#absolutely nothing to do with architecture but it fit more here than on my main. vhs history etc

[leroibobo]

during its apartheid years, south africa had one of the strictest media controls in the world. this extended into homes when television was introduced in the country in 1977 (which the government had delayed until that year due to fears of "undue influence"), and when home video came along with it. each videotape that was legally distributed during these years was required to have a notice in the official languages of english and afrikaans that it complied with media censorship laws codified years prior.

(the model for the certificate was likely influenced by the british board of film classification's. by the beginning of the 20th century, the british had brought the template with them to south africa and other former colonies such as india. south africa was probably the only country to use it on home releases.)

this meant that south africans who watched "legal" videotaped movies not only had to sit through commercials and a standard-issue anti-piracy warning, but a federal confirmation that the film didn't feature an interracial couple, among many other things. the total time for the two warnings could reach up to two minutes long - for comparison, the chorus of "oops i did it again" by britney spears is twenty seconds long - but some were rushed through.

this example was taken from a tape of disney's snow white and the seven dwarfs published in 1994, the year apartheid ended. the media censorship laws which required the certificate would be overhauled two years later, though video openings remained similar for a while after.

[translationandbetrayals]

Shiki, an anime perfect for the season

September is ending, and with it comes October, which means… Halloween!

So, it is the perfect time to talk about one of my favorite horror anime: Shiki.

This anime was aired first in 2010 and is based off a novel with the same title, written by Fuyumi Ono. It is a horror story that presents a mystery, and by the middle and end of it has some very grotesque and gory scenes that are also absolutely cruel. If you are an extremely empathetic person you might cry at least five times throughout the story (I did it, I am that person), so proceed with caution.

  A summary (without spoilers):

The story of Shiki takes place in a small village called Sotoba. It is so rural that the population consists of no more than 1300 inhabitants, where almost everyone knows each other. A typical countryside portrayal.

This village has only one entrance, and besides that, everything is surrounded by trees. Those same trees are the ones people use to make the tombstones and coffins for their dead. That's why one of the main characters, a monk that's also a novelist, says that they are surrounded by death itself.

In this place where nothing interesting ever happens, a big mansion with European architecture was built on a hill, a place the villagers used to call Kanemasa. This edification was empty for a long time, until the owners, the Kirishiki family, finally got to live there. And that is when everything started to change.

  One of the aspects that really caught my attention when I watched this show for the first time, was the character design of the cast. It has an art style that seems pretty unique, and I think it fits the story pretty well. Some characters look a bit creepy, but it is part of the charm these designs hold. (I would like to post them here, but sadly I don’t know how, so if you are interested, please check them on google).

  Now, I would like to comment and give my insights on this story, so there will be some huge spoilers. There are no big plot twists, since it is obvious from the start who were the culprits and what they actually are, but the motives and relationships between the characters, and what they can do to obtain what they want.

  Well, more than writing on the story, which I think is actually very simple because the reasons of why everything happened are said literally at some point, so if you pay enough attention, it is pretty clear. The vampire family wanted a place in which they could live freely, as if they were normal people. What was the meaning of this? That they actually wanted everyone in the village to become like them, to be one of them, and so, live like the normal people lived in other places, with their jobs and families, a normal life, but in the night. To obtain this, their only option was to kill everyone there, and hope most of them would revive and become part of them.

But why would they want to become allies with the same people that killed them? They were manipulated, as we can see with the case of Tohru, who was a kindhearted guy that got forced to kill his best friend, just because if did not obey, they threatened to go after his siblings. To me, it was one of the most heartbreaking parts of the story, specially because his friend, who is one of the main characters, decides to let him kill him, but trying to convince him of running away until the end. Natsuno (one of the protagonists) never wanted to live in that place, and he was very straightforward about it. He did not let others be friendly with him because he was decided to leave that place when he graduated school, so he really never wanted to get close to anyone. The only exception was Tohru, who was so nice even he could not reject him. So, when his only friend died, and he could see him be “alive” again, he was not strong enough to abandon him. He said that he would find a way in which they could live on without hurting people, that he would let him take his blood when he was hungry and that he would not give up on him. But nothing changed, and he died too. Because it was his life vs the life of Tohru’s family, and even if he decided not to kill Natsuno, the Kirishikis already wanted him dead because he was aware of everything. So even if he refused to do it, someone else would. It was inevitable.

After that, Tohru continued killing people and obeying the Kirishiki family, because what else could he do? The hunger the vampires had to endure was so painful, and he already lost by his own hands one of the most important people to him, he already hated himself enough to the point he could not care anymore about strangers, it would not change anything if he stopped now.

Besides that case, there were other persons that decided to kill their own families with the expectation that they would get up just like they did.

“Everyone feels guilty at first, but then we get used to it, because if we don’t eat, we would die”.

That was the excuse they would give to the recently awakened vampires (that in this story get the name of “shiki”), but it is not completely true. They had to drink someone’s blood at least three times, three days in a row to damage that person’s body. And even when that happened, if the person received a blood transfusion, they would get better. It was by no means necessary to kill anyone, it was a decision they took because they wanted to convert the village.

  Some people tend to comment on this series, saying that the main message is something like, when two sides are confronted, there are good and bad people on both sides. Or that shikis are to the humans, as humans are to the animals. I do not think so.

In one of the firsts chapters, there is a scene where the main character (Natsuno) rejects a gift from a girl. It was the funeral of another girl that often stalked him because “she loved him”, and the gift was a letter she wrote to him before dying. Her “childhood friend” found it and wanted to give it to him on her behalf. He rejected it in a very cold way, saying how he hated that place and how everyone there tried to push their expectations onto others. He was not close to the dead girl, so he did not want a present from her.

Later, he also comments how he hated that his parents just decided on their own that it was the best for him if he grow up in a peaceful place, and they just moved on without even asking him his opinion. And that everyone in that place was so, talking about others and expecting them to do this or that, pushing their opinions and just deciding for them.

The girl expected him to receive the letter, his parents decided that the countryside was better for him, the people of the village who had family business were expected to follow their parent’s field, and the Kirishikis expected to convert everyone there and make them part of their family. That is what I think is the main point on this story.

There are two other major characters who also happen to have a profession that they inherited from their families: one of them was the doctor, Toshio Okazaki, and the other one was the monk, Seishin Muroi. There is also a scene when they were young, in which Seishin says that they should not feel forced to follow the path their families wanted for them, but at some point, he realized how much the people of the village depended on them. It is important to the story, because both of them also realize what is happening there, but only one of them decides to take action and do something to save the village. The other, admits that he was actually waiting for the village to die, or to die he himself, since he was tired of faking being a good person just to please God. I do not remember if he said it literally, or if it was shown on the story he was writing, but he just wanted to be free.

I really think this is a pretty good story. Not because of the main plot, because it is really not a big deal, but because of the characters.

The main character 1, Natsuno, a cold boy that was unnecessarily mean to everyone, decided to die rather than to hurt or abandon his best friend.

Main character 2, the doctor Ozaki, he did some horrible things but at the same time was the only one actively trying to save people. I think he is a psychopath, but I can’t really blame him, since his motivation was for the greater good.

The last main character, the monk, I think he was lost and didn’t want to admit that he hated the village and his job. He tried to be neutral, because resisting and fighting the shikis meant that they had to kill them, and as a monk he did not want to do that. But actually, he was just waiting for everything to collapse, so he would be free. And he was not aware of this until the end, where he decides to save the one that caused everything and run away with her.

I think all of them are really good characters, independently if they appear a lot or not, or if they talk more than what they actually do, because there are characters who make the story move, and others that just make you think and analyze with them what are you seeing, and to me that is one of the most important things when watching a story.

I’m sorry for the long text, but it is really one of my favorite anime. If you read all of this, thank you.

-SBMC

[ask-the-clergy-bc]

what did our ghoulies do for the clergy before they became band ghouls and why were they picked out?

Ooooooh, love this!! Love getting to explore different clergy roles! I love getting to play with the origins of Era IV!

Since I also make a LOT of references to my ideas of leader ghouls, I'm gonna go ahead and link that headcanon here to avoid confusion! --> [Link]

Era IV Jobs Before the Ghost Project

Aether: Aether was summoned when the ministry decided to start training successor ghouls to the current ghoul leaders. Air had finally stepped down as Beta ghoul, and the ministry was afraid others would do the same. Ather was summoned specially to become the next Omega ghoul. While Aether has his own powers of healing that took over as his main duties, he mainly shadowed the head quintessence ghoul. This included a lot of traveling, learning about Earth and human culture, and working with many different types of ghouls. There was also a lot of personal assistance to the Emeritus line, as aether ghoul healing is more effective for demon blood than normal human medicine.

When Omega was on his tours, Aether took care of his business in his stead to test how close he was to being ready. Aether was never originally meant to take part in the Ghost project until a few albums ahead. But with Omega’s sudden departure and being needed back in the Clergy, Aether was once again tested by being a band substitute. Luckily, he was a natural and has been proving himself as the next head ghoul! Handling both responsibilities and the pressure of being the Omega Ghoul.

Cumulus: Cumulus has been around for a few decades and has served enthusiastically. Her first decade was as an assistant to Papa I- her summoner. Namely as his ritual assistant and with his paperwork. She has always had a good eye for detail and organization, with a queenly air of authority about her. But Papa believes in letting his ghouls flourish to their strong suits. Until Copia’s ascension, Cumulus has been the lively and loyal personal ghoul to Sister Imperator. Serving as everything from bodyguard, personal confidant, and even enforcer to the Mother Superior. Cumulus was the very first selected for the job of band ghoul when it was Copia’s turn to head the Ghost project.

Imperator wanted a ghoul who was smart, capable, and with a good grasp of leadership to help supervise the other ghouls. Cumulus was also vouched for by Air. Her and Cirrus were both personally trained by the older ghoul when he was looking for a successor for the Beta ghoul position. While neither were chosen for that particular duty, Cumulus is happy to be a part of the band. She still keeps in touch with Imperator and sometimes acts as though she is Copia’s manager. If something goes wrong or needs to be done, Cumulus is the first to know.

Cirrus: Cirrus has gone back and forth between two duties. Serving the current Imperator and studying under the former Beta ghoul, Air. Cirrus is a tough cookie and has been a ghoulish enforcer for many abbies. Essentially keeping ghouls and siblings in line when it comes to fights or rule breaking. There are always ghouls who make sure the will of the clergy is followed and those who commit crimes are punished. This was her preferred job, rather than work with Air. Who tended to find stuffy, traditional research more important. Cirrus, as calm as she is, prefers hands on work. She’s also worked security detail for all of the Papas but most importantly, Grand Papa Nihil. Cirrus is a long time bodyguard (and baby sitter) for the Grandpapa and Sister Imperator.

Cirrus was recommended by both Cumulus and Air- since they were both practically raised by Air to be potential leader ghouls. Nihil was particularly sad to see Cirrus disappear from his entourage, but agreed she would be a wonderful fit. Also Nihil and Imperator can agreed that Cirrus keeps Copia in line by her sheer intimidating presence and powerful aura. Cirrus would be lying if she said she didn’t also enjoy the chance to do something more fun and get away from the clergy for a bit!

Mountain: Although Mountain was summoned by Papa II, he was never strictly a ghoul for the Emeritus. Personally summoned ghouls tend to be bodyguards or close entourage for their Papal summoners. For a couple of decades Mountain was an effective and reliable body guard for Papa II. But Papa eventually realized his ghoul’s talents were being wasted. Stone ghouls have been shown to have natural strength beyond most ghouls and a good eye for architecture. Mountain has been responsible for helping build new cathedrals, quarters, and even clearing land. His level headedness and bluntness have also been excellent when working with Papa II, who has supervised many of these new buildings.

Mountain being assigned to go with Copia was actually a sort of ‘good faith loan’ from Papa II. Don’t get me wrong, Papa II does NOT like Copia. He finds him opportunistic and a usurping leech… However, Copia IS chosen by Lucifer. Papa II cares about his ministry MORE than he hates Copia. Since he hasn’t had Mountain as a bodyguard for years he decides to recommend him. After all, it also looks good on him for being generous enough to support the newest singer of the band. The Ministry was happy, mainly to let the Cardinal practice working with ghouls of different types and skill sets to delegate. On tour he was accepted and chosen for both his natural talents but to help balance out all of the incredibly strong personalities of the current ghouls.

Rain: Rain was a very behind the scenes ghoul, and rarely worked in the public congregation. He was the archivist assistant to the current head water ghoul, Delta. Delta is one of the oldest serving ghouls who now takes care of the Ministry’s protected collections of records. Rain has happily kept a quiet existence processing old and new registrations for the entire ministry. At one point Rain had studied directly under Delta with Water and Mist- all powerful water ghouls who are being trained for greater works. Rain loved playing music but never considered himself one to be ever picked for anything but reorganizing entire archives and dusting off old books.

Rain was recommended by Mist after her short stint with the Ghost project and Papa III. While she wanted to go on tour, she was needed elsewhere to train. She could vouch for Rain’s hard work and need to open up and embrace his potential. Copia was happy to take the water ghoul, as was shown to have indelible talent and an agreeable personality. The touring has definitely made Rain want to be more active in the ministry and with his fellow ghouls.

Swiss: Swiss was actually pretty high ranked before he became a band ghoul! While not part of the leader ghouls for the entire ministry, Swiss was the top ghoul in one of the main cathedrals outside of the head abbey. This meant he directed, advocated, and watched over all of the ghouls a part of the cathedral. Making sure all duties were done and all ghouls were taken care of. Swiss is a pretty strong ghoul in his own right. While he is fire he was born from two mixed ghouls of different elements. So he is well versed in different elemental energies and knowledge. His easy going nature and quick wit makes him a favorite among siblings and ghouls alike. Higher Clergy also worked with him to make accommodations and holidays for the ghouls.

Swiss was hand picked by Copia who worked with him pre Ghost project. Copia has always valued Swiss’s hard work and ability to get along with everyone he met. Swiss was agreed by Imperator and the ministry to be a great ghoul. Not just in vocals but bringing everyone together and interacting with the fans and staff. Swiss accepted the position with glee. He loves doing ceremonies at his home abbey, and a Ritual is nothing different- just bigger! Plus, Swiss will never turn down a chance to sing.

Ember: Ember has been strong but an entire pain in the ass of the Ministry for a LONG time. There have been many times he was almost sent back to Hell because he was difficult to control. Ember has calmed down in recent years, but he can still be a bit of a thorn in everyone's side. But he has so much potential within the Ministry, he’s too valuable of an asset. At first he was summoned as the potential candidate to be the next Alpha ghoul, for when Alpha eventually steps down. But to help him adjust to the responsibilities he had been shipped to many places with many duties. He’s been everything from a guard, to ritual assistant, to attack dog.

Eventually he found a spot with Papa III right before he went on tour as his bodyguard. Their energies actually worked very well together and he was one of the few before Copia who was able to give him the right outlets he needed. Ember was hand chosen to be a bassist by Papa III when Alpha had to return with Omega to the Ministry. Ember had originally asked to be guitarist, but the Ministry was interested in testing Ifrit to be the next Alpha ghoul. Ember was just happy to play but was absolutely thrilled when Copia asked for him to play head guitar.

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the artwork! So fancy!

Midnight

Chapter 4 — The Ball

Summary: In which our heroine feels exposed

Chapter 4 of 7 on AO3

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you”

-The Way You Look Tonight, Fred Astaire

Having spent several days eating her way through Misthaven with one eye on the lookout for black sedans, Emma was glad to be heading away from the town and the emotional memories the sight of a pub or gas station would cause. She wasn’t sure why one innocent night with Killian Jones continued to dominate her thoughts and hijack her dreams, but she feared seeing him again would push her over the edge.

That didn’t keep her from wanting to though.

On some level, she knew he had probably already forgotten her. Perhaps he did before the night was even over. Some other passenger might be walking around his place now, wearing his shirts and eating his pancakes.

Because when she dreamed about Door Number One, they always had pancakes for breakfast.

Despite her stubborn heart’s refusal to cooperate, the last couple of days had not been wasted. Arthur turned out to be a man of his word. Like a crazy fairy godmother who sprinkled cold hard cash instead of pixie dust and magic, he kept her supplied in the finest clothes and the chicest accessories. At the same time, he made sure her social calendar buzzed with invitations from a who’s who of Misthaven’s finest and wealthiest families. Events that inevitably threw her together with Lance more often than not.

It was at a garden soirée the previous day Lance had pressed to drive her out to Camelot, Arthur’s sprawling estate just a couple of hours away. Figuring the sooner she got the weekend over with, the better, she remained elusive only long enough to be convincing and then accepted his offer.

She already figured out Lancelot du Lac was a man who enjoyed the chase. She also discovered underneath his rakish exterior was someone who desperately wanted to find love while at the same time being deathly afraid of it. Normally, Emma wasn’t one to psychoanalyze. Still, the funny thing about rich people’s parties was that they were actually very dull, and she had nothing to do but regret not kissing the Captain before they parted ways or come up with profiles on the personalities she encountered.

Psychoanalysis seemed like the safer option.

Now she was waiting in the lobby of the Ritz for Lance’s foreign sports car to arrive so she could finally shake the dirt of this town off her feet. She hoped she could shake the lingering sadness as well. It was doing things to her. Things like making her hear the Captain’s voice in crowds.

“Swan! Swan! Emma, if you don’t turn around this instant—“

Excitement and abject horror battled for supremacy when she realized it wasn’t her mind playing tricks on her. As if in slow motion, she turned in the direction of his voice and her eyes met his across the vast space. Then she watched as Killian Jones began to sprint toward her, pushing people out of his way none too gently while managing not to crease his startlingly posh blue suit. This wasn’t the flirty Uber driver of a few nights ago, all leather and innuendo. Sure he had the same sex hair and twinkling blue eyes, but this man exuded power and authority and, quite frankly, looked more than a little pissed as he closed the distance between them with frightening speed.

Unaware of the drama playing out, one of the valets rushed to her and announced breathlessly, “Baroness, your ride has arrived.”

“I… I’ll be right there.”

Emma couldn’t break eye contact with him. His face was just as she remembered it, as it should since it was less than a week ago when she last saw him. He had dark circles under his eyes and looked frantic to get to her. He seemed to know she was contemplating an escape and he paused briefly, not caring who heard him when he called across the remaining ground between them, “So help me, Swan, if you run again, I swear I will—“

She didn’t hear the rest of what he said as a herd of visitors passed between them chattering loudly in some foreign language, the group taking photos of the architecture and potted plants as if they were worthy of remembrance. She had a brief opportunity to step out unseen under cover of the mob separating them. To forever give this man who haunted her the slip.

Or she could stay.

God, did she want to stay.

—

The estate was as lovely as one would expect. Ancient oak trees lined the drive and gave way to topiaries precisely cut into fantastical shapes as the car approached the main house. Lance regaled her with tales of the vast land Arthur inherited, the numerous homes on the property, and the complete absence of any cell or internet services once you crossed the boundary.

It seemed old man Soberano convinced himself the emerging technologies were a way for the government to spy on people and had forbidden, by way of his last will and testament, any cell towers or fiber lines from ever crossing the property. It was why as coveted as an acquaintance with the family was, people often grumbled when they received an invitation to the country estate rather than one of the other properties throughout the globe. The ancient landline phones served as the communication system for the large estate and the only connection to the outside world.

Of course, most of his ramblings went in one ear and out the other because she was too busy wondering why Killian had been at the Ritz in a suit that looked like it was made for him. She would know. After all, she was now in possession of a wardrobe filled with custom pieces and carefully tailored lines.

Was it a fluke encounter or was he still searching for her? He would give new meaning to the phrase ‘no stone left unturned’ if his sole reason for coming to the premier hotel in town was to look for the broke woman he gambled on and lost. Literally.

“Darling, I feel like you haven’t heard a word I said the whole journey,” Lance gently complained as he helped her out of the low seats of the car and up the grand stairs leading to the front door. He appeared genuinely distressed at her distance, and for the first time, she felt a twinge of guilt for the ridiculous game she was playing.

“I’m sorry. I had some bad news right before we left, and I’m a bit distracted,” she explained, allowing Lance to take her hand as they approached the Soberanos who were waiting for them in the foyer. Their linked hands did not go unnoticed by either of their hosts, although to widely different responses.

Learning she was at the opposite end of the mansion from Lance, the group moved to the second floor together. The servant leading them turned to Lance and said helpfully, “Good news, Mr. du Lac, we found the cuff link you lost on your last visit. It was in Madam Soberano’s sitting room.”

Sheepishly, he looked to Emma as if ready to offer an excuse. Unable to keep a chuckle from escaping at the crazy situation, she patted his arm and said, “The wind must have blown it in.”

With that, the group separated. Arthur replaced Lance at her arm and smiled indulgently at his protege. “You’re quite good. You have him eating out of your hand, and you’re not even trying.”

“I’ve met his type before. The less I try, the more he will. He’ll be begging me to divorce my husband and proposing before the end of the night at this rate,” she joked.

“You don’t know Lancelot du Lac,” Arthur argued. Their leisurely stroll through the second-floor gallery allowed her to see pictures of his ancestors back to the Norman invasion, but she noted there was none of him or his beloved wife who he was fighting so hard to keep.

“Well, you don’t know Emma Swan. He tried to give me an emerald the size of a baby’s fist today.” She had been tempted to pocket the jewel, but some small part of her knew what she was doing was wrong and robbing the man blind when she had no intention of ever returning his affections wouldn’t make it any better.

“Excellent! I won’t even deduct it from your pay if you promise to take him for all he’s worth and break his heart, dear. It will do him some good.”

“How are you still friends with him? Knowing what he’s doing with your wife. I can’t figure out if you’re the most understanding man in the world or absolutely crazy.”

Sighing, he sat down on one of the numerous benches that lined the gallery floor and patted the seat beside him. Emma didn’t know precisely how or when it happened, but he had become almost a friend after the deal was struck. She spent as much time with him as she did Lance and, despite the fact she thought he was extremely odd, she had grown fond of him. “Because I think he was trying to make her happy at first. I told you she wasn’t the only one to make mistakes. This whole thing is my fault. It was my foolish pursuit of wealth that drove her to this, endlessly trying to carve my name into the family tomes as one of the best empire builders in the dynasty. If I had been there for her, if I had just listened when she tried to tell me what she needed…well, we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“I hope for your sake this works.”

“And I hope for your sake, the next time a man tries to give you an emerald, you keep it.”

“How do you know I didn’t keep it?”

“Because I think I’m starting to know Emma Swan,” he explained with a wink and smile before pulling her up and taking her to the east wing. Dropping her off at her room, he teased, “Get some rest, dear. Cinderella needs to be at her best for the ball.”

With a sardonic grin, she countered, “Hard to be at your best when you know every Cinderella has her midnight.”

Hours later, after a nap and a fortifying drink, she shrugged into her form-fitting green dress like it was battle armor. She was joking earlier when she said a proposal would be forthcoming, but she had no doubt Lance would make a proposition of some kind. The trick would be to keep him on the line without actually following through with anything.

She left her room as late as possible to avoid spending too much time around the pampered elite who were her housemates that weekend. While she had met a fair few during her crash course in Misthaven society, Arthur was the only one she didn’t mind having a conversation with, but he was unlikely to abandon Guin’s side to keep her company. Especially since it would put a damper on Lance’s pursuit.

Her destination was the expansive, three-tiered back deck, illuminated by thousands of clear fairy lights and a fair number of fireflies, the faint breeze carrying the briny smell of the ocean that lay only a few feet beyond their well-tended lawn. The men in tuxedos added a dashing contrast to their partners’ colorful evening gowns and cocktail dresses. A string quartet was playing off to the side; the beautiful melody drifted through the party in a way that enhanced the romantic atmosphere to a point it made her hurt.

She was surprised to see Arthur standing alone through the wall of windows. She stopped to take in the scene, complete with busy waitstaff and tables of food.

She couldn’t wait to get away.

“Alright, Guinevere, you want to talk, let’s talk. I have a few serious words to say.”

Silently moving until the curtains partially hid her, Emma watched as Lance and Guinevere made their way toward the patio. Guinevere’s eyes were red and she was fretting with a handkerchief gripped tightly between her hands. “As if you had two serious words in your whole vocabulary, Lance.”

“I could make a very noble speech. Tell you we were just two ships passing in the night, but the truth is, Arthur is my friend. I don’t want to break up a happy marriage. We’ve been playing with fire, but it’s better to end this now before someone gets hurt.”

“Funny how none of that mattered until the baroness showed up. I know you think you are in love with her. I can see it in your face every time she is around. You’re behaving like a schoolboy. You’re a darling, but you need to be careful. We don’t know anything about her. All we have is her word that she is who she says she is. I’ve asked around; no one has ever heard of her. Maybe her hair is dyed, and maybe she’s poisoned three husbands. Sidney told me there was some man calling her a swan and chasing her at her hotel today. It had all the staff talking.”

“You’re jealous, Guin.”

“Terribly. Fun, isn’t it?” The woman rushed from the room, tears flowing freely now. Emma didn’t move from her hiding place, instead waiting until he had joined the party before she followed in his footsteps.

—

As she predicted, Lance made sure he was her partner for most of the night. She followed Guin’s movements with alarm, knowing the woman was on edge and fearful of what she may do if she felt she had nothing to lose. Her glance met Arthur’s when she saw his wife and Sidney go inside, heads close together and a look of shock crossing Guin’s face. The other man nodded at her and trailed after them at a distance.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to let Lance lead her away from the party into the formal gardens spreading north of the patio. Perhaps she was tired of having to put a fake smile on her face, or maybe she was simply tired.

He kept a steady stream of conversation going, mostly unanswered on her side, and navigated them down an old stone path to a large fountain surrounded by benches and meticulously pruned rose bushes. “Please don’t interrupt, dear, but suppose we were to follow this path all the way to the garage and take my car for a ride through the countryside.”

“Oh, the make-believe game! It’s always been one of my favorites. But why stop at the countryside, Lance? Why not go on a tour of the moon while we’re at it?”

“I asked you not to interrupt,” he teased, pulling her arm through his and continuing to amble further away from the house. “You see, this isn’t some random trip. We have a particular place we are heading. A little estate by the lake where an opinionated old dame lives. It’s twenty ’til midnight. If we leave now, we can make it as dawn is breaking.”

Intrigued despite herself, she asked, “And what business would we have at this chateau by the lake?”

“I want you to meet my mother. To introduce you to her and tell her that I’ve met the one. Then the pale light of dawn will shine on the first day of our lives together.”

He was serious, and she felt like the lowest of human beings when she joked back, “I doubt the day will be the only thing breaking when that bombshell drops. Were we going to share the news with my husband before or after our visit?”

Before he could respond, Arthur called out from behind them on the path, “Baroness Jones, I believe you promised me a dance.”

He reached them seconds later with a pointed look at her. Although he was the picture of sophistication, she could tell by his quick pace something had happened. “A midnight dance as I remember.”

“Of course, please excuse me,” she murmured to Lance, who looked like he was about to protest as she took Arthur’s arm and allowed him to guide her back to the house. Keeping a calm expression on her face, she smiled and nodded to the people they passed and waited until they were out of earshot to ask, “What’s happened?”

“It’s midnight, dear. The ground has opened under our feet. That horrible friend of Guin’s, Sidney, did some digging and found out there is no Baroness Jones. They plan to make an announcement any moment now. I’m sorry I brought you into this mess, Emma.”

They reached the dance floor Arthur installed on the deck specifically for the party, but neither felt like dancing. Instead, they hovered along the back wall and waited for the troublesome pair to return from their scheming.

Sighing, she nudged his shoulder. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. We never really stood a chance at this working.”

“But we were so close. I could feel Guin changing, turning back to me. Now I may as well help her pack her bags,” he replied, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handing one off to her. Clicking his glass against hers in a mock toast, he muttered, “Here’s to wasted years and endless torment.”

He downed the entire glass and, when she only took a sip, he reached out and downed hers as well.

She wasn’t sure what he had to be upset about. She was the one who was going to be exposed as a charlatan, forced to exit under the judgmental gazes of a house full of people who would dine on the story for months to come. Just as she was about to point out it could be worse, she saw Guin descend the stairs with Sidney hot on her heels. “Here we go.”

“I’ll stand by you as best I can,” Arthur promised, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as if to provide some physical barrier against what was about to happen.

“Ladies and gentleman, may I have a moment of your time? As you know, Arthur and I pride ourselves on providing the best of entertainment at our parties, and I think you’ll find tonight’s will not disappoint. I have a story to share that I think will delight and amuse you. Under our roof tonight, we have a guest claiming one of the oldest names in European aristocracy.”

A murmur started in the crowd, musicians laying down their instruments, even the waitstaff and caterers ceased what they were doing. It seemed as if the entire universe held its breath waiting for Guin to continue. She could tell the woman enjoyed every moment of it.

“I don’t know how many of you are familiar with the heraldry of Cambridge nobility, but let me assure you that in all of England, there is no—“

From the patio entrance, the footman interrupted in a booming voice to announce the arrival of a late guest of note. “Baron Killian Jones.”

Emma had to grab Arthur’s arm to keep from falling when her knees buckled. In the soft light, the Captain looked like a fantasy. His dark hair mussed in a way that looked intentional, but she knew it resulted from repeatedly running his hand through it when he was frustrated. He was outfitted in a tuxedo, the crisp white shirt making his stubble seem even more dangerous in the moonlight. He surveyed the crowd looking for her, supremely unconcerned he had the attention of the entire party.

Arthur looked at the mysterious stranger and then took in her aghast expression and whispered, “Do you know him?”

At that moment, Killian’s eyes met hers and the heat she saw there made it difficult to think, much less speak. “Yes. Yes, I know him.”

“Right. All hope isn’t lost then,” Arthur said with forced cheerfulness as he disengaged her death grip on his arm and went to greet their visitor. In a loud voice, so nobody would have to strain to hear, he said, “Welcome to my home, my dear Baron. It’s been a long time since we’ve met.”

Despite the fact the men had never laid eyes on each other before, Emma observed the Captain as he quickly assessed the lay of the land and responded, “Yes, years and years. I hope you don’t mind me trespassing on your hospitality. I only just arrived in town and the hotel staff informed me my wife was spending the weekend here. I couldn’t wait to see her.”

“With such a charming companion, no one blames you,” Guinevere said smoothly, giving Sidney a look meant to quell any further talk and rushing to meet their newest arrival. “She’s kept us all so diverted this past week.”

Giving the woman a slight grin, he nodded. “I’m sure. She’s nothing if not diverting.”

Moving away from the Soberanos, he took the stairs two at a time until he was standing in front of her, mouth twisted in amusement and eyes on fire. He seemed to drink in the sight of her from the artless way the curls were falling down her back to how her hand was white-knuckled from holding on to a nearby chair.

“You found me.” Somehow her words sounded like both an accusation and a thank you. Her eyes searched his face for some clue as to why he was there.

“Did you ever doubt I would?”

Before anything else could be said, he pulled her into his arms and crushed his lips to hers. Plundering her mouth, not caring they had an audience numbering in the hundreds, he shifted his grip, one hand making its way to her hair and cradling the back of her head. The other drifted lower, moving her body until it pressed against the long length of his. The thin fabric of her dress allowed the heat of him to soak through to her skin which suddenly felt tight and she was desperate for more contact.

She leaned into him, allowing her hands finally to comb through the hair that had haunted her dreams. The silky strands provided a contrast to the rough drag of his facial scruff against her cheek, the feeling of him in her arms doing exactly what she wanted almost pushing her into sensory overload. She didn’t think, who could when faced with such an onslaught, her body moving on instinct. She moaned into his mouth, tongues tangling and tasting of champagne and need.

A throat cleared in the distance and reality came crashing back. Reluctantly, Killian pulled back, resting his forehead against hers and breathing unevenly.

With quiet wonder, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I was hungry to see my little wife.”

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

[szallejh]

First Steps

Blink of an Eye - Part 1

Took me quite a bit to update the next chapter, sorry for that! It’s not that it hasn’t been written yet - I simply wasn’t at home (:

I don’t even know if anyone wants to read this. Anyway! If you do, enjoy ~

-   -   -   -

I sat down on the grass to try and sort out the absolute mess in my head.

After I had closed my eyes and taken a few deep breaths, I realized that I had no other choice but to accept my current situation. Even if this did end up being a dream, or some kind of bad trip, I was at least safe for now. And on the off chance that this was now my new reality, I figured that I didn’t want to endanger my life any more than necessary.

I threw a glance down at my body. What I saw was the typical Asuran body structure: slim shoulders and nothing that appeared to be breasts. From the waist down, it looked to be all sorts of clumsy.

Perhaps it wasn't the most desirable-looking figure compared to human standards, but maybe the male Asura had different definitions of beauty instead?

The thought made me giggle aloud, the strange sound of my new voice catching me off-guard in the moment.

That’s still not my voice! I thought. But with each syllable, the voice grew to be more familiar.

A hum escaped my throat. It's the same as tiring your voice to where it sounds terribly hoarse. It'll reach a point where you can't even remember how your voice sounds in a healthy condition.

Eyes looked down to observe what I was now wearing.

My clothing was very simple. I wore a cream-colored shirt which was corded up to the top and was fitted with blue shoulder pads. The cloth was garnished with pastel blue and pink geometrical figures.

A skirt of similar color sat snug on my waist, the front of it opened to reveal a pair of dark brown pants underneath. The material was comfortable, and soft to the touch. Also sitting around my hips, was a dark wide belt which was equipped with a few smaller bags. Opening one of them had revealed some copper, silver and even a handful of gold pieces.

I lifted up a foot, looking down to see my shoes were made of dark leather and crafted in such a way that allowed my claw-like toes to be freed.

With a raised arm, I spread my digits outward to look at the gloves they were now sporting. The material was in the same color of my shirt, and decorated with blue cubes.

Well, not too bad for a start.

A backpack sat nestled in between my legs, its contents containing a few food supplies, a filled water pouch, and a map. There were also a bunch more items stuffed into it, but I had never seen them before so I had no clue of what each of their purposes could be.

In a side flap was an attached hammer, which was quite impressive and rather heavy. It had the typical-asuran designs too. I reached down to grab hold of it in my hands, figuring it to be a rather suitable fighting weapon.

Wait a moment!

While only virtual and with my keyboard, I had fought many times before. But I had never actually held a real weapon before, and my combat experience was practically non-existent.

This was the real world of Tyria though, and that meant I wouldn’t be able to skip fights completely.

The thought of potentially really hurting someone with this hammer made me feel fairly uncomfortable.

Or rather, I could get hurt in combat myself.

I shoved the thought away and hastily plugged the hammer back into its flap. The sun still stood high in the sky, but I figured that I couldn’t sit on this meadow forever.

First things first, I needed to search for an accommodation for the night. And then I would start working on gaining control of my new life.

With a sigh I stood up, and shouldered the backpack. I kept an eye out for a location that could be proven promising for a night quarter.

Just a few meters beside me was a winding path that led into the landscape. From what I could see, it was leading towards the direction to a few cubic buildings. With a nod, I followed the path, staying attentive and watching the nearby surroundings.

Who knew what dangers hung around this place, searching for prey?

Occasionally there would be bundles of trees outlining the area, the similar-looking foliage granting me some sense of familiarity to my previous world.

On the left side of the path I was walking on, I spotted a small platform hovering in the air. Stony footbridges led towards it, its construct sheltered by three pyramidal frames filled with glittering blue diaphragms in the center.

The closer I came to the platform, the louder I could hear a steady, humming and buzzing noise filling the air around me. I figured its source had to have been the structure's glittery blue middles.

Floating all around the platform were small cubes. Some of them were overgrown with pink and blue plants, a few even covered with vines that were wired to the ground.  

Although I had seen this more than once before in-game, it had never made such a majestic impression as much as it did right now.

Slowly I ascended one of the footbridges, unsure if the construction was truly as steady as it looked.

Above I could see two golems standing guard. "Whoa!" I muttered, not wanting to mess with them. Luckily for me, they seemed to be in some kind of standby-mode which was made apparent by their beeping and lack of obvious care when I walked by.

Curious as I was, I reached out to stroke one of the vines growing on the platform with my hand. Startled, I retracted my hand very quickly when it constricted under my touch.

You've never been the one for plants... I thought to myself. I carefully descended the platform, suddenly glad there hadn't been any rain recently to turn the mossy stones into a slippery trap.

To my right was a classic laboratory which appeared to be housing a brisk-looking business. Everywhere I looked were Asura. Their appearances were diverse, and they bustled around while calling numbers and random tidbits of information to each other. If not that, then they were cursing aloud or beckoning to some absurd thing.

I didn’t dare to disturb them in their work, and continued walking towards the center of the town. There was little chance that a lab such as the ones I just saw would offer hotel rooms, which meant I needed to find better options.

Along the way, a few stray Asura and their golems briskly walked past me in a hurry, but none of them seemed to pay much attention to the stranger walking through their settlement. Few gave much greeting, and I kept my head hanging while muttering the occasional 'excelsior'.

While walking along, I started to feel anxious about my ability to find a rightful place in this new world.

How am I going to earn money to live? I asked myself.

I didn’t have the faintest notion of how golems worked, nor did I understand the techniques of something similar. With that lack of knowledge, I assumed most were going to call me the biggest-Skritt brained idiot in all of Tyria.

I sighed.

Perhaps there could be some dirty work that wasn't already completed by the golems around here.

At least I hoped so.

I threw a glance down to the coin pouch around my waist from when I had dropped into this new world. I still had a few gold coins, which meant I could possibly manage to get by for a couple of days. Hopefully by then, a better path would have revealed itself for me.

After walking through the town some more, I finally arrived at the city entrance. It was a big triangle made of stone, its sides both flanked by pillars of light.

Soren Draa, I remembered. At least that meant I was near Rata Sum, the main city of the Asura. And my midsection suddenly felt like it was doing somersaults.

I liked Rata Sum the most out of all other Tyrian cities, thus I couldn’t wait to see this masterpiece of architecture. Not only that, but to see the everyday life of the Asura who lived there with my own eyes.

I just had to walk through a simple portal in Soren Draa and...

I swallowed. What would portal-travelling feel like? I just hoped it wouldn’t feel similar to my previous arrival here…

Awestruck, I passed the light pillars and went through the city gate. A comfy sound originated from the pillars, similar to that of a technical humming. It wasn't loud enough to cause a bother, but it lingered all around.

Soren Draa on its own was a real masterpiece. A city - half built in stone with towers and floating hammocks. There were even hovering cubes that seemed to be planted with trees! Blue lights surrounded me everywhere I looked, and the sounds from the nearby labs assaulted me on all sides.

It was a choir of cries, clanking, beeping, humming, and golem's heavy metal steps echoing loudly on the stone.

I assumed I must have looked quite silly then, standing there with my mouth open and looking around in sheer awe.

Another Asura who had been standing just a few feet away and watching my astonishment finally spoke. "Each time you come to the city, it's a treat to the eyes, isn't it?"

Startled, I forced myself to close my gaping mouth once I realized someone had been watching me.

"Eh... yes. Absolutely fantastic. It's just as amazing as the first time I saw it", I said, staring at the ground to hide the blush ascending my neck.

The Asura shook his head in amusement, and when I finally dared to lift my head, he had long since disappeared back into the bustle.

Huh. Maybe I shouldn’t behave so stupidly next time, if I don’t want to be the main attraction today, I thought, staring towards the area the curious stranger had just been.

I straightened myself out and continued along the street, now attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible. I climbed an impressive amount of stairs, quickly taking notice of a portal at the end of the street which I knew would lead me to Rata Sum.

But seeing the intimidating portal was more than enough to snap me back to the reality that evening was coming, and I still wanted to rest a night before I hurled myself into the next possible adventure.

I glanced up to the sky, noticing that the fair blue color from the afternoon had now been replaced by varying tints of yellows, violets and pinks. The colors painted the clouds in whimsical patterns, and it created a window to look upon the first shining stars of the night.

When did it get this dark?

With another quick look around the area, I observed a pyramidal entrance just to the right. Even from the sliver of a doorway, I could see quite a few tables and chairs littered around inside. Above the entrance was a sign, which tagged the location as a tavern.

I blinked at the words, surprised I was even able to read the Asuran writing. Perhaps I didn't know how to work a golem, but at least I could read a strange new alphabet.

Happy to have finally found a place to stay for the night, I veered to the right to enter the tavern. Compared to the outside, it was far more bustling and busy-looking on the inside. But there were still a few empty tables, which meant there was a very good possibility that there would also be some available rooms as well.

Single-mindedly, I walked straight towards the counter to see a slightly-miffed looking Asura standing behind it. From the glance she threw at me, I wasn't sure if it was unfriendly or just annoyed.

The Asura had brown hair that was tied to a simple knot above her head. Her eyes were a dull-blue color that seemed to lack much expression behind them. But her ears - they were gigantic!

I knew that most Asura had really big ears, but these particular specimens had surpassed anything that I had seen so far. If they didn't extend out as far as they did, then they likely would have reached all the way down to her midsection.

“Excelsior. So, what do you want?” she spoke, her voice far louder than what I had expected from such a tiny body.

What did you expect from someone who works inside a tavern? A place that is almost always incredibly noisy?

I then cleared my throat. “Eh, I... I am searching for an available room tonight. And if that's possible, then maybe something to eat and drink as well."

I was readily made aware of how impolite I must have just sounded, but the Asura behind the bar didn't seem to mind. She toddled over to the wall behind her and took a key from it which was carved with the number 13.

Always a good sign.

She handed me the key. “That'll be a room for one night and one meal, which makes your total three silver.”

Nervous, I fumbled around the inside of my pouch until I was able to find the correct amount of coins before handing them to the innkeeper. She nodded, appearing satisfied before pointing me towards the direction of one of the empty tables. I walked over and sat down, waiting for my meal to arrive. It felt good to be able to sit after all of the tedious walking from today, and I rested my head upon my arms and closed my eyes.

It seemed these upcoming days were going to be incredibly long and possibly just as tiring.

[thatscalledtoughlove]

Runaway - Chapter 1: New Beginning

Story Summary: All her life, Eleanor "Ellie" Valiani has followed the rules. She knows what is expected of her, and obeys her duty as princess of a small kingdom. A perfect image, a perfect life, a perfect future. The one problem is that she doesn't want that. So, Ellie decides to flee to a small town far away in hopes that she can live the normal life that she's always dreamed of. The son of the Salvation hotel, Grant Lothian, quickly finds himself entranced by the mysterious new guest, and their relationship quickly blossoms into something neither of them had ever dreamed of. But when you're a runaway royal, sometimes secrets come to light, and you must deal with the consequences.

Word Count: ~2.2k

---------

Ellie stepped off the train with a suitcase in hand, her lips turned up in a smile. Other passengers walked past her without so much as a glance in her direction. The loud horn of the train leaving the station stirred her from her daydream, and Ellie took a step away from the tracks.

         “You know where you’re heading?” She turned at the sound of a melodious foreign accent. A man, no older than thirty, waved at her when he saw he had her attention. “Hello. You look lost. Do you need help?”

         His dark blond hair and vibrant green eyes made heat rush to Ellie’s face. She shook her head, hesitating before she spoke. Would her accent seem off in this small town?

         “No, thank you, I’ll be fine.” She could see surprise flash across his face when she spoke, but he didn’t comment on her accent.

          Instead, he nodded, leaning down to tie his shoe. “Well, I’m Grant.”

          Ellie reached out to shake his hand. “Elea—Ellie. I’m Ellie.” She crossed her arms over her chest after Grant reached out to return the handshake. “Actually—” a nervous giggle slipped past her lips, and she withheld the urge to wince. “Do you know where the Salvation hotel is?”

          “Considering it’s my father’s hotel, I better.” Grant laughed, the sound harsh and loud. “Did—uh, do you want a ride? I wouldn’t mind the company. I just got back from visiting London.”

          “Sure.” Ellie wrapped her sweater tightly around her body, glancing around the train station.

          Grant reached over to grab her suitcase, and she jumped at his movement. He grinned, mumbling an apology before taking off toward the station’s exit. Ellie followed close behind, tucking some hair behind her ear. She noticed a few passersby examining her face and covered it with her hair once again. That did little to stop the curious glances.

          It wasn’t until they reached an old truck and Grant threw her suitcase into the open truck bed at the back that Ellie relaxed. She slid into the passenger seat without a word, letting out a sigh of relief when the outside world could no longer reach her in the comfort of the vehicle.

          “So, what brings you to Durmchester? We usually don’t get too many visitors this time of year.” Grant ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat before he started the truck.

          Ellie stared out the window, trying to think of an answer. Finally, she decided to tell a half-truth. “I just had to get away from my family. Home didn’t feel like home anymore.”

          “Where you from?”

          “Not here.” She turned to look at him again, returning the smirk he gave her.

          Grant shook his head, focusing back on the road. His front teeth were slightly bigger than the rest, but it didn’t lessen his attractiveness. “So, you don’t want to tell me, huh? Are you a secret spy for some far-away kingdom?”

          Ellie laughed and shook her head, watching the land pass by outside. Cows grazed in the fields next to the road. A few horses galloped in another field, their manes flying in the wind. “No, nothing like that.” Though the truth was just as insane.

          “That’s the story I’m sticking with until you tell me otherwise.” Grant turned off the main road and started down a long, twisting dirt path. Large trees lined both sides, brilliant pink flowers covering their canopies.

          The two spent the rest of the ride to the hotel in silence. When they finally arrived, Ellie thanked Grant. He waved her off, taking her suitcase for her. When she tried to protest, he chuckled, telling her it was no problem helping the newest guest.

          The size of the hotel surprised her. It easily had at least fifty rooms, the architecture strangely reminding her of some of the manors back home. She wondered what year the hotel had been built.

          As if he could read her mind, Grant dove into an explanation on the backstory of the hotel. “It was built in 1680 by some of my ancestors. Originally, it was a family estate, but my great-great-grandfather converted it into a hotel after the first world war. We’ve been running it ever since.” He looked up at the grand building. “This is the only hotel with more than ten rooms in the entire town. We’re almost never fully booked unless it’s Christmas. We hardly get any visitors in early spring.”

          “The less people around, the better.” Ellie took the suitcase handle from him with a polite smile. “Thank you, Grant. I can take it from here.” Before he could say anything else, she hurried into the hotel.

          A man who looked to be in his late fifties greeted her when she walked in. He was without a doubt Grant’s father, with the same hair and eyes—it startled her how much his son resembled him. It was like looking at images of the same person thirty years apart.

          “Welcome to Salvation! I’m Hugh.” His green eyes glowed in the dim room. “Do you have a reservation?”

          Ellie shook her head, glancing behind to see if Grant had followed her into the building. “No, I don’t. I was hoping you would have some rooms available without a reservation.”

          Hugh made a big show of opening a large book on the desk in front of him. He pursed his lips, pretending to read through the list of guests. “I think we might be able to find you a room. Did you want a suite or a single-bed room? We have plenty of options to choose from. Will anyone else be joining you? Usually people travel in groups here.”

          “Just me.” Ellie forced a smile, fiddling with the ring on her finger. She caught herself before Hugh could notice and look at the size of the diamond. “I need a room for a few weeks. A suite would be excellent.”

          Footsteps echoed from the main entrance behind her, and Grant made his way behind the counter. “Is he giving you a hard time?” He glanced at his father and shook his head, turning back to address Ellie. “Just tell me what you need, and I’d be happy to help.”

          With a scoff, Hugh moved away from his son. He bowed to Ellie as he walked out the front door. The gesture caught her off guard, and she nearly curtsied back. Thankfully, she caught herself and remained standing straight.

          “No need to look so tense, we’re all friends here.” Grant grinned when their eyes met. “This might sound crazy, but you look awfully familiar. Have you visited before?”

          Ellie’s heart started to pound in her chest. “No, I—This is my first visit. I get that a lot. I suppose I have one of those faces.” She forced a light laugh, the sound completely natural after a lifetime of practice. “Would you be able to get me one of the suites for about three weeks? I can pay upfront if you would like.”

          Grant shook his head, waving a cloud of dust out of his face when he pulled a drawer open. “Don’t worry about it. As long as you can pay for the first night, you can cover the rest later. Now, do you want the Imperial Suite or the Getaway Suite?”

          Against her better judgement, a grin spread across Ellie’s face. “The Getaway Suite would be lovely.”

          With a wink, Grant turned and grabbed an old-fashioned key off the rack behind him. “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.”

          The smile she gave when he faced her again was undoubtedly forced. “Thank you.”

 Ten minutes later, Ellie collapsed on the Getaway Suite’s bed with a sigh. She stared at the ceiling, admiring the soft sage green paint that looked recently done. The walls were a few shades darker.

          After laying in bed for half an hour, Ellie crept down the hallway, wondering if she could glimpse the Imperial Suite through the keyhole. She knelt in front of the door and tried to peer inside.

          “Curious to see what makes it so imperial?”

          She jumped at the sound of Grant’s voice, hurrying to stand. Heat burned her face. If Benjamin could see her now, he would scold her for such indecent behaviour.

          “My apologies. I’ll just go back to my room.” She tried to brush past Grant, but he reached out for her hand. The touch sent shivers down her spine, and she almost recoiled. No one ever touched her first.

          “Here, let me show you.” Grant pulled his hand away, his own face turning red when he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the suite. “It’s really something, ain’t it? We’ve actually had a few royal guests from foreign kingdoms stay here. The mountains are perfect for skiing in the winter.”

          Ellie had to admit the furniture was fit for royalty. The hotel room could almost compare with the bedrooms of actual royals. She stepped inside and glanced around, her eyes widening when she saw her reflection in one of the mirrors.

          Dark brown hair stuck up in odd directions, the soft rose lipstick she’d applied on the train almost faded completely. Her bright blue eyes looked tired from the long journey; the panic she’d been feeling the past few days evident in her expression. No wonder Grant had asked her if she needed help. She looked absolutely insane.

          “You sure you don’t want to stay in this room instead? The cost is pretty much the same. I could help you move your things over here.” Grant leaned against the door, his muscular arms crossed over his chest.

          Ellie shook her head, adjusting her sweater again. “I’m fine. This is too much for me.” Too much in that it reminded her of home. And that was the last thing she wanted. She’d left to get away from this kind of madness, not embrace it all over again.

          Grant waited for her to leave the room before he locked it again, turning around with a sigh to face her. “So, you need any more help? I could give you a few places to visit in town. We have some stables a bit farther back on the property, but most guests don’t really visit the horses unless it’s to go for a ride. You interested in taking some horse-riding lessons?”

          “I am well aware of how to ride a horse.” She didn’t mean to sound snooty, but her upbringing had unfortunately given her a permanent tone. Ellie forced a smile as she cleared her throat, placing a hand over her chest. “Pardon my tone. What I meant was that I took lessons as a child. My horse was named—” She caught herself much too late, praying that the mention of owning her own horse wouldn’t give too much away.

          It appeared that Grant didn’t think anything of it. Instead, he smiled, looking down at her. “You had a horse? Did you grow up in the country, too?”

          “Yes!” Her enthusiasm surely gave away her lie. “I grew up far removed from the city. I’m not exactly well-acquainted with the normal behaviours of modern society.” A truth to the lie. Adrian had always told her to sprinkle truth into lies so that they would be a bit easier to remember.

          “Well, you seem to have everything figured out. I’ll leave you to it.” Grant brushed past her, hesitating at the top of the stairs. He turned back to face her, looking as though he wanted to say something. They stared at each other for a moment before until he finally spoke. “I hope you enjoy your time here, Ellie. It’s nice to meet you.” And with that, he disappeared down the stairs.

          Long after he was gone, Ellie stayed in place. She stared at the walls, turning to look back at the Imperial Suite door one last time before she made her way back to her own room. After locking the door to make sure no one would come in uninvited, she took a magazine out from her suitcase and smoothed the front page, chewing on her bottom lip as she read the headline. She had found the magazine at the previous station, and nearly collapsed. A few people had given her a strange look when she turned the front page over and hurried to buy one before rushing back to the train.

          Her own face took up a large part of the photograph, her hair not dark brown but strawberry blonde. Adrian stood beside her. A mischievous grin was plastered on his face as they ran to make it in time to the ball that had taken place just weeks earlier. The headline made her heart pound faster, and she prayed no one would ever recognize her.

          The Royal Runaway? Heir to the Dridora Throne Eleanor Valiani Disappears from Kingdom.

          Ellie flipped the magazine over and took out her phone. It had been off for three days now. She took a deep breath before she walked into the bathroom and placed it in the sink. Before she could change her mind and ruin everything, she turned the tap on. Now, no one would ever find her unless she wanted to be found.

          And she did not want to be found.

[quintessence-sentimentalist]

quintessence-sentimentalist Takes on 30 Days of W.i.t.c.h.versary!: Week Three

Week Three already! Days 15 through 21 below the cut!

Day 15 Something that needs a quick fix

Ahaha, well, some 99.9% of things that need fixing with this series can’t be completed quickly, so let me just go with the simplest thing that comes to mind:

The uniform color errors.

In both the comic and cartoon, there are color swaps between the top and bottom, with Irma being the most frequent offender (frankly, I only remember Cornelia’s top being purple on the cover of one of the final Ludmoore arc issues, and maaaaaaaybe Hay Lin got a color swap once too, so basically it was all with Irma). I don’t know if it’s because she and Will might look a little similar in black-and-white or something and that’s why there was confusion over whose top is which color (although if that’s the case then why didn’t it happen to Will too?), but it just kept happening throughout the series. It’s even wrong on the official promo art/opening sequence end card for the animated series. 

So yeah. Easiest fix I can think of is to please check which color goes where before inking them in.

Day 16 Something that needs an overhaul

I’m just going to spin the wheel here...

Better executed romantic break-ups/avoidance of shitty break-ups altogether. Consistent lore. All the arcs New Power and beyond. New Power Matt. That one self-indulgent what-if I had about leaving Medina, McTiennan, and Sylla’s memories intact and they basically become the girls’ non-magical mentors and trusted adult figures who help them balance their lives between Guardianship and just being normal girls.

Uh... I can’t choose. 

I’ve talked at length about and reimagined a lot of these before (and will do so again, for sure), and those I haven’t people have discussed much more eloquently than I can. And I’m sure I’m still missing some, so I’m not going to get too deep into this and save that all for inevitable rambles later on.

Day 17 Something that needs to be revisited

The Astral Drops, hands down. Why bother sending them off to live new lives of their own, while pointedly leaving them with magical tattoos that will light up when Kandrakar must call on them, if you’re not going to loop back around to that? Honestly, this is something that should have slid back into the narrative in at least some way before things wrapped up.

Day 18 Something that needs more love from the fandom

It’s going to be too predictable if I start chanting “animated series Matt and Will/Matt” (but really, they do deserve all the love), so let’s go for a different angle this time.

Oh... well, I guess since I was already at it, maybe the animated series itself? 

Alright, look: I was a comics purist for a solid eight years. I watched the show in full and enjoyed particular (largely season 2) parts, but I still had the frequent complaint that it wasn’t a faithful adaptation and didn’t watch it again for years even when I regularly reread the comics. 

But then the English translations of the comic ended, and I was left without any real new material. A couple years later, I was about to go off to college and came across something that reminded me of the cartoon (more on that later on), and I figured what the hell.

It’s still not a perfect or even great adaptation of the comics, and sometimes I still struggle with getting through the first season, but going back to the animated series as a young adult - after years of distance from it and easing up on my rigid stance on comics-only - helped me gain a newfound appreciation for it. The animated series did some things I liked better than in the comics. It had a badass theme song. From a fan creator perspective, I found the cartoon universe a little bit more malleable and full of possibilities than with the comics, partially because it unexpectedly got cut short.

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t necessarily have impeccable taste when it comes to media (I have a guilty pleasure for short-lived and long-forgotten early 00s sci-fi action shows. I unabashedly enjoyed the live-action Birds of Prey series, and that’s even more wildly inaccurate a comic adaptation than the W.i.t.c.h. cartoon). Still, I think about some other animated series that are based on beloved comics/manga but not direct adaptations, and some of those are considered just as good or even better than the originals (and potentially subsequent accurate adaptations). I feel like at the very least, the W.i.t.c.h. animated series could be a guilty pleasure, or even enjoyable AU adventures of the girls as they are in the comics. 

Day 19 Something small but unforgettable

Nothing was immediately coming to mind, but then it hit me. I love that the animated series changed the name of Will’s power to quintessence in the second season. 

In the comics, her powers were a bit of a nebulous space, while the others’ were clearly defined elements. I remember it being called “energy” or “absolute energy,” which... while not wrong, it’s just such a broad term, and frankly is missing some pizzazz to it. It wasn’t even a consistent name, since oftentimes Will just called out for the Heart, and then with New Power it became “the power to unite them” or something (uh... what?). I just think it’s weird to have one of your main characters without a clearly defined - or simply named - ability, unless it’s intentionally vague to allow for various deus ex machinas from the Heart, with Will serving solely as the conduit.

And that’s kind of what happened with the first season too, where Will was honestly only able to activate the Guardians and close portals and had no inherent offensive ability. So season 2 was great in the respect that they actually gave her a power, but then there was that name!

Seriously, quintessence. Even before you really know what it is, it’s a pretty kickass name, right?? It definitely has the mystical quality to it, and the fact that it literally translates as fifth essence/element makes it just too good. Guys, there’s a reason why it’s in my username.

(Well, that and the fact that seeing the word and its definition again after many years reminded me that I should rewatch the animated series, and that was what kicked off my spiral back into W.i.t.c.h. fandom. It did tie into the “sentimentalist” aspect in the end.)

Day 20 Something you’d always come back to

Hmm, I’m a little unclear on the prompt for this one, whether it means something I’ll reread/rewatch, or some idea from the series that just sticks with me. I’m going go with the first interpretation, which I guess also ties in with the second.

Hardly a surprise at this point, but I regularly rewatch the most pivotal episodes of the Shagon arc - those being L is for Loser, M is for Mercy, and S is for Self. I just love seeing Shagon in the forefront as a villain, and how Will knows how to deal with Nerissa in some respect at this point (staying suspicious - maybe a little bit too much - and learning to out-strategize the ex-Keeper), but goes absolutely ballistic and loses her calculating edge whenever she’s facing Shagon on his own. He knows exactly how to needle into her vulnerabilities, and the two of them engaging in emotional warfare is just so good. Watching these always gets me wondering how the fallout from this arc would have gone had we had more time and the series had a different tone (maybe more along the lines of Young Justice, to borrow a different Weisman show), because I’m firmly of the mind that Matt would have some lingering trauma from the experience (which he’s had to put aside to take on a new role and deal with everything else that came after he was freed) and I would have loved to see that play out.

As for the comics, though, I like to loop back around to the girls’ potential futures from issue 50. Their careers just fit them all so well, and the way their designs and friendship evolved into adulthood just felt right to me. They’re all grown up and more sophisticated now, but they don’t simply look like a slightly older version of their Guardian forms, and manage to maintain a semblance of their styles from their young teen days. And even though they’re no longer active Guardians and are busy with their own lives (sometimes in various other places), thus not being in each others’ back pockets anymore, you can tell their bond is holding just as firmly as it was forged back in the day. I vastly prefer this glimpse into the future over the one we’re shown in the post-New Power era, so I like to use it at least as a basis for when I imagine the girls post-Guardianship. 

Day 21 A memorable architectural design

I do love the design of Sheffield Institute. It’s just so elaborate and wildly different than what you’d normally see for a high school, at least from my view and experience. It certainly looks like a place with a rich history, and honestly I think it’s a great parallel to Kandrakar and the castles of Meridian and Arkhanta - not quite as regal or mystical, but still a structure with some elegance.

[crazybutcutecatlady]

Hello! This is my first ff, so I hope you like it! It’s complete Jin fluff, maybe a bit of angst? If you squint really hard, you may see it. I did give it a title image, but the photograph itself is not mine. Also, any feedback would be welcome! Enjoy!

Jin x reader (Oneshot) Fluff 3K word count

   The chill of September had just started to settle in, leaves had begun to alter their hues just a week or two ago, and new winds blew the blazing canopies from their lofty perches. You had just got off work three hours ago. You washed away the day’s stress and changed into full fall cozy attire. A soft, dense burnt orange sweater, brown leggings and thick, fluffy fox socks to top it off. Indulging in the clean autumn vibes, you make yourself a cup of your favorite tea, grab your favorite book, and the most fitting blanket. You’ve barely settled in when you hear an unfamiliar engine roar outside.                        

    Typically, your neighborhood is very quiet, and most residents opt for public transportation rather than a vehicle of their own. Highly curious, you peek out of the window to peek at the machine. A G-Wagon was parked outside your door, its light pink paint being just as loud as the engine, highly contrasting the old, traditional Korean architecture that surrounds it.  A corresponding pink hat came bobbing out the car and towards your door. Rolling your eyes, you strode over to the door, opening it just before your star-eyed lover could knock on the door. His pink sweater paw hung in the air as he looked at you in slight bewilderment.

    “So, are you keeping things color-themed today?” You teased. He looked you up and down before cocking an eyebrow.

    “Yeah, but I’m not alone, “he playfully retorted. You chortled before reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck, giving him a little peck on his soft lips before sinking back down on your heels. You pulled back confused though, there were so many strange elements to this sudden event.

    “What brings you here, Jinnie? You didn’t call or anything. And what’s with-”

    “Surprise!” He exclaimed, “We’re going on a date! Go grab warmer clothes and as many blankets as you can, ok?”

    “Wait, wait, wait! What’s with the car? What happened to the Lamborghini?!?”

    “The Lamborghini wouldn’t work for what I’ve got planned, so I bought this.”

    “What?!? Jin, real-“

     “Yes, really. Trust me, it’ll be perfect. Perfect for my princess <3 Now go grab your stuff!” With that, he placed a warm kiss on your head and turned to the car. You stood there for a moment, in a daze, when you heard him call out, “Warm clothes! I mean it!”

       You turned with a huff, finding his extravagance annoying and amusing at the same time. But once he has his mind set on something, whether it’s a goal, an aesthetic, or anything, he’ll stop at nothing to see it executed perfectly. Sometimes the most you could do was shake your head and hang on for the ride. You slipped a pair of jeans over your leggings, grabbed a coat, grabbed several blankets, and put on a pair of boots. Considering the weather hasn’t reached full winter, you thought you might be overdressed, but then again, Jin warned you to dress warmly and he usually says exactly what he means. You poured your tea into a travel mug and waddled your way towards the door, the big load making you clumsier than ever. Getting impatient, Jin made his way back to the door and was greeted by the sight of you trying to balance several blankets, your coat, and a hot cup of tea. He broke out into a grin and leaned his tall frame on the doorway.

     “Need some help, love?” he taunted. You barely managed to give him a pout over the blankets in response. He laughed before taking several blankets from you, as well as a firm kiss.

     “This date better be damn good,” you huffed.

     “Trust me, my love, it’ll be worth it,” he promised, the look in his eye warming as he took in your bundled-up figure.

      You throw the blankets in the backseat and tried to peer around to see what he was up to. Before you could make out anything besides the massive pile of blankets and pillows he pulled you back by your waist with a tut. He threw the blankets past you and pulled you closer.

      “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetie! Upfront you go!” He said as he steered you to the passenger side, landing a little smack on your butt. You turned at him indignantly, only to feel his lush lips crash into yours. He pressed you against the cool car door, his lips softening and deepening the kiss till your lungs burned for air. When he finally broke free he buried his face in your neck and inhaled deeply. Pulling back, you could see a flame in his dark eyes as well as a satisfied smile on his flushed lips.

       “Been thinking of that all day,” he said with a dark chuckle. Walking away towards the driver’s side, leaving you stunned, you heard him call out,

       “Ah, aren’t you lucky?!? Having such a handsome and romantic man by your side?!?”

       You both climbed into the car, giggling. Just before you clicked your seatbelt in you leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He poured out all his sweet affection as he gazed back at you.

       “I am so, so, lucky. I love you, my handsome man,” you admitted once more. No matter how many times you say it, you mean it fully every time. The raw tenderness of the moment thickened the air, till it was nearly suffocating.

      “You forgot “romantic”, love,” he prodded with a taunting smile, cutting the tension in half. You shoved him back, laughing. His smirk grew into a cheeky grin, wide and heartfelt. He settled into the driver’s seat and pulled the car out of park.

       “I can’t wait to show you what I have planned.”

         The drive stretched into the evening. The sun was lowering itself towards the horizon, staining the clouds overhead, and a sweet chill settled throughout the air. The ride was peaceful with gentle music and contentment filling up the car. You watched as the suburbs waned into rural areas, till finally, you were in the palms of nature. The road you had taken stretched up and over the expanse of the mountains. You understood why Jin wanted the G Wagon now. The Lamborghini wouldn’t have been able to handle these overgrown dirt roads.

        Despite the slight jarring of the road, the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. Every turn had the sun shifting between the flushed crowns of the towering trees, casting a new perspective throughout the expansive woods. The road wound up and down, around and between the folds of the mountains. Eventually, the road passed between two peaks and descended into a deep valley, free from the touch of humanity. Still, Jin drove further before pulling off the main path. You were slightly alarmed but too curious to question him. Not far from the road was a small clearing, filled with tall grass and resistant flowers, encircled by a ring of fiery trees. Jin pulled the car around so that the back of the car was facing the clearing.

       “Stay right here, and no peeking!” Jin said as he began grabbing things and clamoring out of the car.

       “What happens if I peek?” you asked with feigned innocence. His head popped around the corner, his eyes were dark and ominous. Altogether, the image was an adorable collage of contradictions. His serious glare contrasting the tufts of dark hair that peaked out if his pink hat, his strong athletic figure hidden under a corresponding large pink hoodie, and the brightness of the pink against the dim and withering outdoors. He reached over grabbed your chin and pulled you towards him.

       “If you peek, I will not share the wine I bought for us,” he threatened in a low voice. Your eyes lit up.

       “You got us wine?!?” You exclaimed. Jin always knew where to find the best wine. Never once has his taste failed you! It seemed he always knew what you were craving and what paired with the meal best. He dropped his head with a sigh, mentally kicking himself for giving you too much information. But when he lifted his head and looked into your shimmering, anticipating eyes, he lost any sense of negativity.

        “Of course I got us wine! I’m the most romantic man in this country, if not the world! How could you forget my virtues so easily?” He whined. Laughing at his antics you asked, “Did you bring roses as well?” with a tease. He looked you dead in the eye before grabbing a rose bouquet from the back. With a cock of his eyebrow, he handed them to you as you stared back in delighted shock.

        “It would be unforgivable if I didn’t, beautiful. Can you even imagine it? Me? Forgetting to bring roses? Absurd! Did my princess forget who she’s with?” His rambling left you in a fit of laughter as you took the roses from him. He smiled softly before pinching your cheek. “It’ll be just a second, love.”

                     You sat back and listened to him positioning things and rustling around, fighting the increasing need to give just one backward glance. Instead, you finished off your tea and focused on the sickly-sweet scent of the roses. A minute or two later Jin opens your door and offers you his hand. You take it with a smile that causes his heart to flutter. Hopping out of the car, he guides you towards the trunk, presenting the most beautiful and endearing sight.

        The backseats had been removed, giving enough room to lounge comfortably together. The bed of the car had a thick pillow-like blanket over it, and the sides were lined with pillows. The trunk door hung over you with fairy light strewn all over it, reaching all around the upper interior of the car. An open picnic basket filled with hot food and thermostats sat in the middle with a bottle of your favorite wine placed strategically in front. You gasp, unable to close your mouth and unable to stop smiling. Tears welled up in your eyes as you drank it all in. Meanwhile, Jin was eagerly drinking in your reaction, heart-swelling at your glistening eyes. He turned you towards him by your waist, your eyes a little slower to follow. But once they’re on him the whole world seems to pale in comparison.  He leaned in and kissed you affectionately, engulfing your lips with his. His arms coiled tightly around the curve of your waist as you reached up and over his broad shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck. You both stayed like this for a minute, completely satisfied to just hold one another for a little while. When he pulled away you breathed out, “Jin this is perfect.”

       “Did you expect anything less from me, princess? “he said with a breathy laugh, “Go ahead. Get comfortable,” he said as he nudged you towards the trunk, following in close pursuit. He laughed as you excitedly hopped into the back like a child.

       Time streaked by as you two dined on Jin’s homemade dishes and slowly emptied the wine bottle. You talked in between bites, sharing secrets and small proclamations of love. The sun had all but entirely disappeared over the horizon before Jin pushed the basket away, grabbing a case of fresh cookies and thermostats of hot chocolate. The two of you snuggled, nibbled, and sipped as you watched the stars come out of hiding. Eventually, time was lost on you two. An endless sea of stars stretched overhead as you two discussed the wonders and possibilities of the universe.

        “Jin, do you think we knew each other in a past life?” You questioned dreamingly. He turned towards you, drinking in your image and your presence, wondering how he could’ve survived any life without you.

        “I’m not sure. If we did, I don’t think you could ever forget me” he said bluntly, causing you to scoff before he could finish, “I know I sure as hell could never forget you.”

        You froze slightly before looking up into his eyes, with your own resembling an owl. They bore down on you, dark, strong, intense, and completely certain. The next thing you knew, you were bound in his arms, seeing nothing but fireworks as he pressed his lips further than before. His tongue gently worked its way into your mouth, hypnotizing you completely as you melt into his arms. The make-out session intensifies, till you’re both tired and out of breath. Tipsy from the wine and each other, you both opt to snuggle close to each other for a cozy nap under the stars.

                     Hours had passed before the extreme cold woke both of your shivering figures. Jin sat up, wincing at the soreness over his body. You followed with a similar grimace, trying to comprehend your surroundings. You both had fallen asleep in each other embrace, but as the night stretched on and the temperatures dropped, not even your body heat could fight off the bitter cold. The blankets were stiff too. In fact, upon closer examination, you could plainly see the frost that coated the blankets and matted your hair as well as Jin’s.            

        Had the cold not turned you miserable, the scene would have been breathtaking. It was the first frost of the season, and it had certainly set a standard for the approaching winter. The frost had taken hold over the clearing, claiming the last few standing flowers and weighing down the tall grass. Your combined breath hung like clouds in the still air, the silvery full moon casting an ethereal glow over the motionless woods.

        Jin pulled himself out of the trunk with a mumbled curse. He unfolded his height and tried to stretch the stiffness from his muscles, earning and even deeper contortion of pain. He turned and pulled you out of the trunk, your muscles refusing to cooperate. Once you finally stood up, he shook out a blanket and wrapped it around you. He guided your sleepy figure towards the passenger seat and tucked you in. He made sure everything was packed up and then carefully drove out of the valley.

           You woke up in your bed with Jin snuggled close beside you. You could barely recall getting home. Your throat was tight, your head was throbbing, and your lungs were burning. Soon you began to notice that Jin’s breathing was uneven, and his skin was flaring. Sweat was clinging to the both of you, and your body trembled in protest as you made a slow effort to get up. You gingerly walked towards the kitchen, making a hot porridge and honey-heavy tea for both of you. When you came back, JIn was tossing and turning with his fever. You set the breakfast down, hurrying to grab a cold rag for him. As soon as you placed it on his head he began to calm down. You slowly ate your breakfast, trying not to push your stomach too far. The tea helped immensely.

          You were just about finished when Jin woke up. His breath grew shorter as he pulled himself up, looking around confusedly with the cool rag dropped into his lap. He was still horribly stiff and aching. You rushed over to him, gently cupping his cheeks. His frown deepening in your palms as he took in your own fevered expression.

          “Jinnie, baby, how are you feeling?” You asked worriedly. He lowered his face into your palms, hiding his face before mumbling, “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

          You looked at him confused. Your hands drifted to the back of his neck and over his thigh as you lowered your head, trying to catch his eye.

          “No, no, no, my love! Mi amore, how could you even think that?!?” You dotingly exclaimed. His head snapped up in an irate response.

          “I should’ve taken you home!” He said as loud as his raspy voice would allow. It caused you to flinch. Upon seeing that he lowered his head and voice again, “Instead, I let us sleep in the freezing cold. And now, you’re sick. Because of me.” He bemoaned. You tutted before pulling his large frame against you.

         “Jin, last night was perfect. I wouldn’t change one second of it,” you reassured him as you caressed his hair and rubbed out one of his shoulders, “We were both tired and tipsy. It’s ok,” before he could defend his guilt you added, “Plus, I’m already feeling better! Eat your breakfast and drink your tea, it’ll help. And when you’re ready, we’ll soak in the bath together, mmk?”

          A pair of deep dark puppy eyes looked up at you before a mumbled “ok” passed his swollen lips. You pressed a kiss to his head and squeezed his shoulder before getting up to draw your bath. In a couple of minutes, he had finished his breakfast, feeling better as promised, and you had a steaming aromatic bath ready for the both of you.

         He slowly entered the bathroom, guilt still evident on his face. You smiled at him lovingly, pretending to lean in for a kiss before pulling his shirt over his head. He became less tense with your antics and pressed you to the wall, reclaiming the kiss with a smile. You returned the smiley kiss with one hand pressed on his firm chest and the other sliding up to cup the nape of his neck. Your grin widened as he pulled back.

         “You know, even when sick you’re still my Mr. Worldwide Handsome.”

          “I thought I was the Dorito Man?” He said with a quirk of his eyebrow and a small crooked smile. You hummed with a gentle smile and gave a small nod.

           “Yeah, that too.” You said matter of fact-ly.

            He laughed softly before he began stripping you down. Before long, the bathroom floor was covered in scattered clothes. The two of you were snuggled against each other in the bath, tracing images on each other’s skin while exchanging jokes and kisses.

[woolishlygrim]

Winter Weebwatch #3

I feel a little bad for giving out so many two and three star scores, so I should probably clarify that three stars is meant to be ‘generally pretty good’ and two stars is meant to be ‘watchable but very flawed.’ We’re not working on IGN metrics here.

Also, this week is the week I finally drop a show! What could it be, what could it -- it’s Plunderer. Of course it’s Plunderer. I couldn’t get all the way through this week’s episode and life’s too short to bother watching any more of it.

Also also, while In/Spectre hasn’t been dropped, it gets subbed so late that I’m skipping it this week and rolling this week’s episode over to next week’s post.

ID: Invaded.

★★★★☆

God, why was this show relegated to the Death Season, Where Anime Goes To Die? For three weeks running now, ID: Invaded has stood head and shoulders over all of its competitors, and while there’s always the possibility it could collapse in under its own weight, it so far seems to be going pretty strong.

So episode four (again, see remarks about how one and two aired in the same week) sees Sakaido and the team in a race against the clock to catch the Gravedigger, a serial killer who traps people into enclosed spaces with just a few oxygen canisters and livestreams their struggles, showing the world their final moments and even continuing the livestreams to show their bodies decaying. The Gravedigger has kidnapped a new victim, and for the first time left enough cognition particles behind for Sakaido to dive into his mental world.

Whereas previous episodes have focused heavily on the mystery angle, this episode largely focuses on the stress the case puts on Sakaido and the team. The Gravedigger’s world is a uniquely dangerous mess of fire, explosions, and shifting architecture, and Sakaido dies again and again as he struggles to find any evidence of the Gravedigger’s identity.

Much like the last episode, this would sit at a solid three stars, being a fairly engaging and somewhat harrowing story of Sakaido and the team putting themselves under immense stress to save a victim. What boosts it up to four stars is the moment where the writers pull the rug out from under the characters and the audience: The Gravedigger they’re hunting is only a copycat of the real Gravedigger, and his victim has been dead for days, the ‘livestream’ actually a recording.

The episode also hints at a bigger role for the Perforator in future, as the team attempts to use him as a back-up detective, Akaido, only to find out he’s ill-suited for the role.

Pet.

★★★☆☆

Pet was so close to a four star rating this week. So close. 

So, this week’s episode continues an unclear amount of time after the last week’s episode, with Hiroki and Tsubasa having bought a fish store (as in a pet store that sells live fish and naught else, not a fishmonger’s), which Hiroki believes means they can stop doing work for the shady Committee -- only for Tsubasa to inform him that the Committee paid for the store in the first place, but not to worry, he’ll do all their jobs, and Hiroki doesn’t have to do any of them.

So this episode is … moderately upsetting, actually. Intentionally so.

The bulk of the storyline, in which Tsubasa alters a bodyguard’s memory so that he’s compelled to murder one of his boss’ friends, isn’t what’s upsetting about it, although it does deal with some sensitive subjects, namely domestic abuse and the objectification of vulnerable people. No, what’s upsetting is that, like with last week’s story about Hiroki and Tsubasa altering the memories of a couple, this one also harks back to Hiroki and Tsubasa’s relationship -- specifically, that Tsubasa is emotionally abusing Hiroki.

We get hints of this early on, when Tsubasa is deliberately vague about whether he’ll psychically synchronise with Satoru, another character who, at least in Hiroki’s mind (although evidently not in Satoru’s), is something of a romantic rival. As the episode wears on, Tsubasa goes about his work, while Hiroki, left alone at the fish store, begins showing his immaturity by acting out with his powers before eventually becoming sullen and unresponsive. All of that wouldn’t be enough to indict Tsubasa as being abusive, except in the final scene, as Katsuragi snidely remarks that their new store will never be successful and Hiroki will have to return to a life of crime, Tsubasa mildly returns that he knows it won’t be successful, and he knows it will hurt Hiroki, but that’s just part of ‘taking care of a pet.’

Aaaand we get our title, with all of the unpleasant implications of how Tsubasa views the much more immature and emotionally vulnerable Hiroki.

This episode would have scraped a four star score, but the early parts of the story are a bit too fast paced and a bit incoherent. That really was the only thing holding this absolute gutpunch of an episode back.

Bonus points to the episode that the thing that prompts Hiroki to act out with his powers is seeing a woman’s domineering and callous boyfriend, implying that he is at least somewhat aware of what Tsubasa is like.

Honestly, when this show started I was not expecting a meditation on the subject of abusive relationships, but here we are, and I’m down for it.

Darwin’s Game.

★☆☆☆☆

Oh my god, I just watched it. I just watched it, guys, and I don’t remember even the tiniest bit of it. Am I crazy? Is this what crazy feels like? It’s like I’m blotting the show out of my memory.

I remember something to do with plants and that’s … that’s actually the only thing I remember about this episode.

I don’t even think Darwin’s Game is bad (although let’s be honest, how would I know), it’s just not really anything. It has somehow hit that sweet spot between good and bad where it just fails to make any kind of impact at all, and my brain just interprets it as background noise and proceeds to flush all data pertaining to it.

I might drop it just because this has got to be getting boring for anyone reading these reviews by now. Watching this show is like a sneak peek of suffering from dementia. 

And yet, I still know for a fact it’s better than Plunderer, so it gets one star.

Plunderer.

☆☆☆☆☆ (DROPPED)

Aaand I’m out.

Look, after the shitshow that was the first episode, I should have dropped it straight away. I gave it a chance, and the second episode convinced me that, hey, maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible, maybe the first episode was just an outlier.

The first episode was not an outlier. Episode three isn’t entirely sexual assault and sexual harassment, but about twelve minutes in it does segue into an extended sequence of exactly those things, getting worse with each passing minute. I got up to fourteen minutes, the point at which a supporting character was cheering on the protagonist to sexually assault someone, before I just couldn’t stomach watching anymore.

This show could be the most interesting, engaging, thought-provoking thing on television, and the constant sexual assault would still make me drop it. Luckily, even if you take out all the sex crimes, all you’d get is a show that was basically okay at best.

So zero stars for Plunderer, and I’m dropping the show. To be perfectly honest, I should have dropped it after episode one. 

Sorcerous Stabber Orphen.

★★★☆☆

Onto more pleasant news, man, I just don’t know what’s up with Sorcerous Stabber Orphen’s pacing. Having proceeded at a truly glacial pace for the first two episodes, this episode caps off the entire current story arc, bringing it to an abrupt close.

Now in the company of his old mentor Childman and a task force of sorcerers, Orphen tracks down the dragon-ified Azalie, attempting to reason with her, only for Childman to stab him and eviscerate Azalie. In the aftermath, however, Orphen realises that he’s been played: The dragon he thought was Azalie was actually Childman, and the person he’s been thinking of as Childman is actually Azalie.

So, that was a weird twist. It’s not, in fact, completely out of the left field. The episode sets up early on that Azalie was skilled not only in elemental Black Sorcery, but also in telepathic White Sorcery, and that she should have access to those spells even as a dragon, something which is cause for concern because nobody in the task force has White Sorcery, including Childman. Later on, the confrontation with Dragon-Azalie (Drazalie, if you will), has a character call attention to how she hasn’t used any White Sorcery since the battle started. So when it’s eventually revealed that Azalie did, in fact, use White Sorcery, secretly swapping her mind with Childman’s and letting him die in her place, it actually fits together in quite a neat fashion. 

The episode ends without any real hint as to where the story is going to go next: Azalie escapes in Childman’s body, and Orphen is still an exile from the Tower of Fangs, and there aren’t any other pressing story threads, so I guess we’ll see.

Infinite Dendrogram.

★★☆☆☆

This is the second week in a row that I’m giving Infinite Dendrogram two stars, and it actually physically pains me to do so, because I really like this series. I think apart from ID: Invaded, it’s my favourite anime this season, by quite a significant margin.

But nothing at all happens in this episode.

Okay, that’s only half true. The episode opens with the Player-Killers roaming around Altar having all been killed, which journalist (that’s literally her character class, which I kind of love as a concept) Marie Adler says was the work of just the four ranked players. One by one, she shows the main cast a video of each one taking out a clan of Player-Killers in their own unique way: Arena gladiator Figaro takes his targets out one by one, sadistically toying with them before striking the killing blow; cult priestess Tsukuyo uses magic to immobilise her targets, before letting her cult skewer them one by one; martial artist Lei Lei takes them out in a surprisingly friendly and sporting fashion; and the King of Destruction, whose identity is unknown and definitely not Ray’s big brother, definitely, absolutely, just levels the entire forest his targets are hiding in.

I … do see the necessity of introducing them. The Superiors are basically this show’s Gotei 13, or Gold Saints, or Hashira, or <Insert Group Of Loosely Allied Big Tough People That Are In Every Post-Saint Seiya Shounen Anime> here. There are, however, more interesting ways this could have been done than having the characters watching four videos of fights they already know the outcome to.

For example, what if, instead, you had an episode setting up the characters all getting trapped in different areas, pursued by higher level Player Killers, only for them each to be saved by a Superior. That would actually have some tension and dramatic stakes, and it’d be a much more dynamic way of introducing them. 

[littlelottiethethottie]

Jin X Reader    The First Frost

     The chill of September had just started to settle in, leaves had begun to alter their hues just a week or two ago, and new winds blew the blazing canopies from their lofty perches. You had just got off work three hours ago. You washed away the day’s stress and changed into full fall cozy attire. A soft, dense burnt orange sweater, brown leggings and thick, fluffy fox socks to top it off. Indulging in the clean autumn vibes, you make yourself a cup of your favorite tea, grab your favorite book, and the most fitting blanket. You’ve barely settled in when you hear an unfamiliar engine roar outside.                        

     Typically, your neighborhood is very quiet, and most residents opt for public transportation rather than a vehicle of their own. Highly curious, you peek out of the window to peek at the machine. A G-Wagon was parked outside your door, its light pink paint being just as loud as the engine, highly contrasting the old, traditional Korean architecture that surrounds it.  A corresponding pink hat came bobbing out the car and towards your door. Rolling your eyes, you strode over to the door, opening it just before your star-eyed lover could knock on the door. His pink sweater paw hung in the air as he looked at you in slight bewilderment.

     “So, are you keeping things color-themed today?” You teased. He looked you up and down before cocking an eyebrow.

     “Yeah, but I’m not alone, “he playfully retorted. You chortled before reaching up and wrapping your arms around his neck, giving him a little peck on his soft lips before sinking back down on your heels. You pulled back confused though, there were so many strange elements to this sudden event.

     “What brings you here, Jinnie? You didn’t call or anything. And what’s with-”

     “Surprise!” He exclaimed, “We’re going on a date! Go grab warmer clothes and as many blankets as you can, ok?”

     “Wait, wait, wait! What’s with the car? What happened to the Lamborghini?!?”

     “The Lamborghini wouldn’t work for what I’ve got planned, so I bought this.”

     “What?!? Jin, real-“

     “Yes, really. Trust me, it’ll be perfect. Perfect for my princess <3 Now go grab your stuff!” With that, he placed a warm kiss on your head and turned to the car. You stood there for a moment, in a daze, when you heard him call out, “Warm clothes! I mean it!”

      You turned with a huff, finding his extravagance annoying and amusing at the same time. But once he has his mind set on something, whether it’s a goal, an aesthetic, or anything, he’ll stop at nothing to see it executed perfectly. Sometimes the most you could do was shake your head and hang on for the ride. You slipped a pair of jeans over your leggings, grabbed a coat, grabbed several blankets, and put on a pair of boots. Considering the weather hasn’t reached full winter, you thought you might be overdressed, but then again, Jin warned you to dress warmly and he usually says exactly what he means. You poured your tea into a travel mug and waddled your way towards the door, the big load making you clumsier than ever. Getting impatient, Jin made his way back to the door and was greeted by the sight of you trying to balance several blankets, your coat, and a hot cup of tea. He broke out into a grin and leaned his tall frame on the doorway.

                 “Need some help, love?” he taunted. You barely managed to give him a pout over the blankets in response. He laughed before taking several blankets from you, as well as a firm kiss.

     “This date better be damn good,” you huffed.

     “Trust me, my love, it’ll be worth it,” he promised, the look in his eye warming as he took in your bundled-up figure.

     You throw the blankets in the backseat and tried to peer around to see what he was up to. Before you could make out anything besides the massive pile of blankets and pillows he pulled you back by your waist with a tut. He threw the blankets past you and pulled you closer.

     “Don’t ruin the surprise, sweetie! Upfront you go!” He said as he steered you to the passenger side, landing a little smack on your butt. You turned at him indignantly, only to feel his lush lips crash into yours. He pressed you against the cool car door, his lips softening and deepening the kiss till your lungs burned for air. When he finally broke free he buried his face in your neck and inhaled deeply. Pulling back, you could see a flame in his dark eyes as well as a satisfied smile on his flushed lips.

     “Been thinking of that all day,” he said with a dark chuckle. Walking away towards the driver’s side, leaving you stunned, you heard him call out,

      “Ah, aren’t you lucky?!? Having such a handsome and romantic man by your side?!?”

     You both climbed into the car, giggling. Just before you clicked your seatbelt in you leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He poured out all his sweet affection as he gazed back at you.

     “I am so, so, lucky. I love you, my handsome man,” you admitted once more. No matter how many times you say it, you mean it fully every time. The raw tenderness of the moment thickened the air, till it was nearly suffocating.

     “You forgot “romantic”, love,” he prodded with a taunting smile, cutting the tension in half. You shoved him back, laughing. His smirk grew into a cheeky grin, wide and heartfelt. He settled into the driver’s seat and pulled the car out of park.

     “I can’t wait to show you what I have planned.”

      The drive stretched into the evening. The sun was lowering itself towards the horizon, staining the clouds overhead, and a sweet chill settled throughout the air. The ride was peaceful with gentle music and contentment filling up the car. You watched as the suburbs waned into rural areas, till finally, you were in the palms of nature. The road you had taken stretched up and over the expanse of the mountains. You understood why Jin wanted the G Wagon now. The Lamborghini wouldn’t have been able to handle these overgrown dirt roads.

     Despite the slight jarring of the road, the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. Every turn had the sun shifting between the flushed crowns of the towering trees, casting a new perspective throughout the expansive woods. The road wound up and down, around and between the folds of the mountains. Eventually, the road passed between two peaks and descended into a deep valley, free from the touch of humanity. Still, Jin drove further before pulling off the main path. You were slightly alarmed but too curious to question him. Not far from the road was a small clearing, filled with tall grass and resistant flowers, encircled by a ring of fiery trees. Jin pulled the car around so that the back of the car was facing the clearing.

     “Stay right here, and no peeking!” Jin said as he began grabbing things and clamoring out of the car.

     “What happens if I peek?” you asked with feigned innocence. His head popped around the corner, his eyes were dark and ominous. Altogether, the image was an adorable collage of contradictions. His serious glare contrasting the tufts of dark hair that peaked out if his pink hat, his strong athletic figure hidden under a corresponding large pink hoodie, and the brightness of the pink against the dim and withering outdoors. He reached over grabbed your chin and pulled you towards him.

     “If you peek, I will not share the wine I bought for us,” he threatened in a low voice. Your eyes lit up.

     “You got us wine?!?” You exclaimed. Jin always knew where to find the best wine. Never once has his taste failed you! It seemed he always knew what you were craving and what paired with the meal best. He dropped his head with a sigh, mentally kicking himself for giving you too much information. But when he lifted his head and looked into your shimmering, anticipating eyes, he lost any sense of negativity.

     “Of course I got us wine! I’m the most romantic man in this country, if not the world! How could you forget my virtues so easily?” He whined. Laughing at his antics you asked, “Did you bring roses as well?” with a tease. He looked you dead in the eye before grabbing a rose bouquet from the back. With a cock of his eyebrow, he handed them to you as you stared back in delighted shock.

     “It would be unforgivable if I didn’t, beautiful. Can you even imagine it? Me? Forgetting to bring roses? Absurd! Did my princess forget who she’s with?” His rambling left you in a fit of laughter as you took the roses from him. He smiled softly before pinching your cheek. “It’ll be just a second, love.”

                  You sat back and listened to him positioning things and rustling around, fighting the increasing need to give just one backward glance. Instead, you finished off your tea and focused on the sickly-sweet scent of the roses. A minute or two later Jin opens your door and offers you his hand. You take it with a smile that causes his heart to flutter. Hopping out of the car, he guides you towards the trunk, presenting the most beautiful and endearing sight.

     The backseats had been removed, giving enough room to lounge comfortably together. The bed of the car had a thick pillow-like blanket over it, and the sides were lined with pillows. The trunk door hung over you with fairy light strewn all over it, reaching all around the upper interior of the car. An open picnic basket filled with hot food and thermostats sat in the middle with a bottle of your favorite wine placed strategically in front. You gasp, unable to close your mouth and unable to stop smiling. Tears welled up in your eyes as you drank it all in. Meanwhile, Jin was eagerly drinking in your reaction, heart-swelling at your glistening eyes. He turned you towards him by your waist, your eyes a little slower to follow. But once they’re on him the whole world seems to pale in comparison.  He leaned in and kissed you affectionately, engulfing your lips with his. His arms coiled tightly around the curve of your waist as you reached up and over his broad shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck. You both stayed like this for a minute, completely satisfied to just hold one another for a little while. When he pulled away you breathed out, “Jin, this is perfect.”

     “Did you expect anything less from me, princess?“ he said with a breathy laugh, “Go ahead. Get comfortable,” he said as he nudged you towards the trunk, following in close pursuit. He laughed as you excitedly hopped into the back like a child.

     Time streaked by as you two dined on Jin’s homemade dishes and slowly emptied the wine bottle. You talked in between bites, sharing secrets and small proclamations of love. The sun had all but entirely disappeared over the horizon before Jin pushed the basket away, grabbing a case of fresh cookies and thermostats of hot chocolate. The two of you snuggled, nibbled, and sipped as you watched the stars come out of hiding. Eventually, time was lost on you two. An endless sea of stars stretched overhead as you two discussed the wonders and possibilities of the universe.

     “Jin, do you think we knew each other in a past life?” You questioned dreamingly. He turned towards you, drinking in your image and your presence, wondering how he could’ve survived any life without you.

    “I’m not sure. If we did, I don’t think you could ever forget me” he said bluntly, causing you to scoff before he could finish, “I know I sure as hell could never forget you.”

     You froze slightly before looking up into his eyes, with your own resembling an owl. They bore down on you, dark, strong, intense, and completely certain. The next thing you knew, you were bound in his arms, seeing nothing but fireworks as he pressed his lips further than before. His tongue gently worked its way into your mouth, hypnotizing you completely as you melt into his arms. The make-out session intensifies, till you’re both tired and out of breath. Tipsy from the wine and each other, you both opt to snuggle close to each other for a cozy nap under the stars.

                  Hours had passed before the extreme cold woke both of your shivering figures. Jin sat up, wincing at the soreness over his body. You followed with a similar grimace, trying to comprehend your surroundings. You both had fallen asleep in each other embrace, but as the night stretched on and the temperatures dropped, not even your body heat could fight off the bitter cold. The blankets were stiff too. In fact, upon closer examination, you could plainly see the frost that coated the blankets and matted your hair as well as Jin’s.           

     Had the cold not turned you miserable, the scene would have been breathtaking. It was the first frost of the season, and it had certainly set a standard for the approaching winter. The frost had taken hold over the clearing, claiming the last few standing flowers and weighing down the tall grass. Your combined breath hung like clouds in the still air, the silvery full moon casting an ethereal glow over the motionless woods.

     Jin pulled himself out of the trunk with a mumbled curse. He unfolded his height and tried to stretch the stiffness from his muscles, earning an even deeper contortion of pain. He turned and pulled you out of the trunk, your muscles refusing to cooperate. Once you finally stood up, he shook out a blanket and wrapped it around you. He guided your sleepy figure towards the passenger seat and tucked you in. He made sure everything was packed up and then carefully drove out of the valley.

      You woke up in your bed with Jin snuggled close beside you. You could barely recall getting home. Your throat was tight, your head was throbbing, and your lungs were burning. Soon you began to notice that Jin’s breathing was uneven, and his skin was flaring. Sweat was clinging to the both of you, and your body trembled in protest as you made a slow effort to get up. You gingerly walked towards the kitchen, making a hot porridge and honey-heavy tea for both of you. When you came back, JIn was tossing and turning with his fever. You set the breakfast down, hurrying to grab a cold rag for him. As soon as you placed it on his head he began to calm down. You slowly ate your breakfast, trying not to push your stomach too far. The tea helped immensely.

     You were just about finished when Jin woke up. His breath grew shorter as he pulled himself up, looking around confusedly when the cool rag dropped into his lap. He was still horribly stiff and aching. You rushed over to him, gently cupping his cheeks. His frown deepening in your palms as he took in your own fevered expression.

     “Jinnie, baby, how are you feeling?” You asked worriedly. He lowered his face into your palms, hiding his face before mumbling, “I ruined everything, didn’t I?”

     You looked at him confused. Your hands drifted to the back of his neck and over his thigh as you lowered your head, trying to catch his eye.

     “No, no, no, my love! Mi amore, how could you even think that?!?” You dotingly exclaimed. His head snapped up in an irate response.

     “I should’ve taken you home!” He said as loud as his raspy voice would allow. It caused you to flinch. Upon seeing that he lowered his head and voice again, “Instead, I let us sleep in the freezing cold. And now, you’re sick. Because of me.” He bemoaned. You tutted before pulling his large frame against you.

    “Jin, last night was perfect. I wouldn’t change one second of it,” you reassured him as you caressed his hair and rubbed out one of his shoulders, “We were both tired and tipsy. It’s ok,” before he could defend his guilt you added, “Plus, I’m already feeling better! Eat your breakfast and drink your tea, it’ll help. And when you’re ready, we’ll soak in the bath together, mmk?”

     A pair of deep dark puppy eyes looked up at you before a mumbled “ok” passed his swollen lips. You pressed a kiss to his head and squeezed his shoulder before getting up to draw your bath. In a couple of minutes, he had finished his breakfast, feeling better as promised, and you had a steaming aromatic bath ready for the both of you.

     He slowly entered the bathroom, guilt still evident on his face. You smiled at him lovingly, pretending to lean in for a kiss before pulling his shirt over his head. He became less tense with your antics and pressed you to the wall, reclaiming the kiss with a smile. You returned the smiley kiss with one hand pressed on his firm chest and the other sliding up to cup the nape of his neck. Your grin widened as he pulled back.

     “You know, even when sick you’re still my Mr. Worldwide Handsome.”

     “I thought I was the Dorito Man?” He said with a quirk of his eyebrow and a small crooked smile. You hummed with a gentle smile and gave a small nod.

     “Yeah, that too.” You said matter of fact-ly.

     He laughed softly before he began stripping you down. Before long, the bathroom floor was covered in scattered clothes. The two of you were snuggled against each other in the bath, tracing images on each other’s skin while exchanging jokes and kisses.

[anghraine]

pro patria, 71-77

“These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.” Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely.

title: pro patria (71-77/?) stuff that happens: One minute, Althea's realizing that her life as an aristocrat does not represent a universal Ascalonian experience; the next, she's manufacturing pirate slang.

verse: Ascalonian grudgefic characters/relationships: Althea Fairchild, Ailoda Langmar, Agent Ihan; Captain Barnicus, First Mate Gaets, others; Althea & Ailoda, Althea & Ihan chapters: 1-7, 8-14, 15-21, 22-28, 29-35, 36-42, 43-49, 50-56, 57-63, 64-70

-

SEVENTY-ONE 1 According to our stories and records, all the Fairchilds alive today were descendants of Lady Irene Fairchild. Irene, a cousin of Duke Barradin and member of the first Vanguard, claimed that she’d left Ascalon on a mission before the Searing, and returned afterwards upon being summoned by Prince Rurik himself. She’d defied King Adelbern to help Rurik lead desperate survivors of the Searing to Kryta, and taken over the expedition upon Rurik’s death. She and some companions joined Kryta’s White Mantle government, only to turn on it when they discovered its corruption, at which point they became allies of the Shining Blade instead, and aided Queen Salma's ascension to the throne. Irene even left notes of something to do with a lich and Rurik, though she was vague on the details. The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, first under Captain Langmar and then Gwen Thackeray, and helped establish Ebonhawke. It sounded like the stories were true—all of them. 2 It made for a pleasant diversion, but after that, I seemed to encounter something disturbing about my people everywhere I went. One man near the gates complained about his offspring creating a guild to attack Ascalonian children. The woman he was speaking to shrugged and replied, “Someone’s got to teach them a lesson.” And people wondered why we stuck to Rurikton and Salma. In the upper city, I overheard a man asking another man and a woman why we didn’t have more Ascalonian ministers, something I’d certainly wondered about enough times. The other man said grimly, “The usual. No land, no vote.” 3 That was what my mother thought; she only knew three or four other ones. Of course, nothing prevented people from voting for someone who just happened to be Ascalonian—but they almost never did. In the meanwhile, I heard various gossip about Queen Jennah, ranging from whispers about Caudecus taking over—over my dead body—to anxious curiosity about when she would marry, to staunch declarations of support. Something must have happened; Logan, evidently, had gotten in a fight with some of Caudecus’s people, though I wasn’t exactly sure when or why it had happened. I could think of any number of reasons, really. Exhaustion crept up on me, perhaps from the exceptionally long morning I’d had, but more than that, too. I had never wished for another heritage, another life, but sometimes I wished I could just get away from everything that came with it. 4 I didn’t want to be poor, of course. But I’d like to pass through my city without hearing about the war or the Charr, or any of the things that Krytans thought were wrong with us. Not bothering to hide my scowl, I made my way back towards Seraph Headquarters and the palace, where the city was particularly beautiful and the people particularly inoffensive. I walked around under the dangling moons and stars of the mossy courtyard until my mood and my headache improved—and even then, I couldn’t help but think of how few Ascalonians could simply show up for a stroll in the royal courtyard when the world became overwhelming. And here I was, the Lady Althea, daughter of a Langmar minister and a Fairchild heir, hero of Shaemoor, Advocate of the Crown, doing absolutely nothing for my people. Helping others in general, sure—but not Ascalonians, who needed it more than anyone else. Someday I would. 5 I promised myself that. Zhaitan or no Zhaitan, I would go to Ebonhawke, where my people had lived and fought for so long, where my own family had, where I’d come into the world. I would offer my services to the Vanguard, in whichever way they saw fit, whether sword and sceptre or political strings pulled or whatever else. I would earn a right to the Ascalonian banners that hung throughout every manor I’d lived in. I’d earn the right to say I am an Ascalonian. I would go home, at last. To Ascalon. 6 I returned to the Salma manor to rest, glad to see the familiar lines and curves of the place I’d known for so many years—a place where I knew myself to be safe from all the rest of the world. Another advantage that most Ascalonians wouldn’t share with me. I’d never thought of that before. This time, I did manage to sleep, my intended nap turning into the hours until dinner. Despite all the irregularities of my schedule, I scrambled to appear on time. My mother, entering the dining room from the opposite side, looked startled. “Althea?” 7 “You’re here!” she said happily. “I can’t stay long,” I replied, seating myself at her right hand, “but I did want to see you.” She smiled. “I would have come home earlier, had I known you were here—what have you been up to?” I weighed what I could tell her, and what I wanted to tell her. “Oh, I had a meeting with Logan and some other people,” I said, “and ran a few errands, and then”—I swallowed—“then I took a long walk about the city.” She gazed steadily at me, and said, “Was any word of that true?”

----------------------------------------------------------------

1) she was vague on the details: the GW1 PC doesn’t cover themself with glory in their dealings with the lich; they’re constantly fooled through the first half of the game.

2) The family story went that she became an agent of the Ebon Vanguard: in the GW1 expansion Guild Wars: Eye of the North, the PC has the option to become an agent of the Ebon Vanguard, gaining ascending '[x] Agent' titles. The game isn't clear about what happens after that, but I imagine them (or at least Irene) sticking with the Vanguard.

3) a guild to attack Ascalonian children: an actual ambient conversation.  

---------------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-TWO 1 “Every word was true,” I assured her. “Vague, I grant you—but true, and no vaguer than they have to be.” She nodded, accepting this, or appearing to. “Can you tell me where you’re headed now?” Only then did I feel the weight of my next destination, a place I’d so often read of, heard of, seen on maps. I took a deep breath. “Lion’s Arch.” 2 “Lion’s Arch!” my mother exclaimed. “What in the names of the Six are—oh, you probably can’t tell me.” “I’m afraid not,” I replied. I didn’t quite regret it; I could only imagine how worried she’d be if she knew I was fighting dragon minions and chasing a deranged Seraph in the company of a spy. “Be careful,” said Mother, already looking worried. “The city’s not what it used to be. It’s full of unsavoury types who think they’re too good for the queen, and it’s crawling with Charr.” 3 Charr! I hadn’t thought of that. I should have. I’d heard that Lion’s Arch paid no respects to the lines between human and Charr, sylvari and Asura, any of them and Norn—paid no respects to anything at all, except money. To me, nothing but perhaps the architecture sounded appealing. Nevertheless, to Lion’s Arch I was to go, if only on my way to somewhere else. And I couldn’t deny a certain curiosity about the place. 4 “I’ll take care,” I promised. “You don’t need to worry—I can look after myself, I promise.” “Sometimes,” said my mother, “that’s what I’m afraid of.” I laughed. “Well, I won’t pick fights with anyone, either. Even the Charr.” But I’d given my word, so I added, “Not in Lion’s Arch.” 5 Mother sighed, but said, “I don’t suppose I can ask for more than that. You’ve grown up so much, Althea.” I picked up my fork, poking at our cook’s best attempts to make something of rationed food. Sometimes I didn’t feel very grown-up. More often, I wished I didn’t. But Tervelan’s plot had yanked me out of childhood forever, and Shaemoor and its consequences had done the rest of the work. “One minute I’m little Althea Fairchild,” I said lightly, “and the next I’m Advocate of the Crown.” 6 “You’re what?” I hadn’t meant it as a distraction, but I seized the opportunity when it presented itself. That was, I supposed, my way. “Queen Jennah appointed me this morning,” I told her. Only this morning? Holy Kormir, what a day. “It’s a sort of diplomatic thing.” 7 I half-expected her to press further, or at least express some disappointment or dismay at the secrecy, but instead, she lit up. “Oh, Althea.” She searched my face, then pressed my free hand, a trembling smile on her lips. “A government position? Darling, I’m so proud; I never dreamed that you’d follow me!” I couldn’t help but return her smile, even though I wouldn’t exactly call fighting undead following my mother’s path in the Ministry—but she’d started with battles against the Charr, hadn’t she? “It’s all very complicated,” I said. SEVENTY-THREE 1 Contrary to my own expectations, I slept as easily as a cat in the daytime. Unlike one, however, I woke at dawn—I had a substantial journey from Lion’s Arch to Lionbridge Expanse to complete this morning. According to a decidedly sketchy map in my collection, I’d go north out of Lion’s Arch into Gendarran Fields, head west out of Cornucopian Fields through Broadhollow Bluffs, and then run into the Expanse. The route would take me right past the Ascalon Settlement, the town that the first Ascalonian refugees in Kryta had established; with Ebonhawke and Rurikton, it was one of the main centers of Ascalonian culture. I’d always wanted to see it, but hadn’t dared the journey. Now, I couldn’t afford any detours—this time. But maybe I’d be able to go once this was all over. 2 I dressed quickly, gathered the supplies for the journey I’d packed last night, left a note for my mother, and headed out to the royal courtyard. I could go through Queensdale instead of Lion’s Arch, and felt strongly tempted to do so, but that would be pure self-indulgence; the Asura gate to Lion’s Arch gleamed right here in the courtyard. Once, I’d been composed of little but self-indulgence. Now, some things had to come first—and efficiency ranked high among them. Despite my best intentions, I hesitated at the gate. I wasn’t a healer, able to identify bone and organs at will, so I couldn’t say exactly what shivered in my chest as I stood before the gate. Did it matter? 3 Footsteps sounded behind me, and someone said, “Are you going through?” I turned, saw a man in merchant’s clothes, saw him step back. “My lady,” he added hastily. “Pardon,” I said, embarrassed at my own weakness. Determined to cast it aside, I summoned up all the resolve I possessed, and continued, “Yes, I’m going.” With that, I paid the Asura by the gate, and stepped through. 4 I only dimly remembered the last time I’d taken an Asura gate, when my family left Ebonhawke. One moment, I was crying as Aunt Elwin kissed me goodbye; the next, with a flash of purple light, I was staring around at Rurikton’s narrow walls and tall buildings. This gate seemed both like and unlike that memory, and like and unlike the waypoints I used so often. As my vision filled with purple, my body felt oddly compressed and heavy, while my heart raced and my stomach clenched down on nothing. But then everything cleared and my feet landed on solid ground, without any lurching disorientation. I took a few steady steps down a wooden ramp, and looked around with interest. So this was Lion’s Arch. 5 I stood on a sort of mossy circle, which centered on small levels rather like a fountain leading up to a flowery crystal. On one side of the circle, a stone ramp ran up to the main city, which from here looked like a very dramatic collection of shipwrecks; on the other side, a wooden bridge headed off into some trees. All around me, Asura gates cast light from their rocky pedestals just beyond the edges of the circle, each accessible by another ramp, and guarded by soldiers of various species. Including Charr. I steadied my nerves; they weren’t even looking at me, but talking in their low growls to a sylvari gesturing at the gate. Something, something Black Citadel. Sweet Lyssa, who would want to go there? 6 I’d heard little of it, of course, and had no interest in finding out more. But I knew that it was the Charr capital, deliberately built on the bones of slaughtered Ascalonians. This must be a gate to Ascalon. I eyed the Charr guards, unable to repress a curl of my lip. I’d never go this way. But they didn’t matter, I told myself; what they stood for mattered, but these were just two monsters among thousands, perhaps millions. I turned away. 7 My gate was likewise guarded, by two professional-looking Seraph who appeared remarkably sanguine about the Charr so near to them. I greeted them by rank, which seemed to gratify one of them, and then said, “I need to go to Gendarran Fields.” “We’re not tour guides,” said one of the Seraph, but the other hushed him. “You go all the way north, past Trader’s Forum,” she told me, and when I thanked them and headed off, she hissed at her companion, “Don’t you know who she is?” “Why should I care?” he said. “She’s Captain Thackeray’s right hand!” He scoffed, saying, “No, that’s Lieutenant … wait, you mean that was the hero of Shaemoor?” SEVENTY-FOUR 1 I nearly got lost about a half-dozen times on my way to the Trader’s Forum, as I navigated assorted buildings pieced together out of assorted ships—many of them looked very much the same, even with strings of glowing lights and the occasional waypoint lighting the way. And the crowds were like nothing I’d ever seen before, even in Divinity’s Reach on its busiest days. Everyone was shouting and shoving and jostling on the ways to the bank and the Black Lion market, which lay right in my path. Once, a Charr actually touched me as she pushed on by. My stomach turned and I jerked away. Eventually, however, I found myself in the much more sparsely populated stretch of crafting stations along the northern edge of the city, very little different from those in the Commons back home. I repressed the urge to stop and look at jewelry and clothes, and more relieved than not, strode through the portal. 2 I emerged into a landscape of green fields and hills, and took off running to the west. At first it looked nearly idyllic—an impression that lasted the three minutes that passed before I encountered giant spiders spitting poison. I killed them without very much difficulty, though I felt decidedly queasy, and raced onwards until I nearly collided into a green and purple sylvari. “Hello!” she said. “I am called Brigid. And you?” “Althea,” I said, certain that neither lady nor Fairchild would carry any meaning for her. 3 “It’s beautiful out here, isn’t it?” she continued happily. “So green and fertile.” I nodded, and she chattered on, talking about the apparently hard-working farmers of Applenook, along with the dangers of pirates. While I certainly disapproved of piracy as both a fellow citizen and a loyal subject to the queen, it came as quasi-welcome news in this case. Evidently, I’d arrived at the right place. “Thank you,” I said, and we parted ways, Brigid peering around herself as I took off for the west. Onwards. 4 Despite the occasional fight along the way, I made good time, and ran through grass and clumps of cheerful yellow flowers to arrive at Lionbridge Expanse early. Ihan was, of course, already at the bridge. Well, under it. At first, when I didn’t see him, I shrugged and clambered down the slope to the stream flowing beneath the bridge. A large skale attacked me, so I thought I’d pass the time in fighting it. “Advocate, over here,” whispered Ihan. I flung aether towards the skale and whirled about. 5 My long skirt whirled with me, and settled neatly back down again, rather to my relief; Faren would have approved, though I couldn’t imagine Ihan cared one way or the other. I could only make out a vague figure in any case. Then Ihan stepped forward, himself once more, and murmured, “Keep your voice low.” I hadn’t said anything, but I nodded. “The pirates are still spooked from Kellach’s attack,” he said. “They won’t be quick to trust newcomers.” I didn’t mean to be impatient, but— 6 “We need them to tell us what they know,” I said firmly. “How do we get them to talk?” Ihan gave one of his thin smiles. “Don’t worry, Advocate. The Order’s been thinking ahead—it’s what we do. The Order of Whispers is the oldest organization in Tyria; we’ve managed to survive this long because we always have a plan.” I’d hoped to hear that.

7

“I’m listening,” I told him. “What do you suggest we do?” “I’ve hidden special torches on the outskirts of the pirate camp—they’re enchanted with pure life force by a priest of Melandru,” he said. “The power of these torches will draw in the undead, but nobody else will notice the difference.” “Draw in the undead?” I hissed. “That’s dangerous!” That was what he’d been doing while I slept?

-----------------------------------------------------------

1) jewelry and clothes: you can develop crafting abilities in the game, including as a jeweler and a tailor, though Althea would probably just buy things.

----------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-FIVE 1 “People could get hurt,” I added. “These are no innocents, Advocate,” said Ihan. “They’re pirates, and a cutthroat bunch at that—bear that in mind.” Right, pirates. Thieves and murderers and gods knew what else; it still wasn’t the plan I’d have chosen, had another presented itself, but … well, they’d done worse themselves. I’d done worse, arguably, with all the bandits I’d killed—I regretted nothing, but risking murderers’ lives could be no worse than killing them myself, surely. I nodded, not quite trusting myself with words. 2 “Disguise yourself,” said Ihan, “and attempt to join the crew. When the undead attack, prove yourself defending the camp. They’ll trust you after that.” Well, now it made sense. It was much easier to do something like this with a clear objective in mind, and clearer plan for achieving it. “I’ll maintain the torches,” Ihan continued, “and watch for undead. I’ll be nearby in case the situation escalates out of control.” 3 That sounded promising. Ihan set a pack down on the bank of the stream, opened it up, and started rummaging inside. He emerged with some things that someone more generous than me might have called clothes. There were leather trousers, which I could have expected. There was a feathered hat—all right. There were assorted belts and straps and scarves, and unexpectedly, a half-corset, something I’d never imagined pirates wearing. There was not a shirt. 4 “Here, put on this disguise,” he told me, his mouth quirking as he glanced from the fashionably slashed caps of my sleeves to my long skirt. “No one’s going to believe you’re a pirate in your current get-up.” “Uh,” I said. “What am I supposed to wear here?” I gestured vaguely at my chest. Ihan, thankfully, didn’t look. “This.” 5 He tossed the half-corset at me. “Fine,” I said, “but what am I wearing over it?” “Nothing,” said Ihan, a trace of impatience touching his even voice as he handed over the rest of the quasi-clothes. “You’re a pirate, Advocate. If you’re going to continue in the Order of Whispers, you have to learn to set Lady Althea aside, and become whatever is needed.” I had never said anything about continuing in the Order of Whispers! I preferred them to the others—maybe—but— 6 “Now you’re Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea,” he added. “Right,” I said faintly. “Now, hurry up.” “Well, turn around,” I said, though with that corset, it hardly made any difference; he’d see everything anyway. Everyone would. I shuddered, but remembered the undead, and once he turned his head aside, swiftly disentangled myself from my coat and skirt and did my best to figure out the pirate gear. With deep reluctance, I said, “Done.” 7 Ihan turned back to me and glanced at the outfit; to my relief, it was only a glance before his eyes returned to my face. “Good. Are you ready?” “Is there anything else I need to know about being a pirate?” This horrible outfit couldn’t be enough. “Work on your swagger, your swearing, and your slang,” he said, and smiled again, more warmly. “You’ll be fine.”

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1) At this point in the story, Althea’s standard outfit is this; the pirate costume is this.

--------------------------------------------------------------- SEVENTY-SIX 1 Swagger I could handle. As for swearing and slang, I didn’t know what about me gave the impression that I might be conversant in either. I didn’t even know people who were; Logan didn’t bother, Faren found them inelegant, Deborah … well, all right, she swore like a sailor when she got angry. I strained to remember some of her more vivid insults. “All right,” I told him. “Thanks, Ihan. Here I go.” 2 Despite all my apprehensions and discomfort, the plan went off like a dream. I made my way to the camp, ignored the low, drunken singing of a small group of pirates, and was promptly directed to the captain by a surly underling. The first mate stopped me on the way there. “Get out of here before I use your parts for chum, you swine-hugging lowlife,” she snarled. I eyed her coolly. “Big talk from someone who smells like an unwashed dolyak.” “That's the best you got?” 3 She gave a hoarse laugh, adding, “Your wits are 'bout as quick as a pregnant cow.” My wits were just fine, and I didn’t care one way or another what some pirate thought of them. My first inclination was to shrug and continue on my way, but I remembered Ihan’s advice, and tried to imagine what Deborah would say. “Hey, don't go bringing your mother into this,” I said, and smiled cheerfully, making sure it showed my teeth. “Someone might get hurt. You, in fact.” 4 She didn’t look intimidated, but her eyes narrowed, which I counted as a success of sorts. “What’s that?” she growled. “I'd murder you right now if I didn't mind getting the blood of a Charr-loving rat-catcher on my blade.” A Charr-loving— Me? Me? My vision tightened, narrowing in on where she stood before me, a sneer on her face, and—I didn’t normally condone them, but I had half a mind to to challenge her to a duel on the spot. 5 In other circumstances. Not now, when I needed information, when undead were loose in Kryta. I forced my fury to a reasonable simmer, steadied my hands and breaths. “Oh, please,” I told her. “You even think about murdering me, you better stop yourself and apologize, skritt-licker.” To my astonishment, she chuckled. “Good one!” 6 “I like you,” she added, grinning down at me. “You can live for now.” “Thanks,” I said, “but I don't need any favors from you, flotsam-face.” I tipped my hat; it seemed a pirate-ish thing to do. “See you around.” I very much hoped I wouldn’t. For her sake. 7 She marched ahead of me as I walked towards the captain, my heart thudding, and Ihan’s torches shining clear and bright around the camp. “Splendid view, isn’t it?” the captain told her. “Only thing missing is our bloody ship! We never should have let that Seraph dog board the Ravenous again.” My nerves all seemed to spring to life at the same time, but I tried not to look too obviously interested. She saluted and said, “Ravenous died a noble death, Cap’n: on fire and full of holes.” Apparently that was their idea of nobility. SEVENTY-SEVEN 1 The first mate sniffed. “She went down fighting, like the grand dame she was.” “Aye, that she did, that she did,” Captain Barnicus said gravely. He glanced my way, and his eyes narrowed. “Here, who’s this new lubber come to stare at us?” I saluted him, aiming for a mix of deference and assurance—like a rough-around-the-edges Logan, maybe, though I could just imagine his face at the comparison. Especially considering the corset. 2 “Reporting for duty, captain,” I said, dropping my voice. “They call me Yardarm, Rock Dog of the Eastern Sea. I hear you’re looking for a new crew?” The captain’s scowl deepened. “You heard wrong. We’re looking for brothers and sisters of fortune. Sailors that’ll stand by us when the blood starts flowin’.” 3 “Now sling your hook before I—” A sylvari pirate (not two words I would have ever expected to use together) swivelled about towards us. He shouted, “Captain! The undead are back! We’re under attack!” The menace on Barnicus’s face turned into surprised fury, his hand already brandishing his sword. “Damn them!” 4 He pointed at me with his other hand. “You there, Yardarm! If you want to earn a berth on my ship, draw your weapon and risk your neck with the rest of us!” Ihan’s plan, such as it was, had gone off perfectly. I seized my own sword and leapt into the battle, dodging the rotting limbs, decaying weapons, and inexorable tread of the Risen. The aether lashing through my sceptre and my illusions destroyed undead as well as anything else. Not easily, though: they just kept coming and coming, and I spent as much time protecting and bracing up pirates as I did fighting—victory wouldn’t go very far if Barnicus lost his crew with it. 5 After three waves of attacks, this group of undead lay, well, dead. We burned the corpses and scattered the bones; you couldn’t really be too careful. Then, astonishingly, the pirates returned to drinking, singing, working, and/or mourning the ship, as if nothing had happened. I’d worried about them figuring out the cause of the attack, but they didn’t even try to guess. Barnicus gave me a slightly painful clap on the arm. “You did well, Yardarm, but if you’re lookin’ to join my crew, fightin’ ain’t enough. You need sharp wit, too.” 6 “My wit?” I said, not prepared for this, but not willing to abandon the plan. “What does that have to do with anything?” He shook his head, hand still on my bare arm. I refused to flinch, though every particle of my body urged me to cringe away. “Listen ’ere, matey. My crew has to settle scores with words, or we’d kill each other off! Speak with Gaets, she’ll set you to rights.” 7 It sounded positively deranged to me, but I agreed; I hardly had another choice—and it gave me some distance, at any rate. When Gaets turned out to be the first mate I’d exchanged words with before, however, I nearly balked. If she called me a Charr-lover again, I’d … well, in all honesty, I’d probably just endure it again, but I wouldn’t forget. Luckily, Gaets seemed to pride herself on a certain level of originality; each insult she threw at me was unique—lily-livered bilge-rat, lice-infested hammock hanger, and the like. Even more luckily, I had enough inventiveness (and enough memories) to return each insult in kind. She took a deep, satisfied breath. “That was amazing.”

[bigskydreaming]

Blech. I’ve pretty much officially finished writing, editing and revising this standalone epic fantasy novel I started years and years ago and only just recently got around to finishing. Which is good, for sure, but also....blech. LOL. Because now I have no more excuses for putting off making a decision about the cover.

Like I always intended to self-pub this particular novel for personal reasons, and I can make my own covers just fine. I’ve done epic fantasy covers before for other clients that turned out well, even working with stock art and photomanipulation, its totally possible to make something that hits all the genre expectations and sells the right tone and feel to readers who come across it. BUT I’ve always loved the illustrated covers of a lot of fantasy novels I grew up with, and always kinda wanted something similar for this particular work, even though I have other fantasy projects I wouldn’t care as much about that one way or the other.

And so years ago when I first started the book and was only about a third of the way in, but still had a solid sense of the world and story and where it was all going, I happened to stumble across a fantasy artist whose work was like...exactly the right tone and aesthetic I’d always been picturing for that novel’s setting and vibe. And he was a freelancer, and open to commissions at the time, and you never know with freelancers if they’ll still be taking commissions a year or two down the line or if they’ve gone to work for like, a video game company or studio or something like that by that point, so even though the book was nowhere near done I hopped on that and commissioned an illustration from him to be used for the cover at some future point when I was ready for it. I just needed the illustration, I was fine doing typography and all that myself when the time came.

And I mean, I’ve literally been on the other side of the author/artist interaction tons of times, lol, so like, I know from my own experiences where its helpful to give an artist or a designer room to breathe and exercise their own creativity, make use of their own particular skillset and interpret the story elements you tell them are most important to see conveyed in the final cover, in like...their own way, like what feels best to them, what they’re most inspired to do with the foundational info you give them to build off of. 

Like I mean, visual design is its own skillset, and often completely separate from the kind of visualization most authors do of their own work while writing it....and with self-pubbed authors especially, as artists or designers you often run into authors who get really hung up on relatively minor details that they feel really need to be on the cover in some capacity and in really specific ways. Which is often to the detriment of the cover in the long run because like....what looks right in your head as a writer, totally familiar with your own world and story and its every minutiae and the implications and context of every single element....is not always going to come across the same way to readers who happen across your cover while browsing. Because they literally have ZERO context for what they’re looking at, and thus it really needs to stand on its own two feet and sell itself, not....loop back around to some hidden significance that will really only resonate with readers who end up buying the book and only once they reach this one scene in chapter 27 or whatever, you know?

So I really didn’t want to do that with this artist. I was only commissioning him because I loved what I’d seen of his work and the style he seemed to default to naturally was the perfect fit for what I wanted, IMO, so I was more than willing to let him take the broader strokes of the setting/themes/storyline in whatever direction inspired him most, as long as he hit within the general framework I provided him.

BUT, that said, for all that I tried to give him as much creative freedom to work with as possible, there are of course always a FEW things that as the commissioning party, are really important to see in the final product, and so yeah, I did have a couple of areas/elements that I did stress were really important to strike the right tone with, or it could make or break the whole illustration.

Specifically, I was concerned that he hit the right feel with the main character. My protag for this novel is a woman, and the one area his portfolio samples didn’t have a ton of variety with and thus had me slightly worried about what visual tropes he might default to...was female characters. He had tons of gorgeous settings, fantasy creatures, architecture, knights and sorcerers and monsters, but not a ton of women in the samples I saw. He did have some, for sure, and like there was nothing super concerning about the way he’d drawn/painted them....there were some priestesses, sorceresses, that kinda thing, and their anatomy and wardrobes weren’t like....glaringly cheesecake-y or anything like a lot of fantasy artists’ portfolios....so I knew he COULD get the character right, the way I hoped he would, I just wasn’t SURE. Like, I wasn’t concerned about specific details, beyond like....not outrageously contradicting the character description and scenes I gave him to work off of, I wasn’t worried about nitpicking minutiae. But my protag is a warrior-magic user archetype, and warrior women is like, the one female archetype he didn’t have any samples of, and I was more concerned about him defaulting to like....the old fantasy standby’s of ridiculously impossible and unnatural poses for warrior women, not to mention totally impractical armor, that sort of thing. 

Not to put too fine a point on it, but this was the ONE thing I stressed, lol. I didn’t really care about the finer details of her armor like in terms of decoration or filigree or even color schemes, I honestly could just adjust my own descriptions in the book to match what he came up with if need be. Stuff like that, so not a big deal to me. ALL I was concerned about was like....she not fall into those trope traps that ensnare so many women on fantasy covers, like....just make her look like she’s a fucking warrior who knows what the hell she’s doing, and I’ll be fine with everything else, you know? I even sent him some covers of published fantasy novels to use as comparison comps, like ‘this is the kind of feel or vibe I’d ideally like to see her capture, something like these women in these covers here’ as well as ‘this is what I really really DON”T want to see, like, I shouldn’t have a better sense of how good a contortionist she is than whether or not I believe she can swing a sword.’

Soooooo.....what happened?

Did he prioritize as I’d really really hoped he would and strongly expressed my desire for him to, and take care to at least avoid the more obvious problems, even if the end result was’t 100% what I was hoping for? Nooooooope. She might as well be mid-yoga pose. Sigh. Like, the guy has a damn near perfect grasp of anatomy and proportions on every other human figure I saw in the many samples I looked through before commissioning him, but somehow, despite this being of utmost importance to me and the ONLY thing about the entire project I stressed about and made sure to emphasize, lol, he ended up painting her in this weird bent at the waist position that throws her lower body proportions off entirely and like, her hip is angled or arched in this weird way that’s incredibly distracting and off, and like also, of course her armor is....pointless, in all the specific ways that happened to be the ONLY details about her armor I was concerned with. Y’know. Like. Its effectiveness. As armor.

And the absolutely obnoxious thing about it all, is that everything else about the illustration? Absolutely gorgeous. Everything I’d hoped for, even as I deliberately tried not to build up too specific an image in my mind ahead of time. Hell, BETTER than anything I’d have come up with on my own, and totally validating my impulse to have someone with different skillsets than my own do this instead of just making a cover out of stock art the way I usually do with my other projects. He absolutely captured the specific MOOD I was aiming for with the setting and general atmosphere, like, the very reason I’d been drawn to his style in the first place, he totally nailed that. Couldn’t have asked for a better fit to the general ambiance of the piece. The colors were just the right shade of otherworldly, a great mix of light and darkness that sold the gloom of the surrounding environs without drowning in dark palettes that make it hard to pick out individual details and differentiate between figures. So on and so on.

EVERY SINGLE OTHER THING ABOUT THE DAMN ILLUSTRATION IS PERFECT LOL.

Except for the only fucking part I was worried about in the first place, lmaaaaaaaaaao whyyyyyyy.

And I mean, because his style was a combo of illustration and painting, there was never gonna be a ton of room for revisions or tweaks to the final piece, I knew and understood that going in. He showed me what he had when he was done with the initial pencilwork, before he painted over it, but with the understanding that it could still change from that point, if he needed to shift things around because of the way the colors and lighting and shadows were all coming out once painted. And the pencil work lacked the finer details that he added into his painting in the final stages, so like, I did see a rough draft before he started painting, and could ask for tweaks or adjustments at that point...except at that point, I didn’t NEED to! LOL. In the rougher sketch, her general position was just shifted enough from what it ended up being that like, it wasn’t my ideal pose for her but nothing I’d say I actually had a problem with, like her upper body was elevated just enough and at just the right angle compared to what he ended up with that at that point, there was no unnatural hip thrust or any of that stuff, and there was only a rough sense of what would come to be the final armor. So I mean, TECHNICALLY I had an opportunity to pump the brakes and be like whoa wait dude, this isn’t what we discussed, can I get you to go back to the drawing board just in this one specific area right here and maybe even just take another look at those comps I sent you, see what I mean about what I’m trying to avoid and how that’s kinda sneaking in here anyway....except, I didn’t think I had to say anything at that point lol, because it all looked on track??

I mean, its not like I think he deliberately misled me with that initial draft or anything, nothing as dramatic as that. I’m fairly certain that like most artists and designers will tell you, in the process of like, the actual drawing/painting/designing, you have to make adjustments as you go to account for the little unforseen speedbumps where you were juuuuuust off enough in your prediction of how this would look when working in your ultimate medium, that you have to like...keep nudging your initial outline little by little as you go to account for the slight shift in direction...with gradually that adding up to a fairly significant departure in the end. Ultimately, I think we ended up with what we ended up with because he was good with focusing on my specific concerns when drafting in pencil and just mapping out a general intent, but the closer he got to finishing up his piece, the less and less focused he was on the stuff I prioritized rather than his own innate prioritizations and so he just kinda figured ‘is it really gonna be THAT big a deal?’ instead of sacrificing a direction or angle that played into what he thought was a more important design element. Stuff like that. Like, you know me, I’m def not saying that makes it A-Ok in my book, lol, I just mean to say I honestly don’t think it was...a willful, conscious effort on his part to leave me with something as far removed from what I was hoping for as what I got.

So again I say blech. Its just super frustrating and obnoxious and I’ve been trying to decide what to do with it for like, months now. Because again, EVERYTHING ELSE is perfect and gorgeous and like, yes, good, this is what I wanted, what I was hoping for. Like, I literally could not come up with a design using my own go-to mediums that would come anywhere close to capturing the general feel and tone and mood of the story and its setting better than the overall vibe of his piece.

Its just the protag, front and center, is absolutely driving me fucking nuts. And I keep going back and forth endlessly because I’m like is it really THAT bad and noticeable or am I hyper-fixating because I specifically tried to avoid this end result and ended up with at least a version of it anyway? And then I’m like psst, remember how much fucking money you spent on this, like yeah thats long gone and doesn’t change your current situation one way or another so it doesn’t really matter except oh yeah its totally gonna fucking haunt you if you don’t use this lol and all that money was spent for nothing lmfao you dumbass. And then I’m like, just to weigh my options, what would I design for this cover myself, if I ended up scrapping this and making my own from scratch, do I at least have anything in mind that’s for sure not any worse than my dissatisfaction with this? Except lol I literally can not seem to come up with ANYTHING, like, total blank, because again there’s just enough that I LIKE about the piece that its like, now that I’ve seen THOSE aspects of it, I’m not gonna be content with any cover that doesn’t contain them and I just literally have no way of replicating those effects via my own design medium.

Ugh. So its really annoying, and I keep going around and around and around in circles and making no progress on what to do about it and like...ugh. I hate being so anal about shit like this, especially when I am usually pretty good about dodging the hyper-fixation tendencies on this front specifically.....but I just got whammied but good by the way all of this unfolded and came together and now I feel stuck and lmao I’m really not fond of the fact that I’m really fucking proud of this book and how it came out in terms of the writing and story but like, covers ARE actually a pretty big deal as they’re literally a reader’s first impression, and I feel like no matter which route I go, a big part of me is gonna be doomed to be like NO YOU FUCKING IDIOT THAT WAS THE WRONG CHOICE, UGH WTF DUDE, TURN AROUND, UNDO, UNDO, U’LL REGRET THIIIIIIIS.

ANYWAY! That’s my much ado about nothing. I was kinda hoping that hashing it all out in a post and working my way through it as I wrote it all down would like....magically reveal the Right Decision to me and everything would click and be so obvious by the time I got to this point in the post, but alas.

Fix-It Machine broke. This accomplished nothing. UGH. RUDE.

[noisykate]

Azores to Falmouth - or nearly

The Azores are lovely, and deserve much more than the few days we gave them.  Another time, perhaps.

Horta is the main port of arrival, the marina full of boats which have had big adventures. The social atmosphere is very relaxed; everybody here has ‘been there, done it’ to a significant degree, and the normal tensions arising from watching new arrivals – do they know what they’re doing, can they handle their boat – simply don’t apply.  It is difficult to explain – the nearest I can get is that when you pull in to a service station on the M1, there are no learner drivers. It’s a bit like that. A bit.

It is truly wonderful to get back to sensibly priced groceries, decent bread and cheese, and restaurants which don’t hustle you out at 9pm and expect huge tips regardless of the food, because the staff don’t get paid.

The Azores are volcanic: the centre of this island (Faial) is a huge caldera, which we drove up to in our little hire car, with John and Sue, and Carl. We circumnavigated the island, stopping to walk around the area of the 1950’s eruption, which inundated the old lighthouse and a small whaling village on the western end. Stopping for a great lunch of mussels, which Carl thought he didn’t like – disguised with prodigious amounts of garlic, they were a huge hit. Surprisingly green and rural, the island is charming, cattle everywhere.  The architecture is Portuguese in style, but mitigated with a more subtle use of the highly patterned tiles we saw in the mainland.

We left Horta on Monday – 17th- after waiting for a predicted blow to pass through. It was a bit of a non-event in Horta, but we weren’t the only ones to play it cautious. Stopping at the fuel dock was a bit of a game, with three boats already in place, and a wind sufficient to pop fenders on the inside boat, a crippled French boat with a broken stay – and, it has to be said, rubbish fenders. Still, the weight of three other boats pressing him into the dock under the influence of 20 knots was a bit much. The marina seemed blithely unconcerned; this is clearly quite normal.

We are now 400 miles out, about 1/3 of the way to Falmouth. The weather has been all over the place, with some flat calm, some fog, and now some windy, rolly conditions, with winds gusting up to 30 knots, and seas up to 4m. The boat is behaving very well, the hydrovane (mechanical wind-driven steering system) coping with most of what gets thrown at it, although you have to be ready to take over for the squalls. Thankfully, these mostly lie in wait for Carl’s watch, to the extent that he is the only one who preps for his watch by putting full oilies on.

Sleep deprivation has taken its toll on tempers - mine particularly. Doing 4 hour shifts nominally gives each person two eight-hour periods off-watch, which should be plenty, but when the boat is rolling hard, it is difficult to get to sleep and then stay asleep long enough to clear the deficit. Fitting in communal eating times also cuts into it.

The food has generally worked out ok, if I say so myself. Homemade bread and cakes (all right, the cake was from just-add-an-egg packets) most days, and cooked-from-scratch dinners most days. The Omnia (stovetop oven) has been brilliant, as has the pressure cooker. The boat oven has hardly been used.

Overall, though, I am done with long passage-making. The magical milky-way star-lit nights with phosphoresce sparkling in the wake as we bob along in a gentle breeze are an absolute delight, but sleep deprivation, uncertainties over the weather, and the physical challenge of cooking and doing the normal stuff of life while being thrown about are the norm – glad I’ve done it, but don’t need to do it again.

Really, really looking forward to getting to Falmouth; family and friends, a long list of jobs, and the prospect of some paid work for both of us; me in acoustics, while Mike will be looking for something boat-related. Berthing master at a handy south-coast marina, with a free berth thrown in, would suit. Not holding our breath, but no chance if you don’t ask!

26 June 2019

We’ve turned towards A Coruna, in the face of persistent north-easterly winds, and the threat of a full gale in the Falmouth area a few days ahead. Now making slow but steady progress, hard on the wind. Winds 20-25 knots, occasionally up to 30, from just north of east.

We were getting advice to divert from Falmouth to either (a) a point south of Ireland, then east, or (b) head direct to Camaret (Brittany, near Brest). In the event, neither option was really tenable – (a) put us in the path of a still unknown quantity, which at times threatened to be quite nasty, and (b) simply did not work – we could not make a course which put us anywhere close. All thoroughly fed up, some more than others; Coruna was the nearest available and attainable land. Carl can fly to London from there, and we will regroup and sort ourselves out before continuing home. So very, very ready to be not on the boat for a while.

27 June 2019

Motoring the last few miles into Coruna. Boring. And a slightly anticlimactic end to our Atlantic odyssey. We expect to arrive in the very early morning, perhaps 4am, and will probably anchor until daylight.

28 June 2019

So we got here, eventually.  Marina Coruna, north-west Spain. Tintin got in first, and were anchored just outside the marina when we arrived at about 6am local time. No dramas, apart from the night of no sleep for Mike, as the 50-mile (=10-hour) band around this corner of Spain is very busy with large shipping, and the alarm kept tripping every few minutes, all night. No danger, plenty of warning, but little chance of proper sleep. I got off best, lying down at 11pm, getting up for a few short-lived non-events, then up properly at about 5am to help get in to the marina.

We crawled into the first appropriate berth, had breakfast, and bodged around, all very grumpy and sleep-deprived, until it was time to check in, which -as usual- took ages.

Carl and I set about sorting the inside of the boat; laundry, damp cushions and mattresses, grime everywhere.  Mike got back eventually, and bodged about some more, in a foul mood, before conceding that the problem was lack of sleep. Carl went off on his own to explore, his one-and-only chance to check out this part of Spain, and, with luck, pick up some of the special fids (rope-splicing tools) he had been coveting since Mike showed him ours.

Partly revived by about 3-hours on the saloon sofa, Mike and I had a beer and a light lunch in the marina bar, while the first of several loads of washing did its thing. We bumped into Carl, on his way back to the boat for his passport so he could check in to his flight – he looks pretty dreadful – almost as if he’d had no sleep.

We were delighted to find Barbara and Simon (Cartagena friends) in situ in the marina, and I was able to have a coffee and a catch-up of sorts, promising to make a better go of it sometime in the UK – their boat is destined for a mooring off West Mersea! They fly home tomorrow, having decided that the current (wrong for sailing north) weather is set to last for at least a week. We shall see.

And phoning home, of course – got hold of everybody to some degree or another, only to find that Rachel and David had planned a big surprise arrival party in Falmouth, which we have utterly harpooned by not going there at the appointed hour. So very disappointing, but deeply touched that they wanted to make the effort.

So – we’ve been stuck in the Bahamas, stuck in Puerto Rico, St Thomas, the Azores, and now Spain. So far, Spain is by far and away the most amenable.

1 July 2019

Weather here is cloudy, and it has been quite cold today, with blustery winds from the north. Still no sign of any change in the conditions which would allow us to head out.

Have wasted most of the day watching films on TV, disheartened after finding all my stored-away warm clothes damp and covered in mildew. Some may be revived by a wash, but some are clearly trashed. Nothing valuable, just really, really annoying.

We had a lovely evening with Jacquie and Kevin off Tintin last night; good food, good company, lively conversation.

Intensely frustrated to be here, and not back in the UK – things to do, people to see… spending time each day on weather sites, but still failing to find anything useful.

[rgr-pop]

Regarding the McMansion critique, some of the environmental impacts are very, very valid. But I think we tend to overlook that there are residents living in these structures. We tend to put a lot of stereotypes that we hold about the houses, and about the suburbs themselves, on these residents. The thought is that because they have a big house, the residents are anti-environmental, they don't value community, and they only care about themselves and about their privacy. These houses are assumed to be one, universal; and two, universally bad. 

I spoke to the residents that are actually living in these homes and asked them what these homes meant to them. And in doing so, a lot of the stereotypes fell apart. That’s because a lot of those stereotypes were constructed in a post-war white middle-class framework, and don’t necessarily hold up in the face of new immigrants that are moving to suburbs. [...] The McMansion becomes that symbol of a lot of things that Asian Americans aren’t doing right to assimilate. Even the design critiques of these homes are about how they’re too outlandish. They’re trying to do this faux-Mediterranean look, but they're not even doing it right. It’s too tacky, you know? That, to me, is a broader critique of immigrants never really being American enough. I challenge the notion that Asian Americans should fit into a suburban neighborhood exactly the same way a white middle class family does.

This interview with Willow Lung-Amam is the first thing I recommend reading to start unraveling the mcmansion critique and its racial tones. Her book, Trespassers: Asian Americans and the Battle for Suburbia, about Fremont, CA, is one of many studies on American ethnoburbs, but one of a handful that deals directly with the specter of the mcmansion--Lung-Amam is a professor of architecture.

I feel a few ways about what she’s saying above, that a critique of mcmansions might emerge from a well-meaning assumption of the whiteness of suburbia, (and the contents of that suburban whiteness), an assumption that no longer maps onto how (and where) people are living in America. I basically agree, and I think it’s diplomatic. But her work (and the work of others, which I’ll get to) shows that in many cases, planners, critics and neighbors actually develop this critique of the mcmansion after the act of racialization, and wield that critique politically. In some cases, even, the same problematic houses don’t become a problem until they become inhabited by problem residents. 

But take this a little blurb on Fremont: mcmansions are built in suburbs that look like a different kind of suburb, and that difference is made political through zoning, design review, etc. Those quotes in there are really something. In this case, it would be hard to convincingly argue that neighbors imposed an existing critique of the white mcmansion onto their neighbors. In their case--and this is my first major stake in this argument--the “white suburb” is imagined to be single-story, a modernist suburb. The whiteness of, say, the modernist ranch, is just as fantastical as the whiteness of the mcmansion, but it’s become unfashionable to make such a critique of those postwar suburbs, and I really don’t think it’s because your average Curbed content creator has read Andrew Wiese’s Places of Their Own, Bruce Haynes’s Red Lines, Black Spaces or Becky Nicolaides’ My Blue Heaven, or any of the other new suburban histories that complicate a history of white spaces (and white architecture). In fact, I think a rise in critique of the excessive mcmansion* has bolstered a new and growing mythologizing of modernist architecture, one that is intimately connected to what’s happening to modernist real estate right now. Remember that Curbed is a real estate website.

*to be clear, there have been critiques of the mcmansion since the mcmansion has existed, and these critiques have come from a lot of different perspectives. but it is true that these critiques have been multiplying, as have their platforms.

But I really agree with Lung-Amam’s implication that as architecture critics, we (yes we, I can be whatever I want to be) can’t know anything by looking, certainly not (ffs) by looking at staged real estate listings. Or, let me rephrase: what can we know about a space, just by looking? That’s my second major stake in this game, and it is my biggest fucking stake. Eight years ago Alexandra Lange wrote that Nicolai Ouroussoff's criticism "shrinks the critic’s role to commenting only on the appearance of the architecture. He might have been the perfect critic for the boom years, when looks were the selling point, but this formal, global approach seems incongruous in a downturn,” and, not to lowkey call out someone I look up to in the field, but what do we have now? We have 1000 words on how the style of houses that were made after the fifties is Bad.

Let me take a few steps backward, because what I just said is not actually my stake. It’s not that I’m unconcerned with image in architecture, and it’s absolutely not that I’m concerned only with program and function (god, function) in architecture. It’s also not even that I care that much that architecture critics can’t think themselves out of a paper bag with Style written on it. It’s that I outright reject an architecture criticism that mistakes a taste objection for a political position. It’s hollow and it is, wholesale, in every case, racist. I’ve been listening to a lot of Vincent Scully lectures lately and I find it hard to believe that this great defender of play and eclecticism, a man who told students that Venturi reclaimed wallpaper as a feminist statement and that anti-ornament manifestos of the turn of the century were homophobic, was really paving the way for us to write about how disgusted we are by an Armenian doctor’s Greek fountain, or that Muslim-Americans should plan the spaces of their home more economically if they want into the polity. Ohhkay! I feel I’ve digressed again.

As you know, my main fight is about interiors. And I’ve learned a lot by watching a meme critique of staged interior decoration launch itself to the top of so-called architecture criticism. Just as you can’t look at the elevation of house and learn (as much as people want to believe) about the sociopolitical content of that home, I believe it’s either dangerous or useless to stake social claims based on a photograph of an interior. I mean: looking at interior space, represented, instead of asking (not rhetorically asking), why might the people who live in this space have configured it as such? what is this space used for? where did these items come from?, the mcmansion critique says: this is wrong, it’s repulsive, it’s amoral. And worse: my revulsion is not only a critical position, but an ethical one. Questions become accusations: Why would anyone need an extra set of bedrooms? Why would anyone need an empty room with a stupid persian rug on the floor? Why would people want to have Mediterranean or Chinese things in their home? Why would an Australian have a corrugated metal roof? Moralistic judgments about lifeways based on the scopic only. I use “scopic” here because I think of this action as fundamentally an action upon, and I want to frame dumbass ethocentric judgment (cast as “criticism”) as a mode of cultural domination.

And okay, so many of these judgments are just funny mistakes that we can laugh at (why would someone in the county with the largest amount of house fires caused by lightning strikes have metal rods on their roof?). But my point is that it is a fundamentally ethnocentric (racist, is the word I like to use) (we’re just going to set “disabled people exist” aside entirely for now) project to advance a critique of bad taste (style) from a position of practicality, one centered on what you understand to be the right way to inhabit a space. Really a lot of words for something very simple! Really impossible to convince anyone of this! And, I conclude, the mcmansion critique is not a political critique, and (you’re gonna hate to hear this, tough love) a politics can’t emerge from a taste claim. The mcmansion critique is nothing more than a taste claim, one very hastily staked. 

I actually came here to offer you a short bibliography and nothing else, whoops! I mention Lung-Amam’s work as the one that I’ve found really takes the category of the mcmansion to task, looking at what was just as often called the “monster house” in Fremont. Denise Lawrence-Zuniga, an anthropologist, wrote a book about Southern California historical preservation (Protecting Suburban America) with a chapter on San Gabriel Valley’s Alhambra. That chapter looks at the conflicts between the preservation board, design review board, planning commission etc. and residents, specifically immigrants. She notes how different understandings of governmentality (as in, the need to get certain kinds of permits, etc.), and different ways of living created conflict between local government and immigrants. There are bits about planners’ paranoia about remodels that promote density, like adding too many extra rooms to a historic house, or remodeling interiors in a way that might encourage subletting, that I find pretty disturbing. But the author only mentions the major point: these forms of intensive governmentality in the name of historical preservation were put into place as Alhambra witnessed the transition of nearby suburbs into ethnoburbs. Preservationist policy emerged as a governmental response to a perceived loss of white control. (Much has been said about Arcadia, Chinese investor development, “mansionization.” h/t @prettylittlecrier for this article!) I can’t say that I recommend this book entirely, unless you’re involved in preservation planning.

I’m not sure we can accurately call all of these homes in the SGV “mcmansions,” but people sure love to. In Lawrence-Zuniga’s chapter, Alhambra’s bungalow landscape “needed” to be defended from Arcadia’s mansionization--larger scale teardown and redevelopment, but also from any kinds of additions and modifications to existing bungalows that would alter their scale in relation to the lot and the neighbors, as well as (importantly) their inhabited density. I think it’s worth thinking through the differences between all of these things: subdivided land developed for large houses on small lots, redevelopment for the former, large houses built for large families on small surbuban lots where more “modest” houses might have once stood, or just... big houses on big lots. 

I must have mentioned Becky Nicolaides and James Zarsadiaz’s “Design Assimilation in Suburbia: Asian Americans, Built Landscapes, and Suburban Advantage in Los Angeles’s San Gabriel Valley since 1970,” I was so excited when they published this article. They look at San Marino, and consider what they term “design assimilation” to describe the ways (and reasons) Chinese suburbanites chose to consent to preservationist codes and design review, and why they lived in a community that imposed these kinds of racialized codes:

For some, these suburban landscapes seemed to materialize positive images of America they harbored as children back in Asian home countries. Some openly appreciated the classic European inflected architecture, others the open spaces and aesthetic styles of country living. Asian suburbanites also grasped that support of American landscape aesthetics offered certain social and fiscal benefits. To their neighbors, it conveyed a willingness to assimilate through aesthetic behaviors, which helped maintain community peace and ensure social acceptance. Embracing American design styles also conferred a status distinction that positioned these Asian homeowners above those around them—including those in the ethnoburbs. In design-assimilated suburbs, property values were higher and schools were better, signaling a racialized valuing of space not lost on Asians themselves. Design assimilation, thus, was a facet of the production of affluent suburban space, in which white and ethnic Asian suburbanites played complicit roles.

They don’t pick up the McMansion explicitly, but they are marking its absence in a landscape. This is a really constructive piece, chiefly, here, as a concrete example of the ways that some suburbs were understood to be aesthetically Chinese by the eighties, that the mcmansion criticism can be seen to have been racialized by then. 

I want to close with an excerpt from anthropologist Aihwa Ong’s 1996 article, “Cultural Citizenship as Subject-Making,” which picks up the problem of taste but also the figure of international wealth, and the Chinese developer rather than the middle class Chinese immigrant:

In wealthier San Franciscan neighborhoods, residents pride themselves on their conservation consciousness, and they jealously guard the hybrid European ambiance and character of particular neighborhoods. In their role as custodians of appropriate cultural taste governing buildings, architecture, parks, and other public spaces, civic groups routinely badger City Hall, scrutinize urban zoning laws, and patrol the boundaries between what is aesthetically permissible and what is intolerable in their districts. By linking race with habitus, taste, and cultural capital (Bourdieu 1984), such civic groups set limits to the whitening of Asians, who, metaphorically speaking still give off the whiff of sweat despite arriving with starter symbolic capital.

Public battles over race/taste have revolved around the transformation of middle-class neighborhoods by rich Asian newcomers. At issue are boxy houses with bland facades--”monster houses”--erected by Asian buyers to accommodate extended families in low-density, single-family residential districts known for their Victorian or Mediterranean charm. Protests have often taken on a racialist tone, registering both dismay at the changing cultural landscape and efforts to educate the new arrivals to white upper-class norms appropriate for the city. While the activists focus on the cultural elements--aesthetic norms, democratic process, and civic duty--that underpin the urban imagined community, they encode the strong class resentment against large-scale Asian investment in residential and commercial properties throughout the city. A conflict over one of these monster houses illustrates the ways in which the state is caught between soothing indignant urbanites seeking to impose their notion of cultural citizenship on Asian nouveaux riches while attempting to keep the door open for Pacific Rim capital. 

 In 1989 a Hong Kong multimillionaire, a Mrs. Chan, bought a house in the affluent Marina district. Chan lived in Hong Kong and rented out her Marina property. A few years later, she obtained the approval of the city to add a third story to her house but failed to notify her neighbors. When they learned of her plans, they complained that the third story would block views of the Palace of Fine Arts as well as cut off sunlight in an adjoining garden. The neighbors linked up with a citywide group to pressure City Hall. The mayor stepped in and called for a city zoning study, thus delaying the proposed renovation. At a neighborhood meeting, someone declared, “We don’t want to see a second Chinatown here.” Indeed, there is already a new “Chinatown” outside the old Chinatown, based in the middle-class Richmond district. This charge thus raised the specter of a spreading Chinese urbanscape encroaching on the heterogeneous European flavor of the city. The remark, with its implied racism, compelled the mayor to apologize to Chan, and the planning commission subsequently approved a smaller addition to her house.

However, stung by the racism and the loss on her investment and bewildered that neighbors could infringe upon her property rights, Chan, a transnational developer, used her wealth to mock the city’s self-image as a bastion of liberalism. She pulled out all her investments in the United States and decided to donate her million-dollar house to the homeless. To add insult to injury, she stipulated that her house was not to be used by any homeless of Chinese descent. Her architect, an American Chinese, told the press, “You can hardly find a homeless Chinese anyway,” Secure in her overseas location, Chan fought the Chinese stereotype by stereotyping American homeless as non-Chinese, while challenging her civic-minded neighbors to demonstrate the moral liberalism they professed. Mutual class and racial discrimination thus broke through the surface of what initially appeared to be a negotiation over normative cultural taste in the urban milieu. A representative of the mayor’s office, appropriately contrite, remarked that Chan could still do whatever she wanted with her property; “We just would like for her not to be so angry.” The need to keep overseas investments flowing into the city had to be balanced against neighborhood groups’ demands for cultural standards. The power of the international real estate market, as represented by Mrs. Chan, thus disciplined both City Hall and the Marina neighbors, who may have to rethink local notions of what being enlightened urbanites may entail in the “era of Pacific Rim capital.”

[neighbours-kid]

Dammit, Dean Devlin.

Once upon a time, there was this little show called Leverage.

It first aired in 2008. It had 5 seasons, 77 episodes, 5 main characters.

I was probably fifteen when I first laid eyes on this little show. I was at my dad's, it was some time after dinner, we were watching TV. And there it was, that first episode. We watched it, it was fun.

Over the course of a couple of years, I kept catching that episode on TV. But only the first one. Never more than that.

I forgot about it and was surprised every time I saw the episode. And I kept thinking, I wanna check this out, this looks like fun.

I think either shortly before the last season aired in 2012, or shortly after, I finally remembered the show well enough to go, okay, let's watch this. I have not been the same person since.

This little show called Leverage is without a doubt the best show I have ever seen in my life, and it is to this day still the only thing that has never disappointed me once. I loved Chuck, but it was not perfect. I had issues with it. I love the Marvel Netflix stuff, I think it's fun. But it's not perfect. I adore NCIS and The Mentalist. Are they perfect? Nope.

But I cannot find one single flaw about Leverage. I love it with all my heart and I would not change one single thing. Well, maybe I would've not cancelled it after five seasons. But even with that....it rounds off so perfectly. The last season, the finale, it is so fucking perfect.

One of the things that made Leverage so perfect, were the absolutely fantastic main characters and the development they had over those five seasons. I feel like I could write endlessly about the character development in this show. It's so marvellous and so well done.

You have Nate Ford, the "leader" of the group, this little family. The ex-insurance fraud detective, so broken, so flawed, such a wonderful jerk. He makes sure that the plans work, he is the mastermind behind their cons, their grifts, their thefts. He is the puppet master. Ah, I adooooore him. His alcoholism and control issues were never glamorised, it wasn't sugarcoated, and he was not vilified for it. He grew so much in those five seasons, he changed a lot, and yet he never betrayed his own character. Tim Hutton just smashes this role. I really, truly adore him.

You have Sophie Devereaux, femme fatale, grifter extraordinaire, a character so diverse, so beautifully portrayed by Gina Bellman, from episode to episode different, and yet still only one very complex and wonderfully crafted character. While Nate is the one who makes sure that the plan works, Sophie is the one to make sure that everyone gets out of it alive, unharmed, safe. She is the caretaker. To watch a grifter struggle with identity issues is such a great thing. Watching Sophie finding herself, finding her own dreams and ambitions, finding her calling over those five seasons, was such a treat.

That's the "parents". Then you have the "kids".

Alec Hardison, a motherfuckin' ray of sunshine. Hardison is the nerd, the geek, master of computers, the best hacker on earth, and just an all around joy. Only 22 when they started filming, Aldis Hodge is so fucking young but he plays him like a master. Aldis absolutely acts the shit out of that character. Hardison is such a sweetheart. On my first round through the show, he was definitely my favorite character, I identified with him so much. He was handsome, he was elegant, he had style, he was such a beautifully crafter character, and he still was the nerd and he is still black. You don't usually get that. Hardison is so incredibly kind and loving and all he wants is for his little family of criminals to feel good, to be safe, to feel loved. He gives them a home wherever they go. Aldis Hodge fucking rocked this role and I can't do anything but applaud him.

Then you have Parker, the all around misfit. Usually, in every other show, her character would be dismissed as either the "beauty" just there for the male gaze, or the weirdo who is the butt of every joke. But not with Leverage. Just like the other characters, she is wonderfully portrayed by Beth Riesgraf, has so many interesting layers and we learn so much about her over those five seasons. Parker is the world's greatest thief, she likes money for money's sake, she experienced a lot of bad things, was hurt in so many ways, and came out of it anyway. She found her own family, the people who did not dismiss her as a freak, an outcast, but embraced her being different, maybe a little weird, and loved her anyway. The relationships she builds with the other characters are so very different from each other, so well thought out, so wonderfully done. And what Leverage does so masterfully is that it does not pit Sophie and Parker against each other. It gives you a beautiful friendship between those two women, who could not be different from each other. There is so much love, respect and understanding between those characters. It's so refreshing to see. Have I mentioned how much I love this show already? I fucking love this show.

And then you have Eliot Spencer. Oh, I could cry buckets just thinking about him. I have never in my life seen such beautiful character development. What they did with Eliot over those five seasons is an absolute masterpiece of writing. Eliot -- the hitter, the fighter, the stone cold cowboy, whose fists say more than his mouth -- that guy changes so much. But not just that, he's not just the fighter. He's the "beau" mostly, and not Sophie. And he is incredibly passionate about cooking. You have this knife-wielding, punch-throwing, fucking badass, and he loves cooking. There is so much history revealed over the course of the show and he learns so. fucking. much. He goes from "You all annoy me and I'm just here for revenge and money" to "I will protect these people from this unjust world with my life and I would take on dragons and mountain trolls if it meant that they are safe and protected". Christian Kane is such a wonderful actor and he gives this character an immense amount of depth and he has more than three dimensions. Eliot is a masterpiece. And I love him to pieces. I could write ESSAYS about him. Long, wordy, essays.

You have this beautiful little family of thieves, of criminals, con-men, flawed, hurt, wonderful people. Incredibly gorgeously crafted characters, played so magnificently by all these great, amazing actors.

Leverage has rocked my world and sparked so many different interests in me. I would be a completely different person without it. I have no idea how many times I have watched it through. I spent at least half a year just going through it over and over and over again. As soon as I watched the finale, I put the first season on again, no stops, no pauses. It never got boring, I kept seeing new things, kept making connections between certain things. This show brought me so much joy. I love it with all my heart.

What Dean Devlin and John Rogers created is a show that makes me feel at home, that makes my heart swell with love, that was just absolutely fucking perfect. And still, it got cancelled and the last season ended in 2012.

Two years later, a NATO counter terrorism agent is in the middle of taking down terrorist and stopping a bomb from exploding, when suddenly an arrogant, brilliant, kind of dashing guy shows up, talks about ancient artefacts and curses and mythologies, and helps the agent stopping the bomb.

And with that, The Librarians is born. Or better yet, reborn into a tv show. By whom? None other than John Rogers and Dean Devlin.

What is it? Well, it's a little show that just finished it's fourth season. It's a show about a team of people who would've never found together if they had not been thrown into this adventure. They could not be different.

You have Flynn Carsen, a kind of arrogant, incredibly brilliant and well-versed guy, who is kind of dashing, has a tendency to go off and do things by himself, and is, more or less, the "leader" of the group.

You have Eve Baird, ex-NATO agent, the actual leader of the group, the protector, who sees to it that everyone gets out of the adventures alive. She is the guardian. Eve is a strong, independent woman who don't need no man, but chooses to have one anyway, because that self-destructive, arrogant idiot is so very intriguing, and he genuinely cares about her.

You have Ezekiel Jones, a Korean-Australian, nerd, computer genius, thief and, deep down, a sweetheart. He is more arrogant than anyone, he loves nothing more than himself, and saying his name, but he does have a heart. A big one. And he loves his new-found family.

You have Cassandra Killian, a quirky, pretty, absolutely brilliant young lady, who does not always fit in. She gets excited about things at the wrong time, she is overly hyperactive at times, but so so loyal, and caring, and loving.

And then you have Jacob Stone. The fighter. The brawler. The country kid from Oklahoma. The one you look at and think, that guy has skin like stone, nothing can hurt him, and he has no soft side. You have this tough ass bitch of a guy.... and he is soooooooo passionate about art, about architecture, about literature, about poetry. He quotes some author in every episode. He gets excited about museums and buildings and old symbols and engravings. And he cares so much about these people he only just met, he will protect them with everything he's got. A big teddy bear, a softie.

(Then you also have Jenkins who is just absolutely fantastic and I adore him and I could go on for ages about him but words could not make him justice, so I'm not trying. Also, he is kinda not relevant for my point.)

Now look at those five characters.

Leader guy, arrogant, self-destructive, cares so much but can't really express it, runs from commitment for the longest time, but actually wants to stay, just doesn't know how?

Strong, independent woman who's actually kind of the leader, sees to it that everyone feels good, doesn't need a man, but falls for the one who runs away anyway?

Nerdy, non-white computer guy, who knows he is awesome at what he does, is unconventionally stylish compared to the usual type of this character, cares about his new found family a lot and tries to support them with new ideas?

Brilliant, weird woman but absolutely beautiful in her own way, very caring but can't express it sometime, quirky and hyperactive?

Badass softie with a super specific interest he is brilliant at despite it maybe being considered effeminate in comparison to his other super manly, buff-ness, played by Christian Kane?

Sound familiar?

Nate or Flynn, Sophie or Eve, Hardison or Ezekiel, Parker or Cassie, Eliot or Jacob?

I am NOT saying these are exactly the same characters, far from it. They are all their own wonderful selves. But there are similarities there that I just adore so much. I admit, I think of Jacob as just an alias of Eliot's that he had before he joined the Leverage crew, and he is indeed the very same person. But that's just me, because I love Leverage so much and I miss it with all my heart and having the opportunity to have Eliot live on in something else? I'll take it in a heart beat.

I started watching The Librarians a few weeks ago. I am close to finishing season three now. It took me about two seasons to warm up to Flynn, and I admit I still don't like him as much as I loved Nate. I admit, Ezekiel still pisses me off a lot because of his constant "I am Ezekiel Jones". And yet... I still like them. I still think they are wonderfully crafted characters.

I did not mean to like The Librarians. I did go into this show thinking that I probably won't like it because it's not Leverage. These are not my beloved characters and this is not the best show on earth. But it's a good show. It's a beautiful show. It's lovely.

And I fucking HATE that I like it so much, because I really did not want to love another show. I am so pissed at myself for really liking it.

But I do. And I wish this show all the best. Season four just ended and the campaigning for a fifth season is on its way. I think it really deserves it. I am so on board for a fifth season.

I have one more thing to say.

Dammit. Dammit, Dean Devlin. Dammit, John Rogers. I did not want to like this show. And yet your wonderful show is exactly that. Wonderful. Adorable. Lovely.

I really miss Leverage. I miss it so much. And I wish you'd make a movie, get the gang back together again for one last job. Just one more time breaking the law, no encores.

(Thank you Dean, John, and also Chris Downey, for Leverage. It still is everything I ever wanted from a TV show and still the only show that never disappointed me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You guys are the best.)

[skeletonscribbles]

Wishes - Chapter 6

we’re back and better than ever with a Ben chapter!!!

Rating: T (some people are having sex, but they’re not physically present in the chapter) Summary: “We’re good.” Bev shook her head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to ask my permission to be kind to people, Ben. And I really do appreciate you being kind.”

“Most people are kind,” Ben shrugged, cutting into his chicken in an attempt to alleviate his embarrassment.

“No,” Bev said. She reached across the table and touched his hand meaningfully. “They’re not.”

Warnings: Ben’s eating is pretty disordered, Richie’s got some mental stuff going on

Read on Ao3! Taglist:  @roobarrtrashmouth @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tozier-club @aizeninlefox @stanheartsbill@latinxrichie@softeds@pretzelstoday@melancholypurple@wheezygreens @ayyyymichele @loser-marsh

Ben Hanscom had never considered himself a lucky person, per-se.

Sure, he had a pretty fabulous job, all things considered. Most people would consider that lucky. Ben knew better. He’d trained to be an Imagineer pretty much all his life, or at least since he got his hands on Han Solo at Stars’ End as a kid and lost himself to dreams of space and fantasy. He devoted his life first to model spaceships and Lego sets, and then to drafting classes in high school, and eventually to his architecture major at Notre Dame, where he’d put together an impressive series of whimsical, artistic building designs as a final portfolio. His professors hadn’t been incredibly enthusiastic about it, but Disney had been, and he was offered a job pretty immediately. Hard work paid off some of the time, as it turned out.

Socially, he’d actually been incredibly unlucky. He’d never had much time for friends or relationships in the face of his work, and it showed - when he was put into social situations, he really had no idea how to make good conversation. He went through intense periods of fixation (his Star Wars obsession never died, but he’d cycled through Miyazaki, Lord of the Rings, and many other things on the side), and so it followed that he had a difficult time talking about anything but his current passion, which left most people out to dry when they tried to speak with him. The most luck he’d had with friends, until recently, was with his roommate Mike Hanlon, who tolerated his fixations and occasionally played along.

That was what brought upon his desire to lose weight, if he was being honest with himself. It wasn’t health or fitness motivated; it was really just an attempt to make himself into someone that other people would be excited to be friends with.

All of this being the case, he’d never really had a date before, let alone one with someone as incredible as Beverly Marsh, so it was maybe safe to say his luck was turning (or that his weight-loss was paying off, one of the two).

Well, no. It was really too soon to tell about the luck turning. He’d reassess after the date had actually transpired.

It was going well so far, as far as he could tell. He’d picked her up at her place, and she’d been dressed in a breathtaking green shimmery shirt and dress pants that he hadn’t been able to keep himself from staring at. She’d caught him, which had freaked him out a little, but she’d immediately assuaged his nerves by laughing it off - apparently she thought it was cute. He had a feeling she was lying, but they proceeded anyway. By the time they’d gotten to the Polynesian she’d laughed at six out of seven of his jokes, which he felt was a pretty good average, statistically speaking. Not that he meant to be counting, of course, but he was so freaking nervous he couldn’t help but catalogue everything. Even now, after having spent the last five minutes standing in the Tambu lounge with her joking about the pineapple glasses they were sipping out of, he was hyper-conscious of every movement she made, every calorie he consumed, every syllable that came out of his mouth. Anything could screw this up. He had to be vigilant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten here for dinner before,” she was saying, looking around the lobby with interest. “I’m not even sure I’ve been here since they renovated. Didn’t they have a waterfall downstairs before?”

“Yeah, I kind of liked that, to be honest,” Ben replied, following her gaze over to the gift shop across the way. “This wasn’t my project.”

“If it were, it’d look a lot cooler than this, I bet.” Bev turned back to face him, meeting his eyes and smiling sweetly. He clutched his pineapple drink a little tighter. He’d barely had any of it, and it sloshed around dangerously in his hand, but he couldn’t help himself. She was smiling at him…

“I’m not super talented or anything, I promise,” he managed, smiling back shyly, “but I’d have at least kept the waterfall.”

The buzzer in his pocket began to go off, flashing red and vibrating crazily. Bev looked down at where it was lighting up in his pants and put her hand over her mouth, obviously stifling a laugh.

“Either our food’s ready to go or you’re happier to be on this date than I ever imagined,” she chortled, standing up and offering him a hand, presumably to pull him to his feet.

Ben allowed himself a moment of embarrassment, and then took the hand she was offering. She pulled much harder than he was anticipating, and he tumbled to his feet, spilling his drink a little bit in the process. Nothing got on either of them, but he was still mortified as he flagged down cast members to help clean up. That was surely points against him - maybe enough to be the beginning of the end for this date.

But somehow, Beverly still wasn’t upset. In fact, she was looking at him more warmly now than she had been a few minutes ago. He really had absolutely no read on her at all.

They entered the restaurant in easy silence, following their over-enthusiastic CP host A’mya (pronounced Ah-Maya, as she explained to them three separate times) to a table in the back corner of the main room, by the window. That much, at least, was perfect - he’d timed dinner to align with the Halloween Party exclusive fireworks show, Hallowishes, and this table would allow them to both participate in the fun main dining room activities and have a perfect view of the show when the time came. Being detail-oriented was hopefully going to work in his favor this time.

A’mya dropped off a loaf of Hawaiian pineapple bread, and then they were alone again. Both of them stared at the bread hesitantly. Ben wondered if Bev was also nervous about overindulging and looking like a pig. He figured she probably wasn’t; food paranoia had kind of become a personal issue for him, and it was becoming clearer by the second that he needed to get the hell over immediately or else the rest of this date was going to go to shit before it even really started.

He reached for the loaf of bread and tore off a piece, and watched her eyes light up green.

His taking the piece of bread had opened up the conversation like a dam breaking. Suddenly, everything was funny and nothing was awkward. He was telling stories about going through guest survey data without feeling like he was being boring, and she was telling stories about having a collection of name tags with weird names (lost name tags were always returned to costuming) that he was totally and completely engaged in. The waiter brought out vegetables and noodles and everything under the sun, and Ben was okay with it. He’d almost forgotten how nice it felt to eat like a normal person.

The luau lady that led small children and drunk adults around the main room in dances and games had appeared in the time between the potstickers and the main meat course, and Bev was well on her way to falling in that ‘drunk adult’ category (she was almost finished with her second pineapple drink at that point), so after she finished telling the story about the nametags, she grabbed Ben’s hand and gestured with her chin towards the lady. Ben wasn’t usually a ‘draw attention to himself’ guy, but she made him feel a little fearless. He scooted backwards in his chair and stood up, ready to lead them over.

He was so focused on heading down to join the parade of hulaing kids that he almost missed the person catapulting towards them through said parade. It took an angry exclamation from a parent to make Ben look towards the end of the train of children, but when he did, he immediately sat back down in surprise. Bev stayed standing. She picked up her drink again and took a long swallow, obviously bracing herself.

“What are you doing here, Richie?” she asked as soon as he was within earshot.

Richie looked more out of sorts than Ben had ever seen him, which was really saying something, because Richie was always kind of out of sorts. He was carrying most of his Wall-E outerwear, which left him in a white t-shirt that was soaked through with sweat and a pair of brown dance pants that were basically leggings. He still had his costume boots and gloves on. The tourist families around them couldn’t keep their eyes off of him. One mother with a particularly conservative haircut had turned her daughter’s chair away.

“I have a problem,” Richie said, voice wavering in a dangerously teary way.

“Yeah, I bet.” Bev offered her chair. “Sit.”

Richie moved over and sat in the chair robotically, as if someone had turned off his brain. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“What happened to you?” Ben asked, taking stock of the slight redness of Richie’s eyes and the remnants of lip gloss near the corners of his mouth. Bev had described her makeup plans for the rest of the crew to Ben on their ride over, and Ben couldn’t for the life of him remember who she’d decided to put lip gloss on, except that he knew it wasn’t Richie. Her plan for Richie had just been to smear bronzer and black pencil all over his face and call it a day. Most of that had either been wiped or sweat off, but the lipgloss remained, somehow.

“I fucked up,” Richie said flatly, staring down at Bev’s half-eaten vegetables.

“We got that,” Bev said, probably harsher than she meant to. She hovered over his chair, obviously concerned but not really knowing how to show it. “How? Where’s Eddie?”

Richie inhaled slowly and picked up Bev’s fork, moving her vegetables around on her plate. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Ben watched him push the food around, and suddenly felt the weight of what he had eaten like bricks in his stomach. “Start from the beginning, okay?”

Richie nodded numbly. “We got to the party, and I took Eds to meet my Skip friends. He was kind of into it, but not really, and I should have just...the dance competition started right away once we got there, though, and I really love that shit, you know?”

Ben had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but Bev was nodding understandingly, so he just copied her, figuring it would be easier to pretend.

“And I won this year!” This was the first thing that seemed to knock Richie out of his haze. He smiled a small smile, obviously proud of his victory. Bev patted him softly on the back. “Eds didn’t want to compete, but Mike did, and Mike’s awesome at dancing.”

“He sure is,” Ben confirmed, smiling at the memory of Mike busting out his best Michael Jackson on one of the first days they’d spent together in the apartment. They’d been decorating the walls, and Mike had felt like he needed to pay particular homage to his Captain EO poster. Ben was a terrible dancer himself, so he’d laughed and let Mike do all the work on that front.

“So after we win, I’m jazzed, right?” Richie’s voice had fallen again. He was back to the concerning monotone. “Totally fueled on adrenaline. I see Mike go over to Stan and Bill, who are the most ridiculous, horniest fuckers on this whole property, by the way, and behind them I see this tiny kid in white, right? And from behind, hopped up on endorphins, my idiot brain is like, ‘it’s Eds, he went to go stand with people he knew while I was dancing’.”

Ben’s heart sank. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“So I went over to this guy,” Richie continued, volume rapidly decreasing, “and Eds and I haven’t kissed or done anything yet because we’re both nervous wrecks, but I figure why not, right, returning champion. So I spin this guy around and kiss him right on the mouth.”

“It wasn’t Eddie, was it?” asked Ben, trying to soften the blow of actually having to say the transgression out loud for Richie.

“It was not,” Richie confirmed, dropping Bev’s fork and sliding forward to rest his head in his hands. His elbow almost landed in the potsticker dish, but Bev was quick, and slid the dish away before too much damage could be done. “His name was Isaiah, according to Stan. Entertainment cast, friends with Peter Pan. He was dressed as a Stormtrooper, which is basically the same freaking costume that Eddie had on. I couldn’t catch a fucking break if I tried.”

“So Eddie’s mad at you,” Bev postulated, frowning.

“He won’t even talk to me,” Richie confirmed, still not raising his head. “He saw me do it, and ran out pretty much immediately. No conversation, no phone communication, no nothing.”

“All right.” Bev nodded slowly, clearly taking inventory of the situation. “So, first of all...why are you here?”

Richie shifted his head a little bit so that he could peek up at Ben from under his glasses.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said softly. “Bill, Stan, and Mike were long gone by the time I’d come back from chasing after Eddie, and I couldn’t...my Jungle friends aren’t…”

Ben understood what he was trying to say. Work friends were all right, but there was something more meaningful about connections made with people that were able to consciously choose to befriend you. The people you knew at work were people you were somewhat forced to interact with.

“I know what you mean,” Ben said, trying to project warmth into his tone. He reached across the table and tenuously put his hand on Richie’s, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping his boundaries. To his great relief, Richie seemed more than okay with the contact. He grabbed Ben’s hand quickly and immediately after initial contact was made and held tight.

Their waiter, Kevin, had snuck back around Bev and had apparently been waiting for a good time to come through with a skewer of shrimp. Given that this crisis had so far offered no good shrimp break opportunities, Kevin was forced to choose this moment to return to offer out food.

“Excuse me,” he said to Bev, who jumped a little when she realized he was behind her. “This is your seat, right? Who is this other gentleman?”

“I’m Richie,” Richie introduced himself, apparently unable to keep himself from speaking. “I’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a sec. In the meantime, load ‘er up for Bev here.” He offered up Bev’s plate, and Kevin began to slide shrimp off of the skewer and into the space next to Bev’s vegetables.

“And you, sir?” Kevin asked Ben after Richie had decided that Bev had enough shrimp. (There were at least 10 shrimp on Bev’s plate. Richie was a true agent of chaos.)

“I’ll take two, please,” Ben said meekly, and with a relieved smile, Kevin delivered the shrimp and scurried off.

Bev stared down at her plate. “Richie, I don’t eat seafood.”

Richie shrugged. “I’ll take one for the team, then.”

“Rich--” she began to protest, but he was already digging into the first shrimp. Bev shared an exasperated look with Ben, but they seemed to be in agreeance not to stop him. He’d had a rough night.

“So how can we help you with this?” Ben asked, poking at his own shrimp with a fork.

“Do either of you have Eddie’s number?” Richie asked through a mouthful of shrimp. “He won’t talk to me, but he might talk to one of you.”

“I do,” Bev volunteered, pulling out her phone. “He gave it to me so that I could send him advice and articles on skin-care. Apparently, Florida water doesn’t agree with his delicate complexion, or whatever his mother told him that he had.”

“He has great skin,” Richie protested. “Tell him he doesn’t need any products.”

Bev shot him an unenthused look. “Not a priority right now, Richie. I’m gonna text him that Bill wants to meet him at DAK* tomorrow morning. He said yesterday that his weekend starts tomorrow, right?”

“I think?” Richie looked up from his shrimp, trying to sort things out in his head. “But why does Bill want to meet him at DAK? Bill complains about DAK all the time. Too hot, kinda boring, too many guests in Pandora…”

“Bill doesn’t want to meet him at DAK,” Bev said, staring at Richie’s forehead as if willing Richie to get the message. “You’re gonna meet him at DAK. It’s his favorite park. He told me that once while he was looking at the Jungle rack in MK costuming.”

“Oh.” Bev’s plan was coming together in Ben’s mind. It was simple, but honestly pretty genius. “Eddie will agree to go with Bill because he trusts Bill, right? He probably wants to vent about what happened tonight.”

“Right,” Bev agreed, “but when Eddie actually shows up, Richie’ll be there, and they’ll be forced to talk.”

“That’s kinda mean,” Ben pointed out. “What if he genuinely needs space?”

“It’s healthier for the two of them to talk it out while it’s still fresh, I think,” Bev looked thoughtful. “I get what you’re saying, but this doesn’t seem like the kind of situation that will be made better by space, you know?”

Richie had been watching the two of them go back and forth like he was a spectator at a tennis match, but he wasn’t good at staying quiet for long, and so jumped back in with aplomb. “I’m still here, you know. You don’t have to talk around me.”

“Sorry,” Bev said, “but do you disagree?”

Richie shook his head. Half of his curls were still plastered down with sweat, but the rest of them swayed side to side with the rest of him. “No, I think it’s worth a shot.”

��Good, because I already sent the text. Also, Kevin’s coming back. Switch with me.” She yanked Richie up and out of the chair, and reclaimed her spot. Kevin kept his visit brief, looking at Richie with clear unease in his eyes while he slid chicken down skewers and then darting away again, presumably to get more meat.

“Did he respond?” Richie asked immediately once Kevin was gone.

Bev pulled her phone out again. “He wants to know why Bill doesn’t ask him himself.”

“Type ‘because he’s having sex’,” Richie told her, peering down over her shoulder.

“Speaking of Bill,” Ben cut in, thinking of ways to get back to his regularly scheduled date now that Richie’s situation was almost taken care of, “don’t you need a ride? Can you afford an Uber from here?”

“I didn’t bring money,” Richie admitted. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

Ben considered their options. “Well, we could call Stan and see if he’s available.”

Richie bit down on one of his knuckles to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, okay, Benny Boy. You go ahead and do that.” He tore his eyes from Bev’s cellphone for a moment and looked at Ben with glee in his eyes. Ben was relieved to see a little bit of laughter back in his friend’s expression. Richie wasn’t a person that was well suited to melancholy.

Ben steeled himself, and then picked up his own phone and dialed his roommate. He put the phone on speaker, and as soon as it started ringing, Richie’s attention was glued to it, as if it were a bad car accident waiting to happen. Ben made a mental note to never get in the car with Richie if this was how he was going to be about little distractions.

The phone rang for long enough that Ben began to think Mike wouldn’t pick up, but he did - on the last ring.

“This better be important.” Mike’s voice was low and rough, and his breathing was heavy. Ben looked up at Richie, who was shaking with suppressed laughter, and then back down to the phone.

“Uh. Richie’s here.” Ben began, looking from Bev to Richie in an attempt to try and figure out how he wanted to word his request.

“On your date?” Mike asked. In the background, Stan and Bill’s protests were audible - Stan’s moreso than Bill’s. “Dude, I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.”

“Ben here’s a real swinger.” Richie couldn’t help but chime in. “No, but I’m trying to make a grand exit here, so, uh, could you put Stan my man on the phone, Mikey?”

There was the distinct sound of Mike fumbling with the phone, and a loud “Fuck no” from Stan.

“Yeah, he’ll be right on,” Mike said after a moment. “Make it QUICK, though, Tozier.”

“Eddie says he’ll meet you,” Bev said, still engrossed in her own text conversation. “But you have to buy him a cream cheese pretzel.”

“Those things are like $4.99,” Richie protested.

Ben waved a hand in front of his face. “Focus, Rich. I wouldn’t put it past Stan to know how to kill you over the phone.”

“If not, I’ll certainly kill him when I see him next.” Stan was on the line, and it sounded like his teeth were gritted. Whatever mood the three of them had struck up was almost certainly dead now. “Richie, did you hear that? You’re dead.”

“Great,” Richie said agreeably, “but in the meantime, I need a ride.”

Stan’s responding sigh was so deep and long it made a crackling noise through the phone. “I thought you and Eddie would go with your Jungle friends.”

“Yeah, about me and Eddie…” Richie was obviously more nervous to tell Stan about his goof than he had been in telling Ben and Bev. Ben wondered offhandedly what that meant about Richie’s relationship with Stan.

“I saw what happened,” Stan said simply. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? Don’t get in your head about that.”

Richie grabbed the phone, as if being closer to it would make his point clearer to Stan. “But--”

“No but. It was an accident that hurt his feelings. You don’t freak out when you have accidents that hurt my feelings, so you can chill out about this.”

“This is important, Stan,” Richie said quietly, mouth just about pressed to the phone.

“I don’t know why you’re prioritizing this all of a sudden.” Stan was picking up speed. Apparently, he wasn’t finished being angry with Richie after all. “I like that he makes you happy, Richie, but you can’t expect any one thing to bring you out of whatever mental funk you’re in. Dating Eddie Kaspbrak isn’t going to save your life. Why don’t you try auditioning for stuff maybe, like you moved down here to do - or applying for trainer or coordinator? It doesn’t all have to be about--”

“Can you pick me up?” Richie interrupted. Stan’s little monologue had zapped him back into robot mode. “Or do you know anyone that can? I feel bad about intruding on Benverly for as long as I have.”

“I’ll come.” A new voice was on the phone, now - Bill had taken over from Stan. “Meet you by check-in in 20 minutes, okay Rich?”

“Roger,” Richie said neutrally. “Thanks, Billiam.”

“You’ll pay me for it in tours,” Bill said, apparently nonplussed. Apparently, they’d all had enough time to cool off regarding their sexual exploits. “Bev, you okay?”

Ben’s chest seized as he looked over to gauge her reaction, but he had nothing to worry about. She was smiling. “I’m great, honey. Thanks for askin’.”

“Love you,” he said. The sound of shuffling was apparent on the other end of the phone; he was putting clothes on. “Richie, 20 minutes.”

“Thanks,” Richie said dully, and the connection beeped out. Bill had hung up.

There was a moment of silence after that. Richie handed Ben his phone back, and Ben took it wordlessly, biting back the avalanche of questions that he had after hearing Stan on the phone.

Bev was bolder than him. “This isn’t just about Eddie, is it?”

“It’s a lot about Eddie,” Richie said, picking at his fingernails.

“You genuinely like him, right?” Bev asked, holding out her phone for emphasis. “I don’t want to be a part of this if you’re just stringing him along for the sake of your self-esteem.”

“He’s the best thing in my life right now,” Richie responded honestly, looking at her in a way that made Ben momentarily jealous - not of anything romantic, but of the understanding that seemed to transpire between them.

“It’s gonna be okay, Richie,” Ben found himself saying. He had no idea what compelled those words to fall out of his mouth, but he was committed enough to finishing his sentence that he pushed on. “Whatever you need, we’re here, okay?”

Richie looked between the two of them contemplatively. For once, he wasn’t trying to contort his face in a way that would mask what he was really feeling; no, his expression was just open, and...tired.

“I’m sorry that I got in the way of your date,” he said again. “I’m not sorry for eating your shrimp, though, Bev.”

Bev shrugged. “I’m always down to offer a shrimp to a friend in need.”

At that, Richie looked over the rest of the table with mild interest. “How about a potsticker?”

“Goodbye, Richie,” Bev said quickly, pulling the rest of the potstickers in towards her.

“You gonna be okay?” Ben asked before Richie could turn to leave. Richie caught his eye briefly and smiled - a genuine smile, as far as Ben could tell.

“I just can’t get out of my own way,” he said, “but Bill’s got me now. Carry on, Ben Handsome.”

“Godspeed, Richie Tozier,” Ben called, waving fondly as Richie pushed back through the restaurant, drawing stares and whispers from the guests that had just been seated.

“Ten o’clock tomorrow!” Bev yelled. “Don’t be late!” Richie shot her a quick thumbs up, but didn’t turn around. They watched him until he’d left the restaurant, presumably to loiter in one of the gift shops until Bill showed up.

As soon as he was gone, Ben felt a coldness settle in his stomach. How was he supposed to bring the date back from this?

“That was really cool of you,” Bev said quietly, before he could lose himself in anxious thoughts. “Not many guys would have been okay with helping someone else like that in the middle of a date.”

“I’m really sorry,” Ben tried, “I should have asked you--”

“We’re good.” Bev shook her head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to ask my permission to be kind to people, Ben. And I really do appreciate you being kind.”

“Most people are kind,” Ben shrugged, cutting into his chicken in an attempt to alleviate his embarrassment.

“No,” Bev said. She reached across the table and touched his hand meaningfully. “They’re not.”

“Dessert’s here,” called Kevin from a couple of tables away. He was headed over with a delicious looking bread pudding, some caramel banana sauce, and two spoons. Ben was a little surprised (and sad) that they were at the dessert stage of things already, but when he checked his phone, he saw that it was indeed nine o’clock.

The music began to play before he was able to register fully what nine o’clock meant.

“Serpents, spiders...tail of a rat…” Madame Leota’s voice boomed through the hotel speakers. Bev turned towards the window in wonder and delight.

“Will we be able to see…?!” she asked breathlessly, and immediately had her question answered by the first firework lighting its way up and over Cinderella’s Castle in the distance. Kevin set down the pudding, and Ben smiled into his plate.

Luck was pretty relative, and less important or applicable than compassion and hard work, but even in spite of all of the shit that had gotten in the way tonight, Ben Hanscom could pretty safely say that his luck was turning around.

When Beverly reached across to grab his hands during the Ursula section of the fireworks, he upgraded his thought. His luck was definitely better now than it had ever been before.

He hoped with all his heart that said luck would spread itself over the rest of his friends, too.

Notes:

*DAK = Disney's Animal Kingdom. Just a little employee shorthand :)