#the gospel of big star | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wolven91 · 11 days

Text

Drought vs Flood

Cat calls.

Being called 'cute' or showered with compliments.

Paul had never really considered these an annoyance before. Hell, if he though back to his time on Earth, he couldn't remember the last time when he'd ever received a compliment from a stranger before.

No, that was a lie he realised.

Many years before, an older lady once stopped him to compliment him on a jovial Christmas jumper he'd worn. She said she liked it and that he was handsome in it too. He vividly remembered having a great day that day, despite having to deal with a queue of irate customers throughout the afternoon.

That compliment had kept the man sated for years!

As a man, Paul had never really understood the frustrations of women when they bemoaned the fact that they received compliments and manners from random strangers every day. The man would always hasten to add that he understood them from a logical point of view, but there was always a part of him that had wanted a taste of that life for a while.

Sure, maybe getting them every day might have gotten old, but after over a decade of surviving off one compliment? The man didn't *understand* the frustration. The isolation had to be worse right?

That was until the Earth was destroyed and Paul ended up like a few of his fellow humans, lost amongst the stars as a human, alone in the void.

At first, Paul thrived. He'd lived alone for seven years and with his friends moving away, getting families, or just losing touch; there had been times in his life where he'd gone whole weeks without saying a single word out loud.

After that initial period of learning the ropes, figuring out where he could get a job, food, even the stuff that wasn't quite 'legal' like a drink, Paul settled into what he expected would be a quiet life.

Only, every time he spent time out in public, like when he went to sit in the tiny bar that would serve him under the counter, it wasn't that quiet.

"I just love your fur; can I touch it?" Asked the bull-like alien as they had already begun reaching out and touching thick leather pads to the crop of hair atop Paul's head. The man shoved the alien's wrist away from him.

"No, thank you." He grunted, still hunched at the bar, uncomfortable about the two aliens that stood either side of him. Both were, alien, they had the heads of bulls but bodies that he would have given his left arm for back home. But regardless of their physical attraction, this was week three of not being able to have a single moment's peace outside of his own quarters.

"Oh come on, I read you love it when someone pets you?" Smarmed the second, quoting some bullshit, pardon the pun, text that Paul himself had read. Apparently, a few of the survivors had let slip that they were touch starved, so now every alien and their mother was quoting this as if gospel.

If Paul ever got his hands on the moron that uttered those...

"Not all humans are the same." He growled back, gripping his drink.

"Well, what if I showed you a gun? You like guns, right?" Offered the first taurian, briefly turning their hip and displaying a holster.

"I repeat, not all humans are the same." Paul was British, he thought guns were a tool and nothing more. No more exciting than a pen or a pair of expensive scissors. More than a handful of Americans made it out and had made a huge scene when they found out guns were illegal to humans. Yet more misinformation chumming the water.

"Aww come on, we're just being friendly. It's okay! I also read that your society said you had to be prudes; it's not true, you can relax." The alien explained as if she wasn't taking a big dump on the entire human civilisation and its history.

Paul sneered at the fact that he mildly agreed. The odd concepts that were considered fact back home were outright frowned on up here. With all the fur and lack of breasts on those without; clothes were almost optional by those not actively working. Granted Paul wasn't a nudist and didn't have the body to want to flaunt it, but it was a breath of fresh air to not be so gummed down with social rules.

"I was relaxed," Paul sniped, but the jab went well over the two female taurian's horns. "I just want a quiet drink." He reiterated, breathing deep and remaining calm. The sluggat barkeep watched him carefully, his eye stalks watching the taurians and the human independently. He was hanging around by the bar's emergency distress button.

"We can drink with you." Offered one of them, Paul didn't even bother looking now, instead attempting to drill a hole in the opposite wall with his eyes.

"I don't want company." He explained clearly.

"Why not?" They prodded.

"Because I said so."

"That ain't a real answer, just let us-"

"Can you actually fuck off?!" Paul snapped, turning his body to the last one to speak. "I don't want company, I don't want a drink from you, I want to be left alone!"

"Alright, fuck us, right? We were being nice and now you're acting like we're attacking you. We're the nice ones, but I guess you'll only learn that when you meet the other kind."

Paul just rolled his eyes as the pair stepped away from the bar and, as one walked past, clipped the leg of the stool Paul was sat on, jangling his already on edge nerves.

They grunted something as they passed that the translators flagged as an insult.

Paul rubbed a hand over his face as he sighed and tried to relax. The sluggat slithered over and asked if he was all right.

"Yeah, I'm... I'm fine." The man replied absently, using a thumb to wick the moisture off the side of his glass.

A drought, versus a flood.

That was how Paul now considered the perspective from before. How he would explain the difference of perspectives to a younger self.

How could the drowning woman understand the dying man in the desert?

It was great to be the centre of attention for a week or two, but the way they got handsy? If he didn't actively stop them, and make it clear he wasn't 'playing hard to get' that they'd start groping him? The way they didn't give him space or even listen when he said 'no'?

Even when they were weird... and smelt bad... Not all the creatures up here were attractive.

"Fuck." The man drew the word out with a breath he only realised was shaking as his voice shuddered. With a guilty grimace, the man reached into his pocket and retrieved the data slate. He scrolled through the minimal contacts and selected his guardian.

It rang once before being answered by a near frantic voice that was obviously being kept neutral.

"Paul?"

"Hey Shu'ba. I fucked up... Can you... Can you come get me please?" The man asked humbly.

"Is everything alright?!"

"It's fine, nothing's happened, but I'd feel safer if you were near."

"I got your location, I'm two minutes away."

"Thanks, Shu'ba."

"Don't think anything of it."

"I'm sorry."

The voice of the ssypno sighed through the speaker.

"I get it's hard to have a babysitter, but we're here for a reason. It's okay, I'm almost there."

Paul stayed on the line, even though he and the sluggat were the only patrons of the bar, but when the neon green scales of his guardian slithered into the room, a wave of relief washed over him.

Perhaps it was time to stop giving the serpent the slip?

[r/WolvensStories]

[Ko-Fi]

#conservationverse #cuddleverse #human #hfy #haso #humans are space orcs

128 notes · View notes

astralnymphh · 4 months

Note

Ellie trying to teach kiddo how to play guitar for the first time..♡♡

YES YES YES ok so obviously, context preluding, we're (voices in my head) thinking older kid. seven maybe? around there. ♡

"kay' so, press here.. and your middle here— andd.." the delicacy of her long digits shrouded over a pair of stubby ones, pinching and plucking them to particular spots along a column, "there— go ahead n' strum."

ellie was dead set determined on teaching the mastered art of acoustic guitar to your kid. like— earthbent on it. a promise spoken to soil and vicariously explored through you, and now your sweet baby. your little–more–than–a–babbler, little–less–than–a–tween now sat atop you and ellie's shared bed, just between the hurl and crease of blankets bedraggled, and with a bay oaken apparatus as big as them sloped in their lap— the one joel bestowed. and you always idled as a bystander, watching, leaning on that jutted doorframe.

their blunt fingertips pecked the chords in a row, the lovely resonance lighting something in the white of your child's eyes, "woahh, that sounded like how you play it.." they awed, their jupiter-like eyes darting up to hers for a token of validation— 'did i do it right mom?'

a token she gave, pearl teeth revealing under the fat stretch of her coral lips, "yeah buddy, cus' you're a natural." oh my goddess, the enthusiasm cracking in her voice. ahh, swoon.

"yes.." they exclaim quietly, their forearm perched on the guitars waist pulling back and jubilating with a backwards fist pump. just like mom.

'picturesque, beyond camaraderie', you deemed the whole diorama before you; streaky mix of light and gray–blue shade over their features, faces that proclaim content, the narrow sliver separating their knees, matching criss–cross apple sauce positions, the oval crater both their weights burdened in the mattress, the macro view. 'heartwarming, entangling endearment', if you cherry–pick the easily neglected traits; synchronized cocks of their heads whenever a strum rings, fiddly tapping of her fingers on their tucked shin and how it lowers into a full grasp when she expresses avidly how proud she is, thumbprint–sized dimples mirrored on both margins of their mouth, and funnily— the mismatched socks on hers and their feet. one a pattern of dinosaurs, one a spangle of stars. in gospel truth, they are a likeness of the same flesh and bone, indistinguishable. undeterred by the genetics, the same person.

"keep it up n' maybe we can start a band together." ellie proposes, clear as spring bloom to be an fun promise, nothing sworn, but the idea swirls their young mind a kernel of imagined prospect. she and they upon a stage, grandpa in the crowd, his smile tender in wrinkles boosting morale among the many elated face.

"really?" and he sounds so filled of that idea, eyes popping from their hold.

"mhm," she untucks her own feet and sprawls them, stooping her torso straight and lightly booping them on the nose, a golden orb so happy left under that gesture, "only if you pick a cool name." and weighing her elbow into her thigh, head laying and perched.

"oh, i'll pick a better name than you can."

and suddenly her head is perking back up, "what's that spose' t'mean?" 'offended.

"you tried to name mr. snuggles 'bootyhole bandit'!"

"ey' you can't say that word!" she grimaces fakely atop a curling lip and squints her thick auburn worms, positioning balled fists on her hips like a distressed mother. so esentially just mimicry of you. oh, how ellie cackled buffoonish along with your kid on any occasion you held a scold to their faces, pointer at their noses.

"pbbhhhh." their tongue peeks out and a known all-too-well blowing sound grates the air, only to be tackled by your lanky-limbed girl, guitar discarded to the sloven pillows far opposite of you.

this shall be an anecdote, unforgettable. "hmph, dorks."

have I worsened your domestic!ellie fever yet?

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #domestic!ellie #parent!ellie #tlou ellie #ellie the last of us

269 notes · View notes

mysterycitrus · 5 months

Note

Hey there, Happy New Year! Sorry if this ask seems confusing.

I've really come to enjoy your blog as someone who is kind of new to navigating the world of comics and how to read them and you seem to be one of the people that's more vocal about all the fanon and canon differences and how that damages people's perception of characters. I'm just a bit confused in what you consider to be the difference of headcanons and fanon, I know fanon is a more of something that a big number of people believe, but if someone headcanons something that isn't covered in canon, would that be "bad" or fall on the fandom category?

Hope this doesn't sound mean or anything, I'm just a bit confused

hello!! welcome to batburger!!!!

wrt fanon vs canon my issue is this — parts of comic fandom are very vocal about not engaging with the source material. deciding what fanon is “good” vs “bad” isn’t the point because im not interested in policing peoples fandom experience. however there is a point where i don’t understand what exactly some people are fans of, because what they talk about is so disconnected from the original text.

imagine meeting a hunger games fan, and when u ask about their favourite movie or book, they instead tell u that they’ve never read or seen any part of the series, exclusively read fanfiction, and then inform u that they believe president snow is peeta’s grandfather and that actually haymitch was the authoritarian mastermind behind the hunger games. that doesn’t make any sense, and has no basis in canon. it’s a very extreme hypothetical, but i wouldn’t really take what they say about the hunger games seriously. it also reminds me a bit of the hp marauders fanworks that exist almost autonomously to the books (while still containing the same issues as said books).

most fanon enjoyers (and this is particularly pervasive with batfam fans) enjoy characters and relationships that simply do not exist. that alone isn’t a problem (crackships and headcanons have existed since ye olde star trek zine days) but the issue is that these fanon interpretations are loudly asserted as being the correct way to engage with the characters. i do not believe it should be controversial to prefer characters in their canonical text, or to ask why some fanon content is taken as gospel, especially when so much of it is racialised.

this lends into a wider trend where these headcanons are respected more than canon despite often being actively reductive, accidentally demeaning, or just plain bad faith interpretations. it’s much harder to combat the racism present in conversations about damian wayne when the people in question aren’t grant morrison or judd winick or scott snyder, but instead a nebulous group of people on twitter.

flatly, i encourage people to read the source material. there are a lot of comics, but googling ‘[literally any character] reading list’ has literally never been easier. start by consuming the movies or cartoons or films or shows or the one volume graphic novels, then pinpoint what u like and start from there. people are discouraged from reading comics — and they shouldn’t be!! especially for popular characters there are very accessible starting points!! u will find characters to love with rich history and lore!!!! support queer artists and artists of colour who are actively changing the industry!!! i guarantee that the fanon version of that male character u love is actually originally from a female character with a great miniseries written by greg rucka!!!!

#anyways…. can’t wait to get more anons about this #anti batfanon #dc comics #the ask and the answer

170 notes · View notes

sgiandubh · 8 months

Text

Labor of love

I was very interested to see what S told Mark Gillespie on the last episode of the latter's WhiskyCast podcast, @bat-cat-reader immediately shared with us.

It was a most instructive 35 minutes. I listened to all of it, because I wanted to also hear Gillespie's tasting notes forThe Sassenach. And I regret nothing: once you get past the traditional (and a bit obnoxious) 'why The Sassenach?' question, you're in for some interesting news.

You can listen to it here, by the way:

Before anything, who is Mark Gillespie?

One of the most respected professionals in the very small world of alcohol specialized podcasters, with a 37 years work experience in media and broadcasting, spanning household names such as CNN, Bloomberg, Wall Street Journal, Gallup and MSNBC. But also, and this I found very interesting, given the current context, the owner of CaskMedia, a firm specialized not only in media production, but also marketing and PR.

The podcast was recorded at The Metropolitan Club's library, moments before the Keepers of the Quaich dinner, where S was a keynote speaker. So not 'just there for the Haggis Ceremony ' - a 'guest of honor' is never invited just for the show, people should have known better, eh?

S's 7 minutes interview starts at the 09:32 mark. Comments in brackets are mine.

Gillespie surely doesn't like to beat around the bush and after the customary niceties, asks a million-dollar question:

MG: 'I have to ask: did you have the troubles (problems?) in Germany straightened up?'

SH: ' Ha, ha, ha [not an organic giggle, but hey - gotta do what you gotta do, eh?]. Well, I am not entirely sure I should talk about it [speaks very quickly and through his teeth - visibly annoyed/nervous; not entirely sure I got it all correctly, so feel free to amend in comments], ah... ummm... not as yet... not as yet...ummm...we did fall into an issue with the name Sassenach, which was similar to a big brand in the US... ah!... in Germany, sorry... of a beer brand... I...I personally don't see the similarity [neither do I, S...neither do I], but I am sure once people taste our whisky, they'll know what it is, whatever the name is on it.'

Yes, this interview was probably rehearsed. Yes, Gillespie might have sent the questions to S/his people in advance for reviewing. No, he could not speak about a legally complicated situation before the final settlement with that Schoppingen beer brewer (penalties are probably still to be fixed and paid, but I will check that, so don't take my word for Gospel truth, yet). I will write separately about this whole thing, because I still think that was a very questionable decision of the EUIPO. Not because it royally pisses me off (so fucking unfair!), but because I really fail to see the proper legal reasoning and basis for it. His answer was perfect, under the circumstances. Absolutely perfect.

Anyways, FWIW, it would seem some sort of solution has already been found ('whatever the name is on it') and that most probably would be to rebrand it. And sell it on the German/EU market under a new name.

Lallybroch (https://trademarks.justia.com/981/67/lallybroch-98167525.html), perhaps? Time will tell, but that could explain this recent trademark application I didn't have time to properly look into, yet:

Further ahead (and fast forward through the cask version release, these things bore me to death), we land on another (as yet) unexploded ordnance:

MG: 'I have to mention your show MIK that you do with Graham McTavish, you visited a bunch of distilleries during that one... any visit in particular stands out?'

Now I am not very sure if that question was the best possible one, since that SAG-AFTRA strike is still an ongoing situation. And his answer was quite clever, changing the focus on their visit to Laphroaig's distillery on Islay and waxing lyrical about the casks, the peat, the landscape, etc. But other than a perfunctory and logical 'we', I heard absolutely nothing about McTavish, and it could have been so damn easy to further change the subject and mention his bourbon, with a few kind words. Therefore, I think things are pretty obviously not exactly on the sunny side, between the two. And I guess we all know why.

To end this long post on a cheerful note, I almost forgot to mention something very important. Answering a listener's question about Sassenach not being available in Rhode Island/part of New Jersey, S said something very interesting: 'obviously you can get it online, (...) we've just signed a deal with Southern Glazer's, so we're rolling it out. It is a limited batch, so you know, every year we do do a release and it is very limited, so it does tend to sell out pretty quick. But yes, it is available (...), but obviously you're not gonna see it in every bar, restaurant or retailer, because we just don't have enough of it. But online you can get it and great delivery service, it's very quick.'

I am taking two things home from this last answer: demand exceeds supply, which is both a blessing (solid yield, room for expansion) and a curse (lackadaisical market presence). On short to mid term, distribution will concentrate on the online market, with the help of Southern Glazer's superb infrastructure.

Remember the older guy he had lunch with in MIA, in May? You should, if you didn't focus on Mordor's inept babble about shirts, ballerinas and the like. That guy was instrumental into arranging the deal with Southern Glazer's. Just the biggest wine and spirits distributor on the US market, mind you.

Don't believe me? Check this out:

That company was founded in Florida. Its HQ is still in MIA. He didn't go there because he was looking for ballerinas at his birthday dinner. He went there because when these people are available to meet you, well: you leave everything aside and you damn GO.

Now who the hell is writing fanfiction, eh? You really should be ashamed, madam.

I rest my case.

#BoozeWars

176 notes · View notes

ideas-4-stories · 3 months

Note

Sfw omegaverse anon -

The "omega bestie" thing was smth Shanks probably told Luffy - ((Shanks sees a tiny unscented little pup all alone and went "Oh it's free real estate" /hj.)) In actuality, Makino raised Luffy for a good deal of time, but he is a rambunctious child, and I think he'd pester Shanks for stories and songs and all sorts of things. Shanks is a softie and so absolutely caved. Luffy learned a lot of the pirate's code from Shanks as a very small child and he treated it like GOSPEL, bc Shanks was, is and always will be his hero. So he definitely also got some very silly stories about Shanks' youth, and Buggy starred in more than a few, but never explicitly by name, it was always "my best friend" or "my packmate" or, on really sentimental evenings, "my baby brother".

When Luffy first met Buggy in Orangetown, the few braincells he has left sparked a connection - blue haired, sweet smelling, silly, greedy, trickster clown man? Blue haired, sweet smelling, silly, greedy, trickster omega packmate of his semi-adopted dad? Yes, that math is mathing. Small world. Anyway, gotta beat this clown. His hands are rated E for Everyone.

So yeah Luffy definitely knows Buggy is an omega, and when Buggy mentions "we served on the same crew", it just clicks. It's not really a big deal to him anyway, it feels stupid to care about that kind of stuff. You could not PAY him to care (but if you want to try, it's best to pay in food).

But yeah, Rayleigh and Crocus just both went "Ah, the kids will be fine" and then the kids went and were very much Not Fine At All. But that's a conversation for a different time.

Their parental instincts only kick in when Buggy gets flirted with or when Shanks gets hit on with complete seriousness for followup. It's both obnoxious and also funny.

Shanks gets a heart flutter, and by nightfall his denden is ringing bc Rayleigh is 🤏 close to swimming out there what is going on, red-?

When Crocodile and Mihawk finally get their shit straight and start the whole Courting Thing, the Dad Squad Of Remaining Rogers are in perfect synchrony detecting a Disturbance In The Sanctity Of Their Children.

Crocus calls Rayleigh. Rayleigh talks to Crocus. Neither have Buggy's number. How did that happen? Damn. If only Rayleigh lived with a woman who has an expansive information network where she can check for Buggy's contact information. If only Buggy was part of a widely known business with contact information for business needs. If only they considered this information and just how many options they DO have at hand.

Instead, they call Shanks - Shanks who is having a meltdown because "Bugs is growing up" and "two Alphas, really?!"

This does NOT bode well.

One prospective courtship is one thing. TWO simultaneous courtships are complicated. Those two Alphas enacting the courtship being former warlords, a mafia boss and the world's greatest swordsman, is something else entirely.

Crocus is sharpening his harpoon, debating his options. Rayleigh is seriously debating free swimming to the New World. Things are about to go DOWN and it's chaos all around.

Meanwhile, on Karai Bari, the Cross Guild Poly has finally hit the Holding Hands Stage, because they're stupid, silly and none of them are actually working with anything resembling game. Buggy blushes every time Mihawk pulls out his chair, he melts whenever Crocodile gets the door for him, and he's absolutely LOSING IT every time they ask him to spar.

Fighting has become their love language somehow and every time Buggy lands a hit of some kind, the others damn near swoon, which makes HIM swoon, and the crew and mercenaries are just watching this like the weirdest slow burn soap opera ever conceived.

Anyway yee I'm sleepy so I'm off, byyyeee~~~~

Shanks definitely did a Roger, looking at Luffy asks around who's child this is and proceeds to pick him up to Benn’s dismay (That is not paid enough to deal with his captain’s bullshit) Good thing Makino raising Luffy for a good bit of time. Luffy pestering Shanks for all sorts of things too, that's so Buggy.

Shanks talking about talking about Buggy without saying his name, I wonder why he won't say Buggy’s name to Luffy. Maybe Shanks didn't want Luffy to go and find his packmate, but that didn't matter when Luffy met Buggy. Good thing Luffy has some braincells after all that training Garp put him through. And the ‘Yes, that math is mathing. Small world. Anyway, gotta beat this clown. His hands are rated E for Everyone’ Yeah that's so Luffy, like damn he don't spare anyone.

Not Rayleigh and Crocus thinking that Buggy and Shanks will be fine. Indeed that is a conversation for a different time. I understand that Crocus would of given the kids a few things they would need in life while Rayleigh probably like I taught shit, you are good. And dips into the night without saying goodbye to grieve his captain and be with Shakky (for some reason that seems like he would do that. Its a headcanon)

THEN not their parental instincts kicking when Buggy gets flirted with or when Shanks gets hit on with complete seriousness for fucking followup. OH NOOOOOOOOOOO, that’s not how parental instincts should be (I mean to be fair, neither were planning on having kids probably, but then Roger metting those two happened, but like… dudes that’s not how it’s supposed to work)-(Indeed it’s obnoxious and also kind of funny if you ignore that’s not parental instincts should work…) Shanks getting scolded by Rayleigh when his heart’s fluttering, I wonder who that person is, anyway Mihawk and Crocodile getting their shit together and start trying to court Buggy (you know he’ll first think that they are threahing him, so it takes sometime)

Started laughing at ‘the Dad Squad Of Remaining Rogers are in perfect synchrony detecting a Disturbance In The Sanctity Of Their Children’ I love that, you know it’s not only Rayleigh and Cronus because most of the veteran Roger Pirates helped raised them too (hc/)

Crocus and Rayleigh not having Buggy’s number is so them… but what if it’s the same number he always had and they think it’s the wrong number now? Have they bothered to check? Or if they had, Buggy had openly said it wasn’t Buggy’s number? There could be so much more drama, but anyway yeah if ony Rayleigh lived with a woman that can find people’s numbers because she got that information network, if only Rayleigh knows where his child’s business is, oh no it’s too sad that they can’t find anything…

THEY CALLED SHANKS! Oh no! That’s the last place to call to find Buggy and to check if he’s alright! That man is fucking drunk, crying, ranting and raving about this! Oh dear! RIP to Crocodile and Mihawk, even the littlest teasing bullying their clown will land them in bad graces if those men see it (dear gods what if they found out they beat the shit of Buggy one day, that’s when shit would it the fan. Buggy’s followers will have a fucking telenovela to watch, they just need to be a safe distance away because holy shit someone might fucking died in the crossfire) Truly things are about to go DOWN and it's chaos all around… “Big News” Morgan would having the time of his fucking life with this.

Meanwhile on Karai Bari Island, where nobody knows about what might happened later down the line! Awwwwwwwwww, they are now in the Hand Holding Stage!!! That’s so cute! It took awhile because of so many things, good thing they worked it out.

Mihawk and Crocodile being gentlemen to Buggy is amazing, and them asking to spar is like BIG invalidation for him. Fighting and bullying each other (affectionately) is definitely one of their love language. Truly is like the weirdest slow burn soap opera ever conceived.

71 notes · View notes

rrcraft-and-lore · 2 months

Text

Monkey Man and why I loved the heck out of it

At it's core, it's a Bollywood flick presented to the West with familiar nods to previous action films - I definitely picked up hints of Tony Jaa's influence on Asian action flicks throughout.

It's heavily focused on police corruption, something commented a lot about in India, and here, more importantly, Indian films. Just like America has its love affair with mobster flicks, Bollywood has a long history featuring films that showcase police corruption, sometimes tied into political extremism, fanatical or greedy religious leaders, and Monkey Man comments on all this as well and pays nods to that commonality. We've got televangelists and religious leaders in the states funnelling money, preaching prosperity gospel, and using it to influence politics and fund lavish lifestyles here.

Monkey Man shows this happening in India, and is filled with Indian culture and symbolism through out. The focus on Hanuman, the god and one worshiped by the strong, chaste, wrestlers, champions, and fighters. It's a common thing to have a household deity if you will. Some families might choose to focus worship on Ganesh, others Hanuman, some might do Mata Rani or Lakshmi. Here, it's the divine Vanara (monkey people race) - one of the Chiranjivi - immortals/forever-lived.

Hanuman. Themes of rebirth, common in South Asian history and mythology are present from Kid being a ringer, beat up fighter getting whooped for money to being reborn and facing his trauma through a ritual/meditate process that I don't want to get too much into to not spoil the movie. Post that, he begins his own self alchemy to really become the true Monkey Man. Nods to Ramayama, and an unapologetically Indian story featuring dialogues throughout in Hindi - don't worry, there are subtitles.

And of course a love for action flicks before it, all the way back to Bruce Lee. A beautiful use tbh of an autorickshaw (and you might know them as tuk-tuks in Thailand) which are popular in India with an added kick...I swear, that thing had to be modified with a hayabusa motor. Which is an actual thing people do - modding those dinky rickshaws with motorcycle engines, and considering they weigh nothing at all, they can REALLY FLY once you do that.

Monkey Man brings to the big screen other elements of India people might not know about, such as the gender non conforming and trans community that has a long history in India, presenting them as action stars as they go up against a system of corrupt elites oppressing part of the city, marginalized communities, and minority voices as depicted in the film. I'm not sure if people are going to get all of that without having the context, but I love that it does it without holding anyone's hands.

It's a fun action flick to see in the age of superhero films, and I say that as an obvious superhero/sff nerd. Also loved that Dev included a little bit about Hanuman's own story in the film, and the loss of his powers - almost mirrored by Kid's own loss of self/skills, strength until he confronts his trauma and is reborn, and in fact, remade (not necessarily the same). Also, the use of music was brilliant, including one scene with a tabla (the paired hand drums of south asia) - and Indian music is central to Indian stories.

This is a culture with evidence going back to the Paleolithic with cave murals showing art of Indian dance nearly 30,000 years ago. Yeah, that far back. As well as Mesolithic period art depicting musical instruments such as gongs, lyres, and more.

Indian music is some of the earliest we can find that has high developed beat and rhythm structures such as 5, 7, 9 and now the extremely common and known 4/4 and 3/4 - which so much of Western music is built upon. The foundations and experimentation of/in Jazz. John Coltrane and John Cage were heavily inspired by Indian music and incorporated a lot from it into their works. And Monkey Man blends Eastern and Western music through the narrative as comfortably as it does an Indian story in a very familiar Western accessible structure.

Dev did a wonderful job. And thanks to Jordan Peele for bringing it to screens.

42 notes · View notes

moonshinemagpie · 5 months

Text

Colson Whitehead on Making Novels Half-Asleep

I deleted my Substack because, you know, its founders are evil. But this post I wrote last October feels relevant for writers going into the New Year. If it's TLDR, skip down to the "What Meant Everything to Me" heading.

Writing with Chronic Fatigue

I went to the Brooklyn Book Festival last weekend! It was pure magic after so many years of being away from the English-speaking book world. I felt like someone on rations finally allowed to eat my fill, gulping down book panels and author talks.

Colson Whitehead Goes to Church

One of my favorite festival events was a talk with Colson Whitehead in the St. Ann and the Holy Trinity Church. I’m a big fan of hosting cultural events in places of worship.

Colson Whitehead imparted insights that felt like gospel for writers. For those unfamiliar, Whitehead has published nine novels, two nonfiction books, and won two Pulitzer prizes. His book The Underground Railroad is one of my favorites of all time.

But I did not always like Whitehead’s work. I first had to read his 2003 essay collection The Colossus of New York in university, and it struck me as self-obsessed, MFA-brand New York nonsense. Like, he romanticized Port Authority, the dirty hellhole bus station where, in 2003, I was an elementary schooler waiting nervously for buses that were always late while getting continuously harassed by grown-man casino gamblers dressed like lumberjacks.

I really hated Whitehead’s cheery romanticizations. I wouldn’t pick up another Whitehead book until 2017.

(^just an HD image of Colson Whitehead)

Add Whitehead to the list of authors who wrote some of my most detested 1-star reads before they published the 5-star books of my heart: NK Jemisin, Maggie Stiefvater, Jeff Vandermeer, Colson Whitehead—almost all of my favorite contemporary writers put out messy, uncompelling books before they entered the realm of the virtuoso.

“I wrote a book called The Intuitionist,” Whitehead said at the church, referring to his debut, “and everyone hated it. So I thought, ‘Okay, I need to do better next time.’”*

It was surreal to hear a writer speak with such open eyes about the trajectory of their own career. Like, I knew I hated Whitehead’s early work. I didn’t realize that he knew it, too.

(It’s worth mentioning that someone who came up to ask Whitehead a question during the Q&A said, “The Intuitionist is my favorite book of all time.”)

But that wasn’t the insight that meant the most to me.

Nothing Is a Joke

Whitehead made joke after joke about chronic fatigue. He never used the words “chronic fatigue”; he never referred to his own health. But he repeatedly described scenarios that resonated with me as someone who lives with fatigue and hypersomnia:

“I spend most of my day just sleeping,” he said. “I mean, coming out here [to the book event]? Really big deal for me. Glad I could make it.”

And everyone laughed, but I don’t think that’s the kind of joke you make unless you mean it. I don’t think it would even dawn on a non-fatigued individual to make it.

What Meant Everything to Me

When Whitehead described his writing process, he said he writes about eight pages a week.

Eight pages a week.

Estimating 250 words/page, that’s 2,000 words per week. Or as he said, “32 pages per month, 320 pages after ten months. I find it adds up.”

He writes, he said, about three days each week. So that’s a little over 600 words each time he sits down to write.

To put this into perspective: If I write fewer than 2,000 words in a single writing session, I don’t consider it to have been a proper session. In less than a month, hundreds of thousands of people will join in NaNoWriMo and try to write at least 1,666 words every day for a month straight.

We live in a world where writers are encouraged to crank it way, way up, sacrificing what writing actually is in an attempt to maximize monetization of a craft that is not easily monetized. Romance writers give advice online for how to write just one draft of a book, no revision needed. Self-publishing writers crank out novella after novella to feed to the Kindle Unlimited machine. Everyone wants to be done with their book in a month. Memes proliferate in which writers scold themselves for daydreaming, plotting, outlining—for doing anything at all that isn’t literal putting words to the page, as if those other things weren’t integral to novel-making.

I thought I was immune to that hustle-and-grind mindset, because I know what writing a book actually entails for me and I have no intention of cranking out a first-draft story for KDP.

But I had never once considered giving myself the patient grace that Colson Whitehead shows himself.

“I don’t push myself,” he said. “Writing is hard work. On days when I’m not up to it, I revise instead. Just tinker with my last paragraphs.”

He joked about how, during the pandemic, he had to write his novels while his young son was at home. Whitehead said he usually writes a paragraph or two, and then sleeps for a few hours.

Daddy, why are you always in the dark? his son asked during the lockdown.

It’s part of my process! he joked. But I think he also meant it.

Novel Advice

He’s not the first writer to give this advice; this isn’t the first time I’ve heard it. Maggie Stiefvater wrote her first book only on Wednesday evenings, raising her children and working the rest of the time. Terry Pratchett wrote 400 words each day before he became a full-time writer.

But these are stories of pre-success, the ways we need to struggle when our creative lives are stuffed into the spare corners of our weeks. And when your week doesn’t have spare corners because you’re barely trudging on as it is, that advice doesn’t feel encouraging.

But Colson Whitehead is already successful. And this is still how he allots his writing time: In low-pressure, long-term, sustainable accumulations.

2,000 words a week.

I’ve known for a long time that I can no longer wait for healthy, clearheaded days to write. I don’t have them anymore. But it sort of sounds like Colson Whitehead doesn’t have many of them to spare, either, and yet he wrote the most energetic Harlem heist book I could ever want (Harlem Shuffle). He wrote the most literary zombie apocalypse book imaginable (Zone One). He has an oeuvre that brought enough readers to fill church pews, the line to see him wrapping all around the block. And he built this work, according to him, in between long naps.

In fact, his writing style probably hinges on his method. He’d be writing very different kinds of books if he wrote quickly. His just-a-few-paragraphs-a-day approach*** is probably how he writes descriptions with so many precise details, like these images of a party-supply store after the apocalypse hits:

The unit had completed a sweep of a party-supply store, a narrow nook on Reade that had been washed off Broadway into a low-rent eddy. Dusty costumes hung from the ceiling as if on meat hooks: cowboys and robots from chart-busting sci-fi trilogies, ethnically obscure kiddie-show mascots, jungle beasts with long tails intended for the flirty tickling of faces. Kingdoms’ worth of princesses and their plastic accoutrements, stamped out on the royal assembly line, and the requisite Naughty Nurse suspended in the dead air, tilting in her rounds. Do Not Expose to Open Flame. For Amusement Only. The masks had been made in Korea, delivering back to the West the faces they had given the rest of the globe: presidents, screen stars, and mass murderers. The rubber filament inevitably snapped from the staple after five minutes. The graft wouldn’t take.

I used to imagine Colson Whitehead as just being so impossibly brilliant that he spit this stuff out on the fly, leagues beyond the rest of us mere mortals. Now I see it differently: It happened laboriously, made by a tired, human brain full of faith in its own accumulative productivity.

Going Forward

No more for me, I think, of harsh deadlines and crank-it-out word counts. Instead: I need to provide accommodations for my own writing life. I must consciously factor in my own fatigue and stop demanding that I strain myself in ways unsustainable for a long and fulfilling creative life. Instead: Crank it down. Way down. And take naps between the paragraphs.

2,000 words a week.

Thanks, Colson Whitehead, for being honest about the work. We need more of that in the book world.

----

*None of these quotes are verbatim, just based on memory.

**This is similar to how both Donna Tartt and Nabokov have described their own writing processes. Maybe we spend so much time screaming at new writers to “just write” that we don’t talk about how slowness and care may enhance the quality of our prose.

#writeblr #writing community #colson whitehead #writing advice #draftdash

75 notes · View notes

cordeliahrose · 1 year

Text

Lucifer

Lucifer is a Latin word coming from the words lux, meaning light, and fero, meaning to bear or to carry. Literally translating to light-bearer.

Lucifer as a Roman Deity

Lucifer has had many faces throughout history. One of these being the Roman deity of the morning star, or Venus, considered the male equivalent of the goddess Venus. He is attributed to being the god of enlightenment and illumination. Lucifer is often depicted carrying a torch, and said to be equal in beauty to the goddess Venus. Due to being the morning star, I can also see Lucifer being associated with war as well. Especially considering his association with learning and knowledge, as well as that Venus also historically had war epithets.

In the Greek pantheon, they separate the morning star and the evening star into two seperate deities, being Phosphorus/Eosphorus and Hesperos. Eosphorus meaning “dawn-bringer”, and Phosphorus meaning “The bearer of light”. Phosphorus and Hesperos are the sons of Eos, Goddess of dawn, and Astraios, God of dusk. Phosphorus is the father of the Hesperides, nymphs of the evening time and light of the sunset.

Lucifer in Abrahamic Religions

Historically, Lucifer was never mentioned in the Bible at all. His name being associated to Christianity nowadays is due to a mistranslation of a poem about a fallen king. However, he is a big part of Christian culture now, and there are myths associated with him.

Lucifer was said to be the most beautiful and intelligent of God’s angels. He was God’s right hand. Until he defied God. There are many different versions of the fall of Lucifer.

One version of this story says that Lucifer became overly prideful of himself, his beauty, intelligence, power, that he thought himself worthy of being worshipped equal to God. Because of this, God cast him out of heaven.

Another version is that Lucifer was jealous of Jesus Christ. He gathered the angels and brought forward the idea of worshipping him instead of Jesus. Some of the angels sided with Lucifer, while others did not. There was a meeting between God, Lucifer, and all of the angels in which God said that their rebellion was unforgivable. There was a war between the two sides, but ultimately God and his angels won. Lucifer and the angels who followed him were banished from heaven.

Lucifer in Modern Witchcraft

In more modern witchcraft, there is a tradition which states that Diana, queen of witches, created Lucifer when she split herself into two pieces, darkness and light. She kept the darkness for herself, and Lucifer kept the light. Lucifer and Diana also have a child, Aradia. In this tradition, Lucifer is seen as the god of light, and masculine energy. One of the most influential sources for this tradition is The Gospel of the Witches by Charles Godfrey Leland.

Lucifer in Demonolatry

In demonolatry, Lucifer has many titles. Prince, King, Emperor, Lord. Lucifer is a demon of transformation, enlightenment, awakening, self-discovery, self-empowerment, and more. He is usually attributed to the element of air, and also pride.

Lucifer’s Associations

Anything with the * symbol next to it means that it is my own UPG.

Animals:

Snakes

Rams

Peacocks

Corvids (crows, ravens)

Cats

Spiders

Moths

Colors:

Black

Grey

Gold

Red

Teal

Blue, especially pale blue*

Purple*

Crystals:

Obsidian

Onyx

Hematite

Celestite

Seraphinite

Garnet

Sunstone

Clear quartz

Carnelian

Ruby

Copper

I am aware that copper isn’t a crystal.

Plants:

Apples

Pomegranates

Roses

Cinnamon

Cloves

Lavender

Blackberries

Sage

Black pepper

Garlic

Lilac

Spicy peppers*

Other:

Stars

The number 7*

Spring equinox

Autumn equinox*

Offerings

Strawberries

Blackberries

Chocolate

Apples

Pomegranates

Honey

Spicy foods*

Sweet things, especially baked goods

Juices, especially apple or grape

Coffee

Roses

Feathers

Devotional Acts

Shadow work

Learn about the sciences or the arts

Create art of any kind

Face your fears

Learn about any of his associated animals

Magical workings, especially those that fall under his sphere of influence

Learning in general

Developing your psychic abilities and spiritual senses (the clairs)

Spiritual progression

Anything marked with the symbol * means that it is my own UPG

#lucifer deity #left hand path #deity work #paganism #pagan

226 notes · View notes

matttgirlies · 9 days

Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - mentions of guns,, drug use,, threats,, mentions of affairs

y/nn = your nickname for any confusion🩷

Chapter 21

Putting together the best musicians, sound and lighting technicians, costumers, and choreographers, he was taking no chances this time. He scoured the music scene for the top sidemen in the business. Auditions were held and he handpicked each player—names such as James Burton, John Wilkinson, Ronny Tutt, Glen D. Hardin, Jerry Scheff. He loved the sound of the Sweet Inspirations, backup group for Aretha Franklin, and he hired them on the spot as a warmup act and to sing backup vocals. He also hired his favorite gospel group, the Imperial Quartet.

Before leaving Los Angeles, Matt rehearsed at RCA Sound Studios for ten days and then polished the act for a full week prior to the opening. It was the event of the summer in Vegas. Colonel Parker brought the preopening publicity to fever pitch. Billboards were up all over town. On the third floor of the International, administrative offices bustled with activity. No other entertainer coming into Vegas had ever stimulated this kind of excitement. The hotel lobby was dominated by Matt paraphernalia—pictures, posters, T-shirts, stuffed animals, balloons, records, souvenir programs. You’d think Barnum and Bailey were coming to town.

Back home there was also excitement as we girls discussed what we’d wear to the opening. “I want you to look extra special, Baby,” Matt said. “This is a big night for all of us.” I hit every boutique in West L.A. before finding just the right outfit.

Though it had been nine years since Matt had given a live performance, you never would have known it from his opening. The audience cheered the moment he stepped onstage and never stopped the entire two hours as Matt sang, “All Shook Up,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” “In the Ghetto,” “Tiger Man,” and “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” He mixed the old with the new, the fast and hot with the lyrical and romantic. It was the first time I’d ever seen Matt perform live. Wanting to surprise me, he had kept me from rehearsals. I was astounded. At the end he left them still cheering and begging for more.

Cary Grant was among the stars who came backstage to congratulate him after the show. But the most touching moment was when Colonel William arrived with tears in his eyes, wanting to know where his boy was. Matt came out of the dressing room and the two men embraced. I believe everyone felt their emotion in that moment of triumph.

I don’t think we slept that night. Nate Doe brought in all the newspapers and we read the rave reviews declaring, “Matt was great” and “He never looked or sang better.” He shared credit for his new success with all of us.

“Well, we did it. It’s going to be a long thirty days, but it’s going to be worth it if we get the reception we got last night. I may have been a real tyrant, but it was well worth it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” we all agreed, laughing. “You were a tyrant.”

The International Hotel was delirious over Matt’s performance and the box-office receipts. The following day they signed a fiveyear contract with the Colonel for Matt to appear twice a year, usually around the same time, January and August, at the then unheardof salary of one million dollars a year.

Matt literally took over Las Vegas for the entire month he was there, playing to a packed house every show as thousands more were turned away. No matter where we looked, all we could see was the name Matt—on television, newspapers, banners, and billboards. The King had returned.

Initially, Matt’s triumph in Las Vegas brought a new vitality to our marriage. He seemed a different person. Once again, he felt confident about himself as a performer and he continued to watch his weight and work out every day at karate.

It was also the first time that I felt we were functioning as a team. I made several trips to New York, trying to find unique accessories for him to wear onstage. I bought scarves, jewelry, and a black leather belt with chain links all around it that Bill Belew would later copy for the famous Matt jumpsuit belts.

I loved seeing him healthy and happy again, and I especially enjoyed our early days in Vegas. The International provided an elegant three-bedroom suite that we turned into our home away from home. During his show I always sat at the same table down front, never tiring of watching him perform. He was spontaneous and one never knew what to expect from him.

On occasion, after his midnight show, we’d catch lounge acts of other performers playing Vegas or we’d gamble until dawn. Other times we’d relax backstage, visiting with entertainers captivated by his performance. This was the first time I’d been with Matt at a high point in his career.

With the renewed fame came renewed dangers. Offstage he could be guarded by Sonny and Red. Onstage he was a walking target. One night that summer Nate and Sonny were tipped off that a woman in the audience was carrying a gun and had threatened to shoot Matt. A true professional, Matt insisted on going on. Additional precautions were taken and everyone was on the alert. Matt was instructed to stay downstage, making himself a smaller target, and Sonny and Jerry were poised to jump in front of him at the slightest sign of suspicious movement in the audience. Red was positioned in the audience with the FBI agents.

The show seemed to take an eternity. I glanced at Patsy apprehensively and she in turn grasped my hand as we comforted each other, longing for the night to end without incident. James remained backstage, never letting Matt out of his sight and praying, “Dear God, don’t let anything happen to my son.”

Because of this and other threats, extra security was arranged wherever Matt appeared. Entrances through backstages, kitchens, back elevators, and side exits became routine.

Matt had his own theory about assassinations, based on the murders of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and Robert F. Kennedy. He felt that the assassins gloated over their “accomplishments,” and told his bodyguards that if any attempt were made on his life, they should get the killer—even before the police. He didn’t want anyone bragging to the media that they’d killed Matt Sturniolo.

Sonny and Red lived in so much tension these days that they were constantly frenzied. Suspicious in crowds of overzealous fans, they were quick to respond to any sign of danger. Compared to Sonny’s diplomacy, Red’s reputation was to act first and ask questions later. Eventually, numerous assault-and-battery charges started piling up against Matt. When James warned him about Sonny and Red’s aggressiveness, Matt said, “Goddamn, Red. I hired you to keep the sons of bitches away from me, not get me in any legal binds. Somehow you’re going to have to control that redheaded temper of yours.”

Although Matt would joke about the death threats—and there would be several more throughout the Vegas commitments—the fear and constant need for security heightened the pressure of nightly performing.

In the beginning when Matt began doing regular Vegas engagements, we girls visited frequently. We’d fly in over the weekend, sometimes bringing our children, spend three or four days, and then return home.

On the days we were apart I’d take hundreds of Polaroids and home movies of Charlotte. She was growing so rapidly I didn’t want him to miss out on her development. Daily he’d receive his “care packages,” as I’d refer to them, including tape recordings of me teaching Charlotte new words and Charlotte mimicking me. Each week, upon my arrival, I’d paste photos on the mirrors in his bedroom to remind him that he had a wife and child.

During his first couple of engagements he still seemed humbled by lingering doubts of whether the public was fully accepting him. At this point he had no interest in outside affairs or flirtations, his concentration on daily rehearsals and performances every evening excluding everything else.

Later he would become more cocky. The crowds’ admiration took him back to his triumphs in the early fifties and he found it hard to come down to earth after a month of nightly cheers. His name on the International’s huge marquee would be replaced by the next superstar. The offices on the third floor would be cleared out and incoming calls for reservations would stop.

Thriving on all the excitement, glamour, and hysteria, he found it difficult to go home and resume his role as father and husband. And for me the impossibility of replacing the crowd’s adoration became a real-life nightmare.

At home in Los Angeles, there was just the usual group around—strictly a family atmosphere. This abrupt change was too much for him and soon he developed the habit of lingering in Vegas for days, sometimes weeks, after a show. The boys were finding it increasingly difficult to resolve the conflict between working for Matt and maintaining a home life.

Crazed with inactivity and boredom, Matt became edgy and temperamental, a condition exacerbated by the Dexedrine he was again taking to control his weight.

Sometimes, to ease the transition home, Matt would insist we all pile into cars and head for Palm Springs. Since our marriage we had spent-many weekends there sunning and watching football games and late-night television, but after Charlotte was born, my needs changed. The Palm Springs heat was too much for her, the long drive boring, the idleness of resort life wearying. One weekend I suggested, “Matt, why don’t just you and the guys go down?”

From that time on, the guys developed their own lifestyle in our secluded desert home. Occasionally we wives would be invited to spend the weekend, but by and large, Matt now considered Palm Springs his private refuge.

He made it clear that this time away was good for him, giving him a chance to think, to hang out with the guys. In reality Matt was lost. He did not know what to do with himself after Vegas. He escaped in more powerful, unnecessary prescribed drugs to raise his spirits and ward off boredom.

After he had conquered Vegas, it was agreed that Matt should go back on the road. Colonel immediately began booking concert tours around the nation, starting with an impressive run of six sold-out shows in the Houston Astrodome, which earned over one million dollars in three nights.

The night I arrived in Texas to watch the performance, Amber, Judy, and I flew in on a private jet. I looked down on the Astrodome and found it hard to believe my eyes. The length of a football field—and already sold out. It made me nervous. I could imagine how Matt felt.

Matt too found the Astrodome overwhelming. “Goddamn,” he said when he first walked in. “They expect me to sell this son of a bitch out? It’s a goddamn ocean.”

However dwarfed he was by the giant facility, he electrified his audience. Houston was our first run-in with mass hysteria. The limousine was strategically parked by the stage door for Matt’s immediate getaway. Even so, screaming fans surrounded the car, frantically yelling out his name, presenting flowers, and trying to touch him.

If anything, Houston was an even greater victory than Vegas. The King of Rock and Roll was back on top. The strain of sustaining such a hype was just beginning and, for the moment, I could believe that everything would still be all right. I did not realize the extent to which Matt’s touring was going to separate us, that this in fact was the beginning of the end. After Houston Matt began crossing the country, making one-night stands, flying by day, trying to catch some sleep to maintain the high energy level demanded by his performances. From 1971 on, he toured more than any other artist—three weeks at a time with no days off and two shows on Saturdays and Sundays.

I missed him. We talked constantly of being together more, but he knew that if he let me join him, he couldn’t refuse the requests from regulars whose marriages were also feeling the strain of long separations. For a while a group of us would fly in from time to time, but this didn’t last long. Matt noticed that his employees were lax in discharging their duties to him when spouses were present, and he established a new policy: No wives on the road.

I didn’t really miss the one-night stands, a tedious routine at best: Jump off the plane, rush to the hotel, unpack as little as possible, since you had to check out the next day, go to the performance, then back to the hotel for a little rest before heading back to the airport. Everything was the same except for the name of the town.

It was the day Matt suggested I come to Vegas less often that I became really upset and suspicious. He’d decided that we wives would attend opening and closing nights only.

I knew then I’d have to fight for our relationship or accept the fact that we were now gradually going to grow apart as so many couples in show business do. As a couple, we’d never sat down to plan out a future. Matt, individually, was stretching as an artist, but as man and wife we needed a common reality.

The chances of our marriage surviving were slim indeed as long as he continued to live apart from Charlotte and me, and in bachelor quarters at that. It came down to how much longer I could stand the separation. Matt wanted to have his cake and eat it too. And now, as the tours and long engagements took him even further from his family, I realized that we might never reach my dreams of togetherness.

I had trouble believing that Matt was always faithful, and the more he kept us apart, the more my suspicions grew.

Now when we went to Vegas, I felt more comfortable at the openings. He was always preoccupied with the show and I felt he needed me then. On closing nights I always felt uneasy. Too many days had gone by, enough time for suspicions to poison my thoughts. The Vegas maître d’s invariably planted a bevy of beauties in the front rows for the entertainer to play to. Curious, I would scan their faces while watching Matt closely to see if he seemed to direct his songs to any girl in particular. Suspicious of everyone, my heart ached—but we were never able to talk about it. It was to be accepted as part of the job.

Backstage one night James was jokingly negotiating for a key that had been tossed to Matt. She was an attractive middle-aged blonde—James’s type. Matt said, “Dad, you’ve got enough problems at home with one blonde. You certainly don’t need two.”

“Well, okay,” James said. “You’re going to have problems of your own if your wife goes out in the street looking like that.” I had begun wearing skimpy knit dresses and see-through fabrics that were daringly revealing. Steven and Charlie whistled and gave wolfcalls, while Matt proudly showed me off.

The jokes I played on him were also efforts to get his attention. One night, after he’d left early for a show, I put on a black dress with a black hood and an exceptionally low-cut back. When it came time for Matt to give away kisses to the girls in the audience—a regular part of his show—I went up to the stage. Instead of kissing me, he kept on singing his song, leaving me to stand there. With my hair hiding the dress strap around my neck, I appeared from the back to be nude from the waist up. I could hear the “oooh”s and “ahhhh”s of the audience. They were under the impression that a topless girl had cornered Matt and that he couldn’t figure out what to do.

I kept whispering to him, “Kiss me, kiss me, so I can sit down,” but he decided to turn the joke on me, and made me wait in the spotlight for the duration of the song. Planting a big kiss on my lips, he surprisingly introduced me to the audience. I felt a bit embarrassed and made my way back to my seat.

Later in the show he’d strut back and forth onstage, tease his audience, talk to them, tell them stories, even confide in them. “You know,” he’d say, “some people in this town get a little greedy. I know you folks save a long time to come and hear me sing. I just want you to know, as far as I’m concerned, there won’t be any exorbitant raise in price when you come back. I’m here to entertain you and that’s all I care about.”

Matt was having an ongoing love affair with his audience and the next time I was home alone I knew I had no choice but to start more of a life of my own.

It was with that thought in mind that Amber, my sister Michelle, and I planned a short trip to Palm Springs. In the course of the weekend I opened the mailbox to check the mail and found a number of letters from girls who had obviously been to the house, one in particular signed “Lizard Tongue.” My immediate response was disbelief, followed by outrage. I dialed Vegas and demanded that Nate find Matt and bring him to the telephone. When Nate said Matt was sleeping, I told him about the letters and insisted I speak to Matt. Nate promised that he would have Matt call as soon as he woke up. He did, but it was clear that Nate had filled him in on the situation and Matt had his explanation ready. He was totally innocent, the girls were just fans, they were out of their minds if they said they’d ever come to the house, and besides, it was their word against his. As usual, in the end I apologized for putting him on the spot, but things at this point were becoming too obvious.

He said, “Get out and do things while I’m gone, because if you don’t, you’re going to start getting depressed.”

Although my choices were limited—he still objected to my taking a job or enrolling in classes at college—I continued my dancing and started taking private art instruction.

Matt was a born entertainer and although he tried to avoid crowds, disliked restaurants, and complained he “couldn’t get out like a normal person,” this life-style suited him. He handpicked the people he wanted to be around him—to work with and travel withand they adjusted to his routine and his hours and his temperament. It was a pretty close clan throughout the years. A few arguments erupted and a few couples left over some misunderstandings, but they usually returned in a week or two.

My view of life had been fashioned by Matt. I had entered his world as a young girl and he had provided absolute security. He distrusted any outside influences, which he saw as a threat to the relationship, fearing they would destroy his creation, his ideal. He could never have foreseen what was happening as the consequence of his prolonged absences from home. A major period in my growth was beginning. I still feared our separations but felt that our love had no boundaries, that I was his and if he wanted me to change, I would. For years nothing had existed in my world but him, and now that he was gone for long stretches of time, the inevitable happened. I was creating a life of my own, starting to achieve a sense of security in myself, and discovering there was a whole world outside our marriage.

Over the years of playing Vegas, other pressures began to mount. There were more death threats and lawsuits, including alleged paternity suits and assault-and-battery charges. Jealous husbands claimed they’d seen Matt flirting with their wives, and others continued to charge that Sonny and Red were manhandling them. Matt began to get bored with these nuisances as well as with the sameness of the show. Inevitably, he tried to change the format, but then he felt it just didn’t have the same pacing as the original. He’d add a few songs here and there but then revert to the original. Pointed suggestions that he make changes before the next Vegas date added to the pressure.

Bored and restless, he increased his dependence on chemicals. He thought speed helped him escape from destructive thinking, when in reality it gave him false confidence and unnatural aggressiveness. He started losing perspective on himself and others. To me he became increasingly unreachable.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd. This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - welll..🎀

#matthew sturn #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #Spotify

20 notes · View notes

raisinchallah · 1 year

Text

you know i think its really funny how like an alternate history of the star trek fandom has essentially become gospel amongst like gay people on the internet who wanna talk about fandom history but havent done tons of research or anything ive seen it so confidently repeated everywhere that like kirk/spock fanzines were the majority of fanzines that the entire fandom was made up of housewives or just women in general etc its like kinda funny to me like i dont believe k/s zines ever were more than 25% of the zine community and a lot were more underground limiting their reach two a big part of what saved star trek ratings wise was it becoming huge with kids who were home to watch it in its friday night death slot and then idk its like kinda bizarre saying the majority of the fandom was women like its nice to be valuing the creative output of women in fandom whatever but i feel like with just ur brain and eyes u can see at least of the fans that set popular opinion the old con photos whatever like many other sci fi fandoms were in fact majority men but its also like its such a widespread cultural juggernaut many people know about that also saying those kinds of hardcore fans that were sometimes hostile to women were the majority of the greater fanbase etc and also i do find it bizarre to categorize the female fans as just housewives cuz like then nobody is talking about some of the famous and more underground women sci fi authors were huge star trek fans like people writing niche feminist sci fi were also publishing kirk/spock fanfiction which idk i think thats just a little fun fact i guess whatever far more complex im sure i do not have all my facts entirely straight either but whatever

131 notes · View notes

hhighkey · 2 years

Note

Tanjiro + 2 surprise characters of your choice crush headcanons?

AN// yes!! wasn’t sure if you only wanted demon slayer characters but always feel free to request again :)

Demon Slayer Headcanons

THEY HAVE A CRUSH

With Tanjiro, Rengoku, Sanemi

Kamado Tanjiro

total sweetie to you

definitely always nervous around you - literally sweating bullets you’re concerned

inosuke will literally be yelling at him in the back ground to make a move

he bring you flowers

totally makes cute bracelets for you

braids your hair

combs your hair

type to draw fake tattoos on you as him marking you

if you’re not a slayer definitely teaches you self defense- it’s fun to watch you attempt to use a sword

if you are one, definitely wants to train with you

him having a crush on you means lots of hugs - literally whenever he sees you or has to leave

will try to sneakily put an arm around you in any situation he’s not good at being sneaky

likes it when you hold onto his arm

always walks on the outside

pats your head

i feel like he gets jealous easily

not necessarily the best at sorting through those emotions so he may lash out or ignore you if he’s jealous

he’s an emotional, strong headed boy who will do anything for those he loves, and you’re no exception

will absolutely move mountains for you

needs lots of words of affirmation

just wants you to smile

and boy takes forever to ask you out so you may have to take the reigns there

he just needs a little nudge

Rengoku Kyojuro

your biggest supporter!!

doesn’t matter if you’re a civilian or a slayer he’s got your back

he’ll legit just show up at your place with flowers asking you on a date

his smile will never falter around you

listens to every word that escapes your mouth like it’s his gospel

you will never doubt what his plans are as he courts you

you’re basically all he thinks about when you’re together and apart

thinks about outfits he can buy you, food to bring you, date ideas

absolutely obsessed with you, your happiness and safety

and you’re all he talks about

everyone’s getting annoyed regardless of if they know you already or not

tengen has been trying to convince him to ask you out already for weeks and he’s losing his mind

both of you are well aware of your crushes on each other but both are slow asf on making moves

you would die of embarrassment if he turned you down so you’re not risking it even if he’s constantly taking you places

and rengoku is scared

every day he falls for you more and more

but that’s more attachment and worry

what if you get sick like his mom?

what if his family situation makes you run away?

he has you meet his brother and dad before going any further

it doesn’t go great but also not terrible … so no complaints really

he’s actually happy when he sees you and senjuro interact

he’s a gentlemen through and through so it’s a slow process with him i firmly believe he has a lot more going on emotionally than the show shows so like huge walls that need to be broken down there

but finally as you’re sitting out on the engawa at your place watching the stars, he gets on his knees in front of you so you’re eye level

his normal confidence has turned into nerves

“i hope you’ll hear me out as i confess to you!”

duh

his lips are so warm

his body is so big and warm

he feels so perfect

and you’re so tiny in his grasp and he makes you his ah

y’all break apart, breathing hard as he’d kissed you with all his might

he’s grinning as he kisses your forehead

“i’ll love you forever,”

Shinazugawa Sanemi

i think sanemi would be confused by his feelings

why is his chest tight?

why does his heart race when you’re around?

why does he always look for you whenever he’s back from a job?

oh no

he refuses. no he will not allow himself to even indulge in the thoughts of you

he’s gotta make himself hate you now

that’s his solution to this

so he’s a total bitch to you

just will say hurtful things he knows will get to you because he knows you so well

but at first you think you can see right through this act

but you’re tired of his abrasiveness after weeks of him being different with you

so you just decide to give up which shinobu supports fully

he immediately notices your lack of presence, how you avoid him, hell you won’t even look at him anymore when you’re in the same room

he’s confused and sad

idiot

so he storms up to your estate one day, banging away on your door

you’d been napping and so confused about what all the noise was

a wild eyes sanemi is there as you open your door, immediately pushing his way in

“where the fuck have you been?” he yells

“what?”

“you won’t even look at me!”

“you’re mean to me,,, why would i?”

“no i’m not i love you-“

oh shit

both you just stare at each other in shock by his words

“you’re a jerk you know that, you can’t be mean to someone just because you like them!” this makes you cry

you’ve been on a roller coaster because of him and all because he was being a pussy about his feelings

straight up doesn’t know what to do when you start crying

when he tries to hug you, you push him away

so he tries again and this time you can’t escape from his strong arms

“i’m sorry, let me make it up to you,”

he’s gonna have to do a lot of shit for you to forgive him - whoops

#demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer #rengoku kyojuro #rengoku headcanons #tanjiro headcanons #tanjiro kamado #sanemi headcanons #sanemi shinaguzawa #tanjiro x reader #rengoku x reader #sanemi x reader #demon slayer x you

659 notes · View notes