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irene-sadler · 3 years

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Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

(aka 'The Tournament')

special notes:

the vibe i chose for this imaginary fair/holiday is a mashup of pieces from medieval christmas and new year's eve celebrations. ofc as I mentioned before most of those were Christianity-based, but some of them had a distintly pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon pagan flavor. now my source material here is from 1827, but the author makes sure to let us know which traditions (he thinks) are older than Christianity. the book (books actually, there's 3 of them total) itself is also kind of a fun read, it's sort of a combo of an almanac/calendar/reference guide/gossip column.

a n y w a y, so, specifically i want to mention (b/c i stole them for this story and i don't want to do that without letting ppl know these are or were real traditions that real people observed) serving a boars' head on christmas day (Essex, England, observed "from time immemorial"), the wassail bowl/toast (a new year custom very definitely from before Christianity and apparently present in various parts of Europe altho I don't have the specific expertise to explain why), and an interesting/weird/gruesome Christmas parade (Kent) which the book describes: "A party of young people procure the head of a dead horse, which is affixed to a pole about four feet in length, a string is tied to the lower jaw, a horse cloth is then attached to the whole, under which one of the party gets, and by frequently pulling the string keeps up a loud snapping noise." This is called a Hodening and whether or not ppl still do it I don't know but, uh, i hope so b/c awesome.

also theres only 1 chapter left if u stuck with it this whole time or, idk, it's 2024 and u read the whole thing at once thanks for bothering love u

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“Yes, hello,” Gascon said, pretending not to notice Meve’s displeasure. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he added, as the Baroness and Giselle turned to look curiously down at where he stood in the shadows. The Baroness frowned and pursed her lips judiciously; Giselle considered him and glanced uncertainly at the older women.

“Anyway,” he continued, an edge of urgency buried in his easy tone, “Do you have a minute to spare?”

“No,” the Queen said stiffly, turning back toward the empty lists. “I’m busy; whatever it is will have to wait until later.”

“Oh,” he replied, growing very faintly annoyed, “Because it’s about that thing you wanted last night; just thought you’d be interested t’ know I’ve done it.”

She hesitated, ignoring the Baroness’s raised eyebrow and Giselle’s uncomfortable confusion, struggled momentarily between curiosity and base pettiness, and finally said, “Yes, fine; I have a few minutes, I suppose.”

“Fifteen minutes,” the Baroness said, pointedly.

“No time to waste, then,” said Gascon; he winked at Giselle, who took her cue from the Baroness and frowned disapprovingly back at him, and they hurried off.

“So, what is it, then?” Meve asked bluntly, as they turned into the town’s streets at a rapid stroll. “I assume you’ve caught the saboteur, else you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“Well, I caught Gaheris; he may be the saboteur, or may not,” Gascon said, disregarding her tone. “Gaspar thinks he is, though, and he’s th’ only one who saw th’ intruder close up last night, so odds are good he’s your man.”

“Really?” She abandoned her moodiness in favor of mild surprise, and then asked, “When did this happen?”

“Oh, only about an hour ago. Less, even. Seemed like there was no real need for a public scene, so I just had him snatched off the street and, you know - stashed somewhere convenient,” Gascon explained, leading the way down an alley and into a butcher. The owner nodded and smiled to him as he passed through the door and headed toward the back, spotted the Queen, and instantly looked away at nothing in particular. Pug and Gaspar waited in the yard behind the shop, standing guard over a man with a bag on his head and a bandage around his left ankle. Gascon nodded at Pug and she yanked the bag away; Gaheris squinted in the light and surveyed his surroundings - two large, brightly interested pigs in a pen, his sinister pair of captors, and, finally, Meve and Gascon. He sighed.

“Got ‘im in one piece, as you wanted,” Pug announced in her gruff voice; a dubious claim, as Gaheris had a black eye and a split lip, but Gascon nodded approvingly and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the shop.

“Wait inside for a bit,” he said; Pug and Gaspar departed, leaving their captive to his deserved fate.

“Now, sir,” Meve said briskly to Gaheris; if she had any doubts about his culpability, she kept them firmly to herself. “Let’s not waste time with falsehoods or denials.”

“No,” he said, resignedly, “Doesn’t seem to be much point in trying.”

“Quite. So, explain what it is you’ve been up to, then.”

“Start with last night,” Gascon added, as the squire took a few too many seconds to think it over. “Hurry up.”

“Ah, well. I was trying to get hold of a piece of equipment I knew was among Sir Odo’s things in the barn,” he said. “The girth from a saddle.”

“Continue,” the Queen said, as he paused, clearly thinking the question answered.

“Well, obviously I didn’t get it, since that - that thug sliced my ankle t’ the bone when I tried. Seems the girth held up, though, regardless, through today; probably because Sir Odo don’t take many hits, luckily for him.”

“No, it’s because I found it last night and changed it out for a new one,” Gascon said, angrily. “You’re the one who cut it, are you?”

Gaheris nodded.

“I knew it,” the Duke muttered; Meve waved his self-congratulatory comment away, scowling.

“When did you do it?”

“Oh, a month ago, or more,” he said. “Just before the duel against Sir Holt.”

“Why?”

He blinked at the question and said, as if it was obvious, “Because Sir Holt told me to, in hopes he’d win.”

“You did a bad job, then,” Gascon snapped; Gaheris looked mildly offended.

“No,” he said. “No, I didn’t. The girth held, did it not? Sir Odo won - or, well he could have, if he’d wanted to.”

He looked at his interrogators’ baffled stares, and then explained, patiently, “Look - I cut through the leather, left just enough to hold a strain for a good while, glued it so it’d look like nothing, and told Holt I’d done what he wanted. Simple. I just didn’t have the chance to get it back, after the fight; too many people hanging around who might’ve seen me. If I had done, nobody would have been the wiser.”

Meve stared at him, torn between confusion and anger, opened her mouth, and closed it again as an echo of distant horns bounced off the buildings.

“Damn,” she said. “I have to go. Gascon, find Sir Holt.”

“What should I do with him?” he asked, as she turned to leave; she hesitated, considered her options, and came to a hasty decision.

“Just keep tabs on him, don’t let him leave town, and - and we’ll sort this mess out, later.”

“You’ll find him in the tavern, no doubt,” Gaheris said wearily to Gascon, as she quickly departed.

She nearly ran back through the streets, but she was still late; she returned to the lists to find the Baroness had started the final round without her. However, she she was in time to see Nolda avoid an immediate defeat by the same method she had used on Sir Eres, but Reynard survived her trick, when his fellow knight hadn’t. She nodded in satisfaction at the display.

“Your man is a quick study, as he’s always been,” said the Baroness, as if Meve had never been away. The next pass involved no deceptions from either side, nor any displays of brilliance; Nolda blocked an ordinary sort of attack on her shield, and never touched Sir Odo.

“He’s testing the waters,” Meve said, slightly bored with her favorite’s typically cautious tactics. “How long have they been at it?”

“You only missed one pass; the foreigner’s better at this than I expected.”

“She’s tricky,” Giselle noted, appreciatively. “What’s the Count doing, there?”

There was a short pause; Meve glanced downfield and answered, “Oh, he wants a different lance, I imagine.”

The delay took a full half minute, due to some confusion on Ethan’s part; the Baroness mumbled a displeased remark about the squire’s ineptitude, and then the combat began again.

“He wants to make up for Nolda’s left-handedness,” the Baroness explained, louder, “That’s what the long spear is for. Most people don’t learn to fight the way she does -”

She broke off; Reynard’s change of weapon had answered, and he had dealt a strike that had nearly unseated his opponent; she managed to stay in the saddle by luck or skill and they lined up again.

“He has her figured out; this’ll be th’ end of it,” said Meve. The Baroness nodded agreement. Giselle looked unconvinced, but, in the end, Reynard landed a direct attack to his opponent’s helm and Nolda crashed to earth at long last.

“A devilishly difficult play,” the Baroness said, in the silence that followed. “Dangerous, too.”

Reynard had turned to look behind himself, before his horse had even reached the end of the barricade; Nolda lay still on the ground for a few moments, and then, as her husband vaulted the fence and came running toward her, stirred and sat up. She waved an irritated hand at Bohault and Reynard, who had trotted back and dropped from his horse as soon as he was rid of his lance, but neither paid attention to her gestures or her repeated insistence that she was perfectly fine. The crowd’s general din returned, drowning out their conversation; Meve breathed a relieved sigh and reluctantly turned her thoughts back to Gaheris and Sir Holt, and then - she frowned slightly - Gascon’s mysterious absence during the day.

“Pity you can’t make her a knight,” Giselle said, of Nolda, interrupting her consideration; Meve’s frown grew thoughtful.

“A knight,” she repeated to herself, under her breath, watching the muddle on the field break up - Reynard back to his horse, Bohault and Nolda to hers - a vague connection, or suspicion, growing in the back of her mind. She turned abruptly to the Baroness, interrupted an ongoing reminisce on the handful of times she’d seen another knight employ a tactic similar to Reynard’s winning strike, and said, “Listen, Hilde - the black knight; do you know who he is?”

The Baroness hesitated, slightly confused, and replied, choosing her words carefully, “I believe so, but - wasn’t that what you and the Duke spoke about?”

“No,” the Queen said, disgruntled. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Ah,” she said, looking away toward the approaching victors, “Well, perhaps you should. Count Odo, congratulations on another victory; well fought, Nolda. My lord, you’ve won quite a fine horse, I believe, and you, madam, a sword. They’ll be bringing them along shortly.”

Any personal urgency she felt to finally sort out her ongoing affairs was wasted; the prizes took very little time to hand out, but a number of unrelated problems were brought to her individual attention as soon as the victors rode away. She sent Giselle back to her tavern with genuine gratitude for her service, dealt out various solutions, and then at last she and the Baroness set off toward the castle. The streets of the city were packed, twilight was setting in, and there was no way to hurry their progress no matter how their guard tried. A wagon that had lost a wheel blocked the way, first, and then a succession of other disruptions: a traveling comedic play about a sorcerer and some maidens, some cows wandering loose in the street, a troupe of drunken minstrels playing festive tunes, a strange procession led by a solemn youth holding a freshly cut horse’s head mounted on a pole as a banner, a group of offended clerics in its wake, handcarts selling buns and ale, and, finally, on the bridge over the castle moat, an armored knight still on his charger, who would not be shifted by man or beast until Meve stepped out of the torchlit crowd and threatened to remove him herself.

Then there was yet another feast, this time held in the hall and attended by more of the usual crowd - but, of course, with the horde of knights and sundry that had participated in the jousts, somewhat more of them than normal. There were the typical, expected customs - a boar’s head served, bowls of spiced ale passed around, a number of favors and pardons bestowed, gifts received (and given; Count Odo, for one, courteously gave the warhorse he’d won earlier in the day to Nolda, who accepted it in a fiercely embarrassed but otherwise gracious fashion) - and various other ancient rituals observed.

“I would’ve asked if you thought giving her the horse was a good idea,” Reynard said privately to the Queen, during the Mayor’s inevitable remarks, “But I didn’t catch you in time. If I’m honest it’s less a gift and more a bribe, of a sort; Ethan’s left-handed, same as her, and I thought it might make it easier to convince her to teach him.”

“There were some delays getting back,” she replied, also in an undertone, her eyes resolutely fixed on the speaker as he recited a hopeful list of future developments for the upcoming year. “This whole afternoon’s been nothing but delays, in fact.”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” she added, quickly, as the speech ended, aimed a quick but pointed glance at the distant Gascon, who immediately slipped out a side door, and then dismissed the court in the exact words she’d recited for ten years, and, before her, her late husband, and his father, and their distant grandfathers, for all of remembered history.

Finally getting rid of her guests took much longer than the traditional close to the winter solstice did. As a result, it was past midnight before she made the solitary climb up the stairs to her office, looking forward to finally having a quiet minute to think. However, Reynard and Gascon - and Gaheris - were within, despite the late hour; the squire stopped in the middle of a sentence and all three men automatically turned her way when she stepped through the door. She waved an impatient hand at him to continue and leaned against her own desk, hiding her weariness behind a cold stare. Gaheris returned to repeating his confession; Reynard listened in silence, his expression drifting subtly between offense and genuine confusion. At the end, he frowned and asked, “You - pretended to sabotage my equipment? Why? Why not do it properly, I mean?”

The squire shrugged.

“It’s - listen; before I go on, you should know Holt’s an ass, and a stubborn one at that. Yes, I see you’ve all noticed. Well, I couldn’t dissuade him when th’ idea came into his fool head, but I’d no wish t’ see him win a fight by such a trick, against such an obviously superior opponent. It’s not right, and, also, would be easily seen through. What I did seemed the simplest solution.”

“You could have refused,” Reynard pointed out; Gaheris smiled pityingly at him and shook his head. His response drew an exasperated comment from Meve.

“You could have done nothing at all, and told him otherwise.”

He frowned, again mildly offended.

“I’m no liar,” he said. “If I can find any other solution, I mean. They say a half-truth’s better than a lie, don’t they?”

Reynard blinked, considered, and then shook his head. Gascon shrugged his shoulders, grudgingly.

“You’re clearly a capable man,” Meve said. “Why do you serve someone you know isn’t?”

Gaheris shook his head again, helplessly.

“Holt’s always been like this,” he explained, “Ever since he was a boy. He’s a decent fighter, but he’s too competitive for his own good, and he’s still not learned t’ pick his battles. However, he is my little brother - well, half-brother; my mother married Sir Ulrich after my father died. He was a stonemason,” he explained, seeing the Queen raise a questioning eyebrow, a gleam of challenge in his dark eyes. “His name was Gors.”

When she failed to react to his admission, he continued:

“Anyway, she wanted me t’ look after Holt, best I can. He isn’t a bad person, really, he just -”

He shrugged.

“He can’t help how he is, when he’s in a mood, and when he isn’t he’s not the worst of men, or the worst of nobles, for that matter. He’s never struck a knight who’s yielded, for one, and he’s not one to steal or run villainous among th’ yeomen. And, he’s all the family I got left,” he finally finished. Meve nodded and said nothing for a long moment; she noticed that he couldn’t have been any older than herself, but he briefly appeared gray and worn down. She was, to her mild irritation, somewhat sympathetic to his troubles. Gascon glanced from her icy frown to Gaheris’s tired stare, curiously. Reynard watched her carefully.

“Keep him under guard,” she said to Gascon. “I’m not sure what to do with him or his brother, just yet. Wait - leave him on the landing; the guards there will look after him for the moment. I’ve another matter to discuss, before you go.”

“He’s the black knight,” she said to Reynard, as Gascon stepped back in without his captive. “Did you know?”

“No, of course not,” the Count said, frowning slightly. “Although, in truth, th’ idea has crossed my mind, but I found it - unlikely.”

Gascon hesitated, then shrugged, grinned broadly, and said, “You caught me at last, m’lady; how’d you figure it?”

“The Baroness it was that discovered you, not me,” Meve said, crossing her arms stubbornly; she attempted to appear angry, but in the end managed only mild, slightly amused, annoyance. “Also, she appears to have found me out, as well, incidentally. In fact, there seems to be very little she doesn’t know.”

“She’s uncommonly sharp, no doubt about it,” Gascon agreed, readily.

“So,” she continued, “Is there anything at all to be gained by asking you what you were doing, today?”

“Won’t tell you unless you first promise not t’ bite my head off,” he said promptly.

“Yes, very well, as it’s the solstice, but don’t expect any more favors from me before the summer, at earliest. I mean it, Gascon.”

Reynard sat down, shaking his head at them; Gascon nodded and said, “Fair’s fair. Well, then, it’s a short tale: I won that fight against Sir Holt, then I saw Gaheris come limping ‘round to scrape him up off the turf, and it all came together clear as mud, so I decided it was time t’ stop playing at knights for the day and do some real work.”

“You could have appeared in the joust as yourself,” Reynard remarked, almost idly, “And not as -”

“As me,” Meve interrupted, a hint of her previous ire returning.

“Yes, well - the black knight’s more interesting than I am,” he explained, with a broad shrug. “People have heard of his prowess, or what have you; the dangerous reputation’s an advantage, of sorts.”

“Yes, we’ve heard, in fact,” Meve said, coldly. “Slew a werewolf, did you?”

“Sure did,” Gascon replied. “Or, I helped, anyhow. There was a witcher involved. Like Gaheris said: half a truth’s better than a lie, so I let the former take precedence.”

“That’s not the saying, as you know perfectly well. It’s worse,” Reynard said, rolling his eyes. “Half a truth is worse than a lie.”

Gascon shrugged at him, grinning slightly. Meve interrupted their tangent, impatiently.

“And you killed a dragon, they say?”

“Not I,” the Duke said, quickly, eyeing the Queen’s scowl. “Th’ only dragonslayer here is yourself - although, I did kill a pretty big snake in a roadside inn. The landlady was most impressed. So was some minstrel who happened t’ be around, it appears; he has, uh, embellished th’ incident, somewhat.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Reynard noted, “But how’d he know it was the black knight who did the deed and not merely one Gascon Brossard?”

At last, Gascon turned uncomfortably self-conscious and clammed up; Meve watched him squirm for a long moment and decided, after a glance at the amused gleam in Reynard’s eye, to not to press the issue further.

“And you gave poor Sir Orlac a dunking,” she remarked, finally; Gascon looked relieved and seized on the change in subject.

“Yes, that story’s true,” he admitted. “He’s not a bad fighter, at all, thought he don’t seem to enjoy it much. It took some convincing t’ even get him to go against me, actually, but it was worth the time, in th’ end, to get th’ extra practice.”

“You have improved, somewhat,” Reynard observed, casually. He shot a quick look at Meve; she spotted it and broke off her intended response, frowning. Gascon either missed or ignored their exchange and said, brightly, “Why thank you, sir.”

“Although,” the knight continued, “It remains to be seen if you can beat me just yet; Meve, of course, has already unhorsed you once, so no there’s burning question to be answered on that account.”

“By a trick,” Gascon said, and then, as Reynard shrugged unconcernedly, added, “Look, I only really wanted t’ fight Sir Holt and beat him, again, to prove I could, like. I had no notion of much else.”

“Yes, very likely,” Meve muttered, rolling her eyes; Reynard continued, despite her:

“Not afraid to lose, are you?”

“Of course not; it happens all the time,” Gascon said, mildly indignant.

“Well, then, tomorrow, if you’ve no other plans, let’s see how good you’ve really become, shall we? Without your intimidating disguise, I mean.”

“Well, all right,” the Duke said, doubtfully, clearly wary about what exactly he was agreeing to. “I suppose I’m not busy, but - “

“Good. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, then,” Reynard said, a suggestion of finality in his voice; Gascon still looked uncertain, but nodded and then made a tactical retreat to “see to those other matters.”

“What the devil are you at, Reynard?” Meve asked, the instant he was gone. He stood up, strode across the room with a self-satisfied smile, and wrapped his arms around her.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said, “Let me worry about it.”

“Ugh. Fine, then; do what you want,” she said, ingraciously, leaned her forehead against his chest, and continued with a muffled sigh, “What do you think I should do with Holt? I can’t very well banish him for trying to cheat in a duel, much as I’d like to - he is the sole legal heir to Sir Ulrich, who has been a relatively loyal supporter of the crown - nor can I demote him, since he isn’t one of my own knights.”

“Just ban him from your tournaments, and the rest of the realm will follow,” he said, as if it was obvious, “It’s the worst thing that could happen to a young knight.”

“You’d know better than I,” she remarked, unfolded her arms, slid them around his waist, and added, “What about Gaheris?”

“I don’t know,” Reynard said, “He’s not so easy to deal with.”

“The trouble is,” Meve said, darkly, “- the trouble is that, in his circumstances, he’s done nothing worse than you or I have in the past, which makes me feel something of a hypocrite if I consider having him arrested for treason - as I certainly could, given your indispensable position and high rank.”

“Yes, a - a similar thought crossed my own mind, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s true,” she said, raising her head and frowning up at him. “Isn’t it? Reginald -”

“He wasn’t quite so bad as Holt.”

“Because he was older, and the King, and no other reason. Well, and he had you around to clean up after his worst decisions. And, his sons - my sons - are the same, or worse, than Sir Holt. Or were, I mean. Anseis certainly is, in any case.”

“Perhaps,” Reynard said, thoughtfully, “There’s no need to do anything to Gaheris, at all.”

“As you’re th’ one he wronged, in th’ end I think what happens to him should really be your decision,” Meve said, shrugging.

“Well, then, speaking from experience, the man’s trials in keeping control of his brother are worse than anything you might think up.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve no wish to see him hang or rot in prison, but banishment would be no curse to him, and we’d have to contend with Holt still, regardless, but without a convenient manager. What a waste; were he noble-born, I’d have some use for a man of his talents, and I could more easily secure his future loyalty. A shame, to have Holt be th’ one who inherits old Ulrich’s lands and titles, and Gaheris remain a squire still.”

“I agree,” Reynard said. “However, that problem only you can solve.”

She looked into his eyes, thoughtfully, and nodded.

#witcher #thronebreaker #fanfic #action #sports #romance

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gyeommine · 7 years

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GOT7 As Roommates

So I was reminded of the one I did for BTS (which you could find here) and I thought this would be a cute thing to do <3

(gif credits to the original owners)

JB:

(hot ass)

he strikes me as a dad type

like he’ll be kinda protective of you, making sure you don’t stay out too late and come home at the right time.

he’ll say that it’s to keep a watch on you but he lowkey misses you.

typical dad always ends up falling asleep on the sofa.

so you always have to shake him to get him to actually go to bed.

you’ll feel really awkward when you accidentally call him dad bc he basically is

“is this a new fetish or something?” “shut up im jaebum”

also just another gross male that you have to deal with.

“leader of got7 or president of the US i don’t care, just wash the dishes”

people often mistake him for your boyfriend bc you guys are weirdly comfortable around him.

he’ll probably just walk around half naked with no shame

you’ll just throw his dirty laundry to get him to put clothes on.

does get a lil’ awkward if you’re ever upset.

will shyly admit he ordered take out to cheer you up and you chill for the rest of the evening.

he’ll get quite angry if someone has upset you or work is giving you a hard time but won’t show it.

since he’s a dad for thot7 as well, just expect the guys to often be over.

reliable dad friend roommate beom ™

you always make him cringe or make fun (in a friendly way okay)

you’ll be over sitting in a weird position on the sofa you’ll just be like “the a teaser, amirite” and poor boy would die of cringe.

with that weird dinosaur laugh he has

Mark:

(oh wow i am blind from staring at the sun)

he’s so quiet you’ll honestly forget he’s home.

he’ll just be coming out the bathroom and you’ll jump out of your skin bc when the heck did this boy get back from tour ??

it’d be a strangely quiet house.

he’s more often than not tucked away in his room on his phone.

ngl, he’d probably text you instead of shout out.

but when you guys do stuff together, there’s so much giggling than can be heard from 2 flats above and below.

you guys are organized and on it.

you got that chores and housework rota down and you both know who cooks on what days for the two of you.

you’ll be best buddies with jackson

sleepovers with the three of you !!!

he’s quiet, but boy’s trustworthy and reliable (aka the perfect roommate)

no milk ?? mark’s probably already spotted and bought 3 more cartons.

you’ll be film and music buddies.

you’ll just both be in the kitchen and you’ll hear.:

“hey (y/n) listen to this!”

and you’ll be jamming around for a few hours

you guys will also have a list of movies you wanna watch together.

and when he comes back from tour: a movie night ensues.

overall you guys would have such a chill vibe.

if you had had a hard day at work, even just entering into your apartment would relax you completely.

if you were ever stress, he’d probably suggest going on a drive.

so at like 3 am, you’d get your guys’ chill playlist up and just drive for a while.

Jackson:

(the purest)

such a caring roommate and best friend.

he’s always checking on you and asking whether you need anything.

he’s always the first guy there to give you a friendly ear or a shoulder.

he sometimes just goes on for 30 minutes with random life advice.

it’d be super endearing.

the flat would be super loud.

it’s bc he’s so excitable about everything which makes him the cutest friend to have around.

everyone knows you guys have the liveliest flat.

and you’d always wonder how this idol that works all the time has SO much energy ??!

but such charisma wow - can charm his way out of anything.

if he breaks something, he knows exactly what to do.

fills the fridge with random organic shit.

you literally pull 3 new organic smoothies out of the fridge each day.

“where the hell are you buying all this?”

he won’t even need to label it bc you know it will always be his.

he’s also kinda protective of you.

he’ll send you like a million texts bc he’s super worried that you’re not home yet and you need to be safe

it’d be a stern side that you’d rarely see from jackson, but he cares about you a lot.

he sort of feels like it’s his duty to take care of you, bc you live under the same roof an’ all that.

“jackson you’re more strict than my real dad sometimes.”

but he’d prefer it if you saw him more as your big brother or something greasy like that.

Jinyoung:

(should i be offended by this ??)

he acts like a stressed middle aged mum with 5 small kids 24/7

but it’s just you along with the 5 kids he has with jb

the flat will always be perfection, spotless, 10/10, flawless.

he’ll live passive aggressive / sassy sticky notes to remind you to close the cupboard door or something like that.

sometimes you’ll wonder why he’d ever wanna share a flat with anyone bc he could easily thrive alone.

but he lowkey loves the company you give him.

y’all could be sitting in a room together for hours and not speak and he’d love it.

idk i could also see you guys going on walks together.

but if you ever ask him anything he’s just give you a sassy response - as if it’s a chore to live with you.

dw doods, he’s lying. that’s the middle aged mum sass.

he’ll tssk, roll his eyes a lot.

but he’s a v good listener, and would happily let you rant about your days’ work @ him and he’ll have no complaints.

you guys will have deep convos all the time.

you’ll wake up bc the kitchen light’s on at 3 am and there’s jinyoung, sitting with a glass of water.

“what are you doing jinyoung?” “i can’t sleep.” “lol neither. so what’s the meaning of life?”

and you’ll be talking until like 6 am, by which point the glass of water has magically turned into a strong mug of coffee.

Youngjae:

(NATIONAL TREASURE. 10/10 AT EVERYTHING. CUTEST // PUREST)

this is another loud apartment when it comes to the thot7 bois.

he honestly just needs protecting, someone to keep an eye on him.

he laughs a lot and it literally lightens the flat, it’s such a good vibe.

but sometimes you don’t see him for days.

he’s either writing some sweet ass music or playing video games.

but he always appreciates you checking on him, even if he gets too shy and bumbly to admit it.

he always knows how to make you feel better even if that means just smiling and curing the world of its sins

probably wants to include you with got7 outings

he doesn’t want to make you feel left out or leave you at the flat by yourself.

and if you lightly scold him for something once, he’ll be careful to always do it and he’d be such a sweetheart.

you probably do the most work within the flat but he tries every once in a while.

he’ll get super nervous if he breaks or loses something and you’ll receive an odd text from him.

so you call him to make sure he’s okay, and he’s like “oh no, i just lost your headphones” and the relief you’ll feel.

you’re always there to reassure him if he ever feels insecure about his career or anything in life.

and it’s chill bc you know he’d do the exact same for you, it’s all around a pleasant and healthy environment.

you’ll also sneak in coco even if the apartment block doesn’t allow it.

Bambam:

(he looks so soft here. i highkey loved this hair on him)

do i even need to say that this flat is gon’ be loud as fricking heck

he’d just make random loud noises most of the time and you’d have to give him a “??? wtf” look.

don’t even get me started when yugyeom comes over.

ear muffs come free with the roommate.

i joke, but its’ actually always a hella good mood boost.

our resident meme cannot stand the thought of you ever being down in the dumps so is running around the flat doing dumb shit.

you can’t go anywhere with him bc he spends 3 hours getting ready.

“bam pls we’re only going to the grocery store just wear-” “NO”

then you contemplating going to the grocery store by yourself because bam “flawless model” bam needs to like 10/10.

but you always tell him you’ve seen him without makeup or high brow clothing and he still looks great.

pranks, pranks and more pranks.

did i mention inside jokes? plenty of those.

you guys will be like kids with your own secret handshake and a password you yell before entering the apartment.

“bam why’s the door locked?” “password.” / “but bam i-” “passWORd”

and you’d sigh, and yell “I like to dab with moose” and you’re in.

let’s just imagine the mortified look mum and dad (jjp) have when they come over for the first time and you yelling that.

Yugyeom:

(omg it’s me @ kim yugyeom aka the loml)

just accept the fact you’re going to be hearing music all the time.

you guys will have like a playlist of your fave songs and you end up just stupidly dancing and singing around the house.

sometimes he’ll clear the space in the living room and just dance.

he’ll get hella blushy and shy when you walk on him though.

that’s basically how the hit the stage dance got spoiled for you.

he’s so loud as well.

he’ll probably just yell “PABO” really loud from the other side ot the apartment to get your attention.

and you run over asking yourself why you moved in with such a child.

he’ll smile wickedly as you ask him “what’s wrong”

“nothing!!” he’ll say cutely. “KIM YUGYEOM I SWEAR TO-”

oho you guys will do a lot of childish shit, prank each other.

one of those roommate situations that everyone questions why you ever moved in together bc you’re both a bad influence on the other.

but you guys are obvs like the best of friends for sure.

it’s not fun for mum and dad (jjp) when you call them dumb names and get your ass beat.

you guys are partners in crime and it’s the cutest sHUT UP NOBODY TOUCH OR TALK TO ME.

you better believe you’ll be sitting right next to each other and still be screenshotting memes, giggling your asses off.

but you’ll be so proud and gushing over his performing and how far he’s come and awwww.

but you guys will be having the 10th pillow fight before you could admit to such mushy feelings.

HONESTLY GUYS ! i got so warm and fuzzy bc i wanna be best friends with bambam and yugyeom like you have no idea. also, i am also jinyoung. i write passive aggressive sassy notes to my brother all the time bc he does dumb shit. hope you guys enjoyed ! <3

SIDE NOTE: one of my closest friends and are I are sort of like bambam / yugyeom cross friendship. but i am so done with his shit, and he’s so done with mine - it’s chill.

717 notes · View notes

lodelss · 5 years

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Evelyn McDonnell | Longreads | March 2019 | 11 minutes (2,166 words)

When Janelle Monae inducts Janet Jackson into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame on March 29, it will be a beautiful moment: a young, gifted, and black woman acknowledging the formative influence — on herself and millions of others — of a woman who seized Control of her own career 33 years ago. It will also be an anomaly.

Jackson is one of only two women being inducted into the hall this year, out of 37 inductees, including the members of the five all-male bands being inducted. The other woman is Stevie Nicks. During the 34 years since the hall was founded by Jann Wenner and Ahmet Ertegun, 888 people have been inducted; 69 have been women. That’s 7.7 percent. The problem is spreading.

A November Rolling Stone article announced that the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York, was collaborating with the Rock Hall on a new exhibit of “iconic instruments of rock ‘n’ roll” called Play It Loud. Scheduled to open on April 8, the list of acts whose instruments would be on display included only one woman. My social media feeds exploded with rage and quips, as we wondered whether St. Vincent made the cut because the curators assumed from her name that she was male. Since then, the Met has added several women (and men) to the exhibit list, including Patti Smith, Wanda Jackson, and Joan Jett. It isn’t clear whether the Met added these women as a result of the internet outrage or if they were part of the show all along. After all, all three institutions — the hall, the museum, and the magazine — have, as Jett might say, a bad reputation for excluding women from their reindeer games.

People and institutions have to stop defining rock and rock ‘n’ roll as music played by men, especially white men, with guitars.

The Rock Hall is the most obvious offender in what I’ll call the manhandling of musical history. Manhandling is akin to, and often — as with the Rock Hall — intersects with, whitewashing. Manhandling pushes women out of the frame just as whitewashing covers up black bodies. People of color account for 32 percent of Rock Hall inductees, a far better figure than for women, but still not representative of the enormous role African Americans and Latinx people have played in American popular music. Manhandling is standard practice on country radio; there were no women in the Top 20 of Billboard’s country airplay chart for two weeks in December. Manhandling is standard practice on classic rock radio, where women are relegated to token spots on playlists, and are never played back-to-back. It’s standard in histories of music; there are no women featured in Greil Marcus’s seminal book Mystery Train: Images of Rock ‘n’ Roll in America. And of course, it’s standard practice at IM Pei’s partial glass pyramid in Cleveland. One year of affirmative action at the Grammys cannot wipe away decades of manhandling.

The problem is pervasive, and it is ideological. It is a way of seeing and presenting the world that is based on projections of power and control, not on reality. People and institutions have to stop defining rock and rock ‘n’ roll as music played by men, especially white men, with guitars. We have to change this image, this historiography, this institutionalization, this lie. In short, you do not need a cock to rock.

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Exhibit A: Sister Rosetta Tharpe. In the 1930s, the blues and gospel singer began picking her guitar in a way that we now recognize as the foundation of rock ‘n’ roll playing — she laid the foundation upon which Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly built. There’s footage of her with a Gibson that’s been viewed 2.7 million times on YouTube. If you’re not one of those viewers, become one now. Tharpe was finally inducted into the Rock Hall in 2018.

Holly and Berry were both among the first 16 acts inducted in the Rock Hall, in 1986. All their fellow inductees were male. Built on such grotesquely imbalanced footing, the institution may never get itself right. After all, its main instigator was Ahmet Ertegun, an admittedly legendary records man who treated women abominably, according to Dorothy Carvello’s 2018 memoir Anything for a Hit. Carvello is a music executive who began her career working for Ertegun at Atlantic. Ertegun subjected her to crude sexual harassment and once fractured her arm in anger. The Rock Hall named its main exhibition hall after Ertegun. How can this ever be a place where women feel welcome, let alone safe? Just as universities have removed from buildings and fellowships the names of film executives who gave them money, such as USC renaming their Bryan Singer Division of Critical Studies, the Rock Hall should remove Ertegun’s name from the building and from the annual industry executive award that bears his name. It’s an award that has never been given to a woman.

I would like to not care about what institutions such as the Met and Hall of Fame do.

I pick on the Rock Hall because I care. I love rock ‘n’ roll, to borrow a phrase. I attended the building’s inaugural event, and despite my ever-growing disenchantment, I always pay attention to who is nominated and who wins. I even get to vote — finally. Aware of the way it was increasingly being seen as a sort of hospice for aging white men, the hall has been trying to diversify its voting body, or risk obsolescence. After two decades as a professional rock writer, I was finally asked to vote a few years ago, and to recruit friends. The problem is, every inductee also gets a vote. So every year, more and more men get the franchise and vote in their friends and heroes, who tend to be men. The hall rigged its own system with its testosterocking inaugural class, and despite efforts to add gender and color balance, the numbers are getting worse.

It’s tempting to just say so what. I would like to not care about what institutions such as the Met and Hall of Fame do. They are essentially shrines to white men created by white men, so of course, they honor white men. But they pretend to serve the public — and in the Met’s case, it is in part a publicly funded institution. The Hall of Fame and its associated museum have enormous cultural power, writing in stone the historical importance of individuals in a way that no other institution or publication or organization does. They also create real economic benefits for culture workers. Being inducted into the Rock Hall doesn’t just look good on your resume, it helps sell records and tickets. Most importantly, these institutions provide inspiration — role models — for future generations. And if the only women you’re going to see receiving awards on that stage at the Barclays Center are Janet Jackson and Stevie Nicks, would you, if you were a little girl, go pick up a guitar?

Time’s up for the Rock Hall and the music industry. The Grammys got called on its #GrammysSoMale gender gap in 2018. After women complained that they were largely shut out of the telecast winners, Recording Academy president Neil Portnow responded that female artists needed to “step up” and they would be welcome. Needless to say, that patronizing, clueless comment went over like a lead zeppelin; there were calls for Portnow’s head, including an online petition for him to resign. So this February, the telecast featured an impressive roster of contemporary and historic talent, from Lady Gaga and Brandi Carlile to Dolly Parton and Diana Ross. But then Portnow stepped on stage and publicly patted himself on the back for the show’s sudden gender balance, like he was our white savior, our knight in shining armor coming to our emotional rescue with this feel-good moment.

Moments are not enough. Thankfully, Portnow is stepping down from his position in July. And yes, I’m sure a woman would be happy to take his place. This is part of the change that must happen in the businesses and nonprofits that support music. Women must be hired and promoted across all facets of the industry: as the editor in chief of Rolling Stone, the chairman of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, the CEO of Universal Music Group. After all, a recent study from the University of Southern California shows that women are outnumbered in most aspects of the business, accounting for only 2 percent of producers and 12.3 percent of songwriters, for instance.

Some of this imbalance is a result of outright exclusion or unwelcoming environments. (Just ask any woman who has worked at a music magazine or a recording studio what it’s like to be, as former Rolling Stone writer Robin Green titled her 2018 memoir, “the only girl.”) Some is a result of sexual harassment or assault, which leaves women so traumatized that their careers stall or even stop. Ever wonder why a favorite artist, songwriter, or DJ ghosted for years? Increasing revelations about the predatory behavior of musicians, publicists, producers, managers, and executives show that, as a whole, the music industry can be a frightening place to be female, whether you’re a young intern working for R. Kelly or a talented country singer married to Ryan Adams. Mandy Moore married Adams in 2009, and hasn’t released an album since. They divorced in 2016. A New York Times investigation of Adams’s alleged predatory behavior toward younger women described him as “psychologically abusive” to Moore.

Guys like Ertegun, who died in 2006, reportedly manhandled in the workplace, in addition to creating the Cleveland shrine to gender inequity. Carvello’s book documents in scandalous detail how he and other executives created a boys’ club environment where women had to either pretend to be one of the boys, betraying their sisters, or trade sex for promotion. In Ertegun’s world, women were not allowed to step up; they were stepped on. Having systematically excluded and oppressed women from the business of making music, Ertegun and his cronies at the Rock Hall then carved that exclusion into stone by essentially writing them out of history, year after year after year. When women do get let into the Rock Hall boys’ club, it is on the arms of men: Carole King is there for her songwriting with Gerry Goffin, not as the woman who recorded numerous hit songs herself, including those on the record-smashing album Tapestry. Tina Turner was inducted alongside her abusive ex-spouse Ike. Indeed, the hall seems to define rock in a way that is disturbingly masculinist, as opposed to expansive and risk-taking — the qualities I like to think of as defining popular music. How about a Hall of Fame that includes Selena, TLC, Patsy Cline, and Grace Jones?

There’s nothing so scary to certain men as a bunch of women banding together. That’s another tool of the patriarchy: divide and conquer.

I’m delighted that two deserving female artists, Janet Jackson and Stevie Nicks, will be inducted this year. It’s particularly noteworthy that Nicks is getting the nod as a solo artist, after she was already inducted as part of Fleetwood Mac; she’s the first woman to be inducted twice, joining 22 men in the so-called Clyde McPhatter Club. Next year, the Hall must do the same for Tina and Carole. After being nominated so many times, Chaka Khan must finally be inducted as well.

That still won’t be enough to counteract the sheer numerical voting power of all the male musicians who get in as members of bands, especially if the men of Rufus, Khan’s collaborators with whom she has thrice been nominated, are inducted alongside Khan. There are three things the Hall of Fame can do to rectify that imbalance: 1. Flood the nominating committee and voting membership with more women. Six out of 29 members of last year’s nominating committee were women; the notoriously tight-lipped hall has not revealed this year’s committee members. 2. Reduce the voting power of members inducted as players in bands (so, say, the five dudes in Def Leppard each get one fifth of a vote). 3. Nominate a shit ton of all-female bands next year.

Female musicians and groups are particularly absent from the Rock Hall, as from the industry. There’s nothing so scary to certain men as a bunch of women banding together. That’s another tool of the patriarchy: divide and conquer. It’s why Lady Gaga is basically the only woman in A Star Is Born, a film ostensibly celebrating female artistry. She has no mother, no sister; even her girlfriends are male, and they’re drag queens. By focusing on individual artists, not a collective, the entertainment-industrial complex elevates the star, not the gender. The lioness is separated from her pack.

That’s why some women involved in music have formed an activist group, named Turn It Up! As our mission statement says, we “advocate for equal airplay, media coverage and industry employment of groups who are historically and structurally excluded from the business and the institutions of music-making.” And yes, we’re coming for you, sons of Ertegun.

Here’s who I’d like to see inducted in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame next year:

Tina Turner

Chaka Khan

Carole King

Diana Ross

Dolly Parton

The Go-Go’s

The Runaways

Bikini Kill

The Crystals

Labelle

Salt N Pepa

That would add more than 30 women to the voting rolls. It’s not enough to correct the historical record, but it’s a step up.

***

Evelyn McDonnell is associate professor of journalism at Loyola Marymount University. She has been writing about popular culture and society for more than 20 years. She is the author of four books: Queens of Noise: The Real Story of the Runaways, Mamarama: A Memoir of Sex, Kids and Rock ‘n’ Roll, Army of She: Icelandic, Iconoclastic, Irrepressible Bjork, and Rent by Jonathan Larson. She coedited the anthologies Women Who Rock: Bessie to Beyonce. Girl Groups to Riot Grrrl, Rock She Wrote: Women Write About Rock, Pop and Rap, and Stars Don’t Stand Still in the Sky: Music and Myth and edit the Music Matters series from University of Texas Press. She lives in Los Angeles.

Flor Amezquita, Marika Price and Adele Bertei assisted with research for this article. Figures are based off the official Rock and Roll Hall of Fame’s induction page, which was then cross-referenced with multiple lists and sources.

Editor: Aaron Gilbreath; Fact-checker: Matt Giles

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lodelss · 5 years

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The Manhandling of Rock ‘N’ Roll History

Evelyn McDonnell | Longreads | March 2019 | 11 minutes (2,166 words)

People and institutions have to stop defining rock and rock ‘n’ roll as music played by men, especially white men, with guitars.

Kickstart your weekend reading by getting the week’s best Longreads delivered to your inbox every Friday afternoon.

I would like to not care about what institutions such as the Met and Hall of Fame do.

There’s nothing so scary to certain men as a bunch of women banding together. That’s another tool of the patriarchy: divide and conquer.

Here’s who I’d like to see inducted in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame next year:

Tina Turner

Chaka Khan

Carole King

Diana Ross

Dolly Parton

The Go-Go’s

The Runaways

Bikini Kill

The Crystals

Labelle

Salt N Pepa

That would add more than 30 women to the voting rolls. It’s not enough to correct the historical record, but it’s a step up.

***

Editor: Aaron Gilbreath; Fact-checker: Matt Giles

from Blogger https://ift.tt/2I1axsh via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Blogger

0 notes