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highqueenofelfhame · 3 years ago

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fafs, twenty four

so i was definitely going to wait to post this until tomorrow or the day after but then decided to say fuck it and in the spirit of rowaelin month am just giving it to you now, whatever. who needs rules. or regulations. not me.

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It was nowhere near the worst injury she’d ever had, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

The living room floor of one of her smaller sanctuaries had been turned into a makeshift operating room. A trash bag was laid out beneath her, rustling with every move she made. The first aid kit that had been untouched and hidden under the kitchen sink was open with all its pieces scattered around her. A brand new bottle of vodka sat to her right, several shots worth already buzzing through her veins. It would take at least one more swig before she got started, but it was already difficult to slide the thread into the needle, so she was holding off until she was just about ready to begin.

Gods damn the agent that shot her. Aelin would bet money that it was Remelle, the blonde bitch that had been pawing at Rowan for years. Before, when she was Lilian, she’d heard a wide array of stories about the woman and her unwanted advances. Ever since Aelin had been introduced to the FBI as a criminal informant, she had shot daggers at her in every meeting, likely angry Aelin was spending so much time with Rowan. Despite how much of that time was angry banter from Rowan, no matter if Aelin was trying to thaw out his icy inner and exterior.

None of that mattered now. She could have Rowan if she really wanted him. Maybe they were already together and--

Aelin stopped those thoughts in their tracks, eyes focusing on the task at hand. There were bigger things to worry about, like getting out of the city and, most importantly, the bleeding wound on her thigh. She chewed on her lip until the thread finally made it into the curved needle, and she held back a cheer as she sloshed some vodka over the wound on her thigh. Hissing through her teeth, she thanked the gods that it wasn’t any worse.

It wasn’t even that bad, considering everything else she’d experienced. There was the time Arobynn had stabbed a dagger through her palm, and she’d had to stitch up the injury herself. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d been sliced and jabbed in training. Her list of broken bones and scars was a long one. Once she got older and was better at her job than all of the men combined, training had become more of a game of survival. They had been out for blood, shedding hers in red tears on the floor until she managed to incapacitate them enough to claim the victory for herself.

This gunshot wound was minor. It hadn’t nicked anything major, and it had taken a while for Aelin to realize she’d even been shot. The adrenaline from running from the full force of the FBI had been enough to repel the pain until she was nearly to her safehouse. She was four blocks away when she realized her pace was slowing and that there was a sharp, hot pain throbbing in her left thigh. A glance down told her everything she needed to know. She had limped straight through the front door and to the first aid kit, where she now prepared to stitch her own leg up.

At one point, there had been a numbing agent in this bag, but she remembered using it on Sam after a nasty fight with Arobynn one night when she was twenty-one. Since then, she’d seldom been to this safehouse and had neglected to restock her kit. There was barely enough of the nylon thread left over, but she would manage. Aelin made a mental note to have someone, either Nox or herself, replenish the missing items.

With a deep breath and a final swig of vodka, she picked up the forceps and shimmied the tension from her shoulders while she hunched over her leg, ready to begin.

With the first stick and the drag of the thread through her skin, Aelin bit her lip so hard she drew blood. It was a bizarre and uncomfortable feeling accompanied by a slight burning sensation. Several times she groaned while she sewed her skin back together. By the time she was finished, her mouth tasted metallic, and the trash bag beneath her was covered in droplets of blood. Her bare thigh looked grim and would leave behind a jagged, ugly scar, but she doused it once more in vodka before wiping away the blood with a damp piece of gauze. Her hands were mostly steady while she placed a bandage over the top and taped it down.

It was just another painful memory that would soon fade to silvery skin. How many more would it take until she was free?

Shaking her head to pull her from any thoughts too negative to deal with right now, Aelin smiled a bit. She was almost pleased with herself for handling the entire situation so well, but the reality of the situation was soon to crash down on her. It didn’t take long for her to get up, going about the tiny house and jerking all the curtains closed. Hardly any natural light was able to filter in through the gaps in the curtains for how tightly she’d twisted at the blinds until they were sealed completely shut. Thumbtacks were shoved into the walls to keep anyone curious from peering inside. She would move to another place in a day or two, she promised herself, after she had time to dye her hair and her wound wasn’t so fresh.

Every lock on every door was twisted into place-- seven locks on both the front and back doors. Only two of those locks could be opened with a key from the outside. The other five were inside only, a variation of deadbolts and chain locks that made her feel secure.

Only when she was satisfied that she was as safe for the time being did she go to the single bedroom and lock the door behind her. In a handful of heartbeats, she collapsed on the old quilt and drifted into a fitful sleep.

~*~

The news that it would take weeks, maybe months, of physical therapy to have his shoulder back to one-hundred percent was irritating to say the least. Rowan would be out of work for a while, but that wasn’t the most frustrating part of the situation. He would be wearing the restrictive sling for weeks, only to take it off when he changed clothes or showered. They didn’t even allow him to take it off to sleep, for gods’ sake. Rowan would be sleeping sitting up for the foreseeable future, and he was fucking annoyed about it.

The last few nights sleeping in the hospital had been anything but fruitful. Not only was he woken by the nurses coming in to check on him every few hours, every single time he tried to adjust to a more comfortable position, he was reminded of the sling. The pain was nearly suffocating. Rowan had heard from Fenrys about how bad shoulder injuries were, but this was on another level of anything he had ever experienced.

So why he was standing in the abandoned apartment of the woman who had shot the bullet through it in the first place was beyond him at the moment.

It wasn’t the apartment littered with cameras and paid for by the bureau. It was the one she’d lived in privately before her beating and arrest. It was the one decorated with opulence and taste. With artwork that wouldn’t surprise Rowan to find it had been stolen and was priceless. The one with books stacking shelves every which way, those novels bookmarked and annotated, as he had just learned. Like she loved them so much, she couldn’t help but document her favorite and least favorite parts.

The linens closet was filled with the softest blankets and nicest sheets Rowan had ever felt in his life. Silk sheets were currently stretched over the mattress in her bedroom, a thing that Rowan had thought she’d quipped as a joke once.

“Sorry, the sheets aren’t Egyptian cotton for whatever the hell you’re used to,” he’d said, a bite in his tone as he showed her the dump of an apartment the bureau had decided on for her.

“Silk,” she winked. “Feels good against my skin when I sleep naked.”

It hadn’t been a joke. He ran his fingers over the fabric and almost smiled at the memory but forced his lips into a frown instead. As he looked around the room, the nearly ostentatious yet somehow tasteful room, he missed her. He hated himself for it, but he missed her. The woman had shot him through the shoulder, but the pain in his heart was somehow worse. His first thought when he woke in the hospital from surgery had been about if they’d found her and she was safe, gods above. Everything about himself was secondary, and he didn’t really care.

But they hadn’t found her. There was no trace of her after her anklet was cut. Nobody had seen her; traffic cams had stopped picking her up like she had just… vanished. He hated that she was so good at her job, so good at being a criminal.

Deep down, Rowan knew that wasn’t what bothered him. It never really had. There wasn’t a part of her soul that he had seen and didn’t understand or want to love. Nothing she had ever done had pushed him away in the slightest. Her honesty about her life and the vulnerability she had shown him only made him respect and love her more.

He wasn’t mad that she shot him. Was he annoyed that he couldn’t use his arm? Of course. But he understood. Rowan understood that she felt backed into a corner and betrayed, and she went into fight or flight mode. In this case, it had been fight and flight. He had stepped too close and got shot in return. It was fair. She was used to fighting her way out of situations, so of course, it was the route she’d taken.

He just wanted her to slip up for once so he could just find her and talk to her. Figure out whatever the hell was going on when they’d argued before she shot him, then disappeared in the middle of the day in a bustling city. Rowan wasn’t even mad that she hadn’t been caught. In fact, he was glad they hadn’t caught her.

Rowan didn’t want her to be found. The full force of the FBI would rain down on her like a hurricane and she would be shown no mercy. There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted her suffering in an interrogation room, throwing around the word allegedly like she used to throw daggers. For her to be thrown back in that dismal jail cell awaiting a death sentence that almost assuredly awaited her for what happened at the bureau.

But he was still frustrated as all hell that he couldn’t find her now, no matter how much he didn’t want her rotting in prison on the outskirts of the city.

It was while he stood with his fingers running over the silk of her sheets that he heard the jingling of keys at her front door. It was surprising, considering he’d had to pick several locks to get up here in the first place. Rowan flattened his body against the bedroom wall, listening to the front door open and close.

The footsteps that followed weren’t Aelin’s, though. They were a little louder, carrying a larger and heavier body. Rowan moved to stand in the doorway, startling the man in the center of the room. He dropped the bag he was carrying, swearing loudly as he bent to pick it back up.

“Gods above, Suit,” he murmured, dropping the bag on the kitchen counter. “What are you doing here? Getting something for Celaena?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Rowan inquired, noting that the bag he carried contained nothing of real importance. If anything, it looked like a combination of garden tools and art supplies.

“I think I stashed something here if we’re being candid and off the record, which I would very much appreciate if we were, by the way. I’ve come to collect.” Haversham -- Rowan still didn’t know the man’s real name -- began digging around Aelin’s bookshelves, looking behind and even inside some of her books that turned out not to be books at all. They looked like books, but when opened in the middle were hidden pockets. Some were empty; some weren’t. Rowan noticed a few that had different bits of identification tucked away. None of that seemed to be what Haversham looked for as he simply closed them and put them back on the shelves.

“Where is she?” Rowan finally asked, a little boldly.

“Can’t you check that fancy anklet you have her wearing and figure it out? I haven’t seen her in a week. She isn’t calling me back, either, so when you do see her, can you tell her that I…” The man trailed off after looking up from his search and seeing Rowan’s face. Rowan’s hard, unyielding face and the concern that was likely etched in his features. The wrinkle between his brow, the stiff way he held his lips. Haversham’s head tilted curiously.

“Holy gods, did she make a run for it?”

“Something happened at the bureau. I can’t find her. Neither can they. But I need to talk to her. I can’t help her otherwise.”

“Do you want to help her?” The sound that came from Rowan was nearly a growl, and Haversham retreated a step with his hands raised defensively. “Look, I’m just saying. She wouldn’t make a run for it unless it was something serious and you’re incapacitated at the moment. Which leads me to believe that she did it; otherwise, you wouldn’t be hurt at all. Celaena wouldn’t let somebody hurt you. So either you really fucked up--”

“I did, but only by not protecting her and defending her when it mattered.”

Haversham twisted his mouth to the side while he gave Rowan a hard once-over. It was like he was assessing everything he knew about his character while deciding if he would help him or not. There was a prolonged silence that made Rowan want to throw something at the man, but he waited it out.

“I’m only going to help you because you make her happy. And I don’t mean superficially. I mean that for the first time in the eight years I’ve known her, she’s been happier and more alive than I’ve ever seen her. I know she trusted you more than she’s ever trusted anyone else. More than me, which doesn’t say much considering I think she trusts me as far as she can throw me. But she trusts you more than Sam even.” Finally, he ripped a page from one of the books and began to scrawl across the page until it was nearly full. When he handed it to Rowan, he realized it was a collection of addresses. Some were in the city; some were in other countries. Some were a handful of hours of a drive into nowhere. One was practically around the corner from where they were now.

“What is this?”

“Safehouses. Those are the ones I know about. Celaena has… a lot of secrets. I don’t know even half of them. I have my suspicions about a lot of shit, but I’m letting her come to me with it when she’s ready. So I don’t know all of her safehouses, but I know those ones. Those are the ones she’s let me use in times of trouble. That’s the only help I can really offer you besides calling if I hear from her.”

“Thank you,” Rowan said softly, and he meant it. It was the biggest and only lead that he had on her whereabouts, and even if she wasn’t crashing on a bed in any of these places, it was a start. It was the only hope he had so far that maybe, just maybe… he might find her.

~*~

Rowan had decided to start on the outside and work his way in, and it was wasting a lot of time. Everyone he was friendly with at the bureau was constantly calling and texting to see how he was doing, asking what he was up to. Fenrys told him he’d stopped by his apartment a few times this week, and he hadn’t been home. Rowan replied, saying he was just taking some time to himself, which seemed to satisfy the man, and that had been that.

In reality, Rowan had been in Terrasen trying to find Aelin. She wasn’t in either of the two listed near the border of Adarlan, so now he was slowly working his way back toward Rifthold. It just didn’t seem likely for her to be hiding somewhere in the city, not when she would have to leave for food and other necessities at some point. So he’d gone as far out as he could before making his way back. So far, it had turned up nothing. Both of the cabins he’d visited in the woods had seen better days and likely hadn’t seen Aelin in years.

He was driving toward his fourth destination now, so deep in Oakwald, he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t back in Terrasen at this point. The location pinged on the Adarlanian side of the border, but he had little hope of actually finding her. There were only two safehouses left on the list, and both of them were in the city itself. Would he still check them? Of course. But did he think that she was stupid enough to be there? Absolutely not.

The energy of the place was different as soon as he made it up the drive. Halfway up, a gate that covered the driveway, and Rowan had to abandon his car and hop the fence. It was a bit of a feat, as it was taller than him, and he only had one good arm to use, but he managed. Even if it had taken him three times as long as it usually would have. Feet pounding down against the dirt so hard it caused a small cloud, he proceeded up toward the small cottage with a little more confidence than he’d had the rest of the drive.

Smoke was wafting from the chimney, and a dim glow flickered in the window. The window that a lithe body stood in, peering through the curtains and backlit by the fire. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew it was Aelin, knew he’d been spotted, and knew she was watching. How she had known he’d arrived, he wasn’t sure. Being overcautious her entire life likely meant that there were tripwires that alerted her of his presence somewhere on the driveway.

As he got closer, she disappeared, and the curtains slipped back into place. When he got to the door, he reached out but hesitated for a moment. Aelin clearly didn’t want to be found and was clearly mad at him. What if she did worse than she had the last time they’d seen each other? Part of him thought she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t ever thought she would shoot him, either. Rowan wasn’t sure how many times she had told him she hated guns, but desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.

It took more courage than he cared to admit to turn the knob. Much to his surprise, the door opened, and he slipped inside, shutting it behind him quietly. To be frank, Rowan couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t believe he’d managed to find her at all, much less on a list of places that Haversham managed to remember.

As his eyes adjusted to the room, he saw Aelin sitting across the room with a bottle of rum in one hand, balanced on her thigh. She was slumped down a bit in the chair; her hair dyed a muddy reddish-brown color. A dagger was in her other hand, being twisted in circles against her bare leg. Rowan wanted to tell her to stop, that she would hurt herself, but faster than he could register, she was moving. He was stunned further into silence by the whistling of the wind and the slight breeze by his ear. A loud thud had him whipping around to the door.

Embedded in the wood, millimeters from where his head had just been, was the dagger she’d been holding, and when he looked back at Aelin, she was smirking.

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trinketprince · 4 years ago

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All the Youkaimatsus so far

JExcept sets that have all of them as the same youkais (Nekomata, Tanuki and the various Kitsune sets from Tabimatsu)

Pinup Poster from the Osomatsu Character Book #6 (July 2016)

A classic. The very first iteration of Youkaimatsu. Kind of hard to find since it was a bonus poster from the character book, so unless you were actively looking for the book, you wouldn’t find this.

Osomatsu - Kitsune (unknown how many tails he has but is often depicted in fan artworks as 6 or 9, 9 meaning strongest/wisest a kitsune has been, Spirit Fox)

Karamatsu - Karasu-Tengu (pun on Kara, Bird Man)

Choromatsu - Dodomeki (usually a woman cursed with long arms littered with many bird eyes because of greed. Most popular one imo)

Ichimatsu + ESP Nyanko - Nekomata (Two-tailed cat, legend says that cats who live longer than a 100 years gain a second tail)

Jyushimatsu - Rokurobi (available in two flavors. Long Neck and Floating Head. He is the former. Theorized to not actually be a youkai but created for entertainment. Also used as a literary device for a wandering soul.)

Todomatsu - Yukki Onna (Also a joke on Todo being scared stiff. Yuki Onna pull tricks on humans that usually end on the person’s death via cold. Has a harsh and soft side)

Youkai Units from The Great Youkai War event from Hesokuri Wars (November 2016)

Most popular Youkaimatsu set, this baby could get milked for miles, but for some reason isn’t. Has a lot of variants (Awakened, Darkness, Snow, Sakura and Hyakki Yagyou) and connected to a lot of other sets: Denki Mystery, Colorless Overalls, Mononoke and a bunch of others. She is the top DOGG set.

Osomatsu - Shuten-Douji (Oni Leader with a penchance for Sake, literally carrying a big ass bottle of it on his back, since he is the leader of the sextuplets and the one seen drinking beer the most)

Karamatsu - Aoandon (Summoned after 100 supernatural stories are told. Originated from the blue (ao) paper lanterns (andon) that were sometimes used to give a chilling atmosphere)

Choromatsu - Daitengu (Great Tengu, Tengus were theorized to be ascended souls, but also has its origins in a Dog Beast that looked like a comet. For some reason Dog Beast turned into Bird Man. The bird man’s beak is often anthropomorphized into long noses. Tells humanity to behave by throwing invisible stones at them)

Ichimatsu - Nine-tailed Kitsune (So wise. So powerful)

Jyushimatsu - Inugami (Dog God that possesses people)

Todomatsu - Bake-Danuki (also known as tanuki, mischievous spirits, mostly known in pop culture for their BIG FAT NUTS)

Dayon is a miko, a shrine maiden. Hatabou is an Onmyoji, an exorcist, Dekapan is a kannushi, a shrine priest. Totoko and Iyami are regular civillians

Youkai Hyakki Yagyou merchandise from Animate Girls Festival (September 2017)

One of the lesser known sets, considering that it’s just designs for a line of merch but their designs are so good? Why don’t people use these designs more often.

Osomatsu - Karasu-Tengu

Karamatsu - Nine-tailed fox

Choromatsu - Shuten-Douji (A possible reference to Season 1 Episode 2 where he gets the most drunk?)

Ichimatsu - Mizuchi (Legendary Water Serpent/Dragon)

Jyushimatsu - Kamaitachi (Beast that rides on dust devils. Cuts people using it’s scythe-like nails. The wounds are sharp but painless)

Todomatsu - Ungaikyou (A haunted mirror that can be used to trap spirits. The spirits in the ungaikyou can manipulate the reflection shown on it’s reflection.)

Kitsune Servant Set from Tabimatsu (September 2017)

Ok I know I said I wouldn’t cover the Kitsune sets from Tabimatsu since there are like 5 different Kitsune sets, but this one is noteworthy cause they have secondary Youkai traits other than the regular kitsune traits.

Osomatsu - Oni’s horns

Karamatsu - Tengu’s wings

Choromatsu - Orochi around his neck

Ichimatsu - True Kitsune (Or Nekomata’s paw?)

Jyushimatsu - Wanyudo (Flaming Wheel)

Todomatsu - I don’t know, but there’s something around his neck?

Japanese Youkai set from Shimamatsu (January 2018)

Shimamatsu was such a good game, what a shame it ended so soon. The 3D models were so cute. Edit: The two designs are from before and after evolution!

Osomatsu - Enma-san (A wrathful god in charge of judging souls in the afterlife. Resides over hell)

Karamatsu - Yamato no Orochi (Eight headed and Eight-tailed serpent/dragon)

Choromatsu - Kamaitachi (wields an actual scythe)

Ichimatsu - Youkai Catman or a Bakaneko (Catboy, furry)

Jyushimatsu - Yobuko (lives in the mountains, repeats whatevers shouted into the mountain, explains the phenomemon of Echos)

Todomatsu - Yuki Otoko (Snowman, a Yuki Onna basically)

“Inn” Osoma and Choroe from Osomatsu Season 2 Episode 17

A BUNCH OF PEOPLE REMINDED ME AND HOW COULD I FORGET THE BEST YOUKAI EVER. Osoma baby,,,, I’m so sorry..... Srsly, this skit was so good, I hope they make more skits like this where they make entirely new characters out of the framework of the sextuplets.

Osoma - A Zashiki-warashi, child spirits who live in store rooms or extra rooms, they died buried in their homes. Pranksters but meeting one is said to bring good fortunes to families. Osoma gets crossovered a lot with the other Youkai sets in JP fanart. A popular pairing is Dodomeki Chorosuke (from Denki Mystery) and Osoma also Kitsune Osomatsu (from the poster) and Osoma.

Choroe - Not necessarily a youkai, in fact in the episode she’s presented as just a regular human. But is theorized often to be a Yama-uba. An old woman banished to the mountains. She provides shelter to weary travelers (in the myth it’s just a humble shelter but you know. an inn is also considered a shelter) before eating them. In one story she eats the recently birthed baby of a woman who had to give birth in the mountains.

Mononoke from Hesokuri Wars (May 2019)

Technically they are all the same type of being, Mononoke, but they look different from each other. Mononoke can posses individuals and cause suffereing and even death. And technically they aren’t Youkais but Onryos, vengeful spirits. But Onryos can also be used to refer to youkais and truthfully I just wanna include this set cause their designs are so cool looking. This set’s attacks contain glimpses of units of other sets.

Osomatsu - Bear themed

Karamatsu - Wolf themed

Choromatsu - Rooster/Chicken themed

Ichimatsu - Spider

Jyushimatsu - Boar

Todomatsu - Bull or Ox

Edo Rock The Great Youkai Harvest Festival from Tabimatsu (October 2019)

This set is interesting cause rather than youkai alone, they are also musicians. This set also has another set like Hesokuri called The Great Youkai NEET which is basically the awakened versions, properly showcasing more of the youkai traits.

Osomatsu - Shuten-Douji (Again, we need to stage an intervention for you damn)

Karamatsu - Karasu-Tengu (Again)

Choromatsu - Mizuchi (actually riding said serpent)

Ichimatsu - Black Kitsune (Hot Topic, Goth version)

Jyushimatsu - Frog. Just. Frog. (could be a reference to the legend of Jiraiya, the ninja who could shapeshift into a frog/ride big frogs. His mouth is cover just like a ninja is too.)

Todomatsu - Kamaitachi (could be a reference to season 1 where Todomatsu wields a scythe)

Iyami - Oni (not sure if he’s any particular oni but he does have the horns and metal club)

Atsushi - Ibaraki-Douji? (White hair and singular horn, most imporant servant of Shuten-Douji)

Promo Merch from Sega Cafe collab (September 2020)

Edit: Thank you @zenryokubatankyu for notifying me! Another set of promo youkais! You can get them by random by ordering a drink or meal at the now-defunct Sega x Osomatsu collab cafe. And the return of F6? Damn I haven’t seen you since Season 2!

Osomatsu - Oni

Karamatsu - I’m not exactly sure but he seems like a Mizuchi, a water serpent/dragon. He also could be another legendary serpent/dragon though.

Choromatsu - Kappa

Ichimatsu + ESP Nyanko - Karasu-Tengu

Jyushimatsu - I’m not sure, at first i thought it might be a crab youkai judging from the legs, but upon closer inspection he has spider webs on his robes, so they may be spider legs instead. Could be a Jorogumo, a youkai that wields fire breathing spiders with it’s spider legs

Todomatsu - Bakaneko (I think? The veil could be the napkin a bakaneko puts on it’s head)

Ayakashi Sextuplet’s Retro Halloween Cafe merch from Web Kuji (October 2020)

Thank you @gradelstuff for telling me about this! Ayakashi are Youkai that appear above nearby bodies of water. Although the youkais they’re dressed up as (or are?) aren’t really what you would call ayakashi? Although it’s cafe themed, it isn’t actually from a cafe collaboration. These designs are merchandise meant to be won through lottery. So if say you really love Kara and Choro’s designs (I do), then tough luck buddy!

Osomatsu - Oni

Karamatsu - Now you may think he’s Dodomeki since he’s covered with eyes, but turns out there are two other eye-relateed youkai! Mokumokuren is a youkai phenomenon where eyes appear from torn paper walls and tatami floors, initially i thought this was it given the checkered pattern he was wearing. But he might actually be a Hyakume, a youkai covered head to toe in yellow eyes specifically. Underneath those eyes is a body of flesh roughly in the shape of a man. This Youkai isn’t particularly malicious, only detaching one of it’s many eyes to follow you and survey you for criminal activiy. He might also be a BackBeard, a youkai allegedly from the US, err that would make him a cryptid I guess? A Backbeard is often characterized as a shadow with a Yellow eye with a red iris in the center. Note: Backbeard’s true origins are not known as there doesn’t seem to be any cryprid called a Backbeard, it first entered the Japanese public eye as an antogonist in the show Gegege no Kitaro. Although ever since then this “yokai” has appeared in other media and games in Japan.

Choromatsu - He isn’t exactly dressed as it (only themed as it) but the youkai he represents is the one he’s holding, a Kasa-obake, One of my favorite youkais and it’s literally iconic. Thought to be a Tsukomogami, an object that gains a spirit after it turns 100 years old.

Ichimatsu - Edit: I’m not sure but he might be a Kuchisake-Onna. In the description attached to his teaser, it makes mention of specifically his wide smile, his dos dagger and his beautiful shirt. A kuchisake onna is a yokai that wanders in the street covering her face with a mask (skull mask for ichi) and a sharp object (his dos dagger). TW GORE DESCRIPTION: She asks you if you think she’s attractive and depending on your answer she muders you with her scissors, plunging it into you OR she takes off her mask showing her wide smile, her mouth slit at the corners to her ears and asks “how about now?” and depending on your reaction she cuts you in half with her sharp object OR she slits the corners of your mouth to look like hers. END DESCRIPTION. Ichi has the mask, sharp object, wide smile and “attractiveness”. Obviously it would be inappropriate to portray ichi in the same fashion as the kuchisake onna so he was probably given the internal organ tattoos to represent the gory yokai. (internal organs usually = gore in japan). This is speculah and he might be another youkai but this is all i can think of rn.

Jyushimatsu - sailor themed Jiangshi. Jiangshi are basically Zombies originally from Chinese culture. They hop around, and crave for life force. this little jyushimatsu has taken to tomato juice instead. (Bonus: the zombie that osomatsu is in the zombie set in hesokuri wars is also a Jiangshi)

Todomatsu - Kitsune (sly fox)

“The Night Path” Youkai from Osomatsu-san Season 3 Episode 6 (November 2020)

The latest and what sparked me to make this post tbh. This set reuses the Rokurobi design from the very first Youkaimatsu iteration! Full circle yo! I like to think of this set as an addition to the original youkaimatsu, since they’re both from the primary sources.

Jyushimatsu - Rokurobi (Again)

Totoko - Amabie (mermaid with three legs? prophesized about either good harvest or an epidemic, trivia: “Amabie” trended when Covid 19 hit the world)

Hatabou - Azukiarai (a youkai that originated from the sound of something like beans being washed near a river, anyone who comes near will fall into the river)

Dayon - Nopperabou (Faceless spirits that take the form of humans. They are harmless usually, they just scare humans)

Dekapan - Kappa (Mischievous River spirits)

That should be all of them!

Recap:

Osomatsu has been a Kitsune, Shuten-Douji (twice), Karasu-Tengu, Enma-san and an Oni

Karamatsu has been a Karasu-Tengu (twice), Aoandon, Kitsune, Yamato no Orochi and a Mizuchi (?)

Choromatsu has been a Dodomeki, Daitengu, Shuten-Douji, Kamaitachi, Mizuki and a Kappa (No repeats!)

Ichimatsu has been a Nekomata, Kitsune (twice), Mizuchi, Bakaneko and a Karasu-Tengu

Jyushimatsu has been a Rokurobi (twice-ish), Inugami, Kamaitachi, Yobuko, a Frog from Jiraiya and a Jorogumo (?)

Todomatsu has been a Yuki Onna (twice), Bake-danuki, Ungaikyou, Kamaitachi and a Bakaneko

You can definitely see a trend (lmao), I’m looking forward to more Youkaimatsus from Osomatsu-san!

bonus:

Osomatsu-san cameo from Yokai Watch!!!

#Osomatsu san #Youkaimatsu #Yokaimatsu #妖怪松 #Hesokuri Wars #Shimamatsu #Tabimatsu #I'm not tagging all the matsus lmao #long post

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mortedeveles · 4 years ago

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AHHH that last mha headcanon was amazing tysm! You did great!!♡♡ Could I ask for another one with the same boys? (baku,tenya & izu!) With a crush who draws a lot? Like maybe they doodle while in class and while on break, 'cause they're bored? And the bois get curious because they're ALWAYS drawing while in the middle of class and they space out! Bonus points if the bois check their notebook and there's dumb doodles of them doing/saying something funny and some with little hearts around them. ^^"

thank you!! of course, anon! here you go, I hope you like it! a friendly reminder that my REQUESTS ARE OPEN! feel free to request lovelies! i’m ready to write for whatever you guys have in mind. i have a project coming up in 1-2 weeks and i think you guys will like it 👁️👁️! i’ll be posting the bonuses of model for me soon enough and a new series (not bakuhoe) will be posted as well! so stay tuned for more <3 as always, please leave a like, reblog, follow and/or comment if you enjoyed! support and feedback are ALWAYS welcomed! <3

PAIRING: IIDA T. X GN!READER, BAKUGOU K. X GN!READER, TODOROKI S. X GN!READER

THEMES: humor, fluff. [HEADCANNONS]

TW: cursing

IIDA, MIDORIYA, KATSUKI, TODOROKI WITH A DOODLER!CRUSH READER

Frankly, school can be quite boring. Even though you're in the hero course and you learn extraordinary things, it doesn't exclude regular civilian subjects such as history, math and so.

When you lose focus in class, you like to redirect your attention to doodling. It's fun, relaxing and effortless- it's also quite time-consuming and you've spaced out of class many times.

When you space out, you lose the function to pay attention to your reality- and ever since the first day you started doodling in class, you never noticed a pair of curious eyes watching you.

IIDA TENYA

Iida Tenya is quite the gentleman. He's also known for being strict and keeping the chaotic class 1A in order- (well, try and fail many times, but he does his best.) During classes with Aizawa, the majority of the classroom is quiet- but he always hears intense scribbling from your seat.

Usually, he does his best to ignore it and focuses on the class but you're his crush- and the fact that he always hears intense scribbling every day is quite concerning. But one day, he can't take it anymore.

It's a hot and sweltering day, it doesn't help that class 1A just finished hero training and even though everyone hit the showers afterward- the classroom is boiling.

Iida's neck is drenched in sweat, Aizawa's flat and tired voice drones on and he hears furious scribbling behind him- it's all giving him a headache.

Slowly, he turns around and stares blankly at you. Your head is lowered, hand sketching in your notebook. Your movements are fluid and bold and your arm is propped lazily on the desk, leaning your head against it.

He feels his nerves calm at the sight. But then he remembers that he's class president- you're not paying attention in class and that is not okay. Iida opens his mouth and delivers a long speech. Tenya is strict- but he's not stupid- he lowers his voice so he won't embarrass you in front of the class.

After his long speech, he expects you to look sullen or simply understand where he's coming from- but instead, you're snickering with a smile.

''I'm sorry, Iida. I just space out of class all the time and I like to doodle,'' there's a playful pout on your lips, a pleading look gleaming in your eyes.

Oh god, how is he supposed to reprimand you when you look so cute and adorable?

His voice is stuck in his throat- there's a flushed expression on his face and it only gets worse when Aizawa's voice booms.

''Iida, if you're done with your important chat with L/N, turn around and pay attention. You're class president, I expect better from you.''

Iida nearly squeaks as he turns around and nods, apologizing several times. Aizawa simply sighs tiredly and resumes the lesson.

After that time, Iida spots you doodling all the time in class. It makes him concerned- do you even pay attention in class? Are your grades failing?

Eventually, he confronts you about and explains his concerns. His face is beet red when he's done, but you simply brush him off with a smile.

Assuring him that your grades and knowledge are in perfect order, you simply doodle a lot in class. After that confrontation, Iida is much more relaxed about the situation, and every time he sees you doodle, there's a soft smile on his lips.

MIDORIYA IZUKU

Midoriya is a very observant person. He has dozens of notebooks dedicated to quirks, Pro Heroes, and so on and while he doesn't write about his friends- he tends to notice several things.

For example, you. Since you began to attend U. A with Izuku, he's noticed that you spend most of your time sketching, doodling god knows what. You've never shown him your artwork.

Another thing he's realized is that when you start doodling- only Aizawa's loud voice or the school bell will snap you out of it. Izuku's tried everything- waving his hands in your face, throwing you paper balls- nothing. It's like you've been sucked out of reality..

Your manners leave him interested, curious to know more. He's sure you're not slacking off in class- he's been in several study sessions with Tsuyu, Iida, Ochaco, Todoroki, and you- you're always on track and usually have a good grasp of the subject.

You rarely share your notes- only with Tsuyu and Iida and occasionally Todoroki.

Midoriya doesn't mind, but it makes him burn with curiosity. So on the next studying session, he decides to come up with a plan.

''Y/N, what did you get on question 43?'' Ochaco asked. She leaned towards said girl and giggled.

Izuku frowned. What was so funny? The brunette's grin grew as she stared down at Y/N's notes, who was stammering and trying to hide their notes from the public view.

When Ochaco and Y/N rose and said they needed to visit the restroom- Izuku struck. Tsuyu was chatting with Todoroki and Iida had his nose buried in his book- so they didn't notice when he grabbed your notebook.

He flicked through pages, greedily drinking in the sight of your doodles. They were all varied- some flowers, vines, others were small and cute animals- and others were more complex but in the end, doodles. Midoriya froze when he flipped through a page and saw a... peculiar sight.

In the middle of the page, was a heart. You had doodled several headshots of Izuku, in which some of them he was saying corny or bad jokes, and in others, he was simply smiling. His cheeks burned when he saw the small hearts that you had doodled around him.

When he heard your voice and footsteps approaching the dorm- he quickly dropped your notebook in your spot and tried to act casual. Tsuyu raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing, while Todoroki asked him why his face was burning.

He had refused to answer and remained somewhat silent during the rest of the session, his cheeks red. His heart was soaring with happiness- those doodles only meant one thing- you had feelings for him.

Once the studying session was over, Izuku would pull you aside and confess his feelings. His veins were pumping with confidence- you liked him back!

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

Ever since you befriended Katsuki, he's noticed that you're a very attentive friend.

That is when you're not in class. You submerge yourself into your notebook with a pencil and nothing else- and pour all your attention into it.

Bakugou thinks it's rather annoying, he's tried to get your attention several times, only to fail miserably.

Today is no exception. Bakugou's ready to pop- dunceface and shitty head have been bothering him all day, stupid Deku gave a speech that made him roll his eyes and he was tired and just wanted to go to bed.

Unfortunately, he found himself stuck in class, listening to Aizawa talk like a damn zombie- trying to grab your attention, but you were too immersed in your doodles.

Irritated, he pressed his sweat hand on your neck and ignited a small spark- not enough to hurt you, but enough to startle you. The effect was immediate. You yelped and snapped your neck upwards, clutching the back of your neck. Everyone stared at you, bewildered. Katsuki grinned, satisfied that he finally got your attention but when you realized it was him- you narrowed your eyes and scowled.

''Bakugou? L/N? What's going on?'' Aizawa asked sharply.

Your scowl deepened. ''Everything is okay, Aizawa-sensei. I apologize.'' Your eyes stayed on Bakugou as you spoke.

Aizawa hummed in response and continued with the lesson. Bakugou bit down on his lip, swallowing a snicker.

After class, you smacked Bakugou on the head, to which he responded with a growl and the two of you engaged in a match of playful fighting, and between snickers and lunges your notebook fell out of your open backpack, loose sheets slipping out.

Immediately, you jumped back and began to gather them, but Bakugou kneeled down and helped you as well. He froze as he held a loose sheet- there were several sketches of him with different expressions- in some, he was smirking, frowning or screaming- but that wasn't what made him freeze. It was the several little hearts that you had doodled around him.

You nearly shrieked when you saw which paper he was holding and snatched it out of his hands. In a blink of an eye, you had picked everything up and ran away.

Katsuki was puzzled. He stood there for a minute or two, gears shifting in his brain as he processed the situation. Once it finally kicked in, he raced after you and found you sitting in a corner, head buried between your knees.

''Um,'' he cleared his throat awkwardly. ''Hey.'' his voice was gruff and tense.

You groaned and shook your head. ''Go away, Bakugou. I know you don't like me, so just spare me from the harsh rejection.''

''What?'' he furrowed his eyebrows and kneeled to your height. ''What the fuck are you talking about? That's not true.''

Slowly, you raised your head and peered at him, narrowing your eyes with suspicion. ''It's not?''

Bakugou scoffed. ''Of course not. I like you too, dumbass,'' he grumbled the last sentence, feeling his ears and cheeks warm up.

''Oh.'' was all you said. The blonde snickered and pulled you upwards onto your feet.

''C'mon dumbass, I'll walk you home. Gotta keep you safe.''

(bonus extra!)

TODOROKI SHOUTO

Shoto is clever and can improvise quickly- but he can be quite dense or oblivious at times. He probably wouldn't notice your doodling habits and if he did, he would brush it off. You're just doodling in class, nothing too fancy.

He doesn't understand how far your doodling goes until he asks you to lend him your math notes after class, and you happily oblige.

Shoto spends the rest of the afternoon studying and writing down whatever he missed- all thanks to your notes that were thankfully complete.

Once he was sure he'd done enough studying, Todororki began to flip through your notes idly, appreciating your writing. The more he read, the more he realized that there were doodles...everywhere.

He thought it was quite impressive that you managed to doodle so much in class and your artistic skills were quite impressive. There was a variety of sketches- plants, animals, silly faces but the ones he saw the most, were the ones of him.

Shoto felt a strange flutter whenever he saw one of your doodles that were him. You captured him perfectly and he cracked a grin whenever he saw one in which he was saying a corny or silly joke. It was refreshing.

It made his heart warm, seeing that his crush seemed to be as fond of him as he was of them. I don’t think he’d truly understand why you would draw him several times and instead, would ask you for an explanation.

The next day, he made sure to thank you for lending him your notes- and for making such beautiful and impressive doodles.

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blessedsage99 · 4 years ago

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Why Lapis and Pearl Could Work As A Great Pairing

It is without a doubt that most people agree that Lapis and Pearl would do absolutely anything for Steven. Maybe not anything as Lapis jumped off to the nearest solar system to get away from conflict, but he is in fact the one person she would indefinitely pull out extra stops for (ie; willing to indulge befriending Peridot, live on and try earth, go into the ocean once more, etc) . But I do not think that would be the one of the driving forces between their relation but it might be one of the factors to goad them into trying and befriending each other. And perhaps…. More.

Similarities On a surface level you can perhaps glean several similarities, perhaps similar shadow and body type, sasuke pointing hair… And then another layer and find their personalities are vastly different. Pearl is very educated, prefers order, dramatic, emotional, enjoys engaging in combat, very forgiving (ex; is quick to forgive Peridot once she actually makes the amends to not call her an object), and does her best to make up for mistakes (ex; several episodes of making it up to Garnet).

Lapis is very lazy and blase, the barn she and Peridot have formed together has no sense of order and moreso chaos, she instantly flies at the first sight of conflict, is the least forgiving gem out there (ex; holds it against the crystal gems for pretty much the entirety of the series, and Peridot goes lengths and miles to try and get Lapis forgive her and still is unable to and it takes Steven to intervene and scold her to make an attempt), and honestly? Lapis hardly ever apologizes for her mistakes versus Pearl. She shows signs of guilt but she never really apologizes to Peridot for anything she’s done to her nor Steven nor… Well, really anyone else, except in Future.

But that aside, it’s when you think about their more lighthearted sides and trauma is where most of their similarities lie.

Hobbies

As off as it sounds, it’s fairly essential in pretty much any relationship to cross over a few hobbies, even if you don’t share everything, it often all starts with something along those lines. And Pearl and Lapis share a huge chunk of their hobbies, believe it or not.

Both Lapis and Pearl definitely enjoy reading, Pearl being the educational beast she is and Lapis probably enjoys the relaxed activity. In fact their genres might be even similar as Lapis and Pearl enjoy reading odd textbooks (ex; The hairstyles book for Lapis, and the engineering book for Pearl) and both enjoy dramas (albeit, perhaps this might be different) like Camp Pining Hearts and Pearl was willing to write a play and overseer one in Jamie’s case. This perhaps is b-level canon however, in the comic issue Camp Pining Play, Lapis is willingly engaging in participating and acting out in a play, she even enjoys it.

If given incentive of enjoying the subject already, Lapis is willing to perhaps enjoy the drama of things along with Pearl.

Both enjoy singing, if we’re going off Lapis was previously like other Lapis, that would mean singing and dancing is looked down upon on her caste. So the fact she even makes the attempt to do so in Distant Shore means she’s practicing in it, and if we want to add another layer of it, in the game Unleash the Light, one of Lapis’s key items is the Crying Breakfast Friends Sing-Along. And who else enjoys karaoke? Pearl (ie; the commercial karaoke). Also Lapis does it in Future so like if you want canon material it’s right there in Why So Blue.

This is a bit of a stretch but it’s clear that Lapis enjoys the arts which her participation in the class and what the heck else she does with Peridot in the barn, and Pearl has at the very least has experience in it. (ex; the drawing she makes, despite her humble opinion, makes it clear she’s done it before, in fact I’m willing to bet she even painted that fucking painting of Rose Quartz) It perhaps could lead to some more experience and artworks together if you know what I mean…

Casting that aside, it’s clear the two have a main stream of things to enjoy together should they choose to versus some other couples. (And different ones should they choose to introduce the other, Pearl with baking and sword fighting and Lapis with farming and flying, etc)

Traumas

Now this is the important part, I’m willing to argue they both can share extremely similar and relate to each other’s problems. They just have vastly different ways of coping with it, or well… They both have some similarities there as well, but we’ll address that in the next paragraph-ish.

But the biggest one? Both miss their homeworld. Dearly.

In fact it’s the driving force for Lapis’s introductory episodes and one of Pearl’s where she tries to get Steven into a rocketship back to her home. Both are ancient and dusty as fuck, or well, at least heavily implied to be ancient with the fact of Pearl commenting she learned the sword when she was only ten thousand years old (Sworn to the Sword iirc), the war was six thousand which implies Pearl learned before it. And Lapis, it’s merely conjecture however the fact that Lapis isn’t a vegetable after and still has a strong sense of identity after being in the mirror for 4 thousand years says something (ie; My name is LAPIS LAZULI!), the likely conclusion is the fact it’s because that’s not even close to how old she is. It’s only a fraction of her lifetime, which means both are… Well, old as hell. And even more likely? They come from the same ‘homeworld’ unlike Peridot or Amethyst who were made after and Garnet who has herself.

The second one is the one both of them likely have their divisive opinions on, especially as they were from opposing sides of it, is that they were both part of the War.

Both obviously have their trauma’s from it, as shown as Pearl in ‘A Single Pale Rose’ she’s still traumatized over the thousands of shattered gems (which is essentially corpses to her) she was forced to witness right after the war, and Lapis being forced to watch inside the mirror as everyone condemns her to being a crystal gem. I’m willing to bet she saw everyone die while inside the thing as well. As well as considering Lapis never really got over anything as she was gonna literally yeet herself away at the mere IDEA of the war… Well, who else could help her but another person who knows the horrors as well? And Pearl has experience as she had a support system unlike Lapis who got worse and worse purely just by being herself.

Moving on as I don’t have a cool and smooth transition... This might be a bit of a stretch, but the last thing they both share very heavily over is the fact both were objectified.

Pearl was born to be an object, whereas Lapis was forced to become one, the mirror. And both consistently fight over the fact throughout most of the series. In the movie, the thing that makes Pearl remember herself is the freedom to be herself, and when she returns to her homeworld she’s forced to be reminded of her place when she talks to Holly Blue and returns to Steven in the final season. Lapis is obviously shook over it and holds it against the fact she always feels like she’s being used, (‘[...] AND YOU CAN’T KEEP ME TRAPPED ANYMORE!’) she longs for a safe place and to be free just as well just as Pearl does and the freedom to express herself (ie; her art). And who else but Pearl----- *coughcouhgcough*

Differences

I covered this in the first part where it's obvious the two have very vast differences when it comes to their personalities. But I find it important to have differences as both have something to bring to the table with their differences, no? Another essential part of a working couple.

And to quickly cover what I had before, their personalities. Pearl is literal and Lapis is sarcastic, Pearl is outwardly emotional and sobs and Lapis moodily and angrily exists, so on and so forth. How does this work? It’s also one of the hardest parts of their relationship, should they ever try it out because one of their biggest differences, is one of their flaws in a relationship as proven over and over.

Pearl is all give and no take, and Lapis is all take and no give. Which is a mix for a toxic relationship, as Pearl would constantly be giving to Lapis as Pearl’s entire worth as shown in her previous relation was all about what she would give to Rose, or else she was nothing. Even by the end of the main series she still needs to be reminded she’s still something without her. And Lapis’s emotional baggage? Let’s face it, Lapis is selfish and it’s all about her. She’s angry? She’s gonna fuck you up (ie; Jasper and the two Lapis), Lapis doesn’t want to deal with war? She doesn’t even think twice about what Peridot wants, and jumps away despite Steven calling out towards her.

But, but, but, but… It’s also a mix for something amazing as after their development, they’re kind of the perfect people to call each other out. In theory of course should they communicate.

Lapis would teach Pearl to be a little more selfish and care about her own needs, whereas Lapis needs constant reminders to actually take notice about what others want and feel (ex; the way she immediately rushes in and notices Steven’s expression at the last moment). It’s clear that Pearl isn’t willing to be treated that way should Lapis do so (ex; the way she snapped back at Peridot and towards Holly Blue) and Lapis upon caring enough? Is in fact willing to try to do better (ex; Why so blue, and Alone at Sea). It’s just that Lapis is farther behind on maturity (considering she ran away and panics instantly twice in a row). They can strike a perfect balance should they put the effort to do so, which would lead to the possible second problem they might have and would need to work through.

And the second difference the two of them have?

Fusion.

It’s the one trauma Lapis has that Pearl wouldn’t understand, and, it’s something Pearl clearly finds something addicting or to use above others. In fact she needed a crash course on it with the string of episodes of what she did to Garnet. Because Pearl is the kind of person who would desperately try so hard to not repeat the same mistake, she’s probably she’s willing to wait a millennia about it or even be fine with never fusing with Lapis. Because consent is important, but I think because of her actual experience with good and loving fusions? She might not be actually be a bad candidate for helping Lapis should she ever want to try again.

The Biggest Conflict

Now, for the biggest problem of the relationship. Uh, let’s be real here…. Despite all these arguments and nice claims and all.

Lapis doesn’t like Pearl, at all. Perhaps she even holds the biggest grudge against Pearl because Pearl was the one who literally carried her around in the mirror for a good chunk of time, doesn’t even bother to learn who she was, and even was willing to bubble her and trap her further. And Lapis probably has incentive to keep it against her for purely that fact as she was holding it against Peridot for the same fact, except for the fact Pearl has made zero amends to apologize for it. So why would Lapis ever want to talk to her?

You might consider the possibility of Steven but it’s not his job to make them friends. The only thing the two of them would do for him is to pretend to be friends, as shown in ‘Hit the Diamond’ and ‘Gem Harvest’ but otherwise, there’s clear distaste from Lapis’s side (ie; The New Crystal Gems) and her consistent ‘fuck the crystal gems’ attitude from the beginning. Maybe for him they might try something however I doubt it’s enough.

Regardless, I do believe an apology is due on both sides whenever they are ready. And that would be the start of perhaps their romantic relationship shenanigans which I consistently desire. Also I’m a slut for tense relationships to friendship to lovers if people would just---

Anyway I think there’s a lot more material for them to work with and they might actually be a pretty awesome couple

#steven universe #su meta #pearlapis #lapearl #steven universe analysis #pearl #su analysis #lapis lazuli #pearl (Su)#sage text #meta #i like geniunely thought about this a lot i lay awake at night thinking about them i just FEEL LIKE THERES MORE THAN WHAT PEOPLE BELIEVE Ok

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dulcaet · 5 years ago

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paint my heart | yoongi

synopsis. you should have known that, over time, paint crumbles, and that time spare no one, not even the colors adorning your heart.

pairing. yoongi | reader genre. angst word count. 2,043 warnings. none

initially, there had been only an immensity of white. a simple, but gigantic, empty canvas ready to be offered to those wishing to add to it the most beautiful colors that existed.

the life you lived was lulled by neutral feelings; your smiles were real but not bright, your eyes lit but not sparkling. the days were passing by, some slowly, others more quickly. they were chaining each other to the rhythm of the clock hands in your kitchen. the work you had managed to get was perfectly supporting you financially and you took great pleasure in learning what the profession of a sound engineer consisted of. everything was fine. but everything could be better. and everything would become soon. unfortunately, you didn’t know that yet.

you'd never consider your life boring, but sometimes monotony could be hard to bear. it, who always stood behind you, like your shadow, to remind you of the lack of laughter, smiles, adventure in an empty, gray life.

weeks, and months passed, that infinity of white still painting your mind. no painter had put his brush on your canvas, not coloring it with pearly, colorful hues, which would form the most beautiful of the artwork: that of a fulfilling life.

then, suddenly, there was an infinite number of colors. a palette covered with paintings all different from each other. blue. green. yellow. red. purple. one had been searched for the most beautiful pigments in the world, carefully making from them colors that all the greatest painters could have envied.

it had started as a normal day, a day tinted in white. you had stopped in the break room to drink your coffee before climbed to the third floor to reach the studio where your superior was waiting for you. the habit having taken over the rest, you had not knocked, judging that your arrival had already been announced a few seconds earlier by a message from your part.

maybe you should have.

“i’m really sorry, i didn’t think this studio would be busy!”

nervousness had taken hold of your heart, dragging it into a frantic waltz. a man sitting on a sofa whose upper body was leaning towards the coffee table had turned to the door squeaking. a pen in the hand, fingers stained with ink, glasses placed on the nose. this face, no, this portrait perfectly drawn by the hand of the most talented painters, you had seen and seen it again. on social media, in advertisements, on youtube. not a day had passed without you noticing this face so beautifully carved.

and he had been standing in front of your astonished face.

he had smiled with all the kindness present in the world and had looked at the time on his watch before apologizing for exceeding the scheduled hour.

“hello.”

this exact moment was your first meeting with min yoongi. the first of dozens of others.

a smile drawn on your two faces, fingers intertwined, the streets of capital had never looked so pretty. the yellow of the streetlights, the orange of the car flashers, the red of the store signs. the moon at its highest point reflected your candid faces, illuminating it in white and pastel blue. she was watching you, smiling at this birth of love.

adoration was a feeling whose aura could almost be seen as powerful as it was. these heartbeats rhythmed in unison, these candid laughs, all these little special touches reinforced the beauty of the idyllic picture that was painting in front of the moon’s eyes.

“yoongi, look!”

one hand holding your straw hat so it wouldn’t fly away, the other pointing to a multi-colored bird on a tree branch whose leaves were colored with a resplendent green hue. the smell of freshly cut grass intoxicated passers-by, plunging them into a euphoria that only summer could provoke. this feeling of being invincible, encouraged by the rays of the sun whose reflections chase away the patches of shadows, the bad memories. the five silk trees formed a globe as enchanting above the park letting these so-called rays of light pass through. the sweet pale pink flowers lowered themselves and rose to the rhythm of the wind oh so quiet.

summer was your favorite season, it was synonymous with holidays, sunshine, tranquility. happy to be able to enjoy the good weather, little laughs escaped from your lips without you noticing.

the characteristic noise of a camera caught your attention. turning your head, eyes obstructed by strands of hair, your gaze rested on the man standing a few meters from you. he was smiling at his screen, fiddling with the buttons of the device. curious, it was with a bouncing step that you walked towards him, making your light white and pink dress twirl. arriving at his height, you lean towards him, tiptoeing to see what seemed to hypnotize him. a grimace on your face, you quickly put a hand on the screen to hide the picture.

“delete it! i’m hideous!”

“don’t say things that are impossible.”

the pupils trembling, you watched the surroundings, hoping to see yoongi’s silhouette. you had begun waiting more than three-quarters of an hour ago on the forecourt of the restaurant where you had booked a table two months ago. there was no apparent reason for this event, if not to celebrate your love. it had been several days since you had seen him because of his rehearsals, so, excited to finally spend an evening with him, you had got all dressed up.

however, the soft light of day had darkened, giving way to this vast world called the night. the delight that had hitherto decorated your face, making it up in the prettiest of ways, for joy had this powerful power, had disappeared, dropping that mask on the concrete ground. as the dim light of the streetlamp illuminated you, all the gravity of your face increased, painting a face of sorrow.

one hand was rubbing your upper arm, the wind chilling you, the other furiously tapping on your phone’s keyboard.

me to yoongi ♡

where are you?

helloooo?

please respond! it’s cold out there.

well????

yoongi ♡ to me

something came up. don’t wait for me. grab yourself something, i’ll pay.

a lump appeared in your throat, as did the pain that pierced your heart. you remained still, however, letting it spread in the hope that this horrible sensation would go away if not interrupted. what you did not know, for love blinded the heart and confused the thoughts, was that a piece of the first one was now laying at your feet.

a drop of grey paint fell on the canvas, staining the blue sky adorned with white clouds.

the clock above the kitchen counter reminded you how pathetic you were, standing until way too late at night in hope of catching sight of the man’s face you had got into the habit of calling your boyfriend. if you could still define him like this. a silence had taken place in the empty apartment, a silence that even seoul’s frenetic life could not break. you were sitting on the couch with your eyes staring at nothing but void. your pupils previously illuminated by the candor of love were no more than two impenetrable walls. you seemed empty, as empty as a hollow shell. your inner state represented the vision your apartment gave. whether it was the pieces of furniture, the frames hanging on the wall or the decorative plants; all were tinged in the same gouache.

nowadays, the colors had worn out. overtime, you supposed. time was, after all, one of the main enemies of love, especially when it became rare.

oh, how much you hated gray. it colored your life with a monotonous color where everything seemed sad, an impression so different from the explosion of colors that your retina had become accustomed to seeing. there was nothing but grey. grey everywhere. in your body, in your eyes, in your heart. the latter seemed to have been impregnated with it. it would not be surprising to see the normally red carmine liquid flowing through your veins turn into a grey color. a plain grey, without any reflection; there wasn’t light anymore.

no more conversations until late at night. no more encouraging little messages on your nightstand. no more signs of affection, whether expressed in the form of a kiss, an embrace or even a smile.

there was nothing left.

nothing more except a weariness that did not seem to want to leave your life. it was now an integral part of your routine. many times, you had wondered if you had become paranoid. yoongi was a busy man. everyone knew this detail about him, you knew about this and for a long time, this detail had been one of the reasons for your reluctance to engage yourself in this relationship. this fear, which was ubiquitous at each moment of your life. this fear was flowing in your veins. the fear of being sidelined.

for more than a year, he had succeeded in proving you wrong. he had shown you that even though his career was a source of significant demands and that his schedule would always be a delicate thing, the love he had for you would overcome that.

he had forgotten to point out that all these wonders would only last a while, the attractive illusion giving way to the harsh reality.

things had changed.

suddenly, as if in slow motion, your face, which had lowered in defeat, rose up when you heard the door open. without you being able to control your body, your eyes began to sparkle, your pupils dilated, your heart racing. overtime, through missed appointments, repeated absences, nights alone, you had learned to hate these physical reactions. how sad it was to achieve such a critical stage that your only possibility was to hate the love you had for him.

he did not undress nor did he take off his coat, merely heading to your room, whose sheets now seemed constantly frozen. not a look. not a word. it was almost as if you were just a mirage, something that didn’t exist or that wasn’t interesting enough to deserve attention.

“don’t wait for me, i’ll be late.”

the door was slammed, silence set in, a silence that was cut off by your sobs. you were crying, more than you had ever done in your life. in your tears came all the frustration, the sadness but also the pain that a lost love could cause to an already weakened heart. your thoughts were black, blacker than the ocean after a hurricane, your mind filled with disarming memories.

two long minutes passed. the grey darken. you swallowed, holding back a trembling sigh that reflected your sorrow. with your eyes focused again on your stress-bit nails, you ignored him when he came out of the room with a bag on his shoulders. this scene was recurrent, so recurrent that it was certain you could play it in your head. knowing this, no ounce of surprise crossed your mind when he uttered that sentence. that damn sentence.

someone once said, “happiness is screamed, sadness is written.”

you had always known how to transcribe your emotions perfectly on the paper. however, today, for the first time in your life, you faced a writer’s block. the page was blank of words, not strong enough to describe what you were feeling. a page that was soon flooded with tears, the revenge of this sadness that had been held back for too long.

min yoongi had never been yours. not even for a second. you should have known this. it had been obvious. you should have known his heart belonged to music.

with each of the tears that wet the notebook, making the black ink drool, it permeated the immensity of paper until there was only one color left to the eyes of everyone.

the canvas had now become black.

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queenofcarrots · 5 years ago

Text

Manuscripts in Star Wars (And Star Wars Fan Fiction)

This is the text of a talk originally presented at the conference Fan Cultures and the Premodern World at Oxford University in July, 2019, organized by Dr. Juliana Dresvina of the Oxford History Faculty. This presentation represents a collaboration between myself and Dr Brandon Hawke of Rhode Island College, and is essentially a summation of our video project Sacred Texts: Codices Far, Far Away, (Introduction to the series at that link) and examples below will include links to brief conversations where Brandon and I talk about the examples in a bit more detail. This has also been posted on my academic blog but I’m cross-posting here to reach a different audience.

Hi, My name is Dot Porter, and I want to start by thanking Juliana for the wonderful organization of this conference, and also for including me in the program. This is very different from the kind of conference I normally present at – in my day job I’m a special collections curator at the University of Pennsylvania, specializing in medieval manuscripts, their digitization, and their post-digital lives. Basically I get paid to digitize medieval manuscripts and then play with them. (I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the Bibliotheca Philadelphiensis project, funded by the Council on Library and Information Resources, which is just finished, and through which we digitized and made available for reuse more than 465 codices from institutions in Philadelphia)

Aside from my family there are two things in life I adore: medieval manuscripts, and Star Wars. I must admit that while I am a scholar of manuscripts, of a sort, I am also a fan. I love manuscripts – the way they look, feel, smell; I love to hold a manuscript and think about all the other people who have touched it, and consider the signs of use that imply their long histories. This interest has led to current work on conceiving of medieval manuscripts as transformative works themselves, first presented at Leeds 2018 and work I’m continuing looking specifically as Books of Hours. (My original draft of this presentation featured some of this work, but it threatened to take over, so I axed it all; a blog post of my Leeds paper is on my blog, if you’re curious).

While I am arguably a manuscript scholar, I am most definitely not a scholar of fandom studies – you will, I’m sure, find my theory wanting – nor am I a scholar of Star Wars, but I am a fan. I do the things that fans do. I’m on Tumblr, although that platform is pretty dead now, and I have a fandom Twitter account, which is much more active. I write and consume fan fiction, and I regularly commission artwork to illustrate my stories and stories I would like to write. I have written exactly one notable meta, which was even picked up by the AV Club – they actually cited me, unlike many of the other websites, which only cited the person who stole my work and posted it on Reddit!

In Star Wars: The Last Jedi, released in December 2017, we were introduced, for the first time, to manuscripts in the Star Wars universe. I had avoided trailers and spoilers, so the first time I saw this was in the theater, and I was, as the kids say, shooketh. Not only one manuscript, but a whole shelf-full of them! And they’re important. Rey, our heroine, has been sent to the island of Ahch-to to bring Luke Skywalker back to help the Resistance, led by Luke’s sister General Leia Organa, defeat the First Order. Rey has been there for a day or so, following Luke around, making no headway, when she is called to the Uneti tree, a large, hollow, Force-sensitive tree that houses these manuscripts. It’s in the company of these books that Rey and Luke finally communicate with each other, when Rey admits that she has only recently come to the Force and that she needs Luke to train her to be a Jedi, and when Luke grudgingly agrees to give her some lessons, but also tells her that the Jedi must die. Exciting stuff, and the books are there to hear it.

According to Star Wars The Last Jedi: The Visual Dictionary, Luke Skywalker scoured the galaxy for these texts and collected them himself, storing them in the tree that we see in the film. So these texts weren’t originally all in one collection, they are from many different planets, potentially written in ten different places, ten different times, ten different languages and alphabets, although there’s only one we ever see in the film. The starwars.com blog post “Inside the Lucasfilm Archives: The Jedi Texts” gives us an up-close look at the prop book that was shown in the film; as you can see it’s a real book, written and bound, and even damaged. There are manuscripts in our collection at Penn that look not very unlike this book. It is a real manuscript.

This is one manuscript in the universe. What else do we know about manuscripts in star wars in general? To be honest: not much. But we do know that it is rare to write by hand (as opposed to writing with digital technology like data pads). In Claudia Gray’s novel Bloodlines, which takes place six years before The Last Jedi, Leia Organa is preparing for a fancy party when she finds a handwritten note at her seat, and she’s shocked: “Virtually nobody wrote any longer; it had been years since Leia had seen actual words handwritten in ink on anything but historical documents.” So it appears that, by the time the current films take place, there are no longer manuscripts being actively written in the galaxy, or at least it’s very rare.

Interestingly there is one character in the Sequel Trilogy who it is suggested knows how to write by hand: Kylo Ren, formerly Ben Solo. There is a scene – the same scene is actually shown three times, from three different points of view – where a young padawan Ben is sleeping and his Uncle, Luke Skywalker, comes to him and looks into his head, sensing great darkness in his dreams. Ben calls his lightsaber to either attack his uncle or defend himself against him, depending on the version of the scene, and in one of these shots we can see that he has a calligraphy set in his bedroom. We can see the set here, in a screenshot of his desk just before he calls his lightsaber over – which knocks over the pen and inkwell and jar of parchment scrolls in the process – and in The Art of Star Wars: The Last Jedi.

What else do we know about these specific books? There is concept art in The Art of Star Wars: The Last Jedi; including six internal pages and six shots of the bindings.

I remember looking at the concept art and thinking how alike and different they were from the manuscripts I’ve had the pleasure of working with at Penn, and I discovered that my Twitter mutual Brandon Hawke, an Assistant Professor of English at Rhode Island College, was having many of the same thoughts that I was. So in October of 2018, Brandon came down to Penn and we sat for hours in front of a green screen and talked about manuscripts and Star Wars, comparing books in the Penn collections to what we see of the manuscripts in the concept art. We’ve been posting snippets of our discussions on the Schoenberg Institute YouTube channel, and there’s a link at the top there if you want to check them out. So for most of the rest of this paper I’ll be walking through some of the possible comparisons between real manuscripts and the Star Wars manuscripts. I want to stress that we did this for fun, and not for science, and that we’re limited by the collections at Penn and by our own knowledge.

Consider yourself warned: The remainder of this presentation is essentially an educated fan, raving.

As far as Brandon and I have been able to determine, this is a previously unknown script in the Star Wars universe. When I saw it my mind immediately went to Ge’ez, shown here in an early 20th century book of Hymns from Ethiopia. There’s something about the blockiness that is just slightly curved, and a few of the letter forms are slightly similar although I don’t think that’s necessarily meaningful. (video)

We also made a comparison with Coptic, which is thinner, more curved, and perhaps a closer match. (video)

For the third example we looked not at the text, but at its layout on the page. We found a similarity with this 16th century collection of Persian poetry, both its illuminated header (similar in aspect to the illuminated blue line of text in the center of the ancient Jedi text) and the framing of the text. (video)

Aside from text, it is clear that the concept art of pages supplied to us here represent astronomical texts. This is really not surprising, considering that in the Star Wars universe we have a galaxy that seems to have been very closely connected, between planets and cultures, for a very long time, and so it makes sense that even the most ancient texts would be concerned with objects in the system – stars and planets and moons – and how they related to and interact with one another. And this is a major concern in medieval astronomical texts, too: these texts illustrate people trying to make sense of the system they live in, in the best way they know.

One of the pages in the jedi texts is the symbol of the Galactic Republic, but placed on some kind of chart, with characters dispersed through the chart and text – perhaps labels – along the outside. We found a similarity with this chart in LJS 57, a 14th century astronomical anthology from Spain. I don’t know exactly what this chart represents but I can tell you that astronomical texts are full of similar charts; it was one of the ways that medieval people made sense of the data they had available to them. (video)

Something similar is happening here, in LJS 449, a 15th century German medical and astronomical miscellany. These charts are perhaps a bit simpler than the Spanish chart, but they have that attractive blue coloring. Both the coloring and the arrangement of data around the circle reminded Brandon and me of the diagrams on this page of the Jedi texts. (video)

The next three slides show diagrams from LJS 26, a mid-13th century copy of Johannes de Sacro Bosco’s, Algorismus and Tractatum de sphaera, an immensely popular text that was copied and translated and commented upon from the time it was written in the early 13th century (it is possible that our copy was written during Sacrobosco’s lifetime) through the 16th century. It is full of diagrams illustrating the movement of the planets, and the sun, and the moon in relation to the earth. I personally find these diagrams most reminiscent of the two pages on the bottom left, although I feel like their organization suggests a sense of scale that is lacking in the medieval diagrams. (video)

Medieval astronomers only had to think about the earth, and the moon, and the sun, and a few other planets. On the other hand, the Star Wars universe operates on a whole other level – a galaxy with countless star systems and planets that aren’t even charted. When I look at these diagrams I see a clever attempt to illustrate scale using the relatively primitive technology of ink and paper in place of the star charts and 3D maps that we see in the films.

On the other hand, there are some really simple 1:1 comparisons to be made, such as this diagram, which pretty clearly illustrates the phases of a moon. (video)

I want to take a quick look at the bindings of these manuscripts, particularly this piece of concept art, which is quite similar to the prop that we see in the film.

This has a fairly standard binding structure, quite similar to LJS 102, the Ethiopic manuscript we looked at earlier, except for the front cover, which is built of three separate pieces that are obviously connected together. In western bindings, if a wooden cover were a composite of multiple pieces, we would expect that to be obscured, as in this late 13th century Catalonian manuscripts (It’s hard to tell, which is the point, but this cover is made of three pieces of wood).

The only example of a cover like this I’ve seen is from the Walters Art Museum, this 14th century Ethiopian Gospel book. The cover was broken and then sewn back together, but this was the result of an accident, not done on purpose.

My colleague Alberto Campagnolo also suggested that it is similar to the Chinese practice of writing on bamboo strips and binding them together, as in this 18th century example.

This is one instance where the artists who created these concepts have done an excellent job with suggesting a manuscript culture – in fact, several manuscript cultures, cultures that use what is available to them. There are two manuscripts here that appear to be bound in decorated tusks, one that has what appear to be shells embedded in a leather binding, and another that might be bound in hairy skin or – I like to think – had the binding grown on it underground. In any case these all suggest books written in different places, perhaps at different times, and as a manuscript scholar I find that fascinating.

Following up on this I wanted to see how the concept of the manuscripts was received by writers of fan fiction. As a fan author myself I have written a few stories featuring the ancient Jedi texts, but given my interests that made sense; I was curious to see what other authors have done with them. I think there’s more extensive work to be done here, but in reading through the 40 or so stories I was able to find (by searching AO3 for ancient jedi texts, and the “jedi text” tag) I discovered not surprisingly that the stories focused on the text of the books, not on their physical appearance (which is at least partially due to fan fiction being a written medium, vs. film being a visual medium) and that there are three main themes that can appear by themselves or be combined:

Rey can read the texts on her own, or she needs help (Kylo Ren, C3PO, Obi Wan Kenobi’s force ghost)

The translation is used to further the story (whether or not it happens)

The texts do something (e.g., magic spells)

What will happen next? Will there be manuscripts in the Rise of Skywalker, the final film in this last trilogy? Of course I hope so, and it seems likely. The Uneti tree was struck by lightning and burned, but Rey took the manuscripts with her (here is a screenshot of a drawer in the Millennium Falcon, at the very end of the film, showing the books clearly safe and tucked away)

and in the Poe Dameron comic #27 we learn that Rey has been working with C3PO to translate the texts.

And there’s also the spectre of Kylo Ren with a calligraphy set; if he had access to these manuscripts when he was studying with Luke Skywalker, it’s possible that he has read and perhaps even annotated some of the books. Only time will tell, and I for one can’t wait for December.

#star wars #meta #manuscripts #ancient jedi texts #jedi texts #medieval manuscripts

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

survey by tater-tots

What is a fruit that you might eat in the morning? I, personally, haven’t had any fruit in quite awhile. :X I used to have a banana sometimes in the morning, though. Cutting it up and putting it on bread with peanut butter was also good, as well as in oatmeal.

Do you enjoy any food combinations that others might consider to be weird? I’m sure. Scrambled eggs with ranch is probably weird to some. I also recently discovered sourdough bread and Lay’s ranch dip go quite well together.

What is a green vegetable that you enjoy eating? Spinach.

Name something you might find in a salad. Hard boiled eggs. What is your favorite type of sandwich? Turkey and salami with either Monterey Jack, sharp cheddar, or Colby Jack cheese, mayo, and spinach or bologna and either of those cheeses with mayo. A pickle on the side is good as well as some olive oil for dipping. If I get a sandwich from a deli, I like to add a sandwich spread of some kind.

Which condiment do you use the most often? Ranch. Name a chocolate bar that you enjoy eating. White chocolate bars.

What is a meat that you do not eat - ever. Anything other than beef, chicken, turkey, or pork.

Are you lactose intolerant, or have any other sort of food allergies? I am.

What was the last food that you burnt your mouth on? Probably ramen.

Which brand of soup do you eat? Maruchan pork ramen.

What are some flavors of ice cream that your enjoy? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, ones with peanut butter cups or brownie chunks, and birthday cake.

What is the best type of cookie, in your opinion? My favorites are sugar cookies and shortbread.

Would you rather have popcorn, pretzels, or chips as your salty snack? Popcorn.

Have you thought about going on a diet & actually went through with it? No.

survey by pinkchocolate

When you woke up today, was there anything on your mind? That it was freezing, ha.

Who was the last person you interacted with for the first time? Hm. I don’t recall. I haven’t interacted with anyone new in quite awhile.

What colour was the wrapper of the last snack you ate? Hm.The last thing I ate that had a wrapper was ramen, which had a brown wrapper.

Do you have a favourite mug to drink from? What does it look like? It’s a Peter Pan mug that has Peter and the gang on it flying and is blue on the outside and yellow on the inside.

What was the last thing you used, that came in a spray can? The Christmas-y room spray I got from Bath and Body Works. I loveee it.

What colour is your favourite bra? I prefer just black bras.

Who was the last person you went to for advice about something? My mom.

Have you had a deep conversation with anyone lately? Not really.

What was the last compliment you recall receiving from someone? I don’t recall.

And the last compliment you gave to someone else? My brother on his Thanksgiving cooking. Everything came out really, really good.

What kind of bread did you eat most recently? Sourdough. I’ve always liked it, but prior to Thanksgiving I hadn’t had it in awhile. My brother got a loaf from the store and I ended up eating a ton of it with this olive oil and different seasonings dip I made, but then I discovered it also goes really well with Lay’s ranch dip and ended up eating it with that. Ha, the next day I asked my brother to bring home some sourdough bread from his job (he works at Panera) and I’ve been enjoying that ever since.

What was the last sound you heard, that you found pleasant? I’m currently watching/listening to an ASMR video.

How many books do you think there are in your house? Take a rough guess. Oh, man. Uhhhhh. At least 100. A lot of them being my mom’s.

Of all the books you own, which do you think has the most pages in it? The Bible.

^ And how many pages is that? 1,200.

What was the last film you saw at the cinema? What did you think of it? The Invisible Man back in February. I enjoyed it.

In the last book you read, what was the main character's name? Eva Rae.

What was the last song you heard, that meant something to you? Everlong by Foo Fighters.

How many people do you know whose name begins with Z? Two.

What do you expect to be doing at this time tomorrow? Hopefully sleeping.

survey by luckforlemmy

Did you start listening to more Michael Jackson after his death? I grew up listening to his music, but admittedly I did get into it more after his passing. I was really into his This is It album for awhile, which he worked on just before his death and was done with his concert documentary by the same name.

When was the last time that you played hide and seek? I play with my doggo sometimes.

Who was your first celebrity crush, if you can remember? Aaron Carter.

Do you worry about money? Yes.

Have you ever had to beg for a second chance? No, not begged.

When was the last time that you sent an actual letter through the mail? Many, many, many years ago.

Are you excited to return to school? I’m done with school.

Do you hate Internet abbreviations? No. Omg, but I hate stuff like, “C-U l8er” or something like that. *cringe* That was done more so back in the AOL days, though. Everything was abbreviated back then it seemed.

What was the last insult you gave out? Uhh I don’t go around giving out insults.

What'd you last look up on YouTube? The ASMR video I’m watching.

Are you texting someone really awesome right now? I’m not texting anyone right now.

Do you know when to be serious and when you shouldn't be? Yes.

Do you think that you're funny? I have my moments once in a blue moon and I own the hell out of it when it does happen haha.

Have you ever sent a secret to Post Secret? No.

What movie do you really want to see in theatres right now? There aren’t any showing in theaters in right now or for most of this year. I miss going to the movie theater.

Have either of your parents shown affection for you today? I haven’t seen either of them, yet.

What's the last thing that you sang out loud? Christmas songs.

Is there a word that you always misspell? I always say this when a question like this comes up, but “onomatopoeia.” I only ever use that word when asked this, but I have to look up the spelling every time. I don’t know why it won’t stick.

What was the last thing that you bought that someone else benefited from? I ordered my mom a cute Christmas mask.

Has someone ever made you a really great mix CD? Yeah.

Have you ever been on Omegle.com? Yes.

Did you talk to someone cool there? I didn’t talk much, I just went on there to check it out.

What song reminds you of your best friend? There’s a lot of songs that do.

Who was the last person to hit on you? I have no idea, it’s been a long time.

What's on the paper nearest you? There isn’t any paper near me.

Do you have a set of lyrics that you really love? A ton.

Did you get an A in your last English class? Yes.

What did you last use scissors for? I think it was to cut the plastic thingy that holds bottled drinks together.

Did you ever secretly hate a friend of yours that thought you liked them? No.

What do you think of when I say "boat"? Uhhh, a boat?

Would you ever get a tattoo sleeve? No.

Do you know any really fake people? Yes.

What does the last blanket you used look like? I currently have two throw blankets: a rose gold fuzzy one and a super soft Christmas one.

Do you have appreciation for graffiti? I’ve seen some really cool graffiti artwork.

Why don't you drive? Well, there are extra things that need to be done since I’m a paraplegic and it can be quite expensive. Mostly, though, I’m scared.

Does it annoy you when your printer runs out of ink? It was always super annoying how my printer seemed to know when I was in a hurry or really stressed out cause that’s when it would decide to malfunction or be out of ink.

Have you ever drank anything from a thermos? Yeah.

When was the last time you played in the snow? The last time I was around snow at all was back in 2010.

Do you know any ignorant people? Yes.

What is the coolest name you've ever heard? Hmm.

What did you last argue with someone about? Bleh.

Is there anyone that you dislike for no real reason? No.

Have you had a good day? Not much has happened so far. It’s still early and I’m in bed all snuggled up while doing this and listening to ASMR.

Are you going to have a good night? We’ll see.

#a few surveys thrown into one #personal #text #survey #surveys

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stellar-alley · 4 years ago

Text

Everfalls

•Chapter 19•

This is based off of the artwork by oceanteeeth on Instagram! Shout out to my beta psychcticminds on Ao3 and psychtic.minds on Instagram!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

(Summary: Richie and Eddie struggle to get some privacy for their full moon transformations.)

Richie couldn’t help the childlike giggle that escaped his mouth while he ran, hand in hand with Eddie. The wind blowing through their hair, tickling their ears. They ran to an area that was untouched by the lights of the town. Finally able to take their hats off. The lush grass turned to dark sand beneath their feet as they entered the beach.

Richie halted and clutched his abdomen, he let out a small shriek of pain.

Eddie let go of his hand and moved to crouch in front of his boyfriend. “Hey, Rich, look at me” he placed his hand under Richie’s chin to tilt his face to look at him. He wasn't surprised to see the eyes of a werewolf staring back at him. “It’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets any better, but I’m here, alright? So just-“ Eddie’s heart nearly stopped when the sound of another voice broke out from behind them.

“You know, when I first laid my eyes on you, of course I recognized you, Eddie. I had been searching for you for a while now. But your wolf friend seemed so familiar, yet I couldn’t quite figure out who he was. Finally, that tool of a teacher gave me your full name” Now Richie and Eddie stood facing her, both of their bodies ached to shift. “Richard Tozier, son of the banished werewolf Wentworth Tozier, and a filthy human,” She said as if his mother was a disgrace.

“Don’t you dare speak of my mother that way you bitch,” Richie growled, fangs bared.

His words didn’t phase her, “It doesn't matter” She shrugged. “I’ll have to kill both of you anyways. We simply cannot allow our secret to be jeopardized,” She rubbed her hands together as if she were cleaning them of dust.

Eddie’s eyes scanned the beach, they landed on one of the large hills that turned into a cliff, overlooking the ocean. It reminded him of the day he left The All Lands. His mind raced as an idea sprouted in his head. He caught Richie’s eyes and looked between him and the cliff. Richie caught on, responded with the smallest nod.

“Come and get us, you hag,” Richie sneered, without missing a beat he and Eddie ran in opposite directions, both of them breaking out into an inhumanly fast sprint, despite the pain it brought them.

Elizah refrained from moving, instead, she glanced between the two, sighed and mumbled, “Such a shame…”.

Mike, Bev and Ben had all gathered in Bill and Stan’s room. Stan explained the situation at hand. He summarized Eddie’s backstory and what he had to do with Zack Denbrough’s death (Bill just nodded as everything made just a little more sense once someone else explained it). Then he moved onto The Council and what they’d done to Richie and Eddie. Finally he explained who Elizah is and what needed to be done if they wanted to keep their friends alive.

“We need to act now,” Mike confirmed, zipping his jacket up and pulling the hood over his head.

“But we need to be ca-carful, we’re dealing with fu-forces we don’t uh-uh-understand” Bill warned them as they all nodded in understanding. “They’re still our f-friends”.

“So remember, quickly and quietly” Stan reminded them before he quickly tossed back a pill for his stomach and chugged some water. Then proceeded to move towards the hotel room’s door. Just before he opened the door he turned to face his friends one final time and said, “Let’s do this Losers”.

The Losers had made it through the hallway and down the stairs without being caught. When they entered the lobby the sounds of voices bounced off the tile floor and stopped them in their tracks. Bill poked his head out from the stairwell and surveyed the castle’s lobby. He noticed the lounge was empty and so was the artifact hall which led to the door they needed to get to. Finally, he noticed the check in desk had a pair of big black boots propped up on it’s clean wooden surface. The guard that took the night shift was currently sitting comfortably in his desk chair as he watched something on his phone with great intensity. Which explained the voices.

“He’s distracted,” Bill whispered to his friends behind him. He waved his hand and began to quickly tip toe towards the door. They walked past the cases that contained the artifacts and that same gun from before caught his eye. Bill motioned for the others to go ahead of him when he stopped to examine it. Something deep down told him he was right, that it was the gun he knew so well. The one his father showed to him as a child, then when he finally came of age he was shown how to properly hold that same gun.

He scanned every detail of its metallic surface. But one detail, something so small and hidden confirmed his suspicions. On the bottom of the handle there was the smallest initials engraved into the butt of the gun, ZD. Zackary Denbrough. Bill smiled to himself. He was too overwhelmed to notice the way his eyes filled with tears at the sight of his dad’s gun.

It would make sense, if this bitch is who she claims she is, and she did in fact kill dad, then it’d make sense that she has his gun. We never did find it after the accident..

Beverly was the last one out, she looked back and noticed Bill was shoving something into the inner pocket of his jacket. “Bill!” She whispered yelled, “Get your ass out here!” She stepped outside, the cool night air engulfing her. She reached into her jacket pocket and adjusted the contents she had stashed away in there, obviously they weren’t meant to be stored in a pocket but she made it work.

“Whatcha got there?” Ben lightly nudged her with his elbow.

“Backup” She assured him with a wink. Bev grabbed one of the two things she had and tossed it to Ben. “You’ll know when the time comes”.

Bill gave one last glance to the night guard who was laughing at his phone. He joined the rest of his friends outside and they all began walking in the same direction that their friends had travelled.

The werewolf could physically feel his bones shifting. So he knew he should turn to head towards the cliff. From where he started on the beach, Richie ran all the way into the forest, away from the cliff to gather some more strength before continuing. He had a hand up on one of the trees to keep him up. His breaths were laboured and he coughed up blood. I won’t be able to keep this up much longer. But before he could think anything else a deep growl erupted from somewhere behind him in the forest. He looked behind him just in time to see a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring him down.

“Fuck me,” Richie sighed before he booked it out of the forest. Whatever that beast was didn’t take long to chase after Richie. It looked like some type of mega monster wolf, blood covered fur, knife-like fangs, hungry eyes that stared into your soul. He kicked it up a notch after he felt the beast nip at his heels.

Richie looked up towards the cliffs and mapped out how he would get there. From the cliff his eyes fell on another figure that was in a situation similar to his.

Eddie ran in the opposite direction that Richie had gone in. So that took him past the cliff and onto the other side of the beaches where the ruins laid in front of the caves. The rabbit paused momentarily behind one of the wreckages of what looked to once have been a house. Eddie sat on the sand with his back against a semi-demolished wall as he attempted to catch his breath.

His ears twitched as the breeze blew through them. At a moment’s notice they stood tall on his head, alert. Something had made a low grumbling noise from inside the caves. Sadly they were deep in the side of the hill so the moon’s light didn’t shine in them. But Eddie didn’t need the moon’s light to make out the bright yellow eyes that opened up before Eddie.

A sigh came from Eddie who got to his feet when the monster wolf stepped into the light. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He hoped the small partially destroyed wall in hopes that the ruins would act as an obstacle to slow the beast down as Eddie picked up his pace. He refrained from sprinting until he felt the wolf’s breath on his back. He was tired and knew the transformation would take enough energy out of him as it is.

He had never resented the moon’s powers for this long, and he was definitely feeling it. He felt too big for his body yet too small at the same time. His teeth felt as if someone had removed them one by one then put them all back in out of order. Eddie could almost feel the light layer of fur that crept just below his skin which threatened to break through.

Thankfully he and Richie made it onto the cliff at the same time, coming from different sides they met in the middle. They turned to stand back to back as they both faced their own beasts.

Richie’s fangs were out as he lashed and growled at the wolf before him. But the beast went unphased.

“Stand down,” a female voice called out which the boys had grown way too familiar with.

Elizah stood in the middle of the two wolves who immediately backed off, falling back to flank her either side. Though they had backed off of Eddie and Richie, they still bared their fangs, which were dripping with saliva and blood.

“We could’ve done this the easy way. But alas, the males of the species are always much more stubborn. Like your father Eddie, I see so much of him in you” The mention of Frank Kaspbrak caused Eddie’s blood to boil. “It’s a shame you didn’t inherit more of his Ancestral magic, he was a truly gifted user. He was our high priest after all” She shot them a knowing smile.

Eddie’s brows furrowed together in confusion.

She tilted her head slightly, “Did you not know that? Oh, well you were quite young when he passed. Too bad you’ll never be able to find out, isn’t it?” she asked.

“You’re the reason he’s dead. He never did anything but try to help-“

“Humans, Eddie, he tried to help humans. I still can't believe you don’t see it. especially after living with them. They’re animals,'' She shook her head disapprovingly.

“No you’re the only animal here, you sadistic bitch,” Eddie growled as he took a step forward. Before he was able to continue towards her, Richie let out a groan of pain. Eddie snapped his head around to see a glowing yellow like aura around Richie’s form. He snapped his head back to Elizah and she smirked deviously at him.

“Not another step or the wolf gets it. Do I make myself clear?” She asked with her hand out, which was covered with the same yellow aura that now enveloped Richie.

“I was once like you, filled with innocent optimism, but I was actually clueless. Blind to the fact that humans only crave power, and they will do anything to get it. Not to mention the fact that they fear what they don’t understand and would ultimately rage war on the Ancestors in order to get answers. Luckily I have a plan to keep everyone safe from this wretched species. A force that won’t let anyone out or in,” She monologues. She curled her fingers in ever so slightly and Richie’s groan turned to a shout as the aura changed from yellow to orange.

“But I cannot have either of you liabilities running around trying to stop me from putting in the barrier that would save Ancestors from the destruction of the bloody human race-“ A gunshot rang out through the valley, echoing off the hills and silencing Elizah.

Standing behind her was none other than The Losers Club. Bill held his father's gun high and proud, a wild, toothy smile plastered over his face. He didn’t aim to hit anyone, that shot was purely to grab their attention.

“Give us Eddie and Richie or else” Bill demanded, his voice stern and stutter less.

Elizah examined them, giving each Loser a solid glance over before a deep and evil laugh erupted from her mouth. “Or else? OR ELSE?! Or else what sweetheart? Are you, you going to shoot me with your dead father's gun?” The mention of Zack Denbrough froze Bill, and Elizah noticed. “What? You don’t think I know about you, William? And your poor father, he learned too much. Like you have,” She explained, then glanced between all of the Losers. “But all of your deaths will be for the greater good of the Ancestors. I should stop withholding the inevitable,” She finally sighed then with the slightest flick of her wrist, the wolves charged The Losers.

Bill took aim at one of the wolves, but when he went to pull the trigger nothing happened. Panic ensured the teen as he clicked it again, nothing. The wolf was quickly approaching as Bill struggled to figure out what was wrong. Suddenly something flew out and struck the side of the wolf’s head, catching its attention.

Bill turned to see Mike had collected some rocks he held in his jacket pockets. Locked and loaded, he pelted the wolf again, this time getting the beast's full attention, it turned and started towards Mike who continued to pelt it with rocks. He used it as a distraction to give Bill more time with the gun.

With that time Bill checked the gun, finding he had clicked the safety on when he hadn't noticed. With the flick of the switch, he was ready to shoot. He pointed the gun up aimed at the wolf that was lunging for Mike. No time for mistakes, he told himself. He steadied his grip and pulled the trigger. The shot gave Mike time to put some distance between him and the wolf as the beast was momentarily shocked. Bill quickly approached the wolf, aimed, and shot off the killing blow. The beast fell to the ground in a lifeless heap of fur and claws.

Mike ran back to Bill, “Good aim” He complimented him.

“T-Thanks” Bill’s hands were shaking, unused to this much pressure, power, and the kickback.

While Mike was distracting the other wolf, Beverly stepped forward and removed the contents from her pocket. She pressed both the triggers just as the wolf approached them. A massive flame erupted from the lighter she held in front of the bottle of hairspray. It singed the wolf’s muzzle, sending it stumbling backwards. “NOW NEW KID!” She called out.

Ben stepped forward, shaking his spray bottle and spraying the wolf wherever he could, getting as much of the product onto the wolf. When it turned to snap at Ben, Beverly took that as a chance to get closer and spray more of the wolf, the flames reached its sides, and the smell of burnt fur filled the air. Ben sprayed the wolf’s face and Bev met his spray line with her fire. Just as planned, the fire from her bottle caught onto the hair spray that Ben had been spraying along the wolf’s fur, the beast’s fur caught and the fire spread throughout its entire body.

“Shit,” Mike cursed as he heard the other wolf howling in pain. Following that was the unmistakable sadistic laugh of Beverly Marsh who had indeed, set the wolf ablaze. “Burn baby burn…” Mike muttered in approval as Bev and Ben began to move away from the flaming beast.

“S-stand back,” Bill advised, he stepped forward and shot off two quick bullets, killing the wolf.

During the time that the Losers fought off the wolves, Elizah began to slowly back Eddie and Richie up until they were on the edge of the cliff. Richie was still engulfed in the orange aura as a means of keeping Eddie at bay.

Her back turned to the rest of The Losers, she assumed wrong when she thought her wolves would be able to stop them.

“You won’t get away with this,” Eddie dared to look over the edge at the crashing waves and sharp rocks that laid below the cliff. They had no room left to run, and there was no chance of them making that fall.

“Oh but I will, Edward. As long as I am at the top, no one will ever find out about Ancestors and I will rule over them all and ensure that nothing ever happens to them. No one will ever leave, we will not tolerate anything else. Or else they’ll end up like your father, dead” She laughed maniacally as she raised her hand to the sky, the aura turning red as Richie’s pain increased, causing him to scream out.

Like your father, dead. Those words hit both Eddie and Bill as they had both lost their fathers at the hands of the council.

No one noticed this, but Eddie felt it, deep within his core something opened, spilling out and filling his veins with what felt like 100 volts of electricity. He felt charged. Like he could swan dive off the edge of this cliff and survive. He knew his eyes were already icey blue, so why did he feel them shift again. He knew there was something else going on but he had bigger problems to deal with.

With that, Elizah’s back to the Losers and her attention on Richie and Eddie, Bill raised his late father’s gun, lowered his gaze, steadied his hands, aimed, and fired.

The bullet shot through the air and collided with the mistress. Her body ripelled on impact. She stumbled forward.

Richie was released from the magical bindings and nearly tripped over his own feet. Eddie dove forward to support Richie. He put one arm around Richie’s waist. The sudden weight on Eddie barely fazed him with the power that still surged through his veins. He knew he had to do something with this before he fucking exploded. Without another thought, the young rabbit extended a hand out and pushed whatever this energy was out, shooting out a bolt of magic. That was when Eddie Kaspbrak sent Elizah Brightmoon’s corpse off the edge of the cliff and into the ocean.

Word Count: 3120

GUYS THERE ONLY 2 CHAPTERS LEFT OHMIGOD! I absolutely cannot believe that Everfalls is almost over. But I hope you guys have enjoyed this new chapter and all the plot twists and stuffffff GUYS I PLANNED SO MUCH STUFF TO MAKE THIS WORK AH, but i'm really happy with how this chapter turned out.

I think that's all from me? yeah i think so

so until next time

So Long and Goodnight.

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years ago

Text

Tragedy of Gatsby

PART TWENTY-FOUR OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: serious angst, anxiety about future, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6.1K

Summary: Jess walks his mother down the aisle. Later, he and Ella address issues from their past.

Raucous laughter filled the diner as Liz had her makeshift bachelorette party. Ella could only roll her eyes at the obnoxious women, only growing louder as they drank more wine, along with whatever the one dressed in loud shades of pink, Carrie, had in her flask. With the wedding fast approaching, only one more day, Luke and Ella were doing their best to keep calm. They had closed Luke’s for the afternoon to allow for the modest party, consisting of four middle-aged Stars Hollow women drinking and uttering cliché nonsense. But, they had also (somehow) been assigned the task of making the food for the festivities. Ella had no idea where Luke had acquired the large, silver rotisserie cooker which sat on the diner counter, and she was almost too afraid to ask.

Large turkey legs spun around inside the hot plexiglass contraption, and more sat on a plate on the counter. Ella stood with the manual in her hands, a crease of concentration between her brows, trying to decipher the vague instructions. Though Luke was asking Liz if she had any idea what to do, Ella knew the effort was futile. As with most of the other wedding plans, Liz would be offering little to no help. Her personality wasn’t totally asinine, but Ella was beginning to understand the many complaints Luke and Jess had about Liz. She certainly wasn’t amazing at problem-solving.

“Let me see it,” Luke said, putting the roasted leg which he had held up to examine back down on the plate. He reached his hand out for the manual.

Ella sighed, not looking up at him. “You already read it. You need fresh eyes.”

“I think I saw something that’ll help. I’ll try and find it,” Luke continued, extending his hand to her further.

Shrugging, Ella finally tore her eyes away from the words and handed the book back over to him. “Godspeed, boss.”

Just then, Jess appeared from behind the curtain and came over to the end of the counter. “I need to get some batteries. I’ll be back.”

“What? For your Scarface beeper?” Ella asked, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, don’t get distracted. You’ve got legs to cook,” Jess scolded playfully, but frowned as his mother called over to him. Seeing her within a five foot radius of alcohol was enough to put him slightly on edge.

“Girls, this is Jess,” Liz said, taking her son by the shoulders and over to the table to show him off to her friends.

Jess was met with a flirtatious chorus of “Hello handsome!” and other such greetings. And he immediately heard Ella snort back a laugh to his left. He shot her a glare and she feigned an innocent look.

“He’s gonna walk me down the aisle,” Liz said. “Is that cool, or what?”

Behind the counter, Ella raised her eyebrows in surprise. It was the first she was hearing of it.

“It’s no big deal,” Jess replied dismissively.

“It’s a very big deal,” Liz insisted, a hand still placed on his shoulder. Then, she turned back to Ella, who was staring quizzically into the rotisserie cooker. “And Ella’s filling in as my flower girl. I gave her one of my dresses and everything.”

“Oh, you’ll be great,” Carrie smiled at Ella through sips of her drink. “And those Renaissance dresses Liz showed me? They’ll squish your boobs right up to your neck! It’ll be fabulous!”

“Yeah,” Ella said flatly, sighing. After trying on the dress last night with Lorelai, they’d taken up the length and taken in the sides. But the corset was relatively static, unable to be adjusted. When laced up all the way, it almost completely cut off her ability to breathe. “I’m just counting down the seconds.”

Outside, a man in a UPS uniform, holding a large package, approached the door. Luke went over to accept the delivery, but it instantly became apparent that there was no package and the man was a stripper. Eyes widening, Ella quickly undid her apron and hung it on the hook in the kitchen.

“I’m taking a break,” she announced, rounding the corner of the counter to come up beside Jess.

Luke barely acknowledged her, still lost on what was about to happen. Without thinking, Jess grabbed Ella’s wrist gently to lead her out of the diner before the show could begin. It was clear from the scarlet flush on her cheeks and the amusement on her face that she didn’t want to bear witness to what was about to happen either.

“Have fun,” Jess muttered dejectedly to his uncle before brushing past him and escaping.

“Have fun with what?” Luke asked cluelessly behind them, but the door had already shut.

Ella erupted in a fit of laughter as Jess released her wrist, walking beside her and shaking his head in disbelief. Birds sung in the afternoon heat, and they went down towards the market, the streets lined with fresh produce and fragrant flowers. Eventually, Ella’s giggles subsided and she caught her breath.

“Luke really should get out more,” she said, letting her long hair out of its ponytail and running her hands through the waves.

Jess snorted. “Agreed. I’m pretty sure the only movie he’s ever seen is Bridge on the River Kwai.”

Pursing her lips, Ella shook her head. “Maybe that’s what he says. But he’s definitely seen more. How else could he keep up with Lorelai?”

“Good point.”

A comfortable pause passed between them as they neared the market, entering the air conditioning as Jess went off in search of batteries. Even after a couple years, Taylor still glared each time Jess came in the store. It was meant to look menacing, but instead it ended up as mostly cartoonish. Ella even shot him a teasing wave as they walked past. In some ways, Taylor felt about Ella the way Mrs. Kim did. She wore dark clothing and makeup, and created ghoulish artwork. And her dead mother, and additional complicated family members, did nothing to help her reputation among the other conservative townsfolk. Not like Ella cared, however; she knew people like Patty and Babette and Maury and Gypsy were the coolest ones. And they all liked her just fine.

“When the hell did batteries start getting so expensive?” Jess grumbled, picking up some generic AAs, skipping over the name brands.

Ella chuckled. “You sound like such a responsible adult.”

“Hardly,” Jess replied, leading the way to the checkout line. “If I was actually responsible, I’d leave New York. I live in one room with five other guys and I still barely make rent.”

“Ah, so the tragedy of Gatsby holds true?”

As he paid, Jess only chuckled in response. His eyes fell on the ‘Take a Penny, Leave a Penny’ jar while the cashier made change, and he smirked nostalgically. After so long, he could still hear Taylor’s accusations of his stealing every single coin in the jar. He had done it, of course. He just hadn’t expected such an intense response. Those early days in Stars Hollow had shown him just how boring such a sleepy town could be. In New York, there were bigger fish to fry than some kid taking pennies. But still, before they left, he dropped one penny into the familiar jar. For old time’s sake, he told himself. Ella noticed, of course, and raised a brow at him in askance.

He shrugged as they emerged back into the May sunshine. “What goes around comes around.”

Ella gave a bitter chuckle. “Not that karma bullshit.”

Jess clicked his tongue mockingly. “Kids these days. So cynical.”

“Whatever, James Dean,” Ella said, shaking her head.

For a moment, Jess’s breath seemed to catch in his throat. She hadn’t called him that name in such a long time. And suddenly, he was seventeen again, ditching school and mouthing off and making out with her to depressing records. But, then, he had to remind himself where he was. He was putting pennies in the jar. Walking his mother down the aisle. Reading the self-help book Luke had given him the night before after a long, strange lecture about the power of communication. Jess wanted to roll his eyes at every word when first starting the book, but he’d read almost half of it already, sitting up in his old bed. And he was beginning to absorb it, understand it. Biting down hard on his lip for a moment, Jess quieted the emotions which sprung up in his mind and only shot her a smirk.

“I am not going back to the diner any time soon. You wanna get some ice cream?” he asked, tucking the batteries into his pocket.

Nodding, Ella let a fond smile cross her face. Either she hadn’t noticed her nickname slip, or was brushing it off. “Sure. Seems like you’re finally developing a concept of weather.”

. . .

Sucking in her stomach, Ella regretted eating so much mint-chocolate-chip. Pretty in Pink played at a low volume on the small TV in the Gilmore living room, as Lorelai made the final alterations to Ella’s dress. Standing on a kitchen chair, Ella was off to the side of the couch so as not to block Rory and Sookie’s view of the movie. Along with playing substitute seamstress for the wedding, Lorelai would be meeting with Sookie about some Inn business later in the evening. Ella felt like she had been holding her arms out at her sides for hours, and her shoulders were starting to ache. But she bit back the heavy sigh which threatened to escape her mouth as Sooke, Lorelai, and Rory shot questions at her about Jess’s sudden reappearance. They were doing nothing to hide the suspicion in their voices.

“He’s really walking his mom down the aisle? Mr. Sid Vicious, Mr. Stealing-My-Beer-and Ditching-My-Dinner, Mr. Steal-Babette’s-Gnome-and-Fake-A-Murder-Outside-Doose’s is walking his mother down the aisle voluntarily?” Lorelai asked through the pins she held in her mouth, taking in the sides of the dress one final time.

“Anything else to add or are you done?” Ella’s voice was husky and breathless as she watched Jon Cryer dance around Molly Ringwald on screen, the corset tight but still manageable around her torso.

Rory chuckled. “You can’t deny all those pseudonyms are factually accurate.”

“And no longer timely, Ms. Amanpour,” Ella quipped flatly.

“But he still got in a fight with TJ at a strip club last night,” Lorelai piped in.

Ela rolled her eyes. “That was justified. And happened while he was reading Jane Austen in a strip club.”

“You’re grumpy tonight, kitten,” Sookie said, tilting her head over the back of the couch at Ella with a small pout.

“Comes with the lack of oxygen,” Ella replied.

Lorelai took a final pin from her mouth and stuck it in the hem at Ella’s side. “Why did you agree to this Renaissance nonsense, then?”

“Didn’t really agree to it. And when Liz brought it up, Luke seemed so happy. I just...couldn’t say no to them,” Ella explained.

Lorelai shot her a mischievous grin. “Ah, there’s that hidden heart of gold. What a shame that it’s three sizes too small.”

“I’m not losing any sleep over it,” Ella said.

Rory snickered.

“Hey, I’m not the only one trying to add a few years to Luke’s life this week,” Ella continued, stepping down from the chair, trying not to slip in her fishnets.

“What do you mean?” Sookie asked.

“Lorelai is Luke’s date,” Ella said. “A match made in heaven.”

Lorelai rolled her eyes. “We’re just going as friends.”

“It’s a good thing you’ve never been arrested. You’d never pass a polygraph,” Rory smiled, in on the teasing.

“Wicked, wicked girls,” Lorelai scolded with a dramatic gasp.

“Not quite the twins from The Shining, but close,” Sookie chimed in, agreeing.

“Twins indeed,” Lorelai said, straightening the corset, eyebrows raised.

Normally, Ella barely filled out a bodice. But, with the constricting powers of the corset, she had cleavage nearly up to the collarbone. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t an interesting change from being nearly flat-chested, as she slowly got used to the pressure on her ribs.

“Just call me Bianca,” Ella announced in a dramatic Elizabethan accent, making circular gestures with her hands.

“Not Desdemona?” Rory asked.

Scrunching up her nose in thought, Ella shook her head. “No, definitely Bianca. I’d much rather slap Cassio than be murdered by Othello. Besides, I don’t think this dress is exactly Desdemona’s taste.”

. . .

The day bloomed hot and dry, the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. Ella rushed across town square from Patty’s to Luke’s. As she entered the air conditioning of the diner, she felt sweaty in her tight outfit, panting slightly. In the back of her mind, she worried her makeup would smudge beyond salvageability before the ceremony had even started. But soon, the cool evening would set in. And she kept her mind focused on the task at hand, trudging up the stairs to the apartment and knocking twice on the door. After a few moments, Jess came to greet her, dressed in all black. He blinked at her in surprise, then smirked.

“Hello, flower girl,” he said.

Scoffing dejectedly, she brushed past him into the apartment. But, as soon as she was in view of Luke’s side of the room, she turned back around with a look of disgust. TJ was shirtless, in nothing but some very form-fitting tights. Jess chuckled at the scowl which formed on her face and the blush on her cheeks.

“Jackass!” she scolded Jess playfully. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Didn’t exactly give me the chance, did you?” he asked, eyebrows raised as he made his way over to his duffel.

“Excuses,” she shot back.

“Alright, alright,” Luke piped up, exiting the bathroom and walking over to Ella in the kitchen. “What’s up, kid?”

Letting out a heavy sigh, she turned away from Jess and faced Luke, mouth set in a thin line. “I’ve been sent here to tell you that Liz’s dress ripped. But Lorelai is fixing it and everything is fine. She’ll just be a few minutes late. But no one’s getting left at the altar or anything.”

“What’d you say?” TJ chimed in, panicked, in his thick New Yorker accent.

“Nothing, Liz is just running a little late getting dressed. Go put your outfit on, buddy,” Luke said, reassuring.

Narrowing his eyes, TJ stared suspiciously at the three of them before finally giving a nod. He took the hanger which held his heavy Renaissance costume into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Ella was comforted by the fact that the next time she saw him he would more than likely be fully clothed.

“Nice tie,” Ella said, feeling odd seeing Luke out of his usual uniform. The black suit looked stiff on him, but his burgundy tie was surprisingly fashionable.

“Thanks,” Luke replied, almost begrudging, almost anxious.

Jess walked back over to the two of them near the kitchen table. He had a pale, yellowish button-up over his black t-shirt, yet to be buttoned. “He’s nervous.”

“I am not,” Luke argued.

“I bet Lorelai will think you look great,” Ella teased.

Luke rolled his eyes dramatically. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Then, he went to deal with the shoes on his bed. The polish was practically a hundred years old, and its chunkiness wasn’t yielding the best results.

As Jess finished buttoning up his shirt, his gaze roamed over Ella. She wore a lavender, cap-sleeve dress, chiffon with a hem which stopped just above her knees. Over it, a silvery vest corset. Her usually messy hair was curled in long, golden ringlets, and it was done half-up, half-down. A few loose strands hung around her freckled face. But even though her lips were shiny with clear gloss, her eye makeup was dark and smudged in a grungy style as usual.

“You look nice,” Jess said with sincerity, nearly winded, breathless from the butterflies which flew around in his stomach.

Smiling shyly, Ella’s flush deepened. “Thank you. Don’t look so bad yourself, Mariano.”

He nodded humbly.

But then, Ella furrowed her brows and she reached up to straighten the collar of his shirt. “You have to remember to fold these right. How many times, Jess?”

Ignoring the electricity he felt at her touch, he looked down and saw the hefty black Doc Martens on her feet. He regained his confident smirk, smug.

“No heels?” he asked as she took a step back from him, satisfied with his shirt.

She mirrored his expression, conspiratory. “Never, when I can help it. Last time I wore them was at Sookie's wedding. One of the worst decisions of my life. And, hey, Liz said I could wear my own shoes.”

Jess snickered, picking his watch up from the kitchen table and fastening it around his wrist. “Wait to cheat the system.”

“Thank you very much,” she replied with a little bow. “See you out there?”

“Oh, can’t wait,” Jess drawled, feigning excitement.

“Hey. Game face, Mariano,” Ella said, pointing a finger at him as she made for the front door. “I’ll save you a seat.”

. . .

With Liz’s dress finally fixed, Ella jogged over to the town square from Patty’s, hearing the strings and flute players biding their time, keeping the moderate crowd entertained. So many people were wearing costumes, flowers in their hair, and bells on their shoes. She would have rolled her eyes, but she was clutching at her middle and nearly doubled over when she finally made it to the end of the aisle, trying to catch her breath. Jess stood in waiting for his mother, and his eyes widened when he saw Ella panting.

Bringing his hand to her arm as he crouched down, he furrowed his brows at her. “Woah, Stevens, are you okay?”

Nodding, Ella swallowed dryly and straightened up. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, Mariano. It’s just hot. And I’m only getting about half the air I normally do. I’m dizzy, that’s all.”

“You wanna sit down? I can get you some water?” he asked. Though she was usually pale, her face was almost never so ghostly.

She shook her head just as the music kicked up, signaling her cue. Grabbing the basket of rose petals from the ground near the end of the aisle, she shot him one final smirk in an attempt at reassurance. “Really, I’m okay. And I’m on. Break a leg.”

“Right back at ya,” he said, a doubtful eyebrow raised.

And, in a mortifying turn, Ella skipped down the aisle and added in a few twirls, tossing petals as she went. It wasn’t exactly dancing, which was good for the audience’s sake. They would otherwise have been doomed. But her cheeks flamed and her stomach squirmed with nerves, fearing a stumble. Lorelai flashed her an encouraging smile as she went, and soon enough Ella was taking her seat in the front row, one empty chair for Jess to her right. In all honesty, she was surprised she had actually pulled it off. When she’d signed on to be the flower girl, she’d understood the role as merely walking. She’d almost chickened out when Liz had shown her the moves the night before. But, somehow, she had survived. She didn’t believe in miracles, but it came pretty close.

Then, Liz rode in at the back of the arrangement on a large chair, rolled by two men in pantaloons. Everyone rose. Jess took her by the arm, leading her down the way. Ella had to admit, Liz looked amazing in her wedding dress. And Jess, who’d had only a shy, stoic expression before, even managed a small smile as his mother kissed him on the cheek. Soon, she stepped next to TJ, and the crowd was seated again. Ella looked at Jess, as he came to her side, with a tiny smirk.

“You did well. Very firm gait,” she whispered.

Jess rolled his eyes, but his smile stayed. “Whatever, Stevens. We both know you were seconds away from breaking your nose.”

She didn’t reply, but instead licked the pad of her thumb and smudged Liz’s lipstick off his cheek.

Jess grimaced. “Ugh, Eleanor spit.”

“Ah, sweet revenge,” she said, a wicked grin growing on her lips.

Once the officiant began playing some antiquated string instrument and singing a silly song about love, all bets were off. Ella could hear Luke and Lorelai fighting laughter behind her. She bit at her thumbnail to keep from giggling, but eventually had to hide her flushed face with one hand and grip Jess’s knee with the other for dear life. Even Jess had to bite down on his bottom lip to ward off an amused outburst.

. . .

Stars shone brightly from the dark sky, and Ella gazed up at them as the man sitting next to her and Jess droned on about his time in prison. Having had the opportunity to meet many of Liz and TJ’s acquaintances from the Renaissance fair over the course of the night, Ella was relatively sure she would not be donning her corset dress again any time soon. Though Liz had assured her she could keep it, since it was now fitted just right to her frame. Warm air blew past them in pleasant breezes, and it made Ella’s heart feel calm, soothed. Summer was coming. She couldn’t wait. Swims in the lake (without the current of an ocean), sitting out in the gazebo with Lane, drawing the floral arrangements which would adorn town.

Eventually, the man with the tank top and shaved head rose from his seat, and left Ella and Jess alone at the table. Stray, empty plates peppered the gingham tablecloth. Deeply breathing in the clean air, Ella looked over at Jess in the glowy night, lit up by the extra twinkle lights around the makeshift dance floor which had been set up near the gazebo. Past Jess, she could see Luke and Lorelai talking and laughing amongst themselves at their table. A smirk crossed Ella’s face. She hoped it would stick this time, with Luke officially divorced and Lorelai having broken up with her rich, snotty boyfriend, Jason Stiles. Ella had never met him, of course. But from what Rory had told her, Jason had been all wrong for Lorelai.

Clearing her throat, Ella faced Jess again and propped her head up on her palm, elbow on the table. “You okay?”

Jess, sitting hunched over his nearly empty plate of food, looked up at her and shrugged. He leaned back against the back of the folding chair he sat in. “Well, I’m not bleeding or anything. Are you still dizzy?”

“No, I think my vitality has been restored,” Ella said, sighing slightly.

“Well, I know the sunlight hurts you, Morticia.”

Snorting a laugh, Ella straightened up and her tone turned more serious. “Really, though. You’re okay with her getting married again?”

Chewing on his lip, Jess shrugged once again. “I’m okay. She’s gonna do what she’s gonna do. And this one is better than some of the others. Though that bar is pretty fucking low.”

She nodded. “Alright. You can tell me, y’know. It’s okay if you’re not okay.”

“I know,” he said shortly, though not unkindly.

“Good. Glad we sorted that out, then,” she said, smiling genuinely at him.

He gave a small smile back. “Me too, Stevens.”

Suddenly, Kirk came over the loudspeaker soundsystem and announced Liz and TJ were about to have their first dance. The sweet guitar tune which played was not one Ella could instantly recognize, but she didn’t hate it. From the corner of her eye, she saw Luke and Lorelai over near the side of the dance floor. Jess watched Ella gaze out around the crowd, starlight glinting in her hazel eyes. He felt so content, and his mind wandered to the now-finished self help book sitting on the table near his teenage bed. But, before he could open his mouth to speak, Ella turned back to him.

“This song isn’t half bad,” she said. “I almost expected a Gregorian chant, but I guess they’re not quite that committed to the theme.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that in the Gazette review tomorrow,” Jess quipped. “I figured you’d think this was too happy.”

She shook her head slightly, pursing her lips. “Maybe the lyrics are happy, but it sounds sad. The music feels...depressed. Fuck, that doesn’t make sense. Maybe I do have heat stroke, after all.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you. And you tell me I don’t drink enough water,” Jess chided, shaking his head.

Ella rolled her eyes. With a smirk, she pointed across the square towards Luke and Lorelai. “Look at those crazy kids.”

Jess looked at the two of them, Lorelai settling against Luke as they danced slowly together. He laughed under his breath. Maybe Luke was taking the book’s advice, too. It still shocked Jess that his uncle had been proactive enough to seek relationship guidance. Maybe Luke would no longer be the most dysfunctional person he knew.

“Took them long enough,” Jess said knowingly.

Humming in agreement, Ella leaned back in her chair, shifting to get more comfortable. She absolutely couldn’t wait to take the dress off. “But, hey, Luke can waltz a hell of a lot better than I ever would’ve been able to.”

“Agreed,” Jess scoffed. “In those boots? You’d break all ten of my toes.”

“Hey, you managed to come away from the Distillers concert unscathed,” she said pointedly, eyebrows raised.

“The exception that proves the rule.”

She snickered but didn’t retort, instead yawning against the back of her hand. Such a costume in the nighttime heat also seemed to be making her drowsy. After a moment, Jess swallowed down his pride. He remembered Lorelai’s words, Luke’s words, and the words in the book telling him he deserved love. Jess put a hesitant arm around her, and before she knew what she was doing, instinct taking over, she brought her head to his shoulder. And it was so familiar. Watching the townspeople of Stars Hollow, saying nothing but feeling everything. And, just for a minute, she quieted the thoughts which swirled around in her mind. She didn’t worry, she didn’t bite her nails, she didn’t clutch her necklace. She only let herself feel the swell of her heart.

. . .

In the early hours of the morning, Ella was glad to have some silence in the house. Hep Alien was out at a gig, performing and celebrating the success of Mrs. Kim’s visit to finally reconcile with Lane. She’d come over to see her daughter’s new life during the wedding, when Ella was out. Though Zach and Brian had combed their hair and put on ironed shirts, Mrs. Kim already knew enough about Ella to never trust her. So, before she left for the wedding, Ella parked her car outside the diner and left no traces of her presence in the living room. As Ella was coming back through the front door, already unlacing her corset, the three band members were getting ready to rock, as Lane put it. With Dave out at college in California, they were still missing a guitar player, but they’d booked something at a random bar near New Haven. They were relying on their minimalist White Stripes covers for the time being. Lane had given Ella an excited squeal and a big hug before leaving, offering her friend a brief rundown of the evening. Mrs. Kim still wasn’t overjoyed, but she had at least done a walkthrough of the house.

Finally able to breathe again, Ella had cracked open nearly every window of the house to let the cool breeze in. Her hair was damp and loose from a shower. She was dressed in an old Pixies t-shirt and some plaid pajama bottoms, more comfortable than she’d been all day. It had been taxing, but more fun than she thought it would be.

And Jess. So different but so easy. A quick goodbye. Apparently, though, he had just gotten a cellphone. He had given her his number, after a fair amount of her teasing. She’d promised to take advantage of Luke’s house phone during her breaks. As hard as it was to watch him disappear into the dark diner, parting ways as she walked back to Lane’s and he went to pack up his stuff, at least she knew it wouldn’t be the last time they spoke. She could’ve sworn, as they sat for nearly an hour with her head on his shoulder, she had been transported back in time. Somehow, she had forgotten just how safe Jess could make her feel. How right. But with it brought confusion.

He lived miles away, he left without a word, didn’t speak to her for over a month. If she hadn’t grabbed the phone from Luke, would he have ever tried to get in touch with her at all? No matter how much she wanted to be with him, she couldn’t forget what had happened, how it felt. Despite what Lorelai and Rory may have thought, calling to check in on her best friend every once in a while was different than forgiving the past.

Snuggled beneath a thin throw blanket, Ella doodled inside a copy of The Waves. She had tried to focus on the words for only a few minutes before giving up entirely. Her thoughts were too loud; she couldn’t quiet them down enough for fiction, even modernist. Instead, she drew a Renaissance scene, a grim reaper sneaking up on a gaggle of beautiful, corseted women.

She furrowed her brows when a knock sounded on the door. It was Lane’s house, and she hadn’t mentioned expecting anyone. Nonetheless, Ella tossed her book and blanket aside, crossing her arms over her braless chest defensively. But, she found only Jess on the doorstep. He had donned his leather jacket and stood with his hands shoved in his pockets. His expression was largely unreadable, but she almost thought she saw a shine in his brown eyes.

“Hey, Mariano,” she greeted him, smiling. “Is something wrong? Is it that rust bucket again? If you need a place to crash while Gypsy’s fixing it, I’m sure Lane would be okay if we shared the couch, or the floor maybe-”

“Can I come in?” he asked suddenly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Ella nodded, face falling at his anxious tone. She stepped aside for him to pass. “Sure. Everyone else is at a gig near Yale. Just Virginia Woolf and I tonight.”

A half-hearted smirk crossed his face as she shut the door and went back to the couch. She gestured for him to sit in the armchair across from her. It was a wonder how the band managed to fit any furniture in the living room at all with the drums and other gear set up on the wall near the front door.

“What’s wrong, Jess? Did something happen?” she asked gently, tilting her head at him.

He swallowed harshly, running a hand over his mouth. “I need to talk to you.”

She nodded. “Okay. Well, here I am.”

Breathing a heavy sigh, he took a long pause, then finally locked eyes with her. “Come with me.”

“What?” she asked, chuckling slightly in disbelief. Was he joking?

“To New York. We could work, live together, be together. God knows they would love your art up there. You could sell it on the street if you needed to, and I know people would buy it. I love you, Elle. I love you so much and I wanna be with you.” He gestured passionately and spoke with such conviction that Ella was almost rendered speechless with shock.

Gathering her thoughts, she began to shake her head slowly. “You don’t love me, Jess.”

“Of course I do!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been in love with you for two years!”

She gave him a doubtful glance.

“Since that day in the gazebo! I’ve thought about it over and over! When you took my hand, and you showed me the hydrangeas through the hole in the roof, and you told me you didn’t care whether I went to college! And you took off your heels to walk home, right before you left for New Britain. And I’ve loved you every second of every day since!”

“Oh really?” she asked, voice growing tense. “You loved me when you left without saying anything? You loved me when I went a month without knowing whether you were alive or dead? You loved me then?”

Jess bowed his head slightly and sighed again. “Yes. I loved you so much then. And I love you now. I’m sorry, Elle. Okay? I know you couldn’t count on me then, but you can now! I’m here! I’m right here!”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ella only kept shaking her head. “Jess, you can’t do this to me. I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. You can do anything. You’ve always been able to do anything! And I know you want this, too! I know you love me!” he continued, tone pleading now.

Tears sprang up and spilled over in Ella’s eyes before she could stop them, and she wiped angrily at her cheeks. “Please stop.”

“Look, I know you’re scared-”

“No, Jess, you don’t know!” she interrupted, voice raised to a yell. “You don’t know! You were gone. Overnight. Just gone. And you didn’t call for a month! I didn’t know where you were! You left! Just like everyone! Just like my fucking mom! And my older brother! And you broke my heart!”

For a moment, the air stood stagnant and charged between them. Crickets and cicadas hummed outside. Stray yells, noises from the wedding party, still sounded in the distance. Jess sniffled and blinked back tears. Ella wiped furiously at her cheeks. Soon, she had her elbows on her knees and was hiding her face in her hands.

“Eleanor, please, I’m so sorry! I was so lost! Luke kicked me out and I didn’t know what to do! And I did leave you. But not forever!”

Ella gave a muffled, bitter chuckle.

“I wanna be with you! For the rest of my life! But not here. Not in this place. Not in Stars Hollow! We can start new!” he said, voice strained with emotion.

Raising her head to face him again, Ella clutched at her necklace. “I can’t leave, Jess. My little brother’s still here, I’m starting summer classes in a week, I-”

“It’s not about him. It’s not about them. It’s about you and me. It’s about what we want! You already left your place! Everything you own is in your backseat! You’re ready! Let’s go!”

“No!”

“I love you, Elle. I know you love me too! You say you don’t believe in it, but I know it’s not true! You love me and we love each other and we’re supposed to be together! Let’s go!”

Still, she shook her head vehemently.

“No, Jess!” she shouted, louder than she expected to. She had stopped trying to hide her crying. Her tone was cracked. “No! You don’t get to come here and try to save me! I don’t need any saving! We said no cop outs! We said we were gonna try! And you left without trying! I’m not falling for it again!”

Jess, too, had tears streaming down his cheeks. “Eleanor, I can fix it. I promise, I-”

“Don’t Eleanor me, Jess! It’s too late! You promised before and you left me! Fuck and run! And I should’ve known!” she exclaimed hotly. She raked her hands through her hair, pausing, but it seemed Jess might have nothing more to say. “I think you should go.”

His jaw tensed, and a crestfallen look appeared on his face. “Eleanor, you know we love each other. Please...please just come with me.”

Breathing a broken sigh, Ella averted her gaze from him, dejected. Her heart twisted painfully. She almost couldn’t take it. She stared at her hands, wringing them together in her lap. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Jess. Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Mouth agape, Jess stared at her in the lamplight. She loved him. He loved her. They both knew it. But her voice, with no affection for him in it. Nothing at all but sorrow. And it clicked in his mind. He would never have her again. He’d done exactly what he’d promised not to do; and he would forever pay the price. She could hold a grudge like it was her job, Luke had said. Patience, Lorelai had said. He hadn’t listened. Maybe he deserved love, as the book said, but not from her. As he walked out without another word, he didn’t slam the door. He shut it gently behind him. And a cold stone of grief sat heavy in Ella’s stomach. She sat on the couch, weeping, until the birds chirped and the sun rose.

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alxndre-0001 · 5 years ago

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Black Mirror Episode Impressions

So I got into watching the series a little before classes begun and here are some thoughts:

Warning: If you don’t like a non-rainbow image of people,then do not proceed.

THE NATIONAL ANTHEM

Fascination over other people’s misery

Aka social voyeurism, our tendency to find satisfaction in other people’s scandal. I feel like the sex with the pig wasn’t the voyeuristic act itself, it is a stand-in for something far more insidious and cruel, our tendency to fascinate over the humiliation of other people.

On how public opinion shapes political and personal events

Note how PM Callow was forced to fuck the pig not because of any apparent security reasons to save the princess but it was ultimately the social pressure, which changed overwhelmingly after the finger was cut, that drove him on. The social pressure which was misinformed since the netizens who clamored for it did not really understand the problem behind closed lines. They merely relied on media which was twisted to cater to sensationalism and people’s natural love for anything scandalous. In effect, PM Callow fucked the pig.

But it wasn’t only that event which was shaped by public opinion, I think the suicide of the artist/ kidnapper was also egged on by public opinion that is if we assume that he did all of that to prove a point, like a social experiment that people will forget about the kidnapping if they are presented with something as horrendous as fucking a pig. His point having been proven, his predictions were confirmed that people are truly fucking terrible. And it depressed him so bad enough to kill himself. But this theory backfires if we assume that he planned everything out and knew what was going to happen down to the very last detail. The other reason for his suicide, for me, and which I think is more far fetched is that upon seeing the pig fucking on the telly, he actually participated in the hypocrisy of the masses which he dared to expose. The artist, if I remember correctly, actually sat and watched Callow as he fucked the pig, if he did know his plan was going to work anyway, why sit and revel in the disgusting horrowshow? Perhaps he found himself fascinated by the scandal as well? I don’t know but the artist’s suicide is the most baffling angle in the episode for me.

Public opinion causes movement both on a social and personal scale.

Our words have an impact to shape reality, if Callow was not pressured to fuck the pig, he wouldn’t have had. But one cut finger later, and the tides of the masses changed.

But there is also an interesting angle about the performance art of the artist. If the whole pig fucking thing was meant to be taken as an art work, then the artist’s statement makes a lot of sense. Often in art, even in literature, art works with controversial value (think Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Egon Schiele’s artworks, Balthus with Therese, Dreaming) often become sensational because of the controversy they generate. The masses no longer see the whole point of the artwork. In Lolita for example, the people pounced on the pedophilia and incest plot of the book when all Nabokov really wanted to portray was something else entirely, that Humbert was a bad man and that he hopes readers should not be easily taken in by the poetic words of a madman and essentially an unreliable narrator. But the merit of Lolita as an artwork was reduced to its shock value, the entertainment which people consume.

Similarly, in this episode, the artist wanted to send the message: Look beyond the entertainment to see something far more important (i.e look beyond Callow’s sex with a pig to see that the Princess was indeed freed). But of course, humanity being the disappointing lot that we are, glued our eyes to the pig fucking. I started to realize what a truly fantastic show BM is from this point on because it did not only criticque the people who watched the pig fucking and literally dropped everything they were doing to do just that. It also criticqued US, the audience that watched the episode itself. I admit that while the pig fucking was going on, I wasn’t even thinking about the princess and whether she was alive. I was only absorbed by the scandalous thing happening right before me. Who am I to criticize the citizens when I am just like them? This is the self-awareness that sets apart this episode from the others, I guess. It was like watching a microcosm of real life, the ultimate Black fucking Mirror – like looking at yourself in a mirror only to find that your image has been darkened by so much filth, our darkest tendencies being handed to us in one show. Great first episode, by the way, Brooker.

The fact that two months after the pig fucking, the whole thing was forgotten, people moved on with their lives which scares me tbh. This only goes to show that we have become desensitized with the sensationalism and violence that goes on in the real world as it is shown almost daily whether in newspapers or television. Reminds me of what Susan Sontag said in her work, “Regarding the Pain of Others” where she cites the influx of violence and brutality in television as having altered the way we empathize about real people and real world events. The word is desensitization. And it is true, when we reduce real events into mere forms of entertainment, we dilute their gravity as events with consequences on real people.

It was believed by the French Enlightenment thinkers that distance ( a child from UK may not empathize with an enslaved child in a Boko Haram situation because of geographical constraints) and time (zeitgest, generational gap) delays our moral response. The distance in this episode and in real life as well is the technology. The screens in our televisions and computers, create a distance which delays and frustrates our ability to protest to morally objectionable acts and to truly connect with each other. Or we may protest, but it is fleeting or hollow – we may protest that there is child slavery in Nigeria but it stops there, we move on. Take the people at the pub for example, the ones holding their mugs of beer anticipating Callow’s humiliation, acting as if what was about to happen was the fucking Superbowl, they look as if Callow was not a person, like Callow was not even one of them. Nobody really thought about the humiliation Callow could be feeling at that very instant. They did, however manage to feel some form of sympathy for him midway but sympathy is not empathy much less compassion. Someone even said feeling sorry for somebody can be a mere recognition of the fact that you’re doing so much better than the other person.

WHITE CHRISTMAS

Does existence need to have a body? Or is it the mind that gives existence to a person?

Are the cookies an extension of the person or are they a different entity from the person himself herself? I find it odd because they can be given punishment although they do not cause any effect to the original as in Joe’s case. If the purpose was to punish then necessarily, the cookie should have been considered a different entity but still an extension of the original, forming part of the original, even if it feels like a simulation of the real us.

Is it just the real person who can be punished? Who knows in the future, a simulation of us can also be punished. Akin to our social media selves, in a sense the persona we have in social media are mirrors, mere shadows of our real selves, just like cookies, they are a fragment of ourselves. Our online personas or cookies can be punished as well despite them just abstracts of us when we are subject to online humiliation, criticism, our online selves can be manipulated as well by companies who profit from it, like Smartintelligence.

In the very last scene, the people gave Joe’s cookie an existence enough to consider its confession as legally binding to convict a person. They did not treat it as mere evidence but something that could speak for itself, one woman even saying in the effect that Joe need not talk as the cookie already talked for him. Also the part where Joe’s cookie was subjected to repeated punishment. If it was considered as punishment, then necessarily, one must consider his cookie as existent in the first place? No one can punish a non existence after all.

Matt’s ending was fitting, like “a taste of his own medicine” kind of thing, pretty ironic in my opinion because in the first scene with the cookie of the woman, he controlled the cookie, forcing it to submit to whatever he wanted. But in the ending scene, he was deprived of his own existence, he was made invisible because he was basically a non-person, as if he does not really exist. It’s also kind of snarky how in the first few scenes, he said that people did not want to feel invisible and yet that was exactly what happened to him. In a sense, he is just like the cookie of the woman, he is deprived an existence of his own through the conditions imposed on his freedom by the prison authorities. Notice that in both cases, their existence are conditional, the woman’s cookie to the whims of Matt, Matt is totally blocked from anyone through the whims of the the prison officials or whatever they are called. Since they have no freedom on their own, we can say they are tools, they do not exist.

Which also reminds me of one idea which goes like this: a self cannot be created without others. Does Matt still exist when others are totally effaced in/from his life? How can he have a self(existence) when he could no longer jnteract with others? I feel like Matt’s punishment is even more cruel that that of Joe’s

Torture can also be of different forms

Will it be ethical if we create versions of ourselves in the future without giving them the same rights as we do have? Are copies of us considered as humans?

The similarity in White Bear where there was some sort of a cycle of punishment. I find it interesting, the repetitive nature of punishments to highlight their meaninglessness and banality.

WHITE BEAR

Public persecution through social media or the internet.

Our particular inclination to fascinate on other people’s misery.

“Are the sound waves making them behave like that?”

“Maybe they’ve always been that way, they just needed the rules to change.”

Well, interesting to note because technology (the white bear radio waves) are mere enablers of our innate tendencies to enjoy other people’s misery, be it in social media or otherwise.

Using the excuse of serving justice as a veil for such tendencies, when in truth we become even more brutal than the people we condemn. Ironic that we condemn rapists, murderers, terrorists, people who dehumanize others but in our condemnation, we have dehumanized such people as well.

Social media to ventilate social outrage which becomes quite easily disproportionate. It becomes a place to condemn people.

Shockingly unfair that Victoria did not know what she was being accused of, yet people do not really point this out. Her lack of knowledge about her alleged crimes or the fact that she was an accused in the first place makes this episode almost Kafkaesque ala The Trial, although later on we do know what she is accused of. Is it ethical in the first place to condemn a woman who has no idea what she is being accused of? Is justice merely carrying out the punishment or does it also concern giving a fair trial to a person?

The performative nature of social media in expressing social outrage, in fact everything in this episode feels like a performance. The participation of the viewers, the whole structure of the show hinges on performance, the value of entertainment even to the detriment and humiliation of very real people. Our humiliation becomes a commodity for people to consume.

On the punishment of Victoria It is cruel because she is made to relive the humiliation several times and yet her memory is erased every single time. If the point of the punishment is to reform Victoria (assuming it really is) then why not let her reform on her own and understand the consequences of her actions? This is where the intent of the punishment is revealed— the punishment means nothing, it is not meant to reform any criminal or prevent any form of future criminality, it is merely a performance after all. It is absolutely meaningless. I wonder if our criminal justice system operates on the same principle – the meaninglessness of punishment which is fundamentally cruel because it completely dehumanizes the accused.

FIFTEEN MILLION MERITS

The myth of meritocracy

Notice how the bikers are basically given the false hope that they could escape their monotonous daily lives if they could only earn enough credits to buy a ticket to enter Hot Shot and have a chance to elevate their status in society. One finally gets the credits, buys a ticket to HotShot, however this is where the myth falls apart. Notice how Abi, basically within the first few minutes that she got in the rehearsal room was already asked to go on stage, on the ground, as we later learn that she was attractive. She did not even get to sing in the rehearsal room the judges barely considered her singing voice despite her having the best voice thus far in the competition or something like that according to one judge. One of the girls in the rehearsal room was practically complaining that dhe had been singing for a week yet Abi gets scouted first, the girl who just stepped inside the room like five minutes ago. Notice also that Bing was scouted on the basis that he looked “ethnic”. Both Abi and Bing’s talents, merits or what have yous flew off the window the moment their physical qualities became the basis for letting them go on stage. What happened to good old talent and skill?

On the “ethnic” comment, I find it quite racist, as it feels like it referenced how white people exoticize Black people.

Meritocracy is a lie because in this episode, one’s hardwork and talents did not become the reason for how Abi and Bing escaped the bike room. Abi got out because she was hot and perfect for porn, her singing was discarded. Bing on the other hand, got out because he sold out. It wasnt his talent that made him leave the biking room, it was the shock value of his dissent which appealed to the judges and the masses and not his prepared dance.

Bing is a tragic anti hero because unlike Abi who had compliance juice which coerced her to porn, Bing had none and consented fully to his own exploitation. He was adamant about the hypocrisy of consumerism, the endemic classism in that world, capitalism and so on. However, the moment he benefited from the system that actively exploits others including himself, he sold out. He took the benefit and forgot the cause. This is not very different from people who are fully aware how a system creates inequality to others, but because of the advantage they acquire from such system, they refuse to question the status quo. In Bing’s case, he pretends to criticque the system with his shard of glass, but it is a hollow dissent, it’s all just fashion, there is no conviction or real belief to it, at least no longer.

On the nature of exploitation

The reason Bing went to the show was his rage against the exploitation that the system were committing against basically everyone. But he eventually played by the system which he used to critique. Which brings the question, is Bing still exploited? He who has actively consented to the exploitation of the system just so he could live a better life? Will his consent erase the exploitative nature of the deal he got?

An example: are employees who are basically treated like slaves, no wages, no rights no nothing, any different from a class of employees who are given high bonuses, plenty of benefits but are not allowed to unionize or bargain with their employers although they willingly disregard such abuses because of the benefits they receive? I think they’re both exploited just on different levels. Just because one receives benefits from an exploitative system, does not mean they are no longer exploited, exploitation does not need to be total for it to be exploitation. Just because something is wrapped in something pretty, does not mean it is good.

Similarly, Bing’s participation in that very same system, makes him exploited despite his better life and richer status. He only got out of s smaller box to go to a bigger box, and yet the reality of the exploitation still remains, the system still fucks him over, he hasnt really gotten out. In fact, this time it’s worse, the system has profited from his outrage, the only thing which sustained him and which remained real and authentic to him. He laments during his performance that the system makes everything real into the artificial shit it sells to the masses. But that’s exactly what he became in the end, he was a COMMODITY, his individuality as a person was reduced to nothing but consumption for the audience. And this is why he is an anti hero. Imo

Which makes the ending even sadder. Bing looks out on a seemingly real landscape view, drinks a fresh juice from a jug very different from the vending machine crap he used to get before, and despite the debate on whether the view was real or simulated, one wonders still that Bing got his new, “authentic” lifestyle from reducing his individuality as a commodity, from bare exploitation of the system which he now participates, so are they real, afterall? One musician said, is something beautiful if it came from ugliness? Is something authentic if it came from exploitation?

Commentary on how capitalism exploits what is authentic and real to something that can be consumed or basically, a product. Capitalism operates on taking advantage of other people as well as anything real and genuine in this world, making a product out of all of them. In this way, capitalism objectifies people ( as in the way Abi was reduced to her beauty and entertainment value for porn), it is a system that slowly dehumanizes the worth of a person. And yet, the masses love it,we love objectifying people for our benefit, to entertain us etcetera etcetera. I feel like the reference in the episode to reality talent shows was not very accurate but still a good one. I would have liked it if the producers used a more relevant kind of reality show which operates on other people’s drama (Keeping up with the Kardashians, Jersey Shore and basically other shows that thrive on scandal) because it much likely depicts our tendency to make entertainment of other people’s lives. Where does one draw the line? Reality tv has been such a part of us and though I don’t particularly enjoy them because of the sheer and blatant script behind their “real” interactions, but I also don’t know. Television and the internet has become such a ubiquitous media form that people can hardly be blamed for failing to assess the kind of entertainment they consume. But just a quick snarky comment, the Kardashians are just like Bing, they play by the system,of course they have amassed an empire out of it, but still doesnt change the reality that they are a product of the system, the system that thrives on this exploitation.

Again, what an interesting episode. I love episodes that analyze our relationship with media and the entertainment we consume because as much as we’d like to believe television and media are just for fun, they aren’t. In fact, I think media has the most insidious kind of influence on anyone, and also most subtle because some references and statements can be jacketed into harmless, good fun. Again this echoes, at least for me, the message in The National Anthem , that through media and television we create a distance between one another, delaying our moral response to things which may be otherwise exploitative.

SHUT UP AND DANCE

The hypocrisy of vigilante justice. The people in Shut Up and Dance had their own brand of justice which involves taking the law into their own hands. But in doing so they resort to highly questionable methods such as coercing the criminals into various other crimes. I feel like this kind of meting out a penalty in the name of “justice” is fatal for several reasons. One, this encourages a sort of moral superiority exercised without individual responsibility. Note that the hackers were the ones who can determine who were the criminals to be punished and for what punishment they should be given in relation to the seriousness of their crimes, what then was the basis for their standard of someone committing a wrong? When justice is determined by a select few, it becomes no justice at all and opens the gates for abuses. The hackers could easily base the misdeeds of their victims on purely arbitrary grounds and subject anyone, even on the flimsiest misconducts into excessive punishments.

Conscience as the best judge The hackers code of justice seems not to be based on the law, the hackers did not after all say Kenny and the rest committed violations of the law, instead they operate by relying on the pressure created by personal conscience. Note that the hackers mainly blackmailed the victims to a release of the incriminating videos or whatever, however the victims were driven with fear knowing that what they did had moral consequences whether to their reputation or families.

The hackers were clever not because they laid out almost unexpected traps but because they force the victims to face their own conscience, to take individual responsibility for their actions, that which they believed they were protected from because all their crimes or misdeeds were done in anonymity, in secrecy. The conscience being a powerful motivator, the hackers were very subtle in their coercion, as they did not even have to directly present the horrific effects in the even the videos or objects get leaked to the public.

Excessive punishments

This episode together with White Bear, White Christmas and Hated in a Nation all deal with how punishments are given and considered. Note how the structure of the narrative are different for White Bear, White Christmas, Shut Up and Dance. In these episodes, the audience is hidden from the fact that the main protagonists are criminals convicted for some crimes ( Victoria with child murder, Kenny for child porn, Joe with murder???). In fact, the stories are told in a way as if to humanize the criminals as they were later on subjected to horrific punishment after the audience is made privy that they indeed committed some horrible thing. Unlike in Hated in a Nation, the narrative was pretty upfront that the targeted individuals were somehow already publicly condemned albeit for very slight misconducts and or misinterpreted, blown out of proportion statements.

I suspect there is one very good reason for doing so. In all these episodes, a very crucial theme presented was the question of whether excessive punishment even for the worst criminals (Victoria, Kenny) was ethical. Note that social punishment being one of the main premise, the writers of Black Mirror must have realized that for us to look at punishment as immoral and inhuman, we need to look at it objectively without the crimes committed by Kenny and Victoria being factored in. Black Mirror seems to be saying this kind of excessive punishment is immoral and inhuman and cruel in all instances whether done upon a guilty or innocent person. Suppose in the very beginning of White Bear, we already learned that Victoria helped and watched on as a child was being murdered by her boyfriend, would that have changed the way we looked at how she was basically maltreated the entire time? Knowing our tendency to believe that the very worst criminals deserve the worse treatment, I bet many people would say Victoria being tortured in such manner was justified. In fact, there was a survey online about whether she deserved her lot and unsurprisingly, majority believed she truly had it coming (compare it if Victoria was perfectly innocent). For them, it was justified because she’s an absolute scum from the lowest depths of misery and so she must be horribly treated. But because the narrative was structured in a way that we see Victoria and Kenny as humans first before criminals, we were forced to reconsider the torture and social humiliation done upon their person. We think, “Wait up, was it really right, what they did to these two?”. If we knew them as criminals first, we would have responded differently, that Victoria and Kenny deserve even more beating and cruelty. But such thinking is deeply flawed. THIS KIND OF PUNISHMENT IS WRONG IN ALL INSTANCES WHETHER DONE UPON A GUILTY OR INNOCENT PERSON. Black Mirror is saying to judge the wrongness of an act, we must look at the act itself and not the person who committed the act. The wrongness of an act does not change just because it is being done upon a terrible person. To think otherwise, to believe that the wrongness of an act is relative to the person who did it means to have a partial idea of justice, that justice is kinder only to those who are infallible, those who have never done any mistake, those who possess no flaws. Criminals after all, have rights and in no way I am saying they should be exempt from the law. By all means, jail those menaces but give them their due.

See how narrative structure can be so powerful? In the beginning, we are fooled that Kenny and Victoria are perfectly fine individuals who were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Tabula rasas, no stains. Of course, the audience would have a deep sense of injustice, I dont know about anyone, but I did with Kenny, because I wrongfully believed he was a minor ( lol the actor looked so young) and looked utterly horrified for something so innocent such as jacking off in-front of a camera, like big fucking deal, right? It isn’t a crime, surely. And yet when the plot twist was subtly but beautifully delivered at the end, I was forced to face the moral ambiguity of the whole situation. Was it wrong to coerce Kenny to commit more crimes and kill another person? Was it wrong for the hackers to release the video and not have kept the end of the deal? Or was it perfectly justified because Kenny was a fucking pedophile and just imagine the children in those photos who are fucking jacked off by some person? And this is the true gift of Black Mirror, to place us at morally ambiguous points about our use of technology to justify our transgressions against other people. Moral ambiguity is the best way to present satire and commentary without the show becoming preachy about some moral code, Black Mirror allows for the audience to think for what they may but first consider the consequences.

I see this all the time especially with criminals of heinous crimes, social media outrage pours on, often wishing ill to such people. And though I understand and empathize with the outrage, and though social media outrage has no substantial effect to the meting out of the final punishment, we cannot deny that we are guilty to the thinking that cruel acts are justified when done to cruel persons. We have the tendency to view justice as some sort of a thing which can be deserved only by good people and not those who have failed morally or otherwise, in some way. That’s why we have right to due process, why we still give fair trial to an accused even if his case is so damning, precisely because we recognize that justice is for everyone.

Having said that, I think Kenny needs to go to jail and FAST however he did not deserve all the psychological torture and manipulation. Aside from those other acts he did unwillingly, his punishment should only concern that for the child porn however he was driven to commit robbery and even had to undergo having to kill someone. The punishment was severely disproportionate from the crime he was supposedly being judged for. We live in a society with such a flawed sense of justice.

Black Mirror as a whole

And yet the most persistent message so far by Black Mirror, is that try as we may to criticize the people in their universe, we are very much part of that world. The ridiculous people of the UK, the audience in Hot Shot, hell, by watching the show itself – which is in an entertainment form, we can become complicit to the exploitation in media. In fact, I noticed how many BM episodes, show the very performative side of the internet and essentially of humanity– everything is a performance, there is an actor, and there is the audience who benefits from the show.

Shut up and Dance for example reminds me of a puppeteer show, Kenny and Hector and several others, dance to the music of the hackers, their actions are controlled as if with strings in a puppet show. Also the title itself shut up and dance, maybe it’s a song, but we know someone else is shutting them up, making them mere puppets of the show. Also, the ending music which was truly haunting and disturbing, was one of-my favorite songs during high school. It is called Exit Music by Radiohead which was supposedly to be used in a Romeo and Juliette movie, the one with Leo DiCaprio and Claire Danes, a story based on a play.

In Nosedive, Lacie was unhealthily obsessed with putting up a show for everyone to give her the social approval and validation she needed to hike up her ratings. The technology in their world also exploits this need to feel seen, to feel important, to feel that one matters despite it being provisional, the rating system system presents a very classist way of categorizing people based on the social ratings given by just about anybody.

In White Bear, Victoria was subjected to a series of humiliations and brutal attacks only to realize that what she went through was a simulation of the kidnapping and murder to a child she committed with her boyfriend. She was revealed into an audience, who enjoyed each and every instance of her suffering and I believe they even paid for the show? Though she is a criminal, was it really justified, the performance derived from someone’s misery?

Some people said it was an amusement park, like a carnival. In fact, now that I think about it, Victoria does feel like a caged animal, the whole town is her whole cage. The people who take pictures of her down the road resemble onlookers in a carnival show where because of an attraction’s grotesque nature, they are fascinated to take pictures of it. She is subjected to multiple tricks, just like a lion in a carnival, where she expected to bring out a most pleasing experience for the crowd. The fact that she is a tamed animal made for performance is brought down by the fact that each day she has to forget the previous events, otherwise her horror, her suffering and her utter ignorance for the cause of it all which is the selling point of the show would be lost and the show would become uninteresting to the public.

White Bear is so interesting to me as a manifestation of the performative capacities of technology and of men because we already see it happening right now. In Twitter for example, a man who by sheer amount of fake news or misinformation can quite easily become the hunted in a public persecution. Granted Victoria is a whole different situation because she is actually a criminal, however, sometimes we mask our love for entertainment regardless of who suffers in a sense of social outrage, justice, horror to moral violations but the truth of it all is our hypocrisy. We don’t really want justice to be served, we just want a stage to present that we are morally superior than other people. And I deeply lament that. There is a thin line between expressing opinions on social injustices or crimes and enjoyment over other people’s misery. Regardless of whether the person is criminal or an innocent person, this kind of social performance and dark pleasure is unjustified.

This is really no different from public executions all through out history. I always wondered about the appeal of such events which bring hordes of onlookers as if putting a person in the guillotine was so entertaining. Some people say it was to deter crimes by showing a horrific picture of what can happen as a punishment. If it’s really about that that brought the audience, they why go to witness an execution, the knowledge itself that the guillotine is where criminals end is enough to scare some people. But I think it is more than that, maybe it’s also about social voyeurism, a dark fascinating picture of another person’s suffering, the “thank god it’s not me” mentality. The audience from the public executions in France is really no different from the people in Hated in A Nation or White Bear. We just look because something suffering can be entertaining especially if done on people we particularly dislike, we do nothing until we become the hunted and see how exactly that feels like. There’s a word psychology gives to it: SCHADENFREUDE, or the feeling of pleasure one gets from the misery of others.

and so on...

HATED IN THE NATION

The excess of call out culture — the plot revolved around personas who mysteriously die one by one until it was discovered that they were actually attacked online days prior for some unpopular remarks. The cause of death? Bees or ADIs supposedly made to function like real bees who can cross pollinate flowers. The episode, for me, examined the effects and ignorance of call out culture which can escalate from genuine offense at someone’s statement or action to a witch hunt of some sorts, sometimes even leading to death threats. The journalist, the rapper and the random lady all did something very minor and not even illegal to warrant them becoming the victims of the DeathTo hashtag. It’s also quite obvious why the producers used bees to represent as the attackers, hives of bees = hive mentality.

Individual responsibility — the hacker, upon his manifesto being found out, laments that the people who participated in the DeathTo hashtag were irresponsible, that they refused to consider the consequences of their actions or to take individual responsibility for their participation. I also wonder why the internet seems to dilute our understanding of individual responsibility.

Which reminds me, of one activity we did in Philo class in college, our professor asked what if we all had a cloak of invisibility like Harry Potter, what would be the first thing we’d do? A lot of us, unsurprisingly answered robbing a bank or retaliating on someone who had wronged us in the past. Either way, all the answers were more or less conventionally wrong. She asked us to participate in that activity either before or after she showed us the White Bear episode. It was only after a few years that I realized the crucial question she wanted us to explore: Why does anonymity (both in social media and in terms of hiding behind the cloak) increase our propensity to do wrong? The obvious answer is people are often only encouraged to do good because others are looking. That is not to say it is wrong but for me there is also another reason and which I wondered many times — anonymity shields us from personal responsibility. The internet, anonymity gives us a reprieve from the reality that our freedom goes in two ways, our actions have consequences

#black mirror

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artemis-entreri · 5 years ago

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[[ Following up on the title and summary announce, Gizmodo has released the cover for the next Drizzt book, “Relentless”, the conclusion to the Generations Trilogy. Furthermore, the preview teased features not Drizzt, Zaknafein, nor any other drow. Instead, a certain human assassin apparently takes the spotlight, despite the character illustrated on the cover of the book. ]]

[[ Who is this mysterious elf? Presumably, it’s a drow, although the coloring scheme makes that uncertain. I’m guessing it’s Zaknafein, as Drizzt and Jarlaxle have both been featured already, but it’s honestly hard to tell. Zaknafein is described as having short hair earlier in the Generations Trilogy and this character appears to have long hair, but that could just be due to the vague shape definitions in the artwork. It appears that this mysterious figure also has facial hair in the form of a goatee. His armor doesn’t look like anything we’ve seen before, so I’m hoping it is indeed Zaknafein and not something silly like Artemis Entreri turned into a drow.

Without further ado, the excerpt from “Relentless”: ]]

Artemis Entreri stood at the edge of the chasm that held the primordial of fire, his jeweled dagger laying loosely atop his open and up-facing palm. He stared at the weapon, hatred in his eyes, but only because that dagger was a reflection on him. He understood that now. He realized now, after his stint in the cocoon of conscience, that his worst crimes were those when he had put this evil weapon to use.

Entreri had killed many foes, both in battle and in secret. He had lived as a hired assassin. Always had he justified his work by telling himself that he had never killed anyone who hadn’t deserved it – the world was a brutal place, after all. He still believed that to some extent, except for this particular weapon. He hadn’t just killed people with this weapon, he had obliterated their souls and stolen whatever afterlife might have awaited them.

How many of his victims had deserved that?

He couldn’t justify it, not ever.

He stood there staring, contemplating, and the biggest question twisting his thoughts in that dark moment was whether he should simply toss the weapon to its destruction or jump in beside it.

A fall, a flash of intense pain, and it would be over.

The man winced. Nay, it was not a fear of death that kept him on that ledge, but the fear now of what awaited him when he crossed that final river.

Perhaps that was the true torture of Sharon, he considered. She had shown him what awaited him, making him fear death more than he hated life.

“Damn it all,” the broken man whispered, his words disappearing under the continual hiss of the dripping water falling to the heat below. “Damn that I was ever born.”

“Once I might have agreed with you,” came an unexpected response, and the assassin spun about to see Catti-brie and Yvonnel walking up behind him.

“There was an Artemis Entreri I thought worthless,” Catti-brie continued. “That is not the man standing before me now.”

“We have already had this discussion,” Yvonnel reminded the man. “You have been given a great gift.”

“A gift,” Entreri echoed with a snort.

“A message, then, and, clearly, a powerful one,” the drow restated, staring at his open hand and the dagger. “You wish to destroy that weapon?”

“Perhaps I’ll drop it in and it will eat the primordial,” Entreri mused.

“Not hardly,” said Yvonnel.

“If you wish, I’ll bring it down for you,” Catti-brie offered. She paused and smiled. “Didn’t you try to do the same with the sword you still carry?” It was a rhetorical question, of course, for Entreri had indeed thrown Charon’s Claw into the chasm, only to have it retrieved by this very same Catti-brie.

Entreri laughed at the reminder. “It would seem that I have been long cursed with evil weapons.”

“Weapons are merely tools,” Yvonnel said. “The intent is in the heart of the wielder, not the blade.”

“One could argue that the dirk Regis carries is equally vile,” Catti-brie reminded. “Or the sword I once carried.”

“The sword that nearly drove you insane, if I recall,” Entreri said dryly.

“Because I was not nearly experienced enough and skilled enough to control the base instincts it teased,” Catti-brie said. “Such is not the case now, as with you and your sword.”

“Is death at the hands of simple iron any less death than that with your dagger?” Yvonnel asked.

“Yes, that is the point,” said Entreri.

Yvonnel looked at him doubtfully.

“The dagger eats the souls of its victims, so they say,” Catti-brie explained.

“And gives to me their physical health,” Entreri added.

“Yes, yes,” Yvonnel said. “This is why Zhindia Melarn was so outraged at the loss of her daughter to your dagger. I remember now. The girl could not be resurrected because of the manner of her death.”

“Because the magic of this dagger obliterated her soul,” Entreri said, and he thought then of simply letting it fall into the pit.

“That cannot be,” Yvonnel replied, giving him pause. He looked at her curiously.

“One cannot ‘obliterate’ a soul,” Yvonnel explained. “Such energy is eternal, beyond the gods, even, and surely beyond the power of a simple dagger.”

“You just said that Zhindia was outraged because…”

“Because her daughter could not be brought back from the afterlife,” said Yvonnel.

“Because she had no afterlife,” Entreri reasoned.

Catti-brie looked to Yvonnel, who was shaking her head.

“If the souls are not destroyed, then is it possible that they have instead, been absorbed and trapped in the dagger?” Catti-brie said. “Is it a phylactery of sorts?”

“That is possible,” said Yvonnel, who looked from Catti-brie to Entreri. “Or perhaps they reside in another person now.”

“In me?”

“You just said that the dagger grants you your victim’s physical health. Perhaps there is more to it.”

Entreri blanched at the thought, and then thought once more that he should accompany the dagger to the fiery maw of the primordial!

“If that is true, either case, then they can be exorcised,” Catti-brie put in. “Set free.”

“Then I should throw the damned thing into the pit,” said Entreri, but Catti-brie was shaking her head.

“I know a better way.” She smiled and nodded, clearly considering a course.

“Do you intend to share?” Entreri asked after a few moments.

“Patience,” Catti-brie said. “Make no final decisions until I have considered our course, I beg. For now, though, I have something else I must see to.” She stepped up past Entreri, pulling him back from the ledge and replacing him on the lip of the chasm.

“I still do not agree,” Yvonnel said. “There must be a safer choice.”

“Maybe, but what time do we have?” Catti-brie replied.

“Then give to me your ring and let me do this.”

Catti-brie shook her head. “You said you would help me. I welcome your enchantments.”

“Do what?” Entreri asked, but they didn’t seem to be listening.

“You risk your child,” Yvonnel said.

“How much do we risk if I do not do this?”

“You don’t even know if the primordial will hear you. nor can you predict its response if it does! It is a creature of long-past millennia. Its way in the world is not ours, is not known to us, more foreign even than the beings we name as gods. Please, child, my experience is vast in such matters. Lend me your ring that I might go and speak with the creature.”

Catti-brie seemed to be considering it, even put the thumb and finger of her other hand upon the ring, as if to pull it off.

“It knows me,” she said at length, speaking as much to herself as to her companions, bolstering herself, obviously, for this task ahead.

“It cares nothing for you or any of us,” Yvonnel countered. “We cannot even know what brings it pleasure, what dreams or desires…”

“It knows me, and I know it,” Catti-brie said with finality, holding up her hand to ward the woman, who was leaning toward her, back. “I’ve been down there before in communion with the creature.”

Yvonnel considered the words, then finally surrendered with a nod. She held up a finger, bidding Catti-brie to pause, then cast a powerful dweomer over Catti-brie, one that the pregnant woman had to accept and allow to take hold upon her. Then Yvonnel began casting more mundane enchantments, throwing wards against heat and flame over Catti-brie, creating magical enhancements upon the woman to bolster her in the face of such a beast as awaited her in the pit.

“Promise me that when this is done, that when we have won the day, you will grant me that ring that I, too, might experience a communion with this most magnificent creature.”

“It’s a damned volcano!” Entreri reminded, but the two women just replied with smiles.

On a sudden thought, Catti-brie took out the onyx figurine of Guenhwyvar and held it out toward Yvonnel. She pulled it back, though, and couldn’t help but shake her head at her instinct. She intended to protect the panther by handing the figurine off, while still going down into the chasm with her child in her womb?

Catti-brie laughed aloud at the seeming absurdity and shook her head, and for a moment, the woman was unsure of…everything!

What was this madness? Why wasn’t she just forcing her friends to teleport to safety, or at least, taking her unborn child to safety, instead of trying to parlay with a god-like being that was more a volcano than anything sentient to which she could relate?

After another moment, though, she sorted it all out. She was doing this because it was what she and her friends, particularly her husband, has always done. She wouldn’t shy in the face of danger, even in the face of danger to her child. No, because the cost was too high. They had to win here, for all the goodly folk of the region, including the child in her womb.

They had to win.

They all needed her to be a part of that.

Catti-brie started to extend her arm once more, but then changed her mind and instead called Guenhwyvar to her side. The grey mist formed into the great panther, and Catti-brie bent low and whispered instructions into the panther’s ear.

Guen leaped away, darting out of the room.

Catti-brie tossed the figurine to Artemis Entreri, not Yvonnel. “If I don’t return, give it to Zaknafein,” she instructed.

The stunned man looked at her.

“Yes,” she said. “I trust you in this. “Do not betray that trust, and do not insult us all in this moment of need by worrying about yourself above others.”

That brought a scowl from Entreri, but one that only lasted a moment, replaced by a helpless laugh and a nod.

“Drizzt believed in you,” Catti-brie told him.

Catti-brie cast her own warding spell, then, and stepped off the cliff.

[[ Ho boy, there’s a lot potentially going on here, and, in my opinion, things don’t look great.

Rather than easing up on the forced redemption arc that Artemis Entreri is pushed down, Salvatore seems to have elected to charge full speed ahead. As suspected, the "cocoon of conscience" is yet another lazy plot device to introduce "character development" in such a way that makes Idalia's Flute look like a masterpiece idea. For one like Entreri, being entrapped in a device that shows him the horrors of what awaits him in the afterlife wouldn't and shouldn't automatically translate into the development of a conscience about what he's wrought onto others, and the same would apply to any value judgments that would be made in conjunction with that development.

It's heartbreaking to me, because Entreri doesn't even sound like himself anymore. Instead, he's like a wanna-be talking the talk but hardly walking the walk, a Drizzt-clone who has killed the character I fell in love with, put on his skin, and performs a sad mimicry of the assassin. Entreri's being shoved into this mold where he's yet another accessory to the Companions of the Hall.

The one decent thing that this passage does do is suggest that the source of Entreri's longevity is the jeweled dagger rather than Charon's Claw. The tie-in to Claw always felt rather made up on the spot, added in as a cheap source of quick tension-building.

As far as position in the book is concerned, I would guess that this passage takes place in the first third, with enough drama occurring such that everyone would learn of Drizzt's disappearing act, and think him dead (hence Catti-brie's usage of the past tense of "trust" when talking to Entreri). It's very unlikely that Drizzt is indeed dead, but I suppose the chance exists that he is. More and more people are favoring Artemis Entreri over Drizzt, so it might be Salvatore shifting focus to a new protagonist, as he did with Drizzt over Wulfgar in the beginning. Salvatore did hint to a fan that he was far from done with Entreri, however, in my opinion, this is far from a good thing. Boundless was bad enough that some of Salvatore’s most loyal fans questioned if he had indeed written the book, thinking that there’s no way that their beloved author could pen something so horrendous. I feel that this really goes to show how low the quality of Drizzt and his fellows have sank, and perhaps this is the impetus for Salvatore needing to shift gears. As such, I find myself ironically wishing that Drizzt is indeed alive and well and continues to be the focus of these books so that Entreri is spared Salvatore's decaying touch, for that seems to be all he is capable of these days.

Yet, I will still continue to foolishly hold out hope that it’ll change. ]]

#Artemis Entreri #Drizzt Do'Urden #Forgotten Realms #legend of drizzt #d&d #Catti-brie #Zaknafein Do'Urden #Yvonnel Baenre #Charon's Claw #jeweled dagger #Relentless #Generations Trilogy #Maegera #Gauntylgrym #guenhwyvar #R A Salvatore

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jarienn972 · 5 years ago

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A Simple Spell - Chapter Seven

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

I’m getting this update out a couple days later than planned due to a very busy week but I didn't want to wait until Monday to post it. I know I ended the last chapter on a pretty big cliffhanger (and just might do it again...) so I didn't want to delay the resolution for too much longer. Thank you, @lassluna for your beta assistance with a few corrections. They were much appreciated! Thanks again to @cocohook38 for the beautiful artwork above and to everyone involved with the @cssns event! I was hoping to have this finished before the summer officially ended, but real life delayed things a bit so it looks like we’ll run into Halloween season.

Anyway, when we left off, Emma had just learned that her mother, Ava, was Cora's sister making her a cousin to Regina and Zelena. It's not a surprise she's going to take lightly...

Read from the beginning on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six

AO3 FF.net

Anger.

Betrayal.

Confusion.

Emma's emotions were reeling and amplifying with every second that passed. Ruby wanted to say something but she didn't even know where to begin so she chose to remain quiet, close by should Emma reach out, but also just out of reach should her friend decide instead that she needed to punch something.

They had to have known. Regina and Zelena had both been old enough to have known that Ava was related to them.and David had to have known that his step-mother had also been their aunt. Why would they have kept something this important from her?

Emma had so many questions swirling inside her head for her newfound cousins and even more for her brother, questions she wasn’t even sure how to ask. All she knew right knew right now was that she was seething and then she heard the voices echoing from the stairway.

“Everything is set up,” she heard Zelena announce, but Emma no longer harbored any interest in the planned rituals for the full moon or even for anything related to magic in general. She was hurting and the secrets that had been withheld from her were the cause.

The moment Regina’s visage rounded the last corner and came into view, Emma lashed out, holding up the photograph that had tumbled out of Gold’s book. “When were you going to tell me?” she growled, practically shoving the picture into Regina’s face.

“Tell you what? Zelena just said that everything was ready. Let’s get upstairs…,” Regina responded, barely glancing at the old photograph.

“Seriously? I’m not talking about your damned rituals!” Emma glared as she waved the photo into Regina’s line of sight again. “This! When were you going to fill me in on this little secret, cousin?”

“Cousin…,” Zelena repeated knowingly, although she was more than happy to fade into the background and allow her younger sister to take the brunt of Emma’s ire.

“Emma…,” Regina began, hands raised before her defensively as she sought to defuse the situation that they had indeed created. “Emma, we always intended to tell you when you were ready…”

“When I was ready?” Emma scoffed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Why would I need to be ready to find out that we were related? Why did it need to be such a secret for me to find out who I’m related to around here?!”

“Okay...that’s my cue to leave,” Ruby said shyly as she threw her crimson cape on over her shoulders as voices raised which was probably going to lead to tempers flaring. She flipped the hood atop her brunette hair and eased her way back a few steps past Zelena. “I’m outta here…” she whispered, grimacing at the thought of what was to come. “Em, call me later if you need to chat…”

Regina ignored Ruby’s exit as she attempted to plead her case. “You needed to be more confident in your magic first,” she explained. “You needed to trust us as your teachers so that when the time came, you’d understand…”

“Understand what? I don’t understand anything right now except that all of you lied to me!” Emma shouted back angrily. “This doesn’t have anything to do with magic! You knew that my mother was your aunt and that I was your cousin the moment we met. Why would you keep that from me?”

“You may not believe us, but we did it for your own good,” Zelena interjected. “It wasn’t supposed to be a secret, but you had to be ready for the truth…”

“My own good? You sincerely expect me to believe that? Hell, why should I believe anything that either of you tell me now? Did you only sign on to tutor me in magic because I was your cousin?”

“It’s not like that, Emma…,” Regina sighed exasperatedly. “You being our cousin was only a tiny part of the reason we agreed to tutor you in the magical arts. Storybrooke’s future depends on it…”

“What?” Emma asked in confusion. How was anything in Storybrooke dependent on her? “You’re making absolutely no sense…”

“We can explain…,” Zelena offered, but she knew Emma was aching far too much and wasn’t in the most receptive mood at that moment. There was too much history to explain. So much that Emma would need to be educated about before she’d understand and this night wasn’t going to be near enough.

“Oh, I’d love for you to explain it all to me, but not right now,” Emma spat “Right now, I can’t even look at the two of you without wanting to punch you in your faces, and I still have to decide how to go confront my brother about his role in all of this!” She snatched Gold’s potion book from the stool she’d rested it on and tucked everything that had fallen from it back inside the leather bound cover.

“Don’t be too hard on David,” Regina stated dejectedly, lowering her chin to avoid eye contact. “None of this was his decision…”

“Doesn’t make him any less complicit,” Emma reminded her cousin as she tucked the book beneath her arm before stabbing an index finger into Regina’s face with a stern warning. “We’re not done with this conversation. All of you owe me some answers and when I calm down enough, I’ll be back for those answers. Right now, I’m getting out of here before I do something I might regret!”

She stomped up the steps into the mausoleum and stepped out into the moonlit graveyard with Regina on her heels. Regina could plead for her to listen all she wanted but Emma had already tuned her out. All she wanted right now was someone she could vent to - someone who wasn’t family and who wouldn’t jump to judgement.

Only one person’s name came to mind and she could only hope that he’d answer his phone at this late hour.

**********

Emma didn’t even bother heading back to her car in her haste to escape the cemetery and the growing frustration gnawing away in the pit of her stomach. She’d ended up taking a very brisk walk toward the harbor, wishing that the evening air would help clear her head and calm the maelstrom building within. Nothing she’d done yet had been successful to quell her fiery temper so she was pinning her hopes on someone else.

Killian Jones had answered her brief late night call seeking a drinking buddy and, sensing her unspoken yet audible distress, had agreed to meet her at the dock. Something was definitely not right with his new friend, the deputy, but he was chivalrous enough to lend a damsel an ear and allow her to vent all she needed.

“Is everything alright, Swan?” he asked stupidly, mentally kicking himself for such a ridiculous query when she was obviously visibly upset. “You sounded quite vexed when you phoned so I’m concerned…”

“Vexed would be a severe understatement right now,” she grumbled as she neared. As she drew closer to his position, even in the pale glow of the moonlight, he could see that her eyes were reddened and her cheeks dampened with trails of fallen tears.

“Why don’t we take a stroll away from here and find somewhere private where you can relay to me everything that’s weighing down your heart, Love?” he offered. “I believe you are in need of a patient, singular audience right now, not a noisy, crowded tavern…”

“As long as there’s alcohol involved, I don’t care where we go… I’m good with heading down to the Rabbit Hole, but if you have a better suggestion… I just want to drink until I can’t feel the betrayal anymore…”

He slid his hand inside his hip length black leather coat and withdrew a little piece of history - a weathered, dark brown glass flask topped with a cork plug. “There’s a small park that’s perhaps a five minute trip from here, right down by the beach. The sea has always been a calming influence on me. Perhaps tonight, it will be for you as well? I’ve plenty of rum here for whatever level of numbness you desire.”

“Rum, huh?” she chuffed. “Should have known you pirate types would have rum around…”

“Shall we then?” he offered, tucking the flask safely away until they reached their destination while simultaneously gesturing to the boardwalk that led away from the docks and down to the waterfront. “You can freely relinquish whatever is on your mind tonight, Emma. You’ll find me to be an excellent listener.”

As they sat side by side on a concrete park bench, Killian proved true to his word, allowing her to air her gripes without commentary, breaking her monologue with only a few questions here and there for clarification. Simply having him here by her side had already done wonders to lighten Emma’s mood, and although she was still bitter, Killian Jones had managed to temper the sting of betrayal with his mere presence. Most of the men she had encountered in her life had been dismissive - her former bosses, former lovers and even her brother at times, but Killian had shown a keen interest in all she had to say, no matter how trivial her ramblings might seem. Neal’s interest had been purely physical, as had most of her one night stands that came after that failed relationship so it was unexpected to have a man who actually wanted to hear her thoughts and legitimately cared about how she felt.

He’d patiently allowed her to unload everything on him as she relayed the tale of how she had grown up wanting to know all about her absent family and how she’d always felt she had a much larger lineage, despite her mother’s denial. She told him how she’d come to find David through her research and made the decision to move from Boston to Storybrooke, hoping she’d learn more once she could immerse herself into her birthplace. Then, she admitted for the first time tonight that she never imagined that the rest of her family would conceal the truth from her. Regina and Zelena could have told her that she was their cousin, but the simple fact that they hadn’t left her to only wonder what else they might be keeping from her.

“Do you think I’m overreacting?” she finally asked him directly after bombarding him for nearly thirty minutes with her woes, fingers tapping nervously atop Gold’s book that rested on the bench to her right.

“Well, I suppose it comes down to precisely what their reasoning for withholding the information from you may have been. I’m not privy to their thought process, Love, but perhaps they felt as though they had your best interests at heart?” Killian replied with a shrug of his leather-clad shoulders.

“Best interests of what?” she retorted. “What interests would it serve to not reveal that I was related to them?”

“I wish I could answer that for you but I think you know that only your family will be able to provide those details for you.”

Emma sighed in defeat as she slumped back against the bench, taking a pull from Killian’s flask of rum - and damned good, strong rum it was. In her head, she knew he was right, but her heart still burned and she wasn’t anywhere near drunk enough yet to desire another confrontation with Regina or Zelena. Or to confront David for that matter. She was probably angriest with him right now because they’d been working side by side and even living under the same roof for months and he hadn’t even dropped a single hint that Emma might be related to the Mills sisters. There was absolutely no way that he hadn’t known as a child that his stepmother was a member of the most powerful family in town.

“I suppose I’m not going to have a whole lot of options except to confront them, am I?” she asked rhetorically as he wrapped a reassuring arm around her shoulders, eliciting an involuntary shudder from her at the unexpected, yet not unwelcome touch. His eyes met hers for a second, ready to apologize and pull away from her, yet she responded with a smile and leaned into him instead. “Thank you for letting me rant like a madwoman tonight.”

“Anytime, Love, although if I may be honest, I’m actually surprised that you contacted me I would have thought that you’d have reached out to a friend in this situation, not to someone you barely know…”

“I don’t know… That’s the thing, I guess. I don’t have a lot of friends here that I feel like I can turn to. I feel like no one really knows me around here and yet there’s a part of me that feels as though I’ve known you forever. I feel like you probably know me better than anyone else and maybe it’s because you haven’t lied to me yet.”

“Why would I lie to you, Swan? I want to get to know you - the real you - not push you away. I can’t speak for the others, but there are times when honesty becomes a double-edged sword. I’m quite certain that your family held what they believed were valid reasons for not being upfront with you. When you’re ready to ask them, I’m certain they’ll provide you with the answers you seek.”

“I suppose...,” she replied, sounding both dejected and hopeful at the same time. “But not tonight. Tonight, I just want to not think about anything… Oh - and I guess I’d better figure out a place to crash. I don’t want to see David’s face tonight or I might punch it and assaulting the Sheriff, even if he is your brother, is probably frowned upon.”

“You’re welcome to join us on the Jolly Roger, if you wish. You can have my quarters and I’ll bunk with with the crew…”

“As lovely as that offer sounds, I really don’t need the town talking about me spending the night on a ship full of sailors. David already thinks you’re a bunch of dirty pirates so I’d rather not give him ammunition. I’ll probably just go sleep on the sofa at the station. Even though Graham’s working tomorrow morning, he won’t care.”

“As you wish,” Killian replied with a mock curtsy before snatching his flask back from her hand and frowning when he discovered it to be nearly empty. “One might wonder who the pirate is here…” he commented with a sinful smirk as he took a swig.

“It’s good rum,” she stated with a dismissive shrug. “I’m usually more of a beer and whiskey girl but that stuff isn’t half bad.”

“And more than half gone,” he scoffed sarcastically before bursting into laughter. Even in her slightly inebriated state, she couldn’t help noticing how his blue eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Forget whatever ritual Regina and Zelena may have had planned, here was the real magic of the full moon and her drunken little soul almost didn’t want the night to end.

**********

Even though she was feeling only slightly tipsy, Emma consented to allow Killian to walk her to the Sheriff's station, recalling only as she was fumbling for the key to the building’s rear door that she had left her car parked over by the cemetery. Oh well, it would be fine there for the night. She’d go get it tomorrow after she sobered up. Everyone knew that the beat up old Volkswagen belonged to the Deputy so there was no fear that anyone would dare steal it.

At least she’d been alert enough to remember to grab Gold’s potion book before they’d left the park. She was already questioning the veracity of his actual ownership of it and had added the shady pawn shop owner to her list of people she needed to confront over the course of the coming days. Before settling down on the break room sofa, she placed the book safely inside her locker with the incriminating photograph and letter still pressed beneath the cover. Had it been merely a fluke that those telling items had fluttered out of the book when she’d dropped it? Did Gold know they were inside already, sending her on a hunt to locate that specific volume intentionally?

Those were questions that would have to wait until daybreak though as she yawned and stretched out on the faux leather sofa, pulling the royal blue and dark red plaid woven blanket off of the back to cover herself. It didn’t take long for her to drift off to sleep, replaying the night in her mind. She knew she’d probably regret some of the evening’s actions when the sun rose but she dozed off believing the hangover would be well worth it.

As Emma was making herself comfortable in the station’s break room for the night, Killian Jones was taking a leisurely pace on his short trek back to his ship at the harbor, grinning like a complete fool the whole way. He has no idea what to expect from his burgeoning relationship with Emma Swan but he fully intended to relish every moment spent in her company. He tried not to think about the fact that he’d be setting sail in a few days, not looking forward to the departure. He could only hold onto a glimmer of hope that should Emma reciprocate his increasing fondness for her, he would immediately start planning his return voyage to Storybrooke.

By the time he scaled the gangplank well after the midnight hour, he knew only a handful of crew would be awake so it wasn’t at all surprising to find the top deck of the Jolly Roger deserted. He crossed to the hatch above his quarters in a few long strides as he felt the growing chill apparent in the sea breeze. Stooping to raise the hatch, his fingertips scarcely grazed the handle before finding himself struggling to breathe. Eyes widening, he frantically scoured the deck to find the owner of the unseen hands tightening around his throat but found himself still alone under the moonlit sky. He struggled against his invisible assailant, attempting to claw away whatever might be strangling him but to no avail. Unable to even shout for help, he succumbed to the darkness, falling unconscious atop the unopened hatch.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #cs ff au #witch emma #a simple spell #with another cliffhanger #sorry #well not sorry #more surprises ahead

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years ago

Note

For the Fictomber prompts, can I get a peraltiago with a number 7?

Hi @stars-my-darling! I’m sorry that this is a little late (I was hoping to be able to play the Timezone Difference card, but I’m most definitely just plain LATE now) 🙈 … but here it is, along with your request for a Princess AU! 👑♥️

run run run away, baby

“No! And that’s final.”

The King was direct in his tone, sceptre slamming into the ground for emphasis as he looked down at Amy. She can feel her heart beginning to fall, spiralling down towards her feet, and her eyes follow it’s path.

“The very idea of it is preposterous, Amelia.”

A familiar sense of defiance runs through her, and Amy shakes her head in response. “I love him, your majesty. I want to marry him. And he wants to marry me.”

The jewels studded along the edge of the King’s crown glisten under the sunlight as he scoffs, shrugging off her answer with a roll of his eyes. “What does one need love for, when you have fortune and nobility?”

Amy shakes her head again, countering - “What good is fortune, if you don’t have love?”

His laugh is dismissive, voice taking on a condescending tone that cuts to her core. “You are the Princess of Brooklynd, Amelia. A role that every single woman across the land would happily give up everything for. You are not going to ruin years of tradition by taking the hand of some lowly stable boy. You cannot marry him. I won’t stand for it.”

Amy’s eyes are hot with unshed tears as she swivels away, making quick work of putting distance between the King and herself. This afternoon had turned out exactly the way she had been terrified of, and there was only one person that she knew would be able to comfort her right now.

Technically, the King was correct. She was the Princess of Brooklynd, and there was undoubtedly scores of women within the villages who would love a chance to spend a day in her shoes.

But she had not been born to this role.

The story had been told to her so many times that Amy could now recite it without blinking. That she had been just over five years old when the King and Queen had found her standing, alone and upset, along the pathway towards the kingdom. They had lifted her into their carriage, taking her home to the castle for food and shelter while they conducted a thorough search throughout the surrounding villages for her parents. Sadly, nobody came forward. Amy had been abandoned, the only clue of her previous life a small locket that, too big for her neck, had been wrapped around her wrist. It had her first name burned into the metal in a gentle cursive, and by the following week Amy had been turned into Princess Amelia - the luckiest royal daughter to ever exist.

From the outside, her life appeared enviable - evenings draped in ballgowns created by the finest of threads; a sprawling castle with it’s own library to call home; the rarest of artworks adorning their walls. She was undeserving of this life of splendour that had been thrust upon her, and was reminded of it constantly.

As time wore on and she became more self-aware, it became apparent that Amy had very different views on how to run a kingdom than that of the King. The Queen, having perished several years earlier from a terrible illness, had been minimal with her maternal actions, choosing to follow the lead of her husband in moulding their prized daughter into a mirror image of themselves, priming her for rule when the time would come. But Amy was not one to have her decisions made for her, and as a result she often clashed with her patriarch.

She had been living a life of obligation for so long it had become impossible to imagine a life without it when she first met Jake Peralta. Having recently turned seventeen, she was hiding in the stables with only her book for company when he’d taken a wrong turn and entered a previously unused stall. Tripping on a loose rope, he’d stumbled ungracefully, startling Amy from her position laying across a bale of hay, and after apologising profusely for a solid amount of time (even as a stable boy, he knew the dangers of upsetting a member of the royal family), they’d begun talking. Then, they were laughing.

Her whole life, Amy had been unable to shake the feeling that she was a part of a larger puzzle, missing an assortment of extra pieces, and that a life of solitude with just her and the King and Queen didn’t nearly count for enough. Jake was kind, and funny; a ray of sunshine after years of grey skies, and it wasn’t long until they were meeting every single day. He made her laugh so much that her stomach hurt, and in the quieter moments Amy couldn’t help but notice just how handsome he was. Or how much her skin tingled whenever their hands would accidentally brush against each other.

With Jake’s encouragement, Amy discovered how to really live - to ride horses without restraint; to climb the trees until she reached their highest branch, to lay in the grass and watch the sky turn peach with the fading sun. She got to know a world without costumes and stuffy dinners, where duty and privilege were unimportant details and that a day without laughter was truly a day wasted. He became her best friend: her point of solace when she would disagree with the King (which was pretty often), and the only person she truly felt she could be herself around.

She had shown him the underside of her necklace, her name delicately traced against the metal, and from that day on he never called her Amelia again. To him, she was Amy - and then eventually Ames - and she was falling in love with him so rapidly it made her dizzy.

And then one night while they lay together counting stars, Jake had leaned over and kissed her, and suddenly it felt as though everything had finally fallen into place. From that moment on, they were Jake and Amy, filling their days with clandestine meetings in various places within the castle grounds, laying together in quieter moments and daydreaming of a life outside of their own.

Three years had since passed, and the two of them were unequivocally in love. Last week, as they walked through the forest that surrounded the castle, Jake had gripped Amy’s hand so tightly in his, trying (and failing) to conceal his shaking body as he told Amy all of the things that she had always wished to hear. That she was the love of his life, that the world had changed for him the moment they met, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. With the scent of blossoming jasmine surrounding them, Jake stood in front of Amy, and knelt down on one knee.

“I know that I don’t have much to offer. I know that I am a simple stable boy, and that I cannot give you the life you’ve had for so long. All I can give you is my heart, and the rest of my years, and Ames, you have one of those already. I don’t know how, or when, or if it could ever even happen, but I know that I can’t imagine a life without you. Amy, will you marry me?”

There were fireworks exploding inside her heart as she broke out into the biggest grin, nodding so rapidly she could barely speak. Instead, her knees sunk down into the grass beside his, pulling Jake in for a kiss that could have lasted forever if only they had the chance. And while she knew that it was going to be difficult - and that there was a very large possibility that the King would not approve - Amy didn’t care. All of the supposed splendour of royalty was just a facade, and worthless if you didn’t have somebody you truly loved to share it with.

And so she had stood before the King today, resplendent in her finest outfit in the hopes of gaining his approval, and told him of the relationship that she had kept secret for so long.

As predicted, he had disregarded her passionate pleas, declaring her betrothal to a Prince from a nearby kingdom as far more advantageous, denying her the chance to marry for love instead of duty. And now she was running towards the stable at the back of the palace field, flinging the barn door open with a grunt when she finally reaches the structure.

Jake was inside raking through hay when she ran inside, turning to Amy with a smile so sweet she could already feel herself calming down just a little.

“Ames! You look beautiful - wait, what’s wrong?”

The rake is cast aside, hitting the ground with a dull thud as he rushes towards her, enveloping Amy in his arms before another word is spoken. Within seconds his shirt is wet with her tears, the anguish and disappointment of the day finally catching up to Amy now that she’s wrapped up with the one she loves.

“He won’t let us, Jake. The - the King. He’s forbidden us fr-from getting married.” Amy’s words are shaky, heart pounding too hard for her to speak clearly as the reality of the situation hits her, the sound muffled from her position against Jake’s chest.

He pulls away slightly, eyes full of regret as he takes in the devastation clearly written on her face. “Oh, Ames. I’m so sorry. I should never have put you in this position.”

She shakes her head vehemently, placing one hand on either side of his face. “Please don’t ever apologise for loving me, Jake. You’ve brought so much beauty to my life, and marrying you is all I could ever want. You’re it for me, Jake Peralta. That’s never going to change.”

His head dips downwards, meeting her lips with his own, and Amy can taste the salt of her tears as she breathes him in. The thought of marrying anybody else - of having to kiss anybody else - was enough to break her heart. Eventually they seperate, Jake holding Amy’s hand close to his chest as they walk over to a nearby bench.

Amy’s breath shudders in her chest as she looks up at Jake, the words bitter on her tongue as she explains about Prince Tedford from a nearby province - an uninspiring man that the King has decided is worthy of her hand. Her tears start up all over again as she speaks, hands twisting up the fabric of her skirt around her fingers as she digs her nails in. When she looks up, and sees the horror on Jake’s face at the sound of her marrying somebody other than him, she pulls herself closer to his side, resting her head on his shoulder as one arm curls around his waist.

“I can’t do it, Jake. I won’t. I could never love anybody else.”

Jake’s shoulders raise as he takes in a deep breath, sniffling loudly as he tries to hold back his tears. “When does he want you to marry this other prince?”

Tucking her nose into Jake’s upper arm, Amy pauses for a moment before speaking. “As soon as possible. Especially now that he knows that I want to be with someone else.”

Her head jostles as Jake buries his face in his hands, shaking slowly as the information sinks in. She rests her free hand against his thigh, squeezing gently while she waits in silence. And after a moment, Jake’s head lifts.

“Okay, hear me out for a second. What if we ran away together? Just packed up a few of our things and disappeared?”

The stable falls silent as Amy’s heart leaps into her chest, the idea that maybe not all was doomed suddenly too much for her to understand. Jake takes her silence as doubt, and continues. “I mean … they’re not your family, right? Clearly, the King doesn’t understand you. Somewhere out there Ames, there’s a family that has been dreaming and waiting and praying for your return. So let’s just go find them.”

Amy’s left hand reaches up to grasp the necklace that never left her neck. Most days, she felt it was her only link to her real family, wherever they may be. And now the thought that she could escape all of this, and find her way home, was a little overwhelming.

“Jake, do you hear what you’re saying? Run away from the palace, and all it’s guards?” He nods enthusiastically, and Amy tries her hardest not to get swept up in his eagerness. “Do you really think we could?”

“The guards have grown incredibly lazy over the years, babe. Most of them haven’t even noticed our sneaking around, and there have been times when our cover story was not plausible. We could leave in the middle of the night. There’s bound to be some of them asleep at their post. We won’t be able to take much, but Ames … what else do we need, except each other?”

Her eyes pool with tears all over again, but this time they’re full of joy as Amy nods, a smile breaking out on her face for the first time all day. It might be insanity, and it was incredibly risky, but the danger of a life without Jake was far more terrifying. He stands with a whoop, pulling Amy up and into his arms as they laugh together, the prospect of a brighter future now suddenly so much clearer than it had ever been.

They choose a night in the middle of the week to disappear, relying on the stars for light as Jake untethers Amy’s favourite horse, waiting until her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist before riding away from the castle.

For days, for weeks, they keep a low profile as word gets out that the Princess has run away. Bounty’s bigger than most families fortunes are offered for Amy’s return, drawings of her likeness pasted on doorways and tree trunks for miles and miles.

At night, they get creative with places to sleep - finding quiet barns or abandoned cottages to give them shelter from the cold. It’s a stark contrast to the feather filled mattresses that Amy had always slept on in the castle, but falling asleep inside Jake Peralta’s arms was more comfortable than anything she’d ever known. With him she was the happiest she had ever been. She was safe, and she no longer feared the future.

The further they ventured, the less the villagers seemed to know of Amy’s disappearance, and the King’s arrogance in refusing to know his staff had ultimately worked in Jake’s favour, allowing him to remain under the cover of anonymity. Then one afternoon; while Amy lay in her favourite hiding spot - a field of wildflowers that, untethered, had grown so tall that her position was invisible from the worn path - Jake approached her with an excited grin.

Tucking a plucked flower into the well-worn pages of her favourite book to mark her place, Amy placed the novel to her side, giving Jake her full attention. With a gentle kiss after sitting beside her, he gripped her hands in his before declaring - “I think I’ve found your parents.”

Amy’s heart leaps into her chest, squeezing Jake’s fingers in surprise as she shakes her head in disbelief. “What? How?”

Jake had been at the local market, gathering some food for their next journey to a province even further away from the castle, when he’d overheard two locals talking to a family that had recently moved into the village. Watching as the two parents introduced their seven sons, Jake noticed the heartbreak that ran over the mother’s face as she spoke of their only daughter, explaining that she had been taken from them at an early age. What kept his attention, however, was the woman’s striking likeness to Amy. Same olive skin, same dark hair, same brown eyes that somehow always seemed to radiate kindness.

The father spoke up, explaining that over the years they had moved through the provinces, each time praying that this time they would finally be reunited with their daughter. They were never going to give up, he explained. Not when their child is out there waiting for them.

There wasn’t a doubt in Jake’s mind that he was looking at Amy’s parents, and he had rushed back through the maze of tents, dodging the traders looking to hawk their goods as he headed to the field he knew Amy would be hiding in.

She sat across from him now, eyes wide in amazement as the idea that she might be about to finally meet her parents washes over her. “Jake … are you sure?”

He shrugs, giving her a sheepish smile before explaining “The only thing I’ve ever been sure about is you. But I feel like we have to at least try?”

Amy’s hands begin to shake and Jake stands, tightening his grip as he pulls her up to join him. “Oh my gosh, Jake - is this really about to happen?” Her head shakes in disbelief, looking up at him with knitted brows. “I mean … what if they don’t like me?”

Releasing her hands, Jake brushes a strand of hair away from her face, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. “Impossible, Ames. You’re an amazing person, and they’d be crazy not to see that. And besides, if all else fails, at least we’ll have each other, right?”

She nods, teeth sinking into her lip in excitement. It had been such a long few weeks, staying low and hiding away from the locals, but now everything was falling into place. Quickly, she runs her fingers through her hair, smoothing away any other loose hairs before adjusting the bodice of her dress, looking over at Jake and asking - “Do you think I look okay?”

He smiles, running his hands down her arms in comfort. “I’m probably the worst person to ask. To me, you always look amazing.” She blushes, and he lets out a quiet laugh. “But yes, you look beautiful. Trust me, they’re going to love you.” Dropping a quick kiss to her lips, he pulls away to add, “It’s really hard not to.”

Jake’s fingers are entwined with hers as he pulls her back through the differently coloured market stalls, Amy using her free hand to keep the shawl that they’d wrapped around her head close. This town didn’t seem to have any awareness of Princess Amelia’s existence, let alone her current status as a runaway, but there was a part of her that was still fearful of one of the King’s men lurking in the shadows, and there was not a chance she was going to risk everything falling apart now that they were so close to finding her family.

He squeezes her hand as he finds the same people from before, following them closely until they’ve reached a more secluded section, gaining their attention and explaining that there was somebody he thinks they should meet. With Jake’s encouragement, Amy steps forward, dropping the shawl and locking eyes with the mystery woman, and in an instant she knew.

For years, Amy had been having dreams where somebody that looked just like her would visit, talking to her in such a soothing voice that any fears that had been escalating were immediately eradicated. The idea that such a woman could have abandoned her hurt far too much for Amy to think about, and so she had pushed away the idea of having such a loving mother, relegating her to a figment of her imagination only. Only now, she could see the memories had been real.

In a voice so similar to her own, the woman cries out Mija!, arms pulling Amy in for a tight hug as the boys around her stand in shock. When she pulls away the older gentleman moves to stand in front of her, the eyes raking over her face growing wider as he too began to realise that their family was once again complete.

It was several hours before everything began to settle, and after years of mystery the truth finally came to pass.

Amy was a Santiago, and sister to seven brothers. Her parents, Camila and Victor, had pulled her aside quietly, telling Amy the story of how one day she and her brothers had been playing together when an overly adorned coach rolled down the path, pulling up and snatching Amy from her position on the grass before anybody could react. Victor had run after the coach for as long as his legs would allow, desperate to stop his worst nightmare from becoming a reality, and the misery at his failure was still obvious all the years later.

Having never seen the occupants of the coach, her family had devoted all the years afterwards to moving through the country, staying long enough at each new province to meet every person that lived there. The heartache of failure grew stronger with every passing year, and Camila’s hands kept gripping Amy’s as they sat together now, scarcely able to believe that they had finally been reunited.

They shook their heads in disbelief as Amy told them of her life as Princess Amelia, neither of them ever considering that people as affluent as the King and Queen would be so brazen as to take their child. Having lived so far away from the kingdom, they only knew of the royal Princess by name, never seeing her likeness drawn anywhere, and not for the first time Amy is thankful that she and Jake had thrown caution to the wind by escaping from the King’s tyrannic rule.

Jake hangs back for a long while, giving Amy a chance to meet everyone, watching her with careful eyes from the background in case it all got too overwhelming. He moves quickly towards her when she reaches for him, arm wrapping around her waist and squeezing as she introduces him to her parents - a word that sounded so foreign on her lips, yet brought such a feeling of joy when uttered.

He was nervous, fumbling over a jumble of words as he tells Amy’s family (FAMILY! She has a family now!) how exciting it is to finally meet them; explaining their journey here and telling all the Santiagos just how much he loved her. They welcomed him with open arms - he was the one to reunite them, after all - and by nightfall Jake and Amy are safely ensconced in the walls of the Santiago family home.

Within a month, they are married, family and friends gathering together under the oak tree that grew in the middle of Amy’s favourite field. In her hand she gripped a bunch of wildflowers, the scent of which would forever remind her of this day, and when Victor led her to Jake’s side, Amy had never felt more complete.

As he gripped her hands tightly within his, Jake promised to spend the rest of his life loving Amy - to hold her when the world grew cold, and kiss her goodnight every evening. With tears pouring down her face, Amy vowed to spend her lifetime with Jake in her heart; to be his guidance when the road grew dark, and to hold him in her arms when they would fall asleep. Together, they declared their love to be unending, sealing it with a kiss that made both of their hearts skip a tiny beat.

The princess may not have ended up with a prince, but Amy had found her home with Jake’s arms around her and her family smiling beside her, and that was the only fairytale ending they needed.

“And they all lived happily ever after.”

Closing the book quietly, Jake smiles down at his sleeping daughter, leaning in with his free hand to gently brush a curl away from her forehead. “Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaving the tiniest of kisses against her forehead.

She snuffles quietly, eyelids fluttering open briefly and smiling up at Jake. “Daddy?”

“Yes, bubba?”

“You and mama are prince and pwincess too?”

Jake stands, moving to place the book back onto the well-stocked bookshelf before returning to his daughter. “No, honey. But mama and I, we’ve got our own love story.” Tucking the blankets surrounding her, Jake whispers “And one day, we’ll tell you all about it. But it’s time for sleep now, okay?”

Her eyes are already fluttering close again as she nods, head stilling halfway through as she falls back asleep. Jake pauses for a minute, watching her tiny chest fall up and down with her breaths, and for the hundredth time today alone he thanks the universe for everything that led him to this moment. Together, he and Amy had built a life together, their unbreakable bond resulting in this family of three (and maybe someday, even more). And while their love story would never be the same as the dragon fighting Princes climbing castle walls, like the story he had just read to their daughter, Jake knew that his and Amy’s story was even better.

He flicks on the nightlight as he leaves her bedroom, a cascade of stars climbing the ceiling in a soft blue light as he closes the door almost all the way closed. Catching the sight of his wife leaving the kitchen with two glasses of wine in her hand, Jake tiptoes down the hallway, and on the way he thinks to himself - there could never be a happier ending than this.

#mine #princess AU #please excuse my lateness #fictober prompts #b99fanfics #Jake x Amy fic #peraltiago fanfiction

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u2-gibeyourselfahue · 6 years ago

Text

Who The Fuck Is This?

(If you want to skip the BS, my best guess as to his identity is at the bottom)

While reading The Renaissance At War by Thomas Arnold, I came across a nice piece of artwork depicting part of The Battle of Pavia (1525). Image attribution seems to suggest it came from AKG Endpaper.

Sounds good, let’s have a gander.

Found this after navigating a shit load of redirects. The description is a bit misleading, as one may be led to believe this armored gentleman to be Francis I. The full image (which is apparently part of a multi-piece tapestry set by an artist named Bernard Van Orley) is actually included in Arnold’s book and identifies another as the French king. It’s possible that the individual above (henceforth known as WHOAREYOU) is someone else. Perhaps the ‘Neapolitan Viceroy’? Okay, so who the fuck is that?

Here is another picture from the book, which is a snapshot of the battle. The style reminds me of some of Martin Dougherty’s stuff, which is pretty cool. (Also, please excuse the shitty camera quality)

It’s difficult to see, but all named figures are supposed to be shown in blue, with the exception of ‘De Vasto’ in the middle, who is part of the Imperial forces in red. It seems as though this fellow must be pretty important to be singled out this way.

I’ve another book here, Paolo Giovio by T.C. Price Zimmermann which suggests that De Vasto is a man by the name of Alfonso (whose wife spent time with the eponymous Giovio). Alfonso is related to Francisco Fernando, Marquis of Pescara. This is relevant, because in Michael Edward Mallett and Christine Shaw’s book, The Italian Wars, 1494–1559: War, State and Society in Early Modern Europe, the following is given regarding the Battle of Pavia:

“This has often been presented as a battle commanded by Pescara, and much of the credit for the victory has been given to his planning and his deployment of the arquebusiers. He claimed it was his idea to attack through the park. The contemporary historian Giovio said that Pescara had been given overall command of the army but imperial sources made no mention of this, although Pescara was singled out for praise for his valour and energy. In the field, Bourbon and Lannoy had taken the most honourable positions in command of the cavalry.“ (Mallett and Shaw, 152)

Note that line about Giovio. Zimmermann says something relevant about this:

“Giovio personally interviewed many of the surviving participants, including Francis I, but achieved vividness and clarity by holding for the most part to Pescara’s contemporary account of the battle to Charles V.“ (Zimmermann, 74)

There’s an annotation attached to this:

“On the interviews with Francis I (at Marseilles in 1533 and again at Nice in 1538) see Vita del Pescara (1931), 435. Sir Charles Oman called Giovio’s account of Pavia the most detailed (The Art of War in the Sixteenth Century, 186–206). For Pescara’s letter to Charles V see M. F. Navarrete, M. Salvá, and P. S. deBaranda, eds., Collección de documentos inéditos para la historia España 38 (1861), 408–12?

It’s possible that Pescara held principle command. This link I found (couldn’t find the book it’s based off of, but I like De Re Militari, so I’m willing to believe them) seems to corroborate this somewhat, as it calls Pescara the ‘chief of the emperor's host’

(http://www.deremilitari.org/RESOURCES/SOURCES/pavia.htm

Last part of the annotation:

“For eyewitness sources Giovio also had del Vasto and Giambattista Castaldo, who took Francis I prisoner.”

So, all this to say that De Vasto -might- be WHOAREYOU, while Pescara is running overall command...

...until you get to this:

“Although the d’Avalos were in origin a Spanish family, Pescara himself had been born in Italy, and his title was a Neapolitan one.” (Zimmermann, 76)

Great, does that mean that Pescara is the Neapolitan viceroy (and therefore WHOAREYOU) or is this ‘title’ not necessarily related.

Moreover, there’s also the idea that just because AKG says that the viceroy accepted the surrender, that does not mean it has any bearing to the actual scene of what was going on with Francis. It may have been a broad and not strictly related summary. Hell, who knows what kind of biases and reformats went into the original accounts to begin with. This is starting to feel like an Ouroboros of bullshit.

“The large number of conflicting and often self-serving contemporary accounts makes the battle of Pavia difficult to reconstruct in congruent detail.“ (Zimmermann, 84)

You’re fucking telling me.

Let’s take a break and see if Wikipedia is going to be of any help in the matter.

Where the hell did all these people come from?

Okay, we know some of these people already (mostly Fernando and Alfonso). I took another crappy photo of Arnold’s book which elaborates a bit on Bourbon.

I already mentioned Bourbon in the quote about the cavalry, along with Lannoy. More about the latter is contained here:

“The imperial army was strengthened by the arrival in late December of the new viceroy of Naples, Charles de Lannoy, and Pescara, bringing troops from Naples.” (Mallett and Shaw, 147)

Aha, ‘Viceroy of Naples’. So perhaps Lannoy is our mysterious WHOAREYOU (let’s just assume the AKG image is portraying the viceroy, for my own sanity)

What does his wiki page say?

We’re off to a good start.

Fortunately, we actually do have some sources. Here’s a bit in Correspondence of the Emperor Charles V. and his ambassadors at the courts of England and France : from the original letters in the imperial family archives at Vienna; with a connecting narrative and biographical notices of the Emperor and of some of the most distinguished officers of his army and household; together with the Emperor's itinerary from 1519-1551, the title of which is going to be longer than the actual content:

“CHARLES DE LANNOY VICEROY OF NAPLES TO THE EMPEROR Villa Franca 10th of June 1525? (118)

I think we can do a little better than that.

There’s a reference to this in La corte de Carlos V by José Martínez Millán. I found an archive of it (https://repositorio.uam.es/xmlui/handle/10486/742) so let’s check it out.

Nice, it’s partitioned into a bunch of different pdfs, that’s just fucking wonderful.

The part we care about comes from CAPITULO6, pages 233-234 :

“Por su parte, Charles de Lannoy enviado a Ñapóles, había dejado su lugar al frente de la caballeriza a Cesare Ferramosca.”

Yeah, I don’t really speak Spanish. Let’s just run it through an online translator:

“For his part, Charles de Lannoy sent to Naples, had left his place in front of the stable to Cesare Ferramosca.”

Sent to Naples, eh? I’m pretty sure we can make an argument that Lannoy is indeed the viceroy we’re looking for.

The wiki page of the battle proper also has this to say: “The exact nature of Francis's surrender—in particular, who exactly had taken him prisoner—is uncertain, with a variety of candidates ranging from Alonso Pita da Veiga, Juan de Urbieta and Diego Dávila to Lannoy himself being put forward by various historians.“

WHOAREYOU could be any of these people as well, though Lannoy so far has the best argument for it (Again, for my sanity, let’s just assume the artwork is depicting the viceroy). Unrelatedly, Diego there doesn’t even have a wikipedia page. Here’s a reference to him in Colección de documentos inéditos para la historia de España, Volume 38, page 391, which talks a bit about events that took place after Francis was unhorsed:

The text becomes corrupted when I try to copy this, but the rough translation looks like:

“Then he came to where the king was another Darmas man from Granada called Diego de Avila, who, as the king saw on the ground with such trappings, went to him to surrender the king told him who he was and that he was surrendered to the emperor and asking him If he had given Gaje M, he told him that Diego de Avil was not asked and he gave him the rapier that he had brought with him, and a mitten and decked Diego de Avila worked to get him under the horse And in this there came another man from Galicia. called Pita which helped him to raise and took to the king the badge that of Saut Miguel to the neck it brought in a chain that is the order of the cavalry of France and tie it as those of the emperor the Tuson For this the king offered him to give him six mili duked but he did not want them but bring it to the emperor While the King of France was standing, some arcabuceros soldiers came to the party, who, not conning him, wanted to kill him because they did not believe the They told him that he was the king and without them they could not save his life if Monsignor de la Mota, a great and great friend of the Duke of Borbon, who had walked with him and disarmed him, had not come to that place. saw the contest that there they had...“

More importantly, on page 394 and 395, mention is made of a number of key imperial figures and their interaction with Francis:

It names the Marquis of Pescara, Monsignor de la Mota, the Duke of Bourbon, the Marquis of Vasto, and the Viceroy of Naples.

Now, since the text is FUBAR, it’s difficult for me to pinpoint when this event took place. It’s possible that this took place far later than the initial capture of Francis. That said, it does at least support the idea that Lannoy, at some point, did have an interaction with the king.

Here is another excerpt from page 411-412. If I’m understanding this correctly, this one comes to us courtesy of Pescara himself:

He seems to be talking about specific maneuvers. Of worth to us is the reference to the ‘Viceroy’ and his participation.

The wiki page makes a fuckton of references to Angus Konstam’s Pavia 1525: The Climax of the Italian Wars. Let’s take a quick look.

Of immediate note is this image (as illustrated by Graham Turner):

Aha MK2. This looks familiar. It seems that Konstam and Arnold may have been working off the same sources (probably Oman as the main one, or whatever he was working off of). This would explain why the initial image only contained De Vasto’s name. Here, we see one of the earlier manuevers where De Vasto played a key part in securing Castello Mirabello with his detachment of arquebusiers. Since Arnold’s book was probably providing a broader overview, it only used one moment from the battle.

Later on, we see this unfold:

Bourbon, Pescara, and Georg von Frundsberg (and De Vasto, though he’s not explicitly named) seem to have caught Francis in a bit of a trap. More important than that, however, it that we actually have a map that names all of them. Note Frundsberg’s position. The text states that he was engaging the ‘Black Band’.

The book also goes on to say this:

“In the middle of this carnage the king apparently fought well, until his horse was brought down and he was surrounded by arquebusiers armed with daggers. Lannoy, who by then had returned to the scene, is reputed to have ridden into the fray and rescued the king, defending him at sword point from his own men. French sources disagree, and a number of people claimed the glory of capturing the king. Whatever the situation, Lannoy was on hand to extricate the king and accompany him to the rear, escorted by files of Neapolitan arquebusiers (probably part of De Vasto’s force).” (Konstam, 73)

Even though there’s some dispute here, it’s likely that Lannoy was at least somewhat near the proceedings.

Thus far, I’ve been avoiding the most obvious piece of this puzzle, which is the tapestry itself. After all, despite what may or may not have happened, in some ways, the tapestry tells its own story, as Van Orley may have had specific people in mind when he created it. Or he may have even elevated certain key figures above others, depending on his own preferences.

RIHA journal gives a superb treatment of the tapestry and it’s associated events here: (https://www.riha-journal.org/articles/2014/2014-oct-dec/paredes-battle-of-pavia)

Down at the bottom, we have this tidbit:

“Most of these commanders are portrayed and identified by inscriptions in the tapestries “

I don’t have these inscriptions, but Thomas Campbell talks a bit about the art in Tapestry and the Renaissance Art and Magnificence

“Description of the Drawing: The preparatory drawing for the Surrender of King Francis...illustrates the key episode in the battle and closely anticipates the structure and appearance of the tapestry (fig. 147). The strongly centralized composition, with the three horsemen looking directly out of the scene, is unique within the series, indicating that it was probably the centerpiece of the whole set. Many of the figures are portraits and some can be identified from the woven inscriptions on the tapestry itself. To the left, King Francis I is helped from his dying horse by Count Nicolas von Salm, commander of the German cavalry. He is assisted by La Motte de Noyers, captain of the Bourbon cavalry, who fought on the imperial side, and the count of Monmartin. Farther to the left, under the imperial banner...the imperial commander Charles de Lannoy climbs from his horse” (Campbell, 322)

There we have it.

Given how I cannot seem to locate the inscriptions myself, I’m willing to accept the idea that Lannoy is indeed the one we’re looking for. Later on, Campbell adds this:

“Artist: The tapestries were designed by Bernaert van Orley, court painter to Margaret of Austria and later to Mary of Hungary” (Campbell, 328)

If Van Orley is in the employ of the Hapsburg house, I think it’s safe to assume that, barring some strange circumstances I’m not aware of, he wouldn’t have too much reason to intentionally change events as they had unfolded.

I think by this point, we can make a fairly strong argument that Lannoy was the Neapolitan viceroy, was involved in the battle, and is the figure depicted in Van Orley’s tapestry, meaning he is WHOAREYOU. I’d like to cross reference Oman’s book and also check on Frundberg’s accounts to be safe, which I might do if I revisit this post again.

tl;dr I’m pretty sure it’s Charles de Lannoy

(As an interesting tidbit, Campbell mentions that the tapestry set eventually found its way into Pescara’s possesion, which is a pleasant way of tying everything back to where it started, from my point of view at least)

#pavia #francis i #renaissance

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