#same could be said about my hyper successful great uncle
Text
HomeBound, a TTP Fic
PSA- I don’t know how to do the “read more” thing and this is a long fic so, apolgies in advance for this long post. Also I wrote this at midnight in my notes app with absolutely no editing so, read at your own risk.
Summary: It’s been weeks since the Crown Prince of the Heartlands, Prince Wensclaus ran away from home. During his absence, he’s taken a spunky aspiring knight under his wing to distract from the pain of his disapproving parents. Although, anyone can tell it’s more than that. He genuinely cares for the kid. As for his own family, however, they are not content to lose him. Featuring aro/ace future Wensclaus, a non-binary TTP OC I made named Law, and an older, wiser, but generally unchanged Joan.
————-
Although it’s been years since Wensclaus has been to the Hinterlands, there’s something familiar about the way the wind whips at his hair, heavy with the promise of rain. There’s something familiar about the dull, incessant roar of leaves in the breeze, and there’s something familiar about the dry crunch of dirt beneath his heels as he bites his lower lip, drawing blood as he parries and ripostes a rather impressive attack to his left side.
This place definitely had never held the warm glow of home to him, but the landscape tugged at Polaroid memories all the same.
His assailant, far more used to the northernmost elements than Wensclaus, circled at a wide radius, letting limp their wrist in exertion and dragging the point of their sword in the dirt. Their face was leveled in an annoyed glare (it was rather early). Beneath their tunic, their chest rose and fell in quick succession.
“Careful,” Wensclaus muttered, “We just had the blacksmith sharpen that.”
His adversary lept back into action, once again assuming a rather bold offensive strategy, yet left their form with much to be desired. At any moment, really, he could send them toppling on their back, but this skirmish wasn’t staged for the purpose of an expedient victory.
Although they only employed a handful of successful attacks on Wensclaus, he couldn’t help but to find himself surpised by their skill level. That, or the fact that without the rigid background of swordsman training, they were afforded the ability to combine techniques in a fluid manner without so much as a second thought. It was a skill that he himself envied.
The sparring match between the pair often drawn a crowd of onlookers, as entertainment in the Hinterlands dwindled after Barrabas returned to the Midlands. However, the mist on the plains had yet to evaporate and the cock had yet to crow, so they were alone in their back and forth dance.
Or so they thought.
Through the mist, an imposing horseback figure drew closer and closer, regarding the fight with vague curiosity. She watched the epic climax, and subsequent end, as the younger swordsperson unexpectedly threw Wensclaus off balance and tumbling to the ground.
“Do you yield,” Law said with a false air of suave.
“Ah, I’ve been bested,” Wensclaus replied in a similar play of false airs, “I yield, I yield! Spare me, lest I suffer a worser fate.”
Law laughed and held out a hand to Wensclaus and pulled him up.
“Good work with your offense,” Wensclaus praised, “Your footwork has improved greatly.”
“While yours has only grown sloppier since you’ve been gone.” The mystery spectator cut in. Her horse drew closer in the mist, and with horrifying realization Wensclaus realized it was his Aunt Joan. She dismounted and strode towards the pair.
Wensclaus gripped his sword, unsure if he wanted a fight or a reunion.
The head knight in question stood with an innate intimidating posture that made Wensclaus feel like a child again. However, that clearly wasn’t the case; Wensclaus had grown into his gangly limbs and assumed a self-assured posturer, and the constant eroding factor of time had etched wrinkles into Joan’s face and dusted Grey into her hair.
“Look, It’s the no-fun police,” Law scowled, crossing their arms, yet hiding slightly behind Wensclaus. He only sighed.
“Your fathers have been worried sick for you, Wensclaus,” Joan said softly, “they miss you terribly.”
Wensclaus kicked a stone, “Thats very inconvenient for them. I hope they feel better.”
“Wen-“
“No.” Wensclaus shouted. He wanted to continue, but he then became hyper-aware of Law, himself over seven years their senior, ducking behind the heavy mass of his cloak and gripping it slightly. He sighed. Not here.
“Can we continue this somewhere else?”
——
After a whispered argument that warmed Wensclaus’s heart but ultimately convinced him of Law’s protective yet stubborn nature, he found himself seated across the table from Joan in the only tavern in town and Law sulking outside as they waited for the adults to finish up. A daunting mug of root beer sat in front of him, which was much more interesting than the steely grey eyes of his pseudo-aunt.
“I can’t believe they sent my babysitter to come pick me up,” Wensclaus began, deciding to skip the small talk and poke the sleeping elephant with a stick. Or whatever the idiom is about.
“Wensclaus,” Joan began.
“Like, ok, they have a kingdom to run, but I’ve seen my Dad pull holidays out of his ass so we could have a vacation. They could have come themselves-“
“Your fathers did not send for me, Wensclaus.” Joan cut Wensclaus off with an impressive gulp of definetly-not-root beer. “I doubt they even know where you are. Not that they haven’t been searching, of course. As far as they’re concerned, I’m farther up North to check up on a dwarf problem your Uncle Darling is having.”
Wensclaus’s face drew up as he straightened in his booth. “Wait, then how did you-“
“It just made sense,” Joan replied, “You experienced perceived rejection and to cope you returned back to the place where you first received rejection. The little knight you found, however, was a nice touch. They’re coming along quite nicely. I’m proud.”
The explicit praise did not fly over Wensclaus’s head, “I’m that predictable, huh?”
“You’re not predictable, just human,” Joan shrugged, then at Wensclaus’s face, continued, “That’s just what Cecily has been telling me. And for the record, I’m not telling them you’re here until you’re ready to be found.”
Wensclaus leaned back in his chair and stared down at the frothy mess of his root-beer.
“They all miss-“
“It’s just hard.” Wensclaus said, without emotion. Joan remained quiet this time.
“It’s hard when, you know, everyone is talking about you, like, oh look at Prince Wensclaus! He’s like, I don’t know, in his mid-twenties, and tied down to no one,” Wensclaus laughed dryly, “His parents, they were married by age eighteen. Basically invented love and all that shit. How massive of a failure do you have to be to not love anyone when those are your role models?”
“You must be pretty fucked up.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “God it’s just... it’s so hard. I’m nothing like them and... it’s so hard.”
“You love me, don’t you?” Joan said, “And what about your Aunt Cecily?”
Wensclaus regraded Joan strangely, “Well, yeah, but not like-“
“What about your Uncles up North, Darling and Percy?” Joan continued, “Or your little knight?”
“Joan, it’s not like-“
“Your fathers?” Joan pressed, “Do you not love them?”
“I do, Joan, but that doesn’t count!” Wensclaus snapped. A few patrons across the bar glanced over. Face flushing, Wensclaus lowered his voice and relaxed his clenched fists, “That’s not the point, it-“
“You’re right,” Joan said, “The point is that you feel angry because of the high expectations inadvertently placed on your shoulders by your fathers because you’re different. But to say you love no one is so... far from the truth. Love takes many forms, and they can all be fulfilling.”
Wensclaus gave no response, instead favoring the mug in his hands than making eye contact with Joan. He was holding himself back from lashing out again.
“When I came out to my father, as both gay and a knight,” Joan began, “He tried to fix me.”
This caught Wensclaus’s attention.
“He set me up with all kinds of guys,” Joan laughed, “even a pig farmer. Enrolled me in all these classes for lady-etiquette and had me fitted for a ball gown corset. I was so angry, I ran away.”
“But you and your dad get along great,” Wensclaus said, “He’s over at your and Aunt Cecily’s cottage almost every weekend.”
“Now we get along great,” Joan corrected, “But this was all when you were very young.”
This satisfied Wensclaus’s confusion.
“I guess in the end he was afraid for me and afraid for himself,” Joan said, “Everything I was doing he had never seen done before, and that was scary. When people are scared, they do dumb things, like threaten to estrange their children.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Wensclaus asked slowly.
“When Cecily found out about what my father had threatened, she marched her little sequined self down to the pub he was hiding out in and gave him a piece of her mind,” Joan continued, “After you left, that’s exactly what I did to your fathers.”
“What?” Wensclaus finally cracked a smile, “You yelled at my dads?”
Joan shrugged, “It’s not the first time. I love them, Wensclaus, I really do, but they can be incredibly thick sometimes.”
That sobered him up, “Yeah.”
“They reacted the way they did not because they didn’t love you anymore, Wens,” Joan reaches across the table and grabbed his hand, “They reacted that way because what you were describing was something they had never seen done before, and they were scared for what that meant for you.”
“That still doesn’t make it right,” he replied.
“You’re right. It was wrong, which is exactly why Rupert has written and rewritten his formal apology to you several dozen times, so you know that in fourteen different languages that he loves you no matter what,” Joan replied, “And Amir is currently drafting legislation to nationally recognize aromanticism as a romantic identity and provide funding to revise public service announcements to include it. It was wrong of them to react the way they did, and they only thing they want in the world is to take it back.”
“Wow, I-“ Wensclaus suddenly found himself speaking through tears, “I don’t-“
“I’m not going to force you to come home before you’re ready,” Joan said steadily, “But I want you to know that when you are, there’s a place for you.”
It was embarrassing, the way that Wensclaus began sobbing in the tavern like that. The eyes of half a dozen hitherlandians landed on his shaking frame as the head knight of the heartlands held him to her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, just like she used to when he had nightmares about the Despair. But this was so much worse, because this was not about an enemy he could defeat; rather, it was the floodgates of relief mixing with the festering hurt that had been building in him ever since he stepped foot out of the palace gates. Dimly, he was aware of the soft reassurances his aunt whispered into his ear, but in his determination to speak through his tears it all was mush.
“I want to go home,” he said hoarsely, and he felt the same relief within Joan.
—-
As the door to the tavern opened, Law jumped up from the ground and ran up to Wensclaus. However, after they took in his tear-stained face and Joan’s arm on his shoulder, they stumbled back, as if flinching in pain and disbelief.
“So you’re going back?” Law seethed, “Just like that?”
Wensclaus made brief eye contact with Joan, who released her arm from his shoulder and walked off with a nod. He returned his attention to Law and wiped his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’m going back. I can’t hide here forever.”
“But they said-“
“And they realized they were wrong,” Wensclaus finished, “I want to give them another chance before I cut them off entirely. If Joan can do it... then I guess I can too.”
His rationalization only caused his mentee to spiral further, “A-And what are you going to do, huh? Just.... leave me here?”
Wensclaus’s face drew up as an emotional knife stabbed cleanly through his heart. This scene felt all too familiar, except never from this perspective.
“No, no, of course not. No. Never. You’re going to come with me and Joan,” he said, placing his arms in Law’s shoulders in an attempt to ground them, “I mean, only if that’s what you want.”
“I won’t fit in,” Law said quietly, “It will be... weird.”
Wensclaus laughed, “I didn’t fit in either. It’s not that weird.”
In a conspiratorial tone, he added, “Plus, everyone there is weird. Just wait until you meet my Uncle Darling.”
That caused Law to smile as they held their hands on top of Wensclaus’s on their shoulders.
“Wensclaus,” Joan called out from her horse, “Little Knight.”
The pair glanced up from their conversation as Joan trotted closer.
“You coming?”
Wensclaus straightened up, leaving a hand in Law’s shoulder.
“Yeah. Let’s go home.”
#the two princes#the two princes podcast#prince rupert#prince amir#prince Wensclaus#sir joan#sir Joan ttp#the two princes fic#wens and Joan call everyone aunt and uncle because I’m a baby for the found family trope and the og ttp gang all are a family#rumir
27 notes
·
View notes
Note
Sometimes I really hate being Bi. I know know the Church is true and I'll never leave it, but man is it a struggle. I started to think I was Bi on my Mission, and wow, that was scary. Ever since I got home, little over a year ago, I feel like I'm attracted to women more and more and I hate it. (I know I'm Bi and not Lesbian.) I see a cute gal, and I want cuddles and dates, and so many other things, but I can't act on it. (Especially since I'm at BYUI.) Do you have any tips on not hating yourself
Everyone has some things about themselves they don’t like or about which they’re hyper-critical. Often these are about not living up to our ideals, actions we wish we had or hadn’t done, not living up to some societal ideal, about a failure in our life. This is normal and part of being human.
Queer people in particular must deal with self-hatred that goes beyond just a normal part of being human. We grow up hearing negative messages about people like us and we internalize those messages. And often we have an inner voice that is authoritative and may sound like our parents or religious leaders and thus when it speaks to us, that voice gives those messages extra heft. These things cause us to see ourselves as lesser and to feel shame over our feelings and how we experience life.
An important part of unraveling this self-loathing is to recognize the negative messages, refute them, and replace them.
For example, your world won’t end just because you’re bi. Some people may view you differently if they find out, but a lot of people will continue to respect and love you. Perhaps you’ll lose some people, but you will not lose everything and everybody you care about.
That’s recognizing and refuting the negative messages, now let’s replace them. Being bi is a wonderful part of what makes me the person I am and I’m lucky because it brings many important gifts into my life. I can find beauty and love that others miss.
When you’re at church or school and hear a negative message about queer people, push back against it. You can raise your hand and speak up. If you’re not feeling brave in that moment, it’s okay, and explain to yourself why that comment was wrong and replace it with a positive comment.
Another thing you may have heard is that being gay or bi is a choice or the result of a lack of faith or some other reason. Fact is that it’s biological and a natural part of this world. This is literally how we’re made.
Associate with other LGBTQIA people.
I always feel so much better after I’ve been with other queer people. Being with them helps fight the things I was taught about the queer community, I can see & experience that they are normal people. They are fun, loving, caring, and supportive, exactly the opposite of what I’d been told. You can attend USGA-Rexburg and there’s a new resource center going up in town.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints spends quite a bit of time teaching and celebrating early pioneers. It’s quite a legacy and something to be proud of. The same is true of the queer community, we have amazing pioneers. We are a brave people. You have claim to two incredible legacies. Read about some of our queer Mormon heroes of the last decade.
Shame withers in sunshine
If you’re not yet out to friends and family, that’s okay, you have a blog and can write about your experiences and thoughts online. You can also find & connect with other queer Mormons.
One thing I’ve experienced, which has surprised me is that as I write and post about things of which I was embarrassed, the shame associated with them goes away. By sharing with others, it is no longer a secret that needs to be hidden, but something I’m taking ownership of.
If you’re awesome on paper, then you’re awesome in person
I used to know that I could write things on paper about myself that would sound great, but I didn’t have positive feelings about them. That person on the paper looked good, but somehow I didn’t have those same feelings about myself. I was the first person in my family to get a college degree, I now have an MBA, I served a mission, I am the favorite uncle in my family, I play the piano, I am kind and trusted and so on.
Learn to draw boundaries
Often when we don’t feel great about ourselves, we make up for that by seeking the approval of others, more so than is usual or healthy. We end up agreeing to do things we may not want to do just so that we seem agreeable and worthy of their approval, even from people we don’t care about that much. There is power in being able to say “no.” Schedule time to get your school work done, to participate in activities you enjoy, in having time for friends, for contributing to the community. You can agree to spend time helping others with things they want, but protect your boundaries and don’t overstretch yourself.
Boundaries also are important when it comes to people and messages you associate with. Try to find allies and queer people that you can associate with. Even if you’re not “out,” you can present yourself as an ally and be with people who express positivity about queerness.
You don’t have to accept everything you hear at church, what church leaders have said, or even all the “doctrine.” Church leaders have been tragically wrong in the past, they are not perfect conveyers of the love of our Heavenly Parents. You don’t have to believe the terrible things taught about LGBTQ people. I know this is easier said than done. It helps if you’ve experienced God’s love for you, or if you’ve thought about how illogical it would be for loving Heavenly Parents to send queer children to earth with no way for them to express who they are or to have happiness. We are supposed to experience joy in this life.
Take care of your health
When I met with a psychologist because I was suicidal and also wanted help with my internalized homophobia and low-self esteem, the first things we discussed were if I was getting enough sleep, was I eating a healthy diet, was I getting exercise. Our physical well-being contributes to our mental well-being. Sometimes a good cry is what I need to express the feelings I’m having, followed by a nap, then I feel much better.
Allow for growth and forgiveness
We all learn and change and grow. As others grow in understanding and do better, allow them the grace of forgiveness by recognizing things said by their past selves were said in ignorance and recognize the growth they’ve undergone. This also applies to you and your past self.
A common exercise that helps is to think of what you would say to someone else in a similar position. So often we speak of love and acceptance and not being hard on themselves, and it’s pretty great advice which we could apply to ourselves. Another exercise is to have a picture of our younger self, or even of just some young person around ages 5~12, and know that they are going to grow up queer, what advice would you give them? You deserve the same compassion, kindness and love that you show to others.
Growth and change also happens to our faith. Here’s a post where I shared about faith transitions and I found it very helpful in understanding how I experience my faith is different from my family, it’s because we’re in different stages.
Take pride in trying, not in failure or success
Coming out is freaking hard and takes a lot of courage. Like a lot of things in life, many people attempt to do this and then fail, they back down, the moment feels wrong, they get panicked, or whatever reason. Failure isn’t the worst thing, not trying is. And the more we try, the more successes we’ll eventually have. And once you have some wins under your belt, it gets easier to do those things that were once hard.
When being bi brings happiness, it’s easier to love this about yourself
For so many people, being queer is only associated with negative things in their life, but when you can start associating it with positive things it becomes easier to accept and love this part of yourself. When you have queer friends, when you have experienced the excitement of a crush on a boy and on a girl, when you go on dates, or someone sends a message that your posts about your feelings really helped them, those positive experiences will be associated with being bi.
Add voices and writings that affirm you and your experiences
So often scriptures are used as a weapon against queer people. A lot of people think they know what the Bible says about queer people based on a few verses pulled out of context, but they’ve not put in any real study to the original language, situation or what those verses read like when put back in context. Nor are they aware that there’s also positive scriptures about queer people. I put together a collection of things I learned that I hope will help others.
This year I’ve really been enjoying the Beyond the Block podcast, which has a Black man and a gay man discuss each week’s Come, Follow Me lesson. I also have liked the Faithful Feminists podcast. Both of those podcast highlight principles and concepts from the scriptures which are important for marginalized people.
Find blogs, podcasts, books, videos, lectures, classes, twitter accounts and whatever else that helps affirm you and helps you understand yourself.
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Death and Consequences
Thursday, 11 June 2020
My cousins’ grandmother passed away last week.
Given the nature of our relation, one might expect Ma Audrey to not have been very close to our family. On the contrary; she lived in the same building as my cousins, who live just across the park opposite my house. So she was like a second grandmother to me growing up. She would look after my cousins while their parents were at work, so when I would go visit in my youth, we were all in her care.
When I continued to visit my cousins as we got older, she wouldn’t be as present because we no longer needed a babysitter. Still, we (my brother and I) would always make a point of greeting her as we passed the stable-door at the back of her house.
Sadly, the visits became less frequent, due to our lives just generally becoming less busy, but also due to family politics, which I shan’t go into.
Guilt and Memories
My cousin sent me a message on WhatsApp on Thursday, 4 June, to let me know Ma Audrey had passed. I can’t remember what I was busy with, but I was out of the house. I responded with my sympathies when I found the time.
I acknowledged the sadness, but I didn’t feel particularly sad. People might put it down to shock, but I’m not sure that’s what it is. I didn’t like this. Ma Audrey deserves to be mourned, I felt.
I hadn’t seen Ma Audrey very often in recent years. We would usually see each other at family events at least, but those were few and far between as of late. The last time I saw her was Christmas 2019, where she remarked that she doesn’t really see our family anymore. The last time I was in her house was to store some of the desserts in her fridge.
The problem, I think, is that I don’t have many memories of Ma Audrey, not that I can think of offhand, anyway. Not that she or my interactions with her weren’t memorable, but I actually don’t remember much of that period in my life without prompting. To think I would spend so much time there. I feel awful about it.
That’s why I ultimately decided to attend the funeral. I was hesitant at first, given that it would be a gathering of people, but I decided that I would regret it if I didn’t. (Also, thankfully, the physical distancing went pretty well.) I wanted to hear others’ reflections, hoping it would prompt some residual memories. Thankfully, it did.
The Funeral
This was the first funeral I’d attended since my great-aunt Gwen passed away in 2005. I was 10. That was my first funeral where I was cognizant of the events (my paternal grandfather passed away when I was 3). Aunty Gwen’s funeral made me hyper-aware of mortality and I was so afraid of losing my biological grandmother for at least a year after that. Thankfully, my grandmother is alive and well having lived 15 more years, despite a heart problem for which he had successful surgery in 2012.
At the time of writing, South Africa is in Level 3 Lockdown, due to the COVID-19 pandemic. Places of worship have been given governmental permission to reopen, a decision I’ve been very critical of. But thankfully it meant we could host a funeral. Unlike a standard church service, it would be a more controlled environment as people had to stipulate beforehand whether they would be attending.
When I was told of Ma Audrey’s passing, I wasn’t sure that there would be a funeral. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there hadn’t been one, given the circumstances. If there hadn’t been a funeral, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it; given my worldview (read: atheism), I don’t think it’s necessary. Funerals are for the living, not for the dead.
But Ma Audrey was a Catholic woman. We used to go to the same church, back when I did go to church (more on that later). So it is fitting that she would be ‘sent off’ in that way.
At the door of the church, we had our temperatures taken, our hands sanitised, and we were asked via individual questions whether we had any COVID-19 symptoms. The casket was in the foyer; closed. I’d had a slight hope that it would be open so I could see her face in person one last time. (My eyes started welling up during that last sentence.)
The funeral was essentially a standard Catholic Mass, but with the priest testifying about Ma Audrey instead of the usual sermon, and a Wikipedia-esque eulogy read by my older cousin. I admittedly haven’t been to many funerals, but it felt a bit…impersonal. Almost cursory.
The Church
I’m going to go off on a slight tangent here. The funeral was the first time I stepped foot in my old church since Christmas 2008, almost 12 years ago. It was slightly smaller than I remember. Some things had changed; some things had stayed the same.
The PA speakers were the same set that I remember, but the mezzanine where the “Music Ministry” were usually stationed had been extended. No longer did they have an overhead projector; they now had a projector overhead.
The Stations of the Cross portraits detailing the Passion of Jesus were still in the same place. The Seven Sacraments were depicted high on the church walls behind the altar. My eyes traced the path form Jesus’ fingers turning into wheat stalks and then rejoining his body as my mind wandered away from the Bible readings much as it had done in my youth.
It was interesting that being in this building did not evoke any nostalgia. For people who only know me since I became a heathen, that might make sense, but I was actually very involved in the church; I was a reader and a singer in the aforementioned Music Ministry. My departure from the church actually had nothing to do with unbelief; that only came years later.
The Death
Ma Audrey had suffered from cancer. She had been diagnosed with bowel/rectal cancer years ago, but then eventually went into remission. She was later diagnosed with lymphoma as well.
My mother called my uncle, Ma Audrey’s son, on the day of her passing to give her condolences. According to him, Ma Audrey looked and seemed fine, but she requested to go to the hospice. He said she refused to continue to take her medication and that she had told him she wanted to die.
When I first heard this, I was glad. I was glad she died on her own terms. It felt like a boss move, like in S02E12 of Grace and Frankie. “Good for Audrey,” I’d said. My younger cousin, who was with her when she died, explained to me after the funeral that it had been more a case that she was tired of suffering and tired of having to rely on others just to live. Being given better context on the circumstances of her decision made it more heart breaking, but no less dignified.
She passed with her remaining child and youngest granddaughter by her side.
Suspension of Disbelief
After the gospel reading, the priest testified about how the church was Ma Audrey’s second home. She had been a part of the soup kitchen, and the Music Ministry at some point as well. She had been part of the committee that would volunteer to clean the church on Fridays for the weekend Masses. Even when she was unable to participate, she would still go to the church on Fridays for the company.
When my family would still attend church, we would offer Ma Audrey lifts. After we’d stopped going to church, we’d still see her making her way across the field on her way to Mass. Like when passing her stable door, we’d be sure to greet her, shouting and waving from our front porch. She was persistent in trying to get us to go back to church, even after my own (Anglican) grandmother had long given up.
Being away from church for so long, I no longer knew the hymns, nor the recitations or responses. From an outsider perspective, the ceremony seems very cult-y; people dressed in robes; mass recitations; ceremonial eating (even if you don’t consider the supposed transubstantiation, which is another story); and the additional pomp and circumstance of altar servicers carrying large candles and a wooded cross on a large stick.
I wasn’t sure whether or not to participate in the recitations. I decided not to, for the most part. Only at the end of the priest’s testimony where he blessed Ma Audrey (in spirit) and her casket, did I join in saying “Amen”.
But still – sitting, standing, kneeling in that church – the jaded, cynical atheist in me was at the forefront at the beginning of the procession, internally scoffing at the same rituals in which I once partook.
But during the priest’s testimony, I thought less of the church and more of what the church meant to Ma Audrey; I felt I should reserve my cynicism out of respect for her, not the church.
During one of the hymns, I decided to interpret the lyrics to be about her instead of God.
But you are always close to me
Following all my ways
May I be always close to you
Following all your ways, Lord
Strange thing to do for someone who doesn’t believe in an afterlife, huh? The thing is, I know one of the purposes of religion is consolation. So no, when it comes down to it, I don’t believe Ma Audrey – or anyone – is up there or out there, but sometimes it’s nice to think that she is.
There was a moment, whilst the priest was blessing the casket, that I actually wished God existed – not the god of the Bible, but a god worthy of Audrey and her worship.
The Dénoument
After the funeral, my brother and I went over to speak to our cousins. It was here my younger cousin explained to me the afore-mentioned circumstances around her grandmother’s decision to die. This conversation only took a couple of minutes until it was interrupted by a flash of lightning then, a few seconds later, a mighty crack of thunder.
We all parted ways and, almost as soon as my brother and I got into his car, so began the hardest hail storm any one of us could remember. Almost like a fanfare from God Himself, if you believe in such things.
#deathandconsequences#death#dexicola#dextersjournal#ma audrey#death and consequences#mourning#funeral#religion#catholic#church#cancer
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Snake Charmer
I grabbed my sneakers and ball from the backseat of my car. As I stepped onto the basketball court, the palm of a stranger’s hand suddenly hit my chest before my foot crossed the threshold of the out-of-bounds line, as if to protect me from stepping into molten lava. It was in fact hallowed ground he was preparing me to enter. “I don’t want to mess up your day, but Kobe Bryant died.” The words did not register. He must have meant to say Bill Russell or Magic Johnson or some other retired player, up in years or immunocompromised. My heart sank as the words did. Seemingly coordinated with the stranger’s preparatory address, my phone began to shriek. I shared basketball, above most else, with my closest friends, and for those of my friends “not into sports,” they knew I was and that I was probably the one person in their lives that could explain why their instagram and twitter timelines had been commandeered by the news of Bryant’s death. I sat on the court and texted friends I hadn’t spoken with in years. I mentally ran through all of the Lakers fans in my life, like someone tallying loved ones near the epicenter of an earthquake or tsunami.
The surprises continued. My uncle Kenny called me. Kenny, like most of the men in my life, does not make calls. When I see Kenny during the holidays we do not hug or catch up with small talk. Me and Kenny speak solely in sports. “How are the Cowboys doing?” translates to how are you doing? On this occasion Kenny did not resort to code. “Are you okay?” Kenny asked with a tone of genuine concern in his voice. Strangely, I was not. Stepping out of my body momentarily, I watched myself frantically text friends and scour the internet for updates with large tears welling up in my eyes. Importantly, next to me, five or so other guys on the basketball court were doing the exact same thing. I was dumbfounded, and even a little amused that it was Kobe Bryant, of all people, that elicited this reaction from me. As a basketball fan I loved Kobe Bryant as a player, but I didn’t love him. I loved Kobe the way the world loves the Dalai Lama. Kobe was that inhuman child/god/king we watched grow up, do great exploits, and whose often trite proverbs of ostensible wisdom we warily entertained. His sudden and violent death brought into swift focus that, while famous for almost my entire life, I took Kobe for granted.
Kobe Bryant was the first of us to realize: the camera is always on. In the days and weeks following Kobe’s death I found myself pulling up old games on youtube and having them on in the background while I worked. I was surprised how many of the beats–a certain sequence of plays, a specific call by an announcer–I remembered, like I was watching reruns or listening to a throwback radio station. As much as The Fresh Prince or Martin or Seinfeld, Kobe Bryant was TV. Mostly to my frustration, as someone who ineffectually rooted against the Lakers, Kobe Bryant was always on my screen. Undoubtedly, a cloud hangs over everything related to Bryant now in light of his death, but rewatching games from the 2000 finals, in which Bryant’s Lakers bested the Reggie Miller/Jalen Rose led Pacers, I was reminded of how much uneasiness and sadness I felt for Kobe Bryant watching him even as a teenage admirer. After every exceptional defensive play, flashy pass, or difficult made shot, Bryant made sure the camera saw the fiery glint in his eyes, the licking of his lips, the exaggerated clinching of his jaw.
Even more so than the NBA’s previous generation of celebrities–Bird, Magic, Jordan–Kobe Bryant seemed to be the first superstar to internalize that basketball was a performance: a movie backed by a John Tesh score, or more specifically, a loosely scripted 24-7 reality show complete with story arcs, heroes, villains, close-ups, and backstabbing confessions. Bryant perpetually signalled: to the camera, to the fans, to his haters, to his teammates, that he possessed the most passion, that he outworked everyone, and that he would stop at nothing to be the best. By all accounts this was all true. But we knew it less because it was true and more because Kobe wanted us to know. Even as a youngster I found his thirst obnoxious.
Kobe was desperate, but he was also just ahead of the curve. Kobe Bryant proudly admitted to not having a social life, and almost a decade before Russell Westbrook said it, Bryant proclaimed that “Spalding was his only friend;” a both sad and sobering admission for any would-be competitors tasked with defeating Bryant on the court. Bryant’s performative work, that now permeates and characterizes most of millennial culture, predated social media. The author Touré in his book, I Would Die 4U, contends that despite being a baby boomer, Prince was the quintessential GenX celebrity, whose music perfectly tapped into that younger generation’s disaffected, countercultural ethos. Born in 1978, Bryant technically resides in GenX. The intense outpouring from all corners of the digital world over Bryant’s death stems from the fact that he was truly the first millennial celebrity.
For Bryant, fame came before success. As the photogenic rookie for the Lakers, Bryant had cameos on sitcoms, graced the cover of every teen magazine, took Brandy to the prom, put out a rap album, and pitched every soda and sneaker Madison Avenue could throw at him. But like an inflated college application, Bryant’s extracurriculars read as contrivances. Bryant was named a starter in the 1998 All-Star game, an honor voted on by the fans, meanwhile he wasn’t even a starter on his own team. To suspicious observers, Bryant was an industry plant; the antidote to the fearful influx of hyper-black, hip hop culture embodied in players like Allen Iverson or Latrell Spreewell; a basketball and marketing robot with a pearly white smile, that spoke multiple languages, and would pick up where Michael Jordan left off; ushering the NBA to unprecedented commercial heights.
Despite his superficial charm, Kobe Bryant’s lack of genuine personality proved off-putting, almost creepy. Although possessing a similarly shimmering smile, everyone knew that the real Michael Jordan chomped on cigars, pounded tequila, gambled through the night, and did not actually hang out with Bugs Bunny while wearing Hanes tighty-whities. We acknowledged humanity, healthiness even, in this contradiction. For Bryant’s generation of sports superstars, the public and private arrived flattened. A sports prodigy, a la Tiger Woods, Bryant’s lone-gun, misanthropic persona emerged as a defense against the alienation he felt from his teammates and colleagues around the league, those that did not share his cloistered upbringing. Bryant’s longtime teammate and consummate foil, Shaquille O’Neal, had the nickname, Superman. Despite his titanic presence and supernatural physical gifts, O’Neal epitomized the terrestrial; always joking, dancing; embedded in pop culture; a true man of the people. The true Kryptonian was always Bryant.
As an ignorant seventeen year-old, my initial reaction in 2004 to the accusations of rape against Bryant was amused shock. “Kobe Bryant has sex?!” In 2004, I, like many, put Kobe on the shelf. Less out of a desire to proactively make any bold gestures on behalf of women, but more out of petty schadenfreude. As stated before, I respected the talent, but I was not really a Kobe fan. I always rooted for the underdog, and Bryant was anything but. To the contrary, everything about Bryant was an assault on the concept of the underdog, the diamond in the rough, the idea that anyone, despite their humble or downright degraded beginnings, could rise to excellence. Bryant was born and bread to be great. Sadly, I took grim pleasure in seeing the NBA’s posterboy–the prototype of black celebrity respectability–revealed as the actual embodiment of the entitled, toxically masculine, and sexually predatory stereotype of the black athlete.
Bryant lost endorsements. Nike released the Huarache 2K4, an all-time great basketball shoe originally designed to be Bryant’s first signature release with the brand, as simply a stand-alone product. The Lakers shopped Bryant around for possible trades. Like Sampson sheared and stripped of his powers, Bryant’s hairline appeared to recede, he cut off his signature fro, and he began shaving his head closer and closer. Bryant changed his number from 8 to 24 as one now changes their Instagram or Twitter handle to represent a break from the past. Like a biblical character after a traumatic or transformative event, like Abram becoming Abraham, or Saul becoming Paul, Bryant adopted the moniker of the Black Mamba. He resigned to allow the sorting hat to place him in his rightful house of Slytherin, and embraced the duplicitous snake that many already viewed him to be. Somewhat strangely, the Black Mamba was the assassin code name of the main character in Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill, who in the film is left for dead, and out for revenge. Did Bryant see himself as this woman wronged, or as the titular character, Bill, contently awaiting his deserved day of judgement. Knowing Bryant, he probably saw himself as both.
In the myth of Hercules (not the Disney version) the famous god-man kills his wife and kids in a fit of hysteria inflicted by a vengeful Hera. If we imagine that the mythical figures of today were really just the celebrities and aristocrats of past millennia who had control over the pen of history and whose carnal tales swelled into sacred gospel; the fits of rage and mania brought on by the devil or hades or a poison arrow, were really the Chappaquiddicks, Vegas hotel rooms, and dog fighting compounds of their time; times when our heroes unequivocally and inexcusably committed evil. If Hercules was in fact a real man of some importance to his time–the son of a dignitary–that unfathomably killed his wife and kids, it follows that instead of being sentenced to death or some other fate reserved for the criminal commoner, that he would be given some lesser sentence and a chance–albeit slim–of redemption. Hercules is banished by the gods to serve an insignificant king and accomplish the arduous good works assigned to him as a means of atonement; the great works–slaying the nine-headed hydra, retrieving cerberus –that ultimately generate his immortal legend.
Bryant’s post rape case/post Shaquille O’Neal years with the Lakers mirror this herculean restitution. Despite years on center stage, the Lakers, like Bryant, were similarly in their nadir, and would spend the middle of the aughts in basketball purgatory. Bryant was no longer primetime television. What happens to a pop-star when no one is watching? Surprisingly, Kobe Bryant kept performing, and at higher heights. Bryant was doing his best work while no one was watching. I remember walking through the door of my college dorm on a non-descript spring day. My roommate, Bryun, yelled at me with no context, “8 1 P O I N T S !” Kobe Bryant’s 81 point game may lay claim as the first social media sports moment. Less because no other great sports moments had occurred between 2004, when facebook emerged, and his scoring explosion in 2006, but because very few people watched that midseason contest between two mediocre teams live. It arrived to everyone, like myself, after the fact.
During a recent lecture, artist Dave McKenzie, when answering a very banal question during a post lecture q&a, about his long term goals as an artist, answered soberingly, “I’m just trying to get through this life and do the least amount of harm.” While we all hope to navigate this life without hurting others, most, if not all of us, will in some way. While we can and must continue to interrogate why powerful (or at least useful to the actual powerful) men like Kobe Bryant seemingly evade the full reckoning of their actions, we must acknowledge that Bryant became something of a patron saint to those who for whatever reason found themselves on the wrong side of right. Maybe they were the underprivileged black and brown boys and girls in over-policed neighborhoods of LA where Bryant played for 20 years. Perhaps they were not pure victims but made some questionable choices and found themselves caught in the system. Or maybe it was the newly divorced father attempting to win back the respect of his kids after breaking apart his family due to his own indiscretions. Kobe Bryant in this second half of his career, culminating in back to back championships, provided a picture of how one climbs back from the depths of hell, even if they were the one that put themself there. This explains the irrationality of Kobe fans, who defended him in everything, and straight-faced spoke his name in the same breath as Michael Jordan, despite honestly being in a class below. For them, Kobe was bigger than basketball, and while many fans share a vicarious relationship with their sports heroes or teams, Bryant’s winning was more profoundly linked to his fans’ sense of self-worth.
Precocity embodied, Bryant arrived in the NBA a generation too soon. As the son of a former player, singularly focused on professionalizing at a young age, even foregoing college at a time when that was still a rarity, Bryant was an alien compared to most players of his generation. The trajectory of players today more resembles Bryant’s. Gone are the days of Dennis Rodman or Scottie Pippen or Steve Nash picking up basketball late, or being undiscovered and surreptitiously landing on a small college team, eventually catching the eye of the larger basketball world. Now, professional basketball starts disturbingly early. Prospects like Zion Williamson have millions of Instagram followers in high school. Second generation pros are commonplace – Steph, Klay, Kyrie, Devin Booker, Andrew Wiggins, Domantas Sabonis, Austin Rivers, Tim Hardaway Jr., Glenn Robinson III, and so on. Bryant was the cautionary tale, a sage mentor, and ultimately an icon to the generation of players succeeding Bryant, who like him, entered the spotlight and scrutiny of an increasingly voracious sports machine as children. Thanks in part to witnessing the triumphs and travails of Bryant, today’s young superstars arrive to the league encoded with the understanding that the fans, the media, the sports industry writ large, wait with baited breath for them to fuck up off the court as much as they do a spectacular play in the game. To these various stakeholders, it’s all good entertainment.
[A bit of a tangent] As the coronavirus began to ravage New Orleans, in particular the homeless and already vulnerable of the city, I had a group of friends, more acquaintances, who took it upon themselves to collect donations, buy groceries, prepare and ultimately hand out meals to the large number of homeless people mostly living under the I-10 overpass downtown. As a naturally cynical person, I immediately questioned the motivations. All of those same homeless people were living under the overpass before coronavirus, where was this energy then? One friend involved with this effort confided that she was incredibly anxiety stricken in all of this, and that this “project” was taking her mind off things. I chafed at the phrasing of feeding the homeless as a “project.” Additionally, daily I would scroll through the Instagram feeds of those helping and see pics of cute hipsters in masks and gloves and in grungy, rugged, but still impossibly chic outfits posing in Power Ranger formations in front of their rusted Ford Ranger filled with grocery bags to distribute. A masterclass in virtue signalling, the narcissism of it all polluted the entire endeavor for me. When I asked a trusted voice why this all rubbed me the wrong way, this person replied curtly, “What does it matter why or how they do it? They’re doing a good thing.”
Kobe did not simply embrace this role of elder-statesman to the succeeding generation, he courted it, campaigned for this mantle as aggressively as he once sought championships. Lacking confidence in the intellect of the public to make their own conjectures of how Bryant resurrected his career, he rebranded himself a self-improvement life-couch, and proselytized his “Mamba Mentality,” even staging a parody Tony Robbins style conference as a Nike commercial. He collected young promising players to mentor like Leonardo DiCaprio collects young blonde models to date. Gossipy whispers swirled every offseason, “Kobes working with Kawhi.” or “Watch out for Jason Tatum this year; he spent the summer training with Kobe.” All of Kobe’s newfound openhandedness seemed spiked with self-aggrandizement. Opting to be the mentor of the next generation ensured that the success of future stars led back to him, and that he would be relevant and sought after long after his retirement.
Whatever the subconscious or even conscious motivations behind Bryant’s mentorship, his movie Dear Basketball, or his show Detail–in which he broke down the games of basketball players across levels and leagues, treating women’s college basketball standout Sabrina Ionescu with the same care and reverence as NBA star James Harden–the result was education, service, stewardship, and love for the game of basketball.
I started writing this soon after Bryant’s death but struggled to synthesize an ultimate point. In the end I am not sure I have one, just that Kobe Bryant, much to my surprise was a figure of enough complexity and enduring relevance to require re-interrogation. In hindsight, I needed to watch The Last Dance; the 10 part Michael Jordan re-coronation. In 2009 newly elected President Barack Obama, after stumbling over the oath of office during the freezing January inauguration, retook the oath the next day in a private ceremony just in case any of his political enemies, or the fomenting alt right with its myriad factions–from the conspiratorial to the downright racist–tried to invalidate his presidency. While trivial in comparison, Jordan, with The Last Dance is attempting desperately to reconfirm that he is the greatest basketball player of all-time, something only a few lunatics question. While the actual game footage is a wonder and leaves no doubt of Jordan’s basketball supremacy, the final tally of this hagiographic enterprise may result in a net loss for Jordan. Jordan, like a 19th century robber baron, seems to genuinely believe that his misanthropy, arrogance, condescension, usury, brutality, workaholism, and myopic focus on basketball, and consummate self-centeredness were all justified, required even, to win. To win what? Championships? With sports leagues and public officials debating when and if sports can and should come back amidst a virus with devastating life or death stakes, sports and success within them feel quite trivial and quaint at the moment.
Having won at everything in life, sitting in his palatial mansion, sipping impossibly overpriced scotch, Jordan does not seem fulfilled. He is Ebenezer Scrooge. Unfortunately, it is not Christmas, and no ghosts of introspection are visiting Jordan, only a camera crew determined to retell the gospel of Jordan with a few non-canonical details sprinkled in for flavor. I am reminded of a line in Pat Conroy’s My Losing Season, an autobiographical account of his college basketball days at The Citadel. After a storied career, Conroy’s senior season is a disaster (hence the title). In it he says no one ever learned anything by winning. The inference is that, while winning is great, the actual growth occurs before, in the losing. Jordan in The Last Dance is the ghastly personification of “never losing. Like Bane before breaking Batman’s back, “Victory has defeated you.” With an unimpeachable resumé, Jordan was never required to question his actions or behaviors towards his teammates and competitors. Worshiped unwaveringly by all, Jordan never felt the need to give anything back to the game or to the communities that supported him.
While never verbally conceding, Bryant seemed to embrace being the loser. Bryant realized early, perhaps as early as Colorado, that he was never going to be as beloved as Jordan. He began planning early for a life outside of basketball. He started a production company. He braved eye-rolls for the n-teenth time when he proclaimed that he was going to be a “storyteller.” Beyond a cliché adage, Bryant became a “family man,” and focused on this part of his life with the same ferocity that he once attacked the basket. Despite braving turmoil very publicly as a young couple, the bond between Bryant and his wife Vanesa appeared, at least on the outside, genuine. They welcomed their newest daughter, Capri, just 7 months before his death. While no less ambitious or busy in retirement, the Bryant who once wore his insecurity and desperation on his sweaty armband, strangely appeared content, happy. The guy who once proudly proclaimed “Spalding his only friend” relented to a verdant life with others.
While undoubtedly compounded by the tragic and sudden nature of his death, the truly astounding outpouring for Kobe–murals the world over, calf-length tattoos, millions of twitter handle re-namings–stands as an accomplishment, or better said, an acknowledgement that “better” athletes like Jordan or LeBron or Tiger or Brady will probably never receive. He wasn’t the best of us, and in many ways we loved him even more because of that. Before The Last Dance we got a preview of the more candid Michael Jordan during Kobe Bryant’s memorial, where Michael, who unbeknownst to us all was a confidant of Bryant’s, admitted that Kobe made him want to be a better father, a better person. In the end even the GOAT was a disciple of the Mamba. It’s only right that the first millennial superstar gained the biggest following.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Singledad!James au no one asked for.
“Timeless” by curiosity-at-it’s-finnest
(Yes I put two ‘nn’ and finest, leave me alone.)
2h27 am
James could hear crying from the other room, the sounds of his little 1-year-old daughter were the causes of many late nights and early mornings. As he dragged himself out of bed, knocking into every piece of furniture along the way he entered the nursery where his crying daughter await. Gently wrapping Harriet in her blanket and taking her in his arms, he moved quietly to the rocking chair trying to soothe her cries as to not wake up Moony and Padfoot.
“Shh there there little one, what got you all worked up,” James asked gently, slowly rocking her in the chair trying desperately not to fall asleep.
Once Harriet realized she was in her dad's arms, her crying ceased immediately and she began giggling. Wiggling around in her blanket excited to see her father had gotten up for her.
“Da-ee!’
“Hello there my little troublemaker,” James said, “ it’s a bit early to start the day don’t you think?”
Harry, not having a clue what her father was talking about, simply giggled even more, reaching her tiny little hands out to grab James’ glasses.
“Da-ee!”
“Alright Trouble.”
9h44 am
James was in the kitchen cooking breakfast, Harriet in her high chair babbling happily when Remus walked into the room. Harriet started giggling madly upon seeing her uncle Moony, splashing her breakfast everywhere creating a complete mess.
“Un’le Moo’ey!”
“Oh! Fu- Goodness Harry!” Remus corrected quickly after seeing James ‘don’t you fucking dare’ dad glare, fetching a rag he quickly cleaned up the mess.
“Un’le Moo’ey up! Up!”
“Yes yes it’s good to see you two.” Remus picked up Harry, placing kisses all over her faces making her laugh.
When Remus saw the bags under Jame’s eyes, which were big enough to go to Tesco and back, he already knew he’s been up for a while.
“Early morning?”
“I don’t know what sleep schedules she’s on but it seems her mornings start at 2h30″ James yawned.
“Oh Harry! Did you get your dad up early again?” Remus looked at Harriet, who was babbling and gurgling innocently at him.
“Da-ee?��
“Great gods how can anyone stay mad at you for long cutie?” Remus said, then blew a raspberry on her cheek, causing Harriet to shriek in giggles.
“Is Padfoot up yet?” James asked, picking up his daughter and cradling her in his chest. The sight probably could have made the coldest of heart melt a little. Harriet looked exactly like her father, down to the very last freckle, save for the eyes, while James had hazel eyes that reflected gold, his daughter had beautiful emerald eyes.
Remus smiled fondly at the pair. “He was dead asleep when I woke up, I doubt you’ll have any success getting him up now unless you want a lamp chucked at you.” He couldn’t help smiling even more at the thought of his crazy boyfriend.
“What if we send Harry to wake him up?” James lifted Harry up so they were eye to eye, she looked back at him curiously then waved her arms around excitedly. “PaFoo!!”
“See! She wants her Uncle Padfoot! Don’t cha little nugget!”
“PaFoo! PaFoo!”
11h15 am
Sirus woke up to a small little bundle struggling crawl on to him. He chuckles softly, knowing exactly that his goddaughter was sent to wake him up. Picking her up, he set her down on his stomach while Harry happily cuddled into him.
“PaFoo!”
“Prongslet!” Sirius said brightly, wrapping his large arms around the tiny child, he was never known to be a morning person, but trust little Harriet to be able to get him in a good mood.
James poked his head in the doorway “Is it safe to come in?”
“Yes Prongs, you can come in” Sirius rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. I mean sure he was cranky sometime in the morning, but they didn’t have to fear bodily injuries out of him. You chuck a chair at someone once and you're labeled for life!
James bounces into the room, hopping on the bed smiling widely when Harry giggled. She was always smiling and laughing which reassured James that he was doing something right, on the rare occasions that Harriet did cry, it was either something that frightened her, when she was sick or when she’s in a mood and feels like destroying everything around her.
“So whats on the agenda today mate? Anything exciting?” Siris asked while picking up Harry and playing helicopter.
“Nothing you’d be interested in, just need to go run a couple errands for this little one, she's growing out of her clothes so quickly. You’re welcome to join if you want, Regulus might be joining us along the way, if not tonight.”
“I honestly doubt you’ll get Mr. Lazy over here to do anything today,” The brothers turned there head to see Remus walk in, flopping on the bed and cuddling next to Sirius “Everyone knows you don’t generally do social interactions on weekends... or ever”
“I do so!” Sirius put Harriet back down on the bed and turned to face his boyfriend “I’m perfectly capable of going out on a weekend to pick out clothes for my goddaughter!”
Remus just chuckled and gave him a quick peck on the lips cuddling into his side, “Sure babe whatever you say”
Sirius, who wasn't having any of this, proclaimed “Just watch! I’ll find the cutest fucking outfit for Prongslet to wear an then both of you can shove our opinions up your arse!”
2h06 pm
“Can we go home yet!”
“Sirius, don’t get me wrong, I love you to bits, but please shut up.” They had been listening to Sirius whine for over an hours and Remus was getting tired. They had gone exploring the downtown area they lived in for some pretty basic things, nothing too extravagant, and Sirius was just dying for something adventurous to happen.
“Alright, let’s try to avoid murdering each other in front of Harry, you can go at each other all you want once we’re back at the flat.” James said, readjusting Harriet in his arms, she never really liked the stroller, she preferred to be in her dad's arms.
Remus and Sirius rolled there eyes, Prongs had always been the mother hen of the group and it only increased once Harriet was born. He was always the one to make sure they ate enough, got home safely, weren't sleep deprived and just generally took care of them even if he always denied it.
“OH LOOK!” Remus exclaimed, frantically trashing his arm in the direction of a bookstore.
“No Rem, you have enough books and novels at home that you haven't even read yet! you don’t need anymore!” Sirius yelled trying to pull his boyfriend back into the direction of the flat.
2h07 pm
Sirius had lost his boyfriend to the trashy novel section within the first 10 seconds of walking into the bookstore. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he told James to just call him when he was ready to leave, then head of in the direction his Moony ran off to.
James just laughed, the two of them were a perfect pair for each other. With Harriet still securely tucked in his chest, he started to walk down the shelves of books. He tried focusing on the titles of the books but his mind kept wandering back to Sirius and Remus’s relationship. So much trust and love and honestly, between the two it made his heart swell with just a little bit of jealousy. There was a time where he thought he had the same, with Harriet's mum, but that proved to be a complete disaster in the end. Just the thought of her made white-hot anger pierce through him, what she did was unforgivable an- Ompff!
“Shit I’m so sorry! I didn't’ even see you there!” He apologized
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it”
James looked down and was met with a pair of brilliant emerald eyes. Possibly the most vibrant and spectacular eyes James had ever seen in his life, he knew these eyes, where has he seen those eyes?
At that moment, Harry woke from her little slumber and started to whine, then the whining turned into crying and crying turned into wailing.
“Ah shit, Harry, come on nugget please don’t cry” The moment Harry had started crying, he received dirty looks from other customers, which was understandable for being in a bookstore but still, they could lay off a bit. The beautiful stranger seems to have the same idea.
“Oi! Lay off, will you! You lot are acting like you've never heard a baby cry! Get back to your lives!” She said with such confidence, James couldn't help but admire her. Once he realized he’d been staring at her for a bit longer than necessary, he focused his attention back to his daughter who was looking at the father with her big green eyes, filled with confused and frightened tears.
“Hey there baby girl,” He cooed lightly, “its okay, you're okay, just a bit of a bump is all”
But Harry’s attention was soon diverted to the strange lady with the bright red hair and the pretty eyes. Harriet had never seen a lady with flaming red hair and was very curious as to what it felt like.
“Hi there little one, what’s your name?”
Without missing a beat Harry said “Twou-ble!”
The young woman looked surprised at first, then looked to James for an explanation.
“Actually it’s Harriet, ‘Trouble’ is just one of her many, many nicknames” James explained, trying to keep a very hyper Harriet from pulling the hair of the nice lady. “I’m James by the way, I would shake your hand but I,m afraid id drop her in the process.”
“James? As in James Potter?” A series of emotion passed the woman's face, first surprise, confusion, excitement and a fourth one that was gone before it arrived.
Now James wasn’t famous in any shape or form, He owned a small company on top of the one he co-worked with his father, but that’s hardly anything to become famous for.
“Um yes? I’m sorry if this sounds rude but do we know each other?”
“James, it’s me! Lily! Lily Evans?!” The young girl seemed upset by the fact that he didn't recognize her.
“Holy buggering shit” His jaw dropped and harry nearly did too.
Standing in front of him was his high school crush Lily Evans, only this wasn’t Lily Evans. The Lily from school always had her hair either in plates or a ponytail, this woman had her hair in loose curls, going down to her shoulders. The Lily Evans from school would rather die than wear a leather jacket, yet this woman was wearing one AND combat boots! James also noticed a slight hint of makeup, the Lily Evans from school never wore makeup, always advertising natural beautify over artificial.
There’s no way in hell this woman was Lily Evans.
“Oh my gosh, I didn’t even recognize you! But you look practically the same! The baby, the baby is what put me off, I mean who would have thought James Potter, one of the schools most notorious bad boy become a dad! That’s just crazy!” Lily was rambling, when she saw the cute bloke holding a baby she caved and wanted an excuse to talk to him. Not for the fact that she wanted to chat up a bloke who was probably taken, but for the fact that the baby he was holding was the cutest damn thing Lily had ever seen. All curled up in her blanket, sleeping peacefully in her dad's arms.
“Ug, hi? It’s um, It’s nice to see you again, you look great.” James was panicking, his high school crush was seeing him with a baby, most people he went to Hogwarts with would judge him when they found out he had a daughter, believing he was just as irresponsible as he was in school. Lily had never liked him in school, she could hardly tolerate being in the same room as him and whenever she did talk to him it was to yell at him. Granted he deserved every bit of it, he had been a complete prat in school, but he was older now, he grew out of it. Still, he was unsure of how Lily would react to seeing him with Harry, most parents gave disapproving glares, what would Lily say?
“Oh ya! I travel a lot for the company I work for and it’s not very practical to travel in dresses and skirts so I changed it up a bit!” When she gave him a twirl, James’s heart skipped a few beats.
“It suits you” Was all James was able to get out.
If Lily had noticed his slight discomfort she didn’t mention it, instead diverted her attention back to Harriet, who was still trying to make a reach for her hair.
“And you said this cutie was Harriet, didn’t you? Oh, she's absolutely adorable! And she looks so much like you! Only the- “
“Eyes, ya, she doesn’t have my eyes” James had heard it a million times from strangers and he never knew how to reply to them.
“I’m assuming she gets them from her mother?”
It’s a normal assumption, an assumption people make all the time. But Harriet's eyes were nothing like those of her mother, her mother had cold, dead, eye filled with hate and bitterness. Harriet had big emerald eyes filled to the brim with excitement and curiosity.
“No. Actually, I don’t know whose eyes she’s got but their certainly not her mother’s.” James said with more bitterness then he would have liked.
Harry, bless her little soul, saw that her dad was making angry faces and pulled her hands up to try and pat his cheek. The action may have been small but it was enough to light up James’ whole world. Feeling a little better, he looked up to Lily, who was watching the two with a fond smile.
“Why don’t we catch up a bit, I think I saw a tea place next door.”
3h32 pm
Sirius found James and Harry in a coffee shop, happily chatting with a certain lily flower that Sirius hadn’t seen in years. After bribing his boyfriend with coffee and a promise to come back within the next week, he sent James a text asking where to meet up, when he responded with ‘The coffee place next door’ he didn't’ think much of it.
“Moo’ey! PaFoo!” A little voice cried out, Sirius immediate grinned, he would never get tired of hearing his little goddaughters voice.
“Hello there Prongslet! And Prongs of course, Oh! and a Lily Flower!” Sirius plopped in the chair next to James, cooing at Harry who was happily tucked in her blanket in James’ arms, reaching out to him.
“Lily! It’s so good to see you again!” Remus said, hugging Lily tightly.
“Remus I saw you just last week!” Lily laughed but hugged him anyway.
Remus and Lily were had been friends throughout there school years and enjoyed keeping touch despite there busy schedule. They sometimes hung out at small cafes or bookstores, all that cliches junk you know they do.
‘Remus how come you never mentioned James had a daughter!” Lily had been kept small updates from time to time when they had the chance to meet up, but never once did he ever mentioned James had a kid! Although he did mention a Harriet once or twice, Lily just assumed it was probably James’ girlfriend.
“What? Are you kidding?! I talk about Harry all the time! How can I not?! Just look at her” Remus pointed to Harriet, who was now giggling at the silly faces Sirius was making, waving her little arms around.
Oh... Harriet was the daughter, not the girlfriend.
“Oh” Was all Lily said, blushing slightly at the mistake, whenever Remus mentioned a Harriet, sparks of jealousy would light in the pit of her stomach. She tried to ignore them, tried to just push them to the side, but no matter what anytime Remus mentioned Harriet, they would come back.
During the last couple years of schooling, Lily had developed a small crush on the Potter boy. He had matured greatly over the summer and not just physically. He stopped bullying younger students and his pranks became more playful then hurtful. The only thing was that he completely ignored her. He had walked up to her at the beginning of the school year and apologized for his constant harassment, after that he hardly even looked at her. Lily had tried to get his attention back, partnered with him in projects, attempted flirting with him, but nothing worked!
Now, 4 years later, here his is! Infront of her! With a baby!
Lily was broken out of her thought when Sirius barked out laughing.
“You though. Baby Harry. Was James’. Girlfriend” He wheezed out between breaths.
“I never said that!” Lily tried defending herself but she was pretty sure the red blush creeping up on her ear gave her away.
“Lil’s, I’m sorry but the look on your face kind of gives you away,” Remus said, chuckling slightly.
“Oh shove of both of you!” The redhead said exasperated, she turned to James for comfort and/or support only to find him staring at the daughter, not paying attention to anything around him.
‘Oh gosh’ Lily though looking at Harriet ‘How am I going to compete with that?!’
8h25 pm
James had just managed to put Harriet to bed, she never liked being far from her dad for long so bedtime was always a bit tricky but they always managed. James would rock her gently in the chair until she fell asleep, always taking a couple minutes to admire how beautiful his little baby was before slowly placing her in her crib and silently exciting the room.
He walked over to the living room, the day's events playing over in his head like a broken record, when Harriet started to cry again.
**Insert exasperated sigh from James here**
“Just leave her Prongs, she needs to get used to being apart from you anyway, might as well start now,” Sirius said from his spot on the couch. He loved his goddaughter to bits but she had to get used to being apart from James for more than 10 seconds!
“Here, why don’t you sit down, I’ll go calm her down,” Regulus said from the kitchen. He was one of the very few people Harriet was comfortable being around since he was the one to deliver her into the world. It wasn’t exactly in the best circumstances and probably in the worse location possible, but everything was alright now, Harriet was where she belonged, away from that batshit crazy women.
Regulus looked back to James only to see that he was already back in Harry’s nursery, gently rocking her in the chair making soothing sounds.
Chuckling lightly, Regulus made his way to the couch where Remus and his brother were cuddling.
“Do you think he’ll ever get out of that faze he’s in” Regulus questioned, turning to Remus and Sirius.
“Look at him Regulus, he’s hopeless. He’ll never stop loving Harriet, therefore will never grow out of the “atomic dad faze’” Sirus said, turning his head towards the nursery door. “But then again, when you consider what happened and how long Jame’s waited to finally meat lil Harry, can you really blame him?”
“No, you really can’t. Not after everything they’ve been through”, Remus whispered quietly, cuddling further into his boyfriend.
A comfortable silence fell upon the group, while Remus was slowly dozing off, Sirus hands playing in his hair, Regulus’ mind went back to that fateful day, when James’ finally got to hold his baby girl. It was back when Regulus was still a Death Eater, his parents had pressured him into joining ever since Sirius ran away. Regulus hated every minute of it, the kidnappings, the drug trading, all of it, so he sabotaged it. He used every chance he got to stop rallyings, drug trades and killings. Everything in his power to make sure fewer people died, granted he nearly got caught a few times...okay many times but it was worth it. So when she came to the warehouse one day, obviously pregnant and incredibly sick, Regulus made sure to watch over her because there's no way in hell he would let an innocent unborn baby die because of her mistakes. He would do little things that would help her, like switching her drinks from vodka to water, mixed with some sleeping pills to make it seem like she was drunk.
Those little things helped greatly, while he couldn’t flat out disclose the location of the warehouse, he left subtle hints for the police to find. In the end, it worked, while he did have to deliver a baby, which is still the scariest things he’s ever done because ‘holy shit, don’t drop it’, it was worth seeing the look on James’ face when he’ got to hold his daughter for the first time.
9h31 pm
Lily had been passing up and down her flat for about an hour now, over analyzing the day's events in her head to the point it gave her a headache.
After one more lap around the small living room, she flopped down on the sofa- bed and sighed in frustration. During the small reunion, Lily had tried to chat with James a bit but he was hardly paying attention to her, always looking down at his daughter. Granted she was adorable and Lily had no right to be jealous of a baby’s but she couldn’t help feel a little rejected.
She chatted with Remus and Sirius for and a bit, trying to get James to participate as well. No use. He was entirely to captivated by the giggling ball of fluff in his arms and who could blame him? She was bloody adorable! She had seen first hand what Remus meant when he told her James was absolutely infatuated with Harry and that she had more luck shaving off Sirius’ hair then getting his attention when he’s in ‘Dad Mode’.
With another frustrated huff, Lily tried to take her mind off the situation with a good book. Yes, a good book and some tea would solve everything.
Until her roommate came blaring through the door.
Jumping from the sounds of the door slamming open, Lily lifted her head in time to see her flatmate attempting to enter through the door with about 10 grocery bags.
“You know it wouldn’t kill you to make two trips, right?” Lily said, laughing from her spot on the sofa.
“You know it wouldn’t kill you to help me!” Marlene snapped back.
Rolling her eyes, Lily got up from her cozy nest and went to help Marlene lug the stuff into the room. After putting everything away (Marlene stuffing everything in the cabinets until Lily got annoyed and organize everything herself) Marlene turned to her friend but paused. Lily had a look.
“You alright? You got a look on your face that’s telling me something interesting happened today”
“You’ll never guess who I ran into today,” Marlene turned to Lily, who flopped back on the sofa.
“Who?” Marlene asked, here curiously getting the best of her.
“Do you remember James Potter? From Hogwarts?”
“Lily darling…. are you forgetting James and I are cousins? Well, second cousins?” Marlene asked, she never really talked to Lily about James, even if she did spend around 50% of her time at his flat.
“Oh…. right, well I ran into him today as well as Remus, Sirius and… Harriet.”
“You saw Harriet!! Oh my gosh isn’t she the cutest little bean!!” Marlene started gushing and ranting over the cuteness of the baby, pulling out pictures on her phone and telling the story of that one time James was stupid enough to allow her to babysit.
“And that’s how I lost Harriet for over an hour and then found her in the company of many, many grandmothers pinching her cheeks”
“Wait so you knew James had a kid!? And you didn't tell me?!” Lily was up again, passing the length of her living room.
“I didn't think you would care, you made it very clear throughout our Hogwarts years that you hated him” Marlene looked at Lily strangely, she had never cared for James at all, so what’s with the sudden change? “Look, Lily, if I’m being going to be honest with you, I was a bit scared of you two meeting again”
“Scared? Why the hell would you be scared of us meeting? Is it because of Harriet?” Lily looked confused and a bit offended, why on earth would she be scared of her and James meeting again?
Marlene got up and opened the covers to grab some whiskey, “Alright listen, Lily, if anything can set me off it’s people judging James for the mistakes he made as a teenager so just listen to me for a few seconds. After Hogwarts, James became really anxious and nervous all the time, Sirius, Remus and I tried pushing him to see a doctor about it but that would just make him even more nervous. We couldn’t understand how James went from acting all cocky and arrogant to being a nervous wreck.”
“Wait so-“ Lily tried to speak but was cut off by Marlene.
“I’m not finished. When James started seeing her, Harriet’s mother, everything went downhill. James would give her everything she asked for, money, attention, anything and it was awful. She would use James’ money for drugs, cigarettes, liquor, god it was awful the amount of shit she consumed. Used him for her own advantage and made James believe he was worthless, she did, bloody bitch”
“Who’s ‘her’” Lily questioned, quoting the word ‘her’ in bunny ears.
“We don’t speak her name, she’s dead and that’s all there is to it” Marlene had a murderess look on her face that sent a shiver down her’s spine, whoever this woman was, Lily knew better than to question further, that look in Marlen's eyes was something above terrifying.
“A bunch of crap happened while those two were dating and honestly I don’t think James will ever fully recover from what she did. When he did try to get his shit together and break up with her, she burnt down the building, this bitch was crazy. Literally, she was one of those Death Eaters that enjoys killing other people for shits and giggles.”
Lily looked horrified, why the hell would James ever date someone like that!? The James she remembered would never have dated a Death Eater, he always stood up against those types of people, what happened to him? How the hell had she not heard of any of this, sure she traveled a bit here and there for work but she was still in London more times than not, how did this escape her.
“Anyway to sum up the rest of it, cause this story makes me depressed and I don’t have enough whiskey for this, all residences of the building were sent to the hospital, including her and James. Sometime later the doctors told him that the bitch was pregnant, had been for 4 months. A week later she goes missing, escaped from the hospital thanks to a couple other Death Eaters.”
“What happened after!? The baby?! Harriet!? What!! I’m so confused, if she had been an active smoker and drinker how did Harry survive, what happened after she went missing!? She-“ Lily was cut off again by Marlene, who grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
“Easy there Lils, I’m not sure exactly what happened afterward, any time we tried to pry it out of James, he would get this really sickening look and would completely avoid the question. I know Regulus has something to do with it though, you remember Regulus Black? Sirius’ little brother? Anyway, I think he helped the police track her down or something like that, all I know is that he and James have been really close since the incident.”
Lily had to sit down again, she still didn’t the understand why Marlene was telling her all this but she was glad she did. She never would have imagined all the pain James went through in such a short amount of time.
“Wow... how come I never knew of this, both you and Remus are friends with him, how come neither of you shared this with me?”
“I can’t speak for Remus, but I’m sure it’s something similar to my reason. A lot of people judge James for being 22 and a dad, the people who knew him in school think that he grew up to be as arrogant and irresponsible as he was at Hogwarts, but he’s not. He could have easily left Harriet at an adoption home, or worse he could have never bothered to look for her and left her to die, but he didn’t. Jame spent 5 bleeding months looking for his daughter, even when everyone told him it was pointless. He took her in like a responsible father and nurtured her back to health even when the doctors told him she wouldn’t live. He works day and night just to provide for her, to make sure she never has to work for anything and yet people still think he’s a terrible person.” Marlene was looking into space now, her mind wondering back to James and Harriet, how could people possibly think James was a bad person just become he was a prat at 15, it didn’t make sense to her.
Lily looked at Marlene carefully for a few seconds “You didn’t t tell me because you though my I would judge him like I did in school...”
“Can you really blame me?” She questioned simply, taking another sip of whiskey. “Well I don’t know about you but I feel depressed as shit so I’m going to drink the rest of this, eat some junk food and watch Disney movies, you want to join?”
Lily looked down at where her phone was laying, remembering the phone number she had asked Remus for “ I’ll be with you in a minute... I need to make a phone call.”
10h05
James had accidentally fallen asleep on the rocking chair, his little Harriet still sleeping peacefully in his arms when his phone started ringing. Waking up with a jump, James’ made a grab for his phone before it woke up Harriet, who stirred slightly when he jumped. Looking down at the unknown caller number, he answered the phone, bringing it to his ear.
“Hello?” he yawned.
“Hey, James? It’s Lily.”
“Evans? What are you- why are you calling me at 10 o’ clock?”
“Sorry, I didn’t think you would be asleep by now, I can call back another time if you want?”
“No! No, sorry that was rude, I just meant was there a specific reason you were calling me for, like an emergency or something.”
“Actually, I was just calling to see if you were busy this weekend? Maybe we could meet up again, you know, just the two of us?”
James looked down at the Phone weirdly, was she asking him out? He internally laughed, Lily Evans would never willingly ask him out. He was probably just sleep deprived and misheard what she said but he asked anyway just to make sure he wasn’t going crazy.
“Are you asking me out on a date Evans?” He asked, mischief lacing his voice.
“Ya, I am Potter,” she replied with just as much mischief and cockiness as him “So? Are you free or not this weekend?”
Grinning madly, James replied,
“There’s always time for a certain Lily flower in my schedule”
The end!.... I think?
#jily#jily fanfiction#jily fic#harry potter#James Potter#Lily Evans#Sirius Black#Remus Lupin#regulus black#wolfstar#marauder era#Marauders#jily modern#i dont know what im doing#oml someone help#singledad!james#singleparent!james
71 notes
·
View notes
Text
TFTP: Homebrand’s “Shelf” Launch Show
In which Homebrand launch "Shelf", HQ's security give up, and we quote a lot of people.
Hi, hello, and welcome!
My name is Skyler and I've nearly broken my neck head-banging on numerous occasions. I don't know if I should be extremely proud or concerned about that...
I also take photos of awesome bands playing awesome music for awesome crowds at awesome venues with not-so-awesome lighting.
Speaking of awesome bands playing awesome music for awesome crowds at awesome venues with not-so-awesome lighting, a few Fridays ago, I found myself photographing Homebrand's "Shelf" launch show at HQ. (I really need new venues... but y'know, everything else is 18+ and-*rants about the lack of U18 shows in Perth and what that's doing to the economy and mental stability of numerous teens*.)
This October, I had two goals: photograph a show, and have that show be on my birthday. After a disappointing September that only featured a cancelled Placebo shoot, I was desperate for anything. Luckily, I got to cover this outstanding launch to make up for the dead month. It wasn't on my birthday, but it was the day before and that's close enough.
But let's take it back a step.
T'was the day before the show and I still had no confirmation of whether or not I'd be shooting. For the record, this wasn't an extreme bother, though replies were (and still are) greatly appreciated. Along with forty-eight hour notice whenever possible. Regardless, I was at Myer with my uncle and they were playing Safia's "My Love is Gone" through the speakers. So to rephrase, I was at Myer with my uncle, attempting - and failing - to not dance around like a headless emu.
As we were searching for a birthday present, I had four words on loop: "minimalism", "lenses", and "not applicable". That is:"Hey, we should get this!""Minimalism.""Well what do you want, then?""Lenses.""Where's the minimalism there?""Not applicable."
We soon figured that the only way to settle the dilemma was to visit my very extremely amazingly fabulously good friend and potential sponsor, JB HI-FI, and splurge a decent amount of cash on vinyl. Second best to camera gear, right? Two Panic! at the Disco and one Five Finger Death Punch record later, we left to visit my arch nemesis: Camera House.
Oh, the horror...
*Violent flashbacks of Supposed Manager, his arrogance, sighs, and complaints.*
Now, it's probably worth noting that my uncle had no clue of the troublesome past I had with the store, and I hoped for it to remain that way. You may be in the same boat, completely unsure of what the hell I'm on about. Perhaps you ought to check out the
With Confidence story
: i
t's 90% the Return of the Lens and 10% With Confidence. And if you don't know what the Return of the Lens refers to, you should probably read the
Why Even Try story
. All these posts are quintessentially related and if you find them somewhat interesting, I highly suggest reading them in order to avoid complete confusion. Or you could just not read them at all, which I'm sure most of you are resorting to.
Nevertheless, I dragged myself in, head down and regret kicking in. Already missing JB HI-FI, I searched through the limited racks, hoping to locate that goddamn Nikon backpack. Background info required? Yeah. Here's the general gist of it: my grandmother told me to choose a new gear backpack that'd make shooting easier, and that my uncle would take me to purchase it on behalf of her. However, my lazy ass couldn't be bothered researching this thoroughly enough, and, as a result, the only store that I knew had this specific one was Camera House. Thus our current situation.
Unsurprisingly, it was nowhere to be found. Thankfully, Supposed Manager was also nowhere to be found. We asked an employee and they confirmed that it wasn't in stock, and that we had to go check in Leederville. And so we did, only to be told that they didn't have it either. So I settled for something different (though freaken amazing), a Lowepro with some fancy lettery-numbery title that I cannot be bothered typing. Oh, by the way, Lowepro: if you're looking for someone to sponsor, you should probably consider this random photographer in Perth, Western Australia... I hear they're pretty awesome... and desperate as all hell.
Lowepro: *Sponsor Chris Kerr.*
Now let's all take a moment to cry at how accurate that is (besides the fact that he isn't desperate). Let's take another moment to admire Chris' work.
But there's your daily life lesson: not all photographers hate each other! I mean, he has no clue as to who the hell I am, though that's not the point.
Anywho, this is the part where I compare Camera House's service to JB HI-FI's and say that JB always has everything in stock - or can order it in within a week. This is also the part where I just get along with the bloody story, for I can imagine how bored you are.
All that was just there to increase my sponsorship opportunities - or lack thereof - and include a CH complaint.
So on with the tale:
That evening, I went from maybe shooting Homebrand to not shooting to booked (thanks, Shedhead!). However, when I gained the pass, I completely forgot to ask something rather important: "Could ya please add me to the door list?"
It's not that the tickets were expensive or that I'm an extremely cheap person (even though I am). Soon after photographing my first ever show, I was googling the industry and came across a video by Adam Elmakias, my all-time favourite photographer. To paraphrase, he said: "You shouldn't buy a ticket if you're there to work." And he's right; if this is your job - or a hobby that you're hoping will become your job (your mission, to reference The Minimalists) - you pay for your transport, Grill'd stopover, and gear (though that's taxable), but you don't pay to be at the workplace, regardless of whether that's an office or concert venue. I made that mistake with the first pass I earned.
It's pretty obvious but just to be clear, this was not the band's fault. Whatsoever. They've got way more important things to be focusing on, and it's not their job to remember things that I haven't even mentioned.
You can probably imagine when I realised I hadn't told them; at the venue, when the employee guy was checking the door list.
Guy: *Flicking through* Yeah, uhm... you're not on here...
Me: What?
Me to myself: Oh, shit...
That other voice in my head: Fucking hell, Sky, you're a fucking idiot! How the fuck did you fucking forget to fucking mention the fucking listy-thingy, for fuck's sake?! You fucking fuckwit!
Guy: Do you wanna check with the band?
I looked around, attempting to locate Shedhead, though my lack of luck that ensured that nobody was around. (Again, not their fault; I'm a fucking fuckwit, remember?) Guy was growing slightly suspicious.
Guy: ...You do know who they are, right?
Me to myself, sarcastically: Nah, mate, only heard of them this morning. Me: Yeah?
Guy: I'll go see if they're out front.
Ten minutes later, we were in. Another ten minutes later, the first band was up. Coincidentally, t'was Shedhead.
If there's one thing all these bands have in common, it's that they're blatantly and exuberantly experimental and honest in their presence and music. I could attempt to make them sound elegant and sophisticated, but as the Dune Rats say, The Kids Will Know It's Bullshit. There's a lot of quoting going on today...
With that said, you're there to headbang, throw your friends at other friends' faces and to have a good time. It's thrashy, punk, satirical rock - or whatever genre they classify as - and it's unapologetic.
Shedhead was a prime example of this. With more talent than Fuelled by Ramen have signed in recent times (I'm looking at you, post-Don't Panic All Time Low) and a fanbase as dedicated as BTS', these dudes truly know how to rock out. ("Rock out"? Sara, what are you, sixty?)
Their songs are wonderful, they're great people, and they've got jams.
Now all they require is a deal with a neat lil' record label, preferably not FBR, and they're all set. And while we're on the topic of deals with neat lil' places, JB HI-FI should send that sponsorship contract my way soon...
Intermission.
Dance, dancing their way to the stage was Mango Tango, a hyper yet calm and collected band with a set list of hits. From the moment they played the first note, everyone was dying to be the John Travolta to their Uma Thurman. Their EP was only a few weeks old, yet the entire crowd knew each and every lyric off by heart, screaming incredibly out of tune and deafening my mother. But they were having a wonderful time and that’s all that counts.Their energy, enthusiasm, and always-high appearance are what stick with people well after the show. The band is extremely dedicated to their music, and it’s noticeable in their performances. With memorable sets and one hell of a catchy name, they’re sure to gain international success.
Unfortunately Kosta was slightly late to the party, arriving around the last song. This has nothing to do with him but anyway.
Intermission.
I remember those good ole’ days, long, long, ago, back at Mount Lawley Senior High’s 2016 Arts Expo, when a young band took to the stage. They were surrounded by friend-fans and teachers, lead by a shorter-haired Griffin and were missing a Harrison Larke (or was he there? I’ve no clue; it’s been a while). They were Sky's first glimpse into the local music scene. Their lead single was – and I’m pretty sure it still is – “Control”, and they earned disturbed expressions from Mr Butcher and Mr Camilleri. The crowd loved them; with each riff, octave, and any other musical word, everyone was falling more and more for the boys from JAG.
Over a year later, little has changed. The dudes rocked out to another crowd of friend-fans, though not all were from Mount Lawley. Griffin’s hair was longer than mine, Larke was in business, and I could sense Mr Butcher and Mr Camilleri’s disturbed expressions from a mile away. “Control” blasted through the speakers and each riff, octave, and any other music word saw the audience fall more and more for the boys from JAG.
But they’d improved. They’d improved their material, their presence, and most importantly, their happiness. They seemed more content; they could say what they wanted to whom they wanted, without seething dudes in suits threatening to give them detention. This is what makes them one of the best local bands; they’re passionate about their music, stick to their humble roots, and do whatever the fuck they want.
Speaking of doing whatever the fuck they want, up next were our headliners, Homebrand.
From the first note, everyone went wild. And I mean Fight Club on acid wild; everyone was headbanging against each other, Jared Leto was crowdsurfing, Bob was crying and hugging someone whilst trampling somebody else, Marla was smoking a cig’ up the back, and Tyler Durden was fighting himself in the parking lot.
Their music was great – but that’s not what we’re here for. Well, I suppose we ought to include a fancy review of “Shelf”:
“It’s fucking wonderful.”
Sky, we said fancy.
Oh, right… How’s this:
“Homebrand have revived themselves and the scene with this song, achieving preposterously eargasmic riffs and other complex musical shizzle. The post-Mixed Signals era is set to become huge, and will hopefully see everyone stop screaming “PLAY INSOMNIA, YOU FUCKS!” and replace it with the lyrics of “Shelf”, which will inevitably lead to Daryl needing to display less inappropriate gestures onstage.”
Close enough to fancy.
But like I said, their music wasn't what we were there for: what truly stood out about their performance wasn't actually the band - don't get me wrong, they killed it up there - but HQ's reaction and plan to having Homebrand play was absolutely priceless; especially when they failed to execute their ideas.
You see, this band - and its fans - are known for the insanity they cause. It's their brand. Their Homebrand. (I'll stop...) They are there to demolish everything. They are going to break something or someone. Nobody just "shows up" without knowing what they're getting into; and if they do, they don't walk out with all their limbs in tact. There is headbanging, and I don't mean normal headbanging; I mean worse than me in my room on a Saturday evening whilst listening to Cannibal Corpse headbanging. If you're not crowdsurfing, your friends will lift you the fuck up and force you to crowdsurf. There are no "sidelines". There's no calming down. You either grab the person next to you by the neck and swing them around mercilessly or leave. And the best part? Everyone is still friends with everyone else and there are no hard feelings. Or so I'm lead to believe.
As a photographer, I couldn't ask for anything more. Okay, perhaps HQ could upgrade their lighting system and get rid of those godawful reds. But this is exactly what we're there for, and I freaken love it.
And that, my dudes, is why Homebrand is Perth's best live band. (No offence to all the other bands, all of whom I love dearly, but you can't compete with these guys.)
HQ, however, doesn't share my views. They knew this was going to happen, that personal spaces would be no more and that their speakers would be destroyed, so they employed crowd control.
Be right back, I'm just going to go laugh hysterically for a few hours.
Crowd control? What the hell was the point? All they did was piss off the dudes in the front row. Nobody could "control" these guys. They were there to be a destructive wreck and have an incredible time, and that's what they did. Had HQ seriously considered that a couple of guys in fancy uniforms - one of whom doubled up as a photographer - could change that? Nope.
"Stop that!"
"Ma'am, get off the speaker."
"PUT THEM DOWN THIS INSTANT, GODDAMNIT!"
"I said... sTOP IT!"
"How much are we getting paid for this again...?"
Get a reality check, mate. The only good that could come out of their little visit was if they managed to avoid getting kicked in the face - then the venue could avoid legal fees.
Not too long after, the set was over and those sorry security guards could go catch their breath.
And that was that. Up next: Alice Cooper at Perth Arena. (Spoiler alert: I lose my photo pass and have to shoot with my phone. It's quite the evening.)
MUSICAL SUMMARY:
Shedhead: The kids will know their music isn't bs/5
Mango Tango: Energetic fruit loops/5
JAG: I’ve got your yearbook photos/5
Homebrand: What is crowd control/5
PHOTOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY:
Lenses: better than the 85mm/5
Camera: again - not allowed to complain/5
Lighting: the reason I've lost all hope in humanity/5
Editing: best way to spend my birthday/5
My sanity: no English/5
Check out all the awesome bands:
Shedhead
Mango Tango
JAG
Homebrand
Live long and headbang,
xx-Skyler Slate
0 notes
Text
[FEATURE] TEMPEST: THE STAGE PLAY
For those of you who’ve followed us through the years, you know that I’ve developed a strong liking for great stage plays. I’ll easily travel round the world, which I sort of did, earlier this year. I’m almost ready to take another drive for this amazing story in Tempest, written & directed by budding playwright Kerry Ann Frazier. Let’s be clear that I say budding simply because she’s a new face to many. Her storylines, her professionalism, and the spirit she delivers speaks that of a true and ultimate master. She definitely falls right in line with the best in the world of playwrights, and the story of Tempest will undoubtedly show you that.
We had the amazing opportunity to talk with Kerry Ann about the play, and the August 19 showing in Killeen, TX! Check out the exclusive below!
U.G. Digital Mag: Thank you so, so much for the opportunity. I could easily be considered a stage play buff. I absolutely love a good stage play. I was excited to connect with you. Starting off, talk about how you entered into the arena of stage?
Kerry Ann Frazier: I have been on the stage since I was 5 years old. I was a hyper kid, and my parents didn’t know what to do with me [laughing]. They put me in a church play and I got the bug at 5 years old. I’ve been in theater; church, school and community, since I was that age, and I’ve been a director for a little over 20 years now. I didn’t study theater at USC; I graduated with a degree in Social Work. I was around a lot of theater buffs while I was there, so much that I call it an unofficial major. That’s really how I was introduced to acting. I enjoy the classics, so I studied the greats, and tried to go to as many plays as possible. I really studied the craft of stage acting. It’s been a hobby and now has developed into a business, that being Frazier Drama Company, which is owned by Daryl Frazier.
U.G. Digital Mag: Talk to me about Tempest.
Kerry Ann Frazier: With the story of Tempest, I have to go back to our last production, which was “Losing Mama”. This is a prequel to Losing Mama. “Tempest” is one of the younger grandchildren of the Dupont family. She is a corporate attorney, and is one who has had everything in life come to her except relationships with the opposite sex. It’s a comedy where we explore where things meet with reality, and how we set plans for ourselves. It’s a gospel stage play that shows how sometimes, when God intervenes, it’s just so much better than what we could have imagined. That’s what “Tempest” is. Many characters are from “Losing Mama”, and it introduces our next production.
U.G. Digital Mag: It’s amazing. Are there side stories and additional storylines that this play will show?
Kerry Ann Frazier: Definitely. Through my past plays, one of the things I’ve heard a lot from my viewers is they want something from a singles perspective. This play covered so many different things; being single, and then also being married. Sometimes, those who are married look at their friends who are single and have that nostalgic feeling. It’s like one side wants what the other side wants. It’s about relationships from your own perspective. The next play is “Sunday Dinner”, and “Mama’s Family”.
U.G. Digital Mag: Like I said, I love a good play, so I’m sitting trying to figure out how I’m getting to Killeen, Texas (laughing). I have no problem traveling for a good story.
Kerry Ann Frazier: Well come on out. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.
U.G. Digital Mag: It’s funny because at the top of the year, I covered a play and drove from Cleveland to Houston to see it. I would do it in a heartbeat.
Kerry Ann Frazier: What I can say is with Losing Mama, we’ll definitely be selling the DVDs for those who can’t make it. It sold out in different cities. Some of the characters, like Uncle Riley and Aunt Pearlie, they’re also in Tempest, so you get to see a little about their family.
U.G. Digital Mag: Amazing! I love how you have it set up with different families, and storylines. It puts me in mind of the other playwrights who do a lot of the same. What have you learned looking at the power figures, like your Tyler Perrys, and Shelley Garretts?
Kerry Ann Frazier: One thing I get from Tyler Perry, and David E Talbert, is to go out and do it. I am a social worker by profession, and I’ve been a social worker for years, and have always had apprehension of starting my drama company. One of the things I heard from Tyler Perry and Denzel Washington in one of his actor’s workshops is to take the leap. There will never be a right time. If you have a good brand, and story, and operate in the spirit of excellence, it will work out. The success will come.
U.G. Digital Mag: I also heard that same thing from Shelley Garrett, who was responsible for Beauty Shop, and many others. I can relate as well because I had the same apprehension in launching this magazine a few years ago. I have been in healthcare for 16 years, but you have to believe in yourself and take the chance.
Kerry Ann Frazier: Right. I attend one of the largest churches here in Killeen. I remember doing a play called Behind Closed Doors, and it touched on domestic violence. I remember dozens of people coming up to me afterwards looking for help and someone to talk to. It was such a huge impact. People might read a book, or listen to a seminar, or hear a sermon. To have a play dealing with these issues, and people have the visual aspect, it resonates differently. That’s one of the things I learned, and I try hard to be responsible to spread positive messages. Even in negative situations, people can walk away wanting to make a difference.
U.G. Digital Mag: I love your enthusiasm and spirit. I can tell it is so well thought out. I must get there to see it (laughing). How far is Killeen from Dallas?
Kerry Ann Frazier: It’s about two hours, and about 40 minutes from Austin.
U.G. Digital Mag: Hey, it’d be a nice vacation. I have family in Dallas.
Kerry Ann Frazier: Oh, OK. Well please let me know. It would be a honor.
U.G. Digital Mag: I will surely be at the next one.
Kerry Ann Frazier: That wlll be in Waco, Killeen, and Austin.
U.G. Digital Mag: Oh wow, pretty awesome. In terms of this play, will there be a possibility of touring to other places?
Kerry Ann Frazier: We would love to. Many of our actors are active or retired military. The option is open.
U.G. Digital Mag: For people looking to keep up with you and your production company, where can they go?
Kerry Ann Frazier: Direct them to kerryannfrazier.com. We are on Twitter and Instagram and Facebook as well.
U.G. Digital Mag: Thank you again, so much. This was so awesome, and what you have is amazing. I’m a big fan of the arts, and an even bigger fan of the stage.
Kerry Ann Frazier: Thank you so much.
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
mariacyrina
SERENE MOMENTS
catscratching
Thief in Thavnair
aussiewrappin
Aussie Wrappin
muestrasgratisposts-blog
Muestras Gratis