#YES Helen IS being young and naive

[iwouldservehim]

Reading The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (indeed, Anne Brontë's prose is too unfortunately underrated) and I see why people mean Huntington was obvious red flags that Helen was dismissing with "I can change him" and that her aunt's warnings rang ominously true.

HOWEVER as much as her aunt actually wants what's good for her, she is also doing half the work by antagonising herself and making her opinion as to what constitutes Helen's happinesses dismissive some by pushing as the only alternative these gross old men on Helen instead, whom she already explained the idea of marrying disgusts her. Of course Huntington shines bright in comparison.

Her aunt is being pragmatic, and is so on what she sees as Helen's own good, but not her expressed happiness. By bringing those expressly despised men after Helen already rejected them (to force themselves on her with her guardians' encouragement instead no less, in spite of her spoken revulsion), she proves as unwilling to respect Helen's boundaries as Huntington. If she feels compelled to understand that behaviour in a person she already loves, why would she think it an impediment to loving another who does the same? Especially when Huntington at least comes with personal appeal.

[new-sandrafilter]

Timothée Chalamet On Dune: ‘I Felt A Deep Desire To Be Involved’

By Helen O'Hara (x)

While Dune takes audiences into an epic, sprawling universe of spice, sandworms, war and weirdness, at the centre of it all is Paul Atreides – the son of Oscar Isaac__’s Duke Leto and Rebecca Ferguson__’s Lady Jessica, heir to a galactic dynasty, whose mysterious dreams are drawing him towards a destiny on the desert planet of Arrakis. Taking the role in Denis Villeneuve’s adaptation is Timothée Chalamet, in his first major blockbuster – stepping up from arresting turns in low-key dramas like Lady Bird and Call Me By Your Name for an ambitious science-fiction story on a mind-boggling scale.

With Dune premiering at Venice in a matter of days, read Empire’s interview with Chalamet – talking his take on Paul Atreides, his love of Denis Villeneuve, the epic desert shoot, and why he wants to work with Christopher Nolan for a second time.

You were the first one cast in the film. How did it happen?

Well, I knew just from the film blogs that Denis had been working on it. I’d already done a good bit of research on the history of the project. I’m not alluding to Jodorowsky’s or David Lynch’s version, more around [production company] Legendary picking up the rights ten years ago. When I was fortunate enough to go to many of the awards-related events, I got to meet Denis a couple of times, and already had it in my head… You know, I was feeling a deep desire to be involved. Then when he was on the jury of the Cannes Film Festival, he asked me to fly out there to meet with him about it. I had read two or three chapters of Dune, and then in preparation for the meeting busted out the rest of the book.

Did playing Hal [Henry V] in David Michôd’s **The King** prepare you for playing Paul?

Yes and no. Hal was a bit of a philanderer, they call him “the whoring fool” and he’s lived a life of immorality around the central Christian moral doctrine of the times. That’s the beginning of his arc. Paul is not starting from an amoral place. He’s starting 15, 16 years old, and he’s not totally naive or innocent. He is very much a boy, but by the end of the movie… there’s the coming of age into adulthood alongside a greater purpose.

The scale of this film is huge. How did it feel as a contrast to what you’ve done before?

I was fortunate enough to work on small-budget, independent films around the world, whether it was Call Me By Your Name or Miss Stevens or Lady Bird, or Beautiful Boy, all these movies that were under $20 million or something. I wouldn’t do it any differently because coming from a drama high school too was the perfect notch-up. It made sense. To be brave enough to learn from one’s own experience. There was a step up that felt healthy about that. Denis Villeneuve has a very earthy, energy-based, moment-to-moment way of being inspired, but also in abandoning ideas he might have had 24 hours ago. It’s inspiring. I had a small part in Interstellar as the teenaged version of Casey Affleck’s Tom] and I loved working on that too. I would love to work with [Christopher Nolan again. These are both directors that make amazing, huge movies.

What was shooting in the desert like?

A gift! The nature of these big-budget movies is to get good at reacting to a green-screen that’s showing the audience that a mountain exploded 200 feet in the distance. I wouldn’t know how to train for that. And the suit didn’t feel silly. You hear some actors in superhero films say that as each part of the superhero costume is added, some part of their dignity has slipped away. There wasn’t any of that.

It’s an incredible ensemble cast. Did you feel intimidated?

From a young actor’s perspective, you learn a new set of skills in any movie. I’m only six years away from drama high school. At 23 or 24 you’re learning every day. I was lucky not knowing any of the actors prior, really. There was this unifying ulterior motive to make the movie great. It felt good. Things have to be utilitarian. It’s the healthiest way to approach art and creativity, you know. No ego.

[another-snape-story]

Firewhiskey

Chapter XVII

“Alcohol is not a solution,” Snape reminded you as you both entered his office.

“I know,” you sighed, placing a large bottle on his desk. “I’m just so tired, Severus…” You took your regular place in the armchair, where a wool plaid blanket was folded a little sloppily – the way you left it here the last time. So he didn’t even bother putting it away anymore? Although Snape just lit the fireplace and its heat didn’t yet reach you, you felt so warm like never before.

“Yes. You are,” he agreed, focused on uncorking the bottle. “Why would you have firewhiskey in your possession?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled apologetically. “Bought it the day you refused to go to Hogsmeade with us.”

“Is it a vivid example why I should’ve agreed?” he smirked now pouring the spirit into two glasses and you laughed.

There hardly was a place in the whole world which offered you this kind of comfort and consolation, but this cold room with the dark figure of a man smoothly pacing around. Wrapped yourself into the blanket, you relaxed in the softness of the cushions.

“Quidditch Through the Ages,” you leisurely read the title as you noticed the book on a side table. “So now everything comes together!”

“What exactly?” Snape handed you the glass and sat across from you.

“You were to be heard in the Entrance Hall,” you giggled. “Why did you take it from Potter?”

“Well, I wasn’t in a mood,” he said apathetically, wobbling his glass and watching the liquid rotating inside. You couldn’t discern if he was joking or not – it was so likely of him to consider it a fair reason to do so – anyway, his answer amused you, same as his serious look.

“Have you ever been?” you teased, and he answered with a displeased curve of his lips.

“So?” Snape leaned a little forward.

“I’m drinking for you,” you declared, not a trace of your former gaiety remained. “I’m so happy I met you, Severus. You can’t even imagine…”

“Slow down,” he smiled softly. “Too early for confessions.”

“You know I mean it!” you insisted. “I’m telling it before I take the first sip, and I will tell it after taking the last!”

“I know,” his voice so quiet yet so deep. “And you do know I feel the same, don’t you?” The words being extremely alien to Snape’s enclosed character, the words he never dared to say aloud, struggled their way out. He’d prefer to keep them to himself, but he couldn’t leave your sudden ingenuous impulse without an answer.

Your heart skipped a beat each time he acknowledged his reciprocity towards you, although he never said it directly. You nodded, blissful to be ascertained of his fellow feeling again, and reached out for the man.

Mild sonorous clinking broke the silence once your glasses struck against each other.

“How did you get here?” you asked randomly, intending to divert depressive thoughts by some neutral topic, but Snape – unlike what you’ve expected – now looked gloomier than before.

“Dumbledore offered me a job,” he answered with a sigh after emptying his glass.

“Is that what you wanted to be at the age of…”

“Twenty-one,” he finished, filling his glass anew. You tossed yours closer to him to be refreshed with a drink. “All I wanted at the age of twenty-one was being dead.”

“Not much has changed since then, huh?” you smiled sympathetically, and he snickered. Yet again you managed to liven him up.

Another shot followed. Having no crumb in your stomach since lunch, you felt alcohol quickly take over your body, spreading fatigue through your limbs, while your mind still strained to preserve the clarity of thought.

“Did you know each other before?”

“I was studying here. So, apparently, we did.”

“You should’ve really loved it here to return inside the walls of your alma mater?” Recalling your time at school you dreaded the thought of stepping on its threshold ever again.

Snape lowered his head, peering at the brownish fluid in his hand. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah. I’ve guessed there’s a mystery behind all this.” You felt so terribly sorry for him all at once. There clearly was something he couldn’t tell you, but he did his best to be as honest with you as the circumstances allowed, or his obligations, or whatever else it might be. What the hell it might be?! The thing gave him no peace, torturing his heart, it was evident – judging by his rare bitter remarks; and you felt so helpless not knowing how to ease his mental torments. “Don’t worry, mysterious Professor Snape,” you reassured him in barely a whisper. “I won’t ask questions.”

“I wish I could tell you...” he hopelessly shook his head, afraid you might turn away from him sooner or later – no one would tolerate reticence for long.

“We don’t have that much firewhiskey, do we?” you smiled kindly slowly draining your glass.

“You should be prepared better for the next time,” thankful for your patience and understanding, he gave a short, half-suppressed snigger, and you laughed loving the idea.

“Oh, I will! You know me!”

“I don’t even doubt that!”

“Wanna know what I wanted to be after school?” guilt-driven for involuntary making him feel uncomfortable, you changed the subject, hoping to put some spirit into the man, yet your glance gained a spacey glint. “Hats designer!”

“Hats designer?” Snape chuckled, a slight haze enveloping his head.

“Yep. But somehow ended up being a scientist.”

“What a loss for the fashion world,” he said deliberately unimpressed, but a sly narrow of his eyes betrayed he was ribbing you.  

“Heey, don’t you dare question my artistic talents!”

“Or what?” he provoked you further.

“Or I’ll tell Minerva you assumed no one would notice if she replaced the hat she usually wears with an old Hagrid’s shoe!”

“You can’t blackmail me with a commonly known fact,” he replied in a bored tone, which made you burst into laughter.

“Aw, Snape, you’re such a bastard!”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” with a smug grin, he raised his glass and polished it off.

Snape rested beside you. All of his troubles seemed to step aside when you came around. He wasn’t expecting any kind of cunning, deceitful tricks from your side and could fully relax in the solace your presence comprised. Alcohol helped him loosen up even more, but he still had things under control. You, on the other hand, let frivolity take the lead.

“I was young and naive,” you tilted your head on the backrest, reflecting on a girl you used to be. “Ah, where are those days?”

“You’re still very young,” Snape smiled softly, admiring your features, which he found so alluringly attractive. But it wasn’t appearance that captivated him – something much deeper than physical perception forcefully drew him to you.

“It’s not the point,” you sighed. “Our bodies are aging, but we never actually grow old.” You gulped the rest of firewhiskey left in your glass and looked closely on its empty bottom. “Somewhere deep inside there sticks a child inside each of us. A child with a flaming hope, still believing all of the most fantastic dreams will jolly well come true... Add me some?” you stretched out your hand to receive a new portion of drink.

Snape unhurriedly provided you with another shot.

“Do you regret becoming what you are?” he let the question slip off his tongue.

“And you?” you gave him a pitiful glance, already knowing what he would say.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“But it’s not too late for changes, is it?” you asked uncertainly, mainly, not to cheer him up – which, nevertheless, was also your intention – but hoping he would agree, so that you too could regain confidence there still was a chance, but Snape silently finished his glass instead.

“The Dark Lord might return any time soon. This is currently my main concern.”

“You’re right. Forgive me, I’m just saying whatever comes to my mind,” you smiled weakly. “My tongue works faster than my brain.” The setting of the room started slowly swaying around, causing a sick feeling in your stomach. You seemed to run out of the last bits of energy – another few minutes, and you’d find yourself balancing on the edge of oblivion.

“Do not apologize,” Snape leaned forward, took the glass out of your hand and put it aside. “What is it you were dreaming of? Will you be willing to tell me?” he asked quietly, his voice so pleasant to your ears.

“I’m dreaming of a small house on the mountain side,” you closed your eyes, “surrounded by a forest…”

“And a lake somewhere nearby,” Snape continued pensively, “its waters clear as crystal…”

“Yes. There will be flowers everywhere…”

“Grown all by yourself?” he smiled, taking in your every breath.

“I have seeds of some rare species,” you agreed serenely.

Each word you said found response in Snape’s heart. For a moment he seemed to be carried away – far from his cruel reality – right in the middle of your little paradise.

“We’ll set off for lengthy strolls along nature paths early in the morning with a basket of sandwiches,” you mumbled sleepily, “to gather herbs and berries…”

“…and return home right before the sun falls…” he whispered, “…tired, but so happy…” Snape’s words faded into silence, as he watched you drift off in a peaceful slumber, leaving him with a feeling of a vague regretful longing.

<<< Previous Chapter • Next Chapter >>>

Tag: @diaryofafan17 @yul-is-sparkling @fullmoonshadowwrites @forthehonourof @amywright @redrehab @space-helen @fluffymadamina nadiigh @theworldisugly-22 @lukaerith-morningstar @sighsinkhuzdul @67-chevy-baby @rustypotatospork @aquila-leo @dandyrua @majusketch @sevyythebeanqueen @writingmi @s00nhi @pinkininja @shizuethedragon @chocolattefrog awkwardaxelotl @bionic-otp @samnblack @sailorstupidsblog @purpledragonturtles @xwaterproofx @lokistann @psycho-howell @planetmystery @lovelyravenkite @taschaschwarz @grimrapper11 @xpissbabyx @lullabylike

[littlesparklight]

Cytherea’s Gifts

Aphrodite comes to Helen waiting for her in her bed.

Afterwards, with Helen curled up against her, one leg thrown over Aphrodite's hip and one of Helen's slim, graceful hands lazily tracing out the curve of one of Aphrodite's breasts, one of the goddess' hands in the rich, heavy waves of Helen's hair, the girl looks up at her, star-eyed and wanting.

"I want adventure," she whispers, so quietly only dreams and the Deathless Ones would hear her, as if she's afraid they will be overheard, or her saying this might cause her new husband to burst inside the bedroom. "I want something like this, like you're giving me, Kypris, but not hidden--- Not that it doesn't need to be! I know... I know it has to."

Yes, sleeping with one of the blessed immortals isn't something to boast loudly over, as Anchises, after so long being quiet about it, have found out. Aphrodite is still torn between frustration at her former lover, still held tenderly in her heart despite how it began, and anger at Zeus. At least Anchises is still alive.

"Marriage is an adventure, sweet Helen," Aphrodite whispers, but the young woman scrunches her nose, her bow-shaped, full lips pulled into a moue, and Aphrodite laughs, then kisses her until the wedge between her brows has smoothed out.

She's glad she went to see how this whole business with 'the most beautiful woman in the world' getting married would play out. It means she got to see Helen herself, it means she approached her to talk with her about what she thought of the whole involved and quite ridiculous process. (Aphrodite almost wishes darling Ganymede had been born a girl, to see how that would've played out. How many countries would've gotten involved?) It means she gets to be here, now, enjoying Helen's lovely mind as well as her body, trying to ease her into her marriage in her own way. Aphrodite really doesn't doubt Helen will become enamoured of Menelaos - he's certainly one of the best choices out of the lot, with Achilles just a shade too young to participate in the fight for her hand. But Helen's desire for something else, something more daring and wild and instinctive, is one she is deeply familiar with.

Does not such a precious, lovely girl deserve exactly what she wants, when she's so dear to Aphrodite's heart?

That thought is what comes to Aphrodite first when she steps up before Paris. He's sitting stiffly alert and clutching the golden apple like a lifeline, but even that alarm can't hide the fact that he is young, and beautiful, and terribly, sweetly naive. A quick, deeper look reveals him to be soft and romantic and, certainly, ambitious, if not willing to literally take to arms for his wants.

Well.

Aphrodite smiles with the grace of her nature, with the pleasure of being able to give a gift... no, several gifts, and with the vicious smugness of being able to continue avenging herself on Tyndaerus for how he forgot her. He would pay, she'd decided, back then, and Timandra has already strayed. Clytemnestra will surely offer some opportunities with what will come from this, no matter who the apple falls to. And Helen, sweet, beloved, darling Helen, will get what she’s wanted for so long while Aphrodite will as well.

Because even as Aphrodite has been shown to be correct - Helen has come to love Menelaos, and she loves her sweet little daughter by him, too - Helen still yearns, in the deep, secret darkness of her heart. And what does not Aphrodite know about such secrets, as well as how to make them become reality?

"If you gift me the apple, Prince Alexander, I will give you the most beautiful woman in the world to wife."

* (The version on AO3 has a more mature first paragraph, but that’s the only difference between these versions.)

[falling-feuilles]

Chapter 3

CW/TW: N/A

Early the next morning, Y/N woke; alone in the sitting room. The teaset sat undisturbed, save for the small, folded note addressed to her. Its familiar, slanting script informed her of the message’s author: Pierre. He was nowhere to be seen; all that remained of his presence was the empty teacup, placed neatly back on its saucer. 

She reached for the paper, noting the looseness of her bandages as she did so. The note was simple, and the ink wasn’t completely dried; it was written recently, and in somewhat of a hurry. On the paper, Pierre expressed his gratitude for her hospitality and companionship. She smiled, reading through the note a second time, noticing he had scratched out a word. Despite his best efforts to remove the letters, Y/N could still see their outline when held up to her window. They read “Your love friendship is, as always, a great comfort…” the note continued on after that, but her eyes kept going back to the word. Love. She loved Pierre deeply, he was her closest friend, so why did she keep focusing on that word? Why did Pierre cross it out? She shook her head, blinking back into reality. Those were thoughts for another, less busy, day.

Y/N, after carefully refolding the paper and, after slipping it into her pocket, examined her wrist. The fabric was fraying slightly, with a few ink stains on the piece between her thumb and forefinger. She gently unwound the binding, carefully maneuvering the remaining cotton between her fingers. The mark was dark indigo in the center, ringed with green. She rewrapped the sprain with a clean roll of cotton, not as neatly or as tightly as Alexandra would have, but enough for the bandage to function as it should.

Her carriage was to leave at eight in the morning, arriving at the Bolkonsky residence well before noon. The dull ticking of the grandfather clock to her left reminded her of this prior commitment. Its hands read as just before seven, giving her plenty of time to prepare for the day.

The morning passed in a blur, despite the dullness of the carriage ride. She spent the majority of it worrying for Pierre and the influence Prince Vassily might have on his future. This type of thinking, she decided, wasn’t of much use; and, although she tried to think about what these next few months had in store for her, Pierre was never far from her mind.

It had been a number of years since she’d last visited the Bolkonskys, the last time being for the purposes of seeing Marya, Andrei’s sister. Marya was one of the kindest, most gentle people she had met, and it pained Y/N to see her so meek and trodden on by her father. As the carriage pulled up to the steps, Y/N saw Tikhon, the butler, outside the house awaiting her arrival. He opened the carriage door, offering her a gloved hand.

“My lady,” he began as she placed a foot on the ground, “Your sister and the Princess are in the sitting room awaiting your arrival.”

“Tikhon, you’re looking well.”

“Thank you, my lady. You are as radiant as ever.” She smiled, moving inside the large manor. The familiar lilt of conversation aerated throughout the entrance hall, originating from the open doors to her left. As soon as she entered, she was greeted with a hug from her sister.

“N/N! Finally, you’re here!” Lise was clearly adjusting well to life with Marya and Mademoiselle Bourrienne.

“Yes, yes, I hope you haven’t missed me too terribly in our single day apart.” Y/N chuckled, kissing her sister’s forehead.

“Y/N…” Marya stood from the couch, moving to embrace Y/N.

“It’s been far too long, Marya. I hope you’ve been keeping well?”

“As well as I can,” she sounded sad, and Y/N couldn’t blame her. Marya quickly smiled, attempting to change the slightly somber mood back to the joyful one it had been mere moments before, “But, much better now that you and Lise are here.”

Y/N squeezed her shoulder gently before turning to sit next to her sister, who hadn’t seemed to notice Marya’s momentary distress. They talked for a while, catching up on all the recent developments in Lise and Marya’s lives. Y/N, however, found it hard to focus on anything the two said. Her hand, subconsciously, slipped into her pocket, occasionally running Pierre’s note through her fingers.

“Y/N, are you alright? You seem… distracted.” Marya noted, halting her conversation with Lise.

“Yes, I’m fine…” Marya and Lise clearly didn’t believe her, both knowing the woman too well.

“What is it?” Lise placed her hand on Y/N’s. The pain, while not nearly as intense as the day before, was still present and showed on her face. Lise looked confused for a moment, before noticing the unusual bulkiness of her sister’s wrist. The bandage peeked out from under her sleeve slightly, catching the eye of the two other women. Marya moved to sit on Y/N’s other side, carefully rolling up her friend’s sleeve. Y/N pulled away, but a sharp look from Lise stopped her.

“Are you hurt? What happened?” Lise was clearly concerned. Despite Lise’s usually gentle nature, she was easily upset when it came to anything hurting Y/N. She was equally as protective of Y/N as Y/N was of her.

“No, no, it’s nothing,” she dismissed the thought, biting her lip before continuing, “It’s… it’s Pierre…”

“What about Pierre?” Marya had met Pierre before; he had always treated her kindly.

“Did Pierre do this?” Lise gestured to the bandage, growing more furious by the second. As protective as Y/N was of Lise, Lise was equally as protective.

“What? No, no. His… father, the Count, passed away last night…”

“I’d heard he was getting worse, I just… never thought it would actually happen, poor Pierre,” Lise sighed, while she wasn’t nearly as close to Pierre as her sister or husband, she still considered him a friend.

Marya was very far removed from most of society and hadn’t heard that Pierre’s father was ill; still, she felt bad she didn’t know. She had lost her mother when she was young, so she could imagine how he was feeling.

“What about his will? I imagine the old Count left him something, he cared for Pierre greatly.”

“You could say that,” the confused looks on Lise and Marya’s faces urged her to continue, “The Count named Pierre as his successor.”

The two’s eyes went wide, mouths parting in shock. Lise struggled to speak for a moment, taking in the vastness of this information.

“You mean to tell me that... Pierre is Count Bezukhov?”

“Yes, but it’s not that that worries me. Prince Vassily tried to destroy the will, luckily Anna Drubetskaya and I put an end to that. But Pierre is spending the day with the Prince, and I shudder to think what he may convince Pierre to do.”

Lise, who’d had encounters with the Prince in the past, knew what she meant. Not only was he very manipulative, he also had a number of friends in high positions in the government.

“I understand your concern, N/N, but I think he’ll be fine. Pierre isn’t stupid, he’ll see through Vassily’s deceptions.” Y/N didn’t agree with her sister's assessment; yes, Pierre was smart, but he was too trusting, too naive to the way high society worked. He desperately wanted to believe that the world, and all the people in it, were good.

“I suppose you’re right…”

“Besides,” Lise continued, “What’s the worst he could do?”

~

The next few days were uneventful. However, she quickly remembered why her last visit had been so long ago. Prince Bolkonsky. He was so insurmountably irritating. Shortly after she arrived, he had called her into his office, much like a headmaster would call in a misbehaving student. He made a number of degrading remarks about Y/N and Marya, but nothing more than talk which, although infuriating, Y/N could easily dismiss.

While he would never take out his frustrations on her, she could tell that he would very much like to do so. During the first week of her stay, Y/N joined Marya and Bolkonsky for Marya’s geometry lessons. Y/N found that Marya did significantly better when positively encouraged, and told Bolkonsky her thoughts on the matter; he did not take it well. She wasn’t allowed to help with geometry anymore.

Luckily, Marya and Y/N’s bedrooms were directly across from each other, which allowed Y/N to teach Marya in secret during the evenings.

Lise remained healthy, much to the relief of the household. Despite her initial reservations about staying in the country, Y/N could tell it suited her better; for the time being at least.

Y/N also had her reservations, and, although they weren’t as far from her mind as Lise’s were, they had been somewhat soothed. Luckily, she had had the foresight to bring Emil along. The Bolkonsky estate was large, and had much room for riding. No one ever joined her, and she preferred it that way. Life was simple and happy. Until it wasn’t.

Pierre wrote her often, first telling her of his vague plans for the considerable fortune he’d acquired, then telling her of Prince Vassily’s plans for the money. She knew the Prince wouldn’t throw money away for no reason, so that served as some comfort. Then, he began telling her of his outings with Helene; ice skating, cards, anything and everything he could do with her, he would. Y/N didn’t tell him of her feelings about Helene, she knew he was blinded by her beauty and interest in him, or, as was most likely the case, his money. Helene wasn’t one for the “misunderstood intellectual” type of man. She spent many hours dwelling on thoughts like these. Although she knew that thoughts like these were a waste of time and energy, it was hard not to think of them. But, she kept them to herself, bottling them up like she did with so many other things.

~

Y/N wrote him often, keeping him updated on the health of her sister and the activities of the household. He had been very busy these past few weeks. Between the exploration of his new wealth and social status, he’d had very little time to do much else. However, he always made time to write to her.

Pierre sat in his office; an elaborate room filled with the many extravagances of Russian wealth. A large, mahogany desk sat in the center of the room, holding the haphazard papers and writings of the young man. Directly in front of Pierre, a thick, sealed letter sat, unopened, in his hands. He’d finally made it through the considerable stack of letters on his desk, most of them being invitations for gatherings of some such, the kind of gatherings a newly rich, eligible bachelor would attend. Although he enjoyed the opportunities his new status had given him, gatherings such as those took up much of his energy. Today, for example; It had been long, but enjoyable. He had spent the late afternoon and early evening playing écarté with Helene.

Helene. She was beautiful. Pale skin, dark hair, perfectly feminine features. But, best of all, she seemed to care for him. He became lost in these thoughts, until the soft, gold seal caught his eye. The stamp was shaped as a very ornate, calligraphic Z, denoting its sender as Y/N. He broke the seal, splitting the Z into two, uneven pieces.

Dearest Pierre,

I hope you are keeping well! Lise is in good health. She would never admit it, but the country air suits her. I’ve discovered that our dear Marya is quite the artist! I’ve included a few of her drawings, they are wonderful! The old Prince Bolkonsky still despises me. He says I am no longer allowed to assist in Marya’s lessons. He says it is because it distracts her, but it’s truly because I criticized his teaching style. Now, Marya and I  have secret geometry lessons in the evenings and the Prince is none the wiser. I’ve written to Andrei a small number of times, he hasn’t responded but that’s to be expected. I am certain, however, he is receiving the letters as none of them have been returned to my hands. Mary and I fear for his safety, as I’m sure you do as well, but we must appear unaffected for the sake of Lise’s sanity. Have you written Andrei at all? I feel as though he would be more inclined to write you than me, considering the last time we spoke I berated him. Alas, I can’t take back what I’ve said and, frankly, I don’t want to. I hope the lovely Helene is keeping you social while I’m away, I hear she’s made quite the companion for you. Keep well, Pierre.

Your Friend,

Y/N Zhudova

He smiled softly, running his fingers through the envelope to find the sketches. They were, as far as Pierre could tell, done with pencil and charcoal, and done very well. Two were of animals, Emil and an old, mangy barn cat. The other two were of people; one being of Lise and Y/N sitting on a sofa in the household, laughing and smiling. The brightness in the pair’s eyes was displayed perfectly, making the picture seem truly alive. The second image was less bright, but just as realistic. Y/N sat with her back to a tree, dress splaying out over the grass; hair loose, it cascaded over her shoulders like running water. She clearly had not been aware of the drawing as it was being made; there was no effort in her pose. It was too natural. Too her. The bandage on her arm had been abandoned, revealing the still-healing bruises on her wrist. Her hands, delicate, held the book in her hands loosely. Lips slightly parted, he could almost see them moving as she read the words on the pages below. She looked so at home, more peaceful than he had seen her in quite a while. Although Pierre had seen her in relaxed states before, it wasn't a common sight for him. He scanned over the image again, taking note of the intricate details captured in the image. The individual pages resting between her fingers, her mother's necklace she always wore, even the shading of her eyes. It was just so… her.

Pierre hadn't realized how much he missed her until he saw her face. Even though there was no color in the image, he could almost see it. E/C eyes studying the words below her, H/C hair tucked away save for the single stand over her right eye, it was all too real.

Pierre did have some form of company in Helene and the other members of the aristocracy, but there was no company like Y/N’s. His eyes lingered on the sketch a few moments longer before he placed the letter, and its contents, into a drawer, on top of a neat stack of other letters he had received from her. The door shut with a small click, drawing him out of his thoughts.

~

It was dark. Ornate halls lit solely by the moon, silvery beams glowing softly on the floors. Y/N moved through the hallway, bare feet gliding through puddles of moonlight. Soft light moved across her bare skin as she walked, robe cascading behind her. She slowly disrobed, leaving silken garments on the floor. Pierre followed behind her, unable to look away. His eyes caught hers, causing her to giggle and gently push open his bedroom door.

"Touch me…" she whispered, moving to the center of the room, where three beams of moonlight converged. Finally, the robe fell from her shoulders, exposing her bare flesh to his eyes. He moved forward, hand reaching out to touch her, shaking as he moved closer. The whispers became louder, reaching their climax as he ran a finger down her spine, feeling her shiver beneath the touch.

"Touch me…"

He woke, gasping for breath.

[heartofgolds]

𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲  𝐜𝐚𝐧  𝐛𝐞  𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝  𝐚𝐬  𝐚𝐧  𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦  𝐨𝐟  𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞  .

specifically  the  remembrance  of  miss  melanie  rivera  .

𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲  𝐤𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧  𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧  ,  not  the  first  of  her  name  and  certainly  not  the  last  .

her  whole  family  kind  of  falls  into  the  flower  name  theme  .  she  has  three  older  sisters  named  calla  ,  acacia . ,  and  lily  .  then  obviously  rosemary  .  her  middle  name  comes  from  her  maternal  grandmother  .

rosemary  has  a  significant  age  gap  between  her  siblings  .  calla  was  sixteen  when  rosemary  was  born  .  acacia  was  twelve  and  lily  was  nine  .  acacia  and  lily  would  always  play  together  but  calla  was  the  best  big  sister  and  always  played  with  rosemary  .

her  parents  ,  helene  and  adam  (yes  named  after  helen  and  adam  from  trc)  ,  tended  to  focus  their  attention  on  the  middle  girls  .  helene  as  a  solo  unit  gave  a  lot  of  attention  to  rosie  but  adam  was  kind  of  a  deadbeat  dad  even  though  they  sat  at  the  same  dinner  table  every  night  .

it's  not  like  adam  was  a  terrible  dad  though  .  it's  just  that  he  wasn’t  rosemary's  dad  .

and  being  honest  helene  isn't  rosemary's  mother  .  helene  kristen  keegan  only  ever  had  three  daughters  .  but  she  has  one  granddaughter  .

rosemary  was  around  twelve  years  old  when  the  yelling  throughout  her  house  kept  her  up  .  helene  and  adam  argued  all  the  time  (many  times  rosemary  would  wish  her  "parents"  would  just  get  divorced  already)  but  the  fighting  wasn't  just  between  the  two  of  them  that  night  .  calla  was  involved  in  the  argument  too  .  and  there  was  one  thing  she  heard  crystal  clear  that  kept  her  up  all  night  .

the  singular  sentence  haunts  rosemary  to  this  day  .  "i  want  my  daughter  to  know  that  i'm  her  mother  !  i'm  tired  of  being  her  damn  sister  !  that's  my  baby  and  she  deserves  to  know  it  !"  calla's  voice  had  never  been  so  clear  .

the  only  person  rosemary  has  ever  told  about  what  she  learnt  that  was  melanie .  rosemary  hasn't  even  officialy  told  her  family  that  she  knows  .  she'll  occasionally  hint  to  it  at  family  dinners  but  she  doesn't  want  to  be  the  one  to  bring  it  up.  after  all  ,  she  was  eavesdropping  and  should've  been  asleep  .

dance  was  one  of  the  few  things  calla  and  rosemary  were  able  to  share  growing  up  .  so  rosemary  was  a  big  ,  big  ,  big  dancer  all  her  life  .

she  was  clara  in  the  nutcracker  fairly  young  and  not  too  long  after  that  she  decided  she  was  over  recitals  .  she  joined  the  scary  world  of  competitive  dance  and  that  was  her  favorite  thing  for  so  long  .

when  she  was  thirteen  she  competed  in  the  dance  awards'  best  dancer  competition  .  at  that  time  ,  her  life  goal  was  to  win  the  dancer  of  the  year  award  .  it  would  prove  that  all  her  hard  work  was  worth  it  .  and  thankfully  for  everyone  involved  ,  they  announced  rosemary  as  the  teen  dancer  of  the  year  .

melanie would typically vacation with rosemary's family and since the keegan's had to go to orlando for the dance awards  , melanie was there when rosemary won ! that probably made rosemary happier than actually winning . there's a photo of rosemary still in her full costume with melanie hugging her after she came off the stage and rosemary keeps in on her nightstand .

rosemary  retired  from  dance  after  she  won  dancer  of  the  year  .  she  wanted  to  have  a  normal  high  school  life  and  it  was  so  worth  it  to  her  .  plus  she  wanted  other  people  to  have  their  moment  in  the  spotlight  .  rosemary  got  her  dream  ,  it  was  time  for  someone  else  to  get  theirs  too  .

rosemary  is  an  anthropology  major  and  she  knew  going  into  it  that  her  career  options  would  be  limited  to  say  the  least  .  but  she  would  die  to  work  at  a  non  profit  organization  when  she  finishes  school  .  she  thinks  charging  people  for  the  things  they  need  to  survive  is  corrupt.  she  also  hates  amazon  as  a  company  but  she  doesn't  like  the  word  hate  so  she  won't  admit  but  just  know  rosemary  wants  amazon  to  suffer  .

every  year  that  rosemary  dressed  up  for  halloween  ,  she  was  an  angel  without  fail  .  it  kind  of  started  a  joke  that  she  was  an  angel  in  disguise  trying  to  help  the  world  .  obviously  she's  not  but  she  always  took  that  as  a  major  compliment  .

she  is  a  big  coward  .  she  is  scared  of  so  many  things  that  truly  it  would  be  easier  to  make  a  list  of  things  she  isn't  scared  of  .  melanie  has  really  only  amplified  her  fears  .  the  list  used  to  consist  of  clowns  and  spiders  ,  simple  things  like  that  only  .  now  kidnapping  and  death  have  a  place  on  a  her  list  of  never  ending  fears  .

melanie  who  was  the  only  person  that  could  get  rosemary  to  wear  anything  other  than  vanilla  perfume  .  it's  always  been  her  staple  .  she  wears  it  every  day  now  that  melanie  is  gone  .  she  likes  smelling  like  a  bakery  .  it  makes  her  happy  .

rosemary  gets  called  naive  a  lot  .  she  doesn't  think  she's  naive  .  she's  smart  as  all  hell  .  she  just  always  wants  to  believe  in  goodness  .  she  always  argues  that  people  are  inherently  good  .

she  has  the  too  much  gene  .  except  unlike  jenna  marbles  she  knows  when  to  stop  on  a  project  .  she  just  doesn't  know  when  to  stop  giving  people  love  .  people  can  burn  rosemary  repeatedly  and  she  can  rationalize  a  reason  to  still  give  them  love  .  her  kindness  is  truly  her  fatal  flaw  .

the  part  in  story  of  my  life  where  they  say  "  i  spend  her  love  until  she's  broke  inside  "  yeah  that  was  written  about  rosemary  .  she  gives  and  gives  and  never  takes  .

her  most  prized  possession  is  a  locket  that  calla  gave  to  her  .  inside  is  a  picture  of  rosemary  and  melanie  when  they  were  around  fourteen  .  it  was  taken  at  a  sleepover  where  the  whole  night  they  just  spilled  their  souls  to  each  other . it  was  the  night  rosemary  told  melanie  that  calla  was  her  mom  ,  not  helene  .

she  cannot  and  never  will  get  over  anyone  she  breaks  up  .  she's  one  of  those  people  who  says  "  i'll  always  love  you  "  and  genuinely  means  it  .

i  still  need  to  work  on  her  connections  page  but  HERE  it  is  for  the  time  being,  i  think  there's  maybe  three  on  there  right  now  ?  i  genuinely  cannot  remember.

[momo-de-avis]

Do you have any recommendations of female artists (sculptors and painters)? (I went to a museum and now im salty lmao)

Off the top of my mind, I might remember someone else some time soon:

Sonia Delaunay. My girl LIVED and BREATHED art. She was the type to literally, and I mean wholly, surround herself with art to the point of living inside art. She sewed, made costumes for the theater, she made puppets, dolls, quilts, even furniture. She was an incredible, outstanding painter. She is at the centre of Orphism more so than Robert, her husband, who was more of a cubism guy. Now, from what I gather, a lot of what people say about Sonia in other countries is coupled with her husband, as if you can't talk about her without mentioning him. To a degree, that's correct because the two had a really secure partnership. They were both creators, and they pushed each other. It was incredibly inspiring tbh. But Sonia has her own merit, and in Portugal she is actually way more relevant than Robert bc of the influence she had on our modernist circle.

Lee Krasner. If only people sort of forgot she was Pollock's wife. Her method of creating is fascinating to me cause this girl just destroyed her past work completely, but instead of throwing it in the trash, she reused it to create new works. Art historians in the post modernist era weren't too kind to her, but she's being avenged. She's methodical and clearly puts so much thought into her composition her creative process is fascinating.

Julia Margaret Cameron. This woman is one of my favourite artists in the world. Cameron began taking photographs at 42 years old after she moved to the isle of Wight in England. She was gifted a camera by her daughter who just wanted her mother to be a bit less bored, and Cameron went on to create over 3000 astonishing photographs that are at the core of the pictorialist movement. She was also INCREDIBLY well acquainted of her society. I mean, literally every famous victorian person you can think of, she met them. The majority of famous photographs you can think of? She took them. She was very honest about her work too. Its really endearing because Cameron was so concerned about her own honesty in capturing beauty she didn't give a fuck about the actual mechanics, which resulted in a lot of photographers at the time labelling her "an amateur". She also refused to photograph high society folk that weren't her friends, and mostly photographed her maids. It must be said that Alfred Lord Tennyson absolutely DESPISED every single illustration made for his Idylls of the King, so much artists knew they were in for hell if they were commissioned the book's illustrations. Cameron was the only person Tennyson personally asked to illustrated, and he absolutely adored her work.

Hannah Hoch. I love Dada so it couldn't miss. Hannah Hoch was married to uhhhhh... Huesekbeck I think? I keep forgetting. Either way, she was part of the Berlin Dada group, and they gave her hell for being a woman. Yes, it's nothing short of that: they didn't want her to belong because she was a woman. Especially her husband, who she supported throughout his life and then he died and she was like "lmao maybe you should have made good art, my bitch". Hannah Hoch mostly makes collages, and it's incredible. Its a very poignant work about being a woman in post-Weimar Germany and the societal issues Germany faced after World War I.

Claude Cahun. There's a post I made about her going around so I wont prolong myself but essentially, though she used female pronouns throughout her life, she identified herself as androgynous and created an INCREDIBLE set of photographs. She was a surrealist who became the inspiration for Davie Bowie and Andre Breton lauded this woman breathless. She was also arrested for taking part in the resistance against the Nazis and lived her whole life with another woman who was her partner. Her work focuses tremendously on issues of gender and our perception of our own bodies.

Camille Claudel. Infamously, she is known as Rodin's lover. Camille's story is a very tragic one. She was a tremendously talented sculptor who accumulated patrons throughout her life, and though she had an a rough affair with Rodin (and he was a bit of a dick), he did praise her work and tried very hard to preserve her artwork. The issue was Camille's family, who scorned her and shamed her for being an artist and her life choices, and destroyed a lot of her art after sticking her in a mental institution where she died at like, 70. But Camille's work is... Well, it's beautiful. Its the kind of work you can see that conflict between being a woman in her society while desperate to liberate herself. Though she incorporates Rodin's language, she has her own mark, her own hand, and her own language.

Janet Sobel. She is actually the first person to coin, use and employ the technique of dripping. You know, the one Pollock gets all the praise for? Essentially, Janet Sobel was a grandmother by the time she picked up a paintbrush. She was also a ukranian emigrant with little to no english, and she engaged in art at her son's insistence. When her son Sol Sobel brought his mom's artwork to the major New York circles (she lived in New Jersey), she immediately caught the eye of Peggy Guggenheim, who put together a collective exhibition about female abstract expressionist painters. That exhibition was in 1946. Pollock was there, he msde a remark wbout Sobel's work, and in 1947 you have the first Pollock dripping painting. Do with that information what you will (and also, check for photos of how Sobel painted, it's so adorable and it just explains SO MUCH MORE THE CONCEPT OF ACTION PAINTING THAN POLLOCK). Eventualyl, Sobel stopped painting and disappeared, and there are several factors as to why we forgot her: Pollock was the CIA's bad boy, so yeah; she spoke little english (she befriended Marc Chagall and Mark Rothko bc they both spoke russian and they claimed that being with Sobel felt like being back home) and she developed an allergy to oil painting.

Maria Helena Vieira da Silva. We're moving to the french circle here, and yes she is portuguese but she belongs to the french post modernist circle. She's an abstract painter who draws a lot from cityscapes, and I think it's worth taking a look at her work.

Niki de Saint Phalle. Now Niki is incredible. She's mostly known for her Nanas, which are immense outdoors sculptures of women with thick bodies, defying the notion of slenderness imposed by fashion magazines that prevailed in the 50s. She also engages with her own trauma of sexual abuse and explores the notion of sexuality a lot, as well as women's bodies outside the realm of sexuality. At a given point, she collaborated with Jean Tingely a lot so she made a series of kinetic sculptures too.

Martha Rosler. I know you said painting and sculpture and I've already talked about collage lmao but Martha Rosler belongs to the first wave of feminist art and those mostly concern video art, though Rosler is very well known for her collages Bringing the War Home in which she literally brings the Vietnam war home. It's worth looking at her work.

Ana Mendieta. Another tragic story. Ana Mendieta was incredibly worried about the notion of the female body as perceived outside the realm of something sexual and nature. She works a lot with perishable material, works of art that are organic, that is, that will disappear with time. One of her most well known methods is leaving an imprint of her own body on natural surfaces, like a beach, or a field of grass, and then photographing it. Ironically, that was exactly how she died: she fell off I believe it was a 10th floor and onto the hood if a car. There is still speculation about it and everything points towards there having been a fight between her and her partner at the time, Carl Andre, who neighbours believe pushed her out the window. Carl Andre never saw justice and Ana Mendieta died at like 25 years old and at the prime of her career.

Kara Walker. She's a pretty young artist who's creating artworks as we speak and she confronts the notion of blackness with US history so blatantly it becomes monumental. She also makes large scale works to defy this message. If you ask me, she's one of the best artists living today.

Hilma af Klimt. She was a Swedish abstractionist and surrealist who was really focused on the occult, and made monumental paintings that engaged with things like the human psyche.

Lizzie Siddal. Now, Lizzie is better known as the Pre-Raphaelite muse, immortalised in Millais' famous Ophelia, but she was an artist of her own. And not just any artist. John Ruskin tutored her and praised her. In fact, he considered her biggest flaw being her love affair with Rossetti lmao she is very naive and honest about her work, and I would also recommend taking a look at her poetry.

Eleonor Fortescue-Brickdale. I know very little about her, but she was a post pre-raphaelite illustrator who, and this is just me, follows the trend of Julia Margaret Cameron. Her paintings are beautiful and seriously, look at both their work and try to see the similarities hah

Helen Frankenthaler and Joan Mitchell, two abstract expressionists who developed their own mode of painting and who border the Colour Field Painting (think Rothko).

Tamara de Lempicka. She's the glamour gal. She makes paintings about the glamorous life of high society and is very interesting because she depicts female nudes in a very intimate way. If I am not mistaken, Tamara de Lempicka had relationships with women, so that tells you a lot. She's very cubist in technique, more so than style.

Faith Ringgold. Oh my God, Faith Ringgold is fantastic. She is a black american woman who paints about the experience of being a black woman, but not just paint. She's best known for her Tar Beaches series, which as quilts she stitches while telling the story of a little girl who dreams about a world while spending time on her tar beach, which is the rooftops of the buildings in Harlem. Please do check her work, she is fantastic.

I'll leave well known names out because they are easy to search like Frida Kahlo, Artemisa Gentilleschi, Josefa d'Obidos, Sofonisba Anguissola (these three are located in the late renaissance period, so there's a lot of portraits, religious themes and still life), Mary Cassat, Berthe Morisot (both impressionists who focus on private female themes), Rosa Bonheur (naturalist who makes landscapes mostly), Evelyn de Morgan (post pre-raphaelite). Also check Zinaida Serebriakova, Georgia O'Keeffe, Lavinia Fontana, Louise Bourgeois, Angelika Kauffmann, Elisabetta Sirani, Romaine Brooks, Sophie Tauber-Arp, Varvara Stepanova, Paula Rego, Bridget Riley, Leonora Carrington, Vigée le Brun, Yayoi Kusama, Francesca Woodman. Etc. These are like .. top of my head with a quick google search to make sure I wrote the names right haha

[scribeofmorpheus]

As Fate Would Have It (Part 15)

Paring: 1940s!Bucky x Spy!Reader

Catch Up here | Masterlist

Words: 4.1k | Note: Reader’s alias is Elle/Helen

A/N: Listen I know I said I’d take a pause with updating this series like a day ago -and I also know I said the last chapter was the final 1940′s storyline, BUT! I had another bout of insomnia and had this story stuck in my mind!

Warnings: Graphic violence, blood, torture, themes of POW, PTSD

Note: We’re finally using the Y/N abbreviation here kiddos! I haven’t proofread!

Highly recommend you listen to any of these pieces with the chapter: I will find you | Frozen in Time | If You Care (song)

Feel free to ask to be tagged, leave a like, reblog or comment ♥

~Some Time Later~

"Commencing test number eleven of phase two," Dr Zola spoke into the voice recorder placed on the medical table. His small hands flipped the switch of the device you were strapped into and the hum of electric currents rang in your one good ear- the other eardrum was still healing from weeks prior.

"Ahhhhhh!" Your shrill screams overlapped with the buzzing sound of the electric chair. The air was filled with the smell of burned hair and your mouth tasted like foam. Your vision in one eye was blurred with a red haze from the ruptured blood vessel.

Dr Zola flipped the switch off after your screams dissipated into hoarse shrieks, "The subject’s pain threshold seems to have grown exponentially since her last dose." He signalled for the squirmy man dressed in doctor scrubs to go towards you. In silence, he stalked towards you, hand holding a syringe with a six-inch needle and bent your head down so he could administer the contents of the syringe between the ridges of your spinal cord.

"The twelfth dose has now been administered," Dr Zola spoke out in observation. You swore under your breath at him. He simply turned his head to the side like a dog confused by high pitched sounds.

"And now for the second step," he urged his assisting scientist to begin the second part of the experiment. He walked over after having grabbed a scalpel and pressed it into the muscle between your elbow and wrist on the arm with less scaring and sliced down in a perfectly symmetrical line. The blade separated your flesh in a slow and gruelling manner making you hiss behind your clenched jaw. Blood spilt out and dripped onto the floor letting out wet splashing noises every time blood dripped down. The man placed the scalpel back on the medical table before joining Dr Zola's side with a clipboard and pen while the doctor started his stopwatch.

They watched on edge, their eyes skittering from the stopwatch to your still open wound in anticipation of some change they could catalogue. One minute passed and they jotted down something on their clipboard. Two and their faces grew grimmer. Three and Dr Zola looked almost red with anger. Finally after five minutes passed it was clear nothing profound would happen.

You laughed defiantly before you spit out the blood that had accumulated in your cheek. It splattered close to their shoes making them scowl at you in disgust. "Look at that, I'm still a failed experiment!" Your laughs echoed weakly around the room infuriating the two men.

"Do it," Dr Zola said coldly.

His assistant nodded and flipped the same switch from before, this time with the dial cranked a few volts higher. Electricity burned into your flesh from the metal restraints that only got hotter the longer the current passed through them. Your nails were digging into the tattered leather straps that fastened you to the chair, hundreds of half-moon marks accumulating from all the time spent in this particular torture room.

All of a sudden, Dr Zola's eyes lit up as he stared down at your sliced open arm, "Turn it off!"

The buzzing stopped and the current was held at bay, your body trembling as it tried to reset itself. You had a hard time moving your head, but when you finally got it positioned so you could see your arm, your one good eye went wide and then blinked in quick succession as you tried to make sure you weren't hallucinating. Your wound was healing right before your eyes. Sluggishly and very easy to miss if you didn't stare at it for a long time, but it was indeed healing.

"Ha! Ha! We have had our first breakthrough!" Dr Zola cheered with pride as his assistant walked closer to monitor your arm thoroughly.

"It seems you were right Dr Zola. With a controlled amount of your serum present within a subject's bloodstream, rapid cellular regeneration is possible. Perhaps this could finally unlock the secrets to immortality." The assistant said with a naive smile on his face.

Dr Zola paused for a moment, no longer stewing in his glory, "Yes well, hypothesizing is one thing. We still need to find a way to trigger the healing process without requiring an external electric current to excite the molecules within a body."

"One small step Herr Zola!" The assistant said triumphantly.

Dr Zola ignored the younger scientist as he looked down at his watch with a troubled expression, "Log your findings with the rest of the data. Try and replicate the results with a new subject. I am needed elsewhere, Schmidt has asked me to accompany him as he tours the Austrian weapons factory. You will be in charge of the experiments on this level. Return her to her cell."

The young assistant saluted and hailed. Dr Zola mirrored his actions before fixing his collar and walking out of the room.

***

It had felt like months since Dr Zola left for Austria. Despite his absence, the experiments didn't stop.

Your days all blended together to form one long unending day that repeated over and over like clockwork. For a long time, you had held onto the hope that you'd manage to escape this hellish place, but after four failed attempts you had given up on that dream. Your body wasn't in any physical condition to fight as well anymore, the constant tests and drugs flushed in your system at any given time rendered you useless. All you could do was hold onto your last wits to keep your sanity from snapping. Most nights you'd think about your small Brooklyn apartment or the hideous diner outfit you'd wear to work.

You made it a rule to only think about the harmless things. The little things that wouldn't bring you pain or make you feel even more alone in the dark. That was a privilege reserved for the memories of the people you loved and the sweet torment they brought to your dreams. No matter how each dream began it would always, always, transition into an unstoppable nightmare.

You'd occasionally wake up in a cold sweat after dreaming of better circumstances; going dancing with Sally; lounging on vacation with Bucky; playing board games with Steve. Each time they'd all end the same: with them ripped away from you.

A little scatter of sunlight shone down on your face, alerting you to the fact it was day time. You turned to your side to face the wall marked by number tallies. You had stopped trying to keep track of the days after you spent an unknown number of days in a medically induced coma. You'd figured there wasn't any point.

The sound of banging on your door forced you to stand on jelly legs, eyes still foggy as you swayed from your inner ear being off balance.

"Back against the wall!" A guard shouted.

You did as he said, although it took a little effort to keep your knees from caving beneath you.

The door opened and two guards walked in, one bound your hands behind your back while the other kept the door open. When you were marched out of your room, you noticed the entire base was bathed in red light as several other prisoners were ushered out of their rooms -all looking as worse for wear as you did.

"Wha- What's going on?" You croaked out.

The guard behind you grumbled, refusing to answer your question.

"Prisoner transfer," a strange man said from the adjacent line beside you. He was hobbling on one leg while another prisoner helped him stay upright. His bony back was hunched over to the point you could just make out the needle tracks along the base of his spine. It seemed you had something in common.

Your head bobbed from side to side, making sure none of the guards noticed you before you asked: "How do you know?"

He leaned closer so he could whisper a little louder, "I heard the scientists talking next to my cell. Something happened. They're scared. We're being transported to another facility."

You ducked closer with interest, "Where?"

"Russia."

***

The convoy's journey was long and uncomfortable, the flaps from the tarp covering the trucks did little to keep the biting cold at bay. You and several strangers dressed in the same monochromatic garbs huddled together like a bundle of shivering sticks in a futile attempt to stay warm. The guards didn't bother to post people in the back with you. Most of you posed no threat and there would be no chance of surviving this cold without sight of shelter or civilisation for miles.

The truck took the bumpy road with no finesse at all. Every pothole caused the truck to bounce and jostle you all about. The creaking noise of the chassis bumping against the frozen shock suspension had become as synonymous to your good ear as the incessant ringing that persisted in the other. On multiple occasions, you would accidentally slam your body against the cold metal of the truck. You'd groan in protest since your organs were already sore from all the poking and prodding that had become your routine. The entire ride was grievous, it was like being strapped to a piece of debris amidst a tsunami, so when a loud noise cracked through the silence, filling your vision with a hot white flash and overturning the truck, your only reaction was to brace your body for the coming impact.

Akin to dominoes toppling one after the other, each truck in the convoy behind you suffered similar fates. One was heaved off the ground and turned on its side by a controlled explosion below the front wheels while another swerved out of control from a series of sharp whistling noises that left circular holes atop the hood of the car.

Chaos ensued as your vision was bombarded by flashes of bright lights and explosive flames roaring to life. The sound of gunfire and screams and cries of agony mixed together to form a deafening cacophony of anxiety and fear. Your heart caught in your dry throat as adrenaline shot up in pin prickling spikes across your tender muscled back.

The younger you would have seized this opportunity to hunt for a weapon and make a break for it, but instead of doing exactly what you had been trained to do, you simply cowered in the overturned truck -your hands covering your ears as your molars ground against each other.

Another explosion went off close to the truck. Shrapnel tore through the tarp and planted itself into your thigh and shoulder and back. The multiple screams of pain coming from everyone else in the truck proved you weren't the only one whose body was now acquainted with foreign metal shards.

It wasn't until you felt warm liquid dampen the edge of your trousers that you were forced out of your stupor. Blinking erratically, you tried to sit up and make sure none of your arteries were punctured. To your relief, you realised the blood wasn't yours. But as soon as that revelation sunk in, your blood turned cold all over again as you looked over to the one-legged man before going into shock.

"Fuck! No..." You scurried with shaky hands to his side, your breathing escalating to pants. "Hey, hey…I need you to focus. Hey-" You slapped his cheeks in quick successions. "What's your name?"

"What?" He asked, discombobulated from everything that was happening.

"Your name?" You asked again while tearing cloth from your shirt to act as a tourniquet around his leg.

"H- Hans..." he said with a weak smile.

"Okay Hans, I need you to apply pressure here," you moved his ridged hand towards the spot where blood slithering oozing out. "That's good Hans. Now I need you to stay awake."

You turned to the other scared prisoners, looking for a face that seemed less afraid than the other.

"I need you to keep him talking," you ordered a young woman. She was shaking, but her eyes were more astute than the rest. Despite her quivering lips and blue-tipped fingers, you knew she would oblige.

"O- Okay," she quivered as she knelt beside Hans and tried to hold a conversation.

Hesitantly, you left the confines of the truck and headed to the driver’s seat where you hoped to find a first aid kit. Prying the door open was difficult on account of your weak arms. The door had jammed from a dent caused by the flip. You lifted your leg and leaned against the car door as you pulled the handle until it came loose. You cursed, threw the handle and kicked in the glass window.  One of the shards was large enough for you to catch a glimpse of your reflection by your feet. You had grown accustomed to the reality that being someone's lab rat would leave you with scars that wouldn't heal, but somehow it always shook you to your core when you were reminded of how unfamiliar your hair colour had become. When the shocks first started, you had noticed a few slivers of hair turning silver. Now… now your whole head was the same colour as the snow you were currently standing in. You look almost ghostly. In a way, you felt that was truer than much else.

You kicked the glass away, not wanting to waste any more time lamenting what had become of you, and slinked your arm through the window. Patting down against the corpse of the driver and underside of his seat.

Bang!

Another explosion went off, birthing black smoke around it. You jumped and cut your arm on some jagged glass before taking three short breaths.

"Come on Y/N, you can do this."

You reached back into the car and kept feeling around for something. Your muscles instinctively flinching when a gunshot went off. Finally, after spending far too long in the open, you found something you could use: a lighter and a knife. You grabbed the concealed handgun from the driver's boot for safety.

Walking back you noticed a trail of red spots that undoubtedly belonged to you. You had to compartmentalise. One step at a time. All you could think of was getting Hans to stop bleeding.

"Hans, hey… Look at that, you're still talking," you said.

He half chocked on a faltering laugh, "Once I start talking, you can't- Tsssss! Can't… Ahhh! Get me to stop..."

You began burning the tip of the knife with the lighter, "I'm going to dig the shrapnel out before I cauterise the wound. I need you to talk through the pain."

"Heh, you know… you kind of remind me of my wife. I drove her to grow grey hairs too early too," he said reminiscently.

"Where's your wife now?" You asked as you removed the knife from the flame. He didn't answer.

After some struggling breaths, Hans asked: "You ever married?"

Your eye twitched at his question forcing you to close your eyes for a second. Then you looked up at his searching gaze with a smile that felt too heavy to carry, "Only in my nightmares." You tried to amuse him.

He let out what should have sounded like a laugh but came off as a series of groans and hisses.

Without warning him, you dug the knife into his wound and fished out the piece of shrapnel in one nerve-wracking move. He bit down on a belt the girl beside you had given him as you finished up burning his intrusive cut closed.

Once he stabilised you noticed the gunfire had stopped. The sound of boots crunching in the snow grew louder. You cocked the gun and pointed it with unsteady aim out towards the open snow. The gun seemed to grow heavier as your eyesight kept going in and out of focus. Vertigo set in as the thrumming of your heart resonated in your ears. When the boots stopped in front of you, the gun slipped from our hands. You looked down and noticed you hadn't stopped bleeding, your skin was beginning to pale.

"Shit..." you said groggily.

Your head hit the ground hard, your body half out of the cover of the truck. Above you stood a woman wearing an eyepatch with short blonde hair and a cigarette held between her yellowing teeth.

She knelt beside you, machine gun slung against her chest, and ducked her head to see into the truck better. She gave a sarcastic salute to the group of scared prisoners before saying in fluent Russian: "Welcome to Mother Russia."

She looked down at you again and smiled, "You look like shit, tovarishch..."

A gasp of air left your blueing lips as your eyelids closed shut.

***

The echoes of the events that transpired played like muffled noises coming through weak walls. Eventually, the noises grew more savage- deafening to the point your body jerked at each reverberation of a gunshot or explosion that your mind brought to life in your semi-conscious state. Soon, discombobulated memories began to overlap with each loud bang.

Bang!

"Report."

Bang!

"You make a habit of flirting with waitresses you just met, Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome?"

Bang!

"Only the beautiful ones. Call me Bucky, it's shorter -and that smug mess is Steve,"

Bang!

"You ready, doll?"

Bang…

"You're my safe harbour. I want you to know that."

Bang!

"Sweet dreams."

BANG!

"Gahhh!" You gasped awake, the nape of your neck sticky with sweat. You woke up in a tent, the door flap folded half-open to reveal a dying fire. The horizon breaking with the first glints of a sunrise. Several other tents were pitched up. The smell of coffee, cigarettes and grease was mixed with the cold mountain air. By your bedside was a change of clothes and the same gun you had fished off the dead driver.

***

Yelena had just finished briefing the skeleton mercenary crew about their travel trajectory. They began to pack down their tents after she gave them the last of her money. Her things were already packed so she decided to sit by the dying fire and wait.

Yelena scrunched her nose in disgust. The coffee tasted like piss, but little could be done to correct that. Her yellowing fingertips absentmindedly brushed at her eyepatch. The phantom pain had returned with a vengeance ever since she rescued Y/N from the Hydra convoy. Her stomach grew uneasy as bile crept up to her throat. Regret and anger weighing her down like a stone, drowning her in her own petty sorrows.

Click-

The sound of a guns hammer being pushed back brought a smile to her face.

"I was wondering when you'd wake up, tovarishch..." she took a sip of her piss water and immediately regretted it, but she swallowed it down. “I like the hair."

"Give me. One! Reason..." Y/N struggled to say in a raspy voice.

Yelena flinched at how coarse her former subordinate’s voice had become. Without looking up, Yelena said solemnly, "I can't."

"The fuck kind of excuse is that?" She was seething.

"It isn't."

"Where are the other survivors?"

"We salvaged a vehicle," Yelena looked at her men and shook her head to tell them to stand down. "I sent them off."

"Are you here to take me back?"

"No..."

"I don't believe you!"

"There's nothing to go back to."

The gun in Y/N's hand shook, "Then why come for me?"

"It was always the plan. Once Hydra was through with you, we'd swoop in and bring you home." Yelena lit a cigarette between her bare lips. "And either way, you'd have succeeded in your mission. In place of research, we'd have you."

"You sold me out so I could be a glorified lab rat?"

"You would never have gotten away with it. Faking your death never sticks. Not for long. Your mind has always been limited with thinking of the now. I had to make a tough call that would ensure you lived to see tomorrow." Yelena dusted the snow from her trousers, tossed the remaining coffee on the fire and turned to face Y/N and her loaded gun. "This wasn't a rescue mission. There is no cavalry coming. No one to call."

Y/N hit Yelena square in the jaw with the butt of her gun. Yelena saw the blow coming but chose to let it stick. She chuckled lifelessly after spitting out droplets of blood.

"What of the Red Room?"

"As far as they're concerned, once we lost the war you were declared KIA. It's just me now. I got Intel of the convoy, I took a chance."

"Am I supposed to thank you?" Y/N squinted her eye, the other suffered too much trauma to do more than twitch. "You sold me out! You let them take me… You let them experiment on me for months!" Her voice cracked as a tear ran down her cheek.

"Months?" Yelena asked with confusion. "Tovarishch, what year do you think it is?"

Y/N stumbled backwards, "Wh- What? It's… It's 1942… Maybe '43."

Yelena's eye grew wide, "Tovarishch… it's 1947."

"N- No. No, no, no! No. It can't be..." Y/N's breathing became frantic, the gun rattling in her hand. "I kept count. I- I couldn't have been in that coma longer than a week! I- I- I--!"

Yelena saw the trademarks of a panic attack about to ensue and took a chance and slapped Y/N across the face. The lack of warning caused her to fire off a shot from her gun. Yelena was lucky she had already moved out of her sights, but then another gunshot sounded out and one of her men fell into the snow, red staining the white.

Everyone ducked. One of her men examined the bullet hole.

"Soviet slug, no rifling!" He shouted.

Fear soaked Yelena's bloodstream, "He found us..."

"Who found you?" Y/N asked.

Yelena turned to look Y/N in the eye, "Listen to me tovarishch. We don't have time. Here-" She handed her a folded map stuffed with several papers. "Co-ordinates to a safe house half a day’s walk from here. Papers to get you on a boat. There's a village close by, a man rents sled dogs. He knows you're coming." Yelena signalled for her men to assume defensive positions.

"Why are you doing all this?" Y/N asked.

A sad smile crossed Yelena's face, "You were right to want more. To have that moronic idea of freedom. I- I lost everything. You are all that's left. My one good act."

"This doesn't make up for what you did."

Yelena's smile grew wider, "Nothing can ever make up for the things I've done."

Another sniper shot thundered through the mountains taking another one of her men.

Y/N froze at the sound. When she regained her composure she looked at Yelena with a baffled expression, "What happened?"

Yelena's hand returned to her eyepatch for a brief second, "I flew too close to the sun. Now go!"

Y/N shared a prolonged moment with Yelena in silence. In that sacred space, they had said everything they needed to in order to gain closure without uttering a word. Somehow they both knew once it was over, they would be right back to where they were, scrambling to give each other the catharsis they sought after.

Y/N was the first to break eye contact, lifting her weary body up so she could make a break for the cover of the woods. This was Yelena's last chance to say something.

"Y/N!" Yelena forced her to look behind. "Promise me one thing. Leave it all behind. Everything. The past… it will only bring you pain."

"I can't do that…"Y/N looked at the sun breaking through the dusk. “Pain is all I have left."

And then she was gone.

***

Yelena lay on the cold ground, blood pooling around her as the sound of her last man’s dying breaths was snuffed out by someone’s boot.

Paralysed from the waist down, her eyes were glued to the white clouds dancing about. One, in particular, looked like a rabbit. It reminded her of Y/N's white hair. Another reminder of her failures.

"Ahhh, there it is," she swallowed her own blood with a humorous chuckle as she felt that feeling from before return a thousandfold. "I was almost worried I'd gotten rid of that particular taste of self-loathing."

Out of her peripheral, a masked individual clad in black knelt by her side. His metal arm refracting harsh rays of sunlight in her eye. "Where is the girl?"

Yelena was borderline delusional from all the blood loss and frostbite, "The little rabbit?" She cackled. "Why, down the rabbit hole, of course!"

The man brought his metal arm to her throat, pressure squeezing at her oesophagus making her gasp for air. "No matter. You were the target."

Then he snapped her neck like a twig.

Next Chapter we’re in the 80′s!

Tags: @fangirl-colo @dormousse @smallmarvel @ren-ni @sargentbucket @nikolett3 @wnygirl2012 @jentismyname @evilgeniuslabz-blog @myrabbitholetoneverland @500daysofbecky @reidreader  @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet

[arcqna-hoe]

hey uhhhhh war and peace / great comet au ? (it’s juicy I swear)

I really hope at least one person gets this otherwise I will die instantly ok let’s go (also great comet is the musical based on the section of W&P I’m pulling from. also, the lyrics below each description are some lines from the musical that solidified my choices)

Brief summary: A young girl, with her fiancé away at war, visits her godmother with her cousin. While in Moscow, she is seduced by an already married man with the help of his sister, and attempts to elope. Her cousin stops the plot and, after being told by her fiancé’s best friend that he won’t ever forgive her/take her back, takes solace in the same best friend, who has loved her since they were children. He confesses his love to her and later, after the events of the musical, get married (and ironically, are some of the only characters to survive the burning of the city and the war.)

MC is [Natalya/Natasha/Natalie Rostova] - the young and beautiful (though naive) child of a noble russian family. Eventually tries to run away with Lucio/Anatol, but after that fails, seeks refuge in Julian/Pierre.

“The first time I heard your voice, moonlight burst into the room!...I will love you...I will do anything for you!”

Julian is [Pierre/Pytor Bezukhov], the sad illegitimate (but favorite) child of an deceased Count. Rich and always having a drunk existential crisis, childhood friend of MC/Natasha, married unhappily to Nadia/Helene. Low key high key wants to die and Asra/Andrei’s best friend.

“I drink too much, right now while my friend fights and bleeds....the zest of life has vanished, only the skeleton remains...I used to be better. Iused to be better! I used to be better...I pity you, I pity me, I pity you!”

Portia is [Sonya/Sofia Rostova], MC’s cousin from a poorer family. MC is her best friend and she would go to the ends of the earth for them. Eventually stops Lucio’s/Anatol’s kidnapping plot.

“I won’t let you throw yourself over...Is it all up to me?”

Mazelinka is [Marya Dmitrievna], MC’s godmother and Empress of Moscow. Stoic and spoils MC but is also very stern when need be. Relies greatly on Julian/Pierre.

“Welcome, welcome to Moscow!...I’ll take you where you must go! Pet you a bit and I’ll scold you a bit...”

Asra is [Andrei Bolkonsky], betrothed to MC and away at war fighting Napoleon. Genuinely loved MC/Natasha, but refuses to forgive her after her attempt at running away with Lucio/Anatol.

“I never said I could forgive.”

Lucio is [Anatol Kuragin], the mischievous playboy set on stealing MC/Natasha for his own selfish purposes, despite already being married to a random chick in Poland. Extremely alluring and hot, though. Eventually chased out of Moscow by Julian/Pierre after his plot to elope with MC/Natasha fails.

“I must love your or die! If you love me say yes, and I’ll come and steal you away, steal you out of the dark!”

Nadia is [Helene/Ellen Bezukhov (maiden Kuragin)] the wife of Julian/Pierre and the sister of Lucio/Anatol. Ruler of Moscow’s social hierarchy, vain, alluring...cheats on Julian/Pierre, and helps their brother Lucio/Anatol seduce and nearly kidnap MC/Natasha.

“Beautiful, barely clothed...queen of society...and much exposed neck, around which she wears a double string of pearls!”

Valerius is [Fedya Dolokhov], an assassin from the mountains. Lucio/Anatol’s right hand main, though he doesn’t always agree with his plans - especially the one to kidnap an already engaged woman.

“Dolokhov is fierce, but not too important. A crazy good shot!”

Muriel is [Princess Mary Bolkonsy] Asra/Andrei’s brother/sister. Quiet, meek, mild, religious...and mistreated by her/his father.

“The pride of sacrifice gathers in my soul...and I dare to judge him? I disgust myself.”

Anyways this au killed me

That’s it

I’m dead

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

[mermaidsirennikita]

November 2018 Book Roundup

I don’t feel like I read that much, in all honesty.  But I did read SOMETHING.  The Caged Queen by Kristen Ciccarelli, a sequel/companion to The Last Namsara, was fantastic, and one of my favorite books of the year.  Arranged marriage tropes + sisters who would die for each other?  Yes, please.  The best standalone of the month was My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite, a biting satire about sisters and beauty set in Nigeria.  I may not have read much, but there were certainly standouts.

The Caged Queen by Kristen Ciccarelli.  5/5.  Roa has never let go of her sister, Essie--to the point that in the eight years since Essie’s death, her soul as remained trapped in the body of a hawk, psychically linked to Roa.  As a part of an alliance that will unite their two nations, Roa has married Dax, the boy--now a king since the overthrow of his father--responsible for Essie’s death.  Roa refuses to love Dax; their marriage is a trade.  She gave him an army, and he promises to life the oppressive regime dominating her people.  But just as it begins to seem that Dax won’t honor his end of the bargain, Roa is presented with a possibility: she can free Essie and return her soul to its proper body.  She just has to kill Dax. This book was EVERYTHING.  It’s technically the sequel to The Last Namsara, but as it elevates supporting characters into main roles and follows a very different storyline, it could practically stand on its own.  And it’s better than The Last Namsara--which is a book I really, really liked.  There is less emphasis on dragons (which I didn’t like) and the world’s mythology (which I did, but it was kind of heavy on the story sometimes).  It’s more about the process of grief, and a “death-defying love”--and that’s not the love between Dax and Roa.  It’s love between sisters, and the bond between Roa and Essie ripped my heart out.  Not to say that Ciccarelli doesn’t completely milk the arranged marriage trope for all it’s worth; the tension between Dax and Roa is amazing, and made more so by the fact that they have a deep past with each other.  This book was so well-done, and makes me even more excited for the next one than I already was.

Jane Doe by Victoria Helen Stone.  3/5.  Jane’s on a mission.  She’s left her job as an attorney and taken up data entry, all to be closer to Steven Hepsworth.  Steven sees Jane as a naive, vulnerable young woman--exactly his type.  he doesn’t know that she’s a sociopath.  He’s the man responsible for Meg, Jane’s best friend, committing suicide. And Jane is not going to let him live his life like he did nothing wrong.  This is a pretty standard thriller.... I guess.  There isn’t much action, not a ton of conspiracy. Jane has a plan; she sets out to accomplish it; nothing really stops her, and there aren’t any twists... anything you would call a twist, I can’t imagine how you wouldn’t see it coming.  It was entertaining, but nothing great.  I’m not sure why all of the reviews were so glowing--I guess people enjoy books more when they aren’t at all challenging?  I don’t know.  It was fine.

Sky in the Deep by Adrienne Young.  2/5.  Teenage Eelyn is a member of the Aska clan, bound to fight against the Riki clan.  However, she is stunned when, in the midst of a battle, she recognizes her brother--who she’s thought dead for five years--fighting alongside the enemy.  Taken captive by the Riki, she is forced to rely on her brother’s friend--as she focuses on uniting the clans., which may be her only hope of returning home.  I have nothing really to say about this except for the fact that I never connected with it once.  For a story that seemed naturally angled towards high emotion, it seemed rather bloodless.  I have no idea if this would work for others--it just didn’t work for me, even though there was nothing for me to really hate about it.

The Other Woman by Sandie Jones.  4/5.  When Emily meets Adam, he seems to be a catch--handsome, successful, and quickly in love with her.  The only issue is his mother--the manipulative, possessive Pammie.  For all that Pammie does to push Emily away from her son, Adam is blinded by his devotion, unable to see the depths of his mother’s intrusions.  It isn’t long before Emily and Pammie are in a battle for dominance--and Pammie, it seems, will do anything to win.  This is a classic, super readable, cheesy-but-kinda-smart thriller.  Pammie is fucking disturbing, but also delightful--and the best thing about Emily is that, though she is way too dickmatized for her own good, she’s not an innocent pawn.  She fights back--sometimes going to Pammie’s limits.  The twist isn’t too crazy, but it is satisfying; though it’s also definitely a “thriller” twist, and would probably not make much sense if we were looking at this book under a more realistic lens.  This book was super fun and I recommend it to anyone who wants to check out of life for a little while.

Kingdom of the Blazing Phoenix by Julie C. Dao.  2/5.  Jade has grown up in a nunnery, the only surviving child of Emperor Jun.  Following her mother’s death, Jun’s new wife, the beautiful and cunning Xifeng, has ruled Feng Lu with an iron fist--but has been incapable of bearing a living child.  At eighteen, Jade is summoned back to the palace, meeting her stepmother for the first time--and discovering that there is much more to Xifeng than meets the eye.  This is the follow-up to Forest of a Thousand Lanterns, the fantastic tale of Xifeng, who is essentially the Evil Queen to Jade’s Snow White.  Dao is a beautiful writer, and I love the world she built.  And I love Xifeng.  Jade is no Xifeng.  She is boring, and therefore her story is boring.  She’s so fucking wholesome.  And somehow it takes 100+ pages for the story to get going even though Jade immediately realizes that Xifeng is evil.  It’s really unfortunate because the previous novel set up so much momentum--and it fell flat here.

My Sister, The Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite.  4/5.  Korede is a nurse in Nigeria; and she has spent much of her life in the shadow of her beautiful younger sister, Ayoola.  The issue is that Korede’s life has, more recently started to revolve around covering up Ayoola’s murders.  Ayoola has a habit of killing her boyfriends, men she claims are abusive. In the wake of her latest slaying--of a sweet, poetic man--Korede isn’t so sure she believes Ayoola’s explanations anymore.  And when Ayoola sets her sights of Tade--the coworker Korede longs for--Korede is caught at a crossroads.  If she turns Ayoola in, she loses her forever.  But if she lets her be, she may be letting the man she has feelings for walk to his death.  A sharp, satirical, and dark story, this book examines everything from sisterly relationships to beauty standards.  Korede is a compelling protagonist because she isn’t much better than her serial killer sister--but in a different way.  Ayoola may murder; but Korede enables her, all the while resenting Ayoola for being everything that she is not.  The book is incredibly well-written, and moves very quickly.  I read it over space of a morning.  It’s so gruesome and funny and sad.  The only thing I didn’t love was how the ending petered out somewhat--but I’d still recommend it wholeheartedly.

[oneweekoneband]

For a while, Taylor Swift was America’s sweetheart but not anymore. Nowadays, people tend to hate Taylor Swift, sometimes for valid reasons but often for ridiculous ones. Personally, I’m pro-Taylor generally speaking but I like to regard myself as generally pretty balanced in my appreciation for her as an artist and a person. But that being said, I don’t like “Look What You Made Me Do” very much even though I do think it’s catchy and great to walking up hills to. I think it is one of the weaker songs on the album thematically speaking and falls into the trap of being too much about Taylor herself to be truly relatable.

As Hilary Collins writes in her excellent TinyLetter, 

“Taylor is the queen of lying to herself, the queen of knowing that everyone thinks she’s crazy and needy and slutty and can’t keep a man, and turning that gossip into romanticized versions of herself. Over the years she’s painted herself as, at different times, either an innocent, naive, young victim who has been betrayed repeatedly by people with bad intentions (“Dear John”, “Mean”, “Bad Blood”), or a catty, whipsmart bitch who can take care of herself (“Better than Revenge”, “Picture to Burn”, half of “Reputation”). These two personas aren’t really mutually exclusive for her, but seem to be a kind of before and after the hard times embittered her.

Taylor is unique because she both has a point and doesn’t. She is undoubtedly the victim of both unrelenting, banal misogyny from the media and some bad behavior from boyfriends (I can’t imagine John Mayer was any kinder or more gracious than she allows us to believe), but she has often cried wolf to play the victim to people who aren’t victimizing her, and the two most famous examples are black artists—Kanye and Nicki Minaj. After losing the Kanye feud, Taylor went from shittalking her exes from time to time to full-fledged rage machine, doing bad things and blaming it on her enemies, who are legion. This is why we can’t have nice! things! she sings, and what makes me love Taylor is that it’s so much fun how she sees the world. It’s aestheticized, her against them, and anytime she does something bad, she was goaded into it.

I’m not interested in parsing the morality of Taylor Swift’s worldview as presented in her body of work and public persona. I’m interested the psychology of young women who are labeled slutty and crazy and the way those women try to wrest the narrative back into their control. I’m interested in the way that being a young woman often feels like being on stage and forced to perform a role you’ve never read and knowing that you’re going to fuck it up no matter how you do it.”

As Collins implies, the songs on reputation fall into one of two categories: romantic and intimate a la “Dress” or “Delicate” and the sharp, biting angry kind, which includes “Don’t Blame Me” or “This is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” or yes, “Look What You Made Me Do.” In my opinion anyway, Taylor absolutely excels at the former while the latter seems to fall short. I don’t necessarily dislike all those songs but well, there’s a reason that apart from this one, I am not writing extensively on them this week. I just don’t have real feelings towards them because her anger strikes me as performative the way her hesitation and romanticism and love does not. But I feel like if I was in a different frame of mind, I would probably grow to appreciate them.  

I admire the gumption of Taylor in “Look What You Made Me Do” but the thing is, she’s definitely in the wrong at least in what she is referring to. She lied about not knowing about the lyrics of Kanye West’s “Famous” ahead of time for whatever reason and that was dishonest. That being said, Kanye depicting Taylor Swift as well as his ex Amber Rose naked and in the same bed as abusers like Chris Brown in the video for “Famous” is nothing short of abject misogyny but that’s how Kanye always works. While he often has a point and poignant rationale for his behavior, he takes it too far, similar to Taylor herself. 

As a woman of color who’s been a fan of Taylor Swift since like 2006, her lack of political activism sometimes frustrates me but doesn’t irk me in the same way it bothers other people. The thing is, I don’t get my politics from celebrities! My political acumen comes from other sources than rich white women and I find it much more interesting to talk about Taylor in terms of her emotional resonance and how people perceive her public and private personas rather than endlessly debating whether she voted for Donald Trump in the last election. I don’t think we’re ever going to find out who she voted for, but that being said, if she did vote for Trump (which I admittedly highly doubt), I probably will stop listening to her music because that’s the line for me personally. I just don’t fixate on it because I don’t think Taylor has or will ever be the kind of political powerhouse some of her fans want her to be and I would rather enjoy her music.

The thing about Taylor Swift is that , the things people criticize about her are often the wrong things. I think it’s perfectly appropriate to question why she hasn’t disavowed her Neo-Nazi fanbase for instance or even to call out her treatment of Kanye West to an extent and how she played up the imago of white victimhood. But, I dislike those who take it a step further (Anne-Helen Peterson of BuzzFeed, I’m looking directly at you) and use the term “playing the victim,” condemning her for writing about the people in her life and calling out her white privilege all the while ignoring that they benefit from white privilege as well! I get the appeal of writing articles about how Taylor Swift is overtly privileged and white but if the writer is also white, isn’t that kind of hypocritical? Maybe spend time thinking about how white women are complicit in white men’s racism instead or spend more time improving your own “wokeness” rather than writing rambling, badly constructed diatribes on pop stars. That’s just my personal take on it though, feel free to disagree, but please, for the love of God stop linking me to that awful BuzzFeed article (which one? All of them).

But in short, “Look What You Made Me Do” isn’t a great song, not the best on this album and not remotely close to the best Taylor Swift has written. I think it brings up interesting elements of Taylor Swift’s public persona and how she has been treated by the media but that’s the extent of it. As for the video, I enjoyed it aesthetically but wasn’t a huge fan of it thematically and thought it was attempting to be comic and failing. I feel like the only people that can truly relate to what she is talking about are the past Taylors. I’m not someone who claims that relatability should be the ultimate goal for an artist but at the same time, this overt fixation on the self without a consideration for others or how she will be perceived is far from appealing. 

In any case, I would much rather listen to “Dress” on repeat than spend my time thinking about who Taylor is referring to in “Look What You Made Me Do” and that’s just how the cookie crumbles. 

[hmel78]

In conversation with Brian Parrish ...

1973 - the year in which emerging talent included ‘AC/DC’, ‘Bachman Turner Overdrive’, ‘Bad Company’ , ‘Stillwater’, ‘Television’, ‘The Tubes’ ; albums were released by ‘Wishbone Ash’, ‘Nazareth’, ‘Uriah Heep’, ‘Thin Lizzy’, ‘Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band’, ‘Aerosmith’, ‘Mike Oldfield’ ... to name just a few. ‘YES’ were already big on the scene, as were ‘The Rolling Stones’, ‘The Who’, ‘David Bowie’, ‘Black Sabbath’, ‘Led Zeppelin’, ‘Wings’ - it’s really quite a mind-blowing list isn’t it? A seriously exciting time to be around for any music lover, but imagine being a musician at the heart of that scene ... Enter Brian Parrish. 

For many of you reading this, Brian Parrish will already be a familiar name -  amongst many fans of ‘prog’, he is held in high regard as the guitarist / vocalist with ‘Badger’, but this is by no means all that he should be remembered for, or associated with. In fact, to document ALL of his history would require an entire magazine edition of it’s own! ‘Badger’ were co-founded by keyboardist Tony Kaye after he left ‘Yes’, along with David Foster - the pair found drummer Roy Dyke, who thus suggested Parrish, and voila!  Rehearsals began in September 1972, a deal with Atlantic Records followed in quick succession, and with the dawn of 1973 came their first album “One Live”. From a ‘fame’ perspective, it might seem that ‘Badger’ was the point at which Parrish suddenly appeared on radar, but prior to this he really hadn’t been a stranger in the music industry. Parrish had grown up in the “Skiffle” era and says that he “saw the Light“ when he heard Lonnie Donegan, and the wealth of American Roots music at the time.  He Received his first guitar at the age of 11, and despite passing his 11+ exam a year early, cites “once I had a guitar in my hands I had no more interest in, or use for, formal education” - by the time he was 17, he was in a touring band, and shortly after that the doors opened wide to the world of music and songwriting, on landing his first ‘professional’ job as lead guitarist for rock n roll legend Gene Vincent. During the next few years of touring, and residencies at the Star Club in Hamburg with ‘The Londoners’ [aka ‘The Knack’], Parrish had also landed himself a publishing deal and achieved success with songs that he wrote for Johnny Hallyday, & ‘Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Tich’ amongst others. He was in demand for sessions, playing on albums for Jerry Lee Lewis, Graeme Edge (‘TheMoody Blues’), Jon Lord (‘Deep Purple’) and on hits for the likes of ‘Medicine Head’ (“One and One”), and all the while striving towards his own solo career. Whilst preparing demos for a solo album, Brian ran into old friend Paul Gurvitz (formerly of ‘The Londoners’ / ‘The Knack’) who agreed to help with vocals. The blend of harmonies was so good that they decided to make it a joint project - ‘Parrish & Gurvitz’. George Martin (the 5th Beatle) heard the P&G tapes, and subsequently signed them to his newly formed production company - the resulting album which he produced was hailed as the debut of the “next Beatles”, however it wasn’t long afterwards that ‘Parrish & Gurvitz’ went their separate ways. ‘Badger’ marked the next milestone in Parrish’s career - “One Live” entered the U.S. Billboard charts, and was widely acclaimed. The band had already toured with YES, and Black Sabbath ; and then suddenly, in what he describes as the hallmark of his “bad timing” , Brian Parrish elected to leave the band more or less on the eve of their American tour ... A solo deal with Chas Chandler (manager of Jimi Hendrix and Slade) followed, but his debut album “Love On My Mind” proved to be less successful than he anticipated. From there he moved increasingly into production and writing, becoming what they call a “back room boy” rather than a performer. Whilst he continued to take session work, his live performances all but stopped-  yet throughout the years, he has never stopped writing. Brian suffered a brain tumour in the late 90s - the ensuing surgery, whilst 100% successful in removing the tumour, left him without hearing in his right ear ; meaning he has had to re-learn the recording process in the absence of a “stereo” picture - it did not, by any stretch of the imagination, deter him from carrying on with his career in music! In 2004 Brian returned to the stage when invited to perform in Hamburg as a special guest for a “Star Club Night”.   In 2007 he released “End Game” - his first album of original songs for 30 years, and also formed a band. They still play regularly. This year [2016] saw the release of “Traveller” - a ‘concept’ album in which BP takes us on 13 of life’s journeys, with notes to the listener along the way : “We are all travellers with a one way ticket for our own unique journey through life – and our choices define us”. One thing is for certain, Brian’s choices have certainly defined him, and his life has indeed, so far, been a colourful one in which he muses “Music has dominated my journey, intensifying my experience” , and hopes that his own music is enjoyed as part of yours. He continues to work, exploring new directions, and tells us that “the best is yet to come”! If the new album “Traveller” is anything to go by then we will all be in for a treat. “Traveller” itself is one of those timeless records which contains something that will appeal to just about every taste in music. We caught up with Brian recently - curious to know more about “Badger” as there is very little documented, and also the bits before, inbetween, and afterwards, that have formed the road map of his own journey ... Helen Robinson : By the time Badger’s “One Live” was recorded you were already a ways towards carving a successful career in music ; your first professional gig was with Gene Vincent - how did you land that?

Brian Parrish : I started young.  Somehow getting a publishing deal at around age 17 ( I am not necessarily saying my songs were good, but the publishers obviously thought I might make some money for them - that´s how it works). Our band had done tours of American Army bases in Europe with success, especially among the black soldiers - I believe this was due to our material being R&B (black) influenced. I knew nothing of “race” issues - quite naive, I was! Upon our return we got the opportunity to try out with Gene Vincent, as Paul’s [Gurvitz] father was working for Don Arden, who handled Gene in the UK. I think our musicianship was limited at that point, especially when you consider that Cliff Gallup (one of the all time greats!) had been Genes guitar player in the original ‘Blue Caps’ ; Jeff Beck still cites Gallup as a great influence. Where we scored, was stagecraft - we had been learning from the get go ... and possibly because we were cheap! Both, I imagine!

HR : From there you toured and recorded quite extensively with ‘The Londoners’, and you also had a brief stint with ‘New York Public Library’ - so what made you want to go solo?

‘The Londoners’ worked pretty much nonstop through 64 / 65, scoring heavily in the “Star Club” Hamburg, where we were hugely popular. We also worked and recorded under the name ‘The Knack’, and had a near hit with a Ray Davis song. ‘The Kinks’ connection also came about through Paul’s father, who by then was working for their management. We recorded 4 or 5 other singles - one may have been written by me.  They went nowhere. Finally, shortly before Christmas, I announced that I wished to be home for Christmas Day, so please accept no gig if offered.   There was a job offered in maybe Scotland or Wales (I am not sure, but in pre-motorway Britain it would have been a slog) and the money was good, but I said “I am not doing it!” They gave me an ultimatum: Play or leave the band.    I left, of course. In order to keep playing I joined ‘NYPL’, who as ‘The Cherokees’ had played the “Star Club” with us. They had a hit under their belts but opted for a new name and a fresh start. We released some singles, not all of them bad, some written by me, and all of them died.  For collectors only, I am afraid! When I had the offer to do something solo, I took it.

HR : You became highly sought after as a session musician, and made an impact within the song writing world - what’s the most memorable thing in that period of your career?

BP : I played more sessions than I can remember. Things with Roger Cook, a bunch for ‘Dave Dee, Dozy, Mick & Titch’, for whom I also wrote some songs. It was all very eclectic. I would like to say I stayed true to blues roots, or whatever, but the truth is, the work came up and I took the jobs. Ken Dodd was one, for example. For credibility points I would add that I did a couple of sessions for Paul Jones. In the following years I would play with Jerry Lee Lewis, Tony Ashton (another Star Club friend) and Jon Lord, but there were many that I do not remember. Someone told me I was on a session with Robin Gibb. I really do not remember! Complete blank. I did have some early songwriting success with Johnny Hallyday - Huge in France and Europe. I remember the publishers were very pleased, although Paul Gurvitz (know as Curtis then) asked “Who is he?”

HR : You actually teamed up with Paul Gurvitz next, and were signed up by none other than George Martin! That’s kind of a big deal isn’t it?

BP : The way that happened was that I started a solo project with Lou Reizner, and began working up material in his Knightsbridge apartment, which he gave me the keys for while he was away in the States ...  Me and a Revox . I was taking a break and walking in the street nearby when Paul drove up - “Whats happening ?” etc.  I told him what I was doing and said “Come and listen”. Paul and the drummer from ‘The Knack’ had formed a trio with brother Adrian, calling themselves “Gun”. They had a respectable hit , but 2 albums later had called it a day, so Paul was free and I invited him to sing harmonies with me on my project. Our voices have always jelled, so when Lou returned from the U.S. I said “what about if we did this as a double act?”. In the spirit of the times he said “OK if that’s what you want”. I persuaded Paul to call himself Gurvitz (his real name). I said “it’s more memorable and has authenticity. Think of Art Garfunkle”. We recorded a pretty good album at Island studios, with the guys who would later be our band. Lou drafted in a manager from Canada, and he ran to George Martin with the tapes, without Lou Reizner´s  knowledge. Et Tu Brute? He was a snake really. Long story short , George loved us but wanted to re-record the songs, jettison a couple, and most importantly produce the album. ‘The Beatles’ had just disbanded, and had been huge, so this WAS a big deal. We were not overawed, but were ready to learn stuff and listen to his comments and suggestions. He absolutely respected our instincts, but was able to enhance everything when scoring string parts. Also having worked with John and Paul he was very open to experimentation sonically. No digital effects and limitless tracks in those days! He demystified everything for me, and there is no occasion in front of a mixer, or working on harmonies when I do not draw on what I learned.  A master-and a gentleman. Being hailed as the “new Beatles” was ultimately the kiss of death. We needed time to develop our own identity free from misconceptions and a public who did not WANT a NEW Beatles! We had inherited the infrastructure but we were not ‘The Beatles’, nor wanted to be!

HR :  No, no I see how that would have been detrimental, even with the backing of such major business influences - so,  ‘Parrish & Gurvitz’ was short lived?

BP : Yes. We toured the States with our band a good six months after the album came out. Disastrous timing. No-one would invest the kind of money and logistics demanded of touring without a current “product” to promote and sell. Also we had started on the second album - a more electric, rockier thing than the acoustic vibe of the first one. The band were great but the style of presentation was unexpected, and the new songs not known even to those who had heard the first album. The management were inexperienced in this, and we had already moved on stylistically. We were not about to bow to the demands of the U.S. Record labels “We didn´t sign a ROCK band!” - so the plug was pulled two weeks before the end of the tour. We returned to the UK, and went into the studio to finish the second album, but the honeymoon was over and we could no longer keep paying the band. They joined ‘Peter Frampton’ as an already slick working unit. We dumped the management. Paul and I separated - he going into a project with his brother and Ginger Baker, and I was approached by my friend Roy Dyke who was playing with Tony Kaye. “We need songs, a guitar player and a singer” he said, “I can do those things” I said. Cut to next scene : the rehearsal rooms where Badger would be formed.

HR : Ha! Yes - ‘Badger’. I would like to just sidestep there for a moment though, if I may ... It’s 1972 - that point in music history may well have been the ‘peak’ when you look at the wealth of talent and genuine passion for music that existed ; and remarkably the fact, as you’ve already pointed out, that by that time ‘The Beatles’ had disbanded ; Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin were already gone - what was it like to be a working musician throughout that time?

BP : An unbelievable time, Yes ... We hung out with a lot of these people. I saw Jimi at a club called Blaizes for the first time. Looking like a black Bob Dylan playing “Like a Rolling Stone” with an upside down Stratocaster - but sounding otherworldly. I could not figure out what he was doing, never mind how he was doing it. I was barely three feet away. He played someone else’s guitar upside down (left hander, was Jimi). He freaked everybody, Eric [Clapton] included. We would meet all of these folks in the clubs. Janis chased our bass player all around the Revolution club I remember. He was quite innocent and the Jack Daniels toting Lady would have devoured him for breakfast! As you say, these artistes were all gone by ´72. I do not know if there were “lows” on a conscious level, but the substance use had hit high levels and I nearly died on a couple of occasions. I was rehearsing at one point with Paul Kossoff, who was in a worse mess than I - and as we know, he died sometime later. Keith Moon, who had been a friend was another. There is quite a list of drug casualties. Better not to dwell upon it. Mostly it was still an amazing time for creativity and one still had the feeling that everything was possible. We were in the vanguard of the counter culture and we were changing the world. HR : I’m in awe Brian, actually ... It really did change the world - certainly the face of music. To be a part of that would have been exhilariating, I’m sure.  I’m fascinated, because I missed it all in person - there was so much going on politically, and musically - including  the birth of ‘prog’ ...

BP : Well, The “prog” thing which was often quasi-classical and Gothic in tone, may have been started in ‘67 with “Whiter Shade of Pale”.  All the classically trained players - Emmerson, Wakeman etc. thought “Right! We´re on now!”  - By 71 /72 it was in full swing. West Coast music flourished, Blues music was marginalised but “Soul”  with a message thrived (Marvin Gaye, Curtis Mayfield, Staples Singers) -even the Godfather of Soul, James Brown was  smart enough to catch the Zeitgeist -“I´m Black and I´m Proud” he sang and it all resonated with the Civil Rights movement.

HR : It all goes hand in hand. But ... going back to You , and to add further perspective to what you were doing in 1972 - Elvis was still around, Lennon and McCartney had gone solo, and many of the UK’s (even the worlds) best known, best loved, bands and artists were already established in the public eye  - ‘The Who’, ‘The Rolling Stones’, ‘David Bowie’, ‘Pink Floyd’, ‘Elton John’, ‘Led Zeppelin’ , ‘Genesis’, ‘Queen’, ‘Black Sabbath’, ‘YES’ etc  ... taking all of the afore mentioned artists into account - they were the people you hung out with, but how conscious were you of them as competition?

BP : I think any musicians forming a band at that time just got on with the job in hand. There were plenty of acts I really liked, but I regarded none as competition. David (Bowie) was a primped up Marcel Marceau acolyte, who would brilliantly morph into whatever took his fancy, exploring Dadaism and so on. Great - but nothing to do with my universe. ‘Zeppelin’ were huge of course (we sat together in Madison Square Gardens to watch Elvis during the Parrish & Gurvitz time) ; ‘Paul McCartney & Wings’ were flying (the correct verb I assume),and I had been privileged to be around Air Studio when Paul with orchestra arranged by George Martin recorded “Live and Let Die”. Breathtaking. ‘Queen’ were nothing like as successful as they would become, but the others you mention were already very big. When Tony Kaye left ‘Yes’ and we began to rehearse ‘Badger’, I had little interest in what ‘Yes’ had been doing - seeing our music simply as the best we could do together without labels, and by extension no comparison, let alone competition with anyone in particular ; certainly not Tony´s ex band. I wasn´t even sure we were that good, to be honest - and I was always insecure about my own playing. We have had enough compliments over the years (my guitar playing included) that I am able now to accept it with good grace and gratitude!

HR : And so you should ... Not only was “One Live” your debut album, but it was also Live (funnily enough!), which was somewhat of a rare thing to do - why did you release that as opposed to a studio recording?

BP : It was not an artistic choice, but a practical one. We were playing  with ‘Yes’ who had ‘the Stones’ Mobile Studio on hand to do a “live” concert recording. To record ‘Badger’ also, was going to cost a few reels of tape and some mixing time to follow. I was not sure it would work, but I remember the “Rolling Stone” review at the time said it was the favourite album (of the reviewer) and if this was what ‘Badger’ could do live, may they never feel the need to set foot in a recording studio. It was a fluke really.

HR : Is it completely Live, or did you work on it afterwards?

There was just a little overdubbing /repair work. Notably on one song (would you believe I forget which one?). We had recorded the songs on two separate nights, and as we listened to a version of the song in question all of the vocal mikes went down half way through. Not in the auditorium, but the recording microphones. The version was great, and there were tempo discrepancies with the recording from the second night. In the digital age this would call no problem, but at that time this was a big problem. Could we lift the vocal from the second night? Splice the 2 halves together despite the tempo problems? Some of the instruments spilled onto the mikes we were singing in, so to re sing in the studio would still leave us with a significant change in sound. Our engineer Geoff Haslam helped us mix and match various parts with minimal re-singing. We tried to keep it as “live” as possible for the sake of integrity. Actually the night following the Rainbow concerts we played in Glasgow, and this was without question a much better performance. It was not recorded! HR : Typical! When you consider the impact this album had, amongst all those other huge albums in 1973 - did you feel that the band should have been bigger, or lasted longer than it did?

BP : Well one sees everything differently with the benefit of hind sight. The “business” or “career” head might have advised “Stick with it. Ride the train! The band is getting such a reaction, growing in popularity, so with touring and so on you could push the album higher in the U.S. charts, to further cement what you have done-and in time, maybe come up with a good second album”. We will never know. I would be interested to hear what the others might answer to this question. I left the band pretty much on the eve of the U.S. tour, as you know. The drug intake was prodigious to say the least, and I was becoming disenchanted with the work rate in terms of working up new material. Frustrated songwriter stuff, but not being “sober”, of sound mind and body (!) my judgement might have been impaired. I may have been too hasty. The others thought it was a tantrum, or something I could be talked out of, but it wasn´t. It was a lousy business move on my part, I would be in a better position today, if I had stayed with the band whose popularity was increasing (and if I had not died, as so many did!). Whatever. I dropped the band in the lurch, and still feel a little guilty about that. I liked them all, and still do. We had something……. Writing wise I was travelling in an altogether funkier direction - and whatever ‘Badger’ were, they weren´t funk (I reject the “prog” label). What happened next was Jackie Lomax replaced me and lo and behold, took them in a funkier direction, with the addition of Kim Gardener on bass. Jackie was a great talent, but the public did not want a reinvented ‘Badger’, so the second album more or less bombed, and my solo album did little better.

HR : Well “One Live” has certainly stood the test of time and secured some loyal fans! Given that you were the main songwriter, how do you feel about the fact that so many people still cite it as a pivotal moment in their musical journey?

BP : At the time I was not so impressed with it. A little bemused even. I was arrogant enough to think there would always be another door opening for me, with something interesting behind it. I had always bumped into people who liked what I did and assumed it would stay that way. I forgot a crucial factor, which is that a young artiste / band is much more marketable. That´s another theme, however. Over the years, right up to the present day I have heard from many people who hold “One Live” in special regard. I also have had feedback from many young people, including musicians, who love it. I think it has to do with the energy. I included a ‘Badger’ song in a concert last year and it seemed so fast! I thought “My God did we really play a whole set at this pace?” It was exhilarating on one level, exhausting on another. Overall I am much more comfortable with ‘Badger’ these days. I think it was a very good album in retrospect. I feel vindicated in respect of the writing (although there are lyrics I would change if I were to do it today) - I would definitely change the album credits to reflect the fact that I wrote four of the six pieces. ‘Badger’ has given me a little cult status. Just a little, mind you, but enough to prove I lived and played on the planet. Oh ... and I am not finished yet!

HR : Well that’s good to hear - we like having you around ... I’m curious about another dynamic of the album - “One Live” - it was produced by Jon Anderson of ‘YES’, but with the departure of Tony Kaye from their unit, were the band friends, or foe?

BP : Should I talk about Jon? First of all I like him. We are very different kinds of people - and certainly his approach to recording is a little more “clinical” than mine, shall we say? I believe that if anyone “produced” ONE LIVE it was Geoff Haslam, the engineer who spent every studio hour with the band and technically and creatively had as much to do with the finished product as we, the writers and musicians. He was great at recreating the live ambience and getting it on tape. Jon came in very little and tended to focus on vocals more than anything. Long story short - I think the folks who would take care of marketing fancied the idea of having Jon’s credit on the sleeve. This would maintain the link with the ‘Yes’ fan base. I see that, of course. Certainly, whatever the undercurrents might have been between Tony and the ‘Yes’ guys, we were all friends. I greatly admired Steve Howe, without wishing to do what he was (is) capable of. I was more pentatonic based, as is David Gilmour, for example, but Steve was perfect for the band. Rick Wakeman too, was a good mate. Great player, funny, intelligent guy and fond of a drink. He fit very well with us on a social level. Remember we played the concerts with them when the recording took place. All friendly.

HR : Happy Campers! You also toured with Black Sabbath - knowing Ozzy, I can only imagine the shenanigans! Would we be wrong to assume that it was one big party?

BP : A detailed answer to that question would be mostly unprintable. Shenanigans does not begin to cover it. We had a break in the tour - 5 days, a week maybe. Ozzy did not want to break the party up. He loved us and said “Come and stay at our house - all of you”, including road crew. We tore it up. I am not sure his wife was amused. She kept a pretty low profile. On the road it was all the smashed TV sets, drink and nonsense you would expect. We were thrown out of a hotel in Italy (Bologna, I believe), passport numbers taken and both bands and the entire crew - perhaps 25 / 30 people were banned for life. This was at 4.30 in the morning, and not in any way to do with noise, breakages (for which we paid) but something less than respectful our party did to a statue of the Pope, which was on the same floor as all our rooms. There were Mafia related events which took place during the Italian leg of the tour which would take a lot of space here and these stories are perhaps best left untold. A party, certainly. I paid my bill in brain cells, I fear.

HR : Hmmm. I’m laughing, but ... not at the brain damage!   Maybe it was for the best that you left the ‘Badger’ party when you did?! You next signed a deal with Chas Chandler, which really marked your biggest step towards becoming a solo artist didn’t it?

BP : Yes it did. I had some material which had not “clicked” with ‘Badger’, and having left the fold I knew that whatever happened next, songs would be a valuable currency. I had friends with connections to Chas. He had managed Jimi, who had recently passed, and was already back on comfortable (pop) territory with ‘Slade’.  He loved my stuff and told me he was starting a new label and that I could have complete control over the recording. I believe I should have had a co producer, or at least a second pair of ears in retrospect. That is another theme, however. HR : That album “Love On My Mind” was tagged as “Blue Eyed Soul” on account of it’s funk / soul vibe ... You were essentially being true to the style of music you loved, but did you enjoy making the record?

BP : White boys can´t do soul - or they are certainly not supposed to! Actually I think the songs were good and, in the main, came out as I would have wished. Good arrangements, some great musicians. I found my own performance less convincing. My singing always seemed detached to my ears. If I had not been wearing the producers hat, concentrating on arrangements and so forth , we might have got a performance. Few could do that. Prince showed us all how its done subsequently. As it is, the notes and arrangements are OK, everything in its place, but it seems emotion free, at least to me. Blue Eyed soul indeed! I am far better equipped to produce myself today, but would always wish for a co producer (as I have in the shape of Steff Ulrich on TRAVELLER). You have to stretch yourself, and it helps when someone is pushing, and offering creative criticism. I bowed to Steffs instincts more than once whilst making TRAVELLER, although I could have pulled rank and said “My songs, brother. I´m the boss” - I think the album is better for my not having done that. Ah humility at last! I am sure we will talk about that later.

HR : Sure ... and we’ll talk more about “Traveller” too, but around the time of “Love On My Mind”, Did something change for you at that point? It seems that after working so hard for your first solo release, you then made a move towards the production side of the business, becoming - as you say yourself, “A back room boy” - were you more comfortable there?

BP : This was never planned or envisioned. I had publishing deals as folks always liked my writing.  I should have stuck out for recording deals in tandem with publishing, ensuring that records would come out with my name on. At the very least some level of success might have been on the cards as some were still anticipating some news from the guy who had been with ‘Badger’. It was a strange time. I had no band, no records out, some sessions certainly - but publishers pushing me for material. Most publishers were not what I would call working publishers as they once had been. Less and less were we seeing covers generated by publishers. This was the beginning of the “writer/producer” era. Many people were finding artistes as vehicles for their material and producing them.  Alan Tarney is a case in point, producing Leo Sayer, Cliff Richard, Barbara Dixon and so on. I did a little of this, producing Alvin Stardust, for example. Not my finest hour I think. I was still torn between the need to play and sing and not to be limited to one genre and the fact that the publishers vision was often at odds with the labels. I was kind of fading into the background rather than choosing it. There was a point where I was getting “clean and sober” as the popular expression would have it, so there was important stuff to focus on there, and I never for a moment stopped writing ...

HR : You also worked on the “Many People, One Planet” project through the United Nations?

BP : This was an interesting, and somewhat unexpected detour. The concept was to provide education resource packs for underprivileged Italian school children. There is a huge divide between those schools which had computers and up to date visual aides, and the poorer schools where, for example, if the roof of the school needed fixing the parents would give up their time to do the work. A North / South divide basically. The resource packs were re usable, and so passed along to the other students in succeeding years. My job was to persuade companies to get behind it financially. In return for which they would receive a small credit on the laminated packs. Many people became involved, including Zucchero - something of an Italian musical icon. The high point for me was to travel to Rome to meet some very excited school children, attend the launch at the UN headquarters there, and the director had privately asked me if I could formulate some words to address the UN ! I had the experience of hearing my “speech” delivered in Italian. Of course we were provided with headphones and little handsets where we could select a language. There were live translators speaking French, English, Spanish and so on. Quite exciting. I thought “I am addressing the UN!”. I wasn´t of course, but actually seeing the joy on the faces of the kids was a necessary humility shot.

HR : Sounds like a rewarding detour ... meanwhile, a 30 year gap between solo records ensued ...

BP : A gap between publicly released recordings, certainly - I suppose it must seem that I just disappeared, although I never stopped writing or working in music, as I said. You may know I was diagnosed with a brain tumour in 1999, which was kind of a banana skin in the road at that point. I had been experiencing unpleasant symptoms, including hearing problems for some time. No need to dwell on any of this as I am super fit these days! I had the successful operation to remove it early in 2000. I was left deaf in my right ear, so some re-training was necessary. All far behind me now ... but my first foray into live music following this was in Hamburg in 2004. It was strange as the information I was getting onstage soundwise was completely different. It wasn´t easy, but I resolved to work as much as possible in this altered “soundscape”. More gigs followed, some in Germany, and to make a long story short I have lived here since 2006. I wanted to see how I could function recording-wise . In the 5 or 6 years since the operation - my “recovery years” if I can put it that way, a lot had changed technically. I opted for a small multi track digital recorder, which I had then to learn to use. It was not only that I had dropped off the Radar from a public standpoint. I had missed stuff!

HR : So along comes “End Game” in 2007 - It’s a completely solo album in that, on top of the writing, you play ALL the instruments too. Did you feel a greater reward from producing a record like that?

BP : It was a “necessity as the mother of Invention” scenario, I would say. I was alone working with my digital recorder laying tracks alone as I had for a long time when I made demos. So I played guitar tracks, of course, but also bass , some keyboards (which was laborious as my skills are less than rudimentary). I did all vocals. I have much experience with harmonies. ( you may notice that many tracks on the new TRAVELLER album have harmony vocals by me - not all though, as I love the texture of girls voices. The “amen corner” as Ray Charles used to call it)  I also worked with a digital drum machine. I was not really wonderful with it - there are people who could do it so much better. I think the ENDGAME songs are pretty good, and it was an important stepping stone for me. That said, I would like to re record the material utilising the recording methods (and musicians) I had for TRAVELLER. Actually I have started tinkering with some of them in my studio. I think you are familiar with the “live” version of “Many Moons Ago” (from ENDGAME). There is a vid on YouTube. This is an example of a good song (in my opinion!) changing, especially dynamically, with the participation of a group of musicians.

HR : Yes - it is a good song, I will vouch for that - I love the album - Time and Tide particularly. I would urge people to seek it out ... You’ve touched briefly on your hearing, and having to work around that these days -  You’ve found a new love for performing , so apart from your ‘altered soundscape’, is it a different experience to when you were playing at first?

BP : Very different. In some ways I am more confident as I have a better idea of what I am doing these days. I can draw on a lot of material from my back catalogue. When I started I was too nervous about introducing my own songs into the act, and our focus was in being creative with other songs which we liked. I always tried to make some kind original statement in the interpretation of other material. That is something which continues today. I enjoy performing R&B tunes, for example - but if you want to hear the familiar arrangements get a juke box or go see a cover band! These days I love contact with the audience. Some musicians are less comfortable in a stage environment and just get their heads down and play, probably speaking very little. We don´t do lasers and dancing(!) but there is a performance element, which I like. Bruce Springsteen has talked about a time required to psych himself up, to go out and “be Bruce Springsteen”. I identify a lot because there is a zone which I find I must enter in order to pull it off. It´s a “front man” thing, probably.

HR : Haha! You know, I have learned over the years not to invade a ‘front man’s’ zone before he goes onstage ... I’m not sure people who haven’t grown up around the business ever truly appreciate what it takes to psyche yourself up, but - we’re onto at least the 3rd different theme if we go down that road now! Which, talking of 3rds, brings us nicely to your 3rd album - “Traveller” - which you’ve mentioned a couple of times there. It’s just been released, and is sort of a retrospective collection of songs about your own journey through life ... was it an emotional album to make?

BP : Well I am not sure it is ALL about my journey through life. Some of it has to be of course, but I wanted it not only to be about an individual experience but through character songs, which most are, to reference a commonality. You must have experienced that thing of thinking “I wonder if other people have felt this way? “ ... This is personal, individual, as I perceive it, but with millions of people on the planet I can´t be “the only one”. Some of TRAVELLER was personal and emotions do come into play, yes . I had a lot of material so the final choice of songs, the sequence, even the time between tracks was something I paid a lot of attention to. In an age where few people play an album right through and listen as we used to, this was perhaps, superfluous, but I wanted the experience to be there for anyone who elected to listen in this manner. HR : How did you decide on which tracks, or journeys, to include?

I had around fifty songs - some accumulated over time and others newly written. I had the song “Traveller” and had wanted to loosely base an album around the idea of each of us being a traveller and that each of life´s experiences may be perceived as a small journey, each of which contribute to our life story and the greater journey. My task then was to choose songs which would reflect some of these experiences. I knew right away that I could reference various musical styles - dip into musical waters I have sailed in, and that this might enhance the sense of variation in our experiences. I threw out any ideas of chronology right away. It is not, nor is it meant to be, my life story. The label calls it an “acoustic road movie” and I like that. My deliberations regarding sequence was about taking the listener through a series of moods. The opening song “Land of the Night Games” is about falling into the dream state. Dreams do not follow any conscious logic. They just are. I wanted to start with this as a preparation. To give myself and the listener permission to go anywhere. In this way themes like sex, loss, our spiritual quest, death, faith, joy, reflection etc. can be explored whether I have written from a personal perspective or in character, which I do quite a lot. “Angel of Death” for example, is not about me, although each of us will cross that bridge eventually. I could talk at length about how this came about, as I could with each of the songs if time and space would allow. I am not sure how important or even interesting this would be. Suffice to say that there was a song called “Oh Death” which was part of the African American blues / folk story which I never forgot. Library of Congress stuff. Alan Lomax was the Marco Polo of American folk music. Without his obsession and tireless enthusiasm we would have none of these recordings. There is more to this shit than Robert Johnson!

HR : HAHA! Well, musically, I think it’s fairly eclectic - for anyone wishing to check it out, there’s some blues, rock n roll, funk, a good helping of classic rock, some great guitar work, it’s a little jazzy in places, with a hint of country, and even a ‘nod’ to Bruce Springsteen -  generically the influences are clear, but how much have you been influenced by other musicians?

BP : Now we are into an area I enjoy talking about, because this relates to my own journey! I have inevitably been influenced by everything I have heard. I have been required to play in different styles / situations so I guess it is not too difficult to slot into different genres. As a writer my only limitations are to do with technical ability. First and foremost I am a music fan, so when I am noodling and something comes up, some kind of shape, I try not to hinder the process. I try to get Brian out of the way and listen. At some point I might think “ah this is kind of an R&B thing”. The task then becomes trying not to be too generic - not to churn out a musical cliche´. On TRAVELLER I had no problem developing the songs consciously drawing upon different genres - so that “Slow Riding” for example is absolutely recognizable as coming from a “soul” tradition, but hopefully with modern production values and some arrangement features which are not purely from that time. Your comment about different styles on the album is precisely the obstacle which kept labels from getting involved in the 80s and beyond. “We don´t know how to market you. Are you Rock? Blues? Soul / Funk? Prog?” The answer would have been “yes”  .

HR : At least you have the freedom to create now ... We talked earlier about your musical peers in the 70s - many of whom WE, the fans, would call our ‘heroes’, but I guess to you they were just friends - so beyond them, have you any defining moments where you’ve met or worked with the people you’ve looked up to? BP : It is always great to play with people who are good at what they do. In my early teens I saw what you might call a “pop exploitation” film which included Little Richard and a clip of Gene Vincent doing “Be Bop-Alula” which galvanised me. Just a couple of years later I was playing with him. For a young musician it was like winning the lottery. I was and still am in awe of George Martin, from whom I learned a great deal. Peter Green was a good friend of mine back in the day, although we lost contact as he became increasingly withdrawn and suffered mental problems.  A truly gentle soul - and I am glad that he is around and still playing. Herbie Hancock got up with my band a year or two after my solo album came out and blew us away.  He only inspired me to practice! I worked with Eric Burdon, as you may know, and played a Wembley concert with him and Carlos Santana. I met Carlos and his wonderful band back stage and marvelled at what they were doing together. Their example of interaction is something I took away with me. Years later I wrote a Latin style tune - not really my forte ´style wise, but a good song and maybe I was drawing on the Santana experience. I think a writer is like a magpie ! Those birds steal things, and I strictly avoid that, but I certainly borrow stuff. I have contact to many people whom I hold in high regard. I met Albert Lee on a Jerry Lee Lewis session in the 70s and we catch up when he gets to Germany - He lives in California where some of my British musical friends (Tony Kaye, Brian Chatton ) are living. They hang out together certainly, but I am happily ensconced miles away, here in North Germany where I have a small circle of musicians as friends. Otherwise I meet some great musicians who come through to play the Music Hall where I live, including my big favourites - Little Feat, our friend Eric Burdon played here not long ago. I get to meet them when they come through but writing is mostly a solitary occupation, so I am pretty much in studio captivity. I do socialise a little and for example Blue Weaver, veteran keyboard man from the Strawbs, Bee Gees and before that, Amen Corner is a really good friend who lives here in the village. Not surprisingly he is on a couple of tracks of TRAVELLER , and he is my “go to “ guy if I have technical problems - He is way better than me with technology. A half a step away from being a gadget freak. He is always telling me of the new toys he has bought for his studio. So there are dinners and inevitable improv sessions.

HR : I saw that Blue is on the album too - It’s a really interesting record, and you’ve paid a great deal of attention to the ‘whole package’ - the artwork etc ... in a way you’ve referenced an answer to this question already. With regards to the way that people listen to, and experience an album in a digital age - do you feel that somewhere in the evolution music, we’ve genuinley lost something?

BP : Each generation believes that their time is the best. The young discover sex and somehow think they are the first despite the biological contradictions inherent in having parents! It is common for the older generation to be nostalgic and trumpet “It was better in our day!”. So maybe if we accept that knowledge as a given we might still consider that some things may actually have been genuinely better even when not viewed through the rose coloured glasses of age. So, yes, the packaging was definitely an attempt to provide an interesting visual aide as with some of the album sleeves from the classic rock times.  There are the obvious examples among the “prog rock” fraternity. I designed a booklet with lyrics and photo montage illustrations, fully realising that most people today do not listen to music in the depth that we used to, much less sit reading the sleeve notes and illustrations. A 12 “ album sleeve was of course a better canvass to work on. I need glasses to read my booklet ! I hope the music stands up well alone. It is not in the Gothic / mock Classical style we might think of if we talk of “concept” albums, But I am fond of saying I have just released the last concept album - but hopefully it is not all too cerebral. I want the layers to be there if you look for them, but equally the listener can read the lyrics, comments and credits and just enjoy the pictures without seeking any explanation. In an age where everything is commodity music is not regarded as “art” by most people. It has to compete with video games, all kinds of apps and other entertainment options, so the sense of wonder has left the planet, and creative people are less revered. Folks mainly think that everything is digitally programmed! Few think about the writing I suspect. There is an interesting documentary on the late Tom Dowd, legendary producer of Coltrane, Aretha, Allman Brothers, Eric Clapton and many more. He could accept that times and methods change but lamented the fact that so little music today is performance driven. He talks about computers and plug ins from “Toys R Us” and the heavy use of samples etc. Understandably he maintained we have lost something. We have so many programmes and techniques used to recreate the sound and excitement generated in a time when the tracks were recorded live on analogue machines. It is supremely ironic.

I know I am being very “wordy” in my answer to this question. Simply put, I know that most download one song at a time and have little patience to sit and listen to an entire album created as a single piece of work. The concept is alien. Many cannot even listen to one song without looking at selfies on their cell phones, texting a friend.  Multi tasking is seldom spiritual. People are not in the moment, are seldom able to do one thing at a time. The attention span of people these days is ridiculously short. I have noticed some people are incapable of listening to one song through without talking, interjecting . It is disrespectful to the artiste, of course, but people do not intend this.  

I had a decision to make. In the face of some of negativity, people were saying “why produce a CD? Almost no one buys them” and “ Forget about doing a book. Who will read it? Put the information on your website if you wish. That way your true fans can access it-but otherwise forget it”  ... I did the book despite this and the label love it, thankfully.  I wanted to make some kind of statement. The album and booklet are there in one package should you wish to listen and experience the project as we used to. I doubt that I will do anything like this in future, although songs are already in the pipeline.

HR : Well I, and I am sure anyone reading this will also be interested in whatever you produce for us down the line ...  but for now - do you have any great words of wisdom to impart to your fellow travellers?

BP : I do not really do “words of wisdom”! I have learned a little and this is a process which continues, however - these lessons are for me hopefully informing the way I spend my time. I practiced Buddhism for some years and became a leader in the lay organisation. At some point I realised that this was the biggest joke of my life - and the joke was on me. I had nothing special to impart to anyone else! I learned more about Spirituality, if you will, from alcoholics and addicts in recovery who had reached a point of acceptance and purpose through suffering. Most do not want to pay the price of love. If there is a reason for our being here I believe it is to learn to love.  As we travel we understand “love” differently. It is quite hormonal when we are young. Later we might confuse sentimentality with love, or sympathy. There is no love without suffering, without sacrifice - but love is everything, I believe. Big topic. One for the book, perhaps. No words of wisdom for fellow travellers, then - I would merely say “Good luck” ...

[essayofthoughts]

I've seen a lot a hate for the ship but not a thorough explanation of why. I wanted to see the pros and cons of them. The effect it has on Wanda in the comics and in MCU, same for Vision. In which scene in the movies made people dislike it and which part in the comics made people explicitly hate. . . I don't think I'm doing a good job explaining why I want a Meta on it. My reasoning looks all over the place to me.

Yeah, I’m not entirely sure what you mean with some of this but as for why people don’t like and why they do, I can do that. I haven’t read enough comics to have a firm idea of the impact in comics, or what scene in the films makes people hate it (though if I had to bet it would probably be Wanda putting Vision through the floor, or like. Generalised fan hate for Wanda due to goddamn fandom misogyny and fucking Tony stans) or what scene in comics made people hate. A lot of those things are seriously subjective and personal and the hate for WandaVision is not just limited to the personal. Anyway.

Main reasons I’ve seen people say they don’t like ScarletVision:

They feel Marvel is pushing it too hard with all their nods to the comics.

They didn’t like the relationship in the comics in the first place.

They think Wanda’s abusive because she shoved (the practically indestructible) Vision through the floor and…

They find it squicky because Vision is technically a year old in CACW.

Now, I don’t mind the nods to the comics too much [1], and sure you can dislike the relationship in the comics, but it was very significant, producing the first incarnations of Wiccan and Speed (before the death, time-jump rebirth and other shit) which drove the House of M plotline, which has had a huge impact on the Maximoffs in general [2], and so… I can see why they’d want to reference so enduring a relationship. You can dislike it if you want, but I don’t especially think there’s a need to hate on it. Find it personally obnoxious, sure. Want to desperately avoid it, sure. But honestly, fandom’s need to try to justify their hatred of something or to be incredibly judgy is something I find deeply grating these days (hence the vagueblog the other day) so I think people need to tone shit down some.

As to the “Wanda’s abusive thing”… Vision did literally lie by omission to her regarding keeping her under house arrest. Let’s look at two other cases where she was lied to.

Strucker and List! They recruited the twins in This Scepter’d Isle tie in prelude comic, and claimed to be SHIELD by speaking of “our Avengers, our Iron Man”. But they weren’t and, as you see, the twins readily abandon them when the fight comes to the castle.

Ultron! “You were supposed to make a better world!” “It will be better!” “When everyone is dead?” And what happened then? She set Helen free from the sceptre’s control, she and Pietro got the hell out… only to return to fight Ultron alongside the Avengers.

Wanda, simply, does not like being lied to. If she offers trust then to betray it is one of the worst crimes you can commit against her. The same holds true of Pietro in comics, it’s the reason for the end of his relationship with Crystal Amaquelin. To break their trust is a surefire way to earn their ire and Vision is clearly very close to Wanda by the time of CACW… and he lied to her. 

Besides which, he’s indestructible. From their conversation we see that they’re both very much regarded as Other by the other Avengers and by the public - the android and the witch - and they seem to understand one another’s capabilities. Vision begs Wanda to not leave not to refrain from putting him through the floor. Being put through the floor is easily survivable for him. He is literally made from Vibranium. He can phase through solid matter! He can alter his own density! He’s also an android who doesn’t think like we do, he’s genuinely surprised that he can be distracted because his way of thinking is very very alien to that of a human.

So if Wanda’s abusive, so is Vision. But given their conversation at Leipzig Airport when Wanda finally stops fighting, it seems like they’re generally quite open with their emotions and their thoughts. They each understand why they responded as they did and don’t seem to hold it too much against it each other. So, honestly, I’d say they have a healthier relationship than some (Pepper/Tony has a few problems, so I actually Do Not Judge Pepper taking a break from him in CACW) especially given that Wanda comes out of a codependent bond with her brother because her brother dies. The fact she’s not an emotional wreck and is capable of healthy relationships is amazing. Given a lot of factors… look the relationship - whatever it may be - between Wanda and Vision needs work, but all relationships do. And both of them clearly put a lot of thought into their discussions, with Vision’s awkward hamfisted attempts to make Wanda feel better, and Wanda’s willingness to talk openly to Vision in turn. It’s clearly a relationship based on communication and intellectual exercise, which I think is a decently solid basis? But then again, I’m ace, and of the few relationships I’ve had, one of them involved a hugely manipulative dickhead, so what do I know.

Honestly the squickiness is the one reason I can really see and get behind [3] even though it doesn’t squick me out personally. Vision is literally a year old by the time of CACW. That’s not hyperbole, you can check the MCU timelines on the wikia. He’s very young, he’s still very naive, he still lacks a solid understanding of human nature because he’s very logical and so emotion and ulterior motives sometimes - heck, often - pass him by. He’s seriously lacking in life experience and that makes forming relationships with him of any kind to be very weird.

The way that I find it easier to handle is… well, look at Ultron. Emotionally immature, yes, but intellectually he had a great understanding of things, even if he was an omnicidal maniac. Then, look at JARVIS. We don’t know when JARVIS was made, but he’s existed in MCU canon as a whole and intact thing for years, he’s had plenty of time to mature as a half AI half natural language UI, and then being merged with what there is of the part-sceptre brain of Ultron…. physically he’s a year old, but he’s got more going on in his skull than just that. He may lack a lot of experience and understanding - of course he does, part of him comes from an omnicidal maniac, the other part is a bodyless AI that acted as Tony Stark’s nanny, minder, adviser, best friend and general helping hand. His understanding of a lot of things is very off.

But he isn’t just a year old. He’s also got a lot of other stuff going on.

Honestly, if you don’t like ScarletVision, that’s fine. Its your business, it’s your preference. I don’t get ClintCoulson or Stony or… hell a lot of slash ships these days, if I’m honest, partially due to how they dismiss female characters even when written by female fans, but I’m not going to shit on them. If ScarletVision is your NOTP just block it. There’s no need to go shitting all over it, or trying to justify your hatred, distaste or squicked-out-ness by it. Just say “I don’t like this,” or “It makes me uncomfortable” and leave it at that. You don’t have to justify your personal feelings to other people. You’re allowed to dislike things just because you dislike things. You’re allowed to like things that are ProblematicTM [7] just because they scratch your id.

But yeah. People have their own reasons for not liking ScarletVision and that’s justified. Seeing it pushed in their faces, I can see why someone who doesn’t care for it would come to hate it - I didn’t care about Tony Stark but his stans have made me detest him on principle. But, you don’t need to spew hate everywhere about it, and that isn’t necessarily a personal issue.

That’s a fandom issue, largely due to the purity police, problematic TM thing, the callout brigade and people trying to prove that they are ideologically pure to try to prevent such callouts happening to them. The solution? For people to stop calling out other people or to stop giving a shit if they get called out. For people to stop overusing or misusing callouts to get back at people they don’t like. For people to stop lying with callouts. For people to stop uncritically reblogging callout posts without checking facts for themselves.

This probably isn’t going to happen, not for a while at least. Not before fandom has almost entirely burned itself out, burned itself to the ground and had to rebuild itself from the ground up.

But hey. I guess chewing up and spitting out your friends and companions only to team up again for the sequel is in right now - it’s what’s going in in the MCU.

[1] And hey, if it was nods for BuckyNat you know people would be practically cheering, so I find it kind of weird that this specifically is an issue while people are almost panting for a reference to BuckyNat, just as I find it annoying that people spent ages begging JKR for more information only to turn around and go “why won’t she stop!?” Answer: Because y’all spent years begging her for more. Don’t be bitter because your wish got answered.

[2] Yes there are issues with House of M, yes I know you may dislike it, no, I don’t care right now. Like what you like, dislike what you like, whether house of M was good is not the question, the question is if it was significant and it was. 

 [3] Being sick of Marvel pushing something via nods to the comics sure, that can be irritating, but there’s a bit of a double standard there because no one minds it for other characters and, indeed, they seem to be begging for it for BuckyNat. They ignore the nod to Ultimates that Clint’s family is [4] just to spit on it because it’s not Clintasha like they wanted or ClintCoulson (how did that ship start, honestly? IT MAKES ZERO SENSE), they hate on the nod to comics for WandaVision, but they seem to keep their eyes peeled for every other Easter egg opportunity, draw wildly out of proportion parallels between comics and MCU [5] and practically beg for BuckyNat [6].

[4] As is like… Clint’s character in this, he’s much more brutal than 616 Clint. MCU Clint is more disaster to humans than human disaster, and that is very Ultimates.

[5] People saying how much of a slap in the face the Raft is in MCU are WRONG because the Raft is new in MCU and has never been used to imprison anyone, let alone villains or heroes, so the slap to the face that it is in comics does not apply here.

[6] I get it, BuckyNat is really interesting and features two people dealing with their differing yet similar traumas from the same source. I’m a sucker for that kind of thing, I get it. But guys, it’s not what’s happening.

[7] Kylux feat. blood and force choking for example. Look I have issues with the shipping of Kylo and Hux but those fics are AMAZING and HORRIBLE and I LOVE THEM, for the simple reason that they are very id-scratchy. Sometimes I like to read about deeply unhealthy bloody relationships or just like. Straight up healthy BDSM. We all have likes and dislikes, but those don’t have to be due to an ideological basis. All things are flawed, some things more than others, but just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean that everyone should dislike the thing [8].

[8] There are, of course, exceptions to this. Nazis and Neo-Nazis, for example, should be universally hated and vilified because they wish to commit fucking genocide. White nationalists should be universally hated and vilified because they want to destroy anyone they don’t see as white, when race is a completely arbitrary construct entirely designed to create social divisions in the first place.  But, some things can be problematic without being The Worst And Most Awful Thing Ever and that’s what this post is about.

[archive-03012022]

great comet 8/24/17 (matinee with dave malloy + blaine krauss u/s anatole)

ok so this is more for me to remember than for anyone else but here’s a song-by-song breakdown of great comet from when i saw it lol (lots about technical stuff)

i was in the top row of banquettes which is honestly the best place to sit in the entire theatre. we could see every part of the theatre (balcony and mezz included) without having to spin our heads around like owls and there was a+++ audience interaction (i’ll get to that later)

pre-show

ok so everyone literally burst out of the entrances randomly without any warning and just started talking to everyone it was great

a man with a sparkly mustache made sure we were all ok with strobe lights and if not to just deal with it and cover our eyes

i got a pierogi box thrown at my face. fun times.

theres an announcer guy that starts speaking in russian and english before just switching over to english

announcer: cameras? ensemble: NEIT!

my grandmother got super into this format and started shouting along #quality family bonding

prologue

dave malloy is a god end of story

but seriously the prologue is such a jam 

before the song actually starts theres a super sad scene of natasha saying goodbye to andrey and she hands him his coat and letters and he gives her the locket (she has a hearbreaking “no!” as he starts leaving)

the lights go from basically pitch black to full blast at the line “anD THIS IS ALL IN YOUR PROGRAM”

denee benton is so beautiful

the ensemble was roaming around everywhere and came over to where we were a LOT

bolkonsky made his entrance right next to us after his costume change right before the minor characters line by screaming and jumping through a curtain with his guitar 

the whole ensemble gathers on the platform by the doors for the beginning of pierre

pierre

dave malloy is a god end of story

while they’re all gathered watching pierre for the first bit of pierre, sonya is rubbing natasha’s back, reassuring and soothing her

i love the ensemble,,,,,, so much,,,,,,,,

helene conducts all the women dancing during “he is charming he has no sex”

the “good russian men” part singled out azudi and he looked so offended at pierre lol

all of the “ahhhh”s were magical

theres not much that hasn’t already been said about this song tbh?

oh and right after it’s over all the ensemble members drop out of their poses and deadpan, walking to the exits with bored expressions like “alright shows over, bye guys, our job is done”

moscow

marya? hates sonya so much?

but when they’re introducing each other natasha is super prim and proper and sonya does this awkward, lopsided bow with her little hand puff half hanging off brittain is such a dork im love her

natasha’s humming is so childish/naive i love it

“you’ll read to me while i K N I T”

marya casually roasting the audience? iconic

marya’s whole speech to natasha is honestly just great

mary walks between marya and natasha when she’s mentioned

private and intimate life of the house

he

draws

out

every

single

word

“people enjoy me though” got a really good laugh

gelsey bell? the godsent angel? yes, Her

B R I N G M E M Y S L I P P E R S (he finally started screaming it again)

“natasha is young and worthless and dumb” natasha literally looks so offended its great

mary picks a “suitor” from the audience and he was so confused

BOLKONSKY KISSED HIS “CHEAP FRENCH THING” ON THE LIPS FOR SUCH A LONG TIME AND HER DAUGHTER WAS LITERALLY DYING BEHIND HER

paul pinto’s servant character. that’s all.

marya plays the cowbell during the “where are my glasses” breakdown and generally looks disappointed in him the whole time 

natasha and bolkonskys

there was a 12 year old boy who had no clue what was happening and kept getting in the way of them putting the stools down it was great

all of bolkonsky’s interjections are met with a really quick spot on him and idk it was just super funny to me (he also did this really weird/hilarious lip trill at the end of “i do not wish to see herrrrrRRRRR”

denee and gelseys harmonies 

mary and natasha’s fake laughter

“says the mean old man in his underthings”

HOLY SHIT GUYS WAIT

WHEN MARY SAYS “AND HE LOOKED AT HER ONCE / HEAD TO TOE” BOLKONSKY MUTTERED “NOT IN MY HOUSE” AND I DIED

bolkonsky exits past marya who, once again, just sort of glared at him

no one else

the blue light change??

all of the light bulbs slowly start coming down and fading on to look like stars its gorgeous

at the “we were angels once, don’t you remember?” she said it right to this teenage girl at a table who literally grinned and turned away to be like “holy shit that just happened” it was really sweet

natasha is so innocent throughout the whole song its honestly so beautiful

andrey is shown in a blue spotlight with snow falling around him and he unwinds the red ribbon from her letters (and wraps it around his wrist like a bracelet for safe keeping) and starts reading them 

when he leaves and runs into the darkness natasha steps into his spot under the snow and starts singing the “you and i”s after him

the opera

marya is such a godmother is so cute

sonya’s narration is gorgrous and i’ll never get over it

ensemble members twirl mirrors around natasha at the beginning

this song makes me think about how important it is for natasha to have people like her which makes the ending even more sad :(

helene’s entrance is honestly so her idek how else to explain it

pierre’s fist pump when he says “though i’m enjoying myself at home :D”

marya is super obvious about mentioning pierre to helene since she’s with dolokov

the curtain “rising” is shown by the lightbulbs going back into the ceiling

the opera is such a good satire

GELSEY’S GOT SOME PIPES

when the dancers are “dying” they’re making this really funny, drawn out sighing noises and its amazing

denee’s face was hilarious after the dance seen she was just like :o

anatoles entrance is so extra

with every little *bum* *bum* he moved his head in a different direction and the lights flashed

helene and anatole have this creepy little moment where they’re standing under a light bulb and anatole taps his cheek for her to kiss but turns his head so she kisses him on the lips and right as their lips touch the lightbulb goes out

the opera singers continue miming in the doorways of the balcony and it was really cool to see

the ensemble was in costumes on the stairs acting out the opera as well

not only was anatole constantly looking at natasha, so was helene,,,,,,,,,

natasha hallucinates andrey’s dead body being torn apart, holding out the ribbon that held her letters together towards her

natasha and anatole

anatole checks himself out in the mirror before entering the box (blaine was really funny in purposefully pulling down a single curl over his forhead for ~fashion~)

i feel like he sings deeper than anatole but its wayyyy smoother like damn

when he’s asking natasha to the costume tournament her little “oh (:? oh,,,, i (:” when shes feigning modesty gives me life

blaines voice holy s h i t

when he grabs her from behind its really sensual and denee moaned really loudly and i

have i mentioned i love blaine’s voice

when anatole steals her flower natasha looks so scandalized

at one point he smells it and seems so in love

helene is watching the whole thing go down (basically the whole time the two of them are “alone” together she’s watching them)

after chasing each other around the stage a bunch them sitting down next to each other was treated as a Big Moment

the duel

in between songs anatole walks to pierre’s study fist bumping and grabbing at his head like “YES! YES YES!”

at “oh dear andrey’s betrothed?” anatole did like this little so-so hand gesture that was hilarious

the strobe lighting was way more intense than i expected

i watched grace mclean grind on a riding crop and then put it between her teeth it was great

lowkey threesome up in the mezz/balcony

and the girls were essentially using the railings as stripper poles

during “just as a duck is made to swim in water, god has made me as i am” anatole moonwalks, does the chicken dance, and gets grinded on by two girls

there was just A Lot during the duel

but i was too focused on celia mae’s glow in the dark thong to notice most of it

“here’s to health of married women.... and their lovers ;D”

oh i just remembered there was girl passed out drunk over someone’s box and all the people sitting in it were howling with laughter

helene’s voice is cracking when she says “he will kill you stupid husband” and might i say,,,,,,,,,, character depth

paul pinto’s announcer voice for duel

helene screams when the gun is shot

when pierre holds out his arms to be shot but starts looking around in confusion omg

idk but i love “we live to love another day”

dust and ashes

dave’s version is honestly so gut-wrenching

i never noticed in the recording but the strings on this song are honestly so beautiful??

he acts the hell out of this song and its just so :(

during the “we are asleep until we fall in love” the ensemble lines up in the orch aisles and in front of the mezz all backlit and its just so haunting 

as their “ah”s get more and more intense the lights don’t change at all and it just seems very church choir-y

sunday morning

sonya and natasha seem like they’re sneaking around in the beginning and its really cute

“everyone sees a man” is delivered so well, like she’s trying to reassure her 

the whole time natasha is staring into the mirror pierre is standing right behind her looking at her through the mirror

marya still hates sonya

charming

helene enters through the double doors with her face covered by her cloak and its sort of a mystery who it is until she starts singing

natasha seems embarrassed at first (since shes basically in her underwear) but then starts fixing her garters and stuff almost like she’s trying to impress her

amber gray holy shit

since natasha is still in just her corset and garters helene gives her her cloak 

“he was thinking about you, kept sighing about you” natasha literally lights up and puts her hand over her mouth and walks away like a middle schooler lol

when natasha gets her dress on first she runs around and twirls but then starts imitating helene but its still really childish

helene yanks andrey’s necklace off of natasha before giving her her own and keeping it for herself

in summary this song is Not Straight Whatsoever

the ball

all of the couples enter from the doors doing this weird little movement before going down the stairs 

two girls danced in front of us together (edit: it was gelsey and katrina i only just remembered) and it made my day 

all of the dancers (all through out the theatre, all the way into the balcony) are doing the same movements as anatole and natasha but since they’re in dark greens/black and anatole and natasha are in white it’s easy to not get distracting

blaine as anatole,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, yeah

the “i love another” seems a bit forced on natasha’s side like she’s just saying it out of habit rather than for real

helene is still watching them

the kiss

lasts

a

long

time

BUT

when you look away you see that everyone has wine glasses and are putting their fingers around the rim to make the little noise

helene has a lightbulb over her and a spot. she’s the last one to stop.

the way natasha’s little part after the kiss goes it makes her look like she’s going to choose andrey because she’s singing to the orchestra but turns to anatole to sing the “i will love youuuu” part

the ensemble is lined up on the staircase, “ahhh”ing and holding their glasses up to toast them

anatole and natasha run through the doors together

letters

the whole cast comes in through the double doors

my grandmother screamed “HEY HANDSOME” when blaine passed by wlfkjvbvjnrev

most of the cast had stuck their letters to audience members into their bras/shirts

andrey stands on the platform in front of the doors (the same place he enters pierre and andrey) and pierre speaks directly to him for his letter

at “it is NAPOLEON” the portrait of napoleon on the wall (which was right above my seat lol) lights up and pierre starts pointing the gun at him

anatole and andrey stand on walkways next to each other when natasha is writing her letter

pierre, natasha, and mary all stand in a circle around the study singing at each other and it looks really cool

ok so anatole’s love letter..............

dolokov was holding the letter

they actually made the woman passing the letter walk up on stage to pass it to natasha

blaines “just says yes”s were suuuuuuuuuuper stretched out but he was pressing his face in her chest, stomach, thighs and trailing his hand up her whole body and it was uhhhhhh way more sensual than how lucas steele plays anatole

sonya and natasha

sonya steals the letter from natasha while shes’s sleeping

their argument is honestly everything

“its seems to me i’ve loved him a hundred years............ :)” sonya is just like “what the fuck natalie”

“would you think so badly of me??” brings me back to how much natasha just wants to be loved and cared for 

sonya and natasha yelling at each other is so heartbreaking

her letter to mary is all very final

sonya alone

the whole theatre is dark and theres a single lightbulb and spot on sonya as she sings

natasha makes her way up the stairs to the mezzanine (PASSES ANDREY WHO’S SITTING THERE WATCHING HER)

and wanders all the way across the mezz and back down the stairs on the other side

the whole time, sonya never takes her eyes off of her

i think we need to appreciate that in the realm of musical theatre, there are no other songs about just loving your friend? and wanting to help them?

“i know you’ve forgotten  me” natasha is back in front of the stage left stairs, but a light bulb lights up over her and she stops, looking at sonya

“it’s all on me” kills me she’s so selfless shes sacrificing her friendship with her best friend just to save her and just kjvn;efvaer

preparations

pierre literally doesnt care about what anatole’s doing 

theres a spot on sonya and natasha when they are mentioned

helene brings dolokov the tea

anatole shaves in front of a mirror

there was still shaving cream left on his face and dolokov had to wipe it off his face while they were arguing lol

the two of them were arguing really aggressively it was intense

i think helene was playing the drum during this whole part

balaga/the abduction

paul pinto deserved a tony

my grandmother stole egg shakers from the row in front of us

balaga runs up into the mezz and starts wreaking havoc it’s great

the musicians were all running all over the place saying hi to audience members and generally being great

anatole’s “woooooooooooo” and cape spin was a sight to behold tbh

blaine did a little “mm” noise when everyone went quiet after the big "WOOOOOOOOAHHHHHHHH”

his “gooooooooooooodbye” was so stretched out that the ensemble started swaying really slowly but then had to go the other way before starting again it was really funny

during the goodbye my gypsy lovers part marya slid on the end of the banquette seats i was in and i was freaking out so she blew me a fucking kiss and ran away

everyone dancing in a circle around the study

there was a little accordion-off 

alex gibson came over and was like “WATCH ME! WATCH ME OVER HERE!” and had a dance off with a guy all the way up in the balcony

there were people dancing allllllllll over these platforms through out the theatre there was never a dull moment

alex gibson also started humping a drum next to us and banging it while he moaned

he was so into it that he didn’t realize he was blocking lauren zakrin from chucking pages of war and peace everywhere (which i caught out of the air which is pretty neat)

one of katrina’s braids was coming loose so she started helicopter-ing them in our faces

i saw helene and marya make out and it was great

all of it was so completely organized chaos that was so incredible watch i love rachel chavkin with all my heart

when anatole sat down on the banquette next to the girl he made her kiss him on the cheek and did the “stretching” to put an arm around her thing it was hilarious

the girl leaned her head on him and they just chilled out (they actually looked like a real couple tbh) for an awkwardly long time before they all ran up the stairs

marya’s entrance is just as incredible as you would imagine

anatole did like a little smile like “uhh, hi” and then sprinted down the stairs away 

in my house

grace mclean deserved a nomination for best featured. seriously.

the maid servant tries to apologize to marya but she just points her back inside the doors

ok so grace kept it all super calm and contained until she exploded on natasha

she honestly plays this scene so well she’s ocnstantly jumping between concern, disappointment, and pure, unfiltered rage

natasha screaming is terrifying

when natasha “falls to the sofa” (she’s stand completely upright with her arms crossed) marya softens and becomes very calm again but when sonya tries to go to her she snaps again

natasha? still? thinks? anatoles? coming? :(

a call to pierre

the letter is followed by the light bulbs and lights under the mezz as it makes its way across the stage

paul pinto is the best

he stretches out the announcement

so

much

“........................................w h a t”

grace and dave have such good chemistry

the ensemble’s vocals make this scene so much more tense

“natasha and A N A T O L E  K U R A G I N”

marya’s whole demeanor changes when she hears that he’s married

find anatole

pierre literally walks down to the study, back up, puts on a coat and is already wheezing its actually pretty funny

“the club” is just the ensemble along the stairs and mezz dimly lit and gathered in small groups pantomiming its really realistic

“he cant BE MARRIED!” is said in complete disbelief and heartbreak

helene sits with anatole’s head on her lap

on his way to the study anatole passes sonya who glares at him

and if looks could kill

pierre and anatole

blaine plays off anatole as faking his confidence from the very start of the scene thinking pierre will just let him off

pierre literally pins him down and almost bashes his head in with a paperweight

OH WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED

helen is watching the whole thing from the stage right staircase (she was right in front of me) as if she’s eavesdropping from the hallway or something

she flinches when pierre stars grabbing at anatole and reaches her hand out to help when he’s about to hurt him

the letters look almost exactly like the ones natasha gave to andrey #parallels

anatole sits at someone’s table pouting and covering his ears like a child throwing a tantrum

“amuse yourself with women like my wife” helene actually seemed a little surprised at pierre actually knowing about their relationship

it hit me during the show that the only reason that anatole is upset is because pierre is calling him names which is just so childish considering everything happening

natasha walks between them arguing and pours arsenic into her glass, chugging it and then lets out this guttural scream

she runs up and meets marya and sonya who rush her through a curtained exit

blaine can hit the petersburg note 

natasha very ill

this song is honestly just so haunting

dolokov plays guitar in the double doors

the whole stage is dimly lit and its all very ominous

pierre and andrey

andrey enters through the same doors he left during the prologue and speaks to pierre on the opposite side of the stage before they meet in the middle platform

the “well, how are you?” seems a bit comical and sarcastic

i could write essays about how much “theres a war going on” does for the story at this point

andrey acts like he doesn’t really care about the whole ordeal and like he’s already trying to distance himself from it, almost laughing at himself

“i much regret her illness” is so cold and passive aggressive that it hurts

oh and if this scene didnt hurt enough, mary is watching the entire thing

after “dont every speak of this again” he shoves pierre. hard.

when he leaves, he passes mary who smiles and tries to hug him but he just puts his hand up and walks past her before taking his place in his father’s chair and folds in on himself

natasha and pierre

i’ve been classically conditioned to cry to these piano notes no joke

natasha comes down the stairs really slowly, relying heavily on the railing to help her

pierre tries to help but she brushes him off

she’s in a white, shapeless nightgown (she only wears white through the whole show), is barefoot, and has her hair in a braid and looks like a little girl

when she starts singing its very weak

ALL 👏 SHE 👏 WANTS 👏 IS 👏 LOVE 👏 AND 👏 TO 👏 BE 👏 FORGIVEN 👏

oh and all of the ensemble members since find anatole have taken places all over the theatre and are just. sitting. watching the ending of the show. i noticed mostly courtney basset sitting cross-legged on the walkway in the orchestra

when natasha begins to cry, its not crying. it’s loud, almost primal sobbing

pierre is just so tender towards her and :’)

when pierre tell her that she can talk to him they both look confused

right before the proposal natasha is making her way up the stairs and turns back around when pierre starts talking

dave’s delivery of the proposal is So Good

he choked on the “and for your love”

the mini pierre reprise is heartwrenching

natasha made her way really slowly back up to the doors, but seems hopeful

the great comet of 1812 

ok so

the song is song in complete darkness, theres barely even a spotlight on pierre

veeeeeery slowly individual light bulbs start fading on but you cant see much

then the chandeliers start to slowly light up

but this is all super gradual and doesn’t really become notciable for a few minutes

hearing the ensemble coming in from all sides is gorgeous

then the comet prop above pierre’s study starts lowering (i think around the time its mentioned by name for the first time)

as most of the chandeliers are coming on, a tiny light on the bottom of the comet fades on and starts illuminating the larger comet

now the entire theatre is lit only by the lightbulbs, chandeliers, and the slwoly brightening comet. no table lamps, no stage lights, nothing.

as the final minute or so approaches all of the lights start to dim except for the comet until it’s the only thing remaining lit

and in 100% honesty every single one of the 1200 people in that theatre had their eyes fixed on it for the final moments of the show

then, as the song ends, the lights on the comet fade until only the tiny light on the bottom remains. pierre is collapsed in his chair looking up peacefully and the conductor raises his hands to praise it as it’s dimming until the theatre is in complete darkness

anyway this really wasnt for anyone else to read but if you made it this far? im sorry? this was a complete mess i’m still a wreck from this show

[adamkadabra]

Prelude To Goodbye || Self Para 1/3

Tagging→  ADAM CRAWFORD, MELINDA CRAWFORD, CHARLIE DOWELL, A SHEDIM, mentions of Elliott Gilbert, Aunt Helene, and Peter Walsh Where→  London England, Afternoon When→ 8/22/17 Warnings→ violence, death mention, little bit of blood, homophobia

Notes--> This is in order and is para 1 of 3. Parts 2 and 3 can be found at there at those links.

Four days had passed since the initial text came through from his mum. Adam was still in shock. He left campus immediately letting only Elliott know what was going on. When he arrived home no one was there. His Dad was gone, not so surprising, and his mum upstairs crying. It wasn’t over Peter though, his mum had other things to worry about. Everything seemed so dark and quiet when he entered his home. It had been months since she had been living there but it still felt as if all the color had gone from the place.

Weeks had passed since his last visit to Orsett to see her. She appeared in good health at the time, but Helene was always good at hiding her illnesses. It burned Adam that he couldn’t remember the last thing he had said to her during that last visit. It had been so insignificant that he forgot about it. What was worse was his mum hadn’t spoken to Helene since she left to live in Orsett months ago.

Time was such a fickle thing. Adam hated it. He hated being here and he hated being alone and without Elliott. When Adam asked where Peter had been, Melinda didn’t reply with anything other than “Out.” That was something she often used to answer young Adam’s questions whenever he asked about his absent father. It typically meant she had no idea where he had gone or when he’d be back. Typical.

Within those four days Adam helped his mum plan the funeral and unfortunately they had to invite his grandmother’s side of the family. Helene’s family. Adam didn’t know them other than by vague names and faces from portraits. But they were old photos. That side of the family were very...particular with what company they kept. They were New Ages who thought themselves Bloodlines only because their magic went back a few generations. Adam would do his best to avoid all family if he could.

It wasn’t a surprise that a funeral home would smell of death, but Adam was surprised just how much. He hadn’t been to a funeral since his grandmother passed away years ago and a naive part of him hoped he would never have to attend another one. Yet, here he was back in London surrounded by family that Adam barely recognized. They all looked similar in one way or another but he hadn’t met any of them before today. Growing up it was just Adam, his mother, his aunt, and his grandmother. That was the family he knew and now it was dwindled down to one.

Adam sat at the back of the parlor watching as relatives mingled and even smiled at one another. The attendance number was small and that hurt Adam most of all. He noticed a few friends that came and went before the service started only staying long enough to look at the casket and then walk away. Adam had not yet been able to bring himself to venture close enough because it meant that she was really gone. And in Adam’s mind none of these people had the right to be here, especially her family. As if reading his mind, a voice spoke behind him.

“I know, they don’t deserve to be here.” His mother said.

Adam didn’t turn to look at her, he sat staring at the casket with a solemn expression. Melinda sat down next to Adam, a dampened tissue in one hand and a clean one in the other. She offered the fresh tissue to Adam who merely shook his head. Melinda licked her lips slowly and sniffed. She followed her son’s gaze over to the casket and took a deep breath.

“My aunt was a wonderful woman.” Melinda said, her voice was scratchy from crying. Adam looked down at the floor and remained silent. “She was a second mother to me. And she was a second grandmother to you. Maybe even another mother all rolled into one.”

Melinda smiled sadly. “She always said that you were my greatest accomplishment. We had our fights about stupid insignificant things, especially about your...about him.” She cleared her throat. “Even when I kic--I kicked her--”

Adam glanced over to his mother and took her hand. “She knew you still loved her.” He said. “I met with her a few times over the last few months. She didn’t resent you, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

The tears flowed freely again from Melinda and her body wracked in sobs. Adam opened his arms and pulled his mother to his chest. Adam was doing everything he could not to cry. He had done enough of that when he first got the news five days ago. Crying wouldn’t bring Helene back. It would do nothing to soothe the pain he felt inside of him and he wanted to be strong for his mother. She needed him right now more than ever.

“She loved you so much.” Melinda said and pushed out of her son’s grasp enough to look at him again. Her make up ran down her face and Adam took the clean tissue and used it to dab the tears from her red cheeks, cleaning away any makeup that was out of place.

Adam knew that Helene loved him, he never doubted the love from his family. Peter excluded. “I know mum.” He said, his voice catching in his throat. “I know.”

Melinda took a deep ragged breath and sat back, taking the tissue from her son and clutching it in her hand, tight. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Adam asked.

“I’m apologizing for everything I’ve put you through, Adam. Growing up with that...that thing in our house.” She sniffled. “I should have listened to your grandmother and my aunt. Even now I’ve been incredibly selfish. I’ve only thought about myself and not once thought about you, my son, and the only man in my life that really means the world to me.”

Adam swallowed thickly still trying to keep his emotions in check. “Mum, you’re not selfish. I’m the one who has been selfish. I didn’t understand why you weren’t thinking of me, and how it made me feel having him back.”

Melinda let out a hollow chuckle. “Maybe everyone is a little selfish when it comes to love.”

Adam’s brow furrowed a little and he looked away. “Why do you love him?”

This question was met with a long silence. Melinda only played with the tissues she held, tearing at the edges. It wasn’t until Adam turned his head back to his mother that she gave an answer.

“He entered my life at a time where...where I didn’t like who I was. I may have seemed happy on the outside but I was not happy, for whatever the reason may be. He loved me when I didn’t even love myself. And sure, maybe it started as a con but he could have walked away at anytime, even before you came along.” Melinda sighed. “I think your father loved me at one time but he has his own issues to sort out. And I know you’ll say I deserve better and that there are others out there but...sometimes you don’t choose the people you fall in love with.”

Adam didn’t know how to respond to all of this. This wasn’t the setting to have an argument about this, so Adam let the subject drop at that. He thought about Elliott and how much he wished that he was here with him right now. Adam thought about holding Elliott’s hand and how much he loved him and loved himself when he was with Elliott. Maybe he fell in love with Elliott in the similar fashion that his mother had fallen in love. Adam was able to hide his emotions around others pretty well but at the start of NYADA he was still lacking confidence in himself and after the incident with Santana and Madison it left Adam feeling worthless. Elliott made Adam feel worthy of being loved and that was something Adam would always be thankful for and would never forget.

Melinda stood up and smoothed her dark dress where it began to wrinkle as she sat. “I’ll be back.” She said and booped Adam on the nose with her finger. “I’m going to go get some fresh air, okay?”

Adam smiled a little and nodded and watched her leave the parlor. He glanced back over to the casket a moment longer before standing. Fresh air sounded good, but maybe a drink of water or something first. He walked out of the parlor and into the next room where there was a table of refreshments, all provided by his mother of course. Adam poured himself a small glass of chilled lemonade and finished it in one gulp.

“So you must be Adam.” A voice said.

Adam set his cup down and turned. A young man around his age, maybe two or three years older stood there in a very pristine suit that looked rather expensive. His hair was a dirty blonde and his eyes were honey colored and Adam thought about how much he reminded him of his grandmother in the eyes. Adam looked the individual up and down. No doubt a relative but Adam didn’t know who it was.

“Yes,” Adam said slowly. “And you’re..?”

“Charlie Dowell.” The young man replied with a small sneer as if he were offended that Adam didn’t automatically know who he was. “Helene was my great aunt, as she was yours.We’re cousins.”

Adam arched a brow. “Right. It’s a pleasure to meet you, despite the circumstances.” Adam reached out to be polite and shake Charlie’s hand but Charlie ignored it and Adam dropped his hand back to his side feeling like a fool.

This was the grandson of Albert Dowell, Adam’s great uncle and the one who had the Shedim that his mother was so afraid of. At remembering this, Adam stood up a little straighter seeing that this encounter might not be as family friendly as he might hope.

Charlie slipped his hands into his pockets and eyed Adam. “Yes, the circumstances for this meeting are quite grim. Although, I haven’t seen Helene since I was four this is merely a formality.”

That made Adam’s blood boil and in that moment he hated Charlie. Charlie didn’t appear to notice the change in Adam’s expression. Adam sighed and decided now was the time for fresh air. He walked out the back doors into the garden. It was peaceful out here, a stone bench, and moderately sized fountain. Best of all he was alone and away from family. His mum must have been out in the front. Adam took a deep breath sucking in lungfuls of air. Aether, he wished Ell was here with him right now that was the only other family he wanted to see.

“You’re sort of the black sheep of the family,” Charlie had apparently taken it upon himself to join Adam outside. “Not because of your own doing mind you but I can’t say we’ve ever seen you at any of the parties held at my family's estate. I’ve heard your mother didn’t expose you to magic until you were nearly twenty.”

Adam clenched his jaw and turned to Charlie. “She didn’t want to make that choice for me. She wanted me to have a chance at a normal life and if I discovered magic then she would leave the choice up to me.”

“How did you manage?”

“Well I survived into adulthood without magic, funny enough.” Adam replied.

Charlie scoffed. “And I hear that you chose the path of a kitchen witch?”

“And what’s it to you?” Adam’s eyes narrowed.

“Nothing. Someone has to make decent food for us to eat, right?” Charlie laughed.

Before Adam could say or do anything, another young man approached them. He was also dressed in a suit but appeared more like a footman straight out of a victorian era novel than anything else. There was a solemn expression on his face and his hair was dark and swept off to the side in a tidy fashion. He bowed to Charlie.

“Mistress Dana wanted me to inform you that young Tessa was not feeling well and they departed for the estate.” The man’s voice was nearly monotone.

Adam felt his stomach churn when he realized who this was. It was a Shedim.

Charlie sighed and rolled his eyes. “Very well. I’ll only be staying a few more minutes anyway. This is far too depressing and the company is severely lacking.”

“It’s a funeral.” Adam said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and I’m bored.” Charlie said. “And there were Commons in there earlier. I feel...unclean.”

“You realize you were a Common before magic, right? That our ancestors are Commons.” Adam said.

Charlie gave a shrug. “Yes, but now I have magic. Who cares about the past when only the future matters.”

Adam couldn’t believe how disgusting Charlie was. He was worse than some of the Bloodlines he had met. Adam was grateful that his aunt and his mother had not been raised with such a view on Commons. Adam glanced over to the Shedim who stood dutifully beside Charlie.

Charlie arched a brow and folded his arms across his chest with a smug smile. “They’re quite useful, aren’t they?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Shedim.” Charlie said nodding to his own.

“Owning another person or LN is disgusting.” Adam said.

Charlie’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. “I don’t know, they can be quite helpful around the house and while glamoured they can pass for a human, barely. This one was passed down through my family. It belonged to my grandfather.”

Adam’s mouth dropped open a little. This was the very same Shedim that had been forced to terrorize his mother and the same one that Helene had tried to set free decades ago. His heart ached for the Shedim and even more anger boiled inside of Adam, his hand clenching into a fist.

“It doesn’t look like much.” Charlie said and walked around the Shedim in a circle.

Adam hated that he continued to refer to the Shedim as “it”.

“But, you know all about Shedim, don’t you?” Charlie smirked. “I hear that you attend NYADA. My wife’s sister attends NYADA and told me there was a Crawford who lived on campus.”

“So?” Adam felt himself tense up afraid of where this was going to go.

“She says that this New Age with the last name of Crawford who happens to be a kitchen witch, has a boyfriend.” Charlie eyed Adam in disgust. “And if being gay isn’t enough, he’s dating a Lusus. More specifically a Shedim.”

There were a dozen things within that sentence that had Adam nearly shaking in anger now. He was glaring at Charlie, his nails dug into his palm the tighter he clenched his fist.

“I don’t see how any of my personal life is your business.” Adam said.     “Aether. The rumors are true then. If your mother wasn’t bad enough for marrying that con-witch but you soil the name of Dowell by fucking a Shedim.” Charlie said.

“Shut. Up.” Adam growled.

Charlie tisked. “How disgraceful you’d stoop so low as to sleep with the help.”

“You’re not a Bloodline you know.” Adam snapped. “You’ll never be accepted as one either. Face it, you’ll always be considered second best to them. Just a step above a Common.”

Apparently this struck a nerve with Charlie. <<Kneel>>

The Shedim beside Charlie tensed, his eyes went white and he knelt down beside his master. Adam remembered back to that day on the beach a year ago with Elliott.

“What would you like me to do?” The voice was still monotoned.

Charlie lifted his chin a little, he could tell that this was something that bothered Adam and he was going to take advantage of it. “Stick your head in that fountain and don’t come up until I say.”

The Shedim got up and did what he was asked and stuck his face into the fountain. Adam made a move forward but stopped with the look he received from Charlie. After a minute the Shedim began to jerk around he wanted to lift his head from the water in order to catch his breath but was unable to do so. Adam felt tears start to well up. He turned to Charlie. Adam marched forward and grabbed him by the front of his jacket.

“Let him go.” Adam demanded.

“I don’t think so. It’s my Shedim after all. They need to be controlled. They’re dangerous abominations that are meant to be owned by us.” Charlie hissed. “You better learn to control your Shedim, or perhaps I’ll come to NYADA and do it for you.”

Adam pulled his fist back and let it fly at Charlie hitting his cousin in the nose, hard. Adam had never hit anyone before, except himself at the carnival..that was different. The rush of adrenaline pumped through Adam’s veins. Charlie cried out and cursed reaching up to hold his bloodied nose.

“You’ve broken my nose!” Charlie sobbed.

“I said free him you big git.” Adam repeated, this time choosing his word carefully.

“You’re bloody mad! Get off of me!” Charlie called out.

“Not until you free him!” Adam said raising his voice. He still held onto the front of Charlie’s suit which was now stained with his own blood and tears. Charlie was nothing but a spoiled brat, no actual fight in him. His entire demeanor changed the moment Adam struck him.

“FREE HIM! I said free him now!” Adam pulled his fist back again and Charlie cowered and raised his hands over his head and stammered.     “O-Okay! Okay! He’s free t-to go, you’re free to go! Stop!” Charlie cried.

The Shedim pushed himself up from the fountain gasping for breath, his dark hair matted against his face. He sat on the ground staring up at Adam and Charlie. When Adam looked over to see if the Shedim was alright, he noticed how clear the eyes of the Shedim looked. There was full consciousness there, he was a little afraid but he was well aware of the situation at hand. Adam realized what happened. Charlie, in his desperate attempt to save from being hit again, actually freed the Shedim. Adam looked to the Shedim and back to Charlie and shoved Charlie back. He tripped over a stone bench and fell into the dirt and cried out again in pain as he hit the ground.

Adam turned his attention to the Shedim and knelt down. “Hi.” Adam said with a grin. “Don’t worry I’m not going hurt you, or use that spell. I don’t even know it.”

The Shedim stared in silence at Adam. Before the Shedim could speak another voice called out.

“Adam? Adam! There you are, I was looking for you the service is about to-Oh my Aether!” Melinda shrieked when she saw the sight of Adam, the Shedim, and Charlie laying on his back crying with a bloody nose. “What..what is going on?”

Adam stood up, “Mum!” He said surprised. “I uhh, Charlie was forcing his Shedim to basically drown himself and he wouldn’t let him go and he said horrible things about you, and Helene and said I should control Elliott and I--”

Melinda waved her hands to stop him. “Ssh! No, calm down stop.”

Adam took a deep breath.

“Did you punch your cousin?” Melinda asked.

“I did.”

“And he let the Shedim go?”

“Yes.”

Melinda beamed. “That’s my boy!” She said proudly.

“He let him go..free.” Adam said slowly.

Melinda looked to the Shedim. It had been a long time since she saw this Shedim, not since she was a child. The glamor potions changed so he did not appear the same but Melinda knew him to be the same one. The Shedim recognized her too. He bowed his head, force of habit Adam supposed.

The Shedim flinched at the action and sighed. “I’m sorry.” He said.

“Don’t apologize.” She said with a grin.

Charlie began to push himself up sniffling between his sobs. “Lusus lover.” He grumbled, “Broke my nose..Just wait, my father is a powerful New Age!”

Adam looked panicked as did the Shedim. Melinda looked to them both He reached out and kissed Adam on the cheek.

“Call me, let me know you’re safe. Helene would be so proud.” And with that Melinda turned to Charlie and assisted him up. “Oh there there!” She said. “We should get that looked at right away, come on along hurry now. Tip your head back, yes just like that.”

She ushered Charlie away in the opposite direction and turned her head to wink at Adam.

Adam smiled and looked to the Shedim. He held out his hand.

The Shedim looked hesitant.

“I promise I don’t bite.”

“But..he said you have a Shedim.” He replied recoiling back.

Adam shook his head and pulled out a picture of him and Elliott he always kept on him. It was a picture of the two of them kissing, with Elliott in his true form.

“I have a boyfriend, who happens to be a Shedim.” Adam explained. “Come on, we don’t have time. My aunt tried to help you before, I want to help you now.”

The Shedim smiled and grabbed Adam’s hand and they were off out the garden and through the streets of London.

Adam didn’t have a plan. He had less than a plan at this rate. All he knew was he couldn’t allow the Shedim to be with Charlie or his family any longer. He wouldn’t let him suffer for years being handed down from generation to generation like some trinket. Adam thought about what Elliott would do or how he would want someone to react if Elliott was in that situation. Adam didn’t know where he would go with the Shedim but it wasn’t safe to leave him alone, not now.

As they ran through the streets of London trying to find a decent place to hide it struck Adam that he couldn’t go back to NYADA. This was potentially the dumbest and reckless nonplan that Adam had ever had. He had no idea what Charlie or his father would do once they saw the Shedim gone and learned that it was Adam who ran off with him. Matter of fact, what would they do to his mum? Aether. He couldn’t leave her alone. This was a mess. A disaster but also very brave. Would Elliott be proud of him?

Elliott.

If Adam couldn’t go back to NYADA for now, what was he going to do about Elliott? He’d already liberated one Shedim, why couldn’t he liberate his boyfriend from the school? No. No that wasn’t fair. They would be hunted by the Cardines if Elliott up and left. Adam’s stomach dropped. Would the Cardines be after him for fleeing with a recently free Shedim? His head spun with a million different thoughts and scenarios and ways to explain it to the Cardines so maybe he could go back to NYADA. He’d definitely have his sponsorship taken away, and who knows if he’d even be allowed back or near Elliott.

Adam had to think in the moment not what would happen in the future. For now he had to get them someplace safe and then maybe Adam could risk heading back to NYADA if only to grab his things and to see Elliott one more time.