#Conductor Eve | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kylieswift31 · 1 month ago

Text

The lightning tree

There has been a consistent recurrence of trees throughout Taylor’s videography over the years. The hunger games series is particular could contain the missing context to understand what the trees represent.

(This was originally posted on X in reply to a comment about the invisible string running through various eras as a fuse for a string of TnT set to go off in succession once triggered. It was also noted that this may extend outside of the TSCU, which I agree with.)

In the hunger games, the wire or thread used throughout the arena (invisible string) is repurposed as a conductor to blow everything up to end the cycle of torturing the next generation. And the sequel ✌🏼catching fire is based on the Truman show. “Moves and countermoves.” It’s planning three steps ahead in a chess game against an opponent who is playing checkers and trying to back you into a corner. The predictability of those around them is what made it possible to plan so far in advance to dismantle the system.

Extending it beyond the TSCU (Taylor Swift Cinematic Universe) creates more connections while leaving no evidence, but it’s just subtle enough that those who are in the know can see it. Just like Truman found a way to communicate with his best friend in plain sight.

The visuals of the mastermind performance echoes the predictable clockwork pattern seen in catching fire. Just like Chely Wright said it would take someone with a level of fame and influence like Taylor has now to enact lasting change within the industry. And just like Truman and Katniss, Taylor is the one standing in the spotlight waiting for the perfect moment to strike when the storm is at its very peak (11.59pm) so her attack creates as much damage/impact as possible. We saw this play out with endorsing Kamala and mentioning Travis in her speech.

“Imagine this. You are sitting on a beach, cold and windswept. The sea is dark and angry before you. The sun sets in muted colors. You finish scrawling on the parchment. Your pen dries up as you reach the end of a story in 11 parts. None of it makes sense anyway. You're sick of having to dilute everything so far beyond recognition. But a story told through metaphor is still a story told. Even the great poet Sappho is survived by stilted fragments and mistranslated lyrics. Maybe that is the beautiful curse people like us must all share. Perhaps loving someone the world doesn't approve of forces you to be clever.” - 🎃 anon

Spider web

Honourable mention: Presley Cash with the spiderwebs that replicate the pattern of the clocks mentioned above. I’ve said this before, but the wheel of the year isn’t talked about enough when discussing clocks. In this case midnight is the end of all hallows eve and marks the beginning of the pagan new year. Does this make Presley the black cat version of the white rabbit? 🪞🕸️🐈‍⬛

The trees

There are so many tree references throughout Taylor’s music videos. I had this list saved for a while but wasn’t sure what direction it was going in until now. And for context these are the trees referenced throughout the hunger game series.

Fearless

Fifteen

Speak now

Sparks fly

Red

All too well

Begin again

1989

Out of the woods

Evermore

Willow

Midnights

Karma

Other

Safe & sound

Christmas tree farm

Miscellaneous

Tree Paine

Spotify

The Lorax

For context: The Lorax movie begins with Mr O’Hare taking advantage of the fact that all the trees were cut down to begin creating a town reliant on bottled air to survive. The main character Ted tries to impress his crush Audrey (Taylor’s character) and begins the search for a real tree. With the help of his grandmother, Ted embarks on a journey out of town as he learns about how the Once-ler instigated the destruction of the trees despite many warnings from the Lorax (who speaks for the trees).

The Once-ler (the anti hero) spends his life as an outcast on the edge of town. “When I picture my hometown there’s a bronze spray-tanned statue of you, and a plaque underneath it that threatens to push me down the stairs at our school.” He’s the magician that put on a show to impress everyone out of desperation to fit in. In the end he redeems himself by giving Ted and Audrey the last tree seed so that they can plant it in the centre of the town for all to see. In the process the golden statue of Mr O’Hare falls over and creates the first crack in the fake grass, revealing the real soil underneath. “Touch grass” -Katy Perry. The town comes around to the idea of changing the way things are done after they see the real tree with their own eyes.

In the end Audrey was the first one to speak up and question if there was a better way to live and Ted (who became her boyfriend) ended up being the one who created change by taking her idea from a dream to reality. I can’t help but wonder if this is what happened with TNT?

There are so many elements of this movie that are applicable to the bigger picture, but viewing the trees as a metaphor for what celebrities endure is eye opening to say the least. ❤️‍🩹

“My beloved ghost and me. Sitting in a tree. D-Y-I-N-G.” -How did it end?

Animal crossing

Honourable mention -Hayley Williams referencing the trees from Animal crossing. The trees and the game in general have a similar fake look to them as the scenery in the Lorax movie. This feels like an acknowledgement of the fantasy vs reality so many experience throughout the industry and that not everything we see is as it seems.

Real vs fake

To circle back to the connection between the trees and the invisible string, the willow music video is where these two elements come together. At first I thought the communal nature of the orbs represented the New Romantics, but viewing it through the context of the Lorax it now feels like a reference to everyone who benefits from the system staying the way it is. The real vs manufactured trees.

Unravelling the thread and sharing it around ensures that artists can thrive without being dependent on sticking to the old ways. In an interview Taylor mentioned how she likes to network at parties and how easy it is to share contact details and group photos etc through airdrop without leaving a trace. I feel like this is one of the ways experienced artists are sharing their wisdom with the new generation like Ice Spice, Gracie Abrams, Sabrina Carpenter and Chappell Roan.

And for all of us watching it all unfold from home, we have the opportunity to choose which narrative to focus on. We can either sit back and wait for a grand reveal or pay attention to the cracks gradually forming in the facade.

“Please picture me in the trees”

A tortured poet,

Kylie x

#gaylor #taylorswift #friends of dorothea #taylor swift music video analysis #taylor swift eras #the hunger games #invisible string

14 notes · View notes

rogueddie · 2 years ago

Text

A Quiet Express Train

Steve Harrington / Eddie Munson, Word Count ; 3444

Steve gets lucky- in 1978, the year that he gets on the Polar Express, it's one of the quieter years. No worries, or anxieties. Its nice, relaxing. A "normal" train ride. And he makes two awesome friends along the way.

Steve is only nine years old when he spends his first Christmas alone.

His parents work is important, he kept telling himself. They’d be there if they could, but they’re needed at their jobs. It’s important.

Despite his attempts at denial, he understands the truth far too well. He understands how little the holiday means to them. He understands how little he means to them.

He isn’t surprised then, and he’s not surprised when the same happens the following year. Or the year after that… or the year after that.

At twelve years old, Steve is used to spending Christmas day on his own. He’s familiar with it. He knows far too well, the hope and pain that comes with the cookies and milk he leaves on the counter, always untouched in the night. He knows that he’s too old to believe in Santa.

He’s not ready to grow up.

That Christmas eve, he places the cookies and milk on the counter. He made the cookies himself this time, took the time to warm the milk up on the stove. He put as much effort in to get them better than ever, as much as he can manage.

He hopes it’s enough. He hopes that, maybe, this time it will work. Maybe this time the fairytale will be true.

He curls up in bed, pulling the covers over his head, tucking in the corners. He still remembers his mothers soft voice telling him that Santa won’t come if he’s looking. He’s not willing to take any risks.

Even when he hears a bell. Or… not a bell.

After a moment, curiosity gets the better of him. He crawls out of bed, getting up on his tiptoes so he can peak through his bedroom curtain…

Only to stumble back, falling on his ass.

He stays there for a long moment, blinking, stunned. But the bell rings out again, so he jumps to his feet. He quickly slides on his slippers and a jacket, sprinting down the stairs and out the front door.

The train is still parked in the street. He gawks at it for a moment, trying to comprehend how it could possibly have gotten on the street. It’s massive, old. Steve glances back at the houses, surprised that no one else is coming out to check it out.

“All aboard!” Someone yells, startling him. It’s a conductor, holding out a light. “All aboard!”

Steve cautiously heads over to him.

“Well? You coming?”

Steve stares at him blankly for a moment. “Where?”

“Why, the north pole of course! This is the Polar Express!”

He gestures to the train, Steve following the gesture, eyeing the big letters painted on the side in gold; Polar Express.

“The north pole?”

The conductor squints at him for moment, humming, before holding out the lantern. “Hold this please.”

Steve takes it on autopilot. He glances back at the train as the conductor shuffles through some paper.

“Is this you?”

He’s holding out a piece of paper with Steves name and address on it, other information in writing too small for him to read.

“Yeah?”

“Well, it says here; no photo with department store Santa this year. No letter to Santa either. Hm… if I were you, I’d think about climbing on board.”

Steve glances back at his house. He can’t help but think about how empty and cold it feels. Looking back to the train… it’s so bright, a glowing orange. It looks so warm and inviting…

He climbs up the steps, going through the door inside when the conductor holds it open for him.

It’s noisy inside. There’s not a lot of other kids inside, but the ones there are loud. Four of them are on their feet, one younger kid bouncing around in his excitement. It takes Steve aback- he was expecting the other kids, if there were to be any, to be the same age as him. One of them looks like they’re four.

“Steve?”

Steve turns, recognizing the girl staring back at him with wide eyes. “Hey, you’re… we’re in the same history class, right?”

“Yeah. Right.” She blinks at him, surprised. “Right, sorry, yeah. I’m Robin, by the way.”

“Nice to officially meet you, Robin.” He sits down on the seats across from her, the only place with both seats still empty. It means he can sprawl out. “So… are we really going to the north pole?”

“Yeah! We’re gonna see Santa.”

They end up talking, just about small silly things, all the way until their next stop.

Steve gets up when they stop, kneeling on the seat so he can slide the window open and peak his head out.

The trailer park looks comforting in the shadows. All the yellow lights, soft and dim, give the area a cozy feel to it.

A kid hovers at the entrance, eyes wide as the conductor approaches him. He’s got a navy robe on that’s clearly for a grown man. It drags on the floor behind him and seems to swallow him whole with how big it is on him. It matches his hair- a little short, the dark curls flying all over the place. Even from the train window, Steve can see the dark circles around the kids eyes.

Steve wishes he could hear what they’re saying, especially when the boy shakes his head, takes a few steps backwards. He’s eyeing the train with apprehension.

“What’s his name?” Steve asks the person sat in front of him. “His surnames Munson, right?”

“I don’t know,” the girl eyes him, looking a little disgusted, sitting back down. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He doesn’t want to get on.”

Steve looks back to the kid. The conductor is walking back to the train, leaving him behind. Steve can see the lamp waving, the train slowly rumbling back into movement.

The kid stares at the train, at them, as they slowly start to move away. Steve offers him a wave when their eyes meet. And, not a moment later, he starts walking. Jogging. Trying to catch up with the train, trying to jump on.

“Hey, that kid wants to get on the train!” Steve calls into the carriage, but there's no sign of an adult. He turns back to the kid, stumbling as he struggles to run through the snow. “Come on!” Steve yells, waving him on. “Hurry up, come on!”

But the train is too fast. The kid is too slow. He’s being left behind. He falls.

“We have to stop the train!” Steve says, looking at the other kids.

“But we don’t know how!” Robin says, panicked.

“The emergency break!” One of the smaller kid pushes forward, pointing.

Steve darts over, jumping up so that he can pull it down with all his weight behind it. The train stops so suddenly that it throws all of them to the floor.

But, as Steve climbs back to his feet, struggling to get his bearings… the kids face looks in through the window. He looks confused as he looks at Steve, turning to the door of the other cart and walking inside there instead.

“WHO IN THE BLAZES APPLIED THAT EMERGENCY BREAK?!” The conductor yells, the door slamming open as he storms in.

“We had to!” The smaller kid, who pointed out the break, snaps back. “That kid wanted to get on the train!”

The conductor stands up, looking into the other cart, at the kid who’d climbed on. He clears his throat. “Oh… right. Well, let me remind you… we are on a very tight schedule a-” he pulls his pocket watch out, yelping when he looks at the time.”Ah- and I’ve never been late before! And I am certainly not going to be late tonight! Now everybody, take your seats, please.”

He darts out the cart as soon as he’s sure that everyone is sat down.

Steve turns to look at Robin, who’s turning to look right back. He tilts his head to the door, to the other kid. Robin smiles, nodding. They get up at the same time, trying to be quiet and glancing back as they creep back. They’re careful to open the door quickly, carefully hurrying into the other cart.

The kid looks up when they walk in, startled.

“Hey,” Steve greets. “We just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

“Yeah. We just... well, it’d be horrible to feel lonely at Christmas. Maybe we could keep you company?” Robin continues.

“We don’t need to talk or… be too close. If that would make you uncomfortable?”

“Nah, just… looks loud in there, ya know?”

“Oh, it is,” Robin nods a little too enthusiastically. “Lots of little brats too. You were smart to come in here.”

He’s starting to smirk, one eyebrow raising. “Yeah, totally. So, is everyone on here from Hawkins?”

“Looks like it. I recognize most people, anyway.”

Steve sits on the seat next to the kid. “You’re Munson, right?”

“Most people call me Eddie,” he drawls. “You’re Harrington, right?”

“Most people call me Steve,” he fires right back.

“And I’m Robin!” Robin jumps in, like she’s expecting conflict- but Eddie is looking at Steve with amusement. “Don’t forget about me when you’re flirting.”

“Ew, gross, dude!” Steve grimaces.

At the same time, Eddie pretends to gag. “That would only happen in my nightmares!”

“Exactly.” Steve nods.

Robin just rolls her eyes, sitting on the seat across the aisle, facing them. “Whatever.”

“What are you doing for Christmas day?” Steve asks, turning to Eddie.

“Oh… not much. It’s, uh, just me and my uncle these days.” Eddie shrinks down a little in his seat, shoulders hunched.

But Steve perks up, excited. “Really? Cool! What’s he like? Your uncle? You live with him?”

“Yeah… it’s alright.”

“I’m spending Christmas at my grans house,” Robin complains. “I think it’s just gonna be me, mom, her and grandad. Boring.”

“That’s not boring!” Steve scolds. “That sounds exciting! Do you usually spend Christmas with your gran or is this year-”

“No, we usually spend it with her. For the morning at least.”

“Cool.”

Eddie eyes Steve for a moment, realizing that his excitement is genuine. “I haven’t been with my uncle long, but it’s usually just the two of us. It’s nice. He’s quiet but he doesn’t mind that I get loud.”

“What are you doin’ for Christmas, Steve?”

“Oh, uh… not much.” He smiles tightly. “Nothing that would be as impressive as tonight! Do you really think we’ll meet Santa?”

Eddie and Robin share a look, easily seeing through Steves poor attempt to change the subject. But they go along with it.

Their conversation quickly devolves into chaos. Mostly because, once he’s over the initial anxiety, Eddie is loud. He doesn’t stay seated for long, bouncing to his feet and climbing whatever he can get himself onto- but even when he does sit, he’s moving around all the time. He keeps reaching out to Steve, nudging him or grabbing his wrist to throw his hand around in his excitement.

It’s fun. Especially with how easily Robin keeps the conversation going, slowly getting more and more open, until she’s just spewing out whatever thought she has. Even Steve finds himself getting excited. Even Steve starts to get loud and boisterous and all the things his dad had tried to beat out of him.

The journey is both too long, and not enough time at all.

He’s excited, stepping off the train with Eddie and Robin sticking to his sides… but he wishes they were still on the train, talking about nothing and laughing at Eddies antics.

The conductor is yelling out instructions that Steve half listens to. He’s too distracted by the odd little place they’ve found themselves in. The little elves in red too… there’s a lot.

Eddie steps up beside him, Robin standing her ground and insisting on standing directly in front of him. She even reaches back, holding onto Steve and Eddies hands. The conductor eyes them, clearly displeased, but he just tuts, shakes his head and moves on.

They move slowly towards a round platform, or a stage, Steve isn’t sure. But it’s not too long later that reindeer start being coaxed out, towards the stage. They keep jumping up into the air, seeming to swim against gravity, the elves hanging off the ground in their attempts to keep the animals from flying away.

“This better not be a dream,” Robin whispers, turning to grin at Steve and Eddie.

Steve laughs along with Eddie… but the thought has been nagging him, hovering at the back of his head. Because that would be the explanation that makes the most sense; he’s dreaming. But, like any other time the worry tried to push forward, he ignores it. He’s not ready to wake up yet.

Trumpets play, some of the elves coming out in two lines, holding a line of bells. They shake them, the crowd cheering in response.

Steve can’t hear anything. He tells himself it’s just because of the crowd. It’s so loud, of course they can’t hear the bells from here. One of the other kids yell about how pretty the bells sound. Steve forces himself to ignore that too.

The trumpets ring again, the two large doors opening a few moments later. Everyone loses their minds, screaming, the elves climbing on top of each other…

Steve tries to peer around them, tries to see, but there’s too many elves blocking his line of sight.

“He’s here! Holy shit, he’s really here!” Robin yells, bouncing in her excitement.

“Where?!” Steve yells back.

“I see him! There!” Eddie points. “He’s over there!”

“I can’t see him!”

Steve tries, and tries, and tries. But nothing he does works. It gets worse, too many things in the way, that he can’t even see the doorway anymore. He can’t see anything.

He looks back to the stage, back to the reindeer… back the the bells that he still can’t hear.

“I wanna wake up now,” Steve whispers to himself. He tries pinching himself, but his hands are shaking too much. His chest feels heavy, tight…

One of the bells is thrown off the little belt the others are still attached to. It flies high, slowly bouncing at a stop at Steves feet. It had stayed silent the whole way. He wants to pick it up, but he knows that if he does and still can’t hear the ringing, it will shatter his heart.

“Steve?”

He looks up to see Eddie frowning. “I c- I can’t-”

Eddie makes a quiet noise, stepping forward and hugging Steve tight. Steve clutches at him just as tight though, shaking, biting back what few tears he can.

“No, no, no, don’t cry,” Eddie quietly reassures him. “It’s ok. It just… maybe it takes a moment. And it’s loud, and there’s so many people.”

“The train was so nice,” Steve chokes out, voice cracking.

“It was, it was so nice, and fun.”

“I don’t want this to be another nightmare.”

“It’s not, and it won’t be. This is real, I’m right here and so are you. You need to believe in that.”

Steve isn’t sure how long they stay there, Eddie simply holding him, but he’s sure that it’s not too long until someone clears their throat.

Looking down at them with a raised brow, red suit, holding up the little bell, and…

“You boys alright?” Santa asks.

“Yeah… yeah, we- we’re ok, right?” Eddie looks to him, eyes a little wide, sounding breathless.

It makes Steve smile. “Yeah, we’re ok.”

He nods at them, looking around at all the kids, but ultimately turning back to them. “And for first gifts,” he speaks up, before pointing to Eddie. “Lets have this young fella, right here.”

Eddie tries to keep hold of Steves hand, but he and Robin are already pushing him ahead, encouraging him to follow Santa over to his sleigh. They both watch him awkwardly clamber into the sleigh, glancing over at them repeatedly as he talks with Santa. It looks like they’re arguing.

“What do you think is going on?” Steve asks.

“Maybe Eddie wants something that he can’t get right now?” Robin suggests, shrugging.

But, then, Santa stands up, holding his hand up. “The first gift of Christmas!”

After another quiet word, Eddie is jumping down, running back to them. He’s grinning as he grabs Steve by the shoulders. “Do you believe that this is real?”

“What? I do-”

“Harrington! Do you believe?”

Steve looks to Robin, then back to Eddie. And… “Yeah… yeah, I do.”

Eddie pulls the little bell out his pocket, shaking it. And Steve can hear it. He can hear it ringing.

“Holy shit!”

“Right?!” Eddie grabs his hand, pressing the bell into his palm and closing his fingers around it. “I got it for you.”

“What? But It’s your present, you should-”

“Steve. I got it for you. It’s not my present, it’s yours. Keep it.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispers after a moment.

They turn when the cheering reaches an all time high, just in time to see Santa in his sleigh lift up into the air. They watch him as he circles the little area they’re all gathered in, slowly getting faster until, in a burst of light, he vanishes.

“All aboard!” The conductor yells, train chooing, just as the elves start to party.

They’re quiet as they step back onto the train. This time, the three follow the other kids into the main carriage. They somehow manage to squeeze all three into two seats, without being so pressed together that it’s uncomfortable. Instead, it’s nice. Warm.

Steve keeps having to jerk his head up, struggling to stay awake for long. Robin is completely gone and Eddie doesn’t seem to be hanging on much better. The night has finally caught up with them.

Steve jerks back awake, feeling Eddie slowly trying to get up.

“Where are you going?” He mumbles, sleepily reaching out to try and stop him.

“Home,” Eddie gestures out the window. It’s the same stop they’d picked him up at. “But… we’ll see each other again, right?”

“Right.”

Eddie smiles. He looks towards the door, then back to Steve, hesitating. He darts forward after a moment, kissing Steve on the cheek. He’s blushing, stuttering through a goodbye, darting off the train as fast as he can go.

Steve watches him go, blushing just as hard, fingers touching his cheek, where Eddie had kissed him.

“You still think he’s gross?” Robin mumbles, rubbing sleep out her eyes.

“He kissed me,” Steve says.

Robin snorts, rolling her eyes. She sits up though, making a clear effort to wake up.

It’s not a moment later that the train slowly pulls to a stop. And Steves address is read off. It’s his stop.

“We’ll see each other again, too, right?” Robin asks.

“Of course.” He shuffles closer so he can hug her. “Just need to find you first.”

“Well… I’m not hard to find.” She tries to smile. She looks sad.

“Good. It’ll be good to hang out when I’m sure that I’m actually awake.”

She laughs. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“Merry Christmas, Robin!”

The conductor smiles, helping him climb down the steps. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Steve keeps looking back as he walks up the drive. He hovers in the doorway as the train pulls away, waving. He doesn’t shut the door until he can’t see or hear it anymore.

And he’s left, once again, in his cold and empty house.

The only solace is that, by forcing himself to stay awake on the train, he falls asleep as soon as he lays down.

When he wakes up, he’s sure that it was all a dream. Thinking back, it doesn’t make sense…

Well… until he searches his jacket pocket. The bell Eddie got him is still there, still ringing with that same unusual sound. It’s still there.

His doorbell rings.

Steve rushes down the stairs, careful to calm his breathing before opening it. He doesn’t recognize the man that looks down at him, shifting uncomfortably.

He clears his throat. “Harrington. I was wondering… are your parents home?”

“Uh, no… they’re on a, um, business trip thing.”

He clears his throat again, grimacing. He turns, looking towards the car parked outside the house… which is when Steve spots him.

“Eddie!” He waves, grinning when Eddie excitedly waves back. “You must be Wayne, right?”

“I am. My boy was wondering if you’d want to come over for dinner?”

“Really? Yeah! I mean- sorry, um… if that’s alright with you.

“Of course it is,” he chuckles. “We’ll wait here for you to get yourself dressed. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!”

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steddie #platonic with a capital p #steddie fic #fic #christma22k #merry christmas eve! 🎉

365 notes · View notes

otmaaromanovas · 1 year ago

Note

Hey would you mind Could you give us a huge insight of Maria and Anastasia Nikolaevna's personalitys? in some rare quotes said by someone who met them both ?

I would love to read more facts and quotes about the little pair .

Hello! Of course! I'm going to split this into two parts: this part will be about Maria, and another post will be about Anastasia.

Here are some rare, lesser known quotes, about Maria Nikolaevna (or writings from Maria herself) that capture her personality well.

"Marie was kindness and unselfishness personified" - Olga Voronova, Upheaval

Letter from Olga to aunt Xenia - "1916 August 26th … Papa brings an attendant with him to dinner, and Mordvinov comes every evening and we torment and scare him. Yesterday we discharged the conductor and drew a beard, moustache and eyebrows with a burnt cork on Marie and put her on the train. Of course, he didn't recognize her, and he was terribly tormented when during a game of hide and seek in the dark, she ran into him in the corridor and rudely pushed him. He said that it was some kind of half-drunk conductor, and found her impudent, because we gave her cigarettes and she paced about importantly, smoking them." - George Hawkins, Correspondence of the Russian Grand Duchesses: Letters of the Daughters of the Last Tsar

"The other Grand Duchesses were still children. Marie Nicholatevna was a robust, well developed little girl with big blue eves, of a typical Russian beauty. She had an excellent memory and every time somathing to be remembered her sisters always turned to her. - Alexander Spiridovitch, Last Years at Tsarskoe Selo, Volume 2

"One day the little Grand Duchess Anastasie was sitting in my lap, coughing and choking away, when the Grand Duchess Marie came to her and putting her face close up to her said, " Baby, darling, cough on me." Greatly amazed, I asked her what she meant, and the dear child said, " I am so sorry to see my dear little sister so ill, and I thought if I could take it from her she would be better." Was it not touching?" - Margaretta Eagar, Six Years at the Russian Court

The following are from George Hawkins, Alexei: Russia's Last Tsesarevich - Letters, diaries and writings - volume 1:

Note from Alexandra to Alexei, dated 1 December 1914: "Don’t tease Maria."

Letter from Tatiana to Alexei, Spring-Summer 1916 "...Taube [patient] (the one with no legs, do you remember him?) and Marie yell so you’d think the whole infirmary can hear them, they make such a fuss, and they all shout and argue. It is awfully funny to watch them."

Letter from Maria to Alexei after Alexei asked Maria to draw Joy the dog: "16 December 1916. My dear darling Alexei! I don’t know how big you want me to draw Joy, but I will give it a go, and if it doesn’t turn out, I can do it again…. I have just tried to sketch Joy but it didn't work out because I don’t really remember what he looks like and it ended up looking nothing like him, so I won’t send it to you. When you bring Joy to me, then I will be able to draw him."

The following are from Joseph T. Fuhrmann, Nicholas II and Alexandra Feodorovna. The complete Wartime Correspondence April 1914 – March 1917:

Alexandra to Nicholas "[January] 24 1915 …Marie stands at the door & alas! picks her nose..."

Alexandra to Nicholas "January 2 1916 …Baby began writing his first diary yesterday. - Marie helped him, his spelling is of course queer."

Alexandra to Nicholas "April 2 1916 …Marie is in a grump mood & grumbles all the time & bellows at one, she & Olga have B. [Codeword for 'Becker', meaning their periods]"

The following are from George Hawkins, Correspondence of the Russian Grand Duchesses: Letters of the Daughters of the Last Tsar:

Fanmail letter from American girl Dolores Sybilla Adam to Olga and Tatiana: "Jan 24 1913 …I cannot ever thank you enough for the picture that was sent to me… But tell me is Marie the only one that ever smiles…?"

Letter from Maria to Tatiana: "Tatiana my darling. Thank you very much for the note and good wishes. Although I have not seen my husband [an inside joke amongst the sisters, most likely referring to their crushes] yet, I did see him in a dream. Today we will go to the Grand Palace and I hope that Provotorov (i.e.: your husband) will tell us a lot of nonsense. It’s boring without you. I hope that I will see ND [Nikolai Dmitrievich Demenkov, her crush] again… 9th Dec. 1914"

Letter from Maria to Olga Voronova: "Dec 29th 1914 …The other day we were at a Christmas party at Mama's nanny school. There are now many children of the reserves, so awfully sweet! We gave them all toys and they rejoiced in them, and each showed his nanny what he received. They are so appetising. Some are very small, some are even only two weeks old. I really love young children, and play with them, holding them in my arms. Do you like little children?"

Letter from Pierre Gilliard to Maria: "10 December 1916 …Be careful, Maria Nikolaevna, if you continue to tease me, I will avenge myself!!!!"

Letter from Olga to Nicholas II: "16 August [circa 1904] - Peterhof. Dear Papa …Maria went to sleep in the afternoon, and Anastasia crept under the mattress and slept there with Maria on top of her. When she got up we all laughed, and so did she." - Maylunas and Mironenko, A Lifelong Passion

Letter from Alexandra to Nicholas: "14 June 1915 - I congratulate you with all my loving heart for our big Marie’s 16th birthday… Pity you are not here. She enjoyed all her presents, I gave her her first ring from us made out of one of my Buchara diamonds. She is so cheery and gay today." - Maylunas and Mironenko, A Lifelong Passion

Letter from Anastasia to Nicholas: "26 August 1915 …I am sitting on the couch near Alexei as he is having dinner with M. Gilliard, while Maria is running around like crazy. …This morning [Doctor] Ostrogorsky came to see me, but Maria and I were still in bed, then Maria covered herself with the blanket, then he entered and listened to my [lungs], but when he finished, I quietly uncovered the blanket and Maria had to climb out, and she was very embarrassed." - Helen Azar, George Hawkins, Anastasia Romanov: The Tsar's Youngest Daughter Speaks Through Her Writings

"When I first knew the Grand Duchess Marie, she was quite a child, but during the Revolution she became very devoted to me, and I to her, and we spent most of our time together — she was a wonderful girl, possessed of tremendous reserve force, and I never realised her unselfish nature until those dreadful days. She too was exceeding fair, dowered with the classic beauty of the Romanoffs; her eyes were dark blue, shaded by long lashes, and she had masses of dark brown hair. Marie was plump, and the Empress often teased her about this; she was not so lively as her sisters, but she was much more decided in her outlook. The Grand Duchess Marie knew at once what she wanted, and why she wanted it." - Lili Dehn, The Real Tsaritsa

"Count Grabbe says of the Tsar's third daughter, clearly his favorite: "With her large gray, luminous eyes, her classical features, and languorous movements, she was the true type of Russian beauty, the most good- natured and artless of the four sisters, with endearing qualities which drew people to her." More outgoing than her older sisters, Maria Nikolaievna loved children and used to talk to soldiers about their families. She knew the names of many of the Koncoy Cossacks and Standart sailors, took an interest in their affairs and managed out of her $9 a month allowance to send little gifts to their children. With all her gentle ways, she was strong and solidly built, like her grandfather Alexander III. Her sisters called her "Mashka" and sometimes "Little Bow-wow."" - Count Alexander Grabbe, The private world of the last Tsar, in the photographs and notes of General Count Alexander Grabbe

"The Grand Duchess Maria Nicholaevna was a young wcnnan of broad build. She was very strong; for example, she could lift me up from the ground. She had lighter hair than Tatiana, but darker than Olga. (Olga Nicholaevna had brown hair, of a golden shade, and Maria Nicholaevna had brown hair with a light shade.) She had very nice, light grey eyes. She was very good looking, but got too thin after her illness. She had a great talent for painting and always liked to exercise it. She played the piano indifferently and was not as capable as Olga or Tatiana. She was modest and simple and probably had the qualities of a good wife and mother. She was fond of children and was inclined to be lazy. She liked Tobolsk and told me that she would be quite happy to stay there. It is quite difficult for me to tell you whom she preferred — her father or her mother." - Examination of Sidney Gibbes, The Last Days of the Romanovs

"The Grand Duchess Maria was eighteen ; she was tall, strong, and better looking than the other sisters. She painted well and was the most amiable. She always used to speak to the soldiers, questioned them, and knew very well the names of their wives, the number of their children, and the amount of land owned by the soldiers. All the intimate affairs in such cases were always known to her. Like the Grand Duchess Olga, she loved her father more than the rest. On account of her simplicity and affability she was given the pet name by the family of "Mashka." And by this term she was called by her brother and by her sisters." - Examination of Commissar E. S. Kobylinsky, The Last Days of the Romanovs

Hope you found it interesting or learnt something new! Will post Anastasia's a little later :)

#Maria Nikolaevna #Maria Romanov #q #ask #answered #Romanov sisters #Romanov family #Imperial Russia #sources

58 notes · View notes

hollowed-theory-hall · 3 months ago

Note

How do you think knight bus works? Like a wizard/witch just puts their arm up and it just detects them?

In OotP Tonks summons the bus so probably you have to think about it but how does Harry summons it in PoA? He had no idea about it's existence then.

Does it use a trace? But you can't put a trace on an adult or it's like some sort of charm like voldemort has put on his bame in DH?

Well, let's see what we're told about it:

If he was already expelled (his heart was now thumping painfully fast), a bit more magic couldn’t hurt. He had the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father — what if he bewitched the trunk to make it feather-light, tied it to his broomstick, covered himself in the cloak, and flew to London? Then he could get the rest of his money out of his vault and . . . begin his life as an outcast. [...] Harry stepped backward. His legs hit his trunk and he tripped. His wand flew out of his hand as he flung out an arm to break his fall, and he landed, hard, in the gutter — [...] “Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this eve —” The conductor stopped abruptly.

(PoA, 32-33)

“Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better,” said Tonks, and Harry thought there was nervousness in the glance she threw around the square. Lupin flung out his right arm. BANG. A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backward out of its way.

(OotP, 524)

It seems there isn't really a spell per se, as Lupin doesn't even use his wand and Harry drops his. All you need to do is stick out your hand. And that's exactly what Stan Shunpike tells Harry: "stick out your wand hand and we'll take you anywhere,"

The Knight Bus was commissioned in 1865 according to Pottermore, so unlike The Trace and other such magics, it doesn't work on an ancient, long-forgotten spell. So, let's narrow down what you really need to summon the Knight Bus to figure out how the bus's magic could recognize it:

Stick out your wand hand over the road. This seems to be supported by all accounts of the bus, and Stan's words.

Wish to be transported by the bus. Magic is all about intention in the HP universe, so the desire for transportation likely plays a part here. This is also implied by Remus, Harry, and Stan to be part of it. Before Sirius scared Harry, Harry was thinking about traveling via broom, about how to live his life from this point onwards, so the intention of transportation was there.

So, how can the Knight Bus's magic recognize this?

Honestly, I think this is its own unique spell. We know spells can be created (as Snape came up with quite a few), and we know some spells are intended to be cast silently (like Levicorpus), so why would summoning the Knight Bus not be like that?

You think about summoning the Knight Bus, that's the intention part of the spell and it's meant to be cast silently. The wand movement is to raise your arm over the curb where you want the Knight Bus to appear (instructions for the spells on how to accomplish its intent), so this spell really gives the magic all the information needed to call the Knight Bus.

If it is indeed a spell like I illustrated, it'll make sense Harry could call it by accident. Spells can be cast accidentally, and this spell is probably no different.

This spell is probably enchanted into the Knight Bus to let it know where it is being summoned to. Basically, the wizard/witch who invented the Knight Bus didn't only invent the bus and all the enchantments to allow it to travel the way it does, but also this spell to summon it that can be cast without a wand. I'd guess it's a spell that doesn't require a lot of magic or finesse to really allow everyone to use it. And I think if whoever the inventor was could enchant the Knight Bus itself, it's not far-fetched to believe they could create a spell like that.

At least, that's my best bet.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #hollowedtheory #asks #anonymous #anon asks #hp magical theory #knight bus

14 notes · View notes

gritsandbrits · 1 month ago

Text

Since today marks the 40th anniversary of thomas and friends (the show) I'd like to share personal story.

I first got into thomas when i was a little girl. I wasn't scared of the sudden closeups on the characters faces, or the crashes or the unmoving expressions. It was quite the opposite, i was fascinated. There was something about the vibe that drew me in. It wasnt a cartoon but it wasn't realistic either. The characters didnt have traditional voice actors yet they had a personality and charm that made me eant to see what will these guys do next.

We had tapes of the Alec Baldwin and George Carlin narrations, I used to play Make Some Happy on Repeat. I think i still have it, it's in storage and i hope to burn in onto a disc one day.

I was surprised when the show transitioned to CGI. But i still wasn't entirely against it. If anything i wanted to see where it would go. I was pleased when the show finally had dofferent VAs for the characters. Narration was great and all but i loved the idea of the guys having their own VAs and got a little tired of the female characters sounding the same. Eve. When the show started to get bad, even during the Dharon Miller era, i still got my ass up as 7 am in the morning to watch episodes on pbs kids every Sunday. I didn't care. I just liked watching colorful trains and loved seeing new characters and locations.

Thomas gotten me through some pretty rough patches in childhood, and I had a lot. It showed me a world where problems can be eaisly fixed and mistakes arent the end of the world. It taught me it was okay to ask for help, that i shouldn't tackle everything by myself. Now, you might be surprised giving i tend to criticize a lot of stuff but I am also someone who embraces change. In a way, the shoes ups and down taught me sometimes you just have ti acceot everything will not be exactly the same as you want.

It's this mindset that's currently helping me through another rough time. I admit, i was too hard all all Engins go, but watching some if the episodes I came to actually like some of it. Thought it probably helped that i got turned off by the massive backlash, I felt other fans were too harsh to the point of bein downright gross. I don't want to be like them. So i had to let go of that anger and see the positive AEG has. Ironically it was this specific incarnation that really got me into drawing fanart, which was how i came up for my Shining Time Station reboot.

Without thomas, i wouldn't have met my friends. I wouldn't have gotten back into art, since i have drawn some ttte art and even rewriting the magic railroad. Speaking of, TATMR got me into fantasy, I remmberthe first time I watched it was on HBO kids and was intrigued because it literally never referenced in the shoe and i didnt grow up with Shining Time. For all its faults I still enjoy the movie. I'm even making a custom ken doll of Junior conductor. I credit thomas for helping me find my true love with Junior, i dont care if he's fictional, he's my f/o and I care about him greatly.

As for the blue man himself, I relate to thomas a lot. We're both bossy and tempered, but we're also friendly and hardworking. We slip up and pick ourselves back up. I guess, seeing thomas handling failure has gotten me to reconsider how I've been viewing life and needing yo stop defining myself on my faults. He's flawed yet still likable and beloved, so maybe, I can have a chance too.

I used to think the color blue is overrated, moresore than pink, but thanks to rediscovering Thomas, I now admit I love the color blue. It reminds me of thomas and how i should work on improving myself and my worldviews.

So, thank you thomas and friends. Thank you for being in my childhood and reminding me Adulthood should'nt have to be a cesspool of misery. I can't wait to see what the next 40 years would bring!

#gb asks #thomas and friends #tatmr #shining time station #thomas the tank engine

10 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 6 months ago

Text

Five Fics Friday: May 3/24

Happy Friday everyone! Hope you guys had a wonderful week and are looking forward to settling down with one of these fantastic fics to read! Enjoy!

RECENT MFLs

Hyperballad by PlantsAreNeat (G, 893 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Feels, Drugs, POV Sherlock) – Sherlock has bought cocaine after his doubts and fears about his and John's new relationship prey on his mind. Not exactly a danger night, but not not one either.

Conductor of Light by rsong912 (E, 8,513 w., 1 Ch. || Developing Relationship, POV John, First Time, BAMF Irene, John is a Mess, Sherlock's Big Feelings, Hurt Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending) – After the incident with Moriarty at the pool, John is amazed at Sherlock's reaction to John being in danger. He never flirted with the detective again after that first night at Angelo's, but maybe it's time to try once more. He does, with spectacular results. But when Irene Adler enters their lives, it has a disastrous effect on their budding romance.

A Midnight Clear by khorazir (T, 13,120 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas-Carol Inspired || Post S3/Post-TLD / TFP Doesn't Exist, Christmas, Angst, Fluff, Pining, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Implied / Referenced Drug Use, Magical Realism) – It’s Christmas Eve, and Sherlock is working. Because that’s what he does. He doesn’t need Christmas, or holiday cheer, or even company. He’s fine on his own, thank you very much – until a series of strange encounters on his way back to Baker Street makes him reconsider.

Best Laid Plans by TheMadKatter13 (E, 57,366 w., 9 Ch. || Omegaverse AU || Post-TRF Rape/Non-Con, Graphic Violence, Angst, Marking, Scenting, Time Skips, John's Blog, Nesting, Hurt/Comfort, Torture, Mounting, Biting, Breeding, Bonding, Knotting, Mpreg, Mating Cycles, Alpha Sherlock, Omega John, Omega Jim, Possessive Sherlock, Alpha Moran, Kidnapping) – After the detective's suicide, anyone with eyes could see that there was no John Watson without Sherlock Holmes. Only a rare few even realized there was a flipside to that coin: that there was no Sherlock Holmes without John Watson. Unfortunately, Jim Moriarty is one of those rare few, and while kidnapping his blogger had drawn out out the genius so well the first time, new intel on the 'alpha' doctor has the omega criminal arranging a little bit of 'playtime' between his alpha and his bait while they wait for the not-quite-dead to arrive.

RECENTLY BOOKMARKED LOKIUS FICS

Are We Dating? by AindyGhosh (G, 2,288 w., 1 Ch. || LOKI SERIES || Lokius, S02E05 Rewrite, Flirty Mobius, Flustered Loki, Fluff) – Now that the thought had taken root in Don’s mind, it refused to let go, clinging on to him like a limpet. As it was, Don was infamous in his friends’ circles for his lack of a brain-to-mouth filter. Therefore, it didn’t come as a surprise to him when he just gave in, and verbalised the one doubt that had been making rounds in his head since the moment he had talked to Loki. “Are we dating?” It was only logical to deduce that. And Don couldn’t believe this God-like person had been interested in him enough to agree to date him.

#johnlock fic recs #lokius fic recs #my fic recs #five fics friday

32 notes · View notes

gardenofironcomic · 2 years ago

Text

Page 114: Bad at lying.

Read from the beginning.

Start of this chapter.

#webcomics #garden of iron #comics of tumblr #eve #ada #the conductor #robots #original comic #procreate

8 notes · View notes

gamerbearmira · 1 year ago

Note

🌻 Omg, Polar Express AU without Cocooned looks so cute! The Cocooned looked cute to begin with, but I'm a sucker for AUs where Mira has a reason to not have a gift or even just gets to have a gift, lol. You said you have a snippet already planned or made for it, so does this mean you have ideas set out for it? Basically, I have QUESTIONS.

How long does it take Augustín to realize that his Christmas Magic is what kept her from getting a Mardigal Gift? And does he ever reveal to Julietta any part of this, such as what he does every Christmas Eve or even just why her daughter doesn't have a gift when he figures it out? I have a thought that he would tell Juli only after she starts freaking out about why Mira has no gift (though in the privacy of their room, because she looks the type to only freak in her bedroom where she can stop being "the strong one").

RIGHT??? I LOVE AUS LIKE THAT TOO. Guilty pleasure tbh. I guess it just gives me the closure the movie never did (except in the one kids book where she DID have a door but shhhhh

ANYWAY YEAH I DO HAVE IDEAS❗❗ I think Julieta was the only one who knew. Agustín might have implied it to everyone else, but since he never explicitly stated it, they just. Assumed he really liked trains and Christmas 😭😭 He told Julieta because she didn't want her waking up on Christmas Eve and wondering where he went 🥸

He does sort of assume she might have it. But it's only ever confirmed when Agustín gives her a silver bell and she hears that stuff. Sure the other kids might hear it, but Miranda heard it the first time. So, he sort does some other things and makes the deduction that yes, she inherited Rojas Christmas Magic and not Madrigal Gift Magic❓❗

An idea I had was Mirabel did get a room, but she also had a train she could summon (FAR smaller than the Polar Express; think of those trains they have at zoos or amusement parks). Basically she went around as a "conductor in training" and basically gave people rides to where they needed to go. Or just for fun. The trains makes its own tracks, cause magic, duh, but she can go just about anywhere with it.

Anyway, because I never expanded on this au. I never really had many ideas. But as you all know, I'M ALWAYS HAPPY TO SEE YOURS 🗣🗣🗣

A stupid. Joke I had in my mind was Mirabel would always ring the bell. And Alma would be like "what is that ringing???" Implying that she believed in Santa and Christmas lol

#my asks #my asks are open #encanto #encanto au #au #encanto mirabel #encanto Agustín #conductor Agustín au #polar express #the polar express #polar express au

45 notes · View notes

kiwisleepy · 24 days ago

Text

Since no one gave me AU Eves I made this cross with Polli

Slay the conductor before he starts his symphony! Huh? Rock concert? Lonely cello?? DJ booth??? No matter what you see, save the world and stop Maestro from tearing the universe apart✨

#no straight roads #oc #nsr #no straight roads oc #nsr oc #sketch #artists on tumblr #traditional art

10 notes · View notes

apparitionism · 10 months ago

Text

Bonus 2

Here’s the second part of a holiday story, begun in part 1, about how Myka and Helena, in a vaguely season 4 world in which nobody’s going to go to Boone but through which they have thus far been separated, are reunited for a day-before-Christmas-eve retrieval in Cleveland. Helena has been summoned by Claudia to serve as Myka’s backup, for Pete is spending some holiday time with his family... but as it turns out, the retrieval is necessary because—plot-semi-twist!—Pete Christmas-gifted his cousin, who is a bigwig at an accounting firm, with an artifact, a pen that apparently has something to do with Santa’s naughty/nice list. Which said cousin used to confer end-of-year bonuses—and penalties. As this part opens, Myka is just beginning to process the fact that the whole situation is Pete’s fault...

(And no, I didn’t manage to bring this thing in for a landing in this part. Nobody faint from the surprise.)

Bonus 2

“Okay,” Myka acknowledges, because what else can she do? The fact is that in any Warehouse-related context, “coincidence” is a non sequitur, and she begins formulating a plan to Christmas-gift Claudia with a T-shirt featuring that sentiment. How fast can she get a custom T-shirt made?

The irony is that Claudia would know.

“Yeah,” says Pete’s cousin—Pete’s cousin! She might be affirming the Claudia-irony in Myka’s head, or the situational irony Myka is now stuck in, or any of the vast array of ironies that make up the Warehousian unfolding of time itself. Myka would not have expected Pete’s cousin’s words to contain multitudes. And yet.

“He told me it was the kind of thing he thought I’d like,” that cousin continues, “and he was right. Effects aside, it’s a gorgeous implement. Perfectly balanced... which I guess works on an existential level too, doesn’t it? Naughty, nice.” She shifts the pen to rest a delicate crosswise on an extended index finger, testing its equilibrium as a chef might a knife.

The pen—or is it merely a different species of knife?—basks in Nancy Sullivan’s regard. “Resonant little instrument,” she says, with clear affection. “Anyway, we were talking about Pete.” A different sort of affection now colors her voice. “He went into this big production-number apology about it being sort of secondhand.”

“Oh?” Myka says, distracted by pens, knives, resonances... but, right, secondhand. Of course it’s secondhand. No new item could be an artifact. Or could it? This seems like a Steve-conversation topic.... and it certainly beats “H.G. is god knows where” for philosophy.

“Not because it’s not new,” Pete’s cousin says, apparently reading Myka’s mind, “but because he initially was thinking he’d give it to somebody else.”

Myka repeats her interrogative “oh?”, but she’s getting a feeling again.

“Yeah,” says Nancy Sullivan, and Myka really has to applaud her talent for broadly applicable affirmation. “He said he wanted to give it to his partner because, and I quote, ‘she likes the old-fashioned stuff,’ but then he realized he shouldn’t because, and I also quote, ‘she’s got this whole family feathery-pen dealy-thingy and I don’t want to upset her.’” She waves the pen again, this time directly at Myka, like a conductor imploring the oboes to pick up the pace. “And he told me his partner’s name,” she concludes.

“I’m sure there are lots of Myka Berings in the world?” Myka tries, weakly, raising her hands as if to offer Nancy Sullivan all those other Myka Berings. The last vestige of defensibility... then her hands drop, because really. She looks at Helena in apology, with only an indistinct, tangled sense of what she’s apologizing for. I’m sorry I occasioned this is part of it, yet there’s a deeper fault she feels but can’t quite ideate, one more consequential than an anodyne “oops.”

“Listen, he’s a really good guy,” Nancy Sullivan says.

“I agree completely,” Myka assures her. But in the interest of full disclosure, she adds, “Mostly completely. I mean, I’m going to kill him for this.”

Helena says, “Are you.” Her tone brings Myka up short: it’s impossibly knowing, suggesting insight into everything Myka has been thinking, about someday and talking and things.

Again with the reading so right.

Myka would love to have the panache to do more than glance furtively at Helena, to pull off a playful, similarly knowing response, like “that depends on my backup” (or something actually clever that will doubtless occur to her during some post-holiday post-mortem). Instead she goes with a not at all interrogative “Oh.”

Nancy Sullivan looks from Myka to Helena. Then she says, “Okay, revision: A really good guy who might be hanging onto some unreasonable hope.”

Myka wishes she could keep from glancing yet again, now, at Helena—now as she grasps the fullness of her underlying error, now as she formulates a hopeful plan regarding someday saying out loud “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize that he had any such hope and that I didn’t make completely clear that any such hope would never have been anything but unreasonable”—but the wish doesn’t work. She glances... thus proving Nancy Sullivan’s point.

“He didn’t mention you,” Pete’s cousin tells Helena. “I think I see why.”

“I’m both offended and pleased,” Helena says, with her customary little thank-you head-bow.

Rather than luxuriating in the familiarity of that head-bow, Myka tries to head off a more detailed discussion of Helena’s role in it all (and what a nondescriptively limp phrase that is) by observing, “The sixth-sense thing is quite the family trait.”

“Ah. Sure. You’ve had experience,” Nancy Sullivan says, a little droop in her voice.

Has she taken Myka’s words as criticism? Myka hurries to reassure, “Sometimes it’s very helpful.”

“But. Other times.” This is heavier, and now she must be referencing her own vibe-related experiences.

“Your family get-togethers must be really... charged?” Myka tries.

Nancy Sullivan offers another all-encompassing “Yeah.” Then she laughs. “But at least we don’t have a feathery-pen dealy-thingy like your family does.”

Helena clears her throat, an attention-garnering ah-ha-hem, as if it’s in the stage directions preceding her next line in some farce. She inclines her head: more stage-direction drama. Finally, “You do now,” she says in benediction.

Nancy Sullivan’s jaw drops. “Wow,” she says, and “wow,” she repeats. Then she laughs again and says, “He really should’ve mentioned you.”

Myka might laugh too, but she is preoccupied by the way in which Helena’s well-chosen articulation has persuaded her body to remind her that it and she have reached no mutually satisfactory agreement about appropriate reactions.

And that in turn sparks Myka to a realization: once the retrieval is accomplished, there may be a nonzero chance that she and Helena could enjoy a bit more of that liminal together-presence...

Myka’s body makes its best effort to crash through the gauzy ideating her brain would prefer to do about what such time could entail, and after no small amount of nethers-vs.-cerebrum struggle, she manages to propose, truce-wise, a simple Let’s just hope it exists.

Surprisingly, body and mind are willing to shake on that, giving Myka leave to slip on a glove and pronounce, “Just give us the pen. Then it’s over. Mostly. The money will probably revert... so you’ll most likely have to redo the bonuses the old-fashioned way.” Hearing herself, she amends, “Well. The regular way.”

“I don’t mind redoing. But reverting...” Pete’s cousin tightens her fingers around the artifact, pulling it near to her body as if she might be considering, for one last “maybe,” the idea of punching her way out.

Myka tenses, and she doesn’t need to cast a glance to know that Helena is doing the same.

She glances anyway... and indeed, Helena alive with wiry readiness is a sight worth the seeing. So worth it, in fact, that Myka is genuinely, if improperly, disappointed that said sight doesn’t cause the truce to collapse.

After a moment, however, color returns to Nancy Sullivan’s knuckles, and Myka removes the pen from her slackened grip.

But then Nancy Sullivan cocks her head. “Is it really over though? I feel like something else might be happening.”

No. No. Absolutely not. “Something else is always happening,” Myka says, affecting nonchalance as she slides the feathery foolishness into a static bag, ignoring its yipping sparks of protest. “Don’t worry about it.”

Nancy Sullivan casts a skeptical look at the barky little bag. “If you say so. Anyway seeing Pete’s face when I tell him you and I –and he and I!—are fellows in family feathery-pen dealy-thingies now? Might end up being the second-best end-of-year bonus of all, given everything.” There’s a little mockery in her voice, echoing the cousin Myka knows so well.

“And the best such bonus?” Helena inquires.

“Docking Bob’s pay,” Nancy Sullivan says instantly.

Myka snorts, and Nancy Sullivan turns back to her and says, “Are you okay with me being glad we met?” Like she’s mostly but not entirely sure of the response she’ll get, and that’s another echo.

“Only if you’re okay with me being glad too,” Myka says, her own voice sounding a familiar note—one she’s pretty sure Pete would recognize.

After a nod, Nancy Sullivan turns to Helena. “I’d say it to you, but I feel like there’s something extra going on with you, like—”

Myka steps in: “Honestly, always,” and then she’s hustling Helena out of the office even as Helena chirps, “I’m both offended and pleased by that as well!”

Back in the elevator, Helena speaks first. “I did not expect that,” she says, sounding entertained by—practically bubbly about—the entire scenario.

“I should have,” Myka grumbles.

“You’re too hard on yourself.”

“Oh god no,” Myka says, involuntarily. “Too easy if anything.”

Helena’s eyebrows rise, and her eyes accuse. “I’ve known you for no small amount of time,” she says.

Myka’s previous review fights that statement, but she doesn’t speak of it.

Her lack of response prompts a heavy I-am-no-longer-entertained sigh. “Must I return to the phrase ‘your truth’?”

“Please don’t,” Myka says. That’s also nearly involuntary, but it sounds too harsh, like she’s dismissing as unimportant that bookstore interaction, as well as the entirety of those in-extremis manifestations of herself and Helena. Rather than apologizing for that, for surely it would prove far too entangling, she tries to draw Helena’s attention back to the entertainment. “I like Nancy Sullivan. She reminds me of Pete and his mom.”

“Pete’s mother? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

That’s a bit more jousty, backed by curiosity. Good. “She’s a Regent,” Myka says, for it’s the most salient piece of information she has about Jane Lattimer.

Helena stills. Her jaw hardens. “Then perhaps I have indeed had the... pleasure.” Cold. Cold. Cold.

You idiot, Myka scourges herself. Why couldn’t she have done the normal thing and left Pete’s mom as “Pete’s mom”? But now, but now: now she’s seen this wound, down there under the ice, and she wants to test that ice, but she can’t, regardless of her wish and want to know know know, to know everything Helena has been put through, so as to know whom to hate (and she hopes that doesn’t include Pete’s mom) and whom to someday thank (and she double-hopes that does include Pete’s mom). “Anyway I think the cousin had the right idea,” she says, pushing back to the now, to what just happened. “Using an artifact to do what are really decent things, even if they were judgmental.”

“Rather Old Testament,” Helena says. “Strangely inappropriate for this holiday, no?” She asks that like she’s really thinking—wondering—about it.

Myka congratulates herself on having provided a distraction, however minimal, from whatever Regent-pain her unthinking reveal caused to surface. “I hadn’t thought about Santa being more Yahweh than Jesus,” she says, to enhance it, “and I’m not sure what it says about my position on salvation that I genuinely wish we could have let her keep that pen. Or even better, if we could maybe ferry it around to deserving arbiters... wouldn’t that contribute to the greater good, even if it’s in a judgy Old-Testament way?”

Helena’s face moves as if she’s about to answer, but before she can, a rupturing screech of metal-on-metal complication resounds decisively through the space, and their ear-popping descent slows, slows, slows...

...and stops.

After an appropriately irony-bearing pause, Helena says, “This elevator seems to disapprove of your suggestion. Or perhaps it’s your theological indecision that displeases?”

All Myka can manage is an extremely resigned “I am not surprised.”

Efforts to summon help strengthen the “disapproval” interpretation: they’re fruitless. No one answers the emergency line, and this mirrored box is, according to both their phones, the place where cell service goes to die. Or where that service is interfered with by a theologically offended pulley-based mechanism.

“I genuinely cannot believe we’re stuck in an elevator,” Myka says. It may be the most true statement to which she’s ever given voice.

After a beat, however, she concedes, “But of course I can.”

Helena casts her gaze around. Once again, exaggeratedly stage-direction-y. “At least it’s reasonably well-appointed. For an elevator in which to be... stuck.” She seems to relish articulating “stuck,” so she’s back to being entertained. Not quite bubbly, but definitely entertained.

Myka can’t get past her annoyance with the elevator’s disapproval, so she says a peevish, “I don’t like mirrors.” She’s painfully aware now that they cover not only the walls, but also the ceiling. She can’t even look heavenward in supplication, sarcastic or otherwise, without regarding herself. It really is too much.

Given that no other communication technology is working, she resorts to the Farnsworth. She gives thanks for Warehouse mojo, or whatever enables it to elude the elevator’s wrath, when Claudia answers with, “No info on ‘lists, making them’ yet.”

“We dealt with that,” Myka tells her. “New problem.”

“Another artifact?”

“Who knows? Maybe Pete’s in an elevator somewhere else in this town making bad decisions, and they’re redounding to our detriment.” She’s vamping. Stuck in an elevator with Helena, she’s vamping. Instead of simply basking in such fantasy-made-fact, she’s vamping.

She doesn’t bother wondering whether Helena knows she’s doing that; if this little adventure has done nothing else, it’s reminded Myka that Helena always knows. It’s both wonderful and terrible to be so legible, particularly to someone Myka so often finds frustratingly illegible.

“I’m not following,” Claudia says.

Speaking of illegible: Myka, heal thyself. “We’re stuck. In an elevator,” she clarifies.

Claudia makes a noise that, impressively, marries a gasp and a snicker. “Are you really? Or did you push the stop button, like people do?”

“Like people... what?”

“When they want to have a little uninterrupted chat,” Claudia says, pedantic, as if now she’s the one who’s “clarifying.”

“Nobody does that in real life,” Steve says from offscreen. Myka is pleased to know he’s around.

“Myka just did,” Claudia insists in his direction. “Didn’t you,” she insists at Myka.

“If I did,” Myka says, “why would I be calling you to get us out of here?”

“Yeah, why would she?” Steve asks, but from farther away.

Don’t leave! Myka wants to exhort. She would never admit to needing backup in a counter-Claudia sense... but she does appreciate when Steve provides it.

“Oooh, because maybe the chat didn’t go so well,” Claudia says with great, and to Myka’s thinking entirely inappropriate, relish.

Trying for calm pragmatism, she says, “Wouldn’t I just... unpush the stop button then?”

“Myka,” Claudia says. It’s the most chiding, disappointment-laden use of her name Myka has ever heard, even when measured against all the times her father has uttered those two designating syllables. “Believe me when I tell you I’m a fan,” Claudia goes on, turning mollifying, “but you really need to lean in when it comes to tropes.” Myka can’t imagine how to respond to that, so she doesn’t. Claudia sighs—seemingly everyone’s preferred go-to when Myka fails to produce words—and says, “Did you try calling maintenance? Pushing the emergency button? Using your cell?”

“Yes, yes, and no service. Do you genuinely think I don’t understand modern communication technology?”

“I think you pretend you don’t understand newfangledness all the time. Particularly when you’re trying to show off how sympatico you are with H.G., who incidentally doesn’t seem to be piping up like I’d expect. Did you knock her unconscious after your terrible chat? Or maybe during it?”

Helena has indeed been very—very surprisingly—quiet while Myka has explained the situation to Claudia. And she doesn’t step in to help Myka out now. So much for any counter-Claudia backup.

“There was not a chat,” Myka says.

Helena is regarding herself in the mirrored ceiling.

“But there could be one now?” Claudia nudges. “Let me see if I can see what’s up. I’ve got cell service.” She disconnects.

Helena abruptly abandons her ceiling self-contemplation, focusing her gaze upon Myka. It’s disconcerting. “Are you attempting to avoid an uninterrupted chat?” she asks.

Myka can’t suss the question’s sincerity. And notwithstanding all her ideas about talking, she suffers a cringing internal “yes.” Externally, however, she says, in what she hopes offers at least a veneer of sincerity of her own, “No.”

She doesn’t follow up by asking “why would I be doing that,” because Helena would probably have a guess. And because that guess would probably be accurate: “You are a coward,” Helena might say, and Myka would regrettably have to either tell the truth and agree, or lie and disclaim any emotional investment in whatever the outcome of such a chat might be.

Silence. Longer than it should be... or is it as long as Myka deserves?

You wanted time together. Don’t bellyache about the form it takes.

“Your objection to mirrors,” Helena eventually says.

“What about it?” Myka asks. Her very soul flinches.

“What is it?”

Myka has never before stated her dislike of mirrors aloud, and she regrets having done so now. To play it off, she says a dismissive, “An artifact.” And yet the truth is that despite the unnerving nature of her interaction with Alice’s mirror and how it continues to prey on her mind, it isn’t really that—or rather, that only intensified her dislike.

But when Helena proposes, “Yet another ‘dealy-thingy’?”, clearly (and preciously) trying the phrase out in her mouth, Myka misleadingly (intentionally misleadingly) nods and says, “They’re all dealy-thingies.”

To that, Helena says, “Interesting.”

Myka would probe that word, but to do so might destabilize the ground, here in an elevator. Instead, for the moment, she tilts her head in the direction of the Christmas muzak, the literal elevator music, being piped in. “Oh, sure, that still works.” She gestures at the speaker, a thin dark stripe between two mirror-panels, from which the sound is emerging. The elevator is nothing if not insistent.

In truth, she doesn’t mind Christmas carols. She does mind the bowdlerization thereof, and isn’t that an attitude the dogmatic elevator really ought to share? O holy night, the stars are brightly... synthesizing? It’s wrong.

Now even her mind is vamping. Great.

Helena tilts her head toward the speaker, however, and Myka appreciates her willingness to be redirected. At least for a moment.

In fact, for all her vamping, mental and otherwise, Myka finds herself absurdly content to simply stand against a mirrored elevator wall and regard Helena... who in that instant of Myka’s acknowledged contentment seems to accept their predicament as unlikely to be resolved in a timely fashion: she sits down, of course elegantly, resting her back against her side of the box and stretching her legs (her legs, Myka’s body notes, just to let her know it’s still paying close attention) out in front of her.

The looking-down perspective is a bit disorienting—although at least this time it has nothing to do with being stuck to a ceiling—but Myka has no time to process it, for Helena’s next salvo, looking up, is, “You’ve been expecting me to remark further on naughtiness, haven’t you.”

Reading, yet again. “I kind of have,” Myka admits. It seems an overly judgmental statement, particularly given that Myka has to deliver it as if from an elevated bench. And yet... she kind of has.

“I’d rather not fulfill that expectation,” Helena says. “If we could speak of other things.”

Myka is a little thrown, but thankful. “That is entirely fine by me. What do you want to talk about?”

“Honestly?”

“Honestly,” Myka says, meaning it as an answer to either interpretation of Helena’s interrogative: Are you asking what I want to talk honestly about? or Are you asking, with honest intent, what I want to talk about? She hopes Helena will respond similarly.

“Something that interests you,” Helena says.

That’s not in any way what she was expecting. “Really?”

“Really.”

It’s a word similar to, yet very different from, “honestly.” What, in a real sense, interests Myka? In this moment, all she can think to say is “you.” And perhaps because her normal inhibitions are disordered, here in this stopped elevator, that’s what she blurts out.

And that seems, incongruously, to take Helena aback. “What about me?” she asks.

Myka can’t say “everything.” It’s the real answer (really), but it’s far too... big. For an unexpected reunion, an unexpected uninterrupted chat—although Claudia or rescuers could at any point interrupt it, which Myka should hope happens (should)—it’s far too big.

So: smaller. What occurs first to Myka is “where have you been”—but that would most likely seem accusatory. She needs something else. Something something something...

In the aftermath of the Warehouse not being destroyed, she’d felt herself full of hard-earned wisdom and bravery: enough, surely, to stop hesitating. Enough, surely, to act. Or enough, at the very least, to articulate.

“Wisdom” and “bravery” now seem nothing more than labels on empty containers, and so “faintheartedness” is the fullness with which Myka here initially accuses her today self. But as Helena breathes and waits for an answer, Myka revises that, gentling it to “caution.” And she adds “care.” Because she is trying to attend to, to appreciate, that breathing. And that waiting.

These might be nothing more than self-indulgently comforting shifts in vocabulary... but then again they might be akin to the shift from “Christmas” to “end-of-year.” Gentle. Inclusionary.

The something something something that occurs to her—because in attempting to avoid her own reflection, she is confronted instead with multiple Helenas—concerns a topic she probably should censor but doesn’t: “When you were a hologram... or a projection, or whatever we should call it... did you have a reflection?” She then reflexively backtracks, “It shouldn’t matter? But I don’t know.” That last, she means both ways. She doesn’t know: whether the reflection existed, or whether it matters. But maybe it’s a sneak-up on things, because she shouldn’t ignore things, and because a seemingly inconsequential tangent might tiptoe toward importance.

“I don’t know either,” Helena says. “I suppose I would have?” Her face contracts. “Or perhaps not, as I don’t know how that holographic projection of myself was... projected. But I do intend to look into it.” She says this last as if Myka has caught her in some inattention, a recklessly uncompleted assignment.

“I never even started majoring in physics,” Myka laments, which is true but also, she hopes, reassuring in an I didn’t do the homework either sense, “so I don’t know the optics of it. Projections. Light and mirrors. “ She doesn’t mention that in the wake of Pittsburgh, she had indeed tried researching such things... she’d got as far as some advanced volumetric displays, ones using dust particles as screens onto which lasers projected light, but at a certain point, a tipping point, the idea of Helena existing as—being relegated to—nothing more than light and dust seemed to scream a surpassing insult, a degradation conjuring death, and it was more than she could bear.

For now she puts that away. She shakes her head, shakes it free, and changes tack. “Anyway, that’s probably the wrong approach. This is Warehousey, so thinking outside physics, the laws... okay, all I know about reflections, unphysically, is that vampires don’t have them. So if you didn’t have one, then maybe all holograms are vampires?” Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh. She would have done better to speak of dust, that and light and despair. Going with vampires instead? Talk about vamping...

“Presumably not vice versa,” Helena observes, seemingly taking Myka’s words far too seriously. “Certainly fictionally. Also not overly flattering, in the syllogistic sense of ‘Helena was a hologram, therefore.’”

“They’re very popular though,” Myka temporizes.

“Stoker’s novel was all the rage,” Helena allows.

The chat stalls out. Interrupting itself?

Myka nevertheless feels pressure to fill the silence: it’s her fault. Will a simple truth suffice? “I didn’t expect to be spending the day before Christmas Eve with you,” she says. “Or any day with you. In Cleveland.”

A small smile from Helena marks this as a more welcome fill than a question about reflection. As do her next words: “Nor I with you. In Cleveland, or any place. Equally, I didn’t expect to be sent on a mission with you.”

“That part of it went well.” Myka gestures at her bag that contains the artifact.

“We did—and now do once again—make a good team.”

“I’m glad we got the chance to do it again. Glad, but also... relieved.”

“Relieved,” Helena echoes.

That wasn’t a question, but Myka answers anyway. “Well, obviously, first,” she says, feeling herself launching into an explanatory babble that she fears she’ll be powerless to stop, “because you didn’t have to talk anybody out of using Joshua’s trumpet, so that really makes a difference in terms of how we—”

“‘First’,” Helena quotes, interrupting (stopping), conveying her full knowledge that that too is a vamp. “And second?”

“That we still are.” This, Myka says simple and frank.

“A good team?”

That is a question. Myka knows “yes” is the only sensical answer, so she tries to say it. But the depth and weight of the ways in which she and Helena “still are” choke her: they “still are” in the basic sense of existing, which was never a certainty; and even better, higher, these hours they’ve spent together today have made clear, to Myka at least, that they “still are”... well. She’d like to finish that with something like “in love,” but instead she tries to leave it, even in her head, at “still are,” with their time-crossed, maybe-destined predicate undefined.

“A good team” should be good enough—true enough—for now.

So after a stretch of time during which Myka knows she’s been focusing her gaze far too intently on Helena, she manages that “yes.”

Helena waits to speak.... are her eyes glistening more brightly than usual, or is Myka hallucinating? “I’m relieved as well,” she says, and Myka chooses to simply delight in whatever prompted such a saturated sparkle.

It draws her closer.

She crosses the small-yet-large elevator-width that separates them. “I need to either sit down beside you or help you up,” she says. “Do you have a preference?”

“For?” Helena’s eyes continue to glow.

That shine... Myka has hopes. They may not be realized, but she has them: the product of relief, “still are,” and an unknown predicate. “Whatever’s next,” she says.

A bit of time passes, with Helena now being the one focused most intently. “I’ll stand,” is her verdict.

Myka reaches down with both—both—hands, offering, and Helena reaches up, accepting. Their fingers meet and clasp, and too cold, Myka thinks, for both of them have a chill in those extremities... but first impressions of temperature promptly fall away as the new reality of the clasp roars into precedence.

Myka has never been so certain of, so certain of and enchanted by, what must and will happen next in her life. Never in her life so certain, as the clasp tightens, as their torsos lean, as Myka’s body begins an at-last congratulation, one that will become a celebration—

A voice from somewhere overhead barks, “Everybody okay in there?”

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #holiday (but not Gift Exchange)#Bonus #part 2 #you never can tell what mechanisms might be up to #sneaky ghosts in machines #(sneaky ghosts ARE machines)#anyway like I said in part 1 #I wanted to put a couple of people in a clichéd situation #and the way this part ends was probably obvious from the get-go #but really #was that space the right venue for...#anything?#Claudia's encouragement aside

36 notes · View notes