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theloneliestshipper · 4 years ago

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For the prompts, could I interest you in a Boba/Leia Regency era AU? :3c The lady being of a higher class would be an interesting angle

Believe it or not I did a Pride & Prejudice Proposal AU with Leia as Darcy but then I got thinking about Leia as a sort of Bridgerton-style duchess in need of a spouse and an heir and I wrote this and accidentally threw some supernatural elements into it so IDK WHAT THIS IS BUT IT AMUSES ME.

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“Must I do this?”

“You asked me to find you a wife,” his father reminded him.

Boba Fett kept his voice low, mindful that Prince Bail stood nearby. “Somehow I didn’t consider that I might find myself put out to stud for a duchess.”

“That’s not-”

“Is it not? Tell me again why a lady of the court who stands to inherit a fortune wants to marry the son of a horse breeder apart from the fact that his father has eleven sons.”

“Talk to her,” Jango insisted, grasping his shoulders and turning him towards the orchard.

His betrothed waited for him, a slight, solitary figure in the midst of the blossoming pear trees. Duchess Leia Amidala Skywalker, the heir to her deceased mother’s fortune and the ward of Prince Bail Organa and his wife, Lady Breha. She was twenty-three, beautiful and wealthy and the fact that hadn’t succumbed to some nobleman’s charms by now made Boba more suspicious than flattered.

If Jango had been born into a noble family he would likely be Master of the Horse for the king, but even that wouldn’t have put his third-born son on the same level as a duchess.

“Mr. Fett.” She spoke first, with a marginal dip of her chin as she extended her hand.

“Duchess.” He could hardly bow over her hand in these clothes. The prince had provided them. His younger brothers had laughed until they wept before Jango chased them off with threats to make them muck out the stables until sundown.

“It’s not that bad,” Cody offered.

“We do these things for the ladies,” Rex said with the preening wisdom of a newlywed. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Shall we walk?” The duchess couldn’t even make it sound like a question. It was a command. Boba offered his arm and cursed his fate.

“People describe you as a practical man, Mr. Fett.” She glanced up at him. “Would you say that’s an accurate portrayal of your character?”

“I would.”

“People often describe me as ‘particular.’ They say I have a very fixed view of what I want.”

He could feel the tension in her small hand even through his greatcoat. “And you want to be married.”

“Not in the least,” she responded quickly. “But I must be married to gain full control of my estate. And to keep that control I must have an heir.”

It was a relief that he was not expected to dance around the topic. Boba was never much of a dancer. “I am aware of my responsibility.”

Her discomfort was clear, but she did not pause. “That is what I wish to discuss. I do not actually wish to have children.”

“You said-”

“I cannot say so openly, because there would be all but open warfare among my relations to determine who would inherit the estate if I remain childless. Lord Palpatine, for example, would like nothing better than to add my lands to his.”

It was well known that Palpatine mistreated and starved his tenets for his own gain. Boba thought better of her for her intention to thwart him. “Who would you see inherit it, if not your son?”

She didn’t answer him. Her eyes dropped to the tall grass they walked in and for a few seconds there was only the noise of the footsteps and the buzzing of the honey bees. “There is a condition in my bloodline,” she said at last, quietly. “Some call it magic. Others, madness. It’s why my brother was sent away and it afflicted our father as well.”

“It affects only the men of your line?”

“Or perhaps it is more visible in the men.” She stopped walking and withdrew her arm. “By royal decree, my brother cannot inherit. But he is not mad. We correspond in secret.”

“You want your brother to be reinstated.”

“And I am fixed in what I want.” She took a deep breath. “If you will aid me in keeping up appearances, I will be a generous wife. You will have an annual sum to squander as you please, and if you want for company, I shall say nothing of any discrete alliances. I only ask that you not presume for yourself a place in my bed.”

Already she was far more interesting than he ever imagined, and Boba could also appreciate her skill in negotiation. She held all the cards save one, the rights to her body in the legal contract of marriage, so she sought instead to pacify him with money and dalliances.

“My father once had a young stallion,” he said, reaching up above her head to break a twig from a pear tree. “A careless groom left the latch to his padlock open and he got into the mare’s enclosure. He picked a mare and tried to mount her, but the mare wasn’t in heat.” As he spoke he stripped the smaller buds and sprouts from the twig. “She so savaged him that the stallion had to be put down. And the groom who left the gate unlatched, my father took him to Brightview pier and let him go.”

The duchesses’ brows drew together. “He took him to the lake to dismiss him?”

“No, he held him off the pier and let him go. The man couldn’t swim, but lucky for him it was a dry summer and the water wasn’t so deep. He was also dismissed,” Boba added, bending the green twig into a loose knot.

“I...I have heard that the Fetts have their own way of doing business.”

“The point is, I know well enough when a woman wants me and when she doesn’t. Unless you bid me directly to come to your bed and lay with you I will never presume otherwise.” He took her hand and placed the knotted twig in it, closing her gloved fingers over it. “It’s a tradition my brothers and I have. When you make a promise, you give the other person something to remember it by.”

As soon as he released her hand she opened it and looked down at the knotted twig resting on her palm. Her hand closed over it and she raised her eyes to his, a rosy hue in her cheeks. “I would never have thought so,” she admitted. “But at this moment I feel that such an invitation is not outside the realm of possibility.”

Her amazement was no less than his. He now craved that invitation. He wanted this determined little duchess to want him. “I will wait on your word. And there are acts we might engage in that wouldn’t result in children.” If she were willing and they weren’t so well chaperoned he might be tempted toward such acts now.

“I am not entirely uninformed of this,” she responded, dropping her eyes. “And I am...encouraged that we are of one mind.” She made a visible attempt to compose herself, straightening her skirts and tucking the knotted twig into her sash. “I suppose we should inform your father and the prince that the marriage plans may proceed.”

Boba offered his arm again, and this time her grip was firm as she took it. Almost proprietary. “As my lady wishes.”

#spaceyquill #boba fett/princess leia #rebelbounty #regency au #my fic #prompt fill #I have always wanted to write a bodice-ripper can you tell #boba fett #leia organa #I put waaaaay too much thought into this au #had to edit out an entire sideplot about anakin disappearing after his wife's death #fluff

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yolky-slimes-archival · 3 months ago

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Pt: prejellasicroyaljellylargoic :End Pt

prejellasicroyaljellylargoic

a gender relating to or influenced by the secret style saber + secret style honey largo from slime rancher!

[IMAGE ID: three flags with five horizontal stripes each. the colors from top to bottom are as follows; dark olive green, dull medium green, desaturated golden yellow, bright purple, and medium purple. the leftmost and rightmost flags are identical, while the middle one has two icons in the middle. the icons are of a prejellasic saber slime, and a royal jelly honey slime from slime rancher. the prejellasic saber slime is a dull, greenish yellow blob with large fangs pointed upwards. its mouth is open, and its eyes are squeezed shut. it has small round eyebrows. the royal jelly honey slime is a bright, medium purple blob, appearing rather goopy, with a flat, golden crown on its forehead. the saber slime is to the left and slightly above the honey slime, who is to the right and slightly below. END ID.]

#in post image id #largoic #Umbrella: Gender(s)#Related: Slime(s)#Related: Secret style(s)#Related: Saber slime(s)#Related: Pre-jellasic secret style #related: largo(s)#Related: Honey slime(s)#Related: Royal jelly secret style(s)

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grimelords · 7 years ago

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My September playlist is finished and it’s complete from A (ABBA) to B (bossa nova and The Big Bopper), so let’s get into it, 4 hours of hits.

Warpless Run - Tera Melos Tera Melos have always been the world’s most out of control band but it seems like they somehow pushed themselves to a whole new level on this song. I really love the middle section that just ties itself in knots over and over and over before the big release at the end. Dark Matter - Jlin and Zora Jones I love collaborations like this where you can try to pick who’s responsible for each part, and this is a great example because it feels like they literally split the song down the middle and Jlin’s manic beats give way to a relaxed hip hop vibe near the end that still compliments the ridiculous ululating vocal sample phenomenally. Kites - Bicep I’ve never been one for a lot of just straight up house but Just by Bicep is such a good song that I thought I would give their album a go and I was not disappointed. It’s so good front to back and this song is a highlight. The snare rushes are what really put it over the top. Connect - Drake I admit that I thought of this song because that vine of the AIs learning to walk while this song plays popped into my head randomly while I was driving one day and I nearly died laughing. The beauty of Drake is that he can really make you relate and feel something deep with incredibly bogus lines like ‘She just wanna run over my feelings like she drinking and driving an 18 wheeler, and I’ll allow her. Talk about pussy power’. This song is chock-full of Drake-ism like ‘you can be whoever you want, even yourself’ and I absolutely fall for it every time, eyes closed just swangin. Mayday - Thingy Listening to the new Tera Melos I thought 'man this sounds like Pinback!’ and it turns out it’s because Rob Crowe guests on a song and I felt like a genius. I’ve never been massive on Pinback but I am however fanatical about this Pinback side project Thingy that is an album I cannot recommend enough. It is world class songwriting in mostly sub-2 minute songs that is just incredible. Switch Lanes - Tkay Maidza The first of two songs on this list that feature a thumb piano heavily. Tkay Maidza is so great and I am holding my breath waiting for her to a make a song this good again. Ketchup Sandwich - Thingy Another Thingy song, this one about having 0 money. I love the two verses at once right from the start and how the background vocals move to the front at the end, I love the intro section where he says 'living on top ramen and popcorn’ where there’s almost not enough room for it. Durag vs. Headband (feat. Big Body Bes) - Action Bronson This is my favourite Action Bronson song in a while. He’s always been good at off the wall imagery but there’s some absolute pearlers in this. 'in the club with a condom on, all Under Armour on’ straight into the hook of 'when I die, make sure you spread my blood on a BMW’. Also, 'albanian style, I want to die by machine gun’. It’s pure power. Wildest Moments - Jessie Ware Can you believe this song came out like a year BEFORE Royals? the proto-Royals? I really love this song and this whole album is just beautiful right through, but I feel like this song especially should have been an absolute worldwide hit. FF Bada - Battles Every morning I wake up and sign a document certifying that Battles are the best band in the world and then I mail it directly to God and he throws it straight in the bin. The way every element of this song build and binds together in the climax before pulling right back down to the one little beepy guitar line and building up from there is so magical. Also the very last part of where it sounds like he is somehow playing guitar backwards just sounds so good I don’t even care how he’s doing it. Just Waitin’ - John Prine A song to watch the grass grow. John Prine’s been making country music for about a million years and hes gotten very good at it in that time. This is a perfect old fashioned country song about sitting quietly and watching the entirety of life pass you by while you think about your wife. Kanye West (feat Wyclef Jean) - Young Thug I cannot believe how good the sound collage chorus of this song is that’s three Young Thug’s saying wet wet wamp wamp wamp. It is downright hypnotizing. And it starts tomake sense when Wyclef says 'dolphins hear the signal’. Like Wolves On The Fold - Colin Stetson The clunk at about a minute in when this song really shifts into gear is so satisfying. It’s hard to talk about Colin Stetson’s music specifically because you have to talk about groans and clunks and honks very earnestly, but god this song has got some good clunks and groans and honks in it. And Still They Move/With The Dark Hug Of Time - Colin Stetson and Sarah Neufeld Another selection that’s on my rapidly growing playlist of music for a hypothetical RTS game. In two parts, I love how this song goes from an ambient sea in And Still They Move where the parts move together almost indistinguishably and then With The Dark Hug Of Time restates the lulling theme before immediately separating out as wide as possible. The saxophone moved to earthshaking bass and the violin disappears into the stratosphere. ilanders - Autechre Autechre good. It’s hard to explain but this song is literally just waves of dark energy crashing over each other and it sounds amazing. Hard Times - Gillian Welch I couple of years ago I made a playlist of the songs that I sing to myself when I’m at work or whatever and realised that a good 80% of them had 'hard times’ or 'blues’ or both in the title (Hard Times Killing Floor Blues) and this was one of them. A nice song promising that things will get better. The System Only Dreams In Total Darkness - The National Someone had a tweet a couple of weeks ago that was like 'The guy from The National sounds like he’s perpetually getting divorced’ and they’re right. Their new album didn’t really click with me like their others have, but this song really sticks with me, especially the little guitar bit which feels so out of place in a National sound but sounds so good. OMG (feat. will.i.am) - Usher Honey got some boobies like wow, oh wow. This song is an underappreciated classic, even if will.i.am does deliver the worst verse in history on it. Harambe - Young Thug This song deserves the grammy for best vocal performance because Thugger is rapping like he is chained up in a dungeon and transforming into a werewolf. Youme & Meyou - Einsturzende Neubauten I’ve never really listened to Einsturzende Neubauten, and I’m scared to because they seem like one of those bands that people devote their entire lives to and get tattoos of and I don’t know if I have time for that. I found this song just because some guy on twitter said 'this is a great song’ and what’s better than contextless music? It is a great song, too. It’s forboding and sad and possibly makes more sense in German. The perfect combo. Marilyn (feat. Micachu) - Mount Kimbie The second thumb piano song on this list. The new Mount Kimbie is so great, and they’ve somehow evolved their sound again to the point of sounding like a full band somehow. It’s amazing and I love this song. I’ve been singing it to myself all month and as an added bonus I didn’t realise for a while that Micachu is the very same Mica Levi that wrote the amazing soundtrack to Jackie that got nominated for an oscar last year. On Hold (Jamie xx Remix) - The xx I love Jamie xx’s thing of remixing xx songs into dancefloor hits, and when you do it to a song that was already as danceable as as On Hold the results are really something special. 6 In The Morning - Wiley The best grime beats have a maximum of maybe 6 melody notes in them. That’s the secret to grime, you just find a little triad and hammer is as hard as you can for 3 minutes while Wiley assures you that it’s 6 in the bloodclart morning and he’s not having it. Fear And Trembling - Gang Of Youths As much as a love Gang Of Youths, it’s never a good idea to defend yourself from accusations of pretentiousness in a song that only a couple of lines ago was quoting Macbeth but that’s kind of what I love about them. They unashamedly believe in what they’re doing, and that it’s incredibly important, and if you can get into it’s very easy to get swept away with them and believe it too. Earth Intruders - Bjork I woke up one morning this month with this Bjork song I hadn’t heard in a decade stuck in my head and upon listening again I remembered why I liked it so much: it ends with a full minute of foghorn field recordings. What a song. Believe Me Natalie - The Killers It’s crazy that I can listen to an album like Hot Fuss probably a million times in my life and still hear something new. This song really struck me and I listened to it three times over and it was like I was hearing it for the first time again. The drums are phenomenal, the horns and the way it builds and builds and then just stays at a fever pitch for most of the song. Amazing. Preachin’ Blues - Son House I love the way Son House plays guitar like he’s viciously tearing it apart looking for gold hidden inside, and I love the idea of this song. Becoming a preacher for the sole purpose of mooching off the pope is absolutely the life for me. Corcovado - Stan Getz, Joao Gilberto and Astrid Gilberto This is the start of my big Bossa Nova obsession this month that mostly centred on Sergio Mendes but this is a perfect place to start. Bossa Nova is a great genre because it’s almost equal parts very cool and very funny because it’s so 60s cool. The Girl From Ipanema - Stan Getz, Joao Gilberto and Astrid Gilberto That idea is probably best exemplified in Bossa Nova’s biggest hit, The Girl From Ipanema. This song was the definition of a smash hit and it’s very funny to imagine Americans absolutely losing their shit over such a nice, relaxed song. I mean, I get it. I’ve been singing it all month, but still. Constant Rain - Sergio Mendes & Brasil '66 I can’t recommend this album, Equinox, enough. This song is another good example of the incongruous comedy of bossa nova, singing about endless pain in such a beautiful, laid back 'sha be shoo va’ way. I love this song and it’s probably the song on this list I’ve listened to the most this month. I just cannot get enough of that sweet sweet sound. Canto de Ossanha - Toquinho I found this song randomly via spotify radio and the playing shocked me. Of course when I looked him up it turned out Toquinho is a massive star in latin america and it makes sense that he plays like a maniac, I’ve just never heard of him before. This is niche but the voicing in this is so nice, it’s just perfect. Ring, Ring (Swedish Version) - ABBA I played this assuming it was the English version and I thought I was having a stroke. I almost prefer this version now though, it’s mixed a lot louder for some reason and so the prechorus where it’s just the drums and vocals sounds phenomenal. Ring Ring, bara du slog en signal. Mamma Mia - ABBA The instrumentation in this is so amazing. From the offbeat xylophone to the big 70s guitar that just hangs around in the background, to the strings doing the accents. The accapella with xylophone chorus. Amazing. Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight) - ABBA A great song about having a bad case of the night hornys. I love the duelling disco basslines of the bass and synth in the breakdown. I love the little ominous intro before it hooks into that great synth riff. Particle - Hundred Waters This song feels like if it was anyone but Nicole Miglis singing it would be a massive straight-ahead EDM hit but instead it’s this delicate, layered complex thing that I can’t get enough of. Chantilly Lace - The Big Bopper I listened to a whole Big Bopper compilation and no joke he says 'HELLO BAAAABBY’ or 'YOU KNOW WHAT I LIKE’ on like 80% of his songs so now I’ve started saying it too. This song is so dumb but I can’t stop listening to it. Purple People Eater Meets The Witch Doctor - The Big Bopper Now THIS song is dumb. This song is like the 50s version of those Gangnam Style Call Of Duty In Minecraft?? videos and it’s slightly comforting to know that things have always been like this. Purple People Eater, Witch Doctor, Johnny B Goode, chipmunks vocals, this song has it all and I’m just gonna say it: The Big Bopper deserved to die for making a song like this. Rodent - Burial Hey Burial’s making bangers again. After the last single was such a snooze I love this song, it’s so refreshing to hear him doing upbeat Archangel type things again, as much as I love his more ambient stuff like Paradise Circus. You Said (feat. Quavo) - Young Thug God I love this song about holding someone accountable for all the wild shit they said while sexting. Here’s a list of everything I love about this song 1) the incredible harpsichord/guitar melody 2) the way he says 'freaky deaky!’ right at the start 3) you said you gone kiss from my neck to my chest to my navel then dick and nuts 4) I bite on that butt and I suck on those toes and her soul go out of here 5) how insanely long this horny song is because of the great Quavo verse that go added late 6) the way he saws 'make her squirt on that couch ew!’ 7) the way he says 'raw dog’ 8) how no joke romantic this song is 9) how unashamedly horny this song is, god. Wichita Lineman - Kool & The Gang Did you know that before Kool & The Gang were disco funk superstars they were a very cool jazz band who released this album called Live At The Sex Machine and for some reason did a very beautiful cover of Wichita Lineman. Another interesting piece of trivia is that i’m the woman on this recording who just screams at the top of her lungs as soon as the melody comes in. Open Sesame (Original 12" Extended Version) - Kool & The Gang This song has already been on a playlist but I truly cannot get over it. What an absolute jam of a lifetime. This song sounds like the intro to a cartoon called Get Down With The Genie except the intro goes for 9 minutes so the actual episode is only 7 seconds long. Hatshepsut - Jlin Imagine if marching bands were good. That’s the fantastical futuristic world that Jlin imagines for us on Hatshepsut. A far off planet where marching bands are good and there’s one guy in the band whose job it is to just blast on a synth. Watch What Happens - Sergio Mendes & Brazil '66 Another bossa nova hit that almost sounds like something from a musical. I love the harmonies in this and the rhythm of the vocals where it feels like the melody’s been adapted to a whole new set of lyrics. I almost wish this didn’t fade out because I love how almost scary that very last part is. Me Or Us - Young Thug Imagine having the gall to sample the guitar from First Day Of My Life and build a whole new song around it. A truly incredible move and a very nice song. Hunter - Have A Nice Life A thought I had while I was listening to this song in an extremely dark mood was that one day I will be 50 and there will still be days when all you can do is lay on the floor and listen to Have A Nice Life. A grim vision but at least I’ll always have songs like this to do it to. Hammond Song - The Roches My girlfriend showed me this song and I love it, I love the close harmonies, the female bass, the theremin sounding guitar in the middle. *italian chef kissing fingers* Gambling - Mia Dyson Mia Dyson sounds like The War On Drugs now and I love it. I love how much space this song has, I think she’s finally given up on trying to make hits and crack the American market or whatever and is instead just making great music again and god bless. Continental Breakfast - Courtney Barnett and Kurt Vile Another great song from Kurt & Courtney about how Kurt & Courtney are friends and how it’s nice to have friends. This song is like the audio equivalent of that dumb smile Kurt Vile always has on his face. 1 Thing - Amerie 1 Thing may be the best song ever written. The bareness of the production that’s just drums and guitar stabs most of the time really highlights her voice and the agility of the melody. Also the part where she says 'memories just keep ringing bells’ and then goes 'ding ding ding ding’ in the background is really funny and perfect.

listen here

#playlists

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gravitys-empire · 5 years ago

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Not that anyone asked

1. Middle name - Aquino

2. Age - 25

3. Birthday - june 15th

4. Zodiac - gemini

5. Color - burgundy

6. Lucky number - i like to believe it's 3

7. Pets - none but i want 2 cats and a rottweiler or a black shepherd

8. Where are you from - philippines

9. Height - 5'5"

10. Shoe size - 8.5 i think

11. sexuality/identification - cisfemale. i've often thought about this but it doesn't feel as if i've any inclination towards anybody else other than cismales. i'm often aesthetically attracted to women and effeminate males but never romantically.

12. What was your last dream about - couldn't explain it if i tried. it was strange as usual, involving my workplace crush...who is taken, and who i don't really think of as often as you'd think for a crush so i'm at a loss for his frequent presence in my dreams

13. Talents - i can dance and draw well i suppose. i can stay up for however long if need be, if that's a talent

14. Are you psychic in any way - probably for the rain or for bad things at work? Hahaha

15. Favorite song - you only get what you give by the new radicals

16. Favorite movie - never could choose, but among them would be Mirrormask, Kill Your Darlings, and Dead Poets Society

17. Do you want children - not at the moment, no. perhaps it'll change as i get older but i've never seen myself rearing children

18. Do you want a church wedding - don't really care for it, but if my future husband wants it, i won't oppose

19. Are you religious - furthest from it and i grew up in a catholic school. i have issues with organized religion.

20. Have you ever been to the hospital - more often than i prefer

21. Have you ever gotten in trouble with the law - almost but not quite

22. Have you ever met any celebrities - never actually met one, no, but i was in the same plane as my favorite local celebrity once

23. Baths or showers - we don't have a tub but if we did it'd be baths for me. i only recently discovered the joy of them.

24. What color socks are you wearing - i hate wearing socks at home! but normally they'd be striped so can't say

25. Have you ever been famous - hell no

26. Would you like to be a big celebrity - hell no. perhaps as a ghost writer or a faceless researcher or an anonymous artist

27. What type of music do you like - it varies from blackpink to tchaikovsky but i'm currently in a classical mood

28. Have you ever been skinny dipping - no and i don't think i ever will, unless it's in a clean private pool

29. How many pillows do you sleep with - 3-4, inluding a body pilow

30. What position do you usually sleep in - on my side but i often wake up on my back

31. How big is your house - bigger than i would like as my family seems to want to fill every inch of space with stuff. my room is half empty and i love it.

32. What do you typically have for breakfast - some pastry or eggs, nothing big as i hate big breakfasts

33. Have you ever fired a gun - no but my uncle taught me how

34. Have you ever tried archery - yes but only in a studio

35. Favorite clean word - circumlocution

36. Favorite dirty word - crap

37. What's the longest you've ever gone without sleep - 3 days for my thesis

38. Do you have any scars - plenty but all of them by accident and nothing big

39. Have you ever had a secret admirer - yes

40. Are you a good liar - yes to people who don't know me very well

41. Are you a good judge of character - i like to think so

42. Can you do any other accents other than your own - nope

43. Do you have a strong accent - i've been told that i don't have an accent when i speak english. i'm better at it than my mother-tongue, which is quite sad, really.

44. What is your favorite accent - italian, old american (like in movies), irish, and rich british (i don't know how to explain it, the posh kind but not nasal or royal)

45. What is your personality type - intj? enneagram type 5? unconventional? uncertain? too rational?

46. What is your most expensive piece of clothing - my docs

47. Can you curl your tongue - limitedly yes

48. Are you an innie or an outie - innie

49. Left or right handed - right

50. Are you scared of spiders - yes

51. Favorite food - honey butter chips

52. Favorite foreign food - sashimi

53. Are you a clean or messy person - clean but not anal

54. Most used phrase - well i mean

55. Most used word - well and really

56. How long does it take for you to get ready - 1.5 hours if leisurely, 30 minutes if not

57. Do you have much of an ego - more than i care to admit

58. Do you suck or bite lollipops - suck until they're small enough to bite

59. Do you talk to yourself - only in my head and in my notes

60. Do you sing to yourself - no never

61. Are you a good singer - no, hence.

62. Biggest fear - earthquakes. the complete and utter lack of control unhinges me

63. Are you a gossip - i hope not

64. Best dramatic movie you've seen - kill your darlings

65. Do you like long or short hair - on me i like medium hair bordering on long, on others i like long whether male or female

66. Can you name all 50 states of America - no i never had to

67. Favorite school subject - english, both lamguage and literature

68. Extro or introvert - intro. by 98% according to a popular yet unreliable test

69. Have you ever been scuba diving - no but i would love to

70. What makes you nervous - uncertainty and people speaking about me

71. Are you scared of the dark - no i prefer it actually

72. Do you correct people when they make mistakes - only if it's of consequence and i'm sure of my correction

73. Are you ticklish - in certain places

74. Have you ever started a rumor - only once and i still regret it

75. Have you ever been in a position of authority - yes and i miss it

76. Have you ever drank underage - yes and we thought we got drunk from half a thermos of light beer

77. Have you ever done drugs - yes but disappointingly inconsequentially

78. Who was your first real crush - his name was miguel

79. How many piercings do you have - 2 and they're nothing extraordinary

80. Can you roll your r's - yes

81. Mountains or beaches - mountains. i'm scared of underwater creatures and plants and rocks and sand, but you'd find me swimming like a fish with no lifevest when in deep waters. too many interesting things to pass on, but i can never get close to any of them.

82. How fast can you run - average i'm sure. i go by endurance rather than speed.

83. What color is your hair - 4 shades of brown and ash. i should dye it soon.

84. What color are your eyes - dark brown but i wish they were hazel

85. What are you allergic to - nothing i think

86. Do you keep a journal - intermittently and usually only if i have something to cdomplain about

87. What do your parents do - several things i don't find at all interesting

88. Do you like your age - in relation to my level of success, no. generally, yes as it's bang on a quarter of a century

89. What makes you angry - intolerance and condescension

90. Do you like your own name - i have a complicated relationship with it

91. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they - despite #17, i am enchanted with the names luna, ezra, lucien, and kai

92. Do you want a boy or a girl for a child - again, despite #17, probably a girl only or first and a boy after

93. What are your strengths - VIA test told me judgment and open-mindedness, i like to think so too; i like to think my anxiety makes me think some things thoroughly

94. What are your weaknesses - same test told me spirituality, and i completely agree; carelessness and lack of societal awareness as well

95. How did you get your name - my nickname my mom got from my two immediately older cousins, with a strange spelling from my father's boyhood interest in the german language, my full name i think they plucked out of nowhere honestly

96. Were your ancestors royalty - i think my maternal great grandparents were chinese turned don and doña in my country but i can't be sure as they allegedly changed their last names to avoid discrimination

97. Color of your bedspread - white

98. Color of your room - off-white

99. Style aesthetic - formal grunge, perhaps unintentionally dark academia. i wear a lot of leather shoes and collared oversized shirts, with one blazer too many in my closet that defies all practically given the weather here

100. Reason for your tumblr name - not sure, i didn't get it from anywhere but nor do i remember why i went with it. i like that the phrase hints at this omnipotent imperialist controlling everything, when really it's purely gravity, the most prosaic but as yet irreproducible thing you can think of. it fascinated me. it would have been cognitive miser as in my twitter description but i found it describes me too much and sets the wrong tone.

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idolizerp · 6 years ago

Photo

LOADING INFORMATION ON CELESTE’S LEAD VOCAL, LEAD DANCE BAE SOHO...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 25 DEBUT AGE: 20 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 19 COMPANY: 99 SECONDARY SKILL: N/A

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S): 알모소 - an abbreviation of even if you know her, you don’t (and the final syllable of her name), due to the fact that she has an enigmatic personality that is more quiet than the traditional “4-D image” but still maintains that off the wall unpredictability. One moment cutesy and cringey, the next moment cuttingly observant and savage, then the epitome of “노잼” or no fun at all. she can express herself in a very avante garde, off the wall, almost blank paper manner, and just as quickly can twist into something quite clever and creative. INSPIRATION: soho’s performative inspiration, as given to the mcs who ask for such information, is that she was just the biggest fan of Diamant and Royal-T and Clover and as a result had been inspired to audition for KJH after only a few months of dance training, hoping charisma could carry her through. SPECIAL TALENTS:

instrumental- she can play and compose on the piano, as well as production abilities on various synthesizers. she has a talent for quickly transposing music across keys, which is almost never useful in her daily idol life. she is most proficient with the piano though she once attempted to learn guitar (she lost interest quickly) and more specifically these days in terms of the keyboard and style-adjacent synthesizers.

jingle creation- she can make a quick and catchy jingle for almost anything, and often spends her time narrating her life via song unintentionally and inadvertently, much to the chagrin of those around her. she will occasionally produce these into snippets uploaded on soundcloud. her most “successful” of these was an 8-bit midi-filled jingle about the blessing that is milk tea.

PUBG and fortnite dances - she is exceptionally skilled at performing dances from the popular games, for better or for worse, and is more than happy to break this talent out on camera. whether her group-mates want for her to do this or not.

NOTABLE FACTS:

soho is skilled in musical composition and arrangements and has dabbled in a various instruments. she is more proficient with the piano than the guitar, these days, as she’s largely relied on the latter as she moves into beat-making and production. her specializations (electropop, lofi, and related remixes) are thoroughly non-marketable in the mainstream.

soho is a social media guru, with an established presence on youtube, soundcloud, and an active twitter/instagram outreach. she is active as well on Vlive on a regular basis. she does reviews of producing equipment, reviews of instruments, covers, “let’s play” style videos, and various vlogs/live broadcasts. This began during the ending days of vixen and continued through her hiatus (intermittently). it was put on pause until 2017, when 99 entertainment began allowing her more public opportunities.

soho debuted at 16 under KJH’s girl group Vixen, as the lead dancer and lead vocalist. she faced a rather significant scandal which was (mercifully enough) quickly eclipsed by the huge scandal that plagued the main rapper of the group, eventually leading to the disbanding of the group entirely. she was a fresh 19 at the time. In the following months, she began training with 99 Ent.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

without the group of celeste, without the support of her company, soho has very little claim to fame. she functions best as part of a group musically, and has no illusions otherwise. perhaps surprisingly, as a girl eagerly and actively producing music, she is fully disinterested in pursuing a serious career as a solo musician, in the realm of one managed by her company. the music she produces is not public friendly and is in essence a passion project, and she has no interest in having to compromise that to become marketable, performable, or so on. she’d consider djing or working on soundtracks, or even simply continuing to put out content on soundcloud or youtube to scratch that creative itch.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

soho is all about the long game, putting together bits and pieces, to build an empire, a cult of personality. by diversifying across platform, she’s building a niche, marketing herself in a way few others are attempting. she hopes to establish herself as a personality foremost, rather than pinning herself to a particular talent. she has made strides in acting, largely in niche productions which she intends to continue, and has made more significant progress in hosting. she would love, truthfully, to have a radio show of her own, to continue entertaining via vlogs, sketch comedy, and other media on her youtube channel, and to establish herself as a personal brand capable of remaining self sustaining.

IDOL IMAGE

“it’s all about those eyes,” they told her as they prepared her styling for debut. the image board was decorated in pictures of bob cuts, wispy bangs, lavenders and whites and grays. soft colors for a soft girl, a honeyed blonde color for her hair. “you’re like bambi, just look at you,” they’d said. it had been carefully followed with, “just keep your mouth shut.” see, here’s the catch. bae soho is all personality. she’s all charisma, all charm. now, granted, she’s not entirely untalented. granted, it’s not a natural talent that she has, for dance or for vocals. but she’s been training for years, had been thirteen when kjh picked her up and she’d been active as an idol since sixteen. she had to have made some improvements over time for that, or else she’d have been just plain lazy. and bae soho is anything but lazy. truthfully, soho has an easy nature to her, bright and charming and just weird enough to make her utterly approachable. some of the girls in the group are pretty to the point of blinding, stunning to the point of awe inspiring. soho isn’t ugly by any stretch (is any idol?) but there is a softness, a cuteness to her appeal that makes her, ultimately, seem just on the edge of attainable. it helps that she is a self professed nerd, that she’ll wander down tangential fields of though, or make a truly terrible pun that kills the mood dead in the water. she’s halfway between quirky and downright odd, a comfortable niche of different but not alienating. she’d be an easy choice to speak up on shows. and yet - silence is the name of the game at first. shut lips, smiling eyes, charming reactions.

there is, of course, a reason for the silence.

this isn’t soho’s first rodeo. she’s done the variety bit. she’s been on stage. she spent three years as remi of vixen, with a very different image. dark dyed hair and black rimmed eyes, fierce expressions and a fiery sweetness and spunkiness to nod towards her age, she debuted at sixteen. and by nineteen it was over. the video leak had been the first blow, hastily written off as a lookalike, but the main rapper’s indiscretions shortly thereafter had been the nail in the coffin.

so her move into 99 entertainment had been predicated on a drastic change in image, promotional name, and appearance. she sheds her natural hair color, the characteristic long, straight lengths of it, even the stage name the world knew her by. reinvented, she is soho now, with soft honey blond hair and big bambi eyes, and she is quiet and sweet and just a little bit silly, a little bit cheeky. a surprising dash of innocence and insight peppered here and there. they need her to wait. bide her time. and she does.

not completely silently, of course, but she waits. she records songs she saves for a dormant soundcloud. she does the occasional youtube video, and her outreach on twitter and instagram is, at least, largely unrestricted. fans adore her for her quick wit and how rapidly she picks up on and proliferates the memes and in jokes of the fandom, growing a reputation for having a secret stan account somewhere. to them she’s relatable, attainable, not a distant fairy princess but a sweet girl in shimmering blush colors.

and with time, this changes too.

with time, they give her freedom, inch by inch. she grows her hair out long once more. the image they impose on the group shifts and with it soho pivots, as any good idol, any good actress must. she laters quirk and cuteness onto the sex appeal, a lovely charm to offset the lurid twists. she begins to open up more on variety - or rather, to let out more of what’s been lurking beneath the surface, that poorly restrained oddness and appeal. bit by bit, she’s allowed to flourish, to shine, once more, as years of distance grow between her and vixen’s remi, now but a figment in the distance. (except - she wakes in a cold sweat, every so often. except - she still checks her name on portal sites obsessively. except - she still feels ill at ease in her own skin, under the scrutiny of others when she’s descended from the stage and from the brilliant lights that protect and obscure.) she’s ethereal, surreal, she’s creepy, she’s cute. she’s sexy, in the way of shadows and mystery and the promise of the unknown. bambi eyes become haunting, sparkle with playful knowing instead of sweetness and innocence.

it becomes wrapped into her image. bae soho, your soft goth girlfriend. bae soho, your weird gamer girl next door, who can put away a pizza in record time and still look cute doing it. bae soho, who writes songs that sound like nintendo lofi remixes. bae soho, with shelves full of books from horror manga to russian classics. bae soho, who you can never quite pin down. bae soho, who runs the gamut from a smooth honey voice on a radio show to tongue in cheek sketch comedy produced for her youtube channel.

she doesn’t mind the shift in concept. feels like she’s done it all now, from girl crush to angelic school girl innocence to playful sexy to straight up sexy. she can handle it, she figures. she intends to transcend image. celeste is her bread and butter, her lifeblood, but it’s also the means to an end. she’s in no way musically infatuated and the loyalty she feels to the group is more practical than loving. without celeste she has no platform. with celeste she has a springboard, a cache, a growing brand reputation that will put her on the map. she has the resources and the freedom to pursue the music she does care about as a pure passion project, to create the sketches and vlogs and gaming content she desires with professional aide, and the connections to make her way in the industry in a way she’d never be able to do on her own, as a soloist, or in a smaller company. she’s been on the otherside of the looking glass, languishing as a nugu and struggling for footing, and while they may not have had a first win they’re not exactly in the pits, so she’ll take it. any step forward is a step up.

and bae soho is aiming for the stars.

IDOL HISTORY

the stars do not fortel her coming in the literal sense, but her mother has a pregnancy dream, the kind old grandmothers will say is prophetic, a dream of the milky way in the sky overhead, a dream of laying on her back on the hillside of her hometown out in the countryside, long since left behind. a dream of the inky blackness over head and a sense of something both ominous and promising. to soho this sounds more like a stress dream than anything else, but she also enjoys the idea that her mother knew, even as she was unborn, that soho herself would be some eldritch horror, some mystical being.

she isn’t, of course. soho is a normal baby, albeit on the cuter side. she grows into a relatively normal toddler as well, precocious and strange as most toddlers are, with an apparent lack of fear that alarmed her more timid mother. nothing phased soho, not the dark, not needles, not snakes nor spiders. at the influence of her older brothers, she spent as much time tramping around in the muddy fields around their house as she did inside, and when inside her mind roamed the hills and mountains in flights of fancy.

she was a whimsical child, bound up in impossibilities, in hopes, in daydreams and mysticism. easily influenced by whatever media she consumed, the girl voraciously wrapped herself into fantasy worlds, books and television and movies the most common culprits. but with the dawn of the video game era, the bae household was filled with the enthusiastic shrieks of over-excited children, crowded around a controller- lost in hyrule or the johto region or any number of other pixelated universes filled with magic, mystery, and lore.

the games quickly revealed many things about soho: she was fanciful and flighty, she was obsessive, she was sneaky and scheming, she was a perfectionist. and above all else, she was yearning, a desperation to reach out to something other than the world around her. she wanted the promise of more that came from such worlds, from fantasies and dreams. she wanted to be the chosen one, wielding a special blade or never-before-seen magical powers. head firmly lodged in the clouds, she was able to ignore, for quite some time, the unravelling of their lives.

you see the bae family had hit dire financial straits, and slowly the wear and tear of it began to show in the falling apart bandaid fixes on the plumbing, the windows, the wallpapering of their home. her father became a ghost, drifting in and out of the house too early, too late, barely heard from nor seen.

eventually relocation was in order, and they were forced to leave their little world behind. moving from the countryside of gyeonggi to the heart of seoul was tumultuous to say the least, and relocating from a more spacious (albeit falling apart old) home to a cramped villa apartment was almost impossible. for a girl born to run and explore the energy she was left with in this pent up, new lifestyle had her acting out in more ways than one. her performance at school suffered as she moved into middle school and she had a number of behavioral problems. in the hope of mitigating this and expending some of her energy (and getting her out of the house) her parents scraped up the money to put her in dance classes, which she had expressed some interest in prior.

by the time she was thirteen, she was auditioning for her first entertainment companies.

kjh was the first to offer her a contract, and while she initially thought to hold out to audition with the bigger names first, she found promise in how readily they accepted her in with open arms, talking of a new sort of image, a powerful and hard hitting concept that would make even jinx look weak. she liked the sound of that - she wanted that kind of power, wanted to immerse herself in the fantasy of the rich and famous, and so she begged her parents to okay the trainee contract.

debuting only three years later was, at the time, a blessing. vixen wasn’t the most popular right out of the gate, but soho knew they had promise. potential. as their main rapper greedily grabbed up attention for herself, soho knew in her heart she herself would win the world over if she were just given a chance, and set out to make that a possibility - at any cost, by any means.

overtime it worked, gradually picking up attention, mostly for her maturing visuals and for her natural charisma, more so than anything else, but she wasn’t picky. landing a role on the breakout show heroes certainly came to her aid, and she was experiencing a modest upswing in her popularity, slowly growing her career.

and then the video leaked.

she knew she was ruined.

she had to be.

a video like that, pictures like that, suggestive to the extreme. did it matter if it was her or not? the public was certain, and her name was finally rocketing up the search engines. barely past her nineteenth birthday everything was falling apart.

and then, it all got worse.

when the scandal of their main rapper broke, her first reaction was “at least i didn’t try to blackmail anyone” - there was a sort of comfort in the mutual destruction of it. at least they were both fucking up. at least her scandal was being overshadowed. as more and more details came out, as it went to a trial, as the company brought them in to disband them, she watched her carefully crafted fantasy fall apart around her.

she fragmented. left to live with her parents, in that just-barely-better apartment she’d managed to buy for them with the next-to-nothing she’d earned (it was easy to upgrade them from almost nothing to barely something, even on the shoestring budget of a rookie idol). she was twenty years old and knew herself to be an abject failure, truly and completely.

it wasn’t until they begged her into at least getting back into dance that she slowly woke back up, became herself again. she had little interest in dancing, these days, but being surrounded by music at least helped. and when a scout from 99 reached out to her, she even considered it.

eventually, she accepted the offer. she had to put the past behind her. she had to try again. training all over again was an exercise in humiliation, and she knew all too well what was said about her in whispers, behind her back. and strangely, it helped, inured her to the criticisms, created in her a brazen and bullheaded spirit of competition and obsessive drive that earned her a spot in the debuting group.

bae soho was reimagined in the image of the new group. fairylike innocence was the name of the game, and for a girl with pretty, fair skin and big bambi eyes, that was easy enough to pull off. a golden blonde hue was designated for her hair and blush, peachy pinks became her signature. it was hardly something she minded, the freshness of it all, but it felt like aging backwards, to go from long teal and black hair and thick liner, combat boots and fishnets to all of this frill and silk. but then, that was half the point of her little makeover. to erase the sins of remi and relegate them to obscurity, to present soho as a pretty, new package to be parceled out and consumed. safe and sweet. be a rookie again, be bashful and eager at once, be bright and charming and also, you know, quiet. be quiet. stand back a little.

she does.

and in time she blossoms. in time the past fades, along with the memory of vixen, replaced in the eyes of the public by a thousand other girls, a hundred other scandals, myriad contenders for the attention of the multitudes. and as vixen and remi are forgotten, soho is given room to rise. it begins slow at first, lifting her twitter and instagram bans. and she takes to them like a fish to water, scours the fancafes and the tags and the fan accounts. likes memes and leaves comments and makes post after post. she becomes relatable, a presence that they can understand, quirky and a little odd, in an endearing way. she tells offbeat stories and lets the members share her embarrassing truths, like how she once ate only kimchi jigae for a solid month, from the same restaurant. they talk about her video gaming obsession and her propensity to sacrifice sleep for more hours scrolling aimless on the internet.

next, they let her begin using youtube. they give her the resources first for simple things, vlogs. she takes fans into the daily life of members, shows them snippets of life backstage, of waiting room antics, of the wall sized bookshelf filled with novels and manga in her room. she introduces them to the row of succulents on her windowsill and laments her failed attempt to grow daisies. in time, the company allocates her greater resources. she does more now, faux interviews and staged cooking shows, soft prank videos on the girls and hidden cameras, she graduates gradually to sketches, comedy bits, reviews of games, let’s plays, and streams.

the last step is letting her take her soundcloud back, and she begins to put up her silly jingles first, because the humor is relatable. moves into the wordless lo-fi video game-esque tracks next, with titles that tell stories and album art she’s drawn herself, pixel perfect, fantastical, whimsical, a little surreal.

they let her back onto tv. she picks up a few guest roles here and there, she drops a commercial for a video game where she gets to be made into a character and cosplays to her heart’s content.there’s even a webdrama after awhile, about girl’s in a gaming company, because 99 has come to see that allowing her to lean into this nerdy cutie sexy girl angle is only going to help them out, hit a niche market far removed from anyone who might be inclined to bring up certain youthful indiscretions. as the group matures, her career itself grows, her opportunities rise. she picks up more lines, bit by bit. her practice begins to pay off.

she’s always been a performer but she’s becoming an entertainer, someone known for an ability to smooth the way between segments, a bright spot in the shows she heads onto. she’s becoming someone considered competent enough, at least, even if most of the attention is on her pretty face, her unexpected expressions, on the instagram video of pubg dances that goes viral. there’s a reversal charm to a girl like her being such an odd duckling, and 99 is content to milk it for now, to see how far the strangeness of bae soho will take them.

#id.bio #id.celeste #id.99 #id.ahn heeyeon #id.league

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yolky-slimes-archival · 9 months ago

Text

Pt: Phosroyaljellyslimial: a phosial term; a gender lit by light from, reflected off of, or filtered through Royal Jelly Slimes (Secret Style Honey Slimes) from Slime Rancher.

Etymology: “phos” a prefix for phosials, royal jelly, slim(e), “ial” a suffix for phosials

Pronounced: ff-aw-ss roy-all jell-e slymm (phos royal jelly slim(e) ial) : End Pt

[ID: 2 rectangular flags with 8 equally-sized thin horizontal stripes, a thick horizontal stripe in the middle, and a thin stripe in the middle. colors are in this order and reflected after the last listed color, dark brown, dark purple, purple, slightly lighter purple, light purple, yellow. the thick stripe and the thin stripe have diamonds in the middle of them, the same colors are the stripes. in the center of the first flag is the icon art of the Royal Jelly Slime from Slime Rancher, a purple slime with a yellow crown. End ID]

Phosroyaljellyslimial: a phosial term; a gender lit by light from, reflected off of, or filtered through Royal Jelly Slimes (Secret Style Honey Slimes) from Slime Rancher.

Etymology: “phos” a prefix for phosials, royal jelly, slim(e), “ial” a suffix for phosials

Pronounced: ff-aw-ss roy-all jell-e slymm (phos royal jelly slim(e) ial)

@phosarchivial

#In post image id #Phosial #Umbrella: Gender(s)#Related: secret style(s)#Related: Honey slime(s)#Related: Royal Jelly secret style #Related: slime(s)

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ellebeebee · 8 years ago

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This takes place after Sabine and Zarad marry, in Corval. They’ve just returned and attend a party at the crown prince’s. They reveal something they perhaps shouldn’t. And suffer the resultant fallout. Features Constance.

I kind of want of want to continue this?? I mean, it can be read alone, but there’s more to the situation to explore.

3849 words, Revaire!MC/Zarad (Sabine/Zarad), Constance featured, general rating

He had such an unfairly beautiful profile, Constance thought to herself, not for the first time. A deep, steep forehead sloping to a bold-bridged nose, proud and assertive. The eyes pushed forward, so that his gaze hit you with all haste. The high-blooded and aristocratic mouth. His wonderful brass and honey-warm skin that made him a part of this place and its heat and its brilliance and its shadows.

Beside him, lingering in the protection of the portico eaves, Constance knew she was wan. If the people below, chattering as they disembarked from carriages and palanquins-- if they looked up, they would see a colorless thing beside the crown prince. A thing that waited and lingered and drifted.

Aamir snorted, softly in that cultured way he had. His eyes were locked on the entering guests.

“So that’s what he brought back,” her husband said.

Constance looked. The third prince was helping a lady from his phaeton. A phaeton, in this overbright warmth! She had not seen him in some time, but he was just as ever. The lady descended with a smile, evident even from here, as her new husband spoke to one of his friends come to greet them.

“I’ve heard she is quite charming,” Constance stated.

Aamir did not look at her. “I don’t need you to tell me what eyes can clearly see. It’s not her charms he married her for. And trust me, he could have gotten the same from any cat house in the honey district for far less.”

Constance was not required to reply. Certain birds, from the depths of the damp Jiyeli forests, can be trained to repeat simple phrases. But when they encounter some new idea, some new beyond-their-ken experience, these iridescent animals turn about their dark and dumb eyes, clicking granite beaks. Constance could not claim such color or dewey deep eyes, but still at every hint of Aamir’s inner antagonism revealed, she felt she must much resemble such a bird. You couldn’t blame him; he had every right to be as careless in this way as if he spoke in front of an antique, sun-blistered and sun-washed painting. What more secrets would oil pigments impart then the crown princess would?

Aamir shifted.

Below, as one of the servants bowed to the third prince and his wife with a gesture to lead them on-- something happened which struck Constance and the crown prince like a stone. Zarad reached for her-- and before laying a gentlemanly hand, palm no doubt warm and formal, in the small of her back-- before this, before he thought anyone would notice: Zarad lifted his fingers, and, light-as-air, brushed a stray curl from her cheek.

Constance silently inhaled.

It wasn’t inappropriate. It was hardly the most demonstrative-- feigned or otherwise-- gesture that she’d seen here in the Corvali court, certainly more liberal than her homeland. But something in that glimpsed touch-- what an insignificant thing, really-- something in the effortlessness of it, the naturalness of it… It made this godforsaken, omnipresent heat press on her. A deep and searing pressure that pushed and pushed her ever forward, breathless and dazed. The sight of the third prince’s line of sight and that of his wife; the turning of their eyes sickened and thrilled her.

“Well, well,” Aamir murmured. “I stand corrected.”

He had seen it too.

Constance turned to him. The suddenness of her movement (the suddenness of a movement taken by such a habitually slow creature) finally drew his eye to her. His beautiful, thick-lashed eyes-- black butterfly gossamer-- roved over her and her uselessly twitching lips. He snorted.

Turning his back on her, he returned to dressing himself. He preferred to depend on servants as little as possible. Too paranoid. Rightfully so.

“Go downstairs. Be a hostess,” he told her, not looking at her.

Constance said nothing. She left quietly.

“The empress expresses her regrets for not attending, Your Royal Highness, but she did not feel entirely well and did not wish to burden this happy occasion with her inauspicious presence.”

Constance curtsied to the blue-black lady, older and of infinite spare elegance.

“Not at all, Lady Dhorée,” she said. “Any appearance of Her Majesty or her people is a blessing to this house. I only hope her illness is not serious?”

Lady Dhorée smiled genially. “No. A mere weakness and headache, related to stress. Her Majesty does take on so much.”

“Too true,” Constance said. “I can only regret my own shortcomings as her daughter-in-law, my inability to lessen her burden.”

“You are too modest-- what a fine gathering you’ve held tonight to welcome home the third prince.”

“Thank you. You are too kind, Lady Dhorée. I will pray for Her Majesty’s quick recovery, and pay a visit soon.”

The lady curtsied. “Your prayers would be most gratifying, Your Royal Highness. And perhaps you can visit with the new princess. Her Majesty regrets not extending a warmer welcome.”

Her prayers were welcome-- unseen and unheard-- but her visit as a mere social call, without the political gift of bringing along the third princess was not at all appreciated.

Constance smiled. “Of course, my lady. Would you like to meet her yourself?”

Lady Dhorée returned the smile and nodded. For all her refined manners, the presence of this particular favorite of the empress worried Constance. She had heard the rumours. The ex-apothecary. The poison master. It was no coincidence that Lady Dhorée seemed frequently involved in the affairs and quiet deaths of Her Majesty’s enemies.

With a soft, pale hand, Constance guided the lady through the marble halls and finely-paved garden paths toward a particular pavilion, with a view of a neat little pond over-abundance with lilies. A small group of noblewomen had collected there, chattering like a lovely flock of silken, jewel-colored birds. The newly-coronated Princess Sabine stood at their center.

An unusual woman, to be sure, that could both conjure and realize the ambition to marry once, attend a Summit, and remarry into the imperial house of Corval. Pretty and tawny and already wearing a comely tan, she held what vaguely resembled a small court with the ladies ooh’ing over each others’ emeralds and rubies and sapphires.

Constance made the introductions between the other princess and the empress’s lady. The noblewomen quieted with watchful eyes over polite smiles. It sent a message that Her Majesty did not appear herself on this first intimate occasion to speak to the third prince’s wife, and instead sent her primary weapon.

Princess Sabine smiled graciously at Lady Dhorée’s curtsy. They exchanged the usual pleasantries and wishes for the empress’s recovery. She held herself well, sparing no offence or quarter to Lady Dhorée’s presence. Greetings made, the empress’s woman excused herself, leaving the younger women to renew their innocent discussions of fashion. Constance touched the other princess’s sleeve.

“My lady, I have a side garden here built in the Revairan style. I would love to hear your opinion on it,” Constance said.

The woman laughed lightly. “Of course, Your Royal Highness. Though, I am afraid my opinion should weigh very little in your regard; I enjoy garden parties, but more for the party aspect rather than the garden itself.”

Constance smiled. She led them in the slow stately way of their rank and gentility along a meandering path toward a side garden. They talked of small things and met no one along their way. It had been about a week since she’d seen her new sister-in-law. At the coronation. The image of the Revairan, decked in a cloth-of-gold state gown, and kneeling as the priests spoke the rites over her somber and regally bent head. The line of her exposed neck, carved and eternal. Constance wondered what she herself had looked like at that same ceremony.

“It is a fine garden, my lady,” the third princess said.

“Thank you,” Constance said.

“And the roses!” She bent toward a buxom bloom, inhaling. “How do your gardeners do it? In this heat.”

“I will send them by the third prince’s manor. Such a lovely mistress of the house deserves just such roses.”

“You’re sweet. Thank you for showing me this, and for having me today,” Princess Sabine smiled, turning back to her.

Constance returned the smile. She had to squint a little, as unladylike as it was, and hold a fan to shield her eyes. Sunlight poured between the high hedges like boiling water.

“This is one of my favorite spots at home,” Constance said, lightly putting her fingers to the other woman’s elbow to steer them into pleasanter shade. “So quiet.”

“I wonder if its solitude is due to the country of origin of its design. It certainly can’t be the beauty of its flowers.”

So it starts.

Constance maintained her polite expression. “Certainly not, my lady. Who could be so dogmatic as to politicize roses?”

“Oh, we are wise women of the world, aren’t we? I’m sure we could imagine just such fools.”

“Or have met them?”

“Just so,” the other princess said lightly.

A pause, filled by the heat-muffled drill of cicadas. The deafening whirrr whirrr that had shielded many a clandestine conversation over the years, the millenia. In this old, old country full of old, old furies and passions. Constance took a step toward her, and lowered her voice.

“My lady,” she said. “Perhaps it’s presumptuous, but I feel I should tell you. We should all take care with our… affections. In public.”

The third princess-- minisculely, incrementally-- raised a brow.

“I hope you…” Constance hesitated. It was warm and she had a head full of cotton.

“Understand your meaning?” the other woman said, all glittering smiles and too many diamonds.

“Don’t take offence,” Constance answered softly.

White silk and satin and lace. Golden chrysanthemums and silvered lilies embroidered by two dozen seamstresses. A diadem of sapphires. That had been Constance’s own coronation. Pale, gossamer thin silk. Had she had an elegant turn to the line of her neck as she bent to receive the blessing? There was no one she could ask, who would not return to her a sneer or insincerity.

“I see,” the third princess said. “Then I hope you understand I will never make excuses for the affection I hold for my husband.”

Constance paused. It was not quite an edge in the other woman’s voice; it was not a sharpening in her expression. All the same, the air between them changed. She saw it again, that moment not meant for her or her husband’s eyes. Constance reinforced her smile.

“Of course,” she said. “I beg your forgiveness.”

Princess Sabine studied her. Then, she inclined her head, subtly bending into a fraction of a curtsy.

They smiled at each other.

Later, society largely agreed that the gathering at the crown prince’s home was a great success, and the nobility had appropriately celebrated the third prince’s return home and marriage.

One has not bathed properly until a Corvali bath. Of course, their Jiyeli cousins would disagree, and there is some debate about the origin of the large soaking pool and the cleansing rituals associated with it, but with the wealth of their empire, the Corvalis like to believe they have perfected it.

The very wealthy in this arid country spare no expense for the sort of white marble, delicately veined with dove gray, surfaces smooth as hot ice, that line their room-sized pools. Architects compete with one another for intricately carved and cleverly designed tub complexes, while engineers quietly suffer headaches over such designs. The sort of plumbing systems required for these pools were marvels unto themselves.

Even the less elite in Corvali society will go to great lengths to ensure a place of cleansing, even if it must be a natural oasis outside the village. The connection to nature is often praised in these instances. However, such bathing pools have strict rules about the use of perfumes and soaps, so as not to pollute the local water source. Perhaps this was the origin of the custom of washing with lathers and rinsing before entering any pool, even those privately plumbed as in the richest palaces, and using only flowers to perfume the water.

For instance, a customary bath in the imperial palace for a princess of the third rank would proceed as such: your maidens of the wardrobe would help you undress, carefully peeling away your tools of political conflict and finesse. Then, you would proceed through your bath’s antechamber, and be handed off to your bath attendants. This is a highly coveted position, with two year’s worth of training and good pay to ensure your loyalty to a mistress in one of her more vulnerable moments.

These bath attendants would set you down on a warmed bench, covered in a fluffy cloth, and drench you in your first round of flowered water. The flowers chosen vary according to fashion, the lady’s whim, and perhaps some other more subtle reason (a lover’s preference, a message to a rival, etc). The attendants would then carefully work up a lather over your fine-blooded skin, working out all the tensions of deadly court intrigue, and rinse away the soap with a second round of flower water. Then, a good scrubbing with fine white sand from an obscure beach on the northern coast that fielded a pirate raid at least once a week, mixed with pearls of yet more soap. The final rinse, and the lady is ready to spend at least an hour soaking in her enormous marble tub, steaming and fragrant.

Often, noblewomen will use this time to confer with the closest of her servants, and receive reports on various machinations. The seclusion of the room, and the intimacy of having only her most trusted by her, gives it an inclination toward secrecy. And there is always an economy of bribes for bath attendants. Until they’re found out, of course. There was even a trend in third dynasty empresses to only employ illiterate bath attendants deprived of their tongues.

Of course, Corval has evolved from such barbaric practices. Of particular fashion now are those girls skilled in Skaltan pressure point massage. An ex-pat shaman from Skalt residing in the imperial palace currently makes a killing teaching this skill to the servants of noblewomen. How relaxing it must be, immersed in warmth and floating away on wafts of crocus and orchid, with nimble fingers coaxing the paranoia and defenses out of your muscles.

And that is why it was highly irregular for the girl giving Sabine such treatment to clamp iron claws on her shoulders and shove her beneath the perfumed waters.

She gagged as she screamed, too startled to do anything else. The girl kept thrusting her deeper, her strength alarming and violent. Sabine’s throat and eyes and nose burned and the water was everywhere and just wouldn’t stop strangling her. And the world whirled again, as more weight slammed her deeper: the girl had leapt into the pool as well, and had her skilled fingers around Sabine’s jugular.

And then the weight was gone, and other hands pulled her up, up out of the flowered water, out of the depth and the heaviness.

The marbled room echoed with the angry yells of servant girls, their confused questions, their cries. Sabine’s chest shot with agony, and she coughed, each wrack squeezing even more pain out of her lungs and throat. She spat out searing water. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening around her, what someone was saying to her, the face dominated her field of view.

“My lady, my lady,” Victoire repeated calmly. Of course. Her dear Victoire could never be phased. Not even by this. She was a rock, unmoved by the world’s fury.

Sabine was grateful.

“Yes, yes,” she choked out. “Yes.”

Someone had covered her in a soft robe. She sat up. A few of the girls had the traitor pinned to the floor. She stared blankly back at her mistress, her lips growing fat from a bloody gash, and her hair loose. Her uniform drenched.

Victoire straightened. “Take her out. Give her to the guards,” she commanded.

The guards. They were no doubt hovering right outside from the clamor, but of course they couldn’t enter a princess’s bathchamber. The girls obeyed, yanking up their prisoner. Sabine leaned into Victoire, who held her up.

“Your prince has been careless,” Victoire murmured.

“Yes,” Sabine whispered. “It’s not like him.”

They were setting her hair into a pretty bundle of braids, out in the courtyard off her personal rooms, when Zarad returned home, early.

He stood at the edge, under the shade of the gallery running the perimeter of the court. As always, he cut a fine figure in his easy robes and his broad chest. He stood outside of the square of light and heat where she was seated, attended to as if it were a powdery boudoir. The girls beside her paused in their work to curtsy to the prince, and went back to work. They were well-trained.

Sabine had her back to him, but could see his expression in the reflection of the little stand mirror before her, moved here to the courtyard.

“Just a moment,” she told him. “They’re almost done.”

He was well-trained as well. All of them here in this palace were well-trained enough to trim away the fat of their real feelings, and wear normal, bland looks of vacuity. As if their wife hadn’t just been nearly drowned.

She refocused on her reflection before her. It was a pretty style: the trailing curls framing the cheekbones she would forever be a bit vain about, the intricacy of the braids. Quite pretty. She would wear it again someday. And there was a particular set of earrings that would be perfect.

Bruises were forming around her neck and on her shoulders. She wore no make-up, and it bothered her. He never cared. Of course he never cares; he’d make some jibe equal parts endearment and leering that he liked her with nothing at all. But her makeup wasn’t for him. At least, not always. But he was there, still as stone, present over her reflection’s shoulder.

She sighed. Raising a hand, she stopped her maids. Their hands and heads dropped.

“You’ve done well, girls,” Sabine told them. “You’re dismissed for now. We’re not to be disturbed.”

They curtsied and left quietly, passing Zarad and softly closing the interior door behind them.

They were alone.

There could be little doubt over their aloneness, or else Zarad would never advance on her like that, and scoop her up like that, squeeze so tightly if servants or others were near. And he always knew. The poor dear. He would always know.

He would expose his flirting and the silly banter they exchanged to casual eyes, but not this.

Released, she pushed back to look at him properly. His handsome face had released the tension of maintaining a bland expression, and was now slack in concern and agitation and anger. She brushed a misplaced curl back into his head-wrapping.

“Are you…” he asked, eyes roaming over her, searching.

“I’m fine.”

“Sabine--”

“I’m fine,” she repeated. “I swallowed some bathwater. I’m angry, more than anything.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling. “We should saddle up two horses. Leave with the day’s departing merchants, and go back to our place on the coast,” he said softly.

“And live out our days in that cave? That hole in the wall?” she stated flatly.

He eyed her, brows drawing in. “You love that place.”

“I do. I love our little hideaway, and everything that’s happened there. And I don’t want to ruin it with cowardice.”

He sighed, frustrated. “That’s not-- I just want…”

“I know what you want,” Sabine said. “And it certainly isn’t running away.”

“I want to tear him apart,” Zarad stated. “That’s what I want. And I’ll never be able to. It kills me.”

“So it was Aamir?”

He nodded. “The girl’s claiming she did it out of jealousy; in love with me. The story makes sense, as it was incredibly sloppy for an assassination attempt. Room full of people, and drowning would have taken more time than she would clearly have had.”

He snorted, cheeks tensing as he went on. “But there was something we missed in her background: she’s the niece of one of the crown prince’s butlers. We missed it.”

“You found that out quickly.”

“It’s an important matter.”

“I know, just-- it all seems uncharacteristically careless for Aamir. Not an assassination attempt at all, then. He’s trying to upset you.”

Zarad barked a bone-dry laugh. “And it’s working.”

Sabine shook her head. “We did wonder why he didn’t flirt with me at that party.”

“Should have listened to the crown princess’s warning,” he stated. “He knows now: I trust you. I love you, and you me. He can’t break us with machismo; he’ll try to break us with fear for the other’s sake.”

She sat back and groaned, “Next week-- I’m supposed to visit the empress with her-- Constance.”

He squeezed her hand. “She didn’t have anything to do with this. You can trust that.”

“But not her?”

He frowned. “Well… dear, she’s not like Aamir.”

“No?” she asked, tone artificially light and a brow raised.

“Sabine, she really-- out of us all, she perhaps suffers more than anyone because of him. And she really isn’t like Aamir.”

“I feel sorry for her, really I do, love, but I’ve only just met her. And you don’t know her, either,” she told him. “I’m not doubting her goodness, but the strength of her spine. And really, what’s the use of one without the other in this palace?”

He sat, considering her. The sun hadn’t yet set, and had heated them to a nearly uncomfortable degree. The tall, elegant palms lining the perimeter of the court helped cut the sear of sun, with the dappled chaff of light and shadow shivering across the mosaic tiles. She stared back at him. And then she had to swallow and look away.

“You’re really angry,” he said softly.

“Of course I am. All I know is, she introduces me to that poisonous woman of the empress’s, then she-- warns me about being affectionate with you. So, yes, I’m angry,” she shot back. Then tried to gentle her tone. “It’s my home, isn’t it? In my own home…”

And he took her back into his arms. “Yes, yes it is. I’m sorry. I should have kept you safe.”

She pushed back enough to look him in the eye. “Then make me safer. And let me help. It’s the POW reforms you’re pushing for, isn’t it? Aamir’s found out you’re behind Grand Secretary Muhil, hasn’t he?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he answered softly.

She sighed. And then she couldn’t keep it up anymore; she leaned back into him, into his embrace. In the end, as long as she had this, she could keep going. Just for now, let her have this.

“We’ll fight it, love,” he whispered into her hair.

“Good,” she murmured back.

#7kpp #revaire!mc #zarad #fanfiction #my writing #uuuhhh can we just ignore the fact that it's been too long since I've last written anything #I actually took a break today from Andromeda #le gasp #so I was productive for once lol......#eheh...#¯\_(ツ)_/¯#also it occurs to me that like many things in 7kpp #things are complicated but it really boils down to: Aamir is an asshole

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topfygad · 5 years ago

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New Zealand’s Wild Cities: A Kiwi Kinda Adventure

Short drives from Wellington, Dunedin and Christchurch lead visitors to rare penguins, sea lions play-fighting on beaches, and fur seals having a lovers’ tiff.

Wait long enough in the discreet sheds built along the Otago Peninsula and you’ll see yellow-eyed penguins waddle out of the sea after a hard day’s swim. They’re among the rarest in the world, but Otago gives visitors ample time to observe their adorable antics. Photo By: Xavier Fores-Joana Roncero/Alamy/Indiapicture

Dunedin

Come hail or harsh sun, the Otago Farmers Market pops up outside Dunedin Railway Station every Saturday morning. Its stained glass windows perk up when the morning light hits its early-20th-century facade. In the lawns, out come pumpkins the size of doll houses, Pinot Noirs from the Central Otago Peninsula, and buskers with guitars and voices like honey. A Frenchman hands me two crêpes: one with poached pear bundled in chocolate sauce and custard, another packed with Jerusalem artichokes, pork, cheese and egg. People’s purses balloon with jars of fragrant honey made from manuka bushes. A man with crinkly eyes doles out bacon butties, pepper pâté, and a smile each. And pies, oh there are pies everywhere. I try the traditional hangi (Maori feast) pie with beef, pumpkin, kumara (sweet) potato, and carrot. I feel I’ll never be able to eat another meal again. Until I move to the next truck.

It has been a long time since a group of Scottish settlers came to this part of Maori land in the mid-19th century and named it Dunedin (‘Dùn Èideann’ is the Scottish Gaelic name for Edinburgh). Today, the city is a peppy university town, with ringing pubs, stunningly preserved Victorian and Edwardian buildings, a castle, and even its own kilt shop.

But I am here for Otago Peninsula, a mere 30-minute ride yet a world away, where the van waiting outside the railway station will take me.

Beyond the window of this little shed is a world that was never tamed. Cliffs so high that they’d tingle toes; the sea so blue that it can see into your soul. Dusk makes the ancient bays and beaches of the Otago Peninsula seem a bit broody. The wind howls and roars, but the green and gold tussock by the harbour bears it stoically.

I peer a few feet ahead, at the sea. Anytime now.

A yellow-eyed penguin emerges; it toddles slowly with hunched shoulders, as if walking back from school after flunking a maths test. I can sympathise: it has dived into the sea 200-300 times today, swimming 65-230 feet each time in search of seafood. It comes close enough to the shed for me to see its rad yellow eyebands—which gives it its name. Its irises too are the colour of van Gogh’s “Sunflowers.”

The royal albatross (top)—one of the world’s largest birds—and cheeky Hooker’s sea lions (bottom) are some of the creatures that call the Otago Peninsula home (bottom inset). The peninsula is a mere 30-minute drive from Dunedin (top inset). Photo Courtesy: Dunedinnz (Albatross); Photos By: Michael Rucker/ImageBroker/Getty Images (sea lions); Daniel Harwardt/iStock/Getty Images (coast)

Knee-high in size, this penguin species is believed to be the world’s rarest; about 3,000-odd ones are found only here, in New Zealand, on the eastern and southern coasts of South Island. I’m incredibly lucky to see them like this in the wild, where they roam free and are at home.

In seconds, more and more cuddly creatures rise from the sea, some strutting like calendar models, oblivious to me and my guide silently whooping in the hide. Mark, the guide, has seen this hundreds of times; he taps my arm when one penguin throws back its arms à la Shah Rukh Khan, and emits a long shrill cry. “Their Maori name is hoiho, which means ‘noise shouter’,” Mark whispers as the penguin sings with rockstarish head-shaking. Hoihos aren’t very sociable; I watch one accidentally headbutt a sheep on its way up the cliff behind us, waddling on quickly without meeting its eye. At the top, one curious lone penguin stands like Christ the Redeemer. For 15 whole minutes.

All life in the 33-kilometre Otago Peninsula revolves around preserving its creatures—the yellow-eyed and little blue species of penguins, New Zealand fur seal, New Zealand sea lion, and royal albatross. Large stretches are unpaved and settlements are small; it’s heartening to see some private properties have walking tracks for the easy passage of tourists. Trench-like hides built at various beaches and corners along the peninsula ensure that some wildlife (penguins in particular) rarely comes in direct contact with visitors. Operators like Mark’s company, Elm Wildlife Tours, are visibly passionate about ecotourism.

At the northernmost tip of Otago Peninsula is Taiaroa Head. The main attraction on this windswept piece of land jutting from the coastline is The Royal Albatross Centre, the only breeding colony on a mainland for the world’s largest seabird. Their wingspans are more than 10 feet (that’s twice the size of my mother). Rob, a guide at the centre, leads me to a viewing room with a glass panel. A young chick is huddled outside on a patch of grass, looking like it were made of cotton balls. Adult albatrosses spend almost 80 per cent of their time at sea, returning only to feed their young. They divvy up parenting, like the progressive spouses they are. Rob speaks of these gentle giants as if their lives are no less gripping than his favourite soap opera. “Royal albatrosses, or toroa, have a three-year mating period, so if you get bored of your partner, it’s going to be a while before you’ll settle down again,” he says. His favourite albatross here, he adds, was the one called ‘Grandma’ because she raised her last chick at 62. “She divorced one of her partners, but got back again. Then there’s one here in his 30s, who is bereaved and hasn’t put himself out there again,” rues Rob. As the perfect ending of his story, an adult toroa comes soaring in a circle, and swoops in towards its chick. I see its grace. These “ocean wanderers” fly 1,90,000 kilometres a year; I think of how, in less than eight months, a strong gust of wind will launch the baby albatross on its maiden flight.

Exploring the Otago Peninsula largely on foot, beside empty beaches, inlets, and dreamy purple clusters of hebe blossoms, feels more intimate than a safari. It also drives home an important lesson: that it’s me who’s on the turf of these creatures. Making myself invisible—huddling in hides, standing behind glass panels—is key to understanding them.

So I feel oddly exposed when Mark walks down Papanui beach in long strides, towards two, five, nay, nine sea lions roaring and gamboling in the sand. “They are endemic, the Hooker’s sea lions; confident around humans. Maintain safe distance, and you’re fine,” he says, coaxing me to stand about eight feet away from one that weighs at least 350 kilograms. He takes photos while I look over my shoulder at the way the creature bullies and playfights smaller lions around him, throwing sand over them, barking and chasing them. Almost all sea lions at Otago, I learn, are related to ‘Mum,’ a female who had a pup here in 1993—the first to be born on the mainland in over 100 years (https://ift.tt/1bDQ61i; tours from NZD122/Rs5,760 adults, children NZD112/Rs5,300).

All you need to observe New Zealand fur seals along Tongue Point, a 20-minute drive from Wellington (inset), is curiosity and a healthy 15-foot distance. Photos By: Skyimages/iStock/Getty Images (seal); Fotoshoot/Alamy/indiapicture (boy)

From the airplane, you can see the Hollywood-style sign perched on a hillside. ‘Wellington’ it reads, the last two letters askew, floating skyward. On ground, the world’s windiest city pops with Victorian homes along its harbour.

That evening, my walk from Wellington’s waterfront to Cuba Street passes through revolving doors of the world: Japanese, Vietnamese, Moroccan, and Indonesian food aromas come drifting, transporting me to secret kitchens. Coffeemakers hiss with head-clearing Cuban coffee at Fidel’s café; a puppeteer pulls strings to make her puppet paint a portrait of a little girl standing close by, sending her into squeals of disbelief. At Cuba Street’s night market, a persistent steampunk jewellery artist, a bookshop, and a paella stall tug at my heart and purse strings.

They say you can walk from one end of the Kiwi capital to the other in 30 minutes, and I do. The morning after, I book a tour with Seal Coast Safaris to look beyond the windy city. In just 20 minutes, Kent, my guide for the three-hour tour, drives the 4WD to a wind turbine on Brooklyn Hill, through private farmlands with ostrich and red deer. Soon, I see old mountains lick the waters of the South Coast. Wellington seems far away, and this place its rustic sibling—no golden sand beaches or sunbathers, no people at all.

Just the sea pummelling grey outcrops and hills that look a giant’s hairy back. When Kent stops along one of the beaches, at Tongue Point, I get out and—with a shock—realise I am surrounded by at least 15 New Zealand fur seals. Some look out at the robin’s-egg blue water. Others yawn as I tiptoe towards them, but begin hissing and spitting when I get too close. Two fur seals seem to be having a lovers’ tiff, smacking and flapping their flippers at each other. Another one scratches its neck and looks bored with their drama (www.sealcoast.com; tours from adults NZD125/Rs5,900, children 14 and under NZD62.5/Rs2,950).

A 1.5-hour drive southeast of Christchurch takes visitors to Akaroa, whose waters host the Hector’s dolphins—the world’s rarest and smallest. Don’t miss Akaroa’s other attraction: a whimsical sculpture garden with mosaic figures, the Giant’s House (inset). Photo Courtesy: Graeme Murray (dolphin), Photo by: Dennis Macdonald/ AgeFotostock/ Dinodia Photo Library (mosaic statues)

Roses bloom outside colonial homes in Rue Balguerie, and onion soup bubbles in old-timey cafés in nearby Rues. Iridescent paua shells mark some graves in the Old French Cemetery up the hill. I haven’t woken up in France, but it’s easy to forget that in the little town of Akaroa, a 1.5-hour drive away from Christchurch, South Island’s largest city.

Hewn from a volcano, Akaroa tucks charm in the little things—a walk to its lighthouse that watches over Caribbean-blue waters of the Banks Peninsula; stories of how French settlers arrived at its shores in 1840 only to find that the British had beaten them to it; or at the Giant’s House, a sculpture garden with Gaudi-like mosaics and Dali-esque whimsy.

Akaroa is catnip for another, significant reason—it is the home of the rare Hector’s dolphins, among the world’s smallest at five feet and endemic to New Zealand. When a Black Cat Cruise ship takes me and other visitors into the bay, cathedral-like coves and mystical orange-brown volcanic formations surround us. Seals scamper as our boat inches closer to the rockface. And then, as suddenly as they rose, the grey-black bodies of three Hector’s dolphins sink into the waters ahead of us. The boat stops, and a little girl beside me giggles every time the dolphins hiss and pop up like a jack-in-the-box of the sea. Our skipper points out their black dorsal fins—rounded, instead of pointed. Some cruises offer a chance to swim with Hector’s dolphins too (blackcat.co.nz; cruise NZD85/Rs4,015, children 5-15 NZD35/Rs1,650).

Flights between Delhi or Mumbai and New Zealand’s capital, Wellington—or Christchurch in South Island—require at least one layover in a gateway cities such as Sydney or Singapore. Dunedin is connected to Christchurch by regular domestic flights and two buses a day (6 hr; www.intercity.co.nz). Self-drive is the most popular way to travel within New Zealand. Indian travellers can apply for a New Zealand visa online (www.immigration.govt.nz). A month-long visa costs NZD246/Rs11,435 and is processed within 28 working days.

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nataliesnews · 7 years ago

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Misrachi Jews and the Holocaust 25.12.2017

Libyan Jews returning to Tripoli from Bergen-Belsen. Reproduction by Nir Keidar

Opinion Our passports were stamped 'Exit, with No Return': The real story of how Egypt expelled its Jews

Meet the self-styled Kendrick Lamar of Israeli poetry: A Romanian royal with dark family secrets

The Israelis helping rehabilitate disaster areas with honey

My grandfather was a very proud person. He uttered not a word about the Holocaust he endured in Libya; only once did I hear him talk about the renta, the reparations from Germany, which, by a cruel irony, began arriving a month after his mother died. I heard that his mother’s back had been broken in the camp and that from then on she was completely hunched over. So I also understood that there had been Nazis there.

At first, my family’s involvement in that incomprehensible event seemed to me improbable, and later negligible. At some point I started to explore the subject more deeply, and heard about the Giado camp, closed in by a barbed-wire fence, with wooden huts holding more than 300 people each. About 2,600 Libyan Jews were transported to the camp and subjected to forced labor. They suffered from hunger and disease, and were the victims of daily abuse. Many were murdered – 562 Jews died there – and dozens more were sent to death camps, notably Bergen-Belsen.

To this day, it remains unclear whether Giado was a ghetto, a forced-labor camp or a concentration camp. What can be said for certain is that there were many camps like Giado across North Africa. The echoes of war also reverberated in other Arab countries, such as Iraq, where pogroms and other violent incidents took place.

All this is part of the unknown story of the Jews of the Middle East during World War II – a story that is not part of the construct of the Holocaust experience in Israel. In a new book, Yvonne Kozlovsky Golan, who specializes in film history and teaches at the University of Haifa, seeks to understand why the Holocaust experience of these Jews is absent from Israeli media and art, and what this obliviousness signifies.

The idea for the book, “Forgotten from the Frame: The Absence of the Holocaust Experience of Mizrahim from the Visual Arts and Media in Israel” (published by Resling, in Hebrew), Dr. Kozlovsky Golan relates in an interview with Haaretz, arose when she realized that the Mizrahi (referring to Jews of North African or Middle Eastern origin) students she taught some years ago at Sapir Academic College in Sderot had no knowledge of the history of their communities, or even of their families, during the Holocaust period.

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“I sent them to ask their families,” she says. “Many of them discovered only then that their family had been in the Holocaust. Afterward, we started to look for testimonies, films, plays, television programs. Unfortunately, we didn’t find much.”

There is “deficient understanding,” she avers, with regard to North African Jewry as a whole, and in particular regarding its history during the Holocaust. This state of affairs has given rise to multiple difficulties in documenting, commemorating and representing the experience of the members of this community during World War II. Indeed, until recently the subject was not even taught in the Israeli education system, and effectively disappeared from public discourse. Something of a change occurred a few years ago, with the 2013 publication of “Benghazi-Bergen-Belsen,” by Yossi Sucary, which won the Brenner Prize awarded by the Hebrew Writers Association, and was also adapted for the stage. It was the first Israeli novel to tell the story of Libyan Jewry in the Holocaust. (The book is available in English translation.)

Kozlovsky Golan, for her part, describes the teaching of the Holocaust since Israel’s establishment as being driven by a stereotyping of the subject as an exclusively European “product” of suffering. Communities including North African Jewry were excluded because of the “obligation” to be absent “from a place which is in no way theirs,” as she puts it. In contrast to the horrors that were documented in Europe, the camps in which Jews were incarcerated in North Africa were barely filmed, and whatever photographic record there was lost or destroyed. This helps account for the fact that the image of the Holocaust in Israel and worldwide is very specifically one of a European prisoner in a striped uniform behind barbed wire.

“There were usually no fences in the North African camps,” explains Kozlovsky Golan. “The Jews were not transported in trains. They were put into horses’ stables and they spoke Arabic. The Jews of the East did not have an image that could be imagined. What was not photographed, documented or observed was therefore also not engraved on the collective consciousness.”

Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial in Jerusalem, took testimonies of Jewish survivors from North Africa, from the time the institution opened, in 1953, but it did not accord the survivors or their information proper treatment.

“Unfamiliarity with the culture, language and customs of North African Jewry led to a situation in which those who took the testimonies – most of whom were from Eastern Europe and some of whom were Israeli-born – did not understand in depth [the survivors’] manner of expressing themselves, their worldview or their perception of their identity,” Kozlovsky Golan notes. “They were not asked the right questions and they sensed that many of their stories were viewed disparagingly. The result was misunderstanding between the sides and ultimately an unbridgeable disconnect.”

The prejudices, the racism and the stereotyping with which the taking of the testimonies was fraught generated frustration and anger among the survivors, and above all, led again to the silencing of any real discussion of the North African Holocaust.

Artwork by Nava Barazani, 2011.Nava Barazani

A shocking example of the gaps of understanding that existed between the interviewers and the survivors concerns the rape of North African women in the Holocaust period.

Kozlovsky Golan: “In the communities of the East the rape of women is considered worse than murder. In addition, a conversation about this subject with an unfamiliar man is not self-evident. Thus, rape stories appear in the testimonies in an implied manner, along the lines of ‘They took all the girls.’ Or ‘All the girls were placed in the well’ ... In practice, North African survivors described sexual exploitation of Jewish women and even the establishment of a brothel in Mahdia, in Tunisia, under the management of a Jewish woman from Eastern Europe.”

Exclusion from memory

The mission of Yad Vashem, having been established with public funds, was to commemorate all the Jewish communities and the Jews murdered in the Holocaust. But until 2005, when a small memorial corner was created, the disaster of the North African communities was completely unrepresented.

“Similarly, the study of the Holocaust of North African Jewry, particularly at the start, was not carried out by Yad Vashem but by the Ben-Zvi Institute [which studies Jewish communities in the East],” Kozlovsky Golan observes. “This was as if to symbolize that the Holocaust undergone by these communities is part of the ongoing history of the Jews of the East, and not a phenomenon related to the history of mankind, as the Holocaust of European Jewry is considered to be.”

But exclusion from the collective memory was not confined to the official institutions of the state or academia. It also exists within the communities themselves and among their representatives in politics, culture, research and art, whether because of language disparities or because of the difficulties that the survivors – who lacked political, economic and social clout – faced in Israel.

Yossi Sucary.Tomer Appelbaum

Kozlovsky Golan says that, “On the official website of Tunisian Jewry there are arguments about whether what happened to the Jews of Tunisia should be considered part of the Holocaust or as pogroms. Are they ‘survivors’ or ‘victims of persecution’? Others doubt that the Holocaust extended to Tunisia and they deplore the attempt to draw an unjust comparison between the Holocaust of North Africa’s Jews and the Holocaust of Europe’s Jews.”

The overwhelming response of North African Jews to their Holocaust experience was silence, or more accurately, silences. According to Kozlovsky Golan, “Some of the Jews were silent as a reaction to personal and public loss and bereavement; others kept silent as an act of protest or due to an inability to come to terms with the violent experience they endured. Still others were silent as part of a strategy of capitulation, deriving from the hope that everything would pass with time.”

Kozlovsky Golan also attributes the silences to mentality: “Among Mizrahi Jewry, it was not customary to speak of the dead. Notions such as ‘Ili fath math’ [“What’s past is dead”] were rife, although the dead were always referred to in the synagogue,” she says. “Furthermore, a mentality of compassion and modesty prompted many survivors to keep their stories to themselves in order to give the platform to European Jewry.”

Kozlovsky Golan also attributes some of the responsibility for this to Mizrahi politicians who came to power in Israel starting in 1977 and who, she says, “have done nothing for the sake of the memory of their communities.” This includes figures from the ultra-Orthodox Shas party, who have long had key positions in local politics, but “effectively have eradicated the memory of the war.” Additional responsibility devolves on Mizrahi intellectuals (such as the leaders of the Sephardi Democratic Rainbow, past and present), who, she says, “overlaid the story of the Arab Jew onto Mizrahi Jews, but did not address the Holocaust of those Jews or their Zionist activity.”

In her book, however, Kozlovsky Golan does mention Israeli artists who have dealt with the Holocaust of North African Jewry. “After all my searches, I found only three Mizrahi artists who addressed the subject: Joseph Dadon, Itzik Badash and Nava Barazani,” she relates. “Dadon, for example, depicts in one of his works the lives of the Jews in suitcases. In his film ‘Zion,’ he portrays the Holocaust as a colossal cyclicality that befalls the Jewish people from the East and from the West, through the story of Zion, which is portrayed by [the late actress] Ronit Elkabetz.” Badash’s work is about Libyan mourners in Israel, more specifically his grandmother, who lost seven members of her family.

Nava Barazani, who in 2016 became the first female Mizrahi artist to have her work exhibited in the Yad Vashem Museum, transformed the testimony of her mother, who was incarcerated in Giado as a girl, into paintings accompanied by a text.

“Barazani’s work was the first to deal with the Holocaust of North African Jewry to explicitly use the word ‘Holocaust,’” Kozlovsky Golan relates. “More than Dadon and Badash, her work is direct and focused on her mother’s experiences in Libya, which includes the forced labor of the father and the death of her grandmother and her grandmother’s three younger sisters. In another case, which was engraved in the memory of the mother as a girl, a woman sat on the floor breast-feeding her baby, and a soldier arrived and cut off her breast and shot her. The characteristics of Barazani’s work are saliently of the Holocaust, and the protagonists of her work are the German soldier, the Kapo, hunger and martyrdom.”

Kozlovsky Golan hasn’t yet concluded her research and is planning to publish another volume, which will deal with artwork done in Europe on the theme of the Holocaust of Mizrahi Jews. “Greater awareness of the subject is developing among the young generation of political activists and among some Knesset members,” she says. Her hope is that the subject will receive more recognition and visibility among the Israeli public – while there are still survivors among the living.

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yolky-slimes-archival · 9 months ago

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Pt: Honey*slimic :End Pt

HONEY*SLIMIC : A gender connected to, affected by, or otherwise related to the Secret Style Pack’s Honey Slime from Slime Rancher.

#In post image Id #No alt text #Slimic #*Slimic #Umbrella: Gender(s)#Related: Slime(s)#Related: Secret style(s)#Related: Honey slime(s)#Related: Royal jelly secret style

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sophiecentralnewsagency-blog · 7 years ago

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David Chac: A Revolutionary of Finest Caliber

The dreams of our 40,000-year Neanderthalid people have finally consummated in a man born of the Heavens unto a seemingly humble estate in Philadelphia’s inner-city, gifted with a rhetorical intelligence and a K-selection allowing for a permanent perserveration of such talents even if initially to slowly mature as is true to the hypermale way. David’s Siberian-Mongolian, Ukranian-Slavonic, and High-Celtid prestiges had been the racial pathways to converge into one compass, the Hypermale Sigil, the coat of arms he bears on the shield of his battle-horse against neurodiversitarian igninanimity!

Chac’s blood is of purest blood, of Mount Asper inspiration blood, the bloodline described in Aspergian Socialism is a Science; he is the generallisimo responsible for the formative foundation of our theory.

Chac’s autobiography is thus:

A perpetual underachiever at school until his mid-teenaged years, he arose to become highest ranking in literary, comparative religious philosophical, and debating-team classes by Grade 8. His IQ was tested borderline-retarded at the age of 4 1/2 (85, with a strong visuospatial bias as to be expected by the racial correlates outlined above), unfairly taking into account r/K differentials making his maturation slow; we can safely say, certainly in the departments of philosophical and artistic intelligence, that he is a genius, as is resplendently obvious in his works.

He is an intellectual of a character unparalleled even by the Kims, for, whilst they had the benefit of a culture to acculturate and be acculturated by, he had to construct one entirely from blueprint, and a prestige, mythology, ethos, history, ethical-moral philosophy, and so forth, for the entire Aspergian school of thought, independent of Eden’s bastard concoction of neurodiversity, from scratch, starting in the 2000s. He had modelled it loosely on Mongoloid civilizations from times past, feeling it a racial fit for the proclivities of our people, to which end Cde. Sophie is in accord.

David Chac had mastered Bertrand Russel’s philosophical and fictional-scientific works at 6th grade, inspiring his writing style. He had spent his youth hobbies memorizing Catholic catchetism to which he had great youthful conviction, later moving to Pauline sect scripture per the alternative-Christian Identitarian sects, read back to forth all of Pierce’s works and listened to all of Pierce’s sermons on White Nationalist preservation, familiarized himself with all major writers of the American Renaissance such as Jared Taylor, Eugene Valberg, etc., from a young age, effectively completing his White Nationalist philosophical and historical education 6 grades earlier than graduation, allowing him to compete in a literary competition in Philadelphia in 8th grade, and gain first prize for his rhetorical rigour even if his neuromasculine style was undervalued by the incipient educational feminism growing in the system; he almost lost it to a neurotypical femalewhore’s fiction undeservingly, until a panel-judge had a change of heart owing to the learning of David’s Aspergian and thus, neurally persecuted status.

David’s victories are divine victories, David’s strategies are divine strategies; the spiritual drape of the flags fluttering atop Mount Asper are on his side.

Upon graduation, and David, despite not getting pat-on-the-back Honour roll like the intellectual invalid Chris-chan, did leave with AP Literature and AP American History under his belt both in the second-highest band grades available, as well as doing normal Honour-stream literary classes and getting the highest grade for his year, he had enrolled in a Comparative Religious Philosophy Bachelor’s degree at Montgomery Community College, only to complete 3 months owing to the errant responsibility of a corrupt neurotypical Hispaniard lecturer who had DARVO’d upon him the onus for textbooks the lecturer failed to deliver despite Chac’s payment. Nevertheless, he felt it his duty to memorize the textbooks he did receive -- enough for most classes in the two semester’s of that year, and so, effectively, in the Eugene Valberg definition of skill acquisition and not the Cuntster talisman definition of the ‘certificiate hurrhurr’, had done one year’s worth -- for reference’s and prestige’s stake, dare neurodiversitarian conditions improved enough to return to education.

They never did, allowing him to embark on his path of lifelong ideological struggle. He had expanded into Marxism and its subschools (Engels, even the dreaded Trotsky, dabbling into neo-Marxist schools before he could stomach the aberrosexual-apologism no more), Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, and other Russian existentialists and political theorists like Marxist’s contemporary enemy Bakunin, to which David took a real like to anti-work-for-work’s-sake stances; he did indeed come across Juche independently of the author, reading Kim Il-Sung’s initial seminar before Juche as a term was coined (a lengthy and not necessarily unchallenging piece if brief on grandiloquence); upon later discussion, we had found ourselves enamoured in our mutual inspiration by Juche. Later, he had learned the Dao, Confucian classics, part of neo-Confucian classics donated to him by Vietnamese neighbours, and once, we’d opened up together a copy of Mao’s “Little Red Book” only to laugh at the incongruence and logical inferiority of such neurofeminine aphorisms -- we’d written him off as a neurofemale.

Still, both Maoist and early-Soviet conceptions of womanhood as hypermale appealed to us nevertheless, so that little about these strands influenced Aspergian thought, probably most prominently.

First-wave feminism, then, is effectively a principle of Aspergian thought, contrary to Cuntster’s proclamation of “misogynist” beliefs; the Aspergian thinkers have matured in their stance of women somewhat, although ultimately maintain traditional lines on role for purely functional as opposed to traditionality’s sake’s purpose.

Aspergian women are placed prime emphasis in Aspergian society, not only owing to reproductive role and placement of reproductive prestige even if unwanted for the sake of increasing the Aspergian number alone, but in their role as investors of the kind of ideological care requisite to forming future generations of Aspergian womanhood in the style of Aspergian femininity.

David Chac once remarked,

“if neurotypical women are women because they are shit*, Aspergian women are women because they are as if flowers** had bloomed from a rock.”

*owing to their love for coprophagia as was established by both ourselves **sex-aversion is universal, irrespective of libido, owing to sensory reservations, and as such is why LagoonaBlue should be regarded suspicious owing to its promiscuous record

Aspergian women are milk and honey, prime and place in our ideology.

David Chac recognized the struggles of Aspergian women from early on.

He had brought into his household a neglected high-Celtid (French) one of high-Songbun rank in American society, a congressional lawyer’s daughter, for a while before becoming homeless. (Name undisclosed for security reasons and due to potential legal repercussions; c. 2014~16 relationship length.) She was drugged with numerous neuroleptics and antidepressants and had been given hopelessness of autonomy, her overbearing parents contributing to a suicidality they never took seriously. Ah, ever compassionate David with his loving arms, ever desired something to fix-up with his Aspergian problem solving keen! David’s sexual status, virility, selectivity viability and honour, is proven in that he attracted such woman of high caliber, if in circumstances of desperation he himself was anxious to alleviate.

Higher than anything LagoonaBlue brought home from the bushes of the Glaswegian ghetto, a fellow special-school attendee of some pathetic description still in the memory of the author from PULL. How should she be wihae Atpoejanguiuichonyeo? (Great Aspergian woman?). Her disgrace of a pig mother has been disclosed of secrets but in the author’s respect, even if she (yes, myself) disdains LagoonaBlue’s selectivity choices, won’t divulge them until a proper slight occurs as an assurance of trust, relating to the circumstance.

Chac’s aspirations to family were destroyed when this petit Frenchwoman of highest nobilid forebrain and research-savantry aiding considerably in Chac’s newer, unpublished writings, had departed, leaving him devoid of the income to maintain his new tenancy in an upscale part of Philadelphia, leaving him vagabond for the due course. TREACHERY OF THE GREATEST SORT OF TREASON BY AN ASPERGIAN WOMAN, and what deferential cowardice does it show...

His aspirations to family are renewed in the planned creation of multi-generational, globally networked, Aspergian royal family of various high-end Eurasiatic blood-strands. Chac-Park has been planned in the immediate term (matrilinical and patrlinical names both preserved per normal custom in typical aristocracies) securing the agreement of his sister to serve surrogate, whilst Chac trains the offspring emerging; Chac-Thomson will be a longer-term project, and will require numerous negotiations and perhaps even evasion from the Scottish state, given its preference for neurofeminine songbun, to be explained in an upcoming article about “The NHS’s Royal Court Economy”.

This has been part 1 of a David Chac documentary series, to be podcasted at a future date.

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maier-files · 8 years ago

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New Post has been published on The Maier Files

New Post has been published on http://the.maier-files.com/secret-in-anjou/

A secret in Anjou

Deeper levels and meanings in tales not only transcend time, they also cross continents and cultures. These links and hidden meanings one can find best in original local tradition and folklore. One such link is the original French myth of Melusine, whose name is associated with honey. Her story recalls the Indian tradition whereby the royal lineage claimed to come from serpent deities. A theme that reoccurs in more than one folktale in the world.

The story goes that the Count of Anjou, who had links with the Templars, was unmarried and lonely. (One who’s familiar with the original poem of Wolfram von Eschenbach “Parzival” knows that the knight Parzival spoke of his father and his lineage from the house of Anjou.)

[vc_row][vc_column width=’1/3′][/vc_column][vc_column width=’2/3′] In Syria, long before the Holy Wars, lived king Gandin of Anjou whose ancestral home was faraway France. Gandin had a son named Gahmuret, a bold and adventurous knight who feared no adversary, but excelled especially in wooing women and avoiding penance for his lustful ways.[/vc_column][/vc_row][vc_separator type=’transparent’ position=’center’ color=” thickness=” up=” down=”]

One day the lonely Count of Anjou mysteriously brought home a beautiful woman called Melusine. They married and were very happy. Melusine was kind, and a good mother, and the people loved her even though no one knew anything about her background. However, one thing about her confused the people: although she attended church on Sunday, she never took the Eucharist – the ‘body’ and ‘blood’ of Christ.

When this was brought to the Count’s attention he ordered his guards to ensure that she stayed for the whole service and took the Eucharist. The next Sunday, Melusine attempted to excuse herself from the church just before the Eucharist, but the guards stopped her and, just as the priest was about to administer the holy rite, she let out a loud shriek, turned into a dragon and took off with her two children.

This is a very bizarre story indeed. Where did its various elements come from, and where did the Count find this mysterious woman? We have no clear answer to this.

And why did Melusine turn into a dragon? Could this be, as suggested earlier, a link with the Eastern tradition that the royal lineage has ‘serpent blood’ in its veins, the same storyline as in India?

Could it be that Melusine’s refusal to take the Eucharist is only a Christian addition to the story to reinforce the belief that the dragon/serpent is evil? Predates the original story Christian times, or is it that she herself is the ‘body’ and ‘blood’ of the resurrecting serpent god, in which case to take the Eucharist would be for her as eating herself? It remains a very strange folk tale, whatever its original meaning may be! One further point, however: it is said that the children of Melusine went on to be part of the royal lineage of Europe.

There is another level in this story, a hidden secret one.

Different writers tell us that the Count of Anjou and the Anjou family was also intricately linked with the Grail and it was written that the count was in possession of a profound secret. The historical René d’Anjou, an alleged Grand Master of the now infamous secret society known as the Prieuré de Sion, is said to have owned a Grail-style cup inscribed with the inscription ‘He who drinks deeply will see God. He who drinks it all in a single gulp will see God and the Magdalene.’ In the Melusine story, the Count of Anjou went out in his sadness and came back with Melusine, a ‘dragon/serpent being’, who fled the church. Could this be an allegory?

The Celts and Germanic people had been poor recorders of their history, for they were inclined to pass on their traditions orally from bard or minnesinger to initiate. Then the Church came along and started to write things down, even Pagan beliefs, thus giving us some kind of insight into the past. Now, due to this mild preservation of original culture, we are sometimes able to look back and discern certain myths, even beneath their Christian overlay.

The greatest contribution that the Celts made to the Grail quest was the addition of the concept we now know as the ‘chalice’. Although in all cultures there had to be a container for the true Grail, it was not until the coming together of Christianity from the eastern Mediterranean and the Pagan Celtic fertility religion of north-western Europe that the sacred vessel took on such great significance. We can thank the very ancient idea of the cauldron for this. Although the cauldron is by no means uniquely sacred to the Celts and Germanics, but certainly it is in Celtic culture that all the related concepts are brought together.

Still many questions, many enigma’s …

#Anjou #grail #hidden treasure #Holy Grail #mystery #occult #sacred #secret

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infinitehouseofbooksya · 8 years ago

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BLITZ - The Secrets of Eden

The Secrets of Eden by Brandon Goode Genre: YA Fantasy Release Date: March 18th 2017 Summary from Goodreads: When Eden discovers he possesses forbidden magic, keeping his affair with the crown prince a secret becomes the least of his worries. Eden has always obeyed the laws of Rolaria. He spends his days teaching children how to read in order to distract him from his mother’s bizarre disappearance. She worked in the castle before suddenly vanishing, and when Eden mistakenly receives an invitation to the Royal Ball, he goes to feel closer to her. That same night, Prince Jared must find a bride. But after an unexpected encounter between Eden and the prince, a relationship begins. After a night with the prince, Eden explores the castle on his own. Lost in the corridors, he stumbles upon a hidden room and finds his mother’s journal, whose pages reveal a lineage of outlawed magic. He soon realizes the castle walls not only hide his romance with Jared but secrets about his mother’s disappearance. In order to unravel the mystery and understand his awakening abilities, Eden must risk exposing his relationship and thwarting Jared’s chances to rule Rolaria. The closer Eden gets to the truth, the closer he finds himself facing the same fate as his mother.

Pre-Order Link: Amazon

EXCERPT:

I arrived at the ball with no help from a fairy godmother, no pumpkin carriage at my disposal, and certainly no glass slippers on my feet. The clock struck at half past eleven while serenading music emanated from the room as a chamber orchestra played a familiar composition. Being from the impoverished side of the kingdom, I wouldn’t usually attend a masquerade ball, but somehow a royal invitation arrived at the front door of my cottage.

In the Kingdom of Rolaria, there were strict laws forbidding us lower class citizens associating ourselves with the upper class. It had been said since the beginning, Rolaria would be frozen in time. The penalty for breaking any of the kingdom laws was death or a lifetime in prison. In any case, I was already at the ball so if the invitation was delivered to me by mistake or coincidence it was too late.

After giving my coat to one of the royal doormen, I proceeded toward the dance floor where I saw the King’s Waltz already in progress. I arrived alone and couldn’t participate in the graceful dance. The king and queen were at the center of the dance floor, boasting their mediocre dancing skills to all of their admiring guests. Taking advantage of this affair, I made my way to the banquet tables where all of the delicious food was residing.

Two roasted ducks served as the centerpiece for the lavish feast. Blue sweet potatoes sat next to the golden corn, and squared briberry dinner muffins were neighbors with the tangy kimberry sauce. Sweet little dessert pastries were sprinkled throughout the table so that guests did not have to fight over them in one location. To the east of the buffet tables were two sets of double doors that opened out into the castle garden and to the west were seating areas to enjoy your plate of delicious goods.

The last meal I had like the feast before my eyes was the one my mother prepared for me before she disappeared. Every evening she would prepare a grand feast of chicken breast with two fixings that we would share, but one night was different. She prepared more than just the usual chicken breast. She prepared a turkey that evening for our dinner. She encouraged me to begin eating without her because she had important business to attend to that wouldn’t keep her long, but she never returned.

My mother vanished when I was ten years old, and my father ran away with a woman from the market before I was born. I grew up in a cottage in the kingdom marketplace with my mother. Growing up, she would always tell me stories about princes who fought dragons and saved the day, fairies, and other magical things. At the end of every tale she would say, “No matter who you are or where you come from, everyone has a story that should be told. Why not go out and make yours a remarkable one?”

My mother always made sure I never lacked anything while growing up. She was able to sneak me books from her job within the castle and taught me reading, writing, and arithmetic. If my mother were here, she would’ve forced me to attend this ball. There was nothing more interesting to partake in this evening, other than teaching young children in the marketplace how to read.

The King’s Waltz finally ended, and everyone began socializing. I overheard conversations about the royal prince and when he would marry and, if so, to whom. At a side table, there sat a few gossiping women in identical bird masks, talking about the king’s numerous extramarital affairs he had with his maids. This was the typical talk I assumed happened at balls, so I nodded to seem interested although I felt out of place. My eyes searched around the room to escape the remedial conversations and to admire the costumes being worn by all of the guests.

I was surrounded by extravagant colors such as ivory and lavender on my left, and on my right the colors of peach, olive, and cream circled in socialization. There was a slender woman sporting a skin-tight green silk gown with a golden wire masquerade mask. Her slim figure and costume choice reminded me of a green tree python. Royal army men wore black masks with their scarlet uniforms. When they would group together it portrayed the image of a sea of rose petals, fighting across the current of the dance floor.

Everyone was dressed in some of the best clothes I’d ever seen. I was definitely out of place. My costume was made from drapes I stole from the marketplace bookstore. They were black with golden lace and white pinstripes. I made my mask from one of the white lace dresses my mother used to wear so a piece of her would be with me tonight.

“Are you Thaddeus?” a drunken gentleman who wore a harlequin mask asked me from behind. It startled me, but I didn’t want to be rude. I turned around to introduce myself.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not Thaddeus. I’m...I’m…”, I paused before I told him my name. I feared that I could be identified from the marketplace, and I could be kicked out of the ball or even punished. But then I remembered that he was drunk and he would probably forget it in a matter of seconds. “My name is Eden.”

My mother told me that my name was one of the most creative and appealing in the entire kingdom. Every other boy in the kingdom was named something like Lancelot, Arthur or Charles. They were named after heroes that set out to make a name for themselves with impossible feats.

“Eden? I think I have heard that name somewhere before. Are you related to the Micklen family by chance?”

“No, sir. I’m not.” Nervously I readjusted my mask to make sure my face was not recognizable. Wasn’t he supposed to be drunk?

“Oh, I did not mean to bother you, young man. I thought you looked like someone I knew. I will be on my way now. By any chance have you seen any of the champagne being served tonight? I would love another drink. I feel like a fish out of water.” he said with a drunken grin. I pointed toward the end of the buffet tables where the champagne was being poured, and he skipped his way to another glass.

After my exchange with the drunkard and with sudden dizziness from the gaudy costumes I made my exit to the garden. I’d never been inside the castle before but I needed air, and the garden seemed to be the best place to go catch my breath and rest for a minute.

Stepping out into the garden, the aroma of jasmine and lilies permeated the air and struck my nose with a gentle kiss. Beautiful cherub inspired sculptures and two large fountains called the garden home. Looking around, I noticed different types of flowers were planted in a design that paid tribute to the royal family’s crest of white, lavender and green.

“It’s magnificent isn’t it?” A voice startled me from behind.

“Why it is one of the most magnificent gardens I have ever seen. You must have read my mind,” I replied without turning around.

“Why are you out here by yourself? Why aren’t you inside with the other guests dancing and parading around?”

“I just needed some air, but I was going to go back inside soon.” realizing that my response might sound insulting, “The ball is very wonderful, but I wanted to escape for a few minutes to admire this garden.”

The lie escaped from my mouth to cover up the truth that I really did not belong in there; hopefully, this inquirer would believe me. Quickly turning around to see the stranger, I was shocked at what I saw; this mysterious gentleman was handsome.

He was about a foot taller than me with straight brown hair styled over his forehead and down onto his mask. His skin was like milk mixed with a pinch of cinnamon and some honey, which gave him a rich complexion. The bone structure of his face was sharp with his defined jaw line. He had slight stubble prickling out, and his nose was slender and raised at the tip making it the perfect shape. He flashed a short smile from behind his full lips, and his amber eyes became illuminated in the mystical moonlight. I could tell this gentleman was established from his exquisite white and silver costume, and the mask that covered the top of his face was lined with diamonds. He stood with his arms folded tapping his foot. He then started to shift his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do I know you? You look like someone who has played a game of royal chess with me.”

“I don’t believe so. I’m new to the kingdom,” I lied again.

“Ahh, I see. There aren’t that many young gentlemen at this ball, so what brings you here?”

“I received an invitation from the royal messenger, and I try not to disappoint people so I came.” I smiled because I could feel his eyes trying to hypnotize me. They were staring right into mine and the moonlight gave them a celestial gleam.

I started to walk back inside to escape this stranger, but he stuck out his arm blocking the doorway back inside. His attractiveness was leaving me defenseless to his questions and my escape back into the ball would have been the quickest exit.

“Don’t leave yet. We’ve just started to get to know each other. I rarely talk to people in this kingdom because they seem so mundane, but, looking in your eyes, I feel that you are different. So, don’t leave so soon. I may be making a new friend.” He then looked into my eyes again, and, this time, I felt drawn to this mysterious gentleman. We both reached out our hands to go for a handshake, but my hand fell short and his hand brushed the top of mine.

When our hands brushed there was a spark, and I knew from that moment, this mysterious stranger would possibly become something more than a friend to keep me company at the ball.

“I’m sorry. I’m normally good at these things. I know how to shake hands and introduce myself. I don’t know why my hand didn’t quite meet yours.”

“It’s okay, and no need for apologies.” His lips curled into a grin, and I could tell he was thinking of something by the way his eyes started to wander.

“Okay, so why are you out here in the garden talking with me instead of inside enjoying the ball?” I questioned, attempting to throw off whatever he was thinking.

“To be completely honest, I needed to get away. There are just so many people, and I wanted to avoid my parents, so why not slip outside? Then all of a sudden a drunken man approached me and said he spotted someone from the marketplace among the guests in the party, and suggested I check it out. The only issue with that is this is a masquerade ball, so how would I be able to identify this attendee? Anyways, none of that is important.”

“That’s understandable. I, too, had a run in with the drunkard.” I nervously laughed. I was glad that he paid no attention to the drunkard’s words of an uninvited guest. I noticed that he was situating himself closer to me. If anyone else tried to get close to me I would have run away by now, but for some reason, this felt different. He was taking baby steps thinking that I wouldn’t notice, but I caught on to his movements. The moon that was playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds all night finally decided to reveal itself. When the moon was out completely, I noticed that the stranger’s features were ten times better than when they appeared in the shade.

“You know what they say about the moonlight and two people?” he asked, and I felt puzzled. I didn’t have a clue as to what he was talking about. I’ve never heard anything about two people and moonlight. Was this something important that only certain people knew around the kingdom?

“I don’t know what they say. Would you care to enlighten me?”

He then flashed that notorious smile of his and quickly leaned in close right before our noses were going to meet and whispered, “They kiss in the moonlight.”

Before I could react to his answer, he grabbed my shoulders and kissed me. Our lips met as if they were hungry animals going in for a kill, and I became intoxicated. The kiss didn’t last long, but I was now hooked onto this mysterious friend I had made.

After the kiss, I was silent from shocked passion, and my words couldn’t formulate properly in my head. The stranger analyzed my paralysis and he looked worried.

“I hope I did not frighten you, it just felt like it was the right thing to do.” He then began to pull me in closer to him, and our eyes met again.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “I trust you for some reason, and oddly, it felt fitting to me, as well.” I’d never kissed a stranger before, but it seemed right.

“I lied to you earlier.” he looked at me nervously, “The reason I’m in the garden is because I saw you come out here. I saw you when you made your entrance into the ball and I had to introduce myself. You arrived alone, and I took it as a sign that you don’t belong to anyone so I acted on my instincts to talk to you before tonight was over. I also noticed your slight dismissal of the King’s Waltz, and I have to admit that I don’t care for it either.” His eyes were locked in on mine, and I could feel him trying to convince me not to leave.

“Well, thank you. I’m charmed. No one has ever said that to me before. I guess I should tell you my name?” I wondered if he would care that I was from the marketplace instead of coming from wealth like him. Would he run away from me after knowing the truth about who I was?

“Not just yet, I do like the mystery between us. Something about this mystery makes our meeting more interesting. It’s like fate brought us together tonight and led into the garden where the moon would bless our meeting.” His words were soothing and everything that he said sounded like pure perfection.

“If you don’t want to know just yet I guess our identities can be a secret for quite some time longer.”

He then took my hand and led me to a bench that sat closer to one of the fountains in the garden. We spent almost an hour talking about the evening and where we hoped our connection would go. The evening started off isolated and confusing then somehow turned into something special. Who knew that coming to a masquerade ball would end with such a lovely encounter?

Suddenly, I heard the king cry out from inside, drunk and slurring. “Jared! Jared!” I had never met the prince, but from the way the king was yelling I could tell he probably always avoided his father. “Jared! There is someone in here I would like you to meet! Jared!” In my time with the stranger, talking in the beautiful garden, I had forgotten where I was. I was at a ball. It sounded like the king wanted to show him off to a lovely young lady he’d found sitting alone inside. “Jared! Where are you hiding?” The king was known for being loud and boisterous, and if I were his son I’m pretty sure I would try to disappear when he was drunk as well.

I felt my handsome stranger begin to move, and I started putting this puzzle of an evening together. He gently removed himself from my side, stood in front of me and casually removed his mask. For some reason, it felt as if my eyes were playing a cruel trick on me or I was in some sort of sick dream because the friend that I had made now stood before me with all of his mystery gone. The man who stood before me was none other than Prince Jared.

Jared was the prince that all of the women and their daughters swooned over. The gentleman every little girl in the kingdom said they were going to marry when they’re older. There were rumors that he was a womanizer, and that he only took pleasure in taking advantage of girls he courted. After our little garden session and the kiss, I assumed that girls never interested him, and these were just silly stories gossips created about him. I couldn’t believe I kissed Prince Jared. What would his parents think if they found out? They threw the ball in hopes of finding him a beautiful bride. The king and queen were known for trying to set him up with some young girl. This was the third ball they held this year.

Here stood the prince before me, no longer mysterious. He flashed his smile that I swooned over and promised me, “I’ll return as soon as I can. Do you see why I was trying to avoid them? They enjoy embarrassing me in front of guests. Please don’t go anywhere; I want to get to know you more. I promise that I will return, so please don’t leave the ball without me coming back to see you. ”

Prince Jared dashed away as quickly as I could blink. I heard the crowd from inside applaud when he made his royal appearance of the evening. The room quickly went back to their business, I assumed, because the orchestra started playing again.

So, here I sat on a cold bench in the castle garden, surrounded by cherub statues waiting alone in the moonlight for the prince to return to me. What would my mother have thought of this meeting? Was this where she saw my life story going? I was the only one masked away in mystery, with many questions crossing my mind and not knowing how this night would change the rest of our lives. Who knew what the gossips would say about him now?

About the Author

Brandon Goode grew up in the small beach town of Melbourne, Florida. He attended Eastern Florida State College and Florida International University. He has written for publications such as Florida Today, Florida International University Student Media, and the Disney Internships and Programs Blog. Brandon loves motivating and inspiring others, enjoys traveling, and eats an insanely amount of sushi every chance he gets. Oh, and he is obsessed with all things on the Bravo network.

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