#and they were both flavors of courtesan

[tsunael]

*taps the mic* personally i think yotsuyu and tsuna should have a homoerotic rivalry where she does the the villain chin grab thing on her (you know the one) because uhhh they became accidental narrative foils to one another and even though yotsuyu was my favorite before I even played this video game i did NOT design tsuna to be so similar on purpose I SWEAR

[docpiplup]

7th part of the bookscans of Al Andalus. Historical Figures, here's the previous part

He taught the Andalusians the most sophisticated recipes of Baghdad cuisine, as well as the order at the table and the etiquette that had to be followed. The food should not even served or taken all mixed, as the diners wanted, but they had to follow certain guidelines: first the soups followed by the hors d'oeuvres, then the fish dishes, the meats and, finally, the desserts, fruits flavored with vanilla and stuffed with alphoncigas and hazelnuts, or sweets, such as almond, walnut and honey pastries, accompanied by small glasses of liquor. The tablecloths should not be of a coarse woven linen or cotton,nbut of very fine leather and the cups, better of fine crystal than of heavy metal, even if they were gold or silver.

As for his beauty institute, Ziryab taught the Andalusian to shave their hair, use toothpaste and to comb their hair. The strands that fell on both sides of the face ended... Now the hair had to be cut, worn curly, revealing the eyebrows, the nape of the neck and the ears. Nails should be polished and filed and the skin had to be cleaned and softened with creams and lotions.

Fashion in clothing also changed under the influence of Ziryab. Since the first days from June to September, they had to dress in light colors, preferably in white, spring being the best time for suits of gauzy silk and brightly colored tunics. For winter, they reserved the darker tones, the quilted pelisses and the fur coats and decorations.

Everyone asked him for advice when it came to dressing, fitting shoes, giving a banquet... and everyone followed his instructions fully. It became a real arbiter of elegance and under his influence, the Andalusians, and also the Christians, changed their clothes, their furniture, their fashions and ways of living, their kitchen and their etiquette. No one did more to spread refinement and elegance of the Abbasid court, nor did he influence in a more profound and intense way than this singer arrived from Baghdad and maintained by the munificence of the Emir of Córdoba.

Also attributed to him, imported from Persia, are many customs and superstitions that still exist among us and that are too known, such as the fear of cravings in pregnant women, the belief thatbthe boy who played with fire wet the bed, the tails of raisin increase memory... It is believed that both the game of polo and the game of chess entered Muslim Spain at the hands of Ziryab.

He never felt tempted by power, despite the much premedication that he had in Andalusian society, nor did he take part in the frequent and dark courtesans intrigues, and he always thanked the emir for providing him with a better, calm, happy and comfortable life for him and his people.

Tarub: the favorite of Abd al-Rahman II

All historians recognize that this emir was a complete womanizer. The young virgins, arriving from all corners, populated the harem of this man, so different from his father, the strict al-Hakam, who had bequeathed him a kingdom almost pacified, with the Treasury coffers filled to overflowing, which allowed him dedicate to all the pleasures that life can offer. Of his many concubines, wives and favorites, there was one whom it seems he loved more than all the others, Tarub, whose success with the caliph was perhaps due to her being surly, selfish and desired.

She must have been very beautiful, at least in the eyes of the enamored emir who, a man of great education and good poet, said of her: "Whenever I see the sun rise that illuminates reminds me of Tarub, a girl adorned with the trappings of beauty: "The eye that contemplates it believes it sees a beautiful gazelle in it".

When he was not on an expedition, Abd al-Rahman II, like all sovereigns and nobles of the era, went hunting, to the mountains of Sierra Morena or to the marshes of the Guadal-

quivir... but more than once, the memory of Tarub made him return to the palace, eager to possess that beauty who did not always respond to his amorous requirements.

Life inside that immense harem it couldn't have been easy for the women locked up there no matter how generous the emir had been or was towards them. There is no need to forget that for another of his favorites, al-Shifa, as beautiful as prudent and pious, Abd al-Rahman bought a mythical jewel, the dragon necklace, which had belonged to the wife of the caliph Harun al-Rashid, and that it came from the robbery and looting of the badgadi palaces during the period of the civil struggles that preceded the accession to the throne of the caliph al-Ma'mun. But many times, the jewels and riches that these women accumulated did not make up for the feeling of feeling relegated, supplanted in the affection or whim of the emir, by others younger and perhaps more beautiful.

Surrounded and guarded by a legion of eunuchs, who were the only ones who could move freely through that place, their whole dream was to be able to give a male child to their lord, with which they became umm walad, that is, "princess mother." These lucky ones enjoyed great privileges. To the death of the emir were emancipated and could freely dispose of her personal fortune that used to be very large. But with or without a child, the ambitious heart of Tarub wanted to “make a future for herself.” The princesses mothers, as the years went by, saw themselves replaced in the prime of life, with an intact beauty that time had not yet withered. Tarub knew it and despite

Abd al-Rahman's multiple attentions towards her, she considered that everything was insufficient to satisfy it.

One night the emir went to his favorite's chambers and called insistently at the door, but the elusive girl did not open it. In vain her lover spoke tender words to her, and made vehement protests of love. Unmovable, the requested one kept the door firmly closed. Then Abd al-Rahman, who clearly knew her well, ordered that several eunuchs carried bags of gold coins. There were many bags that were accumulating before the gate of Tarub that he finally opened, while thousands of coins fell into the bedroom, exposing the figure of the emir who waited, impatiently, behind the bags of coins, for his beloved would deign to receive him. It must have been a night of passion for both of us. parts, because the emir's wish must have been fulfilled and Tarub's too!

But the story continues. Although other women arrived, Tarub always retained a great ancestry over Abd al-Rahman from whom he had a son. Time passed and the emir could not decide to name a successor. It is not surprising that he had his doubts, since among his forty heirs it couldn't be easy to select the most suitable one to occupy the throne.

It always seems that the emir was inclined towards his son Muhammad, but, of course, Tarub wanted the choice to fall to Prince Abd Allah, who was her son.

The head of the palace servants was the eunuch Nasr. Following the attempt to landing of the viking pirates in

al-Andalus, Nasr had distinguished himself by his heroic behavior and by having defeated them in the battle that took place near Tablada. All this did that the emir appreciated him in a special way and that his influence at court was increasingly greater. Nasr and Tarub got along very well, they were both ambitious, and the princess mother, desperate to see her son named successor decided, with the support of the eunuch, to plot a plot, quite sinister indeed, to ensure the much-desired succession to his son Abd Allah. The plot involved poisoning the prince who was presumed to be possible heir, Muhammad,... and by the way, and just in case the fact aroused suspicion, also ending the father, that is, the emir.

It was a very risky plan for Tarub but she was sure that with the complicity of Nasr, one of the strongest men at court and, possibly the closest to the emir, she could not fail. And it happened that, in those days, a very famous doctor, Harrán, arrived at the Cordoban court, who came from Mesopotamia. Nasr asked him to prepare a drink poisoned and the doctor did not dare to deny him. Afterwards, he felt remorse and confessed the plot to another of the princess mothers, Farj, who informed the emir of the conspiracy that was being hatched against him. The eunuch presented the deadly concoction to the emir, offering it to him as the ideal medicine to cure an ailment that he had been suffering from for some time, but Abd al-Rahman II ordered him to take it himself. Nasr was trapped and had no more remedy than drinking the poisoned drink. It was of little use to him to run in searchbof the antidote, because the counterpoison prepared by the doctor al-Harraní, wasn't effective and the eunuch died.

According to the news that has reached us, Tarub, the instigator of all this murky affair, was forgiven by the emir and did not suffer any type of punishment, such was the affection that the emir felt for her.

Only two years later, Abd al Rahman died, unexpectedly. The Christians attributed this sudden death to divine anger, in revenge for the death of the last Christian martyrs. According to Eulogio, the emir went up to the terrace of the palace and, looking at the landscape that stretched before him, noticed the scaffolds from which hung the corpses of the Christians who had blasphemed against Muhammad within the same mosque. He gave the order to burn them and, immediately, in a sudden manner, he was attacked by an apoplexy that killed that same night.

He was succeeded by his son Muhammad. It is not known if he died as a result of a conspiracy, and it is the most possible, because, despite the regrets, Tarub, on the same night in which the emir, continued to intrigue so that his son would be named successor and, with Nasr missing, she sought the help of other eunuchs, but they were afraid that the people would became angry if the will of the late emir was not respected. A few hours after the death of Abd al-Rahman II, before dawn, his son Muhammad wasinstalled in the palace and the next day the population was informed of the death of the emir and the ascension to the throne of the son designated by him.

Tarub, who had been so loved, conquered with wealth by an emir in love, proved to have a heart of stone because, in her eagerness to see his son in the lead

of the emirate of Cordoba, we do not know if due to an understandable love as a mother, or simply, to the ambition that she always displayed, she did not hesitate to consider the death of the one to whom she owed everything.

Abbas ben Firnas: the first aviator

Abd al-Rahman II was, without a doubt, the most cultured of all the emirs and Hispano-Umayyad caliphs. Only one of his descendants, al-Hakam II, could compare him in terms of intellectual curiosity.

Poets, writers, philosophers, who in turn were also almost all astrologers, to whom which the Muslims attached so much importance, were part of the court by Abd al-Rahman. We will mention some of them, of great talent, who excelled in different areas of knowledge, such as Abd Allah ben al-Shamir, magnificent versifier; Ibrahim ben Sulayman al-Shamí, whose religious and mystical poems achieved great relevance throughout the Muslim world; Uthman ben al-Muthanna, grammarian, who became a preceptor to the royal princes; Said ben Farach al-Rashshash, who knew more than 4,000 mnemonics poems by heart and his brother Muhammad, who established the measurement of the Andalusian cubit, whose pattern was engraved on one of the walls of the main mosque from Córdoba... The list of wise men would be very long. But among all of them the figure of Abbas ben Firnas is especially important.

If we had to describe the personality of Abbas ben Firnas we could say that it was a being in every way singular. He was of Berber origin and belonged to a family that lived in the district of what is now Ronda. His creative ability and his inventiveness had no limits, and in addition, he was endowed with physical dexterity out of the ordinary. Skilled conjurer, he amazed anyone with his ingenious sleight of hand and occult sciences were his specialty. Was as admired as envied by other wise men like him. The strangest and most difficult enigmas seemed to show themselves, with complete clarity, before their understanding, as could be verified with the treatise on Arabic metrics of Jalil. This book arrived in Spain, like so many others that Abd al-Rahman II had brought from Persia and Baghdad, through a merchant, and no one was able to decipher his content. The book was abandoned, as useless, in one of the libraries of palace, until our man came across it, read it carefully, and instantly understood what its pages said, deciphering it before a audience that was left with their mouths open.

With a series of devices of his invention, he discovered the formula for the manufacturing glass and built, in a vaulted room in his house, a dome that imitated the sky, which at will made it clear or cloudy, adding lightning and thunder. But this invention that left everyone stunned, aroused the envy of another competitor, because then just as that now, there is no creation or discovery that does not have its detractors, motivated more by spite than by a healthy desire to improve what was

[bloominginsilk]

Dressed In Anticipation

I’d been obsessively refreshing the tracking page all morning, caught in a trance. The dresses were set to arrive today, and I could feel an electric anticipation fluttering in my chest. This wasn’t the first time a man had gifted me things—there had been shopping sprees with boyfriends in the past, even a luxurious city getaway with a charming suitor where I indulged in fine dining and unforgettable company. But this felt different. Maybe it was the significance of having made the decision to truly embrace this new life as a courtesan. Or maybe it was simply the thrill of being seen, of stepping into a world that had once felt distant, like something from a beautiful daydream.

Suddenly, I heard the low rumble of the delivery truck pulling away. I glanced out the window and, the moment I saw the package on the step, I nearly flew to the door. Breathless, I scooped it up and hurried back to my room, feeling like a child on Christmas morning. There’s something magical about unwrapping a gift meant solely for you. This wasn’t just a dress—it was a taste of the transformation I’d been craving.

I opened the package carefully, savoring the moment, and slipped into the first dress: a black-and-pink, figure-hugging piece that felt bold, fresh, and distinctly mine. It wasn’t designer by any means, but it fit perfectly, accentuating curves I had almost forgotten to appreciate. For a moment, I stood there, just taking myself in. It was as if the dress was wrapping me in something new, a quiet confidence that felt both exciting and unfamiliar.

Later that day, I called my benefactor to thank him, unable to contain my enthusiasm. He seemed pleased, and we made plans for another date. This time, I wanted to take the reins and chose the restaurant myself. I’d been learning to select places that suited my taste, my image, and the experience I wanted to create for us. I was stepping into the role I wanted, bit by bit.

When the day arrived, I took my time getting ready, meticulously preparing myself in a way that felt intentional, as if I were assembling a version of myself I’d only just begun to meet. With new cosmetics, a sleek purse, and freshly styled hair, I felt a sense of poise that had been foreign to me until now. I was even ready on time—well, only five minutes late.

The restaurant was bathed in soft afternoon light, and we opted for an outdoor table. The air was warm, the ambiance quiet yet lively, and I couldn’t help but feel a thrill as he took in my appearance with a slow, admiring glance. He leaned in close, murmuring, “Why are you with someone like me?”

The question caught me off guard, though I felt the answer seemed so obvious. Yes, he wasn’t wealthy, not in the sense that people assume when they see a woman like me with a man like him. He might not have been what others would expect, but his presence was grounding, even as everything around me felt so new.

Our meal was delicious—sushi, appetizers, cocktails, and even a shared dessert. Not quite luxury, but far beyond what I’d experienced in recent years. I noticed he wasn’t entirely familiar with the flavors, and I loved introducing him to them, guiding him through each bite and watching his expressions shift from curiosity to enjoyment. It felt like a small power to show someone something new, and I would soon come to learn just how seductive the act of introducing a man to new experiences could be.

As we left the restaurant, I felt the eyes of others lingering on us, on me. I hadn’t worn a dress like this before, not in a setting where I might catch the attention of strangers. A flicker of insecurity crept in, but as I looked at him, I saw the pride in his eyes, the quiet thrill he felt from having me on his arm. A small part of me liked it too, though I wasn’t quite ready to fully step into that power.

Back at his place, the afternoon spilled gently into evening. We settled in, sharing more drinks, watching movies, and talking softly in-between intimate moments until the sky grew dark. It felt effortless, the way we shifted from laughter to quiet moments, our closeness deepening as time passed. There was a warmth to it, something comforting and yet just thrilling enough to make my heart skip.

When I finally returned home that night, I let myself linger in the memory of the day, the soft glow of everything we’d shared. I thought of the second dress waiting for me, still tucked away, and felt a rush of excitement for whatever would come next. This was only the beginning, and for the first time, I was ready to step forward and embrace each new chapter as it arrived.

[cannoli-reader]

Brandon Sanderson saved WoT from Robert Jordan’s pointless clothing descriptions!

This is a thing the internet has been saying for nearly 13 years.  I have been reminded of it lately, as I have been exposed to a number of posts criticizing Mr. Sanderson’s writing, and the inevitable defense of his handling of WoT have cropped up.  Specifically that Jordan was bogging down his books with excessive descriptions and Sanderson dispensed with that extraneous crap in favor of getting to the point.

So let’s look at this sample of Robert Jordan’s egregious and overly verbose descriptions.  Under a cut, because, after all, dress descriptions in Wheel of Time take up soooo much space... 

“… each one wearing little more than a robe of diaphanous white cloth.  A warm fire played in the hearth, illuminating a fine rug of blood red. That rug was woven in the design of young women and men entangled in ways that would have made even an experienced courtesan blush. The open windows let in afternoon light, the lofty position of her palace giving a view of pines and a shimmering lake below.

“She sipped sweetbristle juice, wearing a pale blue dress after the Domani cut – she was growing fond of their fashions, though her dress was far more filmy than the ones they wore…What an interestingly sour flavor it had. It was exotic during this Age, since the trees now grew only on distant islands.”

“…set aside her drink and walked through the gateway, her diaphanous pale blue gown shimmering with golden embroidery…” 

“(Mesaana) had chin length dark hair and watery blue eyes. Her floor-length white dressbore no embroidery and she wore no jewelry. A scholar to the core.”  

“Now, there was a handsome creature.  Demandred looked like a knob-faced peasant compared with him (Moridin).  Yes, this body was much better tha his previous one. He was almost pretty enough to be one of her pets, though that chin spoiled the face. Too prominent, too strong. Still, that stark black hair atop a tall, broad-shouldered body…” 

“The building – a thick-logged structure of pine and cedar after a design favored by the Domani wealthy…The room he stood in was wide and long, thick logs making up the outer wall. Planks of pine – still smelling faintly of sap and stain – made up the other walls.  The room was furnished sparsely: fur rug on the floor, a pair of aged crossed swords above the hearth, furniture of wood with the bark left on in patches. The entire place had been decorated in a way to say that this was an idyllic home in the woods, away from the bustle of larger cities.  Not a cabin, of course – it was far too large and lavish for that. A retreat.” 

“As always, (Min) had chosen to wear a coat and trousers.  Today, they were of a deep green, much like the needles on the pines outside. Yet, as if to contradict her tailored choice, she had had the outfit made to accentuate her figure.  Silver embroidery in the shape of bonabell flowers ran around the cuffs, and lace peeked out from the sleeves beneath… Why wear trousers only to trim herself up with lace?”

 “Davram Bashere himself rode slowly through the camp, barking orders through that thick mustache of his.  Beside him walked Lord Tellaen, a portly man in a long coat and wearing a thin Domani mustache. He was an acquaintance of Bashere’s.  

“Like his men, Bashere went about unarmored in a short blue coat.  He also wore a pair of the baggy trousers that he favored, the bottoms tucked into his knee-high boots.”

 “(Cadsuane’s) dress was of a simple, thick wool, tied at the waist with a yellow belt, with more yellow embroidery across the collar. The dress itself was green, which was not uncommon, as that was her Ajah…”

“Today, (Nynaeve) wore a dress of gray with a yellow sash at the waist over her belt – a new Domani fashion, he had heard – and had the customary red dot on her forehead. She wore a long gold necklace and slim gold belt, with matching bracelets and finger rings, both studded with large red, green and blue gems.  The jewelry was a ter’angreal – or rather, several of them, and an angreal, too – comparable to what Cadsuane wore.  Rand had occasionally heard Nynaeve muttering that her ter’angreal, with the gaudy gems, were impossible to match to her clothing.”

 “There were streaks of white in Alivia’s hair, and she was just a bit taller than Nynaeve.  That white in her hair was telling – any white or gray on a woman who wielded the One Power meant age.  A great deal of it.  Alivia claimed to be four centuries old.  Today, the former damane wore a strikingly red dress, as if in an attempt to be confrontational.”

Oh, wait, these were all Sanderson’s descriptions from one section of the prologue and the first chapter of The Gathering Storm. 

So let’s contrast with the Robert Jordan’s first WoT book.  Here are some of his first descriptions of characters, places and clothing:

In the prologue:

“The edge of his pale gray cloak trailed through blood as he stepped...”

“His clothes had been regal once, in gray and scarlet and gold; now the finely woven cloth, brought by merchants from across the World Sea, was torn and dirty, thick with the same dust that covered his hair and skin...the symbol on his cloak, a circle half white and half black, the colors separated by a sinuous line.”

“...he was clothed all in black, save for the snow-white lace at his throat and the silverwork on the turned-down tops of his thigh-high boots.

And in the novel proper:

“Gusts plastered Rand al’Thor’s cloak to his back, whipped the earth-colored wool around his legs...he wished his coat were heavier or that he had worn an extra shirt.” 

“Tam...ignoring the wind that made his brown cloak flap like a banner...”

Somehow the following characters are introduced without a word of what they are wearing: Wit Congar, Daise Congar, Bran al’Vere, Cenn Buie, Mat Cauthon, Jon Thane.  All but Thane have dialogue, too.  Although there is a description of the Congars’ house.

The thatch looked as if it badly needed…attention

And the inn:

The first floor of the inn was river rock though the foundation was of older stone some said came from the mountains.  The whitewashed second story – where Brandelwyn al’Vere, the innkeeper and Mayor of Emond’s Field for the past twenty years lived with his wife and daughters – jutted out over the lower floor all the way around. Red roof tile, the only such roof in the village, glittered in the weak sunlight and smoke drifted from three of the inn’s dozen tall chimneys.

 Casks racked against one wall… polished canister on the plain stone mantel…The fireplace stretched half the length of the big, square room, with a lintel as high as a man’s shoulder…

 A lamp hung over the cellar stairs, just beside the kitchen door, and another made a bright pool in the stone-walled room beneath the inn, banishing all but a little dimness in the furthest corners. Wooden racks along the walls and across the floor held casks of brandy and cider and larger barrels of ale and wine, some with taps driven in.  Many of the wine barrels were marked with chalk in Bran al’Vere’s hand, giving the year they had been bought, what peddler had brought them, and in which city they had been made, but all of the ale and brandy was the make of Two Rivers farmers or of Bran himself.

Other clothing descriptions come when the characters meet or discuss outsiders:

“...’His cloak is like every gleeman’s cloak I’ve ever seen.  More patches than cloak, and more colors than you can think of.’”

“The blacksmith...still wore his long leather apron as if he had hurried to the meeting straight from the forge.”

Then we get a whole conversation with Ewin Finngar, who may as well be naked for all the descriptions we get of his garb.

“‘...his cloak is green. Or maybe gray. It changes. It seems to fade into wherever he’s standing. Sometimes you don’t see him even when you look right at him, not unless he moves.  And hers is blue, like the sky, and ten times fancier than any feastday clothes I ever saw. She’s ten times prettier than anybody I ever saw, too. She’s a high-born lady, like in the stories...’”

“’Their horses, Rand.  I never saw horses so tall, or so sleek. They look like they could run forever. I think he works for her.’”

Then Moiraine actually shows up.

“Her clothes were just as strange.  Her cloak was sky-blue velvet, with thick silver embroidery, leaves and vines and flowers, all along the neck, while another gold chain, delicate and fastened in her hair, supported a small, sparkling blue stone in the middle of her forehead.  A wide belt of woven gold encircled her waist, and on the second finger of her left hand was a gold ring in the shape of a serpent biting its own tail.  He...recognized the Great Serpent, an even older symbol for eternity than the Wheel of Time.”

“...a tall man Rand had not noticed before ... one hand resting on the long hilt of a sword.  His clothes were a dark grayish green that would have faded into leaf or shadow, and his cloak swirled through shades of gray and green and brown as it shifted in the wind. It almost seemed to disappear at times, that cloak, fading into whatever lay beyond it.”

Following that, Padan Fain, Perrin Aybarra, Nynaeve al’Meara, Egwene al’Vere all put in an appearance without any word of what they are wearing, besides a hood, when Egwene pushes hers back to reveal her braid.

“His cloak seemed a mass of patches, in odd shapes and sizes, fluttering with every breath of air, patches in a hundred colors.  it was really quite thick, Rand saw, despite what Master al’Veren had said, with the patches merely sewn on like decorations.

... His long coat had odd, baggy sleeves and big pockets...a long-stemmed pipe, ornately carved, that trailed a wisp of smoke.”  

 That’s 3 quotes in the prologue and 15 quotes in four chapters.  Compared to a dozen quotes in one chapter, by Sanderson.  What’s more, each of those descriptions from Jordan comes as we are meeting characters for the very first time, while Sanderson mentions only one character who has not already appeared in multiple volumes (and Lord Tellaen will only be mentioned twice more in the rest of the book).  Sanderson devoted 693 words to descriptions in that prologue section and chapter, and Jordan 771 words.  I had to look through four chapters of Eye of the World to beat Sanderson’s word count.

And this may be subjective, but to my strictly amateur eye, Jordan’s descriptions seem much more relevant (and coherent) than Sanderson’s.  Lews Therin’s clothing is part of the image of an important or powerful man in contrast with the disaster and mess around him.  Elan Morin’s garb makes him seem above and untouched by it all, as well as giving him a sinister aspect. 

The only thing we get about clothing for the Two Rivers folk in the village is that the al’Thors have brown cloaks.  We get descriptions of Moiraine, Lan and Thom, because they are new and unique to the villagers' experience. Lan’s cloak and Moiraine’s jewelry suggest to the readers preternatural aspects.  Thom’s cloak and garments denote his entertainer profession, catching the eye of audience, the big sleeves and pockets clearly geared toward his sleight-of-hand tricks. And Jordan trusts the reader to understand that, and if the reader does not, it is not knowledge that will seriously impact their appreciation of the story. 

What’s more, these details tell us that Rand is observant and notices the practicality of Thom’s garb beyond the superficial coloration.  That rather than the ragged patchwork affair described by the mayor, it is a solid and useful garment.  Almost like a foreshadowing of the character of Thom himself. 

The description of the Winespring Inn might be a bit superfluous, but it sets the tone and mood.  This is a place of hospitality and plenty, that is impressive to Rand, who has never seen better, but also somewhat parochial.  The Two Rivers people only go outside their district for things they don’t make on their own, they prefer their own alcohol to any other.  This might denote either pig-headed loyalties to their own kind, or a higher quality of production by the locals.  Either works for the story, as we see Two Rivers characters demonstrate strong loyalties to their friends and neighbors, and also find the produce available in markets on their journey wanting. 

The other building described is a brief note that the Congar house needs thatching, which contrasts with the resident’s indolence and preoccupation with the Wisdom and the weather, as opposed to the general pragmatic determination of the more sensible villagers, including Tam. 

What purpose does Sanderson’s verbiage serve?  What do we learn about Graendal that we did not already know?  What do the descriptions of Min’s, Nynaeve’s, Cadsuane’s and Alivia’s clothing tell us?  Do we need Rand’s ruminations about Nynaeve’s ter’angreal?  We saw them in the four previous books. We’ve seen Nynaeve actually use them.  Why do we have to have Rand mention Nynaeve uncharacteristically complain in his hearing that they are difficult to match to her clothes?  If you want to convey that information, she is a major PoV character and it can come up in her own stream of consciousness, or in that of a woman in whom Nynaeve might actually confide that datum, who could more clearly articulate the contradiction between her professed preference for simplicity, and her sartorial behavior. Is there any reason at all to care about the country retreat of Lord Tellaen, or whose retreat it actually is?  Could not “the retreat belonged to a Domani noble of Bashere’s acquaintance, and the simple rustic furnishings likely cost more than those of four farmhouses in the Two Rivers...” have sufficed in place of the 119 word paragraph we were privileged to read before any action or dialogue of our protagonist?

But this is not so much about his writing, as it is comparing him to Jordan.  How does Jordan have Rand describe Min in their first encounter in each book?

“Not the usual plain brown coat and breeches, but pale red, and embroidered.”

- LoC Ch 41 (13 words)

“Her breeches of brocaded green silk fit her like a second skin, and her coat of matching silk hung open, a cream-colored blouse rising and falling with her breath.”

- aCoS Ch 33 (29 words) 

“Her plain brown coat and breeches were very like what she had worn when he first saw her...”

- WH prologue (18 words)

But to be fair, let’s see her first description in her now-normal clothes:

“Her blue heeled boots stirred the dust...a lace-edged handkerchief ... Embroidered white flowers decorated the sleeves and lapels of her blue coat, and paler blue breeches molded her legs snugly. With yellow-embroidered bright blue riding gloves tucked behind her belt and a cloak edged with yellow scrollwork and held by a golden pin in the shape of a rose, she did look as if she had arrived by more normal means...”

- WH Ch 11 (71 words)

“Her short blue coat, embroidered with white flowers on the sleeves and lapels, was cut to fit snugly over her bosom, where her creamy silk blouse showed a touch of cleavage...”

- KoD ch 18 (31 words)

Rand does not really describe her clothes in tPoD or CoT, as he isn’t the PoV character when she first shows up.  In the descriptions we get in Rand’s words, of sexy-clothes Min, Jordan uses an average of 32.4 words.  Sanderson’s description is 74 words.  More than twice the average of Jordan, and longer than any such description in Jordan’s books. 

And again, Jordan’s descriptions are more useful.  The LoC one is Rand suddenly noting the difference in her appearance, well into their first encounter in quite some time. This signals that Rand was initially seeing her as herself first, and as an attractive woman considerably after the fact, after his attention has been drawn to it.  His next initial observation of her is their first encounter after they had sex, and he is more aware of the physical shape beneath the clothes.  

The longest of Jordan’s description of her clothes is their arrival in Caemlyn, where Rand is noting her clothing in the context of their covert entrance to the Palace, and at the same time being drawn into admiring her beauty.  This is a progression from LoC where he was barely aware of her attractiveness at first - now it draws him even when he is actively thinking of her look in a different context.  Also note the pin. Where Rand is counting on Min to help him sneak through the Palace avoiding his other love interests to reach his hometown friends unobserved, Min is almost wearing Elayne’s sigil, although a rose is almost as appropriate considering her destined crown. This foreshadows that Min’s actions in those clothes will be more in line with her BFF’s wishes than her boyfriend’s.  

Both the Winter’s Heart and Knife of Dreams descriptions are also in the midst of action.  Min is entering a room and reacting to the dust, where the elaborate garments contrast with Rand’s and the dirty environment to highlight the absurdity of Rand’s efforts to avoid those he loves.  In KoD, the focus is on her reaction to Rand’s issues and fears concerning women around him, and she’s reading, in support of a general theme of the scenario, where Loial is discussing his book, and his complaints about Rand’s reluctance to provide material fit in with Rand’s own mechanisms for coping with his trauma.

What does Sanderson’s account provide? We get that she’s wearing green that matches the pine needles in the area.  Why? Perhaps for camouflage?  Is she somehow connected to the environment?  Nope. Sanderson just felt the need to specify the color and mention a correlation with another color.  Rand also sees, for the first time, an apparent contradiction with ... something.  The outfit is made to accentuate her figure.  Because she has never done that before? Rand has noticed how snug her pants are, and her shirts have made him aware of her bosom in nearly every book since she started dressing up. What does it even mean “...to contradict her tailored choice...” On its own, I would assume her tailored choice IS to have the clothes made to fit her, instead of cut for a male shape, but accentuating her figure is in contradiction to the “tailored choice”.  Rand wonders at the end “Why wear trousers only to trim herself up with lace?” as if this is new as well, when, again, since Lord of Chaos, he has been observing her pants are too tight to be practical.  Is this foreshadowing of a problem he is going to have with her clothing?  Will the practicality of her clothes be an issue in this book, or ever, for the rest of the series? Not in any way of which I am aware. 

How about Graendal?  In her first PoV we have...

... nothing.  Not a word of what she looks like.  This is right on the heels of Sammael’s PoV in the same chapter, where he describes her thus:

“Her thin blue Domani gown clung and more than hinted.  As usual, she had a ring with different stones on every finger, four or five gem-encrusted bracelets on each wrist, and a wide collar of huge sapphires snugged around the gown’s high-neck...suspected hours had gone into arranging those sun-gold curls touching her shoulders, and the moondrops seemingly scattered through them; there was something about their casualness that hinted at precision.”

- LoC Ch 6

This is immediately followed by Sammael’s recounting her backstory and her personality, as he sees it.  The “casualness that hinted at precision” fits with her depiction, how she affects carelessness, but does everything with a deliberate intention.  In her PoV following his departure, we see this confirmed, as she reveals that the Sharans to whom she made casual references, were placed for psychological effect, but she still adhered to her habitual patterns in enslaving them. 

It’s also worth comparing Sammael’s description of Graendal’s with Rahvin’s in the prior book, where she was similarly described as dressing provocatively, except Rahvin noted her beauty and compared her to Lanfear, the other woman present, and on a scale of women in general.  Sammael makes no note of her attractiveness or sexual appeal. This is another difference between Jordan and Sanderson.  When Jordan has a PoV man describe a woman as sexy, he wants you to know how the PoV man thinks of women, how he prioritizes sex and attraction in his mind.  When Sanderson writes a PoV man describing a woman as sexy, he wants you to know she is sexy.  

Anyway, back to Graendal, in a chapter where she is the main PoV, here is how she describes herself and her garments and accessories: 

“...her streith gown went dead black before she could control herself and return it to mist.”

“Sipping her wine - and suppressing a sigh; it was from the here and now ... - she stroked her gown with beringed fingers”

“...though if her gown changed color, it was by a hair...”

“Her gown shifted to a pale rose, but she let it stay.”

“She kept her face smooth, but the streith had gone a deeper rose, losing some of its mistiness.”

“Her gown rippled through violet shades of red, echoing the anger and fear and shame that rippled through her uncontrollably.”

- LoC ch 23

What do we have in Graendal’s brain?  Concerning her appearance?  Not. One. Word. The only descriptions she gives are of the changing colors of her streith gown, where the purpose is to illustrate how much of her emotions she is revealing, and how calculated her choices to reveal those emotions is.  We see that she has sufficient control over reactions that she can defeat even this high-tech sensitive fabric.  And it makes a more striking contrast when she is badly shaken by Sammael’s presentation and has to show her real feelings and rationalize it as a strategy.  

And just so we don’t write that off as a one-time fluke, in tPoD, Graendal also does not describe herself.  Few characters do, unless they are doing in the context of a public appearance or a meeting in which their appearance might be a factor.  Sanderson’s 37 words of Graendal describing her clothing (modern clothing, not her mind-relevant streith) are 37 more than Jordan does in three different PoV instances in two different books.

Also noteworthy is another error on Sanderson’s part, where he mentions the embroidery on Graendal’s Domani dress.  The point of Domani dresses is that they are sheer, almost revealing the wearer’s body.  They are never described as embroidered in Jordan’s books, though Sanderson also describes them so in Egwene’s PoV in the White Tower. 

And what point is there to the description of her clothing?  As noted above, Min’s clothing is often organically brought up in the context of her actions or Rand’s perception of her.  Graendal’s clothing in Sanderson’s prologue is inserted into a description of the juice she is drinking.  That juice, by the way, is something she finds interesting as a product of the current time, when in prior points of view, she scorns the comforts and products of the 3rd Age, being disappointed that among Sammael’s Age of Legends treasure trove, he is serving contemporary wine.  Her rooms have open windows overlooking a scene of nature, when the last time we were in her head, she is oblivious to the changing weather because  tells her guests she never goes outside, in her mind noting that she dislikes nature and rarely even uses rooms with windows.  This is an important part of her obsession with control, as nature is beyond her power to subdue.  

Jordan’s Graendal has a disciplined mind that sticks largely to important details, lacking in typical forms of vanity and is almost always in control of her reactions and submerses herself in an environment shaped as near to her pleasure and satisfaction as she can create. Sanderson’s Graendal's mind jumps to her clothing in the middle of thinking about the juice she is drinking, and leaves the windows wide open.  Jordan’s Graendal thinks of Demandred’s Mesaana’s and Semirhage’s alliance as a public front, while Sanderson’s Graendal believes the trio thinks their alliance is a secret!  When they were first together on the page, it was in Graendal’s presence, where Demandred openly demonstrated he knew the locations of other two, while Graendal did not, openly asking her.  Later she reveals that she only learned of Mesaana’s location in a subsequent meeting where Semirhage was not present. So if Mesaana’s location was a secret to most, why would Demandred reveal that he knew it, if they were trying to keep their association secret? In Jordan’s last book, at the Garden Party, the trio are openly huddling together, again, under the eye of Graendal.  How can anyone believe they are trying to keep this a secret?  But that’s Brandon Sanderson’s idea of demonstrating how clever a character is - have them ferret out a secret that no one is actually hiding.  Demandred, Mesaana and Semirhage might not have been trying to fool their fellow Chosen, but they did just fine with ol’ B-Sand.  

This could go on for pages and pages, and frankly, “describe” and “description” no longer look like words to me.  My point is, the contention that Jordan is somehow inferior to Sanderson by virtue of his excessive description, while Sanderson’s writing is streamlined and direct, cutting out the fat and getting right to the action, this notion is pure bullshit.  You might not like them, you might not think what Jordan is telling you with his descriptions is necessary, you can prefer Sanderson’s writing as a matter of taste, but you absolutely cannot say that this is a fault unique to Jordan, or an area in which Sanderson is superior.  The real problem with Jordan’s descriptions is that they did so much create a definitive setting and characters, that a reader who has become immersed in these aspects of the story is unable to sit through Sanderson’s lexiconic abuse and word salad and accept it as The Wheel of Time.

[nutty1005]

The new and starstudded “A Dream Like A Dream”, is the starting point, not the ending point, of Xiao Zhans

Original Article: https://m.thepaper.cn/newsDetail_forward_12542131 Original Author: 程辉剧场手记 The author published this in Pengpai News and shared on his Weibo Post on 6 May 2021.

Andante Cantabile, my most beloved music by Tchaikovsky, came from his String Quartet No. 1 in D major, every time it would painfully touch my heart, poet Xi Murong also used this to caption a melancholic poem. I thought, using it to sum up Lai Shengchuan’s representative work, “A Dream Like A Dream”, would be most apt.

“A Dream Like A Dream” lasts for 8 hours, this is something rare in Chinese theaters. Using the doctor as the first person, Patient No. 5 recalled and narrated in his narration, a surreal stage arrangement, emotions, life, fate, culture and societal upheaval, bringing tears to fog up your eyes. After 9 years of continued changes in the crew, Yanghua Theater brought in a new version with actors such as Xu Qing, Feng Xianzhen, Ge Xinyi, Xiao Zhan, Yan Nan, Zhang Liang, Huang Lu, Kong Wei, etc. The new version rivaled the quality of its predecessors, but yet bestowed a new presentation and expression.

A unique city was the backdrop for its first showing and the chance fate of the characters within the play allowed us to truly understand the nature of impermanence. In the play, there was an important term called “self-exchange”, which was said to come from an ancient practice from South Asia, by “breathing” with the others, so as to gift health and happiness, and remove his pain and misfortune. “A Dream Like A Dream” was a play that spoke of the search for the meaning of life, did it also deliberately “self-exchange” with the audience then? Once we understood the concept of “self-exchange”, we could also see that it was also a request to communicate with the reserved hearts of the contemporary person.

The fates of Gu Xianglan and Patient No. 5 were the two main timelines in “A Dream Like A Dream”, and the other timelines served to supplement or trigger the former. Patient No. 5’s motive came from “searching”, Gu Xianglan’s came from “chasing”. The chaser is the key to enlightening the searcher, the searcher became the resolution for the chaser, although they had different obsessions in their lives, they both came together in the end. Gu Xianglan’s deathbed confession to Patient No. 5 was not simply just an apology in her dazed state, but also her most unforgettable, wonderful and romantic memories of love; Patient No. 5, with his concern, consideration and inquiries, was like the listener from heaven, the guiding light to aid the soul in letting go of her regrets.

The 2021 Yanghua version of “A Dream Like A Dream” maintained its previous feature of multiple actors to one role, and multiple roles to one actor. Xu Qing, Feng Xianzhen, Ge Xinyi acted as after going abroad, old age and before going abroad versions of Gu Xianglan respectively. From the “peerless beauty” socialite of the brothels in Shanghai Beach, to the Baroness of a French Ambassador, to an artist, then to a maid, a sweeper of roads and alleys, to the lonely elderly in the hospital, she went through indescribable ups and downs.

Xu Qing had acted as Gu Xianglan since the play’s debut, and in the new version, her portrayal had already been exquisitely refined, the Gu Xianglan in her prime is lovely and graceful, but yet proud and wild, sensitive and emotional, as though Gu Xianglan’s soul had fully occupied her body. In addition to the true to form portrayal of the amorous nature of Gu Xianglan, her performance was exceptionally focused on the details of the silent scenes. When she and Xiao Zhan’s Patient No. 5 gazed at each other, when teary eyes met with clear eyes; from afar it seemed like she was looking at her younger self about to go onto a journey of no return, the resigned helplessness and the restless hope looked at each other; when realizing that the lost Baron had once returned, her astonished and sharp glares of anger; when Wang Debao found the tiny loft she stayed in by chance, her stealing glances were surprised and flustered… They were all full of the character’s aura and emotional tension, and the pain took the audiences by their hearts.

Senior actress Feng Xianzhen’s portrayal of the elderly version of Gu Xianglan was quite different from the version by the previous actress Lu Yan, which allowed the audiences to experience the wonder of plays due to different characterization. Lu Yan’s version was one that remained elegant and proud despite her tribulations, there was more calm and temperance, which would make the audiences respect the tenacity of this legendary lady. Feng Xianzhen’s version was a Gu Xianglan who went to France from Shanghai, and back to Shanghai from France, twice she found freedom and twice she fell. The cruelty of fate had ripped away all of the pretentiousness, the charm of her past had been lost, she was like every ordinary person. She would scheme cigarettes from strangers, curse as she liked with phrases such as “bastard”, “no good-doers in Taiwan”, mock those relatives who came to look after her as those who came for their inheritance. She fully portrayed the effects of her unfortunate life and her bitterness at the world, which made the audiences sigh in sadness.

Facing these two powerful actresses in portraying the same role, Ge Xinyi as the young Gu Xianglan, had a lot of pressure. Her performance was more inclined to a lonely beauty, the purity despite her circumstances, so as to provide a solid motive for the Baron and Wang Debao’s unrestrained infatuation. As a newcomer to the theater, her steady control was not an easy task, and should be praised for it. If she would be more open, layered and flavorful in her portrayal, the characterization would be better. After all, Gu Xianglan was the top courtesan within the midst of love and affairs, and the quiet and calm of a learned lady would be quite different from that.

Patient No. 5 was a journeyman of life. In the beginning, he suffered painful setbacks from the death of his child and the loss of his wife, and started a self-exiled wanderlust. His marriage came by mistake, almost like a replacement for his wife’s frustrating relationship. Fate caused him to lose his spirit, but he was unwilling to give up, hence he wanted to search for his wife, as though he wanted to search for himself. His encounter with Jiang Hong, was the wanderers’ sympathy for each other and to rely on each other. Only when he walked into the French castle and saw the tranquil and woeful eyes of Gu Xianglan, he seemed to see himself at the far coast of the lake, the cumulative rage and sorrow in both their hearts, their collective unwillingness to concede suddenly exploded, and he decisively dropped everything to find the lady in the painting. He did not know what question was ignited then, but he started his search for the dream of life.

In terms of the control of this character, Xiao Zhan and Yan Nan definitely put in a lot of efforts, they were highly immersive. What was even more rare was that, although their performances had different focuses, but they were both very united in terms of aura, body language, speech, pace and habitual actions, as though the two actors in the same stage were truly one character. For such a complete creation, you need not only tacit understanding.

Xiao Zhan’s performance exceeded my expectations. Despite it being his debut in a play, his performance was not even the least bit disjointed, and he was even able to merge his own personality characteristics with the role itself. His actions, pace and emotions gave a smooth interplay between tension and relaxation. The portrayal of innocent, naive, youthful, kind and fragile Patient No. 5, his unpreparedness in matters of love, was especially suitable as a youth who just joined society. It made the random encounter in the cinemas as the prelude of love more believable, and also gave a firm foundation to his actions later on, the multiple setbacks in later on, his wanderings, and his endless searching. With his wife and Jiang Hong, he had different relationships, the former was a budding first love, the latter came from empathy, Xiao Zhan had slightly different portrayal for the different phases of space and time, the cycle from simple to confusion, from searching to questioning, there was careful understanding and detailed handling. After discovering Gu Xianglan’s tracks, the clear longing that Xiao Zhan gave off collided with the layered longing from Xu Qing after her tribulations, was like the undercurrents under a calm lake, it drew in the rousing emotions, and became the strong force that pushed the story forward.

Xiao Zhan has the ability and the reason to achieve much better results in future theater stages. With time, if he could become even more at ease with the control of his body, if he could be even more accurate during the changes of character condition, I trust that he could achieve another breakthrough, and create even more challenging characters.

Reprising Patient No. 5 after many years, Yan Nan was obviously even more in-depth with his understanding of the script and character, and gifted the character a melancholy aura similar to those of an ancient poet, the quiet tones and deep glances became the key feature. The sense of accumulation of the vicissitudes, merged with Xiao Zhan’s portrayal, realized the continuation of the character’s fate. His performance on the hospital bed contrasted with Gu Xianglan on her hospital bed in a different time, and manifested Patient No. 5’s enlightenment after his miles of wandering, the person on the bed is awake, but those not were instead still dreaming. His calmness held the strings of every timeline together.

Zhang Liang’s portrayal of the Baron was the surprise of the show. If the old version’s Baron and Gu Xianglan was like the contest between eagle and the wild pigeon, the huge difference in power created the tragedy that made the audiences sad. The 2021 Yanghua version’s Baron and Gu Xianglan was like a pair of heavenly cranes, but they sang different notes as they flew to each other, and became a pair of lovebirds who hurt each other as they fell. The Baron became more romantic, more gentle and loving, but he remained prideful as he was still a noble beneath that amicable exterior, this was Zhang Liang’s new expression to the character, this also elevated Gu Xianglan’s difficulty in her choice, and even more so contrasted Gu Xianglan’s “evil” in her woeful revenge, and also left a branching point to the remaining love. His love for Gu Xianglan was true, it was not possession, but he loved the Oriental beauty, the caged Gu Xianglan, not the wild and free Gu Xianglan. Letting go and abandoning was his hopelessness for his lover, he felt that Gu Xianglan was letting herself go, she was betraying and depraving her beauty, he felt that his efforts were painfully wasted, it was not an attack on an escaped prey. This kind of portrayal made us wonder – love, was it to love a person, or was it to love an ideal? Love was to give or to receive? Was the ultimate goal of giving receiving?

The tragedy between Baron and Gu Xianglan became a tragedy of conflict between culture, social status and ideals. The difference between Baron and Gu Xianglan, did not merely exist on levels of culture and artistic ideals, but it was down to different life goals due to different cultural influences. It was hard for Baron to understand that his love only moved Gu Xianglan from a smaller cage to another bigger cage, even if he loved her deeply; Gu Xianglan who struggled for survival in a twisted environment, simply wanted to escape her cage, even if it meant poverty. This type of tragedy could not simply be explained with the character’s personality. The energy from repeated characterization is evident.

Huang Lu as Jiang Hong was a character that was rather difficult to grasp in “A Dream Like A Dream”. In her portrayal, Jiang Hong was an ordinary girl, who went through multiple troubles but was always chosen, besides her strong sense of survival, I almost could not see more personality. I remembered that I had brief flashes of a parallel universe while cooking eggs one morning, that was the state that she could not find herself or her position in life. She claimed herself as “the original Jiang Hong was dead, the Jiang Hong who arrived in Paris never existed” wanderer, her “relationship” with Patient No. 5 was merely a chance encounter in life, both of them were scared and questioning whether they should “fall into another relationship”. Huang Lu’s performance was very restrained, controlled, and tried hard to make herself not stand out, to do it to this extent was quite difficult. When she was talking about her stowaway escape, there was a point for emotional explosion, but yet she had to control it within the fine line between “surviving the calamity” and “unable to calm herself”. For this actress who was nominated multiple times for international awards and also won a national acting award, this was a rare stage experience.

Kong Wei, who just took off her costume in “Thunder Rain”, portrayed Shi Li Hong, the Mama-san of “Fairy Court”, in “A Dream Like A Dream”. Scheming and cunning in worldly matters, but yet she maintained her own sense of righteousness with Gu Xianglan and her sisters, fleshed out the character with even more emotions. Especially when the drunk professor professed his love for her, her teasing and forced calmness was mixed with surprise and shyness, as every emotion came at the same time, she managed them with ease, not only was the set brightly colored, there was also the sudden exposure of the character’s personality. Wang Peiyu who acted as the young Wang Debao, also showed the character’s clumsiness and stubbornness, his portrayal of passionate love was on point, which was just as brilliant.

There were many characters in “A Dream Like A Dream”, the group’s shared brilliance could not be forgotten, many actors who acted as multiple roles displayed exceeding energy. This came down to the Yanghua creativity production team, lead by Art Director Wang Keran, who had astute senses in actor selection as well as careful detailing in every part of the creation.

Luo Yongjuan, who portrayed a puppet in “Jewish City” and Li Zonglei, who had many important roles in many dramas and plays, both portrayed over 10 characters, and outstandingly completed the character creation for all of these different roles. Ruan Li, who portrayed the cousin, the dancer, the child, etc, also contributed multiple talents. Wang Weiqian, who portrayed Aunt Jin, the tourist, etc; Sun Zhongyi, who portrayed the professor, the old servant, etc, they all left deep impressions.

To display the characters but not to display themselves, this was the forefront of all theater actors, this was done by Xu Qing and Xiao Zhan, Zhang Liang and other stars, this was the respect they gave the play, the stage, the audience and themselves.

When the first kissing scene appeared for Xiao Zhan, part of the audiences were controlled but there were still some excessive “fan” reactions, but this did not interrupt his performance pace, this reminded me that Xu Qing and Hu Ge version also had the same situation many years ago. We could see that the actors were immersed, they prepared mental homework for every segment and detail, this was the hard work and the goal of both the production and the actors. Putting in efforts into acting and solely seeking the effects of celebrity, these are two totally different things after all.

When rehearsing or refreshing old classic plays, most of the time, methods such as subversion, recreation or simple replay were used. 2021 Yanghua’s version of “A Dream Like A Dream” is a case of production relying on the new cast to continuously discover deeper understandings, to recreate, and then to give audience a new icing on the cake while ensuring the quality of the play.

I was interviewed after the debut showing and said that this play was the Xiao Zhan’s starting point and not his ending point, and I also hoped that more capable actors would come to the theater stage, focus on the creation of art, and from that we could forge our own generation of quality “full celebrities”, such as Jin Shan, Shi Hui, Bai Yang, Zhang Ruifang, Shu Xiuwen, Laurence Olivier, Marlon Brando, Vivien Leigh, etc, of China. On the international theatrical stage, this is just commonplace.

[these-are-the-first-steps]

Hey, come read my shit:

STAR WARS (it’s all reylo)

PREY - “Kylo Ren, recovering, retrained, and bolstered by the Dark Side thanks to Snoke, is still obsessed with his failures and the scavenger that got away. Carving a furious path through the First Order fleet and throwing everything to hell, he hones in almost desperately on her location as she runs from his whispers until there is nothing left but them.” Featuring such stellar tags as “she’s running but he’s coming for her and lets her know it”

Exigence in Force Majuere - “This war has raged for ages and most of the leaders at its helm are long gone. It's left to Kylo Ren, and Rey, his constant opposing force, whose minds have seeped so far into each other as to make planning in secret impossible, to come to some accord or else watch the galaxy burn in their futile efforts at mutual destruction.”*

*This is/was a non-linear story added to via submitted prompts on tumblr and written to a loose storyline already in my head.

Neon Lights - [ONESHOT] Kylo Ren is the highest paid movie star in the world. He's also the number one drug user, number one patron of any whore pretty enough to catch his attention. But her voice never leaves his head. It won't leave him alone. And all he can do is replay their parting over and over and over again.... [[This story has TWO ENDINGS- happy and sad! Because I couldn't make up my mind and the angst was so good. But y'all-- the sad ending is SAD. Read the TAGS. And a reminder that drama is drama and not real life.]]

Solace for the Damned - “Christmas Eve, and a lone priest of a tiny, isolated parish works feverishly in the snow until an old friend drops by. She misses him- what will it take to lure him away? When will he stop hiding behind the cloth?”*

*a story I was real excited for just as a lot of personal drama started for me which botched everything. Sorry ‘bout that.

How Silent Are Your Saints? - [ONESHOT] “Rey's run off, and Kylo's in hot pursuit. When he finally finds her, she's stark naked planted in a tiny metal tub trying to scrub herself clean of the grit of the planet she hates so much. So why did she come back?? Why won't she just come home with him??

Very angry, rough smutty times. Rey is angry, Kylo's angry, and she makes it worse every time that pretty mouth says the 'B' name he hates so much...

This story was inspired by a piece of art done by Hotside on tumblr depicting Rey essentially sponge-bathing in a small, shallow tin back on Jakku with the shadow of Kylo Ren looming out of frame. Link inside!!”

There’s Only So Many Things You Can Steal From A Courtesan - [ONESHOT] ...and bitchin’ moves to catch the ladies ain’t one of them. Long overdue Matt trash, but it’s darker and not your typical fare- for cheesytriangle/picarito on tumblr.

A Lady Should Never Promenade A Ballroom Alone - [ONESHOT] “Rey is undercover at a ball. So is Kylo Ren. Who thought putting Rey in that dress was a good idea? Borderline drama, fluff, crack without actually totally falling into any of those categories, with a generous helping of SMUT. NOT an AU. Written for a "oh hey, what are you doing here?" prompt request.” *

*hilariously this is the most popular oneshot I’ve ever written.

Too Late - [ONESHOT] “He has to watch as she leaves, watch as she goes into the arms of someone else. But it began before he ever arrived. He's simply too late.” —hi. This is not a happy story. But it’s short.

Can’t Keep Them Down - “I made a post last week saying I'd only reply to ants with explicit porn or cute fluffy animals. While I think the fandom may have taken more advantage of that than actual ants, it's still been a lot of fun. This is a collection of the short drabbles I wrote up- chapters will be added as they happen on tumblr (and maybe I’ll occasionally post something here that I don’t post there so subscribing might be a good idea- who knows!). There is no sequence unless specified. Every single chapter is rather explicit porn. ENJOY, SINNERS.”

Let It In - [ONESHOT] Kylo's control over himself is wearing thin- not like it was gridiron to begin with. He lapses more and more into daydreams, fantasies, of her. Of them. He sees her everywhere. He hates himself for it. But the more they consume him, the more he can't help but indulge, and as he abandons his duties once more to sequester himself in an effort to not rip The Finalizer into two, he finds, to his anguish, that maybe his traitorous thoughts aren't just his alone... [[Art inspired, ILLUSTRATED fic attached to a work produced by Arriku/Spacefugue/solarfugue/cherryfury on tumblr]]”*

*I lose points for this fic because I was told later that they were sitting down in the art so I got it wrong. Sorry, arriku- I still feel bad. :/

The Choice - [ONESHOT] “At the end of the world, he made his offer. The planet cracked like an egg beneath their feet, ready to give birth to a brand new star, and still he couldn't bring himself to say it- couldn't bring himself to say he needed her. Instead it came out as "You need a teacher!!" Anything- *anything*- to keep her close to him. But would she understand? Choices, choices...”

Control - “They pound at her head, the Darkness, her demons, she lashes out, but no one can understand. They can't see what she sees, feel what she feels, they're closing in, and she can't escape, but when she finally flees to the outside..... [[This is a *former* one-shot based on a song that I swear will be Rey's theme for episode 8. PREPARE FOR THE ANGST INSANITY TRAIN!!]]”*

*officially unfinished. Ah well. Dunno if anyone really missws it anyway....

All Good Things - [ONESHOT] “Trapped in a cave after a First Order attack causes a massive collapse, Rey is left with a mangled leg with no rescue for days. Just as she starts to fret that no one will ever come, a familiar voice brushes against her mind and offers her aid. But at what price? As her injuries worsen, she may not have much of a choice.” —hi. This is the most lighthearted reylo fic I’ve probably ever written.

——————

FARSCAPE

Everything - [ONESHOT] “Moments after the skreeth attack in 'Terra Firma', in the dizzying whirl of sirens and emergency workers and special agents rushing into the ruin of his father's home, John is brought bad news from D'Argo and Chiana and, faced with the reality that his best friend since childhood is dead, finally must tell his family everything.”

——————

XENA

Mandatory Refusal - [ONESHOT] “Countless times he'd watched her calmly walk into the arms of Death. And countless times he'd watched her thwart it all the same. She always came back- she always found a way. Even when she chose to take her own life, he'd respected her, respected her decision enough, to let her go through with it. But not this time- not after everything they'd been through since then. She wasn't getting a choice this time.

Takes place during Xena's final battle in AFIN:2. Ares wasn't so conspicuously absent as he seemed...”

You Can’t Run Away - [ONESHOT] “What happened after Xena left Hercules in "Unchained Heart"? What led her to bury her armor in the dirt? As soon as she turned for good, Ares hounded both Xena and Hercules by raising Darphus from the dead and filling the killer's mind with no thought other than to feed them both to Graegus- no one gets to simply walk away. Set in the space between UH and Sins of the Past.”

——————

METALOCALYPSE

....yea I wrote a metalocalypse fic, you wanna fight about it? comedy is hard and it was a fun challenge, especially that flavor of comedy.

Succession - [ONESHOT] “Story takes place at the tail end of 'The Doomstar Requiem'. Charles takes his place as the High Holy Priest of the Church of the Black Klok and the band is left without a manager. In an attempt to find a new one, they hold 'manager auditions', but old grudges interfere and one of the band members takes a turn for the worse. cannon ONE SHOT!”

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 15

Summary: Kate Rosseau is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 16: Kate rages with the green fairy. 

           Kate would continue to work for Tommy but she took any opportunity to work in London. That way, she could have some distance without him getting all up and arms. Eventually, Tommy offered to let her stay in London to do some work for the company. Whether or not he had larger plans, he didn’t really let her know. But she was there in that field with him. She couldn’t ignore the talk about Winston Churchill. She just hoped he knew what he was doing.

“Have you ever been in love, Alfie?”

“That is quite the question, my dear.” The man looked up over his half-moon glasses at the young woman who was sat on the floor of his office.

Kate was kneeling by Cyril’s bed giving him a nice belly rub. She’d grown fond of the dog even though she’d never had one herself. He was a gentle giant and very sweet to her. It was the little thing like Alfie’s dog that kept her in a somewhat good mood. Despite the fact that she felt empty.

“I know it’s personal but I felt like we’ve talked about everything else.”

“Why d’you wanna talk ‘bout love, aye?” Alfie shuffled a few papers around his desk, still planning on working even if he was lead into some conversation about something silly like love.

“Because I didn’t know if you’d ever been in love or not.” Kate stood up, giving Cyril one final pat and going to sit back down across from Alfie.

“Pretty sure you didn’t come in here thinking ‘bout me love life. Think you’re probably thinking ‘bout something else. Your love life, perhaps?”

“Intuitive.” She mumbled and rested her elbows on his desk. “What I say cannot leave this office.”

“Love, if you think I’m gonna go rat on you to Tommy, then you wound me.” He replied. “Thought I made it clear enough that he don’t need to know anything that we talk ‘bout in private.”

She frowned and glared at him. “Who said this has anything to do with Tommy?” She demanded.

Still busy with papers, Alfie rolled his eyes. “When you told me he was expecting a baby and planning a wedding, it sounded like you were telling me someone fucking died. If you didn’t have feelings for him, then you wouldn’t’ve acted so gloomy.”

Sinking lower in her chair, Kate buried her head in her arms. “I’m miserable, Alfie. Absolutely, miserable. Why on Earth did I have to-to fall in love with someone like that?” She protested.

“You’re asking the wrong person. I figured a long time ago that I ain’t gonna be the dutiful Jewish husband that a dutiful Jewish wife welcomes home every night.” Alfie reached for a paper that had been pinned under Kate’s arm. He tapped her elbow, making her move with a frustrated groan. “Now, I can’t see what you see in Tommy Shelby. But I also can’t tell you to just move along. If ya wanted to move along, you would’ve done it by now.”

Kate lifted her head, propping her chin on her arm. “So, what do you suppose I do?”

Alfie paused and finally looked up from his work. He removed his glasses. “Do you want me to fucking lie to you and tell you that Tommy’ll ditch her and come running to you? Or do you want me honesty?”

“Honesty.” She replied meekly.

“We’re creatures of the underworld, yeah, we can’t afford to love.”

It pained Kate to know exactly what Alfie meant. All those years she spent either thriving or surviving. She did it alone because she had to. She couldn’t chance it on a love that could ruin her. Her trust was limited. She ruminated on his words for a moment. “Then why does it hurt so much when I see him with her?”

“Because life is a fucking bitch, Kate. And you need to be tougher than it is. Life ain’t ever done me any fucking favors.”

Kate nodded. “Yeah, it hasn’t done me any favors either.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Kate was bouncing back and forth between Small Heath and London, Tommy was bouncing back and forth between Birmingham and Warwickshire. The site of his newly bought estate. There he planned on raising a family with Grace.

But plans were changing and that’s why he called Kate one evening when he was in Warwickshire and she was in Small Heath.

“Rosseau residence.”

“Kate, it’s Tommy.”

It had been a few weeks since either of them had a long conversation that wasn’t about work. So, Kate half expected him to be calling about something along those lines.

“I’ve sent the invitation in the mail but I wanted to call you before you got it.” He continued.

“Invitation to what?” Maybe a certain social event that they needed to attend to either meet with someone or make a deal. That wasn’t too strange.

“Grace and I are getting married next month.”

Even though he had told her that before, it still hurt to hear the words out loud. A confirmation of her worst fears. And it rattled her so much that she needed to take a deep breath, holding the receiver away from her so he wouldn’t hear. “Well, I’ll look out for the invitation.” She replied. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“I hope you can make it.”

“I doubt I’ll be doing any business that day if the whole company is attending a wedding.” She tried to joke but it fell flat.

They were both silent over the phone for a good while. Both of them lost in their own thoughts about their own things.

Then Kate asked something without really thinking. “I thought she was going to have the baby before the wedding. That’s what you said the plan was, right?”

If she could see him, she would’ve instantly noticed him tense up defensively. “Plans change.” He replied in a clipped tone. Frankly, Tommy was sick of everyone questioning him. He thought what he was doing was right. An old flame of his came back to say she was pregnant, the timing worked out so why should he wait around twiddling his thumbs for a baby to appear? He didn’t care what Polly had to say, that Grace wasn’t showing as much as she ought to be. He didn’t care if Arthur and John questioned the timeline of it all. Tommy was in love and he was going to have something he never thought he’d have. A family and a wife. No one was going to take that away from him.

“Alright.” Kate was taken aback by his tone. “I was just asking.”

“Send in the RSVP whenever you get it.” Tommy hopped off the topic before they both got heated and ended up arguing. “I’ll see you soon.”

She couldn’t get another word in before he hung up the phone. Truth be told, Kate wasn’t questioning Grace and whether or not something was off. She was angry with Tommy. How cavalier he was about breaking her heart. Even if he didn’t know how she truly felt, she felt that she was justified enough to be upset. Pushing up the date of the wedding was like another jab to her heart.

But maybe Alfie was right, she just wasn’t meant to have anything of the sort. Never before had she seen herself betrothed to a man, marrying him, settling down, and having children. Before, she blamed it on her line of work and the things she got herself into. But perhaps it was because she never found someone who she could picture herself with. Then Tommy came along. And when he offered her protection, the first time any man had done so, she felt at ease. She liked how he treated her. Not as a dainty little maiden but almost as someone who could stand right beside him should she prove herself. Someone he trusted with things like being his alibi or dealing with Alfie. Oddly enough, she felt at home with Tommy. Relaxed enough to let down some of her barriers and show her true self to him. But he didn’t care to see her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When the invitation arrived to Kate’s flat a couple of days later, she got a sickening feeling in her stomach.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Thomas Michael Shelby to Miss Grace Burgess.

None of the words sounded right, as if they were written in an unfamiliar language. The fancy lettering swirled around the cream-colored making her dizzy.

It was a vice, but Kate knew that the only cure to her sudden case of emotional vertigo was a couple of drinks. Or a few. Or more. So, she got dressed and headed to the Garrison.

~~~~~~~~~~

Though it was early in the evening, John and Arthur were already there with a couple of regulars at the bar.

“Katie-Girl, there ya are!” John crowed happily. “Haven’t seen you.”

“Yeah, she’s been spending all her time with Solomons in London.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

Kate smiled. “Now, now, Arthur, you know I love you both equally. I’m not one to play favorites.” She scolded and found a seat at the bar.

“What’ll it be?” Arthur smiled and grabbed an empty glass for her.

“Whatever is strongest.” She placed her purse on the bar. “I’ve had a shit week and I’d like to forget it.”

“I’ll get ya a whiskey.”

John got a wild grin on his face as an idea crossed his mind. “Nah, mate, get her the absinthe. She wants to forget a week not a day.”

Arthur shot his younger brother a dirty look. “You know we ain’t supposed to advertise that shit.” He retorted. “Coppers will come in and take it from us if people go ‘round saying that we’ve got it.”

John just scoffed. “They can’t take anything from us, we’re the Peaky fucking Blinders.” He stood up suddenly and hopped over the bar, much to Arthur’s dismay.

“Gonna scuff up the woodwork you fucking little shit!” Arthur smacked him in the back of the head.

Still, John tucked under the bar and produced a bottle of a green-colored spirit.

“John, I’ve become well acquainted with the green fairy,” Kate informed him. “I lived with Bohemians in France and they drank that shit like it was stout.”

“Then have at it.” John uncorked the bottle and placed it next to the empty glass in front of her.

Kate thought about the thin black lines spelling out Tommy and Grace’s names. The date and time of the wedding. Cordially invited. “Fuck it.” She whispered and poured herself a shot of the bitter-tasting drink.

As the anise-flavored spirit traveled down her throat, she remembered the words of a man she lived with for a part of her time in Paris. An artist who was as eccentric as he was kind-hearted. And although Kate was never the artistic type, she often drank with him just to keep company.

One night she asked why he always drank absinthe. There wasn’t anything appealing to Kate, it didn’t smell very nice and the green hue was off-putting.

“The green fairy makes everyone a visionary.” He replied.

“I don’t want to be a visionary.” She responded. “I’ve nothing to offer the world. I just want to survive.”

He peered at her from behind his small spectacles that always rested precariously on the bridge of his nose. “Then drink, and rage, and forget.”

Kate didn’t have much of a memory of the night after that. But she swore she danced over the rooftops of Paris until the stars took a hold of her and cradled her. Instead of waking up in the sky, however, she woke up on the floor of her bedroom, not able to make it to her bed before she passed out. But her roommates said she had sung well into the night. She had danced. And at one point she had thrown open the windows and shouted into the night. Something about life or something about death, no one remembered precisely.

In Birmingham, she raged. Though, she was good-natured at the Garrison. For the length of time that John and Arthur allowed her to stay. Eventually, Arthur demanded John bring her to Tommy’s or Polly’s. That way someone could look after her so she didn’t accidentally fall or hurt herself.

Since the betting shop was closer, that’s where John took Kate. Not that he was being lazy, it was just Kate was so drunk she could barely walk without stumbling every step.

She rambled on and on to him the walk over there. Not making much sense, either because her words were so slurred or she was speaking in a multitude of different languages. Stitching them together to try and make sense of her own drunken state.

Practically dragging her along, John managed to get her to Tommy’s doorstep and he knocked.

Since Kate started drinking early and it didn’t take long before she got drunk on absinthe, it was still a reasonable hour to be knocking.

Still, Tommy was annoyed when he saw his younger brother was toting along a very inebriated Kate. “What the hell happened?”

“Absinthe,” John explained. “I’m sorry, Tom, I didn’t think she’d take more than a shot but she was hell-bent on tryna drink the whole bottle ‘fore we got it away from her.”

“For fuck’s sake, John.” Tommy ran a hand over his face. “Fine, I’ll look after her.”

“Where are we?” Kate slurred.

“Tommy’s, you’re gonna stay here for the night so he can look after ya,” John explained and helped her inside.

Kate’s reached out to grab something to support herself. But her vision was so muddled that she got a handful of Tommy’s shoulder instead of the banister or the door.

“Go on home, John.” Tommy sighed and shut the door.

“Tom, Tommy.” Her knees buckled for a moment and she decided to slump onto the stairs.

“Yes, Kate?” He watched as she reclined back on the stairs, staring up at the ceiling with a bemused look.

“I could swing from the chandelier.” She murmured like an awe-struck child.

Tommy glanced up and saw nothing but a water-damaged ceiling. “We don’t have a chandelier here.”

“Pft, I know. I could go to your big, fancy-schmancy house.” She giggled and rolled her head to the side to look at him.

“I don’t think Grace would appreciate you hanging off the chandelier.”

A sour look damaged her blissful expression. “Yeah, well I don’t give a flying fuck what Grace thinks.” She muttered and attempted to sit herself up. Instead, she slipped down to the bottom step, her legs sprawled out, outfit disheveled. If she wasn’t drunk, she would’ve been aghast at her appearance in front of Tommy.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Where’s this talk coming from?” He inquired.

“Fuck off.” She grumbled and sloppily adjusted the hem of her skirt.

“You’ve been acting strange ever since the Derby. If you’ve got something to say, you ought to say it.” Tommy insisted firmly. He wasn’t fond of the distancing that Kate had enacted between him and her. Especially not after what they had gone through together in that field.

“M’not saying anything.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not saying a fucking word. Nothing!”

“Fine.” Tommy knew there was no reasoning with someone so intoxicated. “Then let’s get you to bed.” He went to pick her up.

“Hey!” She smacked his hands away or at least tried because she missed. “Don’t touch me.”

“You can’t possibly think you’re going to make it up those stairs on your own. You’ll fall and crack your head open and I don’t want that in me house.” He retorted.

“I’ll crack my head open if I damn well want to.” She replied like an insolent child. “I don’t care.”

Tommy took a deep breath and let it out before he got really upset. To remedy the situation and get her in bed, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

Kate protested as much as she could without becoming motion sick. “Let me go!” She whined.

“I will once you’re upstairs.”

“I’m gonna fucking bite you if you don’t let me go.” It was the only thing she could think of as the rest of her body felt like lead.

He shook his head. “I have three younger siblings; you don’t think I’ve been bitten in a fight before?” He challenged and continued on his way upstairs with her.

“Fuck you.”

Tommy went into his bedroom and plopped her down on the bed. “There, lie on your side.” He directed.

“Can’t fucking stand you.” She snipped but obliged and curled up on her side, facing away from him.

“We can talk once you’ve sobered up tomorrow.” He turned off the lamp in the corner and pulled the quilt up over her. “Maybe you’ll make more sense in the morning.”

“There’s nothing to make sense of.” Kate felt like the bed was swaying beneath her. Almost like a cradle rocking back and forth. She grabbed at Tommy’s pillow, clutching it close to her like a teddy bear. “I’m in love with you and you’re marrying her.”

Tommy froze in place. He waited for her to say something else. To say she was kidding, or say something else funny to confirm that she was just out of her mind drunk. But she didn’t do either. “You love me? Kate?”

The only reply he got was her soft snores as she settled into a dreamless, painless sleep.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​ @karmezii​

Tag list: @radical-gecko​ @actorinfluence​ 

Masterlist

[politicallycorrectinnocentteen]

Payback (Part 1 of 2)

Title – Payback (Part 1 of 2)

Summary –  What are the things we pay back? Money ? Revenge? Love?

“Taken aback, she noticed at his face. His face was sweating, slightly red…tensed and hesitating.

Oh no…

She had read about it. She had read about this infamous love triangle everywhere! On fanfictions, on tumblr, on tacebook, on toogle – everywhere! These…these signs were clear. Before destiny could reveal what it wrote for them, Danni already knew what is going to happen. Something which she did not - but should have - expected, has happened.

No…Really?

She froze as she saw Parker closing in the distance between their faces”

Pairing : ?????? x ????? x ?????

 Words – ~1100

 Hey lovelies <3 , dont forget to comment if you like it :D

---------------x--------------x----------

 Danni groaned as the grey clouds roared above her head. It was Vance’s birthday and there she was – almost running late and dead tired. Why, you may ask? After all, what is there which could drive The Queen, Danni Asturias, to the edge?

It was very common knowledge on how much Vance loved – or rather worshipped chocolates. In the town next door, they suddenly started selling some new variety of chocolates, which soon became the talk of Pine Springs. The customers at Compass Café, her colleagues taking a piece and moaning in pleasure till eternity – that’s when she decided to march off to her co-workers and snatch a piece to taste herself. They already hated her, so there was nothing at all to lose. And man! The way the chocolate just melted in her mouth with the sweet, thick chocolaty flavor drove her to bliss.

She had to get those for Vance. Even if it meant waking up at 4:30 am in the morning, or jogging for over 10 km to the town next door, or waiting for another hour hungry for the store to open, or fighting the crowd like the Legendary Courtesans of Rome in Arena, or running back hungry to Vance’s place so she does not miss anything out – even at the risk of getting perfectly drenched in rain.

But it will be so, so, so worth it.

She stared at her present, neatly gift-wrapped in an heart shaped box. Just imagining the chocolaty flavour-

GRRRRRRRUMPPPPPPPPP

She was distracted by the sharp grumble in her stomach. With a new determination of reaching Vance’s house – to get both Vance’s heart and good food, she increased her pace. And that’s exactly when a familiar jeep drove past her and stopped in front of her.

“Parker?!” Danni gasped, instantly narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

“Danni?!” Parker gasped in return, “Did not expect to find you here out of all places.” He then gave her than fucking smug and confident smile, which boiled her blood till the very last drop. “I thought you’d be already at the party.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Danni glared at her, and he instantly raised his hands in surrender.

“You know, I heard about some divine chocolates being sold in this town, and thought they’d be perfect for Vance-“

Aha! Her suspicion was correct!

“But they went out of stock! I was waiting since afternoon!” Parker cried. “Can you imagine that? Since afternoon!”

Rookie. Danni smugly thought.  

“…Whats that in your hands though?”

Danni yelped in surprise as she was pulled back to reality. She didn’t notice when Parker came in and stood just in front of her, eyeing the present of hers.

“This is heaven.” Danni smiled, “ The divine bliss God created only for the most fortunate creation’s of his-“

“These are those special chocolates, right?”

“….Yes”

Danni nodded, and then turned up to look smugly at Parker.

“The same chocolates you failed to get for Vance.” She chirped, “He’d be so happy to see them” She put a finger on her chin, as if thinking, “And he’d probably blast out of happiness when he taste’s them-“

“How did you get those?”

“Because,” Danni rolled her eyes as if stating the most obvious universal fact in the world, “I was waiting in the queue since morning. Morning 7 AM.”

“Oh…I see.”

That was not a response Danni was expecting. She thought Parker would get frustrated, tensed, worried, kick his jeep in frustration and probably puncture it being the moron he was, scream, cry, beg her to give him chocolates – or anything which was Parker’ish.

But perhaps…perhaps he was got a grain of wisdom in that thickhead of his’ ? Perhaps he did realize that Danni is the perfect one for Vance and not him? Perhaps he admitted defeat?

“How much did they cost you though?” Parker asked.

Danni’s eyes immediately narrowed in suspicion.

“Hey! I-I am just asking…” he trailed off, “They seem pretty expensive…”

“Obviously!” Danni smirked, “A hundred dollars!”

“And if we, hypothetically,” he stressed, “ order them from Pine Springs, then it’d be at least 20 dollars for delivery…?”

Danni struggled to stifle a laughter.

“Twenty? More life fifty!” Danni laughed, “And forget getting chocolates delivered to Pine Springs Officer Buzzkill,” She smugly smiled, “Because they are all out of stock.”

Parker bit his lip in thought.

A minute passed by, then another, and another. Another sharp pain at her tummy reminded her of her unpleasant situation. And that Officer Moron standing there like a statue did not help her either. Thats when her attention fell to the lively, rumbling jeep.

Its just a twenty minute journey to Vance’s house on it…

Now she bit her lip.

“Parker…”  she said. Heck, she never thought she’d see such desperate times.

“Huh…?”

“You’re going to Vance right?”

“Yes...”

“Would you mind giving me a lift?”

She tried to give her best bestestestest-friend smile to him... It did not seem to work. 

Parker seemed in another world again, thinking of God knows what.

She waited, tapping her foot impatiently. She waited…waited….waited…AND waited…and when she felt she could wait no more…she waited still….and then even more…and more.

Finally, when the last straw of her patience fell out, when she was about to burst like an erupting volcano on our poor Parker, he held her by the arms.

Taken aback, she noticed at his face. His face was sweating, slightly red…tensed and hesitating.

Oh no…

She had read about it. She had read about this infamous love triangle everywhere! On fanfictions, on tumblr, on tacebook, on toogle – everywhere! These…these signs were clear. Before destiny could reveal what it wrote for them, she already knew what is going to happen. Something which she did not - but should have - expected, has happened.

No…Really?

She froze as she saw Parker closing in the distance between their faces, his luscious lips going to her ear.

Oh no…this is the moment!

He is going to say those three words to her. He is going to confess to her.

No...what…how?

She never thought of him like that. He was more like a friend, and a competitor to her. But that’s also where love sprouted at, in all the fanfictions she read-

She could feel Parker’s breath falling on her neck as his enormous, studdy and muscular frame covered her like a cloud covering the sun.

She felt him pass something to her hand. Something…paper’ish

A love note?

Frozen in shock, her heart threatened to beat out of her chest.

Why was it thumping that way?

What was she feeling?

The little feelings she could mutter in her heart were that of sorrow. She felt sorry for Parker because they both know how much she loved Vance.

She felt a jolt run down her heart as Parker’s lips opened to say something. But fate was already sealed. She had already played this scenario a thousand times in her head, and in each time she could see herself with only Vance and no one el-

“Sorry.”

Wait WHAT?

She felt a heavy tug and the next thing she knew was that Parker snatched the chocolates from her and was now driving his jeep to Vance’s house.

Dumbstruck, she looked at the paper he gave her. One fifty dollars. He stole those chocolates for a hundred and fifty dollars. And he did not give her lift either…

…

…

…

“PARKER YOU SON OF B*@!#”

Her shout cracked through the loud thunder, which was immediately followed by a torrential downpour of rain.

Parker is going to pay. He is going to pay with his dear life…

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

Tags - @brightpinkpeppercorn , @bhavf @pixieferry @scrappysheep (I miss you since you deactivated your acc </3) @hotchocolatelovesyou @fluffy-cat-whisper @strangerofbraidwood @strangelycami @sherjules

[carreraleigh]

Dancing in the dark

A/N: This is a two-part story. In the first part me and @vienroose focused more on the romantic part of colt and mc. The second part is coming next week, and it will be VERY smut, so be prepared.

Pairing: Colt x MC (Ellie)

Book: Ride or Die

Summary: A few weeks after kaneko's death, colt and mc talk about their feelings and what they want for the future.

Recommended songs to read this story:

Tags: @zig-nazario @storiesofsass @rwanchoices @courtesan-of-garage @the-red-jhon @client-327 @umiumichan @lovehugsandcandy @acorisabsolutegodtier

——

Ellie looked at herself in the mirror while she was adjusting the skirt she had chosen for that night. She closed her eyes and sighed slowly, trying to calm her nerves. It wasn't the first time that she went on a date with Colt, or the last one, but it was the first time they could really be together without worrying about anything else, without plans, without secrets, just the two of them. Everything felt unreal, like a dream, they'd fought so hard to get there and after all, they'd achieved it. Having solved everything and stopped running, in one way or another, the two would've had to sit down and talk about what they wanted for the future, because within the race many promises can be made, but you never know until you are close and you have to cross the finish line. Ellie knew that today was that night, and she was sure of what she felt, but why was it so hard to say those words out loud?

"Hey," Ximena entered the room "¿Are you okay?" She approached Ellie slowly, with a big smile on her face "Colt has been waiting for a while."

"Yes," she sighed, turned around and looked at Ximena "I just needed some time to think."

"Oh beautiful." Ximena got closer and hugged her "You'll see that everything will be fine, don't worry." Ellie smiled as they broke the hug "It's your moment, go get your man, I know how much you fought to be with him."

"You're right, Ximena. This is going to be my night."

--

Colt and Ellie went fast down the street, she loved the adrenaline she felt every time she rode on that motorcycle: she felt free, invincible, as if she could eat the world in one bite, and being there with Colt made her feel like the most powerful woman in the world.

"¿Where are we going?" she asked, raising her voice a little so that he would listen.

"I told you it's a surprise, Ellie." he answered without taking his eyes off the street "If I told you, it wouldn' be a surprise anymore."

"You always have to play the mysterious one, ¿don't you?" she laid her head on his back "If you want my attention being mysterious, well, I'm sorry to tell you that you don't need to do that anymore."

"Oh, I know." she heard a small laugh "Your persuasion will not work with me."

"Oh yeah?" she replied "I think we'll have to prove that."

"You know I'm always ready for big challenges." he said.

After riding for a few more minutes, Colt turned onto a path that led into the woods. Ellie looked around, the trees were tall and thick, hundreds of them around, and made her feel small among so much nature.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a particular sound caught her attention, she heard it in the distance, but she could still recognize from which direction that strange sound came, she could swear it was a waterfall. The closer they got, the clearer it became, and her eyes widened in surprise as Colt slowed down the motorcycle.

"Well, here we are, welcome to my little escape." she took off her helmet and couldn't help but smile at the wonder that was in front of her eyes. A small wooden house, freshly painted and with freshly cut grass, in the distance she could see the waterfall that she heard before. Ellie looked at Colt, surprised.

"I never thought you were a man for cliché places like this one. I mean, the typical brown wooden house, with flowers in front, is yours?" she asked.

"Actually, this place has a certain history." he got off the motorcycle "But it's something I'd like to talk about later." he extended his hand "Come on".

Ellis took his hand, and the two entered the house that looked like it was taken out of a fairy tale. The interior had surprised her even more, there was a chimney with the fire on and it seemed to be new, the house was very well maintained, as if someone had been there all the time. In front of the chimney was a table, two wooden chairs and two plates, next to two glasses of wine. Still holding her hands, Colt guided Ellis to the table, took her chair out and helped her sit down. Colt went to the kitchen, turned on the lights and started searching something in the refrigerator.

"Well, I must admit that when you told me 'we were going out', I didn't have this in mind."

Colt looked at her from the kitchen while he took something wrapped from the refrigerator.

"I thought we were going to a bar, or a club." she said.

"¿Would you prefer to go to a bar?" He sat in front of her and placed the wrapped dish in front of her.

"No, I like this." she smiled as Colt unwrapped the plate. She had never seen him smile like that before, and she knew that it was happiness, because she was feeling it too.

"Well, I hope you like it." Ellie looked at the food that was placed in front of her and laughed.

"God Colt, really?" he laughed with her "¿Hamburgers?".

"Not just any burger, it's the Holly Bar burger, so no, it's not just a hamburger." he put a hamburger on Ellie's plate "Also, I know you love them as much as I do."

"You know we could have gone to the bar and eaten there, right?" She said as she took the wine glass closer to what was in front of her.

"Yes, I know." he answered "But I wanted this moment to be more... intimate. Just for the two of us." He smiled and Ellie saw the brightness growing on Colt's eyes.

"¿Did you really think that wine and hamburgers would be a good combination?" she put the cup back in its place "¿Who did all this anyway?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, who did all this?" indignation in his voice. Ellie held her gaze, now with her two eyebrows raised, Colt sighed.

"Well, maybe, just maybe, I pay someone." Colt took his hamburger with his hands and took a bite "You should try it." he said between bites.

Ellie took the hamburger in her hand and took a bite, millions of flavors exploded in her mouth, the juicy meat, the cheese, and the delicious barbecue sauce that had become her and Colt's favourite ever since they went to eat at the Holly Bar for the first time.

"The glass is just an elegant touch, I suppose. I brought Coca-Cola." he said "But if you want wine, we can have that instead of-"

Ellie put a hand on Colt's arm "This is perfect, Colt."

Colt smiled and they both began to eat their hamburgers patiently, never stopping to look at each other.

Some time later Ellie was sitting on the stairs at the entrance of the house and she heard the door open. Colt sat next to her and hugged her from behind. The two were silent for a moment, maybe trying to find the right words for the occasion, when he finally broke the silence.

"I won it." he said, taking a glass of coke to his mouth.

"¿What?" Ellie asked, confused.

"The house, I won it." Colt looked at her with a smile "In fact, it was in a race a few years ago, some men, much older than me had challenged me to a race against them." he continued as he offered him the glass to Ellie, she accepted "They thought I was too young to compete against them."

"Of course Colt Kaneko had to compete, because he had to prove that he was better than them." she laughed.

"And hell I was." the two laughed together, he kept talking "It was three years ago, if I remember correctly and since I've won it, I usually come here to clear my mind." he looked at the horizon, as if he was immersed in his own thoughts.

"It must be an important place for you then, a place where you can relax and have some peace." Elliie said.

Colt looked at her and their eyes met. He looked different in the moonlight, his eyes shone with more intensity and his skin looked softer than usual. He took Ellie's hand and squeezed it slowly, without ever taking his eyes off her.

"I wanted to share this place with you a while ago, but between everything that happened and how we lived running and escaping from everything, no moment seemed appropriate."

"I understand." Ellie laid her head on Colt's arm "Anyway, it was the best decision, we can enjoy this now." the two were silent again for another short while, but it was not one of those uncomfortable silences, it was a calm silence, filled with relaxation. Ellie kept thinking about the words she wanted to say, she was finally brave enough to tell him everything she had stuck in the heart for days. She took a breath and raised his head.

"Colt-"

"Ellie-"

The two said their names at the same time and looked at each other for some time, then laughed.

"God, this is a mess." Colt laughed for a second and then looked back at her "Would you like to talk first?".

Undoubtedly she had many things to say, many. She wanted to tell him everything she had in her heart, she wanted to tell him about the first time she had felt something for him, she wanted to tell him about the fear she had of losing him all the time, she wanted to tell him how happy she was at that moment, with him, but she kept quiet that moment. She wanted to tell him everything, but she preferred to listen to him first.

"No, I'm listening." she said.

Colt seemed to think for a second, as if his answer had taken him by surprise, he smiled.

"Where to start." he cleared his throat "Everything happened so fast, one day I was meeting you and the next day you were part of the crew, one of us, and part of my life" he sighed and then continued "I thought that I had you totally figured out the first time I saw you. You were one more girl in a bad place and with bad people, and when I saw you with Logan, I just thought 'What's a girl like her doing with a guy like him, in a place like this?', I don't want you to misunderstand, it's not that you have not been enough to look out for yourself." he sighed again, and Ellie put a hand on his leg as a support "You seemed too good for a world like this, and I was right, you're still too good for this world, the truth is that I don't even know why you're even here, after everything you had to go through. The only thing I know is that I don't want you to leave." he raised a hand to Ellie's cheek "And you're worth it all, you know, because you're one of the strongest people I've ever met. This is what I admire most of you, one of the reasons why I fell for you. All seems like a dream because I never thought to tell anyone this." he was quiet for a moment "After my father died-" he looked away, Ellie put a hand on his leg.

"We don't have to talk about that if you don't want to." she said.

"No." he looked at her like he was about to cry "After the death of my pop, I thought I lost everything, and I had lost it. I felt lonely for days, with nothing to fight for, and in all the disaster I remembered that I still had one thing to fight for, you." he take Ellie's hand "My pop may not be here anymore, and I'll miss him every day of my life, but that's not a reason why I have to turn my back on what's in front of me."

"Colt..." she said as she stroked his cheek.

"I don't know if this is what you expected to hear tonight, but I see you at my side, Ellie. I see myself ruling the angels with you, side by side, together, fighting against everything, like king and queen. And I know I can protect you and give you everything you deserve, if you want to accept me. I recommend you not to, or I would think you're crazy." he laughed and looked back at the horizon "I know this is not getting anywhere but-"

"Colt." Ellie interrupted him by putting a hand in his mouth "Colt." said his name again, and his eyes connected "I will be there every step of the way. If you want to take revenge, we will do it together. If you want to drive and never come back, we will do it together. Nothing would make me happier than being by your side, always." and all she wanted to say, had been summed up in those words.

Colt put a hand on her neck and pressed his lips against her, the two of them wrapped themselves in a passionate kiss that seemed to last for hours. And they would have kept going, if they didn't have to separate to get some air.

"¿That means we're together? ¿Officially?" Colt asked as he watched her intently.

"I suppose." she said, trying to recover the air "¿Or have you already regretted your decision?"

"Never." he said.

They kissed again, this time much more passionately. Ellie wrapped her arms around Colt and he took her by the waist. Colt began to slowly kiss her neck, causing Ellie to make low moans, as he pressed harder against her. After that he began kissing her shoulders, her collarbone, until he connected his eyes with Ellie's again.

"¿Why did you stop?" she asked, laughing.

"¿You want to?... you know." he looked at her expectantly, but he didn't say any other word.

"Colt," she said as she kissed him again and again "I want you."

Suddenly a smile that Ellie had never seen formed on Colt's lips, yes, she had seen his smile several times, but there was also something dark in it for the first time.

Ellie sat on Colt's lap, the two of them facing each other as they continued to kiss passionately. Colt had his hands on her waist, kissing her neck and everywhere, he lowered his hands until she felt him over the skirt she was wearing, that skirt that only gave him thoughts he was trying to satisfy ever since he'd seen her coming down the stairs of the garage. He grabbed her butt and pulled her closer to him, as he continued to lower his kisses to her collarbone. Ellie had her arms wrapped around Colt and her vision was almost blurred because to the excitement she was feeling at that moment.

She had never felt that way with anyone, so energetic, so alive. She started to take off Colt's jacket while he kept kissing her all over her body, with both hands still on her back. Needing air, Colt looked into her eyes, his eyes were shining with desire, and he also seemed immersed in her same feeling of energy and excitement. A smile was reflected again on his face, that dark smile that somehow made her even more excited, then he whispered.

"We should continue this inside." He kissed her again and suddenly stood up abruptly, lifting her into his arms.

"Colt," she said laughing "You could hurt yourself." but he didn't seem to have heard her words, he kept looking at her with that smile as he walked towards the door, opened it with a bang, but then hesitated at the entrance.

"Colt," Ellie said "I'm sure." she kissed him back, and the two disappeared in the middle of the night.

[toraindrops]

a collection of all the plots i wrote from my old blog.

once upon a time au / mumu.   we just toss muses into blindly,  slapping on disney characters they represent and have them like transported into the real world where they don’t remember who they are anymore and basically like puppets to the evil queen until the daughter of whatever ship we deem the most important returns to break the spell.  juST GIMME ALL TEH ANGST AND HARDSHIPS AND ABANDONMENT ISSUES ON THE DAUGHTER’S END AND THE PEOPLE IN THIS TOWN LEARNING THEIR TRUE IDENTITIES SLOWLY AND GAAAAH

star wars au ! jedi master x padawan falling in love and working as a team the majority of their lives. dealing with the struggle of the code, knowing they aren’t supposed feel love, they aren’t supposed to want to protect each other more than anyone else in the galaxy. but cannot help it because they are so helplessly in love with each other. they start going into the gray areas as jedi, starting to slowly believe the code isn’t as right as they were taught.  the angst of feeling like they have to follow the jedi code or they are evil, the confusion on where they lay as a couple or even friends because it’s so, so, so hard for them to define that because jEDI AREN’T SUPPOSED TO HAVE ATTACHMENTS. but also all the loving looks and brushes of the back of their hands. going on missions together and having fun. getting lost in each other while saving the galaxy…  sighs .. whimpers .. pls

a moulin rouge plot.  a hopeless romantic moves to the montmartre district of paris to become a writer among the members of bohemian movement. entranced by this new world and what it has to offer, the hopeless romantic gets reeled in to write for a play and that is where they meet their true love.  a courtesan of the moulin rouge.  ensue follows the plot of the movie, the courtesan mistakes them for the duke when they are actually writer, takes them back to their chambers and the hopeless romantic is thrown into the world writing this show and falling madly in love with the courtesan even though they was promised to someone else. the angst, the hardships, my heart.

i kind of want a plot based on the kissing booth.  muse a has been best friend’s with muse b for like ten billion years  ( aka since birth basically,  but to them it’s been ten billion years ).  and they have a set of rules,  ones they have always abided by for each other’s comfort.  of those rules being not to fall in love/likee b’s brother/sister.  but muse a couldn’t help the fact as they grew up,  they began to fall for muse b’s older sibling and as much as muse a tried to resist and fight it,  muse a cannot help those feelings.  they continue to grow even more due to the tiniest of kiss muse a and muse b’s older sibling shared due to a blindfolded kissing booth.  with muse b’s older sibling’s reputation of being a player,  of breaking that rule muse a and b made.  but the heart wants what the heart wants and god, muse a wants to be with muse b’s brother/sister.

a plot loosely based on the princess dairies 2.  a princess has to get married in a month do the parliament and has picked out a sutior.  good guy,  good title,  photographer.  everything a ruler - to - be needs in a husband and king.  but there’s this guy,  the one who also is heir to the throne,  the one who is trying to take it from her.  he’s everything that she wants!  he’s handsome,  easy to joke with and talk to,  and god oh - so frustrating.  and he’s doing everything he can to make sure she doesn’t go through with the wedding on the plan of his uncle.  .. the angst… the love … the mishaps… gimme.  

a plot based on a small portion of flavor of youth where three kids lived in the same little neighborhood/block.  they were all super close and often huddled together in one bedroom taking turns playing their favorite cassette tapes.  muse b ends up getting sick and can’t go go to school so asks muse a to record the class so they can do their home work and studies.  this spirals into them recording little messages on a cassette tape to each other.  later down the line,  muse b tells muse a that they are going to take the high school entrance exams for a school a long ways away,  one that only accepts good grades and that sets you up for their university.  muse a crushed decides,  without telling muse b,  that they too will be trying to get into that school and spends all their time studying,  forgetting to record a tape that muse b sent them.  turns out he got into that school and she failed.  so all muse a’s efforts were for nothing,  they were still going to be apart.  years later,  after both graduated from college and reunite with their mutual friend muse c,  it’s weird for them to be around each other even though just a few years ago they were super closer,  sending each other cute recordings.  later on,  after that meet up muse a finally listens to the last bit of the tape they never got around to hearing…  only to hear that muse b decided to follow muse a to the school muse a was supposed to go to because muse b couldn’t bare being apart.  can muse a make it in time to fix things with muse b before it’s too late?  is it already too late for them???

[maine-writes]

I Hate The Phrase "Fiction Can Be Better"

One of the biggest challenges in writing is the concept of fan entitlement. A writer may want to tell a story a certain way, present social commentary, themes, and challenge contemporary thinking.

But there will be those who find such topics as problematic, or demand the story to go a certain way.

If a character betrays the protagonist in the name of social change, it may be taken as "out of character", or a problematic, short-term, or a short-sighted solution to a perceived or very real social issue.

A rigid caste system within a fantasy setting would be viewed as archaic, unnecessary, and possibly traumatic to certain viewers.

As a society, we have empowered others to choose to avoid certain things. It can be a good thing, curating your experience in the world. But to ignore these stories, these commentaries in their entirety, and to suggest that such depictions of horrid histories, philosophies, and realities should be censored, is paramount to denying such things exist. We may try to argue that certain atrocities are relegated to history, but one must realize that they, or their echoes, persist in the modern day.

One person's traumatic experience that is best left forgotten is undoubtedly someone else's story. You can choose to avoid it, if it makes you feel better, but you must not silence others because you prefer it.

Of course, we cannot talk about the challenges of writing without bringing into question that concept of cultural appropriation.

In contemporary thinking, the idea of taking something of another culture and utilizing it in a creation, from fiction to art, is similar to perverting and corrupting it. However, this is not the case. The difference between insensitive use of a culture and being inspired or fascinated by it is in your intent.

Take for example the Japanese geisha, refined performers of equally refined pastimes. If someone took a kimono, portrayed themselves as a courtesan, and used an offensive stereotypical accent, claiming geisha are courtesans, that would be insensitive, offensive, and a perversion of culture. If someone simply wore a kimono and displayed a keen interest in the culture, maybe even attempt to bring some aspect of it to the West, that's just enjoying a culture, respecting it, and teaching others of it.

What's interesting to me is that one may wear a tartan, but no one will call them out on wearing the wrong pattern, or claim they're stealing from the Scottish culture.

Yet the concept of being offended in the stead of others remains a pervasive problem, as is the idea that stories must follow a certain path to please everyone. One setting I continue to look at as an example of this is Wizard of the Coast's Magic: The Gathering. One set in the game, Kamigawa, was heavily inspired by Japanese folk belief and mythology, but it fell short in marketing performance. It is believed this was due to both the lower power level in gameplay than in previous sets as well as a setting that most really felt lost in.

Since then, settings tended to be in familiar territory, or at least by Western tastes. We'd see them experiment in settings based on other Asian cultures, from Kaladesh to Tarkir, but they'd always try to keep things from getting too "foreign". One of my favorite complaints I heard about Kaladesh, which was wildly successful, was from those of Indian descent, claiming that other than the naming conventions and a few hints of culture in the written stories, it didn't really feel "Indian".

Fast-forward to Strixhaven. There were those that felt the backstory of one character was a "Panda Expressification" of Asian childhood trauma. A ridiculous statement.

It is a real experience, the often told story of a young man or woman, the child of a prominent official, who must maintain the family legacy and reputation, and the parents are willing to risk their child's happiness for it. The term "Expressification" is in relation to the concept of passing a supposedly bastardized version of the real thing as genuine, such as Chinese-American food. Being a food anthropologist, I find this concept ridiculous. Almost all Chinese-American food can be traced back to the Chinese immigrants who came to the United States during the California Gold Rush, using available ingredients with the techniques they knew, or the Chinese who fled to Taiwan during the revolution in the mid-20th century. No matter how you put it, the flavors and dishes of the Chinese-American cuisine most Americans grew up with are indeed genuinely Chinese. But that's enough about food.

Revisiting a difficult childhood may be problematic for some, a term I find myself despising for its overuse, but it is also a reaffirming thing for others. To know that your story, one shared by many, is being told to the masses can truly be a wonderful, reaffirming thing. But to each their own, and thus it is their responsiblity to curate their experience, but not others.

Denying and ignoring trauma and atrocity is not the solution, it will not bring social betterment. Neither will glorifying it. It must be shown for what it is, a horrid reality, this will illicit emotional response, get people talking, and bring the issues it carries to the table. Only through this communication will we make progress.

But perhaps, simply talking about what is very real may offend others who prefer to retreat into the relative safety of fantasy. As we withdraw further into denial, creating our own little utopias, what then will become of reality, now devoid of those who wish to see it saved? We speak of dystopian futures, looking to our political and religious enemies as the perpetrators. But most horrid of revelations is that once the dreamers and the hopeful have withdrawn, the world is left in the care of the greedy and pessimistic. Either it will be destroyed by humanity's hubris and greed, or wiped clean by the pessimist who decided it would be best to start anew.

How important are our stories then? Can they really be more than entertainment for the bored on a day off from the routine? Throughout our history, we have been subtly influenced by the stories we hear and read. We have been inspired by art, poems, myth, and legend. Perhaps we look to a paragon of virtue, a hero we all aspire to. A story of rebellion may give us hope for the future. Tales of betrayal warn us of what may change the hearts of our friends. Tragedies remind us of the ephemeral nature of life, to treasure the fleeting moments of joy we experience. Even the fall of good people, their transformations into villains, tell us that anyone can be capable of such evil and that they were once someone we may have called friend if things were different.

On the topic of evil, a concept to easily differentiate morality, we find that the concept of universally abhorrent evil, is a rare thing. There will always be someone who can defend the choices of others. In most cases, evil is better described as a willingness to do something despite it negatively affecting others. But there are even those who decide not to consider morality in their actions, the world is simply a reality of choices, options, and consequences. Can we truly label such individuals as evil? They hold no ill will toward others, they simply accept reality as they perceive it to be.

We can explore such concepts, opinions, and philosophies through stories. Absolute certainty in one's virtue, wisdom, and awareness, colloquially known as being "woke", leads to nothing but the censure of different opinions, ideas, and voices without so much as a consideration of a reality, only because one feels the argument is academic and no longer relevant, having been answered by themselves.

We do this to our detriment.

[goddamnitdazai]

Cowboy Bebop AU

Tumblr vored the original ask/suggestion but someone talked about a bounty hunter!dazai x detective s/o cowboy bebop type AU which I fell in love with (I tweaked it so the s/o is also a bounty hunter tho since detectives work with ISSP/cowboys). This is only the general background and I’ll do a separate post involving an s/o later. This has just been sitting on my laptop for like four days because every time I tell myself I’m going to finish it I get drunk instead.

Background: Dazai was brought up in the Syndicate by Mori who adopted him off the streets as a child. Odasaku was a former assassin for the Syndicate who had an old friend, Fukuzawa, in the ISSP. Out of suspicion Mori had Odasaku killed after Odasaku left to become a bounty hunter. Dazai left the Syndicate, faking his own suicide shortly after Odasaku was killed. Fukuzawa helped Dazai erase any files of him left so he could be free to work as a bounty hunter without gaining Syndicate attention. [ General ] • Dazai isn’t one to be wholly obsessed with ships, especially because he used to just steal them, until one of his friends passed away and left him his ship. He takes care of it like it’s his own child. It’s not the biggest or the best but he’d rather blow up a planet than let anyone or anything destroy his ship. • Cooking wastes too much time according to Dazai, but he has perfect multiple “high class” (so he calls it) ramen meals with various vegetables, meats, and flavors. This was his sole diet, plus beer, until Kunikida came along and started forcing him to eat something other than “a heart attack in a bowl”. But, until Atsushi and Kyouka came aboard their meals were very limited unless they went out and got food from somewhere on their down time. • Dazai predominantly worked on his own until the ship became a bit too much to handle by himself when he was struggling for a few months during a slow period. Kunikida was only supposed to be on the ship for a month but after realizing how terrible Dazai was at keeping anything orderly (the ship, his list of jobs, his life) Kunikida decided to stay on as his partner and Fukuzawa okayed his exit from the ISSP for now. Surprisingly they work extremely well together (but Dazai has an inkling that Fukuzawa sent that specific mechanic to him for a reason). • There have been many occasions Dazai has gotten them thrown out of Casinos, yet somehow Dazai always manages to shove a bundle of cash in various parts of his jacket. More often than not after Kunikida’s rampage about Dazai’s antics and his stealing the bounty they were looking for intentionally finds them and confronts them about stealing his money. The night ends two ways; Kunikida kicking Dazai into a wall after they send him off to ISSP or Kunikida letting Dazai fall asleep drunk somewhere on the premises while he goes off to win money ‘the right way’. He doesn’t share his winnings with Dazai. • Finding Atsushi was an accident, but when Dazai needed someone to hack into a very large, dirty corporation’s computers Atsushi was offering his services for a very cheap fee (food). He advertised on the dark web from a high end portable compact computer he saved nearly three years for when he lived in the orphanage. Kyouka, his companion from the orphanage, is the better at stealing of the two and usually went off on her own while Atsushi was sleeping to find food for them until word spread about his hacking abilities. They both live on the ship with Dazai and Kunikida now. • For a man who lives and loves his ship like it’s his wife Dazai is a terrible driver until he absolutely needs to be a world-class pilot. He’s often racking up points with speeding, knocking into other ships that piss him off, and just not paying attention to signs and docking stations. Kunikida got so fed up he knocked Dazai out of the chair and took over after two weeks. Unbeknownst to Kunikida he is the only other person Dazai has let drive his ship. • There is not a brothel in the travelable solar system that Dazai does not have a reputation at. Whether he actually gets it in as much as he acts like it is up for debate, but Kunikida doesn’t get surprised when a few courtesans know him by name or come up and slap him the moment Dazai drags Kunikida in the building claiming it’s a noodle shop.

[kisskissrommie]

Rommie’s Factsheet

B A S I C S

Name: Andromeda Gloria Dulaque Nicknames: Rommie, Starlight Age: Twenty-four Nameday : 4U 32 Species : Midlander Hyur Gender : Female Orientation : Pansexual Homoromantic Profession : Courtesan, Manager and Event Planner.

P H Y S I C A L   A S P E C  T S

Hair : Plum purple Eyes : Green Skin : Seriously Pale Scar(s) : None Tattoo(s) : None

F A M I L Y

Siblings : None known

Parents :

Father: Unnamed (to Rommie anyway)

Mother: Constance Dulaque (missing)

Family :

Andy Shimayasu (adoptive daughter, deceased), the Brume Rats (adoptive ‘siblings’)

Pets :

Calcy, a youngling Bomb that lives in Rommie’s fireplace at Lavender Beds, it followed her home after Thaliak’s Embrace’s last summer festival.

Lorne, an Onion Prince that lives in the Bandee Pakshee’s garden and bullies the root vegetables as their tyrannical dictator. The Scarecrows are his army.

S K I L L S

Abilities :

Charisma: The main tool in Rommie’s arsenal is that she tends to come off as likable. This has been employed both as a confidence artist and as a courtesan-turned-businesswoman with extreme effect, and helps leave people around her comforted and not on their guard. 

Stealth: The other main tool in Rommie’s arsenal is her ability to move in relative quiet and obscurity when she wants to be unseen or unnoticed. Celebrity has impacted some of this potency, but she’s still reliably able to make subtle movement and employ misdirection effectively. 

Empathetic: Part of her charm is Rommie’s good sense of what a person is feeling. This does fail her, especially if she makes herself believe someone feels a certain way, but when relaxed Rommie is excellent at reading people.

“Certain Set of Skills”: There’s a reason Rommie charges a quarter million a bell.

Hobbies :

Larceny: While it’s hardly a means of making a living for her anymore, Rommie still steals things. They now aren’t really things of value, they’re odd trinkets, and are often returned to those they were stolen from. She just is intent on keeping her skill sharp..

Triple Triad: Rommie freaking loves the game, and has participated in a few small tournaments. She’s not very gifted and doesn’t have the best cards in the world, but absolutely is an enthusiast. 

Odd Jobs: It isn’t uncommon for Rommie to whimsically decide to be a goldsmith for a few days, or security, or spend a month in disguise as a teacher in Aleport. 

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait : Devoted - When set to an idea, whatever it is, Rommie will see it out. She will blaze across the heavens to accomplish her goal if she has to. Most Negative : Lack of Self-Worth - A large number of the issues in Rommie’s life stem from a very low opinion of herself, from interpersonal insecurities to a sense of vanity that well passes neurosis, Rommie’s biggest enemy is what she sees in the mirror. 

L I K E S

Colors : Reds, purples, dark blues. Smells :  Fresh bread, vanilla, sweet jasmine (bittersweet for her). Textures : Glass, smooth fabrics in general Drinks : Pineapple rum, iced water, ‘root beer’.

O T H E R  D E T A I L S

Smokes : Rarely Moko or her company’s flavored hashish Drinks : Less often lately, but still regularly. Drugs : Rarely Moko Mount Issuance : A green chocobo named Valkyria and Ziz named Maru. Been Arrested : A good criminal isn’t a caught criminal

Tagged By: @zhara-liara-yuni

Tagging: @eorzeasfinest @rexnorh @blackshroudmagpie @milady-momo @little-purple-thundercloud @rokachan​ @rootstorm​ @rheyatayuun​ @aegir-ffxiv​ and the Alt Parade: @philosopher-agni @donmiqote @lominsianlily @playmaxe et all

[emalynde]

Dwin’orrel & the Dinner Date 5

"A slight embellishment is good for the soul on occasion."  Thalandril swept his hair out of his face with a free hand, the movement playfully over-dramatic.  At the question of how, the rogue gets more serious.  "The intern informed me that if you were not at the office in the morning, something had gone wrong."  The grip on Emalynde’s hand gently increased as the tale progressed.  "I then took it upon myself to find out what had happened to you.  I would have no ill befall you."  His gaze drifted away as he got his emotions back under control.  "Not on my watch."

As Emalynde mentions Ethrend--and how he had been there to comfort her, the agent mellowed.  His voice was almost a whisper in a moment of weakness, "I… do wish I could have been here in Ethrend’s stead.  The last thing I wanted to do was leave your side, but sometimes the position calls for me to be elsewhere."  A hint of sadness appeared in his voice, not quickly removed.  "I am here now, and will be until you're released, upon which I think we should talk... somewhere private." *** Emalynde smirks knowingly.  Thalandril was occasionally playful with her in a more comical manner, but it was rare.  Was he trying to smooth over his worry--distract her from it?  Her golden eyes appraise the operative.  Maybe he was somewhat delirious from the extent of the Senate proceedings.  She was not exactly on her game either, but then again, Emalynde was much more likely to be silly than her stoic, stuffy counterpart.  

The redhead does sober at the mention of Dellanor, the intern with whom she had spent some time this past week.  "I am glad that he had the courage to speak to you; he greatly admires you, you know."  She laughs lightly, letting her face fall toward Thalandril and against the gentle embrace of the pillow.  Tendrils of fiery tresses curled in delicate designs about her head, simply laying there and staring off to the side of her companion's figure, a slight smile hovering against her lips.  Her golden orbs flick up to Thalandril after a few moments spent in comfortable silence, "I did not know if you would come for me... if something were to happen.  I was no longer... sure of our..." the freckled elf pauses, searching for the correct word, "...relationship."

The fiery-tressed elf watched the emotions play subtly against the handsome contours of her closest friend's face.  This was so... out of character, how emotional Thalandril was being--especially displaying as much.  Thankfully, there were few in their direct vicinity; perhaps that prompted his honesty.  Not knowing quite what to say (for once in her life), Emalynde simply squeezed the agent's hand.  Curls jostle slightly as the courtier nods, assuming they were to discuss the outcome of Thalandril's discussion with the Senate.  "How long must I remain?" ***

Thalandril was not used to being silly, but thought the action might help Emalynde to relax.  It did not suit him well, and he did not plan on doing it again; the action itself hurt his dignity.  Oh, the things he was willing to do for this woman.  Perhaps the fatigue was starting to get to him. He pours tea for both of them and offers a cup to the redhead, drinking deeply himself in hopes to remove the veil of fog on his brain.

"I am glad at least someone knew your whereabouts.  Had it not been for him, you would have been dead.  Although I'm sure I could have had you resurrected."  He gives her a scolding look as though she should know better than to go into a dangerous situation without more of a backup plan than trusting the 'intern'.  Tsk tsk.  "The cost of that, however, boggles the mind..." Thalandril sipped at the berry-flavored tea and gave an appreciative exhale before being startled by the mention of the term 'relationship'.

Thinking for a second about the question, Thalandril looks deep into the ripples in his tea. "Emalynde Ilayne Inara, there are few things in this world that I would allow keep me from you. Know that.  You are not just some simple courtesan I employ.  Nor a simple dalliance.  You are special.  To me."  Thalandril swirls his tea as he speaks, a slight crease forming against his forehead, unsure if it's the right time to speak his true feelings.  Monotone and serious, even the air around him ceases to make noise as to not upset him.  "It is not often I make mistakes.  Even less often that those I care for come to harm."  His hand rests back on hers, unless she pulls away.

"Thankfully, your quarantine has been over for a few hours now; I simply had not informed you, as it was easier to keep tabs on you this way.  Now that I am here, however, would you let me escort you out for a late dinner?  Anywhere you like."  Thalandril stands up crisply and reaches over to the side table, turning to back to present Emalynde with a package--perfectly wrapped and tied up with a beautiful pink ribbon. *** At being scolded, Emalynde favors the operative with her most disarming smile.  Even with what remained of her makeup and bed-tousled curls, she plied her charms.  It was more to be slightly light-hearted than anything else--given that the topic was rather severe.  If Thalandril had not thought to come to her aid, she would surely be dead--or worse--by now.  It was not a thought she wished to dwell on overly much.  Emalynde sits up to drink, allowing her blanket to fall away, exposing the fair-skinned elf to her waist.  She paid the covering no mind at all, as if it had never been there to begin with.  Her freckled form was no longer covered in markings and her pallor had returned.

Emalynde had not meant the term 'relationship' to have any more connotation than to indicate that there was a bond between the pair--romantic or otherwise.  Judging by the expression upon Thalandril's usually well-composed features, he may have assumed the former.  The redhead was about to console and correct her dearest friend, but she quieted at the use of her entire given name.  Perhaps the rogue was playing his hand and she had not meant to prompt as much.  He would not even look at her as he spoke.  The fiery-tressed elf knew better than to simply assume she knew what Thalandril meant, especially given that it was in stark contrast with what he'd said while at tea last week.  But Ethrend's words flit about her mind, toying with her inclinations.

The courtesan doesn't speak, nor does she prompt Thalandril to do so any more than he is comfortable.  For the first time in over a century, the redhead felt the flickers of nervousness twirl within her torso.  She'd fallen in love before--foolishly so in her youth--but it was wise of her to not indulge such emotions.  Hers was not a path where actual, true enamor survived well.  She knew well the sensation and tried to push it back into its box, despite having come to this conclusion logically on her own terms.  However, she does not shy from his grasp.  The silence between them shifts from easy and comfortable to tension-laden (not necessarily of a bad sort).  

Thankfully, Thalandril breaks the quiet, requesting that she join him for an evening meal.  Gods, when last had she eaten?  Her stomach growls betrayingly and the freckled elf cannot help but chuckle, slightly embarrassed but only because she was so caught off guard by the ambiguous, pseudo-confession.  She used it as an excuse to slip back into her coy demeanor--it was safer there.  Watching the rogue stand and proffer a present, a single, well-shaped brow lifts in playful intrigue.  "When you shower me with gifts, how could I refuse you?"  She does not meet his gaze upon remarking so, afraid that she might reveal more of her heart than she would prefer.  Instead, she flips back her blanket, attempting to swivel her hips to the side of the bed, her legs swinging over the edge.  Lifting a hand, she uses Thalandril's grip to steady herself, rising slowly to her feet--in case she was weakened.  Stark naked, Emalynde flicks her gaze up to meet the agent's flashing a beguiling smile. She would dress right then and there, requesting the intelligence operative's aid occasionally--partially because she was wary of her strength and partially because it amused her.  Intentionally, she toyed with him, moving as to elongate her form appealingly or brushing up against him slightly with her naked form.  It was easier to fall into the rhythms of their game, to tease and play.  There was a part of Emalynde that feared what would happen to their dynamic should anything change--for better or worse, really.  She had no idea the type of man Thalandril would become should he fall for her.  Honestly, the fiery-tressed elf had always thought him largely immune.

[macmorrighan]

A Lemon of a Spell

Lemon* (Eureka: Citrus x. limon var. “Eureka”)

(Lisbon: Citrus x. limon var. “Lisbon”)

(Meyer: Citrus x. meyeri)

Planetary Signature: Sun

Astrological Signature: Leo and Sagittarius

Elemental Signature: Fire

Parts Used: dried seeds, peeling (cut/ sifted or powder), culinary flavoring-extract, essential oil, and liqueur (i.e. Limoncello)

Folk-Names: Citronnier, Citrus Medica, Laymūn (Arabic), Leemoo, Limon, Limone, Limoun, Līmun (Parsi), Lymon (Middle English), Neemoo, O-che-wa´ken Jit´kwā Ne´yū (“Sour Yellow Apple”)

Herb-Lore & Magick: A legend from Greece holds that a miraculous lemon tree bearing both blossoms and fruit was discarded by a jealous courtesan to the King.  When it was dismantled, the stump came into the possession of a poor man who had hoped to use it for firewood; but when his axe barely touched the surface he heard a voice from within advising him to strike the stump above or below. Startled, the peasant confided what he had observed to his son who could not bring himself to believe his father. To prove his father wrong the young man took the axe and struck the stump as it had instructed, and a beautiful maiden—a “dryad”—emerged from the lemon stump, the King’s true love.  She promised him wealth if she would send a message to the King notifying her Lord of her location.  When the King arrived, they were soon married once he drove off his jealous courtesan.

     Lemons often feature within Mexican-American folk-magic as a “twisting” herb employed by curanderos which can harm a person, as well as to heal them.  Practitioners of Santería often use lemons in folk-magick, particularly with vinegar, to curse an adversary with sour luck throughout their life.  Similarly, in Napls (Italy), witches were reputed to fashion a charm of “deadly power” by inserting a total of thirty nails into a green lemon, which they suspended over a brazier of incense as they danced and chanted about the charm to empower it. A particularly nefarious Italian charm that could cause the sudden death of an adversary involved involved the act of piercing a ripe lemon with twelve large pins.  However, another folk-spell calls for the use of a lemon to cause harm to a rival lover by cutting the lemon asunder with a new knife while cursing the object of one’s hatred and scorn with words of contempt.  This spell is said to affect the despised party at an unlimited distance, and to cause them to feel, “a certain inexpresable and cutting anguish of the heart, together with a cold chilliness and failure throughout the body.”  These malefic properties, which are attributed to the lemon, are probably due to the sour juices that the fruit produces.  The lemon may, therefore, be used in a spell to stop gossip!

     Lemons are renowned for cleansing physical objects and renewing them with an invigorating fragrance.  Therefore, they may also be employed to spiritually or psychically cleanse and invigorate one’s aura and chakras, particularly when combined with lotus and sandalwood, as well as one’s Temple, altar, or ritual tools.  As a consequence, the lemon also lends itself towards uncrossing spells.  The aroma naturally alleviates the depression or melancholy experienced during a crossed condition or a psychic attack.  One Italian charm for absolving the Evil Eye, identical to one quoted above, involved piercing a ripe lemon with two-dozen large nails!

* Lemon essential oil is a phototoxin and must not be used on the body prior to exposure to the sun or a tanning bed as it may cause rashes, inflammation, lightening, or darkening of the skin in some individuals.

[heroineimages]

Korra Heist AU

Hey, so if anyone is interested, here’s the first scene from a Legend of Korra fan-fiction idea I came up with. It’s supposed to have kind of a Regency-ish setting with Korra and Opal as burglars. I’ve never really written a fan-fiction before, so any feedback is appreciated (particularly in regards to burglary-related terminology). There’s a bit of flirting and racy fantasizing between Korra and Asami, but nothing NSFW. (Part 2, part 3)

Korra paused to peek over the east ramparts, watching for guards. Once she verified none were around, she slipped between two fancy, dove-tailed crenellations to crouch atop the wall, listening. The guards on Desna’s estate were about as apathetic and perpetually bored as their boss, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. No guards appeared, though she could hear two of them bullshitting along the northern ramparts.

Opal crouched beside her a moment later, also glancing around and listening. Korra unslung the crossbow from her back and passed it to Opal, then uncoiled the rope from her left shoulder. The summer moon shone annoyingly brightly tonight, making them that much easier to spot—though on the plus side, it would make Opal’s shot that much easier.

Korra knotted her rope through an eyebolt attached to the barbed crossbow bolt, then passed it to Opal. Opal nodded behind her mask and hood, then loaded it onto the high-torsion crossbow. Adjusting for the breeze, Opal aimed for the ancient wooden paneling beneath the tiled rooftops. With a muted snap the bolt arced across the grassy courtyard and imbedded itself in the splintering oak.

The knot and bolt held when Korra pulled, so she signaled for Opal to secure the other end and gave her a thumbs-up for the excellent shot. A few years ago she’d have bought Opal a drink for it, but now that Korra owned her own tavern, Opal got her drinks free anyway.

Once the other end of the rope was secured tightly around one of the crenellations, Korra shimmied upside down along the rope, across the gap to the edge of the rooftop. Finding purchase on the stone rain gutters, she pulled herself onto the roof, then bent over to retrieve the rope from the eyebolt. Opal untied the rope from the far end, letting it fall into the courtyard. Korra pulled the rope up after her, dragging it across the yard and coiling it over one shoulder. The bolt itself was imbedded too deep to be retrieved. Maybe the investigators would find it, maybe they wouldn’t.

Rope gathered, she crept across the rooftops while Opal used one of the trees to climb down into the courtyard. Korra made her way to their target window, and her accomplice slipped through the shadows and into the hedges below.

Korra slid from the roof to dangle upside down from a truly ugly cherub statue next to Desna’s bedroom window. Slipping a card-thin shiv between the windowpanes, she levered the inside latch over its peg to pop the window open. She pushed the left windowpane open and slipped into her cousin’s room.

A single candle still glowed beside the nearby bed; combined with the moonbeams from the window it provided plenty of light to work by, but also plenty of light to be spotted by. Thankfully, Korra had gotten Desna so shit-faced drunk at this evening’s party that he’d no doubt be dead-to-the-world asleep by now. Still, it didn’t hurt to double check.

Frowning at the bedside, Korra realized her cousin wasn’t alone. The dark hair on the nearside pillow belonged to an elegant young woman who Korra recognized from the party earlier. The sleeping woman had an elegant face and enviably gorgeous hair. Korra suspected she must be a courtesan of some kind. The fact that she still wore her slip showed just how far Desna had gotten with her before passing out. Where a noblewoman would have gotten fed up and left, a courtesan would stick around to collect her fee in the morning—and maybe spin a story about his bedroom prowess for a few extra coins.

Once she was sure both of the bed’s occupants were asleep, Korra turned to the hidden wall safe between the bed and the window, hidden behind a tall, bland portrait of her deceased uncle. Taking the picture from its brackets and leaning it against the wall, Korra drew her lock-pick set and started to work. The lock was cheap and fairly simple, the late Unalaq having depended on secrecy and closeness to keep his gold safe. But Unalaq had been a light sleeper who never drank to excess.

Desna, meanwhile, had turned to excess to relieve his boredom and apathy toward the world and life in general. Korra had never gotten the indication that his strategy was helping.

Within the safe, Korra found eleven grapefruit-sized bags of gold coin, a tin box containing six gold bars, and a bottle of seventeen-year-old brandy. Korra secured the box first, carrying it to the window and tying her rope around it to lower it down to Opal, hidden in the bushes below. Though she couldn’t see her partner in the darkness, Korra felt the rope tug as Opal untied the box to secure it in one of their packs. With the rope free, Korra pulled it back up and turned back to the safe.

Next she removed four bags of gold and tied each separately. She lowered them into the bushes for Opal. Another tug on the rope told Korra that Opal had the next bundle secure. With that done, Korra repeated the process with the next four bags.

As she turned back to the safe for the last three bags, Korra found herself startled and looking into the light green eyes of the courtesan in Desna’s bed. The young woman was wide awake and leaning on one elbow with an amused smirk on her lovely face. Korra chuckled behind her mask as the woman opened two hands in front of herself as if to ask, hey, where’s my cut?

Crouching beside the bed, Korra leaned next to the courtesan’s ear to whisper, “Flying Bison Tavern tomorrow night, tell no one and there’s a bag in it for you. Any sign of the constables and you get nothing, deal?”

The woman nodded her agreement.

Korra let her eyes wander over the courtesan’s elegant form beneath the blankets. “And maybe afterword,” she added, “we can discuss your other services.”

The courtesan seemed to eye Korra’s muscular shoulders and strong arms beneath her dark clothes. After a moment the woman smiled and let her slip fall from her shoulder to show what she thought of the idea. Korra reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind the courtesan’s ear before returning to the safe.

Once Opal had the last three bags, Korra returned to the safe and picked up the bottle of brandy. Shrugging, Korra pulled her mask down and popped the cork for a long pull from the bottle. The brandy was drier than she’d prefer, but flavorful and smooth. She pooled the last few drops on her tongue and let it fill her senses before swallowing.

Feeling flirty, Korra slipped her mask back in place and passed the bottle to the elegant courtesan. The woman accepted, chuckling, and took a long pull of her own. Swallowing without making a face, she wiped her mouth and handed it back.

Liking this woman even more, Korra corked the bottle and tucked it into her belt. With that, she replaced the safe’s contents with a parchment note that read, “Thanks for the donation! Much love, your secret admirer.”

After closing and locking the safe, Korra picked up the bland portrait and mounted it back on its brackets. Finished, she turned back to the bed. Desna hadn’t moved at all and Korra had to watch for a moment to verify that he wasn’t dead or something. The courtesan leaned on an elbow, still watching her.

Korra stepped to the window, then turned to her new friend and gestured to the window latch. The woman nodded and slipped from the bed, padding over to the window. Damn, she was hot, Korra decided, watching those shapely hips move beneath her flimsy slip in the moonlight.

Shaking off the distraction, Korra leaned out the window and draped her rope over the ugly cherub statue. Somewhere below, Opal secured one end to a branch or root. Once she was sure the rope was secure, Korra waved a quick thanks to the courtesan, then slipped from the window and rappelled down the wall. In the bushes below, Korra glanced up for a last glimpse of the gorgeous woman, but the window was already closed.

Korra shrugged on the heavier of the two packs Opal had prepared. Thankfully, Opal knew how to balance the load and was fastidious about making sure the weight was manageable. Korra nodded once she was ready as Opal finished coiling their rope.

Slipping back through the shadows, the two burglars disappeared over the wall and into the warm night.