#so its like when one of my mutuals (jasper) said they like how i “speak” it was really reassuring.

[talkfastcal]

update i talked about the mutuals in therapy again tonight

[stxrrywildflower]

can’t help falling in love (five)

pairing - george weasley x reader

summary - you invite george to be your date to your sisters wedding

warnings - mentions of family/home issues

word count - 2.3k

series masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

george did everything in his power to take your mind off of the events at the wedding. his words still stuck in your mind, touching you far too deeply for you to forget.

you strolled around downtown london for a few hours before the reception, stopping in different shops along the way. george found a couple things he picked up for future pranks that you couldn’t find easily in the wizard world.

but you couldn’t avoid the inevitable event, you had to make an appearance at some point; your parents and other general family were already asking to catch up during the reception.

george pulled you aside before you could enter the building, the two of you finding yourself in one of the many side gardens.

“are you sure you’re okay with this? we don’t have to go,” george inquired.

you smiled softly at his concern. “i should be fine, george. it’s just dinner and then some partying. nothing i can’t handle.”

george nodded, clearly satisfied with your answer. “say the word and we’ll leave, okay?”

you squeezed his hands. “of course.”

upon entering, you were immediately ushered to your table by one of the waiters. george pulled your chair out for you, a comment about him being a gentleman rolling off of your tongue easily.

you were seated at the table with a few of your cousins who you, thankfully, got along well with. george was already starting up a conversation with one of them about their mutual love for jokes and making people laugh

as dinner was being served after your sister and jasper had entered, you felt yourself slowly easing into the environment. george played a key role in this, him taking time to glance over at you during his conversations to check on you and make sure you were okay. it was a simple enough gesture, but to you it meant the world.

you and george lingered towards the back as the tradition reception activities went on after dinner; speeches, cutting the cake, first dance. you much rather preferred to be out of ear range of most people, listening to the jokes george was making in your ear about everyone.

once the first dance was over, other people slowly started making their way to the main dance floor to join the wedding party.

you lingered back, not quite looking to jump at the opportunity to join them. that was, of course, until a certain song started playing.

george took note of your sudden behavioral change, looking down on you with a raised eyebrow.

“what song is this?”

you couldn’t help the smile that formed on your face from it. “it’s called can’t help falling in love. it’s by a muggle artist, elvis presley actually. it’s one of my favorites.”

“well then let’s go,” george jumped up, extending his hands out towards you.

you quirked an eyebrow at his actions, only slightly confused at his actions. george sighed, pulling you up to your feet and towards him.

“it would be rude of me to deny the prettiest girl here a dance to her favorite song,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

a blush spread across your cheeks as you bit your lip to hide your wide smile from the compliment. “alright,” you agreed. “let’s dance.”

george led you to the main dance floor, guiding you forward before turning you around to face him. his hand made his way to your hip, resting comfortably as the other went out to interlock with yours to the side. “this okay?” he asked to which you nodded. “perfect actually.”

you rested your head against george’s shoulder, humming along to the words of the song.

the rest of the room was soon forgotten; the moment feeling as though it was only you and george. no one else mattered, just you two wrapped up with each other as you slow danced.

tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. you weren’t sad, far from it if anything, but just the way george was treating you made you emotional.

george took note of this, his fingers moving to hook under your chin, effectively tilting your head up to look at him.

“what’s wrong, darling?”

“nothing,” you answered. “i’m just really happy right now, especially since i’m with you.”

the last part, possibly a stroke of confidence on your end, hit george like a bolt of lightning. every feeling, every emotion he felt about you weighed in; your laughs, your jokes, your personality, everything.

he held you a little closer to him, resting his head against yours as you swayed.

“so why do you like this song so much?”

“i don’t know,” you answered quietly. “i guess it became my definition of love. you haven’t heard it ever before besides now but it’s from the point of view of a guy who sings about a girl he’s meant to be with and can’t help falling in love with.”

george hummed, “it’s sweet.”

“i always get goosebumps from it,” you stated. “something about the melody always gets me.”

his fingertips ghosted across your skin, feeling the little tiny goosebumps as he ran them across. “you weren’t lying,” he spoke.

you shook your head, tilting it up a moment later to look at him. “one-hundred percent telling the truth.”

george leaned down to press his forehead against yours, noses just barely touching. your eyes fluttered shut, focusing on the contact between you two. you could feel his breath hot on your skin, just millimeters away from your lips.

you wanted to lean in, to stop dancing around the constant flirting and barely platonic touches and finally seal the deal. but you knew you couldn’t, it wouldn’t be okay to do without george agreeing; in no way did you want to overstep your boundaries.

george had to have felt something too, his face flushing a deep red as you turned your cheek, pressing it back into his shoulder.

the final chords of the song were playing out, signaling the end of the group of slow songs. you frowned, only slightly sad that your time slow dancing with george would be ending soon. sure more could be played later in the night, but who knew how much longer you would be in attendance.

“do you want to get out of here? maybe go talk?” george ducked down to whisper in your ear.

you nodded against george’s shoulder, “that sounds nice.”

you bid a quick goodbye to a few guests, primarily your sister and parents; passing on a simple ‘congratulations’ at the new chapter in her life. there was no signs that the party would be ending soon, but the conversation with george took importance over all of that.

george grabbed his jacket off of the chair, slinging it over his shoulder before meeting back up with you to guide you out.

the venue was right on the serpentine lake, overlooking the water and various reflections of the city and trees.

you walked along the water for a bit, george holding your hand as you strolled. neither of you could deny the moment you had whole dancing, it was clear both of you had felt at least something. you just didn’t know what to say.

“do you want to stop here? i think we’re a good distance away,” george offered.

you hummed, already moving to take a seat down on the soft grass. true to his words, the spot was a fair amount from the venue. the lights still illuminated sections of the water in the distance, but no music or small talk could be heard.

“so are we going to talk about it? or are we just going to tip-toe around it like we’ve been doing all weekend.”

george took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for his next word choice. he drew his knees up to his chest before speaking.

“i love you y/n.”

you froze, not quite sure if you had heard the words george spoke correctly.

“and you don’t have to say it back, merlin i don’t even know if you feel the same way but i just can’t keep it in anymore.”

for once, you were out of words. love was such a foreign feeling to you. hearing it from your best friend was even more alien.

“you love me?” you spoke after a moment.

george nodded, hand moving up to swipe away a few stray tears that had fallen. “have for a long time. i just haven’t ever said anything. i always thought it was something that would go away, that i could eventually get over it.”

his voice had fallen off at the end, pressing his cheek to his knees as he turned away from you. despite the amount of times you had reassured him, george hated crying in front of you.

you reached out to place your hand on top of his, immediately retracing when he flinched away. not once in the time of you knowing him had george ever jerked away from a small gesture like that.

“george, you could have talked to me. you know that.”

george choked out a half sob-half laugh at your response. “and say what y/n? tell you i’m in love with you, just like that? fuck, i don’t even know how you would have reacted. on no level would it be fair to you to ruin our friendship over some feelings i can’t contain anymore.”

the wave of silence washed over you once again like the tide; george’s words being pushed out as your feelings were finally pulled in.

george was your best friend, no doubt about it. you’d spent your most defining years together, playing games and pulling pranks as well as celebrating anything and everything from holidays to good grades.

but he was different than his twin; you found his compassion more endearing, his care more comforting. his love language versus his twins hit deeper.

every single moment with george was special in its own way, never dull in the slightest. you were so dumbfounded on how you hadn’t seen anything in his emotions before.

you loved george.

“i would have said it back,” you mumbled.

george’s head slowly rised to meet your eyes, concern still laced in his facial structure. he didn’t want to get his hopes up, multiple layers to your words still being unveiled.

“that i love you, i mean,” you clarified. “i guess this trip has made me truly realize it.”

everything you said you meant, there was no a doubt in your mind about it. if you were being honest, it was the one thing you were the most sure of in your life.

“i’m scared georgie,” you quickly admitted. “terrified actually. i’ve never felt like this before.”

george shifted closer to you, though he didn’t make the initiative to hold your hand or wrap a comforting arm around you. he didn’t want to push his boundaries, especially after you had both admitted your mutual feelings for each other.

“and that’s perfectly understandable, love. it’s new to me too. we can learn together.”

you turned to george, tears in your eyes mirroring the ones in his own. with just one blink, the flow had started. george reached out to thumb your tears away. “god we’re so dumb, why did we wait so long?” you questioned.

george laughed, shaking his head slightly at your words. “well i mean, we’re dumb kids in love. i don’t think either of us expected this to happen tonight.”

with that, you broke out laughing too; a grin passing over your face. everything felt near perfect in that moment, like you were finally content with your inner emotions.

“can i kiss you?”

you nodded, “yeah.”

george leaned forward first, hand moving up to hold your cheek before pressing his lips to yours. warmth spread throughout you immediately, the feeling unknown to you, though not a bad thing by any means.

it was only slightly awkward at first, it taking you both a bit to adjust to the other person. your heart was pounding in your chest, only finding the ability to concentrate how soft, how good george’s lips felt on your own.

you reluctantly pulled away first, finding yourself out of breath and needing air. george kept his eyes trained on you, wanting to make sure the entire sequence wasn’t a dream. it felt too good to be true, something that would have happened in a different lifetime. but here he was, lips puffed out and slightly red.

george pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. it was just you and him at this moment, the party in the distance being far from your minds. all that mattered to you was him, and the same for george.

after a delicate kiss to your bare shoulder, george slowly moved his hands down to your waist, guiding you slowly to press your back against the grass.

“is this okay?” george asked as he cupped your face gently.

you brought your hand up to cover his, running your thumb back and forth over the back of his hand, humming gently to confirm your comfort.

with that, george leaned down to kiss you again, body partially covering yours as you leaned up to reach more of him.

it was pure bliss - finally being able to kiss the boy you had been, without even realizing it, pinning over since first year. your feelings had been burried down over many years of friendship, you being too scared to admit that you were even in love with him.

sure a relationship, especially with george, was still something you were extremely new and nervous with, but george made you the best version of yourself, made you feel safe; george felt like home.

“i love you so so much,” george mumbled against your lips. “you have no idea how happy you make me.”

a giggle escaped your mouth, heart feeling full at his words.

“i love you too.”

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

tagging - @goldenxreid @wilburxpancakes @sunlightgalaxy @criminaly-supernatural @blakes-dictionxry @mrs-dr-reid @weasleytwinsfav @theguppienamedbae @fadesbrina @lilypad-55449

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [82]

xi. ashes to ashes

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Warnings: anxiety, blood, injuries, language.

Summary: With Clarke’s life saved, your focus now shifts to how you can save the rest of your people.

a/n: this chapter gave me a lot of trouble when i was writing it, so hopefully it turned out okay! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

Clarke falls asleep pretty soon after coming back to life, and you watch her anxiously for a few hours, fighting off your own exhaustion because you’re scared that you’re going to lose her again. Eventually Bellamy offers to keep an eye on her while you sleep for a few hours, and you gladly accept, though you don’t sleep as well as you hoped. You toss and turn for a while, before finally giving up in the early dawn hours, Bellamy and Gabriel the only two in the tent that are awake. Clarke is still resting peacefully on her cot, chest steadily rising and falling, and Octavia is curled up in the corner, sleeping soundly.

You can see Bellamy battling his own fight with sleep, so you urge him to catch up too while you keep an eye on Clarke until she wakes up again. You and Gabriel sit in silence for a long time, with most of your focus on your sleeping family around you, but eventually you decide to break the silence with him. You get up from your shared sleeping area with Bellamy and cross the tent to the other side, sliding down beside Gabriel, both of you exchanging a quick look. His eyes seem to land on the dried blood that is still smeared across your face, and he stands quickly, moving around the tent quietly before he returns a few seconds later with a damp rag. You whisper, “Thanks.”

He nods and settles down beside you again, as you wipe the dried blood from your face. You open your left palm, caked with dried blood as well, and you use the rag to clean it up, inspecting the various cuts across your palm and fingers. Gabriel watches you closely, turning to grab something from a nearby shelf, and once you have your wounds cleaned the best you can, he reaches out for your hand. “May I?”

You nod and offer him your hand, and he turns it over, checking over the wounds before he reaches into the first aid kit that he grabbed. He starts to clean and bandage your hand, quietly asking, “What happened?”

“I was fighting to survive.”

He hums in acknowledgement, but says nothing else, and you sit in silence for a minute until you think of the phrase he said yesterday, the words he whispered to Josephine as she died. You turn to him with a look of curiosity. “‘La muerte es la vida’, what does it mean?”

He turns to you, giving you a long look, and you start to think he’s not going to tell you. But then he takes a deep breath, closes the notebook in his lap, and pushes it aside. “It means ‘death is life’ in Spanish.”

You nod, starting to understand, and he lets go of your hand, now bandaged up and on its way to healing. You check over his work before meeting his eyes again, “I heard a group of your people chanting it when we went looking for our transport ship. Was it your idea?”

“Yes and no.” You give him a questioning look, asking for clarification, and he looks away from you, a faraway expression crossing over his features. “It’s from a poem by Gabriel Alvarez de Toledo, the Royal Librarian of King Felipe V of Spain. It’s about how the soul is buried within the human body, and it only becomes free when the body that it’s chained to dies. As long as the body lives, the soul dies, and when the body dies, the soul lives. The entire meaning is what I stood for, what I sought to deliver when I broke away from the rest of the Primes. Without death, life has no meaning. The immortality of the Primes, and the manipulation of our own people into believing that we’re all gods, was too much for me to handle.”

His words tug at a memory within you, reminding you of Lincoln’s words, passed to Clarke before Finn’s death. “You know, we had a friend on Earth, and he said something similar. ‘If death has no cost, life has no worth’. I’ve nearly died a hundred times, and I’ve watched those I love nearly die a thousand times, so I guess it’s not something I’ve thought a lot about.”

“Almost losing Clarke, it changed you, didn’t it?”

You look at him, nodding, remembering your grief in the days immediately after her death. “She’s my twin. Thinking I lost her was like losing part of myself. My motivations changed after that, and so did the things I cared about. Suddenly, the thing that struck me the most is that I wished I had more time. More quiet moments with her, more moments with just the two of us. I wish I had told her how much I love her and how much she means to me. But because you saved her, I get that chance.”

“I’m not the only one that saved her.” He looks at you, and then he also looks to Bellamy, the one who ultimately delivered the life returning blow. You look over at your fiance, the love of your life, and smile at his sleeping form, and the way his hair is sprawled out across the pillow. You feel Gabriel shift, his eyes moving to you, and he whispers, “I know that look.”

You lift your hand, showing off the ring Bellamy slipped on your finger the day before, peeking out between the bandages Gabriel secured on your palm. “We’re gonna get married. I don't know when, or how, or what’s involved in a wedding, I just know we’re going to.”

You hear Gabriel sigh a little, and you look over at him, taking note of the heartbroken expression on his face. Your voice is softer when you speak this time, “You know, I get why Josephine did it. I get why she brought you back, though I don't quite agree with her methods, and I also understand why you were upset when she brought you back. I understand why you left and tried to stop the Primes from coming back.”

Gabriel whispers, “La muerte es la vida.”

You look at him, trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s over 200 years old, and came from an Earth that was entirely different from the Earth you landed on. And then you start to wonder, are human beings the problem? Was Jasper right? “Gabriel?”

He turns to look at you, waiting for whatever you want to say. “Does time help you to do better, be better? 200 years is a lot of time to learn from past mistakes, did it help?”

“No.” The answer is definitive, one he truly believes in. “From what I've seen, time only made most of the Primes worse, not better.”

It dashes your hope a little, and he seems to sense that, because he reaches out and puts a hand on your knee. “But it’s not that way with everyone. Time is what matters when doing better. The Primes are immortal, or believe that they always will be, so they think they have nothing but time to become better people. Self improvement can wait another day, another year, another century. For the rest of us, those that know we’re going to die, lack of time is what motivates us to change. We know that we’re not promised forever, so we work on ourselves constantly.”

You nod, taking in his words, really considering what he’s saying. You still have hope that all of you can do better than you did before, and though Russell and the other Primes have been working hard to change that, you really believe you can change. You really believe that one day, you won't need Wanlida anymore. You thought she was gone once you were accepted into Sanctum, but Russell changed all of that when he tried to steal your twin from you.

But maybe all of you have been going about this the wrong way. You’re all so accustomed to the life of war, and death, and violence, and completely changing overnight and trying to forget all that is impossible. Yet, that’s what you’ve all tried to do. You left Earth one day, slept for 125 years, and when you woke up again, you tried to be completely different people. Maybe doing better, for now, means choosing a less violent path instead of the violent one. Maybe it means only killing those who are a threat to you, not wiping out everyone in your way. Maybe it means learning from the mistakes in your past and not repeating them. 

Your thoughts move around in your head like waves crashing against the shore, washing over you repeatedly, wondering how to be the best version of yourself that you can be. You and Gabriel sit in mutual silence for a while, only moving when Octavia wakes and goes to sit outside for a while. You give Gabriel a smile as you stand and follow her, moving out of the tent and plopping down onto the grass beside her. She smiles at you, genuinely happy to see you, and you return her smile with one of your own. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Octavia shakes her head a little, “I know, but right now, there’s only one thing I care about.” 

She reaches for your bandgaed hand, and the sapphire ring that peeks from beneath the white gauze. She turns to you, inquisitive, her expression serious. “Is this my mom’s ring?”

Her expression scares you a little, because she seems upset, and you start to worry until you realize that this ring might be the last thing the Blake siblings have from Aurora, and maybe Octavia wants it for herself. You nod and immediately reach for the ring, intending to give it to her. “Yeah. Bellamy proposed to me in the cave, but listen, this ring belongs to one of you, not-”

Octavia laughs softly, stopping your hand, a huge grin splitting her face. “La lune, this ring belongs to you. It always has. Mom told Bellamy to give it to someone that captured his heart, and that’s always been you. It’s a family heirloom, but you are our family.”

You smile at her, reaching over to pull her into a fierce hug. She hugs you back, and when she pulls away, there’s a smile on her face. “I can’t wait for you to officially be my sister.”

“Me either.”

The two of you sit together in silence, just enjoying each other’s company, ignoring all of the shit you’ve been through since you last saw each other. It’s not long before Gabriel comes out of the tent and asks you if you want to help him gather food for breakfast, and you agree, eager to stretch your limbs and explore a little. By the time you both return, Bellamy is awake and waiting for you. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Good morning, beautiful.” He plants a soft kiss on your lips, and for a second, you can pretend you’re somewhere nice, like back in Shallow Valley. You can pretend you aren’t in a tent in the middle of the woods on a moon that has caused you nothing but trouble since you landed. When you pull away, you offer him the food you and Gabriel gathered, and he takes it with a smile of thanks, the two of you sitting and enjoying it together in companionable silence. 

As you’re eating, Clarke starts to shift on her cot, clearly dreaming, before she jumps up suddenly, wide awake. She looks around frantically, eyes searching for you as you sit just outside of her line of vision, and you jump up and immediately head over to her, dropping by her side with a smile. “You’re okay, you’re still here.”

“Thanks to you.”

You shake your head and add, “Not just me. Bellamy and Gabriel and Octavia too.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Only a few hours.” She nods, and as you look down at your twin sister, you get hit with an overwhelming rush of guilt. “Clarke, I’m so sorry. I knew you were a target and I didn’t protect you. I didn't fight hard enough for you after we found out they killed you. I should have done more.”

She sits up now, coming face to face with you, her expression serious. “La lune, you saved me.”

You feel tears spring to your eyes, aware that the words are her way of saying you have nothing to be sorry for. Her words are forgiveness. You smile at her and she smiles back, and you hear the sound of movement behind you before Bellamy walks up and drops down beside you, his voice low as he asks, “Question is, how do we save everyone that we left behind?”

“If you didn’t leave them behind, I’d be dead. They all would, Madi, Raven, our mom. Josephine would've made sure of it.” She locks her gaze on Bellamy, focusing her reassurance on him, “Your plan was good.”

“My plan was to use Josephine's mind drive to bargain for peace, and now there's no mind on the drive.”

She looks between you both, “We don't need the mind drive, we've got me.”

You and Bellamy both start to protest immediately, but yours win out over his. “Clarke-”

“No, no way.”

She locks eyes with you, trying to get you to understand why she wants to do this. “If we don't give Russell his daughter back-”

You cut her off, not even open to hearing her reasons for wanting to waltz back into Sanctum as Josephine. “Clarke, as soon as he realizes you're not her, which will be the second he checks the drive, you're dead.”

From behind all of you, Gabriel calls out, “So let's put it back in.”

This time when you and Bellamy both voice your protest, your fiance is louder, speaking up to get his point across to Gabriel. “That's not happening. We appreciate what you did for us, but these are our people. We'll take it from here.” 

Clarke shakes her head, “This isn't just about our people, Bellamy.”

“Well, it is for me.”

She looks at you, eyes pleading, and as much as you want to be on her side, you don't want to be on her side for a plan that puts her right back in the lion’s den. A plan that makes it hard for you to protect her, meaning you could lose her again. That’s not something you’re willing to risk so soon after getting her back. So you meet her eyes, shaking your head, your tone final. “No, we just got you back. I’m not risking your life again.”

She looks like she wants to argue further, but Octavia steps back into the tent for the first time all morning, interrupting the conversation. She sees you, Bellamy, and Clarke sitting in an aura of tension, and she looks around at all of you awkwardly as she asks, “Good, everyone’s awake. So what’s the plan?”

You stand first, facing the your future sister. “Without Josephine’s mind drive, we have no plan. Which means it’s back to the drawing board.”

You wander over to the table in Gabriel’s tent, the one with a collection of maps and charts and sheets of information sprawled across it. You start to immediately pour over the documents, and Bellamy and Clarke eventually wander over to do the same, all of you trying to figure out a plan that gets all of your people out of Sanctum alive. Gabriel and Octavia are the last to join you and begin to brainstorm, and all of you stand around the plans in silence until Clarke looks up at Gabriel in confusion. “You're a Nightblood. You could walk through the shield at any time and lower it. Why haven't you?”

Octavia answers for him, “Because he doesn't want to kill the people inside. He wants to save them, and they'll die to protect the Primes.”

Bellamy cuts back, “Then they die. I'm not letting our people get executed because theirs are delusional.”

You cut a look at Bellamy, your voice a low warning, “Bellamy.”

You know he’s angry and worried, and you get it, because you’re angry and worried too. But that doesn't mean he should take that out on the people of Sanctum. They may seem delusional to all of you, but the Primes spent 200 years indoctrinating their people into thinking that they’re gods. That’s not the believer’s fault, it’s the Primes fault.

Gabriel ignores Bellamy’s quip, and turns to Clarke to answer her question. “I don't have the code. I couldn't lower the shield if I tried.”

“What about Ryker?” All of you shift your gaze to Bellamy, listening to his questioning for Gabriel. “He built it, and he helped you escape. Go to him, you lower the shield, we do the rest.”

“Ryker won't help us. He left my cell door open to stop Simone from burning me at the stake, but he wouldn't help me stop the resurrections.”

A look of horror passes over all of your faces as he casually mentions the fate he nearly suffered, and you whisper, “They were gonna burn you?”

“That's what you do to demons.” You shake your head, not understanding how his distaste for being resurrected was enough to have him labeled as a demon. “I destroyed the embryos. We landed with a thousand, genetically engineered with what you call Nightblood to protect against solar radiation.”

Clarke mutters, “That's why hosts are so rare, why Josephine started oblation.”

“Oblation?”

“Null babies, which are those born without the Nightblood gene, are left out in the woods to die. Josephine convinced people it would be a sacrifice to the Primes, but really she just didn't want the nulls to weaken the bloodline further.”

You look at your twin with horror, realizing that the woman that tried to steal her body was insane. And then you turn to Gabriel, realizing he was in love with a woman who left babies outside to die, all because she wanted another Nightblood host to brainwash and bodysnatch. “Oh my god.”

Gabriel cringes a little, clearly just as upset by the idea. “I didn't think she would take it that far.”

“So your nonviolent revolution made things worse.”

You all glance at Bellamy, who seems to have no remorse for Gabriel and the things he’s been through. You cut him a look, trying to figure out what’s gotten into him that’s made him so angry with Gabriel, who despite everything, has been nothing but helpful to all of you. Octavia turns to her brother. “Bellamy, he doesn't want to kill his own people.”

“Why not? You did.”

You turn to look at Bellamy, shaking your lead a little, voice slightly incredulous, “Bellamy!”

He glances at you, shaking his head, clearly not in the mood. “No. I don't need a lecture on moral relativity from the Queen of Cannibals.”

Octavia gives Bellamy a shocked look, before motioning to the door of the tent. “Can I talk to you outside?”

“No.” She seems surprised by his answer. “You know what? For once, O, you're not my biggest problem.”

“Please?”

She flashes you a pleading look before turning and heading out of the tent and back into the woods, and you put your hand on Bellamy’s arm, trying to channel some calming energy to him. “You have to face her sometime. Go, we'll keep thinking.”

You can tell he doesn't want to go, but he does anyways, nodding at you before stepping around the table, heading for the door. Before he can get there, Gabriel stops him by stepping into his path. “Your sister's special.”

“Well, that's one word for it.”

“I'm serious, Bellamy. She went into the Anomaly and came back. No one's ever done that before.”

You give Gabriel a confused look, “The Anomaly?”

“That sound you hear.” He pauses so you can all listen, suddenly aware of a continuous buzzing sound that hasn’t stopped from the moment you arrived at the camp. Underneath it all, you can hear the static and quiet transmissions from the radios, no one outside to listen for their messages. “It’s the great mystery of Sanctum.”

Gabriel turns away from you, and back to Bellamy. “Look, she didn't remember anything, so I gave her red sun toxin to help her see. She chose to look inward instead.”

“Red sun toxin? But there was no eclipse.”

Gabriel answers your twin, motioning to the air all around him. “The toxin's everywhere; in every leaf, in every tree, the soil, the rocks. Over time, we found other ways to harness its power.”

“You weaponized it, didn't you?”

“Simone did as part of her adjustment protocol. My research was focused on an antitoxin. The discovery that intravenous use produced a waking dream was a happy accident.”

As the information washes over all of you, you hear a strange sound outside, followed by Octavia’s slightly concerned voice. “Uh, Gabriel, your friends are here.”

All of you exchange a worried look and Bellamy immediately heads to the exit of the tent, worried about his sister, despite their strained relationship. You jog out after him, stepping outside just as Bellamy pulls his gun out, pointing it to the scene in front of him. Your eyes shift to the perimeter of the camp, where a large group of the Children of Gabriel stand, a collection of weapons pointed at Octavia, Bellamy, and now you. Octavia calls out, “Don't shoot! We're on the same side.”

She glances over her shoulder at her brother and mutters, “Bellamy, gun down.”

He sets his gun on the ground, and the two of you lift your hands in surrender as the leader of this particular faction quips, “Same side, huh? They were with Josephine in the cave.”

You hear the tent move behind you, and they all shift their weapons towards the entrance, growing tense as soon as they see who it is. You don’t even need to turn around to know that it’s your twin, and the group confirms it a second later when they yell, “Hey! It’s her! Josephine Prime!”

You and Bellamy shift in front of Clarke, blocking them from shooting at her, as you both yell, “No, no, no! It's not her!”

Octavia calls out towards the tent, “Gabriel, we could use a little help.”   

There is a moment of tense silence as everyone awaits Gabriel’s exit, and seconds later he slips out of the tent. One of the people in the front of the opposing group lowers their weapon and takes off their mask, staring at Gabriel in confusion. “Xavier? Xavier, brother, get out of the way.”

Gabriel stops in front of you, Clarke, and Bellamy, serving as a shield between the three of you and the weapons trained on you. “Layla, it's okay.”

Beside the unmasked woman, a man takes off his mask, the same man you identified as the leader of this group. Gabriel turns to him, voice calm. “Nelson, put the weapon down. All of you, weapons down. That's an order.”

“You don't give orders. Where's the old man?” Nelson steps forward, challenging Gabriel, and when Gabriel doesn't answer, he turns to look at the unmasked woman, Layla. “Layla, search the tent.”

Layla starts to step away from the group, towards the tent, but Gabriel stops her. “The old man is dead. So is Xavier.”

They seem to sense the double meaning of his words, because Layla looks shocked, and Nelson looks pissed. He walks towards Gabriel, voice shaking. “On your knees.”

Gabriel does as he’s told and sinks to his knees, his hands half held up in surrender, and Nelson walks closer to Gabriel, hesitant, afraid of what he might see. His expression drops a little when he sees the scar on the back of Gabriel’s neck, but he hides his disappointment behind a neutral expression. “Gabriel.”

Layla, however, does not handle it as well. As soon as the name leaves Nelson’s mouth, her face twists into anger and she stalks towards Gabriel, swinging the butt end of her gun towards him, hitting him across the face. “Traitor!”

Nelson grabs Layla and pulls her back, and she fights against him the entire time, trying to reach Gabriel to hit him again. He yells at the others in the group, “Get them inside the tent, now!”

They comply, pulling Octavia to her feet and pushing her forward, and each of them train a gun on you, motioning for you to walk inside the tent ahead of them. Gabriel leads the way, stepping inside and dropping to his knees first, and you and Clarke drop behind him, and the Blake siblings drop behind the two of you. A second later, the tent flap parts, and Nelson and Layla step inside, ignoring everyone and focusing solely on Gabriel. “Explain.”

“I didn't want this. I loved Xavier like a son, you know that.”

Layla snaps, “Don't say his name.”

Nelson glances back at her, “Layla, if you can't handle this, maybe you should wait outside.”

“I'm fine, I need to hear this.”

They all turn back to Gabriel, waiting for him to continue his explanation. “Eduardo brought me back without my consent.”

“Eduardo's been dead for years, killed by Sanctum guards around the time the old man disappeared.”

“It wasn't the Sanctum guards.”

They all look at Gabriel in shock, trying to comprehend the level of his betrayal. Layla chokes out, “Ten years? He's been lying to us for years, letting me call him brother?”

“He's still our leader.”

“No, he's a traitor and a Prime! He could've told us the truth, but instead, he let us think we were abandoned. Now, give me back the gun and let me end this once and for all.”

Nelson pulls out the gun and holds it out to Layla, and Bellamy senses the shift in the changing tides, aware that all of you are seconds away from death. “Wait, if this is what you really want, at least wait until he delivers the bomb.”

You turn to look at him, brows pulled together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Layla snaps at you, “Shut up!”

Bellamy gives you a look, one that is begging you to trust him, so you nod, letting him know you're with him, whatever his plan may be. “I'm talking about weaponized red sun toxin. Gabriel's a Nightblood, he can walk it right through the shield and deploy it. Once it's in the air, he finds our friend Raven. She'll bring the shield down for the rest of us, and we use the chaos of the evacuation to rescue our people. You kill the Primes. That's how this ends.”

Nelson nods, “It's a good plan.”

“Come on! You trust them just like that?” Layla looks at him in complete disbelief, but Nelson shakes his head, pulling out his sword. “No, but I will…”

He trails off, holding the sword out to Gabriel, motioning towards Clarke. “When he kills Josephine Prime!”

Your stomach drops, hard and fast, a wave of nausea rolling over you as you realize the danger that Josephine brought onto Clarke still isn't over. Despite the lack of mind drive in her head, she’s still got a target on her back. You look between Nelson and Layla, voice loud and cracked with desperation. “She's not a Prime!”

Clarke shakes her head, sounding much calmer, despite her inner fear. “I'm not Josephine.”

“It's true, Josephine's gone. I took the mind drive out myself.”

Layla snaps, “He's protecting her! How much more proof that he's a traitor do we need?”

You remember your Grounder knife, still tucked within the waistband of your pants, unchecked by the captors in the room. You lower your hands, prepared to grab the knife and end this. Because if they kill Clarke, if they murder your twin, any desire to do better is done. You don't care. You will not let her death go unavenged a second time. You will kill everyone in this room before they even know what’s happening, and you won’t feel an ounce of grief for them. 

You feel Bellamy’s eyes on you, and from the corner of your eye, you catch the subtle shake of his head that he gives you. But you ignore it, your eyes locked on Nelson, who has now moved to stand in front of Clarke. He holds the sword to her throat, and you feel your hand skim the waistband of your pants. Just as you’re about to strike, Gabriel yells, “If you kill her yourself, I won't build you the bomb.”

The two men stare at each other for a long moment, and you don't move your hand until you see Nelson lower the sword, done with his threats against Clarke. Gabriel nods. “Good. First, we gather the toxin. There's a cave on the way to the Anomaly.”

Layla glares at him, motioning between him and Clarke. “You're not going anywhere. Neither is your long lost friend.”

“We can do it.” You all turn to look at Octavia, who is pointing at herself and then Bellamy. “Just tell us what to look for.”

Gabriel starts to stand, and a room full of weapons turns towards him, ready to wipe him out. He motions to the table behind him, where his notebook and pencil lay waiting. “I just need to sketch it out for them.”

Nelson motions for everyone to lower their weapons, and you all follow Gabriel to the table, leaning around to watch him as he works. He sketches out a rough map and a picture of a mushroom, sliding it over it to the siblings. “It’s not far from here, and it's a cave full of bioluminescent mushrooms. They have some of the highest concentration of the toxin, so you’ll need the antitoxin.”

As Gabriel goes to grab the antidote, Bellamy shifts closer to you, keeping his voice low enough that only you can hear. “Are you coming with us?”

You glance around, noting the tension that still hangs in the room, the Children of Gabriel all still clutching their weapons. You turn back to Bellamy, keeping your voice just as quiet. “I want to stay here with Clarke. I don’t trust them not to hurt her.”

He nods, and you can see the disappointment on his face, likely because he wants you to go with him and Octavia to ease the awkward tension between the two of them. But he also understands that someone does need to keep an eye on Clarke, because she is still in danger. Gabriel brings back the antitoxin and gives it to the siblings, both of them ensuring they don't hallucinate on their way to retrieve the toxin, and then Bellamy gives you a quick kiss goodbye before he follows his sister out of the tent and into the waning afternoon. 

The other Children of Gabriel, Nelson included, leave the tent too, spreading out around the camp, in case any of you try to leave or in case the Sanctum guards find you. The only person that stays behind is Layla, ordered to by Nelson, so she can keep an eye on you, Gabriel, and Clarke. Gabriel flits about the cave, gathering supplies, and you and Clarke help when he asks for assistance, but mostly the two of you just stand back and let him work. As he moves, he speaks out loud, mostly to himself but also to the two of you. “A device like this was one of the reasons I left. I wouldn't build Russell his bomb, and here I am building one for you.”

He laughs a little to himself as he twists a strand of wires together. “Nevermind me, I'm rambling. Your friends should be at the cave by now. You know, it's too bad they took an antitoxin, because that is one sibling relationship that could use a good guided hallucination.”

You nod in agreement, about to offer him a brief backstory on the damaged sibling relationship, but Layla creeps out from the shadows, fixing her glare on Gabriel’s back. “Yeah, be a shame if one of them was murdered before they worked it out.”

At first, you think the sentence is a threat, a reference to the fact that Bellamy and Octavia are about to be killed. You tense up, running through the ways to save them in your head, but that all goes away when you see the look on Layla’s face. You remember her words to Gabriel when she first saw him; Xavier, brother, step aside. At first you thought it was just a term of affection, the way you call Octavia your sister, despite having no blood relation, but you see now that Xavier, the man that became Gabriel’s host, was Layla’s brother.

Gabriel turns around to face her, looking just as heartbroken at the loss of the young man. “Layla, I'm-”

She cuts him off with a sneer, “Don't you dare apologize.”

He nods, respecting her wishes, stepping away from the bomb slightly so she can get a better look at it. “This bomb. If the Primes have one, then why haven't they used it on us?”

“I don't know. Probably because turning us into raging killers isn't in their best interest.”

“Then what's it for?”

“Josephine and Simone were intrigued by a pattern in the visions of those who survived being caught out in the eclipse. Despite my best efforts to stop them, they started leaving test subjects outside to study it.” You shake your head, continuously reminded of how truly awful the Primes are, despite Russell’s insistence that the rest of you are bad people and they are not. “Now, not surprisingly, believers in the divinity of the Primes invariably reported seeing us as gods or as angels. What interested the Lightbournes more was that the aggression response of the faithful was almost always aimed at the less devout.”

The realization hits you first, and your voice is a little breathy with shock. “Believers killing nonbelievers.”

Gabriel nods in confirmation, and you share a look with your twin, her face pulled together with worry. She mutters, “Josephine was right, this is Mount Weather all over again.”

You think of the Mountain from Hell, where you nearly lost your life on multiple occasions. You think of the people you killed there, the death you witnessed, and the lever that left a mountain full of innocent people dead at your hand. You shudder as Clarke continues, “That bomb won't just cause chaos, it'll cause a massacre. There has to be a better way than using a massacre as a distraction to get the shield down.”

You remember the emotional toll that Mount Weather had on all of you; you, Clarke, and Bellamy, and you aren't eager to relive the sins of the past in a new way. But before you can question Clarke further on what she’s thinking, Gabriel turns to face the two of you. “Look, if you're worried about your people, they'll be fine. We put in wall restraints to fend for themselves as soon as the early warning system is triggered and evacuation begins.”

“I told you, I'm not just worried about-” She cuts herself off, a look of realization passing over her face, and she whispers, “The early warning system. The insects are affected by the toxin first, that's why they're in tanks all over Sanctum.”

Gabriel nods, plopping down into a chair to continue his work on the bomb, barely looking her way. “I'm aware, it was my idea. What's your point?”

You and Clarke stand at the table stretched out in front of him, and Layla heads for the door, uninterested in the rest of this conversation. Clarke continues, “We use less of the toxin, enough to affect the bugs, but not the people. Just enough to trigger the evacuation. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” He stops what he’s doing to meet her eyes, trying to convey the weight of his next sentence. “But without the chaos, I won't have time to take the shield down. Your people will still be prisoners, and the Primes will still be Primes. We will kill some bugs, though.”

“So, we take down the shield first.”

You know exactly where this is going, and you turn to look at her, ready to object, while Gabriel still looks at her in confusion. “First, as in before the evacuation, while everyone's still at home?”

“Clarke, no.”

She turns to you, insistent. “I can do it, la lune. This is how we can do better and not kill everyone.”

“No, this is-”

Gabriel cuts you off, looking between the two of you with bewilderment, completely lost. “What are you two talking about?”

You and Clarke answer at the same time, “Josephine.”

Realization passes over his face, and Clarke reaches out to take your hand, tugging on it to get you to look at her. “I know Josephine. I know how to be Josephine. I spent enough time with her in my head to fool Russell. And this is how we honor Monty.”

You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes at the thought of losing her again. But she gives you a small smile and squeezes your hand. “I know you’re scared and worried that you're going to lose me again, but you won’t. I have to do this to save Madi and Mom and our friends.”

You consider the options: mass murdering the people of Sanctum though they are guilty of nothing, or letting your sister walk right back into the lion’s den without you. And at the end of the day, you know she’s right. You know that Wanlida isn't who you want to be, and though she’s going to stick around for a while, small steps in the right direction are the way to retire her for good. Learning from your past mistakes is how you retire her for good. You give your twin a look, sighing as you do. “Fine. But the second things start to go south, I want you out of there. Deal?”

“Deal.” With the two of you in agreement, Clarke turns to face Gabriel. “Think you can get your Children to let me go with you?”

“It's doubtful, they're not gonna like it.” He turns to look at you, gaze serious. “Neither is Bellamy.”

“I’ll handle Bellamy. You just worry about getting this right.”

He nods and starts to change the machine up, working to adapt it to this new plan, and you and Clarke hang around, watching, helping, waiting for the Blake siblings to return. It’s a couple of hours later when they come back, the suns now set and the sky outside covered in darkness, and as soon as they come in and hand over their bags of toxic mushrooms, Gabriel takes it over to a tank with gloves, just like the one inside the bunker that held the worms, and places the toxin inside. As he slides his arms into the gloves and starts to get the toxin ready for the device, he explains the new plan to the Blake siblings, informing them both that he is no longer building a bomb. 

Octavia absorbs the information quietly, but Bellamy looks at Gabriel, incredulous. “What do you mean, you're not building a bomb?”

“Releasing it in the water will cause it to aerosolize at a lower concentration. We'll trigger an evacuation without inducing a mass psychosis.”

Clarke adds, “In other words, no innocent people die.”

Octavia looks over at Gabriel, curious. “How long until they realize there's no eclipse and turn around?”

“Not long enough. We'll need to be inside before it starts, which means-”

Bellamy cuts Clarke off, finishing her sentence for her as he realizes where the plan is going. “Which means the shield needs to be down before it starts.”

“Can you do that without a distraction?”

Bellamy, still ahead of the plan, deadpans, “It wouldn't be him.”

Clarke’s voice is soft and pleading, begging Bellamy to understand, “Bellamy, it's the only way.”

“What is?”

Clarke shifts her gaze to Octavia, answering her question. “I go as Josephine.”

“It's not the only way, because we’ll use the bomb as planned. Risking your life when we don't have to is just-”

You cut him off, finishing his sentence, “Is how we do better.”

He turns to you, a look of disbelief etched into his face. “You’re okay with this?”

“Not really, but we don’t have much of a choice. I don't want to take innocent lives, do you?”

His expression softens, his voice dropping to a whisper, “You know I don’t.”

“Which is why we let Clarke go as Josephine.”

You can see him starting to come around, and he shifts his attention to Clarke, his earlier anger and disbelief already disappearing, now replaced with concern. “Clarke, if you fail, if Russell figures out that his daughter is dead, then all our people are dead too.”

“So I won't fail.”

He gives her a look, but Octavia speaks up in defense of Clarke, adding her agreement. “Bellamy, if we can spare innocent lives, we should.”

You look over at Octavia, a changed woman, and smile at her, proud that she finally sees the error in her actions as Blodreina. But none of you get the chance to continue the conversation further, because a distant hum reaches your ears, steadily growing louder as the Children of Gabriel outside start to yell, “Hey, what's that?”

“Sanctum riders!”

Everyone in the tent exchanges a worried look, and you rush to the exit, stepping outside and watching as the light of the motorcycles bounces across the terrain, growing closer. Nelson turns as soon as he sees all of you standing outside, and he yells, “Get them back inside! I want them tied up and gagged with the Primes!”

Two men usher you all back inside, and Layla steps into the tent a second later, gun in hand. She motions for all of you to move apart, “Spread out, and don't resist. I have orders to kill you if you do.”

You all spread apart, keeping still as they force a gag into your mouth and secure it at the back of your head. They push you down to the ground and tie up your wrists and feet, before moving around the room and doing the same with the others. You and Bellamy are tied up close to each other, both of you leaning against the same table, and Clarke is tied up across from you. Octavia is off to your left, near the edge of the tent, and Gabriel is to Bellamy’s right, leaning against the furniture. Once all of you are secured, Layla stands in the middle of all of you, shifting her gaze from one person to the next, waiting for you to make a move so she can shoot you. The two guards leave to join the others, and you’re only tied up for a few minutes before the sounds of gunshots ring out from outside. 

Layla heads to the entrance of the tent, poking her head outside to watch the fight, and as you all sit waiting, you hear a strange scratching sound from the back of the tent. You turn that way, eyes watching as a blade sticks through the material of the tent, dragging down to the bottom, creating a slit in the fabric. You all tense up, unsure who’s about to come inside, surprised when it’s Murphy’s head that pokes through. He steps inside, followed by Jade, a gun in her hand. Murphy steps into the middle of the tent, while Jade sneaks around the back, ducked behind the debris and mess, and once she’s in position, Murphy calls out to Layla, “Hey there.”

Layla spins around quickly, instantly lifting her gun and aiming it at Murphy, but Jade sneaks up behind her a second later and hits her with her rifle, knocking Layla out. Jade grabs Layla’s dropped weapon as she walks past, moving carefully before dropping down in front of Clarke. “Josephine?”

You see Clarke’s eyes shift to you, and you nod your head a fraction of an inch, letting her know she should go through with it. Despite the alarm and fear that you feel, despite the worry that none of you planned for Clarke to get taken from you this quickly, before a solid plan was even decided, you know this is the right move. Clarke looks back to Jade, the exchange unnoticed, and nods. Jade puts the guns down and pulls the gag out of Clarke’s mouth, who perfectly captures Josephine’s tone of voice. “Well done, Jade.”

As Jade pulls out a knife to cut through the restraints wrapped around Clarke’s wrists and ankles, your twin shifts her gaze to Murphy, smirking, “You just can't pick a side, can you, John?”

���The only reason I'm doing this is because Emori dies if I don't.” Murphy turns to look at Bellamy, voice dropping a little. “The others are in trouble too. I promise I'll do what I can for them.”

Clarke stands and Jade follows suit, looking between Clarke and Murphy. “Give us two seconds to make sure it's clear, then follow.”

Just then, Layla starts to shift, and Jade lifts her gun, prepared to kill her. But Clarke puts her hand on the barrel, pushing the gun down to lower it, her tone commanding. “No, this one's mine.”

Clarke grabs the discarded pistol from the table and aims it at Layla, glancing over her shoulder to look at Jade. “Go, make sure it's clear.”

Jade nods and immediately turns to slip out of the tent, but Murphy stays put, his eyes locked on Clarke suspiciously. His gaze flits over to you, and yu do your best to look upset, playing the part that Clarke is gone. “Is she really gone this time?”

“Yes. Boohoo.” Clarke smirks at him, taunting, and you can see a flash of anger cross his features. He gives you an apologetic look, and you fight against your restraints a little until Clarke reminds him of the danger they’re in, waving the gun slightly. “Now, as soon as I pull this trigger, your little decoy trick will fail. You better run.”

Murphy nods once, and then turns and heads out of the tent, following Jade’s earlier path. As soon as Clarke sees that it’s clear, and both Jade and Murphy are gone, she swings the gun away from Layla, aiming at the ground, before she fires once, pretending to kill the girl. And then she turns and runs towards you, dropping down in front of you and tugging the gag out of your mouth. 

“I can do this, la lune.”

You nod, knowing she can, believing in your other half. “Get that shield down, we'll bring the cavalry.”

“Stronger together.”

She lifts her hand to brush a finger across the moon hanging around your neck, before her hand touches her wrist, her bracelet gone, now left with Madi. But you don't have time to tell her that, because she has to leave now, so you just whisper back, “Stronger together.”

And with one last sad smile, she turns and slips out of the tent behind the others, leaving to begin her new con as fake Josephine. Layla watches her retreat in shock, surprised that Clarke let her live, her survival making her realize one very important thing. She turns to you, the pieces finally clicking together. “She isn't Josephine.”

“No, she's not.” You hold out your tied wrists, urging her to free you. “Now let’s ready the cavalry.”

-

next chapter

[gongju-juice]

8. Once Upon a Southern Night

The Wrath of Nature

Warnings: Fighting, the usual, language

It was a cold, damp morning when they arrived. Nature seemed to acknowledge the supernatural army’s presence, for not even a bird or cricket made a single chirp in the golden morning. Beside you, Jasper, your family, your friends, Zacarias, and the wolf tribe stood. You held your boyfriend’s hand, trying not to tremble from pure fear and the billowing wind that was so oddly cold this late in the spring. 

And when you saw her, your terror quadrupled. 

Her olive skin lightly sparkled in the morning rays, thick, black hair cascading elegantly down her bare, uncovered shoulders. She was dressed like she could be headed to Florida for vacation instead of the chilly environment that was Washington. Her piercing red eyes found yours, and your heart quivered in response.

Preston was even more unnerving. His hair had been let down, straight and free which covered his ears. He wore a long black coat that stopped at his mid-thighs as well as a wide-brimmed hat and leather black boots. He was eerily relaxed for a person who intended to go to war. 

Behind them were the newborns. They sauntered in the shadow of the trees, their glowing eyes full of hate and pure instinct. Some were young—looking no older than the age of fifteen. Others appeared to be in their late twenties. But none were over the age of thirty.

“Friends,” Maria called, but her voice was barely loud enough for you to make out. She was having a private conversation with the wolves, one she did not intend for you to hear. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen some of your faces. You, especially, Jasper. It’s been—what? Just over a century now.”

“Take your newborns and leave,” Jasper advised. “We left on a mutual agreement that you supported my search for tranquility. Does that agreement no longer stand?”

She tsked. “Jasper, Jasper, ever the romantic. You never liked violence, did you? I may be immortal, but a hundred years is still a long time. And besides, the Captain made such a tempting offer.”

Preston walked a few paces forward, his heels crunching in the soft grass. “I’ve waited forever for this. I thought my Camille was gone forever, that is, until I heard of a little baby being born in New Orleans. You wouldn’t believe how fast news spreads in the Crescent City.”

“So why didn’t you take her then?” your mother demanded. “Before I adopted her, before she had the chance to fall in love with Jasper, her mate?”

“I had to get my thirst under control. Living completely unrestrained is so satisfying, but when it comes to associating with humans, it’s impossible to stay decent. I didn’t know at the time that witches could change, but if I did, trust me, you or any of you rotten Cullens would have gotten to her first.”

Your breath caught in your throat. And to think this man had known about you along.

“That’s right, Jasper,” he chuckled, much to Jasper’s dismay. “I was watching from afar—every birthday, every school dance, and every vacation. You think she belongs to you? I know her inside and out, 19th century and 21st century. And when I was finally ready to bring her back with me, you just had to interfere.”

“You disgust me,” you spat. “You couldn’t win me over properly, so you had to become a perv. I will never love you.”

He lifted his head in the air, his dark eyes closed. “Well, then, I guess we’ll have to do things the hard way.”

The newborns behind him began charging, and those around you met them, alabaster limbs meeting alabaster targets. The young vampires were faster, stronger. But the Cullens and your friends’ combined experience forced them back until they could be dealt with individually.

In front of you, Zacarias and Ava worked hard keeping the waves of bodies back. It was then that you noticed the small, determined girl standing in between Maria and Preston. She looked no older than ten, someone who must’ve been easily manipulated to do their bidding. But one thing for sure, she was definitely a witch. And a powerful one at that.

“I should do something!” you cried. “I’m a witch, I can fight!”

Jasper held you back. “Your skills are not up to par. If you go out there, you’ll be killed. Or worse, Preston will get to you.”

Suddenly, a pale white arm came flying past you. Emmett barreled near carrying a decapitated body. His bulging muscles sparkled from the effort.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’ll have him ‘em all in no time.”

But that’s when Maria broke out of her formation. She wrangled Alice by her throat, her dainty legs swinging in the empty air. 

“If you won’t face me, then I’ll make you come.” 

“Alice, no!”

Jasper sprung towards them, his lightning speed barely registering in your mind. Alice’s face was contorted, the sickening crack of her neck like shattering glass. Maria smiled menacingly.

But before he could get there, his body was gripped in an invisible force that froze him in place. His amber eyes were completely overcome with a blue glow. Zacarias and Ava both worked to free him—Ava concentrating on Maria’s steele grip and Zacarias focusing on the tiny witch’s magic.

The hair behind your ear fluttered, you felt his cold breath in its stead.

“I told you. You are mine, you will always be mine.”

You tried to propel yourself away, but he snatched you by your arm, pulling you across his shoulder like a sack of rice. It was futile to fight like you did, to beat your fists on his back and kick your legs. But nevertheless, you struggled in vain.

“Y/N!” your mother called, but she was thrown down by a newborn so hard, her torso shattered from the force. And Ava, she tried to get to you, but the little witch wrapped her in blue light, her powers and range of mobility completely incapacitated. Meanwhile, Zacarias tried to hold the front for both the vampires and Maria.

This is it, you thought. Back to your chains. Preston would not give up his tirade. His muscles tensed and you sensed he was preparing to run. Before he could do so, however, a line of sun-tanned bodies emerged from the thick throes of the forest.

He stopped, his eyes widening in rage. “No! No! We had a deal!”

The first one to speak had long, gray braids covered in beads and ribbons that fell down her back. Her skin was golden brown and covered in elaborate tattoos which stretched down her arms. 

“The deal was that you’d take care of the girl, restore her back to her proper time. That was the only reason we allowed Maaliyah to come with you. But then we learned your true intentions—and no witch would ever bring you back to the 19th century.”

He shook his head, placing you on the ground beside him. “We belong together, Queen Lovie. In the 1860s. Help us restore the timeline, we don’t belong here.”

“No,” she said, “you do. You’re a vampire, you aged as a vampire should. But she was de-aged and taken to this time and century. She will go back, but you will stay.”

She waved her hand, and you were blinded in white light.

You looked around and you were standing in the Oakleigh mansion’s library. A wall of books lined the wall, silk curtains fluttering from the afternoon breeze. In the corner of the room was a crumpled American flag on the cherry wood floor, and up on the wall was the red and blue Confederate flag proudly displayed on the wall. 

You approached the glossy desk, examining the thin papers covering the surface. A broad newspaper, The Mobile Press Register, sat on one of the open bibles. The date at the top read, December 25, 1862.

“It’s you,” you whispered, lifting your eyes. “You’re my mother.”

She was dressed in a servant’s dress, her thick hair unmoisturized and unkempt due to the hard years of work in the fields. But she looked just like you, and she resembled your sister, Ava. 

“For years I’ve watched you from the spirit realm, watching you grow and mature under the care of a stranger. I watched you do things your father and I only dreamed we could see come true.” Reaching forward, she brushed her calloused fingers against your cheek.

You were filled with memories from another life—playing in dirt-floor shacks, braiding the other little girls’ hair with flowers and twigs, singing songs by the riverside on Sunday mornings. It was your life on the plantation, a happy, pleasant life. Your happiness did not solely revolve around Preston, and for years, the two of you encountered a rift from the ages of ten until fifteen. 

It wasn’t until his sixteen birthday did he start looking at you in that way, and it was only because his friends and male family members did it first. He wanted his own girl to call his own, something he could completely control and possess outside the realm of fancy dresses the daughters of wealthy girls flaunted when they visited the estate.

He never loved you—not the way a real man loves a woman. If his desire had a color, it would be blazing red. But Jasper. Jasper’s love was tender like lavender. Gentle and light like cornflower blue.

“I won’t let them undo what I sacrificed my life for,” she promised. “I knew they would try this eventually. That’s why I cast a spell, forever keeping you in the future. I won’t let you come back to this place, I won’t ever let you experience that pain—the pain you felt when my grandchild was lost.”

She waved her hand, and the view of the room began to fade.

“Please, Mama!” you cried, falling to your knees and the skirt of her dress. “I will never see you again! I lost so many good memories of you. . .I don’t even remember your name.”

She kneeled down, placing a feather-like kiss on the top of your forehead. Together, you cried in the receding reality of the room. She was sending you back home.

“Nothing—not time nor man—could take you away from me, baby. I will always be in your heart, even if you can’t quite remember it all. I would rather you hold on to the feeling, the love we had, rather than the details. Take that love and give it to Carmine, to the Cullens, and to Jasper.”

You opened her eyes, and she was gone. Elizabeth. Her name was Elizabeth.

“That damned woman,” Queen Lovie laughed mirthlessly, her hands resting on her hips. “She just don’t know when to quit—even after death. Well then, I guess if the Goddess would have it so, there’s nothing we can do.”

“But what about us?” Preston shouted. “The deal we had?”

“There is no deal, don’t you see? If she would have you, then by all means, I wish you a happily ever after. But it seems she hates you as much as you hate yourself,” Darla, Queen Lovie’s attendant, snapped. “And the witches have nothing to do with that.”

Maria’s grip failed, and Alice came bouncing to her feet as she ran away. Now the playing field was unequally matched. The newborns, in the meantime, were slaughtered by the Cullens and friends, it was just Maria and Preston on the opposing side. 

“It’s over,” you said. “You lost. Accept it, and move on. Life isn’t over, Preston. You have centuries to change your ways.”

He hung his head, fists curled at his side. He lunged.

You held him in mid-air. Your meeting with your mother completely empowered you. You were not some scared little girl. He did not own you, and he never would.

“I could kill you. Nobody would ever miss you. Nobody would ever care. But your life is not mine to claim. Every creature is subject to the wrath of nature, and you will meet that same fate.”

He shuddered violently before his eyes transformed from its vibrant crimson to their river gray. His brilliant pale skin became darker and darker until it was naturally tan, and the inhuman strength once residing within him gradually drained away.

“What. . .what did you do to me?”

“I made you human,” you explained. “To reflect on your actions. No matter what, if a vampire ever tries to turn you, not only will you die, but they will die too. You’re going to spend the next seventy or so years of your human existence regretting ever threatening my family. Since you blame Jasper so much for your vampiric life, you can thank him for delivering you back out into your second human life.”

He fell to the ground, coughing at the sudden impact. Maria’s wild eyes flashed at you, weighing her options. But you knew and she knew; she couldn’t get away.

“But you, bitch, I’m sending you straight to hell.”

When it was over, everybody rushed to their loved ones, throwing their arms around them, holding them close. The emotions were too much, you cried into Jasper’s chest as he cradled you. You refused to put him through the pain of killing two of the closest people in his lives. Yes, the Major would relish in their deaths, but Jasper—your Jasper would feel their pain. He would never be the same.

He didn’t have to say anything, but he professed his love for you as he held you quietly in the midst of the celebration. You were finally together, obstructed by no one or nothing. He reciprocated your emotions which multiplied twice as much, which then came back to you once again. It was a never ending cycle of love and joy, you felt high off of it.

“She really is the most powerful witch there is,” Zacarias said, breathlessly. “Her mother passed on her powers. She. . .teach me for crying out loud!”

Your mom, Carmine, wrapped you and Jasper both in her strong embrace. You didn’t feel the loss of a mother, but the addition of another. One to watch you on Earth and another to watch you in heaven.

One more chapter left and it’s sMuT.

Be safe mah bois, and remember: Black Lives Matter

@frozenhuntress67

Part Six  Part Seven

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 23

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.  

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 2.8k

Parts  24, 25, 26 & 27 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

Forbes: At 30 years old you ranked as one of the top 25 most successful men in business.  You are a huge success. You’ve done all this by the seat of your pants, with no particular training in management. How did you learn how to run a company?

SW: You know, throughout my years in business I’ve discovered something. Coming up, I would always ask “why do you do it that way?”. The answer I would invariably get is: “Oh, that’s just the way things are done around here.” Nobody knows why they do what they do. Nobody thinks very deeply about processes. That’s what I’ve found.

In business a lot of things are folklore. They are done because they were done that way yesterday. And the day before. You have to dig in, ask questions, and not be afraid to piss people off.  It’s not the hardest thing in the world. It’s not rocket science.

Forbes: What drives you?

SW: As a kid, I read an article in Scientific American. It measured the efficiency of locomotion of various species on the planet. Bears. Chimpanzees. Raccoons. Birds. Fish. How many kilo-calories per kilometer did they spend to move? Humans were measured too. And the condor won. It was the most efficient. Humankind came in with an unimpressive showing about a third of the way down the list. But somebody there had the brilliance to test a human riding a bicycle. We blew away the condor. Off the charts.

This really had an impact on me. Humans are tool builders and process creators. We build things that can dramatically amplify our innate human abilities.

If you set a vector off into space, and you change its direction just a little bit at the beginning, the difference is dramatic when it gets a few miles out in space. If we can nudge it in the right direction, it will be a much better thing. I think W & S has had a chance to do that a few times. That gives me tremendous satisfaction.

Forbes: What drives Winchester & Singer employees?

SW: Most people don’t get a chance to do that many significant things in their life. I’m offering people the chance to be on the forefront of change. Everyone person is handpicked to be here. They could be sitting in a monastery somewhere in Japan, or out sailing. Some of the executive team could be playing golf, they could be running other companies. Everyone at W & S chosen to work with this emerging corner of law and technology. Plus I pay people what they’re worth. A rock star deserves a salary to match. I’ve never shied away from rewarding those who deserve it.

Forbes: Let’s just get it out there, the elephant in the room. How has the shooting changed the way you run W & S? What would you do differently in hindsight?

SW: The most effective change I’ve made has been hiring outside managers to monitor each department’s cultural cohesion. I hire the best and brightest, with that comes egos, reputations, and unrealistic expectations. It’s a balance between heavy-handed micromanagement and understanding what’s truly going on. We’re placing a greater focus on not only the quality of work produced, but the quality of the work experience.

Forbes: You’re a notorious figure with a demanding reputation. How do you see yourself?

SW: My job is to not be easy on people. My job is to make them better. My job is to pull things together from different parts of the company and clear the way and get the resources for key projects. To take these great people, push them, and make them even better, coming up with more aggressive visions of stale concepts.

Forbes: What advice would you give to someone looking at you as their model for success?

SW: Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do. If you haven't found it yet, keep looking. Don't settle. You'll know when you find it. Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. I learned that the hard way.

Forbes: You’re known for being stubbornly private regarding your personal life, but in one of your most famous quotes you said things such as hobbies and even family were a distraction. You’re older and wiser, do you still believe that?

SW: (long pause) Yes, but there’s someone in my life now who won’t be too pleased with my answer. The right partner makes you better. Distractions can turn into strengths, but I still believe it’s important to screen who and what you let into your life.

You sit back on the couch smiling at the photo of him on the opposite page. The photographer managed to make him look like some kind of billionaire playboy. He’s wearing a designer suit, something edgy and slim with no socks and leather shoes. His trademark glasses are nowhere to be seen and his hair is wild around his face. He looks like a different Sam, a doppelganger from another universe.

This is his second Forbes cover. The first showcased him as a new powerhouse executive but this article goes on and on about the way Sam is reshaping the way law will be written as it regards to intellectual property rights.

And that last question and then his answer. The right partner makes you better. You wish he was here in your tiny apartment so you could crawl into his lap and show him just how much better things can really get.

Monday

On Monday morning you follow Cole to the nearest conference room. You’ve worked hard to put together the right team for this maiden case. Everyone is feeling the pressure, pressure that’s only made worse by Sam’s attendance.

Sam makes you slightly nervous, but only because you want him to be proud of your work. Truth be told you’re more concerned about proving to Cole you can do this job and do it well.

Everyone else is terrified of incurring the wrath of the great Sam Winchester.

Despite working for W & S most employees never meet him face to face, so this is a big deal for the team and even more so for Cole. They have a lot to prove. This morning is the first in a battery of tests to come.

You set up the presentation while the team trails in. Each junior associate has been assigned an assistant and you’re happy to see the familiar faces of Millie and Lexie.

“Is he normally late?” Cole glances at his watch. “It’s 9:15.”

“No, not normally,” you reply as the door opens and a blonde woman you’ve never seen before scurries in ahead of Sam. The look on his face tells you everything you need to know, something didn’t go his way. He’s pissed.

He takes a seat, opening a legal pad full of notes. The woman sits beside him, offering a pen. He sighs and plucks it from her fingers.

“Let’s get started.” Sam begins. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Right,” Cole stands up, adjusting his suit jacket. “I’ve put together an overview, the key players and areas we believe there’s wiggle room to make our case.” He turns to you on cue. “Y/N.”

You start the presentation from your laptop, doing everything in your power not to look directly at Sam.

Cole presents, he’s well spoken and thinks on his feet. Sam interjects with questions designed to test Cole’s agility as much as hear an answer, but your new boss performs just as expected.

Next up are the associates and they don’t fare as well. Leon hasn’t done his homework, he doesn’t have the correct cases with the legal precedent. Jasper looks like he’s going to throw up as Sam goes down his list of suggestions and eviscerates each one, piece by piece.

While Sam speaks it occurs to you for the first time perhaps this is less his intolerance and more about the frustration of being the smartest person in the room. He already knows the answers, he doesn’t make a move without planning five steps ahead. He’s just trying to get everyone else caught up.

Halfway through his interrogation of Jenny Salter, a leggy redhead who started two weeks ago, the soft strains of a radio can be heard, growing closer. The guy who runs the coffee cart listens to classic rock on a little radio as he wheels around the office and at the moment Blinded By The Light is getting louder and louder.

“What the hell is that?” Sam cocks his head.

“I’ll go check,” Millie gets up.

As you watch her stand up your heart flutters. Little palpitations, once, twice, and then a tightness spreading out. Shit. This couldn't be a worse time.

Your palms go sticky-sweaty, a heat starting in your belly and fanning out like wildfire, until it seems the walls are closing in.

“Can someone help her,” Sam gestures toward the open door. “Is it that difficult to turn a radio off?”

“I need to get out of here,” you whisper, grabbing Cole by the wrist.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers back, turning to look at you. “Jesus, are you sick?”

“I just, um…” the words get caught as your breath goes choppy. “I can’t breathe.”

“Are you okay?” Jenny inquires from across the table. Under any other circumstances, you’d be horrified to have all the attention focused on you but right now you’re desperately trying not to pass out.

“Y/N?” Sam’s voice drifts in from somewhere far away.

“I’m gonna…” are your last words as everything fades to black.

-

You blink once, twice and a third time cobwebs begin to clear. There’s a pounding in the back of your skull, a heavy thump thump that hurts like a motherfucker.

It takes a moment to place the location but you’re lying on a couch in Sam’s office. When you turn your head both Sam and Cole are standing near his desk, both of them watching you.

“Welcome back,” Cole smiles, moving forward. You lock eyes with Sam for a moment, before focusing on the other man in front of your.

“I passed out huh?”

“Yeah. You hit your head on the table on the way down. You’re gonna have a goose egg.” Cole makes a pained face.

“Shit,” you feel at the tender lump on the side of your head. “This is so embarrassing. Sorry I ruined the meeting.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Cole nods. “You should probably go get checked out.”

“It’s just a panic attack. I get them from time to time. PTSD.”

“I’m familiar.”

Of course he is, the man fought in a war and you’re talking to him about PTSD.

“You should go home,” Sam suggests, studying the interaction between you and Cole.

“Really, I think I’ll be okay. I’ve got some work I need to finish-”

“Go home.” Sam raises his voice. It’s not a suggestion.

“Probably a good idea.” Cole agrees. He offers you a hand up from the couch. “You live close? I can-”

“We have people who can take her,” Sam interjects. “I’d like if you would go back down and pull everyone back together. Have the team regroup and we’ll reschedule for this afternoon.”

“I’d kinda like to stay with her.” Cole looks to you. “I feel responsible.”

“I’ll watch her until a driver comes to take her home.” Sam holds out his arm, ushering him toward the door. Cole looks hesitant, but nods in agreement.

“Check in later and let me know how you’re feeling okay?”

“Sure thing.” You’re thankful for his kindness. He’s proven himself to be an upstanding guy. You’re lucky to have him as a direct supervisor.

As soon as the door clicks shut Sam is kneeling on the carpet in front of you. One hand slides into your hair, finding the growing bump.

“Ouch,” you hiss.

“It’s big,” he cautions. “You should have a doctor look at it, make sure you don’t have a concussion.”

“I passed out before I hit my head. I think I’m fine.” You force a weak smile, looking over his face as he looks up to you.

Sam rarely looks up at anyone or anything, this position is vulnerable, submissive but he doesn’t seem to mind as he studies your face.

“It was a bad one,” Sam denotes. “It came on fast and you were on the ground in under a minute.”

“So embarrassing.” You watch him as he carefully pushes hair away from your forehead. “Do I have to go home?”

“Yes,” he maintains. “Go to my house.”

“Really, I’m okay. I can just go to my own place and lay down.”

“I’d like to check on you later. I’d prefer if you stayed with me.”

You forget sometimes that safety is Sam’s flag ship. He’s afraid of losing the only person in his life, in moments like this you get a glimpse of the acute anxiety. It looks exhausting.  

“Alright, your house. But I want dinner.”

“You can have whatever you want.”

Wednesday

“Y/N…” Cole starts, his voice trailing off.

“Yeah?” You don’t look up from the document you’re working on, scribbling a note in red ink. It’s been a long week of case review and making sure that everyone is on the same page. The real work begins in a few days so the team is trying to prep as they can. You’ve been spread out on the small couch in the corner of his office for hours, reviewing and taking notes. Trying to memorize the details.

“I’m gonna say something and I hope you take it the right way, because I’m coming to you from a place of good intentions.”

“That sounds ominous.” Sitting up, you close the folder and place it on the table giving him your full attention. “What’s up?”

“Is he always like that with you?”

“What are you talking about?”

There’s an immediate nervous feeling. A wispy flutter of panic.

“I’m talking about Sam Winchester. He brought you up to his office after you passed out, offered to personally watch over you until a driver was free. He can’t even remember the name of his new assistant but with you he was...attentive.”

“I worked on a project with him last year. We spent a significant amount of time together,” you counter.

Stay cool. All this time and Pepper had to walk in on you to see there was something going on. But Cole’s sharp, observant. He picked up on it right away.

Cole stares at you, pursing his lips and trying to decide whether or not to share what he’s really thinking.

“You should watch yourself.” His words are careful. “The way he looks at you, I’ve seen that look before.”

“You’re wrong.” Your entire face is hot. “He’s not like that.”

“I hope you’re right. Just keep my voice in the back of your head, kay? Don’t let yourself be in a situation where you’re alone with him.”

“Cole-”

“I’m serious. He’s interested in you. I’ve known men like him. I wouldn’t want you to be put in a position where something happened. A guy like that is used to getting what he wants. He might not wait for consent.”

That takes you back. The tone shifts and you swallow, thinking about how you want to respond to this curve ball.

“You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions,” you bristle, trying to subdue the urge to put Cole in his place. “Even if he was interested in me, that doesn’t mean he’s a freakin’ rapist.”

“I’m not saying he is.” Cole tries to explain himself. “There’s just something about him. You’re intuitive, you have to feel it too. You have to know the rumors about his brother? How they grew up? You can’t be sure some of that crazy isn’t lurking below the surface-”

“Sam has been nothing but kind to me,” you interrupt. “He’s hard to work for but he’s given me opportunities no one else ever has. You shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

“You don’t wonder why?”

“Why what?” You stand up, taking a step toward the desk. “You don’t think my work is good enough that he would see some talent in me?”

“I didn’t say that, either. You’re smart, articulate, you think on your feet. But that describes most of the employees here. I only meant there could be a reason he singles you out.”

Fuck.

In four short weeks Cole Trenton has managed to see what no one else could.

[lady-plantagenet]

Unsolicited Book Reviews (n2): Death be Pardoner to Me

Rating:

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Even before I had an account, I tended to go to tumblr to see people’s opinions before buying a histfic. Certain books are either severely underrepresented, where I feel like there needs to be something on them, whereas others, though talked about enough, something more can still be said about them. So for my quarantine fun, I have decided to start a series where I review every medieval historical fiction novel I read. Hopefully, it will either start interesting discussions or at least be some help for those browsing its tag when considering purchasing it.

TL;DR: Since the author claims this book is written through her channelling of George Duke of Clarence, I don’t know if I should approach this as a historical fiction review or otherwise. Regardless, well-written and very balanced. The voice throughout was similar to how I pictured the real George of Clarence. Nevertheless, I deduct one star because I have noticed some innacuracies. Whether this discounts the veracity of the author’s claim - I leave it up to you. Despite how dodgy this book may appear, it has gotten very good reviews online and I do assure you it is not trashy or melodramatic at all; it is high quality compared to most modern histfic and other genre fictions in its prose and psychological insight.

Plot: So what essentially happens is, we get a fictionalist account (albeit a very short one) of George’s life. The book’s chapters are split between 1st person (where he (George) intimates what he felt and what thought during an event) and 3rd person limited POV. The author claims that the entire book is told in his own words but I suppose the background descriptions and such in the 3rd person chapters were her own words. We get basically every major event in his life (birth, childhood, marriage, rebellion and death) and some in-between. The in-between moments were by far my favourites as they are what added depth to what is essentially this character analysis (because we all know what he did, we are now interested in why). I was happy to see a lot of little details in this book were confirmed by my research (Caxton dedicating him a book, his penchant for fine clothing, his suffering of headaches (maybe after suffering the recorded head injury at Barnet) etc), his gift for legal arguments (I obviously squealed when I found that out) so I did end up learning something.

On the other hand, I would have wanted an account of the time he spend with Louis XI, Margaret of Anjou, Anne Neville and Jasper Tudor and what he thought and said. I would have also wanted more insight into the whole Burdett and Stacey debacle, not to mention his relationship with Sir Roger Tocotes: the old friend who though was apparently part of the whole poisoning Isabel scheme, Clarence could not bring himself to execute. Warwick surprisingly doesn’t feature very heavily either, nor does Isabel enough. But I’ll take what I can get when it comes to his particular historical figure.

Characterisation/ Historical Accuracy: As I’ve said, since the author claims to be a medium (I shall not comment on this as I myself am undecided on where I stand) any incongruency cannot be taken as merely artistic licence. So, the voice of George (which I suppose has been transcribed into our contemporary speech so we can understand what he says) feels very true to the character. His attitude towards things definitely sounds like a man from the 15th century. He is more reasonable now, than he would be if he were telling us his story during the action itself, because a lot of the book is told through the spirits (?) hindsight. Nevertheless, you do feel as if you were with the character while everything unfolded. The portrayal is more sympathetic than in other novels, nevertheless, he is no Gary Stu or major victim. He is portrayed as someone with genuine principles, intelligence, capable of some love towards other while also being deluded by his own self-importance, sometimes irrational and judgmental. So more or less a real and complex person.

On the other hand, some claims in this novel are quite bold but though unsubstantiated are not strictly speaking innacurate (I won’t spoil here, but if anyone has zero plans of reading this book but regardless wants to know what I mean PM me). One thing that made me deduct one star was this one blatant innacuracy: Ankarette Twynyho’s portrayal as a young woman, when we know that by the time she reached Clarence’s household she had a grandson (John Twynyho who petitioned Edward IV for a posthumous parson). There was also the implausible suggestion that George would not allow for in his household to be said that Richard of Gloucester married Anne Neville for her money (which though spirit George may in retrospect believe he loved her, 15th century George would at worst have been the one starting those rumours and at best, would not have cared). However, the latter unlike the former isn’t disprovable beyond doubt - but still I can somehow feel the Richardianism from the author seep in a bit. It actually has quite blatantly in a couple of instances. For example the suggestion that Richard visited him in the Tower (which I am 90% sure could not have happened). I do believe George and Richard loved each other in some weird twisted way since they were raised together and brothers, but I genuinely don’t believe it was so conscious on either’s part. Also, Isabel Neville was described as very ill from the birth of Richard of Clarence, but as we all know she was actually really well after the birth, she did not die of childbed fever. This is precisely why Clarence thought poisoning could have taken place. Isabel and George’s relationship as a whole was rather sad, and a part of me hopes this is all a hoax just so I can hope they were happier together in real life.

Prose: You may be surprised to know that the prose is actually still better than the vast majority of historical fiction novels. It flows well throughout, the dialogue is engaging and realistic, the descriptions of places and things (what in my opinion is essential for a period novel) is really well done but not too embellished. Certain scenes seriously gave me the feels (happens rarely), but then again it is hard to know if my reaction is more to do with the draw I have towards George in general than the author’s craft - regardless, I still think it is better literary wise than anything Weir or most popular histfics ever wrote, though obviously does not hold a candle to Jarman, Lytton-Bulwer or Scott. But then again, this was not even intended to be a novel in the classical sense. This is where half of the stars come from whereas the others come from insightfulness (as it did give me some avenues of research). There is also a semi-mystical theme throughout (as you would expect from a medium) but it is very subtle and not at all TWQ-esque, an honestly - it is plausible as we do need to keep in mind that medieval people did all believe in Angels, spirits and such. I think this added a nice flavour in some scenes.

Overall, this novel believable or not was much-needed. Too much is written about Richard III and the others. When a mutual told me of it I obvs could not resist haha. Since it was so short (around 200 pages with fairly large font) I think I might go ahead and purchase her Anthony Woodville one too (imagine my luck: two of my favourite historical figures got books).

[lost-n-stereo]

Summary: All Bellamy Blake’s little sister wants is to attend summer camp. When his best friend tells him of a job opening as a camp counselor, Bellamy jumps at the opportunity to make his sister’s dream come true, plus earn a little cash for college. What he doesn’t expect is the breath of fresh air that is Clarke Griffin, a camp counselor from another school that turns his summer upside down. Multi-chaper Modern AU

in the sweet heart of summer

Chapter 1 - [AO3]

He’s never been a fan of summer vacation.

Call him weird but he was always the kind of kid that genuinely liked school. Learning to him was fun but it was also nice to have structure. His home life wasn’t the greatest, and being the oldest child and having a single mom that worked two jobs meant that his summer vacation was usually spent babysitting and working odd jobs to bring in extra money. Octavia slept in almost every day and they would bum around their small town, stopping for ice cream or swimming at the public pool. On the nights Octavia would have sleepovers at her friend’s house Bellamy would join his group of friends as they drank beer by the railroad tracks that ran the length around the entire town.

That’s what he was imagining this summer would be, just a repeat of every summer he’s had for the last eighteen years. His sister just turned thirteen though and the only thing on her mind has been summer camp.

“It’s expensive,” his mom tells him one night in May. School lets out in just under two weeks and he knows his mom can’t afford a camp that lasts almost two months long. “She’s going to be devastated.”

“Let me talk to Jasper. Maybe he knows a way to get her into the camp he works at every summer.”

His mom’s eyes light up. “Really?”

Bellamy shrugs. “It doesn’t hurt to ask.”

“Thank you, Bell. Even if he could just get us a discount, maybe between the two of us we could pull it off.”

As soon as she walks out of the kitchen, dropping a kiss on his head as she leaves, he pulls out his cell and thumbs in a text to his best friend.

Any chance you know how to get a spot for O in your summer camp that won’t cost us an arm and a leg?

His phone rings, just like he knew that it would because Jasper hates talking on the phone.

“Dude,” is all his best friend says and Bellamy laughs. “If you want to get Octavia into this camp all you need to do is apply to be a camp counselor. Younger siblings of counselors stay for free and you get paid.”

“No shit?” He’s not the most outdoorsy person in the world but he knows enough to probably teach some little kids how to do basic wilderness things.

“None to be given, my friend. I’ll email you the link to apply.”

Then Jasper hangs up without another word and Bellamy chuckles, waits for the email to come through and applies for the job that might make his sister’s summer wish come true.

***

“Oh. My. God.”

Bellamy shushes Octavia. “O, you need to chill.”

His sister is practically jumping up and down in her seat as the school bus they are on drives under the Forest Acres Summer Camp sign. Jasper is sitting in the seat in front of him, with their mutual friend Harper, and he knows at least fix or six other counselors from their high school.

Jasper turns around and rests his arms on the back of his bench seat. “Leave her alone, Blake. She’s just excited for all the fresh air and activities.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, mostly because he knows full well that Jasper only comes to work at this camp so he can see his summer girlfriend Raven. Plus he knows that the money isn’t bad. He’ll make almost two grand this summer and it’s going to help a lot with his moving expenses for college.

The drive to the center of camp takes a little less than ten minutes. There are trees lining both sides of the long road, and he’s assuming that’s where the camp gets its name. The camp is almost four hours from home and it’s the first time that Octavia has ever stayed anywhere without their mom for longer than a night or two. He’s glad he’ll be around if she starts to get homesick.

“What kind of stuff are we going to be doing?” Octavia asks and Jasper starts ticking off items like he has the entire summer activity catalog memorized. And hell, maybe he does. Jasper’s been coming to this summer camp since he was seven so he has a solid ten years of Forest Acres experience.

“And they will group you into cabins,” Jasper is telling her. “Each counselor is assigned a cabin and every counselor will have different things for you to do too.”

“Can Bellamy be my counselor?”

Jasper shakes his head. “Sorry, kid. Girls get girls, boys get boys. But you’ll see him a lot. We do movie nights and camp outs and we all eat together for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”

“Cool,” Octavia says, looking out the window as giant green pine trees pass by her. “This summer is going to be so awesome.”

Bellamy smiles and ruffles her hair, sits back in his seat until the bus pulls to a stop in front of a long red building not dissimilar to a barn.

“That’s the main office,” Jasper tells them, gathering his stuff before standing up and turning to Bellamy. “That’s where we’ll get our cabin assignments and meet all the other counselors.”

Bellamy punches him lightly on the arm. “Bet you’re excited to see your girlfriend,” he teases and Jasper flips him off.

“Don’t knock summer love, bro. It can be pretty fun.” Jasper raises his eyebrows suggestively and Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“Dude, there are kids here. Keep it in your pants.”

Bellamy grabs their backpacks and follows Jasper and Harper, who’s bouncing on her heels to get out of the bus.

“Speaking of summer love,” Jasper whispers and Bellamy watches as she practically jumps off the bus and into the arms of a guy that looks around their age. “That’s Monty Green. He goes to the same school as Raven.”

Bellamy nods and looks around. “And where is Raven? I’m honestly starting to wonder if you made her up.” Octavia snickers from beside him and Jasper shoots them both dirty looks.

“She’s over there,” Jasper says, trying to point discreetly to where two girls are standing side by side holding clipboards. “The blonde next to her is new, though. I don’t know her.”

Bellamy looks at the girl, who’s got her long blonde hair tied up in a high ponytail with loose curls falling out naturally. He’s seen girls at his school try for the same look but it always comes across like they are trying too hard. This girl is cute as hell with legs for days despite not being very tall at all, lean and tan in her short red athletic shorts.

“Let’s go,” Jasper says to Bellamy before turning to his sister. “O, see that group of girls your age over there? That’s where you should be.”

Octavia looks up at Bellamy and for the first time he can see panic rising up in her eyes. He bends down so he’s eye level with her. “I’m going to be right here, okay? Don’t forget, we came here so you can have fun.”

She bites down on her lip before standing up straight and he can see his badass little sister coming back. “You’re right, Bell. I totally got this. Later, losers.”

Jasper snorts. “She’s one of a kind.” Raven waves over to them and Jasper elbows him. “Move your ass, Blake.”

Raven is pretty, definitely pretty enough to make Jasper an idiot ten months out of every year. But the girl standing next to her is a stunner, even more so up close.

Jasper and Raven hug, leaving Bellamy and the unnamed girl standing awkwardly while the couple giggles and speak quietly beside them.

“I’m Bellamy Blake,” he says, deciding to break the silence and she looks relieved.

“Clarke Griffin.” She holds up her clipboard. “I can help you sign in if you’re a first-timer like me.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Bellamy turns to let his friend know that he’s taking off but Jasper just waves him off without even looking at him. Clarke laughs when Bellamy leans over and whispers, “I’d be mad but he hasn’t shut up about her since September.”

“That’s actually kind of sweet,” she says as they weave their way through groups of kids. Bellamy looks for Octavia and sees her laughing with a group of girls. Clarke follows his line of sight. “Little sister?”

He smiles. “Yeah. She’s the reason I’m here actually. I only applied for the job so she could get in.”

“That’s also kind of sweet.” When he looks down she’s blushing, pretty pink hitting her cheeks like she’s embarrassed that she said what she did. “So this is the main office…”

Bellamy follows her into the building and is hit with a sudden blast of air conditioning. “Jesus, it’s freezing in here.”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, the camp director hates the heat. You’d think that someone that hates the heat wouldn’t work at a summer camp, right?”

She walks him to the front desk, which looks a lot like the front office of a school. There’s an older redheaded woman behind the desk that introduces herself as Kathy, and she helps him sign in and lets him know he’ll be the counselor for Cabin B4.

Clarke waits for him, even though she doesn’t have to, and when he heads back to her with his own clipboard in hand she asks him what cabin he got.

“How funny! I have Cabin G4. And look,” she says tilting her clipboard so he can read it. “Octavia Blake. Is that your sister?”

“Yeah, it is.” He’s happy that Octavia is with Clarke, not just because he happens to think she’s pretty fucking cute but also because he can tell that she’s a good person. “I’m glad she’ll have you looking after her.”

Bellamy bites back a smile when her cheeks flush pink. “I’ll make sure she has a good summer.”

He can’t help but think this summer is going to be good for him too.

*** The first few days of camp are hectic.

He’s in charge of five campers, all between the ages of ten to thirteen. There are three cabins of boys in this age group so he gets together with the other two counselors to come up with activities for the campers to do on their downtime.

“What about a fishing trip? There’s a bigger lake not far, I’m sure we could secure two of the vans for the day.”

Bellamy nods at Monty, who he’s gotten to know pretty well over the last week. “Yeah, I think they’d like that. Murphy, any ideas?”

John Murphy, who seems like he’s here for the money and probably not much else, shrugs. “Shooting practice?”

Bellamy snorts. “I don’t know if teaching a bunch of preteens how to shoot guns is a good idea.”

“I mean, like…bows and arrows or whatever.”

“Archery?” Bellamy looks over to Monty, who nods like it’s not a bad idea. “Okay, yeah. They’d probably like that.”

“We should be teaching these kids useful life skills,” Murphy says. “Like how to throw knives and pick up chicks.”

Monty rolls his eyes. “We’re not here to help them hook up, Murphy. They’re kids.”

“They’re almost teens,” Murphy says. “Why not have like…fuck I don’t know. A dance or something?”

Bellamy and Monty look at each other, both visibly shocked at the idea. “That’s…actually a really great idea, Murphy.”

“Yeah,” Monty agrees. “We could ask for the rec hall for the night. Maybe we could ask one of the older campers to DJ?”

Bellamy starts jotting down notes. “I’ll talk to Clarke about it and have her talk to the other counselors.” He nods to the guys as he stands up to leave their cabin. “Good ideas, Murphy.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

It’s nearing nine o’clock, thirty minutes past lights out, so he makes his way to the cabin Clarke shares with three other counselors and knocks on the door.

Raven answers, her smile warm but tired, and he can only imagine how demanding taking care of a bunch of preteen girls must be. “Looking for Clarke?”

“Um…yeah.”

He doesn’t blush, exactly, but he does feel like his skin is a little hotter. It’s not even that he and Clarke have spent a lot of time together since coming here. It’s been a few smiles across the mess hall and brief hellos here and there.  

Raven gives him this knowing smile and turns her head over her shoulder. “Griff, there’s someone here to see you.”

Clarke appears a minute later in a red and white striped shirt and a pair of cut off jean shorts. Her hair is up in a messy bun and her cheeks are tinted pink from too much sun.

“Hi,” she says brightly. “What’s up?”

Raven is still standing there, an eyebrow raised and her hip popped out, and Bellamy chuckles. “Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“Yeah, for sure. Let me just grab my shoes.”

She emerges from the cabin with a small bottle in her hand. “Close your eyes,” she says and he does without asking why. He feels a mist on his face and arms and when he opens his eyes she’s spraying it on herself. “The bugs out here are awful. This bug spray is the best on the market.”

It smells expensive, not like the cheap three dollar bottles his mom buys at the grocery store. It occurs to him then that Clarke probably doesn’t need the money she’ll be making this summer, which means she’s here because she genuinely wants to be.

“Thanks,” he says and nods towards the lake that sits in the center of the camp. “Want to head that way?”

She agrees and they set off towards the trail that leads around the lake. The camp is still alive with activity, counselors laughing around the campfire and couples sneaking off into the woods to fool around.

“Murphy came up with a good idea,” Bellamy starts and Clarke snickers.

“I find that hard to believe.”

He laughs out loud. “That’s fair. But he thinks our cabins should have a dance. We were thinking just our cabins and the girls that are the same age.”

“Wow, that actually is a good idea.”

“Trust me, we were as shocked as you are.”

They make their way towards the lake and sit on a bench that looks out over the still water. It’s quieter here, just the sounds of crickets and rustling leaves from the light breeze blowing around them.

“This place is so beautiful,” she says quietly. “Living in the city you don’t get this kind of silence.”

“Where are you from?”

“Boston, originally. We moved to North Carolina last year and when I met Raven at school she told me about this place. She made it sound magical.”

An idea occurs to him and he grins to himself before standing up. “I want to show you something.”

He holds out his hand and she takes it. “Where are we going?”

“Be patient.”

There’s a small trail that leads through the trees, he found it on a nature walk he took his campers on a couple of days ago, and it leads to a clearing that’s only twenty feet or so wide.

“Close your eyes,” he tells her right before they hit it and he’s pleased when she does.

“You’re not going to kill me are you?” she jokes and he snickers. “I’ve seen enough summer camp horror movies to know that’s a real possibility.”

“Would I tell you if that was my plan?”

“Good point.”

When they make it to the clearing he stops and moves her so she’s in front of him. “Open your eyes.”

Her sharp intake of breath makes him smile. “Oh my gosh, Bellamy.”

The clearing is full of fireflies, just as he expected it to be. It’s the perfect temperature for them here and they are easy to see without a ton of trees in the way.

“How’s this for magical?”

Clarke’s hand is still in his as her eyes roam over every inch of the clearing. “This is everything.” She turns around suddenly and throws her arms around his neck. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

There are few moments in your life that you know it’s a perfect moment in time when you’re in it. Sometimes these moments pass you by and years later you look back at them and think, damn if only I would have known then what I know now. He’ll be damned if he lets one of those moments pass him by.

When she pulls away she’s still close, her lips a hairbreadth away from his, and when he bends down to kiss her everything else falls away. Her lips are pillow soft against his and he doesn’t try anything more, just kisses her softly surrounded by the fireflies dancing around them.

“This is a perfect moment,” she whispers against his lips, saying out loud the words he was just thinking in his head, and he grins.

“It won’t be the last,” he promises her. “It’s going to be a long summer.”

[yetanotherramblingfangirl]

2/52 Hackle

Royal AU + Marriage of Convenience

So I may have gone a bit overboard, but now I’m into this idea.  Like a lot.

Princess Ada is the ruler of a small principality, Argutos.  Argutos is known for two things: its high literacy rate and agricultural production.  Ada is considered by her subjects to be a good ruler, one who has made it a priority to make herself available to her people.  She holds weekly open sessions at the palace during which any of her subjects may come forward to raise an issue.

Ada’s twin sister Agatha was banished from the kingdom ten years ago for her attempted coup against their mother, Princess Alma.  She fled to places unknown and their mother’s spies were never able to determine exactly where she’d settled.  Well, now she’s emerged as the leader of the Grand Duchy of Nocivis and Ada feels it is only a matter of time until she attacks Argutos.

Hecate is the sharp-tongued, bookish eldest daughter of King Jasper of Alaitasuna.  She has managed to run off most suitors, much to her relief and her father’s mounting frustration.  Her interest in being a political pawn for the furtherance of her father’s power is nil.  She is perfectly content to be left to her books and experiments.

Hecate stood before her father’s throne, chin tilted upward, shoulders back, and gaze steady.  Despite her outward calm, she could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage as she waited for her father’s lecture on how to behave toward suitors to end.

“Hecate, you are nearing 25.  Your duty is to marry well, and you will.  There will be no further discussion on the matter.”

She waited a moment before speaking, waiting for her father to truly look at her.  “I know well what is expected of me, Father.  I am far enough down the line of succession to know that I will be married off to the first suitor of any note who asks.  The first politically advantageous match will be made, and I have resigned myself to the reality that I will be little more than chattel.  But I refuse to be lectured on how to appeal to suitors.  It is immaterial and a waste of both our time.  I will not compromise myself for anyone.  Including you, Father.  Excuse me.”

Without waiting to be dismissed, Hecate left her father’s throne room and walked quickly back through the palace to her chambers.  She felt lighter, as if a weight had finally been lifted.  But the closer she got to her rooms, the harder the realization hit her that she had accomplished something.  She would not be complicit, she would not simply wilt away into subservience.

Ada needs to cement Argutos’s alliance with their more militarily powerful neighbor to the west, Alaitasuna.  She is not sure of the best way to go about it, feeling that the most obvious route may not be open to her.  Political marriages are the tried and true method of securing alliances with foreign powers.  Tucking that thought away as not worthy of real consideration, she focuses instead on strengthening trade ties.  Her visit to the Alaitasuna for the trade summit becomes her point of focus.

The visit of the Princess of Argutos is viewed as something of a coup by Hecate’s father.  Alaitasuna is incredibly mountainous and relies on agricultural trade with Argutos to feed its people.  Hecate is ambivalent about the visit at first.  It is a disruption to her current research projects.

At the official reception dinner upon her arrival, Ada is seated next to Princess Hecate.  While the initial conversation is difficult, Ada does eventually find they have a common interest in the works of Alaitasuni alchemist Itzal Mintxo.  The change in Hecate’s demeanor is immediate and Ada finds herself wanting to continue talking with the younger woman.  Intelligence and enthusiasm are magnetic and Ada can admit that she enjoys having a good conversation with someone who shares her interests.

The trade summit drags on for almost two weeks.  When they are not in meetings, Ada and Hecate are in Hecate’s chambers working on her latest scientific research project or walking in the gardens.  Though neither would consider the other anything more than a friendly acquaintance due to the recent nature of their meeting, they do get along.  Two days before she is set to return home to Argutos, Ada invites Hecate to join her on a walk through the palace gardens.

They walked side by side, the guards surrounding them on all sides doing their best to allow for privacy.  The only sound for several moments was the crunch of gravel under feet.  Ada looked around, observing the grounds.  They were quite lovely, the mountain view really quite something.  Argutos could not have been more different, with its miles and miles of rolling plains.  She would miss the view here, though she was more than prepared to return home.  But she couldn’t leave without offering Hecate something: the chance to leave on her own terms.

“Is something the matter?” Hecate asked, her brow furrowing slightly with worry.

Ada smiled over at her, laying a gentle hand on Hecate’s shoulder.  “Not at all.  I just had something of a proposition for you.”

“Oh?”

“I must warn you, it’s somewhat unconventional.”

“Now you’ve really piqued my interest.”

Taking a deep to steel her nerve, Ada said, “I know that your father wishes for you to marry.  I would like to offer myself as an option, should you agree.”  When she did not receive an immediate response beyond stunned silence, Ada plowed on.  “I would expect nothing of you, aside from your presence at official functions, and you would be free to continue your research.  I would never wish to constrain you.  I just–”

Hecate stopped walking and simply stared for a moment, her entire body stilling.  “You wish to marry me?”

Ada smoothed imaginary creases from her skirt, eyes everywhere but on Hecate’s face.  “I am proposing a mutually beneficial arrangement.  In the form of marriage.”

“What do you gain from this?”  Hecate’s hands twisted in front of her, the torsion and flexion a somewhat painful distraction from her mounting anxiety.

“A stronger alliance with Alaitasuna and military support in the event of foreign incursion.”

Silence stretched between them for several moments before Hecate took a deep breath and spoke.  “Is that a pressing concern?”

Ada offered no hesitation, staring Hecate directly in the eye as she answered.  “Yes.”

“I see.”

Ada took a few steps away before turning back to look at Hecate.  “I know the arrangement is probably suboptimal, but you would fulfill your father’s requirement that you marry and my home would be more secure.  I do not make this offer lightly, though I will feel no ill will should you say no.  I hope that we can be friends, Hecate.  You are a brilliant woman and I have enjoyed our time here together.  I just thou–”

“I accept your terms.”

Ada and Hecate are married several months later and Hecate comes to live in Argutos.  Ada builds Hecate her own lab in the palace and helps with experiments when her help is requested.  Hecate uses her experiments to help develop new treatments for blight and insects in Argutos’s staple crops.  Despite being very severe and taciturn in her official appearances, no one can say that she doesn’t care about the people of her new home.  When she volunteers to help treat patients during a rheumatic fever epidemic breaks out in the capital, she becomes something of a national hero.

Ada and Hecate have been married for ten years when Agatha finally attacks Argutos.  The ensuing conflict, which ends with Ada being forced to directly confront her sister and Hecate almost sacrificing herself in order to save Ada from harm, shows just how close the two have become.  Hecate is injured in the battle, which serves as the last motivation Ada needs in order to vanquish her sister for good.

As Hecate is healing from her injuries, Ada confesses that she has fallen in love with Hecate.  She remains a constant figure at Hecate’s bedside and over time Hecate is comfortable enough to admit the depth of her own feelings.  [“Hecate, I think you throwing yourself in front of my sister’s sword was enough to tell me how you felt.”  “No.  I would have done that for anyone honorable.”  “Really?”  “Hopefully you won’t have cause to find out.”]

Having freed the people of Nocivis from Agatha’s cruel reign, Ada and Hecate restore the rightful ruler to the throne, coincidentally a distant cousin of Ada’s, Mona.  A firm alliance is formed between the two states.  They rule for forty more years and bring about a new era of peace and prosperity.  They leave behind a legacy their heir, the young Grand Duchess Maud of Nocivis [the grandaughter of Mona], continues to build upon for years to come.

send me two tropes and a ship and I’ll tell you how I’d use them in a story

[twilight-adamo]

Author’s Notes: Brave New World, Chapter 1: The Parting of the Ways

In April 2018, the same day I posted the epilogue to As Dreams Are Made On, I wrote the first scene of Brave New World, and most of the second. And then I got stuck, for quite a long time. I lost myself in research, tried to build out my plans, tried to focus on other things for a time, particularly These Our Actors, which posed its own challenges - but I’ll cover that in my author’s notes on Rosalie’s installment. I had a difficult year for a number of reasons. For a time I wasn’t writing at all.

I see from the revision history that I only came back to Brave New World in February of this year, spent a couple days on it, and left it alone again until June. June was when I finally realized that there was one particular thing in my life that was destroying my mental health and my ability to create, and that I was carrying on with it out of a sense of obligation, but I’d help no one - least of all myself - if I wore myself down on it. So, reluctantly, I dropped the obligation that was dominating my mental landscape, I took a step back, and I allowed myself to breathe. I’m still not working at a hundred percent, but I am getting better. And over the last few days, I’ve been able to write again.

My original plan for this chapter had been to focus on the wedding of Charlie and Kate, and I threw myself into a ton of wedding research, wanting to get everything just right. I figured Carlisle would officiate, so I researched Anglican marriage services and drew heavily on what I found. I looked at venues and considered colors and organized the wedding party and stopped just short of actually planning an entire wedding. And I got through the ceremony, which felt shorter than it should be, and I was beginning to write what came after, and I was thinking about what I had planned for the reception (notably what probably would have been an even cheesier musical moment than the rendition of “The Best Is Yet To Come” from the epilogue of As Dreams Are Made On), and I realized...none of it was working from me. It was indulgent in a story which is already going to get indulgent in parts, but worse, it was dull. My protagonist didn’t have much to do aside from stand and watch and react.

I also wanted to have a family meeting scene where we got some sense of where everyone was going over the summer, what they were doing, and I had a choice between tacking it onto the end of an overstuffed and boring first chapter or onto the beginning of the second chapter, which I’d planned to set primarily in Jacksonville. So I finally looked at the ten or so pages of wedding stuff I’d already written, considered how much more I would need to get through and how little I would enjoy it, and decided it all had to go. The first chapter would focus entirely on the family meeting, a last goodbye to Forks before I started the grand road trip that would take up the first few chapters of the book. Once I’d figured that out, I finished the first chapter in a day or two. It’s still a little more talking than I’d like and a little less action, but I think it sets up the next chunk of story nicely, at least.

As for the stuff I didn’t cut: as I said, Bella’s nightmare was the very first thing I wrote. I’ve made some minor tweaks here and there, but it’s pretty close to what I originally wrote over a year ago. I wanted to show some of the psychological effect of Bella’s decision to start a fight with the Volturi, I wanted to show that Eleazar’s panicked reaction to whatever he saw had affected her, and I wanted to start things off with a sense of menace hanging over our heroes. The Cullens and their extended network of friends and family may not be in a state of outright war, but there is still danger lurking at the edges of their lives, and unresolved mysteries hiding just below the surface of things. I wanted to spin a vision of something that could yet be, and establish that “happily ever after” is still a long way away, down a dark and twisted road.

It was also just enormous fun to write.

And it was a nice segue into a domestic scene with Alice and Bella, a glimpse of their lives a few weeks on from our last visit with them. We already got such a glimpse in the epilogue of the last volume, but seeing as that chapter was focused largely on prom, I thought they deserved a little alone time.

I spent a great deal of time trying to work out the plan for the summer - where everyone would be going, what they would be doing. I actually nearly forgot to include Eleanor in those plans, up until the last minute. I’m sorry to say that, focused as Brave New World is on Bella’s perspective, we’re not going to see much of the others’ adventures in this text, but they’re certainly fodder for future installments of These Our Actors, and Bella will get updates here and there, particularly once everyone is reunited in Forks. Bella, Alice, Rosalie and Emmett will all have quite enough on their own plates, so hopefully none of you will be bored.

There will be much more of Renée - and Phil - in the next chapter, which will cover the gang’s time in Jacksonville. I confess I’ve never been to Jacksonville (I’ve really only visited Florida for the theme parks) so I’ve got a bit of research to do. “I’ve got a bit of research to do” is likely to be my recurring mantra on this story, as I’m trying to blow out the boundaries of this world, introduce vampires we never met in the Twilight novels from places that were never really touched on, and perhaps bring in stranger things besides. But that’s a way off. For now, I’m a little ways into Chapter 2 (and have even written a bit of Chapter 3), and having great fun writing Bella’s free-spirited mother. I hope you’ll love my take on her as much as I do.

And now, as a bonus, I present the raw text cut from Chapter 1 of Brave New World. I’ve held onto it for reference, in case I decide to draw on it for flashbacks or a future installment of These Our Actors, and it’s possible the details may change, but since I don’t have any plans for it now, I thought I’d share what I came up with before I changed directions. It’s under the cut. I’m afraid not all my formatting carried over into Tumblr’s interface, but you should get the gist.

(Picking up from the end of the scene with Bella and Alice in bed at the cottage.)

I’d been pretty scarce around Forks the last few weeks, since school let out - I’d completely missed late spring giving way to high summer. Officially, I had been busy helping my dad and his new bride with wedding preparations. In actuality, I’d spent most of that time dropping into comas, recovering from them, and moving on to the next. I’d had a limited window of opportunity to turn a few select vampires human, and no time to waste. Edward had been the first to volunteer - he’d told Angela the truth, and she’d eventually decided she wanted to be with him regardless, but he still wanted to lose his bloodlust for the time being, and needed a bit of a break from everyone else’s thoughts after the past few months. I had carefully packed his powers away for safekeeping, then taken his vampirism from him. At his request, we were leaving him human until he reached his long-delayed eighteenth birthday.

Rosalie, Eleanor and Emmett had decided to turn human, too, and I had requested that they stay that way until Carlisle had finished identifying effective birth control techniques for hybrids, or at least until the summer ended. Kate hadn’t become pregnant just yet - and I really didn’t want to consider just how miraculous that was - but I didn’t want to push our luck with another extremely sexual and potentially fertile couple. Or thruple, as the case seemed to be - they had become much more open in their mutual affections toward Eleanor since she and Jessamine had moved to Forks.

Jasper and his sister - now going by Mina to avoid confusion - had decided to stay vampires for the time being, as had Carlisle, Esme, Tanya and Irina, though I had made my tweaks to the new arrivals so they and the shifters would no longer find one another offensive, assuming the vampires all stuck to non-human blood. It was just as well. With a five day coma after each de-vamping exercise and a day for recovery, I’d been cutting things awfully close to the rehearsal and the wedding itself. And no matter what dad said, I still felt a little guilty about that, even if he and Kate had plenty of help from everyone else. Especially since I was in the wedding party, if not precisely in the role I’d expected. At least I wasn’t maid of honor or best man, so to speak - those particular honors had gone to Irina and to Harry Clearwater, respectively. But I was still expected to stand at the altar.

After a luxurious spell in bed, followed by a relaxed breakfast and a shower, Alice “helped” me dress in the tuxedo she’d made for me, complete with high-collared blouse, fitted waistcoat, and a navy blue bow tie and cummerbund, all of it tailored perfectly to my frame. In all honesty, it was a blatant excuse to get her hands all over me and take me in one last time before the ceremony, but I can’t say I minded. At last, she finished, tying my hair back with a navy ribbon and kissing me softly, leaving me to finish my makeup while she hurried to meet Kate, Irina and the other bridesmaids.

Once I’d finished preparing, there wasn’t much left to do but head for the Cullens’ house, where dad and the rest of his party would be waiting until the time came to head for the venue. A mixed crowd of humans, hybrids, werewolves and most importantly vampires meant we were taking no chances with an outdoor wedding, and we were probably one of the few wedding parties this summer hoping for rain, or at least overcast skies. Fortunately, we’d gotten the latter, at least long enough to get the vampires into the hall, and by the time the reception was over with, it would be well past sunset.

It didn’t take too long to walk to the main house from the love nest Alice and I had made of Pine Cottage, and I arrived to find the others gathered around a table in the den, in the middle of a game of poker. There were two other groomsmen after Harry and myself: Emmett, and dad’s Deputy Chief, Joe Miller. From the pile of chips in front of him and the enormous frat boy grin on his face, it looked like Emmett was taking the others for all they were worth.

“Hey Bella!” he called out, waving as I came in and gesturing at the empty seat beside my father. “Want us to deal you in?”

I chuckled, taking the seat but shaking my head. “Thanks, but Alice already warned me about you. Hey, dad. Please tell me you didn’t put your honeymoon fund on the line.”

I nudged him with my shoulder, and he slung his arm around me, giving me a brief hug. “Hi, kiddo. The honeymoon fund’s safe. Kate would kill me. You girls didn’t think to warn me?”

“Well, you know, I’ve been busy. Distracted. And I figured Emmett would be too much of a gentleman to take advantage of a man on his wedding day,” I added, shooting a mock glare at the ex-vampire in question.

“Your first mistake was assuming I’m any kind of gentleman,” Emmett returned, with a broad smirk. “Besides, I respect Charlie too much to just let him win.”

Dad gave him a deadpan look. “I’m touched. Really. You can respect me a little less, though.”

“Can’t do it, sir.” Emmett drew himself up, looking impossibly earnest, save for the twinkle in his eye. “Did I ever tell you you’re my hero? You’re everything I wish I could be.”

“He’s been like this for the last hour. I’m starting to think he’s just always on,” Deputy Chief Miller remarked, glancing my way. “How’s your summer been, Bella?”

“Trust me, this is just the tip of the iceberg with him,” I replied, gesturing at Emmett, who chuckled. “Oh, you know, good. Busy with wedding stuff, getting ready to leave town, all that. Alice and I are heading to Jacksonville with mom and Phil after the wedding, we’ll be back in August.”

“Your, uh, girlfriend’s going on vacation with you?” he said, his eyebrows rising.

“Don’t worry, Rose and me will be chaperoning,” Emmett interjected cheerfully.

Dad cleared his throat. “More importantly, Renée and her husband will be providing adult supervision. And separate guest rooms.”

I bit my lip to hide my smile. I still didn’t really have memories of my mom - or, rather, the mom I had here and now - and I’d only recently gotten to spend any time with her, since she and Phil had come to town for the wedding. It had all been e-mail and phone calls before that. But from my memory of the books, and based on my interactions with her so far, I would not really call Renée Dwyer a responsible adult, and Phil was friendly and level-headed but not really a parent to me. That suited me fine - I didn’t really feel like an actual teenager, even now, and I didn’t need active parenting - but it was apparently important to dad to keep up the convenient fiction.

What he wasn’t saying, of course, was that Jacksonville was only part of our trip. That just about everyone except Edward was leaving Forks for the summer, and that in fact he had no honeymoon fund to worry about, because Alice had arranged everything.

“Huh. Well, uh...have fun down in Florida. Is Jacksonville anywhere near the theme parks?” Miller asked, clearly ready to change the subject.

“It’s not - not any of the big ones, anyway - but Carlisle and Esme are going to join us down in Orlando for a few days before we head back,” I lied - another little fiction, this one mainly for my mom’s sake, but we were all keeping to a consistent narrative. “So we’ll be going to Disney World, anyway. The Cullens have never been, and they’ve been nice enough to invite me along.”

The deputy chief’s eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Emmett, the lone Cullen in the room. “Seriously? What with this house and all, I sort of figured you’d be going every year.”

“Oh, we don’t travel much once we put down roots. It’s mainly just camping trips,” Emmett said. “Can’t wait to ride Space Mountain, though.”

“Gentlemen, I think we have a hand to finish?” Harry interjected at last, a little smirk on his face. “And then maybe we can find something to do that doesn’t give Emmett a chance to shake us down.”

“We have a pool table,” Emmett suggested innocently.

“We are not falling for that twice, kid,” dad said firmly. “Joe, I think it was your bet.”

“God help me,” Miller said, shaking his head as he pushed in his chips.

*****

After the game came to its merciful conclusion, we had just enough time for a movie before it was time to head for the venue. Neither dad nor Kate had been especially invested in the idea of a church wedding, so they’d picked out a lodge in the nearby woods, and asked Carlisle to officiate. I’d only seen the venue in photos. Seeing it in person, nestled among the towering pines, decorated in fairy lights and banners of blue and silver and lavender, the whole scene accompanied by the sounds of the wind in the trees and the river flowing nearby...I was simply awestruck by everything that lay before me.

“Well then. Guess this is our cue to go around back and get in position,” Harry said, clapping my dad on the shoulder. “You ready for this, Charlie?”

I looked over at dad. He, too, seemed briefly stunned and frozen. But when Harry spoke, he started to break into a grin. “Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You’ve got this, dad.” I turned to him and gave him a loose hug. “I’ll see you soon. Love you.”

“I love you, too, Bells,” he said, hugging me back and kissing the top of my head. “Go on, then, I know you’re eager to see Alice.”

“God, you make it sound like we’re codependent,” I complained, lightly, pulling back. Not that he was entirely wrong: I could definitely feel a tingle of excitement running through me as I headed inside with Emmett and the deputy chief.

The rest of the wedding party was gathered in the lodge’s tiny lobby, preparing for their grand entrance to the great room. We didn’t have a ring bearer or a flower girl - Harry had the rings - but everyone else was prepared to play their role. I wasted no time making my way to Alice’s side, slipping my arm around her waist, while Emmett followed me at a more sedate pace, chuckling softly as he joined Rosalie.

“We were never that bad,” he remarked to Rose, looking at the two of us.

“Oh, you were worse,” she returned, smirking up at him. He made a scandalized noise in response.

“Is that how we’re going to play it, Rose? ‘Cause I seem to recall a particularly insatiable little -”

“How did the wedding prep go?” I asked Alice, tuning the two of them out as I turned to kiss her cheek. “You look gorgeous.”

“Mmm, I’d hope so, after all that. It was nice to be pampered. The makeup artist was a bit of a perfectionist, but Kate got the worst of it,” she replied, looking up at me through her lush, dark eyelashes, a smile curving her red lips. Her hair framed her face in messy waves, and of course she looked amazing in her bridesmaid’s dress - lavender, strapless, accented in silver, tailored to fit the individual figures of each woman in Kate’s wedding party. “It’s possible the poor woman suffered a static shock or two.”

“I told Kate to use her powers for good,” I joked, my eyes sweeping over the room. Eleanor and Deputy Chief Miller, who’d be escorting her up the aisle, had joined Emmett and Rose, and the deputy chief seemed a little lost and perhaps slightly scandalized by the increasingly shameless flirting among the trio. And Kate, as might be expected, was sandwiched between her maid of honor, Irina, and Tanya, who’d be giving Kate away in the place of their mother.

Kate, naturally, looked absolutely incredible. Her normally straight blonde hair had been curled and bound up in an elaborate updo, and dangling silver and sapphire earrings glittered at her earlobes. A brass pendant, formed in a sort of hammer shape and decorated with elaborate, curling lines, hung from a chain about her neck. Her wedding dress was also strapless, all white and silver, the bodice clinging tightly to her figure as it swept down to the full skirts that frothed about her legs, interrupted only by a lavender sash tied about her waist. She looked radiantly happy, her joy outshining her natural hybrid glow.

Alice and I made our way over to her, and I offered a slightly hesitant one-armed hug. “You look amazing, Kate. I just wanted to wish you and dad all the best, one more time, before we get started.”

“Thank you, Bella,” she replied, returning the hug, awkwardly at first, but we both relaxed into a genuine embrace after a moment. “I’m...well I’m glad you’ve accepted all this so easily. And that your mother has been so welcoming. I wasn’t sure…”

“Please, don’t worry about it,” I told her softly, though I could feel that slight, uneasy shift in the pit of my stomach, even now. I tried to quiet it: I’d seen how happy dad and Kate were, how good they were for each other. They were the same people they’d always been, or at least dad was, but happier. Still...the mating bond hadn’t given either of them much choice. I worried about that, as I still, sometimes, worried about Alice. As fast as I’d fallen for her, I’d still been able to do so on my own terms. That was something Alice never got to do, and a chance dad and Kate would never have.

I forced a smile nonetheless as I continued, practiced enough now to make it genuine - which it was, really, mostly, despite my doubts. “Both of us just want dad to be happy. And you make him so happy - I’ve seen it, and now mom’s seen it, and she’s already remarried. She loves my dad but...they didn’t work. You two do. You just...fit.”

Maybe Kate caught something in my body language or my tone, despite all my best efforts, because she looked at me with faintly troubled eyes. But just as she was opening her mouth to say something more, we all heard the music starting in the other room, and Irina clapped her hands.

“Positions, everyone! Bridesmaids and groomsmen, go,” she announced, loud and clear. There was no more time to chat.

Alice and I were last in the procession of groomsmen and bridesmaids, and she nudged me gently as we swept into the room, murmuring softly. “You all right? You just seem…”

“I’m fine,” I whispered, through my smile, as we walked down the aisle under Carlisle’s benevolent gaze, surrounded by our family, friends and loved ones, going to meet dad and Harry at the altar. “Just getting in my own head a little.”

“Mmmm. Stop it,” she said, squeezing my arm as our moment came to part. “We’ll talk later.”

I nodded, very slightly, and we took our positions on either side of the aisle, watching Irina walk up last of all. The music changed, shifting to a classic bridal march, and everyone’s eyes were on Kate as Tanya walked her slowly and gracefully up the aisle. She was smiling brightly enough to transform her face into something even more beautiful, and broadly enough that it seemed like her face might crack in two, and I knew without looking that dad’s gaze was locked on her, his smile just as bright. Love and passion just radiated off the two of them, a palpable force filling the room from wall to wall. The room fell to a reverent hush, and for a moment I would have sworn I could hear their two hearts beating as one.

At last, the moment was broken by Carlisle’s voice, deceptively soft and yet resonant enough to fill the room. “Cherished friends, we come together today to witness the joining of Charles Geoffrey Swan and Katrina Sashova in holy matrimony, to ask for God’s blessing upon their union, to share in their joy, and to celebrate their love. For of all the gifts bestowed upon us by our Creator, love is the most precious, the most fragile, and the most important. As it is written in First Corinthians, love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

“We are taught that marriage is a gift of love, for God is love. It is a gift of God in creation and a means of God’s grace, for through this holy mystery, two become as one. Marriage is given that each partner might help the other, living faithfully in need and in plenty, in sickness and in health, in sorrow and in joy. It is given that with delight and with tenderness those so joined might know each other in love, and that through the joy of spiritual and of bodily union, they may strengthen the connection between their hearts and minds. Marriage is a grace visited not only upon those joined in matrimony but upon all their loved ones - not only upon any children that may arise from the union but also upon their beloved community.

“In marriage, those so joined belong to one another, and embark upon a new life within their community. It is not a gift to be taken lightly, carelessly, or selfishly, but reverently, responsibly, and after serious thought. This is the way of life that Charles and Katrina are now to begin. I have been privileged to know them, and privileged to witness their love for one another. I believe with all my heart that these two are meant to be one. And now I must ask: if anyone here knows of any reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Silence followed. I wasn’t expecting anything else, but even so, it felt like the world had let out a breath it didn’t know it had been holding. Dad and Kate beamed at one another once again.

“Very well,” Carlisle said, breaking into a warm smile of his own. “Charles and Katrina, I now invite you to join hands and to deliver your vows in the presence of God and of all assembled here. May you speak honestly and without reservation, from the bottom of your hearts.”

Dad and Kate stepped forward, closer to one another, joining hands, and for a moment dad seemed at a loss for words, until his perfect hybrid memory kicked in and he found his place once more. He cleared his throat and chuckled nervously under his breath. “I, Charles Swan, take you, Katrina Sashova, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward: for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I swear to love, cherish, and honor you each day, from now until my last day on this Earth, in God’s name and by God’s grace.”

“I, Katrina Sashova, take you, Charles Swan, to be my lawfully wedded husband,” Kate returned, her eyes shining just slightly, her face aglow with more than the usual hybrid radiance. “To have and to hold from this day forward: for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. I swear to love, cherish, and honor you each day, from now until my last day on this Earth, in God’s name and by God’s grace.”

“I believe the best man has the rings?” Carlisle said, taking them gently as Harry offered them, and cradling one in each hand. “God, by your blessing, let these rings to be to Charles and Katrina be a symbol of unending love and faithfulness, to remind them of the vow and the covenant which they have made this day in your holy presence. Amen.”

With that, he handed the rings off, and I could see dad’s fingers tremble just a little, almost imperceptibly, as he slipped Kate’s ring on her finger. “With this ring, I pledge myself to you, giving you all that I am, and sharing with you all that I have.”

Kate echoed his words softly, slipping his ring onto his finger in turn, and Carlisle joined their hands together, covering them loosely with his own.

“What God has seen fit to join, let no man put asunder,” he pronounced solemnly. “And by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Charlie, you may kiss your bride.”

They were moving before he was done talking, and somehow mustered enough restraint to move slow enough for the human eye to follow, though I heard more than a little laughter at their eagerness nonetheless. Charlie swept Kate readily into his arms, tilting her back just a little as they kissed fiercely, her bouquet dropping to the ground as her hands reached up to cup his cheek.

The room broke into wild applause, with a few hoots and whistles mixed in, and my eyes caught Alice’s as we clapped. For one wild, breathless moment, I wanted to throw caution to the wind, speed to her side and take her in my arms as well, hell, maybe even tell Carlisle to marry us here and there. But just a split second later, I felt a sort of coolness rushing through me, like a cold shower inside my mind, and my gaze swept into the audience, where Jasper raised one eyebrow at me expressively and inclined his head. I gave him a sheepish grin, then looked back at Alice, who winked and blew me a kiss before turning her attention back to the matter at hand. A triumphant march played as the wedding party swept back outside for photos and drinks and all the rest while the lodge staff moved everything around again for the reception.

*****

“I’ll be honest, that was way more God than I was expecting,” Callie remarked to me, once I’d been excused from modeling duty and we had a moment alone.

I shrugged. “Dad and Kate believe in a vague something. It was enough to have a vaguely religious ceremony. Besides, Carlisle’s dad was an Anglican pastor.”

Callie downed some of her sparkling cider, her eyes narrowing at me. “Is that a ‘lingering obsession with Twilight factoid’ or an ‘I spend all my time around the Cullens’ factoid?”

“Column A, column B,” I said, with another slight shrug. “I already knew about it, but I mean, we do talk. Anyway, Carlisle’s not nearly as hardcore as his father was, but he’s religious enough and in the know, so…”

“Vaguely religious ceremony. Right. Gotta say it was probably also the shortest wedding I’ve ever been to,” Callie replied, before looking sadly at her half-full glass. “And it’s the most sober wedding I’ve been to in a while. For us, anyway.”

“Yeah, being legally underage definitely has its downside. And please, you saw that kiss - I don’t think we could’ve gotten those two to wait much longer.”

Callie snorted. “True. Hell, you and Alice probably won’t even make it past ‘dearly beloved’.”

Mom chose that moment to come up just behind Callie, her eyebrows rising at the remark, and I immediately started laughing just a little too loudly. “Ha ha! Like we’re about to get married - which we’re not - because I’m seventeen! I am still just...seventeen. And in high school. And not even thinking about getting married. Yep. Good one, Cal, mom, you remember Callie.”

Callie stared at me and shook her head slightly before turning to face my mother. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Dwyer. Did you enjoy the ceremony?”

“I did, thank you,” mom said, granting me a brief respite as she smiled warmly at Cal. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything over here.”

I shot Callie a pleading glance, and she looked in my direction just long enough to smirk at me before shaking her head. “No, not at all. I should probably go meet up with my parents. You two should catch up. See you later.”

“Of course. We’ll see you around,” mom agreed, and Callie gave a slight wave and moved off. I glared daggers at her retreating back, just for a moment, while mom watched her leave and shook her head. “I still have no idea how you get a nickname like ‘Callie’ out of a name like ‘Tara Chen’.”

“It just suits her,” I mumbled, sighing. “Long story.”

“If you say so. Now, let me look at you.” Mom turned back to me, putting her hands on my shoulders, taking me in. “I still can’t believe how big you’ve gotten, Bella. Or how...oh, what’s the word....dashing, maybe? How dashing you look in that suit.”

[dulma]

On the circle jerk of the art world

Tom Wolfe, author & journalist, is good at being scathing. Case in point: The Painted Word a brief diatribe against what he perceives to be the falseness and pretension of an elitist art world in a capitalist society.

I don’t know enough about art or the art world to agree or disagree with what Mr. Wolfe claims, but I do care deeply about art and its role in civilization. How it can help us, fix us, express us, or how it can’t. 

His ideas, though, strike me as useful departures for my own future research, especially w/r/t Abstract Expressionism, my new obsession. Also—God knows I love a good contrarian, so here are some key points I’ve synthesized from his spirited lambast. For my own reference, mostly. Thanks, Tom.

Art must have its theory, i.e. the dictum du jour. “modern art has become completely literary” 

Realistic 19th century painting dubbed “literary” thereby spawning its rebellious successor movements, i.e. l’art pour l’art

Braque: aim of art is not to reconstitute but constitute “a pictorial fact” 

Artists left the royal courts & salons and by 1900 aimed to shock and subvert the bourgeois 

Now the artists had to be boho & avant garde (sincerely) but also in le monde

“Public? The public plays no part in the process whatsoever. The public is not invited” 

(This question is of importance to me. Art as public artifact vs. art as private commodity/investment—note to self: explore the ethics and utility of these roles, and whether they are conflicting or mutually generative)

The art world is a mere 10,000 souls 

“a mere hamlet!” restricted to les beaux mondes of eight cities 

Modern art enjoyed a huge boom in the States in the 1920s because that’s when the cultured bourgeoisie began to love it 

Imported from Europe to the US not in a bohemian rebellious spirit but institutionalized by the Rockefellers via the establishment of the MoMA in late 1920s 

Art theory used to be something that enriched conversation 100 years prior but now it was “ an essential hormone in the mating ritual” 

(Touché, Tom Wolfe.)

The bourgeois art world needed theory to understand the direction of modern art 

Why did theory blow up? 

1. the art world is tiny

2. le monde always looks to the bohemian artists for the next thing

3. the artists are made up of “cénacles” where if one dominates art and has one core theory, that theory comes to dominate all of the art world during that period 

This is what happened post WWII during Abstract Expressionism & when NY replaced Paris as center of the art world 

Greenberg’s theory of flatness and Rosenberg’s Action Painting became big theories picked up by le monde. Peggy Guggenheim then discovered Pollock, beloved of Greenberg, and gave him a place and money and set him off 

“First you do everything possible to make sure your world is antibourgeois, that it defies bourgeois tastes, that it mystifies the mob, the public, that it outdistances the insensible middle-class multitudes by light-years of subtlety and intellect — and then, having succeeded admirably, you ask with a sense of see-what-I-mean outrage: “Look, they don’t even buy our products!””

Pop Art was then a reaction against Abstract Exp. 

It was even flatter. Jasper Johns chose flat real life objects and made them look super flat. Like the flag. 

“Wasn’t there something just the least bit incestuous about this tendency of contemporary art to use previous styles of art as its points of reference?” 

(What else would you use? All major art forms are institutionalized in some way—literature, film, etc.—and draw upon its predecessors, are in conversation with lineage and history. I don’t see this as inherently “incestuous” but in practice in the art world perhaps it’s extreme or problematic... explore further)

Pop Art succeeded not because it rejected Abst. Exp’s premises of moving away from realism, but because it did AE one better: even higher level of not realism. Somewhere that was not abstract nor realistic but based on signs 

Abstract Expressionists were too grim and antibourgeois, too bohemian. The Pop artists were right at home in the cultured world of the bourgeois 

Steinberg: Modern art always “'projects itself into a twilight zone where no values are fixed'” and “'it is always born in anxiety'” and its function is to “'transmit this anxiety to the spectator'” to provoke “'genuine existential predicament'” 

“If you hated it — it was probably great." 

Pop Art was full of cultural and literary ironic commentary and allusions. Op Art, which came after, was also very literary in that it was heavily grounded in theory. Theory was taking idea of painting as real object and turning it into object of pure perception 

Greenberg made a comeback with a new theory/style: against the brushstroke. 

All of these movements were a movement towards reduction, stripping away - first of 19th century realism, then representational objects, then the third dimension towards flatness, then brushstrokes. 

Is that enough? Hardly. 

Minimalists came and stripped away the “sentimental” colors and used gritty or ugly ones 

Got rid of the frame, the hanging up of pictures, the square canvas 

Rosenberg & Greenberg (though sort of rivals) and others were against this - new style was “‘too much a feat of ideation.. something deduced instead of felt and discovered.’” 

Then we got rid of the very idea of wall. 

Moved into installations. Then museums (Earth Art). 

What about idea of a permanent or even visible work of art? so next came Conceptual Art where they said it wasn’t about permanence and materials but the process 

And then they took away idea of visual imagination altogether - piece called Vacant by David R Smith 

My thoughts on this (provisional):

Art movements destroy to create. This is also true in literature, in everything. I find this a natural human impulse. We are meaning-making animals, and art is our way of exploring/expressing this process, and meaning is made inevitably by a destructive-creative process. Learning—and thus growth—is by necessity an act that displaces the dictums of yesterday to make room for the new. So I question Wolfe’s implicit resistance to the deconstruction of every assumption inherent to “art,” but I’m willing to challenge the “destroy for destruction’s sake” imperative, insofar as it is what drives the movements of art today. It sure seems that way, but I assume there’s more there, and the “more” is perhaps as varied as the people who further it.

To ask a naive question that probably Real Art has long since abandoned or mocked until it breathed its last, what about beauty???? As a layperson who wants to believe that art has a public role and some inherent value where beholding it can do something good, even by disturbing us, I often find myself lamenting the un-beauty of contemporary art. That this is probably because I don’t “get it” only further entrenches my sense of alienation from this world of art. Is there respite to be sought in, for example, outsider art? 

Perhaps the answer is as simple as a simple comparison: take music. There is no possibility of defining “beautiful” music; we like what we like, and different people like different things. There are ways to get into a piece and understand what it’s trying to be and to judge it on that basis (also like a book) but no absolute criteria are possible because of the infinite variety of creative possibility. But even so, music and literature seem to me more accessible, somehow, than art. Less conceptual in the way art can be, more inclusive in terms of the gap between what the gatekeepers would deem worth canonizing and what we would claim to enjoy as outsiders.

To what extent do artists themselves (as if it’s a homogeny) want the “public” to “get” or “like” their art? A lot rides on this question I guess.

The beauty of the disturbing and the disturbing of beauty. Would this summarize where we find ourselves today?

(I suppose you could say beauty is taken out of the equation, but you could also reframe that as the expansion of the territory of the beautiful to encompass all, exclude nothing. Ironically. The murder of beauty and the expansion of it to include everything is the same thing, conceptually speaking.)

What I wish existed and whose absence consumes me to no end every time I enter a museum: a summary (impossible) of the timeline of the canon and what/who gets included and what/who gets excluded and why. Note that I’m not issuing the ignorant layperson’s tired old challenge of “My 5-year-old could do that.” I don’t mistake technical skill involved or duration of labor for the Good, but I do want the implicit curatorial values to be made legible, because I’m in a capitalist system that more often than not exacts a price from us to view or own art but I am then paying to engage with something whose value I don’t understand and am expected to receive fully by merely looking at something without the language or conceptual framework to understand its value, all while contributing to that value, reinforcing it. That seems like a scam to me (forgivable) but also like intellectual hypocrisy (unforgivable).

All of this is a rambling record of first impressions re: the art world and my access to an understanding of its values & criteria. Obviously a way to answer my own questions is to examine the world itself, anthropologically, and dissect its political/cultural/social/financial underpinnings. To learn the common answers, debates addressing these small questions of mine. Which I intend to.

But that these are the questions begged when one confronts the whole system as an ignorant layperson is worth noting in itself, I think, because it draws out some assumptions that are contradictory. Assumptions that imply that art is good and we should look at it and pay to look at it. Assumptions that also imply that beauty is not art and skill is not art and accessibility is not art. 

So then what is art? And who gets to decide? We spend our lives taking for granted the fact of a museum, of an art history curriculum, of a canon of famous men and (sometimes) women who have made what we consider “Great Art” without ever being satisfied with a good explanation of why, how come, who says? Especially today?

[feuillesmortes]

This is a continuation to the H7xEoY ficlet I wrote after episode 2 of TWP (in which Henry secretly visits Lizzie in her confinement). It takes place a few days before episode 3. 

Some of you have asked me to write more so I decided to give it a try. Don’t mind me, have some fluff mixed with angst, I guess. Edit: be warned, it’s cheesy.

In the early hours of the day his study was always quiet. The morning dew rose from the gardens to his windows; the air was fresh, almost holy even. In the quietude of the morning Henry found the perfect time to attend to the constant letters that piled up on his desk. In routine he had found the means to dedicate himself to one of the multiple duties pertaining the King of England, no less burdensome than the one that wielded the scepter or the one that carried the sword.

The letter he had before him this time bore the seals of the Lord Mayor of London and those belonging to the aldermen that represented the merchants of the City. It could only be described as a desperate urge for a peace with Burgundy masked as a petition. Was it possible that a single letter could make him feel tired so early in the day?

A knock on the door was followed by the footsteps of his mother entering the room. He turned his head to greet her.

“Mother.” He had forgotten that she was the actual reason he was an early riser himself, though he did not lack for childhood memories of joining his mother at attending the first mass of the day. 

“Good morn, Henry. I see that you’ve started your work already.”

“Quite so, mother. What brings you here?” He turned back to his desk to tend to one of the many papers that graced it. 

From the corner of his eyes he watched her fidget with her chaplet before mustering the courage to ask him. “Are you still decided on sending your uncle Jasper to Burgundy?”

“This question again, mother.”

She was not taken aback. “You cannot be parted from him, Henry. If anything happens, he is your most trusted ally.”

“Which is why I’m sending him as my envoy.” Who exactly can’t be parted from him, mother? Me or you? “We’ve argued about this before. My mind is already settled on his going.”

“But if anything happens in England-”

“If anything happens, mother.” He turned to face her fully. “Then I shall see to it myself. As it is the duty of the King of England.”

His mother’s lips were sealed into a thin line, her expression something that he could not decide whether it was resignation or stubbornness. “I have heard the servants talking, Henry.”

He turned back to the papers in front of him and took up his quill again. “I did not know you were of a mind to listen to servant talk. Anything of my concern?”

“You have seen Elizabeth in her confinement.”

“How so?”

“You have sent her gifts.”

This time he put down his quill. “Aye, I have. Is not gift-giving a part of marriage?”

His mother vigorously shook her head. “Do not let her sweet words take a hold on you, Henry. Often the loveliest smiles hide the most dangerous intentions.”

“You can rest assured. Elizabeth is not in the habit of exchanging loving smiles with me, mother.” Because she hates me, that’s why.

Lady Margaret did not seem any less relieved by it, though. “Beware, Henry. The foulest treachery springs from love.” 

She left him at that, yet her words persisted with him all day like venom infecting a wound.

Henry was still trying to push back those words when he finally made his way to Elizabeth’s room. He tried to bury them in one of the darkest corners of his mind where insecurity and anxiety combined drove him further into paranoia. At dusk, after a full day of work he could feel his senses clouded, his mind fogged. He did not fully understood what will power drove him to his wife’s rooms, yet there he was.

Henry stopped in front of the door to her bedchamber, knocked lightly and waited. Another knock, followed quickly by a third one. When he finally pushed open the heavy door the scene he had in front of his eyes was quite picturesque. Elizabeth, heavily pregnant, had her three younger sisters laughing, all girls playing and mutually tickling each other. For a split second he saw the most adoring, genuine, gleeful smile adorning his wife’s face. It was not a coincidence he had never seen her like this, had never seen her private smiles. Something akin to jealousy bitterly rose inside him. The girls’ giggling all but came to a halt when they turned to see him. 

For a moment he felt very small, very intruding of a world he would never understand. Half of his life he had lived among men; his uncle was the only familiar presence he’d had in his formative years; his upbringing was all very martial: hunting and riding, knowing his way with a sword, lance and bow. For his mother had prophesied he was destined to be king, and a king-to-be does not rest idle. During exile he would often think of the mother he had left behind in England, would sometimes wonder if he could ever make her proud. He had known women; the French court was never lacking in opportunity for any man seeking pleasure. Yet a woman’s mind remained, at best, something he only ever had a frail grasp on.

Upon seeing Henry the York girls all instinctively gathered behind Elizabeth and it was almost comical, if not strangely sad, the sight of children hiding behind the belly of a pregnant woman. His wife tapped their arms lightly, bidding them to come forward to bow before him. It was then that her sisters all looked to their feet and spoke in unison, as if rehearsed: “Good evening, your grace.” 

He gave them a slight nod, not sure why he was the one feeling like he had just got caught at a crime scene. Elizabeth finally spoke up: “If you excuse them, your grace, they’ll be returning to their rooms now.” 

The girls curtsied, then fled like a flock of birds. He turned to see Elizabeth standing near her bed, caressing the curve of her belly. “I’m sorry, Henry. I wasn’t expecting you”, she said, whilst looking very content with herself.  “I thought you would not come today.”

His words came unbidden. “As it happens, I had errands to run. I cannot always play the peasant watching his wife’s stomach swell.”

She flinched, furrowing her brow, but acquiesced. “As you say.”

Henry did not know why he suddenly felt so angry. Her lack of protest made him even more frustrated - he needed to see her reacting, to see her wrath, see anything that might give him a glimpse of the flesh and blood human being he had married, not of this perfect doll she tried to show him.

“Could you tell me what your sisters were doing here, instead of being with your mother?”

She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, as if hardening herself. “Lady Margaret never said a word about my sisters. I don’t see a reason why they should not be allowed in my rooms.”

He could not help but see her point. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Fair enough.” Silence reigned in the room until Henry cleared his throat, trying to start again. “Have you... Have you received my gift?”

Lizzie tipped her head sideways and gave him a knowing smile. “I have. As a matter of fact, Henry, I also have a gift for you.”

He was not sure he heard her right. “You do?”

She went into one of her drawers, from which she got a piece of embroidered cloth. She went back to his side and gave him what could only be a handkerchief. He began unfolding it very carefully - It was a red dragon, proud and beaming, holding a delicate white rose beautifully woven into the cloth.

“I... I’ve tried to think of something that could be of use to you. You don’t need to like it.”

Her voice had a hesitant edge to it. Perhaps if he looked at her he’d see his wife anxious for the first time. He could not leave his eyes from the handkerchief, though. He touched the embroidery very slowly, feeling all of its stitches against the touch of his rough fingertips. “It is... Most beautiful.” he murmured. 

He eventually glanced up from the embroidery, just in time to see Elizabeth half-smile. “It’s not like I have much to do here, truly. Although I cannot speak for the quality of my stitching, I’m afraid. Candlelight is not the best companion when it comes to needlework, you see. But I can always make another one when I’m out of confinement.” 

“No, I want to keep this one.”

That must have surprised her. “... You do, Henry?”

He hummed, and she looked exceedingly proud of herself. She is stunning, he thought, dumbfounded. He tried to remember a time he thought she looked as beautiful as she was in his eyes at that moment. He had heard men complaining about their pregnant wives, had heard derogatory terms of how their pregnancy made their wives undesirable. Yet, looking at Elizabeth at that moment, he could not understand them. Her skin had an unearthly glow to it, her hair was shinier than any jewel he could think of. She just had this air of self-contentment that was utterly intriguing to him.

He folded the handkerchief into his doublet. “I’ll keep it here Lizzie, so it shall be with me at all times.”

Could it be possible that he was truly seeing his wife blush? He had not realised he had spent a long time openly staring at her till she was the one to overcome the awkwardness between them. She laced an arm with his and rested her hand on his elbow. “What did you do today, Henry?” 

Henry was caught so off guard that the day just passed felt like it had happened ages ago. “Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. Except the aldermen of London have handed me a petition to renew the trading license with Burgundy. You can see how this puts me in a difficult position.”

She furrowed her brows together and this somehow gave him assurance to go further. “I can see how the merchants of London are likely to suffer from the blockade, yet I cannot give them a trading deal while peace has not been assured. But the concerning issue is that I cannot have the whole city unsatisfied, only waiting for an excuse to plot against me.”

She nodded. “I see.”

Henry sighed. “I never thought that being king would put me in conflict with myself. Ruling a kingdom can be quite relentless at times”. Before he ascended to the throne, Henry’s vision consisted of a rather black and white world. Ruling a country was proving to be quite the opposite.

Lizzie smirked. “On the contrary, Henry. From what little I’ve seen I would say that much of being king revolves around being constantly conflicted.”

He chuckled, and she went on. “But perhaps there is a simple solution to it. You could always appease an alderman with the offer of a knighthood. Dubbing a merchant costs you nothing, yet this is something he’ll boast of until the last of his days.”

He pondered, amused. “Is that what your father would do?”

“Oh no. If my royal father ever disagreed with the aldermen he would make his opinion blatantly clear to them.”

Henry chuckled again, but decided he would not make the same mistake. A king should not be levelling his power with his subjects if he wished to make his reign absolute. “I reckon your plan could work, Lizzie. A subtle act of coaxing, that is.”

She smirked again. “You see, I like to think that I have some very good ideas.” She leaned into his ear and whispered. “But don’t tell anyone.”

A lightning thrill took over him then. He trapped her body against his, refusing to let her slip away that time. “You know, I rather think that myself too.” His thumbs drew lazy circles at her sides. Henry was certain that this was sinful, yet for all the gold in his kingdom he could not care.

From that closeness he could see her eyes dancing along his face. “You know what a good idea would be?” She caressed his chest with the back of her hands, very lightly. “Releasing my mother. ”

For Christ’s sake. She did it. She had ruined the moment again. He let go of her as if burned. “Lizzie, don’t.”

“Why? Lady Margaret is still to produce a proof that my mother was behind Francis Lovell’s plot. It is unfair to have her locked up without anything against her.”

For a second Henry could not believe his own ears. “Anything against her? Her circumstances, her connections, her privileged position to act? God almighty, Lizzie! Can you even believe in yourself saying it?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “At least send for my mother when the baby comes. I cannot do this without her, Henry. I simply cannot. I need her here.”

He sighed. He was tired, he was so, so very tired. “I’ll talk to my mother. It’s all I can promise you.”

She looked heartbroken. “You are the king.” She whispered, very quietly, looking away from his eyes.

He took a long breath. “Lizzie, listen. I promise to help your family. I’ll make sure your sisters are well married to lords who will take good care of them. Nothing bad will ever happen to your family again.”

Her hands went instinctively to her belly. Her face looked so stricken it scared him. “Lizzie, what is it? Do you feel ill?”

She turned her back to him. “I’m just tired. I need to lie down and rest.”

He should go to her, take her in his arms and tell her how much he meant his vow. He wanted to tell her that nothing would ever happen to their baby, that he would be a good father, the father he never had. That he promised that their child would never suffer any harm. Yet his promises sounded hollow even to his own ears, and his words died before they even came to life. Perhaps some small part of him knew he could not keep his promises after all. 

After a moment he mustered the courage to go to her. He took one of her hands and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine.”

From the way her hand did not squeeze his back, she did not believe him.

[husheduphistory]

Book of the Dead: A Oujia Board, a Claim, and Mark Twain

It's a thrilling moment for any author, the first time they can look into their hands and see an officially published copy of their work, ready to be unleashed for mass public consumption. Arriving at this moment can be hard-fought and visions of the outcome can be grand. Will be a best seller? Could it become a blockbuster film? Will this be the title to make them a household name and enter their work into the hallowed halls of classics?

But, there is another way it can turn that is filled with potential nightmares. Financial failure? Bad reviews? Accusations of plagiarism? All of these have the power to ruin an author but when Emily Grant Hutchings was accused of publishing someone else's ideas she was not surprised. In fact, she fully acknowledged that the story was not hers. According to her it was the a brand new offering from beloved American author Mark Twain who, according to Hutchings, fully supported her publishing his work. This was because he was unable to, he had been dead for seven years.

Emily Grant Hutchings was born in Hannibal, Missouri, the youngest of six to her doctor mother and minister father. She attended the local high school and returned there after college to teach multiple languages including Latin, Greek, and German. While she taught foreign language to her students, she also was a proficient writer in her own tongue and in August 1896 Hutchings moved to St. Louis, Missouri to take a position as a writer for the St. Louis Republic. The position was for only six months but while traveling to Memphis to gather information for an upcoming story Emily met Charles Edwin Hutchings. Charles was an admirer of her work, having enjoyed a piece she authored in June 1897 focusing on an interest they both shared, another writer from Hannibal Missouri named Samuel Clemens, better known as Mark Twain. By the time Emily was due to move back to St. Louis, she and Edwin were married.

Emily Grant Hutchings.

The Hutchings pair had the opportunity to meet their mutual figure of admiration in June 1902 when Twain came to St. Louis to address the Art Student's Association at a luncheon held in his honor. Mr. Hutchings wrote down the speech given by Twain and proceeded to send the author a copy of the words he spoke that afternoon. On June 12th Twain wrote back to Mr. Hutchings thanking him for the record stating "I ought to be very grateful to you for making that verbatim report and printing it, and I am." It was this letter that began a string of correspondence between Twain and both the Hutchings, a connection that may not have been overly enjoyed by Twain given a note written on an envelope from Emily where he scrawled simply, "Idiot! Preserve this.”

Samuel Clemens AKA Mark Twain.

When Mark Twain died on April 21, 1910 most of the world was forced to resign itself to the fact that one of its great literary minds was gone. But, there was a large number of people that raised the question ".....is he though?"

Beginning in the 1840s Americans became deeply enveloped in the practice of Spiritualism, a belief system that the spirits of those departed were not only present among the living, but were fully capable of communicating with them and evolving far beyond what their earthly selves ever could have dreamed. After experiencing such mass tragedies like the Civil War, the practice exploded with people desperate to make contact with those departed. A common tool used by Spiritualists were talking boards engraved with the letters of the alphabet and numbers which were selected with a planchette to form messages from the dead. In 1890 the Spiritualism field gained it's signature tool with the invention of the Ouija board.

Ouija board circa 1915.

With death being so abundant and often unpredictable it only made sense to the believers in Spiritualism that all those departed would still have something to say, or in some cases, unfinished work to complete. According to Emily Hutchings it was March 1915 when she was asked to attend a meeting for a "small psychical research society.” The scheduled speaker failed to show so the hostess asked another  woman named Lola V. Hays to entertain everyone with her talking board. To their amazement the spirit introduced itself to the group as none other than "Samuel L. Clemens, lazy Sam.” Being from his hometown, Emily was asked to say something but she fell silent. She later asked for another meeting with Hays and when the two again sat together some rules were laid out. Hays would have her hands placed on the planchette with her eyes closed while Hutchings recorded the messages coming through. Almost immediately Twain came through and he had a odd request, "I tried to write a romance once, and the little wife laughed at it. I still think it is good stuff and I want it written..." After a few minutes of exchanges Hutchings claims it was revealed that after many attempts at fining a living human to bring his unfinished work to life "a twenty-minute test with me seemed to convince him that in me he had found the negative side of the mysterious human mechanism for which he had been waiting.”

This last story that Mark Twain reached across the veil to write was entitled Jap Herron, the tale of Jasper James Herron, a boy born to a Missouri family after the Civil War. Born into poverty, Jasper James, nicknamed "Jap", finds himself under the wings of a well-to-do newspaper family and through many trials and tribulations, is able to find success and help revive his struggling town. The story is filled with the unique flavors and mannerisms found in Twain's other classics like The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, but the method through which this tale allegedly came to light was anything but familiar. 

According to Hutchings, the transmission from Twain through Hays was not a smooth process with Hutchings and her husband needing to modify the board to add punctuation, numerous chapter revisions, Twain expressing disgust with the type of tobacco being smoked by Mr. Hutchings during one session, and Twain scolding them "...don't try to correct my grammar. I know what I want to say. And, dear ladies, when I say d-a-m-n, please don t write d-a-r-n. Don t try to smooth it out. This is not a smooth story."

The story of Jap Herron was published in the fall of 1917 by book dealer Mitchell Kennerley and while the authorship was granted to Hutchings the full title of the work read "Jap Herron: A Novel Written From The Ouija Board" with a sketch of Twain placed next to the title page. Also included in the volume was an introduction entitled "The Coming of Jap Herron" where Hutchings described in detail how this last story of Mark Twain came to her through the talking board. 

The title page for Jap Herron.

The claim of a book written from beyond the grave should have raised immediate questions, but this was not the only book to do so. Only a year earlier in 1916 national attention was given to the book "Patience Worth: A Psychic Mystery" which was allegedly the collected writings of a spirit named Patience Worth that were dictated via Ouija Board to a woman named Pearl Curran, who just happened to be friends with Emily Hutchings. In the October 14th 1916 edition of the magazine Literary Digest the rumor of the upcoming postmortem book by Twain was mentioned with the quip

"Nearly everybody in St. Louis is monkeying with "weejie-boards" and talking to dead novelists! The call for the little heart-shaped things on wheels, known as ouija-boards by the elect, has sent prices shooting skyward, and shipments of them are coming to St. Louis from all over the country. Mark Twain is the latest author said to speak to those on earth by this unearthly means, and it is whispered there is discord among those spooks who are seeking possession of the mental pipe-lines to the mystic pointers.”

Once released, Jap Herron was not the recipient of kind words and the book review from the September 9th 1917 edition of the New York Times reported "If this is the best that 'Mark Twain' can do by reaching across the barrier, the army of admirers that his works have won for him will all hope that he will hereafter respect that boundary.” But, the strongest blow to Hutchings's release did not come from a book reviewer, but from Twain's daughter, Clara Clemens.

Clara Clemens.

Clemens, the Mark Twain estate, and publishing house Harper & Brothers had the sole rights to all of Mark Twain's work and the publication by Hutchings and Kennerly threw various wrenches into established copyright law. Could a dead person be recognized as an active author? If so, what about the copyright on Samuel Clemen's pen name "Mark Twain" which was also held by Harper & Brothers? Would it be legal if it was under the Clemens name? Twain was not listed as an author but having his picture alongside the title page and the detailed description of him communicating through Hutchings and Hays clearly pointed at his authorship of the work. Hutchings was backed into a difficult corner. The book's claim to fame (and sales) was that it was written by well-known author Mark Twain and not the relatively unknown Emily Hutchings. But, the more Hutchings and Kennerly stuck to the story that this was an original story by Mark Twain the stronger they made the case against themselves putting legal victory firmly in the hands of Clemens and Harper & Brothers. The Ouija board wielding authors simply had nowhere to turn.

Twain's publishers and Clemens, who in a February 1918 interview with the New York Times called the publication "silly, foolish, stupid, and crazy", filed a lawsuit with the Supreme Court on June 8th 1918 and requested that all copies of the book be prohibited from being sold and subsequently destroyed. The lawsuit became the talk of major newspapers with articles teeming with speculation. Would Hutchings be required to use the Ouija board in court? Could the spirit of Mark Twain be made a witness? Is spirit testimony valid in a court of law, especially the highest court in the land? While there were eagerly awaited answers for these questions, they would never get to be formerly asked. Before the case could ever get to a courtroom Hutchings and Kennerly agreed to quietly pull the book from further publication and most copies were destroyed.

One surviving copy of Jap Herron with missing dust cover.

The disappearance of Jap Herron from further publication accompanied the name Emily Grant Hutchings which quickly faded into obscurity. She never retracted her claims of having the work dictated to her by Mark Twain.

Today, physical copies of the book are rare and sell for large sums of money.

The text of Jap Herron can be read here 

[ofnailbatsandaxefives]

The Phoenix and The 100 S4

“From the ashes we will rise” The tagline for season 4 of The 100 brings to mind imagery of the great mythological bird the Phoenix. A creature that sets itself on fire at the end of it’s life, so that a new Phoenix can be reborn and rise from the ashes of the old. This is already a pretty good analogy for what is going to happen to the world and the characters we love within the show, but it goes even further than that. 

The Phoenix is a creature that appears in many different cultures, with some similarities between them, as well as some differences. I’m not going to cover all of them, but I’ll do my best to cover a majority. 

First I’ll start with some of the basics of the mythology surrounding the Phoenix. These are things that are pretty much constant in all versions of the mythology.

Things The Phoenix Symbolizes

Renewal 

definition A “an instance of resuming an activity or state after an interruption”

- The City of Light can be viewed as the interruption that the people faced in season 3. It halted life in Arkadia, Polis, among the clans living outside of Polis. It halted the attempts at reconciliation between the Sky People and the Grounders. (Not saying that Ontari would have not still tried to wipe them out for bringing in Pike, but Kane was still heading to Polis to try and speak with the new Commander.) In season 4 how are our heroes and those around them going to try and resume the lives that they had before the City of Light? 

definition B “the replacing or repair of something that is worn out, run-down, or broken.“

- If we go by this definition, it could be about the grounders (and possibly sky people together) coming up with a new government for the grounders. Replacing the idea of the Commander with something else, or maybe even where it isn’t centered around the flame. Maybe it isn’t about completely replacing this system, but rather repairing it and finding a way for more of it to make sense. Like, y’know maybe not having a battle royale to find the next commander, cause just because someone can kill people does not make them a good leader. This can also be applied to Arkadia, and I think could be sign that Bellamy and Clarke are going to be working more with Kane (and possibly Abby) to be leaders among their people. 

some synonyms for the word renewal are: revival. restoration. reformation. reparation (atonement), redemption, resurrection. 

- Are we going to have people trying to atone for the things they did while in the City of Light (Ilian? Kane? Jaha? Jackson? Jasper?)

- Are we going to have a redemption arc for Octavia?

Empire

“ an extensive group of states of countries under a single ruler”

We know from the trailer that Roan is going to try and rule the 12 (well I guess 13) clans. The flame is still going to be in play somehow too, but is the person who takes it still going to be the next Commander? It’s possible, but I think this is more about Roan’s arc and goals than it is about the flame.

The Sun

The Phoenix can symbolize the sun, but there are also things that the sun can symbolize. Some things about this symbolism are “the sun can be about being able to command and lead,”the sun is bright and gives the people the energy and strength that they need,” “the sun gives the people the determination to succeed.” 

Who does this sound like? Well, it kind of sounds a bit like the way in which Bellamy leads. He’s the one that’s known for the inspirational speeches, but wait, who do we see in the trailer giving one? Clarke. From interviews and such we know that these two are going to be working together again, so this could apply now to the Bellarke leadership as a whole, rather than to just one of them. However, I do think this part of the symbolism applies more to Bellamy.

Metempsychosis

“ the supposed transmigration at death of the soul of a human being or animal into a new body of the same or a different species”

This part of the Phoenix’s symbolism in relation to the show is most definitely about the flame/chip itself. We don’t know how yet, only that it’s still going to play a role in next season. Is the new grounder woman in the trailer going to take the flame? Is there going to be a new Commander? Are there going to be more grounders who stop seeing it as a religious thing to be revered? Is there going to be conflict between those who view it as sacred and those that do not? 

Now comes the part where I start on the Phoenix when it comes to the stories in individual cultures. Now, first let me note that this is all from research so if I get anything wrong let me know.

Egyptian

In Egypt the Phoenix is known by another name, Bennu.

Bennu is associated with Osiris (Ausir) who is the god of the afterlife, the dead, transition, and resurrection. 

Death is something that is pretty common on the show, but ‘god of the dead and resurrection?’ Who does that sound like, oh, I don’t know maybe ‘the Commander of Death.’ Clarke not only has been shown to take life, but she has been shown to restore it as well. 

Osiris has a sacred willow tree that he sat under. The willow tree can represent both grief and healing. There’s going to still be grieving in season 4, not just from Clarke, but there’s also going to be healing in this season. Who or what is going to be healed we don’t know yet. The willow tree also represents renewal and immortality, much like the Phoenix. While no character on the show is immortal, are we going to see even more the immortalization surrounding the idea of Wanheda?

Bennu is also associated with Ra, the Egyptian Sun God, and as I noted above sun is one of the things the Phoenix symbolizes, and that this can apply to Bellamy. According to Egyptian mythology when Ra was in the underworld he merged with Osiris to become the god of the dead as well. 

Osiris = Clarke

Ra = Bellamy

Merging in the underworld = “Together” and pulling the lever in Mt. Weather

Both Clarke and Bellamy should be considered Wanheda, but only Clarke does, same as Osiris is usually considered the god of the dead and not Ra.

The Bennu is the sacred bird of Heliopolis, which from what I could find is near modern day Cairo. Some of the most famous pyramids are found on the outskirts of the city, and if I remember correctly we see pyramids in the trailer. There’s also the fact that it has the name Polis right in the name, 

Chinese

in China the Phoenix is called Fèng Huáng

it is a symbol of high virtue, grace, power, prosperity, and the union of yin and yang.

the Empress is often symbolized by the phoenix Fèng Huáng, especially when paired with the Emperor, who is symbolized by the dragon. (I’ll touch more on this a little later)

The colors of the Fèng Huáng’s feathers are black, white, red, green, and yellow. 

These colors are said to represent the five virtues of Confucius

Ren: benevolence, humanity, charity

Yi: honesty (broken down into zhong: doing one’s best, loyalty, and shu: altruism “benefiting another at one’s own expense”, reciprocity “exchanging with another for mutual benefits”)

Zhi: knowledge

Xin: faithfulness, integrity

Li: propriety, politeness, ceremony, worship

The Phoenix was power sent from above to the Empress, and would only stay when the ruler was without darkness or corruption. She started a bit on this path in season 3, but I think in season 4 we are really going to see Clarke coming out of the darkness of everything she has had to do and has been through. I also think she’s going to come out from some of the corrupted ways of being a leader that she learned from L. 

The phoenix also represents the celestial bodies, let’s remember that Clarke, and the other sky people came from the space (where the heavenly bodies are) as well as the direction south, possible migration south to Brazil? ( @loft-meeting )

Okay, so like with talking about the gods in Egypt, I’m taking a short detour from Phoenix talk here to come back to the Emperor being symbolized by a dragon. 

Please note I am only talking about dragons in terms of how they are viewed in China for this.

Things that the dragon represents in China: Perseverance, Heroism, Boldness, Intelligence, Vigor

Who is someone that has persevered despite the odds? Who has shown his heroism time and time again? Who have we seen making bold choices for his people? Who do we know shows his intelligence in how he plans things or leads? Bellamy fucking Blake, that’s who.

The Empress = The Phoenix = Clarke

The Emperor = The Dragon = Bellamy

The Empress + The Emperor (The Phoenix + the Dragon) = the union of yin and yang 

Japanese

in Japan the Phoenix is known as Hō-ō.

Just as in China it is a symbol for the Empress. 

Here it represents fire, the sun, justice, and fidelity. 

In some traditions it is said that the  Hō-ō only appears to mark the beginning of a new era. Is this what is going to come in season 4? Are we going to see the start of a new era for the sky people and the grounders? Are we going to see them setting their differences aside and uniting to survive? 

In other traditions the Hō-ō only arrives during times of peace and prosperity. The whole ‘first we survive and then we thrive’ mentality Clarke is putting forth to inspire the people from the trailer? In this tradition the bird nests in the Paulownia tree, which is nicknamed the Empress/Princess tree...so while I know we don’t care much for the Princess nickname and don’t want to see it come back, we can’t deny that it’s always going to be something associated with Clarke.

Greek/Arabian

when someone makes a reference to the phoenix, it’s most likely this version of the bird you think of. An eagle like bird streaking across the sky, or sitting by a well and singing its melodious song. 

Its feathers are often crimson, purple, scarlet, gold, or a combination of the three. 

Crimson: fire, importance, power, determination to succeed

- having/gaining power (Roan)

 - the determination of Clarke and those on team survive to find a way to survive the coming apocalypse. 

Purple: inspiration, the future

- Clarke trying to inspire the people in Arkadia, and Bellamy in turn being that inspiration for Clarke. 

- Not to mention the inspiration the other characters will find in each other. Kane and Abby, Murphy and Emori, etc...

- while they will obviously be dealing with things in the present, much of this season I feel is going to be focused on the future. The future of mankind. 

Scarlet: enthusiasm, love of life

- Enthusiasm and love of life here makes me think of Jasper. So far in the show, at least at the beginning it seems, that Jasper is on what I refer to as ‘Team Fuck It.’ He doesn’t want to survive, he wants to live, and there is a difference between the two. If the world is ending, Jasper is going to go out on top. He’s going to go out not with a whimper or a bang, but with music blasting from the rover and a cup of Monty’s moonshine in hand. 

Now whether or not this attitude is a good thing is open for debate.

Gold: success, abundance, wisdom

- a successful alliance possibly between Azgeda and the Sky People? 

- characters continuing to grow and learn, Clarke and Bellamy gaining more wisdom from people like Abby, Kane, and even Jaha on their little trip to upendi. Is Octavia going to gain some wisdom from Niylah this year? What about when Luna comes back? Is she gonna drop some wisdom on people? Maybe Monty with his questioning the excuse of ‘my people.’

The phoenix has tears that can heal wounds and resurrect the dead *cough* Clarke Griffin *cough*

In this version the phoenix builds a pyre and gathers things such as cinnamon and myrrh in the preparation of its death.

Cinnamon and Myrrh both represent pretty similar things two of which are Protection and Healing. 

Season 4 is going to see characters trying to protect one another and heal, not just healing physically, but also healing mentally and emotionally. Think of the way a phoenix uses the items that represent these in it’s pyre before it dies and a new phoenix rises from the ashes. Now think of the way these need to be something that the characters need to realize and go through, so that when they rise from the ashes they arise stronger than before. That in order for mankind to continue and for a new world to come about, one where the Arkers and Grounders truly work/live together, the old ways must first die, so that the new ways can live. 

Slavic

in Slavic folkore it is referred by a few different names, most of which seem to translate to something along the lines of Firebird.

Once again the Firebird can represent a number of different things.

For some it is a creature of blessing, and others it brings doom to anyone who captures it. In some tales it’s a symbol of wealth and power, and in others it’s the object that’s been ordered to be capture. (I know this post is mainly about the phoenix in relation to season 4, but holy fuck if this doesn’t scream season 3 C/L if you think of Clarke as the Phoenix) 

The Phoenix is also believed to bring hope and relief to suffering. 

- hope has always been a pretty major theme of this show. almost everything has relied on hope. The hope that the ground is survivable. The hope that grounders and sky people can work together. The hope that they can survive the coming apocalypse. 

- relief to suffering - call back to Atom, anyone? Is there going to be more of things like this in season 4? Perhaps a relief that doesn’t end in death or something false like the City of Light?

Conclusion

My conclusion is this, if you look at the overall/wider aspects of the Phoenix then it can encompass the overall theme of season 4. It can symbolize many different characters, story lines, arcs, etc. When you examine each version individually you find that, while here and there something might apply to a different character or arc, it seems that it is mostly represented by Bellarke, and more so by Clarke than Bellamy. But isn’t that what this show is? At its core the show is Clarke’s journey, followed by Bellarke (platonic, romantic, or otherwise), and then everyone else. 

@ginalou16 @bellamypotter @ravensluna @abazethe100 @the-ships-to-rule-them-all @insufficient-earth-skills @rosymamacita @falafel14 @adamantinesky @forgivenessishardforus @thunderlovesbird @jane-doe07

[liw-the-melancholic-apple]

How it may have gone - Humble Beginnings

A fic taking place in the marauders era. While the political climate seems to head to a conflict, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter are still just teenagers. Dealing with typical teenage problems.

But this year their little group grows. Who would have known that more prefects would be a good thing?

Masterlist

Four: Patterns

I hated stairs. I hated floors. I hated walls. I hated windows. I hated chairs. I hated desks. I hated flitterbrick-nodules. I hated people. I hated life. Jasper who walked beside me – dragged himself beside me – was okay. Just barely. I wanted to die or at least go to bed but I had to first pad in to the Great Hall because prefects had to attend all meals. What a stupid rule! I hated rules. The fact that Jasper dealt with not having slept all night in a very similar fashion to myself offered a little comfort, which was why I had decided not to hate him on this awful, awful morning. Objectively it was probably a great Sunday morning. The wind outside wasn’t audible anymore which meant it died down and the stupid windows let in stupid sunlight that made me blink. The rest of the school would love this day. I was ready to commit homicide. Entering the Great Hall Jasper and I both groaned in mutual understanding that that was all the goodbye the other would get and scuffed to our respective tables. I purposefully kept a distance to my housemates and none of them were stupid or brave enough to close it. Still cursing the day and the world under my breath I checked my watch. It was barely seven o’clock. Who were these dumb people who already had breakfast? Why were they not in their beds sleeping? I was personally offended by their being awake because it felt like they disrespected the sacrifice I had just made so they could enjoy their time at the school. Granted, though, most of the students in the hall were first and second years who had not yet discovered the tragedies of stacking spells, 5000 word essays and drowning in tasks. They were still full of energy and enjoying life at the early hours. Poor babies, that would all change in no time. I found a fresh pot of coffee, took it and placed it under the bench. Mine. All of it. A table further I saw Annemarie McIntyre – who had been on the sixth floor all night – fall face first into her porridge. Her classmates laughed and I contemplated hexing them for the audacity but I didn’t have the energy to lift my wand. I didn’t even really have the energy to think straight. Taking a sip out of my big porcelain coffeemug I realised it was still empty and got angry that somebody put all the coffeepots far away before remembering that I had stashed one under the bench. God, I needed to get bed, and quickly.

It took me longer than I cared to admit to get the lid of the pot and pour the coffee but once I had done that and taken a sip – this time of coffee and not air – my hatred of the world shrunk a teeny tiny bit. In my peripheral I noticed somebody coming towards me and I hoped they had the brains to not speak to me. Slowly, quietly and carefully Chloe sat down next to me. I nodded to let her know I wouldn’t kill her. “And to you, too”, she answered in a low voice that hardly infuriated me. Chloe was very well trained when it came to dealing with me after an allnighter. As a token of my appreciation for her efforts I fished the coffeepot from under the bench and put it in front of her with a – hopefully friendly – grunt. She giggled. “Thank you. I know that was hard for you.” She filled her mug and got the basket with baked goods. Still carefully she placed two scones on my plate, that was still empty, and put a small jar of strawberry jam in front of me, before she silently got up to fetch some baked beans, mushrooms and tomatoes, that she loved for breakfast. When she came back I grunted again.

“You’re welcome. Least I could do after what you did for us.” Her voice had gotten back to its normal octave and she spoke quicker than normally. Although I didn’t want to be I was curious and managed to lift my head out of my hands and look at her. She looked back a moment, before realising that it was far too early to expect spoken language from me and answered my question without me asking it: “Yes, it was very nice and we might add the planetarium to the list of places one can comfortably sneak away to in order to … enjoy each other’s company.” My lips curled into what must have been a hideous smile because despite all of her training and years of experience Chloe laughed. Loudly. With a groan my had fell back into my hands, while Annmarie McIntyre placed hers into her porridge again. Chloe insisted I eat before I go to bed, which caused me some internal struggle as I was hungry but also tired and couldn’t find it in me to move to butter my scone or chew. She kept the coffee flowing steadily, shooed away all other people and instructed Magnus on what not to do around me, when he joined her for breakfast. He stifled his laughter, when he got to look at my face, which earned him some plus points but still made me growl at him. He was momentarily on the list of people I hated, that currently counted everyone but the angel that was Chloe with her heavenly patience and endless supply of coffee. At some point – I still hadn’t really moved – Magnus wished us good luck, kissed Chloe and left. I glanced at Chloe’s watch. Ten past eight. Wow. I had wasted more than an hour by just sitting here and hating life. An hour that I could’ve spent sleeping. I felt like crying. Moaning and cracking I sat up straight, which caused Chloe, who was at this point talking to Crick and his brother Jonas on her other side, to smile warmly. “Welcome back woont the living. You want some warm coffee? That iss till your first cup.”

“No, it’s not. You filled it up all morning.”

“That was mine, love. And Mag’s. And Crick’s and Jonas’. You hardly touched yours.

“Am I dying?” Chloe didn’t answer me but got a new cup, filled it to the brim with blackish goodness and put it in my hand.

“Thank you.” I could hear the whiney gratefulness in my voice and was mildly annoyed with myself. I didn’t like being like this but I couldn’t help it.

“No problem. How you’re feeling ‘bout the scones?”

“Generally or in this very moment that is cruel and dark?”

“Maybe you just try them after the coffee”, she chuckled.

In what must have been a sudden desire to die Crick came over put his arms around me from behind, kissed the top of my head, that was a mess after the knot had partially dissolved and whispered in my ear: “It’s not that bad. I know you feel like killing everybody but it’s not that bad. Lovely company, lovely weather, no classes…

“Are you suicidal?!”, I hissed and he let go of me kissing my head again.

“You’ll get through it.”

“What do my wandering eyes see? Signs of deep connections and care? A budding romance? The answer to all my prayers?” Wonderful. Nica was here. Just great.

“She already threatened to kill me, I don’t know whether you should go on singing like that”, Crick warned her and she laughed. More quiet than usually.

“Right, I totally forgot. Sorry, babe.” I grunted at her and took another sip of my coffee.

“Where on earth have you been?”, Chloe shouted at Nica without any regard for my fragile state. This was highly unusual and piqued my interest. I lifted my head from the table that I had placed it on when Nica had arrived and looked at them.

“What d’you mean?”, Nica answered. “You weren’t there when we got to the dorm. How are you asking me where I was?

“I was there until nine o’clock and no trace of any of you! When did you get back from the village?”

“Calm down, mum!” Milla spoke in an appropriate pitch and volume while she stroke my shoulder. Her way of wishing me a good morning. She and Blair sat down right across from me.

“Nica’s right, you don’t get to scold us for being late or breaking curfew. As far as I can tell you ignored it completely.” Chloe grumbled a bit.

“Nevertheless”, she then said audibly. “You at least knew that I was in the castle and that I was okay. I thought you got kidnapped by some psycho on your way back.” She lifted her chin and made that very stiff face.

“Mu-hum!”, it came from Blair in her toddler voice.

“I’m telling you you’re getting worked up over nothing. We got back from the village just in time, went to dinner directly and hung out with the boys a bit more”, Milla explained, smiling warmly and speaking in a very reassuring tone.

“What boys?”, Crick and Jonas had followed the conversation without much interest until this point but now they both sat up and stopped battling each other with the mini baguettes.

“Are you talking about us?”, a far too loud, far too awake and entirely too cheerful voice asked from right behind me. It was accompanied by four entirely too jolly expressions and four bodies that just plummeted down next to and across from me. Effectively entrapping me in this hell of a noisy, happy, awake world.

“Go away”, I moaned, head back on the table. I felt someone’s arm brush my hair.

“Whatf wif her?” Had Pettigrew just stolen my scone?

“Pettigrew, have you just stolen my scone?!”, I asked in a threateningly low voice that I was actually proud of.

The half of my breakfast that hadn’t yet made it into Pettigrews mouth fell out of his hand and landed on the table.

“She looks very mad”, he then shyly said more to himself than anybody else after he had swallowed.

“Yeah, mate, she does, doesn’t she?” Someone lifted the hood of my jumper and let it fall again.

“Go away”, I said again in the same voice I had used on Pettigrew still not ready to face those jolly faces again.

“Was your night again, huh?”, Remus had adopted the volume of my friends and spoke softly. I don’t think that I ever appreciated him as much as I did in that moment. I nodded while Chloe said: “It was. She doesn’t do well with allnighters.”

“So, no talking until ten? Or are there different rules in the weekends?”

“GO AWAY!” Potter had not picked up on the very sensitive ways of my friends and practically shouted at me with that cheery tone . I could hear his stupid grin and I hated him for it. Someone banged something warm against my hand. I opened the hand and found it was another mug of coffee. Merlin bless Chloe!

“Thanks”, I finally did look up – only at Chloe – and my voice was actually nice and grateful which surprised me.

“Wow, you look like death!”, Black shouted in a barking laugh.

“You are still here”, I noted.

“Look at the bags under her eyes. They’re huge!” In response to his insults I downed my coffee and burned my lips, tongue and throat in the process but felt finally capable of dealing with life again. At least for a bit.

“You. Are. So. Not. Living. Up. To. Your. Reputation.” With all the strength I could find I spoke calmly and looked at his irritating grinning face.

“Excuse me?”, he laughed.

“The whole entire castle goes on about Sirius Black the master charmer. ‘Oh, look out he’s gonna smooth talk you out of your knickers!’ No girl can withstand the flirting skills of Sirius find ‘em, love ‘em, leave ‘em Black. And what do I get? ‘You look like death.’ Very disappointing.”

Black’s dumbfounded face was pretty entertaining and to my annoyance the others noticed and laughed. Loudly.

“I told you she went back to hating us!”, Potter said, still snorting but with serious eyes.

“I don’t hate you, Potter”, I surprised myself, getting a strong sense of deja-vu and a round of very confused looks.

“At least not more than I currently hate stairs, students, school, teachers, breakfast and life itself”, I clarified.

“How do you not hate us?”, Potter looked at Black first, then back at me. I made a guttural sound I didn’t know I even could produce to express my unwillingness to answer that utterly dumb question. The message didn’t get through.

“Huh”, he notched me with a fork.

“Can we maybe do this when I’m not homicidal?”

“You really heard no girl can withstand me?”, Black’s crooked grin had returned to his marble-statue-pretty face.

“Again, can we do this when I’m not homicidal?”

“Well, I got some pepper-up-potion in my bag. Two drops in a cup of tea should do the trick”, he suggested non-chalantly.

“You want me to use doping to tell you what the girls think about you?”, I couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “You’re ego seems to be just fine.”

“Now, she’s lost it!” Crick looked me up and down.

“You feeling alright, Tea?”, he then asked resting his eyes on mine.

“Of course I’m not”, I chuckled, incapable of stopping to laugh. “I’ve never been this tired in my entire life and now those clowns wanna drug me”, I screamed, laughter reaching a high pitch I had never heard come out of my own mouth.

Crick turned to Potter and hissed at him: “Great, you broke her!”

“Did you just call her Tea?”, Potter responded unfazed and very curious. “I thought her name was Jette.”

“What’s it matter to you how I call her?”, Crick hissed again.

“ Whoah, calm down.” Jonas pulled his little brother back down onto the bench and raised a warning hand at Potter. I found the whole scene hilarious and nearly hyperventilated as I collapsed onto Chloe.

“You have broken her. This is not normal. Jette?”

“Eeh, eeh, eeeh, yeah?” I now actually struggled to breathe.

“Do you wanna go up to bed?”

“Of course I do! I’ve been begging you to let me go, remember?”

“Let’s do that then. I could use some extra sleep, too.” Chloe looked at our friends. “We’ll take a late lunch and then meet up?”, she suggested.

“Are you not gonna let us tell you about yesterday?”, Nica yelled as Chloe already dragged me out the Hall.

“Afternoon”, she shouted back and minutes later I got to fall into the softest blankets I had ever felt and was asleep before Chloe had even closed the dorm door.

♠♠♠

I looked at my watch. It was getting late. If we wanted to catch good seats we had to leave within the next five minutes. Most of the Gryffindors had already left and the Ravenclaw table was getting very empty, too. The Slytherins and Hufflepuffs took it all a little more relaxed but I knew that Sian and Irving had left for the stands about twenty minutes ago.

Normally, a match between two other houses wouldn’t cause my girls and me to hurry to get to it. But that fateful last Saturday had forged some weird kind of alliance between Nica, Blair and Milla and the Potter-posse. Chloe and I couldn’t escape it and had found ourselves just going with it, listening to the stories about pranks, Lily Evans, their general hatred for Slytherins and, of course, Quidditch.

I didn’t have a problem with it, Potter and his friends could be entertaining and friendly as long as somebody kept them in check and reminded them of their limits every now and again. Usually, that job was done by Remus, so much I had learned but he wasn’t friends with them for nothing. When he told us how in their third year they had covered all of their classmates in maplesyrup whenever they would walk through a doorframe for two days straight, his enthusiasm was unimaginable. I did actually remember those two days quite vividly, because Crick had been cursing continuously but I – as well as the rest of the school – had never found out who was behind the syrup attacks. While listening to him talk I made a mental note not to underestimate Remus – or Pettigrew for that matter – just because they weren’t as loud and egocentric as Potter and Black.

Within the last week – and after I had recovered from my night shift – a couple of patterns had developed that were probably going to stay throughout the entire school year. One of those patterns was that Milla and I took our after-meal-smokes with the Potter-posse, which was the reason for my current standing in the door and waiting. Obviously Potter and Black had already left the Great Hall to put on their robes and warm up for the match but Remus and Pettigrew had stayed behind enjoying a rather lavish breakfast. In fact, they were the last two Gryffindors even still present at the table and had at some point decided to join us at ours.

There they now joked around with Nica and Blair while Milla and I had told them thrice already that we’d prefer smoking and heading for the pitch. They nodded, said they’d be right there and continued to chat.

“This is getting ridiculous! Miracle Nica isn’t already sitting in the front row waiting for James to woo her”, Milla said, blowing her fringe out of her face and going back to our table. Without warning she approached unsuspecting Remus from behind, shoved both her arms under his and attempted to lift him. Given his height she failed miserably and nearly catapulted herself into a half eaten muffin but at least Remus and Pettigrew got the message.

One hand against Milla’s forehead to prevent impact with the baked good Remus politely smiled at the girls and said something I didn’t hear. Then he let Milla get back up and he and Pettigrew followed her to the door where they met me and we finally left.

“How come you aren’t in the seats since sunrise?”, I asked after we had reached our favourite spot under the passage. “I would’ve thought Potter and Black force you to start chanting ‘Gryffindor’ as soon as they enter the changing rooms.”

“I know you keep reassuring James that you don’t hate him but it doesn’t sound like you like him much”, Pettigrew commented ignoring my question. I was taken aback a bit by that. Was I not nice to him? I figured I treated Potter like I did anybody else of their little group.

“Doesn’t it?” Pettigrew shook his head.

“Well, I don’t think anybody will ever rival any of you for the title of best friends but I would consider all of you friendly faces. Including him. Maybe I’m just a little hung up on that ego of his.” I shrugged.

“He and Black both have a lot of that”, Milla confirmed.

“Is that not a good thing?”, Pettigrew pulled up his nose in a very unflattering manner.

“There always is too much of a good thing”, I explained. “Don’t get me wrong they have no reason to doubt themselves or have low selfesteem but every now and again they get obnoxious. It’s just too much…” I searched for the right word to describe what I meant but Remus found it for me:” Show.”

“Exactly!”, Milla agreed. “They like being the center of attention and it seems that whenever not enough girls look their way they put on a show”, she pointed at Remus, “just to get that attention.” Pettigrew still had that silly face.

“It’s not a bad thing by definition”, Milla said a little calmer. “But it creates certain expectations and reputations.”

“Like how you were upset that Sirius called you death?”, Pettigrew turned to me.

“Sort of. The way he uses his looks and sweettalking skills to get out of trouble or get favours has me expecting some sort of flirty comment all the time. He has the reputation of a lady’s man and in that moment he didn’t live up to it. Though, I will say that I probably couldn’t have dealt with any smoothtalking. At least he was honest, eh?”

“Where does that image actually come from?” Remus threw away his cigarette and nodded towards the Quidditch pitch. We could have easily smoked and walked over there but that was not part of the routine we had established and so we now had to powerwalk over in order to catch the beginning of the game.

“What do you mean? We just told you”, Milla laughed a little out of breath as we crossed the wet grass.

“Is it just that he can flirt?”, Remus answered. “’Cause he obviously does but nothing ever really comes of it. I mean have you ever seen him kiss a girl? He’s got the image of some serial snogger while I don’t even know if he…” Remus wisely interrupted himself not betraying his best friends trust completely. Milla and I grinned at each other, half surprised, half amused.

“The point is more that he could get at least two thirds of all the girls from third year and upwards to go out and snog with him. That’s obvious”, Milla answered his question and as he raised an eyebrow in confusion she added:” Not just to us but him as well. He knows what effect he has on girls and he plays that to his advantage. So, yeah, it might just be that he really knows how to talk a girl's index week. And he does. He really does.” I nodded.

We caught up to Nica, Blair, Chloe, Magnus and Crick who had passed us a little earlier waving and pointing at their watches.

“So, that reputation is why you think he’d want us to sing fan-chants long before the game begins?”, Remus got back to my original question that I had already forgotten.

“More or less. With their egos it wouldn’t surprise me if they wanted that. But then again, I’ve known all of you for about ten days. My idea of who you are might be off.” Remus laughed and held the door to the wooden towers of the quidditch pitch open, so first us five girls could walk through and then the sixth year boys.

“Think you have a shot, Pete?”, asked Magnus.

“That we have!”, Pettigrew beamed back. “James hasn’t let them off easy these past weeks. I’ve never seen Furling so focused.” It was dark under the tower and I walked in front of him but I heard the pride and a big smile in his voice.

“Better not tell Glassock that”, Mag mumbled. “She’s crazy enough as it is.” Their conversation turned to a homework assignment that Remus agreed to help Mag and Crick with and I stopped listening. At the stairs we waved at each other, Remus and Pettigrew taking their first row seats in the Gryffindor corner, us seven squeezing through the Hufflepuffs.

It took me about six minutes to get why Pettigrew was so confident in the Gryffindor victory. They. Were. On. Fire. The only change in the team had been the keeper, as their Captain Urlington had left school last year making room for Potter to take over. The new keeper was a girl I thought was in fourth year and although she was no match for Urlington she was really good.

Combine that with a team that had been playing in its current line-up for two years and a fanatic strategist as Potter in charge and you got yourself a nearly unbeatable squad. The formations they flew could have killed them if they weren’t executed with perfect timing and the chasers threw the quaffle in the most impossible ways. After those six minutes it was 30:0 for Gryffindor.

Magnus groaned a bit further down the bench and I saw that he watched Sian who got positively worked up over the topform of Potter’s team.

“That will not end well for us”, Mag whispered to Nica and Milla who both looked impressed and anticipating torture.

“You think?”, Milla asked sarcastically.

“Don’t worry”, Nica gestured for both of them to sit back down so she could watch the game. “I got all of his strategies for this game, remember? I’ve already given them to Sian.”

“And here I thought you just wanted to flirt with Potter”, Blair smirked.

“Well, I’m still determined to get him out of his robes, but Crick was right”, she shrugged. “He’s head over heels for Evans. More than some good old-fashioned fun won’t be in it for me. But that I want!”

Her last word was drowned out by the announcer and the crowd as Gryffindor scored yet again with a spectacular dive from Potter himself. The longer I watched the more I realised that Potter’s ego didn’t translate to the pitch. He played for the team and not for the glory. In several situations when he could have tried to score he passed the quaffel on to Bryant or Marchant who were either in a better position or ignored by the Ravenclaw defence. It wasn’t what I expected from him but it definitely helped the game. 60:0 Gryffindor.

“Oh, and there comes Clearwater, passing to Smith, back to Clearwater, he goes for it aaaaand Johnston gets to corners of the rings she shouldn’t be able to get to folks! Potter made a smart choice letting her guide those this year. That Siobhan Jonhnston is one to watch out for.

But the game continues ,now the quaffel is back with Bryant he builds up speed, ah there comes a bludger … but Black manages to protect Bryant! Bludger via Black to Midgeon aaand Ravenclaws Atila has to leave his post at the rings to not get hit… 70:0 for Gryffindor!” ze

“Furling gets some distance between him and Chimes, folks I think he’s going to crash into the grass, cover up your eyes if you have weak stomachs, oh god, there we go, prepare for impact…But no no no!! Furling is alive and well, spiralling up to his teammates the snitch in his hand! Gryffindor wins over Ravenclaw 320:80. Marvellous!

I’d say this was a worthy start to the season. We have a clear favourite for the cup this year and three teams who now know what they’re up against. Have a save trip home. I’m out!”

Nobody listened to what the announcer said. The moment Furling had the snitch all hell had broken lose. The Gryffindor block had erupted in triumphant cheers, the Ravenclaw block had fallen back onto their benches in despair and the Slytherins and ourselves had been clapping and cheering moderately, mainly to pay respect to the extraordinary performance by Gryffindor. The grass beneath the stands had turned scarlet and gold with all the fans congratulating the team.

We were trying to reach the stairs to run back into the warmth of the common room when a broom shot up from the pitch, carrying an exhausted looking boy with glasses.

“I told you it would work!”, he screamed and Nica sighed.

“Yes, you did, James. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“It worked! It worked! I’m the best Captain ever!” He flew a couple of loops before he landed back with his teammates to be carried on the hands of Gryffindor house to the changing rooms. I had to laugh at that. Was he way too arrogant? Yes. Did his ego deserve to be taken down a notch? Absolutely. Had he been a strategy-genius and possibly given Gryffindor the best start to a quidditch season in years? Yes. Yes, he had. And because of that I wasn’t even mildly annoyed by his cockiness.

A quick look at my watch informed me that lunch would be served in about thirty minutes. Enough time for a quick pit stop in my dorm to change into warmer, dryer clothes. Generally speaking, I liked the May and June matches a lot better than those in November and December. As an onlooker those warmer months just made for a more pleasant viewing. But the cool thing about the winter matches was the way you went into snuggle-up mode instantly after. I didn’t expect a single student to show up in normal clothes to lunch. It would most definitely be joggers and jumpers all over. Maybe one or two girls would wear tights with cosy dresses or long pullovers. But nobody would show up in jeans. We had just watched a November quidditch game. The unwritten rules dictated comfortable clothing for the rest of the day.

Dreaming about the fire in the common room and my ever so cosy Hufflepuff joggers I didn’t even realise that I started shivering. Only when an additional jacket was draped around my shoulders and I got a bit warmer I noticed how cold I had been. I looked up. Crick smiled at me.

“As cool as that coat might be I think it’s time you brought out the warm jackets.”

“Are you not freezing? I will not be held responsible for your tragically early death!”, I yelled while looking him up and down. He only wore a jumper now.

“I’ll be just fine. You were shaking like the whomping willow and that drove me nuts. This is better for both of us.”

“Thanks”, I mumbled, pulling his jacket closer.

“Got any plans for the rest of the weekend?”, he asked. We had made it out of the stadium and waited near the door for his and mine respective classmates.

“I don’t think so. There’s the obvious homework that still needs to be done but other than that I can’t think of anything.” Magnus and Chloe walked out, saw us and came to stand beside us. Both gave us a curious look. I ingored it.

“She was shivering like it was winter in the arctic”, Crick commented making Magnus smile and Chloe bite her lips.

When Nica, Milla and Blair finally showed up, accompanied by Sian, Joe and Irving, we followed the crowds back up to the castle. Nica snuck away from the heated discussion about the match that our team had and came to walk beside me, holding me back just a moment, grinning widely.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice”, she chirped.

“Sorry?”

“You’re wearing his jacket!”

“Oh, that. Yes, yes I do. I’ve told him to keep wearing it because I don’t wanna be the reason he freezes to death but he insisted… And it is rather better than before.”

“So cute!”, Nica cheered and I rolled my eyes.

“There’s nothing cute about it, Nic. He’s a good friend with a more reasonable approach to outer wear than me. Don’t make it something that it isn’t.”

“I can already see the invitations to your wedding. God, it’ll be so perfect!”

“There won’t be any wedding.”

“Why won’t you just admit it! You are made for one another. Just find the thirteen-year-old within yourself and go with it!”

“Nothing to admit, Nica. I’m over him. We’re friends and we care for one another. That’s it.” I could see by Nica’s epression that she didn’t believe me and so I dropped the subject.

I did tell the truth, though. My crush on Crick had just been that: a crush. It had started halfway through my third year and I had even told him about it at the last game of the season. He was very weird about it saying he didn’t know what to do or say. He saw me as a friend and didn’t want to hurt me. But I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

And just like that I was okay again. Not right away, I moped around for two weeks convinced I’d never be happy again, but before the school year had ended I was fine again. I’d come to the conclusion that I just needed him to say “no” and after he did I could move on. That summer holiday I met a rather greatlooking Frenchman in Orléans, who made any thoughts I might have still had on Crick disappear. By the start of fourth year everything was back to normal and it took Crick only a week to notice. We were both happy just being friends but for some reason Nica wanted more.

Ever since I had confessed my crush to her and the other girls she had planned our lives for us. Why she was so obsessed with Crick and me I didn’t know. Chloe and Magnus had never been annoyed with wedding dresses and babynames and they were actually a couple. Neither had Milla and Joe in the brief period of their mutual affection last year.

I sighed one last time and jogged to the rest of our friends to say my piece about the match. At the stairs to the big portal I gave Crick back his jacket and thanked him again.

“Anytime”, he grinned before he was pulled towards the staircase by a bunch of his classmates.

“Where are they going?”, Milla asked.

“No idea. But Chloe should know.”

We didn’t dwell on the mystery of the sixth years and ran down the modest staircase to the kitchens and our common room. Twenty minutes in front of the fire had warmed us up sufficiently, we quickly changed into the after-winter-quidditch-game-uniform of house branded joggers and jumpers, threw on some thick socks and comfortable shoes and went to lunch.

The Ravenclaw table looked sad and melancholic, the team still dripping from the rain, brooms lying across the floor. None of them were eating. The rest of their house kept respectfully quiet to not upset the team.

The Gryffindor table on the other hand was celebrating. As far as I could see the team hadn’t gotten to lunch yet but everybody else had walked up from the pitch together. Mud and puddles framed the table and the fan chants were still audible.

“Idiots”, Milla laughed looking the red table up and down, smiling and giving someone a thumbs-up. Someone had to have reacted because she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue before pulling me on to our seats.

“Idiots”, she said again. “Can you pass me the spaghetti?”

We were just discussing pudding choices when the doors to the Great hall flew open and the Gryffindor table erupted in applause. The seven victorious players – all decked out in house branded sports clothes – walked into the hall as if they had defeated the huns. Bowing over to their table, blowing kisses into the masses. It was the most dramatic entrance I had ever seen anybody make and it was hilarious. I spotted Jasper at the Ravenclaw table giggling while I myself had to hold on to the table to not fall of the bench.

We joined the Gryffindors in their applause and got blown a couple of kisses ourselves before the team said down, let the cheering go on for just a moment more and then dug into their food.

“Can you please do that for us when we win our game?”, Milla asked still laughing, looking at Chloe, Blair and me.

“I mean we can try”, Blair answered. “But I think you need a certain Gryffindor disposition to get everybody that estatic.”

“As long as you try.”

I decided on chocolate éclair for pudding, stuffed my face with it and was pulled off the bench by Milla. Following Crick’s advice I had put dad’s leather coat back into the wardrobe and gotten out a wintercoat that was much warmer. When I had it on I padded the pockets and realised my case was still in dad’s jacket.

“Looks like I gotta scrounge from you”, I gave Milla an apologetic smile.

“Fine.” We pushed and pulled ourselves through and along the celebrating Gryffindors when a hand grabbed mine.

“What d’you think you’re doing?”

“Congrats on the win! That was excellent, Potter”, I answered.

“Why thank you, De Witt. Where are you going?”

“Outside.”

“Without us”, Black had turned around and looked up at Milla and me with big puppy eyes.

“Well”, I waved at their overflowing plates, “yes.”

“But what about our thing?”, Potter asked.

“We have a thing?”, smirked Milla.

“That’s what I thought.” Remus finished his treacle tarte.

“Hey, your Felix’ sister, right?” The new seeker sat next to Remus and looked me up and down.

“Yeah.”

“You have a brother?” I ignored Pettigrew.

“Why d’you ask?”

“Do you think he’d help me out in potions? I suck at it and Slughorn loves him.” It seemed she was a third year, not a fourth.

“Sure, I think he would. Just ask him. He’s takes an unhealthy pleasure in potionmaking.”

“Oh cool. Thanks”, she blushed a bit and I grinned to myself. Felix, Felix, Felix…

“None of that is the point”, Black brought my attention back to the sixth years.

“Peter here very much needs routine in his everyday life and you have been smoking with us after every meal this week, which constitutes a routine. You cannot sent him into madness by going without us now”, his eyes were darting between Milla and me, very strict expression on his face.

“You could run down and get the case”, Milla suggested. “I’ll wait here. When they’re done after you come back Pettigrew doesn’t have to go insane.”

“Great plan, Milla”, Remus nodded and shooed me away.

I knew that I had no chance and made my way down into the common room and then my dorm. I grabbed my cigarette case and the trusty zippo lighter from my wardrobe . Before heading back out I also took the vintage quidditch scarf my mum had sent me right after my sorting in first year. I had learned my lesson about the weather after all.

When I was unwillingly taking the stairs back to the foyer yet again my brain waved at me with an observation it had made. Remus had called Milla Milla. He normally referred to all of my friends by last name just like I did with his. Milla usually was either Scribe or Scribe-Anderson to Remus.Not first, though. Odd. But then again, Nica had instantly called all of them by their first names and maybe that just rubbed off on him. I returned to the Great Hall and found Milla sitting between Siobhan Johnston and Remus, laughing at something Pettigrew had said. Behind Potter and Black who were – to my dismay – still eating stood Nica and Blair laughing as well. Chloe and Magnus still sat at the table having a conversation with Crick and Jonas.

“Thought you had left.” Crick pointed at the free seat next to him. I hesitated only a second then sat down. I wasn’t gonna get between the boys and their food anyway.

“I had. To get these.” I waved the silver case.

“You don’t smell like smoke”, Jonas commented.

“Haven’t been yet. Those clowns wanted to come along but they’re still eating”, I sighed.

“Since when are you hanging out with Potter and his blokes?” Jonas looked at the last cup of cherry jelly, tilted his head and stuck his spoon into it.

“Since Nica decided that she wants Potter.” Crick, Magnus and Jonas started coughing.

“What?”, Mag managed after Chloe had forced some pumpkin juice down his throat.

“How’s that surprising?”, she asked him.

“It… was a very direct statement…”

“Anyways she got him to talk to her about quidditch last week in Hogsmeade and his friends took Blair and Milla to the Broomsticks to wait for them”, I finished my explanation. “And they seemed to have had a lot of fun and now I don’t get to smoke when I want to because Pettigrew likes routines.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Why don’t you just go if you want to?” Crick handed me the case with which he had played.

“Smoking alone is significantly less fun. And I always go with Milla…”

“We could accompany you.”

“You’ve done enough accompanying for one day don’t you think?”, Magnus smirked causing Crick to fiddle with my case again.

“Do tell”, Chloe and I both more sang than said. Crick was clearly not having this conversation, but luckily the four of us were. And because Magnus knew that true best friends tortured Esch other every now and then he told us.

“Sixth year went up to the prefects’ lounge after the game”, he started and I remembered having seen them run up the stairs right after we got back to the castle, whisking Crick away.

“Elaine had suggested to lighten up the gloomy day with a spontaneous round of spin the bottle and we had to oblige.”

“Of course, who could withstand Elaine.” Jonas’ eyes went a little glazy. Elaine Finnigan was an absolute sex bomb. She looked just like every boy’s wildest dream, had a gorgeous smile and was nice. Like genuinely nice. Not that superficial politeness, that girls had perfected who spoke ill behind your back, but genuinely nice. Jonas by far wasn’t the only one who got that look in his eyes when he thought of her.

“That’s what you’ve run off to?”, Chloe asked Magnus.

“Only to watch, obviously”, he answered reassuringly.

“Oh, I didn’t think you’d participate”, Chloe answered. “You’re smart enough to know that I’d hex you into the next century if you cheated on me”, she smiled.

“Damn right, I am. However, not all of us are happily unavailable for Spin the Bottle. And some of us got lucky enough to accompany Elaine Finnigan to the Archives.” He winked at Crick.

“Shut up!”, I yelled raising my hand for a high-five that Crick ignored. I pointed at it with my other hand but to no avail, so I let it fall on the table again.

“You got into it with Elaine?”, Jonas sounded insulted and impressed at the same time.

“No…Yes…Sort of. Look, we played for like fourty minutes before we got down here and Elaine and I got picked as the second to last couple. We didn’t have much time to get into it.”

“What did you get into then?”, Chloe wanted to know, painting circles in the air in front of his face with her fork.

“Nothing. Nothing special.”

“Nathaniel Gabriel Cricket you tell me right now how far you got with that goddess of a woman!”, his brother demanded, insult disappeared from his voice, pure curiosity leaked from it.

“Well, Jonas John, we got not quite far enough to say it was more than snogging.” His eyed didn’t glaze over, they started to twinkle as he smirked. Jonas was incapable of reacting to that. His mouth was a little opened and his eyes focused on something in the far distance.

“Well done you!”, I shouted, attempting another high-five, that this time I got.

“Thanks?”

“No, she’s right! Be proud of that. I hear she isn’t that easy”, Chloe, too, raised her hand. Magnus laughed at Crick’s slightly confused and Jonas’ utterly shocked faces, when a hand fell onto my shoulder.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Couple of minutes.”

“I thought you wanted to get to smoking as quickly as possible.”

“You hadn’t finished eating yet.” I shrugged and let Potter pull me from the bench.

“Well, Casanova, thanks for the offer, but it seems I’m covered. See you in the common room?”

“For Merlin’s sake don’t start calling me that!”

I waved the boys and Chloe goodbye and took the arm Nica offered me.

“Why on earth would you call him Casanova? Did you too just get it on in a broom closet?” Her entire face lit up in anticipation.

“No. He played Spin the Bottle with Elaine.”

“Finnigan?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my. I didn’t think he could pull her.”

“Well, the bottle probably helped.” We both giggled.

“Remus, will you stop that!?” Milla’s cry brought my attention over to the passage where the rest of the group already stood. Remus had placed his elbow atop her head. Now, Milla really isn’t short – no Nica by any means – but given that Remus was a giant she was just the right height for him to use her as an armrest.

“Stop what, exactly?”

“Take an educated guess!” Nica and I reached the passage, pulling down our hoods now that we were out of the rain. Before I could even reach for my cigarette case Black grabbed me by the elbow that Nica had just let go of. He pulled me a bit away from the rest, offered me a smoke from his pack, which I gratefully accepted, lit me up, pulled me a little further away from my friends and his.

“What’s up with those two?”, he then asked. Flipping his head toward Remus and Milla, a new kind of smirk on his lips. This one wasn’t flirty, it was entertained, knowing and just the tiniest bit suspicious.

“Come again? Thanks by the way.”

“What? Oh, sure.”

“What do you mean, what’s up with them?”

“Have you not noticed them calling each other by their first names?”

“I noticed he stopped calling her Scribe.”

“She just screamed ‘Remus’.”

“Huh.”

“I think that they will see a lot more of each other.” He looked back over to them, still bickering with each other, both smiling brightly. I examined the situation for a moment.

“You know what, you might be right.”

“She better not break his heart.” His eyes bore into mine again. I swore I could see myself in that steel grey. But he meant what he said and it was clear that he held me responsible for her behaviour.

“He better not break hers.” I held his stare intending to convince him that now he was responsible for Remus’ being a respectable gentleman.

“Fair enough. You hear anything solid, you tell me, yeah.”

“If you’ll do the same.” He extended his hand and I shook it.

After that was cleared up Black guided me back to our friends, offering me yet another cigarette as if to seal the deal we’d just made. Normally, we only ever stayed a maximum of ten minutes in that passage, chatting and smoking. But that Saturday afternoon we stood in the nasty weather for one and a half hours, telling stories about the last couple years, sorting out family relations and favourite subjects. We only ever went back inside because the cold had crept into our bones. In the foyer Pettigrew asked if we had plans for the evening and if we were up for round two of secretspilling. And up for it we were. We decided to meet up right after dinner and then check if there were free rooms in the prefects’ hall. The one problem this school had was that interhouse friendships had no common rooms to be nurtured in. The prefect’s hall really was the only chance we had of hanging out. And given that we had two prefects amongst us we would probably not get caught or at least nobody would tell on us.

The moment we stepped through the fake barrel that was the door to our common room we sprinted towards the fireplace and plummeted down on the grey carpet in front of it. The first years who sat on the chairs around it looked a bit intimidated. “What happened to you?” Chloe threw a couple of blankets at us. We recounted our after lunch adventures while snuggling up to one another trying to get warm again. “Next time I’m coming with!”, Chloe decided. “Next time is after dinner”, informed Blair.

[newyorktheater]

“Fairview,” winner of the 2019 Pulitzer Prize for Drama, began Off-Off Broadway.

“Small theaters” play a large role in making New York City the world’s cultural capital, according to  “All New York’s a Stage,” a report issued this week by the Mayor’s Office of Media and Entertainment that looks at the cultural and economic impact of Off-Broadway and Off-Off Broadway, a “sector” (in policy-speak) that is made up of “748 small venue theater organizations” that generate “$1.3 billion in total economic output” annually. They also generate much of the theater world’s cultural heat these days. One example: Some dozen Pulitzer Prize winning plays originating in NYC’s small theaters, including this year’s winner “Fairview” above (Soho Rep), 2016’s “Hamilton” (New York Public Theater), 2015’s “Between Riverside and Crazy” (Atlantic) and 2014’s “The Flick” (Playwrights Horizons.)   One arresting fact: The majority of staff of these theaters are volunteers.  Here are some charts from the report:

  Thanksgiving Week Broadway Schedule

including 15 shows adding performances today!

The Week in New York Theater Reviews

Ronete Levenson (Sue), Lindsay Rico (Paula), Helen Cespedes (Emma), Jennifer Lim (Cindy)

Fefu and Her Friends

Fefu picks up a double-barrel shotgun and shoots at her husband near the beginning of “Fefu and Her Friends,” billed as a modern classic and written by the beloved avant-garde playwright Maria Irene Fornés,  who died in October 2018 at the age of 88. “It’s a game we play,” Fefu explains matter-of-factly to her friends, putting the gun back against the drawing room chair. “I shoot and he falls. Whenever he hears the blast he falls.”

For the first time in 40 years, Off-Broadway theatergoers can actually hear that gunshot blast too, thanks to a Theater for a New Audience production, directed by Liliana Blain-Cruz, that is itself a blast….for much of the time. For the rest of the time, it’s…..well, to quote the director herself on her reaction when discovering the work of Maria Irene Fornés: “Oh my god. I don’t understand anything that’s going on, but I love it.”

The Half-Life of Marie Curie

Marie Curie won the Nobel Prize twice, but she was also a woman; so the Nobel committee asked her not to show up at the ceremony. We learn the specific reason why early on in this well-intentioned, workmanlike play by Lauren Gunderson about the friendship between two world-class women scientists who lived a century ago.

Samuel H. Levine as Adam, Kyle Soller as Eric, Kyle Harris as Jasper, Arturo Luís-Soria as Jasper2, Jordan Barbour as Tristan, and Darryl Gene Daughtry Jr. as Jason1

The Inheritance

“The Inheritance,” a long, ambitious play about three generations of gay men in New York, pays homage to two masterpieces, without being one itself. Yet the play by Matthew Lopez, making his Broadway debut, is both sweeping and intimate, sophisticated and raw, a weepy that is often funny. Several performances are transporting, including two actors making their Broadway debuts, and an actress who made hers 67 years ago. There are swoops into intellectual brilliance, such as when one of the characters elaborately compares America to a body, its democracy to a body’s immune system, and the current president to the HIV virus. There are dips into nudity and raunch. There is insight and debate and uplift. Does “The Inheritance” need to be nearly seven hours long and in two parts to achieve all that? The short answer is no. But there’s so much here that’s so wonderful that it’s worth it to those with the stamina.

A Christmas Carol

Who knew that “A Christmas Carol” could be so dangerous!

The assaults begin even before the first line of dialogue in the new, charming if overlong, and extraordinarily well-designed Broadway production of Charles Dickens’ 1843 classic, starring Campbell Scott as Ebenezer Scrooge and Andrea Martin and LaChanze as Ghosts of Christmas Past and Present. Cast members on the stage dressed as 19th century English blokes and birds throw clementines and cookies to (at?) the audience…vigorously.

“I’m suing,” said somebody sitting behind me, in a straight-faced impersonation of Scrooge, after he was hit by one of the packages of chocolate chips.  “Are you an attorney?”

Evita

It’s surely pointless, four decades and two billion dollars after its debut, to rant about Evita, and silly to blame Andrew Lloyd Webber’s theatrical canonization of the amoral historical figure Eva Perón as paving the way for the elevation of another media personality remade into a dictator-loving populist. Still, this core problem I have with the musical stops me from fully embracing its revival at New York City Center, even as I acknowledge that the singing in this production is gorgeous, the orchestra lush, the choreography fun, and the story reinterpreted in some bold and intriguing if not always effective ways.

Two adaptations of novels by Édouard Louis:

James Russell Morley and Oseloka Obi on the video

The End of Eddy

Parts resemble a book report for school, but won’t be mistaken for a story hour because of the inventive stagecraft and the rawness of the stories — relentless bullying, deadened people in a dying factory town, his sad and funny efforts to ‘be a man,’ his sexual experimenting.

History of Violence

An examination of trauma; that in any case is the most consistently insightful aspect of the adaptation…. committed performances by the four-member cast…but the production ultimately felt more like an exercise in stagecraft rather than a pointed exploration of history or violence.

  The Week in New York Theater News

Grammy Award nominees for best musical theater albums: Ain’t Too Proud, Hadestown,  Moulin Rouge, plus the incidental music from the play Harry Potter and the Cursed Child. The 62nd annual Grammy Awards will be held on January 20, 2020.

Ephraim Sykes in Newsies

Motown’s Ephraim Sykes as member of The Temptations, Berry Gordy Jr.’s brother, member of the Jackson 5

Ephraim Skyes as Seaweed J. Stubbs —

Ephraim Sykes as David Ruffin

Ephraim Sykes will star as Michael Jackson in “MJ,” the musical slated to open on Broadway beginning the summer 2020. A thrilling performer, he’s had an increasingly high-profile career: Memphis,Newsies,Motown,Hamilton, Hairspray Live, and Tony-nominated for his role as avid Ruffin in Ain’t Too Proud: The Life and Times of the Temptations.

He is now both performing in Ain’t Too Proud and rehearsing for MJ. How can he do this? “I always say just a bunch of prayers, and drink as much coconut water as I can find,” he told Essence.

Lynn Nottage, the Pulitzer Prize winning playwright of “Ruined” and “Sweat,” is the book writer for MJ the Musical. In a mutual interview in Vogue magazine between Nottage and Slave Play playwright Jeremy O. Harris, he brings up MJ:

Can I ask you a question about Michael Jackson? How do you contend with the weight of that history?

We all, on some level, recognize the complexity of Michael Jackson. For many years, he has occupied a very specific space.

Going into this moment, when there’s such a spotlight on him, and such decided opinion on it now around what we should do with that history…

Cancel culture is the dominant culture in this moment. But my guiding principle is that you have to sustain the complexity. I really feel as an artist that writing this piece is me trying to process my complicated feelings about someone who I idolized from the time I was five years old. To reconcile that with that person who, in the media, was quite complicated. I can’t simply cancel that person. I have to, as an artist, lean into that complication—that is what I’m investigating by doing this. And I think that the easy thing would be to say no and run away. But for me the more interesting thing is to lean into it and try to figure out personally how I feel.

  Separately, John Logan (Moulin Rouge the Musical, Red, The Aviator) has been hired to writea movie script about Michael Jackson.

Patrick Stewart’s one-man version of “A Christmas Carol” will be presented for two nights only, Dec 11 & 13 at Theater 511 to benefit City Harvest and Ars Nova

“Soft Power” will release a cast recording in Spring 2020.

They grew up at Boston Children’s Theater. Now They Look Back with Alarm

“a group of 17 former students who sent a letter to the theater’s board late last month, detailing a range of negative experiences with [Burgess Clark, the director of Boston’s Children’s Theater]; three alleged that Clark had kissed or touched them inappropriately. Beverly police are investigating; no charges have been filed. A group of older alums sent a second letter describing their own disturbing encounters. Burgess has resigned.”

  Rest in Peace

  Michael J. Pollard in Bye, Bye Birdie

Michael J. Pollard in “The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis”

Michael J. Pollard in “Bonnie and Clyde”

Michael J. Pollard, 80, best known for TV roles (“The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis”) and his Oscar-nominated part in the movie “Bonnie and Clyde”, was also a 5-time veteran of Broadway, such as the original Hugo Peabody in “Bye, Bye Birdie.”

    Small Theater is BIG in NYC. Ephraim Sykes is Michael Jackson, Lynn Nottage answers why she’s taking on MJ. #Stageworthy News of the Week "Small theaters" play a large role in making New York City the world's cultural capital, according to