#it is a fraught missed connections song

[drewzeitlin]

Cross Stitch Stories: The Journey of Axi, the Inquisitive Xenops Part 3

Part 3: The Hidden Realm

Axi followed the glowing pathway deeper into the forest, the light from the stones beneath his feet casting an otherworldly glow on the surrounding trees. The pathway wound through the dense underbrush, leading Axi into a realm he had never imagined. The air grew warmer, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the soft hum of unseen creatures.

As he stepped into a clearing, Axi gasped in awe. Before him lay the hidden realm, a place of vibrant beauty and tranquility. The trees were taller and more majestic than any he had ever seen, their leaves shimmering with a spectrum of colors. The ground was carpeted with soft, luminescent moss that glowed with a gentle light. Everywhere he looked, Axi saw creatures of incredible variety and beauty, many of which he had never seen before.

Axi felt a sense of wonder and reverence as he ventured further into the hidden realm. He marveled at the delicate balance of nature around him, the way each creature and plant seemed to exist in perfect harmony. It was as if the hidden realm was a living, breathing entity, its essence intertwined with every living thing within it.

As he explored, Axi came across a crystal-clear stream that sparkled in the sunlight. He paused to drink from it, the water cool and refreshing. Nearby, a family of deer grazed peacefully, their eyes filled with gentle curiosity as they watched him. Axi felt a deep sense of connection to this place, as if he had found a part of himself that he never knew was missing.

While he wandered through this enchanted land, Axi heard a soft, melodic voice calling his name. He followed the voice to a large, ancient tree at the heart of the realm. Its branches stretched high into the sky, and its bark was adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to pulse with life.

Perched on a branch was Seraphina, a majestic serpent with iridescent scales that shimmered in the light. Her eyes glowed with a deep, ancient wisdom as she regarded Axi.

"Welcome, Axi," Seraphina said, her voice smooth and soothing. "I am Seraphina, guardian of the hidden realm. I have been waiting for you."

Axi bowed his head respectfully. "Thank you, Seraphina. I am honored to be here. I heard the call and followed it to this place."

Seraphina nodded. "The call you heard is the song of the hidden realm, a melody that can only be heard by those with a pure heart and a questing spirit. But your journey is not yet complete, young xenops. To truly understand and protect this realm, you must undertake a quest to find the Heart of the Forest."

Axi's eyes widened with determination. "What is the Heart of the Forest, and where can I find it?"

Seraphina's gaze grew serious. "The Heart of the Forest is a powerful artifact that sustains the magic and balance of this realm. It lies deep within the forest, guarded by ancient and formidable creatures. You must prove your worthiness to retrieve it, for only then will you truly understand the essence of the hidden realm."

Axi felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. He knew that this quest would be the greatest challenge he had ever faced, but he was determined to succeed. "I will do whatever it takes to find the Heart of the Forest," he declared.

Seraphina nodded approvingly. "Very well. You will not be alone on this journey. Orin will guide you, and I will provide what assistance I can from afar. Trust in your instincts and the wisdom you have gained."

With a sense of purpose and resolve, Axi set out on his quest. The path ahead was fraught with danger, but he was determined to prove himself worthy. As he ventured deeper into the forest, he encountered numerous trials that tested his courage and ingenuity.

He faced treacherous terrain, where the ground was unstable and the air was thick with mist. He encountered creatures that challenged him, forcing him to think quickly and act decisively. But with each challenge, Axi grew stronger and more confident in his abilities.

One day, as Axi navigated through a dense thicket, he heard a rustling in the underbrush. He paused, his senses alert, and soon found himself face to face with a young fox named Lyra. Her fur was a rich russet color, and her eyes sparkled with intelligence and curiosity.

"Hello," Lyra said, her voice friendly and warm. "I couldn't help but notice you're on a quest. Mind if I join you? Two heads are better than one, after all."

Axi smiled, grateful for the companionship. "I'd be happy to have you along, Lyra. I'm Axi, and I'm on a quest to find the Heart of the Forest."

Together, Axi and Lyra continued their journey, facing each new challenge with determination and mutual support. They navigated through dark caves, crossed roaring rivers, and outsmarted cunning predators. Along the way, they formed a deep bond of friendship and trust, each drawing strength from the other.

Finally, they reached the location of the Heart of the Forest. It was a secluded grove, bathed in a serene light, with an ancient, gnarled tree at its center. But their path was blocked by a formidable beast, a guardian that protected the Heart with unwavering vigilance.

Axi and Lyra knew that they had to outsmart the guardian to retrieve the Heart. They devised a plan, using their combined wits and bravery to distract and outmaneuver the beast. With quick thinking and coordinated effort, they managed to retrieve the Heart, a glowing gem that pulsed with a warm, vibrant energy.

Just as they grasped the Heart of the Forest, the ground began to tremble, signaling an impending danger. The hidden realm itself seemed to react to their actions, and they knew they had to act quickly to return the Heart and restore balance.

With the Heart of the Forest securely in their possession, Axi and Lyra raced back towards the entrance of the hidden realm, their hearts pounding with urgency. The fate of the realm hung in the balance, and they knew that their journey was far from over.

Come back tomorrow to find out what happens.

This story was brought to you by the Cross-Stitch Animals Birds Xenops With Story and Audio. Not only does this design look great, but it also tells a powerful story of coming of age, with an audio recap included. The hero of our tale, Axi, highly recommends it. For more information, visit drewzeitlin.gumroad.com/l/xenops. You can see all our cross-stitch patterns at DrewZeitlin.gumroad.com This is not your great-grandmother’s cross-stitch—it’s a multi-sensory experience! And one more thing: you get to choose the price. What do you have to lose? But how much do you have to gain?

[dreamtodare]

𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐟-𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲:

𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙻𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝙳𝚎𝚕 𝚁𝚎𝚢'𝚜 "𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝙻��𝚜𝚝" 𓂀

In a world filled with endless possibilities and opportunities for growth, it's natural to feel a sense of anxiety when faced with the unknown. For many of us, the fear of failure and the uncertainty of what lies ahead can often hold us back from fully embracing life's adventures. I personally believe that Lana Del Rey's song, "Not All That Wanders Are Lost," perfectly captures this sentiment.

The song's title, derived from J.R.R. Tolkien's famous quote, speaks to the idea that wandering or exploring doesn't necessarily equate to being lost or directionless. Instead, it celebrates the journey of self-discovery and the beauty found in wandering off the beaten path.

Yet, for some people, going into new places or trying new things can be scary. They might feel frozen with fear, worrying about doing things wrong or not being good enough. This fear can show up in different parts of life, like feeling unsure about trying something new or avoiding meeting new people because of shyness.

I can relate to this feeling all too well. For the longest time, I've been troubled by a fear of stepping out of my comfort zone and taking risks. The thought of venturing into unfamiliar territory fills me with anxiety, and I often find myself second-guessing my abilities and worrying about what others might think.

One of the areas where this fear manifests most prominently is in my reluctance to do things on my own. Whether it's traveling to a new place, trying out a new hobby, or simply navigating through life's challenges solo, the fear of failure looms large, making me hesitant to take that first step.

Additionally, I struggle with shyness, especially when it comes to meeting new people. The fear of rejection and the worry of not being accepted can make social interactions feel like challenging hurdles to overcome. As a result, I often find myself retreating into the safety of familiarity, missing out on opportunities for meaningful connections and experiences.

However, as I listen to Lana Del Rey's heartfelt lyrics and reflect on the message of her song, I'm reminded that not all who wander are lost. Perhaps, instead of allowing fear to dictate my actions, I can view each step into the unknown as an opportunity for growth and self-discovery.

While the journey may be fraught with challenges and uncertainties, it's also filled with moments of beauty, serendipity, and growth. By embracing the spirit of exploration and allowing myself the freedom to wander, I may just uncover aspects of myself that I never knew existed.

So, as I continue on my journey, I remind myself that it's okay to feel afraid and uncertain. After all, not all who wander are lost—sometimes, they're just finding their way. And perhaps, in embracing the unknown, I'll discover a path that leads me to where I'm truly meant to be. 𝙿.𝚂. 𝙰𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙰.𝙼. ༝༚༝༚

[letterstodreams]

Want to be Saved?

I do want to be saved, by the characters if nothing else. I relish the idea of being saved by characters, in my mind, and the character also of God, acting through the divine channels of prayer and also divination. Because that is another thing- I feel like God acts in response to my divination. It was not always so. To start with, and for a long, long time, my divination practice was hit-or-miss, and fraught with confusion and anxiety, messages that conflicted with each other, messages that seemed downright manipulative, misleading, and playing to my emotions and weaknesses and confusion.

I forgot to mention this little detail, probably because I know that most people who do divination do not by any means see it as I do, and I am not intending to criticize or tell anyone what to do. I am not intending to stand out, to make myself weird and unsavory again, because I believe something that offends the beliefs of others.

But I still feel like I need to mention this because my conscience would tell on me otherwise. I have to connect with God in certain ways before I feel like I get good, reliable and trustworthy divination messages. Otherwise, the songs and music I get in musical divination that I do are a wild rollercoaster of emotional confusion, or else they are bland, empty and hold little real clear answer for me. When I pray, the songs that come on are different. But it's not just prayer, it's hard to explain, it's the ongoing mantra-prayers I do on a regular basis. And it's the fact that I pray with my character.

Yes, it sounds strange, doesn't it? But it works wonders putting me in the right frame of mind, emotions, and creative thinking. Because this character just makes me feel all is right with the world. In fact, this character is kind of a shape-shifter, who is more than one character, but i a category of person for me, a relationship I have to them. They're mainly represented by one character, but I go through long phases of someone taking their place for a time, or many characters all frequently switching sometimes. If this sounds weird, it is but it's also beautiful and the only way I know to find this kind of openness, trust and well-being with another (imaginary or real) being, a connection that doesn't fade or become anxious, insecure, avoidant, fearful.

Anyway, I wanted to share all of this strange detail of my process because it's been so helpful and essential to me, as I've discovered it over the years. I keep having the wish to save someone, and the idea that by sharing things in my life that have helped me I might save someone. it's not like I really think I'll single-handedly save them, or even really save them at all. Maybe nothing so dramatic. But I see so much pain and confusion all over the world, and in my own life, even among the most amazing of people, who seem to be so awesome I might think, no, they'd never have problems like I did.

They'd never have problems that I've solved, problems that I could help with, I think. They surely are worlds ahead of me. And yet, time and again I see glimpses into others' world, stories, things I read, biographical tales and things online, and real life people who I meet. And those glimpses show me another story, in which what I have to offer might just save others, like really save them, the way it saved me. Or at least help, a little to a lot, but some.

And of course, I want to save someone, if I can, to be a good person and offer help when it's in my power and there is a need. But I also want to be saved. I want the characters to save me, and I want God to save me. Indeed, I feel as if the mysterious grace of God saves me now in my life. Speaking of being saved and the Christian lingo that usually refers to. But I'm not Christian, per se. It's just one of several belief systems I cut pieces out of to make my own crazy quilt religion.

I want to be saved and I want to save. Because isn't the chance to save a life, or at least help someone a lot, one of the most motivating, meaningful, inspiring things that can ever possess one's life and imagination and drive all kinds of causes and goals? It is for me, but especially when I am called to try to help or save those who I feel especially drawn towards or moved to help. I have come to feel that I really am potentially able to help those who I feel most touched by, who I admire and relate to and feel magnetically drawn towards.

There are a few such types of people, and animals, too, who I can say I feel that way towards. And part of what I want to share in this blog is how I want my own life to be saved by these characters, and how the characters have already transformed my life. But also I want to share things that have saved and transformed my life in other ways, just because, what if it really transforms someone's life? What if by gathering these ideas and sharing them here, I build a force and a focus that one day I can share, even if it takes another form before I really am able to share it (not that I really think I'm going to reach and help anyone here).

I am aware of the risk of wanting to save or be saved. After all it sounds a little like codependency, doesn't it? Don't people warn about that, not trying to save people, not trying to change them, or thinking you can change them? Isn't this the kind of thing that could lead to clinging and enabling and learned helplessness? Or trying to save what doesn't really need saving? Maybe creating problems and a sense of victimhood where it doesn't really exist by becoming emotionally worked up and losing track of objective reality? These are all things that can happen, but I don't have that in mind at all, rather something much more detached, gradual, analytical and objective and rational.

Something much more independent, not even dependent, much less codependent. So, some character in my mind helps me to save myself, but I am the one who really takes the actions to finally be saved. Or I share things that might help others, but it's just ideas. I don't really want to be caught in putting out fires and responding to calls for help, because I guess I feel my own stability and flow isn't up to responding to peoples' problems in a reliable, heavily involved way. All I have is ideas, but that is what I used to gradually save myself. That, and God, and being a mother, and a lifestyle that I built around all kinds of ideas, too, but that is all.

[yessadirichards]

Laura Linney and Nico Parker are mother and daughter in Laura Chinn's ‘Suncoast’

PARK CITY, Utah

When writer-director Laura Chinn was a teenager in 2005, her mother moved her and her terminally ill brother to Florida. The idea was for him to spend his last days in hospice in peace. Instead, the place was mobbed by protesters and media because, as they’d quickly discover, Terri Schiavo was in that same hospice.

The circumstances provided the inspiration for Chinn’s directorial debut, “Suncoast,” starring Nico Parker as the teenager in question and Laura Linney as her mother. It’s streaming on Hulu starting Friday.

Though it’s not unusual for a filmmaker to draw on their life for narrative guidance, within this strange and fraught and emotional time Chinn saw an opportunity to tell not just her story but a more universal one about grief and empathy. And she got to work, using the skills she’d learned over the years, writing for and acting on television (including creating the series “Florida Girls”) and learning some new ones too (like photography and how to shotlist).

Schiavo was in a vegetative stage for 15 years after a cardiac arrest at 26 in 1990 and had become the face of end-of-life legal rights, which beyond the bitter disagreement between her husband and her parents had ignited a national debate. In 2005, right before her death, it was a full-on media and political frenzy.

“But also as a teenager being in that position, it gave me an opportunity to see a very political story that was on the news right up close and see that these were all human beings.” Chinn said.

The film is still mostly fiction, however.

“It’s important to know that while Kristine is certainly archetypally based on Laura’s mother, while there may be some similarities here and there, I was not intentionally playing her mother,” Linney said.

Likewise for Parker’s Doris, who is attempting some semblance of normalcy amid the turbulence in her teenage life, making new friends and pushing boundaries. Much to her surprise, she finds herself most comforted by a protester played by Woody Harrelson.

“She’s sort of wise beyond her years,” Chinn said. “This older person is someone she can connect with more so than the people her own age.”

Parker, who is the daughter of actor Thandiwe Newton and writer-director Ol Parker, cried the first time she read the script.

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about it,” she said. “I couldn’t stop saying lines.”

Plus the chance to work with Linney and Harrelson was one that Parker said she was “borderline begging” for.

“Woody’s the best, he’s so weird and so funny,” Parker said. “Then when the camera is on him — and him and Laura are similar that way — life just beams out of him, he’s so present. Watching it up close is so interesting. I don’t know what happens in his face, but it’s just sunshine.”

Linney said for her, everything was right there in the script that made it easy despite the heavy material.

“I’m the daughter of a playwright, so the story comes first and you do everything you can to help move that along,” Linney said. “When the script is good and the people are good and you’re having a good time, it’s easy. It’s not painful. You’re not like beating your chest. You don’t go home depressed … And there’s nothing better than feeling like you’re part of a younger artists’ launching.”

Este Haim and her partner Chris Stracey helped craft the score, inspired by the music of the period. All were especially excited to get permission to cover The National’s “Green Gloves,” sung by Monica Martin, for a pivotal moment when Doris is running to hospice.

She’d loved the song but didn’t realize how relevant it was until she read an interview with the group’s frontman Matt Berninger about how it was about grief, and missing someone so much that you start wanting to wear their clothes.

“It’s really a perfect song,” Chinn said,

The “Suncoast” world premiere at the Sundance Film Festival last month was a teary occasion. Chinn’s own mother ran out of tissues and a stranger was right there with another to hand off. It was a common sight in a theater full of sniffling (“Suncoast” is funny as well).

“I hope that people can walk away with it being able to express more of their own grief, feel more of their own grief and feel more connected just to the idea that we all go through this and that there’s not really a right or wrong way to do it,” Chinn said. “We’re all just kind of doing the best we can.”

[essektheylyss]

Coramar-Seelie Tragedy Vibes for your Thursday morning

[inuyashapridemonth]

A new week, a new ship! This time, we're celebrating KagSan, our pairing marked for Day 5. We’ve listed some of our favourites that feature Kagome and Sango as the main ship below, and hope you find something you enjoy too. These recommendations are sorted by rating (G-E) and include a link, author, and summary. Feel free to share your favourites with us too! We’re here to spread the love 💕

all of your failures are training grounds by annperkinsface [G] 💖

There's a girl, sitting near the front. Kagome had caught sight of her when walking back to her desk and something about the fall of her hair and the cast of her chin made her think of Sango in a superficial way, superficial because the truth is no one looked like Sango here, not really. No one had the tilt of her mouth or her eyebrows or the thing Sango had behind her eyes, the thing that Kagome found herself desperately grasping towards, her tongue like lead in her mouth, heavy and awkward and fumbling, useless in her yearning for a point of connection, for a shred of understanding.

Interlude by Chanonvic [G] 🧡

Sango didn't know which "home" Kagome was referring to, the warm one with bathwater and light and laughter on command, or the mystical one fraught with demons and witchcraft and enchanted jewelry. She found she didn't care, so long as Kagome was there.

Sing Me a Song of a Lass That is Gone by @kadytheredpanda [G] 💛

Say, could that lass be I? Sango just has to know.

Clickbait (Chapter 2) by @anisaanisa [G] 💚

Sesshomaru is busy raking in the views, and some people just can’t help but hate-watch.

Soft to be Strong by @gaykagome [T] 💙

Kagome wants to ruin her friendship with Sango, luckily Sango also wants that. Feat. hair braiding, cuddling, and general softness.

Warm by @pinkopalina [T] 💜

Maybe Kagome can learn to accept where she belongs after all.

Ficlet Collection (Chapter 9) by @livinginthefifthdimension [M] 💙

Kagome and Sango find themselves stranded. One of the two struggles to get the courage up to tell the other how they feel before it’s too late.

Bath Time by paynesgrey [M] 💚

Sango and Kagome occupy themselves away from their husbands.

Don't Say Anything by Ganger (Aiffe) [M] 💛

When gestures serve better than words.

Comfort by @dasbaron35 [E] 🧡

Kagome and Sango find comfort in each other's arms.

If you missed the announcement post, click here ❤

Head to the @inuyashapridemonth blog for more information, including our calendar, rules and FAQs ❤

Love is Love, The Mods ♡

[secretlyatargaryen]

I was wondering what do you think about Tyrion's relationship with his mother. I mean I know he internalized the idea that she died because of him, but other than that he doesn't think about Joanna very much. Is he looking for like a "maternal figure" in his life? Does he sees Cersei that way because she's older? I don't wanna get freudian but I kinda feel like that's something missing from George's writing of him. Sorry for asking too many questions, you are the only blog I trust on Tyrion lol

Do not apologize for sending me questions about Tyrion!

Tyrion mostly thinks of his mother in relation to her absence. I think one of the most striking instances is during Tyrion's fever dream at the end of ACOK, after his near-death experience at Blackwater.

At first there was no sound in the world, but after a time he began to hear the voices of the dead, soft and terrible. They wept and moaned, they begged for an end to pain, they cried for help and wanted their mothers. Tyrion had never known his mother. He wanted Shae, but she was not there.

The dying men calling for their mothers makes him think of his own mother, specifically the fact that he never knew her. It's interesting that he makes his comment after hearing the dying men cry out for their mothers because a few pages later:

Help me, someone help me. Jaime, Shae, Mother, someone . . . Tysha . . .

No one heard. No one came.

Tyrion's first instinct is not to call out for his mother, like the dying men seeking comfort, because he's never known a mother's comfort. The first person he calls out for is Jaime, his big strong brother, his protector, his lifelong friend. The next person he calls out for is Shae, who he thinks he's in love with, who is his first person to think of when he thinks of someone to comfort him in the first quote. Then we have the more general "someone" followed by hesitation indicated by an ellipses, and then Tysha's name. Which shows that he's still in love with Tysha but he's repressed the memory of what happened to her because it was traumatic and because he was told that what happened was his fault and that she didn't really love him.

It could be that his mother is included in the list of people he wants to help him because subconsciously he knows that that is what dying men typically do, but I think he also is strongly feeling her absence here. What's so tragic about this scene is that no one he calls for is someone who can or will come, and he knows that he's all alone. Jaime is imprisoned, Shae of course doesn't really love him and is only hired to do a job, his mother is dead, and Tysha is gone. When Tyrion calls for his mother he's really saying that he knows no one is coming to help him.

I think that this does inform Tyrion's relationships with women. Even though Tysha is a year younger than he is, there is a motherly element to his description of her. One of the things he remembers most about her is how she sang to him, which definitely connotates a motherly image. And then of course there is the fact that he thinks of Shae in association with/in place of his mother in terms of seeking a motherly comfort.

As far as his relationship with Cersei, I do think that Tyrion on some level wants a sort of maternal relationship with Cersei. Even though their relationship in canon is a fraught one, there are times when Tyrion seems to wish that it were different:

Is this the Cersei that Jaime sees? When she smiled, you saw how beautiful she was, truly. I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair.

He connects Cersei with Tysha here, with the lyrics of the song. And at first you could take this to mean that he's thinking of her as beautiful, and he's thinking of her in terms of her being Jaime's lover, as once Tysha was his. But on another level, Cersei literally is a woman with sunlight in her hair, and so was Joanna. And Cersei is another woman in his life who he has a negative relationship with.

There's also definitely a Freudian meaning in the scene of Cersei molesting Tyrion in his cradle as an infant. She does it in revenge for her mother's death, and the image of her standing over a baby in a cradle and hurting him is the antithesis of a mother caring for a child. When I think about Tyrion's relationship with Cersei and Jaime I think a lot about my older brother and sister, who had a similar age gap with me, and I remember how when I was younger I saw them almost like second parents. I think it would be natural for Tyrion to see his siblings this way also.

Then there's this:

When he heard Cersei's scream, he knew that it was over.

I should leave. Now. Instead he waddled toward her.

His sister sat in a puddle of wine, cradling her son's body. Her gown was torn and stained, her face white as chalk. A thin black dog crept up beside her, sniffing at Joffrey's corpse. "The boy is gone, Cersei," Lord Tywin said. He put his gloved hand on his daughter's shoulder as one of his guardsmen shooed away the dog. "Unhand him now. Let him go." She did not hear. It took two Kingsguard to pry loose her fingers, so the body of King Joffrey Baratheon could slide limp and lifeless to the floor.

The narration of Joffrey's death is discordantly somber considering how much Tyrion rightfully despised Joffrey, and considering the abuses that Joffrey put Tyrion through a few moments before. Tyrion thinks about how Joffrey is only thirteen, but he also describes Cersei in unusually sympathetic terms, despite not being on good terms with his sister. And, like in ACOK when he saw Cersei cry, his first instinct is to walk towards her. Perhaps to give some comfort. It's an interesting image if you consider how much Tyrion's mother's death affected his life, and how he was blamed for it (including by Cersei.) Now we have an image of a mother holding a dead son. Both of them hated and mistreated Tyrion, and he has no love for either of them, but he does have that instinct of sympathy, and in this moment he sees only a grieving mother.

Of course, that image is shattered when Cersei immediately blames him for Joffrey's murder, as she blames him for their mother's death. All these layers and motifs coming together are really what set apart the writing in these moments.

[mattholicguilt]

cats in the cradle by Duck_Life

Fandoms: Supernatural [Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply] Words: 1,745

Tags: Claire Novak & Patience Turner, Cats, Psychic Abilities, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Friendship, Found Family, claire novak will see a stray animal and be like, is anyone gonna project onto this, and not wait for an answer

Summary: Claire helps Patience hone her abilities. Patience helps Claire track down a cat.

Written for SPN Women Week Day 1. Prompt: "skills"

Bub is missing again.

“Bub” is the name of a mean stray cat missing a chunk from his ear. Claire’s been leaving cat food out for the ugly old thing for weeks now, and whenever he doesn’t come running she panics.

So, for the third time, Patience finds herself enlisted in the search for a cat that Claire doesn’t even technically own. “If it’s gonna bother you this much every time,” Patience says, “why don’t you just take it in? You know, get him his shots, a collar, a microchip.”

Claire makes a face at her before turning back to look at the road. She’s been driving around the neighborhood slowly, scoping out every shrub and checking under every parked car. “Bub doesn’t want to be chained down,” she explains. “He’s a free spirit.”

Alright, well, Patience is too tired to unpack that right now. She lets it lie and looks out the passenger’s side window, alert for any signs of movement. “Maybe he was never a stray at all,” she tries, “and his owner finally tracked him down and brought him home.”

“Do you know that?” Claire asks.

Claire’s always asking if Patience knows things— what happened on Jody’s date last weekend, what Dean’s middle name is, whether or not Alex is the one who ate the last ice cream sandwich in the freezer. Patience keeps trying to explain that she can only see the future. “Psychic” might be a misnomer— her abilities are precognitive, not telepathic.

She basically gets previews, little spoilers about what’s to come. And though she’s been working at it, she can’t seem to get her psychic abilities to do the kind of reading and divination her grandma could do. She gets glimpses with no context, no backstory.

Missouri Moseley could walk into a room and feel every ounce of heartbreak, grief, hope and faith in the people standing there. Patience can barely pick up on it when Alex and Claire are pissed at each other.

Still, Claire brings her along whenever the cat goes missing. Seems to think her ESP can home in on missing animals. Patience keeps telling her otherwise, and yet here she is, once again. That’s the trouble with having no social life and no better plans.

Maybe she should join a book club.

Claire rounds the corner, eyes darting around for any sight of the mangy cat. The first time Bub vanished from Claire’s sight, all the neighbors seemed intent to help. They explained they hadn’t seen the cat, but hoped Claire would find him soon and offered baked goods and platitudes in the meantime.

But these things have an expiration date. You can only lose the cat so many times before the routine gets old and the neighbors lose interest.

“My educated guess ?” Patience sighs. “The cat’ll come back when it gets hungry. Just like before.”

Claire makes a tch sound and mouths “educated guess” under her breath. Apparently, because Patience is psychic she’s supposed to be omniscient. “So which is it?” Claire says. “Is he back with his ‘real’ owners or is he going to come home when he gets hungry?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Patience says. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m helping you.”

“... Yeah. You are,” Claire says, ducking her head. “Sorry.” Her eyes scan the road ahead, looking for the telltale streak of a cat darting out from under a parked car or vanishing around a tree trunk. Still nothing. “Hey, Patience the Pet Psychic,” Claire says. “You should write that down, that’d be a great children’s book.”

“Very funny,” Patience says, rolling her eyes. She’s silent for a few moments and then says, “Cla-aire the Monster Slayer.”

“That doesn’t really rhyme.”

“Sure it does.”

When the sky darkens and the streetlights flick on, Claire drives them back to the house, Bub-less and dejected. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Patience tries.

Claire bunches her shoulders, the collar of her leather jacket looking like a cat’s raised hackles. Maybe, Patience thinks, that’s the connection— Claire in many ways resembles an angry cat. She and Bub might be kindred spirits.

“I’m just tired,” Claire says, yanking the keys out of the ignition. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Patience considers pointing out that Claire could at least ask instead of just assuming , considers reminding Claire that she has her own life outside of playing “pet psychic.”

But she doesn’t actually have anything to do tomorrow. Or the rest of the week. And as futile as it feels riding around looking for a runaway cat, it is something to do. And it makes Claire feel better.

And… straining her psychic muscles to pick up on any trace of the old tomcat is at least better than doing nothing and letting her abilities degrade. Over the last year, she’s been trying to find ways to train her brain, shape her psychic visions into something useful.

Jody’s supportive, but she, like most people, doesn’t know anything about being psychic. Kaia’s got a fraught relationship with her own special skills and usually chooses not to talk to Patience about seeing the future, and Alex is so entrenched in nursing and hunting that the few “normal” moments she gets at home are devoted to unwinding and relaxing.

Which makes Claire Patience’s most ardent supporter in developing her psychic abilities. A very grouchy, blonde and mostly clueless Yoda. What she lacks in background knowledge she makes up for in persistence.

“Hey, Patience, guess which hand?” Claire will ask, holding the last fortune cookie behind her back. “Hey, Patience, what number am I thinking of?” Claire will ask, perched on the arm of the couch. “Hey, Patience, heads or tails?” Claire will ask, flipping a coin to catch it in midair.

That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of it works— Patience can’t predict things at will. Her psychic visions operate on a schedule of their own, with no concern for Patience’s own convenience or comfort. One minute, she’s watching shitty reality TV while Alex nods off on her shoulder. The next, she’s watching Jody narrowly avoid being bitten by a vampire.

It’s a lot different from just guessing a coin toss. Still. Patience can’t help but think that her grandma would’ve passed all of Claire’s little tests with flying colors.

That night, Patience doesn’t dream about anything— at least, not anything useful. She has an anxiety dream about being lost in Aldi, roaming the aisles with increasing frustration. But nothing about the future. Nothing about Bub the cat.

She’s pouring herself a bowl of cereal when Claire stomps inside, the porch door swinging shut behind her. “Still gone,” she says darkly, grabbing the cereal box and her own bowl. “Food hasn’t been touched.”

“Claire,” Patience says, “why don’t we just go to the SPCA? You can get yourself a cat that’s not, you know—”

“What? Not damaged? Not a lost cause? Not hard to love?”

Whoa, Patience wants to say. “A cat that’s not missing ,” she finishes. “We can get him his shots and a collar and everything.”

“I don’t— I don’t just want some random cat,” Claire says. “I want to find Bub. I want… I want to find him and bring him home. I have to bring him home.”

“I know,” Patience says, and just like that she does . She does know.

She knows everything, feels everything, the aching loss in Claire’s bones that’s both recent and so, so old. Memories of Claire hitchhiking and stealing and conning her way through the country, desperately chasing a mother who was desperately chasing a dead man. Jimmy Novak’s voice in her head, his face seen through Claire’s eyes, Please, Castiel, take me. Just take me. Again, his forehead pressed to hers, Take care of your mom, okay, bub?

Bub.

Patience looks at Claire. Sees her, in a way she hasn’t been able to see anyone before. “Bub… ‘bub’ is what your dad used to call you.”

Claire squints at her. “Uh. Yeah,” she says. “Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t tell you that.”

“No,” Patience breathes, meeting her eyes across the kitchen, “you didn’t.”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Claire’s face. “Holy shit , Patience, you just… ? You just did that. You, like, read me.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know. That I could do that,” Patience says, caught between marveling at this new development and feeling self-conscious at intruding on Claire’s emotions and her past.

Claire doesn’t seem put off at all. She’s actually bouncing with excitement. “We gotta test this out. Oh my God. It’s like a whole new Pokemon evolution for you.”

“It’s not really. Like that. In any way.”

But Claire is already humming the Pokemon theme song. She grabs her car keys. “Alright, well, let’s go look for that cat. I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

“I read you, Claire, that doesn’t mean I can read the cat,” Patience reminds her.

“Yeah, yeah, but you can still help me look,” Claire says. “I don’t need your third eye, just the two on your face.”

“That’s… yeah, fine,” Patience acquiesces. To be honest, she’s buzzing with the knowledge of what she can do with her powers. If Claire’s happy to be her test subject, she’ll spend all day with the girl. “Just let me grab a coffee.”

“Ooh, me too. Wait!” She wiggles her fingers toward Patience. “Do you Know how I like my coffee?”

“Half-and-half. And enough sugar to kill you,” Patience reels off. “But that’s not because I’m psychic. I’ve just seen you fix yourself coffee before.”

“Y’know, I think the line between ‘psychic’ and ‘observant’ is thinner than you might think.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Patience says, and then pretends to stumble backward toward the table, overacting the part. “Oh, oh, I’m having a vision… I see you … making coffee for us…”

Claire rolls her eyes, but she dutifully sets her keys down and busies herself with getting the travel mugs out. “That’s not gonna work for everything, you know.”

“Aaah I see you bringing Jody’s suit to the dry cleaners next week. I also see you driving me to the science museum.”

“Hilarious.”

Patience smiles at her. It’s nice to have someone else get excited about her powers. It’s nice to be allowed to be excited about this, to learn a new skill and have it mean something good to someone besides herself. She doesn’t feel like a freak or a failure. She just feels… like a psychic.

She feels like her grandma would be proud.

[torialeysha]

Cold feet - Part 16

Bakers redemption

A/N: I’m on a roll guys! Your love, patience and support for this story fuels my fire for writing, a fire I thought I had lost and for that I am eternally grateful. Thank you all <3

Songs: Carry me home - Jorja Smith ft Maverick Sabre

Can’t buy happiness - Tash Sultana

Fortunately the awkwardness of the journey home was lost on you as all you could do was think about Alfie. You questioned the sincerity of his visit and wondered why it had taken him so long to realise you had lied about the ridiculous possibility of him not being the father of your unborn baby? He had asked you for forgiveness. A shot at redemption. Could you give it to him? Could you allow him another chance when he had already let you down not once but twice? Were you foolish enough to give him the opportunity to do it again? Would he do it again? He said that he had seen the error of his ways and that he really did want the baby. Did he mean it? Could you believe him even if he did? He said he could prove it to you and you were curious to see how. Silently you pondered, driving yourself insane with question after question that regrettably you didn’t have the answers to.

After a tedious battle with the London traffic the car finally pulled up outside the opulent townhouse Charles was renting. The atmosphere still frosty and tense as you crossed it’s threshold. You were in the process of removing your coat when one of the butlers collared Charles.

“There’s a Mr Changretta waiting for you in the lounge, sir.” He announced casually as he took your coat. Your hair immediately stood on end.

“Ok. I’ll be right there. Meanwhile, could you please fetch Ms Y/L/N something to eat.” Charles hands his coat to the butler then turns to you. “I won’t be long. Feel free to start without me.” He told you coldly. But you were no longer worried about food and more concerned about the fact that Luca Changretta was in the next room.

Fraught, you staggered to the dining room and began to pace, anxiously wondering what the occupants next door were discussing. You manoeuvred towards the wall that separated the lounge from the dining room and placed your ear against it, hoping that the divide was thin enough to be able to hear their conversation. Their muffled voices vibrated through the wall. You edged closer to the crack of the locked double doors that connected the two rooms and the voices got slightly clearer.

“...And you really trust this broad? You’re sure she isn’t the problem?” It was Luca’s voice.

“Of course I trust her! I wouldn’t have involved her if I didn’t.”

“How much does she know?”

“Hardly anything. She asked me some questions about the club. Why I bought it for her and why I insisted I put it in her name and not mine, but her curiosity is only natural, Luca.”

Your stomach rolled realising they were talking about you.

“What did you tell her?”

“I fed her some bullshit about wanting to give her the world.”

“Nice. So she doesn’t know anything about the money coming in from New York?”

“No, I take care of the books and I keep them locked in my safe.”

“Good.”

There was a brief silence before Luca spoke again.

“Tell me, Cuz, what are your feelings for this broad? You still intend on marrying her when this is all over?”

Cuz? Why would Luca call Charles that?

“Yes. I love her.”

Charles’ confession made you feel sick.

There’s another long pause before Luca speaks again.

“Then you have my blessing. But I’m warning ya, I don’t know if my dear Aunt will be as accepting. You know how she only wants the best for her son.”

Cousin? Aunt? Son? You felt the colour drain from your face as realisation dawned on you.

“Y/N is best for me. Now can we please stop discussing my personal life and get back to business.”

“Of course. I hear what you’re saying about the Jew but we need him alive for now. I think he’ll be able to help us deal with Thomas Shelby.”

“Solomon’s is tight with Shelby. There’s no way he’d sell him out.”

“Oh, he will.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m going to make him an offer he can’t refuse... Don’t look so worried, Chuck, all will be revealed soon. You just carry on doing what you’re doing and remember that we’re doing this per la famiglia. Luca’s foreign tongue made you shudder. “Once Solomon’s, Shelby and Sabini are dealt with. London will be ours for the taking.”

You pulled away from the door just as Charles was asking about Sabini. You had heard enough.

It was worse than you or Tommy had anticipated. Charles and Luca wasn’t just business relations, they were blood relations. His money was their money. Your time and efforts had been in vain. Any hope of sabotaging their connection was gone. Replaced with an overwhelming sense of alarming trepidation. You had to leave. There was no way you could stay now knowing what you know.

The main door of the dining room swung open, startling you.

“I’m terribly sorry miss. I didn’t mean to scare you.” The flustered housemaid apologised as she shuffled in with your supper.

“Please don’t apologise.” You told her shakily.

“You’re white as a sheet! I must’ve given you a proper fright. Poor thing. Sit ya self down and I’ll fetch you something to drink.”

“No, no. I’m fine. It’s just-I’ve received word today that my friend isn’t well and it’s come as quite a shock. I would like to check on her to see if she’s feeling better. Could you let Mr Fenton know that I’m going to visit her and I won’t be back until later.”

“Of course, Miss, but what about your tea?” She signals to the silver tray she’s carrying.

“I’ve suddenly lost my appetite. I’ll eat it when I return.”

“Ok, Miss. I’ll put it by for later.” She took off with the tray of food and without a second thought you made for the door without even stopping for your coat or purse.

In a daze you wandered down the street, feeling hopelessly lost in a city that had been your home for 20 odd years. You headed north, knowing that regardless of your current uncertainty towards Alfie you would have to warn him and get word to Tommy. Without your purse you had no money to jump on a bus or the underground. Your only option was to trudge the busy late afternoon streets to your destination. It would take roughly an hour to get from Central to Camden, probably the same amount of time it would take Charles to suspect something was amiss. It was a distressing thought that caused you to pick up pace. To make up time you decided to take a shortcut that lead you along the river and down the canals. It was a risky move as the muddy banks of the canals were refuge to some unsavoury characters - mainly drunkards - desperate men that would find easy prey on a young woman trekking the waterways on her own.

The sun was slowly sinking into twilight by the time you had reached Camden lock. Despite your exhaustion you were relieved to have made it in one piece but you shouldn’t have spoke too soon. In the distance you could see a group of what looked like 3 men huddled together along the path which you needed to pass to get across to the bakery. Your blistered feet slowed but it was too late, they had already spotted you. You quickly tried to think of an alternative route. The only other way was to swim across but jumping in and braving the grim green water that was frothing with rubbish and other questionable substances wasn’t tempting to say the least. There was nothing you could do now except carry on walking with your chin held high as if their shady presence didn’t intimidate you. You argued with yourself as you approached that maybe you had jumped to a brash assumption and that they were in fact a harmless trio who would just let you pass without a second glance. As you got closer they rose from their makeshift perches and swayed towards you. It was then you knew that your brash assumption had been correct.

“Evening treacle.” One slurred. “What brings you down ‘ere then?” He smiled, revealing a row of yellow teeth that were gradually rotting a browny black. You ignored him and tried to pass but he obstructed you.

“Let me pass!” You ordered him.

“Now then, that’s not nice. You could at least ask nicely. Say please.” He slurred.

“Please let me pass.” You said through gritted teeth.

The other two came to stand beside him. Panicking, you tried hard to conceal the trembling of your body.

“Beg.” He tells you through a snarl.

“I love it when they beg.” One of the other men chimed in, earning a chortle from his soapy comrades.

You laugh as if joining in with their sadistic merriment. Then quick as a whippet you tried to barge through their burly blockade, effectively knocking one of the men into the drink. The middle one grabbed you. You turned as he did so, kneeing him between the legs. He dropped to the floor and you made to escape but was grabbed again by the last remaining man. His filthy hand covered your mouth, cutting you off mid scream. You thrashed in his arms. Your eyes widening as the man on the floor rose slowly.

“We’ve got a feisty one ‘ere, Del.”

“Let’s see how feisty she is once I’ve finished with ‘er.” The man you knocked to the floor was now fully upright, stalking towards you.

You closed your eyes, helplessly awaiting your fate.

“Get your filthy fucking hands off ‘er!”

Your eyes shot open at the unmistakable voice coming from behind you.

The man turned suddenly with you still in his arms. Your eyes landed on Alfie and Ollie and you wanted to cry out in relief.

“Mr Solomon’s - I was only helping the poor Lass. She was lost, ya see.” He muttered a sheepish reply. His arms loosening around you. You pushed away from him stricken and lurched into Alfie’s arms.

“Are you ok, Yahalom?” He asked, pushing away the hair from your face and checking you over for any sign of injury.

You noded, clinging to him.

“Run!” One of the men shouted and they both fled in opposite directions. The one who had hold of you tried to leg-it past Alfie who with a flick of his cane tripped him before he could get any further. Alfie pushed you to Ollie, and pounced on top of the fallen man. Savagely he landed a shocking set of bone crunching blows upon the sputtering and sobbing man on the floor.

You started to shake uncontrollably. Your chest heaving to draw in breaths.

“Alfie, stop now. You’re scaring ‘er!” Ollie yelled at Alfie who stopped immediately.

“Get ‘er out of ‘ere!” He shouted.

You felt Ollie tug on your arm.

“No-I c-can’t go-I need t-to talk to A-alfie.” You chattered numbly.

“It’s ok, Y/N. Let’s wait for him inside and you can talk to him then, yeah?” Ollie asked you soothingly. You stopped resisting, allowing him to guide you over the bridge of the canal and inside the huge double door entrance of the bakery. He set you down on a crate.

“Are you ok?” Ollie asked. Kneeling in front of you.

You shook your head from side to side, unable to speak through the loud chattering of your teeth.

“We were just leaving. You’re lucky we spotted you, ya know.”

You didn’t answer him. Instead you reached out and gave his hand a grateful squeeze.

Alfie exploded through the doors, making you and Ollie jump. His blood splattered face was a fit of pure rage.

“How many fucking times have I told you not to walk the canals on your own? If me and him would have left ‘ere half hour ago like we were supposed to, what would have happened then, ay?” His eyes flickered as he tortured himself pointlessly with the sickening possibilities.

“Alright, Alfie. Calm down, ay? We left at the right time and luckily Y/N weren’t hurt-“ Ollie started calmly before Alfie interrupted him.

“- You sure they didn’t hurt you?” Alfie asked.

“I’m sure.”

“The fuck was you thinking, Pet?” His stern voice was slightly softer now.

“I-I wasn’t-“

“-Where’s your coat?” He asked suddenly. “Them cunts take it?”

“No, I left it behind-there was n-no time- I had t-to get out of there fast-I left my coat behind along with my p-purse-I’ve had to walk from Central-thats why I t-took the sh-shortcut.” You stuttered senselessly, barely pausing to take a breath. Alfie took off his coat and draped it over your shoulders. You pulled it tightly around yourself. His musky scent clung to the heavy wool material that was still warm with the heat of his body. You inhaled deeply, feeling instantly calmer. “I couldn’t stay there, Alfie. I had to leave, I had to get out of there!”

“Calm down, Yahalom, and tell me exactly what’s happened?” He ordered, his eyes wild.

“It’s Charles. He and Lu-ca Changretta are related. They’re cousins. I-I overheard them talking. They said something about money coming in from New York and taking over London. They’re going to take down everyone in their way - you, Tommy, even Sabini. Everything Tommy said is true and there’s nothing I can do about it. We have to warn Thomas.”

Alfie exchanged a look with Ollie.

“Did he know you were listening in on his conversation?” Ollie asked.

“No. But he’ll know I’m missing by now and maybe he’ll put two and two together. I told the housemaid to tell him I was visiting an ill friend but I’m not sure he’ll believe that.”

“Right then. Well, first things first.” Alfie put his arms around your shoulders and lifted you gently from where you rested. “I need to get you out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay here and help sort this.” You told him wilfully.

“You’ve done all you can, pet. Let me and Tommy deal with this now.”

“So all of this was for nothing? Me staying with Charles, weeks of misery and sneaking around. That was all for nothing?”

“This isn’t your fight, Y/N. It never was your fight.” Alfie sighed.

“They’re planning on killing you, Alfie - the father of my unborn baby. Tell me how that isn’t my fight?” You sobbed angrily.

He grabbed your shoulders, shaking you lightly.

“Look at me.” He said firmly. Your wide eyes rose to his. “I can handle it, right. What I can’t handle is the worry of anything happening to you. Which is why I’m getting you out of ‘ere, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. I’m taking you and that unborn baby of mine to safety. You ‘ear me? That’s our priority now, yeah?”

“...Yeah.” You whispered, knowing he was right.

“Come on.”

You held on to him as you walked, your weary feet stinging with every faltered step you took.

“You need me to carry you?” He asked.

You shook your head weakly.

The sun had now almost set but the brightness outside was still blinding as you emerged from the darkness of the distillery.

“Get in the car.” Alfie ordered.

You did as he said, sliding into the front passenger seat and trying to avoid looking across the canal where your attacker still lay, a lifeless crumpled, mess on the floor. You blocked it out and focused on Alfie through the windscreen instead. He was leant into Ollie, telling him something. Ollie gave him a contrite nod and handed him what looked like a set of keys. With a pat on the back, Alfie left him to climb in to the drivers seat. He started the engine.

“Isn’t Ollie coming with us?”

“Na. He’s got to sort a few things out for me.” He replied, shoving the shift stick into gear and pulling off. You watched him intently. An unsolicited heat crept over you as he manoeuvred the machine with a confident ease that you couldn’t help but find alluring.

“Where are we going?” You asked croakily.

“Let me worry about that, right. You look exhausted. Rest your head and I’ll wake you when we get there.”

Too weak to argue you did just that. Leaning your head against the window which was slick with condensation. The soft purr of the cars engine lulled you rapidly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

You were roused from your confined slumber by Alfie as he lifted you from the passenger seat into his arms. Your neck throbbed where you had laid awkwardly propped up against the window for God knows how long. You let the aching heaviness of your head rest against Alfies chest as he carried you. A whooshing noise echoed familiarly in the blustery background, intertwined with what sounded like crunching gravel beneath Alfie’s feet as he walked. Curiously your sluggish eyes peered at your surroundings. You could just about make out the silhouette of a building and an unusual looking tree against the dark blue of the night sky.

Exhausted, your head fell back onto Alfie’s chest and you buried your face in the crook of his neck to shield it from the tenacious chill of the night air. He came to a stop holding you tightly with one arm as the other searched his trouser pocket. A jingling of keys and the sound of the lock turning, then you were finally inside and out of the cold.

The smell of fresh paint and varnish filled your nostrils as he carried you over the foreign residence. After kicking the door closed with his foot, you felt him ascend a set of stairs in the darkness, effortlessly, as if he was already well acquainted with the steps. A door creaked open and then shortly after you were being lowered. You unfolded from him as he placed you on the soft cushioning of a mattress. Your head sunk into the fluffy pillows, your arms stretching across the width of the spacious bed. Your eyes opened when you realised Alfie wasn’t joining you.

“Don’t leave me.” You begged.

“Sssh.” He soothed softly. His heavy hand brushing back your hair from your face. “You’re safe now, Yahalom.”

Your eyes closed, his reassuring tone and tender touch settling you back to sleep.

You awoke with a start. Looking around the huge room that was now highlighted by an orange hue emanating from the fire that crackled and danced in the fireplace adjacent to the bed. The ceaseless whooshing you heard earlier broke in from a set of french doors to your left and you raised from the bed to investigate. Pulling back the floor length curtains that decorated them, you were shocked to see the mosaicked balcony and the beach landscape that it overlooked. At a glance it appeared that Alfie had stolen you away from the perilous situation in London and brought you to Margate - your safe haven. But what was this place? It wasn’t a B&B or a hotel because you remembered that Alfie had entered with a key - you assumed the same key Ollie had handed him before you left. You glanced around the room once more, the unfamiliarity of your surroundings causing you great unease. And it was quiet, too quiet. Where was Alfie?

You poked your nose out of the bedroom door and peeked down the length of the darkened hallway. A sliver of warm light shone from a partially open door of one of the rooms and cautiously you ambled towards it. You lingered outside, your nerves settling when you heard Alfie’s hushed tone beyond the wood.

“Did you get hold of the rabbi?”

There was a long pause before Alfie spoke again.

“I don’t care what fucking time it is just keep trying. I want him up ‘ere by the end of the week, before the fight... Yeah? Well make-fucking-sure.” You heard a crashing bang which you guessed was the receiver of the telephone being put down on whoever Alfie was talking to.

“Are you gonna stand out there all fucking night or you gonna come in?” He shouted out to you, causing you to smile.

You entered slowly, stalling in the doorway.

Alfie was sat at a desk, a much neater, more fancier desk than the one he usually occupied at the bakery.

“You alright?” He asked, watching you intently as you came to sit in front of him.

You nodded absentmindedly, too busy taking in the plush interior of the room.

“Did you speak to Tommy?” You asked eagerly, your eyes finally meeting his. He waited a moment before answering you.

“Na, I ain’t been able to get hold of him. I’ll try again in the morning...You sure you’re alright?”

“Where are we?” You queried, ignoring his question.

“Margate.”

“No, I mean here.” You pointed to where you were sat. “Whose house is this?”

“This is our house.” He said casually.

You look at him stunned. Your mouth agape.

“Our house?”

He nodded simply.

“W-when? How?” You stuttered, dumbfounded.

“I bought it a while back, after I saw you again at the Eden. It was in a bit of a two an’ eight when I bought it. Taken me an’ the boys a little while to do up.”

“I’m confused.” You shook your head. “You’ve bought a house in Margate? But we’re so far away from London, from your businesses. What about the bakery?”

“I’m retiring, Yahalom. I’ve sold up all the properties I own and I’ve handed the bakery down to Ollie. This was my plan all along. The only way I knew I could keep you safe.”

It took you a moment to process everything and still you were stunned speechless.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“I thought this was what you wanted?” He cites.

“It was-“

Alfie narrowed his eyes at your use of past tense.

“-I mean is.” You corrected swiftly before carrying on “It’s just come as a bit of a shock is all.”

“Hmm.” He let out a suspicious grunt. “It’s not the best timing after the day you’ve had, I get that. But that was out of my control wern’it?”

You nodded solemnly. Still trying to wrap your head around everything.

“I thought you’d be happy, Yahalom?”

“I am.” You frowned.

“At least show it then. Crack a smile or summin. You’ve got a face like a slapped arse at the minute.” You heard a frustrated annoyance creep into the grimmess of his voice.

“I don’t know how I feel about it, if I’m being honest. The last few months have been a whirlwind for me. I haven’t slept properly in days, weeks even. Weary to the bone. Wracked with guilt and worry. I honestly don’t know wether I’m coming or going. And now you’re telling me that you’re selling up. Leaving behind everything you’ve worked so hard to build and for what?”

“For us!” He barked. “For us to be together without the worry of someone hurting you to hurt me. And yeah, I’ve worked hard, I’ve earn’t my money, however, it’s time for me to rest now and enjoy the fruits of my labour.”

“I’m not sure, Alf...” You hummed uneasily.

“What’s there to be unsure of?”

“I still ain’t sure this is what you really want!” You snapped frustratedly. “A quiet life by the sea, a child you never wanted...I just can’t see it.” You admitted sadly.

He exhaled harshly, rising from his desk and stepping round to extend a hand to you.

“Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

Reluctantly you took his offered hand and let him guide you back out into the hallway and along to a room that was situated next to the one you had been resting in earlier.

He opened the door and moved aside for you to enter.

The waxing moon shon brightly through the bare windows, lighting up the room with it’s spectacular lunar glow. You stepped through noticing immediately the cot that lay new and empty against the far wall, next to it was a matching chest of drawers and a rocking horse that looked like it had been plucked from a fairground carousel.

Your eyes shot to Alfie whose bear like frame was leant in the doorway studying your reaction.

“When did you do this?”

“A couple of days ago. The room needs a lick of paint but I thought you might wanna choose the colour.” He came to join you in the centre of the room.

“So you did all this before you come to see me? Before you were even certain that the baby yours?...Why?”

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought.

He shrugged. “I s’pose deep down I knew you were lying and that the baby was mine... or maybe I didn’t fucking care, I dunno... doing this...it just felt right.”

“But you said-“

“-I know what I said but saying don’t mean fuck all does it. Actions speak louder than words.” He motions to the room. “And this speaks fucking volumes, dunnit. I mean if this doesn’t prove to you that this is what I really want then I don’t know what will.”

Reassurance drifted over you as you looked once again around the unfinished nursery.

“Say something.” He requested quietly.

Wordlessly you rushed to him and threw your arms around his broad shoulders.

“You like it then? You’re happy?” He confirmed uncertainly.

“I do. I am. It’s...wonderful! Thank you!” You choked a reply, your voice struggling past the forming lump in your throat.

He pulled you closer, his shoulders relaxing as if a weight had been lifted off them.

“You want me to show you round the rest of the house?” He whispered gruffly into your hair.

“Not tonight. Show me tomorrow in the daylight so I can properly take in the beauty of it all.”

“Alright. Well, what shall we do now then?” You were sure you heard a seductive undertone in his question and took full advantage.

“Take me to our bed.”

“You ain’t gotta ask me twice.” He said. His eyes lighting up at your words.

You squealed when he lifted you in his arms and carried you to the next room.

“Cor blimey. You’ve got heavier already.” He huffs.

“Oh give over, I ain’t even showing properly yet. You’re just getting weaker with age, old man.” You teased him.

“Oi! I’ll have you know that there’s nothing wrong with my stamina and I will gladly prove that to you in a minute.” He threatened hotly. Sending your pulse racing. “There’s just one more thing I’ve got to do first.”

He set you down carefully on your own two feet.

“Can’t it wait?” You whined as he stepped away from you and headed towards the door.

“It won’t take me a minute.” He assured you.

You stood in the middle of the once unfamiliar room that you now knew was yours and Alfies. Sighing happily, you glided to the french doors and tried the handle. They opened willingly under your touch. The chill of the night air was refreshing as you stepped out on to the balcony. Leaning on the stone balaustrade, you observed the unrelenting waves that stretched the distance, relishing in the peacefulness of their crashing melody. Nothing could ruin this moment, not even the ugliness of the Changretta situation. All that mattered right now was your future with Alfie, a future that this morning never even existed.

“Yahalom?” Alfie called, having returned.

You spun to look at him. He marched skittishly towards you, his hands behind his back, as he joined you on the balcony.

“I know I’ve asked you this before but as you so poignantly pointed out to me the other day, it’s a proposal that has since expired. So, I’m gonna ask you again... Y/N Y/L/N will you marry me?” He asked gruffly, his eyes so intense you thought they could set you on fire. You gasped unexpectedly. Although it was the second time he had asked you, it was the first time you had heard him say those words aloud.

“Oh, Alfie. Of course I’ll marry you.”

“Thank fuck for that. Here then.” He produced a ring that was hidden in his clenched fist behind his back. Grabbing your hand he slipped it on your finger. You stared down at it in awe. A ruby once again burned brightly on your finger but it wasn’t the one you were used to. You frowned down at the foreignness of the rings delicate beauty and the circle of winking diamonds that surrounded the red gem like a halo.

“I searched high and low for the other one in the bakery but couldn’t find it. So I bought you another one. D’you like it?”

“It’s beautiful... I was just expecting to see the old one.” You replied, your heart sinking at the thought of your first engagement ring being lost forever. It was only supposed to be a temporary ring, taken from Alfie’s pinky finger until he had gotten you a proper one. There wasn’t much to it just a thick gold band with a faceted ruby so red it was hypnotising. Back then you had persuaded Alfie not to buy a replacement, that you wanted to keep his one as every time you looked at it it reminded you of him. Now, thanks to yourself you’ll never see it again.

“That’s old hat now that one though, innit? a token of who we used to be. We’ve been through a lot of shit, right, shit I wanna leave in the past. I want us to have a fresh start, a clean slate, and this house and this ring is where it begins.”

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[evakuality]

Hanna, episode six

1.  This ramp thing.  It’s the MVP of this whole entire school/setting.  I mean I can see why they use it - it allows for some really cool shots and set ups and it genuinely works in so many ways to show so many nuances of the situations it’s in.  But basically I just love the continuity.  There’s something so comforting about this returning over and over and over again.  The sheer joy of ‘the ramp! It’s here again!’ 

2.  Matteo’s little ‘why are you dating Jonas?’ is so interesting too.  This speech carries a different tone, and I can’t tell if that’s because of the way it’s said.  He genuinely seems to be like ‘Hanna, think this through - do you really want this?’ and the answer should actually be ‘no I don’t’ even if his motives aren’t great, and maybe it’s because she’s different to Eva.  Or maybe this is because as always while it leans heavily on the original, the lines aren’t exactly the same and that lends some differences to it.  I don’t know.  Plus her question ‘there’s only 2 options: trust or break up?’ and his reaction ‘or maybe talk to Leonie’ - like yes.  Please.  Do that.  Communicate with people.  But I guess he knows it won’t go well because he likely knows exactly what Jonas is doing, and so he has very little to lose.  He’s not overtly being a dick here, and he looks supportive.  So if it goes well for her, hey he looks like the supportive good friend and if it doesn’t.  Well... that’s not his fault.  He was just trying to help.  At this point, from his PoV, not much can go wrong.

3.  The little scene at school with Jonas telling Hanna she’s annoying (by text! so distant and cold. Ugh, talk to each other properly please), and then Sam making her feel good and sexy and wanted.  You can see why she’d be taken by him.  We can see he’s a bit of a player, far too smooth and good at this, but of course she can’t.  With Matteo’s ‘break up with Jonas if you don’t trust him’ ringing in her ears, you can see why she feels the way she does.  Again, so much of this is modeled on the original, but the way it’s shot works so well here in terms of specifically showing us Hanna’s state of mind.  With Hanna literally feeling like she’s got this barrier between her and Jonas after he sends his last text, shown literally in the way the moment is shot.  Plus, Kiki’s little thing with Alex as a mirror/reflection of what’s happening with Hanna (they literally fistbump over it - Alex over having got his conquest and Sam over pursuing his).  She has all the warning she needs and yet she falls into it anyway.  This whole part of this season is so heartbreaking, and knowing where it’s leading is tough.  This week is a hard one for our little bean.

4.  I know everyone and their dog has talked about this cold war scene but that’s because it’s so damn good.  The imagery and the whole way this scene works is so powerful.  Plus, we’re veering even more into the darker shades for Hanna.  This thing with Jonas is weighing on her and literally sucking out her brightness.  She’d been so washed out at the start, and when she’s with her girls it’s all still brightness etc, but with Jonas this darkness is seeping in more and more and more.  I mean he is lying to her and that’s where almost all of this ‘cold war’ conflict is coming from, but her relentless pushing of the topic is a lot.  AND she never does it when they’re in a place where they can just talk about it, the two of them.  They’re around the boys or in class and by text.  She’s scared of knowing for sure and so she puts these barriers up to avoid having to do it properly.  But this is the entire problem.  I know we say communication is an issue across the board with these couples, but I’d argue (and have at length) that it’s not always true.  For some it’s different.  But here.  Here, this avoiding of doing it properly is the biggest issue.

5.  Okay, so Amira suddenly reappears here.  But???? Where has she been???? I missed her so much!!!  I love Sana, I really really do.  She’s a fabulous character and I adore the way she operates in Skam.  But I do love that Amira is her own character and so, while delivering a very similar message, is much warmer about it.  She tells Kiki she’s stupid for sending nudes, and that Alex really isn’t into her, but her tone isn’t as harsh or ‘straight to the point’ somehow.  But of course Amira is still tone policed by her friends, and told to say things more carefully.  And then she leaves, delivering another blow to Hanna’s confidence in Jonas.  ‘Boys lie’ - thus confirming everything she already thinks.

6.  I’ll hand it to Druck - I always love their party scenes; they feel real, like people genuinely having fun dancing and stuff (though in the most recent seasons that seems to have dropped off, probably because of restrictions having an effect on how they can film).  Leonie looks damn good in a suit too; this is a great look on her.  But wow her attitude to Hanna is so nasty.  It’s fascinating to me to see that Sara acts just as jealous and can’t let it go after Matteo breaks up with her.  They clearly have a model for how they deal with break ups and it’s not a good one.  Obviously Leonie is hurt, obviously it super sucks that it’s her best friend.  But this whole bit is so unnecessarily mean.  She wants Hanna to be hurt the way she was and she’s taking such a vicious pleasure in the way that it works.  Like, yes Hanna is to blame, but man some of this ire should be directed at the Jonas in the situation.

7.  I can see why she falls for Sam’s wiles here, and there’s been so much stuff in the last few episodes leading up to it but gosh it sucks that she falls for it.  He knows she has a boyfriend, he can clearly see she’s vulnerable and he takes advantage of that.  He is very cute, I can see why she likes him, but I don’t like this type of guy and he and Alex really annoy me (though somehow Alex doesn’t feel as slimy with it as William - at least so far).  And then Hanna watching as the scene of another cheating episode plays out in front of her.  No wonder she thinks the way she does: all she has are examples of guys being assholes.  But it does need to be mentioned that she stops this kiss almost as soon as it started.  I’m not sure this exactly counts as cheating.  But I guess what’s important is that Hanna feels like she’s in the same place she already was.  Plus now she knows how it feels from the other side.  This evening is such a stress for her.  The little story that Jule tells her about how Sam ‘would never do that’ is just the icing on the cake.  This is a moment where I always feel so awful for Eva/Hanna/all of them.  

8.  Jonas’s sad little confession comes just that little bit too late, and you can see the regret hanging over Hanna.  Like, she already felt it and now she can see through everything and it all sucks.  And of course the darkness has totally closed in rn.  But I do have to say I love Jonas’s ‘not that I know anyway’ about whether he’s gay.  The characters in this show are far less worried about sexuality and ‘being straight’ and it’s a nice thing.  Matteo was all ‘yeah I like gay songs, so what?’ and Jonas here.  I like it.  But ouch, how ‘you can trust me’ must hurt when they haven’t been trusting each other and it’s become so fraught.  Notice also that they don’t fall back on their kissing this time.  The one thing that’s been going well for them isn’t working anymore either.  At the point where things are ‘darkest’ for them in the cinematography etc, we also get the moment when they can’t connect in any of the ways they used to.  Jonas is talking and being open finally, but Hanna is now hiding things and nothing here is going well for her.

Anyway, this is a really difficult episode and yet it’s one of my favourites.  Like episode 2 I’m just a real sucker for the way it’s filmed.  Again, everything is lifted almost entirely from the original and yet again Druck puts its own little spin on it.  There’s a reason why the original and this one are the ones I like.  Both take a lot of care with how colour and symbols etc work and play out and while this is a straight copy in so many ways, I still love how they chose to interpret it.  Their characters are subtly their own, the filming has its own life and that makes it work for me.

[tillidontneedfantasy]

A Track-by-Track Breakdown of Taylor Swift’s 8th Studio Album: ‘folklore’

Taylor Swift’s 8th studio album, folklore, starts off with the lie, “I’m on some new shit.” Perhaps to someone who hasn’t been paying attention this would seem to be true. But to those listening, folklore is the essence of her skill and success throughout her entire career stripped down for all to see, but more refined, enhanced, and impressive than ever.

Even prior to her pop-world domination with 1989 (2014), Taylor’s storytelling ability has always been her most compelling strength as a writer. In 2010, she released her third album, Speak Now, penned fully solo to prove to the cynics that she does, in fact, write her own music. And it’s damn good. Widely considered her best song, “All Too Well” from Red (2012) is a five and a half minute epic about love had and lost, all in walks through autumn trees, almost running red lights, dancing round the kitchen, and a scarf reminiscent of innocence, unreturned.  

Yet her pop prowess over the last six years perhaps leads to her storytelling being overlooked to those more focused on the music. There is a particular genius in writing a successful pop song, let alone three successful pop albums, that still has hard-hitting lyrics underneath the synth. Take the excellent “Cruel Summer” from Lover (2019) for example. The song is just under 3 minutes, and the production is so enthralling and infectious that it can take such a hold on you, you might miss the tale being told along with it about a fraught summer relationship that was actually just the beginning of her own love story.

But without the pop production, her stories on folklore demand attention. Swept up by a strong wave of creativity and inspiration, Swift secretly wrote and produced this album in around three months with Aaron Dessner of The National, one of Swift’s favorite bands, and long-time collaborator and friend Jack Antonoff. A surprise album is a new endeavor for Swift, as she generally spends months meticulously planning an album rollout. It is refreshing, and as a dedicated, long-time fan of Taylor, it is thrilling. Due to the album cover where she is standing in the woods, and the genre of the album itself, there have been think pieces regarding the “man in the woods” trope and what it means that Taylor seems to be embodying it. As a result of over-exposure, people are unable to stop focusing on her image and the way she presents herself. It’s understandable, as she is a very smart and deliberate businesswoman, and clearly cares about how she is perceived. But with this album, it is clear that none of that was at play. We are in the middle of a pandemic. Her mother has been battling cancer for years. Isolate a creative person in a dangerous world and they will dream up an escape. She understands more than ever how precious each moment is, and does not want to waste another one. The woods being the landscape for the photo-shoot is most likely attributed to the fact that it is the safest place to have one under these circumstances. She’s not pretending she removed herself from society and became enlightened, she didn’t dabble into a more alternative sound to prove anything; she is just sharing stories she wants to tell that she is proud of, and nothing more.

Of course the music of the album is important, but the lyrics are the heart of it all, and I wanted to focus on them. Upon its release, Taylor explained in a foreword that the album was a mixture of personal and fictional accounts. The beauty of stories is that once they are shared, they never live one single life; each person who consumes a story interprets it uniquely, and the story becomes a multiverse, with different meanings and outcomes than what initially drove the pen to the paper. As explained by Swift in a YouTube comment prior to the album’s release, three songs on the album are all one story, which she has dubbed “the teenage love triangle.” The three points of the triangle are “cardigan,” “august,” and “betty.” But if someone had not seen her say that, they might not have figured it out. Maybe they’d interpret each song as their own story, and connect it to their own. Taylor knows this. It is why she loves storytelling and is why she is so good at it. The album itself is a mirror ball, shimmering with every version of the stories being told, reflecting a bit of each person who listens. These are my interpretations, but they can mean whatever you make of them. 

1. the 1 The melody of this song helps set the scene; picture yourself skipping rocks on a lake, reminiscing on the one that got away. “the 1” is about learning to assimilate into a life without them, resentfully accepting that they might be moving on, too. She ruminates on what went wrong and what could have been. In a very Swift fashion, she puts the blame on herself when she sings, “in my defense, I have none / for digging up the grave another time.” Perhaps this song is fictional, perhaps it’s a revisit of a past feeling or relationship, but its relatability makes it feel real and present. She searches for explanations, restraining herself from asking, “if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?” But it’s good she didn’t ask, because she’d never find the answer, anyway. Best lyric: “We never painted by the numbers, baby, but we were making it count / You know the greatest loves of all time are over now.”

2. cardigan (teenage love triangle, part 1: betty’s perspective) “When you are young they assume you know nothing,” Swift sings in her smooth low-register on this Lana del Rey-esque single. “But I knew everything when I was young,” she asserts. They say wisdom comes with age, but there is wisdom lost, too, of what it felt like to be young; but she has held onto it. In this track, the narrator (Betty) is looking back on her relationship with someone she once loved (James, as name-dropped in “betty” later on in the album). Her insight on his character was always spot on; she knew he’d try to kiss it better, change the ending, miss her once the thrill expired and come back, begging for her forgiveness in her front porch light. As soon as she was feeling forgotten, he made her feel wanted, his favorite. The ending in question is unclear, whether she granted him her forgiveness or not. But what is clear is Taylor’s understanding of the pull of young love, the intensity, the immortalization of all the smallest of details, the longing to be someone’s favorite. It’s why we look back on it so often, read stories and watch films about it, even as we grow old. It’s the cardigan we put back on when we want to be Peter Pan and remember what it was like to fly with Wendy. Best lyric: “You drew stars around my scars / but now I’m bleeding.”

3. the last great american dynasty The story of Rebekah Harkness and her destruction of the last great American dynasty, Standard Oil, is documented in this track, as each verse covers a different part of Rebekah’s life, going from a middle class divorcee to one of the wealthiest women in America by marrying into an empire. Swift paints Rebekah as an outcast, the Rhode Island town blaming her for her husband’s heart giving out. Rebekah used her inherited fortune on her ballet company, throwing lavish parties with her friends who went by the “Bitch Pack,” playing cards with Dali (Yes, as in Salvador Dali. It’s not clear if they actually played cards together, but her ashes were placed in an urn designed by him), and feuding with her neighbors. Then, fifty years later, Taylor Swift bought that very house and ruined the neighborhood all over again, bringing with her the triumphant return of champagne pool parties and women with madness, their men and bad habits. It’s a note on how women will be blamed for tarnishing what is sacred to men rather than celebrated, specifically when its related to wealth and power. They will call them mad, shameless, loud. But just like Rebekah, Taylor learned to pay them no mind, and just have a marvelous time. It is also interesting to note that Rebekah went by Betty. Perhaps Taylor felt inspired by and connected to her and gave her a whole backstory, and thus the birth of “the teenage love triangle,” or maybe it’s just a coincidence; but that’s the fun of it all. Either way, this track is a standout showcase of how Swift has truly mastered her craft as a songwriter. Best lyric: “Holiday House sat quietly on that beach / free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / and then it was bought by me.”

4. exile ft. Bon Iver You know that feeling when your parents are fighting and it’s upsetting you but you can’t help but listen? That’s kind of what listening to this song feels like. Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon co-wrote the track, and he lends his gorgeous vocals to play a man who has been exiled by his ex who has moved on with someone else while he desperately tries to understand where it all went wrong. The bridge is particularly poignant, both proclaiming, “you didn’t even hear me out,” while talking over each other. He thinks he was expected to read her mind, but she is adamant that she gave him plenty of warning signs. Miscommunication is one of the most common downfalls of a relationship, and the emotion in Swift’s and Vernon’s voices really draws you into the argument with them, transporting you back into your own exile from people you once called home. Best lyric: “I couldn’t turn things around / (You never turned things around) / ‘cause you never gave a warning sign / (I gave so many signs.)”

5. my tears ricochet Taylor describes this song in the foreword as “an embittered tormentor showing up to the funeral of his fallen object of obsession.” If you know enough, you can put the pieces together that the tormentor is Scott Borchetta, the head of Big Machine Records, and the funeral is of their professional and personal relationship. Taylor was the first artist ever signed to Big Machine. Borchetta and Swift had to trust each other in their partnership for it to be a success, and oh, how it was. But prior to Lover’s release, Taylor announced that she would be signing to Republic Records as her contract with Big Machine had ended and Republic offered her the opportunity to own all of her masters moving forward and negotiate on Spotify shares for all their artists. It all could have ended amicably there, but then Scott Borchetta sold all of Big Machine, along with Taylor’s masters from every album prior, to Scooter Braun. Braun manages some of the biggest stars out there, and had previously managed Kanye West. Taylor publicly spoke out about this purchase, stating that she was not made aware of this before the announcement, and how much of a betrayal it was considering she had cried to Scott before about Scooter’s mistreatment of her. Taylor has continued to be vocal about this, and so she sings, “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace.” There is a lot to unpack in this song, but the main takeaway is that this betrayal hurts him just as much if not more than it hurts her, because his career was built on her achievements. He buried her while decorated in her success, becoming what he swore he wouldn’t, erasing the good times for greed, all just to be haunted with regret for pushing her out and stealing her lullabies. The pain is palpable, and it is notable that this is song is placed at track 5, the spot generally reserved for the most vulnerable on the album; it shows that there are different types of heartbreak that can shatter you just as much as those from romance. Best lyric: “If I’m dead to you, why are you at the wake? / Cursing my name, wishing I stayed.”

6. mirrorball On Lover’s “The Archer,” Taylor expresses her anxiety over people seeing through her act, her own grief at seeing through it herself, wondering if her lover does and whether he would stay with her regardless. “mirrorball” is about the act, one of the more obviously confessional songs on the album. She talks about how a mirror ball can illuminate all the different versions of a person, while also reflecting the light to fit in with the scene. Taylor’s critical self-awareness is heart wrenching, and it’s clear that the anxiety that surrounds the public perception of her is still prevalent. She describes herself as a member of a circus, still on the tightrope and the trapeze even after everyone else has packed up and left, doing anything she can to keep the public’s attention. It hurts to hear the desperation in her voice, but there’s hope in the song, too. She is speaking to someone (we can assume her long-term boyfriend, Joe Alwyn) and thanking them for not being like “the regulars, the masquerade revelers drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten.” In 2016, the height of Taylor’s fame and subsequently her farthest fall from grace, all the people who pretended to be her friends and attended all her parties celebrated her (temporary) demise, continuing to dance over her broken pieces on the floor. But he stayed by her side as she put herself back together. And so now, when no one is around, she’ll shine just for him, standing even taller than she does for the circus. Best lyric: “I’m still a believer, but I don’t know why / I’ve never been a natural, all I do is try, try, try / I’m still on that trapeze, I’m still trying everything / to keep you looking at me.”

7. seven Her voice gentle and haunting, Taylor recalls the freedom and innocence of her childhood in Pennsylvania. She asks to be remembered for how she was, swinging over the creek, before she learned civility when she would scream anytime she wanted, then letting out a very pretty one. She sings to her old friend soothingly about taking them away from their haunted house that their father is always shouting in, where they feel the need to hide in a closet, perhaps literally, or figuratively, or both. They can move into Taylor’s house instead, or maybe just to India, just be sure to pack their dolls and a sweater and then they’ll hit the road. She can no longer recall her friend’s face, but the love she had for them still lives in her heart, and she wants it to live forever through story. Just in the way that folklore itself blends reality and fiction, but the truth within it passes on, so will the purity of that love and friendship. Best lyric: “Please picture me in the weeds / before I learned civility / I used to scream ferociously / any time I wanted.”

8. august (teenage love triangle, part 2: the other girl’s perspective) If you had to assign the feeling of longing to a song, it’d be “august.” It’s when you’re teetering at the edge with someone, unsure of where you stand with them, clinging to anything they give you and doing anything just to raise your chances, “living for the hope of it all.” August, the last month of summer, its heat causing it to slip away the fastest in a haze before reality hits. This track is a display of how sometimes losing something you never had causes an even deeper ache than losing something that was yours, and Jack Antonoff’s signature production intensifies the emotion even more. It’s the story of shattered hope, and the longing for the days where it could still fuel you. Best lyric: “To live for the hope of it all / cancel plans just in case you’d call.”

9. this is me trying “this is me trying” is like a drive through a tunnel at night, hearing your loudest anxieties and insecurities echo all around you, caving in. The track is another apt insight into Swift’s struggles with her self-image, with the pressure she puts on herself, so much so that she sometimes pushes herself too close to the edge, her fears luring her out of the tunnel and down, down, down into her own cage, stunting her own growth and keeping those who care out of reach. She tells us how she was “so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere.” Every action has an equal, opposite reaction, meaning that she was pushing herself so hard, she rolled back to where she started, and now has to reset. This could be referring to the period between the end of the 1989 era and the release of reputation (2017), or a different time in her life, or just a general sentiment. It doesn’t really matter, though, because no one’s growth is a neat, straight line; growth is jagged. Just like any of us, Taylor will always have to face new obstacles, new pitfalls, new reasons to get back up. She sounds most vulnerable as she cries, “at least I’m trying,” and you feel comforted knowing someone so beautiful and successful has to push herself to try, too, and yet that motivates you more to try yourself. Best lyric: “They told me all of my cages were mental / so I got wasted, like all my potential.”

10. illicit affairs A quiet, slow-build testament of the passion, the tragedy, the secrecy, the inimitability of a romance that shouldn’t exist, “illicit affairs” demonstrates how you can ruin yourself for someone from just one moment of possibility or truth, quite like the narrator of “august” does for the hope of it all. An illicit affair can be many different things: infidelity, forbidden love, a love that can never be fully realized, a relationship that is inherently wrong but electrifying all the same. It’s a reminder of what so many of us would do just to see new colors, to learn a new language, even if the one moment of enlightenment destroys us forever. We might lose the iridescent glow but we don’t forget it; we carry it with us, but must be careful to remember its blinding effect, to remember how fatal the fall is from the dwindling, mercurial high. Best lyric: “Tell your friends you’re out for a run / you’ll be flushed when you return.”

11. invisible string Clearly the most outright autobiographical track, “invisible string” is the plucky pick-me-up needed. The song is like sunshine, as Swift endearingly links all the little connections between her and her boyfriend, Joe Alwyn, since before they even met. She compares the green grass at the Nashville park she’d sit at in hopes of a meet-cute to the teal of his yogurt shop uniform shirt, and gives a nod to her smash hit “Bad Blood” from 1989 with the delightful line “bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to LA.” She reasons these coincidences as a fateful, invisible, golden string tying them together since the beginning, always destined to meet at the knot in the middle. She thanks time for healing her, (a callback to “Fifteen” from Fearless [2008]), fighting through hell to make it to heaven, transforming her from an axe grinder to a gift giver for her ex’s baby (the ex in question, Joe Jonas, and his wife Sophie Turner, happened to have their first daughter two days before this album’s release). As she has on her previous two albums, she uses the color gold to illustrate how prized their love is to one another. It’s sweet to know in all the gloom that the string has not been severed, and the trees are still golden somewhere. Best lyric: “Cold was the steel of my axe to grind for the boys who broke my heart / now I send their babies presents.”

12. mad woman Throughout her entire career, Taylor Swift has defiantly defended female rage, all the way back from throwing a chair off a platform on her Fearless Tour during the impassioned “Forever & Always,” to her patient, vengeful reliance on karma in reputation’s lead single, “Look What You Made Me Do,” to her most recent tackling of the matter on Lover’s last and final single, “The Man,” where she explores society’s acceptance and encouragement of angry men yet disdain for angry women. “The Man” is catchy and upbeat, and a fun thought experiment into how Swift’s career would be perceived if she was a man, something that is even more interesting to think about now as she releases an album in a genre heavily dominated and lauded by males. But on “mad woman,” she further explores the creation and perception of female rage, though masked under a smooth, haunting piano melody, her vocals subdued, taunting. In the album foreword, she describes the inspiration behind this song as “a misfit widow getting gleeful revenge on the town that cast her out.” This could be the continuation of Rebekah “Betty” Harkness’s story at her Holiday House in Watch Hill, RI, and how she further alienated herself from the rest of the neighborhood as they cast stones at her for the collapse of the last great American dynasty. (Or perhaps Daenerys Targaryen’s descent as the Mad Queen played a part in the song’s inspiration, as Swift has spoken of her love for Game of Thrones and her character specifically.) Taylor herself could also represent the widow, her music and masters as her love lost, and the men behind the crime as the “town that cast her out.” In the first verse she sings, “What do you sing on your drive home? / Do you see my face in the neighbor’s lawn? / Does she smile, or does she mouth ‘fuck you forever’?” It’s the first f-bomb of Taylor’s career (though a much more playful one will come two tracks later in “betty”) and it speaks volume. Taylor has received a lot of condemnation for expressing her anger at their transaction, for calling out their greed for what it is. Some view Swift’s stance on the ordeal as petty and trivial; they see the men as orchestrating a good business deal, and Swift as the girl throwing a tantrum. Ask any woman, and they can tell you about a time a man told them they were crazy for being justifiably angry; it only makes us angrier. “No one likes a mad woman,” Taylor states, “You made her like that.” Swift underscores that here, how they will poke and poke the bear but then blame it for attacking, as if they had never provoked it at all, and how dare it defend itself. Just as they blamed Rebekah for her husband’s heart giving out, they somehow manage to blame Swift for not being allowed to purchase the rights to her own work. And yes, she’s mad, but the song is measured and controlled; she’s used to her anger now, and knows just how to wield it. Best lyric: “Women like hunting witches, too / doing your dirtiest work for you / It’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together.”

13. epiphany This is another track Swift provided some background on, stating it was inspired by her “grandfather, Dean, landing at Guadalcanal in 1942” during WWII. The first verse paints this image, while the second verse depicts a different kind of war, happening right now, fought by doctors and nurses. She speaks of holding hands through plastic, and the escape folklore has granted you suddenly lifts. Watching someone’s daughter, or mother, or anyone suffer at the hands of the COVID-19 pandemic, just as watching a soldier bleed out, helpless, is too much to speak about. As she points out, they don’t teach you about that vicarious trauma in med school. We are living in a tireless world with barely any time time to rest our eyes, but too much going on while we’re awake to make sense of any of it. “epiphany” is a cinematic prayer, pleading for some quiet in order to find an answer in all the noise. We’re still waiting for that glimpse of relief. Best lyric: “Only twenty minutes to sleep / but you dream of some epiphany / Just one single glimpse of relief / to make some sense of what you’ve seen.”

14. betty (teenage love triangle, part 3: james’s perspective) It makes sense that a song reminiscent of Fearless would exemplify some of the best story-telling on folklore. The final puzzle piece of the teen love triangle, “betty” is a song sung by Swift from the perspective of the character of her own creation, James, attempting to win back his true love, Betty, who he slighted in some way. He proclaims that the worst thing he ever did is what he did to her, without explicitly stating it. Though the infamous deed is unclear, here’s the information we collect from this song: James saw Betty dancing with another boy at a school dance, one day when he was walking home another girl (from “august”) picked him up and he ended up spending his summer with her yet still loved Betty, and though he ended things with his fling and wanted to reconcile with Betty, he had returned to school to see she switched her homeroom (James assumes, after saying he won’t make assumptions. Classic men). So in order to make it up to her, he shows up at her party with the risk of being told to go fuck himself (the second and charming “fuck” on the album! Which is repeated!). Upon his arrival, there is a glorious key change (ala “Love Story”) and all the pieces fall into place for the listener; we realize Betty is the girl singing in “cardigan” as he lists the things he misses about her since the thrill expired, like the way she looks standing in her cardigan, and kissing in his car. He’s 17 and doesn’t know anything, but she knew everything when she was young, and she knew he’d come back. The way I see their story conclude is that she led him to the garden and trusted him, but as they grew older they grew apart, but the love she had for him never faded completely. Listening to this song is like being back in high school, whether you were the person who did someone wrong or the person so willing to forgive in the name of young love, or Inez, the school gossip, you’re right there with them. The other great thing about this song is that it is sung to a girl, and though it is set up so we understand it is most likely from a boy’s perspective, it doesn’t have to be. It’s really great that girls in the LGBTQ community can have a song in Taylor’s voice to fully connect to without changing the pronouns or names (even James, which is unisex and is one of the names of the daughters of Blake Lively and Ryan Reynolds, Taylor’s close friends, mentioned in this song). That is the beauty of folklore: the infinite ways a story can be told, perceived, retold from a different perspective, and told again. Maybe you’ll hear it from Inez. Best lyric: “But if I just showed up at your party / would you have me? Would you want me? / Would you tell me to go fuck myself, or lead me to the garden?”

15. peace One of the most beautifully solemn songs of her career, “peace” echoes the same fears explored in “Dancing With Our Hands Tied” from reputation; will the person she loves be able to weather the ever-present storm that comes with the life of a superstar, but also dwells within herself? Will holding him as the water rushes in be enough? Will giving him her wild, a child, her sunshine, her best, be a fair consolation? Presumably another confessional track and about Alwyn, Swift puts him up on a pedestal, praising his integrity and his dare to dream. She proclaims that she would die for him in secret, just as she told him she’d be on her tallest tip toes, spinning in her highest heels, shining just for him in “mirrorball.” She highlights some of the greatest gifts of love, such as comfortable silence and chosen family. She knows what they have is special, but she also knows the value of peace, the ultimate nirvana, and does not want to deprive him of that. It is so deeply relatable- to me, at least- to feel like you can give someone so much of yourself but know it still may never be enough, and to fear either losing them or robbing them of something better. But looking at what they have together, maybe peace is overrated. Or maybe, she’s looking for peace in the wrong places. The calm is in the eye of the storm, and sometimes, there’s nothing more freeing than throwing away the umbrella and soaking in the rain. Best lyric: “I never had the courage of my convictions / as long as danger is near / and it’s just around the corner, darling / ‘cause it lives in me / no, I could never give you peace.”

16. hoax The truest enigma of the album, the closer, “hoax” is a devastatingly dark ballad about the uncertainty, or perhaps incredulity, of someone’s love for you, a love that is your lifeline. The lyrics are ambiguous, which gives way to a plethora of interpretations. Perhaps she is speaking about a hypothetical situation that has yet to happen (and hopefully doesn’t) in which someone she loves and trusts betrays her. Maybe she is talking about a relationship, real (hopefully not) or fictional, in which despite the torment it brings her she holds onto it for dear life. I’m most inclined to believe that the song represents her difficulty in accepting that someone is willing to love her through such dark periods, that their love must actually be a hoax, but she chooses to believe in it anyway and uses it as the motivation to rebuild her kingdom, to rise from the ashes on her barren land. And even through the downs that come at some point in every relationship, she can still see the beauty in it all. Yes, their love is golden, but waves of blue will crash down around any partnership, because life does not exist without them. So even when things are as blue as can be, she’s at least grateful it’s with him. Best lyric: “Don’t want no other shade of blue but you / no other sadness in the world would do.”

Although we still have yet to hear the deluxe track, “the lakes,” as a fan of Taylor for almost 12 years, it feels so obvious that this is her strongest work yet. The storytelling I fell in love with on Fearless as a teenager (which, much like folklore, was highly inspired by imaginary situations and real emotions) is even sharper now as we have both grown into adults. The music on this album might not be everyone’s speed, and that’s okay. But it allowed Taylor to dip back into what made Fearless such a success: using pieces of her own truth and the whims of her imagination to develop a multi-faceted narrative that becomes universal. During her Tiny Desk concert, before performing “Death By A Thousand Cuts” from Lover, Swift explained the anxiety she felt around the possibility of stunted creativity when people would ask her what she would write about once she was happy. Taylor has released an abundance of beautiful, fun, complex love songs since the start of her relationship almost four years ago now. But “Death By A Thousand Cuts,” which is a fan favorite, helped her prove to herself that she can still write a killer breakup song while being in a happy, fulfilling relationship; the song was the last track written for Lover and was inspired by the film Something Great on Netflix. And so it makes perfect sense that Taylor used folklore to continue exploring this new avenue for songwriting. All of her discography and all of her life experiences have culminated to the folklore moment: as all the best artists do, she will never stop finding inspiration in hidden corners of this dark, mystical, wondrous universe, and falling in love with new ways to share those wonders. And that love will be passed on.

DISCLAIMER - REVIEWER’S BIAS: I love Taylor Swift more than any person in my life, yes including my parents, they are aware and have accepted this fact long ago ❤️

[moomota]

I FOUND A SONG THAT IS BASICALLY SUNNY’S CHARACTER

its this  ,i tried posting this earlier but tumblr formatting sucks so ill try again, lyrics i found super close to sunnys character have short explanations in parentheses after them)

Thought cycle gusty a mind filled with hot air

Must I care for nothing more than myself?

Do I dare admit the fraught thoughts cavorting, resorting in inner-directed mourning (not just black space, but the entirety of dreamworld),

 for the part of me that was selfless but left without a warning

Well that’s what I said, but maybe it’s the fact that I detest, this obsession with myself that leaves a mess inside my head

Oh shit, I’m doing it again, repelling any potential friend (shutting out his friends), 

revealing my innate ability to never fully comprehend (him being unable to face his guilt), anything bigger than myself, but in the end I still pretend (staying in the dreamworld/not going out into the real world even when given the choice to go out)

Condescending anyone polite enough to choose to misspend their time watching me as I achieve, my secret social mission; To drain people with my boring stories and opinions (sunnys insecurities/thoughts that he is selfish; that he only goes to his friends and not in return)

To see the bigger picture; takes intelligence and wisdom, But I won’t see nothing but just myself in my vision (sunnys choice to close out everything outside his dreams in the real world)

I go outside, a blitz of faces unwilling to confess to any empathy, endlessly, incessantly declining any pleasantries

Heavily breathing, socially teething, I’m open like a vivisection

Intense tendency to dwell, seething over missed connections (not only over his late sister, but his old friend group as well). 

Infected by my perceptions that I’m a non-entity 

Project my insecurity until intensity is weaponry (his emotions and insecurities weaponizing into something that can cause harm, both in the dream world and in the real one, or his fight with basil in basils bedroom at night)

Grieving a heavenly fiction I perceived while I was dreaming. Awake! (his contrast between the waking world sunny vs omori)

Freezing, wheezing, fundamentally I’m still believing that

This is an elegy for concepts I conceived in deep sleep (all the ideas of the dreamworld, white space, black space)

And I helplessly watch them fade while I awake–I try and keep them alive (sunny trying to uphold the safeness/comfort it gives him to cope)

Incomparable with life but eventually they die (basil and mari constantly leading sunny to the truth)

And the brain I used to cultivate reveals my lovers were a lie   When inside my mind I find a way to replicate reality

Through lucid dreaming I decimate the limitations of actuality. Capacity practically eternal, mortality external (obviously sunny creating beings and interactions that are impossible, upholding the fanatical feeling to cope)

No God, but I investigate the blasphemous worship of the nocturnal

Internally existing without morality creates profanities without the travesty, and compared to the apathy of realness, I reveal my own insanity (the eventual reveal of black space(s))

The majesty of fantasy protects me from tragedy (need i explain?)

Normalities effect traject agony of rationality, which thankfully penetrates with no avail to my unreality

An elaborately designed, privately owned spiral galaxy (a world he only knows, a world he (sort of controls), a galaxy that he controls in his mind that bends to his will)

Financially I’m failing, naturally decaying (sunnys body in real life slowly becoming frailer)

Soon I’ll have no place safe to sleep If these bills still need paying

Displaying cravings with open eyes for something mind-expanding

For when I drift away I see the totality of understanding (bad ending)

[thepermanentrainpress]

TOM ODELL: MONSTERS

monsters – Tom Odell Release Date: July 9th, 2021

Track Listing:

1. numb 2. over you yet 3. noise 4. money 5. tears that never dry 6. monster v.2 7. lockdown 8. lose you again 9. fighting fire with fire 10. problems 11. me and my friends 12. country star 13. by this time tomorrow 14. streets of heaven 15. don’t be afraid of the dark 16. monster v.1

Tom Odell has always been a gifted artist—an unabashed honesty in his words, somber in temperament, but a subsequent livewire not long after. It’s earned him a Brit and an Ivor Novello Award, a career that is nearly ten years old, chart-topper “Another Love” having made its debut in 2012. Odell’s monsters is a strong return – a stark contrast of vulnerability, anger, autonomy, and the ability to rise beyond the worst of times.

Affer forging his way through “a dark period of mental health” over the past couple of years, his emotion is potent, a heavy heart and mind splashed onto his latest work. Odell explores and experiments on this record. I can’t fault an artist for new inspiration, even if I’m, at times, caught missing his ‘signature’ piano-laden singer-songwriter. “numb” is the first introduction to the disconnect and pain, experimental in sound and a fraught intensity that rivals that of the Joker (with less theatrics).

He’s taken inspiration from the likes of hip hop, electronic and bedroom pop, citing a fondness for the stylings and lack of boundaries for the genres he’s shied from in the past. I love the approach to “noise,” which is more of an interlude, very much giving the impression of a quick demo done right. Choppy and intermittent, it draws an eerie connection between news and politics, influence and society – “They sell me dreams / they sell me doubts / they sell me that thing we just talked about.”  

“money” is casually narcissistic, while “lockdown” is life in isolation, dreams (and fears) always in question. It’s got this layered, textured air that is progressively harder to comprehend. I suppose it’s the nature of the unknown and time meshing together. Touché. There is power behind “monster v.2,” the title track written about attempting to overcome panic attacks. An inner strength that displays love and a brave face, it’s accompanied by the best of synths and electronic beats, spacious and sophisticated. “lose you again” draws parallel to an older era Odell, a heartbreaker, upbeat piano ballad over a fractured relationship. Lyrically, it shines; a painstaking cry while maintaining a stoic persona, a call to toxic masculinity and the idea that outwardly expressing emotion is weak.

In a shift of mood, the poppy “me and my friends” is a form of carefree escapism. Its group vocal chant is quite fun – a welcoming addition to the collection so far. “by this time tomorrow” has a fairy-tale charm. I can just picture a protagonist wrongfully separated from their star-crossed lover, yearning for a way to find their way back to one another. Simple but prominent piano accents this beautiful track.

Oh my oh my, “streets of heaven” is going to be a show stopper, there’s no question. Drawing narrative from the mass shootings and unjustified hate in our world, it remembers those lost, and how hard it is to move on. It’s this poignant, gospel-influenced anthem. Odell’s delivery over “we’re just a bunch of kids / we didn’t have to die” is soul merged with tragedy.

He comes full circle with “don’t be afraid of the dark,” gentle guitar and instrumentation to bring a lighter, airy feel to a positive end. You can quite literally hear birds chirp in agreement. A rugged piano solo takes the reins at song’s end, a gesture that won’t go unnoticed to balance its absence earlier on.

Odell muses about himself and the world as much as he listens, states that brood, cherish, show erraticism and discontent. Feelings and values are not black and white, stagnant or lucid, and he shows listeners the magic in a journey that is as bold as his newfound sound.

Written by: Chloe Hoy

[nellie-elizabeth]

Grey's Anatomy: Tradition (17x15)

Sometimes Grey's Anatomy has something really true and good to say, but they say it in a hokey sort of way. This episode had a lot going on that kinda... jumped the shark in terms of the cheese factor for me. Let's dive in.

Cons:

First of all, Jackson's last episode was kind of a letdown. It was only in seeing it that I realized how disconnected he felt from most of the remaining leads on the show. He had a personal goodbye with Jo, which I liked, and was probably the moment I felt the most connected to Jackson leaving. But when he was talking to Meredith, it occurred to me that these two haven't had any intersecting story-lines that really mattered in years. They kept showing flashbacks to Jackson in his earlier days on the show, surrounded by people who are all no longer there. He doesn't feel woven in with any of the core cast. Then, he drives away at the end, his last conversation as a regular cast member happening with Koracick of all people? I don't know. It just felt like an anticlimax to me.

And speaking of Koracick, was this his exit from the show as well? He's moving to Boston? What a bummer. I've genuinely enjoyed his character so much, and I feel like there was so much left to explore with him. Putting him in a room with any other character really enlivened a conversation. He brought such different energy from any of the other characters. What an unceremonious end, if so. If not, I hope he's a character that pops back in here and there, maybe updates us on Jackson, April, and Harriet. That could be a nice compromise.

Say it with me: I don't like Owen and Teddy. Jesus, I just do not care. When I saw them kissing I literally said "noooo" out loud, and it's not because I feel anything about them as a couple and I'm "against" it or anything, it's more just the "noooo" of realization, that we're going to have to spend time with these characters again, and all the shittiness that they bring out in one another.

That feeds into a smaller complaint, which was that I found it very odd that Owen was telling Link that he's going to be trapped at Meredith's house, even now with Meredith going home. It was like... weird guy banter, and Winston was there too, and it was like all the men having a laugh at Link's expense... I just found it really uncomfortable that Owen was the one doing this, when Owen and Amelia have such a fraught (and annoying) history. I don't know. Maybe that's a nitpick.

So now we go to Grey's Anatomy having something good and true to say, but pouring on the cheese just a bit too much. The story about respecting native traditions and how often they have bad experiences in big hospitals was a perfectly adequate one, but it was told in a paint-by-numbers fashion. I almost wanted something a bit more nuanced, like maybe some genuine distrust from the patients instead of everyone being 100% nice and pleasant and nothing going wrong. A happy ending for this story was much appreciated, but it felt like a rote way of telling a story and exploring a theme. Still, it's good that they bring attention to issues that a lot of people (read: white people) want to ignore.

Pros:

There were lots of things I enjoyed seeing in this episode, even if the whole thing didn't come together for me.

Like, for example, Koracick's speech about being privileged and wanting to be an ally. Like, really step up and really help out. This was another moment of potentially hokey writing, but the performance sold it, and I liked that Jackson accepted it for the genuine offer that it was.

I also like seeing Jo thriving in her new specialty, with Carina as a potential mentor, although she might be leaving the show? Or at least not around as much anymore. Over on Station 19, evidently she's gotten engaged, so... good for her! And Jo talking to the baby in the NICU, the one she's totally going to adopt, made me really emotional. I want only good things for Jo!

Nico was nowhere to be seen this week, after Levi left him in the lurch after his "I love you" a few weeks back... but we do see that Helm is really struggling, and Schmitt wants to help her out. This was a small little thread, but I do like the idea of Schmitt and Helm living together. It continues on my thread of what I sort of wanted for Levi, where if they're doing a romance with Nico, Nico needs to sweat about it for a bit first.

Meredith is back! She spends the episode with people coddling her, nervous to tell her about Andrew's death, saying goodbye to Jackson, and getting to go home and reunite with her kids. All of it was perfect and wonderful. The moment when Bailey and Richard come to tell her about Andrew, Meredith seems to suddenly know, and we hear the sound of crashing waves in the background. That was just lovely. And she and Jackson's conversation was great too, although I stand by what I said about Jackson's final moments on the show not quite working for me. But it was fun, a Grey and an Avery, these two important legacy families, talking about what they learned from each other, and what they taught one another.

And then of course Meredith is home, Amelia is freaking out because the house is a mess, and Meredith says it's perfect, just the way she wants it. She eats donuts and her kids tell her everything she's missed while she was away. I'm really impressed with the way the kids have felt like more of a presence in the past season or so, and I hope that continues to be the case.

Richard is going to officiate Maggie and Winston's wedding! I felt so many warm fuzzies in my heart over that little moment. Richard worrying that he'd overstepped, and acknowledging that the relationship boundaries between himself and Maggie had always been a little uncertain. And then Maggie and Winston asking him to be the one to marry them to one another... oh gosh. This show can still really get to me sometimes. That made me happy.

I think if I had to say my overall thoughts on this episode, I'd say a lot of the things that happen have implications that I don't enjoy. But then watching some of it play out, I did like it. So the way Meredith reacted to the news of Andrew's death was really touching, but I'm still pissed that Andrew died. Jackson had a couple of solid moments, but overall his swan song didn't hit the mark. Koracick's speech was decent, but the fact that he's apparently leaving is annoying.

So yeah. Grey's still has plenty to keep my attention, but this episode wasn't one of the greats!

7/10

[hearttstopper]

“i have a lot of thoughts about this too especially with the whole watermelon sugar/nameless thing” pls miss britt share ur thoughts id love to hear them

This got so long. I’m really sorry. My thoughts about HS2/In Watermelon Sugar/a bunch of other random stuff under the cut.

These are all thoughts that are only vaguely connected, and stuff that I’m sure has been said a hundred times before mixed with a ton of my own personal conjecture, so please bear that in mind… This is just like total rambling from me. 

But I have been fascinated with Harry’s connections to In Watermelon Sugar since we first heard the stupid rumors about the song. Especially the quote from the book about the narrator’s name. That quote got me thinking about how when it comes to Harry, tons of people only see what they want to see based on whatever ‘version’ of Harry is most appealing to them.

Read these quotes from the book with that in mind:

My Name

“I guess you are kind of curious as to who I am, but I am one of those who do not have a regular name. My name depends on you. Just call me whatever is in your mind.

If you are thinking about something that happened a long time ago: Somebody asked you a question and you did not know the answer.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was raining very hard.

That is my name.

Or somebody wanted you to do something. You did it. Then they told you what you did was wrong—“Sorry for the mistake,”—and you had to do something else.

That is my name.

Perhaps it was a game you played when you were a child or something that came idly into your mind when you were old and sitting in a chair near the window.

That is my name.

Or you walked someplace. There were flowers all around.

That is my name.

Perhaps you stared into a river. There was something near you who loved you. They were about to touch you. You could feel this before it happened. Then it happened.

That is my name.”

and:

“My Name. I do not have a regular name. I am a mystery to you. I wished Margaret would leave me alone…”

— Richard Brautigan, In Watermelon Sugar

The narrator of In Watermelon Sugar isn’t just a nameless figure, he actually invites the reader to give him whatever name they find most fitting for him. A positive connotation, a negative one, a nonsensical one… whatever you, the reader, decides. And that feels like a very apt description of Harry and the various ways fans have perceived him from the very beginning… by now, so many people have projected so many different images onto Harry that over time it has completely blurred all lines as to who Harry actually is. 

Here’s a review I found of the book that summarizes the world within In Watermelon Sugar better than I can (as well as somehow still aligning perfectly with the concept of struggling with fame and identity, etc): “Much of the sense of disparity in [in Watermelon Sugar] results from the incongruity inherent in the person of the narrator, who insists that everything in iDEATH is exactly as it should be—the people gentle, pleasant, and tolerant. Despite the narrator’s insistence that iDEATH is a stable Utopia, however, many of the things that happen are fraught with pain and violence. Balancing the easygoing and vegetarian people with their light chores and flower-filled parades are the man-eating tigers, the burning of the mutilated corpses of inBOIL and his gang, Margaret’s suicide, and the emptiness felt by the narrator but never named.” 

So essentially within In Watermelon Sugar, we’re shown that in the surrealist, post-apocalyptic setting of iDeath, things are only perfect on a surface level. Everyone in this world appears to be happy (or at least, they should be), but a closer look reveals the true nature of iDeath: it’s beyond grim. And so despite the happy, shiny surface, being a part of that happy, peaceful commune is unable to cure the narrator of the inexplicable emptiness he feels inside of him. (‘All the lights couldn’t put out the dark running through my heart.’ ‘Having sex and being sad.’)

The sadness that Harry has already admitted is very prevalent in HS2 has already been implied to be about a ‘breakup,’ but it’s clear to me that Lights Up is anything but a breakup song… (“[Lights Up is about] freedom, self-reflection, self-discovery, things that I had thought about and wrestled with…” + “For me, it’s a very uplifting song. In some places, it’s kind of dark, but to me, it’s like, very liberating. I think, you know, over the past couple of years… It’s about self-reflection, and freedom. It feels very free to me, which is I guess things that I’ve been trying to process… I guess, kinda wrestled with a little over the last couple of years. It’s kinda like, about accepting all of those things.”)

His sadness/whatever emotions and problems he’s been wrestling with have seemingly spanned the course of a few years, and are very personal to him… which is why I feel that releasing Lights Up as the first single sets the tone for the rest of his album centering around his own identity. The line “Lights up and they know who you are, know who you are… Do you know who you are?” poses the question - who is Harry? - and then, “Shine! Step into the light… Shine! So bright sometimes. Shine! I’m not ever going back.” shows us Harry having the strength and bravery to overcome his fears (stepping into the light, although it’s ‘so bright sometimes’ - overwhelming) and reclaim/express his own misunderstood identity.

A lot of people have been trying to tie the In Watermelon Sugar thing back to someone else, but at this point I completely disagree. Not only have we seen him make literary references in the past (the Charles Bukowski reference in Woman), but… given everything that he’s said about Lights Up so far – which was surprisingly a lot – I think that Harry genuinely just took a lot of inspiration from the book because it seemed to hit close to home with his own feelings about self-acceptance and living an authentic life within the public eye. 

I think a lot about the scene we’ve yet to see from the directors cut - a room full of many different iterations of Harry.

“My name depends on you… Just call me whatever is in your mind.” 

Which leads me back to more total conjecture on my end, but I think that when Harry initially set out on tour / kicked off his solo career, he seemed determined to continue performing within the safety of the walls that had been built around him, so to speak. In one of the interviews he did earlier, he talked about tackling his first album from the perspective of ‘bowling with the bumpers up’ - he wanted to play it safe. He didn’t want to veer too far out of his own comfort zone and fuck it all up… and in doing so, he seemed to hold himself back quite a lot. “I wanted to see if people would enjoy an album without knowing everything about me.” 

I think that heading into writing with that mindset explains songs like ‘Complicated Freak’ and ‘Medicine’ being scrapped and excluded from being released on HS1. In retrospect, all of his tour - and especially Medicine - seem a lot like Harry dipping his toes in the water. Being totally presumptuous again, but I find it likely that Harry has had it ingrained in his mind for a long time that he needs to fit certain molds and keep certain narratives alive in order to continue to be successful. And I imagine that this idea is not his own, but instead something that has been hammered into his head over and over from a young age. And I would guess that a lot of anxiety and doubt has stemmed from that - go back and watch that shaky first performance of Medicine and tell me what you think he was likely feeling in that moment. But again, it circles right back to the strength and bravery of doing what he knows needs to be done to expel all of the darkness inside of him - stepping into the light. (“Never going back now / Be so sweet if things just stayed the same.” It’d be so sweet if he could live in that fantasyland forever.)

Anyway. I really don’t think Harry was at all prepared for just how many people would show up to support him in that sense… but his own community just rolled up in droves, bringing a total outpouring of love for him every single night. He had entire arenas lit up in rainbows, people bringing hilarious and heartfelt signs, flags after flags after flags after flags… all in celebration of him and the feelings of safety, strength, and bravery that he has continuously imparted back onto his fans. It was such a queer lovefest that even other artists likened his tour to “pride parades every night.” That’s so unbelievably powerful? I can’t think of any other artist who’s crowds do that for them… not even gay icons like Elton John? I still maintain that one of the most incredible things to have come out of HSLOT was the safe spaces he + his fans created for one another. It meant a lot to us, and it clearly meant a lot to him:

“The tour, that affected me deeply. It really changed me emotionally. Having people come to sing the songs… For me, the tour was the biggest thing in terms of being more accepting of myself, I think. I kept thinking, “Oh, wow. They really want me to be myself. And be out and do it.” That’s the thing I’m most thankful for, of touring. I feel like the fans in the room — it’s this environment where people come to feel like they can be themselves. There’s nothing that makes me feel more myself than to be in this whole room of people. It made me realize people want to see me experiment and have fun. Nobody wants to see you fake it.” 

I think that going on tour, and seeing the reaction and the acceptance of his audience, definitely made him want to take the bumpers down… to ‘be out and do it’ because ‘nobody wants to see him fake it.’ It seemed to help him massively in terms of his own ‘self acceptance and the things he’s been wrestling with’ and to make an incredibly, incredibly long winded answer short, it’s why I STILL do not think that releasing Lights Up on National Coming Out Day was in any way incidental. I think that was a big part of what Harry meant when he said that no one wanted to see him ‘faking’ things.

And… that’s basically it, I think, for now. I’ve just been sitting here nodding along at everything he’s been showing us the last few weeks… Impressed by the direction that he seems to be heading. And taking notes. I’ll go ahead and shut up now because I KNOW it’s still too early to draw definite conclusions on his intent for this new ‘era’ (and this new song could be about choking on literal fucking watermelon seeds for all I know, nothing Harry does ever makes any kind of sense does it), but I can’t help but come to my own conclusions based on what I feel he is sharing with us.

[angelfishofthelord]

wishing too hard for them to stay

You tell me you’re going to die and I don’t yell at you.

Instead I say “Let’s go for a walk.”

Read on a03

Read on ff.net

Story title inspired by this song that I first discovered from an amazing gif-set by @flowersforcas . This is my first time to write Sam Winchester and I hope I did the character at least some justice.

________________________________________________________________________

You tell me you’re doing to die, and I don’t yell at you.

You seem surprised by this. The way your shoulders tilt forward, as if you were ready to shield yourself. Your hands are twisted in the coat fabric at your side, prepared to steady yourself if I storm forward, hurtling accusations in hurricane force. Your eyes look right at me, but they’re hovering, able to dart quickly to the side to parry the full force of what you assumed would be my judgement.

Instead I say, “Let’s go for a walk.”

It rained this morning and the earth is still preening from the glitter of heaven’s shower. A few stray droplets roll down the back of my hair as I step outside and pull on a jacket. Your footsteps fall behind mine, tentatively crushing the damp eaves of grass. It takes about ten minutes of walking before the rhythm of your steps even to a more relaxed pace. There’s an alcove of trees a short walk away from the bunker; it’s the starting point for me when I go out for morning jogs. A white-painted bench sits beneath the spreading branches. I usually prop my feet up on the edge of one of the railings to retie my shoelaces before heading off.

“Still wet,” I mutter, brushing a hand across the few pools of water when we reach the bench. “There’s another bench up and around the hill

You make no move to show that you’ve heard me. You keep your hands nestled in your trenchcoat pockets, chin titled upwards to the burgeoning rays of sunlight, serenity ghosting over your closed eyelids. I wonder how long its been since you left the bunker with no mission or purpose in mind, just to take a walk.

Then the thought comes to mind that maybe you’re savoring the warmth of light because you’re already counting down the number of days you have left to feel the sun embracing your face and my knees betray me, buckling down until I catch myself and fold into that drenched bench.

The water soaks into my jeans and I remember that you’re going to die.

You sit down at my side, your head still lifted skyward. I follow your gaze to a small red-breasted bird birched high up on the tree across from us. A few leaves are swaying from the branches above, offering a kind of curtain with dramatic timing as the bird hops and preens its glossy feathers.

“I remember when birds didn’t have wings,” you say at the same time as I ask, “Why?”

“Because they were still learning to walk,” you reply, deliberately misunderstanding. “A creature has to master the ground before taking to the sky. They grew limbs that later developed into wings, and once they learned to fly,” your eyes drift after the bird that has hopped to the next tree, “they were never quite inclined to return to the ground.”

“Do you miss them?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

You blink for a moment, as if trying to figure out what I’m referring to, and I realize there’s so much that you’ve lost. Your home, your celestial family, your connection to Heaven, your closeness to the hope of a Father, your full strength of power, even your species is at risk now. Your wings are just one in a long procession of burials you’ve been forced to go through, and often alone. Before I can apologize and pull out the pin I’ve stuck in your chest you raise an eyebrow in comprehension.

“Oh. My wings.” The bird takes to the wide blue above and your eyelids flutter to watch it dip and weave over the horizon. “Not really. I sometimes wish I had them when one of you is in danger, but I don’t need them to go places anymore.” You turn to face me and I wish you hadn’t. “I have enjoyed my time right here, with you.”

Have enjoyed. 

“We love you,” I say, trying to smile through the tears in my eyes. “You know that, right?”

You look mildly affronted at the question. “Of course. Why do you think I have to do this? You are my family and I won’t let you die. None of you.”

I open my mouth to argue that family includes you, too, and if you die that counts as one of us dying, but something sounds familiar in your words. You said them to me, to us before. When you took on the burden of cosmic consequences to save us from a deal we had made in desperation.

“I will not let you die, I won’t let any of you die,” was what you said at the time, standing on an open road at midnight with a blade in hand and body at your feet. “You mean too much to me.” My brother, mother, and I had done nothing but watch the torrent of your words and stare in silent shock. Because we didn’t know. We didn’t know that we didn’t just occupy a place in your heart but taken up the entire place, first, second floor and the basement. That you would put your name down to suffer without question if it meant keeping us safe.

The first time you died was only a few months after we first met. You stepped boldly into the wrath of an archangel, holding to nothing but a feather of hope that we could change the course of an already rising tide. The second time you died was also at the hand of one of your elder brothers. Again you walked into that execution likely knowing full well what would happen, yet putting one foot in front of the other because of that fraying barb of faith in us.  

You have brokered dangerous deals and said yes to the devil and sold your happiness for us, for this family. You who has lived long enough to remember birds without wings and see creatures learn to abandon the dirt for the clouds, you who could once soar to galaxies we only dream of and traverse the world in a heartbeat, has chosen us to be the ones you die for. You have witnessed wonders language cannot describe, you have watched humanity build itself up from the ashes, and still you choose to sit at our dinner table and call us your own. You might live for another millennium but you rather limit your days to be here with us in this crumbling world.

“Is this what it feels like? To be loved by God?”

A sad chuckle sounds beside me and I realize that I’ve spoke aloud.

“I wouldn’t know,” you say with a slight shrug. “I’ve never been.”

“That’s not–you don’t know–” I falter, because part of me wants to tell him that a father always loves their child at some way, but another part of me knows that God is no ordinary father. “Maybe in the begin–”

“He killed my son.” The words come out low and bitter. “He watched me search for him, he watched me pray to him, he watched me–” your eyes fall to the twisting of your thumbs in your lap. Your chin is lowered now, almost touching your chest, and a shaft of sunlight from the tree above washes over you unnoticed. “He never cared about me. Or any of us.”

“But you do.” I tug an arm around you, nudging my shoulders against yours until you look up at me. “You’re better than him.”

The feeble smile you offer hardly feigns belief in my words. “I try,” you mumble. “My attempts often come out quite poorly, but I do try to do right, like you and your brother.”

“Us?” I can’t but laugh at the thought of us being the role models in your life. You have witnessed the fall and rise of mankind, have seen gods being created and kingdoms spread, but you would look to two incredibly cracked and perennially stumbling human beings for guidance?  

You look at me with such sincerity it’s almost blinding. “You’ve taught me everything I know about how to live well.”

“Not everything,” I say quietly, patting my hand first to my chest, over my heart, and then to yours. “This, this right here is all yours.” We didn’t teach you to love like this. You had no template for how to open your heart so wide the seams would splinter. You never felt your Father’s presence, much less His affection. Your Heavenly sisters and brothers only understood love as far as it extends to loyalty to the rules. They have tried to kill you and you have been forced to kill them, over and over.  

My brother and I, we may have had a childhood fraught with neglect and absence, but we never doubted our father’s love. Or the love of our mother, even after the complexities of her return. Or the love of those who stepped into familial roles of care and attention, like Bobby.

But you, no one showed you to how to love; no one taught the gentle kindness you show to strangers, or the fierceness with which you defend and protect the helpless; or the tender patience you give to your son, or the undying faith you bestow on me and my brother. No one taught you to love this wildly, recklessly, and completely. That’s the boldness and beauty of your own soul.  

The one thing we might have taught you was to throw yourself on a grenade instead of disarming it. To put the price of salvation over the cost of sacrifice. To walk backwards towards a cliff face just to keep others from falling off the edge.

You told me you were going to die and I wish I could yell at you. I wish I could yell, no scream, at God, at Death, at all the forces trying to poison the little bit of light we have, trying to shred the worn fabric of my family apart. Instead I clench my fingers tighter into the fabric of your coat and pull you closer, as if the gathering wind itself might steal you away. You shift a little, but you don’t move away.

You let me hold on, just a little longer.