#need to put up more posters/art/road signs....

[pasta5284]

room progress so far!

[samwilsonshandsandass]

Interrupted Road Trip

Pairing: Sam Wilson x reader x Loki Summary: You and Sam are on a road trip. Your car breaks down and you find a hotel in the middle of the forest. The receptionist doesn’t seem surprised you’re stumbling upon the hotel and a room has already been prepared for you. Will you enter? Warnings: smut (vaginal and anal, oral from and to m and f), dom/sub tendencies, restraints, one spank, choking Word count: 2532 A/N: This is my entry for @ambrosiase Hotel Indigo writing challenge. Congratulations on everything you achieved and thank you for hosting this challenge. I chose the characters Sam Wilson and Loki with the room "Darkest Desires" and a vacation, namely a road trip.

You were upset at your car breaking down but after a little trek you and Sam saw a Gothic manor in the middle of a clearing of the windswept and rainy forest. The gravel in front was devoid of cars or any other vehicles. Honestly, you would have expected carriages drawn by at least four horses each. Nowhere was any sign of what this building was or who inhabited it. Someone was probably there, because light shone through the windows left and right of the carved double door. A few windows in the upper stories were illuminated.

The double doors opened on their own as you and Sam approached. You entered the hotel lobby. Light came from a black chandelier, small lamps on side tables between velvet chairs and loveseats and black and dark red candles on the walls. The color pattern was accompanied by dark wooden furniture. No one seemed to be there but as soon as you stood in front of it, there stood a person. They didn’t seem to have moved from somewhere in the back or came from under the reception desk.

“Please follow me. Your room has been prepared for you” They said and walked up the stairs with a candleholder.

Sam looked at you and shrugged his shoulders.

After three flights of stairs the person stopped in front of a double door. It was carved wood, as dark as the rest of the wooden furniture of the manor. Carved in it were things like vines and leaves, berries, apples and snakes. Peculiarly (or deliberately), the snakes were always near the apples. Above eye level were two carved and painted golden letters.

“D. D.” You read aloud. “What does that stand for?”

“Darkest Desires” The person said and went down the hallway and the stairs again.

“What do you think about this? Should we go in?” Sam looked at you and squeezed your hand.

“Why not? The car will still be broken down when we get out of this forest and besides, this feels weirdly homey.”

“Homey. Right” Sam chuckled.

“Let’s do this?”

“Yeah.”

You walked in the room, the doors once again opened by themselves. The room obviously focused on the big four poster king size bed with a canopy. The canopy was made of thick fabric, almost as thick as the floor length curtains to the windows showing the rain picking up even more. Light came once again from tall dark candles in candleholders on the wall. To the left and right of the bed were bedside tables and besides each stood a velvet armchair. On the left side was an oriel with two chaise lounges of the same material and on the right side a door led into a dark luxurious bath. You couldn’t see much of it but somehow you knew it had floor heating, a whirlpool and a big shower with special settings. It was like intuition.

Sam walked ahead to the bed and pulled the canopy away. “Would you look at the bedding and all the cushions! Now I’m, feeling very lucky to have broken down near here.” Sam pulled you down to sit on the bed. He kissed your lips softly.

“So you are the two Midgardians who broke down” Someone said calmly from the direction of the arm chair.

“My fucking God!” Sam jerked away from you.

“While people still do worship me in Norway, I did not think you were one of them. The American” The same voice continued.

“This can’t be normal” You looked over to the person. The person who looked like Loki. Who spoke like Loki.

“Come now, you didn’t think this place was normal, did you?”

“Not exactly, but this is not what I expected. Can’t say what I expected though” Sam, now sitting upright and pulling you to him, said.

“Why exactly are you here? And how did you get here? Into this room?” You blurted out.

“I am here because I have been involved with this manor for some short time. If someone who enters tickles my fancy, I come down myself and today I am glad I did. As to how, constraints you humans have, I don’t have.”

“Wait. What do you mean ‘short time’?” Sam thought out loud. “What even is ‘short’ for you?”

“Decades, one or two centuries” Loki mused. “You saw the gravel path. Big enough for carriages.”

“O- kay.”

“When thoughts about time and space constraints are out of the question, I expect you two can think of why I’m here?”

“Sure we can” Sam said. “And you are…?”

“Yes.”

Loki rose from the armchair and stood in front of the short side of the bed. With a flick of his wrist the canopies on the sides facing the room flew open. Sam looked at you. You looked at Sam.

“We did talk about this. You’re sure you want to do this with him?” Sam looked from you to Loki.

“Yeah. Are you?” You looked between the two.

“Yes.”

“I thank you for the trust, Midgardians. Come here, pet” Loki beckoned you over to stand in front of the bed.

With deliberate slowness you walked over to him.

“I wouldn’t test myself, if I were you” He smirked.

“And what are you gonna do?” You challenged him.

Loki ignored you and spoke to Sam: “Is she always bratty?”

“Sometimes. She likes to test me. And, apparently, you. I can get her to behave. I’ll look forward to seeing how you’ll deal with her.”

You looked over at Sam in mock betrayal but couldn’t keep your grin full of memories of you and him and full with anticipation at what Loki would or could do completely off your face. You walked the last steps to stand directly before Loki. From behind, you felt Sam looking at you.

Loki took of your clothes one by one. Shirt, pants, socks, bra, at last your panties. He pushed you back until you laid flat on the bed. After another flick of his wrist, Sam and Loki were both naked. Both were already hard and standing proud. The contrast of Sam’s warmth to your left and Loki being colder than the average human sent a tingle down your spine.

“And now?” You grinned at them both.

Loki didn’t answer. Instead, he bent down and brushed his lips over yours. He sucked on your bottom lip and licked over your lips. You opened them and let Loki play with you further. Sam moved behind you and laid you between his legs.

Loki kissed his way down your body. You felt his lips on your body like they were everywhere. Everywhere except your neck. There, you felt Sam’s hand. He massaged and squeezed it. After a tighter squeeze you whimpered.

The God who seemed to have several pairs of lips looked up at you and smirked. “Look at you. Already whimpering and I didn’t even use seidr…”

Sam chuckled and stroked your cheek. “You wanted this. About that seidr of yours. Never saw you use it. What can you do with it?” He looked at Loki.

“I’m glad you asked, Samuel.”

After a glimmer, you were turned on your belly and felt your arms being pulled together behind your back. Your legs were spread and your mouth opened in an ‘O’ shape. You wriggled and tested your restraints.

Something cracked down on your butt. You hadn’t seen anything to do that with anywhere. And neither Loki’s nor Sam’s hands were near your butt. Loki had migrated to the head of the bed and stood near your head. Now and again he stroked your hair.

“Seeing her ass jiggle without anything in the way is incredible” Sam moaned.

You felt the familiar sting but with each second you still felt it, seemingly elongated by something or someone, you felt something else wrap around your legs, arms and torso.

“This is more than what would just achieve the goal” The tone of Sam’s voice told you, even while still locking eyes with Loki, that he was squeezing his cock.

“This is as much art as much as it is arousal.” Loki looked Sam up and down. His eyes stayed a little below Sam’s navel.

“I’ll take this as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is.”

With that, you heard a whoosh and there stood three duplicates of the Loki currently stroking your hair and spanking you but at the same time not. If that made sense. Then again, sense should be out the windows with the velvet curtains.

You turned your head and saw Sam being passionately kissed by the two Lokis that had just appeared. But you couldn’t enjoy the sight of Sam being pleasured, four hands caressing him and Sam seemingly not knowing where and who to touch and kiss, although technically they were the same person. Just double and that without any alcohol.

The Loki behind you pulled you to stand with your back to his chest. His colder lips traveled down your spine. He stood up again and pulled you closer to him. There was a smaller whoosh sound and two of the Lokis disappeared. One on your side and one on Sam’s side. The remaining God softly kissed down Sam’s back to America’s ass.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You grinned.

“That it is” Loki spread the cheeks and asked Sam: “Wanna experience something new?”

“Not like I don’t already.”

“I’ll take that as a yes” Loki started to sink into Sam slowly.

“I’m not pre-“ Sam said.

“Do not worry. I know a way” He whispered into his ear. Sam closed his eyes with a moan when he was entered from behind.

Sam seemed to need no time to adjust, despite being allegedly not prepared, and was immediately lost to pleasure. Loki wrapped his arms around him, pressing his chest to Sam’s back. The Loki behind you mirrored his twin or whatever he was in his position. He nudged your back entrance with his cock.

“Do not forget your lady” The Loki behind you addressed Sam.

His eyes snapped open and he chuckled breathlessly. “Sorry. It’s just so good.”

“Thank you” Both Lokis said in unison. “Now, enter her.”

Sam nodded and put his cock to your pussy. He filled you slowly. Agonizingly so. But at the same time you felt Loki entering you from behind.

“H- how is this possible?” You wanted to know.

“God” He whispered simply into your ear.

“Uh-hu.”

Loki grabbed your hair and bent your head backwards to kiss you passionately. You felt Sam’s wet lips and tongue licking and sucking on your neck. You could hear Sam being kissed as well and opened your eyes to see only sleek black hair just above Sam’s shoulder.

Fairly quickly, the men had found a rhythm that didn’t allow you any reprieve from stimulation. When Loki pulled back, Sam and ‘his’ Loki pushed in. Sam kissed you messily and started rubbing your clit softly. He spread your juices on his fingers and pushed them into your mouth, all the way to your throat. Your whimper morphed into a gag. Loki squeezed the base of your neck and at the same time Sam pulled his fingers from your mouth and slapped your clit.

You saw stars behind your eyes. You mouth opened in a silent scream and you felt yourself clenching both on Sam and Loki. Both didn’t cease or falter in their movements, they just stroked you even more and whispered sweet nothings to you.

“Such a good, pretty girl” Sam whispered when you went lax in their arms.

“Samuel, pull out of your lady” Loki ordered.

“Do I have to? She’s so warm and wet…”

“Obey me. You won’t regret it. And you’ll still have me behind you.”

“How?” Sam asked and looked back at the Loki behind him who was identical to the one behind you.

“Wait. You can feel that?” You asked.

“Excuse me?” The Loki behind you, the original one, responded and applied a little pressure on the sides of your neck.

“That came out wrong. I meant, can you feel what your illusion is doing?”

“Yes, pet. Before any of you ask, it would be too hard to explain. And I’d rather use my mouth for something else.”

“No shit, Sherlock” You deadpanned.

Sam’s eyes went wide at what you’d just said.

Loki’s voice became dangerously quiet. “Talk back to me once more and see what happens.”

You nodded. Sam smiled at you. “My, aren’t you a good girl for him?” He kissed you messily until moans of him and you broke the kiss, because the Loki behind Sam had thrust into him.

Loki laid down on the bed and pulled Sam with him. ‘Your’ Loki pulled out of you as well but before you could do much more than pout, he pushed you to your knees and pressed your head to Sam’s cock.

He pushed your head down until you gagged on Sam. He whimpered at the feeling.

“You feel so good…” He moaned.

He was pushed into you, just as Loki kissed his way up your thighs. Loki licked across your lips before he spread them and suckled on the inner sides of them, now and again poking his tongue a little into you. Then He stopped.

“Samuel.”

Sam just whimpered and continued to thrust into your mouth, like he was possessed.

“Samuel, you will not come before your lady. You will come at the exact moment she comes. Understood?” Loki said sternly.

“Y- yes” He moaned.

As reward for that, the Loki behind Sam quickened his pace. You hollowed your cheeks and licked him. Loki started sucking on your clit and inserted two fingers in you. He found your G spot almost immediately. You were already moaning around Sam because of how Loki pleasured your clit. But apparently that wasn’t enough for Loki.

He went to town on your G spot and you could do nothing but take it, the almost overwhelming pleasure transforming into muffled whimpers around Sam. Sam in turn whimpered because of the added vibrations and the thrusts he received from his Loki.

“I want you to cum, my darling” Loki whispered into your ear and thrust into you.

You felt like you ascended to the heavens and stayed there. Faintly, probably down on Earth, you heard a mix of whimpers, moans and even fainter gulps.

When you were able to open your eyes again, you looked into Sam’s big brown, and dazed, eyes.

“There you two are” Loki chuckled.

You looked around and saw the last Loki illusion having vanished.

“When you can move, let us take advantage of the whirlpool.”

In the bathroom, that had indeed floor heating, so your intuition like feeling had been right, you stepped into the whirlpool with Sam. Loki sat down between you and pulled you both close to him.

“Stay as long as you like” Loki offered.

Your car would still be broken down if you didn’t get a mechanic to come all the way out here. And you didn’t have anywhere else to be. After all, you were on a road trip with Sam.

What were a few more days?

[keepthyfaithandthylight]

Reincarnation au

It will be quite long, and this is only part one. For @fructidor hope you like it so far, if not that’s completely ok.

Monday, August 14th, 5:15 a.m. Would that cursed alarm clock just shut up already?

Slowly, Max rubbed the sleep from his bleary eyes and forced himself to his feet, immediately being met with the frigid floor. Why can’t we simply have carpet, it’s so much more warm to wake up to..

He fumbled around for a moment in search of his glasses, before blinking his eyes into focus once he had found them and put them on.

“Wonderful, now I won’t go out with my shirt on backwards.” He commented to himself, before rummaging through his closet.

“Max, hurry up! I don’t want to be late for my first day of school!” Shouted Augustin from down the hall.

“You say that each year, but within a week I’m dragging you out of bed by your ankles!” Retorted the elder, sliding the sweater over his head.

Ironically enough, once Max had finished getting ready, his brother was still standing in the bathroom in his pajamas, brushing his teeth.

“Really..” began the elder, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

“What?” Asked Augustin with a mouthful of toothpaste, seeming offended.

“And here I thought you didn’t want to be late.” Max watched as his brother rolled his eyes before retreating to his room. Walking downstairs, his first instinct was to make a beeline for the coffee machine. He could tell already he was going to need the caffeine to get through the day. “Are you finally ready..?” He asked, upon hearing his brother descend the stairs.

“Whatever.” Came the response, the footsteps already walking to the door. Slowly, Max followed, standing to his feet while still holding his cup of coffee in one hand, keys in the other. Augustin had already marched himself out the door, and was waiting rather impatiently by the car, a look of annoyance across his face. Once he saw Max unlock the car, he practically threw the door open and fell in, ignoring as his brother sighed tiredly before he himself got in.

“Could you please try not to rip the car door off every morning..?” He asked quietly, before starting the car. “Why are you so mad, anyway?”

“Because every single year now you leave and I’m stuck at home with our sister.” Answered Augustin, crossing his arms over his chest and turning to look out the window. Max sighed once more, driving down the road.

“I’ll be back for the holidays. I always am, aren’t I?” He asked, only being answered by silence. Once they reached a red light, he took a sip of his coffee, trying to remove the exhaustion which weighed his very bones.

***

“I’ll see you in a few months, do try to stay out of trouble while I’m away!” Max called from the window, watching as his brother walked down the sidewalk. With one last heavy breath and swig of coffee, he prepared himself for his slightly longer drive ahead. Sometimes he wondered why he ever came home for the summer, but he would always have to remind himself that in most cases he was the glue holding their entire family together. Charlotte was working two, sometimes three jobs to support both herself and Augustin, who was trying to finish up school and getting into a bit of trouble. Max was in a bit of a similar situation, though he was simply trying to get his degree. This would be his last year before he finally graduated.

The sun rose in the sky as he drove along the highway, music playing softly in the background. Every once in a while he would take a sip of coffee to ward off the sleep which seemed to tug at him mercilessly. At long last, the campus came into view with its imposing architecture, it looked more like a cluster of medieval cathedrals than a college campus. He parked his car and watched as the students crowded in the school yard, signing up for clubs and some trying to figure out where they were even supposed to go. With one last swig of coffee, he got out and grabbed his things before making his way to his most familiar place. The dorms.

He had shared a dorm with his closest friend Camille since his first year there, they had known each other prior to going to college and Max had felt more comfortable sharing a room with someone he knew well. To his utmost dismay, however, Camille had switched schools over the summer. To be closer to his fiancé, he had said. Max understood, of course, but he was nervous now. Alone in a sea of other young adults, none of which he knew well, he was quite honestly terrified. He downed another swig of coffee before marching up the stairs, wandering down the hall before at last standing before his old familiar door.

Well, I do have to unpack. Again.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed the door open. Some of his more permanent decorations remained, such as pictures he had hung on the wall, and lamps, things of the likes, but Camille’s side was sterile and empty. Bland. Void of any character. With another, almost unneeded sigh, he walked over to his bed and slowly shrugged off his bags full of clothes, placing his laptop bag on his bed. He could not afford for his laptop to break again. Wiping his eyes, he stood in silence for a moment. He would miss the familiarity of his friend, after all they had bonded almost instantly upon first meeting, almost as if they had known each other long, long ago. He shrugged off the thought just as he had his bags, before leaning down and grabbing one of the aforementioned parcels and unpacking. Darting back and forth from bag to drawer, he eventually had his clothes set up for what would be the coming months until once more he returned home for a few weeks.

How lonely it felt in that small dorm room. How lonely indeed.

The silence seemed to eat away at him as he laid on his old bed, staring at the wall.

I will be alright, he and I will keep in touch. After all, it isn’t like he left for no reason at all-

Then, the door opened as someone else tumbled in, though he wasn’t sure if it was a mountain of bags suddenly animated or someone who just decided to pack way too much stuff.

“Um-“ Began Max, with hesitance and anxiety, and the other person looked up.

“And to think I thought that I was early..” they said to themselves, dragging the bags through the door.

“That’s um.. quite a bit of stuff you have there. Are you moving in or something?” Max joked, watching as one bag got stuck in the door, his new roommate tugging at it with what appeared to be a majority of his body weight.

“More or less- oof-“ Max raised an eyebrow as the bag finally broke free, sending its opponent stumbling back a few steps.

“You certainly travel light, don’t you.” He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. Hopefully this person had a sense of humor.

“Well, considering the fact that I have been living out of my car for the past few months, and obviously I can’t leave my stuff in my car..” they began, before dragging their bags over to what was now their side of the room.

“Living out of your car..?!” Max practically exclaimed, in surprise, eyes wide as he leaned forward.

“Yeah. Complicated situation, don’t want to talk about it.” Answered the other, and Max took a moment to observe them. They were quite tall, though everyone was tall compared to Max, who stood at approximately 5’3”, had long brown hair, and that was about all that Max could tell from what he had seen so far, aside from them fighting with their bags. He watched as they dumped their stuff onto what was now their bed, before taking what was his last swig of coffee. He frowned at the cup in his hand, before setting it aside on his table. “Do you happen to have any tape?” His new roommate suddenly asked, as they stretched a poster up on the wall.

“Oh- uh.. I think I do, give me one second..” Max replied, before sliding off of his bed and rummaging around in his desk, pulling out a roll of scotch tape. “I do, here.” He handed the plastic tape container to the other, who quickly took it.

“Thanks.”

Max wasn’t really sure he liked the tension that suddenly filled his dorm. It was not something he was accustomed to, at least when Camille had been there. He was brought from his thoughts once more as the sound of books falling on top of one another filled the air.

“That’s.. a lot of books-“ he commented, nervously.

“Well, like I said. I can’t keep my belongings in my car.” Responded the other, coldly. Max nodded hesitantly, before deciding in his mind to simply mind his own business and go back to staring at the wall, missing his former roommate. After what Max assumed had been an hour, the sound of bags being dumped finally stopped, and he noticed the bags had simply been pushed beneath the bed. One wasn’t even entirely empty. Max decided to try to clear the tension a little.

“I’m Maximilien, but most everyone calls me Max.” He began, cautiously, and for the first time the entire morning his roommate looked at him.

“Like Maximilien Robespierre?” They asked, and Max chuckled.

“I suppose you could put it that way.” He answered, slightly amused. He could not help but smile, he had never been compared to someone like that before.

“Cool, I’m Antoine.”

At least I have a name for him now?

“That’s.. actually a really neat name, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone named ‘Antoine’ before.” Max said, absentmindedly, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah, at least I didn’t have to worry about sharing a name with anyone way back in elementary and middle school.” Replied the other with a shrug.

“I certainly dealt with plenty of that.” Max chuckled, lightly, with a nod. “So.. what are you majoring in?” He asked, sitting up attentively.

“Music, mostly.” Antoine replied with a shrug once more, staring at his hands. “Nothing really uncommon or interesting.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s at least some interesting classes?” Max insisted, earning yet another shrug.

“I suppose. Art history seems like it would be pretty interesting.” His face lit up as the other said that.

“Oh it is.” Max grinned, and Antoine raised an eyebrow at him in doubt.

“You seem.. overjoyed at the fact that that’s on my schedule-“ he commented, and Max chuckled once more, this time with more mischief.

“I am, it’s one of my favorite classes. When do you have it?” The latter asked with a warm smile, and Antoine looked up in thought.

“Um.. tomorrow at 8 am, I think?” He answered, looking over at Max.

“Ironically enough I have it at the same time.” Max smiled, and Antoine nodded slowly, his brown hair falling in front of his face for a moment.

“Well there’s one thing we have in common so far.” He replied, and Max could only smile wider. The more time went on, the air became more comfortable, much like it had with Camille. Some strange feeling of familiarity, Max couldn’t quite place what it was, but he was certainly not complaining, it had been a while since he had been able to sit in comfortable silence with another person, or have a warm conversation. It was something he missed, and he was glad to have it once more, even if only for a little while.

[stachmousworld]

Avenge me tomorrow (Ch.6)

Pairing: polyavengers x Black!reader 

Previously: The team couldn’t find Thea.

Tag: @thedarkplume​

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 -  Part 7 - Part 8  - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11

The journey to the compound went faster than she thought. Thea had made sure to block every call from the Tower and thanks to JARVIS, they wouldn’t be able to find her before she would be long gone.

She watched the forest surrounding the compound and relaxed a bit. She still checked in the rear-view mirror if no one was following her on the road or in the sky. It wouldn’t be surprising if they sent Thor or any Stark Drones after her.

Thea sighed. It was getting ridiculous. She wasn’t a kid, and she could do whatever she wanted. Leaving the Tower should have not felt as if she was doing something wrong. They were not bounded to each other. They weren’t even together to begin with. So why did she feel guilty?

She parked in front of the large building, almost expecting someone from the Tower to come out and…and…but there was no one. She looked around for the last time, enjoying the birds chirping, the wind in the leaves whistling some mysterious tunes.

Thea waved at a few young teenagers eating on the grass. Interns, maybe? They looked at her quizzically but reciprocated with a joyful smile. Why did she wave? She cringed, accelerating her pace and keeping her head down until she was inside the building.

The first thing she noticed was the lack of security. There were no security guards in the building and seemingly no cameras. She squinted her eyes looking above her. Did they really believe that no one would try to attack them from the inside? They were isolated but the barrier would be no obstacle against intruders. And what about the airways? Anyone could land a jet in the middle of the “park”. It was – a blue streak passed in front of her. Thea froze. Was that?

“Hello!” a soft chirpy voice said behind her.

She spun around quickly, heart beating fast. The blue strike disappeared in a pop.

“Are you Thea?” 

She slowly turned around and faced…Diablo. Excitation and happiness rushed through her veins. She bit her lips hard enough to stop herself from jumping on him. Diablo. She was in front of…She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t want to surprise you,” he apologized in a chirpy voice.

A few unintelligible words escaped her mouth and she flushed, embarrassed. Get a grip, she admonished herself. He is going to think you are a groupie. Her Diablo plushie and posters would prove otherwise.

 Before she became an Avenger fan, she has been totally invested in the X-Men. How many times had she played as Diablo, Hank, Storm or Wolverine…his name alone made her blush. Let’s just say that Wolverine has been the main actor of her fantasies for a long time. He is also the main reason why she never clicked with people her age. They all felt bland and childish compared to her heroes. They didn’t understand her, or her struggle and would change subject whenever she’d talk about deep subjects.

During high school and college, she had been isolated. No one wanted to be seen with her. And it didn’t help that she was pansexual. She may have gone to a prestigious university, but they had been pretty close minded. Fortunately, her family has supported her. At least the members that counted. Her mom, her siblings and her godfather, Rhodey.

“Hello?” Diablo said, waving his hand in front of her face. “Are you alright?”

She nodded not yet trusting her voice. Diablo tilted his head and started signing. Thea’s eyes grew wide.

“I don’t know how to sign,” she replied quickly, grabbing his hands.

“Oh.” He looked down to their hands. She jerked away, suddenly conscious of what she’d done. Really, could this day be worse?

“I’m sorry, I…I should have never touched you without your permission.”

Diablo was still staring intensely at his hands. He turned them upwards and caressed where her hands touched his. He then raised his eyes. She opened her mouth but quickly closed it. His eyes were unreadable. His chirpiness has tone done down. Diablo didn’t seem mad at her. Maybe?

“I’m sorry?” she repeated, unsure.

“You are not afraid of me?” he asked slowly.

The question took her by surprise. What? “No.”

“Really?” He asked, his voice full of hope.

“Yeah, you are not scary.”

Diablo took a few steps forward stepping into her comfort zone. Thea noticed the dark blue tattoos on his skin. She hadn’t been aware of that. She frowned. Even the pictures she had didn’t show any tattoos and they spread everywhere, on his face, arms and to rest of his body, she presumed.

“I’m not scary”, he repeated slowly as if the words were foreign.

“You should see my mom,” Thea pretended to tremble from fear. “She’d make your worst nightmare seems like a dream.”

Her tentative to joke fell flat. Diablo kept examining her. His eyes roamed her face for an answer she wasn’t sure to have. He may have found it because he smiled a little and finally stepped back. He wasn’t back to his bubbly self. Or was that a façade? Something to help people relate to him and see him as less of a threat. His tail swayed slowly behind him. Thea looked at it, entranced. It looked bigger than in pictures and more agile.

She was so concentrated on the appendage that she didn’t notice the quick movement. She blinked once and the next moment, the tail was in front of her face. The triangular tip brushed softly the tip of her nose. She twitched her nose refraining her sneeze.

“And now, are you scared?”

Thea shook her head and wiped her nose to erase the sensation of his tail. Chill ran down her spine making her shiver. She froze. The shiver turned to trembles. The snake appeared in front of her and hissed a warning. Someone is coming.

The rumble of a storm buzzed in her ears.

“We need to go now,” she urged Diablo, who stopped rambling. He stared quizzically at her. “One of the Avengers is coming for me. We have to go.”

Diablo quickly gripped her arms and transported them.

 The ship was way bigger than the Quinjet. It looked more spacious and colorful. It didn’t look like a jet, at all. She followed Diablo through a corridor. He walked quickly and glanced sometimes behind to make sure she was following. Her eyes tracked the paintings on the walls. Who’d put paintings in a jet? What purpose did they serve? She wasn’t well versed in arts, but these looked expensive.

“Why are they –”

Wolverine. Wolverine was in front of her. She squealed and jumped round him. Oh my God, Oh my God, this is Wolverine. She fumbled with her bag to get her phone and barely got it out without dropping it.

“Kid, you’re going to have stroke. Calm down,” he said, in a deep rumbly voice. It sounded like a growl. She barely had the time to register that he talked – actually talked to her, that she babbled.

“Why did you choose Wolverine as a nickname? Is it because wolves are “supposed” to be solitary animals? Although they do live in a pack so that’s ridiculous…”

“Kid,” he cut her off. “Calm down.”

She gulped some much-needed air and exhaled. Wolverine nodded silently and encouraged her to breath some more. As she let herself relax, she couldn’t miss the overall beauty of the man. His beard, the muscles rolling under his shirts and jeans. His stance seemed normal, but with her godfather in the military she was able to notice many things. Wolverine was favoring his left. He was consciously bracing himself for any attack. His muscles seemed tensed and ready. He thought she was a threat. Despite his soothing tone, he didn’t trust her at all. Good. Because she didn’t know what she was capable of. She felt somewhat reassured that he took the situation seriously.

“Come sit down and you’ll tell me why Xavier made us pick you up.”

They entered a room behind the cockpit. A blue hand appeared briefly.

“Is that Mister Hank?” She whispered.

“Kid,” Wolverine warned her.

She made a step in the direction of the cockpit. Wolverine stopped her.

“Don’t,” he growled.

Thea narrowed her eyes and moved, only to be stopped by adamantium claws. She couldn’t believe it. She…it…she was touched by his claws. Her squeal came back full force. She brushed her fingers against the claws. The metal was warm and deadly sharp.

Wolverine sighed but didn’t move.

“So, you have a fan, finally,” Diablo joked.

“Fuck you, Blue Devil.”

Diablo hissed in disapproval, Wolverine growled and Thea, well, she was now holding on dear life onto his callous hand.

“Kid, if you go sit down and buckle yourself, I’ll show you what I can do with these.” He raised his right arm and retracted his claws.

She yelped and ran to her seat. Her legs bounced nervously. Wolverine shook his head and raised his eyes to the sky.

“Last time I trust you, Xavier, last time,” he grumbled.

 If Logan had not really expected Thea to stay silent during the trip, he certainly regretted his wish.

She suddenly stopped chatting. Her head snapped to the right and she stared at the wall. Logan glanced at Diablo who shrugged, as uncertain as he was.

“Kid? Are you okay?”

“He is coming,” she mumbled, still out of it.

Hank who had been making his way out of the toilets stopped a few steps from them.

“Who is coming?” He mouthed at them.

They both shrugged. Hank rolled his eyes and came in front of Thea. She still didn’t react. Her eyes were unfocused and her shoulders high. The more they looked at her the more she seemed tense.

“Thea, who is coming?” Hank asked in his soft voice.

She finally drew her eyes away from the wall and looked at him in the eyes.

“The God of lightning.”

Logan narrowed his eyes. Xavier hadn’t told them they’d have to encounter some obstacles. He felt his claws breaking his skin. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to fight a God, but he’d try.

“Who is –”

“Drop it Hank.” Logan stood up and went to the cockpit. He looked at the board looking for the radar. Besides the normal interferences, he noticed something small coming in their direction at full speed. He snapped his fingers a few times to call Hank, who grumbled (“I’m not a dog.”)

“What?”

Hank dropped his eyes to the screen.

“Oh. The God of lightning, huh? Just that,” he sighed.

Logan’s frown was still firmly attached to his face. He stared at the clouds expecting at any moment to see Thor. The seconds turned into minutes. Then, nothing. Loga checked the screen again.

“Wolverine! She is down!” Diablo screamed from the other room.

Logan reacted quickly and ran to them. He almost broke the door of the cockpit and cut Hank’s hand in his urgency.

Thea’s body was bent in two. The only thing that prevented her fall was the chest belt. Wolverine assessed the situation quickly. Could Thor have an impact on her? Had he cursed her? Or was her “unknown” power weakening her?

He pushed Diablo away into Hank’s arms and kneeled in front of Thea.

“I can teleport her. I can do. I know I can. Let me do it,” Diablo babbled, panicked.

“Calm down, Diablo, everything is going to be ok. Xavier told me she was a bit on edge when she called him. She may have fainted from all the stress.”

Hank pushed Diablo to the side and forced him to sit.

“If we need you wi –”

The jet trembled and tilted on the right. Logan rolled on the floor, claws grazing the metallic floor. He bounced on the right wall, then ran to the cockpit. Hank followed him quickly. The cockpit was pure cacophony. All the screens were blinking, and the alarm was blazing. Logan quickly looked for the anomaly. Was it one of the reactors? Had they been attacked by something?

“Do you see the problem?” Hank screamed, as he looked for a way to turn the alarm off.

Logan shook his head, eyebrows frowned. Thea’s words about a certain God echoed in his mind.

As he was to voice his thoughts, the alarm stopped. The jet stop swaying. After a few minutes of this hell, the silence was as deafening.

“What the fuck,” Hank sighed, flopping on the seat. He took of his glasses, swiping his eyes and forehead.

“What? So, I thought you loved Norse mythology?” Logan joked, half-serious. He unclenched his fist retracting by the same his claws. His heart beat fast and loud. It was ringing in his ears. What the fuck, really.

The adrenaline slowly seeped out of his body, leaving him raw and drained. He took a big breath and sagged.

“You think it was him?” Hank asked genuinely.

Logan stayed silent. He looked behind him where the prostrated body of Thea was. Xavier, are you sure to know what you are doing?

 Thea took a few more minutes before waking up. Logan sat next to her and watched over her. Hank was back in the cockpit with Diablo. He hadn’t wanted to go. Hank had to physically restrain him. Logan had been surprised that Diablo hadn’t even think of teleporting himself back. They were all used to his personal level of anxiety but today he has reached his peak.

Logan played with his claws cleaning them with a wet tissue. A few movements on his left attracted his attention. He narrowed his eyes. Thea slowly rolled her spin out and groaned. She massaged her neck with shaky moves. Logan observed silently. His hands were clenched. If he wasn’t on high alert before he was now. He should have known what Xavier had in mind. Sending Hank, Diablo and him… The only time he did that was when he wasn’t sure of how powerful the new addition was and how dangerous their power could be.

“What happened?” He asked, serious.

“What?” Thea replied, still stretching her body. “I’m the one who should ask you that? Have I sle—”

“Don’t lie. I know you remember what happened.” A brief flash of fear appeared in her brown orbs. “You talked about the ‘God of Lightning.’”

She opened her mouth, then shut it in a click. “What about it?”

Logan counted to three. Why did Xavier thought he was patient enough to deal with this kind of bullshit?

“The jet almost crashed because something – someone flew past by with such a velocity that we almost lost control of the engine.” He sharpened his claws against each other, eyes still on her. She swallowed with difficulty. Good. That’s where he wanted her. “Now, spill it.”

 The rest of the journey went uneventful. After telling her story to Logan, Thea has been chatting with Diablo. Logan didn’t know what kind of story Diablo was telling her, but she looked beyond shocked.

“So…” Hank said, next to him.

Logan barely acknowledged his presence.

“What do you think of her?” The scientist kept going.

“What am I, a fortuneteller? If you wanted someone to read people, I’m not the right one,” Logan replied, with enough sarcasm to surprise him. He didn’t know why he felt like that. Worried and anxious. He was still on the edge from the near encounter with a God, but it didn’t explain the deep roots of his anxiety.

Something bad was going to happen. And for once in his life, Logan felt powerless.

Next chapter

[alysemeadfad]

𝕽𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓

Most would say its easy for a teenager to rebel at any point in time, but I find it hard to rebel in any way, most teens get tattoos, piercings, cut and dye their hair to rebel against their parents, but growing up with a mom who is tattooed, hair in fun dyed styles and piercings, I’m really just following in her footsteps she practically encourages. 

The only thing I rebel against is tidying my room and making cups of tea, cant really say I could start a world changing rebellion on that.

Rebellions i find important

1903–18 — Women’s Suffrage Movement The foundation of the Women’s Social and Political Union by Emmeline Pankhurst in 1903 began a more militant phase of the call for votes for women, which had been growing through the end of the 19th century. The Suffragettes used militant tactics like vandalism, arson, bombing and hunger strikes, with one member committing public suicide by throwing herself under the King’s horse at a race in 1913. The movement was wound up when some women were enfranchised in the 1918 Representation of the People Act, before all women over 21 were given the vote in 1928.

Suffragette Vera Wentworth in 1909, and the dress by Vaquera that it inspired

Stonewall riots 28 Jun 1969 – 3 Jul 1969 The Stonewall riots were a series of spontaneous demonstrations by members of the gay community in response to a police raid that began in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, at the Stonewall Inn in the Greenwich Village neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City.

It is said that Marsha P. Johnson was the one who started the rebellion. Supposedly, throughout the bustle of the raid, Marsha threw a shot glass into a mirror and shouted, ” I got my civil rights!”.  With this inspiration and resistance against the police, other patrons began to follow.

Present day- Me Too movement.The Me Too movement, with variations of related local or international names, is a social movement against sexual abuse and sexual harassment towards women, where people publicize allegations of sex crimes.

The Punk Rebellion

the punk involved no protests or riots, it impacted people, fashion, music, society and everything to be honest.

The punk subculture advocates a do-it-yourself (DIY) ethic. During the subculture's infancy members were almost all from a lower economic class, and had become tired of the affluence that was associated with popular rock music at the time. Punks would publish their own music or sign with small independent labels, in hopes to combat what they saw as a money hungry music industry. The DIY ethic is still popular with punks.ideology's of punks

Ideology

Punk political ideologies are mostly concerned with individual freedom and anti-establishment views. Common punk viewpoints include individual liberty, anti-authoritarianism, a DIY ethic, non-conformity, anti-collectivism, anti-corporatism, anti-government, direct action and not "selling out".

Some groups and individuals that self-identify as being a part of punk subculture hold right-wing views. The belief that such views are opposed to the original ethos of the punk subculture, and its history, has led to internal conflicts and an active push against such views being considered part of punk subculture at all. Two examples of this are an incident during the 2016 American Music Awards, where the band Green Day chanted anti-conservative, anti-racist, and anti-fascist messages, and an incident at a show by the Dropkick Murphys, when bassist and singer Ken Casey, tackled an individual for giving a nazi-style salute and later stated that nazis are not welcome at a Dropkick Murphys show. Band member Tim Brennan later reaffirmed this sentiment. The song "Nazi Punks Fuck Off" by hardcore punk band Dead Kennedys has come to be considered an anti-nazi anthem.

VIV WESTWOOD

Rejecting the hippie ethos that was fashionable towards the end of the 1960s, Westwood and McLaren created clothes that referenced youth culture's recent past, selling rock'n'roll fashion in a shop unit at 430 King's Road in Chelsea. In 1974, the shop took on its most notorious identity: SEX, with Westwood and McLaren designing fetish wear that they sold to prostitutes, those with 'underground' sexual tastes, and young proto-punks brave enough to take a seriously edgy look out onto the street. The pair enjoyed shocking people, designing garments and shoes that referenced 'deviant' sexual practices, including rubber dresses and stilettos bristling with spikes.

How punk influenced me, because it influenced the world

My take on rebellion

Westwood inspired tights.

after watching a documentary on vivien westwood and the birth of the punk revolution i created some westwood inspired tights as a little spontaneous brainstorm, did not develop any further on the tights.

i used a pair of brand new white tights and put holes all in them, this is non conformist as if a regular pair of tights had a hole you would bin them as they were no good any more, but purposely putting holes in is quite rebellious in that aspect, i used sharpies to draw triggering symbols and words such as a swastikka and ‘punk fag’ .

crayon drawings

i used crayons to create these images as i thought it was a more rebellious medium and its created for kids so that is non conforming and it gives a rough diy finish look making it look slightly unfinished

i created a lesbian nun, this was a spur of the mind thought whats socially good and respected? a nun? whats the opposite of what a nun preaches, homo behavior. 

here i did a little barbie series drawing from observational on one and on another from mind and another from an image which i created by burning a barbie ehich is quite a rebellious act in a way. 

Collages

i decided to do some collages as its a way of just slapping ideas out in a visual format, my first one was using a fashion magazine and i realized this was the way to go so i printed some punk imagery and even used my own crayon drawings to create more collages.

photo shop

i wanted to mess with these collages more on a digital format so i put them in to photo shop to play with them and generate more ideas this was giving me a poster vibe which reminded me of punk posters.

 Final ideas

i used images from the new york trip to create a vision on photo shop, using a light of the american flag,sign posts, bins with posters on them.a clip art image of a chain and lock,street art and stickers i saw on poles in the street which is another form or street art which is quite rebellious as its not socially acceptable to vandalize and graffiti on public areas.

i took a few elements from the last board and included them in this vision board, i really wanted the main focus to be on the pipe that says “the rich killed nyc” i feel like it has a deep meaning behind it and it is quite rebellious as it reminded me of the punk rebellion in the uk as it was mostly lower class working people who used art, music and fashion to rebel against society and social constructs and actively non conform to the “rules” in a way. i also used a sticker that says jesus loves you and i crossed it out and wrote hate you over the loves you part as that is fitting to my rebellious visions.

in this board i again used “ the rich killed nyc” pipe as that’s my main surrounding element, i uses another pole with stickers on though you cant really tell what the stickers are, it just fits the aesthetic. i used a statue of liberty as she is known as a symbol of freedom, and along side it i used a photo of a photograph i saw in the modern art museum where this person had dyke tattooed on their neck which is a derogatory word to gay women, and that’s quite rebellious to take a bad word and own it by tattooing it on your body .

in this board i moved away from “the rich killed nyc” pipe as i felt i needed to come away from that one element for one board and to broaden my ideas. in this one i used a sky line image i took when on the ferry to liberty island, i changed the colour to black and white as the original colours of the image are quite blue and orangy, i used a sign post that says one way as it for some reason reminded me of like “one way to hell” or something and that there feels like there is no choice or individuality in the phrase “one way” . i used text over the sky line that says “the rotten apple” as new york city is known as the big apple and i thought, when i was there it did not remind me of a big fresh beautiful apple as the homeless people on the streets and the graffiti that has no artistic intent, so it was more of a rotten apple in a way. i used an image of the american flag i took on liberty island as i used an image of an american flag light, so i thought i could link back to that idea and use an actual flag, as its to represent freedom. i also used a art piece from the modern art gallery which was just a male mannequin wearing a bra which does not fit the social constrict of what men should wear there for its quite rebellious and opposite to the one way system. 

in my final board i included the american flag, a chain over it completely doing the opposite of what the flag means which is freedom, i used the bun that says don’t be afraid of anyone with an edited red paint drip on it which kind of looks like blood, i used text that says “ the rich killed nyc” as i loved that phrase bit i over used the pole in the other boards and i liked that my main message is that the rich killed nyc, i used an image of my dr martens that i took while my feet were up against a pole as i sat on a tube, showing anti social behavior basically which is stereo typically rebellious,and also dr martens were quite fashionable in the uk punk rebellion so i’m hinting to my idea that was inspired by the uk punk rebellion, and finally i have a set of traffic lights which are about order and control, the light is also on red which signifies danger, and the word stop which fits to my idea.

[troutfishinginmusic]

The story of Grass Records: From Brainiac to Wind-Up and Creed

                                                              Images via Grass of ’96 compilation 

Everything isn’t available in the streaming era. There are notable gaps in the seemingly bottomless amount of music currently available. Some of the most noticeable exclusions are albums released on Grass Records.

If you’re a fan of ’90s indie music, this short-lived New York label mattered. Though sometimes dismissed as a sibling label to Homestead Records, Grass released over 60 full-length albums ranging from pop to punk to noise to experimental music. It raised the profile of influential bands like Brainiac, Toadies and the Wrens. 

The amazing thing about the label is how consistent it is. Every time I thought I was done with this article, I would listen to a band like Baboon and be completely blown away. These are all fascinating, idiosyncratic bands. This is more incredible considering the label was only around for about four years.

Much of this music is hard to find. The odd song might be lingering on YouTube, but you’re almost better off looking at your local record store or ordering from Discogs.

Why are the albums in this weird limbo? Mostly because the monied interest who bought the label in 1996 thought it wasn’t yielding a big enough return on the investment. Grass was gutted and rebranded into post-grunge/nu metal giant Wind-Up. Money poured in and these wonderfully weird records were swept to the side.

The following interviews were conducted via email, Facebook messenger and phone over the last few months. Quotes from the interviews have been edited for style/clarity. I’m eternally grateful to everyone who got back to me. I am also willing to expand this story if more former Grass artists want to reach out. If you’re one of these artists, my email is at the bottom of this story.

Seedlings

“I started in the music business purely by chance,” said Camille Sciara, who founded Grass Records.

Sciara got her start working at Record World in New York as a second job and became friendly with the store’s buyer. After attending a manager training program, she moved on to become a manager of the store. Her second job became her first.

“Then, after two years there, I became bored managing a record store and my friend Mike, the buyer, told me about Dutch East India,” Sciara said. “I started there as a salesperson and, after a year of sales, became the buyer when that position opened up. I never envisioned starting a label.”

While working as a buyer at Dutch East India Trading a friend sent her a Toadies cassette. She “loved it” and started Grass in 1993 to release it.

Grass released the Toadies EP Pleather soon after, which contained an early version of the band’s inescapable alternative hit “Possum Kingdom.” After Pleather, the band scored a major label deal with Interscope. The platinum-selling Rubberneck arrived in 1994.

“They did really well on their first major release,” Sciara said in an email interview. “But then it appeared that Interscope just dropped the ball or lost interest. They were such a great band live, I never understood how they weren't huge stars. And super cool people.”

undefined

Tall grass

Sciara would go on to sign unique and influential bands like Brainiac and The Wrens.

“Since I had never run a label before, I was going purely on how much I liked what they submitted,” Sciara said. “Obviously not the best business model for running a label, but for the money we offered it worked to some respect. The longer I ran the label, the more I understood what was needed from them [the bands] regarding can they tour etc.”

There were few bands of the 90s that radiated weirdo energy as brightly and brilliantly as Brainiac. The documentary Transmissions from Zero chronicles the significant impact the band had on the music scene at the time. It also shows a band on the brink of mainstream success. Brainiac released two albums on Grass, Smack Bunny Baby and Bonsai Superstar, before departing for Touch & Go. The band’s forward motion was sadly cut short by Tim Taylor’s death in 1997. Prior to this, Interscope was expressing interest in the band.

“If Tim hadn't passed I'm pretty sure they'd have been the biggest [band on the label],” Sciara said.

Original Brainiac guitarist Michelle Bodine said Grass’ association with Dutch East India made the label initially attractive.

“[Camille] was super excited about us and we had total creative freedom,” Bodine said. “We also liked the 2-record deal with the option of 3 contract.”

After leaving Brainiac, Bodine would go on to play guitar and sing in O-Matic. The band released its lone album Dog Years in 1996. The album is one of the overlooked gems of the ’90s.

The Wrens’ influence reverberated in more subtle ways. The band’s first two albums, Silver (1994) and Secaucus (1996), provided a blueprint for much of the post-Pixies landscape of ’90s indie rock. They could’ve been much bigger, but still made a significant impression.

“The depth of realization in this record is unparalleled: every angle is perfected,” Pitchfork founder Ryan Schreiber said about Secaucus. The band’s third long awaited album, Meadowlands, dropped in 2001 and received a “Best New Music” tag from the same publication.

Rumblings of a follow-up to Meadowlands have been thrown around for the last 10 years, but a record has yet to materialize.

The level of talent the label had was staggering. A few groups Sciara thought would be bigger ranged from the Irish dream-pop band Chimera to Georgia punk band Sunbrain. “There's more, it would be long list,” Sciara said.

undefined

New shoots

Baltimore

Baltimore punk band Liquor Bike had released one album before signing a two-record deal with Grass. The band’s first release on the label was Neon Hoop Ride in 1993. Liquor Bike was excited to be on the label because of the Homestead Records connection.

“We loved being on Grass, we toured like crazy,” singer/guitarist David Koslowski said. “We had great booking with Creature Booking.”

Between the booking agency, which had done work with Nirvana, Helmet, the Lunachicks and Jesus Lizard; and the new label things were looking up for the band. The band would have posters up in whatever towns they were playing in and mentions in the local paper. The label would keep them up to date if they had to do things like impromptu radio interviews. When they got off the road, they entered the studio to record The Beauty of Falling Apart. During this time Alan Meltzer, who bought the label from Sciara in 1996, entered the picture.

“At the onset we were pretty psyched because this guy’s got major label distribution,” Koslowski said.

It also helped that Sciara stayed on after the transition.

“We could still work with Camille, who we love,” Koslowski said. “We slept at Camille’s house when we would play up in New York. She’s an amazingly nice, sweet person and very giving.”

Koslowski said the band was given significantly more to record the follow-up based on buzz the band was getting at the time. J Robbins, of Jawbox and Burning Airlines fame, did the cover art and Drew Mazurek produced the album. The band even hired John Lay, who had previously worked with Squeeze, to manage the band.

“By that point we were having decent guarantees,” Koslowski said. “Those two years when I was on Grass I barely worked a real job. I wasn’t making a rockstar living or anything, but I was certainly able to pay my rent and utilities.”

Liquor Bike went on tour with Gas Huffer to promote the forthcoming record. On the tour Koslowski noticed there weren’t posters out and the band didn’t receive write-ups in the local press. To make matters worse, they never received CDs of The Beauty of Falling Apart to sell at shows. Koslowski said Grass had promised this.

“We were pretty confused," Koslowski said. “I mean our record had been mastered already, everything had been sent to the factory.”

Lay soon informed the band Sciara had been fired and the band had been dropped. Koslowski said the band decided to stay on the tour even after being kicked off the label. The band had old records and T-shirts to sell. They had put a lot of work into the tour and didn’t want to waste it.

Liquor Bike eventually released its third album on Merkin after failed meetings with Amphetamine Reptile, Columbia and Interscope. It was the band’s last before the members went their separate ways.

Seade was another band on on Grass that was unfortunately overlooked. Their lone album (Perf) is an underrated ’90s classic.

Prior to Meltzer, Koslowski said that he didn’t think there was any favoritism toward any one band despite the label being so prolific.

“I just think the woman loved music and wanted to spread that out to people,” Koslowski said of Sciara. “I think she legitimately wanted to help people, you know, help these bands out. She was nothing but giving.”

undefined

Omaha

Mousetrap, an Omaha-based punk band, hoped to initially get a deal with Homestead when it sent in two 7” singles.

“Camille really liked our singles and got in touch with us.” Patrick Buchanan, Mousetrap’s singer/guitarist said in an email interview. “We developed a great relationship with her, and eventually she offered to sign us — we were given the opportunity to sign either with Homestead OR with Grass, which was a brand-new label at the time.”

Buchanan said the band thought it would possibly get overlooked in Homestead’s large stable of well-established bands and decided to sign with Grass.  He also said Sciara made a large difference.

“Camille was one of the coolest people we had ever met in ‘the business’ – she just seemed really genuine, straightforward and honest,” he said. “Those are the types of people we wanted to work with. So our relationship with Camille was probably the main thing that made us sign with Grass.”

Mousetrap would go on to release three albums on the label, starting with Cerebral Revolver in 1993. The band was a big influence on Commander Venus, an Omaha band featuring a young Connor Oberst.

“They were definitely a big deal in Omaha and everybody loved them,” Oberst said of Mousetrap in an episode of the Turned Out a Punk podcast earlier this year.

Commander Venus came in contact with Grass through Mousetrap. The band signed to the label when Oberst was only 14. The band also featured Rob Nansel, who would go on to co-found Saddle Creek Records. Oberst said the band recorded its first album, Do You Feel At Home, in 1995.

“That was a good experience and a learning experience,” Oberst said. “I also think it kind of made it more apparent that even if you do get an opportunity like that, you know, you’re a little fish in a big pond. And maybe people aren’t going to work as hard or care about it.”

He said that this was mitigated by having the support system of a local scene in Omaha. The band ended up releasing its 1995 debut on Lumberjack, which later became Saddle Creek. The band released one more album, The Uneventful Vacation, before Oberst formed Bright Eyes.

undefined

Promoting growth

Alan Meltzer came into the picture with a retail background. He had previously owned Titus Oaks Records in Long Island. He went on to found CD One Stop in 1985, which was purchased by Alliance in 1993. Meltzer became Alliance’s president during this time but left the company in 1995. Meltzer acquired Grass in 1995 from Dutch East India Trading (the label’s owner/distributor), finalizing major label distribution through BMG in 1996.

“When I heard the Grass repertoire, I almost fell down,” Meltzer said in a 1996 Billboard Magazine article. “I heard so much good material.”

“Alan was shopping around looking to purchase an established label with an extensive catalog that he could pour endless money into,” Sciara said. “He originally wanted Homestead Records. A great label owned by Dutch East as well. But once he saw the contracts and issues with some of the ‘grey’ areas in them, he then moved on to Grass.”

Meltzer did have some legitimate interest in the label as an artistic venture.

“He absolutely was obsessed with the Wrens once he heard them and Commander Venus,” Sciara said. “He was sure with all his resources, money and big ass staff he could make them huge stars. He failed. Not the bands’ fault.”

Grass would have the name (and credibility) of an indie, but the corporate reach of a major. Meltzer looked at the new situation as the best of both worlds.

“We’re not a major label, but we’re not an undercapitalized, disorganized independent that’s out there on a wing and prayer,” Meltzer said. “We’re somewhere in the middle. We’re staffed, we have the organization, and we’ve got the know-how. I opted for major distribution because the majors are better at it.”

Grass kept Sciara on as a VP of A&R (artists and repertoire) and expanded Grass’ workforce to 20 in-house employees, according to the Billboard article. The label’s future looked bright. Bodine left Brainiac and formed O-Matic (also signed to Grass) when the change happened.

“…It seemed better – they had a nice office in Manhattan with an open stairwell area and glass walls,” Bodine said. “It was very modern and cool. The budget was much bigger. They hired more people and we felt like we had a good support system.”

“When we went there it felt like money,” Koslowski said.

Koslowski only met Meltzer once at a Grass Christmas party.

“He was a typical New York money guy when I met him,” Koslowski said. “I didn’t get a good vibe. He didn’t have that indie spirit that Camille had unfortunately.”

The meeting didn’t go well.

“I remember drinking a bit and messing with him,” Koslowski said. “I said ‘hey Alan I wanted to see if I could run this by you. You know that new Liquor Bike record we’re working on? We got the artwork but we just wanted to run the title by you and make sure it’s cool. We want to call it Eat My Fuck Asshole.’”

Meltzer and his wife were horrified, according to Koslowski.

Yellowing, patchy

In an oral history with Stereogum, Wrens bassist and singer Kevin Whelan said the band was picking up steam.

“So Secaucus came out and it started to do somewhat well and “Surprise Honeycomb” was starting to get recognized and played on different shows, and we thought that international fame was around the corner,” Whelan said.

And then the call came in.

“He [Meltzer] said, ‘Well, boys, I’m not going to give you any more money. If you don’t sign with me today, it’s over.’ So, I remember, we sat in the van, we looked at the empty gas tank and we were like, ‘Well, I guess we’re not signing, let’s get the credit cards out and see how we can get home.’”

According to the Wrens’ website bio, Meltzer wasn’t pleased.

“[Meltzer], infuriated, commences layoffs of involved record company personnel and vows that ‘the next band to walk through that door will be made famous – at any cost,’” the bio states. “The next band through the door is Creed. Grass Records becomes Wind-Up Records. Creed becomes famous at any cost.”

By the time of the Wind-Up transition, Moustrap had already fulfilled its contract when it released its third album The Dead Air Sound System.

“At that time, Mousetrap was not very active,” Buchanan said. “I think we had become rather disheartened by how much time and love we put into the band, while getting very little recognition on any type of national level. At that point we were physically and mentally exhausted by constant touring and recording, with very little in the way of tangible success to show for it. So we didn’t really have any relationship with the label by the time it became Wind-Up.”

When the label wasn’t as successful as Meltzer thought, he brought in Steve Lerner. This was effectively the end of Grass Records.

“I was let go along with 8 to 10 others when Meltzer brought in Steve Lerner to run the company,” Sciara said. “The new staff felt Grass was too much related to me so hence a name change.”

“With Lerner serving as his right-hand man, the duo transformed Wind-up into a $100 million-plus sales operation with multi-platinum acts like Evanescence and Creed,” a 2007 Billboard article said.

Death, new high-yield crops

Grass was rebranded as Wind-Up, a key player in the nu metal and post-grunge universe, in 1997. Many of the Grass bands were dropped to make room for the likes of Finger Eleven, Creed and Evanescence. Meltzer, who ran the label with his wife at the time Diana, finally found his cash machine.

“I was extremely happy because, although Creed was a mega-seller and saved his label, I wanted nothing to do with that and the direction the label was taking,” Sciara said. “Not knocking it. You need artists like that to sustain a label that had an enormous payroll and nice offices. I totally get it, it’s a business. But I was happy running a small label with smaller contacts and cooler bands that didn't have to compromise their sound to write a ‘hit.’ That’s what he was always looking for.”

The transition to Wind-Up in 1997 did have some overlap with former Grass artists. The second Commander Venus album was released by Wind-Up and Thick (with a later release on Saddle Creek). Pollen, a rough-edged pop-punk act that had released two albums on Grass, dropped Peach Tree on Wind-Up. Baboon’s sophomore album Secret Robot Control was also released in 1997 on the new label.

Slowpoke’s Virgin Stripes, the final vestige of Grass Records, was a co-release with DGC in 1998. The album didn’t break the band, but it’s not a stretch to imagine it could have (especially since it boasted a song as infectious as “Belladonna”). The album retains some of band’s outsider noisy energy, but delivers it in a package palatable enough for the post-grunge crowd. Past this point, Wind-Up focused mostly on its new sound.

Koslowski didn’t initially know Wind-Up was the successor to Grass. One day someone mentioned to him that he was labelmates with Creed.

“I was like ‘wow, OK I guess he got his hit,’” Koslowski said.  

Meltzer died in 2011 at 67. He made headlines by leaving $1 to his chauffeur and $500,000 to his doorman. Bodine saw this as frustrating because of how he left things with other Grass bands.

“He owed lots of bands money so it’s just really fucked up that he didn’t pay them/us. Liquor Bike did get theirs before he died only because they were persistent,” said Bodine.

In 2013 Wind-Up was purchased by Bicycle Music Company with distribution by Concord Music Group. In 2015 the two companies merged to form Concord Bicycle Music. Craft Recordings manages the label’s reissues.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/wZBpr1tDktI

Rare strain

Aside from Brainiac and The Wrens, many of the bands on the label aren’t on streaming platforms. The physical releases on Grass are mostly out of print. A sea of fantastic experimental indie music remains in this gray area. This doesn’t seem to be changing.

“Unfortunately, I haven’t a clue about if there are plans of Wind-Up re-releasing any back catalog,” Sciara said. “It’s sad really. Holding peoples’ artistic work hostage or just ignoring it seems cruel. Hopefully Wind-Up did the right thing and gave them back their masters, rights etc. Or at least license it to someone else to release.”

The three Mousetrap albums are stuck in this place.

“I wish more people had the chance to hear our music, so yeah I wish it was easily available,” said Buchanan. “Sure, we wanted to be popular — but the most important thing for us was that we made the music we wanted to make. We always did things our way — for ourselves, with no regrets. So even if the albums are harder to get, we’ll always have the memories — and those who were there to witness it will, too.”

Liquor Bike’s lawyer was able to secure the master tapes and artwork for The Beauty of Falling Apart with no questions asked. The band also has the master tapes for Neon Hoop Ride.  

“Crazily enough, Grass did not make us buy Beauty of Falling Apart from them,” Koslowski said. “I have heard from some of my fellow Grass artists that they wanted to charge an incredible amount of money.”

Neon Hoop Ride was remastered and briefly available on streaming services. The album was only available digitally and did not get a physical rerelease.

Greener pastures

Following her departure from Grass, Sciara started Ten23 (Oct. 23, 1996 was the day she was fired from Grass). The label released The Wren’s EP 1135 before folding.

“It seemed like a great idea,” she said. “Didn't put out anything else after that release. It was an expensive endeavor starting a label from scratch, so to speak, and at the time I was unemployed.”

From there she went on to work at the Knitting Factory label group and eventually Narnack Records. She uprooted from N.Y. to move to L.A. to work at the latter. She eventually ended up back in N.Y. where she was a manager at Petland Discounts for 12 years until it closed in 2019.

Buchanan has gone on to release music as Vicious Lovers. Mousetrap has plans to release new music for the first time in 20 years according to Buchanan. Some of Mousetrap’s music can be streamed here:

Michelle Bodine went on to play guitar in Shesus, which was signed to Narnack. The band released an album and an EP before splitting up. Bodine has since been participating in Brainiac reunion shows and was featured in the Brainiac documentary Transmissions from Zero.

David Koslowski went on to play in the post-rock band Vivid Low Sky and the power-pop band Gerty. He currently owns a coffee shop/record store in Baltimore called Baby’s on Fire.

“I loved every aspect of being on Grass, except for the very end,” Koslowski said. “I also loved how diverse Camille had the label. A lot of friends from that time from those bands, I’m still friends with them. It was like a really cool little group of people that all got to share in something for as brief of a time period as it was.”

If you have questions, information or concerns I can be reached at powers3317@gmail.com.

CORRECTION: A previous version of this article spelled David’s last name as Kozlowski. It’s actually Koslowski. Also, J. Robbins just did the cover art for the band’s third album. Drew Mazurek actually produced it. Godplow is a great band but they’re from Minneapolis, not Baltimore.

[su-nlt]

Things Confirmed In The Future

New Song: Being Human (Full Version). Cookie Cat Rap (Reprise) 

New Location: Providence Island (mentioned)

The is the final episode of Steven Universe Future, and the final episode of the series overall

Steven now has a workout routine

A few months has passed since the events of I Am My Monster

Shep and Sadie will be having a concert in Charm City

Connie is planning on touring several schools, one of which is near or in Providence Island

There is a search engine in the Steven Universe Universe called Boogle (Likely a combination of Bing and Google)

Steven is moving away from Beach City for his own personal growth

Everyone in Beach City and the Gems have been told about Steven leaving 

Garnet and Pearl have now been seen eating food

There is a silhouette drawing of Pearl and a picture of Steven Jr on one of Steven’s wall

There are 39 states in the United States in the Steven Universe universe. Steven plans to tour them all before finding a place to settle down

Steven is now seeing a therapist, who he plans to video chat while on the road

Steven plans to leave Beach City for a unspecified amount of time

Steven has learned how to make his own cookie cats

Steven has given several gifts to all of the main gems before he left Beach City. These gifts include..

One of Stevens old red t-shirts for Peridot A 142 art set for Lapis ( At least 28 colored pencils, 60 crayons, 24 oil pastels, 24 watercolors, and more!) (Lapis plans to paint with her tears to make a watercolor painting of Steven) The original Crystal Gem flag for Bismuth All of Steven’s old video games and consoles for Amethyst (She’ll never delete his save files) Stevens old ukulele for Pearl (She loves it and never plans to play anything else Stevens wedding planner for Garnet (She overjoyed to plan it, and his already planned 663 versions of it)

Steven considers Bismuth to be the most Crystal gem of Crystal gems 

Jasper is now in Little Homeworld

Jasper has offered to join Steven on his travels as protection

Jasper still considers Steven her Diamond

Only one save file can be made for Golf Quest Mini

Peridot has been stealing parts of of the washer and dryer at Steven’s house (A sign had to be put up to deter her)

Steven consider it amazing to be able to plan Ruby and Sapphires wedding

Stevens wants Garnet to plan his wedding in the future

Steven has packed up most of his room in preparation for his move. A few of the items his is bringing with him include

A picture of himself Some Fish Stew Pizza merch A Vote For My Dad shirt A ship in a bottle A Copy of Keep Beach City Weird A batarang A Ranger GUY

Steven is bring several suitcases full of stuff with him

Greg is moving into Steven’s old room

Steven found a Kerry Moonbeam poster for Greg

Some of the items being left in the room are

Some glow-in-the-dark stars The new Crystal Gem emblem A reading a light

Greg likes Steven’s bed

Connie and Steven have now kissed on the lips

Steven and Connie plan to meet up at a bed and breakfast 

Steven is taking the Dondai Supremo with him 

Garnet saw a potential future where the gems crying over Steven leaving may cause him to stay

The Gems will see Steven in the future

Steven will pass through a desert on his journeys

Steven will need to check his left rear tire before he hits the desert (not serious, but could be trouble if left unchecked) 

Several gourds bearing a resemblance to Pumpkin can be seen in Beach City

The orange and blue gems fixed by Yellow Diamond are now on Earth, and can be seen getting their picture taken by Volleyball

Beach City has a Bike Shop

Onion is now in possession of Steven’s cheeseburger backpack 

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

APH College AU Headcanons: Japan

JAPAN/KIKU HONDA

- Double majoring in STEM (idk, engineering/robotics maybe?) and digital animation/game animation (inspired by hetahonda’s hcs). - He couldn’t really decide between having a “useful” major (STEM) that’s pragmatic and doing something he’s done as a hobby for years (digital animation) but might not be a great way of supporting himself later, so just went with both. Anyway, he’s pretty good at managing the workload most times, so it’s not that stressful/taxing.

- Like Germany, he’s rather Organized (but a little more chaotic and Done with Life) - All his assignments are written on this massive calendar that takes up most of the wall, would like to have his whole year planned out but his professors don’t tell him their assignments that much in advance - Green tea once a day in the afternoon; before school started, he bought a bunch of large bags of loose leaf tea so he just needs some boiled water to make it. Therefore, he also brought a plug in kettle that is a permanent fixture in his room now. - Usually* finishes all assignments in a timely manner, and also usually** tries to help anyone in need of assistance (aka Will Pull an All Nighter With You to help you finish that paper by 7 AM if you ask nicely, are a casual friend, and aren’t overly annoying/someone he likes to tease a lot). - *However, sometimes he just can’t be bothered to do his work (sporadic but extreme laziness) and procrastinates. On these occasions, he just waits till a couple hours before something’s due and then it’s crunch time; but even if it’s sloppily put together he usually gets good marks.

- **And also, sometimes he just wants to watch anime and do nothing and isn’t in the mood™ for being Generous™ and helping people get work done, and he just hides out in his room, wrapped in blankets like a burrito, with a “do not disturb” sign on the door. - Sleep schedule is either really chaotic (energy drinks and 4 AM nights) or really Extra/Healthy (bed by 9:30 PM, watches anime for another hour and then turns in for the night). However he can get by pretty well with ~4 hours of sleep, and doesn’t really drink coffee; tea is preferable. - Sometimes relies on ramen + boiling water (from that kettle), sometimes goes to China’s restaurant to eat (I have this whole AU planned out and yes, China is the chef of a small restaurant). If he can be bothered (maybe 15% of the time?) to eat good food, he’ll go to China’s. - Was sad he couldn’t bring his cat (and his dog) to school, but visits them on weekends because he left them with China - Tried to help Greece (Heracles) bring his cats to school because he felt bad about leaving his own behind. Keyword tried, because it wasn’t successful - Respected because of how he can get away with certain things*** and how he can keep up his grades although he’s double majoring and considering his sometimes chaotic schedule, but most people would still consider him approachable. In contrast, Ludwig is more revered but distant to the average student, while Kiku is on a more even level with people. Maybe it’s due to his more typical work schedule and eating habits (re: ramen and 4 AM nights) or just because he seems more college student-esque. - ***Getting away with things: aka sneaking somewhat inappropriate subjects into essays and going off-topic in discussions, but being so conversational (I think he’s really good at pretending to be casual and nice when he might actually be feeling cranky) that the teacher doesn’t always notice. - He’s still a bit awkward though, and prefers to be alone. I think he’s an ambivert who can adapt okay to the situation, but who has more introverted tendencies. - However, I also think he tends to thrive more around shy people because he can relate to them a whole ton, and definitely doesn’t mind if a friend isn’t really talkative. - He’s just really good at pleasing people with the conversation they like. - Good at judging people by first impressions, and picks up little things about them and their habits. - His notes are pretty neat, but sometimes hard to read because his handwriting gets a bit messy when fast, and he writes shorthand a lot, making up acronyms that stand for things only he knows. They contain a lot of doodles (they’re more like designs and building studies than doodles, unlike Feli’s) and ideas for projects and things he might do if he has the time (or if it fits an assignment). - Friday night TV with Alfred; horror shows or anime, but never romantic sap or anything. Alfred talks all throughout the show though, to Kiku’s half-annoyance. - Grades around the A- to A range, his grades are pretty consistent and stable. He takes test studying actually really seriously, so it often makes up for homework that wasn’t the best. - He’s got an idea for a pointless simulation game where you try to avoid all the hardships of college, and it’s based on his daily life. He hasn’t actually made it, but every time something dumb happens to him he mentally adds it to the list of things that the game characters are going to have to face. - He made another pointless game in high school where you try to get to school on time. He got driven by Yao a lot, who wasn’t the most punctual, and it usually resulted in them getting out the door with almost no time to spare. Their route was always cluttered with random wildlife, down trees, road maintenance, garbage trucks, slow cars, and traffic, and he had to run to his first class sometimes to not be late. All that was converted into a game, where players just have to pick their route and hope for the best. - A bit of a resident anime nerd. In the art club and robotics club (the latter is only because it’s recommended to join if you’re majoring in the area). Sometimes, he makes posters for events and things happening around college.

Ok that’s it, please feel free to add on/react/whatever! Thanks for reading!

[whosxafraid]

Meme: OTP Parents Meme Status: Open to past, current and plotted rom!ships only URL: @brooklynislandgirl​

who’s the one to wake up the kids:

Maybe some day he won’t wake up an hour or more before dawn. Regardless if he has to report for duty or not.  But today is not that day. But also today? He’s off duty. And that comes with certain extras. Extras like having enough time for morning coffee, getting his run in on the beach, a shower while the butter comes to room temperature on the counter. Getting to actually watch the sun come up while he makes breakfast for his two favorite girls. 

Flatcakes, bacon, eggs. The painstaking process of replicating those bite sized hashbrowns Eire loves so much. Though while the smell and noise alone is enough to wake up her mother, it’s not quite so for the youngest in the house. So while Beth -- after good morning kisses-- moves to make the plates...he shifts out of the kitchen and into the hall. Silent feet on the hallway runner, to push the little girl’s door open. And maybe he’s guilty of a small pause. Guilty of watching the mess of dark hair peaking out from under the covers, still sound asleep. But it’s only a moment. She’s got a volley ball game today after all. And she needs to get up and get going. 

So inevitably a hand finds it’s way to the top of her head. The smallest of shakes. A smile in response to the gremlin like noise he gets in return.

“Up ye ge’ bitten. Breakfast be done. Made ye favorite.”

Five more minutes, da....

She never sees it coming, but the neighbors definitely hear the shreaking laughter of being quite literally tickled awake.

who makes the breakfast:

Most days he’s gone before any semblance of a proper breakfast can take form. Most days it’s left to Beth to fill in the gaps in the morning. Sometimes there’s texts that ping his phone. Complaining mom won’t let her have a bowl of the sugary cereal on the top shelf. That she doesn’t want to eat the monster snot that everyone else calls oatmeal. And those are the mornings he laughs. The mornings that remind him how very different her childhood is and will be in comparison to his own. Those are also the mornings the wee girl is given the same response without fail. 

[ Text: Bitten ] Listen ta ye mother, Eire.

who’s the one cried to for everything:

There are moments that only a mother can handle. Just as there are moments only a father can. And when it comes to Eire, they do their best to be a team. A united front and singular safe haven. But sometimes that just isn’t how the real world works. Because sometimes? Sometimes Da just isn’t there.  And Mom steps in to fill the gaps he leaves. Until most often it becomes instinctive for Eire to seek her mother out in times of upset. Yet still there are still moments only Da can fix. And he does to the best of his ability. Because if Da can’t fix it? No one can.

who’s the more disciplined parent and who’s the more lenient one:

They’re both guilty of folding to the little girls wants as much as they are of putting their foot down. It just depends on the circumstances. What it is Eire wants. Granted while he’ll never admit it, Luka does tend to fold more than Beth over most things. Eire was a gift in more ways than one and when it comes down to it, he does like to spoil her. Give her the things he missed out on. Make sure she knows that he loves her. Through and through, no matter what. Because he is a lovingly doting father but also because deep down...he wants her to have as many good memories of him as she can. Just in case one day, he doesn’t come home. Though really what is the real harm in having desert before dinner every once in a while?

who helps with the science fair:

When it comes to school projects the assitance usually comes from Beth. Though when he is home, Luka will chip in to do any necessary heavy lifting. Beth is smarter than he is, there’s never been any doubt of that. And Luka has no problem following orders when it comes to making sure his daughter gets a good grade. Besides...he was never in a science fair back in grade school. And it’s best to leave such things to the professionals. Though he did have to drag Uncle Creek out of the garage once before Beth could register the fact he’d just offered to wire the volcano to literally explode.

who does baby talk:

Neither. Between reading every parenting book Beth handed or sent him during pregnancy, and Beth’s only personal opinion---Luka quickly picked up the popular understanding that baby talk only holds them back. Though that didn’t stop him from perhaps doing it every now and then in Gaelic. Because what real harm could it do? She couldn’t understand it yet anyway.

who wakes up for midnight feedings:

As often as he was home, they shared the responsibility. Getting up in shifts to feed Eire. Or full fill any other need the child needed. Though sometimes Luka would get up more than his share, to make up for the time he wasn’t there too help.

who’s the one who always worries:

Worry comes in different shapes and forms. 

Worry is phone calls when you can. Worry is text messages at 2am and not getting onto the little person on the other end becuase they should be asleep. Worry is sadness you can’t be there for her first futball game. Worry is arranging small packages to be sent to your own front door. Little presents to remind you still care no matter how many oceans lie in between. Worry is facetime calls when the connections working, and packing in every ounce you can into that fifteen minute call.

Worry is knowing that empty seat next to you hurts the little girl that just scored. Worry is care packages sent with as much of home as you can pack into it, sans yourself. Worry is reminding yourself to believe he’s okay. Worry is knowing one day you might have to be stronger than you actually are. Worry is filling the gaps at missed birthdays and christmas. Worry is putting everyone else before yourself.

Worry is...alot like love. And they both have enough of both in equal measures.

who picks up the kids early from school for some fun:

There are days that are just meant to be spent playing hookie.  Days that jail breaks are aboslutely a requirement. Especially days when daddy is going to be home! Those days are special days. Days that small daughters are picked up from school early for personal reasons, and wisked home to get ready for his arrival. 

Where cupcakes are picked up from the bakery, and left on the counter for dessert. Poster signs are crafted with the upmost of care, matching t-shirts are doned. A snack picked up from the cafe on the way to the strip. And it doesn’t matter how hot it is they stand vigil and wait. Because dinner’s been ordered and timed just right so it will arrive just after the three of them pile in the door. 

Yes somedays jail breaks are most certainly required.

who’s the competitive parent:

I still do not understand this question. I apologize.

who kisses the ouches:

He wasn’t there the first time she road a bike. He wasn’t there when she fell and scraped knees and bruised elbows. He wasn’t there when she fell out of that tree in the back yard and broke her arm. He wasn’t there when she took a ball to the face and got a shiner for her successful block. He wasn’t there when that boy in her class broke her heart. He wasn’t there for so many ouches....but her mother was. And everyone knows mother’s have the best remedies for all sorts of hurts.

who’s the sucker for the puppy eyes:

Mom is immune to her charms. So she waits until her father comes home. Waits til his boots are set by the door, the cover and jacket hung neatly. She waits until he’s had his shower. Until dinner’s been eaten and cleaned up after. She waits until he’s settled on the couch. Book in hand and ready to sign off entirely for the day. 

She waits only a little while more before pouncing. The big eyed little pout that she got from her mother.  Hands tightly clasped together as what she wants comes spilling out of her mouth.

“Da...can I pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeasee get a puppy? I promise to take care of it.”

who makes the “dad jokes”:

Uncle Andy, and they are the worst of the worst dad jokes. Seriously he got whip cremed once. And it was unanimously decided it was well derserved. Even if Uncle Baz frowned at the waste of sweet goodness.

who embarrassed their kid for fun:

Eire is never embarrased on purpose. For any reason.

who’s the over protective one:

The state of the art alarm system isn’t over protective. It’s responsible. The motion triggered lights in the back yard aren’t over protective. They’re prudent. Cadence who sleeps in the hall between bedrooms isn’t over protectiveness. It’s safer. The GPS in Eire’s watch isn’t over protectiveness. It’s rational. The corner guards still stuck to the marble bar end since she was born isn’t over protectiveness. It’s common sense. The outlet blocks, the calling when you get there rule, the we have to mee them first stance. None of that is overprotective it’s just sensible.

No one in the O’Rian house is overprotective. 

Not one bit at all. 

Why in the world would you think that?

who’s the “take a sweater!” parent: 

The words ‘take a sweater’ had never crossed their lips until they visited New York for christmas that first year Eire was old enough to travel properly. But the moment it did was kodak. Excited to see the snow and make snowmen she’d run for the door hopping into brand new boots bought special for the trip. Her mother half tripping to get a hat on her head (Auntie Jay managing a glove) as she runs by. A little hand almost completely round the door knob before a choir from from behind her has her stalling. All six adults standing in the kitchen with varying versions of stop right there written into the lines of half smiles and withheld laughter.

           “Take your jacket!”

[hms-chill]

Coming Home

It's been years since either Alex or Henry has had a place that they can really settle into and call 'home'. Luckily, Henry has just bought the perfect one.

Kensington has never felt much like a place Henry lives. It feels like a hotel, a beautifully impersonal place to stay for a few nights before moving on. When Alex visits, he sees more of himself in the warren of rooms than he ever sees of Henry (though that may be due to their differing levels of cleanliness). Henry appears in the little things, in his journals and books and that damn copy of Le Monde that makes Alex feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but even the bedroom still feels like a hotel until Alex plops a bag into an ancient chair and lets his shoes fall haphazardly on the antique rug. He leaves things scattered around the room, and Henry asks if he's trying to spread his manifest destiny to his former ruler.

Alex doesn't say anything, and he certainly doesn't tell Henry that Bea occasionally sends him pictures of Henry wearing the sweatshirts and pajama pants he leaves behind. Those are saved in a special folder on his phone, and the way Henry looks in his clothes, everything a bit too short, is one of the best things he can imagine. Kensington may not look or feel like Henry's home, but it is still a place he can relax. It's a place where he can wear clothes that don't fit quite right but remind him that he's loved, wholly and unconditionally.

Alex especially doesn't tell Henry that he's printed a photo from Bea of Henry and David curled up in an antique chair, Henry wearing Alex's old lacrosse t-shirt and reading his copy of The Prisoner of Azkaban, or that the photo is framed on his desk. He just keeps leaving dirty clothes and battered paperbacks and color coded notes around Henry's rooms as if to scream that someone lives there. Someone lives in these staged rooms, and someone uses this museum furniture, and that someone is dating a queer brown American. Centuries of racist, homophobic monarchy can deal.

The White House bedroom is a bit more Alex's than Kensington is Henry's, but it's not really his, either. The White House is, after all, America's house. His family are essentially long-term renters, and no matter how much he tries to settle in, it's still a borrowed space. In four years, some other first child will come along. They'll find the message behind the wallpaper and the few unsealed windows, and maybe they'll paint over his walls like he painted over Sasha's. Hopefully they'll replace the ugly dog painting in the hallway.

He doesn't have quite the warren Henry does, and Henry doesn't settle into spaces the way Alex does in Kensington, but that doesn't mean he doesn't show up in the White House bedroom. He's in the V&A map hanging beside the congressional schedule and in the stacks of classics beside the Hamilton biography on Alex's bookshelf. When he visits, he doesn't stay in Alex's room, but Alex accumulates more and more little pieces of Henry every time. There's the Smithsonian guide book Henry bought and left, the tickets from their trip up the Washington Monument, and the 'emergency jumper' that Henry stores in Alex's closet and Alex absolutely does not study in. He is far too dignified to cozy up in his boyfriend's sweater and let the too-big sleeves flop over his hands (he doesn't know it, but Henry has a framed photo of him working in the jumper and his glasses, courtesy of June). Still, every time Alex hangs something on a wall or moves something in, it's with the knowledge that he will have to move it out in a few years.

The bedroom in the house in Texas that he'd move it to, though, isn't really Alex's anymore, either. It's the bedroom of the person Alex used to be, before he met the love of his life, found out he was bi, caused an international sex scandal, and learned to stop living ten years down the road. It's the bedroom of a boy who refused to look anywhere but dead ahead, and it shows. For years, there was a family photo on the desk, but he'd shoved it into the back of a drawer sometime during the divorce and never bothered to unearth it. There is a photo of him with June and Nora hanging on a bulletin board, but it's surrounded by old to do lists, tutoring schedules, an out of date calendar, and plans for 2016 campaign stops. The walls are decorated with memorabilia from Ravael Luna's and his mom's first campaigns, nearly covering a lacrosse team poster. It's the bedroom of a boy whose only goal was politics, now foreign and slightly dusty from disuse, and a part of Alex cringes every time he sees it. He wasn't happy when he lived in the room as it is now, not really.

Henry says it's good he doesn't fit the room anymore; it means he's grown in the four years since he lived there. That doesn't mean it's not strange to go home to a place that raised him, but no longer feels like home.

His dad's house out in California is the same way, though it never felt like home. Alex has a room there, but it's never really been his, no matter how many campaign posters he hung on the wall or lists he hid between the matress and the box spring. The lake house is the only place from his childhood that remains unchanged, and it's somewhere indescribably special to him, but it was never fully home. It's a place to relax and recharge, a great vacation home, but it's not somewhere he ever fully moved into.

In short, when Ellen Claremont-Diaz is re-elected, neither Alex nor Henry have a place that truly feels like home. Luckily, Henry's bought one. He's bought a four-bedroom Brooklyn brownstone where they can live together, and when he shows Alex the listing, Alex nearly smothers him in affection. They spend election night curled up in a bed that used to be Alex's, looking through floor plans and photos until they fall asleep.

-

When he crosses the threshold of the brownstone for the first time, Henry's hand in his, Alex can't help but imagine what it will be. They'll paint the walls and furnish it themselves, and everything in it will be theirs, al theirs. No more beds bought by dead people, no ugly paintings as political gestures, no jumping through hoops to put a nail in the wall and hang one picture. Henry tugs him forward, leading the way through the house they get to settle into together. Sure, another family may have lived here before, but it feels refreshingly new after their old homes. There are no ghosts in these walls, no centuries of previous owners to contend with. It's a new place for their new life together.

Hand in hand, they explore the living room, deciding where to put the TV and how big of a sectional they can fit in the space. They decide which bedroom to share, and Alex calls dibs on an office, and they plan out a decorating scheme for the guest bedroom that all of their friends and family will be comfortable with. They pick paint colors and enlist the help of June, Nora, and as many secret service and PPOs as they can, and by the end of the day, they're sleeping on the floor of a well-painted house.

The next morning, they take their regular fleet of security vans and spend the morning at Ikea, making final furniture decisions over meatballs and enlisting Cash and Amy to help carry boxes. The photo Henry takes of the living room two hours later shows Amy sitting on the couch she's built and Nora leaning against a bookshelf she put together while Alex and Cash are surrounded by a pile of boards and screws that should be an entertainment center. Eventually, a pizza dinner happens on the coffee table, with paper plates, the first card games in the new house, and lots of laughter. That night, they've moved their sleeping bags to a mattress that should go on a bed they haven't built yet.

They take the building and move in process slowly, interspersing it with walks around their new neighborhood and coffee runs to new shops nearby. They've dedicated the second day to their individual offices, but by noon, Alex has spent as much time in Henry's office as he has in his own, and the same is true for Henry. Which means that after lunch, they're dragging Henry's desk and bookshelf into Alex's office, re-organizing a bit, and planning another trip to Ikea to furnish a second guest room in what used to be Henry's office. By the third night, they're sleeping in a bed (though it doesn't have sheets yet), and when the moving van arrives on day four, the furniture is finished and it's beginning to feel like a home.

Day four is dedicated to all of the personal belongings left in their respective former homes. Cash and Amy help with the heavy lifting as Henry fills most of their bookshelves, leaving an anthology of queer fairy tales on the coffee table. Alex settles into the kitchen, hanging pots and pans from a rack on the ceiling and adding a command hook for his apron near his beloved coffee machine. Henry hangs a framed, pressed green carnation from Bea beside two of Alex's framed photos: one of a gay couple holding a sign that says "STAY OUT OF MY OUR BEDROOM" and another of a man whose jacket says "IF I DIE OF AIDS- FORGET BURIAL- JUST DROP MY BODY ON THE STEPS OF THE FDA". Nora stops by with a plant and a pair of pride flags for them, and June brings them a photo book of supportive street art from around the world. Shaan buys Henry an 'out of the closet' mug with queer figures from history on it, and Zahra gets Alex one that says 'Dumbest Creature on Earth' as housewarming gifts, and they find a home between the coffee maker and the electric kettle.

David finds his beds scattered around the house, one in nearly every room so he has a place to go if he needs it. By the fifth night in their new home, Alex walks into the bedroom to find Henry cuddled up and reading under the framed issue of Le Monde, wearing one of Alex's t-shirts with David dozing at his feet. He looks content and settled, and it is the most wonderful sight Alex can imagine.

Notes:

Ya girl's back to working in theatre, and since I got into theatre through set that means I'm back to thinking about physical space. I always feel weird writing about settings in prose, because I love the little details but I feel like describing them detracts from the overall mood and plot. Last time I was struggling with something I wrote up a little firstprince study, and y'all were great, so I'd love any feedback on how space is working for you in this. Is there enough of a balance between little details and bigger plot points? Does the space feel real/like it helps develop character? Let me know!

On AO3

[andytfish]

FREELANCE GUiDANCE: A 10 Part Series - #3 Setting Up Work Parameters

One of the benefits of Freelancing is the FREEDOM but sometimes too much freedom leads to disorganization and chaos.  Possibly the biggest challenger a Freelancer faces is the ability to be his own boss-- with no one constantly over your shoulder, no fear of a walk thru by the uppity mucks there's plenty of opportunity to slack off, and that will kill your career.

1. ESTABLISH YOUR WORK HOURS - This should be a "general" guide because as I've already covered sometimes creativity cannot be caged. Sometimes that great idea or inspiration comes at 2 in the morning rather than at 9. Everyone is different and this is a find your way kind of rule. During a week of working freelance take occasion to jot down notes of the time and productivity-- you'll likely see a pattern emerge. In my own case I like to get an early start but seldom do. But after years of study I've discovered my peak productivity blocks in the day- 5am-8am and 2pm to 10pm. We'll get into this a bit further below.

2. ESTABLISH A WORK AREA - This is the BIGGEST key for me. I don't allow my work to spread out all over the house. I work ONLY in my studio space. The entire third floor of my house is my office area. It houses my computers, drawing tables, easels, supplies and reference material. I DON'T spend ANY time in there NOT working. You wouldn't drive to your corporate office job so you can search eBay would you? I treat my work area with the same respect.

3. KNOW WHEN A JOB IS NOT THE RIGHT FIT - It’s hard when you're just starting out to turn down a job, but sometimes (especially early on) things come along that are not right for you. I can't draw cute. I can't. Bunnies might start KIND OF cute but eventually they're going to look depraved. It's not in my makeup. Early in my career I would have taken that gig and kept at it killing myself and doing four times the work to make it right for the client. Now I know better. You turn down the WRONG job so you're available when the RIGHT job comes along.

4. DEADLINES TRUMP EVERYTHING - My kids from an early age knew the phrase "Dad's on a deadline" -- which meant I'm a phantom that might pop up out of my studio 2-3 times a week. The Deadline is the thing. I don't miss deadlines. This should not be your every week routine— you need to have a life, but those deadline crunch times are special circumstances.

5. SET UP PRODUCTIVITY - Da Vinci used a similar schedule and I've found this works; 45-90 minute working sessions with breaks in between makes me MUCH more productive.

LET'S GET A LITTLE FURTHER IN-DEPTH to my talking points

1- Establishing Your Work Hours-- I would suggest you even buy yourself an OPEN/CLOSED sign that you can put outside your workroom door.  It doesn't have to be a fancy neon one, it can be a simple cardboard one.  In my studio I use to blowmold ghosts that sit at the edge of my desk-- when they're on I'm working.  It not only lets other people know you're "at work" it gets yourself into the right frame of mind.

Share your working hours with significant others.  Let them know you're going to be struggling to "work from home" and you'll need their help.  They wouldn't walk into your office on Park Avenue with your co-workers all around and your boss down the hall clutching the light bill and saying we need to talk about that neon beer sign you must have on 24 hours a day-- they would wait until you're home from work, and just because work is now home there should be no difference.

They need to understand that work from home does NOT mean you don't work.  It does not mean every elderly relative can expect you to shuttle them around to doctor appointments, it doesn't mean you're instantly the chaperone at juniors Zoo trip.  YOU ARE STILL WORKING just AT HOME.

You’ll need to decide if you are going to follow a standard Monday-Friday work week or will you take Mondays and Tuesdays off?  Resist the urge to not take days off because money is coming in. I strongly advocate days off for your own mental health.   It's easy to swing the opposite direction in Freelance and work 24/7.

One of the first things I wanted when I went Freelance was weekends off.  After years of working in retail I never got to enjoy them.  In retail I had every Sunday and Wednesday off.  SPLIT days-- and I was looking forward to two together.  It seemed like a dream to me.

The downside to being off weekends is so is everyone else.  So those Wednesday trips to the bank or the post office I used to make were a breeze compared to trying to go on Saturday morning.

Now, I schedule days off (and to be honest A Day Off) the week I'm working.  It allows me to better balance projects.  And being completely honest, I LOVE working freelance, sometimes taking a day off is like punishment.  But even on the weeks I don't take a day off I take a morning off, or an afternoon, or an evening-- that works for me.  Starting out-- I'd give yourself at least one day off each week as you're figuring out what works for you.

How About Holidays?   That seems like a no-brainer until you're on that big project and it's due Dec 27th and using the Organizational skills I set up for you in Session 1 you realize you're behind.   Suddenly you have a virtual scale in front of you held by Santa Claus with family and friends on one side and the client on the other.

Deciding up front that it's a hard and fast rule that you won't work CERTAIN holidays is a concession I made right away.   I don't work on Christmas-- in fact I don't work two days BEFORE Christmas and I don't work the week FOLLOWING Christmas up through to Jan 2nd.  I don't.  Nope, not gonna do it.

Why?  I like Christmas and it's a holiday I look forward to.    I work extremely hard up to Dec 22nd but truth be told Christmas is VERY Slow in Freelance because most clients aren't thinking about projects either.  So a studio shut down is perfectly acceptable.

But the OTHER 99 holidays on the calendar?  They are all up for grabs.  I don't work the night of my wife's Birthday and I keep the schedule light during the day-- but other than Xmas, New Years and my Wife's Birthday I will work any other holiday even at the drop of a hat.

Knowing this helps me keep the stress level down.  My family knowing this keeps them from asking me why I'm not coming to the Memorial Day cookout, or the Patriots Day party. 

2. Establish a Work Area - My wife has her own studio on another floor of the house.  We meet daily for Breakfast and Lunch which is a nice break.  Her studio is very zen.  Very few things, a handful of books, some sparse furniture and warm inviting lights with some inspirational artwork hanging prominently around the room.  Mine is the polar opposite of Zen.  It's loaded like a High School locker.  There is not an inch of space on my walls or shelves that is not filled with comics, posters, original art, toys, action figures, vintage japanese vinyl toys, a lifesize Frankenstein, an Adam West Batman Cowl, a Nicholas Hammond Spider-Man Mask a Tony the Tiger display head, Darth Vader mask, more toys, more art more action figures and did I mention Books?  Libraries come to me to borrow things.  There are THOUSANDS of books.

I love the kinetic cluttered energy it gives off.  At Christmas time I decorate Frankenstein with colored lights.  The rest of  the year Halloween Lights hang in my studio.  It's my own personal Batcave-- all I'm missing is a British Butler walking in with coffee and scones every forty five minutes.

But that space works for me.  It gets me juiced up and ready to work.

That's how you need to set YOUR space.  When you're just starting out you may have to incorporate a drawing or work area in another room because of space restraints.  When I was first starting out in a one bedroom studio my bed was three feet from my drawing table.  It made for some tough nights sleeping because it was hard to "turn off" working mode in the same room.

Regardless of space, make some for yourself.  I have a good friend whose first studio space was a medium sized closet.  It was actually kind of cool-- you had to climb in like a race car but once you were encased in the environment like a man piloting a lunar shuttle to the moon you were ready to work.

The point is to make this space YOUR work inspiration-- so make it a place you WANT to spend time in.

3. Know when a Job is NOT the Right Fit - Easy to say when you're established.  You're going to take pretty much any job that comes along at first, and that's okay.  Sometimes you don't even know the job isn't right for you until you're doing it. When we get to PART 5: GETTING PAID SON we'll look at how to budget for these types of jobs so at least you're getting paid well for something that isn't a fit.

Let's assume that despite your portfolio of Goth Animals someone comes to you thinking you'd be perfect for that highly detailed photo accurate oil painting of Grandma.  That's not a good fit for you, you know it, they don't.  But the light bill is due and there's not a lot else coming in right now so you're thinking hard about taking it.   It's a fork in the road decision:

A. You take it and spend HOURS upon HOURS resisting the urge to give grandma dark undereyes and floppy ears. If you went with this option the biggest advice I can give you is do a lot of research and spend a LOT of time warming up. Look at portraits, look at Presidential Portraits and study the brush strokes. Grab your favorite sketchbook and some colored pencils and get to an art museum and do some sketching of the portraits in the collection. Get your head ready for the project and then give it your best shot.

B. Pass on it and recommend a friend you know who would be a better fit, earning Karma points from the friend and freeing yourself up for that job that WILL fit. Spend the downtime Marketing yourself (also coming up in the series) which is a better expenditure of your time and resources.

4. Deadlines Trump All - All my rules of work parameters combined with the skills I imparted in the ORGANIZATION session should lead you to a point where you don't have to work overtime, but in the real world we know that occasionally that IS going to happen.  If you find yourself CONSTANTLY working overtime on projects re-evaluate your working methods and see if you are actually being productive or if you're wasting a lot of time.

5. SetUp Productivity - The eight hour workday became the norm at the turn of the last century and pretty much has been the standard ever since.  This method goes back LONG before that to the days of Leonardo Da Vinci who often used this seemingly odd method to accomplish the amazing array of achievements he did over the course of his life. 

It's simple-- you work in 45-90 minute sessions with breaks in between.  During the session you do NOTHING but work.  You don't answer the phone if it rings (that's why Voicemail was created) you don't check your email.  You don't jump on IMDB to see who was the actor inside Darth Vader's suit (it was Dave Prowse, body builder and former Frankenstein actor).  YOU WORK.  Because SO much of our day is actually filled with distraction.  That's OK if you work for SNIDELY WHIPLASH INDUSTRIES who is paying you a fat check to work 30% of the time, as a Freelancer you only get paid for the hours you actually WORK.    Novel concept isn't it?  It's the price you pay for being your own boss.

This is best accomplished either by setting up a PLAYLIST running the allotted time, or by streaming an episode of a TV series or even setting an alarm clock.  Give it a try-- WORK for the allocated time and THEN take a break of 15-30 mins (also timed) to check your mail, return phone calls, do whatever-- you will be AMAZED at how this works if you can really be disciplined about it.

NEXT WEEK: LIVE WITHIN YOUR MEANS -- it's the difference between eating and not.

Andy Fish is a freelance artist and writer who has been living the lifestyle longer than there has been an iPhone on this planet.  The advice given has worked for him, it might work for you, he hopes it does.  But like all advice, take it with your own situation in mind.  If you want to contact him shoot him an email andy@andytfish.com

[romancandlemagazine]

An Interview with Peter Saville

Peter Saville doesn’t need much of an introduction. Not only was he the man responsible for what might be called the ‘visual language’ of Factory Records, designing record covers for the likes of Joy Division, New Order and A Certain Ratio, but he’s also produced powerful imagery for David Byrne, Suede, Pulp, George Michael and countless other icons of audio.

And, if all that wasn’t enough, he came up with that dynamic logo that’s on the side of those yellow trams that roll through Piccadilly Gardens every few minutes.

I called him up to talk about his work today, Manchester in the 70s and his idea of 'the interzone'.

Are you busy at the moment, have you got a lot on?

Yes, even when I think I’m not busy, things just seem to come up. As you get older you tend to think things will change, but actually, they don’t change at all. Anyway, it’s better to have something to do than nothing, so I’m not going to complain.

What have you been up to lately?

The highest profile project over the last 12 months has been Calvin Klein  — the redesign of the Calvin Klein identity for Raf Simons.

What does that involve then? What would you call that? Is it ‘branding’?

I try to avoid the term ‘branding’. It’s a useful word to understand the context of the work, but it’s not a process that I wish to perform. It’s a strange hybrid between design, advertising and PR. It’s almost entirely commercial, and therefore, it’s not something I want to be involved with.

So you’re not getting bogged down with the commercial stuff?

The capturing of markets and controlling of markets is not something that I wish to be associated with. My work, and any reputation I have, is based on giving something to people, not leading them to a market.

The Factory Records covers were not about making people buy the records. They didn’t even try to make people buy the record. They existed independently to the music, and therefore people’s relationships with them were quite different. The people who liked the covers or became interested in the covers saw them as possessions - they learnt through them, things they maybe didn’t know before.

Was that the intention of those covers? To show people the things you were into?

That was my intention. I was learning and so, I was sharing. The nature of Factory Records was that I had complete autonomy to do that. There was no marketing and no one was trying trying to sell records. Factory was a situation that allowed a group of individuals to do what they wanted to do. If other people liked it and supported it, then fine.

That was what Factory was about. And it was the same with The Haçienda. It wasn’t run as a business, trying to take money off the kids of Manchester, it was a gift to the kids of Manchester.

Something separate from money and business?

Yes,  you did it because you could. But you’ll know very well that in the contemporary market place, there are very few companies who are doing things just because they can. They do things to make money. That’s business.

For a period of time in my career, I needed to engage with business. I was not an up-and-coming young designer, nor was I a ‘statesman’ of popular culture — it was an in-between period - in the ‘90s I needed to have a relationship with business.

Everyone’s got to eat.

Yes exactly, you’ve got to make a living. I had this uneasy relationship with different sectors, but I didn’t find a comfort zone for myself.

So at the end of the 90s, I stopped looking. I did a retrospective book and a show, and I closed the studio. I didn’t want to go into fashion marketing or branding or retail. I didn’t really want to do that. So I just had to be on my own. Since the early 2000s, I’ve operated independently.

I suppose you’re maybe in a comfortable position where you can pick and choose a bit, thanks to all the things you’ve done in the past.

I’m fortunate that just enough people engage me with work and commissions that I can address on my terms.

When Raf Simons phoned and asked me to look at the issue of the Calvin Klein identity – I was able to identify with his position. He is not Calvin Klein — Calvin Klein is Calvin Klein, and Raf is someone else. So I had to say to myself, “If I was in Raf’s position, what would I do?” So I changed the original Calvin Klein lettering from upper and lower case to upper case – it became capitals. It’s evolved from the subjective to the objective, but it still looks like Calvin Klein.

When you’re asked to intervene in aspects of cultural history, it’s quite an honour. You feel a sense of responsibility in responding to the challenge.

To respect what’s gone before?

Exactly. So in certain situations, I’m really happy to do that. But when someone is approaching me with something that has absolutely no virtue other than profit, because I don’t have a company to carry, I don’t have to do it.

When I first started to learn about art and design history, I was frustrated. Going right back to the ‘70s in Manchester, I would sit in the library at what was then Manchester Polytechnic, looking at the history of art and design, and simultaneously looking out of the window at Oxford Road, and feeling an enormous disconnect, and a sense of frustration. I was angry.

Because you were so far away from the things you were reading about?

Yes, because the everyday world wasn’t the way it could be.

What was it like back then?

It was terrible. When I was 20, in 1975, buses, cinemas, bus stops, railway stations, department stores, taxis, packaging, signs, logos… they were appalling. There wasn’t any awareness of contemporary design — of how design led thinking could make things better. That frustrated and upset me. And I felt very strongly then, as I do know, that our everyday world can be better.

Now what ‘better’ is, is a kind of variable. We saw a lot of ‘design’ begin to get rolled out in the 80s and 90s, but then it got rolled out to the point of ad infinitum, and lost its significance.  

Things merely only looking good is not necessarily better, and an awful lot of art and design has been co-opted to camouflage the intent of things. And that’s not better. Using our cultural heritage, our civilisation, to sell mobile phone minutes or cheap holidays or gratuitous fashion — using it as merely packaging for the unnecessary — isn’t good.

And a lot of that started to happen. Business, as ever, takes a lead from the avant-garde, and begins to copy it, but without values.  I try to do things well, and to improve the look of things that have values. But if it’s something with no values, it’s kind of wrong to wrap it up as something important.

There’s a lot of that these days… a lot of things look pretty slick, but beyond the fancy shell, there’s not much to them.

The one thing that has upset me over the last 20 years is the way that the canon of culture has been used in ways that we no longer trust. 30 years ago if you did something better, it meant it was better… someone was trying to make a better pair of jeans or a better car. But now, it’s just a look.

I suppose it’s hard to put effort and thought into something you’ve got no belief in.

Exactly. As you grow up and get to understand the world better, you question things. Some of the things I used to take for granted when I was 25 or 30 — I now look at in a completely different way. Once upon a time I might have thought it was nice to do the identity for something like a bank. But who wants to work for a bank now? They’ve shown themselves to be utterly disreputable.

So the understanding of the work and the world and the people who approach is constantly changing. You have to try to hold on to your own values. My reputation, the fact that some people have some admiration for me, is because my work meant something to them.

But if you suddenly starting doing some naff work for a bank, it’d discount all that.

Exactly. I became more concerned with my own identity than in just being prepared to work for people who’d pay me money. And I’m quite happy being me, trying as much as I can to be genuine about the things I do. It’s not easy. We have to earn a living, so it’s not all spiritual… we have to engage with reality.

Going back to what you were saying about looking after Oxford Road and feeling distanced and frustrated. Was that what spurred you on to do those first designs for Factory?

In 1978, the year I graduated from college, I wasn’t being asked to do anything for the infrastructure of the country. But someone did ask me to do a poster. There were things happening – the whole post-punk scene and the notion of independence in music. All of the venues that Manchester had for punk and new wave bands were being closed for one reason or another, and on behalf of the youth culture of the city, Tony Wilson took it upon himself to organise a venue.

Factory was nothing more than what is referred to these days as ‘a night’. It was Friday night every two weeks for two months, and that was it. I knew he was doing this, so I went to see him and said, “Can I do something.” And he said, “Do a poster.”

In doing that poster, I tried to put a better poster, a more intelligent and more beautiful poster, on the walls of Manchester than the ones that were already there. And that led to Factory records where I was given the freedom to express my will and my wish for how things should be,

It was an autonomous situation; it was not a proper company and everybody what they did in the way they wanted to do it. Nobody had any former experience, no one told anyone else how they should do what they were doing, we all performed autonomously. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

Were you ever questioned or disputed at all?

Not really no. Famously, ‘Blue Monday’ went straight from me to the printers. No one saw it.

Did you listen to the music when you were designing the covers?

If I could, but very often that wasn’t possible. But the covers weren’t about the music, they were about the moment. But then the bands were making music about the moment too.

There was always accidental parallels. I was into the aesthetics of computer systems that people were talking about a lot in the 70s and 80s. I didn’t have a computer – it wasn’t a part of everyday life, but people talked about them in the way that people talk about artificial intelligence now. You haven’t met a robot, but you know they’re coming.

So in the late 70s and 80s, computers were on my mind, and I was thinking about the visual side of it. And at the same time, New Order were looking at the significance of computers in making music. So what I did on the cover of Blue Monday had a parallel to what they did. In fact, the floppy disk was the common factor between the two. The first time I saw a floppy disk was the day Stephen Morris gave me one, and that became the basis for the cover.

It wasn’t about the music; it was about music as part of our culture. We were interested in the now. They expressed it musically, I expressed it visually.

The significant word to mention in any kind of understanding of me is the word ‘interzone’.

What do you mean by that? What is the ‘interzone’?

The interzone is the space between design, art, fashion, music, movies, photography, architecture, interior… it’s what people talk about now as convergence. And that was what interested me, even as a teenager. I was interested in the leading edge of mass culture, and how the new ideas would define themselves in different ways.

The feeling of the now is the feeling of the now. Musicians express it one way, film-makers express it another way and photographers express it in yet another way – but it’s all the same spirit. We know that now.

It’s all the same thing.

It’s all the same thing. That was my view 40 years ago in college, it’s just that I happened to want make art, which I saw as record covers, so I went to study graphic design. But what I found there was a closed mind-set — graphic people were into graphics, and weren’t very aware of what fashion or music was doing. This notion of the interzone wasn’t really appreciated.

I was never particularly interested in graphics or typography, I was interested in how two dimensional culture could capture the mood of the moment — the feeling of the now. So I studied graphics, but I spent more time in the fashion department than the graphics department.

If you just started pasting posters up yourself, but they weren’t linked with music or an event, they would just be a bit of paper on a wall. They might be interesting, but they wouldn’t be tied in with anything.

If you just make work that is not applied to any situation, then it’s art. These days art is quite a credible thing to do, but in the mid-70s in the North of England, you were more likely to  become an astronaut then be an artist.

The only art that I saw was on record covers, so I wanted to do record covers. The record cover was the only place where you could see freeform visual thinking.

So Malcolm Garrett and I both wanted to do that. In a way we both wanted to be artists, but we didn’t know anything about art. So what was important to me was this broader feeling of the now.

As someone who is so into ‘the now’, what are your thoughts on the nostalgia that surrounds Factory? Why do you think people look back at that stuff so fondly?

I think there’s nostalgia about things that seem to have values. People are seeking authenticity and meaning. So things that have authenticity and meaning never die, because they’re more than just surface.

People still talk about Coco Chanel because she changed the way women could be in the world. She didn’t found Chanel to make money, she found Chanel to express herself and what she cared about.

Companies exploit these values — they continuously harvest them like GM crops, to the point that the market and the audience become tired of it. But they’ll carry on wringing it out until there’s nothing left. It’s desperate and it’s tedious to see the way the world operates.

In regards to the nostalgia thing, do you think people often take the wrong things from history? Instead of being inspired by the free way you lot worked at Factory, people just rip off your graphics.

Yes, unfortunately the mass market can be rather superficial. They get the look more than the attitude. But it’s a long process of familiarisation. We are living in an era of the dissemination of privilege, it is really only in the last 50 to 100 years that ordinary people have actually been allowed to share in privilege.

Do you think the internet has had an effect on that?

It’s one step forward, one step back. The internet allows for the unfettered distribution of a message, and at the same time it allows for confusion and fake news. The problem with the internet is trying to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not.

Almost everything that we invent which is a benefit to society just becomes a problem sooner or later. The motorcar was brilliant – now it’s a problem. That’s just life.

Where do you see things going?

I don’t know. I don’t care anymore. Next month I’m 62. It is other people’s responsibility now. I don’t have any children, but if I did, I would be very concerned. I’m passing the baton of the ones coming up.

What would you say to them as you pass the proverbial baton?

Do things you believe in. There’s a constant battle between good and bad, but as least if you do things you believe in, you’re trying to keep it on the right side of good.

It’s very difficult for every new generation, as they face a new set of challenges that the generation before didn’t even dream of. I thought I had a lot of people to compete with in the 80s, but now there is a 1000 times more. It’s really difficult.

It’s not even easy to find somewhere to live, or to find a job of any kind. The safety net that I sensed as a young person in the UK in the 70s – how the state would stop you from falling – is not there anymore. I think it’s increasingly difficult for every next generation.

As far as you can, try to do what you believe in, because then you hold on to yourself. I don’t really have much money – I don’t own my home, but I’m happy with what I’ve done. I might regret some mistakes I made, but I don’t regret the work I made.  

Interview originally published in 2018. 

[beckzorz]

Out of Nowhere (15/21)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OFC Summary: An offhand comment at work draws Jesse Kaplan into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s excited at the prospect of normalcy, but there’s nothing normal about falling in love with the Winter Soldier. Words: 3718 A/N: The song for this chapter is “Ain’t Misbehavin’ - 2016 Mono Remaster” by Ray Charles on The Atlantic Studio Albums in Mono (Remastered).

PART 15: “AIN’T MISBEHAVIN’”

The two-hour drive north to the safehouse passed in silence. Natasha spent the bulk of the time frowning at her smartphone. Jesse pressed her forehead against the tinted window and dozed straight through sunrise.

Only once they pulled off the freeway did Natasha slide her phone back in her pocket with a sigh.

“Jesse.”

Jesse rubbed her sore neck. “Hm?”

“Once we get to the house, I’ll want to talk to you about what happened with Current Relief,” Natasha said. Her eyes were wide, mouth serious. “Is that okay?”

“About what happened last night?”

“That too. But I really wanted to hear what you went through.”

Jesse flinched. She pulled up her feet and wrapped an arm around her knees. “I told Bucky…”

“I know,” Natasha said soothingly. “He told me some of it when he first found out. I just want to hear it straight from you. Things can get lost in translation.”

“What, were you speaking in Russian?” Jesse pursed her lips. Natasha blinked; a smirk ghosted over her features.

“No,” she said. “But still. You had some time to rest. Think you’re good to talk? It’ll help us make sense of all the data. And talking things over can help.” She sighed. “To a degree, anyway. It’s better than not talking.”

Jesse turned to stare back out of the window, her cheek pressed against her knee. She hadn’t been able to talk about any of it with Bucky. She hadn’t wanted him to see her at her worst. Better to have written it out.

Jesse bit her tongue to keep from swearing. She should’ve brought the notebook with her.

But Natasha wasn’t Bucky. Maybe with a stranger, it wouldn’t be so hard to keep her cool. And if she did get all panicked, at least it wasn’t Bucky seeing her fall apart.

“Yeah. Yeah. Sure.”

“Thank you, Jesse,” Natasha murmured. She reached out and gently squeezed Jesse’s shoulder.

Wherever they were, it was disgustingly suburban—exurban, even. This was the sort of place people went when they had a flock of kids and a flock of dogs. They turned off onto an even more remote road. Sparse woods grew thicker as they wound along, reaching up into the dull blue sky.

“I don’t know how people live out here,” Jesse muttered.

“They have cars and they enjoy open space,” Natasha answered. “This is nothing. I know someone who lives on a farm. With a tractor.”

Jesse’s lips twitched. “How quaint.”

The car pulled up to a house at the end of the paved part of a narrow road in sparse woods. The road continued on into the trees as just gravel and dirt. Jesse stared at the two-story house. Big yard, shuttered windows. Dilapidated detached garage. The place looked semi-abandoned. There was no sign of life. Natasha opened her door, but Jesse paused.

“How is this place safer, exactly?” Jesse asked. “It looks like anyone could just… waltz on over.”

“It’s more secure than it looks,” Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. “Come on.”

Jesse sighed. “At least Bucky’s place had a doorman,” she grumbled, but she clambered out with her backpack and trailed after Natasha the weedy path to the front door. Behind them, the car peeled away.

Natasha didn’t put a key in the front door. She didn’t even ring the doorbell. Instead, she lifted the whole doorbell up off the wall and pressed her fingers in rapid succession over a tiny electronic pad. Jesse stared as a red light turned green and the door whirred, clicked, and swung open.

“Welcome to your safehouse, Jesse,” Natasha intoned. She led the way inside; Jesse shut her gaping mouth and followed.

Despite the unlived-in exterior, the inside was neat. Painfully neat, to Jesse’s eye. There was a garland of fake flowers hanging in the front hall, but without any hint of dust among the leaves or on the floor.

It all reminded her of the freaky neatness of her own room when she’d been brainwashed. Did the beds in here have hospital corners? She wouldn’t be surprised.

“That’s the way up,” Natasha said, pointing towards a staircase. “Don’t open this door. It’s locked, anyway.” She patted on what Jesse assumed was the basement door.

“What’s down there?” Jesse asked.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and looked Jesse over from head to toe. “Skeletons,” she deadpanned.

“Er—right.” Jesse bared her teeth in a makeshift smile and didn’t press the issue. She could just imagine a creepy SHIELD control center, with a hidden prison and a swivel chair in a dark room, surrounded by hissing monitors…

Jesse hurried after Natasha, who circled through the ground-level rooms at a sharp clip.

“Kitchen, pantry, living room,” Natasha rattled off. “Bathroom down here is off the kitchen. There’s an enclosed porch you can use through here. The hammock is nice. Just don’t open the blinds.”

“What can I do?”

“I’ll show you to your room, and you can put your stuff away.” Natasha paused on the bottom stair and caught Jesse’s eye. “You can keep yourself busy, right?”

“Of course,” Jesse said, eyebrows raised.

“Good.” Natasha climbed up the stairs two at a time, but her steps were almost silent. Jesse felt like an elephant in comparison, but then again, did she need to step lightly here? This wasn’t Current Relief.

“And here’s your room.” Natasha pushed open a door right by the top of the stairs. “Make yourself at home. Bathroom’s right there. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready.” She disappeared downstairs, leaving Jesse alone.

Jesse rubbed the back of her neck and inched into the bedroom. It was small, smaller than most bedrooms she’d seen even in the city, with just one narrow dresser and a nightstand by the full bed. She glanced to the hallway with raised eyebrows. Even her bed was bigger than that. Like at Bucky’s place, both windows were covered. In a way, the soft lighting and red bedspread felt familiar. Safe. Maybe the same person decorated both places.

But there was no art on the walls. No Cyrillic poetry, not posters. No trace of Bucky, nor anyone else.

Jesse dumped her backpack on the bed and rummaged through her clothes. Everything was wrinkled, even the jeans. She spread them across the bedspread. Her fingers lingered on the smooth pillow.

How many people had been here? Was she the first in a while, or just the latest in a long line of helpless civilians caught up in something too big for them?

She climbed onto the bed and fell on her side, exhaustion seeping over her like a wet blanket. Was this the price for knowing Bucky?

Bucky.

Jesse curled up and hugged her hollow chest. Bucky, Bucky, Bucky—she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Everything circled back to him. The bedspread, the blank walls, her own damn aching heart. How long was she going to be caught in this spiral?

She wished she’d had the guts to just tell him before Natasha had dragged her off to the middle of nowhere. This would have been a great place to sob herself to sleep over a predictable rejection. Secluded, surrounded by strangers who didn’t give a shit about her… No chance of seeing Bucky by accident.

I’m such a coward.

Jesse’s heart wrenched a muffled cry from her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth and took quick breaths to stifle her sobs. He’d never denied her a thing, yet here she was, drowning in misery. Sure, she could dream up a scenario that ended with him holding her, smiling, his lips on hers… But that would only ever be a dream. Add in even a drop of logic, and that dream was fool’s gold.

Bucky Barnes had better things to do than be with her, and she needed to get used to it.

Jesse dragged herself out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Well, she looked like shit. Bloodshot eyes, red nose, pale mouth. The lingering bloodstain on her blue dress made her wince; was there a laundry here somewhere? She’d have to ask.

Cold water helped with her face, but she was sure Natasha would see right through it. And she was right—as soon as she made it downstairs to the kitchen, Natasha looked up from her laptop and frowned.

“Were you crying?” Natasha asked.

Jesse looked away and nodded. She slid into the seat across from Natasha and knotted her fingers together in her lap where Natasha couldn’t see. “Sorry.”

“For christ’s—” Natasha cut herself off and stilled with effort. “Jesse. You do not need to apologize. This is not a fun spot to be in. You are allowed to have feelings about that.”

Am I, though?

Feelings, sure. Today, Jesse felt like a slave to her feelings. But expressing them? With Bucky off-limits and out of reach plus her own detestation of making a fool of herself, Jesse really didn’t think she wanted to. She screwed her mouth into as much of a smile as she could muster and finally met Natasha’s eye. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Good. Anyway,” Natasha continued, clearly glad to have gotten that out of the way and already back to typing, “I want you to know what’s going to happen here. We have people contacting your place of work and the local police, and we’ll keep you posted as needed. You’ll need to stay inside at all times. Once a week, someone will do a grocery run for the house, so write down what you’ll need for yourself. And there will always be an agent on-duty here. For now, that’s me.”

“How long are you going to be here?” Jesse asked, heart sinking.

“Another agent will be coming to relieve me tomorrow.” Natasha finished typing and glanced up. Something of Jesse’s feelings must have shown on her face, because Natasha sighed and closed her laptop. “You’ll be in good hands, no need to worry.”

Jesse bit her lip. How could she help but worry? This morning, she’d been safe at Bucky’s, safe with Bucky. Then Natasha had whisked her out to the middle of nowhere, and now she was going to be stuck here with a total stranger? Not that Natasha was a friend, but at least Jesse had met her before. She had Bucky’s approval. But Jesse wasn’t sure that the associative property applied here. Sure, Bucky trusted Natasha… but that didn’t mean he’d automatically trust anyone Natasha did.

“Do you know who’s coming next?” she asked.

“Richard Rensselaer. He’s worked with SHIELD for six years. He’s competent. Not particularly sociable, but very competent,” Natasha rattled off.

“So… a guy,” Jesse said.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and folded her hands together. “We can’t just reassign people at the drop of a hat. Besides, you stayed with Bucky.”

“Yeah…” Jesse squirmed in her seat as Natasha stared her down with the intensity of a thousand suns. “But I know him!” Jesse blurted.

“Hm,” Natasha said. She opened her computer, eyes still fixed on Jesse’s, and only after some stuttered typing did she glance down. “Not for very long. He told me all this started when you met—or because of it, anyway. Tell me.”

“Well, I don’t know when it all started,” Jesse said slowly. “We met at the Stark Foundation benefit… I guess three Sundays ago?”

Natasha nodded.

“I had to cover my coworker, who broke her ankle, and Bucky asked me to dance.” The sudden memory of being caught up in his arms brought warmth to Jesse’s cheeks. She hurried on. “And then I told him where Marilyn—my coworker—was staying. I ran into him there, and, um, I told him he should come dancing. And he did.”

“Seriously? You told the Winter Soldier he should go dancing?”

“Erm, yes?”

“You have some guts,” Natasha said, impressed.

“Well,” Jesse said, cheeks hotter than ever, “I think everyone should go dancing. It beats a whole lot of other things.”

“Still,” Natasha said. “James Barnes isn’t just anyone.” A sudden grin spread on her face. “He must be good, huh?”

Jesse bit her lip and nodded. Natasha looked back to her computer, but Jesse still had the sense she was being observed.

“Then what?” Natasha asked, fingers poised on the keyboard.

“Um, he came dancing.” Jesse tucked a leg under her and waited for Natasha to glance up from her typing before she continued. “And he asked if I’d be interested in teaching with him. For my work.”

“The Brooklyn Children’s Education Initiative.”

“Yeah, although we just call it BCEI,” Jesse said. “Multisyllabic words and all.”

All in all, this was an awful lot like a meeting at work, except that for once it wasn’t Jesse taking notes. That was a relief. If she had to talk and type and eventually try not to cry… That would be too much.

“And that proposal went through, as I understand.” Natasha was typing again, her nails clicking gently against the keys in a streaming rhythm.

Jesse nodded, but didn’t elaborate. How much did Natasha already know? Her blushes had been a blunder, she realized—Natasha could read people, couldn’t she? She was a spy. That was her job. There was no taking back what she’d said, but she’d gotten distracted by pleasant memories. No more. Let Natasha take what she could get, at least as far as her relationship with Bucky was concerned.

Besides, that relationship was already established. There was no need to get into details, and Natasha surely had no interest in Jesse’s feelings. Her chief concern was information about Current Relief.

“Tell me about the first break-in.”

Jesse took a steadying breath and launched into as neutral a narrative as she could manage of the morning she’d plunged her hand in the toilet and detailed the other little clues she’d half-ignored.

Natasha furrowed her eyebrows when Jesse finished telling how her day had gone after that. “You say you ignored it, but that’s not quite true,” she said. “Bucky said you weren’t sleeping well…”

“I’m a millennial; bad sleep schedules are practically a requirement,” Jesse said snidely, but her eyes stung. If she didn’t make jokes, she knew she’d cry, and she had as much pride as any Avenger. She rubbed at her pulsing temple. Natasha shook back her red hair and pursed her lips.

“Well, that’s not true, but go on. What next?”

Jesse talked, and talked, and talked. All the while, Natasha probed for more, more—more details, more emotion, more background.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me about this Mike Fuller.”

“If they bugged your apartment, why didn’t they recognize Bucky when he came over a few days later?”

That, at last, gave Jesse pause. “I don’t know.”

“Bucky says he found multiple listening devices in your apartment. Didn’t you say hi? ‘Hi, Bucky, come in’ or something?”

“No-o,” Jesse said slowly. She bent her legs up and wound her arms around them. “I didn’t call him by name.”

Natasha stared. “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” Jesse cried. She pressed her forehead to her knee and stared cross-eyed at the crosshatched fabric of her leggings, willing her tears to stay tucked behind her eyes. Why couldn’t Natasha leave her alone? Sure, Bucky’s name rolled of her tongue like honey now, but back then it had felt like an imposition. She thought back to their first meeting. Had he even introduced himself?

No. He hadn’t.

“Moving on,” Natasha said. “Talk me through the rest.”

Jesse sighed.

—

“Bucky said you were smart,” Natasha said later, once Jesse had reached Natasha’s arrival at Bucky’s place. They were still at the kitchen table, but Natasha had gotten them both glasses of water, and the light slanted more and more through the curtains. “He was right.”

Jesse’s face burned. She couldn’t meet Natasha’s eye. “If I was smart, I probably wouldn’t have gone through all that. I would have—”

“Cut the crap,” Natasha interrupted, but she was smiling gently. “Even smart people get screwed over. All things considered, you did damn good. You saved that girl Liz, you realized something was wrong… Hell, you even got Bucky out of his comfort zone after what, meeting him twice?”

Jesse bit her lip to keep from snorting. The sniff she couldn’t help. “Alright, alright. Thank you.”

“If you don’t trust my judgment, you might as well trust his.”

Jesse’s breath caught in her throat; her eyes snapped to Natasha’s.

Natasha tilted her glass in a circle; the water sparkled from the evening sun streaming through the lace curtain over the western window. “Last week, he had some good things to say.”

Jesse bit her tongue hard to keep from asking more, but Natasha glanced up at her and nearly smirked.

“He was excited to be working on a normal project. With you,” Natasha clarified.

“Huh.” Jesse smiled ruefully and stifled a yawn. “Well, god willing we’ll be able to get back to it. Someday.”

“I’m sure,” Natasha said. She went back to typing. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” Jesse’s stomach did feel hollow, but the sudden heaviness in her limbs was more pressing. “I think I’m going to lie down.” She tried to stand, but her knees buckled. She fell heavily back into her chair and stared dimly at Natasha. This feeling… she’d felt it before. This was the same terrifying exhaustion that had come over her during her abduction! Jesse’s hand shook as she tried to push herself back up; tears sprang to her eyes as her tongue turned to ash in her mouth.

“No, no… Wha—”

“Woah, calm down,” Natasha said. She hurried over and slipped Jesse’s arm over her shoulders, guiding her to her feet. Natasha was slender and not even as tall as Jesse, but her arms were all muscle. “The sedative I gave you must be wearing off. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

Jesse had just enough energy to roll her eyes. “Shoulda told me,” she muttered. “Shoulda.”

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda,” Natasha parrotted back. She led Jesse up the stairs one step at a time. “Almost there. And hey, look on the bright side. You’ll sleep really well.”

“Hmph,” Jesse said, but the moment Natasha guided her onto the bed, she was out cold.

—

Jesse woke to a pounding on her door.

“Get up and come downstairs,” Natasha called. “I’m about to leave.”

Jesse buried her face in the pillow with a groan. Natasha leaving? Already? Jesse propped herself up on her elbow, blinking blearily. The curtains weren’t thick enough to block out all the light. The brightness peeping around their edges made Jesse blink. She stumbled to the window and peeked around the edge; her eyes stung from the bright midday sun. The curtain fell back in place the second she stepped back, blinking furiously. How long had she been asleep?

Her blue dress was more wrinkled than ever. She was growing to hate the sight of it. The bloodstain, the wrinkles, the memories… This was the dress she’d been wearing when Current Relief came after her. When she’d been stuck in the hospital, afraid of every footstep. When she’d been sitting on Bucky’s bed, his forehead against hers and his breath on her lips.

No, dammit, none of that.

Jesse shoved the thought of Bucky aside as she yanked her dress over her head and tossed it aside. Would it be wrong to just ball the damn thing up and throw it away?

Maybe not, but she had no idea when she’d get replacement clothes. For now, all she had apart from a few changes of underwear was the blue dress, the leggings she was peeling off, a single maroon shirt, and a pair of jeans.

Jeans and maroon shirt it was.

In another minute, she was heading downstairs with a hand pressed tight against the wall for support. Natasha was in the living room, talking with a man with dark hair graying at the temples. Despite his hair, he looked no older than forty.

As soon as Jesse came into view, Natasha stopped talking to the stranger and turned to Jesse. “Jesse, this is Agent Rensselaer. Richard. He’ll be here for the next week.”

“Um, hi.” Jesse’s hand twitched forward, but Richard’s hands were buried in his pockets. He regarded her with a tilted head and a serious expression.

“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” he said. “Hopefully we can get you home before too long.”

“Thanks.” Jesse stuffed her own hands in her back pockets.

Richard nodded once and turned back to Natasha. “Anything else, Agent Romanoff?”

“No, thank you.” Natasha zipped up her jacket and pulled her hair free from the collar. “Well, Jesse, it’s been grand. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Jesse smiled tightly. Natasha grabbed a black duffel bag from the couch and swung it over her shoulder as she headed towards Jesse and the door. Jesse opened her mouth, but she couldn’t think of anything worth saying. Natasha didn’t want to hear please stay, that much was obvious. Everything else seemed unnecessary.

But Natasha stopped inches away and wrapped her free arm around Jesse’s shoulders. “Chin up, Jesse,” she murmured.

A tear eked its way out of Jesse’s eye. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Natasha let go and stalked away, the rustling of her clothes and the sound of the door opening and closing the only indication of her progress. Once the door shut, Jesse let out a huff and turned to Richard, who took one look at Jesse’s face and gave a smile that bordered on a grimace.

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” he said. He turned on his heel and took up residence in the kitchen.

Jesse stood alone in the living room. She spun on her heel and ran upstairs. Not until her door was closed and locked did she fling herself back onto her bed and let her tears overwhelm her. This was punishment, she was sure of it. Alone with a man she didn’t know, a stranger who had no interest in getting to know her…

Oh, why couldn’t she have just stayed with Bucky?

Jesse buried her head in her pillow and let herself cry. In the solitude of her room, no one was going to stop her.

A/N: Welp, there you have it... Sorry for an utter lack of Bucky, but he’ll be back soon. Everything circles back to him, after all... And yes, Natasha’s ‘someone who lives on a farm with a tractor’ is everyone’s favorite archer <3 Gotta love Clint!

Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you thought :3

[anhed-nia]

I LOVE RAVENOUS MORE THAN YOU DO

RAVENOUS is one of my favorite movies of all time. It may not be the prettiest, or the deepest, or the most refined movie or all time, but it is a true original, and one that insinuated itself into my mental DNA from the moment I saw it. It arrived on home video around the time that I was about to leave for college, so it makes a certain amount of sense that it would have such a lasting impact on the rest of my adult life. I was initially attracted to the its excessive violence, its salt-in-the-wound humor, and its style of rustic perversion to which I was well-disposed since THE TEXAS CHAIN SAW MASSACRE first ruined my life as a teenager. But, there is more to RAVENOUS than these broad strokes descriptors, and looking back, it is easy to see how this unusual film catalyzed my ability to read films, and at the risk of being dramatic, my ability to understand myself.

(why does this movie only have awful posters?)

RAVENOUS is the only horror movie I can think of that takes place during the Mexican-American war, an unconventional setting that is the first sign of how truly odd this movie will be. Guy Pearce plays John Boyd, a soldier who is being celebrated for turning the tide of a major battle. The reality is that he survived the fray by hiding under a pile of his countrymen's corpses, bathing in their blood and viscera, until an unexplainable burst of rage drove him to capture the Mexican commanders, garnering him the undeserved mantle of hero. General Slauson (John Spencer) has Boyd's number, though, and ships the coward off to the impossibly remote mountain outpost of Fort Spencer, a sort of depot for undesirables like himself. No sooner has Boyd resigned himself to his fate, than the group's stasis is destroyed by the arrival of a wandering frontiersman (the incomparable Robert Carlyle) who claims to have escaped from a Donner Party-like tragedy. Naturally, their ingratiating guest turns out to be the villain at the heart of his own story, and worse yet, a carrier of the supernatural wendigo virus that rewards cannibalism with virtual immortality. The whole situation quickly devolves into a Darwian competition to sort out the predators from the provisions, seasoned liberally with analogies to Manifest Destiny and American consumerism.

Writer Ted Griffin's prismatic metaphors could be pretty clunky on their own, with cheeky comparisons between cannibalism and communion, and handy food-related quotations from founding father Benjamin Franklin. Happily, Antonia Bird's distinctive directorial style prevents RAVENOUS from degenerating into a broad-side-of-the-barn satire of American history. Griffin's overly familiar arguments act as stabilizing road signs, as the viewer navigates the otherwise hostile and alien territory explored by Bird. In the broadest sense, RAVENOUS is a movie about bodies out of control: cravings and terrors that annihilate one's self-control, that erode one's dignity, that blend repulsion and eroticism into a noxious but irresistible brew. The body wages war on the personality, the morals, the institutional rank and decoration; it wages war on other bodies, and ultimately on itself. Griffin the cultural critic has his place here, but it is Antonia Bird's unique understanding of frailty and hysteria that makes this movie so affecting.

RAVENOUS begins with a gloriously shocking opener that joins pornographic closeups of the celebratory steak served at Boyd's promotional dinner, with Boyd vomiting violently outside of the dining hall. The body is turned inside out right away in this movie, and this stunt is immediately followed by a similarly disorienting trick turned by the film's main theme. The experimental score, a collaboration between the great Michael Nyman and Damon Albarn from Blur, establishes its power with a composition that is written in 6/7 time, creating a rhythm that is very difficult to follow for the average ear. Thus the viewer is first nauseated by the imagery, then disoriented by the sound, and it is in this unsettled state that one remains for the rest of the film.

There are a number of such bizarre formal techniques to discuss, and they are well matched by Bird's management of her cast. Even for a horror film, RAVENOUS is an extremely physical movie. The terminally guilty Boyd seems to be on the verge of literal implosion; the squirrelly and barely verbal religious fanatic Toffler (Jeremy Davies) scrambles around breathlessly at a pace that puts him in danger of killing himself (which he finally nearly does); the only "real" soldier in the bunch, the nightmarishly aryan Private Reich (Neal McDonough), is first seen screaming half-submerged in a frigid mountain stream, suggesting that even the the conventional trappings of heroism are purely pathological here. Other characters are chronically drunk or high, struggling just to stay awake or walk a straight line. The radical loss of identity in which the organism transforms from a sentient being, into stew in a cauldron, almost seems like a natural eventuality of the abjection and loss of control suffered by everyone at Fort Spencer.

This moral and physical degeneracy, that is the status quo with Boyd and his cohorts, eventually contaminates the mind as well. When I first saw RAVENOUS, I was entirely ignorant of real artistry in film, and whether I knew it or not, my malnourished brain was in dire need of deviance from Hollywood norms of beauty and power. At that time, I was mainly accustomed to two approaches to human behavior in films: First, the James Bond model, in which characters only behave as if they have perfect foresight and complete control of their emotions and deliberation even in the face of catastrophe. I use "James Bond" as the most recognizable face of this hyperrationalism, but this approach pervades most mainstream films involving any kind of peril. How many times have you, the reader, had to sit through a screening in which some know-it-all picks apart the decisions and reactions of every character, as if it were reasonable to expect any person on either side of the screen to behave with robotic pragmatism regardless of their circumstances? But people do expect this from fictional protagonists on the whole. The second approach that I want to identify is mainly relegated to slasher movies; According to this model, characters are permitted to make the stupidest possible choices at every juncture, because the audience has a preexisting assumption that these victims will be sacrificed on the altar of our prudish morals, or simply for the vicarious enjoyment of the power wielded by a Jason Voorhees or Michael Myers. What we rarely see in the mainstream, outside of the comedy genre, is shock, mania, hysteria, the loss of one's faculties that comes when one experiences a violent divorce from accepted reality.

Other than the aforementioned TEXAS CHAIN SAW, RAVENOUS was the first movie I had ever seen that addressed the neurological reality of trauma. Boyd's uncontrollable vomiting at the very beginning of the film is just a taste of Antonia Bird's mastery of this subject. She has ample opportunity to address this with her cast when the interloping cannibal "survivor" Colqhoun, first leads the unsuspecting Fort Spencer crew to the cave where he says the "real" cannibal is hiding out. Upon their arrival, Colqhoun throws himself into an alarming fugue state, apparently reliving the trauma of the nightmare from which he fled. He pants and gasps, smirks and grimaces, claws at the air and at the earth, as if to bury himself, effectively scaring the shit out of everybody. After he reveals his true intentions and massacres most of the crew before chasing Boyd and Reich off the edge of a cliff, another interesting neurological event transpires. At the bottom of the hole into which they have plummeted, with Reich's last spasm of life, he clamps his fingers around Boyd's throat  until his maniacal laughter turns into a death rattle. An even finer example comes after Boyd has returned to camp, having shamefully mended his wounds by dining on Reich's corpse as per the wendigo myth. Still recuperating, Boyd greets the arriving officers who are escorting the Fort's replacement commander--who turns out to be Colqhoun, now dressed neatly as the "Colonel Ives" on whom he blamed the cannibalistic murders of his fellow frontiersman. At the sight of this shocking enemy, Boyd pivots wildly and slams face first into the nearest wall, crumbling like a swatted insect on the floor and shaking uncontrollably.

These are some of the principle moments that won RAVENOUS my heart, and that really let me know what I was searching for in films. In fact, this movie was so formative for me that it led to a sort of impromptu ritual of breaking with my childhood. As with all cultists, my desperation to rope in everybody I knew intensified along with my obsession. I couldn't imagine that anybody would reject this beautiful and fabulously unusual work of art. I pulled a lot of wins, but I was in for a rude awakening where it should have counted. I refer to my "best friend" and "high school sweetheart" of about ten years, a guy who dominated my cultural life for almost as long as we were pals, since he was slightly smarter and had slightly better taste than our high school peers, but very little interest in having his mind expanded, as I eventually realized. When I showed him my new favorite movie of all time, I was brutally disappointed by his scoffing at every scene that I considered to be the movie's crowning accomplishments. He scrunched up his face and rejected Reich's murderous dying breath as "stupid" and "fucked up" and "making no sense". Today I'm not sure how hard I tried to explain that, look, we're talking about a character who is on the brink of death, whose final moments were in especially ugly combat, and who is really extremely brain damaged; more to the point, he really hates Boyd, the coward, and may have tried to kill him at some point even if he were fully possessed of his faculties. I mean, we're finally seeing something psychiatrically real here...aren't we? I got the same snotty dismissal from my viewing companion when Boyd went into shock at the sight of Ives--shock, a real acknowledged medical condition--and really during any scene that he considered too awkward and bizarre to be "cool" and heroic. It was at that very moment that I knew we wouldn't be friends for much longer, and we actually fell out of touch a few years later.

With that personal digression out of the way, though, I'd like to return to the cave (don't I always?) to discuss how Antonia Bird, her DP Anthony B. Richmond, and her editorial team work together to keep the audience in more or less the same state of discomfort and disorientation as the characters. RAVENOUS was also the first movie that taught me how to interpret the visual grammar of film, since I watched it so often that, eventually, I couldn't miss what was going on. Bird and co. have a way of distorting and compressing space that prevents the viewer from ever really knowing where you are. When the crew arrives at the low, carbon black mouth of the cave, there is a sense that it couldn't possibly be as deep as Colqhoun's story suggests (and in practical reality, it isn't). When Boyd and Reich creep inside, the tunnel plunges promptly into a weird homey sublevel where Colqhoun had been subsisting on his fellow travelers. This is sort of weird, but not as weird as what happens outside. When Colqhoun plunges into his fugue state, we see in it a sweaty, spittle-flecked closeup. His behavior spooks Toffler, who in his own closeup cowers against his commanding officer Colonel Hart (Jeffrey Jones, playing essentially the same character as in Deadwood). Colqhoun appears to stalk closer and closer to the camera, but how close is he to Toffler and Hart? We have no idea, until he circles back to the pit he just dug and then lunges through the air to plant a knife in Hart's abdomen, gutting him. Then, when Boyd and Reich give chase, there is a moment where Reich stares into the camera, giving Boyd an order. Boyd looks shyly into the camera before glancing off, suggesting that he flinches away from Reich's hateful gaze--but in the next shot, we see that Boyd is actually behind Reich, looking in a completely different direction. Part of me suspects that Bird and her crew were making the most of the small and somewhat sparse-looking patch of woods that they had for this scene, but it gets more interesting later on. As Colquhoun-now-Ives surreptitiously prepares a human stew back at camp, the permanently drunk Major Knox (Stephen Spinella, who seems determined to turn RAVENOUS into a balls-out comedy) shouts down the hysterical Boyd--all in closeup, so where are they? As it turns out, Ives is in one building, Knox stands in a passageway outside the door, and Boyd sits shackled in a separate building in the distant background. Finally, in Boyd's epic showdown with Ives, there is a fascinating moment in which Boyd saunters into the room, gazing staunchly ahead, ready to kill. Cut to Ives standing in front of a roaring fire, spinning neatly to face his adversary--but when we cut back to Boyd, we see that he is completely alone in the space. Shortly, Ives plunges through the ceiling behind him; they were never even on the same floor. RAVENOUS consistently leaves the viewer as disoriented and untethered as its characters are emotionally.

This battle itself harkens back to the movie's crucial focus on the often degrading and humiliating experience of piloting a human body. In both the James Bond and slasher movie models of movie behavior that I previously discussed, a climactic showdown should be fast-paced, furious, with impressive feats of athleticism by the combatants. Not so in RAVENOUS. The final scene is accompanied by an eight-and-a-half minute minimalist trudge through hell by Nyman and Albarn that never threatens to raise your blood pressure with stings or arias. The music perfectly matches this sluggish fight between two men whose bodies have been repeatedly destroyed and recreated. Their weapons are a letter opener, a meat cleaver, a pretty substantial log, and finally, a massive bear trap. The conflict is no clash of the titans, no beautiful realization of the full potential of male aggression. It is gruesome, tragic, and in some way, romantic.

I would be remiss if I failed to dig in to the eroticism of this movie. Like all vampire movies, there is a virgin and a seducer, a victim who calls their lack of worldliness dignity, and a predator who sees chastity as a shameful waste of life. RAVENOUS is one of at least three movies that Antonia Bird made about the unique relationships between men in traditionally male situations. Her heist movie FACE has been compared to HEAT, though I am really thinking of the incendiary drama PRIEST. In this, her impressive directorial debut, a young man of the cloth struggles with the disturbing intrusion of sex into his chaste life, be it in the lives of deviant clergyman, or abused child parishioners, or in his own struggle with homosexuality. Robert Carlyle plays the unhappy lover left out in the cold, drifting down the street on a skateboard like a hovering ghost, trying to convince the eponymous character that love is greater than its stingy biblical proscription. While there are no literal love scenes in RAVENOUS, it takes place in a similar world, made up almost only of men--men who are brothers in arms, who look after each other's souls and bodies, and who even consume each other's bodies, who gain strength from one another by breaking the ultimate taboo. The closing image, of Boyd and Ives pinned chest to chest by the bear trap, bleeding to death in each other's arms, remains for me one of the tenderest images in all of horror cinema.

I would like to close by asserting that Bird's deft exploration of male sensitivity is nowhere more powerful than in her direction of David Arquette, the unlikely shining star of RAVENOUS. The often intolerably wacky comedic actor plays Private Cleaves, an absolute reject from society who (barely) functions as the help around Fort Spencer. He and George (Joseph Runningfox), one of two Native American appendages to the crew, are consistently high out of their minds, which may make them look like fools, but it also designates them as being the most wisely in touch with the genuinely hopelessness of their situation. When George is slaughtered by Colqhoun, Cleaves is left all alone tending the Fort, and he has a few scenes of powerful vulnerability before his inevitable demise. In between two key plot beats, we find Cleaves and George's sister Martha (the quietly wonderful Sheila Tousey) standing together in the snowy yard, observing the new commanding officer's arrival. What should be a forgettably dry piece of exposition concludes with Cleaves instinctively turning to Martha and stroking her hair, which causes both of them to dissolve in tears. In an adjacent scene, Boyd watches through the window as the agonizingly bereaved Cleaves chops wood in the yard, alone. Cleaves, certainly intoxicated, weaves and sweats, giggling in an unnervingly forced manner to try to resurrect the perpetual good time that he once enjoyed with his murdered best friend. The scene dissolves into a fantasy in which Boyd gives in to his mounting cannibalistic urges and eviscerates Cleaves--throughout which Cleaves laughs and laughs with escalating insanity. It is difficult to convey the raw force of the sequence in words, so I will just say this: Early this year, I dared to point out that among the many strange virtues of STARSHIP TROOPERS is the fact that terminal screwball Jake Busey is so warm, so funny, and so emotionally available in that movie that it almost throws off the deliberately boneheaded artificiality of the entire rest of the cast. So, I would just like to conclude that, if your movie involves somebody from EIGHT LEGGED FREAKS or Shasta McNasty, and you get that person to provide you with one of the most sensitive performances in the whole show, you're probably doing something right.

[animeanddisneyvoiceactor-blog]

Animation As a Kind of Media

   Animation can be used to tell, teach, market and express emotions just as reside action can by using the same tactics these types of as the use of colour, film language and sound. The NSPCC advert by Russell Brooke on television is a great example of how animation can be more effective than reside motion. There is no limit to how a lot a problem or an action can be exaggerated but nonetheless continue to be to be convincing. In the advert if a actual child was currently being thrown close to it would be particularly controversial and though it is basically what is likely on powering shut doorways it would be also substantially for some persons to enjoy. The animated character is established in a way that portrays the youngster in a way that will get the concept across. This illustration shows how valuable a software animation actually is, that it is not just a media variety to entertain younger young children. It is also a superior automobile to demonstrate that cartoon violence can be employed to a constructive conclusion. On the other hand cartoon violence can be rather aggressive and graphic like the 'Grand Theft Auto' video clip games series and some Manga capabilities contain a good deal of violence and gore but established in a really sensible way, not suitable for a younger audience where by as cartoons tailored from Marvel comics these as 'Spiderman' and the 'X-Men' are mainly oriented around battling but accomplished in a a lot less bloody way. The combat sequences require a handful of kicks and punches and a superhuman electrical power is employed which will not normally inflict considerably gory, physical destruction on the opponent, as a substitute the loser is left with a scratch or two on their encounter with a trickle of blood oozing from their mouth. The fights, practical as they may perhaps be, are not overly graphic, normally they would have to be shown following the watershed, but they are descriptive adequate to categorical what is heading on within the tale. Most vital of all is the simple fact that great usually triumphs over evil in these cartoons. This does not justify the combating but neither does it inspire it. Fisticuffs in a dwell action attribute is generally additional violent than preventing in cartoons as it involves true people who can get damage while cartoon characters come to feel absolutely nothing, producing the fighting appear to be fewer reasonable than a are living action fight sequence. The perception that animation is a media sort directed generally at young children is not always genuine, but in some situations this can be utilized to the edge of the producers. A very good illustration of this is the current 'DairyLea' commercials, developed in a 3D Prevent Motion strategy it demonstrates some speaking cows encouraging youngsters to consume their product, not just on its own, but with mashed potato. The advert reveals that 'DairyLea' can be blended with other meals and the format is additional unforgettable to kids (the conversing cows), therefore they are far more probably to check with their dad and mom to get them some. Yet another great instance of animation aimed at youngsters is the 'Green Cross Code' (halt, look and hear). This informative industrial reveals hedgehogs crossing a highway in an animated and musical way, encouraging children to do as they do and they will be harmless. This structure was preferred so small children will bear in mind how to safely and securely cross the road as informed by singing hedgehogs-which would not have been doable in true existence as a result of a are living action format. The advert offers an appealing, unforgettable choice to mundane, forgettable, stay action guidelines. Because animation is built preferred by young children, (for example, the phenomenon of the 'Pokemon' sequence) there are a range of techniques producers can capitalise on the start and good results of a series. The producers see numerous approaches of earning far more dollars from a prosperous cartoon mainly because they know that young children will do anything at all to get their palms on aspects of items, for example the 'Pokemon' struggle playing cards. Merchandise does not just prevent at actively playing playing cards although there is stationary, cutlery, bags, toys, outfits, publications, posters and video clip video games. It is this facet of animation that results in grown ups distancing them selves from the style due to the fact of the point that the cartoon sequence is blatantly aimed at little ones and so this is adequate to set them off seeing. Previously the animation format adopted a biased strategy aimed exclusively at a more youthful audience. In the early times animation it was intriguing principle, a drawing that was moving. Due to the fact it was a new notion people today of all ages took an curiosity. Now the omnipresence of the structure by way of the yrs that folks locate it entertaining up to a issue in their lives then just end viewing animation as they get more mature, then when they have little ones of their own the viewing method commences once again. It is since of this misconception of the structure and its association with kids that profitable tries have been produced to break this mould. Considering the fact that some grownups have an interest in animation certain titles and series' have been aimed at an adult precise audience, these include the '2DTV' series, some 'Manga' titles, Comedy Central's 'South Park', 'The Simpsons', 'Futurama' and the Japanese 'Hen-Tai'. To conclude this stage, John Serpentelli writes in an report, that "The relationship among youngsters and animation seems easy sufficient. To a kid, just about anything is attainable and the very same is genuine for animation." The animation format is also equipped to inadvertently teach children about the artistic side of animation, as John Serpentelli states, "Because animation is an artwork sort that can require virtually all other artwork types and children can straight come upon the art world in an unfiltered fashion." A the latest comeback of 80's animation has revealed resurgence in popularity of classics these as 'The Clangers', 'Bagpuss' and 'The Magic Roundabout'. Grownups who viewed these animations when they had been young tune in to see these classics of their working day, and their small children sign up for in. Some grown ups are needed to observe animated films in the office, on difficulties of security. Possessing to enjoy, comply with and understand irritatingly noticeable and drab parts of animation could be adequate to put some older people off the format, believing the style is as negative as the movie they experienced to view. This also demonstrates that animation can be as real looking and educational as are living action, but less difficult to comprehend, exactly where as on the other hand cartoons aimed at young children, on the other hand unrealistic, often incorporate a moral or suggestions at the conclude of the episode, in an energy to instruct the kids watching what is correct and what is completely wrong.  When you loved this informative article along with you would want to receive details relating to アニメやディズニーの声優まとめ！出演者情報や驚きの裏話 kindly stop by our webpage. The motive remaining for this is that if children see their favourite cartoon character carrying out a thing or telling them to do one thing then they could possibly be encouraged to do as they say. This just displays that if carried out appropriately animations can be as entertaining as they are insightful or academic for a range of audiences. In online video video games the game titles character which the player controls is introduced to daily life by working with animation. The character would be lifeless if it was not animated and so the use of animation is essential. The incorporation of animation does not cease there as FMV's (Complete Motion Films) are also made use of to convey to a story in just a video clip activity. This is a great instance of how animation can make the unattainable probable by supplying inanimate objects and characters daily life.  

[4fates-4dorks]

Jackunzel Month Day 25: High School AU

This is definitely one of my favourites :). I also wrote a one-shot to go with it under the cut. Not sure if I’ll expand it to a full fanfiction yet.

Rapunzel had written a list of goals for the new school year:

Finish the painting in time for Jack’s birthday

Convince the librarian to order new books

Get Jack to wear shoes during winter, or at least thick socks

Try not to miss class more than once a week

The list was written on the inside of the cover of her sketchbook. It was brand new; a present from Jack. She had already covered it with stickers.

It was a sunny day, and her braid thumped against her back as she biked down the street. She passed by kids with backpacks and bright eyes and adults leaning against bus stops smoking. She passed telephone poles with posters stapled to them advertising garage sales and missing kids. She passed by dogs waiting for their owners outside grocery stores and crows fighting over a spilled packet of fries.

When she pulled into school and parked her bike she was greeted with a cheerful “Hey Punzie!” as an arm wrapped around her shoulders. She smiled and kissed Jack on the cheek.

“Hey babe.” Her gaze swept down to his feet and she gasped. “Are you wearing shoes?!”

Jack sighed and shuffled his feet, which were inside a pair of bright yellow converse shoes.

“North bought them and made me put them on. Apparently I get a prize if I can go a month wearing them.”

Judging by his grimace, it was unlikely that he would be getting that prize.

Jack was a beautiful boy with snow-white hair and an aversion to footwear. People didn’t like him. Anyone who looked at him got the sense that there was something...off about what they were seeing. He looked normal, but he looked the furthest thing from it. His skin was too pale, his hands were too cold, and there was something about his eyes.

Rapunzel quite frankly loved the heck out of him, bizarreness and all.

The fifteen minutes before the bell rang were good. They held hands as they walked to their lockers and sat in the library where no one could bother them. But after the bell rang, they had to separate for class.

“See you at lunch,” Jack said.

“Yeah.”

Rapunzel sat down in her Math class. At first, it was okay. People were too preoccupied with catching up with their friends, asking about summer activities and plans for the weekend. Rapunzel was able to focus her attention on the lesson and questions the teacher gave them.

But as the day wore on, the staring started. The whispered comments. The hands shoving her in the hallway and feet trying to trip her. She ducked her head and grit her teeth as the clock ticked closer to noon.

By lunch, Jack was missing his shoes.

“You couldn’t even last the day?” Rapunzel asked.

“No! They’re awful, okay?! I threw them onto some power lines.”

“What about your socks?”

“They’re in my locker.”

She sighed and shook her head. “Y’know, part of pretending to be human includes pretending to be normal.”

“Too boring. Unrealistic. Probably thought up by pretentious old men.”

“Did you go to both your classes?”

“Yeah, yeah. I did.”

“Good.”

Jack was a smart guy, probably the smartest in the school. But that just meant he got so bored. Everything was too slow for him, too dull, not enough fun. Everything had to be fun for him. But they were in high school, so that wasn’t something they were going to find lots of. So, he acted out a lot and got detention. He skipped class when he got bored. North and Rapunzel were trying to keep him in class and out of trouble. Of course, Rapunzel had to try to do the same herself. While Jack skipped class because he was bored, Rapunzel skipped because she was too anxious to be around lots of people. She got in trouble because she read ahead or doodled on her tests and homework.

Yeah, high school sucked.

They found a quiet corner outside to sit and eat lunch. Jack’s daily supply of marshmallows was already half-gone, a sign he had started stress-eating already.

The shining light of the day for Rapunzel came after lunch: art class. The only good thing at high school, minus Jack and the library.

She could sit quietly in the corner and paint or draw and no one would bother her. She could doodle on her homework because that was the homework. The teacher didn’t scold her when she drifted off daydreaming.

Things didn’t stay so good after art class. During English she was able to spare a few minutes to draw in her new sketchbook. After a minute she could feel someone’s eyes on her. A quick look up confirmed it wasn’t the teacher. Rapunzel dropped her gaze back to her paper. She didn’t want to know which of her classmates was judging her this time.

The thing was, Rapunzel couldn’t understand her classmates, and they couldn’t understand her. She suspected this was due to being homeschooled for most of her life (boy it had been an uphill battle to get her mom to agree to a public high school). This resulted in a certain animosity, much like Jack and his being not human.

After class, three girls cornered Rapunzel in the hall and ripped up her sketchbook.

Jack found her huddled in the library, trying to tape it back together again.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You just bought it for me and…”

“Don’t apologize, Punzie. For fuck’s sake, it’s those girls’ fault!” He wrapped his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “Do you want me to go track them down?”

“No, don’t. Please. I’ll just...ignore them. I’ll be fine.”

Jack sighed. “Like always, huh?”

Rapunzel checked out some books to cheer herself up while Jack finished taping up the sketchbook. He held her hand as they walked outside.

“Do you need me to walk with you?” he asked. They lived in opposite directions of the school, and Rapunzel’s mom didn’t let her go out after school or bring friends over.

“No, I’ll be okay. And my mom would be upset.”

Jack made a face but didn’t argue. He kissed her and promised to text her later before he took off running. She smiled and unlocked her bike. Her backpack was heavy with homework and the books she’d checked out.

Unfortunately for her, she found that there had been an accident, and part of the road was closed off. The detour to her house meant she arrived home almost half an hour later than she meant to. Her mother was waiting for her. Her hands clutched at her greying dark hair and she glared at Rapunzel as she approached. She was absolutely furious.

“Do you know how long I have been waiting?!” she shouted. “Where have you been?! You could have been dead for all I knew! How could you worry me like that?! Why can’t you think of anyone but yourself?!”

“I’m sorry, mother. There was—”

“No respect! You have no respect for me! You never listen to me!” Rapunzel shrank back as her mother continued to shout. She waved her arms and jabbed her finger at Rapunzel’s chest. She criticized ever agreeing to her going to a public school. She criticized Jack, calling him a bad influence. Eventually she dragged Rapunzel inside and slammed the door behind her. Rapunzel held her breath and watched as she took a deep breath and smoothed her hair. Finally, in a calmer voice she said “Rapunzel, I’m trying to raise you as best I can! But you have to make an effort as well!”

“I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

Her mother smiled and hugged her.

“I know you won’t, dear. But, I do have to ground you for this. Just to your room, and just for tonight. So that this won’t happen again.”

Rapunzel’s heart sank; she had been looking forward to eating supper with her mom and telling her about her day. But she understood and went obediently to her room.

After her mother brought her her supper, she got a text from Jack.

north was pissed abt the shoes. rip me

saw it coming you should have saved them so you could wear them home

punz youre a fuckin genius goddamit

how’s your punishment

no wifi i wasnt done wachng that vine complaton

i’m grounded because I got home late.

o shit what hapend

road was closed mom was really angry i didn’t mean to make her worried i didn’t know it would take me that long

it wasnt even your fault tho!!!

i should have called her to let her know

did you tell her wat happened

i didn’t get a chance

punzie

don’t start she’s just worried about me

k fine u okay

yeah

not lonely?

no

reallly???

okay, a bit and i’m still upset about earlier i couldn’t even make it through the first day without one of them starting something

yeah i almost lost some fngers to a slamed locker door

what!! are you okay!!

yeah im fine

promise

i promise

jack

yeah?

this is unfair why is life this way

let’s drop out

no

:/ you’re no fun