#the people who notice tiny differences in an artist's work enough to criticize them‚ that is a specialized hobby of theirs

[classicintp]

If only comic artists understood how little effort they have to put into their work for their fans to continue to fall in love with them.

[artsninspo]

Unexpected Renaissance (Tre X Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Trevante Rhodes X Reader

Word count: 1.9K 

Summary: When Tre and the reader meet at his fraternity’s party they have no idea the kind of bond heading up to his room is bound to create. 

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I was in my junior year of college when you met Tre. A totally different person; stuck up, condescending and exclusively committed to your artistic pursuits. I felt disconnected from my culture but connected to my ancestry unable to find beauty in the mundane everyday stuff that makes black beautiful. Guess surburbia and privilege can do that to a person. My mother decided to take a sabbatical and my father being a dean organized my special permission to have a roving semester. I was never interested in my mother’s mystification of the south or how she spoke about it with all its lore.

I was mortified to hear my cousin Toya didn’t know what to do with her life. But tapping into my inner artist you listened anyway considering it might be good inspiration for some work. While both of my parents went to survey some family land Toya painted my face.

“You ever been to a college party?” She asked.

“Of course… I’m in college” I stated obviously making Toya snicker.

“You’re a real bitch you know that. But still you my cousin - that’s what this family does they judge me. But you see, I’m a real bitch, I’m not gonna let you go out sad in whatever this shit is. Aren’t you supposed to be an artist?” She asked the real deal from then. “Is it avant garde or some shit I don’t understand?” She added making me smile.

“Some shit” I nodded.

“Yeah well you ain’t about to wear them rags around me. What size are you?” She asked.

“12”

“I’m sure my mama got something laying around that looks better than those rags. Cause I bet you’re into that classist sustainability bullshit too huh” Toya snapped.

“Yes I am, but I think it should start with the corporations and the rich. The lower classes naturally practice many sustainable methods.” I acknowledged.

“Good, then you ain’t all the way air headed” she commented pulling out a dress.

“I’m not a scholar I’m an artist” I clarified.

“They make y’all pay for that too? Any of those niggas in museums degreed up?” Toya asked smug as always.

“You’d do well in intellectual circles.” I commented putting on the dress and denim jacket.

“And you’re about to tear up this party” she smiled looking at me in disbelief.

The ride to campus was short and we could hear the music from the house once we got out the car. I’d never been to an HBCU before. I especially stayed away from fratboys. I watched as people greeted Toya with familiarity.

“Who’s your homegirl?” One of the guys asked. Clearly high ranking in the sorority by his confidence and posturing.

“Met her at the hair store, you said you want pretty girls” Toya justified omitting our familial relations, taking his hand and disappearing. It wasn’t until about an hour or so later that she returned and him and a few other guys got into line that I saw Tre. His movement in the stroll caught my eye and so did his arms.he had this elegance and the way the light his his skin was perfect. I didn’t realize I was staring until he was beside me. I got a closer look at his biceps .

“Tre, like what you see?” He introduced and I snickered wiping my eyes at his confidence.

“You crossed the room” I noted.

“I thought it was the right thing to do with you staring so hard” he commented. He kept talking but my mind was wrapped up on all the pieces I could create with him as the subject. My final project was on black version of renaissance art.

“What does your penis look like?” I asked interrupting him with a raised eyebrow.

“Wow, you came in with Toya right? That happened pretty fast” he swallowed as his air of confidence deflated slightly.

“What’s it look like, you have pictures on your phone?” I asked.

“Is it a prerequisite?” He asked and nodded.

“Actually it is” I responded truthfully. The tiny penises on the most renowned works of art never sat well with me. Appreciating the beauty of the sculptors work only so see those tiny members always was a sore point. Tre motioned for me to follow him in his room. I noticed eyes on us, even Toyas. He closed the door and I looked around a bit noting the minimal design.

“I bet that bed is filthy”

“Nah, I like clean sheets” he commented taking his shirt off leaving his gold chain. It made me smiled as I decided to add that touch.

“How tall are you?”

“Six feet” he noted as you stored the I information in my memory bank trying to consider how expensive it would be to do a life size sculpture in dark stone.

“Fuck” I muttered making him smile.

“You don’t want no foreplay or nothing, we can just get to it?” He asked dropping his pants and by far the best shaped and well endowed nude model I’d ever come across. Not to mention he was handsome. I circled him using my gift - a laser accurate photographic memory. I needed the body to be perfect. I could ask him for pictures of his face later I thought.

When I got up from looking at his member there was sheer confusion in his eyes.

“What, you want me to sit?” He asked confusing me.

“You can put your clothes back on.” I commented ecstatic.

“What the fuck?” He asked dressing. It hit me like a ton of bricks.

“I’m sorry, you just had perfect biceps. I’m an artist and I think you’d be an excellent sculpture. I’m probably gonna sketch you when I get back home” I told him as he grabbed his shirt. He was dumbfounded and annoyed.

“What kind of-“ he started about to blast me so I pulled out my phone finally coming back into reality and the evident danger.

“Look, I’m an artist - senior year I want to have a collection, enough for an exhibit. I’ve been waiting for the perfect subject to model a sculpture after. Michelangelo’s David is beautiful. He may have me in skill but you have David by at least six inches. In scale” I explained tempering the tension and complementing his manhood. The fire faded in his eyes as he looked through my digital portfolio.

“You did all this” he looked surprised and impressed.

“Yeah, I think it’s important for black people to enjoy art they can see themselves in” I admitted.

“You’re lucky you think my biceps are beautiful any other guy would have been fucked up with you getting that close and not sucking” he said frankly.

“My sincerest apologies.” I admitted and he smiled. “Think Toyas ready to go?” I asked.

“Nah” Tre said telling me she was occupied with his eyes.

“Alright thanks, thanks for being cool about my request” I nodded.

...

Tre was different than any other subject. It was like he was iridescent. I got another dimension another colour, more depth anytime I looked at him. Toya came home from her work one day saying Tre wanted me to call him. She never asked about that night so I didn’t say anything. We talked all night. Then there was another party and this time I went with my sketchbook and coals he stood with shirtless as I tried capturing his chest and shoulders having finished his rough outline.

Then he was visiting museums with me. Stopping by my makeshift studio in the sabbatical house nearly shitting himself every time pops came in to inquire about my progress. He was there when I cursed out suppliers and cried at the cost of a life sized adaptation, immortalization through art. He was there when the sabbatical and semester were over and we were heading back home. Then there was a Tre sized hole with me. I missed him, I missed our conversations and somehow all the art school politics, drama and preoccupations meant a little less. I found myself drifting away from superficial and towards real. My renaissance was happening at the same time I was preparing my exhibit. My Mona Lisa had brown skin and cornrows — it was Toya.

Tre and I didn’t cross paths again because of my travels until my graduation. He was visibly absent from the exhibit and frustrated about it. I’d never put out anything wit I’m that wasn’t perfect. I showed him my favourite places, I just got my own place afforded by my art instead of my parents wealth. We had sex that night, a fitting way to celebrate. He’d made a comment about not seeing me naked and how it wasn’t fair. I told him he wasn’t going to. Wrapped my insecurity on the moral high ground of not living for the visual satisfaction of men. Tre being Tre - a good man let me get away with it. Still we ended up in my unlit living room going at it on the couch. He used his hands to make mental notes. He took his hands feeling every curve, every roll every imperfection before showing me sex with artistic geniuses and proteges was nothing. I knew I loved him when he woke up and covered me over respecting my wishes about being seen. Somehow that night turned into every night for two weeks. Then he moved in three weeks later. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

I slide my stool back looking at the life sized sculpture of my man. I swallow a little emotional about it finally coming to an end. I swallow standing and daring to probe it for imperfections as my greatest critic. No one knows this body like I do.

“Tre!” I scream. “Tre!” I repeat with urgency like it can animate and walk out of the studio. He comes sleepily leaning in the doorway with his eyes barely open.

“What’s wrong babe?” He asks.

“Babe, it’s finished, four years later it’s finished” I squeal jumping into his arms and it’s a miracle he catches me smiling as he holds me close. I’ve never toiled at anything this long.

“So are you sick of looking at me yet?” He teases and I smile as he kisses me.

“No”

“You said once you finish we can start our family” he says with a one track mind.

“You’re not sick of me yet?” I retort.

“No” he admits.

I smile having denied him kids for the past two years since we’ve been married. The first year we were honeymooners and then the pressure for kids began. He stood with me in solidarity for the public while wearing me out behind closed doors. I stopped taking my birth control six months ago and have been neglecting my real husband for the art piece.

I step down from his hold taking off my glasses and gloves.

“Tre?” I ask putting things back in their place.

“Yeah?”

“I need you for something else” I admit and he swallows nodding despite his agitation the greatest husband ever. I can never thank Toya enough for dragging me to that party.

“What babe?”

“Let’s get started on our greatest masterpiece yet” I smile and it takes the double-entendre awhile to set in before he smiles ready and we get started.

______________

TAGLIST:

@determinednot2fall @twistedcharismaaa​ @l-auteuse​ @chaneajoyyy​ @thickemadame​ @longpause-awkwardsmile​ @klaylakayblack​ @amelatonin​ @just-juicee​ @xo-goldengirl​ @ljstraightnochaser​ @itsjustyazz​ @soufcakmistress​ @nijajoha  @iamrheaspeaks @4tprincess  @justgetitoverwith0​ @queenflaws @abeautifulmindexposed @coveredingodiv @nahimjustfeelingit-writes​@champagnesugamama​ @heavensangelxo​ @bugngiz​ @cherrystainedlipsbaby​ @tip222u​ @keiva1000​ @doublesidedscoobysnacks​ @shalynn-m​ @bakarilennox​ @tyees​ @damienwitcher 

[ggukiepie]

learned to love - kth

pairing: taehyung x reader

summary: kim taehyung thought you were meant to stay in his life forever, but maybe you were just a lesson he needed to learn

genre: breakup!au, idolverse, angst, sfw

word count: 3,676

a/n: had this with me for quite a while now so why not post it right !! anyway, this was inspired by the song eight by iu and yoongi :--) enjoy !

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Taehyung tightens his grip, his hand on the steering wheel and the other out the window, feeling the breeze through his fingers as he drives by. He looks intently at the road in front of him, cars starting to blur as he drives fast. He’s trying to forget about what just happened, what he just did, but your face keeps popping in his head. He keeps remembering the knowing look you gave him, how tightly you wrapped your arms around him in an embrace, the soft touch of your lips against his. He also remembers your eyes tearing up, and then closing to look away from him. He’s not sure if he did the right thing.

He didn’t mean for this to happen. He didn’t mean for this to get too far, too ugly, too broken for saving. He just wanted to be happy and to live in the moment, but he realized not all moments are happy moments. The truth and reality sets in eventually, and Taehyung realized reality was not a pretty sight to see.

But still. Whether he did the right or wrong thing, he knows for a fact he does not regret a single thing at all. He does not regret anything with you—because feeling regret would release the monster inside and consume him whole and he did not want to live a life with no soul.

He remembers the first time he saw you. Well, it was the first time he actually saw you, but after meeting you he’s realized you both have crossed paths many times already. But he never truly noticed you until that day. You were an intern at the company, specifically under BTS, which meant you were in charge of fixing all their documents, preparing coffee for their meetings and whatnot. You were too shy to strike up a conversation with any of them—because who wouldn’t be? They were technically your bosses and you were just…well, an intern—so you always avoided eye contact whenever you were in the same room with any of them and you didn’t linger any longer than you had to. It wasn’t because they were stuck up, egocentric idols—because God, they were far from that. It was because you were just really shy and it wasn’t like you had anything to talk about in the first place. The most you have said to them before that day was, “Can you sign here, please?”

But that day, Taehyung remembers clearly, he was running late to the meeting when he saw you come out the kitchenette holding a tray full of snacks—and Taehyung knew the snacks were for him and the boys because they always requested those during meetings. He didn’t think, really, because all he did was walk up to you, murmured Let me help, and got the tray from you. You stood there, a bit dumbfounded, but managed a small smile at his kind gesture. Taehyung smiled right back, as if on impulse, and he realized your smile was infectious.

“This is for the meeting, I suppose?” he asked to which you nodded. You walked side by side in silence until you reached the conference room. Taehyung tried not to stare at you during the entirety of the meeting. You were seated in front, right beside the group’s lawyer. You were taking down notes, nodding your head to what your boss was saying. Sometimes you chewed the bottom of your lip as if you were deep in thought. Sometimes you would let out a little exhale.

Taehyung always became reserved towards people he did not know or had not known for a long time, but with you, he felt like he wanted to be your friend. He also felt like he was stupid because how could he feel that way towards someone he barely talked to?

That was the first time Taehyung actually noticed you and since then, he’s been trying his best to bump into you whenever he was at the company. But the legal department and artists’ area were practically at opposite ends of the building, so he always felt a little stupid and embarrassed to be caught in your side of the building because he knew he had nothing of importance to be there anyway.

But he justified that reason by telling himself it was important trying to see you, to talk to you, to get to know you. Call it cliché, if you will, but there was just something that drew him to you. Always.

So he found himself going to the company earlier than he should be, going there even though he didn’t have to at all. He found himself wandering to the legal department almost every day. Sometimes he saw you and sometimes he did not. But the times he did see you, he would always make it a point to walk up to you and strike a conversation. He would say the first thing that came to his head really, and most of the time it made you laugh, which made his heart soar, so he always made it a point to start off with a random topic.

Months passed and you knew a lot about each other already. But those months always consisted meetings and bump ins at the hallway. There were never actual hangouts, eating lunch together, or Taehyung walking you to your desk. He knew you were an intern and if your boss ever saw you and Taehyung hanging out and would think otherwise… He never wanted to put your job at risk. He never wanted to cross that line.

Until one day. Jimin had caught on Taehyung’s unusual newfound habit of wandering to the legal department “by mistake” or Jimin-ah, I’m walking around to find inspiration and I always end up here! Jimin caught on the long looks you gave each other, the small smiles you shared, or how you and Taehyung always entered the conference room at the same time, Taehyung always, always carrying the tray of snacks.

So Jimin devised a plan. It wasn’t a special plan to begin with—Jimin just planned that he would talk to your boss as a distraction while Taehyung would ask you out. Taehyung’s eyes nearly bugged out at the idea. It wasn’t that he never thought of asking you out—because he did, almost every time he talked to you, but the words would die on his lips. He was just never brave enough to do so, because he knew the repercussions, sad as it may seem. He knew it would be hard to work things out—firstly, you worked at the same place and people would see differently and think differently if they saw an intern dating an idol, in the same company she worked at. Secondly, your safety and privacy would be jeopardized if people ever found out. Taehyung knew there were always stalkers out there and your identity would be out on the internet the second they’d know. Taehyung’s used to the hate and criticisms now but maybe you might not be able to handle it, should people ever find out. Taehyung’s thought about all this, he’s thought so far ahead that Jimin had to slap some sense into him.

“It’s just one date, Tae,” Jimin would always find himself saying. “One date won’t hurt, right?”

“But—”

“Taehyung-ah, stop it with your excuses! Stop being so scared and thinking about the what ifs,” Jimin started to say. Taehyung knows the speech that’s coming, has it almost memorized per word, but now does he truly realize the weight of what Jimin’s words mean. “You just have to live life, you know? Start living in the moment and stop fearing the future. Go out and experience things, for once! Fall in love, get drunk, get your heart broken, break some hearts… You won’t actually know what’s out there if you don’t take that step. Step out of your comfort zone, Taehyung. Nothing ever grows in comfort zones.”

Taehyung doesn’t know why Jimin always ends up talking about comfort zones, but he knows his friend has a point. Also, meeting you and getting to know you made Taehyung want to experience those things, things that spoke of normalcy but were alien to him given the kind of life he lived—he wanted to fall in love, he wanted to feel those butterflies everyone talked about during a first date, he wanted to feel nervous to hold someone’s hand, to kiss someone, he wanted to celebrate anniversaries and holidays with someone. And somehow, after all his thinking, he always pictured that someone being you. Taehyung wanted to experience and live life with you, and asking you out for one date wouldn’t hurt, right?

While Jimin started talking to your boss, conveniently standing in front of him to block his view from your desk, Taehyung walked to where you were sitting. You look up startled, of course, because you and Taehyung never talked in your work area. It was always in the halls, in the elevator, anywhere that seemed like a secret and not something planned, when actually it was always planned.

“Do you want to have dinner with me?” he asked in a rush. Taehyung kept looking at your boss’ desk which made you look too. You saw Jimin talking to him then looked back at Taehyung staring intently at you, and somehow you knew what they were trying to do. This made you smile of course, but there was a tiny voice at the back of your head saying this was a bad idea. But even if it was, what could one bad idea do, right?

“Sure,” you found yourself saying almost right away. You had been waiting for this moment of course. When you and Taehyung would cross the line.

In all honesty, Taehyung wasn’t expecting you to say yes right away. Hell, he wasn’t expecting you to say yes at all. But here you were, smile wide on your face and looking up at him. He was ready to explain why one date wouldn’t hurt, why if you declined, that it would be okay, that Taehyung was ready to apologize for crossing the line. But you said yes, and now he was at a loss for words.

“Well?” you giggled at his silence.

At that moment Taehyung swore he knew at least three words, but now, none were coming back. It was only then did you touch his hand that he snapped back to reality.

“That’s… That’s great. Wow,” he breathed out and brushed his hair back. “I wasn’t expecting you to say yes right away.” You laughed and Taehyung felt his heart soar again. In that moment he knew it was his new favorite sound and that he wanted to hear it every day of his life. “Does tomorrow sound good?”

“Yeah, tomorrow would be great,” you replied with a smile.

The date entailed a late-night dinner at the rooftop of the company building. Taehyung made sure your boss and most of the staff had gone home for the day, save for the boys who practiced late at night and their manager who stayed as long as they did.

It was nothing special, really—the rooftop was empty and well-lit so it was just a simple dining set up with that dinner that consisted of take-out from your favorite restaurant (which Taehyung found out the third time he “bumped” into you). He had to convince his manager to help him set up everything and he was glad enough that he didn’t ask Taehyung any questions about it.

The moment you both sat down was when Taehyung realized that his feelings for you were actually real and not just some made-up infatuation a high school student would get. It wasn’t just some crush because God—you were far from being just his crush. You were something more to him, something a single word couldn’t accurately describe. Taehyung just knew in his heart you would be important to him some day. Not now, of course, that you guys were just still getting to know each other and learning to trust one another, but in the future. He knew you would be in his life forever. And that made him smile.

He drove you home that night and walked you to your apartment, mostly because he didn’t want you to walk alone at night and partly that he didn’t want to say goodbye just yet. He remembered asking if he could kiss you. He remembered the way you smiled and nodded your head. He remembered the feel of his lips on yours, your fingers playing with the ends of his hair, his hands tightening around your waist. He remembered his heart clenching and soaring, doing flips and other things he couldn’t explain. He remembered feeling everything and nothing at once.

More late-night dates came after that. It was always late at night and always at the company building during the early stage of your relationship. You weren’t complaining of course because you understood the circumstances that surrounded your relationship with Taehyung. And Taehyung knew that you understood, but sometimes you could see the worry etched on his face whenever you would go to the rooftop for dinner, or hangout in his studio for drinks because you knew Taehyung wanted to do more with you. Wanted to do normal things with you.

But the secrecy and hiding around… God, was it hard.

Only Jimin knew what was going on between you both. He saw the way you both pointedly ignored each other during meetings, how Taehyung would give you a strained smile when all he wanted to do was kiss your lips. It was hard on your part trying to maintain an almost non-existent relationship with Taehyung in public. It was equally hard for him, too.

Sometimes Taehyung would think if he did the wrong thing asking you out. If your relationship was wrong. If it was a bad idea. He’d tell you of course and you’d always jokingly say, “One bad idea couldn’t hurt, right?”

But bad ideas became a thing in your relationship. Sometimes that bad idea was having a late-night picnic in a park without telling his manager when he’s always supposed to tell their manager of their whereabouts. Sometimes it would be Taehyung coming to a photoshoot late because last night the both of you were hanging out at your apartment and barely got any sleep because all you did was talk and kiss and laugh and be in love. Sometimes it would always be taking a train to the outskirts of the city, whenever Taehyung had a day off and you didn’t have work or school. During those moments he didn’t care if people would recognize him. All that mattered to him was you and that you were happy, and that you were happy with him. And sometimes, that bad idea would be skipping an early morning meeting with the music team because your most recent fight with him kept him up all night. Sometimes the bad ideas would be sermons from his manager, your boss scolding you for not paying attention, or Namjoon getting mad at Taehyung for being late and missing practice all the time. To Taehyung, it didn’t matter much because this is what living life felt like, right? Falling in love and making mistakes and saying yes to bad decisions. Being reckless. And then making things right. Taehyung just wanted to experience that with all of you.

It went on for a year and a half. The both of you have matured since then—less of saying yes to bad ideas and more of going to practice on time and attending meetings fully prepared. Taehyung couldn’t deny that you’ve become one of the most important people in his life. By then, you were already close to his family as he was to yours. The other members already knew about your relationship and it made Taehyung even happier that they’ve accepted you into their little circle.

But as time went by, Taehyung realized something was always missing. There was just something out of place, or something not working the way it should be. Just a minor nuisance, but something he couldn’t exactly pinpoint, which frustrated him to a great end. There was a shift in your relationship, but he didn’t realize what that shift was until one day.

You were smiling less, talking less, laughing less. What had become Taehyung’s most favorite sound in the world was now some sort of a distant memory. Taehyung had changed too. He was making less of an effort at work, putting less meaning into his performances and music. He was smiling less, too, and he didn’t know why. He didn’t know what changed between the both of you. Your relationship was great, close to perfect, so why did it feel like it was crumbling now?

Taehyung couldn’t tell the exact moment things shifted. But he found himself happy when you both weren’t fighting and he found himself in a bad mood when you were. And this would carry on for the whole day or until things were right again between you two. The members noticed this as well—that Taehyung’s mood always depended on yours.

Maybe it was because of that, Taehyung thought—that you depended on each other so much. Or that your bad ideas actually became bad ideas—that his world entirely revolved around you when it should include the other important aspects in his life like his career, family, and friends. Or how you would drop your studies to hang out with Taehyung whenever he had a day off. The two of you seemed to revel in each other’s love entirely which in the end, wasn’t healthy at all. It brought out all your bad habits and bad sides and it was just bad, bad, bad.

Taehyung did not expect things would go this far. He always told himself, BTS over anything, BTS over everything. But then you came along, caught his heart with just your laugh, and he knew he was a goner.

Taehyung tried to fix things, of course he would. He didn’t want to lose you at all. You tried to fix your relationship as well, but you always found yourself at the same place after talking things out.

Taehyung knew he had to make a decision before things went too bad. His career was on the line. Your career and studies were on the line. You were too caught up in each other that you were starting to forget about what really mattered. Maybe this was how first loves always turned out? Taehyung always wondered that maybe you were just the person he needed at that time in his life, and he was the same person you needed too. Taehyung wondered that maybe you were just the right person that came at the wrong time, or the wrong person at the right time? But Taehyung thought you were the right person, and he knew it was never the wrong time with the right person.

But things were starting to get ugly.

You were already living together that day. It used to feel like home to Taehyung, but when he stepped in that day it did not feel like home at all. It felt cold and different. Earlier that day he’d been practicing what to tell you and he was just about to say his speech when he saw you walk in the living room. He knew by the look on your face that you knew as well. He forgot most of what he practiced in his head, but he said all the important parts. That maybe you were just the person he needed during that time in his life, that maybe you were just some lesson, some experience he needed to live life. Some first love he needed to get over, some heartbreak to go through. You weren’t teenagers in love but adults that needed to start making mature decisions and not saying yes to bad ideas all the time.

You keep nodding through it all and when Taehyung was done talking, you said your sentiments as well. You felt the same way, thought the same thoughts—that maybe you just needed Taehyung at that point in your life to actually live life and experience things. Maybe he was just a lesson to you as well.

So the two of you said your goodbyes with tears rolling down your cheeks. Taehyung silently cried as he helped you pack your things. He cried as he loaded your belongings in your car. He cried as he kissed you goodbye for the last time, said I love you for the last time, hugged you for the last time. He cried as he watched you get in your car and drive off.

He stopped crying, though, once he got in his own car and started driving.

Which brings him back to the present, head now clear and cheeks dried from the tears earlier. Taehyung keeps thinking on what you two had, on what you two shared. He’d like to think you are the love of his life, as you are his. But in the end, it didn’t turn out that way. Taehyung thought you were meant to stay in his life forever, but maybe you were just a lesson he needed to learn. To learn what? To learn how to live life, how to love, how to put others before himself, the list went on. He’s learned so much from you, honestly, that he doesn’t regret what you two shared. Maybe his soulmate is out there and maybe he’ll meet that person someday. Maybe you’ll cross paths again, when things are right. Taehyung’s not sure about a lot of things right now—just a bunch of maybes and what ifs. But what Taehyung knows for sure amidst all the maybes—that you’ll always hold a special place in his heart.

[f-nodragonart]

Vertebrate Wings, PART 3: Flight

Return to main post + TOC >>HERE<<

Flight TOC

  Basic Flight Theory

  Bird vs. Bat vs. Pterosaur

  Aspect Ratio and Wing Loading

  Special Cases: Hoverers

Basic Flight Theory

I will openly admit here and now, I’m not well-versed in physics. I apologize if this section is a bit disorganized, since I’ll be stitching together others’ more comprehensible flight descriptions/explanations.

This first bit is from a kind follower, Rahjital, who sent us this quick explanation of flight theory a while back (sadly the images they added no longer seem to be working, so I tried to find fitting images as substitutes):

The first step to learn how lift works is to debunk the popular explanation of how lift forces are created, called the Equal Transit Time theory. The reasoning is that air flowing around the wing splits into two streams, one of which has to travel over the wing and another which travels below it. Due to the shape of the wing, the upper stream has to move faster to cover the same distance. This difference in velocities generates a difference in pressure and therefore lift.

However, what happens if you fly upside down?

The upper side of your wing points towards the ground, and so does the lift force. I would have said you’d fall like a rock, but the fall would actually be faster since your wings would drag you down. We all know that’s not how flight works, though, so how is lift actually created?

All you need to do is tilt the wings a bit. Seriously, I’m not kidding. No need for a specialized wing shape, as the majority of people seems to believe. (although it helps.) Why? Let me explain:

There are two phenomena causing lift to be created:

1. As air flows around the wing, its direction changes downwards and it leaves the back edge of the wing moving slightly more down. Mister Newton tells us that every action has its reaction, so if the air moves down, our wing has to rise.

2. Due to the tilting, the air flowing on the underside of the wing ends up colliding with it and slowing down, raising the pressure. On the other hand, the air flowing over the wings goes upwards because it has to get over the raised front edge, but as it can’t get back down immediately, it ends up travelling in an arc over the wing. This forms a small ‘pocket’ of low pressure straight above the top surface of the wings. These two fields of pressure then generate additional lift. (this is similar to how the Equal Transit Time theory states lift is generated, but with a very different reason, and not as important as the theory states it to be).

Next time you are traveling in a car, try reaching out of the window with your arm when going reasonably fast. As long as you keep your hand parallel to the ground, not much is going to happen, but once you tilt it even a little, the wind is going to push it up. (or down, depending on which direction you tilted it.) That’s it - your hand is generating enough lift to hit the frame of the car window. Just imagine how much lift does a properly built wing get in a similar situation.

The tilt I am talking about the entire time here is called the angle of attack, often abbreviated just AOA. The greater the angle of attack is, the more lift is generated, but the more drag there is, too. For airplanes, the AOA is negligible from an artist’s perspective, but for winged creatures, this is far more of a concern.

Therefore, the flight theory rule #1 is: Whenever you draw a flying creature, always make its wings slightly inclined. It wouldn’t be able to fly otherwise.

~~end quote~~

Bird vs. Bat vs. Pterosaur

This first bit will be borrowed from Koryos’ article “Bat Flight Versus Bird Flight” (which I highly suggest reading in-full for a deeper explanation). Fair warning though—from the short explanation they give of basic flight/lift, it seems they do believe (at least at the time of writing the article) in the now-defunct Equal Transit Time Theory, though their points on bird vs. bat flight are still valid otherwise:

If you look closely at the above gif, you’ll notice that at several points during flight, the bat actually bends its fingers, which dramatically changes the shape of its wings. Birds do not have joints in their feathers, so they cannot do this.

....

Flexible joints are not all the bat has in its arsenal. Its actual bones are flexible, due to a lack of calcium in its diet. This means that they deform and reform their shape during flight.

Birds minimize air resistance by rotating their primaries during their upstroke, allowing air to slip between the feathers. Bats, with solid membranes, can’t do this- so they have an even finer means of control. There are lines of muscle present within the bat’s wing membrane that can actually change the stiffness and malleability of its skin. You can see them quite clearly under the skin of our entangled bat friend.

This is a big brown bat (Eptesicus fuscus), by the way.

These muscles allow the bat to make their membranes flexible during their upstroke to decrease resistance, yet stiff during their downstroke in order to provide lift. It also allows them to change the camber (angle) of their wings on a whim!

This slow-mo video really displays just how incredibly flexible bat wings are.

Bat wings are also covered by millions of tiny, hyper-sensitive hairs that allow the bat to sense air currents and adjust accordingly.

So what does all this control do for the bat?

Well, for one thing, it means they’re not limited by symmetry. Bird wings will almost always mirror each other in shape, while bats may form two different wings shapes at the same time, allowing them to perform some crazy aerial acrobatics. Some insect-eating bats will actually grab an insect by wrapping one wing around it midflight (don’t believe me? You can see it in the beginning of this video!) and then get the insect in their mouth all in a split second, while still flying.

Now, in terms of speed, birds can generally outpace bats. But in terms of maneuverability, bats can fly circles around birds.

The fact that bats’ bones, unlike those of birds, aren’t hollow, and that their skin is heavier than feathers might seem like a disadvantage- but it isn’t. Birds have much more mass in the center of their body than they do in their wings; by contrast, bats have more mass distributed through each wing (12-20% per wing). This means that bats can actually push off their own mass to do things like flip, spin, roll, etc. No bird can stop midflight and flip over to land upside-down, but bats can.

Because they have such fine control over their airfoil shape, bats can also generate lift using less energy than birds. Remember when I talked about minimizing surface area during the upstroke and maximizing it during the downstroke? Bats can bend their fingers and ‘crumple’ their wings as they raise them, conserving energy. Think of it like opening and closing an umbrella. While birds can pull their feathers together more tightly, they can’t exactly clench them like fists.

Decreasing energy costs is good in any situation, but particularly for fliers. It takes a lot of energy to fly. In this case, bats can outcompete both birds and insects for energy efficiency- one study found that nectar-feeding bats, though the largest in size, expended the least energy hovering when compared to both moths and hummingbirds.

~~end quote~~

As for pterosaurs, I’ll leave it up to Mike Habib’s article “Feathers vs Membranes”:

The structure and efficiency of pterosaur wings is obviously not known in as much detail as those of birds or bats, for the simple reason that no living representatives of pterosaurs are available for study.  However, soft tissue preservation in pterosaurs does give some critical information about their wing morphology, and the overall shape and structure of the wing can be used (along with first principles from aerodynamics) to estimate efficiency and performance.

…((I’ll just be pasting the basic findings, but please read the full article if you’re interested in specifics))…

Now, for some punchlines...

Based on the structural information above, we might expect the following regarding pterosaurs and birds:

- Pterosaurs would have a base advantage in terms of maneuverability and slow flight competency.

- Pterosaurs would also have had an advantage in terms of soaring capability and efficiency

- Pterosaurs would have been better suited to the evolution of large sizes (though this was affected more by differences in takeoff - see earlier posts about pterosaur launch).

- Birds will perform a bit better as mid-sized, broad-winged morphs (because they can use slotted wing tips and span reduction).

- Birds would have an advantage in steep climb-out after takeoff at small body sizes (because they can work with shorter wings and engage them earlier).  This might pre-dispose them to burst launch morphologies/ecologies.

~~end quote~~

(other articles by Habib about Pterosaur anatomy and flight can be found here and here, for anyone interested)

When Exdraghunt linked us this information about pterosaur wings, it was in relation to a question about pterosaur keels and why they differed from bird keels. Exdraghunt suggested this might be due to pterosaur preference for soaring compared to bird flapping. However, plenty of inland pterosaurs could have been flappers, so I think the shallowness is more likely caused by their muscular setup compared to birds, discussed in more detail in the Basic Anatomy section.

Aspect Ratio and Wing Loading

Now that we have a basic understanding of the different modes of vertebrate flight, we can get to the fun stuff—wing diversity! Believe it or not, my friends, wing shapes and sizes can drastically effect an animal’s flight style.

Aspect ratio is the ratio of length to width in a wing, where high ratio indicates narrow wings, and low ratio indicates wide wings.

Loading is the ratio of body weight to wing size, where low loading = large wings + small weight, and high loading = small wings + large weight.

Measuring these two aspects against each other helps us determine different flight styles.

For a short n’ sweet rundown:

1)      Long, narrow wings (low loading, high ratio)= gliding, low speed

 2)      Long, wide wings (low loading, low ratio)= soaring

 3)      Short, wide wings (high loading, low ratio)= high acceleration (burst speed), maneuverability

 4)      Short, narrow wings (high loading, high ratio)= high speed

Though there are other aspects of wing shape to take into account as well.

(via^)

Pointedness refers to a wing tip’s position on the leading edge; IE- is the longest point of the wing further back behind the leading edge (A, round), or does the longest point lie along the leading edge (B, pointed)?. Rounder wings increase thrust, and lend towards greater maneuverability-- particularly in short/wide wings. Pointed wings reduce drag on the air (which increases speed), particularly in short wings, and can make for smoother flight.

Convexity refers to the acuteness of a wingtip; IE- is the shape of the wingtip curved relatively inwards (C, concave) or outwards (D, convex)? Concave wings are better suited for constant high speed. Convex wings create more lift, so are ideal for slow flying and increase acceleration.

Measuring these two aspects against each other gives us another fun chart of wing types.

(via^)

And let’s not forget that slotted wings—those whose primary remiges have notches which create gaps between these feathers—reduce drag and tend to be found in wide (low ratio) wings.

Put all these aspects and little details together, and you can observe some very unique flight patterns. Most ornithologists tend to organize wings into 4 different types, as shown below.

Though I personally like to use a few more types as organization (list via):

  1) Marine soarers are birds that fly for long periods over the open ocean and have very high aspect-ratio wings and average or low wing loading that reduce the energetic cost of flight. Birds in this category include the albatrosses (Procellariiformes).

  2) Divers/swimmers are birds with medium to high aspect ratios and high wing loading, including murres, loons, grebes, scoters, mergansers, ducks, and swans. These birds fly rapidly, but with limited maneuverability, characteristics useful for birds that often fly long distances (e.g., during migration or to feeding areas) and take-off and land on water where precise maneuverability is not as important.

  3) Aerial hunters are birds with high aspect-ratio wings and low wing loading, a combination permitting rapid flight and excellent maneuverability. Aerial hunters include swallows and martins (Passeriformes), swifts (Apodiformes), nightjars (Caprimulgiformes), Swallow-tailed Kites (Falconiformes), frigatebirds (Fregatidae), terns (Sterninae), some falcons (e.g., hobbies and Eleonora’s Falcon), and tropicbirds (Phaethontidae).

  4) Soarers/coursers include birds with low aspect ratios and low wing loading, characteristics that allow relatively large birds to either soar or fly just above the vegetation in open habitats in search of prey. Birds in the soaring category include hawks and eagles (Falconiformes), vultures, condors, and storks (Ciconiiformes), and cranes (Gruiformes). Coursing birds include some owls (e.g., Barn Owl and Short-eared Owl; Strigiformes) and harriers (Falconiformes).

  5) Short-burst fliers are birds with low aspect ratios and high wing loading that fly infrequently and only for short distances. Birds in this category include those in the orders Galliformes (e.g., turkeys, pheasants, quail, grouse, and megapodes) and Tinamiformes (tinamous).

  6) Hoverers are birds capable of flying in one position without wind and have high aspect ratios and, surprisingly, high wing loading. The high aspect ratio reduces the energetic cost of flight, whereas the high wing loading permits relatively fast, agile flight (Rayner 1998). The only true hoverers are the hummingbirds (Apodiformes).

~~end quote~~

I don’t have an outside source to verify this observation, but I’ve found that a longer “hand” section and shorter arm generally correlate with high-speed flight, while a shorter “hand” and longer arm correlates to low-speed gliding. I can only assume this may be due to a shorter arm section being easier to flap rapidly, but again, this is conjecture.

While much of this information is bird-specific, I was able to scrounge up a graph of bat aspect ratios and loading, so I can only assume these concepts similarly apply to bat flight.

(via^)

There sadly seems to be much less information available on bat wing/flight diversity…

As for pterosaur wing diversity, exdraghunt sent in some great input (as well as that chart of different bat wings featured above~):

There actually is a fair amount of wing diversity among pterosaurs, and it fairly closely parallels that in birds. (Though they do not reach the extreme variety in shapes that birds do, due to the limitations in variety of “arm+wing finger” combos)

One of the most extreme examples is Nyctosaurus gracilis, a long-distance marine soarer, similar to albatrosses. They have very long, thin wings (and also lost their other wing fingers, presumably because they came on land rarely)

Other species of pterosaur, like insect eaters (which need short, broad wings for manuverability) or over-land fliers would’ve had different wing shapes.

Some of this difference was achieved by varying the ratio between “arm” and “wing finger” lengths. You’ll notice that smaller, earlier “Rhamphorhynchoids” (the top half, with the long tails) tended towards  short arms vs long wing fingers. While larger, later Pterodactyloid species developed longer arms in relationships to the wing finger. (Especially in the wrist)

Wing shape silhouettes, by Mark Witton. (Not to scale, obvs.)

~~end quote~~

Special Cases: Hoverers

Hoverers such as hummingbirds are special cases in the world of vertebrate flight, because much of their lifestyle and physiology mimics that of insects-- including their flight.

The basic rules of flight theory discussed above won’t exactly apply to these guys, because air doesn’t travel over their wings in the same way it does in other vertebrate flyers. Take a look at this post and compare the animations between the hummingbird, goose, and bat. What exactly is unique about the hummingbird animation compared to the other two?

A few things-- for one, hummingbirds don’t have nearly as many points of wing articulation during flight. If you look closely, you’ll see there’s no bend at the elbow or wrist for a hummingbird; they move their whole arm in a completely stiff, figure-8 pattern. Such high-speed flapping can’t handle that much articulation.

Why a figure-8? Here’s the thing-- hummingbirds don’t technically have an upstroke they have to account for. Every stroke of their wings is a downstroke because when they pull their wings back, the topside of their wings tilts down and also pushes against the air as a “downstroke”. Thus, there’s never a gap between downstrokes-- they’re always efficiently pushing down against the air.

This is also why, unlike most every other flying vertebrate, their flight is more vertical than horizontal. In order to properly swing their wings in a figure-8 motion, they have to tilt their bodies up.

While hovering flight is cool as hell, it comes with a lot of restrictions; mainly, hoverers are always small. The energetic restrictions required for hovering are so incredibly high that bodies much bigger than a hummingbird wouldn’t be able to consume enough energy to make up for hovering. Plus, hoverers tend to live right on the edge of starvation because what energy they do manage to consume is used up so quickly.

If you do want to integrate hovering into your dragons, consider making it a secondary form of flight that they can only keep up for short bursts, rather than their primary mode of flight. Unless you’re ready to give your dragon a lot of physiological restrictions, which is cool too.

-Mod Spiral

[kazliin]

I'm sure you've answered similar questions so sorry ahead of time if you have answered these questions before.I re-read Until My Feet Bleed and My Heart Aches for like the sixth time. I tend to go back and re-read some of my all time favorite FFs throughout the years and I was once again blown away by your writing so I have some questions! 1. Do you find that it's better to write everyday or just when motivation hits? 2. How many edits/revisions do you usually do? To be cont....

LOL I'm back- continuing with question 2, how do you know when you've edited a chapter or even an entire story enough? 3. How do you know when you've written too much? Everyone knows the rule of 'show not tell' but where is the line between using too much of that flower language and just getting to the point? 4. Have you worked on an original story or have you been published already?! I would love to read an OG work. :)

Last few questions haha- I wish there wasn't a word limit on these things...5. Any tips for how to not compare yourself to other writers? I have this problem in both writing and art. I do a piece and then look or read something that someone else produced and then table flip my desk because their work is significantly better and then I'm that 'this is fine' meme. 6. Have you found that writing FF has helped you? Thank you for taking the time to read these. ^_^

 ----

No worries, I love getting questions about my writing! I’ll answer them all in order so it’s easier to read.

1)      Do you find that it's better to write everyday or just when motivation hits?

For me, if I’m in the middle of a multi-chapter fic or series, I find it better to write regularly. Motivation is a fickle thing, so I found having a set writing schedule helped me put out chapters regularly. I didn’t write ever day, but I had set days/times every week that I would devote to writing. I can be pretty lazy at times so if I hadn’t forced myself to sit down and write, I never would have finished anything!

When it comes to oneshots though, I definitely only wrote when inspiration struck. Because they are much shorter and easier to write, it was much more fun for me to frantically write one in a burst of inspiration than to try and force one out when I wasn’t feeling inspired. But those strokes of inspiration aren’t a regular thing for me so I can’t rely on them for longer fics. So, for me, I write differently depending on what kind of fic I’m writing (not a very helpful answer I know!)

 2)      How many edits/revisions do you usually do? How do you know when you've edited a chapter or even an entire story enough?

I am a horrible little writing gremlin who edits something once and then tosses it out into the world for all my readers to suffer my many writing mistakes. Is it the best way to do things? Absolutely not. But I find the more I edit the more I hate things and delete huge chunks of writing and I’m never fully satisfied. So I limit how much time I spend reworking a chapter or I’d never post it. I should definitely edit my writing more but fanfiction is a hobby, not a job. I’m not going to spend hours agonizing over a fic that I was supposed to enjoy creating for the sake of editing it to perfection. So I’d say, once you get sick of reading your own writing while editing, it’s probably a sign to stop and just put the story out into the world because fic is meant to be fun, not stressful!

 3)      How do you know when you've written too much? Everyone knows the rule of 'show not tell' but where is the line between using too much of that flower language and just getting to the point?

This is a really tricky one because it depends on what kind of fic you’re writing and your own personal preference. I like writing a lot of introspection and have a bad habit of

making my chapters far too long. Some people like reading that kind of writing but some people absolutely hate it. The majority of the negative comments on my fics are about how there is too much introspection, my chapters should be more concise, and I need to learn how to edit down my work. Which is all fair critique but hey, it’s fanfic. I like to write like that and so I’m going to keep writing like that. And people who like short, punchy fics that get straight to the point are going to keep writing they way they like too. There’s no right or wrong way to write fic, just the way you like it.

When it comes to writing your own fic, whatever is best for you is usually whatever you find most natural to write. If you naturally write shorter chapters there’s no need to make yourself bored and unhappy by trying to drag them out with lots of flowery language. But if you naturally just let your words flow free and write lots of flowery descriptions, there’s no need to frustrate yourself trying to edit it down too much. I’m a firm believer in fanfic being fun. So write in the way that you enjoy. If people don’t like it, they can go read another fic. Different people have different tastes, so you have to write for yourself first and everyone else second. A fantastic chapter could be 1,000 words or it could be 30,000, as long as it’s written from the heart.

 4)      Have you worked on an original story or have you been published already?! I would love to read an OG work. :)

I unfortunately have not! I may one day but I don’t currently have any plans to

 5)      Any tips for how to not compare yourself to other writers? I have this problem in both writing and art. I do a piece and then look or read something that someone else produced and then table flip my desk because their work is significantly better and then I'm that 'this is fine' meme.

The best way I’ve ever seen someone address this situation is in this comic.

 In fandom, it’s really hard not to compare yourself to other people, especially with so many talented people producing content! But there are a few vital things to remember, the first of which being the two cakes philosophy in the comic I linked. Sure maybe someone produced something that you think is better but I guarantee the audience isn’t thinking “oh this thing isn’t as good as that thing.” They’re thinking “hell yes, more things!!” All content is good content because it’s content that keeps fandom alive.

 Also, we are all terrible judges of our own work. I guarantee if you asked the author/artist of your very favourite fanwork about their own work they’d be able to point out 100 tiny flaws you’d never seen. So when you’re looking at your own work, remember that you’re probably being overly critical of yourself and your intended audience are unlikely to notice even a fraction of the problems you see in the things you create.

 And finally, don’t be too harsh on yourself because the more you do something, the more you improve! Some writers/artists in fandom also do writing/art professionally. And even if they don’t, some have been producing fanfiction/fanart for many years, so they’ve had huge amounts of practice. So you’re doing yourself a disservice by comparing yourself to someone who might have been drawing/writing for years more than you. I guarantee if you read the first fics I wrote when I was 12/13 (thankfully purged from the internet now because god were they terrible) you would think they were a flaming pile of trash because they were. And I used to look at other writers and think I’d never get as good as them because they just seemed to write amazing things so naturally. But it takes years and years of practice and gradually you get better and better. So if you find yourself comparing yourself to someone else and getting disheartened, try to remember there was probably a time they were doing the exact same thing! And if they kept going then so can you!

 6)      Have you found that writing FF has helped you?

It definitely has! I started writing the Rivals series when I was at a very low point in my life and it was a very cathartic experience for me. And it was also such a great feeling to know people were liking and reading my work! It helped me through some tough times and even though I haven’t written in a while, I still sometimes get comments on my old fics that absolutely brighten my day! I love fanfic, both reading and writing it, and it’s been a very important part of my life for a long time

[robdelicious]

How Robert Pattinson And Willem Dafoe Made It To The Lighthouse

Out of a swirling fog emerges the prow of a boat, knifing through a foaming sea. Two figures, shadows in the murk, stand silhouetted on the foredeck, confronting the horizon, their backs to us. Presently an island swims into view. No more than a crag, really: lonely, battered, forbidding. Then a lighthouse can be made out, blinking in the gloom.

Now we see the men head-on, a striking dual portrait in high contrast black and white: a double exposure. They are wearing sailors’ caps, greatcoats, and hefting wooden trunks. One is younger, taller, moustachioed. The other, more deeply crevassed, sports a wild beard, out of which pokes a small wooden pipe, like Popeye’s. Theirs are, by any standards, remarkable faces, extreme faces, unyielding as rock yet sculpted with great delicacy, skin stretched tight over jutting bones: sharp noses, strong jaws, deep set eyes. And, oh, the cheekbones! And would you look at all those teeth?

Before anything else — before they are handsome faces, or expressive faces, or famous faces (they are all of those things) — these are photogenic faces. On first inspection they appear impassive, almost blank. And yet an air of foreboding is struck. The older man’s features are fixed in a roguish grimace. The younger man is wary, tense. These might be the faces of a father and son, or brothers separated by decades: hard, thin, stern faces, built for hard, thin, stern lives. Lives filled with mean disappointments, festering resentments, blood feuds. Here are men who have seen trouble before and will see it again. Maybe they’re looking for trouble. Maybe they’ve found it. Is this a dual portrait — or the portrait of a duel?

Whatever has thrown these men together in this place — fate, karma, the thirst for adventure, the desire for escape (in the case of the characters, but perhaps the actors, too?) or (in the case of the actors specifically) the need to stretch oneself artistically, or to challenge oneself physically, or the reputation of the director, or a really good script, or all of these things — one senses they are aware already, as they square up to the stinging reality of their circumstances, that they may have got more than they bargained for. What we can be sure of from the off: there will be weather. There will be conflict. And there will be acting.

The film is The Lighthouse, the second feature film from the 36-year-old American writer-director Robert Eggers, who made a stir with his debut, The Witch. Eggers, who is based in Brooklyn but grew up in rural New Hampshire, is a man possessed of a rare and creepy gothic sensibility. The Witch was an arthouse horror film, a twisted fairytale with the insidious power of a nightmare. It concerned a family of 17th-century puritans banished to the woods of New England, and it involved possessed children, birds pecking at human flesh, and an unholy bond with a goat. It cost $4m to make and earned that money back 10 times over, making Eggers not just a critical darling, but a coming man in commercial cinema.

For The Lighthouse, Eggers is reunited with A24, among other production companies, and with much of his crew from The Witch, including his director of photography, Jarin Blaschke, and composer Mark Korven, who between them do as much as anyone to set the eerie mood. His co-writer is his brother, Max Eggers. The actors were new to him.

Those faces that I have been at pains to describe, then, belong to Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe. They play lighthouse keepers on a wind-slapped, rain-lashed rock off the Atlantic coast of North America. The year is 1890. Pattinson is, or appears to be, Ephraim Winslow, the taciturn apprentice. “I ain’t much for talkin’,” he says early on — a statement, like so many in this film of shifting and unfixed identities, that turns out to be not entirely true.

Dafoe is Winslow’s irascible, peg-legged senior partner, Thomas Wake, an experienced “wickie” and a cruel taskmaster, obsessively enraptured by the beacon he tends. “The light is mine!” he declares, mad-eyed. Wake consigns Winslow to the bowels of the building, where the younger man stokes the fire and swabs the floors and nurtures his grievances, while indulging in some quite epic, mermaid-focussed masturbation. Winslow and Wake are to spend four weeks alone on the island before they are to be relieved. But when a storm blows in, the odd couple are stranded — maybe, or maybe not, because a violent act on Winslow’s part has brought down a curse upon them. Slowly, and then in spasms of ultraviolence, they unravel.

The Lighthouse is a twisted buddy movie, a surreal black comedy, a psychological thriller set at the hysterical pitch of Grand Guignol. It was filmed in the spring of 2018 on sound stages in the city of Halifax, Nova Scotia, on Canada’s Atlantic coast, and on location on the tiny fishing community of Cape Forchu, nearby. (“People tend to spend up to 45 minutes here,” Google Maps tells us of Cape Forchu. This fact might, or might not, amuse the filmmakers who spent weeks there, battling Biblical conditions. “It snowed in May,” notes Dafoe.)

With the exception of the Moldovan model Valeriia Karaman, who makes a number of brief, though memorable, appearances in her debut film, Pattinson and Dafoe are the only members of the cast, and their seesawing power struggle is the film’s entire focus, with point of view switching sides like a sail boat’s boom in a storm. Its success or failure rests heavily on their shoulders.

Pattinson and Dafoe are big stars, both. They are also men from different generations, different backgrounds, different countries and traditions. The Lighthouse was not an easy film to make for a number of reasons — the remote location, the raging weather — but not the least of the filmmakers’ challenges were the contrasting approaches of the two actors.

“They really did have incredible chemistry on screen,” director Eggers tells me on the phone, “but it was chemistry through tension. I know there’s been discussion about their different acting techniques and the trying conditions on set…” He pauses. “That couldn’t have been better for the movie.”

If you happened to be out and about in Halifax, in the early spring of 2018, you may have noticed a slender young loner stalking the streets day after day, muttering to himself. Noticed him, and felt concern for his emotional wellbeing. Had you followed him, and listened closely, you might have heard the same words repeated over and over again, in a gravel-voiced near-grunt: “Woyt poyn, woyt poyn, woyt poyn…” Come again? “Woyt poyn, woyt poyn...”

“White pine,” the slender young man enunciates into my voice recorder, 18 months on, in the accent of a nicely brought-up southwest London boy, rather than a 19th-century working man from a highly specific part of Maine. White pine — I’m sorry, woyt poyn — is one of the trees which his character lists when telling his colleague of his past misadventures as a lumberjack. Pattinson developed the accent with the help of a dialect coach and by speaking to a contemporary Maine lobster fisherman on the phone. “It’s one of those accents where if you say one syllable wrong it’s suddenly Jamaican, or something,” he says. “So it took ages.”

Pattinson arrived early in Halifax, before his director and co-star, to psych himself into the role of the saturnine Ephraim. Having approached Eggers after seeing The Witch, in the hope that they might at some point work together, Pattinson had declined the director’s first suggestion, for a part in a more conventional, mainstream film that the director was then developing.

“He said he was only interested in doing weird things,” Eggers says. “So when The Lighthouse came around I said that if he doesn’t find this weird enough, I guess we’ll never work together.”

It’s true, Pattinson says, that at that time, in 2016, he “wanted to do the weirdest stuff in the world.” (Mission accomplished, Rob!) Still, he spent a good deal of time agonising over whether or not to take the role in The Lighthouse. “I remember reading it and I thought it was very funny, but I was also thinking, ‘I don’t understand how the tone would work?’”

When Dafoe signed on, Pattinson was excited. “I knew Willem could bring that kind of anarchic energy,” he says, “but I really didn’t know how I would do it at all.” Dafoe, he says, in one of his many moments of self-effacement, “has one of those faces where he can literally sit in any room in the world, doing almost nothing, and it’s fascinating to watch. Whereas I sort of blend in with the chair I’m sitting on.”

Before filming began, the pair spent a week in rehearsals. Pattinson dislikes rehearsing, preferring to do his experimenting on camera. “It was very, very frustrating,” he says. “I just couldn’t achieve what they wanted me to achieve in that room. Robert [Eggers] was getting furious with me because I was just sitting there, completely monotone the whole time. He could not stand it.” Pattinson tells the story with no rancour whatsoever. He knows it sounds funny, but it wasn’t at the time. “I just don’t know how to perform it until we’re performing it. By the end of the week, I’m thinking, ‘I’m going to get fired before we’ve even started’. I definitely feel like, with the rehearsal period, we were quite angry with each other by the end of it. Literally, we’d finish for the day, I’d fucking slam out the door and go home.

“I knew that there was diminishing expectations of me throughout the week of rehearsals,” he says. “I definitely became an underdog. They’re like, ‘Wow, this was a big mistake. He’s really shit.’”

Pattinson and I talk on a sweltering August morning, in the comfort of a private members’ club in west London, near the flat he’s rented for the summer on Airbnb. (He’s in town to shoot Christopher Nolan’s new sci-fi spectacular, Tenet, about which he is permitted to tell us, with fulsome apologies, precisely nothing.) Rather than swigging kerosene and chaining tobacco, as in the film, he orders a banana smoothie, and when he’s finished that, an apple juice. Occasionally he sucks on a Juul.

Pattinson is 33. He grew up in affluent Barnes, the son of a dealer in vintage cars and a model booker. More or less untrained — unless you count some teenage am-dram — at 19 he was cast as Cedric Diggory, the hero’s doomed frenemy, in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. But his Hollywood breakthrough arrived in 2008. Twilight was a teen B-movie, but it became a pop cult phenomenon, spawning four sequels of diminishing charm, making an otherworldly $3.3bn worldwide and creating megastars of its leads, Pattinson, who played a sexy vampire, and Kristen Stewart, who became his girlfriend on screen and IRL, as they say, before, in an unseemly frenzy of prurient salivating, she became his ex-girlfriend.

While for some he may always be the pallid tween heartthrob, in the six years since the final instalment of Twilight, Pattinson has worked hard to reinvent himself. His post Young Adult years have been cussedly uncommercial and impressively adventurous. In that period, Pattinson has worked with some of cinema’s most fêted directors: David Cronenberg, Anton Corbijn, James Gray, Werner Herzog, the Safdie brothers. Most recently, he was an intergalactic castaway in High Life, an enjoyable, if bonkers, dystopian sci-fi from the French director Claire Denis.

“Even in the Twilight years I never said, ‘Oh, he’s just a pretty boy,’” says Robert Eggers. “I always thought there was something interesting about him. I could tell that he wanted to be a great actor. And in the past years it’s been very clear that he is.”

The attraction of more avant garde or outré material, Pattinson says, is it allows him to let rip in a way he never could in real life. Pattinson compares the experience of acting in a film like The Lighthouse with joyriding. “A lot of the movies I’ve done recently, you literally feel as if you’ve stolen a car and you’re kind of careening through stuff.” (Such are the fantasies, perhaps, of a boy who grew up with a father who imported American sports cars for a living.)

In person, Pattinson is a mild-mannered English actor, albeit a slightly eccentric one. On set, however, “because you’re playing a mad person, it means you can sort of be mad the whole time. Well, not the whole time, but for like an hour before the scene.”

What does he mean by being mad? “You can literally just be sitting on the floor growling and licking up puddles of mud.”

This sounds figurative. He really means it. On The Lighthouse, in the scenes in which his character is meant to be drunk on kerosene (there are quite a few of them), he was “basically unconscious the whole time. It was crazy. I spent so much time making myself throw up. Pissing my pants. It’s the most revolting thing. I don’t know, maybe it’s really annoying.”

It’s hard not to speculate that yes, it might be really annoying. “There’s a scene,” Pattinson remembers, “where Willem’s kind of sleeping on me and we’re really, really drunk and I felt like we’re completely lost in the scene and I’m sitting there trying to make myself gag and Robert [Eggers] told me off because Willem’s looking at him going: ‘If he throws up on me, I’m leaving the set.’ I had absolutely no idea this whole drama was unfolding.”

In some ways, Pattinson concedes, all this acting out is a reaction to his terrifying early super-fame. He speaks of himself in the second person when talking about it. “For a long time you’re very self-conscious in the street. You’re hiding a lot, so [on set] you have an excuse to be wild. It’s like being an adrenaline junkie. And also, when you don’t know how to do something, why not just run headfirst into a wall? See what happens. I haven’t got any other ideas.”

On The Lighthouse, he spun in circles before each take, to make himself off-balance. He placed a stone in one of his shoes, to increase the already considerable physical hardship. He can see — from my disbelieving laughter, apart from anything else — that all this strikes non-actors as funny, even preposterous. It may be that it sounds this way to some actors, too.

The most famous story (possibly apocryphal) of an encounter between an adherent of the Method — in which actors don’t so much pretend to be someone else as try to temporarily become them — and a more traditional, outside-in actor, who puts on costume and makes believe, is Laurence Olivier’s withering put-down of Dustin Hoffman, when they were working together on John Schlesinger’s Marathon Man. At some point, Hoffman, a graduate of the Actors Studio, confided in the great English Shakespearean that, in order to bring the correct verisimilitude to a scene in which his character has not slept for three consecutive nights, he had forced himself to stay awake for the same period. “My dear boy,” Olivier is said to have smoothly replied, “why don’t you just try acting?”

Eggers says that any suggestion of that kind of relationship between Dafoe and Pattinson is wide of the mark. “The idea that Dafoe is outside-in and Rob is this method actor, that’s not the case. I think maybe they lean the tiniest bit into those directions but they’re both combinations of things.”

ESQUIRE: https://www.esquire.com/uk/culture/a29300396/robert-pattinson-willem-dafoe-interview/

[minkillah]

hello everyone!! my name’s lua, my pronouns are she/her and i’m a resident of gmt+1. i’m super excited for this group to get rolling so i can write with you all. i play choi minki (kim taehyung) of lotto fame. if you’re interested in interacting with him just ♡ this post and i’ll give you all of my love.

born and raised in busan’s gamcheon village, south korea, the former underground rapper turned ambitious lotto all-rounder has been under marathon entertainment for nine years. winners  know him as the unspoken protector of the group, and his observant nature allows him to encapsulate ideas in his music with a persuasive edge, but he’s at times criticized for being too eccentric and sardonic. 

OVERVIEW

FULL NAME: choi minki

STAGE NAME: MINKI, minkillah (pre-debut/underground)

NICKNAME(S): min, key

GENDER (PRONOUNS): cismale (he/him)

DATE OF BIRTH (AGE): 1994, march 5th. (25)

HOMETOWN: gamcheon village in busan, south korea

RESIDENCE: seoul, south korea

OCCUPATION: lead rapper, vocalist and visual of lotto. 

SEXUALITY: bisexual.

HEIGHT: 181cm

HAIR COLOR: naturally jet black (often dyed for his job, currently dark brown)

EYE COLOR: dark brown

TATTOOS: upper arm white tiger (sleeve tattoo, is a work in progress), roman numeral wrist tattoos (left wrist: lotto debut date / right wrist: his mother's birthday)

PIERCINGS: several in his ears.

SCAR: small childhood scar along his knee from falling on broken glass at the beach.

NOTABLE FEATURES: intense and piercing eyes / long eyelashes / big hands / deep voice / nose, cheek and lip moles / big boxy smile. 

FACE CLAIM: kim taehyung

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE: protective, contemplative, playful, mischievous, ambitious, loyal, soulful, creative, plainspoken, focused, steadfast, sentimental, observant, intuitive, tenacious, passionate, wry.

NEGATIVE: eccentric, sardonic, juvenile, intense, pent-up, stubborn, hard to know, single-minded, competitive, temperamental, moody, untrusting, all-or-nothing.

LIKES: art, music, anything unique, reading long letters from fans, writing, working, poetry, performing, sincerity, intimacy, the sea, candles, mystery, travelling, warm hands, depth, long conversations, feeling connected to someone, driving at night, visiting home, his mother.

DISLIKES: feeling controlled, invasions of privacy, assumptions, loneliness, boredom, shallow conversations, having his trust broken, spinelessness, being lied to, self-victimizing, blowhards, people who don’t keep their word, his father.

HABITS: staying up late to work on music, collecting headbands and baseball caps, chewing gum, bouncing his leg, man-spreading, calling his mom every day, stuffing his hands into his pockets, scribbling lyrics on things he shouldn’t (napkins, his hand), clicking his tongue, quirking his eyebrows, making funny faces to relax, stretching his neck by tilting his head to the side, rolling his shoulders.

FEARS: losing his mom, never being accepted for who he is, resembling his deadbeat dad, the general public finding out his father left their family.

STYLE: streetwear, skatewear, city-ready and modern, comfortable, relaxed fits, a touch of grunge, baseball caps, logo t-shirts, headbands, thick rimmed glasses, black trousers, hoodies, worn buckle-boots, chunky sneakers, retro runners, wide-cut trousers, shirt tuck, pleated pants.

SMOKE? no. 

DRUGS: no.

ALCOHOL: yes.

HEADCANONS

minki’s outer mask of aloofness is a cover for his stormy inner life. he’s always battling between his heart and mind, conscious of how emotions can make him look; sometimes he’s cool and level-headed, and other times he’ll throw his weight around. ultimately he’s emotional and has a great desire for intimacy.  

once he lets his guard down, he’s more than willing to show how much he truly cares for someone. for special someones, he feels a poignant love strong enough to walk through the valley of the shadow of death. when these feelings are hard to verbalize, he expresses them best through action.

the promise of emotional depth and soul-level understanding shines out of his eyes. he’s a good listener, maybe because he’s often listening into the hidden layers of what people are saying. his closest relationships are the equivalent of feeling an overwhelming urge to call someone, only to find they were just about to call you.

in a world of tell-all social media, he’s quite a private person. anyone close to him has to be able to keep secrets. the classified files of his personal history are only ever revealed to those who’ve earned his trust. 

while it can be hard for minki to let others in, he also intensely needs others, and he needs to go deep with them. it’s important for him to have close friends and special someones who are in it with him for the long haul.

he’s got an animal magnetism on stage and knows how to turn it on for the effect of something tender, edgy, soulful or brutal.

prone to jealousy and paranoia and will do anything to hide it. he needs mutual reassurance in relationships, and betrayal of any kind is the death knell for any relationship with him, friendship or otherwise. a true loyalist.

ambitious and will do whatever he needs to attain his goal. he also has a strong competitive characteristic that pushes him to strive for greatness.

drops one-liners and quotables in public that, for good and bad, will follow him until the end of his career. doesn’t seem to get embarrassed even when he misspeaks in interviews and can help dispel tensions at times using poker-faced humor at his own expense.

minki knew next to nothing about fashion or make up prior to joining the company and was shocked to learn stylists saw enough potential in him to appoint him as "visual" of the group. these days he moves with more awareness in regards to how he represents lotto to the public, and sometimes jokes in interviews that his face does all the work.

shockingly good at aegyo despite his image and the intense vibes his face gives off. variety shows used to love asking him to perform cute gestures and whatnot back in the day, but thankfully that doesn't happen as much now that he's older.

sheds not a single tear all year but can be seen full on bawling at the end of annual fanmeetings.

as the third oldest in the group, he’s something of a bridge between the younger members and the oldest members of lotto.

that big goofy rectangle grin makes him look like a different person when he smiles.

one of the members most likely to slip into satoori.

plays the piano; currently learning guitar.

RELATIONSHIPS

MOTHER: choi misun (52), a writer and local artist in gamcheon culture village. 

FATHER: doesn’t know his father. 

SIBLINGS: none. 

OTHER RELATIVES: they’re rarely in touch. 

PETS: none. loves & wants pets of his own, but worries he won’t be able to care for a living thing. dotes on other people’s animals instead.

LOVERS: single.

HISTORY

CHILDHOOD

when minki was born, his mom decided the only thing scarier than being a single mother was not being a mother at all. her ex-boyfriend, minki's dad, denied the child was his and refused to support her decision to keep him. her parents begged her to give the boy for adoption, threatening to disown her, but it was too late: looking into her son’s eyes she felt certain, more than she’d been of anything, that he wasn’t a mistake. he was her miracle. she would raise him alone, an unwanted mother and the black sheep of her family.  

relatives gathering for holidays didn’t want the two of them attending, and neighbors were told made-up stories of a husband passing away, all to protect the family’s reputation. for some time, minki was too young to notice anyone’s absence: it’d always been just him and his mother and he didn’t know of anything different. this changed as he grew up and was confronted with the lack of a father figure in his life - or grandparents, aunts and cousins.

he became painfully aware of his mother’s struggles. her writing and art wasn’t enough to support them, and she worked too hard for most of her life, taking on several labor-intensive jobs to feed and clothe him. theirs was a humble but colorful life in the poor seaside village of gamcheon, located in the coastal city of busan.

at the epicenter of art, beauty and chaos, minki spent his childhood running through steep slopes and tiny alleys nestled between a mishmash of pastel-colored houses, a deep blue sky and ocean in the background. he was often alone, as all throughout school, there were classmates whose mothers instructed them not to play with him, or would tease him for not having a father. 

birds of a feather flock together. minki found friendship in the company of children who either seemed different, outcasts just like him, or those who accepted him and didn’t care about rumors and social status. his best friend was a neighboring child of an eclectic couple of local artists and acquaintances of his mother.

in his early teens, there was anger and hurt simmering beneath minki’s exterior. he was at an emotionally painful passage of his life and wanted to act out, but knew that it would break his mother’s heart if anything ever happened to him. not wanting to hurt her the way his father had hurt her, minki turned to art as an outlet for destructive thoughts, and music became his way of dealing with the sense of chronic loss.

hip-hop was raw, emotional and honest. it was a device in and of itself, a friend to play with.  twotime had a huge influence on minki as a teenager, and inspired him to start writing songs when he was 14 years old. thanks to the democratization of music through the internet, he found a way to pirate software and started producing beats in his bedroom.

CAREER

he was active in busan’s underground hip hop scene during high school, competing in rap battles under the name minkillah. it wasn’t only his rapping that garnered attention; minki eventually began establishing himself as an emerging  producer, composing beats for local talent in his hometown.  

looking for a challenge that would take his music to the next level, minki entered a hip hop competition held by marathon entertainment. when staff met with the young man in person, they insisted he enter a second audition with the potential of joining a new idol group the company planned to debut.

minki passed the second audition and joined marathon entertainment as a trainee at 16. dreaming of one day providing his mother the kind of life where she never had another day, and possibly making music with his role models in twotime, he moved away from home and enrolled into a high school in seoul to complete his formal education while attending daily vocal, rap and dance lessons.

after the grueling trainee period, he joined the final lineup of lotto and debuted as the group’s lead rapper, vocalist and visual.

CONNECTIONS

MASC.

SQUAD GOALS: masc. 20-30. (0/5)  simply put, i’d love for minki to have this big dumb friend group featuring top dog male idols from marathon ent. they’re often seen hugging at award shows, going out for bbq, travelling together, clowning each other and breaking the internet whenever they upload selfies!!

MENTOR: masc. 35+. (0/1) this is an older muse minki looks up to and confides in. whether y/m realizes it or not, they’ve become a father figure to minki. he doesn’t have to be another artist! anyone who works at marathon ent (producer, choreographer, etc) would work, as long as minki feels like he can trust them. they’re equipped with the maturity and experience to give him advice about his life, music or relationships.

SOULMATE: masc. 23-25 (0/1)  soulmate /ˈsəʊlmeɪt / noun “a person ideally suited to another as a close friend or romantic partner.” these two are each other’s, through and through. y/m is minki’s second home; they complement and complete each other. their relationship doesn’t have to be romantic at all, even if it has potential to be, in the case of complicated feelings and the crossing of lines. platonic or not, though, minki is in need of deep and meaningful connections, where he feels known. where he feels understood. he thrives off of them. y/m either knows minki since he lived in his hometown busan (there was a childhood best friend, if you’re interested) or since they were trainees. possibly they both attended the same high school in seoul, too.

RIVAL: masc. 23-27. (0/1) a little bit of friendly competition never hurt anyone. these two boys are seen as evenly matched in many regards (leave it to their fans to debate the validity of that, though) and often pitted against each other, sometimes on purpose to rack up clicks and excitement. whether there’s any truth to the rivalry or genuine animosity can be discussed! a future collab between them would create immense amounts of buzz, though.

FEM.

OLDER SISTER. fem. 35+ (0/1) quite similar to the connection above, but in this case, y/m is more of an older sister to minki, maybe even a mom away from home. seeing right through him, she knows when to put him in his place and when to offer him gentle guidance. she’s one of the people he’s come to respect the most at marathon entertainment and he absolutely loathes to disappoint her.

HEARTBREAK: fem. 21-25. (0/1)  minki’s last love was a lost love. maybe they could’ve been happy together if they weren’t both idols, but it’s too late for that now. foolishly, though, they still keep in touch and spent time with each other as  “friends.” they’ve seen so much and know so much of each other, there seems to be no greater comfort for him than hearing y/m’s voice and feeling their warmth in his arms when life goes to shit. but they’re still just friends… let’s hash the rest out to make sure we’re on the same page! inspiration for this connection comes from the lyric “isn’t that what friends are for, even if we used to be more?” from the song partners in crime. if the world was ending is another inspiration.

KNIGHT. fem. 18-23. (0/2) minki as an older brother to y/m!! growing up an only child, he never knew what it was like to have siblings, let alone a younger sister. i think his inexperience in combination with protectiveness could result in endearing and fun interactions. however, he is prone to projecting his own cynical and hostile views onto men that approach women he’s fond of, which isn’t exactly fair to anyone? having someone like y/m in his life could push him toward character-development, though.

NIGHTINGALE. fem. 22-24. (0/1) a nightingale made a mistake; she sang a few notes out of tune: her heart was ready to break, and she hid away from the moon. a small, sweet-voiced songbird that goes on singing late into the night. she's far too bright to be a nocturnal creature in his eyes, but she breaks the stillness, and she’s taken to asking him for advice. they’re quiet company, willing to sit in silence or talk for hours about who knows what, trying to figure out what they are. not even minki knows. he just enjoys her company, and perhaps they’ve found something to bond over. it's still small and precious and new.  

ALL.

ALWAYS: if you're thinking of a different connection that isn't listed here but pings you, please dm me about it!! i'd love to plot and throw in my own suggestions. as a quick aside, i'm always open to friendship, group members, platonic m/f & mf/m dynamics, mentoring, flings, exes, secret relationships, rivalries, innocent crushes, muses, staff members, co-writers, trainees, unrequited feelings, pining, etc.

[thattimdrakeguy]

I notice you don't have a Damian tag yet going through your posts You have more posts that are about him than Dick or any other of the batkids not named Tim? You claim to be a Tim Blog but i find it disingenuous that you have nearly as many posts about Damian as you do Tim and most of them are you being negative or making errors. If you were genuine you would have a Damian tag instead of hiding your negative content like a coward. It's okay not to like a character but be truthful.

You gave me three asks that are entirely filled on the kind of petty bias that you continued to imply that I have in all three of the asks.

If you think I’m a coward for not wanting to offend Damian fans with my opinions that are negative based on the bad writing the character has suffered,

then quite honestly, I don’t really have anything to say about it.

I can really only say the fact I got told not to tag him in those types of posts, because people in the Damian tag didn’t appreciate it (with understanding reason), and how it was also because the Damian fan base is the only fan base I ever got nasty sounding asks continuously for criticizing his writing. Even in posts where I criticize the writing for all of the Bat-Family members, or at least the male Robins, Damian’s fan base was the only one I ever got nasty asks from. So I learned through experience it wasn’t a good idea to tag him in those posts.

I presume a lot of them assume I hate him worse then what I actually say because I’m a Tim fan and Tim fan-blog, that seems to be the same case for you going off of how you word yourself as well.

Which I typically find a bit odd seeing how in a few of those very same posts (like the latest one I’m assuming you’re upset at me for) I talk about how he was actually one of my favorite characters when I was first getting into the comics, and don’t actually talk any ill-intended speech towards the character.

I only criticize the writing the character has been dealt much the same I did Tim through-out Detective Comics Rebirth.

I am in no way a hypocrite if that’s what you’re believing.

My blog got popular for openly criticizing how so many different writers had difficulty writing Tim in the same away I just did it for Damian.

and only once did I ever get shit from a person for making many posts about how I couldn’t stand Tim’s writing in Detective Comics Rebirth, while also using a much more exaggerated way of speaking because it meant a lot more to me, and that one person is some one who became my friend literally by the end of the day because even though we didn’t agree on anything, I thought they were a really cool person to talk to.

But you don’t seem like that kind of person, you seem like a person that couldn’t read the full posts, and if you did, could only read them through a veil of “Oh another Tim fan hates Damian” without actually paying attention to how I spoke about him, how I said he had potential and how I enjoyed his initial character development, and that I’m only upset that they kept dropping the ball with him.

Like how I complained about Tim in Rebirth, Tim Drake, my favorite character, and blog theme.

I don’t talk about how Damian is a bad character or how I hate him.

I talk about how it upsets me writers continuously can’t write him well.

Like how I do Tim.

So again, don’t imply I’m a hypocrite.

–

In your second ask you talk about how Tim should’ve trusted Damian because he saved him from Jason when Jason tried to kill him, and how Tim fans are the only ones that can’t see how he was a jackass to Damian. 

I’m gonna have to assume you used this wording because of how I worded Tomasi’s out of character writing for Tim, as making Tim a jackass just for the sake of making Damian more likable and sympathetic.

I meant saying jackass by how Tomasi wrote Tim to be rude-via-the-mouth to Damian for no good reason, and I considered it out of character because Tim was never like that before. Previously Tim’s behavior towards Damian was untrusting, even in some situations to the point of it being a flaw, much like that time he tackled Damian because Tim believed he was hurting Alfred, something spawned from how Damian previously locked Alfred in a closest.

You don’t seem to recognize that Damian tried to murder Tim, how he belittled Tim, and how he tried to take his adopted dad away from him because he wanted that spot though.

Even how after he saved Tim: Damian belittled Tim some more as Tim was having a mental breakdown.

Counting the score, Tim has more reasons to not trust him then to actually trust him.

Which only got proved more with how Damian reacted when he found out Tim didn’t trust him. By assaulting him and nearly killing him by cutting his zip-line. (Although you could argue if you wanted too that he knew Tim could land well enough to survive, I personally don’t hold an opinion on it because it’s hard to tell, but I’m going to assume he wasn’t going to kill him, or else the whole issue would have even more bad writing in it)

My point is that it was horrendous writing to pretend like Damian couldn’t recognize why Tim didn’t trust him. Especially when he’s on a list (from what I heard) with Superman.

You criticize me for not bringing up Damian saving Tim, but you continue to ignore quite a lot of the things I said in the actual post I’m assuming you’re mad at.

Don’t be a hypocrite, especially when you’re trying to imply I am one.

If I wanted too, I could right now say “Damian fans are the always the ones that are so biased that they can’t realize Damian has continuously done horrendous and creepy stuff like make fun of Stephanie’s boobs and assaulting Tim, and even later Jason”, and going off of your asks (I won’t say you, because I’m assuming I don’t know you),

I think it would apply to your asks.

But I’m smart enough to know not every Damian fan is like that, so don’t claim otherwise. Every fan base has it’s toxic wasteland, but don’t try to lump me into Tim’s toxic wasteland because I don’t agree with you. You’re only making it seem like you’re apart of the Damian toxic wasteland with your behavior.

–

The third ask keeps going on talking about how they personally find no personal problem with characters calling Damian cute, purely because the asker finds Damian cute themselves.

Think about it though, why would they find Damian cute?

He’s violent, mean-spirited, has attacked both Tim and Jason, Dick has witnessed this, has a prison that Jason is aware of, made sexual comments towards Stephanie, and presents himself in a way where he thinks he’s better than everyone and demands respect.

That’s not cute, and that’s how his character was built up to be (not the prison, that’s a recent thing), and so far has continued to be the majority of those things.

He’s not a cute character.

To portray a character like that as cute is disingenuous (stealing the word you used, because I liked it) and piss poor writing because it’s ignoring the obvious reality. It just gets even worse because Damian wasn’t originally ever portrayed as a cute character, it’s something writers later on did because they couldn’t be bothered to write him well. Dropping the ball down the stairs with his character, and letting his character down.

Some artists might draw him cute because they aren’t aware of how a 13 year old looks, or could even keep consistent with how he looked for so long (even some of the ones that’s drawn him before began to draw him differently because they stopped being able to bother or whichever reason they have), and even some writers might write him cute, but if you’re going to bring that up to me, than I genuinely don’t think you read my full post, only furthered by how you’re trying to imply I’m a hypocrite by how I think 90s Tim was cute and tiny (something the asker did in their third ask).

The difference is pretty much the whole point in the grand majority of my posts were I’m critical about any writer on any character: they changed the character, because either they were too lazy, or too un-knowledgeable about who they were writing, and it’s bad writing to do so, since it’s inconsistency.

If you were watching a TV show and all of a sudden they treated a mean-spirited character, who continuously treats the majority of characters like crap, and continues to struggle with not acting on the instincts they was raised to have, as if that was cute when they haven’t done that before, and none of the characters have a reason to call him cute out of no where, it would be considered bad writing, articles would be written about it, and fans would be ticked off about it.

I’m pretty sure the comics only get away with it because it’s comics, and no one really cares about comics anymore to talk about it. I’m just pointing out the bad writing I continuously see on my blog were I talk about comics because I care and I heavily enjoy the medium of comics.

If it bugs you that I do that, you honestly shouldn’t be on my blog, and I’m a little confused how you got here since you seem aware I’ve brought up Damian’s bad writing before.

and if you want me to explain why I freely call Tim tiny, it’s because he is, and that’s been a main-stay of his character since the very beginning, and only changes with bad artists. Meaning that’s how he’s always been (ignoring the bad artists again), so there’s no bad writing involved with it, it’s actually bad work to ignore that. So it doesn’t fall into any bad or lazy writing like with Damian. It’s simply just not the same thing. If anything it’s the exact opposite if you want to compare those two things, like you seem zealous to do.

If you failed to recognize my logic, I’m going to have to assume again that you haven’t read or at least paid attention to things I’ve said, or how I generally try to conduct my points on my posts.

–

Continuously throughout your three asks you try to make points that make no sense.

The main reason I haven’t just blocked you and deleted your asks is because I get the vibe that you aren’t typically a very mean-spirited person, you’re just impulsive and passionate towards a character, and that is fine, but it’s when when you try to put down what someone else has said, when you seem like you haven’t even read the full thing, or have at least tried to fully pay attention to it, that it becomes toxic behavior, and something I have a problem with.

I believe it was just yesterday I got an ask were someone was complaining about the same kind of person that you presented yourself to be to me. So maybe this whole time this was only a joke to get under my skin because someone read that ask and my response and decided to pull a prank.

You may be a child, and so because of how you speak in the asks, mainly the latter two, I chose to just describe them instead of show them because I’m gonna take it that after some years you might look back on this and how weirdly aggressive you were towards people, and be glad that I didn’t show the ones were you try your dang best to point stuff out about me like it’s honest and true, and like you did your research about me, when quite frankly it’s not and you haven’t, even if you were trying to gaslight me, and use some straw man arguments to provoke me.

Also since you may be a child, a lot of Damian fans are since he’s Robin and the most recent one, I’m going to let you know that I’m honestly not mad at you for the asks, just confused, and that I wish you well and hope that I didn’t make you so mad that you’ve been thinking about it all day.

I’m just being critical of a character who I’m disappointed hasn’t had good writing consistently for years.

I’m not attempting to make the character come off like they’ve been bad since the beginning.

So you don’t have to worry about it.

I’m just genuinely upset with his writing, the same way I’m upset with how Tim’s been written before.

If you’re a grown person though, I’m a little more disappointed, but all the same, I hope I didn’t ruin your day, because to let you know, you haven’t ruined mine.

[artificialqueens]

Blind (Trixya) - DenDenMonMon

Summary: Plot twist: Alaska is the one that can see Katya from her backyard.

A/N: First and foremost I want to clarify that characterization is EXTREMELY important to me, and, even when the idea came to my mind some time ago, I didn’t even start writing the story until I did my proper research. I wrote and re-wrote this so many times, trying to make the characters as close to real as possible, and I’m not even sure if I got them right. Nonetheless, this is a Trixya fic, so that’s where my main focus is going to be. No disrespect to any of the queens, especially Miss Alaska. Hopefully she’s not so OOC that you guys will want to burn me alive. Massive thank you to everybody who helped make this story even postable. They are the true heroes. Enjoy!

AO3 Link

Blind

“No, those go over there! Ohmygod!”

Alaska runs a hand across his forehead, exasperated. Why is he even allowing people to help him? It’s not so hard to organize a simple party, he has done it before just fine. He shouldn’t be running around the place, so late in the day, making sure the house looks good.

There’s still so much food to get ready, and he hasn’t even started cooking. Everything should be set to receive the Drag Race girls that will be visiting his place tonight. He has organized the reunion so they can watch the finale of the current season. As far as he knows, nobody is watching anymore. Sure, they are all working and touring and whatnot, and not all of them were super obsessed fans right from the start like he’s always been, but they could at least support the show that–

Oh, no! That goes in the dining room!

It takes him the entire day but, by some point in the afternoon, when people start to arrive, the place looks somewhat presentable.

The first one to walk through the door is Bianca, all smiles and big teeth.

“Hieeeeeee!”

“Hello, Lasky!”

Alaska studies him shamelessly. He’s wearing jeans, a simple black t-shirt but a bright purple suit jacket on top. “Ooh, I like it!” Alaska decides out loud as he runs his fingers on the lapel. “I mean, it’s not animal print, but I like the color.”

Bianca laughs as he pulls him into a hug. “Of course you do, you stupid whore. This cost more than your entire house…” Alaska is sure his insult is supposed to be much longer but, as Bianca looks around the empty living room, his thought process stops. “Wait. I’m the first one here? Oh, no. I gotta get out of here.”

It’s betweens laughs and giggles that Alaska stops him from turning around, his mood already getting lighter. “No, no, no. You have to stay!”

They sit in the living room and Bianca tells him all about the Australian leg of his tour; shares stories of dirty dressing rooms, and crowds that would eat up anything he would feed them. Alaska can actually feel the excitement and happiness exuding the man sitting next to him. Something warm fills him as he listens to the beautiful adventures of one of the most successful drag queens to this day, who happens to be a close friend. Bianca is having the time of his life, traveling the world and taking advantage of the amazing platform that the show gave him. This is what drag should be all about. It should bring people happiness and make them enjoy life just as much as Bianca is doing right now.

The conversation has moved on to Alaska’s new album when the doorbell rings again. He opens the door to a lesbian Courtney in all her glory. She is wearing boy’s clothes but her face is fully painted and she is sporting a high ponytail.

One by one, and with only a few minutes between them, is that his friends start arriving. Alyssa is all legs in a tiny pair of shorts, he barrels in, rearranging the furniture that Alaska spent the entire day putting into place. Willam gets there and immediately takes over the kitchen, making sure the snacks are just the way he likes them. As soon as Adore crosses the door, he jumps to sit with Bianca, saying how much he’s missed his dad. Ginger brings his husband, surprising absolutely nobody. Kim Chi arrives alone, though, which prompts Alaska to ask him about Trixie.

“I thought you were coming together.” His statement comes out more like a question.

Kim shrugs as he drops a box of pastries on the coffee table. “He wanted to make sure the other Brian came, so he went to pick him up.”

The show hasn’t started yet. Nobody is paying attention to the TV as the queens start to loudly talk over one another, sharing stories and simply catching up after so long without seeing each other. As he chats away with the group, Alaska welcomes with gratitude the smile that takes residency on his face. He loves it, every second of it. His living room is filled with laughter and he’s letting the moment envelope him whole. He had really missed his friends and having most of them finally reunited after so long feels like a dream.

“How dare you start this party without me?!”

All eyes shoot up at the sound of the familiar moaning. Right after the anything but graceful words of greeting, there’s a loud scream that can only mean Tracy Martel is in the house. The wheezing sound that follows simply confirms that the duo is completed. Without failure, Trixie and Katya walk in holding hands.

If the place had been fun before, now it’s completely pulsing with life.

The loud laughter that Trixie and Katya add to the mix is gladly welcomed by everybody. The sounds are piercing and annoying, and Alaska can’t help but hate to love them. His relationship with each of them is significantly different. He loves both Trixie and Katya a great deal individually; but when they are together, it’s as if a new side of them comes out and lights up the entire room. By themselves they are both amazing people, helpful friends, and incredible artists; as a duo, they are nothing but light. Just like now, they arrive and are injecting joy into the little reunion right away.

Alaska observes how they go around greeting people, giving hugs and kissing cheeks, but never letting go of each other’s hands. They sit close together on a couch and it’s impossible not to get a smile on his face at their interactions. He loses himself in their antics and, even when he is supposed to be paying attention, soon he has no idea where the conversation around him is going. It takes a moment for him to reconnect to the reality of the chatting happening around him.

“Yeah, I’m still sleeping on that mattress.” Courtney pops a piece of brownie in her mouth as she shrugs. “Shit happens.”

“Oh, bitch!” Katya exclaims. “I shitted all over the bed!” There’s something almost kinda sounding like pride in his voice. His hand lands on Trixie’s knee, and squeezes hard as the memories come back to him. “That medicine was rotted. That whole situation was so disgusting. You suck one dick in P-town and it’s suddenly STD-land.”

Trixie’s high pitch scream of a laugh is heard right after. “I told you! You just wouldn’t believe it.”

One of Katya’s teen girl voices takes over and his hand brushes imaginary hair off his shoulder. “Why don’t you ever allow me to make my own mistakes? Ugh, you never let me be my true self.”

The whole group burst out laughing. It takes them a few seconds to calm down but, once they do, almost as if on cue, they hear the voice of RuPaul coming from the speakers of the sound system. The chairs they’ve pulled from the dining room, and the few couches in the living room, are enough for all the guests to comfortably take a seat as the show starts.

“This better be good,” Bianca warns as his arms cross on top of his chest.

Adore slaps him on the arm playfully. “Shut up, man. You are gonna love it!”

Michelle Visage’s voice travels through time and space and welcomes them to the show. Everyone in the living room goes quiet. Alaska makes sure to move and take the seat next to Trixie. He needs by his side someone that has for sure being watching the show.

Alyssa criticizes the dance intro, complaining about the lack of technicality and how the queens of this season seem to have no sense of rhythm. Alaska has to laugh with a tiny roll of his eyes.

The girl has only watched this one episode and is already making assumptions.

As if everybody has decided to take on their area of expertise, Courtney right away judges the wigs and Kim Chi points out all the flaws on the girls’ makeup. Alaska just can’t keep his mouth shut when they wear such horrible nails!

Three by three the eliminated queens get to see their highlights of the season. They answer questions from the public and share not so hidden situations that took place behind the scenes. Except for Ginger’s husband, everybody else in Alaska’s living room has gone through that process; they know what really happened, what was most likely produced, and which storylines were forced for the sake of the show. Maybe that’s the reason why, as the audience gasps at the revelation of a secret, nobody reacts on this side of the screen. The queens only partially watch the show, too busy talking about the challenges and how different they were on other seasons. They comment on the outfits and condemn the most horrible garments to ever walk the main stage. The quick recap they get to see of the season is not enough for all of them to fully understand why the top three actually deserve to be there. Ru’s decisions are questioned as the eliminations are presented to them.

When they reach a particular lipsync, between two of the fan favorites, Trixie softly whispers. “You know, I thought she was gonna stay,” he says without really looking at Alaska, but his head tilts in his direction. One of his hands rests on the back of the couch, his arm almost around Katya’s shoulders. The other hand is on top of his crossed leg, which Alaska has noticed Katya squeezes whenever there is something exciting happening on the screen.

Alaska forces his eyes to move up from the touching hands to see the side of Trixie’s face. “I know!” He purposely drawls his last word for emphasis. “She didn’t deserve to go that night. I like that dress, a lot. I liked the mix of colors and textures. The outfit was amazing. When she wore that yellow dress, though. Girl, that was enough reason to fucking ban her from the entire show.”

Trixie’s laugh is short but loud, directing a few stares their direction. “But she killed the lipsync, though.” He points a finger to the screen just as the queen they are talking about drops into a split and starts bouncing on the floor.

“Oh, c’mon,” Katya suddenly butts in. “You call that a killer lipsync? Momma, I’ll show you what it’s like to pound your pussy so hard against the ground the whole Earth moves.”

Just as he’s finishing that sentence he starts going down between the couch and the coffee table. His legs spread slowly and his arms go up in the air as he exaggerates what can only be his attempt to be sexy. Half of his tongue comes out to rest on his parted lips, in a way that has become a signature expression for both Trixie and Katya. Everybody starts cheering and throwing imaginary money as he pauses half of the way down, spreading his legs a bit more then stopping again. He shows how he is always fully in control of his muscles.

“Move on, girlie!” Alyssa is suddenly pushing away the coffee table to stand right next to Katya. “Let me show you what a real split looks like.”

The TV has gone to commercials and all eyes are on the show being put up in the middle of the room. Except for one particular set of eyes. As everybody laughs and screams, fully entertained by both queens, Alaska can’t help but notice how Trixie’s stare is fixated on Katya. It’s like every move is being carefully registered in his brain. More than amusement, there’s something closer to adoration reflecting in his eyes and Alaska suddenly has an idea.

Sure, everybody has joked about their relationship before, how Trixie and Katya are pretty much two halves of the same idiot by this point, or how they resemble an old married couple. They have always brushed it off, laughing at the jokes, going along with them. Never accepting but never denying anything. So tonight, as he has them right here, close and personal, Alaska is going to get to the bottom of this whole ordeal. That is now his mission of the night.

An hour later Ru is giving the sceptre to a girl whose hair is too high to wear a crown. There’s a new member of the drag family; a girl that they don’t know but have to welcome with open arms, almost as true siblings. Alaska watches her go up and down the runway with fake excitement. The true footage, with her real reaction at some bar, will probably be posted tomorrow. A new program starts and the TV loses everybody’s attention. Still, Alaska can’t stop thinking about his duty towards the new sister. He should try to get her number at some point, get to know her, make her feel welcome. He needs to at least check Wikipedia in a couple of days, when it’s updated. But that’s a task for another day, he needs to concentrate on the one at hand tonight.

Katya has his legs across Trixie’s lap by now. His head rests on Ginger’s shoulder as he laughs silently but uncontrollably. That’s probably Alaska’s favorite laugh of his, when he gets so excited that no sound comes out of his mouth. Trixie joins him briefly, three loud and annoying seconds of his signature laughter and he’s back to serious. Nobody is surprised and the conversation continues to a topic that Alaska has lost again.

His eyes can only focus on the way Trixie’s hand goes up and down Katya’s calf, pretty much absentmindedly. His black jeans ride up ever so slightly to the movement but nobody seems to mind.

“You’ll be the first one to go, you useless cunt!” Bianca’s harsh comment makes Alaska look at him.

Trixie laughs harder, throwing his head back before putting on fake confidence. “What are you talking about? I’m a skinny legend!” His hands land on his hips and his shoulders shimmer, sending everybody into fits of laughter.

Alyssa shakes a finger in the air. “But, you see, you are not a resourceful woman.”

As they all listen to the explanation following that statement, Trixie drops his hand back on Katya’s shin.

“Don’t touch me,” Katya whispers, it’s quick and sudden, as if Trixie’s palm hadn’t been there for the last ten minutes.

It was literally just there!

Trixie doesn’t say a thing back, though, he simply moves his hand and lets it rest on his own stomach.

“This bitch right here, she would be dead within the first hour.” Trixie pushes his chin in Katya’s direction.

“Plot twist, Momma, I’m already dead.” He points his index finger to Trixie, the tone of his voice matter-of-factly.

The whole room burst out laughing again and Alaska welcomes that warm feeling in his heart one more time. This is the sisterhood he always dreamed about, this is the type of people he wants to surround himself with; smart, talented, funny people who can make fun of each other, rolling with the punches and laughing carelessly from the bottom of their lungs.

Kim rolls his eyes. “Why do you always end up talking about zombie apocalypses?” Even when he’s trying to sound annoyed, there’s no malice in his delivery. Plus, it’s hard to take him seriously when that last word proves to be nearly impossible for him to pronounce.

Trixie sits up straight, thumb pointing to a laughing Katya. “Because this bitch smells like dead already! Makes me wonder if other dead creatures will come and try to collect her.”

“They are gonna think we are hiding their fucking queen bee!” And just as the thought leaves his mouth is when Alaska realizes he has been sucked into his observations for too long. This is so unlike him. Hopefully, nobody else has noticed how quiet he’s been. Hopefully, between Alyssa’s energy filling up the room and Bianca not allowing the conversation to die for even one minute, nobody has noticed how little Alaska has been bringing to their discussions. Hopefully, triggering Trixie to yell ‘honey’ nonstop, with the sole mention of bees, is enough to distract all attention from him.

Ginger turns to Katya, stopping him mid-conversation. “I need a cigarette, care to join me outside?”

Katya nods.

Trixie takes a hold of his arm. “I don’t think you should go.” His tone is severe, leaving no room for discussion.

Nobody is really paying attention to them. Willam is telling a story about a guy whose dick was so small he covered it whole when his hand closed into a fist. Alaska is actively conversing with the rest, but the corner of his eye is focused on the situation evolving on the other side of the couch.

“Don’t let him tell you what to do. You can do whatever you want.”

Trixie huffs under his breath, letting go of the grip he has on Katya’s arm, but doesn’t say anything else. Their stares meet. Their eyes have a full conversation that nobody else in the room is able to understand. Their pupils do all the talking when words are not needed. Trixie finally looks away with the shrug of one shoulder, as if saying the final decision is ultimately Katya’s.

Katya looks at him for a moment longer, pondering his options, before nodding his head dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, you are right. Sorry, Minj.”

The outcome is unacceptable for Ginger. His eyes go blank, showing all the annoyance he is feeling. “You see, darling.” He turns to his husband, placing a hand flat on his thigh. His voice is filled with sarcasm, purposely thick with his southern accent. “Miss Trixie, here, is still a bit upset that I sent her home.”

“I went home because of her, which is different.” Trixie doesn’t even look at him when he speaks, he simply directs his words to the air between them. “I won the–”

He’s about to respond, but Katya wraps his fingers around Trixie’s wrist.

“Don’t.” The word comes out barely above a whisper, but Alaska manages to hear it, and so does Trixie, which is who matters.

With the tension rising, in full Kim fashion, he looks around almost confused. “When’s dinner?” The air clears to the sound of Kim’s infamous words. Laughter once again fills the room and hostility melts away instantly.

Excusing himself, Alaska makes his way to check on the food. As soon as he enters the kitchen, he notices Trixie is walking right behind him.

“Girl, what was that all about?” Alaska asks while lifting lids on the stove.

Trixie walks to the fridge, taking out a beer from the pack they brought. With a twist of his face, his shoulders shrug, dismissing the subject. “Brian wants to stop smoking. He does really well until Josh comes along. It happens every time.”

“You know…” Alaska turns around as slowly as he lets the words out. “He doesn’t need a savior. He can take care of himself just fine. It may take him some time, but he always manages to figure things out.”

Trixie brings the beer to his lips, doesn’t drink it, though, Alaska can tell as much. The movement seems more like an excuse to hide the true expression on his face. He nods instead, and hums in approval. “Mmm, yeah, I know… But, also, he’s a people pleaser. So if his best friend asks him to go for a smoke–”

He doesn’t intend to, but Alaska can’t help but laugh at his words. “Ooh, sounds like someone’s pressed.” There’s still a small chuckle accompanying his words when he continues. “You can’t still be salty about the whole best friend situation.”

There’s a small huff, an attempt to subtract importance from the subject. “Bitch, of course, no!” Trixie rolls his eyes, pretending to be exasperated. “You should all know by now that’s a lame fucking joke.” Trixie avoids Alaska’s gaze, his eyes roll before they are glued to the bottle in his hands. “I just…” The sentence dies on his lips.

This is a weird sight. Trixie Mattel is never shaky with her speech, but Alaska keeps in mind that he’s talking to Brian Firkus right now. He is talking to a man in his late twenties, wearing glasses and a floral button down shirt; the farthest stretch possible from the Barbie doll fantasy filled with confidence that walks the runways.

“I care about him a lot,” Trixie finally concludes. Then there is a heavy sigh, almost as if he is preparing himself to let the thought out. “I don’t think I have ever cared about anybody the way I do about him. And it’s fucking stupid, because I know they are his friends, but they don’t seem to care enough. Or maybe I just care too much. I just, you know, it’s hard to believe anybody can care about him like I do. Does that make sense?” He seems on the verge of embarrassment at the end of his rambling, but not there yet, that wouldn’t be on brand for him.

Brand. The brand. Miss Fame. Where is Fame now?

Alaska puts down the bowl of salad he’s been tossing since the conversation started, his bony shoulders dropping. “Okay, here’s the deal. Your friendship is the best motherfucking thing in the entire world, is that correct?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“So what does it matter what anybody else thinks? If Josh wants to believe Brian’s his best friend, fucking let him. Katya is an excellent drag queen, and I look up to her immensely; but Brian is a deliriously amazing human, such a genuinely nice person, and he’s been there for every single one of us when we needed him. He can be everybody’s best friend, but who is his best friend? When things went south for him, he asked everybody to step back, we did, we gave him space. Everybody but you. You stayed there, like, not there-there, ‘cause you still respected him, but you went through the fire with him. We kinda felt… relief, maybe.” The last couple of words come out more as a question, asking himself if they convey his true feelings on the matter. “He kinda, like, freed us from the responsibility, and we just waited for the dust to settle. You fought the fucking fight with him. Nobody can take that away from you.”

Trixie’s eyes look glassy, Alaska is not sure if that’s caused by her words or if it’s just the light hitting the transparent glasses. Since he has said his peace, and hoping that Trixie will understand where he’s coming from, he decides to light up the mood.

“So, if you have an issue with gay Danny DeVito over there, just bring it right to his busted face!”

The unmistakable Trixie screams comes out, it lasts only a second before he whispers a small thank you.

Alaska can see Willam and Katya making their way to the kitchen, most likely wondering why they are taking so long or, less likely, wanting to help.

Change the subject, now!

Without even thinking about it, he goes for a safety net and pretends they are talking about something else.

“She was robbed!” He exaggerates an infuriated growl, causing a laugh from Trixie and a confused look from the men entering the room.

“Why are you talking about me?” Katya quickly asks, his own words causing him to laugh hysterically.

Willam slaps him on the arm playfully. “They are clearly talking about Shangela, right Trix?”

“You fucking cunt,” Trixie replies with a chuckle as everybody else screams with laughter. The subject is put to rest as each of them grab something from the counter and take it to the dinner table.

It’s a pleasant scene they walk into, the seats around the table are almost completely filled and people chat amicably. Alaska stays a couple of steps behind, basket of bread in hand, and scans the room carefully. The only word that comes to his mind is: grateful. He could be feeling a lot of things at the moment, but the strongest of them all is an enormous sense of gratitude. He’s happy for the smallest of things that had to fall into place for him to be standing right here, right now. He’s thankful he auditioned for the show as many times as he needed to, for the amazing people he got to meet, for every mistake and every lesson. Most of all, he’s glad he stopped doing fucking coke. A sigh physically leaves his body as he, once again, allows into his mind all that he lost during those years. He wouldn’t have been able to enjoy simple gatherings like this one if he had still followed that dangerous path of self destruction.

Now, as he admires the smiles on his friends’ faces, lit by the soft yellow light above them, he understands that everything he had to go through happened for a reason. He can appreciate the beauty of this moment, because he has experienced the exact opposite. And that’s a place he doesn’t wish to go back to, ever.

“Okay, bitches, be quiet,” he addresses the room, pulling the chair at the head of the table. He blinks slowly a couple of times before he starts his speech. “Ladies, gentlemen, nonbinary people, and everyone in between, I want to thank you all for coming, for making time in your ass tight schedules.” There’s a round of laughter following his words. “Before I get all emotional, and in touch with the feelings I don’t have–”

“Not since the accident,” Katya interrupts from his seat at the other end.

The chuckles subside after a couple of seconds, allowing Alaska to continue. He shares a couple of stories of how things used to be and notes how much they have grown up and grown closer together with the passing of time. After a few jokes, anecdotes, and heartfelt thank yous, he invites his guests to start their meal.

“And if you are wondering what’s the soup of the day… it’s Vivienne Pinay!”

It is in cheerful laughter that people start serving themselves, filling their plates with the available food at the center of the long table.

Alaska takes his seat. His plans for the night didn’t include a seating arrangement. He has Bianca on one side and Courtney on the other. Several people separate him from the couple he’s supposed to keep an eye on, the same couple that inevitably has sat together on the other end of the table. He observes them from afar. Trixie talks to Willam, meanwhile, Katya takes the bowl directly in front of him and places some salad on both his plate and Trixie’s. As soon as he’s done, and without stopping the conversation, Trixie takes the ice cubes out of his lemonade and puts them in Katya’s glass. The moves seem almost automatic, like a well rehearsed dance. They don’t really need to think about them.

During his observations, Alaska is halfheartedly listening to the conversation happening around him, which has now moved on to politics. The topic alone is enough to remove his attention from the couple now fighting over a baby carrot, and focus completely on the matter at hand. He’s commenting here and there as he chews on romaine lettuce, and it isn’t until Adore starts sharing the story of a friend that he gets fired up.

“She was fucking attacked, man,” Adore says as he waves his fork in the air. “Right there in the middle of the street. How fucked up is that?”

Those words are enough of a trigger for Alaska.

“I just don’t get it! Like, how can you be so fucking mad at someone just because you don’t understand them?” A part of him knows his taking it too far, but he can’t help but feel so strongly about it. “Just because someone is different from you, they don’t deserve your respect? It’s such a waste of energy to be pissed off at, like, nothing. Fucking exhausting!”

Alaska’s rant ends with a push of his plate. He’s suddenly not hungry anymore.

“Aren’t you doing the same thing, though?” Courtney offers casually, her lips wrapping around the rim of the glass in her hand for a moment. “You are wasting your energy being mad at the haters. There really is not much of a difference.”

Is she even serious?

The condescendant twist of her lips is what does it. Alaska doesn’t want to be part of that conversation anymore. Instead of firing back, he gets up, bringing his glass with him, and walks to sit on the end of the table. The vibe is completely different on this side. Everybody is laughing and the atmosphere isn’t charged with political statements.

“I just don’t see the point of it.” Katya groans frustrated. “It really is pointless.”

Trixie looks at him, as if he couldn’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth. “Are you fucking kidding me? It’s the most basic human thing. It’s, like, essential to your well-being.”

Katya’s fork picks up a few stranded peas and he drops them on Trixie’s plate before continuing. “I just don’t see what’s so good about sleeping. It’s, I don’t know, this amount of hours that you just… lose! There are so many things I could be doing with my life but, no, my body must go into - into airplane mode and do - not even its most basic functions. I’m just lying there, doing nothing. The only use I see for it, is to practice for when you are dead. There is no other reason, really. Like, get, umm, you know, get your body used to being, like, dead.” His hands go all over the place as he’s talking, trying to explain what he can’t fully put into words. He seems almost apologetic, but the people around him simply chuckle at his rambling that is so unmistakably Katya. “Oh, my god. I could go on and on about this.”

“You did,” Trixie says between small laughs. “You literally just did.”

The wheezing noises leaving Katya are enough to have them all laughing hysterically right along with him. He pushes Trixie slightly, who doesn’t seem to mind at all.

“Shut up, you dumb bitch. Just because you sleep like a bear–”

“A bear?!” Trixie interrupts him in surprise. “Are you calling me a bear? Is that a read?”

Katya laughs for just a second before pretending to be shocked. “Read? I don’t like to read. I actually don’t know how to read. I’m illiterate and I’m cool with that.”

“Oh my God!” Alaska can’t help but finally intervene, drawling the last word as he waits for the people around him to calm back down. “It feels like I’m watching one of your fucking YouTube episodes. Do you ever, like, turn that shit off?”

The pair looks at each other, their eyes are glued to the other’s, and they mirror silly smiles as they let a slow but firm no leave their mouths at the same time.

“It’s like they share one brain,” Willam agrees. “Is there anything else you have shared?” The sexual connotation is evident, which pretty much is expected every time Willam opens his mouth to speak. “Cause you know, Kats and I have shared some… well, we have given some head together.”

“Yep, yep. Yep, we have.”

Trixie’s jaw is somewhere near the floor after hearing that last statement. This is not the facade he puts for the show, and this is not his exaggeration of a simple emotion either. He is fully and completely surprised by what he just heard. The wheels in his head are visibly turning, as he tries to rake his brain to make himself remember if he has heard about this before, coming up empty.

“Wait, what?”

Willam grins mischievously. “You never told her about it?”

“No!” Even when Willam’s question had been directed to Katya, Trixie is the one replying.

“I so did,” Katya assures him. “I totally told you. Didn’t I tell you?”

Trixie exhales loudly a couple of times, words getting lost before reaching his lips. “I - I think I woulda remembered the story.”

This is interesting.

Alaska’s mouth is wide open in amusement. The conversation has taken a rather entertaining turn. “What’s the story? Spill the beans, you bitch!”

A foot taps on Alaska’s chair, he turns around just to see Kim, each of his hands holding plates filled with food to the rim. “You’re on my seat.”

“Girl, can we switch for just a moment? I’m about to hear a nasty story here.”

Kim rolls his eyes but does it anyway, not without mumbling insults under his breath that nobody really seems to catch.

Willam is the one that starts telling what happened, not really trusting Katya with articulating properly and telling the story as it actually was. It was at one of the tours, Katya had taken someone back to the dressing room, which had a wall that didn’t go all the way up to the ceiling. Willam heard them from the other side of the wall, and decided to climb over it and join the fun. The details are extensive and intensive. Willam leaves nothing out about the vulgar encounter.

Suddenly, there’s the loud sound of the legs of a chair scratching against the floor. “Imma pray for y’all tonight,” Alyssa says as he dramatically gets up from his seat. “Your nasty souls need to be touched by the hand of Jesus himself, there’s no other way to save you. I’m sorry. I can’t keep listening to this disgrace anymore.”

“Yeah, I think I’m done here too.”

Trixie follows Alyssa and they make their way to the kitchen, empty plates in hand. That doesn’t stop Willam, the story continues for a few more minutes, as if nothing had happened, until the whole tale has been told. Katya’s attention is immediately disconnected, though. His eyes are trying to focus, and his neck is craning so he can get a view of the people that just left, one in particular, Alaska dares to guess. He’s just waiting until the moment that Katya decides to go after them, he clearly wants to, but doesn’t. They all stay there, striking pointless conversation that soon includes everybody else.

Alaska receives praises for his cooking as he goes around the table, picking up everybody’s plates and taking them to the kitchen.

“That’s what I’ve always said,” Alyssa says, placing a hand on Trixie’s shoulder. “You are a person of dignity, and respect, and - and people like you are really hard to find.”

Cleaning the dishes is enough distraction for Alaska. He tunes out of the conversation happening behind him as he drops the food remainings in the trashcan, then puts the plates in the washer. It isn’t until Katya’s voice is heard that his attention refocuses.

“Can I talk to you?”

“Alrighty, then. That’s my cue to leave.” Alyssa walks away with a click of his tongue.

Trying to remain invisible, Alaska pretends to be entertained by the china he’s putting away.

“Are you mad at me?”

Alaska looks up, just in time to catch the reflection of Trixie shrugging one shoulder. The darkness outside allows the light of the kitchen to project everything that’s happening behind Alaska. For a moment, the scene feels almost invasive. He feels like he’s spying on his friends. Especially when Katya takes half a step forward, entering Trixie’s personal space, and placing a hand on his arm. No words are spoken, they just look into each other’s eyes, share soft touches here and there, play with each other’s fingers. It’s intimate. It’s private.

Leave. Get out.

With the silent excuse of taking the trash out, Alaska can’t stand the closeness anymore and leaves them alone. He exits through the back door, Hefty bag in hand, and pushes it inside the large trash container. It’s too full, he is going to hate rolling that outside in the morning. That’s a problem for future him, though. Current Alaska looks up, and is able to see through the window how Trixie shakes his head. Katya’s hands are all over the place as he clearly tries to explain something, something that Trixie has no intentions of listening to.

Trixie walks to the fridge and takes out another bottle, shaking it in front of him as his index finger points at Katya. What appears to be angry words leave his mouth. Katya doesn’t seem to be intimidated or scared, at all. He takes a hold of Trixie’s hand instead, and puts the bottle down on the counter. He brings Trixie’s hand up to his lips and kisses it. Trixie’s eyes soften instantly. There are no traces of the upset person that had taken over him just seconds ago. The change is remarkable.

It seems like Katya is the one talking now, because Trixie is simply nodding his head from time to time. Occasionally, he will shrug, which Alaska has learned to identify as his way to cover up when something is affecting him. It’s hard to understand what’s going on, but the vibe of the whole situation has clearly switched.

Katya is apparently done talking. He is looking down, his head is hanging low. That’s why he misses when Trixie purses his lips, and is just left there waiting for a kiss. When he gets no response, he taps on Katya’s shoulder to call his attention. It takes him less than a second to meet Trixie’s lips briefly. There’s a hug and small smiles adorn both their faces.

Trixie takes his bottle and walks away, leaving Katya alone in the middle of the kitchen. He sighs heavily, supports his elbows on the counter in front of him, and his head falls on his hands. His fingers massage his temples for a moment. His breathing is physically heavy, Alaska can tell as much from his spot in the backyard. He wonders if he should just walk in and comfort his friend, but he wouldn’t know how to. He has no idea what the fuck just happened inside, he wouldn’t have the right words to help ease Katya’s feelings, whatever those may be. He seems to be almost… sad?

Before Alaska can make up his mind, Katya straightens his back and turns towards the window. Alaska jumps, he basically just got caught spying on his friend; but he remembers nothing but a reflection can be seen from the other side of the glass.

Katya walks outside, his hands digging in his pockets and finding a cigarette.

“Oh, hey!” He looks surprised to find Alaska there, but it lasts for just a moment.

Maybe it’s because he knows Alaska doesn’t smoke anymore, or maybe because he still has Trixie’s words playing in his brain, either way, Katya doesn’t light the cigarette. He brings it to his lips and simply lets it rest on the corner of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Alaska asks genuinely concerned.

“What? Oh. Yeah, sure.”

The answer comes a little too quick, Alaska is not buying it. He tilts his head to the side, and his arms wrap around his torso, indicating him that he better try again.

“What the fuck just happened in there?” He tries a more direct approach when he still gets no reply from Katya.

“Bitch, I don’t know.” He runs a hand against his bald head in frustration. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Alaska’s eyes roll on their own accord. “You know that’s not true.” A worrying feeling suddenly invades him. “Are you guys okay? Are you fighting?”

Katya looks at him for a second too long, probably deciding if he’s the right person to let it all out to. Maybe he is wondering if he’s ready to let it all out in the first place. Most likely, he is not even sure of what the hell is going on and has no words to phrase the situation properly.

He takes the cigarette away from his mouth, toys with it for a moment, placing it between his fingers, before directing his gaze back to Alaska. “He is so confusing, you know?” There is no need for names, they know who the conversation is about. “Like, he knows I’m a whore. He knows I would literally suck any dick, any dick, even mine if I could reach it!” His hands flail around him, the white stick creating a hypnotizing line following his movements. “Sometimes he sounds, like, I don’t know, maybe, jealous? I don’t even know.”

A light chuckle escapes Alaska’s lips. “Of course he’s jealous!”

“Why would he, though?”

“Uh, maybe ‘cause you are out there sucking any dick but his?” Alaska’s sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Bitch, I’ve tried!”

“Shut up. Not like that.”

Confusion is clear on Katya’s face. “Wha-what you mean?”

“Don’t act so surprised, girl. You know I’m right.” When the confused expression doesn’t leave Katya’s face, Alaska has to, once again, find a better way to touch the subject. “Okay, so, yeah, you know I love you both. Well, I love all of you guys, like, right now, I’m at home, I’m with my family. I am happier now than I have been in my… than I was when I was younger. I owe all of that to you guys. I know this sounds unrelated but I have a point, okay?”

A small chuckle accompanies his last words but Katya simply nods, allowing him to continue.

“I want you to feel that same amount of happiness. I know you, and I mean you, Brian, or at least I hope I do. I know you only look truly happy when he’s around, when you two are making stupid jokes and finishing each other’s fucked up sentences.”

Now it’s Katya’s turn to laugh softly.

“See, you know I’m right,” Alaska points out with a smile. “You are so guarded and so careful, hardly ever let anybody in. It took you and me to go to fucking drag war together for you to even begin to open up. Things with you and him just… are. It breaks my heart that you are so perfect for each other but have never really acted on it. That’s just… sad.”

This morning, when he was getting his house ready for the viewing - dinner party, Alaska had not planned on having this conversation. He hadn’t even been aware that he had such strong feelings about his two friends until right this moment. Now that he has opened this particular can of worms, he needs to go through with it. Judging by Katya’s reaction, this is a topic that he needs to explore as well.

With a drop of his shoulders, Katya groans frustrated. “Can I just suck his dick?”

Alaska can’t help but laugh wholeheartedly, the sound coming from the bottom of his lungs. “You could be doing that and so much more, don’t you want more than that?”

He doesn’t reply right away. Katya walks around in circles, unintelligible grunts generating at the back of his throat. “Fuck, I don’t know. I do? Maybe. It’s just… We have so much history. I would kill myself if I did something stupid again. I don’t think I could live with myself if I hurt him even one more time.”

“You are talking as if he didn’t have any saying in all of this. He’s so much stronger than you give him credit for.” Alaska’s words come out slowly, giving Katya time to absorb what he’s trying to say. “Have you talked to him about this? Have you asked him if he’s willing to give it a try?”

The huff that comes out through Katya’s nose is completely unintended. “We did talk about this… ages ago. We decided it was best to keep things as they are. Our friendship works pretty well, why change it?”

“Uh, don’t you wanna change it for something even better?”

“How can you be so sure it will be better, though?” Katya’s index finger points at Alaska, the question coming out almost as a challenge.

“I don’t!” He confesses. “I don’t fucking know; that’s the beauty of it all. You need to just fucking jump, have no expectation, no idea of how things are gonna go, and just, like, do your best and be there, and respond to things as they happen.”

The smile adorning Katya’s face is enough to make Alaska feel proud of himself. He has touched a delicate spot and he knows that, at the very least, he has planted a seed in his mind. Now it’s up to Katya to decide if he leaves it buried there, or if he nurtures it and watches it grow into something beautiful.

“When did you become such an insanely accurate witch psychologist of the heart?”

“I just… like, I used to drive myself crazy, overthinking about everything and then, one day, I decided to, like, stop.” Alaska knows that’s not enough of an explanation, but it’s all he has. “Listen, you and I specifically have been given all these fucking blessings, so many that they defy all logic. One of the very few things we are missing is someone to share them with. There are a lot of toxic fucks out there, and if you manage to find someone who is actually a good person, who is, like, willing to deal with all of this…” his long fingers point at Katya up and down, who takes no offense and laughs instead. “Then why not just go for it?”

The cigarette finally finds it rightful place in the trash can next to them. Katya stares at it for a moment, the jungle of thoughts in his mind visibly becoming untangled.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Just… would you talk to him? Would you bring the idea up and see what happens?”

Katya nods slightly. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try, when the time is right,” he finishes, turning around.

“When the time is right,” Alaska repeats to himself as he watches Katya walk back inside the house.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you.”

He hears Trixie’s voice and shakes his head slightly. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but, hopefully, one day, those two morons will realize just how perfect they are together. For the time being, Alaska will just observe them from afar as they blindly fall even more stupidly in love with each other.

[leupagus]

I’m just a lovey-dovey bitch

More musician AU, because I wanted an excuse to send these losers to Nebraska and @broadlybrazen wanted some drunken handstroking, and I’m easy like Sunday morning. 

*

Through some combination of magic and Stevie — “I’m hoping I had something to do with it,” Patrick says mildly when David finally gets hold of him, words tumbling out like so many dropped cards — Patrick Brewer gets invited to play at the Maha Festival. On the main stage, even if it’s an early set.

There’s been buzz about a long-shot nomination for Best New Artist, which he’s been encouraging as much as humanly possible between managing the growing entourage that travels with them and managing Patrick, who still wears his shitty Costco jeans — “I put you down on my card, if you want to go back sometime,” Patrick’s eyes big and brown and totally fucking with him — and brings the fringed vest on the bus to use as a threat if David gets too bossy.

“I’m supposed to be bossy,” David protests as they pull off 80 just past Council Bluffs. “I’m your boss.”

Patrick smiles at him. “Do I need to get you another copy of The Rights of Man?”

“OK we’re both Canadian, so you need to stop with that,” David says, and Patrick threatens him with the fringed vest again.

Despite this the Maha set goes off without a hitch; Patrick plays the single, a few others from the album they’re hoping to push in the next few months, and some song about tractors that David’s never heard of but the crowd seems to love. People come up to David with smiles instead of sneers, to leave a number, talk over collaborations, get some small piece of Patrick that they can use. David’s still a relative neophyte in this industry, compared to Stevie or Jocelyn or hell, even Roland, but this part is very familiar.

By the time Patrick’s done signing and selfie-ing and listening to earnest infants tell him how much they love him, David’s vacillating between pride and a sick dread in his stomach. Patrick Brewer is someone now, someone that tiny children adore and that security guards recognize and that gets invited to festivals and if David’s any good at this he’ll keep being more and more of a someone, until he’s too much of a someone for David to hold onto. And that was the plan, that’s what everyone agreed on going into this. The Roses sell the company and get back to some semblance of their old life, everyone goes their separate ways. This is exactly what David used to want.

They end up at a bar next to the hotel they’re staying at, one of those basement-type claustrophobic affairs with sports on every flatscreen and flatscreens on every wall. “Reminds me of the Glockenspiel,” Patrick says, sliding onto a stool.

“The what now,” David says, sitting next to him.

Patrick smiles. “The bar where we met, remember? The open mic night.”

“Oh god, that place had a name?” He makes a face and Patrick laughs.

There are three other patrons in the entire bar and the bartender looks like she’d rather be killing a deer with her bare hands, but she gives Patrick some local brew and David an italian soda with minimal glaring. Patrick notices the drink and his eyes narrow, but he just talks about the festival and where they’re going next: Kansas City, then Austin and Houston, concerts alongside radio interviews and podcasts and a few other social media “events” that Alexis keeps texting him about.

The conversation meanders, like most conversations with Patrick do; there’s another argument about going to see a game while they’re in Kansas City, because Patrick’s love of baseball is deeply nerdy but also weirdly sentimental and he’s convinced somehow that if only David watches a game, he’ll become some sort of convert. This devolves into a discussion of the seventh-inning stretch, which David insists sounds dirty and Patrick insists is because David’s deeply disturbed. Stevie’s new boyfriend gets mentioned and they agree that he’s not good enough for her, although David thinks that’s mostly because no music critic is good enough for anyone and Patrick seems to think it’s because he’s not attentive enough to what she wants.

“If I let that kind of thing stop me from dating, I’d still be a virgin,” David says, signaling for another soda.

Patrick snorts, then hiccups and blinks. “I think I’m drunk,” he says, thoughtfully.

David frowns as he does the math. “You’ve only had—“ a thought occurs to him. “Patrick. Did you eat anything before the show?”

Patrick’s blush makes David relieved that he’s stone-cold sober, because otherwise this night would end really badly. “I definitely thought about it.”

“This is why I can’t leave you alone for a minute,” David mutters, and waves at the bartender. “Hi! Yeah, do you sell food of any kind? A burger or some sort of grilled cheese situation?”

The bartender looks like she’s fantasizing about gutting that deer. Or maybe him. “We’ve got pretzels.”

“Great. We’ll take some.” He tries smiling at her but she’s too terrifying to make it convincing, so he ends up kind of grimacing as she trundles off. Next to him, Patrick is laughing.

“Never knew I’d cause you this much grief, did you?” he says, leaning his head on his hand, half-sprawled out on the bar. They should’ve gotten him drunk for that last photoshoot, had him lean against a bar or a pool table, loose and smiling and color spread down his neck.

“Oh, I did,” he says instead of saying any of that. “That’s why I didn’t want to sign you in the first place.”

Patrick’s jaw drops, outrage in every curve of him. “You what?”

David shrugs and takes a sip, keeping his face bland. Moments like this, where he can fuck with Patrick, should be cherished like the rare jewels they are. “Stevie talked me into it. I thought anyone who drank Red Mountain wasn’t going to be worth the hassle.”

Patrick laughs again. “Little did you know.” He looks around, although he doesn’t seem to be taking in the depressing, dingy decor. “It’s funny, you know. I wake up and keep expecting today to be the day where it’ll get interesting.”

“‘Interesting’?” David echoes.

“Not interesting,” Patrick amends, patting his elbow in drunken apology. “I mean it’s just — work, you know? Which is great, I like work, and this beats my old cubicle any day of the week. I guess it just doesn’t feel… like anything’s happening.” Patrick shrugs and takes another drink.

David squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to watch Patrick fellate a bottle. “You just performed on the main stage at Maha,” he says. “Last week we shot a music video with Zia Anger. I’m pretty sure three different girls asked you to sign their breasts tonight. Things are happening—“

“I know,” Patrick says, putting his hand on David’s wrist this time. “‘m sorry, I don’t mean — I’m grateful, David. Really.”

It would be a spectacularly bad idea to ask him how grateful, and in what ways he’d be willing to express that gratitude. “You’re welcome,” he says instead, trying to sound flippant and failing miserably, if Patrick’s smile is anything to go by.

Patrick is still touching his wrist; he turns David’s hand over, palm up, and runs his fingers across his lifeline. “Have you been taking palm-reading classes from Twyla,” David says, too high-pitched. He tries pulling away but Patrick’s pulls back, his brow furrowed in concentration as he slowly spins one of David’s rings, the one he perches on the second knuckle of his middle finger whenever he has to go on tour with Patrick.

“It’s so strange,” Patrick says. The callouses on his fingers catch on David’s skin. “You do all this work — I see you working, all the time — but you’ve got the softest hands I’ve ever seen. Even though they’re strong and really big. You have big hands. And strong. But really soft. Do you put something on them?”

“Um,” David replies, cleverly.

The pretzles arrive with a clatter. “I’ll put it on your tab,” the terrifying bartender says and leaves.

“You should eat these,” David says, trying once more to get his hand back. Patrick makes a very unsettling pouty face and holds tighter. “Patrick—“

“David,” he replies, voice low and those big eyes looking at him and David hates everything about his life, every individual thing.

[earwaxinggibbous]

Top 10 Worst Hit Songs of 2019

So 2019 was kind of a weird year, wasn’t it? Not just for like, life, though it was weird in that aspect, but in music.

I can’t tell if 2019 was an incredibly strong year for music or a weak one. This, to me, is a sign that we’re transitioning into a new era of popular music. The youth are once again taking the reigns of the music scene as did the punks of the 70′s and the grunge kids of the 90′s. Meanwhile, the oldheads flounder for relevance in the face of this new adversity. “Nobody could’ve expected this!”, said no-one ever.

There was a lot of great pop this year, which I will get to, but there was also a lot of bad pop. All of it was either by shitty new artists who have no talent or previous hitmakers swimming around in their own piss. Regardless, it was all interesting to look at. You won’t see any “this entry is short because this song is boring” sections. I also won’t have to rant and rave constantly about the reprehensibility of certain artists, though it will come up. So I guess 2019 was a better year to talk about bad music.

Less do dis.

10. Senorita - Camila Cabello and Shawn Mendes

I can’t explain why I hate Camila Cabello so much. I didn’t even realize I hated her until, like... now.

I thought Havana was okay, and her work with Fifth Harmony was tolerable, but every other single she’s dropped has been fucking excruciating. Bad Things sucked, that one song where she can’t pronounce the word “heroin” properly sucked, and this song sucks.

Much like Selena Gomez above, Camila Cabello is yet another female singer who lacks the ability to display any chemistry with anybody, even her actual real friend Shawn Mendes. As well, like sister Gomez, she fills the chart niche of sexy Latina women for men to drool over. “I love it when you call me senorita” is one of the corniest and stupidest lines ever written. She may as well have said “it gets me hot when you call me Ms. Cabello” because that’s essentially the equivalent. 

There’s nothing sexy about the airy whimpering or the obnoxious “ooh-la-la”s or the way Shawn harmonizes, which implies he also loves it when you call him senorita. Nobody actually bothered to think any part of this song through because nobody ever thinks very hard about writing Camila’s songs. Otherwise Bad Things wouldn’t have accidentally sounded like an abuse anthem when it was supposed to be kinky and sexy. And it’s how creepy lyrics like this got by in Senorita.

If he says you’re just friends then you’re JUST FRIENDS. Did we learn nothing from Ann-Marie and Marshmello last year?

This is just yet another lame, plotless, meandering love/sex song by Camila Cabello who has a good voice, but only ever performs these god-awful sex jams with no sex and no jam. And it’s unfortunate because this is sort of the lot dealt to most Latinx artists. Pop-friendly artists like Camila are divvied up into racial categories without anyone even noticing, and most likely she will only ever write and perform sex jams because that’s what a Latina woman in pop is pushed into. Not that I think she has any problem with it, it’s more indicative of a bigger problem than specifically one with Camila herself.

People have been sexualizing the Latinx community since the dawn of time, and while the new movement of Spanish music might change this, it sure as hell hasn’t started yet.

At least it isn’t seven minutes long like Te Bote.

9. Money in the Grave - Drake and Rick Ross

Drake had 25 hits last year, and only one of them was a song I might say I actually like. I remember I said there’d be no boring songs, but... Drake hasn’t been interesting in a long time. Even when I found out about his secret son, or the fact that he was with a significantly younger woman, I just kinda shrugged and said “oh”. Drake has to be on his way out. How much longer are people going to stand this?

Money in the Grave isn’t as turgid as 2018’s Nonstop, or as audibly inept as the 2017(?)’s Pop Style, but God. At this point, every Drake song sounds the same. The man is incapable of bringing forth any kind of emotions, his beats are pathetic drum loops, nothing he writes has any personality. It’s almost funny how boring his music is.

Rick Ross, if you remember him, was known in his time for writing shouty drug dealer anthems. He yelled a lot, and I was sitting with bated breath waiting for him to fucking 6ix9ine scream over this track, only to be disappointed when he lowered into a calmer register for this tune. Drake even made Rick Ross boring, and Rick Ross is one of the funniest bad rappers I can think of, aside from like, Soulja Boy.

I no longer understand what niche Drake fills. You can’t dance to this, you can’t get high to it, nobody’s gonna think you’re cool if you enjoy it, the lyrics aren’t even passably interesting. It’s the same rap cliches as always, perhaps with a new coat of paint, but said paint is the same color as it already was previously, and makes no change. 

No wonder Drake endorsed Lil Baby. Nobody else can equal his talent at sounding bored.

8. Bad Guy - Billie Eilish

So here’s an unpopular music critic opinion: I don’t like Billie Eilish.

I’ve known of her for a long time, and never once has she drawn my intrigue. I’ve gone all over asking people why they like her, and I’ve heard all sorts of answers. Her voice is good, her lyrics are good, her production is interesting, her subject matter is deep... whatever it actually is, I couldn’t tell you. But in the end, I basically feel the same way about her as I do about Twenty-One Pilots. She’s an artist in an oversaturated micro-genre who, despite being of lower quality than her contemporaries, managed to do something different enough that she rose up in the latter part of the genre’s life. In Billie’s case, it’s the trend of female alt-pop singer-songwriters who write about things like politics, feminism, and ESPECIALLY mental health.

Lorde was the original, but we also have Lana Del Rey, the more pop-friendly Halsey, Marina and the Diamonds, the dreaded Melanie Martinez, to some extent even Alessia Cara, just a whole bunch of them. They all had their own unique personality. Billie Eilish’s personality is that she has none.

Okay, I’m being a little mean. I do think that Billie’s music videos are actually very interesting, but good music videos does not a good musician make. Her voice is more of a phlegmy whisper than people let on, and her lyrics... like, what, what makes them so special? And why didn’t wish you were gay get ANY backlash when it’s basically just a backwards version of Little Big Town’s Girl Crush?

Bad Guy is the worst of her singles without question. Its beat, much like most of her songs, sounds like two people accidentally banged on top of the Cassio and somebody pressed record. Her voice continues to be boring and flat, for some reason she has to whisper everything, and the lyrics are some of the most mind-numbing shit I’ve ever heard. Which moron at corporate told the 17-YEAR-OLD to write a “steal yo man” song where she threatens to seduce my dad? Like, ignoring my own personal history with my dad, you are literally a CHILD.

Generally speaking, the song sounds like someone gargling mouthwash in my ear for a minute or two, but like, very quietly. Which is kind of pathetic for a song called Bad Guy. You sound like a pretty average guy to me.

It’s obvious from the music video that Billie’s main inspiration is grunge, and if that isn’t the case I’ll be surprised. The weird imagery and intentionally dressing like a homeless person to every public thing she does gives off big Nirvana energy. One could argue that Billie Eilish is a good segway into teaching the youthsters about the ghosts of music’s past. There’s just a few problems with that.

One: Bad Guy sounds nothing like a grunge song.

Two: Billie Eilish does not have a grunge voice.

Three: Billie Eilish just... isn’t doing it right.

Billie Eilish’s parents are two wealthy actors and she was basically born with the ability to get into the business easier than other people. I’m not saying that you can’t be a grunge artist if you’re wealthy and have a decent family life, but I am saying that Billie’s music doesn’t convey any kind of grunge appeal. There’s no roughness or rawness to it because she could immediately walk into a producer’s studio with a wad of fifties and ask for a sick beat. Her music displays no emotion, and emotion is the main draw of grunge. Like, Kurt Cobain wasn’t a very good singer, but he knew how to perfectly channel how he was feeling. Grunge music is about feelings, not polish. And Billie Eilish is all polish.

I’m not gonna get all angry because grunge is being gentrified by a tiny girl when it was originally started by broke heroin addicts and lesbians, but I am gonna get angry because her music sounds worse than albums made on a budget of 600 dollars by a guy who has had one voice lesson his whole life.

She should just go into modern art.

7. Worth It - YK Osiris

Originally I was gonna give this spot to a different song. Worth It was so immediately bad that it rescued Lil Baby from my list this year.

Don’t expect to be this lucky next year, bitch.

But we’re not talking about that squealing douchebag, we’re talking about THIS squealing douchebag:

YK Osiris. I have no idea where he came from, I think he was part of last year’s XXL Freshman Class? He’s more of a singer than a rapper, so I’m not sure why he was, other than the predetermined idea that all black artists in pop are rappers. I wouldn’t even call him a singer, because the man cannot sing.

At the beginning of the music video, you see dozens of paparazzi swarming around YK Osiris’ car as he exits with a girl. This is the set-up for the song’s impressive amount of self-fellating narcissism, as YK Osiris assumes he has fans. Who the fuck listens to YK Osiris? I mean, clearly someone, because he charted, but like... what does a YK Osiris fan look like? Do women actually like hearing him wheeze into their ear? Like BEES?

NO MORE BEES!

Hearing this fucking chicken nugget talk about whether or not I’m worth eet is the lamest thing. Why does she have to be worth it? Are YOU worth HER time? Who the fuck are you? The attitude is very, I guess, mid-70′s Paul Anka-esque. And now I’ve made you imagine a YK Osiris cover of You’re Having My Baby. I also remember Todd in the Shadows compared this song to Earned It by The Weeknd, but I dunno if I get that vibe.

I mean, Earned It is a song about like... BDSM sex, presumably. So that’s more of an “if you’re good master will make you squart” kind of thing. This is more some sentient dildo insisting that you prove his worth to him before you’re even DATING. That’s a red flag on the same level as meeting a guy who lives alone and still puts a lock on his fridge. Like, what’s in there? What’s in the fridge? Is it human meat?

The guitar solo in this song is the only thing about it that’s... worth it. ZING!

6. ZEZE - Kodak Black ft.Travis Scott and Offset

ZEZE is a bad song. Plain and simple. It’s the essence of bad.

It feels like... it wasn’t even finished. Like everyone involved came in the next day to finish tweaking it only to find out that it was already sent out to be published and sold. I feel like there are things missing. Like yeah, the steel drums are nice, but where’s the rest of the instrumentation? There’s a drum and a steel drum and then nothing. Why does this song feel so naked?

Kodak Black sure doesn’t help, still sounding like he’s half-man half-screaming rubber chicken and mumbling like an actual infant still figuring out the whole “talking” deal. It’s not like Travis Scott or Offset add anything. I can’t remember what they did. ZEZE sounds the way I imagine taking ketamine and cocaine would feel. This song is so amateurish, I almost have good will for it.

If this was made by, say, a couple of high school kids dinking around with a Garageband, I might find it a little cute. The problem is that this song was made by several Whole Ass Adult People who have enough money to not make shit that sounds like ZEZE. It’s cute until you remember that Travis Scott produced big sexy SICKO MODE and yet somehow his presence couldn’t make ZEZE sound like it was made on a higher budget than 20 bucks. Someone even put an echo on Kodak’s voice, like that’d make him ANY BETTER.

It doesn’t help that I have continuing ill will towards Kodak Black because he’s a sex offender and nobody seems all too pressed about it. (Some rappers even congratulate him for having a rough past, like yeah, I guess some of those serial killers really did deserve better, huh?) I won’t be satisfied until he’s wearing orange pajamas on an island far away, and until then my feelings stand.

As it is, ZEZE is a song so chintzy-sounding and lame that I can’t imagine who would enjoy it. This song has the same energy as one of those hula girls you put on the dashboard of your car: Cheap and ugly.

5. The Git Up - Blanco Brown

Whenever something new is created, there’s always a leech.

I probably don’t need to tell you about the monstrous year Old Town Road had on the pop charts. For weeks and weeks, Lil Nas X was blocking people from his throne at the top of the Billboard Hot 100, bumping off new faces like Billie Eilish and oldheads like Taylor Swift. Old Town Road knew no mercy. This is the year that a gay black kid singing about horses ruled the world.

And Blanco Brown wanted a piece.

Blanco Brown is one of those artists who started out producing and writing for other hitmakers. He worked on some song by 2Chainz, a couple by some woman named Demetria McKinney, he produced that accursed MILF song by Fergie, a lot of relatively famous people. But he looked at Old Town Road and realized that he, being a black man from the lovely state of Georgia, could also do that.

He could not do that.

The Git Up is a husk of a song, only validated by the fact that it achieved what it was aiming for: TikTok memes. It’s as shameless as Watch Me, but doesn’t even have the small sense of excitement Silento gives off. Blanco Brown’s The Git Up and the “challenge” that it’s attached to are pathetic. The only reason Blanco isn’t too ashamed to go outside after writing this is because he knows plenty of people have fallen into his trap, and that they’re bigger fools than he is.

I started off hating Old Town Road, but over time I’ve sort of come to love it. There’s innocence in it. Lil Nas X didn’t mean for it to be a number one hit, it just happened. A lot of artists were trying too hard this past year, and I suspect it’s why Old Town Road made the pop charts its bitch. It didn’t have to try.

A lot of people will point at rock bands for being “fake”. If they draw inspiration from grunge or punk, and they don’t have the proper edge, many will point and laugh. But just because something is fun and hip doesn’t mean it’s easier to make. In fact, I feel it’s a lot easier to tell if someone’s making a shitty pop song for any reason other than themselves. A lot of people thought Lil Peep was faking, and he really, really wasn’t. There’s grey area in topics like depression, but Blanco Brown (and anyone like him) is as transparent as a window. I see through his mock-excitement, his cute little dance challenge, his “innocent” song. We all do.

I believe Tyler Durden put it best:

“Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.”

4. I Don’t Care - Ed Sheeran ft. Justin Bieber

Speaking of being fake...

I don’t know if Ed Sheeran realizes how embarrassing this song is. More than any other song he’s been involved in. More than Shape Of You, or that one song on Revival, more than anything. I Don’t Care is an exercise in humiliation.

Generally speaking, I don’t like Ed Sheeran’s music. I think he’s had a couple good songs, we all like Sing and Castle on the Hill, it’s not like he’s untalented. But every time he’s gotten a big hit these past few years it’s been so shitty or mediocre that I wanted to scream. I’m not sure why, but all of his fans seem to flock towards his worst songs. And of all of them, I hate I Don’t Care the most.

Usually the problems with Ed Sheeran’s music just revolve around his meek, tiny personality and his weird style of lyricism. The level of detail he gets into can be both an asset and a detriment. I remember I basically described Shape Of You as a virgin anthem, because Ed Sheeran exudes dorkiness. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t, and when it comes to nerd music I’d rather take Thomas Dolby, but he definitely had a style.

I Don’t Care is Ed’s Intuition.

As in, the Jewel song. The blown-up pop song released by Jewel, a previously sincere folk singer who played acoustic guitar and sang about break-ups and The Media(TM) and stuff like that. Ed Sheeran is a lot like Jewel, if you think about it. Both of them are skilled lyricists who play acoustic guitar and sing about personal topics, and both of them suddenly decided to throw that away and make a sell-out pop hit. If this kills Ed’s career, they’ll have had basically the same musical trajectory.

Ed Sheeran opens the song by saying he’s at a party he doesn’t wanna be at, and that’s how the song feels. You, the listener, are at a party you don’t wanna be at. What good did adding Justin Bieber to this song do? Oh, right, that’s what made it a hit. I Don’t Care goes far beyond Blanco Brown’s brand of shamelessness. Blanco Brown specifically wanted a dance challenge hit. Ed Sheeran just wanted a hit. Any hit will do. He brought in guaranteed hitmaker Justin Bieber, tossed out his acoustic guitar for fully electronic production, and sang about something vague and already done. And the worst part is that it WORKED.

I imagine this was almost entirely through radio play, because this song is so radio-friendly and milktoast it’s unreal. With a stupid music video greenscreening Ed’s face onto shit and “ooh ooh”s and all, this song exists to pander. It wasn’t created for humans, rather, it was created for the pop music algorithm that’ll shove it into people’s laps without them asking. There’s no artistic integrity, nothing worth thinking about for longer than its runtime. It made it to the Hot 100 because it can be played in grocery stores and clothing stores and really any kind of store. Ed Sheeran is a God of nothing, and I can’t imagine he’s proud.

3. No Guidance - Chris Brown ft. Drake

This song is bad on every possible level. Starting off with the fact that it’s nine minutes long. It out-lengths last year’s overly long garbage fire that was Te Bote. 

And then you look at the credits and know exactly who’s to blame for all this:

I don’t know if Lil Dicky anticipated giving Chris Brown’s career a second wind with Freaky Friday, but I think that’s what he did. I defended Lil Dicky last year, and I’m still not clear on how much he actually wanted to work with Chris Brown since that’s not really the kind of thing famous people are honest about, but this wasn’t Lil Dicky’s hit. This was a springboard to launch Chris Brown back into the limelight. Earth didn’t even chart. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the last gasp of Lil Dicky’s career in the spotlight.

But I’d take Freaky Friday over No Guidance any day.

No Guidance is the formal beef-squash between Chris Brown and Drake. Apparently they both dated Rihanna at some point and allegedly had an actual literal bar fight. Despite Drake claiming he still loves Rihanna, he’s also choosing to publicly make up with and work with the man who got her hospitalized at 19 years old. Then again, Rihanna also wants nothing to do with Drake.

(source)

Over time, Drake has proven himself to be his own flavor of scumbag, a weirdo who dates younger women and pretended not to have a son. Perhaps this is his way of getting back at Rihanna. Or he’s simply using Chris Brown’s new power to bolster his own career. Regardless of why it is, it’s gross, especially when he’s dropping bars like this:

Someone else here is looking a little violent, no?

On pure quality, it sounds like every other Chris Brown song, just with Drake tossed into the mix haphazardly. It’s a lame song about hitting on some girl where both artists drop references to their old songs because that’s the easiest way for a failing artist to feign relevance. Assuming nobody features Chris Brown on another massive hit next year, there’s a fair chance he’s done for, and after years of oversaturation, the public finally tires of Drake. No Guidance is a nothing song with scummy shit going on behind the scenes.

RIP Lil Dicky.

2. 7 Rings - Ariana Grande

I never really understood the hype around Ariana Grande. She has a few songs that I enjoy, and her voice is very good, but nothing by her really stands out to me as an amazing song. Ariana stans are relentless. When I posted my review of the thank u, next album some complete stranger replied to it with “Uhhh ok sis”. Like barring the fact that I’m not a girl and we’re not related... it’s an opinion, calm yourself.

Frankly I don’t know how people enjoyed this song. Her stans are insane, but surely not that insane, right? I mean... this isn’t a song. It’s a MISTAKE.

Between Gwen Stefani and Ariana Grande, sampling The Sound Of Music for your pop song is a dangerous game. And really, she should’ve sampled like, anything else. Because nothing says “wealthy, savage girl” like a cute song about your favorite things, I guess!

I’ve never felt quite so immediately gross and uncomfortable as I did when listening to 7 Rings. I have no problem with women flexing, of course I don’t, but this isn’t flexing, it’s mocking. 7 Rings makes me feel like I’m being bullied.

Ari had a horrible 2018, and she’s more than allowed to flex a little, but I can’t imagine why anyone would want to essentially play the villain of a high school movie. She’s not Cher Horowitz or Regina George, because then at least she’d be entertainingly bitchy. I judge a flex anthem based on how much I get excited for the person being wealthy and cool. This song makes me want to commit a robbery.

The lyrical content isn’t the only bad element. It also sounds like shit! 

Ariana Grande is a belter. Everyone knows she’s here to sing and not... rap. Which is exactly what she does on this song. The filters she puts over her voice during the rapping sections are just... gross. When she drags out certain words it hurts my ears. That and apparently multiple people have accused her of stealing their flows, though that’s really hard to say since it’s an incredibly generic rap flow. Also, she samples Gimme The Loot by Biggie Smalls, a song about robbing people. Which makes sense because if you bought Ariana’s album, you were robbed! Congrats!

But in the end, the most damning thing about this song is its lyrics. Why should I be excited about this absolute bitch having tons of money? Why should I care when she has the gall to say shit like this?

There were ten writers on this song and nobody thought of saying “hey, maybe the phrase ‘happiness is the same price as red-bottoms’ is a little fucking shallow!” 

And I’m not making any judgments on Ariana’s character in real life. I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice person, but if this song was supposed to project some sense of camaraderie and a “we did it!” attitude, it fails. What it does project is a snide, rich girl looking down on you for not just buying yourself out of depression. Never write a song like this again.

Honorable Mentions

Happier - Marshmello and Bastille

I’m not gonna be the first to say every Marshmello beat sounds exactly the same, but every Marshmello beat sounds the same. I picked this one because it charted highest, but really it makes no difference which Marshmello song I pick on.

Sweet But Psycho - Ava Max

This song reads like a 12-year-old’s deviantART journal.

Drip Too Hard - Lil Baby and Gunna

Like I said, this song almost got on the list proper. It’s a slow burn. At first you feel like the beat is solid, and Lil Baby rides it decently enough, but then it keeps going and the flows never switch and Gunna basically sounds the same as Lil Baby and you begin feeling like you’re losing your mind.

Thotiana - Blueface

People kept memeing about this. I thought it’d be fun. I hate you guys.

God’s Country - Blake Shelton

Namedropping The Devil Went Down To Georgia does not make you Primus. Because you are not creative or interesting.

Trampoline - Shaed

I wouldn’t have even given this song a second thought except apparently it’s hit the alt-rock charts? Where is this rock? Like I get we’re pushing the boundaries of genre but I think the bare minimum of a rock song would be a GUITAR.

Knockin’ Boots - Luke Bryan

This song is dumb. But I’m oddly amused by how dumb it is, so it may live.

Baby - Lil Baby and DaBaby

Sometimes things sound like a good idea, and then they’re not. This didn’t even sound like a good idea and it proved to be an even worse idea. Something definitely could’ve been done with this, but Lil Baby is essentially a creative void that consumes all it sees.

Someone You Loved - Lewis Capaldi

Another song that’s too dumb for me to really get mad at. God knows, Capaldi is putting a hell of a lot of effort into something. What it is, I’m not sure, but he’s doing his best.

With those out of the way, we move onto

Number One:

You Need To Calm Down - Taylor Swift

"I AM LAID LOW BY THE HUMAN RACE. ME, AN INNOCENT WOMAN, MUST DEAL WITH ‘HATERS’ EVERY SINGLE DAY. MY HEART HAS BECOME WEAK WITH ALL OF THE UNKIND WORDS. DARE I SAY... I AM OPPRESSED?”

It’s ironic hearing Taylor Swift tell me to calm down. She hasn’t been calm for a long time. She sure as hell isn’t calm in this song. It’s basically the equivalent of someone screaming “I AM NOT ANGRY!”

Like, you’re... still mad about the snake thing? It’s been a few years now and you’re still bothered enough by an emoji that you referenced it in a song about how not-bothered you are? I mean, apparently this song (as well as ME!) is about celebrating individuality. It definitely is celebrating an individual: Taylor Swift.

I think a big theme of this year was “embarrassing”. The Git Up was embarrassing, I Don’t Care was embarrassing, but none of them are more embarrassing than this. You could probably do a list of the ten worst Taylor Swift lyrics and it’d be mostly this song. And if the lyrics aren’t terrible enough, it also blatantly copies the beat from Sunflower, the second-biggest hit of the year and a personal favorite. Like, a fellow critic remixed them together and the backing track is essentially unchanged.

And then we get to the gay stuff.

I’m not the first to point out that the underlying message of this song is pathetic at best and offensive at worst: “I have haters, and gays have haters, so we’re basically the same.” This is essentially Taylor Swift hoping she’ll get an invite to judge on RuPaul’s Drag Race.

There’s just kind of an eensy weensy problem.

Gay “haters” are like... ACTUALLY DANGEROUS.

They’re not just the goofy, protest-sign waving boomers she depicts in her music video. An internet comment is harmless. Homophobia isn’t. Homophobia leads to suicide, gets teens kicked out of their homes, causes hate crimes, it can cause incredibly serious harm. Someone sending you a fucking snake emoji isn’t the same as years and years of systematic oppression!

Does Taylor Swift have to worry about her safety when she tours in more conservative areas? Does she have to fear the possibility of losing friends and family ties when opening up about herself? Does she have to worry about letting the public see who she dates, beyond the usual celebrity drama? Do people shout slurs at her on the street? Do churches and politicians campaign against her right to marry?

Of course not.

Taylor Swift has always made everything about herself. She’s lied and been petty for years and years in her music. Imagine lying about KANYE. You don’t need to lie about fucking Kanye to make him look bad! He does it himself! She was the victim that time, and every time. But at no point until now did she stoop low enough to openly compare herself to oppressed groups because people are mean to her on the internet.

Like this isn’t even about articles or tabloids or anything, it’s about people being nasty online. The phrase “shade never made anybody less gay” is basically a crackhead way of diminishing our suffering. It’s not “shade” we’re worried about, Taylor, it’s having our fucking legal rights taken away. Your biggest worry is “haters”. Haters aren’t going to ban you from being married.

This song is phony, it’s a rip-off of a much better song that literally came out in the same year, it’s repetitive, it’s petty, and most of all, it tries to diminish the oppression of the LGBT+ community by boiling down all of our pain and suffering to simple “shade”.

I will not calm down.

Woo-ee. That was something alright. We’ll be moving onto the best list soon, if I don’t get caught up in my other quarantine activities.

[lilly-from-the-valley]

Infinite.

Dearest Mate,

I wanted to make this letter for you. Tbh, i’m at lost of the right words to say, but i will say what’s on my mind like i always do. I hope you bear with me and what’s coming because it may be like waves at night. Haha, kidding. Did i scare you?(oh who am i kidding)

The moment you entered my life, it was terrifying to me. I had no idea why would i save your contact number, but i somehow think that i wanted to show you my sides nobody else in class could. I know i’m not as talented in drawing as you are, but i wanted to be included as an artist although i’m far from being one. When you sent me those drawing tips and all, i was actually surprised and backed away. It scared me that you, the one that’s better than me, put yourself out there to help me. I thought, what is he thinking? I feel like you already saw me—a person who’s afraid of criticism and change. But then, when you asked me to help you for that manga contest, i felt somehow welcomed. Like a warm welcome to another story rather than my so-called dEpReSsIoN. And you know what? I’m glad i didn’t even hesitate the offer. When you showed me the online flyer, i was standing very close to you. I felt that welcoming aura. I’m helping people. That’s really new. I was never a volunteer at this part because to me people are just bothersome. The excitement to create a story with a very talented artist really got me. I can still feel it until today.

You keep on amusing me everyday. From the part of your manga drawing, to the part you actually played with the plastic cup on a small puddle that it moved on its own. Honestly, you never stopped amusing me. I was really entertained with that cup. I respected you a lot for making me slightly entertained with stuffs. You must’ve noticed how i keep sitting beside you in classes especially English, i choose to sit beside you rather than anyone else. I never told you about this, but i knew i wanted to always be near you, because i feel at home when i’m close to you. Remember before the presentation on our experiences in English? My hands are shaking at the moment, my feet can’t stop moving and i keep talking to myself. I was aware a few times how you noticed i acted out weirdly while waiting for my name to be called. You even tried to talk to me to help me with the anxiety, which makes me feel the need to get to know you more despite how i embarrassed myself in front of you.

Never ending assignments which led to never ending helps coming from you. That night when i was stressed because nobody was there to help me with the assignment, you offered a hand. It feels like just yesterday. From doing assignments together, to going food hunts at night. I asked you questions that had my curiosity for awhile, but you gladly answered each one of them. By that time I feel so lucky to have you, because i don’t think anybody else have that. If i voiced out what was in my thoughts, they would just leave the questions unanswered or even tell me to stop thinking nonsense. I told you before sem break that it’s been a long time since we had any food hunting at night. I actually missed it atm and looking forward for more in the incoming time ahead of us.

From malls to cafes. From cafes to beaches. Words can’t describe how i feel every time going out with you. I feel unstoppable. I can do whatever i want((just it’s saddening how we always have to end the day because of the last bus)) i almost felt like this mad woman that just got out from prison. I feel free. And you’re there, laughing at how childish i can be, and also there when how immature i acted when you did something that wasn’t going my way. I wish i didn’t have that. That immature part of me had ruined most of our moments—even now. I always wanted an attention from you, that it gets excessive. But what did you do? You take my arm anyway when crossing the busy streets, well, even the streets were almost empty, you didn’t leave me alone. I know i always tell you this whenever we go to my favorite cafes or restaurants, but i feel happy. I don’t know if it’s just me, but i get the feeling that you noticed how it’s hard for me to say that i’m happy. But i won’t lie to you. When we’re at those places, i felt different kind of happy. It’s like a kid’s happiness to go to their favorite playground. The slides were always amusing even if she ride it every time. The swing sends her flying that she can reach the clouds. It never gets old. And she’s with the most precious person on earth. She felt like she didn’t need anybody else and anywhere else to stay. If i could, i wanted to stay in that cafe as long as i could with you. That is the first time i entered coastal store, and few other cafes. The first time for me to go food hunting at night, to watch the sunset at beaches, to stargaze in the amidst of night, to try out some other food places i never tried. You claimed as if it was your first time but little did you know, they were mine too. ((I’m sad that we didn’t get to reach the park that has that big Kuantan mark across the lake. I really was looking forward to see you do parkour))

The moment i opened up. I told you even the deepest, filthiest, and darkest part of me but you never flinched. You are always there, always. If you question why did i trust you so much, i honestly have no answer for that. I just do. I just knew. That i can always rely on you. I never told people, but i told you. It still feels fresh. Waking up to sunset, opening up at that time. Hiding behind you from monkeys. People would say there’s a lot already memories but as for me it wasn’t enough. I still look forward to some more time with you.

I told myself many times how nothing remains. But i can’t resist you. People left me, and those who do are the ones that promised me to stay. I even doubted you when you said you will, stay. It’s like, the earlier me knew that this will happen anyway because of... me. I’m damaged. And damaging. Even if there’s people trying to help me, i will hurt them, act selfish around them. It’s not because of those people. It was me all along. When they were stuck with me, i took away their freedom and gave them mine. I see as my freedom as yours too, but little did i know, with that you’re losing yourself everyday. I’m so naive. All i wanted is to be with you but my situation and my feelings are what conflicted everything. They are always in the way. The worst part of it is that i’m aware of how damaged i am but i still let you touch my thorns and hold it tight to get to see me bloom as a rose closely. Your hands were bleeding along my body because my thorns penetrated all the layers of your skin and almost reached your bones—but you held it firmly that your hands turned lifeless. Instead of being a rose, i should’ve been a tulip around you. If i could turn back time((i know it’s pointless to even think about it)) i wanted to be the safest and the most beautiful flower to you. I know how already broken you are, but i keep ripping you apart because i wanted you to save me from the strong wind from the storm, without thinking about how it will blow you away as well.

I’m holding this birthday card you gave close to me. This card is actually like a Lily of the Valley to me. If you don’t know, it’s a flower. A very pretty one that looks like a really tiny white bell. It holds a meaning of ‘a promise of happiness’. I think that’s what you are. God sent you to me is for me to be happy, despite the loss of a friend and a disappearance of a lover. If i am a pathetic rose, you are the lily of the valley.((The color of the thread tied around the pinky is now purple <\3 :’c))

You embraced my flaws, inside out. I know i asked a lot about that because i’m worried, but at the same time i was a selfish bitch. I was scared to what may happen to me when you are there, always are. You accepted me for who i am, but i keep putting myself first and push you to put me first that you’re losing yourself. I can never forgive myself for doing that to you. The truth is, i’m scared. I’m haunted by the memories, and i can’t make decisions. Not now. Not yet.

You’re my source of happiness. You know how i am always in denial of such feeling? Is because i’m scared. I’m scared to be happy because i know what it’ll cost—it’ll cost you. I told you a lot about that already, but i haven’t tell you this—i’m happy being with you. I feel so free. You’re my sweet escape. I don’t want to stop writing. Because it feels like i’m talking to you. And you know how much i love doing that. I can talk with you and you’re there listening as always.

I will miss your phone calls to wake me up, sharing about my dreams after i read your first text on the day, having you greet me with narrowed eyes, your fingers flipping pen, your old-cat meows, your hands waving around as you tell me stories about your amazing past, your hehahak laughs, your pats on my head, your cartoonish english men voice, especially, your comfort when i’m crying. Writing this out feels like you’re still here, comforting me while my tears weren’t near a stop. And crucially, i miss you. :’)

You always approved my requests. Going there and there, cheer me up, even beyond, you always do. But me...? I wonder if i even approved a request from you. I did that, that it had cost you to request this on me. And i had no other choice. I noticed the red flags after you’re getting better from your sickness, and i tried to do something. But it didn’t work. Because it’s me. There’s danger coming to us but i still am a selfish prick. But i tried. I am sorry. I was watering a wilted flower. It was too late.

The song you sent me on 10th-11th May, i didn’t realize it until last night. I guess i was busy with projects that i even abandoned you. Ugh, i’m the worst :’) i listened to it, and my mind now can’t stop playing that song on loop. I’m sorry i’m just so selfish and helpless, haris.

Regardless of what happened to us, you will always remain somewhere in my heart. I don’t hate you. No, not ever. Yet i’m proud of you. You’re starting to love yourself. You’re braver than you think you are. I wish happiness for you, even if it means to not having me with you :’) ((breaks me)) thank you for all these memories, values you gave, thank you for existing. You will always be that haris-chan to me. That anime guy keep stumbling upon a depressed looking anime girl. With wild adventures, and lots of twists. I wish i don’t have to stop writing, because honestly i don’t want to stop writing to you. I keep feeling your presence while doing it. Feels like by now you’re typing out your response to my blabbering texts. Sending me lots of love and hearts. ifeellikeicantdothis :’)

I’m sorry again. For everything i’ve done. You probably would hate to hear this, but i love you so much, my soulmate, and my best friend. You filled in my emptiness and showered me with so much love.

And my poem for you;

You kissed the void for me.

P/s:((whatever that is))

The mail is too long? Well, this is the first time for me writing this long. Like i said, i feel like i couldnt stop writing to you.

Shsuaiihh i cant close this hdjdjsksksk i have so many conclusions already aaasgh my english teachers wouldve died

P/s:(whatever that is) i’m struggling with the past and present tense is because it doesn’t feel like they are in the past. They all feel so fresh to me.

Take care.

Love, Illia.

[voicesfromthelight]

My Dance Guru Pays Me A  Visit from Spirit

In connection with my post on astral party-crashers, I recently gave an example or two of how Spirit can use social media to let us know they are with us, or convey messages through synchronicity. Last night, I was blessed with a very special instance of this, and would like to share it with you to show how portentous these little nudges from Spirit can be, if we keep our feelers out and our eyes open.

To fully convey the emotional impact of this experience, I will need to frame this story with a little bit about my background.

For many years of my early life, starting around the age of five, I developed an inexplicably intense fascination with Indian and Hindu culture. This was accompanied by a feeling of longing so deep, I felt like I belonged there, and had been born in the wrong place - as if I had been there in a past life, and was still somewhat stuck in that previous identity.

One of the outlets I eventually found for this longing was through studying the classical Indian dance form, Bharata Natyam, starting at the age of eight. I was lucky enough to be instructed by a woman named Indrani Rahman - whom I knew simply as Indrani. The reverence I felt for Indrani cannot be overstated. She was my guru. Her mother, known as Ragini Devi, American by birth, had been one of the pioneers of classical Indian dance in the West, and had also helped to revive the art form in India itself during her lifetime. Years later, I was to learn that Indrani, in addition to being a highly respected dancer, had also been crowned Miss India in 1952, but my childhood self could hardly have been more in awe of her had she been the actual Hindu goddess whose name she bore.

The way in which I parted ways with Indrani left a profound mark on me. Throughout the year that I studied with her, in between dancing, Indrani would hint at the cultural stringencies inherent in the teacher-disciple relationship in classical Indian traditions. The comment that always stayed with me was this: “You know, Emily, in India, if you insult your guru, and they throw you out, you can come back crawling on your hands and knees, and they won’t have you back.” Little did I know what it foreshadowed.

After a year of studying with her in New York City, my mother and I were about to move to Finland. I had one last lesson left. Bharata Natyam is a dance form that incorporates pantomime into its storytelling, and I was in the process of learning a dance about a woman who asks a parrot to deliver a love letter to Kartikeya, son of Shiva and Parvati. At the end of the second-to-last lesson I was to have, my mother, Indrani, and I were on our way out of the dance studio we had been working in, in an elevator. I was anxious to learn the end of the dance we had been working on before leaving, and expressed to my mother how urgently I wanted to learn it. My mother responded something to the effect of “Don’t be too impatient,” and I, with my child’s impetuousness, retorted with something silly along the lines of “Why are you always criticizing me?!”. My mother and I laughed it off. Indrani said nothing.

The next evening, the phone rang. My mother was in the other room, and I picked it up. It was Indrani. In a calm, deliberate tone, she expressed to me how horrified she had been with how disrespectfully I had spoken to my mother the previous night, and unceremoniously announced that she was canceling the last lesson. I was blindsided, and utterly mortified. On my subsequent trips back to the US, Indrani refused to teach me, referring me, through my parents, to a younger teacher (whom I would also come to adore.) We didn’t speak again for almost ten years, and I would break down sobbing every time the subject came up, for years to come. We never spoke of her rejection of me. It was one of the most painful experiences of my childhood. 

The sting eventually dulled, and I drifted away from the world of classical Indian art, but never completely forgot my experiences with Indrani. In all the years I spent moving back and forth between Finland and the U.S, I never lost my first set of ankle bells, which she had brought me from a trip to India during the year I had studied with her. They remained with me, a relic of what felt like a past life in an almost literal sense.

Indrani passed away in 1999.

Dance remained an important part of my life, albeit one that felt like a passionate but unrequited love. I continued studying Bharata Natyam for a total of six years, but when my new teacher, Arundhati, moved back to India, I never found anyone to replace her. I loved ballet, but didn’t have the build of a ballet dancer. I fell into an obsession with Argentine tango at 16, and danced it on and off in an amateur capacity for decades, but always felt a bit like an outsider. I always had my finger in many different kinds of artistic pies, and eventually, it was music and film-making that won out as my main forms of professional, artistic expression.

That is, until last spring.

Last April, I took up Argentine tango again in a serious way, dancing for hours on end, nearly daily, within a matter of weeks of returning to it. Around this time, my usual work in the film industry had become somewhat harder to find than before, and my spirit guides went so far as to straight up ask me if I was sure I was in the right career. Wouldn’t a musical setting be better for me? Working through an emotional healing process after losing a fiancé, I found myself unmotivated to do much else than dance tango and give psychic readings. Things started getting tight, financially, and I eventually asked to be sent a new spirit guide to help me find the right job. The guide presented itself the next day, and my spiritual team informed me that they were cooking up something good.

In July, after a year-long wait, I had a chance to get a reading from one of the best psychic mediums I have ever had the pleasure of working with, Medium Fleur, from Los Angeles. As she looked into my energy field, she expressed concern about my finances, but said that she saw me being offered a job, working in an office environment, part-time, receiving a salary from a corporation, through people who had known me for a while. Having been a freelancer all my life, this seemed like a huge departure from anything I had done before. However, knowing the accuracy of her second sight, I trusted her.

Around mid-September, the following popped up in a channeling session with my spirit guides: “Your professional life is predicted to grow very busy. Everyone will benefit better from your work when you have the energy to give back to the things you love. Don’t grow poor! Desire a job. Give a grand reception in which you teach messages of inspiration to your community." A couple of weeks later, a new friend of mine from the tango community - a professional ballroom dancer and Argentine tango champion - asked me to event-manage a pair of big fundraising galas he was putting together for his non-profit organization, which teaches ballroom dancing to underserved school children around the country. Applying my film-producing skills to the events, I managed to pull off the feat with a week to spare, and the evening was deemed a great success. Seeing the children perform at the galas, and the respect with which they treated each other, inspired by the dance, I was moved to tears of happiness.

A couple of days after the galas, I was rummaging through a bag of items my father had passed on to me during a move to his new apartment. There, I found a small bronze statue I hadn’t looked at for years: A figure of Shiva Nataraja - the Hindu god, Shiva, in his creative form, as Lord of The Dance. We had acquired this statue around the time I had been studying with Indrani, and the very first dance I had learned with her had been “Natanam Adinar” - a dance that brought the image engraved in that statue to life. As much as my spiritual proclivities had changed since that time in my childhood, placing the statue of Shiva Nataraja, Lord of The Dance, near a window, next to my houseplants, felt reassuring, like a small piece of my soul had been reclaimed.

Yesterday, the organization for which I had event-managed the fundraising galas officially hired me on an on-going, part-time basis, to work for them in an administrative capacity. I was thrilled to be offered a job working with friends to further a mission that brought healing to so many young people through the joy of dance. I was also thrilled that both Fleur’s and my guides’ predictions were coming true.

My new boss and I celebrated by dancing a few tangos at an event put on by another friend. I arrived home late at night, tired but content. As I was walking up the stairs to my apartment, my phone suddenly flashed. I looked down, and saw that it was exactly 1:11AM.  I’ve found myself intuitively checking the time at repetitive “angel number” times quite a bit, of late, but this particular one felt more significant than usual. I sent a mental “Hello and thank you!” to my guides.

My feet ached badly from dancing, and I decided I needed to put on a pair of silicone toe-spreaders for the night. I had lost them a week earlier, and had to push myself to muster up the energy to look for them.

Rummaging through a desk drawer in my tiny work room, my eyes were suddenly drawn to something familiar. A lone ankle bell. My gift from Indrani. I had never really noticed it there before, but I felt a strange emotional pull to it. In that moment, I had a fleeting thought: “It still hurts a little bit to think about Indrani, but see, she loved me enough to give me those ankle bells, when I was just a little girl, as a symbol of passing on her tradition, and her dance, to me. Their significance is profound.” I closed the drawer.

A few minutes later, having mercifully located my toe-spreaders on  a night-stand, I climbed into bed, and out of habit, checked Facebook one last time.

And all at once, there it was: Indrani’s beautiful face, smiling at me.

About 40 minutes earlier, Indrani’s son, Ram, whom I have never met in my life, and am not linked up with on social media, had posted a photo of his mother as a young woman, clothed in a white sari, standing next to the illustrious sitar player, Ravi Shankar.  For reasons that were not readily apparent, he had tagged Arundhati, my other teacher, in the photo, which was why I could see it.

I truly feel that Indrani was looking down on me at that moment, letting me know that for all the pain I associated with our parting, she was proud of me for contributing to the world through dance in a positive way. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had lent my guides a hand in putting me on my current path! I also feel that in the afterlife, perhaps in her life review, she may have realized how deep an effect the harshness of her disposition had had on me, and this was her way of showing up for me one more time, as my dance guru again, in a kind of reconciliation. I feel an immense sense of healing from this moment.

Have your departed loved ones ever shown up for you at important moments, communicating through synchronicities? How did it happen? How did you feel? Let me know!

[ramajmedia]

Jim Carrey's 10 Best Movies, According To Rotten Tomatoes

Despite being one of the biggest movie stars in the world with countless box office hits, Jim Carrey is a pretty divisive actor. Some fans appreciate his knack for rubbery expressive comedy, but others criticize this performing style as overacting.

While he was once possibly the most bankable star in the world, his status has dropped in the past few years and he hasn’t really starred in a major hit since 2008’s Yes Man. Still, he’s left behind a very impressive body of work and there’s every chance his star could rise again. So, here are Jim Carrey’s 10 Best Movies, According To Rotten Tomatoes.

RELATED: Jim Carrey’s 10 Most Hilarious Characters, Ranked

10 Man on the Moon (63%)

It was a dream come true when Jim Carrey was cast to play one of his idols, comedy legend Andy Kaufman, in a biopic. Directed by the great Milos Forman, this biopic plays around with the rules a lot.

There are dramatic moments and it follows a familiar formula, but there’s also a lot of Kaufman-esque comic trickery at play. As a recent Netflix documentary can attest to, Carrey went a little cuckoo on the set as he refused to break character for the entire shoot, even when the cameras weren’t rolling. But it’s hard to deny that Kaufman himself would’ve been proud.

9 Dumb and Dumber (67%)

This road comedy by the Farrelly brothers should never have gotten a sequel. The original stands perfectly on its own as one of the funniest movies ever made and no sequel could live up to that (especially the trainwreck we were eventually served in 2014).

Few comedies have a gag rate this rapid and even fewer have such a high rate of gags actually landing. Everything in the screenplay for Dumb and Dumber is carefully considered to deliver an infinitely funny moviegoing experience: the plot as a whole is funny, the individual scenes stand alone as funny, and each of those scenes is filled with hysterical one-liners and wordplay. Frankly, in terms of laughs, Dumb and Dumber is up there with Airplane! and The Naked Gun.

8 I Love You, Phillip Morris (71%)

This real-life story of con artist Steven Jay Russell has a darker sense of humor than Jim Carrey’s fans are used to, and it’s got a lot more dramatic elements than his usual work, but it’s still a lot of fun. Russell went to prison, fell in love with a fellow inmate named Phillip Morris (who, here, is played by Ewan McGregor), and when Morris was released, he broke out of prison a whopping four times just to be with him.

It’s a delightful story with more complex acting than Carrey is usually given the chance to do. Critic Steve Persall described it perfectly: “Catch Me If You Can mashed up with Brokeback Mountain if Mel Brooks directed.”

7 Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events (72%)

Jim Carrey found Count Olaf, the lead antagonist role in Lemony Snicket’s A Series of Unfortunate Events, to be the perfect part for him to play. He loves character work, and Olaf isn’t just an eccentric character on his own – he’s a bad actor who disguises himself as other people.

RELATED: The 10 Best Episodes Of Netflix's A Series Of Unfortunate Events

So, Carrey got to play a bunch of different characters who were being played by another character. He was eager to do a sequel to the movie, and he never likes to do sequels, but unfortunately, due to its unusually dark tone for a kids’ movie, it didn’t perform so well at the box office.

6 The Mask (77%)

The movie that made Jim Carrey’s career was a comic book movie, but not the kind of comic book movie that now floods theaters every couple of weeks. The Mask is about an ordinary man who is granted extraordinary powers, sure, but he doesn’t use them to save the world. The Mask is more like The Nutty Professor than Spider-Man, and obviously, a slapstick-based Jerry Lewis-esque role is right in Carrey’s wheelhouse, so it’s a brilliant movie.

On a side-note, Carrey isn’t the only A-list star whose career began with The Mask. You’ll also see a young Cameron Diaz make her starring debut in the film.

5 Horton Hears a Who! (79%)

This animated adaptation of the Dr. Seuss classic (funnily enough, the first-ever fully animated feature-length adaptation of the author’s work) takes the gloss of CG animation but gives it the whimsy of the iconic illustrations from Seuss’ work. Jim Carrey voices the titular elephant, who realizes that a tiny civilization lives on a speck of dust on top of a flower and will do anything to protect them.

Steve Carell plays the mayor of this civilization, while Seth Rogen lends his voice to Horton’s mouse sidekick, the aptly named Morton. It’s a heartwarming movie that tells us that even the smallest people matter.

4 Liar Liar (81%)

Jim Carrey loves high-concept movies that he can dig his teeth into. A prime example of this is Liar Liar, in which he plays a lawyer who, thanks to his son’s birthday wish, is unable to lie for 24 hours. This led to hilarious scenes like Carrey rattling off a comprehensive list of offenses he’d just committed to a cop who pulled him over and beating himself up in a men’s room to get out of court.

But ultimately, the movie carries a strong message. You shouldn’t lie to your kids – or anyone, for that matter – and Fletcher learns that the hard way in this movie. It’s far from a flawless movie, but fans of Carrey will definitely get their fill.

3 Peggy Sue Got Married (85%)

Directed by The Godfather’s Francis Ford Coppola, Peggy Sue Got Married stars Kathleen Turner as a woman in her 40s who is ready to divorce her husband, Charlie, played by Nicolas Cage and is filled with regret about how her life has played out.

Then, she gets the opportunity to go back in time and start all over again. She can prevent herself from ever marrying Charlie in the first place. That is, until she finds herself charmed by him all over again. Jim Carrey plays a minor role as Walter Getz, and since the movie came out almost a decade before Carrey became a star, he’s virtually unrecognizable.

2 Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (93%)

Screenwriter Charlie Kaufman has made a career out of taking something we can all relate to, like the feeling of despair and hopelessness after a relationship, and spin it into something cinematic, like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Jim Carrey stars as Joel, a guy who falls head over heels in love with a girl, played by Kate Winslet, who breaks his heart.

RELATED: Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind: 10 Quotes That Can Never Be Erased From Our Memories

Unable to get her out of his head, he hires a company to get her out of his head using experimental new technology. Naturally, it goes wrong and he ends up trapped in his own memories. It’s very strange, but also very powerful.

1 The Truman Show (94%)

This trippy work of social science fiction could easily be an episode of Black Mirror. Jim Carrey plays Truman Burbank, a regular guy who has never left his small town and lives a quiet existence. He starts to notice unusual things about his life and soon realizes that there are cameras on him at all times, broadcasting his every move to a world filled with adoring viewers.

When he discovers the truth and tries to escape, the director of the show becomes mad with power and would rather kill him than see him leave town and experience the real world. His fans all rally behind him. It’s very satirical, yet also very moving stuff.

NEXT: Cate Blanchett's 10 Best Movies, According To Rotten Tomatoes

source https://screenrant.com/jim-carrey-best-movies-rotten-tomatoes/

[zoyartt-blog]

Guest Speaker- Jennifer Winsor

Jennifer Winsor from Winsor Art Projects came as a guest speaker. The way she presented and addressed the class felt very warm and organic. I liked the way she was so interested in keeping it interactive and opened with questions like what careers interests us as art students and why we chose this course. It felt good to have such a curious speaker for a Curatorial class. She gave a brief introduction about her history like she came from a business background and never studied art. She did a banking job for ten years and felt dispassionate and decided to  follow her love for art and moved to Canada from London. Over here, she opened a tiny art gallery under what hotel Georgia residence is and she did a collection for them. She said that it was a crazy journey from business, banking to art. She emphasized on being open towards new things in life and how life can take a turn any moment and if you are passionate about it, it can take you to great places. I adored her enthusiasm for art and after knowing about her history in business, I was really surprised and it made me more hopeful towards my goals.

 Jennifer opened Winsor Gallery in Vancouver and she talked about artists and curators she worked with for various exhibitions like Dana Claxton, Paul Wang, Alan Wood, Patrick Hughes and Andy Dixon etc.

She put together a show with Dana Claxton. Dana already came as one of the guest speakers at Kwantlen and I knew just after hearing her name, that something wonderful would have happened after their collaboration.When Dana reached her, she wanted to reach to higher population and trusted Jennifer with it and they put a great show together. They put three shows together. Then Jennifer took Dana to the Toronto art fair where she did a solo show of the FBI files she found online. They took a chance on each other and achieved huge success commercially. Jennifer explained here on collaborating commercial and critical content, which Dana was hesitant of in the beginning but the end result was great for both of them. Jennifer said that Dana was one of the most exciting person to work with and she had a very academic view of what should be laid out together & how. Noticing the amount of enthusiasm Jennifer had in her voice for Dana’s work, I felt that it became possible, that is, commercial and critical collaborated so wonderfully because Jennifer herself is so passionate and she really adored and encouraged Dana’s work. I believe this was a collaboration moment, because in the group work for this class, there were moments when I had my ups and downs and the other person in group was putting so much, it inspired me to continue. So, over here, Jennifer’s way of collaboration, passion and her spirit to support was something I related to.

 Thereafter, she mentioned about Alan Wood, who was famous for his collage work and she was first one, who did not reject his proposal. Alan was not making something new but he had an archive collection and they decided to do a show together. She said it was still one of things where she was figuring out on how to educate public about this archival collection and make it resonate with new collectors and really make it work. Over at this point, she decided to trust the artist completely. She believed in Alan’s solid understanding of his values and collection. She put the complete trust and effort in exhibit and it worked. The success was huge enough that other galleries were on their door. Here is an another great moment, where I felt she made it possible- a) collaboration of commercial and critical work (b) She took a risk but she trusted her artist completely and broke the barrier by giving preference to her artsy side over just commercial side . Another thing she mentioned about collecting is that they get a lot of artwork donations or also buying works for collection, figuring out how and which works are best for structuring the collection and this follows a step by step understanding of Patron who is collecting work from different auctions, then another step is going to Public gallery curator to figure which works are best for bringing into collection and the taste of collectors, who will be buying the work. So, It goes from a long process from Patrons to commercial gallery to curators to Collector.

She talked about her experiences with Paul Wang and Attila Richard and with both of them she put on great shows, as she took an another adventurous ride with Paul, who did a 24 hour video projection and Attila, who was in a transitional phase when he came to her and decided to do exhibit presenting abstract work instead of figurative, which he is his speciality. Both shows brought huge success again and Attila’s work went to Toronto & he did a 3-D installation of his painting, whose huge part was was acquired by Bank of Montreal, who came there as VIP. This brought public, commercial and critical under a roof.

There are a lot of things I learned from this speaker talk but I would like to go back to Equinox first. To be honest, the space at Equinox is any artist’s dream but I was so not impressed with the way manager addressed us and also that I did not understand if they were really interested in bringing anything critical or they were just making money? Then there is Jennifer, her love for art, her enthusiasm, risk taking factor, building relations, working in collaborations, searching for work that catches eye, trusting artists and making name and money out of it like any commercial gallery is admirable.I believe, there sure is types of galleries and types of works they accept but at the end of the day, its the people, who create collaboration, spaces, environments, moods and if there are more passionate people like her in the industry, there is a great hope for wonderful things to happen in the art world. Commercial galleries can be really exciting like Jennifer’s Winsor Gallery, its the people who make the difference and I would be honoured to work with someone like her.

[ayellowbirds]

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 25: “Don’t Fool With a Phantom”

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 2 Episode 8. Original Airdate: 10/31/1970)

AKA, "The Gang Are Oblivious To The Permanent Skin-Altering Side Effects of Regularly Ingesting Silver Compounds"

It seems especially appropriate that the final episode of the original series, Scooby-Doo, Where Are You!, aired on the morning before All Hallow’s Eve. How many kids got ready for trick-or-treating with this one fresh in their memories?

Upbeat music and a shot of the exterior of a high-rise building lit by a flashing sign with the station identifier KLMN, probably not associated with the real-life station of the same call letters. The scene transitions inside to a studio where the gang participate in Johnny Sands’ Dance Game Show.

Fred and Daphne repeat the same generic, jerking dance they’ve done at every single occasion where there was music, and are applauded off the stage with a “groovy!” from the host... who introduces “Shaggy and Scooby-Doo, with their ‘Toffee Twist’!”

The boys put on a performance using an immense length of uncut soft toffee as a dance prop, and as the rest of the gang watch, the station manager Roger Stevens lauds the original performance. The only problem, Velma notes, is that Shaggy and Scooby might eat their way out of the contest.

Suddenly, the lights cut and the stage is plunged into utter darkness. Shaggy cries out the series title in spite of the fact that Scooby was inches away from him, and the lights come back up just as he gets his response. Or more accurately, something else lights up the stage.

A glowing, misshapen figure towers over the boys, moaning hauntingly, and the lights go out again as people scream and attempt to flee amidst crashing noises. The problem with this scene?

When the lights come back up, none of the studio audience has moved, and while the sign for the show is busted up, it’s clearly a completely different sign. The colors are reversed from the original, and if you look closely at the very top, you can see where the background artist(s) simply painted it over the original sign.

Velma thinks this is just one of Johnny Sands’s famous “publicity stunts”, but when the gang respond to cries for help, they find Johnny tied up in a ransacked room. He explains that the station had been receiving threatening notes signed by “the Wax Phantom”, a figure he relates back to “Grisby”, an eccentric maker of wax figures who had briefly had  a spot on the show until he was canceled and swore revenge by bringing one of his statues to life.

The safe has been emptied out, and Mr. Steven is absent—with a trail of wax footprints leading out a 10th story window as the only solid clue. Fred wants to call the cops, but Sands insists that the publicity would ruin the financially struggling KLMN. It’s the last we see of him for the rest of the episode, which really feels like a missed opportunity to add more clues and red herrings.

While Fred and Daphne investigate the wax museum, Shaggy, Scooby, and Velma are sent to check on Grisby (first name? Last name? We never find out). He greets them at the door, hushing them.

It’s never said out loud that Grisby is gray-skinned, though maybe argyria is a common enough condition in the Scoobyverse that it isn’t seen as appropriate to question it. He welcomes the trio into his home, where we immediately see a table with a skull and taxidermied raven, as well as some kind of bird of prey over the front door, as well as a crystal ball on a pedestal with the likeness of a snake coiling up it. A skeleton in an electric chair makes its appearance in the next shot, and while Shaggy investigates a cauldron cooking in the fireplace, Scooby opens a small box.

I already made one Danny Phantom joke, so i’m afraid that i’ll just have to let you enjoy this BOX GHOST on its own. What a little cutie. It makes a chittering noise and flaps its arms, so i think it might be the ghost of a bat or bird, rather than a human. More tiny ghosts—little skulls—bubble up from the stew before Shaggy can take a taste, and Grisby gleefully declares that his black magic is working, and he will soon have his revenge. A live corvid crows and swoops through the room, and Shaggy, Velma, and Scooby flee—though Scooby pauses to wave goodbye, and the skeleton in the chair giggles and waves back.

It’s a charmingly spooky little place, but having seen shots of the interior of @bogleech and Guillermo del Toro’s homes, i feel like there’s just not enough going on. A guy like Grisby wouldn’t be happy unless the walls were lined with eerie memorabilia and figures.

The scene cuts to the wax museum, where the Wax Phantom watches as the Mystery Machine drives up. Finding the front door unlocked, Fred and Velma enter, and are too distracted to notice as the Phantom bolts the door behind them, and sneaks around to moan and chase at them.

Outside, Velma struggles with the door, and bribes the boys with handfuls of Scooby Snacks to find a window they can climb through. A series of frights ensues as Scooby and Shaggy are repeatedly caught by surprise by the displays, including animatronic gimmicks like a giant bat that drops down in front of a figure of a vampire.

At one point, however, Velma is surprised by a floating, translucent gloved hand that has no rational explanation. It’s an “actual ghost” bit like so many others, never revealed as part of the villain’s setup and given no mundane cause. Spooked again, the gang run into each other—well, Shaggy runs into an Egyptian-style sarcophagus (”just dropped in to see my mummy”).

Velma spots a clue on the floor near Scooby: a “Speedy Airlines” ticket, “to South America”. Where in South America? It’s a clue, but a frustratingly vague one. The gang go looking for more clues, and Shaggy and Scooby voluntarily split when they catch sight of a display of a dining table with wax figures of dinner guests.

In particular, there’s this figure of the Space Ghost villain, Black Widow! It’s a cute little cameo. Meanwhile, the rest of the gang drop through a trap door into a pit with stone walls and no apparent exit. The scene cuts back to Shaggy and Scooby, as the Black Widow hands a bowl of fruit to Scooby, who passes it to Shaggy. Neither seem to process that the wax figure is moving, though Scooby offers his thanks just before Shaggy spits out a mouthful of wax fruit in disgust.

The Wax Phantom appears, and tells the boys that they, too, “will soon become members of my wax family.” Shaggy and Scooby distract him with the fruit and sneak away as quickly as they can, accidentally winding up in the “TOPSY-TURVEY ROOM”, a room set up to look like an ordinary household dining room turned upside-down. The boys panic and cling to the chandelier, confused by the reversal of gravity and convinced it’s part of the “haunting”. The Wax Phantom moans in the distance, and the duo crawl up the wall and onto the “floor” to rest in the chairs and enjoy a snack.

A lot of these jokes would be badly out of place in another episode, but here, they flow naturally from the setting. The Wax Museum is obviously full of weird gimmicks and spooky sights, as is Grisby’s house, so it just makes sense that the gang would keep running into them.

Well, the trap door pitfall needs some explaining. Who approved these building plans? Inside, Velma accidentally triggers the door to a secret compartment containing a bag full of cash, and then another that opens a door in the wall. They discover a grate at the end of the passage, through which they can see Scooby and Shaggy in the clutches of the Wax Phantom.

The Wax Phantom plans to turn them into wax dummies ("we’re already dummies!”), and Shaggy has been the victim of these villains enough that he actually criticizes the Phantom’s use of a conveyor-belt ride into the boiling vat of wax. “Like, that went out with the silent movies, Phantom old pal!”

As Daphne tries to get their attention, she once again leans out too far over a barrier and falls through the window, catching herself on a rope tied to a lever that reverses the conveyor belt. For once, there’s no comment about her being “danger prone”, since her fall actually helps matters. The boys are sent right back at the Phantom, and the resulting collision knocks their ropes off. The Phantom gives chase, and Fred, Daphne, and Velma follow, as the completely random musical choice of the chase song “Pretty Mary Sunlight” starts to play.

Character designer Iwao Takamoto mentions in his memoir that the cast and crew called these bits “romps”. As this is the last one for a long while, i kind of wish this one had been more memorable or appropriate to the scene. I think they didn’t start up again properly until... A Pup Named Scooby-Doo? That’s what the wikis say, at least.

The boys escape, and Fred forms a plan to trap the Wax Phantom in his own waxworks. Scooby and Shaggy try to flee their role as bait, but wind up wandering into the path of the Phantom anyway, and are forced into the trap. Unfortunately, Fred fouls up, and pours hot molten wax all over Shaggy, Scooby, and the Wax Phantom. It instantly hardens, so hopefully it wasn’t too hot, but that still must’ve been agonizingly painful for poor Scooby and Shaggy.

With the sheriff summoned, Fred does the honors of shattering the hardened wax shells around the three figures in turn, liberating Shaggy and Scooby with a small hammer.

However, as he starts to tap apart the Wax Phantom, the towering figure is reduced to the height of a normal human, who turns out to be:

Stevens wishes the gang had minded their own business, and so we end Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! with only two “meddling kids” for the entire run of the original series! Shaggy was sure that Grisby was responsible, but Stevens was just using the eccentric old man’s threats of magic to cover his embezzlement of funds (the reason the station was suffering, or simply something that he decided on as the financial troubles set in? It’s unclear) and disappearance from the country.

The fact that Fred is able to chip away Stevens’s costume along with the wax poured on it suggests that the whole suit was made of wax, which makes... no sense whatsoever. How was it mobile? Were there joints we couldn’t see? If not, why was it flexible but became brittle after more wax was poured on? In the end, it’s one of a great many monster costumes that make less and less as a costume the more you think about them.

Back in the Mystery Machine, Scooby and Shaggy look with joy on wax duplicates of themselves tucked into the back. As with many such interior shots, none of the contents of the van that were used in other episodes are visible; the walls are completely bare, without even the usual trappings of the inside of a van. It’s far from the only time the Mystery Machine’s contents will disappear and reappear, but as i said, it seems to be bigger on the inside, anyway.

Why did the boys want wax replicas of themselves, anyway?

“There’s only one problem,” Fred says in the final gag of the series, “how to tell one pair of dummies from the other.”

“Very funny, very funny,” Shaggy grouses.

“Reah,” Scooby adds, “very funny!”

And that’s it for the show. Tune in this time tomorrow for a bit of post-season analysis, and the start of The New Scooby-Doo Movies!

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