#anne of cleaves (mentioned)

[thatboleyn-girl]

Take Me or Leave Me

Ahh! Alright this was requested by @sixstuffff and I really hope I did this justice! This fic is based off the song ‘Take Me or Leave Me’ from Rent, so, enjoy!

warnings: jealous!cathy parr, fighting, swearing, mentions of sex and makeouts (lol what a combo)

----

Catherine Parr was exhausted after a long day of classes. She always dreaded her back-to-back classes on a Thursday, but, the best part of her day was finally here. Her girlfriend, Anne Boleyn, always meets her after her final class. The couple had been together for 2 months but decided to keep their relationship as private as possible due to the overwhelming amount of homophobia still present at their school.Their closest friends, Jane Seymour and Katherine Howard knew, but that was all, so it was much to Cathy’s dismay when she saw Anne flirting with one of the girls in her class. The way her eyes were lit up and the smile on her face was deadly similar to the way she looked at her, and Cathy wasn’t here for it. 

“Hey Annie, are we ready to go?” Catherine asked, interrupting what the other girl was saying. 

“Hey Cath!” Anne said in an excited, loving voice, “Yeah, let’s go. It was lovely to meet you Anna.” The two girls walked off, Anne reaching over to wrap her arm around Cathy’s waist, “How was your day, gorgeous?”

“Fine.” 

“Just fine, baby?”

“Yeah. Nothing special,” Cathy said in a soft voice before pulling away from Anne, which caused her to sigh and check the time on her phone at least 10 times before they got back to their dorm. 

Cathy began to walk to the study before Anne grabbed her hand to stop her, “Baby, what’s wrong? I know how you feel about talking when you’re upset but,” Anne began before she was interrupted.

“You might think I don’t, and you might think this doesn’t bother me but it does. I see it, Annie. I see the way everyone looks at you, and it hurts! The way you entertain it and flirt back, it hurts me to see you act like that around other people when you always say you’re mine.”

“Cathy, baby, how many times have we been over this, I love you, and you are everything and more to me. You are the only person I want to be with, for the rest of my life, I promise you. Don’t lose your head over this.”

“You say that and then you go and flirt with these guys and girls at school and at parties! Don’t think I don’t see you letting those frat boys feel you up, don’t think I don’t hear the things they say about you, the ways they would please you if they got half the chance.”

“Okay you have crossed the line with that one. That was before we were even together, and, in my defence, I thought you were straight then, too. I’ve told you countless times that you are all I see and I’m sorry that you don’t see that. Why are we even fighting, whose bed do I end up in every night, huh? Who do I get to claim as my own over and over again,” Anne said, trying to calm Cathy down. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m not your toy to just play around with, Anne!”

“And I’m not yours either! I’m not anyone’s toy, neither are you. I’ve tried, Cathy. I’m trying but it’s on you to refuse to listen to me. You’re being an overprotective control freak, do you know how many people would kill to be in your shoes,” Anne regretted that last part the second it left her mouth. 

“Oh you are such a self obsessed brat, Anne Boleyn. You know what, the choice is yours, if you give a damn, take me or leave me.” Catherine yelled in response, she was on the verge of a panic attack. Her hands were shaking and she felt a bile rise in her throat.

“That’s it. I’m done,” Anne yelled back, before grabbing her purse, phone and keys and storming out the door. 

As soon as she heard the door slam, Cathy fell to the ground sobbing, this was all her fault, if she hadn't been over dramatic and a control freak like Anne was saying she was, this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t have just lost her soulmate for what felt like forever. She was then taken by surprise when she heard a soft knock on the door. She quickly steadied her breath, wiped her face and opened the door. Standing in front of her was the couple’s next door neighbour and best friend, Jane Seymour, “Hey Janey.”

“Hi lovely, I heard yelling, then some door slamming, then Anne storming down the hallway, crying on the phone to who I’m assuming is Kitty, and then I decided to check in and see what’s going on.”

“Yeah, sure, come in. Would you like something to eat or drink?” Cathy asked in a soft voice.

“No, I’m quite alright hon, What happened?” Jane said. 

“Is Anne okay? How mad did she seem?” Catherine asked, ignoring Jane’s question. 

“You really love her don’t you Cath?” Jane began, “She’ll come around. She’s hurting, as are you, but I heard she was on her way to Kitty’s and I’m sure she’ll be safe. If you two truly love each other, and were meant for each other, you’ll find your way back to one another, I promise. You both just need some time to cool off. How about I stay around for dinner and we watch a movie or two?”

“I would love that, thank you Jane,” Cathy said with a small smile before giving the girl a hug.

---

Jane and Cathy were lying on the couch watching a movie on Netflix when they heard the door unlock. In walked Anne, in the same green sweater and ripped jeans as she was wearing earlier, her hair and makeup were a mess and she looked exhausted. 

“I think I’ll get going so you two can have your privacy,” Jane said before getting up, putting her shoes on and walking towards the door, “I’ll speak to you later, girls.”

“Bye Jane, thanks for dinner!” Cathy called out, “I think we should talk, Annie.”

Anne looked terrified, she nodded slightly and slowly walked over to the space on the couch furthest away from Catherine. She bought her legs up to her chest and made sure to take up the smallest amount of space possible. Cathy immediately felt awful, Anne always tried to hide and diminish her mental health issues but Cathy always knew, and, to her, it was very obvious Anne had one of her more severe panic attacks. 

“I love you, so much,” Anne said almost in a whisper, “I don’t want to lose you,” She then broke down into tears, burying her head in her knees. Cathy wrapped her arms around the brown-haired girl straight away, pulling her into a massive hug and placing a kiss on the top of her head. 

“I love you too, more than anything, Annie. I’m sorry about before, I had a hard day at school and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You are so much more than that, and you deserve so much more than that.”

“Cathy, I think I’m ready to tell people about us,” Anne said in a quiet voice, “I was scared of what other people would think, and how others would feel, but that doesn’t matter to me anymore. We haven’t been together for that long but I want to spend the rest of my life with you, this isn’t me proposing I promise I’ll make it a hundred times better than this,” Anne joked, making the couple laugh, “But I love you so much, and that’s all that matters to me now.”

“I don’t want this to force you into making that decision, Annie. If that’s what you really want then I’ll be by your side the whole way, but if you’re making this decision purely based on what happened today, I don’t want you to feel pressured into doing that.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while, Cath. I think it’s time,” Anne said and looked up at her girlfriend before placing a soft kiss to her lips, “I love you, and I’m so sorry.”

“I love you too, and there’s no need to be sorry, my love. You are the most important thing in my life, I don’t know what I’d do without you, even though you can be really annoying sometimes,” Cathy laughed. 

Anne smiled as she cuddled closer to Cathy, interlocking their fingers and placing a soft kiss to her hand, “The girl I was talking to earlier, that was Kitty’s new partner, Anna. She recognised me and wanted to say hi and talk to me before their date on Sunday.”

Guilt and shame washed over Cathy immediately, “I am so sorry,” She began, her eyes filling up with tears, “I shouldn’t have been so selfish and controlling then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s okay, Cath. You didn’t know and it’s in the past anyway,” Anne said before reaching up and placing a kiss to Cathy’s lips, soft at first, but quickly turning into a heated, passionate exchange between the pair. Anne’s lips trailed down to place soft kisses on Cathy’s neck, causing her to let out a quiet moan. Before reconnecting her lips with Catherine’s, she reached over to pull her jumper off, Cathy doing the same. 

The two girls were so caught up in their own world of passion, they didn’t notice the door unlocking, “Oh my god you guys!” Kitty squealed. Both Anne and Catherine were shocked at the voice and quickly jumped apart. Catherine’s face was going bright red as she fumbled around, trying to put her shirt on, Anne, however, could not stop laughing, “Well I’m glad you think it’s funny, Anne! I just walked in on my cousin and her girlfriend practically fucking on the sofa!”

“I’m sorry Kit, is everything okay?” Anne responded, trying to hold back her laughter. 

“I wanted to check on you guys and make sure you’re okay, but clearly, I’ve got my answer to that.”

“We’re good, aren’t we babes?” Anne said in a soft voice, reaching over for Cathy’s hand, which she took almost immediately and smiled. Catherine was in it for the long haul, and, for the first time, she was certain that Anne felt the same. 

[bethanydelleman]

I don't know how often literature deals with positive relationships with stepparents, single moms, and adopted children. But let me show you the best quotes I know.

Here is the most romantic statement a person marrying a single parent can make, in my opinion:

he was my own Helen’s son, and therefore mine; and as such I have ever since regarded him.

-The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, Anne Brontë

And this is a child's reply:

"We’ve been used to be happy together every day, and I can’t think o’ no happiness without him. And he says he’d nobody i’ the world till I was sent to him, and he’d have nothing when I was gone. And he’s took care of me and loved me from the first, and I’ll cleave to him as long as he lives, and nobody shall ever come between him and me.”

- Silas Marner by George Elliot

And I should know the truth of this, because my stepmom lived out those words in her heart from the day she married my father. In grateful repayment, when I married my stepmom and dad both walked me down the aisle.

Honourable mention: "Inasmuch as we could, I and mine have sheltered her! I have loved her; I do love her almost as if she were my own child"

- Wives & Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell

I will never stop finding genuine love between stepparents and adopted children beautiful. It is not blood that makes you a parent.

[redrosewhiterose]

Season 1 of Becoming Elizabeth is ending next week but for reasons I'm only now watching its second episode. I'm so late to the discussions that I have nothing new to bring to the table, but still here are my live comments:

- Showing Elizabeth giggling when Seymour wakes her up (undressed!!) when we know that the real Elizabeth was shocked and scared enough to start waking up earlier to avoid him is a terrible choice

- My heart ached for Mary during the scene where they made fun of the Pope, and the "it cleaves me in two" line legit almost made me tear up. Romola Garai is such a good actress!!!!

- Not having Anne Stanhope in the show was a huge missed opportunity. She's the one that should be arguing with Catherine about the queen's jewels!! Their petty rivalry would have been a better storyline than whatever they're trying to do with Catherine and Elizabeth's relationship

- I don't care it never happened every time Elizabeth and Mary have a scene together in which they bond I get so happy, as the proverb says "historical inaccuracies are good as long as I like them"

- Mary saying to Elizabeth that they must pray that Edward finds their way back to them and the true faith... It's like the show runners legit forgot that Elizabeth was also a Protestant lol

- THE AUDACITY OF SEYMOUR CALLING MARY DAUGHTER she should've throw hands at him right there and then

- Every sex scene with Seymour in it is a torture

- Correction: Every scene with Seymour in it is a torture

- Ok so they did showed Elizabeth and her ladies waking up earlier to avoid Seymour but the way they framed it seems she did it only to get back at him for the loudly-having-sex-with -Catherine scene from earlier. Like she doesn't seem afraid of him at all

- Henry VII mention!!!!!

- Robert Dudley is here! I actually know little to nothing about the real man so this is kind of my first introduction to him

- The Mary and Edward argument was not angsty enough. Ngl I'm disappointed

- Those hunting dresses are so ugly

- Still shocked at how much I enjoy Edward's scenes. Oliver Zetterström is the show's best actor after Romola

- Ok so I hate the way they chose to portray Elizabeth and Thomas Seymour's relationship for the same reasons as everyone else here BUT ALSO I find this storyline extremely boring. If I wasn't appalled I'd be yawning

I liked episode 2 better than the first mainly because Mary and Edward feature more, and so far they're in my opinion the most interesting and best acted characters. However all the Seymour scene's were gross and made me wish the episode was over already so that isn't good. Still a 7/10, with a shout out to some of the great performances we had.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Ring of Fire

[in an AU in which Bessie gets executed instead of exiled]

For the prompt: Clawing at their throat

TW: Mentions of execution and hangings

——————

The beheading had been the best part of the execution. It was when she was finally given mercy. She had found clarity at the end of that blade. She remembered looking up at it through the black blizzard and tears hazing her vision and praying to God for it to crash down on her neck and finally end her suffering and pathetic excuse for a life.

It did.

She couldn’t tell you how it felt for an axe to cleave through her throat and snap her spinal cord clean in half- Anne and Kitty made it sound like it was painful. Like they would know. They got lucky. They died instantly. Nobody dragged them by a horse or hung them from a cross to the point of choking or dug through their organs. But, perhaps, they didn’t deserve such a fate.

Still. The dark, bruise-purple scar left from the beheading wasn’t what had Bessie clawing at her throat like a madwoman in the bathroom. It was the other scar- the ring of fire, as she liked to call it, due to its bright red color and the way it fanned flames up and down her neck.

Bessie remembered the noose well. Maybe a little too well.

After being dragged from the dungeon by a horse, most people thought Bessie would have no fight left in her, what with her back being scraped raw by gravel and rocks carving trenches down her spine and sides. But when a pair of guards hauled her up onto a wooden platform where a cross adorned with ropes was sitting and she realized she wasn’t getting a simple beheading with just a very eccentric lead-in, Bessie began to struggle.

After a lot of wrestling and screaming and fighting, the guards managed to tie Bessie up. She had scratched a few of them, but her efforts depleted the moment the noose went around her throat and the ability to breathe properly left her.

It wasn’t enough to kill her, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t uncomfortable. The rope cut uncomfortably into her neck and chafed it raw whenever she tried to squirm. Her arms were tied to the sides of the cross, so it wasn’t like she could pull at the loop and get some room to breathe. She was just left dangling there. For hours. In the London winter.

Right now, the phantom pain from that blasted noose came back with force. It felt like it was looped around her again, strangling her, and she had to get it off.

Her fingernails hooked into the scar that stretched just beneath her jaw and dug in. She found purchase in her flesh and began to scratch, hoping to combat the pain encircling her entire neck.

She can’t breathe. 

It isn’t working.

Bessie gasped and then exhaled harshly; the invisible noose around her neck tightens. She hunches over the theater bathroom sink with tears swamping her vision, mouth twisted open in vain attempts to draw air into guilty lungs, drool frothing at the edges of her lips, fingers clawing at the top of her throat. Phantom pain rips through her, a bolt of lightning in her jaw and down her spinal cord that radiates through the muscle and skin of her collarbone. Her mind was a scramble of confused, awful memories that she just couldn’t keep back.

(“I can’t breathe-” She had gurgled when she first got put on the cross. The guards, triumphant at their victory over her fighting, just smirked.)

(“Please-” She had croaked when those guards started to walk away.)

(“Catalina....-“ She had attempted to call out as she stared up at the balcony where the king and queen would watch.)

(“Nnng.... S-sto....” She had been unable to say as a few children threw rocks are her hunched, shaking form upon the cross.)

Bessie didn’t even register the bathroom door opening or that someone is running towards her in a panic until hands around her own and pulling them away from her neck. This causes her eyes to pop open wide and she ripped away, careening backwards into the paper towel dispenser. The resounding rattle from the thing being hit jars in her ears and the scars littering her back ignite with fresh pain at the contact of her spine against the object. The sting and burn is more welcome than the suffocation blaze gripping her throat, so she digs her back against the paper towel dispenser, causing the cuts to cry in discomfort, but she doesn’t stop. Not until the hands from earlier grasp her forearms and pull her forward, out of her braced position.

She realizes now who this person is- Catherine Parr. A curious girl, indeed. Bessie has noticed her trying to break through her shell for awhile now.

“What?” Bessie hissed.

“You’re hurt.” Cathy said. Her voice is so calm and comforting. “But it’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

For a moment, Bessie almost believed her. But then the rope tightens and she doubles over with a wheeze. She saw sparks when strings of fire shot around her neck. Her hands reached back up to scratch the scar right off of her skin when they’re grabbed again.

“Stop-”

“Shh,” Cathy murmured. “Oh, Bessie... You’re bleeding!”

She was bleeding?

Bessie raised her head a little and looked in the mirror. Cathy was right- blood was oozing out from a few cuts she had managed to carve into her skin.

“Just relax.” Cathy went on. She presses Bessie down until she’s sitting against the wall. She then quickly wets a paper towel and folds it up before returning to the dazed bassist’s side. “Bessie?”

Bessie blinked hard.

“Go away.” She grits.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Cathy said. “I’m going to wash your neck now, alright? Just breathe and stay calm.”

Bessie was almost positive that Cathy was using techniques that were used on Anne and Kitty when they do something like this (was attempting to claw open their own through something they even did? or was she just sadistic?). But Bessie wasn’t Anne or Kitty, and she didn’t like queens touching her neck without her asking them to.

Bessie balled her fist and prepared to drive it right into Cathy’s stomach, but the girl grabs her by the worst and pins it down as she presses the wet paper towel to her neck with her other hand. Bessie instantly squirmed, feeling trapped.

“Let go!” She snapped.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Bessie.” Cathy said gently. “Please calm down. I’m trying to help you.”

“Fuck you! I never asked for your help!” Bessie roared. She writhed harder, then whipped her head around and bit the hand trying to wash off her neck, and didn’t let go until Cathy cried in pain and released her other wrist. Once she was free, only then does Bessie remove her teeth from the queen’s flesh and shove her to the floor. “Never fucking touch me again.” She snarled, rising to her feet like a reading bear. Beneath her, Cathy clutches her hand close to her chest and stared up at her with wide eyes. “And then that be a lesson to your godmother.”

She turned and strode out of the bathroom. Blood was still sticky on her neck, but the noose has loosened slightly, almost like it was appeased by her hurting someone else.

She doesn’t know how to feel about that. But if it soothes the ring of fire, then so be it.

[theyearoftheking]

Book Twenty-Seven: The Tommyknockers

“Late last night and the night before, Tommyknockers, Tommyknockers. Knocking at the door. I was crazy and Bobbi was sane But that was before the Tommyknockers came...”

Last night at dinner, I was explaining the plot of The Tommyknockers to my family, and told them the book completely jumped the shark when a soda machine killed a guy. 

My husband innocently asked, “What kind of soda?”

Me: “It was a Coke machine.”

Slow blinks all around the table. There’s a deep metaphor for you, wrapped in just a hint of irony. 

Guys, The Tommyknockers was a shit show, and I really hated reading it. It dragged on forever, I wasn’t even sure what was happening until almost the end, and all of the characters just melded together into an unappetizing blob. The last few pages gave me the closure I needed, and I will be happy to never crack the spine of this book ever again. 

The only redeeming, interesting thing about this book, was how many other Steve universe references there were. Ready for the list? Because yeah... I kept track...

The town of Cleaves Mills (The Dead Zone)

Multiple mentions of Derry (It)

Ka: (Dark Tower)

Jack Sawyer* and The Alhambra (The Talisman)

*Jack discussed his mother dying in a drunk driving related car crash. Soo, that’s an interesting update. 

“Sometimes he would lie in the dark and think he heard chuckling noises coming from the drains...” (It)

“...he heard the story of a fellow named John Smith, who had taught in the nearby town of Cleaves Mills for a while. Smith had been in a coma for years, had awakened with some sort of psychic gift. He went nuts a few years ago- had tried to assassinate a fellow named Stillson...” (Dead Zone)

These easter eggs were fun, but not enough to justify reading this book, or picking it up ever again. 

The Tommyknockers is a weird convoluted story about writer Roberta (Bobbi) Anderson, who lives on her uncle’s secluded farm in Haven, Maine. She and her beagle, Peter, are out for a walk one morning when she finds a rounded metal edge sticking up out of the Earth. 

Beagles... to know them is to love them. This book should come with a trigger warning for animal cruelty. Just throwing that out there.

Meanwhile, Bobbi’s friend and former lover, Jim Gardener is making a drunken ass of himself after a poetry reading, and manages to offend most of his collages, before he’s eventually kicked out of the party.

He wakes up hella hungover outside The Alhambra, and hitchhikes to Bobbi’s place. He finds Bobbi looking thin and unhealthy, Peter the dog is dead, and all her appliances are running on battery power instead of electricity. Oh, and she cranked out an entire novel (maybe the best one she’s ever written) in three weeks. It’s like she’s on battery-operated meth. 

Bobbi tells Gardener about the strange metal thing she found in the woods, and they spend all their time digging it up. Gardener has a metal plate in his head, so is immune to the strange energy this metal thing puts off, but Bobbi keeps getting thinner, her teeth are falling out (meth!!), and her skin is getting translucent. 

The other folks in town are soon drawn to the strange metal disc in the woods, and random shit starts happening in town. The most heartbreaking is when little Hilly Brown conducts a magic show and makes his brother David disappear... and he can’t bring him back. The adults assume he was abducted, but Hilly is hysterical and no one will listen to him. 

But the people in town are very protective of their new metal meth machine, and kill any outsiders who try to come into town and find out more about it. This includes Bobbi’s sister Anne; a formidable woman coming to drag her sister home for their father’s funeral. 

The townspeople finally get the metal meth machine unearthed, and they find out it’s a UFO... with a bunch of dead aliens inside. And the aliens look a lot like the townspeople of Haven: translucent skin, no teeth... od’d on meth. My favorite was when one of the male citizens of Haven smears himself with his wife’s Max Factor make-up in an attempt to look human again. 

I’m slightly unclear about this part, but there’s a shed where they keep dead bodies for energy? Or something? But Peter the dog, and Anne the sister are both strung up there, along with some murder vacuums. I don’t know. 

Eventually, Gardener starts Bobbi’s whole property on fire, and flies the saucer out of Haven. I think. And most of the meth-ed out townspeople end up killing themselves. The end was a little loose. I won’t spoil the last two pages, because that was really the best part of the whole damn book. 

It was a mess. I don’t recommend it. If I wasn’t participating in this challenge, I would have just chucked the book, and moved onto something else. But here we are!! You’re welcome, constant readers! 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 16

Total Dark Tower References: 22

Book Grade: D-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next up is a lovely palate cleanser of a book: Nightmares in the Sky. I flipped through it while on a boring compliance call yesterday, and it was the perfect brain break. If I had a coffee table, I’d put this beautiful book on it. Stay tuned for that review in about an hour...

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

[rayalltheway]

Six the Musical Queens casted as Cats Queens

So I could be wrong, but to my knowledge even though there’s some Cats stuff mentioning Six, no one else has done a cast list of which of our beautiful, strong, independent queen cats would play our beautiful, strong, independent Six Queens. So for complete self-indulgement, I did so myself. I also hope some others will find my casting interesting and/or agreeable. Heads up, this is all pretty word heavy, so prepare for some overly-thought about character connections which I strung together for fun.

(Also who King Henry is represented by is up for interpretation- the obvious answer would be Macavity, getting ragged on by all the queens he’s hurt/controlled,  but since King Henry doesn’t have an actual role in the musical, he could be a representation of anyone or anything to the various Queen cats here. You decide.)

Bombalurina as Catherine of Aragon

This didn’t reallly feel like a hard choice to make. Bombalurina, like Catherine, has a very strong, stubborn sense of pride in herself and her position(ie. a Head Queen in the Jellicle Tribe). She’s deeply devoted to her role, and in the same way that Catherine treats the notion of annulment as an insult to all the years she’s put into being Henry’s wife and the Queen, Bomba clearly does not take well being treated as a side piece or having her powerful, sexy queenliness being compromised, hence how visibly angry she was when Tugger rejected/embarrassed her in front of the whole tribe during his big showoff session.

Griddlebone as Anne Boylen

I chose Griddlebone mainly cuz both she and Anne Boylen bith built themselves up an infamous repertoire during their respective spotlights - in Boylen’s story, her fame comes from throwing England into political upheaval, lead to the country to break from the Church, ending in bloody drama, simply but having an affair with the king…kinda like the same way Griddlebone became an infamous figure to the Jellicles. A femme fatale who, in seducing Growltiger, ending up instigating chaos in that story, and while wether all this was intentional on her part is debatable, she left her mark. Griddlebone and Boylen also certainly seem to share a self-absorbed energy, not really caring for the consequences of their actions and simply living for the thrill. At least, until it negatively impacts her.

Victoria as Jane Seymour

For a while I didn’t know who to put here. I could of gone with Griz, cuz of how ballady this song is and Grizabella is all about that - but certain things didn’t click into place. In the end, I felt Victoria fitted the best, even if more with the themes than the story. With Seymour feeling the strongest commitment, and her song being the kindest and most heartfelt of the Queen’s respective numbers - she is the heart of the pop band in the same way Victoria seems to represent the heart of the Jellicle tribe. The musical shows her as the highlight of the Jellicle ball, finding a mate, and extending the collective love of the Jellicles to Grizabella as the first to touch her. And this casting works well for 2019 movie!Victoria too, with her being accepted in the tribe and coming to be lovingly devoted to her new family.

Cassandra as Anna of Cleaves

Just a complete no brainer here. Cassandra and Anna of Cleaves are both the cool, confident diva with minimal issues keeping them from living their best life, and the entire energy of ‘Get Down’ is something Cass could pull off elegantly.

Grizabella as Katherine Howard

Kinda odd pick here, but let me explain. It’s clear that Grizabella is far outside the range of youthfulness and lacks the upbeat pop-star energy that Howard flaunts - I didn’t want to pick one of the sweet, innocent kittens for this, I would really feel that…and yes, there isn’t anything clear in the 2019 movie or 1998 film that makes them match…But then I considered what Howard went trough, and honestly, if I had to pick the Queen that had the most shitty, saddest life, I’d go with her. It certainly fits Griz’s implied backstory, how she was glamorous, but was been slowly weathered by hardship and trauma. Let’s just say Grizabella portraying Howard is a younger version - a beautiful, talented girl looking for love and glory and happiness, but she ends up susceptible to dark influences, and being used and abused. (In that sense, Demeter could also work as Howard, but I already knew what role I wanted Deme to fill…)

Demeter as Catherine Parr

Fairly obvious, and just the best choice in my opinion. Albeit the decision is mostly based off common fanon, but whatevs. Catherine is ‘the one who survived’, and Demeter’s definitely a survivor is her own right - whereas Parr saw King Henry to the end of his life and made it out when he died, Demeter escaped from Macavity’s abusive clutches. But more importantly, much like Parr, it’s clear Deme doesn’t want to be tied down or defined by her previous relationship with a toxic man. She wants to enjoy the Jellicle Ball and be happy with her newfound family, but Macavity’s presence is forever a shadow over her, and often defines her very character. I mean, how much focus do we give Demeter that doesn’t involve mentioning her evil ex at least once? Do we ever really talk about who Demeter really is outside of the brokeness instilled in her by her past abuse? Demeter deserves a power song about how she’s a strong, independent queen who don’t need nobody to validate her - and empowering the other queens to feel the same.

[goldinavonlea]

harvest, fire, and amber? for the autumn ask

eee thank you! warning in advance I ALWAYS overdo these things because Can’t Shut Up syndrome, my apologies...

harvest - what fictional character do you most identify with? Why? -Oh this is so tricky, and I could very easily amble down a path of getting way too pop-psych on myself, but I often find myself cleaving to characters I’m nothing like because I’ve found something nebulous about them that really resonates. That being said, I think one of the reasons I love Anne is that she has so many characteristics that I really want to foster in myself, or that I consider to be very true to me even if they get buried a bit, you know? My heart sings at her feralness and strangeness and courage and how that’s so intrinsically connected to her softness, the ways in which she’s gentle. I feel like younger me was very like her in a lot of ways (in character rather than background), and I feel like those ways are the things I’m trying really hard to regain as an adult after the damage that the tumult of adolescence does to your selfhood, you know?  fireside - if you had your dream wardrobe, what would it look like? -Pretty much exactly what you’d expect from someone who jumped at the chance to reblog autumnal asks and keeps blogging photos of trees, probably :P Lots of orange, I love orange to the depths of my soul. I’m sort of in the process of replacing my black basics with brown (though very slowly, since I’m not buying any clothes from new anymore). I have an unbreakable love for corduroy, velvet—anything soft or with nice texture—and big cosy jumpers. Jumpers above all things. Big clompy shoes (I own a greater than average number of pairs of DMs) and tights. Infamous beanie wearer—more than once in sixth form people I knew from classes genuinely didn’t recognise me without a hat on because they never saw me without. Really, comfort about all else: I have a very low tolerance for being in clothes that aren’t cosy or easy so lots of oversized and baggy things, always. I got a truly glorious pair of second hand high-waisted brown corduroy shorts recently and I was stupid excited so that should honestly tell you most of what you need to know... Just... picture a scruffy, slightly eccentric and generally tired English professor, and I’d probably wear anything they would :P

amber - share an unpopular opinion that you may have. -Gonna go ahead and assume this is within the fandom... hmmm... Honestly this corner of the webs feels too chilled out for any opinions to raise enough controversy to be Unpopular in the way things get in some fandoms (a large part of the reason I’m hanging out here so much, it’s so nice)?  Maybe—and I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned this before, probably not—but it brushes me the wrong way slightly when the whole ‘Gilbert punching Billy’ thing is seen as him ‘defending Anne’s honour’: like certainly he told Billy to leave her be, but to me that’s never read as why he whacked him. I’ve always seen that as a reaction to this dick repeatedly asking what his problem is when his dad’s just died? Or, and I don’t know if this would be unpopular or not but... *dun dun dun* I kind of hate puff sleeves. I had this dress when I was younger that had mildly puffed cap sleeves but like I said I do not do well with uncomfy clothes and the sleeves were just a little too tight and I couldn’t stand it and ended up legit ripping the sleeves because I found it so unbearable and I think it’s put me off for life. But also visually I'm not much of a fan, but that being said you can bet your arse I spent the first several episodes of Anne like ‘WHERE ARE HER PUFF SLEEVES GIVE THE GIRL WHAT SHE WANTS’, I personally wouldn’t wear them but I want Anne to have a wardrobe full of them because they make her happy :P

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, DOM! You’ve been accepted for the role of HELENUS. Admin Jen: You have no idea how overjoyed we were to finally receive an application for Helenus, and Dom, you completely blew our expectations out of the water! I thoroughly enjoyed reading about what drew you towards Hugo; your passion really shone through and to see that it wasn’t directed solely towards him but towards so many other characters, it left me so thrilled to see all that your portrayal has to offer -- and it surely didn’t disappoint. The interview was fantastic, but I have to admit, it was the plots that had me sold on your Hugo. They were so intricate and well thought-out and I was living for the duality you explored in Hugo’s relationships with Roman and Halcyon. Trust me when I say that I cannot wait to see it all come to life on the dash! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias |  Dom

Age | 20

Preferred Pronouns | she/her/hers babey!

Activity Level | I mean, I go to college, and I may need a 20 min allowance to freak out over responses, but I’m consistent and enthusiastic.

Timezone | EST

In Character

Character | Helenus / Hugo Kim

What drew you to this character? | Honestly it was the relationship between him and Halcyon, who I know is Hippolyta from a Midsummer’s Night Dream, but struck me - within the context of Troilus and Cressida - reminded me the Greek’s relationship with Helen. This kind of fascination by people towards another person they confuse with the sublime is kind of incredible, and always misunderstanding, and generally tragic. Like Pierre, with Natasha, in War & Peace. I think Anne Carson does the most justice towards characters like Helen by acknowledging them as a characters that cannot be acknowledged - she is too large for those around her, and too large for the text itself (and its author) to understand her completely. For all her brightness, she is shrouded by accidental but inevitable misreading. I’d like to work with that misreading, and I think it would be fun to play with being confused like that.

That being said, I’m also interested in his relationship with Roman Montague. Who if Hippolyta is a sun to Helenus, then Romeo must be a warm spot at home. There exists a potential for a type of softness between them that I think could catalyze a really interesting stronghold for both of them.

I’ve read Troilus and Cressida of course, and all I remember of Helenus was his dual occupation as a priest in a soldier’s camp. He’s barely mentioned or active in the text - He has one line I think, against Troilus in their debate about returning Helen or not, and one off-hand description of him by Panderus in a line-up of men Cressida asks about. He’s not a soldier, and is not expected to fight, nor does Paris (?) arm him I think. The text is never kind to him. It reminds us time and time again that Helenus is not a soldier, and because of that, a coward. I don’t think anyone was supposed to be sympathetic to him until I read your adaptation of him. The line Troilus snipes at him with: “You are but dreams and slumbers, Brother Priest” takes on a much more poignant meaning with Diverona’s new addition of gentleness. It’s not so much an insult, but a reason why Helenus probably won’t last long in this war, the kind person he is now he’ll wake up from someday, him not much more than dream.

Also don’t get me started on debt, and brothers, and goodliness in the face of extreme acts of violence by your own hands.

Excited to work with Easton - Edmund is one of my favorite characters from Shakespeare’s list, and seems like another fun personality to work with. Damned brothers. Maybe Easton’s got some points.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Where do you see this character developing, and what kind of actions would you have them take to get there? 3 future plot ideas would be preferable.

IT WILL COME BACK:

Even since his brother’s death, he’s been spinning the story. It wasn’t him who pulled the trigger, but the thug. His father, the only other person alive who knows, has retreated into himself. And the Capulets’ are more than ready to help their pastor keep his secret - assigning Albert’s death to a nameless criminal, and keeping the theft of Hugo’s store an uncomplicated,  and more importantly, anonymous tragedy. This way Hugo accumulates pathos and stays out of jail. But one day, his father drinking, a slip of the tongue from one of the higher ups - and all of Verona knows the pastor they’ve trusted is guilty of fratricide. It suddenly comes to light that Hugo is Cain, not Abel, and if Hugo can’t even be his brother’s keeper, how can he possibly hope to keep the faith of his congregation?

HACYLON AND ON AND ON:

Hugo admits to himself he has feelings for Roman, the Montague. But with every favor Hacylon asks of him, it cleaves him further and further from his fair-hearted love. If Halcyon is a woman written large, something centric, around which people can’t help but rotate around like she’s the North Star, then though what she asks feels immoral, she’s what must redeem Hugo. She’s what reminds him he belongs in the shadows, not lit by the sweet torch of Roman’s look. Hugo had stumbled what must be miracles, Roman and Halcyon independently,  and finds himself too impure in the aftermath. However, when Halcyon asks him to do something that will bring Hugo to the brink of a life already full of wickedness, will he stay his hand?

GO WITH GOD:

Hugo has become comfortable in his dual role as pastor and soldier. Days he can openly denounce what he does in secret at night. Sure, a few people know his secret, like his brothers in arms, and most of the upper forces of the Capulets, but he is working off his debt and soon he’ll be free to try a true repentance. All he’s doing now he can tip the scales back from again, with hard work and prayer for the rest of his life not spent in the Capulet’s debt. He is working off his brother’s labor, and what’s more biblical than that? Then one day the Capulets strongly urge Hugo to start writing into his sermons a Capulet bent, turning his services from neutral arguments for peace to a more propagandistic tint. If preaching and helping others is all that Hugo has left, then what will he offer to not sacrifice that respite?

Some other plot ideas include him getting addicted to Measure by Measure fighting, him overhearing some plot at To Tame a Soup, and Hugo maybe starting his own web of debts, starting with Lawrence.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Of course. If it makes sense.  

In Depth

Please choose between the interview or the para sample (or both, if you like!)

In-Character Interview: The following questions must be answered in-character, and in para form (quotations, actions written out if applicable, etc). There is no minimum or maximum limit for your response - simply answer as you would if you were playing the character.

What is your favorite place in Verona? |

If this weren’t a Capulet interview, if this weren’t the first of many an annual interview gauging his psychological state as a soldier, Hugo would have grinned, leaned in close, and joked ‘Measure by Measure.’ He’d only be half-joking of course, and the uncertainty of whether he was telling the truth or not would add the perfect amount of charming deviance to make his conversational partner - probably from his congregation - chuckle nervously and then louder. They’d hit his arm with the same coquettish flavor, and say something about youth pastors being too agreeable nowadays, and they remember when priests were people to be scared of. Not him. God turns the other cheek. And so do the guys getting knocked out in the ring. Haha, joking.

No, but this wasn’t a question from a parishioner, and was an official Capulet interview, so Hugo unfolded his hands with a nervous, you-got-me shrug. “To Tame A Soup. Well - maybe that comes as a surprise. I could’ve said the church.”

He could’ve said the restaurant. A few years ago he would’ve. He loved the wall the lights splattered onto the floor in little bushels of pale, creamy yellow like somewhere to fall asleep in. They’d let cats come in and sleep in the sun pockets, to the shock of some customers. Splattered like his mother onto the floor. He’d scrubbed out the blood, not his father, not the Capulets. He’d seen the white turn pink when the light hit in the morning.

“But what can I say? I love my church as well. I’m as predictable as I seem. I like helping people. Maybe To Tame A Soup was the wrong thing to say. I know it’s in Montague territory, but it’s a good place set up to help the good people of Verona in need. That’s something above territory. It’s esteemed.”

What does your typical day look like?

Hugo nods his head back and forth, like the day’s hypotheticals are rolling out in front of him so he can best read it off. “Well first I have to open the restaurant, which means counting the safe to figure out how much money is in the restaurant before first shifts, filling the register, making first deposit…prep work for breakfast and lunch, all the heavy-duty cleaning, setting up tables — Dad’s still the owner, of course, but after the robbery it’s just easier for me to open, as long as I’m home from school anyways.

“Unless it’s Sunday, which means I’m at church by six to prepare for a seven thirty service and I’ll be there the whole day.

“Otherwise the restaurant keeps me pretty busy… Inventory, cash control, food cost analysis, etc. And in the minutes I can squirrel away to myself, I’m still usually drafting sermons for the next week.” Hugo wonders if his interviewer can hear the envy drifting into his voice. His life sounds boring, normal. He finds himself salivating over what he’s invented for himself, wants to continue listing things that don’t involve blood, or debts, debts paid off by blood. None of what he’s saying is untrue, it’s just separate, distinct. Good, honest work. He takes a breath back to composure.

“I donate whatever time I can but —” Hugo bites his lip. “My day isn’t really my own. I’m mostly where I’m sent.” Nights he doesn’t sleep well. He paces. He cracks his knuckles in a distracted, painful way. Goes out and wanders the streets, watches people silhouette their windows. Catalogues the city into dangers.

“Which is a blessing in and of its own, I suppose. Routine is just another word for complacency. Or so I’ve been told. And in a grander sense, the day is a duty I’m happy to serve.”

What has been your biggest mistake thus far?

Oh religion and its capacities for accountability. Guilt. On a more realistic, fundamental level, maybe the mistake had been going away to seminary school. Straying his eye away from his brother. Letting one, two, three years go by with not a single word traded between them. The egotism, the pride of turning to God by turning his back on his family. If he wasn’t being punished, then…maybe it had been thinking any of them, even his family, could escape the conflict that had consumed even the best hidden corners of Verona like air. More literally, if he hadn’t fallen asleep that night, lulled into a demonstrably false sense of safety. He doesn’t blame Albert, victim of a system —

Hugo blinks out of it, shifting in his seat. He looks over his interviewer again. “Biggest mistake. Yes. Hm. I find myself failing on the pulpit. People are scared. And unforgiving. Without remorse, this city’s come to gorging on itself. I think I’ve slipped into preaching — I don’t mean to lecture you — but there’s no room for forgiveness when there’s no impetus to feel remorse for the enemy blood that’s been spilled. I’m not sure how to help Verona see itself as a city of brothers and sisters again. I feel —even worse, I see — the consequences of that failure every day.”

What has been the most difficult task asked of you?

Hugo catches himself, faltered and recovered in an instant. He should know better. The questions seem routine, and he knows he knows how to keep it together.

“I guess it would depend on what we define as something capable of asking. Who asked what of me? God? My brother? The gun, that had the trigger? My mother? Did she ask of me, in heaven? You of course know what happened. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, I’m just trying to understand the question.” Halcyon?

Keep it general. Keep it a parable. Lessons of moral inequality are never unexpected from him, and seem to put people at ease.

“Verona asks me to walk a difficult path every day. And Verona asks we go nowhere for help. The city has built itself so that no one leaves the same way they came in. I don’t know if that’s the most difficult thing asked of me - or of you - but it’s the most prominent.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

A soft smile. Hugo thinks about Halcyon, and from her lips sweet as antifreeze, new marching orders. “Of course any endorsement of war would be immoral. Blood waters tragedy. That’s not saying anything new.” It hits him that a smile might not have been appropriate.

“But I don’t think it’s traitorous to admit either. I’m loyal to the Capulets, that’s never been in question. Leaders who discourage complicated emotion towards violence in their name should employ animals, loyal only to violence, not men. The Capulets have given me the gift of loyalty by accepting me into their ranks ..no matter the reason.. and that alone cements my allegiance, even if I don’t always agree with…all this.”

“War, more than anything, is a set of volatile conditions.” Hugo focuses on his hands, moving them in a haphazard pattern, an airplane crash. “I’m realistic enough, neutral enough — and I guess some might mistake that for ambivalence, but — I’m realistic enough to question who of us will survive it, especially those of us small enough our stepping on will go unnoticed. Little ants in the atomic blast. I’m trying to say, the flock, especially, is who I’m worried about, not so much the lions laying down with them. Even me.” He smiles again.  

[kellyinboston]

WHAT Wednesday

Well look who it is. It’s me. Kelly in Boston. I’m back…maybe. If I have time…

I wrote a long “post-baby” post…but I don’t think I saved it so whoops. It was a bit dated anyways so I will do an updated one don’t you worry.

I am back at work, started back in the office on Monday…it was definitely hard to leave Dominic, I may have shed some tears but he is in good hands. If I am being honest I was excited to go back to work. Not because I don’t love Dominic and I think of him ALL day, but I like my job and coworkers so back off!

Anywho…I am back in the swing of things, full steam ahead and busy per usual!

I thought I would ease my way back into blogging with my favorite – a WHAT Wednesday post and go from there.

WHAT have I been reading?

Remember when I said I think I can do 3 books a month once Dominic was born? Ha. That was wishful thinking. I am not sure of the last book I mentioned I was reading. But I have read 3 books since Dominic’s birth and if you can do 1st grade math that means one book a month. I have read two by Ann Patchett. A couple years ago I read Bel Canto by her and absolutely loved it so I wanted to read more of her work. So I read Commonwealth and State of Wonder. Definitely liked State of Wonder better (although the ending was a bit rough), Commonwealth I didn’t like as much (or not really at all…cannot remember). But Bel Canto was by far the best book of the three. I also read Everyone Brave is Forgiven by Chris Cleave. This took place during WWII, there are 3 main characters, two childhood friends, one goes to war and one doesn’t and then a girl who gets a job at a school during the war to teach “undesirable” kids. That was not a good way to describe it at all. But whatever. It was good. Not earth shattering or anything, but enjoyable enough. There are better WWII fiction books out there. I am now reading East of Eden by John Steinbeck. This type of book (classic) is not something I usually read but I have heard great things and it has been on my “to-read” list for a while so I decided why not! I am about 200 pages in (it is maybe 600 pages) and I am really enjoying it. I don’t think I will finish it by the end of the month so my hot streak of 1 book per month may end this month!

WHAT are we watching?

Well during my maternity leave I would watch Good Morning America and Live with Kelly and Ryan and then sometimes The Chew (funny cooking show). As for shows on Netflix and Amazon Prime…let’s see here:

·         I watch maybe 4 seasons of Suits (13 episodes a season…I liked it but then it got kinda old so I stopped)

·         The first season of Riverdale and some of the 2nd season, but 2nd season was silly so stopped watching it

·         Finished watching Breaking Bad (for like the 4th time)

·         Season 3 of Better Call Saul – watch this with Neil, we really like the show

·         The 2nd to last season of The Americans (good)

·         The Good Wife (I have watched it before, more just background noise, but I like it)

·         Riding in Cars with Comedians getting Coffee (not sure if that is the right name…but it’s with Jerry Seinfeld, watch maybe a dozen episodes, they are 15/20 minutes long, pretty funny)

·         Sons of Anarchy (the whole series, we have 2 episodes left, it is super violent and I have missed a decent amount of episodes, Neil will watch it and I will when I am around…too violent honestly)

Phew. I may be missing some! I know it seems like a lot of TV, but the last three or four weeks I haven’t watch much of anything because Dominic is paying attention to the TV now…so no more TV while he is awake.

WHAT is going on with the family?

Well this is a post by itself!! But a quick and dirty rundown. Family is good, Dominic is good (growing and becoming cuter by the day), Snoop is good (loves her little brother), I am good. I will give you a more detailed update in another post, but my little family is good! We sleep up in the loft space with Dominic’s pack and play and it makes my heart happy when Snoop comes up and sleeps at the top of the stairs because all of my family is together. She usually sleeps downstairs on the hardwood floor because it is cooler but she will come up occasionally and I love it!

WHAT else is going on?

Well a whole lot to be honest. The next few months are going to be busy, a lot of changes going on that I want to share with you…at another time!

My sister and Andy got another dog! A girl puppy named Lucia. So stinking cute!

Neil’s last day of work is this Friday...but next week the real work begins – stay at home dad!

I am tired all the time…I wake up tired. Ha. But is a functional tired, well at least I think I am functioning

I “pump and shop” – this has become a problem. So I downloaded the Tetris app on my phone so now I play Tetris and only shop a little. I swear we get at least one amazon box a day.

Thanks for reading! 

[thatboleyn-girl]

Hold me as tight as you can and never let go.

TW - ALMOST suicide attempt, mentions of self harm/suicide, Derogatory name calling. 

Just a lil bit of Parrlyn angst and fluff by yours truly. I haven’t written in forever so I apologise in advance for this but, enjoy!

Word Count: 1441 words (ooft)

~

It was late on a Saturday, after a long night with the Queens, when Catherine Parr got a message from Kitty. 

Kitkat: Meet me in the kitchen. NOW.

Parr groaned and tried her best not to disturb her girlfriend, Anne, who was cuddled up next to her. She tiptoed out of the room and down the stairs to find Kitty standing with her arms crossed, looking more angry than Parr has ever seen the pink-haired girl. 

“Have you seen it?!” Kitty asked, her voice laced with worry.  

“Seen what?” Parr answered, growing more concerned. Kitty unlocked her phone and showed her a video of two jocks from their school, one that Cathy used to be friends with, mocking Anne and her past. Catherine was confused, none of the Queens have ever told anyone, apart from each other, about their past lives, so how could these two possibly know? 

Cathy sighed and handed the phone back to Kitty, “This is so weird of Josh, he’s never one to do something like this. I’ll send him a message, telling him to take it down, he has to? Right?!”

“I don't know, Cath. He’s changed a lot since you guys were friends. How do you think they found out?!” The pink-haired girl asked, trying to keep her voice down to prevent waking the others. 

“I have no idea?! Maybe they overheard a conversation?! We were talking about it earlier this week at lunch, they may have just heard that? And yeah people change, but no one can change that much, right?” Both Catherine and Kitty were surprised when they heard Anne’s voice, “Heard what?” “Hey gorgeous,” Cathy said in a soft voice, “How long have you been standing there?”

“What are you guys talking about?” Anne said, ignoring her girlfriend’s question. 

“Nothing, hon. Go back upstairs, I’ll be back to bed in a second,” Catherine said softly, walking over to give her girlfriend a kiss on the forehead, but Anne wasn’t having it. She ignored Catherine again and walked over to Kat. 

“What’s that video?” Anne asked.

“I don’t think you wanna see it, Annie.”

“Just show me, Kitty,” Anne bit back. Catherine was now shaking as Anne watched the video. Her facial expression changing at least 4 times. 

There was a long, uncomfortable silence after the video finished, “So you lied,” Anne said at Catherine. “Lied? What’d I lie about?” She said as she walked towards Anne. 

“You promised Catherine,” Anne said, her voice getting louder, “You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone! How could you do this to me?!” Anne was yelling now, she was fuming and Catherine didn’t know how to react. 

“What’d I do? You know I haven’t spoken to Josh in years, Annie,” She began but was quickly cut off. “Don’t call me that,” Anne said quietly. 

“Anne, you know I wouldn’t do that to you, I don’t know how they found out and I am so incredibly sorry they did, can I make it up to you?” “How? How could I possibly believe you? You know I find it difficult to trust people and you go and do this!? I can’t believe you,” Anne yelled, so loud that she woke the rest of the house up, the other girls coming down the stairs. 

“I didn’t do anything, Anne. You’re acting like a child, I would never do that to you, I love you so much, you know I wouldn’t hurt you like that.”

“Whatever,” Anne mumbled before grabbing her coat and storming out the door. Catherine burst into tears and sunk to the floor, the girls immediately rushing over to hug her. 

“She hates me, she hates me, I didn’t even do anything, I promised her I’d never hurt her and now I have,” Catherine said in between sobs, the girls hugging her tighter, “I should go after her.”

“Maybe give her some time, love,” Jane said, “She needs some space and she could say stuff she doesn’t mean and hurt you hon, give it a little bit.”

“You don’t know Anne like I do. When she gets like this I get so scared she’ll…” Cathy hesitated. 

“She’ll what?” Anna asked. 

“Hurt herself,” Cathy said in a small voice, “That’s what they were saying in the video, they were blaming her trauma and abuse on her and saying it’s her fault for being a slut and she still believes that, how could I be so stupid for someone else to find out!”

“Honey, don’t beat yourself up over this, it is not your fault. You don’t know how they could’ve possibly found out, do you maybe wanna have a snack? Watch a film with me and Kitty? And the others if they’re up for it? If she’s not back by then we can go looking for her, how does that sound?” Jane said in a soft voice. She was as worried as Catherine, but she wanted to keep calm as she didn’t want to frighten the girl. Catherine nodded her head, wiping away her tears.

An hour or so passed and there was still no sign of Anne, Jane, Kitty and Cathy had all tried to call her but they all went straight to voicemail. Catherine had decided she’d had enough of this waiting game and, much to the dismay of Jane, went out to find Anne. 

“Where could she possibly be?” Catherine said to herself softly as she went to all of her and Anne’s favourite places. She wasn’t in the library, not at her parents house, not on campus at school. Catherine had almost given up hope when she remembered the one place Anne loved the most. There was this nature trail that the couple walked often on the weekends before their lives got too busy with finishing their final year of school. Anne would always sit on the edge of the bridge where you could see the calming water pass along the stream, and all of the creatures that lived inside. She wasted no time and started running to get there as soon as she could. Before it was too late.

When she arrived she saw a silhouette of a girl, looking extremely similar to her brown-haired girlfriend, “Anne?!” She called out… no response. She tried again, but got the same reaction. She ran up to the bridge when she saw Anne stand up and walk closer to the edge. 

Luckily, Catherine got there just in time to push Anne over, onto the bridge, before she fell off the edge, “What the hell were you thinking Annie,” Catherine began, bringing her now crying girlfriend into her arms, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, sweetheart.”

“That was the point,” Anne said quietly, hugging Catherine closer, regretting everything she had said and done leading up to this moment. 

“Annie, I’m begging you, please don’t ever do this again, I can’t bare to see you like this. I thought you were dead, we all did.”

“I didn’t think you cared anymore. I’m so sorry Cathy I don’t know why I didn’t believe you.”

“Of course I care, Bo-bo. You’re safe now, okay? I’ve got you and I’m not going to let anything happen to you, alright? I love you, so much, you know that don’t you? I will bash those douchebags skulls in for making you feel like this, I just feel so awful.”

“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Anne said softly before placing a soft kiss to Cathy’s lips, “I love you too, I’m sorry.” “You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. Let’s go back to the dorm, the others are worried sick.”

Anne and Catherine took their time walking home. No words were exchanged the entire time, but both girls could feel the love in the air. Once they arrived home, Jane and Kitty immediately wrapped Anne in a massive hug, bought blankets and hot chocolates and the four of them sat and talked for a while, while Aragon and Cleaves were upstairs sleeping. 

After a few hours, the four all went off to bed. Once Cathy and Anne got into bed, Anne burst into tears again. 

“Annie? What’s wrong?” Catherine asked, wrapping Anne in a tighter embrace. “Stay. Please. Just hold me as tight as you can and never let go,” Anne said softly. 

Catherine moved so Anne’s head was resting on her chest and she could hear her heartbeat, “Hear that? I’m alive and I am right here, okay? You are going to be okay and everything will be fine, I promise. I am not going anywhere, anytime soon.”

“What’d I do to deserve you, Catherine Parr.”

“Existing is more than enough, Anne Boleyn.”

[voresmithing]

Truce: Chapter 14.2

Get outta here, Deadeye.

He hadn't listened.

So now he sits handcuffed to a metal table and on the wrong side of the law.

The Law, it turns out, looks like Commander Fucking Reyes. Or Ex-Commander. Or whatever. Jesse wasn't military and only knew as much about Overwatch as a couple of blockbusters and gossiping through smoky nights with the gang had taught him. But he'd seen the posters, the papers, the magazines, the comics, the action figures, so when Reyes walks into the narrow room with corrugated walls he's been held in for the last hour, Jesse doesn't much manage to bury his surprise.

The thing is, when you meet the Real Person, they're supposed to be smaller than the movies would have you believe. No one is really larger than life. No one can be six-foot-one and feel nine feet tall. And maybe it's just the skull fracture he's still recovering from or being handcuffed so that he can't stand, but Reyes just kind of reads as huge, at some base and instinctual level. The same part of Jesse's brain that tells him when to pull the trigger so that three bodies all hit the floor simultaneously lets him know that this guy could put Jesse through one of these thin metal walls if he wanted to, and that he just might. The interrogation room's stale air coalesces around Reyes like a fist, and he isn't doing anything other than looking at Jesse over the rim a dark blue tablet.

"Huh," Reyes' voice is deep and deceptively mild. His eyes dart back to the screen of his computer. "No wonder it took admin so long to find you."

"Find me?"

Jesse had about ten thousand expectations on how this might go, and thus none at all. He'd been a 'criminal' all his life, but you weren't really a criminal in the Post-Crisis Southwest. There'd have to be laws for that, and authority to enforce them. Deadlock did what they did wanted because no one was there to stop them. So he'd been tied up by other gangs a few times, and he'd drawn lines in the sand that the uninitiated had to walk, but that was it out here. The rest of the country had given up on New Mexico, Arizona, a good half of Texas, and all of south Cali. And hell, that was fine by him.

But it also means he's only seen how this goes in movies and, much like how films always got gunfire and blood-spray and bodies wrong, he's been doubting their validity when it came to setting his expectations on being brought in by Overwatch.

So when Reyes mentions finding him he wonders if somehow the reputation of Deadeye had preceded him to a national level. Flattering and terrifying all at once. He forces a grin. "Who were you looking for?"

"Jesse McCree, that's what you're calling yourself, yeah?" Reyes pulls up a seat as he speaks, tone conversational, and drops the tablet on the table where Jesse can see it. It's a file for a Jessica McCree, born 3/4/2037 in Las Cruces New Mexico. Sex: Female. Parents: Anne McCree and--

'Jessica' doesn't have any photos, but Anne does. Jesse feels something like being squeezed along a bruise that happens to cover his entire chest and looks away.

"So you could only find my sister? Sorry, I was born off the books, so--" Jesse lies automatically.

"That's what admin figured. Not all that uncommon, though you're a little old to be a Crisis baby." Reyes drags the tablet back, taps the file closed. "Til they talked to the hospital."

Jesse grimaces. Thinks about waking up in a smock, in a white room, no gang or gun anywhere in sight. He'd done his best to charm the nurses, at least when he was able to string two words together without drooling, and he'd more or less succeeded. But it wasn't like that meant they'd be keeping his secrets.

He scowls and says nothing. He's learned a lot of self preservation, growing up in Deadlock, and keeping your mouth shut is his number one survival technique. Reyes seems thoughtful and unperturbed, waiting like he expects Jesse to come up with another lie, maybe argue, but after about ten seconds of silence unfurling between them, Reyes speaks as if there had been no gap in the conversation at all.

"So, Jesse," and yeah, Jesse's surprised to hear Reyes make a point to use his name, "What happened to your parents?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," Reyes responds with an effortlessly unruffled tone that reminds him of Dolly, "you should answer me."

Dolly'd always kind of tweaked his tit with that. He grumbles, "Awfully full of yourself, demanding my sob story when you haven't told me your name."

"You can call me Reyes."

He says it like it's nothing, like that information comes unbound from context or questions, but Jesse can't stifle an urge to shift uncomfortably. "...are you really him? The guy in the movies?"

"The guy in the movies is named Charlee Mena. I'm just the guy doing my job. And right now, my job is to figure out what to do with you. So let's try this again, where's your family?"

Somehow, Reyes makes him feel ridiculous for even being interested. It's not like he was even a fucking fan, obviously everyone's favorite was Reinhardt anyway. So he shoves the fact that this guy is that Reyes aside and answers the question shortly, "dead."

"During the war?" Reyes asks, his tone just as neutrally invested, and Jesse nods. There's nothing special about his story, and he doesn't remember much of it anyway. "Anyone who isn't? Cousin, uncle, grandparent?"

Jesse shrugs, and the handcuffs clatter against the table with the movement. "What's it matter? You gonna shove me off on someone instead of sticking me in a cell?"

"Hah, with how marked up your arm is?" They both flick their gazes to Jesse's exposed left arm. The forest of black crosses has grown from his wrist to halfway up his bicep. A territory war had broken out with Bonewash and he'd been busy the last eight months. "You don't even have a chance in hell of even getting tried as a minor, forget parole. Nah, you might be able to fight it a while if you get a good defense, but one way or another you'll go in for life, kid."

That he might get let up on for his age hadn't occurred to him. And life probably won't even be that long. He makes himself grin, cocksure and uncaring. "Sounds like your job is pretty easy then."

Reyes purses his lips. It's the first sign of a temperament being tested, and Jesse has to guess it's because the wrath of the law doesn't inspire any fear in him.

But it only lasts a few seconds before Reyes sighs and stretches, getting to his feet. "Before I hand you over to the feds, I've got a bet to settle with a friend of mine. How's your head feeling?"

"Like shit," he answers honestly. The drugs wore off hours ago, and the throb behind his eyes has been perpetual since.

There's a clacking sound as Reyes removes a set of plastic keys from his pocket. "Can you still shoot?"

"I..." Jesse feels his heart stop, confused and hopeful at the same time. It occurs to him suddenly that no one's going to give him a gun in jail. Life sounds a lot longer when it means bored out of his mind and completely useless. "I can always shoot."

Reyes unlocks his handcuffs, they pop open with a subtle hiss.

"Alright then, let's see you shoot."

It turns out Reyes' friend is Ana Motherfucking Amari.

They find her stretched out in the sun, stripped down to a tank top and combat pants and lining up her sights on remote targets zipping around at what must be a thousand yards out. Jesse can only see them because Reyes hands him a set of binoculars to observe her batting the steel grey disks around like she's playing kick-the-can with bullets. When her magazine is spent and the echo of gunfire has faded, she rolls to her feet and shoulders her rifle in a single unbroken motion. She grins when she sees them, a bright and hard humor flickers across her face as she looks over Jesse, then Reyes.

"Decided to take my bet, Gabriel?"

Jesse swallows, thinking movies really just never stop lying, because once again Hollywood just couldn't can this and reproduce it for a screen.

She's not like anyone he's ever seen. There's a raw, cracked look to people raised out here. Edges like glass, skin like sandpaper. The New Mexican sun will give you the texture you need to hang on through anything. But she's smooth like titanium; not unscarred but merely nicked by blows he thinks might've cleaved someone lesser in half.

He holds his breath. He wishes they hadn't taken his fucking hat so he could take it off. He curses not getting the chance to look in a mirror in days.

"Bet?" He echoes.

"She thinks you might be half as good as your reputation." Reyes crosses to a blue and weather-beaten munitions trunk, popping it open with another tap from his key ring.

Jesse keeps his eyes on Reyes, afraid of what expression might form if he looks at Amari. "You don't?"

"Nope."

It's not a surprise, really. Jesse's lost track of how many times he's been asked to prove himself. Hell, for the boss it'd basically been a game. Showing off his young hot shot, telling Jesse to keep sleeves off his left arm as the tattoos crawled further up it. It had always filled him with two parts smug pride, and one part a buried humiliation whenever he remembered he was performing tricks like a well trained dog.

But frankly if someone like Amari pat his head and called him a good boy he figures maybe there's worse ways to use his talents.

Reyes returns with a pistol, warns him to not get any stupid ideas because it's loaded with low-impact rounds, and holds it out.

Jesse hesitates, hand hovering over the butt, trying to figure out how this might be a trap. But his fingers itch to find a trigger, and after a few seconds he yanks the gun from Reyes' unresisting grip. Whatever, he's fucked anyway.

The gun in his hands feels too light. It is clean and new but worn around the grip in a way that says it sees a lot of use anyhow. Immaculately kept. He doesn't recognize the exact model, but it has full and semi-auto settings, shoots twelve .30 caliber rounds, and is feels almost fragile compared to the modified old Desert Eagle he was used to using these days.

"This isn't my gun."

Reyes has rearranged himself next to Amari, and tips his head in her direction with his arms crossed. "Your gun is evidence. That's her gun."

Looking at them both at the same time feels a little like standing right up on the edge of a cliff so that all you can see is endless, exhilarating sky, and so he only darts a glance at them from under his tense brows. "You can't just give me a new gun and expect--"

"What'd I say, Ana?" There's a smug note to Reyes' voice. "Kid's a con artist not a murder sava--"

Jesse knows his cue.

The first bullet explodes through a thick cardboard silhouette fifty yards out with a rapport that is quieter than Jesse expects but still loud enough to punctuate the end of Reyes' goading statement.

"Ohh, not a bad shot." Amari croons behind him. "Last chance to back out, Gabriel. I won't let you off cheap."

Jesse wonders if they have something going on, in the movies they kept it professional.

"Suure, one bullet into a stationary target. He's a natural. Ana, were you always this easily impressed?" He hears Reyes' smooth sarcasm on his left. Jesse can pick his shape up in the corner of his eye. "Come on, kid. I want to know why they call you Deadeye."

Jesse sucks in a steadying breath, says nothing, and shoots.

He's handled a lot of guns, there were a lot of options when you work for arms dealers. And he's learned to impress with just about every type of pistol he can get his hands on. This one is new, fancy, too quiet and absorbs so much recoil he can't feel the shock in his joints the way he is used too. The trigger depresses so smooth each bullet emerges like a surprise. He empties the clip perforating a line down a single target, nose to groin. The vertical spacing is uneven in a few points, but goes straight down the silhouette's spine.

"Hn. Tight aim, alright, but--"

There is a sharp click from Ana on Jesse's right. "Don't try to weasel out of it. I don't think Jack has that kind of consistency without aids."

"We're not rating Morrison, Ana. This is about if a sixteen year old has seriously been showing up every wanna-be cowboy in--"

"I'm not done," Jesse interjects quickly, shoulders hunching when he realizes he'd interrupted, then presses on anyway. "Give me two more clips."

"Two?" Reyes asks, and Jesse turns to face him, chest puffed with what he hopes reads as confidence.

"Two, if you want to see why I got named Deadeye." He forces a smug grin, "Less, if you're just afraid of losing to her." He tips his empty hand toward Amari.

Reyes rumbles, appraises him with a gaze that makes Jesse feel like his veins have turned brittle, and then gets two more clips.

Jesse reloads, finds his hands are trembling.

He still gets anxious about it, usually when there are lives on the line, but sometimes when it's just his reputation. He breathes, so long and slow that he can feel the warm desert air seeping into him from inside. Shooting is easy, he reminds himself.

He pulls the trigger twelve times in under three seconds.

The sound of gunfire can be soothing, if you hear it enough. If you control it, so it reverberates like music notes in your bones. Echoing from finger to wrist to elbow to shoulder. He can feel it in his jaw, his inner ear. The familiar violence shimmies all the way up his right side.

The bullets rip a large hole in the center of a target twenty-five yards out. He expects to hear something smart from the audience, something about how he should have just fired in auto, but Reyes and Amari are both silent fixtures behind him, and he loads in the last clip.

It's late fall, and the almost-cool temperature is rare and perfect. The light isn't so bright that it increases his headache, and the terrain that unfurls around the temporary buildings serving as Overwatch's base of operations is filtered pastel under the October sun. A half a dozen targets remain untouched, sticking out stark and rigid among the thigh-high shrubs; two at fifteen yards, easy, one more at twenty-five and fifty each, and a couple of real long shots out at seventy-five.

Jesse inhales and cracks his knuckles. Exhales and drops his hand with the gun down near his hip. Goddamn unprofessional, he bets, but it's not about aiming. It's about mapping the pattern into his muscles. Get the thinking out of the way before he even lifts his gun so that when it's time to shoot there's nothing but reflex.

He takes in the range with eyes so wide he can feel the sun pricking the insides of his retinas, jerks the gun up clicks the trigger down four times. His left hand rests level just beyond the rear sight, and each blast sends the gun bouncing up against his palm only to be immediately steadied, fired again.

Four holes bloom into the four nearest targets, starting right and moving left but so fast they seem to appear simultaneously. Eye, eye, nose, mouth.

Jesse's heart races and hands ache like he'd been there shooting for hours. He swells and can't stop a grin that he's afraid to turn and show his captors.

A hand lands on his right shoulder, small but deceptively heavy, and squeezes.

"Nice shooting, kid." Ana Amari says, then, with a grin in her voice Jesse has to turn to get a look at, she walks away, slapping a stone-faced Reyes in the waist as she goes. "Next time we're in Bengaluru, Gabe. My favorite place. You better be ready to drop two weeks pay on it."

Jesse decides he doesn't care that Reyes isn't impressed. The sound of Amari praising him was going to echo between his ears for weeks. Not a bad final shoot.

But when he is handing Amari's pistol back to Reyes (safety on, magazine detached), the momentary elation buoying him putters out and leaves him in a free fall. He turns away to look back out at the desert for as long as he can while Reyes is locking up the weapon. He tries to etch the landscape into memory but finds the idea that he might not see it for a while, might not see it again ever, distracting in its unbelievably. The desert is always there; out every window, at the end of every long road, beyond every mountain stenciled against the horizon. Love it or hate it, you diffuse into it all the same, until only density distinguishes you from the dust in the air.

What could prison do to change that?

Maybe he wouldn't even live long enough to need to worry about it.

There's something brewing behind him, a disquiet in Reyes percolating toward confrontation that Jesse can feel like a thunderstorm charges the air.

In some ways, Reyes reminds him of many men in Deadlock. Guys who hold themselves like they're made out of gunpowder, all dangerous but still inert energy. Some of them will never go off, but Jesse's not fool enough to trust that, and so he's learned to track them with a gut instinct that holds him in an even orbit just outside their potential blast radius.

Jesse makes himself turn, tries to read the meaning in the set of Reyes' shoulders, but can't settle on anything other than 'pissed off'. So he loads up a weak grin, almost self-effacing. "Guess she really got you, sounds like you had a lot riding against me."

"Heh," there's a gravel to Reyes' voice that wasn't there before. "Figured I'd at least get to call it even. But you didn't leave me a lot of room for debate there."

Despite the tense anger, a wistful amusement plays on Reyes' face, and Jesse again wishes he had a hat to fuss at. Mixed emotions can be hard to navigate, especially when he can't figure out the origin. Reyes doesn't actually seem all that burned about the money.

"Are you two, uh... you know?" He asks, mostly to distract, partly to know.

That catches Reyes by surprise, and his bushy eyebrows climb up to his near invisible hairline. "With Ana?" He laughs, a low roll with none of the earlier texture. "I'm married, kid, but not to her."

Jesse doesn't point out that even a kid knows marriage doesn't mean faithfulness, especially not when you're friendly with a lady who looks like that. It doesn't matter anyway, really. The dangerous energy in Reyes has dissipated, leaving the man only frowning at him in puzzlement, and Jesse looks away from the scrutiny, reaches for a hat he doesn't have.

"You ever been arrested before, Jesse?"

That sounds like a trick question, so Jesse stays quiet, waiting to spot the tripwire.

"Didn't think so." Reyes nods, sussing out the truth effortlessly. He leans back against a table with his arms crossed, the table legs scrape over packed sand at his weight. "Going off what I heard from your charming Deadlock pals, half of you have never seen anything but this wild west bullshit. So let me explain how this plays out."

Reyes waits and Jesse says nothing; listening but feeling a hundred miles out. Reyes's low voice harmonizes well with the melancholy settling in his chest.

"You've basically got a few options; you can confess to every life you've allegedly tattooed into your arm there, or try to convince the judge you've just been playing around, that there's no way you've actually put four dozen men in the ground in the last, what, three years?"

"Four."

Jesse doesn't expect to hear Reyes pause at that, but there's a sound of him sucking at his teeth, three beats, and then an exhale. "Mary mother they start 'em early out here." Jesse watches a lizard skitter jerkily through the dust a few yards out and waits for Reyes to continue. "And you know what? If you'd kept your head down, that might've gotten you a sympathy verdict. Toss the kid a lifeline while the adults rot out of sight for the rest of their lives. But nah, you had to go be a show off. So what's everyone going to think when they find out about you making yourself an easy bet in the local death games down here? Trading ears for to make yourself a hot shot?"

Jesse had almost gotten lulled into it; a comfortable, detached acceptance that this was effectively the last day of his life. But the mention of the game jerks him back into the moment, and he stares at Reyes whose lips have curled on the sour story.

"Don't look so surprised. What did you think was going to happen when you and a few hundred other geniuses were handing a woman proof? Expected us to just never hear about it? Hell, soon everyone in the country's going to. Someone's case study is going to get famous, maybe one of your friends writes a book. Next you could be the one appearing in movies."

It feels like his heart has sunk all the way down into bowels. It's disorienting to realize that the idea of having his story in movies actually makes him feel nauseous. Jesse forces a smile but feels it curdling, "Hope they make me hot."

"Would that make it worth it, kid? Get yourself a household name? You sure got it spread out pretty far down here."

"I didn't ask for that," Jesse grates out without looking Reyes in the eye.

"Sure you didn't, just branded your arm up so everyone would know."

"So what?" Jesse spits as his back goes up, more cornered than he'd felt handcuffed to a chair thirty minutes ago. "I live here, asshole, I might as well be good at it."

"How's that working out for you now?"

"I'm still alive!" The shout emerges hoarse and already tired, the effort of raising his voice lights up a pain behind his eyes from the remnants of the injury that had put him in the hospital. "I get to eat every night, I get to shoot all I want, most of the people who'd want to kill me are too scared to try."

Reyes isn't surprised by the outburst exactly, Jesse can't imagine Reyes ever looking like Jesse managed to get one up on him. But his mouth stays closed so Jesse keeps letting his flap.

"Must be nice to just get to ride up in a place you've never given a shit about, toss everyone in prison, then drop by D.C. to collect your medals from the President for taking out the trash. Nice of you to clean up the place for everyone who got to abandon the rest of us when the omnics hit." Not that Jesse remembers when they crossed the border, rolling north in from the Sonora omnium, but he'd heard the story enough from people who hadn't been toddlers at the time that he pictures it as a tidal wave of uneven metal, glinting bright enough to blind as it breaks across the desert. "Maybe you'll get another movie out of it. Sure would help out your public image about now, right ex-Commander?"

As soon as the words pass his lips he feels like they shouldn't have, but the blood is too hot in his head to care now. He steels himself for a fight, fists rolled, ready to give back what he can against the raw force he'd felt coiled inside Reyes since he first saw him.

But Reyes responds with an unimpressed and unperturbed frown. "Yeah, no one came to save you so you can't be held responsible, that's how it goes? Bet you've learned all kinds of lines so you can sleep at night while kids younger than you are killing themselves and each other with the guns your buddies put in their hands."

Jesse glares, struggles not to lose eye contact then does anyway. The problem isn't that Reyes is right, the problem is that he doesn't know the fucking half of it.

The blood rushing through his temples has cooled, but it does nothing for the splitting pain electrifying the space behind his eyes. Abruptly he just wants to be shoved into a cell so he can call it a day. Maybe it would be dark and quiet. Maybe he'd had more than enough sun in his life by now and spending whatever time was left in a place without windows wouldn't be so bad after all.

"What do you even want, man?"

Jesse meant it as a dismissal, and a snotty one at that. Like being called kid over and over by strangers had made him want to live up to it. Whatever it takes as long as they can be done here.

But there is a loaded silence following Jesse's complaint. Jesse feels it coiling his gut like Reyes has his hand on the trigger and is deciding whether or not to pull, and has to double check that the man isn't really pointing a gun at him.

Reyes decides to fire.

"I want you to work for me."

The suggestion catches Jesse like he's finally found the ground after shooting for legends took him high into the sky and then shoved him into the air without a parachute. A visceral pain crushes his diaphragm, making it impossible to breathe. The only sound he manages to get out is a weak and started "Oh."

And though he knows he must have a thousand questions, the only response to come to mind is okay.

Full fic on ao3

[ktmc1982]

2017 book challenge

a  book recommended by a librarian:

a book on your To Read list:

a book of letters: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows

an audiobook: The Rainbow Comes and Goes by Anderson Cooper

a book by a person of color:

a book with one of the four season in the title:

a book that is a story w/in a story:

a book with multiple authors:

an espionage thriller:  The Registry by Shannon Stoker

a book with a cat on the cover:

a book by an author who uses a pseudonym:

a bestseller from a genre you don't usually read:

a book about or someone with a disability:

a book involving travel:

a book with a subtitle:

a book published in 2017:

a book involving a mythical creature: Eragon by Christopher Paolini

a book you've read before that makes you smile:

a book about food:

a book w/ career advice:

a book from a nonhuman perspective: Raptor Red by Robert Bakker

a steampunk novel: Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld

a book with a red spine:

a book set in the wilderness: Hatchet by Gary Paulsen

a book you loved as a child:

a book by an author from a country you've never visited:

a book w/ a title that is a character's name:

a novel set during wartime:

a book w/ an unreliable narrator:

a book w/ pictures:

a book where the main character is a different ethnicity:

a book about an interesting woman: Notorious RBG: The Life and Times of Ruth Bader Ginsburg by Irin Carmon, Shana Knizhnik

a book set in 2 different time periods:

a book w/ a month or day of the week in the title: The Wednesday Wars by Gary D.Schmidt

a book set in a hotel:

a book written by someone you admire:

a book becoming a movie in 2017: Annihilation by Jeff Vandermeer

a book set around a holiday other than Christmas: Plum Lucky by Janet Evanovich

the 1st book in a series:  Legend by Marie Lu

a book you've bought on a trip:

Advanced

a book recommended by an author you love:

a bestseller from 2016: When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanathi

a book w/ a family-member term in the title:

a book that takes place over a character's lifespan:

a book about an immigrant or refugee:  Little Bee by Chris Cleave

a book from genre/subgenre you've never heard of:

a book w/ an eccentric character: Artemis Fowl by Eoin Colfer

a book with more than 800 pages:

a book from an used book sale:

a book mentioned in another book:

a book about a difficult topic:

a book based on mythology: The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

[oliverarditi]

It’s about time

I didn’t know anything much about early C.18 English history before I went to see The Favourite, even less about its director, Yorgos Lanthimos, and nothing at all about the film. I’ve since read up a little on some of those topics; not extensively, but enough to have a vague idea what the hell it was I just saw…

The Favourite is a work of fiction based on historical figures and events, which makes no effort to cleave to the contents of the archive. It is in some ways faithful to what we might imagine we know about Restoration society, but in many cases it dispenses flamboyantly with historical ‘accuracy’, as in the hilarious dance scene. It is marketed as a comedy, and comic incident is indeed at the heart of its construction, but I think it would be fairer to say that it foregrounds humour; it is in every way a serious drama, a committed investigation of human relationships, of power politics, and of the tenor of life in tenuous social circumstances.

It is also a very clever and self-aware piece of film-making, carefully negotiating a narrow strait between immersion in its milieu and cheeky perforations of its fourth wall. It is abetted in this negotiation by the extraordinarily compelling performances of its three principals, in whose mouths the frequent oscillations between formally historical and colloquially contemporary language are as smooth as buttermilk. Although Olivia Colman is getting most of the plaudits for her Queen Anne (I am writing in award season), Rachel Weisz’s Duchess of Marlborough was a real show stealer, and in all fairness it is hard to put a Rizla paper between the quality of those performances and that of Emma Stone’s Abigail Hill.

The precise details of the interactions between these three women are basically made up by Deborah Davis, who deserves a mention for the excellence of her screenplay. Although Sarah Churchill (the Duchess of Marlborough) was indeed succeeded by Abigail Hill as Queen Anne’s favourite, and Hill had indeed been Churchill’s servant, these historical dispositions are no more than a jumping off point for the making of an engaging and provocative story. The central thrust seems to be about power, and about the damage that standing near to it can do to human relationships. The precarity of life in the Royal court, for both servant and duchess, is shown to produce inevitable patterns of behaviour in which all other people and all relationships can only ever be instrumental. And for the individual at the centre, in whose person power is embodied… well, no spoilers, but let’s just say she’s not entirely happy.

It shouldn’t be remarkable, but it is well worth remarking that all three main characters, through whom the entire narrative is focalised, are women.  What’s more, they are granted the kind of agency that is frequently reserved for male characters, even when women are placed at the centre of the action; and more than that, there is no token male para-protagonist to keep the male viewer interested. All of the men are minor characters, placed at the disposal of the narrative, providing scaffolding to the central fabula, and treated within the story as disposable instruments of the women’s ambitions. It’s about time.

[notlivingwithoutyou]

Untitled

Small RP exchange that took place when Rudiania received her first personal letter from Ertrig. It’s edited slightly to align tense and make it look a LITTLE less like a back-and-forth.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rudiania held out until a socially acceptable hour to urgently rap on the door to her friend's room. If the door had been equipped with a spy hole, the elf would have seen the normally still forsaken a fidgety mess, wringing her gauntlet-ed hands.  Aneriael simply lets her friend in, opening the door and stepping back. Seeing the Forsaken's unusual agitation, her head tips to the side.  

"Everything ok, Rudi?"  Accepting the gesture of invite, Rudiania is a flutter of tunic and cape as she swoops in. She bee-lines to the first bit of furniture in her view making as if to sit down - but they seem to think better of it. Turning on their heel, Rudi did look a bit of a mess. Hands clasped, hair a bit mussed, brow furrowed, and her exposed lower teeth snagging her upper lip. 

"I'm sure. It's silly. But I- oh I am sorry for the hour but like I've mentioned I don't sleep, and I've not had anything else to distract me," Rudiania replies in a tumble of words. The blood elf offers a smile, rubbing her eye slightly. 

"Oh, it's no worry.  I need to rest, but elves don't sleep like most other races."  She moves some of the sewing she had been working on aside and settles in the seat.  "Feel free to talk."

Rudiania appears to slowly release some of the tension in her body. Their pauldrons lower as their shoulders ease, and one hand simply cups its twin rather than entangles. They take in a deep breath and release it in a bluster of a sigh - flinching afterward as they mentally mock themselves for going through the motions of breath.

"Thanks... I wasn't- I don't really have anyone else to talk about it with. You're the one person in this new life I can call a 'Friend' without hesitation."  Her expression softens while speaking, leaving simply eagerness rather than distress. Anne beams a smile, pleased with the acceptance of the friendship she had felt to the undead person and that it was reciprocated.

"Don't worry about it at all, Rudi.  It's what friends are for, right?"  Rudiania is silent for a beat. Her teeth snags her lip again before she makes a small nod more to herself than Annie. Rudi then slips a hand under the top lip of her breastplate, searching her tunic. She closes the small distance between herself and the elf as she pulls a folded sheet of paper free of her breastplate. Positioning herself to Annie's side she unfolds it for her inspection and gazes upon her face to gauge her reaction.  Anne’s fragile hands accept the parchment, the little bandage on her index finger catching slightly against the edge before freeing itself.  She pauses for a moment reading over the letter once - smile growing as she goes down the lines.      

___________________________________________________

Rudiania, 

 I am not good with words. I cannot cleave them in two with an axe like I can the skulls of my enemies. You know this. 

 But I enjoyed going to the show with you, even if such things are not generally how I spend my leisure time. 

 We should go again. In a romantic sense. If that is agreeable with you.      

Signed,  

Captain Ertrig, Deathguard, Tranquillien Expedition

__________________________________________________

A small, trilling noise comes forward from the elf’s throat as she begins to prance in place like a gaited pony.  Rudi's eyebrows shot upward at the trill - and she reels at the burst of movement but quickly recovers, straightening her posture.

"Yeeeessss!  Rudiii!"  She was now bouncing in place shaking the letter with restrained enthusiasm.  "Do.. do you like Ertrig back?  Oh say you do!  You two make such the sweet couple.  Cel and I were talking about it last night and you two are so suited we think!" Rudiania’s arms go up in self defense as her companion exudes another excited flutter of hands before returning the precious letter and prancing in a high step gaited circle - the most joy she's exhibited since coming to Silvermoon.  Anne then stills herself, another small squeak of excitement restrained, and fel green eyes dancing in glee.

"Well I- I admire them quite a bit. He's been a fine officer to work with when I have been sent out into the Ghostla-," the latter half of her friend's words registers.  Rudi's brow wrinkles again.  "Gossiping?!"  If she still had her lower lip it would be in a pout. She had to make do.  Anne’s eyes widen, as though caught doing something naughty - a childlike expression of one caught stealing sweets.  

"Oh, uh.. gos-gossiping?  I'm not sure that... that it was exactly gossip, per se...  More like... like... two girls talking good wishes for their friend?" She offers one of her best, most charming smiles - hoping that she'd not actually upset the elder entity.  "I have to admit, I'm fairly jealous.  You seemed to find a connection right off, meanwhile the only people interested in even talking to me are the rest of the group and my two Masters."  Anne leans forward slightly, tipping her head to the left.  "So, are you gonna accept?  I think the Faire will be around soon.  Maybe you two could go there?"  Rudi's eyebrows ease up but her gaze remained unimpressed as she had listened to Annie speak.  She carefully folds the letter along its existing creases, closing it. 

"Well, we're both in the Deathguard. We've done work together along the scar a few times..." Rudi was suddenly three-foot-nothing, standing on a river embankment. Her two brothers in their britches, egging her on from the other side of the rushing water. She comes back to herself, clearing her throat before speaking again in a low voice, "I'm scared..." 

[katvaldezwriter77]

Literary Sojourn celebrated its 25th anniversary on Sept. 16 at Strings Pavilion in Steamboat Strings, Colorado

Literary Sojourn program

Attendees walking into Strings Pavilion.

The reason I attended Literary Sojourn this year was to hear Robert Olen Butler, author of From Where You Dream: The Process of Writing Fiction.

Butler is better known for his novels and Pulitzer Prize-winning story collection A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain, (and his novel Perfume River is a finalist for the Dayton Literary Peace Prize) but a flash fiction workshop a few years ago introduced me to his short-form work. This led to my discovery of From Where You Dream, which advances the idea of writing as an emotional rather than intellectual process, and shows writers how to “achieve the dreamspace necessary for composing honest, inspired fiction.”

Butler was down-to-earth, with a great sense of humor, and he shared moving stories about serving as a military intelligence agent during the Vietnam War, which inspired several of this books. (Of the Vietnamese, he said, “Much of what I know of the human heart, I learned from them.”) But two other authors ended up captivating me: Nadia Hashimi and Paulette Jiles.

Hashimi wrote The Pearl That Broke Its Shell, When the Moon is Low, The Sky at Our Feet, One Half from the East. Jiles is a poet and novelist who has written six books, mostly recently News of the World, which was a finalist for the National Book Award.

Chris Cleave called Hashimi’s latest novel, A House Without Windows, “A wonderful story of redemption.” Booklist said, “More than just the Afghan Orange Is the New Black, Hashimi’s novel is populated by vibrant, complex characters and offers a piercing look at the lives of women in Afghanistan.”

Nadia Hashimi gave a presentation on “The Burdened Lives of Afghan Women.”

Rather than talk about her writing, Hashimi, an Afghan-American pediatrician born and raised in New York and New Jersey, gave a powerful presentation on “The Burdened Lives of Afghan Women,” featuring photos and statistics of women in Afghan prisons, the subject of A House Without Windows. But she also sprinkled humor and anecdotes about “My big, fat Afghan family” throughout her talk.

Hashimi mentioned having to reconcile two different Afghanistans, the one where her parents were born, in which her mother was provided an education and sent to graduate school in Europe to earn a master’s degree and become a civil engineer. And, in contrast, the one that became – after the Taliban took over in 1996 – a country where “A rumor can land a woman in prison” and “Women wouldn’t wear nail polish for fear of having their fingernails ripped out.”

The author learned from her parents to “Number one, never take any opportunity for granted.” She said her father would have rather gone hungry than take a penny away from her college fund.

Hashimi, who is married with four children, mentioned the anger and rage she experiences when watching the news. Writing is “cheaper than therapy,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for allowing me to sit on your couches and work out my issues.”

Hashimi announced she’s running for Congress, prompting one audience member to ask, “Which district are you running for, and how can we donate?” (Answer: Maryland’s 6th District.)

Paulette Jiles’ books include The Color of Lightning, Lighthouse Island, Enemy Women, and the memoir Cousins. Chris Cleave called her a great writer and poet, and also a down-to-earth person who lives and works on a ranch in San Antonio, Texas, sings alto in her local choir and rides horses with her friends. He called News of the World “An absolute gem of a novel that I defy anyone to not like.” Tom Hanks will star in the movie based on the novel; it’s currently in development.

(When asked if she’ll be involved in the filmmaking process, her dry reply included a saying she heard from other authors whose novels were optioned for film: “Check your book at the California border.”)

Jiles described how she based the protagonist on the ancestor of an acquaintance who rode from town to town reading newspapers to audiences, then researched history and family stories to construct his background. “As a writer…you’re a hoarder,” she said. “You can end up using absolutely anything.” So it’s important to research only as needed. “I try not to get completely distracted.”

Writers of historical fiction must not get caught up in the words, Jiles said. She researched whether there was a local newspaper at the time in San Antonio. “I couldn’t find one, so I made one up.” She also corrected one error in time for the recently-published paperback version of News of the World: When the hardcover was first published, “Fifty people emailed to tell me there’s no safety on a revolver.”

One audience member asked, “How does place inform your writing?” Jiles replied, “All landscapes are alive in their own way.” Even desiccated landscapes like deserts.

Jiles kept her talk brief so that she could spend most of her allotted 35 minutes answering questions. Her most compelling anecdotes were about research for The Color of Lightning, working with the native people near the Canadian border and learning their language and culture over 10 years; and about their children who were kidnapped to be “adopted” by white couples.

When reunited with their families, the children “couldn’t adjust back to their Native American people and society. One little girl kept for a year didn’t want to return.” A similar girl serves as one of the main characters in News of the World.

** Stay tuned for Part 2 of “Literary Sojourn Festival of Authors Celebrates 25th Anniversary,” featuring authors Chris Cleave, Eowen Ivey, and Amor Towles.

Katherine Valdez covers author events and book festivals in Colorado and California. She recently finished Of Fire and Stars by Audrey Coulthurst, and is currently reading News of the World by Paulette Jiles, and Commonwealth by Ann Patchett.

Subscribe to Secrets of Best-Selling Authors by typing your email in the Follow box at www.KatValdezWriter.wordpress.com and watch for the confirmation email to complete the process. Follow Katherine on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Goodreads, Pinterest, and Medium.

Fish Creek Falls trail

Fish Creek Falls

Fish Creek Falls trail

Yampa River in downtown Steamboat Springs.

Literary Sojourn Festival of Authors Celebrates 25th Anniversary (Part 1 of 2) The reason I attended Literary Sojourn this year was to hear Robert Olen Butler, author of From Where You Dream: The Process of Writing Fiction.

[omnidawn]

Omnidawn Poet Kelli Anne Noftle was mentioned in Andrew Wessels' "What I'm Reading" series on Tarpaulin Sky! Here's a blurb:

"When one reads Noftle’s poetry, one is allowed to share in the building of a perspective that cleaves the world, simultaneously seeing everything double and coalesce."

https://tarpaulinsky.com/2017/09/andrew-wessels/

Go check it out now!