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aroaceslytherin · 3 years

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Fairytales Always Have a Twist

Hope Howell had always believed in fairy-tales. She loved reading about them in big chairs at the library close to the motel room she called home. She grew up lonely. A wallflower with the nickname “anti-social bookworm” with no parents to turn to. They abandoned her when she was six years old. So she was told.

Hope ran from the Christian orphanage at sixteen, found a minor job as a waitress in her favourite cafe, found a home in motel rooms, and shopped at farmers’ markets. She went through guys like no one’s business; making out with them under the bleachers at school (she was forever grateful of the family she lived with for two years for keeping her in school even if they could not keep her any longer), or finding them in the libraries, at the farmers markets, or even bars. Yet she struggled to find one that accepted a poor and orphaned weirdo.

That all changed when she was being chased down an alley-way at twenty-two by an inky black shadowed figure.

“STOP RUNNING!” Someone yelled from in front of her.

It was too late, she barrelled into the person and tumbled to the ground with them.

The stranger jumped to their feet, shielding her under his arm as he blasted some sort of light at the thing that was chasing her. Hope clung to the stranger as she breathed deeply to calm her adrenaline. It was a huge mistake as this was the best smell she had ever smelled in all of her life.

He took a firm grip on her shoulders and held her upright, his amber eyes looking into her dark brown orbs with worry. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Diolch.” She answered. “What was that thing?”

“Boggart.” He answered firmly and confidently. He chuckled at her confused expression. “Amortal shape-shifting non-being that takes on the attacker or observer’s worst fear. In your case, just an inky blob as I assume you are non-magic?”

Magic?! Oh my God! That explains the light. She chuckled half-heartedly. “Your kidding, right? Who are you? You're a wizard?”

He extended his hand. “Proper introduction, I see. Right, pardon me.” He cleared his throat, squaring himself. “Lyall Lupin.”

She shook his hand firmly with a nod. “Hope Howell.” She giggled. “Should you be telling me this?”

“Aye, I graduated not that long ago. I am cleared. Anywhere ‘round here nice enough to chat and tell you my story?”

“Asking me out just minutes of meeting?”

Lyall shrugged, hands in his pockets, looking around the alley-way.

I would suggest my home, but that would be weird with a stranger and… well… would he judge me? He seems like he comes from a wealthy family. Take a risk, Hope. This could be it for you! Fairy-tales, remember? And damn does he look like a prince! Don’t forget magic… okay, this isn’t just about that. He’s a nice guy, shouldn’t go after him just cause’ of that. Off topic… oh! Answer him, Jesus! “Uh, yeah. If it isn’t too weird we could go to my place?”

He nodded. “Sounds fine to me. I won’t bite.” He joked. “Happen to have a car? I wouldn’t want you to leave it around here.”

Nice, considerate, and funny. How the hell did he get here? Why was I fated to meet him? She nodded, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah, just a short walk that way.” She pointed to the left where they had entered the alley from. “I had just ended my shift when that thing chased me from my car. Boggart, you said?” She looked up at him as they walked, his eyes darting across the dimly lit streets like he was looking for something.

“Uh, yes.” He answered, sprinting to the driver’s side and opening it for her. “M'lady.”

She blushed softly, minding her head as she dropped herself into the seat. Gentleman. No guy has ever held doors for me, not that I mind because I can do it myself, but it would have been nice sometimes.

She started the ignition as Lyall got in her car.

If I wake up in the morning and this is all a dream, I will hunt him down. This is way too real like to be a dream, but yet he is so chivalrous that it seems like a dream. Dreams can be realistic. Although reality can be like a dream as well.

She pulled into the motel parking lot, her heart pounding as she thought of all the worst-case scenarios but when she looked over at Lyall, he was getting out of the car like nothing was unusual. He bent over to look at her.

“Expecting me to know which one’s yours?” He smiled.

Hope smiled back, turning off the ignition and grabbing her bag as she threw her keys in then grabbed her motel key.

“Just over here.” She answered, guiding him to the stairs.

The dim light did little to aid her, and she growled in frustration, blindly guiding the key into the slot with growing frustration as the nighttime air became colder, nipping at her bare arms.

Lyall looked around before pulling his wand from his sleeve and giving her light. Hope glanced up at him with a blank expression before looking back at the key and jamming it into the slot before forcefully turning it and kicking the door open with her heeled foot.

“Damn door.” She grumbled, throwing her bag to the floor and her keys in the dish on her counter. Lyall shimmied the door shut and locked them in. Hope let her light brown curls cascade down her back as she headed to the bathroom. “I’m just going to get comfortable. Make yourself as comfortable as you can, if you desire.”

Lyall looked around from where he stood to take in the room; a queen bed just a few inches from touching the wallpapered walls, a green couch with a coffee table in front near a small kitchenette, and the small closet next to the bathroom sink and small bathroom Hope was in. He made his way to the couch and took a seat when the bathroom door squeaked open and Hope emerged.

“It’s not much-” she started.

“It is completely fine. I am just telling you my story.” He chuckled. “I just met you. What kind of blokes have you been with?”

She sat on the cushion farthest from him and sat with her legs crossed. “Childish men. I would not even consider calling them men.” She scoffed. “Every chance they get they would be up a bird’s skirt.”

“Well, I would never take advantage of a woman.” He smiled softly at her, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his blazer as she became more comfortable and uncurled from pulling into herself.

He told his story to her about how he came from a pure-blood family in Leicester, England and went to a magical school named Hogwarts in Scotland. She asked him what he was doing in Newcastle Emlyn Wales and he told her he was exploring.

“...anything to get away from my parents' pressure on finding a kind woman.” He chuckled softly. “It seems to be this big thing in pureblood families.”

“What happens if you do not comply with the one they choose?” Hope asked.

“You get disowned.”

***

Six months in of them dating, she had asked him to pinch her one night. He chuckled and complied. Afterwards asking her why. She pulled him in for a kiss and whispered; ‘I need to make sure this is still real.’ He smiled and entwined their hands together as they walked around the pond another time. From then on he had always made sure she knew this was real by holding her hand, hugging her, kissing her, making her smile. He loved her smile and making her laugh. He had never had that with a woman coming from the life he had previously lived. Now all he wanted was to live in her world.

Three years later she found herself in Hogsmeade trying different things, learning about a whole other world she could only imagine in her dreams. She had never been this happy in her life. Lyall had told her that once she shared all her favourite shops and foods with him, he wanted to do the same. This man was unbelievable to her. Hope still couldn’t believe they had met that fateful night. He listened, he acknowledged her interests and even tried to learn more about them; he was funny, kind, sweet, and caring. He protected her, loved and cherished her, and after the fifth year she knew there was no turning back.

Lyall had proposed to her and they got married a year later. He ignored his family’s outlash and ran away with her to Newport, Wales where they bought a small home with three bedrooms. After two years of being married, she found out the most exciting news. Lyall came home that day from work at the Ministry and she leapt into his arms. He dropped his case to the ground, catching her and wrapping his arms around her.

“What’s got you all happy?” He chuckled, kissing her neck as he held her around her waist.

She giggled. “We are going to have a baby.”

He looked at her with surprise. “Really?” He asked, slightly nervous but mostly happy. Then the fear kicked in.

“Yeah.” She slid her legs down his, standing on her toes to place a kiss on his lips. “What’s wrong, Lyall?” She caressed his thick, chestnut coloured, wavy curls.

“Nothing, I’m happy.” He picked her up and spun her around, kissing her again with a chuckle at her worried expression. “Honest! It is just a slight shock is all, as for everyone.”

“Well, I guess I am just happier as I haven’t really had a proper family.” She pat his shoulder. "You would tell me if we were in danger, right? There is nothing you are hiding from me?"

Lyall squeezed her into a soft hug. “Hey, darling. I’m thrilled, I just struggle with my emotions sometimes. You will make a wonderful mother, and we will have the family you always dreamed of.” He kissed her softly again. “Now, let me make that recipe you love so much, will that cheer you up?”

She smiled, kissing his cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

He dipped her, kissing her deeply. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Nine months later she gave birth to a healthy baby boy. She held the fragile bundle in her arms, looking up at Lyall with tears in her eyes. “He’s so beautiful.”

“Welcome to the world, Remus.” Lyall smiled as Hope placed their baby in his arms. “I love you so much, no matter what.”

Hope smiled up at her boys. She would never leave her baby, show him the world is dark and dangerous, or make him feel unloved. He would get everything she never had. She would make sure his life was happy, bright, and loving.

However… that didn’t last long.

#remus lupin #lyall lupin #hope howell #marauders headcanon

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our-happygirl500-fan · 4 years

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Okay okay okay okay, I know I’m asking a lot of stuff and probs annoying you. I’m currently reading about the character but what about her and Tim?? Like can I get a run down of everything about them. The good and bad?? Everytime I see things on here it’s either making Tim to be so bad (Anti-Tim ig) or Steph to be so bad and I’m sure they’re both at fault, yea?

No I’m happy to help.

Both Tim and Steph have made mistakes but not in an awful way and more in a ‘these are literal children dealing with serious situations while also trying to be in a relationship with one another’.

The Steph being bad stuff entirely comes from the fact that she’s a female love interest to a boy who’s one half of a popular mlm ship, she’s made mistakes here and there but they’re human instances where she’s trying to do her best, fandoms often tend to erase or demonise female characters in any any fandom if they are involved in a ship. It’s a sexist habit that comes from reducing a female to only her romantic relationship and ignoring all her other connections and reeks of misogyny. There’s also some slut shaming as Steph was a teen pregnancy & a victim of sexual assault multiple times.

The anti Tim stuff is a bit more complicated, partly it’s a response to sexism where so many fans are sick of the misogyny directed at Steph that they go full throttle the other way or it comes from fans genuinely uncomfortable with Tim’s actions as this is comics and comics are usually written by sexist men which means Tim sometimes takes actions or says something that is not so great.

The important thing to remember about Tim and Steph is that they are each others best friends and they have been through so much together to the point where even if they were not dating they would still be one of the most important relationships the other had.

There is some worry that Tim and Steph feeds into each others complexes

Tim and Steph both experienced neglect growing up in different ways which makes their attitude to love very different.

Tim's parents were never around most of the time which makes him sort of desperate for love, for validation and most of the time he seems to be of the sort that love is something he can earn if he just does the right thing or achieves the right goal which reflects on how he probably thought if he got good grades or made his parents proud they'd notice him more they'd spend time with him more.

Steph's childhood of neglect I guess you could say came from the sickness of her parents Arthur Brown was abusive to both his wife and daughter and Crystal's drug addiction making her barely able to raise Steph half the time. More often than not it was Steph taking care of the house hold and her mother than any adult looking out for Steph.

With the neglect Steph went through she knew that there was nothing /she/ herself could do to change it, she couldn't magically make her mother quit taking drugs or stop her father from committing crimes by winning an award or behaving well, heck most of her childhood was just trying to keep her and her mum alive so in contrast with Tim who is desperate to receive love Steph is desperate to give love. Because if she's giving love to this person that means they care about her too right?

This comes across in how easy Steph is willing to poor love into people who are even remotely nice to her like the second Barbara or Bruce stop treating her like shit she's immediately like 'I would die for you'. The second her mother is sober enough to notice her Steph is there being like 'mom I love you I would protect you with my life'. Cass is slightly nice to her? She is now Steph's best friend.

Tim is desperate to receive unconditional affection while Steph is desperate to give unconditional affection which would explain why they are drawn to one another but enough about the meta and onto their actual history.

Steph became a vigilante originally to stop her fathers crimes, the entire point of Spoiler was an abuse victim taking agency back from her abuser and due to Tim being Robin and also investigating the same crimes the two would run into each other multiple times, there was an attraction between the two however neither truly pursued anything due to the fact that Tim was dating another girl and Steph was ‘seeing’ a guy (though the relationship was implied to be unhealthy as he was significantly older, Steph only being around 14 at the time, and showed little in Steph’s actual well being).

However despite the two already being in relationships the two developed keen banter together and quickly began to enjoy the others presence what arguably set then on the path towards a relationship however is when Tim very nearly died and Steph managed to save him at the last second, Tim was so relieved that he kissed Steph sparking a romantic interest from Steph and Tim beginning to realise he had feelings for her.

Steph would then continue fighting crime outside of her fathers crimes as Steph realised that as Spoiler she could help other abuse victims such as herself. Steph’s entire life can be described as falling through the cracks in the system no one caring about the abuse and unsafe situations that she grew up with and Steph’s early journey as Spoiler is her realising that even though no one had cared when she was abused and hurt she could be the person who would care for other people so no one would suffer the way she did. Steph aiming to fight crime meant that she and Tim ran into each other even more working multiple cases together until it eventually culminated into Tim admitting that he had feelings for Steph but due to his loyalty to Batman he could never tell her his secret identity however Steph told him that that was enough for her, the two ended their previous relationships and started dating.

This is actually where a lot of criticism over the relationship is from due to the obvious power imbalance Tim knows every detail of Steph’s life while controlling all information Steph has on him and only lets her interact with Robin. Tim has also been shown to be rather possessive of Steph controlling her interactions with other members of the superhero community and expressing alarm in her spending time with other heroes who are not him.

There is also the fact that for a large part every man Stephanie has ever interacted with have been abusive in some way, her home life was incredibly dangerous due to her mother and fathers friends all being criminals or victims and Steph had to deal with at least two instances of child predators growing up so to many readers it becomes increasingly obvious that Tim might very well be the first man Steph ever interacted with who treated her with human decency and that is why she fell in love with him.

After the relationship started Steph found out that she had become pregnant from her previous relationship and the reader discovers that Steph’s previous boyfriend on top of being awful to her was also using her for sex. Steph tells Tim about the pregnancy fully expecting him to break up with her however Tim states that he is going to be there to support Steph. The two grow even closer as Tim becomes someone for Steph to lean on wearing disguises to take Steph to birthing classes and helps Steph through the process of putting the baby up for adoption. Tim is even there when the child is born.

The incident made Tim and Steph even closer and afterwards the two continue dating and remain close, Steph quickly becomes what could be considered Tim’s safe place as he is able to leave any problems as Tim Drake or Robin away and simply enjoy being with her and during times where Tim is unable to visit Steph he is shown to be tense and disgruntled without the positive emotional outlet however after nearly over a year and a half of dating Steph begins to realise that the dynamic of the relationship is uneven as Tim has complete control and knowledge over her own life while she knows nothing about Tim’s life out of the mask. Steph begins to worry about merely being used and starts openly wishing that Tim would let her be more involved with his life outside of Robin.

Tim meanwhile is beginning his rebellious phase against Batman and Bruce takes actions to try and nip it in the bud as Dick’s rebellious phase ended with Dick leaving Batman for the Titans and Jason’s rebellious phase ended with Jason dead. Bruce attempts to control Tim by using Steph revealing Tim’s secret identity to Tim. After that point Bruce would continually manipulate Steph in a gambit to manipulate Tim and Tim expresses frustration at Bruce using Steph to get to him.

Bruce and Steph’s relationship is incredibly complicated in its own right as Steph has a childhood admiration of Batman as he was the only one who seemed to be able to stop her fathers abuse by putting him in prison. This childhood admiration causes Steph to follow and respect Bruce no matter how many times his actions hurt her. Bruce on the other hand has a lot of issues regarding Steph as Steph reminds him a lot of Jason and Bruce puts a lot of his unresolved issues regarding his dead son on her which as you might assume does not end well for Steph at all.

Outside of Bruce’s meddling however Steph and Tim grow increasingly close no longer having to worry about secret identities the two go on regular dates and are there for each other in every aspect of their lives. However Tim’s father finds out about Robin and forces him to quit and Steph who had been dating Tim ‘batman needs a Robin’ Drake for years was firmly of the belief that ‘Gotham needs a Robin’ at which point Steph herself becomes the fourth Robin though it is heavily implied that once again Bruce is manipulating Steph in order to manipulate Tim into coming back.

Then DC enters its dark ages where they kill off characters left and right and Steph is tortured, raped and killed in a Gotham wide gang war primarily for Bruce angst so that Bruce can go ‘oh god it’s Jason all over again I knew she was girl Jason I knew it’ mean while Tim has what can probably be best described as a mental break down over Steph’s death and the subsequent death of his father and multiple friends. This causes Tim to become cold, cynical and increasingly dark and pessimistic (he has depression).

However Steph comes back to Gotham two years later alive again and it is revealed that Leslie Thompkin’s essentially kidnapped Steph to Africa for two years and faked Steph’s death in order to try and save Steph from being a soldier in Batman’s crusade. Steph was Leslie’s ward for two years but realised that she could literally not stop fighting crime as in Africa Steph literally started dressing up as an African legend and started fighting crime there, eventually convincing Leslie that they needed to go back to Gotham the two returned and Tim was over the moon to see Steph alive kissing her on sight, however Tim realises that he essentially had a break down over Steph death for nothing and expresses resentment over Steph letting him believe that she was dead for two years. Steph who had spent the past to years recovering physically and mentally from the trauma of being tortured for days prior to Leslie faking Steph’s death and Steph essentially not having had a choice in Leslie’s plan to fake her death is just like ‘I don’t know what to tell you buddy’

Steph is still Tim’s emotional home, immediately relying on her for emotional support once again and the two are shown to still love each other however the two had changed a great deal over the time they were apart. Steph having had an adult finally care about her well being for the first time in her life grew much more positive into someone who believed in the inherent good in people and in hope while Tim had grown harsh and dark and cynical. The two even joke about how Steph has become an optimist while Tim had become a pessimist. Steph is like a beam of light for Tim who had become increasingly dark and Tim finds himself being both wary of it and drawn to it.

Then Bruce gets back to his old tricks of using Steph to manipulate Tim and gives Steph instructions to challenge Tim in order to improve Tim’s skills as a crime fighter. Steph on Bruce’s orders employs and assassin to fight Tim however the assassin goes to far and Steph is injured trying to protect Tim. Tim realising that Bruce is once again manipulating Steph to get to him as well as having an inherent fear of Steph dying again demands that Steph should not be a vigilante any longer never mind that Steph literally can not stop fighting crime which causes a rift between the two.

The superhero community then believe that Batman is dead and Tim leaves Gotham to prove that Bruce is alive while Tim is gone from Gotham Cass makes Steph the new Batgirl and Steph becomes incredibly close to Barbara and Damian and as Batgirl makes several friends within the masked community no longer having her interactions be controlled by Tim or Bruce. Steph starts coming into her own and building up her self confidence, when Tim returns he is once again upset that Steph is still fighting crime his fear of Steph dying still going strong and acts condescending towards Steph’s attempts to help him however Steph proves herself in sheer level of skill and prowess and Tim accepts her as a vigilante and the new Batgirl accepting that Steph will not die again. Tim then attempts to rekindle their romantic relationship however Steph realises that she had been too dependent on Tim’s love and wishes to improve herself as a person before she even thinks of entering a relationship again. The two remain close friends however Tim expresses attraction towards Steph multiple times (Tim is the horniest little fuck during this time in their lives and Steph is literally out their trying to live her life and better herself as a person and get a university degree it’s hilarious)

If Convergence is to believe the two would always eventually get back together in one way or another the two issues being about their romantic interest in each other and getting back together.

After the reboot happens when they meet again Tim immediately expresses romantic interest in Steph while Steph herself is wary of Tim as in this universe both her mother and her father are criminals who have tried to kill her and Steph has effectively been homeless living in public libraries or where ever she can. It is unknown when but Tim offers Steph a place to live at his apartment and a some point the two eventually enter a romantic relationship.

A lot of fans have criticised this as Steph is entirely financially dependent on Tim for food and shelter and once again Tim holds more power than Steph in the relationship. Also in the rebooted universe Tim is Steph’s only support system as her parents tried to kill her, her father murdered any civilians she was close to in order to hurt her and any connections Steph had before the reboot have had vast amounts of their history erased.

Steph has also been shown to be responsible for a lot of Tim’s mental health as she has to stop him from crossing lines or going off the deep end multiple times it is described as Tim having a tendency of walking a dark path when he is alone.

Steph and Tim are both presented as each others support systems in current comics and when Tim wanted to leave Gotham in order to research the multiverse Steph went with him as the two rely on each other.

I don’t believe there is a good guy or bad guy in their relationship both Tim and Steph want what’s best for each other but sometimes these views don’t line up which causes conflict but at the end of the day they are two people that care about each other a great deal and whether they are in a relationship or not they will always be one of the most important people in each others lives.

The relationship is criticised by the fandom as fans either fetishise mlm relationships and are angry at Steph ‘getting in the way’ an unfortunate trend in all fandoms and on the other side many are tired of female characters being reduced to their romantic relationships.

TimSteph is a cute ship with a deep connection and a lot of history proving that they care about each other a great deal but sexism and misogyny are things that exist especially in fandom spaces and that creates a nightmare.

#asks #DC comics #stephanie brown #tim drake #dc #timsteph #boy these two have been through a lot #but yeah the ships fine people just hate woman and fetishise gay relationships

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 3 years

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M*A*S*H: A Product of the Times

At first, it doesn’t really seem all that obvious like M*A*S*H was a show of the 1970s.

Being set in the 1950s in a military hospital gave some leeway when it came to hairstyles and clothing (Mostly military uniforms). Even the discussion of the news and pop culture (although occasionally inaccurate for individual years) that happened around camp placed the show firmly in a period past, another in a string of television shows and films made in the 1970s that were set in the 1950s. Even some things, like attitudes towards women and the minority of non-white cast members seems to place the show so firmly in the 1950s, it might be hard to pick out that this is a ‘70s show.

But in reality, M*A*S*H might not have been made if not for the 1970s.

Coming on the heels of the 1960s, the ‘70s were quite a period of change. Following the Civil Rights movement, American culture was beginning to be more integrated. Disco was big on the scene, and styles were quickly becoming…a lot. The digital revolution began as video games and personal computers began to become a little more prevalent, and thanks to movie directors like George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, the blockbuster became a staple of every movie season. As for television, edutainment shows like Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood and Sesame Street took off while Star Trek experienced its first reruns, gaining the audience it’d never had during it’s runtime. Game-shows experienced a comeback, and cop shows replaced the westerns as the most-watched action shows of the decade, and family dramas took up another chunk of the airwaves, while variety shows and increasingly daring sketch comedy filled up the rest.

Throughout all this, sitcoms like Happy Days enjoyed incredible success, along with more ‘issue based’ sitcoms like All in the Family, Good Times, and even The Mary Tyler Moore Show. And it is here that M*A*S*H sits, filling in a slot as one of the ‘issue’ based sitcoms…but why here? Why in the 1970s, could this show work the best?

As wild and crazy as American culture was becoming after the unrest of the 1960s, one thing held over that had not yet been resolved: America’s involvement in the Vietnam war.

Starting in November of 1955, and ending in April of 1975, the Vietnam conflict was one that occupied much of the world, and much of the American population’s minds. Between the protestors and people who genuinely supported the effort, the country was torn in two by people who thought we shouldn’t have gotten involved, and people who thought the opposite.

Why does this matter?

Because when the characters on M*A*S*H talk about war, they aren’t just talking about Korea. Indeed, they aren’t even just talking about Vietnam. They’re talking about all wars.

But it was very important that this was a show made during Vietnam, rather than before.

Before shows like The A-Team and Magnum P.I. began using the Vietnam conflict as part of backstories of characters, shows like M*A*S*H were still processing the American attitude during the war. Much like Korea, Vietnam was never officially declared ‘a war’, and was regarded as a ‘police action’. Much like Korea, a draft recruited soldiers, some just out of high school, into a conflict that blew up into a political struggle.

The difference was, in 1951, Americans were all for Korea. In 1972, the enthusiasm had waned. America turned against the war effort, and there lies exactly why M*A*S*H could not have been anything but a ‘70s ‘topical’ sitcom.

When you watch M*A*S*H and listen to the characters speak about the war, the attitude isn’t hard to pick out: anti-war, anti-US involvement, anti-military. They shouldn’t be here. They want to go home. They tried to duck the draft. One character spends almost all of his time on the show attempting to get discharged due to insanity. The only characters who are for this war are treated as antagonists.

This wasn’t the attitude of the Korean war. This was an attitude that could only have existed after Vietnam, if not specifically about Vietnam.

So, the show isn’t dated from a 1950s sense…but that does leave the question of whether or not it’s dated in a 1970s sense.

Ironically, being set in a decade not your own can actually help a series (or film) in the long run. By not showing contemporary life and creating a world that had already ‘disappeared’, these shows were able to not become relics of the time they were made. However, in the case of M*A*S*H, some might argue that the show, while groundbreaking and revolutionary in the 1970s, may not hold up so well today.

While not having the traditional troubles of hairstyles, technology and pop culture dating it, M*A*S*H does have a few different, more important issues that might render it a little uncomfortable to modern audiences. Let’s start with the women.

At first, it may seem almost impossible from a modern standpoint to approach a show where the only major female character is nicknamed Hot Lips, and even if you get past that enough to start the show from the beginning, it doesn’t get much better.

In early seasons of the show, Margaret Houlihan existed primarily as a woman defined by the men she had been with, her attractiveness to her male coworkers, and her stickler army attitude. Mostly serving as a partner-in-crime to her lover, Frank Burns (who was married), Margaret’s past involvements with many members of high-ranking army brass was a bit of a running joke, as was her level of desirability to her coworkers.

Thankfully, as the show matured, so did the writing for Margaret’s character. As time went on, Margaret ended up losing not only the nickname, but her intimate relationship with Frank Burns, and even the jokes about her previous relationships disappeared. After her marriage to Donald Penobscott, and subsequent divorce, Margaret remained unattached for the remainder of the series, as well as the only major female character in the show. (Pun intended.)

The other female characters appeared in small doses, most notably Nurse Kealani Kellye, a relatively prominent Japanese-Hawaiian nurse. Most of the nurses tended to be interchangeable, with small parts that (in early seasons especially) tended to rely on the men of the episode. While there were exceptions (notably “The Nurses”), especially as the show went on, for the most part, the focus of the show tended to be on the male characters.

And it was even worse for characters of color.

Of the main cast, only Klinger (Lebonese) and the aforementioned Nurse Kelleye were not Caucasian. Early on in the show, a black character by the name of Spearchucker Jones was omitted by the end of the second season (due to writers mistakenly believing that there were no black doctors in the Korean war.

There are other things that date the show: Klinger’s cross-dressing as a gag would likely be looked upon more unfavorably today, as would a few instances of sexual harassment looked over for comedy’s sake. Korean characters were often portrayed (especially in early season) in rather stereotypical fashions, and were never played by actors of actual Korean descent (though admittedly, there were not many Korean actors in Hollywood at the time).

In other words, the show wasn’t perfect. And it certainly was a product of the 1970s.

But, the good news is, it’s not all bad.

M*A*S*H was, overall, a fairly progressive show for its day. Despite its problems writing women, by the end of the show, Margaret Houlihan was one of the best-developed female characters on television. The writing for Korean characters improved drastically by the eleventh season, and Klinger’s ‘crossdressing’ gag was never played at his own expense.

And, more importantly? The characters, attitudes, and interactions, for the most part, ring just as truly now as they did then.

M*A*S*H was definitely fair for its day. For the 1970s, it was up-to-date, discussing attitudes and problems that were prevalent for the time, and slowly improving in the areas it was somewhat lacking in. It’s not really a surprise that the show still has a fanbase (and a young one, at that) to this day, full of fans who can recognize the problematic elements of the show, appreciate it’s growth, and enjoy its characters and situations to this day. These characters still captivate people just as well as they did in 1972, a primary reason that this show, despite its occasional differences from modern ideas, remains so beloved even today.

Thank you guys so much for reading! If you have a thought, suggestion, or question, don’t be afraid to leave a comment, I’d love to hear from you. Please join us next time as we look at the facets of M*A*S*H. I hope to see you there!

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rubbrfrk9 · 5 years

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REBORN

I HAD A NAME. I used to be somebody.

I had a profession, dignity, a position in the class structure.

Nowadays, I see through a cracked lens - society is broken, and the people participating in it are all prisoners. The people you see shuffling in the great to and from, every morning, every evening - they’re miserable. Ask any one of them if they wouldn’t leave their life, and - perhaps after some hesitation - they would say Yes.

Even the ones who have kids - the ones in love - all of them. In fact, those with ties to other people are the first ones to get in line.

For me, it was curiosity that opened the door. If one follows the classic Hero’s Journey, the arc that every myth and story takes, I heard the Call - just like you - through a buzzing, pixelated source… the great and sordid world of the internet.

One wrong step can put you on an entirely different path.

When you look back, the path you were on is obscured by the surrounding environs - pressed firmly closed, as though no thing had ever once passed through.

I should introduce myself before I preach anymore. I am rubbrfrk9. You’ve read the stories on the website, you might’ve seen my name watermarked on pics as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.

That hasn’t been our name always. But what our name was before does not matter.

All hail the Rubbered One!

And if you’re reading this, then you’re as curious as I was.

Do you dare follow your own Call?

If you do, keep reading.

THE CALL COMES FOR YOU. You don’t come for it. The Call has been there, waiting, for you to pick up the other end, for as long as you’ve been alive.

Like I was saying, for me, it was curiosity. It seems like it is for you, too.

I was always a curious guy. It’s how I became a teacher, I guess. I loved to learn about shit. Endless amounts of shit. The subjects that interested me were sucked dry by my voracious need to know. On top of it all, I was cursed (blessed?) by a need to collect, a completionist’s frenzy, and so I found myself needing not just to know, but to know it all.

Everything. A question could not go unanswered. I was a very vocal kid, always asking the dread “Why?” to anyone who had the faculty to answer. Of course, I learned quickly that faculty does not imply ability; and later still, that ability does not imply honesty. Soon enough, I started shutting up and consulting other avenues of information - books. I loved books. I read anything I could find, from my mother’s tawdry romances on the back of the toilet to magazines at the doctor’s office - but my preferred genre was Horror, without a doubt.

I loved to read stories of unfortunate people, blind to their predicament, be lulled to the predator in the story. I loved how the protagonists were slowly overcome by a sense of dawning knowledge, and were thus able to conquer - or not - the abiding horror. The best ones were when the hero failed, in my opinion - those dark, twisted passages of despair and helplessness …

I was a weird kid.

I didn’t have very much luck making friends. I didn’t really understand what a “friend” should be. I knew that it was some sort of social construct, but I hadn’t figured out how it worked yet. Taking the time to do that analysis set me back, quite substantially, in the invisible school of society. Maybe, at heart, I was always a bit of a freak, even before I came out.

Funny to think of that, now, sitting here, writing from behind my gas mask and full rubber suit.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I love how tightly it encases me. How tightly it erases me.

Slowly, now. Don’t give up too quick. Finish the story first.

As I was saying. Curiosity. After college, I became a teacher. A professor. Very highly regarded in my field, but poor with social interactions. Dates? Of a professional courtesy, only, and as awkward and dry as a lecture. Actually, for me, lecturing was my second home, aside from my tidy and obsessively-ordered apartment. I loved standing at the podium, talking about the books we read together. How they are structured, and how events, following a certain chain, can be transformative.

Although sometimes, horrific.

Life that is contained entirely within the snowglobe of acadæmia becomes brittle, after a time. Even the most relentlessly anti-social of us have a heartbeat, a pulse, and a sexual drive.

Most sexual drives will tend towards the obligatory, the procreational. Attractiveness, physicality, congruence, intercourse, and then the subsequent emotional tangle. Sex is more than just a body meeting a body a-comin’ thru the rye - it is a rendezvous of energy, some of which we can’t even begin to understand.

Some kind of cosmic interplay happens during sex.

Something so bright, so chimeric, that I was blinded just thinking about it.

I fled from it, like a medieval monk from a vision of God.

SPARE TIME. I spent most of my time in my apartment in my bedroom, perched with my skinny knees up, my face obliterated by the powder-white light of my phone. I’d scroll endlessly. And always pictures of men.

I’d known I was gay way before most people do, but I’d never bothered to “come out” or anything that obvious. I just kept my feelings to myself, for as long as I could - which may not have been the healthiest thing to do, in hindsight, and when they finally vibrated at the seal on the pressure gauge, I spewed it out all over the internet.

Tumblr was my outlet. You could find something for every kink, from men transforming into donkeys to using politics as a sexual tool. I considered myself omnisexual. I could be convinced, really, to like anything. Except a few things.

I never really got into the big “full fetish” scene. I’d, of course, seen the pictures go by - of Folsom, Folsom Europe, even some kinksters trying to make a name for themselves, become influencers, with pictures so heavily edited and filtered they almost looked fake.

But for me, my kink was - get this - intimacy. I loved pictures of men, beautiful men, kissing, embracing. Tangling together, with bliss inscribed on their faces. And it was that expression that did it for me - the bliss, the complete and total walling-off of any worldly concern but the physical, the presence of another’s lips, breath, proximity -

It got me off, every time. Imagining myself in those positions. Wearing those clothes. Caught up in those bedsheets.

Then, I’d stare into the mirror, and flex my coming-along biceps. My quads. I’d get dressed for the gym, and I’d go work out for an hour.

I loved my routine, even if I felt the dreary recalcitrance to wake up every morning and head to work, just another body with the other bodies, shuffling to and from. The night time is when I felt the surge of life - I would be free of the grimy shackles of the city, I would pound through the tumblr feed, I would shower, I would go workout.

Life was half-bliss.

But as anyone who has half of bliss will tell you, it is never enough. You must go searching for the second half of bliss - and I found mine on the night in question.

Knees up, one foot tapping a heel in idle, anxious rhythm. Eyes greedily consuming, picture after picture, and then -

My thumb hovered over the screen as if about to lay a fingerprint down on a reader. I stared.

The picture, my gateway, was a bedroom picture much like any other I saw in my daily feed, except for one crucial ingredient - one of the men was entirely encased, from head to toe, in shiny black rubber.

The rubber was so shiny, so depthless, so reflective, that it almost seemed as though its host was Not - as though there were some kind of blotting-out, erasing, blankening … And yet, this Not Person was being encircled by the arms of another man, a strong man, by the looks of it, his biceps bulging around the Rubbered One.

Even now, looking back on it, I find it insanely difficult to pry my eyes away from the memory of that reflective rubber. That shiny, reflective black rubber. And the detail! I could see the hollows of the eyes, the imprint of the big toenail, the curls of the ears down to the tragus - it was truly as though this was not a suit being worn, this was a suit that was animated, had breath and energy of its own.

Perhaps it was, in hindsight, seducing the man which embraced it.

I don’t know how long I stared at the picture. A long time. I was fascinated with everything about it - the mess of clothing on the side of the bed, socks and shirts strewn around, as if someone had melted and left only their garments as markers that they ever existed at all. Even a pair of glasses lay askew on the carpet, next to a pair of jeans and Chucks.

If I listened, I could almost hear my own heartbeat, beating in time with the glints of light off of that rubber surface, as though the Rubbered One were moving, in infinitesimally small increments, writhing on the bed in either pleasure or agony -

I blinked, shook my head, and pressed down deliberately on the screen, for the little “Save Image” dialog to appear. I needed to see that again, sometime.

It was a lot sooner than I thought.

I had to excuse myself from my lecture. I was shaking, and my breath was wobbly in my mouth. Words had come out gummily, and I was worried that someone would be convinced I was having a stroke. I’d send in a TA to finish off the lecture, not that anyone in the darkened hall was paying attention anyway.

I went into the nearest bathroom, a single-room lavatory, and sat down hard on the toilet. Instantly, my hands fished out my phone from my pocket and called up my Photos.

There, on the top of the digital heap, was the faraway glisten and shine of the Rubbered One. I sighed in relief, in pleasure.

You would too, if you’d seen the picture. Don’t judge me.

A whisper of triumph, of pleasure, of satisfaction, threaded through my mind as I opened up the picture. There it was again. That endlessness, that Void, that Nothing. I craved it, and I didn’t know why, and I needed to know why, and to know why, I needed to keep looking. I needed to keep looking to stop looking.

The Rubbered One had moved. I remember its legs being in a different scissor - left on top of right, and now it was right, on top of left.

This did not frighten me. Perhaps it should have. Pictures are not supposed to move.

But in my addled state of mind, I was blissfully unaware of the warning - or even, really, of the thought itself. It slid right out of my head, as if on a glossy sheet of black ice. I smiled, warmly, the shuddering ceasing.

Then, surprising even myself, I unzipped my pants, and hauled out my cock.

Nothing would stop me. I was a man determined. I could even smell the rubber, could feel it lifting, wafting out of the screen of my phone. That smell, that smell that I have no words for - something utterly inorganic, but somehow seductive for that very reason.

I jerked off, right there, in the bathroom around the corner from the lecture hall. I sat so still, my hand doing all the work, that the motion-sensing lights clicked off, leaving me alone, lit only by the powdery light of my phone. There, in the enclosing, mummifying dark, I jerked myself off and came with a jagged, oblique moan that slid out of me, catching me by surprise.

I may have even been in such a hurry to get inside that I didn’t even lock the bathroom door. This suspicion came to me as I exited, stuffing myself shakily back into my khakis and my blazer. You see, the door had opened seamlessly, with no hint of a lock dis-engaging.

In fact, the momentary thrill of being caught as I masturbated to the Rubbered One flicked a little shiver of pleasure up my shaft anew, and I started shuddering so much that I had to grab the wall for fear of falling over.

All hail the Rubbered One!

There was no way I could go back to my lecture now. I fled the campus for the safety of a local coffeehouse.

OTHER THINGS STARTED HAPPENING. Like how I thought I was having a stroke, before? I found that, when I spoke, my mouth felt oddly compressed, as though I had lockjaw. I went to the doctor, but when they told me to “open wide and say ahhh” I had no trouble - my jaw, seemingly re-oiled, complacently opened its full width, and I made the obligatory noise.

Nothing wrong with my temporo-mandibular joint, advised the healthcare professional.

And yet, as soon as I left the office, trying to speak to the Uber driver, to give him directions to my apartment, the same muffling, mysterious pressure returned, and I was only able to speak in tight, restrained tones.

It didn’t occur to me until much, much later, that this was the voice of someone wearing a rubber gas mask, much like the one I am wearing now.

After awhile, I stopped talking altogether. Of course, this did make it rather difficult to be a professor, and so that had to stop, too.

But what does a mute member of society do, when the one thing they have in life is a degree in English Literature?

Well, the first step is despondency, and denial. I spent a month at least, just searching tumblr for more pictures of the Rubbered One. Sure, there were plenty of pictures - the fetish for rubber has never been a subtle one - but none of them had that same irresistable sheen and shine, that fathomless Void, of the Rubbered One. I’d exhausted most of the blogs. I kept returning to the photograph I had saved to my cloud - and jerking off to it, again and again, like a desperate man. Like a junkie. If I went without, or even thought about going out, my hand developed such a tremor that I looked afflicted with tardive dyskinesia.

It got so bad, and the attacks so frequent, that I eventually just made the picture my home screen on my phone. That way, if the tremors started, a quick pocket-dig and finger-flip would open up the likeness of the Rubbered One, and instantly, I would calm.

And (he? It?) continued to move. Perhaps, now that (he? It?) knew that I had noticed the movement, it happened more and more, and faster, as though I were watching a video rather than a photograph.

Now, in addition to the slow, sensual scissoring of its legs, the Rubbered One was turning its head, away from the suckling devotion of its prey and turning to look at me, choosing me, directing its energy towards me.

I already had my rubber in the mail. It took some doing, some difficult work, some self-measuring, but before long the order was placed and the shipment was made. It was, of course, a link that I’d seen on tumblr, from one of the many rubber fetish sites. Drone, and a series of numbers, I think. One of the ones that’s talking about being absorbed into a Hivemind, a Central Core. Nothing that ever really appealed to me.

The only thing I wished to absorb into was the Rubbered One.

I ached, yearned, to be the man in that picture. I was even jealous of him. Who was he to show his devotion to such a being, such a beautiful entity? Would not I be a better candidate for the first apostle position?

But I knew, somehow, deep inside, that I wouldn’t even be considered until I had donned my own rubber.

Here’s where it gets a little weird, right - this is usually the point when in the story, the protagonist gets a little real, sizes himself up, maybe learns something about themselves. Call me crazy, I know, but at this point, I just knew on the inside, so strongly, that I would never be worthy of the Rubbered One if I wasn’t Rubbered myself.

And so I waited, agonizingly, nearly tearing my hair out, for the package to inch itself across the ocean to my apartment mailbox. I’d ordered the full suit, of course, the one that most closely approximated my photograph.

I was utterly consumed, I was ablaze with obsession. For the first time in my life, I felt an utterly overwhelming feeling - a lack. I felt as though I lacked something that I had had for just a moment - one sweet moment, hovering, crystalline - and now that I no longer had it, I could never live a whole life again.

And everywhere I went - watching with a hawk’s eye the slow drainage of funds from my bank account - I smelled it. Rubber. There was even an auto repair shop, blockaded on one side with piles and piles of tires - I altered my daily neighborhood walk so that I could slowly amble by it, inhaling the thick, gray smell. The more of it I could get on me, the more I wanted. If there were a cologne that smelled of rubber, I’d wear it - hell, I’d bathe in it! I twitched for it to be near me, on me, inside of me.

THE DAY MY NEW FACE CAME IN THE MAIL. I was wearing rubber gloves, made for chemical and construction workers, pressing them to my face, and inhaling as deeply as I could, when my phone made its little ringing noise to signify that a package was Delivered.

It could only be one thing.

It would only be a matter of moments before I could prostrate myself in front of the Rubbered One.

I hooked up my laptop to my flat-screen television, where the Rubbered One had also become my desktop wallpaper. I opened up the picture file and let it sit, in the middle of my living room, the picture of Him.

Again, I fell far into His Nothingness, His All-Consuming Void - He turned on the bed, in the picture. He silently got up. He moved so subtly that it was impossible to tell if my hallucination was real, or some sort of digital magic. He kicked, as if insulting, the pile of clothes left by the bedside.

The whole time, He kept his head, His black eyes, His shiny face, impassive and monstrous, but so aloof, so superior - His direct gaze - riveted on mine.

All hail the Rubbered One!

With barely a shimmer, He stepped out of the frame of my television and deliberately into my living room. Tendrils of black squirmed out around the square of my screen, lashing to and fro idly, almost amusedly.

None of this seemed unreal, or even fantastical. It was simply as it was - I was in a sort of ecstasy, like the kind the saints have, all-consumed, raptured. The Rubbered One had chosen me!

Go, He told me without speaking.

I was on my feet, I was sprinting, I was dashing, my hands, still in their gloves, slippery on the door knob. I was down the stairs before I realized I was barefoot, or that I was still wearing the heavy-duty black rubber gloves. And there it was - my Rubber. It was, of course, still in the box, it needed to be freed -

I cradled it in my arms. I inhaled, as deeply as possible, again. I could smell it, whining at the edges of my nostrils, begging to be freed. I felt it, inside its cardboard prison, shifting and rustling. Whispering.

I brought it upstairs with as much care as a mother would bring home her day-old newborn, but once inside, slamming the door behind me, I pillaged the drawers for the scissors, tearing into the box that would dare imprison my -

And there it was. Still in a sad, folded-up heap, but it was mine.

Now, said His voice in my head. I didn’t have to turn around to know that He, the Rubbered One, was standing behind me - had moved silently from the living room to the kitchen. I felt Him questing at the edges of my consciousness, starting the interview process.

I felt a strange mix of craven desire and hot-blooded lust twist through me. How I wished to possess the Rubbered One! And how I wished to be possessed by Him!

I began to don my Rubber. I felt it coo as it met my skin, as I replaced my own with its black sheen. I saw my toes go, then the top of my foot - ankles, calves and shinbones, kneecaps and thighs - I watched as the black tide continued its creep up my body, as quickly as night follows dusk.

The Rubbered One put His hands on me and I was nothing, I was everything. I was part of a gigantic, moaning chorus of voices, I was absolute silence.

I saw Him reach out to me, his Nothing fingers and Nothing hands, his Void arms, his Void body. I saw Him pull my self to His, and I felt us as we docked, somehow, for an imposssible moment, sharing the same physical space.

Then, with a sound that reminded me of a slurp and a sucking, closing noise, I was no more.

RUBBERBORN. I ceased to exist as I knew myself.

I had a name.

I wasn’t much of somebody, but I was somebody.

Now, I was part of a growing, aching consciousness - I was part of a vast, growing hunger. My thoughts were no longer my own.

All hail the Rubbered One!

I buzzed and chirred, excited beyond words. I was ramrod hard, even in the rubber, which smoothed everything away, everything - all emotion, all thought, all nerve, all worry. All features of my face - gone. All features of my body - slurped up.

I stood in front of the mirror. All sign of the Rubbered One was vanished. I could see, somehow, through my suit, though it had no eyeholes.

I saw through Rubber eyes.

I understood that I was Rubberborn. That this was my destiny.

The words “my” and “me” and “I” and “mine” were erased, scratched out heavily. I was plural, now.

We were plural.

We stand in front of the mirror, staring at ourselves, our new body. A mere morsel in the face of our hunger.

Do you feel it?

As our eyes swivel slowly, tracking across the room, away from the mirror. Looking into the camera lens backwards. Do you feel the chilly fingers of our gaze landing on you as you read? Playing along your bare shoulders, the pliable, delicate skin of your arms?

The Rubberborn understand and acknowledge that this body can be used for purposes that satisfy the hunger.

They gave it the name rubbrfrk9. The name you know, the author of these stories you read, curious in your own way to know how the rubber feels. The same name you’ve seen watermarked on pics of us as you scroll by on your tumblr feed.

Or maybe you already know - maybe you’ve already felt the ecstasy, struggling into your own shirt or pants. Gloves or socks. Mask or hood.

Perhaps all of the above.

Perhaps the voice of the Rubbered One is even now mingling with your own thoughts. Sinuous, twisty, shiny and smooth. Silken whispers, just an undercurrent of sibilant breath in the background, there. If you strain, you can make it out. Can hear our voices.

We can sense you.

We know.

We are coming.

Say it with us now: All hail the Rubbered One!

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inyournightmares97 · 6 years

Text

The Passionate Discourse

Part of the Thirsty Days of September series, a collaboration with @ijustwantacue. Find her version here!

A difference of opinion leads to a healthy debate between you and the sexy Professor Mark Tuan… and just maybe, a little something more.

Word Count: 7k+

Warnings: A little steamy but no smut, also some strong opinions on feminism and other sensitive subjects. The opinions stated by the reader or Mark are not necessarily my own so don’t attack me for them, I just took up two extreme viewpoints.

This was possibly the most pathetic excuse for a party you’d ever seen.

Then again, your mother had organized the whole event and a large majority of the invitees were busybody women in their late fifties from her new book club. You had been worried that your mother would be sad and lonely after her recent divorce, but she had taken on life as a single woman with fresh vigor by joining a new book club and becoming quite popular among the elderly and retired in your community. You’d never seen her pick up a single book throughout your childhood yet now she met up every Saturday with a group of similarly lonely women to discuss the likes of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte.

Oh, well. As long as she was happy you had nothing to complain about. You wished that she wouldn’t invite her friends over here on weekends and pressure you to serve them tea and buy those cute little finger foods while they told you that you looked exactly like your mother and commented on how you were still unmarried.

It was demeaning, really. You were a fully-grown adult woman and you didn’t need to be subjected to this infantile treatment.

“Darling!” your mother came over to you and grasped your arm firmly as she pulled you aside. You had been trying half-heartedly to explain to a group of older women what you did for a living. With their dangerously limited knowledge they had somehow wrongly concluded that you were a doctor and you didn’t care quite enough to correct them. You were rescued from hearing about Mrs. Lee’s backache when your mother pulled you away. “Darling, I must have a word with you. Do you remember I mentioned Mrs. Tuan the other day?”

You blinked. “You might have. I can’t remember.”

“Well, she is one of my very dearest friends,” you mother explained, although it was much more likely that they’d just met a few times at the book club. “She’ll be coming down here to join the party and she messaged me to let me know that her son is dropping her off. Now I know that you don’t really like me to recommend you to my friend’s sons because it hasn’t gone very well in the past-“

You glared at your mother. “Not very well? The last man had been divorced twice already and he was one of those!”

Your mother frowned. “One of those what?”

You folded your arms across your chest and hissed. “Those anti-vaccine movement supporters! He told me right to my face that he would never let his children get vaccinated because vaccines were a conspiracy created by the medical community to make money! Do you know insulting it is as a biomedical scientist to be told right to your face that your entire life’s research is a cheap scam? Was I supposed to date that disgusting man?”

Your mother sighed. “Yes, all right. I see how he wasn’t right for you. For your information, it’s very difficult to find men who can live up to your absurdly high intellectual standards. But Mrs. Tuan’s son is different. I think you might actually like him. He’s a Professor! Isn’t that exciting?”

“Not particularly.”

Your mother frowned and her grip on your arm tightened. She lowered her voice to make sure that nobody else at the party was listening to you. “Now listen. You’re not getting any younger and it’s hard for women like you who are so constantly focused on their careers to find men willing to put up with them. Mark Tuan is a perfectly lovely man. He’s never been married or divorced, he’s a Professor at a rather prestigious university and judging by the summer holiday pictures that his mother showed me last week, he’s also extremely handsome. At least give him a chance?”

You sighed. “Yes, fine.”

“Thank you, darling. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint your mother. It’s been so lonely since the divorce, you know, and I at least want you to find some happiness and not end up like me.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Reading too much Jane Austen was turning your mother into one of those typical, overdramatic mothers from the Regency era whose sole aim in life was to marry off her daughters. You opened your mouth to tell her that maybe she should remember what century she was in, when the doorbell suddenly rang. Your mother jumped up with an enormous smile on her face.

“That must be Mrs. Tuan! Come with me, darling, let’s go greet them together….”

You followed your mother to the door reluctantly. It was indeed Mrs. Tuan; you smiled and greeted the older woman pleasantly before allowing your gaze to turn to her son standing just a little bit behind her. You froze for a moment while you looked at the man.

Well, well, well. Mark Tuan was handsome indeed.

Your heart did a little leap when he smiled at you, his gorgeous lips spreading into a rather boyish but still extremely attractive smile. Mark was wearing a dark blazer and the round spectacles on his face made him look intelligent and mature despite his young age. Your mouth went dry as he held out a hand to you. His handshake was firm and his skin warm. You couldn’t help but look down at the large hand grasping yours. You’d always liked a man’s hands. Mark’s were smooth yet strong.

“Mark Tuan,” he introduced himself in a soft and deep voice. You looked up into a pair of chocolate brown eyes that seemed innocent, yet briefly flickered up and down your body as they drank you in. You forgot how to speak for a moment so your mother grasped your arm and smiled for you.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Mark. Won’t you come in and join us?”

Mark hesitated and as he exchanged glances with you, you saw a mild hint of panic in his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to be trapped into discussing Wuthering Heights with his mother’s friends. You decided in that split instant that you were rather attracted to this Mark person and that if you were going to be stuck at this stupid party anyway, you would much rather be stuck with him.

“Actually, I had just come to drop my Mother off. I wasn’t planning to stay-“

You gave him one of your most welcoming smiles. Mark was surely handsome, but you knew how to handle yourself around handsome men. “But you must come in for at least one cup of tea! The book club meeting doesn’t start for another twenty minutes and I’m sure that everyone would love to meet you in the meantime. We’ve heard so much about you, Professor Tuan.”

Mark blinked at you in surprise. “Well, um-“

“Come dear, have some tea with us!” his mother insisted, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him inside. You noticed that both of your mothers exchanged a rather mischievous glance and realized that they had probably been planning this for a long time. Honestly; were they running a book club or a matchmaking ring for their children? Either way, the longer you looked at Mark, the more you decided that perhaps your mother hadn’t made such a terrible choice after all.

You followed them into the dining room where all the women almost literally pounced upon Mark at once. You had to admit that in that dark coat and with his naturally charming smile he looked like a hero straight out of a Jane Austen adaptation. You left the older women to badger him with questions and compliments while you slipped into the kitchen. For once, you weren’t the center of attention and the moment’s respite was a relief. You turned the coffee machine on and listened to the chattering drifting in from the dining room half-heartedly. If he survived the crowd of women and lived to tell the tale, you decided that you would give Mark a chance.

He was definitely a treat for the eyes, after all.

About fifteen minutes later, Mark entered the kitchen by himself. He was straightening his jacket and you noticed that he seemed a little bit flustered. He adjusted his glasses on his face and gave you a small, slightly embarrassed smile that made your knees feel weak. Damn. It should be criminal to have such a gorgeous smile.

“Hi,” he greeted you shyly.

You smiled at him. “Survived the wolves, did you?”

“Yes, they’re finally starting their book club discussion now,” Mark replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. You leaned back and noticed that despite being slender, he looked extremely athletic. The jacket buttons were certainly straining over his chest. He leaned against the counter. “I’m informed that it’s Sense and Sensibility they’re discussing today, although there seems to be very little of either to go around in that group.”

You giggled. He had an interesting way of speaking. Perhaps he taught Literature, or something along those lines. How interesting and poetic. You heard the coffee machine behind you ding and gestured towards it. “Can I offer you some coffee? They’re only serving tea out there today. Apparently it’s in keeping with the Jane Austen theme but neither I nor my mother have ever made tea so I’m sure it tasted disgusting.”

Mark grinned. “The little tea cakes were all right.”

“Oh, those were store-bought.”

“Good decision.”

You turned to grab mugs as you poured generous amount of coffee into them. It smelled heavenly and Mark stepped closer to you in order to peek at the delicious beverage. He pointed out your extremely fancy coffee-maker with a smile. “That looks like the sort of machine you would find in an actual coffee shop. A little bit much for a normal household, isn’t it?”

You shrugged as you added milk into the heavenly brew. It became a lovely dark color and you made a little white swirl on the top. “I love coffee. I bought it as a gift for my mother but I think we both know that it was really for me. Sugar?”

“Yes, please,” Mark replied eagerly. You turned to him and noticed that he still had that handsome, boyish smile on his face. He took the coffee mug that you offered him and took a small sip. You couldn’t help but watch as his tongue darted out to lick his lips gently. God, did this man have any idea how attractive he was? Mark noticed you staring at him and his mouth twisted into a small smirk but he said nothing. “This is delicious. Thank goodness I can finally get the taste of that tea out of my mouth.”

“You’re welcome,” you told him.

Mark nodded and took another sip of the coffee before placing the mug on the counter. He was still leaning against it with his arms folded across his chest and you noticed that his chocolate-colored eyes were looking you up and down gently. His gaze sent a shiver down your spine, even though his eyes didn’t linger at any one place for too long. Well. At least he knows how to keep it classy. You found yourself subconsciously straightening your shoulders so that your chest looked nicer.

“So,” Mark began casually. “Do you live here with your mother, then? I don’t see any other reason why you would spend your weekend doing something like this.”

“Unfortunately, yes. I moved back here after my mother’s divorce was finalized because I thought that she might be lonely. I had no idea that she’d suddenly developed a more active social life than my own,” you said with a small laugh. You leaned against the counter and smiled. “I don’t think I could get this many friends to come over to my house at once. I’m always working.”

Mark blinked. “Oh? And what do you do?”

“I’m a scientist. I specialize in biomedical research and I work for the Medical Research Council,” you explained. Mark’s eyes widened and you could tell from his expression that he was impressed. You gave him a small, teasing smirk “But before you ask, I’m not a doctor and no, I don’t know why you’ve been feeling a little warmer than usual these days. My best guess is either menopause or global warming.”

Mark nodded. “That’s very impressive. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to diagnose my health problems. Although I wonder if there’s anything you can do about this one constant headache I’ve been suffering. It gets significantly worse when I’m in the same room as the women from my mother’s book club, you see…”

You could tell from the mischievous smile that spread across his face that he was joking. You laughed and rolled your eyes at him. Handsome, intelligent and funny. You wondered if this man could get any more perfect. This was the first time that you’d ever felt so attracted to someone that you were meeting for the first time and from the way Mark’s eyes never moved away from yours either, he was equally attracted to you. You bit your lip and smiled at him.

“So, Professor Mark. Let me guess what it is you teach,” you told him with a flirtatious smile.

Mark took a sip of his coffee and shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“Your comment about Sense and Sensibility was rather interesting. At first I thought you might teach something like literature, but then I realized that the comment was a little superficial. It’s not likely to come from somebody who’s actually read the book and knows that the title is referring to foolish young love and not gossiping old women. So I’m guess your field of study has nothing to do with Literature or Poetry or anything like that.”

“You’re partly right,” Mark told you with an amused smile. “I’m not a Literature professor but I have read Sense and Sensibility. So that leaves your conclusion accurate while your analysis is rather lacking.”

You tapped your cheek with a finger as you scanned him. What did this mysterious man teach? It was difficult to tell just by looking at his face. Mark merely pushed his glasses further up his nose and looked at you calmly while you stared at him. You finally snapped your fingers and pointed at him. “Okay. If you read something like Sense and Sensibility, then you must be a rather sensitive and romantic person. I’m getting some sort of artsy vibes from you. And you have a lovely voice. Do you by any chance teach some sort of music?”

Mark laughed his gorgeous laugh and shook his head. “No, you’re going in the wrong direction. Thank you for the compliment about my voice, though. I’ve never heard anyone say that before.”

You flushed. “It just has a rather nice, deep tone to it.”

Mark simply smirked. “Well, you’d better stop getting distracted by it because you’re losing whatever little game we’re playing. Music and Literature? Is that all you can think of?”

You frowned. “Give me a hint.”

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. Then he smiled and straightened up a little bit. “Okay. But this is a pretty obvious hint. You know how I said earlier that I read Sense and Sensibility? Well, I did read it from an academic perspective. So make what you will with that.”

A little lightbulb went off in your head and you beamed. “Ah! History, then!”

“No, not History.”

Your lower lip jutted out into a small pout at the slightly triumphant expression on his face. You honestly couldn’t think of anything and you wondered what you could possibly be missing. You sighed and raised an eyebrow at Mark. “Why one earth would you read Sense and Sensibility from an academic perspective if you’re not looking either at the literature or at the historical aspect? What other angle could a Jane Austen novel about a pair of sisters looking for love possibly have?”

“Are you giving up that easily?” he teased as you felt your cheeks warm. You hadn’t intended to make yourself look like an idiot but Mark seemed extremely amused. “I thought scientists were always on an endless quest for answers about the universe?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re definitely not a scientist if you believe that.”

Mark nodded. “That’s correct.”

“Well then, please tell me. What does the mysterious Mark Tuan actually teach and what academic angle could he possibly have found in a classic romance tale such as Sense and Sensibility? I’m just dying to know.”

“Let me give you a few more hints because you’re almost there,” Mark explained. “Sense and Sensibility was written by a woman. The main protagonists are all women and it talks about the lives of women. So therefore I must be studying….?”

You blinked at him. “Women?” you asked, confused. You stared at Mark for a few more moments until the puzzle clicked in your mind. “Wait… you can’t be referring to feminism?”

“Close enough. I teach Gender Studies.”

You couldn’t help it; a slightly derisive snort escaped your mouth. He couldn’t possibly be serious? You searched Mark’s dark eyes for any sign that he was joking and concluded that he looked perfectly serious. You had to cover your mouth in order to hold back the amused chuckle that was pushing past your lips. You had never heard anything more ridiculous in your life. Why on earth would a handsome, intelligent man like Mark Tuan choose to study something as frivolous as Gender Studies?

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Is something funny?”

“Yes!” you blurted out. You knew you were being extremely rude but you had never been one to hold back whatever you wanted to say. “I mean, why would you choose to become a Professor in something like Gender Studies? You can’t mean to say that you actually did a bachelor’s degree and then a masters and then a doctorate, all those years of study… on something as useless and commonplace as gender?”

The smile had dropped from Mark’s face. There was a slightly serious, more intense look in his eyes and his voice sounded a little hard. “I’m sensing some condescension in your tone.”

“You’re sensing right!”

“I take it you don’t approve, then.”

“It seems like a complete waste of time to me,” you replied with a challenging stare. “I mean, I’m assuming you talk about things like feminism and you argue over whether this gender is more oppressed or that gender is more oppressed or… oh wait! There’s no gender at all! It’s a social construct that has been imposed on us without any scientific backing, and the world is a better place because we’ve somehow all decided that. It’s a waste of time. It’s like arguing over whether jam tastes better on toast or butter. It doesn’t make the slightest bit of difference to anyone or really impact anything.”

Mark bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you. You could see that his eyes had darkened and his arms coolly folded across his chest. “So if I’m hearing correctly, you think my field of study is… pointless? Or that arguing about feminism or gender-based discrimination is useless?”

You stared back at him, unblinking. “Isn’t it?”

“You don’t believe that women are oppressed?” he demanded.

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Look. I agree that there are orthodox countries and parts of the world where women are locked up indoors and denied education and the basic freedom to move around and killed if they have sex before marriage. It’s terrible. It really is. I agree that social reformists are extremely important in places like that. But you’re not in one of those countries. Why on earth would educated and developed people like us still sit and whine about gender discrimination in the First World? We’re not locked up. We have access to resources. Everybody agrees that women should be allowed to be educated-“

Mark sighed and shook his head. “You can’t really believe that gender-based discrimination is restricted to orthodox, backward countries where they murder women for having sex.”

“I do, actually,” you replied with a frown. “Look. Feminism was relevant when, for example, women weren’t allowed to vote. It’s not relevant now. Now people who have all the resources and the money and the time in the world are just wasting their time conducting research about useless things like gender when they could be spending their efforts doing something more productive.”

Mark scoffed. “Like what? Biomedical research?”

“Yes, actually. I’ll have you know that my field of research saves lives.”

“Do you really think that a woman would be able to work in STEM fields like biomedicine if it wasn’t for the work of so many feminists before you? Scientific research is a male-dominated field. It always has been. Not only is it dominated by men in numbers but the inherent structures and the demands of the field are such that men are preferred for the work-“

You scoffed. “Don’t tell me about my own field. Do you think I’m an idiot? I’m a woman who’s been working in biomedical research for over five years and I know perfectly well that gender studies is just an excuse for women who don’t want to put in the hard work it takes in order to study and be successful in such a highly demanding field. Women like that just want things handed to them because they don’t want to struggle. So they like to blame the system.”

“And you don’t think they struggle more than men do?” Mark demanded.

You laughed. You couldn’t believe the nonsense that this man was speaking. “Why on earth would women struggle more than men? It’s exactly the same work! I’m sorry to break it to you, Professor Tuan but there are an absurdly large number of women who sit and study about why there are so few women in STEM fields while none of them actually have the courage or the intelligence to enter into a STEM field themselves… I have nothing to say to women like that, and I don’t think a man like you should be encouraging them to waste their time.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Mark said with a soft chuckle. He didn’t even look angry anymore. He just looked bewildered. “How can a woman like you be so blind to the institutional problems and everyday sexism of STEM fields?”

“Maybe because I’m not looking for excuses to slack off.”

Mark pushed himself away from the edge of the counter and stepped closer to you. You felt your heartbeat thud as he stepped closer, his dark eyes piercing into yours as he approached.

“Okay,” he said in a soft, low voice. “Let’s assume for a moment that you’re right. That my research is a complete waste of time and that women like you don’t need feminism. Let’s assume that the only reason so many women fail to be successful in STEM fields is because they don’t want to put in the hard work. Can you seriously tell me, on a basic level, that men and women are entirely equal in society?” he demanded. The smile had disappeared from his face and he was moving closer to you every moment. “Are you telling me that you are capable of doing every single thing a man is doing?”

Your heartbeat raced as you felt the kitchen counter pressing into your back. Mark didn’t stop moving. He was standing inches away from you and his face was leaning down closer to yours. You could see his dark eyes staring down at you and the perfect angles of his gorgeous face. You tried not to blush and maintained eye contact with him despite the blood rushing to your face.

“Yes,” you replied. “I believe that I am just as capable as a man. And a study trying to convince me that I’m weaker or that the world is unfair and that I need someone’s help is a waste of everyone’s time.”

Mark’s hands moved to both sides of your waist and he gripped the kitchen counter behind you. You were trapped in between his arms while his head dipped down to level with yours. “So,” he said as he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re telling me that if I decided to take you, right here and right now on this kitchen counter just to satisfy my carnal urges then you would be able to fight me off?” Mark’s breath was warm on your face and his tongue darted out to lick his lips. “You wouldn’t feel a little bit… powerless? Like it was an unfair fight?”

You couldn’t help but smirk as you leaned closer to him. “I think the question you should be asking,” you whispered in a sultry voice. “Is why I would want to fight something like that at all?”

Mark chuckled. The deep rumble in his chest sent shivers down your spine as one of his hands left to the kitchen counter to gently caress your waist. His hand splayed out on your side, a feather-light touch that was possessive and yet left you craving more. “I should have seen that coming,” he admitted with a small smile as he bit his lip. “You really haven’t been able to take your eyes off me from the moment I entered this house.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “And you’re not attracted to me?” you demanded.

Mark raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say that. You’re an extremely attractive woman.”

“But you think my views are stupid, is that it?” you demanded. Mark’s eyes were fixed on your lips and you felt a surge of confidence. Gender studies professor or not, the lustful part of your mind had taken over the logical portion and you decided that you wanted this man. Nobody had ever made your heart race like this before. Your body was physically craving him. “I suppose our opinions don’t really coincide, do they?”

“No, they don’t,” Mark whispered. “And that is a little bit of a problem.”

“I have a simple solution.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. We stop talking.”

Mark looked down at the twinkle in your eyes before smirking. “For once, I think I agree with your idea.”

You leaned up and kissed him, your lips colliding together in a furious clash. Mark pressed you against the counter harshly while he devoured your lips and molded your bodies together. Your head spun in a cloud of lust. Mark’s tongue slid into your mouth and his hands cupped your ass. Within moments, he had lifted you up by the thighs and set you on the counter without once breaking your kiss. You moaned as he pulled away from you to breathe for a moment.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

He let out a soft, boyish chuckle. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he growled before kissing you again. You let your hands slide into his dark hair as his palms gripped your thighs tightly. You melted against him while he nipped at your lips and smiled into your kiss. Mark kept teasing you and you had to thread your fingers into his hair tightly to keep his lips connected to yours. He didn’t seem to mind at all. Your forehead kept hitting his glasses and you let out a soft whine before reaching up to rip his glasses off his face.

“You don’t really need those, do you?” you teased as you kissed him again. Mark let out a low moan that made your stomach twist. You tossed the glasses onto the counter and whimpered as he sank his teeth into your lower lip softly. It was getting harder to stay quiet and Mark’s hands had started to move higher up and were beginning to slide under your shirt. He pulled away from you and pecked your lips softly.

“You’re getting too loud, sweetheart,” he whispered with a smirk. “Is there anywhere more private that we could continue, uh, not talking?”

You gasped as Mark’s cold hands trailed up the bare skin of your torso.

“Fuck. Fuck, okay, let’s go upstairs. Through the back door.”

“Lead the way.”

Mark Tuan was an amazing lover.

Admittedly, things got a little clumsy and awkward after you’d both fucked in your bedroom. Neither of you could entirely forget that your mothers were right downstairs, discussing a classic romance novel and probably hoping that the two of you would fall in love at first sight, get married and have children. Mark had looked a little embarrassed while he gathered up his clothes. He gave you a sheepish smile and pointed out that he should head back downstairs before your mothers noticed.

That had been your opportunity to say something. Let’s exchange numbers, you could have said. Or do you want to have coffee sometime? Mark had paused in your doorway and looked at you for a few moments, giving you the opportunity to say that this wasn’t a one-time thing. But you simply couldn’t do it. Despite how extremely attracted you were to Mark and even though it was the first time you’d ever slept with a man that you’d just met, you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work.

If I can’t respect what he does, then how can I ever respect him?

So you merely nodded and smiled, letting him walk out of your room and out of your life. Your mother looked heartbroken when you told her that things with Mark hadn’t worked out. But she knew better than to pressure you, and so you simply moved on with your life and convinced yourself that you hadn’t let go of an amazing man.

(A few days later)

You entered the office building and headed straight for the break-room. You were early and you planned to have a cup of coffee before a meeting with your boss. Some of your coworkers were sitting and having a quick breakfast so you smiled at them in greeting.

“Hey guys. Have a nice weekend?” you asked the pair of guys sitting and munching on toast.

“It was all right. You’re at work pretty early today!” Youngjae greeted you with a friendly smile. He was one of the brightest and happiest guys that you worked with, and one of the few that never seemed to differentiate you as a woman. He offered you some toast and shrugged when you refused. “Going to get cracking early on Monday morning, huh?”

You shook your head. “Hardly. I have a meeting with Dr. Lee today, I’d applied to be a part of his research group on antibody research and I’m going to find out whether I made the cut. It’s a five-year project and I’ve been focusing on antibodies recently, so it would be amazing to finally be a part of some solid, useful research instead of all this medical testing nonsense they make us do.”

Youngjae blinked at you. “…Oh.”

“Is something wrong?” you wondered.

“It’s just… um, I don’t know how to tell you this. But I heard that all the positions on that research team were filled. I think the last slot went to Park Jinyoung.”

You stared in shock. “What? Park Jinyoung? But I have at least three years more experience than him and I don’t think he’s ever done any specific research on antibodies before. I thought his specialty was stem cell research? Why on earth would Dr. Lee choose him over me?”

Youngjae looked embarrassed. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask Dr. Lee.”

You nodded, setting down your coffee mug and storming over to your boss’ office. It was at least fifteen minutes before your scheduled meeting with him but you weren’t going to wait around in order to hear about whether you’d been rejected. You knocked loudly on the door and were told to come in. You put on your sweetest smile as you faced the older man who sat behind his desk.

“Dr. Lee! I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was hoping we could talk about my research?”

The man blinked at you through his glasses. “Of course! Come in, come in. I know you applied to be a part of my special research team and I’m sure you’ve heard already but I had to give the position to Park Jinyoung. I hope you understand that I had to take into account the stability of the project and the limited funds we have.”

You bit your lip as you sat down in front of him. “I… don’t exactly understand, to be perfectly frank, sir. I have at least three years more experience than him. There’s nothing wrong with my work records here and I already have specific research experience in the field of antibodies. Why has he been preferred for the position over me? If there’s something lacking in my performance then I’d like to know.”

Dr. Lee shook his head. “Certainly not! We’ve had consistently excellent performance from you. It was merely a strategic decision.”

“Well, I’d like to know what the strategy you applied was.”

The older man cleared his throat and for the first time, you noticed that he looked a little uncomfortable. You had no idea what was wrong. You’d been working for him for almost four years now and he had always been perfectly pleasant and seemed to appreciate your work. Why wouldn’t he want you on his research team? Dr. Lee placed his hands on his desk and gave you a gentle smile.

“All right, dear. I know you’re one of those people who considers the progress of science to be much more important than individual goals so I’ll be perfectly honest with you. This is a five-year project and I have to get a lot of research done in a very limited budget. I need to be assured that everyone on the team is entirely dedicated to the project and we don’t fall behind schedule.”

You felt hurt. “And you don’t think I have that level of dedication-“

“I’m sure you do. But this is a five-year project and you’re a woman in your mid-twenties. I have to consider… I mean, if you suddenly chose to go on maternity leave for a few months… well, that could be enough to derail the entire progress of the project. I had to choose Jinyoung to be safe.”

You stared at the man, unable to believe what he was telling you. Did he just deny you a position on the research team that you’d been aiming for year merely because there was a chance you could choose to get pregnant? You had never heard anything more absurd. You gritted your teeth and tried not to lose your temper. It wasn’t Dr. Lee’s fault, he was just doing what was best for his research team.

“Dr. Lee, I’m not even married-“

“But you could get married soon, if you chose. And so many women choose to become single mothers through donated sperm these days. As I said, I need a guaranteed five years of dedication.”

You felt helpless. How could this be happening? You weren’t pregnant and you hadn’t gotten married so how could he deny you the position due to something so flimsy? You felt a surge of desperation and leaned forward. “Dr. Lee, you know that I’ve been focusing all my efforts towards contributing to your work in the hopes that I would be able to be a part of this research. It’s one of my life’s dreams, and getting married or having children is entirely secondary to me. I would be willing to sign a legal statement waiving my right to maternity leave or any such benefit if that was what it would take…”

Dr. Lee merely gave you a sympathetic smile. “You know I can’t ask you to do that. Such a document would have no value, it’s entirely illegal to ask a woman to do give up her right to maternity leave.”

You felt a burst of anger flare inside of you. “It’s also illegal to deny a woman a position solely on the basis of her sex. We live in the twenty-first century, in case you’d forgotten.”

“I expected better from you. I thought you would understand that the consistent pursuit of science and saving lives comes before any individual person’s interests-“

You scoffed, glaring at the old man sitting in front of you. You had always thought he was sweet, kind and brilliant but it suddenly struck you what selfish creatures men really were. How dare he deny you a position that should have rightfully been yours? How dare he accuse you of not being loyal to science? You had dedicated your entire life to the cause until now and they still didn’t trust you to hold out for another five years? Would Dr. Lee have hesitated to hire Park Jinyoung if he wanted to have a baby?

“Does it really?” you asked with a sweet smile, as you stood up. “Well. We’ll see how your noble pursuits hold out in court, shall we?”

Professor Mark Tuan was sitting in his office and preparing for his lecture the next day, when he heard a sharp rap on his office door. It was regular office hours. Plenty of students walked in around this time, hoping to discuss the reading material or get help on their research papers so he merely pushed his glasses higher up his nose and called out.

“Come in!”

The last thing he expected to see was you.

You entered his office, looking as beautiful as ever despite the slightly embarrassed smile on your face. Mark felt his heart skip a beat. He hadn’t expected to see you again. If the disagreement you’d had over feminism wasn’t a deal-breaker, then the awkward goodbye after sex certainly had been. Mark had felt angry with himself after he left your house. Sleeping with you had been amazing, but he wondered whether, if he had held on for a little while longer, he could have gotten to know you better. Something about you still intrigued him.

“Hi,” he greeted you, unable to hold back a bewildered smile as he saw you hesitate in the doorway. “Wow, I certainly didn’t expect to see you today. What are you doing here?”

You bit your lip as you stared at him. This was so humiliating. “Uh…”

“Why don’t you sit down?”

You sat down awkwardly, wondering how to go about this whole thing. It seemed a little silly to be talking to a man whose life’s work you had dismissed and ridiculed just a few days ago. But Mark seemed genuinely glad to see you and deep down, you knew that he wasn’t holding a grudge over your previous conversation. “Sorry to come to your workplace like this,” you apologized softly. “It’s just that we never exchanged numbers that day and I didn’t want to get my Mom involved so I thought I’d just come to the university and ask about your office hours.”

Mark nodded, his eyes twinkling. “Well, it’s nice to see you again.”

You bit your lip. “You too.”

“Is there something you wanted to say to me in particular?”

You took a deep breath but it was difficult to speak. The events of this morning were still fresh in your mind and you couldn’t get over it. It had taken you years to get your dream job and you had just walked out on your boss and risked everything in a moment’s rage. But the rage was still burning inside of you. Mark seemed to notice the pain in your eyes because he walked around the desk and stood beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Hey. Are you doing all right?”

You shook your head, finding it difficult to speak. “I… um. I quit my job today. Well, not exactly. I didn’t hand in a resignation or anything I just threatened to sue my boss and stormed out of the office, so…” you choked out. Your shoulders trembled and to your surprise, Mark gently pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you. You let yourself relax into his warm embrace. His touch felt amazing; not like the electric sexual tension you’d felt before, but a soft and comforting feeling that you needed.

“It’s okay,” he whispered gently, his deep voice relaxing you. “Take a deep breath and talk about it.”

“You were right. He denied me a position on a 5-year research team because there’s a chance I might get pregnant and want to take maternity leave during that time. That asshole. I thought Dr. Lee was a good person and I thought that he really valued my work because he always seemed to treat me as an equal with all the other male employees but- but the moment my gender posed the slightest inconvenience to him, he…”

Mark’s hand stroked your back comfortingly. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

You blinked back your tears and looked up at him. “You’re probably thinking that I deserved it, right?”

He chuckled and one of his hands reached up to cup your face gently. Mark’s dark brown eyes were looking down at you with a hint of kindness as well as sympathy. “I won’t lie, there are probably things you could have done if you’d been a bit more prepared and accepted that this was something that could happen to you,” he said lightly but his tone change once he saw your face crumple. “But, no. Nobody deserves this.”

You closed your eyes. “What am I going to do?”

Mark looked down at you and before you could react, he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. You were surprised at his sweetness as he stepped back and gave you his charming, handsome smile. “We are going to go and get a cup of coffee while you tell me exactly what happened and then we decide whether to sue this bastard in court or write an anonymous article shaming him before the entire academic community.”

You giggled. “I like both of these options.”

Mark grabbed his coat and put it on before reaching out to squeeze your hand comfortingly. “Thank you for coming to me about this,” he said softly. “I was worried I’d never see you again and I was starting to regret walking out of your room without saying anything that day.”

You bit your lip. “What would you have said?”

Mark stepped forward until he was standing inches away from you and he leaned down to whisper into your ear softly. “I would have told you that you are the most beautiful and sexy woman I’d ever met, and I wouldn’t mind arguing with you every single day of my life if at least half of our arguments ended the way ours did.”

You shuddered as his lips brushed your ear and you gave him a teasing smirk. “You haven’t seen the worst of me yet. I can be extremely stubborn about my views. What are your opinions on multilateral free trade at the international level?”

“Isn’t free trade a good thing?”

You leaned back and smirked. “Excellent. Let’s discuss that in detail, shall we?”

#got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 fanfiction #got7 angst #got7 fluff #mark tuan #got7 mark #mark scenarios #mark fluff #mark tuan angst #got7 imagines #got7 reader #mark tuan imagines #professor mark tuan #got7 professor!au #thirsty days of september

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queensofrap · 6 years

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Most Misunderstood: Iggy Azalea's American Dream

he early reality of Amethyst Kelly is difficult to imagine. There was once a small home in the tiny Australian town of Mullumbimby, made of red brick, cemented by mud and laid by her father's careful hands. Her mother would spend her days emptying trash bins at a motel as a vacation rental cleaner, a path Amethyst would eventually follow at age 14. Water didn't always run, clothes were never new, and bathrooms were separated from the home by a muddied path. It's a tale of immensely humble beginnings, a hemisphere away from the life she would come to inhabit as Iggy Azalea a decade later. And while her origins are unfathomable for some, it's Amethyst's American dream that remains universal.

I first witnessed a glimpse of that dream in the fall of 2011. It was through a cracked iPhone screen, held casually by my friend. "You have to see this bitch," she announced, flicking her perfectly coiled locs and turning up the volume. "She's every-fucking-thing!" There, on the screen, was a tall, curvy woman with ice-blonde hair and creamy incandescent skin. She was surrounded by two brown cheerleaders in matching green uniforms, strutting in towering heels and rapping furiously: My world, rhyme vicious/ White girl team, full of bad bitches. Immediately, I recognized her: this confident, eccentric girl who didn't fit into preppy white hierarchies. While others girls were quoting lines from Mean Girls, imagining themselves Regina George, she appeared as someone I knew. A girl unruly and self-possessed, always late to class, always blasting D4L. I could see her crafting beats with her knuckles and strolling into class hours late, another detention slip placed on her desk. We were sold.

If "My World" was the bait, "Pussy" was the hook, line and sinker. Iggy, Iggy/ Pussy illy/ Wetter than the Amazon/ Taste this kitty! Her accent was thick and affected, reminiscent of our cherished childhood favorite Diamond from Atlanta's Crime Mob. The "Pussy" video was a Boyz N The Hood homage with ATLien pastiche. There were ice cream trucks and babysitting, front porch posing and concrete runways, sherbet-colored pants and shredded shorts. And we weren't the only ones taking notice of Iggy and her ways. Seemingly overnight, our private cafeteria secret had become a viral phenomenon.

“ Here I am at the darkest period of my life, contemplating suicide, and I'm singing "Switch.“

Press came quickly, grand and bold. The New York Times suggested that "all this proximity to blackness characterizes Iggy Azalea as a person who is no stranger to black culture and communities, suggesting it's no anomaly for her to rock the mic." The Los Angeles Times described her flow as "brash and aggressive," while Complex decided that she was ready to "really make her mark on the game." Classmates had her image as their screensavers and sprawled across their Tumblrs, and were dropping her name in new music debates. She performed at small venues in Atlanta and cars across the city boomed with Never not better/ Law should ban it! A few months later, when "Murda Bizness" featuring T.I. dropped, her dream was actualized. She was not a one-hit wonder. She was a star, poised to rise.

There are many forgotten Iggy freestyles from that era. In one, she raps over Chris Brown's "Look At Me Now," prophesying her divisive nature. In another, titled "Home Town Hatred," she reflects on her time in Australia and her desire to leave. Over Kanye West's ominous "Hell of A Life" beat, she details how industry executives told her to dumb it down. But it was her 2011 "D.R.U.G.S." freestyle that first illuminated the parameters of her ignorance.

Reflecting the industry's tendency not to look at things too deeply, at first the song went unchallenged. (It would be a year before its lyrics were critically examined). In fact, Complex covered the freestyle, commending her craft and comparing her to fellow white rapper Yelawolf. The following January, Iggy signed to major label Interscope, tweeting, "Get used to me + Jimmy [Iovine] smashing shit, cause that's the plan."

In February of 2012, she landed the coveted cover of XXL's Freshman Class issue: an annual declaration of hip-hop stars poised to break big. Between up-and-comers French Montana and Future stands Iggy in a lush green fur. She was the first woman to ever grace the cover — a backhanded achievement. For many, XXL is a bastion of hip-hop excellence. To be a cover star and stamped with their approval was to suggest an imminent dominance. If Iggy could be shot, styled, and photographed for her buzz, where were the black women who broke the boundaries, paved the lanes, and inspired her craft?

It was Harlem-born musician and artist Azealia Amanda Banks who first articulated concern about Iggy's image and her space within hip-hop. On Twitter, Banks wrote, "Iggy Azalea on the XXL freshman list is all wrong. How can you endorse a white woman who called herself a 'runaway slave master'? Sorry guys, I'm a pro black girl. I'm not anti white girl, but I'm also not here for any1 outside of my culture trying to trivialize very serious aspects of it."

Media outlets immediately crafted Bank's criticism into a heavily publicized rap beef, thrusting Banks into the insidious stereotype of bitter black woman. The line Banks referred to was a re-interpretation of a Kendrick Lamar lyric on Iggy's "D.R.U.G." freestyle. In Kendrick's 2010 track "Look Out For Detox," he raps, When the relay starts/ I'm a runaway slave. In Iggy's version, she says, When the relay starts/ I'm a runaway/ Slave master/ Shittin' on the past/ Gotta spit it like a pastor.

Conversations surrounding the lyric lacked necessary context. Journalists missed questions and painted simple proclamations. In October of 2011, Banks had tweeted, "how sexy is iggy azalea?? It's kind of ridiculous…*tugs collar to let out steam*." In January, she wrote "Iggy Azalea's hair looks really great in her new video. How long do you all reckon that hair is? 40" in? By March 2012, the dream was dented, with Iggy being called out as misappropriating at best, racist at worst.

She issued a heartfelt apology, which fell on mostly unsympathetic ears. Two months later, Iggy was dropped by Interscope. Her debut album, The New Classic, stalled indefinitely. But still, there was room for redemption. In April 2013, Iggy signed with Mercury Records, a UK subsidiary of Universal Music Group. After recording new music in England, she returned stateside, armed with a completed album and a firmly set 2014 release date. During press runs she's tested: asked if she's an imposter; if her body is enhanced; if the cringe-worthy assumptions about her mentor T.I. are true. Old tweets were dug up, which made the disdainful murmurings worse. She's asked to freestyle on Sway, but instead inexplicably recites a line from her own album. Her music begins to change, becoming less lyrically explicit and trap-influenced, and more poppy and prim. Now a Complex cover star, she fumbles when asked about her divisive rapping accent. She's quoted saying, "This is the entertainment industry. It's not politics." Soon enough, that statement would no longer be true.

In 2012, political discussions had begun to dominate all forms of media. The slain lives of Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis became proponents of combustible change. Movements like Black Lives Matter materialized, refusing silence or forgetfulness of the innocent and slaughtered black people, churning hundreds of American murders into global narratives. Each case, though singular and specific, represented the transgressions of America's not-too-distant-past and its perpetual present. If there was once a time when innocent victims could be smudged from history and their murderers left unscathed, that clock no longer ticked. Images of callous violence circulated more than music. Cellphone and camera footage displayed women being beaten, children being shot, and men being strangled. Language seemed to shift, relegating all ignorance to silence; expanding itself to capture the expansive feelings of others. And at the top of the same year, "Fancy" was released. Like lightning, Iggy's dream merged seamlessly with reality. She was now a star with a verifiable hit.

With her Clueless themed video for the inescapable track, 2014 became the year of Iggy's art. She held the number one spot on Billboard's Hot 100 for seven consecutive weeks. She luxuriated in the second spot too, appearing as a featured artist on Ariana Grande's "Problem." Billboard claimed Iggy tied with The Beatles and attached her name to the legacies of Mariah Carey, Missy Elliott, Lauryn Hill, and Nicki Minaj. She was now booking prime-time television spots — appearing on Good Morning America with Charli XCX — and on the covers of grocery store aisle magazines. Forbes declared her "Hip Hop's New Queen of Rap" and she was nominated for four Grammys. Simultaneously, America's racial rhetoric and division began to feel claustrophobic. In early February, Yvette Smith was murdered on her front porch. In August, Michael Brown Jr. and Ezell Ford were shot and killed. November was the month Laquan McDonald and Tamir Rice became portraits of unfinished lives. In July, Eric Garner was placed in an illegal chokehold, his last words becoming a symphony of unbearable sadness. The dichotomy between a world callously slaughtering black people on one end and rewarding a white rapper with success and visibility on another was dizzying.

What is it like to attach oneself exclusively to a dream, to pursue it even as the odds are stacked against you?

By 2015 the dream dissolved completely. Iggy was accused of racism, cultural appropriation, minstrelsy, and ignorance, becoming the perfect conduit for whiteness and all of its horrors. Her silence during racist events was considered complicit. A world tour was canceled, and neither a follow up album or a Top 10 hit reappeared. In 2016, she announced Digital Distortion, her sophomore album that was ultimately held after three singles — "Team," "Mo Bounce," and "Switch" — and a leaked music video. This year, Iggy released "Savior" with hopes of a refresh.

To some, she was an untalented white supremacist Barbie, infiltrating a space crafted by black people and laughing to the bank. Her dream — an innocent one of music, money, and acclaim — had become grotesque. To others, she was an iconic legend who was just easily projected upon. Now a refracted mirror for public opinion, a line was permanently drawn: black or white — no in-between.

But for me, there's always been a gray area. In art, in music, and in life, there is a space where the eye can shift inward to ask and answer questions. What might it look like for a young girl in Australia to re-discover life through hip-hop? What did it look like to want to manifest a world of make-believe, to create art once unseen? What is it like to attach oneself exclusively to a dream, to pursue it even as the odds are stacked against you? What do you do when you can't separate criticism from hate? When each day you're bombarded with projections based on media machinations? What does it look like when your dream comes true, when it's finally real, only for it to be mocked? To me, it's a perfect portrait of America.

At The Roxy Hotel, in New York City, I sat with Iggy Azalea. We spoke about her life, her dream, her craft, and her upcoming music. She was thoughtful and articulate, eyes glinting with Gemini humor and intellect, deeply apologetic and severely misunderstood. This is what transpired.

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Can you take me back to your childhood? I read that your hometown is called "The Biggest Little Town in Australia." What was it like?

I still don't know why the fuck they call it that. It was a really small town, incredibly rural, but there's a looser, less stereotypical element to it. There were a lot of crystals and hippies, weed smokers, and horoscopes. The town was split between this hippie, carefree fairy spectrum, or conservative farmers and their crops. My parents were on the fairy spectrum, but I went to public school. Everyone there was straight-laced with names like Amber and Stephanie and there I was as Amethyst, with platform shoes, and immediately it was like, Okay, bitch prepare to get bullied.

What were the students like?

There were two schools. One was private and more artistic, and that's where all the people that could be considered carefree and more imaginative were able to go. The public school was very sterile, very conservative. The private school was expensive and my family had no money for that, so I went to the public school and I was miserable. These were the children of bricklayers whose parents drove tractors and guys who played football on the weekends. I got teased for everything. Literally everything, there was no winning with those kids.

I'm ignorant to Australia — I've never been — but there is the classic stereotype of the tanned, athletic, white Australian. When we think of whiteness, we often forget its specifications, even the types that are lauded and coveted. For instance there's the archetype of the popular blonde. You were tall, pale, and curvy…

Oh my goodness, yes! And I was never that girl. Not even anywhere near that girl's posse. I never fit in and there was a time I really tried to fit in. I remember getting teased because I hadn't shaved my legs yet. I was only in sixth grade and I had never even thought of something like that. They would call me "monkey" everyday. One day I got my mom's razor and shaved my legs thinking it would finally be over and it wasn't. There was always a new thing. My hat. My mole. My weight. All of these things now seem so dumb, but I didn't do anything like them and there was no appeasing those kids.

When did you first think of leaving?

I always knew I was going to leave because I knew I didn't belong with any of the people that lived there. I only decided I wanted to go to America when I visited the states with my grandparents. I was 11, and I remember seeing all the showgirls in Las Vegas, all their sparkles and rhinestones. They were the most fabulous girls I had ever seen. I had only seen something like that on TV, and it blew my mind. Then we went to Hollywood, and there were all these wig stores and the Star Walk, and just seeing all the ways people dressed, how they styled their hair, the color of their wigs, I wanted to be able to do all of those things. When I wanted to dress like this in Australia, I'd get shitted on. But coming to America and watching people put on a show, watching them being ridiculously fabulous, no one was doing that where I was from. Nobody was even wearing high heels in Mullumbimby.

When did you put the plan in action?

That happened when I really started to get into music. I was insanely confident, with the kind of deluded grandeur that I think you need when no else believes in you. I thought I was good at it even though in retrospect I was bad still. I was about 14 and that's when I started writing music. I'd go to open mic nights and take the bus all over the city. I'd go to battle raps, I'd get booed. There was a sound audio engineering school, called SAE, and the first music I ever recorded was there. From 14 to 16, that's when the plan formed. As soon as I started writing, I knew music was what I had to do. Even if I wasn't a rapper, I thought I could be a sound engineer or a writer. I just knew I wanted to be involved in music. And I knew I had to get the fuck out of where I lived. It was suffocating me. I wanted to live in a place where the sky was the limit, a place where my dreams weren't strange or weird, where others had even crazier ideas than me. I knew all of that was in America, and that's where I had to go and that's where I thought people were going to accept my wild thoughts. I tried Sydney and Melbourne and they just weren't it. Nothing else was.

"I wanted to live in a place where the sky was the limit, a place where my dreams weren't strange or weird, where others had even crazier ideas than me. I knew all of that was in America."

Why Miami first?

They had a SAE campus in Miami. I thought I would be able to get in and get a student visa. I saved up enough money to live there for a couple of months, but I didn't have enough to live and go to school, so I ended up not going.

Next was Houston. What was that like?

I only lived there for a year. This producer found my music through Myspace, and he said if I was ever in Houston to let him know. Then he told me all the people he produced for, and I was so excited because I really loved Rap-A-Lot records, so I went. I met him and he was really cool. We recorded a bunch of songs and we would go to Metropolis. It was in a strip mall and everyone would just hang out in front of their cars, and inside one side was reggaeton and the other was a Slim Thug record chopped n' screwed. The plan was to give the DJ your cd and hopefully he'd play it, which they never do. Then you'd hangout in the parking lot until someone has a fist fight and then you go home. Those were my nights there. Just absorbing everything. I made some friends and then Hurricane Ike hit. Most of my friends were moving to Atlanta because their homes were destroyed. I went too.

How were you making money?

Two of my friends introduced me to their sound engineer and his girlfriend would come to the studio and drop him off lunch. She and I ended up becoming roommates. I told her how I had gone to Thailand before and how fascinated I was with the hair. How you could get in bundles and stuff. She said we should save up money to go and then bring it back and sell it to salons. So we saved up and went on our last dime. She had just graduated college and was working at Bank of America and we went out there and got a bunch of hair. When we came back we sold it super quick, wholesale, to all the salons. It was insane. Technically, even though I didn't have a work visa it isn't illegal if you invest in someone's business. So she registered it as little corporation under her name and I invested in it.

There's this idea that there was "Fancy" and then boom — immediate success! But there were a lot of setbacks.

Obviously there are years that people don't know about. I was in Atlanta for nearly two years just writing for people. I was doing so many writers camps for other known artists, just trying to get my spot. That's why there were a lot of pop demo references that came out. Everyone accused me of wanting to be a pop star and that wasn't something I've ever been interested in. I would write pop music with other people and try to get it placed. I've always rapped. Even the video that came out of the pop song, that was just some shit I did with my friend. We were playing.

The wildest thing is that there are so many reports that I used to be a model and that's always been strange. Just last week on my Spotify profile my bio says, "Iggy Azalea was a high profile model before she became a rapper." When?! I would have loved to be a high profile model, but last time I checked I'm a fucking size eight. What the fuck runway or editorial model do you know that size? There's so much of those kind of rumors that have a mind of their own now.

How did you end up in LA?

The music I was making in Atlanta, I started putting a couple of songs online. They didn't have anymore than 300-400 views. I still don't know how the fuck they found me, but an A&R at Interscope messaged me. He told me he had asked his girlfriend at the time, "Who do you think is cool?" And she played him my music. I was skeptical but he ended up being legitimate. He said I should move to LA and as soon as my lease was up, I went.

When I moved there they put me with a bunch of people. They were trying to help me make connections, but they didn't really understand what I was doing. I met these guys who make up "D.R.U.G.S." about a year after I moved to LA. We'd record in their garage. YG was there. Mustard was there before he was DJ Mustard. Ty Dolla $ign was there all the time. That's where I made Ignorant Art and put out "Pussy."

That song was such a success, Interscope must have been happy.

I had gotten to the end of things with Interscope and was at the point where I felt like since they didn't understand me, this would be a "fuck you." As soon as I put out "Pussy," they called me and said they totally understood the vision. It was a "what the fuck" moment. For nearly a year I had been trying to explain it to them, and suddenly when I did it on my own they want me? I don't think they truly got it, I think they just saw the numerical element to it.

Were you signed to Interscope yet at that point?

I finally had my meeting with Jimmy Iovine after that, and they wanted to sign me. The problem was my A&R wanted to manage me. Interscope, at the time, was working on an in-house management team with LMFAO. They wanted me to sign a document that literally detailed how signing would be a conflict of interest. They gave me two options: sign or leave. I had so many potential deals with other labels but in the end I chose Interscope. We got all the way down to the agreement and, the day of, the deal was dead. Completely done. I had bigger offers, better offers, and I stayed to be loyal to the people who helped me when I was in Atlanta.

What happened?

That was a Jimmy situation and it had a lot to do with Azealia Banks. They wanted to sign her and it became a conflict of interest. Once that happened, everyone wondered why I wasn't signed, why Jimmy didn't want it, and it brought into question my worth as an artist. No one wanted to fucking touch me at all. I couldn't get a deal anywhere after that. Before this I could've asked for a fucking elephant, a Ferrari, four monkeys, and a million dollars — after there was nothing. People wondered, What was wrong with Iggy Azalea? That's how it works with these things. I was done.

What'd you do next?

I had to go to England. I got new management based out of the UK and went and recorded a bunch of music in Wales with a few producers from America. I recorded "Work" and most of The New Classic there and went and shopped a deal in England. They were the only place that didn't give a fuck about what had happened in America. I signed to Mercury Records and after putting out my music there, I came back to America to get upstreamed through Universal Records. I put out five singles through Def Jam before I ever had "Fancy." I toured with Nas before "Fancy." I toured with Beyoncé before "Fancy." I toured my own tour in Europe and North America before "Fancy." I had done five tours before I ever made "Fancy." "Fancy" was truly the last attempt. Not for me to quit music, but for the label to quit me. They had given me four video budgets, none of them exceeded their expectations, and "Fancy" was their last hurrah. For them it was like either this works or it doesn't, but we're gonna put the album out and see if it sells. I decided to do something left and do Clueless, and it worked. Luckily, we had so many attempts before that with the label and this one worked.

What was that moment like?

I was really happy and surprised. I've always known the art I make is pretty left. I didn't expect it to connect. Music has changed a lot from when I first started, but at the time, my music was considered left. There was a lot of monumental success from "Fancy" that I didn't anticipate. All these people were discovering my music and suddenly I'm doing shows with 6,000-7,000 people. It was way more than I ever imagined. I thought I'd be doing basement shows or college parties and even that was so cool to me. I thought I had fully made it! I didn't think beyond that. To see brands that I knew, magazines, all of these mainstream fixtures, people, and media embrace my music, I never could have dreamt that.

When "Fancy" gained such visibility, the media seemed to adore you. Billboard said you tied with The Beatles and bested Michael Jackson. Forbes declared you "Queen of Hip Hop." What were your thoughts during that time?

It was very strange. I never said I was the queen of rap, I've never even thought that. I truly think it was like a great white hope, similar to the film Rocky. All of these people were championing me and branding me these things because of their own projections and not only were they outlandish, they were all incredibly premature. I had just started and there was this influx of, "Queen of rap! Queen of the world! Best record ever! Song of the century!" And so everyone starts saying, "No she's not, fuck her! She has some fucking nerve!" And all of those are things I never said.

What were your thoughts when you were then nominated for four Grammys, including Best Rap Album and Best Record of the Year?

I remember sitting at the Grammy's praying to God I didn't win, literally crossing my fingers, hoping there was no media frenzy. I didn't ask to be nominated. I don't even think I deserved nominations. People were so frustrated with those headlines and all those articles became attached to me personally. People assumed that's how I saw myself, or how I thought of my music. It's never been that. There was this element of trying to humble me, a moment where it seemed like, "Oh this bitch thinks she's this? We're gonna fucking show her that she ain't shit."

Did you ever anticipate that side of fame?

I've always known that I'm controversial. I love to move the needle. Things like "Murda Bizness," yes — I'm going to put toddlers and tiaras in a music video and I know many won't understand it. Or with "Pussy," yes there is a child and I know it pushes buttons. But I think that the best things in pop culture are polarizing. I knew I would always come with controversy, but that was a different kind of controversy. I didn't anticipate that. I didn't even anticipate the success. I didn't think that would be the thing that made it all come crumbling down.

"I think that the best things in pop culture are polarizing."

What is your biggest regret during that time?

I wish that I would've handled criticism better in the beginning. I knew I was polarizing. I aim to be polarizing, sometimes too polarizing where I've pushed the limit too far. When I first got here, there was so much I thought I understood that I really didn't. I've really had to learn a lot of things by being here and having friends and seeing things play out in real life. Especially in the last few years in culture and how far conversations have come, I look back and cringe.

Like what?

Things like the Kendrick lyric, something I profusely apologized for and have learned from. That wasn't okay. It was insanely ignorant. That wasn't an experience to toy with. Sometimes you have to learn the hard way, specifically with that line, like fuck, I hate that I said it. There was so much criticism that came with "Fancy" and I wish I would've handled it better, but it felt very thick.

Everything was coming from every angle. My success. Being worn out. Having lawsuits. I had five different court cases and all of that factored into my responses. It was hard to decipher what criticism was valid and what criticism was just hate. Even with Azealia, we've since spoken and in retrospect, I'm sorry that I trivialized the way she felt about her experience as a black woman navigating the music industry. She and I have our own history and beef about other shit, but when she went on the radio and spoke there was validity to it. Those were her experiences that many others could relate to and I can't take those away, but at the time I thought it was her saying 'fuck you' and trying to hate on me.

You felt what she said was valid in the end?

There were so many critiques she made that were valid. I wish I hadn't been so defensive and emotional, but it invalidated important conversations that shouldn't be overlooked. It created a situation where it looks like I'm unable to be accountable, or I'm unable to accept criticism, that I'm tone deaf, and a fucking idiot. I felt like I had to defend myself against everyone, and that attitude didn't work in my favor. I wish I didn't give impulse responses and say things that made it worse. I was just popping off shit, and I wish I would've thought before I spoke. The problem got so big that I didn't know how to handle it, and I just thought I'll just go away and wait until it blows over or gets better. But it won't just get better, I have to acknowledge it and have conversations about it because otherwise it seems like I don't give a fuck or I'm not ready to take accountability.

Why do you think you weren't able to hear the criticism at the time?

I think when you're an artist and you're just starting out, especially as someone who isn't American, there's a difficult line to walk. I came here when I was 16 and people don't seem to understand that that time period truly defines who I am. They don't get that a lot of these things are my genuine influences, the same way they were informed and influenced by their surroundings. I really did live here. I lived in apartment full of people from Jamaica and after work we'd battle rap by the pool. I really did have friends that were involved in illegal activities. I was actually in the south, recording with Dem Franchize Boyz, listening to Outkast, Dungeon Family, Field Mob, Crime Mobb. And that seems incredibly hard for people to swallow. People think I should rap about Australia in an Australian accent but I'm 28-year-old woman now. I can't rap about being 10 and living in Australia. That never inspired me. My time in America, my time in those cities, were when I really started having life experiences that were worthy of going into my music. It all happened here in this country.

"I wish I hadn't been so defensive and emotional, but it invalidated important conversations that shouldn't be overlooked."

On some of the leaked tracks for Digital Distortion you didn't seem afraid to acknowledge it. Tracks like "Middle Man," "7Teen," and "Elephant" were incredibly aggressive and direct. What happened with that era?

For the record I love Def Jam, there are a lot of people that I truly respect and like. The problem I had during this time was that I was preparing to address how I felt. I had gotten so pop, and when you have success as a pop artist it makes the label a lot of money, so they pushed me to keep churning out hits. They pushed for more branding money, more endorsements — that's their job. And I made the conscious choice to go along with it because I was making a lot of fucking money.

But in doing that I think I isolated a lot of my original supporters. I also stifled myself creatively because I wasn't making the kind of music I wanted to make. If I wanted to make endless hits, I would have been making pop music from day one. I just lost my passion. I didn't feel motivated in the studio. When I told them I was going to make an album, I sat there with the president of the label and told him that his 10-year-old daughter is probably not going to like the songs. I said, "She's not gonna want to come to the concert," and I could see a look of pure horror etched on his face. The expression of, "Fuck, the money maker is going to make some weird, non-radio album."

They weren't backing you up.

There was no support in my decision. They couldn't understand it unless it fit into a radio format, but I knew I would never have success again unless I connected with my original fans. That's what I knew I needed for me to have authenticity and for me to feel passionate. Not only that but for me to just endure life. Everything was falling apart and I need to love the music I'm making and truly believe in it. When I delivered the album, they wanted to know where the radio hits were. All they wanted to create were songs like "Switch." And those songs are great, but pop records don't work without a foundation. Those big songs are supposed to be cherries on top, not just a roof with no house. Pop records are like Skittles, they taste really good but if you eat too many you'll feel sick. They're not a creative meal. Here I am at the darkest period of my life, contemplating suicide, and I'm singing "Switch."

Can you tell me a bit about this new era — Surviving The Summer?

Releasing "Savior" was incredibly therapeutic for me. It felt good to have a record where I can talk about depression, and just let down all my cards. It's completely different from a lot of the other tracks which are heavily rap.

Who are you collaborating with?

I'm working with Detail. I'm working with Pharrell. There's still going to be those unexpected Diplo elements like my early mixtapes. I'm really taking it back to that place. I started with Digital Distortion, but that was really aggressive and angry. I'm not in that place anymore. I'm happy. I know my fans want me to rap and I want to give them that. I want to give them the hard shit that they love, the shit that's different, that moves the needle. I hope people will support it.

From your rapping accent, to your pop accolades, you're constantly criticized for being inauthentic — specifically within the hip-hop realm. What do you think, ultimately, of those debates?

The way I've always felt about music is that I never approached anything as partial to a genre. There's never been a sense of this is a pop record, this a rap record. Even with the way music is today, there are so many melodies and variations to any song, any genre. I think a big part of the judgement in those things — not exclusively for me, but for most women in the music industry — is misogyny. Do you know how many men are on pop records? When they do it, it's rewarded and they're considered smart for reaching a bigger audience.

People like to pick and choose the rules. We bury things that don't give our theories sense. Everyone does it, it's human nature. I feel like with me, there's a lot of reasons why people are trying to invalidate me. Is it not authentic because I make pop music? Or is it because I'm from Australia? What about the fact that I've been here for 12 years? What about white rappers who are saying the most absurd things about hip-hop, but in the club everyone's singing their songs? Other rappers are allowed to do the things that I do — even things I would never even think of doing — but it's okay because they have likability, or a different perception attached to their image, or a fucking dick. People are misogynistic. It is what it is.

"Fuck what I was doing before, I'm doing new shit. It's exciting."

Do you feel like you're a new artist now?

Yes, 1000 percent! It's almost harder now because when you're new people have no preconceived notions about what you are or what you represent. When you become mega successful and you go mainstream, no longer is the sky the limit. It becomes, "Oh she's mainstream, she's had a Steve Madden deal, she's on Cosmo," and the art becomes dissected in a new way with more eyes. But I like it. Sonically, when I'm in the studio, it's fun approaching music as a new artist. Fuck what I was doing before, I'm doing new shit. It's exciting.

#a really insightful and great read #iggy azalea #rap #rapper #female rap #female rapper #hiphop #hip hop #paper magazine #paper mag

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cutewarmachine · 6 years

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(This is longer than originally planned)

Carol was currently giving herself a pep talk in the mirror, face flushed as she put up a temporary wall against the ancestors, which they allowed because if the poor girl blushed anymore she might faint, and tried one more time to work up the courage to ask Mark to be her valentine.

“Okay.... so I know last month with the two full moons it messed you up, and you needed me and I was there with you, so um... fuck that’s stupid... um.... fuck!” She covered her face and squirmed in place trying to figure out how to get the words out. Right as she was about to give up on herself, she decided to call Grayson, after all, her Big Brother could do anything... including coach her through this. As she dialed the number she moved to her room, knowing it muffled the sounds and since Mark had kinda became her roommate well, she needed it... especially now.

“Grayson, best brother in all the nine realms speaking.” She heard through the receiver, making her laugh softly. “Hey... I... I need help asking someone to be my Valentine... I have no clue what I’m supposed to do.... Why are men complicated?!” She said, pouting hard and staring at the bed sheets as she sat down. “Well, Carol, seeing as I am indeed a man who seeks out the male booty, I can help. Step one, Do you have a specific guy in mind?”

Carol hummed a small ‘yes’ noise, the man she had in mind was in fact, probably outside with Chica right now, most likely doing something and laughing in that stupidly deep voice that makes her blush. “Okay, good to know, way to gush about him, Step two, do you know what he likes?”

“Nature, his dog, me.... I think? I don’t know that’s what’s confusing me cause he’s got this stupid little smile that makes my heart beat a little faster and a stupid laugh that makes it hard for me to not smile if I’m mad, he... he’s got this deep stupid voice that just... it makes me feel... like I’m full of butterflies...” she ranted, tears filling her eyes as she talked about someone she felt didn’t share her feelings. “He makes me want to put on make up and show him I’m pretty but at the same time I just want to fucking punch him because he’s the worst ever, if I’m pouty he just, UGH, Gray he’s like you and Glitchy but not cause he doesn’t make me wanna set the ancestors on him and this is really hard!”

“Carol, hon, breathe, why do you sound like you’re crying?” Gray said, his voice soft and gentle, so much like her mama’s... no, their mama’s.. “You’ve likes him for awhile haven’t you, but he didn’t notice anything you tried.”

Carol whimpered, trying to wipe away her tears hastily and keep them from taking over. “I... I like him Bubba... he makes me feel... normal... but I’m scared... what if he doesn’t like me? What if I’m just a weird little witch and I’m nothing more than that, what if he hates me and just tolerates me?!”

“Carolynn Anna Daniels, you need to stop thinking that way, you hear me? I know it’s hard but take it from me, those thoughts bash at my head every single day and if it wasn’t for my meds, I wouldn’t have the strength to tell them to fuck of and fight to stick around until the man of my dreams can help and be my rock. You sound like you have him, he’s right there, and those thoughts are going to whisper to you, dig into you, but you are stronger than them, you make them your bitch and you show them who’s boss. You got that little bird? You are so much more than a witch, you’re a smart beautiful girl with a level head on your shoulders, you don’t drink or do anything that is unhealthy, you know what’s right and wrong. So just breathe.”

Carol tried, her breath hitching on a sob and she nodded trying to keep it together enough not to flip the fuck out. “I’m sorry Graycie, I’m trying... I’m trying I swear... I just... I wanna take care of him... I wanna be his reason the laugh and smile...”

“You want him to love you back.”

“I do... I just... I dunno...”

“Sit up and put on your prettiest dress, do your make up and tell the ancestors to help cap your magic so your hair won’t float around you, have it curled, then I want you to ask him, very firmly, to go on a date with you. You are my little sister, if anyone can snag a man. It’s you. Now be my little heartbreaker, break the hearts of everyone around you and get you your man.”

Carol laughed at that, nodding and swallowing thickly before she wiped her face. “Yeah.... Yeah... you’re right, I got this... I got this.” She said, nodding quickly and saying bye to Gray as she started to get ready, putting on a black lace dress that had a white slip under it, matching heels, and sitting down to doll herself up, taking her time and when she was done, she could very well be a heart breaker.

But only to the ones she didn’t want.

With a small blush to her cheeks she stood, double checking herself and going to her bedroom door, little black purse, with her phone and cash in it, over one shoulder and being greeted by Mark, dressed in a nice shirt.... with... Flowers... red roses... oh.... OH

“Carol! Wow, uh, you look, amazing, oh man... um...-“

“W-Will you b-be my Valentine?!”

They both blinked, staring at eachother for a moment before they both laughed, clearly embarrassed.

“I would love to... Mark...” Carol said, using her magic just enough to lay the roses on her desk and start dragging him to the door.

“I take this is a yes to my silent Date question?” Mark said, a small bit of toughness to his tone from embarrassment of the little lady dragging him along.

“Damn skippy.”

#this is really cute and oml #«witchy sissy» carol

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cocoaswatches · 7 years

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For Colored Girls Who've Found Makeup As a Creative Outlet - When Telling People To "Love Themselves" Isn't Enough

When I first became interested in makeup, I didn't see it as a way to alter my looks or hide my features, I saw it as a way to further express my creativity. Similar to my interests in fashion, dipping and dabbling in makeup just seemed like something I would really enjoy.

The satisfaction of finding the perfect red lip or the perfect bronzy eye shadow was analogous to finding the perfect pair of boyfriend jeans ---gratifying, rewarding, in other words, sweet.

The feeling was so satisfying that although it took me YEARS to figure things out in the makeup department (and I think most of us know why,) I kept pursuing it, and I still am.

While I realize that there are many existing societal pressures making women feel the need to wear makeup, I also believe that the beauty world is changing into a place that helps many utilize makeup as a tool to express their creativity. It helps many come alive in ways that little else does. It's an underrated art form that often gets more flack than it deserves. That's why comments like those of Zadie Smith, and others often rub me the wrong way.

When speaking about raising her daughter, Smith felt disheartened when she noticed she was "spending too much time looking in mirrors." She promptly implemented a "15 min rule," for getting ready in the morning.

She mentioned things like:

“You are wasting time, your brother is not going to waste any time doing this. Every day of his life he will put a shirt on, he’s out the door and he doesn’t give a shit if you waste an hour and a half doing your makeup."

As a prominent Black British author, Smith's comments carry a lot of weight and were covered my major news outlets. But I found her comments to be extremely problematic. And I'll tell you why.

1. Women should have the autonomy to decide how they spend their time.

If little Jaimie or Joelle or John wants to spend an hour and a half on makeup, maybe, just maybe, that interest and that talent can be fostered into something that can eventually turn into a career. (And even if it doesn't, but it makes them happy, who cares? As long as they get their other shit done. 🤷🏿‍♀️) Apart from the obvious makeup artist route, practicing makeup artistry teaches one about color theory just as much as it does about patience + perseverance.

Why is something that has been pigeonholed as a "woman's activity," automatically given a negative connotation? Do we tell boys to stop playing video games because "girls aren't wasting their time doing it." No, we don't.

I firmly believe that feminism is not about being equal to men, its about women having the access to choices without meeting violence and prejudice in the process.

The choice to pursue a career in engineering, without meeting the sexist environment that world brings. The choice to wear short skirts and crop tops freely, without having to worry about the wandering eyes of men looking to take advantage. The choice to pursue a career in makeup artistry, without facing any stigmas about it being frivolous or superficial. Its about autonomy, its about choice.

2. Conventionally attractive people should check their privilege before telling someone how to be.

Smith's comments were annoying, but, ironically the impact of her words were crushingly coupled with the way she looks.

Whether she likes it or not, Smith is conventionally beautiful, especially for a black woman. Her light skin, narrow nose, and loosely coiled hair makes her a prime candidate for Jet Beauty of the Week in the black community. As someone with this bit of privilege, Smith's words on beauty come off harsh, uninformed, and out of touch.

Instead of criticizing her daughter, or anyone else for the matter, for being worried about the way they look, why not take a look at the societal pressures that make one feel this way. It's almost like victim blaming in a sense.

It's why I also took issue with Alicia Keys, #NOMakeup Movement (which she didn't launch until after she got her acne and skin issues under control btw.) I believe our time would be much better served tackling the reasons why someone with hyper-pigmentation needs to wear makeup in an interview rather than judging her for putting some concealer under her eyes. Our time would be much better served exploring why someone like Lil Kim, who was a gorgeous mahogany successful female rapper, felt the need to alter herself to the point where she is no longer recognizable, instead of placing the blame and onus on her for doing so.

"In a 2000 interview with Newsweek, Lil' Kim said, “Guys always cheated on me with women who were European-looking. You know, the long-haired type. Really beautiful women [who] left me thinking, 'How I can I compete with that?' Being a regular black girl wasn't good enough."" -- Essence Mag

In the past, society has told women that we need makeup to get jobs, or to get the attention of men, and then we wear it and are somehow we are wrong for it? Then all of a sudden our patriarchal society decides that being "natural" and wearing ones real hair is of the upmost importance, and "you gotta take her swimming on the first date." 🙄 It just doesn't make any sense.

Instead of criticizing the way people respond to societal pressures, maybe we should work on ways we can try to change society and alleviate those pressures.

3. Shallow pieces of advice do little to combat the depth of beauty issues that stem from today's society.

Our society is deeply flawed and has placed value on certain skin tones and facial features. This isn't groundbreaking news. This phenomenon goes back centuries and is marked with racism, imperialism, and anti-blackness. While I am the first one to say I love a good inspirational quote or meme, simply telling those, for example, with darker skin, who don't feel beautiful to "love themselves," or "value themselves," isn't going to fix this wicked problem.

Does it help? Sure. When it's delivered in the right way, from the right source, messages of inspiration encouraging self love and self care can help someone begin to see value when they look in the mirror, especially if that message is coming from someone who looks like them. (which is why representation is SO important, but let me not make this article hella long)

But we need to do more. In addition to presenting more diverse representations of beauty standards in the media, we need more spaces where people feel comfortable and safe being their authentic selves; which is why I can stan for the beauty community on social media. Although it is definitely flawed in many ways, the beauty world on social media has allowed so many people to find a creative outlet that makes them feel beautiful by their own standards. The beauty of something like YouTube, for example, is that people feel amazing emulating makeup looks inspired by everything from an album cover to a candy bar to potato chip packaging. (seriously.)

The amount of innovation I see on the daily is truly mind blowing, and is just one way many are reclaiming the beauty industry and redefining it in a way that works for them.

One of my favorite quotes is by Steve Maraboli (although side eye that this is coming from a man.)

"There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty."

Let's create spaces where we can be unapologetically ourselves, whether its with makeup or otherwise.

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unashamed-shipper · 7 years

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Living With You

read on ff.net and ao3

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen / fifteen / sixteen / seventeen / eighteen

rating: t+ for sexual joking, swear words, and violence

pairings in this chapter: nalu, gruvia

characters in this chapter: natsu, lucy, gray, juvia, cana

Natsu’s words swam in Lucy’s head as if they were a dream. He couldn’t have just asked her on a date. No. That wasn’t possible. They had only known each other for a few months!

But yet, it felt too good to be a dream. She had a feeling that he was closer than a roommate to her, but that feeling also seemed unreal. A lot of things felt fake to Lucy, especially someone liking her. Not being cherished as a child really took a toll on her self-esteem, and sometimes she felt like no one would want to be in her romantic company.

But Natsu did.

By the way he looked at her, it was obvious to her now that he had possibly liked her for a while. His body language was serious but his eyes soft, and his hand was holding hers as if he had never held another’s. Natsu had taken a little more care of his appearance that afternoon, having changed into a button down after work was finished. His jeans were clean, unlike the rest of the pile in his hamper that he needed to wash. His hair was smoothed down just a tad more than usual, and Lucy smelled a woodsy aftershave on his skin. He looked more handsome than normal, which was dangerous for Lucy herself. Sometimes she just wanted to grab him by his shirt and kiss the living daylights out of him.

But the kissing would have to wait. At least, until after their first of hopefully many dates.

Natsu tilted his head as if concerned by the dazed look in her eyes, and Lucy noticed this a moment later. Shaking her head softly with a smile, she was determined to give him her answer.

“Yes. Of course I’ll go on a date with you!” she said, her grin growing. Natsu’s eyes widened, and he squeezed her hand gently but excitedly, and he jumped up in the air and fist pumped. Lucy giggled at his silly reaction and then stood up from the couch to hug him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she embraced him for what seemed like the longest time. It felt calming and satisfying, like coming home at the end of a long work day and taking your shoes off.

Natsu held Lucy like she was the most precious thing in the world to him. And she was. Even starting to date his ex-fiancee didn’t compare to the feelings he held for Lucy. She was soft and different and new. And all of those things were good, of course, but he knew they would not last. In time, this like would hopefully blossom into a love that would last for a very long time.

And, Natsu hoped happily, maybe an entire lifetime. He certainly wouldn’t mind that.

Pulling her closer to smell her hair, he found that she had used a lavender shampoo that morning that he quite liked. Most men did not enjoy the smell of lavender; it was too flowery for them to like. But Natsu was the exception to that rule. Lavender had always helped him sleep at night, and he remembered that sometimes his ex would put a drop of it on his forehead before he slept at night to keep his anxiety attacks away.

Natsu felt a jolt up his spine as he remembered her screams, and Lucy held him firmly as he almost felt himself sink to his knees.

“Natsu! Are you okay?” Lucy asked, beginning to become worried about her roommate.

“I-I didn’t want to hurt her. I promise,” he mumbled quietly, and then his ex’s screams became increasingly louder as he fought the anxiety. His jaw clenched on its own, and he fell to the floor as his weight pressed on Lucy. The ice curled around the back of his neck, and he felt like he was being held up only by a wire.

He was her puppet, and she was forever destined to be the puppeteer.

“Natsu?” Lucy questioned before starting to become alarmed. Something was definitely off. “Natsu! Stay with me!”

She flipped him over onto his back and began to scratch circles into his shoulder blades and lower back. Surely this would help at least a small amount. Stimulation was important to people that had many various mental illnesses, anxiety being one of them. Natsu’s breath slowed slightly as she drew circles and figure eights into his back, and his eyes became a little less glazed over and wild.

Still, Lucy knew that she needed to help him more. She knew that anxiety attacks were horrible, and she had experienced firsthand how awful they could actually be. Anxiety was a beast, and to conquer it there were a lot of things that it could be attacked with.

Suddenly, Lucy remembered the first morning she was at the apartment. Natsu had told her to identify three things in the room. All she had to do now was flip him back over and sit him up, which was a small feat on its own. Kneeling down, she flipped him over and pressed her palm into the small of his back to push him up. Natsu’s eyes still appeared as if he were looking into somewhere far away, but Lucy knew that she had to persevere.

Natsu saw Lucy waving her hand in his face, and even though she was slightly blurry he could still make out her pretty face and golden hair which had drawn him to her in the first place. He smiled weakly, and Lucy grinned softly back.

“Okay, Natsu. I want you to hold this and describe it for me,” Lucy told him, grasping his hand and opening his clenched fingers. Pressing a blanket into his palm, she looked into his eyes gently to not overwhelm him.

“It’s--It’s soft,” Natsu said as he opened and closed his palms, feeling the texture between his hands.

“Yes! Now, what color is it?”

“It’s blue. Same color as your shoes,” he said, tilting his head toward her feet.

“Great! Now what does it smell like?” she asked, and when he made no movement after a moment she reached over and very slowly placed his hand holding the blanket by his nose.

“It smells...like you,” he said after sniffing it, his eyes focusing on Lucy. A shuddered sigh ran through his body, and he smelled the blanket one more time. Rubbing the texture between his fingers, he grinned that same grin that made her like him in the first place.

“Yeah, it does. That’s the same blanket you covered me with when I first came here. Remember?” she asked, and he nodded, looking into her eyes with clarity.

“Yeah, of course I do! You were soaking wet and I had to change you,” he recalled, trying quite hard to push the form of her naked body out of his mind. He wanted to be careful not to think of that too much--it could come with some repercussions sooner rather than later. He already knew what Lucy’s body did to him when she was clothed, but without fabric on her smooth curves would be way too much for him to deal with.

“I thankfully don’t remember any of that,” Lucy deadpanned with a sly grin, and Natsu flushed softly.

Staring into each other’s eyes, they embraced again. This time, however, it was like Lucy fell into Natsu’s arms. She wanted the comfort and support but also to make sure he was okay.

“I’m so glad you asked me on a date,” she said, her breath tickling his ear. Natsu smiled out of reflex. It always made him happy when she was excited about something. Some of that excitement seemed to transfer through to him, and it caused him to smile more often.

His depression seemed non-existent when she was around. Although it still cropped up for a week every month and he still took his anti-depressants every morning, Lucy provided that shining light that he needed so desperately. She was so full of life and happiness through her anxiety and mild depression that it was contagious, and he couldn’t help but feel a little more balanced than before. It wasn’t to say that his depression was gone completely. Having even the best person in one’s life didn’t get rid of the imbalance in one’s brain. It just meant that they were always there and ready to support their person.

Natsu believed that everyone had a certain person in their life that made them happier than anyone else. He didn’t believe in soulmates, no, but he believed that people could choose who to be with for the rest of their lives. But every once in a while, they would meet that specific person that would just...glow. It was cheesy to say so, but Natsu truly did believe in staying with each other for life.

And Lucy was his person.

He just didn’t know how to tell her yet.

After they sorrowfully parted ways with Natsu going to bed and hoping that his headache would subside and Lucy going to work, the rest of the day seemed uneventful compared to the afternoon. Lucy bounced around work the rest of the day, and even the rudest customers couldn’t get in her way. Someone gave her the middle finger because the prices of the crystals were still too high as always, and Lucy just wished them a nice day on their way out with a cheerful grin and a wave.

“What happened to Lucy?” Juvia asked from her place on a smaller ladder, this time dusting the top of the lower shelves and tables that held the travel sized items such as the shampoo with essential oils and pocket-sized crystals and incenses.

Lucy turned to Juvia with a smile. “Well,” she began, rocking on the balls of her feet with her hands behind her back as if holding a secret, “Natsu may or may not have asked me out on a date this afternoon.”

Juvia and Cana were at Lucy’s side faster than she could blink. Overwhelmed by the sudden attention, Lucy backed up a few steps to give herself some breathing room. She didn’t like being crowded by people because of the anxious thoughts that came with it.

“Guess Natsu grew some balls and finally fessed up,” Cana said with a smug smile, and Lucy gave her a look.

“How did Natsu ask Lucy out on a date? Juvia wishes Gray-sama would ask her!” Juvia looked off into the distance dreamily, and Lucy kept her mouth shut about Gray’s comment. He apparently hadn’t asked her yet. If he did Juvia would come in bouncing off the walls.

“He just took my hand in his and asked me if I would go on a date with him. Nothing too crazy,” Lucy said, smiling as she thought of Natsu’s soft tone.

“Sounds like Natsu--straight to the point,” Cana answered, her eyes looking directly into Lucy’s. “We better go shopping for you for some cute panties!”

Cana chuckled as Lucy flushed. Lucy would never have sex on the first date, even if her date was her roommate and one of her close friends!

“Juvia wants to go with. She needs something to seduce Gray-sama,” Juvia said, rubbing her hands together as if she were planning something. Lucy once again kept her mouth shut for the sake of her friends--she didn’t want to ruin the surprise.

“You guys, we can’t just leave the shop,” Lucy reasoned, gesturing to the shop with a swooping hand.

“Sure ya can! You and Juvs can go, and I’ll stay here. Have fun!” Cana said, all but pushing her boss and coworker out the door. “And don’t forget to get a push-up bra along with your panties!”

Lucy scowled at Cana as the smirking woman slammed the door. She barely even knew her way around the other side of town, and she was expected to clock out of work to go get lingerie for her date? Inconceivable!

“Juvia will make sure you get paid for the rest of today. Cana slammed and locked the door, so Juvia is unable to punch you out. And she wants to go shopping anyway,” Juvia said with a soft giggle, one that was quite uncharacteristic of her. Lucy’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What the hell had happened to her boss?

“That’s nice of you, Juvia, but you don’t have to do that. I am leaving work, and that means that I need to be clocked out. Thank you for thinking of me, though,” Lucy smiled, hoping that her friend would get back to normal soon.

On their way to the shops, Juvia began to blast some of her music. Lucy was shocked to find that Juvia liked gangsta rap. She would have thought that the mostly quiet woman would have liked something like classical or, hell, even Britney, but here Lucy was listening to the most interesting music she had heard in quite a while.

“Juvia,” Lucy yelled over the music, “do you think you could turn it down just a little?”

Juvia was too busy rapping to respond. The sight was interesting enough that Lucy chuckled a little bit and then tried to enjoy herself on the way.

Finally they made it to the strip mall and Juvia turned off her car and exited, waiting for Lucy to climb out. The little red Honda was low to the floor, which almost made Lucy trip, but thankfully she caught herself before she could barrel into the car next to them.

They had just stepped into the shop when Lucy’s face was confronted by a mannequin’s butt, and she turned away in disgust. It was nice to see how the underwear was modeled, but not when the mannequin was standing kind of like the girl on the Coppertone sunscreen bottle with her finger at her lips as if saying, ‘oops!’

Juvia stepped right in and grabbed a few items before barrelling into the fitting rooms to try them on, leaving Lucy all by herself. It was bad enough that she had never been in the store before, but now that she was all alone by herself she felt her anxiety begin to creep up her sides. It was harder to breathe than before, and a few of the associates around her were starting to give her strange looks.

The ice curled around her ribcage like a belt and worked it’s way up until Lucy was fighting to make her way to Juvia’s fitting room. Every step felt like her feet weighed a hundred pounds each, and it was a battle that Lucy wouldn’t give up on. Once at the fitting rooms, she knocked on the door labeled with Juvia’s name and her friend opened it, thankfully still clothed.

“Juvia,” she said, her voice raspy, “I’m having an attack.”

Not another word was uttered from her lips before she passed out.

Natsu grumbled, picking up his ringing phone. He had chosen the most annoying ringtone in the world so it would wake him up in case of emergencies. But now he regretted that decision as he had been having a dream about beating up Gray and taking Lucy for his own.

Speaking of Lucy, she was the one who was calling. Suddenly he wasn’t so irritated after all as he pressed the answer button, hoping to hear her gorgeous voice over the phone.

“Hello?” he answered groggily, pressing a little more awakeness into his voice in hopes that she would reply that she was ready for their date now.

“Juvia is sorry to call Natsu so early,” Juvia said, remembering that it was about 4 AM for Natsu, “but Lucy has fainted.”

“What?” Natsu replied, ripping his bedcovers off of himself in shock. “How the hell did she faint?”

“Well, Lucy and Juvia are at a lingerie store,” Juvia responded, suddenly embarrassed. “And Juvia knew that Lucy’s anxiety sometimes makes her faint if she is in an unknown place. But Juvia forgot because she was so excited to get something for her and Gray-sama.”

Natsu groaned, forcing that mental image out of his head. There was silence for a few moments before Juvia piped up.

“Can Natsu come pick up Lucy? Juvia is unsure of what to do.”

“Yeah. I’ll be there in fifteen,” Natsu answered, and Juvia thanked him profusely and said her goodbyes before hanging up. Natsu sighed and changed out of his pajamas into his work clothes. It was only a few hours before he had to go to work, and maybe Lucy wouldn’t mind seeing him in his uniform. Thankfully he had no need to take a shower since he had just taken one before he slept, and he had kept warm throughout the ‘night’ and didn’t sweat at all.

Getting into his car, he felt a sense of deja vu. He had done this once before for Lucy on his day off, but today would be a bit different. But he was thankful that she was going to be alright, at least. Juvia told him she would give Lucy some water when she awakened, and all Natsu had to do was make sure that she got home safely.

Natsu pushed his key into the ignition and started the car, backing out of his apartment slowly and yawning as he made his way out of the parking lot and onto the highway over to where Lucy was. He could only hope that she would be alright. Even though Juvia had given him her word, he couldn’t help but wonder if her anxiety attacks were getting worse. He thought they had been getting better, but now that she had fainted in public maybe it was more terrible than he originally thought.

About fifteen minutes later, Natsu parked at the strip mall and headed into the store. He flushed lightly when he saw the mannequin in a bra and panties that were even a little too risque for his taste, and then snapped back to his senses despite seeing a few lingerie pieces he liked himself. Juvia popped her head out from the fitting room and waved him over before closing the door.

“Lucy!” Natsu shouted, throwing the door open to find her sitting on the chair in Juvia’s fitting room and drinking out of a cup filled with water.

“Natsu!” she yelled, throwing her arms around him and practically jumping into his arms. Natsu held her up with a confused look, hearing all of the employees coo at his cute gesture. Lucy pressed her head up against his chest, muttering that she wanted to go home.

“Juvia is glad Natsu made it! She was worried that Lucy would have to be taken to the hospital again,” Juvia said, sighing in relief.

“Thanks, Juvia. Let’s go home, Natsu. I still feel a little woozy,” Lucy said with a giggle, and Natsu looked at her strangely.

“Did they put anything in your water, Luce?” Natsu asked, and Lucy grinned but said nothing. Her smile was so cute that he didn’t question it.

As they exited the store, Lucy snuggled up closer to him, mumbling something Natsu couldn’t hear. Leaning in closer, he asked her what she said.

“You smell good,” Lucy said, her breath tickling his ear. Natsu flushed softly, hoping in his heart that she would keep speaking. Her voice was like a breath of fresh air after the dream he’d had.

Anxiety started to prick at Natsu as he thought of the dream, but he pushed it away as he buckled Lucy into his car and closed the door. This was not the time to be anxious. This was time to spend with his...friend.

What were they, exactly? Natsu knew he was asking a dangerous question there, but he was worried that she didn’t feel the same way as he did. In his mind, she was already his girlfriend. They were dating. Although they hadn’t gone on an actual first date yet, they were already close enough to be a couple. Everyone had teased him about it since they met, and it had only taken him about two weeks to realize he liked her as more than a friend.

He just didn’t have the courage to act on it before then.

Thankfully, he asked her out before anyone else got a chance to. There was still the problem of her father wanting her to be betrothed to some guy she had never met, but the probability of that coming to fruition was next to none. Once Natsu established something as his own, there wasn’t anything that he would let take that away from him.

And Lucy?

Well, he thought with a smile, watching her look out the window, she was definitely his.

Reblogs and reviews are appreciated, please! This really helps me to grow as a writer and it motivates me to write even more. I would continue to write this story even if I didn’t get any reblogs/reviews... but it really makes me super happy and makes me want to update faster!

Thanks to @siriusly-random for beta reading this monster of a chapter for me! You are awesome <3

>>>Chapter 19>>>

#ftfanfics #ficsforvera #nalu #nalu fanfiction #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #natsu x lucy #lucy x natsu #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #ft fanfiction #implied gruvia

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duanecbrooks · 7 years

Text

She Made It After All

"I'm not a great actress who can create a character. I play me." Those were the words of the television icon Mary Tyler Moore, who, as you surely know, recently died of cardiopulmonary arrest with complications from pneumonia, to a journalist, summing up what, as she saw it, was her acting technique. Not only were said words incorrect by and of themselves as, as the TV-interviewing legend Dick Cavett pointed out, they represented a leonine misunderstanding of what comprises a believable and effective performance, they were an entirely unjust minimization of what she gave us television viewers these many years. And what she gave us television viewers these many years was unvarnished gaiety and laughter, not to mention, quite often, heart-tugging moments. It all started, for me as with everybody else, when she portrayed the housewife/mother Laura Petrie on the classic TV sitcom The Dick Van Dyke Show. Like everybody else, I have fond memories of her strutting about in those tight black capri pants--which would alternate with a light-colored skirt--and looking quite scrumptious (The renowned cinema director Rob Reiner told a Playboy Magazine Interviewer a very humorous story concerning those pants. One day while Reiner was on the Van Dyke Show set--his Dad, of course, was the head honcho of the show--he became so turned-on looking at Moore in the aforementioned pants that he reached up and literally touched her ass. Moore, need it be said, was shocked and, need it be said, immediately told Reiner's Dad what his son had done. Which prompted the following dialogue between the Reiner father and the Reiner son. Father: "Did you touch Mary Tyler Moore on the ass?" Son: "Yeah." Father: "Well, don't do it again"). There are two scenes Moore was in during her time on that show wherein she most fully showed what she could do, wherein she best displayed her monumental comedic-acting chops. .Sally (Rose Marie, of course), who usually did the typing during the Alan Brady writers' sessions, was--for a reason that, alas, has completely escaped my memory--unable to come to work. So Rob (Van Dyke, of course), after quite a lot of prodding from her, consented to allow wife Laura to fill Sally's place at the typewriter. During Laura's day on the job, she made a number of suggestions regarding the writing, some of which were quite good (Example: Rob and his colleague/friend Buddy [Morey Amsterdam, of course] had written a script wherein it was asked: "Why should we [Americans] want to go to the moon?" To which Laura piped up: "To find out whether it's chewy or chocolate cream"). Rob, however, rather than welcome his wife's input, was downright savage toward her, rather crudely telling her that she wasn't there to assist in the writing but to type and to stick to that. This behavior, sad to say, repeated itself several times. Naturally Laura became frustrated but when she tearily protested, Rob carved into her yet again ("You've been nothing but trouble ever since you've been here"). This of course was for Laura the straw that broke the camel's back and, after telling hubby off in kind ("The purpose [for my coming here] was to help you"), she stormed out, proclaiming: "I'm fired!" (Which caused Rob to yell after her: "You can't fire! I quit you!"). It was Moore's effortless charm during the office-writing scenes and, later, her deftly summoning just the right amounts of vulnerability and hurt in reacting to Van Dyke's verbal abuse that made that episode work, that were wholly responsible for its winning humanity. .A teenage girl with whom Rob had become good friends--I, alas, have forgotten just what her position was in the episode--had developed a fervent crush on him, going so far as to openly tell him that she wanted to marry him. At first Laura was bemused by this but, as time wore on, she understandably became pissed. Which caused this dialogue between the Petries. Rob: "I'll tell [the girl] that if I marry her, you'll kill yourself." Laura, sardonically: "No, if you marry her, I'll kill you both." (After a bit more dialogue) Rob: "Well, I'm not going to marry [the girl]." Laura, with equal sarcasm: "Well, that's good news." It was the unforced sass and pointed wit Moore displayed in this scene that had you watching, that kept you laughing. And Moore got even better when she got her own namesake television sitcom. The Mary Tyler Moore Show to this day stands as one of the most thoroughly stylish, most firmly adult sitcoms in network-TV history--indeed, there is considerable evidence to support the argument that it's the best such program in network-TV history. It was TV Guide that reported that when the show was being put together, CBS executives sent memos urging that there be "block comedy" scenes, like Moore being trapped in a roomful of monkeys and that "to jazz up the story," Moore "should date a visiting European prince." Happily, there were no--no--such times on the show. At all times--at all times--The Mary Tyler Moore Show grounded its humor in the recognizable and the believable. Also: Said program's episodes were always, always filled with what Moore herself would call "articulate, witty humor," never, ever devolving into the kind of televised hollering matches that were a staple of the "groundbreaking," vastly-overrated All in the Family--and, come to think of it, all of Norman Lear's prime-time sitcoms (One Day at a Time being the sole--the sole--exception). And while the Moore Show often dealt with topical subjects--anti-Semitism, the rise of the "happy-talk" television-news programs during the 1970s, the inequality in pay women experience in comparison with men--there was never, never the kind of self-applauding, look-Ma-we're-Dealing-With-An-Issue air that the Lear sitcoms--again, One Day being the only exception--took on when they did the same. Au contraire, the Moore Show's issue-exploration was always marvelously matter-of-fact, always blissfully devoid of self-indulgent chest-thumping. There were two episodes of the Moore Show, in particular, wherein its lead player best showed off her enormous talent, were the best frames for her towering ability. .One episode--which was written by David Lloyd, who, come to think of it, wrote the vast majority of the funniest Moore Shows--began with Mary Richards (Moore, of course) happily working in front of a typewriter. We soon find out that she's written a short story, which she eventually gives to her boss/buddy Lou Grant (Ed Asner, of course), fervently urging him to read it and give her feedback. When Grant demurs on the grounds that if he tells Mary he doesn't like it, she'll resent him, she earnestly assures him that that won't happen ("Rather than hate you, I'll love you that much more"). Well, Grant agrees to read Mary's story and, after he does, gives her his honest reaction, which is quite negative. Despite the facts that Grant's negativity is given 1) very hesitantly and 2) very tactfully, Mary, as the man himself warned her she would be, is quite resentful ("You're really having a good time, aren't you, Mr. Grant?"). Being intensely pissed off, Mary storms toward the door, first telling off Grant ("[The fact that you don't like my story] doesn't mean that you're wrong and I'm right. It does mean, however, that you can do your own damn baby shopping"), then storming out, indignantly slamming the door behind her. We next see the two of them at a gathering at Mary's apartment, with Grant assuring her that he'll have her laughing again--by tickling her (Mary, with mega-intense sarcasm: "My, is there no limit to the realms of your expertise?"). Grant tickles her, but no dice: Mary doesn't even so much as crack a smile ("Would you like a feather?" she asks him). Naturally Grant gives up, repeating his view that Mary's story is inferior and telling her that she knows it. Here Mary, livid at him, blatantly lies, telling Grant that a major publication has bought her story. Grant, being chastened, backs off from his initial reaction ("I've never been so glad to have been proven wrong in my life"). Yet in time Mary confesses to him that she was lying--a fact, we find out, Grant knew all along. Here Grant throws down the gauntlet ("Mary, I don't know how you want to be treated...Do you want me to puff up your ego?...Treat you like some boob?"). To which Mary replies: "God, yes!" Knowing when he's licked, Grant at last finally tells our Mary what she wants, and has wanted from the start, to hear: "Mary, I loved your story."To which she smiles beatifically, coos: "Thank you, Mr. Grant," and, still smiling rather vapidly, leaves. The comedic brio Moore showed in that episode, going from comedic earnestness to comedic disappointment to comedic manipulation to, at last finally, comedic satisfaction with stunning ease, powered that episode, gave it heft and spice. .Through a series of events that would take too long to detail, Mary discovers that Grant had a one-night stand with Happy Homemaker Sue Ann Nivens (Betty White, of course). Grant of course demands that Mary sit on this information, not tell anybody for fear of how Sue Ann will react, an insistence that sends Mary into gales of laughter ("What are you afraid [Sue Ann] will do, hold a spatula to your throat?"). However, Grant persists and Mary, solely to pacify Grant, crosses her heart--as Grant demands she do. Yet in a very brief time Mary, in an act of damnable--and entirely uncharacteristic--insensitivity, breaks her vow and freely tells news writer Murray (Gavin MacLeod, of course) of Grant and Sue Ann's one-nighter. When Grant finds out about Mary's betrayal, he is of course deeply hurt and, displaying admirable maturity here, breaks off the friendship he had with her "I still respect you as a producer. I still want you to work here. We're still a business. But we're not friends any more"). Mary, fully distraught at this, breaks into tears, pleadingly urging Grant to reconsider. Her boss and former friend, however, is having none of it ("Have you finished crying so we can get on with business?"). In time, though, Grant hooks back up with Sue Ann, there's some business--sad to say, I've wholly forgotten what it consisted of--and then Grant returns to his office, where he discovers an anxious Mary. She after a while tells him about what she claims was a one-night stand, similar to the one Grant had with Sue Ann, with a leading TV-news person. And that leading TV-news person was, she dramatically claims: "Walter Cronkite." She sees Grant struggling to suppress a smile, so she goes at it a second time: "Roger Mudd?" She witnesses Grant struggling even harder to keep from smiling, so she bores in: "If you smile, that means we're friends again." The episode ends with Grant not only freely smiling but freely hugging Mary--clearly saying that he's fully forgiven her and that the close and deep friendship they shared is back on track. It was in this episode that Mary fully, fully shined, being charmingly bemused upon hearing of Grant's assignation with Sue Ann, being charmingly gossipy when going against her crossing-of-the-heart and spilling the beans to Murray, and, at last finally, confronted with Grant being justly hurt by Mary's insensitivity and his ending the friendship he had with her and her struggling--successfully, as it happily turns out--to regain that friendship, being deeply moving and appealingly human. It is all this great work, spanning not just one but two decades, that brings on prodigious regret and prodigious sadness that this girl who could turn the world on with her smile has been forever taken from us. However, we're compensated by the fact that, being able to catch her uber-deft comedic acting in not one but two television sitcoms thanks to DVD, we can savor her applying her stupendous talent and her stupendous professionalism--and, again, thanks to DVD, see with the Moore Show in particular that, in regularly bestowing upon us that talent and that professionalism, she really and truly did make it after all.

#Mary Tyler Moore #dick cavett #laura petrie #The Dick Van Dyke Show #rob reiner #the mary tyler moore show #TV Guide #All in the family #norman lear #one day at a time #Lou Grant #Ed Asner

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roguenewsdao · 6 years

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Was Billy Graham Praying for Armageddon?

"On Saturday, February 1, 2003, I lifted my hands to begin praying and the Lord spoke to me ... I wanted to know whether the God the Father's direction was to go to war or not go to war.... The Lord said, ‘I am saying to go to war with Iraq’." - Roy A. Reinhold as quoted by F. William Engdahl

"They feel that everything from the Nile to Euphrates belongs to Greater Israel." - RM interview with Mimi al-Laham aka Syrian Girl, October 15, 2017

This past month the world mourned the death of arguably one of the most famous Evangelical preachers of the 20th century. I certainly remember him as a fixture and "spiritual advisor" to kings and presidents during my childhood. I am speaking, of course, of William Franklin Graham, Jr. He is better known as Billy Graham.

F. William Engdahl certainly remembers him too. The title of today's blog is taken from a subheading that appears in Chapter 10 of Engdahl's book "Full Spectrum Dominance - Totalitarian Democracy In The New World Order." Mr. Engdahl was good enough to share the entire chapter with his fan club. I have been wanting to talk about Christian Zionism and the "Greater Israel" agenda ever since I read Mr. Engdahl's kind gift last November [feel free to grab the PDF file here of Chapter 10].

What escapes millions of people today is the underlying belief that the British monarchy fosters about their special bloodline. Someday perhaps we'll speak about this at length, but the short story here is that the British monarchy - who, by the way, is just about the only bloodline to have survived all the other royal bloodlines of Europe - believe that they are the natural heirs and legal claimants to throne of King David and Jerusalem. Even the word "Saxon" is thought to derive from the land of Scythia which could well be where many thousands of Israelites eventually were dispersed following both the Assyrian takeover of the northern kingdom of Israel and the later Babylonian takeover of the houses of Judah and Benjamin 800 years before Christ. [See David Livingstone's research linked here.]

In season one of the Netflix series "The Crown," I hooted and hollered when the show depicted the full, ancient Jewish rituals that are associated with the coronation of the British monarch. This is well depicted in Season One, Episode Five's "Smoke And Mirrors" title. I highly recommend that you watch and pay close attention to the words uttered by the Archbishop as he alchemically "transforms" the woman Elizabeth into a deity. Yes, that is what they believe and the script of the episode makes this abundantly clear.

In season two of the series, the entirety of episode six revolved around the Queen's fascination with the Billy Graham crusade and his visit to London. She requests a private audience with the holy man because she is wrestling with what to do with her favorite but disgraced uncle, the abdicated and former King Edward VIII, a notorious Nazi sympathizer.

Now, what the entire series "The Crown" as well as every other pro-British-monarchy drama will never, ever reveal to you is that the heart and soul of pretty much all Illuminati Secret Societies in Europe is this agenda they have to thwart God's choice for ruler of the throne of David and, instead, seat their own choice. Their choice for Messiah and King has been engineered to bleed some very - uhh - shall we say, "interesting" DNA through his veins. This belief that they hold dear is the cause of every war that has been fought since the fall of Rome and is even running as a prime motivating force behind the "Singularity" human-hybrid civilization that is currently being imposed on you.

So I just had to roll my eyes when I saw the true-life encounter of Billy Graham with the current holy grail of the bloodline, Queen Elizabeth II, back in 1955 depicted in the popular Netflix series. Then came along Rogue Money friend and highly respected researcher, F. William Engdahl. What Mr. Engdahl has to say about Billy Graham and other men of his ilk, religious leaders like Jerry Falwell, needs to be broadcast far and wide. You will never understand the motivation behind the coming battle in the Middle East until you understand how mainstream organized religion in America has been used as a staunch and loyal tool to bring it about.

Rapture Theology and the 'Greater Israel'

In Chapter 10 of his book cited above, Engdahl reminds us that the popular Evangelical concept of a coming Rapture is a relatively recent teaching dating back only as far as the 1850's. Oh, yes, they did find a single passage in the Bible on which to build the idea. How better to secure a popular base for your warmongering agenda than to take advantage of the public's devotion to sacred scripture? It's the ol' Problem-->Reaction-->Solution formula, in play, again.

In the mid-19th century, John Nelson Darby, a renegade Irish priest of the Church of Ireland, created the idea of "the Rapture" as he founded a new brand of Christian Zionism. His invented doctrine promoted the idea that "Born-Again Christians" would be taken up to Heaven before the second coming of Christ—their "rapture." Darby also put Israel at the heart of his strange new theology, claiming that an actual Jewish state of Israel would become the "central instrument for God to fulfill his plans for a final Battle of Armageddon."

Keep in mind the political and financial history of that time period. The West has just come through a period of anti-monarchist revolution. City of London and Amsterdam banksters are firmly in control of a vast planet-wide economy. Half the authority over armies and treasuries now sits in the hands of elected Parliamentarians, not Kings. The other half, whether that be pertinent to the ruling body of the UK or that of the USA, sits in the hands of Lords or Senators whose loyalty is given to the Banksters. Therefore, to control those armies and treasuries, you simply need to control the thinking and the voice of the proletariat.

In a world where The People still generally regard the Bible as authoritative, nobody directs their thinking better than the voice of the Clergy. Engdahl goes on to write:

Christian Zionists like Reverend Jerry Falwell and Rev. Pat Robertson could be traced back to a project of British Secret Intelligence services and the British establishment to use the Zion ideology to advance Empire and power in North America. American Christian Zionists in the period of American Empire in the 1950’s and later, merely adopted this ideology and gave it an American name.

These American Christian Zionists, just below the surface, preached a religion quite opposite to the message of love and charity of the Jesus of the New Testament. In fact, it was a religion of hate, intolerance and fanaticism. The soil it bred in was the bitter race hatreds of the post-Civil War US South held by generations of whites against blacks and, ironically, against Catholics and Jews as ‘inferior’ races. Their religion was the religion of a coming Final Battle of Armageddon, of a Rapture in which the elect would be swept up to Heaven while the ‘infidels’ would die in mutual slaughter.

Do you see the Hegelian Dialectic in play? "The soil it bred in was the bitter race hatreds of the post-Civil War" South. That's how this works. You keep two polar opposites grinding at each other. Out of their conflict, a new path arises. Then you wash-rinse-repeat the cycle again.

Therefore, out of this period arose charismatic preachers like Billy Graham, Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, and others. Either wittingly or unwittingly, these leaders served the needs of that Babylonian Priesthood who is steadily moving an ancient football down the field toward a goal of ultimate one world government. The Priesthood has no qualms about hijacking sacred scripture and twisting their own blueprint of power out of it.

Regarding Billy Graham's son, Franklin, who also became a preacher in his own right, Engdahl goes on to say:

Echoing the anti-Islam fervor of Falwell and Robertson, Rev. Franklin Graham, son of the famous Christian evangelist and Bush family friend, Reverend Billy Graham, declared after September 11 that Islam was “a very evil and wicked religion.” The large US Southern Baptist Convention’s former President, Jerry Vines, called the Prophet Mohammed the most vile names imaginable. It was all about stirring Americans in a time of fear into hate against the Islamic world, in order to rev up Bush’s War on Terror.

Graham, who controlled an organization known as the Samaritan Purse, was a close religious adviser to George W. Bush. In 2003 Graham got permission from the US occupation authorities to bring his Evangelical anti-Islam form of Christianity into Iraq to win “converts” to his fanatical brand of Christianity.

According to author Grace Halsell, Christian Zionists believed that “every act taken by Israel is orchestrated by God, and should be condoned, supported, and even praised by the rest of us.” It was all beginning to sound far too much like a new Holy Crusade against more than one billion followers of the Islamic faith.

I would add to Engdahl's last comment there about a "Holy Crusade against more than one billion followers of the Islamic faith" to include also the adherents of Jewish faith. In fact, during the 1970's, Billy Graham got caught in the revelations of the infamous "Nixon Tapes" and was even accused of being anti-Semitic [linked here]. I know that this is a point that many people struggle to come to terms with: how can an a person be pro-Zionist and yet anti-Semitic at the same time?

The answer leads you to the very heart of the global network of secret societies. The key to reconciling such an apparent oxymoron is to realize that this entity that I refer to so often, this Babylonian Priesthood, sees itself as supra-human and actively in communion with supernatural beings or their human-hybrid avatars. When you look at the western history of the 19th and 20th centuries, it is easy to see how the Zionist agenda of British leaders like Lord Palmerston and documents like the Balfour Declaration were all stepping stones whose path has been carefully directed down to our day, a Sabbatean path whose cause has been somewhat gullibly supported by the powerful American "Bible Belt" puppets to wipe out anybody in the Middle East, Jews and Muslims alike, who gets in the way of the Priesthood.

To bring our discussion full circle and firmly cement it in the roots of that Babylonian Priesthood network, I'll present below another section from Engdahl's Chapter 10 to summarize the role that Freemasonry and Christian Zionism have played in moving that Priesthood's bloodthirsty anti-human manifesto forward.

Mr. Engdahl included a section in Chapter 10 entitled "Bush, Christian Zion and Freemasonry." Here are a few of his points:

A most difficult area to illuminate regarding American relations to right-wing Israeli Zionists and the ties between Israel and Christian Zionists such as Jerry Falwell, Rev. Franklin Graham, Pat Robertson, James Dobson, Gary Bauer and other US backers of the Right-wing Israeli Likud policies, was the role of international esoteric freemasonry.

Freemasonry has been defined as a secret or occult society which conceals its goals even from most of its own members, members who often are recruited naively as lower level members, unaware they are being steered from behind the curtains. The most powerful Freemasonic Order in the United States is believed to be the Supreme Council of the Scottish Rite, or the Ancient and Accepted Scottish Rite, with its world headquarters now in Washington, DC....

There was a special role played by one of the two major branches of Anglo-Saxon Freemasonry....The Scottish Rite enjoyed an active branch in Israel, even though it was nominally a Christian society. It spoke of its tradition going back to ‘the early masons who built King Salomon’s [sic] Temple.’ The fact that American Christian Zionists typically were concentrated in the South and came from the similar white racist strata as the Scottish Rite, and that they actively backed the Israeli fanatics who seek to rebuild the Third Temple of Salomon at the site of the sacred Al Aqsa Mosque and thereby ignite the Final Battle of Armageddon cannot be coincidence. All evidence suggested that the Jewish advocates of destroying Al Aqsa and rebuilding the Temple of Salomon there were being supported by the Scottish Rite masons in the United States and Britain.

Indeed, there was circumstantial evidence that much of the organized American Christian Right that backs Israeli right-wing policies was secretly backed by Scottish Rite masonry. The Southern Baptist Convention recently had a heated debate over allegations that some 500,000 of their members were also masons, reportedly most Scottish Rite. The Southern Baptist organization is well-known for its racial hatred of blacks. Cecil Rhodes, the man who was backed by Rothschild to create the mining empire of South Africa was a Scottish Rite member as was Lord Palmerston, also himself a British Israelite.

That, in a nutshell, is how you connect the dots between the the 17th century rise of the Rothschilds at the same time that the Illuminati, Rosicrucians, Jesuits, Sabbateans, and Freemasons were growing in power, and the modern-day Hegelian Dialectic opposition of Liberal Leftists and Conservative Rightists.

Satanism Boils Down to Lying

The takeaway of this blog is to show that there are hundreds of people who, either knowingly or unknowingly, have allowed themselves to be used as pawns by that Babylonian Priesthood. The Priesthood is actively promoting a vast deception. Millions of people have fallen under the spell of belief that they are the "chosen" who will be commuting to heaven. The cruel joke is that the Priesthood sees itself as the "chosen" who alone have the right to affix themselves to the heavenly realms of supernatural beings. By directing these charismatic leaders and their flocks to publicly "evangelize" that belief, the Priesthood has now verbalized the spell in order to effect its realization, a very Kabbalistic notion.

What the flock doesn't see is that the perpetuation of this spell is designed to lead themselves to a slaughter that likely will emanate from the territory of the 'Greater Israel' that Syrian Girl referenced in the opening quotation of this blog. When Jesus Christ walked the earth, he openly faced the agents of that Priesthood who even at that time exercised great influence over that same territory. Christ clearly exposed the root of their agenda. "You are from your father the Devil, and you wish to do the desires of your father. That one was a murderer when he began, and he did not stand fast in the truth, because truth is not in him," was the clear declaration that Christ broadcast in public. (John 8:44).

(Bill Graham, a long time spiritual advisor to President Nixon, delivered the eulogy at Nixon's funeral on April 27, 1994. And yet, according to the recent @DarkJournalist interview with Bob Merritt, the only men that Nixon trusted were Merritt and Kissinger - not Graham?)

It does not take a rocket scientist to figure out that if an institution is actively perpetuating a lie that will leads millions of people into a bloody war, then that institution is not aligned with the principles of Christianity. People often think of "Satanism" as referencing those dark ugly rituals of sex orgies and child sacrifices. To be sure, factions within those secret societies mentioned above are indeed participating in those acts. But Christ's definition of "Satanism" was much more broad: any ideology that promotes a deception and the murder of humankind is just as much a component of "Satanism" as the more obvious abhorrent practices.

In the next blog this week, I will include comments by W. The Intelligence Insider that speak to his opinion that the New World Order thugs are very much on track for launching that slaughter. #NoMoreSecretSocieties !

My Twitter contact information is found at my billboard page of SlayTheBankster.com. Listen to my radio show, Bee In Eden, on Youtube via my show blog at SedonaDeb.wordpress.com.

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moonchronicles-blog · 7 years

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Why Modi’s Israel Visit Is a Blunder

On July 4, 2017, Narendra Modi became the first Indian PM to visit Israel since 1947. Although this should’ve been considered an achievement, I still consider it a blunder, without including other foreign policy blunders committed by the Modi government. This post is dedicated to finding out why.

Modi doing what he does best. Serious personal space issues, as Iyad El-Baghdadi says.

Back to the topic. Since 2014, the BJP has committed blunder after blunder in its foreign policy, and this in itself has relieved China and also given leverage to Pakistan which it never had over India since 1947.

Jammu & Kashmir: India had the upper hand in Kashmir over Pakistan till 2014 and also maintained it as a bilateral issue despite Pakistan vainly attempting to internationalize the issue. Elements like Hurriyat were sidelined under the MMS years. Militancy broke out in 2010, but quickly calmed down and was returning to peace after a very long time. The number of deaths and those joining militancy in the valley was coming down quite drastically. Today, Kashmir is more or less a lost cause. Modi not just converted Kashmir into a trilateral issue with China butting in, but also made it international to the extent that Turkey, Iran and USA talked about Kashmir like it’s occupied by India. All for merely gaining Hindu votes in UP, Bihar, Gujarat, Uttarakhand and other cow belt states. Even at the extent of India’s integrity.

Pakistan: Before 2014, India had the upper hand over Pakistan and managed to get several groups and individuals backed by Pakistan designated as terrorists by the United States. Modi in his PR pursuit committed so many blunders that not only expanded Pakistan’s global outreach to Iran, Russia, China, USA and other countries, but also crippled India’s. Intrusions and attacks from Pakistan have increased in the past 3 years to the extent that even our own army men aren’t safe any longer.

China: The first major blunder was his veiled attack on China in 2014 during his Japan visit. This in itself soured the already uneasy relationship India had with China during Dr. Manmohan Singh’s years. China responded by mobilizing its military in late 2014. China didn’t escalate the matter further, till Modi wreaked the control of the Ministry of External Affairs for his own aggrandizing. Modi and NSA Ajit Doval are the actual ones in charge of the foreign ministry and not Sushma Swaraj. Back to China. Inviting the then US President Barack Obama to Republic Day 2015 irked both China and Russia. By opposing China and supporting the Philippines and Viet Nam over the South China Sea dispute in 2015-16, Modi made matters worse. China used this to extract revenge and block India’s NSG bid. Turkey, New Zealand, Mexico, South Africa and Switzerland also opposed India’s NSG bid. China said if India was to be included, Pakistan must also be included. While Pakistan rejoiced over this, the govt of India responded by saying they were okay with Pakistan’s bid. China also blocked India’s attempt to designate Masood Azhar as an international terrorist. Permitting Uighur dissident Dolkun Isa followed by massive PR from his minions on social media, then canceling it again in order not to irk China, is another instance which show what a colossal failure Modi has been on this front. In 2017, China invaded and renamed several villages in Arunachal Pradesh with silence as the only response by the MEA and Modi. In 1966, Indira Gandhi vowed to protect Bhutan, but now, China is not only invading Bhutan, but also cutting at India’s chicken neck that links the mainland to the North East. China is threatening war. Once again, silence is the only response from India.

Russia: Russian President Vladimir Putin was visibly not impressed by Modi’s PR shows, and since 2014, started to directly export weapons to Pakistan. Modi’s PR gave Pakistan enough time to warm up to Russia. Signing the LEMOA by Manohar Parrikar was too much to take. It’s worthy to note that India before Modi had the Irkut license to manufacture Sukhoi Su-30MKI fighter jets in India. In 2016, Russia conducted its first joint military exercise with Pakistan. Russia - China - Pakistan relations have been silently growing for the past one year thanks to Modi’s failed and haphazard policies.

Iran: Dr. MMS supported Iran despite US sanctions and threats from US & EU over Iran. He also stopped Iran and Saudi Arabia from a potential war and called for cooperation. Despite being pro US, Dr. MMS put India’s interests first. Modi’s first blunder here was not giving Iranian President Hassan Rouhani any meeting time during his first US visit, and instead, meeting Israeli PM Benjamin Netanyahu. This irked Iran, who retaliated by blocking India’s wheat. Consistent steps like this forced the Supreme Leader of Iran to open up the Chabahar port, which was confirmed by India during the MMS years, additionally to Turkey and China. Later in 2015 and early 2016, Iran proposed linking the Chabahar port with Pakistan’s Gwadar port (built by China). Till 2014, MMS despite being US friendly had Iran very close to India despite warning from the US and the EU. Modi turned this upside down. In Eid 2017, Iran’s Supreme Leader Grand Ayatollah Ali Khamenei prayed that peace should return to Kashmir. Something Iran never talked about has now received sharp focus.

Syria: In 2013, the then Indian PM Dr. MMS opposed US’ bid to militarily enter the war. Modi maintains a stoic silence as Syria is shred into pieces.

Gulf: Part 1: While crude prices were as high as $140, Dr. MMS maintained gasoline/diesel prices at around 70-75 Rupees/liter. Even as crude prices are as low as $50, Modi maintains the price at 67-70 Rupees/liter and doesn’t even have the basic courtesy or an iota of shame to say what he’s doing with all the collected money. The Gulf embarks on a nationalization drive and sends back Indians. What has Modi done to solve the job crisis that will only get worse in the near future? Till date, nothing. Even the shameless PR seems to fall apart now. Part 2: Qatar has been sanctioned by its Gulf Arab neighbors since June 2017 for “sponsoring terrorism”. Turkey has stepped in to help Qatar. Modi maintains deafening silence, even as India has an army base in Qatar.

USA: Despite visiting USA as frequently as the restroom, USA continues selling arms to Pakistan and also increasing its aid. Donald Trump modified H-1B visas that made it harder for Indian techies to work in US companies. Modi’s response? Silence. Even his much trumpeted visit to USA under President Donald Trump yielded little results with Modi being silent over the matter.

Singapore: Singapore in April 2017 revoked its visa program thus preventing Indian techies from getting jobs there. Modi’s response? Silence.

Australia: Adani’s coal mine caused a lot of damage in Abbot Point at Australia’s Queensland province. Australia revoked its 457 visa program thus blocking Indian techies. Modi’s response? Silence.

New Zealand: The next day after Australia revoked its skilled workers visa program, New Zealand followed suit. Modi’s response? Silence.

Sri Lanka: I can say, this is the only nation where Modi topped MMS. This he achieved by toppling Mahinda Rajapaksa’s SL Freedom Party early in 2015 and ensuring Mathripala Sirisena became SL President. However Modi has remained silent since. For once, let’s give credit to the shameless joker and clumsy buffoon.

Nepal: Nepal has gone firmly into Chinese hands, and earlier this year, stone pelting was reported from the Nepalese border. This wasn’t the case during the MMS years.

Israel: There was a reason why Indian PMs before Modi never visited Israel. India is dependent on the OPEC nations for oil, all of whom have banned Israeli citizens from entering their nations for not following the 1967 Israel-Palestine resolution and also for the sudden formation of Israel over Palestine in 1948. Even as Indian PMs maintained clandestine relations with Israel, they never directly went there because they needed the Islamic nations to supply crude oil and employment, direct and indirect. With Modi openly trumpeting his anti Muslim hate back home in India and supporting India outside, he has antagonized the Islamic world with whom India built careful relations till 2014.

Further notes: It’s becoming an increasingly known fact that China tramples its Muslim minority with impunity, with Islamic nations and people maintaining helpless silence. Modi could’ve scaled back on his Israel love, mishandling of Kashmir and hatred of Muslims, and instead increased relations with OPEC nations. He could’ve highlighted this matter too. Indeed, China’s economic instability and market crash in 2015-16 was an indicator that something was wrong. Instead of openly promoting Chinese brands like Jio (Made in China) and PayTM and giving them more breathing space, Modi could’ve done something better. He could’ve cornered China on its abuse of Muslims. He could’ve used that as a board to attack Pakistan for its silence over this matter. He had the biggest advantage in 2014 when Chinese citizens were boycotting everything Malaysian over the disappearance of MH370. He could’ve also attacked Pakistan and then finally given the Baluchistan issue a big international boost. All of them wasted in shameless pursuit of PR.

This is just the tip of the iceberg. There are more blunders committed by the Modi regime which would require me to write a novel!

Thank you all for reading. Have a good day.

#India #india politics #BJP

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