#Self indulgent but that's his aunt your honor

[darling-has-a-smol-heart]

GUYS THE NEW TAILSTUBE

I love you so much you silly animals.

Tails and Rouge were a highlight for me. Being menaces together, bothering Knuckles (poor boy), and him hiding behind her when shadow appears!!!!

LOOK AT THESE CREATURES

[plantdonutwrites]

💙 tmnt vday prompts · week 01 · leomin (leo x min-ji)

hello! it’s me again and i am PARTICIPATING and talking about ocs and ships and things I seldom ever talk about in public. WELL. here goes nothing.

1. in which tmnt universe does your pairing exist?

the 2003 animated series, also known as the series that has my entire heart.

2. introduce us to your otp.

well, you guys already know leo, of course. but this young lady here is min-ji seong! she’s a korean-american high school student who lives in new york city. she’s a pianist, but she also writes songs and plays the acoustic guitar. when she was eleven, she was in the subway when a bombing ‘incident’ happened and lost half of her left arm; she now has a cybernetic prosthetic. she’s a warm and empathetic person with a dash of trauma and skittishness.

3. how did they meet?

it’s a whole... thing, but they meet when leo and his brothers investigate the foot going into a building one night that ended up being min-ji’s aunt’s boutique, and she was working the closing shift when she was attacked and was either going to be abducted or murdered by the foot soldiers. you know the drill, though: our boys show up, take some names and beat up the bad guys, and the day is saved. for the moment, anyway. min-ji ended up being in the foot’s and the purple dragon’s cross hairs by no fault of her own... but that’s a story for another time.

4. how is the relationship now?

after upwards of two years of being friends (and pining), they eventually start dating and for the most part is great and wholesome and cute and very healthy. they’re very insightful and attentive to one another and feel safe in each other’s company. they both have their traumas and shortcomings, but fortunately are pretty good communicators, so any bigger issues between them are often immediately addressed and short lived.

5. what is each other’s love language?

words of affirmation and quality time are very big for the both of them, in both receiving and giving. acts of service is also present in the two of them, but not as prominent.

6. do they get married or have any kids?

no and no. the future is pretty uncertain, especially since min-ji has ambitions of becoming a professional musician of some kind, and who knows where that will take her. but for now they have each other and are fully committed to that, and that’s enough.

7. what is your favorite thing about this pairing? (gush as much as you want!)

oh, THIS is going under a cut.

leo got to be a first person witness in min-ji's growth and healing with her low self esteem, self worth, and also her traumas. and he is so, so proud of her and genuinely feels honored that he's gotten to be a part of her life and see her overcome obstacles of all kinds. he admires her inner strength and how all of her experiences haven't left her cold (like it had once done to him). She is continuously recovering from past experiences, learning how to defend herself and stand up for herself, and shows kindness to people even when they don't deserve it. not to mention she bonds significantly with his family--becoming close friends with raph, being a beam of support for don, and being silly with mikey and occasionally indulging in his mischief and playfulness. he appreciates that she cares deeply for his family and he wishes he could get to know her family in the same way.

on min-ji's part: when they first met and during the period of time where they were still getting to know one another, leo (intentionally or unintentionally) offered min-ji a lot of stability and a sense of safety that she didn't have in her life for a while, and she clutched onto it for dear life. she has always found him to be a calming, but strong presence, who was always gentle and hyper aware of her mood and her verbal and physical expressions of emotions and thoughts, which was like a breath of fresh air for her. min-ji finds leo easy to talk to and express herself with, even with difficult or embarrassing topics. learning more about his and his family’s past (especially with what happened at the end of season 3 and throughout the first half of season 4) made her even more sympathetic to them, and she admires how he was able to heal from those events as well. all in all, they’ve had intense roads to individual recovery and they found one another along the way, which is beautiful.

thanks for reading! 💙

credits!

· tmnt vday prompts

· tmnt otp meme

· art by @redstringraven​ (used with permission, thankie muchly)

[sos-im-bored]

Eliza's eyes watched Sonny as he moved around looking for whatever. She gently took the book as it was handed to her, her fingers lightly traced over the edges of the book before opening it up. Her fingers gently traced over her uncles handwriting, a small smile on her face at the little reminder of her uncle. She listened to Sonny, her eyes skimmed over the words on the page and took note of what they said but they didn't feel nearly as important as the fact that her uncle had written these words. Eliza had felt vastly lonely since her uncle died, even if she didn't see him too often she grew up getting love and attention from him and his wife. It was most of the love she got as a child.

Was Eliza surprised to hear that Sonny was attracted to both genders? No. Was she surprised to hear he was in a relationship? No. The only thing that was surprising was that there was two of them and even then it was only mildly shocking. Her aunt and uncle had raised Sonny to believe he could have whatever he wanted so she wasn't shocked to hear he was self-indulgent. The small cracks in her rigid facade were quickly gone as a wave of indifference washed over her face as Sonny kept talking. She slowly closed the book before gently setting it on the table in front of her. She slowly stood straight, her posture was picture perfect, "I'm glad you feel special, your majesty ." She started calmly before giving him a very deep, perfect bow. "My father will be in contact soon. Please have a response for him then." she returned to her previous stage before going to leave, not waiting to be dismissed. In her heart she understood where Sonny was coming from but Eliza knew the shitstorm that would happen if someone were to find out that Sonny was seeing multiple people and if they were married it would only come at her and her dignity and honor. Sonny not caring was just about the most brutal slap in the face and she wasn't feeling very willing to discuss any more.

Unable to Rule | Closed

Continued from here

@sos-im-bored

"Yeah, they're all good eggs. They're really good at asking and their manners." Sonny said with a grin. He really appreciated the staff. So many of them were like family to him. Some of them had been there for his whole life here and without them he'd be even more lost than he already was. Esepically at the moment. He was somewhat floundering around without the slightest direction or organisation to everything.

In fact, every point Eliza was telling him was completely true. Sonny knew that he was scattered, late and didn't have the manners that a king was expected to act. But he was honest, he was fair and kind. It was his better qualities that had got him in favour. "You're right, Eli." Sonny said without hesitation with a shrug. "I'm all those things. And honestly I know that. But that's okay. Everyone isn't good at everything." He seemed more than relaxed about the situation. But that really was because he didn't want to freak out in front of everyone.

"We both know your father isn't going to let you be Duke though. He'd rather you marry off than be Duke. If it's not me, then it'll be someone who doesn't know you or even gives a shit about you." Sonny said gently. He crossed his legs on his chair and offer her a smile. "But why be a Duke when you can be a queen. It's a higher title, it has more responsibility and we both know you'd be bad ass as a queen. Imagine how fucking good you'd look with a crown. And I mean a proper crown, not some fancy looking tiara shit." Sonny took a breath, he probably wasn't convincing her with these points but saying them was easier to manage his thoughts. "But in seriousness, I want a queen that's equal and rules with me. Not beneath me like all that backwards shit. I want a queen that is more than just a figure. Someone who can help lead and do what's best. Someone with an opinion that is willing to share it. Someone to sit with me and rule with me. My queen will be having a seat on the council, she will be able to make laws, plan strategy, and fight if she wants to. A king and queen should be equals together and who better than you, Eli. We both know that out of anyone you would be able to do all if that and more."

[reidscanehand]

Sixty Percent

A Sequel to Twenty Percent

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUfem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort/Angst/Fluff

TW: eating disorders, eating disorder recovery, very frank language and discussions of body dysmorphia, discomfort with weight gain, fighting with family, worry about weight loss, and mentions of pregnancy

Key: A/N = Aunt’s Name; N/N = Nephew’s Name; S/N = Sister’s Name

This has been a long time coming. In terms of my own recovery, I’m not quite there yet, and I certainly don’t have as constant a support as living with a boyfriend like Spencer Reid, but things are better. I hope the best for you if this is something with which you’re also struggling. This is just three little scenes during Y/N’s recovery - all of them deeply personal and based on real life events (this is a very self-indulgent fic). 

Hope you like it and all the love to you xx 

~ Things tend to scream when dying. - Amalie Lee ~

You’re so quiet in the entryway to the kitchen that when Spencer turns and sees you standing there, he’s certain you’ve been there for quite a while. You’re not looking at him, but clearly have the intention of saying something to him. He decides to give you the time you still clearly need to say whatever you’re going to say and turns back to dry the last of the dishes from dinner. 

“Um,” you finally begin to speak, “I know that, um...”

You trail off as Spencer slowly turns to fully face you, “Something wrong, bun?”

“Well...no, I guess...I-I guess not,” you decide. “I mean it’s just that....we just ate dinner.”

“Yeah,” Spencer agrees vaguely, leaning back against the counter to keep himself from rushing to your side. It had been a good dinner, or so he thought, at least. The two of you made it together. Nothing special, just tempeh, some roasted sweet potatoes, and crispy brussels sprouts. Simple, but nourishing, as all of your meals needed to be. “Did you not like it?”

“No, that’s not what-what I’m saying,” you quickly correct and you shake your head so vehemently and look so unsure of yourself that Spencer wants to curse himself for saying something like that. “It’s just that...um...I’ve been having this...craving.”

You almost whisper the last word, as though terrified to say it at all. Spencer tries not to smile, tries not to show how overjoyed he is that you’ve recognized a craving at all. 

“Oh?” he asks jovially, trying to encourage you without sounding condescending, just as he does whenever you comment on something food related. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer out, clearly determined to tell him. “For...granola.”

“Granola? Like...like the cereal?” he clarifies. 

“Um, yes,” you continue, scratching behind your ear and still not quite meeting his eyes. “And I know it’s not breakfast time and...and I don’t really n-need it, but I really want some and I was wondering if we could...run to the store and get it?”

He tries not to be overly enthusiastic. You’ve begged him not to baby you and even your therapist told him to not overwhelm you with praise. But he’s so proud - so fucking proud - that you’ve not only recognized a food craving, but that you’re brave enough to ask him to honor it. He grabs his car keys from the hook next to the doorway as he crosses to you, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Of course we can, my love,” he whispers, squeezing your hip as he does, hoping you can feel how ecstatic he is about this.

And it’s not incredible, really. It’s cereal - relatively healthy cereal at that. But as you pick a brand that isn’t weirdly packed with protein or overtly advertised as something healthy and even grab flavored almond milk to go with it - it feels like a huge shift. 

And he isn’t condescending or overly babying about it. But as the two of you sit, knee to knee, watching tv over (miraculously unmeasured) bowls of granola and almond milk, Spencer can’t help the proud grin that sits on his face. It’s been a long year into eating disorder recovery with you. A long and, at times, absolutely terrifying year, but Spencer wouldn’t trade a moment of it, especially when it leads to moments like this. 

~~~

One step forward, three steps back, so the saying goes. And nothing feels more like several steps back than dinners with your family. It isn’t that you have a bad family, you don’t. In fact, they’re lovely people and, really, truly, other than their strange lack of sensitivity surrounding your recovery, they’re a fantastic family. They aren’t pushy about your private life, they’re proud of the strides you’ve made in the FBI. All good, wonderful things. But it’s as though your need for support in recovery just doesn’t compute to them. Especially to your aunt. 

Your Aunt A/N, who’s by far the pushiest person Spencer’s met in your family, doesn’t seem to get the required sensitivity of dealing with eating disorders at all. If he puts half a mind to profiling the situation, which he tries not to do out of respect to your family, Spencer could easily wager that a lot of her comments come out of living through the toxic environment of 90s and 2000s dieting culture. But it doesn’t really excuse the behavior. 

It’s your nephew’s third birthday and you and Spencer make the drive to visit your family and celebrate. It’s actually been quite fun; the road trip was a delight, really, and every second with N/N and your family thus far has been really nice. But this dinner has been doomed form the start. You’d purchased a dress from a local vendor at an outdoor market in Philadelphia when the team had been stranded there on a case. Spencer thinks the off-white dress makes you look like a dream, you insist it makes you look like an ‘ugly potato’. 

He hopes that the positive effect of spending the evening celebrating N/N will brighten your spirits. Your nephew is, obviously, thrilled to be in the spotlight, an entire treasure hunt set up just for him in your sister’s backyard. There’s a huge buffet of food and balloons and gifts and cake. It’s all very happy and sweet. But then A/N just has to speak. 

“You’ve eaten an awful lot of watermelon tonight, Y/N,” she says unnecessarily as you finish off a small piece of the fruit from the buffet table. Even if he weren’t standing next to you, Spencer’s sure he could see your body freeze up as it does now. 

“Don’t you know that stuff is packed with sugar?” your Aunt A/N continues, laughing patronizingly. “I thought you were supposed to be the healthy one around here.” 

You smile tightly and look away from her, eyes brimming with tears. 

“I’ll be back,” you whisper, partially to Spencer and partially to yourself, hurrying away to the bathroom inside. There’s a pause then, a brief moment where everyone realizes what’s happened. Your mother, sister, and father both look to Spencer, N/N wriggles his way out of your brother-in-law’s arms and runs over to Spencer. 

“Where’s Aunt Y/N?” N/N asks sweetly, looking up at Spencer. 

Spencer kneels down to the three year old, “She just needed to-”

“She’s being silly, N/N,” Aunt A/N interrupts, “and dramatic as usual.” 

Spencer clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes determined not to say anything.

“Now, A/N,” your mother says gently, “you’re being unfair-”

“I’m being unfair?” A/N guffaws. “Y/N always does shit like this-”

“Please don’t curse in front of-”

“It’s not like he’ll remember any of this,” A/N cuts off your sister’s complaint. “And thank God he won’t remember his selfish Aunt Y/N being a crybaby because I-”

“Made a ridiculously rude and entirely unnecessary comment about her food,” Spencer states, standing abruptly and staring her down.

“Oh, come on,” A/N rolls her eyes dramatically. “She’s eaten, like, what? Half the watermelon-”

“She’s vegan,” Spencer corrects, his voice barely containing the anger burning in his throat. “There aren’t that many options for her here. No offense, S/N.”

“None taken,” your sister replies, smiling sadly. “I tried, but-”

“She liked the salad a lot,” Spencer reassures her before turning back to your aunt, “but she can’t eat any of the cake, so she ate some more of the watermelon. It shouldn’t matter to you what she eats any way. There’s absolutely no need for any commentary regarding what she eats.”

“Please, a little teasing about watermelon isn’t going to kill her,” A/N says far too casually for his liking. And Spencer tries, he really does, to keep in his temper. But he finds himself marching over to the woman, staring imperiously down at her.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But it just so happens that Y/N is currently in eating disorder recovery and I know that may be hard to filter through your absurdly selfish brain, but that beautiful, incredible woman is working overtime every single day to relearn how best to fuel her body. If that means she gives into the craving of extra watermelon, then so be it. If that means she decides to eat nothing but cookies for a day, then so be it. If that means she quits being vegan and becomes a carnivore, then so be it. And it is your job to not say a single word about it. Any of it. Because, frankly, it’s none of your business,” Spencer explains as calmly as possible to the infuriating woman. 

“You’re not even a part of this family, young man,” A/N attempts to fight back. “What gives you the right-”

“Y/N is the love of my life,” Spencer interrupts her again, his voice raising only slightly. “Which gives me every right in the world to tell idiotic people like you to keep their mouths shut about her recovery. Understood?”

To his delight, A/N looks rather ashamed and deeply uncomfortable. She looks to the rest of the family for support, but seeing none, finally looks back up at him sheepishly.

“Fine,” she grits out. “I’m...sorry.”

“Good,” Spencer replies just as bitterly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go make sure you haven’t completely demolished the progress she’s been making.” 

Spencer begins to exit the yard into the house, stopped only by your father’s hand on his arm.

“Mr. Y/L/N,” Spencer says, “I’m sorry I-”

“I was just going to thank you,” your father whispers, “for telling off A/N. And for taking care of my little girl. Especially through...this recovery stuff. I know it’s hard and that...that we’re not the best at it....she’s-she’s very lucky to have you.”

“It’s an honor, sir,” Spencer assures him. “An absolute honor.”

~~~

Spencer Reid is, rather unequivocally, a genius. However, he finds it irritating when people mistake his genius for an inexistent form of omnipotence. Sometimes it’s because the fact that he feels it cheapens his knowledge a bit; cheapens behavioral science, too. But sometimes, like right now, he’s annoyed because he doesn’t actually possess any real form of omnipotence, but he does possess almost preternaturally good profiling abilities. Meaning that he knows that something is wrong with you, but he doesn’t know what it is. 

You are, by Spencer’s metrics - which are biased and he doesn’t care - the best girlfriend in the history of the world. He’s so proud of you for your progress in eating disorder recovery and delighted by every milestone the two of you have hit in your relationship. So, of course, him knowing you really well is expected, but, in moments like these where you’re clearly keeping a secret from him, it’s horrible because he knows absolutely everything about you and he knows that you’re being cagey and weird because you’re trying to keep a secret from him. It also doesn’t help that now, almost a year and a half into your relationship, he’s moved in with you. Which, in situtations such as these, means that Spencer has more awareness of you than ever before and yet - somehow - he still doesn’t know what’s going on. 

He truly might lose it. Especially as you wriggle out of his regular post-case hug and catch up with JJ to ride back to the station, leaving Spencer to ride back with Derek and Hotch. He tries, he really does, to keep it together, but he’s so out of his mind with worry that he can barely think straight. And there’s plenty of reason to worry. 

The truth is: you’ve gained weight. And he’s noticed, but it’s not a bad thing. It’s, in fact, a wonderful thing in eating disorder recovery. You’d gained some steady weight over the past year and a half, but you’ve recently put on a few pounds and - while Spencer wouldn’t care what size you are - he knows that it’s delicate balance, trying to sustain recovery and fight the havoc eating disorders can wreak on your mind. 

He tries to hold it together, he really does, but the second everyone’s back at the station, he grabs your hand and pulls you to a storage closet away from the main office without any preamble. He pulls you into the closet, turns on the small light (that doesn’t really help much), gently pushes your back against the door and anchors his hands on either side of your head. 

“Spencer, what are you-”

“What is going on, baby?” he asks sternly, looking down at you. “You have to tell me what’s going on.”

“S-spencer, I...” you trail off, looking away from him. He takes one of his hands from the door and tenderly tucks his index finger below your chin, tilting it to look at him.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asks calmly. 

Your eyes grow wide, “No, of course not-”

“Are you angry with me?” he asks, running through the list of possibilities in his head. 

“Why would I be angry with-”

“There’s got to be something, Y/N,” Spencer cuts you off again, staring desperately into your eyes. “You’re keeping something from me and I don’t...I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be alright, sweetheart?” you ask quietly, running your hands up his chest. “I’ve got you. I’m always alright.”

“Then what’s going on, honey? Because you’re keeping something from me. I know it,” Spencer searches your eyes, terrified when you open your mouth, only to close it again. He sighs, upset with what he needs to ask. “Is it...is it because you’ve...gained weight?”

Your eyes grow very large and he can feel your body tense up. 

“Now, sweetheart,” he starts moving his hands to cup your face sweetly, “you know that that’s just part of recovery and-”

“You noticed?” you ask quietly, tears brimming in your eyes. 

“Y-yes,” he answers uncertainly. “But I think it’s a wonderful thing. It is, right? It means you’re getting better and-”

“I’m pregnant,” you whisper, tears running down your cheeks. 

Now it’s Spencer’s turn to freeze and he can feel his eyes growing as big as saucers. 

You look up at him, eyes still filled with tears and uncertainty, “Spencer...is that...I mean, I’m sorry I didn’t....I-I wanted to make sure that I wasn’t just...I mean, when I lost my period before it was because I wasn’t e-eating and-and then I was feeling...and I just...I took some tests and then I went to the doctor and...I didn’t want to hug you at the crime scene because I thought you might f-feel it and...I’m...well...Spencer, please, say something.”

But Spencer can’t say anything. There’s too many emotions happening for him to even contemplate forming a sentence. His eyes are filling with tears and there’s a smile growing on his lips and he finally slightly tightens his grip on your face tilting it upwards for a kiss. 

He pulls away from the kiss and presses another to your hairline, leaning his forehead against yours a moment later, “You’re pregnant.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Is that okay?”

“Is that okay?” he asks back, not even trying to fight his huge grin. “Y/N...that’s...this is the most amazing thing I’ve ever...I love you so much, you know that?”

“So you’re...we’re going to have a baby?”

“Do you want to have a baby?” he asks sincerely, thumbs rubbing away at the tears still running down your cheeks.

“I think so,” you admit softly, a small smile growing on your own face, “yeah.”

“Then it looks like we’re going to have a baby, Mrs. Reid,” he teases, pressing another kiss to your hairline. 

“That’s not my name,” you giggle, your own fingers working to wipe away at the tears Spencer didn’t even know were falling. 

“Not yet,” Spencer teases, pulling you into a hug, “but I think it’s got a really nice ring to it, don’t you?”

You laugh, but then you’re quiet, pulling back only to look up at Spencer seriously, “I know that it’s been hard, this recovery stuff, but I have to start eating for-for two now. And that means...” you trail off, but Spencer gets your meaning. He pulls you into an impossibly gentle embrace.

“I know, my love,” he whispers into your hair, “but we’ll do it just like we’ve already been doing it: one day at a time.” 

~ “The best thing about the future is that it comes one day at a time.” - Abraham Lincoln ~

~~~

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[ldss-interactive]

At Alter’s End: A CYOA Novel

Overview:

Trentworth, Maine. A town of ten thousand southeast of Ellsworth and North of Bayside. Its only bragging point since its conception in 1867 was being a shoreline city and cheaper than any of the other big tourist towns. Nothing ever happened here, besides the occasional drowning or fishing trip accident, until the killings started. They lasted five years in total and 48 people were lost to the killer’s sick desires. Robert Hall terrorized this small town, slipping under the radar by focusing on those considered “undesirable”; sex workers, orphans, drug addicts, and the like. Now ten years later, ten years after the killer has been put behind bars, murders have begun again. A copycat killer has come to Trentworth. And they seem to be targeting the ones left behind, still trying to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives…

You take the role of a highschool senior; your parents having died in a home fire shortly before the killer was put behind bars and now under the care of your workaholic aunt. Make allies of your classmates or attempt to go it alone, clear your parents’ name from their believed involvement with the killer or fight to put the past behind you, deal with the skeletons in your closet and mind or bury them deeper... Oh, and make sure your history project is turned in on time. With two young siblings depending on you and a whole host of problems a highschool student should never have to deal with, can you survive this nightmare made real?

Trigger Warnings: This game will go into very heavy topics including the following; murder, death, various mental health issues (such as PTSD, depression, and anxiety), abandonment, gambling, various types of drug addiction, self harm mentions (not happening to the MC or shown in graphic detail), suicide, sex work, child abuse (mental, emotional, and physical), and dangerous situations. This is a murder mystery/thriller, it is NOT intended for audiences below 18.

Hello! Thank you for showing interest in At Alter’s End. This is a Choose Your Own Adventure style novel in the Thriller and Murder Mystery genres. It would also fit nicely in the Drama genre as well, but Drama is not the focus. This will be a rather lengthy project, with fifteen chapters plus a prologue and epilogue planned.

You take on the role of a senior at Trentworth High. Join an after-school activity, take care of your younger siblings, prepare for finals, get a part time job, find a date to homecoming, and survive your worst nightmare come to life. The copycat killer is targeting the students of your school and no one is safe. With the police dragging their feet, no help coming any time soon from any higher up law enforcement, and the locals refusing to acknowledge the possibility of a copycat killer, it’s up to you and your classmates to find the person responsible...before it’s too late.

- You can play as female, male, nonbinary, or trans!

- You can be straight, gay, or bisexual!

- A highly customizable MC including hair color, eye color, skin color, hair length, height, and personality and interests!

- The ability to choose which mental illness the MC suffers from due to the trauma of their past from the following:

Anxiety, Depression, or PTSD.

- The MC is deaf in their right ear ear due to the way in which their parents died; this is not something that can be changed.

- Choose from 7 different official after-school activities! Trentworth Volunteers, Up and Coming Artists, National Debate Society, National Honors Society, Co-Ed Varsity Basketball, Creative Writing, and Trentworth Gardeners!

- Bond with your classmates, explore your town, and help raise your younger siblings!

- Rescue your parents’ bakery from corporate clutches or let it go!

- Find the killer, stop the murders, and put a stop to the rumors that have plagued your every step for 10 years!

Vanya: Oldest adoptive twin sibling to MC’s adoptive siblings, 6 years younger than MC. Strong-headed, intelligent, and always getting into trouble. She looks after her brother and MC in the ways she can.

Ajay: Youngest adoptive twin sibling to MC’s adoptive sibling, 6 years younger than MC. Nearly completely blind since birth, he enjoys painting and other artistic endeavors. Obedient yet opinionated.

Aunt Emma: The workaholic aunt that takes custody of MC and their younger siblings after the death of their parents. Well meaning but absent most of the time on business trips or at the office.

Kwan Hall: An adoptive relative to Robert Hall; aloof, intelligent, and completely ostracized by Trentworth as a whole. When the killings start again the town’s attention is immediately turned on Kwan. He’s the first to begin investigating the killings when the police prove their incompetence. He is of Korean descent, standing at 5’6” with dark hair and dark eyes. His most notable feature is the long scar that stretches from his forehead’s hairline, down his left temple, and ends just below his jawline and the constant disinterest on his face. He is asexual in that he doesn’t experience sexual attraction at all. He is also bisexual.

Alessia D’Agostina: Trentworth High’s school president. She’s clawed her way tooth and nail up to earn the respect of both the school faculty and her fellow classmates; she’s strong-willed, dependable, and always looks at things through a logical lens. When she sees her classmates dying, she takes it upon herself to try and stop this once and for all. With dark skin, deep brown eyes, long braided hair, and standing at 5’8” her confidence and sense of self always make sure she stands out from the crowd. Alessia is bisexual.

Georgiy Kuzmin: Twin brother to Anastasiya Kuzmin; he is, in the kindest way possible, not the brightest bulb in the box. Yet he always means well and is more than willing to offer a helping hand. As the co-captain of the basketball team, captain of the baseball team, and the star of the swim team, Georgiy is one of the most popular and well beloved students at Trentworth High. When he realizes his friends are in danger, he willingly throws himself into the investigation to do all he can to help. With fair skin, dirty blond hair, bubbly green eyes, and standing at 6’1” he cuts an approachable figure to anyone who knows him. Georgiy is gay.

Anastasiya Kuzmin: Twin sister to Georgiy Kuzmin: she and her brother are alike in so many ways apart from just appearance. Anastasiya, who goes by Ana more often than not, is head of the Co-Ed Varsity Basketball team, the Girls’ softball team, and the Tennis team. Just as popular and loved as her brother, Ana may not be the smartest but she makes up for it with passion and dedication. Like her brother, she has fairer skin, dirty blond hair, and bright green eyes. Also like her brother, she felt she couldn’t just sit around while her friends were put in danger and agreed to join the investigation. Ana is gay and demiromantic, meaning she only gains feelings for someone after having a strong relationship with them.

Lillian Triano: A quiet, withdrawn girl who mainly keeps to herself. Due to the fact that Trentworth High demands for every senior to be apart of an elective, she is mainly seen in afterschool reading club run by Ms. Habeeb. She’s MC’s closest friend, having been one of the only people who didn’t believe the rumors that MC’s parents were assisting Robert Hall in his murders. She has an olive complexion, brown eyes, a heavy dose of freckles, and stands at 5’1”. Lillian is gay.

Jasmine Abernathy: Jasmine is Trentworth High’s self proclaimed “Best news source!” After the school newspaper was disbanded, Jasmine took it upon herself to keep freedom of the press alive. She’s fierce in her pursuit of the truth and never one to back down from a fight, though her rash attitude can get her into some sticky situations on occasion. With vibrant red hair, dark brown eyes, and standing at 5’3” she puts the term “fire” in Fire Signs. (She’s an Aries in astrology!) When the copycat killings began, it was no surprise when she took the case head on. Jasmine is bisexual.

Asa San Nicholas: Asa is the oldest of a set of triplets; they’re the type to march to the beat of their own drum, often not listening to what anyone has to say about themselves or their interests. Asa is a firm believer in the paranormal and it isn’t uncommon to find them indulging in their interest in various ways. “The spirits are distrubed. These deaths aren’t meant to happen.” Asa’s reason for getting involved seems to tie directly back to their “connection” with the spirits of the town. Asa has black hair, most often tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes, and an olive skin tone. At 6’4” they tower over most everyone...something they seem to enjoy a great deal. Asa doesn’t see gender and is interested in people regardless of how they present.

Leo San Nicholas: The middle of the triplets. They are genderfluid, okay with any pronouns. Leo is, for lack of a better word, eccentric. A bit of an adrenaline junkie, you can often find them cliff diving or giving their siblings heart attacks by playing russian roulette with a chocolate gun. To them, it isn’t fun if there isn’t a little danger involved; naturally, an investigation into a serial killer scratches that itch quite nicely. Their black hair is clipped short, multiple piercings visible on each ear, and their heterochromatic hazel and green eyes are often stated to stare through a person. Although Leo is genderfluid, they are only interested in people who present as female.

The demo is upcoming! When it is available I will make a post announcing it! I will also update this post with the link! This game is written in choicescript; the demo will be published on Dashingdon and the final game will be published for free on itch.io. I am open for questions regarding this game/novel and once the demo is published I will also be publishing a link to my Ko-fi! Until then, please don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions!

[cherryblossom-chopper]

Okay, I was imagining the scenario, Luffy's child grows up to be an extremely beautiful and kind teenager. And like they go through an intense relationship, 'cause they think their partner would be The One, but the partner break up with them. So like, they kind of have a hard time, because it was first love, how would the Straw Hats react to that?

The vibe would be kind of like Taylor Swift's short film All Too Well.

Kisses from Brazil- 🍁

I love the idea!! Kisses from America, sweetie pie 💖

Part One - Part Two - Part Three

~~

-Ah, Young Love, how terrible. For reference, the song Bust Your Kneecaps by Pomplomoose comes to mind.

-Luffy is upset that his kid is unhappy, but he's never really been one for romance. He's never experienced romantic heartbreak before. He's out of depth, so I think he'd turn to his family for help. Of course, Luffy tries to cheer (Name) up via pranks, ice cream, and shopping. Anything his kid wants, Luffy will indulge.

-Zoro, on the other hand, is ready to commit crimes. He can and will assault anyone who hurts his kid. I mean that's his little pal, buddy, kiddo, and Zoro will kill for them.

-I imagine Zoro walking in on Luffy (and Nami), comforting (Name). Zoro nonchalantly ties his bandana around his head while asking, "Who did this?" Luffy explains the situation, and Zoro only grunts in reply. He then disappears for a while. No one is 100% sure what Zoro did, and no one wants to ask.

-Zoro does have a heart-to-heart with (Name) later. He wants them to know that even though he's terrible with words, Zoro loves (Name), and at least nine other people in the world love them almost as much as he does. Sometimes life gives you heartache for no reason, but they wouldn't have to suffer alone.

-Nami and Luffy are on the same page when comforting (Name). Retail Therapy is necessary. She is, of course, a little more understanding than Luffy. Nami gives (Name) her own brand of advice, which might be too harsh. She tells them that other people ain't shit, and you can't just give your heart out to anyone. Nami is a bit rough, but she means well and understands what it feels like to be betrayed by someone you're close to.

-Usopp doesn't really address it other than an awkward, "Are you doing okay?" a couple days later. He doesn't think he can say anything the others haven't already said. He doesn't mind giving them one of his spare sketchbooks or journals to get those big feelings out. Usopp probably put a short, but heartfelt note on the first page.

-Like Zoro, Sanji also wants to commit crimes for (Name) 's honor, but he has more self-control than Zoro. Sanji finds himself angry-cooking in the kitchen instead of disappearing to act on his desire for violence. He makes food full of hot peppers and chili powder. Sanji does realize that all of this won't help (Name) feel better, though. So he makes their favorite sweets and a nice homestyle dinner, especially for (Name). The rest of the crew can deal with the painfully spicy food instead.

-Sweet, sweet, emotional Chopper is also heartbroken. Chopper is teary-eyed because (Name) is crying. He can't say much that's very helpful, but Chopper is more than happy to be a little cuddle buddy. Chopper will insist on getting them water and snacks, and he'll insist on putting on some cartoons.

-Robin is the witchy wine aunt who gives excellent advice. Behind closed doors, Robin is rather murderous in her own way. She doesn't act on it, of course. Robin also won't give advice unless (Name) wants it. She'll probably tell them that she's always there for them if they want some company.

-It's a toss-up if Franky is getting emotional about this. He's very empathetic and easily cries when people he loves are upset, but he also knows that young love is tricky. Franky will make little mechanical animals for (Name) to cheer them up. He cares a lot for them and wants them to be happy but doesn't know what he's supposed to do outside of some pretty good pep talks.

-I'm not saying that Brook would curse the ex-partner, but Brook is going to curse them. Or at least haunt the ex a little bit. Granddaddy Bones is not standing for this. That's his teeny tiny little superstar, and you have some real audacity to treat them that way. Robin has to talk him down from creating a poltergeist at the ex-partner's house. He doesn't want (Name) to know how agitated he is, so he's only murderous in private.

Jinbe is very level-headed about all of this. It's a lot of Uncle Iroh's energy. He has some wise words that (Name) may not understand at the moment. Jimbe won't overstep any boundaries that may further upset (Name).

[joeys-piano]

A Taste for Him

Tomarry | Teen | 666 | AO3

A/N: Chocolate isn't his favorite flavor, but occasionally Tom makes an exception. And he does when there's a smidge of it near the corner of Harry's mouth, and if this is something he can savor, perhaps it's something he could want.

~~~~~~~~~~

Decadence and its cousins, like self-indulgence and corruption, never waited for a seat because they would always be invited, and they were welcomed to the tables like esteemed, honored guests who would whisper into your ear, press farther into your thigh, taste the candy from your hands, and then they pulled you to the side. And with a knowing kind of glint more befitting for an aunt, they unwrapped you from the rules meant to govern your every want.

With a smile for a smile before the hedon within their eyes looked more and more human as they unraveled who you were. That like a boggart — once they found it and uncovered what you’ve wanted — they shifted. But no one noticed, and only you could tell the tale.

Because they were nothing you’ve come to fear, they were everything you couldn’t break from. That the only way to banish them was to yield to your desires: that was the price for temptation as you never knew if you’d have it again.

That for a moment and only then and between the choices he could’ve had, Tom knew he wasn’t different from any student and from any man. Because his boggart, his decadence, his corruption, his want had him wrapped around their finger when in reality, they had not

Because Harry’s hands and Harry’s fingers — and the calluses upon them then — were wrapped around the handles of a bit of pudding and a silver spoon. That wobbled when Harry wobbled, jittered when Harry moved, and were wiped of any chocolate when Harry nibbled with every spoon.

But the only thing he couldn’t wipe was the bit of chocolate near his mouth and how it bruised him upon a corner until it was something like a kiss. Like a stain, a mark, a remnant of what he had done: Harry licked what he could feel, but he missed this by a mile. And there was no way he could’ve done that unless all of this was intentional.

Because Tom — he was weak — no, distracted. He was amused that the only version of his best friend he had his heart on was like this. Not the Seeker, the champion or the greatest duelist of their year; not the trouble but the troublemaker and the boy who was his friend.

Who didn’t care about decorum or the sanctity between Houses because willingly and on his own, he would sit with Tom and the Slytherins. And he never waited for a seat because he always had one at the table, and he was welcomed like a brother when Tom’s arm was wrapped around him. And it was secured along his shoulder like a stamp of damn approval; that if anyone had objections, it was Tom they had to hear from.

And maybe, that was why no one stopped him before he did this — approached Harry.

Before he swiped him, brushed him, and drew the chocolate from near his mouth. Until he dragged it from whence it were and what remained was a smear, fading lightly from Harry’s chin when he pulled away and with a smirk. And licked while Harry watched, while he sucked his own thumb.

That Merlin, the way he widened would make you think that Tom had asked him for private lessons on a broomstick and that before the night would end, he’d have won the golden snitch and in the shape of Harry’s heart. And feel it flutter around his skin because that was exactly how he felt when Harry won his with a bit of chocolate and with a stain near his mouth.

And now that Tom had gotten a taste, he could see why it was addicting — why the confection was a fan-favorite for indulgence and amusement. Because, if he could savor this and have it at any time, paired with Harry’s “oh” and the softness within his eyes, it wouldn’t be hard for Tom to reason that this was something he ought to have.

[formulanaughty]

author of that's why god made towels (period sex fic) slinking into ur inbox here... truly honored that you liked it 😳 rly didn't expect maybe more than two ppl to read it but i'm on a quest to report the good news about period sex! i also love your ktch list--though i'd like to self-indulgently posit that i think valtteri and fernando could handle, too! something something blood in their facial hair...🥵

"liked it"??? no ma'am, we LOVED IT! a brilliant concept, expertly executed -- i was seriously blown away (and as someone currently entertaining aunt flo.... incredibly jealous). if you ever want to rec more of your own fic (or anyone else wants to rec theirs!) you're always welcome to!

those are Perfect additions to the list, and i absolutely concur. fernando always slips my mind... i'm not sure why, and valtteri is slowly growing on me (the shirtless pics that went around last week have a whole lot to do with that. wow.).

fernando would be the type to shrug and say "so?" when you tell him you're on your period, plunging his fingers in anyways, and val somehow just knows and bats your hands away when you try to drag his head back up from between your legs. very good additions to the ktch list.

[thran-duils]

Performance Art

Title: Performance Art Summary:  Fem!Reader x Ransom Drysdale. The reader is married to Ransom; a picture of their life and flashback to when they met. If she had been here by her own choice and her own choice alone, things may be better for her. Ransom is devious though and is able to tangle her into his web. Words: 4,482 Author’s Note: I would tag it dark!Ransom, but tbh, he is the perfect character to be writing for this type of thing. Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Dub-con, dub-con smut, body shaming, coercion, emotional abuse, loveless relationship

Part Two || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

You caught a reflection of yourself in the window. A tight deep blue dress – Ransom’s favorite color of course – practically painted on your curves. It was the first time you had worn heels this high in almost a year -- the pregnancy causing too much swelling in your feet. The silver straps of them wove around your foot, a band around your ankle. You had thought humorlessly to yourself earlier it was like you were willingly putting on shackles –

“Y/N?”

You blinked, your attention zoning back into the dining table.

Ransom’s aunt Joni was looking at you across the table, a wide smile on her face. She smiled even wider if that was possible, “There you are. Looks like you were on, like, Mars or something.” A few light laughs shared at your expense echoed around hers. “I said, you look amazing. How did you do it?”

You snuck a quick look down at yourself. Right. Your weight. Post pregnancy. Of course that was an appropriate topic of conversation at the Drysdale dinner table. Everything was about appearance.

“Well—”

“Luckily, Y/N has got great genes,” Ransom cut in from beside you. You closed your mouth, gaze turned towards him. You had taken too long to respond for his liking, once again. “Plus, she is really motivated in the gym. Not to mention, a tuck does a lot of wonders.”

You almost visibly blanched. Almost. You were good at hiding your emotions now.

Joni let out a sharp, shrill laugh. Waving her hand at you, she said, “I knew you weren’t perfect! There was no way. Aw, Y/N, nothing to be ashamed of. I had it done too. Couldn’t stand to look at myself after Meg. She wreaked ab-so-lute havoc. Still does. Luckily not on my body though now, so it’s easier to deal with.”

“Thanks, mom,” Meg muttered, throwing her a disdainful look.

“I didn’t wait long either. They told me to wait six months,” Joni said, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “I just couldn’t.”

“Same,” Donna chimed in from down the table. Joni gave her a nod of solidarity.

“Doctor said if she was having the surgery, it should wait until after breastfeeding,” Ransom said for you. “Well, that’s why the baby is on formula.”

He tossed you a quick smirk, cutting into his steak. You watched the red seep from the flesh of it onto the plate, trying to disassociate from him divulging things that should be secret.

“And that’s perfectly fine,” Joni said firmly. “You know, I don’t care what some people say, formula is just as good for the baby as breastmilk. People should trust science more.” You heard a small snort from down the table and did not even have to look to know who it emanated from.

“Of course you would disagree with something regarding science,” Meg quipped at Jacob.

“When it’s filled with mass media lies –”

“Alright,” Donna said cutting into the conversation uncomfortably. Luckily, Walt had left the room to go to the bathroom; he no doubt would have encouraged Jacob’s tirade. Tenseness quickly melted away to charm, “Anyway, Y/N. You do look lovely. And the baby is just beautiful.”

The baby. Yes. The baby being cradled by Fran in another room currently instead of you. Away from the table in case he cried and disrupted dinner. He was beautiful for the aesthetic but when it came to dinner – or any other event Ransom deemed took precedence to your child’s presence -- his preciousness only extended into the collective patience so far.

“Yes, he is sure is a little bundle of joy,” Richard announced, looking proud. Proud of his new grandson and continuing his family line.

A perfectly crafted, artificial smile. “Yes. He is.”

<> <> <>

…TWO AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER

“What the absolute SHIT!”

A shout rang over the water of your shower. You stalled, straining to hear if there was anything else, trying to figure out what was going on.

“What the hell! Who the hell set my alarm to basically blow my goddamn fucking eardrums?”

Shit.

You rinsed your hair quickly, cursing the fact your refreshing shower was being cut short. You had over indulged on the vodka last night and the cool water was like heaven. And now you were going to have to deal with this.

Wrapping your towel around yourself, you continued to hear a loud conversation continuing about who had decided to try to blow someone’s eardrum and not to mention, wake them at an ungodly hour.

It was nine in the morning.

You left the bathroom quickly, walking over to the railing to look down the staircase to the ground-floor landing. You leaned against the oak, peering down at the looming figure over your roommate, Malcolm.

“Look, Ransom, I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. We were all drinking. Just go back to bed, man.”

The other guy, Ransom, scoffed loudly. “Go back to bed? Malcolm, my ear is still ringing like a motherfucker!”

Malcolm threw his hands out, “Then do you want breakfast? Alyssa has it cooking.”

Ransom exhaled loudly, annoyance still evident. “Whatever,” he muttered, rubbing his ear, and turned away from Malcolm.

Malcolm all but rolled his eyes before saying, “Well, when you are hungry, it’s in the kitchen. I bet it would really help with the hangover.”

He turned and walked off.

Ransom looked after him before shaking his head and making to go back down the hall to the guest room where he had been sleeping.

Something was bubbling in your chest to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted.

Ransom’s eyes were on you in a moment a floor above him, leaning over the railing in only your towel. Now that he was looking at you and you had drawn attention to yourself, you were quickly losing whatever resolve had forced its way out of you.

“I… I think it was me?” you said uncertainly. “I mean, with your alarm. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I had turned it up that loudly.”

He was burning a hole through you with the way he was staring at you. The seconds stretched into miles, just waiting for him to say something.

“You should keep your hands off my shit.”

The words stung. You were not sure what you had expected but maybe with an apology, you thought you would quell his frustration even a little bit. Apparently, that was not the case.

Ransom tore his gaze away from you and stormed off down the hallway leaving you gripping the bannister nervously.

<> <> <>

You would have gotten over the exchange if only you had not run into him a few days later. You were attending a business convention, trying to get a leg up in the industry; you were close to graduating. There were a lot of big names there and you had been drawn to Linda Drysdale, who had taken an immediate liking, you believed, to you. She was all charm and compliments, but they were constructive compliments, not merely for flattery. She claimed to be self-made -- you noted to yourself to investigate that later – and that was encouraging for you.

“Ah, did not expect to see you here,” She said over your shoulder.

You turned your head and your heart dropped into your stomach recognizing him. Ransom. He was dressed nicer now; hair slicked back, donning a dark grey cashmere sweater and cream trousers.

Turning away quickly, heart beginning to pound, you hoped he had not recognized you.

“Seems I can’t get away from you.”

No such luck.

Linda looked at you and then back at Ransom. “You two know each other?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘know’. I don’t even know her name. She just lives with my friend.”

“Oh. Hmm. That is an odd coincidence then,” Linda said. “Well, her name is Y/N and she is about to graduate – with honors as her esteemed mentor happened to mention to me and she had neglected to herself,” she gave you a slight wink. She had already teased you about being too modest about your accomplishments earlier in your conversation. It was only because Dr. Ewiler – and old friend of hers – had walked by and joined the conversation briefly and spoke you up that she knew about your grades. “With majors in Entrepreneurship and Accounting.”

Ransom peered down his nose at you, still not sitting down in one of the chairs. “Fascinating,” he said flatly.

Red came to your cheeks at his impertinent demeanor and Linda noticed.

Linda scoffed, looking embarrassed for a moment before recovering. She scolded, “Hugh Ransom, Jesus. Be polite.” To you, she said, “Please excuse, my son. I thought I raised him better.”

Son? You almost groaned. You did not miss him rolling his eyes at his mother’s comment.

“Sorry,” he told you in a tone of voice that relayed no remorse at all. “Y/N. Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise,” you said in an even tone, feigning some level of sincerity despite wanting him to just leave. But if he was her son… “I hope your hearing is back to normal despite my clumsy behavior. I am still apologetic about that.”

You were trying to mend that bridge with him; you did not want it to possibly ruin whatever relationship you were currently starting with his mother. You wanted – no, you needed – to have her as a connection.

Yet, you could not quite pinpoint the emotion – miffed? Amused? – that was behind his small, closed lipped smile at your apology. His smile did not reach his eyes, that was clear enough.

“It’s fine,” he responded.

“Your hearing…?” Linda asked.

Turning back to look at her, you gave a little nervous laugh, thinking of a cutesy way you could tell the story. You began to explain but Ransom cut you off.

“I had a little too much to drink and passed out. Y/N tried to help me out by making sure I got up at a decent hour but somehow turned the volume of my alarm up to full blast. Right next to my head.”

Linda snorted, “Oh. Well. That does sound like you.” There was something underneath her tone. As if there was a jab at Ransom. He was stone faced though. “Well, Y/N. At least you tried. That’s all we can say sometimes.”

You nodded, exhaling. Your heart was still beating rapidly.

“So, what brought you to a business convention at a college, Ransom? Surely it wasn’t to see me?” Linda asked, looking at him expectantly.

Ransom told her, “Actually. It was. I was hoping we could catch lunch. I wanted to talk to you about something. When’s this thing over?”

Linda checked her watch and said, “I can really leave any time now.”

You fought to hide your disappointment.

Her attention was on you now. “How about I give you my number, Y/N? I would like to continue this conversation about your business model proposal; it is promising.”

You sat up straighter, heart beginning to race again. She liked your idea? Truly?

“I could use some fresh minds at my disposal. That is if you are interested in my company.”

“Oh. Yes,” you said quickly.

Linda smirked at you amused at your quick response. She pulled out a small card from her purse and flipped it over, scribbling a number on the back. Holding it out to you, she said, “Personal cell phone. Now, don’t abuse it.”

“Of course not,” you reassured her, taking it from her. “That would be disrespectful.”

“Yes, it would,” Linda agreed. She stood up from her chair, straightening out her dress. She held out her purse to Ransom, “Here.”

He took it reluctantly as she gathered herself. You stood to meet her, realizing in your excited state you had neglected to do when she rose. You wanted to kick yourself.

When she looked at you again, you stuck your hand out. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me. It was enlightening and beneficial for me to have a respected self-made businesswoman’s opinion.”

Linda shook your hand strongly. “You’re welcome, Y/N. I hope to hear from you soon.”

She walked past you and you pivoted, following her movement.

Ransom was staring you down and you averted your eyes from him to the ground momentarily before looking up at him again. He smirked when you met his gaze again. There was something malicious about it and you did not like it one bit.

<> <> <>

A knock on your bedroom door drew you from your bed. You put your bookmark in place and tossed the book onto the comforter next to you before getting up.

Swinging the door open, you startled seeing Ransom standing there, his large hand planted on the doorframe, leaning in towards you. His cologne was strong, wafting in around you.

“Can I come in?” he asked you without waiting for an answer, pushing past you.

“I…” you started to say, stumbling your words. “Yes?”

Ransom was taking your room in and you shifted uncomfortably. He walked over to your desk, flipping through the pages of your latest pieces of your latest thesis; the one you had been speaking to his mother about.

Eyes ran over the pictures hung of you and your friends, over your bookcase, your movie collection, fingers tracing your jewelry hung on display…

He was invading your space.

“Um, can I help you with something? Is Malcolm supposed to be here?”

“He is here,” Ransom answered, dismissively, coming to rest in front of your collection of rocks you had collected from different parts of the world you had traveled to. You could tell him where each one was from with ease, memory tied deeply to them. He was touching them, examining them, and tossing them carelessly back into the bowl.

Moving quickly over to him, you asked, “Can I help you with something then?”

He dropped the rock he was looking at and turned to you, “Yes, actually. I came up here to ask you out on a date.”

Taken aback, you leaned away, brows furrowed in confusion. “Ah. What?”

“Are you the one with a hearing problem, then?” Ransom quipped.

“I heard you just fine,” you responded, still trying to catch up with what was happening.

“Then it’s settled. I have a reservation at Ocean Prime at 7pm tonight. I’ll come back by to pick you up at 6:30pm.” He moved past you back towards your door.

Your mouth was open like a fish, blinking. You snapped back to reality and turned quickly. “Wait—”

“Wear something nice!” Ransom ordered over his shoulder, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Deflating, you stared at the empty doorway behind him. He had not even given you time to respond – to decline if you so chose to. But could you really decline? He was Linda Drysdale’s son. And you wanted so desperately a break into that business world that she moved in; Ransom – despite his boorish behavior – could be a key to that if you played your cards right.

Turning towards your closet, you bit your lip. What could you wear?

<> <> <>

Holding your clutch close in front of you, you walked next to Ransom after the valet took your car. He had a long stride and guided you to keep up with him. Throughout dinner he surprisingly asked you questions about yourself, allowing you to answer. You kept it short and courteous, mindful about not overindulging. He genuinely seemed interested and you were caught off guard; you had expected him to go off about himself. It is what his persona had indicated he would be like in all your encounters with him. Maybe he had simply been in a bad mood?

At least that was the case with you. He was less than courteous with the wait staff and you found yourself forcing yourself to thank them more profusely and smile wider to try to make up for him.

He picked up the entire bill although you had offered to go Dutch. He had seemed momentarily vexed by the offer but recovered quickly, holding out his card to the waitress between his fingers, not even acknowledging her presence past that.

On the ride home, it was quiet, the windows down in his beamer as the two of you raced through the city. He was a fast driver and it made you nervous, but you tried to focus on the city lights, taking in the night life.

Ransom insisted on walking you back inside and having another drink. He helped himself to a smidge of Malcolm’s scotch and handed you your own glass. You sipped and made a face even though you tried not to.

“Right. It’s not a woman’s drink,” he said, taking the glass back from you and emptying it into his own. “Let’s get you something fruity. Ah, perfect. Let me guess: this orange vodka is yours?”

“Yes,” you affirmed, playing with the top ruffle of your dress.

Ransom made you a drink of the vodka, orange juice, a splash of sprite, and ice.

“You know your way around a drink,” you commented lightly, taking a sip.

“I had the pleasure of being able to experiment with my mother and father’s extensive alcohol cabinet since I was a teen,” Ransom responded, taking a drink of the scotch. He walked around you to the living room. “I’ve always loved Malcolm’s style of decorating. He is good at keeping the Victorian look of the house while touching it up with modern.”

You followed him, listening.

He tossed you a look and said, “You haven’t put your touch on anything out here.”

“It’s not really my house. I just rent my room.”

“I know,” Ransom chuckled. “That’s why I wanted to see your room.” Another drink. “Want to show me it again?”

The way he so flippantly mentioned it…

“You don’t want to stay down here?”

Ransom turned back to you, chuckling. He pushed your glass, guiding it up to your lips. “Drink up.” You did as he asked and almost choked when he made you finish the entire thing. “Now, let me ask you again… want to show me again?”

No. He had not simply been in a bad mood the last couple of times. He was still the same inconsiderate, entitled jerk.

You did not answer him, at loss for words.

“Fine. Thought you would feel more at ease in your bedroom, but I guess here is just as well.” You made to protest but he interrupted, “Malcolm isn’t coming home tonight. I asked because I invited them to do dinner too, but he declined since they are going up north to see Alyssa’s parents. Fortuitous for me.”

Finishing his drink in a quick gulp, he grabbed both your glasses and placed them on the mantel above the fireplace. Before you could react, he tugged you to him, his mouth crashing into yours. You tried to recoil but he held tight, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He turned you, forcing you up against the wall to further prevent you from escaping.

His hands slipped up underneath your dress, gripping at your thighs.

“Hey!” you finally were able to exclaim when he came up for air. You tried to push him away. “Ransom!”

“Yes?” he asked condescendingly, forcing you back against the wall erasing the small amount of space you had carved out for yourself with the shove. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes! Stop!” you told him, trying to escape underneath his arm but he blocked your attempt, pressing his body weight against you. “Please!”

“What? You don’t like me?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t even know you!”

“Oh, but you want to know me. And you want to know my family. That is clear as day,” Ransom stated, leaning in close, his nose almost brushing yours. “A girl from a modest family trying to get a leg up in the world…” He smirked. “Truth be told, I would love to get your leg up. But first…”

He forced you to your knees, your face close to his crotch. You tried to push yourself up and away, but he grasped your hair and you stilled, gasping at the tug he administered when you had tried to move again.

Ransom’s free hand came down to your cheek, caressing gently. His thumb brushed over your lips as you shakily made eye contact with him. His pupils were beginning to dilate, desire glaring as his tongue ran across his lip. He hand cupped your jaw and he murmured, “You keep saying you’re sorry. I want you to show me how sorry you are.”

You gaped and he grinned, “That’s the spirit, keep it open.”

Gasping when he shoved your cheek up against him again, you felt his hardening dick through his pants. “Come on, Y/N. Be a good girl. I know you know how to do this. A girl like you? From a modest family not in the area? You didn’t get through school just on brains alone. Had to make connections somehow.”

Anger coursed through you at his words and you tried to push away from him once more, but he just wound his hand tighter in your hair causing you to wince. Tears pricked at your eyes as your anger melted to humiliation as he grinded his length up and down your cheek.

Yanking you away, he stared down at you, tickled at the expression on your face.

“You want to use my mother to get into the business world with a bang. It’s understandable, she’s great at what she does. And she has those connections in her hand to give you. All you gotta do is charm her and give her results.”

“But I want you to have to work a little harder for it. You know I can say one thing to my mother, and she won’t have anything to do with you ever again.” He ran his fingers across your lips forcibly. “So, you’re going to open that pretty little mouth of yours and you’re going to show me one, how sorry you are and two, how badly you want to break out of your situation.”

When you did not answer he gave your head a little shake, “Right, Y/N?”

You licked your lips, a tear escaping. Horsley, you answered, “Right.”

He unzipped his trousers, his cock springing free from the confines of his boxer briefs. You stared at the length in front of you, trying to compose yourself. You could do this. You had to do this. You were backed into a corner, literally and figuratively.

Ransom tasted salty as you took him into your mouth. He groaned the further you took him in, increasing your speed the wetter you made him. His fingers at the back of your head were digging in, forcibly pushing you further to take him even deeper. Tongue swirling, you drew low moans of pleasure from him.

Suddenly, both his hands grasped the sides of your head, holding you in place. He thrusted, using you and you struggled to stay steady on your knees with his violent jolts. Loud grunts left his lips, animalistic and savage. You gagged, a few tears running down your cheeks. He was hitting the back of your throat so roughly you thought you were going to get sick.

Fortunately, he pushed you away. Gasping for air, you rubbed at your throat, trying to ease the discomfort.

He grasped your arms and yanked you from the floor. In a fluid motion, he spun the two of you around to face the back of the couch. His hand pressed to the small of your back and your face came to contact with the couch cushions.

Ransom forced himself between your legs, kicking one out to the side to give himself more room.

“A-a condom?” you choked out.

“You’re on birth control, aren’t you?” he asked, hiking your dress up.

“Y-y-yes.”

He chortled and said to himself more than anything, “Well, we will have to fix that for next time.”

You bucked forward when you felt his fingers slipping inside you, rubbing at your clit. You whimpered feeling yourself get wetter with each stroke. You were getting close; he was skilled at pushing you towards falling over the edge.

But he wanted to be inside you for that; his fingers left and his head replaced them.

When he pushed himself inside, you cried out adjusting to his girth. He moaned loudly, bottoming out. He let out a little laugh before pulling out and slamming back in. Your hands gripped the cushions trying to give yourself some sense of balance as he rammed into you repeatedly.

Ransom was holding tight at your hips, his own snapping off your ass hard enough that it was going to bruise. Each stroke of his cock against your clit sent a flow of pleasure through you until it was like a wave breaking. Broken whimpers echoed as you convulsed around him. When he came with a loud shout, you felt him fill you, his cock twitching inside.

His grip went lax at your hips and he reached underneath, and you squeaked when he pinched at your oversensitive clit.

“That was cute,” he husked, his hands slowly running up your sides. One of his hands snaked around your neck and he pulled you back up to his chest, still fully seated inside you.

“Mhm, yeah,” Ransom breathed against your ear, his fingers flexing in and out on your neck. “I think if you keep this up, you will be the epitome of the type of girl I want to bring home to my parents.”

<> <> <>

…PRESENT

Ransom never let you out from underneath his thumb, not that he needed to try too hard. You knew that if you divorced him, you had nothing. You had signed a prenup and even if you thought you could make it without money, there would be bad blood with the Drysdales and with how much influence they had on the area, you would have a huge obstacle to overcome.

Yes, you got to work with Linda, and you had influence with her. But it was still her business, not yours.

You had gotten what you wanted mostly though.

A family. Money. A place in the business world.

It just came with a price.

Ransom’s hand gripped your leg underneath the table, sliding past the hem to the inside of your thigh.

“Now I have two precious things in this world to me,” he said in response to his father.

Another perfectly crafted smile from you.

And he still had that malicious glint in his eye, even as he leaned in and planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Good girl,” he breathed so only you could hear.

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #27: [EXTRA CREDIT]

A worst-case alternate timeline.

She clung to him the moment they brought her forth, such that he had to tear her away from him to get a better look at her. At first glance, she seemed unblemished, but she had been in their custody for more than a week; he'd known her to recover from black and blue bruises in half that time. Worst of all was that she did not cry as she clung to him, not as she had when he'd last seen her on Ala Mhigo's last day of freedom. Instead she trembled, shook with fear the likes of which he had never seen from her before, and he had no words at all with which to comfort her.

But even now, the Garleans would not take her from him again. He fought the first man who tried with manacled hands, shoving him into the stone wall of the dungeon with such force that he heard his skull crack through his helmet. He was halfway through with choking the second one when six guns pointed through the bars of their cage.

When he slipped into unconsciousness only a moment later, propelled into sleep through a haze of Garlean sedatives, he watched through his daughter's eyes, as helpless as she was, as they brought her in for experimentation.

---

"Ashelia?"

"Yeah, Daddy?"

He'd requested the training hall for their privacy and some fresh fruits from the viceroy's private shipment, and he'd been granted both. Now that he sat with her, under the glaring fluorescent lights they'd installed, he doubted either would make much of an impact.

"Now that we're beginning to create new lives for ourselves, under Garlemald..." The words rang hollow, even to him. "...it's come time for us to take up new identities as well. New names."

She nodded, but nothing in her bright eyes registered understanding.

"It's something I did often as a Riskbreaker," he continued. "I would have any number of names that I would pick and choose from, as part of a disguise. It would help keep me and you and your mother and Aunt Alma safe - to make sure no one could find us if there was an accident."

"Has there been an accident, Daddy?"

"No." Not yet. "But it's still important to be careful. If you're a-" He couldn't bear to say it - the word "soldier." "If you're here, with me, you have to be undercover. I'll need to make a new name, and you will too."

For the first time, she frowned, as sure a sign as any that she was deep in thought. She stared down at the apple slice in her hand but did not bring it to her mouth. "But if I get a new name... how will Edge and Joshua and Frimelda find me?"

As always, she asked the questions he had no answers for. "If they're still alive," he began uncertainly, "then I imagine you'll find them, someday. If it's meant to be."

He had already been instructed not to speak to her of the Twelve. Whatever comment he had made previously had been so innocuous that he barely remembered it, but the warning had been severe - accompanied by a veiled threat to void his future visits.

"Will Mama and Aunt Alma still know who I am, up in the heavens?"

"Always." He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear, but she did not lean into the touch. "And they will love you no matter what your name is."

At last, she broke into her gut-wrenching sobs.

"I’ve decided I’ll be Rosenheim," he whispered to her. "In one of the old tongues, it means 'the home of the rose.' Aldous Rosenheim - what do you think of that name for a disguise?" When she did not respond, he asked, "Would you like to hear the name I've chosen for you?"

She heaved a few shuddering breaths, and nodded.

"It's Vera. Vera Rosenheim." He hated that her sobs stilled almost at once. "Mondeberta kept it in her kitchen; do you remember?" He certainly remembered all too well the time she had plucked a sprig of one, with the intention of eating it whole on a dare. "It can be used for... healing." And for making a serum strong enough to render a grown woman catatonic in the Undercity for more than a year of her life. But it was the only Ala Mhigan herb that could pass as a Garlean praenomen. "It's a wonderful name."

"NO!" she screamed, jumping to her feet. "I'm ASHELIA!"

"Ashelia Marco Riot." He allowed himself the indulgence of the full name Tia had chosen for her, not knowing when it would leave his lips again. "Ashelia, listen to me. You will always be my daughter. And I will love you to my dying breath and beyond." That was the most he could promise her. Even he had heard of the children van Baelsar had taken away - children of nobles and merchants and commoners alike. He could not swear that she would not be among their number before long. "But we can't let any more Garleans know who you are, can we? This is part of what it means to be in disguise. We'll have to pretend, perhaps for a very long time. But I'll-"

She ran from him then, for the first time in her life. When at last he found her, curled up in an abandoned corner of the research wing, he could not bear to comfort her with her new name or her old one.

---

To the Garleans, it was the first time she'd snuck out since the new year. Rosenheim knew differently, thanks to his dreams. His daughter had made a habit of leaving her chambers on nights when the viceroy was due to return and the guards' rotations were thinner in her wing. From there, she'd sneak out along the palace ramparts, steal down into the gutter, and find a quiet outcropping of Undercity territory long since abandoned by any self-respecting dweller.

By the time the knock came to his door to inform him that Vera was out of bed, he'd seen her sit at her destination for more than an hour of unbroken solitude. The only reason he was awake was that their connection had been cut - severed by an abrupt end to her concentration.

He shrugged on a uniform with the vague excuse of joining the search, only he knew precisely where to go. He knew better, too, than to follow her exact paths; a quicker route lay within the palace itself, and he was loath to surrender her own means of escape. For a single heartbeat of a moment, as he breathed in the midnight air, it was enough for him to recall himself as a boy, albeit older then than his daughter was now, exploring the Undercity for the first time.

When he at last came upon the place, it was somehow grander in person than through the eyes of a child’s dreams. He had remembered this hideout as an old weapons cache, littered with rusting swords and moldering barrels. Although the Echo had presented to him the change that had been wrought since he had last set foot here, he nevertheless could not believe his eyes: what had once been a useless, deserted corner of the Undercity was now transformed into an immaculate shrine to Rhalgr, decorated with trinkets and lit up by blue-burning candles.

He did not find his daughter there alone.

"Walker," came a familiar, imperious voice.

The Black Wolf, shorn of his helm and garbed in a simple leather coat, leaned in a corner. Vera copied his pose nearer to the cavern's entrance. The shrine gleamed along the far wall, as though in witness.

"Lord van Baelsar." He inclined his head but gave no further greeting, waiting instead for the viceroy to explain his presence here of all places. He did not, and neither would Vera meet his eyes.

"Would you care to explain to your father," said Gaius van Baelsar to Vera, "why you chose to leave your chambers?"

Vera bit her lip. Still she stared at her own feet.

"As you explained to me," the legatus continued, "you came here to pray to Rhalgr on behalf of your late mother."

The words hit Rosenheim with a pang of guilt. It was, of course, the 27th Sun of the 5th Umbral Moon - Tia's birthday. A day he had not even known that Vera had remembered, and which he certainly had not.

"Share with your father what I said to you."

Her voice was quiet but firm. "That reliance on false gods is a weakness."

"You are among the best and brightest of your generation, Vera. You will make a name for yourself in Garlemald, should you continue to excel. But you will not excel so long as you succumb to worship. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, my lord."

But that was not all. The viceroy showed no sign of satisfaction as he stared down at Vera, and Vera continued stifling her words through her clenched jaw. At last, she demanded, "Why can't I join the Crania Lupi?!"

"You are twelve years old, Vera," Rosenheim said before he could stop himself.

"You've much still to learn," van Baelsar added. Rosenheim found himself glad for the man's agreement. "And your role in Case 72 takes precedence over-"

"NO!"

Rosenheim forced himself to draw breath, to steady himself, to ready for any sign of anger from the most powerful man in occupied Ala Mhigo. But van Baelsar did not move. Instead he watched, along with Rosenheim, as Vera's hands balled into fists and she alternated her fury toward each of them and then to the altar.

"I hate being in that stupid tank!" she screamed. "I'm not learning anything, I'm not getting better - I'm just stealing power from dead things and I HATE IT!"

After a beat of silence, in which her words echoed endlessly around them, Gaius van Baelsar stepped forward from the wall. He drew himself up to his full height, there in the Undercity passage, and looked down at the girl before him with an expression Rosenheim could not read.

"I will repeat what I said before," he said, slowly, "only once. You, Vera oen Rosenheim, have the means to excel among the Empire. But you cannot honor your gifts - be they from your father or from the XIIth - if you traffic in savagery."

With no more words of admonishment, van Baelsar left the tunnel, leaving a teary-eyed Vera to follow closely in his wake.

---

Camilla was already shouting by the time he entered the briefing room, though not to anyone in particular. A notarius he had never seen before was still scribbling notes, as though she had not yet been informed to disregard her commanding officer whenever she became like this. A trio of privates shifted uncomfortably at attention, one of them still sporting a deep cut to their upper arm.

"Walker," she snapped, rounding on him at once. "Where is Seraph?"

"I've not seen her yet, ser," he replied. "I imagine she's only moments behind."

"She was instructed to arrive with you, at her earliest convenience."

"What's happened, ser?" She would hate him questioning her in front of so many, especially subordinates - but it would be best to get it out of the way before Vera arrived.

Sure enough, she bristled visibly. "She disobeyed a direct order; that's what happened."

Surely she of all people would not think him capable of buying that. "I was on backup outside Specula Imperatoris," he reminded her, as if she needed reminding of his role in this whole ordeal. "No new orders came in-"

"'No new orders came in'?" Camilla repeated, her voice breathy with affront.

"-and she carried out her existing instructions, as per the briefing."

She drew close enough to jab a finger into his chest. "Do not play the fool with me, Walker! You know as well as she does that the presence of a superior officer in the field takes precedence."

"And you know as well as I do, Pilus-" He scanned the room for the faces of any who might be stupid enough to relay what they were hearing to anyone else, and decided to chance it. "-that if literally anyone else had shown up, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Or perhaps if your daughter wasn't an arrogant, insubordinate bitch-"

"What, that's all?"

Vera had slipped in, unbeknownst to them both, still wearing her mud-spattered protective gear and her white hair coming loose from its high Garlean bun. Whatever retort he had for Camilla flew from his mind at once. Echo or no, it would never not be a relief to see her in the flesh after a mission.

Camilla rounded on her at once. "What were you playing at out there?!" she demanded.

Though the pilus towered over her in her heels, Vera remained utterly unfazed. "I carried out my existing instructions, as per the briefing."

"Do not test me! Your petulance has made a mockery of yourself and your project."

"Of you, you mean."

"How dare-"

"I slew every target we identified as a threat, and more besides," Vera pointed out, her voice quickly growing cold. "I took out more than a dozen Resistance leaders in all, and I gathered intelligence on a figure creating a schism in their ranks. You mean to tell me I was supposed to step aside from a mission I spent half a year preparing for, forsake what could be my only chance of recognition, because some spoiled little princeling decided to finally grace colonial soil?"

He could not fault her the words. He felt them and shared them, somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach.

"You will hold your tongue!" Camilla screamed, leaning her face into Vera's. "And mark me: you will be held accountable for your disrespect!"

The door slammed open, causing the three anxious privates to jump. Camilla whirled about, teeth gritted; Vera did not so much as turn to face the newcomer.

"F-Forgive me, Pilus," he stammered through an imperial salute. "I bear a message from Crown Prince Zenos yae Galvus. He seeks an audience with the one who, ah, 'interfered with his hunt.'"

With a wordless glare at Camilla, Rosenheim gave a single nod to acknowledge the summons and strode out in the direction of the Hall of the Griffin. He did not need the Echo to tell him his daughter was at his back.

"You did well today," he murmured, once he knew they were alone.

"Why are you still fucking her?" she retorted.

Another difficult question. "The crown prince will likely seek to test you. You can take my sword."

She did so, albeit with a scoff of frustration; hers had gotten cracked during her battle with a man the others had called Meffrid. Still, she could likely sense his unease, and twenty years together had taught them both not to argue against the other's intuition.

"You'll be alright." He wasn't quite certain where the platitude came from, even as it left him, but his daughter’s eyes widened as she nodded.

Twenty minutes later, she emerged from the throne room as the right hand of the new viceroy.

[protectwoc]

thots on little women (2019)

or, y’all are giving greta gerwig too much credit (part two)

The character arc that was changed the least from the source material, but that still manages to personally offend me the most, is, of course, Amy’s. It’s no secret that Gerwig is an Amy stan, or at least more of a fan of her than most people. I am as well, which is why I am so disappointed with this particular arc.

It’s honestly more disappointing because Gerwig handled parts of Amy’s arc extremely well, namely, her relationship with Laurie. Gerwig did an excellent job of making Amy and Laurie’s relationship feel less like a consolation prize since Laurie did not end up marrying Jo and more like a fully realized and reciprocal relationship, arguably more so than Alcott herself. HOWEVER, and this is a big however, the Amy/Laurie relationship is not the only important part of Amy’s characterization in the novel, and unfortunately, it is in the movie.

Amy starts out the novel as a selfish twelve year old girl, which is evidenced in no other but the infamous book-burning scene. However, throughout the novel, she grows out of that selfishness and into a more selfless, self aware woman. (Again, whatever your thoughts on “learning to be selfless” as a trope in women’s narratives are not necessarily relevant.)

For example, in the first half of the novel, one of Amy’s most notable chapters deals with pickled limes. For anyone who only watched the movie or doesn’t quite remember the book, a short summary:

Amy, the only one of the March girls who attends school, is upset because the girls in her school have been trading pickled limes. The limes are seen as a status symbol, which can be traded for little trinkets, bestowed upon favorites, or indulged in in front of your enemies. The pickled limes trend has become so popular that the teacher, Mr. Davis, has banned them in the classroom, which has done nothing to curb their popularity. Amy, who is relatively popular among her classmates regardless of her relatively lower class status, has been gifted several limes but had no way to return them, is greatly “in debt.” When Meg gives Amy enough money to buy a whopping twenty-five pickled limes, she flaunts and preens her way around the classroom until a girl she snubbed tattles to the teacher and gets all twenty five limes taken away.

This scene is a good example of the beginning of Amy’s arc of overcoming her one major personality flaw. It shows how her selfish nature is really just immature behavior, and as she ages, she matures out of that childishness. Another good example of this arc happens when Beth contracts scarlet fever. At first, she complains, saying that she would rather contract the deadly disease than to go to her Aunt’s house, but as she remains there, we see her mature and even grow fond of Aunt March. Her personal arc independent of Laurie was a big part of Amy’s plotline, and it was unfortunately left out of the movie.

The most glaring example of this is the omission of one of the most important scenes of Amy’s arc in the book: the occurrences at the fair. Again, indulge me in a brief summary for those who won’t know exactly what I am talking about:

The mother of one of Amy’s friends, Mrs. Chester, holds a three day fair for all of the girls in Amy’s social circle. As Amy is the most talented and most well-liked of the girls, she has the best table at the fair, at the very front, where she is to sell her beautiful artistic creations. However, her friend, May Chester, is jealous of her, and seeing this, Ms. Chester takes the table from Amy and gives it to May, relegating Amy to the back corner to sell flowers. At first, Amy is incredibly upset, and takes all of her art back to the table with her, however, after talking with her family, who are properly indignant on her behalf, she resolves to be gracious and humble and gives her own drawings to May to sell. Seeing this, Jo tells Laurie to take all of his handsome, college-aged bachelor friends to Amy’s table, which he does, and they spend the entire next day of the fair flirting with her and buying every one of the flowers from Amy. On the final day of the fair Amy, who has entirely overcome her own selfish wishes, tells Laurie and his friends to go do the same to May. This string of selfless acts is seen by Aunt March and Aunt Carrol (who in the novel has half of Aunt March’s role in the movie) and is the premier reason behind Aunt Carrol deciding to take Amy to Europe instead of Jo.

Leaving this scene out of Amy’s narrative in the movie is, I think, unforgivable. The inclusion of this scene would have exponentially improved Amy’s arc, for three major reasons:

This scene is the culmination of Amy’s “selfish to selfless arc”. Again, regardless of your opinions on whether this is a good lesson for her to learn, it is an arc, and as the movie stands currently, she simply doesn’t have one. The occurrences at the fair show her finally growing out of her childhood vices into the mature woman we see in Europe, and to exclude this scene does her a disservice.

Prior to her trip to Europe, this is one of the only scenes in the novel where Laurie and Amy have any sort of interaction. If Gerwig wanted to more fully develop the Amy/Laurie romance I cannot imagine the logic behind leaving this scene out. It would make the romance seem less rushed, which has been a common critique of their love story since the book came out, and would even  provide context for Amy’s “Not when I have spent my entire life loving you” line which Gerwig added to the narrative.

As previously mentioned, this scene is one of the main reasons behind Amy being allowed to travel to Europe with Aunt March/Aunt Carrol. Within the movie, this reasoning is less obvious, especially given the fact that Aunt March had already told Jo she would take her to Europe, and the inclusion of this scene would have made the trip feel more earned for Amy.

Greta Gerwig has made no secret of the fact that she both a feminist and a fan of Amy March. I am both of those things as well, which is why I cannot understand her logic behind robbing Amy of a complete arc. In the movie, the most important parts of Amy’s arc are all tied to a man. Even that arc is not as fully developed as it could be. Gerwig did a magnificent job with Amy’s overall likability, but that is not the same thing as writing a fully realized arc for her.

But even though Amy is my personal favorite character, and I am more personally invested in her arc, Gerwig’s mishandling of Amy is not the most egregious sin committed in this movie. That honor is reserved for Jo’s arc.

Part Two: Jo

A Buzzfeed article entitled “The New ‘Little Women’ Makes Space for Jo’s Queerness” claims that “Gerwig’s adaptation, without being too explicit about it, does gorgeous justice to that [queer] reading.” An Advocate magazine article called “Greta Gerwig Brings Out the Inherent Queerness of Little Women” makes the bold claim that the 2019 Little Women “offers the queerest and most feminist reading yet.” An even bolder declaration by them magazine says that “The New Little Women Basically Proves Jo is Queer”. Gerwig has been lauded both by critics and by her own actors for creating an explicitly queer narrative for Jo March. 

As previously mentioned, I do not generally read Alcott’s Jo as queer. However, upon my first encounter with this headcanon, I could immediately see why so many people did see her this way, and why this interpretation is so beloved. Jo has a lot of non-stereotypically straight traits that have made her something of a queer icon in many progressive literary circles. Both the way she bemoans being “born a woman” and her intense desire not to marry spoke to a lot of queer or non-cis readers, many of whom were excited to see her portrayed this way on the silver screen. And though I am not particularly attached to this headcanon, as a bi woman, I too was excited to see her that way.

And then… I didn’t.

Look, I hate to burst y’alls bubble, but there is literally not a single second in the movie where Jo is anything resembling queer. At best, she could be read as aromantic/asexual, but that’s about it. (Note: Obviously I don’t intend to imply that being aro/ace is somehow “lesser than” being L G B or T, but obviously the form of queerness people were expecting is one in which Jo is explicitly attracted to women.) There are no subtle looks in the direction of another woman, no scenes in which Jo expresses any negative emotion towards the idea of marrying a man specifically. She doesn’t even have a single female friend outside of her sisters.

One of the reasons the 2019 Jo (and by extension, Laurie), have been hailed as queer icons is their relative gender fluidity. Jo and Laurie exchange clothes throughout the movie, which was intended to display their “gender fluidity”. I knew about this particular facet of the movie before going to watch it in theaters, so I was looking for these occasions specifically, and I still couldn’t tell that they were supposed to be gender neutral. Maybe that’s just me, because I don’t know a lot about civil war era clothing, but whatever.

The other reason that Jo is considered queer in the movie is her rejection of traditional Civil War era femininity. She doesn’t want to get married, and she has no interest in “girly” things like dresses or parties. But neither of those things are specifically queer. Being “not like other girls” as your premier personality trait is not queer, it’s just garden-variety misogyny.

Even Jo’s big scene where she laments her competing desire to stay unmarried and her intense loneliness, has nothing marking it as explicitly queer. “I’m so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for,” she bursts out. Love. Not love for a man. Not even marriage. She is decrying the entire concept of love.

“But Rae,” I can hear you asking, “what about the ending, where it’s implied she doesn’t marry Professor Bhaer and gets to publish her novel?” To that, there are two important things to consider. One: the ending is intentionally portrayed as optional. Even though it is heavily implied that Jo did not go off and get heterosexual married at the end, it is possible to ignore that ending or do some light mental gymnastics to make the two versions of Jo’s ending coincide. And I’m not just saying this as a worst-case-scenario, I actually have seen people do this, in fandom and my own life.

Secondly, even if you take the ending as completely factual, we still have all the scenes involving Bhaer previous to the ending to give some hint of Jo’s sexuality. We never see her even look at another woman, but she flirts with Bhaer and blushes when he looks at her and asks for his opinion on her work. Even ignoring the straight-as-default setting of most casual viewers, canonically, Jo has only ever shown interest in men. One man specifically, but still.

“But she could still be bi/pansexual, or suffering from compulsory heterosexuality,” I hear. And this is basically the crux of my argument. In fandom, you don’t have to assume straight as the default, and it's probably better not to. Bi/pan headcanons for “straight” characters are a good, positive way of adding to a fandom culture. However, when it comes to canonical representation, the opposite is true. Representation is not representation if it is not explicit.

I’m not saying that queer viewers cannot feel represented by Jo in this movie. I personally  feel represented by Hermoine Granger as a black woman, due to her “wild, bushy hair” and her penchant for social activism (SPEW). However, I cannot give JK Rowling credit for that representation because she had nothing to do with it. She did not do any of the hard work to actually make Hermoine a black woman. In the same way, we cannot credit Gerwig with adding queer representation to Little Women, because she didn’t.

Conclusion: The Response

I know reading this essay probably makes me seem like a Greta Gerwig-hater or like I disliked the movie. Both of those things are untrue. As previously mentioned, I loved the movie. I’ve watched the Amy/Laurie scenes of the movie like a hundred times already. I also don’t hate Greta Gerwig. This is the only movie of hers that I’ve seen, but I heard all about Lady Bird and its popularity, and I think the directing of Little Women was excellent. The fact that Greta Gerwig is a very talented filmmaker is not necessarily an arguable point.

I don’t believe that Gerwig had to fully develop any of the sisters. I don’t even think that Gerwig is required to add queer representation (or racial diversity for that matter) to her movies. Greta Gerwig decided to adapt an extremely white, cishet Civil War era book into an extremely white, cishet Civil War era movie. Hot take time: she is entirely in her rights to do that.

BUT. The thing that bugs me the most about the movie, and is basically the impetus behind me writing this essay, is the response to the movie. For whatever reason, Gerwig’s Little Women adaptation has been deemed more “woke” than it actually is. Little Women (2019) has been lauded for its strong female presence (even though there are only white, cis, straight women), for it’s development of the other, non-Jo sisters (even though it doesn’t), and for giving its lead space to be queer (even though she isn’t).

Greta Gerwig made an excellent film, but she did not do anything that has never been done before. I liked the movie, but I’m not about to go campaign for Greta Gerwig or the movie to win an Oscar. In general, we need to be less willing to acclaim those who do the bare minimum.

Again, I’m not good at writing conclusions. At a certain point I’m going to just start repeating myself, so I’m going to go ahead and cut myself off now. Again, if anybody has any opinions on this, agree or disagree, please come talk to me about it! I’d love to hear any other thoughts.

[independentartistbuzz]

7 FROM THE WOMEN: RED FLOWER LAKE

Red Flower Lake is lush, heady electro-pop. Aloe vera for our dried-out hearts. Sweeping melodies and understated yet complex soundscapes. These songs are open doors to a relationship: two people who know each other about as well as two humans can, singing to the other, about each other, offering a brave and heartfelt depiction of the territories they have survived and navigated together. It’s all here: intimacy and distance, heartbreak and ecstasy. Vulnerability, insecurity and courage.

1. What have you been working to promote lately?

It feels like I have been working on promoting a lot lately (internally and externally). Things like honesty, clear communication, empathy, patience, naming emotions, opening my heart, peace in my family, etc, etc.

But that’s not quite what we are talking about. ;)

I have been working alongside my husband to promote our EP Three Truths as well as an exhibit of our multi-media work at the Torosiete museum of contemporary art - a virtual museum unlike any other. Our exhibit just opened at the end of October and will be open for all of time - as long as there is internet.

Our EP Three Truths consists of three songs, Heart is Breaking, Baby Don’t Go, and Brave. The first two were written when we had super young kids (about 8 years ago).

When we were first considering releasing some songs this past May, we weren’t sure which songs to begin with. We were pretty tired of Heart is Breaking and Baby Don’t Go but also felt like they were worth something, belonged together, and like they might be the beginning of a story. We figured we would see what mixing one of them would do and take it from there. We sent out Baby Don’t Go and after trying a couple different mixers, we landed on Mike Pepe through a family friend named Kelly Musgrave at Linear Management. He did his thing and we actually got inspired enough to completely redo the vocals which was pretty satisfying. I had started voice lessons several months earlier and felt like I had more to offer the song. Once the energy was back in Baby Don’t Go it was pretty exciting to see what some mixing would do to Heart is Breaking. Deciding to release those particular songs really felt like the end of a pretty challenging time. It has been nice to have them out in the world where people might be able to relate to them giving voice to an experience that is painful but also real. I don’t know how many emotions we get away with leaving unturned but I appreciate a song that can help me reflect on a feeling.

Heart is Breaking was the kind of song that was so of a moment, it didn’t feel worth it to try and enunciate the words better or change what I was unsatisfied with after hearing it mixed. I am curious whether that choice will actually impact my satisfaction long term but, so far, I have found it both surprising and amusing that putting something out into the world that is a little bit vocally unfinished doesn’t bother me at all.

As for Abel’s vocals though, they are straight from the heart. They are also his original vocals. I remember when I first heard them I felt a lot less significant as part of our musical duo. He just put it all out there and it sounds so good. Heart is Breaking speaks to the experience of wanting love even though it seems to always end in heart break. An experience that, as a young parent, felt very prevalent.

Brave to me is all in the title. My setup is such that if I want to play around on the keyboard with a feeling I’m having, I still need to pull up ProTools and title the session - even though I don’t know what I am going to play which is the case a lot. Often when I am sitting down to play music, it is to explore something in my mind and on my heart and in this case I wanted to be brave about that exploration so I titled the song Brave. Brave is about sticking around and being present to see what is true even if it is scary.

All of the songs I write are deeply personal. In the past, it has sometimes surprised me that Abel would even touch the material, considering how blatant it is but I’ve learned that I’m not the only one in the relationship that sometimes feels paradoxical and complex feelings.

Having made music together for such a long time now without releasing any of it, we are both really excited to share more of the story and more of our music. It feels like an epic tale that is still revealing itself in real time. Three Truths feels like the beginning of a bigger message - this first message being “Damn this is hard but relationship is sort of like that sometimes”.

2. Please tell us about your favorite song written, recorded or produced by another woman and why it’s meaningful to you.

Sade’s Smooth Operator. There are a lot of songs and a lot of reasons why to pick them but this one pulls me right back to a time in my life when not a lot of things were easy but at that moment, the house was warm, the whole family seemed happy and there was an abundance of food. I was maybe 5, my family was living with my great aunt and her daughters who were at least ten years older than us. We were all still getting used to living together and my family was still getting used to living in Va after moving from New Mexico. When Smooth Operator came into my awareness, it was the day after Thanksgiving and there was a bounty of leftover mashed potatoes, peas and onions in cream sauce, and stuffing that needed to be eaten. While we formed those leftovers into little balls and baked them, we were introduced to that song. I think we may have listened to the whole album a couple times through but we named our food creation after Smooth Operator and it is one of the special happy memories I have from an amazing but also pretty heavy childhood. Throughout my childhood from then on, Sade was a voice I leaned into. I remember one night my twin sister and I lay down in the dark of her empty room in middle school and listened in consecutive order through Diamond Life, Promise, Stronger Than Pride, and Love Deluxe on our tape player to the light of a big moon. One of my all time favorite nights.

Smooth Operator felt like a warning. Like watch out girls, they’re everywhere. The first song of their first album. Her voice was always my reference. I wanted my voice to sound like hers. I wanted to make songs like hers - with a point, with heart, and with a voice you want to listen to. Smooth Operator is our family anthem, made so by a moment we all recall fondly - an odd anthem perhaps but my family is as odd and as amazing as they get.

3. What does it mean to you to be a woman making music / in the music business today and do you feel a responsibility to other women to create messages and themes in your music?

Having an opportunity to use my voice as a woman at this time feels very special and important and I hope that I am doing my part in honoring the power of the feminine, and the important work of keeping it real in all my relationships at all levels.

I work to be authentic and express as clearly from my heart as I can. Making music - making art,  is a way for me to connect with my emotions, my inner wisdom, a way to express those feelings, ultimately it is a way to communicate something that means something to me. I recognize that this is a potentially self indulgent process and I pray that my purpose of honoring the human experience and reminding us of our power is conveying.

It is important for me to be super honest because there are so many feelings I have felt ashamed of and wouldn’t even admit to in the past that I am now realizing are actually just part of a human experience. Honoring and expressing my truth thus far has been a thousand times more empowering than the results have been of hiding from my truth as a result of believing I should be ashamed of my feelings and for believing in my worth - what I know is true in my heart. Denial of my truth has wreaked havoc in my life and it isn’t worth another moment of time to feed or encourage such disempowering paradigms.

I recognize that we all have a lot to heal from and a lot of healing work to do individually and collectively. I think a large part of that healing work is around being brave enough to honor our feelings, identifying their source, and getting empowered to speak/know/honor our truth - a truth that is both unique and valid.

Perhaps if we are able to honor ourselves in this way, we will be able to hear each others’ truths with compassion, recognizing ourselves in each other's struggles.

A big step for me in my healing journey has been accepting and being willing to hear and honor my own truth. No more wars - internal or external. When I am not fighting myself, I am one less person who is fighting themselves and that is extremely motivating. I think all of my fighting ultimately comes from internal conflicts so I might as well start with that and find some way to work that stuff out. I have been working on not making other people the bad guy but, if I see ‘bad guy’ out there in the world, to note that I see a reflection of parts of myself I still am in a healing process with.  

I am not sure what the depths of our world’s healing will entail but I know my responsibility is to my own healing and it is empowering to own that responsibility. I pray we all honor ourselves like the magnificent and unique creations we are and honor ourselves like we are somebody’s child who adores us. Even if we can argue that our parents did not or do not love us, there is still and always will be immense love for each of us in the vast universe and from our mama earth. We are worthy of our best life. In fact. I think it is the only sustainable future.

My responsibility is to honor and stay true to my truth.

4. What is the most personal thing you have shared in your music or in your artist brand as it relates to being female?

All of the songs I write are extremely personal and expose my deep internal struggles. But I am okay with being a voice and a sound. Being an image has not been easy. Learning to embrace my face, my body, my movement, my inner style, etc, feels much more exposing and personally challenging. The entire world of what is sexy, what is beautiful, what is inspiring, what is useful, etc. has been out of reach for me since forever. I find that the more I turn toward my spiritual truth, my spiritual purpose, toward awe and gratitude for the children in my life, the more permission I have and the more energy I have for exposing my physical person on a true and personal level. What feels beautiful, what feels empowering, what feels good and right?

I have in the past, been absolutely disempowered around beauty and sex that I feel like only now am I getting access to any answers internally about what is beautiful, empowering and what feels good for me. I am a mother and it is important to me that the children in my life have examples of real women and men in their lives who are empowered and strong and honest- not because of our physical form but because of our clarity in purpose and our open hearts.

I know the sexiest thing a person can do in my heart/ mind is their inner work, get straight with themselves about what they are doing here and live and breathe their purpose.

On the level of the eye, I think playing with what my spiritual guides have to say to me at any given moment feels the most appropriate and fun. I’d rather be in a conversation with them about physical expression than with old paradigms of sex appeal and survival on this physical plain.

5. What female artists have inspired you and influenced you?

Oh my goodness, So many. I really believe that the unapologetic art of all women throughout time has molded me as part of the collective creative conscience. Art begets art.

I come from a family of bohemian artists and I would be remiss in not honoring them particularly and their absolute influence in my life. Their authentic expressions have absolutely shaped and inspired me and I am so grateful to each of my family members for their conscious participation in living their best lives.

My highschool teacher and friend Zap McConnel reinforced and added to what my family already inspires in me. She was my first real mentor and example outside of my family in living a life of integrity and breaking the molds of our boxed beliefs.  

And Beatrice Ost. She has been part of my family for a long time but it really wasn’t until her grandchildren connected with our kids that we became better acquainted and, just as kids tend to do, through our children we have been led into a most beautiful and inspiring relationship of collaboration and inspiration. We wouldn’t be where we are now without her and really everyone in the world. The ripples are real.

6. Do you consider yourself a feminist? If so why and if not why?

I consider myself a feminist because I believe in the unique and essential wisdom of the feminine and its absolute importance in the balance of life. I could also consider myself a divine masculinist but that movement is really in conjunction with the healing of the divine feminine. It is for all of us to heal from this woundedness - not just women.

There is no denying that women have been oppressed for millenia - longer than any other human group except children - and it feels important to me to keep raising the collective awareness to the long lasting effects of oppression that continue to weigh on the lives of everyone. If mama is oppressed, everyone is oppressed because if mama is oppressed she does not have the power she needs to stand up for what she knows in the depths of her heart - to care for the hearts of her family and that kind of pain and injury is passed down a long way.

I have been considering the narrative of our media history around witches - how they have been conveyed so terribly in our social history. I am interested in those stories from the witches’ perspectives. I’d love to hear the backstory of Ursula the deep sea witch in The Little Mermaid. It seems to me that she may have wanted to say something to someone… An easily identifiable sentiment for most human beings at this point. There can be no more pretending how much we have all suffered because of fear and domination. I don’t think we need to gender specify suffering generally but just like with race, it is true that there are some significant stereo types that have been disempowering for a long time.

We are still living in the antiquated world of shame about menstrual cycles for God’s sake! It’s bonkers. I can attest that this particular gift has felt like a burden in this worn out world of 9-5 schedules and limited sick days and - if any - and our basic needs for survival are not cared for enough so that we don't even know this immense gift as an honor. But as we each recognize our person as an immense gift and when we honor ourselves and each  other as such, we change the world.

I am a feminist and a masculinist because I strongly believe that each of us as individuals needs to feel empowered as part of something larger than just our individual egos. Each of us is essential and honoring our unique gifts will and does heal our world in deep and profound ways. Each of us knows something, has a purpose here that needs to be respected by everyone. Men and women both would benefit from honoring the feminine in all that is and vice versa. It is a balance and as long as the balance is off there will be a need for feminism. And just as much there is a need for honoring the divine masculine. It truly is a matter of balance - one that needs support internally and externally as individuals and as a collective.

7. What was the most challenging thing you have had to face as a female Artist?

The most challenging thing I have had to face as a creative being is myself. My own pride and jealousy, self doubt, and a need for external approval have kept me from taking risks, whether it is going into action or taking a nap. Everything I did or didn’t do was based on what I thought somebody else might think which gave me very little room for actual self expression. Giving myself permission to exist independently of other people’s approval and trusting the creative flow has been a matter of challenging oppressive systems - both external and the ones and the ones in my head that I have defended as part of a fear based world. As I continue to grow wiser and my body becomes more of an ally for my heart rather than a sculpture project, I find myself in battle with old paradigms around self image.

It is an interesting time to be alive and I have lots of hope for us as a collective as I continue to break my own belief systems because if I can do it, it can be done. Breaking out of old and limiting beliefs, considering new paradigms, recognizing my inner/outer calling and prioritizing that calling beyond all else has been liberating and empowering. My dream is that all our dreams come true. I know my heart is based in love and that all the struggle has been for learning. This knowledge has helped me come to terms with trauma but I would say I think oppression is systemic and the more we can break free of our own excuses and reasoning to defend oppressive systems, the more swiftly and easily we will transition to a new world. I am more than happy to be inviting in a paradigm of inclusivity, kindness, inquiry, compassion, and honesty. An undeniable breath of fresh air from so many oppressive paradigms past and present.

Listen to “Three Truths”

Connect with Red Flower Lake online via:

https://www.redflowerlake.com/

https://www.instagram.com/redflowerlake/

https://www.facebook.com/redflowerlake

https://twitter.com/RedFlowerLake

[generalskales]

Ok Skales indulge me, tell me, in one sentence, about each of your fan seasons

Blood Estate: Lloyd gets dragged into more family drama and gains a vodka aunt

Traitors Of War: Zane decides that maybe going apeshit on purpose isn't a bad thing this time

Blackout: Jay meets another djinn and finds out that he has some funky stuff going on with his blood

Ancestry: The ninja go missing and the parents go on an adventure to find them while Cole has six mental breakdowns over a newt (it makes sense in context and I'm not joking)

Memonto Mori: Morro reflects on himself and his actions while also dealing with a new threat that kidnaps his cousin

Jubilee: Big Cat Guardians show off why they are referred to as Guardians and Nya finds out where her guardian went with bonus Sunny and Nya bonding hours.

Twisted Mirror: That Bizarro Ninja episode but B!Lloyd swaps and causes trouble, the b!ninja want him back and Zane is happy to oblige get this rancid mf off the bounty

Code Of Honor: Part 1 of 3, Kai has a secret and it involves lots of stabbing and near death experiences while everyone worries

Trust Aspect: 2 of 3 and it gets dark af so f in chat for Jay, Mission goes wrong, Jay and Lloyd are MIA, and Kai is getting into bad habits again, Jay gains the ability to kill and Malice fistfights a demigod

Chaos Simulation: 3 of 3, More bad habits, a train, and reflection of one's self while the world falls apart around him.

[cartoonfangirl1218]

Little Estoma idea

Some angst, some fluff, lots of gifs!  This is where I imagine for when they were dating during Shuriki era and Esteban has his betrayal a secret and Doña has a secret of her past. So Esteban is attempting to explain his scar and how Shuriki did it because she thought he was capable of overthrowing the ruler.

But he’s struggling to speak especially as he internally pictures the death of his aunt and uncle Doña: “Hey, hey it’s okay. You don’t have to talk now but when you are ready, I will be here for you and I will hold you and I will listen and love you all the same.

Esteban: “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve..” 

Doña: “Don’t say that. I mean.. let me put it this way. I, the greedy, selfish, vain, stupid, judgmental, shallow, prideful, stubborn bitch deserve someone better than you? Esteban, remember when you admitted that you used to be jealous of King Juan because he was like the perfect Prince Charming.” 

Esteban: “It’s unbelievable! He’s so perfect and good and happy and doesn’t make mistakes... he never. he never hurts the people he loves. He’s a true fairy tail prince.”  Doña: “I don’t care much for fairytales much less Prince Charming.” 

E: Really? D: Yes! Even when I was younger I preferred the sulky beast who only wanted to be loved but was cursed. He was real, he knows about suffering and he had able to grow and learn lessons and mature. Fairytale princes don’t do that. They’re too perfect. They don’t know about hard work or the weight of responsibility or the consequences of making mistakes. Like you. You work harder now, you try to be a better, more reliable, honorable person because you know your mistakes from when you weren’t.” 

“You’re not a prince but I am so so happy that you love me, and I don’t want to do anything to hurt you and if I do something I want that.... I mean I hope at least you will do the same. You would love me the same maybe...”

Esteban: “Of course I will.” 

Angst under the cut 

Esteban: I will love no matter where or how. Doña: Ha, so even if you were hypothetical a chancellor still and I’m just some poor village girl Esteban: I would still find you..... Ha! I wouldn’t.

Esteban (still talking) I mean why would ever be in a village, unless it’s for important diplomatic reasons if course. But I highly doubt I would have anything in common with you if you were from some village. Don’t those girls drop out of school? I would have nothing to talk about with them. Hehee imagine the struggle it would be to talk to them. I would have to dumb down the words.. Doña: 

Doña: Yeah heh, of course. Village girls are such idiots. We’ll be rich together. 😕

And so they continue their secrets. Eventually breaking up because secret relationships are hard and they both secretly think they’re not enough for the other. But also because 

Esteban: Tensia, can we talk about yesterday? When we were joking about staying here in Cordóba with new names.  Doña: Heh yes, we run away and live happily ever after. It could work. I mean we open a shop to sell your moisturizer. Only 4 days a week during the morning so people will know it’s very exclusive. Then we can charge nobles exorbitant prices, and the rest of time we just enjoy ourselves. You can do guitar playing and tally olaball games, and I can shop. It’d be a nice life.  Esteban: Yes, it would. I want it. (sighs) I really want to. It would be so easy to do, and that’s why we have to break up.  Doña: What?  Esteban: (choking up) We said we wouldn’t let our love interfere but I’m beginning to.. I fear that.. I no longer want to continue my burden. I want to stay in Cordóba and sell moisturizers. Hortensia, I want to marry you.  Doña: Oh Esteban. I would say yes. I’d be willing Esteban: (crying) I’m glad, but it...  I can’t do that to Avalor. I owe it to my family to stay. Kingdom before thy self. 

Doña: (tearing up too) I know. I understand. We’ll discuss (gulps) that tomorrow. For now, let’s just... 

(They cuddle up close together and share a kiss) 

They manage a civil break up. Albeit with lots of bittersweet looks so Esteban goes to Satu to help with the distance. As years go their rivalry becomes more tense as they change. Both have pretty much given up on making new laws, seeing as they’ve done everything legally possible. Esteban still cares but that caring just makes him feel more guilty and hopeless and depressed; all he can do is keep Shuriki from enacting harsher laws and maintains peaceful ties with his allies. Doña, on the other hand, chose to stop caring and focus on herself and her money. Sort of like this, 

Esteban: Okay, what the hell is going on? Is this some sort midlife crisis? Are you mourning someone? Extravagant spending, galas with nobles that you said were “shallow and never worked a day in their lives.” 

Doña: Nothing is happening. I just came to the conclusion that I should enjoy myself. Oh, Esteban, I’ve realized I’ve been stuck in the past, chasing stupid childhood dreams like having a family. That hasn’t worked at so well. But know what has? This store. This emporium has been the only thing succeeding and I decided that I’m going to put my energy and focus into it and make it even better! Esteban: You call spending money on yourself true happiness? Doña:  Yes, I can’t get happiness the other way so might as well embrace what I have. And I have a lot of money.  Esteban: No it’s- What about caring for oth-” 

Doña: I did care, and I’m done. I’m tired of caring for all these people that don’t even know how hard I work. There’s always something else, making sure they’re happy, making sure the economy’s stable, and I don’t get anything from it but stress and no time. I’m done being a failure as a provider. I’m done with “Kingdom before thy self.” If I don’t care, I don’t have to make everything absolutely perfect and now I have time to enjoy myself and my new friends. I mean we’ve done everything we legally can without Shuriki’s notice. So I’m going to relax. No more pressure. Don’t I deserve that after all I’ve done for them for the last 7 years? With money at least I can buy things. Money’s great, money keeps growing in the bank, it can’t leave you the way people do.  Esteban: No! I mean- eh it’s not right. You’re forgetting who you are. Denying that you feel guilty or sad doesn’t mean it disappears. 

Doña: Oh, I’ve had lots of practice with denial, it works. Besides this is who I am, I love money and jewels and new clothes and gossiping about other people and petty society intrigues. It’s kind of fun to manipulate the fighting. I was just too busy before to indulge in them. I didn’t get what Lady Yolanda meant that buying a new dress can cure depression? But now I stopped caring about the past and what my family would be disappointed. It actually works. 

Esteban: It’s wrong! You shouldn’t just forget about your failures or the people you loved. 

Doña: Why are you pushing this? I’m moving on with my life. What do you want me to do? Be like you? Moping around, depressed and miserable all the time. I wouldn’t stop you if you tried to push past your sadness to be happy for once.  Esteban: I’d rather do that than dishonor my family by acting so self absorbed and selfish. You’ve changed so much and- 

Doña: That’s your problem! I’ve changed too much, you’re stuck in the past! I know you’re life is hard, and there’s very little joy but but... Sometimes I want you  to have a happy life not just because you deserve it, but because I don’t want to hear more complaining. You can fix things, you know that right? 

But you don’t. You keep holding yourself back when you to start enjoying yourself. You push yourself and never try to move on. I mean, you never attend functions unless it’s a royal obligation, you have never gone to the opera just for fun or do anything in your free time that might guarantee a little respite from work. You prefer to be miserable and stew in your guilt. You hold yourself back when you to start enjoying yourself. You won’t allow yourself to find happiness with yourself. Or with someone else or anything! Be miserable fine, but I can’t act like that. My guilt is over with. (a little more gently) It’s been 37 years. You’ve been guilty enough. Try pretending it doesn’t exist, it really helps.  

Esteban: I can’t..

Doña: Of course you can. Esteban: You don’t understand. It’s none of your...it’s a royal matter. Doña: Here we go again! It’s a royal matter. I’m too low and stupid too understand your struggles with doing whatever you want and your royal burden. Give up that argument, Esteban. It means nothing. Besides I’m not acting selfish! I’m basically doing the same things you royals do. Going shopping, siestas. 

Esteban: That’s part of my reputation. I have to look my best. I thought you were more noble than the rest of the nobility that you rose from. I may have privileges, but I still better the peoples’ lives. You’re just acting self righteous.  Doña: You can force yourself not to enjoy these things, but you still have them. You’re pretty well off as Shuriki’s lapdog compared to the commoners. Face it, you have the power like her, you have the titles like her, you’re ambitious like her, you’re- 

Esteban: I am nothing like Shuriki!  Doña: You’re close enough. You’re almost ruthless by association.  Esteban: If you’d like to talk about titles, doña, may I remind you that you’re only so special because you’re magister. Without it, you may be intelligent and pretty, but just as common and worthless as the rest of the masses.  As for your formal request to aid the upcoming trade deals with the northern part of the Everrealm, I’ll have to decline.  Doña: Why? You said- we always do these things together.  Esteban: Yes, but that was before. I didn’t really need you since you don’t have the proper expertise to handle diplomatic matters.  Doña: What? No expertise?! Af-after 7 years. You-I.. 

Esteban: I didn’t need you. I never needed you. I only allowed you to come because I wanted a friend by my side. But now.... 

Doña: But I’m still on.you..

Esteban: No. no. You mean nothing to me. 

Doña: Hmmph. You think your friendship is some big loss for me? Get over yourself chancellor I-I hope you drown in your guilt. 

Esteban: “I hope you drown in your selfishness.” (Slams door) 

So done. Friendship over. Rivalry begins! And also though it wasn’t the major source of their friction, Esteban’s disgust for her avarice and Doña thinking it was hypocritical for him to criticize her clothes shopping and gossip when it was what he usually did. He said it was a matter of being royal and that he had an image to maintain jumps off their royal vs working class rivalry which was easier to argue you about than all the personal subtext underneath. They’re just very passive aggressive with each other now. 

Until after Masks of Magic when Elena tells pretty much her whole family all about what went down at the Feast of Friendship. So a few days later, Esteban stops by Doña’s apartment. Esteban: I want to talk about what happened at the Feast of Friendship. Doña: Yes, yes, things were a little wild and your cousin did her own thing as you said she is wont to do but everything worked out. I can’t wait to do it again next next year. Ugh too bad Paraíso is hosting next year’s. 🙄 Can we discuss the particulars tomorrow before our meeting, I have a date tonight and I need at least two hours to do my hair, and then there’s my makeu- Esteban: She told me that you grew up in a small ranch. Doña: 🤭 Um heh Elena said you were sick, I think you need to rest some more. We’ll talk when you feel better. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Esteban: Hortensia, don’t start denying i.. Doña: I’m not in denial. I’m doing my makeup (closes the door to her bathroom) Esteban: (continues talking through the door) It makes sense. You’re not from a rich merchant family. Your family didn’t send you in to the city alone so you can learn the value of money. You did it because you had no choice, didn’t you? Doña: If you want to start your “the lady is a tramp” jokes, do it now. You have an hour before I kick you out. Esteban: Why didn’t you tell me? Doña: ....... Because Elena isn’t judgmental like you. She doesn’t have your high standards.

Esteban: You really think my opinion of you would lower because of your background? You’re an exception. You’re educated and talented and... Doña: No I’m not. How could I.. I mean... Remember, my ex Ferdinand? How you said he was wrong about how worthless I am. It was just lies and emotional abuse. All what he calls me, is true. I mean even you said it yourself. Remember?  Esteban: I.. I didn’t really mean it.... that way.  Doña: Yeah right.  (Comes out of the bathroom) I am stupid, and greedy and a selfish hypocrite. No let me finish. He’s right. I dropped out of school after my quinceñera, Esteban. I didn’t even finish 9th grade, I didn’t go to college. I don’t know how to photosynthesis or speak a different language. When I first met you, I would spend the night before our meetings, studying the dictionary so I would understand some of your lectures on foreign relations. I’m no where near your level of education as I’ve been pretending to be. And Ferdinand is right that I’m a hypocrite, I don’t associate with other poor people and I don’t. I don’t.

How could other people respect me if they figured that I didn’t grow up knowing the difference between pink and fuchsia. That I didn’t have a private tutor like you. Do you know how many times I have been told that I would end up a whore because of my station in life. I couldn’t pay my dowry. And we tried, we tried so hard but they asked too much! And its not like I have any other choices. I’m not smart nor do I have a special talent. Basically, if I must quote *him*, “If I don’t pay my dowry and be supported, I’ll just be another whore with a body. Not good enough to be married, not worth enough to be even paid for a bed like a prostitute. “

As for my family? No, they were not merchants from Nueva Vista. I did not grow up rich. So rich I was sent to Avalor City to learn the value of money. I worked to provide for them and I failed. I didn’t work hard enough. I was too slow and selfish. I was so sad being alone, and homesick that I wasted time.

I was working to become the Magister, I was in all the right circles. I didn’t do enough. They died one by one from disease and starvation and exhaustion.

I was wanting to feel loved as they were sick and starving. I wanted them to tell me to stop working and come back because they missed me so much. Me, me, me! All I thought about me. It is my fault.  Esteban: No. 

Doña: Yes, I accept that. I just didn’t think it would matter to anyone. At least they hardly mattered enough for people to help. As you can imagine, they were born for a reason. They didn’t work enough. They deserve it. 

Esteban: I wish you’d told me before. 

Doña: Yeah, well... you wouldn’t have...I mean. Esteban when we broke up for the sake our duties I... it’s so stupid but I-I got unrealistic and stupid and I thought maybe you’d change your mind, and stand by me through it all. More than your fear of Shuriki, more than your guilt to your family. But love doesn’t conquer all. And if you didn’t stay when I was perfect than why would you stay if you knew how I really was? 

Esteban: Do you think I’m that shallow? I wasn’t that bad. I wouldn’t have said it was all your fault that you were poor.  Doña: Yes, you would have. You thought most poor people deserve what they got for not working hard enough like how Shuriki always raged on you.  Esteban: I’m not like Shuriki.

Doña: I’m not saying you were like her, it’s just-

Esteban: But I wasn’t. I’m tired of you seeing me as the villain because you think all royals are snobs. I’m not like that. I didn’t do anything wrong. 

Doña: Yes you were! You still are. Esteban: I-I respect Miss Turner despite her low rank. I’d listen to her opinions. 

Doña: Sorry I haven’t been up to date on your change in mindset.

Esteban: I’m just saying, I’m not the villein you paint me to be.  Doña: I’m not saying you are a villain but you are not the most tolerant. And I don’t hold that against you, you’re “better” now. But don’t pretend you weren’t like that. 

Esteban: I didn’t do..

Doña: Don’t feel bad, everyone is like that. After all  it’s not their problem. It’s mine. My feelings don’t matter in the long run. They’ll listen and leave. They don’t care. It would be like I hadn’t told anyone at all.

Esteban: I wasn't-I’m not like those people.

Doña: That’s not my point. Get out!  Esteban: But- Fine! 

Post All Kingdoms Fair 

 Esteban (covered in mud after trying to ride bareback on a horse) Maybe racing you after you lost Magister of Trade wasn't the best idea. Doña: Hmmm maybe you should have thought of that before helping Julio win, Chancellor. 

Esteban: You must know it's not personal. Kingdom before thy self. 

Doña: And the betterment of the kingdom lies in someone full of idealism and no experience! No. No way. You are far too smug about this for it not to be personal. 

Esteban: With Elena's return, I've come to realize that though we have done a good job in making Avalor stable and prosperous..there needs to be changes to make the city more vibrant. More happy than it was under Shuriki. You're too stuck in your ways, it’s more about you than the kingdom, and think you know best and... Dona: I do know best. Esteban: You're going to eventually burn out. You must admit you've been getting more stressed.

Doña: How do you know I- You get stressed and cry about your job. You don't see me trying to give your chancellorship to Naomi! Esteban: I'm just saying.. you'll have more time with your emporium and to do other things. Doña: Oh then thank you, Esteban for giving me so much extra time for me to think and be alone with my thoughts. Just what I always wanted. Esteban: Complain now, in the future---I told you so. 

Doña: Hmph. Not before I say I told you so when Julio fails miserably. And he will. He's so happy and wants to help everybody, it's like putting Armando in charge. He's going to give everything away. No more advantageous trade deals..ugh it's going to be horrible. Esteban: Have I mentioned that I'm going to miss that crazed look in your eye when you negotiate to get more goods for Avalor than whatever other kingdom? Doña: Why should I care more about other people than myself! I mean, I'm sorry are you serving the people of Avalor or the people of our allies? Avalorans come first, why should we serve their interests when we have to put our peoples needs before anything else? Like money for streets, and food transportation and- 

Esteban: Yes, I am going to miss that. Doña: Insufferable Esteban: Ruthless. Want to eat? Doña: Know it al— huh what? Esteban: Would you like to eat?

Post Incredible Shrinking Royals 

(After the dressing down by Elena and the Grand Council) 

Doña: Well that went well.  Esteban: Speak for yourself. You don’t live with her.  Doña: I don’t see what they’re so upset about. Even if we hadn’t invited King Hector, I’m sure something would have gone wrong. Things always end up crazy ever since you’re cousin became queen. Sure, Julio somewhat saved the day but that was just dumb luck. Next time I’ll get to say I told you so. Next time he won’t be.. 

Esteban gives her the look.  Doña: Okay maybe not.. 

Esteban: It doesn’t matter. There won’t be a next time for us. I’m on probation and Julio rightly fired you.  They lapse into silence 

Esteban: (smirks) But since we’re on the subject. I told you so.  Doña: What! What are you talking about?  Esteban: Remember? At our picnic after All Kingdoms Fair. I reserved the right to say “I told you so” when Julio succeeded. And I would say continued trade deals between Satu, Paraíso, Norburg and Avalor to be a success. I was right, you’re wrong.  (Doña sputters and Esteban continues his little victory dance and they reach the castle door. Oddly, Doña doesn’t leave immediately but pauses as Esteban starts to walk away.) 

Esteban: Hmm you missed just our schemes. It sounds more like someone misses talking to me.   Doña: I no I mean..You were the one who initiated those private chats after the Feast of Friendship and All Kingdoms Fair. It seems you’re the one who misses talking to me.  

Esteban: And and? You miss someone else?  Doña: Ugh Esteban, you know you’re insufferable.  Esteban: “I miss y-”  Doña: Ay dios mio.  Esteban: Say it. 

Doña: You’re not going to stop, Are you?  Esteban: Here I’ll help you start. You missed.... 

Doña: You. Yes. I missed you. Working together- okay scheming together was- I don’t know. It felt like old times. Esteban: That wasn’t so hard, was it? (Doña rolls her eyes) And just to clear the air...if we meet at the bar will I get to hear your real voice after you drink too much wine? 

Doña: (pauses and tries to regain herself) Whata what are you-” 

Esteban: No, no no. Don’t try to deny it! I was right! I thought I was imagining things because I drank too much wine! 

Doña: Ugh Esteban!

Esteban: So will you?  Doña: No, no no no no. That was a little mistake. This is my normal voice now. I’ve used it much longer.  Esteban: But...but come on. It’s your voice. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. It’s not bad to be poor. Doña: Ashamed and bad are two different things. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. But it is very bad to be poor. It’s matters. Esteban: It shouldn’t be that important. What matters is if you’re qualified for the job, not how you sound or where you came from.  Doña: They wanted to hire someone who was rich and educated from the city. I sound like that. I worked too hard to let something stupid than what I sound like to keep me from getting the job I needed, the jobs I wanted. Besides, you’re right that I am qualified in where it matters most, experience.  Esteban: But it couldn’t be that... it doesn’t matter. 

Doña: Yes it does matter, Esteban. Life’s not fair. Money, who has it and who doesn’t. It’s caused so much pain. You don’t know how people have treated me because they knew I was from a village. It only mattered to me that I was raped. Only I cared about my miscarriage. But the doctors didn’t care all because I couldn’t pay. It only mattered to me that I was starving or cold but the grocers wouldn't give me for free. And when I tried to explain, I was trying to provide for others, it was always the same thing. I had no right to ask for exceptions, I’m not special. It happens to other people. I should get over it. I should. It happened in the past. I should stop thinking about it. It’s in the past. It doesn’t affect me. I don’t deserve anything. I should be working harder for my fill. I shouldn’t have pride or act smart because I’m poor, I’m obviously none of those things. 

Money matters. It gives you value. Now I’m rich, I have too much prestige for them to deny me. They’d never think that I’m stupid or talentless.

Esteban: But you act like... You can at least have some more empathy for others. You don’t have to tell them your backstory but at least.. 

Doña: But it wouldn’t have been as believable.  Esteban: But Julio and other merchants..

Doña: It’s not the same. Sure, their lives are tough blah blah, they still inherited their businesses... still I suppose I could have... but..but I get so scared that people will figure it out and then they’ll think I’m just as vulgar and lazy as before. Because that is what poor people are meant to be. Menial labor. Ignored and derided and why would I ever risk going back to that position in life? It may be hypocritical but it is worth it if it lets me keep what I have. 

 Because that’s what I am. Without money, I’m so worthless- I-I don’t matter. I’m a worthless. So so worthless.  Esteban: No, you’re not.  I’ll admit I am surprised that you are not educated as I was but that just speaks to how intelligent you are anyway. You’ve learned on the job and you’ve been tremendously successful. As for your family, I am sorry. I don’t know what to say but.. but I think..  Doña: Don’t try with some Día de Los Muertos talk of honoring them. You have not starved before, you do not know that kind of pain and the kind of hatred you’d feel for suffering from it. I was selfish. I was so selfish. My family put their faith in me. I’m the capable one. I’m the provider. And I failed. They’re dead because of me. 

Esteban: Okay. But I didn’t... you never act like you feel.. 

Doña: We’ve argued about this, remember? I want to remember them, but I- I’m not like you. I don’t want to be consumed with grief and worthlessness, to push others away because of my guilt. Twenty three years was enough. If I have to force myself to forget in order to feel less guilty, so be it. 

Esteban: I still think no, never mind. Fine.... But you must know how I feel about you, and I would never think you’re worthless. Poor village girl or not. It doesn’t matter. 

Esteban: You don’t have to talk now but when you are ready. I will be here for you and.. Doña: No, don’t. You don’t mean it. Don’t tell me a lie to me. You’ve said it before. I’ve changed too much. You hate me. You think I’m a selfish, gre- no no. I’d rather not be comforted than comforted this one time and not again. Don’t comfort me once and leave. It hurts too much. It hurts. I’m used to no comfort, I’m used to it. I’m fine please don’t.” Esteban: (shakes his head) “....And I will hold you and I will listen. And I will still love you all the same.” 

Esteban: I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I wouldn’t have accepted you if I knew the truth. I’m sorry. Sorry mi llorena. Doña: Shut up. Esteban: Sorry it just really fits. And you know, I don’t hate you. You’re still sort of how you were.  Doña: And maybe you’ve grown away from the past a bit.  (So they hug for a little bit and Esteban decides to break the ice.) Esteban: Look how nice we’re being to each other. Do you think we could act like this all the time?

Doña: What? No! We’d have to fight less and be nice to each other and freaks people out for some reason. They are going to think I’m blackmailing you. Heh, like near the end of Naomi’s quinceñera I was going to congratulate you. But Lady Yolanda took me away because she thought I was drunk. Esteban: Really? It’s that unbelievable?

Doña: It’s fine. I didn’t want to congratulate you anyway. Esteban: (shakes head) Of course not. You’re right. The more we get along the more people will be disturbed. It would never work. But.. if you ever want to talk about your family, you can. It’s only fair since I’ve told you so much about my parents. Doña: (nods) Yeah, it’d be nice to talk to someone. I tried that..that psychiatrist idea you said I should. You know, for three minutes.  Esteban: Three minutes? You know you have to talk to him for longer than that right?  Doña: Yes but he was stupid. He wanted to know if I had a bad childhood or abandonment issues. I had a very happy childhood and I have no abandonment issues whatsoever. He didn’t give me a refund either.  Esteban: Well you do have a point, he must have not been a very good psychiatrist if he was trying to get into your clear emotional abandonment and repression issues without first addressing your borderline amnesiac denial. Doña: I don’t (Esteban gives her a look) Denial is nice. It keeps me from reflecting on feelings and other things. Once I think of one thing, it leads to another and then all the grief and guilt come in to consume you, you know. (Slight silence) 

Esteban: I know..... (shakes himself out of his thoughts) As I was saying, denial as a coping mechanism and how you focus on your ego and your money in order to avoid emotional attachment. Doña: I-I don’t! You found those fancy terms when you went to a psychiatrist for your superiority inferiority complex and survivors guilt with emotional repression.  Oh right you don’t “need” a therapist. Hmmm... 

Esteban: Okay, I just don’t have time for it. At least I know I have problems. I don’t deny it.  Doña: Which is more of a reason that you need the psychiatrist more than I do. You know you should but you don’t go.  Esteban: You still need to go more than I.  Doña: No you do.  Esteban: You do. 

(Both try to one-up each other with “You do”s) Esteban: You do! But if it makes you feel better, I missed talking to you. A little. And maybe since....with Elena around, and Julio as Magister we have time. The economy doesn’t depend on us. We don’t have to be so professional anymore and put together. We can have our talks on Sundays, like we used to.  Doña: Yeah but...l you have your family for that. You don’t need to.  Esteban: Yes, I do. It’s... You know the dark times. You know things that I haven’t told them. You’d get it. 

Doña: You know, I hate to say you’re right but you’re the only person I consider a friend. And Esteban? I’m sor..argh I’m not used to apologizing. One second, okay, I’m truly sorry that I said you were similar to Shuriki. I didn’t mean it. I was angr-...I was angry but that doesn’t justify it. It was uncalled for and untrue. I never believed that. You have done so much and you’re nothing like her. I have always believed you were a better person and that Avalor is lucky to have you fixing her reign of terror. You’re a hero.

Esteban: (wavery smile) Please. Don’t mention it. 

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Remnants, Part I

They did Ahkmenrah so dirty in the NATM movies, so I’m indulging. I’m not sure if this piece is going to work as a female reader-insert, but I am going to try that first. If you think it would be better with an OFC, let me know.

  Summary: You are in the midst of formulating your dissertation, but you’ve hit a wall. Your doting aunt, Rebecca, has a solution that brings you face to face with Ahkmenrah, Fourth King of the Fourth King. As the connection between you and Ahkmenrah grows, and as the secrets of his ancient tablet unlock, the once-king will find himself faced with a difficult choice.

   Warnings: None for now, but you can bet there will be smut; also, Ahk is a solid 20 years of age to be certain to avoid any squick factor. Also, if you’d like to be tagged, let me know : )

Part I

On the night you first officially met, you weren’t sure whether it was his beauty or his sadness that overwhelmed you. Ahkmenrah was sitting in his exhibit alone, gazing at the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls. His mouth was set in a serious line, which only served to accentuate his sharp jawline. His eyes, a polychromatic swirl of blue and green, were trained on the stories, his stories. The air was filled with such a level of concentration that it felt wrong to disturb this once-king.

   Larry whispered, “About a year ago, we figured out that he wasn’t an evil, cursed thing. It is his tablet, after all, that brings everything to life.”

   “He’s not wax or stone, though, so, he reanimates?” you ask hesitantly, even though you already know the answer. It’s just that you can hardly believe in its morbidity—cheating death always has a price.

   “Every night.”

   Your mind whirled. Every night, this former king came to life, and every morning, he returned to the nothingness of death. A price—there’s always a price.

   “Does he remember things, like the new things that happen at night? Or is he stuck living only with the memories of his past?”

   Larry chuckled, “Do you want to ask him all these things yourself?”

You nod your head. Of all the exhibits Larry had introduced you to over the last month, he saved Ahkmenrah for last because he knew that the ancient pharaoh was the reason you became an anthropologist. Not, Ahkmenrah in particular, but the culture of ancient Egypt. Your grandmother used to tell you stories about the pyramids and first introduced you to the riches of this ancient, civilized land. Their mythology fascinated you, from childhood until now, and it was the very last step of your doctoral pursuit. Your dissertation was about the parallels between the monotheistic cult of Akhenaten and the foundational principles of early Christianity. Although Ahkmenrah was a pharaoh of the Middle Kingdom, you were certain that the path for monotheism had been laid as the pharaohs navigated the world, acquiring more wealth and power. Science advanced. The miracles of the gods were explained. And one god, across cultures, emerged.

   And then you got stuck. You needed a lead and Rebecca, Larry’s girlfriend and your aunt, cajoled Larry into helping. She knew you would make any sacrifice to prove your research and keeping the secret of the museum seemed like a small price to you. So, Larry tested your character by introducing you to a new exhibit each night, carefully measuring your reaction, and then making sure nothing wound up in the tabloids the following day.

   While it was shocking, you had already spent so much time living within the past, it almost felt like coming home. The knowledge each reanimation possessed gave you hope that Ahkmenrah could provide you with the information that would cement your doctoral candidacy.

   Larry gently took your elbow and pushed you forward. Your slight stumble echoed into Ahkmenrah’s chamber, and he slowly turned toward the noise, his statues shifting, awaiting the young king’s word.

   “Son of Ra,” you spoke as you lowered your head in a bow until you closed the distance between the two of you, then you dropped to your knees, extended your arms in a full bow, and touched your lips to the stone floor at his feet.

   You didn’t move, even as you heard Larry chuckle from behind you.

   “Larry, guardian of Brooklyn, leave us,” Ahkmenrah spoke in a commanding tone that immediately silenced Larry and you listened as his footsteps shuffled quickly away.

   “Rise.”

   You rescinded your arms but rose only into a kneel, keeping your head bowed.

   Ahkmenrah sighed, an utterly sad, small noise of nostalgia.

   “You are familiar with the customs of my people, and you greatly honor me; however, you and I both know there is no longer a need for such a display of reverence. My time has long, long passed.”

   The despondency in his words called to you. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, his large eyes trained on your face, searching it as you looked at one another.

   Ahkmenrah offered you his hand, and you hesitated in a comical moment of twitching forward to accept it, but holding back, the customs of the ancients reverberating through your mind.

   Ahkmenrah chuckled, and you huffed out a laugh, too. Your 21st century self won out, and also your insatiable curiosity to know if he felt more like skin or a tanned hide--you know, how a several thousand years old mummified corpse might feel.

   As your hands connected, you immediately knew it was not the latter; his hand was smooth and warm, your fingers glided across his palm to grasp his wrist as he grasped yours and pulled you up from your position on the floor. Neither of you let go immediately, until a slight blush colored both of your cheeks. You dropped his hand and apologized, but he cut you off.

   “I’ve had so few visitors,” Ahkmenrah began. “It’s just nice to remember what a person’s touch is like. I apologize for . . . I believe the correct term might be . . . lingering?”

   You smiled at his furrowed brow and at his struggle to articulate himself. English, after all, wasn’t exactly his first language.

   “You speak beautifully, your majesty.”

   “Thank you; I was on display at Cambridge for a number of years, but please, call me Ahkmenrah,” he stated, tilting his head just slightly as it occurred to him he didn’t know your name. “And what shall I call you?”

   “Y/N.”

   He smiled and said, “A lovely name.”

   You took a deep breath, gradually becoming more relaxed in his presence. Nothing prepared you for your meeting with this young man, well, sort of young man. As Larry tested you by moving through exhibit after exhibit, you thought you would be able to handle the one thing you were really here for. Most of the exhibits, while they did add a depth of feeling, were like talking to living, very interactive history books.

   Except now, face to face, this creature in front of you was clearly no text book. He radiated warmth and power; his eyes were so alive it made you feel like you were the one who was a reanimated corpse. Never had you seen such depth in a person’s gaze; it was unnerving, but also it was like a key, turning a lock to something deep inside of you that you didn’t know existed.

   It also didn’t hurt that he was beautiful. Because of his age at his death, he still possessed a softness around his features that made you want to define him as cute, but his presence elevated him to handsome. A flicker of jealousy coursed through you at the thought of him choosing a queen from a line of many, many suitors. And then there would be the matter of his secondary queens, and you were sure he would have no shortage of choices there, either.  

   You shook your head, wondering why in the fuck your mind chose to venture down that path. You shouldn’t be thinking about this barely-adult king and his sex life; it’s not like you were going to go that far in your research . . . he may not even have functioning parts, hell, he may not even have any of his organs—

   “I believe the expression is, ‘Penny for your thoughts?’” Ahkmenrah asks, startling a blush out of you.

   You choke out an awkward laugh, run your hands through your hair and take a deep breath.

   “This is just so surreal. I’m not sure how much you know about me or my work, but I guess I should just start at the beginning. I guess the easiest way to explain would be to use a reference. So, there’s a fun little game that people sometimes play and during it, you divulge who you would invite to a dinner party if you could have your choice of any person, living or dead.”

   Ahkmenrah watched you intently, listening.

   “While Akhenaten was always first on my list—18th dynasty, awhile after you, I always wanted to meet a ruler from the Middle Kingdom, one of the most glorious periods of rule in Egypt. And, well, here you are. It’s like, almost better than Cleopatra.”

   Ahkmenrah chuckled, “I can assure you that the tales of my country will be far better than what her’s would be. From what I’ve heard, she brought much scandal because of her dalliances with foreigners,” he said, his face conveying his clear disapproval.  

   “She brought the end of your Egypt.”

   “Yes. It’s, what was the word you used? Surreal! It’s quite surreal to know the fate of one’s kingdom. I often think about what I might’ve done differently had I known what I know now.”

   “They do say hindsight is 20/20.”

   “As in, the past always looks clearer from the present?” Ahkmenrah questioned.

   “Exactly.”

   You had hoped he would be smart, and in your small exchange, it became clear that he was. While his intelligence excited you, it was the genuineness of his smile that took your breath away. For a moment, you were reminded of Nick Carraway’s description of Jay Gatsby’s smile. And just like Nick, you were immediately drawn into it, drowning with a need to just know the bearer of that warmth with a greater intimacy.

   “You’re doing it again,” Ahkmenrah said through his smile, startling you out of your thoughts.

   You shook your head, embarrassed yet again.

   “I was thinking about something I read in a book once.”

   Ahkmenrah spoke with excitement, “Larry told me you preferred books to people because you didn’t have many friends in your youth. I’d like to show you something.”

   “I’d like to show Larry something right about now,” you mumbled as you followed the swishing of Ahkmenrah’s golden cape. He disappeared into a smaller nook between the walls of his exhibit and returned with a stack of ancient paper.

   “The tablet seems to also restore anything that is organic,” Ahkmenrah explained, showing you the pieces of papyrus that were covered in hieroglyphs. “This is the history of my family as told through our own voices . . . I think you would call it a diary?”

   You must have looked like an idiot, your mouth agape, your eyes darting between the paper in Ahkmenrah’s hands and his dancing eyes.    

   You started to speak, stopped, stuttered, and started again.

   “This is a first-hand account of the life of ancient Egyptian royals?”

   “Well, not exactly. My father was very thorough in his tracking of the members of our lineage and decided to include everyone’s stories—cousins of cousins, people who worked the fields or the rivers. I believe you will find there is much to learn from these pages.”

   Your voice cracked a little as you thanked Ahkmenrah for this honor, but before he held the pages out to you his face turned serious.

   “I’m sorry, Y/N, but you will only be able to read them while at the museum. Once dawn comes, they turn to dust, and if too much is scattered, I fear they will no longer reform.”

   “Of course! I’ll only read them right here.”

   “So, this means that you will be returning?”

   “Yes! My god, Ahkmenrah. You have no idea what this means to me.”

   Ahkmenrah smiled, the sadness leaving his eyes entirely for the first time that evening as he watched you carefully examine the pages of his ancient life.

[iskragill]

                        𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐒𝐊𝐑𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐋 ( 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐀 )

kissed by the sea and dappled in gold. champagne overflowing onto marble floors, dappling the deep royal of a silk sheath. fingers dripped in gold & stained at the black tips with feather-light ink. popping a bottle in the school courtyard. silence at the dinner table. laughing too loudly, too coldly, too haughtily in a warm museum hallway. the hiss of a snake, the sound of the ocean. somewhere a third eye is watching. wrap too many ball-and-chains around your little finger, and it may just snap. to be the sun and the disparaging moon. the wish to be immortal in multitudes, multitudes, multitudes. a girl is a legion. the scent of heady adoration thick upon your skin.

Skeleton: Cleopatra

Name: Iskra Gill

Age: twenty-two

Faceclaim: Anya Chalotra

Major: Political Science & History double major, Philosophy minor 

 intro.

- Who Iskra’s birth family really was has always been a bit of an open secret. She was born in a town by the sea, on cobbled rocks outside of a sterile hospital room, washed clean by the sea-salt and left on the hospital’s doorstep by a mother that couldn’t afford her, that didn’t want her, that had never told anyone that she was with child. Iskra would never know the name of the town, the name of her mother, the name she was meant to have been given – but a perilously rich family, a vapid black hole of circumstance, adopted her with the best of intentions, for they were unable to have children of their own. Later in life, Iskra might think it appropriate; one parent wanted a boy, and the other just wanted a child.

- The Gill family was… sketchy, at best. They dealt in art and property, and seemed all too cagey about their work. Even when Iskra was but a girl, curiosity was snuffed like a smoking candle set to blare fire alarms; the gallery was closed to everyone but Mother, Father, and their associates, who came and went from the house with packages bound and hidden away. It wasn’t until later that Iskra would learn that her adoptive parents dealt in stolen art, pilfered jewels, and counterfeit artifacts. They so often were guests of honor at museum galas, gallery openings, and the like – but they were thieves, liars, con artists who cared little for the sanctity of what it was they pilfered like meaningless trading cards.

- It was lucky – and a testament to her own big head – that she turned out more curious than conniving… though she was plenty cunning and political on her own, given her natural-born proclivity for survival. A keen eye for every detail was given to her by osmosis; were she not so headstrong and self-sufficient, she might have bought into the family trade of criminal activity and blood money. Although she never saw it, she was sure that one of her father’s associates may have killed a man. How else would they stay so secure, so rich, so easy?

- It was into the books in her father’s study that she delved, that made her feel at home, in control. At dance class, in vocal lessons, when her hands should have been busy with violin practice, she was reading. She knew more about history and politics than her own family, who were all too concerned with their business to know what was going on in the world around them. And yet they still wanted her to be their pretty, prim, perfect porcelain daughter, who would get a useless degree and marry rich, and not put up any kind of stink that might put their family business into light.

- Then they adopted a brother. They loved him more. This is known. This is all that matters.

- As she was cast to the shadows, at the back of the stage, the black swan was able to indulge in her own ambitions. The dancer with whip-sharp wit at the pinnacle of every turn turned scholar, quitting all of her dance, art, and violin classes to throw herself into political clubs, study groups – everything that would make her so much more fucking POWERFUL than any man they might adopt into their fold. She hated her brother; she never speaks his name. Because she knows she’s better. Even he knows she’s better.

- And then they gave all of her inheritance to her brother. Fuck funerals, fuck family. She didn’t even attend it, even though it was both of them that died in the gallery fire. They died, and all of the money went to her brother, who had been adopted into the family when she was a teenager. She hates them. She hates her brother. Success is the best revenge.

Iskra threw herself into her studies as she came of age, falling to the care of their aunt, knowing full well that no one would give a fuck until she was so goddamn successful that no one could discount her anymore.

- But her brother had gotten all of the money, all of the family fortune. She worked odd jobs where she could, finishing her high school education; the only thing she was given willingly was her father’s collection of books. History, philosophy, war books, tomes in classic languages; they had been all Iskra had been afforded early on – as it was now clear that her father had wanted a boy, and her mother in all her quiet obedience had just wanted a child – and it was what propelled her to a number of publications in her early undergraduate years.

- History papers, philosophy papers, political accounts, all cited from her father’s books; these made Iskra notable. She shirked her family ties, wanting nothing to do with the shady business that her brother had inherited. Her brother damned her for it, for he was truly an idiot who could not handle a business built on blood-money foundations and criminal intention. Iskra could have handled it; Iskra could have taken over; Iskra could have kept the thief-money, the blood-dynasty of the Gill trade family alive and lucrative. But her brother was a fucking idiot – and he deserved to crash and burn with the Gill family name.

- She avoided the crash and burn – and the death threats and damnations that came from her brother as he dropped out of college to deal with the mess that their parents had left behind. Perhaps she’s cruel for not caring about her brother; perhaps she’s cold for not caring about the legacy of her adoptive family. But she never felt love from them. The only love she felt was from herself.

- And so, after a number of published papers in the Harvard Review, and journals like it, caught the attention of the Dean of Ashcroft University, she moved from the coast to the hills of Edinburgh and never looked back. She was tapped to join the university because of her scholarly writings and scholastic presence; they saw only the scholarly side of her, and not that which made her so jaded, so ambitious, and so bitter. She was too smart for her own good; a lifetime of being taken advantage of, and discounted entirely by her family and her peers, was just enough to make her bitterly jaded, spurned on by both her ambition and her spite. She had been a consolation, a holdover for something better – but she was smarter, better, more well-known than a brother bought into a legacy of blood money and stolen artistry. She wanted nothing to do with crime, with subterfuge, with lies – she wanted to be good enough on her own, and so she was. She was published, she was showered with accolades, and for the first time she was noticed for her own mind, and not for the heft of her family’s reputation.

- Octavia was the first to know. She was the first at Ashcroft to read Iskra’s papers. She was the first to tell Iskra that she was wonderful, that she could rule the world, that it was a woman���s mind who’d conquer them all, and not a man’s. She had been so used to stepping aside for men, that it took her by surprise. Octavia was also her first kiss. Octavia always thought that it was a girlish, fun, harmless, drunk thing. But it was Iskra’s first kiss. And God, she’ll never forget it.

- She and Octavia were two sides of the same coin. Both were different shades of the same color of ambitious, and they built upon each other like empires. Iskra had very little money of her own when starting Ashcroft, since the entirety of the Gill fortune had been left to her brother, and so she took to selling the hallucinogens that she had acquired – through a long-term contact from a conference she had attended in Amsterdam after publishing a paper on Egyptian history – for both money and status. She did her best writing when she was high beyond her own mind, she figured. She was intellectual – Octavia was cerebral. Both women knew to use their bodies and their minds in equal measure to get what they needed, but Iskra was the brains, and Octavia was the heart. Iskra was always the cold logic, the calculating philosophy; Octavia gave them passion. And perhaps it was passion for Octavia that Iskra felt so strongly.

- They were best friends, of course. Inseparable. But she was Iskra’s first kiss. It was at a party – meaningless, full of laughter, easy, quick. Meaningless, however, only to Octavia. Not to Iskra.

- She and Octavia were two sides of the same coin, but they were made from similar mettle. Octavia was the only one who ever knew that Iskra was and is intensely bisexual, although since she has only been with men. Octavia is the only girl that she has ever felt anything for – and now she’s gone.

- Ok, but here’s the thing – all of this might make one think that Iskra is some desperate, small, weak little woman. But her well-deserved hubris is monumental, and she knows good and well that she can do whatever the hell she damn well pleases. She’s a self-made woman with loyalty to herself above all (Octavia is a different story), and she if it came down to it, she could just well and good not need anybody. She doesn’t need anyone’s validation because she’s earned her own reputation, knowledge, power – everything – on her own. Octavia is her best friend, and they ruled the place, but damn if there ever was a woman who could run the place with an iron fist.

- Iskra is majoring in Political Science and History and has a minor in Philosophy because of her proclivity for politics. She’s a Democrat from a Republican family, and wants nothing more than to burn old money to the ground. She could be a queen, if she wished. Or a goddess, perhaps. Theocracy has always been a fun historical convention.

She wants more than anything to see and speak to Octavia again. Iskra doesn’t belive in ghosts – who does ( apparently everyone, Iskra. everyone. ). She would give everything to see her best friend again, and would do anything to ensure that whoever killed her gets what they deserve. Lysander – whoever the fuck. She doesn’t care. All she cares about is that they pay, that they suffer, that they know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they’re damned for it. But like… ghosts? Come on. She hasn’t seen a single ghost, nor does she think she ever will. She’s too pragmatic for that. But… to see Octavia again? There’s enough of a hopeful girl in her, somewhere, to think that maybe they could laugh together once more.

- In the meantime, Iskra has no issue sinking into what is expected of someone like her – the drugs, the alcohol, the sex, the parties. She’s on top of her shit enough to let it go a little. What else are you supposed to do when your best friend has been killed. To find a warm body – that warm body in particular; she feels guilty, but shared misery is shared warmth – and a little mindless emotion is to find safety, healing. It is the one warm crevice in her icy, pragmatic exterior. She is all diamonds and steel – save the warm vein of heart-pounding viscera that runs down her spine.

- And she’s still gonna rule the world. Don’t get that twisted.

- But fuck if she’s gotta get past Octavia first. Which is hard. Anyone would have trouble getting past Octavia. She knows all of Iskra’s secrets. But even if she didn’t… two queens, now one. What’s a single ruler to do? Mind over matter, she thinks. She’s never let her feelings ruin her before. If she had, she might have given more thought to how obviously her family just doesn’t care about her. What matters is that she’s continuing to build an empire on her own shoulders, that her own strength and proficiency is propelling her to the top, where she belongs.

- But fuck, justice might be nice. Revenge might be nice. Does vengeance taste like her favorite honey tarts?

- She just doesn’t want to be defined by anyone – living or dead. She is beautiful, and untouchable, and cold inside.

- So then why does Octavia make sadness feel like melting?

letter to octavia.

My Tavia,

Really rude of you to leave me hanging like this. You know I can keep these people in line on my own, but I’d sure as hell like for you to be here with me. I don’t know how to write these fucking things. I’m setting this shit on fire, right? You’ll never see it. Kind of fucked that the last thing we ever talked about is Bachelor In Paradise. I hate that fucking show. Surprise!

Thank you for never telling. Remember that first semester when I had to sell to the locals to make tuition? My stuff was the best. I still have some of it. But they took it for way more than it was worth. I still have the shoes I bought with the extra cash. Remember those boots? I’m wearing them now. You always said they made me look like a dominatrix, but I kind of like it. Where else do men belong, if not beneath our heel?

Fuck, that’s dramatic.

I’m going to figure out who did this. I know they say it’s Lydander, but something feels wrong. Why didn’t you let me come with you? I could have come with you. I could have protected you. We could have fought together. We always fight together – even if it’s bullshit like Professor Kvinsky’s finals. We fight. We conquer. That’s us, that’s what we do.

Why am I still writing this? You’re not going to read it. I almost want to cite this shit, like it’s one of my bullshit papers. Did you know that you’re the first person to ever read that bullshit of their own accord? I didn’t even show my mother. I submitted all of them behind her back. She wanted me to be a stupid little housewife, but we both know that we could have been more than that.

We. We were supposed to move to Prague, remember? You would be a dancer in the ballet, and I’d be your austere, scholarly benefactor. What an aesthetic that was. We would have ruled the goddamn world.

But I still am going to rule the goddamn world. I’m going to do it for you, but I’m also going to do it for me. I’m going to find out who did this to you, and then I’m going to fucking crush them.

I fucking love you. I’ve always loved you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had in my whole life, and the only person who’s ever seen me, really seen me. I love you. Remember when I kissed you? It was at Dominique’s party. Goddammit.

You’ll never see this. Fuck grammar. Fuck MLA.

I’ve never been a vengeful bitch, but I might just become one. I’m sorry, Tavia. Sorry I couldn’t save you. But I’ll make it right.

Iskra

PS - Your brother’s still tacky. Hate to see it. ;)

TOO SEE THE TEN OTHER DRAFTS SHE WROTE OF THIS LETTER, CLICK HERE

misc headcanons + musings

SECRETS

so in my letter ( because i was drunk writing the whole app ok i’m sorry ) i didn’t really make it clear what iskra’s big secret is. this is primarily because i assumed that octavia would never use her ghostly powers for evil instead of harmless shenanigans only when it came to iskra. but a lady like iskra’s bound to have a lot of secrets. she’s manipulative, cagey, and seems above the rules and laws of everybody else – if only because it’s a means to further an end. so heck yes, she’s got a lot of secrets. let’s name ‘em, in no particular order.

1. so we know that she sold drugs. hallucinogenics, in particular, because those are fun, and people are more susceptible to ’persuasion’ when under their effects. she’s been doing drugs ( of all kinds ) since she was young; it all really started when her brother got all the family inheritance ( and the house… and the stuff… and the etc etc etc ), and she took what money she did have, stole the family car ( well… one of them anyway ). and travelled the world in it. france, spain, italy, portugal, amsterdam, prague, milan, greece, croatia, istanbul – and then to egypt, morocco, and then on a chartered flight to st. petersburg, with a collection of businessmen and businesswomen who she met in marrakesh.             ➔ but here’s the rub. in the third booth from the left,                 at the st. petersburg ballet, someone had a little too much.                 they were rushed to the hospital, and by the time they were                 lucid enough to know and say who it was that had given them the                 drugs, iskra had already ghosted away into the snow. and does she                 feel guilty? nah.

2. in that same vein, iskra sure as hell acted rich when she arrived. but she sure wasn’t. every bit of cash, every jewel, every designer shoe – she earned it on her own. with or without drugs. octavia is the only one who knows that she used to string along potential ‘sugar daddies’ to get money… but she’d never do anything with them, of course!

3. she told octavia in her letter that she hates bachelor in paradise, but that’s a dirty dirty lie. put a glass of pinot grigio in her hand, and there is nothing that she likes better than judging those hoes and rating those abs.

4. she has four tattoos, all of which she doesn’t really flaunt. it’s kind of the equivalent of a victorian lady showing her ankles. she has a snake on her left hip and thigh, an eye of horus at the base of her neck, her favorite section from the illiad on her ribs, and an egyptian water lily on her inner bicep.

LAST TEXT SENT TO OCTAVIA

iMessage ➤ Octavia: okay, but would adding a second minor be too much? i'm thinking communications.

iMessage ➤ Octavia: galaxy brain play. second minor in communications. get into politics. become a PR maestro. leak my OWN nudes

iMessage ➤ Octavia: scratch the nudes. but yes to the comm minor. you know how i like pulling strings.

SECRET NERD (THE REAL VICTORIA’S SECRET)

listen!!!! she’s That Bitch, but she’s also an embarrassingly large encyclopedic knowledge of literally everything. she’s a nerd. she’s a geek. she knows way too much about way too many things. iskra is an intellectual, and knows that while her sexuality is fun, her mind is her greatest weapon. she’s incredibly adaptable, and has a sharp memory. if you need anyone at all on your trivia team… pick iskra. she knows everything.

assuming she’ll join your trivia team. she’s choosy.

POWER > BOYS

Power is always better than love. In fact, Iskra has never really seen the point in romantic love, and has done an excellent job at separating romantic feelings from what is useful. Attraction, lust, longing – all are excellent tools to keep people in check, and to ensure that they do just what it is you need and want them to do. Iskra has never been in love, nor can she really see herself ever falling in love. But, hell, if people love her, they’ll do what she wants them to do. She likes to keep lovers wrapped around her little finger, using sex, flirtation, the promise of something to keep them at heel. She knows that she’s beautiful, she knows that she’s smart, and she’s got hubris that would make a king covetous. And she knows good and well that people love her, and will love her, for it. After all, her desire for power, and her desire to be the best at everything, and to know everything, is what has pushed her to pursue the degree and career path that she is undertaking now.

It doesn’t hurt to have a little practice with her classmates. She gets what she wants. And what she wants is power – not love.

* personality types

Gemini Sun / Scorpio Moon

ENTJ

Choleric

Ravenclaw

Type 3 - The Achiever

House Lannister