#confidence of mediocre white men indeed | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

realmarysue · 1 year

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IN 2023 WE APPLY FOR JOBS WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF A MEDIOCRE WHITE DUDE

G-d give me the confidence of a mediocre white dude - Sarah Hagi

(note: language used will be very binary because a lot of the studies cited are ridiculously binary. But just assume "white guy" etc means white cis male and "women" are any gender that's not white guy.)

WHY

An internal study by Hewlitt Packard found women only apply for jobs when they have 100% of the qualifications listed, and men apply if they have about 60% of the listed quals.

60% of women do not negotiate their salary, ever. Mostly because they feel it makes them look 'greedy'. White dudes do not have this issue.

Inflation is at 6.8%. Did you get a 6.8% raise this year at your job? The average increase when switching jobs is 8-19%.

Listen, this won't have a link. Look at the mediocre white dudes at your current gig. Are you better at your job than them? Are you getting the respect and pay commesurate to being better than them? Or are you being asked to work harder to fill the gaps they cause?

AND YOU KNOW THAT MEDIOCRE WHITE DUDE IS GOING TO APPLY FOR THE NEXT MANAGEMENT POSITION THAT OPENS UP.

THIS IS THE YEAR YOU STEP FOWARD IN YOUR CAREER WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF A MEDIOCRE WHITE MAN.

HOW - AFTER THE CUT!

Actual professionals who have advice on Getting a Job:

Ask a Manager - an excellent read at all and any times

Step by Step Guide To Writing A Resume

Resumes tag

Job Searching tag

Interviewing tag

Others

10 Resume Writing Tips - Indeed

500 Example Resumes

Tips and Tricks to Apply for That Role With Confidence - Lifehack

How I, Mary Sue, Work My Resume And Salary Ask

(from an email I sent a friend which is why all the 'you's)

Make a list of everything you are proud you accomplished at your current and/or previous job. Then list all the things you did. Now squish those into something resembling a resume format. Don't spend too much time on squishing it into the format, that's the next step.

Find a job that you're interested in applying for.

Junior is 1-3 years experience. Midlevel is 4-7 years experience. Senior is 7+ years experience. This is a general guideline, some careers have shorter times in the levels, but rarely higher.

Borrow the language from that job listing that matches your qualifications and put it in your resume. Massage it a bit so it's not blatant plagarism, and don't make a lie you'll get caught telling

APPLY FOR THAT JOB

Upload the same resume you used to Monster or Indeed or LinkedIn (or ALL THREE!) and make them public. This means that recruiters will now have a way to contact you and so many of these companies are resorting to outside recruiters and temp-to-hire, even in midcareer gigs.

APPLY FOR JOBS WITH THE CONFIDENCE OF A MEDIOCRE WHITE MAN. Does it look interesting? APPLY. Would the commute be better? APPLY. Is it for a big fancy company? APPLY. Does your buddy work there? APPLY.

Seriously. I applied for 254 jobs before I got my current one [note: this was in 2017. In 2022 I applied for 34 jobs before I got a good offer, but I had 5 years more ~*eXpErIeNcE*~ both in career and in Being Confident]

Before the first call (which will usually be with an HR person) Google "[job title] [nearest metro area to you] salary". Congrats this is now the number you are looking for, and NEVER the lowest number.

NEVER TELL THEM YOUR ACTUAL CURRENT SALARY, especially if you're making a big jump. "I am looking for something in the range of" and give them a 10-15k range. Put the number you'd be comfortable with as the bottom.

YOU ARE WORTH IT. YOU CAN DO THE WORK. YOU ARE WORTH IT.

So, let's say I want to be a Procurement Coordinator in PDX. Average salary is $54k. Average range is $47-63k. I have 5 years experience, so I'm mid career but not quite senior level (which is a different job title!). My ask in this case is going to be "I'm looking for a starting salary before bonus and additional compensation of $58-67k." Figure theyll offer 60k.

Senior Procurement Coordinator in PDX: I have 11 years of experience in procurement, which can be thought of as 7 years to get to senior, and 4 years at current level, which makes me mid-level at this job title. Average is $63k. Average range is $52-78k. My ask in this case is going to be "I'm looking to start at $73-84k". Figure they'll offer 75k.

Please note: years experience in job classification does not equal job title! My titles went from senior procurement to senior buyer to commodity buyer to senior procurement, but my salaries went upUpUP because I figured my ask based on years experience not words what mean different things in different places.

The job search process is inherently demoralizing. So when you feel down, take a deep breath and tell yourself, I HAVE THE CONFIDENCE OF A MEDIOCRE WHITE MAN.

#jobsearch

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itsclydebitches · 4 years

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Welcome back, everyone! Today’s recap is surprisingly positive. I liked a lot of what we got in Chapter One, with the biggest complaint being the sheer amount of Sun-bashing throughout. On the one hand it does decent things for Coco’s characterization, on the other hand… we’ve really got to rake one character across the coals in order to forward another? It’s a mixed bag, but we’ll get to all that.

Initially we open on SSSN and CFVY having breakfast together. Which Coco is surprised to find herself enjoying. In fact, she’s enjoying it so much that she’s called out for laughing/smiling too much.

“I thought you boys liked it when girls smiled,” she said.

Honestly? I’m here for the lesbian weaponizing that against a bunch of guys. I’ve been told to smile so much in my life that I too would get snarky if I was then told to stop. I can be petty that way.

Of course, Coco isn’t really the victim here. She’s specifically laughing at the fact that her team needed to help Sun out last night, which is not only mean (I do support the boys telling her to knock it off even while I support snarky quips about smiling) but also flies in the face of everything huntsmen are supposed to represent. I’m honestly surprised by the amount of disdain for teamwork throughout both the web-series and this book so far. It’s like Ozpin tried to teach his students – and the audience – that teamwork is a necessary skill by creating literal teams… but instead of learning that every huntsmen in training went, “Great! Now that we have these teams we’ll never need to work with anyone else ever.” There’s obviously some leeway here in regards to how Team RWBY became Team RNJR and then Team RWBYJNR(+O), but their mega team has the same ‘us vs. the world’ attitude that Coco displays here. Factor in the team partners and it feels like everyone missed the memo about working with others being a good thing.

We’ll see this again just a little farther along, when Coco mentally complains about how SSSN only “assisted” them previously, not “rescued.” It’s the same distinction Sun made in the prologue: You didn’t save me. Even though they did. Coco is more concerned with how SSSN is tarnishing the “shine” of their reputation, rather than how they helped her or how she, in turn, could help them. Whenever the main story insists that the antagonist of the week is dividing the world for Salem, I want to point very emphatically to the heroes who are supposed to be enacting that unification... but aren’t. If they can’t even admit that a peer helped them without scrambling to assuage that supposed blow to their pride, how are they ever going to deal with the actual, weighty ethics of these problems? The ‘my way or the highway’ attitude we’ve seen Ruby display starts here. Everything is black and white. It’s simply not possible for them to be impressive, capable fighters and in need of rescue now and again. Therefore no rescue took place and peers – however subtly – are viewed as competition at best, potential enemies at worst. When you take these teens out of school and put them in, say, a military environment where your peers have incredibly difficult decisions to make… that’s where problems crop up.

I also think it’s worth acknowledging that Sun was in legitimate danger last night. Unknown adversaries + an inability to combat them = potential death. Sun even comments in the prologue that he has to keep a close eye on his aura because otherwise he might come out of this encounter seriously injured. It reads as continually strange to me that characters who just lived through a major battle still have the confidence and naivete needed to view Sun’s encounter as a hilarious one-upmanship. ‘Ha! My team had to save you~’ should not be the reaction of kids who now fully understand the ‘save you’ part. The world is dangerous and unpredictable. People have died. Sun himself could have died or just (“just”) been hurt. What’s funny about that?

Meanwhile, the rest of SSSN is pretty pissed. Neptune likewise thinks Sun getting beat up “on your own turf” is funny, but Coco notices his angry tone. She wonders “if he meant he wished he’d been there to watch more than help.” So yeah, really pissed. What stands out to me though is that these are just feelings. The act of thinking and saying horrible things – “If you were one of my men I’d have you shot” – is not the same thing as actually acting them out, or allowing them to happen. I have no doubt that if Sun were in trouble Neptune would do everything he could to help him. The SSSN group would not literally stand by and watch a teammate get beat up… which just re-emphasizes for me how horrible Team RWBY’s actions were in Volume 6, watching indifferently as Ozpin begged, cried, and was attacked. For all this book’s problems, there’s a lot in this chapter that I wish we’d seen with Team RWBY. A moment where the group implied they were angry enough to abandon Ozpin but not actually doing that would have made a massive difference.

Coco notices Neptune’s meaning, but “she doubted Sun had the awareness to see that.” From here on out the Sun-bashing picks up and it’s… a lot. Far too much in my opinion. She mentally claims that Sun attaches himself to better teams to “make up for the fact that he and his own team were mediocre at best” even though, to my recollection, we haven’t seen any evidence of this. SSSN has potential, but only if they get a strong leader. Meaning, in her opinion, not Sun. He’s “too unstable, too unreliable” and Coco doesn’t even like eating with him most days, especially since she blames him for messing with her team’s morale. There’s exactly one moment where she agrees with him… and feels the need to remind herself (the reader) that it’s just this once. She also has little qualms about saying at least some of this to his face.

“But it is our business,” Coco added. “We don’t need you. No offense.”

Scarlet stood. “Why would I take offense?” he asked. “Just because you think you’re too good for us.”

Me experiencing the second-hand discomfort:

WOW that’s a lot of anti-Sun sentiment. As mentioned at the start, I do think this work brings some value to the story. Meaning, characters are allowed to dislike other characters and it helps make Coco a well-rounded person to show that she has this flaw of being judgmental and overly critical. We know it’s a flaw because of how her team reacts to her comment:

Coco glanced at her team. Velvet avoided looking at her, which meant she wasn’t on the same page this time. Yatsuhashi looked uncomfortable, but he kind of always did during personal conflicts. And Fox—

“It wouldn’t hurt to have some reinforcements,” Fox sent, using his telepathic Semblance, presumably just to her.

“I don’t disagree,” Coco sent back. “If it was the right team.”

This is good! Velvet and Yatsuhashi’s body language tells us they don’t fully agree with Coco, if at all. Fox is comfortable enough to push back some and suggest that they could use the support. Coco, in turn, doesn’t brush him off. She still holds the opinion that Sun and his team aren’t the “right” kind of support, but she’s not rigid in her stance. She values her team’s opinions and is flexible enough to start accommodating them, even when they bump up against such an intense bias. Later in the conversation, Coco will outright ask for Velvet’s opinion and, based on that, changes her decision:

“What do you think, Velvet?” Coco sent.

Velvet was quiet for a while before she lifted her eyes and looked directly at Coco. She smiled. “I like proving people wrong.”

This is the sort of work I wish we were getting with Team RWBY. Behold! The leader can be wrong! Her team doesn’t always agree with her! They tell her as much and she takes those complaints seriously, resulting in a change! It’s such a sharp contrast to Blake’s elevator promise, the group keeping dead quiet as Ruby lied, everyone just shrugging off their supposed discomfort with that, Blake and Yang spilling secrets to Robyn and the team apparently doesn’t care… The writing could take some tips from this scene here.

However, all of this only comes about through that intense Sun-bashing. Which, coupled with the opening that was hyper-focused on showing how inept he supposedly is, is A Lot. It’s great to round-out Coco like this, it’s just too bad it came at Sun’s expense. Anyone who is a fan of his isn’t going to enjoy another character given so much space to criticize him with comparatively little disagreement, given that Sun’s team is also mad at him right now. He has no support here, to the point where any defense is given the ‘but you’re not totally wrong’ caveat.

“And you’re not exactly the best and brightest student at Shade,” she added silently.

“Harsh,” Fox sent.

Okay, so she hadn’t thought it silently enough.

“But fair,” Fox added.

I know I wouldn’t enjoy reading that about one of my faves. Indeed, I’ve already sat through it. It’s not enjoyable.

(Aside #1: I want more info about how Fox’s semblance works. Specifically, I want to know how others send him a message. It’s clear here that Coco didn’t mean for him to hear that thought, so did she accidentally do something to send it to him? What does it mean to think it “silently enough” that Fox won’t pick up on it? Is it a matter of “speaking” deliberately inside your head? Or does he have the potential to hear any thought passing by? Which would be one hell of a privacy issue…)

Not much happens plot-wise during all this. It’s mostly Coco’s thoughts with that dash of disagreement regarding whether SSSN should help out. We do learn, however, that “the native Vacuans called them weak for abandoning Beacon Academy” and uh…

I hope I don’t need to explain how getting overrun isn’t the same thing as “abandoning” their school. However, this does cast the prologue in a new light. If Vacuo is THAT obsessed with standing your ground, was Sun’s clan just outliers for deciding to move? Obviously you can’t paint a whole kingdom with one brush, but it feels weird to get wise ‘Some battles you can’t win’ advice in one chapter and then in the next learn that (apparently) most Vacuans are so stubborn they view a tragic defeat as abandonment.

The conversation segues into how Headmaster Theodore hasn’t done anything about the Crown yet, but Coco is more shocked that Sun refers to him as “Theo.” As someone who grew up calling teachers – including principals – by their first name, this made me laugh.

That aside, Sun clearly has some connection to the headmaster. Something from the first book I missed? Entirely possible. I’m figuring this out as I go. The important bit is how the conversation actually tackles student agency vs. responsibility. Or, whether a bunch of unlicensed teens should be getting involved in a dangerous mission they already handed off to the professionals:

“Keeping us in the dark isn’t going to help anyone,” Coco said.

“You keep forgetting,” Scarlet scoffed. “We’re just students.”

“We’re already better than a lot of trained Huntsmen,” Coco said.

“But we still have a lot to learn. And we’ve already failed to defend one school.”

Coco corrected him. “We were all taken by surprise. Haven fared better.”

“Most of us weren’t even there, and I still wouldn’t call that a win,” Scarlet replied.

I appreciate that both sides are given weight here. Scarlet and Coco are allowed to make points as equals. Obviously given that this is a fighting story with students as protagonists, the plot is going to find ways for them to get involved. I’m not at all surprised that, by the end of the chapter, they’ve re-established the “need” to investigate despite being told that at least one fully-trained huntsmen was already handling it. We have to have a story. However, we can’t ignore the in-world fact that yes, they are just students. No, they’re not better than a lot of trained huntsmen (some, sure, but Qrow could kick their ass). They did get in over their heads. And “we were taken by surprise” isn’t the defense Coco seems to think it is. If you can’t handle a surprise attack... you’re not ready. To ignore all this is to write characters who come across as arrogant to the point of delusion. By having at least one person point out the flaws in this thinking, they read much more like young people trying to make a difference and letting that drive/impulsivity carry them a bit too far. That’s relatable – and engaging. This is more work I’d like to see with Team RWBY. Less, “That was before you trained us” and more “You keep forgetting, we’re just students.” It’s the heroes who are perceived as “just” something and manage to save the day anyway that’s exciting. Not the heroes who come sauntering in proclaiming that they’re the best ever and then manage to scrape by because the plot ensured they would. Or again, make one or two characters like that. Not an entire team.

(Aside #2: Sometime during all this Fox is referred to as “Fox Alistair.” Why the last name in the middle of a scene??)

So the whole group is upset that the headmaster doesn’t appear to be doing anything. Sun wants to help and feels strongly that they need it. Coco is adamant that they may need help, but not from him. During the course of this the Great War is brought up and the long-standing bias it has produced:

“The Great War again.” Coco shook her head. “Ancient history. Let it go.”

“Easy for you to say,” Sun said. “But have you let go of what happened to Beacon?” He sat down and put his hands together. “You. Need. Us.”

I get the point that Sun is making but uh… those aren’t the same thing. As Professor Rumpole will acknowledge in just a bit, even something from fifty years ago can feel like “ancient history” to someone who didn’t live through it. A war that ended eighty years ago – and began a decade before that – simply isn’t going to resonate emotionally with the new generation. They’ll feel the impact of it, but it’s still different. Trying to compare a kingdom’s attachment to something that happened a literal lifetime ago to the tragedy that they all personally experienced a year ago is unfair. It’s like if someone rightfully pointed out, “Hey, I want to acknowledge that the people down the street shouldn’t automatically hate me for something my grandfather did to their grandfather” and the response to that was, “Yeah but last year someone did something horrible to you and you haven’t let that go, so…” You’re talking about two very different situations, not to mention trying to use that trauma as leverage. Coco gets mad at Rumpole for doing the same thing in class: don’t use the fall of our school as a point for your argument.

This whole chapter has a running theme of history and its impact, including a dual joke from Fox about “those who miss history are doomed to repeat it” (that is: the old adage of learning from past mistakes as well at the fact that if they miss their literal history class they’ll need to repeat the course). Which, taking the novel as a whole, is presumably reflective of these two teams. I may take issue with the pervasive perspective that huntsmen can get by on their own, but the fact is that Sun and Coco do work together, despite the complaints. It’s right there on the cover. So we have this larger setup of kingdoms fighting and the ways that this is still negatively impacting the next generation. Now here that generation comes along, struggling with but ultimately overcoming that hurdle. We will work together. We will choose to trust one another, hard as that is. It’s – again – a better example of the younger generation surpassing their elders than what the web-series has managed to give us lately.

Right now, Coco is only agreeing to work with SSSN because she intends to avoid problems, not because she thinks they’ll be a benefit to her: “It made sense to combine their efforts—if only to make sure Sun didn’t get in their way, or to make sure Scarlet didn’t rat them out to Rumpole.” It’s a horrible thing to think about someone, let alone a someone who is meant to be a friend. However, the hope is that Coco grows over the course of the novel. I certainly hope poor Sun doesn’t spend 200+ pages helping her only for Coco to come out the other side still holding such a low opinion of him…

So we get a bit more about how scary Coco can come across as, how much she enjoys that, and how “This whole ‘accepting help’ thing wasn’t exactly her style.” We get it. The powerful huntsmen never need help, etc. etc. Maybe I’m just a community-driven gremlin but I find this concept of extreme individuality to be terrifying. Accepting help is absolutely my style. Please help me. For the love of God, if anyone can make this world a little more manageable I will take it.

I’m not a cool girl like Coco though. Maybe that’s the difference.

The group finally goes to history class where they hold their heads high despite coming in late. No, no, no. No feeling pride over disrespect. Rumpole has every right to be shaking her head at them. You’re late because something came up, you accidentally slept in, etc.? That’s life. You’re late because you couldn’t be bothered to arrive on time and think you shouldn’t feel any guilt over that? C’mon.

All of which segues into how Coco was in “her share of disciplinary meetings” back at Beacon. In contrast to the head-held-high attitude though, Coco admits to herself that she found the feedback valuable. As she moves through thoughts about how she totally doesn’t need praise, Fox corrects her:

“I don’t need eyesight to know you’re great, Coco. But maybe those shades of yours have been distorting how you see things. Try taking them off once in a while. You’d be surprised to learn there are lots of people outside of our team worthy of praise.”

I am legitimately enjoying a main character – a leader no less – getting kindly called out for their inaccurate perspective. That’s what we want!! Growth!!! Especially since Fox neatly ties this back to the real conflict at hand: “You’d be surprised to learn there are lots of people outside our team worthy of praise.” Indeed, Coco does try taking off her glasses (horrible as that metaphor is. Like... it’s really awkward) and is then able to articulate just how much she appreciates Rumpole. I’m not going to lie, reading a scene where someone over 30 is praised and respected did my heart some good.

(Aside #3: I’m having trouble reconciling this Fox with the one I know is going to appear later with Neptune. It’s quite a leap to go from wise ‘Other people are worthy of praise’ to being so uncaring you’ll advocate for the continued torture of a peer...)

We move through Coco’s admiration for Rumpole’s fashion and how that reflects her personality: stylish but, at the end of the day, practical. We get some nice details about Fox keeping the team awake and giving them answers with his semblance, which is exactly the way I would expect students to use telepathy in class (alongside singing annoying songs to piss each other off, reading aloud memes they’re looking up on their phones, desperately asking what the hell the teacher just said because oh god it’s going to be on the exam isn’t it?) Eventually all this leads to Coco subtly calling out Rumpole for – supposedly – not investigating the Crown. Hey, teach. Why are we learning about this time period now? Don’t you want to talk about when the crown was the center of authority around here?

It's subtle… ish.

Message received, Rumpole speaks with them after class to explain that she hasn’t brought this to the headmaster yet because he’s got too much on his plate. Instead she’s investigating it personally and will fill Theodore in when she has something substantial. Coco, while pleased that Rumpole hasn’t completely blown them off, is insistent that dealing with today’s problems is all that matters. Who cares about tomorrow?

“That’s a luxury you have as a Huntress in training. Theodore has to be concerned with both today and tomorrow.”

Ding ding ding! This is Team RWBY’s problem too. What do you mean we can’t just solve this problem here and now? I want to fight today, no matter what that might do to tomorrow. Meanwhile, Ozpin isn’t just thinking about tomorrow, but generations of tomorrows. This is a luxury that only the very young and the ones without responsibility can have. Make them fight for a thousand years and they’ll start caring about what the next thousand will look like. Give them the weight of a kingdom and watch them weigh decisions when, suddenly, it’s no longer just their own lives they’re risking. God I hope Team RWBY starts realizing this in Volume 8…

The only downside is that Rumpole provides all this via more shade thrown (partly) at Ozpin: “The headmasters of the other schools have been reckless, negligent, or overprotective.” Thus far, the people of Vacuo seem quite happy to assume they would have done better in Beacon’s place. Well, if I were at Beacon I simply wouldn’t have abandoned it. If Theodore was headmaster there it simply wouldn’t have fallen. That’s a luxury of Rumpole’s own: the ability to stand safe in a currently untouched kingdom and assume that, if put in the same position, she and her people would have come out for the better.

She continues with,

“Theo’s first priority will always be helping you reach your full potential, making you strong enough to survive anything that comes your way. He has your best interest in mind, no matter where you come from or where you started your training. Who else can say that?”

Uh… Ozpin?

Absolutely Ozpin.

However, Rumpole does provide good reasons for why the group should hang back. Not just the “You’re students” argument but also an acknowledgement that she has very sensitive leads going. Getting others involved might jeopardize that. Of course, they interpret all this as Rumpole just telling them to be cautious. Get involved, just don’t get caught. As mentioned above, this was inevitable. There’s no story without the group’s involvement and coming up with ways that they oh so unexpectedly (conveniently) end up involved without intending to be can get very old, very fast. So I get it. Let’s just hope that they go about this in a way that doesn’t make them seem like completely over-confident fools.

So all in all not a bad chapter. At least comparatively. If you’re able to overlook the Sun-bashing and the execution of some ideas (the prose is still incredibly messy in places) there’s actually a lot of work here that I appreciate. Work I’d really love to see implemented into the web-series. To be frank, it’s not that I think this is all particularly good… just not particularly bad either. Good for RWBY, shall we say. In another franchise I’d be heavily disappointed in this, but for a series with so many other flaws lately? Seeing just an inkling of this complexity is a relief. Even if the details grate.

Only question is, can the novel maintain this low-bar standard all the way through? Based on public reaction I’m gonna guess no…

But we shall see! 💜

#rwby #rwde #mymetas #Before the Dawn #BTD Recaps

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mirkwoodshewolf · 4 years

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Wizard of Oz Queen x pre-teen reader Chap. 9; There’s no place like home

*Author’s note*

The final chapter has arrived! This was the chapter I had completed last night that finally put this wonderful series to an end. I enjoyed writing this cute little Movie AU series. For now I’m going to take a break from writing movie AU’s and finally get back to requests that I’ve had on hold for like a year now. So enjoy this final chapter of the Wizard of Oz Queen style and until the next time I update :)

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@queensdivas

@queendeakyy

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@platawnic

@kairosfreddie

@geek-and-proud

____________________________________________________________

When we arrived back at the Emerald City, news of the Warlock of the West’s death had already gotten to the city and everyone was in rejoice at our return. We were immediately escorted back to the throne room of the Great Oz and when he saw us, he seemed surprised.

“Can I believe my eyes? Why have you come back?” Scarecrow handed me the broomstick and I walked forward and presented the Great Oz with the broomstick.

“We’ve done what you told us. We brought you the broomstick of the Wicked Warlock of the West. We melted him.” I said as I set the broomstick down at the top of the staircase.

“Ahh you liquidated him ehh? Very resourceful.” The Wizard hummed.

“Yes sir. So…. we’d like it if you kept your promise to us. If you please.”

“Not so fast! Not so fast!” The Wizard urged. “I’ll have to give the matter a little more thought. Go away and come back tomorrow.” He said as green smoke covered his face.

“Tomorrow!? But I wanna go home now!” I whined. We did all of this, practically dying (mostly in my case) trying to get this broomstick and now he’s saying he wants us to come back tomorrow.

“You’ve had plenty of time to think about it already!” Tinman proclaimed as he stood beside me.

“Yeah!” Lion roared as he came up to my other side along with Scarecrow who nodded in agreement.

“DO NOT AROUSE THE WRATH OF THE GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ!! I SAID COME BACK TOMORROW!” The Wizard exclaimed.

“If you were really Great and Powerful you’d keep your promises!” I exclaimed.

“Do you presume to criticize the great Oz!? You ungrateful creatures!” The Wizard proclaimed. That’s when I felt a tap at my shoulder and I looked up at the Scarecrow who pointed to our left.

There I saw that Toto had pulled back a green curtain and there stood a man in a suit speaking at the same time the Great Oz was speaking. As he continued to ramble on into a microphone and flipping switches, I got Lion’s and Tinman’s attention and pointed at the man and soon all four of us were staring at the man.

The man turned to us and his face turned to shock as he said into the microphone.

“The Great Oz has spoken!” he turned back to us and grunted before quickly taking the curtain and covering it up as the Great Oz’s voice proclaimed. “PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN!! The Great and—Oz has spoken!”

I walked right up to the curtain and pulled it back before picking Toto up and the man faced me in surprise.

“Who are you?” I asked.

“Me? Well I am the Great and Powerful…..” he first spoke into the microphone with confidence but he dropped the charade and admitted sheepishly without the use of the microphone. “Wizard of Oz.”

“You!? I don’t believe this!” I snapped. My friends soon came behind me glaring at the man and he admitted once again.

“I’m afraid it’s true. There’s no other Wizard except me.”

“You wanker!” Scarecrow snapped.

“A charlatan if you ask me!” Lion growled angrily.

“Yes. Yes, yes that’s exactly so. I am—a wanker and a charlatan.”

“You’re a very cruel man.” I scolded him.

“Oh, no my dear I’m—I’m a very good man. Just a—very bad wizard.” He told me. His blueish-grey eyes shining with regret.

“What about the heart that you promised Tinman!? And the courage you promised the Lion!?” Scarecrow snapped while both Tinman and Lion spoke together.

“And Scarecrow’s brain!” it was then the man softly smiled and said as he stood before Scarecrow and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Why, anybody can have a brain. That’s a very mediocre commodity. Every creature with a pulse that walks or crawls on the earth, or slithers and slinks through slimy slims has a brain. Back where I come from, we have universities. Where men and women alike go to become great thinkers. And when they come out, they think deep thoughts. And with no more brains than you’ve got. But they have one thing you haven’t got, a diploma.”

He then turned back to his control and pulled out a few rolled up pieces of paper tied with a red ribbon and took one of the paper rolls and continued speaking as he unrolled the diploma and presented it to Scarecrow.

“Therefore, by virtue of the authority vested in me…by the Universitatus Committeeatum E Pluribus Unum…I hereby confer upon you the honorary degree of Th.D.”

“Th.D?” questioned Scarecrow as he took his diploma happily.

“Yes that’s Doctor in Thinkology.” The Wizard answered.

“The sum of the square root of any two sides of an isosceles triangle is equal to the square root of the remaining side.” Scarecrow suddenly said. I gaped and he smiled widely. “Oh gods…..I’ve got a brain! How can I ever thank you?”

“Oh you can’t.” The Wizard said. He then turned to Lion and took him by his hand guiding him up the stairs to his throne as he continued while we followed behind them, “And as for you my feline king. You’re a victim of disorganized thinking. You think that just because you don’t speak up or make your roars presentable, you have no courage. You’re confusing Courage with Wisdom. Back where I come from we have motivational speakers. People who step forward before rallies of hundreds even thousands of people to speak about what they believe in. And they have no more courage than you’ve got. But they have one thing that you don’t got. A medal.”

He pulled out from the back of his throne a large black bag and began to dig through it till he pulled out a medal. It was a triple cross bronze with a short red and white stripped fabric pattern on top. And across the medal in bold print was the word COURAGE.

“Therefore….for meritorious conduct, extraordinary valor….conspicuous bravery against wicked Warlocks and grueling hyenas. I award you the Triple Cross.” He pinned the medal to Lion’s shirt before finishing, “You are now a member of the Legion of Courage. Your father would be proud of you son.” The Wizard then kissed both of Lion’s cheeks while Lion was blushing mad.

“I’m—I’m speechless.” He chuckled shyly before turning away bashfully. Finally the Wizard turned to the Tinman and he said.

“As for you, my galvanized friend, you want a heart. You don’t know how lucky you are not to have one. Hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable.”

“But I—I’d still like one.” Tinman responded.

“Where I come from, there are people who do nothing all day but good deeds. They are called—umm what was it phila—philios…..anyways. Good-deed-doers. And they have hearts no bigger than yours. But they have one thing you haven’t got. A testimonial. Therefore, in consideration of your kindness, I take the immense pleasure at this time in presenting to you….with a small token of our esteem and affection.” The Wizard pulled out a heart shaped clock attached to a beautiful decorated string.

He handed the Tinman, who was staring at it in awe, his new heart and the Wizard said to him.

“And remember my sentimental friend. That a heart is not judged by how much you love. But by how much you are loved by others.” Tinman smiled before lifting the heart clock up to his ear. He squeaked in excitement as he said.

“Oh it ticks! Listen, listen!” he held the clock up to my ear and I smiled with a nod. “You hear that it ticks!” he held it up to Scarecrow’s ear who nodded happily.

Out of nowhere a very loud, and thunderous roar echoed throughout the room. It was louder than any thunder I had ever heard in my entire life, and when we turned around there stood Lion in his true lion form. His tail softly swaying back and forth and a glam of pride shined in his golden lion eyes.

“It would seem I have inherited my father’s roar.”

“Indeed you have Lion. That truly is the roar of a King.” Tinman said. He smiled and walked back toward us and I extended my hand out and he pressed his head against my palm. Slowly I stroked up his nose towards his head and said to him.

“A true lion king. Whose courage holds no bounds.” He chuckled softly as he nuzzled against my hand. “I’m so happy for you guys. They’re all wonderful gifts.” I said as I moved my hand down to fiddle with Lion’s medal that hung around his mane.

“Wait hold on!” Scarecrow said. “You can’t forget about (Y/n)!”

“Yes. How about (Y/n)?” Tinman asked.

“Yeah, (Y/n) next.” Lion spoke up.

“Yes right, (Y/n).” The wizard muttered.

“Oh I don’t think there’s anything in that black bag for me.” I said solemnly.

“Well….you force me into a tight situation. The only way to get (Y/n) back home is for me to take her there myself.” The Wizard said. I gasped.

“Oh will you? Could you? Oh!” I asked happily before I said. “But wait are you a clever enough Wizard to manage something like that?”

“My dear you cut me to the quick. My mother was a Welsh woman herself. Born and bred in the quaint little town of Pembroke. I once was there to perform alongside the Miracle Wonderland Carnival Company as a premier balloonist. Until one day, while performing spectacular feats of stratospheric skill never before attempted by man…..an unfortunate phenomenon occurred. The balloon failed to return to the fair.”

“It did?” asked Lion.

“Weren’t you scared?” I asked him. The Wizard wrapped an arm around my shoulder as he guided me down with the guys following behind us, all of us invested in his story.

“Frightened? You’re looking at a man who has laughed in the face of danger. Sneered at doom and chuckled at doom. I was petrified. Then suddenly the wind changed and the balloon floated down into the heart of this noble city. Where I was instantly acclaimed Oz, the first wizard deluxe. Times being what they were, I accepted the job. Retaining my balloon against the advert of a quick getaway. And there my dear (Y/n), in that very balloon, you and I shall return to the land of our mother’s Land.”

I cheered happily and we soon left the throne room and went out to the heart of the city.

With the help of some of the Oz citizens, as well as my friends, we had the hot air balloon blown back up and the Wizard and I stood in the basket with my friends surrounding the balloon basket.

Every citizen in Oz gathered around the balloon which stood on a small platform big enough for the balloon and my friends who were holding the ropes of the balloon (which were also tied up to the railings for extra security).

“My friends! This is positively the finest exhibition ever to be shown well be as it may. I, your Wizard, am about to embark upon a hazardous and technically unexplainable journey into the outer stratosphere!” The Wizard proclaimed which made the crowd cheer. “To confer, converse, and otherwise hobnob with my brother wizards. And I hereby decree that until what time (if any) that I return, the Scarecrow by virtue of his highly superior brains. Shall rule in my stead.”

Scarecrow peeked out from behind the basket and bowed his head before the crowd.

“Assisted by the Tinman. By virtue of his magnificent heart.” Tinman also nodded as he solemnly gestured to his heart which he had pinned across his chest. But I noticed the heartbroken expression across his face. “And the Lion! By virtue of his Courage. Obey them as you would me.” I stroked Lion’s dark brown hair and he looked up and smiled at me softly.

Suddenly Toto jumped out of my arms barking frantically and started chasing a cat.

“Oh Toto! Toto come back here! Toto! Oh please don’t go without me, I’ll be right back.” I said as I got out of the balloon basket then turning to the Wizard pleading with him before chasing after Toto. Scarecrow and Lion helped me out with the chase as Lion exclaimed.

“Stop that dog!” Finally I managed to grab Toto but to my horror I saw that the Wizard was taking off in the balloon. I let out a scream as I raced back towards the platform to see Scarecrow and Tinman trying to take back the ropes but they soon got too high for them to hang onto.

“Come back! Come back! Oh please come back!”

“I can’t come back! I’ve forgotten how it all works! Goodbye folks!” the people of Oz waved and bid their Wizard farewell and soon the balloon was out of sight.

As I held Toto in my arms, I felt like my whole life was over. That was my last ticket home and now I’ve run out of options.

“Oh now I’ll never get home.” I choked out. It was then I felt six pairs of hands touch my back, shoulders or arms. I looked up and Tinman stood to my right, Scarecrow stood close behind me and Lion stood to my left.

“Stay with us then (Y/n).” Lion said. Tinman and Scarecrow nodded with soft yet sad smiles on their faces. “We love you and—we don’t…..want you to go.”

“Oh. That’s—that’s very sweet of you guys but……this could never be like Wales. Auntie Em must’ve stopped wondering what happened to me by now. Oh Scarecrow what am I gonna do?” he cupped the side of my face before looking up to the sky. His eyes briefly widened and he said to me as he pointed up.

“Look. There’s someone who can.” I looked up and floating down was a very familiar crystal ball. All the Oz citizens went silent and I saw every man take off their hats as the crystal came closer and closer before landing just ahead of us.

There Fiyero stood in all his glory with a wide smile spread across his face. Everyone then bowed before him as he walked across the room greeting everyone with either a nod of his head or an elegant flick of his wrist. He walked up the steps and stood before us. I curtsied and I said.

“Oh will you help me? Can you help me Fiyero?”

“You don’t need any more help darling. You’ve always had the power to go back home.”

“I have?” I asked confused.

“Then why didn’t you tell her before?” asked Scarecrow.

“Because she wouldn’t have believed me. She had to learn for herself.”

“What have you learned (Y/n)?” Tinman said to me. I looked at each of them before saying.

“Well….I learned that…..that it wasn’t enough wanting to see Uncle Henry and Auntie Em. This was about—my own journeys. And if I ever want to go looking for my heart’s desire again, I won’t look any further than my own backyard. Because if it isn’t there, I never really lost it to begin with. Is that right?” Fiyero smiled and said.

“That’s all it is dear.”

“But that’s so easy. I should’ve thought of it for you.” Scarecrow belittled himself.

“I should’ve felt it in my heart.” Tinman said.

“And I should’ve had the courage to tell you that.” Lion added.

“No my darlings she had to find out for herself. Now those magic slippers will take you home in 2 seconds.” Fiyero said as he pointed his wand down at the ruby slippers.

“Toto too?”

“Toto too.” My heart began racing with excitement.

“Now?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“Oh my god! That’s too good to be true!” I cheered as I turned to the guys before suddenly growing sad. “But it…..it’s going to be that much harder to say goodbye. I love you all too.” I walked up to the Tinman first who was already dripping out tears. “Goodbye Tinman.” I chuckled sadly and took out my handkerchief and dabbed his eyes, “Don’t cry silly. You’ll rust yourself again.” He wiped away his tears.

I took his oilcan out from my basket and handed it to him before standing on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Goodbye.”

“Now I know I’ve got a heart. Cause it’s breaking.” He choked out sadly. I then walked over to Lion and hugged and kissed his cheek.

“Goodbye Lion. I—I know it’s improper to say but, I’m gonna miss the way you used to shy away before you found your courage.” I fiddled with his medal and he said.

“Well I—I would never have found it, if it hadn’t been for you.” Toto let out a sad whimper and I looked down at him.

“Toto will miss you too.” He smiled and gently rubbed Toto’s head and he gave Lion a loving lick across his arm before whimpering again.

Finally I turned towards the Scarecrow. My first friend on this long journey. The one who willingly sacrificed himself for me time and time again. Tears poured down my face as I embraced him and he hugged me back.

“I’ll miss you most of all.” He rubbed my back and we held onto each other for what felt like a lifetime before finally separating. He cupped the side of my face before he very faintly bopped my nose with his gloved finger. I choked out a chuckle before giving him a kiss on the cheek and finding the strength to walk away from him.

“Are you ready now?” Fiyero asked me in a gentle tone.

I nodded wordlessly but turned around and took Toto’s paw in mine and made a wave motion as I said.

“Say bye, bye Toto.” Even through their sadness, the guys waved goodbye to Toto. I turned back to Fiyero and said, “Okay. I’m ready now.”

“Then close your eyes,” I closed them. “Tap your heels together three times.” I clicked my heels together counting them out in my head. “And think to yourself, ‘There’s no place like home’. ‘There’s no place like home’.”

“There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home.” I kept repeating that to myself while every now and again clicking my heels together.

*3rd Person POV*

Lying on her bed still knocked out from when the window had hit her on the head during the storm, (Y/n) lay there and was softly muttering ‘there’s no place like home’. All the while a damp cloth was placed over her forehead.

She kept repeating the words silently in her sleep before her Aunt Em said to her as she took her niece’s hand.

“Wake up honey.” Soon her eyes opened and she was surprised to see that she was now back home.

*My POV*

I heard my Aunt Em’s voice and when I woke up, I saw that I was back in my room and right there at my bedside was Aunt Em and Uncle Henry.

I was home. I was home!

“(Y/n). (Y/n) love, it’s Aunt Em poppet.”

“Oh Auntie Em it’s you!”

“Hello to home!” a familiar voice called out. Soon coming to my window was Queen’s lawyer Jim Beach. “The boys wanted me to drive them back here when I told them the young girl got caught in the—” he looked down at me and smiled as he said, “Well. She looks right as rain to me.”

“Yeah she got quite the bump on the head there though. We thought for a moment that she was gonna leave us.” Uncle Henry said.

“But that’s the thing Uncle Henry! I did leave you! And I tried to get back for days and days!” I said as I shot up but Aunt Em stopped me.

“There, there, lie still now. You just had a bad dream is all.” She said as he gently placed me back on the bed before walking away to go get something.

“Can we come in?” I soon looked out of my door and peeking in were Freddie, Brian, Deacy and Roger. Roger was the first one to come up and kneel beside me as he said with that charming smile of his.

“Hey kiddo. How’s my best girl doing huh?” I smiled widely and cooed out Roger’s name as I cupped the side of his face smiling at him.

“When we heard what happened from Jim, we begged him to bring us back here. How are you feeling poppet?” Brian asked me.

“Just assure us that you haven’t forgotten our beautiful faces dear.” Freddie joked while Deacy playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t go making it about yourself Fred.” He turned back to me and asked me, “Ignore him, poppet. You doing okay now? Head injuries are a nasty thing to deal with, especially when glass gets involved.”

“I’m fine. But it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a place. And you, you, you, you….and even you Mr. Beach were in it.” I said pointing out to the four band members as well as their lawyer. Mr. Beach hummed in interest and I said as I rubbed my temple, “But you—you couldn’t have been, could you?”

“We dream lots of strange things when we go through something traumatic dear.” Aunt Em said as she gestured for the boys to move away from my bedside and she sat down beside me.

“No, no Auntie Em. This was a truly live place. I remember that some of it wasn’t very nice, but most of it was beautiful. But just the same all I kept telling everyone was that ‘I wanna go home’. And they sent me home.”

Everyone minus my Aunt Em softly started chuckling. I sat him in my bed as I pleaded.

“Doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“Of course we believe you (Y/n) love.” Uncle Henry said. Toto who had now hopped up on my bed walked up towards me. I pulled him close and said happily.

“But anyway Toto we’re home. Home. And this is my room. And you’re all here. And I’m never gonna leave here ever, ever again. Because I love you Auntie Em and Uncle Henry and……oh Dorothy was right. There’s no place like home!”

I hugged Auntie Em as tightly as I could and buried myself into her chest as I closed my eyes and a wide smile spread across my face.

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insanityclause · 5 years

Link

Near the end of Betrayal—or near the beginning of the betrayal within Betrayal, since Harold Pinter’s 1978 play about a seven-year affair runs in reverse, from the infidelity’s aftermath to its inception—a soused would-be lover rattles on a bit.: “Look at the way you’re looking at me. I can’t wait for you, I’m bowled over, I’m totally knocked out, you dazzle me … My life is in your hands, that’s what you’re banishing me to, a state of catatonia, do you know the State of Catatonia? Do you? Do you? The state of … where the reigning prince is the prince of emptiness, the prince of absence, the prince of desolation. I love you.”

In the royal family of Western drama, Pinter himself might be exactly the figure his intoxicated, infatuated character describes. His laconic, subtly brutal plays—known for the loaded pauses that now bear the writer’s adjectivized name—float precariously on a dark reservoir of things unsaid. His characters are like those waterbugs who balance above the depths on the delicate force of surface tension. He is not a universal taste, and mediocre Pinter productions have their own particular kind of cringiness: They feel like acting exercises. Even in sure-footed ventures into the Pinterverse—such as Jamie Lloyd’s lean and sexy revival starring Tom Hiddleston, now visiting New York after its London premiere—there can be an element of technical gloss to contend with. You can feel, as I did, like you’re watching Good Actors Acting Well, which is a matter of intellect rather than emotion. Impressive and interesting, yes. Devastating? (Pause.) Well.

Lloyd’s production is cool, confident, and mercifully aware of Pinter’s sense of humor. Some of its strongest moments are its unsmiling jokes, which Lloyd’s actors attack like fencers, pricking without overextending. Hiddleston—with his fixed blue stare and his ability to lock his jaw into a mask of British propriety, unmistakably undergirded with menace—is particularly adept with the playwright’s distinctive rhythms, his smirks, evasions, and threats. A vapid conversation between Hiddleston’s character, Robert, and his best friend Jerry (Charlie Cox) about whether boy babies are “more anxious” than girl babies becomes a master class in hard-edged, straight-faced comedy. But then the whole play has that “master class” feel to it: As much as the phrase has become a critical cliché for a tour de force, it’s not the same thing as “masterpiece.” There’s expertise on display, but there’s an academic distance to it too.

Part of the distancing effect might be that Hiddleston undoubtedly outshines his fellow actors, who are solid (and equally great-looking — this is Pinter with highly paid personal trainers) but never quite as at home in the material. Cox comes close, and indeed, his role gives him less of an ability to stand still and shoot lasers from his eyes, as Robert gets to. He has to maneuver, stumble, and course-correct more, and he does so with a bemused, affable charm that belies a deeply selfish character. Part of Betrayal’s fascination is that Jerry, who’s been having a hidden affair with Robert’s wife Emma (Zawe Ashton) for seven years, is in fact the “Pinter” role. From 1962 to 1969, Pinter himself concealed from his wife an affair with the BBC presenter Joan Bakewell (for her highly compelling take on their now immortalized-if-somewhat-fictionalized infidelity, click here). It’s arguable, though, that for all the playwright’s own experience inside a dangerous liaison, his play belongs not to the betrayers but to the betrayed. At least in Lloyd’s production, Robert—his moment of awakening and his eventual hardening of himself as a result—is the heart of the show.

It’s structural—the torturous scene in which Emma admits the affair to Robert sits smack-dab in the middle of the play—but it’s also a matter of actor and director inclination. As Robert slowly learns the truth about Jerry and Emma, Hiddleston sits stone still and silently weeps until the snot hangs in ropes from his nose. There were quiet gasps in my audience when it started to drip, unheeded by this broken man in his moment of crisis. “Ah. Yes. I thought it might be something like that, something along those lines,” says Robert, with extreme Britishness, when Emma confesses — but there’s so much raw emotion pulsing underneath Hiddleston’s performance, and overflowing its container in this one pivotal scene, that the character can’t help but become the play’s tragic center. The way Hiddleston plays Robert, it’s difficult to believe it when Emma tells Jerry, “You know what I found out… last night? He’s betrayed me for years. He’s had… other women for years.”

Despite the real power of Hiddleston’s performance, that empathy gap strikes me as a flaw. We can’t quite take Emma at her word (we’ve also heard her lie on other important matters), and so the scales of Lloyd’s play end up tipped rather than balanced. It seems to be a play about a victim and two perpetrators — but I think it’s a play about three people, all of whom we should empathize with, all of whom we should mistrust, all of whom are capable of great selfishness. Ashton has the hardest job: Emma’s got that sense of mystery about her that sometimes happens when men, even very talented men, write women. The scenes between Robert and Jerry, though often tense and terse, feel lived, red-blooded, affectionate. Emma often seems ethereal — her motivations and actual desires somehow far away. (For a real bust-up of that trope, get into Bakewell’s essay — there’s no mystery woman there; instead there’s a super-smart Cambridge grad who was expected to become a housewife and mother at 25.) The character is already the most opaque in the play, and Ashton’s performance doesn’t do much to elucidate her. Tall and willowy, with bare feet and a dancer’s limbs, she tucks her hair behind her ears, tilts her head and half smiles. It’s clear she likes Jerry’s attention, but it’s not clear where her own deep hungers lie. Lloyd has her leaning into the enigmatic aura Pinter gave Emma, and it renders Ashton less visceral and—and this is the real problem—less sympathetic than her male counterparts.

Still, Lloyd’s stripped-to-the-bone approach to the play’s environment lets the text breathe and stretch. We can really hear Pinter’s words pinging off the big blank wall of Soutra Gilmour’s set, with its neutral palette and vast, clean emptiness that put us in mind of the art gallery where Emma works. In this white box, the three actors move like dark ghosts, memories of themselves with all the clutter stripped away. They turn slowly on a big revolve, and, crucially, Lloyd keeps all three present throughout, so that the shadow presence of the third always influences scenes between the other two. The staging restores some of the balance that’s lost in the performances. It brings back the sense that any affair, especially one that involves friends, is in fact a triangle, and that out at the corners of such a hard, angular form, even in our desperate flight from loneliness, we’re more isolated than ever.

Betrayal is at the Jacobs Theatre.

#theater #review #theater review #betrayal #harold pinter

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kackmack · 5 years

Text

Fake Smile

Rowan x aelin

Chapter 2

Aelin woke up with tears all over her face. She could feel him, she could feel Sam’s touch in her dream, it’s been four years and she still has memories plaguing her. Sam and Aelin grew up together in the same foster home, with the same abusive foster dad that would beat the both of them, she could never let Sam close to her but after she found out he would take the blame to most of the trouble she caused as a young teenager, Aelin knew he protected her, she knew Sam loved her. Finally, after turning 18 and escaping the foster system, she was able to be with him, they had bought an apartment with the little money they had and they both were completely happy, that is until she came back from work late and saw the blood on the floor, his body beaten to pulp, barely recognizable. The police closed the case by saying that it was “robbery gone bad”.

Aelin stumbled out of bed and went straight to her phone to call the first number she can think of.

“Hello” Lysandra answered with a husky voice, Aelin realized it was five in the morning.

“I had another dream of him again, Lys” Aelin sobbed into the phone.

“I’m so sorry, Aelin, I miss him too. I wish I could come over, I really do. But Aedion took my car to the shop.” Lysandra said in a soothing voice.

“Thank you Lys. I just needed to hear a familiar voice. I promise I’ll be fine.” Aelin said finally settling herself.

Few hours of trying and failing to go back to sleep, Aelin decided to call off from work saying she had a stomach bug. Which wasn’t a complete a lie since she did indeed hurl the contents of her stomach up after that dream. With a t shirt and tight running shorts Aelin decided to run to one of the only places she knew she could get her mind off things for a while. “Adarlans Gym”. Which is owned by Aelins friend Dorian and his father. Dorian and Aelin had a small fling a couple years back but it didn’t work out, staying friends she’s liked fighting in the competitions held at his gym, he usually sponsors her fights.

Today though she was surprised when she walked in and wasn’t the only female in the gym, which she usually was. Sparing in the corner was a beautiful white hair woman, probably around Aelins age, with only a sports bra and shorts on. Aelin wasn’t captivated by her beauty, no she was in awe in how good she was. Aelin hasn’t had much competition in the years she’s fought here so seeing a someone with potential caught here attention as soon as she walked in the door.

“She’s good right?” Dorian said standing beside her, seemingly coming out of nowhere.

“Yeah I can already tell she can beat most of your men” Aelin answered with a smirk.

“That she has already. Her name is Mannon by the way. She may be one of the only women that can rival you honestly.” He said with a smile. Then raised an eyebrow with having Aelin turned to him, he can see the sweat on her brow. “Did you really run here? I don’t think should doing cardio before you get here and fight.”

Aelin furrowed a brow and faked a smiled “I didn’t feel like driving and it’s only a couple miles”. At that she walked to the ring and put some gloves on with Dorian on her heal he slipped on the padded training hand covers and they began training.

After a few minutes Aelin noticed the white haired women watching her from outside the ring with a smirk on her face. At that she and Dorian stopped and smiled.

“Hey Mannon meet Aelin. She’s one of the only other females who fight here.” Then Aelin finally got a good look at the girl. Mannon was trim with muscles curving her whole body and her eyes, her eyes were what caught her eye, they were gold.

“Well Aelin, I can’t wait till we are both in the ring.” Mannon said with a smirk. “Oh I feel the same.” Aelin answered with a glittering look in her eyes.

“Well actually, we have a tournament this Friday. If you could get off work, we would be happy to see you both fight.” Dorian interjected. At that Aelin smiled and took the challenge with no doubt.

The next day Aelin was woken up by surprised to see Lysandra let herself in and brought Aelins favorite kind of pastries to eat in bed. They ate as they talked about the wedding plans that Lysandra was having problems with, Aedion was in her words being a “Butt head” because he stubbornly wasn’t agreeing with her over band or DJ. Although Aelin wanted nothing more than to stay in bed all day and chat with Lysandra, she couldn’t put off work for another day. She just hoped a certain someone wouldn’t show up again.

Half way through her shift, Aelin was actually feeling alright. With the steady hit, she was making money and didn’t really have time to think about anything then the drink orders and running the food. She almost didn’t notice the silver haired man that now sat in her full section.

Trying her best to sound nonchalant Aelin stepped up to the table to see Rowan starring at her. “Hi my name is-“

“I know your name, Aelin” Rowan interrupted. At that she gritted her teeth trying to keep the smile on her face from falling.

“Well obviously I’m not here for your mediocre wine.” Rowan said smugly. Gods she hated him already.

“Then why are you here?” Aelin gritted out.

“I’m here because Fenrys has a crush on you. As immature as it is. But you ditching him the other night caused him to fuck up a pretty big project we have been working on.” His deep voice was barely heard over the rumbling of the other tables.

“Okay but that still doesn’t explain you being here” Aelin tried not to show her attitude in case the manager over hears her. Rowan’s smile was nothing but vicious.

“Well princess.” at that Aelin knew she wanted nothing more than to knock him out. The irony of her money troubles and his little nickname did not go over her head. “Fenrys, Lorcan and I work for a technological software development company called MV tec. Yesterday your little puppy couldn’t focus and he screwed up, forcing us to go back a week of progress. Fenrys is a real genius…. Well that is with tec. He’s still young and naïve. It would be great if you called him and for the very least reject him over the phone. So he can go back to chasing someone else.” Rowan didn’t leave her eye contact which made Aelin uneasy. “Lorcan is pissed to say the least on the set back and I’d rather not deal with his temper because Fenrys is still hung up on you.”

Aelin couldn’t help but do a vicious smile back as she innocently said “Well why on earth would a low life waitress with just a pretty face be taking up his mind so much?”

Rowans brows rose “Oh you heard that did you.” His smile widened. “Well let’s just say Lorcan isn’t the most pleasant of people. Not that he was really wrong is he?”

How dare he? Rowan didn’t know she’s almost done with her bachelor’s degree and the only reason she’s been taking double shifts this summer is so she can afford get into law school in the spring next year. No he has no idea the hard work Aelin does and he has no right to judge her. Her face finally dropped the smile.

“You know I didn’t ask for him to ask me out. Actually I didn’t ask for any of it. I’ve just been working my shifts in peace. Since it’s such a big problem for you and Lorcan then you can let him down, obviously you both are very interested in his love life. As for me just leave me alone and go back to your company and I’d rather you and your little cadre to leave me alone. OH and as for the low life waitress remarks, I am less than a year away from starting law school… I am Aelin and I will not be afraid of you and your men.”

Rowan has obviously not been stood up to because the shock on his face was laughable.

“Alright so if you’re not going to order anything, you can leave.” Aelin said sickly as she walked away to catch up with the other tables trying to get her attention. When she turned back he was gone.

Authors note: Um I’m kind of way more confident with this chapter. Any feedback would be great. I know i need to make it longer.

@flowersinvegas @shadowstar2313

#rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver #rowaelin #rowanaelin #rowanxaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #tog fanfic

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iamartemisday · 5 years

Text

Lokane Week- Predestination

There were two men at the front entrance. Guns on their belt would not be quite as frightening to an intruder as their massive frames and intimidating countenances. One of them was a head higher than Thor, an impressive feat in and of itself.

‘Don’t think about Thor,’ he told himself again. ‘He will not come here. There’s no way for him to travel so far in such a short amount of time.’

Unless he or the Warriors Three figured out how to drive a car. Loki had watched Jane maneuver her vehicle several times and was confident he could do it himself with ease if he tried.

And was the distance really so great that ten to twelve hours wasn’t enough time?

With more pressing matters at hand, Loki banished all ideas of Thor disrupting their mission and exposing him to the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind.

Jane had ducked behind a rock, the only one of its size for miles and mediocre cover if the enemy spotted them. For the first time, Loki noted her clothing. Jeans and plaid as was her preferred wardrobe. Nothing resembling a weapon to be found. There wasn’t even a pencil in her pocket.

“It’d be nice if we could sneak past the guards,” she said, seemingly to herself.

“If they are intelligent, they will have all potential entrances guarded,” said Loki.

“I’d love to not give them any credit at all, but…”

Folding her arms, Jane slid halfway to the ground against the boulder. Whatever grand plans she’d had for breaking into the secure base seemed to be falling at her feet. While she pondered, Loki appraised the situation.

In addition to the guards, there were mounted lights on every corner. Motion detecting firearms were on standby, though not currently aimed in their direction. A man perched on the watchtower sharpened a bow of all things and cast his eagle eye across the sand dunes. Loki made himself invisible to all but Jane. The archer’s eye passed over him, though for a moment, Loki thought he paused.

“Do you regret coming with me yet?”

Jane hadn’t moved in a while, and he hadn’t expected her to speak so soon.

“I never would,” Loki said.

Jane gave a half-smile. “Yeah, but this is pretty far out from working as an analyst.”

Loki tried to swallow. His throat was dry. “I suppose so.”

Her eyes lingered on him, though he hoped the base was more interesting. If she had another question or comment to make, she kept it to herself.

“What if I just walk over and demand to see the man in charge?” she snorted.

“We could always enter by force,” Loki said. “Your truck can surely withstand a few bullets.”

“I should’ve brought my homemade missile launcher.”

Their laughter died out fast. Neither of them was in the mood for jokes. Down in one of the black vans, a man rushed out with a phone in his ear. He said something to the guards as he hurried along. The larger man stepped away from his partner out of sight.

Even with just one man on duty, their situation was grave. It didn’t have to be, though. Loki could be in and out before the Midgardians knew anyone was there. If Mjolnir accepted him (a voice in his head he didn’t care to address sneered at the very idea), all he had to worry about was telling Jane the truth.

And so, he had everything to worry about.

‘Why am I here?’ he asked himself, as he should’ve so long ago when Thor landed on this rock. ‘What has this gained me? She’s just one woman.’

‘Is she?’ that same voice replied.

Loki looked at her. He didn’t want to, but he had to. There was something so beautiful about her. Not just her mind, as he once thought. It was everything about her. Her face, her mind, her perchance for eating too many kettle chips before dinner. One could mistake her for the Asgardian visitor. She had a magic all her own.

“Whatever happens,” she said, squaring her shoulders for action, “if we go down there and get caught or stay up here all night, I’m glad I got to meet you, Luke.”

Loki’s eye twitched. He never realized how much he hated that name. “Yes. So am I.”

She was terrible for him. For his emotional state, self-control, and awareness of his surroundings. The single presence behind them turned to three as they drew closer. Their steps were firm and heavy. Two of them carried weapons. Jane still hadn’t noticed them, all her focus going to the base down below. She yelped when Loki pulled her back. His larger frame shielded her as he turned to face the newcomers.

Only one was familiar. The man who had tried to relieve Jane of her life’s work. He didn’t have the sunglasses today, which was strange. The sky was blue and cloudless, the sun merciless. His men couldn’t possibly be comfortable in those three-piece suits.

Phil Coulson raised a hand, and they stopped. He smiled at Loki like a man concealing a knife.

“Good morning,” he said. “Anything we can help you fine folks with?”

“Hell yeah, you can help us,” Jane marched up to Coulson, unconcerned with the armed men not two feet away. “You can tell us who you think you are running around with your badges and fancy cars and think you have a right to take everything I’ve been working toward my whole life!”

“Jane,” Loki tried to reach for her, but she wouldn’t respond.

“Dr. Foster, as I’ve already told you, this matter is top secret and unrelated to your research.”

“Bullshit. You wouldn’t have come banging on my door if this wasn’t related.”

“And we were generous enough to leave you to your work. If you continue to interfere, I could take that generosity back.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I'd consider it more of a warning.”

“You have no right-”

“Jane, enough.” Loki eyed the man on the right. He was the largest of the three men, obstinately the strongest, and as the argument intensified, his hand slid closer to his holstered pistol. “There’s nothing more we can do. Let’s go.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane shouted. “I’m not going anywhere. Not when we’ve come this far.”

“Doctor, for your own safety, I’d advise you to listen to your friend.”

“No one asked you!”

She pulled at Loki’s hand. He held on tight enough not to hurt her and started to pull her back. Jane made one last attempt, all her strength going into a single wrench. The recoil sent her free arm flying, nearly smacking Coulson in the face.

“Hey!” The larger man grabbed his gun.

Loki charged. A blast of magic sent the man flying. He hit the ground some fifty feet away, moaning in agony. All things considered, Loki had been gentle. Not even a fraction of the power his rage demanded had gone into that attack.

Many years later, he’d commend SHIELD for their instantaneous, coordinated response. Within seconds, the man’s partner drew his weapon. Coulson pulled a gun seemingly out of the air. Down below, twenty more men raced onto the scene, alarms blaring at their backs, summoning all troops to the front line. Even the archer had an arrow ready to fire.

Loki held Jane to his chest, staring down the enemy like this was any other battle. Like an innocent life wasn’t at risk if one person made the wrong move.

Of course, it was Jane who summed it all up perfectly. “What the fuck?”

Coulson took a step. “Sir, please stand down.”

A chuckle. “Stand down? I’m not the one aiming to kill.”

“Nobody wants to hurt you or Dr. Foster.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Why don’t we talk about this more inside?” Coulson nodded at the men behind them, who broke formation to give them a path to the base. “I think that’ll be better for everyone.”

“Better for you,” Loki growled. “Agent Coulson, rest assured there is not a cell on this planet which can contain me. I would advise you to consider your next move carefully.”

His magic flared. The agents tensed but didn’t fire. That was good for them. If they had, it would not have been Loki who fell.

“You’re not in a position to give threats,” Coulson said, glancing at the green fire in Loki’s hand with only a hint of discomfort. “Or are you?”

One plus to this situation, his concentration was back at full capacity. He heard the sputtering engine long before Coulson’s most cognizant agents lifted their heads to listen. A truck tore down the road, approaching at well over a hundred miles an hour. The deafening horn tore through the tension, a boisterous laugh following each blast.

‘Wonderful,’ Loki thought. ‘Just wonderful.’

The agents were now torn. Half turned their attention to the truck while the rest stayed in place. Coulson was among the latter, his eyes never leaving Loki’s.

“Friends of yours?”

Loki clicked his tongue. “In a manner of speaking.”

The truck stopped hard enough to almost tip over. Tires screeched. A sword-wielding arm stuck out the window. The driver’s seat door flew open as a haggard man in white scrubs stumbled out.

“Loki!” Thor bellowed. Sif was already at his side, glaring Loki down.

“Hello brother,” he said, his chest aching in the worst way at Jane’s strangled gasp. “I’m happy to see you again.”

It was always meant to be, he supposed. From the very beginning, he would face his brother on opposing sides. Whatever the occurrence on Jotunheim meant, the distance between them had grown over centuries. It wasn’t a truth Loki admitted easily. Indeed, his heart hurt. In so many ways, it hurt. Never had deception felt so empty.

If nothing else, Thor had learned civility. When the agents formed a barrier between him and Loki, Thor demanded they let him pass rather than tossing them aside without a thought. As the Warriors Three gathered, proving to be by far the clearer threat, Coulson was forced to enter the fray. His men stayed behind, keeping Loki always in their sights. Dozens of eyes on him, scrutinizing, challenging, waiting for a reason to fire, and yet all of them paled in comparison to Jane’s searching gaze.

“Luke,” she said. There was no anger like he feared, only wonder. No betrayal, just boundless curiosity. “No… Loki.”

He somehow managed to smile. “I’m afraid I haven’t been honest with you.”

The ever-changing myriad of emotion spreading across her face gave way to a tiny laugh, then a full grin. “You know what? I think I knew.”

She buried her face in his shirt, hugging him with all she had. Their captors waited and watched. Thor peered over Coulson’s head, studying the pair as if deciding whether Jane was a pawn in Loki’s mechanisms or another threat. Loki tightened his hold on her, no longer fighting the overwhelming urge to touch her. After today, he never would again.

“What’s down in that base,” he whispered in Jane’s ear, “is nowhere near as amazing as what’s up there.”

The sky opened far over their heads, offering so much promise. Jane raised her head to it, but stared straight at Loki.

“Fuck it,” she muttered, with the conviction of someone who had thrown all caution to the wind. “Let’s do it.”

“Are you sure?”

It wasn’t a question he needed to ask. Everything he needed was right in front of him.

He allowed himself a moment to give in to desire, pressing his lips to Jane’s and savoring her sweet taste. Her hands on his face were soft and warm, and so perfect.

Loki and Jane did not see the SHIELD agents whispering among themselves. They didn’t hear one men wolf whistle and another one shush him. They didn’t see Thor’s bemused reaction to the display, or Coulson’s jaw hanging open as he failed to think of something to say.

When Loki disappeared with Jane, he didn’t feel the bullets several men impulsively fired where he and Jane once stood. He didn’t hear Thor scream his name to the heavens.

Even if they heard or saw any of that, it wouldn’t matter. Because none of it could stop them. Nothing at all could stop them.

Not even gravity.

#Lokane Week #Lokane #Lokane Week 19 #Jane Foster #Loki

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no-d4y-but-tod4y · 5 years

Text

Unconventional Conventions

So...I want to write more fics. They’re great fun! And I decided that I want to start making a sort of timeline for me and my F/O, so here is my late-night ramblings of how Frank and I met! To be written in third person, because I still don’t know how to do this. I’m making this up as I go along. Please bear with me!

‘Left?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes!’

‘What if we’re going the wrong way?’

‘I’ve been staring at this fucking map for until my eyes go crossed, we are not going the wrong way!’

The car descended into icy silence. The driver and the passenger were the best of friends, but five hours on a mostly desolate road is bound to test anyone’s endurance.

‘I’m sorry, I’m tired.’

‘I know, so am I.’ The driver stretched her neck, wincing at the lack of space. ‘There’s list a lot riding on this, you know?’

Indeed. Alma and Kitley sped along an unmarked country road towards the most anticipated technological showcase of the year. The best of the best, from the most prestigious schools, the most esteemed tutors, the most reputable families received an invitation to this event. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for the academic prodigies of their time to unveil, demonstrate, and sell their fleeting moments of lunatic genius. This provided not only exposure, but the opportunity for potential investors, apprenticeships, internships, and a multitude of prestigious connections.

In short, an inventors dream. Kitley has cried for hours after her sealed envelope arrived three weeks ago. As Kitley’s close friend and trusted confidant, Alma was first choose to accompany her (and her metric ton of priceless equipment) across the country - but she really hasn’t wanted to go. She supported Kit in all her endeavours, of course, but a whole weekend? Of scientific jargon and plummy accents and snooty demeanours? Of things she wouldn’t begin to understand, of the nonsensical racing’s of lunatic minds, of pretending not to realise how out of place she was?

No thanks.

But Kit couldn’t do it alone. And everyone else was more honest.

The bar better be well stocked for all she was compromising for this.

‘Ooh, there it is! Pull in there, I see it!’

The looming gothic country house seemed surprisingly cheery in the hot sun. A string quartet played merrily on the grass, patrons strolled about in twos or little groups. Most people, however, rushed in an out, carrying tripods and boxes and fold out tables and cages. Men in long coats, women in smart dresses and bright red lipstick. More brains than they knew what to do with.

‘Well,’ Kit didn’t realise she was crushing her friends hand. ‘Let’s go in.’

A handsome porter sprung to their aid, taking half of the equipment inside the building with him. Kit joined the line at the foyer, invitations clutched in her hand. Alma accompanied the porter around the back of the house with her load, a quick stamp on the wrist, and followed the man through the winding corridors.

She wondered who lived here. Perhaps they were still there. The faces one sees in a wallpaper pattern, the footsteps creaking along the staircases, the grief-ridden howling of the winter winds. Listen hard enough, and the whole world becomes but an echo of a past life.

They came to a sprawling room, dissected of furniture and grafted with metallic screens and futuristic game consoles.

‘This is your booth,’ the porter explained, dropping their equipment with a relieved sigh. The screen had Kit’s name on it, and their little section included a wardrobe, along with a water cooler and a small table. Some things, she assumed, had to be stored under different conditions. ‘The exhibition will be held in the conference hall, the timings of which are provided here. He handed her two pieces of paper staples together. As of now, you’re free to roam the grounds.’ He held out his hand. Was he expecting a tip? She reached into her pocket and placed five pounds there. ‘I advise everyone not to piss people off at these things. They can cut you head open and stir your brain with a fork. And right now, sweetheart,’ he gave her the filthiest look, ‘you’re not off to a very good start.’

She watched him go, unfazed. See? Lunatics!

***

Alma unfolded the running order one she got outside, and groaned.

Kitley was in the last group. Exhibiting her robotic talents alongside a Dr. Garrett Ferguson, a Prof. Martinez, and a Ms Katrina Morgenstern. That wasn’t until Sunday... what was she supposed to do for two whole days?

The running order came attached to the itinerary, which Alma spared but a glance before stifling a wretch. Seminars, workshops, Q + A panels, guest speakers. All staggered throughout the day in one of the 200 rooms of the house. Each mind-blowing scientific subject more boring than the last.

Kitley hadn’t returned from signing in. Seemingly she received a copy of the itinerary and dashed off. Glad to know she was having fun somewhere...

Alma would have gone along to one. She liked to learn, even if she didn’t - often - understand any of it. But here, these people were elitists. Even just walking around, soaking up the sun and listening to the floral-printed singer on the bandstand, she had been given some questionable looks. It’s like they had a radar. They could smell the mediocrity...

Her clothes, her speaking voice, even her stance conveyed a multitude of errors. The stamp on her wrist might as well read ‘lowly public school graduate’.

She didn’t belong here. She didn’t like it one bit.

And, as even Alma could stand only a certain number of hours at the bar, she needed to find something to do. So far, she hadn’t seen any cornered off areas, or signs indicating where she wasn’t supposed to go. So, she went exploring.

She passed the ‘kit room’ (which seemed now it be a dissected sort of drawing room) on the way to the stairs. Poked her head in to check all the necessities were still there. Nobody had robbed them? Good.

The house really did go on for miles. Magnitude doesn’t really hit you until you experience it first-hand. It seemed bigger on the inside - sprawling. Is this what it feels like to be on the other side of the doll house?

The further up she went, the less well kept the rooms became. It was likely that no one had been up here for a while. The maid cleans it once a month, or something like that. Everything ever that didn’t actually matter had been stored on this floor - fourth, if she remembered correctly. Taxidermy, broken crockery, neglected jewellery. One room, however, that enticed her fancies the most, was a smallish room, drowning in dust: occcupied by nothing but large couches, and a multitude of think, white blankets.

Aww yea.

***

She came to herself in darkness. The stars dazzled and gleamed through the naked window. She remembered, foggily, where she was and what she was doing. Wrapped up in three blankets like a burrito, she felt a sense of slight panic.

She hadn’t meant to sleep that long! Anyone could have found her! Hopefully if she snuck out now she’d make it back to the shared room without worrying Kit. And didn’t she snuggle under two blankets before she dozed off...?

‘Still alive, then?’

She screamed bloody murder. Launching herself in the general direction furthest from the uninvited speaker, tripping over trailing sheets and staggering to keep her balance, her startled gaze quickly found a mint-coated man relaxing on the couch positioned opposite hers, smirking at her.

‘What the fuck are you doing? She demanded, still trembling a little from the dark surprise. ‘Who are you, how did you get in here?’ She narrowed her eyes at him with a vicious glare. ‘How long have you been sitting there?’

‘You’re not starkers under there, are you?’ Her gaze snapped down to the white sheet she’d...why had she covered herself with it?

‘No!’

‘Remove the blanket then, so I can see.’

‘See what?’ She threw the blanket down in rage, despite the obvious confrontational tone of her response. ‘Why aren’t you answering any of my questions?’

‘I know you,’ he gave her a real smile, standing up to cross the room. Instinctively, she geared up to dart away. ‘You’re with Kitley Harlenson.’

Well, that was the only normal part of the conversation so far. Even when alone, always more interested in Kitley.

‘I saw you tip that dreadful porter. You might as well have run over his cat.’ He chuckled with a slight shake of the head. ‘It’s the brooch,’ he nodded towards her breastbone, where a small pin clung to the fabric of her flannel shirt - a tiny silver rocket. ‘Stereotypical and clueless way of showing your support for us...’

‘Us?’ She said, finding her voice at last. ‘You’re scientist too?’

He shrugged. ‘Sometimes.’ A slender hand came out next (notably long fingers) with another gleaming smile.

She wondered how many girls went home elated, thinking they would marry a doctor in due course and never work another day again. All because he smiled at them.

‘I’m Frank, he said she she tentatively accepted the firm handshake. ‘And who might you be?’

She studied the dark mop of crazy curls, at such a sharp contrast to the pristine, professional, white lab coat.

They were still holding hands. What’s my name again?

‘Alma,’ she introduced herself, thanking the heavens that her voice had come out properly.

‘The pleasure’s all mine.’ He kissed the back of her hand - just barely brushed it with his lips - and the stance returned to normal. His eyes sparkled the tiniest bit as he said, ‘Just try not to doze off in my house next time, hmm?’

Her stomach - and face - dropped. ‘This is your house...?!’

‘It’s alright, darling, I’m just teasing.’

‘Why were you watching me sleep?’ She remembered, suddenly, for silver tounges and bewitching good looks made no compensation for stalking.

‘Why, protecting you, of course.’ He bared his teeth in another wicked grin. ‘I came upon you, first of all, so finders keepers, and secondly, there are all sorts of eccentric creatures roaming the grounds here this evening. I should know, I invited them. Sabotage is rife here at these events - you can never be too careful with them. Wouldn’t want them to mistake you for the next female Frankenstein and ship you off to a laboratory in the Swiss mountains. With these people, you never know!’

She tried to figure out whether he was teasing again or not. ‘You’re content with having body snatchers in your-?’

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ he exclaimed rather dramatically. ‘I’d quite forgotten about that horrendous dinner - you know the one I’m referring too, don’t you, presuming you read your itinerary?’

She did. She had. Recollection had evaded her as well. And now she felt fantastic.

A black tie gala dinner with these snobs? To sit around a table sipping £300 wine that was probably just a shop-bought crate with the labels removed, discussing current affairs and politics and how much everyone was achieving, and that small loan of £1,000,000 really kick-started the process?

Can’t fucking wait.

When she fazed back in, he cocked his right eyebrow. ‘You didn’t listen to a word I said, did you?’

‘What?’ It was harder to think now, with that unfamiliar, cloying scent apparently exuding from his skin. ‘No, I just - well, it’s not really my thing, I don’t know that much-.’

‘Come with me.’ He clasped her shoulders firmly. ‘Sit at my table. I loathe these silly affairs, you understand? And you don’t seem to be having a brilliant afternoon either, my darling.’ He squeezed her shoulders a little concernedly. She flushed, hoping it wasn’t as red as it felt. ‘Won’t you please keep me company?’

‘Your table,’ she echoed, incredulous. ‘I can’t sit there! Your table will be filled with the most important people, nobody knows who I am!’

‘I have to sit on my own. I told you, it’s abysmal. I sit at the back of a loooooong room, watching thick-headed rich kids fight over who’s more successful, and no one gives me a thought.’

‘Kit isn’t like that,’ she mumbled.

‘I’m sure she isn’t.’ He smiled at her. ‘She wouldn’t have a friendship with you if that were the case, now would she?’ To her immediate shock, Frank pouted. Bottom lip out, large round eyes the epitome of innocence, forehead creasing. And it was...so cute? She’d never expected that. ‘Please come? Pleeeaaasseee? What’s so unappealing about sitting next to me and getting wine drunk all night? What would you be doing otherwise?

Well nothing. But she wasn’t going to say that. Cheeks blazing now, she mumbled at the ground, ‘I have nothing to wear...’

‘Oh come off it!’ He took her firmly by the wrist and quite literally dragged her from the room. ‘Come to my room,’ he instructed while pulling her along as easily as a suitcase, ‘amuse me whilst I get ready. I’ll find you something to wear.’

Alma followed along obediently until they reached the top floor. Frank ushered into a dark room, and she squinted against the glaring artificial light.

And when she could see again...oh boy.

The very definition of indulgence. Decadence. Affluence. Whatever you want to call it. Purples, blacks, deep reds. Gold trims, silver accents. A sprawling four poster took up most of the floor space, made with rich black silk and mountains of velvet pillows. The curtains were black too, yet sheer. Obviously for decoration then...

A sliver vanity table stood opposite the bed, full to bursting with various shattered, smeared, and unkempt cosmetics. The brushes were unclean, the containers left open. Dark pigments had been walked into the thick carpet. The table itself was a mess too - the illuminated mirror, however, was spick and span.

Through the mirrored doors of the walk in wardrobe, she spied row upon row of glittering corests. Heels were stored underneath, what seems to be a selection of...ahem, toys, spilled from a bag right at the back.

Well it made sense now. Someone of Frank’s financial status could afford hour upon hour from high class escorts. He knew what he liked, clearly - consistency at least.

That was until he discarded the coat with a disgusted scoff to reveal that he wore a corset underneath. And stockings. Suspenders. The works. She watched, jaw on the floor, as he slipped on a pair of meshed gloves.

He turned, and pretended to jump a little from her looking at him. ‘What?’ He grinned, strolling over to the vanity and winking at her through the mirror. He pumped a large amount of liquid foundation onto a filthy stippling brush. He caught her staring again, and mirrored her shock in a pantomime gesture.

‘Academics can’t be beautiful too?’

Alma <3

#my fics #my writing #f/o fic #self ship #self ship fic #frank n furter #rhps #🖤

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destroyyourbinder · 6 years

Text

looking at instagram

There are hazy pictures of children having fun in spring-green new grass, the sun or maybe the filter sparkling. A photo of a man laughing, relaxed, he's wearing a soft cotton shirt, and it's not wrinkled. Dynamic black and white photos of people my acquaintance knows, a coworker, herself, their skin texture looks like granite, like muslin, like acrylic sculpting medium, like something under lights that's very "Interesting," to men in glasses holding wine and pontificating like bowerbirds strutting over little pebbles and bits of fur.

I'm angry. I look like dough, like a laundry pile at the end of a week, maybe two. I'm custard piled on itself, dingy men's shorts pulled up way too high over the bottom dollop. Nobody's captivated by my pock marks or my uneven peach fuzz. I look like who my mom was afraid I was going to be, except I'm not even that exciting, I'm a monster made of felt cut out by shaky kindergarten hands and unraveling tape. Dandruff gets under my fingers when I scratch my head. There's no social media where I can post the sensation of my stomach gurgling after I eat fistfuls of mozzarella from the fridge, and nobody would Like it anyway. When I shave my head there is no confident, bold, sharp picture I can take, tattooed and muscular arm curved up over my new haircut to casually hold the phone. There's just tiny bits of hair in the bathroom rug and yellow light that makes my face look puffier than I thought it was.

I feel the bile rise in my throat. So-and-so bought a house, my sister bought a house, friend after friend after friend is having a dinner party, moving to California, getting married at a place with "Estate" in the name. There's pictures, lots of pictures, of breezy nights and big smiles, a colorful world of delight and ease, everything I wanted from life incarnated in the bodies of straight people and lesbians prettier and happier than me. I pull a piece of cat hair out of my teeth and listen to the neighbors shouting at each other on the street, and I imagine what it would be like if my body didn't ache, didn't feel like a jumble of nonsense the consistency of dogshit and balsa wood. My apartment smells like mold. I make nine-sixty-something an hour after taxes. I don't know how to use Instagram because at twenty-whatever I've managed to become both old and out of touch, but I do know how to let Instagram make me feel bad.

In the photo, a guy I know looks rugged, cheeky, like a man with a story to tell but who might pull a quarter out from behind your ear instead. In reality, he's an old gay guy who both lurches and flops about at the same time, his too-large T-shirts hanging off his hunched shoulders. When he's feeling sprightly, he does a little ungainly but joyful Charleston, a grin on his face goofier than his little kicks, which show off the dirty bottoms of his fluorescent Converse shoes. I see him a lot in the back office at work or the break room, which are dim and yellow, making his ruddy face and greying stubble an undifferentiated jowly mass. But this guy also has lots of pictures of his own, that he shows me sometimes, of himself when young, with friends all dressed up in alternative 80s gear, all eyeliner and teased white hair. He smiles when he flips through the pictures. I don't know what he is remembering. I see a lot of cool people I've never met; he tells me this picture was even used in an ad for a local fashion hotspot back in the day. Then, swiping up and down with his fingers, still smiling but using a tone of voice that's a particularly terrifying variety of cheerful sarcasm, he tells me most of the people in these pictures are dead.

He knows I know why.

When I scroll through that woman's Instagram I am angry, maybe, because there's nobody to see me, nobody to remember what I did. The endless dullness that characterizes my days is not something I myself remember; I have the barest sense at all, even, that it is too dull for memory. There is something particularly disgusting to me that this is how most women have lived their lives, a parade of dishes and diapers, the inside of their heads taken up by minutiae about the state of the carpet and lists of birthdays. I've fallen headfirst into it, softly, like a particularly cushy pie on a grandmother's windowsill or the pillowy bosom of a schoolmarm. As a child I was particularly offended I was not noticed for who I was, or who I thought myself to be, at least, and what my mom did manage to notice was a nitpicking ritual of continual impropriety; what was on the floor but shouldn't be, what spot I missed on the counter with a sponge, which hairs were out of place and what crumbs were in the corners of my lips, what smile wasn't on my face and when. In retrospect I don't know if I was more offended on my behalf or hers, and if I was a selfish little shit about it whether I was more enraged by the idea that I was lost under her omnipresent fussing or that my proper development into a woman involved filling my head with such an eye.

I used to scream at her that I would not become like her, and I guess I didn't. I'm gay, for one, and live in a city, full of the types of people she imagines when she neurotically checks and rechecks the locks on her doors. I don't have children, a husband, a credit card, a mortgage, but I do have what I never wanted from the legacy of women, which is enormous spans of time where I fiddle with a sponge, a spoon, tiny meaningless papers, buttons on a cash register. As a child-- and embarrassingly, as an adult ill-prepared for reality-- I screamed because I insisted by the declaration of my lungs that my life would be different, it would be about intensity, perceptiveness, truth, integrity, adventures, journeys, big huge concepts that would bowl me over and spill out of me like a living mystic channeling forces of the universe. I used to read for hours and hours as a child, usually epic fantasy or science fiction I probably shouldn't have been allowed to put into my prepubescent brain; sometimes I used to hang upside down off the couch and read upside down just for the hell of it, to shake my world up a bit. I moved onto philosophy and hours of mopey music through headphones in the dark when I got older. I was delusional about what my life would be like, about what life would make me into. The big huge concept that would end up bowling me over was mediocrity, mundaneness, the stuff men on Reddit call women "vapid" for.

Hannah Arendt was a really smart woman, the kind of woman I thought I might be someday. She said a whole lot of shit that was really deep, and when I was still chasing the highs of thinking that there were neat-o discoveries to be made in this world that made you Somebody to see them, I thought that "the banality of evil" was the most profound thing I ever heard. When I encountered it for real it wasn't profound, just banal indeed. Evil is soul-sucking in a special fucking way, it sucks the life out of you in the way that alcohol shuts off first the part of your brain that lets you know you're drunk. Something's gone and you're all screwed up about it but you're gone in a way that won't let you know what left, there's just rage disguised as irritability and crud on the counter and a bus that doesn't show up. Sometimes you get to look right into the sucking hole, a yawning abyss of multi-generational societal depravity and institutional apathy, when you're sitting next to a homeless woman on a bench downtown with legs so swollen she couldn't go anywhere even if she had someplace to go. I gave her five dollars on most days of my commute because I hoped at least she could eat something, and she deserved the dignity of being seen by somebody, but honestly she needed somewhere to sleep and a bunch of somebodies to do something about her health. A lot of fucking evil had to happen to a lot of people for buildings full of suits to exist on the same block as this lady. A lot of fucking evil had to happen for people to accept this as normal.

What evil has to happen for women to accept their lot, whether it's accepting that the cumulative buzz of your life-inspiration be directed towards holding up a glass in a particularly enrapturing photo on Instagram, or whether it's accepting that you're gonna have to spend another night on the bench? I cry sometimes knowing that no one will remember my mother; all she will leave behind is a gravestone next to a man's and a legacy of psychological scars on her daughters, who nobody will bother to remember either. My mother's life is worth a book or two, but I couldn't get it out of her even if I tried. I don't think my mom even knows she has a story, just petty dramas she tries to escalate into a validation that she hasn't disappeared yet because she can hurt somebody. I don't know the homeless lady's story or how she ended up begging on a bench downtown each day. I hope with all my heart she finds a place to live out her life, a little home where she can use a scooter and have enough to eat, where five dollars isn't the difference between confirmation of the world's cruelty and God's presence. She showed me a video once on her phone of a preacher that she followed, a woman who she said she saw at a big church event in the South; she could go places once, and I don't know how she ended up so she couldn't go anywhere anymore. Maybe she doesn't know-- maybe when you can't go anywhere anymore the point is that you don't think you got there and you don't think you're getting out, you're just there right now, but also always were and somehow forever will be. Maybe you're watching buses go by all damn day and feeling your tongue go numb from saying "spare a dollar", or maybe your finger's getting red from wiping the snot under your kid's nose, time passing only when the tissues are gone. They don't take shots of this shit. There's no filter for "life's over, but not yet."

I wish what I felt could become great art, maybe even just shitty art, that it could mean something, that I was something; dudes have generations of scholarship-worship trailing behind them because they wrote paeans to being existentially bored, because they discovered what it's like to look at a damn soup can and slapped it in a museum. Maybe I'm just jealous, but, you know, I used to stock groceries, and I spent a lot of my time looking at damn soup cans. I think I now know why Val shot him.

#writings

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harlockauxillia30k-blog · 6 years

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♗ – White Bishop — What positive traits do you have?

It was time for regimental review, and when you fought under the night lords legion, that was a terrifying time. However aside from a few extreme examples made most of the Army got forms like these, asking for personal details, annecdotes, reports etc. Most of Harlock’s papers had been filled out- although they took hours to do- and he wasnt sure who even read this junk, but one question stood out. Positive traits.

Normally for a legion regimental review Harlock was sure he could just fill this section with nonsense, like “decorated regimental idiot” or “official mascot of the logistics company” or even “confirmed alcohol free and sober, 3 days and counting!” but this was the night lords, and just the other day an officer was executed for quite legitimate reasons. No need to take that kind of chance here.

So, an actual answer.

He supposed he had some redeeming qualities despite his decrepit body, potato-textured face, and uninspiring personality. For one, he was somewhat wise. Harlock always knew when his regiment and especially company was getting a raw deal, and that wasnt JUST because his company ALWAYS got a raw deal. There were other applications of course. What to do when interacting with ___ legion, who to trust (a very short list indeed), what makes a good soldier, good officer, and good man. Centuries of life lessons usually learned the hard way, and too often, in blood.

Harlock was also somewhat perceptive. Not perhaps in the sense that he could spot a sniper no others could, but rather that he picked up on important details, a talent from Colonel Norn, now quite deceased. What else?

Basic weapon skill with a one handed weapon, but... ‘above-average’ swordsmanship skills. Penning that made Harlock smile. It was an honorable combat discipline but painfully niche. How often across his entire career did he really need his blade? Not many times. It was almost a battle in itself just closing with the enemy to use the weapon. But- still, when it happened, Harlock usually was glad he had it- and his skill.

Harlock considered leadership capabilities and the confidence of the men, then erased those points. He was the worst man to judge that. In his own mind, he was a strategist and tactician of middling skill, having been humbled by everyone from sergeants, lieutenants, generals, and astartes for so long. Harlock knew well that in the grand scheme of things, he was probably a mediocre commander.

There. That hopefully sufficed. He figured he would be visited in his sleep by an immense and terrifying marine if it proved inadequate, and made a mental note to use the bathroom before sleeping as a result.

#night lords be scary y'all #fuukonomiko #post

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politicsiscomplicated · 7 years

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Instead of Punching Nazis, Steal Their Target Audience From Them

If America today is analogous to Nazi Germany, the people I'm arguing against act like we're in 1938, with annexations of our neighbors and Kristallnacht looming near. We're not. We're not even in 1933 at the beginning of the dictatorship yet. We're still somewhere in the 20s. The Nazis are clearly, obviously evil, going around attacking people and screaming about how the Jews/liberals/non-whites/foreigners/etc. are ruining the country, and even have some friends in high places. But most of the country still isn't willing to vote for them. We the enemies of Naziism, all of us from ultra-conservatives like Orrin Hatch all the way to leftists and progressives like many of you my friends are, aren't in the place of some underground resistance movement fighting a guerrilla campaign against the omnipresent Nazi menace. We are right now all in the place of the other political parties that fucking failed to fix Germany by peaceful means after WW1. And there are a lot of disgruntled but politically detached people out there who aren't Nazis but might be persuaded to vote for Nazis if we don't get to them first with better ideas.

We saw this last year when millions of disgruntled former Obama voters and millions of voters who said they normally don't vote at all came out to support a notoriously incompetent asshole who stumbled into being the first major presidential candidate since Wilson to receive the endorsement of the Klan and not disavow it. Never forget that Hitler didn't gain power through coercion like Mussolini or revolution like Franco. He was the leader of a major political party, elected partially because of terrorism, but also largely because his party was able to convince the public that they could solve their problems. The Nazis and their ideological cousins in the alt-right are competing with us now to win over the people who are, frankly, ignorant of or disinterested in politics and therefore vulnerable to Nazis winning them over by presenting their mix of paranoia and outright lies nicely.

The people we are competing with them over, or ought to be, are the people I've heard ranting my entire life — and I know, any of you New Englanders, that you have heard them too, and are probably related to some of them — about "reverse racism" and "handouts", and how the Clintons are secret murderers, and so on blah blah blah. They're wrong, and they don't understand what we're talking about. But that's not how we respond to them. Instead, we respond to them by writing them off as unfixably hateful and accuse them of lying rather than not understanding. We push them away into the waiting hands of Nazi propagandists. Nazis, like the toxic right-wing talkshow media, respond to them by egging them on to embrace and use their anger, Emperor Palpatine-style. Any chance we give the Nazis to portray themselves as the victim of leftist aggression is another voter who, when it is time for our equivalent of the 1932 elections, will go to the polls and support the Nazis even though they may not personally be a Nazi.

But the propaganda is out there, and the rallies are happening, and they have an audience. Clearly something must be done. So what is to be done about the Nazis themselves? How can we possibly avoid seeming to engaging them as equals, which would give them the same false balance legitimacy currently enjoyed by creationists and anti-vaxers and climate change deniers? Not through preemptive violence. We should certainly be willing to fight in self-defense, or in the defense of another we can help, but remember, there is already a narrative out there of "violent leftists" who need "law and order" brought down upon them. The president himself buys into and spreads this. We need to make him look ridiculous.

When the NAACP took up the case of Rosa Parks, rather than any of the other people who defied bus segregation before her, it was because they and Parks understood how easily-swayed people are by victim-blaming. When a bad thing happens to someone, it seems to be a baked-in human instinct to examine the victim to see why they "provoked" something bad, rather than examining what's wrong with the offender to make them think victimizing someone could possibly be okay. They sought out a person about whom the fewest negative things could be said. This is an effective tactic. It anticipates and shuts down the stupid but popular arguments people are drawn to. By showcasing the most clear-cut, inarguable cases of injustice, that bulk of disengaged public sees that a system they were previously indifferent to ought to be actively changed or destroyed. By fighting only defensively, I believe we can preempt any attempt by the Nazis to use that tactic on us. Make it clear that the victim of an act of racist or other bigoted violence did nothing to provoke it, and you turn the public's outrage on the offender, and maybe even on the ideology that encouraged the violence.

It is also worth remembering at this point that, as Jon Stewart put it, the bias of the mainstream media is towards sensationalism, conflict, and laziness. They want someone to get pundits enraged at because enraged pundits get them viewers or listeners or readers, and viewers or listeners or readers get them ad revenue. Let someone make a heinous speech and the news cycle will be about what a fucking piece of shit that person is. Punch someone making a heinous speech, and the news cycle will be fake-balance arguments about how there's "anger on both sides".

So what about "fighting" metaphorically, by disrupting the lives of Nazis (or Nazi-allies)? Public shame will do something, right? Well, maybe, if you get the right person. A friend did a back-of-the-envelope-type estimate using some demographic data about this. If we assume for the sake of argument that every alt-rightist is a white American man, distributed randomly among all white American men in general appearance, and we have pictures of every single alt-rightist based on estimates of how many of them there are, and we only make mistakes 1% of the time in matching the alt-rightists' faces to the faces of all white American men, the number of innocent people we falsely identified as alt-rightists would be over 24 times the number of correctly-identified alt-rightists. Indeed, we've already seen some false identifications based on pictures of people from the "Unite the Right" rally. (And just a few years ago, internet vigilantes also came to confidently wrong conclusions about the identities of the Boston Marathon bombers in exactly the same way, by poring over mediocre-to-poor-quality photos of the event, although thankfully police realized quickly these were incorrect.)

And even if you do get the right person, are you sure you want to actively encourage managers to fire people for their activities outside of work? Remember those people I mentioned earlier who are outraged about "reverse racism" and so on? Some of those people are managers. Some managers will fire Nazis because, quite accurately, they understand that Nazis are bad. But other managers will, based on the same encouragement, fire Black Lives Matter protestors. It's not hard to find examples of political commentators or even politicians calling BLM black supremacists or even terrorists. Because you know what? People don't make rational decisions based on what is actually true. Ever. About anything. They make vaguely-approaching-rational decisions based on what feels true.

You may trust yourself, or a really good boss you have, to make this sort of decision. I may even agree with those judgements. But recall the worst boss you've had, or the worst boss someone you know has had. Someone obnoxious, petty, ignorant, mean, or clearly looking for an excuse, any excuse, to fire someone. Now imagine how they'd react if you said "you should fire people for being hateful outside of work". They might fire a Nazi, but I'd place my bet on them firing a BLM supporter, or someone with a different religion than them (because, of course, disagreeing with someone's religion is blasphemy, and blasphemy is hate speech!), or someone who is very much not a Nazi but the manager falsely thinks they are because they just read a wrongheaded book or blog post that argues that some group of people actual Nazis hate, like gay people, or completely mainstream moderates, are the "real" Nazis.

If you really feel compelled to take matters into your own hands, proceed with the extremest of extreme caution, understand your own ignorance and failures and biases, admit to and suffer the consequences of your mistakes if you harm the innocent, and absolutely do not fire unless fired upon.

The last several days of arguments I've seen, and occasionally participated in, online have just gotten nasty and frustrating. So this post is all I intend to say on the topic. I am sick of being misconstrued by people I would otherwise firmly agree with. I would just like to remind them that I understand exactly what is on the line if the Nazis actually win; just off the top of my head, there are at least three, maybe seven if you really reach, reasons I will be sent to a concentration camp if America truly follows the trajectory of Nazi Germany. That's why I am so emphatic that we must head off the Nazis. We must stop them from using the media to their favor, and we must win over their target audience of people who are vaguely upset and frustrated but do not know at whom their frustration should be directed. We must reach out to the angry but not very politically engaged public and do a decent job of explaining ourselves to them and debunking Nazi paranoia and lies before the Nazis have the chance to suck them in first.

#Nazis #Punch nazis #alt-right #political strategy #the media is stupid #people are stupid #don't be stupid

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ayma-nidiot · 4 years

Text

In the White Light - Prideshipping fanfic Chapter 23

Also on AO3.

Chapter 23 – Awakening

“Ugh… Too dark,” was Kaiba’s initial reaction to the ethereal space in which he floated. “So all my enemies were right. I did end up in hell after all.”

“That’s a little mean, Kaiba,” spoke a voice Kaiba had only heard once or twice. “I don’t think Atem would be happy to hear you call his bedchamber ‘hell.’”

“You are-” Kaiba awakened, and suddenly his surroundings changed to the royal bedchamber. To his sides were Mahad and some elderly man. At the foot of the bed stood a man who looked like Kaiba, except his chestnut locks flowed down his chest, and he had darker skin. “Mahad. And…” Kaiba tried to make out the other two men, but in his sleepy daze, he had a hard time doing so. “I think I remember you guys from the vision quest… Wait! You’re Atem’s father, Aknamkanon, aren’t you?”

“It feels nice to be remembered,” replied Aknamkanon with a warm smile.

Kaiba gave his doppelganger a sidelong look. “Okay, this is weird… You’re… um…”

“Seto. My name is Seto – just like yours.”

“Well, nice to meet you all.” Kaiba pulled the covers over him, leaving only the upper half of his head exposed. “Now, if you would be so kind as to let me have some sleep. In fact, I feel no shame in telling you that I plan to spend the rest of the day sleeping.”

“…Is that really what you want, Kaiba?” Aknamkanon asked. “Wouldn’t you rather go see my son, instead of spending the rest of your life with three people you hardly know?”

“…” Kaiba remained speechless for a spell as he slowly peeled the covers off. “…Am I dead?”

“Yes and no,” Mahad answered. “Right now, you are teetering on the edge of death. Even as we speak, your allies are calling to you.”

“My… allies?” Kaiba fully sat up and listened for voices beyond.

“Hahahaha!” sounded Zorc’s voice. “So much for the ‘power of Horakhty!’ Now… After I kill you, pharaoh, the royal bloodline will be no more!”

“Eyaaaaaah!” screamed Atem’s voice. “Unhand me, dark one! … Raaaah!”

“Ah, you’re just like a fish, struggling right before it gets gutted. You won’t be free for long!”

“You’re wrong…” spoke Rex. “Come on, Kaiba, don’t go extinct now! Not after I was just considering you a friend!”

“Hah! I don’t recall giving the so-called ‘ultimate’ rival of the pharaoh permission to die!” exclaimed Weevil.

“Sniff… Sniff…” Mokuba cried. “Big bro… You’re my only family. You’re all I got left! Don’t die…”

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you!”

Tristan’s words were answered with what sounded like a slap – and a scolding from Joey. “Tristan, come on! Kaiba, don’t listen to him! If I, the person you hate most, want you to live, then damn straight you better live!”

“You saved me from being killed by that Rare Hunter! Please, let me return the favour!” shouted Téa. “I know you don’t like the concept of friendship, but can you believe in it just this once?”

“Blue-Eyes White Dragon… Lend Kaiba your strength…” Kisara appeared to be praying with Isis and Mana.

“I know you and the pharaoh beat me handily during Battle City, but that’s in the past now,” added Marik. “Right now, I – and all of my home country of Egypt – need you.”

“My other self.” Seto spoke to his future incarnate sternly. “I can no longer return to the world of the living. But you can. Go be with Atem again and be his hero. And if you see my father, tell him I wish things didn’t have to end up like this.”

“Can you tell my brother that I wish the same?” Aknamkanon requested. “That if I had known how hurt he was this whole time, that I would have done something about it?”

“Seto…” Kaiba wiped a tear from Seto’s face. In so doing, the priest – along with Mahad and Aknamkanon – faded, and imbued their ba into Kaiba. After a moment of contemplation, Kaiba leapt out of the bed. “Everyone… Thank you. But this will be the last time I do something generous for you all!”

_________

“I… I…” All this time, Atem could not think of a proper thing to say to Kaiba – until now. “No. I refuse to believe the man I love is dead.”

“Well, pharaoh, as you say in the modern world, ‘the proof is in the pudding!’ The only thing better than watching Kaiba die is watching you-” Zorc’s good mood dropped in an instant. “No… No, it can’t be!”

“Ah… My love?” Atem watched as Kaiba arose from the ground in half-shifted form, bathing the surroundings in a warm light. “He’s… Kaiba has revived!”

“HAHA!” Zorc cackled. “I can just as easily send him back from whence he came!”

“…” Kaiba, enveloped in a magical barrier, easily repelled the attack Zorc launched at him – as well as the many more after that.

“Impossible! How can none of my attacks harm you?”

“Because I have the support of my friends, as well as some… help from beyond.”

“Father… Mahad…” Atem shed a happy tear.

“I’ll not let history repeat itself…” Without fully transforming, the sapphires across Kaiba’s body glowed to generate a Shining Neutron Blast. “Not on this day.”

“Gaaah!”

Zorc relentlessly sent out a flurry of attacks at Kaiba, but all were in vain as the Shining Neutron Blast consumed him. “These wounds… No! I refuse to accept death! I refu-”

Rex waited a while to speak, almost as if to make sure Zorc was really dead. “Huhuhu. We won’t be seeing him again.”

“Yeah. Hehehe. That fartknocker’s history. Hehehe.” Weevil laughed – that is, until Kaiba suddenly fell on top of him. “Y-Yeowch!”

“Now you know how it feels…” Joey remembered well the first time he learned of Kaiba’s shapeshifting powers. “Bet he’s even heavier than back then.”

“I can still hear you, Wheeler,” Kaiba responded while still laying supine.

“So. Is he really gone?”

“Yes, Wheeler, Zorc is really gone.”

“Then…” Yugi turned to Atem with a sorrowful look. At this point, the pharaoh picked Kaiba up princess-style and led everyone back to the palace. “Now that ancient Egypt is at peace, we have to go now, don’t we? Back to our own time?”

“Aww, man, I wish I could have at least stayed for some more free food!” Mokuba whined.

“And maybe for a few cute girls, too…” Tristan thought aloud.

“Actually… It’s not time for you to go just yet.” Atem’s words quieted everyone down. “There’s one thing left for me to do before you all leave.”

“Ooh, do we get some souvenirs for the ride home?” Rex asked excitedly. “Like food?”

“And rare cards? Er, I mean, artifacts?” Weevil hoped.

“I’ll see to that before you go, but I had something else in mind.” Atem turned back to Yugi. “Yugi, I am not entirely confident that you can fare out in the world without me. Not after we’ve been together for so long.”

“What? But you saw me in that fight against Zorc’s army! And I’ve dueled plenty of times without your help! Doesn’t that duel with Bandit Keith ring a bell?””

“If you are that confident, then…” After laying a barely awake Kaiba on the throne, Atem picked up his DiaDhank from the table nearby. “Duel me, right now, in this sacred throne room.”

“What? Pharaoh, that’s crazy!” Joey would have none of it. “Don’t you think we should rest first? We kinda just fought a climactic battle against-”

“Very well.” Yugi took his deck out of his pocket and attached it to his Duel Disk. “I accept this challenge, pharaoh!”

“Yug, are you sure about this? You’re not tired? Not even a little?”

Yugi tried to hide the fact that, indeed, he was so tired he wanted to take a nap right there on the ground. He could tell from the look in his eyes that Atem felt the same; he had to be, after singing the Pharaoh’s Incantation for so long. “No, I’m fine. Just because I’m barely 150 centimeters and 40 kilograms doesn’t mean I can’t handle a bit of rough work.”

“It will not be a Shadow Game,” Atem spoke. “Nevertheless, you should know that I expect nothing less than your best strategies.”

“Oh man…” Rex watched curiously as the duelists readied their dueling devices. He perked up his rabbit ears to hear the words they exchanged. “Watching two Yugis dueling is a bit… uh, weird.”

“We’ve seen a guy with a dragon head for a dick, and you’re calling this weird?” Weevil poked Rex with a spider leg.

“Now, Yugi, hit me with what you’ve got!”

Yugi assumed from Atem’s valiant declaration that he would have the first move. He had a mediocre first hand, but believed in the heart of the cards anyway. “I summon Celtic Guardian in attack mode! I’ll set a card face down. That’s about it.”

“Oh, Yugi.” Kaiba groaned from the throne. “I know that Celtic Guardian is one of your symbolic monsters, but that’s all it is: symbolic.”

Unlike his boyfriend, Atem knew better than to underestimate Yugi. “I activate the magic card Double Summon so that I may Normal Summon twice this turn. I call forth Light Effigy and Flamvell Magician!”

“It doesn’t make sense… Why would Atem have a Light Effigy in his deck when most of his monsters are of Dark attribute?” Joey commented.

Atem continued, “If the levels of my monsters are the exact level of the monster I want to summon, and the materials are correct, then I can Special Summon a Synchro Monster from my deck.” He looked to Rex. “I’m sure that you of all people know what a Synchro Summon is.”

“Huhu. Thank you, thank you.” Rex did a mocking bow, then sat back down.

“Using Light Effigy and the Tuner Monster Flamvell Magician, I Synchro Summon this monster! Avenging Knight Parshath!”

“It’s beautiful!” Téa said of the armoured fairy that appeared in the arena.

“Avenging Knight Parshath! Attack the Celtic Guardian!”

“Not if I can help it! Here’s a card that has helped me – us – time and time again!” Yugi revealed his face-down card. “Swords of Revealing Light! I don’t think I need to remind anyone here what it does.”

“…Go ahead with your turn, then.”

This will help! Yugi drew Silent Sword Slash. But even if I equip Silent Swordsman with this card, he’s still no match for Avenging Knight Parshath. I just hope I can last as long as the Swords of Revealing Light does. “I tribute Celtic Guardian so that I can Special Summon Silent Swordsman in attack mode!”

I remember that card, Atem thought as he drew Thousand Knives. His special ability allows his attack to go up by 500 points during each of Yugi’s standby phases. If I can summon Dark Magician before his attack gets too high… then I can use my Thousand Knives spell. “I summon Berry Magician Girl in attack mode! Turn end.”

It’s tempting to use this card, Yugi spoke of his newly drawn Change of Heart. But if I gain control of Avenging Knight Parshath and attack Berry Magician Girl, Atem will just summon a Dark Magician. “I’ll just end my turn, then, while my Silent Swordsman’s attack goes up to 1500.”

“Oh my gods, the tension is killing me!” Rex whined. “Come on, where’s the action?”

“Watch it,” Joey warned. “Many of these guys’ duels are like this, Rex. Just be patient, and the action will come.”

“Hmm…”

Yugi had to squint, but he could see a hint of a smile in Atem’s face as he set a card face-down. It was now his turn again. Cost Down isn’t going to help me right now… But at least my Silent Swordsman can defeat the Avenging Knight Parshath now! “I equip my Silent Swordsman with Silent Sword Slash, giving him an attack boost of 1500 points! Then… There goes your Avenging Knight Parshath!”

“And there goes your Swords of Revealing Light! Oh!”

“Pharaoh? You okay?” Yugi asked with concern, as Atem stared at that card with wide-eyes for a good two minutes.

“…I reveal my trap Magician Navigation! I can Summon Dark Magician from my deck, as well as this card… Say hello to Palladium Oracle Mahad!”

“Goodness…” spoke Yugi. Golden armour covered most of Mahad’s body, and only a hint of the High Priest’s original beige robes could be seen.

“My friend… You live again.” Atem knew it wasn’t necessarily true, but he didn’t care. “Now that I have a Dark Magician in play, I can use my Thousand Knives spell to destroy your only monster on the field – the Silent Swordsman!”

“Yeah, go ahead and do that. Because you’ve just activated my Silent Swordsman’s special ability! If he’s destroyed, I Special Summon any Silent Swordsman card from my deck, and I choose Silent Swordsman Lv. 7!”

“Very clever, Yugi, very clever. You could have easily used Silent Swordsman’s ability to negate the spell altogether, but you were wise enough not to.”

Yugi smiled at this praise, then summoned Silent Paladin in defense mode, and could thus add Silent Swordsman Lv. 3 to his hand from his deck. “Pharaoh, forgive me for this, but… My Silent Swordsman Lv. 7 will attack your Palladium Oracle Mahad!”

“…You are forgiven. Especially since I can Special Summon another Dark Magician from my deck, thanks to Palladium Oracle Mahad’s special ability.” Atem spoke no more as he simply set a trap face-down, then turned it over to Yugi.

This duel is going in my favour, but knowing Atem… I’m sure that he’s got a card in his deck far more powerful than Dark Magician. “I will now attack the Dark Magician you just Special Summoned!”

“That was not smart, Yugi. Reveal Trap Card, Shield Spear! My Dark Magician’s attack power is raised by 400 points for a turn! You can’t take back your attack once you’ve declared it, which means that your Silent Swordsman Lv. 7 is destroyed.”

“I’m… I’m fine…” So Yugi said, but in his mind, he knew he wasn’t. Silent Paladin was his only monster defending his Life Points now, and she didn’t have very good defense.

Atem sighed upon seeing the card he drew. “Well, you won’t be… after I summon Skilled Blue Magician and activate the spell Magicalized Fusion! With this card, I can even use monsters from my Graveyard – namely my Flamvell Magician and Palladium Oracle Mahad – for a Fusion Summon! Dark Magician may be one of my strongest monsters, but I have one that is mightier still…”

“Oh my gods… What is that?” Tristan spoke of this new spellcaster monster, with four arms that generated four magical circles.

“This is the greatest of all spellcasters… Quintet Magician!”

Weevil rubbed his eyes. “Am I reading that attack counter correctly? That thing’s got 4500 attack points? It could squish my Perfectly Ultimate Great Moth in an instant!”

“My new monster’s special ability is even more fearsome, Weevil. You see, I used five different magicians for its Fusion Summon – Berry Magician Girl, Dark Magician, Flamvell Magician, Skilled Blue Magician, and Palladium Oracle Mahad. With his four arms, Quintet Magician destroys all of your cards, Yugi!”

“All… of them?” Yugi finally gave in to his weak knees.

“Since all of your cards are destroyed, I can attack you directly and end this at last!”

“…No. You will do no such thing.” Yugi fumbled with the card he set on his Duel Disk. “Not yet… Thanks to our good friend Kuriboh.”

“Hehehe…” Kaiba couldn’t help but chuckle at this surprisingly weak but useful monster. “After all this time, you still keep that puffball in your deck. You’ve got more cojones than I thought, Yugi. But can you get yourself out of this mess? You got more Kuribohs in that deck of yours?”

“No.” And I don’t have a single card in my deck that can overpower that Quintet Magician…

#yugioh #ygo #prideshipping #fanfiction

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garyh2628 · 5 years

Text

QUASI- JUDICIAL

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

Investments/Contracts/Superior/Technically Competent and Right-Hand Men

NGO - (Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

To my Pharma Hubs, Technology Hubs, Social Creative/Personal Hub, My Private Hubs, My Financial Hubs and my Health and Wellbeing/Scientific Hubs, Legal and Innovation Hubs, Hinterland Hub and to my Eastern Caribbean Hub, Linguistic/Psychology Hub, to my beloved additions and to my Institutions and Partners and Team, Pool of Potential Personal Assistants and Private Secretaries and Business Managers and also to my Fitness Hub which is an extension of my Health and Wellbeing Hub and not to forget my beloved Brooklyn Hub and my Wine/Adviser Hub, Influential Legal Cashier, Strategic Partnerships, STATEMENT OF INTENT, MY WEALTH FUND AND PERSONAL ATTORNEY and PROPERTY EXPERT GUY and THE ATTACHMENT AND MY PERSONAL BOARDROOM AND MY CHIEF STRATEGY AND INNOVATION OFFICER. The core founding support regions of this Network and Global Structure.

All Options remain on the Table applying the finishing touches to our Genius and my Genius and the Network and this Global Structure Genius. DRAFT

The Network, Strategic Partnerships and Global Structure is hot–but watch the margins

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL INTELLECTS IN THE WORLD

THIS GLOBAL STRUCTURE AND INTELLECT SHARE MANY OF THE SAME QUALITIES, INDESTRUCTIBLE, PURE AND BEAUTIFUL TO BEHOLD

I and this Network already have foot print in those regional Strategic Partners Countries. Funding is also secured for the Offices that we intent to roll out in those Countries and preparation as already began for the Strategic Partner Retreat crossing over into my private retreat. I'm looking forward to the delivery of those details and the requisite Official discussion and delivery of the Official Portfolios. Both Institutions are now owned by me and my Wealth Fund because they were unable to service the loans. The Network and my favourite CEO and Investors Council and Strategic Partners and Statement of Intent and Private hubs et al and Team et al and sources close to the local regions have said the delivery of the particulars and the delivery of the offices and delivery of the Industry Programs and Initiatives and delivery of the family agenda is still on the agenda and today those previous cost of future maintenance is of no concern. Funding secured. We will deliver for the family print media and we will deliver for Intellect. “It is evident that the Network and Economic Community and Industry and Global Structure has tremendous confidence in Gary”, he said, quickly adding that it was “a rejection of the results that has culminated in this civil disobedience and unrest”

The Economic Community and Global Structure and Strategic Partnerships and Industry and those Strategic Regions and Partner is now rallying around in order to get the deliveries to me personally in it's entirety. The so-called Regional Friendship Association along with a number of local union leaders and staff of the my Strategic Partner and potential Staff of the Regional offices demonstrated their support for the plans that I have, the plans of the Network, the plans for the Statement of Intent and support for me as leader. The Network and Economic Community and those strategic Regions are standing with me and the Statement of Intent and family and Industry and our further responsibility to the Environment. The predictions for the region under my leadership and with my Strategic Partners are sky rocketing. The programs in the pipeline will not only stand the Statement of Intent in good stead, it will stand the Global Environment in best stead. It's time for all of humanity to be in control of their destiny. The people in all of the Global Structure remain patriotic to Intellect and the broad mandate that I have both officially and Privately despite the many challenges based upon manufactured environments.

The new Group and Joint Venture and those activities in the Eastern Caribbean region and my original Sector Company and Property will continue to show their support for the complete delivery of the Global Portfolios as an urgency of now with all the corroborating details and the tool kits for forensic audit and for the delivery of the Offices of Budgets and Management and the development of the private family homes and attachment offices. With the purchaser of the Group and those new purchase are bulking up our education business and increasing our capacity to deliver for the environment and Intellect. It will also augur well as we develop our Living your best life Philosophy and as we develop and work on the various policies for the Network, the Economic Community, the Industry and the Private Classified Strategy. “With the direction and chairmanship of Gary, this Network , Private Equity Outfit and Team and my Private Suite of Company and the Statement of Intent deliver it biggest acquisition and win it's it's formation.”. I'm looking forward to ratifying those important details. He described described the purchase as a “major step” toward making education and Health the third “pillar” of the company’s portfolio alongside media and services.

In a short few weeks the harvest and the busiest rewarding year for this Network and This Global Structure and Strategic Partnerships will begin and the most rewarding year for my Personal Hubs and Statement of Intent and that of my Pool of Intellectual Advisers and Advisers Council and the beginning of a lot of work for my Personal CEO and my Personal Global CEO and my Wealth Fund. It’s time to live your best life. We will deliver state of the art equipment to all that live in my Personal Creative/Social Hub and those that are exclusive and has a premium on them. I will indeed take you up on that offer as soon as the Offices are ready. We will win for heavy duty equipment as you live within the wall of my Global Structure. (laugh). It’s a clean sweep. We will win, we must win. I love you too! The days when people had to travel in search of a better life will soon be over. We will deliver for Intellect, there wouldn’t be a sick continent and a healthy continent, we will deliver on Economics and we will deliver so that the Environment can bear the right fruits, so you in turn can be in control of your destiny. It’s a jobs gift, it’s an education gift, it’s a gift of health to you and the many others. We will win the Election. We will deliver strong, relevant and environmentally friendly Economic and Monetary Policies. We will work on the Global Currency, we will deliver for Intellectual Capacity. You must win. This family would have failed Intellect and Failed the Environment if all the continent cannot say, I have the requisite Technical and Intellectual Skills to live my best life if I so choose. We will win because we are money people. Institutions will work, because Intellect cannot be undermined. We will always win on Profit, we will always win on well paid jobs. We will win for the hinterlands and we will do a clean sweep for Investing and a Return on Investment. This Sector, This Industry will always win. It’s personal.

Truth to Tell, Tell it First, Tell it like it is. I love you, I love you, I love you. Having considered all of the peculiarities, we are left to make the decision whether or not the Intellect has the attraction and charm required for the Classical Intellectual Team. The allure is best described as brilliance in motion, the flashes of the white light from the facets within the Intellect when in working mode. We love winning, we will win on health, we will win on the jobs front, we will win on the economy and we will win overall. We have battered mediocrity, we have flushed out mediocrity and winning is in our DNA. Then Samson reached toward the two central pillars on which the temple stood. Bracing himself against them, his right hand on the one and his left hand on the other.

QUASI JUDICIAL

Chairman and Managing Operational CEO (Global Legal Authority Quasi-Judicial)

(Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

Head of Human Resources Finance and People and Global Head of Corporate Responsibility

Investments/Contracts/Superior/Technically Competent and Right-Hand Men

NGO - (Finance, planning, industry and foreign trade portfolios) Private

QUASI JUDICIAL

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titoslondon-blog · 6 years

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New Post has been published on Titos London

#Blog New Post has been published on http://www.titoslondon.co.uk/abu-jani-sandeep-khosla-on-bridal-wear-films-and-the-joy-of-designing/

Abu Jani Sandeep Khosla on bridal wear, films and the joy of designing

1/17 Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaASAL by Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaASAL by Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaAbu Jani Sandeep KhoslaAbu Jani Sandeep KhoslaBeyoncé in Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaDame Judi Dench in Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaJaya Bachchan and Shweta Bachchan Nanda in Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaAmitabh Bachchan in Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaAbu Jani Sandeep KhoslaAbu Jani Sandeep KhoslaThe designers with Shweta Bachchan NandaShweta Bachchan Nanda with Abhishek Bachchan in Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaSonam Kapoor in Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaSonam Kapoor in Abu Jani Sandeep KhoslaA poster from Veere Di WeddingA poster from Veere Di Wedding

“We design for ourselves, full stop,” Abu Jani and Sandeep Khosla categorically state when asked how they manage to remain relevant even 30 years after they launched their couture label. “Great design isn’t made for an audience. Instead, it always finds an appreciative one.” This credo has served the duo well, indeed—they started out in 1986, when designer wear was still an unfamiliar concept, and have eventually played a pioneering role in shaping the Indian fashion industry.

While their sensibility has always been rooted in classical elegance, they haven’t shied away from embracing the future through the reinvention of technique, craft and silhouette. But at the end of the day, it ultimately boils down to a reverence for beauty, finesse and detail for them. “This informs not just our sensibilities, but also our lifestyle and every single ensemble we put our name to.”

Their journey is peppered with several milestones—being the first to use chiffon, georgette and organza; winning the National Award for Costume Design for Devdas; and dressing the likes of Dame Judi Dench and Beyoncé are only a few of the many. Their army of loyalists boasts the likes of Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bachchan, Dimple Kapadia, Amrita Singh, Shweta Bachchan Nanda and Sonam Kapoor. But it’s not the mere matter of dressing celebrities in their case; the designers have become ones in their own right.

As they look back on “30 years of a life fully lived, and a journey packed with adventure, ambition and passion,” the stalwarts speak to Vogue about how they do it (on their own terms).

When you started out in 1986, designer wear was still a niche concept. What has the evolution of the brand been like? We didn’t define our work or classify it as designer wear. We knew we were passionate about expressing our creativity, and that that creativity was informed by a zealous commitment to the finest. Sans shortcuts or compromise. For any artist, that expression is a continuum. The drive and passion to excel, to set impossible standards, meet them, and then raise the bar higher is key. The evolution of the brand has been a natural result of our own creative progression. Whether it is our work in interior design or adding diffusion and western wear through new labels like ASAL by Abu Sandeep and Khosla Jani, this growth has been fuelled by our relentless ambition to work in new mediums and fulfil new dreams.

ASAL by Abu Sandeep is diffusion wear that carries all the hallmarks and sensibilities of our couture but diffused to reach a wider and different demographic. Khosla Jani is our international, western wear label, steeped in romance and carries forth the mystique of Hollywood in its golden era. The idea is to challenge ourselves as artists as well as to expand our own vision and expression.

Describe the woman you were designing for back then. How has she changed today? We have never designed for anyone in particular, always for ourselves, and what our own joy and satisfaction dictated. Today’s couture client is definitely more exposed, adventurous and open to experimentation. However we also miss the more ‘natural’ self-created individualistic sense of style, which wasn’t so trend-conscious or prone to clone-like conformity. Rather, it was set by one’s own sense of style. We are fortunate that those who appreciate our creativity tend to be men and women who are confident, discerning and prefer to please themselves, rather than fit in or conform to outside rules. We like to think of couture as being something people deserve rather than need.

Your label is known for reviving traditional techniques like chikankari, mirror work and zardozi, among others. How do you reinvent these to appeal to the modern Indian woman? We reinvent techniques for our own satisfaction and to follow our own calling. For instance, it was our first trip to Lucknow that ignited our imagination and mission to revive and reinvent chikankari. The modern Indian woman, much like Indian women through the ages, are delighted by beauty, by dressing up, and by celebrating their femininity through their clothes and accessories. It isn’t a case of creating something that appeals to them. It’s about creating something appealing that they will naturally be drawn to.

How have you managed to remain an unwavering favourite with brides over the years? By constantly upping our own game. By digging deep into our own creative reserves and letting the sky be the limit for our own ambition and imagination. By never resting on our laurels or changing our core sensibilities or aesthetics. By setting trends rather than following them. Our madness has its method. Create that which satisfies you, and you will create a market for your work. Cater to a market and its demands, and you will soon run out of both steam and success. It is never enough to draw from the well of one’s legacy. One must always push further and leave one’s own stamp on the classical.

How has the Indian bride evolved in her tastes and preferences, and what is she looking for according to you? Every bride dreams of the perfect wedding, and her ensembles are key to that fantasy. Brides have become more adventurous when it comes to sartorial choices. Weddings have become more cosmopolitan with theme nights that call for western wear. We don’t cater to the bridal market. We create bridal couture that reflects our own inspiration and sensibilities. So we created chikan, khadi, and white and beige ensembles. It’s all about twisting and breaking traditional rules for us. We have always found that brides who possess a sense of adventure have lapped these up.

What is the key to reinventing Indian bridal wear without compromising on its traditional essence? It is a je ne sais quoi that cannot be defined. You have to strike an unquantifiable balance between the reinvention of and reverence for tradition. It is, of course, an art to know what to leave behind and what to retain. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. And if you are going to fix it then make sure it’s better than what was broke. We are designers not writers. The art is the statement.

Was the launch of your cocktail line a conscious decision to present outfits that cater to pre-wedding functions as well? We don’t make conscious decisions. That is the methodology of businessmen. The need to create drives us. It is emotional, not cerebral. We didn’t do western wear as part of the herd or to capitalise on a new market demand. When we became enthused and driven to design dresses and gowns, we began designing them and our label, Khosla Jani was born. If it isn’t a compulsion, it’s just a product, and remains a mediocre one at that. It has to be a mad restlessness and unbridled passion if you’re going to excel at your craft.

You are also working on the costumes for Veere Di Wedding. How is working on movies different from designing for the runway for you? For us, film is as real as the runway. These aren’t just costumes, they are the character’s wardrobe. So the same attention to detail, quality, and personal style is given to a film ensemble as we would give to a made-to-measure outfit for a client. The character, her personality, spirit, mood, situation and physical beauty all come into play. So it isn’t like designing for the runway, it is designing a custom ensemble for X. There is no compromise on quality whatsoever just because it’s for the screen. This is why we work so rarely in cinema, as we can’t cut corners. It is against our sensibilities as artists.

Rhea Kapoor, who is a trendsetter herself having introduced the concept of celebrity styling and dressing in India, is producing Veere Di Wedding. We have worked closely with her for years to develop looks for Sonam (Kapoor), who is our muse. When Rhea approached us, it was an instant yes, an absolute no-brainer to design for her movie. We love all the girls in the movie (Sonam Kapoor, Kareena Kapoor Khan, Swara Bhaskar and Shikha Talsania), and with Rhea and Ekta Kapoor as producers, it was a delight to collaborate on this project. Rhea sat with our team and us, and we developed looks for each character. It’s been a great experience.

The post Abu Jani Sandeep Khosla on bridal wear, films and the joy of designing appeared first on VOGUE India.

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mjbanaag-blog · 7 years

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What Does It Mean Being a Classy Woman?

Women keep hearing over and over from guys in different situations that men want to date and have relationships with a classy woman. Just take a look at most of the men’s dating profiles, and you will see that practically all of them want to meet and date a woman who has “class.” Indeed, being called “classy” is an ultimate compliment to a woman. But, what does it really mean being classy? After searching the internet for an answer to this question, I wasn’t very satisfied, because every attempt to define a “classy woman” had one fundamental flaw. A woman can have all the qualities that make her classy according to those sources and still not have much class. The formal definition of being “classy” also doesn’t add much to understanding what class means in the context of dating and attraction.

For instance, being a sharp dresser, clean, and not using profanities are certainly qualities that flatter to a woman, but… they hardly make her come across as having “class,” if she talks too much and constantly draws attention to her persona. Being professional, educated, and having a great sense of humor are very attractive qualities in a woman. However, if she has temper issues this pretty much cancels out her potential to come across as classy.

I truly believe that just like in the case of distinction between flirting and regular conversation, being classy is not in the “what” but in the “how.” It’s how you act, how you carry yourself, how you express yourself and how you live your life that determines class. A very small minority of women who don’t have a lot of class are able to develop that quality and become truly classy. Doing this requires reflecting on your own self, recognizing those qualities that you are missing and having which would make you more classy (something that few, if any women, would want to do) and working in all the necessary directions to build that attractive flair of class and sophistication.

However, if you believe that you belong to that minority of women who are open to constructive self-criticism and you are willing to take a few practical steps toward becoming more classy, here are some of the fundamental elements of a woman’s personality that makes her more “classy:”

1. Being a Classy Woman Means Having Broad Formal and “Real Life” Education, Wit, and Sense of Humor

There is no way around it – perceived class has little weight and value if the person behind it has no interesting thoughts, opinions, views or observations. Being a classy woman requires an ability to share and challenge ideas and be an engaging company. This doesn’t mean that you have to argue or try to prove that you are right all the time. You do have to be able to possess a degree of sense of humor and wit, and enjoy playful banter, as it’s an integral part of flirting and intellectual foreplay.

2. Being A Classy Woman Means Having Real Style

A sense of fashion is an integral part of class. While having an eclectic style may be considered “cool,” if you want to come across as a classy dresser, you can hardly go wrong with a business/casual look or a simple, clean cut, fitting (but not too fitting) attire. Simple, straight colors (white, black, blue) flatter most women. Following temporary, mediocre fashion trends and fads certainly does not add to being classy. This doesn’t mean that you have to look boring or that you always have to blend in, but it does mean that you should not look like someone who is dying for attention for those who are around her at any cost.

So many women (and men of course) out there are trying so hart to stand our and be different in all the wrong ways. Green/orange/blue hair, tattoos and piercings all over or otherwise looking like a girl with a dragon tattoo might help you express your individuality but they are surely not a sign of being classy or sophisticated.

3. Being A Classy Woman Means Having Feminine Demeanor and Manners

A classy woman is in touch with her femininity. Her mission in life is not in challenging men and competing with men wherever possible; she enjoys pleasing men without feeling ashamed of it, and is proud to be a woman. She recognizes the differences between men and women in psychology, physiology and sexuality and accepts those differences as laws of nature. As such, she does not hate men, and is not overly skeptical or pessimistic about her ability to fall in love and enjoy great romance.

4. Being a Classy Woman Means Being Elegant

This concept, along with femininity and style is hard to define, and the formal definition of “elegance” is again of not much use. Many guys would know elegance when they see it, but this kind of statement is of little use to a woman who wants to become more elegant. Elegance is the manner in which a woman carries her self in just about every situation. Elegance is in her voice, movement and body language, manner of speech, the way she stands sits, and responds to other people around her. Some of these traits, such as voice, and a walk – are part of our nature, while other elements of elegance, such as our interpersonal skills are strongly linked to our upbringing. Other qualities are acquired through habit or from friends and not all of them can be altered. Observing women who are known to be classy (whether on television or in real life), paying attention and trying to identify the specific elements of the behavior and actions that make them stand out and come across as more classy will take any woman who is willing to become more classy a long way toward that goal. It might be something as small and seemingly insignificant as a laughter of an actress that you would notice in a woman that strikes you as so much softer, feminine and attractive than the one you overheard the other night at a bar from a woman, whose entire body was covered with tattoos and piercings. However, when it comes to elegance and class, there is no such thing as small and insignificant. After all. being classy is a sum of many, many elements of one’s personality, behavior, and actions, some of which are more obvious than others, but all of which are essential for the “total package” to be considered elegant and classy.

5. A Classy Woman Knows the Importance of Subtlety

This is one of the most important qualities and distinguishing characteristic of having class. To be classy, you must be subtle in many areas of your life. Subtlety implies a degree of moderation, lack of flamboyance, lack of impulse to attract attention, and generally not trying too hard. A subtle woman has style but she doesn’t look like a designer model. She dresses sexy but does not look trashy like a typical stripper when going out; she puts such a small amount of perfume and make-up that one can barely tell that she has any; she talks just enough but certainly not too much and tends to be on a quite side; her laughter is pleasant to hear but not too loud; she hardly ever swears; and her voice is soft and sensual. A classy woman will usually come across as “low-key” in a social situation. This is not to say that she is shy or lacking confidence. On the contrary – her confidence puts her at ease and relieves her of any desire or need to validate herself to her company.

6. A Classy Woman Knows that Success is More Attractive when Coupled with Modesty and Humbleness

A woman who has true class and strong sense of self does not need to run around and tell everyone how smart and successful she is, whether it’s in “real” life, or on Facebook, LinkedIn, OkCupid or anywhere else. This urge to validate yourself through bragging is a clear sign of insecurity and of not being classy in both men and women. A classy woman lets her actions, rather than words, prove to others who she is, and she is not in a hurry to announce to everyone around how great she is. Whether she is at a job interview or on a date, a classy girl is not going to act like she is God’s gift to this world or to the person who she is talking to.

7. A Classy Woman Understands When Showing Pride Is Appropriate

A classy woman knows how to get angry the “right” way. She doesn’t get “ballistic,” abusive or violent with guys unless the circumstances really justify this kind of extreme response, which is very rare, as she knows that there is always a better option – to simply walk away from a bad situation.

http://www.practicalhappiness.com/classy-woman/

#class #classywoman #elegance #sophistication

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