#the maven seven

[punkeropercyjackson]

Fine cuisine😤😤😤😤😤🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼🤌🏼

[lucy-the-cat]

BTS from seven and/or this is me trying 💕

Most of this are reinterpretations of lyrics to seven by Taylor Swift

Maven never learned to swing on his own.  He always needed Cal to push him, to bring him to a height he never could from the ground.  It was a small joy, a favor from one brother to another.  He never thought much of it.

Then Maven started to jump.

I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in

The song is about a child's inability to help a friend trapped in an abusive household, so I felt it would be thematically resonant and good foreshadowing to have him unable to save Maven from a danger so minor. If he can't stop him from jumping, how can he stop him from being taken away by Elara?

Cal clutched his chest and screamed, racing to catch him and stumbling instead.  Maven rolled on the grass and laughed, kicking when Cal tried to scoop him up.  “Put me down!”  He squirmed, biting his hand.  “I will eat you!”

Maven is like all kids: he wants to be free even if it hurts, and he expresses this in ridiculous and unrealistic ways

“Consider me eaten.”  Cal cradled him, struggling against gravity’s pull.  “I will save you through your stomach.”

“I will throw you up!”

“Ew.”  He wrinkled his nose.  “I will crawl back inside your mouth.  Your stinky, stinky mouth.”  Cal dropped him, and he stuck his tongue out.  “Go drink perfume, or something.”

“And eat the bottle?”

They're brothers, they need to bicker like the idiots they are. You need to establish what is there before taking it away

Cal’s stepmother poked her head out.  “What is this nonsense?”

Maven pointed at his brother.  “Cal told me to eat perfume!”

Elara scowled.  “I always knew you were a monster.”

Elara looks for whatever excuse she can to insult Cal. He's an extension of Tibe, and so she hates him just as much

Their father’s voice echoed from inside.  “Don’t you start.”

“Why shouldn’t I?  Because he’s her son?”  Elara huffed, shutting the door.  The rest of the conversation was lost to muffled shouts and Cal’s own good sense, as he shuffled away to continue playing with his brother.  "For the last time, Tibe--"

Cal drowned her out with a scream.

Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

My Ao3 username! Yeah I needed to foreshadow his later inability to express his pain, as he learns to make things easier for the adults in his life. Because the pain of children ultimately has no power to change things.

That couldn’t work forever though.  As the grass grew wild and the weeds grew taller, Cal began to hear words he never had before.  Divorce.  Settlement.  Custody.  He didn’t ask what they meant.  He didn’t want to.

Please picture me In the weeds

The description also shows how things are growing out of his control, weeds he cannot pull no matter how he tries.

Maven spent more time in the shed, hunching in the corner and muttering to himself.  Father had yelled at him again, something about how he was no longer his son.  Cal tried to curl up next to him.  There wasn’t enough room.

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why

Cal both understands and doesn't understand what is happening to his brother. He knows he's in pain, but he doesn't know how to help.

“We’ll run away.”  He crouched beside him.  “We can be pirates on the nearby lake.  You won’t have to cry anymore.”

And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet

A childlike solution to an adult problem. We think children don't know when things are happening around them, but they do. And they want to help when they can't.

“Go away.”

“Never.”  Cal gripped his hand.  “Let’s go to India.  They have a big sea.”

Pack your dolls and a sweater We'll move to India forever

More help that cannot be

Maven sniffled.  “I hate water.”

Cal tugged him onto his lap, but he was too big.  Just as when he tried to carry him, he wasn’t strong enough.  “This house is haunted.”

See earlier lyrics

“Ghosts.”  Maven’s mouth parted.  “People.”

If Cal stood still, he could feel the fingers of his mother in his hair.  She’d give him little braids that would unravel with the wind, something he missed as his hair was cut shorter.  “We can’t see them, but they see us.”

I thought the braid thing was cute

“I won’t see you anymore.”  Maven looked him in the eye.  “You know that?”

Cal blinked.  “What?”

“Mother wants me.  Father wants you.  Neither of them want each other.”  He didn’t waver.  “We’re moving out tomorrow.  You get to keep the house.”

Elara and Tibe would never stay together without the crown, and they both have their favorite children. Nor are they particularly self sacrificing

Cal clutched him tight, squeezing until he complained he couldn’t breathe.  Just as he did the next day, to no avail, screaming in his head as he couldn’t through his mouth.  He didn’t say “I love you.”  He didn’t know how.

Do you always know how to say "I love you?" Do you?

Memories slipped through his fingers, running like water.  Grass stains.  Teddy bears.  Recess.  And as the years went by, somehow, he managed to lose his face.

And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

The song is a distant memory, as this needs to be. Otherwise, it will haunt them both to their dying days.

And we wouldn't want that, would we? ;)

[simsccfindd]

Challenge Name: "Witching Heritage Legacy"

Objective: Lead a witch family through seven generations, each with specific goals that explore magical abilities, traditions, and the family's connection to the mystical world.

**Generation 1: The Witching Initiate**

- Goal: Transform the Founder Sim into a witch and establish a magical homestead with an alchemy station.

- Aspiration: "Mystical Beginnings"

- Traits: Bookworm, Good, Supernatural Fan

- Legacy Goal: Create a potion using the alchemy skill that becomes a family heirloom.

**Generation 2: The Elemental Adept**

- Goal: Master elemental magic (fire, ice, and electricity) and achieve proficiency in spellcasting.

- Aspiration: "Elemental Master"

- Traits: Artistic, Family-Oriented, Adventurous

- Legacy Goal: Host a magical fireworks display using mastered elemental spells.

**Generation 3: The Potion Master**

- Goal: Excel in the art of potion-making and establish a mystical potion store.

- Aspiration: "Potion Pioneer"

- Traits: Ambitious, Perfectionist, Good

- Legacy Goal: Brew and sell a unique, highly sought-after potion to the Sim world.

**Generation 4: The Magical Heirloom Crafter**

- Goal: Master the crafting of magical objects, including wands, brooms, and crystal balls.

- Aspiration: "Artifact Artisan"

- Traits: Artistic, Family-Oriented, Perfectionist

- Legacy Goal: Craft a family heirloom with each magical crafting skill.

**Generation 5: The Spirit Whisperer**

- Goal: Develop the ability to communicate with spirits and explore the supernatural realm.

- Aspiration: "Spirit Seer"

- Traits: Gloomy, Good, Supernatural Fan

- Legacy Goal: Host a séance to connect with ancestral spirits and uncover family secrets.

**Generation 6: The Enchanting Maven**

- Goal: Specialize in enchanting objects and create a magical sanctuary within the family home.

- Aspiration: "Enchantment Expert"

- Traits: Artistic, Family-Oriented, Ambitious

- Legacy Goal: Design and enchant a room dedicated to magical practices.

**Generation 7: The Eternal Sorcerer**

- Goal: Embrace the ultimate magical mastery, unlocking the most potent and rarest spells.

- Aspiration: "Sorcerer Supreme"

- Traits: Ambitious, Good, Genius

- Legacy Goal: Cast a powerful, world-altering spell and ensure the family's magical legacy endures through the ages.

Guide your witch family through these generations, each with its unique magical focus, contributing to the family's enchanting and mystical heritage.

[siderealmaven]

Hey y’all! My name is Madison (she/they) and I am the author behind Sidereal Maven. 👩🏻💻🪐✨ I’m a sidereal astrologer and tarot reader from Texas, USA. I’ve been doing in person and online readings for the past seven years and have loved every second of it!

My favorite thing about being an astrologer is getting to meet all kinds of people from all over the world because I learn so much from each and every one. Something that has rung true throughout these years is that no matter how different and alone we can feel in our experiences, there is always something universal to learn from them that helps us to connect with others. In that way, I love Astrology because it brings people together and helps them to develop not just deeper understandings of themselves but the rest of the world too.

I’m also a writer and have been self publishing sidereal astrology articles, horoscopes and tarot readings on my Patreon for the last 2-3 years. Right now I am focused on writing everything I know about sidereal astrology, from every planet in every sign, to every planet in every house. I want to cover all the basics and have my Patreon serve as a library for new students of sidereal astrology, because when I was trying to learn, this type of content was hard to find. But nooow you can find all of my beginner astrology content on my Patreon page in the "Astrology 101" Collection. ;)

When I am not working, you could probably find me painting, taking a hike, or dancing with my cats to a Taylor Swift song in my kitchen. I’m a huge fan of poetry, romance novels and indulging in my day dreams.

If there is any one piece of advice I would give to a new astrology student, it would be to keep believing in your dreams, even if the path ahead is so dark that only the light from the stars shines down on it. The way forward is more simple than you think. 😉

[married-to-google-translater]

Maven can you please stop fighting Nouel, He didn't did anything wrong to you

Maven: Honey this is not a dispute. This is the moment when I finally get rid of that fucking cancer cat! A polluted pest.

Nouel: * Sob * but I didn't do anything. I just ate paper.

Maven: Paper! PAPER! It was a picture of Y/N. Just thinking about eating it should result in a death sentence. *mumble* seven hour clarification of Y / N scheduleists. I hung my head down from the tree for half an hour so I could take a picture of Y / N changing clothes.

Nouel: *started running away during Mave’s monologue*

Maven: Hey! Come back!

[hoenn-battle-frontier-official]

Welcome to the Official Blog of the Hoenn Battle Frontier

Located in sunny LaRousse City and owned by Scott Enishida (me), the Battle Frontier aims to provide brand new experiences for trainers who've long since surpassed the challenges the League provides. Our seven unique battle facilities run by seven unique Frontier Brains will put all your skills and abilities as a trainer to the test. What are these facilities? Well, I'm glad you asked.

The Battle Factory

Run by Factory Head Noland, the Battle Factory is dedicated to scientific research and study. Here, Trainers will battle using Rental Pokemon instead of their pre-existing teams. This will test your ability to change your strategy and work with Pokemon you are unfamiliar with.

The Battle Arena

Run by Arena Tycoon Greta, the Battle Arena will put all of your skills as a trainer to the test. You only use one Pokemon for this facility and your Pokemon will battle for three rounds. At the end of those rounds each Pokemon and Trainer will be judged based on their Mind, Skill, and Body and assigned a score. The Trainer and Pokemon with the highest score wins. A knockout leads to an automatic win.

The Battle Dome

Run by Dome Ace Tucker, the Battle Dome is all about double battles. 16 Trainers compete in a tournament with 4 Pokemon each. Only after winning five of these tournaments can trainers hope to face off against Tucker himself.

The Battle Pike

Run by Pike Queen Lucy, the Battle Pike challenges you to make it through seven rooms, but you can never quite be sure what will happen. One room may contain a single battle, another might contain a double, yet another might contain nothing at all. All these and more are things that can happen at the Battle Pike. Hope you've got good luck.

The Battle Palace

Run by Palace Maven Spenser, the Battle Palace is a place for Pokemon to shine. Trainers issue no commands during battles at the Battle Palace, instead leaving it up to the Pokemon themselves to decide what to do.

The Battle Pyramid

Run by Pyramid King Brandon, the Battle Pyramid will have you embark on a Battle Quest. You must navigate 7 dark floors which can only be lit by defeating all the trainers on each level. You may also encounter Pokemon wandering on their own. Though these may seem like Wild Pokemon, they are, in fact, trained and cannot be caught.

The Battle Tower

Run by Salon Maiden Anabel (who will also be running this blog, link to her intro), the Battle Tower was the first Battle Frontier facility to be completed. Here, trainers will face a gauntlet of 70 floors with Anabel herself waiting at the top. Trainers can participate in Single Battles with three Pokemon each or Double Battles with four Pokemon each.

By conquering these seven facilities, trainers can win seven symbols and enter into the Battle Frontier Hall of Fame. We hope to see you here soon, and good luck. You're gonna need it.

-Scott Enishida, Owner and Founder of the Battle Frontier

OOC: Hey, welcome to my new blog. This is a blog for the Hoenn Battle Frontier run by Anabel, though the other Frontier Brains'll pop in from time to time. The only real thing you need to know is that this Anabel is not the one from SM so if you ask her anything about Ultra Beasts or Interpol she'll have no idea what you're talking about. Feel free to ask her anyways, though, it'll be funny.

[chaoslulled]

maven & her relationship with ballet.

she is beauty & grace; a swan's neck over a butcher's block, waiting for the cleaver to sever nerves. she is elongated trauma & lithe muscle that bends underneath familiar stretches. she is human & weapon & they bleed all the same; soft red rivers that pour along pathways. every turn is a whisper of destruction; ( do it again! bleed more this time! ). she is nothing & everything all at once; a hurricane, a tornado, a natural disaster that has not yet happened.

fingers grip her toes as she brings her arm over her head & feels the pull along her side, along her ribs. blonde hair is messily thrown up into a bun; long gone are the days when she cared about perfection & how fly aways were meant to be glued down with cans of hairspray. black leggings hug her curves along with an oversized black sweater that falls off of her right shoulder; long gone are the days when a tutu & unitard graced her body. long gone are the days when she cared to be a ballerina against her will. it was never about how beautiful, how elegant they could have looked.

it was all about finding balance & maintaining your position as a weapon. weaklings have no place here. you either learn to hone your body into the machine that it was meant to be, or you die trying. there is no in between. that is the first lesson you learn, among nose bleeds & black eyes & scars that never fully heal. there is a gun pointed at you, poised & ready –– do not flinch. if you flinch the bullet embeds itself in you. no one will help you remove it. her body is littered with scars that she will never remember the cause of & because of it it leaves her hollow. a road map of memories that are fractured like glass; she never knows who is looking back in the mirror at her.

that tends to happen when you have rewritten yourself so many times. so many fake passports & names & memorized identities that she has lost count. it makes her shake sometimes; * she has a check list & goes over it regularly. tries to remember who maven is versus whoever they made maven into. it's a tricky thing when your mind isn't your own & has been broken so many times you never know if it can fully be repaired.

as much as she has resented ballet since the moment she was forced to do it, this has become her safe space. this has become the place where there is a piece of her childhood in the way that every girl looks at a ballet dancer & thinks that they're beautiful. that there is grace in their movements & that if you can replicate it, you'll be the most beautiful of them all. you dream of bouquets of roses at your feet & feeling the music throughout your entire body. she had never taken ballet as a child. her family had barely been hanging on by a thread & by then she had been in the russian's hands. she had been sold to the red room thanks to her father. she got her wish –– just never in the way she wanted it.

she remembers plié's until her thighs burned, even at the age of seven. you did it over & over again until your form was perfect, until you learned that burn in your body & embraced it. there will be missions when you are crouched on ledges & these will harness your muscles for those moments. she remembers crying from how bad her feet hurt, shoved into ballet slippers for hours on end with no reprieve. it only got worse once you graduated to pointe shoes. there are days when she still feels the ache in her toes from standing on the box for so long, thighs & calves burning along with tears in her eyes as she stood with arms in fifth position. but you straightened your back more, let go of the barre & stared straight ahead.

( you are a weapon. weapons do not weep. )

elastic ribbons & darning had been a luxury. they were not allowed. if you could not arabesque in the middle of the floor on a satin toe box with a stabilized shoe, you were not cut out for the business. if you slipped because of it, you went again & again until your body gave out, until your muscles were so sore you cried in the privacy of your dorm room. never in front of the other girls –– they are sharks scenting blood in the water & will happily slit your throat.

these days she sews on pure ribbons out of spite, out of absolute proof that she can still do it even when the shoe isn't at its most stabilized. they're lined up in a row –– all beaten to the sound of gun shots in her head, of faces that are blank that she cannot remember the identities to, but can remember how well they bled. they are shanked 3/4ths of the way, broken in right where the arch of her foot bends –– like how it fits snug in the center of a railing when she is dangling off of a building in shoes that are not built for it. the fronts are darned in black thread –– she doesn't enjoy slipping & instead enjoys the fortitude of it, how much longer her toe boxes actually last thanks to it. the ribbons that are sewn are black as well. they stand out stark against the blood red –– custom ordered freed of london's with a deep vamp.

she crushes small bricks of rosin in a tray & dips her toe boxes in them for added support –– the floor has long since been destroyed in the studio & the owners don't much care to renovate it. maven likes it –– it has character, that worn in look that feels like someone loved it. she can almost see the petite rats practicing at the barre & smiling with gaped teeth, hoping that they'll make a role in the nutcracker this season. she can almost see the well worn in places where jumps have been successfully executed. she can almost see delight where she has only known ballet for pain.

there is a moment when she is en pointe that the world falls away; it's nothing more than the music in her ears & her reflection in the mirror –– wild blonde hair & blue eyes that have seen too much, have known too much. she is not a weapon; she is merely a girl who has lost her way & is in search of salvation. it always hits right after a series of ten pirouettes, when her body is pulled in tight & wound like a top, ready to be set loose from the cage it has been held in. when her breathing is labored & her form is perfect & every inch of her burns.

but then she has to let go of the perfection, has go to back down to first position to catch her breath, & is reminded of the fact that this is not who she is. she is not a dance student in a studio hoping to get a position at one of the famous dance companies. she cannot pretend that her parents & sister were here, clapping for her & cheering her on as a petit rat. she cannot pretend that there are flowers at her feet & a reason to smile so large that her cheeks hurt for hours afterward.

no, she has to face the reality. of the blood red of her pointe shoes that remind her of the death that she has caused, the rivers of it what dyes them. of the fact that this profession is not her own, this need for it is not her own –– just another carefully manufactured lie of the red room. those are the days when she stares at her reflections looking back at her from a wall of mirrors & wants to shatter them. these are the nights that are spent crying in the middle of the dance floor because she has nothing, she is nothing.

she is nothing more than a manufactured weapon with a serial number tied to her name. nothing more than a loaded gun ready to fire, a knife sharpened to strike. it does not matter how many times she sets herself in a plié or pirouettes until she feels as if she's going to be sick.

she is nothing more than a weapon & weapons do not weep.

[twochildreninamoteldemo]

hi maven it’s demongirlmeg here for ww… who do u think is more guilty about the incest thing and who do u think gets off on it more??? is it the same brother or different??

simple answer if you held a gun to my head and made me pick: dean feels more guilty but sam gets off on it more (secretly)

more complicated answer, part 1, guilt: they feel guilty about it in different ways-- dean in the traditional older sibling way, i mean, if anything bad ever happens to sam it's his fault, especially with the responsibility john laid on him as a child, but if it really is dean himself that is the "source" of the danger? i think he'd hate himself forever. and if he was abused by john/had a relationship with john at some point? moreso, because he'd feel like he was doing to sam what john did to him, even if the dynamic was completely different. even in like a late-seasons wincest AU where they've been making love sweetly for years, i think a part of dean will always feel guilty. the feeling lessens as time goes on, and their age gap--a terrible thing as teenagers, but practically nonexistent as middle-aged adults--becomes less frightening. but it's still there.

sam on the other hand feels guilty about it in a way that ties into the rest of the shame he feels about himself--his blood, his freakishness, his isolation, his (albeit correct) paranoia that there's something wrong with him. being fucked by/fucking your older brother is something that removes him even further from the normal/good world, connects him to sin, to Hell--this is especially potent because sam believes in God growing up, Sam prays. in all forms, he is afraid of being exposed for who he truly is. from the start they knew you were wrong, etc etc. <3

re:getting off on it (part 2): dean canonically has an incest kink. take it up with 3x01 the magnificent seven. though in that situation he fetishizes twin sisters, it's not a far stretch to say he'd apply that same taboo fascination to his sex with sam. i also think that he is deeply satisfied and it brings him (nonsexual) pleasure when sam is taken care of by him, and sure, that would extend to sex in a sorta kinky way. crossed wires & all that.

sam? similarly--he likes being taken care of by dean, he loves how it's dean, his older brother, with his hands on him, it bring out a special vulnerable part of sam in the same weird way dean feels their connection. in the complete opposite direction, sam also feels the weight of their transgression, how much it connects them to evil and monstrousness, and on the one hand, it's a big fuck you to john and their claustrophobic life, and on the other, it feels good to submit to destiny. also also, sam definitely had a vc andrews phase growing up, and that fucked him up forever in the incest kink department lol. he for sure imprinted onto cathy dollanganger and romanticized his and dean's relationship, especially if dean ever did anything to hurt him. as i am also of the camp that dean was abusive to sam (or at least that spn has subtext for that reading), i do think that part of the reason sam just lets dean hit him or stands any other maltreatment is because he idealizes the unhealthiness of incest. so while dean is just like "hell yea incest kink" sam takes it WAY beyond that into fetishizing the context, and subsequentially feels even more shame about it, and thus the cycle continues<3

[imjulia-andilikecats]

Hiii Julia

Would the Calore brothers habe dragons if they existed in the Red Queen universe?

Since I have finished watching House of the Dragon, I'll use that as reference.

Definitely! The Calore Brothers will both have dragons.

Though I would set it on medieval/middle age Red Queen universe, cause if dragons exist alongside the technology in the canon RQ series, those flying lizards are toast.

Warning: Very lengthy Headcanons for the dragons of each Calore. (I know dude, you only asked if they have dragons but…I’m feeling extra today 😉).

Tiberias Calore VII (Cinnamon Calore)

Dragon name: Syndor (Which means “Shadow” in Valyrian, I used google for this) 🐲💛

Cal was one month old, when the dragon egg near his cradle hatched. It was strong and healthy, nearly bursting out of its shell, as it emit a mighty shriek. With it jet black scales and ruby spikes, it looked like a menacing lizard, as it immediately wrapped itself around baby Cal for warmth. Though as it slowly grow, they noted the odd coloring of it underbelly, a bright shimmering gold, contrasting its wings and scales.

As it grew thrice the size of a horse, Cal road Syndor as often as he was allowed. Even convincing his younger brother, Maven, for a ride. Since he often saw him look longingly at his dragon and even the other dragons on the pit. After the ride, Maven patted his should, thanking him then emptying his belly on his boots.

As Cal grew of age, sixteen, he flew Syndor towards his first battle against the Lakelands. They won of course, with Cal’s strategic genius and Syndor’s hellfire. The war ended in just a day.

Years went by, as the mighty Syndor flew over distant territories or would be territories of the crown. Its black wings grew massive, almost covering the sun.

Battle-hardened, it looked menacing. Enough to make any unruly lord swear loyalty to Cal, just by looking at it.

If other lords chose to challenge them, Cal would simply fly Syndor around the their castle walls making his dragon flap his wings hard enough to rattle their castle guards. Landing Syndor at the gates for everyone to see, as it release a bone rattling roar, its underbelly gleaming like molten gold, glowing red spikes and midnight wings shown in full display. Earning its title “Golden Shadow”.

Note: Cal would be like Aegon the Conqueror but without the double incest, cause he would be too busy swooning over this brown haired beauty, who manage to steal silver coins from his saddle that was strapped on Syndor.

Maven Calore (The Drama King)

Dragon name: Seeker (It has no Valyrian translation. Google why!)🦇💎

Maven's Dragon on the other hand, took multiple tries. As the dragon egg laid near his cradle did not hatch.

Nor did the second, third or even fourth.

Which deeply madden Elara, leading her to exile the royal servants that brought the eggs to him.

At the age of seven, Maven desperately wanted his own dragon, that he sneaked his way into the dragon’s den to get himself an egg. Which he successfully acquired, as well as the ire of its mother. Maven would have been a charred lump, if it weren’t for the dragon keepers.

Maven patiently waited for the egg to hatch, hovering it close to the fireplace and even sleeping on the floor next to it.

He obsessively watched over it, that he was not tending to his princely duties. Which annoyed his mother, as she stormed in his room, demanding him to give her the egg.

Maven, not wanting to part with it, threw the egg away from his mother and into the fire.

To the surprise of both, a crack started to bloom on the shell and there it was, a dragon.

It was small but chatty. Its beady eyes already trained on Maven, as it waddled its way to his cupped hands. It had dark grey scales, the color of gravel. It would have looked like an unremarkable lizard, if it weren’t for the dark purple spikes lining its spine, like gems embedded on dark rock.

However, what caught their eye, were its wings. They were uneven, one looked normal but the other, barely the size of a pebble. Incapable of flight.

Which displeased the queen, as she wanted her son’s dragon to soar high above everything, especially over his perfect half-brother's squealing demon.

She wanted to get rid of it, have her son go to the dragon pit again to claim another. However, the sight of him, smiling happily with the flightless thing kept her from acting upon it. She’ll convince him another day. (That didn’t came).

Maven did not mind its wings. He never liked flying to begin with, as the memory of Cal making him ride Syndor and vomit covered boots, made his stomach grumble unpleasantly.

Maven’s dragon eagerly followed him around with its long, gangly limb. It stayed by his side during his studies, nipped at the teachers when they upset Maven, snatched cooked meat from his plate as he eat and even dove head first in Maven’s scented baths.

As time passes, Maven’s dragon grew 12 feet in length. It scales hardened, its teeth, a sharp pearly white. It slithered elegantly among the lords and ladies that reside in the Whitefire castle, as it grown accustomed to human interaction. Even becoming fond of the brown haired serving girl, that its master seem quite smitten with.

It developed a habit of poking holes on the castle walls, climbing at the highest ceiling and crawling through tunnels with its narrow body.

Rumors said that Prince Maven would ride his dragon, as it silently climb outside the castle, listening to court gossip. Which earned its name of “Seeker”, others would mockingly whisper “Little Seeker” as it looked minuscule compared to Syndor.

It won’t be “little” for long. As the sudden death of King Tiberias, the heir accused of murder and branded as a kinslayer, the moment Cal and the servant girl, rode away with Syndor.

Lead Maven to usurp the throne with the help of his mother.

Seeker was given a new purpose. It could never fly, nor could it spy as it grew too large not to be detected, but it was still a dragon.

The non-believers that proclaimed their loyalty to Cal, either in public or in secret, were brought before King Maven and his dragon.

As a proud lord, pushed to his knees to swear his loyalty to Maven, only to spit on the floor and call him a pretender wearing a warrior’s crown. King Maven, emotionless, motioned for Seeker, who was wrapped around the foot of the throne.

 The loyal Seeker, raised it large head towards the lord. It had grown massive, after devouring those that stood against its master. The lord faced Seeker defiantly, as the dragon bath him with its flame, illuminating the throne room with a sickly blue light.

Note: Maven would be like Aegon II, but like...minus the drinking and being a mega creep.

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV Write Entry #3: Augers and Alloys

Prompt: temper || Master Post || On AO3

Ivar chattered excitedly in her ear as she crossed the Aftcastle, dangling from her shoulder with his back paws braced against her lower back. Synnove hummed in acknowledgment every now and then, absorbed in reading the reports she carried as she walked and thus only half-listening to her excited firebug.

Mama, left!

She stepped to her left, narrowly avoiding a gawking tourist, and resumed her course to Naldiq & Vymelli’s, closing her report folio and tucking it under the opposite arm from her ruby carbuncle.

The bridge linking the main spire of Limsa Lominsa’s premier shipwrights with the rest of the city was thick with a crowd, mostly adventurers: clients purchasing weapons and gear or students at the guilds. The chaos was mostly organized, with signs and apprentices directing visitors either further up or down the main spire, or to one of the causeways leading to a secondary spire. Synnove was both expected and a regular, and she and Ivar were waved towards the causeway that would take them to the research and development area.

H’naanza herself met them, a fierce grin on her face, and her forge goggles pushed up to the top of her head to reveal her glittering eyes. Synnove arched an eyebrow, even as Ivar on her shoulder began to vibrate from barely-contained excitement.

“You’re usually off tutoring the would-be armorers,” the arcanist drawled, “not minding the R&D mavens. What the hells have you lot cooked up?”

“Better to show you,” the older woman purred, and Synnove’s eyebrows arched even higher up her forehead as she followed H’naanza into the spire.

It wasn’t often she had the opportunity to be on the receiving end of another guild’s bout of mad genius.

The metallurgists of Naldiq & Vymelli’s were the finest in Eorzea, bar none, and Synnove was comfortable saying they could likely outdo Sharlayan and Far Eastern ones, too. (Biased? Perhaps. But she at least frequently saw their products put into regular use throughout the Maelstrom navies and La Noscean settlements and Ironworks production lines, instead of kept hidden away from prying foreign eyes.) The lab she was led into could be a twin to one in the Arcanists’ Guild with the blueprints and equations tacked to the walls or on slate chalkboards, save for the presence of a small forge, currently cold and closed up, at the far end of the room.

What was odd was that all the desks and shelves had been shoved off to the sides of the room, and a large sheet of some metal Synnove didn’t recognize clamped securely to the far wall.

Mimidoa Nanadoa waved to her excitedly, and Ivar dropped off her shoulder with a crackling chatter to bound over to the grizzled lalafell. The man gave her firebug a good face scratch with both hands. “Hullo, me explodey lad!” he said to Ivar. “We’ve got some proper delights for ye and yer ma today.”

Oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy! Ivar chittered, tippy-tapping his feet in a fast rhythm.

As Synnove came up to the table Mimidoa was standing next to, she glanced down, and blinked. “Mimidoa,” she said slowly, “how in the seven swiving hells did you get a hold of one of Stephanivien’s aetheromatic augers?”

“Poker game,” the blacksmith said with a shite-eating grin.

“And you didn’t invite me?!”

“Now, now,” H’naanza said. “That’s a story for another time.”  The miqo’te clapped her hands together. “Synnove, one of our recent projects has been developing a new alloy that doesn’t just protect against ceruleum and magical blasts, but actively nullifies them.”

Synnove tilted her thoughtfully as she mulled that over. That would be a hell of a game changer, not just in terms of military applications but safety ones, too; she could immediately think of multiple areas back in her guild such material would be useful. “Similar to the gilding the Garleans used to put on their magitek reapers?” she said.

“Bah!” Mimidoa spat. “That shite’s just flat trash. It chips, and the integrity o’ the protection is ruined. Hideously expensive, too, and even that thin a coatin’ o’ gold is bloody heavy. No, this is lightweight and durable, and cheaper to produce than to mine and process gold.”

“Of course, we’re still exploring how to make mass production more viable,” H’naanza said, crossing her arms. “The hardening and tempering process is very precise. But before we get to that…”

“A demonstration,” her lalafell compatriot said, rubbing his hands together.

For all the shite everyone gave her about her own pyromaniac tendencies, Synnove was a stickler for safety protocols, and she eyed the aetheromatic auger with trepidation as Mimidoa first put on a pair of welding goggles and then picked the auger up. “Please tell me you’ve already tried firing that thing in here.”

“We have already tried and succeeded in firing it in here,” Mimidoa said primly, sharpening his diction in mockery of her precise arcanist’s clip. She kicked at him half-heartedly, and he dodged out of the way and a bark of a laugh.

“Eyes!” the lalafell said cheerfully, and Synnove took out a pair of goggles from her hip pouch and quickly donned them as H’naanza pulled her own back down onto her face. Ivar hopped up onto the table for a better view, so excited now that he was visibly vibrating.

Mimidoa settled the auger on his shoulder, aiming through the site as he depressed the trigger to begin charging. The familiar hum of an aetheromatic auger charging up filled the room, and in a few more seconds, it fired, streaking across the room to hit the metal sample on the wall—

—and it splashed off the large plate, the condensed aether puddling into something vaguely liquid on the floor beneath it before dissipating. There wasn’t a single scratch on the plate that she could see.

Synnove stared. Ivar stopped vibrating, instead now sitting eerily still with ears pricked completely upright.

Mama, can I try that? he said, swiveling his head around to look at her.

She kept staring forward as she replied, “Absolutely not, not until I’m one hundred percent you’ll be able to remanifest.”

Awww…

The arcanist stalked forward, examining the sample plate with her nose barely a half-ilm away from the surface. The metal was, indeed, completely unblemished, and running her hands over it, she couldn’t feel any dents or unusual heat or cold, though she would need Tyr and his earth aether sensitivity to test the internal integrity further. Synnove, wide-eyed and feeling the mania of a good research binge hovering at the edge of her mind, whirled on her heel to stare at H’naanza and Mimidoa. The armorer and the blacksmith wore matching mad grins.

“I’m assuming you want me to throw some good old-fashioned Warrior of Light influence around with the Admiral to get more funding for this,” Synnove said.

“Yes,” said H’naanza with a nod.

“Shameless.”

“Utterly,” Mimidoa cackled.

“Count me in.”

H’naanza and Mimidoa exchange a low five.

PREVIOUS PROMPT || NEXT PROMPT

[paralleljulieverse]

‘Who is queen of all the garden?’: 70th anniversary of The Rose of Baghdad (UK version) Christmastime 1952/53

Ask almost anyone the name of Julie Andrews’ first film and the automatic response will be: “why,  Mary Poppins...of course!” It’s part of Hollywood folklore that, having been passed over by Jack Warner for the film adaptation of My Fair Lady because she wasn’t a ‘proven movie star’, Andrews was offered the title role of the magical nanny in Walt Disney’s classic 1964 screen musical. It earned Andrews a Best Actress Oscar straight off the bat and catapulted her to international stardom as Hollywood’s musical sweetheart. Her film debut in Mary Poppins has even been a question in the ’easy’ category on Jeopardy!  (Answered correctly, natch, for $100 by Steven Meyer, an attorney from Middletown, Connecticut). 

But, with all due respect to Alex Trebek and general knowledge mavens everywhere, Julie's very first film actually came out more than a decade before Mary Poppins. In 1952, when the young star was just 16 going on 17, she was cast to voice the lead character of Princess Zeila in the UK version of the Italian animated film, The Rose of Baghdad. 

It’s an easily overlooked part of Andrews’ oeuvre, figured, if at all, as a minor footnote to her later Broadway and Hollywood career. But The Rose of Baghdad was a not insignificant stepping stone in Andrews’ rise to stardom and one, moreover, that prefigures important aspects of her later screen image. So, on the 70th anniversary of the film’s British release, it is timely to look back briefly at The Rose of Baghdad.

La rosa italiana

Produced and directed by Anton Gino Domeneghini, The Rose of Bagdad -- or, in its original title, La rosa di Bagdad -- was the first feature-length animation ever made in Italy and also the country’s first Technicolor production. As such, it commands a prominent position in Italian film history (Bellano 2016; Bendazzi 2020).

La rosa di Bagdad was a real passion project for Domeneghini, a commercial artist and businessman with a successful advertising company, IMA, headquartered in Milan. During the 30s, Domeneghini’s firm handled the Italian marketing for many major international clients including Coca-Cola, Coty, and Gillette (Bendazzi: 23). With the outbreak of WW2, the advertising industry in Italy was effectively shut down. In an effort to keep his company afloat, Domeneghini rebranded as a film production company, IMA Films. 

Inspired by the success of animated features from the US such as Disney’s Snow White and the Seven Dwarves (1937) and the Fleischer Brothers’ Gullivers Travels (1939), Domeneghini decided to produce an Italian animated film that could emulate the crowd-pleasing dimensions of American imports but with a distinct Italian sensibility (Fiecconi: 13-14). He threw himself heart and soul into the endeavour.

Based on an original idea developed from various stories Domeneghini had enjoyed as a boy, La rosa di Bagdad was conceived as an orientalist fairytale pastiche. The plot was patterned loosely after the Arabian Nights, complete with an Aladdin-style boy minstrel, a mystical genie, tyrannical sorcerer, and a golden-voiced princess. But it was embroidered with a host of other elements from assorted folktales and pop cultural texts.

To oversee the production, Domeneghini handpicked a core creative team including a pair of stage designers from La Scala, Nicola Benois and Mario Zampini, and a trio of head artists: animator Gustavo Petronio, caricaturist Angelo Bioletto, and illustrator Libico Maraja (Bendazzi: 23). They helped craft the film’s distinctive aesthetic with its striking blend of comic character-based animation and figurative exoticism of the Italian Orientalist School of painters such as Mariani, Simonetti, and Rosati (Fiecconi: 17). 

Music was crucial to Domeneghini’s vision for the film. Fiecconi (2018) asserts that “the original creative part of the movie lies in the musical moments where the film seemed to celebrate the Italian opera” (17). Domeneghini commissioned the celebrated Milanese composer, Riccardo Pick-Mangiagalli, to write the film’s musical score. It would be the composer’s last complete work before his untimely death at age 66 in early-1949 and it has been described as something of “a summa of Pick-Mangiagalli’s art” (Bellano: 34). Combining Hollywood-style romantic underscoring with Italian and Viennese classicism, Pick-Mangiagalli composed a broadly operatic score replete with arias, waltzes, and orientalist nocturnes. 

Given the difficulties of wartime, the production process for La rosa was long and arduous and the film took over seven years to complete. At various stages, more than a hundred production staff worked on the film, including forty-seven animators, twenty-five ‘in-betweeners’, forty-four inkers and painters, five background artists, and an assortment of technicians and administrative assistants (Bendazzi: 25). Colour processing was initially done using the German Agfacolor system but it produced a greenish tint that was not to Domeneghini’s liking. So after the war, he took the film to the UK where it was reshot in Technicolor at Anson Dyer’s Stratford Abbey Studios in Stroud (Bendazzi: 24).

La Rosa di Bagdad finally premiered in 1949 at the Venice Film Festival where it won the Grand Prix in the Films for Youth category. The following year, the film was given a general public release in Italy. Leveraging his professional training as an ad man, Domeneghini crafted an extensive marketing and merchandising campaign for the film that was unprecedented at the time (Bendazzi: 30). It helped secure decent, if not spectacular, commercial returns for the film in Italy and encouraged Domengheni to shop his film abroad to other markets in Europe (Ugolotti: 8). 

The English Rose 

It was in this context that a distribution deal was brokered in early-1951 with Grand National Pictures in the UK to release La Rosa di Bagdad to the British market (’Many countries’: 20). Not to be confused with the short-lived US Poverty Row studio whose name -- and, even more confoundingly, logo -- it adopted, Grand Pictures was an independent British production-distribution company established in 1938 by producer Maurice J. Wilson. While it produced a few titles of its own, Grand National was predominantly geared to film distribution with an accent on imported product from the Continent and Commonwealth countries (McFarlane & Slide: 301).

Retitled The Rose of Baghdad, the film was part of an ambitious suite of twenty-six films slated for distribution by Grand National to British theatres in 1952, the company’s “biggest ever release programme” (’Grand National’: 16). The screenplay and musical lyrics were translated into English by Nina and Tony Maguire, and a completely new soundtrack was recorded at the celebrated De Lane Lea Processes studio in London (Massey 2015). 

To do the voicework for the English-language version, Grand National assembled a roster of diverse British talent from across the fields of theatre, radio and film. The distinguished BBC actor Howard Marion-Crawford lent his sonorous baritone to the role of the narrator. RADA graduate and popular radio comedienne, Patricia Hayes voiced Amin, the teenage minstrel. Celebrated stage and film star, Arthur Young voiced the kindly Caliph, while rising TV actor Stephen Jack provided a suitably menacing Sheikh Jafar. 

The biggest and most publicised name in the line-up, however, was Julie Andrews 'enacting’ the role of Princess Zeila. Much was made of Julie’s casting, and she was the only member of the British cast to be given named billing on the film’s poster and associated marketing materials. Scene-for-scene, her role wasn’t necessarily the biggest. Other characters have more lines and more action. But, as the symbolic “rose” of the film’s title and the focus of narrative attention, Julie as Princess Zeila had to carry much of the film's emotional weight. 

And, musically, Princess Zeila certainly dominates proceedings. Her character is meant to posses a golden voice of rare enchantment and the film showcases her virtuosic singing in several key scenes. As mentioned earlier, composer Riccardo Pick-Mangiagalli imbued the score with a strong operatic flavour and this is nowhere more apparent than in the three coloratura arias that he penned for Zeila: “Song of the Bee”, “Sunset Prayer” and the “Flower Song”. In the original Italian release, the part of Zeila was sung by Beatrice Preziosa, an opera soprano of some note who performed widely in the era with the RAI and had even sung opposite Gigli (Bellano: 35).

In her 2008 memoirs, Julie recalls the challenge of recording the Pick-Mangiagalli score:

“I had a coloratura voice, but these songs were so freakishly high that, though I managed them, there were some words that I struggled with in the upper register. I wasn’t terribly satisfied with the result. I didn’t think I had sung my best. But I remember seeing the film and thinking that the animation was beautiful. I’m pleased now that I did the work, for since then I don’t recall ever tackling such high technical material” (Andrews: 143-44).

The Rose opens

The British version of The Rose of Baghdad had its first public screenings in September of 1952 at a series of trade events organised by Grand National to market the picture to prospective exhibitors. The first such screening was on 16 September at Studio One in Oxford Street, London, followed by: 17 September at the Olympia in Cardiff; 19 September at the Scala in Birmingham;  22 September at the Cinema House in Sheffield; 23 September at the Tower in Leeds; 25 September at the Theatre Royal in Manchester; and 26 September at the Scala in Liverpool  (’London and provincial’: 32; ’Trade show’: 14). 

In promoting the film, Grand National pitched The Rose of Baghdad as wholesome family fare perfect for children’s matinees and double features. “A fascinating cartoon to enchant audiences of all ages” was the campaign catchline. They especially plugged the film’s potential as a seasonal attraction with full-page adverts in trade publications that billed it as the “showman’s picture for Christmastide”.

One of the film’s first UK reviews came out of these early trade screenings with Peter Davalle of the Welsh-based Western Mail newspaper filing a fulsome report:

“Ambitious in scale as anything that Disney has conceived...it has very right to demand the same intensity of judgement conferred on the Hollywood product. I have little but praise for it and I hope my enthusiasm will infect one of the country’s cinema circuit chiefs to the extent of giving it the showing it deserves” (Davalle: 4).

Ultimately, the film was unable to secure an exhibition deal with a major cinema chain. Instead, it was given a patchwork release at various independent and/or unaffiliated theatres across the country. 

The Tatler theatre in Birmingham proudly billed its 14 December opening of The Rose of Baghdad as the film’s “first showing in England”. Archive research, however, evidences that it opened the same day at several other provincial theatres such as the Classic in Walsall (’Next week’: 10).  Other notable early openings included the Alexandra Theatre in Coventry on 22 December -- the day before Julie premiered in the Christmas panto, Jack and the Beanstalk at the Coventry Hippodrome -- and the News Theatre in Liverpool and the Castle in Swansea on 29 December.

The film’s initial London release was at the Tatler in Charing Cross Road where it had a charity matinee premiere on 28 December sponsored by the West End Central Police with 470 children in the audience from the Police Orphanage (’Pre-release’: 119). The film then continued a chequerboard rollout across the UK throughout early-1953 with concentrated bursts around school holiday periods.

Because of the fitful nature of the film’s release pattern, The Rose of Baghdad didn’t attract sustained critical attention, though there were short reviews in various newspapers and publications. The critical response was lukewarm with reviewers finding the film pleasant, if lacking in technical polish. Most praised the English soundtrack with generally kind words for Julie:

The Times: “This Italian cartoon, ‘dubbed’ into English, proves once again how much more happy and at home the medium is with animals than with human beings. Mr. Walt Disney never did anything better than Bambi, which was given entirely over to the beasts and birds of the forest, and the Princess Zeila, the rose of Baghdad, proves just as unsatisfactory a figure as Snow White and Cinderella. The fault is that not of Miss Julie Andrews, who speaks and sings the part; it seems inherent in the medium itself...The Rose of Baghdad is not, however, without some delightful incidentals (’Entertainments’: 9).

The Observer:  “Intelligently dubbed English version of full-length Italian cartoon...Nice use of crowds and minarets; one or two brilliant shots...; variably jerky animation; trite comedy; chocolate box princess...Not at all bad, a little too foreign to be cosy” (Lejeune: 6).

Picturegoer: “Charm stamps this full-length Italian cartoon, dubbed in English. Technically, it hardly bears comparison with the best of Disney. But it has genuine freshness and some appealing character studies...There is a delicate, very un-jivey musical score, and Julie Andrews sings attractively for the princess” (Collier: 17).

Photoplay: “The under 20′s and the over 50′s will love this one...Young B.B.C. star Julie Andrews ‘enacts’ the role of the Princess and sings three of the film’s seven tuneful songs....Yes, you’ll love this -- make it a must” (Allsop: 43).

Kinematograph Weekly: “Refreshing, disarmingly ingenuous Technicolor Arabian Nights-type fantasy, expressed in cartoon form. Made in Italy and expertly dubbed here...It hasn’t the fluid continuity nor flawless detail of Walt Disney’s masterpieces, but even so its many charming and novel characters come to life and atmosphere heightened by tuneful songs, is enchanting” (’Late review’: 7).

Picture Show & Film Pictorial: “Such a charming mixture of heroics,  villainy and romance should not be missed, and although the animation is not as good as first-class American cartoons, the colour and the songs are delightful” (’New Release’: 10).

The Birmingham Post: “[A]n Italian cartoon in colour which equals Disney in artistic invention though not in smooth animation...Fancy flies high but always it takes us with it. Much of the colour work is beautiful...The characters remain always between the covers of the story book, but within their limited living rom they are a  gay and enterprising company” (T.C.K.: 4).

Coventry Evening Telegraph: “It would be difficult to find a more delightful fantasy for Christmas entertainment than “The Rose of Baghdad” (Alexandra) -- the new Italian full-length cartoon. Until recently, Hollywood held an unbreakable monopoly in this field of coloured picture making. Now we have the opportunity to see a new and refreshing approach to the subject...All dialogue has been English-dubbed and appropriately enough Julie Andrews, who opens in Coventry pantomime tonight, sings and speaks the part of the little princess Zeila” (Our Film Critic: 4).

Faded Rose 

The Rose of Baghdad continued to pop up at various British theatres across 1953 and was even screening as a second feature at children’s matinees into 1954 and 55. In 1958, the film had a special Christmas TV broadcast in Australia where much was made of the fact that it featured Julie Andrews who was riding high at the time on the success of My Fair Lady (’Voice’: 15).

Ironically, the film would receive its most high profile release many years later in 1967 when a minor US film distributor, Trans-National Film Corp, secured North American exhibition rights for the property. Trans-National was one of a series of companies set up by Laurence “Larry” Joachim who would find modest success in later years as a distributor of martial arts films. With a background in TV gameshows, Joachim was known for his aggressive marketing strategies and he was very “hands on for the theatrical campaigns and art work for all the movies with which he was involved” (’Larry Joachim’ 2014).

In an effort to capitalise on Julie’s sudden film superstardom in the mid-60s, Joachim tried to sell The Rose of Baghdad as a ‘new’ Julie Andrews musical. He gave it a new title as The Singing Princess and marketed it with the dubious tagline: “It’s joy, it’s magic, it’s Julie Andrews”. He even billed the film as made in ‘Fantasticolor’, an entirely fictitious process. 

Registered with the Library of Congress in April 1967, The Singing Princess wasn’t released to the public till November of that year, likely to coincide with the holidays (Library of Congress: 121). It opened with a series of ‘children’s matinees’ at over 60 venues in New York before rolling out to other theatres across the US (’Children’s show’: 105).

It’s not clear if Joachim had access to the original UK source elements or if he just used a standard release print, but release copies of The Singing Princess were decidedly sub-par. They were marred by artefacts, colours were muddied and the soundtrack was prone to distortion. Moreover, by 1967, the film was hugely dated with old-fashioned production values and glaringly anachronistic elements. Joachim even had to edit a few sensitive scenes which were either too graphic or impolitic for the times.

The Singing Princess was not well received. Indicative of the dim response is this New York Times review summarily titled, ‘Feeble Princess’:

“The Singing Princess has joined the parade of foreign-made movies that turn up on weekend movies, most of them only fair and some of them incredibly awful...Parents would do well to read the smaller print in the ads...for the picture stars ‘the magic voice of Julie Andrews’ and emphatically not the lady’s magical presence....As an hour-length, fairy-tale cartoon of Old Baghdad the film is feeble entertainment compared with the technical wizardry and dazzling palettes of Walt Disney and others. It is possibly best suited for very small toddlers who may never have watched a cartoon on a theater-size screen. The distributor said that the film was made years ago in Italy and later dubbed into English in London, where apparently a very youthful Miss Andrews was recruited to sing three very so-so tunes. Those pristine, silvery tones certainly sounded like her on Saturday, but in the diction department she could have learned a thing or two from the Andrews Sisters. As a matter of fact, while London was revamping Old Baghdad, Italian-style, it might have been a good idea to set it swinging” (Thompson: 63).

The hatchet-job US release of The Singing Princess is the English-language version that has largely circulated since. In the intervening years, it has been given several TV, video and DVD releases of varying degrees of technical quality. None of which have helped the film’s reputation.

Not surprisingly, the film has enjoyed rather more favourable treatment in Italy. To mark the 60th anniversary of the original Italian release in 2009, La rosa di Bagdad was carefully restored and reissued on Blu-Ray. There have been some recent attempts to couple these restored visuals with the existing Singing Princess soundtrack, but it would be nice to see a properly remastered English-language version, ideally from the original audio elements if they still exist.

Heirloom Rose

Although it was never a major entry in the Julie Andrews canon, The Rose of Baghdad is not without critical significance. Not only was it Julie’s first foray into film-making, but it was also an early instance of the animation voice-work that would become a major part of her latter day professional output with recent efforts such as the Shrek and Despicable Me series. 

In addition, Princess Zeila signals an early entry in the long line of royal characters that would come to inform the evolving Julie Andrews star image. By 1952, Julie was already a dab hand at playing princesses, having donned crowns several times both on stage and in song. She would proceed to ever more celebrated royal character parts from Cinderella and Guinevere in Camelot to Queen Clarisse in The Princess Dairies and Queen Lillian in the aforementioned Shrek films. 

Ultimately, though, the principal historical significance of The Rose of Baghdad lies in its status as one of the few recorded examples we have from Julie’s early juvenile career in Britain. She worked assiduously in these early years, giving hundreds, if not thousands, of performances on stage, radio, and television. Sadly, other than a few 78 recordings and the odd surviving radio programme, very little of that early work remains. One lives in hope that more material may surface in coming years. In the meantime, The Rose of Baghdad offers a tantalising glimpse back into this fascinating early period when Julie was ‘Britain’s youngest singing star’.

References:

Allsop, Kathleen (1953). ‘Photoplay’s guide to the films: Rose of Baghdad.’ Photoplay. 4(1) January: p. 43.

Andrews, Julie (2008). Home: A memoir of my early years. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

Bellano, Marco (2016). ‘“I fratelli Dinamite” e “La rosa di Bagdad”, l'Italia e la musica’. In: Scrittore, R. (Ed.). Passioni animate. Quaderno di studi sul cinema d'animazione italiano, Milan : 19-52.

Bendazzi, Giannalberto (2020). A moving subject. Boca Raton: CRC Press.

‘Children’s show’ (1967). Daily News. 8 November: p. 105.

Collier, Lionel. (1953). ‘Talking of films: “The Rose of Baghdad”.’ Picturegoer. 25(929): pp. 17-18.

Davalle, Peter C. (1952). ‘Film notes: Italy treads Disney trail.’ Western Mail and South Wales News. 20 September: p. 4.

‘Entertainment: Film Of Botany Bay. (1952). The Times, 29 December p. 9. 

Fiecconi, Federico (2018). ‘L’arte preziosa della Rosa / The Precious art of the Rose’. In Gradelle, D. (Ed.). La rosa di Bagdad: Un tesoro ritrovato. Parma: Urania Casa d’Aste: pp. 6-11.

‘Grand National offers ten British.’ (1952). Kinematograph Weekly. 1 May: p. 16.

‘Larry Joachim, distributor of kung du films, dies at 88.’ (2014). Variety. 2 January.

‘Late review: The Rose of Baghdad.’ (1952). Kinematograph Weekly. 18 December: p. 7.

Lejeune, C.A. (1952). ‘At the films: Dan’s Anderson.’ The Observer. 21 December: p. 6.

Library of Congress (1967). Catalog of copyright entries: Works of art. 21(7-11A), January-June. 

‘London and provincial trade screenings.’ Kinematograph Weekly. 11 September: p. 32-34.

‘Many countries covered in big Grand National List’ (1951). Kinematograph Weekly. 1 February: p. 20.

Massey, Howard (2015). The great British recording studios. London: Hal Leonard Publishing.

McFarlane, Brian, & Slide, Anthony. (2013). The encyclopedia of British film. 4th Edn. Manchester University Press.

‘Next week’s cinema shows.’ (1952). The Walsall Observer. 12 December: p. 10.

‘New Releases: Rose of Baghdad’ (1952). Picture Show and Film Pictorial. 59(1361). 20 December: p.10.

Our Film Critic (1952). ‘Seasonable fantasy.’ Coventry Evening Telegraph. 23 December, p. 4.

‘Pre-releases and release dates.’ (1952). Kinematograph Weekly. 18 December: p. 119.

‘Rose of Baghdad.’ (1952). 

T.C.K. (1952). ‘Cinema shows in Birmingham: Italian cartoon.’ The Birmingham Post. 17 December: p. 4.

Thompson, Howard (1967). ‘Screen: Feeble princess.’ The New York Times. 13 November: p. 63.

‘Trade show news: colour cartoon feature.’ (1952). Kinematograph Weekly. 11 September: p. 14. 

Ugolotti, Carlo (2018). ‘La rosa di Bagdad: il folle sogno di Anton Gino Domeneghini / The Rose of Bagdad: the mad dream of Anton Gino Domeneghini.’ In Gradelle, D. (Ed.). La rosa di Bagdad: Un tesoro ritrovato. Parma: Urania Casa d’Aste: pp. 12-21.

‘Voice of Julie Andrews.’ (1958). The Sydney Morning Herald. 8 December: p. 15.

Copyright © Brett Farmer 2023

[lucy-the-cat]

red queen folklore collection

the 1

Mareven call each other years after breakup

cardigan

The august-betty love triangle but make it Marecal

the last great american dynasty

Coriane enjoys life as Tibe's widow despite Elara's attempts to tear her down

exile

Marecal circle around each other after their breakup

my tears ricochet

Mare fakes her death to escape Maven, but makes the mistake of watching her own funeral

mirrorball

Evangeline and Iris have a conversation

seven

Maven and Cal as young kids

august

Maven steals Mare away from Cal, but it doesn't last

this is me trying

Cal and Maven accidentally meet in a bar years after their parent's divorce

illicit affairs Mareven have a short lived affair

invisible string

Evane meet in a park

mad woman

sequel to illicit affairs where Mare attempts revenge

epiphany

Sara's thoughts on the young Calore brothers

betty

Mare goes back to Cal after a fling with Maven

peace

Elane reassures Evangeline after a tough battle

hoax

Mare burns photos of her time as Maven's lover.

the lakes

Maven's rivalry with fellow poet Mare Barrow turns into something more when she moves into the cottage across the street.

[lilyharvord]

CAL HAS PTSDDD?????????? SINCE WEN????

I literally could not find enough gifs to express how this ask made me feel. I've discussed this in multiple post previously, please see links: here, here, and here. I guess you caught me in a mood nonnie, so I'm about to unload a little bit.

Even after seven years, sometimes the Red Queen fandom still finds ways to surprise me, and this is one of those moments. Is Mare our main narrator? Yes. Does she have PTSD? Yes, and that fact is clearer than a Montana sky on a sunny day. Does she, as a narrator, choose what we, the readers, see and do not see? Yes. HOWEVER, we see VERY FUCKING CLEARLY through her eyes that Cal has PTSD. That he cannot sleep, that he is plagued by nightmares of what has happened, that he struggles to make decisions, that he clings to what he has left to avoid losing it too. I'm sick and tired of people in this fandom glossing over that shit or forgetting about it or just steamrolling over it in favor to rehashing Maven's trauma or Mare's trauma to make a point. There are literally fifty other characters in the fucking series with trauma, they all have PTSD in some form or another. AND I AM TIRED OF PEOPLE IGNORING IT. I'm tired of people ignore Cameron's trauma, Kilorn's trauma, Farley's, Shade's, Gisa's, Evangeline's,Jesus H fucking Christ there are literally hundreds of them and people just straight up fucking ignore or forget about it.

Trauma is not something to be compared between people and yet everyone in this stupid fandom insists on doing it. Insists of saying: well so-and-so had it worse-- I. Don't. Fucking. Care. Everyone's trauma is worse in their own eyes. Your fav's trauma will be worse in your eyes. But I'm tired of people straight up erasing character traumas or PTSD signs simply because it doesn't fit into their narrative of the character. I'm also tired of everyone comparing character traumas. I'm over it.

[snakerdoodlle]

@aspiring2banonymous I just wanted to expand on what you asked in the tags because I love talking about Nell and I also love when people ask about my characters and I can’t help myself so here we go!! Hope you don’t mind :)

So for starters, I never actually considered her meeting Thomas but now I’m thinking about it!! If she were to meet him, he’d look like a boy who died far too young in a pointless war just like so many others she’s encountered. He’d be more than willing to talk to her, and he would speak about all the things he missed out on and what he wishes he could’ve gotten the chance to experience. He also mentions another young boy with blue eyes that he’d been best friends (and maybe more) with, and Nell has a hard time believing the Maven that Thomas knew and the Maven that she saw are the same person. It was clear to her that they had cared for each other more than either of them knew. She’d feel sad for Thomas despite herself, he just has so much life to him. She’d ask him if he wants her help passing on, and he would smile and say, “no thanks, I’m still waiting for someone.”

Most spirits look how they did right before they died, so they don’t still hold the ailments or wounds that brought them to the crossway in the first place. The one exception to this are the wrathful spirits, which can be seen sometimes with gashes in their chests or parts of their heads blown through. The only explanation Nell has for this is that maybe whatever god watches over the spirit plane did not wish to be kind to them for one reason or another.

And with her family, I have actually thought about that one a little :D! She wouldn’t see her mother or brother again, both because she never sought them out and because they never crossed her view. Which she is more than fine with. She grew up to lessen the grudge she holds against them, but it’s still there, nestled behind her heart. But her father is a different story. One day she would get this strong pull within her, one she couldn’t ignore. That pull brought her back to her home village, which hadn’t changed much. There she would find the pale blue spirit of her father, on his knees in the thin woods behind their home. She would stand there, looking down at him, almost unsure of herself. He’d be rambling, not even knowing she’s there; saying how sorry he was, how he never meant for things to be how they were, how he hated what happened. He died of alcohol poisoning, she she could smell it lingering. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, but she knew what she felt. She felt pity, sadness, and a little bit of anger. Anger towards this man who caused her so much pain, who never paid any attention to his daughter. But after so many years, the anger was short lived. She took a deep breath and helped him to his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my child,” he kept saying. She led them into the crossway, helping her father along. “I know, dad, I know. It’ll be okay.” Her voice would be gentle, she’d be trying to hold back her tears. When he finally crossed over into the spirit realm and she returned to the living, she fell to her knees in those woods behind her childhood home and let herself cry silent tears.

And you’re very correct about that last part! Considering Nell is able to see people from anywhere across the continent, and from upwards to 200 years ago (that’s the oldest spirit she’s ever met, there could be even older for all she knows), she’s heard a lot of outrageous things. She’d tell people some of her favorite stories if they ever cared to listen, one of them being of the noble lady who managed to get away with the murder of her seven husbands ;)

[luckynein]

Throwback to this beautiful seven-legged friend I found randomly crawling on maven’s back a few years back.

None of the jumpers around my house get this big so you can imagine how stoked I was to see this guy.

[dawn-of-worlds]

The Fortress City

Tepponilamek has 2 + (2d6 => 2 + 6 = 8) + 3 = 13 power. Among their actions this turn, they encourage the development of Ippusima, in the Ajuna valley, until it is a city rivalling Tsallosis in prominence (Command Race, -3)

In the aftermath of the Deluge War, the Messonir slowly began to rebuild their devastated civilisation. Low-level conflict with the Ohmlings began again soon after the Ohmlings adapted to their new riverine home in the Tulana river valley, and in fear of another war the Messonir redoubled their efforts at making their cities into fortresses, and none more so than Ippusima, the site of the demise of Ohm of the Cracked Shell. The once-minor city saw its old wall built higher, and a new outer ring of walls constructed. A permanent garrison was put in place, and the city grew as the population in the central Ajuna valley recovered.

The Ohmlings, now adapted to a wet environment, could not launch raids through the desert as they once did, so their focus became the region around Ippusima, whose militia and standing forces soon became adept at fighting off ohmling raids. The leadership of the city became more stable out of necessity; rather than consisting of the leaders of a particular political faction sharing power in an idiosyncratic manner, city was led by the Mavens of the Tower; there were seven positions in that Council, each of which was selected for individually by the population. While factional politics did not disappear from Ippusima, they did become less fluid and less vicious.

Yet despite its seeming success in recovering from the Deluge War, beneath the surface all was not well in Messonir society. The Council of Eight enjoyed greater influence than ever before in the immediate aftermath of the war, but as decades passed their power waned. The poor performance of the Iron Wing in the War led to reluctance to support the Council of Eight’s further efforts to centralise control of military activity; Ippusima’s growth limited Tsallosis’ influence in the upper Ajuna valley; the lack of any new ohmling invasion encouraged the Messonir to return to their more fractious past. More importantly, Messonir civilisation was gradually splitting in two.

The Messonir of the lower Ajuna and the Delta had been spared the devastation of the war and the centuries of raids that preceded it, had close trading links with the outside world, and saw Tsallosis, a bastion of learning and the origin of Messoniri history, as the most important city of their civilisation. The Messonir of the upper river had not only experienced the worst of the ohmling invasion but also suffered more during the drying of the Ajuna in the century before that. Their cities were more organised and regimented; practical knowledge was valued far more than abstract knowledge; the chief concern of politics was security and self-defense, and to them Ippusima, which safeguarded the entire Ajuna valley, was the centre of Messonir society. Resentment and disdain began to build up, slowly but surely, between these two groups

Though the Messonir still saw themselves as one people, this divide continued to build, exacerbated by the grasping of the Council of Eight for more power and the increasing insularity of Ippusima and the upper Ajuna cities. Sooner or later, something had to break.