#summer darlington

[aheathen-conceivably]

Dearest Zelda,

First let me say what a joy it was to receive your latest letter! Truly I was so delighted upon seeing it in the mailbox that I ran straight for Isaiah. He is not one to worry, but when our latest contact to the address we had for you in New Orleans once again went unanswered, I fear even he had begun to grow concerned. 

I am delighted to read that your silence was not without good reason, and to see the wedding portrait you sent of you and Antoine as well as the photo of your daughter. How she has grown since we last saw her! She is not much younger than our eldest now, who I fear every day is so like your brother there is simply no one thing in this world that can tame her.

It does sound like your Violette is much the same, and how much joy it brings me to think that perhaps it is Florence’s spirit manifesting through them.

Our youngest have also begun to grow like weeds, much to my chagrin. Does it ever seem like sometimes you awaken and it’s as though the grass has grown a foot overnight? That is oft how I feel looking at them, and Rosalie seems to desire all the independence of her namesake. 

She wasn’t but a day over six when she began poking into Rosella’s old room, curiously pulling forth toys and books from the gathered dust like a miniature treasure hunter. Truthfully, I could not tell you why your brother and I had yet to bring the room back into the light of day. Once you took the portrait from it it was like a pall had lifted, but I feared that stirring it would upset your brother’s long-standing grief over your mother, so I daren’t say a word. 

But as children often do, Rosalie saw little of that other than a space to call her own, and we have now finally found the heart through her to give it a new life. I do hope your sister would love to see her in there, playing dolls and writing grand romantic stories for them aloud to her ever attentive twin. It is a joy to see them rediscover the beauty in the world that pain often hides, is it not?

Have you written to Virginia as well? I fear she may not be quite as conscious of the time that has gone by. With the dissolution of The Women’s Political and Social Union, her work has turned increasingly to involvement with the Women’s Labor League, eventually coming to the attention of the Labor Party themselves. 

I will admit that I am not as informed on the goings on of London as I perhaps should be, but even still it came as no surprise when the party nominated her as their candidate for Member of Parliament. As she so painstakingly explained it, the party itself has suffered great losses from their prominence in the 20s, what with the general bias of their associations with the communists and their seeming inability to stop the rampant unemployment that has taken hold even here. 

I suppose she is fully aware that this was the cause for her nomination, as she was able to run more on the merit of her charitable associations than the negative reputation the party has recently taken on. Yet if she was surprised that this platform worked, she has never let on; but her work in the House of Commons has all but taken over her life since her election in 1931. How I do miss her and Wally, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing that she keeps her seat in the upcoming election of ‘35, even if it means we will see less of them than ever.

I imagine that what little free time she has is now spent nearby at Oxford, where Wally was accepted upon his graduation from secondary school. While I’m sure being the son of a governing member of parliament was not a mark against him, I have no doubt he was accepted there on the merits of his intelligence alone. Even from the small amount of time he spent here in his teen years, it was clear to me what a bright boy he was. 

I am told he is majoring in physics there, a field that even in the briefest explanations Virginia has given me is quite beyond my comprehension. I suppose what else are we to expect with Virginia as his mother? I’m sure he’s had but the most informative, intellectual upbringing, even when it must have been colored by the high expectations that I can only imagine your sister set for him.

Despite her near constant work and best attempts to shield her vulnerability, there are moments when we speak and it seems as though Wally's departure brought forth much of the buried sentimentality within her. I suppose under it all she is but a mother like us all, proud of her child and yet sorrowful as his life grows beyond her own.

Before I sign off your brother has instructed me to ask you to include the most minute of details regarding your predicaments with the soil in your next letter. He has also asked me to attach a veritable field guide of advice, although I have told him that everything you have written points to the fact that you are in waters we could not navigate any better even if we tried.

I must admit that when I hear the word soil I think simply of the ground beneath verdant green grasses or darkened Bramblewood canopies. It makes me realize just how little of the world I have seen, but also how lucky we have been even in the throes of what seem to be such tumultuous times. I can only hope that such good fortune will last in England for many years to come, and that some of our knowledge may bring success to your efforts as well.

I must once again thank you for the photo of you and Antoine on your wedding day. We’ve placed it in our living room next to the photo of your mother and father when they were wed, as seems only right. In return I have also included a photo of all of us when we were last together to visit Wally’s new home in Oxford; although I’ll be the first to admit I do hope we spend the next high holiday together in Henford instead. Anything that close to London makes me long for the forest more than anything else.

Your mother once told me that she sent you every photo we took, and that you have been collecting them over the years. I hope this can make a welcome addition to such a tradition, and do always know that you are welcome here should you ever find need of solace in the place you once called home. 

Your sister in marriage,

 Summer Darlington

[wingedshadowfan]

friendly reminder that alex canonically spent the summer rummaging through the cabinets of the il bastone armory because it made her feel close to darlington while he was gone

[haveyoureadthispoll]

In the summer of 1956, Stevens, a long-serving butler at Darlington Hall, decides to take a motoring trip through the West Country. The six-day excursion becomes a journey into the past of Stevens and England, a past that takes in fascism, two world wars, and an unrealised love between the butler and his housekeeper.

[foodandfolklore]

Snow-White and Rose-Red

Art by Kerry Darlington

With all the content about the new Snow White live action Remake coming out, it got me thinking about the character in other forms. I don't mean other retellings of the story. But the name 'Snow White' was oddly popular for young, beautiful and kind maidens in fairytales. It may be a translation problem. Both Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs as well as Snow-White and Rose-Red were both written by German Authors. The famous Brothers Grimm. Actually, when I first read this story, I mistook it for the original source material of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. I thought Disney took WAY MORE creative liberties.

This story has an interesting, What goes around comes around, kind of message. There are two sisters, named after Roses, a Bear, and a weirdly mean dwarf who encounters a rather sudden end. The sisters are kind to the bear so the end up happy. The Dwarf was mean to the bear so he ends up....splat. Oh, and the bear is a Prince, as is fairytale tradition.

Bears have strong correlations to endurance, adaptability, protective power, wisdom, and maternal/paternal energy. They are well known for hibernation, which can invoke a sense of cycles, dreams, and renewal. But they are also dangerous creatures, drawing feelings of danger, defense, and death. How many themes, if any, can you pick up on in this story?

Snow-White and Rose-Red

A poor widow once lived in a little cottage. In front of the cottage was a garden, in which were growing two rose trees; one of these bore white roses, and the other red.

She had two children, who resembled the rose trees. One was called Snow-White, and the other Rose-Red; and they were as religious and loving, busy and untiring, as any two children ever were.

Snow-White was more gentle, and quieter than her sister, who liked better skipping about the fields, seeking flowers, and catching summer birds; while Snow-White stayed at home with her mother, either helping her in her work, or, when that was done, reading aloud.

The two children had the greatest affection the one for the other. They were always seen hand in hand; and should Snow-White say to her sister, "We will never separate," the other would reply, "Not while we live," the mother adding, "That which one has, let her always share with the other."

They constantly ran together in the woods, collecting ripe berries; but not a single animal would have injured them; quite the reverse, they all felt the greatest esteem for the young creatures. The hare came to eat parsley from their hands, the deer grazed by their side, the stag bounded past them unheeding; the birds, likewise, did not stir from the bough, but sang in entire security. No mischance befell them; if benighted in the wood, they lay down on the moss to repose and sleep till the morning; and their mother was satisfied as to their safety, and felt no fear about them.

Once, when they had spent the night in the wood, and the bright sunrise awoke them, they saw a beautiful child, in a snow-white robe, shining like diamonds, sitting close to the spot where they had reposed. She arose when they opened their eyes, and looked kindly at them; but said no word, and passed from their sight into the wood. When the children looked around they saw they had been sleeping on the edge of a precipice, and would surely have fallen over if they had gone forward two steps further in the darkness. Their mother said the beautiful child must have been the angel who keeps watch over good children.

Snow-White and Rose-Red kept their mother's cottage so clean that it gave pleasure only to look in. In summer-time Rose-Red attended to the house, and every morning, before her mother awoke, placed by her bed a bouquet which had in it a rose from each of the rose-trees. In winter-time Snow-White set light to the fire, and put on the kettle, after polishing it until it was like gold for brightness. In the evening, when snow was falling, her mother would bid her bolt the door, and then, sitting by the hearth, the good widow would read aloud to them from a big book while the little girls were spinning. Close by them lay a lamb, and a white pigeon, with its head tucked under its wing, was on a perch behind.

One evening, as they were all sitting cosily together like this, there was a knock at the door, as if someone wished to come in.

"Make haste, Rose-Red!" said her mother; "open the door; it is surely some traveller seeking shelter." Rose-Red accordingly pulled back the bolt, expecting to see some poor man. But it was nothing of the kind; it was a bear, that thrust his big, black head in at the open door. Rose-Red cried out and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered her wings, and Snow-White hid herself behind her mother's bed. The bear began speaking, and said, "Do not be afraid; I will not do you any harm; I am half-frozen and would like to warm myself a little at your fire."

"Poor bear!" the mother replied; "come in and lie by the fire; only be careful that your hair is not burnt." Then she called Snow-White and Rose-Red, telling them that the bear was kind, and would not harm them. They came, as she bade them, and presently the lamb and the dove drew near also without fear.

"Children," begged the bear; "knock some of the snow off my coat." So they brought the broom and brushed the bear's coat quite clean.After that he stretched himself out in front of the fire, and pleased himself by growling a little, only to show that he was happy and comfortable. Before long they were all quite good friends, and the children began to play with their unlooked-for visitor, pulling his thick fur, or placing their feet on his back, or rolling him over and over. Then they took a slender hazel-twig, using it upon his thick coat, and they laughed when he growled. The bear permitted them to amuse themselves in this way, only occasionally calling out, when it went a little too far, "Children, spare me an inch of life."

When it was night, and all were making ready to go to bed, the widow told the bear, "You may stay here and lie by the hearth, if you like, so that you will be sheltered from the cold and from the bad weather."

The offer was accepted, but when morning came, as the day broke in the east, the two children let him out, and over the snow he went back into the wood.

After this, every evening at the same time the bear came, lay by the fire, and allowed the children to play with him; so they became quite fond of their curious playmate, and the door was not ever bolted in the evening until he had appeared.

When spring-time came, and all around began to look green and bright, one morning the bear said to Snow-White, "Now I must leave you, and all the summer long I shall not be able to come back."

"Where, then, are you going, dear Bear?" asked Snow-White.

"I have to go to the woods to protect my treasure from the bad dwarfs. In winter-time, when the earth is frozen hard, they must remain underground, and cannot make their way through: but now that the sunshine has thawed the earth they can come to the surface, and whatever gets into their hands, or is brought to their caves, seldom, if ever, again sees daylight."

Snow-White was very sad when she said good-bye to the good-natured beast, and unfastened the door, that he might go; but in going out he was caught by a hook in the lintel, and a scrap of his fur being torn, Snow-White thought there was something shining like gold through the rent: but he went out so quickly that she could not feel certain what it was, and soon he was hidden among the trees.

One day the mother sent her children into the wood to pick up sticks. They found a big tree lying on the ground. It had been felled, and towards the roots they noticed something skipping and springing, which they could not make out, as it was sometimes hidden in the grasses. As they came nearer they could see it was a dwarf, with a shrivelled-up face and a snow-white beard an ell long. The beard was fixed in a gash in the tree trunk, and the tiny fellow was hopping to and fro, like a dog at the end of a string, but he could not manage to free himself. He stared at the children with his red, fiery eyes, and called out, "Why are you standing there? Can't you come and try to help me?"

"What were you doing, little fellow?" inquired Rose-Red.

"Stupid, inquisitive goose!" replied the dwarf; "I meant to split the trunk, so that I could chop it up for kitchen sticks; big logs would burn up the small quantity of food we cook, for people like us do not consume great heaps of food, as you heavy, greedy folk do. The bill-hook I had driven in, and soon I should have done what I required; but the tool suddenly sprang from the cleft, which so quickly shut up again that it caught my handsome white beard; and here I must stop, for I cannot set myself free. You stupid pale-faced creatures! You laugh, do you?"

In spite of the dwarf's bad temper, the girls took all possible pains to release the little man, but without avail, the beard could not be moved, it was wedged too tightly.

"I will run and get someone else," said Rose-Red.

"Idiot!" cried the dwarf. "Who would go and get more people? Already there are two too many. Can't you think of something better?"

"Don't be so impatient," said Snow-White. "I will try to think." She clapped her hands as if she had discovered a remedy, took out her scissors, and in a moment set the dwarf free by cutting off the end of his beard.

Immediately the dwarf felt that he was free he seized a sack full of gold that was hidden amongst the tree's roots, and, lifting it up, grumbled out, "Clumsy creatures, to cut off a bit of my beautiful beard, of which I am so proud! I leave the cuckoos to pay you for what you did." Saying this, he swung the sack across his shoulder, and went off, without even casting a glance at the children.

Not long afterwards the two sisters went to angle in the brook, meaning to catch fish for dinner. As they were drawing near the water they perceived something, looking like a large grasshopper, springing towards the stream, as if it were going in. They hurried up to see what it might be, and found that it was the dwarf. "Where are you going?" said Rose-Red. "Surely you will not jump into the water?"

"I'm not such a simpleton as that!" yelled the little man. "Don't you see that a wretch of a fish is pulling me in?"

The dwarf had been sitting angling from the side of the stream when, by ill-luck, the wind had entangled his beard in his line, and just afterwards a big fish taking the bait, the unamiable little fellow had not sufficient strength to pull it out; so the fish had the advantage, and was dragging the dwarf after it. Certainly, he caught at every stalk and spray near him, but that did not assist him greatly; he was forced to follow all the twistings of the fish, and was perpetually in danger of being drawn into the brook.

The girls arrived just in time. They caught hold of him firmly and endeavored to untwist his beard from the line, but in vain; they were too tightly entangled. There was nothing left but again to make use of the scissors; so they were taken out, and the tangled portion was cut off.

When the dwarf noticed what they were about, he exclaimed in a great rage, "Is this how you damage my beard? Not content with making it shorter before, you are now making it still smaller, and completely spoiling it. I shall not ever dare show my face to my friends. I wish you had missed your way before you took this road." Then he fetched a sack of pearls that lay among the rushes, and, not saying another word, hobbled off and disappeared behind a large stone.

Soon after this it chanced that the poor widow sent her children to the town to purchase cotton, needles, ribbon, and tape. The way to the town ran over a common, on which in every direction large masses of rocks were scattered about. The children's attention was soon attracted to a big bird that hovered in the air. They remarked that, after circling slowly for a time, and gradually getting nearer to the ground, it all of a sudden pounced down amongst a mass of rock. Instantly a heartrending cry reached their ears, and, running quickly to the place, they saw, with horror, that the eagle had seized their former acquaintance, the dwarf, and was just about to carry him off. The kind children did not hesitate for an instant. They took a firm hold of the little man, and strove so stoutly with the eagle for possession of his contemplated prey, that, after much rough treatment on both sides, the dwarf was left in the hands of his brave little friends, and the eagle took to flight.

As soon as the little man had in some measure recovered from his alarm, his small squeaky, cracked voice was heard saying, "Couldn't you have held me more gently? See my little coat; you have rent and damaged it in a fine manner, you clumsy, officious things!" Then he picked up a sack of jewels, and slipped out of sight behind a piece of rock.

The maidens by this time were quite used to his ungrateful, ungracious ways; so they took no notice of it, but went on their way, made their purchases, and then were ready to return to their happy home.

On their way back, suddenly, once more they ran across their dwarf friend. Upon a clear space he had turned out his sack of jewels, so that he could count and admire them, for he had not imagined that anybody would at so late an hour be coming across the common.

The setting sun was shining upon the brilliant stones, and their changing hues and sparkling rays caused the children to pause to admire them also.

"What are you gazing at?" cried the dwarf, at the same time becoming red with rage; "and what are you standing there for, making ugly faces?" It is probable that he might have proceeded in the same complimentary manner, but suddenly a great growl was heard near by them, and a big black bear joined the party. Up jumped the dwarf in extremest terror, but could not get to his hiding-place, the bear was too close to him; so he cried out in very evident anguish—

"Dear Mr. Bear, forgive me, I pray! I will render to you all my treasure. Just see those precious stones lying there! Grant me my life! What would you do with such an insignificant little fellow? You would not notice me between your teeth. See, though, those two children, they would be delicate morsels, and are as plump as partridges; I beg of you to take them, good Mr. Bear, and let me go!"

But the bear would not be moved by his speeches. He gave the ill-disposed creature a blow with his paw, and he lay lifeless on the ground.

Meanwhile the maidens were running away, making off for home as well as they could; but all of a sudden they were stopped by a well-known voice that called out, "Snow-White, Rose-Red, stay! Do not fear. I will accompany you."

The bear quickly came towards them, but, as he reached their side, suddenly the bear-skin slipped to the ground, and there before them was standing a handsome man, completely garmented in gold, who said—

"I am a king's son, who was enchanted by the wicked dwarf lying over there. He stole my treasure, and compelled me to roam the woods transformed into a big bear until his death should set me free. Therefore he has only received a well-deserved punishment."

Some time afterwards Snow-White married the Prince, and Rose-Red his brother.

They shared between them the enormous treasure which the dwarf had collected in his cave.

The old mother spent many happy years with her children.

[tryalittlejoytomorrow]

         you drew stars around my scars

Fandom: Alex Stern series / Ninth House / Hell Bent

Pairing: Alex Stern/Darlington

Status: Complete

Tags: Post-Hell Bent; road to recovery; romance; mutual pining; hurt/comfort

Summary: Alex and Darlington are the only ones left in New Haven during summer break. Alex decides to do something about it.

Extract:

She moved in Black Elm on a hot, balmy morning, with no preamble nor ceremony except for Darlington stumbling upon her on his way back from a run just as she exited the car she'd called this morning on a whim with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder for only luggage.

Well, not on a whim exactly. Dawes was back in Westport for the summer. Mercy was interning in France, relishing the beauty around, the beauty she deserved. Lauren was on a road-trip with this boy she'd met at a party, drunkenly made-out and fallen giddy in love with. Alex had asked Turner to run a background check and he hadn't even groaned for the sake of it, just done it like the time he'd come to pick her up because she'd told him something had happened to her. Turner was busy taking care of his mother who'd just had hip surgery, and otherwise busy pretending he could forget all about the things he saw and did because of her.

And Tripp was too busy hiding out in the dark to keep from melting under the scorching sun because, well, vampires. He was probably having the time of his life anyway, beating his own record at GTA. Sometimes he randomly texted the group chat with a joke or a plea for Dawes to cook him dinner, and while no one particularly bothered replying most times, Alex couldn't pretend she wasn't relieved. Tripp was Tripp, but he was alive and as well as he could be, and his dumb selfies pouting for Dawes to care for him lived in her heart rent-free.

Which only left she and Darlington. Virgil and Dante without Oculus, Virgil and Dante with no one to supervise, no ritual to attend during the summer break, the societies giving themselves a well-deserved break from all the fuckery they pulled during the school year. Assholes. Perhaps Turner was right and they were all just dumb rich kids playing wizards; the only kind of magic Alex knew and feared and loved at the same time was the one who'd brought Darlington back to her.

He was staring at her. Wide-eyed as if she were a burglar, a thief in broad daylight breaking and entering his kingdom of isolation. His mouth opened - in greeting or dismissal, Alex couldn't tell, because he pressed his lips shut just as quickly. His tank top clung to his skin from sweat, dark, damp spots under his armpits and across his stomach; his hair was a mess, beads of perspiration gathered on his forehead, at the tips of his hair, one droplet gleaming on his right earlobe. Alex wanted to suck it into her mouth, wrap her lips around his ear, taste every part of him until she knew him like every badly-healed wound on her own body.

He smelled, the sharp tang hitting her nose and tongue, but only making her want him more. It was foolish to believe she could come here and leave unscathed if she was that affected by the salty scent of his sweat.

It was foolish to believe she had it in her to turn around and leave now.

Read more on AO3!

[cheapnicotine]

talladega

i’m becoming my father,  but how can you become  someone you don’t even know? 

darlington, coors light. i was raised on nascar, raised on dust,  raised on country,  raised on rock n’ roll. 

i still miss you sometimes,  in july when the nights  get heavy and humid.  why don’t you answer  the phone anymore? 

i was sixteen going nowhere,  saw seventeen alive.  i’m eighteen and i like it. 

i’ve torn down every dirt road  in this rearview town just trying  to find my heart where it fell  off the tailgate in the summer of ’14. 

remember when we said we’d go to talladega?

[aheathen-conceivably]

The English Darlingtons in early 1933 on the grounds of Oxford, where Wally Webber now attends university. Pictured is also his adoptive mother Virginia Darlington, who lives in nearby London, as well as Isaiah and Summer Darlington and their three children, who have made the trip from rural Henford-on-Bagley.

[bastard-of-the-barrel]

So, catch my guesses on the third book about Alex Stern. Like last time, here are more of my wishes and dreams than real observations.

Attention! Spoilers!

We'll finally find out who Alex's father is (some kind of supreme demon, huh?)

When I read the first book, I thought that Alex inherited her abilities from her father (it fits in with the cliché of an absent parent who left because he wasn't human). Now I understand that I did not pay attention to Alex's grandmother, but I still have a feeling that we are waiting for some kind of twist with Alex's father.

Darlington will teach Alex fencing and wrestling, and Alex will teach him dirty tricks from the street

"To defeat a demon, you need… Stern, what are you doing???"

"Look what a LA stripper taught me!"

BAM!

Alex will (or try to) make Lethe to pay for repairs to the Black Elm. When Darlington finds out about this, he will be angry, but grateful for her concern.

Darlington'll meet Mira Stern (Alex planned to visit her in LA, right?)

Love triangle Darlington/Alex/North

Remember, both guys were in Alex's head. Intimacy goes wild.

At the meeting with the fans, Leigh said that North would play a big role in the third book, and I already came up with at least ten options for how Alex would try to get through to North, who did not want to communicate with her. Or, even better, he himself will suddenly come to her.

After the ritual, Alex went to the shower, and then North appears to her.

Alex: FUUUUUCK

Darlington, instantly appearing near the door to Dante's bathroom: Alex? What happend?

Alex from behind the door: Damn it, North, I'll kill you!!!! And I don't care you're a ghost!!!!

Darlington: ???

Dawes, passing by: It's okay, don't mind.

Looking at the chemistry between Alex and Darlington, professor Walsh-Wnitteley will introduce a rule about the prohibition of sexual relations between Virgil and Dante, although they will convince him that there is nothing between them.

Professor: I do not know why this rule wasn't introduced, but now I'm correcting this mistake. No sexual relationship between Dante and Virgil anymore!

Darlington and Alex: but… there are no sexual relationship between us. And never will be (briefly look at each other).

Professor: Children, I wasn't born yesterday. I see everything.

Mercy: Nah, they are sayng the truth, there's nothing between them. But Dawes and I are actively working on it.

Darlington'll finally see his bank account, drastically reduced by Alex, who used it heavily last summer

Darlington-demon will go wild and will try to serve Alex (you know what I mean)...

...but it will be Alex who make firth step and kiss him

Mercy & Dawes

Apparently they already have some sort of parental custody of Alex, so…

Darlington and Alex will finally go to Lighthouse Point

Black Elm will be destroyed (considering that with each book there is more and more destruction in it). But at the end of the book, Alex and Darlington will build something new place for them. It will be the symbol of the end and the beginning

Post can be updated

[thetypedwriter]

Hell Bent Book Review

Hell Bent Book Review by Leigh Bardugo 

I just didn’t like this book. I really wanted to. I love Leigh Bardugo and her Six of Crows duology are some of my favorite books of all time. However, her adult novels just don’t do it for me. 

One, I barely remember anything from the first book. Now, this one is on me. I could have reviewed more or even re-read the first book. I liked Ninth House enough to buy Hell Bent, but I do feel like Bardugo could have also done a better job of reintroducing the last book’s important events. 

Any time previous events were brought up, it genuinely didn’t ring a bell for me and it lessened the impact of Hell Bent overall as a direct sequel. 

Additionally, Hell Bent has so much terminology that isn’t necessary in any way, shape, or form. I remember this being a criticism of Ninth House as well, but it is twice as bad in the sequel. 

Bardguo spent more time in the first installment describing and reminding readers of the societies and all the titles, but she tosses that to the wind in this book. 

If she thinks readers will remember what Praetor or Virgil or Dante are, she is absolutely wrong. Or, I’m just stupid compared to the average reader (which I don’t think I am), but the terms made things overtly verbose and pretentious without offering any kind of substance or value. 

The actual plot of the novel I found tedious. It can be summed up by: Alex and her hodgepodge group of friends make several trips into hell in order to save Darlington (Alex’s mentor from the first book), who is trapped there. That’s it. It should be exciting, but it’s…not.

 The trips into hell are nonsensical and long, Alex is whiny, and none of the characters had any reason or solid motivation to help Alex. Some of them don’t even know Darlington. Alex herself shouldn’t have wanted to risk life and limb to rescue Darlington. 

They were friends, but that was it. Alex had known him for a short amount of time and their relationship wasn’t strong enough for me to believe that Alex would risk her life and the lives of others multiple times in order to save him. 

None of it came across as realistic and I found all of it unbelievable to a high degree. 

This disillusionment was the nail in the coffin for this novel. None of the characters behaved in believable ways and I didn’t find any of the relationships dynamic, interesting, relatable, or moving.

 Alex as a protagonist gets increasingly irritating as the novel progresses and her staying involved with Lethe and the societies confused me further and further considering how risky, time-consuming, and damning it is (literally). 

Unfortunately, there isn’t anything about this book that I really liked. The writing is fine, some of Barudugo’s more imaginative chapters I appreciated, but as a story I found the entire thing lackluster and a monotonous use of my time. 

I did finish it (with much skimming involved) because I had already bought it and I do feel some kind of allegiance to Leigh Bardguo (although that indebtedness is gone after this drivel). 

I will say that I recognize that perhaps Hell Bent came at a bad time in my life where there’s a lot of other things happening. Maybe I would have liked it a year ago or around the holidays or during summer. But, in the time I read it, it did not scratch my reading itch and instead makes me want to swear off Bardugo’s adult novels forever. 

Recommendation: Ninth House should have been a standalone novel. 

Score: 3/10

[ehgood-enough]

The power of music is so amazing. I was reading a fic that had notes about how Bruce Springsteen fits supernatural so well. I’ve never been a big Springsteen fan always seemed more like “middle age person music”

So I had popped on born to run while doing the dishes. It’s pretty good. I knew a few songs. It’s got me feeling good enough that I’m cleaning more. Pop on the river. Life is good I’m making some progress on the disaster that is my apartment. Cleaning stuff out.

Go to run a couple errands finish up the river while I’m out

Come home ready to tackle more with Bruce. Ok let’s go for born in the USA. THE Springsteen album

Yeah everyone alive in the 80s knows born in the USA hmm well I guess I know the lyrics to cover me. Oh and Darlington county.

Man I can almost feel summer. Smell dusty fields. Feel grass and weeds

Working on the highway …oh yeah know this too. Makes me want to dance. I can almost smell the grill and feel that summer mud that you get around the plastic kiddie pool

Downbound train finds me sitting on floor crying absolutely overwhelmed with memories. Had to be summer 84. God that old apartment, sticky from fluffanutters, roller skates, big wheels in the driveway way; hide and seek in the weed filled empty lot next door, cook outs at the neighbors out back, digging potatoes with my great uncle, running up and down the wooden stairs in the poorly lit hallway up to the second floor. So much happy and within the year it was just gone

Gone like the America of the boomers featured in the song. Even that seemingly bleak future the adults were feeling back in 84 looks unachievable now

Happy and sad all at once listening to an album I doubt I’ve heard in its entirety since that summer and music just seeps into your bones that 44 year old me knows lyrics from 4 year old mes memories.

[coochiequeens]

If men can’t be dedicated enough to science to go for a few months without harassing, assaulting or exposing women to porn maybe they are the ones who should be discouraged from entering Antarctica.

For almost as long as the continent has been known of, Antarctica, a wild, white expanse of ice shelves, glaciers and mountainous ridges at the foot of the globe, has been the domain of men.

But images in the popular imagination of bearded men boldly heading into snowstorms could slowly be fading into the whiteness.

Today, women lead expeditions and research stations, make up large parts of support teams on the continent, and are active in leading policy conversations.

Reports uncovering sexual harassment and assault in overwhelmingly male environments, combined with a drive to recognise women’s contributions and efforts to overcome barriers to entry have all contributed to a gradual cultural change.

“We need to decide what kind of a future we want to see for Antarctica, and which people we want making decisions about that future,” said Dr Hanne Nielsen, a lecturer in Antarctic law and governance at the University of Tasmania.

“Then we can decide how we make sure that those people have – and retain – a seat at the table.”

Antarctica was first sighted in January 1820 by a Russian expedition to the far south, and the first women to visit the region did so with husbands working on whaling vessels during the first half of the 20th century.

“The human history of Antarctica is really quite recent, but the history of women being able to travel there is even more recent than that – but that didn’t mean that women didn’t want to travel to the far south of the globe,” said Dr Nielsen.

Predictably, attitudes to women’s participation lagged far behind.

When the Americans Edith Ronne and Jennie Darlington mooted the idea of staying on the continent over the winter of 1948 – which they eventually did – Darlington’s husband told her that “there are some things women don’t do … They don’t become pope or president – or go down to the Antarctic.”

The first woman to conduct scientific research in Antarctica was the Soviet geologist Maria Klenova in 1957, but her work did not immediately lead to more female scientists in the far south: many Antarctic programmes argued that women’s presence could prove disruptive.

In 1969, more than a decade after the US established a permanent presence on Antarctica, an all-women scientific team deployed there prompted a New York Times reporter to dub their work “an incursion” into the “largest male sanctuary remaining on this planet”.

Women have also been agents of sovereignty to assert territorial claims.

An Argentinian, Silvia Morello, then seven months pregnant, was flown to the country’s Esperanza Base and, on 7 January 1978, gave birth to a son, Emilio Palma, who became the first person to be born on Antarctica.

But for those women who wanted to study the continent, role models have been few and far between.

“When I was in school, science wasn’t really a career girls would think about,” said Catalina Silva, 23, a marine biology student at Chile’s Universidad Austral in Valdivia, where more than half of her 2018 intake were women.

“Marine biology didn’t seem achievable because you’d just see men in science. If you don’t see people like you in the places you want to reach, it’s hard to know where to aim.”

This summer season, she spent a month at Chile’s Escudero Base working as a lab assistant, sifting through seawater samples searching for isopods – the subject of her thesis.

The Chilean biologist Dr Leyla Cárdenas, 47, came to Antarctica for the first time 13 years ago and has returned to the continent several times to further her research on ecosystems in the far south.

In 2020, she was named the first ever female dean of her university’s science faculty, but says that stereotypes still persist for women studying the continent.

“Who’s going to cook? Women, of course. Who will carry the heavy kit? The men,” said Dr Cárdenas. “That’s how it’s always been, defined by gender roles.”

Before leaving Punta Arenas to work or stay at Chilean bases, every member of each expedition must complete an induction on harassment protocols and awareness.

Even so, this year two support staff members were sent home following incidents.

While women’s experiences of harassment and assault in remote Antarctic research stations have long been known, two damning reports published at the end of last year threw the issues into stark relief.

In October 2022, the US National Science Foundation (NSF) said it was “appalled by the reports of sexual harassment, assaults, and stalking”highlighted by its study; and a report into diversity, equity and inclusion within the Australian Antarctic Program described a “culture of widespread, low-level sexual harassment that permeates stations”.

That macho culture was typified by the ceiling of a hut at Australia’s Mawson Station which had been plastered with nearly 100 pornographic images.

Both reports make for harrowing reading.

In the NSF’s document, 95% of the women interviewed knew someone who had experienced assault or harassment within the Antarctic programme. One interviewee was quoted as saying that “[sexual assault and sexual harassment] are just facts of life [here], just like the fact that Antarctica is cold and the wind blows.”

Among a series of incidents highlighted, one male supervisor reportedly attempted to break into female colleagues’ rooms using his master keys. One woman was so frightened she carried a hammer around base with her.

Following the publication of the NSF report, the organisation says it created a single, confidential point of contact for victims, increased on-ice support services, put listening sessions in place and enhanced physical security measures.

Nevertheless, diversity and inclusion still have a long way to go on Antarctica.

With such high turnover of scientific and support staff in every summer cohort, the female population of Antarctica at any given time is difficult to judge.

However, one 2016 study found that 60% of early-career polar researchers are women. Retaining them in the field is another matter.

“I think it is important not only to increase the number of women working in Antarctica, but also the number from different geographic, linguistic or disciplinary backgrounds,” said Dr Nielsen.

“The more perspectives you have the richer that conversation can be – and the more likely we are to be able to respond to the huge challenges facing the polar regions.”

[halfrican-heat]

Bad Reputation (Ain't Shit Series)

SUMMARY: Every story has a beginning. This is Amalia's.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Amalia Wright, Ransom Drysdale x Black!OC

Warnings: Angst, Discussions of Drug Use, Offensive Language, Colorism, Discussion of Weight Differences, Dysfunctional Family Dynamics, Cursing, Mother-Daughter Tension, Underage Drinking, Illegal Substance Usage, Depictions of Underage Drinking, Flashback Fic, Mentions of Central Park East in New York -- No harm or offense intended and it's used for storytelling purposes only; WC: 2376

A/N: Hey! It has been a month since I posted part one of this series and the response has been wonderful! Thanks so much for the love and support. I am excited to continue this journey with you all and dive deeper into Amalia's world. This story has really taken up a special place in my heart, so I hope this next part resonates. It's a little sad, but we get a deep dive into the things that have shaped Amalia. Beta'd by my boyfriend :) Please enjoy -Lyv

Song Inspo: Bad Reputation - Joan Jett

Masterlist Previous Chapter

“He left half of his estate to you.”

Half. To you. 

To you. 

Me.

When I was a little girl, I lived in a one-bedroom apartment with my mama and baby sister. We were placed smack in the middle of Darlington, South Carolina’s toughest projects. My mama scrapped and scrimped and starved trying to make sure my sister and I were well taken care of. It was just us girls, after all. 

I did have a dad for the first five years of my life. But that bastard wasn’t interested in the little family he created with my mama. Instead, he wanted to rip and run the streets, chasing after anything that wore a skirt. That man brought a whole new meaning to the term “papa was a rolling stone”. But his absence didn’t make much of a difference one way or another. He was hardly ever home, to begin with, so I didn’t notice when he just…stopped coming home. I can’t place the moment it dawned on me that we were finally, for real this time, on our own. 

But my mama knew immediately. 

I don’t remember the day or the week or the month. But I remember my mama’s face like it was yesterday. It was mid-day. She stood at the window with my sister hiked up on her hip. Stephania was two at the time, so she didn’t get what was going on either. She babbled incoherently at my mama, but her toddler noises fell on deaf ears. My mother’s eyes were blank as she stared outside. It was a bright summer day with a cool breeze gently rustling the trees at the playground across the street. 

I don’t know how long mama stood there, maybe an hour or so, but I do know that my mama changed from that day on. Her face was blank, sure, but the heartbreak in her eyes was as clear as the sky outside. There were no tears in her eyes, only a mixture of emotions that swirled like a raging storm. Then, all at once, those emotions faded. She tucked them away one by one until all that was left were hardened spheres of grey. Mama didn’t even spare me a glance as she set my sister down, told me to watch her, and went to the kitchen to make us lunch. 

After that, my mom was never the same. She never…loved the same after that. 

See, I took after my dad with my almond brown skin and plump cheeks. My sister, on the other hand, took after our mother. Stephania was a stunner from the age of three with skin like golden honey and upturned, whiskey brown eyes. Neither of us inherited her stormy grey eyes, though. Those were hers and hers alone. Steph was also petite like our mother as well, a trait I didn’t seem to inherit either. I was dark and on the chubby side, so my mama did everything she could to change that. From flash diets to dance classes, to trying creams that could lighten my skin-- Mama tried everything under the sun. But my deep hue endured and that stubborn baby fat just wouldn't give up. As a five-year-old, you don't think anything of it. It's just another day with mommy to you at that age.

But the day our father left was the day I realized just how differently my mother really treated me.

I was eight when my mother and I had our first huge, blowout fight. I don’t remember how the fight started. Probably over something Steph did that I got blamed for. I remember her standing by the couch, at the end furthest from me, as I stood at my bedroom door. I also remember, clear as day, the unicorn stuffie she had given to me for my fifth birthday. She got it two months before dad left us. It sat on my pristinely made bed as I looked at it and then back at her as she said-- 

“I should be able to depend on you!” 

There was a long pause after that. So long, I felt like my feet had grown roots in the ground. I couldn’t move, pinned beneath my mother's hard stare. And all she did was look at me. She looked at me like I was the crazy one. As if I should be able to understand why her stress should rest on my eight-year-old shoulders.

Then, seemingly reading my mind, she scoffed and rolled her eyes as if to say that being eight didn’t matter. As she brushed by me to get to her room, a chill ran down my spine. Something told me that, to my mother, being eight didn’t matter. It was time to grow up. 

From that day on, I became the problem child. Stephania was her perfect, golden child. I became the one who had to pull my weight if I was to ever measure up in my mama’s eyes. Stephania barely had to lift a finger. I had the most chores and the most responsibility. If anything went wrong in the house, best believe that blame fell on me. Sure, I was the oldest and some responsibility was to be expected but I was still a child. I still needed my mother. But most times, I was left to fend for myself and Stephania while bearing the brunt of my mother’s ire. I didn’t blame Steph, though. It didn’t matter how bad things were with mom-- she was my baby sister and nothing was gonna change that.  

Besides, no matter what I did, I was never enough for my mother. And on those rare occasions that I went against her, she saw that as me proving what she already believed-- that I was a bad seed after all. 

And when that happened, it was always--

“Why can’t you ever do what I ask you for once?”

“You never do anything I tell you. I’m telling you something for your own good!”

And that gets real tiring after a while. 

I love my mama. I love that woman more than life itself but she doesn’t make it easy on you. She doesn’t make it easy for you to feel her love. And she certainly doesn’t make it easy for you to love her. Instead, she makes you fight tooth and nail for a morsel of her attention or some semblance of affection. And that, too, gets tiring after a while. 

A person can only take so much. My mother treated me like a fucking animal. Like this thing, this beast that she needed to tame. Truth be told, I think my mama saw herself in me. She saw every aspect of herself that she ever hated and, in turn, she despised me. I was nothing more than a conquest to her-- the personification of fears she longed to conquer.

So, I became the fucking animal she wanted. I became the kind of primordial beast that could never be conquered. Never destroyed or tamed. 

For every time she called me disobedient or disrespectful-- or selfish and unappreciative-- I started giving her a reason to see me that way. I started being exactly what she wanted me to be. When I was younger, it was simple stuff like talking back and not doing my chores. But when I got older, things got a lot more complicated. 

It started with sneaking out to meet the local potheads in my neighborhood when I was twelve, almost thirteen. They were three or four years older than me. I did little favors for them in exchange for the weed I couldn’t afford. It was small things like stealing from the corner store for them or doing the school work they were too fucked up to do. It was a good gig for a while, a great way to forget the bullshit going on at home. But when I started high school, I started looking for something harder to take the edge off. I tried coke but it wasn’t really my style-- I didn’t like shit going up my nose. Tried LSD and prescription drugs, too, but all they did was take me to the places I was trying to avoid. Bad trips are no joke.

Then, at my first high school party, I got a taste of alcohol. I had been offered before by the junkies I ran with but I was too scared to try it. I never felt pressured with my neighborhood crew but high school was a different field altogether. In a room full of your drunken peers, with eyes watching every move you make, you’ll do anything to fit in. So, one shot of Henny became two and then it turned into Vodka, and so on. The party got busted by the end of the night, and I was one of many teens caught because we were too drunk to see straight let alone run properly. Needless to say, I was pretty popular around the police department by the ripe age of fourteen.

The final straw came during my sophomore year of high school. 

Back then, I had long, dark natural hair that fell to my waist when blow-dried. It was the only thing about me that my mama took any real pride in. She never let me get anything more than a trim, no dyes, and absolutely no heat other than a blow-dry.  Mama coveted my hair like it was her own. She even did my hair herself to ensure that I wouldn’t mess it up. Those were the few moments she was soft with me. It was the only time I felt like she cared for me. But as soon as my hair was dried, moisturized, and put into a new protective style…the walls went back up. 

So, I cut it. 

I headed straight to the hair salon after school one day and got my hair cut up to my shoulders. I don’t know what possessed me to do it. I don’t recall what triggered this rash decision, but I went through with it anyway. The lady, a middle-aged black woman with a cute smile was hesitant at first but she got to clipping when I threatened to sit in the white lady’s chair. Then I had her flat-iron it and add some fiery red streaks-- a special "fuck you" to my mom. And she fucking hated it…but that made me feel good. 

We argued for hours that night. The worst fight we’d ever had at that point. She told me I was just like my father-- a lazy troublemaker. Only good for lying on my back. I told her the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. She was the single mother of two, not me. She slapped me for that and called me a sorry piece of shit. I shoved her and called her a selfish bitch. I left that night and didn’t come home for three days. But then Stephania found me one evening, hanging with friends in some back alleyway. We were all crossfaded as hell, giggling around a trash fire and burning our schoolwork for fun.

“Mala,” She called, her voice tiny and frail.

I sobered up as soon as I saw her. She was crying, saying Ma wouldn’t help her with her science project or something like that. Steph looked so fucking scared standing in that cold alley wearing a hand-me-down jacket with the hood pulled tight over her head. She was shaking like a leaf, too. It was cold out but I was too fucked up to notice. Guilt dropped through me like lead. Steph didn’t deserve to see me like that. She was only twelve for fucksake. So I pulled it together as best I could, stole some supplies from the store, and I helped my sister put together the best damned solar system ever.

Ma praised Steph for her hard work. She never acknowledged me.

About a month after the “incident”, mom decided that a change of scenery would do us-- me-- some good. Who would’ve thought that of all the shit I could do, cutting my hair was the most heinous? 

She packed my sister and me up, along with our meager belongings, and moved us from the pitiful projects of South Carolina to the elite slums of New York. We was finally gonna be “fancy” broke. Mama had some cousins up in the Bronx with the hookup in East Harlem. She got a two bedroom for real cheap-- well, as cheap as can be in New York-- and that’s where we settled. Ma got us enrolled in school fairly quickly and Central Park East was where I would spend the rest of my high school years. 

I fucking hated that place.

I hated it because it wasn’t home. Because it wasn’t my tiny little high school where everyone knew everyone. I hated it for everything that it wasn’t. But I mostly hated that place because, suddenly, I was thrown into this giant new pond where I was the tiniest fish of all. I was a nobody from some no-name town in the middle of fucking nowhere. And they treated me like I was from some no-name town, too. 

So, I did what I knew how. I acted out, got in with the wrong crowd, and figured out the best places for getting high between classes. I barely talked to my mother those days. I don’t recall seeing her very much either-- not that I truly cared. I found ways to occupy my time, so her absence didn't make a difference. There was this girl, Marta, who lived in the apartment down the hall from us with her mom and little sister. We laughed about how similar our lives were and bonded over silly things like boys and popular music groups. But she didn’t go to CPE, so we only hung out occasionally. 

Most days, it was just Steph and I hanging out after school. 

As the years went by, Stephania got older and prettier and was still my pride and joy. My best friend. When mom and I would argue, Steph tried to play mediator sometimes. But when small arguments turned into screaming matches, she would stay out of sight until it was over. Then, she would be there for me with a sheepish smile and corny joke to lighten the mood. The fights bothered her, of course, but she never let mom and I’s bickering get her down. It was like she was a cloud of Teflon-- durable yet pliable and soft. No matter what, Stephania had my back. 

It was actually Steph who had warned me about Ransom. 

“He’s a goddamned womanizing, manipulative, lying snake,” She had said. 

I just laughed her off, determined to be different. My relationship with Ransom would be better than that. Fighting for love wasn’t new to me. I was used to it.

What was one more battle?

A/N: I hope you enjoyed it! I should be getting chapter three out soon so be on the lookout for that. Thanks for reading and please remember to like and reblog! Feedback is always appreciated. Also feel free to drop in my inbox to make requests, ask questions, or just chat. It would really make my day :)

Next Chapter: This Way

Banners: @maysdigitalarts

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Title Card: Me :)

Backup Blog: @thegirlonhamilton

Masterlist

[someplumberrys]

    The Emory family returned home late that night. Agnes was still feeling light from her talk with Benson. Victoria and Lilian immediately rushed to their room - mostly so they could change out of their dresses, but also because they could sense that their parents were upset about something. 

      Gossip had quickly spread across the ball of Agnes and Benson’s conversation - How Benson wished to marry Agnes and Agnes’ refusal, and her desire to attend Britechester. The gossip quickly reached their group, and James Darlington had scoffed at the idea. It was a shame. Victor had really thought him better, but apparently all he cared about was that his son had a wife.

      He stopped Agnes before she went up to her room. “Do you truly want to go to Britechester?” he asked.       “Yes,” she admitted. For a moment, she thought he’d be cross, that he’d heard that she had turned Benson down, but instead, Victor nodded.       “Next summer,” he said. “Me and you will go into town and let your tour the school. You’re a smart girl Agnes. You always have been. It would be a shame not to let you put that to good use.”

      Agnes jumped up and hugged him, thanking him over and over again. This really was a dream.

[playedlist]

night sight (for nourishing the soul)

Lofi, Jazz, Soul, R&B, D&B, Electronica

Track List:

1. Sur une chanson en Français - Paradis

2. Toi et moi - Paradis

3. Asylums for the feeling feat. Leila Adu - Silent Poets, Leila Adu

4. goodbye - Mk.Gee

5. Nostalgic Montage - Salami Rose Joe Louis

6. Double Astral Move - Rejoicer

7. Chowdr - Mndsgn

8. Afternoon Shuffle - Mndsgn

9. Instantané - Paradis

10. Recto Verso - Paradis

11. Setting Out - Daedalus, Amir Yaghmai

12. TRACK ONE - Sam Gendel, Sam Wilkes

13. Teardrop - Massive Attack

14. Butterflies - Dardust

15. Næturflug - Yakamoto Kotzuga Remix - Dardust, Yakamoto Kotzuga

16. In Dark Trees - 2004 Digital Remaster - Brian Eno

17. The Big Ship - 2004 Digital Remaster - Brian Eno

18. Intro - Mk.gee

19. cz - Mk.gee

20. dimeback - Mk.gee

21. Song For Spirit Flights - Rejoicer

22. Earth Talk - Rejoicer, Sam Wilkes

23. My Beans - Rejoicer, KerenDun

24. Lemons - Rejoicer, Jenny Penkin

25. Eternal Loop - Sam Gendel

26. Waraku3 - Sam Gendel

27. They B All Like - Sam Gendel

28. Summer Madness - Kool & The Gang

29. Bahia Dreamin' - Karriem Riggins

30. kometostai.aintreallynootherwaytoputitro - Knxwledge

31. Auntie's Lock/Infinitum - Flying Lotus, Laura Darlington

32. Licorice - MF DOOM

33. Swimming - Maple Glider

34. if you're not the one for me who is - keshi

35. Mockingbird - Uma

36. Jazz Club After Hours - Barry Can't Swim

37. Time Moves Slow - BADBADNOTGOOD, Sam Herring

38. Nice & Shiny - Slohmo

39. And We Go Gentle - Hiatus Kaiyote

40. Red Room - Nick Hakim Remix - Hiatus Kaiyote, Nick Hakim

41. Action Line - Dorothy Ashby

42. Imagineering - Nightmares On Wax

43. Ghostride - Crumb

44. Stone Or Lavender - Hiatus Kaiyote

45. Atari - Hiatus Kaiyote

46. Time, Being - Johnny Nash, Suzanne Kraft

47. Locket - Crumb

48. Crust - Flying Lotus

49. Them Changes - Thundercat

50. QACHINA - Damien Jurado

51. Camel - Flying Lotus

52. Melt! - Flying Lotus

53. Comet Course - Flying Lotus

54. Merry Go Round - The Equatics

55. Imprint After - Toro y Moi

56. Koko - E.VAX

57. Eagle In The Lodge - Rejoicer

58. Plantasy - Resavoir

59. Some Thing's Coming - I Monster

60. Summer Nights - Lonnie Liston Smith, The Cosmic Echoes

61. Together Is A Beautiful Place To Be - Nala Sinephro Remix - Nubya Garcia, Nala Sinephro

62. Gentle Persuasion - Keith Mansfield

63. Thomas The Fib - Red Snapper

64. Be Right With You - HOMESHAKE

65. She Wakes Up / First Dimension - Salami Rose Joe Louis

66. ache for - always centered at night, Moby, José James