#I think I’m destined to become a bird lady honestly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tainted-wine · 5 years ago

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(Snapped a pic because I lost the darn ask)

Thank you, anon! She didn’t exactly forget in this case, but bear with me. This crack is basically a happier ending to Spring Bird Survival Guide. It was supposed to be a couple sentences long. I don’t know how it turned into nearly 3,000 words. I...I wrote a whole fic.

....Enjoy?

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(NSFW)

“Why did you stop taking them?” He sounds more confused than you’ve ever heard him, the slight shake in his voice betraying his fear.

You didn’t mean for him to catch you in his bathroom, positive pregnancy test still in your hands. Your plan was to figure out when would be the appropriate time to tell him, assuming that he didn’t catch on to the constant nausea added to your pains. At least this saves you the trouble of keeping secrets.

“Because…the Commission can go fuck themselves.” You take his hand and place it right above your womb, hearing his breath hitch. “Let’s start a family, Keigo.”

Hawks knew that this was beyond stupid. It was stupid of you to put yourself in this position, it was stupid of him to even be considering this, and it was stupid of both of you to attempt such a thing behind the Commission’s back.

But his birdbrain didn’t care about any of that right now.

He pulls you in for a suffocating kiss. “My little hen is about to become a mother hen.” He takes you to bed and claims you out of pure joy.

—————————————

That buzzfood article was frankly right. Mutant bodies didn’t make any sense, and what they could do to other people’s bodies made no friggin sense either. As time passed, not only was his seed growing inside of you at an alarming rate, something felt off. These weren’t the kicks of a single fetus, it felt akin to a strange cluster of objects crammed into your womb, shifting about in a way that sometimes made you shudder.

You haven’t been able to see a doctor at all—Hawks wanted you to stay in his house at all times and away from the public’s eye—so there was no way to properly check, but it didn’t take too many guesses to figure out what was happening.

“You didn’t tell me that I’d lay eggs!”

“I didn’t know!” Hawks swears that he didn’t hatch out of an egg himself and had no way of predicting this.

The development of the eggs only took about a month. When it was time to birth them…

“I hate you! God, I hate you so fucking much for putting me through this!” You screamed in pure agony as tears streamed down your face, using every ounce of strength in your body to keep pushing.

Hawks was kneeling between your legs, caressing your thighs lovingly as he watched his offspring’s vessels emerge from your stretched hole. “I’m sorry, baby. You can chew me out all you want later, alright? Just keep pushing. You’re doing great.” Oh fuck him. Fuck him and all of his comfort, making you do this on his own bed, without the security of doctors who actually know how to do this properly. Squeezing out three baby-sized eggs was like a temporary vacation in hell.

Once the eggs were all brought into the world, Hawks wrapped them up in blankets and placed them under a lamp. He knew that there were actual incubators for couples like the two of you, but he’d rather keep them cozy with his personal belongings instead of some lifeless factory-made device.

“I’m not farming chickens that I’ll eat later. These are our kids.”

You’ve been too exhausted to argue, having lost a frightening portion of your body weight. Hawks was having a little too much fun in gorging you, trying to hand-feed you meats of all kinds.

Another month goes by, and you think something must be wrong because those eggs shouldn’t be cracking already, right? But amazingly, you watch as gooey newborns flail about until they have fully broken out of their protective shells. Hawks sadly missed the hatching, but when he comes home and sees his three sons for the first time, he cries.

Somehow, you’re still surprised when they grow quickly. It was concerning. Is that healthy? Three more months pass, and all three of them have fully feathered wings. Hawks teaches them how to fly and use their quirks, and they learn with carefree laughs and smiles on their faces. Healthy or not, you’re going to do everything you can to keep these little fledglings happy.

—————————————

“Let’s have more.”

Your eyes nearly pop out. “More? Already?”

You both sit on the roof of the house, your three boys chasing each other across the starry sky. Both of you have to always remind them to stay quiet and within Mommy and Daddy’s sight when they play outside.

Hawks places his hand over yours. “They could use some more siblings, don’t you think? I’ve got more than enough to provide for them.”

It sounds stupid. Doing any of this was stupid, honestly, and you’re not looking forward to carrying more of his eggs. Yet, a simpler part of your mind wanted this, to take as many of his children as possible, and you decided to listen to it.

“Alright.”

—————————————

The Commission was destined to find out sooner or later, though you’re not sure how. You were eventually fired after your long absence that you refused to give them an explanation for. It’s possible that they still managed to spot your kids while they were outdoors, despite you and Hawks’s many precautions.

You were watching your new clutch of eggs—four of them this time—when the winged hero arrived, the features on his face pressed into a tranquil fury that made you shiver.

“He wanted to take them,” he said lowly through gritted teeth. “He wanted to take our kids and turn them into heroes. Into fucking weapons.”

You held him, feeling his anger ebb with your soothing rubs across his back, right between the base of his wings. “What do we do? We can’t hide from them. You can’t talk them out of anything. Oh god, Keigo, what do we do?” You felt completely helpless, knowing that you couldn’t stop them if they decided to take your little angels away.

Hawks looked to the pile of sleeping boys, having worn themselves out after a hyper game of tag that required you to keep a close eye to ensure they didn’t break anything. At just a little less than a year old, they could be mistaken for being around the age of ten. “They’re really skilled fliers already, aren’t they? Even have great control of their feathers.” He nodded to himself, lost in his own head. “Yeah...I’ll show them weapons.”

The sinister air around him was scaring you. “Keigo?”

His face returned to a cheerful smile as he planted a kiss on your head. “Don’t worry, mother hen. I’ve got this under control.”

“But what about the deputy? He’s going to come for our kids!”

You felt his whole body shake from his deep chuckle. “No he’s not.”

And that’s when you noticed it. The dried specks of reddish-brown on his jacket, almost like a splatter. Blood.

“I killed him.”

—————————————

It won’t be long before the Commission goes after Hawks for killing one of their own, so he wasn’t going to give them time to plan.

You didn’t appreciate him taking the kids behind your back, and you had no idea what danger he was putting them in until you heard the news.

The Hero Public Safety Commission HQ had been attacked and overwhelmed.

—————————————

By the time your second clutch hatched, Hawks already had full control of what was once the HPSC. He gave you a tour through the remodeled building, your kids roaming the halls excitedly as if they didn’t just overthrow an entire organization. Some of the employees greeted you warmly, some gave forced smiles. One of them bowed respectfully with a twitchy grin.

“I’m happy to be a part of the Hawks Hero Force, ma’am. We are going to make great changes.”

You...didn’t know what to say to that.

You stuck to raising your kids while Hawks did whatever diabolical shit he was doing, but it was hard to ignore the growing tension in the city. He and his kids have been holding off opposing heroes for weeks, all of them trying and failing to bring down the rising power of the number two hero. You saw the debates on television. People were arguing whether the dissolution of the Commission was for Japan’s benefit and that Hawks should be supported, or question if Hawks should be trusted at all for disposing of the very people that got him where he is today. What was even his game plan?

You didn’t care much yourself. The only insight Hawks has given you was that he was setting up a city that would be safe for all of his children. Sounds good enough to you.

In just a few more months, your other four kids were eager to join their father’s cause. You and Hawks no longer mention the rapid growth of your offspring...and the short lifespans they likely possess. There was no point in letting those fears resurface.

You hug them all, telling them to visit Mommy on weekends and always keep their feathers clean and sharp for battle.

“Don’t worry, Mommy! We’re gonna teach those heroes not to defy Dad!”

—————————————

The part of the HQ building Hawks led you to was like a bizarre fusion of a love hotel room and a nursery. It was such a strange setup, that you almost forgot to question the young lady that has been following him around.

He gives her a few pats on the shoulder. “This here is Hina, one of my most loyal followers. She’s been on my side since the beginning.” Hina gives a polite smile and bows in your direction.

And then Hawks lays it all on you. How he wants kids at a quicker rate, and his female supporters would be perfect for this...you’re dumbstruck. Your belly was already swelling with his potent seed for the third time, and somehow that wasn’t enough?

“I promise you there’s nothing else to it. Isn’t that right, Hina?”

The woman stood tall and nodded. “I’m only here to help Hawks in his cause.”

Hawks gave her an approving smile before turning back to you. “And if you’re not convinced, just stick around. I welcome the audience.”

The suggestion catches you so off-guard that you agree to it. You take a seat on one of the beds (holy shit this was a goddamn breeding room) and watch him and Hina settle on one right next to you.

“All fours, missy.” Hina obeys his command and prepares herself on her hands and knees.

You watch. You watch Hawks rub her moistened folds while stroking himself until fully erect. You watch him slowly push in, hearing the sharp intake of breath from Hina. He stays at a moderate pace, holding her hips and gently rocking her with his thrusts. It’s…odd, watching the men you’ve had seven (so far) children with take another woman to bear more.

The girl that was a complete stranger to you was sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, but that still wasn’t enough to hold back her moans. Still, it was hard to pay attention to her, because Hawks’s eyes were locked onto yours. Even as his breaths and movements quickened, even as Hina began to shake and collapse onto her elbows as she reached her climax, he never tore his gaze away from you. He finally did when his eyes shut tightly as he buried himself balls-deep into his dear follower, blessing her with several spurts of his sperm into her welcoming womb.

You couldn’t help but rub your own belly at the sight.

He unfolded the sheets and helped the dazed woman get settled into the bed. “You should get cleaned up later, but for now, just rest.” He said softly.

Hina mumbled nonsense, already half-asleep.

Hawks straightened himself out before walking over to you, excited to rub the stomach that cradled his chicks. “I’m gonna give you all the children you could ever want, baby. And remember,” he gave you a kiss of pure love and passion. “I’ll always only have eyes for you.”

You smiled and hugged him tightly. All of the children in the world…Keigo’s children. “Sounds perfect.”

“Soon, I’ll have all of these beds filled.”

—————————————

Hawks and his children have amazingly lowered Fukuoka’s crime rate by a significant amount. You never imagined living in such a peaceful time. You didn’t understand the interviews and articles, the ones that expressed fear and outrage over being attacked by winged individuals for doing anything that can be perceived as villainous. There were heroes still trying to destroy the Hawks Hero Force, creating alliances of their own to face this new dominating power. They were usually taken care of pretty quickly—all it takes is a flurry of sharp feathers from several pairs of wings to crush the foolish rebels.

You don’t understand why they resisted so much. All they had to do to avoid Hawks’s wrath was be a law-abiding citizen, and also not harm his kids. Oh yeah, anyone—hero or not—that made the mistake of injuring you and your man’s angels had this weird habit of…disappearing.

You had about fifty of them by now. Fifty winged beauties that keep the peace with proud and innocent smiles. Not all of them were yours—they had many mothers now—but you treated them all like your own.

One would expect Hawks to start losing track of his precious eyases, but he remembers every single one of them like they hatched yesterday. Each name…every voice…every face…he didn’t forget any of them, and loved them all equally. When they weren’t enforcing laws, they were cuddling and playing with their father or mothers.

You wandered through the incubation room, looking over the many nests that held your future. The mothers-in-the-making were resting in their beds next door, their bellies growing each day.

This is what paradise looked like.

—————————————

3 years later...

Buzzfood.com

(NOTICE: Buzzfood would like to remind citizens that next Saturday is Skewer Saturday of this month. Please be prepared to offer a chicken skewer to any descendants of Hawks that are currently residing in your neighborhood. If you need help searching for the best skewers to purchase in your area, take a look at our recommended restaurants here. Citizens that do not participate in Skewer Saturday will be taken in by the Hawks Hero Force and punished accordingly. Show your appreciation for our crime-free country!)

Great Hawks Celebrates His 1000th Child

By Yuki Burushito

Another great day in Fukuoka! But this day in particular just might be the greatest day yet! Why, you ask? Our beloved leader Hawks has brought his thousandth child into the world! A public ceremony was held to welcome this beautiful girl on this earth and, more importantly, this blessed country. Hawks and his wife were in tears, and I must say, seeing this vulnerability from such a powerful man moved me like nothing else. May your precious daughter one day join her brothers and sisters in the eternal battle of keeping the peace!

Speaking of peace, we must not forget that even though Japan is enjoying its best years in history, our peace is still being threatened every day. There are villain groups lurking in your city’s slimy cracks, plotting to destroy everything Hawks has worked so hard to create. They even have the audacity to call themselves heroes. We all know that the only heroes needed today are the noble winged ones that fight to keep us safe and comfortable. One group in particular insists on giving Hawks a hard time whenever they can: the One For All Alliance. The majority of the members in this gang are former students and teachers from the now-defunct U.A. High School. Their influence may be spreading, but our love and support for Hawks will always smother their poisonous lies!

We must do our part in ensuring that Japan retains its place as the World’s Paradise!

—————————————

You find him on the roof of his house, watching your three eldest boys fly freely as the orange dawn painted the city’s skyline. Only three years old, yet their bodies were strong and hardened, one of them sporting facial hair similar to their father’s.

He of course panics and scolds you when he spots you trying to climb with your bulging stomach. You only roll your eyes as he helps you up. You’ve gone through this reproductive process more than enough times to know your body’s limits.

“They wanted to reminisce for a while,” Hawks explains, back to watching the playful flights. “They make three years sound like it was ages ago. Then again…” His proud gleam twisted into something sadder, his mind entering that dark pit he tries so hard to avoid.

You cover one of his hands with yours. “No matter how long they have, we’re going to keep working to make sure they enjoy every minute of their life. You’ve given so much to all of your children. Be proud of how great of a father you are.”

The smile he gives is soft and warm. You’ve been seeing those more than his cocky smirks lately.

The sun continues to rise as you both kiss under its morning rays, lost in each other’s love. He only pulls back to speak again. “How about we gather some of the youngsters for a trip to the amusement park? It’s been a while.”

You can’t hide your worry at the suggestion. “Are you sure? Villains love to strike when you’re not active.

He gave a smug grin. Ah, there’s the old him. “They do, and they still get their asses kicked. My kids can handle it. I’ve got all the free time in the world, my little hen.” He holds you close and you both return to watching your darlings fly.

“More free time than I know what to do with.”

#asks #bnha #hawks #smut #barely #hawks x reader #crack taken kinda seriously

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

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Come Alive

A huge thank you to @kiragenta for letting me write a fanfiction based on their incredible art!

Masterlist, Kiragenta's art that inspired this fic (please go check it out and give it some love!), Kiragenta's Tumblr; passerotto means little sparrow: someone who is learning how to fly

This was honestly the most fun and probably one of my favourite pieces to write. And, with their permission, here is one of the two panels that @kiragenta did!

Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he's only a little surprised.

Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn't have a destination so whichever way he goes he'll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.

The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don't even look the same but they're both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.

"You like them?"

"They're beautiful," He nods.

"Then you must have one,"

And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. "When people look at my flowers the same way you do," She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. "Their souls are made of sunshine."

A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, "Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look."

"Thank you," He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, "For everything."

"Something is going to change to day passerotto," She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, "The winds of the sea say so."

Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and...

"Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square."

"I will," He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, "Do you—" He swallows, "Can you recommend a place I should visit?"

"Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?"

He shakes his head, intrigued.

"Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time."

"Thank you," He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, "And I'll come back at the end of the day."

"Goodbye Perseus." She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.

It's only when he's past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he's standing in an archway and there's a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he's known the world since he was stardust. He feels...alive.

He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It's as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he's ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.

He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.

But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.

His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he's standing in front of them.

"Hi," He waves, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Hello," The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. "How are you?" American, he deduces.

The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.

"I'm good thanks. I just—" He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. "I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?"

"Oh," The American girl laughs brightly, "Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home."

"And you can just do all three?"

"According to my girlfriend here," She points to her right.

"It is true." He can here the girl is native Italian. "Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice." She nods deftly.

"Okay," He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn't reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. "Thank you."

"Bye," The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend's and tugging them both away.

The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There's something about its eyes he cannot get over. It's the way they burn. No that's not right. They almost...... crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them.

He's surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn't even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.

"For freedom." He whispers.

And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.

"For love."

He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let's his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.

"For home."

And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn't want this to end.

The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—

He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.

He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.

"What the—" He splutters, "Who— How—"

His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.

"Hello," The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn't know.

"You were a—" He gasps, "And now you're a—"

Words. He needs words. What's language? What's the alphabet?

"Where am I?" The statue— no, boy—asks.

Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.

"I'm sorry," The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. "Could you help me? I don't know where I am?"

"Yes," He answers rawly, "Apparently neither do I."

"What's going on?" He can hear the frown in the boy's voice.

"You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you're... well a human?" He chokes out.

"I was what?" Those eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Yes. See that stand there?" Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. "You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club." He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. "What's your name?"

"Jason." He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, "Jason Grace."

"Hello Jason, I'm Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive."

#Jercy statue AU #Jercy #Jason grace #Percy Jackson #Thank you again to kiragenta for the idea #Your art was so beautiful and inspiration just struck me like a brick #Jason #Grace #Percy #Jackson #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series #PJSSG series #PJSSG fanfic #not edited

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solarune · 5 years ago

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so this is love

pairing: na jaemin x fem!reader, (implied) lee jeno x na jaemin

genre: cinderella au, sort of but not really a greek mythology au (the fairy godmother is based off of both the character in the movie/fairytale as well as calypso), fluff, angst

warnings: very vague allusions to abuse (family treats jaemin horribly like in the fairytale, that’s it), unrequited love, uh angst lol

word count: 12,978

summary: as the years go by and you watch jaemin grow up, you begin to forget what your job as his fairy godmother really is: to help him find true happiness.

a/n: this is my first time ever writing a fic this long and i’m honestly very proud of myself. i didn’t think it would be as long as it is but here we are. shoutout to my girl kelly @mingyoongles for editing this monstrosity for me ily. this took me so long so i really hope you enjoy it!

You feel a tear slip down your cheek as you fade from view, Jaehyun’s eyes opening just as you vanish from your spot in front of him—along with your spot in his memories. You hear a woman call out his name, feeling your heart pang in your chest when you see the wide smile that instantly appears on his face at the sight of her. She takes his hand in hers and they continue to walk down the busy street, their figures disappearing amongst the crowd in a second.

You hear Jaehyun’s laughter clear as day. The sound makes you smile but causes your heart to break at the same moment. Another person that you’re destined to help and fall in love with but not destined to be loved by in return. You rub at the tattoo of a dolphin on your wrist, wondering again why the Fates had made you a descendent of Calypso and thereby cursed to be unloved forever.

The world around you becomes blurry as you’re transported somewhere else, only having a few moments to take a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to calm down before you materialize in a large bedroom. You see women gathered around a bed and a man kneeling at the head of the bed, clutching what must be his wife’s hand. Your eyes move to his wife just as she opens her mouth and an ear-piercing scream is the first thing that welcomes you to your new assignment.

The first time you meet Jaemin is when he’s exiting the womb.

“One last push, miss, you’re almost there,” a midwife encourages the woman as she grabs a blanket from another midwife beside her, the mother groaning in response as she goes through the last few grueling minutes of labor.

You watch as the child is welcomed into the world, thick hair already sitting atop its head as it cries loudly and flails its arms around. Nurses bustle around the mother as they attempt to clean her up, but the mother only has eyes for her child, immediately reaching her arms out as the midwife walks up to her. She places the child into her arms and the father rushes to her side, the two of them staring down at their beautiful baby. Her hair is matted to her forehead, skin pale, and breathing still shallow from the amount of strain she put in, but her eyes seemed to hold all of the love in the world. “Hello Jaemin,” she whispers as she kisses her baby’s head, her eyes closing as she holds him tighter to her.

The first time you formally meet Jaemin, he’s 4 years old.

Jaemin’s laugh can be heard echoing through the garden as he chases a butterfly around, a wide smile on his face as he clenches and unclenches his chubby hands into fists. You’re seated up on the branches of a tree in the farthest corner of the garden, your legs swinging as a breeze ruffles your blue robe. Jaemin’s parents had left to go out into the town a few minutes ago and had left him under the care of one of their maids. Usually you would never take it upon yourself to babysit him, but something in you told you to keep a close eye on him, and you had learned to trust your gut in the 4 years that you’ve been here.

Never before had you been assigned as someone’s fairy godmother and been forced to watch them grow up. You had always come into their lives at the time that they most needed it, your job being to help them find true happiness. But Jaemin was just born when you had come into his life, so what was there for him to truly need? So for 4 years you kept yourself hidden, watching his mother and father raise him in the estate that you’ve now come to call home (not like they knew though). You had been there during his first steps, his first words, his first snowfall, his first everything—you had been there for it all, invisible but always close at hand.

You’re drawn out of your thoughts by a dull thump, looking down at Jaemin and smiling when you see him playing with the ball that his father had given to him just last week. He’s throwing the ball around as he animatedly talks to his imaginary friend, Joonyoung, encouraging him to catch the ball as he throws it higher and higher. Jaemin runs closer to the tree that you’re perched on and you can’t help but laugh at how excited he is. That is, until he throws the ball far too high and it ends up getting stuck between the branches right below your feet. You watch the panic flit across his face as he gazes up at the tall tree in front of him, his whole body spinning around as he searches for anyone to help him retrieve his ball. Slowly, the young boy turns back around to gaze sadly at the ball, his lower lip quivering at the fact that there was nothing he could do.

You feel your heart ache as you watch the first few tears roll down his cheeks and you can’t resist standing up on the branch to help him. You pull your wand out to get rid of the invisibility spell and help you float down to the ground, your feet touching the grass as you think, I’m gonna have to introduce myself eventually. Jaemin watches you with wide eyes as you land in front of him, not even taking notice of his ball as he goes from staring at your face to your blue robe to the white wand in your hand.

“Hello,” you greet him softly, a wide smile on your face as you hold out the ball to him. “Is this yours?” Jaemin nods, slowly taking the ball from your hands as he continues to stare at you in awe. “My name is (Y/N). What’s yours?”

“Jaemin,” he whispers shyly, his ears turning red as he fidgets with his toy.

“Well Jaemin, you should be more careful with your toys,” you gently reprimand him, walking forward to spin him around and urge him back to where he was playing before. “You don’t want to lose them, do you?” The boy walks forward without question but turns around when he doesn’t hear you following him. When he looks back, his eyebrows furrow because you’re nowhere to be found. He glances around the garden, even looking up at the branches of the tree for good measure, but Jaemin can’t seem to find the nice lady that gave him his ball back.

“Jaemin, it’s time to come inside! Your mother and father are home!” one of the maids calls from inside. You watch from your spot against the tree as he runs back inside the estate, shouting excitedly for his parents while the ball lies forgotten in the middle of the garden.

The next time you meet Jaemin, he’s 7. And this time, he realizes you aren’t just a dream.

After the fateful first encounter, Jaemin had convinced himself that it hadn’t actually happened.

Fairy godmothers aren’t real and he definitely knows that magic doesn’t exist, so whoever that woman in the blue robe was was just a figment of his imagination. So his life continues as normal; his parents continue to dote on him the way that loving parents do, he makes friends with the other kids in the town, picks up gardening as a hobby and starts doing it with his mother, and he creates his own little hideout in the tree in the farthest corner of the garden (the same spot that you were sitting in 3 years ago, unbeknownst to him).

Every Saturday, Jaemin and his mother go out into the town’s square to walk through the market. And today, much to Jaemin’s excitement, is Saturday. The sky is bright blue, the birds are chirping, and Jaemin takes a deep breath as he steps out of the estate holding his mother’s hand. You take a deep breath at the same time as him, savoring the sweet smell of the first day of spring. The sun feels delightfully warm on your skin and your magic feels stronger, your senses heightened due to the spring equinox, allowing you to detect even the slightest shift in the magic flowing through the earth. During every solstice and every equinox, your magic is at its peak and you can’t help but be excited every time it happens. You’re not particularly sure why this happens, nobody had ever explained it to you, but it just felt good to know just how connected you are with the earth below you.

You trail behind Jaemin and his mother as they walk to the market, the boy animatedly telling his mother about the squirrel that sat next to him yesterday in the garden. He’s waving his arms every which way, his eyes sparkling while the smile never leaves his face, and in that moment, you can see the uncanny resemblance between mother and son as she smiles down at him.

As his mother looks through a stall’s vegetables, a group of kids calls out to Jaemin, asking him to play with them. The boy turns to his mother, barely opening his mouth before she urges him forward with a, “Go play with your friends, darling. Just don’t be home too late.” He parts from her with a tight hug, a wide smile on his face as he runs towards his friends, the group of boys getting lost in the bustling crowd as you simply stand and watch. You decide to leave Jaemin be for now, allowing yourself some alone time as you wander the streets and browse through the various things that people are selling.

When the sun is at its highest point in the sky, the day finds you in the town square, sitting on the edge of a fountain as you bite into an apple. You tilt your face upwards as you chew, closing your eyes to let all of the sounds and smells wash over you. The beginnings of drowsiness begin to creep up on your body, but when you hear the loud voices of a group of boys, your ears perk up, eyes opening to see what all the commotion is about.

“I can’t believe Jaemin would really just leave us like that, we were in the middle of a game!” a dark-haired boy, whose name you think is Hyunjin, exclaims.

The 3 other boys with him shrug their shoulders, one of them saying, “Maybe his mother wanted him home early.

You jump up from your seat on the fountain, the apple in your hand falling to the ground as you pull out your wand from your sleeve. Jaemin always came back home by going through the town square because he loved to stop by the bakery to get something sweet to eat. You hadn’t sensed him near you or seen him walk by and you feel your stomach tighten at your worry. Trusting your gut, you wave your wand to transport yourself to wherever Jaemin is.

Leaves crunch underneath your feet when you materialize, the air around you a bit cooler due to the shade that was provided by the forest that you suddenly find yourself in. You can sense Jaemin near you and follow your gut once more, stumbling upon a small clearing and seeing him sitting on a tree stump in the middle. A small, white daisy is pinched between his thumb and forefinger, the boy subconsciously twirling it as he looks around him. Feeling a sense of déjà vu, you rid yourself of the invisibility spell and slowly walk towards the boy, a soft smile appearing on your face when his head whips towards you and the two of you make eye contact.

At your appearance, Jaemin’s eyes widen and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head. You can’t help but smile wider at his expression, stopping halfway between the edge of the clearing and where Jaemin is seated. “Hello, Jaemin,” you greet him. “Are you lost?”

Jaemin’s mouth opens and closes for a few seconds, the boy at a loss for words as he stares at you with a mix of shock and wariness. “I-It’s you,” he whispers hoarsely. He clears his throat and continues, “You were the woman in the tree. From before.”

You nod at his words with your hands clasped loosely in front of you, the breeze ruffling your robe around your ankles. “I’m not just a dream like you told yourself,” you chuckle, taking a few steps closer when you see his body relax, though you notice a flush creeping up his neck from your words. “I’m-“

“My fairy godmother.” You look at Jaemin in surprise, the boy flushing an even darker red when he realizes that he interrupted you. You continue walking towards him as he continues talking. “Sorry. But that’s who you are, right? (Y/N), my fairy godmother? My mother would always tell me stories about them when I was younger, but I never really believed her. You’re really real?”

“As real as the trees around us,” you respond, patting the tree stump that he’s sitting on to emphasize your point. “I’ve been watching over you ever since you were born.” Albeit a bit unwillingly, you think to yourself, but he doesn’t have to know that. He scoots over and you sit beside him, looking up at him with a small smile. Whatever it takes to get Jaemin to trust you, right? You are the one responsible for helping him find true happiness after all. You take the white flower from his hand and place it in his hair, and you’re reminded of when Taeyong would do that to you. You spent every day in that florist’s shop, and every day he would place a flower in your hair and your cheeks would turn as red as a tomato, just like Jaemin’s are doing right now. Your chest tightens as you remember Taeyong, but you shake the memories away in favor of staying in the moment. You can’t afford to get distracted right now.

Jaemin continues to stare at you in awe and you can feel your cheeks heat up a bit at all of the attention. “So,” you say after clearing your throat, wanting to keep the conversation going to fill up the awkward silence. “How about we get out of here, hm?”

Jaemin is only 10 years old when his mother dies.

Standing invisible next to the boy as he holds her hand, you can’t help but shed a few tears for the woman who has strangely come to feel like family to you. She was the spot of sunshine in Jaemin’s life; he would greet her with a bone-crushing hug and sloppy kiss when she came home and would hold her hand every chance he got. His mother meant absolutely everything to him, and you would feel your heart swell at how happy the two would look together. And now their time together, as short as it was in the grand scheme of things, is coming to an end.

You place a hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, the boy barely acknowledging the invisible touch that he knows is from you as your thumb rubs circles into the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to soothe him. You can practically hear his heart break when his mother gives him a weak smile, the sorrow in her eyes telling you that she knows that she only has a few moments left with her son. Her hand shakes as she reaches out to place something in his hand. There’s a flash of gold and then it’s gone, Jaemin’s mother curling his fingers over the object as tears slide down both of their cheeks.

“We’ll meet again soon, I promise,” she rasps out, wiping away her son’s tears as he looks on with a pained expression. “But until that day comes, just know that I will always be with you. And should you need a reminder, you can always open that.”

Jaemin looks down at his hand and opens it, his breath catching in his throat when he sees his mother’s gold locket in his hand—the same locket that his father had given to her for their first wedding anniversary. With her encouragement, he opens it to reveal a piece of paper with the words I love you in her handwriting.

That same night, Jaemin’s mother dies and the note in the locket has an additional line: I miss you.

At the age of 12, Jaemin’s father tells his son that he’s met someone.

“Is she nice?” is definitely not what he or you expect Jaemin’s initial reaction to be. But then again, he is his wife’s son. Jaemin knew that one day, his father would move on and so would he, and so he accepted the fact that their small family would grow again some day.

His father tells him that she’s a widow with 2 sons, both of them the same age as him. She had married into nobility but when her husband died of a heart attack, she suddenly stopped receiving financial support from her family. Jaemin feels his heart sink at that; family is family, no matter what. Who could be so cruel as to cut off their loved ones completely like that? Unlike Jaemin, you’re a bit wary of this stranger and her 2 children who are suddenly coming into Jaemin’s life, having felt more and more protective of him as the years went by and especially after his mother died. But for his benefit, you decide to remain positive; after all, he had been raised as an only child for so long, so it would be good for him to finally have company in the large estate.

Days turn into weeks which turn into months, and one year later, you find yourself watching Jaemin lug the last of his stepmother’s trunks into the foyer. You try to keep a scowl off your face as he does so, your distaste in the new members of his family already having been discussed with him previously. You had tried to tell him that they aren’t who they say they are, that you had seen her sons stealing in the marketplace while she turns a blind eye, had seen his stepmother flirting with the widowed butcher for some extra meat, and had seen those boys ruining his mother’s flower garden in the front yard by running through it. But he didn’t listen, always coming up with excuses for them: “You must have been mistaken, the marketplace is always busy so it could’ve been anyone!”, “Perhaps she was just being nice, did you even hear their conversation?”, “The soil needed to be turned anyways, so if anything, they helped!”

The last excuse had surprised you, probably even himself as well, because you had seen a flash of hurt cross Jaemin’s face when you mentioned the flowers. Gardening was something he only ever did with his mother, always offering to carry the bags of soil or the heaviest flower pots. The two would work tirelessly to create the most beautiful plots, their clothes soaked-through with sweat and Jaemin’s entire body covered in dirt by the time they were done.You had hoped that he would get back into it after a while, but after seeing him burst into tears whenever he tried, you suppose it’s better that he stopped.

He looks over at Donghyuck and Renjun (his new brothers, he reminds himself) lounging around in the living room, brushing it off when he sees them throwing a ball back and forth—they were probably tired from all of the packing and the journey to their new house. Meanwhile, you’re narrowing your eyes at the two boys because something is telling you that their exhaustion is just an act.

“That’s the last of them, stepmother,” Jaemin says cheerily as he turns to the woman in question. She gets up from where she was sitting on the grand staircase, warm smile on her face as she approaches him. Your eyes follow her figure as you sit on the railing of the stairs, legs swinging in tandem with the swish of her hips.

“Thank you very much for your help, Jaemin,” she says while pulling him into a one-armed hug, the other preoccupied with holding her rather mean-looking cat. “We’re all very tired from the move, as you can imagine. Even poor Woong-ie is exhausted.” She holds up the cat in front of Jaemin’s face and he reaches out to pet him, but jumps back when the feline hisses and tries to scratch him.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Jaemin says sheepishly, glancing at the cat once more and shocked to find it glaring at him. You shoot daggers at the animal, smirking when you see its fur beginning to stand; even though it can’t see you, it can still sense you.

Just then, Jaemin’s father comes down from upstairs, announcing, “Your mother and I are going out tonight so that you boys can get to know one another without the adults around.” He smiles at his son, ruffling his hair as his new wife links arms with him. “We won’t be home late. Be good.”

“Always,” Jaemin replies after giggling and pushing his father’s hand away. He closes the door behind his parents before entering the living room. “So what do you guys want to do first?”

“Jaemin, Renjun and I are very tired,” Donghyuck sighs as he catches the ball that his brother throws to him without even looking, you rolling your eyes at how dramatic the boy sounds. “Would you mind taking our things up to our rooms? We can get to know one another after.

“Of course!” Jaemin exclaims, and you could tell that he was mentally berating himself for asking his brothers to play when he already knew how tired they were (though he didn’t actually know, much to your disdain).

He picks up two of the trunks and begins his trek up the stairs, eyes widening and head shaking back and forth frantically when you materialize. The trunks float out of his hands and up the stairs and Jaemin has to stop himself from squeaking, scrambling up the stairs and grabbing them before his brothers could see. “(Y/N), have you gone mad?” he hisses at you as he takes the stairs two at a time. “What if they suddenly come out and see you?”

With a sigh, you slip your wand back into your sleeve, quietly lowering the remaining suitcases back on to the ground before he could notice. “Jaemin, you’re tired too,” you chastise him as you follow him to their bedrooms. “You already carried all of their things into the house, I don’t see why they can’t take their things up to their rooms.”

Jaemin waves off your grumbling, bounding down the stairs to grab another two trunks. “I need the exercise anyways,” he says with a wide smile. “I haven’t been getting as much since I stopped gardening.”

Your shoulders sag when he says that, eyes following him wordlessly as he continues. He lugs the six trunks to their respective rooms after denying your help, and you wonder just how much stuff they own as he makes his way down the stairs once the last one was placed in Renjun’s room. He stands in front of the stairs with his hands on his hips, panting from the effort as he looks around at the finally empty foyer. With a satisfied sigh, he makes his way back towards the living room, almost tripping over Woong in the process, only to find his brothers gone and the front door ajar.

Another year passes, and Jaemin faces nothing but open doors and empty rooms; nothing has changed. Jaemin is still kind as ever to his stepmother and siblings, blissfully unaware at the fact that he’s constantly being taken advantage of. His father doesn’t take notice of these things because he spends almost all of his time at work now to make ends meet for his 2 new sons, wanting nothing more than to eat dinner and go to bed when he comes home. But then all of a sudden, everything changes.

At the age of 14, Jaemin’s father dies. And you are the only person that Jaemin has left.

At the sound of the first bell chime, you appear in Jaemin’s room perched on the windowsill, the sun warm on your back. At the third bell chime, you sigh because you know you’re going to have to force him out of bed again. At the final seventh bell chime, you wave your hand and the blankets are ripped off of him, the boy groaning the second his body is exposed to the chilly morning air. You watch in amusement as he blindly fumbles around for the blanket, huffing out a laugh when he sits up to glare at you with his hair sticking up in different directions. “Can’t you just let me sleep in for once? It’s been 5 years, I deserve at least 10 more minutes.” He squints against the morning sunlight, hands coming up and running through his hair in an attempt to flatten it down.

The way his hair is sticking up and his tired grumbling remind you of Jaehyun and how difficult it was to get him up in the mornings, but you quickly push those memories down. Jaehyun was the past, you have to focus on Jaemin now. No use in thinking about what could’ve been with him; what could’ve been with any of them had you not been cursed. “Excuse me, I seem to recall that you are the one that asked me to wake you up every day if you weren’t up by the seventh bell,” you retort, flicking your wrist so that the blanket is thrown in his face. “I’m just doing what you told me to.”

“Yeah well, maybe the reason I’m not truly happy yet is because I have to wake up so early,” Jaemin jokes, his natural good mood already starting to appear. “Let me wash up and then I’ll get started.”

You nod at that, leaving his room in the tower quietly to allow him to get ready for the day. At this early in the morning, you knew that no one else would be awake so you take the time to walk through the deteriorating estate. With a wave of your wand, the windows, curtains, and carpet in the corridor are cleaned, the remaining bits of lingering magic leaving a soapy scent in the air. You try not to interfere with Jaemin’s chores too much, per his request, but sometimes you just can’t help yourself. You stop in front of a large portrait of his father and sigh, your mind wandering back to the early days of Jaemin’s father’s death.

You remember how absolutely heartbroken he was to go through the death of his other parent, knowing that although he still had a family, his true family was gone. But just as always, he pushed through. He did everything he could to help around the house, and as money continuously got tight, more and more of the staff left until it was just Jaemin. And you knew the truth; you knew that his stepmother and step-brothers were just squirreling it away for themselves, only providing the bare minimum to put food on the table and to buy new clothes. You knew the truth and you told him, but Jaemin refused to let that stop him because if he did, who would do all of the work that needed to get done? So for the past 5 years, Jaemin has essentially been a servant for his family, cooking and cleaning and taking care of the animals in his family’s huge estate because there’s no one else. And you have hated every minute of it.

“(Y/N), what did I tell you about doing my chores for me,” Jaemin chastises you, stopping to stare at the portrait of his father next to you with a smile on his face.

“It was just the corridor this time, I didn’t do anything else,” you huff as you cross your arms, your heart jumping in your chest when you look up to see Jaemin smiling down at you. Out of all of the people you’ve been sent to help, Jaemin is definitely your favorite. With a heart of gold, bright smile, and sparkling eyes, it’s hard not to fall in love with him.

For the rest of the day, you follow Jaemin around as he does his various tasks around the house, talking to him and keeping him company while you watch. You don’t even bother to try to help him secretly because you know he’ll just end up catching you anyways (he somehow always knows, and part of you wonders if he’s able to detect magic). A drop of sweat slides down the side of his face as he scatters food along the ground for the chickens and you walk over with a towel to wipe it away. He smiles at you gratefully and you falter, the towel lingering against his face as you stare up at him. He’s certainly not the same quiet little 4 year old that got his ball stuck in a tree, you think to yourself as you appreciate the angles of his face, face flushing as the two of you continue to stare at each other. Jaemin opens his mouth to say something and you can feel yourself leaning closer to him, but the moment is interrupted by the ringing of 3 bells.

“Jaemin!” 3 voices yell simultaneously, and you sigh as Jaemin rushes inside, scrambling to balance the 3 trays in his hands to bring to his family for their morning tea.

“Open in the name of the King!” a gruff voice yells from outside following 3 loud knocks. Your back straightens as Jaemin scrambles to get up from where he was sat on the floor, rag and bucket of soapy water abandoned as he opens the door. He reveals a man dressed in uniform, various medals decorating his chest as he exclaims, “An urgent message from His Imperial Majesty!” He pulls out an envelope from inside his jacket and hands it to Jaemin, bowing deeply while the boy stutters out his thanks, and Jaemin watches as he scurries back into his carriage, presumably to deliver more letters.

You stand on your toes to try to peer at the letter from behind him, calves straining as you struggle you get higher. You don’t notice the way you’re leaning on him and holding on to his arm for a better look until your eyes flick up and are staring directly into his. You almost choke at the close proximity and immediately take a small step back, tucking your hair behind your ear as you keep your eyes on the envelope in his hands. The curse, you remind yourself. Remember the curse. But it’s no use; you love him, there’s no denying that. “W-What does it say?” you stutter, a frown appearing on your face when Jaemin suddenly turns and begins to make his way upstairs. “Where are you going?”

He stops on the stairs to smile at you, waiting for you to catch up as he runs his thumb over the ink on the envelope. “You know that stepmother will have my head on a plate if I dared to open this before her.” He shakes his head at you before continuing up the stairs, the strumming of a guitar becoming clearer as you walked. “Besides, I think it’s time for their music lesson to have a break, don’t you think?” You laugh at that, Renjun’s incorrect guitar chords and Donghyuck’s unstable vocals making the both of you wince as you get closer to the study.

At the sound of Jaemin’s knock, Donghyuck stops singing and you hear the bang of piano keys before his mother lets out a sharp, “Yes?”

Jaemin opens the door slowly, face sheepish as his gaze meets the smug ones of his siblings. “I’m sorry to interrupt-“

“Then you shouldn’t have in the first place,” Donghyuck sneers, he and Renjun laughing to themselves as their mother shushes them with a smile on her face.

“B-But this letter just arrived from the palace,” Jaemin stutters out, and you swear that you could hear his heart racing in his chest from Donghyuck’s teasing. Your hands tighten into fists at your side but you urge yourself to calm down, knowing that there’s unfortunately nothing you can do.

“From the palace?” Renjun repeats, him and his brother rushing over to rip the letter from Jaemin’s hands. “Give it to me!” He and his brother fight over who gets to open the envelope, their mother grabbing it from the both of them before they could ruin it.

“Boys, calm yourselves,” she scolds them softly, the both of them rolling their eyes before urging her to read it. “There’s to be a ball,” she gasps, looking up at her sons with wide eyes.

“A ball?” they repeat, equally as shocked.

“In honor of Her Highness, the princess,” their mother continues.

“The princess?” the boys repeat once again. You’re starting to wonder if this family has more than 3 collective brain cells, 2 of which belong to their mother.

“And,” she finishes, pausing for what you guess is dramatic effect. “By royal command, every eligible gentleman is to attend.”

“That’s us!” Renjun exclaims, grasping his brother’s shoulder tightly as he looks at him excitedly.

“And I am much more than eligible,” Donghyuck smirks, a hand coming up to run through his hair to sweep it back.

“That means I can go too!” Jaemin gasps as he steps forward to glance at the letter. He steps back when his family looks up at him, and you take a protective stance in front of him, invisibly glaring at his step-siblings as they laugh at him. “Why are you laughing? I’m still part of the family. And besides, it said ‘by royal command, every eligible gentleman is to attend’. I have to go!”

“Just imagine you dancing with the princess?” Renjun guffaws, he and his brother falling over each other from how hard they were laughing. “Oh, I would be honored, Your Highness! And might I say that my dish rag goes very well with your dress!” The two of them dance in a circle to mock Jaemin even more, Jaemin’s shoulders sagging at their words.

“The dirt underneath the princess’s shoes is worth more than the dirt on your face,” Donghyuck sneers, letting out a laugh when Jaemin subconsciously rubs at his cheek. “Face it, Jaemin, you’re just going to embarrass us.”

“Boys, that’s enough,” their mother finally says, effectively quieting them. “Now I see no reason for Jaemin to not attend the ball as well.” Jaemin’s eyes, as well as yours, widen at her words; where had this sudden change of heart come from? “That is,” she says, turning her eyes directly on him and raising an eyebrow. “If you get your chores done. And of course, if you’re able to find something suitable to wear.”

Jaemin reveals his outfit to you with a flourish, grinning from ear to ear as he holds it in front of his body and admires himself in the mirror. “It was my father’s,” Jaemin says softly. “He outgrew it and knew that I would grow into it. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You will admit, it is quite beautiful. The jacket and vest are a deep red color with gold trimming and gold vines around the wrist and upper chest area. There are gold buttons on each side of the opening, and the back is longer than the front. The pants had a similar design with the vines running down the side of the legs. But you just couldn’t get over the number of ruffles and dangly bits around every single edge of clothing possible. “It is beautiful,” you agree. “But perhaps a bit… Outdated.”

He chuckles softly at that, looking down at the floor before looking back up at you. “The ruffles and things are a bit much, aren’t they?” he asks, wrinkling his nose in response to you wrinkling your own and nodding. “Well that’s no matter. I’ve actually been planning out how I want to fix this up for a few years now.” He crouches down and begins searching for something at the bottom of his wardrobe, his voice muffled as he continues, “I drew it out in the back of an old design book that mother had… If only I could find it…” Just before Jaemin can begin his search in the very back of his closet, the shrill shriek of his stepmother’s voice calling for him makes him jump. He lets out a sigh as he stands up, squeezing his eyes shut as you brush the dust out of his hair. He smiles at you gratefully and then runs towards the door, casting one more glance back at you and his father’s suit before running down the stairs.

“He’s never going to be able to fix this if that wench keeps calling him down for useless chores,” you mutter to yourself, rubbing the fabric of the sleeve between your thumb and forefinger as you get lost in thought. You know that Jaemin’s stepmother has every intention of keeping him busy until the ball, but maybe…

Your posture straightens when Donghyuck’s voice floats up from downstairs, complaining about his black trousers having a stain on them and “how am I supposed to marry the princess with a stain on my trousers, mother?” The gears in your brain begin to turn when Renjun’s voice immediately follows with a “I’ve had this shirt for nearly two years now, I have nothing new to wear!” After a slam and a thud, you’re bounding down the tower stairs so fast that it feels as if the winds of Zephyr himself were carrying you down. Lying on the floor of the foyer is a pile of clothes deemed unworthy by Renjun and Donghyuck’s standards but considered a luxury in Jaemin’s eyes. You pick out the pants with the stain and Renjun’s “old” shirt, rifling through the pile for anything else that could be of use. You hear a door open behind you and immediately turn around, the breath that you had unknowingly been holding exiting your mouth in a soft sigh when you see that it’s just Woong. The feline regards you with narrowed eyes and lets out a hiss at your presence, scurrying out of the room when you narrow your eyes in response.

“Evil cat,” you mumble, gaze still following him as he enters a different room in the house. You gather your things and make your way back up to Jaemin’s room, careful to turn yourself invisible this time in case any of his family was walking around. Once you’re back in his room, you lay out the pants on his bed and place the jacket and shirt beside it. You pull out your wand from your sleeve and get to work, the tip glowing a bright orange as you drag it along the edges of the jacket to remove the fringe and ruffles. It changes to a bright blue color when you move to the dirty clothes and tap your wand on the stains, watching with a satisfied smile as they disappear. You get rid of the design on the buttons of the jacket and vest so that they’re a plain gold and get Jaemin’s nicest pair of shoes from his closet to place them on the floor. With a wave of your hand, the outfit is hung up against the door of the wardrobe and hidden away, waiting to be revealed once Jaemin comes back.

You fall asleep on Jaemin’s bed while waiting for him to finish his chores, your dreams filled with the people that you’ve fallen in love with while helping them find their true happiness. You dream about Jaehyun and his bride-to-be, Sooyoung and her husband in her newly opened bakery, Taeyong and the first time he sets eyes on his lover in his flower shop. Your memories swirl around you in a haze of heartbreak and reluctance, the anger that you feel towards the gods only temporary because you know that no matter what you do, nothing will convince them to lift the curse of Calypso. Jaemin materializes in front of you and you reach out to him, your fingers just brushing against his when he disappears, only to reappear a few feet away from you, smiling at a figure next to him. You can’t make out any features but even in your dream state, you know what this means. His true happiness will reveal itself to him soon.

Your eyes flutter open just as Jaemin’s bedroom door opens, his shoulders slumped as he drags his feet towards the window. “You’re back,” you croak, voice thick with sleep. Jaemin merely hums in response, gaze refusing to leave the night sky above him. You feel sad as you look at him, the feelings from your dream still lingering, but you can feel something else; his own sadness as he looks up at the stars. “What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the ball?”

Jaemin turns around to reveal his sad smile to you, fingers drumming against the wooden window frame as he shakes his head at you. “My chores took a lot longer than I thought,” he shrugs, and you can tell that he’s trying his best to not look too upset. “Stepmother, Hyuck, and Renjun will be leaving soon and I don’t have enough time to fix father’s suit.”

“About that…” you trail off as you suppress the smile threatening to appear on your face. You wave your wand to open his wardrobe door, revealing to him his outfit of the night. “Ta-da!”

“(Y/N), you… You did this for me?” Jaemin asks in awe, one hand coming up to touch the jacket but withdrawing a second later, as if the clothing would disappear if he were to touch it.

“No, I actually made this for me to wear,” you tease him as you get up from the bed. “Of course I did it for you, silly. Now hurry up and put it on, the carriage will be here soon.”

You and Jaemin run down the grand staircase just as his family is beginning to head out the door, Jaemin’s shouts of “Wait! Wait for me!” stopping them in their tracks. Renjun’s and Donghyuck’s jaws drop as he runs up to them, his hands smoothing over the jacket as he beams at them. “Isn’t it stunning? Do you like it?” At his words, his stepbrothers immediately begin to protest to their mother, and you can’t help but smirk at them invisibly from behind Jaemin.

“Boys, that’s enough,” their mother scolds them, stepping forward towards Jaemin while her sons pout from behind her. “The pants suit you well, Jaemin. Don’t you agree, Hyuckie?” She turns to raise an eyebrow at him as she pinches at the fabric, and you feel yourself stiffen at her question.

“I guess,” Donghyuck replies with dismissive wave, eyes widening when he sees what his mother wants him to see. “Wait, those are my pants! Take them off!” He runs forward and grabs at the waist of Jaemin’s pants, tugging on the fabric harshly while demanding that he take them off.

“And that shirt, that’s my shirt!” Renjun shrieks, running forward to rip Jaemin’s jacket off to get at his shirt.

Jaemin’s protests are drowned out by their shrieks, their hands fluttering around him as they pinch and pull at his outfit until all that’s left is shreds of clothing, his father’s jacket lying torn at his feet. Your eyes don’t know where to look as they flick from Jaemin to his step-brothers to his stepmother. You see Jaemin’s resolve cracking with each hand they lay on him, the irritation and power radiating off of Donghyuck and Renjun as they tear their brother down, and the satisfaction and smugness in the form of a smirk and raised eyebrows on Jaemin’s stepmother. All of this is happening and you can’t do anything but watch, forced to keep yourself hidden from his family rather than stepping in to protect the boy you’ve come to love.

“Boys, boys!” their mother yells, her voice making all of you freeze in place and immediately getting her sons to stop and return to her side. “That’s quite enough. Let’s go, the carriage is waiting.” The three of them make their way towards the front door looking very satisfied with themselves, and all you and Jaemin can do is watch as they get farther away. “Goodnight,” she says with a smile before shutting the door with a dull thud. And that’s when it all comes crashing down.

You turn to Jaemin with wide eyes, your hands shaking with rage when you see him beginning to tremble. “Jaemin,” you say, unsure of what you could possibly say to make him feel better in this situation. He lets out a pained sob and you feel your heart break at just how sad he sounds. “Jaemin, I-”

Before you can get any closer, he runs. And you let him run past you, allowing him a few moments to himself before beginning your search. You let the sound of his cries guide you to him, gaze softening when you see him at the tree in the corner of the garden. His head is buried in his arms as he sobs on a stone bench, and you’re able to make out a faint “It’s not fair,” as you approach him. You sit on the bench beside his head, your hand coming up to stroke his hair as he continues to cry. “It’s not fair, (Y/N), it just isn’t fair,” he cries, his emotions so strong that they cause your own tears to form. “I’ve tried so hard for so long to believe. Believe that you could help me, believe that I could help myself. But maybe this is just how it’s going to be. Maybe this is where I’m meant to be.”

As he continues to cry beside you, an aura of magic begins to glow around the two of you. It becomes brighter and brighter and the raw power that it exudes becomes stronger and stronger, and you know that your time with Jaemin is coming to an end soon. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you chide. “Everyone deserves to be happy, especially you.” You push his hair away from his face and coax him to look up at you, wiping at his tear-stained cheeks as you smile down at him. “It’s time, Jaemin. It’s time for you to find your true happiness.” You pull him with you as you stand up, giving him your widest smile as you try to hide just how bittersweet this really is for you. “You’re going to Princess Chaeyoung’s ball tonight, I’m making sure of it.”

“But how?” he sniffles, hands squeezing yours as his eyes water once more. “Father’s suit is ruined and I have no way of getting to the palace.”

“Have you forgotten who I am?” you tease as you reveal your wand to him. “Your stepmother may have had a few tricks up her sleeve, but I have a magic wand up mine.” Your heart skips a beat when Jaemin beams at you, hands balling into fists in excitement. “Now close your eyes and count to 20.”

As Jaemin begins counting, the tattered clothes on his body begin to shimmer and transform. The tree behind him uproots itself and bends and twists into the shape of a carriage while 7 chickens are summoned from the barn, 6 to be turned into horses while the last is turned into a coachmen. You look down and see a golden glow around your entire body as the magic does its work, and you can’t help but grimace at the sight. All of this power flowing through your veins and for what? The gods will allow you to use your magic to help people find true happiness but they have forbidden you from using it to find your own. You’ve tried fighting back against your destiny, against this curse, for so long, but they are always watching.

“Open your eyes,” you say to him when he finishes counting. Behind you sits his horse-drawn carriage, its proud coachmen standing beside it. And in front of you stands the boy you’ve fallen in love with, looking handsome as ever and one step closer to getting his happy ending. You smile softly as he looks at his new outfit, the dark blue velvet of his jacket making the silver detailing stand out nicely. “I kept the original design of your father’s jacket, just made a few changes,” you explain. “I think blue suits you better.”

With a wave of your wand, you produce a mirror for Jaemin to look at himself in, moving so that you can stand behind him as he analyzes your work. He first fiddles with the jacket, his fingers running over the vines at his chest and the ones running down his sleeves. He then turns every which way to look at the black trousers you’ve created, the silver vines once again running down the sides. Jaemin makes eye contact with you through the mirror and beams brightly at you. “You’ve truly outdone yourself,” he compliments you, spinning around and opening his arms to pull you into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, (Y/N), this really means a lot to me.”

He pulls away from you to stare into your eyes, his own sparkling as he continues to smile down at you. You clear your throat and take a step back from him, willing your heart to stop beating so fast as you explain, “The spell will only last until midnight-”

“That long? Oh, that’s more than enough time,” Jaemin interrupts you out of excitement.

You give him a pointed look, which quiets him down, and continue. “So make sure you’re home by then. I’ll be more specific: at the first stroke of midnight, the spell will begin to wear off. If you are still at the ball by the twelfth stroke, you will be stuck at the palace in your tattered clothes. Make sure you’re home before then.”

Jaemin nods along with your words with wide eyes, walking with you as you lead him to the carriage. “I’ll be home by midnight, I promise.”

You nod and open the door for him, watching as he looks at the lush interior and then back at you, excitement dancing in his eyes. “Go,” you urge him softly. “You have a ball to get to.”

You close the door behind him and watch as the carriage gets smaller and smaller, your stomach feeling like it’s going to turn itself inside out the farther it gets from you—the farther Jaemin gets from you. Before the rational part of your brain can stop you, you wave your wand, and suddenly you’re sitting next to the coachmen. Invisible to all, even Jaemin, you close your eyes as the wind whips your hair back, mentally preparing yourself for the heartbreak that you know will eventually come.

Jaemin is very careful as he walks around the castle towards the grand ballroom, the only sound he hears being the music and muffled chatter from the party getting louder the closer he gets. You’ve never been in a castle yourself so the both of you are taking your time as you walk up the staircase, your eyes wide as you try to take everything in. From the plush carpet underneath your feet to the marble columns on either side of you to the molding and artwork on the ceiling above you, you had never seen anything like it before.

The two of you enter the ballroom, invisible to everyone (but you more so) because their eyes were drawn to Princess Chaeyoung at the front of the room who was greeting every gentleman of every family that has come to seek her hand in marriage. A few steps behind her is her brother, Prince Jeno, and behind him sits their parents, the king and queen. Jeno looks rather bored from what you can tell from the expression on his face, and you can’t help but chuckle when you see him stifle a yawn. The prince’s eyes wander around the room as his sister continues to greet their guests, landing on something that piques his interest and causes his eyebrows to furrow. You follow his gaze and your eyes land on Jaemin, who’s wandering around the edge of the room and peering at the long velvet curtains and the windows that they cover.

After the princess is done greeting all of her guests, 2 of whom were unfortunately Jaemin’s step-brothers (the both of you had to suppress a grimace at just how hard they tried to impress her in those 10 seconds they had her attention), the king requests a waltz. You hear suppressed groans when all of the young boys around you see that Princess Chaeyoung is dancing with her father for the first dance, and you struggle to not bump into anyone as they all scramble to find a dancing partner. From the corner of your eye, you can see Jaemin also doing the same but he ends up getting pushed in the process, and you begin to rush over to help him when you realize that he doesn’t even know you’re there. And besides, someone had already beat you to it.

Your eyes follow the hand that’s offered to Jaemin, and you feel your heart sink a bit when they’re met with Jeno’s smiling face. Jaemin takes it with a smile, and you watch as the two boys continue to stare at each other. “Hello,” Jeno greets him, and that’s when Jaemin realizes that his hand is still in his, causing him to take a step back as he lets go and bump into the balcony doors behind him as he tries to stutter out a response. “My name is Jeno.”

“Y-Your Majesty,” Jaemin responds, bowing lowly which causes Jeno’s mouth to open and close in surprise, resembling a fish. “Th-Thank you for the help.”

“Oh, you don’t need to call me that,” Jeno says as he rubs at the back of his neck, face flushing red from embarrassment. “Just Jeno is fine.” The two stare at the floor as they stand in front of each other, both of their faces red as the awkward silence stretches over them. “Do you… want to go outside for a bit?”

Jaemin nods quickly. Anything to get out of this busy crowd. Jeno shuffles behind him and opens the balcony doors, the two of them taking deep breaths of fresh air the second they step outside. You seat yourself on the railing as they stare out into the distance, Jaemin’s eyes sparkling as he gazes out at the town below him. His head turns in your direction and you freeze when his eyes land on you—or well, through you, looking at his family’s estate.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, tearing his eyes away from you to look back out at the view right in front of him, the lights down below making his face glow a dull orange.

Yeah, you think to yourself softly. You are.

Jaemin and Jeno continue to enjoy the view and each other’s company in silence, glad to be away from the bustling crowd and all of the boys vying for the princess’s attention. You block out their conversation as Jaemin asks Jeno about life in the palace and Jeno asks Jaemin about life outside of the palace. With each smile that appears on Jaemin’s face and each laugh that Jeno lets out, your heart sinks further and further. You get up from your spot on the rail and drift down into the palace gardens, no longer in the mood to be at the ball.

You know what’s coming.

“Jaemin?” you call out, approaching him from behind. He slowly turns to face you, his mother’s locket clenched in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“This was the best night of my life,” he says softly, a fond smile on his face as he looks up at the star-filled night sky. He had just watched his carriage turn back into the tree in the corner of the garden that it originally was, and he can’t help but feel like there’s magic all around him still. “I’m more than okay. But I guess not everything is meant to go as planned.”

“What happened?” you ask, steeling yourself for anything. What could have gone wrong tonight?

He walks forward and shows you the locket, his mother’s face smiling up at you as you look down. There wasn’t a scratch on it. But something felt...wrong. “The note from my mother,” he explains, answering your unasked question. “It’s gone. I stopped outside the palace before leaving and I opened it, just to talk to her for a second, but the knights were catching up to me so I had to run and-” Jaemin pauses, laughing at the confusion on your face. He forgot that you weren’t with him at the ball tonight. “I’ll explain it later. But I guess the wind must have blown it away.”

“W-We can go to the palace and look for it, I’m sure it’s still near wherever you opened the locket,” you reassure him frantically, trying to calm your own rising panic because you know how much that locket and note mean to Jaemin. “We can-”

“It’s okay,” he cuts you off with a hand on your shoulder, soft smile still on his face. “I don’t need a note to keep her close. I know that she’s always with me.” You feel your lower lip wobble at his words, tears brimming in your eyes as you think back to the 10 year old boy who could barely step outside without crying. With a sniffle, you wrap your arms around his middle and shove your face into his chest, your tears soaking his white shirt. He pulls you back and his eyes look over you frantically, trying to figure out why you’re suddenly crying. “(Y/N), what’s wrong?”

After a few deep breaths and a few seconds to clear your throat, you finally look up at him with watery eyes. “I have been watching over you since the moment you were born, Na Jaemin. I heard your first cry, watched your first steps, heard your first word. I held you close when your mother died, wiped your tears when your father died, and stayed by your side every day. You’ve been through and have grown so much and yet somehow, you’re still the same little boy with a heart of gold that I first met. And I am so so proud of you. It’s truly an honor to know you.” You close your mouth before you can continue, knowing that if you do, you would say the three words you’ve been hiding for so long—the three words that could ruin everything.

“(Y/N),” he breathes out, his own eyes watering from just how moved he is by your words. “Wh-What’s gotten into you, why are you saying all of this? You’ve never-”

His words are cut off when he hears the faint crunch of gravel in the distance, letting him know that his family is coming home. The two of you rush back into the house and up the stairs, the loud voices of his stepmother and step-siblings drifting all the way up to his bedroom where Jaemin lays with a smile on his face. He made a new friend tonight and his best friend just told him she’s proud of him. Life is good.

It’s the next day and Jaemin couldn’t be happier. The two of you are currently in the music room and you’re watching Jaemin sweep while his brothers fool around on the other side of the room, waiting for their mother to come home and start their lesson. You’re perched on top of the grand piano, legs swinging, and you keep shooting funny faces at Jaemin while he does his chores, smiling when you see him try his best to stifle his laughter.

“I wonder who that boy was,” Renjun speculates to Hyuck as they sprawl out on the chairs in the corner of the room. “That one with the blue jacket that Prince Jeno went up to during the waltz. I heard everyone around me saying that they had never seen him before.”

You feel your stomach drop at Renjun’s words, doing your best to mask your fear but keep the shock on your face as you look over at Jaemin. His back is turned to all of you but you can tell from his slow movements that he’s listening to their conversation now.

“Mother said the same thing too,” Hyuck responds as he picks the dirt out of his nails. “Maybe the prince went out to look for a suitor for the princess but they ended up becoming friends. Apparently, they stayed out on the balcony the whole night, just talking. I even heard the king say that he’s never seen Prince Jeno that friendly with a stranger before.”

Suddenly, his stepmother bursts into the room, causing all four of you to freeze and look at her. “The king,” she gasps, waving Jaemin over and handing him her coat as she tries to control her breathing. “The king has issued a proclamation. Prince Jeno is looking for the boy from last night, the one in the blue jacket. He wants this boy to train alongside him as a knight and the king is willing to appoint him as the prince’s groom of the bedchamber. The Duke has been searching the whole kingdom all night and will be arriving here soon.”

Her sons slump in their seats at her words, not understanding why she’s so worked up about this. “If the prince is looking for that boy, then why should we care? We’re not him,” Hyuck whines.

She takes a few steps forward and points at them. “Nobody knows who this boy is. The only clue that they have is a note that was found lying at the bottom of the stairs where the boy was last seen.” She lets out a sigh of frustration when she’s met with nothing but silence from them. “This means that the boy will get to live in the palace and has the possibility of marrying Princess Chaeyoung since he will already be acquainted with the royal family.”

At that, the two boys shoot out of their seats and run out of the room, only to quickly rush back in and throw piles of clothes at Jaemin. They shout demand after demand at him, telling him to wash their clothes and shine their shoes, but they’re only met with silence and a dreamy look on his face. During their mother’s explanation, you had watched as the wheels in Jaemin’s head began to turn and he understood exactly what this could mean for him; a life in the palace, a life with his new friend, a life away from his cruel family. Here is the chance he’s been waiting for, ready for him to take it.

“Mother, something’s wrong with Jaemin,” Renjun snickers, pointing at the glazed over look in his eyes to her.

“Pay attention, stupid,” Hyuck says loudly as he snaps in front of Jaemin’s face. “The Duke is going to be here soon and we need to get ready.”

Jaemin snaps out of his reverie with a shake of his head, dropping the clothes in his hands to smooth over his own clothes on his body. “Yes, we need to get ready,” he mumbles to himself, much to the confusion of the rest of his family. “We have to look nice for the Duke.” He begins to hum the waltz from last night as he walks out of the room, and you don’t miss the narrowing of his stepmother’s eyes before you exit as well.

You begin to follow him up to his room when he suddenly stops before going up the stairs, causing you to almost run face-first into his chest. “Would you mind making me a cup of tea while I get ready?” he asks you. “I just… I feel too excited right now so I need something to calm me down.”

You laugh at his explanation and nod, watching him as he makes his way to his tower before leaving your line of sight. Just as you’re about to enter the kitchen, you see his stepmother making her way up the stairs, and you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You grab the jar of tea leaves from the shelf and begin to boil some water, mulling over what she could possibly be up to this time. Suddenly, you hear Jaemin let out a distressed cry which makes you jump, and you take the kettle off the fire before running up to his room.

“Jaemin!” you shout as you bound up the stairs, breathing hard as you run. “What’s wrong?” You turn the handle but find yourself unable to, so you begin to pound on the door. “Jaemin, let me in!”

“Stepmother!” he cries out, and you can hear as well as feel him shaking the door handle in the hopes that it will somehow break and unlock. “She locked me in here! She knows, (Y/N), she somehow knows that I was the boy with Jeno last night. She’s not going to let me leave. Please, (Y/N), use your wand and get me out of here.”

You begin patting down your robe and you feel a chill run through your spine when you don’t feel your wand hidden amongst the fabric. You take it off and shake it out, thinking it’ll just fall to the floor, but you hear nothing. “Jaemin,” you say quietly, but you know that he can still hear you. “I can’t find my wand.” The both of you are silent at your confession, neither knowing what to do but not wanting to discourage the other. “I-It’s fine,” you reassure him. “I’ll just go find it, it has to be somewhere in the house.” Without waiting for a response, you run back down the stairs as you try to remember the last place you put it.

Running as fast as you can without missing anything, you check the foyer, the staircase, and the kitchen but come up empty. The last place you can think of is the music room and you pray to every single god you know that it’s there. And funnily enough, they answered your prayers. Except unfortunately, you’re still cursed because the wand is in Woong’s mouth. He’s sat at his owner’s feet, who’s asleep on one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, and is gnawing at your wand hard enough to cause sparks to fly out.

“Good kitty,” you say to him calmly as you slowly approach him. You reach your hands out towards the cat and push down a wave of irritation when the cat scoots away from you. “It’s okay, I just want what’s in your mouth.” And it’s like Woong can understand you because he bites down on it and growls lowly, glaring at you through narrowed eyes. You take a step closer and bite back a groan when he gets up and runs away from you.

It’s going to take ages to chase that damn cat around, you grumble to yourself in your head. You’re just about to go after him when you spot it: a key about to fall out of Jaemin’s stepmother’s pocket. You wave your hand in front of her sleeping face, making sure that she can’t see you and hoping that she won’t wake up from any movement, before walking closer to her. Slowly, you reach out and slide the key out from underneath her hand, almost jumping out of your skin when you hear a knock from the front door. His stepmother jumps out of her seat and you scramble to get out of her way, her dress fluttering around your ankles as she frantically fixes herself before opening the door. You quickly run back to the tower as you hear her greet the Duke and introduce her sons to him, praying that you make it in time.

You’re out of breath by the time you’re at the top of the stairs, and you’re just about to call out to Jaemin when your words die in your throat as your eyes are once again met with the demon cat. Your wand is still between his teeth and he growls at you, as if threatening to use your own wand against you. Annoyed and tired from running around, you pull back your lips and hiss at him, stunned when he lets out a yowl that causes him to drop your wand before running down the stairs. With shaking hands, you unlock the door while picking up your wand at the same time, urgently saying, “Go, Jaemin, quickly! Before he leaves!”

Jaemin whips past you and bounds down the stairs, not even bothering to check if you’re following him because he knows that you will. You can hear his family saying their goodbyes to the Duke and wishing him well, so with a wave of your wand, you give Jaemin a little push, one that puts him in the sights of the Duke at the very last second.

“Wait, Your Grace!” Jaemin exclaims from the top of the grand staircase as he waves his hands at him. “I’d like to try, if you’ll let me!”

Jaemin’s family’s eyes widen at his sudden appearance, his stepmother patting her now-empty pocket on her dress as all of them stutter out excuses as to why Jaemin shouldn’t have a chance to prove himself. Their protests fall on deaf ears though as the Duke walks forward and gestures for Jaemin to take a seat. He hands him a pen and paper and says, “This note has 2 lines of writing on it. The first says I love you, what does the second one say?”

You feel your heart clench when Jaemin lets out a soft chuckle and writes down the words he wrote all those years ago: I miss you.

You and Jaemin collapse on to his bed, the both of you tired out from packing up all of Jaemin’s things and moving them to the palace. You look around at the room and then turn your head to look at him, a fond smile appearing when you see his wide eyes staring up at the ceiling above him. His room was big, as big as his stepmother’s bedroom at his old home, and you know that it’s going to take a while for him to get used to this kind of lifestyle. Your stare lingers a little too long and you’re forced to meet his gaze when he turns to look at you with a wide smile.

“True happiness looks good on you,” you tease him, though both of you know that you really mean it. There’s no one that you’ve met that deserves to live the rest of his days in happiness more than Jaemin.

Jaemin sits up and lets out a content sigh, looking around the room once more before turning back to you. “Jeno should be here soon. Do you think it’s a good idea to tell him about you?” he asks and your breath catches in your throat at his words. He takes your silence as shock and continues, “Because I think we should get you your own room. Not that I don’t like sharing a room with you! But also I think it’ll be hard keeping you a secret because I’ll always be around people and it’ll be a bit strange if they see me talking to no one.”

You get up from his bed and stand in front of him, placing your hands on your shoulders as you look down at him with sad eyes. “I don’t need my own room-”

“Oh good, because I actually do like sharing a room with you, and I feel like this big one will make me feel lonely. Maybe-”

“Jaemin,” you cut him off. “I’m not staying here. My job is done, you don’t need me anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Jaemin asks, not understanding what you’re saying. Don’t need you anymore? You’re his best friend, of course he needs you; he’ll always need you. “You’re my best friend! We just moved into the palace, you can’t leave!”

“I helped you find true happiness,” you explain as you take a step back and draw your hands away from him. “It’s time for us to go our separate ways.”

He grabs your wrist to prevent you from moving back, his gaze fierce as he stands up. You’ve never noticed before but he towers over you now; he really has grown up. “No,” he protests. “You can’t leave. If you do, then I won’t be truly happy. You’ve been a part of my life for 19 years, (Y/N), and you expect me to accept the fact that just because my life is better now then that means I can never see you again?”

“Please,” you plead weakly, lightly tugging at your arm in an attempt to get him to let go. “Please don’t make this harder than it has to be-”

“Don’t make it hard at all then,” Jaemin argues, his brow furrowed as he looks down at you. Tears begin to form in his eyes and he wipes them away angrily. Why are you so insistent on leaving him? “Just stay.”

You hear thunder rumbling in the distance, and a quick glance at the window behind Jaemin shows you that it’s still a beautiful day outside. The gods are calling you. “I’m sorry, Jaemin,” you apologize, forcefully separating yourself from him with a watery smile. “I wish there was another way, but there’s nothing I can do.” You draw your wand out from your sleeve and raise it up with a shaky hand to point it at him. “It’s going to be alright,” you reassure him. “You’re not going to remember me anyways.”

His eyes widen and they flicker from your wand back to your face. “(Y/N)...” he trails off breathily. There are tears running down your face but your gaze is hard. Jaemin knows that there’s nothing he can do.

You want to tell him, to say those 3 little words so badly. But you can’t ruin this more than you already have. You weren’t even supposed to tell him that you’re leaving in the first place. “I’m proud of you, Jaemin, and I wish you the best. It was an honor to be by your side all these years, and you will always be my best friend.”

With a wave of your wand, a mist covers his whole body, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself standing beside his bed. What was he doing again? Standing invisibile in front of him, you watch him look around in confusion and you can’t help but reach out a hand towards him, letting it hover over his arm. You really will miss him.

The door opens and you both look up to see Jeno standing there, concern in his gaze when he sees his friend’s confused expression. “Jaemin? Are you okay?”

Their eyes meet and Jaemin smiles widely at him, exiting the room and closing the door behind him as he reassures Jeno, “I’m fine, just had a moment of déjà vu.”

The room around you fades until there’s nothing left but a white mist floating around you. You wipe away the last of your tears as you wonder where you are. Usually you would already be meeting your new assignment by now. A glowing orb drifts down and lands in front of you, its light pulsing as it radiates warmth. “The gods have decided to be merciful,” a voice says, it’s tone soothing and low, and you wonder if it’s coming from the ball of light. “The curse shall end with you. You’ve done well, child, and it is time for you to move on.”

The orb begins to grow brighter and brighter, causing you to shield your eyes. Your ears begin to pop, as if pressure is building, and is that a faint ringing you hear? Black spots begin to dance in front of your vision and you feel yourself becoming lightheaded. What’s happening? What or who even was that? Your heart begins to race from panic and you reach out blindly as your knees give out beneath you. “Move on”? Am I becoming mortal? You open your mouth to call out to Jaemin for help, only a whispered yell leaving your lips when you remember. No… I’m dying. You remember that he’s not there, that he doesn’t even know who you are now. And that, you think, is a fate worse than death. You close your eyes. And then… nothingness.

341 notes · View notes

thesvenqueen · 5 years ago

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With All My Love

Rating: M Pairing: Kristanna (as if it would be anything else) Also on AO3

Previous Chapters: (Prologue)

Note(s): I got on a roll yesterday and this appeared. Some peaceful, normal day stuff...for now :) a

{Chapter 1}

Much like everyday, Anna ate her breakfast in silence.

It used to drive her mad. The deafening silence that seemed to drag on and on, only the slight scraping of utensils against plates & the little sips of morning tea, the only noise to break the lull.

It’s sad to say she’s used to it by now. I time once meant for mingling and chatting is now mostly a reminder to Anna on how distant her and Elsa had become.

She bites into her toast, taking a glance towards her sister. Elsa sits regal, as she always has, at the other end of the table. She sips her tea as she looks over the documents laid before her, today's paper placed off to the side.

It’s routine now for Elsa to use every meal time as a moment to review what she can. Whether it be letters from dignitaries, potential deals with other kingdoms, notes from council meetings; the papers were stacked by her plate in a small, neat pile.

There had been a few times when Anna had tried to speak, tried to engage with her older sister but they were in vain.

~.~

Try to ask her what she has planned for the day, how she’s feeling maybe? Couldn’t hurt to try. She can’t just ignore you like that.

I do, well I did. A few times, but it’s the same as always.

She just sipped her tea and nodded. I asked her what she had planned for the day and she just...nodded at me. I tried again but she shushed me and said “I have a lot of things to catch up on Anna, you’re distracting me”.

I don’t even think she heard me at all.

Well, at least she spoke. That’s a start!

I guess.

~.~

Finishing her breakfast, Anna stands. Her lessons weren’t for another hour or so, more than enough time to head to the kitchens as she did most mornings. With a smile at the thought, she reaches across the table to snag an apple for later and turns to leave.

As she reaches the large wooden door, she pauses, looking back to see if Elsa had even moved from her spot. If she’d even noticed her younger sister had gotten up to depart.

With a sigh, Anna realizes her sister hasn’t even so much as flinched. She pushes the hurt down as she leaves, as she has done so many times before.

~.~

“Here for your second breakfast already, my lady?”

Anna giggles as she enters the kitchen, smiling in kind at Gerda, “Not yet, but perhaps in an hour or so.”

~.~

Is there anyone at all you’re close with? There has to be someone in your household.

Well, there is Gerda. She assists where she can; kitchens, cleaning, you name it. She’s always been kind to me since I was little. Though I think I bring her to her wits end sometimes.

From the stories you’ve told, I couldn’t imagine why.

That is very rude of you….but you may be right.

~.~

Gerda playfully rolls her eyes, picking up her rolling pin to point it at her, “Not sure if I should prepare anything for you seeing as you snuck the last of the chocolates, again.”

Anna feigns hurt, placing her hand over her heart, “Gerda, I would never.”

“Yes, as you have said many times now.” Gerda sighs, going back to rolling out the dough, “But it’s not the rats stealing those boxes.”

“You have no faith in me Gerda.” Anna teased, eyeing the bowl of what seemed to be some sort of jam on the table.

“You make it hard to have faith my--AH, NO!” Gerda cries, smacking Anna’s hand away from the bowl before she can sneak a lick.

Anna pouts, only to smile as Gerda snags a spoon, scoops a bit and hands it over to her. It’s strawberry jam, Anna’s favorite and she hums in delight at the taste.

“Now that’s all you get till they’re ready.” Gerda said, snatching the spoon away, “Don’t need you eating up all my jam.”

While Gerda is turned away, Anna sneaks a finger into the bowl and swipes more jam before she can see.

“I hope your hands are clean at least.”

Anna squeaks in surprise, taking off to the back door before Gerda can come for her. She’s so distracted that as she bolts out the door and down the stairs, she slams head first into something large and solid.

“Well, good morning Princess.”

Anna rolls her eyes, stepping back as she rubs her head, “I hate it when you call me that.”

“Why? It’s your title isn't it?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I like being called by it.”

“Just being formal.”

“And since when have you ever been formal Kristoff?”

Kristoff chuckles as she turns back to his sled, beginning to untie the ice, “With you? Never.”

“My point exactly.” Anna teases, taking her seat besides the stairs. She watches him intently, biting into her apple.

She’s known Kristoff for a few years now, and he had become a steady friend during these tough times. He started delivering ice to the castle every other day, and Anna had ran into him by chance.

Literally.

Much like this morning, she had swiped something from the kitchen. Running to escape Gerda’s tyraid, she’d bounded down the stairs, only to slam directly into Kristoff. He’d been holding a block of ice and their collision had sent the block flying to the ground, shattering into tiny pieces.

He’d been mad, glaring while she stood and repeated over and over how sorry she was. He didn’t care, he had exclaimed, that was his meal ticket she’d just managed to smash. He ignored her the rest of the delivery, brushing past her as she sat on the side of the steps. Feeling guilty, she’d snuck a bag of food into his sled when he wasn’t looking as an apology.

The next time he had visited, he had smiled at her, thanking her for the goods.

From then on, she’d sit idly beside the stairs or give Sven a few scratches behind his ear (and sneak some carrots much to Kristoff’s protests) while he did his delivery.

~.~

Is that all though? Seems quite lonely.

I mean, we get some visitors here and there that I’ll chat with. Some people bring goods for the house and what not, and I’ll talk with them but that’s it.

...it is very lonely.

I’m sorry.

Don’t apologize, at least I have you :)

~.~

“Where did you go this time?”

Kristoff grunts as he lifts a block from the sled, “Just on the other side of the North Mountain.”

“Isf tfhat a flongf ftrip?” Anna asks, mouth full of apple.

“Can’t hear you with your mouth full Princess.”

Anna swallows, watching Kristoff come up the stairs, “Is that a long trip?”

She saw him shrug ever so, “Not really. A day trip if anything. Sven gets us back pretty quickly.”

Anna turns to the reindeer, who raises his head ever so as if in pride. “You’re the best Sven.” She calls with a smile. The reindeer looks at her then, and Anna giggles as he shook his head at somewhat a thanks.

“Yeah, don’t hype him up too much.” Kristoff says, coming back down the stairs, “He’s still a great pain in the ass.”

“So mean to him, honestly.” Anna says. She moves then, heading down the stairs to stand beside Sven. “You’re a good boy Sven, don’t let him say otherwise.” Anna says, feeding him the rest of her apple.

“You act like I treat him horribly.”

“I never said anything of the sort.” Anna looks back in time to see him roll his eyes as he picks up another block.

“I just don’t baby him, like you.”

“I don’t baby him. I just show him love and appreciation, unlike someone.”

He ignores her then, heading into the kitchen once more. Anna huffs a laugh, turning back to Sven, “He’s such a stinker.”

She could swear the reindeer nods in agreement.

“You need to work on your whispering.” Kristoff calls, coming back out.

“I wasn’t whispering! If anything, you need to work on your niceness.”

“I’m nice enough.”

“Says who?”

“Me, and that’s all the approval I need.”

Anna rolls her eyes, leaning gently back against Sven as she crosses her arms, “So full of yourself, honestly. No wonder you're so big, you're filled with your own ego.”

Kristoff pauses, hands around another block, but only for a second as he moves before Anna can really take notice. “You make me sound like an ass.”

“Well…” Anna teases, seeing him eye her as he turns with the block of ice in hand. She laughs then at the annoyed look on his face, “You’re not an ass, Kristoff or I wouldn’t come see you every time you visit.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, let me start being one now then.”

He laughs as he goes back up the stairs, Anna scoffing at him as he goes.

~.~

I’d really do nothing all day if not for my lessons. Even then, I hardly do anything in them as it is. I don’t recall anything the tutor told me and they know it too. I get berated for it all the time.

That’s great you get to have that though. I know nothing about anything.

Not true! You know about harvesting and mountain climbing and mountains and how a business works.

I can tell you the history of the last war, like that is even helpful.

I don’t even know when the last war was so you have me beat there at least. I’ll say that’s a good thing.

I suppose, but it’s nothing very helpful.

~.~

Dinner was in a few hours, which meant she had most of the afternoon to herself now that her lessons were over.

With that, Anna ventures out to the castle grounds. She roams idly at first, walking slowly through the gardens, letting her hands brush across the tops of the blooming flowers around her.

Her true destination is a bit farther off, the one corner of the castle not in view of any windows or guards just in her sight.

She looks back slowly, to not raise suspicion if anyone was watching her.

No one was, no one ever was.

She moves quickly then, coming to the corner and wastes no time beginning the climb up the corner wall. The climb has become second nature to her, she hasn’t second guessed a step in years.

For a brief moment, she sits on top of the wall, looking out onto the castle grounds. It’s a pretty site, but it’s not the one she longs for. Then she turns herself away from the castle, and pushes herself off the wall. She lands with a soft thud.

The birds seem to chirp louder here, seemingly welcoming her back to their home. Anna smiles as she begins the familiar walk, making sure to walk slow enough to enjoy the peace around her as she always did.

~.~

There is just something about it, it’s the only place I feel...happy most days. It’s so peaceful, just the noise of the birds chirping, the breeze blowing the leaves of the trees. Sometimes there are deer too! I saw one just the other day on my way up here.

For once I just, I feel at peace, all my worries forgotten back home while I’m here. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth.

No, you’re not crazy. I feel it too. In the mountains, at my cabin, it’s my escape from everything. It’s an odd sense of peace. Well, not odd, it’s comforting. Just an overwhelming feel of comfort, like you’re covered in a fur blanket.

~.~

There was a part of her that wants to sprint to the tree, knowing that a response awaits her there. It has been two days since her letter was taken, her last one had contained some slips of poems inside.

K had been curious after she had written a line from one of her recent reads into one of her letters. Wanting to know some of her favorite poems that she knew, he’d asked her to send some to him.

She’d been self conscious when she’d placed the envelope in the tree. She worried that she’d gone a bit overboard, providing pages upon pages of poems she loved and adored. So many in fact, the envelope struggled to contain the bits of parchment inside and she had to tie a piece of twine around it to keep it closed.

She worried for nothing though as when she’d returned the next day, the whole thing was gone. As expected really.

It has been 3 years, and K never once failed to reply to her letters. It only took 2 of those years for Anna to fall completely and deeply in love with him.

The realization had scared her more than relieved her. To be in love with someone she’d never met nor knew their true name, but it was real and true. Over hundreds if not thousands of letters, discussing their fears, encouraging each other, comforting them when needed and, sometimes, venting their anger and frustrations, proved that it was real.

He’d been there more than anyone else had been these last few years, more than her own blood, and yet she had no idea who he was.

He was just K, but that was enough for Anna and more than enough for her to fall for him.

~.~

I must tell you something, and please be truthful with me. It will seem crazy and I must know that you will not judge me for how I feel.

I would never do that and you know it. But I promise all the same to not judge your feelings. Is everything ok?

I must confess something I’ve been holding back for a long time, trying to make sense of but finally realized what it was I was feeling. I know now that, though I have never met you and don’t even know your name….

I love you.

I am so sorry to have delayed my response for so long. I did not mean to leave you waiting, I was called away for a harvesting trip that lasted longer than expected. Two days turned into a full week. A story for another time.

To answer your letter:

I have a confession as well. I have also found myself in love with someone I can not give a face to. The only thing I know are the color of your eyes, a blue that I wish to lose myself in.

A, though I also do not know your name, I have also found myself completely, and helplessly, in love with you. I love you too, with all I have.

~.~

Anna could just see the large Oak peaking through the forest. Nerves and excitement getting the best of her, she bites her lip, gathers her skirt, and sprints the rest of the way.

Her excited laugh seemed to echo around her as she came up to the tree, heard by no one but the creatures within the forest.

She doesn’t hesitate to stick her hand into the hole, laughing once more when she felt the familiar feel of parchment between her fingers.

Her smile is so wide, her cheeks burn as she looks at the letter in her hand. A single “A” scratched in his handwriting on top of the envelope.

These letters had become a staple in her dull life, so had K more importantly. There had been a few times she’d thought of hiding in the forest, to wait and see who K could be.

~.~

Why don’t you?

Honestly?...I’m scared. I don’t want to ruin such a beautiful, great thing by ruining the mystery behind it.

Do you think you’ll ever want to meet someday? No pressure at all but, I would like to meet the person I’ve written for over two years now.

I want to, someday, when I work up the nerve. I just don’t want you to be disappointed.

Why would I be disappointed?

That I don’t turn out to be the girl you imagined in your head. That I’m...I’m not who you were expecting and regret it ever happening.

The only person I expect is A, and from the years of letters we’ve shared, I doubt anything could make me disappointed or want to regret meeting you. Ever.

Are you sure? You’re not saying that just to be sweet.

I promise you, when we finally meet, I will not be at all disappointed. There is no way in hell I’d regret this. The moment I meet you, I will hug you tightly, never letting go. If anything, I’m nervous. I also don’t want you to be disappointed in who I may be.

If you promise, then I promise too. The day we meet will be a moment I cherish forever.

I love you.

I love you too.

~.~

Her hands shake as she opens the letter, smiling at the familiar handwriting gracing along the parchment.

Anna sits against the tree trunk, pulling her knees up to her chest. With a sigh, now comfortable in her normal spot, she begins to read:

Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you had many favorites.

They were really pretty, and simple too which kind of surprised me. I always expected poems to be this intricate, wordy thing that were hard to get but not the ones you sent. No wonder you love these.

They were good to read during my last trip. Helped pass the time more quickly.

Meant to tell you during my last letter, word in the village is that Sarah, the one who runs the dress shop, was spotted chatting with George late into the evening. He didn’t leave her shop till the sun was completely down.

Everyone says chatting but, between you and me, they weren’t just chatting. He was in there for ages apparently. Good for them really. They deserve some happiness.

I hope your lessons went well today. Don’t let your french tutor get to you. I have yet to meet someone with perfect french and I work in the village itself. I’m sure you’re doing just fine.

Hope I’m not being too forward, but as I read the poems, I imagined you reading them aloud. It was a comfort, even if I have never heard your voice before.

You mentioned meeting soon...I want to too. No pressure on when, I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want but, I would like to finally meet you. To give you the hug I’ve been wanting to give you for a long time, hold you in my arms for even just a moment.

I think, if you are ready to meet, then so am I. Just say when, I’ll be there.

With all my love,

Anna reads and rereads the letter again, taking in every word he wrote.

She clutches it to her chest as she looks out onto the fjord below. It’s crazy, she thinks, how someone she’s never met has impacted her so greatly. Not crazy, no, a wonder in and of itself.

A surprise blessing that she was lucky to have.

Soon, she thinks, as she watches the sunset, she will finally have a name and face to the letters

She wonders if she will know him, if she will recognize him as someone she’s seen by happenstance in passing or a complete stranger she’s never met. There is a small chance she’ll know him as she has hardly ever ventured outside of the castle, so she settles on the idea of the latter.

Which, in hindsight, suits her just fine. Rather it be someone completely new.

Still, as she makes her way back to the castle, the lanterns slowly being lit throughout the village, a small bubble of fear sits deep in her chest.

He doesn’t know her title. He knows everything else, down to the color of her room, but Anna has yet to share that one tiny detail. She never mentioned what she did, where she lived, or her family's name. He just seemed to assume it was some nice, comfortable family in the town.

She wonders, then, if he really will respond as he had promised so long ago. With open arms, a tight hug full of love and comfort he’d been wanting to share with her for years now. Or would he deny her, turn and flee the moment he realized who she is.

Though K has promised, on many occasions, that it won’t happen she still fears it will. He doesn’t know, won’t know till they meet her true identity and she knows it’s unfair to spring such an important detail on him in such a manner but she can’t bear to write in a letter “you must know, I’m the princess of Arendelle, second to the throne.”

Even in her own head it sounds utterly ridiculous.

It’s time though, she thinks at dinner, twirling her spoon in her soup as she sits alone at the table tonight. Three years have passed and she is surprised she’s held back this long. If not for the fear, it would’ve happened long ago.

She almost thinks of telling him no, of just breaking it all together and not replying. Leaving him in the dark, but that thought makes her heart hurt at the idea of him somewhere wondering why. Thinking, wondering what he had done wrong for her to go silent and she can’t do that to him.

She owes him this, princess or not, he must know who he has shared years of letters with. Who he has spilled his heart and soul to, and her as well.

Anna decides then, as she nestles deep into her covers, pulling the letter out from her drawer to reread in the firelight, that she will meet him. Despite the fear, the guilt, the unknown of it all, she will do it. She will finally put a face and a name to her K, her love, the one person in her world that gets her.

Soon, she thinks, as she drifts off to sleep as she holds his letter close to her chest, very soon.

#kristanna #kristoff #anna #sven #jessica writes #with all my love

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underthewingsofthblackeagle · 5 years ago

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The Bookseller’s Wife (7): “Tears in the Night” (1b)

“Sonnenuntergang” by unjerri

Joseph smiled as he thought back to that day. When he returned from the trip to Monmouth House, the royal household was already in great excitement. Everywhere things were packed and everyone planned for the forthcoming trip to the island of Wight. And the next morning, early in the morning, the journey started. First, everything was packed in carriages, then into the specially provided railway wagons. For many of the servants, it was the first train ride with a train, and Joseph could hardly hide his excitement. After they had arrived in Southampton everything had to be repacked again. First into the carriages, then onto the steamboat that would bring the queen and the royal court to the island. It was a lot of work, but Joseph enjoyed the arrival at the sea and the following journey with the ship very much. After the ship had arrived in the port of destination, all the luggage had to be reloaded into carriages. Then the journey went towards Osborn House, where the royal court would spend the next few weeks. In contrast to the previous parts of their journey, this time the drive did not take very long. Only one hour later they arrived at Osborn House. Again they had to unload the carriages and carry everything into the house. When Joseph fell into his bed that evening, he knew what he had done. The reward of that day was more than honestly earned.

The following days, however, were to compensate him amply for the hardships of the journey. The Osborn House estate was small compared to Buckingham Palace in London. The chance that he met Sophie at his daily services was, therefore, all the greater. Already on the second day of their stay there, Joseph should have ample opportunity to stay near Sophie. Prince Albert had set himself the goal of having his children perform the historical Battle of Waterloo as a kind of little play. The whole thing took place in the garden of Osborn House and the members of the royal court acted as spectators. Joseph and the cook Francatelli were chosen to play the warhorses of the different war commanders. Francatelli carried Prince Bertie on his shoulders, who played the Duke of Wellington, and Joseph acted as warhorse for Princess Victoria, who acted as Napoleon. Both "warhorses" had to be careful again and again that they were not hit in the eagerness of the battle by one of the wooden swords of "Napoleon" or by the "Duke of Wellington". At some distance from the "battlefield" stood Mr. Penge, who - to his chagrin - had to beat a small drum. Actually, Joseph would have liked to see Penge that way, but he didn't appreciate the Royal Administrator's gaze. He only had eyes for Sophie, who also always smiled at him. In the situation in which they found themselves, this was completely inconspicuous, because their friendly looks could have gone through at any time as encouragements for the little prince or the little princess.

The little play came to an end when the young servant Brodie brought a letter for the Queen, in which she was told what derogatory words the Foreign Minister, Lord Palmerston, had spoken about her and the other crowned heads of Europe in the House of Commons.

When the servants returned to the kitchen shortly thereafter, Joseph saw Francatelli submit his letter of resignation to Mr. Penge. A little later he learned that the cook and Mrs. Skerrett had married the day before leaving for the island of Wight. He didn’t envy the happiness the two colleagues shared, but it strengthened Joseph's own desire to be close to Sophie.

In the afternoon of the same day, he finally had the opportunity again. Lady Portman, Princess Feodora, and Sophie had gathered for tea in one of the small round rooms on the north side, which were also used as reading rooms. Joseph's task was to serve them. As he did so, he witnessed their conversation, which focused primarily on the Foreign Secretary, Lord Palmerston. He had used the royal couple's absence to welcome the Hungarian opposition leader and revolutionary Lajos Kossuth, who was seeking asylum in the United Kingdom, to the British capital. Already in the morning, during the children's game in the garden, it had become clear how much the Foreign Minister's behavior had angered the Queen and the Prince Consort. Shortly after Brodie had delivered the letter from London, the royal couple had left and retreated to their private rooms.

Now Lady Portman brought the conversation back to the events in London. She had the current newspaper with her and noticed that the remarks Palmerston had made in Parliament had hurt the Queen very much. Joseph had seen the newspapers in the kitchen and heard from the other servants that the Foreign Minister had described the crowned heads of Europe (including the Queen!) as doves who had left their nests because they were afraid of the “cat”, Mr. Lajos Kossuth. He had even added that the country could be well administered without these "birds". Lady Portman referred to a cartoon showing the Queen and the Prince Consort as pigeons flying away from London. "Fleeing London" was written in large letters above it.

"The man is a scoundrel," said Sophie, who wanted to confirm Lady Portman's remarks. But then Lady Portman steered the conversation in another direction:

"I wonder how long we'll stay on the island. Your Royal Highness will surely yearn to finally go home."

But Princess Feodora reacted differently than expected:

"The only home I have right now is with my sister and if she decides to live on an island, so be it."

After a moment, the Princess of Leiningen added:

"I wish, however, that my room had a window facing the sea."

"My room has a window to the sea, do we want to swap?" Sophie offered.

"Oh, that's very kind. But surely you want to be able to return home soon? Your husband certainly longs for you," gave the princess back. With that, she had hit exactly Sophie's sore spot.

"Do you know what this man did? He sent our son to boarding school. The child is just six years old!”

Joseph did not escape the pain in Sophie's voice.

"It is better that I am here," she added, reaching for another piece of toast.

Joseph was not surprised when a few days later the Prime Minister, Lord John Russell, and the Foreign Secretary, Lord Palmerston, arrived at Osborn House. Among the employees, bets had been made about how long it would take for the Queen to order the Foreign Secretary to report. Talking to Francatelli, he had learned that Prime Minister wished for Palmerston to be dismissed but did not do so because he feared his opposition even more.

When he had an hour off in the afternoon, Joseph retreated to a corner of the garden of which he thought it was not frequented by members of the court. He made himself comfortable on one of the chairs standing there, stretched out and held his face towards the sun. He almost dozed off, but then he heard footsteps and suddenly Sophie stood in front of him. She had a book under her arm and looked at him slightly amused. Joseph stood up immediately and took a stance.

"I wish to exchange my room with Princess Feodora," she said, adding, "She wishes to look out at the sea. Could you arrange that?"

"Of course, Your Grace," he had assured us, and when she turned to leave, he wished for nothing more than for her to linger for a moment and for him to talk to her.

"Looking out at the sea is a wonderful thing."

"For me, it makes no difference what I look at when it's not my little boy," Sophie replied and her face darkened noticeably.

"I'm very sorry that you had to part with him ..."

Joseph's words were sincere, but he saw in their facial expressions that they only made Sophie even sadder.

"Sorry."

Feverishly he searched in his mind for something to say to her that might cheer her up. But all he could think of was:

"By the way, the prime minister and the foreign minister have arrived..."

Sophie's reaction surprised him.

"Lord Palmerston," she said and her face lit up immediately. It was obvious that she was pleased with the news. On her way out, she turned around again and asked, "Joseph? That's the name, isn't it?"

He nodded. When he looked up again, she had disappeared.

On the same evening, the smaller court, including the two politicians, gathered for a 'cozy get-together' in the larger library. It was Joseph's task to provide the guests with port wine. Sophie stood at one of the bookshelves and read something. When he came to her to fill her glass, he noticed that the collar of her dress had warped and slipped far down her shoulder. Joseph pointed it out to her and then shielded her from the eyes of the other guests until she had sorted out the mishap. As he then departed to serve the other guests, Lord Palmerston, who was obviously on his way to Sophie, met him. An evil suspicion crept up on Joseph when he thought he could see in the eyes of the Foreign Secretary the gaze of a predator on a foray. As the port wine in the carafes approached its end, and Joseph was on his way to the kitchen to provide for supplies, an idea came to him. He put the carafe on one of the tables in the corridor and then ran up the stairs to the first floor as fast as he could. In the afternoon he had complied with the ladies' request and had arranged the exchange of Sophie's and Princess of Leiningen's rooms. Now he stood in front of these rooms again. Carefully he looked around and listened. When he was sure that nobody was watching him, he swapped the name tags on the doors. The ladies, he thought, would not notice. And in case they did notice, he could talk his way out of it by telling them he forgot to assign the name tags to the right doors in the hurry of which the work had to be done in the afternoon. However, if someone else were to look for the Duchess of Monmouth's room that night, that person would have to deal with the Queen's sister.

What Joseph did not know (and should never know) - it came exactly as he had foreseen it. A few hours later, in the middle of the night, when Lord Palmerston sneaked into the “Duchess's” room, a nasty surprise awaited him.

Something, however, told the servant that the danger posed by Lord Palmerston had not yet been averted. For this reason, the next day, whenever possible, he tried to be near Sophie. And indeed he watched as a meeting between her and the Foreign Secretary took place late in the morning in a rather hidden corner of the garden. He himself remained hidden in his small hiding place, a pergola, which led from the garden to the area with the small, enclosed ponds. From where he watched them, he couldn't hear their conversation, but he saw Sophie suddenly clinging to Palmerston's coat, pulling him to her. Her gaze, indeed her entire behavior, gave him the impression of a single, urgent plea. But the Foreign Minister reacted completely differently than Joseph had expected. Palmerston, as it seemed, distant himself from Sophie in a very harsh way and then hurried away. Sophie, too, ran away, but in the opposite direction, that is, in the very direction in which Joseph was hiding. He rushed out of his hiding place and wanted to sneak away so that Sophie would not see him. But he wasn't fast enough and they almost collided on the way under the pergola.

"Get out of my way" was all Joseph heard from her, then she hurried away.

Joseph knew where her footsteps would lead her, and he followed her at some distance. And indeed, he found her standing at one of the small ponds. Carefully he approached her. He saw how he tried to wipe the tears from her face and handed her a handkerchief. She took it and he turned away discreetly. To his surprise, however, Sophie began to speak openly to him:

"Such stupid tears! Why do I seek comfort where he cannot be found?

Joseph looked at her and when he didn't answer, she spoke to him directly:

"Oh please, say something!

He decided not to go into what had just happened, but to distract her a little.

"Your Grace, listen! Do you hear the waves as they hit each other on the beach?"

"The sea, it frightens me ... a little," she replied.

"The sea makes me feel alive," he said with a smile.

She gave him back the handkerchief. Joseph bowed and as he went back to the house, he carefully folded the handkerchief and put it in his jacket pocket like a precious possession to be preserved. He did not know exactly what had happened between Sophie and Lord Palmerston. Joseph also did not understand why the Foreign Secretary, who had obviously been out for an adventure with the Duchess the night before, had now refrained from doing so. But basically, it didn't matter. When Palmerston had rejected her, he had been there for her. It was his handkerchief that had caught her tears. And Joseph Weld was sure that the Duchess of Monmouth would not forget that. He should not be mistaken. The stay of the royal court on the island of Wight should have many surprises in store.

#TheBoohseller'sWife #Victoria itv #Victoria pbs #Victoria Season 3 #Joseph Weld #Sophie Duchess of Monmouth

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selenelavellan · 7 years ago

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Finding You

Raised by Uthvir AU

Mana’din, Selene’s family (mentioned), and Dirthamen are @feynites

It is a short conversation with the disguised spirit.

Apparently she is being asked to Lord Dirthamens lands, though when she asks for what purpose they are particularly vague in details.

They assure her she will be gone no longer than three days.

It means three days away from her posts, but if she is being summoned, then surely her absence has already been cleared with her Lady Mana'din.

She leaves a note for her family to keep them from fretting, complete with a doodle of her sword beside her name so that they know she is not leaving unarmed.

She clasps her favorite cape to her shoulder guards, hooks her sheath to her hip, and follows the spirit through the crossroads without hesitation.

Selene has never been to Lord Dirthamens lands before. Has only been to cities under Mana'dins protections, and her one trip to Arlathan.

It is very exciting to be so far from home, she thinks.

The spirit is quiet for much of the journey. They remain a bird, flying a few feet ahead of her and opening the necessary eluvians, until they finally arrive nearest to their destination.

She is expecting a meeting hall somewhere. Perhaps someone's home, or place of business. But the spirit leads her through the gates, and into the castle of Lord Dirthamen himself.

Whoever has summoned her must be very high ranking here, she realizes.

She glances back up at the spirit; a raven, still. Nearly identical to the one she had found in the garden in Arlathan, that had been so close to her mysterious dancing partner.

She wonders....hm.

There is very little time to ponder the possibilities, before she hears the music. Low, and slow, and nearly muted through the heavy stone walls. It becomes louder and clearer as she continues behind the spirit, a grin spreading over her face as realization dawns on her and she picks up her pace, sure of her situation before the 'surprise' is revealed. Two large doors are pulled open by Lord Dirthamens sentries, revealing a man standing inside of a large ballroom. It has been decorated in a similar manner to the one they had met in, back in Arlathan, and she wonders for a moment if he has actually gone and borrowed some of the decorations for re-use. There are musicians arranged by the back wall, and her dancing partner is staring back at her through his mask. The same one he had worn that night.

I'd have brought mine if I had known, she muses internally as she steps towards him, no longer needing the spirit to show her where to go.

She can't stop her smile from spreading as she moves towards him, sweeping her cape back in a flourish as she moves into a deep bow before he might make yet another grand gesture of his own. He has had enough upper hands for the day, she thinks.

She extends one hand towards him, palm upturned.

He places his own in hers, still gloved as a palpable feeling of relief emanates from him.

“You found me,” She grins as the orchestra strikes up a new song for them.

“When I asked you if I might, you did offer permission,” He points out, following her lead as she glides them through one of the classical steps.

“Still. Sounds like an awful lot of work for a dance,” She teases as she spins him out before pulling him back towards her.

“It was a very memorable dance.”

Selene hums in agreement, moving them into a more complicated step. His own cloak billows behind him as they twirl across the dance floor, feathers fluttering across his neck and shoulders. If she had known why she were being summoned, she might've worn something more aesthetically pleasing for the occasion. Her armor is meant to cling close to her, to keep from making shadows move in the wind and giving away positions, to be silent during patrols so that her quarry won't know she is approaching. It is white and stark in contrast to the dark of his gown, the crimson of her cape a brilliant burst of color around them as he briefly changes their position to spin her himself, switching quickly back into the following role as Selene turns back to him with a laugh.

“Why did you summon me?” She finally asks as the song comes to an end, her hands resting on his waist, his own settled onto her shoulder and hip.

“I wanted to see you again,” He admits.

Selene laughs again, shaking her head fondly. “You could have come yourself, if you knew where I was. Why didn't you?”

He hesitates, and she frowns as doubt starts to rise in her gut at the silence.

Her eyes dart across his face, and she moves one of her hands up.

“May I see you without the mask?”

He hesitates again, but gives her a slow nod before she can become too uncomfortable.

Her fingers carefully tuck beneath his chin, pressing gently between the smooth material of his mask and the skin beneath. The mask falls from his face and lands in her palm. There are four slate blue eyes looking back at her nervously from dark skin that reflects the multicolored lights of the room beautifully. Selene licks her lips anxiously, not in any way off put by the extra features, but concerned about the absence of any kind of markings.

“You don't have any vallaslin,” She says. Not that he probably needs to be notified of it, surely he knows already.

“That is true,” He nods.

“...I do not suppose that is because you are so young that you haven't gained them yet?” Not that that would be a better situation. It might even be worse, really. But they are alone, in a ballroom, with a private orchestra, and he is very finely dressed. There is an obvious answer as to why he wouldn't have any markings, even if he were very very old.

...and he would indeed, she realizes, be significantly older than herself, if it's true.

“It is not,” He admits.

Selene nods slowly.

For a very long time.

Much longer than she means to.

“You're Lord Dirthamen, then.” She finally says.

“Yes.”

She nods a bit faster, now, anxiety starting to override her usual confidence.

“That's great! Congratulations,” She blurts, unsure of how she's supposed to act. She's met Mana'din on more than one occasion, but she's also been assured that the way Mana'din interacts with her people is far from the norm of most of the Evanuris. Selene has never been very good at stopping her mouth when her nerves overtake her though, and they've never overtaken her quite so suddenly before, either. Her voice begins to rise in pitch as she continues, “And you were Lord Dirthamen back in Arlathan then, too. When the spirit of Deceit was your spirit of Deceit. Which means I...called you a spy. Did I ever apologize for that? I didn't mean any offense or anything, some of my best friends are spies you know-”

“I found it very endearing,” he assures her as her voice starts to crack. “You do not have anything to fear from me.”

“Good, that's-that's great! Fantastic. Awesome, really. Not that I was afraid of you. You're not scary or anything like that-unless you want to be scary?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Good,” Selene repeats. “Because I don't think you are.”

“What do you think I am?” He asks with a slight tilt of his head and a note of curiousity.

This time it is Selene who hesitates.

“...I think you're very pretty,” She says honestly. “I think you are a very good dancer, and very romantic, and I like serving your daughter so I think you might not be so terrible, really.”

The skin around his cheeks and ears darkens, as his lips quirk up in a small smile. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.”

Silence pervades for a moment, before the orchestra decides to break it and begins a soft tune around them.

“Would you like to dance again?” He asks. “If you are hungry, or would like to see more of my home, we could do that instead. You are my guest, during your stay here. Most everything is available to you.”

Selene glances back at the orchestra, takes a deep breath, and resolves herself. Just because she knows his name now (and what a name it turned out to be) doesn't change things. He's still the same man with the beautiful laugh she met in the garden and spoke with at the party. He seems to like the way she's been behaving around him so far, so...probably there's really not any danger here.

“I'd love another dance,” She admits, moving back to a starting position with him. “Thank you.”

–

She doesn't expect it to be comfortable.

It's surprising when it is.

When he has food carried in for them, when they discuss current events like old friends, when he lifts her off the ground during one of their dances and she makes an embarrassing squeak at the motion and he only laughs again and radiates more affection around them.

He shows her to one of his gardens, and the two decide to rest together beneath a tree that is probably older than she is, a small stream passing near them that carries all the way down to the river near the base of the mountains.

“Is your job dangerous?” he asks as his shoulder brushes against her own and he readjusts his position slightly against the tree trunk. His mask has been re-affixed to his face since they left the ballroom, but it does not seem to impede their conversation in any way.

“Not really,” Selene shrugs. “It can be, certainly, but I'm not usually sent on the more dangerous excursions. I mostly stick to a patrol around my lady Mana'dins council chambers and various locations in and around the palace. Most of my job is just shooing people away from places they shouldn't be.”

“And you enjoy it?”

Selene shifts awkwardly, eyes drifting upwards to leaves above them. “S'okay.”

His head tilts, and she glances down to see him staring back up at her.

“You are lying.”

“It's a good job,” She asserts, because it is, and her Nanae had been very pleased when she had gotten it. “It's not, perhaps, what I would like to spend eternity doing. But it is a very honorable position that allows me the freedoms to pursue my hobbies in my off time. The land there is still trying to repair itself; we're in need of people who can do physical and applicable jobs. There is less of a need for...theoretical positions right now. But one day things will be better, and maybe if I have come up with a real, quantifiable hypothesis by then, I could present it to my lady. And perhaps if it is good enough, she will permit me to do real research on it.”

Dirthamen rumbles slightly beside her, perked up by her admissions. “Do you have a topic in mind?”

Selene flushes slightly. “Ideally? Yes. Quite a few. I have several journals filled with them, though most will only make minor changes, if any noticeable ones at all. I've dropped a few off with those who could use them; equations for magical inputs to help promote growth and necessary erosion in the soil, or to better distribute some of our limited resources. A few were even implemented, which was very gratifying! But change on a large scale takes time, no matter what. And when your basic principles are faulty...”she drifts off, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Which principles?” Dirthamen pushes.

“It would be treasonous to say,” Selene sighs. “Even to you.”

“I am very good at keeping secrets,” he notes.

Selene gives him a wry grin.

“You will almost certainly have to keep this one, if I tell it to you.”

He nods, suddenly serious as he raises a privacy barrier around them.

She rubs slightly at the back of her neck, the ends of her hair tickling her knuckles as she does. “Elvhen and spiritual sacrifices are a poor energy source,” She says quietly. “It is wasteful, and cruel. There are better options out there, if only we could be given the option to find them.”

Blue eyes blink from beneath the mask at her, as the air goes suddenly somber. “You truly believe that?”

“I do.”

“Do you have any evidence, to such a claim?”

Her nails scratch at the skin on her neck “...I do. There was a dwarven woman I met once, during a patrol. I was still young, and new, and I had never killed someone before. Nor did I wish to. So I...spoke to her, instead. The dwarves do not sacrifice people and spirits the way we do, but still their cities are powered from deep beneath the earth. They are doing it somehow, without bloodshed or shattering, which is proof in itself that there is another way. There are other sources of power, of magic. Perhaps they are even more efficient! There is so much run off from shattered spirits, it is...it is wasteful, and it leaves so many scars....”

“Oftentimes, that runoff finds its way into the dreaming,” Dirthamen explains. “New spirits can be born from it.”

“I am aware. However, many of the spirits in my home have been touched by death. Even if they do not always realize it...” she shakes her head. “The experience lingers. Even as new life sprouts, and new experiences overwrite the old, it does not make them vanish. Those spirits are more likely to succumb to corruption, sprouting from the scars left in the spaces where they pulled themselves back together.”

“They are a risk, then.”

Selenes face scrunches in distaste and tension. “No! It is still a very small percentage that corrupts. Not nearly enough to draw attention to it, unless you are looking for the pattern. There is no reason to give them such a dangerous label. It would only sow panic, and distrust. I only meant it as one possible positive outcome of solving the issue.”

Dirthamen blinks beneath the mask. “I did not mean to offend you. My apologies.”

She lets out a breath, and leans back against the tree. “I forgive you,” She says. “You promised to keep this a secret though, remember.”

He nods in agreement, and the privacy barrier falls away from them.

Selene takes a moment to allow herself to be bold,in the aftermath of her admission, and carefully places her hand over his.

“Your home is very beautiful,” She tells him, looking out over the mountain range, the expanse of soft greens beneath their feet, and the river where the two lands meet. “I can see why you wouldn't want to leave it.”

He stills for a moment, before his fingers find their way between hers, and his head leans against her shoulder.

“I am glad you enjoy it.”

–

After her admission in the garden, Dirthamen decides that Selene might enjoy seeing one of his libraries.

He is not wrong.

The sun sets and rises while they pour through the aisles together, pointing out their favorites and discussing various subjects as they arise. She is making a mental list of authors and articles to search for when she returns, even knowing this library is far larger than any near her own home.

They are debating over the merits of an old eluvian security measure when Selene lets out a long, rather loud, yawn.

“Ah, I forgot to show you to bed,” Dirthamen realizes, glancing up at the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows. “That was inconsiderate of me.”

“It's fine,” Selene says, covering her mouth as yet another yawn tries to escape. “I'm fine.”

“You should sleep,” He frowns.

“I'll sleep tonight,” She assures him.

Dirthamen seems dubious, but does not push the issue. Instead much of their day is spent doing activities that permit her to sit for long periods of time (although she will concede that some of them are necessary responsibilities of his). He shares a very large dinner with her before escorting her to his rooms for the night. His rooms.

Selene is no stranger to sex. She is very familiar with it in a theoretical, anecdotal, read-several-stories-about-it, sort of way.

She's just never quite gotten around to the act herself before.

As she walks out of his (private) baths, one of his robes pulled tightly to her body, she feels like this is something she should probably tell him.

So she clears her throat and does just that.

He blinks.

“...not even with a spirit?”

“There was a desire spirit I almost tried with once,” she admits “But we were too similar, and then time passed and I just...never got around to it.”

“But you are very popular,” He blurts.

Selene raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“The...When I was looking for you. I was told you were a 'heart-throb'. I understand that to mean you are very popular in manners such as this, yes?”

“Oh. Oh! That's-no. I've been courted a few times, and there have been a few dates, but I've never done sexual activities with a partner before.”

“Oh,” Dirthamen notes, and she's glad to see there's no judgment or disappointment at her admission, that he seems to simply be filing away this new information like any other. “We do not have to have any tonight either, if you do not want to.”

“You're not going to be upset?” she checks.

His eyebrows crease in concern as he places his mask down on a small table beside the bed. “I did not bring you here for sexual purposes. I only wished to dance, and to speak with you again. We have done both of those things, extensively. There is very little you could do to upset me, I think.”

“Good to know,” She grins, her grip on the robe relaxing slightly as she crawls into the bed beside him.

She falls asleep flat on her back, her sword within arms reach as it leans against the side of the headboard.

When she wakes, she is curled almost entirely around Lord Dirthamen.

His back is pressed tightly to her chest, her legs tangled up with his and one arm laying over his hip, and the arm she can no longer feel because it somehow made its way beneath him is being tenderly held between his own hands.

It might be embarrassing, if it were not quite so comfortable.

Instead she nuzzles her head gently against the back of his neck, shifts to a more comfortable angle, and falls back asleep to the soft snores of Lord Dirthamen.

–

On the third day, he arranges a picnic in the garden for them. She is wearing an outfit he gifted her, made of silk and starlight and feathers, her armor safely stowed away in a new leather pack as well. Her legs are bared, and she thinks her Nanae might disapprove of the vulnerability, but it is very comfortable, and he has not shown himself to be untrustworthy.

“I had a very nice time with you,” She smiles as he finishes off a small sandwich. “Thank you for finding me.”

“You could stay, if you'd like,” He offers slowly. “I could send a messenger to your family, tell them your summons has been extended...”

Selene snorts at the mental image of some poor messenger having to tell her Nanae that their daughter is staying an unspecified amount of time longer in Dirthamens lands when they have likely already been fretting since they found her note. Probably they would return full of holes with much of their past dug up and an angry, buzzing Nanae in their full armor behind them demanding to see her and verify that she is still alive and unharmed.

“I do not think that would go over well,” She admits without further detail.

Dirthamen does not push the matter, and she stretches and lays out in his lap instead. His fingers card carefully through the strands of her hair, and she lets her eyes close in contentment at the motion.

“I would still like to see you again,” Dirthamen muses.

“You could come visit me,” She offers.

“I cannot leave for long periods of time. In truth, I do not usually have as much free time as I have given you these last few days. I had to reschedule several tedious but necessary appointments.”

“Well, thank you for making the time for me anyways. It was very sweet.”

“I would do it again, if I could.”

“I don't doubt that,” She grins.

Deceit arrives in the late afternoon to escort her back through the crossroads, to ensure she makes it back to Mana'dins lands safely.

Selene stands, slinging her pack over her shoulder and verifying her sword at her hip and turning around to see Dirthamen one last time. The look he is giving her makes her ache; like he is missing someone who hasn't even left yet, and she will blame that, she thinks, on what she does next.

Her fingers slip beneath his mask and pull it away from his face, as she presses a kiss to the soft skin of his cheek. She watches in pride as the skin begins to flush and one of his hands darts up to touch the space.

“Come find me again sometime pretty boy,” She hums, carefully placing the mask back on and straightening. “I could always use a dance partner like you.”

He nods, his exposed throat bobbing as he swallows down his nerves. She strides off behind Deceit, a bit more sway in her hips than usual.

It was a very good trip.

#Raised by Uthvir AU #dirthalene #i missed dirthalene fluff so i thought i'd try....writing some #I recognize its been a while since I wrote in this AU #but its what came out <_<#its fluffy because i pointedly avoid showing uthvir having conniptions #when they came home and found a note from their daughter that said #'spirit bird told me to go to lord dirthamens lands. be back in 3 days'#with a doodle of a sword and a heart at the end #(at least she gets back in time....)#50/50 chance as to whether or not Dirthamen actually cleared taking Selene with mana'din or not #i am very proud of this Dirthamen he Did Things #a good combo with Confident Selene #yes good going you two #(now try to see each other more than once a century maybe....)#deceit and fear didn't feature much because they were off being Responsible

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homesteadchronicles · 7 years ago

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Ten Questions Tag

Thank you to the fantastic @acfawkes for tagging me in this! These questions were really interesting, and got me thinking about things I wouldn’t have considered before.

I’ll be tagging @firewritten, @lady-redshield-writes, @ivettaviolet, and @pen-and-sword-writing. We’ll keep the questions the same for this, as I had a blast answering these, and I’m sure you will, too. As always, feel no pressure to participate! Just enjoy the thought of knowing I wanted to include you :)

1. Tell me something you love about your current WIP(s).

This might sound cliche (or cocky?), but as I develop more and more of the story, I truly feel as if something special is stirring. I feel as though this story - and the stories of the characters inside of it - will resonate deeply within people. That they will be able to find themselves somewhere in the pages and know that there is hope, that there is joy, that there is a light coming for them in the midst of their darkness. I cannot articulate what it is I sense brewing when I begin to write, but it creates this urgency within me to write and write and write until I cannot anymore.

2. Three of your characters are coming with you on a road trip. Who are they and why did you pick them?

THIS IS SUCH A FUN QUESTION! Okay, I’m gonna go with: Medea, Solomon, and Royan. Medea could help me to keep everyone in line, I feel like she and I would share a similar taste in music, and she’s got that same shady sense of humor as I. Sure, we might get into a bit of mischief, but nothing too troublesome. Solomon has influence in every community he enters and seems to make alliances and friendships as easily as he breathes. He would look after each of us, know all of the perfect tourist destinations, and I feel like he’d get a kick out of playing tour guide. But no one can allow him near the radio. No one wants to hear Gregorian chants and the greatest hits of Woodstock on a road trip. Just no. And Royan? That’s a strange one for me. He’s the opposite of me, but I feel like I need him because he’s the opposite. He’d pull me out of my comfort zone. He’d make me have fun when I’m too busy mom friend-ing everyone. He’d crack stupid jokes and dance like an idiot and he would contribute absolutely nothing logistical, but he would bring life to the group. And I need someone like that.

3. When you’re not writing, what are you most likely to be doing?

In truth? Working. I work multiple jobs, and I do not mess around when it comes to completing my work as well as possible. For relaxation, I primarily play through games with my bestie @khymnal that she has not yet completed, go out to eat with my inner circle of friends, or play D&D every Monday night. I try to throw in some personal time to read and game by myself, but I tend to make myself work on writing anyways.

4. How do you name your characters?

I actually do a lot of research for each character that I name, even the minor ones. I love learning how different cultures choose to name their children, how they label and title one another, etc. As time-consuming as it is for me, it’s also so exciting to find a name and feel that stirring in your gut that tells you that this was always meant to be their name. Sometimes, my characters have placeholder names for a time, but I will not settle until I have found the perfect one.

5. Do your characters have any pets?

They do! Because the sigils of the kingdoms contain animals as their heraldry, most of them do own their namesake animal. However, rarely do these pets come into play beyond as mounts in travel or in battle. Do I know their names, temperaments and relationships with their owners? Oh, without a doubt. But I’ll give you a little sneak peak of two important (but as of yet unnamed) ones:

Oeden keeps a bird caged in his bedroom within Almsgard Castle. He has no idea what species it is, as his mother brought it back from the Southern Isles. However, it is capable of limited speech, speaking in short, cryptic phrases.

The other important pet is owned by the Western royals. The sigil of Al-Hasan’s royalty is a red lion roaring before a golden sun. They do own their own family lion, whom Simdan mounts in battle, but who secretly loves Medea the most.

6. Do you have a favorite time of day to write?

Typically, the only chance I have to write is late at night, once I’m done with all of my work for the day. But I don’t mind it, because I come alive at night. However, on my one day off, I love waking up early and spending the entire day writing away. On that day, I allow myself some time late at night, when all the inspiration has been exhausted, to instead sit and unwind with a good game or a big book.

7. Which of your characters would win the Most Huggable Award?

Out of my POV characters? Oh goodness. None of them are particularly people you’d look at and think “that one - they would love nothing more than a hug right now”. However, out of the primary seven, I would say that Royan is the most huggable. I did just write an adorable little moment between he and Oeden where Royan may or may not do one of those I’m-gonna-spin-you-around-in-midair-because-I-love-you-even-though-I-know-you-say-you-hate-this-but-secretly-love-it-too hugs. Yes, that is a thing.

8. Which of your characters would win the Most Punchable Award?

Honestly? They all really deserve a good shiner at one point or another in the story. Oeden and Medea might make good points, but they also say or do them wrong more often than not. Farukh has some anger management issues. Lazarus can be a BIG ol’ baby. Nadielle kinda b****es at a lot of people, albeit for justifiable reasons. But I’m gonna have to go with Kasumi’s younger twin sister and the other princess of Genesai, Chihiro. Sure, she’s not irredeemable. But you will learn to hate her. Real fast.

9. How do you decide when you’re done planning and just have to start writing?

I am quickly approaching this point, actually. I will know this when the details can no longer be decided on, and I find myself at a standstill when previously the inspiration poured out as if from an infinite faucet. I can easily become concerned with the most minute details and stress about them instead of about the big picture. Once I feel as though I can look at an outline and know that I can go from Point A to Point Z, I will be ready. Sure, there might be bumps along the way, but it will not be because I was too lazy to plan for this eventuality.

10. Do your characters have any odd habits?

Without a doubt. Medea wrings her hands constantly, but because she’s always wearing gloves, she has worn through so many sets of them that Zahira is getting tired of sewing new ones...especially because she sucks at sewing. As an insomniac, Oeden does all sorts of strange things to pass the time. Wanders the halls of the castle, organizes rooms without anyone knowing, and he spends copious amounts of time detailing every dream he has in a journal (with both words and drawings). Royan is constantly fidgeting - tapping his feet, drumming his fingers, etc. He’ll likely do this on other people, too. He’s super touchy, even when he doesn’t realize it or mean to be. Solomon gets lost in thought while reading all of the time and keeps accidentally rereading the same line ten thousand times over. It takes him forever to finish anything because of it. He blames it on old age. Kasumi naturally tends to walk in shaded areas or a bit too close behind people, as she has become accustomed to the shadows. She also needs to have her mask on as much as possible. Carmila constantly rubs her coins or flips them through her fingers. It helps her think, and calm her down when she’s stressed. The coin reminds her that she still has something to cling to, money left to spare. Her family won’t go under again. Farukh gets little sleep, not because of insomnia like Oeden, but because he is constantly working or on patrol. He feels the need to check on every tent, recount every supply, and double-check the perimeter. He feels as though there is danger lurking around them, somewhere, but he cannot pinpoint its location. He wants to protect his people, and only sleeps when he passes out, because the anxiety does not allow him to sleep otherwise.

#tag #tagged #tag game #questions #author #writeblr #write #writer #writing #my writing #my WIP #WIP #work in progress #character #original character #oc #oc ask #oc question

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jezfletcher · 7 years ago

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Oscars 2018

Can you believe that this year I managed to see every single Oscar-nominated film? I'm actually kind of impressed with myself. It's no small undertaking, especially because due to schedules of a toddler-related nature, in 2017 I had much less opportunity to watch films regularly. I did get out every now and again, and I took time off work to attend the Sydney Film Festival, which was a helpful event, in the end, with regards to my Oscars viewing. But mostly, these 44 feature films and 15 shorts were watched in the past month or so. Anyway, for the first time ever, here's my writeup of all the Oscar-nominated films of the past year, in order from my favourite to least favourite:

1. On Body & Soul (A Teströl és Lélekröl)

Directed by Ildikó Enyedi

Leading the pack this Oscars year is perhaps something of an unexpected entry. This is Hungary's submission for the Best Foreign Language Oscar, which I happened to see at the Sydney Film Festival earlier in the year. At that festival, it both took out my own personal Film Of The Festival, and was awarded the top competition award, the Sydney Film Prize. And there's a strong reason for that, because this is a wonderful, haunting film. It tells the story of two emotionally lost, and perhaps incomplete individuals, who connect when they discover that they've been sharing dreams at night. It's an odd premise, made odder by the unconventional nature of the characters, but it's utterly endearing and compelling at the same time. A lot of this is to do with director Ildikó Enyedi's style. She manages to make the film seem both ephemeral and engaging—I was drawn into the world with a kind of unforgiving compulsion, and yet when I was there it was alien, pushing me away. And so I revelled in it. The cinematography helps here too, with DP Máté Herbai finding beauty in both the dreamscape of the snowy forests where the two protagonists meet, and in the industrial brutalism of the slaughterhouse where they work. Overall, I found it a truly quite brilliant film, and it holds a very worth place at the top of this list. It might be a bit outside the tastes of the Academy voters, but for me I think it would be an excellent winner of the Foreign Language Oscar.

2. Lady Bird

Directed by Greta Gerwig

This had so many promising elements to me, and it was with something of a sigh of relief that I finally saw it and enjoyed it as much as I did. This is indeed a great film made of great parts, and there's much to be said about how good it is in its depth. The eponymous Lady Bird (Saoirse Ronan, an actress I always love on screen), is a high school senior, looking to escape from Sacramento when she goes to college next year. But she faces the fact that this is a less financially viable option than going to nearby UC Davis, and incredible pressure from her borderline abusive mother (Laurie Metcalf). There's so much to unpack in what could easily be a mediocre coming-of-age story. The layers in the family dynamics are rich, as is the development of the school world around Lady Bird. Her on-screen relationships, with first Danny (Lucas Hedges) and then Kyle (Timothée Chalamet) are achingly real, and touched with nostalgic regret. It feels like Greta Gerwig has put something really personal up on screen. Whether or not that's true is beside the point—she has managed to craft something that feels so real anyway. Nothing is out of place, and the characterisation is so believable that you feel following any one of these people would result in a fine film. That's honestly such a sign of quality for me. So yeah: I loved it. I'm aware it's the kind of film (black comic family drama, anyone?) that I'm kind of destined to love. But the fact that it ended up so good is wonderful—it really beat my expectations.

3. Get Out

Directed by Jordan Peele

I was so pleased when this got a nod for Best Picture at the Oscars this year. It's the kind of cult hit that could very easily be overlooked. Perhaps not without some consternation from fans; but it's the kind of thing that could happen and it would fit neatly into the Academy's narrative. If you don't know the story, I won't say much except that it starts off with a young black man (Daniel Kaluuya) travelling to meet his girlfriend's parents for the first time (played brilliantly by Bradley Whitford and Catherine Keener). It's a satire of race relations in a really quite astoundingly way, unpredictable to some extent because, oh yes, it's a horror movie too. This is the kind of film that you feel breaks down some kind of invisible barrier in filmmaking—something that's been there and has stopped films like this being made before, just because you didn't realise there could be a film like this. Now to be fair, what I probably call an "invisible" barrier is probably very apparent to someone with a different cultural background. Which is why we need films from diverse directors, and Jordan Peele's first effort here is genuinely, genuinely brilliant. (Just as an aside, I notice that my top three films this year are from two women and a person of colour—so it's not just that I feel like diversity should be improved for its own sake, although it should, it's just that I really, really like films like these. What else are we missing out on for the sake of another reboot of King Kong?) Anyway, long story short: this is a fabulous film, and one that you really just need to see to experience. It was probably one of the most clever things I've seen on screen this year, or in several years, and it's well worth your time.

4. Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Directed by Martin McDonagh

I feel like the top four films have each been brilliant in their own inimitable way—like they're very much the top contender each in a different category. The way that they've ended up sorted is more about the intrinsic value in each category than comparing like-for-like films. Three Billboards probably falls into something like the "fun" category, which to anyone who's seen the film might consider an odd choice, since it deals with the aftermath of a murder, and explores themes of racism, grief and anger. But there's so much to enjoy here in Martin McDonagh's brilliant screenplay, which I feel is easily the equal to his previous hit In Bruges, a film that was one of my very favourite films the year it came out. It not only establishes a complex interaction of characters in this small town, but it provides a brilliant vessel for his stars to shine. Frances McDormand is rightly considered the frontrunner for Best Actress this year, and she gives an uncompromising performance as a woman driven by grief-fuelled vengeance. Sam Rockwell is also extremely good, oozing into his character with a charm that's compelling and disturbing. It feels like he's having a really good time with this character, which is equally enjoyable and worrying. This is not to mention amusing digressions from the likes of Peter Dinklage, John Hawkes and Caleb Landry Jones. Most importantly though, there's an arc to the tale here which manages to swing around the attitudes and motivations of these characters, while never letting them be anything other than anti-heroes. The character development is undeniable, but even as you empathise with them onscreen, you're constantly aware that they are still at heart horrible people. Compelling, undoubtedly, which is what makes the film so enjoyable, but morally corrupt in some way or another. This is true almost up until the very end of the film, when just a sliver of something human is tantalised. Yeah, I really, loved this film. Apparently, it's seen a fair bit of backlash since its release—I've read some of the critiques of it, and I just have to say I disagree. But that's the good thing about movies right? I'm going to love some, you're going to love others. For me, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri was a treat.

5. The Insult (L'insulte)

Directed by Ziad Doueiri

It was a good year for the Foreign Language oscar this year, and in another iteration, a film like this could well be on top. It tells the tale of two men, one a Lebanese Christian, deeply into fundamentalist and nationalistic politics, and the other a Palestinian refugee living in Beirut. After a minor incident involving one of them splashing water on the other, a series of escalating encounters pushes them into the courts, and finally onto the national stage. It's almost a comic film. It's certainly some kind of dark satire at least, which allows you to forgive the almost ridiculous ways in which it progresses, eventually becoming a lightning rod for simmering racial tensions in Lebanon. It's almost requisite of films coming out of the Middle East that they deal with tensions such as these, but often they are not done nearly as well as in Doueiri's work here. Moreover, for a film that's mostly set in a courtroom, it manages to plumb great emotional and narrative depths. It launches into politics, history and racism. It feels like an educational as well as an entertaining experience. This is only possible because it's always grounded in a kind of empathetic portrayal. While one of our players is clearly the Good Guy, and the other the Bad Guy—there's always enough light let in to the performances such that you can at least see the Bad Guy's point of view, which makes the redemption of sorts towards the end seem like a possibility. Overall, this was a really well crafted and very engaging film. As I said, it's up against some stiff competition this year, but overall, it was a thoroughly worthwhile experience, even if it's not going to get my nod in its category.

6. The Big Sick

Directed by Michael Showalter

A fine film, with a really sparkling script taken right out of the lives of the two screenwriters, Emily Gordon and Kumail Nanjiani (who stars, effectively, as himself in the film). Kumail is a stand-up comedian who meets Emily (Zoe Kazan) after a set, and the two embark on a torrid relationship. But when Emily is forced into a medically-induced coma, Kumail has to deal with his emotions regarding what could have just been a fling. Add to the mix Kumail's efforts in avoiding his traditional Pakistani family's attempt to find him an arranged bride, and his wavering relationship with Emily's parents and you have a fine film. Emily's parents, by the way, who he meets for the first time at Emily's hospital bedside while she's comatose, are genuinely wonderfully portrayed on screen by Holly Hunter and Ray Romano. It's an unusual kind of romantic comedy, which is stronger for the fact that it's based in such a true and fertile emotional place. They can layer on the comedy as much as they like, because there's such a perfect tragic core at its heart. It's never going to be seen as flippant. And this allows for those wonderful moments where scenes turn on a dime—one minute you're laughing uproariously, the next you're wincing in pain. It's a fine film to be able to do all of this, and I very much appreciate the skill with which this is executed. This is one of the films that I'd be very happy to get a surprise nod for screenplay, notwithstanding I probably have other films above it that I liked more overall.

7. Blade Runner 2049

Directed by Denis Villeneuve

I was extremely impressed with this film. It's a fine film in its own right, but more impressively, it was a film that managed to survive the weight of expectations from being the sequel to a science fiction classic. This is undoubtedly due, at least in part, to the work of the always fine Denis Villeneuve, who is a director I will follow into battle nowadays. He's doing such interesting work, and conducting an ensemble like this is no mean feat. He has excellent assistance, of course, and there's a reason why this is nominated in categories like Production Design and Cinematography. It manages to be both a coherent part of the original film's ethos, but also a bolkd new step. In many ways, I actually found this to be a more enjoyable film than the original. And this is despite the fact that close to three hours in length, this film is undoubtedly slow in places. But you forgive it. You wallow in this world. You wallow in the characters and the andante-paced story. This is a better filmn for its world-building than for its plot (much, I might add, like the Phillip K. Dick source material). I enjoyed it a great deal in any case, and I was perhaps a little awed at how they managed to so pull off something like this. I feel like I'm deeply skeptical of the recent Hollywood tradition of launching remakes, reboots, sequels and spin-offs. But a film like this shows that occasionally, maybe it works. I just hope that they see that as a testament to the crew involved in this film, and not the intrinsic quality of just reheating the old.

8. Coco

Directed by Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina

I think this is the best Pixar film in some time, and as always when a Pixar film is good, it's due to its emotional depth. This tells the story of a young boy who wants to be a musician, and is accidentally sent to the land of the dead right before Diá de los Muertos. He has to find a way to return to the land of the living before the celebration. It's a fine film, and one that feels like it respects and embraces the Mexican traditions of the festival. Indeed, it has a depth that, to me as an outsider, felt like it was honouring these traditions, in a way that allowed me to understand them better. It manages to do this with a family-friendly story, and plenty of style, drawing on the skeletal folk traditions of the festival. It's also an emotional film, and by the end, you feel as though it's been building up everything for the emotional sucker punch. This is something that Pixar can do extremely well when the elements are right. A fine return to form after a few films that I don't think I even saw, and by all accounts were not very good. Pixar is a long way from the time when everything they produced was a hit, but with films like Coco, they show that they've still got it in them when they want it.

9. I, Tonya

Directed by Craig Gillespie

The story of Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan is one that I vaguely remember from my childhood. It was a big news story at the time, but one that just got morphed and twisted over time. I, Tonya is the film that plays very much on the mythology of the attack on Nancy Kerrigan, providing a fractured but painfully sympathetic portrayal of its title character. I honestly found this film quite distressing in a bunch of ways. This is the second film on this list with an abusive mother-daughter relationship, but this is significantly more challenging, especially thanks to the powerhouse performance of Allison Janney as Harding's mother. This relationship is brutal, but so is Harding's co-dependent relationship on her violent husband Jeff (played by an unrecognisable Sebastian Stan). Margot Robbie too is extremely good in the lead role, although she makes the (perfectly valid) choice to make Harding less than ideally sympathetic. It's the right choice for the film, but it does add more of a grind to watching it. But it's a better portrayal, you feel, for who Harding was. When I first came out of this film, I wasn't actually sure if I'd liked it or hated it. But it's stuck with me to such a degree that I can't help but elevate it to a position like this in the list. I think, in the end, it's a very clever film, and manages to portray Tonya Harding in a way that might be very difficult to do in a more traditional milieu.

10. A Fantastic Woman

Directed by Sebastián Lelio

A really quite wonderful film, A Fantastic Woman tells the story of an aspiring singer (Daniela Vega), who struggles with the death of her partner, 30 years her senior, and the suspicion with which she is viewed by her partner's family after his death. In many ways, it's a fairly straight down the line drama. It uses the conflict between Marina and her partner's family as the backdrop to explore some issues, especially around transgender identity, but it's not shoving messages down your throat. Instead, it takes Vega's performance as Daniela in a very staid and understated way. This is all very intentional of course. It emphasises the fact that all Marina wants to do is to live her life. To be able to grieve over the death of her partner. To be not treated with suspicion, or subjected to brutality and degradation. She's just normal, but that makes her fantastic. Overall, I very much enjoyed this film. It was extremely well made, and fills out the field in an already packed and genuinely very good Foreign Language category this year. Again, this could have done well in another year.

11. The Florida Project

Directed by Sean Baker

I quite enjoyed Sean Baker's debut film Tangerine, but this film is a broadening of his artistic style, and ends up being a much better film for it. It once again focuses on a group on the edges of society, this time a community of people who live in gaudy motels on a highway strip just outside of Disneyworld in Florida. It's largely told through the eyes of the children who live here, in particular Moonee (Brooklynn Prince), who are left to explore their surroundings without much in the way of supervision—providing a surprisingly raw look at where a child's imagination will take them without boundaries. Supporting are the characters of Moonee's mother (Bria Vinai) and the manager of the motel in which they live (Willem Dafoe, who rightly earned his Oscar nomination for this film). It's in turns depressing and uplifting, as we see the struggle of the parents (who are by no means the sugar-coated ideal of noble poverty), and the ways in which the children learn to survive and to flourish. It does have the same kind of jerky cinematography that characterised Tangerine, although that was filmed on iPhones, but here there's still a sense of weird, garish beauty to the uber-kitsch motels and strip-malls of Florida. Somehow it works. It's a really interesting film, and certainly one that I feel as though I can recommend wholeheartedly—something I couldn't necessarily do with Tangerine. Sean Baker has certainly shown with this film at least that he's a director to watch in the future, and I'll certainly be doing that.

12. Loveless

Directed by Andrey Zvyagintsev

This was the very last film I saw for the Oscars this year, so had the honour if wrapping up all the feature films. Like Zvyagintsev's other films, it's a chilly, minimalist affair, but like all of his previous ones it has an emotional impact that you'd not expect from its spare production. In this film, a family is undergoing a divorce. Both husband and wife have new partners waiting for them—one pregnant, one rich, aloof and used to their life as it is right now. Custody of their son would be a burden on either of them, and neither of them wants to accept him. Then, the son disappears. What follows is a typically emotionally bare and brutal undertaking from the director. It's almost merciless in its depiction of characters without warmth of spirit, and the consequences this eventually brings upon them. It's eerily beautiful too, set in the starkness of Moscow highrises and long snowy banks. Like the emotions it conjures, there's a bleakness to it, ably assisted by a minimalist soundtrack. I think this is maybe not as good as Zvyagintsev's pervious film Leviathan, because I enjoyed the more overt political overtones there. This is still a political film, without a doubt, but its politics are more cached in the environment that creates characters like this. That is, it's one level removed from an explicit exploration of societal corruption. But it's still an excellent film, and a film which shows the Foreign Language award this year as an extremely strong category. Whichever film ends up winning, it's had to take on some impressive competition.

13. The Post

Directed by Steven Spielberg

I won't spend a lot of time on this film, but suffice it to say that I found it an enjoyable, by-the-numbers outing from Spielberg, helped by the always competent performances from Meryl Streep and Tom Hanks. I feel like Meryl Streep has a common thread running through her performances, and yet in every one I've seen she seems unlike all the others. Here, her performance as the insecure publisher of a major newspaper manages to tap into that sense of inner strength she always has, but layers it with a timorous quality which is surprisingly engaging on screen. It helps as well that there's a good story to tell here—it's not the story of the breaking news of the Pentagon papers, but more how it was specifically dealt with within the Washington Post. This is more entertaining than it would have been to see how the story was originally broken open (the Post was not the paper to originally get the story). But yeah, it's a fine film, very enjoyable and very by the numbers. With a cast of such established actors, and an old-hand director like Spielberg at the reins, it was unlikely to be anything else.

14. Call Me By Your Name

Directed by Luca Guadagnino

This was a fine, very stylistic film, which used its setting to great effect, and tells a tentative love story in an oblique way. Timothée Chalamet is Elio, the son of a classics professor (Michael Stuhlbarg). Over the summer, a student of his (Armie Hammer) comes to work at their Italian villa, and a romance ensues between Elio and the much older student. It's set as a love story, and it mostly manages to avoid the questionable nature of the relationship by showing it in a very sympathetic and delicate light. Elio pursues Oliver, not the other way around. Oliver and Elio embrace consent at every step of the way. And they have the tacit approval of Elio's parents. Indeed, the absolute highlight of the film is Stuhlbarg's speech to his son towards the end of the film, where he shows wisdom and compassion that made me hope that I could one day be as good a father as he is. The fact that Stuhlbarg is not nominated for an Oscar for supporting actor, for that speech alone, is a travesty. Overall, it's a fine film, if not one that rocketed to the top of my list, which I feel a very similar film in style, tone and content could have. But a very worthy film nonetheless.

15. Mudbound

Directed by Dee Rees

This was a quite beautiful film, surrounding two families, one white, one black, in rural Mississippi after World War II. It's a well-crafted portrayal of racial segragation, but also of surprising friendship in the younger generation. This is, of course, contrasted with the older tensions, especially the savage portrayal of the elderly patriarch of the McAllan family from Jonathan Banks. The film doesn't shy away from the harsh truths of this world. It's also exquisitely shot, with broad vistas of the rural landscape, and claustrophobic interiors, used to great thematic purpose. It's no wonder that this managed a nomination for Best Cinematography. Overall, I enjoyed it a great deal. It was a very skillfully crafted piece of cinema that is very much worth your time.

16. Star Wars: The Last Jedi

Directed by Rian Johnson

Undoubtedly more divisive that the film that came before it, The Last Jedi is also a film that I found myself embracing less wholeheartedly than I did The Force Awakens. But it's one of those films that you most likely have to let percolate. A film that you should probably watch a second time and appreciate more than the first. Like its predecessor, it does follow a lot of the same storyline as the original trilogy. Rey, separated from her friends, and seeking the ways of the Jedi with an old master. But also like The Empire Strikes Back, this seeks to break new ground, and it certainly manages to do that. Much has been said about the humour in this film, especially about whether it detracts from the mood of the franchise. But this is just one of the ways in which this film succeeds. More than anything, it needed to break from The Force Awakens. TFA was the film it needed to be. It needed to soothe nerves after the prequels. It needed to get back to the traditional lore. And it did this in a very safe way—too safe in some ways, in that it almost copied the exact storyline of A New Hope. The Last Jedi manages to avoid that. It is at least the first steps into doing something different, and that is what was needed from this film. Rian Johnson may be facing some backlash now, but I think in the course of history, this will be seen as a necessary and pivotal film in the franchise.

17. Marshall

Directed by Reginald Hudlin

This was just good old-fashioned filmmaking, and I genuinely enjoyed it a good deal. A courtroom drama, set in the civil rights era, it focuses on one of the early cases of Thurgood Marshall, who goes on to become the first African-American Supreme Court Judge. It's a serviceable but predictable kind of plot, but it's told with style and charm, and pulled off with good performances from Chadwick Boseman and Josh Gad. The production design is also quite lush—it pulls together a sense of period in a kind of effortless way, more like the films released in the 90s and 00s than the fussier style of today. I enjoyed it a good deal. It's not a truly great film, but it's certainly one which entertained me for its length. And honestly, there are a great number of films, like many of these below, which fail to do that.

18. The Shape Of Water

Directed by Guillermo del Toro

This is a very odd film to be getting the kind of reception it has. Let me say straight off the bad that it's an exceptionally well-crafted film. It has an amazing ensemble cast. del Toro has an excellent sense of style, and an undeniable eye for the unusual. But I did find myself equivocal about the film overall. To some extent, this comes down to the plot, which is a little like a cross between a 50's sci-fi B-movie and Oh No, Willy Didn't Make It And He Crushed Our Boy. But this is hidden behind layers and layers of production design, and of del Toro's sense of fantastical whimsy. Disappointingly, I like all of the actors who are up for Oscar nominations for this film, but I didn't particularly like them all that much in this particular film. Sally Hawkins is perhaps more of the exception, as she manages to put together a remarkable performance without speaking a word. Still, I think that if this film does take out Best Picture, I'll be scratching my head a bit. It's not only that it's not the pick that I would have chosen, I feel as though it's really not the pick that the Academy would have chosen. So, who knows, maybe that's a good thing.

19. Roman J. Israel, Esq.

Directed by Dan Gilroy

OK, speaking of odd films, here's a corker. Directed by Dan Gilroy as a follow to his excellent debut Nightcrawler, this is something of a vessel for Denzel Washington to show his range. He plays the titular Israel, a socially awkward man, but a brilliant lawyer, who struggles to find a place for himself after the death of his legal partner. It's a weird film, but one that I found myself enjoying in spite of myself. Partially, this is due to watching Denzel Washington. He's a fine actor in any role, but in one with such neuroses to play with, it's something of a master class. But the film surrounding this performance is in some senses not worthy of it. You get the feeling that without Denzel Washington, this film would have just been a stinker. Plot-wise it's somewhat pedestrian, and it kind of meanders only as much as it needs to to create new situations for this character to react to. It's nowhere near as plot driven or engaging as Gilroy's previous outing. But that's what it's here at the Oscars for, right? For Denzel Washington, as always. And here, at least, I'm very happy to see him. This is indeed a fine performance from him—indeed, despite everything, it might be one of his better performances. And he does carry this film enough to get it this high in my list. Despite its flaws, I did like it.

20. Strong Island

Directed by Yance Ford

So here, finally, we have the first documentary feature. And it's a fine film, and a deeply personal one, surrounding the investigation of the murder of a young black man, who, it turns out, was the filmmaker's brother. Usually, I'm less likely to enjoy documentaries that don't have a sense of journalistic detachment to them. But here, the pain and the intimacy with which we are told this story through Ford's eyes, and the eyes of his family, more than makes up for the lack of perspective. This is an emotional journey, but it's one that's told with a firm hand on the tiller. Ford never relinquishes that sense of objective filmmaking in order to editorialise. He's well aware that the story itself is evocative enough. In the end, it's a good documentary. It's not one of the best documentaries I've seen in recent years, but it's certainly the best of this year's bunch.

21. Victoria & Abdul

Directed by Stephen Frears

I enjoyed this film a great deal. It's a surprisingly charming film about the relationship between an elderly Queen Victoria and a young Indian Muslim whom she takes on to teach her Urdu and about Islam. It's a sweet film in many ways, and lavishly produced, with good performances from Judi Dench and Ali Fazal in the title roles. It paints a rather sympathetic portrayal of Victoria as well—as someone who is fascinated by the Indian subcontinent, which she is Empress of, but of which she is largely ignorant. In this, there's a touch of cultural imperialism though. We see the favour with which Victoria treats her Indian friend without seeing the implications of the British Raj on the people of India. It's very much a film for a white audience, that chooses not to engage very much with the more difficult topic. But as a piece of fluff disconnected with these things, it's quite enjoyable. It was a film I saw on a plane, and it's just the right kind of film for me in that situation. It doesn't require a lot of attention, and it's somewhere between light-hearted and truly emotional. In the end, it is what it is, and that was fine.

22. Dunkirk

Directed by Christopher Nolan

It's undeniable that this was a fairly impressive outing from Nolan. But to me this was a technical achievement more than it was a great film. Telling a sequence of only peripherally related tales surrounding the British evacuation of Dunkirk, it very much manages to illustrate the epic scope of the operation. But that's pretty much all it is. I really didn't much at all get the sense of compelling narrative in this. I mean, it's there, in each of the individual threads, and to some extent you do care about these characters. But it's all done with such an eye for the broader scope that none of the individual stories seem to matter all that much. To some extent, that's probably the idea, or at least the inevitable end result of such a film. It is about the larger picture much more than it is about the individual stories, even though the tapestry is woven from those stories. Sadly, it failed a little as an engaging picture for me, even though the visuals and the technical expertise required to put a film like this on the screen is quite extraordinary. So I'll continue to respect Nolan as a director. He definitely has the skills to pull off difficult things. But I'm kind of hopeful that this trend of his to the wider and wider epic won't mean that he's given up on the more engaging, intimate and plot-driven films of his early career. We'll wait and see.

23. The Square

Directed by Ruben Östlund

An interesting but ultimately overly precious film, about the curator of a major Swedish art museum as he prepares for a new installation, while also trying to track down his stolen wallet and phone. It has a number of different threads, and there's a bunch of rather bombastic pretention thrown into the mix, including an extended scene at an art fundraiser where a man acting like a Bonobo ape is let loose on the crowd as a piece of performance art. These are all stylistic choices that Östland makes which imbue the film with a sense of added pretense. All of this makes the film less immediately engaging than it might be. It deliberately obfuscates at times, becoming more like the art you feel it's satirising than it does a coherent picture itself. But there's still things to enjoy in it. Overall, I found it relatively engaging. I feel some of the choices were made for the wrong reasons though, and it ended up being a worse film than it might have been.

24. Loving Vincent (animated)

Directed by Dorota Kobiela & Hugh Welchman

Another impressive technical achievement, this is a gorgeous film, with every frame of animation a separate oil painting, painted by one of a massive team of artists. It tells the aftermath of Vincent Van Gogh's death, as investigated by the son of one of Van Gogh's friends. The narrative is pretty much not the point of the film—they do manage to craft something that is enough to keep things plodding along, but really you can enjoy this film just by looking at it. Interestingly, the film had to be produced pretty much twice, because the action is performed first by live actors (the likes of Douglas Booth, Saoirse Ronan, Aidan Turner and Chris O'Dowd), was then printed on canvas, and overpainted with oils, all in the style of Van Gogh. It's a mind-boggling effort. In some respects it's not a film that should ever have been made—the fact that it has been, no matter what the half-baked plot was, is the really interesting story here.

25. The Breadwinner

Directed by Nora Twomey

This was another quite beautiful film, traditionally animated in beautiful form from the same studio that did The Secret of Kells and Song of the Sea, both of which were also nominated in the Best Animated Feature category. This film is set in Afghanistan, between the war with Russia and the US invasion, when the country is under Taliban control. Parvana is a young girl who has a gift for telling stories, one of which runs through the film in pieces. When her father is arrested by the Taliban, she disguises herself as a boy so as to be able to perform work and support her family. It's a sad film in many ways, but it shows a great deal of what's good in life as well, even in pretty dark circumstances. Parvana's gift of story is an illustration of the way such tales can invigorate, and sooth. The animation is good, as it has been in all this studios films, traditionally animated, or at least animated in a 2D style. And the story here is both more mature and engaging than in their previous efforts that I've seen. Overall a good film. My limited engagement with animated films drops this as low as it is, but honestly, there are many animated films that would not do nearly as well as this has.

26. Phantom Thread

Directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

I was quite disappointed with how low this has ended up, but it's a position that it warrants, despite the fact that it has much of Paul Thomas Anderson's charm and craft all over it. Daniel Day-Lewis plays Reynolds Woodcock, a prominent but eccentric fashion designer who lives in a difficult co-dependent relationship with his sister (Lesley Manville). When he begins a relationship with a waitress, Alma (Vicky Krieps), she has to adapt to his eccentricies, the rancour of his sister, and life in the tortured world of fashion. It's an elaborately crafted film, and to some extent feels like an academic exercise that PTA has given himself. It's fussy in its production, in a way that matches well the personality of its leading man. The music is a highlight from Johnny Greenwood, and stands apart as one of the films greatest strengths. The other strength of course is the presence of Daniel Day-Lewis. He's a chameleonic actor, to the extent that I honestly don't at all know what a base-level Daniel Day-Lewis performance is like. He completely reinvents himself for every role, and this one—a difficult one, no doubt—is performed with that same complexity and grace. It's disappointing in some ways that it so failed to connect with me. There were lots of good elements, but they did not combine into something holistically interesting. It was, altogether, too particular, too pleased with itself, or too exacting of its audience for me to embrace.

27. Wonder

Directed by Stephen Chbosky

Wonder tells the tale of a young boy with facial deformities (Jacob Tremblay) as he makes the transition from home schooling to being integrated into a traditional middle school. It looked like absolute shchmaltz. But in fact, there was a surprising amount of depth and heart to the film, and a sophistication of thought that made it rise above its shonky premise. There's something surprisingly human about the whole thing, not due to the pathos, but due to the combination of pathos and humour. It is rather optimistic throughout, but it steers away from melodrama and sentimentality. In some senses it rides above its premise, to provide more of a straight family drama. This is accentuated by good performances from Julia Roberts and Owen Wilson, and in particular from Jacob Tremblay and Izabela Vidovic as his sister. The focus on other members of the family, and the wider ensemble helps to promote this. Indeed, the film ends up bearing some resemblance to Chbosky's previous film, the excellent The Perks of Being A Wallflower. It doesn't have the same depth, or the same fluency of character, but Chbosky obviously knows what he's doing in this domain. So it's a surprising effort for a film I expected to dislike a great deal. It's a better outing than it sounds, and ends up, while still not an excellent film, quite good at delivering on its premise.

28. Icarus

Directed by Bryan Fogel

This is a very, very odd film. It's a documentary that starts out with the filmmaker, Bryan Fogel, trying a social experiment to see if he can get away with using performance enhancing drugs for an amateur road cycling race. In pursuit of this, he meets Grigory Rodchenkov, a Russian scientist in charge of his country's anti-doping agency, and the two devise a doping schedule for the director. But the director doesn't know what he's found, because in the middle of filming, Russia's anti-doping scheme is revealed, and Rodchenkov is unveiled as the mastermind behind it. From that point, the documentary pivots and becomes the first-hand story of Rodchenkov turning whistle-blower against his former colleagues, and the revelations of the conspiracy which seem to go to the very top of the Russian government. Fogel is thrown in the deep end to this one. This is not the documentary he was going to make, and neither is he the right director for it—he's hanging on for dear life as the story unravels in front of him. To his credit, he manages to ride it out, and we get a credible and quite engaging story out of it. But there are places where it's quite dicey. He does have the unfortunate habit of trying to put himself too squarely into the middle of the action, a fault that seems common in mediocre documentarians, but given the initial premise of the film, we can at least see why he does it. In the end, there's a really very compelling story in this documentary. The fact that it's told the way it is is the result of luck more than skill on the part of the filmmakers. But it's also luck for us—we get to see the story unfold in a way that we would have missed otherwise. And that's worth something.

29. The Disaster Artist

Directed by James Franco

I'd seen The Room several years ago, and if you haven't it's worth the hype. It is truly a masterpiece of appallingly bad cinema. So I was quite intrigued to see the story behind it, however it was filtered by James Franco. And it is a rather interesting, if quite silly story. The main event here is the characterisation of the star of The Room, Tommy Wiseau. He's a man steeped in mystery—somehow exceptionally wealthy, destined to be an actor, but with very little talent, and zero sense of self-awareness. Somehow though, Franco manages to make him a sympathetic character—the central figure in a tragedy perhaps. It's a soft touch, and easily the best thing about the film. The rest, however, is serviceable but never inspired. The script is only mediocre as far as I'm concerned, despite its nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, and only manages to provide the main beats of the plot without a great deal of humour or panache. In the end, it's an okay film. I certainly had some fun with it, but it's hard to recognise it as much of a sterling piece of cinematic history. That honour remains solely with The Room.

30. The Boss Baby

Directed by Tom McGrath

By any account, this should have been the worst film of the Oscars. This is surely one of the most awful premises for a movie ever, right? Secretly, our protagonist Tim's new baby brother is a business executive, sent on a secret mission to infiltrate his family, and steal secret plans on a new kind of puppy. Can you hear me gagging already? So how does this manages to twist itself into a heartwarming parable about family, and in particular brotherly love? I suspect this is because it draws on the source material, a picture book by Marla Frazee, a medium not suited to convoluted backstory of the kind that sickened me in this film. But the emotions it evokes are relatable. A new child is brought into the family, which disrupts the status quo in a way that the existing child resists and resents. But over time, almost without realising it, they grow to love one another. The way this tale is framed within the film is almost inconsequential. Yeah, there's some silly plot involving stealing secret plans from PuppyCo. And there are a number of set pieces surrounding the chase and execution of this plot. But that's certainly not what got me. In the end, admittedly, this is still something of a silly film, and its position here isn't great. But for a film that should have been a Giant Novelty Shoe-in for worst film of the Oscars, it endeared itself to me in a way I really wasn't prepared for.

31. Faces Places (Visages, Villages)

Directed by Agnès Varda & JR

A fairly interesting but also perplexing documentary about the surprising friendship that arises between veteran French director Agnès Varda and young photographer JR, whose shtick is pasting massive versions of his photography on forgotten architecture. Together, the two of them travel around France, finding unusual places to exhibit JRs next piece of artwork, which Varda muses on her life, and reflects on her many triumphs and regrets. Largely the film revolves around the friendship that blooms between the two co-directors. But it's a very understated piece, with little in the way of conflict, or even much that's revelatory. The only real human emotion which sneaks in is saved until near the end of the piece, when Varda takes JR to meet her old friend Jean-Luc Godard. The rest is staid, and a little perplexing, but never unbeautiful. It's more a pictorial of JR's art though than anything really resembling a story. And that makes it a harder film to swallow than it really should be. As a result, this is languishing towards the back end of the list, and honestly, that's a bit of a shame.

32. Logan

Directed by James Mangold

People kind of raved about this film, calling it an impressive departure from the regular superhero storyline. While it's true that it is a departure from the regular superhero fare, it doesn't necessarily follow that it hence deserves a rave. The world has changed from the X-Men universe we know. The mutations which caused superhero powers have seemingly stopped, Professor Xavier is now crippled by his mental powers, and is cared for in a bunker by a bitter, resentful Wolverine. But of course, their life is not destined to just peter out without a sound, and they get dragged into a conspiracy that requires their intervention once again. Don't get me wrong: this is significantly more interesting than most of the superhero films that are trotted out year after year. But after the unusual set-up, and some bleaker than normal cinematography, this really does become a lot like another superhero film. At its core, it can't escape that, and when it devolves into long tracts of choreographed fight sequences, I'm much less interested. So yeah, I can perhaps see why this was regarded with critical interest. But at the same time, it didn't do much for me.

33. Beauty and the Beast

Directed by

Not a great film, admittedly, and to some extent warranted some of the criticism thrown at it. It is, after all, not far from a shot-for-shot live-action remake of Disney's classic animated version—a version which is rightfully regarded as a triumph. But because it's based on such solid material, there is a good deal of charm to it. Emma Watson's Belle is engaging in her role, although as people have said, she's not an incredible singer, meaning that her songs are only so good. The rest of the cast (which is surprisingly good), do a serviceable job, but at every moment you're comparing them to the animated versions of themselves, and the comparison is rarely favorable. Perhaps the exception is Luke Evans as Gaston, who manages to be suitably and consistently smarmy, and Josh Gad as LeFou, who manages to elicit some sympathy from the audience. In the end, it was better than it might have been. And it's not as good as the original. While you might look at it and say "it didn't fail in its attempt", you might equally ask "why was the attempt made in the first place?".

34. Darkest Hour

Directed by Joe Wright

I had a bunch of problems with this film. Telling the days of the early turbulent reign of Winston Churchill's prime-ministership, it focuses on the difficult future facing Britain in WWII, when victory was so far from assured that a Nazi invasion seemed inevitable. Notwithstanding Gary Oldman's believable mimickry of Churchill, the film concerned me in a bunch of different ways. It sought to give insight into the difficult decisions of government—which in this case involved outright lying to the people of the country, and nationalist propaganda designed to help the war effort at the cost of transparency. But in so doing, the film seemed to canonise such efforts. This is the cost of winning a war, it stated, and the ends justify the means. Worse is the fact that the seeming pivotal moment when Churchill seeks the approval of the common man (a sappy sequence set on the London Underground) is played off as the moral basis of the film. Everyone, it seems, approves of the job Churchill is doing. They support the war effort. They support the need for austerity. They are optimistic about Britain's chances, because Britons have the backbone to win a fight, jolly what. The film portrays Churchill as buoyed by this, despite the fact that in the narrative of the film these people only think this due to the propaganda Churchil himself is spouting. The whole sequence made me very cynical, and it underlined all of the thematic issues with the film elsewhere. If it were a better made film overall, I'd perhaps even consider it dangerous to some extent. But I think that it might only be remembered as a vessel for Gary Oldman, who's apparently one of the favourites to take out the Best Actor nod. And maybe that's fine as its legacy.

35. Abacus: Small Enough to Jail

Directed by Steve James

This wasn't a terrible documentary, but it was one that was drawn out for too long. It tells the story of the Abacus bank, a small American operation set up to appeal to the Chinese community in that country. Unlike any of the other banks which were caught up in the aftermath of the global financial crisis, Abacus was the only bank whose directors and management were charged with crimes. The documentary follows the trials, and tells the story of the how they ended up in the situation they did. It focuses less on the impact of the GFC on all the other banks, and I think misses an opportunity to take more of a swing at the big players. Instead, it focuses on how unfair it is that Abacus was targeted, rather than how unfair it is that Abacus was the only bank targeted. The other issue I have with the film is that the middle section is severely over-extended. To be fair, if it were not, the film itself would be much shorter—and it's not an overly long film as it is, so it may have not even been classified as a feature film if it were not extended in this way. But there's a great deal of time spent focusing on the family's and directors musing on what's going to happen in the trial, without much in the way of narrative thrust. In the end, it's only so good. I liked the concept behind it, but the delivery and execution meant that this fell a long way down the list.

36. Baby Driver

Directed by Edgar Wright

A rather silly film, directed with panache and a sense of style, but ultimately one which really just had me giving a bunch of sideeye. Let's talk about the good bits. The music, which provides almost the rhythmic thrust of the film, is universally excellent. It's an eclectic mix of any number of pieces, usually drawn from the lesser-known back catalogues. And there's a kind of anti-establishment style to the film, especially the driving sequences, which are, in turn aided by the pumping soundtrack. But the story is weak, and the characterisation is even more so. These folks are comic-book cutouts—which, you feel, would fit the style of the movie—but instead it just creates a sense of detachment which means that I personally never felt involved in the world. I just didn't care about anyone. It's also not aided by the performances of the leads. Kevin Spacey phones in a "look, I'm Kevin Spacey" doddle, and Ansel Elgort is just numbingly bland in the title role. Some pleasingly uncharacteristic menace comes from John Hamm and Jamie Foxx, but they're not the main focus of the film, so their presence is only sporadically helpful. I ended up just feeling alienated from the film. It didn't do anything to really draw me in at all, and as a result, I ended up not caring. Worse, the stylistic embellishments ended up feeling a bit like an ego trip for Edgar Wright—the film hadn't earnt them, and given it had fundamental problems, it came across as wank.

37. Last Men in Aleppo (doc)

Directed by Feras Fayyad

This film suffered a lot from the fact that I'd seen The White Helmets the year before, which covered the same group of Syrian volunteers whose job is to rescue survivors from bombed buildings. The two films were produced by different people, so there's not necessarily the sense that one is just a richer adaptation of the other. This one, however, does have the advantage of being able to delve more deeply into the lives of the people around the White Helmets. In particular, there's a fair amount of time spent looking at the children who are rescued, often finding themselves orphaned, and their ongoing relationship with the people who rescued them. But I'll admit my attention was wavering at points through the film, largely because I felt like I'd heard about this before. This probably means that I was missing out on a deeper experience than I got from The White Helmets. That's probably a shame.

38. War for the Planet of the Apes

Directed by Matt Reeves

I've really enjoyed this film series. I particularly liked the original, which had a really wonderful exploration of the worldbuilding in the first Planet of the Apes film. And I was then very pleasantly surprised by the follow up Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, for adding an interesting moral ambiguity into the inevitable conflict between the apes and the humans. But this film I found to be easily the weakest of the lot. In some ways, that's not unsurprising. The trilogy needed a cap at the end of it, and it was trying to wrap things up in a way that was meaningful. But that, to some extent, came at the expense of this particular film—it may have helped the series as a whole, but not this specific episode in it. It's also much less a film that's interested in exploring the ethos of the world, or even necessarily the development of the relationship between the humans and the apes. It's a war film, by necessity, and that has a limited appeal to me. There are good parts, as there have been throughout the series, including the visual effects, and Serkis's performance as Caesar. But there's only so much that can help. This is not one of the big picks for me.

39. The Greatest Showman

Directed by Michael Gracey

This is this year's La La Land, the high concept musical (with songs from the La La Land team, no less), that ends up being very silly at times. And while it would be very easy to eviscerate this for all that's wrong with it, there were enough good parts to it that I'm infiriatingly feeling the need to defend it. Really, in broad strokes, this is not good. The concept and script are very poor, and so obvious in places that I thought I was going to do damage to my optic nerve by rolling my eyes so much. Hugh Jackman is predictable, and Michelle Williams is actively bad in this. But whereas La La Land rode or fell (it definitely fell) on the performances of its two leads, this is much more of an ensemble piece, and parts of the ensemble save it. In particular in this film, the subplot surrounding the romance between Zac Efron and Zendaya is told with an emotion and subtlety that has no place in a film like this. These two actors are easily the best thing about the film, and they really provide some heart to a film that's otherwise lacking it. It's also true that the set pieces and the musical numbers are put on the screen with a style that other recent musicals have severely lacked. That's not to say it survives its overall crumminess, but there are a lot of people (not including the leads) who are working very hard to make this film a success. And apparently, it is indeed a success. This has been a surprising hit at the box office, despite the panning it's got critically. And that's not necessarily a bad thing. There's definitely a place for films like this, and musicals in general. And who knows, perhaps if they keep making them, eventually we'll get one that's actually good.

40. Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2

Directed by James Gunn

I really don't much see the appeal of this film franchise. I think partially it's due to missing the appeal of the now blandly handsome Chris Pratt. He used to have a kind of schlubby charm in the days of Parks & Recreation and Her. But now he's just conformed to the mould of vague action-hero leading man. This is particularly true in this volume of Guardians of the Galaxy, which I found much more lacking in the humour that at least set the first episode apart. It's possible that this is just due to the fact that the first episode was different from the other standard comic-book films being churned out, and this is not significantly different from Vol. 1. But still, it matters because our expectations were somewhere for this film, and the end result is something that's just not that innovative any more. I still think that the best part of both of these films is Dave Bautista's Drax, who this time has an amusing relationship with an empathic alien. The dynamics between the rest of the group is less interesting this time—there's manufactured tension, but very little of the natural friction you got when this rag tag bunch were thrown together. And the story? Was there much of a story? Yes and no. Yes, there was a story. No, I didn't care about it, and to be honest, the story is not what this film franchise's strength is. The fact that they tried to ratchet up the plot to impossible levels with excessively high stakes is testament to the fact that they kind of know it too. So yeah, I didn't much like this, and to be honest, I'm actually going to groan if I have to watch the third instalment. There's definitely going to be a third instalment, but if possible, I'm going to give it a miss.

41. Ferdinand

Directed by Carlos Saldanha

You know what was bad? Ferdinand was bad. It's also the kind of film that I'm really skeptical about. Despite the fact that it's built on an apparently beloved children's book, it has all the hallmarks of a film that was designed by a committee. It tells the tale of a bull who decides he doesn't want to fight in the arena, despite the fact that that's what he's been bred to do. Yeah. And it kind of does that. I guess. But it's really quite bad in everything perhaps that kind of idea. There are just so many parts that stand out as the handiwork of some producer who said "we haven't had anything funny in a while, could we maybe add a dance competition for no reason at all?". The animation is also halfway between the beautiful and the comic, but it's neither one nor the other. As a result, it feels as though it's just half-baked. I understand the desire to have a slightly less realistic vibe to a cartoon, but it gels poorly with the backgrounds, for instance. The best part of the film is the characterisation and performance from Kate McKinnon's neurotic goat Lupe, who is genuinely quite amusing and endearing in equal measures. But having a bright spot like this just kind of makes things like the trio of stereotyped Swedish horses stick out as awkward all the more. Yeah, not a big film. This is the kind of animated film that for quite a while made the entire category my least anticipated section to sit through. But films like Coco, Loving Vincent and even god-forbid The Boss Baby have shown that the kind of film like Ferdinand really shouldn't cut it any more.

42. All the Money in the World

Directed by Ridley Scott

What a disappointing film. It's a disappointing film because it's so unconscionably dull. Telling the story of the kidnapping of the grandson of J.P. Getty (Christopher Plummer, taking over the role that had been completed by Kevin Spacey), and Getty's refusal to pay the ransom, I'm kind of bored just thinking back on it, to be honest. Once again, we have Michelle Williams in a role that's just yawningly pedestrian. She fails to breathe any life into it at all aside from doing her vague stony-faced monologuing. And across from her is Mark Wahlberg who at least inhabits his role—but it's a role he's done so many times before that we don't really care about seeing him do it again. But mostly, I just found this film chilly, cold and overly boring. It's unpleasant in other ways too—it has that feeling of ennui that envelops me when watching the excessively wealthy. I just don't care. Moreover, it's the kind of indulgent thing that people like Ridley Scott probably thinks people like me want to watch. Which I think just means the producers of films like this are out of touch. Mostly, this feels like it only even got a nod for an Oscar as a giant Fuck You to Kevin Spacy. Plummer is fine in the role that earns him his Best Supporting Actor nomination, but not better than a bunch of other people that could have taken his place (Michael Stuhlbarg in Call Me By Your Name should be kicking some walls watching this performance). And had it not been for that I probably never would have watched this. I suspect I would have been the better for it.

43. Kong: Skull Island

Directed by Jordan Vogt-Roberts

Now we're into the serious garbage. Second bottom film of this year's Oscars is this mess from director Jordan Vogt-Roberts. You know him, right? He's exhibit 12 on Hollywood's parade of let's give a major Hollywood franchise to some white male director who's had one successful indie film, while women with illustrious careers are still seen as too much of a risk. He's the next version of Colin Trevorrow in other words, which should strike fear into your heart. Also stacked against this is the fact that it's a(nother) reboot of King Kong, just focusing on the attempts to investigate his home of Skull Island. Like many reboots of classic action films, it misses all of the moral questions of the original, and instead puts on screen a story which is a loosely connected selection of Things Blowing Up Sampler Pack, Vol. 12. The plot? It almost doesn't matter. A bunch of shit happens on Skull Island. Kong is an enemy, but then not an enemy. John C. Reilly pulls out an inappropriate Dewey Cox impersonation, while the story devolves into worse than B-movie territory. OK, to be fair, this is only nominated for visual effects. And these are indeed good. But that's like saying that this is a beautifully decorated cake made of dogshit. All of the pretty piping work in the world doesn't make you want to consume it. Worst is that this was apparently both a commercial and critical success, and is feted to launch yet another shared-universe franchise. That's kind of awful, because I don't want to have to watch another film like Kong: Skull Island.

44. Molly's Game

Directed by Aaron Sorkin

Bottom of the pile this year is a film that's probably not technically the worst film I've seen (Kong: Skull Island owns that), but the one that just pissed me off the most. And it was Aaron Sorkin's directorial debut Molly's Game. It was awful. In fact, it got more awful the more I thought about it. It is almost completely, 100%, unrelatable in any way shape or form. Telling the true story of a young woman (Molly Bloom, played by a lacklustre Jessica Chastain), who starts a high-stakes poker game for the rich and famous, and is subsequently indicted for it. I mean, are we meant to have sympathy for this character? Are we meant to identify with the group of soulless people she surrounds herself with, in particular the callous movie star played by Michael Cera, who's supposedly based on Tobey Maguire. They're all completely unpleasant in one way or another. But the worst part of this train wreck of a film is the fact that you can sense Sorkin's fawning admiration for Molly Bloom. Sorkin has shown himself to be kind of a nasty character in real life, and the fact that he picked this as his directorial debut is telling. And the way he puts in on screen just emphasises all of the ways in which I found the story deeply unpleasant. I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if in real life, a slimed-up Sorkin found himself a regular at Molly's table. It would then make this whole films something of an ego-trip (or moreso than it is already), and that very much fits in with my impression of Sorkin nowadays. Yeah: I hated this film. It's the kind of hatred that can only really mature and develop over time. It's a rich and full-bodied kind of hatred, that has had the benefit of reflection and deep thought. It's the kind of hatred that easily beats out the kind of knee-jerk hate I have for films like Kong: Skull Island. It's kind of beautiful in a way. Well, there you have it. A full rundown of all the feature films at the Oscars. But we're not done yet. We also have the truly wonderful short films to look at. I'm not going to write these up individually, but here they are in order from my favourite to least favourite:

DeKalb Elementary (live action)

The Silent Child (live action)

Heaven is a Traffic Jam on the 405 (documentary)

Watu Wote (live action)

The 11 O'Clock (live action)

Garden Party (animated)

Traffic Stop (documentary)

Revolting Rhymes (animated)

Lou (animated)

Heroin(e) (documentary)

My Nephew Emmett (live action)

Negative Space (animated)

Knife Skills (documentary)

Edith & Eddie (documentary)

Dear Basketball (animated)

As always, these were excellent, and a set of films which are honestly worthy of as much time as the Best Picture nominees. I highly recommend watching the Short Film categories at the Oscars every year, but this year's were particularly good. The top film, DeKalb Elementary, is honestly the most affecting piece of cinema I've seen at this year's Oscars, in either the short or long form. And of course, it wouldn't be my write-up without me giving my hot tips for the winners. I say hot tips, but don't rely on these for predictions. These are how I would vote if the Academy would answer my damn phonecalls and give me a ballot for the awards. As always, I've limited my votes to just the nominees in each category, so while I would like to vote for Ferdinand for Best Foreign Language Film, I can't. Best Picture: Lady Bird Best Director: Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird) Best Actress: Frances McDormand (Three Billboards) Best Actor: Daniel Kaluuya (Get Out) Best Supporting Actress: Allison Janney (I, Tonya) Best Supporting Actor: Sam Rockwell (Three Billboards) Best Original Screenplay: Lady Bird Best Adapted Screenplay: Mudbound Best Animated Feature: Coco Best Foreign Language Film: On Body and Soul Best Documentary Feature: Strong Island Best Documentary Short: Heaven Is A Traffic Jam on the 405 Best Live Action Short: Best Animated Short: Garden Party Best Original Score: Phantom Thread Best Original Song: "Mystery of Love" (Call Me By Your Name) Best Sound Editing: Blade Runner 2049 Best Sound Mixing: Dunkirk Best Production Design: The Shape of Water Best Cinematography: Blade Runner 2049 Best Makeup and Hairstyling: Wonder Best Costume Design: Phantom Thread Best Film Editing: Dunkirk Best Visual Effects: Blade Runner 2049

#oscars

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thenotoriousscuttlecliff · 7 years ago

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Moffat Era Rewatch: Heaven Sent/Hell Bent

Run, you clever boy. And be a Doctor...

Warning: Spoilers Sweetie

'Heaven Sent’ is the pinnacle of Doctor Who. I honestly can’t think of an episode better written, directed or acted than this. In years to come this will be the one we will often see at the top of all those best of lists. ‘Hell Bent’ will be further down those lists. Not because it’s bad (although many people think it is), it just isn’t as great as what came before it.

“As you come into this world, something else is also born. You begin your life, and it begins a journey towards you. It moves slowly, but it never stops. Wherever you go, whatever path you take, it will follow. Never faster, never slower, always coming. You will run. It will walk. You will rest. It will not. One day, you will linger in the same place too long. You will sit too still or sleep too deep, and when, too late, you rise to go, you will notice a second shadow next to yours. Your life will then be over.”

Peter Capaldi is the Doctor with the best voice after Tom Baker and, boy, did Moffat know it. He was always giving him these wonderful speeches, monologues and voiceovers to perform.

“If you think because she is dead, I am weak, then you understand very little. If you were any part of killing her, and you're not afraid, then you understand nothing at all. So, for your own sake, understand this. I am the Doctor. I'm coming to find you, and I will never, ever stop.”

They took Jenna out of the credits.

An episode like this only works if you have an actor of Peter Capaldi’s calibre at its centre, someone who can make 50 minutes of talking to himself absolutely riveting.

I’ve always thought it would be a great idea to strand the Doctor alone on a planet with no TARDIS, no friends, and no gadget or gizmos, where he has to rely solely on that big brain of his to survive and escape. This is the closest I am ever likely to seeing that on screen.

“Come on! Chop, chop! The Doctor will see you now! Show me what you've got! I just watched my best friend die in agony. My day can't get any worse. Let's see what we can do about yours!”

“See, Clara...” *weeping*

He missed her so much he painted a portrait.

So if the Doctor was the one who painted that portrait, where’d he get the paint and brushes or the canvas and frame?

“When I was a very little boy, there was an old lady who died. They covered her in veils, but it was a hot, sunny day, and the flies came. It gave me nightmares for years. So, who's been stealing my nightmares?” Is that why he slept in the barn? This old woman died, possibly a relative, and her corpse stank the place out so much that the Doctor started sleeping in the barn because it was the only place that didn’t stink of death.

“I told you I was scared of dying. And I wasn't lying either. Advantage, me!”

The TARDIS is the Doctor’s mind palace.

“The first rule of being interrogated is that you are the only irreplaceable person in the torture chamber. The room is yours, so work it. If they're going to threaten you with death, show them who's boss. Die faster.”

“Isn't that right, Clara?”

“I can't wait to hear what I say. I'm nothing without an audience.”

This is exactly what I’ve always imagined the Doctor’s thought process was like.

Damn, Murray Gold’s music for this episode is just sublime. Episodes like this are why we never shut up about watching the season 9 soundtrack.

Since we know these clothes are his it must mean that his first time around he completed the cycle in just his undies.

“It's a killer puzzle box designed to scare me to death, and I'm trapped inside it. Must be Christmas.“

Doctor really should’ve held on to that spade.

“Because I'm not the first prisoner here, am I! All those skulls! Wonder where they all went wrong.” You’re about to find out.

The truth will literally set him free.

“But I'm scared and I'm alone. Alone, and very, very scared.”

“It's funny, the day you lose someone isn't the worst. At least you've got something to do. It's all the days they stay dead.”

“Every room, if I leave it long enough, reverts to its condition at the moment I arrive. It tidies up after itself.” Except Room 12. Maybe he never left it long enough.

All he wants to do is brood about Clara and finish his soup. Is that really too much to ask?

“Bird? What's bird got to do with it? Are there birds here?”

“If I didn't know better, I'd say I've travelled seven thousand years into the future.”

And then, he remembered.

“That's when I remember! Always then. Always then. Always exactly then!” He remembers. He remembers all of it. And it is only seven thousand years at this point. Imagine what it was like for him when he hit year four billion. Four and a half billions years of being torture and dying over and over again.

“Whatever I do, you still won't be there.”

“Doctor, you are not the only person who ever lost someone. It's the story of everybody. Get over it. Beat it. Break free. Doctor, it's time. Get up, off your arse, and win!” When the Doctor find himself in times of trouble, Clara Oswald comes to him, speaking words of wisdom.

He is really regretting not holding onto the spade now.

“...how many seconds in eternity?”

One of the reasons I’m going to miss this TARDIS set so much when it gets replaced next season is the lighting.

“People always get it wrong with Time Lords. We take forever to die. Even if we're too injured to regenerate, every cell in our bodies keeps trying. Dying properly can take days. That's why we like to die among our own kind. They know not to bury us early.”

Don’t ever tell me that Peter didn’t get given great material to work with. I bet there are more than a few former Doctors who would’ve killed to get just a tenth of the material he was blessed with over the last three seasons.

“How long can I keep doing this, Clara? Burning the old me, to make a new one?” And suddenly Twelve’s desire not to regenerate makes a lot more sense.

And this here is the single great work of editing ever seen on television. Peter, Steven, Rachel, and Murray are all deservedly praised for this episode, but let’s have a round of applause for editor William Oswald.

“Personally, I think that's a hell of a bird.“

Sweet home Gallifrey, where the skies are so orange.

“The Hybrid destined to conquer Gallifrey and stand in its ruins *puts on sunglasses* is me.” YEEEEAAAAAAAAHH!!!!

‘Heaven Sent’ is overwhelming regarded as a masterpiece, opinions on ‘Hell Bent’ are a little more diverse. I’m firmly in the “It’s great, but not as great as Heaven Sent” camp.

So where did he get that guitar? It’s not Twelve’s regular guitar.

Strutting into the place like the rock god he is.

“What's it called?” "I think that it's called Clara.”

I need the guitar version of Clara’s theme.

New Rassilon (Timothy Dalton wasn’t available),and same old Sisterhood of Karn.

I’m assuming this lady is the same one from ‘Listen’

“You will lay down any weapons on your person...” *drops his spoon*

“I think he's finishing his soup.” He’s waited four and half billions years, you are damn right he is going to finish it.

Where did he get the new suit? Is there a tailors out in the Gallifrey wastes?

“Do you know what I have, out here in the Dry Lands, where there's nobody who matters? No witnesses.” Rassilon is such a fucking aristocratic.

“Oh, you like a cliffhanger, don't you?”

Gallifrey should be known as Space Glasgow from now on.

“The first thing you will notice about the Doctor of War is he's unarmed. For many, it's also the last.”

“Every story ever told really happened. Stories are where memories go when they're forgotten.”

The Doctor pulled off a coup without firing even a single shot. This is, what, the fourth time he’s become Lord President of Gallifrey? And all without ever winning a single election. So much for democracy.

“All Matrix prophecies concur that this creature will one day stand in the ruins of Gallifrey. It will unravel the Web of Time and destroy a billion billion hearts to heal its own.” And that is exactly what happened.

And this is the point where a lot of people start hating this episode because it stops being about the Doctor being back on Gallifrey and about him and Clara, which I have no problem with because I care more about the Doctor and Clara than I do about bloody Gallifrey.

Look at him, he’s waited four and half billion years for this moment.

Four and half billion years he’s waited to save Clara and he’s not going to let anyone stop him, not even Clara.

Yep, he’s gone full Time Lord Victorious.

Oh, the way she takes his hand just kills me.

“This Clara person, you must really like her.”

“We're on Gallifrey. Death is Time Lord for man flu.” Which explains why Ten was being so overdramatic in ‘The End of Time’.

Here we have one of the most important regenerations in the show’s history.

“The Time Lords have got a big computer made of ghosts, in a crypt, guarded by more ghosts.”

“Ah, well, that was a lie put about by the Shabogans. It was the President's daughter. I didn't steal the moon, I lost it.”

“One question. And you will answer. How long was the Doctor trapped inside the confession dial?” "We think four and a half billion years.” That sound you just heard was Clara’s unbeating heart shattering.

“I had a duty of care.” That day Clara was amazed to discover that when he was saying “I had a duty of care”, what he meant was, “I love you.”

“People like me and you, we should say things to one another. And I'm going to say them now...” No, don’t cut away now. What did she say? WHAT DID SHE SAY?

Took nine seasons, but we’ve finally got a recreation of a classic TARDIS. And it is simply beautiful. I bet Peter never wanted to leave. They probably had to drag him away so they could dismantle it.

“Then I'm going to invent a flying submarine. Why? Because no one ever has and it's annoying.”

“Or don't you trust me any more?” “No, not when you're shouting.”

“Four knocks. It's always four knocks.”

“The universe is over! It doesn't have a say any more! We're standing on the last ember, the last fragment of everything that ever was. As of this moment, I'm answerable to no-one!” Except the woman standing right in front of you.

I honestly thought it was going to be Missy on the other side of that door.

Nice place to sit and watch the universe end.

“She died for who she was and who she loved. She fell where she stood. It was sad, and it was beautiful.”

“Tell me, Doctor, I've always wondered. You're a Time Lord, you're a high-born Gallifreyan. Why is it you spend so much time on Earth?” That moment when you honestly thought they were going to reveal the Doctor really is half-human.

“Missy. The Master. The lover of chaos, who wants you to love it, too. She's quite the matchmaker.” Sounds like she’s talking from experience. Has Me had a run in with Missy?

“Clara's my friend.” "I know. And you're willing to risk all of Time and Space because you miss her.”

“I've done it before.” Yeah, and you were wrong to do it then Doctor and you are wrong to do it now.

She revered the polarity. She truly is a Doctor now.

“These have been the best years of my life, and they are mine. Tomorrow is promised to no one, Doctor, but I insist upon my past. I am entitled to that. It's mine.” I’m not sure if this was deliberately written as a response to Donna’s mind wipe, but it sure as hell does read like one.

“Look how far I went, for fear of losing you.”

“I don't think I could ever forget you.” "Clara, I don't think you're ever going to have to.”

This is karma for Donna Noble.

“Smile for me. Go on, Clara Oswald, one last time.”

“Clara? Clara who?”

“When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it left. I know her name was Clara. I know we travelled together. I know that there was an Ice Warrior on a submarine and a mummy on the Orient Express. I know we sat together in the Cloisters and she told me something very important, but I have no idea what she said. Or what she looked like. Or how she talked. Or laughed. There's nothing there. Just nothing.” This is killing her. She wants him to remember. She wants him to see her so badly.

“Stupid Doctor. Amy and Rory. It was Amy and Rory.” I’m already fragile, Moffat, why did you have to reopen that old wound?

“You said memories become stories when we forget them. Maybe some of them become songs.”

The last time she sees him....until Christmas that is, he said desperately.

And now Clara gets the epic farewell that she deserved and Me, after waiting billions of years, finally get her wish to see all of time and space.

“Gallifrey. Like I said, Gallifrey. The long way round.” A new story has begun, a new legend has been born.

After four and half billions years, he’s finally home again.

Oh, I am so going to miss this. Seeing this Doctor, with that hair, wearing that jacket, strutting around the TARDIS while that theme blast out. I don’t think any other actor who has played the role has owned the console room quite the way Peter Capaldi has done.

And this is one of the best shots the show has ever done: the TARDIS dematerializing while Clara’s picture slowly crumbles away.

Next Time: The Husbands of River Song

#Doctor Who #DW #Moffat Era Rewatch #The Doctor #Twelfth Doctor #Clara Oswald #Ashildr #Heaven Sent #Hell Bent

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twinkletoes-rp · 5 years ago

Text

Naruto AU “Surface Breaker” Ch. 2 - The Right Decisions

(Can also read on FFN | AO3 | Previous | Next )

---

“Sasuke went to Orochimaru of his own free will. No matter what you do, he will not change…”

“B-but I…” Naruto murmurs in his sleep.

“Don’t delude yourself into thinking that you can bring him back. You can’t. It’s hopeless. It’s a fool’s errand…”

His fingers curl in the sheets. “I’m not a…”

“Idiot! Take a good look at the condition you’re in, and he’s the one who did it to you! Was that the work of a friend?!”

His grip loosens and fingers twitch in response to the pain pulsing through him. “Y-you’re right…b-but…”

“What happened was destined to happen…”

“I…” there’s great difficulty in getting this out, something he hasn’t wanted to admit even to himself, “…I know, but…”

“To be a shinobi, you need more than strength and jutsu. You must acquire the judgment to make the right decisions. You must become smarter…”

“But…what is right…?” A tear leaves his eye. “P-please, I don’t…”

“You can’t help him, so you should forget about him. Dismiss him from your mind, and move on…”

Naruto’s eyes flutter open as another tear falls and Jiraiya’s last words echo in his mind. It takes him a good few seconds to even register that he’s awake. But there’s warmth at his elbow again, closer this time than when he woke up yesterday, it moves closer still, and then Shikamaru leans into his line of sight. He looks concerned. “Hey…you all right?”

Blue eyes drift to him, and Naruto slowly reaches up to wipe at his eyes and face. It takes him a moment to remember his dream, why it made him cry in his sleep, but once he does…he can’t decide if he’s happy or sad. Maybe it’s something in between. He’s sure it shows on his face, too, because he can feel Shikamaru’s patient, yet worried and discerning gaze gaining intensity.

“Just a dream…” he finally answers, voice slightly raspy from sleep and his frankly confusing mood. Opening his eyes again, he looks up at Shikamaru. He knows he’ll understand this, too, and he takes a moment to thank everything for him, offering a minuscule, reopened-wound smile. “It was just…something Pervy Sage told me…a long time ago…”

Shikamaru’s eyes don’t leave him right away, waiting for him to elaborate if he wants or needs to talk, but when Naruto seems intent on sticking to his ‘figure this out myself’ guns from last night, he doesn’t push him. Leaning back so as not to crowd him, he gives an acknowledging, future-encouraging hum. “Well, in any case, good morning.”

Stretching a bit, he yawns, and Naruto, returning the greeting, worries that and Shikamaru being awake before him means he woke him up again. He hopes not. He tunes back in when the older boy grabs a small bed-tray of hospital food from the nightstand and positions it for him on his lap. Shikamaru smiles gently, but it’s firm, too, almost like a mom’s would be. Not that Naruto would know what that’s like, of course, but it’s just what he’s always imagined a morning-mom’s to look like. “You haven’t eaten since you woke up yesterday evening. You should try to get something down, at least, even if it’s not much.”

Naruto peers down at the small plate of fruit, vegetables, and bread, and he feels his stomach go to war with itself, too. He wants to eat it, but…with everything weighing on his mind… “I’m…not really hungry…”

There’s a moment of silence, and then, “You know, when I’m upset, I can’t eat either. I get it.” Asuma’s death was his most extreme example of that. Naruto’s gaze snaps back to him, surprise, relief, and empathy (because of course he read between the lines) in equal parts playing on his face. “I certainly won’t force you. I’m not your—” he winces, catching himself too late; damn it, Shikamaru, bad choice of words – but luckily, when he looks over, Naruto doesn’t seem to have taken any offense, thank goodness, “—w-well, you know. But I’m just saying,” he offers a kind smile, “no matter how upset I am, once I do eventually eat something? I always feel better, and I can think more clearly.“ He taps his temple. "Your brain can’t figure out its half of this on an empty stomach, you know?”

Naruto, seeing the sense in his logic – because of course he does, of course it makes perfect sense and is brilliant, this is Shikamaru – looks back down at the plate and slowly picks up the small piece of bread. Once he does, he notices that it’s already been buttered just the way he likes it. He blinks. How did Shikamaru know that? Taking a half-bite, he glances up when Shikamaru stands to walk over to the open window. Scribbling a note, he whistles, high and clear, and a messenger hawk flies over a second later to land on the sill. Naruto figures it must have been waiting for him to get here so quickly, but he can’t imagine why. Slipping his message into its container, Shikamaru releases the bird with a “Go!” and watches it fly toward the Hokage’s office.

Satisfied, he turns back around to find Naruto halfway through his bread and staring at him with a half-raised eyebrow. Calmly walking back to his seat, the brunet says, “Explanation one, for the bread: we may not have gone on too many missions together, but the ones we have, I noticed that whenever you ran out of ramen, you always ate your bread like this.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, but…to Naruto, it is. He’s not surprised that Shikamaru paid attention, obviously. He’s always been crazy observant. He’s just surprised Shikamaru chose to pay attention to him.

“Explanation two, for the message: I promised Lady Tsunade I’d alert her the second you woke up.” He winks. “Technically, I probably should have told her last night,” he puts a secretive finger in front of his lips, “but I didn’t want to overwhelm you when you first woke up. I wanted to make sure you had some breathing space first.” Warm affection spreads through Naruto’s chest. Shikamaru really is the best… “Hopefully, she won’t find out. Otherwise…” he grimaces just thinking about it, the blond doing the same, “…she’ll totally kick my ass and maybe even deny me my request, never mind that it was already put through… That really would be a drag…”

Naruto swallows his bite of food. “D-don’t worry, I won’t tell her, promise. My lips are sealed.” Remembering the tail end of what Shikamaru said, though, he tilts his head and asks curiously, “Oh, but wait, what request? Like, for time off or something?” Eyes widening, he sits up straighter and a small gasp leaves him. “H-hold on, you’re not sick or anything, are you? Is that why you’re so tired and pale and have those dark bags under your eyes?”

Shikamaru blinks wide eyes a few times, bewildered, but then he remembers who he’s talking to. Softening, he waves calming hands in front of himself sheepishly. He probably should have worded that differently… “No, no, nothing like that. It’s nothing for you to worry about, really.” Naruto’s worried stare only strengthens, however, and he melts a little more. “I’m serious, Naruto. I’m just tired. If it makes you feel better, I can ask Lady Tsunade to check me over so you can see for yourself.”

A few seconds more, and Naruto shakes his head, a small, relieved smile on his face. “You don’t have to do that, but thanks. I trust you, I swear. I was just worried, that’s all.” He moves to link his hands behind his head like he usually does, but he forgot his other hand isn’t working yet. He probably looks silly like this. Oh, well. He grins brightly. “Well, whatever you asked the time off for, even if it’s just a whole week of cloud-watching, I hope you have fun! You work hard, and you deserve a break!” He gives him a thumbs up. “So enjoy it, okay?”

Shikamaru can’t help falling tender. This knucklehead has no idea about the reason behind his request, does he? He supposes it’s just as well. “I will, thanks. Don’t worry. I have a feeling this particular reprieve will be just what I need to get my energy back.” (Or deplete it a few more times, but who’s keeping score, really?)

Naruto grins, and he pops the last of his bread in his mouth. Silence settles as he takes advantage of this time to really think through his dilemma, eating what he can of the rest of the food on autopilot. Shikamaru lets him be, reading over mission reports he brought to keep himself occupied until Naruto decides he’s ready to talk.

Naruto wants and needs to figure this out on his own, sure, but that doesn’t mean he has to be or feel alone while he does it.

There’s a big difference.

—

Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha…

Naruto never thought this day would come, when he’d have to really think about what they are to each other, but…then again, when he was younger, he never thought he’d have friends or anyone who cared about him at all, so…

When they were kids, he was jealous of Sasuke, but he wanted to be like him, too. He also felt a camaraderie with him because they were the orphans without anyone to care for them. They both knew what that gaping, aching loneliness was like. At least…that’s how he felt.

But Sasuke…

Now that he really, honestly, truly thinks about it…all Sasuke ever did was belittle him, push him away, always treat him like…well, like he was more than a bother, more than the worst Academy student, like…

Dirt is the only word that comes to mind. Maybe less and worse than that.

Really, Sasuke was…the worst to him out of everyone. At the time, Naruto had thought it was just Sasuke being too proud to admit he actually gave a damn about anyone or anything except himself and his revenge…but thinking back on it now…

Did Sasuke ever talk to him civilly? Did he ever say good morning or goodnight? Did he ever say hi or see you later? Those are small things, he knows, tiny, insignificant things that almost no one else would give a single damn about, but to Naruto…to Naruto, they’re everything. And Sasuke should have known that – hell, did, he had to have, he’d seen Naruto light up every single time any of the others would say them to him – and yet…and yet…

Did he ever even say happy birthday to him? He never expected a present, of course, he wasn’t that delusional, but he didn’t think a happy birthday from his own teammate was too much to ask (especially when all the others had said it, something that had put Naruto over the moon – no one had ever said it to him before!). Naruto had wished him a happy birthday, had secretly slipped a present in his room (without Sasuke even noticing, which Naruto had counted as a personal win at the time). He’d never even gotten a ‘thank you,’ not that that was the point. It was just…the principle of the thing. And again, Sasuke had to have known how important that was to him…

And more than that, than all of that…when Sasuke left the village, made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want him around, to follow him, to save him, Naruto just thought it was the Curse Mark’s influence. But still, even with that excuse…Sasuke tried to kill him. You can dress it up any way you want – call it a friendly spat, an argument gone wrong, a battle of wills, whatever – but…at the end of the day, Sasuke’s intent was to murder him in cold blood, just for the sake of furthering his revenge. Naruto was on the brink of death when Kakashi-sensei found him. He completely wrecked his entire body. Even with his advanced healing, it took him half a week to recover.

Pervy Sage had warned him. What he’d said in his dream… It was the same speech he’d given him the day after everything. He told Naruto that Sasuke left of his own free will, that he was beyond saving, that a friend would never do this to him…but Naruto thought he knew better. Up until this point, he still did.

He just…he really thought, if he just trained hard and got strong enough, Sasuke would finally treat him like an equal, like someone worth his time and attention, and maybe…if he was really, insanely lucky, he could even persuade him to try coming back to the village. When he did, he’d see that Naruto was right all along – that revenge wasn’t worth trading every good thing in his life, that hatred would only taint and twist his soul until there was nothing left for him in the world at all.

That…that they could be friends…

Because, he’s just now realizing…they never really were.

A few tears fall, staining the sheets and the bandages on his hand, a shaking, white-knuckled fist curled in the cloth. He has to purse his lips as more rush to join them.

Maybe…he should have taken their entire lives growing up together as a hint. Maybe he shouldn’t have assumed they were one and the same and hid their pain behind the masks they showed the world. Maybe he should have known when they were teammates in life or death situations and he still didn’t care (that one time with Haku doesn’t count; Sasuke even said his body moved on its own). Maybe he shouldn’t have given him the benefit of the doubt so many times and actually started taking his words and actions at face value.

Maybe, if he did, then…he wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

Maybe he wouldn’t be in so much pain, physical and emotional.

Maybe he would have realized sooner that…to Sasuke, he’s just a means to an end. That’s all he’s even been, really. A goal to reach and then grind into dust in his climb to the top.

And now that he knows all this, now that he knows where they stand…

He remembers hearing something once: love yourself enough to let them go. He didn’t understand it then, never thought he would because he could never imagine letting one of his friends go anywhere he couldn’t (wouldn’t) follow.

But now…he thinks he gets it now. So much more intimately than he ever, ever wanted to.

Pervy Sage’s words echo in his mind again. “To be a shinobi, you need more than strength and jutsu. You must acquire the judgment to make the right decisions…”

So, this is how it feels, then…? To make the ‘right decisions’…?

His shoulders quake with suppressed sobs as tears rain down, and he swears he’ll always be grateful for the way Shikamaru just reaches over and holds him through it.

This has been a long time coming.

—

Hours later, Shikamaru takes back the soaked washcloth he’d had Naruto hold under his eyes, silently noting that the blond already looks like he’s feeling better. He’s glad. “Where’d you learn a trick like that, Shikamaru?” Naruto asks curiously, raising an eyebrow.

The genius shrugs, laying that cloth out to dry while he hands Naruto a dry one. “Just something Ino taught me when we were kids.” He snickers. “Something about ‘don’t let the boys who reject you know you’ve been crying’ or some crap like that? Hell if I know, really.” He lays that cloth out to dry, too. “But what do you know? Turns out, it came in handy for somethin’. Guess I’ll have to thank her when I see her next.”

Naruto chuckles, and he opens his mouth to say something when muffled yelling in the hallway catches their ears. There’s a rush of footsteps getting closer in the next second. Both boys glance at each other, not sure what to expect. From the sound of it, it’s most likely either Sakura or Lady Tsunade.

The door slides open, and a bright, toothy beam leaps onto Naruto’s face. “Granny Tsunade! It’s you!” He laughs, rubbing the back of his head. “You sure made a commotion out there!”

When she doesn’t reply, just takes in every inch of him without a word, face crumpling more and more until she has to bite her trembling lower lip, his smile falls. Tears start in her eyes, and her hands ball into fists. “H-hey, Granny…are you okay?” he asks carefully.

A heartbeat, he blinks, and the next thing he knows, she’s throwing her arms around him in one fell swoop. She hugs him as tightly as she dares, one hand curling in his hospital gown and the other cradling the back of his head. His shoulder’s already wet with her tears, but he doesn’t mind. “You idiot…”

Naruto relaxes in her warm, protective hold, wrapping his good arm around her and burying his face in her shoulder with a smile. “I’m okay, Granny… I’ll…” he swallows, remembering his dream and the decision he came to, “…I’ll be okay…”

She holds him closer, so much that it kind of hurts, actually, but he’s guessing that’s on purpose because in the next moment, she’s pulling back and wiping at her eyes and face and poking him in the forehead hard. “I’ll be the judge of that!” He lets her check him over with her medical ninjutsu, used to it by now, and when she’s done, she sighs in relief and smiles. “Well, while your recovery is still going to take a while, I’m happy to report that you are healing nicely.”

“All right!” Naruto cheers, beaming and throwing his good arm in the air. Pain flashes through him, and he hisses and curses himself for forgetting that would hurt, instinctively pressing a hand to his chest where the pain is. When he doesn’t feel the cool edges of his crystal, be blinks and looks down. His eyes widen. He’s…not wearing his necklace… Thinking back, he doesn’t remember hearing the familiar clink! of his and Tsunade’s crystals colliding during their hug either. He pales drastically, a look of dawning horror on his face. “Oh, no! It’s gone!” He starts looking around frantically, lifting his pillow and the sheets, feeling around everywhere. “W-where’d it go?! I-It’s gotta be here somewhere!”

Tsunade and Shikamaru are thrown. “Whoa, what? What’s missing?” the Nara boy asks, looking around on the floor in case whatever it is just fell.

“Naruto, what’s gotten into you?” Tsunade demands.

“My necklace! The one you gave me, Granny! I gotta find it!” All of a sudden, he freezes as a terrible thought occurs to him. He pales even more. “W-what if I lost it in the fight?” Burying his fingers in his hair, he tugs at it in panicked frustration. “Oh, no! If it fell in the river or in the forest somewhere, I might never find it!” He turns to Shikamaru quickly. “S-Shikamaru, you said an ANBU team was dispatched there, right? Do you know if they found it?” He holds his fingers about two inches apart. “It’s a black cord with a sea-green crystal on it that’s about this long, two little metal ball things on either side! It’s my most prized possession!”

Shikamaru’s still bewildered, but now that he thinks about it, he remembers that necklace. He’s seen Naruto wearing it. Hell, the guy never takes it off. It’s practically a part of him. Frowning, he shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, I haven’t heard anything. I can go over the reports again, though, if you want.”

Naruto deflates and sniffs, looking so much like a kicked puppy that Shikamaru feels his heart squeeze. “No, that’s okay. With your crazy memory, you’d remember something like that, I’m sure. Thanks, though.”

A throat clears, and Naruto’s gaze snaps to Tsunade. Around her neck, he finds both necklaces, hers and his, and he brightens, pointing with a gasp. “There it is! Why didn’t you tell me you were wearing it, Granny?”

Tsunade smiles gently and reaches up to close her hand around the crystal, shaking her head. “Sorry, but…you can’t have this back. For the moment, it’s no longer yours.”

His smile immediately falls like a stone, his heart with it. Confusion and anxiety immediately crowd his chest, he pales even more than before, and his heartbeat accelerates as a few terrible explanations come to mind. He thinks he might be sick.

“Wait, Granny, you’re…” he hates the way his voice trembles and cracks, lowered finger shaking, “…you’re not…I mean…you wouldn’t…—?”

His vision blurs, but he isn’t sure if it’s because of tears or he’s about to pass out until a few droplets fall and burn down his cheeks. There’s a painful lump in his throat that’s too big to swallow, and his heart feels like it’s constricting in his chest.

Tsunande catches on almost immediately, and she can’t help the way her her heart breaks, horrified expression following. “Oh, Naruto…” Reaching out slowly, she freezes when Naruto flinches, half-raises his arm to shield his face like he’s expecting to be hit as he’s pushed away, cast out – an age-old, hard-learned defense mechanism if she’s ever seen one – and that’s it. Her heart shatters.

“No, Naruto,” she says, almost hisses, practically snarls, but there’s something so protective and fierce and maternal in it that, this time, Naruto isn’t afraid of it for a second. He lets her take him into her arms and wrap them around him as far as they’ll go. Propriety and favoritism and all that crap be damned. This child is hers, damn it! “Don’t you dare think that, not for a second. That will never happen, you hear me?” There’s a strangled something like a sob that slips from Naruto’s throat, and it hurts, but it’s relieved and happy and thank-God, too, and Shikamaru swears it’s the only thing that makes this even remotely okay. Having also understood what Naruto meant, better than Tsunade ever could, he’d barely kept himself from diving in first, grip on his knees so tight his fingers went white. Naruto nods, burying his face farther in Tsunade’s shoulder, and she curls her fingers in his hair, stroking rhythmically. “Your place in this village, your place with me, is not and never will be in question. You’re one of us, you always will be, and you know how I feel about you.”

The last bit is a statement, not a question, and Naruto lets out a shaky breath as he nods again, a small, happy smile painting his lips. Thank goodness…

Pulling away slowly, she dries his tears as she explains, “I only took the necklace off because I needed to get past it to save your life. I didn’t want to risk it getting lost or damaged, so in the heat of the moment, I put it on. Force of habit, I guess.” She shrugs and softens. “I can’t give it back yet because it’ll get in the way when your nurses change your bandages, but as soon as you’re well enough, it’ll go right back where it belongs. I promise.”

Naruto hums in acknowledgement. “I get it now. Thanks, Granny. That means a lot to me.”

—

They talk for a while about what’s happened since Naruto’s been out, and then, once that topic dwindles, Tsunade fixes Naruto with a knowing stare. Something’s been off with him all day. “Naruto…how are you feeling?” Before he can answer incorrectly, she clarifies, “And I don’t just mean physically.”

He closes his mouth, and somehow, seeing his bright blue eyes go dark and dull and fall victim to the devastation he’s feeling hurts more than just about anything. Shikamaru watches him closely, but it’s never overbearing. Just concerned and protective, steady and warm. “Granny…” Naruto’s voice is like it was last night, almost devoid of emotion, and yet it’s different, too, so full and resigned at the same time, “…can I ask you something? It’s really personal, and it might hurt…and I don’t want that, but…” he glares downward, curling a fist in the sheets, “…I need to know…”

Her gaze never leaves him, and after a moment or two, she nods. “All right. What is it, Naruto?”

He hesitates for a moment before turning back to her, looking her right in the eyes. “How…how did you let go of Orochimaru? How did you deal with it?”

Tsunade’s eyes blow open wide, her face loses all color, and she squeezes her hands white in an attempt to keep her temper in check. She looks like she’s doing her damndest to glare a hole in the wall. “Why the hell are you asking about that all of a sudden?”

“Because…” He falters, gaze falling and expression with it. Maybe…maybe he shouldn’t… He doesn’t want to reopen this wound for her. It’s…if it’s this painful for him and he’s just starting…

“I dismissed him from my mind and moved on.” Naruto snaps up, eyes wide. Those are…! “Jiraiya’s words, yes. When Orochimaru abandoned us and the village, I was angry and hurt, and I wanted to give up, but something in me held out the smallest bit of hope. Jiraiya was different. He was the ‘you’ of our team, let’s say. He wanted to fully believe in the friend we’d grown up with, always had every hope that he could convince him to come back to us. He tried time and time again to bring Orochimaru back, gave years of his life to that cause, and he had to learn the hard way that that just wasn’t going to happen. He was lucky to escape with his life.” She sighs. This is hard to talk about. She hasn’t in a long, long time for just that reason. “In the end…he was the one who finally got me to snuff out that last bit of hope before it dragged me under completely. That was the advice he gave me, and…it did the trick. It didn’t make it magically easier to get up every day and face the world head-on, but…it helped. It’s what’s gotten me to where I am now.”

A heartbeat, and then, “Now, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

His heart shudders at the idea of actually saying it out loud, but…it’s only fair. He has to be strong, for himself and his friends’ sakes. “I’m…” she looks back at him at the tremor in his voice, not missing the way his good hand trembles; Shikamaru listens like his life depends on it, “…it’s…it’s time that I…” his fist curls so tightly, his knuckles crack; he knew this would be hard to say, but he didn’t think it would be this difficult, “…I give up on Sauske…”

The next several moments are so tense, they could be cut with a knife.

“Naruto…what are you talking about?” Tsunade asks carefully, eyes narrowing. “Where is this coming from?”

“I had a nightmare about Sasuke last night. A bad one. Shikamaru can tell you.” He nods toward the older boy, and the brunet nods solemnly when Tsunade looks at him to confirm. “After that, this morning, I dreamed about…about Pervy Sage,” she winces at the nickname, eyes falling and biting her lip, “about what he said to me after the first time Sasuke did this to me.” He lifts his busted hand for emphasis, a bitter smile playing. “And I’ve been thinking on it a lot, hours and hours, and…I think I finally understand.”

“Understand what?” Shikamaru asks softly, patient and calm despite his own surprise. With Naruto’s nightmare, how he’s acted about Sasuke since he woke up, and especially after his breakdown earlier, the strategist figured his decision would be something like this. But anticipating something and hearing it in reality are two very different things.

“Sasuke’s…never cared about me. All he’s ever cared about is getting revenge on Itachi, and I’ve only ever been in the way of that. And even now that he’s gotten it, he’s still…” He’s pretty sure this is the hardest thing he’s ever had to say in his life. The words are lodging in his throat, threatening to choke him. He does his best to breathe through it. He doesn’t want them to burst out in an ugly rush. “I can’t…keep giving all of myself to someone who can’t be saved.” He breathes a laugh, but it’s mirthless and sad and so damn hurt, and that and the way his eyes swim make his friends’ hearts twist painfully. “He’s a lost cause, a-and I—I know that now. Hell, look at me…” The smile on his face is as broken as his laugh, and he’s not surprised when a few tears start down his cheeks. He sniffs. “Pervy Sage tried to tell me the first time, you know? He tried to save me from any future pain. But I…I didn’t listen…” he barely bites back a sob, “…and I can’t even tell him that hindsight’s a bitch and I know he’s right now because…” He has to close his eyes and purse his lips tightly as more tears sting and fall.

His shoulders quake. “I was alone for so long…but I’m not anymore. I have so many people in this village…and even in the Sand…I’m lucky enough to call my friends. They support and love me, no matter what…even when I screw up. They’re precious to me. I…I want to protect them…and show them the same care and love they’ve shown me…more than anything else in the world…” A few sobs escape he can’t hope to keep back. He’s never told anyone this next part before. “They…they saved me…”

Shikamaru’s heart beats like a drum in his chest. He always knew they were important to Naruto. He’d be the biggest idiot on the face of the planet if he didn’t know that. But somehow, hearing how deep that gratitude and devotion go (and knowing why)…it hurts and heals at once. It’s the same for all of us, Naruto, he swears. We love you, too.

He swallows thickly, working to rein himself in. “I-I want…to focus on them, on the ones who love me for me and would never hurt me like he has…on—on loving myself enough to let him go and move on.” Wiping his eyes and face, he looks at them again. They burn with blue fire, and the smile he gives them is strong and hopeful and never-say-die. “I know I deserve that much, at least. I deserve something, damn it.”

No, Naruto… they can’t help but think. You deserve everything.

“And if I can have you and all of them?” he closes softly. “Then I have everything I’ll ever need,” he pats his heart, “right here.”

A heartbeat, two, three, and then Tsunade smiles, wiping her own eyes. “Like master, like student, I see.” She reaches forward to ruffle his hair feather-lightly, not wanting to hurt him. He laughs and leans into her touch anyway, pain be damned. “I’m so proud of you, Naruto.”

Naruto beams toothily. “Thanks, Granny!”

Shikamaru, for his part, takes a deep breath and sighs like it’s something he’s been keeping inside for years (and he has), his whole body sagging with the force of his relief. Looking back at Naruto, there’s a gentle smile on his face. “You know the rest of us wanted to take out Sasuke ourselves a long time ago. Sakura aside, we hold no love for the guy,” he clenches a fist lightly, fighting the urge to grit his teeth, “especially after everything he’s done to you. That said,” he sighs again, shorter and lighter this time, smile growing, “I’m really proud of you, too, and I’m happy for you.” He softens. “You deserve to be happy, Naruto, and I think this is the best way to start.”

Naruto’s beam blinds. “Thanks, Shikamaru! You’re the best!”

#Naruto #Naruto AU #Naruto fanfiction #Naruto Uzumaki #Shikamaru Nara #Any feedback would be much appreciated #Feel free to reblog #Some Sasuke Naruto relationship analysis in the middle (after first line break) and while not Sasuke bashing per se not terribly favorable #so read at your own risk if you're a Sasuke fan

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chrobinsane · 8 years ago

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Touhou Imperishable Night Conversation Comparisons Part Three

(DISCLAIMER: I am far from a professional translator, so these may not be completely accurate.)

Stage 3-

Reimu/Yukari:

(Keine is defeated as a mid-boss)

[Keine] So it's you two who are trying to attack the village in the middle of the night.

[Reimu] Are the one who did this? Where did you hide the humans and their village?

[Keine] I can't hand over the humans to you youkai. I'll make sure this night never happened!

(Battle resumes and Keine is defeated again)

[Keine] Wha... What the heck are you?

[Reimu] Hey, bring the village back!

(Keine leaves then returns)

[Keine] You're so persistent.

[Reimu] Think what you want. A human village was supposed to be here, right? But there's nothing here. What happened to the humans and their houses and everything?!

[Keine] Nothing. I merely hid the village from your kind.

[Yukari] Reimu, we don't have time to stick around here. The moon sinks lower with every moment.

[Reimu] We're not exactly sticking, but hold on. I can't just ignore a youkai that destroyed an entire village.

[Keine] "Humans never settled here in the first place". All I did was make it look that way. I'll protect the humans from this dangerous night!

[Yukari] Hey, you know. I can see humans whenever I want. This little trick of yours isn't useful at all.

[Keine] ! What exactly are you two?

[Reimu] Don't worry. It's invisible enough to me.

[Keine] Ugh, your pity isn't helping.

[Yukari] And you. You're a half-beast, right?

[Keine] I'm human when the moon isn't full.

[Yukari] Not much different from a human-faced dog or a human-faced rock, then.

[Keine] Why does everything except my face have to change? It's a complete transformation.

[Yukari] Oh, but you could have a head of a horse or cow. Just transform your head to a beast if you want.

[Keine] Fine. If you're going to say that much, I'll make sure you won't be able to take it back. I will feast upon your history tonight!

[Yukari] Myself aside, I'd say her history would amount to a light snack at best.

[Reimu] Shut up. My days are a cupful of exquisite Chinese tea.

(Battle begins)

[Reimu] Restore that human village now!

[Yukari] Its fine either way. The humans here don't think much of you.

[Keine] Tell me, where are you trying to go anyways?

[Yukari] That way.

[Reimu] This way.

[Keine] ... If you're after the abnormal moon, it's that way.

[Reimu] Hah, I was right.

[Yukari] Reimu, your finger is off from hers by 70 degrees.

[Reimu] But you're off by 110- Wow, you're sharp, figuring out our destination.

[Yukari] I'd be more surprised if she didn't notice.

Marisa/Alice:

(Keine is defeated as a mid-boss)

[Keine] Who are you? And why are you attacking the village at night?

[Marisa] Uh, we're not. We're just passing by. Don't mind us.

[Keine] Hah! I won't trust the words of a youkai! The events of this night are mine to devour!

(Battle resumes and Keine is defeated again)

[Keine] Who in the world are you?

[Marisa] Hmph. What you meant to say is, "Whoops, I have to be somewhere else!" Right?

(Keine leaves then returns)

[Keine] Hmm, I can't retreat any farther.

[Marisa] C'mon, surrender the humans to us now!

[Alice] Wait, wait, Marisa! Since when are we going to eat the humans?

[Keine] Heh. It's quite rare that youkai would dare attack this village. Is it because of the corrupt moon? Everything's been messed up since it appeared.

[Marisa] Nobody said we were gonna eat them.

[Alice] Anyways, I'm really in a hurry. I have no idea who you are, but we don't have time to waste on mere humans.

[Marisa] You're rude.

[Keine] If you were just passing by, I wouldn't try to stop you. But you two are really just too disturbing.

[Alice] There, you see? This is why you shouldn't use your full power at night, Marisa.

[Marisa] What do you mean? Isn't magic best unleashed at night? The only thing worth keeping secretly during the day is a camera if you ask me.

[Keine] I had a feeling something terrible was approaching... Looks like I was right to seal the village.

[Marisa] Um... Listen, I never said I'd attack the village.

[Alice] (Didn't you just say to "surrender the humans"?)

[Marisa] The only one I'm concerned with is you!

[Keine] Whatever you say, lying wench. I shall not let you touch neither the humans nor the history of the village!

[Alice] Marisa! In case you haven't noticed yet, she's not an ordinary human... She's a half-beast!

(Battle begins)

[Marisa] A half beast that can't transform without the full moon it's just a human. Weak!

[Alice] You do know you're human too, right?

[Keine] Grr... If it was a full moon tonight...

[Alice] Oh yeah. We're trying to bring back the true full moon.

[Marisa] That's right. Wasn't that the first thing we said?

[Keine] What? You never said that at all!

[Alice] So, perhaps you know who messed with the moon?

[Marisa] Right then, as you promised! Tell us who the culprit is! (I just made up that promise though...)

Sakuya/Remilia:

(Keine is defeated as a mid-boss)

[Keine] It's you. The bastards planning to attack the village at midnight!

[Sakuya] Milady. Let's pass by this place quickly.

[Remilia] Well, I'm not hungry at the moment, so...

[Keine] Damn. Without the humans in the village, there are only youkais and weirdos left!

(Battle resumes and Keine is defeated again)

[Keine] Who in the world are you?

[Remilia] Bah. There's no end to this now, is there?

[Sakuya] Milady, you're toying with it a little too much.

(Keine leaves then returns)

[Keine] Look around, you devils.

[Sakuya] "Devils", hm?

[Keine] There's nothing here. Can't you see that?

[Sakuya] Wait, shouldn't there be a human village here?

[Remilia] Well, I rarely visit such places, but are you familiar with the village, Sakuya?

[Sakuya] Yes. The furniture in the mansion is made skillfully by these humans, in fact.

[Keine] Look closely. As you can see, there's absolutely nothing here. Now move along, since I said so.

[Sakuya] What a horrible attitude. What did you do with the humans and the village?

[Keine] Don't you understand? I made it so that no humans ever lived here. I'm protecting the entire history of the village now.

[Remilia] Sakuya. Wouldn't she work well as little sister's tutor? She feels like a good teacher for local history.

[Sakuya] We don't need any more bookworms in the mansion.

[Keine] Argh, I'll say it once more. There isn't and never was anything around here. Especially not humans or a human village.

[Sakuya] There's something about the way you speak... Milady, would you give me a bit of time?

[Remilia] We really are in a hurry.

[Keine] Shall I consume the devil's history as well?

[Remilia] Shit, that's great. Maybe it's just a peculiarity of were-hakutaku... As long as you look at history, you won't be able to change your fate.

[Sakuya] Milady, now may I borrow some time?

[Remilia] It can't be helped. You can use a bit of my time. Just a moment's worth.

(Battle begins)

[Sakuya] Ah, that was refreshing. Let's move on, milady.

[Remilia] But the village is still invisible. Are you really refreshed?

[Sakuya] Yes, indeed. I'm thoroughly refreshed.

[Remilia] Good to hear, but thanks to her, I've lost the direction that evil air was in. Do you know where to go, Sakuya?

[Sakuya] I have absolutely no idea. However, she might be useful in a problem like this.

[Keine] You mean the cause of this corrupted moon? It could only be her doing. There are very few beings capable of doing this.

[Sakuya] See, bookworms can be useful. But the mansion doesn't need any more of them.

[Remilia] Our mansion's bookworm really is a bookworm. So she's hardly useful at all.

[Sakuya] Well, she does have a lot of useless knowledge. We really don't need any more.

Youmu/Yuyuko:

(Keine is defeated as a mid-boss)

[Keine] Who are you, and why are you attacking the village this late at night?

[Yuyuko] Oho? It seems that we've lost our way.

[Youmu] Yeah, where are we?

[Keine] There's no point in feigning innocence. I can tell you're evil ghosts.

(Battle resumes and Keine is defeated again)

[Keine] Crap! Those ghosts are really something!

[Yuyuko] How cruel. So this is how ghosts are treated in the outside world...

(Keine leaves then returns)

[Keine] What are you doing in this place?

[Yuyuko] You attacked us first, right? We're merely responding.

[Keine] There's nothing here. Just move along already.

[Youmu] But honestly, we have no idea where we're headed.

[Keine] Are you wandering around without purpose?

[Yuyuko] No, no, Youmu. We're certainly headed the right way. All you need to do is follow me.

[Keine] What is your purpose?

[Youmu] To restore the corrupted moon.

[Yuyuko] No, no, Youmu.

[Youmu] ?!?!

[Yuyuko] It's a wonderful midnight snack tour across the land!

[Keine] You two are quite suspicious. Even more suspicious than normal ghosts.

[Youmu] Hey! I can't let you get away with saying that! Ghosts in general aren't suspicious!

[Yuyuko] No, no-

[Youmu] Shut up!

[Keine] As I expected, you two really are dangerous. I have to drive you out of here somehow. Still, I don't know what you're doing here...

[Yuyuko] Hey, Youmu... We've had a bird, a bug, and next up is a beast.

[Youmu] What are you trying to say, milady?

[Keine] Dammit! All your history will be mine! Including your deaths!

[Yuyuko] I bet a dragon will be next.

[Youmu] Lady Yuyuko, let's concentrate on now, not what happens next...

(Battle begins)

[Youmu] Milady, you said a beast, but a human is not a beast.

[Yuyuko] No, no, Youmu. She looks like a normal human now, but in reality she's a half-beast. Well, humans are a kind of beast anyhow, so doesn't that make her a full beast?

[Keine] Grr... If the moon hadn't been corrupted, such ghosts wouldn't be...

[Youmu] Oh, yes, yes. We're here to restore the full moon.

[Yuyuko] The next meal should be a dragon dish. I can't wait, Youmu!

[Youmu] Lady Yuyuko, didn't you say you knew where to go next? I'm becoming slightly concerned...

[Yuyuko] Ah, but a dragon would have many scales...

(Note: Please feel free to ask me if you need a reference to anything said, as there are quite a few references to other characters not in Imperishable Night or other concepts not explained.)

#touhou #touhou8 #zun #imperishable night #keine #keine kamishirasawa #reimu hakurei #yukari yakumo #marisa kirisame #alice margatroid #sakuya izayoi #remilia scarlet #youmu konpaku #yuyuko saigyouji

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ruleandruinrpg · 8 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, MINNIE!

You have been accepted for the role of DARYA VORONOV. Admin Bree: “I would like to be a cloud.” Try as I might, while attempting to write this acceptance note, I couldn’t really think of any other line that made as large of an impact as that one. It actually made me laugh out loud, which is rather hard to do where things like this are concerned, but there it was, a seemingly silly little line that defined Darya, particularly young Darya, perfectly. It was, as they say, all downhill from there—but in the best of ways. You painted an image of a graceful young woman defined not by her relationships, but by her love of life and beauty despite (and because of) their shortcomings, and for that, I can’t thank you enough. Thank you for doing our lovely Darya justice, Minnie! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Minnie

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/Her

AGE: 21.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: EST. On a scale of 1-10, I would give my activity a… 5? 6? I have a part-time job, an internship, and a little bit of a social life, but I’ve been getting better at organizing all of it this past week. At the very least, I organized my time well enough to finish this application!

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: OPTIONAL.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Darya (Calliope) Voronov

Darya. As a Russian name, it’s a spelling variation of Daria (meaning rich, preserver), while in Iran, it’s a girl’s name that means “the sea”.

Calliope. In Greek mythology, Calliope is the muse who presides over eloquence and epic poetry; so called from the ecstatic harmony of her voice.

Voronov. Voronov, Voronoff, Woronoff (Russian: Воронов), or Voronova (feminine; Воронова), is a popular Russian surname, derived from the word “ворон” (voron, or raven).

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER? At first, I was drawn to Darya because she reminded me of Maeve lol. But they are certainly not the same, and although it took a few more rereads and a full outline of her bio to understand the clear differences, I got there. Now I see how different the two of them are — and I love Darya for it

I fell in love with her mind, first and foremost. I love the way she dreams, with eyes wide open and fingers outstretched; seeing the thorns and choosing not to just tolerate it, but to embrace it, love it, know it. The way her imagination leads to curiosity, the way curiosity leads to understanding… and then choosing it, living in it. Her mind is forever-moving, always stepping forward, quick and fierce and sharp.

And through it all, her heart is gentle. And good. Which leads me to my next reason! Darya is not what anyone expects her to be; neither the simple, soft common girl whose eyes turn to marbles at the sight of gold, nor the kind lady in waiting who will fall so dreamily into the manipulations of court life. Not even the simpering woman who cannot be with the man she loves because of her country. Her spirit is strong, and her fire is bright and blazing but it does not devour, does not destroy. She is a woman of her own mind, has been and always will.

There is no one quite like her, which is precisely why I have wrestled with the decision to apply for her so much. Obviously, you know how that turned out.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

ONE. Why, little bird? her father asked, with eyes as clear as the river a walk away from their home, show me your heart. Please don’t make me explain, Papa, Darya answered gently, explaining will ruin it. Court was unfamiliar to her and Darya, already well-acquainted with being unfamiliar herself, longed to know it intimately. Now, she has; she stands in the midst of crafted lies and mind games. Many do not see her as an equal match, but the best player is the one forever underestimated and unseen. But games eventually come to a close; the final piece is conquered, and the board is flipped over and wiped clean. What is the difference between a game and a battle? The stake you hold in its outcome. The threat of loss. The promise on the horizon. With Anton proclaimed heir and tensions rising high, Darya now has all three; and perhaps one day, she will be more inclined to fight than to play.

— Not all court games are trivial and harmless; some have bite and blood between every line. And for the most part, Darya floats above the nobles, playing their games but seeing right through them. I would like to see her get deeply entangled in them, to be drawn towards the darkness within man and see it not as a game, but a battle. I would like Tatiana and Darya to have tension between them, over closeness to the crown, petty jealousies, and girlish envies! I want to see Darya seeing Arisha’s black heart and deciding she is done merely watching. It’s all fun and games until you lose a little piece of your soul along the way.

TWO. Strangeness suits her. Foreign fits her. Etovost eternal. Darya has spent her entire life as an outsider— how can she ever hold someone’s otherness against them? Court life is a game, but the Grisha make it clear that theirs is war. War, that moves seas and roars in flames, stops hearts and brings darkness thick enough to choke on. And still, the moments she catches — of Grisha laughing at a private joke, of Grisha bickering and walking arm-in-arm — are enough to quell any fear that might arise. Besides — since when has Darya been afraid of the unknown?

— It’s a surprise to me that the characters I was drawn to most weren’t Grisha, which is why I had to include a future plot idea with them! I don’t believe Darya is afraid of or disgusted by the Grisha. Her sentiments towards them are curious, intrigued, perhaps a little wary but by no means antagonistic. Darya has been considered other for her entire life, as both a dreamer in the countryside and a commoner in the palace. Who is she to judge the Grisha for what they cannot control, and who is she to fear them for what she has never been, can never be? I would like to see Darya befriend the Grisha, or at least become acquainted well enough with them to understand. I think it’s very much in Darya’s nature to want to understand. In some ways, she is very much a blank slate, because she comes not with her biases and prejudices but a willing and open mind to learn. It’s her gift, it’s her talent, it’s why she is so clever and graceful and wise. I’m not sure how the Grisha would even feel towards Darya, a simple human girl who has no money or even a noble title to her name, but that makes it even more interesting!

THREE. Once, she was a child who looked upon the palace and dreamt of what glittered beyond. Once, the countryside was her home, and the wind was her friend, and Ravka felt like a magical place to be. Once — once. Her vantage point is not so simple anymore, and Darya has since learned that to dream with your eyes open requires understanding the truth, first. And the truth can be ugly; it can be cruel. And the truth is this: Ravka is not as magical as it once seemed. The heir is dead and the prince to take his place makes her heart ache when she looks upon him. But seeing Anton take on the crown like a bird meant for the sky, like a fox becoming a wolf, has inspired her where it has unnerved many. Let her heart settle back into her chest and let the one who held it (a long time ago, it seems) settle into the throne anew. Let her honor her country: not as a lady in waiting to a princess who wears the stars not like a crown but like a promise, and not as the heart of a prince burning brighter than Ravka fully knows. As Darya Voronova. She has never needed Anton to become who she is destined to become; neither does she need him now.

— For so long, Darya has played the game. She has learned the ways of court and become one of them, or at least as close as she can be. And she never saw herself as just Anastasia’s lady in waiting, or just Anton’s love; but still, seeing Anton take on a great responsibility that he never truly wanted has inspired Darya to become something more, too. Besides, if nothing else, looking for a way to serve Ravka is a great distraction. She busies herself with her duties and her searching, pretending that the whispers of a man she cannot love do not follow her wherever she goes.

(This future plot is basically elaborated on in a headcanon about Darya’s thoughts on Anton’s future wife and her potential future marriage!)

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: Awkward laughter because yes/no?? It honestly depends if there is a character available that I would be willing to take up and write for instead, because I would hate to leave RAR if accepted! If I have little to no muse for the available characters that I might apply for at the time of a character’s death, then it would be a hard no. But I am definitely, definitely open to the idea, and take development of the plot/character more seriously than my own emotional attachments. If I can do it once, honestly, I can do it again.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

ONE.

“I’m going to be a merchant and get rich!”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’m going to be a soldier and serve the King.”

And so the bickering began, and the room erupted into shouts and proclamations of futures and dreams. Children, all of them seven years old and unafraid of their futures, reached out with chubby fists and plucked success from the air — as if it was so easy.

“And you, Darya?” The room fell quiet when their teacher spoke. “What do you want to be, when you grow up?”

Little Darya, seven years old and unafraid of anything, answered with a smile to outshine the sun: “I would like to be a cloud.”

The room tittered; the children giggled. Despite her best efforts, their teacher chuckled along with them. “That’s… Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes,” Darya nodded, “I think I would like living in the sky.”

Children cannot be blamed for laughing at what they cannot understand; neither, still, can they be faulted for not understanding it. And oh, they laughed, and laughed, and laughed; they howled and slapped their knees and marveled at how silly and impossible her answer was.

Darya’s smile fell, returned to the thoughtful line it had been before. She recalled the memory of her father asking, with utmost seriousness, exactly which cloud she would become. If she would just close her eyes, their laughter would sound like her mother’s soft hum as she ran her fingers, over and over, through Darya’s hair.

But she did not close her eyes. She waited, with steady breath and an endless replaying of moments so colorful that it drowned out the grays, for their laughter to fade. And it did, after their teacher sharply rose her voice and commanded their attention once more.

The cause was lost; Darya had already lost herself to the wind, forgetting the classroom and the cruelty of children, lending herself to the whim and fancy of memories and daydreams. It did not matter so much, if the children did not understand; she knew, in a little house a short walk away, she was loved. And somewhere across the countryside was magic, a world where girls like her could choose which cloud they would become.

TWO.

It was very difficult to say no to Darya, if only because she asked for so little. Her father knew it would be wiser to slip away without fanfare, without catching the eye of his little bird. But her father was an honest man, an honorable man; just as he offered a rose to his wife when he came home, he offered a kiss to his daughter before each trip to Os Alta.

He knew what to expect from her every time, and he knew he would give in.

“Oh, please, Papa, let me be with you for a little longer,” she begged, leaning into her father’s lips against her forehead. “I would miss you all too much.”

“What about your Mama?” Her father glanced at his wife, who smiled into her breakfast and shook her head as if to say, You are a fool for trying.

Darya had come prepared with a rebuttal, and without pause, she said, “As long as I bring her flowers that aren’t roses, she insists that I come with you.”

A laugh shook out of him from deep within his belly. “So she’s tired of roses?”

“No, it’s not that,” Darya smiled mischievously, “Mama doesn’t want to hear me whine all day. And Papa, I would whine, and complain, and cry… For days, perhaps longer.”

At that, her parents laughed in unison, and it was then that Darya knew she would go with her father to the palace after all. She always did; but humility persisted like a stubborn seed in Darya’s character, and it had firmly taken hold. Her own influence was lost on her; Darya did not yet understand that her parents were besotted with their little girl; that she was their world and for that, the world was hers.

“Goodbye, Mama,” Darya kissed her mother on the cheek. “I will memorize the palace and create a picture for you when I come home.”

Her mother smiled, and her working eye met Darya’s with all the warmth in the world. “Do not forget a thing.”

—

Only her father’s hand, securely wrapped around hers, kept Darya tethered to the ground as they walked through Os Alta. Without him, she was sure that her feet would lift from the ground, and she would fly higher and higher until she would reach the sun, find the boy who lived inside of it and ask why he risked it all.

She was so full of want; it should frighten her, how violently her heart longed to become a part of this. This, Os Alta, the palace, the noble children taking walks around the capital as if they were three feet taller than they were. She said nothing, enraptured by the world around her — how big it was, how small it was, how strange and wonderful and new.

Her father watched her as she watched the world with eyes round and unblinking, more enlivened than she ever was in the countryside. This was his little bird, and she seemed all too eager to fly.

“Why do you love it here so much, Darya?” He held onto his breath, gently, as he waited for her answer.

The sigh that fell from her lips was so romantic, so full of dreaming and wishing, that it seemed all of Os Alta halted; the bustle of Ravka’s capital slowed for this little girl and her large love for it. The people waited for her answer with her lovelorn father — though where he was afraid to lose her to this world, the people of Os Alta were ready to take her. They recognized her heart, that wistful quality that every city recognized and loved to corrupt and harden and tear apart. Os Alta recognized Darya’s heart, and it wanted to eat it.

“I don’t know if I love it yet,” Darya said after a beat of silence. “I just want to know it.”

It was the most honest answer she could give. For how could she love something she did not know? She wanted to see Os Alta in its entirety, wanted to press her hand against its most vulnerable places and learn it by touch. She wanted to understand the glitter and gold and gleam. It fascinated her, it made her curious.

Each visit did nothing to satiate her imagination; it only made it deeper until Darya thought she would one day slip out of her skin and become wonder, whole and pure. Her questions tickled her belly and then her throat and then the inside of her lips, until she thought everyone could see it in her eyes when they saw her: Let me be a part of Os Alta, let me be a part of this palace.

Her father’s grip loosened — or perhaps it was Darya loosening her grip, she wasn’t sure. But something ahead of them was deliriously blue (the skirt of a noble woman’s dress, perhaps), and Darya’s attention was captured.

Her father held on for only a heartbeat longer before letting her go. She wouldn’t wander too far, he knew, he hoped; Darya would, at least, always know where to find him.

THREE.

Ravka is weeping, and still, the sun shines. Anastasia has disappeared, and the palace still busies itself as if they are not on their knees. As if they had not all lost a good man, destined to become a great King.

Ravka is weeping, and still, all Darya can do is sit. Her search for Anastasia is half-hearted and unfulfilled; let her be alone, let her grieve in private. This is the most she can do for her dearest friend: grant her silence, peace, space.

This is the most she can do for herself. Lock herself away in her bedroom, pretend the palace is not already melting away and making room for a new flame to rise anew. A few more days, she pleads to the sun, give me a few more days to say goodbye.

It is not Ivan who haunts her; it is not Ivan’s ghost that follows her, cheek against her hair, lips at her ear, whispering promises she fastened to the stars. The stars have fallen and it’s not Ivan’s name that burns her tongue, leaves a scar that will rip open every time she utters his name.

Anton.

Oh, Anton.

He must know she’s avoiding him. Or — no, Anton must be busy: with grief, with thoughts of his future, Ravka’s future. Darya never asked to be his first priority; but she did hope to be one of them, and even that hope has been shattered. Shards of glass on the floor, biting the bottom of her feet, her palm, her cheek. Every inch of her skin he’s ever touched, cut open.

Is this the body’s reaction to heartbreak? To have pain seared across her skin as if the internal can be made external, as if that will absorb some of the blow? To purge her body of him like this, to empty her heart of him.

No — no. She does not want to be purged of him, cannot let go of how he’s changed her. This is hers; this is mine. I regret nothing.

Once, Darya asked her mother what love was, what it looked like, how it smelled and tasted. Her mother had smiled, tenderly touched the lid of her blind eye, and said, “I showed your father my bloodiest parts and then I let him choose me, then change me. Love is letting everything hurt, and heal.”

It is love that hurt her, irrevocably. There is no other option besides removing all of her from him, returning to Anton the piece of him she’d carried in her hand. Darya is no fool; she will not delude herself. She understands the way of Ravkan court, and she knows there is no place for her in Anton’s life.

I will release him.

“I will release him,” Darya says aloud.

The knot in her chest unravels at the sound of her own voice, declaring her decision to empty air. The muscles in her shoulders loosen, and the grip of her fingers, tightly wrapped in anxious fists, relax.

It is love that will heal her. It is love for Anton that gives her the willpower to extract herself from his side, so that he will never be shackled to what is beneath him (and she is, in title and perhaps more, beneath him now). It is love for Ravka that gives her the clarity to think of herself last and give to her country the King they will never forget.

It is love for herself that gives her the strength to rise from her seat. The healing has not yet begun; it cannot, until she says goodbye to him. And when healing begins, there will be a flood and a great aching to come.

But first — Darya must say goodbye.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

ONE. If there was ever a man who could pluck individual colors from the sky, it was Darya’s father. He was a man who did not know how to stop creating; there was too much in the world for him to capture in pigment and brush strokes. The secret to beauty is this, he once whispered, conspiring with her in daydreams and imagination, You leave just enough room for other people to find their own.

Find their own beauty, Darya repeated, as if she was testing the taste of the words in her pale pink mouth.

Yes. Art, little bird, shows you the way to your soul again. It connects you to the world.

And so Darya learned from her father to see beauty in all things. He painted for himself, first and foremost. Perhaps, when it had just been him and his wife, it would have been enough, but for Darya, his darling and dearest daughter, he began accepting payment. Word of his talent spread quickly, and soon he was taking long trips across the countryside and to the palace.

( It was how Darya first met Anastasia. Her father was to paint a portrait of a noblewoman, and Darya insisted on coming along. She promised to be quiet, to be good and silent and still — and promptly snuck away when the sound of laughter came from the barely-open door. She moved along the corners and snuck to the gardens. It reminded her of home only for its greenery; but the flowers in the palace garden seemed brighter, somehow. Darya had been admiring them for hours when the princess found her. ) *

Darya’s mother was a singer — not by profession, but by dream alone. She was also blind in one eye, proof of her surviving the depths of the Unsea years ago when traveling to Os Alta from Ravak’s western coast.

Does it hurt? Darya asked long ago, child fingers brushing the skin on her mother’s cheeks.

No. Darya’s mother did not flinch; waited for her daughter’s curiosity to be satiated.

Do you wish you could see — from both?

And Darya’s mother would smile, slow and sweet. I have your father for that. And now, you.

From her mother, Darya learned the power of words. When her father was away, she and her mother often walked together in silence; hands clasped and sun shining, the two let the wind move them and spoke in gentle squeezes of fingers. When Darya grew longing for her mother’s voice, her mother sang ditties and lullabies and long epics of the man who created the Unsea, which would steal her eyes from her and give her new strength.

And sometimes, Darya’s mother would ask Darya, in a voice that shook delicately with unspoken longing: Will you describe to me the world, little bird?

The three of them were a strange but complete family, and above all, Darya felt lucky to belong to them.

Her father visits her whenever he comes to the palace to paint yet another portrait for a noble, though she sends what she can back home to support her family. But he paints for himself, first and foremost, and no he’s grown to like the challenge of bringing dreams to life through paint and paper. He visits her when he is summoned to the palace. Every time, Darya begs him to bring her mother along; every time, he kisses her tenderly and promises to try.

* This is up to the player’s discretion, of course!

TWO. Undeniably, there are gaps between Darya’s upbringing and the lives most others at Ravkan court know best. It was an easy decision to come to the palace and become Anastasia’s lady in waiting. However, it was a difficult transition to truly become Anastasia’s lady in waiting. It involved long hours of etiquette training, of fittings and exhausting lessons. Best of all, though, were the books. Darya learned to talk politics, of battle, of fashion and culture and music, from words alone.

Learning the proper titles and family histories of every nobleman in court was cumbersome; learning, learning, was riveting, exciting, and Darya was never felt quite finished with this love affair with the palace’s library. She goes there often, to devour more and more. In some small way, Darya does this to keep up with the nobles. But first and foremost, it is for her soul, her mind, her pleasure and need and hunger.

THREE. If we are speaking about fashion alone, then let it be known that Darya takes great care in choosing her gowns. She can scarcely forget that first encounter with the children of nobility in clothing befit paintings. She remembers often how her heart sped up in anticipation, as if to leap out of her chest and run to them, catch up to them, run after them with them and beside them.

It is not for vanity that she takes delight in each visit to the seamstress. With each thread and color and neckline, Darya becomes a thirteen-year-old daughter of a painter, eyes wild with dreaming. Small excitements fade, and the heart so easily grows used to what it wants. But each morning, when Darya glimpses a reflection of her in a dress that would make her past self lips peel with laughter, she feels it all anew. So why not be beautiful? Why not be fashionable, and trendy, and stunning? Why not, indeed.

FOUR. With two artists as parents, Darya has always wondered where her creativity lies. She cannot draw, though she’s tried; and while she can carry a tune, her voice is thin and airy and untrained.

It was not until she learned from Anton to play chess that she began to understand her talents. It was not until Anastasia, with a laugh and a curtsy, took Darya’s hands and taught her to dance. It was not until her father, upon his first time visiting Darya since she joined the nobility in court, brushed back the hair that had fallen from behind her ears and said, How gracefully you learn, little bird. How sweetly you fly.

With a finger in every pie, Darya picked up talents and hobbies with a speed that surprised those who watched her blossom. She was meticulous and unyielding, never surrendering to the daunting task of starting over, and over, and over. There was no better position in life, Darya firmly believed, than to know nothing.

How do you tackle the unknown without blinking an eye? someone once asked Darya.

The less I know, the more I imagine. And it’s great fun, to dream freely.

She struggles incredibly with physical skills (e.g. horseback riding, using a bow and arrow, etc.), but even in this, she is relentless. Perhaps it is the distinct separation between her and the other nobles at court. She may look like them, speak like them, smile and curtsy like them — but Darya cannot change where she comes from, nor does she want to. Just like the children who disdained her when she was a girl, she does not blame them for it; it rolls off of her like a wave, motivates her to strive for things higher than her station.

FIVE. She gave Anton up to his country, so that he might find a Queen worthy of Ravka, of him. And though it makes her stomach turn and her heart lurch, Darya finds herself imagining Anton’s wedding to another often. She wonders who his Queen will be: a beautiful woman, with a cold elegance to intimidate other countries to bend at the knee before Ravka, or a woman who is kind and sweet and diplomatic above all, promising hospitality and safety in her and her King’s home.

This will fade, she reminds herself when the pain becomes nearly unbearable, I must have no sadness in my heart the day Ravka gains a worthy Queen.

She wonders, too, if she will marry. And she wonders if she will love again, if such a thing is possible in Ravkan court. For Anton was an exception, a worthy exception she does not expect to find again. If the court will have her, then Darya will not leave it; but when Anastasia is no longer in need of ladies in waiting, where will she go? She has no title, no standing, no true place in court.

The easier way would be through marriage, but the thought leaves her feeling hollow. It is too soon to think of new partners, and Darya will not ask so much of the world again. To love someone, to hold them forever, to have it all… Her parents have such a story, but such things do not exist in court.

And Darya will not leave. She will not lose Anton and her home, all at once. And because marriage is a difficult future to entertain, she will find another way to stay.

SIX. Darya’s manner of speaking is a blend of her mother and her father. From her mother, Darya inherited concision. Every word from her lips is said with grace and purpose; every sentence is eloquently formed, and still succinct. Her voice is gentle with a soft lilt that comes from her father, who talks as if every sentence is a lyric in a song.

In court, words were all she had, and she learned quickly that even more important than what was said was what wasn’t. Oh, she learned — not to lie, but to blend imagination and truth. She learned to understand the difference, and to understand when not to.

SEVEN. Darya is not quite tidy. She can get lost in her own thoughts and daydreams, and not even notice a mess in her bedchambers if not gently brought back to reality.

EIGHT.

Zodiac sign: Gemini Sexuality: Pansexual, panromantic MBTI: INFP Moral alignment: Neutral Good Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

EXTRAS: OPTIONAL.

Here is the link to a graphic I made for Darya!

Here is the link to Darya’s mockblog!

ANYTHING ELSE? My favorite book is probably White Oleander by Janet Fitch! 1000% recommend, I’ve been rereading and rereading it since I was 15 so it’s been the longest love affair I’ve ever had.

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Minnie

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/Her

AGE: 21.

TRIGGERS: N/A