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birdieklein · 4 years

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hello, official introduction time. my name is, i’m twenty-two, and i’m currently wasting a lot of time playing animal crossing. don’t ask me how much. it’s a lot of time. a lot.

anywho, this, my dear friends, is beatrice rose galloway-klein. her mama is the only one who uses her full name because most people just call her birdie ( much to her mama’s chagrin ), and some call her gallo, but only if they’re feeling frisky. she’s aiming to be the president of the united states one day, and honestly ? she could get there. but for now, she’s only twenty. she’s escaped from southern belle hell but the accent and taste for pecan pie hasn’t left her. she has a drawl thicker than fog in the spring, and she could charm the birds out of trees. currently, she’s a part of house machiavelli, and she’s studying political science and political theory. honestly, she’s just a delight, and i’m peachy keen to start plotting with everyone !

below the cut is a full bio & ideas for plotting.

Blurb:

A firecracker. A fur coat draped over her shoulders as she lounges on the couch. She’s smarter than she seems, watching and waiting, thirsting for secrets. She drinks pink wine from a bottle, and she’s waiting for a chance to wear a crown on her head.

Backstory:

You are a beauty queen failure much to your mama’s chagrin but her words can’t hurt you because you are untouchable. Bold and brazen, nothing can bring you down. It’s funny. You should have been soft and demure, but you are anything but. You walk into a room and eyes are on you. That’s how it’s meant to be. One day, eyes will be on you, and everyone will listen. You can imagine it all too well. You are going to be something and damn anyone who thinks they can get in your way.

History:

Birdie Klein is born in the high heat of summer in southern Alabama to a beauty queen and the state governor. She is a fussy thing, yelling and never settling down. Her parents adore her, though, for completely different reasons. Her mama sees good cheekbones and pageants in her future, while her daddy sees her as something to love and adore. It is clear who her favorite parent would be from the beginning.

The house she grows up in --- the manor --- is too big for a child. The walls are tall and the windows go from the floor to the ceiling. she gets lost in the curtains between masses of fabric. there is art on the wall, photographs and paintings. she is told from the beginning: look, don’t touch. That's her whole childhood, mottos like that. sit, stay still. walk, don’t run. it is stifling. She is tied up in ribbons and taffeta and she hates it. she stares out the window, longingly towards the trees in the yard. The respite in her life is trips to her grandmother’s. Birdie runs free through the orchard, skinning her knees and scraping her palms. It's a little bit of normalcy. but she always has to return to that too-big house. it’s filled with more people who aren’t family than those who are. there are chefs and maids and butlers and nannies and tutors. Birdie knows them all by name. They take care of her more than her parents. they deal with the tantrums and fits.

She is eight when she steps into her first private school. She does well enough in classes ( her reports home constantly say that she would do better if she only applied herself ) and she thrives surrounded by her peers. she does what’s expected of her, but really nothing more. she has her passions and throws herself into them, of course. feminism. women’s studies. suffrage. Little else really stimulates her. She does well on debate team --- she can talk and argue like no one else --- and she plays field hockey for the school team.

She realizes just how much money her family has one day when she is talking to a ( gasp ) scholarship student at her school. She talks about flights on her daddy’s jet and vacations in majorca. She mentions her nanny and tutor and how they were replaced when she said she didn’t like them. She talks about christmas and how her wardrobe is completely replaced. She doesn’t realize when the other student falls silent, feeling awkward and out of place. Finally, she is hit with the knowledge that not everyone has what she does. She carefully tries not to flaunt her wealth after that, but sometimes it’s hard. She wears clothes that are worth more than some people’s entire. The names of brands that fall from her lips come easy. she knows her wealth can be … overwhelming … but she isn’t mad about it. She likes the life she has.

Birdie is fifteen when she realizes she wants to be just like her daddy. He is in politics, she wants to do the same. They definitely do not have the same ideas. She’s liberal as can be, he’s more moderate. She wants change. He tells her it takes time. she wants it now. During her high school summers, she goes to D.C. and works as an intern in a congresswoman’s office. She doesn’t do much more than make copies, send faxes, and get coffee, but she’s in the room where it happens. She is seeing how the world works and how real change gets made. she tells herself one day she’ll work in one of these offices still. Of course, when that happens, her name will be on the door. It will be her office. It will be her changes that are being made.

She gets into Astor with no trouble. It’s her dream school. She’s going to become something there, surely. How could she not ?

Connection Ideas

and they were roommates ( oh my god, they were roommates ): listen give me a machiavelli for her to share a room with. if they’re on good terms, think of it as a long sleepover. birdie loves to gossip. she paints her toes cherry red, and she’ll paint her roommates’, too, if they’re nice. she’ll chit chat and charm their way into their heart quick as a whip. OF COURSE, they could find birdie annoying. if that’s the case, consider this: birdie’ll try to kill ‘em with kindness and a ton of ‘ bless your heart ‘s. /// OPEN

for the love of appearances : consider this: birdie, proud, in heels that would make her mama’s heart stop, you by her side, looking just as good. a relationship for the image, nothing more. maybe behind closed doors, they bicker like hell and they hate each other. maybe they’re friends. who’s to say .we can definitely play around. there are a lot of options and variables. /// OPEN

hook up hell : listen, birdie loves her appearance. hook ups ? don’t look good for a politician. but they’re fun as hell, and who’s to say a girl can’t enjoy herself every once in a while ? i imagine birdie has joked about making her hook ups sign a non-disclosure agreement before. she was also probably only half kidding. also we can decide if there are real feelings ????? if there’s angst ??????????? love angst here. /// OPEN

friends : okay so birdie is a firecracker, super sociable, super fun ( with limits tho let’s be real -- a politician can have nO SKELETONS IN HER CLOSET ). she’s got a cherry red convertible, a credit card with no limit ---- she likes impressing her friends. i’m not saying she buys her friends, but if the shoe fits ..... /// OPEN

rich bitch friends : birdie’s something of a socialite slash heiress slash really doesn’t ever need to work if she didn’t want to sort of person ?? i imagine she grew up around a lot of people in similar positions ???? so like childhood friends ????? not close, but forced together by obligation ?????? we can EXPLORE /// OPEN

idk my bff jill : listen, birdie needs at least one real friend, someone who sees her beyond the red lipstick and cat-eye mascara. they take away the charm and the southern drawl and they see someone who’s scared of not reaching their goals, who’s scared of losing their mama entirely, someone who just wants to be liked. /// CLOSED to ESTELLA

enemies : c’mon someone must have to not like birdie, i’m sorry, it’s true. there are so many possibilities. maybe birdie’s ambition rubs them the wrong way. maybe birdie is just .... too much. maybe they don’t like her wealth. a loooooot of options. /// OPEN

#astortalks #&. ╱ pretty girls don’t know the things that i know ▎ ‹ about › )#astorooc

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lonelypond · 6 years

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Casual Lunacy, Ch. 44

Love Live, NicoMaki, 2.1K, 44/?

Summary: How is our favorite werewolf/redhead coping with a night at the theatre?

Tuesday’s Gray, Part 3

Intermission. A break. Outside. Away from Nozomi. Away from so many misleading sensations. Smells not matching voices, actions not matching emotions. All a muddle, and Nico at the heart of it, Nico and Kashima, magic and musk strengthening with every gasp or confident stride. Nozomi alert to Maki’s every twitch. Sensation overflow. Barely a moon buried under banks of clouds, barely a thrum, low levels of late evening noise. Weather was going to get bad, Maki could smell the wet, waiting snow. But she could breathe here, for a few minutes before she had to go back inside, to finish the full Fangs experience. Maki wanted this to be over, so over, so she could just go back to Nico’s place and…

Maki howled, softly, suddenly lonely and longing for a caress and Nico to lean into. But no, back inside, to watch Nico on stage, ruby eyed dynamite unleashing all that vitality, creating moments, catching the interest of anyone watching, like she did at the party, heartbeats raised, heads tilted, everyone’s eyes following Nico. Nico thrived on the attention, her delight coming through every sense. And Maki was happy for Nico, really she was, although suddenly waking from a new lovers haze to find herself so connected to someone so connected to so many others’ reactions was a shock. Then, as Maki was processing this new Nico, who wasn’t really a new Nico, just a Nico who had kept all her focus on Maki for too brief a while and was now renewing her contacts with the world, there was old Nico suddenly surging on the Lakefill, surprising Maki, leading Maki into that tiny control room and stripping away all the emotions, leaving them both breathless with the physicality, the fierceness of the bond between them. That had been…unsettling. And sexy, sensual, provocative, risky, raw. But Maki kept returning to how off balance she had felt as Nico bounced out of the room, blowing a kiss, heading to conquer the stage as confidently as she had just conquered Maki. And once again, Maki had found herself sliding, unsteady on breaking, drifting ice over emotional depths she was afraid to be tossed into.

Sister One, also known as Deidre, and Sister Two, Amira, were sitting in the green room, gossiping together, a few feet away from where Eli had settled at the mirror.. Eli had a decent working relationship with them, but they were senior theatre majors and Eli’s junior status and minor in dance meant they hadn’t interacted much before this show. Deidre and Amira knew everyone in the theatre department and had long been Kashima confidants.

“Can you believe Nico skipped the CosPlay party at Chapin last week?” Amira complained as she searched for her mascara.

“I know. She hasn’t had time for anything this quarter. First, it was this part, then work, then that redhead.” Deidre checked her hair in the mirror, redoing the tie holding it up and back.

“She’s in the audience tonight. I hear she’s a freshman. And loaded.”

Diedre sniggered, “Oh, is that why Nico is keeping her to herself.”

Amira quickly applied her mascara, “You know I’m really not going to mind if Nico gets mad at us and Kashima for this. She barely talks to me anymore anyway.”

“Kashima’s doing Nico a favor.” Deidre took a lipstick out of Amira’s bag.

“Exactly.” Eli found herself scooting her chair down as she brushed her hair, but when Amira caught her paying attention, the brunette nudged her companion, “Hey, Eli, what do you think about Nico? She’s BFF with your girlfriend.”

Eli was a bad liar but…Eli shrugged, “She could be nicer to Nozomi.”

“I know. Nico always wants it like “Nico Ni”” Deidre mocked Nico’s pose, “thinks it should be. Getting a part this big just made her ego even more inflated. She’s been nagging Kashima about her singing when what Kashima really needs support. Which is why Kashima comes to us.”

Amira nodded. “And we give her love.”

Eli watched her two fellow vamps smile mysteriously and wondered if just asking what was up would get her anywhere. Should Eli even care? Kashima wasn’t the problem. Surely Nico was up to handling intracast spats. She seemed to have Kashima pretty well heeled.

Eli decided to continue being a friendly vibration. “I’m just glad we don’t have solos. Kashima looks so pale before she sings.”

“She claims it’s on purpose, to add to the ‘King of the Un-dead’ effect,” Deidre sniggered, “But I know she’s just trying not to throw up.”

Someone’s phone pinged. There was a groan as a voice announced to the dressing rooms, “Bad snowstorm tonight. Hope we get out of here before it starts.”

“Yeah. Maybe we could get started soon….” another grumble, “I have a test tomorrow.”

Eli stood, “I’m going to find a stage manager and see what’s up.”

It was just so cute. But Nozomi had to not giggle because the first couple times she almost, Maki shot her glare full of neon threat. But there was Nico’s Big Bad Girlfriend, curled up in her seat, holding her backpack like a teddy bear, huge eyes watching the stage as Nico lived Mina’s fight against Dracula, whimpers and low growls escaping the tensed redhead. Nozomi swore she saw Maki bite into her bag when Mina was under hypnosis, describing what she saw through her bond with Dracula.

Fortunately, Maki knew when Nico set foot in the audience part of the theatre, otherwise she might have jumped when she felt the arms slide over her shoulders. But she did stiffen. Maki could tell Nico was surprised by that reaction, but Maki was about ready to run howling laps around the Lakefill to get the moody darkness of Fangs out of her head. She now knew what Nico meant when Nico complained about how screechy the music got, and how hard it was to keep that out of her nightmares...add musical cues to Kashima bending threateningly over a swooning, vulnerable Nico and Maki knew she would be the one having nightmares tonight.

“Hey, pretty girl, wasn’t Nico brilliant?” Nico kissed Maki’s cheek, throwing Maki right back to the chair, before the show, heart racing, suddenly as empty as the room...Maki shivered. “Whoa, are you cold, Maki?”

Before Nico could continue, Nozomi let out all the amusement she’d been keeping in for the past hour, with a booming laugh, “She’s TERRIFIED, Nico-chi. Almost bit her bag in half, didn’t ya, Maki?”

Nico glared at Nozomi, while Maki shoved her backpack a little away from her. Maki was at the end of the row of seats so Nico slid into her lap, fingers tangling in red silk before pulling her girlfriend in for an embrace as she whispered, “It’s no good if Nico’s not convincing on stage. But Kashima doesn’t even nip me, I swear.”

Nozomi continued to giggle, Maki was too embarrassed to look up and let her head drop to Nico’s shoulder, inhaling confident Nico masked in the fakery of makeup and the Kashima overlay. Olfactory thrall. No clear scent, no clear head…

Maki sat up, eyes catching Nico’s. “I’ll walk you home.”

“Isn’t it the other way around?” Nozomi leaned over to poke Nico.

Nico swatted at her and stood up, “Shut up, Nozomi. Come backstage with me, Maki, I have to change and grab my bag.”

Maki was restless. Nico wondered if it was having to sit still for two and a half hours while so much “happened” on stage. Or the aftermath of what happened before rehearsal. As sexy as it was to have Maki so frantic for Nico’s touch, there had been an odd mood, an unfamiliar expression on her lover’s face, one that Nico didn’t have a name for.

Nico slid her arm through Maki’s. The snow had started and the sky was layers of gray clouds, shedding wet, heavy flakes.

“So are you ready for opening night now?” Nico opted for a less pressing question, one that might encourage Maki to share any thoughts looping in her mind.

Maki shrugged, stopping to stare up at the sky and let a few snowflakes hit her in the face, “I suppose.” She grinned, “I won’t bite Kashima now that I know how it ends.”

Nico leaned in, “She’s really improved, thanks to you. You saved Nico.”

Another shrug, “You would have done fine. People know you’re…” Maki considered, translating wolf through partly human senses into human language was puzzling sometimes, but then she remembered one of Nico’s favorite claims, “a star.”

“So they respect Nico.” Nico bounced at the confirmation.

“Or fear you. Machiavelli got that right.”

“Who?” Nico asked.

“Dead Italian guy. Wrote books.”

“Another poet?”

Maki snorted, “Playwright. Actually philosopher. It was the Renaissance, people were a lot of things.”

“Triple threats. Like Nico.”

Italian philosophy seemed heavier than snow so Maki changed the subject to one sure to distract her lover, “But not as cute.”

“Aw, Maki loves Nico.” Nico nuzzled.

Maki’s noise of agreement was subdued enough that Nico suspected their pre show encounter was at the base of Maki’s odd mood.

“Did Nico leave Maki too…” Nico let the question trail off, not sure how to read the redhead’s mood.

Maki picked up her pace. Nico pulled her back, “Maki.”

Maki hung her head, expression shadowed by her hood, “We should get you home.”

“Us home.” Nico corrected. No response. “Maki, what’s going on?”

Maki collapsed into a crouch, and Nico reached out to touch her shoulder as the redhead muttered, “Don’t know.”

Nico crouched as well, “Tell me what you're thinking. Maybe I can help.”

Maki picked up some snow and started to form it into a ball, “Acting is weird.” She stood and threw the snowball at a streetlight.

“Is Nico weird?”

“No.” Maki shook her head as she shoved her now red hands in the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie, “You were actually pretty amazing. I was so worried for you even when I knew you were fine.”

“So why don’t you want to come home with me?” Nico stood, pulling Maki’s hood back far enough that she could see her eyes, which were full of swirling green and shadows. Nico knew there was something big that Maki wasn’t articulating, but Nico was almost certain that pushing the skittish redhead on the subject of their sex life’s debut performance in a semi public location would just lead to a howl and run. Careful phrasing. “We missed the cuddle part.”

Maki’s eyes glinted amethyst ice, “You didn’t miss it. You were on full thrill.”

“Did you?” Nico’s question was soft as they stood in a pool of light, disconnected and awkward.

“I don’t know. Maybe…” Maki turned, arms out, “I’ve just...it’s been…” Maki took a deep breath, “I’ve felt so many things, so many people, closing in all evening...that and the...I want… I need...to play...to hear...something that makes sense.”

Nico didn’t have a piano. Maki had had barely a moment to breathe since Nico took her hand and dragged her into the Wirtz Center. There hadn’t been any calms, just increasing tension, rising restlessness, the knowledge that something was going to break through, to rip out from under Maki’s skin, a howl or leap or a...storm. Maki swept a hand through some falling snow, wondering what this mood might manifest...she could hear the screechiness of the Fangs orchestra merge with the softer fall of a cello in snow and the quick hammering of her heart as Nico...Maki felt her fingers twitch, wanting to search out the notes that would transform this whole evening into meaning.

Nico watched Maki for a moment, as Maki stared off into the distance, unaware of anything other than whatever was going on in her head. She’d have to get used to that, Nico realized, but thoughtful Maki, thoughtful Maki was Depth and Beauty carved against the snow. Nico could certainly hold that image in her heart until playful, flirty Maki returned.

“Maki?” Nico’s touch on her arm was firm but when Maki looked down, Nico’s smile was warm, “You can head home. Nico can manage from here. It’s only a block.” Maki sniffed, uncertain. Nico was concerned, but calm, loving, detached. Some of the pressure lifted and Maki grabbed Nico, spinning the smaller woman off the ground, hugging her. Releasing Nico, with a howl, Maki sprinted off. Bemused, Nico shook her head, counting snowflakes for awhile as she watched Maki disappear into the gray. She was positive an affectionate Maki would remember to call or text at some point, but right now, Nico respected this mood she was on the outside of. Besides, she could use a good night’s sleep. It was already a hectic week.

A/N: Tuesday extended itself for more chapters than I expected, but Maki had some things to process before we could progress.Merry Wives is hectic as we approach going off book.Take care of yourself. And do something you love.

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Casual Lunacy #Love Live #werewolf #theatre #coffeeshop #college #Go U Northwestern #fanfic #etc #acting

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justineabrugena · 5 years

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Privileges and Positionality: academia and the rest of the world

PRIVILEGE — it’s a word that has been constantly dropped and discussed as I did my graduate studies, and it’s something that I have been acutely aware and conscious of for the past year and a half. Maybe if someone asked me two or three years ago if I consider myself privileged, I would have answered, “no, not really, I don’t think so. Whatever I had, I had to work hard and fight for it.”. Even when I went to one of the premier (and most expensive) universities in the Philippines, I did not necessarily saw myself as privileged. I worked hard to be there, fought to be there, and begged to be there. I was the scholarship and financial aid kid in a place full of wealthy privileged kids. Compared to them, I was the underprivileged. I equated privilege with money, and indeed it is an indicator of privilege, but only one amongst numerous indicators.

In retrospect, I realized how self-centered and narrow that perspective was. The way I saw it before, it was either you have it or you don’t. I saw privilege as a ‘dirty’ word, something to be afraid of, and something that if associated with oneself would make someone bad or worse someone who perpetuates the system of inequalities. To someone who had to fight for whatever they had, acknowledging their privilege felt like discrediting the hardwork, tears, blood and pain, that came with getting what one had. But then I realized, privilege is not something that’s black or white. It’s more like a spectrum of monochrome; there are levels. One would be more privileged than others, but there are others who would be more privileged than one. One’s privilege doesn’t really discredit any effort and hardwork that was done to achieve something, to be in something, to have something. Rather, what my graduate studies taught me, is that privilege is something inevitable; it is something that comes along whether one likes it or not. It is something that we all work for, something we get after all our efforts, tears, and pain. Privilege is not necessarily bad or evil, what makes it problematic, is when one doesn’t acknowledge it. So there you go, check your privilege and acknowledge it. Take it into account, how it affects your actions, how it affects yourself, relative to the rest of the world.

Why am I writing this? Well, first because I am privileged enough to have time to reflect, to think, to write. Second, because I just finished having coffee with a friend and we talked about this (see, I am privileged). Third, a few months ago my feathers were ruffled because I heard a discussion between an academic and another individual. The academic called some individuals irresponsible for not being able to grasp words that would be considered academic jargon in layman’s terms, which I interpreted as condescending because instead of responsibly and humbly pointing it out (and IDK, maybe try to do something about it), the academic just whined and ultimately deemed others irresponsible (maybe I misinterpreted what was said, maybe I’m overthinking, maybe Im putting words in the academic’s mouth). Fourth, I just wanted to share my thoughts about it and again I’m privileged enough to do so.

Privilege and academia

As someone who is currently in the academia, I am privileged to have read some of the works of Plato, of Machiavelli, of Kant, of Focault, of Wallerstein, of Spivak, of Bhabha, of many more literary and scholarly canons. I am privileged enough to know and understand, or at least grasp the complexity within big terms such as “feminism”, “queerness”, “neoliberalism”, “post-colonialism”, “subaltern”, “socialism”, “humanism”,”intersectionality” and many more jargon. Just because others don’t completely grasp those words, or would confuse some terms with another, does not make them utterly irresponsible. To deem them irresponsible would be condescending, as it does not acknowledge the system of privilege that every one of us are placed in. If anything, one has to consider the question of why. Why does that happen? Maybe they just didn’t have the access to knowledge and to resources that some have, resources that I do as a graduate student in the developed West. Maybe, those people were taught by individuals who also have limited access to knowledge. Yes there’s Google and the internet nowadays, but do note that even what most people think as basic might be something that others only has limited access to. Moreover, accessing academic jargon is still limited — one still needs to pay for proper access to journals and books. My point is, what and how we know the world is brought by our privilege, and we have to see it relative to the others in the rest of the world.

Positionality

I think I first heard the word positionality during my graduate studies. It’s something that all my professors have repeatedly emphasized from the very beginning of our program. It's something that usually refers to the researcher’s place in relation to the research,but it definitely applies to our real life too. Each one of us are uniquely positioned in a certain way with regards to all others, which either makes us more privileged than others or less privileged than others in certain different circumstances. One can be considered privileged in a certain context and circumstance but that same individual might be less privileged when placed in a completely different context and circumstance. Our positions and privileges change over time as we accumulate knowledge, experience, network, etc. and as we go through different situations and circumstances throughout our lifetime. What is important though is to be aware of that position and how that positionality affects oneself and others. Still, it is a privilege being able to acknowledge our positionality, to even recognize it relative to the rest of the world.

We are all little parts of a whole. We are just a tiny specks in the grand scheme of things in the world. Hence, we must realize who, what, why, and how we are in relation to others. It’s a humbling realization, and it’s something grad school gave me. It is definitely a privilege to be able to be in this higher echelons of education, but that is what it is, a privilege. Recognizing that privilege, and acknowledging my positionality keeps my feet on the ground, I think. Nonetheless, just because I’ve gained access to the high tower of Academia, it doesn’t mean that I have to stay there and view the world from atop. Academia doesn’t always have to be the tower that it is considered by the rest of the world. Jargons doesn’t always have to be jargons. The irony, is that I learned that in grad school, I learned that from the high tower of academia, because I was privileged to have met professors, colleagues, and classmates who constantly recognizes their positionalities, their privileges. They try their best to work beyond the tower, to be with the rest of the world, to constantly put their feet on the ground. I realize some may not have had this privilege, some might have met and learned from academics who prefer to be in the tower and condescendingly look down below, but that’s just a sad and tragic way to learn and live. Maybe this is just my privilege and positionality talking, but at the very least, I’m recognizing it and trying to distance myself from it for a moment of clarity.

***This was written for and first appeared at the EMMIR blog

#privilege #positionality #graduate school #emmir #reflection #academia

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