“I’d like to try this.” My throat feels constricted, I practically have to choke out the words, and I can’t believe I’m actually taking your suggestion. But then again, I’ve often forgone my faith in science in favor of my faith in you.
Everyone in the room is quiet. As if you and everyone else is trying to process my decision. That I’m agreeing with you. I think Bill scoffs.
“Fox, a word?” It is my mother who breaks the silence. I’m suddenly afraid she may chew you out for suggesting something so outlandish, and I certainly don’t want her to do it here, now. You can make these professions of other-worldly solutions in front of me all you want, but my family will not accept as I do. They may be even more skeptical than I am.
You look at me as if you expect me to throw you a life preserver, but instead I give you a soft smile. Whatever she needs to tell you, you need to listen.
But then she gestures you out of the room, pulling your sleeve, almost. And you follow her obediently. Dr. Zuckerman takes the vial from my hands and leaves to prepare the chip for implantation. Now I am alone with Bill, whose expression continues in a back-and-forth manifestation of disbelief and anger. He won’t look at me directly, and he won’t stop pacing. I let out a tense sigh and attempt to shut out his shuffling.
It is then that I am able to discern your conversation with my mother.
“Do you really think this is the only shot Dana has left?”
“Yeah. I really do.” There’s a long pause, and I’m sure my mother is trying to come to terms with what you’ve just told her. That this is the end of the road for me.
“I’m at a loss, Mrs. Scully. She’s tired of fighting, I know she is, and I’m tired of watching her pretend that she isn’t.” Your voice has gotten lower, if it was even possible. And yet, through the walls of my hospital room, it still permeates and embeds into every fiber of my being. I think your voice sustains me; maybe it’s fighting the cancer for me, too.
“I can’t afford to lose her. Watching her die, it may kill me. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of in order to save her. I’ve sacrificed a lot for my work, our work. But her life is not one of those things I’m willing to sacrifice.”
“You seem awfully concerned for her well-being, going to these extremes that you’re alluding to.” No, Mom, don’t bring this up now.
“Just as you must have done when she went missing a few years ago. And your behavior when she returned was quite something, as well.”
Silence. I’m assuming my mother has pinned you with one of her stares, those “you can’t keep anything from me, and I probably already know” stares. Oh, Mulder, I’m so sorry.
“I just.. I can’t let her die, okay? I can’t let her die knowing we could have tried something and didn’t. This chip, it has to work. I need it to work.”
“You love her, don’t you, Fox?” Jesus, Mom, can’t you let this go? Please don’t put him on the spot like this.
Your voice is almost a whisper now. I’m not quite sure how I hear it, but I do. “Yes. But that won’t matter if she’s dead.”
It’s only when I try to take in more air that I realize I’m holding my breath. I can’t seem to release what’s in my lungs, and, startled at the lack of oxygen I’ve been depriving my brain, coughing becomes my only defense mechanism. It’s more a combination of choking and hyperventilating.
Did you really just say what I think you said? And why do your words hurt rather than comfort me?
Bill appears at my side, I think he thinks this might be the end. My mom rushes to my other side, as well, attempting to soothe me and wipe the tears from my cheeks. Once I regain something resembling my normal composure, I chance a glance at you, wide-eyed and terrified, like you know that I heard you. Like your admission of love is going to hasten my illness, when in reality, I think it’s the only thing that motivates me to fight.
Yes, Mulder. Your love for me won’t matter if I’m dead. Just as mine for you won’t matter, either.
(OR: This Never Would Have Happened at Dairy Queen)
—So uh, there is historical precedent that says the easiest way to get me to write something for you is to shower me with compliments and then drop a prompt on me while batting your eyelashes, so… this is @queensandkingsofattolia‘s fault (with a bit of @wolf-thecontradictorysentence as well). based on/inspired by this post
I wrote almost 2000 words in a little under 5 hours while working my customer service job, so here, enjoy this customer service AU in which no customers are served.
Irene has been the manager of the McDonald’s on the I-75
exit since she was 17 years old, and if Nahuseresh thinks he’s going to take
over this restaurant like he did the Long John Silver’s across the way, he’s
got another thing coming.
She stares into Kamet’s longsuffering face and says, “Does
he think I like you better or something? I’m still not signing anything for
Kamet doesn’t look like he thinks anyone likes him at all,
much less that they could like him more than his charming, handsome boss. “He
just wanted me to deliver a message,” he says tiredly. Kamet doesn’t get paid
enough for this. Kamet doesn’t get paid enough for the job he was actually
hired to do, which was frying hushpuppies. Playing messenger in Nahuseresh’s
game of fast food corporate intrigue was never in the paperwork.
For fanfic: still Fenris. Writing that level of black humour + angsty self-absorption + anger + pining + ACTION SEQUENCES was such a good time. I am vaguely hoping that the next Dragon Age game will give me an excuse to do another plotty story in that universe so I can write him again.
were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?
Diana Wynne motherfuckin’ Jones, the complete works of.
I read an essay of Jones’s once in which she remarked that when she started writing children’s books, she carefully tailored them so they would be suitable for being read out loud - thinking of her own family, and how bored she got reading to her kids when the books were badly written. When she switched to adult fantasy she started out by not doing that, and was super excited for - as she thought - the freedom to write in a more complex and sophisticated way. But what she discovered was that her writing became laboured and awkward without the rhythm and energy of a spoken voice to sustain it.
↳You’ve been having wet dreams of your bodyguard and you finally get to make them a reality in the bathroom of an airplane.
Pairing: Bodyguard!Jimin | Reader
Word count: 1,953
The sound of my phone ringing woke me up. I was having one of those dreams again and yet again it was with him. I groaned as I picked up the phone not bothering looking who was calling me. “Hello?” I asked sitting up from my bed.
“Did you forget you that you have to be at the airport in three hours?” my manager, Yeri, said in annoyance. I quickly got out of bed but stumbled in the process almost falling face first on the floor. I had forgotten I have to film a movie in France plus do commercials. Hopefully, I’d have time to explore the city but I knew that it would be impossible.
“I didn’t,”I lied as I quickly rummaged through my closet for an outfit. “Are you on your way?”I asked as I put her on speaker.
“No. Jimin is going to be taking you. I have to get to France before you do so I can arrange your schedules,” she said and I could tell she was rubbing her head at the thought of all the paperwork she had to do. “Get dressed Jimin will be there in 30 minutes,” she said as she hung up.
My heart quickened as I got myself ready. Park Jimin is going to be taking me. I have to sit with him on the airplane for who knows how long. What I dreamt a couple of minutes ago flashed through my mind. I felt my cheeks burning as well as another part of my body.
I waited in the living room for him to call me. I tried to forget the dream that I had of him but it seem almost impossible. Jimin was my bodyguard, my personal bodyguard to be exact. A year ago there was an incident with an anti that almost ended badly for me and my stylist team. At the time, I was barely reaching the peak of my acting career and I didn’t have any security or anything but after what happened my manager, as well as the president of the company, decided that it was better for me to have a bodyguard. I heard two faint knocks and the front door shut a few seconds after.
“Are you ready to leave miss?” he asked standing in front of me. I nodded as I got up from the couch looking briefly at him in a suit. “You’re dressing up as if we’re going to wake the red carpet,” I teased him as I cursed at myself for not wearing something more appealing.
He smirked as he held the door open for me,“Just if the occasion arises I’ll be prepared.” During the whole car ride, we were both quiet as the chauffeur drove us to the airport. I snuck glances at him as I admired his chiseled features. His red hair complimented his skin tone and his brown eyes were warm but also held this mysterious aura in them.
The security team guided us to the gate after going through all the checks and paperwork. The airport was filled with fans that were talking all at once and all I could do is smile and wave at them as I tried to follow Jimin, who was easily moving through the crowd. He held out his hand so I can move quicker as we approach the boarding gate. His hands were small and soft against mine
I huffed as we walked to the plane. “Your fans are something else,” Jimin said smiling. I nodded as I smiled,“They’re very dedicated. I wonder how long they’ve been waiting.” We took our seats and thankfully for me he was sitting an aisle across from me. There were only two other passengers in first class with us but, they were engulfed in a pile of paperwork to pay any attention to either of us.
“Here’s to a boring 11-hour flight,”I thought to myself as I closed my eyes and I felt a pair of eyes watching me. “You can’t really take your eyes off me Mr.Park?” I asked smiling as I turned to look at him. He looked away startled as I saw faint rose color on his cheeks. I bit my bottom lip as I smiled at his cute reaction, which surprised me from his usual cold remarks he’d make.
“Sorry,” he said looking out the window. I tried making a conversation with him but I couldn’t find the right words to say but nothing came to mind. After two hours I started to drift to sleep and I started to dream where I left off in the morning.
Again. With Jimin. His full lips on my neck sucking at the skin and his hands on my waist pulling me closer to him. I felt his hot erection through his jeans as I tried to undo his jeans but he pinned my arms above my head. “I’m in control tonight baby,” he whispered as he took off my small pajama shorts. He brushed his fingered through my silk underwear as I moaned hating it that he was teasing me.
“Jimin please,” I whined.
The light shake from someone woke me up. I groaned as I swatted the hands away from me anger. “Did someone really wake me up again,”I thought as I rubbed my eyes to see who had woken me up. There stood Jimin looking down at me with a smug look on his face. He lowered himself as he whispered in my ear,”Be a little more quiet when you actually get to moan my name.”
My heart rate quickened as my eyes widened to look up at him. I tried to find the right words to say something but nothing could come out. He smirked,“Speechless? I didn’t know you thought of me that way miss."
I gulped embarrassed as I felt my cheeks burning and the next thing he said caught me off guard. "Jimin please? What was it that you needed?” he asked raising his eyebrow. He started to slowly trace his finger on the side of my arm sending shivers down my spine.
“Was I being a tease?” he asked moving his touch to my fingertips. I looked around but the two other passengers were fast asleep. My heart wouldn’t keep a steady pace as he brought my palm to his lips. His eyes looking deeply at mine,“Come with me.”
I followed him to the bathroom and once inside he quickly locked the door. Is this really happening? Am I dreaming? I must be. He had me pushed against the sink as he cupped my face in his hands scanning my face. "May I?” he asked. I nodded as my eyes fluttered shut. His lips pressed softly against mine, almost as if he was afraid. I grabbed him by the collar pulling him closer kissing him even more roughly. He smiled as his hand moved away from my face and onto my waist.
He pulled away,“Even better than your dream?"
"Let’s see,” I said as I pulled him back into another kiss. I can already find myself being addicted to his lips on mine. I wrapped my legs around his waist feeling the warmth of in between his legs. “You look so good in a tux,"I whispered as his lips moved to my neck.
"I know,” he said as he took off my shirt with one hand as his other hand started to rub against my thighs. I grinded along with his hands wanting him to take my jeans off. “(Y/N),” he said smiling as he lowered his voice,”Are you going to be whining just like you did in your sleep?”
“Fine I guess we won’t do anything,” I said as I tried to get off the counter. He blocked the way as he lowered himself in between my legs as he unbuttoned my jeans,“You’re no fun. You sounded sexy I just wanted you to repeat it again.”
“Oh am I really no fun?” I asked as I took off my jeans and started to pull at his pants. I stared at him as he tilted his head waiting for my next move. I got off the counter as I pulled down his pants seeing his erection made me even wetter than I already was. “May I, Mr. Park?” I asked him smirking as I pulled down his boxers. I rubbed my thumb against his tip as I stared at him to see his reaction. I pumped him a couple of times before taking him in my mouth. I started to slowly pull out as he groaned cussing quietly when there was a faint knock at the door. “Is Mr.Park or Ms.(Y/L/N) in here?” a female’s voice asked.
“Yes I-,” Jimin started to say as started to suck him again making him stop midsentence as he tried to sustain a steady voice. “I’m in here. Is (Y/N) not out there?” he asked as he gripped at the sides of the counters as he watched me moving in and out of him. “Miss can you get me one of those outlets?“ someone asked. All you heard was a pair of heels clicking away.
“Come here,” he said in an angered voice as he put me back on the counter as I smirked. "Let’s see if you’re going to be smirking anytime soon,” he said as he quickly took off my underwear as he parted my legs apart as he started to insert one finger inside of me. I closed my eyes arching my back as he started to roughly pump in and out of me as I moved along with him. “Jimin,” I moaned as he inserted another finger.
“What was that?” he asked,“Say it a little louder.” He started to rub his thumb against my clit making me moan louder as he continued to finger me. “Fuck me,” I said as I felt the inside of my stomach turn as I felt the familiar warm feeling inside of me.
“As you wish,” he said. He waited for me to adjust myself and I bit my lip as I felt him inside of me. “We have to make this quick before they knock at the door again,” he said as he slowly started to thrust himself into you. Maybe a little too slowly as he started to move your hips a bit quicker pulling him closer moaning quietly in his ear. “Fuck (Y/N),” he said as his nails lightly pressed at my back. He started to kiss my shoulders as he continued to thrust even faster and harder now making me bite my bottom lip from screaming in the small bathroom.
“Jimin. Faster,” I said breathlessly as I felt my orgasm nearing. I looked up at him. His eyes were shut and his mouth was half way parted looking in utter bliss. As he thrust a few more times as he reached his orgasm and I soon followed. I wrapped myself around him trying to catch my breath.
“Next time it’ll be more comfortable. Your suite or mine?” he asked laughing as he pressed his forehead against mine. I smiled,“How about both?”
Hi, I was wondering if you could do a criminal minds Spencer sickfic. Maybe he could throw up on Derek or something like that. Please no slash though. Just a fic where he says he just doesn't feel good and is really sick. Thanks! By the way, I really love your writing style.
Here we are. I kind of already had this story outlined, so I thought I’d go ahead and finish it. It is another migraine fic, but I promise I’ll try being a little more original next time. And I pretty much only write asexual Spencer, so you’re certainly in luck there. :)
The day starts off slow. There’s just paperwork to do. No new cases demand the BAU’s attention. Most of the team is in Hotch’s office chuckling over a home video of Jack’s soccer game. Only Spencer and Derek remain in the bullpen working.
Spencer shifts the folders on the desk in front of him, hoping his eyes and brain will perk up a little. He moves the file on top to the bottom of the stack and glances at the next packet of documents. That case was barely two weeks ago, but Spencer has to pause and organize his thoughts before he’s clear on the details. Spencer flips the folder open and scans the first page. It’s the ME’s report on the murdered woman, but the top left-hand corner of the page appears to be missing. The edge looks jagged, and Spencer brings his fingers up to touch it. He’s confused when he feels the paper, intact, and pierced with a staple. Spencer shifts his head an inch to the side, and the visual disturbance moves with it, now tearing a chunk out of his mousepad.
“Fuck,” Spencer whispers under his breath, so quietly it just sounds like an exhale. No wonder he’s tired and feeling cognitively slow. There’s a migraine brewing. Spencer drops his elbows to the table and presses between his eyes. The slight pressure building in his sinuses had been nothing, only proof that autumn is in full bloom and that it may rain later. Now, though, it’s a ticking time bomb.
Spencer lets out his breath and watches the visual disturbance change shape slightly, now more of a guitar pick-like blob rather than an inverted triangle. “You ok?” a voice says from behind him.
“Mm,” Spencer murmurs, swallowing, straightening up, and swiveling his chair to face Derek. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says. “Just remembering some details to cross with the ME’s report before I sign off on this one.”
Derek raises his eyebrows slightly, signaling that he doesn’t completely buy Spencer’s explanation. “You never have to try to remember anything,” Derek says. “You lagging today?” The tease is kindhearted, but it clearly masks concern.
“Haven’t had enough coffee yet,” Spencer replies, reaching for the mug sitting up in the corner of his desk. Luckily, it’s to his right and out of the path of the aura, which is now shimmering around the edges. He sips the coffee, which is tepid and simultaneously overly bitter and overly sweet.
“Yeah, yeah,” Derek says with a slight smile. He taps the back of Spencer’s chair as he continues across the bullpen. Spencer flinches slightly and drips coffee onto the open file.
Spencer returns his attention to the ME’s report. The woman died of blunt force trauma to the head. Skull smashed like a watermelon. He perseverates on the mental image of her on the cold coroner’s table as he traces his finger down the page. Spencer reaches the bottom, then realizes he hasn’t actually read any of it. He returns to the top and scans the first couple of lines. Female, 32, brown hair, yes, got that. The sparkling aura shifts over the next line, and Spencer squints to read through it. Sustained w—… Spencer’s mental voice gives out as he stares at the letters, trying to make out the word. The first letter is a w. But what sound does that make?
Spencer blinks hard and forces himself to refocus. But now he’s lost is place on the page. The aura has stolen almost all of his left visual field, and what he can see with his right eye is blurry. “Fuck,” Spencer sighs again, still under his breath. It’s as if his brain can’t find its way around any of the consonant sounds, though, and it comes out as a heavy, muddled “Uhh.”
Spencer suspends his head between his hands, elbows mashed into the hard desktop, and tries to maintain an upright position as the room seems to shift slightly in his right-eye periphery. He instinctively tilts left to counteract the perceived movement and elbows a few sheets of paper onto the floor. Latent vertigo catches up, and dizziness assails him. Nausea follows, subtle at first, but rushing up toward severe. Someone says his name, but they sound far away.
Spencer swallows hard and tries to get his bearings. He can’t tell if he’s upright. Something hit the floor, but he’s not sure what, and regardless, he isn’t moving his body to get it. He was trying to read something, but he can’t recall what it was. It started with a letter whose name he can’t remember and whose sound he doesn’t know how to vocalize.
An immense, throbbing pain hits Spencer between the eyes and emanates into his nasal cavity. It zig zags up his face, bouncing across both temples and settling in his forehead at his hairline. The nausea swells and Spencer involuntarily gags. He instinctively drags one hand over his mouth, leaving him unbalanced and listing to one side.
“Oh my god, Spencer!” An urgent and slightly shrill voice sounds. Footsteps race toward him, shaking the floor, the desk, the air. Spencer retches, and warm, foul tasting liquid drips between his fingers. Strong hands find his shoulders and force his body upright in his chair. His spatial orientation catches up, intensifies the dizziness, and causes him to jerk forward and vomit.
“Alright, Reid,” Derek’s miraculously calm voice says as he supports Spencer forward. “It’s ok. Here’s your trash…” There’s a slight crinkling sound as his desk trash is edged in front of him.
Spencer takes a deep, gasping breath and wills himself not to retch again. He tries to tell Derek that he’s fine, and to leave him alone, but all he can force out are a couple of random, disconnected syllables. “I—‘s…d—.” The lower half of his face feels heavy and numb, and Spencer barely feels his body contract as he heaves into the trash can.
“It’s ok; don’t try to talk,” Derek says.
The other, higher voice starts up a stream of worried chatter. “Oh my god. What’s wrong? Is he ok? Should I call an ambulance? What can I do?” Spencer recognizes the voice, but its owner’s identity comes in a collection of impressions and images rather than a name. Tech…pink… glasses… He hardly has time to breathe before he gags again and begins coughing.
Spencer tries. He gasps a couple times and breaks off into hacks. The motion shakes his entire body, ratcheting up the explosive pain in his head and unsettledness in his stomach. Spencer bites back the threat of another heave, and tries to shuffle his thoughts into something coherent. Aphasia is always intense and short-lived, and he thinks he may be able to speak now.
“I’m…ok,” He chokes. “Just… I don’t feel good.” The retch on the tip of his tongue rises up and out, and bile courses down, catching Derek’s sleeve before hitting the trash can and making the plastic lining fold in on itself.
“Do you think…another trash bag?” Garcia asks, and Spencer pathetically congratulates himself on remembering her name.
“Doesn’t matter,” Derek murmurs. “Enough of a mess already.”
“Sorry,” Spencer breathes, pressing his hands over his face and ignoring the resulting stickiness.
“Not your fault, kid,” Derek reassures. “Migraine, right?”
“Yeah.” It’s a sad sigh.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s not something you can control.” A paper towel seems to materialize from thin air, and Derek swipes it over his arm before passing it into Spencer’s shaking hands. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up a little bit. Then you’re so being sent home.”
This is the
first of this type I have tried my hand at. I hope you all enjoy it! It took
forever to get this thing done.
Ashleigh and Eve, for keeping me going during this whole process! You girls are
This has a few NSFW moments.
Please excuse any mistakes.
stockinged foot slid up his back, wrinkling his waistcoat with each upwards and
downwards pass. Her naked bottom sat perched on her tall cushioned stool with
his fingers pressed firmly in its soft flesh. Her rose colored dress fanned out
behind her while the front was clutched tightly in her fist. Only one of her
long stocking covered legs and the man currently feasting on her nether regions
were laid bare to the morning sunlight filtering in through the window.
heaved within the confines of her corset as her other hand gripped and pulled at
his long blonde hair that had long since been pulled from its tie.
throaty hum vibrated against her core at her tug pulling a gasp from her lips
that turned into a soft whining moan as his hot tongue slithered around her
back just a hair, his heated breath warming her center, “Shh Love. Your Lady’s
maid will hear.”
cheeks deepened in color as she realized she had forgotten herself, as she so
often did when it came to him, yet again.
undulated, seeking out the friction and pleasure only his mouth could give her.
She felt his chuckling breath puff over her soaking core a mere second before
his lips closed around her throbbing nub.
combined with the rapid flicking of his sweet tongue had her gripping his hair
tighter, her head falling back as her climax rushed over her trembling body.
Caroline’s mouth fell open with a soft cry as he continued licking her
vigorously, his calloused hands pulling her hips closer to his face as he
extended her high.
The sudden sound
of a rapid knocking at her door had her scrambling with a gasp of surprise. Glancing
down in fear she was met with equally frightened gray eyes.
are you all right?” The voice of her Lady’s maid inquired at the same time the
handle on her door began to turn.
she flung her obscenely large skirt and petticoats over his form effectively
hiding him from view just as the door creaked open.
alright My Lady? You look a touch flush.”
Creative Inspiration with Wim Wenders, Marina Abramović, Jonas Mekas, Patti Smith, & More
From words on sustaining a personal artistic voice–Don’t do anything that somebody else, that you know deep in your heart, somebody else can do better, but do what nobody else can do except for you.–to others on how building your brand leads to a promising future–Be concerned with doing good work, and make the right choices, and protect your work. And if you build a good name, eventually that name will be its own currency.–artists of renown share their insights and “advice” to stir your creative inspiration in this collection of video interviews. These artists of film, performance, music, literature, and more show us that the artist’s spirit needs constant care and feeding; and across the board, they emphasize the importance of intuition and instinct for the successful artist while maintaining the cultivating nature of consistent hard work.
Louisianna Channel presents the series Advice to the Young through which any artist regardless of age can seek creative inspiration and guidance. Read, watch, learn, and absorb.
Do what you want, make the things you want to see, because more than likely you’re not going to have any material rewards, so you might as well not sell that part of yourself out. You might as well be true to what you want to do and not turn art into another day job…Find a lot of like-minded friends, make a community, and don’t wait for the art world to make it happen, make your own art world…If you’re doing something counter to the zeitgeist, that’s probably a good idea, you’re probably on the right path. - Fred Tomaselli (American artist)
I believe that advice shouldn’t come from other people, but that each person should gain a direction for oneself by overcoming difficulty, and a true direction will come from overcoming adversity. Everyone, think deeply, fight harder, and obtain splendid direction for your life. I wish for you to gain guidance from your deep thinking and spread your ideas all over the world in order to establish a wonderful life and world. - Yayoi Kusama (Japanese artist and writer)
Don’t listen to anybody’s advice, just do…When you go to film school, you meet others. Otherwise, I say, don’t go to film school, get a camera, because you don’t know what you really are all about, what you really want to make. “I want to make films.” But what kind of films? When you go and begin to do what you think you want to do, and you discover, “For what I’m doing, I have to know more about lighting.” Then you go and study lighting. “I have to know more about lenses.” Then you go and study lenses…Maybe you’ll never need everything for what you want to do. - Jonas Mekas (Lithuanian-American filmmaker, poet, and artist)
If you want to make something of yourself, you have to work for it. You must never give up. If there are day or weeks where you lose faith in yourself, you must go on believing that you can work. You must practice your words just like a musician practices his notes. Non-stop. Write, write, write. - Herbjørg Wassmo (Norwegian author)
Don’t do art unless you have to. You can be creative in any field. It’s not just a little ghetto called “art” that allows you to be creative–too many people think that…Try not to be too misled by other people’s views of what you’re doing and what you’re thinking. Be a little bit crazy in your thinking. Don’t just think that what you’re doing is upsetting. Don’t be afraid to be yourself, in other words, in art. - Susan Hiller (American artist)
Know that genius is 10% inspiration and 90% perspiration. - Umberto Eco (Italian semiotician, essayist, philosopher, literary critic, and novelist)
My advice to young artists would be to follow the path they themselves recognize as the right one. Chasing after false idols or role models is always a dead end. Even if the path they want to follow might seem strange or doesn’t seem to promise much success, stick to it. It’s the only way to deal with the things that need to be dealt with. You can’t do it according to a recipe or instructions from others. Art doesn’t necessarily have to make an artist famous. Art can be very successful if a person carries through what he has to do. - Hans-Peter Feldmann (German visual artist)
My advice to the young artist, to the young architect, is, first of all, does architecture, or art, sculpting, painting, drawing, is that what you really, really want to do more than anything else in the world and you would do anything to be able to do it, because it really fires you. If that’s the case, you made the right choice, and you go for it, and you immerse totally saturated, you live it, every living second of your life. If you don’t believe in it that much, then you have to find something that you believe in, something else. And it doesn’t really matter what it is because in life I think you’ll find that everything is creative. - Norman Foster (British architect)
I think the best advice I got really came from work experience. I can’t remember anybody telling me the secret formula or anything…If you’re lucky enough to be a dreamer and to imagine how things could be, then don’t wait. You can always educate yourself and provide yourself with new information as you go along, but I think it’s a mistake to wait and to take a long course with the view of coming out as a professional. I think the earlier the better. If you’re lucky enough to love something as a kid, then pursue it with full passion and start into it right away, man. - Daniel Lanois (Canadian record producer, guitarist, vocalist, and songwriter)
I think that if you want to become a poet, an artist, you can’t fight it. If you want to be that, you will. It’s not about desire, it’s about necessity. There’s no other way. You can not give advice here. It’s impossible. You have to trust your inner drive. For the disappointments and the efforts are so tough that you must have an inner conviction that this is what you want. - Lars Norén (Swedish playwright, novelist, and poet)
Be very patient. Even patient with chaos. You have this beginning, and that beginning, and that beginning, and you’re just worried and unhappy, but I wouldn’t worry too much. I think it is a little chaotic. It’s not neat. You don’t start something and finish it and there you go, and then start another thing and finish it. - Lydia Davis (American writer)
My advice to younger artists would be something like: to be very sensitive to where they are, in what times, in what part of the world, and how that constitutes their artistic practice, their artistic inquiry. There’s lots of smaller advice such as make sure you’re not commodified by the very strong market and it’s attractivity…Just because you think about a work of art, it is not necessarily a work of art because thinking about it and a work of art is really quite far apart. - Olafur Eliasson (Danish-Icelandic artist)
Painter, photographer, filmmaker, video artist, whatever you do, nobody else can do that better than you, and you have to find what you can do better than anybody else, and what you have in yourself that nobody else has in themselves. Don’t do anything that somebody else, that you know deep in your heart, somebody else can do better, but do what nobody else can do except for you. - Wim Wenders (German filmmaker, playwright, author, and photographer)
How do you know you’re an artist? That is the main question. To know you’re an artist or not is like breathing. You don’t question breathing. You have to breathe otherwise you just die so you breathe. So if you wake up in the morning and you have some ideas and you have to make them and this becomes an almost obsession and you have to create, you have the urge to create…I think a great artist has to be ready to fail, which not too many people do. Because when you have success in a certain way and the public accepts you in a certain way, you start somehow involuntarily producing the same images, the same type of work, and you’re not risking. The real artists always change their territories, and they go to the land they’ve never been. There is unknown territory, and then you can fail and you can risk…“Ready to fail,” that makes a great artist. If you wanted to, as a young one, you wanted to be famous and rich, then you just can forget even the idea of being an artist because the money and the success are not an aim, they’re just a side effect, and sometimes it happens in your lifetime and sometimes not, but it doesn’t keep you away from working. - Marina Abramović (Serbian performance artist)
The only advice I have is probably something young artists and musicians already know. Although some of them may have the ambition to be the next Jay-Z, the number of those artists are very small. And often the artists that are very successful that way, they don’t have much flexibility. In achieving success, they kind of lose a lot of their creative freedom…If the musician or artist values their freedom and their ability to be creative, then they have to maybe realize that they won’t be making hundreds of millions of dollars, they might be making less money, but they might have more artistic satisfaction. - David Byrne (Scottish-born American musician)
When I was really young, William Burroughs told me–and I was really struggling, we never had any money–the advice that William gave me was “Build a good name.” Keep your name clean. Don’t make compromises. Don’t worry about making a bunch of money or being successful. Be concerned with doing good work, and make the right choices, and protect your work. And if you build a good name, eventually that name will be its own currency. - Patti Smith (American singer-songwriter, poet, and visual artist)
Request: “could you please do a oneshot where Peter Parker gets jealous cause she’s best friends w Bucky and Cap :}” - Anon
Summary: When Peter joins the Avengers, he finds his girlfriend to be good friends with Bucky and Steve. He tells himself he’s not jealous, but he totally is. And it eats him alive until he can’t keep it secret anymore.
Pairing: Peter Parker/Reader
Warnings: Light descriptions of gore (it’s an impromptu medical procedure that’s not that descriptive)
A/N: I liked this request. It was fun to write! I’m sorry it’s not better but I haven’t watched Spiderman in forever so my characterization of Peter is lacking and I’m sorry. Hopefully it’s not too bad for you, Anon. And jealous Peter was hard for me to write tbh lol Anyway, enjoy!
The day Peter had joined the Avengers had been a rather interesting one, considering he’d found out that he’d been working alongside his girlfriend this entire time and never realized it. He could still remember the exchange as soon as he walked into his first debriefing:
“(Name)?! What are you- Wait, you’re an Avenger?”
“I was about to say the same thing to you, Peter! Hold on, are you Spider-Man? Are you telling me my boyfriend has been Spider-Man this whole time and I didn’t know?”
“Yeah… And are you that- that Ravenshadow or Shadow of Ravens chick or whatever?”
“One, it’s Shadowraven, and two, yes I am.”
It had been rather awkward for the Avengers to watch the couple squabble, which they let go on for about ten minutes before they (Steve) decided it was time to get back to the actual mission at hand. After a rather awkward first mission of the couple constantly worrying about if the other was going to get hurt, and getting hurt anyway because worrying about things is distracting and buildings don’t exactly move out of your way when you’re flying at them, they had a talk to clear things up. Since then, things between them had never been better.
Well, at least until Peter started noticing how friendly (Name) was with a certain captain and his best friend.
The first time he noticed it, he didn’t think anything of it. It was an inside joke with people she’d been working with for a long time. Things like that happened when you spent an extended period of time with someone.
It was just a few minutes before they were planning to leave for a mission in some out-there country. Everyone was just finishing up last minute flight preparations when (Name) went up to Bucky and Steve, who were double-checking their double check of their weapons.
“Hey, Bucky,” (Name) smirked as she approached him. “Incoming.”
Bucky let out the most aggravated of sighs as Steve and her laughed it up. “Are you ever going to let that go?”
“Oh, absolutely not,” Steve said with a chuckle. “I still don’t understand how that happened.”
Peter just looked on in confusion, before asking, “How what happened?”
(Name) looked up at her boyfriend, a joking smile still on her face. She looked about to tell him when a yell from Tony rang out, “Let’s go, children! We got people to save and asses to kick!”
“I’ll tell you later,” (Name) told him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek as she made they made their way to the jet to head out for their mission.
“Oh… okay then,” he muttered awkwardly to himself as he got himself situated in his seat so they could take-off.
The next time Peter noticed anything it was at a team movie night. (Name) was cuddled against him, her head on his chest as they watched the some newer action film Clint had been dying to see. The thing was it was full of pop culture references galore, leaving Bucky and Steve very confused.
“Wait… what did he mean by that?” Steve asked when the others laughed at the character’s reference, scratching the back of his head as he continued to stare at the screen.
“I don’t know, Stevie,” Bucky began, “but I’m pretty sure it means the same thing as that one lady said about ten minutes ago.”
“I forget how out of touch you guys are sometimes,” (Name) mused with a chuckle. “You don’t even know a Harry Potter reference when you see it.”
“Well, considering we saw the first movie once about six months ago, we’re not exactly familiar the film, okay?”
Laughing at Bucky’s lame attempts at defending himself, she stated, “That’s it. Next time you’re both free, you’re coming over to my apartment and we’re watching the Harry Potter movies.” She gave Peter a nudge, asking, “What do you say, Pete? Sound like fun?”
Peter nodded, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. “Yeah, sure. That sounds like a lot of fun.” He watched as (Name) squealed in excitement, telling the super soldiers to text her with days they were free so they could properly plan it out, all while trying not feel the jealousy that was suddenly blooming in his chest.
The next time he truly noticed how close (Name) was with Bucky and Steve was during one the most intense missions Peter has ever encountered during his time with the Avengers. The worst part about this was Peter wasn’t there. Ever since the Hulk incident in Wakanda, it became customary that one Avenger stay behind to make sure nothing happened. It just so happened it was Peter’s turn during this mission.
In the depths of the South American Andes, the Avengers had been tasked with retrieving a weapon that was thought to be one of the most dangerous in existence. Why people kept trying to build these things, he would never understand. The area had been known for being hit with small earthquakes, trembles really.
So it was no surprise that they were caught in the middle of a quake as they were trying to navigate the mountains to get to the extraction point. What was a surprise, however, was the tumble of boulders, displaced due to the shaking, that fell around them as they made their way around the mountain. Most everyone was able to avoid getting hit by the falling rocks by either staying still or by jumping out of the way.
(Name) hadn’t been so lucky. She’d tried to move out of the way, but ultimately she hadn’t been quick enough. She’d managed to avoid being completely crushed, but her leg remained trapped under the rather large rock.
“(Name)!” came a few scattered yells from various teammates as they rushed toward her. The quake diminished in intensity until it stopped all together, just as the others reached her.
Tony’s voice soon broke through the coms as the dominant voice in the conversation. “Hold still, kid,” he told her. “Bruce is triaging you from the jet. How are we looking, Bruce? Is she alright?”
“I don’t see anything concerning upon my cursory glance, but I need to look at her leg to see what kind of damage it sustained,” Bruce’s voice responded to the question.
“Steve, Bucky, you heard the man. Come help me move this,” Tony stood, gesturing to the rock.
Just as the three men took position, Bruce’s concerned voice chimed in with, “Try to lift, pushing can cause more damage.”
Once all three of them were sure they had a good grip, they heaved on the rock until it lifted off of (Name)’s leg, flipping it over securely on its side so it wouldn’t fall over again. With that done, Tony bent down so the camera in his helmet would once again be able to take in the injury. (Name)’s leg was a bloody, bruised, and swollen mess. It was hard to look at, if the paling pallor of shock on (Name)’s face was anything to go by.
“(Name), do you have any numbness or tingling in your leg?” Bruce asked.
“I wish,” (Name) groaned in response.
“Can you move your leg at all without pain?”
The moment she’d tried to move her leg, she’d let out a sharp yelp that had her clenching her fists and shutting her eyes tight. “Nope. Nope, I cannot. Not at all,” she hissed, talking in a clipped tone.
“So what’s the situation, Bruce?” Steve asked after a few moments of silence on the other end.
“There’s no open fracture, so that’s good,” Bruce began, “The bad news is her leg is most definitely broken and medics are at least an hour out.”
“Can’t we just carry her back to the extraction point?” Natasha asked. “Wouldn’t that be faster?”
“Yeah, couldn’t they?” came Peter’s anxious voice through the coms.
“Oh, Parker, welcome to the conversation,” was Tony’s sarcastic reply.
Bruce made a noise that said he was thinking before he spoke again. “While it would be faster, the latest quake knocked out the path you were taking. The only other way to get to the extraction point requires you to scale up some of the rougher parts of the mountain. That stress could cause more damage to her leg. Even if Tony flew her, it could exacerbate her injuries unless you found a way to stabilize the bone.”
(Name) let out a pained groan, a tear of frustration escaping her eye before she could stop it. She may have been a crime fighter, getting punched, stabbed, and shot at on a regular basis, but getting crushed was new. And, after this, she never wanted to do it again. A broken bone, an hour wait, and no pain killers? At this moment, (Name) was hating her life.
“What can we do until the medics get here?” Clint asked, trying to keep his concern out of his voice.
“There isn’t much but keeping her calm. We don’t need her going into shock.”
“See, (Name)? All you gotta do is stay calm. Easy, right?” Tony said, trying to keep the mood light.
Evidently, it had not been easy. As was with most things, they were fine until they weren’t.
(Name) had been doing fairly well at keeping her pain at bay, suppressing groans here and there whenever she’d tried to adjust herself in Steve’s hold, who’d been volunteered as a makeshift pillow to help ease her discomfort as they all sat around waiting for the medics to get there.
A little over an hour had passed with no sign of the medics when things got interesting.
“Hey, Bruce?” (Name) asked in a weak voice. “Is my… my leg supposed to tingle? Because I broke my arm when I was younger and I don’t remember my arm starting to tingle.”
“No, it’s not,” Bruce’s voice came in calm, but with undertones of worry. “What kind of tingling? Is it itchy or burning?”
“Burning, it’s more of a burning.”
“I need you to move your leg for me and tell me how the pain is now compared to how it was earlier.”
“Are you crazy?” Clint asked. “Isn’t moving a broken leg considered a bad idea?”
(Name), though hesitant, also knew Bruce was probably onto something. She did as he asked, making herself move her foot. The pain that flared definitely had her concerned, but also screaming in pain. “OW! Yep, it’s worse. So much worse. And it’s- like- tingly too.”
When Bruce let out a hissed curse, the others were instantly on alert. “What does all that mean?” Bucky asked. “Is that bad?”
“If we don’t do something about it now, it will be,” he responded. “Does anyone have a knife?”
Natasha went down to her boot and pulled out a sleek looking blade that looked more like a dagger than a regular knife, beginning to twirl it in her hand while Tony asked, “Wait, why do we need a knife?”
“It looks like (Name)’s developed Compartment Syndrome.”
Everyone made a face as Clint asked, “What the hell is that?”
“Yeah, what is that and why does it require you to find a knife?” Peter repeated the questions dumbly, his voice controlled but holding undertones of anxiety.
“It’s a condition that results from certain types of injuries and causes pressure to build up in the muscles. If we don’t relieve the pressure now, it can cause permanent muscle or nerve damage,” Bruce told them in a clinical tone that reflected the urgency of the situation at hand.
(Name) didn’t like where this was headed. “And how are we supposed to relieve the pressure exactly?” she asked nervously.
The doctor ignored her, instead, he immediately began dealing out instructions to the others, knowing the sooner they did this, the better. “I need a few of you to hold her down and see if you can find something to sterilize the knife with.”
The coordinated fashion in which the Avengers moved still surprises them to this day. Steve pushed firmly on her shoulders, holding her down long enough for Thor and Bucky to take an arm and hold it down. Clint had taken to holding her uninjured leg down so she wouldn’t be able to kick out. Tony took to carefully holding down the upper part of her injured leg while Natasha ripped open the already damaged fabric to reveal the injured skin.
(Name)’s eyes were widened as she exclaimed, “What are you-”
Natasha’s voice interrupted her friend’s yell to ask Bruce, “We don’t have anything for sterilization. Now what?”
“Make a six inch incision going down her calf,” he instructed.
“Guys, isn’t there any other way to do this other than cutting into my leg?” (Name) asked, vocalizing the terror that could clearly be seen in her eyes.
“(Name)-” Peter’s calm voice came in through the com “-listen to my voice, okay? Don’t pay attention to what’s going on. Just focus on me.”
Natasha used the distraction for what it was and pressed the knife to the swollen skin, beginning to make the incision. A scream tore through (Name)’s throat as the knife tore her skin apart, trying desperately to wretch herself out of the grips of those holding her down.
“Breathe with me, (Name). In…” Peter tried desperately to get her to calm, but she continued to scream in pain, her head thrown back. “And out.”
The makeshift procedure that lacked all the basics lasted only a few minutes. Once it was done, Natasha set the knife aside and nodded at the others to loosen their grips on (Name)’s body. She started sniffling, tears streaking down her face as she felt herself come down from the adrenaline.
“It’s okay, (Name),” Steve said, stroking her sweaty hair. “You’re gonna be okay.”
“The medics should be here soon,” Bucky reassured.
Peter hated everything about this situation. He hated that (Name), the girl he loved and cared about so much it hurt him, was injured and in pain. And he hated that he couldn’t do anything about it. He hated not being able to hold her hand and tell her it was going to be alright. Hell, he hated not being able to hear her yell at him and call him out on his BS.
He wanted to be there, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything but listen to her cries as he watched via the feed on Tony’s camera as she sought comfort from the two men she called friends. Two men who were actually there for her when he’d failed to be.
It took another thirty minutes before the medics showed up, which meant Peter was forced to watch the others, namely Steve and Bucky, comfort (Name). This made him hate Bucky and Steve just a little bit more than he should have.
The final straw came about a month after (Name) had been discharged from the hospital. She’d been allowed limited mobility on crutches, meaning she spent most of her days on the couch, watching movies and daytime trash television. It was on this day she had been sitting on the couch, watching movies with some of the others when she’d mused aloud, “I’m thirsty.”
“Oh, I was just about to get up,” Steve told her. “Do you want me to grab you something while I’m up?”
She responded with a smile, saying, “Yeah, a can of soda would be great, thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”
The sincere smile she gave Steve added to the feelings of jealousy in his chest, spurring him forward. “Actually, Steve, I’ll get her drink,” Peter said, quickly standing before he could stop himself. Maybe it was the look on Peter’s face, or maybe it was the fact that it didn’t actually matter who got the drink, but Steve shrugged, veering away from the kitchen and down the hall towards the bathroom instead.
Bucky gave Peter a weird look as he passed by to get to the kitchen. “Is your boyfriend okay? He seems… snippy lately.” He was right. Peter’s attitude was getting increasingly more hostile, especially towards him and Steve. His usual easy-going attitude, which he used with everyone, was now being replaced with short comments and glares directed at the super soldiers.
“I don’t know. I think it might be stress, though he hasn’t talked to me about it,” (Name) replied, a sad expression crossing her face.
It was then Peter came in with a can of her favorite soda in hand, holding it out to her with a smile, “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Peter,” (Name) smiled at him, making him feel a little bit better than he had before.
This good mood didn’t last long.
(Name)’s phone rang, making her sigh as it broke her focus on the movie. She answered it and conversed briefly before hanging up. She paused the movie, causing the others in the living room to groan in disappointment. “Sorry, guys, we need to pause. Apparently that new prescription is in and I need to come pick it up.”
“I’ll take-” Bucky began, but was quickly interrupted.
“I’ll take you, (Name). Just let me get my shoes on,” Peter stated shortly, sending a glare Bucky’s way as he bent down to retrieve his shoes from the floor.
“Okay, kid, seriously, what is your problem with me?” Bucky asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at Peter.
“What? I don’t have a problem with you. Why would I have a problem?” His response was snippy and his actions were jerky in barely concealed annoyance.
“I don’t know. Ever since that mission in the Andes, you’ve been really mad at me for no reason. I just want to know what I did to make you angry.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, the fact that you and Steve schmooze over my girlfriend isn’t something I should be upset about, right?”
“Oh my god,” (Name) muttered, bringing her hand up in a facepalm. “You have got to be kidding me…”
Bucky’s brow furrowed and he looked about to say something when Steve came back into the living room. Steve looked just as confused when he read the facial expressions of those in the room. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.
“What’s going on is little Petey here is jealous,” Bucky told him, a smirk on his face as he continued. “He thinks were trying to steal his little girlfriend or something. It’s kind of hilarious.”
“What I am not jealous!” Peter defended, scoffing as he crossed his arms in an effort to look more nonchalant.
“You kind of are, Peter,” (Name) chuckled as she boosted herself up and grabbed her crutches so she could stand. “Look, you have nothing to worry about.”
“You are, Peter. An idiot monkey in space could see how jealous you are. I have no idea why. I mean, Steve and Bucky are my friends. If anything, they’re like my two, very gay, dads.”
Bucky and Steve were a bit taken aback by the comment. Steve, simply flabbergasted as he was, tried to defend himself, “Hey, we are not-”
(Name) simply raised an eyebrow. “Dude… I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Work it out so we don’t have to watch you two have eye sex during missions.” The two men shared a look before looking away, rubbing the back of their necks with a light blush on their faces.
She turned back to her boyfriend, clearing her throat, “Where was I?”
“You were telling me I had nothing to worry about,” Peter told her.
“Oh right,” she chuckled slightly embarrassed. “You don’t, because I don’t love them the way I love you. I love them in a platonic way one loves their older brother or their best friend. But you? I love you in a way I don’t think my current level of high school education will be able to describe. You make me feel things I haven’t felt before, though considering this is one of the first real relationships I’ve had it’s not surprising. You make me laugh. You ground me. You dazzle me.”
She took his hand. “Look, I’m sorry if my relationship with Bucky and Steve weirds you out, but you just have to get used to it. They are my friends and I want them to stay my friends. I hope this won’t be a problem for you.”
Peter sighed, giving her hand a squeeze. “It won’t be. I just… I guess I was taking my insecurities out on them and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”
“Insecu- Okay, that’s it.” (Name) pulled him over to her for a kiss, pressing her lips to his heatedly. Peter, caught off guard, let out a surprised moan before wrapping his arms around her, responding eagerly to the kiss.
“Not that I mind,” Tony, who had been watching the whole exchange while eating out of the tub of popcorn in his hand, began, “but I was rather enjoying the action movie we were watching. I’d rather not have to watch the rom com currently playing out in the form of you two making out. So, if you could either leave to get the damn prescription or press play on your way up to Peter’s room where you can eat each other’s faces in private.”
(Name) and Peter pulled apart with a chuckle. “He’s right. We should go,” Peter said. “That prescription isn’t going to fill itself.” As (Name) resituated herself on her crutches, prompting Peter to ask, “Do you need any help?”
“I got it,” she responded, moving forward on her crutches as if to prove her point. Peter rolled his eyes in humor as he followed after her, car keys jingling as he jogged ahead to open the door for her.
May I ask what your process is for getting inside the heads of the characters you write in your fics? I love the result!!
What a lovely ask. <3
Once I’ve been writing a character for long enough, I don’t have any particular process. I find it easier for fanfic than original fiction, because while it’s easy enough to picture and ‘hear’ a character that you’ve seen/heard on screen, I sometimes find it difficult to give ink-and-keyboard characters a sustained voice.
If I’m not as familiar with a character as I could be, or if I’m trying to work out what they’d do in an extreme or unusual situation, I do something kind of embarrassing; I sit there and talk to myself as if I’m them, in first person. Sometimes I just write it out, but sometimes I’ll record it on my phone because I can talk faster than I type. It helps me to try to think a situation through the way they would (or, depending on the character, would NOT).
I still have a like 10 min recording from when I got stuck on a chapter in Isharay a while back. If I ever get murdered and the police go through my phone, they’re gonna think I’m a real fucking weirdo.
Fucking hot take because I’m mad: ignoring the real world impacts of ML/authoritarian-leftist regimes, imo one of the biggest fundamentally stupid things that Marxists have generally believed in is the whole “dictatorship of the proletariat” idea. As if a top-down command of the economy, politics, and (often) culture of a country is anything remotely resembling “liberation.” People can fucking miss me with any left-wing policy that doesn’t actually do anything to empower people. Freedom, prosperity, sustainability, and a voice for everyone in the economy should be the goals. I am never going to see eye-to-eye with someone who thinks “wanting a top down bureaucratic hellcape” is a defensible political position.
Want people to have workplace democracy? Just fucking give it to them. Lend government support to unions, cooperatives, and employee ownership. Eliminate perverse incentives in the financial system. Work to counter inequality in public institutions. A government, even the most benign and incorrupt democracy, is never synonymous with the people; people can decide their fates for themselves if empowered to do so. None of this is anything resembling easy to achieve, and achieving it with the wrong policies can sometimes be even worse than not trying in the first place, but like… that dictatorship stuff is running in the complete opposite direction.
(I am not happy with some people I was following.)
Okay but can we talk about Patrick’s high notes in the bridge and how the instrumentation is so sparse that we could hear any imperfection in his tone but there isn’t any? He full voiced and sustained a high C# and that’s something you don’t see in contemporary music all that often
Musician Kate Nash explains the impetus for her new YouTube channel, conceived as a meeting place for a new generation of likeminded feminists
Kate Nash: “The internet has exploded in ways that most of us couldn’t have imagined – and even at 27, I feel like I fall fast behind the teenagers of 2015. Tumblr is the new teenage bedroom wall: a perfect place to express yourself, an eternal stream of images and ideas. Combine that with a lot of girls’ desire to craft, scrapbook and stay up till the early hours thinking about feelings, and you can see why the internet has helped facilitate the comeback of a pro-feminine scene such as riot grrrl. It’s also why I set up Girl Gang, an online YouTube community for feminist girls, boys, women and men who want to learn new skills, share ideas, inspire others and seek self-confidence.
It was my early experiences of sexism in the music industry that gave me a strong thirst for the female voice, though. I searched the internet and old record shops for female punk icons, and soon discovered riot grrrl. Listening to Bikini Kill’s Kathleen Hanna gave me the confidence I needed to get up on stage and be photographed every night on tour. I started my own zine, and riot grrrl became a huge part of my identity. Punk may have helped me find my voice and made me realise that I had the right to have one, but it was riot grrrl that helped me sustain that voice and shout a little louder.
Hopefully, Girl Gang will be a place where people can find solace, too. As well as doling out great life tips, such as how to foster a dog or play the guitar, the channel is an online community full of people from around the world who support one another. It’s symptomatic of our time: girls are much more prone to encourage each other in 2015. They stick up for each other, and the internet gives us a globally interactive Wild West in which to discuss what we want, without a man overseeing it. We’ve realised the power of the internet, and the strength in working together."
A post wherein film writer Kimberly Luperi celebrates how a teen Lauren Bacall survived Howard Hawks’ acting training to earn a celebrated spot among greats like Greta Garbo & Marlene Dietrich.
“You know how to whistle, don’t you, Steve? You just put your lips
together and… blow.”
Lauren Bacall cemented her spot in film history with quite a
conspicuous Hollywood debut in TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT (’44). She skyrocketed to
fame and captured the hearts of America and co-star Humphrey Bogart in a tale
worthy of the screen itself.
Bacall’s first big break came in March 1943, when Howard Hawks’ wife
Slim spotted Bacall’s Harper’s Bazaar cover and pushed the director to give her a
screen test. David O. Selznick, Howard Hughes and Columbia also came knocking,
but Bacall chose Hawks. Charlie Feldman, Hawks’ agent/partner who proved an
early confidante of Bacall’s, arranged for the teen to come to
Hollywood. (Hawks later downplayed this story, stating his secretary
‘accidently’ sent for Bacall when he merely wanted to gather information about
Bacall’s test came with the works: a dressing
room, stand-in, and director Hawks for two to three pages of material. Hawks immediately
signed her to a personal contract, and then… nothing. He kept Bacall under
wraps so as to maintain an air of mystery, and Feldman assured her Hawks was
waiting for the right time for her debut.
In the meantime,
Hawks put Bacall through what he called “four months of the toughest kind
of training.” He encouraged her to toughen up - one method was to insult men
at parties, which she tried on Clark Gable - and required her to perform scenes
in different languages. Hawks also instructed Bacall to train and
sustain her low voice; to this end, she drove into the hills, found a secluded
spot and read The Robe aloud.
Hawks tailored everything “to complement what he wanted me to
be,” Bacall said. He thought she would pair well with Cary Grant or
Humphrey Bogart. Grant excited her; Bogart not so much. When she snagged the role in TO HAVE AND HAVE NOT (’44) and
finally met Bogart, there were no fireworks. However, her opinion of him soared
after he did all he could to put her at ease on set. Even so, nerves still
racked Bacall, and a future trademark came of it: “I realized that one way to hold my trembling head
still was to keep it down, chin low, almost to my chest, and eyes up at Bogart.
It worked, and turned out to be the beginning of The Look.”
Originally, the script called for Bogart to divide his affection
between Bacall and Dolores Moran, but halfway through, Hawks & crew decided that
Bacall should receive Bogart’s full attention, and she became the co-lead. “You
can’t beat chemistry,” Bacall proclaimed. No, and you can’t prevent two
people from falling in love, though Hawks, jealous because he was infatuated
with Bacall, threatened to send her to poverty-row studio
Monogram. That obviously didn’t work.
After production wrapped, Bacall’s publicity built up
steam for her grand entrance. WB publicity chief Charles Einfeld remarked: “Nothing
like Bacall has been seen on the screen since Garbo and Dietrich. This is one
of the biggest and hottest attractions we have ever had.” Newspapers and
magazines had a field day with her “auspicious launching,” commenting on
everything from Bacall’s sultry looks to box office appeal to fashion
sense. Oblivious as to the power of
publicity, Bacall had no clue what the launch would bring. Lucky for her, she remained grounded. The rest, as they
say, is history.