#and to be quite frank - visibility and attention - is that you WILL annoy people!

[elodieunderglass]

Eggs for Killie is over!

I award myself the 150th egg for all of the little bits of art. Thank you so much for inspiring me to make them! It’s been really amazing to see all the hard work and to truly appreciate the wide range of crafts and activities everyone can do. Bobbin lace? Shoemaking? Knife forging? Translating Irish? It’s genuinely incredible.

I also really appreciated the people who were taking a rest, too. Thank you for that as well.

And I SUPER, SUPER appreciate everyone who was going through saying encouraging words, leaving replies/reblogging with comments, or liking all these posts. That was also a huge outpouring of kindness and time. I saw you doing it (and tried to make sure OPs did too) and any credit for people feeling empowered? That’s for YOU.

I know for a fact that people were following each other simply because they spotted one of their people through doing this. Thank you for being here - and being brave enough to find each other! 

If you have a project you were working on specifically for this, and missed the inbox, drop me a message - I don’t want to miss you.

150 eggs x 60g (weight of medium-large chicken egg) is 9000g of eggs.

That’s 16.8% of Killie’s body weight in eggs.

I am planning to write a book about Killie and I think it will be very VERY funny to acknowledge every single username who contributed in the acknowledgements…

…. Because I am planning to throw them back at you.

Now rest up, everyone. April Fools tomorrow, we gotta make the REST of the website unusable.

[dearly]

the other side of creativity and bravery and encouragement and support and to be quite frank - visibility and attention - is that you WILL annoy people! and that is also perfectly okay and part of the bravery of the process - putting stuff out there and sharing it knowing that its purpose is NOT to be Loved By All. It is to CONNECT you with other people who will UNDERSTAND you not to grovel for clout from people who aren’t really interested. we don’t make things to be liked by bots. we make them to find each other.

-- @elodieunderglass dropping words to live by casually in tags.

[heavenlymorals]

Sadie and Arthur and the Affects of Gender Roles in 1899 America

(warning: there is sexism and sexist ideas in this analysis because I refuse to sugarcoat the time period that RDR2 takes place in. Arthur is a product of his time and though it isn't shoved in your face, it's still there. Understanding the gender dynamics of this time period makes the characters much more understandable, nuanced, likeable, and better, if I'm being frank.)

I don't ship Sadie and Arthur, at all, it makes no sense to me besides two people liking the characters and thus putting them together. I like them as friends but that's about it.

And let's be so real for a second- even if they do get together for whatever reason, they absolutely wouldn't be compatible as partners because its been shown time and time again that Arthur believes in gender roles and gets visibly annoyed or angry when a woman takes up a man's role when a man is there or when a woman does something he thinks is unladylike in their line of work (just listen to his antagonization of Abigail (for her past as a prostitute, usually), Sadie, Karen, prostitutes, and female performers, all women who take on unconventional roles in their life(also pay attention to certain mission dialogues, and cutscene body language)).

Sadie proves herself as capable, and Arthur works with her, but he makes quips about her behavior or subtly judges her or makes fun of her("Oh, I'm sorry princess. Was there an insufficient feather in your pillow?" "You got a pair of pants and all of a sudden you think you're Landon Ricketts?" "You want to ruuuunnnn with the men?" "Few more like her and there wouldn't be much of a world left." "That ain't what you mean- I can still fight!" Or him being visibly annoyed when she doesn't take his hand to enter the boat and other similar things like that)

Arthur believes that a man should be the one doing the work that revolves around such physical exertion and if he isn't the one doing those things for a woman, he feels as if he is failing in his role as a protector and provider, which then provokes annoyance or in some cases, even anger. Sadie doesn't care about this obviously, and Jake Adler didn't either, hence why they worked so well together as a couple.

Not Arthur though. To put it quite simply, he prefers and is compatible with women who believe in the same gender roles as he does (Mary Gillis, Abigail Roberts, etc.).

This doesn't mean he dislikes Sadie, because it's quite obvious that he is fond of her, but given the intimacy of a relationship, Sadie would get fed up with him trying to be the ONLY provider and protector, and him getting fed up with her by encroaching on what he sees as his duties and responsibilities. He works with her in the way that he does because he has to and he respects that.

Some people may disagree with me on this analysis and that's fine, but to me, it feels like the most realistic outcome if they did become romantic partners. Another reason why I say this is because my mother comes from a culture that still operates a lot like 1899 America and I've seen this dynamic between men and women so many times that it's ridiculous- men who will accept working with a woman in more traditionally masculine roles and prefer partners who are more traditionally feminine.

[nearlymanaged]

18. About Last Night and Romantic Phone Calls

“Hello, fellow so-called best friends,” James addressed the rest of the Marauders - or, rather more specifically, two of them - with pointed coldness permeating his voice as he sat down at the Gryffindor table. 

Remus had just started working on his lunch, made up mostly of potatoes and veggie sides. His hand, holding a forkful of food, hovered in front of his mouth as he gave Sirius and Peter a bemused look. Normally, it was Sirius who would put on an unnecessarily dramatic show, prompted by the most insignificant of things - and, to be frank, Remus always found it endearing.

“James?” Sirius reached his arm across the table, lightly touching James’ hand. “You alright, mate?”

“I don’t know. Do I look like I am?”

“Did Lily reject you again?” Peter asked quietly enough so that it allowed James to choose to ignore it; instead, he glared at Sirius and then at Remus.

“An interesting bit of information was just brought to my attention.”

“Oh?” Remus raised his eyebrows with a polite tilt of his head, indicating mild interest.

“You two snogged last night?” 

Remus’ heart seemed to have performed a somersault at these words. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to have this conversation but he couldn’t ignore the ecstatic thrill of knowing that someone out there was going about, spreading gossip about what had happened last night.

“Huh? Who did you both snog?” Peter looked at them curiously.

“Peter,” James closed his eyes slowly, “they snogged each other.”

“What!?”

Remus was biting the insides of his cheeks, trying to hold in a laugh as he watched James. “I’m sorry, remind me why you’re so angered by it?”

“How come you snogged?” James ignored the question, his inquisitive eyes darting between the two boys.

“It was a dare.”

“Oh really.”

“It’s okay to be jealous, we’ve all seen Sirius, after all,” Remus drawled, his voice tinged with nonchalance, his interest in food slowly waning as his mind wandered to the kiss again.

“So...you think Sirius is good looking?” James asked slowly, mirroring Moony’s tone of voice now. 

“Don’t you?”

“Yeah… So do you think he’s the best looking out of the three of us?” 

“Look, James, you’re very pretty and all, but no offence - you’re just not my type.” 

“And Sirius is your type?” This time, James’ voice was dripping with quite bizarrely placed excitement. 

“What a strange line of questioning,” Remus forced out a laugh. “Pity I can’t stay and humour you.”

“You can’t?”

“No. I have uh...a study group meeting,” he lied as he caught sight of Lily talking to a couple of her friends a little ways down the row of students having lunch. 

“But--”

“I’ve got to go. Sorry, James, I wish I could stay and listen to you conspiracy theories...but, alas…” he got up, picked up his book bag, and started walking away backwards, offering James one last shrug. 

“And you? Why aren’t you saying anything, mister?” Remus heard James shuffle his motherly attention to Sirius and quickened his pace.

Why did James seem so intrigued by this all of a sudden? Did he know something? Could he tell that Remus fancied Sirius this whole time? But how? But if he did, maybe that would explain his weirdly offended reaction… Maybe he didn’t approve of it? It didn’t seem entirely implausible - perhaps James got so worked up about it because he didn’t want two of his best friends to do something stupid, something that could potentially ruin the dynamic between all four of them? But it was just a dare, didn’t James know?

As Remus made his way toward Lily, giving her a wave of his hand, he was starting to feel embarrassed. He’d been so caught up in last night’s memory that he never stopped to think about what the kiss really meant. Of course, he wanted it to be some mildly cathartic act that would be just enough to jumpstart Sirius’ love confession, but…that didn’t seem to be the case, did it?

“Hey,” Remus lightly touched Lily’s shoulder.

“Oh good. We need to talk,” she said. She was already getting up from the table, a Cornish pasty in one hand and her bag in the other.

“We do?” Remus hesitantly fell into step beside her as she started to head towards the exit from the Great Hall.

“Uh-huh. So,” Lily’s voice dropped a tad as they walked out into the Entrance Hall. “I’ll ignore the fact that I had to find out from other people...this time. So how was snogging Sirius?”

Remus let out a short, breathy chuckle, but as he did so, a droplet of his own saliva went down his throat, causing a momentary fit of coughing and gasping. “Great, actually. Very lovely. Thanks for asking.” 

“What happened after you kissed?”

“Nothing…” Remus shrugged. He wished something would have happened, but it seemed like the night was taking its uninterrupted course regardless of his desires, and in any case, Sirius didn’t seem to be dwelling on it much. And yet, Remus had failed miserably to think of anything other than the kiss for the past fifteen hours. “The game went on and then it was over.”

“You’re joking… Why didn’t you do anything?”

“Do what?”

“I don’t know! Snog more?!” Lily flailed her arms about, raining crumbs all around her.

“No one dared us again,” Remus retorted, growing a little annoyed - it’s not like he didn’t want to ‘snog more’ and Lily surely knew that.

“Remus. You bloody moron. There can only be one reason for Sirius choosing to snog you. He fancies you,” she hissed with a twinkle of unexpected anger in her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “Why won’t you accept it!?”

“I feel like you’re about to smack me,” Remus’ whole upper body was leaning backwards as he cowered in fear of Lily’s wrath, which looked hilarious to any passers by since he was considerably taller than her five feet and seven inches. 

“I really want to, Remus! Don’t you like him anymore?”

“Of course I do.”

“Why aren’t you together then?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lily. Who wants to be with a werewolf?” He whispered the last sentence as quietly as he could.

“Sirius Black does!!” She shouted at him under her breath. “Why are you being such a bloody idiot!?”

“Genes?” Remus offered with a shrug and a smirk.

“Why else do you think he chose to snog you?” Lily plowed on, ignoring his remark.

“Because...we’re friends. He didn’t want to snog anyone there so he got out of it by choosing a friend.”

“Oh my fucking God,” she slapped both her hands over her face. “What if I told you...that someone told me that Sirius fancies you.”

“I-- Come again?” Remus inclined his head politely, earning himself another pained look from Lily.

“I can’t say who, I’m not supposed to, but I know for a fact that Sirius fancies you. I was right all along!”

He stared at her for a quiet moment, an amused smile lingering on his lips. “You are such a massive nerd. You just always have to be right, don’t you?”

“I don’t have to. But I usually am. And stop trying to change the topic.”

“Alright then, let’s talk about people fancying other people… Like James fancying you and you fancying him back,” Remus hurried over to the end of the sentence with a triumphant smirk.

“What!?” Lily’s voice suddenly went three octaves up.

“Ooh, you really have developed a soft spot for the arrogant toerag, haven’t you? And I was just stabbing in the dark…”

“Nonsense. Don’t be silly. And get that idiotic grin out of my face, Remus,” she growled, although her flushed cheeks didn’t cooperate with her words of denial.

��You know, we could easily orchestrate a little Truth or Dare circle...or better yet, Spin the Bottle?” 

“I know what you’re doing, Remus. You can derail this conversation all you want, but you can’t get away from the fact that Sirius obviously fancies you. Why won’t you accept it and be happy?”

“I can accept it all I want but I don’t see Sirius trying to kiss me or anything, so…”

“I-- Oh?” Lily perked up all of a sudden and Remus instantly regretted his words, shaking his head as he watched the girl’s grin grow bigger. “So you just don’t want to make the first move?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to… It’s more that I am scared fucking shitless, you know?”

“But… He obviously wanted to snog you! And I think he tried to send you a Valentine’s day greeting, it just didn’t work out…” She trailed off, scrunching up her nose as she did. “And he’s always hanging around you and always touching you. I mean, for God’s sake, haven’t you noticed?”

“But what if he doesn’t actually fancy me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?!”

“How much time do you have?”

Lily’s face soured at these words. “Why can’t you accept that you’re an attractive and loveable person?”

“Okay, now you’re the one derailing this conversation,” Remus teased her, waving a finger in front of her face.

“Oh, you are impossible! Sometimes I forget how much alike all of you are!”

* * *

“So am I or am I not his type? I don’t understand...” Sirius sighed out while closing the last couple feet to the ground and dismounting his broomstick with the grace and agility of a ballet dancer. At this, James let out a quiet moan and shook his head.

Sirius had been helping the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice - there had been an unfortunate accident involving two rogue Bludgers during practice the week before and one of the Beaters was still in the hospital wing. Normally, James would have been excited about Sirius flying with them - he was a better than decent flyer and they always had fun, the whole team. On this particular evening, however, Sirius couldn’t seem to focus on anything and James was becoming visibly irked by that (and, as Sirius had already been informed, insulted by having found out about Sirius snogging Remus from other people).

As soon as the practice was over, everyone scattered, vacating the dark grounds; Sirius and James started making their way towards the castle too, eager to get some dinner into their stomachs before heading up to the Gryffindor tower. They just caught the tail end of the dinner service and scarfed it all down without talking much.

“Do you think he actually knows I fancy him?” Sirius wondered out loud as they walked out of the Great Hall and started up the stone steps.

“I reckon he might have caught on when you shoved your tongue down his throat, don’t you?”

“James, I swear I--”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I...don’t know how.”

“Say ‘do you know I fancy you?’..”

Sirius rolled his eyes with a pained expression. It wasn’t all that easy. There seemed to be this weight on his chest that grew heavier with every day that passed without him telling Remus how he felt about him. It was nothing short of maddening, really. Sirius felt like he was lying to Remus somehow, like he wasn’t being honest with one of the closest people he’d ever had in his life. “It’s all different now.”

“But it’s not really different, is it?” James asked with a somewhat reluctant flicker of softness in his voice. 

“But of course it is!”

“No… I mean, you’re still friends, like you’ve always been. Talk to him about it the way you would about anything else. The way we always do. Don’t you know that we’ve always got each other’s back?”

“I suppose… But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know… We would spend hours talking on the phone...and now I don’t even know what to say. It always feels like the wrong time, like I’ll fuck it up somehow.” At first, Sirius wasn’t sure whether Remus was into boys at all. Then, that French tosser showed up out of nowhere. And what about all those scattered moments in time when Sirius was bursting to say something but couldn’t because Remus was either busy or high or recovering from a full moon... It felt like Sirius was stuck in a never ending labyrinth. “I don’t want to say anything stupid.”

“I think it’s a few years too late for that, mate. Also, you don’t have a telephone,” James snorted.

Sirius shot him a dirty look before answering in a pointed voice, “He used to call the phone box outside my parents’ house.”

James lingered on the spot, evidently taken aback by this information. “He… The what?”

“Phone box. It’s a box with a phone in it.”

“But when was this happening?”

“The summer before last. Before I moved out… But you knew this?”

“No, I don’t believe I did.” 

“Well...there you go. You know now.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I don’t know,” Sirius tilted his head, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Anything. Everything and nothing,” he shrugged. “He used to put on records so that I could listen to music. Seeing as my lovely parents had filled the place with so much Dark magic that no Muggle device could ever work in that dusty cave of a house…”

“And when you say you’d talk for hours…” James trailed off inquisitively. 

“What about it?”

“You really don’t..? Wow, you’re a bloody idiot, let’s reestablish that.”

“Rich, coming from you.”

“These telephone conversations with music playing in the background…”

“It’s not what I said,” Sirius mumbled as James went on.

“...don’t they strike you as - I don’t know - a bit romantic?”

Sirius stared at James for a moment, his wide eyes completely void of any signs of comprehension or emotion; then he burst out laughing. “Did a Bludger get you too, Prongs?”

“Sod off,” James frowned momentarily but proceeded with unfolding his theory nevertheless. “Think about it. What if it was a girl you were talking to for hours and listening to music together? Or, I guess, literally anyone that you haven’t been friends with for years... Wouldn’t that seem like a… I don’t know, a telephone date?”

“But it d-- You’re-- It’s not-- I don’t--” Sirius couldn’t find the right words, nor did he really know what he was trying to say. He’d never thought of those phone calls like that when they were happening. But just a year later Sirius had found himself falling in love with Remus -- so maybe there was some truth in what James was saying...

“Uh-huh… I’d love to hear Moony’s riveting account of these mysterious conversations.”

“But you and I used to use our mirrors all the time,” Sirius added quietly, half-hoping that James could explain that away.

“I never played music for you. Plus, my Patronus isn’t your animagus and I don’t smell Moony in Amortentia.”

“Wait, what? I’m whose Patronus?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? Hey! Prince!” James bellowed all of a sudden, making Sirius flinch before they quickened their step while Marlene was holding the portrait of the Fat Lady open for them.

“Are you two up to something illegal again?” She eyed them as they climbed into the Gryffindor common room behind her. Sirius, in the meantime, scanned the entire place - packed full of students, as it always was on Friday evenings - for Remus, but saw no sign of him.

“What a lofty, ungrounded accusation,” James gasped and then shuffled his gaze onto Lily, who had evidently been walking ahead of Marlene. “Evans,” he nodded with a smirk and Sirius - unable to decide whether he wanted to glare or roll his eyes at his friend - gave out a defeated sigh.

“What is this one sighing about?” Lily asked James.

“Oh, I suppose that would be the fact that he just found out that him and Remus have been in a relationship for a couple of years now.”

“Huh?”

“They used to talk on the telephone for hours and Remus would play records for this sappy old dog,” James gazed at Lily, delivering what he must have thought to be the funniest line ever.

“But he doesn’t have a phone, does he?” Lily nodded her head at Sirius, who stood there stoney faced.

“They used something called a box of phones,” James explained, consequently sending both Lily and Marlene into a fit of laughter. “What…”

Sirius dragged his feet behind the rest of them as they moved deeper into the common room, towards the old red sofas by the fireplace. He was only half listening to James and Lily as the two joked about the supposedly romantic phone calls. 

He was thinking about the past few months; about how realising that he had a crush on Remus had been the most exciting and all-consuming thing. He gave in to the gentle tug of a dreamy smile as he stared into the hot embers glistening in the fireplace - he had been kissing Moony just about twenty-four hours ago. He wanted to do it again -- and soon. It had made Sirius feel the happiest he could remember ever being. And it had felt so curiously right, as though it was always meant to happen. And if James was telling the truth - of course he was, why would he lie? - then Remus’ Patronus was Padfoot. But did that mean what Sirius so desperately wanted it to?

“What are you cackling about?” The very amused voice of Remus spoke right behind the armchair that Sirius had occupied, making him turn his head around so fast, his neck almost snapped.

“Oh, just your romantic phone calls.” James, who was sitting on the backrest of one of the sofas, surrounded by Lily and Peter, threw a cushion at Sirius as he answered. He had that stupid, yet endearing grin plastered all over his face; the one that always found its way to his lips whenever Lily talked to him or laughed at his jokes. That had been happening a lot, Sirius thought fleetingly.

“Romantic phone calls?” Remus stepped to the side and sat down on one of Sirius’ chair’s armrests, just like that, casually, as if his proximity, mixed with the memory of last night’s kiss, didn’t give Sirius heart palpitations. 

“Yeah, the ones where you would play records for Sirius,” Lily clarified rather enthusiastically. 

“Ah, yes. Bizarre choice of topic for a Friday evening conversation, but who am I to judge. Yes, it’s true, I trained Pads to use a phone,” Remus grinned down at Sirius as he spoke.

“And I trained Moony to only listen to good music,” he mirrored the expression.

“Indeed,” Remus slowly peeled his shining eyes off Sirius and looked around at their friends. “Matter of fact, he would often request Joni Mitchell, of all things.”

Those in the group who were familiar with Muggle music, including James and Peter, all burst out laughing. Moments later, when the chuckling and wheezing died down, Lily pointed out that this meant Remus must have owned Joni Mitchell records.

“Yes, but who in their right mind would tease a you-know-what about his music choices?”

“He means a ‘sarcastic six-foot-two know-it-all’,” Sirius clarified, loudly, for everyone to hear, causing another wave of laughter.

“So would you agree then that these phone calls were romantic?” James looked over at Remus and so did Sirius, although a lot less obviously.

“Again with the strange questions…”

“Again with the avoiding of answering my questions.”

“He does that a lot,” Lily added with a smirk. Sirius wondered what she meant by that. But regardless of what it was, he had to agree - Remus seemed to be set on not answering a single question. And he could have very easily said ‘no’.

“Moony, have you finished your Transfiguration essay?” Sirius did what he thought was a poor impersonation of someone who just remembered they’d left the cauldron boiling.

“Don’t forget to bring some romantic music along if you’ll be doing homework together,” Peter cackled.

“Just about,” Remus answered, completely disregarding Peter’s remark. “I just need to write a concluding paragraph or two.”

“Do you want to do it together?”

“Sure.”

“I’m about-- Do you mind sitting down here, with the rest of the peasantry?” Sirius scooted to one side of the oversized armchair and patted the space next to himself while rubbing the back of his neck with his other hand.

Remus hesitated for just a split second before sliding down from the armrest. The chair was just big enough to contain the two of them, squeezed together rather snuggly, albeit not uncomfortably.

“Better, your highness?” Remus asked pompously and Sirius nodded, grinning, watching the boy’s ears turn a gentle shade of pink.

“Much better.”

“So the essay…”

“Oh, right, right. I’m about halfway done…”

“Really?” Moony beamed at him with eyes full of surprise.

“Okay, maybe not quite halfway. I definitely have the title written down though!”

“You know you can’t just copy mine, right?”

“I know. How about tomorrow?”

“It’s Hogsmeade weekend…”

“I mean, if you’re busy then we don’t--”

“No, it’s fine. Tomorrow sounds good.” 

“Get a room!” Peter shouted out while James sent another cushion flying at Sirius and Remus.

[anncanta]

Hierogamy: Dracula BBC and the myth about Kora-Persephone

Today I would like to talk about the mythological drama in the series Dracula and some of its aspects, without which, it seems to me, the perception of this text will remain incomplete, and the understanding will not be as deep as it deserves.

But first, perhaps, it is worth saying a few words about why it seems to me that it is so significant to consider the mythological drama in a work of fiction in general and in Dracula in particular. Isn't it enough just to look or read, perceiving the text as it is, and not going into the study of some complex deep layers? Sometimes it's enough. But more often – no, it isn't. The answer to the question of why so lies in the very nature of a story and the art of storytelling.

The mythological drama is never fully developed in the text at the formal level, although there is where it precisely can be seen. This seems to be a contradiction just at first glance: the drama (in its original ancient Greek meaning) is a kind of ‘deep development’ underlying all events and scenes. It is like a labyrinth, a skeleton, a matrix on which the rest is built and grows.

That is, why is it important to look ‘from here’? For the same reason that it was important for Jonathan Harker in the film to find a map: in order, firstly, to understand how the castle is arranged (and therefore Dracula himself), to relate himself to it in a certain way – and to get out of its boundaries, that is, to include the castle in a wider context, which will allow the character to find freedom.

Finding freedom, in this case, should be understood quite literally – as going beyond the limits of restrictions and, as Dracula and Jonathan each correctly note in their own way, – a look from above.

This view has many advantages, but the main thing is the ability to perceive what was seen in its integrity.

Because in a good story, ‘how’ is always ‘about what’, so if you don't understand ‘how’ or ‘for what’, or even ‘what it was’ in general, most likely you haven't read the text, and it remained for you something like a set of colored spots on the wall, beautiful or annoying, but – as researchers of the brain and psyche never tire of reminding, – in the absence of a ‘key’ such thing does not exist as the story itself.

It is not at all necessary, by the way, should be a mythological or psychological, archetypal, or fairy-tale ‘key’. Or all at once. At one stage or another in life, each viewer and reader needs their own set of the ‘keys’ or a specific one. First of all, it is the literal sense of the story at the plot level. But without a ‘key’ at all – there is no text. At least because the text itself, as a phenomenon consisting of – whether linguistic, pictorial, or auditory – signs, is a key – to our ability to imagine things that do not exist ‘in reality’, and to ideas, images, and meanings.

But back to the text.

In Dracula, the mythological drama is present at all levels, and there are no parts, ideas, or interactions between characters in any moment of the film where it would not be important in one way or another.

We will not consider all aspects in which the mythological context directly manifested itself, as it will take too much time. Let's see just one – the one that is the main motive of the film and somehow creates the main plot collision, and with it – the metaphor and essence of the story itself.

And this is the motive of hierogamy.

Hierogamy as a concept can be considered in two aspects. The first is mythological, in which it represents the name, description, and modeling in the ritual a sacred marriage (from the Greek ιερός γάμος, Latin hieros gamos) of the god and goddess, and the second is alchemical (archetypal), denoting the combination of male and female principles in the process of creating a philosopher's stone.

Hierogamy in one way or another includes a sexual context, in the sense that it puts at the center of the event and experiences ‘connection’ and ‘dissolution of boundaries’ to create a single one that will be greater than the sum of its parts.

In Dracula, both of these aspects are present and can be recognized from the very first minutes.

We will not go into details, just list a few examples.

The most obvious and conspicuous is Dracula's castle as the fruit of love between Petruvio and his wife (whose portraits hang side by side on one of the floors and, as we learn later, are the ‘entrance’ to the mystery of the castle and its structure, and at the same time – the ‘exit’ to the outside world), Jonathan as the bride of Dracula, thanks to the interaction with which the Count is able to leave his ‘prison without locks’, the connection of Mina and the remnants of Jonathan on the verge of space separated by the sacred bread, allowing Dracula to penetrate inside and give rise to a new interaction of the male and female, and so on.

But the fun begins to happen in the second episode.

Given as a prototype, a form and a plot configuration, the mythological drama of hierogamy has so far been satisfied with literal images of heroes and disclosure at the level of the plot. It was difficult to suspect something more in it than a direct (allegorical) depiction of mental and emotional processes. But in the second episode, a new layer appears in this story. Or rather, it stops hiding.

It's so simple, so obvious and so cheeky frank that when you watch it for the first time, you miss it in an attempt to follow the plot. And only by the end of the episode you do guess that you should follow something else.

Yes, we do not yet know – and we have nowhere to find out – that the action of the prologue of the second episode takes place on the same ship, which will become the stage for the internal and external drama, but the style and images, the very structure of the situation, gradually suggest what will be discussed here.

And it will be the drama of Kora-Persephone.

Let me briefly recall the content of the underlying ancient Greek myth about Kora, Hades, and Demeter.

The daughter of the goddess of fertility Demeter, Kora, attracted the attention of the ruler of the underworld, the god Hades, and he kidnapped her, taking her to him, to the lands of the dead. There Kora spent some time, communicating quite closely with Hades, after which she begged him to let her go to the ‘upper world’ for a while so that she could see her mother, whom she was terribly longing for. Hades fulfilled Kora's request, but on the condition that she would return, and gave the girl several pomegranate seeds for the journey. During her stay in the kingdom of Hades, Kora refused to eat anything, so by the time she received the gift she was very hungry, and therefore, soon after she found herself on earth, she ate the seeds. And since the pomegranate is the fruit of Hades and the symbol of marriage, this made her return to Hades a must. Meanwhile, in the ‘upper world’ fields and plants ceased to bear fruit, and eternal winter came, as Kora's mother, Demeter, mad with grief and longing for her daughter, turned away from people and nature. Zeus found a solution to the problem. He decreed that Persephone (that was the name of the goddess who had ceased to be a girl) should spend six months on Olympus, that is, with her mother, and six months – in the kingdom of Hades, now her husband.

Thus, the myth, on the one hand, describes in the language of an archaic worldview the logic of the changing seasons (Persephone on Olympus – Demeter rejoices, spring and summer come on earth, Persephone in the kingdom of Hades – Demeter suffers, autumn and winter come on earth), and from the other, represents the mystery cycle of successive transformations of a girl into a woman and the unification of male and female in sacred marriage.

Let's see how this mystery cycle unfolds in the film – on a formal and substantive level.

The ship on which Dracula sails to England is called Demeter. In the center of the plot of the episode are the abduction of a virgin (a nun is by definition a virgin, if not physically, then symbolically) and the interaction of the hero with her on a ‘lower’, deep level. Lower, in the sense – detached from the everyday, visible to everyone, taking place in the light of universal attention and perception.

The hero who kidnapped the virgin (by the way, we have no doubt that he kidnapped her, from the very beginning – just do not know how exactly it happened; and therefore our desire to follow them closely is so intense) does not completely belong to the world of the living, although he does not belong to the world of the dead either. He seems to live on the border, not being part of either of these two realities. So that no one has any doubts about who he represents, let us recall that Hades was not always associated with death among the Greeks, and was never considered the master of hell and a synonym for death and destruction. He created a kingdom for himself, which he called by his name, in order to live away from everyone. And only later did he become the ruler of the world of the dead.

Obviously, the description of Dracula's life in the castle refers to the reality of Hades in the underworld, largely parodying it. Because, although Hades is the king of shadows, he is still a king, and his kingdom is real. Whereas Dracula lives, in fact, in a dump filled with bad memories and rotting broken dolls, locked in the boxes.

But Hades also kidnapped Persephone, not on great terms.

Both stories, the mythological one, and the story told in the film, lead us to the fact that the hero (the masculinity, the organizing principle) for completeness and development lacks a partner, another view of the same world, a beloved-opposite.

Dracula finds her at the gates of the convent and, according to the logic of the mythological drama, drags her to him. There is an interesting moment: hardly, having captured Agatha, Dracula went with her immediately to the ship. Most likely, he first brought her to his home, that is, to the castle, and only after that, when the time came, he sent her to Demeter. So, their interaction began in the castle, in the literal realm of the dead, and continued on a ship in the middle of the sea, in a transitional space, in a space of changes. This fully corresponds to the myth of the transformation of Hades, who has gone from voluntary loneliness to becoming a king in the world of the dead, where everything is indefinite, mobile, unsteady and although it does not change in the sense in which it happens on earth, it represents the idea of ​​change as it is.

Everything is possible in the space of changes, therefore, here the most important thing for the whole film takes place, and that will give the story an impulse to move forward and being resolved in the form, which we see in the third episode.

Let's turn now to Agatha's story.

On the ship, she travels in the role of Kora – at first, abducted and held in the ‘underworld’ and not realizing her position (Hades, let me remind you, having kidnapped Kora, did not immediately make her his wife, and she was sort of his guest – until the moment when she persuaded him to let her go to earth to see her mother), and then – in fact, the mistress of this very kingdom.

Why mistress? It is rather difficult to answer this question. But there are details in the text that give hints and, on close examination, leave no room for double interpretation.

The simplest and most obvious is the physical location of the characters in the frame. They are on an equal footing, both in the center, and although Agatha is shorter than Dracula, she is as ‘in her place’ as he is and feels just as confident.

The second is how they communicate. In addition to the fact that the dialogue, the beginning of which we see in the prologue of the episode, is quite friendly and mutual (no one hangs over anyone, does not threaten anyone, and does not try to pressure – for those who have forgotten what it looks like, there is the final conversation in the convent), Agatha's position is read from the phrases thrown by Dracula in passing, but very eloquent. Such as ‘You choose’ – in response to the question of who will play black and who will play white. And this is only the upper layer of interaction, there are more of them, and on each one, it is acutely felt that here Agatha is not a prisoner, but a partner.

You might say, – of course, this is all part of an insidious plan to keep Agatha in the dark, and no real courtesy (not to mention real respect and closeness) is out of the question. Dracula is just playing with his victim. But this is the essence of the story and what happens on Demeter, as well as in the space of the original drama. Hades kidnaps Persephone as something alien, beautiful, and unfamiliar, something that attracted his attention in the distant upper world and that, like a fruitful grain, fell into his dark hermetic kingdom and ignited the spark of life in it.

Hierogamy and everything that precedes it is a mutual process, otherwise it makes no sense.

But then a moment comes in the story, which in the mythological drama corresponds to the stage of the earth, empty due to the grief of Demeter and the despair of Kora, yearning for the upper world.

On the ship, which has lost most of the passengers and half of the crew, because of Dracula's appetite, tension grows, and in the same way, it grows inside Agatha, who despite her quite comfortable position, begins to realize that something is wrong here.

Internal and external tensions converge at one point – on both sides of the doors of cabin number nine. And when the doors open, the mythological drama comes to the surface.

Interestingly, the story here does not even try to hide what it really is – from a detective in Agatha Christie's style, turning into a mystery action. Moreover, it directly admits it – when Dracula invites passengers and crew members of the ship to cabin number nine and brings them to Agatha's bed, he opens the curtain.

But what is going to happen here?

Let's see what the situation is in terms of structure.

The hero, who for a long period of time keeps a woman abducted by him from the ‘upper’ world, alien to him, experiences the invasion of this very world and is forced to present this woman to those around him and somehow explain her presence in this place and their relationship. Let us recall that the relationship between Kora and Hades also remained ‘unnoticed’ for the time being, or rather, until the moment when its uncertainty began to create problems.

Let's forget for a while about the individual needs and questions of passengers and crew – the important thing here is that all the ‘inhabitants’ of the ship demand to explain what is happening and to open cabin number nine.

Demeter demands Kora to her. She does not agree to put up with the current situation and calls Hades to account.

What remains for the hero? He, as in the Greek myth, acts with cunning: in this case, in the film, he tells the story that the woman lying in (his) bed is a murderer, the terrible eater of people whom passengers and crew have been unsuccessfully looking for throughout travels.

Dracula is trying to explain Agatha's presence here and now, on this ship and in these circumstances – not only to deflect suspicions from himself, but also to structure the situation in which they find themselves – not so much because he wants it, but because that he has no other choice.

What happens on deck is a logical consequence of his decision. Brought to light Kora is no longer the same as before – having visited the kingdom of Hades and entered into a close relationship with him, she can no longer remain a girl and just a daughter of her mother. Her innocence is left in the arms of the lord of the underworld. And since he really does not intend to let her go, all that remains for him is to make their relationship ‘legal’.

The hanging scene, entirely built on the interaction of Agatha, Dracula, and the ‘choir’ consisting of the crew of the ship and passengers, looks like another erotic at the same time (after the first scene in the convent), in which Agatha again from above and again largely dictates conditions, – and as a kind of coronation scene.

But not only the one.

There are so many meanings in this scene, and they are so closely intertwined and interconnected, that in order to see them all, you should carefully examine it – slowly, gradually.

First, Agatha is placed on a barrel and a noose is thrown around her neck, intending to execute her.

It would seem, what does Hades' marriage to Persephone have to do with it?

According to ancient pagan beliefs, the remnants of which are also preserved in Christianity, the bride, who left her home and married the fiancé, was considered dying for her previous life and being born for a new one.

Not everyone on the ship agrees that an unfamiliar and barely breathing woman is indeed guilty of the murders on the Demeter, and a dispute erupts between the judges hungry for justice. Among others, the captain speaks out and says that the woman standing on the barrel is the wife of the mysterious Mr. Balaur, who paid generously for her transportation in cabin number nine, without attracting unnecessary attention.

The word ‘wife’ is important. Firstly, because Dracula (Hades) still knows more than Agatha (Kora), even if he did not fully formulate it for himself. And secondly, because in the mythological reality in which the characters undoubtedly are, words matter. Let us recall that events still take place in a transitional space in the midst of changing and constantly moving waters. In this reality, what is not uttered is not defined. What is not shown does not exist. (I don't think I need to explain to anyone that cabin number nine is Schrödinger's box.) Thus, the one who utters the word determines this reality.

In the noise that arose after the recognition of the captain, most of the spoken words are lost, but two of them are heard clearly and turn out to be the main ones. This is the word ‘bride’, declared as a negation, and ‘wife’ disputed by no one.

At the plot level, this is just a confusion, a skirmish of frightened and distrustful people, but at the symbolic level, everything is clear and logical.

First, the bride announced that she is not the one (‘I'm not Balaur's bride!’).

Second, another person declared publicly that she was the wife of Mr. Balaur. Who, in turn, is nothing more than a mask, a pseudonym for Dracula. This is not enough for marriage, you say. Yes, sure. At the plot level, no doubt. But the characters are in symbolic space. And here, in this space, it is important who utters these words.

The captain pronounces them – a person who, by his position, is the master on the ship, who has the right to judge and resolve disputes, the right to execute and pardon, and – to seal marriages.

But this is not enough either. There are almost no coincidences in such texts. It was not in vain that I mentioned that the word ‘wife’ was not disputed. A mythological drama is being played out before us, but it is being played out in a nineteenth-century setting. Therefore, for a legal marriage, another formula becomes significant.

‘And if there is anyone among us who knows the reason why this marriage should not be contracted, let's tell now or be silent forever.’

Then one final touch is missing to complete the ceremony.

The moment when Agatha asks who has the courage to knock over the barrel and hears Dracula's answer: ‘Me,’ on a metaphorical level, ‘closes’ the frame of the ritual action.

The fiancé approaches the bride and makes a movement to ‘end the game’ – literally to kill Agatha, and symbolically, to complete her transition from bride status to wife status. Here even blood is present as an attribute of the loss of virginity, even though, in this case, the bride has long since said goodbye to it. But we are talking about the symbolic aspect of what is happening.

Let's not forget, however, that the lord of the underworld kidnapped Kora-Persephone and involved her in marriage without her direct and informed consent (more on this later). Therefore, Agatha's actions, when she spits blood in Dracula's face, literally designed to reveal his vampire nature for everyone, symbolically signify the resistance of Kora-Persephone and the desire to escape from her husband. But some things, having started, are quite difficult to stop, so Dracula still knocks over the barrel. Having successfully landed surrounded by ‘guests’ at the wedding, Agatha survives. But on a symbolic level, her death was not the goal. The goal was to physically separate one part of her life from another. This is exactly what happened.

Thus, we can conclude that after the end of the second episode, we are no longer facing Kora, but Persephone – the queen of the underworld.

But, as in the myth, Persephone at this stage is still the point of intersection of the conflicts of several characters. This is Hades, who wants her to return to him from the upper world, Demeter, who does not think to retreat, and... Persephone, who needs to deal with herself and who she is now, and how she will continue to be.

At the mythological level, it is the conflict that will become central in the third episode.

In the myth, at the request of Persephone and Demeter, Hades released Persephone to the upper world, giving her (some sources say – forcing to eat, but this is unlikely since it does not correspond to the function of that types of objects in myths and fairy tales) several pomegranate seeds... It was because of this that Persephone, having eaten them already on earth, was forced to return back to the underworld.

Do you remember what happens in the third episode?

Zoe van Helsing (a doctor, who, by profession, every day deals with the reality of both the ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ worlds, and exists and works on their border) – who can be considered a kind of ‘earthly’ incarnation of Agatha, Persephone from ‘upper world’, meets Dracula, whom she did not think to meet. By her own admission, she never really believed that Dracula would be found. And Dracula, seeing that his ���wife’ does not remember him and does not want to return, gives her his blood and offers to ‘read’ it – if Zoe guesses how to do it.

That is, you understand – he does not directly offer her to drink his blood. He only gives her what she wants. Just like in the myth.

Zoe is a researcher, and besides the fact that she may have hoped that Dracula's blood would somehow help her recover from a fatal disease, she probably really wanted to know the secret of vampire blood, as any real scientist, inquisitive and hungry for knowledge.

Now let's turn to myth again. Persephone ate the pomegranate seeds that Hades gave her because she was hungry because she refused food all the time she was with him.

By the way, these seeds originated from drops of Dionysus blood.

The connection of Dionysian ecstasy, wine, blood, intoxication, and the processes occurring at the level of the ‘lower world’ – the world of the corporeal and the unconscious, is spoken directly in the text several times, but I think there is no need to dwell on this here.

After that, it is not surprising that the symbolism of the field appears here, – in the middle of which Zoe finds herself after drinking Dracula's blood. If in the second episode Demeter was present as a ship, a womb, a mother, carrying the potential of the future and protecting her child, then in the third she appears before us as a fertile layer, a bed, giving Agatha-Zoe-Persephone her blessing and, thus, the opportunity to complete the transformation and become a full-fledged spouse of her husband, at the same time, keeping the connection with the mother on a new level.

All this allows the story to unfold in the finale in a mysterious – alchemical context.

The fact is that the cult of fertility, the cult of Kora-Persephone, presumably formed the basis of the Eleusinian mysteries, mythology, and philosophy of which greatly influenced the views of medieval Western European alchemists. From here comes the similarity and continuity of images, ideas, and descriptions of processes, a close, often inherited metaphor, and, in a certain sense, an underlying common myth.

As the screenwriters themselves remind in one of the interviews, Dracula is a story of resurrection. So there is nothing surprising in the fact that in the finale of the third episode and the entire film, the mythological motive of Kora-Persephone and the alchemical one – coniunctio oppositorum* – are combined in one hierogamy.

This is openly stated in the text as well. In one of the last scenes of the series, Dracula says, addressing everyone present at once, and indirectly to the viewer: ‘Journey's end. Lovers meeting.’ This is a literal description of the alchemical stage of the union of the masculine and feminine principles.

Therefore, in the final scene, he and Agatha are making love – at the level of the plot, this is due to the development of their relationship as individuals, as a man and a woman, but at the symbolic level this is because the opposites they represent have reached a state where they can merge to give the beginning of a new one.

It is important to remember here what the story is constantly showing visually: there is what is happening on the ‘outer’ plane and what is on the ‘inner’ plane. The space of the film is constantly divided into two levels-states: Dracula's castle and the monastery, the monastery and the area in front of the monastery gates; what is happening in Agatha's workshop and the same thing – recorded in Dracula's blood and played in Zoe's head, Dracula and Agatha, lying on the table in Dracula's apartment, and Dracula and Agatha together in a golden light.

Let me remind you again: a real myth, an archetypal drama, very rarely unfolds in front of the viewer or reader directly, told in literal, poster language. Most often they turn out to be ‘wrapped’, embedded in the shell of a legend, parable, or fairy tale. In this sense, nothing has changed since the time of the ancient Greeks. The basic narrative structures are the same. How, perhaps, we all remained the same. Therefore, stories like this work. Therefore, they are important.

And also – because they are all-conquering beautiful.

* Сoniunctio oppositorum (Latin) – the combination of opposites. One of the key stages of alchemical Work.

P. S. In conclusion, I would like to show a few symbolic images from alchemical treatises. I will not show the corresponding scenes from the film – I think you yourself will recognize them. The first two illustrations are prints from the Splendor Solis, the third – from the Rosarium philosophorum.

[flyingkiki]

Curiosity (6/?)

I am sorry for the long wait. But here’s the next chapter. Let me know what you think! 

~~~

Raven knew that Dick would be all up her ass if he found out she had a heavy make out session with his brother in the middle of a club filled with metas. She was sure Bruce wouldn’t be all too pleased either.

So much for being the professional, level-headed Titan.

She still felt a faint throb on her upper arm where Tim grabbed her. She would be lying if she did not enjoy what just had happened moments earlier. Tim was an excellent kisser – and her inner demon wondered what else he could do. She’d be blind to ignore Tim’s long glances and his persistent push of emotions – they practically wrapped around her. Over the course of the week, she was pleasantly surprised she liked her time spent with this Boy Wonder – and it seemed all her other emotions agreed too. And excited tingle ran down her spine.

God, she was asking for trouble. Dick was going to burn her.

She felt the warm, needy push of Tim’s emotions against her and she swallowed. She felt her own emotions lurch and reach out to him. It was such a bad idea to bring Tim along. This mission was asking for trouble.

“Are you going to pay for that?”

Tim and Raven looked behind them and stared at the slightly amused bartender. He pointed at the broken scotch glass on the floor.

Tim blinked. “Oh, yeah.” He cleared his throat and pulled out a few bills, handing them into one of the guy’s many hands. “Sorry about that.”

The bartender brushed him off. “We get that a lot.” He paused and grinned at them wickedly. “There are a couple of rooms upstairs if you two want to finish whatever you started.” He placed his hands on the counter and leaned forward just a little bit, winking at Raven. “I’d be happy to give you a hand, or two.”

Raven smirked. “Tempting.” She blinked when she caught something out of the corner of her eye. She grabbed Tim’s left hand and stepped away from the bar. “But we got our own hands to enjoy already.”

Not having enough time to respond, Tim quickly caught himself from stumbling backwards as Raven roughly pulled him away from the bar and her hand tightened around his. “Rachel?” he asked, voice rising over the ambient music.

They pushed their way through a small dancing crowd and Tim followed her up a set of metal stairs along the side of the club. He cast a quick glance around their surroundings, making sure he had a good visual of the place in case anything went south. His arm strained a little from being tugged along for so long. “Rae?”

They made it to the second floor landing where tables and chairs filled the side of the landing. There were a few people talking and dancing on the landing, others were leaning by the ledge looking down at the club crowd below them. A few privacy curtains were up in some booths. Tim blinked at the sight of the deep red curtains.

What was she planning?

Rachel pulled him along as she walked towards one of the empty booths with a few low gaudy looking sofa seats and a privacy curtain. “Here,” she said, sending him a crooked grin and catching his surprised blue eyes in a long stare. Quickly turning around, she let go of his hand and grabbed both of his upper arms and steered him into the booth. For show, she unceremoniously pushed him into one of the overly plush chairs, making him tumble backwards into the booth.

“Oof,”

Tim stared wide eyed at Raven as she stood over him. He watched as she quickly threw privacy curtain closed and they were bathed in a warm red light. Was this one of the rooms the bartender was talking about? He felt his heart pound loudly in his ears, his head was still reeling from kissing her earlier. Tim needed a long cold shower after this mission. “Rae?”

“Shh,” she whispered, purple eyes wide as they were illuminated in the red light. She looked captivating, Tim noted. She lowered herself into the seat next to him and blinked.

Tim sat up, brows furrowed and senses on high alert. He listened for movements, but could only hear he muffled music and movements from the people talking and drinking outside; there were occasional soft whispers from the booth next to theirs. He turned to Raven briefly, her eyes narrowed and her body ready to spring into action.

They heard a soft giggle and soft moan from next door. Tim gave Raven a brief bewildered look, which she returned with an absent shrug. They patiently waited for a few more moments, listening to the noise outside.

Their attention quickly snapped towards one side of the heavily draped booth, when the curtains suddenly moved. Raven and Tim stood up when a pale hand popped through the curtain and waved.

“Are you two decent?”

The man had a heavy Gothamite accent. When they did not respond, there was a low chuckle and middle aged man holding a beer bottle stepped through.  Dressed in plain black paints and a black long sleeved shirt with salt and pepper hair, he looked human enough. Grey eyes surveyed the alert heroes, and he smirked.

“Quite a show you two put up down there, I honestly thought you’d continue here, that’s why I waited for a bit,” he sent them a grin.

Raven frowned and crossed her arms. “You’re Constantine’s friend?”

“Name’s Frank.” The man plunked down into the seat, the beer in his hand sloshing around in the bottle, and he grinned up at them. He fixed his eyes on Tim and pointed his beer bottle at him. “Nice cloaking charm.” Frank took a swig from his beer. “Wouldn’t go as far as calling Constantine my friend.”

“You’re meta,” Raven slowly sat down across of him. Tim sat down next to her, she felt his emotions buzzing, ready to spring into action. She briefly glanced at Tim before turning to the annoying man across of them. Trust Constantine to have asshole contacts.

“Meta more than you’ll know, baby.”

Raven’s jaw twitched. “What do you know about what’s the Church of Trigon?”

Frank placed his bottle on the low table in between them. Unnaturally black eyes looked back at them they had no pupils. “Straight to the point, eh?”

Tim frowned, not liking the man. “That’s the idea.”

Frank looked at Tim and rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun.” Raven and Tim stared back at him nonplussed. Huffing, Frank sat and leaned a little over the table eyeing them seriously. “Trigon is coming.”

“Trigon is dead.” Raven’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Frank’s nose twitched and he looked annoyed. “Fine, you’re correct, he’s dead.” He took a swig of his beer. “But this rag tag wanna-be cult still thinks they can bring him back.”

“They’re just bringing in lesser demons into earth,”

The man shrugged and ignored Raven. “They have it in their little heads that they’ll keep on trying until they get it right.”

Tim frowned. “Do you know who runs this group? And where they plan to meet up next?”

Frank scratched his chin. “Sebastian Blood is long gone. One his original loyal followers, Lilith, organized this small cult. They’re a small group of hippie believers who think the world needs cleansing by Trigon the Terrible. She invited a small group of metas and cultists into the circle, thinking she could continue what Blood had started.” He paused to take a swig from his beer. “Lilith is not the best organizer, she never was. They don’t have exact plans. But what I hear now is that they have a small little church in the abandoned warehouse district in the outskirts of the city close to the forest. It usually takes them a day or two after their last summoning to try again, so maybe be on the lookout for that.”

“Why are they doing this?” Tim asked as he digested all information and kept it to memory.

The man looked at Raven, locking eyes with her. He titled his head a little and sent her a knowing look. “I’m sure you know.”

Raven felt her ears ring loudly and blood rush into her head. She leaned forward, ignoring Tim’s curious gaze and stared at the man across of them. Memories of the heated marble burning into her back came rushing back. “Do they have a sacrifice?”

Frank frowned and leveled his gaze with her. “No. Maybe the think they don’t need one.” He slowly leaned away from the table and watched Raven’s expression. “Or they think they already have one.”

Tim jumped at how fast Raven reacted. Her movements were swift, she easily pushed the table aside and all but lunged at the man with a low growl. She pinned him against the wall behind him, pushing him roughly against the wall and holding him at choke point with her elbow. Black energy practically oozing from her.

“You’re one of them.”

Tim watched as Raven grabbed the man’s left wrist and pulled down the sleeve of his sweater. The symbol of Scath was visible from underneath the gnarly burn marks. Tim stood up, ready to spring into action. He watched cautiously as Raven pressed the man further into the wall, making him choke.

“Was,” he chuckled, not even bothering to get out of the deadly grip. He gave Raven a wry smile through his pained expression. “When we saw the first time what happened with your father, I realized this shit was crazy.”

The beer bottle on the floor exploded. “My father?”

Frank’s head turned just a little bit in her vice-like grip and he tried his best to look her in the eyes. His black eyes were emotionless. “You look so much like Arella, Raven.”

Raven had forgotten what Rage felt like up until very moment. The fires from her dreams came roaring alive, licking at her legs and body and she growled lowly in her chest. She shifted her body, pressing the man into the wall more and hearing a satisfying choking noise. “You knew my mother.”

“Rae.” Tim watched Raven cautiously. Black energy was snapping just by her legs.

“She was very beautiful.” The man rasped.

She was ready to attack and release whatever energy rage that was building inside of her. Her energy was cackling around them and just as she was about to punch the grin off the asshole’s face, the red light above them exploded engulfing them into semi-darkness. She felt Frank shift underneath her and roughly push her away from him.

“No,” Raven stumbled into Tim, who caught her easily. And she watched in sheer frustration as Frank cast them an apologetic look and threw open the heavy privacy curtain. The heavy sound of music and people talking filled their booth.

“Sorry, love.”

Raven frowned and pushed herself away from Tim. They watched as the man bolted down the ledge, pushing patrons and tables out of his way. He ran faster than a normal human being.

“No, you don’t.” Raven whispered with a frown, she ignored Tim’s cry and started giving chase. Pushing herself through the crowd, she tried to catch Frank. When he vaulted over the ledge, she easily followed, safely landing next to the stage. She faintly heard Tim behind her do the same.

“Stop!” Raven shouted, trying to catch up with Frank as he pushed himself through the crowd. She ignored the angry cries of the crowd and growled in frustration as the guy burst through the main entrance.

“Damn you, demon!” the Goblin who had been thrown out of the way by the man.

She ignored him, roughly pushed the rusty door open, making it slam against the brick walk. And she quickly found Frank running down the alley.

Raven easily followed, trying desperately to gain some ground. After surveying the area and seeing a people outside, she knew she couldn’t use her powers openly or risk getting identified.  She felt a mad rush for anger and frustration hit her as she watched the man run down the street and push people out of his way.

“I said stop!” Raven yelled.

Thunder rolled above them as they neared the empty docks and as luck would have it, it slowly started to rain. She could hear Tim calling and running close behind her, but her emotions got the better of her and she ignored all calls. As people slowly stared to thin out by the docks, Raven was about to release inky black tendrils to catch Frank.

Purple eyes widened in surprise and she stumbled as the man turned around just as they entered the empty docks and threw a knife at her.

“Sorry again, love.”  

Raven just had enough time to move her head a fraction of an inch. She felt the knife nick her cheek and she winced. She stumbled forward and felt her ears ring. She couldn’t let him go – he knew her mother, he was there when she joined the cult, Frank watched when her mother being placed on the marble, when they offered her to her father. He saw her mother on the hot marble altar as her father took her.

“Rachel stop!”

Thunder rolled loudly over them and she blinked when she found herself standing right by the ledge of the docks. She gasped and took a step back – where was the man? She felt her legs throb in protest from all the running and her emotions were pushing wildly against her.

Rain was pouring angrily down on her, and it ironically seemed like straight out of the movies. Her breathing was uneven and her heart was pounding loudly in her chest. Frustration and anger filled her.

He knew her mother. He saw her. He helped the church lure her mother in.

Purple eyes clenched shut as the memory of hot fire consuming her filled her. Her mother should have never experienced the torture of her father. She heard the roaring sea below, the ocean slapping loudly against the concrete. She desperately tried to calm her heart.

“Rae?”

She felt Tim’s emotions before he could touch her shoulder tentatively and she turned around quickly, wet purple hair flying and slapping against her face. She stared at him breathless, purple eyes locking with concerned light blue ones. Tim dropped his hand immediately and swallowed.

They stared at each other, both out of breath and searching each other’s emotions. Tim stood cautiously in front of her, unsure if she’d lash out. Thunder rolled over them and lightning crashed loudly. Breaking contact, Tim looked up briefly and watched the sky brighten as lightning filled the sky.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, looking back at Raven.

Tim watched as purple eyes softened and a defeated look filled her face. Raven nodded numbly and gave the docks behind them once last glance before slowly following Tim out of the pier.

Their walk back to Tim’s car was heavily silent, only broken by the noisy rumble of thunder. When they reached the car, they silently slipped into the vehicle and locked the doors. Illuminated by the light from the lamppost close-by, Tim cast Raven a worried glance. His mind was still processing what just happened.

Sighing softly, noting how drenched they were, the turned to look at the backseat of his car, hoping he could find some articles of warm clothing he might have forgotten there. Finding an old cotton baller jacket, he reached out and grabbed it.

“Here,”

He dropped the jacket into her lap and silently watched her mumble her thanks. Raven silently slipped on the jacket and sighed softly.

Tim turned on the car and switched on the car heating. He looked at Raven and watched her stare blankly at the dashboard. Looking at her lap, he watched her fists that peeked out of his jacket tighten. He stared at her worriedly – what just happened? How did this mission go down south so quickly?

“Hey,”

Raven blinked out of her reverie as she felt Tim’s hand rest on top of her first. She looked away from the dashboard and stared at his hand on top of hers, it was cold from the rain. She felt the warm press of worry from him and she turned to Tim, as she slowly sagged against her car seat and allowed her fists to unravel under his hand.

“Raven?” His brows furrowed. “You’re bleeding.”

Popping open a hidden compartment in the dashboard, he pulled out some antiseptic wipes. Turning his attention back Raven, he did not bother waiting for her response, and simply just brushed her hair away from the wound. It was a shallow knife wound from Frank’s knife. Crowding into her space a little, Tim gently dabbed the cut with the wipe. He silently waited for any kind of reaction from her, but received none.

Drawing back into his seat, Tim dropped the used wipe into a small hidden bin. Knowing he also did not want to overstep boundaries, Tim sighed softly and turned to the steering wheel. He’d talk to her once they get back to the manor. Pulling out of the parking lot, he cast a worried glance at Raven before proceeding to drive back to the manor.

“My mother was from Gotham,”

They had stopped at the red light by the Gotham Central Cemetery. It was still pouring outside and rain drops beat against their car’s windows. Tim blinked in surprise at Raven’s sudden admission and stared at her. She was busy looking out her window, taking in the barely visible cemetery. He knew Arella was from Gotham, he read Raven’s file.

He waited for her to continue but instead he heard her sigh softly and lean her head against her window. Looking up at the green light of the stop sign, he decided it was just best to talk to her once they were back home. Tim knew that Raven’s past was a touchy subject.

The ride back to the mansion was silent. Once they arrived in the Batcave, Tim was silently thankful that Bruce was still out on patrol, at least they didn’t have to worry about him for now. He honestly did not want to go into detail with Bruce over what just happened. He felt like Raven did not want to either.

They stepped out of the car and looked at each other briefly. Tim titled his head slightly and offered her a small smile. “Why don’t you go and take a shower and changer into warmer clothes. I’ll take care of filing the report and charting our next steps from the info we got from Constantine’s informant.” He shrugged his shoulders lightly and rubbed his neck thoughtfully. “Well, most of the report. I think we can skip some details.”

From where she stood across of him, Tim saw Raven visibly relax just a little bit. Her grip on his jacket loosen and she nodded. Her eyes softened and she nodded. “Thank you.”

He watched her turn around and walk out of the cave. Sighing softy, Tim tried to digest everything that transpired tonight. How fast turned from kissing Raven to getting intel to running after a former cult member was beyond him. He sat down in front of the Batcomputer and his stomach lurched and he dropped his face into his hands. He kissed Raven – or she kissed him, he kissed back, he pressed himself into her, and they both thoroughly enjoyed it.

Holy shit, Dick was going to fucking beat his ass.

Groaning, he turned to the computer and quickly started to work on the report. He needed a shower.

-

“You’re still awake?”

Raven looked up from her laptop when Tim in a pair of sweats and an old university shirt padded into the kitchen. He looked fresh from the shower and ridiculously comfortable. “Needed some tea,” she replied while watching him fill his French press with coffee grinds and hot water. “Isn’t it too late for coffee?”

Tim snorted and took the coffee press and a fresh mug to the kitchen island and sat down next to her. “Never.”

She quirked her lips. The familiar smell of Tim’s favorite coffee filled the kitchen and she inhaled softly, feeling calmer than earlier.

“Is that your file?” Tim leaned in closer to her, looking at Raven’s digital file. He blinked and looked at her. “Why are you looking at your own file?”

Raven looked at her laptop screen, before sighing and closing her laptop. She crossed her bare legs and turned to Tim. “I just wanted to review what the League had on me and my mother.” She dropped her hands on the grey island counter and absently picked on a loose thread of her sweater’s sleeve.

It still made Tim wonder how people would say that Raven was emotionless. During the course of two weeks he had seen plenty of Raven’s emotions. Tilting his head, Tim leaned forward on the island counter and placed his hand over hers, stilling her moving fingers. Tired purple eyes looked at back him. “I’m truly sorry about your mother, Raven.”

Raven’s shoulders sagged and she sighed softly. “My mother suffered from depression before she was lured into the cult. She was troubled and the cult took that to their advantage to lure her in. She didn’t know what she was getting into until it was too late.”

She dropped her gaze to Tim’s hand when they tightened just a little bit around her hands. She felt the soft push of concern coming from him. “I have a bad history with the Church of Trigon. When we defeated my Trigon years ago, I thought that would be the end.” She paused and looked at Tim. “I’ve been having dreams of my mother’s ritual when they offered her. It was horrible.”

“Dreams? Raven, you should have told us.”

She tilted her head and looked at Tim. “When we found out Frank was part of the original Church of Trigon, I snapped. He was there when they dragged my mother on the marble table and offered her as a sacrifice. My mother should have never experienced that kind of pain and evil.” Raven blinked and sighed. “I wanted him to pay for what he did.”

“But I also wanted more answers.” She continued, feeling Tim’s press of concern. “I wanted to understand why people joined the church – and why he left. I find it selfish how people think that saving the world is by hurting others.” She dropped her gaze. “I just want this cult to be gone forever.”

“Raven.” Tim’s hand tightened around her fist, making her look at him again. He gave her a determined look. “We got the information we need tonight. We’ll end this, I promise.” Offering a small, comforting smile, he continued. “For your mother.”

Raven relaxed and returned his small smile. Her fist under his hand flattened and she allowed it to turn just a bit to let his hand to slip into hers. She felt a warm flood of emotion from him and she felt her insides warm. “Thank you.”

Tim smiled brightly, sitting up a little better and allowing his right hand to squeeze her hand in support. He liked how her hand fit well into his. His gaze switched from her face down to the very familiar sweater she was wearing. Feeling more at ease with her now, realizing that something definitely had shifted between them, he offered her a teasing grin. “Is that my hoodie?”

“Finders keepers?”

Tim laughed. “Fine, keep it.” He stared at her amused face and he briefly contemplated how easy things seemed to have shifted between them.

“It’s getting late.” Raven announced and she stood up, slipping her hand out of his grasp. “We should rest so we can talk to Bruce tomorrow and make plans.”

Tim nodded and stood up as well. “I’ll walk you to your room.”

After putting their mugs into the dishwasher, they made their way up the stairs and into the wing where the guestrooms were. Raven opened her door and turned around, tilting her a head just a little bit and offering Tim a tired smile. “Thank you for helping tonight. Good night, Tim.”

Tim smiled. Raven looked beautiful in the little moonlight that shone through one of the bay windows in the hallway. Dropping his gaze to her lips and back to her eyes, Tim threw caution into the wind. “Rae,” He felt his heartbeat wildly in his ears as his hand stopped her from moving into her room.

Raven paused and watched a little breathless as his fingers curled around her forearm and held her in place. The pressure felt similar to how he held her back in the club, she still felt the ghost of his hold on her from earlier. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt Tim’s open emotions press into hers. She felt herself lean forward just a little bit. She quickly realized that how easily Tim was different from all the other Robin’s with his open emotions. “Yes?”

Tim took a step forward, crowding into her space. “I just,” he dropped his voice a little and stared into her purple eyes. “I just want to be clear that I meant what I said tonight at the club.”

Raven felt heat rush to her face and she remembered the heated kiss they shared at the club. “Definitely wasn’t the pheromones.” Raven swallowed and her gaze briefly dropped to his lips before looking back up into his eyes. She remembered how wonderful it felt to be wrapped up in Tim’s arms. “Oh,”

Some of Tim’s hair fell into his stormy blue eyes and his lips quirked a little bit. His fingers around her arm twitched a little bit. “That is if you’re okay with that.”

Purple eyes widened. Was she okay with the excellent time she spent with Tim? Of course. Tim’s presence headily pressing into hers?  Oh, yes. Raven nodded numbly, a soft tingle running down her back.

“I know it’s been a couple of weeks. But I think you’re smart and amazing. And I enjoy spending time with you,” Tim leaned closer a little bit. “I think you’re captivating.”

She was sure her face was bright red. “Captivating?”

There, he said it. Tim felt like he was breathless – he couldn’t believe he just said all those things. “Yeah.”

A slow smile formed on her lips as she felt her body warm. Twisting her arm in his hand just a little, she reached out and held onto his forearm as well. “You talk too much, Tim.”

Raven leaned up, standing on her tippy toes and meeting hovering close to his face. Her purple eyes shone brightly. “Shut up and kiss me, bird boy.”

“Gladly.”

Tim chuckled lowly and he easily swooped in, capturing her lips in a long and heated kiss. Sleep could wait a little longer.

[boat-full-of-lotus-pods]

MDZS Chapter 85. “Core” Part 7

The informer

[Content Warning: brief description of rape]

Before stepping through the front gate of Lotus Pier, Wei WuXian took a deep breath to calm himself. After stepping inside, however, he was not nearly as emotional as he would have imagined.

Perhaps it was because of all the renovations. The training ground was two times bigger than it used to be. New buildings erupted one after the next. Their multitude of overhangs carried with them an air of grandeur. The Lotus Pier in front of him was more magnificent and regal than the one he remembered. It was also nothing like the Lotus Pier he knew.

Wei WuXian was overcame by a sense of loss. He wondered whether if those older, familiar buildings were hidden behind the new ones now, or whether if they had already been torn down.

After all, they were really, really old.

Across the training ground, various sects had reformed their array formation and were meditating in their continued efforts to recover their cultivation. After a long day and an even longer night, everyone was at their limits. They needed a place to recuperate. Jiang Cheng led the various sect leaders and senior cultivators into the Training Hall where they would continue to discuss today’s business. Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi followed in after them. A few people felt uncomfortable with their presence, yet there was nothing they could really say.

Before everyone could even be seated, a person dressed like a Jiang Sect guest disciple appeared, saying, “Sect Leader.”

He came up to Jiang Cheng and whispered something into his ear. Frowning, Jiang Cheng said, “Audience not granted. Whatever the matter is, it can wait till tomorrow. Can’t you read the situation right now?”

The disciple said, “I’ve already told them this. But the two women said…… They said they are here specifically for what happened today.”

Jiang Cheng, “Where did they come from? Which sect do these cultivators belong to?”

The disciple responded, “They didn’t come from sects. They’re also not cultivators. I can confirm that they are both commoners with no cultivation on them. They both arrived today. They even brought a package of very expensive medical ingredients with them, but didn’t say which sect had sent them, just that they have important matters to tell Sect Leader. I sense that they are not here for menial matters and I didn’t want to delay things in case they are important. They’ve been arranged to stay at guest quarters but I’ve yet to inventory the medical ingredients. The package has already been inspected. No curses were found.”

Not everyone could have audience with the Yunmeng Jiang Sect’s Leader just because they wanted to. Especially not people who had refused to give their background, who were also commoners without cultivation. However, with such an expensive gift, the disciple in charge of reception was too afraid to delay their request. If not for the nature of the gift, the strangeness of the situation was enough to demand their attention. Jiang Cheng turned to the crowd, “Everyone, please seat yourselves. Please excuse my absence. I will return shortly.”

Everyone politely responded with acknowledgement.

But Jiang Cheng did not return shortly. He left for a long time. It was already rude to leave the guests by themselves, not to mention the severity of the present matter at hand. Everyone was waiting for serious business to be discussed. An hour later, Jiang Cheng still hadn’t returned. Many people were starting to feel worried or annoyed. Just as everyone wondered how long it would take, Jiang Cheng finally showed his face again.

He had left in his usual self, but had returned with a gloomy and harsh expression. His pace visibly quickened. Following after him were the two women —two commoner women— who had knocked upon Lotus Pier’s front gate. Originally, everyone had expected the women to be quite exceptional despite being commoners. Afterall, not only had they been granted audience, they had also brought with them such a heavy present. However, not only were they both much older than expected, they were out of everyone’s expectations in ways more than one. One of them had downcast features and wore an expression of worry and fright. The other one, aside from looking very much like a prostitute, had deep scars all over her face. They were old scars that had already healed over, but looked nothing less than dreadful and revolting. Shocked and disappointed, everyone grumbled in their hearts, Why did Jiang Cheng bring these two into the hall? And why is he pointing for them to go to the center of the hall?

With a gloomy face, Jiang Cheng turned to the two timidly sitting women and said, “Speak here.”

Sect Leader Yao, “Sect Leader Jiang, what is this?”

Jiang Cheng, “What I heard was too atrocious for me to take lightly. I needed to clarify the details. Apologies for taking so much time. Now, everyone, if you would please listen to what they have to say.” He turned to the two women, “Which of you wish to speak first?”

The two women looked at one another. The one who looked like a prostitute was the braver one out of the two. Standing up, she said, “I’ll go first!”

She half-heartedly did a bow, “What I’m about to say takes place around eleven years ago.”

Judging from Jiang Cheng’s tone, everyone understood that what this woman was about to say definitely couldn't be anything menial or unimportant. Thus, everyone started trying to remember what had happened eleven years ago. The woman continued, “My name is Sisi. I used to be in the pleasure business and was pretty famous for a while. A decade ago I found a rich merchant to marry, but who knew his wife was so fierce, hired a bunch of henchmen and cut my face up. That’s how I became like this.”

She was not at all timid in her delivery. Her words were blunt, raw and unembellished. Her story had many female cultivators covering their mouths with their sleeves, and made a few male cultivators frown. Sisi continued, “Ever since my face got ruined, life hadn’t been the same. No one wanted a glance of me so there was no way for me to do work. The brothel kicked me out. I didn’t really know how to do anything else, and it was impossible to get myself business, so I started getting close with these older prostitutes. Their requirements for customers ain’t high. They’d give me a job or two whenever they get their hands on some business. If I covered my face, I was still good to go.”

At this point, many people couldn’t stand the story anymore. Undisguised disdain leaked from their glances. Many were puzzled by why Jiang Cheng was allowing this woman to speak such fowl and revolting things in public. The sect leaders all withheld their annoyance and waited patiently for her to continue. Finally, she hit the point with her story. “One day, someone on our street suddenly landed a group business. More than two dozens of us were called. They even sent a carriage to ship us over to their place. We stroke a deal and everyone was overjoyed on the way over. I was the only one who found it fishy. To put it frank, we were all worn out jewels, either old or ruined like me. Who would ever hire us at such a high price? And even paid us before service? It felt too good to be true. Not to mention the man who came to fetch us was acting super sketchy. He loaded us onto the carriage the moment it’d arrived; didn’t even give a word to anyone else. He was clearly up to no good!”

Everyone in the audience agreed. Their initial disdain was soon replaced by curiosity as Sisi continued, “The carriage led us directly into a courtyard. None of us had ever seen a place so fancy, with buildings so tall, so large, and so lavishly decorated. We were all blinded by the place’s glories, too scared to even breathe. There was a young man by the door playing with a dagger. He let us inside the moment he saw us then closed the door behind. Inside the huge room were only two people. One of them was laying on a large bed, looked about thirty or fourty of age. He seemed ill and half-dead, could only move his eyes about when he saw us enter.”

“Ah!”

Suddenly, someone exclaimed inside the Training Hall, “Eleven years ago?! This is…… This must be……!!!”

Sisi, “We had already been instructed what to do before we arrived. Essentially we were told to go one at a time and give all we have to serve man on the bed. We weren’t to stop for even a moment. At first I had thought him to be some kind of tough guy full of vigor. Who’d have imagined him to be some sick, mid-aged dude? Could he even stand our service? What if his heart gave out while we were at it? What kind of desperate pervert is this? And if he had so much money, why didn’t he go hire some prettier women? Why ask for the old and ugly? I couldn’t stop thinking all this even as I went on him. And then suddenly someone laughed and it scared me so much. It sounded like a young man’s voice. I only realized then that there was a curtain behind the bed with another man sitting behind it!”

Everyone was on the edge of their seats as Sisi continued, “I only realized then that this man had been sitting there the whole time. As he laughed, suddenly the man on the bed started struggling. He hauled me aside and fell off the bed. The young man started laughing even harder then. He laughed as he spoke, saying, “Father, I’ve brought you what you love the most. Women. So many of them. Are you happy?” ”

Though the words were from Sisi’s mouth, everyone couldn’t help but shudder as another smiling face surfaced their mind.

Jin GuangYao!

And the half-dead man on the bed must had been no other than Jin GuangShan!

Jin GuangShan’s death was a well-known secret among the cultivation world. During his life, Jin GuangShan had been infamously promiscuous to the point of vulgar. He had lovers everywhere he went and he’d fathered many. His death had been a direct result of his lifestyle. Despite being a respectable sect leader, he couldn’t control his lust even in sickness and poor health, ultimately dying in the saddle. It had been a terribly undignified way to die. At the time, Madam Jin had already been mourning the death of her son and daughter-in-law. Their deaths had already taken a tow on her health. The embarrassing death of her husband only added to the tow. She’d fallen ill out of pure rage, and left the world soon afterwards. The Lanling Jin Sect had tried their best to hide the truth behind Jin GuangShan’s death, but everyone had already had their guesses anyways. In public, they lamented his death. In private, they found his death to be karmic. No one had expected a different version of the truth to emerge today; one that was even more repulsive and sickening than what they had imagined. Gasps were heard all around the Training Hall.

Sisi, “The mid-aged man wanted to scream and struggle, but lacked the strength to do neither. Then, the man who’d led us there entered the room again. He smiled as he dragged the man back onto the bed, took a rope and tied him down while stepping on his head. He then told us to “Keep going, don’t stop even if he’s dead.” Who’d have expected things to be like this? None of us were prepared for this, we were all scared half-dead, but were too terrified to disobey, so we had no choice but to keep going. By the twelfth person’s turn, the woman suddenly let out a scream and said that he had actually dead. I went up to take a look and indeed he was no longer breathing. But then the person behind the curtain said, “Didn’t you hear him? Don’t stop even if he’s dead!” ”

Sect Leader OuYang could no longer keep quiet, “No matter what, Jin GuangShan is still his father. If this is true then then this is too…… this is too……”

Sisi, “The moment I saw that the man was dead, I knew it was over for us. No way they’d let us go now. And indeed, once we were done, the two dozen or so women with me were all killed…… Not a single one of them was spared……”

Wei WuXian, “Then why were you spared?”

Sisi, “I don’t know! At the time, I begged for my life, saying that I don’t want the money anymore, I swear to never speak of this to anyone. Little did I expect them to actually spare me. They took me some place and locked me up, and kept me for eleven years. Only recently was I rescued by someone and got out.”

Wei WuXian, “Who rescued you?”

Sisi, “I don’t know, and I’ve never seen his face either. But when my savior heard my story, he said he doesn’t want that hypocrite to keep lying to everyone anymore. He says he’d do everything he can to reveal that man’s dirty secrets even if it takes him everything, and give justice for everyone he’d wronged, and bring peace to the souls of those two dozen friends of mine.”

-

Edits: Content warning added

[alchemistc]

walk together with our hands up in the sky

an: title is from “two high” by moon taxi

spoilers through 1x13 of the punisher

He’s standing in her office, with a neatly trimmed goatee and a head of curly hair piled high on his head, and he’s laughing at something Rachel from sports is saying, his lips stretched wide, his teeth a burst of white against the sunlight shining through the window, and it’s been three months and he’s still a wanted man and all Karen can think is oh thank god.

He glances up, catches her eye, and Karen’s breath catches in her throat. She’s seen him beaten, tired, hiding, terrified and bloody and angry, she’s seen him fight a smile and talk of the terrible greatness of love, but she’s never seen him like this, not a visible scratch or bruise and not even trying to hide how happy he is to see her.

Karen hefts her bag higher on her shoulder, regrets it as she watches the way his eyes dart towards it, a new one without a nice big bullet hole through the bottom of it, regrets the flicker of momentary hurt and confusion it causes as he watches her walk towards him. 

Frank, she thinks, doesn’t say aloud because the city thinks he’s run off, or he’s underground, or he’s dead and someone buried the story. (Maybe that had just been Karen.)

Her laugh turns to half sob and she can feel his breath on her ear, his pulse under the hand she’s got wrapped around his neck, the warmth of his hand at her back, and they stand like that for too long, long enough that when Karen finally disentangles herself and shoots a glance at Rachel the other woman is carefully not making eye contact, focused far too carefully on her notes to be paying any attention at all to them.

“Surprise,” he says, wry grin on his face, and Karen fights the urge to press her fingers into the visible laugh lines, to wrap him back into her and never let go.

“What...” There’s no good way to ask the question with an audience, especially one as intent as theirs, still carefully staring at the same section of notes she’d been studying a minute ago.

“Figured I’d let you know I hadn’t bought the farm.” She rolls her tongue over her teeth and has to close her eyes to keep from shooting a look at Rachel, but he’s sold it, the ironic ring in his voice and the roll of his shoulders playing it off like a joke between two people who haven’t spoken in a while.

“Coffee?” she asks, because she doesn’t want to be near him for another second with watchful eyes on them and because her office is suddenly stifling in his presence and he is alive and smiling at her as he nods his head.

She leaves the flowers, ignores Rachel’s voice when she calls out “It was nice to meet you, Pete!”, notes his proximity as he falls into step beside her, waits until they’ve turned the corner and are out of sight of the office before she presses her shoulder into his just to feel him press back.

“This is a new look for you, Pete.”

He laughs. It’s one of those dorky, too high laughs, almost a giggle for the way it makes her momentarily forget what he sounds like yelling, and knocks his elbow against hers. “Hipster wasn’t working for me, I figured I’d give the Tony Stark a try.”

“It’s...not a terrible look,” she tells him, and then darts her gaze to the ground, feeling her cheeks go red. “You look good, Frank.”

He coughs to cover up the awkward silence, and Karen thinks of his forehead pressed to hers, thinks of the things they never have to say, wishes she could just say what she wants to and not have to worry about the consequences. Thinks “You’re important to me, Frank.” and hopes the gentle brush of her pinky along the side of his hand gets the point across.

They go to a greasy diner down the block, sliding into opposite sides of a booth, and Karen drinks him in, ignores the way he does the same and how it makes her chest tight. 

“How have you been?” he asks, and then frowns into the newly poured cup of coffee.

“Did you really come to my office to hand deliver flowers and shoot the shit with me?” 

He blinks, and rolls his tongue over his teeth, a familiar tic in his jaw that Karen thinks suits him. “Yeah.” He nods his head, tilting it just slightly, and god, it’s so fucking familiar, it’s so fucking Frank, and despite how much they’ve come to care for each other, it’s always been hard for her to imagine a world where they’re just...hanging out. No ulterior motive between them. “Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Frank’s gaze holds steady on her face until the waitress returns with the plate of eggs and sausage he’d ordered, eyes flickering from her face to her jawline, running over her cheeks, and the hair curling over the scar on her forehead from the one scrape that didn’t quite heal properly. “Okay,” he parrots back at her, and Karen barks out a laugh, kicks at his foot under the table, laughs louder when he captures her ankle between his boots and just holds it there. 

“I missed you.” Her voice is whisper soft but he hears her all the same, ducking down towards his plate even as he continues to stare at her beneath the line of his brow. 

“Yeah, me too.”

------

Pete Castiglione is a hit at the office, dropping by with flowers, and a coffee each for Karen and Rachel once a week, evading the ever suspicious Ellison as best he can, arguing with Rachel about the Jets and reminding her after the World Series that the Dodgers were Cap’s team (”Don’t fuckin’ matter that they moved, or that he’s on the lam.) and Karen takes it in stride. 

It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to be alone with her - not really, truly alone, even when Rachel gives Karen the side eye and closes the door behind her when she heads out midday (”I’m taking a long lunch,” she says, with zero subtlety, and Frank stares at his shoes for ten minutes while Karen taps out a few shitty sentences at her keyboard.)

They go to diners, and coffee shops, or they walk along the crowded streets, and Karen tries not to take offense. He’s... healing, trying to deal with his losses, and his life, and Karen wants to be there for him whatever way she can, even if that means she has to ignore the tender looks he’ll shoot between his lashes when he thinks no one is looking.

She starts researching flower meanings, and then laughs at herself in her quiet, dimly lit apartment when they all mean something she’s pretending not to hope for.

She calls him from a dive bar, five drinks in and already dangerously close to drunk, when she finds out Matt is alive.

He’s in her phone as Pete C, and her finger hovers over his name for a good five minutes before she presses dial, but he picks up halfway through the first ring, voice gruff and scratchy like maybe she’s woken him, and before she can hang up the phone, text him something stupid like sorry, butt dial, he says “Karen?” and there’s an edge of fear in his voice that makes her blink away some of the alcohol. 

“Can you come get me?”

It’s a stupid thing to ask, an even more stupid thing to hope for, but she can hear him shuffling around, hear the shift of fabric and the distinct sound of a zipper being pulled, a belt being tightened. “Where are you?” 

She rattles off the crossroads, staring into her empty scotch glass while he hums, and then “Frank, its - I’m okay. I’m not -- I just...”

“I’ll be there soon.”

He saunters into the bar less than ten minutes later, his hair a little wild and his shirt only halfway tucked into his jeans, looking rumpled and concerned and god, there are things she thinks about when she looks at him that she has no place thinking, but she thinks them anyway and he has to know, he has to know.

He slides into the stool next to her and drinks the rest of her half finished beer while he stares at her. “I’m sorry,” she tells him, a little wobbly, definitely a little drunk, and he grimaces. 

“You don’t gotta apologize, c’mon. You don’t gotta do that with me.”

Throat tight and blinking back tears, she nods, and leans into his space, spinning to press her knee into his. It’s a relief, knowing that she could say anything to him and he’d be okay with it. Anything except what she wants to say. You mean something to me, Frank.

He wraps an arm around her waist when she hoists herself from her stool, scoffs when she reaches for her wallet and shakes his head at her with an amused eyeroll as he throws down too much money on the bar, and leads her out to a flashy looking muscle car she can’t decide whether or not to laugh about or scold him for stealing. 

It takes some maneuvering on his part to get her in the bucket seat, and more to get her out when he parks it a block away from her apartment building, Karen going straight from drunk to tired with the rumble of the engine and the Springsteen playing softly from the tape deck.

“Where’d you steal this monstrosity from?” she asks him as he gets an arm under her knees, and selfishly she hopes she seems drunker than she really is. 

“Bought it fair and square, ma’am,” he tells her, a hint of cheek in his voice. “C’mon, I am not carrying you up three flights of goddamn stairs.”

She huffs and rolls her shoulders back, turns her head to assist him in getting her out of his car only to be confronted by the too-close line of his jaw, the broken bend of his nose. 

He’s got two fingers in the backs of the shoes she’d kicked off, and her purse secured under his arm, she’s curled up in the jacket she’d found on the floor of the passenger seat, and it strikes her how very cozy this all is, how very domestic Frank has always been, how unashamed he is with taking care of people.

Karen hums ‘Born to Run’ up the stairs and down her hallway, slightly louder with every step because it seems to both amuse and annoy him and she’s one of maybe three people in the world who finds comfort in the fact that Frank can feel both those things. 

It doesn’t strike her until she’s curled onto her couch with a glass of water in her hand, Frank hovering above her, unsure, that he hasn’t been back to her apartment since he gave her those white roses. 

When she pats the empty space beside her, he falls into it without hesitation, which doesn’t help Karen at all but it’s nice, all the same.

“You wanna tell me what sorrow’s we’re drinkin’ away tonight?”

It’s easier for her to say to him than she’d expected, considering she’s been telling herself all night and it hurts worse each time. “Matt’s alive.”

His sharp glance is another thing Karen pretends not to read into. “It’s been... it’s been a year, you know? We put an empty casket in the ground. We mourned him. We moved on and... and he was my friend, at least, even if the rest of it was a mess.”

The hum, low in his throat, is enough acknowledgement for her to continue. 

“Jesus, Frank, it took less time for you to reach back out, and I told you to your face you were --.” Here she pulls in a shaky breath, scoots her ass against the cushions until she’s facing him. “I’m glad he’s not dead but...”

They sit in silence, for a long time, long enough that Karen finishes up her water, watches him as he quietly stands and reaches for the glass, fingers curled around hers until she relinquishes it and watches him go to refill it.

When he sits back down and places the glass back in her hands, she’s certain he’s closer to her than he was the first time. “You still love him?”

“No.” The look he gives her tells her he doesn’t believe her. “Maybe. Yes. I... he...” He’s important to me, she almost says, but it feels wrong in her mouth. “We always loved parts of each other, you know? The good parts, and we always pretended there were no bad parts. When I was around him, I was always so...” She presses her fingers into her thigh, swallows around a lump in her throat. When she glances back up at Frank he’s holding himself very still. “I was so lonely.”

He blinks back at her, understanding in his gaze. His head bobs: up, down, up, and when she slides her feet across the space between them, tucking her toes under his thigh, his hand curls around her ankles, warm and unwavering. 

“I used to see Maria,” he tells her, head tilted up toward the ceiling. “Flashes of - memory and shit I made up in my head, and she... she was always there when I couldn’t handle my shit.” Karen listens, careful and still. “She was home, you know? Not this country, not New York, not that house we made together. All the pieces of her, all the things that made her Maria, she was...” He’s talked about his family before - it was what had forged that trust between them, what had opened Karen’s eyes to who Frank Castle really was, but this is different, not some anecdote about his life before, this is... “She’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry, Frank.”

“Don’t.” Around the lump in his throat, he swallows and squeezes her ankle. “Don’t be sorry. I... I gotta be okay with that.”

“Are you? Okay with it?”

When he turns to look at her this time, his finger tapping out a rhythm over the top of herr foot, his pursed lips are answer enough even as he searches her gaze. “I’m tryin’ to be.”

------

“Karen,” Foggy says, arms wide as he smiles at her, and Karen darts forward to give him a quick hug. “Karen, who is this Pete guy and when can I meet him?”

Karen shoots a look around Foggy at Rachel, who is carefully not making eye contact, and then glares at the bouquet of irises and daffodils on her desk. “Oh, he’s just - he’s a friend.”

“A friend who’s been bringing flowers by the office and charming your staff for months now? Karen, I hate to break it to you, but dudes aren’t that subtle. And you’re... well, you’re you, aren’t you.”

She distracts him with a story about Daredevil Ellison has assigned her, knowing it’ll rile him up enough for him to excuse himself, and she feels bad about it, she does, she misses Foggy and she wishes it were easier for them to just be like they used to be, but it’s not easy, it’ll never be easy, and despite the fact that the rest of the world can’t seem to recognize Frank Castle because he’s got a goatee, Karen knows it won’t fool Foggy for a second.

She can’t decide whether she’s more terrified of his anger, or of his disapproval. 

When Frank knocks on her door that night she’s so busy thinking of what apologetic text to send Foggy that she barely glances through the peephole before letting the door swing wide, and she’s halfway down the hall when she realizes his footsteps aren’t following after her.

He looks guilty when she turns to look at him, eyes darting up to just above her head, and Karen excuses herself to go put pants on.

He’s adjusting the heat on her burners when she brings it up, stir fry sizzling in the pan as she hikes herself up onto the countertop. “You’ve gotta cut it out with the flowers.”

Back going stiff, he eyes the timer on the oven. “You don’t like ‘em?” His voice is careful and quiet, free of any intonation.

“Of course I like them, Frank, don’t be stupid. But everyone thinks you’re trying to get into my pants and that’s the only reason you bring them. Foggy came by the other day and -.”

“That what you think, Ms. Page? That I’m --?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I know you’re not --.”

He cuts her off, dropping the spoon against the side of the pan, sliding toward her, caging her in with a hand on either side of her legs, fingers stretched wide across the counter. “And what if I was? That’d be ridiculous? Man like me bringin’ flowers to a woman like you?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” she whispers across the space between them, his breath fanning out over her lips, thumbs sliding hesitantly over the sides of her thighs. “You know it’s not.”

She tries to get closer, to lean down and press her forehead against his, to reach for him, but he’s already gone, nearly knocking into the kitchen island before he spins on his heel. “I gotta go.”

“Frank, don’t --.”

“You take care, yeah?”

He’s gone before Karen has even had time to pull herself off the counter.

------

She signs for the pot of orchids on a Saturday morning a week and a half later, fingers sliding along the delicate petals as she places them on the kitchen island. She doesn’t have to look this one up, not like the others, doesn’t have to yank out the book hidden under her bed, the one filled with pressed flowers on the appropriate pages. 

It’s the longest she’s gone without seeing Frank in months, but it’s nice to know she hasn’t scared him straight back into killing a whole bunch of people and getting himself killed in the process. 

She spends the day staring at crime scene photos of a hit on one of the Gnucci boys, ignoring the growing pit in her stomach and wondering what Ellison would do if she told him she wanted off Crime, wanted to try her hand at the Relationship section. 

She laughs to herself when she thinks of the kind of headlines she’d have. So You’re Dating A Vigilante. How To Tell The Guy You’re Dating Is In Love With A Ninja Assassin. What To Do When You Might Be In Love With a Murderer. How To Help Your Guy Get Over His Murdered Wife. Then she pulls out the flower book and stares at it for a while just to drive herself a little crazy.

She ignores three calls from Matt, and one from Foggy, and pops open a bottle of scotch around 11. 

The funny thing about spending so much time staring at crime scenes the last few years is she’s kind of numb to the gore, so when Frank stumbles into her apartment after kicking the door down, somewhere past midnight, painting her hallway wall red as he slides against it, her first thought is about how much it’s gonna cost her to fix the damn thing.

“We gotta go, Karen,” he says, and he’s beat bloody, one cheek swollen, a gash in his arm. “Karen, we gotta got out of here now.”

She doesn’t really question it. He’ll explain it to her, she knows that much, but there’s an urgency in his voice and his eyes and in the tremble of his bloody knuckles that gets her on her feet in a moment, sliding into her bedroom to gather up her bag and throw on a pair of shoes. 

It’s not until they’re in the safety of a beat up Buick, careening down the highway, the copper stench of blood filling her nostrils, that Frank breaks the silence. 

“Wasn’t sure you were paying attention to the flowers that much,” he says, fingers tap - tap - tapping over the steering wheel. Karen gives him a confused look before she remembers the book open near the photos strewn across her living room floor. 

“I wasn’t sure I was meant to,” she tells him, and he chuffs out a laugh, unfurls a fist from around the wheel and reaches out for her hand, curling it into his own. 

“Gotta work on our communication.”

“Or maybe you could rely less on cryptic Victorian courting rituals.”

Frank hums delightedly, squeezes her hand in his own, and Karen thinks that maybe her world has been rocked so many times that now it just feels like a comfortable shift, like the world tilted on it’s axis but gravity keeps her steady. She wonders when Frank became gravity for her. 

(Sometime after please, but long before spare some change.)

He’s lost enough blood to be a little loopy by the time they get to the safe house nestled in the woods, and he leans heavily into her side, the bulk of him pressed against her while she struggles to get them up the sloping hill. She’s more grateful than surprised when Foggy and Matt both come rushing out of the cabin and down the stairs.

The cabin is almost cozy, an old couch draped with heavy blankets, a fire stove blissfully unlit in the heavy summer heat, gauzy curtains covering the windows, and Karen takes it in as a third man bursts through the door behind her, grumbling about hero types as Matt and Foggy unload Frank onto the couch.

The stranger moves to lean over Frank, a hefty looking first aid kit in his hand, and Foggy and Matt turn to look at her. 

“What the hell is going on?” There’s a tic in Matt’s jaw that Karen can’t figure as she and Foggy both blurt the question out at the same time, but no one answers her, and she’s about to open her mouth to explain the situation when Frank seems to come back to himself somewhat. 

“Fisk. Karen, what does Fisk want with you?”

The room erupts into chaos, and Karen excuses herself to work through the not-terribly-mild panic attack Frank’s words cause.

------

Frank’s voice is soft, and the man patching him up is listening intently, when Karen has recovered enough to be remotely useful, but she stops just beyond the corner to listen to them speak for a moment. 

“...shit, Frank, you ever think maybe you’re attracted to danger?”

“C’mon man, it ain’t like that.”

“You tellin’ me you wouldn’t take a bullet for that woman? Cause you’ll definitely take a knife. Got hard evidence right here.”

“Took the bullets before too.”

They both huff out pained laughter. 

“She means somethin’ to me, Curt. She... Jesus, Curt, Karen’s the most important thing I got.”

“I guess I should stock up my field kit, then.”

“You don’t gotta do that.”

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

Karen waits half a minute before she turns the corner to join them, and Frank’s friend rises, wiping his hands off on a towel before he reaches a hand across the edge of the couch. “Curtis Hoyle.”

Karen shakes the hand without much thought for the blood staining it. “Karen Page.”

“And I’m Santa Claus,” Frank mutters, but without much bite, and Curtis pretends not to notice the hand Karen drops to his shoulder, or the way he leans into the touch. 

“I’m just gonna let you two have a minute,” Curtis mutters, more to himself than anything else because Karen is already scrambling over the back of the couch, watchful of the bandage on Frank’s arm and she curls her legs under her. Matt and Foggy have disappeared, and she’s glad of it, for the moment. 

“Red seems to think you got a price on your head because you worked the case with Nelson and Murdock.” He still says Murdock like it’s two words, rolling them over his tongue with derision, and Karen can’t help the small smile that blooms on her face as he presses his nose into her shoulder. It should feel strange, pressed close to him while he practically nuzzles against her, but now that they’ve at least made a poor attempt to acknowledge what’s going on between them Frank has certainly wasted no time in accepting it.

“That’s not why.”

“Figured as much.”

“Matt and Foggy - if they’re part of this they should know. But they won’t be happy about it.”

“Well I’m morally repugnant,” he tells her, like he’s quoting someone. “Think I can handle it.”

“Yeah.”

“You need a minute?”

“No,” she tells him, her hand furling and unfurling on her thigh. “Yes.”

“I can wait,” he tells her, and lifts his face from her shoulder, leaning back against the couch and gathering her hand in his. Her palm is sweaty, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Curt pumped me full of pain meds, though, so you wait too long and you’ll be telling your deep dark secrets to my snores.”

And that’s it, isn’t it? The way he can just make light of something she’s been terrified to tell for years, the way he knows exactly what she needs, exactly what -

“I killed his man. They were trying to get to Nelson and Murdock, trying to... I was never really sure what they were trying to do. He kidnapped me. Took me out to some abandoned building to scare me, and when that didn’t work...”

“He would have killed you.”

“Yes.”

There’s no judgement in his eyes, nothing to make her believe she was wrong for doing what she’d done. That should scare her. It should make her want to run in the opposite direction. 

She shifts to press her knees into his thigh.

“I don’t know how he knows,” she tells him, pulling in a sharp breath, and her chest feels tight again.

“Hey. Listen. Karen, listen.” There’s a softness to his voice sometimes, something that settles into her bones, and it’s like that now, as he ducks his head to hold her gaze. “Me and Fisk? We got unfinished business of our own. He’s not gonna touch you. I won’t let him. Murdock won’t let him. Hell, give Nelson some spandex and he’ll probably try to join in.”

The sharp burst of laughter cuts through the anxiety rising within her. “That’s not funny,” she chides him, and he shrugs.

“It’s a little funny.”

You mean something to me, she thinks, as Foggy and Matt burst back into the cabin, arguing between themselves, and Karen knows they haven’t spoken this much since before Matt came back. She can’t help but feel glad of this, even if they’re pretending not to give a damn about each other at the moment. 

Foggy gets one look at Karen’s hand curled in Frank’s, blinks, calls out “Pete Castiglione, really?” and spends the next thirty minutes yelling at her, instead.

------

“Frank!” 

The sound of her scream still echoes in her ears, as she watches Curtis work, her body trembling as he digs another bullet out, this one lodged in Frank’s thigh. She’s got blood on her hands, in her hair, covering a third of her clothes, and across the way she can see Claire Temple sewing up a cut on Matt’s forehead. 

She’d muttered something earlier about goddamn vigilante triage, and through her tears Karen had snorted out a laugh, but the amusement hadn’t lasted. Frank is worse off than everyone else, which isn’t exactly a shock to anyone, even Karen, but there’s something niggling in the back of her mind, something she’s trying not to acknowledge, something that reaches out and slams into her chest when she sees Luke Cage curl a hand around Claire’s shoulder. 

I didn’t tell him, she thinks.

He’s lost too much blood, fought too much fight, there’s barely a patch of skin on him not covered in blood and bruises, and he’d done this for her, because of her, because Fisk had wanted Karen and he wasn’t about to let that happen. 

You mean everything to me, she wants to say, wants to whisper into his skin, wants too paint across his eyelids, but he’s barely breathing and he’s lost more blood than a person should be capable of losing, and the bags of it labelled “Micro” in a cooler by the door aren’t going to be enough.

She’s going to lose Frank, and the last thing she ever told him was a lie.

------

The valerian and honeysuckle in a vase next to her bed are, perhaps, a little overkill, but when she blinks awake, sitting up on the couch, she finds Frank not asleep in that bed sitting on the floor in front of her, leaning against the couch as he turns the pages of her flower book, careful not to disturb the petals pressed against some of the pages.

He reaches behind his head with a grimace, no doubt caused by lingering pain in his ribs, curls his fingers around her waist, returns to his reading. 

“You’re awake.”

He hums, presses the back of his head against her thigh, but otherwise seems completely uncaring of anything but the book. 

“I lied,” she tells him, digging a hand into his hair, curling her fingers around his scalp, and the hum returns, deeper this time, but she can’t distract him from the book. 

“Didn’t,” he mutters, like he knows exactly what she means, like he’s ready to argue this with her until he’s blue in the face, like he hasn’t spent the last three days in and out of consciousness, barely alive.

Go. I’ll be fine without you! she’d told him.

“Frank, forget about the stupid flowers.” He tilts his head to one side, then the other, her nails scritching against his scalp, but he’s nearing the end of the book now, few flowers left, and -

His finger finds the picture of the valerian, his eyes darting quickly back to the bedside before he reads through the description. He rolls his neck against her, tilting his chin up to watch her. “Yeah,” he says on a nod. “Yeah me too.”

Karen crawls off the couch, too worried about his broken ribs and the arm he dislocated to wait for him to stand, but all her careful movements are pointless when he drags her into his lap and presses his forehead against hers a moment later. “Frank,” she says, feather soft against his busted lip, and he curls both hands around her jaw, nudges her nose with his own, presses his lips against each corner of her mouth before he stares up at her. 

“You remember, what I told you ‘bout Maria?”

Karen nods, her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck as he stares up at her, and she prepares herself for the weight of what he’s about to tell her.

Frank nods back, eyes red and watery, his teeth wearing at his bottom lip. “I see you, now.”

Karen pulls him close, presses her lips to his own, careful, quiet, soft around the bruises and cuts all over him, and holds him as the tears fall, as he breaks apart in her arms, and when he quiets, hands dragging across her back and her sides, face digging into her neck, Karen catches his gaze and holds it. “You’re home now.”

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations DEDE! You’ve been accepted as KERBEROS.

Dede, your app blew me away! It was really all in the little details that made Lucila Luca feel like a fully fleshed-out character. From what her family thinks she does for a living to how she got involved with the mob, I really got a feel for the things in her life that showed me how much thought you put into this app. You also really showed her voice throughout all of it, so I have no doubt that you’ll bring justice to this firecracker! I really think you put it best when you wrote “What her power can’t make her, she has to make herself - if you can’t be special because of what you can, you have to make who you are stand out,” and stand out she does!

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information:

NAME/ALIAS: Dede.

PRONOUNS: She/her/hers.

AGE: 18.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: CET (GMT+1); school’s getting much less busy now, so I’ll be able to be on most days.

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Luca Mendoza / Kerberos.

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis female, she/her/hers.

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

The power Luca Mendoza was graced with puts her in a specific position. A copycat. Never the original, the first, never unique. Always second fiddle, always mimicking, always in someone’s shadow. All she has, she gets from someone else. What her power can’t make her, she has to make herself - if you can’t be special because of what you can, you have to make who you are stand out. And make herself stand out she does - the human equivalent of a flashbang grenade, louder than those around her, more in your face, a fake explosion scaring spectators with no actual danger present, unbeknownst to them. And then, after this scare, after everyone already thinks themselves safe, there comes the actual strike - precise and deadly. Luca’s a hitman, or rather hitwoman, and she knows what she’s doing. The job itself is very satisfying to her - find target, eliminate them, quick, clean, effective. Visible, simple results. It’s not a profession that makes you liked, it’s not a lifestyle that makes you liked, it’s not an attitude that makes you liked. But does she care that much? As long as there’s fun to be had, the gang ladder to be climbed and attention to be sucked up and to get a high from, the kind of the attention isn’t that important.

But not everything in the Jem Family’s resident hitwoman’s life is so nice and rosy - and what frustrates Luca and keeps fueling the raging, scorching hot fire that she can feel burning inside her at all times is very well shown through her own gang-assigned alias. Kerberos. A three-headed dog guarding the gates of hell. Always serving someone, a master, never coming into his own. Of lesser importance. Stuck in an eternity of inertia, of arrested development. And that’s exactly what her main problem with the Jem life is. She feels as though there’s virtually no opportunities for upward mobility here - she’s stuck and trapped in her position, which although satisfying on its own, is not all it could be when faced with the opportunities given to others in the family. She wants to go up, climb the ladder, become important. Maybe then people will see just how capable she is.

BIO: tw: drugs, alcohol, murder, in no particular order.

She is the bright flash of fireworks but with a bang twice as loud. Oh-so-ordinary Chicago teenager Lucila Prudencia Mendoza is walking up the stairs to the apartment her friend Natalia along with her parents inhabit, having just finished class. She can hear Nat excitedly skipping way ahead, now on another flight of stairs and completely out of sight because of the speed difference. When they finally reach the seventh floor, while a little annoyed, Luci isn’t exhausted - guess three hours a week of soccer practice help. “Now, what did you want to show me?” she asks, significantly less grumpy and even excited now that she’s inside the other girl’s room, feeling the refreshingly cool air gently touching her, so incredibly welcome after the scorching heat of this year’s May. Instead of replying immediately, her friend sits down on the ground and gestures for her to do the same before speaking at last. “You can’t tell anyone about this, promise?” Lucila rolls her eyes. “It can’t be that serious- Okay, okay, I promise”, she corrects herself, seeing Nat’s expression. “Just spit it out, will you?” She expects a reply, but she gets something else- the other raising her hand a bit, pointing it in the opposite direction from Luci, towards the open window. After a second of stillness, just when Lucila’s about to ask what this whole ordeal is about, they appear - small, flashing sparkles, akin to fireworks or sparklers. The girl stares at them in awe for a small while, before they slowly disappear. She turns to her friend. “So… yeah”, Nat speaks, and by doing so frankly destroys the magic of the moment. Luci is touching her friend’s arm, unable to speak, and at the same time has a million questions. How? How long did Natalia know? Could she, Luci, do the same thing too? Still at a loss for words, she decides to answer that last one herself - focusing hard, she feels an itch in her hand, and here they are - sparkles all her own. They both continue sitting there for some time, speechless.

She is the scent of brimstone in the air, a sign the end of the world is to come. Luci has become an adult, Luca, by now - new year, new me, or however the bullshit motivational saying goes. No criminal with any sense of self-respect and/or dignity would ever have others refer to them as Lucila or, even more, Luci, although her parents still insisted on it even after she took the legal steps to change it. Typical. After all, the aforementioned occupational reason could not be presented to them - every, or almost every, family would rather think their daughter’s a pub bartender than that she kills people for money. But after falling into lots of debt with all the wrong people, which was frankly life-destroying, and roughly figuring out the way her mutant powers could be used to replicate the abilities of others she’s familiar with enough, she had little options to choose from. When you owe money to a gang, you don’t just sit on your ass on your mother’s sofa and hope they’ll forget about it. You take measures to make that cash. Measures that can be extremely risky and stupid, like the ones she’s taking right now - climbing a fire exit on the side of the building she’s going to be doing business in tonight. She finally reaches the right window, double-checking the number of floors above her just to be sure. Anyone else would have to smash the glass or pick the lock, but not her, thanks to a friend. She simply slips in through the window like a horror movie spectre, standing behind the man inside. “Good evening, sir”, she says in a happy tone, before raising her hand and pulling the trigger on her pistol.

She is the first bite into a spicy dish, the heat seemingly nonexistent until it hits harshly and painfully. Luca’s slender fingers, adorned with black sloppily painted nails, are rolling a dollar bill she just found in her - emptier and emptier by the second - wallet. Putting it in the proximity of a meticulously prepared, snow white, thin line of cocaine on the bar counter, she snorts with all the professionalism she could possibly have retained, being as intoxicated as she is. Raising her head, she makes eye contact with the bartender and opens her mouth, about to ask for another shot of vodka, when someone - presumably a waiter - taps her on the shoulder. Turning, she sees the waitress she expected, who, in turn rather unexpectedly, is holding some fancy schmancy colorful cocktail in her hand and clearly handing it over to Luca. “Thanks?” she says, accentuating the word like the question it undoubtedly is. “Courtesy of the gentleman in the corner”, the woman replies, pointing to a man sitting alone at a faraway table. Raising her eyebrows, Luca nods with a smirk before sampling the drink. It seems fairly bland and flavorless for a second, before hitting her with an inferno of spicy tastes that makes her eyes water. “What the hell was this supposed to be?” she muses to herself, as the waitress is long gone. Deciding to get up, she walks up to the corner table she was shown before. The man there hasn’t moved, looking at her with a slight smile. “Listen, man, I don’t sleep with people for drinks in general, but if you really wanted to try, at least make it-”she begins and is interrupted by the man’s chuckle. “You misunderstood. Wildly.” Her expression must be outright confused and suspicious, as he continues. “Damien Matthews. I’m here to present an opportunity that I think you might be interested in.” Still wary, she nonetheless slowly drops into the seat opposite him, listening carefully, especially so after she’s assured it’s not a ploy to sell her something like a household appliance she doesn’t need.

The thing that makes you strong will be your undoing - she’ll ensure it.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

Angela. While Luca usually prefers to be frank and straightforward, there are some things she would never admit publicly. Among these is her, to put it in maybe a bit extreme of a way, years-long obsession with Ganymede. The Jem Family underboss is just exactly who Luca wants to be. Well-respected by most, if not all, always counting in decision-making, and above all important. Angela matters, and Luca’s itched to matter for so long. The underboss was, at first, quite the friendly presence to Kerberos, Luca would even consider her a friend to some extent, but over the years her feelings shifted dramatically as she encountered Angela, stable in her apparent weakness, and virtually unmovable, right in the way of her rise to the top among the Jems. If Luca ever manages to surpass Ganymede in power and position, it would be the achievement of her life. Maybe then she could finally take off the Angela dartboard she’s had on her bedroom wall for years, now adorned with thousands of marks left by darts thrown in (frequent in this life of hers) moments of anger and frustration.

Jackson. Less fire and ice, more yin and yang, or perhaps, if you prefer your comparisons pop culture-y, captain Kirk and mister Spock, Kerberos and Janus may be opposites, but instead of clashing, these opposites complete each other. Luca’s life is filled with rage, adrenaline and not the most positive of emotions, and she finds it oh-so-refreshing to be able to get a coffee, to just talk and be listened to, not to be diminished. It’s almost akin to putting one’s forehead up against a cold window during a migraine, the coolness soothingly easing the pain. A conversation with Jackson is just what Luca needs after a hard day of killing, or, to put it more elegantly, eliminating people. Just a nice cup of an iced beverage, a comfortable chair and the amazing feeling of not being judged.

EXTRA: mock blog / pinterest / spotify.

headcanons:

Luca prefers to be referred to as ‘hitwoman’ instead of ‘hitman’ - as she herself says, ‘what women do is already being erased from the world, at least give us proper credit when describing the profession.’ Mutant supremacy ideologies and the fight for women’s equal rights would seem to contradict, but then again, it’s not like Kerberos particularly cares anyways.

She was born under the name Lucila Mendoza, but adopted the form Luca as she considered Lucila to be somewhat infantile for her taste. Barely anyone knows about this fact, the very few exceptions being Damien and her birth family. She’s considering telling someone in the gang - but she doesn’t quite trust them enough yet. It might be a dumb secret, but a symbolic one, too.

She has one tattoo, on the inside of her left thigh, stating her mutant risk level in black uppercase letters - she counts this as her mandatory ID, and enjoys watching the policemen’s facial expressions while she’s in front of them going “oh, of course, officer, let me just pull my pants down, just a second-”.

Luca’s left-handed, but has trained herself to use both her dominant and non-dominant hand with more or less equal skill, making her an adept juggler. It’s not an ability that proves particularly useful in her daily gang life, but has time and time again proved invaluable in entertaining her companions when needed.

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope, I’m good! Hope to soon become a part of this great rp!

[ronyxfic]

Educating the Victim - Act V, Chapter IV

Pairing: Jasper/Lapis, Lapis/Peridot

Rating: Teens and up

Warnings/Tags: threats, emotional abuse.

Read it on AO3!

Educating the Victim Masterpost

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CHAPTER 4: In Line

Lapis had waited a few days. Laid low. Avoided Peridot where Jasper could see.

Waited.

And then, one day, Jasper wasn't around. Lapis wasn't quite sure why - she probably just had to clean up something in the gym again. Either way, at lunch, she was free.

So she sauntered up to Peridot yet again.

"So I hear you told Jasper to get me to back off," she said without preamble.

Peridot flinched visibly. The voice was completely unexpected. She turned on her heel to face Lazuli, nearly dropping the pile of excercise books in her arms in the process. "Lazuli! Oh. Oh... Um. I can explain."

"Oh?" This should be good. Lapis looked down on Peridot, her face torn between cold calculation and slight amusement. "I'm listening."

"She..." Peridot swallowed. "Must have misunderstood. I get sensory overload. A lot. And I must've mentioned speaking to you just added to it a little. And so! She... must've... told you to back off. Yes!"

"Hmm." That was not what Jasper had said. And Jasper had been quite specific. "Am I really that bad? You know I'm just teasing, right?"

There was clearly no point to lying. Peridot's reply was quick and frank. "Yes. You are that bad. I enjoy the attention, but your comments hurt me and it's annoying. You're annoying."

"I mean, sure, if you'd rather be by yourself all the time," Lapis said, a little taken aback. She'd been thinking about asking Peridot to join her for lunch; she was reconsidering that now. If she was indeed that 'annoying'.

"No. I don't want that." Peridot’s voice suddenly turned quiet.

There it was. Lapis's smirk returned. "Yeah, I didn't think so. You wanna have lunch together? We could chat, and I'll try to be nice."

Peridot blinked. "Why, yes! That would be enjoyable. You're alright when you're nice to me."

"Wow, thanks!" Lapis said in her best Peridot-impression. And immediately grimaced. "Sorry. I'm not very good at this. Do you have lunch with you?" A silly question. Peridot always had her lunch with her. "We could find a table somewhere."

Peridot didn't seem upset. Quite the contrary. "Hey!" She beamed. "That's my thing. Hmm. I've got some in the staff fridge."

"Sounds good. I'll get mine too." Lapis was glad that Peridot didn't seem to be upset. Maybe this could work. She would just need to find a way of teasing her that didn't alienate her. Because god, that was the last thing Lapis wanted to do, despite her promise to Jasper.

Peridot gathered her food from the fridge. Another sandwich and dessert jelly. The very same colour as before. "I sure am hungry."

Lapis got her food out as well and looked around. There was an empty table nearby. She didn't wait for Peridot's opinion before walking over and sitting down. "You sure like jelly, don't you?" she asked, turning around to face Peridot.

Peridot blinked. "It's stimulating and low calorie. What else does a person need?"

"Nutrients, maybe?" Lapis offered. She pointed at her own lunch: couscous salad. Easy and quick to make.

"I can't cook. And I struggle to eat some things if they're a certain color." Peridot shrugged. "Jelly is safe."

"You can't cook? Oh boy. And I thought Jasper was bad." Lapis chuckled. "She can, she just doesn't. But hey, you can learn, right? I could show you the basics, if you want."

"There's not many utensils in the staffroom. Or... much of anything for that matter. They really didn't focus on spending any budget here, did they?"

"Oh, I wasn't talking about here. God knows I don't want to spend any more of my time here than I already do. No, you should come visit me. The kitchen is alright most of the time. You could meet my iguana! She's a little shit. I love her." Lapis smiled.

"You're inviting me... to your house?" Peridot looked genuinely surprised. "And you own an IGUANA?"

"Yes! And yes. Her name's Malachite. She's bright green. Well, kind of turquoise. But you'll like her, if you go by colours." Thinking of Malachite brought a warm smile to Lapis's face. Truly, she could never love any human the way she loved her little lizard.

"I would enjoy visiting your abode. Whereabouts do you reside?" Peridot looked at Lapis with piqued interest, digging into the jelly.

"The city centre. Rent's ridiculous, but at least everything's accessible. You could come over this evening, if you want?" Lapis had some of her couscous. A little dry. She'd have to change her recipe a little.

Peridot smiled. "I'll have to let my mother know, but sure! That's not very far from here at all."

"You still live with your parents? Really, Peri, you're precious." Peridot couldn't be that much younger than Lapis - five, six years at most. It was surprising.

"I just never moved out. Though... I'd like to. I don't think it's doing anything much for me." Peridot swallowed. "But my students and their work keep me fairly busy."

"Yeah, they tend to do that." Lapis shrugged. "But yeah, you should come over after work. It'll be fun!" Jasper wouldn't like it. But Jasper would just have to deal.

"Do you have a car?" Peridot tilted her head. "Or do you walk it?"

"We walk. You okay with that?" It wasn't too far. Twenty minutes if you walked briskly. "Jasper likes to run it sometimes as well."

"You live with her?"

"Yeah. It's easier." And more difficult. Living together was both the best and worst decision they had ever made.

"Oh. Are you...two...?"

"...yes?" Lapis frowned. "I thought that was obvious. I thought everyone knew."

"Oh." Peridot blushed a bright colour. "I don't clock into things very much. Congrats on that."

"That's alright." Lapis shrugged. "It means you'll probably run into her when you come over. Hope you're okay with that. I can't really throw her out." Well, she could, but... it would already be the second time this week.

"I like her a lot too. I don't mind." Peridot smiled. "I don't really speak to her much, that's all."

"Huh." For all Lapis knew, Jasper hated Peridot. A shame. "That'll be okay, then. Hey, maybe you'll get to talk to her more!" She doubted it. Jasper would be pissed.

"That would be... nice." Peridot finished her food. "I hope me coming over isn't going to interrupt anything. Please feel free to do what you usually do."

Lapis almost laughed. "Oh, no, really, I don't think you'd be keen on witnessing that," she said. And honestly, she wasn't even referring to the sex. Well, not just that. Her and Jasper's interactions were always... volatile.

On second thoughts, maybe it was a bad idea to invite Peridot. But she couldn't un-invite her now.

Peridot only shrugged. "I don't get to watch people often outside of television. It would be nice to see a real life relationship." She then paused and smacked herself. "Wow, that was so weird. I'm so sorry. Fuck."

Lapis raised her eyebrows.

Interesting.

"No, no, it's okay. I understand. Although Jasper and I don't exactly have what one would call a ... normal relationship." Or a healthy relationship. Or the kind of relationship that anyone should model anything by.

It was only too bad that they literally couldn't live without each other.

Peridot tilted her head. "What kind of relationship is it, then?"

Lapis shrugged.

"I guess you'll just have to find out by observing us," she said.

Peridot actually looked excited. She tapped her hands on the desk. "I can't wait to see you two in action! Tonight, then. Where do you want to meet? When?"

This was probably a huge mistake.

"We could just walk there after school," Lapis said nevertheless. "If that's okay? Or do you want to go home before?"

"I'll just have to let my mother know by text. I can do that now." Peridot smiled, finding her phone and tapping away at it. A few seconds later, it buzzed to life and she beamed. "Wow. She's happy I'm actually seeing someone else. It's been a while."

Lapis returned Peridot's smile. "Then it's sorted! I'll meet you back here after classes, alright?" She was so cute. And everything Lapis learned about her just made her more cute.

"Sure!" There was a smile present on her face she had never really worn to school. She may as well have been bouncing up and down in her chair. "Lunch is nearly over but... um. Here. This is my number. If you don't find me."

Smooth, Lapis thought. "Thanks! I'll give you a text so you have mine as well," she said. Peridot looked so happy. Her smile already made this worth it. "I'll see you later, then!"

Peridot gathered her things and gave a tiny wave. "I'll see you!"

After the final lesson, Lapis found herself back at the staffroom, uncharacteristically excited. It wasn't every day that she got to take someone home who wasn't Jasper. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time it had happened.

So she was practically bouncing by the time she got there.

Peridot was waiting in the courtyard. Waving to some of the younger kids who came over to say hi. Typically she went straight home - it felt oddly welcoming to be acknowledged. She spotted Lapis as she appeared. "Lazuli! Hey, hey, Lazuli!"

There she was. Lapis smiled.

"You know you can just call me Lapis, right?" she asked. "You got everything?"

"Yeah! Unless... you wanted me to bring something extra. Oh God. Is that a common practise? Bringing extra things?"

"Nah, there's no need. Just bring yourself, that should be enough. You ready?"

"Most certainly." She smiled. They set off. Peridot felt oddly energised by the whole thing. "Is the Coach coming home soon too? I'm still so shocked you live with her."

"She'll get there when she gets there. She might even already be home. I'm not sure if she had class this period." If Jasper was indeed home already, this would be interesting.

"I see." Peridot smiled. "Is this a usual thing? Inviting people you relentlessly tease over for dinner?"

"Not at all. It's usually just Jasper and me." That was a good thing. Lapis wouldn't want to subject anyone to Jasper or her over long periods of time. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"Oh! This should be interesting, then."

"Oh, definitely." Lapis half-smiled.

They were at her flat a few minutes later. Lapis unlocked the front door. "Malachite might be out," she said before opening it. "Be careful she doesn't run outside, she does that."

"Oh! I'm very excited to meet her!" Peridot beamed. Her eyes trailed over the area, looking about the new place as if it were to become her new own. "It must be so cool to move out."

"It's miles better," Lapis agreed. "I moved out when I went to Uni and never went back. It's just so much more freedom." She opened the door cautiously. No tiny feet scuttling over the floor. She slipped inside: Malachite was in her tank. "All clear. You can come in!" she said, opening the door wider for Peridot.

Peridot paced in and briskly removed her shoes. Observing Lapis to check if she'd approve. However, the second she saw the tank, she skipped to it. "Wow! She's so big! Hey there!"

However, the lizard wasn't the only one occupying the living room.

Jasper was there. She looked up.

"...what the fuck?" she said. "Lapis?"

"Oh! Hi, Jasper. I invited Peri over. You don't mind, do you?" Lapis smiled at her partner sweetly and didn't give her time to answer before turning back to Peridot. "You wanna say hi? I'll take her out!" she said, opening Malachite's tank.

Peridot did not catch onto Jasper's immediate discomfort - nor any underlying tensions. "Hi, Jasper!" She gave a tiny wave and went to join Lapis. "Wow, can you hold iguanas?"

"You can!" Lapis reached in and curled her hand around Malachite's body. Lifted the lizard out and cuddled her in her arms. Only for a moment, though. She smiled at Peridot. "You can touch her," she said. "She doesn't bite. Usually."

Jasper was watching them from the sofa, a frown deep on her forehead.

Peridot seemed completely entranced by the idea of the animal. She softly patted Malachite's head and let her fingers trail over her. "She feels so cool! And her colour! I like that colour!"

"She's a little shit," Jasper said from the sofa.

Lapis scowled at her. "Don't insult my baby." Only she was allowed to do that. She ran her fingers over Malachite's scales and smiled lovingly. "Do you want to hold her?" she asked Peridot.

"Will she try and run away, because I think I'd drop her... Oh! I can sit down! And then we will both be safe." Unfortunately, Peridot decided at that moment to sit on the spot Jasper had claimed as hers approximately four months ago (it had the nicest cushions). She eagerly patted at her lap. "I'm good to hold her now!"

"Good idea!" That was Jasper's spot. Lapis was sure that wasn't going to go unnoticed. And sure enough, Jasper looked up and glared at Peridot. If looks could kill...

Lapis pointedly ignored Jasper. "Here," she said, setting Malachite down gently into Peridot's lap. "She's usually okay, but she likes running around."

Peridot made a squealing noise. "Oh my stars! I can feel her little feet. I love her already. Can I move in and stay with her forever?"

"No." Jasper's voice was cold. "Absolutely not."

"Ignore her," Lapis said lightly. "She's just jealous. I mean, you can't exactly move in, this flat is far too small, but you can visit whenever you want!"

"Lapis," Jasper said.

Lapis ignored her.

It was at this point that Peridot clocked in on Jasper's coldness. She looked up with a frown, but upon being told to ignore it, only shrugged. "I'm sure glad you've at least invited me over. I might take you up on that. I'm quite enjoying this guest business. Oh! You could come to mine, too. I have a lot of games and DVDs!"

"That would be... interesting!" Lapis said. "I'm not much of a gamer, but I'm sure it'll be fun nonetheless."

Jasper shifted. Lapis was acutely aware of this, even if she was giving off the impression that she was ignoring Jasper.

"Lapis," Jasper said again. Was that a hint of desperation in her voice? Jealousy? Even anger?

"What is it, Jasper?" Lapis snapped. Finally turning around to her.

"Can I talk to you?" Jasper said.

"Now?" Lapis raised her eyebrows. "I have a guest, in case you haven't noticed. You're being rude. You haven't even said hello to her."

Peridot could hear them, considering they were in the same room. She hid her frown and attempted to distract herself with Malachite. "You're the best iguana I've ever met. The only one, but the best!"

Jasper scowled at Peridot.

"Hello," she growled.

"Ignore her," Lapis told Peridot yet again. She was starting to get pissed off. Jasper would pay for this later. "Actually - we could go through to the other room." ...Or maybe that was a bad idea. Lapis and Jasper tended to leave their toys lying around. Nobody else ever came to visit.

"Oh!" Peridot beamed. "I'd love to see more of your place!" She allowed Malachite to scamper off her lap. "She's allowed to just roam, right?"

"Oh, yeah, she's more than used to it." Lapis smiled at the iguana fondly, following her with her eyes.

She then turned to Peridot and said, "I'm just gonna go and check if the bedroom's in any shape to have visitors in it. Give me a few seconds!"

A moment later, Peridot was alone with Jasper.

Jasper glared openly.

Peridot didn't seem to pay attention to the glare, however. "I wonder if she's making the bed. I probably should've told her not to bother. I never do mine!"

Jasper didn't respond. She just continued glaring.

Though honestly, she was starting to respect Peridot. Not many people could withstand this glare for very long.

Peridot frowned. People usually responded to that kind of commentary.

"Is... something up?"

The glare intensified for a moment.

"Why would you think that," Jasper said, still glaring.

She hadn't moved from her seat since Lapis and Peridot had come in. She wasn't doing anything.

Just glaring.

"You seem a little quiet." Peridot shrugged. "Everything okay?"

... Quiet?

So not only was Peridot strong enough to withstand Jasper's glare, but the only reaction Jasper could illicit from her was... worry?

She didn't know whether to be impressed, annoyed or touched.

"I'm fine."

She wasn't glaring anymore.

"You helped me before! Lapis and I kind of talked it out. And I owe you one for that - I think I really like her now! So... thanks. But I'm here if you need to talk about anything."

"You... talked it out, huh?" Jasper raised an eyebrow. She wondered what kind of manipulation tactics Lapis had employed to reel this innocent one in.

And Peridot was definitely innocent.

"Thanks, but. I'm fine," Jasper repeated.

Peridot got up. "Hey, uh, where's the... Bathroom?"

"First door on the right if you go into the hallway," Jasper said. She probably should have gotten up and showed Peridot, but she didn't move.

"Oh, thanks!" Peridot nodded. "I'll be right back!"

Lapis passed by Peridot on the way back. She watched the toilet door close and sighed. Finally. She could have a moment to talk sense to Jasper. She paced into the living room. "Okay. What gives?"

Jasper raised her eyebrows.

"You're manipulating her," she said.

"Believe it or not, I'm really trying to have a healthy friendship with her!" Lapis snapped. "Forgive me for wanting something in my life that's not fucked up or weird."

Jasper's eyebrows stayed up. Nearly vanishing in that mane.

"Sounds fake," she said. "But okay. I mean, it's not like I asked you to stay away from her and you agreed."

"I wanted to see what she told you and where our problem was. We're colleagues. I agreed to play nice."

"So once again, like always, you decided to prioritise your feelings over mine. How am I still surprised at this shit?" Jasper clenched her jaw. "I honestly don't know why I stay."

"You're welcome to leave if me being friends with a colleague is that much of trauma. Does it trigger you, Jasper?" She waved her hands about, her voice dropping a few octaves to impersonate Jasper. "Oh no! L-lapis... being happy... no! I can't see that!"

"That's not funny," Jasper snapped. Her skin itched. Lapis was far too good at winding her up. "Don't forget that I'm stronger than you." It was a threat. Lapis knew it.

Lapis took a step back. A flash of fear in her eyes. "What are you even so upset about? You're making it out that something is wrong, but I just brought a friend over."

Jasper got up. "We agreed," she said coldly. "I know you like her. I don't care what you say your reasons are for this, but you're manipulating her, you're using her to make me jealous, and you're being a selfish, toxic -"

She stopped. The bathroom door was being opened.

Peridot stepped back into the room. "Hey- diddly-ho, folks! I'm back!" She then paused as she found the two in the compromising position. Neither appeared to be very happy. "Should I... go back into the bathroom... or?"

Lapis was breathing heavily.

Peridot had impeccable timing, that was for sure. At least Jasper wouldn't beat her up with someone else here.

"Everything is fine, Peridot," she said, her eyes still fixed on Jasper.

Jasper huffed. "Oh, now you're going to pretend everything's just dandy to her? When she can clearly see that it's not? Great tactic."

"Okay. I'm not going back into the bathroom." Peridot said under her breath as Malachite scampered out of the room, appearing to want to escape the tension. Peridot swallowed and took a step in. "Lapis. Jasper's right about that- you really don't need to pretend things are fine. But maybe you two should back off from each other. It looks like you're literally about to break into a fight."

Neither relaxed.

The moment hung for a long, tense second, then Jasper's shoulders slumped and she sat back down.

Lapis let out a breath, visibly relieved. "Let's go to the other room, Peridot," she said, finally tearing her gaze away from Jasper and leading the way to the bedroom, where she had tidied away all the toys.

Peridot followed, worry plastered over her face. "What's... going on?"

Lapis closed the door behind them and sat down on the bed. "It's... complicated," she said. "Remember how I said our relationship isn't like a regular relationship? Yeah. This is what I meant. We... fight. A lot."

Peridot frowned. "You don't... hurt each other, do you?"

Lapis laughed, but there was barely any joy in it. "Define hurting each other."

Peridot swallowed. "Physically, I guess. I don't know much about the emotional side. I... are you safe, at least?"

"Oh, don't worry," Lapis said grimly. "Surprisingly enough, we're doing a lot better together than each of us would on their own."

She hesitated for a moment, then added, "She's jealous."

"Of what?"

"You." Lapis shrugged. "It's not really anything you need to worry about. But rest assured that when she offered you to tell me to leave you alone, she kind of had an ulterior motive."

Peridot began to laugh. "Why me? She's the lucky one! She's got a place of her own and people that respect her and you. I've got my mom and that's about it."

Lapis almost smiled. Peridot had more than she probably realised.

"She thinks I have a crush on you," she said.

And yet. Peridot was completely oblivious. "Why on earth would she think that?"

Oh, God, Peridot had no idea. "I dunno," Lapis said, "it's definitely not because I've been annoying you all year to get your attention."

"You have? I thought you were just trying to mess with me." Peridot shrugged. "I got bullied a lot. What do you want?"

Lapis gave a non-committal shrug. She was saved from having to answer by Malachite, who chose this moment to come out of her hiding place.

A smile found its way to Lapis's face. "There you are! Come here, you." She hopped off the bed to scoop up the iguana.

"Oh! She's here!" Peridot was all too easily distracted. "Well. If you ever want to come over, you can come to mine. I'm sure... my mom won't mind. Our we could talk. If you need support, I'm here. Constant fighting can't be good for you."

"Hmm." Lapis considered that. "You might be right. Thank you for the offer in any case." She stroked Malachite's scales lazily.

"Would it be... better if I left for now?"

"Maybe?" Lapis grimaced. "I'm so sorry. I'll talk to Jasper." Her own, special version of 'talking'. "Just so she's less rude next time you come around. And then we might actually cook something together! Is that okay?"

"Sure." Peridot smiled. "As long as you're going to be okay. "

"I'll be okay." Lapis gave Peridot a reassuring nod. "I've been doing this for two years now, I know how to handle her." Oh, did she. Jasper would get what was coming for her.

"You've got my number. If... she tries to hurt you... call the police. Or me. I don't know what's going on in here but... I guess I'm just worried."

"Oh, you've got entirely the wrong idea." Lapis got up. Malachite jumped off the bed and hid underneath it. "But it's touching that you worry so much. I'll be sure to keep myself safe, okay? I'll text you later."

"I'll let you know when I get home."

"Okay!" Lapis opened the door.

"Do you want to say bye to Jasper?" she asked.

"Would you advise it?"

"She's harmless," Lapis said. "You don't need to be scared." And as if to prove her point, she went into the living room.

"Peridot's leaving," she announced.

Her eyes met Jasper's. Communicating with a single look just how pissed off she was at her.

Jasper gave a nervous swallow at this, the guilt of her actions already seeping in. How would Peridot even think of her now? "Bye." The word barely came out. It clung to the raspy bottom of her throat.

"I'll see you both at school next week!" Peridot replied, waving a goodbye and mournfully looking over the iguana. "Later, Malachite."

Lapis accompanied Peridot to the door and closed the front door behind her after she left.

A deep breath.

She turned around and made her way back into the living room.

"You and I need to have a little talk, Jasper."

Jasper raised her hands. "Alright. I fucked up. I should've just pretended everything was dandy in front of her. I get it."

"You threatened me. In front of her! Why would you think that's okay? She thinks I'm being abused." Lapis’s eyes narrowed. "Just because you couldn't keep your stupid gob shut. Really, Jasper, I thought you wanted to stay with me."

"I do! And that's why I'm angry when you do stunts like this. I'm jealous, okay? You gave me no warning - I thought you were going to stay well away from her. Not bring her right into my safe zone."

Lapis rolled her eyes. "Really? Wow, and you want people to respect you? When you're being a weak baby over me bringing a friend home? Honestly, it's like all you ever do is whine."

Jasper opened her mouth and then closed it. "I... I'm not. Lapis, stop it. You made yourself look like the victim here. I just wanted to have a peaceful night in with my girlfriend. But sometimes, you just... do this."

Lapis scoffed. "Oh, please, make me feel guilty for having a life outside of you. You know the world doesn't revolve around you, right? And here I thought I was the manipulative one. You're a narcissist, you know that, right?"

"Maybe I am. I don't care. Do you want me to leave?"

"I'm still considering it," Lapis said coldly. "Let you sleep under a bridge or whatever, it's not like you deserve better."

Jasper looked away. "Don't make me go away. The school isn't open anymore, I can't just go to the gym. I'll sleep on the couch. I'll just leave you be, alright?"

"No," Lapis said, a sharp edge to her voice. "That's not going to cut it, Jasper."

It was raining out.

If it hadn't been, Lapis would probably not be considering this.

"Leave."

Jasper looked outside. She swallowed. "Lapis, I can't. I can't go outside. Please don't make me."

"Leave," Lapis hissed. "The sooner you go, the sooner I'll consider letting you back in. But you've gone too far. I want you out of my sight. Out. Now."

Jasper swallowed. "Alright. Alright, I'll go." She got up to fetch her coat, but it seemed Lapis wanted her out immediately. She decided to cut her losses and simply go.

"Good." Lapis crossed her arms. "I'll let you back in eventually. But you're having to stand in the rain for now. It's not due to stop all night. And no, you can't take an umbrella."

Jasper found her way to the door before turning around in one last attempt. "Lapis... You know I'm scared of water. You know I don't like it. Please don't make me do this."

"Yeah, well." Lapis regarded Jasper coldly. "You're just going to have to toughen up. Now get out of my flat."

Jasper gave her a terrified look and found herself walking outside. She stopped outside the door, just as it slammed shut. She turned on her heel. Eyes wide, terrified. It was January - even inside the flat was it damn cold. She gritted her teeth. Security would be around soon, so she couldn't just hang about inside. She swallowed her fear and tentatively made her way outside.

Lapis leaned back against the door she'd just slammed shut.

And started counting down the time.

Two minutes until Jasper was actually outside.

Five until she had a panic attack.

Five more until she would be crying and calling Lapis's phone to beg her to let her back in.

Jasper tentatively opened the door outside. The rain wasn't letting up. She could feel the moisture in the air and immediately withdrew. No. No no no. She couldn't do this. She couldn't even walk to school alone when it was wet outside.

The door locked behind her. She began to shiver.

Meanwhile, Lapis decided to be cruel.

She took out her phone and set it on silent.

"Malachite?" she called.

The lizard poked her head out of the bedroom door.

"There you are! Clever girl." Lapis was only just fast enough to catch her. "Come here, it's time for your dinner."

Jasper could feel her breathing seize up. Her hair was growing more and more wet. Her skin. Her clothes. Even with all the oxygen she'd ever need, she felt like drowning. She attempted to breathe. She couldn't. No. No no no.

She swallowed her pride and got her phone. Her fingers slid over it as the rain gathered atop. It wasn't working. She began to claw at her skin.

Finally. She got it to function.

She pressed the number to dial Lapis.

Lapis didn't answer.

She was busy feeding Malachite, which was always a rather lengthy endeavour. Or could be, if Lapis so wished. She only prepared the finest fruit, vegetables and lettuce for her darling pet. Arranged it carefully in her bowl. It took several minutes.

Outside, Jasper was having a bad time.

She would likely be frozen by the time Lapis showed her mercy.

Lapis smirked, then walked into the bathroom and started filling up the tub.

Jasper, in the meantime, was beginning to panic. Her nails had broken through her skin as she'd given up clawing at the door to the apartment complex. She then sat on the ground. Shivering.

Crying.

Memories began to crawl into her mind, like tiny bugs burying their way through.

And really, Lapis thought, while she was already making food, she might as well make something for herself. And for Jasper. But Jasper had to earn it.

Pasta, she decided. Making the sauce took another few minutes.

Then she let it simmer and took out her phone to see how many missed calls she had.

Eighteen, at this point.

Jasper was tugging at her hair. Shaking. Her breath came out frosty in the cold air, against the rain. She could barely breathe. Her eyes were tightly shut. She would later thank God no passers by appeared, or they'd have called an ambulance or perhaps even the police.

Lapis sighed softly.

It had been quite a while.

She composed a text.

I'll let you back in. But you're having a bath. Just ring the buzzer.

It took Jasper five seconds to leap to the buzzer.

Lapis let several seconds go past when she heard the buzzer.

Then, she started moving. Slowly, deliberately. Then pressed the button to unlock the front door.

Warmth. Dryness. Light.

Jasper didn't care about the fact that she was soaking wet or bawling. She raced upstairs, trembling. Needing to dry, like a washed kitten.

Jasper was upstairs in record time. Lapis was waiting for her at the door. Let her gaze wander down Jasper. She was dripping, soaking wet. Crying. Shaking.

"You're having a bath," Lapis said calmly.

Jasper choked through sobs. "I- I can't."

"It's that or going back outside. I'm only letting you in if you'll have a bath. It's all ready. Nice and warm."

The warmth was a seductive concept. Jasper trembled. She gazed at her hands and tried to get them to stop. To somehow control herself. She began to choke and cry harder. "A shower, please! A-anything else?!"

"A bath." Lapis stood her ground. "I'll come in with you," she offered as a concession. "But you can't hurt me. If you do, you're staying outside all night."

Jasper couldn't go back outside. "I can take it on my own." She could pretend that way.

Lapis snorted. "No you can't. You're weak. Pathetic. Now come in. Get your clothes off and try not to get the entire flat wet."

Weak. Pathetic.

Jasper certainly felt that way. She forced herself to strip. Not wanting to be naked in front of anyone right now. The concept of being exposed while crying felt like Lapis had torn into her midsection and ripped out whatever lay inside.

But she did it. She did it because it was better than being outside.

Her clothes lay discarded at her side, her nipples cold and hard to the point of soreness. Her skin felt so damp and frozen, it felt overbearingly hot.

Only her shorts remained on as she trudged to the bathroom. Terrified. Skin covered in goosebumps.

Lapis came to the bathroom with her, slipping out of her clothes with ease.

"Well?" she asked Jasper impatiently. "Take your shorts off and get in. I'm not going to wait forever."

Jasper clawed at her thighs. They bled. Her arms bled. Her scalp bled. She gave Lapis one last terrified glance with those golden eyes, but kept her mouth shut as she slowly stripped. Exposing herself completely. She looked at the bath as if it contained acid, rather than water.

She'd prefer acid.

Breaking down once more, she tried to get in. Jasper managed to stand in it. But she couldn't lower her mass into the water.

Lapis watched.

"Get in," she repeated coldly.

"I'm... in." Jasper pointed at the water that went up to her shins. Even at this proximity, she wanted to vomit.

"You know what I mean. Stop playing stupid, you know what I want. Get. In."

Jasper leant down a little. The water now up to her thighs and crotch as her knees folded to accommodate her body. She began to hyperventilate.

"Stay there," Lapis ordered. "I'll be right back. I'm just turning off the stove. I made food. You can have some after your bath." She went into the kitchen, stark naked. It only took her a few seconds, then she was back.

In that time, Jasper had promptly stood up. She seemed to be completely out of it, eyes staring into the distance.

Lapis sighed. "Sit back down," she said. "I'm coming in."

She didn't face Lapis. Her breathing drifted between deep and shallow with little inbetween. Hitching.

She somehow made it down. Still kneeling.

Lapis didn't wait. She got in the bath. The warm water sloshed around her calves. Jasper was still shaking.

Calmly, Lapis took the shower head. Turned it on.

Faced Jasper.

Jasper's vision snapped into focus. "What... w-what are you doing?!"

"Getting you to sit down properly. You're being difficult." A moment later, warm water hit Jasper's chest.

Jasper cried out. She bent backwards to escape the drizzle - her head submerging and then emerging back as she heaved for air.

"Good," Lapis crooned. "Isn't this nice? You're warming up." She turned the shower off and put it back before lying down and finally, finally touching Jasper.

"Breathe," she whispered. "You can hurt me, if you want to."

Jasper clawed her wrists again, ribbons of red drifting and disappearing beneath her nails. She closed her eyes as voices from past memories drifted into her mind. Screaming. Drill sergeants. Her parents. The pool. She could smell the dense chlorine from the faint recesses of her memory and she could barely breathe. It was suffocating.

"Look at me, Jasper," Lapis said softly. "You're here, you're with me. You're safe. Breathe. I love you. I love you." She touched Jasper's face, touched her hair.

"Why are you making me do this?" Her voice was eerily calm. Only betrayed by the breath she struggled to catch.

"Because you deserve it. Breathe." She let her hands roam Jasper's skin. "It'll be over soon. I'm just wanting you to warm up properly."

Her eyes were distant. "I can't swim." Words no longer made sense. "I can't breathe!"

"Look at me, Jasper." Lapis rubbed her thumb over Jasper's cheek. "Look at me."

"Don't make me swim!"

Lapis huffed, then reached out to pull the plug. The water drained quickly. "Jasper," she said, "I'm not. Look, it's me. It's Lapis. Your girlfriend. It's okay. It's okay."

"I'm going to drown!"

"You're not," Lapis said. "Look, the water's gone. It's okay, Jasper. It's okay. It's okay."

"Mayday." A whimper. Her eyes didn't focus. She seemed utterly lost. "Mayday."

"I'm here."

The water was gone. Lapis grabbed a towel she'd strategically positioned next to the bath and gently started patting Jasper down with it. "Jasper, hey," she said softly, "Jasper. Can you hear me? It's me, it's Lapis."

And finally, it stopped. Her eyes seemed to come back in to the world. She looked around, still shaken and a little distant. "Lapis?" She swallowed. "What's happening?"

"Flashback. Here. You'll be okay. Can you get out?" Lapis got off Jasper and got out of the bath, leaving the towel with Jasper.

Her voice was softer. Tranquilised. But she was still shaky. Jasper touched her face, almost as if she was only now realising she'd been sobbing. "Yeah. I- I should be just fine."

Lapis wrapped herself in a towel. "You'll be okay," she said again. "I made food. Come here." She held out a hand to Jasper.

Jasper took it. A strange trust in her eyes, despite everything. "What did you make?"

"Pasta with sauce. Simple. We have cheese as well." She reached up to brush a strand of wet hair out of Jasper's face.

Her voice was quiet. It even lacked it's usual bass. "I'd like that."

She was so docile. Lapis smiled. "Good. I'll get you some dry clothes. I'll be right back."

"Please don't be gone too long. I need you."

"I know. I'm here." She leaned in and pressed a kiss against Jasper's lips. Then she left, went into the bedroom and got clothes for Jasper. She probably took just a little longer than she needed to. But she was still back less than a minute later.

Jasper's face lit up when she returned. She carefully extracted herself from the bath; hair soggy despite her repeated attempts to press the water out.

Lapis noticed. "Do you want me to get the hair dryer?" she asked.

"I want you to stay with me."

"Okay." Lapis came in and kissed Jasper's neck. "I'm here."

Jasper's voice was still unstable. "Can I put my clothes on?"

"Yes, of course. Here." Lapis handed her her clothes.

Jasper's touch lingered when she retrieved the clothing. She looked at Lapis for a good moment before starting to slide her body into them. "You always get me this shirt." It was low cut and cropped. "Do you like it on me?'

"Of course." Lapis smiled at Jasper. "It shows all the hickeys I give you." As well as Jasper's magnificent cleavage.

Yes. The hickeys. Jasper swallowed. "No sex tonight, please. I don't think I can."

"Sure." Lapis put on her own clothes. "Let's go eat," she then said.

Jasper followed, her body still a little cold. But no longer causing her to heave. "I'm sorry." She swallowed. "About earlier. You were right to punish me."

Lapis turned to look at Jasper. "Well, you've more than paid for it," she said. "You're going to be nice to Peridot, yeah? She's gonna come over again."

Jasper looked down. "Alright."

Lapis smirked. "Come on, you can't tell me you don't like her even a little. She's cute!"

"She's alright, I guess. I just... get jealous when you're giving other people attention. What if you just leave me?"

"Oh, babe." Lapis ran her fingers over Jasper's forearm. "Don't you remember what happened last time I tried to leave you?"

"Yeah. And it wasn't pretty. But you didn't leave me and have someone else for support. What if you do, and you end up courting that brat and she's better than me?"

"Don't be silly. I can't live without you." That had been proven without a doubt time and again.

"I guess. I'll... try my best not to complain. Maybe have her around when I'm at the gym?"

"Maybe," Lapis said, already knowing that she wasn't going to do it. She'd use Peridot to wind Jasper up again - it had worked so very well this time.

Jasper smiled at the response. She got herself more settled at the table, remembering to zip up her jeans. "I'd appreciate it. Let's have some grub. I'm starving!"

Lapis smiled. "Yeah, let's," she said. "And then let's go to bed and just cuddle." Jasper had been good. She deserved it.

"I'd like to." It was as if she had no recollection of Lapis's cruelty. She gave a grateful nod. "Thank you. For keeping me in line. And taking care of me."

"Anytime, my love." Lapis smiled and went to get their food. "Anytime."

> Act V, Chapter V

[miguelmarias]

The Rising of the Moon

The Rising of the Moon is a modest-looking black-and-white Irish production lasting under 80 minutes, entirely shot on location with actors recruited mainly from the Abbey Theatre. It was the first venture of Four Provinces Productions, created by Lord Killanin, Ford, Roger Greene, Brian Desmond Hurst and Michael Scott to promote a national cinema in Eire. As Ford got no salary - he made it for fun and had a good time - it cost the ridiculous amount of US $256,000, when cheap Benedict Bogeaus productions of the time (including several Allan Dwan masterpieces) had budgets of a up to a million dollars. In spite of which, The Rising of the Moon grossed worldwide (although it was not released in most countries) less than US $100,000 and therefore drew a loss of a quarter million. Not even the Irish appreciated it: it was forbidden in Northern Ireland, and even though its last episode recounts the successful evasion - with the general complicity of most people - of an activist who has been sentenced to death, IRA supporters resented Ford's daring to show a British officer ashamed of being reduced to a hangman. Though most sources date it in 1957 (the year it was released, on May 16 in Dublin, the next month in Britain, not until August in the U.S.), or even in 1958, The Rising of the Moon was filmed in Spring 1956 and fully completed (and copyrighted) inside the year, between The Searchers and  The Wings of Eagles(both also finished in 1956). It is certainly, of the three, the lesser film, if that is the right adjective for such a personal piece. A rarely seen movie even now, seldom mentioned and never properly appreciated, and certainly obscured by the two films it comes between in Ford's filmography (one of them the work that has become Ford's greatest film for almost everybody, the other my own favorite amongst his movies), The Rising of the Moonshould nevertheless not be missed.

The Rising of the Moon is, to be sure, a small picture, devoid of great complexities or transcendent meanings, even if it may be one of the most personal films Ford ever made, one of those that most fully and precisely reflect their author's intent. And limits, when visible, are revealing: this is what John Ford could have attained, had he been an Irish filmmaker. He would have been confined to a very simple cinema, probably restricted to local subject matters, more or less realistic in approach and humorous in tone, but unable to reach the mythical, epic and historical dimensions, the rich complexity of the two American masterpieces he made that same year.

Confronted with such dramatic peaks, The Rising of the Moon is rather a quiet Irish valley, its height barely that of a small hillside. Which makes it no less pleasant to watch nor less deeply felt by its author. Besides those two long-winding rivers, the Western a metaphoric tragedy, its more contemporary counterpart the biography of a close friend,  screenwriter Frank "Spig" Wead, The Rising of the Moon has the concision and modesty of a short story or a sketch, multiplied by three. Because The Rising of the Moon tells three independent stories and is rather a collection of three shorts than a true feature. All were adapted by Ford's favorite screenwriter, the unsung Frank S. Nugent, from tales very different in origin and flavor. The first, The Majesty of the Law, is a melancholy and humorous anecdote by Frank O'Connor; the second, A Minute's Wait, springs from a Martin J. McHugh comedy, although it seems a blow-up to twenty-three minutes of the beginning of Ford's most famous Irish movie, The Quiet Man (1952), when Sean Thornton (John Wayne) gets down off the train and asks the way to Innisfree. The third is an updating to the Black and Tan War of Lady Gregory's dramatic piece, The Rising of the Moon (also the name of a well-known folk song), here retitled 1921. All of them are presented, and provided with brief off-screen commentary, by Tyrone Power, enlisted on account of his Irish roots.

Much as I like it, and despite great moments, 1921 is the least convincing of the three. The blame lies with a very artificial stylistic choice of Ford's that I fail to understand and that amazes me - I keep forgetting about it - every time I see the film; it annoys me till I succeed in not paying attention and Ford drops it, only to indulge again in such an un-Fordian device as systematically tilting the camera: a quirk I cannot but see as some sort of self-parody of the celebrated "expressionism" that ages today his otherwise impressive 1935 The Informer. Not even Peter Bogdanovich dared to ask him, but his book-length interview never dwelt on The Rising of the Moon, and the few who have commented on the film - so vaguely that I suspect they might have never seen it - didn't notice such an anomaly (neither Tag Gallagher nor Joseph McBride did), which one could expect from earlier Orson Welles or Carol Reed (not only in The Third Man [1949]) but is quite shocking and unlikely coming from late John Ford.

The second story is probably the most Fordian, this being its only drawback: it might seem a bit repetitious in comparison with the three or four minutes which, in a lighter and less extravagant fashion, illustrate the same topic - the Homeric unpunctuality of the old Irish railways - in The Quiet Man. There is an incredible number of characters - around twenty, each with his or her own individual traits drawn with affectionate humor, often paired in miniature vignettes linked with astonishing ease and subtlety, quite at odds with the interruption the whole episode represents, and in what may be the utmost expression of Ford's notorious penchant for digression. The actors are as enjoyable as the dialogue and the comedic construction, freed of any theatricality. It has the most hilarious line in the film - old Jimmy O'Dea's oblique proposal to the bespectacled barmaid in the station: "How would you like to be buried with my people?"

The first story is the most mysteriously naked, perhaps the most deeply Irish, slower in rhythm and with no action at all. Instead, it offers an inextricable mixture of dignity and longing, melancholia and good-humour, respect and bitterness, and is prodigiously acted by Cyril Cusack as the reluctant police inspector Michael Dillon, Noel Purcell as the old proud rebel moonshiner Dan O'Flaherty and Jack MacGowran in a ferret-like role, Mickey J., that recalls the one he played in The Quiet Man. Although less brilliant, it may be the purest and most serene segment of The Rising of the Moon, which Tyrone Power as the narrator introduces in quite a conscious, reflective and revealing way: "This is a story about nothing, or perhaps about everything," before showing us minutely how a very unhappy policeman walks to a nearby hamlet with a tower which is a national monument, crosses a small river in a rowboat, and calls upon the old illegal distiller, and both of them, and soon Mickey J. as well, drink while they nostalgically comment on how the old secrets, the old songs, the old art of making whiskey are being lost in a modern lifestyle (which includes radio and movies) which doesn't have the time required for the craft. It soon appears that the old moonshiner would rather go to jail than pay the fine that's been imposed on him for injuring with his cane another old man who had called him a liar. He's too proud to accept the money his old friends (and even the victim) are ready to give him, and which he does not really need (he has savings enough for that), and he feels he did what he had to, that he was justified, and is not guilty, so he will rather give himself in. "When it suits you," the policeman insists. They finally agree on Friday, and so we see old Dan leave his home on Friday morning and walk down to the jail, where Dillon is waiting to receive him.

 Miguel Marías © FIPRESCI 2009

http://fipresci.hegenauer.co.uk/undercurrent/issue_0509/rising.htm

[sweetlyfez]

tags for posterity: #to be completely honest in the tags: this was also a lot of work and lost a lot of followers! the follower loss rate worked out at a rate#of 1 follower per egg. however a lot of them were randoms who followed and then unfollowed.#I only noticed because I was wondering what the heck was going on.#I am not interested in having followers and I am far more interested in YOU and YOUR WORK#but just to be real about this kind of thing because the other side of creativity and bravery and encouragement and support#and to be quite frank - visibility and attention - is that you WILL annoy people!#and that is also perfectly okay and part of the bravery of the process - putting stuff out there and sharing it knowing that its purpose#is NOT to be Loved By All. It is to CONNECT you with other people who will UNDERSTAND you#not to grovel for clout from people who aren’t really interested. we don’t make things to be liked by bots. we make them to find each other.#so this tag essay is here to explain the other side of the courage and determination of egginess really. this is why I do stuff on tumblr.#this is why I enjoyed this so much. this is the political manifesto behind EVERYTHING I make and do really.#this is not for everyone. it would be worse if it was. but if it’s for you? come take a seat.#-#and also to be fair this definitely probably made your dash unusable#and I’m sorry.#and my own sibling wanted to snooze me. you are in excellent company (my sibling.)#but yeah. thank you. this was fun.#be kind to yourselves and each other!

This has been a DELIGHT to spectate and everyone has done SO WELL

Eggs for Killie is over!

I award myself the 150th egg for all of the little bits of art. Thank you so much for inspiring me to make them! It’s been really amazing to see all the hard work and to truly appreciate the wide range of crafts and activities everyone can do. Bobbin lace? Shoemaking? Knife forging? Translating Irish? It’s genuinely incredible.

I also really appreciated the people who were taking a rest, too. Thank you for that as well.

And I SUPER, SUPER appreciate everyone who was going through saying encouraging words, leaving replies/reblogging with comments, or liking all these posts. That was also a huge outpouring of kindness and time. I saw you doing it (and tried to make sure OPs did too) and any credit for people feeling empowered? That’s for YOU.

I know for a fact that people were following each other simply because they spotted one of their people through doing this. Thank you for being here - and being brave enough to find each other! 

If you have a project you were working on specifically for this, and missed the inbox, drop me a message - I don’t want to miss you.

150 eggs x 60g (weight of medium-large chicken egg) is 9000g of eggs.

That’s 16.8% of Killie’s body weight in eggs.

I am planning to write a book about Killie and I think it will be very VERY funny to acknowledge every single username who contributed in the acknowledgements…

…. Because I am planning to throw them back at you.

Now rest up, everyone. April Fools tomorrow, we gotta make the REST of the website unusable.