#« conflicted looks good on me. » hart (musings)

[thirdpowersa]

in case anyone is curious about the power distribution between the nams, it goes something like this:

together, they're at their most powerful, a considerable, almost undefeatable threat (assuming, you know, they know what they're doing with their magic, which is about a 50/50 depending on the verse).

even two of them combined are fairly strong.

individually, all three have a great amount of magic and are pretty powerful, but there are certain levels of strength.

as the oldest, jordan has the strongest power. while hart and jaden can hold their own, jordan has the most magical potential. the power imbalance isn't necessarily super noticeable, but jaden and jordan or hart and jordan as a duo would have more concentrated magical power than if it was just jaden and hart.

[everythingloureed]

Humphreys was raised in Bridgeton, NJ, and San Antonio, TX. It was said that the family were of part Mexican Native descent. An apparent trans child who played with dolls, and wore girls’ clothes, Humphreys wanted to do people’s hair. As Rachel she graduated in hair-dressing at a cosmetology school in Bayonne, NJ, (north of Staten Island, across the river from Manhattan).

She was a regular at Max's Kansas City, the hip and glam rock nightclub on Park Avenue South. She also frequented the 82 Club on E 4th St which was in transition from a transvestite performance club to a glam rock and then punk club.  The New York Dolls did their first show there on April 17, 1974, when they performed in drag, except for Johnny Thunders who refused. They were followed by Wayne County (not yet using the name Jayne) and short-lived glitter bands like Teenage Lust and Harlots of 42nd Street.

It was there at this time that Rachel met Lou Reed, the musician. Lou described Rachel in an interview with Bambi magazine:

"It was in a late night club in Greenwich Village. I’d been up for days as usual and everything was at that super-real, glowing stage. I walked in there and there was this amazing person, this incredible head, kind of vibrating out of it all. Rachel was wearing this amazing make-up and dress and was obviously in a different world to anyone else in the place. Eventually I spoke and she came home with me. I rapped for hours and hours, while Rachel just sat there looking at me saying nothing. At the time I was living with a girl, a crazy blonde lady and I kind of wanted us all three to live together but somehow it was too heavy for her. Rachel just stayed on and the girl moved out. Rachel was completely disinterested in who I was and what I did. Nothing could impress her. He’d hardly heard my music and didn’t like it all that much when he did. Rachel knows how to do it for me. No one else ever did before. Rachel’s something else.”

She moved in with him right away. He was then living in a modest one-bedroom apartment at 405 East 63rd Street. Lou had already written a few songs about trans women, and with the single, “Walk on the Wild Side” (which referred to the Andy Warhol-sponsored trans stars, Candy Darling, Holly Woodlawn and Jackie Curtis) had his biggest hit. Rachel was at this time oscillating. Some days she was Ricky, and others he was Rachel. People who knew Lou and Rachel used either pronoun. One journalist referred to Lou’s ‘boyfriend named Rachel’. Both Lou and Rachel enjoyed the confusion and further muddied the water by wearing each other’s clothes. She was street-wise and spunky in a way that Lou only pretended to be. She was said to always carry a knife, and was good in a fight – which proved useful when a concert at the Pallazzo dello Sport in Rome turned into a riot 15 February 1975.

Lou had been working on his fourth solo album, Sally Can’t Dance – the title track and spin-off single assumed to refer to trans woman, Sally Maggio, who was manager at the 220 Club, another trans bar where Lou went drinking. Sally would in the 1980s open Sally’s Hideaway, and then Sally’s II, again a bar for trans persons and with trans performers. However it was Rachel whose image was on the obverse of the Sally Can’t Dance LP sleeve, drawn as if reflected in Lou’s shades.

She supported him on some of his tours. In New York, they lived for a while in the Gramercy Park Hotel, and then an upscale apartment on East 52nd St at FDR Drive where Henry Kissinger, Greta Garbo and John Lennon had lived. In 1975 they began to frequent the rather grimey but seminal punk club, CBGBs. Lou was recording Coney Island Baby, released January 1976 and several tracks refer to Rachel. At the end of the follow-up tour, Rachel was mugged and assaulted. A doctor was called, who inevitably referred to Rachel as ‘she’, even though Lou was saying ‘he’. As Aidan Levy says:

“Rachel had been contemplating gender reassignment surgery, but the transgender rights movement had not yet solidified, and not fully understanding the nature of the decision, Lou was adamantly opposed to any operations, a growing source of conflict in their relationship”.

Despite this, a friend commented: ““I think that Rachel was the glue holding Lou together, or at least keeping him in the public view in many respects … I know that he doted on her. If there was a light shining, it was the two of them together. It doesn’t mean it was the healthiest relationship in the world.” The cover of Walk on the Wild Side: The Best of Lou Reed, 1977 is of photographs of the two of them.

Rachel acted as road-manager on the next tour, managed the money, and watched over the road-crew. They were in London for their third anniversary and ordered a three-tier cake to celebrate, and Lou gave her two diamond rings. He said:

"Rachel knows how to do it for me, no one else before ever did”.

However by the end of 1977, Lou and Rachel were fighting more and more, and frequently it was about the issue of transgender surgery. She had a date for surgery but backed off as Lou said:

“Well why are you doing that? I love you because of the way you are”.

The title track of Street Hassle, 1978, is about her, and an article in Rolling Stone referred to Rachel as the raison d’etre of the album, although in fact it marked the end of their relationship. Lou moved on, having met Sylvia Morales, who became his third wife in 1980.

Reed completely refused to talk about Rachel after 1978. He desisted and decided to go straight. Both his later marriages were with cis women.

Rachel died in 1990 age 37 at St Clare’s Hospital, which specialized in treating AIDS patients, and she was interred in the gigantic pauper burial site on Hart Island off the Bronx coast (which contains over a million corpses).

Lou died in 2013, aged 71, from liver failure.

LegsMcNeil & Gillian McCain. Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk. Penguin books, 1997: 154-5, 206.

Marc Campbell.  "Rachel: Lou Reed’s transsexual muse".  Dangerous Minds, 02.06.2013.  Online.

Howard Sounes. Notes from the Velvet Underground: The Life of Lou Reed. Doubleday, 2015: 182-4, 187, 189, 191, 192, 194, 195, 202, 203, 205, 208, 212, 213, 214, 215-6, 221-2, 226, 229, 235, 248, 269.

Simon Reynolds. Shock and Awe: Glam Rock and Its legacy, from the Seventies to the Twenty-First Century. William Morrow Publishers, 2016: 271-2.

Aidan Levy. Dirty Blvd.: The Life and Music of Lou Reed. Chicago Review Press, 2016: 221-2, 227, 233, 244, 251-3, 264, 285.

Corey Kilgannon.  "Dead of AIDS and Forgotten in Potter's Field:  In an untold chapter of the AIDS epidemic, scores of unclaimed bodies were buried in a remote spot on Hart Island.  How many exactly remains unclear".  New York Times, July 3, 2018.  Online.  

[writerwrites]

Yuánfèn | 03

Ch. 3: Saudade: “The feeling of longing for an absent something or someone that you love but might never return.”

Summary: When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Chapter Word Count: 4.2k Chapter Warnings: Slow burn, grief, fluff, domestic fluff is strong in this chapter... ALL THE FLUFF

Series Masterlist | Series Playlist | Complete Masterlist

You hadn’t been sleeping, not really. Between bouts of crying over the piles of pictures and old love letters from the war, you were at a loss for words. A part of you was so mad at yourself for never getting to know your grandparents, not really, not on a level that truly meant something. You loved them and by the prideful placement of your graduation pictures on the coffee table by your grandmother’s reading nook there was no doubt they had loved you too or at least been proud of your accomplishments. You were no one to the world. No one thought about the person that patched up heroes and now the one person left with whom you may have been their world was also gone. You could only describe the feeling as being left adrift.

Adrift, what an odd, dark place to be. You mused in silence as you thought about life, time, and death. None of it seemed black and white to you. No one was wholly good or bad and even the flawed souls had people that cared about them at some point, conflicting as that may have been. You’d turn that thought over in your head, night after night, wine in one hand and pictures or letters in the other. It made you wonder how long it would be until you’d find a soul to remember you when you were gone, the act of having to replant yourself one that felt more like a chore than your tired body seemed to have energy for. The only person that seemingly connected to your entire existence now was a hundred-and-something year old patient that was adored by every person that knew even a fraction of his story. Every night, with that reminder in mind, you’d polish off your glass and curl up into a ball on the couch and wait for a couple hours of reprieve from the horrors of your solitary reality.

At odd hours, you and Steve would check in with each other. For the most part the pair of you had stuck to texting, you with your proof that you were eating and Steve with some balm that the team was still in one piece without you. To your surprise, he managed at least one short FaceTime every few days. This was a new and pleasant escape from your solitude that happened to include little introductions to food he’d never had and meaningless promises that you’d cook more in your tiny kitchen and bring him your leftovers to try. Maybe it was the way his face lit up when you managed to peak your head up from your bundle of hoodie and blankets, but it really felt like he understood and never judged you for how miserable you looked or for those moments where you’d simply fall silent mid-sentence. In fact, he never commented on your appearance at all. Two weeks and it felt like you learned more about him than you had in all the years as a doctor at Stark Industries.

You missed your job, kept telling him as much but Tony insisted you stay and get what you had to get done over with to prevent you from having to make multiple trips away. Stark may have claimed one thing, but your conversations with Steve made you suspicious of what he was getting into and how he was coping with Wanda’s vision. As if you were on some sort of mental health retreat. Steve wouldn’t say anything particular about it, but you noticed that his jaw went tight before commenting that there were no medical emergencies waiting for you and he’d tell you if there were. It was one of the least reassuring statements the soldier had ever given you and he seemed to notice the way your expression fell, getting off the phone awkwardly with an excuse that he remembered he had somewhere he needed to be.

Something told you that it would be the last time he would FaceTime you on your trip to Mallorca. Rather than let yourself get upset by that or hyper analyze the giddy feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach every time your phone lit up with his name, you busied yourself with all the things you should’ve been working on in the first place. It was the most productive day you’d had since getting there, but you managed to forget to both eat or slow down and rest. With little interest in laying down on the couch, still incapable of sleeping in your grandmother’s room, you decided to shower and head out to find something to eat at one of the dozens of little shops. The noise in your head was already wondering what Steve would say when you sent a picture of whatever you were eating and he realized you’d actually left the house for more than groceries or a meeting with the lawyer.

The late April air was warm and dry, a light breeze blew in the sweet scent of the Valencia red roses and lemon scented geraniums that lined the large balcony. As you towel dried your hair with a yawn, half tempted to collapse onto the couch as your stomach groaned with hunger, the doorbell chimed through the house. You looked down at the maxi dress you’d put on, a little wrinkled from being in the small suitcase, as your heart raced. You hadn’t been expecting anyone and no one had swung by to check on your grandmother, but you figured it was only a matter of time. This is fine, I’m glad she wasn’t alone, you chanted whispered over and over as you went to the door and pulled it open.

Steve rocked on his heels, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a small box wrapped in parchment paper and tied with a simple blue silk ribbon. He could hear footsteps inside and his gaze moved over the place. It wasn’t like any place he’d ever been before, more like something from a postcard, and he found himself eager to explore the streets he could hear voices coming from. Then he heard the rapid pulse and little pep talk on the other side of the door, causing the corners of his lips to turn up in a small smile. In possibly the worst attempt at a Spanish accent you’d ever heard, he managed a bashful, “Buenas tardes.”

With a gentle nudge to his shoulder, mostly to make sure you weren’t hallucinating, you managed to pick up your jaw and ask, “Tony finally send you out here to drag me back?”

“Nah, team had a lead and I want them to practice a little recon without me. I’m not too far from them and, I think, my friend needs me a little more than they need me.” He swallowed down his nerves and you tried not to stare at his Adam’s apple or the fresh stubble along his jaw. Instead you looked at the box in his hand. “Sam said this might help with the pictures and things.”

Slowly backing up you nodded for him to come in, watching him duck through the doorway that he easily filled, as you took the gift from his hand. Moving the blanket and pillow from the couch so you both could fit, you carefully opened what was a portable image scanner that would plug right into your computer. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath, though he’d been watching you the whole time despite wanting to look around the place and he put a hand on your back, thumb rubbing across your spine as you let out a shaky breath. “It’s perfect.”

Nice things, little things, every little opportunity of letting yourself feel even a fraction of emotions seemed to make you fall apart. Steve noticed and took the gift from your hands, setting it gently on the coffee table next to your discarded laptop. “I didn’t get a breakfast or a lunch picture from you. Why don’t we go grab something to eat?”

For some reason you felt the immediate need to protest, but his hands were gently pulling you up from the couch and leading you back to the door. The sun stung your eyes when the door opened and there wasn’t a super soldier to block out the light, making you pull back into the house. Steve didn’t let go of your hand, waiting and trying to encourage you by brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “Okay.” You reassured yourself more than him, taking each step slowly as you let yourself be anchored by the man walking with casual purpose as if he knew where he was going. “Are we wandering or did you really memorize a map when you Googled the place?”

Steve smiled at you, a real smile that reached his eyes and you did your best to not cringe at how much your body naturally reacting with your own smile wracked you with guilt or how obvious it was that he knew by his fingers lacing through yours as he held on just a little tighter. Even when you turned down a little street you hadn’t explored and he pulled out a chair for you at a quaint little bistro you were still smiling. “So, I know what tapas are and with some googling this is supposed to be one of the best places for them.”

Time and again, something normal slipping from this man’s mouth couldn’t help but make you stare at him in awe. “Well, do you like spicy food? Tapas are great and patatas bravas are spicy. You can’t go wrong with the classic tortilla de patata though.” A waitress passed you both a menu and you ordered a café con leche and Steve politely nodded to have the same. “You know you just asked for espresso with milk, right?”

His face went a little pink as he admitted, “I thought café was coffee?” Attempting to hold in your laughter, the small sound that did escape you was muffled by the sound of melodic guitar pouring through the open doors and windows of the restaurant. “If I would’ve known that you were all alone in a postcard I would’ve asked Sam to check on Benton sooner.”

“Benton?” Your head tilted to the side as the waitress set your espressos between you and you processed, while asking her for a coffee with cream and sugar on the side.

“I told you that I’d end up naming your fish if you didn’t. Thomas Hart Benton is an American painter… pretty famous, but probably not an everyday kind of name if you aren’t really into the Regionalist art movement.” Steve waited until the waitress walked away before trying the espresso, his nose scrunching like a kid trying a sip of beer and finding out it tasted nothing like juice.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you?” Hiding your smile behind your own espresso, you stole another glance at him, catching his bright blue eyes on you for just a moment before pulling away to the colorful scenery. “You’re  lucky you showed up when you did. I was torn between a nap and finding something to eat.”

“Is the espresso so you don’t fall asleep on the table?”

Burying your face in your hands you tried to hide your embarrassment. “It’s not that I’m not ecstatic to see you or that you’re not amazing company.”

Your hands muffled your words and Steve reached over and pulled them down. “It’s fine. I understand. You can get your nap in after you eat something.”

To your surprise, he kept reaching out for your hand between bites and light conversation. By the time you were done eating the waitress was hovering, now seemingly aware of who he was. Despite the looks and flirting on her end, he kept his attention on you, insisted on paying, and walked you back to the house. A part of you thought you’d wake up from the dream when you walked through the door but he followed you, only letting your hand go to close the door. “There’s a lot of books to read. I’ll probably only sleep for like an hour.”

“Sleep as long as you need to, Darling. I can sit out here and read or if you’d like me to help scan things onto your computer, I could do that too.” Steve’s smile fell as you buried your face in your hands and started to cry. “Hey, I don’t have to touch a thing. Whatever you need.”

His arms wrapped around you when his attempts to gently pull your hands from your face failed. Just as he’d done before, one hand caressed your back and the other stroked your hair until you settled into the hug. “I’m sorry, you’re just being nice and I’m exhausted.” Craning your neck to look up at him, you caught the glimmer of tears in his own eyes. You didn’t have to wonder who he missed, knowing that probably every person he’d cared about was gone or moved on in the time he was frozen. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch.”

Steve took in a breath, trying to steady himself as he looked over at the couch, remembering the pillow and blanket you’d moved for you two to sit earlier. “This whole time? Is there not a bed?”

Swallowing you hid your face, “There’s a bed, but it smells like her.”

“C’mon.” Steve cautiously pulled you out of the hug, “Show me where it is. I’ll be your pillow and you can get some proper sleep.”

You were in shock; confused, physically and emotionally exhausted, and then he was taking your hand and pulling you toward his best guess at the direction of the bedroom. After opening the door to the bathroom and office, Steve pushed open the door to the bedroom. Reluctantly and barely over a whisper, you muttered a quiet, “Okay.”

He stepped out of his boots and climbed onto the bed, taking up nearly the whole thing, before he reached out for you. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Nodding you climbed in next to him and he pulled you right into his chest. His thumb and palms wiped the damp from your cheeks before brushing your hair from your face. Steve waited, holding your face, gently brushing your jaw as you settled in at his side, your head far away from anything that could shock your senses with nostalgia and grief. “Comfy?”

It didn’t seem to matter that you had to hike your dress up to your knees or that ‘comfy’ meant your legs were tangled up in his. The blankets being under the pair of you didn’t seem to matter either, when you were warm against his abnormally warm chest that, despite being solid muscle, still felt more comfortable than the pillow you’d been resting your head on every night. Steve’s long broad frame dwarfed you, giving you the sense of safety you hadn’t felt since before you’d lost your family. His fingertips drew an invisible map across your bare arms and you hummed a nearly inaudible ‘mmhm’ as your eyes fluttered closed. There were a million things you wanted to tell him, but as he took you in his arms and seemingly unleashed the jar of butterflies in your stomach, you almost instantly fell asleep to the sound of his steady pulse under your ear while he engulfed you in the scent of clean laundry and bar soap.

Steve stayed by your side, as promised, and despite the time difference and the Quinjet negating typical travel time from the States to Europe, he found himself comfortable and exhausted. Maybe it was seeing how broken you were to be sitting in a space of memories, displaced by the absence of everything you held dear, something he knew too well; but he found himself incapable of slipping out of the bed or even moving to reposition you so that he could give you some blankets. Until this moment he’d chalked up all of his thoughts of you to Natasha’s pestering to ask someone, anyone, on a date. As his blue eyes closed, he replayed your smile in the sunlight at the table, the breeze blowing the scent of your shampoo and espresso at him. God, he thought as he drifted to sleep, he should’ve asked you to dance.

When you woke up, disoriented by the darkness and a soft blue-white glow over your head, you found Steve staring at his phone, free hand absentmindedly stroking your hair. Your arm was wrapped tightly around his and the sudden realization that you were clinging to him for dear life made you relax. He looked down at you surprised. “I really thought you’d sleep through the night. Are you hungry again? It’s only eight.”

It was painfully domestic and you hated yourself for not wanting to get out of bed. It felt too much like borrowed time and you nodded, hiding your face in his side as you tried not to think about the reality outside of these four walls where you both would eventually leave back to your respective jobs. The certainty that things would go back to how they were the moment you were back in Stark Tower felt like a new pain you weren’t ready to confront. “I can make-”

“We are both hungry.” He’d interrupted you with a sleep-laced haze to his quiet voice. “We’ll cook together.”

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you gave him a studied look. “Full of surprises.” Reluctantly climbing out of bed, you stretched, feeling his eyes on you as the dress fell down your thighs back to your feet. Steve slipped into the bathroom and you heard him immediately turn the water on. Trying not to think too much into it, you put on some music and started pulling out the fresh feta, garlic, basil, and tomatoes you’d picked out at the store.

When he was done, Steve leaned against the wall of the hallway, listening to you singing along to the song, the corner of his mouth turned up as he tried to not interrupt what looked like a little moment of happiness. He could hear Sam’s laugh when he walked into your apartment to pick up the key and see where everything was. It was a laugh he’d given Bucky when he tried to play off asking the prettiest girl in school was a bet and not because he really liked her; the laugh of a friend that knew the truth but was willing to let you feign ignorance a little longer.

When you turned around, you nearly dropped the pot of water and at least half of it splashed onto you. Steve waved his hands in an apology. “I can boil water. I’ll clean this up.” His hand brushed over the soft curves of your hips as he apologized and shooed you out of the kitchen.

The person that looked back at you in the bathroom mirror wasn’t the one you’d seen every day since your arrival- or even in the last three years. You looked rested, despite your hair being a bit of a mess, and the small smile that no longer made your face ache wouldn’t seem to subside. The voice in your head tried to scold you back to reality telling you that this was the most loyal and old fashioned man on earth and that if you hadn’t sent him your location and seemed like a mess for weeks he wouldn’t have shown up. Swapping one dress for another, trying to make your hair sit right, and putting on some tinted chapstick and mascara, you came out looking like a new person and found the kitchen deserted. “Steve?”

For a moment you felt like an idiot, thinking you may have literally dreamt up his presence out of boredom and loneliness. Then he stuck his head in through the balcony door, already talking. “It’s too nice to eat inside.” You watched him visibly pick up his mouth. “You look… I feel underdressed.” You wrapped your hands around yourself about to apologize and offer to change before he said, “No, no. You look beautiful. I’m just… I’ve never really seen you not in scrubs, y’know.” He scratched at his blonde hair and nodded to the balcony.

When you stepped out you found the pasta plated, wine poured, and silverware set neatly on napkins. He’d even picked a few of the roses and placed them in a small glass of water. “How long was I in there?”

With a shrug, Steve pulled the chair out for you and when you sat down and looked up at him, waiting for an answer that he didn’t give, you watched him hesitate before going to sit opposite you. Your tongue ran across your lips, more out of the butterflies wishing you had kissed him than the smell of the food making your mouth water. “So, what do Spaniards say instead of ‘bon appétit’?”

“I think, qué aproveche, but I grew up saying buen provecho.” Steve picked up his glass and you did the same. “Salud!” You cheersed, tapping your glass against his. At first you kept quiet, the pair of you digging in with hums of satisfaction, but as your leg started to bounce under the table you found the question you didn’t want to know the answer to pour past your lips, “Are you just waiting for the team to send the extraction message?”

Steve’s fork hung from his mouth a little and he swallowed. “Yes and no? I have the Quinjet, so I’ll have to get them when they’re ready, but it could be days or longer. It could mean that I need to grab the shield and get to work.” The reality of the danger the team was in with the Maximoff twins working for HYDRA wasn’t lost on him, but two things currently felt more important. First, he needed to find Bucky and do whatever he could to save him. Second, he couldn’t leave you to cope with your grief alone. He’d seen so many people lose someone they loved and though he’d initially told himself that this was his way of doing the same thing Tony had done to help a co-worker through an unbearable situation, Steve was slowly settling into the reality that he looked forward to any time of day you gave him. “But I wanted to be here for you and I know the team can handle following a few leads without me. However long you need me and the rest of the world doesn’t, you’ve got me.”

You bit your lip, eyebrows drawing together, still telling yourself this was Steve doing a favor for a friend and to not read into what he was saying. It hurt, but you felt yourself trying to put up a wall to stop yourself from seeing the kindness of someone you happened to find attractive as more than just kindness. For a moment, you stopped to sip the wine, take a few more bites, and calm down your nerves. Just as he’d done at the bistro, he reached his hand across the table, waiting for you to take it. “I still think that I need you.” Whatever this was, you knew he had given you the first manageable day since you went adrift with fresh grief.

He watched you take his hand, studying your small fingers and how they wrapped around three of his, clinging to him like you had in your sleep. “I still think you need me, too.” But he held it in, trying to focus on you and not confess that he thought maybe, for the first time since he woke up from the ice, he felt like someone really saw him.

The conversation was lighter from there and the two of you decided to walk the cobbled streets to where he’d left the Quinjet so that he could get his bag and gear. As you walked back, hand in hand, you slowed down as a young musician plucked out a beautiful and intricate song on his Spanish guitar. “Can we just… just for a moment. My grandparents would’ve never walked away from this.”

Setting his shield, conveniently hidden in a leather case, and his duffel bag next to the musician, Steve came back to you and held out his hand. “I have no idea how to dance to this, but I’d love to learn if you’ll give me a chance.”

It took every ounce of self-control to not bypass his hands and place yours on either side of his neck so that you could pull his mouth down to yours. A soft, nervous laugh passed your lips, “Full of surprises.” A boyish smile spread across his lips as he did his best to learn and three songs later, the two of you settled into the easy slow dancing that disregarded everything else around you, including time and the small crowd that had joined what, to all others, appeared to be two young lovers lost in their own world.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I’m still shooting for posting a new chapter every Sunday. I would love feedback from you. Do you think they’ll put up a wall before admitting they have feelings? Is someone going to crack first? What’s going to happen when they’re back at the little villa or Stark Tower? I’d love to know where you think this is going.

I mentioned this last time, but while I do keep Reader vague, I’m a Latina. If you know the history of Venezuela, then you also know its political climate in the last 30+ years has led to a mass diaspora, which is why Reader (who like me was raised in the U.S. with family abroad) has some different phrases than typical Spaniards for things. I hope that my Latinx readers don’t mind and that my non-Latinx readers will stick around.

Divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics​​​

I will be reblogging with tags, send an ask if you’d like to be added either to the series or to my overall tag list.

[mxscnx-blog]

           hiiiiii, my name’s adri ! from the gmt+8 which i like to call narnia . i’m trying to type this up quickly bc i was supposed to hop into the shower, then i remembered that we’re doing intros, so i’m leaving this post and am open for plotting 25/8 ! i’m really looking forward to writing with each and every one of you tbh. so please feel free to shoot me a message for plotting or to just chat and get to know each other. i do not bite ! . . . unless you’re into that ;) *coughs* anyWAY

          i can’t rlly say it was easy for me to even consider joining this group ?? mainly bc i haven’t been in group rps lately, and alSO i’m quite aware of how underused my fc is but tbfh i’ve had mason for 2 years or maybe even more ?? i see him differently in my head from his fc ( like baby-faced bradley cutie ) but i also couldn’t think of anyone else to play him, so i rlly hope i could do justice to broaden your imagination ! and he’s originally an indie muse that i love, mainly inspired by adam wilde from if i stay. but i thought i could attempt to give him a home here. so pls excuse me while i geek abt my son . . .

{ the virtuoso }

POSITIVE TRAITS: charismatic, experimental, eloquent, self-indulgent, peaceable, gregarious, venturesome

NEGATIVE TRAITS: brazen, fickle, flirtatious, skeptic, reticent, subjective, pessimistic

HISTORY:

triggers: prostitution, violence

his mother laura hart was a literal nobody who sold her soul for a living ( prostitution ). and it wasn’t until a drunk hookup that she dealt with an unexpected pregnancy alone *gives me a fantine vibe from les miserables*

she never would’ve thought that she’d give birth to a child prodigy-- which was all that she ever had. a charming baby boy that managed to climb up the piano seat and play the keys as if that was his purpose of living ( during a family gathering )

and while she came from a very unfortunate background, she could only assume that he got his genes from his father’s side ( while she didn’t have a single clue about who he even was )

laura gave little mason all the love he deserved. she went through several jobs just to provide for her child, making sure that he would always play the piano

as he grew older, mason never failed to amaze her mother even more. his passion for music was intense at such a young age, that he also situated himself with other musical instruments: such as the guitar/bass/ukulele, drums, violin, and the flute

when he was eleven, she met robert downey, a mysterious man in the working class, and they fell in love. but it took a while for mason to adjust since his mother was the most important person in the world for him. and it didn’t help that they eventually had household arguments, just like every other couple. but there was no denying that their relationship was toxic, and mason clearly acknowledged that

mason would defend her with every chance he gets. it came to a point where robert stabbed him with a kitchen knife, that had him sent to the er and almost took his life. luckily he survived the critical injury, though the scar had remained below his right collarbone

love can really work in the strangest ways, because even after almost murdering her son, laura still gave robert a second chance. but the scar haunted him forever, and it was no surprise that mason, too, had been holding a grudge. though robert was no longer violent, proving that even the worst people can change for love

but mason never had a consistent relationship with his “father figure”. if they weren’t at each other’s throats, they were being civil for the sake of his mother, or perhaps pretending to like each other. he was always skeptic of robert that he never knew what it would be like to actually be taken care of by him

due to the rollercoaster of events between his mother and his so-called father, mason refused to believe that love ever existed ( with the only exception of the unconditional love for his mother ). he has extremely pessimistic views about anything else about love, and as he grew into his teenage years, he was gaining trust issues and refused to commit or open his heart to anyone

but !!! robert and laura got married when he was around 13 ?? and their household has been blessed with his five younger siblings: mikayla ( 2 ), katie ( 3 ), toby ( 4 ), ashley ( 5 ), and stanley ( 6 )

he’s tried to be the best big brother ever that he almost has no love left for anyone outside his family. tho the tension with robert was still there ( it never leaves )

his entire life revolves around his family ( most importantly his mother and his siblings ), music, manipulation, and avoiding his feelings as much as possible. he loves to compose music as much as he loves to write songs. music is a very powerful thing to him

flash forward to the days he was absolutely driven with classical music and piano recitals, until society had eaten him up and influenced him with rock concerts and also, might have acquired a talent of singing along the way

PERSONALITY:

he’s honestly a smooth talker, maNIPULATIVE af and absolutely laid-back. he causes conflict due to his arrogance and close-mindedness but also knows how to swerve away from it ??

he can do anything and still be charming. it’s like he always has a stick up his ass ?? but in a way that he always knows how to present himself without seeming too embarrassing nor afraid

kind of a paradox bc he’s very competitive and determined but he also reacts like it’s no big deal to him and like everything seems so effortless ?? ( but rlly it’s not )

if he doesn’t like you enough, he can be very blunt and straightforward. but his primary virtue is patience, and believe me he has a ton of it

he can literally flirt with anyone or anything that moves and knows the right words and actions to make someone feel like they’re the only person in the world to him

99% of the time he’s geeking about music and gets along best with those who are as musically-inclined or as enthusiastic with music as he does

he’s the life of the party. hates sports. hates theories. very practical. only graduated high school bc he doesn’t rlly believe college would do him any good. ESTP af. organized mess.

along the way of partying too hard and bottling all his feelings, he greatly relies on alcohol and sleeping around with people ( he’s pansexual btw )

he’s a crowd favorite and rlly knows how to put on a great show

he knows his priorities and is absolutely independent. as much as possible, he tends to have no strings attached

he has a long way to go regarding character development . . .

pls help

WANTED CONNECTIONS: details will vary bc my brain is always cooking up a storm

childhood sweetheart/skinny love *someone messaged me abt this but like it hasn’t been finalized*

current best friend

flirtationship ;)

cute friends ( fluffy platonic fun ! )

ultimate rivals

fake dating for publicity

friends w benefits

enemies w benefits ??

others ! tbh i’ll still set up his connections page

but if u have something in mind PLS let me know thank u xo

*breathes heavily* plslslslslslsls plot with me i’ll love u down so hard ok

THANK U SM FOR READING. I AM V EXCITED OKAY 

[fearsmagazine]

THE DARKNESS - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Trinity Creative Partnership

SYNOPSIS:  Lisa is on a country retreat in hopes of reconnecting with her muse in order to write her next book. The house, which has been in her husband’s family, is located on the outskirts of a small Irish village. As Lisa attempts to write she begins to feel an unease, as if  there might be another presence in the house. When she uncovers the diary of a past inhabitant she becomes consumed by the tale and the spirit begins to take her over. The more she looks for answers and clues about the author it sends her on a road to madness. Can she discover the truth behind the Spirit in the house or will she be lost forever?

REVIEW: Over the years I’ve had the pleasure to read several novels and short stories about the legends of Ireland that include the fairies, the spirit of the earth, the woods, and changelings. THE DARKNESS is a tale that draws on that mythology to construct this modern tale of the terror brought on by the wee folk.

Tharun Mohan is an editor, producer, and writer who makes his feature film directing debut with THE DARKNESS. The plot is steeped in the dark desires of the mythological creatures of the Emeril Island, drawing into the plot the conflict between the Catholic Church and the people’s inability to forsake their pagan beliefs. The narrative is a blend of the contemporary tale as it intersects with the tale of Niaw, the author of the diary. As Lisa immerses herself into the diary it raises Niav’s restless spirit. The viewer is as much an outsider as both Lisa and Niav and as the story unfolds we are exposed to legends that encircle this town. Ultimately there is a connection between the two women that solidifies their bond. Along the way we are introduced to a local historian and a defrocked priest who wanders the streets and is rumored to have ties to the dark arts. It all makes for an engaging tale with a contemporary feel set against a classic backdrop. The only thing that drove me a bit crazy was how often during their conversations that Lisa and her husband refer to each other as “babe.” Also the film’s big reveal comes as it makes this abrupt shift to a rapid succession of flashbacks in an attempt to create this “Ah ha” moment. It either needs more finesse or it could have been left out entirely.

Mohan does a fine job of capturing performances and editing scenes together to tell an engaging cinematic tale. The house that is the focal point of the story is an excellent location. He limits his locations when it comes to the town so it doesn’t provide any atmosphere to this storybook tale. There is a starkness to the way the film is shot that lacks any je ne sais quoi to give it that storybook or fairy tale feeling it should have given the themes of the film. Some of the lightning felt stark or theatrical, lacking any dream-like quality. There is a problem with that sound that happens several times during the film which is very amateurish. When Lisa and her husband are talking you can hear his lines fine but her levels drop to the point where you practically are unable to understand what she is saying. Lastly, there is a scene where the waitress from town comes to the house to give them a message. She is wearing headphones and we hear the terrible music she is listening to. On top of that her performance is terrible and she comes across as being more unhappy as an actor having to do the scene then the character for having to deliver the message.

I like Stewart Dugdale’s score for the film. There are expected elements in the composition that deal with an Irish tale. They were subtle and not overly employed. The score didn’t add anything to the atmosphere or tone to the film and I’m not quite sure if it was either lacking the movements or tone, or possibly it wasn’t used effectively.

I found the cast very likeable. Actress Amelia Eve does a fine job in creating this woman who goes on a journey into madness. She might recognize her from her appearance in the Netflix miniseries “The Haunting of Bly Manor.” Cyril Blake plays her husband David and does an admirable job of adding an air of mystery and suspense, as well as his concern for his spouse. The rest of the cast does a nice job of adding to the color of the small town and their connection to the story.

THE DARKNESS is not a perfect film. However, it is an engaging story that offers some interesting twists. The lead character Lisa, played by actress Amelia Eve, is a secure enough anchor to keep the viewer engaged in the film. With solid locations, good period costumes, and a few other nice performances it makes for an interesting view. Keep in mind it feel like a B movie with lofty aspirations and as long as your expectations are set too high you should enjoy the film.

CAST: Amelia Eve, Cyril Blake, Katherine Hartshorne, Jo Hart, & Adam Bond CREW: Director/Screenplay/Producer - Tharun Mohan; Producer - Honey Subin; Cinematographer - Ariel Artur; Score - Stewart Dugdale; Editor - Tatjana Rhodes; Costume Designer - Maryna Gradnova OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/Ks7gdhaGcsc RELEASE DATE: VOD and Digital June 15th, 2021

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay),  or 👎 (Dislike) Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[thirdpowersa]

@celestialshearts wrote: 5, 17, 20, 25 & 31 (from romance & relationship headcanons ; accepting.) -> for hart.

5. what is your muse's ideal first date?

hart loves a classic dinner. while there's plenty that can go wrong (like, oh god, what if he spills his drink all over himself, or accidentally chokes on his food, or has sauce on his face and doesn't notice ??), he likes the comfortable simplicity of wining and dining — or being wined and dined.

17. what are some of the signs that your muse shows their care/love without saying they love/care about their partner?

he often leaves little love offerings, so to speak. like he'll make sure to get your coffee and some kind of pastry (or whatever you prefer) so it's ready for you when you're awake and have a moment, and he's very attentive. he'll bring flowers, take on a couple extra tasks if it'll help, things like that. he also checks in pretty frequently and asks how his partner is doing and if they need anything.

20. how does your muse feel about public displays of affection? would they engage in them?

he's pretty shy, and now he has a very public facing job where his reputation matters, so he doesn't really like anything too excessive, but a chaste kiss and hand holding or modest touches are so nice to him. he's a very affectionate person, he just prefers to keep it a little toned down around other people. especially since some people he lives with are disgustingly affectionate and it's like permanently third wheeling, and he's not into doing that to other people. plus, with how anxious he is, him initiating a kiss on the cheek in public is pretty big.

25. does love and romance mean a lot to your muse? do they seek it constantly or let it come when it does?

hart is a huge romantic. romances are his preferred genre, and he wants nothing more than to be in love and swept off his feet. he listens to kdrama osts all the time and daydreams about getting to have a romantic little moment with someone, so, it's very important to him !! it's not his main focus necessarily, but he's always kinda longing for it.

31. does your muse develop crushes easily? would they be open about it to a friend or keep it to themselves?

honestly, hart is someone that doesn't have a lot of crushes. you'd think he would, but he's so busy, he hardly has time to actually pursue people ... plus he's generally the youngest person in the room at work, and he's not looking to romance men in their 40s and 50s. however, in cian's case, hart does get a crush on him pretty much from day one, and he does complain about it to friends occasionally, but it just leads to him being bullied and all of his brothers calling his executive secretary hot and he's ready to fight someone.

[thirdpowersa]

tag drop — hart.