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beauty-and-passion · 1 year

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Eurovision 2023: the show of unfairness and the triumph of people’s hearts

My god, this year left me exhausted.

It’s 1:30 am, the Eurovision Grand Final just ended and I am starting to write this post now, because I need some time to calm myself before going to bed. And maybe putting down some thoughts about this year will help me find some peace - at least for a couple hours.

This year has not been what was supposed to be, starting from the show and ending with the winner.

But let’s start from the beginning.

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Ukraine: robbed of their own show

We all know Ukraine couldn’t host Eurovision in their country because of the war, so they asked the UK to do that.

And the UK tried to be a good host. They reminded us of the reason why Ukraine couldn’t do it, they tried to call Ukrainian artists and make the show about them... only to systematically forget it two minutes later and start acting as if they won and this was their show.

I hope now you understand why last year I said to not give them power over anything. The UK has a tiny little problem called “massive ego” and if you give them a little crumb, they will immediately scarf the whole cake down.

This year should’ve been 70% Ukraine themed and 30% UK themed. What we had instead was the other way around: the UK gave us a tiny little interval show in the semifinals about Ukraine, then a massive show all about the UK.

The Gran Final has been the icing on this disgusting cake. It started with a bang, featuring all of our favourite Ukrainian artists in the span of five minutes: Tina Karol (I had no idea she was Ukrainian, what a nice surprise!), goddess Verka, my beloved Go_A with The Only Queen That Matters, aka Kateryna Pavlenko. And, of course, our favourite winners: the Kalush Orchestra. Man Carpet is still an icon and I still wonder what the singer sees behind that pink hat, but I don’t care. It’s perfect, it’s great, I want this but 200x more. I want them to steal the show, I want them in all interval acts. But no worries, I’m sure they will definitely appear more during the final. I mean, there’s no way the UK called them just to appear for 20 seconds, right? Right?

Oh sorry, my bad. I forgot this isn’t Ukraine’s show, this is UK’s show. We should definitely have Sam Ryder in the interval act and we should definitely make it all about English songs. I mean, it’s not like there are four of the most beloved Ukrainian artists in Liverpool. Let’s make it all a huge masturbation session of the UK instead.

I apologize if my metaphor offended someone, but this is what I felt while watching the UK celebrating itself. Like... can’t you do this in a private room? Do I really have to watch it? This is just one step below Portugal’s show, which showed a massive ego as well and tortured me for three nights straight, by repeating how cool they were and how nice they were and how I would’ve done a great choice visiting them.

But even if that was torture, at least Portugal was the winner of the previous year, not a host masturbating over the fact they are allowed to host a show they didn’t win.

The only choice I fully approve of in this show is the postcards idea: that was very elegant and respectful and I want to thank the person who thought about it. The cards show Ukraine’s beautiful places, UK’s beautiful places and every country’s beautiful places. It’s all beautiful and it’s a great way to both honor Ukraine and emphasize UK’s hosting role, since it looks almost like the UK acts as a “connection” between Ukraine and every other country.

Unfortunately for us, this is the last proof of elegance we will see for the rest of the show.

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Danemark and Poland: robbed even before starting

Do you remember Danemark’s and Poland’s entries? I know, me neither. Bland, forgetful, two huge balls of nothing.

Well, I have a good news and a bad one. The good one is that Danish and Polish people are not insane and their musical tastes are actually way better than this. The bad news is that the two entries we got (Bejba and Tiktokkid) were not supposed to win their country’s competition, because the public’s favourites were different. But, like, VERY different.

Same thing happened last year for Spain, but at least Chanel was able to put on a great show - even if her song was boring. Danemark and Poland didn’t have that either: one gave us a meme, the other gave us nothing. Disappointing.

So let’s clean Danemark’s and Poland’s names, by listening to the artists they were actually supposed to bring. Let’s start with Danemark and please, tell me if the tiktok kid is better than this (if you dare):

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And before you think: “oh my gosh, this could’ve been a great entry for Danemark!”, please listen to what Poland was supposed to bring:

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I love this song. I love this cute nice boy. I love the classical vibes. And when I played this song for my father, my 70-year-old father told me, with no hesitation: “Oh, this is way better than the other one!”.

So if a 70-year-old can recognize how good this song is, then there’s no generational gap and it’s not true that people are accustomed to the same boring stuff. If a song is good, is good. If a song is bland, is bland.

By now you probably already heard from Polish people about how the voting system of their competition was rigged and how Blanka won thanks to the power of nepotism. So our duty as Europeans (and as people with some fucking taste) is to stream Gladiator, listen to all of his songs and shower this boy with love because he needs to know the world loves him.

And for you all, Polish people: thank you for making us know about your true winner. He really looks like one and we love him too.

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Germany: robbed while trying

I really cannot understand why people keep hating Germany this much. Is it still because of WW2? What did they do, to deserve the bottom of the chart? I know it’s funny, I know it’s for the memes ah ah ah, but also... come on. Come. On. Are you really telling me that Poland was better than Germany? Are you really telling me that the UK was better than Germany?

I can assure you that if Sweden brought this exact same song, the jury would’ve given this song 300 points. But hey, ThE jUrY iS iMpArTiAl, right?

German people: I don’t know why the world hates you. I think you would’ve gotten more votes, if only the system wasn’t so stupidly rigged and forced everyone to choose one winner only, hoping to defeat the jury’s sheer power. Personally, I enjoyed your song and I enjoyed Lord of the Lost and I will definitely listen to more of their songs to add to my playlist.

However, I also understand your frustration. So you know what? Just go nuts. Choose whoever the fuck you want to represent your country, attend Eurovision whenever you want and do whatever you want, give us insane shit and amazing stuff. You will be treated the same either way, so why give a fuck? Have fun showing your insane side, I will support you 100%.

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Italy and Israel: what did they ever do to deserve these places?

As an Italian, I am honored people gave so many votes to Italy. Seriously, thank you all, nice to know people appreciate our singers.

But also: why so many votes? Why? I know Mengoni is a good singer, he has a great voice and if this was a real singing competition he would’ve probably deserved to win.

But since Eurovision is not a singing competition, why all these points? Were people really so in love with this ballad? Why? What does he have I cannot understand?

Even more important: why Israel, with their stupid unicorn song, got all these votes? Why? Is it because she’s good-looking? Seriously? Are we still stuck thinking with our genitals, instead of using our brains? I thought Europe moved past the need of thinking with genitals only and started developing some good fucking taste.

Or did her amazing “dance moves” get the public? Ok, she’s very flexible... but do I really really have to remind you of Chanel? A small dance segment is really worth so many points, when last year we had someone who was able to sing AND dance as she did for the entire song? I didn’t even like Chanel, but I am mature enough to recognize that THAT was a show, while the unicorn lady did nothing more than a small dance. Definitely not worth 185 public votes.

At least I know that my country didn’t go insane and the true points (aka the public’s points) didn’t go to the unicorn but to Moldova. Thank god, we are still able to recognize what’s good.

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Finland: the real winner

When Eurovision started, I was sure Czechia would’ve been the winner. However, their performance wasn’t enough to grant them victory.

Finland, however, had everything a winner needs. And now I will explain to you why, because I love this funky green man and you should love him too.

1) “A little man from Vantaa”

Käärijä is a rare gem, not just for Eurovision, but in general. He’s a simple, genuine, silly guy, who comes from a city few people knew before. He doesn’t speak English too well, but he tries and fails in comically sweet ways. He’s a huge fan of Rammstein, so he’s a man of culture. He became besties with Bojan from the Slovenian band Joker Out and their bromance has been the best part of this Eurovision: these two share one single braincell and I love them for this.

But, most of all, he’s humble. He never considered himself above all others, even after his victory. He knew right from the start that it would’ve been a battle between him and Loreen and yet, he never grew arrogant about it. He always talked about their rivalry in funny ways, through memes and by treating her nicely. But he also never underestimated her: he always put his whole self into every performance, knowing full well he had to give everything, to reach the public’s hearts.

And he did. He reached the public’s hearts and like many others all over the world, I also love this little man. He’s genuine, he’s honest, he’s a fashion icon (Finland changes their flag to green when), his dancers are funky and nice like him. You look at him once and all you can think is: “I want to protect him at all costs”. It’s just impossible to hate this man.

2) His song is a banger

Not only his song is a fusion of three genres (industrial metal, hyperpop and hip-hop/rap), so he’s already serving you three songs in one, but the language he used is Finnish.

I’ve heard Finnish people saying that they never used their language because it’s “too weird”. People, that’s exactly because it’s weird that you should use it! You have this gem and you hide it to us?!

If you don’t know why Finnish is so great, please consider that while all other European languages are part of the Indo-European family, Finnish, Estonian and Hungarian are not. They are part of a completely different family (the Uralic languages).

That means they have nothing similar to any other European language. They are something completely different and new, a whole new world to explore. And they’re here, in our continent!

In addition to that, Finnish is an agglutinative language, which means words are formed by stringing together morphemes. How fucking cool is that? I love this kind of language!

As someone who studied English, French, German and Russian, Finnish is something that gets my attention. I can recognize similarities between Germanic, Slavic and Italic languages and I love them, but Finnish is an unexplored world. It’s made of sounds that well, sound familiar even if they’re not. It’s a constant surprise, you know?

Also, I love that it’s a language full of vowels because it makes me think of my own mother tongue (Italian). It’s a bit like feeling at home, even if our languages have nothing in common <3

3) The best performance of Eurovision 2023

I love the Croatian daddies like the next person (and I’m glad the public gave them the top 10 because they deserve it), but Käärijä’s performance had everything: it told us a story (i.e. how Käärijä slowly emerges from behind his barriers to join the party), he gave us the best stupid dance moves and there’s even a family-friendly human centipede. What else do you need, to start dancing?

Also, another shoutout to his dancers, because I live for those shocking pink dresses and for their immensely creepy expressions. And I live for the public always welcoming them with screams: they deserve it.

I know you already enjoyed it 200 times, but you know what? Let’s fucking destroy the views of this video and let’s watch it again. And also, let’s notice how much the public enjoys it. How much they screamed, how they sang with him, how they enjoyed this party.

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Even without knowing Käärijä, you can feel he put his whole self into this. And the public felt it too.

And the final result was astonishing: he got 376 points from the public. It’s the second-highest public score, after Kalush Orchestra, who got 439 points.

If you notice, Käärijä’s percentage is even higher than Kalush Orchestra’s! And such a high result means one thing and one thing only: the public has chosen its winner. He is the winner. People are sovereign and people’s will has been very clear about it. So when I say he’s the winner, it’s not because I want to indulge him: it’s because it’s the fucking truth.

Also, please notice the kind of songs the public chose as their top 3 favorites: songs with nothing mainstream and native languages. All while the jury thinks what we want is the same boring shit we can hear on the radio 24/7.

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A painful evening

Let me start by making something clear: I don’t hate Loreen and I don’t hate Sweden. It’s not their fault if they win. They are just exploiting the situation, because they learned what the good formula is and keep using it over and over.

Loreen knows that if she sends another song that is just like all the others she made, she will get a high position. And now, thanks to yesterday’s victory, she knows she doesn’t even have to try. Why should she do something different, when doing the same thing twice made her win twice? Why try something different, why step out of her comfort zone? If she does the same thing, she can win. So she will keep doing the same thing.

Same goes for the entire country of Sweden. They learned that if they bring the most boring, generic pop song you can listen to on every radio on planet Earth, you will win. So, they will keep sending it. After all, a bland pop song is what the world is more accustomed to, so why change? Why do something different, when they can be teacher’s pet and always get a high score? This isn’t being stupid, this is being clever.

But is it elegant and fair too? Oh honey, absolutely not. This is the exact opposite of what elegance and fairness are.

On Saturday evening, when we reached the voting part of the show, the crowd literally CHEERED AND SANG Käärijä’s name or “Cha Cha Cha”. Multiple times.

Once the public clearly states who they want to win, then the competition is over. When the consensus is unanimous, there’s no competition anymore. The winner is already here. Everything else is just white noise and bureaucracy.

That’s what I felt, while I was forced to keep listening to a bunch of people loudly kissing Sweden’s ass. The public had already decided, we already have a winner. Why are we still wasting time?

And if forcing us to keep listening to this pitiful charade was not enough, the hosts decided to lose that shred of elegance that was still left on this joke of a show and not only shushed the public all time but even said “just ignore everyone”, as if their voices didn’t really matter. It’s not like this is a music competition and the public is the final receiver of said music, after all.

I don’t know you, but I don’t like to see the sovereign public being silenced and told they do not matter, all while a bunch of people takes the decisions for them. Maybe the Brits are accustomed to being silenced because an old rich man has to decide for them, but other countries don’t work like that. Like, you know, the one they’re hosting the competition for.

There was nothing democratic about Saturday evening. There was nothing fair in silencing the public and pretending they haven’t chosen their winner one hour ago, because teacher’s pet had to win again.

Do you really think Sweden deserved this victory more than Finland? Do you really think that a country that won six times needed to add this victory to their list, so they can say “ah ah we won as many times as Ireland”? Or just because they can do their stupid ABBA anniversary next year? Is this the reason why we choose our winner, now? The past glories of a country? Well, then in 2048 is the anniversary of Dana International’s winning song, let’s all go to Israel! And in 2056 we’ll go to Finland, because it’s the anniversary of Lordi’s winning. And in 2071 will be 50 years from the Maneskin’s victory, so let’s come back to Italy.

What, does that sound ridiculous? Tell that to the jury, then.

I feel immensely sorry for the Finnish people, because I read online how much this victory could’ve meant for them. This could’ve been so important, such a good chance to shine for a country that considers their language “too weird” and who hasn’t won in 17 years. And since they are stuck between that ticking bomb that is Russia and the always perfect Sweden, they really needed something that gave them more positive attention.

And it broke my heart even more to see Käärijä suffering. He even apologized to his nation. He did something amazing and he still apologized. He literally won and apologized for not winning. That’s unfairness to its finest.

And if all of this is not enough, the results of the public’s vote came out and oh, look, not a single country gave 12 points to Sweden, while almost every country gave 12 points to Finland. Wow, who would’ve fucking guessed that teacher’s pet won because of the teacher.

Again: does that seem fair and democratic to you?

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Oligarchy masqueraded as democracy

Let’s do a little bit of math, shall we?

Each national jury consists of five people + one backup juror. They supposedly vote for the best singer and performance- AHAHAH great joke, very funny.

But let’s not focus on this, now: let’s focus on numbers.

37 countries participated this year. So 37 x 6 = 222. The jury is made up of 222 people in total.

The entire population of Europe is around 451 million people, but let’s keep it low because Eurovision isn’t watched by all Europeans. Let’s take just the number of views on the Youtube streaming of the Grand Finale: 9.5 million people. Let’s round up to 9 million, okay?

Okay, so now we have 222 people on one side and 9 million people on the other. Let’s pretend that less than half of them voted at least one time.

Okay, now look me straight in the eyes and explain why the votes of 222 people should have the same weight as the votes of 4 million people. Please, explain to me how democratic this decision is, can’t wait to hear it.

But you know what? Even if it was 1 million voters only, that wouldn’t have been fair either. In no universe is fair to put one million voters on the same level as 222 voters.

There’s only one possible scenario in which this is fair: if Eurovision was a talent show specifically centered around performances and voices, with a jury made of vocal teachers and choreographers, and all I have to do is passively watch it on my couch.

But from the moment you gave the public the power to choose who the winner could be, then why do the votes of all the people from Europe (and Australia) have the same weight as what 222 people decided?

This isn’t a democracy. This is an oligarchy masquerading as a democracy: a bunch of people decides what you should like, basing their decision on their own interests. And you have no way to oppose them, unless you focus all your votes on one single artist, hoping it would defeat the one the jury chooses.

But this deprives Eurovision of the competition aspect. It’s not a competition if I have to endure a tug-of-war against the jury. It’s not a competition if I am forced to give all of my votes to one artist only, instead of spreading them out to all my favorites. And even in that case, basically all of Europe should vote for that specific artist to try and overcome the sheer power the jury has. Again: does this sound democratic to you?

Now you may say: but the jury is made of experts. Oh, you mean the same experts that proved multiple times they base their votes on politics, who their neighbor is and who can corrupt them better? Or do you mean the same experts that in the past made their choice even without listening to the songs?

The truth is that we have 222 people who can easily be influenced by anything and their power is as strong as the power of 4 million people at least. Four million people, who got invested and followed the entire show from start to finish, if I may add. Please, tell me about the fairness of this system again.

And before you say “but Eurovision is a music competition and we need experts”... sorry, but no. According to Wikipedia, the jury was present before televoting was born, but once televoting was extended to all competing countries (1997 ca.), the jury was no more. It came back only in 2009, with this unfair compromise of 50/50 between jury ad public votes.

So there was a period of time in which there wasn’t a jury and in that period we had the first win for Estonia, Turkey, Latvia, Greece, Finland, Serbia and Russia. How weird that, once the jury isn’t there, other nations have a chance to win too.

The thing is: Eurovision isn’t a simple music competition. It’s more like a window. A window where anyone can have their chance to shine. No matter if you’re from a well-known country and everyone knows who you are or if you’re from a tiny piece of land in the middle of nowhere and all you can do is speak your native language: if you have the right combination of song+performance+voice, you can win.

And it’s beautiful we have this window, because it allows us to see something we’ve never seen before: rock bands, silly songs, folk songs and straight-up weird songs. In Eurovision, you don’t have to listen to just the same generic bland song, but you are allowed to listen to different artists and different cultures - and if you like them, you are free to choose your winner, no matter how not mainstream it is.

And we Europeans need this. We need to celebrate the diversity of Europe and embrace them. We need to see people from different countries hanging out, having fun and becoming best friends. For a continent that has always had (and still has) a problem with wars, we need something that allows us to look at each other and not see a piece of land to conquer, but a place full of life and culture to learn about.

And since we pride ourselves to be the continent where democracy was born, let’s put this democracy in the show we’re so proud of. Do we really need the jury vote? Do we really need the vote of this bunch of people? Okay, let’s have them. But it’s not acceptable to give them the same weight as the public’s vote. 50/50 isn’t acceptable anymore. 20/80 is fairer. I’m feeling nice, we can even do a 30/70. It’s just not acceptable that 300 people should have power over millions over something those same millions will enjoy. As always, the public is sovereign.

And if the public’s taste is shit, at least we will be free to blame ourselves for something we brought unto ourselves - and not feel sick and angry over something others forced upon us.

Or everything can stay the same and the 50/50 system will keep going. But at least, be honest enough to not waste everyone’s time, by pretending the public can do something more than watch what a bunch of people decide for them. Do not pretend to be righteous and democratic, when you’re not.

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The triumph of people

This finale drained me. If it were just a little fairer, I would’ve been thrilled to see Luxembourg coming back after years. But right now I don’t feel like watching next year’s show. I know it will probably be amazing, because Sweden is very good at hosting. But I don’t want to see them masturbating over how good they are and how much they deserved to win - even if they didn’t win.

And, honestly, I don’t care about ABBA either. I don’t give a damn about them, nor about their anniversary. I’m definitely not looking forward to that either.

I will listen to the songs as always, then I might give it a try and watch the semifinals. It depends on how bitter my grudge will be, after one full year. If it will still be very bitter, I will probably spend my time better, by listening to the songs more times, watching the performances and making my own personal final chart. I won’t have ABBA or funny interval acts, but I can try my best to make it enjoyable to read. And it won’t be a fucking charade, at least.

Sorry, but I will keep being bitter for some time. And if you feel bitter too, you have every right to be, no matter what people say. Your voice has been silenced and ignored and numbers don’t lie. It’s very understandable you feel bad.

But you know what you can do? Use your anger in a positive way. And no, that doesn’t mean sending death threats to Loreen. You can accuse Sweden of its lack of elegance and decorum if you want, but always be polite. Don’t be like some of them, who are such sore losers they had the guts to be angry at Finland because it didn’t give Sweden any public points. Bo-hoo, may I add.

What you can do instead is make some noise: ask for the jury to be abolished or for this shitty system to change. And, even more important, support your winners. A lot of amazing artists have been wronged this year, so shower them with love.

And send your love especially towards our winner. Stream Cha Cha Cha, check his other songs, shower him with love and support, make a statue for him in Vantaa, pay me a plane ticket because I need to tackle him in a hug and tell him how much the world loves him. Let’s show the world that he slaps, Finnish slaps and we want more of this.

Do you still need more Cha Cha Cha in your life? Good news: Lord of the Lost made a cover for Cha Cha Cha and OH MY GOSH it’s insanely good. It has a lot of Rammstein vibes, it’s cool and it slaps even harder. Check it out because it’s amazing!

Also because the German singer learned some Finnish, just to spell every word correctly and, according to the Finnish people in the comment section, he did a great job. What a wholesome guy, I love and stan him and his band - and you should do the same, because they are amazing and they don’t deserve last place <3

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And if you need more Käärijä in your life, there are amazing Youtube channels with great collections of his moments, like Eurovision Is Ambition and Uni Dash Corn. I especially suggest you see his bromance with Bojan - and speaking of him, another shoutout to Bojan! He’s such a nice, wholesome guy with great charisma, you cannot hate him. I am not head over heels for his song, but he’s so fucking wholesome, he deserves good things only.

And I also suggest you see how Käärijä has been welcomed in Helsinki. He has been welcomed like a fucking hero, a national treasure. And of course he was: he is the true winner after all, he deserved the welcome only winners get.

It’s a bit like he said in his apology: the better one won. And so he did.

You know, I think the only good thing that came out from this shitshow that was Eurovision 2023, is the people’s heart. People showed their kindness, their love, the best of humankind. We saw acts of friendship, we saw empathy and appreciation. The hug between Käärijä and Bojan, despite its sad meaning, is also a perfect example of what we all should be: kinder, softer, more empathetic, together, no matter how far and different our countries are.

In a way, I am happy that Ukraine’s message of unity was still carried out, even if indirectly and definitely not the way the UK wanted.

And in the end, the trophy isn’t so important: it’s just a piece of glass after all. And no piece of glass is worth the impact one little man from Vantaa left on so many people all over the world.

I know you will never read this post, but I wish you a lifetime of success, Käärijä. You have everything a winner needs and, in fact, you are one. So don’t be too hard on yourself, because the world still needs to show you how much it loves you. Take your time, relax, have fun and come back when you’re ready - just don’t leave us hanging for too much, ‘kay?

And you, Finnish people: please treat our beloved winner with love for us too. We will do our best from afar, so let’s be together on this as we should <3

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emotionoitme · 10 months

Text

under the moon

carmy berzatto x reader

final part of about a girl

masterlist

warnings: drinking & drug use (marijuana), carmy being mean, clubbing, jealousy, so much dirty talk, bdsm dom/sub undertones, oral sex (f receiving), spanking, fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, choking, lots of cursing as usual

wc: 9.2k

a/n: i am so excited for you all to read this. & sorry for the slight delay, it took me a bit longer than expected to finish! thank you so so much for your continued support on this series! i genuinely never thought people would like it so much🥺 enjoy!

foster the people - under the moon

she had begrudgingly awoken the following morning, head feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton, eyes swollen and sore. the bright morning light streams through her open blinds, soaking the room in warm sun. she groans, throwing the duvet over her completely, praying her bed would open up into a sinkhole and swallow her completely. she snakes her arm out, reaching around the nightstand for her phone, pulling it back in. she had overslept about an hour, meaning she would have to heavily compromise on her morning routine and practically sprint to work if she wanted to make it on time. she considered it shortly, but ultimately pulled up her contacts app on her phone, opting to call in sick. she scrolls, the first option being carmy. she wanted so badly to hear his voice, yet her stomach drops at the thought of him, so she quickly scrolls past the contact to find sydney’s number instead. the girl hesitates for a moment, before dialing, a point of deliberation deep within her. she wanted to be as far as away from the man as she could possibly be, the thought of his mere face bringing her a feeling of anguish. on the other hand, she wanted to bear witness to his demeanor— reassure herself that he’s as affected as she is over last night’s encounter.

he’s probably fine, she thinks to herself, lips twisted into a frown, he’s the one who didn’t want to keep it going. she tries to push the thought away, a hot pang of regret seeping through her body. she burrows deeper into the safety of her bed, tapping the icon next to syd’s contact, bringing the phone to her ear. the line rings, once, twice, three times, then a click.

“hello?” she hears at the other end.

“hey, syd,” she greets, groggily, “um, i'm sorry to do this to you guys, but i can’t come in today,” she explains, clarifying, “im sick, my stomach really hurts.” it was a white lie, told out of self preservation, knowing if she saw carmy’s face she surely would feel sick. she hears sydney take a breath.

“uhh, yeah, that’s fine. we should be fine,” she assures, continuing to ask, “are you still gonna come out with us tomorrow night?” syd pushes a piece of silverware neatly into place, finishing the last table as she watches her business partner come out from the kitchen, walking towards her.

“tomorrow night?” the girl questions, flipping her duvet off her head for oxygen.

sydney chides her name, “tomorrow night, tina’s birthday? drinks, dancing, i’ve been telling you about it since last thursday?” glancing at her coworker, curious about who she’s talking to. sydney mouths the girl’s name to him, carmen then gesturing to ask for the phone.

“yes, syd, thank you! i will be there. i’m sorry i’ve been so scattered this week,” she replies, sitting up out of bed.

“you’re fine, we can unwind tomorrow,” sydney replies, mouthing “okay, okay,” to the persistently gesturing man, “here, let me put you on with carmy,” she replies, going to hand the phone to the man.

“no!” the other line interrupts, more frantic than she meant to sound, met with silence. “i mean,” she tries to backtrack, “i don’t want him to worry about me. don’t put me on,” the girl stumbles out.

“welll, he’s saying that he wants to talk to you… so, i don’t really have much of a choice, okay, bye!” the chipper girl quickly tells her.

fuck, she mentally exclaims, i should’ve just gone in if i was gonna have to talk to him anyways.

she hears her name through the line, tone questioning, as carmy takes the phone from syd.

“hi,” she responds to his beckon, quietly.

“you’re calling in?” he asks, holding a finger up to syd, walking towards the back office for some privacy. she tightly closes her eyes, finding her words.

“i, uh, don’t feel good,” she responds, tone shakier than she had anticipated. the line goes silent for a minute, the girl mindlessly fiddling with a loose thread on her comforter.

“are you avoiding me?” comes his question, catching her slightly off guard.

“no, carmy” she quickly defends, “i don’t feel well.”

“what’s wrong?” he asks, taking a seat in his office chair.

“my, um,” she hesitates, “my stomach hurts.”

he’s not sure he believes her, leaning back in the chair and running a hand over his face.

“okay,” he concedes, letting out a sigh, “just, uh, take it easy today then.” he hears her hum in agreement, pausing before continuing.

“are you going to that club tomorrow?” carmy asks her, “for tina’s birthday?”

she dangles her legs over the edge of the bed, mindlessly kicking back and forth.

“are you?” she asks, eager to skip out on anything besides shutting herself safely inside and maybe putting her fingers to good use to prove carmen nonessential, the memories of his touch flooding her mind incessantly.

“i think i have to,” he responds, “i already told syd i would,” his eyes glancing back towards the open office door. she softly smiles, knowing she was in the same boat.

“okay,” standing and walking to her closet, looking for a club-suitable dress, “i’ll go too, then,” a small smirk in her tone. he can’t fight the smile that breaks his face, eyebrows raising slightly.

“carmy, my phone?” he hears from the hallway, a reminder of his surroundings, his time talking with the girl running short.

“yeah!” he yells back to the hallway, “hey, uh, feel better today, okay? i’ll see you tomorrow night,” carmy tells the girl, watching sydney walk into the office.

“thanks, carm. bye,” she responds, the call ending shortly thereafter. she had felt slightly guilty abandoning her shift, all for the purpose of not having to be tortured with his presence, a reminder of what had transpired the previous night. their casual encounters had quickly morphed into something else within her brain, feeling a deep sense of affection towards the man, chastising herself because she had worried about this and continued anyways.

she makes her way to the bathroom, splashing cold water over her face, the morning chill seeping through her bones. would it be so wrong for them to keep seeing each other? they were consenting adults—albeit boss and employee— both previously oblivious to the profound magnetism of their natural connection. she wanted to pursue things with him further, increasingly affected by his caring words and gestures, no longer being able to deny the twinge in her chest she gets when picturing his face.

but she knew he didn’t want the same.

why would he? she thought, it isn’t what he signed up for. he seemed focused on his work, like he would have limited time for a relationship.

she opted to get a few chores done around the house, taking advantage of the day off, sticking on the thought of him, though, finding herself looking through her closet for a dress with him in mind.

—

the space is hot, crowded, alive with movement. tickets pour from the printer one by one.

“it goes to four cousin, for the third time,” carmy scolds, “stop fucking with the tickets already,” hands busied with removing a large pot from the burner.

“hold on, i’m fixing them,” richie argues back, clutching a mess of paper.

carmy paces to the walk in refrigerator, grabbing a large container and making his way through the sea of bustling employees, checking on stations. he was running on fumes, only getting a solid three hours of sleep the previous night, plagued by a swarming head and uneasy stomach.

it’s best this way, he tells himself over again, easiest, hoping that if he repeats it enough times it will start to feel true.

“alright send these out to six, please,” he hears from the front of the kitchen, glancing over at the expo, seeing the recently plated entrees.

“fuck, richie, four!” carmen snaps, his hand flying out.

“jesus, alright, four!” richie yells, widening his eyes, shaking his head, continuing. “calm down, carm, she’ll be back thursday,” a snicker on his face

carmen freezes in his spot, skin beginning to burn. his eyes dart to richie, jaw twitching.

“shut the fuck up,” he bites, venom in his tone, trying to push himself further into his work to outlet the growing frustration. he hears the other man chuckle knowingly, glancing at carmen.

“okay, sore spot!” richie pokes, organizing the last few tickets, smile on his face. the chef doesn’t reply, beginning to quickly chop vegetables, unsure of what would slip off his tongue if he opened his mouth.

it was unclear to him why he was unable to regulate himself when it came to someone even mentioning her, figuring it was temporary, and would slowly dissipate once they had some distance from each other. carmy deeply exhales, glancing at the clock, counting down the hours until he would be able to see her again.

—

it was incredible how fast days would slip by when she didn’t have to go to the restaurant, taking care of domestic matters and recharging from the strenuous week so far, not thinking of carmen.

she goes to sleep that night wearing his clothes, arms wrapped around herself as if the sensation could ever come close to his touch, waking the next morning to eagerly check a phone empty of notifications. on her second day off she works on assignments for her classes, calls an old friend and grabs herself lunch from a bagel shop nearby. upon returning home she grabs a pair of earbuds and spends a few hours outside in the sunlight, mending the cracks in her heart, falling asleep on her balcony sofa and letting the sun kiss her better. the light of the afternoon seeps into the evening, painting the city in a soft yellow blanket, the girl slowly blinking awake. she watches a few cars drive by, a warm breeze shifting the trees, slowly sitting up and stretching, checking the time on her phone. she has a few hours to get ready before meeting everyone for drinks, her body relaxing at the confirmation. her eyes glance down past the time, seeing two new messages on her screen.

carmy: 416 s clark street

carmy: do you need a ride?

she unlocks her phone, staring at the gray bubbles for what seems like an eternity, fingers hovering over the keys. she begins to type a response, “no. gonna walk,” then quickly deletes it, knowing he would insist on driving her.

why is he trying to be so nice still?

she feels a twinge of irritation, quickly shutting off the phone, opting to not reply to his message. he was a hard man to understand, his actions contradicting his words more often than not—declaring the two finished, then continuing to pursue contact, referring to them as a “no strings” relationship and then calling her baby and sweetheart. it was confusing more than anything, beginning to take an emotional toll on the young woman. she felt incredibly tense the past few days, mind prickling with anxieties and insecurities, desperate to feel some type of release.

fuck him, she thinks, standing and opening her sliding glass door, going inside, i’m gonna forget about it tonight. she stalks to her closet, i’m gonna find a hot stranger and just dance, pulling out a short, skin tight club dress and holding it in front of herself, facing the mirror. she wanted him out of mind completely, settling with trying to replace his touch with someone else’s tonight no matter how much her heart objected. she puts music on, setting the dress on her bed and undresses, studying herself in the mirror for a moment before making her way to the bathroom and turning on the shower. she takes a long while to let the hot water to melt onto her skin, cherishing the white silence of the shower head. the young woman takes her time getting ready, piecing herself back together with an extensive routine. once she’s in a robe with her hair wrapped up she walks to the fridge, grabbing a seltzer with alcohol to ease the slight oncoming nerves. she meticulously does her makeup and styles her hair, shamefully wondering if carmy would like how she’s dressed up, checking her phone to see it’s time to head over. dropping her robe and zipping into the dress she had picked out for the night, the girl examines her reflection, admiring the work she had put in. she looked hot, turning to the side and checking out her profile, curves accentuated by the tight fabric. satisfied, she mists herself with perfume and grabs her heels and purse, walking to the door. she swings the heavy metal barrier open to reveal a tepid july night, air thick with moisture. she balances against the frame, slipping into her heels and sliding her purse strap over her shoulder, stepping into the dusk of the evening and letting the door lock behind her. she glances at her phone for walking directions, head slightly fuzzy from the seltzer she had drank on an empty stomach. her short walk to the club garners many gawking stares from passerby’s, surprisingly not making her feel as small as they usually seem to, the goal was to catch eyes tonight, right?

she squints, identifying bright flickering lights in the distance, the border of the club’s sign. there were a few people dispersed outside, all either smoking or talking on the phone, or both. she brushes her hair back, walking towards the entrance when she hears her name called from behind her.

“- yo!” turning to see marcus and angel leaning against the brick wall of the establishment. she smiles, turning and walking towards them, the distinct odor of marijuana arising from the cigarette marcus clutched in between his thumb and pointer.

“hi,” she grins, tilling her head slightly.

“hey,” the two respond, almost in synchronicity. marcus holds the rolled paper to her, “want some?”

she smiles, plucking it from his fingertips and bringing it to her lips, deeply inhaling to soften the inevitable drop her stomach would endure at the sight of carmen. the ember burns quickly, and she’s surprised at the harshness.

she hands it back with a slow exhale, thanking marcus.

“nervous?” angel chimes in, trying to hide a smile. the girl pauses for a moment, is it so obvious?

“i haven’t been to a club in a while,” she responds, crossing her arms. it was partially true, but she knew the real reason for the relentless fluttering in her chest.

the man stubs the filter onto a nearby trash can, dusting his hands off on his pants. “you guys ready to go in?”

the other man affirms, pushing himself off the wall and turning to walk to the front. the girl stays behind, hesitating.

“you two go ahead. i’m gonna air out,” she responds, leaning back, basking in the slight breeze. the men both crack a smile before walking together to the entrance, leaving the girl in her solitude. she closes her eyes for a moment, deeply inhaling the night air, listening to the reverberation of bass through the walls of the club. she feels a cloud of haze overwhelm her, the mixture of substances seeping through her in a warm glow. she hears footsteps approach.

“hey.”

her eyes snap open, breath escaping her at the sight of carmy. he looked polished, buttoned up into a dress shirt, hair fluffy and face cleanly shaved. she nearly salivated at his presentation, the buzz she felt complicating her decision to ignore him.

“hi,” she shortly responds, lip slightly pouted, watching as his eyes examine her, floating down her form. he snaps his eyes away, clearing his throat.

“you, uh, get my text?”

she nods, looking up to him, meeting his eyes with unwavering contact. he walks closer to the girl, slightly shaking his head and furrowing his brow in confusion, an unspoken gesture to elaborate.

she looks away, arms wrapping around herself.

“i didn’t need a ride,” she answers, “i walked.”

carmen’s jaw visibly tightens, feeling a twinge of irritation.

“yeah. uh, i asked because i didn’t want you walking here alone,” he explains in a slightly frustrated tone.

“yeah, well i made it,” she retorts, aggravation bubbling beneath the surface, “so you don’t need to worry about it.”

she didn’t know why he was getting under her skin so easily tonight, her throat suddenly feeling hot and tight, raking her eyes over the top of his chest exposed by an open button.

“well i do,” the man argues, “i don’t want you walking by yourself. anywhere,” he solidifies in a stern tone. the girl lets out a scoff.

“you’re acting like you’re my boyfriend,” she spits, fed up with the sense of entitlement he felt over her.

“i’m not your fuckin’ boyfriend,” he quickly asserts, tone ringing out much harsher than he intended.

she knows this to be a fact, but still can’t help the drop she feels in her chest when he says it aloud like that. she opens her mouth to say something, then quickly closes it, biting her lip, eyes darting to the ground. he instantly regrets saying it, brushing his fingers through his hair, grabbing it, studying the girl’s dejection with a pit in his stomach.

“whatever, carmen,” she dismisses, shoving past him. her lungs felt tight, eyes burned, mentally cursing herself, rushing to the club entrance to distance herself from the man. she shoves the door open, immediately being engulfed by sound and swarming bodies. she blinks back a few tears, deeply inhaling and exhaling, zoning into the environment. spotting the group of her coworkers at a corner table, she shufflles through the crowd to approach them. syd immediately spots the girl, calling out to her and waving. she plasters on a smile as the rest turn to watch her, all unanimously greeting the new arrival. she makes her way over to tina, hugging her and giving her a kiss on the cheek, wishing her happy birthday. she squeezes into her seat in between sydney and richie, turning to the tall man to ask, “so where’s my drink?”

richie lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing an arm around the girl.

“i don’t think you’re gonna have much of a problem getting drinks tonight, sweetheart,” he teases, as carmy approaches the table, receiving welcomes and pulling out a chair to sit. she flickers her eyes over to carmen to find he’s staring at her, quickly tearing them back away and leaning over to syd.

“come get a drink with me. i really need it,” she pleads, placing her hand on sydney’s forearm. the other girl agrees, the two sliding out from under the table and making their way to the bar, arms linked.

—

why did i say that?

he watches her rush to the front entrance, his body frozen, processing the conversation.

why did i say that?

he begins to go after her, reaching his arm out before she swiftly maneuvers the door open, slipping inside.

why the fuck did i say that?

it wasn’t completely untrue— he wasn’t her boyfriend— something he had failed to make entirely made clear before that point. he wasn’t oblivious to the way they had grown closer, either, the thought of her nestled deeply within a sweet spot in his heart. yet he had done nothing to prevent it from happening, and once thinking of it, he finds he’s only ever done the opposite, his behavior towards the girl falling far closer to a boyfriend than a hookup. he begins following in her footsteps, opening the club door and immediately becoming overwhelmed with the number of people crowding the floor. carmy cranes his neck, watching her figure weave through the crowd and towards a corner table. he pushes through the wall of people, seeing her take her seat, approaching the table to receive greetings from his coworkers. his eyes are trained on her, wrapped into richie’s arm, smiling until she locks eyes with him. then it drops, slightly. it makes him feel sick. he turns to fak at his right and engages in conversation as he watches her rise from the table alongside sydney. she looks like a model of some type, he thinks, with dark makeup defining her striking eyes and hair tousled over her shoulder, tight black dress riding up over the skin of her thighs. he trails down her face to her neck. when she moves her hair behind her ear he can see a small purple mark left from his teeth, eyes fully fixated on the spot. the bass of the music thumps, reverberating through the club, floorboards shaking. he tries to keep up in the table’s conversation whilst simultaneously keeping a close eye on the girl, shifting to see her order at the bar through the moving bodies. she throws a shot back, grimacing at the taste, laughing while saying something to syd (he was never very good at reading lips) and raising her hand to flag the bartender once more. the table bursts into laughter, carmen’s eyes drawing back to his coworkers, watching as tina shoves richie’s hand with a smile on her face, rolling her eyes. he feels an inclination to step outside for a smoke, head buzzing with stimulation from the lively environment, wondering how long he should stay before it would be acceptable to leave.

“oh my gosh, thank you baby,” he hears tina say, glancing over to see the girl having returned from the bar, placing a fruity drink in front of the woman.

she smiles, returning to her seat as the current song ends, fading into the next. sydney and the girl gasp in tandem at the distinctive opening, locking eyes with each other and grinning.

“we’re gonna go dance!” the girl excitedly calls, taking syd by the hand and navigating towards the dance floor, crowded with moving bodies. it’s hot, but fluid, the two girls beginning to move together, grinning. carmen watches her, eyes cutting through the crowd. she moves her hips, bringing her hands up her body, flashing lights illuminating her in colors. the sight was hypnotic almost, eyes trained on her, tense in his seat. she throws her hair back, circling her body, closing her eyes.

richie leans over to him, “you, uh, sure she did just bartending over at ricky’s?” elbowing him slightly.

carmen doesn’t respond, eyes fixated on her gyrating movements, jaw tensing, painfully aware of all the eyes she’s gathered around the club. she continues dancing after the first two songs, even when sydney makes her way back to the table in need of rest. carmy tried to not make it so obvious he was watching the girl, grateful some of his other coworkers had joined the crowd on the dancefloor, completely entranced by her movement. he tears his gaze away, standing up find the bar, eager to ease the incredible tension he felt pent up within him. she seemed to be having fun dancing, and in a way it felt refreshing to watch the girl so loose and carefree. carmy couldn’t help the sense of possessiveness he felt, though, watching her move like that, seeing the way other men looked at her, like meat. it made him sick.

he orders a beer once the bartender makes their way over, song fading into the next. he turns to lean against the counter, eyes searching for her as he brings the bottle to his lips with a long swig. he feels a pang in his chest, as he finds her, hand on another man’s arm, leaning to whisper something in his ear. he closely watches as the man smiles, nods, placing his hands on her hips and getting closer to her. carmen’s skin immediately becomes hot, teeth clenching, taking a deep breath through his nose to try and calm himself.

what the fuck is she doing?

his eyebrows furrow, watching as she dances, bringing her arms up, turning, moving against the stranger. he feels physically sick, stomach churning at the way this man was touching her navel, hips, pressing himself to the back of her. carmy tightly grips the bottle, unable to rip his eyes away, the girl glistening in the light. she throws her head back against the man’s shoulder, hair draping over him, grinding to the music. her eyes find carmen’s quickly, intentionally locking gazes as she brings the strangers hands higher, up her waist, ribs, her mouth falling opening. carmen stands, knocking the barstool off balance with the force of his movement, shoving through the crowd, disregarding the dirty looks, quickly making his way to the dance floor. he grabs the girl’s wrist, pulling her from the stranger’s grasp, tightly gripping her as he walks towards the back door, dragging her behind him, feeling the struggle of her arm as she tries to pull away. he turns, putting a hand on her lower back, ushering her through the club, shoving the heavy metal door open and bringing her outside, finally letting go when the two are far from the door. he brings a hand to his hair, grabbing, turning to face the girl.

“what the fuck, carmen?” she yells, ripping her hand away from him, “what’s your issue?” her words slightly under-enunciated.

he bites down on his lip, meeting her eyes, hand coming to his hip. he hardly had an explanation for the girl, driven by a redhot primal jealousy, blood boiling at the sight of someone else’s hands on her, grabbing, feeling her like that.

“what’s my issue?” he scoffs, “why the fuck were you dancing like that?” his face reddening, pulse quickening. she lets out a laugh, leaning back against the wall, gazing up at him.

“why?” she asks, “are you jealous?”

he shakes his head, unconsciously stepping closer to her.

“i’m not jealous,” he argues, jaw set firmly, eyes casting down onto her.

“yeah?” she leans forward, further closing the distance between them. he nods, fixated on the droop of her eyes, the part of her lips, the way she looked up at him through her dark lashes.

“so what if i fuck him?” she asks softly, a smirk playing on her lips, “will you be jealous then?”

he lets out a breath, fire growing at her words.

he shakes his head, “you’re not gonna fuck him,” asserting with confidence. she tilts her head, alcohol emboldening her.

“how do you know?” she challenges, well aware of how affected she was by his tone, his demeanor, the look in his eyes. carmy gets closer to her face.

“because he’s not gonna fuck you like i do,” his voice deep, low, eyes boring into hers with an intensity that lights her core ablaze. the girl finds her breath hitches, mouth going dry, gaze flickering to his lips. he rests his hand on the brick behind her, leaning closer, “hear all those pretty sounds you make.”

she shuts her eyes tightly, trying to shake her senses of the overwhelming lust she felt. she was supposed to stay angry at him, he was being an asshole. maybe it was the alcohol or the drugs, or the way he towered over her, but she felt no anger, only replaced by want, a slick ache growing at the way he seems to claim her for himself. she takes a deep breath, body feeling as if it were buzzing, head cloudy.

“you are so fucking confusing,” she whispers, bringing her forehead to lightly touch his. he rests his hand on her lower back, relishing in the warmth of the contact, breathing in her scent. she was completely right about him, he thinks, never saying what he really means to her. if he could have what he really wanted, she would be his, only his. a girlfriend.

“yeah,” he takes a shaky breath, “yeah. i know,” reply coming, hesitantly. “i’m sorry, -” he breathes out, her name sounding sweet on his tongue. she blinks away the tears that want to form, grabbing the fabric of his shirt, a small tremble of the lip. she opens her mouth to say something, eyes tearfully meeting his.

the metal door creeks open, momentarily releasing the booming music out into the alleyway, breaking the trance as a few smokers congregate by the back. the girl changes her mind, mouth shutting. she releases his shirt, pulling away, stepping around the man and smoothing her appearance, pads of her fingers coming to dry a few escaped tears. he watches her try and compose herself, shivering in her small dress. his heart clenches, feeling the overwhelming need to take care of her— wrap his arm around her, lead her back to his home, dress her in more of his clothes and watch her fall asleep. he shrugs off his light jacket, walking over to her and draping it over her shoulders without saying anything. she glances up at the man, engulfed by his warmth and the smell of him, ache in her chest.

“i’m gonna go home,” she whispers, swaying slightly.

“let me walk you,” he offers, hand coming to her upper back. she quickly shakes her head, taking a step away from him.

he sighs at her stubbornness, says her name.

“you’re drunk,” he observes, “let me make sure you get there okay.”

she hiccups, crossing her arms.

“ ‘m not drunk,” she slurs unconvincingly. he nods, letting out a breath, hand coming to rub his face.

“okay,” he concedes, “then, just… go back in with me for a sec. say bye to everyone.”

she meets his eyes, consideration running over her features, then nodding slowly. he puts his hand on the small of her back, steadying her as they walk back towards the large metal door. there’s a noticeable change in temperature difference as the two enter the club again, weaving through a sea of moving bodies, carmy holding tightly onto her, ushering her forward towards the corner table. he doesn’t miss the glances from his workers at the sight of the girl wearing his jacket, a few smiles cracked, looks exchanged. he ignores it, picks his beer back up as the girl excuses herself from the event, claiming to not feel good and chalking it up to drinking too much when she usually doesn’t partake. richie, surprisingly, says nothing, eyes trained on carmen, smirk plastered over his face.

“i’m gonna head out too,” carmy announces, “take her home.”

richie begins loudly laughing, clapping his hands together.

“jesus christ, i am right about everything!” he shouts, slamming his glass down onto the table. carmen’s skin begins to prickle with embarrassment.

“hey richie,” he chimes, “shut the fuck up.” he felt unbearably tense tonight between the day’s grueling shift, the girl dancing on another man, the newfound teasing, as if he were about to implode. he was in desperate need of some sort of release. carmy watches her, tightly clad fabric stretching over her ass as she leans down to give tina a hug. he felt guilty, almost, the way he had been shamelessly gawking at her throughout the night, the act doing nothing but intensify the burning he felt bottled up within him.

“i’m sorry i’m leaving so early, t,” he hears from her mouth, “i don’t feel very well.”

the older woman brushes the apology away, placing a kiss on the girl’s cheek.

“feel better, baby,” she coos, looking to carmen, “jeff, you make sure she gets into bed okay,” the command motherly in tone. he nods, coming to give tina a side hug, “ ‘night, t. happy birthday.”

—

the sidewalk pavement was in dire need of repair, cracks and bumps literally the surface, worsening the walk for people who weren’t drunk. she stumbles over a divot, instinctively grabbing onto carmy’s arm for balance, heels catching on every small crevice. she lets out a cry of frustration, stopping in her tracks.

“this is impossible,” she exclaims, reaching down to adjust the strap of her heel, “why don’t they fix this stupid street?”

he can’t help the way the corners of his lips twitch upwards. she was cute, even in her frustration. he crouched, slightly, leaning over, arms out.

“c’mere,” he tells her, “jump up.”

she falters, trying to retain independence in her drunken stubbornness, but ultimately accepts, the other option being continually tripping over herself for another mile. she puts her hands up on his shoulders, using him as leverage to boost herself up, his arms coming to wrap around the backs of her thighs. he hears her squeal, slightly, feeling as she pulls the short dress down to cover the curve of her ass. the man grits his teeth, shaking the mental image of it as he tightly grips the supple skin of her upper thighs. she’s easy to carry, surprisingly so, as he continues walking in the direction of her apartment building. a silence settles between the two of them, breaths falling in line with the gentle rhythm of his steps. she wraps her arms around him further, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder, exhale tickling his neck. he clears his throat, glancing back at the girl, seeing her closed eyes.

“i, uh,” he hesitates, gathering his thoughts, “i fuckin’ hated seeing that guy touch you,” the confession slipping off of his tongue. he feels her smile slightly against his neck.

“i knew you would,” her reply comes softly. he lets out a small scoff, humored by what she admits.

“you’re a brat,” he asserts lowly, pressing his fingers into her skin. she splays her arms out, pushing her chest against his back, hand coming to rest on his bare collarbones.

“you were being a dick,” her words ringing truthfully, resounding throughout the man, feeling a pang of guilt.

“yeah. i know,” he agrees, eyes fixed forward, “i’m sorry.” carmen lets a cloud of silence engulf the two before vocalizing again.

“you know, i… really do wanna be with you,” he admits gently, soul bared. she pauses, soaking in his words, feeling almost as if a puzzle piece had been pushed into place.

“why not?” her question comes soft, sweet. he lets out a deep breath.

“you know why,” he quietly replies, the street lamps casting their two shadows as one. she does know why, aware of the sly glances the two received, apparent judgment surrounding a relationship with the power imbalance of theirs.

“well, i quit then,” she pouts, lips brushing against his skin, erupting him in goosebumps. he shakes his head.

“you can’t,” comes his rejection, “we need you,” expressing the fact with utmost sincerity. she hugs her arms around him tighter, smelling his cologne, his soap, a faint trace of cigarette smoke.

“i don’t care,” she protests in all of her stubborn glory, “i wanna be yours, carm.”

he feels himself surrender at her words, pulling her even closer.

“you’re mine,” he assures her, glancing back to meet her eyes, nodding, feeling warmth as if a bright light glowed from his chest. they can figure out the details later— he genuinely didn’t want her to quit, trying to remind himself it was the only way their relationship would be ethical. the man slows in pace as they approach the front of her building, letting the girl hop down, holding his hand out to steady her once her feet make contact with the ground. she gives a small smile, intertwining her arm with his, hand coming to rest on the mass of muscle as the two make their way to her building. she clutches onto him in her inebriated state as they scale the tall stairs leading up to her door. she fumbles with her keys, eventually unlocking the deadbolt and pushing the door open. she turns to face him, giving him sort of a puppy dog look, hoping he’ll want to follow her in. a smile breaks his face, studying her expression.

“i, uh, gotta make sure you get in bed okay,” he reminds her, gesturing inside. she grins, taking his hand, pulling him inside and shutting the door. the space was illuminated with strung lights, warm in hue, mystifying the room. he takes a deep breath, wrapped in her intoxicating scent, eyes scanning the room. he primarily notices how pristine it is, cozy, fragments of her soul framed over the walls and resting on shelves. it felt like a home, more than his ever has. she sets her keys and purse on a side table, kicking off her heels and sighing in relief, trudging to the kitchen to retrieve two glasses of water. when she hands it to him he can’t help but stare, focusing on her face, the ache for her insurmountable to anything he’s ever wanted before. he sets the glass down, hand coming to her lower back, deeply looking into her, past her beauty and towards her essence. he watches as her eyes flicker down to his lips, quickly coming back to meet his gaze. he’s in awe of her, almost, bringing both hands to the small of her back, squeezing her slightly, pulling her to him with ease. she lets out a breath at the action, hand coming to his forearm, feeling the flex of his tendons. he wants her all to himself, he thinks, leaning in towards her, raising his hand to cup the side of her face. she leans into the touch, turning, pressing a kiss to the base of his thumb, bringing her other hand to rest on his, biting the skin. he grasps her face at this, shoving his thumb into her mouth.

“suck,” he commands, voice low, watching in anticipation as she brings her lips around the digit, tongue circling eagerly, trying to take more of it into her mouth. he nearly falls apart at the sight, twitching, pulling her flush against him, dragging his thumb out of her mouth and over her bottom lip. he drops his hand to touch her neck, watching her lips, hearing his heart pound in his ears. she brings her grip to clutch onto his shirt, heavily breathing. he cherishes her expression, cheeks flushed and lips parted, glistening. carmen tightens his hand around her throat very slightly, leaning in to taste her, his lips gently pressing against hers, hearing her moan at the unexpected contact. she’s sweet, soft, eager, the slightest trace of alcohol on her lips. he hadn't realized how much he had been craving her taste until it graced his tongue, feeling almost as if a tension in him had alleviated. he wants more, tattooed fingers wrapping around her neck, pulling her into him, deepening the kiss. she melts into him, trying to keep up with the ferocity of his kiss, pushing her tongue into his mouth. he groans, bringing his hand from her back to the curve of her ass, feeling, squeezing, pulling her in. he takes his hand off her throat, her leg slightly lifts, and he takes the opportunity to hoist it up over his hip, turning and pressing her into the counter, weight of his body against hers. it feels as if something had snapped within him, wanting to claim her all to himself, grabbing whatever he can of her, getting as close as possible, lips, tongues dancing in tandem. he presses a few slow kisses to her mouth, pulling away, forehead coming against hers, eyes shut. he listens to the sound of their breath, hand on her ass, fingers teasing the hem of her panties. she arches into his touch, body tingling, hot with desire. his hand comes up, then flies back down to smack her ass, the girl takes a sharp breath, firmly gripping it again after the impact.

“fuck,” she breathes, a hot swell in her lower stomach. he creeps his hand up the skin of her thigh, slipping under her dress, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her legs. her face grows hot at the way he takes command, shoving at the fabric until it slides down her calves and hits the floor. she steps out of them, breath shaky, drenched in anticipation, insides of her thighs growing wet. carmy gives her a final kiss before dropping to his knees in front of her, placing a few gentle kisses around her skin. she instinctively clamps her thighs at the sensation, the man bringing his hand to shove her leg to the side, exposing her glistening heat. he lets out a soft moan at the sight, closer than he’s ever been to her core, leaning forward to softly kiss her clit. the girl lets out a cry of surprise, hand flying to his head, the simple act sending a shock throughout her body. he brings his thumb and pointer finger to part her both of her lips, taking her image in, salivating slightly in anticipation. he casts his eyes up towards her face, flushed, mouth open. he leans forward, licking a long stripe up her wetness to her clit, swirling his tongue around the bud, pulling away. she pants, fingers tangled in his hair, arching towards him, wordlessly asking for more. he groans at the taste of her, a rush to his head, his cock, immediately diving in for more, lapping at her as if she’s the finest thing he’s had in his mouth. her knees begin to go weak, trembling slightly, trying to hold onto him for support.

“carmy,” she whimpers, “i can’t stand.”

this breaks his focus, bringing his eyes up to her with a glint.

“yeah?” he asks, “feel too good, baby?” a smirk growing on his face. she refuses to respond, tightly shutting her eyes and throwing her head back when he brings his thumb to slowly circle her clit, watching, gauging her reaction. he pulls his hand away, placing a small smack on the inside of her thigh, the girl gasping.

“answer me” he growls, breath tickling her mound, leaning to press a few more kisses to her swollen heat. she lets out a whine, grabbing his hair.

“it feels- fuck it feels so good carm,” she shakily admits, knees nearly buckling. satisfied with her answer he brings both hands to the base of her ass, lifting her with ease and setting her on the countertop. she hastily grabs his shirt and pulls him in, locking lips and tasting herself on his tongue, letting a sweet sound into his mouth. he breaks away, desperate to feel her wetness on his mouth again. he kisses the inside of her thigh, then leans in, flattening his tongue against her clit, gently lapping, a finger coming to tease her pooling entrance. she unintentionally bucks her hips at the sensation, prompting carmen to bring the length of his forearm to her inner thigh, shoving it open, holding her down. she brings her eyes to his tattooed arm splaying her open, heart pounding, trying to straighten herself, awaiting his touch. he continues his gentle licks, circling his finger around her wetness, then pushing the digit into her slowly, eyes darting up to watch her mouth fall open. he swirls his tongue around her engorged clit, then gently sucks, curling his finger deeply inside of her, beginning to establish a rhythmic motion. her pants turn to cries, pulling the man in by his curls. his hand grips the skin of her thigh, spreading her open, devouring her, pushing a second finger into her. her teeth clamp down onto her lip at the sensation, gripping around his digits, trying hard to keep her composure in front of the man. carmy, aware of this, increases the pace of his movement, pulling his mouth away from her, beginning to tease her clit with a feather-like touch of his tongue. her head falls back, smacking against the cabinet, a loud moan slipping through her lips.

“please,” she pleads, not sure for what, arching into carmen’s motion, hands grabbing whatever she can of him, the knot inside her stomach growing impossibly tight. he wants to feel her cum— clench around his fingers, see how long he can keep fucking into her until it’s too much— but he refrains, pulling his fingers out, soaked with her juices, standing up. her head jerks up to meet his eyes, panting, flushed, frustrated.

“whyy?” she whines, trying to pull the man back to her. he lets out a scoff, smirk creeping at the edges of his lips, hands on the tops her thighs, gripping.

“you think i’m gonna let you cum?” he asks, voice low, coming close to her face, “after that shit you pulled in the club?”

her lip pouts, face heating at his words, held down by his weight, trying to catch her breath. the girl opens her mouth to argue back, but decides against it, just wanting to feel him— leaning forward to kiss him softly, hungrily, hands coming to feel the muscles of his chest. he melts into the kiss, hands wrapping around her back.

“you don’t care, huh?” carmy teases between kisses, “just want me to keep touchin’ you,” pressing himself between her thighs, deepening their contact. she nods into the kiss, greedily reaching her hands down to pull his shirt up. he pulls away from her, taking it off completely, groaning as the girl runs her hands up his bare abdomen, then gently rakes her nails down, admiring the way his muscles flex under her touch. he grows a bit impatient, decides to pick her up, her legs coming to wrap around his back, carrying her to the bedroom. she grins at the way he holds her, hands gripping both of her ass cheeks, leaning down to kiss his neck in the short walk. when he drops her onto the plush duvet of her bed he leans over her, fingers grasping the side zipper of her dress, slowly pulling it down to reveal the skin of her ribcage, waist, stopping right above her hip. they lock eyes and he searches her face for any signs of hesitation, finding only blown pupils and flushed cheeks. he grabs the hem of the dress, slowly pulling it down her body to expose her breasts, waist, stomach, pelvis, letting the fabric fall over her ankles to the floor. his eyes drink her in, sparks firing in his brain, bringing his hands to grasp her waist, thumbs resting over her stomach. carmy leans in, deeply kissing her, savoring her warmth, then rises, unbuckling his belt. she props herself up onto her elbows, watching the man slowly unbutton his pants, pull the zipper down. she lets out a heavy breath at the sight of the large bulge behind his briefs, straining against the cotton, curved upwards to the right. she sits up, inching towards the edge of the bed, seated in front of the man, gazing up at him in adoration.

“can i take these off?” she asks softly, fingers coming to hook into his briefs, pulling them slightly to reveal the deep v-line in his hips, light brown hair leading down to his covered pubic bone. her mouth was almost watering, looking up at him in anticipation. he grins at her eagerness, raising his eyebrows slightly, nodding his head, giving her permission to slip the waistband down over his hips, cock slapping against his stomach when she does so. she immediately grabs the length of his dick, heavy in her hand, giving it a few slow strokes, watching as he closes his eyes, breathing out heavily. her head feels fuzzy, wanting nothing more than for him to shove her back onto the bed and fill her completely, continuing to marvel at his thickness. he brings his hand to stroke the side of her face, fingers coming over her ear and threading through her hair, watching intently as she slowly jerks him off. she clenches her thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the growing ache, running out of patience.

“carm,” she whines, gripping his cock, gazing up at him, handsome face framed by a few messy curls, “i want it already.”

he lets a small smirk grace his face, rubbing his thumb against her cheek.

“yeah?” he asks, watching the girl quickly nod, bringing his face closer to his, lowering his voice, “you know i’m gonna fuckin’ wreck you tonight, right?”

she heats at his words, eyes widening, an expectant shiver making it’s way through her body and settling throughout her core. he doesn’t let her respond, grabbing her thighs and pulling her, back coming to the mattress, pelvis flush with his. he bends her legs into her chest, leaning over her, the tip of his cock briefly gracing her wetness before he brings his hand down to grip himself, running the tip through her slick folds, sliding up to nudge her clit. she tightly shuts her eyes, lets out a quiet moan at the sensation— almost enough to satisfy, but not quite. he continues thrusting through her folds, listening to the wet sounds, coating himself in her juices. she tries to resist the urge but she can’t, reaching down, grabbing his cock and sticking it inside of her, legs coming to wrap around his back to pull him in.

“fuckk,” he exclaims loudly, not expecting her desperation, suddenly engulfed in her warmth. he groans, trying to compose himself, bringing his hand to her throat, leaning in, pushing his hips forward to the hilt. she whimpers, cherishing the slight burn of fullness as he tightens his grip around her throat.

“this what you wanted?” he asks, voice gruff, fully draped over her, nuzzling a kiss under her ear. the way he speaks to her ignites a flame, emboldening her slightly. her eyes gleam.

“no,” she breathes, “i want you to fuckin’ move,” words laced with a tone. he lets out a short laugh, straightening, grabbing both her calves and propping them up over his shoulders, drawing out of her and then quickly snapping his hips forward. she gasps, hand flying up to her mouth. she feels the ridge of his head drag against her walls as he graciously begins to thrust into her, hands wrapped around her legs, eyes coming to watch her breasts bounce in time with his rhythm. her hand falls away from her mouth, a loud cry pouring from her lips. carmen revels in the sound as he continuously drives his hips forward, skin slapping against hers, gripping her left calf, turning to press a kiss into her ankle. his pace begins to satiate the relentless burn within her core, trying to take his length as deeply as possible.

“so good,” she whimpers, bringing her hands to her breasts, squeezing. carmy groans, slapping her outer thigh.

“where’d that attitude go?” he asks, pelvis flush against her, pulling closer, “huh?”

her brows furrow, opening her mouth to argue but falling short, a breathy moan replacing her words at the sensation of him deeply fucking into her. her body feels incredibly hot, nipples perked beneath her fingers, feeling herself approaching an edge. he grins, moving his hand to grip at her thigh, eyes scanning over the sight in front of him.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he tells her, hips stuttering, trying to push away his quickly approaching orgasm. he pulls out of her, the girl’s eyes shooting open to object. carmy takes hold of her forearms, pulling her to stand, grabbing her hips and turning her around, pushing her forward. her knee comes to the bed, balanced on her other leg as he wraps his arm around her waist, hand on her ribcage and inserts himself back into her tightness.

“yes,” she cries, arching back against him and bringing her hand onto his arm, feeling the head of his cock thrust deeply upwards. the tingling in her core grows stronger; her head falls back onto his shoulder. carmen grunts, his free hand coming to find her clit, rubbing small, soft circles, feeling himself unravel at the intense pulse of her walls. he kisses her cheek, relentlessly pounding into her, the crescendo of her moans driving him higher and higher. his lips come right next to her ear, breath ragged.

“you my girl?” he asks, another kiss on the side of her face, bringing his hand from her ribs to her breast, gently squeezing.

she nods quickly, arm coming behind her to grab his hip, feeling him, tangible beneath her fingers.

“all yours,” she pants, “i’m all yours, carm.”

he groans at the sentiment, bottoming out inside of her, quickly circling her clit as her arousal grows slick on his fingers. she feels herself tumbling towards her edge, trying to physically hold onto him so as to not climax, fingers gripping into his skin.

“i’m-,” a cry falls from her mouth. he pulls the two even closer, wetness pouring from her at the continual thrusts, feeling the cues of her body approaching climax.

“let it go, baby,” he coos, lips pressed against her ear. with his simple command she feels an intense heat envelop her body, orgasm crashing against her like a wave. she goes limp in his arms so he grabs her tighter, bending her over the bed. her thighs begin to shake as carmen relentlessly snaps his hips, watching her intently, feeling a white hot pleasure seep through him. he’s ferociously grabbing at her, pulling her in as he approaches his edge, stutter of his hips as he bottoms out and releases himself into her with a loud groan. she feels the pressure of his cum against her walls, intense heat diffusing as she rides out the shocks of her orgasm. he collapses over her, hand coming to the bed, trying not to put his full weight upon her. their labored breaths harmonize, hearts pounding. carmy runs a hand over her lower back, soothingly rubbing the limp girl. he pushes himself up, straining to grab a tissue off her nightstand to clean with, the act of pulling out of her releasing a constant pressure, the girl whimpering. he soaks up the mess of cum dripping down her legs, drinking in the sight, then rises to throw the tissues away. she’s able to muster the energy to push herself up and stumble behind him, walking into the bathroom to turn on the shower, steadying her shaky legs by holding onto the wall. she turns to see the man, naked in all his glory, approach her, placing his hands on her hips and leaning in to kiss her deeply. she seeps into his touch, hand coming to graze his lower stomach, exhaling slowly. he lets a peace wash over the two before speaking.

“so, uh, i’ll take this as your two weeks notice, then?” he teases, hand falling to her low back. she tilts her head to the side.

“what? you mean i don’t get a promotion after that?” she asks, smiling, trying to feign disappointment, “fuck.”

he grins, adoringly gazing down at the young woman, bathing in the light of her smile.

he knew it was never supposed to go so far. it was never supposed to end up in this position, with her leaning in for another kiss, him greedily accepting. she was his completely now, the man making a vow to never let anything or anyone hurt her, cherishing the feeling of her warmth under his fingertips.

it was never supposed to go so far, but it did. and he was so fucking glad it did.

—

eeeek i hope you liked it!! i genuinely enjoyed writing this story so much. an epilogue to wrap up some loose ends is possible in the future- in the meantime i'll be posting some steamy carmy headcannons.

please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! thank you SO MUCH to everyone for the continued support on this series <3

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

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cheese-water · 1 month

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Tina’s pov of purgatory 1 is required reading for fans of ALL teams. So many iconic moments (making the tea originally for Bagi, eating maggots in the snow, taking charge and hiding with Missa and Rivers when Bolas was hunting for easy pickings, her entire conversation with Mariana, her ongoing hatred of Fit, scary dog privileges, the rivalry with Cellbit, GG ninja’s betrayal, I COULD KEEP GOING) are integral to understanding not just SoulFire but purgatory as a whole, all found in her streams.

Plus, the after purgatory party segments hold a special place in my heart. The meta conversations with Tubbo and Bad over what it was like being the most hated team and how it felt for Bad being “the most hated player.” Then later with everyone in the call just playing games while Tina draws the SoulFire co-leaders or joins in herself. The vibes are fantastic and were a great cooldown after the high stress event. I can’t recommend her pov enough.

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #tinakitten #team soulfire #the list only started with three things it just keeps growing kkkkkkkk #another thing I didn’t mention is that her pov is why I don’t tolerate people woobifing (can’t think of a better word atm) the other teams #like I get that your team had it rough #that doesn’t mean tina had to become the physical punching bag of the all the teams #(I say physically because mentally it was bbh)#not because she did anything to them but because she was “bad” at the game and easier to kill #for the rest of purgatory #but that’s a bit harsh so…#in the tags I will hide lmao

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chefkids · 27 days

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what do you think is going to happen to ebraheim in s3 :(

Grief and loss is a big part of the series with the loss of Mikey obviously, Sydney's mom, and now Marcus' mom, but we don't talk enough about Ebra who objectively has had it worst and seen horrific things. Everyone loves to talk about how Carmy is so traumatized, but Ebra literally lived through a Civil War.

He is a refugee from Somalia, we've seen him share little bits of information about his past, like his family meal suqaar, or when they were talking about forming a brigade he mentioned his time being in a brigade during the Somali Civil War. In Review when he's helping Richie after he got stabbed, he tells him the story of Black Hawk down battle of Mogadishu.

He definitely has some level of PTSD, he didn't want to wear a uniform at culinary school, and Tina had to reassure him that it "was not that kind of uniform" and then when she said there were a lot of Sydney's in culinary school he told her "Don't look them in the eyes." But honestly seems to handle things pretty well and is generally unphased by the chaos of the kitchen. Carmy clearly also has some PTSD from his traumatic upbringing that makes him panic, and I think they both find comfort in the kitchen but in different ways. Ebra enjoys the chaos and loudness while Carmy is about the perfectionism and order.

He was also arguably one of the nicer people to Sydney from the start and respected her quickly, I think because she reminded him of Tina in a way with how assertive she is but still looks out for people. He's also a feminist icon. He also knew they needed help and Carmy wasn't cutting it. He quickly saw the good in her by how she was giving confidence to Marcus. He was the one reading the review and being excited for Sydney and for The Beef getting positive recognition. He was happy to see it change for the better because he cares a lot about The Beef.

But seeing turn into something completely different and riskier with The Bear is scary for him and he didn't really feel like he was changing with the place and felt like he was getting left behind. He was very close with Mikey and worked there for decades, so hopefully we see them together in Mikey's flashbacks. He was also very worried about Carmy messing up the place and the system. I'm sure we'll get more Tina Ebra shenanigans, I think Ebra is a bit of enigma who is always going to be throwing in random bits of his dark lore. He's going to be in charge of the sandwich window in the back when it opens. He was the only one still wearing The Beef uniform, he's an embodiment of the past. But it's not just The Beef that is changing, the entire neighborhood is. I think the window in the back and the main kitchen are going to kind of battle it out. The Beef already has an established clientele and regulars, which are quite a different demographic than the people who are likely to dine at The Bear and it's going to be interesting to see how they all fit in together in Season 3.

#the bear #ebra the bear #the bear meta #the bear fx #carmen berzatto #sydney adamu #tina marrero

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memes-saved-me · 1 year

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Was Billy (accidentally) written as Steve's next love interest - a Meta

This is far from thought out and more thoughts thrown into a post. This is for fun and an over analysis by someone who did 4 years of media studies and has a major bias so don't take it personally

From the moment of Billy's introduction in season 2 he is put in the background of Steve and Nancy's relationship, even from his very first scene where in which he literally pulls Steve's attention from Nancy just after they have a moment in the car. A moment that takes on a completely different tone once you know Nancy is in fact in love with Jonathan not Steve.

It makes sense for Steve to react to Billy's entrance. Half of Billy's plot is Steve but what is more interesting and doesn't really make sense is that the camera then changes focus to Nancy and stays on her even in the next shot with Steve as an after thought in the background. Her reaction isn't the same either. Steve is somewhat curious but Nancy seems more concerned about whoever the car belongs to. Nancy and Billy never have a single conversation. Ever. So why have her reaction to him be so important to his first ever scene?

This could be read as an indication of a threat to their relationship being shown not told just yet. If Billy was a female character who stepped out of the car in the exact same manner it would be fully done to show her (Billy) as a threat to Nancy's relationship with Steve but since Billy is male it is not. Even then I find showing Nancy a very strange choice.

However, it does lead us into the next example of how strange this entire set up is. When Billy finally approaches Steve at the party, Nancy walks away looking hurt? Which does not add up in the slightest. She should be annoyed but instead she walks away to start drinking. Again if Billy was a girl this would be read as her (Billy) trying to not only intimidate Steve but also Nancy. Which this scene implies but makes no sense because Billy doesn't even look at her.

Nancy then starts to drink heavily to mock and get back at Steve for wanting to come to the party in the first place. Something a jealous upset girlfriend would do in any teen movie if another girl had approached her boyfriend, not if a random teenage boy had. This then leads to their big fight when she pretty much dumps him in the bathroom and Steve storms off upset, mirroring this scene from earlier in the episode. Which only reinforces the Nancy being upset not angry aspect.

Billy's entrance to the show leads to their break up. The domino effect of events makes it so. Would Nancy have started drinking if Billy hadn't approached Steve? Maybe, but we don't know anything except what we are shown by the narrative and the narrative has shown us that Billy is the reason she does. A very strange set up considering this is the last interaction they have until season 3 when she tries to shoot him...

The next day we are shown the iconic homoerotic basketball scene and towards the end we see Nancy walk into the room but Steve doesn't notice as he's too distracted by Billy who is at this point is literally waging his tongue at him. They position Steve in-between the two of them just like at the Halloween party as if he needs to make a choice.

Nancy has to call out for him to see her and he then follows her outside to talk. Said talk does not go so well for her and this time it is Steve who dumps her because she doesn't remember what happened the night before. As I mentioned Steve has a choice to make and unlike at Tina's party when he leaves Billy to run after Nancy, he leaves Nancy to go back inside for Billy after being called for by a member of his team. As if he has narratively made his choice as he doesn't chase after Nancy at all for the rest of the season and accepts their relationship is over.

If you take all of this into a count and then imagine Billy as a female character it would be insane to not picture them in a future relationship from a narrative point of view. The common literature tropes and framing of the set up is so clear that if Billy was a girl her and Steve would have been making out half way through the season or even after gym class (I know they are split by gender humour me). With the added somehow unintentional homoerotism of Billy and Steve's dynamic it only adds to the fact that some of the choices made for their relationship/rivalry build up is so strange.

Please add anything I've missed or forgotten because this drives me insane from a writing and media analysis point of view.

#harringrove #meta #analysis

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disasterbijamietartt · 1 year

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Maybe I’m delusional and drank too much wine, but this is why Roy Kent being a closeted queer man explains EVERYTHING

While writing my meta piece about Jamie x Keeley I spent a lot of time thinking “What about Roy?”, since there are no convincing love interests for him aside from Keeley.

And, well, Jamie.

And for the first time I evaluated this as something that really could happen, since now there is the legit possibility that they make homophobia in professional football the prevalent theme in this season and having multiple queer storylines would help to illustrate different point of views and they could explore this with a Roy x Jamie romance plot.

And then I looked at Roy and … basically everything fell into place.

Why he represses his emotions, why he is so so angry, why he is so full with insecurities and struggles with his self-worth, why he is unable to show (physical or emotional) affection to a man without somehow having to taint it with an unnecessarily violent outbreak – the only notable exception being the Hug™️ in “Man City”. Something that hasn’t been addressed by anyone since then, which was a choice I always considered very odd, but postponing Roy’s character development to season 3 makes actually lot’s of sense, if Roy’s struggles are rooted in internalised homophobia. And if being queer in professional sports is the theme of season 3 like mental health was the theme of season 2.

Still makes his angry, violent outbursts really jarring and he has to show accountability, but if the pain he inflicted on others is related to the trauma of being forced to be in the closet for 25 odd years, that would be so heartbreaking. And it would fit into the theme of the show that actually good people like Rebecca or Jamie – and Nate once he gets his redemption – do unforgivable things and inflict pain on people who do not deserve it as a trauma response. Sure, it could be some other trauma – but this explanation would fit so well into this seasons theme, it just makes SO MUCH SENSE to me.

Also, Trent’s critique explains some of Roy’s insecurities, but he already was full of anger at seventeen, so the root of his anger has to be something different – and growing up queer in a hella homophobic surrounding since age ten and forced to stay in the closet unless he wants to throw away his dream career, if that is not a reason to be filled to the brim with anger, I don’t know what is.

And as far as I recall, the only people he actually physically attacks are Colin (the headbutt in 1x3) and Jamie. Then his beef with Trent.

In other words, we only ever see him being irrationally aggressive and violent towards queer coded or canonically queer men. Yes, he usually has reasons that are not related to (coded) sexuality – with the notable exception of “I have to headbutt Jamie before I hug him lest it seems gay!”

And the “ugly, ugly boy”-thing? Vanity is often used for queer coding. So Roy mocks something about Jamie that is queer coded.

This screams internalised homophobia.

But I hear the naysayer going “Aren’t you reaching a bit?”

Maybe, but let us take a look at some ways how Roy is queer coded that come to mind off the top of my head.

First of all: He canonically has a secret double life, where he is notably softer, hangs out with a bunch of elderly women who have no clue who Roy Kent, professional angry footballer, is, and does yoga with them, frequents gay bars, hangs out with drag queens and watches reality tv while sipping rosé, which is a sweet girly drink, like you know “vanilla vodka. such a child.” – in his “real life” Roy would never ever drink rosé or admit to anyone that he watched even a single second of “Lust Conquers All” by accident (Keeley definitely didn’t know, or she would have teased him with this).

Who else has a secret double life? Colin.

And while I hate to be “look, so many gay stereotypes!” … Look, so many gay stereotypes!

Also, both Julie Andrews and Madonna are gay icons? As are Stevie Nicks and Tina Turner

“The Sound of Music” (his favourite) is popular in gay culture and the nuns are implied to be lesbians?

He mouths along when Rebecca sings “Let it go”, with Elsa being queer coded and the song being a queer anthem?

And when I googled “A Wrinkle in Time queer” first thing I got was a paper by the Syracuse University titled “Unusual Children: Queerishness and Strange Growth in A Wrinkle in Time and The Giver”, which discusses the queerness of the main character. You know, the “Am I supposed to be the little girl”-girl?

This are all the pop culture references I could recall off the top of my head, there may be things that are not queer coded, but … one or two, that is a coincidence. Three or more, that is a pattern. You cannot convince me that the writer’s “accidentally” queer coded Roy so extensively if he is supposed to be straight.

(Dear god, the only thing about Ted Lasso that always disappointed me was the lack of explicit queer characters – like, I’d bet with you that the majority of non-queer viewers didn’t get Keeley’s “dip the toe back in the lady pool” line or Colin’s “oh like Grindr?” – and if they now go and make the third season queer as fuck? Bless them!

And just like the next level trolling by Phil and Brett if they were actually spoiling the big love story for years, while everyone thought they were just joking?)

EDIT: Just looked up Gina Gershon, who Roy said he dated once—guess what, according to Wikipedia she’s considered a gay icon 🙃

#jamie x roy #I don't dare to tag this with roy since I don't want all the r*oy x k*eeley shippers to lynch me lol #my meta #going to bed now since I need to get up in five hours lol #oh whatever I put this in the tag #since honestly if you can convince me this is bullshit #it won’t break my heart when they go on playing Roy’s violence for jokes #ted lasso spoilers #ted lasso #roy kent #ted lasso speculations #jamie tartt #royjamie

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seraphinitegames · 1 year

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The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 05/05/2023

It was a short week with the bank holiday Monday but still a good one!

Tuesday I spent on bug fixes and things for book three and getting those sent to Hosted Games, including getting the flipped moon icon sorted! :D The moons should now all be correct!

Then I was back to planning and managed to sort something with the antagonist that had been keeping me stuck!

The issue with them that I was talking about before is now working but in a different and waaay better way! Before it was good but now it’s not only working but fits to perfection!

And it was all thanks to a random comment Nai made as we were talking about Book Four! Something I’ve learned as a writer is you never know when something unexpected and random will trigger your imagination!

Next week is yet another bank holiday in the U.K. on Monday, but then it’ll be social media days. Finally get to write Adam/Ava’s pov scene for the Sin fight in Chapter 6 to finish off that set of Unseen Scenes for Patreon!

Then it’s back to planning at the end of the week which doesn’t make for overly exciting updates but is definitely the most important part of this whole process!

I’m thinking that working on the overall story first then looking at how all the other branches will slot in and work with the current story is how best to go at it.

Though there is one scene I know I am definitely doing for Tina’s branch that I’m already so eager to write :D

Hope you all have the most fantastic weekend! We’ll be offline as usual, and I'll update you all again next week <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #update #twc book 4

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elliesgaymachete · 3 months

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I’ve now seen mean girls the movie the musical the movie a second time and it’s still just as good so here’s a full review

The Narrators bit was so much fun, the way they kept looking at the camera, breaking the fourth wall, and that one shot where they’re doing announcements and the name plate just reads “narrators”. The way the movie opens on them recording a video for social media in a garage and it ends in the same place with the garage door closing while they wave under it like the curtain on a broadway stage. Amazing.

The way it switches from fullscreen to widescreen just for songs where Regina controls the narrative like a fucking puppeteer. Like, at first I thought it was every song, but it’s only for Meet the Plastics, Apex Predator, Someone Gets Hurt, and World Burn. It’s SUCH a stylistic choice and I absolutely loved it

THE CONTINUOUS SHOT IN I’D RATHER BE ME!!!! HOLY SHIT!!!!! IT’S SO COOL!!!!! I love me a good continuous shot and would have LOVED to be a fly on the wall on set that day

Also still on I’d rather be me, the way the huge iconic moment of regina getting hit by the bus is completely overshadowed by Janis getting her moment. Loved it.

There were also a lot more smaller continuous shots that were really cool!

The use of social media, especially since social media as we know it today didn’t really exist when the original movie came out. It was a big part of the broadway show and keeping that translated REALLY well to the big screen

I made a separate post about this but the fact that they actually made Janis canonically gay instead of it just being subtext or if you squint. It makes Janis a much more sympathetic character and makes her vendetta against Regina feel even more real.

Making Cady’s mom a single mom was a surprisingly nice change and Jenna Fisher was truly a delight in all of her scenes.

The tease when Tina Fey almost sang where do you belong 😂 (though I am still bummed they cut where do you belong 😔)

THE LINDSAY LOHAN JUMP SCARE

Avantika was a delight and her comedic timing + deadpan delivery as Karen was so perfect

Literally everything about renee rapp as regina was perfect, but especially at spring fling when she’s high on pain meds was so much fun

Someone Gets Hurt (Reprise) was absolutely phenomenal. I didn’t know it was gonna be in the movie and gave me chills the first time I heard it. Auli’i fucking crushed it

I also love how they took a homophobic insult from the original movie (“it’s not my fault you’re like in love with me”) and turned it into a new queer jam for the end credits song. Can a gay girl get an amen?

This movie is truly just a fun time

#mean girls #mean girls the movie the musical the movie

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maxellminidisc · 1 year

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I keep seeing the Jamie Lee Curtis "legacy" win excuse, as in "she's worked this long she deserves it" excuse, and it's like uuuhh if you want to make that your argument than why the fuck aren't you giving Angela Bassett her due then? Bassett has an EXTENSIVE filmography and a much decorated career because of the caliber of her work, talent, and performances through the decades she's been working. Like you know exactly why. ONE of Bassett's most iconic performances (her most recognized being Tina Turner in What's Love Got to Do by a white audience) has more of an exhibition of talent and skill than like the entire Halloween franchise or any of Curtis' other well known cult comedy roles for the love of god, who are y'all kidding!? Like white people would rather argue themselves into circles than admit that JLC won by pure whiteness and "legacy" aka nepotism.

#also insanely racist that Bassett is now getting shit for not faking her disappointment #shes allowed her negative emotions goddamn it #id be so fucking upset if i spent YEARS honing my craft and fighting my way through the industry just to continously get snubbed

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sbrown82 · 1 year

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THE FULL HISTORY OF THE MICK JAGGER & MARSHA HUNT (A.K.A.”BROWN SUGAR”) RELATIONSHIP!!!

First, some background on the model, singer, actress, novelist, playwright, activist, icon, 60s goddess, and the woman who inspired one of the Rolling Stones’ greatest hits, “Brown Sugar”, Marsha Hunt. She is often described as London’s own Josephine Baker and is celebrating her 77th birthday today!:

Marsha Hunt was born on April 15, 1946 in Philadelphia, PA and is the youngest of 3 siblings. Her mother, Inez “Ikey” Hunt, worked in an airplane factory during World War II, and her father Blair Hunt Jr. graduated from Harvard and was one of America's first Black psychiatrists.

She was raised mostly by her mother, aunt and grandmother who had roots in the deep south (Mississippi delta) and who she’s described as an “extremely aggressive and ass-kicking independent woman.” Her father later committed suicide when she was 9 years old (but she never found out how or why).

After moving out west to California with her family, she graduated high school at the top of her class and later attended UC, Berkeley in the mid-60s where she wanted to study psychological anthropology.

While at Berkeley, she became friends with a slew of interesting people like activist Mario Savio and Huey P. Newton, who later became one of the founders of the Black Panther Party.

[TOP LEFT: Marsha’s mother Inez Hunt; TOP RIGHT: Marsha’s father, Blair Hunt Jr.; BOTTOM LEFT: Marsha at her home in Philly with her father & siblings, Pamala & Dennis; BOTTOM RIGHT: Marsha’s high school graduation photo in 1964.]

Even though she thrived academically and was very involved in student activities, she became bored with college life and wanted to experience life outside of the country and pursue her real passion – music. In early 1966, she sold her car and some books, and trailed off to London with only $1.83 in her pocket.

Around that time, London was THE city to be in, and was even dubbed “Swinging London” for being the epicenter of art, culture, fashion and of course music, especially due to the popularity of famous acts like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

When Marsha first arrived, she slept on the floors of mutual friends, took odd jobs (including one as an au pair), and even appeared as an extra in Michelangelo Antonioni's box office hit film, “Blow-Up,” which also featured the British rock band, the Yardbirds.

SHOCKINGLY, in that same year she actually saw the Rolling Stones for the first time during their UK tour at the Royal Albert Hall in London because she wanted to see Ike & Tina who were the supporting act on the bill. Girls were going crazy over the Stones, but of course, she was more impressed by Tina’s show-stopping performance! (Purrrrr 💅🏿)

[LEFT: Marsha in 1966; RIGHT: The Rolling Stones performing at the Royal Albert Hall in London with Marsha in attendance.]

After roaming the city, making new friends and trying to find steady work, Marsha ended up auditioning for a blues band fronted by British blues musician, Alexis Korner, who was looking for backup singers. Coincidentally, he was the exact same guy who gave the Rolling Stones their start back in 1962. Later on, she was offered another backing gig for Long John Baldry’s band, Bluesology. John is also a longtime friend of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

Though she loved music and worked really hard at it, Marsha always claimed that she was never a good singer. People in England just assumed she was because they thought all Black Americans had talent.

She then lived with English blues singer, John Mayall, who actually wrote a few songs about her including, “Marsha’s Mood” and another song coincidentally called “Brown Sugar”. Around this time, she also became good friends with the founding members of Fleetwood Mac, famed British artist Kaffe Fassett, and keyboard player for Bluesology, Reg Dwight (a.k.a Elton John).

[LEFT: 19 year old Marsha sporting a wig in London; RIGHT: Marsha with a young Elton John].

Around the time Marsha broke things off with John, he was also putting a new band together, which included a young guitarist named Mick Taylor, who showed up at the audition without a guitar. He later became another good friend of Marsha’s.

In late 1966, Marsha met musician Mike Ratledge from the British rock band, Soft Machine. She was having trouble getting a visa extension to stay in England, so they got married on her 21st birthday. She later claimed it was a marriage in name only as they “never held hands and never kissed".

[LEFT: Guitarist Mick Taylor & John Mayall in the mid-60s; RIGHT: Marsha’s “husband” Mike Ratledge of Soft Machine.]

That same year, Marsha’s hair started to fall out from using chemical relaxers, and after wearing wigs for a while, she finally cut it all off and vowed to never straighten it again. Hence, she started sporting her iconic afro hairstyle making her quite a showstopper in London.

In 1968, she found luck when she was cast in a buzzy new rock musical with an ensemble cast called “Hair.” The musical became an instant hit in London’s famed West End. And even though her character “Dionne” only had two lines, she became the face (or the hair) of “Hair”. The show was a huge success, and also became quite a sensation and social landmark because it highlighted controversial subjects like drugs, casual sex, cursing, nudity, and anti-war rhetoric. While there, she met another close friend, actor Tim Curry.

[BOTTOM: A poster of the hit musical “Hair” that debuted in the Shaftesbury Theatre in the West End, 1968.]

Her life completely changed overnight and she instantly became a PHENOMENON, attracting wide media attention. In fact, after the musical’s opening night, the editor of British Vogue sent her a huge bouquet of flowers and wanted her to pose for a photo session, which ended up being a 4-page spread with a written profile. Marsha was also the first Black woman to appear on the cover of Queen magazine as well.

[LEFT: Marsha pictured as the first Black woman on the cover of Queen magazine; RIGHT: Marsha photographed for British Vogue in 1969.]

She immediately became a sex symbol, celebrity, and the face of the “Black is Beautiful'' movement, which was already taking over America in the mid-60s. This helped her snag lots of modeling gigs and everyone wanted to photograph her. (I mean, sis was booked & busy!!!)

[BOTTOM: More of Marsha’s most iconic shots. *The melanin was melanating, 4C afro was on deck, eyelashes poppin’, lips bussin’...she was a *bad bitch*!!!]

In March 1969, she signed a contract with Track Records, the same independent label that also repped the British rock band, The Who and Jimi Hendrix, and later said, “There was one luxury that London celebrity afforded me: the freedom to be myself without a single apology for my gap, my freaked-out hair, my brown skin, my slave-class ancestors or my radical views.” Around this time, she also had a short love affair with Marc Bolan, the singer and founder of the English rock band, T-Rex (even though he was much shorter than her 😂.)

She scored a few minor hits during her underrated music career with singles like a cover of T-Rex’s “Desdemona” and her debut single, a cover of “Walk on Gilded Splinters”.

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing the T-Rex cover “Desdemona” live in 1970.]

The record soon went to the charts and that spring, she was asked to perform on various shows, including a popular British TV program called, “Top of the Pops” where during her live performance the tight bolero suede top she wore nearly came undone and partially exposed her breasts, giving her the reputation as a “bad girl.”

NOW…Here’s the part y’all have been waiting for. Get your popcorn. Y’all got it? Ready? Good!!! 🍿

After her performance aired, Marsha received a phone call out of the blue from Jo Bergman, the then secretary for the Rolling Stones on behalf of Mick Jagger who was actually watching live, asking her to pose semi–nude for a publicity photo to promote the band’s new single, “Honky Tonk Women”. She said, “The picture was going to be of a girl dressed like a sleaze bag standing in a bar with the Stones and they wanted me to be the girl.”

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing "Walk on Gilded Splinters” on ‘Top of the Pops’ in May 1969. This was also the exact moment Mick Jagger first laid eyes on her!]

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Marsha, who was not a Stones fan, was already established and didn’t really need the extra exposure. She declined because she had her reputation to think about and said she "didn't want to look like [she'd] just been had by all the Rolling Stones." She also claimed, “The last thing [Black women] needed was for me to denigrate us by dressing up like a whore” among a band of white men.

ENTER MICK JAGGER:

When she tried to get in touch with Mick to say, "thank you, but no thank you”, he later returned her call in an attempt to change her mind and suggested he come over as he was very intrigued that a girl would turn him down.

Mick then showed up at her apartment around midnight as she claims, “He was framed by the doorway as he stood grinning with a dark coat ... He drew one hand out of his pocket and pointed it at me like a pistol. His silly 'Bang' was precisely the icebreaker we needed to get over my ungracious hesitation before I invited him in, not sure how to salute a notorious rogue who rings me just before midnight and suggests he pop round on a pretext of loneliness.”

They talked for HOURS, well until the sun came up about any and everything from music to social issues and politics, and according to her, Mick “made me squeal whenever he used Melanigian slang (aka Black vernacular/AAVE)”. 🙄🤦🏾‍♀️

Marsha didn’t really find Mick physically attractive at first: “He wasn't beautiful or even striking” however, he was boyish, open, direct, yet seemed quite awkward and shy. She found it a relief that he was nothing like other musicians she’d known or the image the media had of him. He was charming, intelligent, funny, radical and straddled the racial line, much like she did. She also noticed that he had a penchant for Black women, as he claimed “they [Black women] just do something to me”.

The two of them just clicked right off the bat. And things eventually turned hot as they ended up having sex. From there, they embarked on a passionate, but very private, deep romance and year-long affair, at a time when interracial relationships weren’t widely accepted yet.

She didn’t expect to hear from him again, as he had a wide selection of women to choose from, but he wanted to see her and talk all the time because he could count on her. Marsha said, “He knew that I adored him and that he could depend on me…he realized I respected him as I respected myself.”

Mick’s friend and interior designer Christopher Gibbs once said often when he dined with Mick, women who had slept with him would come up to the table and “he’d have absolutely no idea who they were.”

[LEFT: Mick photographed at the Shaftesbury Theatre in London to see the new musical ‘Hair’ for the first time; RIGHT: Marsha performing in the show.]

1969 was a very rough year for Mick. He was having trouble with his band (which he was practically running by himself) because the founder and guitarist of the Rolling Stones, Brian Jones, was becoming increasingly unreliable and spiraling out of control due to his deep drug addiction and legal troubles which led to him having problems getting a US work visa to go on an upcoming tour. His personal life was also a mess because his long-term girlfriend at the time, pop singer Marianne Faithfull, was also a very serious (and sloppy) drug addict, who often embarrassed Mick and became more difficult to be around. Things had gotten so bad between them, their relationship grew strictly platonic by this time.

Mick and Marianne were quite destructive together and often found themselves in legal troubles due to drugs. Marianne was also quite messy as she previously slept with Mick’s bandmates Brian Jones, Keith Richards and even left her husband, John Dunbar, for Mick who was dating Black soul singer & former Ikette, P.P. Arnold, when they met. P.P. later became pregnant with Mick’s baby in 1967, but had an abortion due to his growing relationship with Marianne.

[BELOW: Mick arriving at a courthouse with his then girlfriend, singer Marianne Faithfull in 1969.]

Marsha on the other hand, was stone-cold sober and didn’t do any drugs (NOT ONE), which was like a breath of fresh air for Mick, though he dabbled himself. But unlike those around him, he was able to control his habit.

Even though their relationship quickly turned sexual, they were really, really close friends. Mick often retreated to her home to relax, he told her all his secrets, his troubles – he just trusted her. He was completely enamored of Marsha, who many describe as warm, intelligent, sensitive, funny and very easy to talk to. He liked that she didn’t go gooey-eyed and weak-kneed in his presence like most (white) women/female fans did. Instead she had a crisply forthright manner and was almost quite “butch”. The Rolling Stones then manager was even quoted as saying that Mick was “obsessed” with her as she was very exotic and even gave her the nickname “Miss Fuzzy” due to her afro hairstyle.

Ironically, Marsha enjoyed their well-kept relationship and is one of the only people who often calls him Michael instead of Mick, to distinguish him from his Rolling Stones persona.

Since Marsha was a fellow recording artist, they could also be seen together in public without any arousing suspicion—in any case, London still had almost no paparazzi. They would often go to the same parties or events, even with Mick’s girlfriend there, and no one questioned it.

Mick would often pop into some of Marsha’s studio sessions with her band White Trash, and everyone around would be in awe of him.

After officially firing Brian Jones from the band, Mick and the rest of the Stones needed a new guitarist. Marsha promptly suggested her good friend, Mick Taylor (Yes, Stones fans – thank Marsha Hunt for that one!), as a replacement for Brian just days before his mysterious death (he sadly drowned in a swimming pool at his home) on July 3, 1969.

Additionally, when Mick sought a replacement for Jo Bergman, the secretary who handled all the Rolling Stones affairs, Marsha also suggested her friend and tour manager, Peter Rudge - (The same guy responsible for getting the Stones all those huge tours in massive stadiums. Again, thank Marsha!)

Two days after Brian’s death, the Stones played a free concert before a crowd of over 250,000 people in Hyde Park, London, which was previously planned to debut their new guitarist, but turned into a memorial/funeral for Brian. Mick invited both Marianne (who looked to’ up and was in withdrawal from heroin at the time), and Marsha (who showed up looking sexy af with titties bustin’ out of her buckskin suit) to the concert, and rudely and distastefully opened the show with a song called, “I’m Yours and I’m Hers.”

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha at the Rolling Stones tribute concert to Brian Jones in Hyde Park, London on July 5, 1969.]

Marianne who sat on the other end of the stage with her 4-year old son Nicholas and the other Stones wives/girlfriends, actually saw Marsha that day as she was placed right above the stage in the scaffold VIP section so Mick could look at her while he performed. She later said, “I saw her [Marsha] you know. And she was stunning…If I’d been Mick in that situation, I might have done exactly the same thing.”

Mick arrived at the concert with Marianne, but left with Marsha and spent the night at her place.

A day after the concert, Mick kissed Marsha goodbye, and flew with Marianne to Australia to shoot a biographical film they were both cast in called “Ned Kelly,” based on the infamous bushranger. However, Marianne who was reeling from the recent death of Brian Jones and a horrible miscarriage just a few months earlier, overdosed on 150 Tuinal barbiturates while traveling with Mick and fell into a coma in their hotel room.

[LEFT & RIGHT: Mick & Marianne arriving in Australia to film “Ned Kelly.” Marianne slipped into a coma just hours later from an attempted suicide.]

At the last minute, Mick was forced to film the movie without her, but phoned and wrote to Marsha, who was extremely frantic and worried about his mental health and emotional well-being, almost everyday. She was scared that he didn’t have the stamina to deal with yet another crisis. He sent Marsha over 10 handwritten letters (some even written on the same headed stationery paper of Chevron Hotel where his girlfriend just tried to kill herself) about his deep feelings for her, his experience filming, being in the Australian outback, his interests, the historic day of the moon landing of 1969, future career plans, his regret at missing her performance at the famous Isle of Wight Festival and other aspects of pop culture (including “…John & Yoko boring everybody…”). The letters also reference the recent death of Brian Jones, Mick’s increasingly difficult relationship with Marianne, and another letter even had the full original lyrics for the Rolling Stones song “Monkey Man”, which was later rewritten.

Mick’s letters also went on to mention the foul Australian winter weather and an unpleasant virus that swept through the unit, a fire that destroyed most of the film’s costumes, along with various accidents – including a prop gun that backfired in his right hand. He was just having a real shitty time. So, he found solace writing to Marsha.

His letters to Marsha showed how pensive and romantic he was. He said things like,“... I feel with you something so unsung there is no need to sing it...” and “If I sailed with you around the world, all my sails would be unfurled”. He also thanked her for being “so nice to an evil old man like me”. And in another steamy note, Mick promises Marsha: "I will kiss you softly. And bite your mouth too."

[RIGHT & LEFT: Photos of Mick’s private letters sent to Marsha while filming in Australia in the late summer of 1969.]

Mick also celebrated his 26th birthday while filming in Australia and Marsha sent him a huge package of books (which he loves) and albums, including her friend John Mayall’s record “Brown Sugar.” Along with it was a note stating how she missed him desperately.

While still trying to rehabilitate his hand from the prop accident, Mick toyed with a new guitar and started work on a song, which was partly inspired by Marsha, that he initially titled “Black Pussy.” He decided that was a little too direct and changed it to “Brown Sugar” with the lyrics:

[Verse 1]

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields Sold in the market down in New Orleans Scarred old slaver knows he's doing alright Hear him whip the women just around midnight

[Chorus]

Brown sugar, how come you taste so good? Uh huh Brown sugar, just like a young girl should

[BOTTOM: Recording of “Brown Sugar” by The Rolling Stones later released on their Sticky Fingers album in 1971.]

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Mick later confirmed in a 1995 Rolling Stone magazine interview that the song is a double-entendre: “brown sugar” being the street name for unrefined heroin and of course – sex with a Black woman. The song was a huge commercial success and ended up becoming a #1 hit around the world, making it one of the Rolling Stones’ best-selling records.

[TOP: A movie poster of “Ned Kelly” which was released in June 1970; BOTTOM: Mick with his guitar composing “Brown Sugar” during filming.]

While Mick was still filming overseas, Marsha was booked to perform at the iconic 3-day outdoor concert, the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969. It was the biggest open-air concert in music history and she was the only female singer billed to perform. She was there alongside acts like The Who, Joe Cocker and even Bob Dylan who hadn’t been onstage in 3 years.

Mick told her in a letter that he was so proud of her and promised her that he was “there in my head and in my heart.” Charlie Watts and his wife Shirley, Keith Richards and Jo Bergman were also in the audience watching Marsha perform.

Marsha also wore custom-made leather shorts to which the press ran with it and by the next fashion season, short shorts were featured. She was the first person to popularize “hot pants”.

[BELOW: Marsha performing with her band White Trash at the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969 with members of the Rolling Stones looking on in the audience.]

After Mick came back from Australia, Marsha was offered a part in a film called “Welcome to the Club” which is a comedy about three Black USO performers sent to Hiroshima in the 1940s to entertain the troops on an all-white base. The film was being directed by Walter Shenson, who had produced the Beatles' films “A Hard Day's Night” and “Help” and shot it entirely in Copenhagen.

She was also asked to fly back to London to shoot another cover for American Vogue which was shot by photographer Patrick Litchfield. (They‘d never had a Black woman on the cover before.)

Mick began touring in America again, his first since 1966, and with the number of girls he had access to, she knew he was keeping himself busy on and off stage.

[LEFT: Mick on stage at Madison Square Garden during the Stones’ 1969 tour; RIGHT: Marsha filming “Welcome to the Club” in Copenhagen.]

He even started a short-lived relationship with singer and Ikette Claudia Lennear, as well sparking up a short fling with Devon Wilson, a notorious rock & roll groupie and the girlfriend of Jimi Hendrix who famously wrote the song “Dolly Dagger” about their affair.

[LEFT: Mick arriving at Madison Square Garden in November 1969 with Devon Wilson; RIGHT: Mick backstage at the same event with singer Claudia Lennear.]

But on December 6, 1969 - everything changed dramatically when an 18-year old concertgoer was stabbed and killed during the Stones’ free performance at the Altamont Speedway in California by the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club, who was the band’s security. Members of the Hell’s Angels blamed Mick for the incident and subsequent to the concert, put a hit out on him and threatened to murder him. This marked the third major tragedy to happen since they’d known each other.

[BELOW: A scared Mick looks on as 18-year old Meredith Hunter is stabbed to death by the Hell’s Angels in front of the stage while the Stones performed at Altamont Speedway.]

Marsha stayed with Mick after the chaos at Altamont, which the media dubbed “The Death of the 60s”. By this time, he had officially split up with Marianne and moved Marsha into his house on Cheyne Walk where she helped him to transition and readjust his life. It was then their relationship intensified!

This is around the time she got a chance to really know Mick’s friends who lived on the same road, Keith Richards and his girlfriend, actress Anita Pallenberg, who just had a son, but was hooked on heroin. She thought they were nice, but they’d visit or show up unannounced all the time. Their hard drug-taking also scared Marsha, so she kept her distance and didn’t voice her opinion.

She also met Mick’s parents, Eva and Joe Jagger, along with his little brother Chris who was a bit of a hippie and had just returned from India with his American girlfriend. They had no work, no money and nowhere to stay, so Marsha kindly gave them a job painting her new apartment.

That Christmas, Marsha got Mick a puppy and Mick, for the first time, told her that he loved her.

Marsha was in a good place. Opportunities were coming to her fast, she had a new apartment, and she was in love with Mick. She had newfound stability and independence.

In January 1970, they were having dinner at the celebrity hotspot restaurant Mr. Chow’s when Mick said that she’d be a good mother and that they should have a baby together. Prior to this Marsha thought she was just another girl he fancied, as he was a notorious womanizer. But the talk of having a baby made her feel special to him. Her feelings for him were so deep that she also claimed, “I would have died for him.”

She knew Marianne miscarried around the same time Keith Richards’ son Marlon was born. Mick also missed family life with Marianne’s son Nicholas, so wanted to give having a baby a second try.

This fool literally made her take out her IUD coil, they had sex like rabbits, and when she found out she was 3 weeks pregnant, she told Mick who was ecstatic.

Marsha literally said to him, “listen, if you’re not ready and you changed your mind about this, it’s okay.” She was totally ready to get an abortion. But he assured her that’s what he wanted and he was happy.

They had their first argument when it came to naming the baby. Mick wanted a boy who he could send to the prestigious Eton School (the all-boys school where Prince William & Prince Prince Harry went), and he proposed that they call the baby ‘Midnight Dream’. Marsha wasn’t having it and even said, “Imagine sticking your head out of a window to call your child home and yelling, 'Midnight. Midnight! Time for tea.’”

She'd known that he and the band were leaving England for tax reasons and moving to France in the coming year. The Stones were also gearing up for their upcoming European tour.

Even though she loved Mick, he was young and she claimed she was “all for Mick doing his own thing”. They were supposed to be the sophisticated embodiment of an alternative social ideal — parent-hood shared between loving friends living separate lives.

This was around the time of the sexual revolution and people were exploring different types of relationships. Marsha didn’t find gratification in being ‘Mr. So and So’s’ wife, plus Mick was the type of guy to get up at 2pm to start his day - so marriage was sort of off the table. She claimed their relationship “thrived off her being supportive” and she loved to see him “run free”. And since she grew up in a matriarchy, the ideal of a man and woman living together seemed nice but unnecessary. They agreed that Mick would be a good absent father while he toured with the Rolling Stones and Marsha could still have her own career. It was all very modern!

Marsha also feared that her association with Mick would crowd out her own identity. She didn’t like the limelight because it was a discomfort. She also never wanted to be known as Mick Jagger's girlfriend (can you blame her? Like two of his girlfriends tried to commit suicide). Like him, she wanted her own independence.

By June 1969, Marsha told her band and the press that she was pregnant, but did not give up the name of the father. Though one little clever reporter found out it was Mick and threatened to print it. She thought of suing but asked the Stones PR team to link him to another girl. She managed to get through her pregnancy without a media frenzy or being linked to Mick even though they had stepped out together many times and he was ready to have it reported.

While Mick was away touring in Europe, his phone calls got less frequent. The tour was a bit crazy, and although Mick invited her to go to Paris, he knew she'd refuse – she didn’t want to get caught up. But he told her he was lonely and had met someone in Paris that he was taking to Italy. Her name was Bianca. She was Nicaraguan and spoke little English. Mick didn't mention her again, but after the tour, Marsha knew that she moved to his house in England.

His publicist sent her an invite to the premiere of his corny movie, “Ned Kelly,” but he didn’t show up. He also invited his parents to the event and it was there she realized that he didn’t tell them that he had a baby on the way. Mick hardly lavished praise on his parents and even once told the press, “I owe them nothing. They are my parents, that is that…but there are no dues to be made by me to them!”

By her third trimester, having a baby became her whole reality and his passing fancy. He started to forget that the baby was HIS idea.

Despite Marsha carrying his child, practically all references to her and the baby were quickly airbrushed out of his life. Chris O'Dell, Mick’s PA in the early-70s was even quoted as saying, “I never remember him talking about their child. In fact, I wasn’t aware of a baby being around at all. It was almost like [his first child] didn’t exist.”

Marsha was put in a difficult position because it was too late to go back and sometimes he’d phone like nothing ever happened. She claimed his mood would change so quickly, he was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She also said, “I've discovered that he can burn hot and suddenly cool to below zero.“

She started to worry that he didn’t care anymore, so she tried to squeeze in any and every piece of work she possibly could to hold her up during and past her pregnancy (tv shows, photoshoots, etc.). She also volunteered at a local mental-care center in the autistic unit caring for a 12 year old boy to keep from feeling useless.

[BELOW: A heavily pregnant Marsha performing in late 1970.]

At the same time, Mick also did a lot of peculiar interviews, either stating he wasn’t interested in having children or flat out dissing Marsha. During a 1970 interview with London’s Daily Mail newspaper he even said, “For me, life has always got to be on the move and exciting. I love kids, I really do…but it’s not something I’m thinking about.” He of course failed to mention that Marsha was expecting their first child.

[BELOW: Mick during an interview referencing Marsha & his unborn child in 1970.]

Once it was time for her to give birth, a hard-up Marsha was ashamed and reluctant to ask him for any contribution because he never once offered. Mick ultimately gave her a measly £200 to get by, which came with a note saying “I know I haven’t done right by you” and he “loaned” her a ring he always wore.

She had initially planned a natural home delivery to keep the press at bay and because it was the “it” thing to do at the time, but was told by her OB-GYN that her baby was in danger and she had to go to the hospital the next day.

On November 3rd, she dragged her own luggage, and hailed a taxi to the hospital only to be told there weren’t enough beds. Panicked and scared, she went back home quite sure she was going to die from an unassisted childbirth.

When she went back to the hospital the next day for an induced labor, she checked in with her married name “Ratledge” to protect herself (and Mick). On November 4, 1970 after hours of labor, she gave birth to a girl she named Karis Hunt and phoned Mick first and then her mother. That day was the first time Mick actually told his now girlfriend Bianca that Marsha and a baby existed.

While waiting in the maternity ward, the nurses also forgot to feed her and she was so hungry. But being on The National Health, she didn’t complain.

When she checked out of the hospital, Mick sent a bouquet of red roses, a miniature muse figurine for the baby, a silver spoon, and some cheap Indian earrings for Marsha. He “dropped by” two days later to see his baby but was in a hurry to be somewhere else.

10 days later, he paid another rushed visit, but she took him to the side and was kinda like, “What’s up with you? Why don’t you call or come around more often for the baby” in which he snapped and yelled at her, “I never loved you” and that she was “mad to think that he had”. Of course Marsha, stitches still in, burning and all, started to cry which only made him more mad and he threatened to take Karis away from her if he chose. She stopped and said, “Try it! I’d blow your brains out!!”

In that moment, the loyalty she had for him was gone and she pushed forward and tried to find as much work as she could to support herself and her baby.

[BELOW: Marsha & Mick after the birth of their first child Karis Hunt in late 1970.]

READ ‘PART 2’ HERE!!! ☕️☕️☕️

#marsha hunt #mick jagger #the rolling stones #brown sugar #rolling stones #interracial couple #black women #karis jagger #music #history #rock history #rock & roll #musicians #thread #gossip #old school tea #1960s #1970s #sbrown82

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