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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years ago

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The Innkeeper's Daughter

Thank you sooooo much to @fandom-blackhole who let me take inspiration from This Ask for the original Anon and This follow-up Ask from me, and let me run wild with the premise of Pero Tovar falling in love with an innkeeper.

This one is for @silverwolf319 who sent me a request for "Ummmm...how about soft, sweet filthiness lol like, filthy dirty talk, but with feelings? Does that make sense?"

Saaaammmmm, I hope this delivers on that! 💜💜💜

Update: Part 2 is here!

Word count: 3200+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Pero Tovar x “You” (OC cis/het female reader, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mature language; euphemisms; one use of “whorehouse” and “whore”; slow-burn; yearning; one incident of bar violence; Pero Tovar unleashing his desires verbally; lots of dirty talk; kissing; one breast grope; one erection; everyone’s clothes stay on

The first time you saw the grumpy Spaniard smile was a busy Saturday evening. Your father’s inn was full, the barroom filled with groups of raucous and rowdy men singing traveling songs and reminiscing loudly about battles won and women lost. The contrast between the exuberant hordes and the quiet, scowling man was evident to everyone, but they left him alone to brood.

“The Spaniard” had arrived in the early hours of Thursday morning and disappeared into his room immediately, sleeping the day away until supper. He kept to himself in the barroom, taking over a small table in the corner, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes on the other guests. He graced you with eye contact exactly once during Thursday’s supper, nodding at you to indicate his thanks for the ale before tucking his head back down to eat.

You knew from your two decades behind the bar that the quiet ones could sometimes be dangerous. But your father was much more concerned with the inn’s revenue and suppliers, and brushed off your questions with a wave.

“The Spaniard is quiet and doesn’t seem interested in starting trouble. He’s paid for his room in advance for the week. If he wants to be left alone, leave off.”

The Spaniard did not appear on Friday for the midday meal, but he did come back for late supper, repeating Thursday’s pattern exactly; a seat at the small table with his back to the wall, scanning the room from under his brow, a flash of eye contact to you as wordless thanks when you set down his plate and and the ewer of ale. The rest of the customers were settled for the moment, and something made you bolder than you would normally be, choosing to linger and try to break into the hard shell he wore like a cloak.

“Care for anything else? I have honey cakes set aside from the baker if you would like one.”

He grunted, a noise that was neither a yes nor a no. You weren’t sure if you should take offense or be happy that he made noise at all.

“What’s your name?”

He stopped chewing at that, and raised his eyes to yours, holding your gaze with his own deep brown orbs. The scar that ran over one eye was almost delicate, tracing a line from eyebrow to cheek that told a story of pain and must have resulted in him nearly losing the organ. You had seen many men disfigured and maimed by war and by accidents; but his scar was almost beautiful, highlighting his features in a way that made him more handsome, not less.

He swallowed roughly and grunted again. “Tovar.”

“Tovar… is that all?” You smiled wryly, hoping to pull more secrets out of him.

“Pero.” He grunted again, but this time it nearly resembled full speech. “Pero Tovar.”

He tucked his head back down and shoved more food into his mouth. You took that as your cue to go back to the bar. If he was staying all week you could wait until Sunday when things quieted down, spend a few days slowly probing. You got the sense he wasn’t dangerous, at least not to whoever brought him food and ale. You let yourself be distracted serving everyone else, and when you looked for him at the end of the night he was gone. You tried to ignore the little pang of disappointment that bloomed in your chest.

Saturday dawned clear and sunny, and you rose early to do the marketing for the inn and for your little household of two. Your mother had passed many years before, and your father prided himself on running an honorable establishment. You may have spent your formative years behind the bar of the inn, but nobody in the village mistook you for anything save an honest innkeeper’s daughter. The whorehouse was at the other end of town.

You finished your marketing and returned home, planning how to combine fresh eggs with leftover bread and meat for the midday meal. Most guests of the inn came for the late supper, but a few showed up for the midday meal and some companionship. You hoped Tovar would be one of them, but given that he had skipped the midday dinner on both Thursday and Friday, you didn’t dare hope too much.

To your great surprise, Tovar was already in the barroom when you arrived. He was dressed casually in tunic and pants and was standing on a table under the main beam, helping your father reattach the lantern. The chain had been broken for a few weeks, leaving this part of the room dark. Neither you nor your father had made time to obtain a ladder and fix it yet, but apparently for Tovar no ladder was needed. His tall frame was stretched up, arms raised to reach for the chain dangling from the ceiling, and his tunic lifted just enough to show a band of bare skin over his hips. The sight of him nearly made you drop your baskets.

You recovered your senses and looked away, greeting your father as naturally as you could. When you lifted your eyes to greet Tovar, you swore you saw the ghost of a smirk cross his lips. You hurried to the kitchen to prepare the midday meal.

When you dared to return to the bar, your father had gone, and Tovar was seated at his usual table. He lifted his eyes quickly to your face and you found that you could barely speak. Your words emerged in a breathy rush. “Are you hungry? Would you like to eat now?” You cursed your nerves and tried to settle them. Where were the other guests? Why was nobody else coming down to the bar?

Tovar looked at you sternly from under his brows and you suddenly felt like a child, caught for doing something naughty. But his next words made something in your middle turn over, fluttering like a moth.

“No. Sit with me a while.”

You sat. You were not accustomed to taking orders from strange men in your father’s establishment, but you rationalized it by telling yourself that attending to guests was good for the inn’s reputation, and that you would spring up and take care of any other guests as soon as they entered. You ignored the little whisper of lust that was suddenly at the base of your spine, tickling up like a trail of smoke from an extinguished candle.

“Tell me your name, woman.”

His question shocked you, until you realized that you hadn’t yet given it to him, and apparently neither had your father during their repair work. You opened your lips and spoke your own name, and under Tovar’s intense gaze it felt strange and foreign. He repeated it back to you in his sonorous tone, turning the fluttering moths in your center into lightning bolts.

“Are you enjoying your stay with us? Is there anything you need for your room?”

That half-smirk graced his lips for another moment, then passed away so quickly you were almost sure you imagined it. He shook his head, “No.”

You let the silence hang. Why had he asked you to sit with him if he wasn’t going to converse? Your stubborn streak won out over your curiosity and you decided to hold his eyes with your own and wait him out. Seconds stretched into minutes, and the air between you became heated, suffused with something like the vapors that distorted the air above a fire. Your hands grew moist, and you rubbed them across your lap, hoping the apron would absorb both the sweat and your discomfort. Tovar continued to look at you with interest, and the longer he stared the more you felt your face burn.

You broke first, bending your head and taking in a great shuddering gulp of air. Just then a footstep fell on the threshold and you leapt out of your chair and swept into the kitchen. When you calmed yourself and finally emerged, Tovar was gone. You let yourself get entwined in the gossip and the rhythm of your normal serving of guests, listening to the friendly chatter. By the time the bar was clear again, you decided to take yourself up to your room and rest, to conserve your energy for the busy Saturday night crowd. Saturday late supper consisted of cold leftovers and mug after mug of ale. The crowds were usually boisterous but good-natured, and you were looking forward to seeing Tovar again.

When you woke from your nap the sun was kissing the horizon, and you freshened your dress, changing into one of your nicer ones and a fresh bodice, tying a clean apron around your middle. You scrubbed your face with a wet cloth and rearranged your hair. You felt like a maiden heading to the altar, but you weren’t sure why. Nothing that Tovar had said or done so far gave you any indication that he favored you that way. There really was no need to change into clean clothing or present yourself in any special garments. Still… there was that hope, that whisper of lust that had sprung up under his gaze this afternoon. Maybe he would notice your efforts and begin to take an interest.

You entered the bar and began getting ready to serve the Saturday night crowd, handing around ewers of ale and plates of cold buns and cheese. The inn not only had a dedicated stream of locals every Saturday, but it also tended to draw groups of visitors from some of the smaller towns, as well as travelers on the road who needed a room for the night. You tried to keep your eyes on your work, but they kept flitting to the doorway without your permission, seeking any trace of the grumpy Spaniard and flickering the hope in your gut when they didn’t see him. As the barroom filled, you wondered whether he would appear at all. You pushed all hope of seeing him down, stomping on it and trying to keep yourself focused.

You hurried to the kitchen for another round of buns, and when you emerged into the bar he was there, sitting at “his” table and scowling his usual scowl. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and you felt your face heat with desire. When Tovar saw you his face opened, and the first genuine smile you had ever seen painted his lips. The rest of the raucous room fell away, and you zipped straight to his table, depositing the plate of buns that had been intended for someone else.

“Hello Pero.” You bit your lip, never having addressed him with his name before. Was it too forward?

“Hello, mi-” he stopped himself, then said your name, almost reluctantly. Had he forgotten it in the few hours since you had seen each other last?

You smiled tightly, a little less warmly than before. Icy flakes swept over your girlish crush and your ardor cooled. If he had already forgotten your name, he must not be interested. “Ale?”

He nodded. “Yes… if you please.”

Your thin layer of ice melted. A “please” from this man was like high praise from anyone else. You nodded and went to the bar, filling an ewer and a mug, and delivering both to his table. You wanted to linger, but calls from the other side of the room interrupted any notion of getting to spend more time with Tovar.

You nodded once at him and departed, taking care of the other guests and helping your father lug another barrel of ale from the back. Every time you dared glance at Tovar he was watching you, gentle interest and curiosity issuing from his eyes, instead of the menacing scowl he had sported when he first arrived. You tried to focus on your usual tasks, letting the rowdy laughter of the bar patrons wash over you, but you could feel Pero’s eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at him again and again, far too often. Your distraction was probably the reason that disaster struck.

Your eyes were again on Pero as you made your way across the room, and your toe caught the edge of someone’s foot, causing you to stumble and spill a mug of ale all over a large man. He bellowed in anger. You saw that he was a stranger, and as he unfolded himself from his chair and stood up, you could see that he was twice as broad as you and nearly two heads taller. The ale soaked his tunic and dripped onto the floor.

Before you could open your mouth to apologize, the man raised his hand to strike you. Suddenly his furious face crumpled into pain. He fell to his knees in front of you, the raised arm now twisted behind his back. As his knees hit the floor, Pero’s face materialized behind the man’s shoulder. Pero’s trademark scowl was directed at the back of the man’s head as he hissed instructions to the stranger.

“Apologize to the woman.”

The man spit out a curse and then refused. “She’s a whore!” Another wail of pain issued from his open mouth as Pero twisted his arm up and back.

He leaned down and spoke into the man’s ear, so low that you almost couldn’t hear it. “Apologize.”

The man dropped his head to his chest and whined out a stream of words that included several “sorrys” and “my mistakes”. You looked at him, eyes still wide with shock, mouth frozen into a grimace. Pero looked at you and then gave the man’s arm one final shove. A sickening crack met your ears and the man groaned as he fell forward onto his face.

“Now leave! And do not come back.” The man and his companions scrambled to the exit, and the rest of the customers murmured to themselves as they returned to their own drinks and gossip.

“Mi alma, are you alright?” Pero reached his hand out to you and you shook your head, tears springing to your eyes.

You spun on your heel and ran out of the bar, turning to flee to the back hallway, hands shaking. You pressed your back to the wall and then bent over at the waist, trying to catch your breath. You had seen bar fights before, and broken up a handful when they happened here and there, but you had never seen violence like that up close. You had never seen such hatred on a man’s face as the anger that had colored Pero’s features. You had the sense that Pero would have gladly killed the man and not had a second of remorse.

You heard a foot scrape the floor and you shot upright. Pero was at the end of the hall, eyes flickering in the light from the lone candle on the table. He put both hands out to you, palms facing you in a gesture of openness, approaching one slow step at a time.

“I am sorry. I am sorry.” His voice was low and calm. “Please forgive me.”

“No,” your own voice sounded high and panicked to your ears. “Stop. Don’t hurt me.”

Pero’s face crumpled and he halted his approach. “Hurt you? No, never. I would never hurt you. Please believe me.” He took another step toward you.

“But that man- You, you broke-”

Pero interrupted your awful cry. “Ssshhh, no. No, mi alma. That was not a man. He was a beast. I made him apologize and leave.”

Pero took another step, closing the distance between you to one stride. You were surprised to see tears in the corners of his eyes as well.

“I thought I was saving you, mi alma. Protecting you.”

“You did, you protected me, but- How were you so fast? And why do you keep calling me ‘mi alma’?”

Pero closed the final distance between you and reached his hands out to hold both of yours. He stepped close, and you had to tilt your head back to look into his eyes.

“I love you. You have enchanted me. ‘Mi alma’ means my soul. It means you have my love and my heart.” He looked deep into your eyes. “... and my body, if you so desire.”

He inclined his head and his lips met yours. You felt your head spin, heart pulsing through every vein, pounding in your ears as you let yourself be kissed, over and over again. You had kissed boys before, and even one young man in the village, but this was like being kissed for the first time anew. Pero kissed you with passion, with intent.

His hands gripped your waist and held you to him as your fingers entwined themselves up into his neck and the hair at the back of his neck. Pero broke the kiss and leaned toward your ear. His voice was low and gravelly, striking something in your core and sending sparks to your throat.

“I fell in love with you today. When I caught you looking at me as I changed the lantern. When you sat with me and met my eyes with your own and you didn’t shy away. When I saw that you had changed into a new dress, had made yourself pretty just for me.”

Your breath left your lungs in a huff, and the only sound you could make was a low hum.

Pero continued whispering words and warm breath across your ear, sending shivers down your neck, making your nipples harden with desire.

“I will take care of you, mi alma. Let me take you to bed and show you everything that you need to know. Let me show you how to make love to a man, to please him. How to take a husband and take your own pleasure, too.”

“Ohh…” You hardly recognized your voice as your own, and before you could say more, Pero kissed you again, opening your mouth and slipping his tongue inside. He pressed his hips against you, pinning you to the wall. You could feel his hardness against your hip; but instead of scaring you or making you feel ashamed, it stoked the fire in you from a flame to an explosion.

You kissed Pero back, as hard and as eager as he had kissed you. And then you did something you never would have imagined: you reached behind your waist and grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand up to cup around your breast. He squeezed and thrust his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your moans and squeaks.

He broke the kiss again to suck and nip at your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Every kiss inflamed you further, and you pressed your hips against his, rubbing from side to side to feel his hardness through the layers of your skirts.

“Let me take you to bed, mi alma. Let me make love with you.” Pero’s voice dropped to a low rumble. You could barely hear him above the thrum of your own heartbeat, but the words sent a new rush of something hot and wet to your private area.

“Let me kiss you between your legs, to taste you. Let me show you everything I know. Let me have you, and you may have me… all of me. Let me love you, mi alma.”

Your mouth opened and you spoke the only true answer to his request.

“Yes, Pero. Please.” --- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

My “all fics” tag list:

@anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

@kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @quica-quica-quica @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001

#Pero Tovar x reader #Pero Tovar x you #pero tovar x fem!reader #The great wall fic #the great wall fanfiction #Pero Tovar fic #Pero Tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #Pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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gloster · 4 years ago

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FAVORITE FANFICS OF 2020

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

I know I speak for all when I say....I cannot wait to toss 2020 out the door the way Uncle Phil constantly did with Jazz. One of the things that got me through this rough year, besides family & friends & BTS, were fanfics.

It’s that time of year again where I make a list of all the fanfics that I absolutely adored. Some are by veteran favs of mine, others are new to me who just knocked it out of the park. If you’re interested in past lists, here is 2019′s list and 2018′s. If y’all are interested in doing your own fanfic favs of the year, please do so and tag me. Always on the hunt for new favs.

So without furhter ado, my fav fanfics of 2020:

1). Another Word for Forever series by stardropdream (sheith)

Summary: Shiro knows better than to expect love in an arranged marriage. This is all for the sake of universal peace, after all, and solidifying a Terran-Galran alliance. At the very least, Shiro can hope to make a friend out of this. Becoming friends would be much easier, though, if he and his husband could actually communicate.

With a language barrier and a mountain of cultural differences between them, getting to know Keith proves to be a challenge. Luckily, Shiro's always worked well with challenges.

2020 shockingly became the year of sheith. I ended up rewatching the show w/my bestie @littlenightdragon. Diving more deeply into it w/my other bestie @kila09. She and I spent the better half of this year devouring so many fanfics of them in various AUs. I came across new fanfic authors, and stardropdream is among them.

If I could describe this series & stardropdream, I’ll take a cue from Lady Gaga: “ talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, unafraid to reference or not reference, put it in a blender, shit on it, vomit on it, eat it, give birth to it”

This series was just PERFECTION. I’ve gotten into arranged-marriage AUs and this has been one of the best I’ve read. It was just perfection. The language barrier definitely added an extra charm to it, in which Shiro finds his own ways to get to know his husband better: both creative and funny ways. So many cute moments, so many funny moments with Hunk being the translating middle man between them, and the smut. THE SMUT. THE SMUT. THE SMUT. Just *chef’s kiss* Incredible. It was just so so sweet, and such a comfort read. I reread this series 5 times already and hope Robin (the writer) does more stories in this AU.

Please read this series. You’re not gonna regret it. It will MELT your heart.

Honorable Mentions:

If I Called You Mine

Sail Across the Sky Just to Get to You

Finding Shelter (The Alien Baby Remix)

Say You Do(n’t)

2). The Golden Hour by @goldentruth813 (sheith)

Summary: After a space mission failure, Shiro loses his arm and his career. Two years later he's settled into a quiet and simple new life on his farm, but when a beautiful alien crashes in his field, he discovers the answers to his questions—and possibly the keys to his future—will come from the stars.

I’m sure no one, least of all Janel the writer herself, is surprised to see this author featured on this list. For now the 3rd year in a row. WOOOW 👏🏿👏🏿👏🏿 She is the reason I got into shieth, and she just continues to put out amazing conent with them. This story by far has been the best she’s done this year-possibly one of the best ever.

We have Shiro trying to have a simple life at the farm with his dog and animals. A curious BOM Keith who shakes things up with his boldness/innocence-and questions bound to test blood pressure, especially Shiro’s. Loads of cute moments, loads of funny moments, and also loads of oreos.

If summary and my thoughts don’t sell you, only one thing will: reading it for yourself.

Honorable mentions:

Two Hearts in Bloom

Mountain Men

Home is in Your Heart

3). Spun like Gold by Neyasochi (sheith)

Summary: Though Shiro is currently operating his fledgling bakery business out of a decrepit food truck he got for cheap in a repossession sale, he dreams of something more: a cozy bakery and cafe on a tree-lined street somewhere, filled with the smell of fresh coffee and sugar glaze instead of diesel. A little money could go a long way to helping him get off the ground-- and luckily, Keith has money to burn.

Or: Keith takes care of Shiro’s financial woes, in exchange for a little sugar.

OMG, OMG, OMG was this story so sweet. Neyasochi already sold me with the baking/baker Shiro trope, but went a step further throwing in sugar-daddy Keith who knows his way around his manic family and cars, but when it comes to asking a cute guy out? What better way to make an impression than becoming his best paying customer?

Honorable mentions:

oh, devour me

Healing Touch

on your hand of gold

4). The Destiny You Sold by @tryslora (drarry)

Summary: In which Draco knits, Harry makes wands, and things get very tangled up between them.

If there’s one thing I love about fanfics is how they introduce you to tropes you never would consider before. Draco and knitting was a combo I didn’t realize how much I needed until now. And I love the fact knitting played a big part of the accidental bonding. Also loved the fact everyone in their friend group shipped them like crazy. Highly, highly recommend

5) What’s My Age Again? by @lazywonderlvnd (drarry)

Summary: Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand.

The Quidditch World Cup is only a week away; as Captain of the English National Team, Hermione has assured him that his immaturity won’t be tolerated by the Ministry.

And then Malfoy shows up.

(Inspired by the blink-182 song of the same name.)

It’s no secret that I’m such a fangirl of @lazywonderlvnd. Any drarry story I read, I always love. Last year, I ADORED The Changing Lights, which was one of my favorites last year, and her updating/finishing the story was a massive highlight for me. I thank ya for that.

This story was honestly refreshing. I’ve grown so used to Harry being responsible, always doing what’s right, that seeing a story where Harry pretty much has his middle finger in the air to “good reputation”, “being responsible,” because as he brought up: “I’m 25. I’ve been fighting all my life. I’ve earned my life to have fun.”

Okay, granted, it wasn’t quite like that but it was along those lines. And I agree. After all he went through, Harry deserves to have fun. He deserves to be reckless and make stupid decisions.

Also, it was such a blast reading a story where Harry is the brat & Draco has to keep him in line. LOVED.

Honorable mentions:

Inside Your Mind

Aletheia

6). Chocolate and Pastry by agentmoppet, anemonen (drarry)

Summary: When Pansy bets Draco that there is no chance he and Harry could carry out a genuine romantic relationship, he and Harry form a plan. But as their fake relationship progresses, Draco sees a side of Harry he never expected. Harry is struggling with something, pushing it far down inside him where he doesn't have to acknowledge its existence. Draco starts to worry, and then he starts to care, and then... horribly... he starts to fall in love.

Do not let the title fool you like it did me. Title alone, I was thinking it was going to be a fun, fluffy story involving baking, maybe chocolate crafting. However....it was not that at all. It was more. A lot deeper. A lot more angsty. It explored mental health, PTSD and the dangers of loved ones ignoring the signs, and contained an important message:

You can’t love someone out of their illness/disease/ addiction. Which is true and this story showed that.

7). i’m still here by owedbetter (zutara)

Summary: "You see me."

And somehow, that makes all the difference.

If there’s one of the few good things 2020 has brought, it was Netflix bringing back ATLA to their library. Which in turn ignited my love for zutara & had me drag @kila09 into that ship.

This story was just incredible. The way it was written, it really felt like it could have been canon. Deleted scenes that a certain creator didn’t want us to see. The way Zuko and Katara came together, starting from their peaceful friendship after the Southern Raiders episode up, becoming closer along the way.

I dare y’all to read this and not think OMG...is this secret canon bonus material? I definitely plan to read more by owedbetter.

8). all the what ifs i never said by rosegardenlake (sheith)

Summary: Keith is nine when he first notices Shiro. Shiro is gentle and quiet, always keeping to himself. Keith is rough and loud, running wherever his feet will take him, screaming on the top of his lungs into the wind. But despite that, they're a constant throughout each other's lives...if only that could be enough. As they grow, Keith just wants them both to be happy, but instead, he's falling apart.

Rosegardenlake is another sheith writer who I adored last year & adore this year as well. This was a story that I read during the beginning of quarantine-life and when I tell you the number of times Keith’s emotions of loneliness got to me, it’s a big number.

Keith’s struggle with life after high school, after peaking in school, and his mental health reminded me too much of where I was at 2018, which wasn’t a good year for me at all, especially mentally. So that was triggering but it was also helpful since I saw how far I came. And it was beautiful seeing how far Keith came.

Also the relationship between Shiro and Keith was just beautiful. It’s very funny how Keith was Shiro’s protector growing up and Shiro became Keith’s later on in life. There’s a chance your heart may be heavy, but will also be so swelled up with feelings these two bring it.

Honorable mentions:

Where the Light Doesn’t Reach

9). When Night Comes by Oh_Hey_Tae (BTS; poly ot7)

Summary: Jungkook’s tipsy, but he’s not buzzed enough to miss that he doesn’t recognize any of the four dozen people here. And seeing as his friends aren’t ones to ditch and there’s no way they’d play a prank this mean on him, Jungkook reaches the conclusion that he just walked into a stranger’s very expensive home, uninvited, and started eating their food and petting their well-dressed dog.

(Or: Jungkook shows up to the wrong Halloween party and meets the most powerful family in Seoul.)

I can easily say Oh_Hey_Tae easily one of my favorite BTS fanfic favs. Always come through with the stories, and this one was just amazing. We have Jungkook stumbling into a Halloween story, and soon enters into a intense, insane relationship with all six guys, who are already in a relationship with each other. Oh, and supernatural creatures at that.

You do see certain relationships are stronger, deeper. For example, a lot of moments between Jin and Jungkook. Vmin has their own story and moments. But it was just so amazing.

Fair warning. Halfway through, things get darker and Oh_My_Tae really loves playing readers diirty with the angst, but it’s so good.

10). peace-weaver by magisterpavus (sheith)

Summary: You will be the peace-weaver, his mother told him, smiling though her dark eyes welled with unshed grief. The one who brings two bitter enemies together and ends the bloodshed and death between us, once and for all.

But men will always crave war. The Galra, most of all.

Yet another arranged-marriage AU that I loved. This particular one is well-loved in the sheith fandom. I can definitely say it’s considered one of the classic fanfics that’s been read or shared at one point or another.

The story itself reminded me a lot of Macbeth, involving murder and dark forces at bay. The dynamics between Shiro and Keith reminded me of Drogo and Daenerys from GOT, one of my fav couples there, which only made it all the more better for me.

I do credit the author for the creative approach they took with quintessence and Shiro’s role/persona as the Champion

Honorable mentions:

The Boy in the Window

Sheith Demon/Priest AU

A Matter of Scale

Directive

Honorable mentions that I seriously wanted to add to the list but this post is already lengthy. All amazing, all greats reads by various writers y’all should check out:

Hold Me Tight, or Don’t by snowfallen (yoonmin with a Mr. & Mrs. Smith AU featuring assassins and hitmen, secret identities, fake marriage, and a lot of smut)

The Prince and Pirate by Maniacani, @nerdherderette (drarry with a splash of royalty and pirates. Perfect if you’re needing to fill in any Pirates of the Caribbean or Black Sails cravings)

First Kisses are the Best Ones by SashaDistan (sheith in a 50 First Dates Fusion heartfelt/heart-gutting story)

freely, as men strive for right by @bixgirl1 (drarry w/Harry explaining the many ways why Draco’s the love of his life. we love to see it)

The Sacrificed by SasuNarufan13 (sasunaru w/ dark fairytale elements similar to Little Red Riding Hood & Beauty and the beast + feat. mpreg)

Chasing Treacle Tart (and Draco Malfoy) by xErised (drarry feat. lunch lady Draco + scheming Harry + loads of fun w/sweets & more)

Red Desert by @beatitudinembty (taekook in a unique sci-fi AU; hard to explain but so worth a read

one way ticket to another life by starboykeith (sheith Hades x Persephone background)

Even So by lewilder (zutara; arranged marriage+ language barrier +soft strangers to lovers)

Well, lovely people, there you have it. My top 10 favorite fanfics of the year. I do notice a certain ship shows up a lot on this list, but I wasn’t kidding when I said they took over this year. Still, I tried to mix the list up with other fav ships/fandoms of mine. To the writers who created these incredible stories. I applaud you. I thank you for creating and sharing these wonderful stories. Anyone interested in doing the tag, please do.

HAPPY NEW YEAR, GUYS

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reyeslonestar · 4 years ago

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an incomplete list of lone star fics that I love 3/?

this is mainly an opportunity for me to collect my favourite fics into a system that makes more sense to me, and spread a little love to the fabulous writers who create these amazing stories

fics containing explicit smut are marked with an *

the secret ingredient is love/The Marriage Tamales series by @bellakitse/Bellakitse

Answering a call, TK and 126 meet Carlota Reyes, Carlos' mother, and his three sisters. While there, TK learns some very important information about his and Carlos' relationship.

* “You made this pretty little gringo, our mother’s marriage tamales?” Lola looks at him amazed.

Valentina smirks at him, the only way the oldest can. “When’s the wedding?”

“Wedding?” Sofía repeats, scoffing. “Where’s their kid? Obviously, he already married this white boy if he made him mama's marriage tamales."

this summary is pulled from the first fic in this absolutely fantastic series featuring Stef’s wonderful version of the reyes family. all three of these fics are amazing and show the gentleness with which tk and Carlos figure out their relationship. I love this series so much and rereading them brings so much happiness.

sweetest devotion by @reyescarlos/ksmalltalk

To cope after a disastrous break up, TK turns to baking to help him maintain his sobriety and keep himself busy while on a self-imposed hiatus from firefighting. At the suggestion of his father, TK checks out a local bakery and takes a temporary job with the attractive store owner.

I love this au! Carlos as a baker is so on brand, plus tk using baking as a healing mechanism is such a lovely idea. all round positive vibes from this one, plus tk having a minor meltdown about Carlos’ forearms...

You Don't Have to Be Alone Tonight by @randofando-spoonie/RandoFando_Spoonie

Takes please after 1.08 ends, Carlos is sitting by TK's bedside after everyone heads home, Paul won't let his new friend be alone so he stays with Carlos. The is the conversation the two have.

a short but really sweet fic that recognises and furthers the growing friendship between Carlos and Paul.

If I die before I wake by @marjansmarwani/brilliantbanshee

Prompt: “stay alive, please.” + “it hurts.” -- Carlos responds to an accident scene that threatens to take everything away from him.

a brilliant angsty fic - I absolutely love the set up of this and the panic that Carlos goes through as he has to deal with the situation. also bonus points for Jillian’s wonderful oc Mya - a highlight in every fic she’s in.

There is comfort in knowing, no matter what happens today, the sun will rise tomorrow. by @tkstrrand/lydiamxrtin

After his parents arguing gets too much, TK seeks comfort in Carlos.

a beautiful missing moment fic which explores more of what tk’s past might have been like, the painful reality of living with arguing parents and the wonderful reality of having Carlos as a supportive boyfriend. this one is more angsty but it ends so softly.

Don't Leave by @moviegeek03/moviegeek03

TK was fine with being the friend. Even if it meant not seeing Carlos on their one day off...it would be fine. He could deal with that. Sure. He kept telling himself that. But...when they are both called to a bar fight gone wrong...TK isn't so sure he can be "just the friend" when the love of his life is bleeding out somewhere in the hospital. Oh and he's bleeding too...

I love the angst of tk keeping himself away from Carlos and his parents in order to hide the strength of his feelings, plus them both landing themselves in hospital and ending up worrying about the other despite their own injuries.

#fic recs by alex #fic rec #911 lone star fic #911 lone star fanfic #carlos reyes #tk strand #tk x carlos #paul strickland #the reyes fam #starting to get more into the whump fics #there are so many I swear this fandom has a problem #fic recs by alice #fic writers are awesome

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newmusickarl · 3 years ago

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Album & EP Recommendations

Boy From Michigan by John Grant

For whatever reason, I have often struggled to really connect with the music of American singer-songwriter John Grant – undoubtedly impressive but not quite resonated with me. However, that has changed with his latest release Boy From Michigan, an album produced by the wonderful Cate Le Bon that is both sonically dazzling and lyrically introspective.

Against a backdrop of synths that range from the atmospheric and spacey (the incredible title track) to the playfully upbeat (Rhetorical Figure) through to the acid-soaked nightmare (Your Portfolio), John takes the listener on a deep dive into the hypnotic vortex of his mind. There he jumps between the personal and the political, recalling an anxious upbringing driven from his struggles with sexuality one minute, before launching an attack on Trump America the next (the glorious neon-soaked 10-minute tirade that is The Only Baby).

However, amidst all the sharp lyrics and 80s synth-pop aesthetics, it is arguably the album’s most traditional moment that strikes the biggest chord. The Cruise Room is a gorgeous, heartfelt piano ballad, featuring minimal production and some strategically placed vocoder effects to help John’s haunting words to just ripple through to your core. It is incredibly stirring and probably one of the finest songs I have heard all year.

From start to finish this really does feel like a special album, one that I have already played several times this week and no doubt will return to over the next few months. If you want an album that is both melodically satisfying but also has worthwhile stories to tell, this is the one.

Call Me If You Get Lost by Tyler, The Creator

American rapper Tyler, The Creator was another artist I really struggled to get into early on, but off the back of his coming-of-age masterpiece Flower Boy and the sonic experimentation of 2019’s Igor, I was anxious to hear what Tyler had cooked up for this surprise release.

On Call Me If You Get Lost, it really feels like Tyler has hit his stride as an artist – Flower Boy was him finding his voice, Igor was him finding his sound and now it has all masterfully come together on this latest project. Not only is Tyler in razor-sharp lyrical form but he is also mostly handling production duties himself, aside from small credits to Jamie XX and Jay Versace.

With guest appearances from Ty Dolla $ign, Lil Wayne and Pharrell Williams amongst others, this feels like Tyler’s most significant body of work to date, propelled by career-best tracks like Corso, Lemonhead, Lumberjack and Wilshire. Simply put, this is one exquisitely crafted hip hop record.

Home Video by Lucy Dacus

At the other end of the spectrum, American singer-songwriter Lucy Dacus released her third album this week, looking to follow in the footsteps of her boygenius bandmates Phoebe Bridgers and Julien Baker, who have both themselves delivered career-best albums over the last 12 months.

As the title is there to suggest, this is Lucy looking back at key moments in her life, both the sentimental and the heartbreaking. In her vivid descriptions of these snapshots, she really shines as a songwriter, transporting the listener to these life-defining fragments of memory.

Thematically it is quite similar in a way to John Grant’s record this week, however where he fills the space with lush, maximal production, Lucy’s approach is more subtle and tender. From the wonderful opening beat of Hot & Heavy, the fuzzy riffs of First Time, the soft plucking of the gorgeous Cartwheel and the climatic, grand finale of Triple Dog Dare, Lucy delivers on every single track here. Possibly none more so than on single Thumbs, an incredibly haunting track where Lucy painfully describes every thought and feeling running through her mind as she meets her birth father at a restaurant. It is a real gut-puncher, and another one of the best songs I’ve heard all year.

Just like her bandmates, Lucy continues to flourish as a solo artist, presenting here an audio photo album that will frequently make you laugh and cry, and then at times both of those at the same time.

Together In Static by Daniel Avery

Also worth checking out this week, if 2020’s Love + Light was the party then this latest release from electronic musician Daniel Avery is the quiet comedown, with Avery crafting some really soothing and intricate ambient soundscapes. Quite blissful!

Nine by Sault

Coming off the back of their two highly acclaimed 2020 albums Untitled (Rise) and Untitled (Black Is), rhythm and blues collective Sault deliver another radiant and thought-provoking listen with this latest release, with Little Simz even turning up for one of the record’s many highlights, You From London.

Soft Thing by LOONY

On the EPs front this week, Toronto-based singer-songwriter LOONY is back with a scintillating eight track release, that really highlights how she is maturing as an artist. Packed with pop, R&B and soul elements, it is highlighted by mine, her brilliant collaboration with New Orleans-based rapper Pell, as well as great tracks like ours and beg.

Our Extended Play by Beabadoobee

Following on from her incredible debut Fake It Flowers released last year, Beabadoobee is back with four more excellent, nostalgia-tinged tracks built on hazy guitars and soaring pop-punk choruses. Headlined by recent singles, Last Day On Earth and Cologne.

Tracks of the Week

Latter Days by Big Red Machine featuring Anaïs Mitchell

Aaron Dessner and Justin Vernon marked their return as Big Red Machine this week, announcing a new album due in August featuring an array of enticing guest stars including Ben Howard, Taylor Swift and Fleet Foxes. They also delivered the first two tracks from the record, the best of which this beautiful collaboration with American singer-songwriter Anaïs Mitchell that will open the record. Stunning!

Sad But True by St. Vincent

Last week it was Miley and her famous friends tackling the Metallica classic Nothing Else Matters in truly epic style, now this week brings us St. Vincent and her guitar prowess delivering a mesmerising synth-pop take of Sad But True. Colossal!

Dying in Heaven by Alexis Taylor

Hot Chip frontman Alexis Taylor tackles spirituality on this captivating lead single from his forthcoming solo album. Featuring a suitably floaty, almost angelic melody, it is a song that already feels like it has a real timelessness to it.

Contact High by We Are Scientists

And finally this week, New York rockers We Are Scientists released the first taste of their next album, this riff-tastic, soaring indie anthem that comes equipped as always with a suitably quirky video – dig it out if you get chance.

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architectnews · 3 years ago

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Ten student architecture projects from the University of Westminster

A project that examines restoring damaged peatlands in Scotland and another that addresses the housing needs of income poor young people in Beijing are included in Dezeen's latest school show by students at the University of Westminster.

It also includes a mycelium product factory where a repurposed prison provides ideal conditions for growing sustainable products and a redesigned climbing wall highlighting the connection between sport and the natural world.

University of Westminster

School: University of Westminster, School of Architecture + Cities Course: Architecture BA (Hons), Architecture and Environmental Design BSc (Hons), Interior Architecture BA (Hons), Architectural Technology BSc (Hons), Designing Cities BA (Hons), Master of Architecture (MArch) (RIBA pt II) Tutors: Constance Lau, Stephen Harty John Zhang, David Porter, Paolo Cascone, Panagiota Adileniduo, Ro Spankie, Diony Kypraiou, Allan Sylvester, Ana Araujo, Tabatha Mills, Adam Thwaites, David Mathewson, Elisa Engel, Kester Rattenbury, Sean Griffiths, Anthony Boulanger, Stuart Piercy, Callum Perry John Cook, Laura Nica and Ben Pollock

School statement:

"The School of Architecture and Cities offers a wide range of undergraduate and postgraduate courses as well as research degrees a few moments from Baker Street. Here, students can enjoy state-of-the-art facilities, including the extensive Fabrication Laboratory and dedicated open-plan design studios.

"Open 2021 is a rolling programme of events being created by the school's staff and students, which reflect the varied design approaches of the School of Architecture and Cities and their place at the heart of London.

"It will feature 750 student projects, drawing on the vast body of developmental and finished work imagined and realised over the course of the last academic year. The show will transform student work into digital assets, creating an extraordinary display of new architecture and a compelling visitor experience. The show opens on 17 June until 30 September."

The Bioengineering Experimental School of Architecture: Designing for the Prevention of Fires by Momchil Petrinski

"In this project, the notion of 'fire' from the laboratory experiments serves multiple purposes, from the 'gallery' for public knowledge, heat distribution to the surrounding buildings and the cultivation of the green spaces.

"The dense urban site of Little Britain and proposed Tower is approached as a Borgesian labyrinth where the ever-green public gardens extend across the horizontal and vertical landscapes, and resting places for the homeless community are embedded within the public realm."

Student: Momchil Petrinski Course: Architecture BA (Hons) Tutors: Constance Lau and Stephen Harty Email: [email protected]

Ideal Landscape from Luo Shen Fu Tu by Yunuo Zheng

"The proposal is a spatial narrative telling the ancient Chinese story of the painting Luo Shen Fu Tu created by the famous Eastern Jin painter Gu Kaizhi based on the plot of Cao Chi's work Luo Shen Fu.

"This is not just a love story – it is a story of frustration and anger caused by feudalism when people could only express thoughts and feelings through landscapes and myths. It is these landscapes and myths that give the form to an immersive exhibition situated in London."

Student: Yunuo Zheng Course: Interior Architecture BA (Hons) Tutors: Ro Spankie, Diony Kypraiou, Allan Sylvester, Ana Araujo Email: [email protected]

Intercultural communal living as a catalyst for refugee integration by Anne-Flore Smits

"Nature avoids monocultures and lives in diversity to feed its system. The harmonious living between living forms is known as symbiosis. Through intercultural communal living, symbiosis is regenerated, where the forgotten lives of refugees can integrate back into society.

"With local and foreign amalgamation, the most vulnerable group in society can write their futures. The design of social-communal connectivity incorporates multi-use courtyards, creating a unique spatial arrangement within the male and female quarter and central community compound.

"A common roof with various environmental qualities ensures the proposed and established buildings receive minimal solar radiation, that is experienced in its extreme within Cameroon's Far North capital of Maroua."

Student: Anne-Flore Smits Course: Architecture and Environmental Design BSc (Hons) Tutors: Paolo Cascone and Panagiota Adileniduo Email: [email protected]

Ark for an Ant Tribe by Yuen-Wah Williams

"This project addresses the acute housing needs of well educated but income poor young people who come to Beijing to seek their future – affectionately known as the 'Ant Tribe' in China.

"The project is a co-living mega-block with floating courtyards, rooftop running tracks, and community programmes open to the broader neighbourhood at the ground level. The novel tectonics draws inspiration from traditional low-rises, high-density Hutong courtyards and local experiments in soviet-era social condensers.

"The generous and intensely social outdoor spaces become rooms in themselves, responds to the changing patterns of life in a pandemic."

Student: Yuen-Wah Williams Course: Architecture BA (Hons) Tutors: John Zhang and David Porter Email: [email protected]

Climb Air Theatre by Zhiqing He

"The conditions of isolation and lack of physical interaction due to the pandemic gave birth to this project with the aim of evoking memories of intimate communication stemming from the past. Inspired by The Phantom of the Opera, London's historic musical production (forced to close during the lockdown), the proposal suggests an open interactive theatre, situated at St Dustan park in London.

"The audience gets invited to follow actors through the theatre's three main theatre stages and participate in distinct moments of the play while re-connecting them to each other through this musical, theatrical and spatial journey."

Student: Zhiqing He Course: Interior Architecture BA (Hons) Tutors: Ro Spankie, Diony Kypraiou, Allan Sylvester, Ana Araujo Email: [email protected]

The Arch Climbing Wall by Tom McGinnity

"The Arch Climbing Wall is located in Bermondsey, London. The redeveloped climbing centre uses all the existing building while also developing a new building adjacent to the existing one. The design aims to highlight the connection between climbing and nature.

"New climbing walls were positioned in the existing building to create an environment of valleys and mountains. The new building acts as the final challenge, with climbers able to scale the exterior of the building and the tall structure within. The new building is open-air with large use of open mesh, allowing climbers to connect with nature."

Student: Tom McGinnity Course: Architectural Technology BSc (Hons) Tutors: Tabatha Mills and Adam Thwaites Email: [email protected]

Old Kent Road: A New Precedent for Mixing Leisure, Manufacturing and Housing by Daniel Sefton

"By combining industrial, residential, and leisure spaces using innovative changes of level, land-use pressures in the inner city could be significantly alleviated.

"An undulating raised park set against the side of an existing recycling centre creates a pocket of urban rurality. Pavilions break through the park's surface for exhibition and retail space, with micro-manufacturing occurring on the submerged ground floor.

"HGV access to ground floors occurs through a road network beneath the park. The park removes both social and physical barriers that industrial land creates through controlled, increased public proximity to manufacturing and community-connecting active transport routes."

Student: Daniel Sefton Course: Designing Cities BA (Hons) Tutors: David Mathewson and Elisa Engel Email: [email protected]

The Mycology Institute by Gemma Mohajer

"The Mycology Institute re-purposes existing buildings at Wormwood Scrubs Prison. Former cells provide ideal conditions for growing mushrooms, used to make sustainable products. The project extends one of the cell blocks creating a mycelium product factory.

"It forms a route to the scrubs and a public square created by demolishing the prison wall. The building is constructed using sustainable products, including rope elements, developed from chance operations. These are used as part of the roof structure and as a screen that shades the building and takes rainwater off the roof. Columns and floors reuse the 916,000 prison wall bricks."

Student: Gemma Mohajer Course: Master of Architecture (MArch) (RIBA pt II) Tutors: Kester Rattenbury and Sean Griffiths Email: [email protected]

The Rotherhithe Cooperative Press by Rebecca Gardner

"Newspapers are dying, and with them, an integral part of London's civic life and tacit skillset is at risk of extinction. The Rotherhithe Cooperative Press reinvents newspaper production, turning away from mass media favouring temporal print that focuses on specific events and protests.

"Through exploiting the natural diurnal cycle of the printing industry and the Thames, the scheme acts as a production framework and distribution network for marginalised media outlets at night whilst a community print-work mobilises the community to engage in protest during the day."

Student: Rebecca Gardner Course: Master of Architecture (MArch) (RIBA pt II) Tutors: Anthony Boulanger, Stuart Piercy and Callum Perry Email: [email protected]

Peat Observation: Carbon Cycles through Plant Matter by Seni Agunpopo

"The project looks at preserving and accelerating the restoration of damaged peatlands in Scotland – one of the world's most effective carbon store/sinks.

"This project uses a wider parametric masterplan strategy of landscape probes and responsive blanket systems to alter and control the conditions of soil moisture, temperature and humidity, as well as the deployable modular research units that support the ongoing scheme."

Student: Seni Agunpopo Course: Master of Architecture (MArch) (RIBA pt II) Tutors: John Cook, Laura Nica and Ben Pollock Email: [email protected]

Partnership content

This school show is a partnership between Dezeen and the University of Westminster. Find out more about Dezeen partnership content here.

The post Ten student architecture projects from the University of Westminster appeared first on Dezeen.

#Architecture – Dezeen

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azvolrien · 3 years ago

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Two Months

This is another little Asta-and-Roan vignette series, this time featuring the run-up to their wedding. Maybe a bit shorter than the last couple, with only four relatively short segments, but it gives a little more detail to some stuff that, while it’s been part of the setting inside my head for a long time, hasn’t really come up on the page before.

---

15th of Messis – Two months to go

Auchtertan Public Library

Auchtertan was a small town – only a couple of thousand people called it home – but it drew custom from dozens of small farms up in the hills and tiny fishing harbours along the coast of Loch Gorm, people who either could not or did not want to make the long ride up to Duncraig, and so it had far more on offer than some of the bigger towns nearer the city did. Market stalls were set up in the town square every weekend, forming a loose ring around the ancient carved stone in front of the temple, but even during the week the grocer, butcher and baker were well-stocked. The post office was constantly bustling, there was almost always smoke rising from the bathhouse’s furnace chimney, and the library above the beach boasted two storeys filled with books on all subjects.

Roan padded along one of the rows on the first floor, running her hand over the spines of the books on their shelves, to the desk Asta had claimed below one of the windows overlooking the sea.

“Were the librarians able to give you the forms?” asked Asta without looking up from the slim paperback lying open on the desk.

Roan laid the forms on the desk beside the book and sat down opposite her.

“Good, good,” said Asta, still without looking up. Roan smiled and propped her chin on one hand, taking a moment to just admire her new fiancée. At this hour of the morning, the sun hit the library window at exactly the right angle for Asta to glow in its light. It drew out the warm gold of her skin and the black-tea chestnut brown of her eyes, and cast enchanting bluish highlights on her deep black hair. One lock had escaped her ponytail, falling forwards over her face. Roan reached out to tuck it back behind her ear, trailing her fingertips gently over Asta’s cheek.

Asta finally glanced up from the book. The sun caught her eyes, turning them a beautiful reddish amber for an instant. “What?”

“I like seeing you in your element for a change,” said Roan. “You do love your books.”

“Yes, I’ll have to have a browse in their fiction section before we head home,” said Asta, turning her attention back to the book. “I’ve been meaning to find something new to read of an evening.”

“Has that one been useful?” asked Roan.

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” said Asta. “It’s a very comprehensive guide to marriage in the Sea Lochs. It’s actually a lot more straightforward than I was expecting – things would be more complex if we needed to arrange a temple service or book a venue for a big reception or get the registrar to come to us, but since we agreed we don’t need any of that, essentially all we have to do is fill out these forms telling the registrar that we want to get married and confirming that we’re both of age and of sound mind and so on and so forth, post them up to Duncraig, and they’ll get back to us with an appointment to actually go and get married.”

“You don’t have to… I don’t know, get your House’s permission or anything? I don’t know how it works with the nobility.”

Asta glanced back up and shook her head, smiling. “I would if I was in the core family or just outside it, but I’m so minor a branch of House zeDamar that I doubt I even qualify as a leaf. The only reason they would arrange a marriage for me would be if they wanted to emphasise how unimportant my potential spouse was to them.” Her smile faded and she cast her eyes back down at the pages. “Besides,” she muttered. “House zeDamar abandoned me when I needed them. I don’t owe them anything any more. I’d even give up the name if I could.”

Roan leant over the desk and kissed her forehead, bringing the smile back for a moment. “Can you not?”

Asta shook her head again. “It’s not allowed. If you’re born to a noble house, you’re a part of it for life – and if you weren’t, you can’t claim the name through marriage or adoption. Which I suppose at least saves us any arguments over who’ll be changing their surname.”

“‘NicBruide’ isn’t really a surname anyway,” said Roan. “Let’s get these filled out – they can be in Duncraig tomorrow if we get them posted by lunch.”

---

13th of Sanguis – One month to go

Dun Ardech, just inside the outer wall

Asta knelt in front of the little shrine beneath its wooden shelter and lit three small cones of incense, one in front of each pewter god-figure on the flat slate altar, then clapped three times to draw the gods’ attention.

“Mighty Voynazh,” she murmured, and laid a small beaker of wine before the god of war. “Great Siraki.” She placed a sprig of rowan-berries in front of the goddess of commerce and the protector of travellers. “Blessed Kura.” An ear of wheat for the goddess of agriculture and fertility. “Grant us your protection and your guidance.” That much was a standard invocation. Asta fell silent, considering what else to say. Whatever prayers her parents had offered during their engagement, they had never told her any of them. What was one supposed to say at a time like this?

“I… am getting married.” Well, that was a start. “We received a letter from the registrar in Duncraig. They have availability in the middle of Gracilis. It’s sooner than we expected, but we decided to take it.” She lifted the beaker and poured the wine out on the ground before the little statue of Voynazh. “Mighty Voynazh, keep the shadow of war far from our doorstep,” she went on quietly. “Whether a blessing from Torravon is the same as a blessing from you or not… Please, let us live in peace, and make it so Roan never has cause for battle-madness.” She crushed the rowan-berries with a mortar and pestle, then tipped out the resulting paste on the flat stone before Siraki. “Great Siraki, clear our path on all our journeys; grant us safe passage over land and water, and be generous in the markets.” She picked up the wheat and rubbed it between her fingers so the grains scattered on the altar. “Blessed Kura…” She paused. “I suppose this is where newly-betrothed people would usually ask you to bless them with children, isn’t it? I suppose that would take divine intervention for Roan and I, at least without involving a third party in some way. But they never featured in our plans anyway, so… Help the hens to lay, keep the vegetable garden going, and I think we’ll be content.”

The wooden chimes hanging above the shrine clicked gently and spun in the wind; the galloping horses carved around the top chased each other in circles. Perhaps that was an answer. Asta straightened her back and closed her eyes, breathing slowly and deeply as she listened to the wind rustling gently through the trees and the waves lapping against the rocks outside the wall. A couple of the hens wandered over to take charge of the wheat.

After little while, Asta got to her feet and brushed the dust from her skirt. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked without turning around.

“Couple of minutes, maybe,” said Roan. “I was wondering if I should chase the hens away from your offering.”

“No, they’re fine,” said Asta. “I think Kura takes everything she can from it fairly quickly.” She did have to step in to set the statue of Voynazh back upright when one of the hens knocked it over.

Roan picked up the hen, tutting in amused disapproval. “That’s probably heresy, you know,” she said to one beady yellow eye.

“From a chicken?” asked Asta.

“Henresy, then.”

“Yes, they are known for their schismatic temple practices,” said Asta as Roan put the hen down and shooed her back towards the coop. She closed the shrine’s shutters and turned the little wooden bolt to secure them.

“It’s not too late to try and arrange a priest for the wedding, if you want,” said Roan, chasing the other hen off for good measure. “I’m sure there’ll be at least one in Duncraig who’s free.”

Asta shook her head. “I’ve never liked having a go-between – if I need to speak with the gods I’m quite capable of doing it myself.” She paused. “Roan?”

“Mm?”

“Do you believe in the gods?”

“Are you calling off the wedding if I say no?”

“No, of course not. I was just wondering – I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pray. There wasn’t even a household shrine until we built this one.”

Roan didn’t answer immediately; instead she pursed her lips and folded her hands behind her back, watching the hens.

Asta went on. “There was a wizard I knew in Stormhaven who didn’t. Believe in them, I mean. I asked him why one day, once we were on good enough terms that he wouldn’t take it as either an insult or a challenge. He just shrugged and said he’d never encountered a good enough reason to.”

Roan nodded thoughtfully. “I… believe that they exist in some shape or form, aye. Granda raised me on tales of the fearsome goddesses of the Sea Lochs – Torravon, the Cailleach, the Storm Hags – and I reckon I’ve seen enough of their work. I’m just not convinced they pay any attention to us.”

“Maybe not.” Asta smiled and brushed her fingers through the windchime. “But I suppose it won’t hurt to try and stay on their good side just in case.”

---

11th of Gracilis – Three days to go

The City of Duncraig

It was mid-morning by the time Pardus set its paws on the Kingsferry Bridge. At a gallop, the construct could have covered the distance between Dun Ardech and Duncraig in less than a day – and had done so more than once – but they hadn’t wanted to rush the journey and so had broken it at a coaching inn at a village halfway up the coast.

Roan’s arms tightened around Asta’s waist. “I haven’t been back here in a very long time,” she said, her voice subdued, as Pardus strolled along the bridge. It was a spectacular piece of engineering: four towering stanchions of concrete and steel supported dozens of seemingly slender cables – each one thicker than Roan’s arm in truth – which in turn supported the roadway itself, high above the surface of Loch Gorm. At the far end loomed the city of Duncraig, creeping down the steep, rocky hillside from the crag-top fortress of the High King – now the seat of the Imperial Governor – to the hundreds of docks and jetties along the edge of the water.

“Nor me,” said Asta, steadfastly keeping her eyes on the city, refusing to let her gaze drift to Castle MacArra atop the ridge on the other side of the loch. “Not since I came back through the portal from Stormhaven, and I was only passing through then; I didn’t stop to look around.”

“I never wandered all that far from the university when I lived here,” admitted Roan. “Chances are you probably know the city better than I do.”

They rode up through the city streets until they reached Siraki Square, the wide granite-paved marketplace up against the cliff face below the fortress. The market itself was not yet open, though the stallholders were setting up in the stone-built booths around the fountain at the centre of the square. Around its edges, would-be customers killed time in other shops or waited at pubs and cafes. Roan eyed them with distinct wariness as Asta reined Pardus in outside the four-storey hotel that took up almost one whole edge of the square. Flags hung from a row of poles jutting out along the façade of white marble, displaying the rampant bear of the Empire, the dragon ship of the Sea Lochs, the striking wildcat of the monarch of Loch Gorm, and the castle-and-mountain of Duncraig itself. Above them, tall glass windows looked out across the square to the fortress, while the rooms on the other side would gaze down the loch towards the distant sea.

Asta double-checked the letter from the hotel, nodded firmly to herself, and dismounted. Roan followed her a second later, casting another wary glance at the square behind them.

“We’ll check in just now and leave our bags in the room,” said Asta, unstrapping the suitcases from behind Pardus’s saddle. “Then we can maybe go out for an explore, find somewhere to have lunch…”

“Aye, that sounds like a plan,” said Roan absently, lifting one of the bags under one arm and hefting the other onto her shoulder. “I… Never mind.” Asta gave her a searching look, but did not press her.

Their room overlooked Siraki Square from the second floor. It was not lavishly decorated – the walls were painted a plain, warm cream colour, their only extra adornment a small painting of a stag hanging on the wall above the bed – but the bed was wide and soft with a heavy feather quilt, a pair of comfortable armchairs and a small coffee table were arranged by the full-length window, and the bathroom was equipped with a long tub of enamelled cast-iron. Hinged wooden shutters – currently folded back against the thick stone wall – could swing across to block the light from the windows, while thin linen curtains could be pulled over to soften their lines.

Roan placed the suitcases carefully on the floor behind the door, straightened up to roll her shoulders back, and flopped face-down on the bed. “Give me a few minutes before we head back out,” she said, her voice rather muffled by the quilt.

“You can’t possibly be tired already,” said Asta, kneeling beside her. She pulled back the hood of Roan’s sealskin cloak so that the skull rested between her shoulder blades. Roan turned her head slightly to look up at her out of one eye. “You, of all people? It’s not even lunchtime yet!”

Roan made a noncommittal sound.

“Well…” Asta lay down so they were face to face. “I’m sure we can find some way to entertain ourselves if you’d rather stay in here.” She grinned, poking the tip of her tongue out between her teeth, and slowly ran one finger down Roan’s nose to her lips.

“Tempting,” said Roan, smiling at last, “and for more than one reason. But I’m sure there’s a museum or something you want to visit.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to push the matter if you didn’t want to, but I did see a poster for an exhibition on aquatic constructs-”

Roan laughed, rolled over onto her back, and sat up. “Sounds good. Let’s have a look.”

The market outside was in full swing by the time they walked back down to the hotel entrance. There wasn’t a single stall without a queue of waiting customers, and the crowds had spilled out from the cafes and shops to mill around in the square itself. Roan took one step over the threshold and froze at the sight.

Asta looked back over her shoulder. “Roan?”

“I…” Roan’s eyes were wide and staring, her pupils dilated despite the bright sunshine in the square. Teeth bared, she groped blindly for the doorframe and clutched it, the tendons on the back of her hand standing out like wires.

“Hey! Hey.” Asta caught her other hand and reached up to stroke her cheek. “It’s all right. Look at me.”

Roan closed her eyes hard for a few seconds, pressing her lips together and breathing heavily through her nose, before she obeyed. Her pupils had shrunk back to a more normal size, but her eyes were still wide and her breath still trembled.

“Come with me,” said Asta. “There’s somewhere I want to show you.”

She led Roan out of the square and down a series of side-streets until they reached a gate in a waist-high iron fence. It was only locked by a simple sliding bar, clearly more to stop animals than humans, and they walked through into a steep-sided ravine lined with dense bracken – now mostly dead and brown for the winter – and tall pine trees. The path of packed earth and scattered bark zigzagged down the slope until it levelled out by the shallow, swift-flowing river at the bottom. Asta sat down on a wooden bench by the river and patted the seat beside her. Roan lay down on her side on the bench and rested her head in Asta’s lap, closing her eyes.

“I used to come here on the weekends, or when I had an hour or so away from Lady MacArra’s office,” said Asta, stroking Roan’s hair. “It was quiet, a good place to read – I’m not sure if even many life-long residents of the city know about it. South Craig – Lady MacArra’s house – is just downriver of here, down at the seafront.” She paused. “I knew you didn’t like crowds. I never realised you were afraid of them.”

Roan took a long, deep breath in through her nose and slowly let it back out through her mouth. “I’m fine with thirty, forty people,” she said without opening her eyes. “A bit more if there’s enough room for them to spread out, like at the market in Auchtertan or out on the island. But when there are hundreds all close together like there were back there, it… It feels too much like a threat. And that doesn’t mix well with battle-madness, however well I have mine under control.”

“No, I suppose not. Gods, if Duncraig bothers you this much, you would hate it in the Imperial City.”

Roan just nodded without sitting up. “Never felt any urge to visit it. Don’t think that would end well anyway.” She turned onto her back to look up at Asta. “Did you ever want to go back there?”

“There’s nothing left for me in Kiraan,” said Asta. “Just a lot of memories, and the good ones are too tangled up with the bad. I do miss it sometimes, all the places I grew up with… but no, I never wanted to return.” She brushed Roan’s fringe back out of her face and leant down to kiss her forehead. “We can go back to the hotel if you want.”

Roan took another deep breath and shook her head. “I don’t want to keep you cooped up all day. I’ll be all right if we can avoid the crowds.” She sighed and sat up. “So, did those posters say where this exhibit of yours is?”

Asta smiled. “It’s at the Marine Museum down at the quayside. Don’t worry, I know a few shortcuts that’ll get us there without any crowds.”

---

14th of Gracilis – A few hours to go

The City of Duncraig

Roan carried her plate back to the table. “I’m not sure about hotels,” she said as she sat down. “I don’t like hearing strangers moving around nearby at night. But it is nice to have a breakfast we didn’t have to make ourselves.”

“They lay out a good one here, too,” said Asta, checking over the day’s itinerary in her notebook. “So, our appointment at the registrar’s office is just at the back of five and then we have dinner in the evening, but the day isn’t too busy up until then. Did you have any plans?”

“I booked us a tub for a couple of hours at that huge bathhouse near the university. You know the one I mean? Our slot starts at half-ten, so we can find somewhere for lunch afterwards.”

“Oh, is that where you vanished to when I was in the library? You were oddly evasive about that.” Asta added it to her notes, then glanced up, frowning. “There’s a bath in our room here.”

“Aye, but it’s not very comfy. Not for two people, at least.”

“True. Well…” Asta reached back over her shoulder and beneath the collar of her blouse, rubbing her fingertips against the raised cords of old scarring.

Roan caught her reluctance immediately. “It’s a private tub,” she assured her. “No one has to see your back. Not even me, if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, I’m used enough to you seeing it,” said Asta with a small smile. “So, two hours at the bathhouse, maybe another two for lunch…”

“If we make it a very leisurely lunch.”

“Then that still gives us two and a half hours in the afternoon.”

Roan scooped half a fried egg into her mouth and swallowed. “I… have a couple of things to take care of then,” she said. “But I’ll meet you at the registrar’s office.”

“Will you be all right by yourself?”

“I… will manage.”

Asta silently searched Roan’s eyes for a few seconds before she nodded. “Five o’clock sharp, then,” she said, giving Roan’s chin a little shake between thumb and forefinger.

Roan caught her hand and gently kissed the backs of her fingers without breaking eye contact. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

After a long, relaxing soak in the bathhouse’s steaming, floral-scented water – “I’m very fond of our little bathhouse at home,” Asta commented, “but you have to admit it smells a bit eggy.” – and a lunch that was indeed leisurely in a neighbouring café, they split up outside the gates of the university. Roan gave Asta a quick farewell kiss on the forehead – as much for her own reassurance as Asta’s – before she pulled up the hood of her cloak, squared her shoulders, and strode away. Asta watched her until she had disappeared around a corner, then sighed and returned to the hotel. There were a few things of her own she needed to organise.

Much to Asta’s relief, as the afternoon wore quietly on she received no word of anyone going berserk in the street and getting either injured or arrested. Five o’clock approached; Asta donned her new blue dress, gave her hair – loose from her usual ponytail – one last careful brushing, and took several slow, steadying breaths in front of the bathroom mirror. She didn’t usually bother with makeup, but for the occasion she had added some pinkish polish to her nails, a subtle shading above her eyes and a hint of a deeper red around her lips. Finally she put on a pair of earrings, each one a plain gold hoop about an inch across – a little showier than the simple cuffs or studs she usually wore, but not to the point of discomfort or distraction.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said to her reflection, before she picked up her satchel containing her purse and the ring box, draped a woollen shawl around her shoulders against the chill of a Gracilis evening, and left the hotel. The sky was almost fully dark, but the streets were busy and well-lit and it wasn’t a long walk to the registrar’s office.

Like most of Duncraig’s buildings it was a stern construction of grey stone, with a short but impressively broad flight of steps leading up to double doors of sturdy oak, but the windows showed a welcoming gold light from the offices and meeting-rooms behind them. Asta waited at the foot of the steps. A bell chimed somewhere, perhaps from one of the city’s temples. Five chimes. Asta bit her lip, glancing up and down the street and wondering how long she should give it before she started getting worried. She had no fear of Roan getting cold feet, but if something else had happened…

“I’m here, I’m here! Sorry, not quite five sharp, I know.”

Asta smiled; a tension she hadn’t really noticed until it was gone fell from her shoulders. She turned towards Roan’s voice and her jaw dropped.

Roan gestured down at herself, grinning. “How do I look?”

She still wore her usual cloak, plain yellowish-tan trousers and tough leather boots, minus her gaiters for a change, but one of her afternoon tasks had clearly been to pick up a new tunic. The fine woollen cloth was dyed a rich blood-red, trimmed around the hems with intricate patterns of interwoven vines with strange creatures – birds, dragons, even a water horse – hiding amongst them, all embroidered in varying warm shades of yellow and orange. It was still sleeveless and knee-length like her everyday tunics, but was split into two wide panels front and back, slit up the side from the hem to her hips, and was tailored to accentuate her bust and her waist. A strip of red-and-gold cloth had been tied around her brow, keeping her hair out of her face. Perhaps she had had someone see to that, as well – it had been unbraided and allowed to flow in loose waves down her back, brushed until it shone like polished copper.

“Great gods,” was all Asta managed. “I – gods.”

“Not often I render you speechless,” said Roan. Her grin widened. “Not without the use of my hands, at least.”

“Roan!” Asta blushed and looked away, but she was still smiling.

Roan ran one hand down over Asta’s hair, combing her fingers gently through it. “You look perfect, mo chridhe. Utterly perfect. Oh, I almost forgot – these two are Kirsty and Erik. They’ve agreed to be witnesses.” She jabbed a thumb at the two people who had been standing behind her.

Asta gave them a polite nod, returned by both of them, before a flash of white in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked down at Roan’s left arm. There was a bandage of some odd, faintly shiny material wound securely around it just below the elbow. “Your arm – are you hurt?”

“Hm? Oh, that. No, it’s fine – I’ll show you after the ceremony. Shall we?” She offered Asta her other elbow and they walked arm-in-arm up the steps. A clerk met them just inside the doors and led their little group through to one of the offices, where the registrar had already laid all the relevant paperwork out on his desk.

“Wedding party of zeDamar and MacBride?” he asked.

“NicBruide,” corrected Roan, her tone suggesting it was not the first time she had encountered this error. “But aye, that’s us.”

The registrar glanced down at the forms. “Yes, I apologise – I misread.” He cleared his throat. “We are here to witness and register the marriage of Asta zeDamar and Roan NicBruide. Have you written any personal vows you’d like to say or shall we proceed with the standard version?”

“I… have a few words,” said Roan. She turned to face Asta and clasped both of her hands between her own. “Asta zeDamar. I… I have spent a lot of my life alone. I’ve never made friends easily, not as a bairn or as an adult. Sometimes people would come into my life, but… sooner or later they all left. Because they had to. Because they were afraid.” Her voice trembled. “Because I sent them away.” She released Asta’s hands and held her shoulders instead. “You are the only one who ever came back. That alone would amaze me every day if nothing else did – and believe me, much else does, from the strength of your heart to the sharpness of your mind, every single day since that night you first showed up on my doorstep. You’ve put up with me for longer than anyone but my grandfather. You are the best friend I have ever had, the most trusted ally of my heart, and the love of my life, and I can’t bear to spend one more day of that life without being married to you.” She sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of one hand.

Asta reached up to wipe the not-quite-shed tears away with her thumb. “You saved my life,” she said, “and I mean that in so much more than the purely literal sense. Yes, you treated my wounds and rescued me from the people who wished me ill – but more than that, you made sure I had the time and space and help I needed to heal, in that heart and mind you love so much as well as physically. Nobody has ever understood me – has ever listened to me – the way that you have. You make me happier than I’ve ever been before just from being your own kind, capable self, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” She pushed herself up on her toes to kiss Roan softly on the lips.

“That part comes later,” the registrar reminded them with a smile. “Do you have rings?” Asta fished the little box from her satchel and handed one ring to Roan.

“Silver,” commented Roan, holding the unengraved band up to the light.

“Gold felt a little too much like brass,” said Asta quietly, rubbing her throat with one hand. Roan just nodded, understanding immediately.

“Asta Irina zeDamar,” said the registrar. “Do you assent to marriage with Roan NicBruide?”

“I do.” She slid the ring she still held onto Roan’s finger.

“Roan NicBruide. Do you assent to marriage with Asta zeDamar?”

Roan placed the other ring on Asta’s finger. “I do.”

“Then I pronounce you married.” Roan didn’t wait for any further instruction and swept Asta right off her feet in a long and thorough kiss.

“Well, then,” said Asta, resting her forehead against Roan’s. “There we go.” Roan just grinned and kissed her again.

They all signed the forms to render everything properly official and left the building, bidding farewell to Kirsty and Erik at the bottom of the steps.

“Do you really not have a middle name?” asked Asta as they strolled back to the hotel together.

Roan shook her head. “I’m just Roan.”

“It suits you, somehow. Very straightforward. You were going to tell me what happened to your arm?”

“I was, wasn’t I?” She carefully loosened and unwound the bandage from around her arm. “The cloth is spelled and treated with a special ointment,” she explained. “It helps to quickly heal the skin without fading the ink.” Bandage removed, she held out her arm to reveal a dark blue, five-pointed star inked into the soft skin of her inner forearm, just below the crease of her elbow. Inside its crisp outline, each segment of the star was decorated with similar knots and spirals to the rest of her tattoos. “I get them to mark important occasions, remember?”

Lost for words for the second time that evening, Asta reached out with one hand, but pulled it back a hair’s breadth before her fingers met Roan’s skin. “It won’t smudge or anything, will it?”

“No – it won’t be fully healed yet, but the bandage moved things along enough that the ink is set.”

Asta smiled and brushed her fingers against the star. The skin around it was still a little pink and swollen from the needle, the lines of the tattoo a little raised, but it would settle back as it healed the rest of the way. “It’s very neat work.”

“Kirsty’s, as it happens,” said Roan. “She’s my tattooist. Erik, now, he’s just a random man who had some time to spare.”

Asta had to laugh. “It’s beautiful. Thank you. Although… You do know that the origin of my name doesn’t actually have anything to do with stars, right?”

“I do, but ‘divine beauty’ is a lot trickier to make a tattoo design of.” Roan smiled and ran her fingers through Asta’s hair again. “However well it suits you.”

Asta leant against her side with a smile, winding one arm around her waist as they walked, and said nothing.

Roan laid an arm around her shoulders. “Our table at the restaurant won’t be ready for another hour and a half, ish.”

“Oh, no.” Asta half-closed her eyes, her smile growing a little more suggestive. “However will we fill the time?”

---

What did you think she had in mind?

Roan has had her star tattoo in a few pictures I’ve drawn of her, but this is the only time the personal meaning behind it has actually been pointed out. ‘Asta’ is a diminutive form of the name ‘Astrid’, which does indeed mean something like ‘divine beauty’.

#az writes stories

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bubblywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Running From A Name Chapter 8

Its been five years. Alma and Bruno are all grown up! Its the year 1999, but it is still some time before Bruno’s 19th birthday.

“Arms above your head.”

Bruno obeyed the prison guard’s orders. The guard ran her hands down his body: starting from his shoulders down to his upper thighs. Satisfied with her search, the guard allowed Bruno to pass through.

“Wait one moment.” A male guard said.

“Is something wrong?” Bruno asked.

“Another man is currently visiting Polpo. You’ll have to wait until he gets out.”

Bruno raised an eyebrow. Polpo did not notify him that he would be seeing someone before him today. It couldn’t have been Fugo. Bruno ordered him to meet him at Libeccio’s later today to discuss the information he would be receiving from this summons from Polpo. He also had some other business to discuss with him as well. I wonder who it could be. Bruno thought. His question was answered when the door to Polpo’s cell unlocked with its usual loud, unhinging sound. A man who towered over him stalked through the door. He had a powerful muscular build and wore a long, black lapless coat that crossed his bare chest in the shape of an x. He also had on black and white striped pants. But his most notable feature were his eyes. The whites of his eyes were jet black-similar to Polpo’s, but his pupils were scarlet. A scarlet that burned with rage. The man chilled the air around him.

After his body check, he marched past Bruno without looking at him. Bruno stared at his retreating figure for a moment. Polpo must have said or done something to invoke the man's anger. Bruno considered the affairs of other members of Passione none of his concern. He brushed off his thoughts about the mysterious man and entered the cell. The dark hallway became illuminated with green lights. Bruno’s steps echoed through the hall. He stood in front of the wide glass that separated him and Polpo’s room. Polpo sipped his wine, the fat on his neck rolling as he swallowed. He lowered his glass and greeted Bruno. “How are you Buccellati? Would you like some wine? It's a good year.” Polpo said, offering him an empty glass.

“No thank you. I’m fine.”

“More for myself then.” Polpo responded. He emptied his cup in one gulp. He set the glass down and stared at Bruno as if he were examining him. “You're favoring your left arm? What happened to it?”

Bruno clutched his arm. “It got hurt in a scuffle the other day. Nothing too damaging. Anyway, why did you call me here?”

Polpo rested his head on his hand, tapping his finger on his cheek. “Some of my men have been indicted. Ones that were supposed to be under the protection of a politician on our payroll.” He huffed, annoyed.

“So you want me to speak with him?”

Polpo nodded. “Find out why he defied the organization. Then kill him.” Bruno disposed of multiple politicians that did not hold up the ends of their bargains with Passione. If politicians didn’t create policies or bend the rules for the organization, they were killed. There was no mercy for them.

“Understood.” Bruno said. Polpo waved him away with a cheeky smile. Bruno internally smacked his teeth.

Bruno exited the prison and headed for Libeccio’s. As he walked the streets, shopkeepers greeted him, restaurant owners asked him to eat lunch with them, and civilians waved at him. After Capra got promoted to capo two years ago, Polpo gave him his former territory. With it, Bruno quickly earned the trust of the people and Polpo, which allowed him to make a name for himself within the syndicate.

He pulled the door to the restaurant open, the bell chiming. A waiter took one look at him and hurried to service him. Bruno lifted his hand and asked, “Is Fugo here yet?”.

“Yes, Mr. Fugo is waiting for you in your usual area.”

“Thank you.” Bruno dismissed the man with a polite smile and wave. He made his way to go sit with Fugo.

“Buccellati. How are you?” Fugo asked.

“I’m fine Fugo.” Bruno pulled out a chair and sat down. He scanned the menu while engaging in light conversation with Fugo. The two of them never discussed work without their meals on the table.

“Mr. Buccellati. May I take your order.” The same male waiter from earlier asked, filling his glass with mineral water.

The man was not the bubbly server he was expecting. The one who refused to let anyone else wait his table when she was on shift. “I’ll have the spaghetti alle vongole, please. That will be all.”

The waiter bowed and left to deliver his order. Bruno’s eyes trailed after him and into the seating area. He searched the restaurant for a sign of Alma. I guess she isn’t working today. He thought.

“Is there something wrong Buccellati?”

Bruno pulled himself from his thoughts, returning his attention to Fugo. “No, everything is fine.” Fugo eyed him with suspicion, but dropped it. Bruno and Alma had a strict rule: never act like friends when he is with members of the gang or working. However, they had slip ups every so often. Their mistakes weren’t noticeable to the average person, but they could not escape Fugo’s perceptiveness. Fugo perched an eyebrow at him and Alma’s restrained grins, forced down jokes, and lingering glances. Bruno assumed Fugo pieced together the connection between him and Alma, but would not ask about it until he felt the need to.

“What were the orders you got from Polpo?” Fugo asked.

“One of the politicians working for the organization has gotten some of Polpo’s men arrested. We’ve been ordered to find out why and kill him.” Bruno said.

“Why would a politician want to betray the organization? It’s-”

“a surefire way to get a hit put out on you.” Bruno interrupted. “I was thinking the same thing, but there has to be a reason. I wanted to know the reasons for why you think he would.”

Fugo placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin. “I doubt it’s because he suddenly wanted to do honest work. Passione pays too well for that. That man is too corrupt to even consider losing a paycheck. Either the government is cracking down on him or he found a better money outlet.”

Bruno nodded at his answer. “We’ll question him tomorrow. For now, I want you to look into the issues the baker is having with that thug.”

“Understood.” Fugo said.

The waiter brought Bruno his food. He enjoyed casual banter with Fugo as he ate his meal. On he and Fugo’s way out of the restaurant, Bruno took a small, red puzzle piece out of his pocket. He tossed it on the table. Maybe she will come in later today.

Bruno parted ways with Fugo and went to the hospital keeping his father. During his walk, an art shop appeared in the corner of his eye. He gazed at the quirky little store for a few seconds. He shrugged his shoulders and stepped inside. The store clerk welcomed him. “Hello sir. Let me know if you need anything.”

“I do need some help. Do you have any-I believe charcoal pencils? I have a friend who works on a lot of black and white art projects.”

“We do.” The store clerk said, motioning for Bruno to follow her. She led Bruno to a random aisle that had a overwhelming ink smell. The smell was strong enough to make Bruno slightly lightheaded.

“Sorry for the smell. We had a couple of ink bottles spill.” She grabbed the pencils and brought them to the checkout desk. Bruno glimpsed at the pink dahlias near the checkout.

“Are those flowers for sale?” He asked.

“Yes, they are. Would you like for me to grab some for you?”

“I would appreciate it, thank you.”

She plucked a bundle of the flowers from the shelf. The clerk rang them up along with the charcoal pencils. She bagged the items and handed them to Bruno. He waved goodbye to the clerk before leaving the store to continue his walk to the hospital.

Bruno knocked on the door to his father’s room. There was no answer. His knuckles were about to beat against the door again, but he stopped at the childish giggles from behind the door. Tilting his head, Bruno cracked it open. His eyes glowed with joy. He didn’t need to leave the puzzle piece on the table. Alma’s beautiful snorts mixed with the deep rumble of his father’s laughter. The sound bounced off the walls in glorious harmony. Isabella cuddled next to his father, rambling about some random topic.

He skimmed Alma's body. She wore a coral, cropped hoodie that showed off the elegant curves of her waist and back. Her black leggings hugged her thighs in a way that Bruno liked more than he should have. He forced his eyes to not travel up any further. Alma turned her head towards the door. Her goofy smile widened upon seeing him. Bruno couldn’t stop the grin forming on his face in return.

“Come out of the shadows you creep.” Alma said. Bruno laughed as he walked towards the bed. His father tipped his head to him while Isabella stood up on the bed. She wrapped her tiny arms around his middle. She glanced up at him, her vibrant red eyes shining at him with youthful innocence. Her eyes were like an angel’s compared to the demonic red ones he saw earlier today. Bruno rubbed the top of her head. “Where are your brothers?”

“Soccer practice.” She answered, letting him go to return to his father’s side. He faced Alma. Her features only matured over time, making her grow into a beautiful woman.

“I don’t think you can creep in broad daylight.” Bruno said.

“You would find a way.”

“Everyday, more of Angelo is rubbing off on you.”

Alma put her hand on her stomach and pushed her tongue out like she was vomiting. “Never compare me to him.”

Bruno placed a hand on her shoulder. “That’s an action he would do.”

Bruno’s father threw his head back in laughter. He choked out through his snickers, “I’ve never met Angelo, but you two talk about him a lot. He seems to be a very interesting boy.”

Bruno spoke up. “He is. But since he went to college, the restaurant has been very quiet.”

“You mean peaceful. He still works there, just not as often. It’s mostly to help out if anything. But I do miss hearing him and Marco argue.” Alma said. Bruno had to admit he also missed their daily bickering. At times, it was the highlight of his meals at the restaurant.

“From the sounds of it, he would make an interesting best man at you and Alma’s wedding.” Bruno’s father stated, playfully.

Isabella perked up. “There's gonna be a wedding? Can I be the flower girl?”

Bruno and Alma’s cheeks burst into flames.

“I-w-we are not getting married. We're not even dating. We’re just friends.” Alma nudged him with her elbow. “Back me up here Bruno.”

Bruno shook himself out of his daze. “Y-yes. We do n-not have that kind of relationship.” Bruno stammered. Did he struggle to tear his eyes away from Alma's body sometimes? Yes, he did. Did he stare at her lips too long for comfort? Once. But he left it at that, a physical attraction. Alma was meant to be just a friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Isabella pouted. His father patted her head and whispered something to her. She giggled into her hands and whispered back to him. Bruno was tempted to ask what his father told her, but he decided against it. He could live without the embarrassment. Bruno stuck the flowers he bought into a vase on the table next to the bed. He passed the rest of the bag's contents to Alma. She peered inside of it and gasped. “How did you know I wanted these?”

“You’ve been dropping hints for the past week.”

“No I haven’t.”

Bruno gave her a knowing look. “Just the other day, you were flipping through your sketchbook saying, “If only I had charcoal pencils to shade this drawing.”

Alma scratched behind of her ear. “I was hoping you would pick up the hints months down the line for my birthday. Not for today.”

“Consider it an early gift.” Bruno turned to his father. “Anyway, how are you feeling?”

“I am feeling better these days. Nothing to worry about.” His father answered. The doctors told Bruno his father was very lucky to survive his complications after all these years. Bruno was not religious, but he thanked whatever God was out there for allowing his father to live this long. He sat in the chair adjacent to the bed and grasped his father’s hands. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“I have to live long enough to see you happy. And maybe, see my first grandchild.” His father’s eyes flashed to Alma.

Alma covered her face with her hands. Bruno’s face started to match the color of Isabella’s eyes. He fumbled with his words. “Hopefully. Bu-but not like-with, nevermind.” Bruno rose from his chair. He, Alma, and Isabella waved goodbye to his father as they left the room.

Bruno’s keys jingled as he unlocked the door to his house. As it creaked open, lavender incense flooded his nostrils. He breathed deep and let the sweet scent calm him. “You clean the place Alma?”

“Yeah. I figured you probably forgot again. But conveniently, you never leave much of a mess.” She and Isabella stepped inside the house and removed their shoes. He followed in after them. Bruno’s home was fairly plain. He had gray silk couches, a television, white walls, and hardwood mahogany flooring. His father’s torn fishing net was the only thing that hung on the walls. But when he gave Alma his spare key, he soon noticed the growing collection of decorative furniture, paintings hanging on the walls, and a different incense scent always burning. However, the occasional drawing on the wall from Isabella he could go without.

He dropped onto the couch with Alma plopping down next to him. Bruno grabbed the remote and asked Isabella, “Do you have something you wanna watch?”

She stopped playing with the stuffed animal on the floor. “Nickelodeon.” Bruno clicked sixty three on the remote. A cartoon about a blonde boy with a strange shaped head popped onto the screen. Isabella crossed her legs and was absorbed into the television. Bruno picked up the laptop on his coffee table. He flipped it open and scrolled through the two open tabs. One contained details about available apartments and the other was about the University of Naples’ art program. “So you really are determined to move out of Mr. Calamaro’s place?” He asked Alma.

“I am. The only issue is trying to figure out how I am going to raise the rascals while I go to school. Miguel is old enough to watch over Emilio and Isabella, so I don’t have to rely on Sophia all the time. But they’re getting older, so school is getting more expensive. I can try to work more hours at the restaurant during summer and push more art commissions. Maybe I’ll get more commissions when I go to college.”

“I told you not to str-”

“Don’t finish that sentence. I told you how I felt about you and Marco paying for my stuff.” She interjected, holding up a finger.

“Because you need the money. Stop being so stubborn and take it. If you don’t, I’ll just sneak it into your account.”

Alma dropped her hand in her lap and sighed. “Fine. But I’m gonna pay you back one day.”

“I don't need you to pay me back. You should also stop stressing yourself over this school. Angelo got in. You can too.”

Alma pushed herself into the sofa. “He may not act like it, but Angelo is actually smart. I’ll cry for a whole week if I don’t get into this school. They have one of the top art programs in the country.”

“And you will get in. Your drawings are amazing.” Bruno moved his arm slowly to close the laptop. The bruise on it still ached. He prayed Alma did not notice. She did. Whereas Polpo observed Bruno’s injuries out of curiosity, Alma did it out of genuine concern. Her features softened as she reached for his arm. She stroked her thumb on his forearm asking, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just a small bruise.”

Alma got up and fetched the first aid kit. She rolled up his sleeve and applied the cool, soothing salve to his bruise. Her delicate fingers wrapped the bandages around his arm with care. Her eyes were downcasted and she said nothing. Bruno hated the slight trembles of her lips, the cracks in her voice, and her worried glances when she treated him. He cupped her chin. “Talk to me.”

She swallowed. “You don’t have to tell me, but I know you're moving up in the organization. That means you’ll be in more danger. I don’t know Fugo that much, but I don’t want him or you getting hurt.”

Bruno swiped his thumb along her chin. “I’ll be alright. Mmkay.” He whispered.

“Mmkay.”

#Bruno Bucciarati #Bruno Buccellati #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno bucciarati x reader #jjba fanfic #jjba part 5 #pannacotta fugo #jjba polpo

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vixenandviper · 4 years ago

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HOLD! WHO GOES THERE? WHY, IS THAT [CATLINA JOHAR] THE [MADAME OF THE HOUSE] OF [ILLASQA]? THEY DO LOOK [ASSERTIVE] FOR A [WOMAN] OF [29] YEARS. DON’T THEY CALL [HER] THE [SAVVY AND PROTECTIVE HARLOT]? I’VE HEARD THEY’RE ALSO [SILVER TONGUED AND VICIOUS] THOUGH. DON’T TAKE MY WORD FOR IT BUT THEY DO LOOK AN AWFUL LOT LIKE [SUMMER BISHIL].

Basic Info

NAME: Catlina Johar

PRONUNCIATION: Cat-Leena Joe-Har

OCCUPATION: Madame of the Nightshade

AGE: 29

PLACE OF ORIGIN: The Red Keep

FAMILY MEMBERS: None known

Physical Description

HEIGHT: 5′2″

HAIIR COLOR: Dark chestnut with some lighter brown highlights

EYE COLOR: Dark brown

GENDER: Female

BUILD: Pete and slim

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES?: None besides a few freckles

ANY HEALTH RELATED ISSUES?: None

Personality

Catlina isn’t a sweet person. She can drip honey from her tongue if that’s what you want but it’ll cost you. Overall, she is someone who isn’t afraid to speak her mind but won’t give you any insight into her past. She does have a bit of an explosive temper but her rage is something she rarely taps into because she knows if she did, the things she’d say would probably land her in prison.

She is, however, extremely loyal to those who have been good to her. Whether that’s a simple favor or someone who has befriended her, you can be sure Catlina Johar will have your back. She is extremely protective of the people who work in her brothel and by extension, the people that work in the tavern. The tavern itself is owned by someone else but they all work together closely.

Additional Info

Catlina runs a tavern and brothel in Illasqa currently, though she was born in the Red Keep. I would love for her to have a few girls and/or guys in her care and business partners. Anything involving the brothel, essentially. As well as rival brothels or establishments too. She’s extremely protective of the girls in her care and wouldn’t let anyone do anything without their consent.

I’d love the Elliot to her Margo. He could be someone who frequents the tavern/brothel or someone who bought it with her. Essentially, he’s her only real friend and the only person other than herself she actually trusts. She would kill for him… and probably has. And he thinks of her as his best friend.

People from her past. She was born on the streets of the Red Keep, her mother was probably a prostitute herself. But an older woman took pity on Cat and took her in, essentially ‘buying’ her from her mother. She was the only person Cat ever saw as a mother but she died when she was a child. Afterwards, Cat lived on the street and probably ran with some bad crowds, fending for herself. She probably made friends enough with some of the prostitutes and convinced them to let her clean up after them or fetch them food and drinks, etc, that they gave her a little closet she could sleep in. She eventually got a job as a serving wench and worked as a prostitute when she was older. But I would love plots from her past, anyone that would have known her back then.

History

She could have ended up in the gutter, in the shit and the muck, in the poorest areas of the Red Keep were it not for her intense desire to not die. Catlina was born without a last name. She was born without a first name until she was given up, just a few days after her birth. Her mother was a prostitute and she was an accident.

Cat was given up to an old woman known around town as Mani who often sold pastries and bread and cakes to the courtesans and clients that visited the Red Door. Her mother had left her in a basket, her only words to the old baker woman were “Please… I can’t. Please take my johar.” The first few years of her life were probably the happiest she could have actually known, given all of the circumstances. The woman was old and growing frail, already into at least her mid-sixties by the time she’d been given Catlina. But she had a heart full of love and a warm home, even if it was really just a room on top of her bakery.

The woman had decided to give Catlina a real name, though she often called her ‘Johar’ as her birth mother did. She taught Catlina how to read and write over the years and some basics that she knew about keeping her business going in the bakery. She often told Cat tales of her own youth and the life she’d led with her husband who had died a few years before. It had been a joyful and full life, even if they’d never had children. And she never told Cat who her mother was, only where she worked. She always said “We’ll talk about this when you’re older.”

But older never came for Cat’s caretaker. She was returning from buying goods from the woman when the bakery was ablaze. The old woman’s body had been burned to an unrecognizable degree and all the magi putting out the fire could tell her was that they hoped she’d died before the inferno took over the home. It seemed the oven had caught the rickety old walls on fire and the rest… was left as cinders. She had once again lost everything and she realized the woman who’d taken care of her was the closest thing she had to a mother.

For weeks, the girl managed to survive on the streets, doing odd chores for various business owners who knew her caretaker. They gave her a few coins, enough for her to buy some bread and fruit and occasionally would let her sleep in their store rooms. It was enough for her, she only ever wanted to survive.

Catlina found herself on the streets during a storm and afterwards, the girl became terribly ill. She remembers falling asleep on the streets and later feeling nothing but warmth. She didn’t know that’s what death would feel like but she was certain she was dying. And perhaps it was Jvala greeting her herself. Welcoming her back into the volcanic earth that she grew.

When she came to, she found it wasn’t Jvala’s warmth welcoming her into the After, but rather someone physical and real and towering and… she was terrified at first. Arvasdarr happened to be the one to find her, broken and sick and cold as she was in the streets. And through whatever hope or goodness or pity he had left in his heart, he took her in and helped her recover. She was with him for a few months at the most, and he’d never quite felt human. She’d asked him very straightforward if he was a dragon. He laughed at her but that was all the answer she needed. Even as a child of just ten years old, she knew he needed his freedom. And he needed to fly free more than anything. And he couldn’t do that looking after a kid. So she went to the place her Mani had mentioned, the Red Door.

No child of ten should have seen the things Catlina saw there. But she begged a few of the girls to give her chores, errands, let her clean, anything, if they’d just let her stay in one of the small store closets. They allowed this little trespass as long as she stayed out of their way. So Catlina went to Arvasdarr and the two parted ways. It was for the best, although he might have been the closest she’d ever find to a father figure.

The years drug on for Catlina, she cleaned, cooked, ran errands, bought groceries, mopped up bodily fluids and even helped the women at the brothel kick drunk men out of their rooms. And she stayed out of sight when she could and out of the way the rest of the time. The women there kicked her a few coins back every time she did them a favor and Catlina began saving more and more of it, buying only as much food as she needed to survive, the rest she stockpiled in order to one day leave the Red Keep.

She had dreams, she wanted a small house somewhere on a beach maybe, and she wanted to live by what she could provide herself. If she found a family along the way, she might be happy to make her own, but all she needed, perhaps, was independence and her own indomitable willpower.

Catlina started servicing the clients too sometime around fifteen or sixteen. She was making more money and paid for a room at the brothel out of her cut. Still, she scrimped and saved, occasionally fighting with one other girl there specifically, but she paid her as little mind as possible. She knew it would solve nothing and get her nowhere near what she wanted.

At eighteen, she left the Red Keep. Her first stop was a three year long stint in East Reach before she finally had enough money saved to book passage and move permanently to Illasqa. She found work there at what was then the Shrieking Clam. But she was motivated and she put in more than her fair share of hard work. On top of taking clients, she did what she could around the tavern and inn to make it function and look better.

She also met Avitej Kumara there. If only she’d known how much her life would change just by meeting him.

The first rule for any whore is to never fall in love. And perhaps she’d broken that rule the moment they’d locked eyes. But she would not realize the extent of the hold he had on her for many years. He was wild then, seemingly untamable. But he’d come often to the Shrieking Clam, it was a favorite haunt of his apparently, and when he’d laid eyes on her, there’d been no one else he wanted to claim.

The next few years were a whirlwind for Catlina. She quickly gained the previous owner of the Shrieking Clam’s favor by being hardworking and having the business tact and savvy that he was looking for. He was aging and wanted someone to take over for him. He trained her on everything she needed to properly manage a brothel and as she stepped further into the role of leadership, the place really started to turn around, and she took less and less clients.

When the man finally retired, Catlina was twenty six. By that point, she only ever took one client when he came around, and she had fixed and rebuilt all of the broken parts of the brothel. She renamed it the Nightshade and slowly, but surely, it had become less and less of a den of debauchery, and more and more a palace of pleasure. If it was any other sort of business, it would be respectable outside of Loqoala, even admired and favored.

But that was Calina Johar’s life. Hard work. The fate she was given overcome by sheer will but the fate she wanted still so far out of reach.

#kc.intro #finally posting this after literally 28 years

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brilliantorinsane · 6 years ago

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The Case of the Lady Beryl

As the name suggests, the closest canon analogue for this episode is The Case of the Beryl Cornet. As far as I can tell the similarities are pretty superficial, basically just consisting of the fact that both mysteries feature a suspect taking the fall for a crime they didn’t commit for the sake of a loved one. I didn’t notice anything particularly interesting in the episode’s use of the canon story, however, so I am going to set that aside and focus on Watson.

Introduction, Ep1 Pt1, Ep1 Pt2

This episode features Holmes at his best, but I was initially bothered by the fact that Watson spends the first half of the episode being rather stupider than normal. Now, characters needn’t be intelligent to be loved and lovable, and the fact that Holmes and Watson take their turns being played for fools is frankly one of the strengths of the series. But given the history of adaptations erasing Watson’s capabilities I get touchy when he is being underestimated, so when in the span of 10 minutes he has fallen for a transparent lie from Lestrade, mocked Holmes’s experiments, taken 24 seconds to process a perfectly straightforward sentence, and flat-out forgotten how bullets work, I start getting defensive.

Fortunately, fandom has taught me a great deal about the potential for audience interaction with texts to be transformative as well as analytical, so I’ve brought my stubbornness to bear and found an interpretation that (mostly) satisfies me. I do not know whether the reading I have to offer was in any way intended, but I do think it is consistent with what exists on the screen and adds depth to Watson’s characterization. That being said I don’t suppose I’ll ever entirely forgive them for implying that John Watson, a fricken doctor and soldier, is unable to differentiate between a bullet-wound and a bashed-in head.

The observation that prompted my re-evaluation of Watson’s behavior was realizing that in every instance his slowness is directly related to his following Lestrade’s lead or being more focused on Lestrade than Holmes. This is a curious thing, particularly since I think it would be far too simplistic to infer that Watson is simply looking for someone to follow and imitate. After all, even though Holmes has a deep effect on him, Watson frequently challenges Holmes’s conclusions and never adopts his manner. So of all people, why would Watson choose to imitate Lestrade, a man who is frequently the butt of the joke and at times seems to care about his own image more than the justice he has been given the authority and responsibility to protect?

My theory, counterintuitive though it may seem, is that Lestrade is the sort of man Watson believes he ought to be. I think there is evidence that this Watson, regardless of his actual personality and inclinations, thinks he ought to be a traditionally proper English gentleman. Throughout the show he continually protests Holmes’s eccentricities, and yet far from meaningfully attempting to abate or escape them, he not infrequently joins in wholeheartedly. To me, this seems indicative of a pattern: in this series Holmes and Watson are both eccentric madmen, but whereas Holmes is perfectly comfortable with the fact, Watson has put effort into appearing ‘normal’ and ‘correct’, and periodically struggles to maintain or reclaim that image—both in the eyes of others and himself.

And the funny thing about Lestrade is that, for all his buffoonery, in a very real way he represents the proper English gentleman. When Holmes isn’t busy destabilizing Lestrade’s self-image he is confident, assertive, and takes the lead. His manner (when he feels in control) is dignified and polite. He has the socially sanctioned “correct” opinions about gender and class and English superiority. And granted much of this is a facade which interferes with his accomplishing his job justly and well, but it has been sanctioned by the symbol of the police cap and the power of the Inspector. He has been chosen as the protector of a society whose cultural ideal he (superficially) embodies.

So, all things considered, Watson is very little like Lestrade, but Lestrade is very much like the sort of man Watson has been socially conditioned to aspire to.

(As a side note, part of the reason I enjoy this reading of Howard Watson is that it puts him in conversation with other Watson adaptations and the canon itself. Certainly it fits with my reading of the BBC Sherlock and Guy Ritchie Watsons. I haven’t decided the extent to which I read canon Watson in a similar manner, but the potential for such a reading is there in the way he paints himself as a deeply normal man while engaging in highly abnormal behavior. The Sign of Four, I suspect, provides especially good material for such an interpretation).

Perhaps the best part of this reading is that, if Lestrade leads Watson into performative normality, it is Holmes who releases him. Once Holmes is included in the investigation, a gradual shift occurs. At first Watson maintains his alliance with Lestrade, but for all that Lestrade has the advantage of social pressures pushing Watson towards him, this cannot last long once Holmes has re-entered the picture. By the time they are interviewing the primary suspect, he has returned to his usual intelligent and capable self.

Because that’s one of the many the beauties of their relationship: Holmes frees Watson from the endless task of conforming, and his genuine self is far better than any cheap imitation. And while I didn’t get into in this write-up, Watson returns the favor by loving Holmes as he is while curbing his more dangerous exterminates and keeping him grounded and present. Also in this episode he’s already 2-for-2 saving Holmes’s life and property and they’re just so good for each other and I love them.

My Story:

I don’t have anything particular to add on this point aside from what I’ve already said, but here’s the link to chapter two of Hidden in the Moments:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12795147/chapters/29238576#workskin

Highlights:

Although Watson’s behavior around Lestrade isn’t his finest, I quite enjoy the fact that in the second episode Watson has already wheedled his way into cases on his own merit. Then his first move is to convince Lestrade to involve Holmes, which is adorable.

Also when he suggests they bring in Holmes his eyes get all soft and he has this warm little smile, like he’s so pleased and excited at the prospect of seeing Holmes at work again (3.20).

It’s also worth noting that the first thing that gets Watson on Lestrade’s side is Lestrade ranting about how Holmes deserves more credit. I’m pretty sure it’s insincere deflection on Lestrade’s part, but Watson believes him and is so endeared to Lestrade for defending Holmes and it’s honestly quite sweet.

Wilkins!!! Have I mentioned yet that I really love Wilkins? He’s smart without being showy, plays everything straight but is actually rather snarky, doesn't dismiss Holmes’s experiments like most people do and is maybe the only character who always enjoys Holmes’s intelligence without ever feeling threatened by it. I just find him really endearing.

So Wilkins walks into Baker Street when Holmes is doing an experiment, and Holmes immediately drags him into his experiment while absentmindedly offering him tea twice. And I love this scene because this Holmes is actually pretty social, it’s just on his own terms. He’s probably not going to do small-talk most days, but when he’s in the right mood he will serve you endless cups of probably-not-poisoned tea and ramble about his current fixation, which I honestly feel is very true to canon. Also I think he just genuinely likes Wilkins.

When trying to hurry Holmes off to a crime scene Lestrade calls his experiments ‘nonsense.’ Poor Holmes looks absolutely stricken, then passionately lectures Lestrade on the importance of Science and Progress all the way to the crime scene. Holmes is a nerd and I love him.

As they rush off to the crime scene Watson pauses to turn off the burner under Holmes’s experiments, and by Holmes’s estimation very likely saved Baker Street. It’s a lovely little example of how Watson’s somewhat more grounded personality works in tandem with Holmes’s absentminded hyperfocusing.

I quite like Lady Beryl. Granted her performance and circumstances are a bit melodramatic, but she has a quiet and calculating strength that draws me to her.

There’s a scene at 16:15 when Holmes is (rather unnecessarily) ribbing Lestrade and Lestrade begins to get worked up and defensive. Matters could have escalated from there, but Watson quietly leans forward and relays some pertinent facts about the crime scene to Holmes. It’s just a little moment of unpretentious conflict-resolution born of what Watson has already come to understand about these two men, and I really appreciate it.

24:27–24:32: “Brilliant Holmes, absolutely brilliant!”“Thank you Watson :)”

Watson again nabs the criminal efficiently and without posturing, while Holmes watches with all the attentiveness he offers a crime scene before offering one of his secret little smiles.

Holmes runs off in a panic upon realizing he left the burner on, and the episode ends before Watson can catch up and reassure him. And while I have my own (much longer) mental timeline of events, I must admit that what with our not being privy to it, the rush of gratitude and relief when Holmes realizes what Watson has done makes that unseen moment an excellent candidate for a first kiss.

@the-prince-of-professors @tremendousdetectivetheorist @devoursjohnlock@mafief @the-hopeless-existentialist@irishunic0rn @a-candle-for-sherlock@rfscommonplace @acdhw @artemisastarte

#it's 10:24 #which means its still jan 29th here #i mean it's not actually about their meeting #but it still is about them #and at any rate this gave me an arbitrary date to force myself to post it by #anyhow i've been struggling to get this one close to right and i'm currently half-asleep so i've no clue if it makes sense #enjoy!#howard holmes #sheldon reynolds #howard marion-crawford #ronald howard #howard holmes meta

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timeagainreviews · 5 years ago

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A Loch back at a Zygon Era

Hello friends! I've had quite the week! Monday was my birthday, so my boyfriend and I took a road trip around Scotland. We saw lots of things from the Beatrix Potter Garden in Birnam, to the Cave of Caerbannog from Monty Python, to the Devil's Pulpit in Dumgoyne. But our main destination was Loch Ness! We settled into our hotel by watching "Terror of the Zygons," which seemed appropriate considering our surroundings. Naturally, I decided to review it here. Before I do, however, I would like to thank all of you who have been liking and reblogging my stuff lately. It means a lot to know I'm connecting with people. Thank you for your support!

On the surface, "Terror of the Zygons," appears to be just like any other serial of its era. However, if you do a bit of digging, you'll discover that there are some interesting facts about its production. Did you know that there was a sort of "real-world," tie in with the story? No, I don't mean Nessie. Think closer to Mickey Mouse. In 1975, Tom Baker played the Doctor for the August "Disney Time," bank holiday special. After introducing several clips from Disney films, he is called away by the Brigadier to the events of Terror of the Zygons. I can't help but wish this information was known to me before writing my Doctor Who and Disney article! You can watch the clips on youtube. They feature Tom being suitably bizarre.

Along with having an unusual prequel, the story also had a deleted scene from the beginning which was later colourised by YouTuber "babelcolour," for the DVD release. This edited version is the one I rewatched for today's review. The scene begins with the TARDIS materialising invisibly. The Doctor walks out from nothingness, wearing a matching tartan tam and scarf, replacing his usual fedora and scarf. Not far behind are Sarah Jane and Harry Sullivan wearing said hat and scarf respectively. There's something rather humorous about the Doctor using his companions as human hat racks. Considering Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart's name, it seems appropriate that the Doctor is sporting the Royal Stewart tartan. I can't help but wonder if the costume department did this on purpose. After rematerialising the TARDIS to "fix," it back to it's usual broken police box state, the three continue their journey to answer the Brigadier's Disney Time summons. It seems an oil rig off the coast of Scotland has crashed into the sea just shortly after having lost radio contact.

After hitching a ride from the eccentric Duke of Forgill, the three meet up with a kilted Brigadier in a small Scottish inn where the landlord, Angus, plays bagpipes ad nauseam. They're really driving the Scottish shit home, which makes sense when you consider they filmed the episode in Sussex. Also gathered at the inn are Sergeant Benton, various UNIT soldiers, and a man from the oil company named Huckle. The Duke has some curt words with Huckle, informing him that any crewmen found on his land will be shot. After leaving in a huff, we see one of these crewmen wash ashore, seemingly alive. Over the past month, three different rigs have all met their demise. The gang splits up Scooby-Doo style. Dr Harry goes off to check on the injured crewmen, while Sarah stays behind to get the scoop from the locals. And the Doctor goes off to be the Doctor.

Back at the inn, Sarah mentions the odd nature of the Duke to Angus who promptly defends the duke as a good man. However, even he has to admit that the Duke has been acting strangely since the oil companies came. After letting go most of his servants, the only real bit of interaction he's had lately was gifting the inn with a goofy looking stag head. Nowadays the Duke keeps mostly to himself at Forgill Castle. The surrounding area of Tulloch Moor seems steeped in mystery. People go missing as the mist comes in, Angus tells Sarah as they're being spied upon from a distance. Eavesdropping in on the conversation over a veiny, bio-mechanical screen, an unknown figure watches from the shadows.

While driving alone, Harry spots the washed-up man from the rig and jumps out to help him. Believing him to be yet another trespasser, a beardy fellow by the name of Caber shoots the survivor and wings Harry across his brow, rendering him unconscious. Back in the bio-mechanical ship, alien villains twist and caress a fleshy panel in the weirdest form of nipple play ever seen on Doctor Who, causing the destruction of another oil rig near Ben Nevis. While trying to decipher the signal that has been jamming the oil rigs' radios, the Doctor learns of Harry's brush with death.

After checking on Harry, the Doctor goes out to inspect the oil rig wreckage where he discovers strange holes in the foundation. After taking a cast of the holes with plaster of Paris, the cast reveals what looks like the shape of an impossibly large sharp tooth. During a call with the Doctor, Sarah is attacked by the previously seen alien hand, which belongs to none other than a fearsome Zygon! I've always loved their design, especially in this scene. Something about the shape of its mouth is particularly disturbing. I was slightly disappointed about the redesign from the new series. I'm a big fan of the Zygon cat nose. I almost named one of my cats Zygon due to his dark orange fur and similar nose shape, but my partner at the time vetoed that idea. I named him Rory instead.

After discovering both Harry and Sarah missing, the Doctor discovers Sarah in a decompression room for divers, the door slightly ajar. I was annoyed by the fact that the Doctor fell for such an obvious trap, but it also led to an intriguing sequence. Harry's nurse, Sister Lamont, closes the heavy door behind the Doctor and seals it shut for decompression. Running out of air, the Doctor hypnotises Sarah and enters into a trance to conserve air. I'm a big fan of any time the Doctor acts like a bit of a mystic. I'm a meditator myself, so it's cool to see the Doctor tap into the innate powers of thought control. One of the side effects of certain meditations is a slowing of breathing. It was nice that the scene doesn't overly explain this. It allows Tom the chance to really play up his weird alien charm as his eyes roll back and he howls toward the ceiling. Moments like these are why I love Tom Baker so much. He's not afraid of being utterly bizarre.

It's around this time we begin to learn a little about the Zygons. Having taken Harry to their ship, their leader, Broton, tells him a bit about their history. After they crash-landed centuries ago they awaited rescue while subsiding on the lactic fluid of their giant Nessie-like cyborg pet known as the Skarasen. That's correct, you did not misread that- they feed off of cyborg breast milk. Only with a show like Doctor Who can you get a sentence like that. You've kind of got to love that. After discovering their planet was destroyed by a cosmic event, they redirected their efforts toward getting their suckers on Earth. The Skarasen is to be the form of Earth's destructor, as no human weapon could hope to penetrate its augmented skin. In order to move their plan into motion, the Zygons gas the village, knocking the Brigadier and the UNIT soldiers out cold, thus allowing them to move in secret. Luckily for the Doctor and Sarah, Sergeant Benton was on the lookout for them where he saves them from death by asphyxiation.

After coming to, Huckle gives the Doctor a bio-emitter that attracts the Skarasen, which he found among the wreckage of the rig. Having bugged the inn, the Zygons reveal to Harry that they use the psychic imprint of humans in order to mimic their form. He sees the likes of Sister Lamont, Caber, and the Duke, stored in hibernation chambers, maintaining a link to their Zygon counterparts. They use Harry's form to slip back to the inn where they may fetch the emitter. But he is intercepted by Sarah who is concerned by his odd behaviour. She chases him into a barn where they scuffle in a manner that had me weirdly thinking of “Super Vixens.” Russ Meyer's Doctor Who is not something I ever expected to imagine. After a bit of trouble, Zygon Harry falls from a hayloft onto his own pitchfork, killing him instantly and revealing himself to Sarah as a Zygon. However, the crafty Zygons completely evaporate his remains to hide any evidence. I wondered why they didn't just do the same thing to the emitter in the first place, but I guess the answer is "it doesn't do that." Ok, sure, whatever. Now free from his psychic link with the Zygon, Harry is able to sneak about on their ship unabated.

After realising the Zygons were working from the shadows, the Doctor assumes they must have bugged the inn somewhere, so the lads go about searching the place from top to bottom. I love Angus' indignant response to the idea that his inn might have actual bugs. Angus Lennie's performance as Angus is a true highlight in the story. Afraid of the humans discovering that the goofy stag head must be the bug, the Zygons decide to send the Skarasen to rid themselves of these tiresome humans. After figuring out the secret of the emitter, the Doctor draws the Skarasen away from the village only to find it has fused itself to his hand. But Harry's meddling with the ship's systems allows the Doctor the ability to toss the emitter in the path of the Skarasen, destroying it in the process.

The Doctor and friends meet up and go to Forgill Castle to ask permission to drop depth charges into Loch Ness, the source of the signal. Their hope is to draw the Zygons out. Meanwhile, the Sister Lamont Zygon goes to fetch the stag head and fights with Angus in the process, killing him. It's a sad ending for one of the more likeable characters, but it's also kind of wonderful in its simplicity. I never quite understood why the Zygons needed to turn people into electric balls of something I might pull out of my hairbrush, as they did in "The Zygon Invasion." If anything, I much prefer the updates they received in Mark Morris' "The Bodysnatchers." Using venom from their suckers matches their physiology far better than superpowers. Morris really fleshed out the Zygons in a way I wish the show would. Seeing them in their initial incarnation using brute force seems far more practical to me. I think sometimes, more is less.

After discovering a way into the Zygon ship, they save Harry, but the Zygons flee with the Doctor still onboard. The Doctor gets a wonderful opportunity to match wits with Broton in a speech that includes my all-time favourite Fourth Doctor line- "You can't rule the world in hiding. You've got to come out on to the balcony sometimes and wave a tentacle." Evidently, that line was ad-libbed by Tom Baker, only further solidifying my love for the man. He makes a good point though, the Zygons have mostly been working from the shadows, in secret. The Zygons fly away, masking their trail from UNIT, still hiding. I must admit, it's not abundantly clear what their plan actually is. Sure they intend to use the Skarasen against earth's weapons, but there doesn't seem to be a whole lot of explanation as to how the oil rigs play into everything. There's mention of turning the Earth into something more habitable for Zygons, but I'm honestly not sure. I asked my boyfriend what his impression was, and he couldn't quite figure it out either.

There's a lot of what happens at this point in the story that seems like happenstance. The UNIT crew and Sarah end up going to London, which also happens to be where the Zygons have set their next target. They plan to swim the Skarasen up the Thames to wreak havoc on Westminster Abbey. In my review for "Castrovalva," I mentioned how the Fourth Doctor's super-heroics were oftentimes overstated, and what comes next is nothing shy of extraordinary. After rigging some ventricle type wiring from within his cell, the Doctor uses his own body to complete the circuit, allowing UNIT to see past the Zygon's scramblers and pinpoint their location. I loved that it was Benton that did this, by the way. This was twice in one story where Benton got to play hero. They pinpoint the ship's location to be a disused quarry, which made me ugly cackle. Classic Doctor Who used quarries so often to make up an alien planet, that the idea of them saying "This actually is a quarry," seemed almost cheeky. Broton, thinking the Doctor has died, uses his Duke disguise once more to go plant another emitter in Westminster. After releasing the human captives aboard the Zygon ship, the Doctor sounds an alarm and sets off the self destruct killing the remaining Zygons onboard. Yay, murder!

The UNIT soldiers dispatch Broton after a fumbling fight scene between him, Harry, and Sarah. All the while, the Skarasen is working its way up the Thames. It's a brilliant little bit of puppetry mixed with stop motion animation that I found completely charming. Even if it does look a bit naff, it's effective enough to be a suitable set piece to end such an episode. It's very much within the tone of the story to have the Loch Ness monster stomping through London. The Doctor manages to trace the emitter and toss it into the open jaws of the Skarasen. It nom nom noms the emitter into nothingness, causing it to lose all interest in the Abbey. The Doctor casually supposes that it will most likely return to its home of Loch Ness. I loved that the show kept the Loch Ness mystery intact. After all is said and done, "Nessie," may still be out there. It wouldn't have felt right killing off a beloved cryptid that brings so much wonder to many. Such feelings of wonder are what Doctor Who thrives upon. Sadly, while we got to keep Nessie, we say goodbye to some regulars. This marks the last regular appearance of both the Brigadier and Harry. With the Doctor no longer relegated to the Earth, UNIT begins to play a much smaller role in the story. And Harry, now back in London, hasn't a lot of need to continue travelling with the Doctor. It's an almost unceremonious end of an era for Doctor Who.

All in all, I really enjoyed this story. While I feel like it somewhat falls apart in the final act, the mystery and intrigue in the first few episodes really draw you in. Even my boyfriend, who is a casual fan, was drawn in by the atmosphere. You can see the beginnings of what was to become the more horror-themed stories such as "The Talons of Weng-Chiang," or "The Horror of Fang Rock." The Zygons are, for me at least, a classic baddie. They may not be as popular or iconic as the Daleks or Cybermen, but I think they work as their own kind of threat. Bringing them back has also proven to be successful. The Big Finish audio "The Zygon Who Fell to Earth," is well worth a listen. There's a lot of care put into this story that I think makes it stand out from others. Geoffrey Burgon's beautifully haunting music was a nice change of pace from Dudley Simpson's usual work. The track "A Landing in Scotland," is particularly memorable. The Zygon ship interior being organic was a unique touch that we rarely see in Doctor Who, save for maybe "The Claws of Axos," and the model work was also pretty damn charming. Having recently been to both Loch Ness and Ben Nevis, it really added something to the experience as well. There is a surprisingly low amount of episodes that take place in Scotland, which is unfortunate. If there's anything this trip has taught me, is that Scotland has a lot to offer. There are so many peaks and valleys covered with lush greenery and deep dark waters. It's easy to imagine that somewhere, something is lurking down below. Hats off to Robert Banks Stewart and Robert Holmes for seeing this potential, and turning out something magical.

#doctor who #fourth doctor #tom baker #sarah jane smith #elisabeth sladen #nicholas courtney #BRIGADIER LETHBRIDGE STEWART #zygons #harry sullivan #ian marter #Time and Time Again #tardis #bbc #loch ness #nessie #loch ness monster #skarasen #terror of the zygons

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tartantardis · 5 years ago

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The tenth* TARDIS Tennant

(* technically the eleventh, but we’ll let that go for the sake of alliteration... Anyway, this interview took place in Glasgow, when the Doctor Who team descended for a promotional drive for the 2006 series, eswith David Tennant, Billie Piper, Russell T Davies, Phil Collinson, Steven Moffat and others in attendance. Oh, and Billie’s then-boyfriend too. They premiered Tooth and Claw, a week before New Earth had been shown. This is an edited compilation of the highlights of what they said. As a result of this press conference, I stayed in touch with Russell, and he’s kind enough to give me quotes for Vortex now and again. Also, after I spoke to David Tennant, he was shocked to learn that Hamish Wilson, the other Jamie from The Mind Robber, was the same one who he had just missed out on as a lecturer at the RSAMD - as was - in Glasgow!)

When David Tennant became the Doctor in 2005, it fulfilled the young actor's dream.

The Scotsman, who was 33 at the time, had previously played guest roles in various Doctor Who audio plays from Big Finish Productions, opposite his predecessors Colin Baker and Sylvester McCoy - and was over the moon to succeed Christopher Eccleston in the TARDIS.

When it came to casting a new Doctor, executive producer Russel T Davies looked to his leading man from another show which he had just made for the BBC, Casanova.

Russell said: "When I first saw the audition tape for Casanova, I didn't know who he was. I wasn't looking for a big star, and this was before Blackpool had been on, but I knew he was a well-known talent in Scotland.

"We saw him, we loved him and we cast him and enjoyed working with him.

"I also knew he was a big Doctor Who fan!

"Although Casanova was nothing to do with Doctor Who, as it was a separate production made by a separate company, when we learned Chris was leaving it all just fitted together very nicely. We didn't screentest him, having just done three hours of Casanova with David, and by that time I'd seen Blackpool."

And David recalled: "I remember being thrilled to bits when I got asked, and then thinking, 'Is this a good idea?' It didn't last long!"

However, there was controversy soon after David was cast, when it was revealed he wouldn't be using his natural accent.

Russell explained: "I didn't ban the accent - it was just part of the creation of David's Doctor. We talked about the costume, as, for example, we didn't say David would have to wear the suit. It was just a cast of human beings coming together and talking about things."

David said: "When Russell came to me, that was how he asked me to play it. I wouldn't say I was disappointed, it's just what I was asked to do. I've always that that part of working as an actor was to take on different accents.

"It doesn't make me any less Scottish because I'm not using my Scottish accent.

"It didn't bother me in particular, but it was a nice chance to do one episode where the Doctor came up with the idea of slipping into a Scottish accent which, remarkably, the Doctor can do!"

David's co-star Billie Piper added: "In the Christmas episode, the idea was that Rose's accent would have rubbed off on the Doctor, but we never actually got around to filming it."

David said: "It was like a chick imprinting on someone when it comes out of an egg."

Comparing the two Doctors, Billie said of David and Chris: "They are different people and bring different things. David's Doctor is a lot more emotional, while Chris's Doctor was more intense.

"Of course they are going to have a different approach, but they are playing the same part. A new person robs off on you very quickly, and you adjust - she moved with the times and the man."

David didn't get the chance to meet his predecessor at the regeneration, as it was shot weeks apart.

He said: "I didn't unfortunately, because of the way it had to be shot - we shot the regeneration on separate days. We haven't bumped into each other, unfortunately. I'm sure we will at some point."

David's third story as the Doctor, Tooth and Claw, saw the TARDIS land in Scotland, which delighted the actor.

He said: "It wasn't a specific ambition, but story-wise, it's nice if you move the characters around and take them to different places. Obviously with filming in Wales, Cardiff has had a shout.

"I was quite keen that Scotland should get a shout and it has certain personal ramifications as well. We filmed in Wales, but there's one shot where on the hillside, they've added a little bit of purple heather. But on the whole, it's remarkably similar with some of the landscape we have up here, so there wasn't a lot that needed doing."

Tooth and Claw was a dark story, featuring grisly deaths, but David denied that the series was too scary.

He said of Tooth and Claw: "I think it does push it quite far, but it's still, ultimately, very responsibly done. It's within a fantastic environment and I think children understand that too.

"I think that's part of growing up, being scared. That's what Doctor Who has done since 1963 and I'm glad to see it continuing to do so.

"A gore-fest would be ridiculous - there's no blood, and it was just fun.

"I think Doctor Who has had horror elements for as long as I can remember. It tours the genres - in the first one we were in a hospital five billion years in the future, then we we're in Scotland and it's gothic horror, the next week is a kind of Grange Hill - it's what Doctor Who does best - every week it's a new style of story."

David's first full series saw the Doctor and Rose growing closer than ever before, building on the friendship which was established with the Ninth Doctor.

"The Doctor and companion has always been very important," said David, "particularly in this series, but the way Russell writes it, it's always an emotional thing, which maybe the show hadn't had before. Rose's family ultimately became the Doctor's family.

"In episode eight, it looks like we're cut off from everything, forever, and we have a quiet moment to consider that idea of never returning home."

David admitted that putting himself in the spotlight as Doctor Who would mean his every action was analysed by the series' devoted fans, for years to come, as well as putting himself in the firing line for TV critics.

He said: "I don't think anybody ever likes being told they are not good at what you do. You invest a lot into what you do. You want everyone to tell you you are great all the time, but I'm wise enough to know what to expect.

"A show like this receives so much scrutiny and analysis, you are never going to please all the people, all the time."

A notoriously private man, David also found that his private life was subject to much speculation, with his romantic relationships regularly putting him in the gossip columns.

He added: "Nobody teaches you how to deal with that sort of stuff. You have to decide where the lines are drawn, and draw them yourself - and hope you leep your own personal integrity without pissing everyone off because you are being snooty about answering questions.

"You have to just try and keep yourself comfortable with what you are really about."

#DoctorWho #DavidTennant #BilliePiper #RussellTDavies #Glasgow #Scotland

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eyreguide · 6 years ago

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Jane Eyre 1956 - an early miniseries adaptation

This is a repost of something I wrote back in 2016 - when I made yet another trip to England for vacation and decided to find something Jane Eyre related that I had not yet done. I wanted to put this on my Eyre Guide blog since I don’t think this is an adaptation many people have seen, and it was surprisingly good. I hope if more people know about it, that might get the BBC or whoever owns the rights to it, to release it on DVD one day.

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On my trip to England last month, I made a point of visiting the British Film Institute in London to see an early six-part (half-hour each) adaptation of Jane Eyre starring Daphne Slater and Stanley Baker. Now, I'm definitely a purist when it comes to adaptations, and for an older adaptation, I was totally prepared to watch something over-the-top, overwrought and not very true to the story. I was pleasantly surprised by this version however! It was quite good! There were a few stand-out aspects to the way the story was told, and I enjoyed Slater and Baker's interpretation of the characters. I might have wished for a little more from them, but we can't always get what we want, haha. For this post, I'm going to go a little in depth with the whole adaptation, so this is another lengthy Jane Eyre-related post that I'm sure my blog does not have enough of!

The dialogue/script is a good jumping off point for my initial impression of the story. It follows the general plot of the novel very well, but often veers off from using the actual dialogue in the book. Which is interesting to me, because that can so easily go wrong, but in this case, I quite liked the script. There were the odd missed moments - when it came to the more emotional scenes, it would have been nice to have Charlotte's beautiful words come into play, but the gist of the scenes, and the characters' emotions were there.

The childhood portion of the story strayed the most from the novel though. Daphne Slater actually played Jane as a child, which was an interesting choice, but I think it worked rather well. Slater was very good at capturing the essence of a child and is a bit on the shorter side, even if she doesn't actually look so much like a child. Young Jane in this version is much more outspoken, especially with Mr. Brocklehurst, which was delightful to see. There is a scene when Brocklehurst wants to take a switch to Jane's hand, and Jane does not have any of it! Jane also is a great reader, and the fact that she loves to read is made a point in the story as it is Jane who says she reads so she is not 'caged in.' A lovely character connection. Helen Burns has an interesting change in this version. She feels more like a partner in crime to Jane - much less of the overtly religious, self- sacrificing character, and more inclined to get into mischief with Jane. Which made for a completely different dynamic, but one that I rather enjoyed as it highlighted Helen and Jane's close friendship. They felt more like equals. But Helen still dies. And after her death, there is a quick time lapse to Jane as an adult and Miss Temple helping Jane to get a new job. Miss Temple is a very motherly influence in this, and it's a little bittersweet how Jane leaves her behind - Miss Temple does not get married in this version, and it is stressed that Miss Temple stays to make sure the children are taken care of, in spite Brocklehurst's awful rules. In a way Miss Temple takes a bit of novel-Helen's role in Jane's life. Once we get to Thornfield, that strong and feisty Jane is muted somewhat, because adult Jane is easily frightened. Granted Grace Poole is pretty ominous, as she openly stares at Jane, but there are more moments than I would have expected where Jane is easily startled. It made her seem a bit ridiculous which I didn't like as much. With adult Jane, I did miss a bit of what made young Jane so fiery, but Daphne Slater's delivery of Jane was still good, and in the banter with Rochester, she was able to hold her own. Rochester in this version was not quite perfect, but Stanley Baker made a very imposing Rochester. His Rochester is more brusque and rough throughout, but he can still speak all of wordy prose fantastically, and bring some nuance and emotion to them. But to highlight the roughness of Rochester, it was interesting and a bit disturbing how they embellished him in the scene where he wants to give Jane some wedding gifts. She refuses them, and he throws them down angrily and leaves the room. Only to come back in and apologize. But to this version's credit, I think that is the only moment where I thought his anger was completely out of place. I did love that soon after that moment, when Jane asks Rochester if he really meant his proposal, Rochester deadpans "No, I didn't." as a joke. Which was unexpected for the moment, and made me laugh. Oh I should mention that this version included the Gypsy scene. And it was a little different in that Jane was sort of fishing around for advice from the Gypsy if she should stay at Thornfield or leave (her line was "Does my happiness lie here or elsewhere?"). When the Gypsy tells Jane that he sees her love returned, Jane denies it vehemently, which was a little poignant. And now I come to a part of the story that could have been glossed over, but was in fact stressed perfectly - the St. John Rivers part. The other Rivers sisters weren't featured as much. but St. John in this was rather formidable. Very cold, very controlling, and even though his philanthropic side was evident, he seemed a much more disturbing St. John than I've seen before. It's interesting that this version decided to emphasize that about him. It starts with St. John seeing Jane's drawing of Thornfield and urging her to throw it on the fire. There's a scene later where Jane gets a letter (although she doesn't know it yet) and St. John gets upset. Also he looks like he is going to open the letter, until he's interrupted. He tries to make Jane forget about Rochester, first by calling her out on planning to write to him, and then by telling her that Mr. Rochester has already moved on. Geez, St. John really wants to marry Jane I guess. With the reunion scene, I felt it was very sweet. Mr. Rochester was very much broken by Jane's absence, to the point where, when she goes out to get some wine, he starts clamoring for her, in fear that she has left him. Stanley Baker doesn't look nearly as burned or damaged as he should, but the scenes were still lovely.

(I couldn’t help but take a quick picture!)

For a miniseries, I found this a wonderful adaptation. So many scenes and moments were included that I would not have expected, and the quality of the sets and camera work were good. And the actors did a great job in their roles. I hope this series will be released on DVD someday, I think many Jane Eyre fans would love it!

#jane eyre #daphne slater #stanley baker #adaptations #charlotte bronte

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benjaminjamestaylor · 6 years ago

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My Top 10 Albums of 2018

If you know me well, you know I do this every year. It’s not in the hope that people will read it; more a sort of time capsule that I can look back on in the future and fondly remember the music that soundtracked my year. Some years, there’s a clear and obvious number one (Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly in 2015, for example). Others – such as this one – are more of a close-run thing, with the top spots changing sometimes as late as the writing process.

Before I get to my top ten, I would be remiss not to mention a few albums that missed out but have nonetheless been regulars in my rotation this year. Firstly, I should tip my cap to the experimentation shown by Beach House, Ben Howard, and Low, all of whom showed a refreshing intent to break from their norm and make some greatly interesting music. I’m also acutely aware of the lack of representation for R&B and hip-hop in my top ten – I didn’t ignore these genres, it just so happened that they weren’t among my ten favourites. Kids See Ghosts and Earl Sweatshirt in particular came close, and Janelle Monáe was another that I enjoyed greatly. Here’s my honourable mentions list in full:

Beach House – 7; Ben Howard – Noonday Dream; Low – Double Negative; Janelle Monáe – Dirty Computer; Brockhampton – Iridescence; Anderson .Paak – Oxnard; Villagers – The Art of Pretending to Swim; Jeff Tweedy – WARM; Matt Maltese – Bad Contestant; Kids See Ghosts – Kids See Ghosts; Pusha T – Daytona; Earl Sweatshirt – Some Rap Songs; Parquet Courts – Wide Awake; Kurt Vile – Bottle It In; The Beths – Future Me Hates Me; Jungle – For Ever; Courtney Barnett – Tell Me How You Really Feel; Mitski – Be The Cowboy; Hop Along – Bark Your Head Off Dog; Lucy Dacus – Historian.

Also, here’s a Spotify playlist of all my favourite tracks from the year.

Now on to the top ten…

10. Blood Orange – Negro Swan

I’ve got a soft spot for a true album – one that’s greater than the sum of its parts, and should be listened to as a whole. There are actually very few tracks on Negro Swan that hit home outside the context of the album. But there’s so much to like here: the way tracks flow into each other, punctuated by regular snippets of dialogue from the likes of transgender activist Janet Mock. The word that defines this album is ‘introspection’ – there are regular references to the desire to be loved and the fear of allowing oneself to be loved completely. At times the tracks feel frustratingly unfinished, and that’s all that keeps this at the back end of my top ten.

Highlights: ‘Saint’, ‘Charcoal Baby’, ‘Nappy Wonder’

9. Snail Mail – Lush

It’s been a hell of a year for young, female indie rockers (more on that later…), and Lindsey Jordan (A.K.A. Snail Mail) is perhaps the most prodigious of them all. The teenager’s debut, Lush, is a highly impressive record that showcases her signature sound: subtle, twinkly guitar melodies and foot-tapping drum beats. It tails off a little towards the back end of the album, as the novelty of her style begins to wear off. You wonder if this was a record she rushed into making, to capitalise on the considerable hype around her. If that’s the case, it’s a shame as a few more songs to the standard of ‘Pristine’ and ‘Heat Wave’ may have pushed this album up into my top five.

Highlights: ‘Pristine’, ‘Heat Wave’, ‘Stick’

8. The 1975 – A Brief Inquiry Into Online Relationships

This album is getting a lot of love, and I’ll admit that on first listen I didn’t get the hype. The 1975 are a somewhat controversial band – they face lavish praise and upturned noses in seemingly equal measure. There were moments of their absurdly-titled previous record that I liked, but their overly synthetic sound and Matty Healy’s unique vocal style are occasionally grating. ABIIOR has its flaws, but there’s also much to admire. They’ve incorporated a variety of styles, from stripped-back acoustic to arena pop and even jazz. The obvious themes of life and love in a digital age are well-explored and the production is, at times, gorgeous. Stick with it – it might just grow on you.

Highlights: ‘Love It If We Made It’, ‘Inside Your Mind’, ‘I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)’

7. U.S. Girls – In A Poem Unlimited

In many ways, this record is a better executed version of the 1975’s. Meg Remy looks at similar themes of our problematic modern world, though in her case she explores them through a lens of feminine anger. Songs like ‘Rage of Plastics’ and ‘M.A.H.’ are direct, furious tirades towards American politics in the Obama era. The instrumentation and production is staggeringly brilliant throughout, with each track demonstrating a different string from Remy’s bow. On ‘Rosebud’, she channels her inner Madonna to produce one of the finest, most listenable indie pop tunes of the year.

Highlights: ‘M.A.H.’, ‘Rosebud’, ‘L-Over’

6. Maribou State – Kingdoms In Colour

My favourite electronic album of the year, Kingdoms In Colour improves on Maribou State’s encouraging debut, 2015’s Portraits. The improvements lie in their balance between the dance-pop hits, where they utilise long-time collaborator Holly Walker on vocals, and the more experimental, sample-based pieces that make up the rest of the album. It’s the latter that leave the most lasting impression, no better than on ‘Vale’, with the sample of Melanie de Baliso’s ‘I Feel You’ dovetailing beautifully with the group’s accompanying melody. If you’re looking for an album to put on as a backing track at your next party, look no further.

Highlights: ‘Beginner’s Luck’, ‘Nervous Tics’, ‘Vale’

5. Big Red Machine – Big Red Machine

A collaboration between Bon Iver and the National was never going to be bad, was it? Big Red Machine doesn’t quite hit the heights you might expect from such a high-profile meeting of minds, but there are enough moments of genius here to make it an album worth revisiting repeatedly. For the most part, Justin Vernon leaves his trademark complex song structures at the door in favour of simpler, more lineal compositions. This leads to some tracks feeling repetitive at times, although even these feature a central hook strong enough to keep you interested. And on 'Lyla', with its polyrhythms and meandering structure, there are hints of the exciting fruits this partnership could eventually produce.

Highlights: ‘Lyla’, ‘Hymnostic’, ‘I Won’t Run From It’

4. Arctic Monkeys – Tranquility Base Hotel & Casino

Perhaps Arctic Monkeys’ most divisive album since Humbug, TBHAC is also their bravest and most ambitious. It’s essentially a concept album – tales of a futuristic hotel on the moon brought to life by Alex Turner’s controversial switch from guitar to piano. It’s no surprise that the album has alienated some of the band’s more fundamentalist fans, as there’s a blatant lack of Turner’s usual indie dancefloor hits as well as a side-lining of outstanding drummer Matt Helders. Instead, we’re treated to songs without clear structures and, aside from ‘Four Out Of Five’, catchy choruses. Turner occasionally strays too far towards self-indulgence (‘Batphone’ is a difficult listen), but he’s still a remarkable lyricist and he’s produced an album that cements their status as the band of their era.

Highlights: ‘Star Treatment’, ‘American Sports’, ‘Four Out Of Five’

3. boygenius – boygenius EP

I may be cheating a tad here by including an EP, but given that there’s as much to enjoy here as on many fine albums released this year, you’ll excuse me. boygenius are a supergroup of sorts, featuring female up-and-comers Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus. Individually, all three are well worth a listen. But their collaborative EP propels them to new heights. Each has their own songwriting moments (two each from the six-track EP), and these intertwine through stunning vocal harmonies to form a completely cohesive collection of songs. The finest moments are Bridgers’, with her soft vocal timbre particularly captivating on ‘Me And My Dog’. We can only hope the success of this experiment results in a full-length album in 2019.

Highlights: ‘Me And My Dog’, ‘Souvenir’, ‘Ketchum, ID’

2. Kacey Musgraves – Golden Hour

No album surprised me more in 2018 than this one. After a slew of out-of-this-world reviews, I decided I had to give Golden Hour at least one listen – if only to be able to confirm it as what almost all country pop albums are: ‘not for me’. The thing is, this record transcends genre, and even those who like neither country nor pop will appreciate its beauty and the quality of its songs. Everything on Golden Hour is well-executed: Musgraves sings beautifully; the instrumentation feels minimal yet rounded; the production is absolutely on-point; and the melodies are to die for. There are even psychedelic elements throughout – nods to Musgraves’ use of acid during the album’s production. Give this album a chance, leave your prejudices at the door, and you’ll be treated to a simply perfect collection of pop songs.

Highlights: ‘Slow Burn’, ‘Wonder Woman’, ‘High Horse’

1. Soccer Mommy – Clean

As I mentioned, this wasn’t a runaway number one. But the more I re-listened to my shortlist, the more it became clear that Clean was the strongest candidate for top spot. Snail Mail and boygenius have already taken spots in my top ten, demonstrating what a strong year it has been for female indie vocalists. But Soccer Mommy’s (Sophie Allison’s) album just feels like the finished product that both Snail Mail and boygenius are aiming to eventually produce.

Clean doesn’t just contain great songs with deliciously spiky lyrics (the opening line of ‘Your Dog’ is a belter), it also feels so well balanced. Laid-back, melancholy tunes like ‘Still Clean’ and ‘Blossom’ are countered by catchy indie numbers like ‘Cool’ and ‘Skin’. Allison’s voice seems refined too – perfectly able to handle those two ends of the spectrum. Considering the album centres on a feeling of teenage angst, the sound feels remarkably mature. It’s a worthy album of the year.

Highlights: ‘Cool’, ‘Skin’, ‘Blossom (Wasting All My Time)’

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thehiddenlawyer · 6 years ago

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Mother’s Milk

Before you read-- please keep in mind that I’m REALLY not mentally...stable enough to write coherently so y’know. Enjoy <3

Apparently, the only way to untangle what my brain’s going through is to realize that my experience of Mother’s Milk isn’t just from the perspective of Patrick a survivor of sexual abuse, but also the addict, the potential alcoholic, a potential mother, a lover of difficult men and situations (these last two are Mary), and the helpless outsider looking in (Robert), and someone who is completely horrified of messing up so badly that their preventive measures completely backfire and bring full-circle (Patrick again).

During my first reading of Mother’s Milk I found I didn’t connect to it as much as I had with the other books in the story and I’m not sure why. I think my brain focused so completely on Some Hope and the aspects of Patrick as the survivor trying to find his way into the world that Mother’s Milk was too abstract for me to understand.

I kept thinking, even after I reread the novels, that the reason I wasn’t able to connect to the fourth novel was because I’m not a mother, and I have a pretty healthy relationship with my parents. I think the world of my parents, they’ve given me more than I could ever hope for, they’ve sacrificed and have continued to sacrifice, for my sisters and I on a profound level. Like all parents, they’re human and they made mistakes, they’ve given me my fair share of baggage again, like all parents, no matter how careful they are.

So I have continued to read the book as a fan of literature and found myself enthralled with Edward St. Aubyn’s representation of motherhood and childhood, and the understanding of the child of his mother and father, and eventually his sibling. It’s such breathtaking, pure prose, an imaginative take on Patrick’s children. If you’ve read the novels you know that the perspective shifts a lot, that we see the point of view of different characters, not just Patrick. So when the baby narrator talked about his father who couldn’t stop talking in the hospital room, I remember my heart in my throat wondering if the baby’s father was Patrick!

Imagine my surprise last night when I watched Mother’s Milk and found that I connected so much more to this bit of the story than I’d imagined earlier. I still don’t think I fully understand what happened, and I don’t understand my reactions to a few bits of it—I just know that I reacted, and maybe as I verbally vomit all over this post I can figure out a few things through my exhaustive question for narrative exhaustion.

This was also the biggest deviation between the book and the show by the way, the book is so complex because it’s mostly cerebral, a lot of it is Robert’s understanding of his father and his father’s situation and the relationship his father has with Eleanor. The book shows Robert’s sympathy more, Patrick doesn’t fail as viciously as he does in the show. But the show does capture Patrick’s desperation to be a better father and to protect is children from the poison of his past and his own life, but he tries so hard that it backfires and he comes back full circle. There’s this gorgeous scene in the book when they’re in a shitty hotel room in New York (after having gotten kicked out of a few others because Patrick is David’s son and he has to get them thrown out of a few places first) where Thomas and Mary are sleeping in one room but Robert can’t sleep so he goes to the living room where Patrick’s supposed to be sleeping on the sofa bed but he’s in this manic state, caught between insomnia and drunkness and he simply absorbs his father’s verbal vomit. Robert tells Patrick to stop because he’s frightened and Patrick does, and he apologizes and winds up reading to his son instead.

While the books are filled with loving, touching moments like that, I think the episode really lacked that bit of humanity that Patrick has.

I’m starting to realize that I’m disappointed with this episode.

It conveys what it needs to convey, it highlights everything it should highlight, especially Robert’s understanding of Patrick but it does it contained in an hour long tv episode. I think they could make a full length feature film with Mother’s Milk with all the correct details and I’d watch it a million times.

The Addict

Through therapy and research and counselling, I’ve discovered that children who suffered trauma or specifically sexual abuse at a very young age tend to have addictive personalities. It’s a coping mechanism, it’s something comfortable and familiar, something easy to turn to when everything else is up in the air. If you take the alcohol and drugs out of the connotation of addiction, you’ll see that it’s simply repetitive, comforting behavior, something to blur the edges of reality not through chemical haze or a high but the simple psychology of doing something to distract you from your own thoughts.

I have a very addictive personality and it shows itself in a lot of ways. I call it stubbornness, my family and friends prefer to think of it as a healthy sense of curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. But once I get a…noun in my head, I have to pursue it and I have no control over it. And I say noun because it can be a person (BC, Nick Cave, AB, even people that I latch on to like @sobeautifullyobsessed) place (Fort Point in San Francisco, Baker Beach, Half Moon Bay, London, Molly’s flat) or a thing (alcohol, cigarettes, writing….writing is the biggest one) or an idea (Sherlolly, any idea I’ve ever had to write any story or a character that inspires my thoughts like Patrick or Christopher Tiejens).

It’s HARD.

I’ve tried my best to let go of these distractors because I can SEE I’m out of control when I’m in one of my “manic states”. When I’ve latched onto this noun so hard that’s permeating everything I do, everything I think, everything I say. These nouns distract me from work, from school. You’ve SEEN my posts where I should be studying but I can’t stop watching something or reading something or writing something. Through therapy and meditation, I noticed that I latch on like that when the past bubbles too close to the surface, where the violence and shame that whispers across my skin is a little too close to the surface and I need something else to occupy my brain for those moments.

That’s addiction explained in general, now I want to talk to you about alcoholism before I connect it back to Patrick.

I struggle with alcohol. A combination of my addictive personality and the chemical affects of alcohol have been a lure since I was a teenager, and I’ve been very painfully aware that it’s a rabbit hole waiting to swallow me up. I made a conscious decision when I was 16 that I wouldn’t touch alcohol until I turned 21, and once I turned 21, I tried to never buy alcohol for myself but in my family and my culture it’s always present so I’ve always been around it. When I moved it, I’ve been living with foot on solid ground and one in the rabbit’s hole. With my health crises, I swore it off completely and succeeded for a while to stay sober but I’ve been predictably failing miserably these past few weekends.

I’ve tried to never drink alone but I’ve done it several times and secret, which is a warning bell. The problem is always that it’s a secret, and I drink to pass out.

I drank A LOT last night during the wedding, I felt myself slipping away and had exercise some control and stop. I am aware that I was giggly and talkative like I always am when I’m sloshed—I don’t know if it’s a gift or a curse. No one ever knows I’m drunk, and I’m never a sad or angry when I’m around people. When I’m, alone that’s a different story.

And drinking helps you disconnect from you skin, lets you float away from things you don’t want to confront, things that you’d rather go unthought.

For someone who has lived through trauma (and let me enumerate for you what I have been through: sexual abuse by multiple parties as a child, becoming a refugee when I was 8 and being forced out of my home to come to a country where I knew nothing and no one and my parents knew nothing and no one, I’ve lived through life-threatening illness and recently, having survived law school, my body tried to kill me again and I’m still dealing with that bit of reality) you can see why drinking and disassociation and addiction is such a lovely thought for us.

I would much rather look at my life objectively. I sometimes like to imagine what it’s like hearing my story as someone who doesn’t know me, who hasn’t been around me. How can one single person experience being raped as a child, becoming a refugee, cancer, suicidal thoughts and addiction, and still function?

Well…you can, it just comes with a lot of extra little side effects that you probably aren’t aware of.

Like Patrick can be a husband, a father, a survivor of being raped repeatedly by his father with an indifferent mother, he can be a drug addict, an alcoholic, and a barrister.

He can be all those things.

The side effects are when you’re not careful, the smallest notion, the smallest idea or thought can push you over the edge.

I can sit here and have conversations about being raped and function perfectly but one day someone will something small and (I loathe this word) trigger me and I go down to a spiral. I drink, I seek my other addictions, because I need to not be me for a little bit, I’d rather just watch someone else deal with being me.

You can fight it and fight it and fight it. You can lay awake nights dreaming of that escape that you KNOW ruins your life and you someone make it through one more second without it until you just can’t. until one tiny thing pushes you over the edge and it’s a house of course that falls. You drink too much, you smoke too much, you neglect your responsibilities, you push away everything that is good about yourself because you need to wallow in the bad, to convince yourself that you are a shitty person because shitty things happened to you.

I do that all the fucking time, I’m doing it right now. I should be studying for the Bar, I shouldn’t be drinking, I shouldn’t be smoking, I shouldn’t be writing, I shouldn’t be reading anything that’s not related to the Bar. But I’m not, because it’s comforting self-destructive behavior, it’s something I know how to do, it’s easier than all the rest of it.

For Patrick, it’s the same. I’m not asking you to excuse any of his behavior, because I can’t forgive him for giving up on himself because I feel like he’s propelled me to giving up on myself too (I really have these past few days just thinking about Mother’s Milk and At Last) but this is urging you to understand why he fails so miserably, why he flushes years of sobriety down the toilet, why he can’t stop making his parents mistakes and adopting them as your own.

The harder you run, the easier it is to fall and that’s what happens to him.

Potential Mother

My ideas about motherhood are laden with trauma and feminism, they’re this psychotic, bipolar, schizophrenic blend of narcissism, selfishness, abject fear of failure as a mother, fear of lack of control over what happens to my child, hating the idea of becoming nothing but a stay-at-home mom after working so hard to become more…so reading and watching Mother’s Milk the potential mother in me is watching it in terror.

Because all I can imagine is finding the man I love, the man I adore, the love of my heart and soul, predictably attracted to his darkness and intensity, trusting him enough to let him father my child only to come to the realization that he’s not as strong as I need him to be, that I’m going to have to step up to bat and be everything to our child because he’s failing.

The thought of leaving that potential love in favor of my child’s wellbeing sickens me to my stomach. I can’t bare the thought and that potential mother shrivels at this unlikely hypothetical.

God I don’t even want to think about what that’s like.

I can’t bare to think what Mary goes through! (And yet I do, as @sobeautifullyobsessed has been reading via my extremely random ass prose)

So we circle back to Julia and what happens with Patrick and I again preface this with a few things- these are my thoughts based on my own background and prejudices, my own life experiences and my understanding of the characters in the novels and the show. This is my opinion based on addiction and personalities and trauma, my understanding love.

Julia is a very, very, very messed up individual. She every bit as pompous and unbearable git as Patrick is. The difference is that Julia enjoys the cruelty of their world while Patrick takes comfort in the routine of it- it’s a world he knows, disappointment and anger are emotions that he understands better than happiness or forgiveness. It’s easier to default to negative emotions rather than positive or productive ones (as I’ve been learning these past few days).

Julia should not have encouraged Patrick. And Patrick should have walked away.

But they didn’t because they’re both damaged individuals.

There’s no excuse.

There’s no excuse in claiming that Mary was being cold to Patrick, there’s no excuse in saying that Patrick was feeling lonely and bored and needing sex and Julia was available.

If he really wanted to, he could have found Mary, could have told her, could have confided in her.

GOD the way he clings to her in the beginning after he tells her he’s been disinherited, the smile on his face when he’s in bed and she tells him they’re going to pick up Kettle, the way they lay on the couch together and talk about needing a holiday from their holiday….he actively, consciously, with malice aforethought pushes her away. He’s confused between wanting her so much he can’t stand it and wanting to push her away just in case he makes the same mistakes his father did, same mistakes his mother made. And while attempting to run away from all that, he makes his own, fresh mistakes with Mary. He knows it too, he says exactly that while he’s on the poolside with Julia.

He could have turned to Mary but she’s new, the joy she could bring him, the promise of peace and forgiveness with her standing beside him is too much light for someone who knows darkness like an old friend.

He should have turned to Mary.

As for Julia—let’s go back to their relationship shall we. In the books, when they first meet, she’s underage and talks him into having sex with her. In the show, the only positive thing she does is show up at the end of Never Mind and put her hand over his forehead. In Some Hope she tries to break his heart and his best friends heart by forcing him to fuck her when he’s in no condition to make a rational decision Here, she does the same thing. She should’ve pushed him away.

A good person in her shoes would have pushed him away.

I cannot and will not deny that Benedict Cumberbatch the actor and Jessica Raine the actress have wonderful chemistry together and they’re so sexy together, they’re interactions are stunning, crackling with energy.

But but BUT the toxic relationship between Patrick and Julia should NOT be sexualized or idealized. Cheating on your devoted and loving spouse is NOT sexy. Taking advantage of someone with clear emotional issues, struggling with sobriety, hanging on to it by a thread, is NOT sexy. It can never be sexy, and it should never be sexy.

Christ my heart hurt for Mary. I’ve been seeing discussions on here and on twitter about when Mary knows that her husband is being unfaithful—she knows the second it happens. Watch her the morning after, when he stands next to her and says “now we can have fun!” The poor thing knows and she tries to excuse it away because she loves him, and she understands the pain he’s in, the confusion he’s experiencing.

In this love triangle, only Mary Melrose comes out in tact. Julia and Patrick…they mess up big time, and Patrick knows it.

And instead of stopping, instead of trying to find someway back to being a husband and father, he pushes Mary further and further away because it’s so much easier than confronting their life together.

God he wants to be with her so much but he doesn’t know how.

There’s a feeling of decapitation, like missing a limb, losing the words that you want to say but they’re not there, they’ve flown the coop.

I want to confess, I want to live in your heart, I want the warmth of your soul, the warmth of your smile but darling it’s easier to push you away now because what if I disappoint you again, what if I break your heart again? I need to cut you my love, before you cut me.

I’ve had that conversation so many fucking times man….

Love me but I need you to hate me to function.

Love me, be my escape, but I need to make you hate me because I don’t want to see disappointment in your eyes.

-----------------------------

Guys, I’m completely certain I’m not making any sense because I’m really in a bit of a free fall right now and there’s no landing in sight.

I might add more to this, make it more coherent but this is all I got. And I’m not making sense.

#mother's milk #patrick melrose #benedict cumberbatch #edward st. aubyn #my thoughts #my opinions only nothing else

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