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what-do-1000-swords-look-like · 3 years

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5x09 - Past Is Prologue - basically 4x06's mirror & it's obvious there's a Buck and Eddie flip around in the story

So, interesting episode.

First of all, I love the title. "Past Is Prologue" indeed. This episode was all about moving on and change from what has come before.

We get Bobby and Athena moving into the next phase of their married life with May out of the house and Harry out with friends consistently. (that first scene was so freaking hilarious, give me that "sexual situations" warning for Bobby and Athena anytime LOL)

May has to fill out a change of address form after having what she most likely dubbed a very scarring experience.

Toni is hesitant to let Clive back into her life but after talking things out with Hen, she decides to give him another chance.

Ravi is becoming more and more a solid member of the 118. Even though he's not replacing Buck per se, they do keep comparing him to Buck. In this one, he cuts down on the coffee order time. (and this is interesting to me, too, because it makes me think back to that scene from 3x15 where Hen was bringing in coffee and Chim didn't get the right order "there's no cinnamon" vs "there better be oat milk in here")

The driving student is getting over a breakup and looking for a fresh start, something that is implied that she is starting to possibly find in the driving instructor. (something that is doubly implied by the oil leak, like "striking oil" which is supposed to be lucky)

Taylor decides to leave the past in the past, and not tell the parole board that her father deserves a second chance. After her father's brutal response (what a dick btw), she leaves well enough alone and opens up to Buck emotionally, resulting in her telling him that she loves him, being the one to say it first. It's obvious that their relationship has entered into a new phase.

Buck follows Bobby's advice and shows up in Oklahoma to be there for Taylor in case she needed him which results in everything mentioned above. This time, the person he's in a relationship with isn't jetting off or leaving him. And on top of it, they're telling him that they love him first.

So all seems good, right? Buck and Taylor are happy and moving into the next phase of their relationship. Buck finally has someone that isn't running or keeping him at arms' length. Taylor feels that she can truly open up to Buck and not be judged for it. Bobby and Athena make a great crime-solving team (probably to help ease the sting slightly from Michael and David being written out, reminding us of the dynamic Bathena also had back in 4x12, it's no coincidence to me that this episode was put in this order of the lineup after Michael's last episode). May will no longer be scarred for life and Toni possibly gets a second chance at love, as does the driving student. And Ravi is doing well. So everything is good.

Except...

A couple of things.

1) Bobby Advice On A Relationship...Again - Buck took Bobby's advice on his relationship, which tbf is excellent advice and I loved seeing that happen the way that it did, in the oh-firedad-has-had-enough-of-your-shit kind of way. Pure no nonsense, blunt and giving it to Buck straight. But notice the wording of this advice. While Bobby is right, that a breakup may not be on the horizon if Buck just talks to Taylor, notice how Bobby says that Buck goes with the flow and ends up in these relationships without knowing how he got into them. There is absolutely no need for that particular piece of dialogue to be in that scene unless it's important and the writers/show wants the audience to pay attention to it. Which is also reiterated by Hen's weird line of "Abby, Ali, at least Taylor doesn't rhyme, right?" Granted, due to the theme of the episode, naturally Buck's past relationships would be brought up because if 'past is prologue' and he's going to do something different, this needs to be mentioned, including his already past attempts at hooking up with Taylor. But it's the fact that they mention it in this very blase way that doesn't fit and keys us in to the fact that everything may not be what it's cracked up to be.

And of course, we've seen the 118 and then Bobby giving advice on relationships before, haven't we?

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"But you're happy now? With Athena and the kids?"

And we all know how this went. Not to mention, I find this parallel even more interesting when you realize that Bobby's advice comes from yes, the firedad perspective, but also from where he's currently at in his life and marriage/relationship with Athena. In tonight's episode, we get Bobby giving a Buck a verbal slap to the head and right after it, Hen mentions May's ordeal on walking in on Bobby and Athena.

And while Chim may have been there in season 4, Ravi being there in season 5 is no coincidence either. Eddie may be stepping in to replace Chim temporarily on the medical side of things, but it's Ravi that Hen seems to be connecting with more (which is why the coffee order scene *cough cough*)

And my favorite parallel to the 'book club' scene from above? The 'telenovela' comment Buck makes to Eddie. Notice how it's Buck teasing Eddie this time, and how instead of Buck and Hen reading books, they're currently experiencing 'telenovela' levels of romantic drama (according to Eddie).

But yes, we've seen this all before except this time, we're seeing it happening with Buck.

Which brings me to my next point:

2) Eddie's story flip around - What we saw Eddie go through from 5x01 to 5x03 is what we're seeing now but for Buck. Notice how we don't get a whole lot of insight into what Eddie is thinking now. We get bits and pieces here and there, sure, like tonight, but ultimately we're not getting a whole lot of Eddie like we were in the beginning of the season. Which is ironic considering we didn't get a whole lot of insight into Buck in the beginning of the season. They literally have taken Eddie's story (concerning Ana and his future) and flipped it around to show us Buck's side of the story now (concerning Taylor and his future). They purposely only showed us a little Buck during Eddie's story, and now only a little Eddie during Buck's. That doesn't mean that they aren't involved in each other's stories still, as we saw from tonight, from the moment outside the hospital, from the balcony scene, etc. And they're doing this because they're doing the same thing to Buck that they did to Eddie. They're making Buck go through it and choose what he really wants. At the moment, the audience is expected to think that it's Taylor and their relationship. However, I would beg to disagree and here's why.

Taylor was the first one to say "I love you" and does it in such a way that Buck almost misses it. Granted, it might make sense for her to say so first, especially given Buck's romantic history and maybe his reluctance to be the first to say it especially given how Taylor had been trying to push him away initially. But instead of seeing a big bright smile when Taylor confesses this to him, we see more a confused smile than anything. This could be him just being surprised, not expecting it, but I tend to doubt it. Because after that scene, we get Buck telling Taylor "So now I know all of your secrets" and Taylor saying "My middle name is Kelly" (which basically implies that no, Buck still doesn't know all of her secrets, which again makes me think of this supposed 'ethical conflict' but okay) and then she runs up the stairs, Buck then gets the big smile on his face, and runs up after her. Which naturally brings their relationship back to "sexual".

I sincerely don't think Buck is in love with her. I think Taylor has been trying at their relationship (as we've seen from the breakfast attempt, the trying to be there emotionally for Buck, etc) but I think he's still a little guarded when it comes to her. I think he enjoys their relationship and he obviously does care about her, but I don't think he's in love with her. I also think the song that they chose for the ending montage is very purposeful. The "Last chance, last dance, last chance for love" lyrics (specifically playing over the kissing scene between BT). They chose for Taylor's "I Love You" to happen while the song is playing, for her to say it while Buck has his back to her and he's pouring wine. And once again, look at Taylor's smile compared to Buck's. Buck is surprised, then confused. The very next scene we see is of them kissing and then the whole "no more secrets" convo which is then followed by the stair climb. We've seen Buck when he loves someone (which is funny considering the talk he gave Eddie in 5x02, again, the flip around), and this isn't it. We saw him smiling way more with Ali and even Abby. And he smiled way more with Taylor before they went all domestic this season.

3) This episode is also mirroring things from season 4, specifically "Jinx" - While this isn't Buck and Taylor meeting for the first time or deciding to date in this episode, it does mirror Eddie seeing Ana again and deciding to take the next step, asking her out, which then leads to a relationship. This is literally BT taking the next step in theirs. This was a big moment for them, with Taylor deciding to confide in Buck after he makes it clear that they need to talk about things right then (which, seriously, good for Buck, he truly is evolving, I just wish it hadn't come on the heels of Taylor saying she had a flight planned, because hello Abby my old friend basically, no wonder Buck "bucked up" and put his foot down, but still great show of character growth on the writers' part). But just because things seem rosy right now (for Taylor at least, like I said, I have yet to see Buck just as happy as she is) and yes, Taylor is being given more character development than Ana was, doesn't mean it will continue to look this way in 5B. I really do believe they're doing to Buck what they did to Eddie. Buck has to learn how to "follow his heart".

And funnily enough, in 4x06 we saw Buck get his "upgrade" to Buck 3.0. Here I believe we are seeing Taylor getting an upgrade to either Buckette 3.0 or Buckette 2.0 at the very least. She's taking a major step by being vulnerable enough to tell Buck she loves him and staying in the relationship after revealing what she did about her past. I personally think they do plan to keep Taylor around as long as they can and that's why she's getting a lot of development as a side character, but not because she and Buck will be getting married and having tons of babies. I think it all goes back to what Tim said about wanting to keep that reporter perspective for the show's story. But I don't think it will either extend past the expiration date on the BT relationship or it will but Taylor will be solo. Because here's the thing.

While they ended Eddie's relationship with Ana 7 episodes ago, that doesn't mean that if they wanted, they couldn't push Eddie in a new romantic direction. It doesn't necessarily mean that he has to get into a serious relationship all of a sudden (we know he's not ready for that) but he could date or just have fun, even a harmless flirtation at work or something like that. Something Christopher absolutely doesn't have to know about or Buck or the 118 even but we as the audience could. But instead, we're not being shown that. At all. Like I said above, they're keeping Eddie mostly muted, just like they did with Buck during the Eddie and Ana arc this season.

And the wording in this scene is familiar wording we've seen before:

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Buck: "We've reached the point in our relationship where the woman flees."

Ravi: "Women flee you?"

*Eddie laughs*

Ravi: "Routinely?"

And then this little gem...

"A little? When was the last time a woman told you she had to go home to wash her hair? 1952?"

Followed by...

Buck's reaction to Hen's "Okay, Buck, you're being a little too Buck about this":

And this is Buck's reaction to Eddie's teasing him with the line above:

That's twice now that they've shown us how Eddie makes Buck feel better, and it's in a series of moments they've been showing us how Buck also makes Eddie feel better. In an episode where the BT relationship starts attempting to build an emotional foundation, this scene, this little interaction here is absolutely key.

And then of course a minute later, after Buck reveals he thinks he and Taylor are living together, Bobby jumps in with "I'm going to tell you why this keeps happening to you. Because you don't talk to the women you're dating. You just go with the flow and find yourself in a relationship with no idea how you got there and what to do when things start to go wrong."

And right after he finishes, Eddie says "Yeah, who does that?" in a very sarcastic way. And why? Because of this little scene right here:

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Where Eddie mentions Ana being the first "woman" he's wanted to spend time with since Shannon, where Buck tells him to "buck up" basically and face his relationship head on, and where the beginning line is "Hey, are you really trying to sleep or just pretending?"

Which is why we also get Buck's reaction to Eddie's sarcastic line and then Eddie's reaction to Buck:

Because Buck is currently going through his own version of what Eddie had to go through. Buck may not be getting panic attacks or getting asked to a Christening but it literally is a mirror. The "woman" is in love with them and their relationship is at a crucial point where they need to make a decision. Buck running up the stairs after Taylor isn't the decision, despite them entering the next phase of their relationship emotionally. Because if it was, and BT was going to be the it couple or even endgame, the show had an opportunity to end Buddie once and for all right here. Instead, they chose for Buck to have his back turned to Taylor, to be helpful and assist her by getting the bowl for her from the cabinet while she's preparing food aka cooking (Eddie and Ana breakup dialogue taking place in a messy kitchen parallel, anyone?), and for him to have a somewhat lackluster response to her love declaration. And then of course, the little mirrors/parallels back to Eddie, Eddie/Ana, and of course 4x06 and that whole dynamic. And the fact that in 5x03 we saw Eddie decide to end things with Ana after talking to Buck but he doesn't have a talk with Bobby like the latter does here with Buck in this episode about making a "breakup inevitable". Even though talking to Bobby talked to Eddie in 4x06 and Eddie/Ana started after, Bobby didn't talk to Buck about entering into a relationship with Taylor. They really are lining up every single detail from a two-sides-of-the-coin perspective and melting it all down to create one thing: Buddie. I'm telling you. It's all right there.

And of course the whole 118 firetruck scene ends with Hen revealing what happened to May walking in on Bobby and Athena in the kitchen. Hen: "I just wasn't aware we could bring our gear home for recreational purposes." Ravi: "You playing sexy firefighter, Cap?" Bobby: "What makes you think I was the firefighter?"

It's coming, folks. Hang in there. I know it's tough, especially with all of the angst and what feels like disconnected-ness this current season but it'll all be worth it in the end. And when we look back and see where they connected all the dots on the Buddie roadmap.

Let's see what the Christmas episode will bring next week. <3

#buddie #buck x eddie #911 fox #buddie meta #911 5x09 #buddie is coming #911posts

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vivisextion · 3 years

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I first saw Slipknot at age 14.

No one knows how I managed it. I'm not sure I even remember. These days, you have to be 16 or 18 to get into Standing areas. I do know I had to buy tickets on the phone, back in the old days (2005, that is). A singular ticket, too - none of my friends, not even the classmate who had gone with me to see Linkin Park the year before, was that into Slipknot.

But I HAD to see them. This was the Subliminal Verses tour cycle, and Vol. 3 was my first and favourite Slipknot album, even to this day. It's the reliable old warm blanket for my soul whenever I need it. It's on right now, as I write this.

My memory isn't that good, but luckily I unearthed a livejournal (livejournal!) diary entry about the event I made the next day.

August 16, 2005. I went right after school. I went to a very conservative Anglican secondary school, too. I tried not to get caught in the bathroom, as I coloured my nails black with permanent marker (I know, don't laugh) and changed into my standard metalhead baby outfit - Slipknot band shirt, black cargo shorts, and my pride and joy: steel-toe boots I somehow managed to cajole my parents into letting me own.

I caught the bus to the open-air war memorial park where the gig was going to be. I got there at 4pm, 4 hours early. A couple other maggots were already hanging around. I found myself surrounded by tombstones, and I read them all. It was the middle of the Hungry Ghost Festival, too - a very fitting time for Slipknot to pay a visit to this godforsaken hellhole of a small town I lived in. (Especially given the paranormal circumstances surrounding the making of Vol. 3.)

While I wandered around the venue (no security or sound guys were around at all), I spotted two white vans pull up to the stage, in the middle of a clearing. It was them! I spotted Joey and missed him by a hair's breadth. I was quickly ushered behind the stone archway entrance by security then.

(Funnily enough, while walking around, I got mistaken for Joey more than once. I am the same height as him, had the same long black hair, same pale skin, and was wearing almost exactly what he had been. One person claimed from behind, I was a dead ringer, apart from when I turned around, and they realised I was Chinese.)

It was soundcheck time. A sound guy testing the mics would say random things, like "testing one two three two one.... fudge fudge, I like fudge...." The band even did Purity, so us earlybirds were given a rare treat, and we screamed along from the entrance, and drummed our fists on the sides of nearby porta-potties. I hope no one was in there at the time. Whenever we got a glance of any of them, we'd scream and cheer. Finally they left again, but were soon to return.

This was the first time I'd been a part of the metal community. I was barely allowed internet in those days. But here, random strangers were friendly, striking up conversations like they'd been friends for years. Two big guys, called Trevor and Ted, looked out for me the entire gig after, keeping other big dudes from crushing me too much (I'm 5'3, remember). Other people commented on me being so baby, because I was only 14, and said they would take care of me.

When we were finally let in, right after the usher cut the rope, I ran in, screamed "WOOOHOOO!" along with a few friends I'd made. I only briefly stopped to receive this RoadRunner Records compilation CD from a roadie, then resumed running like a madman screaming and dashing into the VIP cage.

I was right up against the barricade - the first time I would ever be at a gig. People from assorted magazines and press took photos of us, and I think I got my photo taken about 10 times at least.

(This is how I got in trouble with my parents the next day. My photo had ended up in a local paper - you can see examples of that here. They had no idea what I'd been to see the night before, and were horrified when they saw what Slipknot looked like.)

We saw Sid filming us from the stage with a camcorder and screamed at him. We saw Jim and screamed at him too, and he flashed the victory sign back at us. I remember Metallica playing at the time, another one of my favourite bands.

The concert was a brutal religious experience I will never forget. People with their arms outstretched, crying and screaming out loud, moving like the devil possessed them.

The new friends around me made sure I was alright after every song! There were huge guys fainting behind us who had to get carried out, but I endured, a tiny 14 year old child. We got a family speech as per tradition, of course. "Are you guys out there all looking out for each other? We're all one big family, and we gotta look out for each other." What Corey said held true - strangers hugged, shook hands, talked, and made friends. I was heartened by how close-knit the maggot community was. It really did feel like a family, and it's felt like that ever since.

Of course, I did my first Jump The Fuck Up. It is possibly the most euphoria I've ever experienced all at one go. (Later, in 2020, I was extremely disappointed that I didn't get to do it again in London.)

They did the death masks for Vermilion, and I remember Chris helping Sid fix his mask and shirt when they'd changed back. Sid hung out near Clown's drums for most of the time too, and hugged him from behind and just latched on at one point. It was pretty adorable.

Fun fact: The version of Eyeless you hear on the 9.0 Live album is from Singapore, as is Eeyore. There are very few photos and videos from the crowd of this gig, because in 2005, very few people had camera phones. The crowd at the Slipknot gig in 2020 was a sea of arms with phones, filming the gig rather than experiencing it. Yes, I'm going to be that cranky old geezer who complains about the good old days.

Joey as usual, was fucking amazing and never failed. However, due to the fact that I was right up front, only his tiny head was visible behind his vast drum set, I couldn't see him the entire gig.

Amazingly, the government told Slipknot they were not allowed to do obscene gestures, curse, vomit (possibly due to the decomposing crow pre-show ritual), simulate humping on objects, throw faeces, or jump off stage (looking at you, Sid). I don't think our totalitarian government knew who they were dealing with, because watch what happens next.

Near the end of the gig, Corey tells the crowd “your government has given us a laundry list of things we aren’t allowed to do, your government has told us we are not allowed to swear”. Crowd goes “BOOOOOOOOO” and Corey goes “BUT WE DON’T GIVE A FUCK!!” And they launch into Surfacing, the last song. Everyone riots. Best night of my life.

You can find the setlist from that gig here. It had everything I wanted and more.

This story later got immortalised when Kerrang asked maggots for gig stories, for an article which came out in 2020. I had forgotten entirely, until people began messaging me to tell me, and one friend sent me a scan of it!

On the way out, I managed to get a shirt. I remember calling my best friend at the time, and got everyone at the merch booth to go "IF YOU'RE 555 THEN I'M 666" for her. This shirt has since been lost to the landfill, because my Christian mother took it upon herself to dispose of it the first opportunity she got. Needless to say, our relationship is not very good.

After that, I even managed to get that Roadrunner compilation album they were giving out signed. The band was staying at the Carlton. Unfortunately, Joey wasn't there, neither was Clown, and Mick was swarmed by guitar nerds so, 6/9 it is. It is a great regret of mine that I'll never have anything signed by him, nor will I ever get to see him perform ever again.

The next day, I went to school, my head swimming. Yes, I went to see Slipknot ON A SCHOOL NIGHT. I was a giant bruise, from my ribs and my chest, to my hips and knees, from being slammed into the barricade like a screen door in a hurricane. Most of all, my sore, headbanged-out neck could barely hold my head up. Classmates thought I had been in a fight. I was torn between battle-scarred exhaustion and hyperactive ranting about the most amazing gig of my short life (it still is, to this day). When teachers spoke to me, I wanted to reply, "Fuck trigonometry! I've just seen SLIPKNOT. Do you not understand that my world is different? Do you not understand that *I* am now different?"

My country was a small, conservative town that Slipknot had graced with their unholy presence. Corey Taylor once said that where he grew up in Iowa had a way of making a 16 year old boy feel like a 36 year old man (or something to that effect). I felt that in my weary bones as a teenager, being from a place just like that. Years later, Watain would run into worse trouble, and wouldn't even be allowed to perform. The Christian stranglehold is stronger than ever. It was a good thing that back then Slipknot had the element of surprise, striking serpent-fast and choking this society by the neck for a too-brief time, before they departed.

After that, my desire to play the drums only grew like a weed. Joey Jordison had, has, and will always inspire me as a drummer, and seeing the beast live (or what little I could spy behind the massive riser) had only spurred me on. I had always been a noisemaker, be it driving my parents mad with chopsticks on pots and pans, or driving my teachers mad with pencils on my desk. But of course, my parents wouldn't have any of it. I'd have to wait a good 14 more years before I'd be able to afford lessons and later, a kit of my own. Better late than never, right?

There will never be enough words to describe the impact Joey has had on my life. And it isn't just Slipknot, either. I could write another essay on his time with the Murderdolls and its influence on my own gender-non-conforming ways. Suffice to say, my wardrobe doesn't look too dissimilar to his during the early Dead in Hollywood days.

I told my boss I could not come into work today. I was grieving. I said that my music teacher died, as I didn't think she'd understand the magnitude of my loss. In a way, it's true. And I am not the only one Joey has nudged on the path to being a musician, that much is certain. To the rest of us, I wish strength and love for you in this difficult time. The best way to honour Joey, who truly loved music, both the creation and appreciation of it, is to pass that gift on. Teach it to someone. He is the reason I picked up the sticks in the first place, and one day, they'll be handed on, the heavy metal baton for the next generation.

And finally: remember that the ones we have lost are never truly gone.

Vinnie

P.S. See if you can spot me in the crowd photos in this post!

#Joey Jordison #Slipknot #Murderdolls

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marmolady · 3 years

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Homecoming: Part Three

Continued from PART ONE and PART TWO

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, Graleister, Variego

Summary: Endless Ending. It's the final leg of Taylor and Estela's journey; taking them to Northbridge and old friends... but leaving others behind.

Word Count: 5905

Chronology: After ’The New Taylor’ and ’A Ride to Remember’, sort of midway through ’Inheritance’.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

Thanks for reading!

The echoey halls of the long-since abandoned Celestial rang with grunts and the deafening blows of metal against concrete, marble and glass. The figure of one Estela Montoya-- sledgehammer in hand-- emerged from the billowing clouds of dust, pausing her onslaught only to check in with her wife, who’d been exerting herself more than Estela was completely comfortable with.

Taylor stood up straight, panting, and wiped sweat from her brow. The slight tremble to her knees did not go unnoticed.

“Mi amor, I think you’re done.”

“Done?” Taylor heaved. “I’m no-- yeah, I’m done. I am officially….” She leaned against a wall, and let her baseball bat clatter to the fall. “I’m officially… all emotionally-released out.”

“I’m happy to hear that, cariña.” Estela put her free arm around Taylor, steadying her. “How about I pull up a chair for you so you can keep me company until I’m done?”

“I would like that a lot.”

Soon, Taylor was peacefully reclining on a deck chair brought from the poolside, and sipping a drink from a coconut, while Estela kept up her demolition crusade around her.

Taking down the old resort was a laborious process, one that had begun many months ago when the Catalysts first began stripping the hotel of anything that could be utilised in the small village that had become their sanctuary at the end of the world. Soon after Taylor, Estela, Jake, Grace and Aleister returned to the island, the resort had been gone over with a fine-toothed comb, with anything to be saved carefully removed for safe keeping. Now, what remained of the resort was ripe for a smashing, and once Iris had identified load-bearing structures to be careful of, the bare bones of the once grand Celestial was the site of a purge of a thousand pent-up emotions. There had never been any doubt to Taylor that such an opportunity for catharsis would do the world of good for Estela… but she hadn’t anticipated just how much she herself had needed to expel from her body in screaming blow after screaming blow. She could not begin to count how many times she’d closed her eyes and seen the people she loved murdered at the hands of Everett Rourke… to set fire to every last piece of trace of his awful smug face had the effect of leaving her feeling about ten tonnes lighter. It was everything she’d needed, and as she laid back and watched Estela smash through her own demons, she had to hope… this would be a corner turned for them both.

“Hey….”

Taylor turned her head, and grinned at the sight of Diego cautiously coming towards her.

“Hey!”

“There’s no, uh… debris flying around here is there?”

“Ha. I think you’re safe for now. Estela would have me in a hard-hat if there was any danger.”

Unable to argue with that logic, Diego sat down in the space Taylor made for him beside her.

“I’m just, you know… watching ‘Stel catharting.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Your eyes are bugging right out your head.”

Taylor shrugged and relaxed back in her chair, her gaze still following Estela as she flexed her muscles… which were on fine display beneath a thin tank top. “It’s a nice view; what of it?”

Diego chuckled. “Oh, nothing; nothing at all. Your face is just an absolute picture.”

Every now and then, Estela would glance over her shoulder, and-- sure enough-- Taylor would still be looking at her with the most ridiculous exaggerated heart eyes. God, how Estela loved that dork. Happy that Taylor was taking a well-earned rest, she could focus on her renewed onslaught; slamming into walls, structures… and any little thing that carried that cursed name.

A gargantuan crash had Estela rush to the vast kitchens. The air was thick with dust, already coating the once sparkling bench-tops.

“Grace?”

She needn’t have worried. The woman who emerged from the dust clouds carried a look of determined strength and fierce confidence.

Grace pulled down her earmuffs, her expression softening as she met eyes with Estela. “I didn’t scare you? I, um….” She chuckled bashfully. “I think I had something big and angry I had to get out my system… and it was a little bigger and angrier than I anticipated.”

Estela gave a small nod. “Fair. Things things can just… take over you.”

She knew from experience what that could do to a person. And she had an indelible mark upon her face to prove it.

“Well,” she said, “if you need to talk or anything… I’m maybe not the best at that kind of thing, but I’m here, okay?”

Grace smiled broadly, genuinely touched. “Thank you. And so you know, the offer extends the other way as well.”

It seemed pretty inevitable that old hurts are going to come up amidst all this releasing of pent-up emotion. Surrounded by support, it was a challenge that could be faced. Estela was certain that whatever poison bubbled to the surface, whatever old hurt took her by surprise, it would not be her burden to carry alone. She shook herself back into the zone, and in one fell swoop, took out the last support holding up the bar, which crumbled with a satisfying crack. It felt good. And so, she continued smashing out her demons… whilst remaining just close enough that she could run to Grace’s aid should she get in too deep.

Slowly but surely, Estela got back into her rhythm. Letting herself feel, and hurt… and then letting everything come pouring out.

With a guttural roar, she brought the hammer down hard. Again… and again. For everything Rourke had done…. For the hope for a safe future the bastard had dangled in front of Estela’s mother. For how callously he’d brutally ended that kind, intelligent, beautiful life, then turned around and talked of love. How even when his own demise was inevitable, the sadistic determination he’d had to make his last act the one of killing Taylor. For all those terrible nights Estela had been woken up by her poor wife screaming over deaths at his hands playing out before her, again and again. That demon had blighted every single person he touched. Lies… cruelty… and in his wake a bloody trail. Oh, but if he could see his precious Celestial now… that wicked smug satisfaction would be wiped clean off his disgusting face. Faster, harder, Estela threw herself behind every blow, letting out everything… the hatred gushing forth deep and profound, an all-encompassing whirl that her straining body could barely keep up with.

Her chest heaved. Her arms ached. As Estela watched the last rubble fall around her, a deep exhale took with her breath the emotional torment that had for so long existed in her like a sickness. She closed her eyes, and lay down the sledgehammer. She’d yelled her voice hoarse; her throat burned, and she had no screams left to yell. Slowly, panting heavily while tears and sweat still dripped from her face, she collected herself... taking in the sounds of water spraying from a burst pipe, and the aggressive grunts coming from the kitchen, where Grace was clearly still working through some stuff.

“Stupid… blasted… counter…!”

“Are you okay in there, Grace?”

There was a pause in the frustrated bellowing, then came the voice that seemed too absurdly gentle to have come from the very same person.

“I think I’ve discovered the limit to my own strength.”

Thinking she might as well lend a hand, Estela picked up her hammer and-- carefully maneuvering herself over the mess she’d wrought-- made her way back to the kitchen. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Furball snuffling around through the debris-- more than likely, he’d come in with Fenix, who’d been following Taylor around. Estela gave a low whistle.

“Are you going to be helpful? I’m sure Grace will appreciate it.”

“Mrrp!” Furball cocked his head, looking worriedly at the tear-tracks upon Estela’s face. “Prr?”

Well, that’s kinda sweet. Estela knelt down and gave the little blue fox a reassuring scritch behind the ears, then pulled up her singlet to wipe her face. “It’s all right. I’m all right. Sometimes feeling things is good for you, you know?” Then she stood up, again all action. “Come on, then.”

“You’re, uh, having a little trouble, then?” she asked as she rounded the door.

Grace, taken by surprise, jumped about a foot in the air.

“Oh!” She laughed. “You just about gave me a heart attack!”

“Sorry. I’ve been told I have a bad habit of sneaking up on people.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a bad habit. I’ve had much worse surprises, I can tell you.” Grace tapped a sturdy steel counter with the hammer she’d been using to smash up the kitchen. “You caught me trying and failing to take out my feelings on this hapless counter. But it looks like even my feelings about my mother aren’t cutting the mustard-- and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t calculated the most efficient angle of attack.”

Estela couldn’t help but snort a laugh. “You do always think things through. Here,” she said, offering her heavy sledgehammer. “Between you, this baby, and Furball, I think you should be able to smash out a few more feelings.”

Grace took a moment to study her sister-in-law’s face, and it didn’t take long to ascertain that Estela wasn’t just doing fine… she looked really… very well. Lighter maybe. She grinned. This little foray into demolition had been exactly what the doctor ordered.

“I’ll certainly try.”

It was getting dark by the time Estela and Grace-- and Furball-- retreated back to the entrance foyer, ready to leave behind The Celestial for good. Aleister was having a nasty cut on his forehead seen to by Taylor, who had with her the miracle ointment made from the healing leaves.

This, Estela supposed, was what happened when you weren’t quite careful enough about where you directed a lifetime’s worth of anger. And exactly why she’d kept a close eye on Grace… some people just don’t have the competence to throw around a heavy bludgeon.

“Oh, Al, sweetheart!”

Estela forced herself not to roll her eyes, no matter how excessive the fuss. A bit of care and affection had done wonders for Aleister’s disposition, and she was not about to challenge it… especially when she was pretty sure she acted a damn fool herself when the love-goggles were on.

“I, uh,” he muttered, his cheeks pinkening with unmissable delight as Grace took him in her arms, “seem to have clocked myself about the head in an attempt at putting a poker through one of my father’s portraits. The mind boggles… how many images he needed of his own smug face in here….”

“I’m guessing Jake’s still off making sure we got them all?” The absence of the final member of the group had struck Estela-- the lack of snarky remarks and stupid nicknames was glaring. With his intended surrender to authorities looming, and along with it the inevitable facing up to Mike’s family, Jake would be feeling… a lot. If he needed space, his friends would give it, no questions asked.

Diego’s eyes were puffy, and Taylor’s soft with clear concern for her friend. But, of course, how could Diego be even remotely all right? That Estela was seeing him at all was something of a surprise; time with the one he loved was running out fast.

Perhaps he’d seen the question in her eyes, for he said; “I wanted to take one last look at the place before it’s all torn down.” He gave a weak laugh. “Take a moment to remember the poor fish from my beautiful old aquarium room… which became a lot less cool once they’d all gone belly-up. It now looks like Finding Nemo: The Horror Cut, and the smell is… pretty bad.”

“I could have told you that choosing a room with live decorations isn’t the best idea in an abandoned hotel.”

Aleister chuckled, giving his sister an appreciative glance. She might have been something of a brute, but he’d long since conceded that she did in fact hold a few of the family brain cells.

“Trust me,” Diego said, “I’m keeping it in mind for next time.”

It was a long and quiet trek back to Elyys’tel and Catalyst Village; each member of the group was lost in their own thoughts. Varyyn had only just made the journey himself-- he’d given his husband space to say goodbye to a piece of his life that he could never understand, but had returned for him. They strode side by side at the back of the pack… always touching. It was those little touches… the ones they both knew were always offered in a heartbeat, that would perhaps be missed most.

“Hey,” Taylor said gently, slowing so she could walk beside her best friend. “If you want to, you’re welcome to crash at our place tonight. I’m sure we can snag a mattress from someone else’s house so you’ve got plenty of snuggle space.”

“I don’t wanna disturb you, you know? You’d be just upstairs… and there will be crying. Besides, just camping out under the stars together… it might be nice.”

When they reached the village, Diego and Varyyn peeled off from the rest of the group, quietly settling on a secluded stretch of the cove where, for a time, it could be as though there were not a soul in the world but for the two of them.

“I feel like I’m wasting the time we have,” Diego mumbled guiltily. “You’re right here with me, and I can’t even make the most of it because it’s like I’m drowning in… in feeling sad.”

“We are together, my beloved,” Varyyn said gently. “That is, ‘the most’ of any time. The most there ever can be. You always give me the truth of you, and now, that is very, very sad.” He trailed off. “…As am I.”

Diego exhaled deeply, pressing himself against Varyyn’s larger frame and feeling safe. There was no shame in his emotions; he was understood, and cherished in all his raw edges. Varyyn had never asked for anything more of him. It was the reason he had to courage to follow his passion and give himself a chance to grow into what he knew was his truest self… but the road to get there would be testing.

“I will see you every day-- I have become very proficient at the ‘phone’. And we can talk many, many hours. Being elyyshar has some benefits. If I am with you, the council can wait.”

“Even if Seraxa has steam coming out her ears?”

Chuckling in spite of his deep sadness, for he had to do whatever he could to give his beloved what strength he could offer, Varyyn nodded. “Even if.” He squeezed Diego closer, and let his eyes flutter shut, focusing on the very feel of him there in his arms… the way it was meant to be. The way it would be again, for their spirits were irrevocably entwined. “And it will not be long before we are together again. You have heard Taylor talking; she is not going to rest until she finds a way for me to visit you, and in the meantime….”

“I’m just a call away.” Diego wiped away his tears, then brought his hand to Varyyn’s face and guided him into a slow and tender kiss. Just a call away. Just a call away….

Further up the beach, Jake had taken himself for a walk along the sand-- cold beer in hand, and looking up at a wide open night sky for the last time for… well, he didn’t really want to get up on how long.

“Do you want company?”

How long Estela had been lurking behind him, Jake didn’t have the foggiest idea… nor did he know how she managed to sneak up silently on such soft shifting sand. He shrugged.

“Be my guest. Might be a nice distraction from my own thoughts. It ain’t as if I won’t have plenty of time alone with those in the near future….”

“It’s a pity Aleister’s already gone to bed. There’s nothing quite like getting up his nose to keep you out of your own head.”

Jake smirked. Old Malfoy had his weird ways of expressing friendship. Guy would call you an imbecile on one hand and throw tens of thousands at bulking up your legal defense on the other. Something told him that the fights they’d get in over the stupidest goddamn things was just another one of Aleister’s wonky emotionally-repressed attempts at building bonds. And for what it was worth, it actually worked-- with Jake anyway. Any excuse to give Daddy Issues a well-aimed friendly jab.

Estela, on the other hand, didn’t dance around the point with petty jibes and pedantic exchanges. Straight to the point, as she knew Jake had come to expect.

“Look. You are going to clear your names. And Mike is gonna be remembered for the hero he was. We’ll make it happen, all right?” She held his gaze, fierce with resolve, and saw that same fire reflected back at her. “I swear to you… if I have to make it happen my goddamn self. When we’re done, people will be wishing Lundgren had a grave so they could dance on it.”

Jake clapped Estela on the shoulder. “Aw, Katniss. I know we always said Princess was queen of the pep talk, but between you and me, she ain’t got nothing on you.”

“Then make it worth my breath.” She pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m not fucking losing you, you hear?”

“Crystal, Ripley. Crystal damn clear.”

Her face buried in his unkempt hair, Estela fought back the tears that stung her eyes. “Good.”

Pulling away, Jake discretely wiped his own eyes, disguising the movement by running a hand over his stubble. He looked out over the world that had become his home and felt peace.

“You know what? I’m really gonna miss this place.”

Estela followed his gaze across the island, the towers of The Celestial just visible in the distance, and Atropo gently puffing smoke out into the night air.

“Yes. I think I’ll always come back. Maybe we could come here together for like… reunions. All of us,” she made a point of specifying, letting any doubt of her faith in their ability to bring Jake home be put paid to. “We should never forget what happened here.” Nor what we all meant to one another. Her eyes wandered back to her own home in the village, where she knew Taylor was waiting, already going through her bedtime routine. Estela’s heart thrummed with affection. How could they ever stay away?

“I guess, Katniss... I’ll be seeing ya at the reunion.”

Again, she found herself choked up. Enough of this. It was time for bed… before she was a complete mess.

“You bet your ass I will,” she growled.

___________________________

God, it’s cold; Taylor’s first thought as she stepped into the gate from the massive aeroplane. Straight from the tropical climes that had been her normal, even the Massachusetts summer hit her as distinctly chilly. The very novelty of the crisp night air and the lack of her usual permanent layer of humidity-induced sweat was wonderfully exhilarating. This really was something new.

The flight, coming off the five hour journey to Costa Rica and a three hour stop-over, had been utterly draining for most of the group; Taylor was for once grateful for her recently-acquired ability to fall asleep at the drop of the hat. She’d spent most of the duration snuggled up with her head on Estela’s shoulder-- Estela never slept on planes-- and her legs tucked beside Diego’s while he distracted himself from his thoughts with the in-flight entertainment. Aside from the discomfort of sitting in a confined space for hours on end, the emotional onslaught took its toll. Jake had stayed with the group as far as Costa Rica, then left the others to take their flight to Northbridge. Public interest in ‘The Hartfeld Ten’ had waned somewhat, but if they turned up back in the country with a wanted man, an unnecessary hoo-ha seemed inevitable. At any rate, Jake had been adamant that he hit American soil as close to his home as he could swing it, which had put him on a plane to Dallas that left an hour after the Northbridge flight. There had, of course, been tears, but when Jake waved them onto their last leg home, he hadn’t been saying goodbye as someone dreading what lay ahead, so much as a man ready and determined to finally put everything right. For Mike, and for himself.

Through customs and baggage claim, Taylor took in everything; it was utterly bizarre that she’d never set foot in this country before, but so many of her friends’ life experiences-- the memories that had informed her very creation-- had created an impossible feeling of familiarity. It was as if she were seeing simple things for both the first time and the hundredth, simultaneously. She stayed close to Diego, who had been quiet from the moment the plane took off in La Huerta.

“That’s everything, right?” she checked in with him as she hauled a duffle bag off the carousel, only to have it promptly commandeered by Estela. That’s still too much for me to be lugging around? Point taken.

“Well, unless you’re intending to leave Madam and Fenix behind the Animal Arrivals desk in their pet-packs indefinitely….”

“I’ll have you know, wise-guy, that I haven’t forgotten them. Just… putting off having to deal with the foul mood we can expect from Madam Mierdita.”

Estela turned back to her wife with a smirk. “Her I’ll let you carry.”

“Gee, thanks.” Taylor caught Diego’s little snort of laughter at her expense. Okay, a laugh out of Diego is definitely worth incurring the wrath of the little monster.

Finally, they stepped out the Arrivals doors, trolleys loaded up with heavy luggage and two very curious furry travelers.

“Do you think they’re here ye--” Grace had been wondering out loud before-- “Sean! Michelle!”

Even in a bustling crowd, Sean was easy to spot, head and shoulders over most of the people surrounding him. An effusive Michelle darted into the walkway, sweeping both Taylor and Estela into an embrace, and guiding her small band of weary friends out the way of the rush.

“You wouldn’t believe how good it is to see you all!” She held Taylor at arms length, giving a quick appraisal and then going back in for a hug, satisfied. “You look amazing. Death’s door is all in the past.”

“Oh my god,” Taylor choked out, “it’s not even been a minute and my face is already aching from smiling so much!”

“I’ve been trying to convince Michelle not to worry about you too much,” Sean said as he came out of a hug with Grace to give Taylor’s shoulder a squeeze, “if there’s anyone who can pull a miracle comeback, it’s our Taylor.”

Perhaps it was guilt, but Taylor felt a violent swing of emotion. This wasn’t a victory yet. “We’ve just got to keep that lucky streak going a little while longer… bring us all home.”

A cloud of sadness passed over Sean’s eyes, but his warm smile remained. “No one’s throwing the towel in. Not by a long shot. But my Momma always taught me to savour the wins along the way… and seeing what it was you came back from, this is a big one.”

Taylor exhaled heavily. You’ve got to let it go… just for now. Letting yourself by happy is going to make you stronger when it matters. But it sure was hard. She could see that guilt reflected in Estela’s eyes… which she caught and was met with a tender smile that told her it would all, somehow, be okay.

“Right!” Michelle said. “We were thinking, Diego, Taylor, Estela in the big car with me-- there’s room for the pet carriers in the back. I am dying to show you the house! Aleister and Grace, if you want to go with Sean, he could either take you straight to your place or you can swing by and say ‘hi’ to the masses.”

Grace beamed. “Oh, we will most definitely be swinging round to say ‘hi’!”

“Please tell me Raj hasn’t thrown us some raucous, moronic homecoming party…,” Aleister muttered under his breath.

“You were joking when you said there might be something party-like waiting for us, yeah?” Taylor queried from the back seat of Michelle’s car as they turned onto the freeway.

“The ‘might be’ was only because I wanted to break it to Aleister gently. You’re going home to a party. Period.”

“They do know that we’ve been travelling non-stop for more hours than I care to count, right?”

“Oh, don’t even get me started!” Michelle huffed. “Before you completely panic, I’ve already laid down the law that whenever you’re done, it is done.”

Taylor chuckled nervously, exchanging a glance with an equally trepidatious Diego through the mirror. “I’m going to give Al all of five minutes before he high-tails it out of there.”

Michelle sighed. “The Raj party train is fairly unstoppable. But,” she added with a little twinkle in her eye, “no one is brave or stupid enough to stir up a sleep-deprived Estela, so I’ve been assured it will all be low-key.”

“You’re welcome,” said Estela.

The car pulled up a short while later in front of a big timber-clad house. A really big timber-clad house. Two storeys and --from what Taylor could see-- a window looking out of a loft space as well.

“Wow…,” she breathed.

“Damn,” said Diego, who’d been quiet for most of the journey. “You weren’t kidding when you said you splashed out….”

Michelle shrugged, but her delight in her friends’ reactions couldn’t be hidden. “You do remember that there’s going to be eight of us living there? Including one Craig Hsiao. We were getting a house with space, or we wouldn’t be doing this at all. Again, all credit to Estela for funding this. I’m still not convinced you’re not a little crazy, but there’s no way I’m complaining. This place is gorgeous.”

As she unloaded Madam in her pet-pack, Estela kept glancing up at the house, a curious expression on her face.

“Hey…,” Taylor said, giving her wife’s fingers a squeeze. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah, it’s just… weird. I don’t feel comfortable with thanks, I guess. We needed somewhere to stay, I’ve got money now… it’s not like it’s some noble deed or anything.”

Michelle gave a dry laugh. “I saved your life, you gave me money to buy a big-ass house… don’t worry, we’re even.”

Just then, the front door swung open and Quinn bounded out, the broadest of smiles across her face. “You guys! Welcome home!”

“Quinn!” Taylor put Fenix’s crate on the ground and leaped into a waiting hug… and by the time she lifted her head, she was completely surrounded.

“You made it, brah!”

“Dude-- du-u-uude!”

Suddenly, the hugs were coming from all directions.

Okay, I’m definitely home.

The three new arrivals were quickly roped into a brief house tour, starting with the main lounge, which to everyone’s relief, was not in fact set up for a rager. A few streamers and a ‘welcome home’ banner was the extent of visible party. As Raj explained, the main housewarming shindig would be happening once everyone was actually awake enough to enjoy it. Maybe in a day or two.

“And this,” Quinn announced, after having left a wide-eyed and stuttering Diego to explore his new digs, complete with a enormous screen from which to call Varyyn and digital copies of what appeared to be every major movie and television release from the eighteen months he was away on La Huerta, “is yours.”

She opened a door to a staircase up to the loft-space.

“We really hope you like it.”

Again, Estela’s expression twisted to one of poorly hidden discomfort. Taylor gently took her hand and led the way, understanding. That strange mixture of what she was adjusting to… feeling part of a close group of friends who wanted to look after her and that awareness, now pretty hard to ignore, that she now had money to her name… it was all rather a lot, especially after a long day’s travel.

Quinn, either by reading her friend like a book or by plain instinct, gave the couple some space. “You just take all the time you need. If you want, I can bring Madam up here so you can settle her in? We’ll all be downstairs with hot cocoa waiting whenever you’re ready.”

Taylor turned and gave a slow nod. The emotions rolling through her were overwhelming-- to be once again surrounded by almost the entirety of her family was more wonderful than she could say, and yet, it made the ache of Jake’s fate hanging in the balance all the more obvious. She was excited, and drained, and so fucking grateful for the love she was receiving in spades. That was how she was going to get through. That was how they were all going to get through.

“Thanks, Quinn-- you’re the best. I think Madam will be really happy to get out of that box.”

They reached the top of the stairs and switched on the light.

“Wow,” Estela said softly, her cheeks flushing a little. “This is really nice.”

After what had been put together for Diego, neither of them had known what to expect, but Estela and Taylor’s huge room was wonderfully simple and homey. A big comfy armchair in the corner, a wooden bookcase to match the bed, and a lovely soft rug underfoot… all the essentials for their private bolthole. Two arched windows tilted up to a beautiful view of a starry night. They had their own ensuite bathroom, which both regarded as a definite plus with six other people sharing the house-- including one Michelle Nguyen who did have a reputation for taking her time in front of the mirror. What struck Taylor most, though, were the small thoughtful touches scattered around the whole place. The many, many photographs that had been hung on the walls… a brand new knitting basket for all of her bits and bobs… fancy lotions that had come from The Elysian… the beautiful painting Quinn had gifted them upon their first anniversary… and perhaps Taylor’s favourite, a little plush dragon that had been propped up on the pillows.

Estela flopped backwards onto the luxurious mattress and exhaled, long and deep. Letting the feeling sink in… the feeling of being welcomed home with open arms. Known, and accepted, and loved. Without opening her eyes, she extended an arm, which Taylor wriggled under to be brought into a soft embrace. They were one more step closer to ‘happily ever after’. On their way to peace and healing.

Taylor saw it there already. Her sweet warrior, at ease with the world… and making her thrum with devotion.

They’d made it this far… so very far. Time for the next chapter.

#endless summer #playchoices #estela montoya #estela x mc #diego soto #jake mckenzie #grace hall #varyyn #variego

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grandhotelabyss · 3 years

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A few extracts from the leftist thinker of the hour. In his latest piece, he inveighs against an unrelated group of philosophers, political actors, and cultural traditions, using mostly guilt-by-association and ad-hominem attacks, with some puerile schoolyard epithets (e.g., “man-childs [sic],” “Boomer Theory”) thrown in, all in the name of what he calls “positive biopolitics,” defined, if the following vague jargon is a definition, as

inclusive, materialist, restorative, rationalist, based on a demystified image of the human species, anticipating a future different from the one prescribed by many cultural traditions. It accepts the evolutionary entanglement of mammals and viruses. It accepts death as part of life. It therefore accepts the responsibilities of medical knowledge to prevent and mitigate unjust deaths and misery as something quite different from the nativist immunization of one population of people from another. This includes not just rights to individual privacy but also social obligations to participate in an active, planetary biological commons.

Because “many cultural traditions” remain extant, it’s hard to see how we get from here to there, which makes this discourse little more than apologism for present arrangements: the corporate monopolies will, with the financial, legal, and coercive assistance of the state, manage us down to our atoms, and we will be obligated to participate whether we like it or not. Though our author makes a few faint-heartedly woke noises, his vision is, to repurpose his own argumentative tactics, fundamentally indistinguishable from neoreaction with its dream of hyperracist face tentacles—except that I suppose Land or Yarvin would allow for more dispersed authority centers, making their cyberpunk paradise, ironically, the less fascistic of the twinned accelerationisms.

From this unseemly polemic, one concludes that Hannah Arendt and Michel Foucault are essentially equivalent to Alex Jones and Marjorie Taylor Greene and that only a simplistic reactionary with a pathological attachment to “lost objects” could have any objection to “any artificial governing intervention in the biological condition of human society.” And I’m not Agamben: I don’t object a priori to any, but surely I may object a posteriori to some. See how his abstraction serves his case: he argues at the level of ideas and would probably dismiss any assessment of the actual forces in play (pharmaceutical giants, the U.S. security state, the CCP, Bezos, Gates, etc.) as “conspiracy theory.” (If the conservative’s attachment to “lost objects” is deluded, by the way, what should we call the radical’s investment in an imaginary and basically impossible future, that famous omelette they will never be able to prepare no matter how much albumen they spill?)

The personal slam against Illich is particularly grotesque. Leaving aside the expert class’s new conviction that only a Trumpist CHUD could possibly think medical interventions must be consensual, I know people who died of tumors they had treated in exactly the way doctors recommended—they died a few months later than they might have otherwise, in agonies they might have been spared, from costly and ineffectual treatments with severe side effects. There’s no cure, after all, for cancer, though I wonder how much cancer might be prevented if the biopolitical agents our author extols did not devote themselves to coating the entire planet in a shell of plastic. But I’m sure his endorsement elsewhere of “deep climate governance”—i.e., “You’ve used your heat ration for the winter, pleb!”—will solve this problem.

Note, too, the contradictions, flagrant in so swaggering an author. First he bizarrely and scornfully attributes to the soixante-huitards a belief in “subjective moral intentionality,” as if a bunch of Nietzscheans talking about the death of the author believed in any such Kantian thing. Then he delivers a moralistic little sermon on masks—wholly ignoring the actual disputed science on the topic—that only makes any sense at all if we subjectively recognize ourselves as moral agents rather than merely biological organisms. These intellectual misanthropes who insist we’re exactly the same as spores and houseflies always run aground on the same problem: if you’re saying it, and especially if you’re saying it to change people’s minds, then it can’t be true. Human exceptionalism, at least on this planet, is not an article of faith but an empirical fact. Marx certainly thought so—see “Alienated Labour” (1844), but then I suppose he was still a Romantic when he wrote that.

As for the wholesale dismissal of Romanticism, I suspect our polemicist hasn’t done the reading. There is no total “disgust with rationality and technology” in Wordsworth or Shelley or Emerson or Melville or Whitman—yes, comp-lit kids, you have to read the English and Americans as well as the French and Germans—only a complaint about their inability to coexist with other dispositions. I have no problem with rationality or technology, but believe their proper role is to serve us, not to master us. I would recommend Dialectic of Enlightenment (1947), but I imagine it comes pre-proscribed by our ardent technologist. And demystification? Please wake me if it’s ever anything other than a rival myth. “Humans are organic objects that should be managed by centralized power” is also a story, not a very good one. A better story, if our author will condescend to read a Romantic, is Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1818, 1831). Often interpreted as a warning about overweening science, it is also a caution—from a woman whose father, mother, husband, and friends were all left-wing radicals who made worse messes of their lives than Ivan Illich made of his—against what one critic memorably calls “Promethean Politics”:

By representing in her creature both the originating ideals and the brutal consequences of the French Revolution, Mary Shelley offered a powerful critique of the ideology of revolution. An abstract idea or cause (e.g. the perfecting of mankind), if not carefully developed within a supportive environment, can become an end that justifies any means, however cruel. As he worked to restore life where death had been, Victor Frankenstein never considered what suffering his freakish child might later endure.

Mary Shelley’s middle-class gradualist liberal female politics—what Nancy Armstrong denounces as the domestic ideology of the English novel tout court—has its own dangers, and is nowadays complicit with the technocrats, as we hear “Think of the children!” used to justify every excess. Still, Frankenstein, with its gain-of-function experiment gone awry, remains a powerful vision of rampant radical technocracy, what may be unleashed on humanity when the quest to master what cannot be mastered meets its nemesis. Positive biopolitics, on the other hand, given its implicit endorsement of the powers that be and its emptily denunciatory rhetoric, is yet more evidence that we no longer have left-wing ideas in America but only “irritable mental gestures which seek to resemble ideas.”

#leftism #marxism #critical theory #philosophy #mary shelley #michael foucault #hannah arent #giorgio agamben #ivan illich #benjamin bratton

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revisitedgrunt · 4 years

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Motherland: Fort Salem. Episode 1x05: Bellweather Season.

Being completely honest with y'all, this episode ruined me. It's taken me a while and several rewatches to sort out my thoughts and feelings. Now I want to talk about it. I'm going to go scene by scene, so this isn't a rambling stream of consciousness. This will be very long and image heavy.

I find the Unit's dynamics interesting. We've seen them get closer and work together better, but Raelle and Abigail both have strong personalities, and very different life experiences. One wrong word can immediately start a fight. Abigail uses the phrase “the community that matters”, which is incredibly elitist. Raelle, rightly, takes offence and ends up storming out.

The first Raylla scene of the episode. Scylla combines some minor manipulation, which is an attempt to get invited to the wedding with, in my opinion, a real story about her past. I believe everything Scylla has told us about her past. Porter confirmed that her parents died, and in the last two episodes we've seen Scylla start to open up with Raelle. They talk about running away, and less than five minutes into the episode, we get this.

I may, or may not, have let out this really unflattering squeal. Part of me is still amazed by this relationship. Every week I think we've hit the limit on how awesome it can get, and every week I'm proven wrong.

Raelle making a bird skull charm for Scylla is so sweet. I think Scylla's linking spell is going to be very important in the episodes to come. I do wonder if the mark is permanent. I hope not, just for the fact that Scylla permanently marking Raelle, without her permission, is not a nice thing to do.

We get another kiss and Raelle cups Scylla's chin again, which I am a big fan of.

You can see Scylla smiling when she enters her room. She genuinely likes spending time with Raelle. With the way she caresses the bird skull, we can see she's really touched by Raelle's gift.

We're then reminded that the Spree is a terrible organisation, when they threaten Scylla again. I'll probably talk more about the Spree later.

Scylla pretending to be a waitress was smart. However, the smarter play would have been to stay undercover until it was closer to 6pm, as she would have avoided unwanted attention. How much of this was a mistake on her part, and how much was it wanting to spend time with her girlfriend?

I love the lingering fire effect in the hair. It's such a cool detail.

Scylla's adorable little “Hi!” added 10 years to my life.

Raelle being super excited to see Scylla and the banter about the “corsage” was very cute. Raelle proves, once again, that she's a great girlfriend by introducing Scylla to the Bellweathers.

We get more confirmation that Abigail doesn't like Scylla, calling her “Another shitbird.” I believe her antagonism towards Scylla is because she thinks she's a distraction. Abigail thinks if Scylla wasn't around, Raelle would be more invested and involved in the Unit. However, we know this isn't the case, if it wasn't for Scylla, Raelle wouldn't be trying at all. Abigail should be thanking Scylla.

I love world building so I thought the wedding was really interesting. We find out that weddings are a contract that lasts for five years, which explains Abigail's different fathers. I think families like the Bellweathers think this is a way to strengthen their bloodline. The women can have several babies with different fathers, which helps expand the family. I think civilian weddings are still for life. Raelle's mom and dad were still together when Willa died.

What makes a believable relationship for me, is the small things. Not great declarations of love, but how they stand next to each other, how comfortable they seem together, how they look at each other and when they reach for each other. This was a great example of that.

I thought the scenes of Abigail trying to corral her unit were hilarious. She's desperately trying to make a good impression, and they unintentionally embarrass her every time. Scylla's “They have lobster.” and Tally's gasp gave me a good laugh.

Our first scene of Raylla dancing. When I saw the pictures I thought it would be a one and done deal. I should know by now that Motherland: Fort Salem always goes the extra mile when it comes to their wlw couple.

Raelle putting a protective arm in front of Scylla, starting down Anacostia and telling her “She goes where I go. Scylla's my girlfriend.” Just... wow. That was hot. And to illustrate the point, she gives Scylla a long, lingering kiss.

Anacostia v Scylla, round 2. I think Anacostia is incredibly cool, but I'm always gonna have Scylla's back. Scylla tries to protect Raelle and takes the heat for their relationship. Seeing her sass Anacostia was pretty amusing. Then she immediately grabs some drinks.

I'm not sure why Anacostia has a problem with Scylla. Is it the same reason as Abigail, or something different? Is Scylla not a good cadet? Does Anacostia think Scylla will hinder Raelle's performance? Scylla was right though, Raelle did start trying because of her. We also know Raelle is almost always boosted because she's having sex with Scylla.

Jessica Sutton's expressions this episode were perfection.

Every Raylla scene warms my cold, dead heart. How cute are they about the “girlfriend part”! And Scylla dancing Raelle onto the dance floor! And the way Scylla keeps eye contact with Raelle! I just can't!

Look at the smile Scylla gives Raelle!!!

This is a pretty upbeat song and you can see the other dancers energetically dancing. But Raylla are just slow dancing, wanting to be as close to each other as they can. You can also see Raelle has this soft smile on her face. The amount of care and detail Taylor and Amalia put into their scenes together, never fails to amaze me. It's so obvious they want to make this relationship as believable as possible.

Gerit got engaged before Baltane, went to the festival thinking he'd hook up with a girl and give her a power boost, and fell in love. He really does try to tell Tally he's engaged. I just feel sad for the both of them. I'm not really into heterosexual ships, but they were cute. I wonder if this is the end, or if Gerit will break off his engagement. Seeing Tally cry hurt, a lot.

Abigail gets smacked in the face with her privilege. For how different the universe of Motherland is to our own, some things are still very much the same. The rich and powerful will get all the opportunities, whether they deserve them or not. I do respect Abigail for wanting to make it on her own merits and not coast on her name.

I really admire Raelle's courage. She's a first year cadet, but she marches up to General Petra Bellweather and demands answers about her mom. She doesn't get them. Like any good politician, Petra deflects and heaps praise on both Willa and Raelle. It takes the fight out of Raelle, but made me even more angry.

Ashley and Bernadette did a really good job conveying Abigail and Charvel's relationship in the time they were given. They are cousins, but you see they are close and I got a sibling vibe from them. With the advice Charvel gave Abigail throughout the episode, she came across as an older sister. This makes me wonder if Abigail does have actual siblings. Given what we know of the Bellweathers, it would surprise me if Petra only had one child.

Scylla does a really bad job of checking the bathroom.

It's telling to me that Scylla tells the balloon “I need to know she will be safe, once I get her there. Should I wait with her?” I've always believed Scylla had genuine feelings for Raelle, and this is more confirmation. The balloon is clearly not a Raylla shipper.

Tally sees the balloon, and Scylla's cover is blown. I did not expect this to happen so early in the season, or for it to happen this way. Motherland keeps me guessing.

With 5 minutes left to get Raelle to the extraction point, Scylla sees a downhearted Raelle. She makes a half-hearted attempt to complete her mission, but there's no conviction there. She doesn't want to do it. When Raelle asks if they can dance instead, Scylla could have tried to convince Raelle to go for a walk, she didn't. She chose to dance with her. Scylla was scared, Scylla knew she was going fail her mission. She had to make a choice, The Spree or Raelle. She chose Raelle.

Tally telling Anacostia about Scylla was smart. I briefly thought that she might tell Raelle, but that would not have gone well, and doing it at the wedding would not have been the right time. Now Scylla's number one fan has a legitimate reason to not like her.

And now we get to the scene that killed me. I'm not gonna lie, I cried. I don't really get emotional about TV shows, but I've really come to love Raylla and this hit me hard. As soon as that song started playing, I knew I was in trouble. I started to choke up when Scylla remembered the times she'd spent with Raelle. My eyes started to water when I saw how scared she was she'd missed the deadline. When she told Raelle she loved her, I totally lost it. Raelle's smile was the last punch to the heart. I was a complete mess by the end of this scene. We leave the scene with Scylla looking incredibly sad.

This was Scylla saying goodbye to Raelle. She knows she can't stay at Fort Salem, she knows the Spree will come for her. If she doesn't run, she's as good as dead. I really hope that this episode alleviated any doubts anyone still had about Scylla. It is now absolutely clear that she loves Raelle.

Fortunately the next scene was much more upbeat and light hearted. Joking, we find out Charvel has been murdered, brutally. Most of her throat has been cut out. The effects were excellent and very gory. Abigail is ambushed by two Spree members and we see that they can nullify a witches abilities, when Abigail tries to Windstrike them and nothing happens.

Things go from bad to worse.

I'm not sure if this was always the plan, or a backup in case Scylla failed. My opinion was this was always the plan, and was set up to distract people so they wouldn't realise Raelle and Scylla had disappeared.

The witches summon a tornado and disable the balloons. The tornado looked pretty big and I thought back to the witch in episode 1 who was controlling 6 tornadoes at once. That seemed pretty powerful at the time, but I remember them being small, so I assume if they combine their power, they can summon bigger tornados.

Petra finds Abigail just in time to stop her daughter getting murdered.

During a well choreographed fight scene, we are reminded that these women are soldiers. Even without “the work” they are trained in hand to hand combat. We see both Abigail and Petra are good fighters. Abigail has a very badass moment here, after getting stabbed, she pulls out the knife and uses it on her attacker.

The Spree members set themselves on fire, so they can't be questioned, which is par for the course for fanatics. I had expressed sympathy for the Spree before. I said their cause was just as they were trying to liberate witches. I even understood them killing civilians, the civilian Government is the body forcing them to join the army, or be hunted. However, it now seems the Spree are equally terrible towards other witches. They brutally murder Charvel, a fellow witch and threaten Scylla's life if she doesn't do exactly what they say. At this point I say screw the army and the Spree, I want the Unit and Scylla to form a third faction.

In all the confusion, Scylla disappears. I think we’re meant to believe that she ran, but I think it’s more likely Anacostia grabbed her, as she is noticeable absent during the Spree attack. I think Scylla is probably in some secret dungeon at Fort Salem, and we'll get to see just what that mark she put on Raelle actually does.

The episode ends with the Unit comforting each other.

It's interesting that in some way, each member of the Unit experienced a loss this episode. Abigail lost her cousin, Tally lost her first love and some of her innocence, and Raelle lost the girl she's fallen madly in love with. Hopefully they'll continue to support each other as they heal.

The sheer amount of Raylla in this episode was unbelievable. I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say their scenes from this single episode, would probably cover 6 episodes on any other show, if we’re lucky. I'll keep saying it, I have never seen a show give a wlw couple this amount of time, care and respect.

It seems like we may not see them together for a while. I'm OK with that. We've had so much content over the last five episodes, more than I have seen in any other show. And remember, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Imagine the amazing scene we'll get when they reunite. Taylor and Amalia will knock that out of the park.

I thought this was the best episode so far, and one of the best hours of TV I've ever seen. This had the perfect mix of world building, humor, sadness, tenseness, action and romance. This show is such a gift and I can never thank the cast and crew enough for it.

#motherland fort salem #motherland: fort salem #raelle collar #scylla ramshorn #raylla #abigail bellweather #tally craven #anacostia quartermaine

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 18: Summers In Florence] [Series Finale]

A/N: If it doesn’t end with a wedding, is it even my fic??! 😂 For those who somehow haven’t yet read Baby You Were My Picket Fence (my most popular series), you might be a tiny bit confused during this chapter. Just roll with it. 😉 Also, COVID-19 doesn’t exist. What a wonderful world. Thank you so much for sticking with me and BYCNL. I love you all. 💜

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @anotheronewritesthedust1 @pomjompish @writerxinthedark @culturefiendtrashqueen @allauraleigh @deakydeacy @bluutac @johndeaconshands @nyxaura

It’s May 25th, 1984, and Roger and John are in Perth, Australia to promote Queen’s eleventh album, The Works.

Interviewer, daytime television host Ronald Inglewood: “Good morning and welcome to our viewers across Australia! We’re sitting down this morning with Roger Taylor and John Deacon, respectively the drummer and bassist of Queen, who are here to talk about the band’s brand new album called—quite self-assuredly, if I may say so, gentlemen—The Works. Hello to you both.”

Roger: “Good morning, Ron!”

John: “Hello.”

Interviewer: “And this latest album has been rather well-received so far, is that right?”

Roger: “It has, yes, and we’re enormously proud of it.”

Interviewer: “Now, The Works is a very different album than Hot Space, Queen’s sort of notorious foray into disco...do you think the back-to-basics, classic rock and roll feel of The Works has been the driving force behind its success?”

Roger: “Well, you know...I think experimentation is very important. We’ve always been an experimental band. The single Bohemian Rhapsody was hugely experimental, and that’s why it was such a phenomenon. We were experimenting long before A Night At The Opera, and I suspect we’ll keep on trying new things until we run out of ideas, whenever that is! I didn’t love every song on Hot Space, I’ll be completely transparent about that, but I certainly don’t think the album was a failure or a waste of time. It was an experiment. And The Works is an experiment as well, just one that runs in a different vein, I suppose.”

John: “Some people did actually enjoy Hot Space.”

Roger: “I think I know one or two.”

Interviewer: “Of course, it did have its bright spots. Under Pressure remains one of Queen’s biggest hits, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Yes, and John wrote the bassline for that one!”

Interviewer: “Really?!”

John: “And Roger has his own hit on The Works, at last. We’re all very happy for him.”

Roger: “Only took ten years.”

John: “Fourteen, actually.”

Roger: “I’m going to murder you as soon as we get backstage.”

John: “You’re welcome to try.”

Interviewer: “Now this hit of yours, Roger, is Radio Ga Ga. And I’m sure we’ve all seen the famous music video, the hovercraft, the futurism, the clapping...we’ve all seen it, right? Where on earth did you get the idea for that song?”

Roger: “It actually originated from something I heard my daughter Violet say.”

Interviewer: “Fascinating! And you’ve just welcomed another one recently, haven’t you?”

Roger: “Yes, last month, in fact. A little girl named Nora. “

Interviewer: “Congratulations!”

Roger: “Thanks so much, Ron. Our eldest, Violet, turned two in January, and the idea for Radio Ga Ga came about when she was first learning to talk. She would always stumble around—you know how babies do—clapping her hands and squealing the most nonsensical things, and one day she started trying out ‘radio’ and then adding random words to it, ‘radio goo goo,’ ‘radio mama,’ ‘radio dada,’ etcetera. Well ‘radio ga ga’ got stuck in my head and I started sort of lamenting how television had begun to eclipse the radio as a medium for music and entertainment. We were on vacation in California at the time, and I locked myself in a hotel room with a keyboard and a drum machine to get it written. I initially thought it might end up on one of my solo albums, but then John heard it and wrote a bassline, and Freddie really thought it could be a hit and pushed to have it on The Works...and here we are today!”

Interviewer: “That Freddie Mercury has awfully good instincts about these things, doesn’t he?”

John: “Oh, he’s a genius, no doubt about that.”

Interviewer: “And John, I understand you wrote the other single released from The Works, I Want To Break Free. Any deep philosophical messaging in that one?”

John: “Well I suppose we’ve all been in situations that feel...rather constraining or hopeless. And then things that bring us back to life again. So this song is about a character going through that process and coming out on the other side.”

Interviewer: “Indeed.”

John: “But we wanted to keep things amusing and lighthearted in the music video, hence the dressing in drag bit. And to our absolute horror, Roger was very alluring as a schoolgirl.”

Roger: “It’s true. I have irresistible legs. I was born to wear miniskirts.”

Interviewer: “Ah, this is the music video that is beloved in Europe and here in Australia but has stirred up so much controversy over in the States. Has the hullabaloo dampened your enthusiasm for the song, or even the entire album, somewhat?”

Roger: “We’re not bothered much at all, to be honest with you. It’s like I said, Queen is always going to have fun and experiment and take creative risks. And if people don’t like it, then they’re welcome to not listen.”

Interviewer: “Yes, yes, I suppose you could say that.”

Roger: “Americans, you know, they can just be so bloody puritanical. It absolutely takes all the enjoyment out of life. All the humor. Americans these days can be very difficult for us to connect with.”

John: “Well, not all of them.”

Roger: “No, of course, not all of them.”

John: “But we’ll start touring at the end of August, and we’ll be spending several months in the States, so they have time to come around to us. We’re all really looking forward to being on the road again.”

Interviewer: “It has certainly been and will continue to be a very eventful year for Queen. And for the four of you personally. A new baby for Roger, and you’ve just gotten married, haven’t you John?”

John: “I did, yes. And Roger was in attendance! No miniskirt that day, though. Sadly.”

Roger: “The whole band was there. And my girlfriend and children too. It was quite a party.”

Interviewer: “That’s wonderful to hear, considering the...the...well, not to bring up tabloid gossip, but the complexity of the situation. It was a destination wedding, wasn’t it?”

John: “Yes, we were married in the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy. It’s breathtaking, the largest Franciscan church in the world, built in the 1300s. And we filled it with friends and family and live music and flowers and food...all the trappings. Took about a million photos. Celebrated until dawn.”

Roger: “It was a very sentimental occasion. Everyone really enjoyed it. John cried.”

John: “I did, it’s true.”

Roger: “He promised he wouldn’t and then he did.”

John: “Well, you don’t have to bring it up all the time!”

Roger: “It was touching, really.”

Interviewer: “It must have been a magical time. You’re positively radiant, John! Marvelous. And some much-needed good news, I imagine. I understand you’ve recently gone through an exceptionally antagonistic and protracted divorce.”

John: “Well...uh...I suppose that’s...uh...”

Roger: “How about we ask you the same thing? How was your divorce, Ron?”

Interviewer: “What?”

Roger: “You’re on your third marriage, is that right? And I think I heard that the latest Mrs. Inglewood is very young indeed, almost thirty years your junior. How did your former wife take that news? How did your adult children? How was your goddamn divorce?”

Interviewer: “That’s a rude question.”

Roger: “Yes, you’re right, it’s an extremely rude question. So you shouldn’t fucking ask it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 25th, 1986, and the children are tearing open presents under a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree in the living room of Garden Lodge.

Freddie and Jim Hutton are serving cookies and milk and clapping their hands as they tower over tiny shoulders, cheering the kids on as they litter the floor with wrapping paper and bows and scatter their new toys everywhere: Care Bears, Magic 8 Balls, My Little Ponies, Mr. Potato Heads, Barbies, Etch-A-Sketches, Transformers, miniature Lukes and Leias and Chewbaccas, View-Masters with scenes of oceans and deserts and forests and stars. With so many fragmented families, there was only one logical approach to handling major holidays: convincing everyone to celebrate together on neutral ground.

Mary and Veronica are chatting by the roaring fireplace. Phoebe, Joe Fanelli, John, and Roger are embroiled in a brutally competitive Scrabble game; Dominique, smirking stealthily, leans over Roger to read his tiles and periodically whispers ideas to him. Brian and Anita are circling the flock of giggling children—Laszlo, Anna, Teddy, Evelyn, Lena, Antoni, Violet, and Nora—and snapping photos with your Canon between long, yearning gazes at one another, wearing matching Christmas sweaters that are a deep, passionate crimson. Chrissie’s husband Denny is admiring Freddie’s extensive vinyl record collection as he sips a hot chocolate and compulsively strokes his green-and-red striped tie. Tiffany the cat rolls around between his feet and occasionally hisses or gnaws on an ankle, which Denny takes in stride, as he does most things.

Meanwhile, you and Chrissie are camped out by the wet bar, drinking mulled wine and nibbling on cookies shaped like snowmen and reindeer. You give Veronica a wide berth with the children anytime you’re in the same space; she hates you, and she’ll probably always hate you, but she loves her children too much to poison them with that reality. Their happiness is her whole life, her purpose. And that’s the only thing that finally convinced her to come to the bargaining table.

“She seems...nice,” you tell Chrissie, gesturing to where Anita is crouching to wrestle a Yoda piggy bank away from Antoni before he can lob Teddy on the head with it. To John’s children, Veronica is “mum” and you’re the distinctly more American “mama”; and no one ever really taught them that, they just started doing it somewhere along the way.

Chrissie rolls her eyes and shifts Stevie to her other hip. For two and a half years after leaving Brian, Chrissie made it her mission to date at least one man from every country in Europe. She managed to cross off Ireland, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, Sweden, Switzerland, Portugal, Poland, and Greece before meeting professional archer Dennis Clarke at the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. They got engaged at Christmas, eloped on New Year’s Day, and had a daughter that Chrissie named after Stevie Nicks nine months later. Stevie Clarke has adorably chubby baby legs, wide blue eyes, and blonde hair without a single spiraled ringlet.

“My therapist said I needed to cultivate a rapport with Brian for the good of the kids,” Chrissie says. “You know. Be the bigger person. Get amnesia and forget about how he made my life a living hell. Act like I don’t want to freaking decapitate him. So I, trying to be nice, trying to rise above and make polite small talk with my nauseating ex-husband, made a comment about how much I liked EastEnders. So he starts watching EastEnders. Then he begins to fancy one of the actresses. Then he meets her at a movie premier in Beverly Hills and invites her to the concert at Wembley. Then he ends up in love with the woman. What the fuck. You couldn’t write this shit.”

“Love is a roulette wheel,” you agree.

Chrissie scoffs sardonically. “Yeah. Russian roulette, maybe.”

After his marriage fell apart, Brian bounced between New Orleans and London, liberated bliss and aimless, disgraced, black depression. Whoever Peaches is as a person, she couldn’t tame Brian’s demons. You worried about him almost constantly until he started seeing Anita. She’s cheerful and magnetic and persistently hopeful in a way that reminds you of Roger. She’s good for Brian. She’s good for all of you. Well...Chrissie is still coming around to the idea.

“I do like that she wasn’t fucking my husband behind my back,” Chrissie muses. “So that’s something.”

“And she’s good with the kids.”

“True...”

“And her hair matches Brian’s.”

Chrissie laughs. Her sparkling ornament earrings jangle, and Stevie paws for them with minuscule, uncoordinated, wrinkly hands. “Okay. You win. I don’t despise her.”

“That’s the Christmas spirit.” You knock back the rest of your mulled wine. “I’m gonna go search the refrigerator for cheese cubes, you want anything?”

“Yeah, a Valium.”

“Slavic Jesus would be horrified. And on his birthday!”

Chrissie grins. “Surely drugs would be the least of our sins.”

Freddie’s sunshine-yellow refrigerator is enormous and a labyrinth of shelves and crevices without a single tray of cheese cubes in sight. You sift through jars of olives, bottles of champagne, a glazed ham waiting to be put in the oven, a sack of yams, eggnog, rising bread dough, and numerous pies—apple and cherry and lemon chiffon, naturally—swathed in aluminum foil.

“Damn,” you mutter, and then you try a mysterious drawer beneath the double doors of the refrigerator. Lo and behold, it contains a sprawling tray of cheeses. “Yaaaaassssss.” You lift the tray out, set it on the kitchen counter, and peel back the clear, clinging saran wrap. As you spear cheese cubes with a decorative toothpick—the handle is a little plastic Christmas tree—and plop them onto an appetizer plate, you hear the click of heels on the hardwood floor behind you.

You glance back. “Hi, Dom. Can I offer you any of Fred’s extremely expensive and exotic cheeses?”

“Sure,” she replies in that effortlessly elegant French accent; but that’s not why she’s here. She’s wringing her delicate hands, which are bronzed from her last holiday to Ibiza and ringless. Dom divorced the husband she had back in France—or maybe he divorced her, who knows, that’s not your business, although Roger would tell you if you ever asked—and she and Roger signed papers for the good of their daughters. But being Roger Taylor’s wife is not always such an easy thing.

“He’s getting bad again, isn’t he?” you ask softly.

Dominique nods; but you already knew.

Roger was perfect for years after they had Violet: attentive, content, startlingly domestic. He rarely popped pills. He went to physical therapy. He quit smoking six months ago at Dominique’s insistence, around the same time John quit for you. But since the Magic Tour ended in August—and with no new tour in sight, considering Freddie’s seeming reticence about scheduling another—he’s started to drink more, stay home less, disappear at night citing dinners or parties or recording sessions that Dom isn’t invited to. He’s edgy and irritable. He’s rarely home when John calls. And you can see all those immortal shadows of imperfection creeping back into him like storm clouds, like smoke.

“I’m going to tell you something,” you say. “It’s very similar to what somebody else once told me. I wasn’t ready to understand it yet, to really let myself feel it, to believe it, but you might be able to.”

She watches you with those vast oil-well eyes, biting her lower lip, waiting.

“Roger is wildfire. He’s bright, yes, he’s warm, but he’s reckless and insatiable too. He always has been. He always will be. And that has nothing at all to do with you. It’s not your fault. He’s wonderful, of course, and you already know that; he dazzles people, he makes life so exhilaratingly beautiful that you forget what it felt like without him. But he’ll always disappoint you. He’ll relapse, he’ll cheat, he’ll come home late, he won’t come home at all. And he’ll hurt you. He’ll do it as many times as you’ll let him. But here’s the thing other people won’t tell you.” You smile at her, with empathy, with sorrow, with hope. “It might still be worth it.”

Dominique blinks, not understanding.

“It might be enough for you to only ever have part of him, because that part is so incredibly brilliant. It was almost enough for me. And I would never blame you for leaving Roger. But I wouldn’t blame you for staying either.”

And then you embrace her, and she latches onto you, her long manicured nails nipping through your sweater, her Coco Chanel perfume a plume that fills the kitchen. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You hold her until she pulls away, swiping at her tearing eyes with slim fragile fingers, sniffling, looking away to hide her heartbreak behind her shock of glossy bangs.

“Here.” You pile an appetizer plate high with cheese cubes and shove it into her hands.

Stunned, she giggles. “All my woes have vanished.”

“That’s exactly how stolen cheese works,” And then, seriously: “Don’t be sad on Christmas, Dom. There’s plenty of time for that later. And I’ll do everything I can to help him.”

“That’s why you’ll never leave the band, isn’t it? You can’t leave Roger alone. You can’t let him destroy himself.”

“I owe him,” you say simply. “Without him I never would have followed Queen to London. I never would have found this family. I never would have married John. Roger took things from me, yes, of course he did. He took until I felt empty. But he also gave me the world.”

She nods slowly, thoughtfully.

“Please, Dom. Go enjoy yourself.”

“Alright. Joyeux Noël.” She gives you a parting wave and slips back out into the living room, where Freddie is now playing the grand piano and signing Thank God It’s Christmas. Roger is assisting in an increasingly hoarse falsetto.

A moment after Dominique leaves, John strolls into the kitchen, humming merrily. He stops dead when he sees your somber face, your shining eyes. “Who do I have to fuck up?”

You chuckle and shake your head. “No one. I just heard something sad.”

“Not about you, I hope.”

“No, I don’t have many sad stories anymore.”

“Yeah, me either.”

He reaches out to take your hand. A sapphire glints on your left ring finger, and it means everything.

“You sure you don’t need me to torment anyone for you? I could get drunk and plow my Benz into their house. Or write a scathing diss track about them. Was it Brian? Please tell me it was Brian.”

You laugh and twirl a lock of his fluffy hair. “That won’t be necessary.”

“In that case, you’re needed in the living room immediately,” John says, smiling. “Antoni climbed halfway up the Christmas tree and says he won’t come down for anyone except his mama.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s November 3rd, 1999, and Roger, John, and Brian are promoting Queen’s upcoming compilation album, Greatest Hits III.

Interviewer, daytime television host Brad Chenoweth: “Today we have a very special treat for our viewers. Here with us in our London studio are the men of Queen: guitarist Brian May, drummer Roger Taylor, and bassist John Deacon. Good morning, and thank you all so much for being here.”

Brian: “It’s our pleasure.”

Roger: “I do screams as well as drums, Brad.”

Interviewer: “Hahaha, yes, of course. Now Queen has had an extremely busy year, and this Greatest Hits album has a few new selections on it, right? Take us through that process.”

Brian: “It does have a few new tracks, that’s correct. You know, ever since Freddie...ever since we lost Freddie Mercury, I mean, you know, it’s impossible to fill a space like the one that he left in the world.”

Roger: “Yes, yes.”

Brian: “But as difficult as it was, after finally finishing Made In Heaven in 1995 and getting it just right, feeling as if we had really done Freddie justice...we were left with this distressing feeling of ‘what’s next?’ What are the three of us supposed to do with ourselves? Split up and never work together again? Retire to the seashore? Open up some corner store to putter around in until we die?”

Roger: “A clog shop, perhaps.”

Interviewer: “You were thinking, ‘well hell, we’ve got plenty of talent ourselves!’”

Roger: “Well, talent, yes, but also energy. Drive. We’ve been working at being one of the best bands in the world for almost thirty years now, Brad. I wouldn’t even know how to begin to stop.”

Brian: “None of us wanted to stop, we came to that realization. And so we’ve done a tremendous amount of benefit concerts and recording sessions with some of the best artists of our time, and I think people who listen to this album are really going to appreciate that. We’ve got a live version of Somebody to Love with George Michael, and The Show Must Go On with Elton John, he’s just lovely to work with...oh and a rap version of Another One Bites The Dust with Wyclef Jean, which John was not exactly a fan of. But we all have to learn to give and take, don’t we?”

Interviewer: “Absolutely, and I’m really looking forward to getting my hands on a copy of this record. Is there any chance Queen might settle on a permanent new front man one day?”

Roger: “If we can ever find somebody John likes enough!”

Interviewer: “But, truthfully...none of you wanted to quit after Freddie passed away? It was a unanimous decision to keep with it?”

Roger: “Essentially, yes. I mean I think it was an all or nothing deal, wasn’t it? If one of us left then that would throw the whole thing off. I was always adamant from very early on in the band’s lifetime that I wouldn’t be interested in continuing without John. And I couldn’t imagine him and Brian being left alone together, my god, there’d be literal bloodshed, someone’s throat would be cut within the hour, believe me.”

John: “We might have lasted a day or two. But yes, it was more or less unanimous.”

Interviewer: “Now you’ve always been known as the quiet, domestic one, John. You weren’t tempted by the thought of retirement? Not even for a moment?”

John: “Well...I think it depends on the circumstances, really. I like working, and I like touring and traveling a good part of the year. But I imagine I’d get very homesick if I was alone on the road. Fortunately, that’s not the case. So the thought of retirement didn’t appeal to me nearly as much as it might have otherwise.”

Interviewer: “That’s right, I understand that your wife has been Queen’s touring nurse for...how long now? Twenty years?”

John: “Since 1974, so that’s twenty-five years.”

Roger: “Wow. It’s been that long?!”

Brian: “Feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

Interviewer: “How lucky for you, John. And look, you’re beaming!”

Roger: “Get it together, Deaks.”

John: “I’m an astronomically lucky man. It’s like having home with you anywhere in the world.”

Roger: “She’s good for curing hangovers as well, so that’s useful. And she knits everyone hats.”

Interviewer: “And you’ve got children, haven’t you John?’

John: “Four from my first marriage, yes. They’re all adults now so they come to visit us quite often, especially when we’re travelling. It worked out beautifully really, because they’re very close to their mother, of course, but my wife and I got together when they were all still fairly young, and so she’s always been there for them as they’ve grown up. My youngest especially was a rather...how would you say it diplomatically? A spirited child. But he warmed to her right away.”

Brian: “All the children are still friendly with each other as well, mine and Roger’s and John’s.”

Interviewer: “One big happy family, huh?”

Roger: “There are still a good amount of screaming matches between us dads, to be completely forthcoming.”

John: “You have to keep things interesting.”

Roger: “Exactly!”

Interviewer: “Yes, one can sense that there are still plenty of egos in this room, even after all these years! Tell me, Queen is nearly three decades old now, a worldwide phenomenon, the second-bestselling artist in the UK of all time behind the Beatles...how have you stayed together for so long when most bands last only a fraction of Queen’s lifespan?”

John: “Well I think we’ve all, you know, for the good of the band we’ve all had to grow towards each other to bridge the disagreements and keep peace. For example, I’ve had to learn to be more communicative, more open to collaboration and change. I can be someone who’s very comfortable being in the background. But then I’m resentful if people don’t see my point of view, even if I haven’t properly expressed it. So I have certainly had to work on that quite a lot.”

Brian: “Yes, John, I think that’s very true. Personally, I’ve had to learn to not get lost in the details so much. I have a bad habit of getting so fixated on something that I cause a massive row over a vanishingly small aspect of a song that no one else will ever notice. It’s just not worth the strife. So I’ve really tried to avoid that. Although, I’ll admit it, I still occasionally cause my share of drama.”

John: “Oh, sure.”

Roger: “And I’ve had to work on being less...”

John: “Annoying?”

Brian: “Combative?”

Roger: “Fiery.”

John: “That’s one word for it.”

Interviewer: “Was there ever a time when Queen’s existence was in serious jeopardy? And if so, how did you pull through?”

Brian: “Well, to be perfectly honest, as a band we went through quite a difficult time in the early 80s. And then we did again in the early 90s. And on both occasions there was a real worry that Queen might be over and we would all go our separate ways. But what kept us together through that...and feel free to disagree, Rog, John, if you have a different perspective...but what I feel kept us together was this profound sense of family. Queen predates all of our marriages, our children, our successes in the music industry or otherwise. It has become a constant place of belonging in the midst of professional and personal turmoil. And now our partners and children have been integrated into that network as well, so even if an individual relationship is strained or falls apart, the gravity of the band keeps us all in a perpetual symbiotic orbit. And I don’t see that ever ending.”

John: “Yes, well, I suppose that about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Roger: “Bleeding christ, Brian. ‘Perpetual symbiotic orbit.’ Just say we’re friends, you pretentious twit.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s August 19th, 2020, and John’s 69th birthday party is winding down as the sun dips lazily into the rust-colored western horizon.

You’re standing on the cobblestones in the garden behind the Surrey house. You had always thought it was too extravagant, too massive; it wasn’t until Roger sold it to you and John in the spring of 1982 that you realized it was the perfect size after all. Six bedrooms meant one for each of the children, one for you and John—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper and nautical decorations, to be exact—and the last for when Chrissie and Denny or Roger and Dom stay the night, which is fairly frequently. Your vacation home, where you and John spend most of the summer when Queen isn’t on tour, is a little country cottage in the sunlit Alpine hills of Florence, Italy. John designed it himself, every last detail; right down to the white picket fence grown over with ivy.

“Look what we got in the mail.” You hold up the invitation to show your husband, grinning, raising your eyebrows. “Guess we have to buy him another toaster.”

He reads the names on the shimmering cardstock patterned with jungle ferns and dinosaur footprints. Interesting choices. “Is Ben actually going through with it this time?”

“John!”

“Wasn’t he supposed to marry some Italian heiress or something?”

“Love can be complicated, Mr. Deacon,” you remind him.

When he smiles, crinkles spring up around his eyes. “Yes, I suppose it can be.”

“Ben Hardy’s having another wedding?” Chrissie calls over from where she’s shooting arrows at the archery targets set up in the backyard. Denny periodically steps in to correct the angle of her wrist or elbow. “And Queen’s invited this time?”

“Apparently,” you reply. “You could go too if you were still married to Brian.”

“Ha!” Chrissie cackles and looses an arrow. It hits damn near the bullseye. “Not worth it.”

“I’ll bring back all the scandalous gossip I can scrounge for you.”

“You better. What do the kids call it now? Spilling the tea? Spill all the tea, bitch.”

“Oh, kettles and kettles’ worth.”

“So a teapot,” John says. “Not another toaster. Maybe decorated with...” He squints at the invitation again. “What’s the theme? What do they like? Fossils? Brontosauruses?”

“Bizarre people,” Chrissie mutters.

“I’ll figure something out,” you say. “Something special. Something old.”

“John?” Brian shouts from the doorway that leads into the kitchen. Inside the refrigerator is covered with sketches and birthday cards and photographs curling and fading around the edges. “Anita and I are heading out now, can we get a hug goodbye?”

“Ugh,” John jokes. “Well, alright.” He gives you a wink as he trots off.

The Surrey house isn’t exactly roaring—John has never been one for crowds, and incidentally neither have you—but it is alive with his children and grandchildren and life-long friends. Not just his, you correct yourself. Ours.

Veronica—once Tetzlaff, then Deacon, then Tetzlaff again, and finally Kowalski—is not in attendance. You see her only at holidays and birthday celebrations for the kids and grandchildren, and even then only in passing. She is still cold towards you, resentful, extremely Catholic...although somewhat less dogmatic since her second husband Ivan, a former priest, left the Church to marry her. When the last of her children were grown, Veronica got certified to be a doula and now primarily serves unwed mothers seeking assistance from Catholic charities in London. She mentioned to Chrissie, who later told you, that something you had once done for her had inspired her to pursue it. That’s the only nice thing you’ve heard her say about you in almost forty years.

Roger wanders over to meet you, nursing a Heineken, stroking his white beard with his free hand. He and Dominique have always been off and on—including a few years in the late 80s when he moved out of their three-story Kensington townhouse and had a daughter called Adeline with some leggy, platinum blonde supermodel—but these days they’re mostly on. He and Dom had two children after their reconciliation: a son, Blaise, and a daughter named by Freddie after the Japanese word for tiger, Tora.

You gaze out into the sunset. Half of the garden is flooded with white calla lilies, a new bouquet for every February 15th since 1978.

“You’ll be sending back an RSVP in the affirmative?” Roger asks.

“Of course! Any excuse to visit the States. And I like Ben. Although he doesn’t look anything like you.”

He groans. “Those wigs, bloody hell.”

“It’s like they produced a whole movie just to have an excuse to make fun of your atrociously crunchy bleached hair.”

“And I bet you enjoyed that.”

“You deserved it.” When Freddie’s health began to fail and Queen stopped touring, you went back to school to get a degree in physical therapy. You and Roger have sessions three times a week, provided he’s on the wagon; and he usually is, nowadays. When he’s not, John’s the one to get the call from Dominique, and he hunts Roger down, convinces him to come home, works whatever quiet, soothing magic he carries around in his deep pacific blood. But right this moment, Roger is awfully quiet himself. His large, pale eyes—like clear water, like unraveling delphiniums, like the harmony that only comes when age burns away all those last entrenched talons of bitterness, of fear—skate over the calla lilies.

“Do you think things would have been different for us?” Roger asks softly. “If she had lived.”

It took you a long time to understand why Roger was in no hurry to get a divorce, to move you out of the Surrey house. They were the only ties he thought he had to anchor you to the band, to him. They were the only cards he thought he had to play to keep you in his life in any capacity. But John fixed that dilemma. He can fix just about anything, you’ve learned.

“No,” you tell Roger. “You would have worn me down eventually. You and your drinking and drugs and late nights and interminable recklessness. It might have taken longer, but we always would have ended. And John always would have been my home. She wouldn’t have kept us together. She just would have lived. And I wouldn’t have loved her for being a part of you. I would have loved her for whoever she was, whoever she grew up to be. But now I’ll never know who that would have been. I love the children I have, Roger, I do. But I still miss her, miss the person she would have been. It’s like chasing a shadow. It’s like a page of a book written in a language I can’t read. And it’s a feeling that never quite goes away.”

He smiles at you wearily, immensely sad, full of perfect understanding. “I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s October 10th, 2020, and the reception is held under shedding autumn leaves the color of rubies and imperial topaz and amber and yellow jade. The exuberant bride and groom weave through the crowds milling about the quaint farm, which is nestled in the hills of a small town in Northern California called Zenia. It belongs to Gwilym, apparently, and he and his flame-haired girlfriend Shiloh are shuttling tirelessly this way and that making sure everything goes according to plan. They don’t speak much to Ben or his new wife directly—there’s a stiltedness there, an uncomfortable period of readjustment that reminds you of how John and Roger were for a while after all the secrets came out—but there is undeniable kinship as well. Love can be complicated, you find yourself thinking, for the innumerable time. But that doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Making the rounds with the bride and groom is a strikingly beautiful, dark-haired boy who wears a miniature suit and a perpetual, mischievous grin. The new Mrs. Hardy almost always has her hand on his shoulder, his back, wiping cake frosting from his cheeks, ruffling his hair.

“Eli is kind of a demon kid,” Joe Mazzello warns you. “But in the best possible way.”

“Hm. I have somewhat of an affinity for demons myself.”

“Clearly,” Roger quips, sipping pink champagne. The snack table is Halloween-themed and extremely casual: Cheetos and pumpkin pie and caramel apples and dinosaur-shaped brownies. Per usual, you’re grazing through an orange paper plate stacked high with enough nibbling material to keep any undesirable small talk at bay. But strangely, in all of the times you’ve crossed his path since Bohemian Rhapsody’s filming began, you’ve never minded chatting with Joe.

“Yeah, you two were married at some point, right?” Joe asks. Then he immediately blanches. “Oh my god. That was so rude. I did not just say that. I’m so sorry. I saw it on Wikipedia. I’m gonna go drown myself in the stream now.”

“No, you’re right!” you admit in a peal of laughter. “Briefly and disastrously.”

“It wasn’t that disastrous,” Roger protests, thieving a Cheeto off your plate. He misplaced his prescription sunglasses on the flight over and is thus relatively helpless.

“Rude. Get your own. They’re over on the other end of the table.”

“I can’t see that far—!”

“Dom?” you call as she sashays over in a flowing white dress and licking a stick of orange rock candy. “Please control your husband.”

She smiles. “If I haven’t managed it yet, I don’t think there’s much hope.” She nods to Joe. “It’s so nice to see you again. Meeting you people was the only bright spot of that whole movie ordeal.”

“What, you didn’t fancy it?” Roger jests.

“At least they included you,” you tell Dom, smirking. “They ignored my existence entirely. They threw in some random woman with zero lines and called her Veronica in the credits. Whatever.”

Dom rolls her expressive umber eyes. “Yes, how flattering, I was in two scenes and one of them involved a joke about Roger cheating on me.”

“You’re a star, baby,” you say. “Deal with it.”

Dom smacks your arm playfully. She may be annoyed, but it doesn’t pain her the way it used to. She’s had decades of practice.

“The script could have been better,” Joe concedes. Then he spies John as he approaches, almost drops his caramel apple, waves frenetically. “Hi, Mr. Deacon! Hi!!”

“Wonderful job with all of this, Joe.” John shakes his hand as Joe gapes at him, starstruck. He’s always like that around John, appreciative, in awe, acutely aware of John’s legendary place in rock and roll history; and you love that someone besides you and Roger look at him that way.

“Thanks, I did it myself. Just kidding. It was 99% Gwil.”

“Well, I’ll still get you front row seats at the next Queen + Adam Lambert show.” It had taken a long time for John to find a front man he liked...a long time. He drove Roger and Brian insane. He kept saying he wanted someone who was like Freddie and yet simultaneously not trying to be Freddie, someone genuinely kind and charismatic and empathetic, an otherworldly talent, a natural performer. And then, on an unassuming spring night in 2009, they found him.

Joe claps a palm on John’s shoulder and grins, his eyes glistening. “I’m obsessed with this little old guy! Obsessed, I tell you!”

“You want to see how old he is?” Roger teases. “Lift up that hand-knit hat and see what’s underneath. I’ll give you a hint. Not much.”

“At least I made it through the 90s without requiring hair plugs,” John counters.

“It was from all the bleaching!!”

“Hi, Rog!” Ben shouts as he rushes to embrace Roger, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mrs. Hardy is still across the field, talking to Brian, Anita, Rami, and Lucy, and trying to convince Eli not to crawl into a chocolate fountain.

Ben Hardy has always been somewhat of an enigma to you, mostly because he’s nothing at all like Roger. He’s subterranean-voiced and emerald-eyed and brooding and guarded and seems so much older than his twenty-nine years, and then every once in a while someone will come along and light him up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Unlike Roger, Ben doesn’t light up for many people. He does for his son Eli, of course, and for Joe Mazzello...and for his new wife. He lights up for her like fucking wildfire.

“Ben,” you say, holding out a bag speckled with black cats. “I have our gift for you.”

“You shouldn’t have! Thank you so much.”

“You can’t thank us until you open it,” John chastises.

So Ben does. Inside is an album of hundreds of photos you’ve taken of Queen since Roger bought you your first Canon for Christmas in 1974: pictures that have never been released publicly of the boys at the Rainbow, at the Budokan, in Rome, in Boston, in Japan, in New Orleans, at Montreal, at Madison Square Garden, at Live Aid, at the Surrey house, at Montreux. Interspersed are some of John’s sketches, the only ones you can bring yourself to part with: close-ups of a long-haired Freddie drawing on messy eyeliner, Roger adjusting his sunglasses with a cigarette smoldering between his fingers, Brian tuning his Red Special.

“Oh my god,” Ben whispers.

“Most of those are very old,” you explain. “And I heard you both like old things.”

“We definitely do.” He hugs you, suddenly and fiercely and warmly; and you catch a glimpse of what it must be like to be one of the few people that he allows to truly know him, those shadowed depths to balance Joe’s uncomplicated light.

Maybe that’s it, you realize. Maybe Joe is more like Roger and Ben like John.

The wedding playlist is exclusively classic rock songs: the Doors and Aerosmith and Fleetwood Mac and Led Zeppelin and Queen. As A Kind Of Magic ends, the eerie opening notes of Hotel California ripple out over the breezy autumn fields.

“Not this fucking song!” Roger cries.

Joe turns to you, confused.

“LSD,” you inform him. “1977. I would not recommend it.”

“Noted.”

Roger continues, rubbing his forehead: “It makes me think of...freaking...weird, creepy shit...like swimming at night through cold water. But I just keep swimming and can’t get anywhere.”

“It makes me think of sharks,” you say. “Maybe they’re related.”

“Freddie always said it made him think of birds,” John sighs. “And the color blue.”

The three of you pause, nodding, remembering.

Joe frowns solemnly, peering down at his shoes. “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

“He would have adored you,” you say.

“Really?”

“Are you kidding?! You would have been best friends. Always looking out for people. Always plotting the next escapade. That charming chaotic energy. The utter inability to bake anything.”

“Awwww.” Joe beams, delighted. “I fucking love you guys.”

“That’s the thing,” Roger says. “People don’t realize it. We’re more of a family than a band. We find people we take a shine to like ancient treasure, snatch them up, sand away all their rough edges, show them everything the world has to offer. And if they can survive the casualties of stardom, that trial by fire, they become permanent. They grow like roots into our blood, our bones...and perhaps we claim a part of theirs as well. They become things we can’t live without.”

“And once you’re in the family,” John tells Joe with a fond, crafty smile. “You can never leave.”

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oddcoupler222 · 4 years

Note

Do you have any book recs like yours and w. epic love scenes like yours?

I appreciate anything I’ve written being called epic in any way :)

I don’t really know if I could accurately compare any books I’ve read to my own but I do have some book recs that I adore! I’ll give you my top ten lesfics for some variety

- Behind the Green Curtain by Riley LaShea (my ultimate fave romance)

When Caton’s sleazy boss offers her a position as his wife’s personal assistant, she accepts the job with reservations, certain Jack Halston has ulterior motives. After meeting Jack’s wife Amelia, though, it’s Caton’s motivations that begin to unravel. As vicious as she is beautiful, Amelia threatens Caton’s position and her sense of decorum. As the attraction between the two women spirals into a torrid affair, Caton is drawn deeper into Jack and Amelia’s world of privilege and prestige, where everything is at stake and nothing is what it seems.

- All That Matters by Susan X Meagher

Life is going damned well for Blair Spencer. She's a very successful real estate agent, happily married to a man who encourages her to live the independent life she loves; and they're actively working to have a baby. The wrench in the works is that Blair favors adoption, while her husband David desperately wants to have a biological child. The fates are against them, and they finally seek the help of a group of reproductive specialists. One of the doctors, a surgeon named Kylie Mackenzie, eventually becomes a good friend to Blair. And she needs all of the friends she can get when things start to go horribly wrong at home. As her marriage teeters on the brink of collapse, she relies more and more on Kylie's friendship. Kylie's happily gay; Blair's happily straight. But the way they structure their relationship leads friends and family to privately question whether the pair is setting themselves up for heartache. They eventually come to a crossroads, which could either destroy their friendship or turn it into what each of them has been seeking. The question is whether each woman can change her view of herself and her needs. The answer is all that matters.

- Alone by EJ Noyes

Half a million dollars will be Celeste Thorne’s reward for spending four years of her life in total isolation. No faces. No voices. No way to leave.

Since Celeste has never really worried about being alone, the generous paycheck she’ll receive for her participation in the solitary psychological experiment seems like easy money.

When she finds an injured hiker in the woods bordering her living compound, her strictly governed world is thrown into disarray. But even as she struggles with the morality of breaking the rules of the experiment, Celeste can’t deny her growing attraction to the kind and enigmatic Olivia Soldano. Still, how much can you really trust a stranger? And how much can you trust yourself when you know all the faces you’ve seen and voices you’ve heard for the past three years have only been your imagination?

But what’s real? Celeste’s reality may lie somewhere between the absolute truth and a carefully constructed deception. (the concept of this is just INcredible. and the execution as well - perfect)

- The Goodmans by Clare Ashton

The lovely doctor Abby Hart lives in her dream cottage in the quintessential English border town of Ludbury, home to the Goodmans. Maggie Goodman, all fire and passion, is like another mother to her, amiable Richard a rock and 60s-child Celia is the grandmother she never had. But Abby has a secret. Best friend Jude Goodman is the love of her life, and very, very straight. Even if Jude had ever given a woman a second glance, there’d also be the small problem of Maggie – she would definitely not approve. But secrets have a habit of sneaking out, and Abby’s not the only one with something to hide. Life is just about to get very interesting for the Goodmans. Things are not what they used to be, but could they be even better? (there are not one but TWO perfectly written romances intertwined in this *chef kiss*)

- Pretending in Paradise by M Ullrich

When travelwisdom.com assigns PR specialist Caroline Beckett and travel blogger Emma Morgan to cover a hot new couples retreat, they're forced to fake a relationship to secure a reservation. Ten days in paradise would be a dream assignment, if only they'd stop arguing long enough to enjoy it. Reputations are Caroline's business. Too bad she was forced out of her previous job when an ex smeared hers all over the office grapevine. She's never getting involved with a coworker again, especially not one as careless and unprofessional as Emma. Emma knows that life is too short to play by the rules. But when she goes too far and a defamation lawsuit puts her job in jeopardy, she has to make nice with Caroline, the image police, and deliver the best story of her career.

Only pretending to be in love sure feels a whole lot like falling in love. When their story goes public, ambition and privacy collide, and their chance at making a fake relationship real might just be collateral damage. (there’s just SOMETHING about this that is super freaking cute)

- The Brutal Truth by Lee Winter

Australian crime reporter Maddie Grey is out of her depth in New York, miserable, and secretly drawn to her powerful, twice-married, media mogul boss, Elena Bartell, who eats failing newspapers for breakfast. As work takes them to Australia, Maddie is goaded into a brief, seemingly harmless bet with her enigmatic boss—where they have to tell the complete truth to each other. It backfires catastrophically.

A lesbian romance about the lies we tell ourselves.

- The Red Files by Lee Winter (kudos to her for being the only author that makes it to this list with two separate books)

Ambitious Daily Sentinel journalist Lauren King is chafing on LA’s vapid social circuit, reporting on glamorous A-list parties while sparring with her rival—the formidable, icy Catherine Ayers. Ayers is an ex-Washington political correspondent who suffered a humiliating fall from grace, and her acerbic, vicious tongue keeps everyone at bay. Everyone, that is, except knockabout Iowa girl King, who is undaunted, unimpressed and gives as good as she gets. One night a curious story unfolds before their eyes: One business launch, 34 prostitutes and a pallet of missing pink champagne. Can the warring pair work together to unravel an incredible story? This is a lesbian fiction with more than a few mysterious twists. (as someone who is usually pretty bored by any plot other than the romance, I actually enjoyed this mystery)

- Tricky Wisdom/Tricky Chances by Camryn Eyde

(for tricky wisdom) Darcy Wright is a closeted lesbian who has been infatuated with her best friend, Taylor, since junior high. Leaving her small northeast Minnesota town for Harvard in a quest to become a doctor, she moves in with med-student Olivia Boyd, a neurotic, anal, gigantic pain in the backside. The first year of juggling medical school is grueling, but it’s nothing compared to living with Olivia.

Coming out to her friends and family with an anti-climactic flop, Darcy uses her newly publicized sexuality to try and win Taylor’s affections through an ill-hatched scheme that crosses uncomfortable lines. The result is as unexpected to Darcy as Darcy’s affinity for medicine is to Olivia.

The first year of medical school is a nerve-wracking encounter in medicine, learning lessons the hard way, and finding what her heart desires.

Tricky Chances is the sequel to Wisdom, but it’s the only lesfic sequel that i truly felt added to the first one and was just as gripping! Plus, the first book is only 48k words so the followup is perfect to come right after

- Who’d Have Thought by G Benson

Top neurosurgeon Samantha Thomson needs to get married fast and is tightlipped as to why. And with over $200,000 on offer to tie the knot, no questions asked, cash-strapped ER nurse Hayden Pérez isn’t about to demand answers.

The deal is only for a year of marriage, but Hayden’s going into it knowing it will be a nightmare. Sam is complicated, rude, kind of cold, and someone Hayden barely tolerates at work, let alone wants to marry. The hardest part is that Hayden has to convince everyone around them that they’re madly in love and that racing down the aisle together is all they’ve ever wanted. What could possibly go wrong? (this book comes in 9th because i don’t love it QUITE as much as i do all the others, but it was the one that got me into lesfic so! it’s good stuff)

And in a guest pick from the only other voracious lesfic reader i know, @debbie-eagan -

Beautiful Dreamer by Melissa Brayden -

Philadelphia real estate broker Devyn Winters is at the peak of her career, closing multimillion-dollar deals and relishing it. She’s pretty much blocked out her formative years in Dreamer’s Bay, where the most exciting thing to happen was the twice a year bake sale. Unfortunately, a distress call hauls her back home and away from the life she’s constructed. Now the question is just how long until she can leave again? And when did boring Elizabeth Draper get so beautiful?

Elizabeth Draper loves people, free time, and a good cup of coffee in the warm sunlight. In the quaint town of Dreamer’s Bay, she’s the only employee of On the Spot, an odd jobs company. She remembers Devyn Winters as shallow in high school, but now everything about Devyn makes her lose focus. Though her brain knows Devyn is only home temporarily, her heart didn’t seem to get the memo (I’m personally not a huge Brayden fan but a lot of other lesfic readers are so I reached out for a second opinion on this matter)

I hope you enjoy!

#lesfic #book recs

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usedtobe-angstyoikawa · 3 years

Text

Meant to be

Akaashi Keiji x Bokuto Koutaro

Summary: akaashi breaks bo’s heart

Warnings: angst :)

Word count: 1119

a/n: it’s 1:22 am and I have to get up at 7 to study for my physics final but here I am turning a life experience into a bokuaka fanfic so please enjoy my sour take on romantic relationships maybe this will help you understand where most of my writing ideas come from. Also there may be spelling mistakes but I’m fucking tired so just deal with it

Songs I listened to while writing this:

Never the one - Rosie

The 1 - Taylor Swift

Exile - Taylor Swift

Good Stuff - Griff

I should probably go to bed - Dan + Shay

In a strangers arms - LEON

I’ll never forget you - birdy

Voy a olvidarte - Reik

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They met the last summer of highschool at a friend’s party. Their story wasn’t very romantic, just a normal hook up, exchanged numbers, a few dates and in the course of a month they were already a couple. Of course, that doesn’t mean they didn’t love each other or that they were boring. Bokuto was sweet and funny, he’d always make him laugh and feel good when he was having a bad day. Akaashi was caring and quiet, he’d show him the real world and help him open up about his feelings and issues. Even though they were very different, they’d never argue or get into fights, some would say it was a perfect, healthy relationship. Truth was it was, but without chaos love can’t persist, it becomes repetitive and dull. Without realising the compliments, the kisses, the gifts and the flowers lost their meaning and ended up being cliche, but that didn’t stop them. Every now and them they’d fall out of love, wait a few weeks and fall back into it, it worked but it wasn’t enough. The first one to feel it was Bokuto, he talked to his friends about it and they told him to break up with him but he didn’t ‘cause he knew he’d miss him eventually. A few months after that happened he decided to tell Akaashi, they’d always tell each other everything and it felt like the right thing to do. It’s weird when someone you love tells you they stopped feeling the same way for a period of time, but Keiji was realistic and knew things like this tend to happen when you’re in a relationship so he didn’t get mad, he rarely got mad anyways.

Bokuto received love letters, sweets, gifts, songs. Akaashi would hug him so tight he could feel the air leaving his lungs, thinking he was the love of his life and he’d try to convince himself that it was true, it had to be that way. But no matter how hard he tried, how tight he hugged him, how many times he’d tell him he loved him, it wasn’t the same, ‘cause he wouldn’t kiss him. Not because he didn’t want to of course, but because he’d forget about it. Akaashi had lied to himself and confused romantic love with friendship, he never stopped loving Bokuto that was true but he did start seeing him in a different light. This usually happens the other way round, friends that catch feelings for each other and don’t notice it at first until it finally hits them, well Akaashi was stuck in a similar (but also very different) situation. It took him three months to realise the feeling was never coming back, he didn’t blame himself for it though ‘cause he couldn’t feel anything at all. He couldn’t feel guilt, nor pain, nor happiness, he didn’t feel emptyness either, so many things were going wrong in his life at that moment and that made him numb. Maybe it was some sort of defense mechanism, maybe he was a cold hearted asshole, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep telling Bokuto he loved him ‘cause even though it was true their “i love you”s held different meanings. He’d often forget they were dating and turn away whenever his boyfriend tried to kiss him, the fact that they were also very good friends didn’t help either.

Bokuto had no idea there was something wrong in their relationship, his boyfriend had done a good job at hiding his true feelings and he was so in deep he never would’ve thought that sweet boy would break his heart in the softest way possible. In his eyes he was incapable of doing any harm, he could be brutally honest yes and many times he had told him they probably would date other people at some point in their lives, after all they were just teenagers and we all know first loves don’t last forever, both of them agreed on that. They also thought Bokuto would be the one to break up with Akaashi, he had already fallen out of love twice so it was clear he was gonna be the heartbreaker, there was no reason for him to be worried.

Akaashi knew he’d break his heart, so he tried her very best to let him down softly. He took him to a lake near their city, they had lunch together, shared a few laughs, but he was nervous and Bokuto noticed it. He tried to ignore it, maybe college was stressing him, maybe he had a fight with his mom, maybe, maybe nothing was wrong. Oh poor boy. The moment Akaashi asked him lo sit down for a minute and took his hands in his, he knew what was coming, he knew it was over. With tears in his eyes the boy stared into his soul and opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“No “said Bokuto, it couldn’t be real, that couldn’t be happening. Keiji smiled weakly and let out a sob, at that moment his world came tumbling down. He let go of his hands and stared into the lake, fixating his eyes into a stone near the water. This couldn’t be happening.

“Kou, you know i love you” started his boyfriend” and i always will, but maybe not in the same way you do” he was already crying.

He went on to explain why he was doing that, he told him there was nothing wrong with him it was all his fault. Bokuto didn’t blame him, he couldn’t, not after kowing him and what his life was like, what he’d been through. It hurt like hell, but he hugged him godbye anyways, knowing very well that’d be the last time he’d do that. They shared one last kiss and drove back home. He was broken, as well as his now ex boyfriend, but they’d both be okay.

At some point, Akaashi asked him if they could ever be friends, he knew Bokuto hated that idea, they had talked about that posibility before and he’d always say “If we ever break up - ‘cause he still hoped that wouldn’t happen, ever - I won’t be your friend, even if I wanted to I do’t think I could I love you too much”. Akaashi was surprised when he heard Bokuto agree to it, at first he thought he’d heard him wrong.

“I need time, but i will be your friend “ he said “I want to be there for you”.

Akaashi smiled, he knew it’d take him longer than him to recover from the tragedy but those words he said gave him hope. He hadn’t lost him after all.

#haikyuu!!#bokuto x akaashi #akaashi #akaashi keiji #bokuto #bokuaka #bokuaka angst #akaashi angst #bokuto angst #I’m so sosrry for this please don’t hate me #also I read in another life and didn’t cry #I’m fucking heartless #guess who of these characters is actually me #yes this was based on a real life experience

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shemakesmusic-uk · 4 years

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Jorja Smith has unveiled a standout new video for latest track ‘By Any Means’. The powerful video (directed by Otis Dominique and Ellington Hammond) shines a spotlight on communities across the UK, complimenting the track’s vital message around social issues and the civil rights movement. As noted by Jorja about the track: "The inspiration behind 'By Any Means' really came from going to the Black Lives Matter protest and leaving thinking, what can I do to keep this conversation going? It’s not just a post on social media, it's life.” ‘By Any Means’ is the first track to be unveiled from a new project titled ‘Reprise’, curated by the team at Roc Nation with the sole aim of bringing awareness to social justice issues. A portion of proceeds will go to funding organisations that support victims of police brutality, hate crimes, and other violations of civil rights. [via Dork]

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Madison, WI-bred and Chicago-based band Slow Pulp recently announced Moveys, their self-produced debut album, and shared its first single 'Idaho.' Now the band shares another song off of the forthcoming record, entitled 'Falling Apart.' The track, featuring Alex G collaborator Molly Gemer on violin, is accompanied by a fantastical music video about feeling lost in a familiar landscape. Director Jake Lazovick, places Emily in a transient world, surrounded by flying objects and missing pieces. The clip features nostalgic animations, body doubles for social distancing purposes, and an homage to Massey's background as a ballet dancer. Read more about the song from Massey below: "As we were finishing up writing the album my parents got into a serious car accident and I came back home to help take care of them. A couple of weeks later COVID-19 started getting worse in the US, and quarantine began. Life felt completely surreal, everything had drastically changed and at such a rapid pace. It was especially strange because everyone was experiencing the same thing at the same time, but couldn’t be physically with each other to support each other. I felt like I couldn’t process any emotions I had about the whole ordeal because I had to keep it together to take care of my family. It became easier to stay numb, and create a facade that I was doing ok, than it was to release any type of healthy emotion for a long time. Luckily I did allow myself to have a full on breakdown induced by a stubbed toe and confusion over taxes, sometimes it’s the littlest things that finally get you."

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Soap Detox met a party, and somehow their friendship sustained during the lengthy hangover that followed. A frisky Swedish three-piece with a lust for melody and good times, their raucous garage-pop is already making waves in their homeland. A full EP is incoming, with Soap Detox trailing this with their irresistible new single 'Give Me Gore'. A three minute fuzz pop wonder, it's a clanking, cheeky, subversive statement from a group who thrive on such things. The video features their shorn-headed lead singer in full form, accompanied by her band mates. Directed by Evelyn Del Carmen and Ebba Sylvan, you can check it out above. [via Clash]

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It’s been a decade since we’ve heard from multi-hyphenate musician and producer The Angel, who last made a splash as a musician in 2009 with her single 'Ultra Light,' which featured the singer/producer Jhelisa on vocals. Focusing more on her career in film/TV composition and music production in recent years, she’s planning to return to recording her own music later this year with a new LP entitled Xtra Sensory Goodness. Now we’re getting the first taste of this project, which is yet another collaboration with the vocalist Jhelisa. “Jhelisa and I have become close friends over the years,” she explains. “There’s a lot of sisterly love and mutual respect between us, so Jhelisa already understood the mournful weight of the track before I asked to feature her. I’m always grateful that she’s willing to experiment with me because it’s not something she does lightly. Jhelisa beautifully channels the essence of whatever emotion needs to come through in the most evocative and visceral way.” The song arrives beautifully packaged with an entrancing video directed by none other than Mark Pellington (along with co-directors Sergio Pinheiro and Sweeten), known for his concert docs for Pearl Jam, INXS, and The Flaming Lips, as well as an extensive music-videography including iconic visuals for Public Enemy, Nine Inch Nails, and plenty more artists. “I wanted the song to sound like a memory, like you’ve entered someone else’s dream space,” The Angel continues, noting how the video perfectly syncs to the song’s mood. “The emotion is contained, very internal, so I juxtaposed a vocal vulnerability against a driving, incessant rhythm, where you can feel the underlying tension at the same time as experiencing the gentle plea, ‘Where’s my shelter…?’” [via Flood]

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A few weeks ago, Ciara gave birth to her son Win. Last night, she shared a video that she evidently recorded while she was very, very pregnant. Ciara’s new song 'Rooted' is a statement of Black pride, a clear statement of solidarity with the protest movement that’s swept across America and the rest of the world these past few months. It’s a hard, kinetic track with vocals from the songwriter Esther Dean. But the song, at least right now, feels more like a vehicle for the video. Like a lot of Ciara videos, the 'Rooted'” clip is built around bodies dancing. In this one, though, one of those bodies belongs to Ciara, who dances with her belly exposed and who looks like she’s about to give birth any second. To watch someone dance this hard while that pregnant is an actual marvel, a near-superhuman feat. The 'Rooted' video is full of Black iconography, and it features the faces of George Floyd and Breonna Taylor. All throughout, Ciara presents an image of motherly strength. Annie Bercy directs. [via Stereogum]

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Hazel English releases the new video for her single ‘Five And Dime’ taken from her debut album Wake UP! which is out now on Marathon Artists. ‘Five and Dime’ is a woozy, idyllic view into Hazel’s world, which is built on timeless-sounding melodies, retro-tinged soundscapes and a knack for resonant lyrics. The mid-tempo number is reminiscent of the playful love songs of ’60s pop, as Hazel frustratedly muses on a love interest who is consuming her thoughts and detracting from her focus, “Gotta get away cause you’re taking up all of my time / You know I need my space so I’m heading to the Five and Dime.” Speaking about the new video, Hazel says: “'Five and Dime' is about longing for escape and freedom so I thought it would be fun to create an idyllic beach vacation, constructed from a set with cardboard cut out waves and fake palm trees. The idea behind it is that while I'm fantasizing about escaping to a tropical place, it's clear I'm just kind of stuck in this pretend version of it. I wanted to evoke the nostalgia of Hollywood musicals from the '50s and '60s, complete with dance choreography and bright colourful costumes.”

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Katy Perry has released her second video for 'Smile,' featuring the pop star playing a video game version of herself as she battles giant spiders, circus trapeze acts and more while dressed as a clown. Much of the video is in CGI, with a live-action Perry playing the video game in her house (while also dressed as a clown). [via Rolling Stone]

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Global superstar, Miley Cyrus has unveiled 'Midnight Sky,' a track that showcases a new direction for the always evolving artist. The song, which was inspired by the past year of her life, is accompanied by a video that Miley self-directed. In creating the song and video, Miley drew from strong female musical icons, like Stevie Nicks, Joan Jett, and Debbie Harry, who have always been so generous, and have been her greatest allies and inspiration. The video showcases Miley as her true self: unapologetic, diverse, sexy, confident, experimental, and strong. The video takes viewers through Miley’s creative vision which displays her complete control of the narrative often told through the mouths of the media. Miley is at peace with who she is and has nothing to prove. As a musician she continues to push boundaries and experiment with her sound and look. Miley has proven to be many things, but boring is not one of them.

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Chelsea Collins is nonconformist pop singer with a vision. For the captivating new 'Water Run Dry,' a collaboration with rapper, singer and fellow Bay Area-native 24kGoldn, Collins's infectious pop melodies glide over a hypnotic beat. Relatable lyrics about a faltering relationship reveal a depth of experience for the 21-year-old, with a wistful chorus lamenting, "there's no good in goodbye." The Roxana Baldovin-directed visuals for the track are an eyeful — Collins and 24kGoldn play house in an oversized, colorful California dollhouse, interspersed with images of a little girl playing with literal Barbies. The message? "I wanted this song and video to execute the world that's inside of my head — somewhat similar to a weird vintage rom com where at first the drama of love is so toxic, passionate and thrilling but eventually my lover and I have a happy ending," Collins tells NYLON. "Unfortunately reality isn't as fun and it kinda feels like some cranky dude is controlling your path, who's lowkey salty whenever something feels too amazing," she continues. "My intuition will tell me to run, but I'm notorious for acting like a Stepford wife, trying to recreate my past feelings yet they're all super robotic. Maybe one day I'll get lucky and love won't have to be so bittersweet, but until then I'll learn to smile even when things blow up in my face." [via NYLON]

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Kali Uchis shared the visuals for her latest single 'Aquí Yo Mando' on Monday. Featuring a verse in Spanglish by Rico Nasty, the single is Kali's first release since her TO FEEL ALIVE EP from earlier this year. The Phillipa Price-directed clip finds the pair on a weapons-filled rampage, dropping bodies in underground parking lots and filming each other along the way. With co-production by reggaeton hitmaker Tainy, the booming track sees Uchis assertively laying some ground rules over trappy 808s. "Haces todo lo que diga (You do everything that I say)," she raps. “Si estás conmigo solo mando yo (If you’re with me, only I call the shots).” [via The FADER]

#videos of the week #jorja smith #slow pulp #soap detox #the angel #jhelisa #ciara #hazel english #katy perry #miley cyrus #chelsea collins #kali uchis #rico nasty

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broadway-book-badger · 4 years

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Let’s talk about books

Back in the day, about three years ago, I went through a phase of posting monthly write-ups of what I’d been reading on here. In these trying times there seems to be a little bit more time for reading, plus escapism and procrastination are always fun, so I though I’d share a few recommendations. There’s a few different genres (amazingly, hardly any YA fantasy), and I’ve mostly read these in the last year or so. I’ve kept my thoughts as spoiler free as I can. Read them under the cut.

1. The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins

Everyone and their mother has read The Hunger Games. I have read The Hunger Games before. But, a couple of weeks ago, I reread the trilogy for the first time since my first reading, which was around Christmas 2011. And to be perfectly honest, these books hold up! I think maybe it’s because I read so many not so good dystopian YA novels after I first read the Hunger Games that I thought less of this trilogy, but I don’t know. This is a solid series. If you’ve never revisited it (or if you’ve never read it at all), now could be the time! I love the fast paced writing - once things kick off, they do not stop and I burned through the whole trilogy in about three days. The world building is decent, and it doesn’t back away from some pretty heavy stuff. I remember certain scenes being much more gory, but that’s probably just because I’ve read much worse in the past 9 years. Also being older, I appreciate Katniss as a character a lot more. I remember 13-year old me getting annoyed, but now I kind of like that she is allowed to be confused about her feelings and struggle with what she’s been through and generally be a pawn rather than a flawless 16-year old rebel commander as seen elsewhere. The love triangle also isn’t as bad as I remember, although I was reminded of my own love for Peeta. Some people complain that he’s boring, but I think he’s a lovely boy.

2. The Priory of the Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon

I’ve been wanting to read this since I saw someone on the internet pitch this as something along the lines of “The queer dragon fantasy epic you’ve been waiting for.” I did a lot of waiting for it to come out in paperback, because it is an absolute behemoth over 800 pages, and while incredibly pretty, the hardback was just too big. It was, however, well worth the wait. I haven’t read a ton of adult fantasy, because a lot of it is so big, but this was a good place to start, because the writing style is pretty easy to read and also its a standalone, so the story is told by the end, it’s not the first of like 6 800 page bricks. While the plot and the characters and the love story between a queen and her handmaiden who’s a badass sorceress in disguise are all enjoyable, the thing I loved the most was the worldbuilding. I love the time and effort that was spent developing the religions and mythologies of all the different kingdoms and how they clash in ways such as different takes on the legend of St George and the dragon, and the contrast Western dragons as monsters to be slain by knights vs benevolent Eastern dragons that kind of echoes real world mythology. I saw one review of this describing ‘Priory’ as ‘a feminist successor to Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones.’ While I think you could definitely say that that is the case, I would say that equally being more feminist than either of those titles is not a particularly high bar, given that there are only about 5 named women in the whole of Middle Earth, and most of the women in Game of Thrones are assaulted and brutalized for no good reason.

3. Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston

This book made me so happy, you have no idea. An enemies to friends to lovers story about the son of the first female American president and the Prince of England, that reads kind of like fanfiction but in the best possible way is exactly what the world needs right now. Everything about this book is delightful, from the characters to their relationships to the pseudo-alternate history that its set in. I think the thing that increased my enjoyment of this is the fact that the main characters are in their early twenties. It seems to me that most protagonists, regardless of genre are either 16 or pushing 30, and while I still enjoy their stories, there was just something infinitely more relatable about a character the same age as me. If anyone knows of any more books with characters in this age range, please let me know, because they seem few and far between. Back to this, however, I think I was grinning like an idiot through most of this book. I laughed, I may have shed a little happy tear, I fully recommend.

4. The Broken Earth Trilogy by N K Jemisin

Another foray into adult fantasy, this is such a good series. The books aren’t too long and the writing style is easy to digest, but it is DARK. It’s set in a world which experiences apocalyptic natural disasters every couple of centuries. There are people with powers that can help control this, but they’re super oppressed and treated as evil, rather than potential saviours. The story follows a woman searching for her missing daughter in the wake of an apocalypse, a young girl coming into her powers and others, and it is so well done. It’s such a unique and diverse world, and there are some great reveals as to why the story is being told the way that it is, as well as interesting takes on things like living vs surviving and systems of oppression.

5. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

An aging and reclusive Hollywood star decides that the time has come to share her life story to an unknown journalist and it’s amazing. This is so well done that its easy to forget while reading that Evelyn Hugo is not a real person and you cannot go and watch her films. I first heard about this book and thought it sounded interesting, as I have a love of Old Hollywood musicals. I then promptly forgot all about it, until I heard other people on the internet talking about how it had a bisexual protagonist, which both reminded me about it and made me want to read it more and here we are. Evelyn Hugo had a hell of a life, with seven husbands and another great love story, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading about it. This book does a great job at showcasing both the glamour and less glamorous underside of the era, as well as the lengths people are willing to go. It also had me sobbing at 1am because I couldn’t put it down, and if that isn’t the mark of a quality book, I don’t know what is!

6. Circle of Friends by Maeve Binchy

A coming-of-age story following two childhood friends as they move from their small town to Dublin for University in the 1950s. Quite a chunky book, but a lovely story and I found it read pretty quickly. As I was saying about Red, White and Royal Blue, it’s rare to find books about characters of this sort of age range. Equally rare I think are books with a university setting - the only others I can think of are Fangirl, the Magicians and the Secret History - any recommendations, let me know! I enjoyed the characters growing and finding their confidence and independence, as well as the period setting. I also greatly appreciated the ending, in terms of the main character’s love interest, as it’s something that you don’t often see in this type of book. I may have to read more by this author.

7. Everything I Know About Love by Dolly Alderton

This is one of those books that I just happened to read at the perfect time in my life, and for that reason it means a lot to me. I read it at the very end of 2018, when I was feeling really down and not myself, and something in there just spoke to me and maybe gave a little perspective. I don’t read much non-fiction and this is just the memoirs of someone as she navigates her teens and twenties. I can see why someone might not like it, but I really did. There’s some relatable content in here. As the book went on and I read all these parts about bad dates and third-wheeling friends, I kept waiting for the part where she said, ‘but then I met so-and-so and it all changed’ but that NEVER happened. By the end of this book, this woman is still single and praising all the types of non-romantic love in her life, and that I think is a bit of a revelation. It is so rare for a woman to stay single at the end of a book (see every YA love triangle ever, even when both boys are terrible), and so this resonated deeply with me. I laughed, I cried, I go back and reread bits every so often, and I wholeheartedly recommend.

8. Chain of Gold by Cassandra Clare

There are those who say that Cassandra Clare needs to stop, but I wholeheartedly disagree. As long as she wants to keep writing Shadowhunter books, I will keep reading them, because they are a hell of a lot of fun. I’ll admit, bits of the OG Mortal Instruments series aren’t the best thing I’ve ever read, but the historical series are in another league altogether. I adore the Infernal Devices trilogy, which features one of the few good love triangles in YA, and Chain of Gold is a promising start to a new series about the children of the Infernal Devices characters. I think there’s something about the historical setting that just works so much better than the modern series, it could be the angst that comes from things like marriages of convenience and ruined reputations, but I digress. I really enjoyed getting to know this new cast of characters, while also getting some appearances from old favourites. The plot was solid too, and I liked the new expansions to the mythology, while wondering what they mean for what’s coming in the rest of this trilogy. I think the fact that I read this in less than 48 hours, mostly sitting in the same spot tells you everything you need to know.

#booklr #books #reading #the priory of the orange tree #chain of gold #the seven husbands of evelyn hugo #lizzy reads

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imma-talk-back · 4 years

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Yesterday, I was called a Nigger. Within mere minutes of being in my favorite store, it happened. Without warning, a gentleman bisected my path and seemingly reflexively blurted it out. It was if the word had a life of its own and was pushing forth from his mouth at a full sprint. I say this not to emphasize the innocence of the man, but to shed light on the immense power of that word.

Yeah... I thought that’d get your attention.

Frankly, I’ve always been one to prefer Target to Walmart. I appreciate the structure and organization of the store, and though I am a person who thrives in areas of “organized chaos”, I’m afraid, I find Walmart to be a little too chaotic for my liking. As someone who suffers from The Big Bad Beast that is Anxiety, I experience a visceral uneasiness in certain environments, but generally speaking Target is one of few places I nearly always feel safe in. There are of course the antsy customers who brush past me on occasion or ride my tail too closely in the checkout, but for the most part, to me, Target represents the epitome of comfortable shopping experiences. It’s almost as if the structure demands it’s patrons to be on their best behavior. Unfortunately, not everyone heed these demands...

Please allow me to begin by laying the ground work; let me explain just how much effort I put into a simple trip to the market. You see, one of the many awful things about this lovely condition that is Anxiety is that it has the potential to make even the most mundane tasks feel insurmountable. A quick errand run the average person puts little thought into, can for someone like me, be a delicate tightrope walk; from the moment I leave the safety of my car and began my trek though the aimless herds of self-focused patrons, to the exact position of my body in accordance to yours, while in line. I see you in a straight line, but I take several steps to the right or left, creating a meticulously crafted triangle between you and the person in front of me; all with the intention to grant me just a bit more security. You see, I’ve been socially distancing since before COVID made it cool.

Well, it’s about time I get to the point, isn’t it? So, here goes...

So here I am.. and on top of dealing with my typical feelings of sporadic and unannounced paralyzing panic that may rise at any moment during my routine errand, whilst in the midst of none other than The Zombie Apocalypse that is 2020, I am the victim of an unprovoked physical attack in on of my few “safe” public spaces. Notice, I consider this a physical attack, because of slew of negative bio-mechanical implications it presented me with, after all the word Nigger cannot be compared to that of Bitch, or Asshole. No, when spat with the right amount of hatred, the word surge through your veins like a poison.

Thus, I instinctively stopped dead in my tracks and felt the heat of pain and rage radiate through my body. I shook my head, dropped my gaze, and took several steps forward before stopping. Rather than metaphorically quietly quivering in the corner, I decided to act.

I turned around, sought out an employee, mustered up all the poise I could find, and collectedly said something along the lines of: “Hi, I just walked into the store, and within moments upon entering, a gentleman wearing a white blazer called me a Nigger. I would very much like for him to be escorted out of the store”. It was important that I used the full word to convey the level of discomfort I felt in having it thrown at me. Perhaps that did the trick because the woman responded with a look of genuine shock, without hesitation confirmed the direction the man was walking towards, and urgently called for security. I said my peace and entrusted my safety in the store to the woman’s follow-through.

It wasn’t the first time and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I tried my best to continue on my journey as if he “hadn’t gotten to me”, but he had, I rush through the store, in search of whatever had prompted me to enter. I can’t for the life of me remember, I imagine because I moved through the store in what can only be likened to a fear-induced haze. I walked through the isles wondering if the gentleman would return and found myself looking at every Black passer-by, wondering if they had, or would soon experience the same.

I power walked through the store with a combination of sorrow, profound fear, inexplicable anger, and incredible gratitude. It instantly pained my heart to hear that a complete stranger could have so much hate in their’s for me, it still does. Although I don’t imagine the N-word is typically equated with fear for non-Black people, for someone like me, it can be terrifying. Despite the ever-so-obvious gravitas of that word, I know it hardly represents the tip of the iceberg of the hatred that lies below the surface. As such, I feared retaliation from the moment I reported the gentleman, throughout the store, to my stop at the gym where I went through my daily workout routine, to the moment I drove home, parked my car, and double-checked the locks to all the doors at my house.

Though this wasn’t the first time I’ve experienced this sort of overt display of hatred in a public setting, it was without a doubt, the first time I have ever felt seen enough to report it. The death of George Floyd exposed just how serious the issue of racial injustice in this country is, and made it unmistakably clear just how prevalent, not to mention perilous it is. After 34 years of just taking it, and doing everything in my power to “not let it get to me” or knowing “it’s just the way it is”, I finally feel seen enough to say; look this just happened, and you have the power to make it so this isn’t just how it is.

You see prior to May 25, 2020, we could all live with a degree of ignorance in the matter; you could deny my life was actually different because of my skin tone and I could feign my perception of equality, but that shield has been lifted. We have awakened from our socio-normative unconsciousness... That was deep, I know, but rather or not we choose to stay woke is up to us. The US needs a reckoning, regardless of if recent demands for equality stemming from the death of Mr. Floyd, Ms. Taylor, and Mr. Arbery can transition this moment into a movement, I am here to remind you of its importance. You see, I was Black before you ever heard of those names and will continue to be such even when they began to fade from your memory. I am here to remind you just how vital that demand for equality is.

The fact of the matter is that the woman who essentially “came to my rescue” by respecting the seriousness of the matter was in shock not only the verbal brutality spewed, but also in part I imagine from simply awakening the reality that such an incident actually happened. This brings me to my anger... you see I am beyond grateful for the fact that I can finally stand up for myself and declare something like this has happened and be taken seriously, but I am equally as enraged that in order to be taken as such, the entire world had to witness a man be crushed to death. It goes without saying that, the level of enlightenment that the entire non POC (people of color) world is having right now is just as appreciated as it is enraging.

On a final note, I want to draw your attention to the fact that I referred to the man who accosted me, as a gentleman. There is certainly two contributing factors to consider in this; one I was simply raised right- with manners and respect for everyone, and I knew this man couldn’t have been in his right mind, and two, I knew the importance of remaining composed in even the most daring of times, to counter the very real likelihood of simply being written off as an Angry Black Woman. Think about that... even in an assault, I must maintain my composure, because society says an emotional Black woman is an Angry Black woman, society doesn’t question her countless motives for said anger; no, it merely writes her off.

Well... let this first blog entry be a testament to my Eloquent Black Rage--sitting posed, with perfect posture, well read, well spoken, highly educated in fact... with well manicured fingernails and an accented middle finger nodding to a less than subtle, “fuck you”.

In close, I hope in writing this I have helped to explain the depth of feelings that stem from such a verbal attack, the long term impact it has, and that I have drawn your attention to just how often injustice occurs even when they are not spoken of or otherwise exposed.

This is my very first Blog-entry, it originally started out as a wordy Facebook post, but decided I needed a more appropriate venue for my voice. I sincerely thank you for reading and hope you continue to peek into my mind from time to time. Congratulations, you’ve earned 10 Friend Points and good karma!

#blm

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marmolady · 3 years

Text

Homecoming: Part One

Read PART TWO here!

Main Pairings: Estela x (f)MC, Graleister

Summary: Endless Ending. Estela and Taylor spend one last night in San Trobida before returning to La Huerta and facing their future. This was going to be a two-parter, but I got all long-winded, so four-parter is more like it.

Word Count: 3342

Chronology: After 'The New Taylor' and 'A Ride to Remember', sort of midway through 'Inheritance'.

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove @mauvecatfic

Thanks for reading!

Parrying the blows of her brother’s sword with the easy grace of a well-honed professional-- she had been doing this since her early teens-- Estela seemed to dance across the basement floor, totally in her element. Then Aleister lurched forward, and she jumped back, effortlessly dodging his attack. But in the landing, she found herself, finally, unstuck. Under the sudden weight of her whole body, her wounded leg gave way, and she stumbled. In a split second, Aleister’s cautious approach fell away and he pushed his advantage before Estela could recover. With a final flick of his blade, she was disarmed.

Estela laughed at the look of plain shock on Aleister’s face at his own victory. “Not half bad,” she commented, impressed that he hadn’t fumbled around taking advantage of her weakness. Her healing leg injury had been a source of great frustration-- despite regular massages of the Vaanti-made ointment concocted using the leaves from The Celestial’s roof, improvement had plateaued. The last thing she wanted was to be babied. “You’re still wasting too much energy with flamboyant gestures. This isn’t ballet-- it doesn’t have to look pretty.”

“Well, it certainly doesn’t appear that ‘pretty’ has hindered my performance,” Aleister panted, recovering just enough to be rather pleased with himself.

Offering a hand to take Aleister’s sword, Estela grinned. “Like I said, not half bad. Come on, hermano. We’d better give Tio a hand in the kitchen; it sounded like he had a big spread planned.”

Brother. That was still new. Only in the lead-up to his hand-fasting to Grace a few months prior had Estela gone so far as to utter that word in relation to Aleister. He reacted as he always did, a double-take, then his cheeks going immediately pink. It had been so long he’d craved that acceptance… now that it was there, it seemed it would take him some getting used to.

All attempts at helping Nicolas out with the farewell dinner were met with strong resistance. Some butting of heads later, Estela realised it really wasn’t a hill worth dying on; if her tio wanted to do something special for them all, she’d just have to step back and let him. After all, it could well be some time before he’d have this opportunity again. Come the next day, she, Taylor, and their friends, would all be on their way, and Nicolas would once more be left to an empty house.

As much as she tried to join in the energetic conversations over dinner, Estela found herself distracted. With her return to La Huerta, she’d be taking steps to move on with her life; to come to terms with the grief she’d suffered and get some closure. And then… she was faced with working out what the hell kind of life she’d forge for herself; something that had been made all the more complicated since Aleister had seen fit to bestow upon her half of everything he’d been left after Rourke’s demise. She’d made good progress on coming to peace with that connection, but she was not fool enough to be under any illusions… she still had a long way to go.

The subject of conversation turned to the case against Lundgren-- and the subsequent clearing of Jake’s name-- and Estela shook herself back to the present.

“The evidence is fairly damning,” Aleister was saying as he loaded his fork with beef, egg and plantain. “Certainly, the prosecutors were pleased. That we have access to every file my father ever touched, and a wealth of video and audio recordings, it would be difficult indeed to look at what’s presented and not come back with a guilty verdict.”

Jake smiled wryly, the grin failing to make his eyes. “I’ll give ya one thing, Malfoy, your old lady ain’t a dame I’d want to get on the wrong side of. I guess… we’ll see. Worst case, settlin’ down out here wouldn’t be half bad.”

“We won’t rest until you’re home,” Grace declared resolutely, her dark eyes shining. “That awful man isn’t going to be remembered as anything other than a power-hungry conniving brute. I’ll stand up and make a witness statement in court myself!”

She had, Jake knew, her own haunting personal experiences of seeing that exact brutality at close quarters. It made him sick. “Hey-- I won’t have you dredging up all that. Not for me--”

Grace spoke across him, calmly but firmly. “It’s my stand to take. I had quite enough of being helpless as Rourke’s prisoner; I need to take my power back.”

Jake’s mouth snapped shut. He wasn’t about to argue with that. “The poor defense won’t know what hit it.” The words rang hollow as exchanged a subtle dark look with Estela. The optimism was nice and all, but experience had told the both of them that the world was a corrupt place and ‘fair’ barely counted for squat.

“I know you think I’m naive,” Grace said, “and maybe I am, but the fact remains that we’re not giving in.”

Taylor grinned, confident because she had to be. “I didn’t offer my life force to some crystal alien only for you to not get back to your family. This is a matter of ‘how’ and ‘when’, not ‘if’.”

Beside her, Estela nodded. “Look, we’d be crazy if we just go in assuming this is gonna be a cakewalk. But Pollyanna here is right; we’ll make it happen. We’re not the kind of people who just roll over to injustice, and anyone who thinks they can force us is in for a painful lesson.”

“Dang, Princess… I think you broke Eeyore. She’ll be a motivational speaker at this rate….”

“It’s Katniss, cabron. Y vete a la mierda.”

Jake sniggered into his beer. So, motivational speaker was a little stretch.

With dinner over, the group started disperse. As Estela made to make a start on clean-up, Taylor gently turned her around.

“I’m pretty sure me and Al can handle this. Make the most of tonight.”

Estela looked out through the window to the front porch, where Nicolas had settled with his flask of rum. She took a deep breath. Taylor was right; she couldn’t just let this time pass her by.

Cold beer in hand, she pushed open the front door and stepped out. “It seems like Aleister and Grace’s first bandeja paisa was a hit.”

Nicolas beamed at the sight of her, and clinked her bottle as she sat down in the other chair. “Of course. Either that or they are exceptional actors.”

“No chance,” Estela laughed. “You’ve seen the looks he gives poor Taylor’s cooking. Her confidence has been shot since they’ve been here. At least Grace is polite about it.”

“You must be excited. I’ve said for so long that your potential was being wasted, and now… the world is your oyster. I never thought I’d see the day.”

Estela shifted in her chair and took a long drink.

“What’s that look for, mija?”

“Well, yeah, I’m excited. Terrified, but…. If I finish this degree, I really should think of what I want to do with it. And, well, all that money Aleister’s pushing on me.”

“That gilipollas. You poor thing.”

“Actually, I’m almost getting used to the idea. As much as it freaks me out, Mom would have been so happy to know I’ve got a leg up.” A small smile crept to Estela’s face. “I keep seeing so many things I could help with. Like the schools and universities-- how much could recovery be accelerated if people had better opportunities to learn? Or physically rebuilding so much that had been destroyed, or actually protecting the wilderness of this beautiful place?” She blushed as she caught herself getting passionate. “Rourke International has the capacity to do so much; we could actually have tourists coming here. That hasn’t happened in my lifetime!”

Nicolas chuckled, looking at his niece with clear affection. But he saw the cloud of doubt across her face.

“I…,” she continued, “I just don’t know that I have the right. We just got rid of one dictator, and Mom was collateral damage to a would-be dictator.” A would-be dictator who’s inescapably part of who I am. “Money comes with a lot of power. Even if I’m using it for what I think is good… I could cause a lot of harm.” By the time she finished, her voice was but a murmur.

“True. Alternatively, you could be one of those misers who sit upon their millions while the people around them starve and suffer, buildings crumble, and forests burn.”

“So, you’re saying I can’t win?” Estela demanded.

“I’m saying, the enemy here is ignorance. Ignorance of what greater impacts of your generosity might be, and ignorance of what suffering might go on if that generosity is withheld. The fact that you are even having these doubts tells me that you are not ignorant to the consequences of your actions.”

Estela huffed thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose,” she grumbled after a little while, “that you’d let me be, even for a second.”

“Of course not! I might be getting on a bit, but I am by no means past letting you know when you ought to unstick your head from your own backside.”

Again, Estela fell quiet. She was not going to be existing in an echo chamber. She’d surrounded herself with people that she trusted, with strong opinions and varied perspectives; people who would not balk from challenging her when necessary. If she tried, she couldn’t become a tyrant, regardless of what blood coursed her veins. At any rate, she’d simply be-- for the most part, at least-- channeling funds to others better placed to make the change she wanted to see in her world. She could be as anonymous as she wanted. Perhaps… perhaps it would not hurt to put some faith in herself.

“I take it from your silence,” Nicolas said, “that you’ve realised that once again I’m right. Now, go back to happily daydreaming about all the good you will do.”

Estela sighed dramatically, but smiled at her uncle. “I’m really gonna miss you….”

“I can’t pretend I’ve been looking forward to waking to an empty house again. But the missing you will be temporary; that’s more than I could have dared to hope for not so long ago.”

The same was true for her. And there was no way in hell she’d let goodbye be forever, not now. “Yeah. You’ve got a good point.”

“Again?”

She snorted. “Shut up, Tio.”

_________________________

The night wore steadily on, and Taylor eventually had to retreat from socialising with Nicolas’ other guests to start making headway on her night-time routine. ‘Self-care’ was something she now had down to an art; she even made a point of noting down the steps taken each night so she could easily track what was most effective. By this point, she had a fairly solid schedule. Yoga was followed by a calming cup of mint or chamomile tea, sometimes accompanied by a hot bath-- though tonight it was too late for the nice long soak she’d prefer--, and then she’d wind down even further with a half-hour’s guided meditation. Jake teased her mercilessly, but she really didn’t give a damn. If she could de-stress just enough to keep the seemingly never-ending stream of horrifying nightmares at bay, he could laugh all he wanted.

Slowly, Taylor wiggled her fingers and toes, bringing herself back to the land of the living with a long exhale. Fifteen nights without being woken up by visions of her loved ones’ deaths was the best run she’d ever had, but if those nightmares were triggered by stress, then the imminent return to La Huerta might just be the trigger that would throw a spanner in the works.

The little dog, Fenix, stretched forward and licked Taylor’s toes.

“Okay, okay, I’m back! Was I ignoring you for too long? Thanks for not interrupting my meditation, I guess,” Taylor chuckled. Having the pet had done wonders for grounding her during her regular existential crises. Fenix had come a long way from the mangy worm-ridden creature they’d taken in; still scruffy even with a full coat of hair, she was now bright as a button, and with a tail that never seemed to stop wagging.

“You’d better enjoy having me to yourself while you still can, Nixie-- this time tomorrow, we’ll probably have Furball sleeping on the end of the bed as well.”

Happily oblivious Fenix rolled and tumbled in her human’s lap. Foxes with ice powers were far beyond her frame of reference, but she could sense that whatever Taylor was talking about made her happy, so naturally there was every reason to be in a good mood.

The door creaked, and a just-showered Estela entered the room, clad only in a towel.

“Hey. I heard you talking to Nix-- figured you’d finished your meditation.”

“Hey,” Taylor cooed, feeling herself practically melt as her wife reached down to stroke her hair. “I just finished; went pretty heavy on the self-care tonight, just to be safe. You ready for bed?” She let herself be helped to her feet, and wrapped an arm around Estela’s waist. “Last cuddle in your little single bed for a while.”

Estela smiled. “Last cuddle in our little single bed.”

Taylor changed into her pyjamas and nestled under the covers, waiting and watching in quiet contentment as Estela slipped into a singlet and a light pair of shorts.

“You are so, so beautiful, you know that?”

“Taylor, you tell me that ten times a day.”

“Just making sure you’re aware, lover.” Taylor pressed herself against the wall, making room on the tiny mattress.

“You ordered a cuddle, yes?” Estela kissed and nibbled along Taylor’s jaw, feeling a tremor of an exhale, then sat back to look into the sapphire gaze of her adoring wife. Beautiful just wasn’t big enough.

“So… how are you feeling about tomorrow?” Taylor ventured.

“A lot of things,” Estela admitted. “Getting on that plane to La Huerta is going to bring back a lot of stuff. And saying goodbye to Tio… well, let’s just say, we’d better have a lot of tissues packed.”

Taylor squeezed her tight. “It’s not forever this time. And I think he knows that-- otherwise you’d be leaving again over his dead body.”

That made Estela give a little snort of laughter, but then she shook her head, sighing. “I know the guilt I’m feeling is irrational. Tio is just so happy to see how much things have changed for me. He wants me to go out and live my best life. But that doesn’t mean I can stop myself feeling it, just like that.”

Taylor didn’t have a lot of life experience, but guilt? That, she knew all about. “We’re just going to have to keep talking to that irrational part of your brain, then. Honey, your tio thought you were dead for so long-- you coming back every now and then, smiling, on your way to healing… that’s just the most amazing gift you could give him. And maybe… it’s going to help him move on too.”

“Yes.” Man, I hope so. Estela knew that her uncle had closed himself off to the world. That he’d seen that he’d done his part in life, and then retreated from it. He joked around, but for so long he’d been broken inside. Now, they could make strides towards something better, together-- even if there was a distance between them. Now, Estela had hope for them both.

Taylor snuggled close, spooning her wife from behind, and leaving lingering kisses upon her neck and shoulders.

“What about you?” Estela asked softly, turning in the warm embrace so she could meet Taylor’s eye. “I guess this will feel like going home.”

“Yeah, I guess it will be. Something like that. It’s a very… it’s a very weird feeling, you know?”

“I can imagine. It’s going to be strange to be back on La Huerta without everyone. The village is gonna be like a ghost town.”

A small smile tugged at Taylor’s lips; in spite of her own worries. Estela sure was perceptive. “It’s kind of freaking me out.” Of course, Estela already knew that, but it had never hurt to actually put the words out there. It was quite clear that they both had to look forward to a crash course in moving on. But that they were alive, and together, and free to do so… it was everything they’d fought for. “I’m bursting to see Diego again, though. It must have been so much weirder for him these past months.”

There was a grumbling, grunting sound as Fenix settled herself into a nest made out of the clothes Taylor had left on the floor. Both women chortled. Nothing like a funny little dog to keep the mood light.

Estela tenderly stroked Taylor’s hair, loving her. “You’ll have a lot to catch up on. It’s gonna mean a lot to him to have you there.” She blushed. “It… means a lot to me to have you here.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

“Taylor, we all are. And you’re stuck with us. There’s nothing that can change that.”

As she looked into Estela’s soft gaze, Taylor’s heart swelled. If she knew anything at all, she knew that much. All she had to do was trust in that sweet certainty.

#endless summer #estela montoya #estela x mc #jake mckenzie #aleister rourke #grace hall #nicolas montoya #playchoices

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alexsmitposts · 4 years

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In America, Privilege is Far More Fatal than COVID Yesterday, I received a report from Syria. It told of blistering heat and no electricity, of fuel lines, of food shortages and economic suffering by the Syrian people. This is an excerpt: “I wonder if people in EU, US and UK had to deal with the repercussions of their government sanctions on Syria, would they fight harder to get sanctions banned as a hybrid war, sadistic strategy. It is 41 degrees in Damascus, the cloud cover makes it heavy and oppressive. Electricity where I am is on for an hour, sometimes two before it cuts for three or four hours, just as the air conditioning makes your environment bearable. For some living close to me, they were without electricity for 14 hours in this sweltering heat. I wet my clothes to keep me cool while I am working, it is the only thing that helps. Mobile phones do not have time to charge. Food goes rotten because the fridge is off much of the time. Syrians traditionally store enough food in their freezer to last them two or three months. They are having to throw much of it away. At the same time, food prices are sky high. Nobody can afford to eat luxury items like chicken anymore. Lemons have become a luxury item, the price of one kilo has trebled in a few months. Parents do not know if they can feed their kids every day, they are living hand to mouth. All the roadside kiosks are seeing their livelihood go down the drain, literally, as everything in their freezer section melts or goes bad. The queues for fuel, while not as bad as before, are still a stressful scrum with cars lining up to take their ration. These are only a few of the effects of sanctions. Sanctions are designed to hurt, to deprive, to depress and, ultimately, to kill slowly and more painfully than the swift ending of life by a mortar or a bullet. Sanctions strip people of their dignity and leave them beggars in their own home.” Syria is but one nation targeted by the Trump regime, there are others and the stories like this are in the millions, told by those who still live. When Syria was attacked, it was not just starvation, it was terrorism as well with up to 400,000 dead and 5 million refugees. Iraq suffered a far worse fate, 2,000,000 dead. Both nations are still partially occupied by the United States, the nation that engineered this suffering. Now it is all coming home to roost, as here in the United States, what was done to Syria and Iraq, to Yemen and Iran, and to the best of Trump’s ability Venezuela’s people as well, is being deployed against the most vulnerable of Americans. We had another police killing yesterday, one we know of, there may well be others, in fact it is likely. This was in Los Angeles, another African American, his crime was riding a bicycle “improperly.” To understand how privilege applies, Dylan Roof, white mass murderer who killed 9 a the Emanuel AME Church was arrested with considerable care and, before being processed, was taken to the local Burger King for lunch by police as Dylan told them that murdering so many people “made him feel hungry.” As American humorist Jim W. Dean so often says; “You just can’t make this stuff up.” This is not unusual, this is the norm, this is how things work but you will not know unless you ask people, people who trust you with the truth. Problem there, the divide in America is so profound that the victims of insanity and brutality that started long before the current epidemic under Trump don’t want to talk to the media, such as it is and have no faith in political process. You see, political process in America reeks of corruption and privilege as well. Privilege, as with exceptionalism, is a form of corruption whether it is state sponsored apartheid as in Israel or the other version of apartheid, the American one, with walls and children in cages and bodies in the streets. Let us be clear about something else, while the media tries to smear the most well know victims like Beonna Taylor, every person of color in the United States is victimized unless “hand selected” like Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas, a despicable human being reviled for his love of all things fascist. We might take a moment to discuss Breonna Taylor as well. This is a young woman of color living in Louisville, Kentucky, employed as a paramedic/first responder. Police broke into her home and killed her based on a false warrant. This is someone who had never committed a crime of any kind, police simply kicked down her door and murdered her for being black skinned, there is no other explanation. Yesterday, according to reports in the Washington Post, local prosecutor Tom Wine, a Trump backer, offered freedom to a number of drug suspects, if they would falsely incriminate Beonna Taylor, in order to aid Donald Trump in his election chances. Sources tell us Wine would then be nominated as US Attorney by Trump appointee William Barr. This level of corruption is seen every single day, even reported every single day but as the victims are of color in a land of “white privilege,” those who protest being falsely imprisoned or murdered by police are “violent hooligans.” Again, “you just can’t make this stuff up.” To understand the violence that is sweeping America today one can easily look at the violence that has swept the world, not just after 9/11 but long before. There are two words that are one in the same, one personal, one far greater, both are fatal. They are privilege and exceptionalism. The nature of “privilege” is insidious. For those who do not have COVID, for instance, who are not on a respirator or mourning the hundreds of thousands now dead, the disease is “fake.” This is privilege, denialism of the suffering of others because they are “others.” An unreported fact, nearly 4,000,000 older Americans live in nursing homes or residential facilities. None have been visited by family for nearly 6 months. Over 150,000 have died of COVID but reports that are creeping in speak of malnutrition, bed sores and widespread abuse and there is no one to help as families are not allowed to see their forgotten elders. The result of this, of course, is that older Americans have now become defacto “people of color” and reside in defacto “cages” like little brown babies ripped away from their mothers to amuse Trump’s political “base.” The insidious nature of privilege is that it can infect anyone, whatever their race or ethnicity. Privilege has become a hallmark of some religions, such as Christian Evangelism, infecting 35,000,000 Americans who attend church, pray continually but bask in a belief system that feeds exceptionalism and hatred. Privilege and exceptionalism are most often driven by fear. For some inherited money drives the unearned feeling of superiority, though Trump has, to a large extent, destroyed this concept through his bumbling ineptitude. Even the drooling Baron Rothschild and his carriage drawn through London by a team of zebras was not able to do that. If you are poor and white in America, “at least you aren’t black.” Thus, those who are otherwise the most marginal and vulnerable, not in all cases but some, perhaps many, take solace in having someone beneath them. “The humbleness of a warrior is not the humbleness of the beggar. The warrior lowers his head to no one, but at the same time, he does not permit anyone to lower his head to him. The beggar, on the other hand, falls to his knees at the drop of a hat and scrapes the floor to anyone he deems to be higher; but at the same time, he demands that someone lower than him scrape the floor for him.” – Carlos Castaneda Turning to Castaneda, whose “Way of the Warrior” defined excellence for so many during the 60’s and 70’s, in a way defines the failures in America’s culture today. “The basic difference between an ordinary man and a warrior is that a warrior takes everything as a challenge, while an ordinary man takes everything as a blessing or a curse.” – Carlos Castaneda What can safely be generalized about how things really are in America? Yesterday I spent time with one of my friends, a painting contractor, American born Hispanic who speaks no Spanish, highly successful, and we discussed local police in my own affluent community. His experiences with the same police who are to me beyond polite and helpful, not so helpful mind you that I would ever depend on them for protection, are quite the opposite of mine. I now know there is a problem. Will I do or say nothing and if I find our community subject to disorder because of our collective indifference to the rights of all, will I be surprised? Am I privileged and exceptionalist? Were it not for time I spent as a police officer decades ago, a miserable job, his words would seem unreasonable but anyone who has worked in law enforcement knows that the greatest stress isn’t from the public, too often referred to as “potential suspects,” but rather from corrupt and ignorant coworkers. It does not take long to see that they are the real criminals. As a former police officer, one is typically never stopped by police or if one is, one is immediately not just released but usually engaged in friendly banter. To be clear, some departments are better than others, but none are perfect and some, like Kenosha, Wisconsin, are brutally incompetent and dangerous. What we have also seen at mass killing like Columbine or during the fear driven killings that are sending hundreds of thousands into the streets, many police are quite simply cowards with guns, a very dangerous combination. Many, however, are not. Many are competent, polite, professional and often end up sacrificing their lives for others. The problem there is that if you are one of these, working with the others is a nightmare. In many cases, “good police” are ostracized and threatened for failing to be corrupt, which is my own experience. This makes the job impossible and the victims are many, certainly good police suffer as they invariably are commanded by the most corrupt and incompetent but the communities they supposedly serve suffer as well. This is the case with Kenosha. There, the police department, as a whole, is generally seen by other police as very poor quality, highly corrupt, racially biased and a very bad place to work. For the community, if you are white, you won’t be arrested unless you do something exceptionally bad and if you are a powerful “insider,” you can never be arrested at all as police are likely to aid and abet in any criminal acts. In the post George Floyd world, however, it is the community that has allowed its police to degenerate into a “blue gang” that is suffering now, subjected to violent protests which are, quite frankly extremely well deserved. Each community has a choice, to stand for justice for all, which should be equal enforcement of the law and, if need be, strong but fair and legal crackdowns on criminal elements even if such elements are people of color. Police are there to investigate and take potential offenders into custody, based on reasonable procedures, where fair courts administer laws. The truth is everything, but this happens. Police administer punishment, too often based on hatred driven by misguided privilege and institutionalized corruption and extremism. As cohorts in “blue gang” violence, prosecutors and many judges throw law, justice and the constitution aside to the extent that any attorney representing a criminal defendant feels overwhelmed. Time and time again, trials are a mockery and lying police and fake evidence rule every process, all openly accepted not just by insiders but the media and the privileged and exceptionalist community as well. Worse still, in many cases those of color who manage to rise into “the system” become the worst of the worst, almost accepted by their white brethren, which is why we included the Castaneda quotes. The disease, as we define it is privilege. The byproduct is dehumanization and indifference. This is a disease so powerful that very few can stand up to it and fewer still can admit it exists or if they choose to do so, go to great lengths to misdefine it. We began by discussing Syria but what is happening there, engineered by “privileged exceptionalists” driven by extremism, is terrorism in its purist form. American policing may well be described as institutionalized terrorism as well. Every child in America can at some time be caged, certainly if of color or if one’s parents are of questionable ancestry. Every American can be murdered by police with impunity. In fact, the massive ownership of assault weapons by Americans is driven by a fear of police. Rural and suburban communities, where gun ownership is greatest, are not subject to even the rumor of “racial violence” that the media stokes with every word. Every spectrum of politics from right or left shares one thing with those of color, distrust of government and fear of assault not by armed criminals but by armed criminal police. The sad thing is that too many take solace in the fact that they will be the last to go, not the first. From Martin Niemoller: “First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.” And so it goes…

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