriend’s brother. This was some kind of trick, Emma was sure if it. “Alright. If you really want to buy it just so it will hang up in my closet, collecting dust.”

“That's fine.” Ruby looked indifferent about it, but Emma knew her roommate better than that. “Now go change out of the dress so I can pay for it and then we can get some soft pretzels in the food court. I'm starving.”

Emma studied Ruby one last time before turning around to head back into the fitting room. “Okay then.” She cautiously slipped inside, shutting the door behind her.

“Hey, how about I take your clothes back while you change,” Ruby suggested through the door.

Emma complied without even giving it another thought and let Ruby in to take the clothes.

“Just hang the dress over the door when you're out of it and I'll bring it up to the register to pay for it.”

“Okay.” Emma turned away from both her friend and the mirror on the wall as she started pulling her straps down. Ruby gathered the clothes in her arms and Emma opened the door just enough to allow Ruby to walk out with the clothes before shutting it behind her. Emma slipped out of the dress, letting it fall to the floor. She stepped out of it and bent over to pick it up, replacing it on the hanger before throwing it over the top of the door, letting it drape over the edge. It was quickly removed from the other side as Emma turned around to get the clothes she arrived there with.

Her face fell in confusion.

Her clothes were gone. All that was left was her purse and shoes. “Rubs, you accidentally took my clothes,” she called through the door, but even after a moment she heard no response. She tapped on the door. “Ruby, I need my clothes back.”

There was still no answer. Emma huffed in frustration. Why the hell did Ruby take her street clothes? Emma went to her purse and pulled out her phone to text her friend.

I need my clothes back so I can get dressed. Please and thank you.

Emma waited. Still no reply. She started to panic, her stomach coiling with nerves as she cracked the door open ever so slightly and peeked through it. There was no sign of Ruby, although the angle of the opening only allowed her a limited view. “Ruby, are you out there? Please, I need my clothes back. I'm getting cold.” Goosebumps crawled up her skin and it had nothing to do with the temperature of the air.

Emma started to get irritated as she shut the door and stepped back, trying to think her way out of this current predicament. How could Ruby do this to her? It was obviously one of her sick pranks. Emma had usually been lucky enough not to be on the other end of them, it was usually Emma's adoptive brother, David, who fell victim. Ruby absolutely loved pulling pranks on him. She lived for it. Every year on April Fools, she came up with the most deceptive, carefully concocted schemes. Emma was pretty sure it was Ruby's favorite day of the year.

Fuck.

Emma glanced at her phone. It was April 1st. Shit shit shit. This was one of Ruby's godforsaken April Fools pranks. There was no way Emma was getting out of this with her pride and dignity in tact.

Okay, just breathe, Emma tried to coax herself, taking in deep breaths. They both arrived at the mall in Ruby's car and surely she wouldn't leave without her best friend. Or would she? This was one of her stupid pranks after all.

Emma started to get frustrated. She really did not want to spend her whole day in this damn dressing room in her underwear. She reached the door again and opened it ever so slightly, checking out her surroundings. The store was only mildly busy and the fitting rooms were located in the back end. There were a few racks of clothes about twenty feet away. What if she just darted out and grabbed a dress real quick and ran back in. Then at least she would be clothed and she could pay for the items at the front counter. Emma shut the door again and went to her purse to get her wallet. Emma's eyes blew wide when she found it was missing.

Shit.

Ruby took her wallet too? “You've got to be kidding me Lucus,” Emma muttered as she shoved her purse away. She picked up her phone and tried to call Ruby, but it went straight to her voicemail of course. Emma left a ‘not so lovely’ message with several explicit words before she hung up. She thought about calling someone else, maybe her friend, Regina, but then she figured Ruby would have made sure to tell all of their friends not to answer. Emma called Regina anyway, but of course there was no answer. She tried Victor and Jefferson but she had no such luck. Some friends.

Then she finally got a response from Ruby.

Sorry, Em. I just wanted you to get out of that shell of yours. Meet me in the foodcourt when you're bold enough to leave that fitting room.

“Damnit Ruby!” She shouted at her phone.

She approached the door one more time. She decided she was going to steal the clothes if she had to. She was no thief, but yep, that was pretty much her only solution other than being stuck in the fitting all day until her friend decided she had enough of a laugh and came back for her.

Emma looked down at her bra and underwear. God this would be so embarrassing if someone saw her. The Superman logo was on each cup of her bra and also on the back of her underwear. She was a Supergirl-watching junkie, so what?

After seeing that she was in the clear, at least for the time being, she swallowed thickly, preparing herself for what she had to do.

She scanned the selection of clothes, picking out one of the dresses that she could easily grab. She made sure there was no one in the back of store before proceeding.

Steadying her breathing, she left the door cracked open so as not to lock herself out and bolted for the rack. She swooped over and grabbed the dress, but when she went to pull it off the rack, the straps were snagged on something. Emma cursed under her breath as she struggled to entangle it. It was caught on an adjacent hanger. Okay, next dress.

Emma looked up and saw someone coming. Panic rushed through her blood. She looked at the fitting room door but it was too far away. The person would definitely see her. So she quickly ducked and hid inside the rack behind the clothes. She prayed that whoever it was would just walk by and not linger. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she saw footsteps approaching. She could tell by the black boots that it was a man. She watched him walk by and sighed in relief.

She grabbed a different dress and pulled it down before she opened up a space between the clothing. She poked out her head and looked in both directions, seeing that it was clear. She started to bolt towards the fitting room, watching behind her to make she wasn't spotted by an employee. The coast was clear and she was so close to the finish line. Then she whipped her head around before smacking right into something solid almost knocking it over. Or rather, someone. On instinct, she grabbed onto the person as his arms wrapped around her waist to keep her from falling.

Emma's whole body froze when her eyes met his. She lost a breath, getting lost in the bright blue depths that made her forget about her current predicament as her mouth fell open.

“Whoa, careful lass.”

His accented words brought her back to reality and she pulled away slightly, scanning him from top to bottom. She noticed he was wearing jeans and a blue Henley before her eyes came back to his. He had dark, unruly hair and scruff on his chin and he certainly didn't look like he belonged in this store.

Emma became unfocused again, until she heard him clear his throat, eyeing her body. “Um, excuse me for saying so, but…” he side-stepped to block her from the front of the store and leaned in, speaking quietly, “...are you aware that you're in only your underwear?”

Fuck. Emma quickly lifted the dress up against her body to cover herself, her cheeks just as red as the color of the fabric.

The man chuckled as she scrambled for an excuse.

“I was um… I was just… this is a bathing suit... I was just trying it on and I was going to model it for my friend but I seemed to have lost her,” the words stumbled out as she attempted a smile.

He nodded as though to humor her. “I see… I've never seen Superman bikinis before but it's a good look on you.”

Emma blushed even more, if it were possible. “Yeah, it's the newest fashion in bathing suits,” she said, trying to sound cool and collected but her voice was shaky and her words were broken. God, she was so lame.

“Hmmm…” He nodded again, biting his bottom lip and she could tell he didn't believe her.

Emma sighed. “Fine. My friend took my clothes and wallet, leaving me in only my underwear when I was in the fitting room and I was trying to steal this dress so I could leave without completely humiliating myself but apparently that did not work very well.” She paused to catch her breath. “So, go ahead and tell on me. There's really no way to make this day any more worse than it already is.”

He flashed her an empathetic smile. “Sorry to hear, love. But I can assure you I won't rat you out. In fact… why don't you change into the dress and I'll pay for it.”

Emma's jaw dropped in shock. “Really?” She shook her head. “No, I couldn't ask you to do that.”

“I insist. Believe me, I know far too well what's it's like to be the butt of a joke; I have an older brother.”

Emma managed a small smile. “Thank you.” She started to move but then looked down at the dress. “Do you mind if I pick something else out?”

Killian eyed the clothing in her hand and cocked a brow. “What, red leather dresses not your style?”

Emma laughed. “Not really. I'm more of a hoodie and sweatpants kind of girl.”

“I see. Why don't you secure yourself in the fitting room and I'll find you something else?”

“Thank you. You're a lifesaver.” She almost bounced in excitement before going to the fitting room, taking the dress with her just in case he ditched her too.

Five minutes later, there was a light tap on the door. Emma opened it and poked her head out. “I hope these are okay, love. I wasn't sure of your size so I got a few.”

“Thank you.” Emma took the clothes and shut the door. He had gotten her some leggings and a gray t-shirt. Perfect. Emma put on a pair that fit her, along with the t-shirt before stepping into her flats. She grabbed her purse and left the fitting room, meeting the kind, handsome stranger outside the door. “Thank you again,” she told him graciously.

“Not a problem.” He chuckled as they went up to the front counter to purchase the items and stood in line. “Glad I could help out a damsel in distress.”

“I was not distressed,” she argued. “Okay, maybe a little,” she laughed. “So, what made you decide to come here, if you don't mind me asking? It doesn't seem like your type of store.”

“Well, according to my brother and his girlfriend, I dress too boring, and they suggested that I buy some new clothes for this blind date I'm going on. So he was going to meet me here to help me pick out an outfit but never showed.”

Emma looked at him suspiciously. “Your brother sounds like my roommate. She took me here to get some new clothes for this blind date she set me up on.” They both looked to each other knowingly.

“You're Ruby's friend, Emma Swan?”

She nodded in disbelief. “And you're Killian, Liam's brother?”

“Aye.” He stuck out his hand and she shook it. “Nice to meet you, love.”

“You too. So, you said your brother was meeting you here?”

Killian nodded. “We were supposed to meet in this store twenty minutes ago.”

“So they both planned this. Those conniving little…” She paused and a slow, devious smile spread across her lips, thoughts starting to swarm in her head as she tried think of a way to get Ruby back for her little prank. “So how would you feel about getting back at my roommate and your brother?”

Killian smirked with mischief. “I'd say I'm on board with that. What did you have in mind?”

~*~

Ruby and Liam were sitting at one of the tables together in the food court, chatting as Emma and Killian approached, drawing their attention.

Both Ruby and Liam’s jaws dropped to the floor, their eyes blown wide.

Emma smirked and had her arm around Killian's back as he wrapped his around her shoulder. They were both wearing black leather jackets and pants. Emma had on a hot pink, ripped blouse and he was wearing a biker t-shirt that read ‘pussy magnet’ and had an earring in one ear. They started to walk past Ruby and Liam who were just sitting there completely baffled.

Emma grabbed Killian's face and they started making out in front of them, their tongues caressing as they moaned softly. They wrapped their arms around each other, hands groping any body part within reach, not even paying attention to their audience. Emma smirked wickedly against Killian's lips before they pulled apart.

Liam and Ruby called their names but they ignored them.

“What do you say we get out of here?” Emma suggested to Killian.

He extended his hand for her to take. “Where would you like to go, babe?”

She smiled, happily slipping her palm in his. “Anywhere but the mall.”

“As you wish.” They walked away from Ruby and Liam who were still completely and utterly stunned.

They left the mall, laughing until their ribs hurt before Killian took her home. Emma had to admit, it ended up being a pretty decent day after all.

When they arrived at Emma's apartment complex, Killian walked Emma to her door. “Thanks again, Killian for buying my clothes. I'll pay you back when Ruby returns my wallet.”

“No need,” he smiled. “I'm just glad Liam didn't do that to me.”

Emma looked at him curiously. “Why’s that? Can't handle the embarrassment of walking around the store in your undies?” she laughed.

Killian chuckled back and leaned in closer, speaking in a low, sinful tone. “You're assuming that I wear underwear, love.”

Emma's breath hitched as she lifted a curious brow. “And I have a feeling I'm wrong about that assumption?”

Killian shrugged and flashed her a devilish grin. “Wouldn't you like to know.”

Emma smirked and eyed his mouth. “Maybe I would.” She closed the distance, curling her hands around the lapels of his jacket and capturing his lips. He groaned in response, both of them sighing pleasantly, getting caught up in a slow, heated kiss.

After they broke for air, she gave Killian her number before he bid her farewell.

They went on their date and she wore the blue dress that Ruby bought her. It turned out Emma's roommate was right about two things; Killian's eyes popped out of his head when he saw her in that dress, and he really was incredible in the sac. She also found out that he indeed does not wear undies.

#cs ff #cs ff au #cs #captain swan fanfiction #cs prompt #dammit ruby!

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narcisbolgor-blog · 6 years ago

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‘Sniffing poppers during sex? Such a cliche!’ How Homos reinvented gay drama

Homos, Or Everyone in America is set in an almost quaint pre-Grindr world. Its writer reveals how his funny, provocative drama was inspired by a hate crime

In the opening scene of Jordan Seaveys funny and fragmented four-person play Homos, Or Everyone in America, a man known only as the Writer is browsing in Lush when the sales assistant asks if hes shopping for a special someone. With that remark an emotional bomb, rather than the bath-time variety, seems to explode, and the play is built from the resulting rubble of non-chronological memories. The action leaps back and forth between his breakup with his boyfriend (the Academic) to their boozy first date, from arguments bristling with jealousy to a debate about threesomes. Thank God no one will ever hear this conversation, the Academic says, distilling the impression that we are eavesdropping on uninhibited intimacies not intended for the stage.

The 37-year-old, Brooklyn-born playwright bashed out a frenzied first draft in 2011, then honed it while waiting five years for the New York premiere. As you write it, youre instantly thinking, OK, were ready to go, get me my Tony! he says over iced tea in a cafe near Londons Finborough theatre, where Homos is making its European premiere. But the time it took helped the emotions and politics of the play simmer. For all its narrative experimentation and verbal candour, an air of nostalgia pertains to its pre-Grindr world of faintly embarrassed online interaction (Friendster for ever!).

Seavey regards the piece as a bridge between coming-out stories such as Beautiful Thing and Torch Song Trilogy and those yet-to-be-written plays about who we are. The characters are about to experience legislative equality in the form of marriage and I see it as asking, Where are we now? He gets frustrated, though, when people ask whether its a play for gays or straights. Its a boy-meets-boy story. Its for everyone.

Get me my Tony award! Jordan Seavey. Photograph: Linda Nylind for the Guardian

Homos was inspired by Seaveys experience of visiting an ex-partner who had been the victim of a hate crime. I have some degree of liberal obliviousness, but Im also a little cynical, so I wouldnt say I was surprised by the attack. Its the homophobia that you know is out there but you try to ignore.

The daily micro-shocks of witnessing his friends recovery informed the structure of the play, with its unheralded temporal jolts. You werent able to predict how he would look or be each day, and I think thats why a lot of the scenes start and end abruptly. I wanted to capture that disorientation.

Although an act of violence forms part of the drama, Seavey is equally concerned with the internalisation of homophobia. He dramatises acutely the way gay people tend to police themselves in even the most private situations to avoid inflaming prejudice. It isnt only that they might curb their campness; the Writer and the Academic worry also about whether sniffing poppers during sex is ratifying cliches, and if simply noticing an attractive 16-year-old upholds the homophobic stereotype of the gay man as paedophile. No wonder there is such conflict in the play surrounding the idea of community.

All of the discussion of community was sparked by the feeling Id get around Pride. You go to the parade and you think cheerfully, Oh my God, Im part of this! Then for many of us it would become, Oh my God, Im part of this? The Writer feels hes in this community but also not, and the play switches around constantly, too. He feels ambivalent about the place of queerness in society. I dont want to be the old stodgy person saying, Were not the same as straight people!

However, the empowerment anthems every female pop star is singing the whole you-are-the-rainbow thing is a sentiment gay people pioneered, and its been co-opted by straight culture. The play says that life is more nuanced than just, Speak your truth. There are a lot of queer people being marginalised, held back, beaten up, killed. That reality has not gone away just because the mainstream is embracing queerness.

This isnt The Boys in the Band Huntley and McEntire circle each other. Photograph: Alex Brenner

Homos is peppered with references to the gay canon the Writer is rebuked for thinking hes Larry Kramer, author of the Aids drama The Normal Heart, while someone else says: This isnt The Boys in the Band. It seems to reflect the process of its own making and acknowledge the pitfalls of writing a play with gay themes. (Even the title is a partial riposte to Kramers novel Faggots.) It also contains some mischievous autobiographical fretting: At least Im not gonna steal all this shit verbatim, you parasite! the Academic tells the Writer during one bust-up. Seavey looks bashful. I like to think theres something innately queer about how it playfully dares you to wonder how autobiographical it is, he says.

Seavey is shopping around a screenplay of Homos and it is easy to imagine the Nicolas Roeg-style storytelling patterns lending themselves to cinema. For now, hes happy the play is receiving its European premiere in London: he spent a semester there in 2002, during which he saw a Royal Court production of three shorter pieces by Caryl Churchill, who has had a strong influence on his work.

I wrote to her, gushing young fanboy that I was, saying she had completely changed my view of theatre. And she replied! I have it framed on my wall. I inquire after the contents of the note, and he wrinkles his nose. The handwritings not that legible, he says. But at least she wrote back.

Homos, or Everyone in America is at the Finborough, London, until 1 September.

Original Article : HERE ; This post was curated & posted using : RealSpecific

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mysteriouslyzealouspandalov-blog · 6 years ago

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Jennifer Lopez, Alex Rodriguez's relationship timeline, from secret romance to 'power couple'

New Post has been published on https://relationshipguideto.com/must-see/jennifer-lopez-alex-rodriguezs-relationship-timeline-from-secret-romance-to-power-couple/

Jennifer Lopez, Alex Rodriguez's relationship timeline, from secret romance to 'power couple'

Alex Rodriguez and Jennifer Lopez have been together now for more than a year. (Ethan Miller/Getty Images for Caesars Entertainment)

Jennifer Lopez and Alex Rodriguez were a match made in New York City — literally.

The beloved New Yorkers found love with one another nearly a decade after first meeting at a baseball game in Queens, though A-Rod has hinted in the past the pair may have met even earlier than that. At first, the pair kept it quiet but their silence was short-lived. After just two months of dating, they went public, and they never looked back.

From gracing magazine covers to attending events on behalf of their significant other, the pair have quickly grown to be known as one of Hollywood’s biggest “power couples.”

ALEX RODRIGUEZ SHARES SIGNED JENNIFER LOPEZ PHOTO FROM ‘ALMOST 20 YEARS AGO’

Here’s a look back at the couple’s flourishing romance.

2nd-anniversary, February 2019

Arod and JLo marked two years together in February.

On Feb. 4, the day after they officially became a couple, Rodriguez posted a romantic tribute to his love.

“I can’t believe it’s been two years. Only 730 days, which have flown by, but it feels like we have been together forever. We are meant to be, and how much you mean to me cannot be put into words,” he wrote, in part. “From baseball games, to traveling across the world to shows in Vegas. We have done it all together and every moment with you is cherished. Where this road will take us next is unknown but there is no one else I would rather have by my side. The journey is just beginning and I am excited for what’s ahead.”

Rodriguez gushed that there’s “no one like you” while posting a slideshow of some of his favorite moments over the past two years.

Likewise, Lopez also humble-bragged about her number one fan in a sweet post.

“Two years of laughter. Two years of fun. Two years of adventures.Of excitement of growing and learning. Of true friendship. And so much love!! You make my world a more beautiful safe and stable place… in the midst of our ever-changing, ever-moving life… you make me feel like a teenager starting out all over again… Every time I think I have you pegged, you surprise me in the most wonderful ways reminding me how blessed I am to have found you now in this moment at this time… our time… Te Amo Macho,” the singer wrote on Instagram.

Wedding bells ringing? November 2018

Lopez shut down engagement rumors on Ellen DeGeneres’ show in November. The television host joked about Rodriguez texting her prior to airing that they were planning on getting hitched.

“He did not say that. He did not say that! Let me see the text,” Lopez joked.

When asked whether she believes they will ever get married, Lopez, who has been dating A-Rod for “a couple years,” said she wasn’t sure.

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AMAs, October 2018

The couple attended the American Music Awards together in October 2018.

“There’s nothing this woman can’t do,” Rodriguez wrote on Instagram, tagging Lopez’s upcoming film “Second Act.”

Birthday girl, July 2017

Rodriguez celebrated his girl’s 49th birthday with a series of never-before-seen snapshots of Lopez.

“When we were kids, birthdays were exciting because it was all about the gifts we would be getting,” Rodriguez captioned an Instagram gallery in July 2017. “A new bat, dance shoes, maybe a new CD (yes I’m old!).”

The 42-year-old continued, “I see firsthand how that’s changed for Jennifer, and how she’s found joy in sharing with others. For someone who has been about giving everything she has 365 days a year—to our children, our families, the world—I hope today, we can give you all the happiness you deserve. I love you mucho Macha 13.”

Cover girl, March 2018

Described as being “on top of the world personally and professionally,” Lopez was named one of Harpers Bazaar’s spring cover stars.

“He sports-metaphors me to death, and now I do it to everyone else,” Lopez joked.

A-ROD’S GIRLFRIEND JENNIFER LOPEZ FLAUNTS HUGE DIAMOND WHILE ON DATE NIGHT

“Baseball is just like life,” she added. “All you want to do is hit a home run.”

Happy 1-year, February 2018

Before performing at a pre-Super Bowl LII show, Lopez took a moment to give her boyfriend some praise.

“We’ve been together for one year today. I don’t want to get all mushy or anything, but baby, this song’s for you. I love you,” she said, according to E! News.

She later explained to E! why she felt compelled to give her beau some love.

“It was our little anniversary, so it was a special night. I kept thinking ‘Oh, God—February 3! That’s our day. Oh, my God! It’s been a year.’ It was more spontaneous than anything else. It wasn’t too planned. I thought about it, and I thought, ‘Maybe I’ll do it; maybe I won’t,'” Lopez said. “But it was a great show, in general, and…I don’t know. We felt really good.”

Workout king and queen, August 2017

J-Lo and A-Rod both work hard to stay in shape. The singer-actress posted a candid of the pair after a yoga session in August 2017.

“You push me I push you…” she wrote.

Cover models, December 2017

It’s true. “J-Rod” made their magazine cover debut in December 2017, landing the front page of Vanity Fair.

The couple opened up about their relationship and spilled the tea about how they first got together. Lopez recalled spotting Rodriguez while eating lunch in Beverly Hills. Though nervous, Lopez got the courage to walk over to Rodriguez and say hello.

“I had just come from a promo for my show, ‘Shades of Blue,’ so I’m dressed like my character, like a boy—Timberlands, jeans, curly short hair. He looks at me. I say, ‘It’s Jennifer.’ He says, ‘You look so beautiful,'” Lopez revealed to Vanity Fair.

JENNIFER LOPEZ POSES HALF-NUDE IN A SEQUINED CAPE

The pair later discussed their first date: dinner at Hotel Bel Air. At first, the couple had mixed signals — unsure whether it was a real date or not. But eventually, it was crystal clear. And the rest is, well, history.

“I understand him in a way that I don’t think anyone else could, and he understands me in a way that no one else could ever,” Lopez gushed.

Red carpet debut, May 2017

The couple made their first official red carpet debut together at the 2017 Met Gala in New York City. At that time, J-Lo blasted out a series of photos showing the couple enjoying themselves at the event — from snapping selfies in the car en route to the event to blowing kisses at the dinner table.

“You’re never fully dressed without a smile,” Lopez captioned one of the Instagram posts.

Secret romance, March 2017

Rumors began to swirl around March — about a month after the pair reportedly started dating. At first, they attempted to keep their relationship a secret. Lopez and Drake split around that time after just two months of dating, Us Magazine reports.

“She is his dream girl.”

— Source to People

The news wasn’t completely shocking. Apparently, Rodriguez has always been attracted to Lopez.

JENNIFER LOPEZ FALLS DURING LAS VEGAS ‘ALL I HAVE’ CONCERT, GRACEFULLY RECOVERS

“A-Rod has always been taken with the beauty and personality of Jennifer Lopez,” a source told People in March 2017. “She is his dream girl.”

First sight, May, 2005

The pair first met at Shea Stadium in Queens back in 2005. Lopez stopped to shake Rodriguez’s hand before the first pitch, People reports.

At the time, Lopez was still with her ex-husband Marc Anthony. They even all posed for a picture together.

Jennifer Earl is an SEO editor for Fox News. Follow her on Twitter @jenearlyspeakin.

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