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romanceyourdemons · 1 year ago

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I'm asking you about film noir

awesome. when a lot of people talk about noir tropes, noir detectives and femme fatales etc, they’re imagining philip marlowe on a dark night in a city that never sleeps. which isn’t completely inaccurate, there are films noir with philip marlowe, they’re just films adapted directly from philip marlowe novels. these gumshoe detective tropes originate in the hard boiled novels of raymond chandler and others, which are an influence on the film noir genre, but not the only or even, i would argue, the strongest influence. after all, the protagonists of many noirs are not detectives but criminals. other influences on the genre include pre-code gangster films and german expressionist films, and, like these films, many noirs do not follow chandler in depicting a seedy world irremediably steeped in crime. rather, like rico in little caesar (1931) and the doorman in the last laugh (1924), many noir protagonists expect, demand, and even briefly have within their grasp a life of postwar prosperity and domesticity—but the path they take to try and claim it for themself slingshots them into a spiral of deception and destruction. some films, such as double indemnity (1944) and the postman always rings twice (1946), the protagonist becomes trapped in a deadly whirlpool of crimes begetting crimes, whereas others, such as detour (1945) and you only live once (1937), show one crime as being more than enough. in the third man (1945) and the stranger (1946), the crimes are war crimes, and in night of the hunter (1955) and shadow of a doubt (1943) the criminal invades and superimposes himself atop the coveted world of the white picket fence. additionally, many femmes fatale, rather than being career criminals, are or want to be housewives—they just demand to be a housewife to a wealthier man, or to make love to a young and handsome man to compensate for the dullness of their prosperous husband. but perhaps the key difference between genres is that, unlike the gumshoe detective who slouches off into the night to solve another crime another day, most films noir between underworld (1927) and north by northwest (1959) follow a single tragic figure from his cadillac dreams to his wretched end by the wayside. that is the spirit of the classics of film noir: a man takes a bolt cutter to the gates of the american dream, but finds that the lock bleeds, and the bolt cutters cut back

#thanks!!

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mama-qwerty · 10 months ago

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Hullo hullo! I hope you're doing well! I saw your post about interacting, and I pulled up my confidence cos I'm really curious about your ideas for movie verse! With tails being someone that maddie dotes on (cos I like the idea of them bonding over science things and such) while knux clicks well with your oc (who I fell in love with in your fics which by the way I need to re read again because they just legit heal me and make life good again )

Yeah er ramble but I'm really curious cos most things I've seen maddie doting on knux and tails is kinda loved equally but having it be mixed up is really intriguing !☆

SSDGlfgjklhj;SJGDSLJgLK

Thank you! 💕💕

Since the series has introduced the idea that Knuckles may not actually stay with the Wachowskis, I think it's very interesting to do some speculating about that. Everyone had always just expected Knux to be the Mama's Boy, which, sure, it's a great thought considering his life on the run since he was like 6.

But that kinda leaves Tails by the wayside. Of course everyone's gonna love him because he's baby, but when you think about it, that's not really fair to him. Sure, in the comics and games and such, he latches onto Sonic and Sonic becomes his "mom, dad, and picket fence", but in the SCU that's not really fair. Sonic himself is just a kid--and behaves as such--so having Tails assume that role of "little brother who's almost a son to Sonic" won't really work.

The more I think about it, the more I think I like Knux pulling back from the domestic life that Sonic and Tails have yearned for, and accepted quickly and easily. Knuckles appreciates the Wachowskis' kindness, but this whole 'structured family' thing just isn't for him.

Maybe he floats between families. Maybe he becomes Green Hills' communal child. Maybe he's the local cryptid who wanders the outskirts of town, patrolling and making sure everyone is safe under his protection.

Maybe he takes the Master Emerald and finds himself a nice secluded place to keep it, and essentially making Green Hills his Angel Island.

What we saw at the end of the second movie and in the Drone Home short may actually be canon still. He may have tried to acclimate. Tried to adjust and fit in.

But the frustration we've seen from the (admittedly very short and possibly out of context) bits from the series trailer makes me wonder if, despite his attempts to join the family, he just doesn't feel like he belongs there. It feels like he's wearing a sweater that's too tight. It's supposed to be cozy and comforting, but it's stifling and borderline suffocating. But everyone else seems fine in their sweaters. Sonic is obviously happy in his. Tails has accepted his without trouble.

So what's wrong with him that he doesn't?

He's frustrated. He's feeling out of place, when he knows he shouldn't be. But this is so different than what he's used to. From both his tribe and his time on the run. So he goes back to the things he's used to--the arenas and training.

But then that doesn't work either. That's not accepted. So he's back to feeling frustrated. He can't be a kid, he can't be a warrior. He's both and he's neither. He's a boy who's had to grow up before his time, but now is expected to simply go back to being a kid with a family.

It's not working, and he feels so confused as to what he should be doing.

Until he sees Wade needing help.

Now he has a purpose. A goal.

And he throws himself into it, because it's familiar. He teaches Wade what he knows so he can feel useful. Confident.

But maybe along the way, Wade teaches him some things, too. Maybe he learns that it's okay to not be so serious. It's okay to be a kid and maybe do goofy things. To laugh and play and just be. To accept yourself for who you really are, and not who others expect you to be.

I have no idea where Knux will end up, or whose family he'll join. (If any.) But I do hope he becomes more comfortable with himself, and a little happier in life.

#ask me #ren's stuff #knuckles series #knuckles the echidna #wade whipple

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livedtough · 8 months ago

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He had, as he'd said before, always imagined that he would fall in love, that he would have a family, white picket fence and two-point-five kids, the whole thing, but then there'd been the war, and he'd died, and...all of those plans went to the wayside. They'd been ruined in one moment, because a railing hadn't been secure. But now he was here, and he had her, and none of it was anything he'd expected when waking up in Hydra custody. "I haven't imagined it since any of this." Had he been suicidal? Maybe. Never actively, but for a while, yeah, okay, he'd wanted to die. Not kill himself, but die. But he always had, and then he'd met her, and he'd found some purpose in what little he had left of his life, and now...things were better. "I'm not asking you not to take your risks. I might not like it, but I'd never ask you to give up your fight. But if it's going to kill you, or if mine's going to kill me, I'll be okay knowing that neither of us wanted it to." Then he smiled. "Maybe both." Though that wasn't true. Bucky had never been a glutton for punishment. "Don't think I don't know what I look like. Back in the day, before Captain America became Captain America, I was the one the girls liked. I don't need anyone to say it to me. But I appreciate that she would. It's nice to hear sometimes, you know?" He was teasing her, of course. What he said was true, up until the last bit, but he was still teasing her. "I'd hate to disappoint her, but the only friend I had left is an old man, now."

He made a soft, thoughtful sound, "Nice to know we've got such a nice place so close." If what she said was true, then they certainly lucked out, as he imagined they'd be spending quite a bit of time there. He was sure there were other places nearby, and maybe ones that they would visit anyway, but having somewhere beyond words already on the books was good. "I mean giving it a chance."

Cara nodded, “I understand that. I don’t know what it looks like, either. Maybe it’s because we never allowed ourselves to truly imagine it. Dreams are one thing, but to realistically believe that I would have someone like you in my life... That I could fall in love, and be loved in return... That I could want to live for that love...” She shook her head, “I wasn’t suicidal, and we both know that there is a final showdown that I am doing everything in my power to make happen, but... This job requires risks, and I never gave them a second thought. They meant nothing to me. Now, they do. Because I know what it would do to me if you didn’t come home. Which isn’t me attempting to guilt you in any way - we’re both still going to fight our fights - it’s just different now. And, like you said, how different exactly remains to be seen. I would say that applies to our future together in general.” She shook her head again, growing sheepish, “You either really love me, or you’re a glutton for punishment. And, love, I’m pretty sure everyone thinks you’re hot, you’re just not paying attention. The only difference is my sister would be bold enough to say it to your face, all the while enjoying me squirming and blushing and giving her the side eye. Which would prompt her to - I don’t know, ask you if you have a brother or a friend you could introduce her to...”

Cara gave a dramatic sigh worthy of her younger sister, acknowledging, “All right, you have a point. When you have nothing to compare it to, how can you know any differently. But you’ll just have to take my word for it. I have been to a lot of tea houses, and a lot of tea-focused events, and that place was beautiful beyond words.” She looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes and a sweet smile, “And by giving it a chance do you mean making the shift from coffee to tea?”

#&. huntresscaraquinn ( bucky )#&. ic ( bucky )#&. queue ( mun )#&. verse; making amends ( bucky )

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freakingoutthesquares · 2 years ago

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What happened to the scarred landscapes?

Ex-Pulp guitarist Russell Senior gets his skates on and finds that, in contrast to 20 years ago, his hometown is awash with bangin' beats and basil. Observer Music Monthly, Sunday 15 October 2006

"At the age of 18 I escaped the squalor of Sheffield as fast as British Rail could take me and went as far geographically and culturally as is possible. To Bath, in fact. For months I slumbered in the golden light of Bath's beauty. But something was missing in this soft-focus dream. I pined for the furnaces. Sheffield was calling me back ..."

As the train sped north, past desolate wastelands, I felt a rising exhilaration. Then, as I saw the sickly orange glow of the city, the smokestacks and endless rows of grim, charred houses, I felt pride. A perverse pride that I came from a place so unremittingly ugly. A toothless old lady on the bus showed me photographs of her grandson, Nathan, who had just had his spleen removed; it is a shame, isn't it?

I discovered my own city. Concerts everywhere in underground clubs, pubs, abandoned factory buildings and railway stations. Distorted electronic experiments balancing on the edge of ugliness. Poets with haircuts that made the last bus home dangerous. Dark venues with half-lit figures banging lumps of metal and snarling in a flickering collage of projections. Dadaism for the masses. So you formed a band. Everyone formed a band.

By 1983 it was beginning to wane. Some bands had got big. Others had fallen by the wayside. It was sobering to see someone who you wouldn't have dared speak to, because they were so cool, begging or staggering around drunk. The miners' strike started the following year and I used to go out in the middle of the night on flying pickets around those scarred landscapes. Being in a band seemed trivial in comparison, but that's what I did for the next 14 years, which is two life sentences.

It was quite a relief to stop doing that and return to normal life in Sheffield.

In the last two or three years, while I've had my back turned, there has been a renaissance. Groovy young people are of a mind to check out new stuff, and there's plenty of it. The few concerts I have been to recently have been - get this - mostly enjoyable. The city has changed out of recognition. Sadly, it isn't half as depressed as it used to be. Cranes fill the sky with condos and you can buy a cappuccino, fresh basil and all the other essentials of modern living. So it's time to pass the burgers through the school fence and hit the town. It's raining and the sky is leaden, the best possible omen ...

First off is the Leadmill, where Juliette Lewis and the Licks are on. I don't know much about the turn; I think they must have won the 'Search for a competent yet generic and soulless rock star USA' competition. The audience will be ejected at 10pm so they can be charged again to come to the club night later. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but surely one cannot attain the warm susurration of drunken bonhomie before 10pm? That simply isn't enough time to recognise a few faces, talk some crap, venture an opinion on the turn, change it in the light of other people's comments, stumble on to the dance floor, sidle ineptly up to an attractive person you've seen around a few times and ruin your chances of effecting coitus with them forever by vomiting. Anyway, Juliette isn't local so I shall eschew her scantily clad antics in solidarity with you, my oppressed brothers and sisters.

Next up will be Offbeat at the Raynor Lounge in the university, a tiny venue catering to the C2006 crowd. You can dance to Sonic Youth, the Pixies, and obscure Fall B-sides, but don't ask the DJ to play the Kaiser Chiefs or you'll be thrown out. If an unfamiliar track comes on, just ask yourself: 'What would Belle and Sebastian do in a situation like this?' Shuffle off the dancefloor until you've established that it's by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs then sidle back on as if you liked it all along and had got it on brown 10-inch vinyl. When I was a lad indie kids were the most flamboyant and vivacious. How things have changed.

I notice three girls looking across, nudging each other and pointing in my direction. One of them walks over and says: 'Excuse me, but aren't you ...' I suck in my stomach and cheeks and reach for my solid gold autograph pen. 'Yeah, yeah, yeah, who's it to? Invented Britpop, you say? You're too kind. The jacket? £1.50 from Oxfam. Yes, they are rubbish since I left. Yes, it is my own hair. Anyway got to shoot, catch you laters' - the usual stuff. ' ...Sophie Senior's dad?' she finishes.

As if that isn't bad enough, there are eight dance events on. Clubbers will know that Sheffield has a very good (or is it bad?) dance scene, with Gatecrasher and the like. So remember to restrict your vocabulary to 2,000 words max and only use smug affirmatives such as, 'bangin" 'mental' 'steamin" and the like. DJs are just people who play records! Personally I wish DJ Pied Piper would lead them all off a cliff like the sheep they are. Dat would be well wicked.

We drop into the Grapes, a pub which puts on three bands a night, seven days a week, to see Baby Pinkstar. They start tuning up and arguing with each other. 'Just play the bloody tape!' screams the singer at the drummer. This promises to be an awful, grinding dirge. Surprisingly, it isn't and the two songs I hear have a country and northern psychobilly edge. And it doesn't cost £12. And you can hang around and talk twaddle afterwards. And the bassist is fitter than Juliette Lewis.

Next up is Pink Grease, who are playing at the roller disco. Now that's more like it! The Friday night I first went there was in the mid-Seventies. Tentative newcomers clung to the sides on coltish legs as Noddy Holder rasped: 'We're all crayzee now!' A girl from our school got a love bite to the sirens of 'Blockbuster'. On Monday she wore a scarf to cover it from the teachers, but made sure it slipped down so her mates could see it at lunchtime. The slag! So imagine my surprise when I go up the same stairs 30 years later to find them playing exactly the same records. The people look exactly the same too, only even more Seventies. Current jumble-sale chic is offset by physics-defying hair topiary.

Pink Grease play glam as nature intended it. There's none of that intellectual Pierrot-doll Bowie/ Roxy/ Bolan fey stuff. No, it's just proper 'back-of-the-bike-sheds' British glam with a nod to the New York Dolls. This is the glam of 'Angel Face' by the Glitter Band, of Sweet and Slade and Suzi Quatro. They ride the colossal natural waves of reverb in the hall to catch some long rides of grooviness. Oh, and the singer has blue hair and jumps into the audience a lot, which is just as it should be. For the first time since the Eighties, I envy rather than pity the youth of Sheffield. Did I mention that the audience is on roller skates?

There's stacks more going on, so if you're lucky enough to live in or visit Sheffield, pick up a copy of the free listings fanzine Sandman and add your voice to the sound of the crowd. If you like live indie, you'll need to go to the Fuzz club. If you like electro, you'll want to check out Synthetic. If you like acid-folk, you'll be needing the Red House, Lantern Theatre or Cool as Folk. If you want to read some history, then get Beats Working for a Living by Martin Lilleker, which details the Sheffield scene up to 1984, when it all went downhill.

·Russell Senior played with Pulp between 1983 and 1997; he now writes, produces and manages bands

#russell senior #pulp #printed article #miners #miners strike #sheffield music scene #clubs #roller disco #glam rock

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maverickcalf · 3 years ago

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benthan + 11

Prompts for When Your OTP Has Survived The Big Dangerous Event

11. “Can we...have our little house with a white picket fence now?” “I’ll start looking at real estate listings.”

Benji and Ethan had been together for two months now, during which time they barely got to spend much time together. There were a lot of missions and very little down time. But the time they did was wonderful they got to talk, and actually get to discuss what they wanted out of life.

“So,” Benji said setting down his beer bottle on the table. “What about you? What did Ethan Hunt dream of having as kid? Let me guess, 101 dalmatians, right?”

Ethan let out a hearty laugh, “Nah, we had enough animals on the farm to take care of. No, honestly, I always wanted a smaller place. Just like a tiny home on a small lot maybe a white picket fence that you can run a stick against to make those woody sounds."

Benji blinked in surprise, "Really, I thought being a farm boy, you would crave the hustle of the city."

"Once I was in highschool I did, but when I was younger, I was tired of doing yard work, but still wanted a place to grow flowers." Ethan smiled, "Can't really grow a lot of them in the city."

"No, you really can't..." Benji said his voice drifting off. Ethan frowned, nudging his side to get his attention, "What?" And it worked.

"Benji, what's on your mind?"

Benji swallowed, picking his bottle back up from the table. "Just, did you picture yourself ya know with a family? Ya know wife and kids?" Ethan watched as Benji tapped his fingers in the neck of the bottle.

"Benji..." Ethan said softly. "It doesn't matter what I wanted back then. I...I love you and I want you."

Benji almost dropped the glass on the floor in surprise, but it was skillfully caught by Ethan. Benji blinked, "I am sorry, you love me?" Ethan nodded and Benji frowned, "You sure it's not too soon to be saying it? You won't regret-?"

"Benji! You said you loved me the first night we spent together!" Ethan said not in a way to accuse his boyfriend, but playfully. Indeed, he repositioned himself to easier be able to hold Benji by his waist, pulling him closer to himself.

Benji scoffed but was smiling none the less, "That's different."

"It's not." Ethan said, gently kissing Benji on the cheek, "I am sorry I took so long to say it. I wanted it to be a big moment."

"Any moment you choose to say I love you is a big moment." Benji said, his cheeks heating up.

Ethan nodded, "I know that now." And gently began kissing Benji, letting the conversation fall to the wayside.

It was months later where Benji had wished it hadn't. If he had known that things would have ended up as bad as they did, Benji would have insisted both of them move on to desk work or something. But no, instead it ended up with Ethan with bullet wounds, laying a hospital bed, and Benji having his arm in a sling and legs so bruised that walking was painful.

They were alive but...god was that too close.

Benji hadn't left Ethan's side, but he was out of it most of the time. Benji was terrified that things would take a turn for the worst more than once, god he didn't know if he could do this anymore.

"Benji?"

Benji's eyes snapped to Ethan's, "Ethan?"

Ethan smiled at him softly, then his eyes flicked towards Benji's broken arm, and it vanished. "How's your arm?"

"I will be able to use it in a month." Benji's said, with no emotion in his voice, merely repeating what he had heard from the doctor. "Ethan, I have to talk to you. We can't do this anymore."

Ethan's eyebrows shot upward, but he began to blink, as if he was blinking back tears. Still he nodded. "I understand."

Benji shook his head, surprised how emotional Ethan was getting. He cleared his throat," Good, with that out of the way; Can we...have our little house with a white picket fence now?”

Ethan looked stunned but then he laughed, “I’ll start looking at real estate listings.”

Benji chuckled, "I should probably do the looking, you need your rest."

"Says the man with his arm in a sling." Ethan smirked. Benji rolled his eyes and leaned over to kiss his boyfriend. Ethan let out a sigh of contentment when they pulled apart. "I love you Benji."

"I love you too Ethan."

#benthan #writing #rochc93 #roch #this took me longer than i hoped #i will still do these #they just take me a bit #fluff #hope you like it #farm boy Ethan

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nat-20s · 5 years ago

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Death and the Queen headcanon: for a few weeks after they leave Gorotania (or however the heck you spell it) Ten is very wary when Donna speaks to men because he’s shit scared she’s gonna end up leaving him again like she did with Rudolph. Yeah, I’m down for clingy/protective Ten basically 💁🏻

hey so you did NOT mean this as a fic prompt but my brain took it as a fic prompt anyway so please enjoy this almost 1.7k words of nonsense

The Doctor came up from behind so that he could wrap his arms

around her shoulders and rest his chin on her head, which should’ve

been nice and comforting and warm. However,

Donna could hear the pernicious grin on his face as he said, “Donna!

There you are, we were just leaving, weren’t

we?”

This had been the third goddamn

time this week he’s pulled

this sort of stunt, and, would you look at that, it’s once again

just as Donna was having a nice flirt after the danger had passed.

Never would’ve worked out,

not the least because Donna just isn’t a fan of that many eyes on a

face, but the interruption was far from welcome nonetheless. Two

instincts war inside her, but she ultimately decides that it will be

more productive to give The Doctor a right and proper talking to in

the TARDIS over just yelling right here and now. Matching the

(assumed) sharpness of The Doctor’s grin, Donna schools her gritted

teeth into an imitation of a smile and says, “That we were! Sorry

to take off so quickly, but you know how it is. Things to do, places

to see, running to tolerate, all that!”

Four of the alien’s eyelids

flutter rapidly with a loud clicking noise that, thank you TARDIS,

automatically translates to, “Ah, my apologies, Lady Noble. If I

had known you were already

partnered, I would not have made overtures. I hope I have not to

greatly offended your mate.”

Before Donna could open her mouth

to give a perfunctory “Definitely unpartnered,

not my mate,” The Doctor

comes forward and grabs her hand to pull her away, cheerfully telling

her conversational partner, “Oh, no offense taken old chap! We

really must be off

right now though, give us a holler next

time we’re in the solar system!”

Like that, he has her running again

despite the fact that they are not, at the moment, in any actual rush

that she’s aware of. Not able to really talk while being half

dragged back home, she settles for an incredulous side eye that The

Doctor willfully (?) ignores.

Luckily, they weren’t parked

too far away, so it’s only

a matter of minutes before they’re back in the TARDIS. The Doctor

is already talking a mile a minute and asking a million questions he

clearly doesn’t expect an answer to and Donna has had enough.

“What. The Hell. Was that.”

The Doctor freezes, one hand grasping a

mallet mid strike and the other hovering over a keyboard. In a

display of false innocence, he asks, “What the hell was what?”

Strolling over to take the mallet from

his hand before he hurts himself or, who knows, opens a sort of space

vortex or something to get out of the ensuing conversation, Donna not

at all calmly tells him, “That whole horse and pony show back

there! I mean, Christ, you can be clingy and melodramatic at

the best of times-

“Oi-”

“but this is a whole ‘nother level!

This is jealously whenever I so much as look at another

person, and I you don’t cut that out I swear to god I’ll-”

“Leave? For good?”

There’s a bitter flash of a smirk on

his face and it throws Donna completely off her rhythm. Not enough

for her to completely stop yelling, mind you, but enough that some

gears are starting to grind in the back of her mind. “What? No. I

was gonna say lock you in the TARDIS for a week so you can

think about your actions and I can actually spend time with people

that are not you without some hovering but I’m starting to think

that’d only exaggerate the problem.”

The Doctor sets about busying himself

with…something on the console and pointedly does not make eye

contact when he replies with, “Mmmm.”

For about a minute or two, Donna

passively watches him work, taking the time to connect the dots

before hollering, “Goritania!”

Still puttering about with who knows

what, The Doctor replies, “Huh?”

“You’ve been acting like this for

about a month, aka when we left Goritania. Considering that whole

speech you gave about oh how you’re so lonely and woe is me

everyone leaves, which, by the way, if you had let me get a word in

edgewise you would’ve known I wasn’t going anywhere, not

permanently, I’m guessing it’s not a coincidence that you’ve

been acting like anyone I make eye contact with is going to, I dunno,

whisk me away to some other planet for an interalien soul binding or

some other nonsense.”

The Doctor thwacks the side of the

monitor with a little more force than necessary and his breathing

gets heavier as he spits out, “Well it’s true isn’t it?

Everyone does leave, and just because “Rudolph,” he says

the name with a sneer, “wasn’t your person doesn’t mean that

you’re not going to find your person and run off and get married

and live a happy life just like you wanted.”

Funnily enough, just as the Doctor

starts to get riled up, Donna feels all the fight leave her. “I’ll

admit, there was a time where I did really want that big

fairytale wedding followed by, hopefully, a big fairytale marriage.

Somewhere along the line I had learned that’s what was synonymous

with a happy life. But then I got a glimpse of the universe and that

all fell to the wayside. For Christ’s sake, I think I had more fun

running around like a madwoman as my wedding reception got destroyed

that I did with the wedding itself. I mean, sure, I still think

having “my person” makes things better for me, but luckily, I’ve

already found them.”

The Doctor finally stops messing around

with instruments so he can actually look at her. His jaw works

back and forth a few times, and then he schools his face into

something that utterly fails to not be crestfallen. “Oh? Do I..do I

know them?”

“Oh no, you’ve never met them,”

She lightly flicks his forehead, “It’s you, stupid. For a

supposed genius you’re rather thick sometimes. How ave you survived

this long?”

“Oh! Also, I haven’t. I’ve

already died nine times Donna, keep up. Also also, supposed genius?

Who was saying that? I should send them a card.”

“Absolutely not. Your ego would

explode and we can’t have that. It’d kill you a tenth time.”

“Mmm. Suppose it’s for the best,

I’m out of stamps anyway.”

There’s a beat of silence before he

blasts her with the full force of the universe’s dopiest grin.

Voice filled with inexorable pleasure, he asks, “I’m really your

person?”

She could call him out on asking

questions he full well knows the answer to, but instead she gives a

one shouldered shrug and says, “Well, yeah. You’re my best

friend. Who the fuck else was it gonna be? I guess it’s a bit

odd that you’re a nine hundred and seven year old alien,

wouldn’t have called that in my 7th grade journal, but

I’ve accepted much weirder things at this point.”

The Doctor’s grin settles softly into

a smile, quietly replying, “I do love nothing in the world so well

as you- is not that strange?”

Donna gently elbows him in the side and

admonishes, “What did I say about Shakespeare quotes during serious

conversations?”

“Sorry,” The Doctor says, not sorry

at all. “If it helps, my best friend is an alien that’s not even

half a century old. So young. Pretty freaky if you ask me.”

“Oh for real? Do I know them?”

The Doctor gives Donna an unimpressed

look, but she luckily has had an immunity to all of his Looks from

day one. She bumps his shoulder with her own and says, “Seriously

though, you think I could ever trade seeing galaxies and

bringing hope to people and stopping the forces of evil for what? A

mortgage and office politics? My baseline state traveling with you is

joy. Even the miserable, horrible times aren’t so

miserable and horrible because, on a bone deep level, I’m

deliriously happy. That’s never been true before, and it means the

only way that you’re getting me out of this little blue box is in a

casket. So. You know. Something to think about when you get it in

that messy little head of yours that I’m gonna tell you to sod off

and run away with the nearest 6’ 3” vaguely humanoid person able

to lift me.”

“In my defense you did, in fact, once

tell me to sod off and ran away with a 6’ 3” Tree of Cheem.

Lovely woman by the way, you should’ve kept in contact.”

“It was for a day oh my god

chill out. It’s not our fault that we had better tastes in

amusement parks than you.”

“I see your point. I will…chill

out. And I’m sorry for how, uh,-”

“cloying?”

“overly protective I’ve been

these past weeks. Sometimes I just get so..”

Donna leans against him, pleased when

he leans back, and tells him, “Hey, I get it, I really do. I’m

plenty scared of losing you. Christ, I’ve had plenty of nights

working myself into sleeplessness convinced you’re gonna

ditch me for somebody who’s ‘better’ than me, whatever the hell

that means.”

“I wouldn’t ditch you!”

“I know that. Logically. Just

like you know that I’m not gonna trade you in for a white picket

fence and 2.4 children. Hence why, despite the occasional irrational

actions, I think we should move forward so we can be afraid of real

threats, like the many, many things that try to kill us on a near

daily basis. Speaking of, what thing trying to kill us are we gonna

go barreling into now?”

“I was thinking the mesmerizing

mountains of Yountor. They sing so beautifully as to be rumored to be

populated by angels.”

Donna raises an eyebrow at him. He

continues, “or maybe sirens.”

Sarcastic tone at odds with the grin on

her face, Donna says, “Ah. No way that could backfire. Let’s do

it.”

#replies #nat talks doctor who #nat drabbles #donna noble #ten-out-of-tennant

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ofhamlcts · 5 years ago

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hi all!!! I’m Emily and I am absolutely thrilled to be here writing with you! I seriously cannot wait to begin plotting and writing and all of the angst we’re going to kill each other with! but for now, i’ll quit my rambling and start introducing the mess that is my child.

without further ado: larissa griffith aka hamlet

PINTEREST / APPLICATION

I do not - and will never - expect you to read my long ass, rambly application because we are all adults with lives!!! below, i’ve summarised the most important information into short(er) bullet points for your consumption! these should give you a good insight into who lar is as a character and serve as a launch pad for plotting!!!

(TW: Alcoholism and abuse)

larissa has strong roots in Britain's working class, going all the way back to the industrial revolution. traditionally miners, her entire family has a chip on their shoulder about Thatcher and that stand off with the miners, forcing them to turn abandon their traditions and livelihoods. instead, her mother was/is a careworker and her father was a factory worker.

she grew up poor - dirt poor - but her mother forbade her from knowing it. instead, she enlisted lysander to conceal the truth; a kindness on both their parts. she encouraged the pair to “make their own magic” - bus-trips to neighbouring towns to substitute for far-flung holidays, treasure hunts in charity shops instead of newly wrapped birthday treats, bargain hunting in supermarkets instead of gourmet dishes.

Lysander was at the centre of her childhood. Two years her senior, they were a two-pieced puzzle, complementary in their opposites. The boy with the bleeding heart, he was kindness personified; the first to befriend an outcast, accepting of people’s shortcomings, optimistic in his belief that the trajectory of life was up. Lysander was both best friend and brother, co-conspirator and protector.

Shit hit the fan after the 2008 financial crash. Her mother’s pay was frozen and her father was laid off. Faced with failure as a provider, husband and father - his identity eroded - he transformed into something else. He drank. A lot. At first, the drinking isn’t so bad. Between one and five glasses, he’s a joy. He sings Christmas songs in July and dances like he’ll never have the chance to again. After that comes the bits Larissa never saw. Arguments between her parents - over money, unemployment and benefits - soon grow physical. At the end of the night, her father always begs for forgiveness and promises to never drink again. Her mother always forgives him. And he always breaks his word. Lysander ensured she never knew what was going on in their house.

He protected her in other ways too. when Larissa was eleven, her father came home drunk and demanded she go with him on a father-daughter road trip. lysander intervened, first attempting to reason with him. when that fails, he orders you out. child that she was, larissa wriggled free from her father’s trip and fled to lysander’s room, where she knew she’d always be safe. hours later, Lysander pulled back the covers, his face shaded in dried blood and hastily applied bandages. come on, he urged, it’s time to go on an adventure.

Adventure turned out to be two children and one shaken mother moving into their grandparents house thirty minutes outside of Edinburgh. Determined to ensure that abuse didn’t blight their future, she insisted on both siblings sitting and passing entrance exams and scholarship interviews for the leading private school. Both she and Lysander passed. But from the very beginning, it was clear that they were different from everyone else. The other students had double-barrelled surnames and parents who were titans of industry and the creme-de-la-creme of society. Possessed by their own self-worth, they were the very embodiment of entitlement. Larissa despised them instantly, taking their existence as proof of a fundamental ill in the universe. It wasn’t fair that they had so much when she had so little, or that their families continued to be whole.

Lysander saw things differently. Fire and water, sun and moon - she had always known there were fundamental differences between the two of them, but hadn’t thought they would ever drive them apart. Whilst Larissa spurned her new school, preferring to bury her head in her work and befriend the librarians, Lysander threw himself head first into his new life, choosing to see the opportunity and kindness in his new peers. Bit by bit, the gulf between them widened - until they led separate lives. It broke her heart. Larissa didn’t know what to do with her sorrow except unleash it upon Lysander, leading to their one and only argument. She accused him of looking down upon his family and of being ashamed of them. She even used the words class traitor

Fences were only mended between the two of them on account of Larissa finding out what had really happened between her mother and her father - and realising the truth of her own past. Once she understood what Lysander had done to protect her, Larissa bit her lip and swallowed her pride; knocking on his door to apologise. From that moment forward, she swore she would do whatever she could to repay him.

More than anything else, Larissa felt guilty that she hadn’t known about her father’s true nature. Remorseful that she hadn’t helped. Whilst her family told her not to chastise herself, pointing out she had only been a child - Larissa insisted on bearing a cross and atoning for her sins. From then on, she swore to repay the kindness shown to her by her mother and Lysander and dedicate her life to protecting society’s most vulnerable, single handedly correcting the injustices she witnessed, whether they be gender, racial or class.

Larissa entered Ashcroft with her fists curled, ready to go to war and burn the establishment to the ground if that was what it took to succeed. Mind already made up, she decided that Ashcroft was like every other university - dominated by white men, more obsessed with statistics than welfare and infected with rampant sexism.

Sure enough, she got to work immediately. Unable to bite her lip, Larissa called out every slight, intentional or otherwise. Headstrong and stubborn, once she has the bit between her teeth she’s restless in her pursuit. In her two-and-a-bit years at Ashcroft, she’s prosecuted several successful campaigns. From picking apart the English literature reading list for being too colonial, calling out Lecturers on their sexist bullshit and launching a petition to force Ashcroft to divest from fossil fuel investments, no cause escapes her attention. By far, her most ambitious campaign was in her first year, once she discovered that Ashcroft’s cleaners - as agency workers - were being denied fair wages, holiday leave and sick pay. Outraged, she spearheaded a campaign to bring them ‘in-house’; the first person to arrive and the last person to leave the picket lines.

Larissa initially rejected Oberon Ashcroft’s invitation into the Imperium society. Invited after she stormed into his office and delivered a list of cleaners demands, she refused to join until he acceded to the cleaner’s demands. He did so immediately - trapping her in her own promises.

Larissa’s dislike for Octavia was no big secret. Her brother’s taste in partners has always been poor - so whilst she wasn’t surprised he went for another blonde heiress, Larissa was disappointed; knowing that it could only end in heartbreak for her brother. Girls like Octavia did not end up with boys from families like hers.

There’s no such thing as justice. That’s Larissa’s new motto; practically every other sentence out of her mouth since Lysander was arrested. Whilst her brother put - and continues to place - his father in the judicial system, she saw the writing on the wall from the beginning - suspecting that he was one small pawn in someone else’s game. There is no doubt in her mind that Lysander is innocent - nor has there ever been any.

Larissa offered to lie on the stand for Lysander; offering him the alibi that would have seen him slip the noose around his neck. He forbid her, telling her to think of her career, her freedom, her life. He didn’t know that there wasn’t a life worth living without him in it.

Besides, her life has changed beyond all recognition. Some of those changes are of her own making. Stricken by grief, she’s abandoned almost everyone and everyone who meant anything. Theresa was the first to fall by the wayside, abandoned without a moment’s thought. It’s too selfish to try to be happy whilst her brother rots. Academics go next - her grades slip letter by letter, until Headmaster Ashcroft writes sternly worded letters warning of a scholarship loss. She’s even lost interest in her causes; all injustices paling in comparison to the one committed against Lysander. In short, she’s turned against the world, half-gladly.

Coming back to Ashcroft was a bad idea, but she’ll never admit it. Her newly minted title of “sister of the murderer” is not an easy one to bear. Someone starts a rumour that she’ll be expelled from the Imperium Society. More people hope it’s true. Never apt at biting her tongue, she punches them - and half a dozen more - in the face.

Larissa has tried to convince Lysander to fight back - to launch an appeal, do an interview with the media to tell his story - to do something, anything! Every time, his answer is the same. Sadly, he shakes his head.

Octavia comes in the space between dreams and nightmares. Her beauty has been snatched from her, drained with her life force. She finds this version of Octavia an easier one to stomach. Without facade, Larissa can stare directly into her soul. How is it that dead, Octavia feels more human to her? Younger too - before her eyes, Larissa sees Octavia as she must have once been - a little girl with all the fire of life inside of her. Any hate borne towards her in life softens into pity. Catching her glancing at a photo of her and Lysander, Larissa asks the one question that will shake the universe. Did he kill you? With only half a second to consider the weight of that question - and whether she wants to hear the answer, Octavia shakes her head. No.

Larissa makes Octavia a promise. She swears not to rest until she finds the person who did. Not for her, but for Lysander.

#spectreintro #about #jesus christ this got long #so long that i couldnt justify putting like the fun hcs in #but just know that shes a stubborn bitch and oh my god that chip on her shoulder is MASSIVE #she hates injustice and rich ppl in particular and especially those who think her brother is guilty #very very very flawed #but also deeply humorous #with that very dry sarcastic very british sense of humour

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mvdipetsch · 6 years ago

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hey luna! we’re multi-muse appless rp set in the fictional coliving building the fold, based loosely on the coeterie from freeform’s good trouble. our rp is character-driven with lots of room for development & we’re looking dedicated members that love to plot so we can open soon. could we please have a shoutout? thank you!

You can read it in the pages of any Business Insider from the past half-decade: the average modern millennial is less interested in the American dream of the white-picket-fence than their predecessors. Even in cities, where such real estate is scarce, alternative housing has become all of the rage. Pricier lofts, luxury apartments have fallen wayside for communal living spaces. The Fold at Port Avenue is just one of the new co-living apartments - residents merely rent bedrooms, recently renovated to appeal to the new generation.

#rpt #rp #appless rp #city rp #apartment rp #ANSWERED.#foldhq

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edivard-blog · 8 years ago

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SUN IN THE SKY, YOU KNOW HOW I FEEL It’s a new dawn. It’s a new day. It’s a new life for me.

N A M E : Capt. Edward Plantagenet A G E : Thirty-two A F F I L I A T I O N : York T I T L E : Leader of the Yorkists H O L D I N G S : Three Suns Casino and Hotel ( shared w/ Richard and George ), The White Rose Tracks, Rose En Soleil Night Club ( Soleil for short ) and Crown & Court Grand Empire ( previous Lancaster holding/racket ) - Not including underground business, holdings owned by George, Richard or Warwick and shares of outside business/ foreign ventures. C A R R I E D W E A P O N S : Two Beretta 92 FS Fusion pistols. ( Admittedly has a preference for fists over guns. ) C R I M I N A L H I S T O R Y : Squeaky Clean by Sheer Dumb Luck and Oozing Charisma. ( Warwick + Dickon might have helped. ) M I L I T A R Y A C H I E V E M E N T S : DSO for Distinguished Service during active operations against the enemy.

K E Y P O I N T S

It’s a common assumption that Edward is merely the FACE of the York regime, with Warwick doing all the work behind the scenes. Closer inspection will reveal that Edward has a mind for the game and has taken the tutelage of Warwick to greater extremes. He tempers his ruthless campaigns with fairness and temperance, just and merciful where many would toss those who oppose them to the wayside. There’s truth in the gossip. Edward Plantagenet is a bawdry lech who delights in good times and fast women, but beneath the Golden Playboy exterior is a mind for business and a heart set on glory. Between his ability to get his foot through the door and younger brother Richard’s strategic ability to slip through the cracks, there’s nothing York can’t do.

The Three Suns is the stronghold of the York regime, their front and playground. Edward lives there more often than not, taking up residence on the entirety of the top floor while his empire runs beneath its very foundation. The nature of his business and the lack of stability currently running rampant in England gives way to a hectic life constantly on the move. So long as his focus is on winning this war, setting up shop and putting up the white picket fence have no place in his lifestyle, and he kind of likes it that way.

His ability as a leader allowed him to climb the ranks in the military when his country called, stopping at captain due to his urge to remain in the action. Edward takes pride in being a man’s man, one to rush into the action arm to arm and face the new dawn with delight. It was this mentality and selflessness in the face of danger that ultimately awarded him with the Distinguished Service Order.

Much of Edward’s drive stems from the brutal execution style murder of his father and brother, and if the Yorks excel at anything at all - it’s making their acts of vengeance look like acts of God. Accidents, so to speak. Theirs is a mission to stay positive in the public eye despite their illicit dealings, meaning that much of their dirty work is swept under the rug and hidden from view. Even Edward sometimes has to question what happens without his knowing. Although they all work well together, those Yorks - they have minds and ambitions of their own.

#ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ♘ ┊ ❛ ᵗʰᶤˢ ᵒˡᵈ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ᶤˢ ᵃ ᶰᵉʷ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ ❜ ┊ ☼ V003 #( i've had this in my drafts since i revamped )#( so why not toss it out into the world again )#gun tw #violence tw #idk

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profencecocapecod · 2 months ago

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#WaysidePicket #CurbAppeal #DurableDesign #CapeCodFencing

#cape cod #wayside picket #tapers #custom fences #durable

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as-be-low · 8 years ago

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Time for more headcanons lol

So I recently posted this as part of a reply to a comment on AO3 re: how Stanley and Carla got back together and had Stella, and it was so long it took two posts to completely respond. I figured it’d make sense to post it here, too, with the added benefit of proper formatting and a little more expounding where I forgot.

So after Ford managed to get Stanley back from the portal, things between them were still… uncomfortable, to say the least. He left with the understanding that Ford had brought him back as a sense of obligation, not because he actually truly wanted anything to do with Stan (Bill might’ve had a hand in that. A little tiny evil hand covered in bad feelings accelerant.*) So when Ford showed Stan the Stanleymobile, which he’d maintained and improved upon while he was missing, Stanley took it as a “Here’s your car, kindly get the fuck out.” When Stanley was 17, he drove off with an “I’ll show you! I’ll prove my worth!” mentality. This time, Stanley left with “Fuck it, if my family won’t have me, I’ll be my own family of one. All I gotta do is figure out what’s best for Stan.” as his new mantra. He left and got reckless in the sense that he did what he wanted for himself, and started meandering across the states he hadn’t been banned from yet.

As for Carla, I imagine that after she got all “hippiefied” by Thistle Downe (or hypnotized, as Stan put it, though I’m sure that was just him being salty about everything), she ended up leaving New Jersey and becoming a full-on hippie, and would have joined a commune somewhere down the line. Thistle Downe probably fell by the wayside somewhere along the way, but I like to think that Carla actually felt attuned to some of the ideals of hippie culture, and would have found herself a little commune out near San Francisco that she clicked with. I figure that at some point after returning from the wrong side of the portal, Stan would’ve bumped into her while traipsing through California (as one of the few states he hadn’t gotten banned from). They used to be So Close™ and they were together for quite a while before they broke up, and paired with the surprise of running back into each other, I doubt it took too much for them to start back to talking, then hanging out, then Hanging Out™, especially if Carla was still living as a part of a commune. He’d follow her back and tag along as a new member of the group. It was infinitely more desirable than living out of his car with the occasional motel interlude (or in whatever nook or cranny he could eke out back on the other side), plus it had the Big Added Benefit of Carla’s presence.

Stan had gotten reckless in living for himself and doing things he wanted without the ultimate endgame of currying favor to get back in his family’s good graces, which he honestly hadn’t ever done, and was sorta drunk on the feeling he’d superimposed over the concept so he was a lot more open to the free spirit, kinda hedonistic vibes, and so he and Carla spent quite a bit of time together, just being and doing and he loved every minute of it. He was doing well in the co-operative. He fit in well with the rest of the commune. Things felt right.

Carla was his first love, and he fell hard, so naturally he’d kinda daydreamed about that whole white-picket-fence-and-two-and-a-half-kids-and-a-dog thing and all, and when he ran back into her it brought all those hopes back. He's such a family oriented person, and he'd not had a family in so long, it was a wild dream of his to come home at the end of every day to Carla and whatever children they'd have (though that wasn’t something he’d say it out loud to her. They weren’t at that point yet). So when Carla comes to him after the better part of a year of them being together and announces that she doesn’t want to continue their relationship, Stanley is understandably distraught. She lets slip that she’s pregnant, and Stan’s initial reaction is something akin to "oh my god it's actually happening I can't believe something this good is happening to me," only to have it torn away moments later, when the realization sets in that “she doesn't want me or a child with me I am not enough.”

It didn’t stop him from proposing on the spot. That of course led to an argument (though no screaming, mostly just tears and fears on both sides). She was happy with Stan and they were happy together, but a pregnancy was too much for her and made her hit the brakes on the whole relationship. The thought of motherhood terrified Carla. It’s not something she was prepared or ready for, while Stan had been daydreaming about something like this for a while now. The way his life was set up, he didn’t think he’d find anyone he’d feel that same way about. After the incident with his short-lived marriage with Marilyn, he knew the chances of him settling down with someone were slim. But this baby was his and he knew he wasn’t going to get another chance at anything this close to normalcy, and he wanted to make it work.

He begged. His heart hurt more than his pride ever could, and so he begged. She couldn’t handle the prospect of being a parent, though it was the one thing that Stan truly wanted, and so she proposed a compromise. She’d give him the child, on the condition that she wouldn’t have anything to do with raising it. Stanley accepted. It hurt, but he accepted, and started stretching himself thin, putting all of his energy into working to save up for the baby and keep up with his commune duties at the same time. He still needed a place to stay and he still needed to stay close to Carla, in the meantime.

The compromise didn't make either of them truly happy, but that's compromise for you. Taking the child and leaving Carla hurt, but knowing that he could've been a parent but wouldn't get that opportunity would have cut Stanley deep. Carla didn't want that for him. Raising a child that she wasn't emotionally available or equipped to care for would have hurt both Carla and the baby, and Stanley didn't want that for either of them. So they settled. (This part I added in now because I forgot to do it before whoops)

I like to think that once Stan had Stella, things were still pretty decent for a little while (he didn’t have to, but he distanced himself from the commune; it was just too painful to stay there, knowing full well Carla didn’t want him or their child), but life has that way of creeping up behind you while you’re already in a chokehold and then punching you in the back of the neck.

*Ford did feel obliged to get Stan out. He hurt him. He hurt him and tossed him through a portal into a hellscape he couldn't properly fathom, how was Stanley supposed to know what was going on? He was the last person Ford could have trusted to help him, and he wounded him and threw him right into the pit of snakes he was trying to cover. He had to get him out. That was his brother. He might have ruined his chances of success and shattered his dreams, but he couldn't sentence him to death because of it. He'd ruined Stanford's life and his own, but that didn't mean Ford wanted him to die.

#screams into the void #thcm snippets #fanfiction meta #I think about this a lot #but why tho

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dagripster · 8 years ago

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Rose Colored Sunglasses: The Art of Distraction in 2017 Media

A Political Deconstruction behind Katy Perry’s “Chained to the Rhythm”

“So comfortable we’re living in a bubble-bubble so comfortable we cannot see the trouble-trouble, so put your rose colored glasses on…and party on.”

Imagine this: You’re at a house party and you don’t quite know everyone there. You make awkward eye contact with someone you might be attracted to, then pretend you were looking at something else and then check your phone. It’s the art of distraction. So when things get uncomfortable just put on your rose colored glasses.

Katy Perry has been shocking audiences with her Wow! factor whether you’re a fan or not. Admit it: You’re like me. When she pops up on my TV or shows up in my timeline I roll my eyes and scroll past it. When she shows up on my timeline being, well, Katy, I half-smile, nod my head and again—scroll past it. If she’s not singing about kissing other girls or dancing with sharks in a cupcake bra she is distracting us.

Take off your rose colored sunglasses and pay attention to this.

Besides Katy Perry, what else is showing up on your timeline? For me I’m constantly seeing oppression, tragedy and political mayhem apart from whatever 90s sitcom is reuniting for a 2010s remake on Netflix. I’m constantly reading about Russia’s involvement with the 2016 presidential election and Trump’s attempt at running our great country (again, attempt.) He’s provoking foreign world leaders and hurting people who rely on him for answers. Members of the LGBT Community are falling back to the wayside and racism is becoming the social norm again after years of regulation. So you nod when it appears on your timeline like me, and then scroll past it. Maybe you’ll even post a half-assed status update about said topic and carry on with your Spotify Playlist. That’s when you’re putting your rose colored glasses on and enter Katy Perry’s ever ongoing house party located within a white picket fence while the world outside implodes because, let’s face it—this drink is on Katy Parry and we’re all slaves to the rhythm.

She’s trying to tell you something.

If you’re not going to listen to her cry for help, then she’ll gladly continue to distract us by playing your favorite song and putting it on repeat. That’s when the cupcake bra comes out from the closet and forced into your personal space. Remember, the drinks are on her!

Now, I’m no conspiracy theorist but I’ve heard my share of claims and ideas. I’m also not a political writer so please forgive any political sways or mistakes, but there is something here.

“Are we tone deaf? Keep sweeping it under the mat, thought we can do better than that…I hope we can…”

I’m imagining members of the Trump administration running around the Whitehouse trying to cover up any nook and cranny that might expose any leak or flaw regarding Trump’s presidential win. And that includes Russia’s involvement. We know it’s there and we know there was some involvement but we just keep missing our grasp because we keep-putting-on-our-rose-colored-glasses. Throw them out!

We think we’re free, drink! This one’s on me! We’re all chained to the rhythm.

I have a few 21 year old little cousins who all live in New York City. I was born there and moved out to Los Angeles when I was 26 to launch my career. They’re all still in NYC and I’m reminded that they’re 21 whenever I open a platform of social media, whether it’s a video filled with screaming girls doing a shot off another girl or the stereotypical hot guy bartender, or on Twitter where I read a drunk rant about one of their ex-boyfriends. Back in the 70s (now, I’m a product of the late 80s) from what I understand and learned about in history class is that this was the age range that was protesting against Vietnam and the draft. They took a stand and stood up for their country and ultimately helped shape the future of our country by showing Americans that we all do have a voice and if we use it wisely and collectively we can accomplish something! Something is wrong with America again, and we need those same voices. But where or where has everyone gone? When I look around, why do I see everyone look the same? I just can’t put my finger on it? Oh, right. They’re all wearing the rose colored glasses on and partying on. We think we’re free, were in trouble, but thank you Katy Perry! This drink is on you! Sure! I’ll be right over!

When I first heard Chained to the Rhythm on my local radio station in my Uber to work I—say it with me—rolled my eyes. “Another pop comeback,” I thought to myself. Lady Gaga returned in 2016 from her 2013 piece in which the self-proclaimed Queen of the LGBT community was now singing about being the rich bitch, the upper class in a song titled “Donatella.” When news broke of Lady Gaga’s 2013 effort that was called ARTPOP a commercial failure, geez? I wonder why? Because as a gay man myself, I was very excited to hear new poetic justice and raise my arms in a Hallelujahfashion, but instead she sang to us about her new social standing and class. In short, she is better than us. Side-eye emoji. Like Lady Gaga, Britney Spears and everyone else in pop culture, Katy Perry was also staging a comeback. I was never a KP fan…until I heard Chained to the Rhythm. I closed my eyes in the backseat of this random Prius I was riding in and listened to the song my driver was blasting. For some reason rather than glazing over the song, my brain chose to listen to each word as if it were a key or amulet in a Super Mario video game we might need to unlock another level.

I imagined a little boy not unlike the one we saw in the news from Aleppo. He was crying, covered in ashes and alone in this dark gloomy desert that very well could have been America. In this ghost town was Perry’s white picket fenced house. It was burned down of course but Perry emerges from the ashes and cradles the little boy and gives him his own pair of rose colored glasses, where he experiences a world of euphoria with life and vibrant colors. He was alright because he could distract himself from what the real world’s issues were. He’ll be fine as long as he chooses not to remember what happened to his parents by removing his glasses because if he does, mother Perry will be there to remind you to put them back on unless you choose to help. There, there.

…Up in your high place liars! Time is ticking for the empire, the truth they feed is feeble as so many times before, they greed over the people, they stumbling and crumbling and we about to riot they woke up-they woke up the lions!

Perry brings along a friend in this statement piece by the means of Skip Marley, the grandson of Bob Marley where he helps deliver her message. He’s a little more aggressive than Perry is and a lot less subtle. He immediately calls the administration liars in their high places in response to these money laundering thieves that run the Whitehouse. He notes how the time is ticking for this empire (can we call it that?) If this administration isn’t more careful or caught, they’re about to wake up the lions, and these lions are angry…and hungry! But how can we if we’re too distracted by these glasses that, let’s face it-are very pretty and with the right filter can airbrush us on the spot! It could be argued that is what Perry alludes to when she says “Are we crazy living our life through a lens?” in the beginning of the track. We have Bob Marley’s grandson is warning us! This has to mean something.

Are you lonely up there in Utopia where nothing will ever be enough?

Let’s face it—we live in America where the ideology of the American Dream is manifested throughout the world. We were taught even as children that getting a good education after High School can promise us a successful lineage into our adulthood. As millennials can see it is just not that easy anymore, or simple. Unless there is some form of wealth that can afford a Master’s Degree or PhD, I think we’re stuck in this in-between place that is America circa 2017. That is why we created the caricature of a lady called Kim Kardashian. She’s fun, right?! She’s pretty, young, her sisters are silly and we giggle a little when we watch a 6 second clip on one of the many social media platforms created for us. But at night, when the world sleeps and the sunglasses are put away, up there in a Kim Kardashian utopia, it must get lonely and nothing is indeed ever enough. We struggle to pay off a costly student loan that might not have gotten us where we wanted to be while in moments, a sister is driving a car worth the same amount. And she didn’t have to lift a finger! What fun, right? Let’s sweep this under the mat too because we can do better than that…I hope.

It goes on and on and on… ‘cause we’re all chained to the rhythm.

Perry wraps up her statement piece by singing about the endless loop we got ourselves into. If we keep this up we might not be able to get out. Why? Because we’re all chained to the rhythm.

Next time you log into a social media account or talk to Sarah, the co-worker who likes to talk pop culture over by the water cooler at work, think about the lost little Aleppo boy in that imaginary post-apocalyptic America looking for his parents. We need to take a minute to take off those very pretty rose colored glasses because there is still time to set things right. While we should thank those innovators for creating Snapchat, Facebook, Linkedin, Twitter and even whatever outlet it is you’re reading this from, they just helped give us the voice which we are choosing to ignore and distract ourselves. We need to stand up like the way those “millennials” (for lack of better comparison) in the 70s did and stand up to make our voice heard because at this rate, we’re going to sit back in Katy Perry’s very comfortable recliner in her white picket fence house where she is hosting this nirvana of a party and not move a muscle until these glasses are taken away. Then what do we do? We can’t decide to revolt by then. It might be too late. Many of us might even be gone at that point. Otherwise, Katy Perry will continue to distract us with her cupcake bras and Lady Gaga and Britney Spears will shimmy themselves to death and we will continue to hand a Kim Kardashian-type free cash. Like Katy Perry claims in this 3 minute and 58 second song, she will continue to entertain us if we so choose to distract ourselves otherwise we need to listen to the underlying message in what is in fact entertaining us and do something about it.

Take the rose colored glasses off and save us.

Katy Perry is a product of Capitol Records. “Chained to the Rhythm” written by Katy Perry, Max Martin, and Sia. Produced by Max Martin. Released on February 10, 2017. Available on Apple Music and Spotify

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