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chryzure-archive · 2 years ago

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ALT TITLE: i am also holding onto my stuffed bunny while grieving over azure :;;;;;;;

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i’m already missing writing in azure’s pov :(((

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———

xvi.

“We’ll be fine,” Jacks told Filly and Pleck, though he could read in their eyes that they didn’t believe him. They weren’t wrong not to, but he wasn’t going to be the one to break it to them that their friend and coworker had been dead for the past couple months. He was already being nice by sticking around and comforting Chrysi—he didn’t have any further goodwill left in him. “I’m here for her if she needs anything.”

Filly’s brow furrowed. Her eyes searched the railing of the next floor up, as if she expected to see two pairs of eyes staring down at them. “What about the children?”

Jacks fought to keep his upper lip from curling. He didn’t want to deal with them. Like he’d said—he was already using up what little goodwill he had as a Fate.

But still he said, “I’m here to watch them too.”

Pleck picked at his sleeve, a pensive look on his face. His mouth tensed in a frown. “I just don’t get it. Azure’s never like this.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Like being dead, he thought, too cruelly.

He shoved down the unpleasant lurch his heart gave. He blamed it on Chrysi—he’d been trying to soothe her heartache, to little success, even with her permission.

Both of them shot him doubtful looks.

“I don’t really know if I feel comfortable with leaving Chrysi here,” Filly said. Her face darkened, underneath her concern. “Especially not alone with you.”

Normally, Jacks would’ve bristled at the veiled accusation. He truly didn’t believe he was that bad—but he couldn’t bring himself to care this time.

Instead, he drawled, “We’ll have you on speed dial. Satisfied?”

The glare she replied with was anything but.

Pleck glanced between the two of them uneasily.

Throughout this debriefing, Jacks had slowly but steadily pushing them into the foyer, away from where Chrysi curled up, crumpled in the library. But now Filly had screeched to a halt, and none of Jacks’s increasingly animated herding could move her.

��Clearly not,” she snapped, inscensed. Flinging an arm outward (and nearly catching Pleck in the jaw with it), she stressed, “Chrysi is not okay. And this is worse than she’s been! Obviously something happened between her and Azure, which means—”

“Which means it’s none of your business,” Jacks cut her off. His own anger flared up, hot and furious. “Not until Chrysi comes to you.”

Pleck’s unease visibly intensified. He chewed on his bottom lip, face pale and looking paler in the deepening shadows. One wrong move, and Jacks knew he’d bolt between the two of them to stop the argument.

“Oh, and I suppose that means she came to you?” Filly scoffed. Her words were caustic. Her eyes hardened like stone.

Jacks sneered. “I suppose it does.”

Though her eyes brightened furiously, a shadow of uncertainty flickered across her face, grey amongst the bright ire. Jacks imagined he could hear what she was thinking—a hollow wondering, if what Jacks said was true, if Chrysi had trusted him with her problems before she’d entrusted Filly. A flush of inadequacy colored her worries and gave them shape.

Jacks knew he had no right to feel triumphant. The only reason he discovered Chrysi’s mystery was because he’d been in the wrong place at the right time. If it had been anybody else in that library when Azure blinked out of existence, they would’ve been the first Chrysi confided in. Jacks was lucky, in the worst, unluckiest kind of way.

He wished it had been someone else to know the truth. They’d be able to handle it better than he.

But this conversation was growing old, and quickly, and Chrysi’s heart pressed against his, so cold and agonized that it made it more and more difficult for him to draw in a satisfactory breath.

He took a deep breath, ready to tell them to get out, go home, forget about everything that happened this evening (all things he wished he could do as well, to take an eraser to the slate and erase the horror of the day), when Pleck jumped in.

“Listen,” he mollified, hands outstretched in a defensive gesture, “we’ll trust you with this, Jacks.”

He glanced at Pleck cursorily, and sniffed. Good.

Though I don’t think I am the one to be trusted. I am never the one to be trusted. Filly was right in her skepticism, and Jacks hated it.

“But,” Pleck continued, and this made Filly turn to him expectantly, her face unreadable and her brow arched, “please. Contact us if you need any help. I know I’d be willing to make the trip up, even in the middle of the night.” He turned to Filly, a question twisting his face.

She lifted her chin, then, after a moment’s pause, gave a tiny nod. From the corner of her eye, she glared at Jacks.

That was enough for Pleck, Jacks presumed, because he relaxed. His hand rubbed at his opposite arm, burning off the remnants of his nervousness. With a subdued smile, Pleck added, “Tell Chrysi we’re here for her, if she ever needs it.” He paused, then emphasized, “We’re really, really here for her.”

Jacks had an idea that they would need to be there for her sooner rather than later. He couldn’t damage-control this for very long. A horrible, horrible thought came to him, one where Azure never reformed in a faux-human shape now that he knew he was dead, one where Chrysi wasted away in her grief.

He recoiled.

Yes, Jacks would certainly tell Chrysi of Pleck and Filly’s support. He didn’t trust himself with something so precarious. He wasn’t that emotional of a person.

He couldn’t comfort somebody after the death of their lover.

A jolt of agony cleaved through his heart.

Thump.

He stiffened, but it didn’t make a return beat. Cold sweat cropped up underneath the collar of his shirt. Air came in too thin.

“I will,” he croaked.

Filly turned her gaze upon him wholly, a furrow wrinkling her brow.

He cleared his throat. Retried, staring down at his shoes. “I will.”

There. Less of a waver to his words.

The heart thing was troubling, though.

He looked up to Filly and Pleck frowning twin frowns at him. Filly’s eyes glinted. Not knowingly, but there was the start of something—a glimmer that saw too much for Jacks’s comfort.

Setting his jaw, Jacks gestured to the front door with more agitation than necessary. “Happy now?” he asked brusquely.

Filly didn’t reply.

Pleck eyed her worriedly, even as he said, “Not really, but… for tonight, everything should be fine.”

Jacks couldn’t smile, so he just shrugged. “Suppose so.”

Filly’s frown was palpable.

Both of them moved reluctantly to the door—Pleck took a particularly long time shrugging into his coat, and Filly sluggishly picked through her purse for her keys—and Jacks flung it open to hurry them along. He tapped his toe against the floor, though he wasn’t quite sure if it came from impatience or apprehension.

Finally, when there were no more tasks for them to drag their heels in the process of doing, Filly and Pleck walked out into the night. They shared a glance between them, something that Jacks imagined they thought he wouldn’t see from his vantage point. It was a tense-mouthed, dim-eyed, furrowed-forehead look, one of uncertainty and misgiving.

Jacks shared that misgiving with them, so vivid it made his muscles ache.

Then he slammed the door shut behind them before they could change their minds about going home.

He couldn’t find Chrysi in the library.

Jacks couldn’t blame her. Too much occurred in there in the past day alone. It hurt too badly, even for him and his half-beating heart.

Trudging upstairs, Jacks suppressed the urge to scream. He didn’t know who the scream was for. Just a scream, something to stave off the building tension in his chest, knotting tighter and tighter with each passing second. He’d almost screamed when Azure reappeared. He’d almost screamed when he disappeared a second time. He’d almost screamed while talking to Filly and Pleck.

But all those were the wrong moments. And Jacks was the wrong person to scream.

He didn’t deserve it—not in the way Chrysi did. And after she had shattered apart in the library earlier, Jacks knew that even if he had the right to scream, he couldn’t. Not until Chrysi was alright. Or better, at the very least.

He couldn’t think of Chrysi ever being alright again.

When he found her, it was in the bedroom she’d shared with Azure. She curled atop the comforter, a stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest. Her eyes were screwed shut, and tears trickled down her face.

Jacks bit down on his tongue before he commented the wrong thing. Even he knew that it was wrong to tell her that he thought this was the wrong way to grieve. Who was he to dictate her grief? He barely knew the emotion himself.

Instead, he murmured, “Is there anything to be done?”

Chrysi cracked her eyes open and her expression wiped itself away into nonexistence. She pulled the rabbit closer to her.

“In what way do you mean?” she asked, monotone.

“Like…” He shrugged helplessly. “Any way. For Azure. For you.”

“Ha.” She curled in on herself tighter than ever before. “No. Of course not.”

Jacks hesitated.

Suddenly, he wished he had let Filly and Pleck stay. He should’ve marched them up to Chrysi’s room and unleashed them upon her. If there were any two people to make Chrysi feel better, they were it.

But he’d sent them packing, so he walked up to her and laid his hand atop her head in an approximation of comforting.

She stared up at him with exhausted eyes.

“I can’t,” she began—then she stopped, shuddering.

Jacks slid his hand down, and rubbed small circles along her back. He thought he’d seen Azure do that once, when Chrysi was distressed, and it was the only thing he could think of.

Underneath his touch, her bones stood out, angular and sharp, like a fragile glass sculpture. Maybe she’d already broken apart, scattered across the floor, and that was why she lay immobile atop the bed.

“It’s…” He paused. No, it wasn’t alright. He wouldn’t lie so vulgarly to her. “This is hell.”

That made her laugh. Another tear trickled down her face.

“Isn’t it just?” She burrowed deeper into the bed, curling against him.

His skin burned too hot where their bodies met. Jacks preemptively swallowed down that half-skipped heartbeat.

Silence curled over them, about to crest like a wave, and they would drown in it.

Jacks traced shapes over her back in the place of words. None of them were comforting. None of them were helpful. Bloody, godforsaken saints.

Her voice crackled. “He knows he’s dead now.” Her breath shivered. Underneath his palm, Jacks could’ve sworn she grew colder. “He knows he’s dead, Jacks.”

He shut his eyes. “I know.”

“I told you what would happen if he knew.” It wasn’t a sob, not yet. But soon, Jacks imagined it could be.

“I know.”

She trembled. “And I told him anyway,” she whispered. “I told him the truth.”

Jacks didn’t say anything.

It wasn’t his call to say whether that was the right decision or if it was the wrong one or what. He didn’t know if he should’ve demanded Chrysi tell Azure the truth or if he should’ve stayed silent. The moment had unfolded like something through crystal—painfully clear, agonizingly sharp, and divorced from Jacks’s immediate sense of reality. Seeing Azure in that false sense of living startled him into a part of himself he didn’t think he’d still possessed—an animal-like state, one where he was driven by fight-or-flight, instinctive fear.

Azure had picked up on it immediately.

Jacks would’ve rather Chrysi told Azure the truth rather than watch him disintegrate under his own realization. He didn’t know how he knew, but it was better this way. Better for Chrysi to have been the one to inform him.

Even though it had broken her, cleaved her right through the center.

Chrysi gasped, then let out a broken sigh—a tearless sob. She pressed against him harder, tightening her hold on the rabbit so much that Jacks knew it would’ve been struggling for its life, had it not been an inanimate object.

“I told him.”

“I know. I was there.”

“He’s gone, Jacks.”

He stopped. An imperceptible tremor rattled through him, and with it came a bone-deep cold.

“You don’t know that,” he said, voice tight. “You think Azure would disappear forever, just because he found out he was dead? You’re foolish if you think he would leave you just like that.”

“It’s not up to him.” Chrysi twisted around in the bed, her face a painting of anguish. “Azure doesn’t get a say, and nor do I.”

It was too hard, maintaining eye contact with her. His eyes dropped to the rabbit in her arms instead, a guilty flush heating the back of his neck.

The rabbit stared back at him, its glass eyes scratched and milky, like sea glass. Something had chipped part of the eye away, leaving a crushed white line across its right eye. Its nose and the velvet lining in its ears had gone grey with age, with nary a hint to its once-cheerful pink. The black fur had become matted from use. The shape of it was floppy, limp.

It was a sad, old thing, all the life squeezed out of it. It stared up at him, as accusing as a corpse.

He frowned.

“Princess,” he said quietly, dragging his eyes back to hers, “you can’t let yourself take the blame for what happened.”

“Why not?” she shot back, vitriolic. Color finally came to her cheeks, but it burned too hot, a bright red in her otherwise-pale face.

Jacks stared down at her, at a loss. “Because.”

Because… what?

Because Jacks couldn’t imagine Chrysi being able to do anything else. He knew it tore her apart, this truth, but it was just that—the truth. Azure LaFaye had died. He came back as a ghost. His spirit struggled to maintain physical form. And Chrysi Solstice could not do anything to stop that.

Jacks had been alive for a very, very long time. He knew a lot about spells and curses and death and murder. Maybe not everything, but he knew much, much more than Chrysi—and he knew that there was no instance in which someone, dead as long as Azure had been, had ever been brought back to life. That was a miracle saved for minutes after death—a day, at the most magical.

The only thing Chrysi could do was let Azure go. And, based on the answer Azure had given Jacks, that was precisely what Azure wished of her.

Chrysi glared up at Jacks, but the accusation in her eyes pointed inward with a knife’s blade.

He didn’t like seeing that look on her face.

“You didn’t kill him, Chrysi,” Jacks snapped, but that was to cover the empty spot in his chest. “There’s nothing you could possibly blame yourself for. So stop it.”

She glared at him still, but the heat quickly faded from her eyes. Tears welled up in her anger’s stead. Her arms loosened around the stuffed rabbit, finally giving it the room to breathe that it needed.

“Then what can I possibly do now?” she whispered, heartbroken.

Jacks didn’t have an answer to that.

He didn’t need one, though, for Chrysi’s door opened in lieu of what useless words he could drudge up.

Jacks glanced up to see Alice standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened, wide enough for him to mark the rim of white around her dark eyes, when she saw him. An uncharacteristic shadow of doubt paled her face.

A frown furrowed his brow.

“Hey, ankle-biter,” he said sharply. Then he stopped, strangely uncertain.

Chrysi shifted under his palm, until she faced Alice too. Her red eyes peered out from her tangled mess of hair.

“Alice,” she whispered, voice ragged.

The girl’s mouth wobbled. Her eyes squinted and her nose wrinkled in the most unbecoming way, and it took Jacks a moment to realize Alice was holding back tears.

There were many reasons for her to cry. Maybe she’d stubbed her toe. Maybe Oz had said something a little too mean to her. Maybe seeing Chrysi like this unsettled her. Maybe—just maybe—she understood that Azure was never coming back.

But none of those answers seemed right to Jacks. The way Alice’s face crumpled had the flavor of guilt to it, and that didn’t align with any of those reasons.

Alice said, “Something’s happened to Oz.” Her voice quavered. “You need to come with me.”

Jacks opened his mouth to kindly tell Alice that whatever it was Oz was dealing with could fucking wait, but Chrysi pushed herself up with trembling limbs. All remaining color washed from her face.

“Alright,” she said, in a imitation of her normal, caring tone, but it sounded like a broken wind chime instead. “Lead the way.”

Jacks shot Chrysi a disbelieving look. “Chrysi. Seriously?”

Her eyes looked glassy, empty, as she shot him a look in return.

“I still have to take care of the kids,” she said in a voice so quiet he had to strain to hear it. “This is what I’ve been doing this whole time. I can’t… I can’t put myself higher on the list than them.”

With that, she pushed off the bed.

She wobbled and Jacks lunged forward to steady her.

Chrysi’s breathing shuddered, her hair swinging forward to cloak her expression. Her hands clenched by her sides, bleaching her knuckles to white. Her limbs trembled visibly.

Then she lifted her head and repeated, “Lead the way, Alice.”

Alice didn’t need to be told a third time.

She cast one last glance over Chrysi’s room. “Jacks should come too,” she said, rushed.

Without awaiting an answer, Alice whirled about on her heel and scurried down the hallway.

Chrysi glanced at Jacks, a curious look on her face. He mirrored the strange confusion, mouth twisting into a scowl.

Her frown deepened.

Jacks and Chrysi trailed after Alice much slower. Jacks made sure to keep a hand on Chrysi’s hip—he wouldn’t be surprised if there were another loss of balance, one where Chrysi would go sprawling over the floor. She’d lost her counterweight, the one to lean on, in physical and emotional.

Alice shot up another flight of stairs, pausing only long enough to shoot a look at them with a deep frown, as if she were surprised they were following her in the first place. Or perhaps she thought they were foolish, trusting her.

“The attic?” Chrysi murmured beside him, her frown coloring her tone.

Jacks didn’t know much about Baskerville Manor, but he did know about attics.

They never meant anything good.

But Chrysi didn’t stop following after Alice, and he didn’t want to leave her alone with the children for the moment.

He followed her with much more reluctance. He stretched his hand outward, steadying Chrysi as she walked the stairs in front of him. It was a bit useless, what he was doing, but he didn’t like that Alice said that he also needed to come with Chrysi. It didn’t make sense—not once had he been in a supervisional role for the children. Not in any of the times he’d visited.

The attic pressed in close on the three of them once they got in. Jacks found himself particularly overcome by claustrophobia, in a way he knew the others couldn’t experience. He had to stoop forward to keep his head from hitting the exposed beams arcing along the ceiling.

Alice stood in a cleared center of the floor, twisting her fingers anxiously. Her eyes darted over the room, uncertain.

Jacks glanced over the room, trying to determine what it was she was searching for.

All that met his eyes were old pieces of furniture clothed in ghostly-white sheets and moldering boxes full of a wide array of items. The only decluttered part of the room was the thin walkway Chrysi and Jacks stood in now, and the center of the room Alice stood in. That looked newly cleaned, with scrapes across the old wood floor and the lack of dust, as opposed to the walkway, still choked by dust. Where Jacks stood, he could make out countless footprints disturbing the thick dust, as if someone had walked to and from there often.

“Where’s Oz?” Chrysi finally asked softly.

Alice’s head dropped. “I don’t know.” It didn’t sound like she was lying. “He was up here a moment ago. I don’t know where he went.”

Chrysi frowned pensively. “You know you guys aren’t supposed to play in the attic.”

Her head dipped further. “We weren’t playing.”

That definitely didn’t sound like a lie.

This felt strange.

Jacks took one step forward, then stopped. Misgiving soured the taste on his tongue.

“What’s up here, then?” he demanded. He turned to Alice, a scowl marring his face. “Why are we here?”

Chrysi didn’t say anything behind him. When he glanced at her once more, she was studying the shadows. Her face twisted in pale concentration.

Alice stared up at him, eyes wide and frightened. Pulling her hands to her chest, she curled in on herself, trying to make herself much, much smaller.

It was wrong. Jacks still had his bite wound, inflicted by this same girl, with passion and fury making her into a beast to be reckoned with. This made no sense, coming from Alice.

“I’m sorry,” she finally whimpered. “I’m sorry, Chrysi. I know I shouldn’t have. But I don’t want to lose Oz too.”

Alarm thrilled through Jacks, though its origin was not from him. It had the distinct color of Chrysi, golden-edged and heart-tumbling.

“Alice—!” she cried.

Crack!

Silence.

His heart screamed, empty, his sense of Chrysi ripped away from the room.

He wheeled about. “Princess—”

White cracked across his vision. Fireworks spiraled in his brain, all off-kilter and twisting and painful. Coppery blood trickled into his mouth, salty and overpowering.

Then Jacks collapsed to the floor and blackness rushed in.

—

xvii.

Helpless.

Chrysi was fucking helpless.

All this time, she’d been the one to study the ghosts—marking it down in that morbid, awful journal of hers, with notes on how to weed out the denseness of the haunting, like one of Pleck’s flowerbeds.

But she didn’t get to it in time. Not enough time in the slightest. She had seen the steel glare in Oz’s eyes after she found Azure’s ghost staring down that well, and she had seen the airy look of not-there-ness in Alice’s own dark gaze, and she should’ve known. She should’ve known sooner, and not soon enough, and no matter what, she was useless.

All because she wanted to save a fragment of Azure, all because she had to injure her soul deeper than she should’ve.

She woke up in the attic, but she didn’t know how much time had passed. Too much, in her estimation. Long enough for her to have been tied up and slung against the wall. A gag jammed into her mouth.

Should’ve known sooner.

So caught up in her own problems that she didn’t consider that it might be bigger than just Azure.

No—she did consider it, but she hadn’t cared.

Pain pulsed though her.

Fuck.

She’d lied to Jacks. The children did not take precedence on her list. Azure did.

Chrysi failed them.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to discern the meaning of the shadows around her.

The attic had been spruced up since she and Jacks had been knocked unconscious. She knew that much from the floor alone. Dust still cloaked it thickly, but a throw rug—equally dusty—gave the room a much more lived-in air.

That had to have been a recent addition.

She swept her gaze minimally over the room. Each movement hurt her head—but a quick overview revealed that they were boxed in by towering piles of forgotten suitcases and lamps, save for the narrow path they’d entered from.

This was the only room Oswald claimed was completely and entirely off-limits in the entire manor. Off-limits even for the remaining staff.

Foreboding filled her.

She heard a noise beside her—a labored breath, but not quite the death-rattle gasp of one of the manor ghosts.

Even though it sent a spike of agony piercing through her head, Chrysi twisted her head to the side to find Jacks, just as tied up and wounded as she, listing weakly against the wall. His eyes were closed. Blood stained the side of his face, and his skin had a distinct grey pallor to it.

He was breathing, at least—but the thought didn’t bring much comfort with it.

Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment as she tried to quell the nausea welling up inside of her.

Her recollection of herself was rudely interrupted by approaching footsteps.

They stopped right in front of her, right as Chrysi struggled to open her eyes. She found a pair of muddied boots right in front of her, disturbing the dust and ruining the throw rug.

“There you are,” a familiar voice said, far too bright a tone for the ache pulsing in her skull. “I was scared you wouldn’t wake up for a moment there.”

Chrysi bit down on her gag, hard enough to taste blood through the fabric. She turned her hateful gaze to the speaker in question.

Oz leaned over her, grinning.

And underneath his skin, she could see the horrible, twisted form of Jack Vessalius, puppeteering the poor boy’s body.

—

xviii.

Meredith stood in front of Azure, and though Azure could remember her funeral just as clearly as this moment, he didn’t find it strange.

She looked exactly the same she did those three years ago—long auburn hair, electric green eyes, and displeasure twisting her pretty face into a gorgeous painting of a woman biting into a lemon.

“What do you mean, you want to call off the wedding?” she demanded. “You belong to me, Azure LaFaye. We’ve belonged to each other since we were children. You can’t just back out of that on a whim!”

On a whim? Hardly. Azure had been looking for a way out since he was sixteen, right after Meredith had punished him for cancelling a date to sneak out to a chess competition. He was just ashamed it took him this long to plan for his escape.

“Get out of my way, Meredith,” he said quietly.

Disgust warped her face into something ugly. “What makes you think you can tell me what to do?”

He knew he should’ve listened to Jacks’s advice. He blamed lingering feelings for Meredith for the way he’d chosen to leave.

Azure just hoped that he would be able to stay so far under the radar that not even Meredith telling his father would get him caught.

“I’m asking nicely.”

She smirked and it was just as ugly as the lingering disgust sharpening the edge of her expression. Her eyes turned that lurid green—too much glitter to be safe, like a poisonous plant to avoid.

“It’s not a very nice request in the first place. It doesn’t matter how sweetly you ask, mon chaton.”

He couldn’t help it. He flinched.

Satisfaction flashed bright in Meredith’s eyes. It writhed beneath his rib cage, wriggling for his heart with hooked claws.

“Oh, mon chaton,” she murmured again. She breezed closer to him, suddenly full of grace and a lovely smile. All her fury melted away at his wince, like she could smell his weakness. She reached for his face. “I know you’re just overwhelmed. I’m sure to forgive you if you just apologize. But you don’t need to apologize right now, since I’m sure you’re very—”

Heart spiking into his throat, Azure shoved Meredith back with great force. Pressure pulsed behind his left eye and his vision half-blurred from the water welling in the leftmost half of his vision.

He hadn’t raised a hand.

Meredith slammed into the wall. An airless gasp jolted from her—a choking cough followed soon after.

Azure trembled. He tried to swallow it down.

It was the first time he’d used his magic on her. Hopefully it would also be the last.

She struggled to straighten herself—her elbows bumped the picture frames akimbo, her nails gouged at the wallpaper Azure’s sister had lovingly chosen, her limbs shook from effort—but he reinforced the weight of his magic. Her face reddened in reinvigorated ire. Suddenly, her auburn hair did not suit her face quite as well.

“Bastard!” she snarled. “Fils de pute!”

He stumbled back a step, then another.

It couldn’t be this easy.

It couldn’t be.

But Meredith couldn’t move. Her face twisted up in rage, and Azure wondered how he could’ve ever thought her beautiful in the first place.

She swore fiercer, livid. Each curse spilling from her mouth was more violent than the last.

She still could not move.

A laugh tore from him, incredulous.

“All this time,” he said, “and I’ve been more powerful than you from the start.”

He didn’t know why he hadn’t realized it sooner. Meredith’s eyes had never been red, and what hexes she’d managed were never more than mildly upsetting. She was never a full-fledged witch, just as she was never a half-fledged spellcaster. Azure had been top of his class, highest-ranked in Europe that entire time.

What a blind idiot he’d been.

Just as quickly as her face reddened, it blanched to white.

“Azure,” she pleaded, “Azure, please. I forgive you. We can push back the wedding until you’re more comfortable. Come on, kitten.”

“God!” Azure laughed again, but it hurt this time. “I’ve wasted so much fucking time on you.”

With that, he turned on his heel and stormed away.

Her pleas chased after him, right up to the door, where Meredith realized that he wasn’t going to return.

Last-ditch white-hot rage turned her voice into a drilling screech.

“Don’t forget!” Meredith screamed after him. “You’re mine, Azure LaFaye! You fucking bastard!”

He wished. Azure so desperately wished he would forget everything about Meredith, forget everything about France. He’d move onwards and forwards, damn everyone else here.

Oswald Baskerville looked exhausted. Azure knew that he looked even worse.

It wasn’t often that Azure went to a brasserie after a failed job interview, if ever. It was even rarer that he saw his interviewer at the same haunt as he.

The only reason he’d even bothered to come was because of Jacks—bored to the point of threatening Azure, which really only meant that Jacks had become incredibly lonely. Azure didn’t ask what happened to the last girl Jacks had chosen. He knew better than that.

From where Azure sat, however, Jacks didn’t look very lonely or heartbroken. His friend merely grinned at a girl, his finger twisting a blonde curl around his finger, as he whispered in low tones. The girl stared back at him with a significantly less enamoured expression than the rest of Jacks’s conquests.

Normally, this would’ve annoyed Azure. What was the point of all this dragging around, if he weren’t to be Jacks’s entertainment?

But, as his eyes slid back to Oswald Baskerville, he couldn’t help but thank his friend’s flightiness. It granted him this. Perhaps not a second chance, but at least a sense of closure.

Oswald sat on the bar stool tensely, his back straight and his shoulders tight. He nursed a gin and tonic, only taking small sips. Whatever it was he was looking at, Azure suspected that it wasn’t within the room.

Most people came to a pub to relax, but as Azure studied Oswald Baskerville, he decided that Oswald saw this more as a punishment than anything. The lighting did not help with the dark circles under his eyes.

Azure arched a brow.

Oh, et puis merde.

Azure finished off the drink in his hands, disregarding the way it stung at his throat on the way down. He didn’t make it a habit to drink, and even less of a habit to drink such a low quality of alcohol.

Yet, he still approached the bar.

The bartender glanced up at him with a disinterested look.

Azure smiled a smile without much feeling, ordered two glasses of wine, and made for Oswald.

He stopped beside him, but he didn’t take a seat.

The bartender slung two glasses onto the bar. He poured the wine with an exhausted familiarity.

“That was the worst interview of my life,” Azure announced.

“Mr. LaFaye,” was all Oswald replied with. He eyed him tiredly.

Azure guessed that Oswald had noticed him just as quickly as Azure noticed Oswald. Perhaps Oswald had hoped Azure would not approach him.

Too bad Azure had a streak of stubbornness in him.

He pulled out the stool beside Oswald and sat, right as their drinks arrived.

A hint of disgruntlement soured Oswald’s expression, but he swept it clear just as quickly.

“What is it you want?” he asked in a monotone.

“Nothing.” He picked up the glass by its stem, but did not bother to take a drink. Azure stared at the shelves behind the bar blindly. “I’m pretty sure it was a horrible interview for the both of us. I figured drinking would be the best way to ease the pain.”

It was a half-joke and Oswald’s glance was suitably doubtful. “I don’t drink to the point of senselessness, Mr. LaFaye.”

Azure shrugged. “I don’t either.”

They sat in silence. A growing breathlessness tightened his chest, but Azure fought to keep himself under control. He knew what he was doing was a mistake

But then Oswald took his own glass of wine and took a minute sip from it—smaller even than the ones he’d been taking from his previous drink.

With the way Azure’s day was going, he’d take whatever success he could get.

“You asked me what my catch was,” he said abruptly. It exploded from him, expelled like a toxin he needed to purge, for fear of dying.

But if it startled Oswald, he didn’t show it.

He tilted his head. His silence invited Azure to continue, but suddenly Azure’s mouth felt like he hadn’t wet it with any sort of drink for a week.

He quickly took a drink from his glass, but his nose wrinkled. He was too accustomed to a richer taste of wine for him to enjoy this much.

The memory of his lessons in France and his ex-fiancée acted as glue, forcing his molars to grind flat against each other. It took work to tear them apart.

When he did, he spoke only in half-truths.

“Do you know,” he asked, “what it’s like to be expected to shoulder an honor that is only a burden?”

Oswald did not answer him. There was a steel in his dark eyes, a blade of recognition, and that was as good as confirmation for Azure.

The laugh that burst from him hurt, lined with glass on the way up. “That was all I knew, my entire life. So I left. My past is erased. I’m a blank slate.” He raked a hand through his hair. Unruly black curls fell into his face in its wake—Azure couldn’t be bothered to care. All his product lost its hold on his hair. “It took me longer than I’d like, but I did it. And when I saw your ad… Well, it was convenient.”

This time, Oswald hummed curiously.

Azure recognized the question without the words. He straightened in his seat. “I was used a lot, back in France. I’m sure you’re familiar with it even here. But with children, at least when they use you, it’s not out of maliciousness. It’s out of need.” He worried at his thumbnail with the pad of his forefinger. Silently cursing, Azure found himself wishing he had something proper to fidget with. A coin. A ring—but no, he threw away the ring Meredith had forced him to wear. “And I can tell the children need someone.” He eyed Oswald, prying out what secrets he could from the face of stone he wore. “What about you? What’s your catch?”

Oswald didn’t bother to fake innocence.

“Imagination,” he said simply. “The children have a lot of it. Their current au pair doesn’t help matters much—but she’s a very lively girl and I wouldn’t dare fire her. The children love her too much. I’m sure she feels the same way for them. But…”

Azure canted his head to the side.

Whatever train of thought Oswald found himself going down, he abandoned it.

“It’s easy to lose yourself there,” Oswald settled on saying with a tiny frown. Then he fell silent, grim.

“I wouldn’t.” It was a promise. Azure was very, very good at many things, and above all else, his self-control was what he was best at.

Oswald’s expression, normally so inscrutable, lightened with thoughtfulness. He studied Azure silently, then stood. He collected his coat.

The two drinks he’d been sipping at barely had a dent in either of them.

“I don’t make it a habit to tell people on the day of,” Oswald said, “but since you’re here, I suppose you should know. You got the job.”

Azure stared up at him. Everything in the room ground to a halt, suspending in midair.

He got the distinct feeling that he almost blew up the only thing going for him. He’d been barreling for the empty chasm and only just stopped on the precipice.

“Oh.” It was the only word he could manage.

“Goodbye, Mr. LaFaye. You’ll be getting a call with the details within the next few days.”

Numbness poured into his limbs.

“Oh,” he repeated, but this time it was to nobody in particular.

Oh.

He got the job.

“You’re the new guy, huh?” a voice asked from behind him.

Azure turned to find that white-haired girl from before leaning against a bookshelf, her eyes intelligent and gleaming in the grey light from the windows.

Now that they were in closer proximity, Azure realized that her eyes were also red.

Surprise flashed through him.

Another witch, working here? A strange coincidence, though a part of Azure wondered if it could even be considered as such.

He yearned to ask this girl about her story, how she ended up here, what family she was from—but he withheld. Too many years of propriety instilled in him. Azure was well-accustomed to holding back from all his instincts, used to denying himself everything.

Instead, he replied, “Yes. I’m the new tutor.”

The girl grinned. With it, Azure noted that she had sharp canines—almost like fangs.

“Figures,” she said brightly. “I’m no good at math and I tell the little ones too much about certain sciences that Oswald would rather they be older to understand.” She lifted her chin. “So what are your strengths?”

Azure blinked.

He hadn’t expected to receive a second interview, and he certainly hadn’t expected his co-tutor to be such a slight girl. She couldn’t be much older than him—if anything, she looked a fraction younger. And he could hardly imagine how an American witch found herself in an esteemed English manor, teaching two children.

“Well,” he said slowly, “I’d consider myself well-rounded in all areas. But my strengths would be French” —It had better be one of his strengths, after growing up in Paris— “and literature analysis.”

The girl waved that away. “Nah, I don’t mean that. Here, let me give you an example: my strengths are gravestone rubbings and the horror genre—preferably books, but God, let me tell you how hard it is to find a good male horror author.”

“What?”

“How you’re going to connect to the kids,” she explained. “Oz and Alice aren’t necessarily hard to entertain, but you have to have an in with them to manage to teach them anything. If they don’t think you’re interesting, then forget it. You’ll be out the door by next Thursday.”

He stared at her, at a loss for words.

The girl sighed. “Okay, how about this: what are your hobbies?”

Hobbies.

Azure’s eyes scoured the room. A strange sense of unease lurked at the edge of his awareness.

Surely she wasn’t actually interested in what his hobbies were.

So he shrugged. “I like reading.”

She made a buzzing noise, as if he were a contestant on a game show and he’d just answered wrong. “Not quite. Try again.”

A flush of irritation swept over him. The vividness of the emotion surprised him. “I do like reading.”

“I do too, but that’s so tame,” she said, disgust dripping off her words. “It’s what you say at the family reunion because Auntie Mary thinks that playing through the first three Resident Evil games in a single day is a surefire way to corrupt your soul. I want to know what you like.” She paused and, for the first time, a flicker of a blush colored her freckled cheeks. “And the kids. The kids will want to know, for sure.”

Azure continued to stare at her. Rigidness stuck him to the floor, even though he wanted to fidget with something. He settled for digging his hands into his coat’s pockets.

“I like to read,” he repeated slowly. When the girl sighed heavily, he quickly added, “Anything. I like to read anything—besides stuff with an annoying magic system, I suppose.”

Now a light brightened her eyes. She shifted forward, like a wolf cornering its prey. The smile hitching across her face did not help the illusion. “There we go. Something more like that. Opinions, that’s what we like to see!”

He bristled. “I have opinions.”

He didn’t know why it bothered him that this girl would’ve thought otherwise. So long, he’d spent stifling himself. Surely he’d grown accustomed to coming off as impersonal.

He blamed it on her American nature.

“Strong opinions and strong hobbies,” the girl said cheerfully, in agreement. “That’s all that matters. Anything else you’ve got for me?”

And at that moment, Azure wanted to prove himself as an interesting person. He wanted her to know just how much he hid underneath his stern expression. He didn’t know why—it wasn’t to impress her.

He thought of Meredith.

Perhaps because he knew that his ex-fiancée would hate Azure talking to this girl and relating to her. Perhaps because this was a way to break from Meredith’s suffocating nature—from his father’s. He could be himself here.

“I also like photography,” he said.

The girl’s brows arched. This time, her smile came off as warm, and Azure realized that it was in response to his own warming voice. A quiet thrill of excitement burned through him.

“Film photography, specifically,” he continued. A tiny smile of his own surprised him. “There’s something more melancholy about it. It feels like nostalgia in image.”

She gestured for him to go on. She leaned closer, bracing herself on a table.

He knew he should’ve been embarrassed, but her engagement chased away all sense of self-consciousness. The girl’s unabashed interest kindled a silent flame Azure hadn’t realized he had.

“Chess, too. I’m nationally ranked in France.” He should’ve said it with the familiar humility required of someone of his stature, but he said it with quiet assurance. He was good. No need to shy away from it. “I also enjoy horror books,” he added, eyeing her and her interest. She looked lovely, with the way her eyes glittered with gold and her smile showed her unnaturally-pointed canines again. “In case you wanted to know.”

This made her grin wider.

“Save some for the rest of us, LaFaye.” The girl whistled. “Fucking hell, I’ve actually got some competition.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You know my name?”

“Hm?” She raised her brows, but the line of her mouth and the light in her eyes hinted at a mischief he couldn’t read. “Yeah, of course I do. Oswald told me.”

And here Azure didn’t know a thing about this girl, besides the fact that Jacks knew her as well.

Unfair. He was at a disadvantage.

“So?” He gestured for her to go on.

The look she shot him was amused.

“You can call me Chrysi,” she said. “That’s all I’m giving you, Mr. Nationally-Ranked-Chess-Master.” She punctuated this by tapping just under her eye and grinning. “Nice to work with another witch, by the way.”

With that, she breezed past Azure.

A tiny electric thrill sparked through him when she brushed by.

Azure turned to watch her leave, feeling distinctly unmoored and brilliantly light.

Yes, he agreed.

It would be nice to work with another witch. Especially one as friendly as this Chrysi.

He wondered what her name was short for.

Chrysi’s fingers tangled in his. Her eyelashes tickled his skin whenever she blinked. Her breaths were warm against his skin and the weight of her head against his shoulder felt like a final piece of the puzzle he’d been missing.

Azure could die right here and now, and he could be happy with it.

They laid like that for quite some time. Azure didn’t think he could drift off to sleep now—he was too excited about living in the Manor now, with closeness to Chrysi and the children. It didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel solid.

He wondered if Chrysi felt the same way.

He traced her hair with his free hand.

“What is your full name?” he asked softly, eager to make the most of his first night he lived here.

Chrysi shifted. “Hm?”

“Your full name. You’ve never told me.” Even though they were curled up together under the blankets, even though they had moved into the same room, even though Azure was pretty sure he would spend the rest of his life with her, if given the chance.

“Have I not?” Chrysi moved away and pushed up to her elbows. Her long hair cascaded around him. Moonlight glittered in her eyes, a smile hooking across her face. “I guess now would be the time to tell you, wouldn’t it?”

He couldn’t help but grin back at her. “Never a wrong time.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can think of a couple.” She tucked a curl behind her ear, and for a second, she looked strangely shy. “It’s Chryseis Diana. My full first name. Well.” She shrugged. “First names. You know how it is.”

His breath caught in his throat.

“Chryseis Diana…”

It tasted right in his mouth. The way his mouth shaped around her name fit perfectly.

Chrysi flushed, visible in the moonlight streaming from the open window.

“Well, no need to say it like that,” she said with an embarrassed laugh.

Azure lifted his chin curiously. “Like what?”

Her eyes caught on his. Whatever she saw there made her flush a pretty red. She averted her gaze. “I dunno. Like a prayer, I guess. It’s just a couple sounds strung together—nothing special.”

He raised his brows. “That’s a lie.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is special,” he challenged.

Chrysi looked embarrassed. “Knock it off, Blue. It is not.”

“It is,” he insisted. “It’s your name and it’s a pretty name. So that makes it very special to me.”

She faux-gagged. “Keep it up, LaFaye, and I’m kicking you out of my room.”

“Our room.”

She shot him a narrow-eyed glare.

He smiled innocently. He raised his hand to her, inviting her back to the position she’d been in, curled up against him. “Come on, Chrys. Don’t be like that.”

“You think you’re so cute,” she complained, even as she obliged.

Azure hummed in agreement. Happiness sparked in him as she nestled her head against his chest, ear pressed to his heart. He planted a kiss on the top of her head.

It didn’t take long for the tension in Chrysi’s limbs to relax. Her breathing came out steadily as her hand clumsily traced shapes on Azure’s hip.

Still, he could not sleep.

Chryseis Diana.

He kept repeating her name to himself.

Such a lovely name—how could she think otherwise?

The room buzzed, as if with static.

Azure flinched.

The buzzing stopped.

He frowned.

What the hell was that?

He tried to settle back, to let himself ease into the same half-sleepy haze as Chrysi—yet his heart hammered against his rib cage. He struggled to keep his breath even.

But the buzzing did not make a repeat appearance.

Azure reluctantly laid his head back down, burying it into his pillow.

The buzzing started up again.

He bolted up.

The buzzing turned to an aggravating hum, far too loud for comfort. His teeth ached with it, as if it were on some strange frequency that affected him and him alone.

He glanced down at Chrysi in his arms.

She merely adjusted her head with his movement. She made a sleepy noise and tightened her grip on his hand.

How could she not hear this? Azure’s head pulsed with pain, originating deep in the back of his neck.

The hum twisted into a throaty growl.

Azure’s head jerked back up.

The room looked… wrong. Almost there, but not quite. When Azure narrowed his eyes, the posters looked painted on the walls. The bookshelves were full of book-shaped boxes. The closet doors were wood-rectangles, but he couldn’t see hinges on them anymore.

The room suddenly looked like it had been taped together, like a box made of cardboard. A little like Alice’s most recent project—a homemade dollhouse, made to look like the manor.

Don’t forget…! a distant voice echoed in his head, just loud enough to be heard over the growling in the room.

A cold sweat broke out along the back of his neck and his heart raced in its well-learned way.

He knew precisely what that voice meant.

Then he tightened his arms around Chrysi and remembered where he was.

Merde.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Why was he remembering that now? Meredith’s voice rang in his head painfully.

“Az?” Chrysi mumbled sleepily.

He laid a hand on her head. “Go back to sleep, Chrys.”

He didn’t know how convincing he sounded. He could barely hear himself over the noise in the room. His heart thrummed hard and fast.

Maybe he should’ve let her wake up. Maybe he should’ve been dragging her out of this room, in its wrongness and dollhouse-edge.

Don’t forget…

Azure flinched again.

This time, however, the voice didn’t sound as vitriolic as it had when it tore from Meredith all those years ago. Desperation filed off the edge, leaving something blunt and cold in its wake.

…easy to lose yourself…

Azure stared at the corner of the room, ice filling his veins.

That was Oswald’s voice.

What the hell—?

Save—

Another voice.

—Chryseis Diana.

The same voice, an echo of earlier that very night.

He slammed against the backboard.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

He glanced down, but despite the fact that those words had been in Chrysi’s voice, she hadn’t so much as stirred.

“Merde,” Azure said, laughing shakily at something that terrified the hell out of him. “Merde, merde, merde.”

This wasn’t happening. He was imagining this. Perhaps he’d accidentally fallen asleep, and he was just having a nightmare—

Don’t forget, Meredith’s voice screamed, but it was more of a whisper now, and Oswald’s voice relayed, It’s easy to lose yourself there, and Chrysi whistled long and low and, with a laugh, said, Save—

This is a dream, he realized with a shock electrifying from his spine to his skull.

Azure’s eyes snapped open.

“—Chryseis Diana,” he gasped.

He was laying on his back, but when he shifted, he realized he wasn’t in the bed with Chrysi at all.

He wasn’t sleeping. He wasn’t in the night light-lit bedroom, familiar even when a dollhouse rendition.

Twisting about, he stared at a familiar uneven stone wall. Dead grass waved in the wind, brittle enough to break. When he passed his hand over the stalks, however, they didn’t so much as move.

Azure stood shakily.

His head should’ve been spinning. He should’ve been cold. He should’ve been a lot of things, but all of them required him to be alive. So he ignored all the should haves and looked around him.

He stood next to the well, grey skies closing him in like the lid to a casket.

Wrongness weighed over him heavily. It took him a moment to realize his chest had gone completely silent—not in the way of death, but in the way of Chrysi’s. In the way that he could no longer sense her, at the edge of his consciousness. In the way that vibrated with terror and horror and in the way that Azure could not withstand, even when dead.

Save, her voice said again, a memory fading now that his eyes were open.

“Chryseis,” he repeated again, quieter. “Chrysi.”

Something had happened to her.

#w.mine #s.chryzure #s.chrysijacks #OSWALD SCREEN TIME!!!!GOING CRAZY GOING WILD!!!!!

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thisaintascenereviews · 2 years ago

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The Devil Wears Prada - Color Decay One of my favorite bands about fifteen years ago was the Ohio metalcore outfit The Devil Wears Prada. I have fond memories listening to this band when I was fifteen, give or take. I found them in 2008, but I don’t think I properly listened to them until 2009 when their third album came out, 2009′s With Roots Above And Branches Below. My first experience with them was 2007′s Plagues, and listening to that album fifteen years later, I still love it. These guys were one of the main driving forces in the Risecore style of metalcore would become famous in the next couple of years. Bands like Memphis May Fire, Pierce The Veil, Blessthefall, Of Mice & Men, Attack Attack, and a lot of other bands in the same vein would release albums a year or two later, but one of the bands that started that style is TDWP. They helped to pioneer, at least, because their sound was composed of very heavy instrumentation, including a lot of breakdowns, but they also juxtaposed that with catchy hooks and choruses. With Roots Above did get a bit heavier, especially in the sense that the band wanted to be taken more seriously as a metal band, so they got heavier on their next couple of albums, including that and 2011′s Dead Throne (2010′s Zombie EP kickstarted that, and it’s considered a classic for the time, but I’m just talking albums here). I just listened to the latter album for the first time last week, and it’s a killer record, mainly because it’s a lot heavier and more mature than their earlier work prior to that. They still utilized hooks, but the riffs and breakdowns were much more emphasized. Since then, however, the band’s popularity and relevance has been fading, unfortunately. I stopped listening to them with Dead Throne, and that was because I just didn’t listen to metalcore anymore at the time; I was getting into other styles of music, including folk and indie, trying to expand my horizons, and I just felt as though I didn’t want to listen to that anymore. I still did from time to time, but I didn’t listen to it at the point that I used to. I’ve eventually gone back to really enjoying hardcore, metalcore, and post-hardcore, but there was a time when I just didn’t listen to it. Even as I’ve been getting back into the genre, The Devil Wears Prada is a band that I just haven’t wanted to listen to. From what I’ve gathered, they strayed away from their metal sound completely on a couple of records, but they’ve slowly been going back to it over the last few years. I listened to 2019′s The Act, when it came out, and I remember it to be an interesting mix of metalcore, post-hardcore, alt-metal, and hard-rock. What’s also interesting about it is that it was their first album with Solid State, but the band would eventually come back last year with Zombie II, a sequel to the EP of the same name. I only listened to it a couple of times, but it was a heavy record, definitely akin to their early work, so people were excited.

Well, we’ve got their newest LP, Color Decay, and as is the case with a lot of stuff, I didn’t know this was coming out until the week of release. I was honestly kind of looking forward to it, because I’ve been in a metalcore mood for the last few weeks. A lot of good metalcore albums have been coming out, so I’ve wanted to check it out, and to preface how I feel about this album, I’ll say this for now -- this is one of the only albums I’ve been listening to all week. In case that doesn’t give it away, I really love this album. Color Decay is one of the best albums of the year, but make no mistake, this record is not a return to form for this band. The best way to describe this album is a crossroads between metalcore, post-hardcore, and hard-rock; the breakdowns and harsh vocals from vocalist Mike Hranica are back in full force (he screamed a little bit on The Act, but I think he tried his hand at singing, too), but there are a lot of catchy hooks and some radio-friendly tunes. The album doesn’t go full metalcore, like their early work, and the hooks are a lot more refined and less over the top compared to their early work as well.

The album’s opener, “Exhibition,” is a good indicator what you’ll get, as it has heavy verses and a clean chorus, along with a pretty good breakdown in the middle, and that’s the basic formula of most of the album, but there are some deviations, such as the synth-heavy “Fire,” which is this synth-rock/pop song that has a good hook, or the very depressing closer, “Cancer,” which is a piano-led ballad. The song “Twenty-Five” is a bit different, too, as Hranica’s vocals are more in the vein of wailing, versus screaming, and it’s really cool. The album does have a lot of very similar-sounding moments, but nothing on this album sounds boring, repetitive, or uninteresting, it manages to keep your interest throughout it. At 45 minutes, this album is a bit daunting, but it surprising goes by quick. It’s not as long as you’d think, and I love it for that. Everything sounds really good here, and for those that want them to go back to their old sound, you’ll get glimpses of it here and there, but it’s a lot cleaner than it was in the past. I have nothing against that, and in fact, I welcome it, because it makes their sound more accessible. It’s unfortunate that this band has become sort of irrelevant over the last decade, pretty much, but this album might get them that late-career kick they need. It happens sometimes, so hopefully this album gets them some more success. It’s surprisingly good, and it’s way better than I was expecting. It’s one of the only albums I’ve been listening to all week, and I’ve been having a blast with it, because it just hits that metalcore itch that I’ve been having. I’ve been struggling to find albums that successfully scratch it, but this one does just that, and I love it. If you’re like me, and you haven’t really listened to them in the last decade and some odd years, you should do yourself a favor and check this one out. It’s a good album, maybe even a great one. I can guarantee I’ll be playing it a lot more in the coming months before the year’s end, so it’ll successfully earn a slot on my yearend list.

#the devil wears prada #plagues #with roots above and branches below #dead throne #rise records #solid state records #metalcore #metal #heavy metal #post-hardcore #rock

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thebandcampdiaries · 4 years ago

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Fish In a Birdcage introducing a brand new studio release: Waterfall

December 2020 - Fish In a Birdcage is an artist with a focus on creating beautiful and personal indie-folk songs with a broader creative twist. Recently, the act released a brand new studio album named "Waterfall," which feels like a great calling card for the artist and his work.

The sound quality is pristine, and the record has a beautiful production: bright and crisp, highlighting the varied melodic textures of each song. This album has a really cool aesthetic concept, with each song billed as a “Rule,” not necessarily following the number order based on the playlist, but rather creating a continuity with the artist’s previous releases. Rule #1 is featured on the artist’s 2014 debut, beginning a serious that would go on to reach #22, the last song on this album.

The title track itself combines anthemic drums with melodic vocals and intricate guitar patterns, in the vein of artists like Ben Howard. There is even room for a more old-school feel: the song "Fiddler's Heart" has a cool folk vibe with a playful and witty sound. "Four Aces" is a song with a very theatrical feel to it: I could almost picture Tom Waits coming in and crashing the party with his howling vocals! On the other hand, this track remains melodic, with a beautiful approach to storytelling.

"Movies" is a playful song with a more alternative touch and a really fantastic arrangement. I enjoy the way the vocals lock in with the harmonies, and the guitars create a nice rhythm counterpoint with the drums and bass. Instead of everything being traditionally assembled, it seems like every instrument has its own space, and they overlap beautifully on "common ground."

"Two Sides" has a more old-fashioned feel, with a bluesy flavor and an amazingly relatable arrangement with stunning vocals by Kristina Helene taking the lead.

The track "Lion" is another fantastic example of the artist's incredible creativity and ability to swiftly combine genres and ideas. This song is catchy and immediate, combining elements of alt-pop with folk and a bluesy touch.

"Amigo" is another blues-influenced country, with a bit of a funk influence. The vocals really make me think of Anthony Kiedis during the golden age of Red Hot Chili Peppers (especially One Hot Minute / Mother Milk era). "Blessed by a Curse" is perhaps one of the most melancholic sounds on this release, and I really enjoy how the song starts small and understated, letting some of the ethereal background sounds creep in and become more prominent as the arrangement goes along.

"Momento Mori" is a beautiful song with a very creative feel and a really unexpected twist. The intro is mellow and slow-paced, but the track turns into a syncopated jam, with so much groove and rhythm. The vocal performance is incredibly distinctive, providing a completely different vibe and giving the album a kaleidoscopic twist since every track has something new to offer.

The final song is an intimate ballad titled "If Trees Could Talk." This is one of the most heart-wrenching songs on the album, and it really makes me think of artists like Damien Rice, as well as earlier stuff from Ed Sheeran and John Mayer. This song is a winning example of how "less is more" when you do it with your heart first. The song's arrangement is mostly built on guitar and vocals, although some additional colors, such as a nice string section, chime in, later on, adding more depth to this particular release.

Overall. This album is a very beautiful artistic achievement, and it is incredibly well-produced. The sound of the instruments is very natural and engaging, as Fish in a Birdcage managed to create a warmer sound that's far from the overproduced indie-folk releases that you see around these days. Instead of obvious pitch corrections and digital samples on everything, we're faced with a more organic sound, which makes it so much easier to experience a positive one-on-one connection with this music. As a listener, I always find myself gravitating towards the songs that are a bit more spontaneous and heartfelt in this genre, rather than the ones that hide the artist's humanity behind a thick veil of studio production trickery. While the mixing, recording, and mastering are extremely professional on this album, there is also a lot of room for those "beautiful accident," those natural sounds like the hands moving on the guitar strings or a singer breathing in before a line, that you can only capture if you stay true to the sound of the music being performed, instead of trying to bury it.

The album features ten songs. This fact in itself is quite an amazing achievement. If you stop for a moment and take a look at what most artists are doing, you'll find that singles and short EPs are everywhere. The industry is pushing a trend of releasing smaller bursts of music at a more frequent rate in order to continually provide content for the audience. While this might be a good way to keep your presence on platforms with fresh music more frequently, it might not be ideal if you want to give your audience something more. I personally love a more immersive listening experience, so I am always thankful to see artists like Fish In A Birdcage still working on full-length albums.

This release comes highly recommended, especially if you are a fan of artists such as Elliott Smith, as well as Damien Rice, Jack Johnson, Bright Eyes, Beirut, or Death Cab For Cutie, only to mention a few.

Find out more about Fish In a Birdcage and listen to "Waterfall," which is currently available on your favorite digital streaming platforms.

http://www.fishinabirdcage.com/

https://open.spotify.com/album/4RX7OLRicCMQ4ORUJTQVTm?si=-o44rIMZTyCtz0cC6RMPFg

We also featured one of the songs on our Indie Gems playlist, along other amazing international artists to discover!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3vCtmkPDbpE9pj5DfJnycU?si=sBxnZjkgTuGpL90BUVUiZw

We also had the opportunity to ask the artist a few questions: keep reading for more!

I love how you manage to render your tracks so personal and organic. Does the melody come first, or do you focus on the beat the most?

Answer: It really depends on if I'm writing lyrics or if i'm creating an instrumental melody. If I'm making lyrics I will create the Cello/Mandocello riff/rhythm first, something that I find really captivating, and then try to find the emotion within that riff to draw the lyrics from. If its instrumental most of the time I'll sing melodies into the air without chords and then find the chords that accompany the melody later on 🙂. The beat comes later when I have a producer on my side. I try to just focus on the cello/mandocello mixed with vocals, then find musicians of the instruments I want to hear within that track, then give them complete freedom to create whatever they want. Most of the time it turns out better than I could have ever imagined.

Do you perform live? If so, do you feel more comfortable on a stage or within the walls of the recording studio?

Answer: Oh definitely more comfortable on a stage, or even more comfortable in a house concert type setting. It's definitely a lot more stripped down live because most of the time it's just me, my cello, my loop pedal and vocals. Getting used to playing to a click track without singing when I first got into a studio was the hardest part of recording, to get that solid chord structure with rhythms laid out so we could build the song around that.

If you could only pick one song to make a “first impression” on a new listener, which song would you pick and why?

Answer: This is a really tough question, because over the years I've loved asking people "what track is your favorite" and the range of answers is great. So many people have different favorites and that tells me I'm onto something. A lot of the older generation has told me they really like "Rule #7 - Angel Tango, and Rule #12 - Through the Tides" when the younger generation really digs the quirky vibes of some of the newer tracks like "Rule #15 - Four Aces"

My favorite changes over time. But I think the one that holds the most meaning for me is "Rule #3 - Paperwork", although it's an older song, it really goes back to my roots of when I really fell in love with songwriting and music.

What does it take to be “innovative” in music?

Answer: I think it comes down to pushing your own limits constantly. I'm constantly trying to improve my cello playing in as many different genres as I can possibly dive into. I think you are a combination of every person you've sat in a room with and had a conversation with, and that includes speaking through instruments. I wouldn't be creating the music that I do without playing with all of the bands that I've played with over the years. I've heard so many incredible musicians blow my mind and those influences have rubbed off on me.

Any upcoming release or tour your way?

Answer: I have album number 4 in the works, it will most likely be an instrumental album, just cello with multiple layers. That's what I'm working on these days. And the discography of fish in a birdcage is basically chapters of my life as I make my way through this musical journey. It won't be recorded for a while although. Because recording is not cheap.

And because of COVID-19, it's just hitting the practice shed and busking until things become somewhat normal again.

Anywhere online where curious fans can listen to your music and find out more about you?

Answer: fishinabirdcage.com is probably the best place to find that, and I'm pretty active on Instagram @fishinabirdcage so any updates will tend to pop up on there. 🙂 Thanks for the interview! This was a lot of fun!

#indie #folk #indie folk

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alj4890 · 5 years ago

Text

None But You

(Thomas Hunt x oc*Amanda) in a regency era romance as requested by @pixieferry

A/N So sorry once again. Holidays and multiple bouts of sickness kept me from finishing this chapter. But here we are, the first night of the house party and one where Thomas and Amanda are ready to share their engagement with their nearest and dearest. Everything should go swimmingly. Maybe. We will take up immediately following the end of chapter 8.

@graceful-popcorn @krsnlove @alleksa16 @hopelessromantic1352 @pixieferry @emceesynonymroll @buzz-bee-buzz @hopefulmoonobject @cora-nova @rainbowsinthestorm @lxaah11 @dr-nancy-house @friedherringclodthing @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker

Summary: Lord Hunt asks for permission to marry Lady Amanda. While many are happy for the couple, there are a few that aren't as thrilled with the announcement.

Masterlist

Chapter 9

"I am not allowing that lecher to ruin our announcement." Thomas whispered. He nodded over to Lady Lucy speaking to Lady Henrietta and Lord Gabriel Rawlings. "Let's go speak to your aunt."

Amanda averted her eyes from Duke Vikotr Montmarte. She kept her hand firmly on Thomas's arm and tried to regain that earlier happiness she had when first approaching the house.

"...Timothy earned a first in--" Gabe paused speaking when the couple approached. "Kirkwood. Lady Amanda. Is something amiss?"

"No sir." Thomas allowed his frown to ease as he gazed down at the lady beside him. "I come to ask Lady Lucinda for her blessing to marry Lady Amanda."

Henrietta and Lucy both gasped in surprise.

Having known the two women for longer than anyone else in the room, Gabe chuckled. "I believe I can discern from that gulp of air that you have received said blessing. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you." He shook Thomas's hand and affectionately kissed Amanda's cheek. "I wish you both all the happiness I have been fortunate to have with my wife."

Henrietta took her husband's handkerchief out of his coat pocket and dabbed her eyes. "Oh Gabe! Why do you persist in saying romantic gibberish when I am around people? You know it turns me into a sentimental ninny!"

He rolled his eyes to Thomas while wrapping his arm around her. "There, there. I will do my utmost to be a dull, unfeeling husband."

"You do and it will be the last thing you ever do!" She bit out before kissing his cheek. "I don't want you to change."

"Then we are of like mind." He whispered. "For I wouldn't have one hair on your head change." He brushed a corkscrew curl behind her ear. "Perhaps that one."

"Oh! You--" she gently smacked his hand. "Congratulations dear ones. With your permission, I would like to announce it before dinner."

"Aunt Lucy?" Amanda reached out and touched her suspiciously silent aunt. "Do you approve?"

Lucy hugged her tight. "Approve?! My darling, I am in alt over this news! I have hoped you two would realize you were right for one another." She reached over and grasped Thomas's hand. "I will be very proud to call you, nephew."

"I will be proud to be referred to as such." Thomas replied, his earlier joy at having secured Amanda's hand started to return with these reactions to his news.

"I should tell Millie before it is announced." Amanda whispered. "I do not wish her to think I have withheld any secrets from her."

Gabe caught his daughter's eye and motioned for her to come over.

"Yes father?" Millie's curiosity had spilled over in her tone while observing all the happy faces.

"Lord Thomas and I are betrothed." Amanda told her in a low voice.

"Oh!" Millie embraced her while reaching for Thomas's hand to squeeze. "I am very happy for you both!" Her big blue eyes grew even larger. "The wedding! We must use this time together to make all the decisions!"

Lucy laughed sweetly. "Hen you have raised a highly intelligent young woman. I am relieved to know that when you and I become senile, our girls can carry on our work."

Henrietta beamed at her daughter. "She is and has always been a treasure. I could not be more proud."

Millie teared up and asked her father for his handkerchief. He sighed in resignation as he handed it over. "I haven't had possession of my own handkerchief for over twenty-five years."

Lucy snorted and nearly choked on her laughter at the identical expressions of irritation on his ladies' faces.

"Don't strangle me yet." He held his hands up in surrender. "I have the honor to announce this couple's news."

________________

Over dinner, the guests continued to congratulate the couple on their engagement. Lady Hen would go on for years saying how it had set a more excited tone for the young people attending. It was clear to all that this was a love match and thus gave many of the unattached ladies hope that the gentlemen would feel inclined to follow in Lord Hunt's footsteps.

There were a small number of guests that were not as enthused with the shared joy. Ms. Fontaine sat with slightly narrowed eyes as her lips firmed in a thin line. Lady Amanda had not only stolen all the attention with this announcement but she had also snagged one of the ton's most nortorious and most sought after bachelors.

Duke Montmarte didn't bother to hide the glare he settled on the two. He was still smarting from Thomas and Matthew's interference the night of the recital. He could not let such an insult go.

Once the ladies left to allow the men their cigars and after dinner libations, Montmarte apporached Thomas. Conversations trailed off around the dining room as many were eager to hear what the duke would say.

"Congratulations Kirkwood." Viktor's lips curved into a mocking smile. "Having known the lady, I can see why you wished to settle the engagement quickly." His smile turned a bit sinister. "Wouldn't want to allow her a chance to meet a more desirable gentleman."

Thomas gripped his glass of port and nodded. "You are correct." His own smile was strained. "I don't believe in taking anything for granted with Lady Amanda."

"It does make one wonder." Montmarte looked around the room, drawing the other men into the conversation. "Why the hurry in proposing? You have been seen pursuing the lady, even when she was ill. I don't recall anyone hindering your courtship." He paused for dramatic effect. "I don't suppose you and she...surely not."

"Watch your tongue, Montmarte." Ryan warned at the badly veiled insult of Amanda and Thomas precipitating their marriage vows.

"I suggest you cease wondering." Thomas continued in a serious tone. "I am the one who sees no reason to wait. I came to the realization that no other woman would do."

"I see." Montmarte leering grin appeared. "Perhaps I should have insisted on spending more time in her company." He chuckled at the anger growing among Thomas and his friends. "You might all be toasting my happiness at having captured the lady."

"Thank heavens Kirkwood had the good sense to not let that occur." Matthew replied with much laughter from those around him. "Think of the unsavory gentlemen Lady Amanda could have encountered."

Montmarte's eyes narrowed at the insult.

Lord Rawlings cleared his throat to break the tension. "Gentlemen I suggest we do not keep the laides waiting any longer."

_________________

"Hmm." Millie sat beside Amanda as they listened to Lucy and Henrietta plan out possible wedding dates. She jumped into the conversation when the matrons paused. "I believe given Lord Hunt's decision to ask Amanda after such a brief courtship, he will most likely appreciate the wedding being as soon as possible."

Lucy nodded slowly. "True." Her gray green eyes rested on her niece. "My dear, do you wish for a long engagement or would you rather marry within the next month or so?"

Amanda's cheeks colored. "If Lord Thomas is of like mind, then I would prefer being married as soon as we can."

Henrietta smiled at her. "I was of the same mindset."

Lucy giggled behind her fan. "If I recall, you even hinted for an elopement to Gretna Green."

"Mamma!" Millie stared at her mother in shock. "Did you really think of running off to Scotland for a rushed ceremony?"

Hen elbowed Lucy for revealing such. "It crossed my mind." She softly groaned at her daughter's eyes lighting up with interest. "I did not wish to wait on the banns being read nor all the fuss my mother was making over the ceremony."

"I believe," Lucy prodded, "that you and Gabe even planned on leaving in the middle of a ball."

"Mamma!" Millie gasped again. "What did Grandmother do when she found out?"

"She didn't find out." Hen muttered. "Your grandfather did."

Millie covered her mouth as her eyes grew wide. "Grandfather discovered the plot? How?"

"He overheard your father speaking to Lord Nicholas about the need for subterfuge." Hen squirmed a bit in her seat as she recalled her father's response. "He decided to wait for us in Gabe's carriage."

Lucy chuckled at the blush staining her friend's cheeks. "Needless to say, the wedding was held six weeks later, as originally planned."

Hen blew out a frustrated breath. "I found out that if I had told Father that I wanted to marry sooner, he would have sent for a special license. Yet since I was willing to do something so scandalous, I was forced to wait the appropriate amount of time."

Millie slumped in the chair she was sitting in. "My own mother, ready to run off with the man she was passionately in love with."

"Yes, well." Henrietta began. "It did not happen and we should focus on Amanda and Kirkwood."

"Maybe they could elope to Gretna Green." Millie teased.

"And deny me a wedding?!" Lucy exclaimed. "As much as I am ready to see the two settled, I would prefer to have some sort of ceremony."

"How about a special license?" Hen teased. "Then you could have a wedding and they could be together that much sooner."

"I'm not opposed to Lord Thomas aquiring one from the archbishop." Lucy replied.

Millie turned her bright eyes toward her friend. "Would you like that?"

Amanda's blush answered it as she struggled with how to say that she would.

They all looked up as the men returned. Thomas scanned the room and smiled softly when he saw Amanda. As he began to approach, Viktor beat him to her.

"Ladies." He bowed before them. "I came to offer the bride to be my personal congratulations." He took Amanda's hand, leering a bit when she tried to remove it. "May you have all the happiness you deserve."

"Thank you, your grace." Amanda responded while attempting not to show her disdain when he kissed her hand.

She looked up when Thomas came around and placed his hands on her shoulders. The gentle squeeze he gave relaxed her as the Duke narrowed his eyes.

"And what date have you settled on?" He asked.

"We have yet to decide." Amanda glanced up at Thomas. "We do have some possibilities in mind, but I should like to hear what Lord Hunt wishes."

"Ah." The Duke cut in Thomas explaining how he would prefer it being as soon as they could. "Best lock her in her room, Lady Bridgerton." His eyes dipped down to Amanda's cleavage. "Wouldn't want the bridegroom to abscond with her to Gretna Green."

Thomas eyed him in silent contemplation. "I don't think my intended should worry about such."

"One never knows what passions may do to the mind." Viktor smirked. "She might even realize after bring in close proximity to a number of gentlemen here that there is another she should run off with."

Amanda gasped in outrage. "I would never!" She dislodged Thomas's hands as she quickly stood up. She completely disregarded the fact that Viktor towered over her. "How dare you insult my faithfulness to Thomas? You clearly have no notion of fidelity when in love."

He slowly smiled at her temper. "Of course. How foolish of me." He bowed his head and walked off.

Thomas gripped Amanda's hand while telling Lucy they were stepping outside.

Once they were in the garden, she jerked her hand from his grasp.

"That--that--" she stuttered as her temper snapped completely. "Despicable monster that dares to call himself a gentleman!"

Thomas folded his arms and watched her without a word as she paced and heaped insults upon Viktor.

"--doesn't deserve the attention of a flea!"

His lips curved as her insults turned toward complimenting him in comparison to the Duke.

"He isn't fit the honor of wiping your boots!" She let out a startled yelp when Thomas pulled her into his embrace.

She automatically slid her arms around his neck, making him smile. His lips brushed hers, pulling her even closer when she kissed him.

After their tender exchange, he continued to keep her in his arms. "We will ignore Montmarte. He only wishes to steal what joy he can from us. With your immediate refusal of his attentions and my apparent dislike of him, he is determined to have some sort of vengeance on us."

"Hateful man." She muttered, resting her cheek on Thomas's chest. "I can't believe his carriage broke down and we are now punished with his repulsive company."

Thomas chuckled softly as he nudged her chin up. He looked down into her eyes as he caressed her cheek. "What date can we marry?"

"That all depends on whether or not we want a special license." Her earlier anger disappeared with the thought of her marriage.

The back of his fingers trailed down her cheek. "I will apply to the archbishop at once if you wish for me to do so."

Her smile slowly appeared. "I would prefer to be married as soon as we can if you wish it also."

His lips landed on hers. "Nothing could make me happier." He whispered.

"Already planning on running off?"

They both turned toward the duke. His cheroot glowed menacingly as he took a long draw. Smoke swirled around him as his dark eyes studied the two. "Careful Kirkwood." His eyes focused on Amanda. "You don't want to scare such an innocent with your passions." He dropped the thin cigar and crushed it under his boot. "She might decide to disappear on you one night."

He left them and returned to the house.

________________

Once Amanda left with Thomas, Millie quickly looked about to make certain Victoria hadn't attatched herself to Ryan, Matthew, or Chris.

"Drat." She mumbled. With a practiced smile, she calmly moved in a determined fashion toward Ryan.

"Oh Lord Summers, you are full of mischief." Victoria teased, lowering her long lashes.

Ryan eyed her skeptically. "Well, it was the only way to beat Winters."

Chris chuckled good naturedly. "I only wish I had thought of it first.

Millie squeezed in between Victoria and Ryan. "Hello." She smiled at the men then glared pointedly at Victoria. "Everyone enjoying themselves?"

"Very much so," Matthew replied.

"What are the plans for this week, m'lady?" Chris asked.

"Oh the usual: A ball, horseback riding, hunting for you gentlemen, games, and of course a picnic or two." Millie responded.

"Well, we certainly won't be bored from lack of activity." Ryan teased.

"I bet you are a marvelous shot, Lord Summers." Victoria cooed.

"He's passable." Millie observed. "Sir Christopher is much more accurate."

Ryan frowned at Millie. "I believe I rate more than merely passable."

She gently patted his chest. "Of course you think that."

His eyes narrowed when he realized she had somehow added insult to injury.

"I for one would love to see you in action." Victoria interrupted their staring at one another. "Perhaps you could teach me how to shoot--"

"You pick up the weapon and aim it at the desired target." Millie rolled her eyes. "Pull the trigger and you are done." She mumbled the rest. "Any normal idiot can shoot."

"But to have such an expert as my teacher." Victoria stepped closer to Ryan, making certain to dig her heel into Millie's skirt, ripping it.

"Oh no!" Victoria raised her hands to her cheeks. "How terribly clumsy of me!"

Millie opened her mouth to tell Victoria to go directly to blazes. Ryan cleared his throat and slowly shook his head.

"It is no matter." Millie bit out. "If you all will excuse me, I am going to retire for the night."

Goodnights were spoken by the gentlemen while Victoria smirked in triumphant. She slipped her hand in the bend of Ryan's arm and looked up at him with adoration.

Millie grumbled as she departed the drawing room. "Blasted, horrible wench."

________________

Thomas paced in his bedroom, pausing every few minutes when he heard a noise in the hallway. His mind replayed over and over all the remarks Montmarte had made.

He didn't know if it was intuition or simple fear, but he knew he had to somehow get into Amanda's bedroom. He suspected that the Duke intended to take her away.

As the clock struck midnight, he sneaked out and quietly crept toward the wing where she slept. He knew if discovered, there would be a scandal, perhaps not as serious as one would think. After all, he had made his intentions known to everyone. Still, he didn't want any unwarranted blemish associated with Amanda.

He gently knocked on her door before trying the handle. His frown formed when it opened. She should have bolted the door, he thought while stepping in. He turned and locked himself in before checking on her

He saw a shadow move out of the corner of his eye as he approached the bed. He just managed to catch Amanda's wrist before she bludgeoned him with a candlestick. He yanked her to him while holding her wrist high.

"It's me!" He hissed.

The wild look of fear in her eyes faded. "What are you doing sneaking into my room?"

His arms dropped as she moved to light a candle. "I wanted to make certain you were...well."

She folded her arms and lifted an eyebrow. "And?"

"And, I believe Montmarte might attempt to steal you away and possibly force your hand in marriage."

Her stance eased. "Oh." She walked over to the fireplace and curled up in one of the chairs. "Do sit down."

He sat across from her. His dark eyes narrowed in thought. "You suspected it too."

"I did. That's why I had the bed pillows lumped under the covers and waited in the shadows." Her chin lifted in defiance. "He was not going to be allowed a moment to touch me."

Thomas ran his hands over his face. "You shouldn't have to worry over such." He stood up and removed his jacket and cravat.

Her eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"I'm staying here." He replied.

"Have you taken leave of your senses? You can't stay in my room all night!"

"I can and will." He stated in a firm tone. "I will make certain to leave before the servants wake." He stepped over to her and pulled her out of her chair. "I'm not leaving you unprotected."

"I have my candlestick." She mumbled as his lips sought hers.

His hands tangled in her long hair as he kissed her. Her arms wrapped around his waist, hugging him close. He lifted his head and urged her to go to sleep before temptation took over his gallantry.

She smiled softly and kissed him once more.

Thomas broke away and nudged her toward her bed. "A man can only take so much." He warned.

"Where do you intend to sleep?" She asked, once in bed.

"In the chair." He stated while forcing himself not to stare at the empty space beside her.

She pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them while studying his expression. "Thomas, you've seen me in bed before. Why are you--"

"You were gravely ill then, thus keeping my mind occupied." He interrupted. "I ask that you please rest." He sat down in a chair that at first he thought was comfortable. Now it felt like it was constructed with rocks.

Amanda watched him as he readjusted multiple times.

"Wouldn't it be easier to keep me from harm if you were directly between the duke and me?" She scooted over and patted the spot next to her that was near the door.

Thomas softly groaned. "Amanda, it will be a large enough scandal if I'm caught in here. If I am found in your bed--"

"You'll be forced to marry me." She finished with a smile.

He knew she wouldn't sleep until he gave in. Taking a deep breath and reminding himself that he was a gentleman, he gave in and took his boots off. Thomas climbed into bed while trying not to think of the one he would be sleeping next to. He snuffed the candle and then made certain to stay on top of the covers.

Amanda laid on her side facing him. "Thank you for coming to protect me."

He turned his head to look at her. "No need to thank me. I will always do what I can to keep you from harm."

She gently cupped his cheek. He closed his eyes at her touch.

Thomas pressed a lingering kiss to her palm.

"I love you, Thomas." She whispered.

"I love you." He said. "More than you could possibly imagine."

Her smile was tender as she wished him a goodnight. She turned over on her other side and closed her eyes, soon falling into a peaceful slumber.

Thomas closed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to will himself to sleep. He knew it was going to be a miserable night being beside the one he both wanted to protect and desired.

#thomas hunt x amanda #1800s au #thomas hunt #rcd thomas hunt #choices red carpet diaries #none but you #thomas hunt x oc

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zimeatzwafflez · 5 years ago

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Tips for teens new to scene?

omg so sorry I just saw this !! not sure how old this is but I’m gonna give u some of my tips anyway!

it can b a lil intimidating but I rlly think the best advice I could give is: learn not 2 give a fuck abt what other ppl think! don’t b afraid to b cringey! do whatever makes u happy!!

my personal fashion sense is rlly all over the place but I luuuuuv colorful hair! it makes me feel so much better abt myself and I think it def helps if ur tryna look screen. rn my hair is pink/orange/yellow! my fave dyes can all b found at sallys like: ion color brilliance, manic panic, iroiro, color jamz. if u ever bleach ur hair at home just b extremely careful and I personally wouldn’t recommend using anything higher than a 20volume !! avoid box dyes completely if ur able to

also thrifting/ebay is amazing !! ofc hot topic is a staple but they can b super expensive and I’ve found tons of affordable band shirts, skinny jeans, studded belts, and platform shoes from thrifting! also DIY! cut up ur jeans/leggings/shirts/whatevs! use studs, safety pins, buttons, make ur own patches!

also please b aware there are unfortunately quite a few bands/ppl involved in scene/emo/alt music that are VERY predatory. BOTDF is a huge example of this. Dahvie is a known predator. Brand New’s lead singer Jesse Lacey is the same. Johnny Craig, is another. There are countless examples of this, I know it can be a lil stressful to think abt but I just wanna put it out there that unfortunately this music scene (like many others) has a lot of issues that need to be addressed.

ANYWAY! On a more positive note here r some of my fav bands / artists if u want any to check out: Kerli, brokeNCYDE, escape the fate (their first 2 albums), Millionaires, my chemical romance (a staple!!), bring me the horizon (earlier records, like suicide season, are my fav), a day to remember, paramore!!!!, the amity affliction, la dispute, (early) black veil brides, breaking Benjamin, motionless in white, three days grace (up until 2013), jimmy eat world, all time low, Green Day, the all American rejects

if u have any other questions abt anything or whatever lemme kno!!!! :3

#scenecore #rawring 20s #emocore #teencore #questions #antibotdf

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cactusbaseball · 5 years ago

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On the end of Warped Tour

To the great despair of the emos, the pop punk kids, and anyone mentally stuck in the early 2000s like me, Warped tour has come to an end. Though I was only able to attend two of the last tours, warped was honestly such an important part of my teenage life, and I can’t let it die without writing a hideously cheesy and overly analytical good-bye letter that no one will read to send it off.

Long post ahead, but i honestly had a lot to say and I think some of it is pretty well written so if ur emo give it a read

My first Warped was warped 2015, and it was one of the best days of my life. I had spent months planning, religiously following the weekly artist releases, watching altpress’s advice videos and picking out the perfect outift (it was very important to 14 year old me that I looked as cool as possible). I was a fresh emo kid, having just gotten into the whole altpress-pop-punk-emo scene, and had built warped up in my head to be the mecca of my new music taste. Arriving at warped tour was, for me, almost like stepping into the pages of a beloved book or through the screen of your favorite TV show. Suddenly I had entered a world where everyone had badass neon colored hair and wore shirts for all the bands I had come to adore, where my favorite musicians were not simply characters in music videos but real people I could talk to at their merch tents. I felt like a kid in a candy store, dashing from stage to stage to see set after set after set, my eardrums suffering but my soul glowing. It was at that tour that I experienced my first Real Mosh Pit (thanks pierce the veil hehe) and that I bonded with my mom over out shared amazement at seeing pvris live, leading to a tradition of us seeing them together whenever they come to town. I felt elated, I felt accepted. I felt like I was finally more than the nerdy, naive little girl that everyone at school thought i was. Who knew that the girl who spent all her time in her room doing math and who was faced with extreme anxiety when deciding where to sit in the cafeteria could hold up crowd-surfers, shove her way to the barricade, and handle 5 sets back to back on different stages? i felt like a superhero discovering my powers for the first time.

Beyond my personal experience, I truly believe warped was just a uniquely wonderful organization. I loved how it was designed to be accessible to young people (with the free parent tickets, the shuttles, the reverse daycare, etc), making it easy for teens to become involved in the scene even if they didn’t have parents who were willing to pay for a ticket or even drive them to the show. I loved how they kept it affordable and how they didnt do vip bullshit or higher prices for more popular artists: one $50 ticket let you into any show your heart desired and as many as you could keep standing for. The way warped made music available to so many different types of people around the country is so integral to the tightly knit community surrounding this kind of music. And I feel like the way the show orders were randomly decided was super important in giving smaller bands the chance to be noticed and rise to fame. So many bands seen as legends today (paramore, mcr, fob,etc) were helped by warped on their journeys to fame in the early 2000s.

I honestly just feel like warped was an irreplaceable aspect of the alternative music scene and with warped ending (and altpress becoming this super expensive monthly magazine instead of a $5 yearly subscription) the scene i loved as a teenager is losing the glue that held it together. I know nothing lasts forever, and obviously the music scene and bands I loved as a kid will have to grow and change just like I will. But i feel like that rebellious, teen-angst fueled punk rock spirit that warped represented, the idea that music should be loud, emotional, and available to everyone, is fading from popular culture. And that breaks my heart. Live music is becoming less and less accessible as streaming services make it necessary for ticket sales to be artists’ primary source of income, and as the internet makes live shows less of a necessity for bands wanting to get their sound out there. Alternative music has been largely taken over by indie-pop and dream-pop and psych rock and the like, and while these are by no means bad genres, it really frustrates me that deafening guitar based rock is becoming harder and harder to find. Warped tour was also a place to love the music you love unapologetically, which is harder and harder to find as the pretentious politics that decide which music is “cool” become more and more convoluted.

Like I said, I know nothing lasts forever. But I just hope that some tour or magazine or something will come along that will bring the alt rock scene together in the way warped did and carry on some of the spirit i feel it represented. There’s elements of that spirit in events like Emo Nite that celebrate the unashamed love of obnoxious music, and in every former emo teenager that decides to pick up a guitar and start a shitty band with their old friends. I just hope that spirit never dies, and I hope I will be able to do my part to keep it alive.

Anyway, sorry for the insanely long post. To some of you it may seem like i’ve just spent several paragraphs ranting about something that doesn’t matter but I just feel like I needed to get all this off my chest give this tour a proper goodbye. So goodbye, Warped Tour, and thank you for everything. Your memory will carry on ❤

#warped tour #Pop punk #mcr #fob #vans warped tour #my writing #please validate me

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katieskarlette · 5 years ago

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WoW 9.0 Predictions and Wishlist

It’s customary for me to make a predictions/wishlist post before a new expansion announcement, so here goes.

I don’t have too much to say in the way of predictions, aside from I think the leaks about it being “Shadowlands” are probably accurate. I’ve been waiting a looooonnnnng time to see what the future holds for Bolvar, so that leaked image has me very, happily intrigued. I hope he stays neutral and doesn’t get hit with the villain bat.

I concur with the general consensus I’ve seen going around that all the various death entities we’ve been dealing with (Helya, Bwomsamdi, Lich King, etc.) are going to be involved as we explore the other side of the veil between life and death. I bet we’ll get more lore about the Spirit Healers, too. (I wonder if Azuregos is still dating one...)

I hope we finally get in the loop with whatever it is Sylvanas has been planning, and I hope it’s a bold, brilliant scheme worthy of the former Ranger General of Quel’thalas.

I’m looking forward to more development for Taelia.

I also have to admit I’m hoping for some kind of involvement with Arthas. We know from the Sylvanas short story that some scrap of his soul is being tormented in whatever dark place it was that she went before the valkyr saved her. And we know from Chronicle that he was holding back the full might of the Scourge from sweeping over Azeroth. I’m not saying I want or even expect a full-blown redemption arc, but any glimmer of who he once was would make me happy. (He was always kind of a dick, but he wasn’t outright evil to start with, and I find him really interesting. Plus I have a long history of fangirling villains. So there.)

It would be cool if Dragon Isles was a leveling zone, or if it was a Timeless Isle/Argus/Nazjatar-type zone for later in the expansion.

Of course, Wrathion must have a significant role. He’s finally back after all this time. Don’t let him disappear again after 8.3, Blizzard! Please please please please!

As far as new races and/or classes go, I have no idea. It wouldn’t shock me if we got either, but it seems like lately the tendency has been for new races to be added as allied ones later in an expansion, instead of available at launch. I’m not sure what new class would fit with an afterlife-centered expansion. Necromancer is the obvious one, but it feels like it would be ripping off too much of the Death Knight’s kit. However, if they could make it feel distinct and new it could be a lot of fun. Maybe they could focus more on the ghostly/spiritual side of things instead of the zombie/bones motif. There have been zero new cloth-wearing classes added since vanilla, and it’s past time for another one.

As for nuts-and-bolts gameplay stuff, I haven’t played enough of BFA endgame to have much of an opinion about what needs to be changed. Just...something that engages me more than what we have now. (I know, vague.) I guess I’d prefer normal gear for awhile instead of special, gimmicky gear like artifacts, Hearts of Azeroth, and Azerite pieces. (I actually did like artifacts at the time, but in hindsight the blandness of the Heart taints my opinion of them, and I’m ready for something else.)

I really enjoy the world quest system, so I hope that stays like it was in Legion and BFA. I was in the minority who never minded daily quests (even during MoP when they went a tad overboard), but WQs are definitely superior.

I miss First Aid, especially as a mage--i.e. a non-healer in wet cardboard armor. I would be quite surprised if they brought it back, though.

More customization for original races would be so welcome, and so overdue. Piercings, glasses, tattoos, new hairstyles and colors...gimme gimmie gimmie.

As always, my #1 dream (that I doubt will ever happen) is for more than fifty character slots per account. When you’ve played since vanilla, you accumulate a lot of characters that you’re sentimental about. Even if I almost never play them, I don’t want to delete them or race-change them. Yet I also want to play new allied races, new classes, etc. I don’t even care if they charge me a little extra a month on top of my subscription. Or do it like with garrison followers: you can have (for example) 75 characters, but only 50 can be active at any given time, and there’s a cooldown for activating/deactivating characters. That way I could essentially cryogenically freeze some of my older alts while still being able to play the newest races/classes.

Hmm. I can’t think of much else to ramble about. Everything has either already been predicted by other people, or is too far-fetched to actually happen. (I thought about Photoshopping a fake logo for an expansion called “World of Warcraft: Wrathionapalooza” but never got around to it. Either that, or some variation on WotLK 2: Electric Boogaloo. Wrath of the Other Lich King? WotLK: 2 Fast, 2 Wrathy? Wrathion and the Lich King?)

I feel like WoW expansions have a pattern of good, not-so-good, good, not-so-good. Or at least:

TBC = good WotLK = best Cata = meh MoP = fantastic WoD = fail Legion = quite good BFA = I quit playing for a year

So yeah. We’ll see what 9.0 brings. I’m cautiously optimistic.

TL;DR version: I think it’ll be Shadowlands, and I would like to see (in no particular order): 1. Wrathion (dragons in general, too) 2. Cloth-wearing necromancer class 3. Some kind of involvement with Arthas(’ soul) 4. Bolvar not being eeeeeeevil 5. More player customization 6. More character slots 7. Sylvanas letting us in on her super-secret plan

#insert tag for next wow expansion here #rambling about wow

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its-morphin-time-xiv · 6 years ago

Note

TBH, I've always wanted to RP with your Belladonna, she seems interesting,but for quite some time now I've never been able to figure out who, or what, she is? I see a lot of what I'm guessing is the power rangers, as aesthetic posts and I've been trying to figure out how that would apply to FFXIV and its lore? I'm not accusing you of lore breaking, and even if you were it's your choice to play how you want! I'm merely just curious how she fits into the FFXIV world and what she is about. Help me?

Hello Anon! I’m actually really glad you asked, I know with how vague the blog itself is in regards to everything like who, or what she is. And quite frankly, Tags on posts aren’t helping either. The concerns or at the very least, curiosity in regards as to how “Power Rangers” fits into FFXIV Lore and the universe itself are entirely understandable, and I’m always more than willing to explain the reasoning as to why its here, or even how!

I’m more than willing to help explain things in a more clear and concise manner, now with that, please bear in mind that this post might be a touch lengthy, but I hope you understand and that this isn’t something that can be explained with full-clarity without getting down and dirty. I hope that by the end of it, some of the fog has been cleared! So without further ado… Let’s get started, shall we?

I’ll go ahead and place everything I’ve got under the cut, I hope you enjoy it!

–

I suppose we can start from the beginning and that, Bella, the initial character concept was created about… maybe two years ago. Three technically if you just count how long this blog has been standing. Initially, Bella is (was) a Thavnairian blooded hyur. Or rather, for a bit more clarification, is from an Island near Thavnair that could be and is considered part of the island.

Now that we’ve gotten an… okay grasp as to how long I’ve been working on this, we can properly start with things, like where she’s from, then we’ll move from there!

If I could place it on the global map we’ve been given of three continents it would be placed around here, right under the span of clouds within the red circle.

Around there is a fairly good estimate of where I’ve placed the island she’s from, that island being “Gisana” (Yeah, totally original with names, i’m great.) [Not Really] Now, Gisana borrows very basic culture concepts of what Thavnair is, I use Morocco mixed with my own culture, which is Filipino. It’s bit of a homebrew, yes. I take influences from what we know, what we’ve been given, then I slip my own to fill in what gaps I need filled, if that makes any sense.

Now, the island itself is a moderate size, nothing too extreme or anything like that. If anything? It’s about the size of one of the islands there, circled in blue. The island is surrounded by a maelstrom of whirlpools and actual maelstroms due to the unfortunate blend of the waters of The Bounty, and the Dorvos Narrow. Those two create fairly poor conditions for an island’s existence, so much so that the island lays in the ‘eye’ of an ever churning storm.

Something I could equate it to visually, was the storm that surrounded Skull Island in the newest King Kong movie. (If you’ve ever seen that, it’s pretty cool).

The storm itself on the outside and within the clouds were extremely rough, but any sailor with an actual heading and idea of how to travel through the treacherous waters or pilot grave enough to fly the hurricanes could make it through no problem. But solely due to that, this island gets left off the map fairly frequently, which is why it’s counted as nothing in particular outside from just a natural disaster waiting to happen.

Now the reason why the storm remains seemingly like a permanent constant is due to the fluctuations of the aether in the environment, being so turbulent and visceral. Far more than unmanageable than that of Eureka (The Isle of Val) [At least I think that’s what it was called].

Due to the fluctuations, the veil between this realm and the Void is thin, very much like how Eorzea is, except on a much more smaller yet just as dangerous scale of that. This meaning, that incursions of the void are more frequent on the island itself and solely on the island (not counting the water of course).

That’s unfortunate for the inhabitants of the island, which Belladonna was one of them, as a child anyways. Now that’s essentially the ‘Fanon’ locale of where the Rangers essentially originated from.

But not quite yet of where a Ranger comes from, per se. In order to do that, I’ll need to divert our attention back to the island, just a little bit. The Island has been present and weathered the passing of the Astral and Umbral eras ever since the age of Allag. And the people of the island have, through this time collected themselves and united to create one settlement, one city for themselves since they could not bear to leave their island home in the state it is. (That and the storm’s a thing too).

While forging themselves a forever home, they raised walls to keep the demons at bay and away from their people. But walls alone do not protect a fortress, so sometime ago, two of the most brilliant minds there sought to create a tool, a weapon, or even a shield of sorts to defend against the darkness that clawed at their doorstep.

Now I mentioned that the island had been present since the fall of Allag, the “Tek” that the Rangers used are extremely basic in comparison as to what the old Empire had, but it uses old plans and even ideas that they could and would have used back then. Now, I say this because, Nero has a magitek transformation, and Gaius has a powered up transformation too! That only seemed to bolster my idea that or at the very least influence to m that the notion of ‘magitek morphers’ could and would be feasible.

With this in mind and using it as my springboard, I use it to essentially state that the “Morphers” that they use are inherently modified Allagan devices if not further worked with and attuned for the uses that are needed, in regards to Gisana and it’s constant demon plight.

Thusly, Ranger (suits) are created via the Morpher itself, first designed outside by an armorer, then the device essentially borrows the design/uses the armor itself and “stores” it within the device. Sort of like Aetherial de-materialization and re-materialization on the spot, via commands of magick incantations and actual magitek innerworkings. Alternatively, you could describe it like they would use a separate method entirely, like how Allagan teleportation nodes work, and it just gets -teleported- onto your person. Either one works honestly but it gets pretty… mumbojumbo at this point, but it’s a fair explanation on things, at least it is from my perspective.

If that isn’t necessarily as clear as needed, I can further branch upon it, please let me know!

My idea for a city within a wall and the darkness beyond that was pretty inspired by The Last City in Destiny, while the island secluded away, only by natural disaster means was a mix of “Themyscira” and “Wakanda” but also “Skull Island”. More predominantly the latter most than the foremost.

The magitek morphers are also powered by not Ceruleum, but of crystals, more so hypercharged ones. (I am keenly aware of how dangerous that could be in a character/ situation.) But they’re handled on such a far and infantismal level that most characters hardly have to deal with it save for the scientists and Belladonna herself. Crystal shards get reduced and refitted down to be the size of a coin, a “Power Coin”, as it were. Much like how Power Rangers Zeo, Megaforce, Dinocharge, Dinothunder and Lost Galaxy exhibit their Ranger powers and the like.

I like Lost Galaxy because they use ‘beast spirits’ along with crystals. I akin those to soul essences that are also required to properly use a Ranger’s armaments

I hope its been clear, or at least a bit more digestible with this explanation! We’ve still got a little more!

So, lorewise this sits a bit snug in with essentially backdrop and background happenings that weren’t really… significant to anything stated already on the timeline. As the Eras passed, the island suffered, but still most encounters go unnoticed or unrecorded at all do to the hostile nature of the island’s environment surrounding it? Or the denizens within the water below. The island itself could and would become what essentially amounts to sailor’s tales, mysteries and myths you’d hear in passing at your sea-side Tavern.

Sort of like tales of colorful beings in shimmering lights fighting harrowing beasts countless times. Stuff like that!

Now, let’s take this back to our girl!

(Sorry, I just really love this picture.)

From here and below, if I can recall some writing that could pertain and assist with a bit more contextual understanding, I’ll make sure to link it with bold letters to identify!

But yes, as I stated prior, Bella is a character concept that’s been growing and evolving over the course of the past two years since her first… ‘creation’, in a sense. I suppose its also very important to note that much of her story is very much ‘The past doesn’t stay dead’ kind of thing. Some reading may or may not have figured that from my previous drabbles regarding Belladonna. Essentially, Belladonna, herself has been present and around for a long time now. Fifty or so years at the moment, regarding the Game’s Lore Timeline.

That being, from an ooc standpoint, I would run into… rather serious hurdles, regarding my personal life, and to cope, a new concept would be formulated. But I already have trouble playing more than one alt, in regards to RP, i am… poor at attempting it, but I am working on getting better at that. And so, at the time, Balmung was already locked forever™. And I truthfully only had one character to play for a long time. So instead of re-rolling my character and essentially ‘stranding’ myself as it were in regards to RP, I would.. just insert another chunk onto Bella’s timeline. If that makes sense.

While yes, that is a poor maneuver some might say, it’s helped me, in all truthfulness create very memorable moments. But that wouldn’t be without my friends who accept my ideas openly, without them? I might not even have this blog anymore.

But anyways, before I get too far off-topic; Belladonna is a woman who has had a lot of history happen, solely through the past. And what you see now, are mostly new developments and new experiences. I guess you could say, a woman out-of-time, as a possible explanation.

This, however doesn’t explain why she’s an elezen, and not a hyur, as she started, or even why I refer to her as “Mutant” in my writings a lot. You might be sighing and rolling your eyes, but please allow me to explain just a little bit longer.

At her very core, she is still a ‘hyur’. But the reason she is an elezen now, is due to a unfortunate mishap during one of her adventures in which a voidal summoning turns hectic as a Succubus sought to inhabit Bella’s body. Her aether signature already being in turmoil and a rough state in general due to an Imperial sub-project that she subjected herself to in order to.. “keep up” and “combat” the things she fights with her comrades in arms.

She happened upon a very small trace and trail of the Empire’s workings through connections she had gained while living in Kugane and of her own brief Imperial service.

The end result of the use of said ‘project’ gave Bella more drawbacks than features. Having lost all sense of pain, she can push past her would-be limits, even if it means self-harm. Her body wasn’t attuned or conditioned to any capacity for it to handle the testing done, so she now suffers a biological and ‘aetherial’ mutation. Since the project itself deal with matters of using Voidblood and essence to infuse Imperial conscripts / criminals with it for further service of the Imperial Banner.

Learning to live with these new changes, such as biologically having.. a new spine extending from where your old one, being shorter, looking like wade wilson /after/ project x –

– like that, only y’know… “prettier” and with hair. Mildly like a mix of both Wade Wilson and Marrow, if you’ve ever seen them.

I don’t believe there’s any right to call it living, rather than just calling it suffering, because that’s truly what it was. She received extreme chronic pain from her mutations, and.. essentially she wanted an “out”. This was around the time she started really going back to her roots, her roots being… “Rangers”, and the island.

Slowly, in time, despite the rather… negative results she had been given during her time home in an attempt to “cure” herself. And.. possibly to a degree, she got better.

With her already weakened state, she looked to intense and darker means to try and find a way to rid herself of her “problems”. This eventually leading to the summoning and the disasters that came swiftly after. The Succubus, seeing her would-be host in no suitable condition to survive, took liberties and adjusted Bella to her liking. After all.. this is a succubus. The change itself was gradual, a hex on a very slow burn after the situation was resolved, albeit messy.

Slowly she’d see height differences, skin cleansing but some things don’t go away, like the spine. That would learn to stay and not all of her wounds and scars from testing would disappear completely. So she sought after an ink artist, giving her tattoos that coincided along with her scars, some even masking out the worse ones.

And now, she looks the way she looks. Tall, and a bit more happy too.

—

Final Fantasy XIV’s Lore leaves a lot to be user interpreted, even with lorebooks being published. And with the Allagan empire and dark magicks abound, there’s still… lots of room to leave up and open to people to have some creative fun and freedom with.

Knowing this, and using this, and even using the lines from the book(s) themselves, we can come up with amazing stories and do amazing things. All while still being.. in the relative realm of ‘grounded’ to its roots.

[Here’s a link to her about page as well on her tumblr]

Belladonna Slater is a very… complicated character, she strives to learn her place in the world once more but also sees the past calling back to her to be a “Hero” again, hero being a very loose term now since she has grown from lawful neutral to that more of a chaotic neutral in response to just about everything that has happened to her.

But I hope that.. me writing this as an answer to your ask, Anon, that this helps clear the air, if by only a little as to worries and or questions you had. I’d also like to note that this isn’t a complete character breakdown, there are still at least one or two elements of her ‘story’ that could be branched upon and explained if asked.

If you’d like to know about them, you’re more than welcome to ask me, either through Tumblr inbox for the sake of anonymity or even in Tumblr DMs, Discord is also an option as well.

I also do have a document that I have written out in regards to Ranger Corps. I can leave that in a link here below as well. However: The document itself hasn’t been edited or revised since May of this year, 2018. So there are revisions and slight edits to be made. I just haven’t sat down with the time to do it yet. But let it not discourage you from reading!

Ranger Corps - Documents and Information

Anon, I do hope this writing, both the answer to your ask and this document have been able to assuage some of your worries, or curiosities, rather. And if there is anything else from you, specifically, or from anyone else for that matter, that would like to know more, or have a specific question?

You are more than welcome to come and ping me for a conversation!

I love being able to talk to new people, and well… I hope you’d like to talk to me too!

Thank you for your curiosity and question, Anon.

I hope I was able to help.

– M

#Anonymous #logbook #god this took me a few hours to write!#but I hope this helps Anon!

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ask-de-writer · 7 years ago

Text

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ROM : Origin of the Rom, part 7 : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 3 of 6

A Brief History of the Rom and Their Customs

Or:

How Luna and Celestia Discovered the Rom of the Equestrian Roads

the Seventh part in the origin of the Rom

ORIGIN OF THE ROM SERIES in reading order. (will be completed as the stories are posted in linked form)

Part One : NORE’S CHOICE, which starts HERE

Part Two : WELCOME TO EQUESTRIA! which starts HERE

Part Three : FAIR AND UN-FAIR, which starts HERE

Part Four : ON THE ROADS OF EQUESTRIA, which starts HERE

Part Five : THE FIRST ROM HEARTHWARMING, which starts HERE

Part Six : SANDO’S LAKE, which starts HERE

Part Seven : A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ROM, which starts HERE

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

Cover art by Alte Seele

17062 words

Writing begun 04/28/14

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

Gently, she returned to Carolan and said, “I begin to see what you mean. If these petty nobles in my Guard are so rude and unpleasant to me, in public yet, what must they be like to the ones that they consider inferior? Supposedly they are under military discipline and have orders to serve me, their Princess. Instead, they interrupt and try to dictate to me. It must be far worse for you.

“Now, we are far from what I wanted, which was simply to hear some of your music and to learn about your - - instrument. I can see that it is not a harp. Where may I get one?”

Blind Carolan could sense that under the Princess’ calm something truly monstrous was stirring. Still, he pointed down the Midway a few booths. “This that I play is a lyre. There is the booth of Sa-Inat the luthier. He makes all manner of instruments besides lyres. He trades to both the music of ponies and Rom. His prices are most reasonable for such fine workmanship.

“The tune that you want me to play is called the Two Green Vines.”

Carolan readied his lyre and began with a strumming stroke from high notes to the bass strings. He began to dexterously pluck the the tune. Luna’s forehooves did unconsciously begin to dance, raising little puffs of midway dust. Her face settled into a true smile as she relaxed.

A pair of mares in gorgeous sashes, harness and plumes, approached to the tinkle of bells hung from parts of their harnesses. They awaited the ending of the tune.

They curtsied to Princess Luna and asked, “Our pardon please, Princess. We wish to borrow Carolan for some dance music …”

One of the Guard officiously tried to butt in, snapping, “Go away, you Rom Trash! The Princess is …” was as far as he got.

Midnight magic, so dark as to be near black and shot through with stars that looked more like the corrupt light given by a rotting corpse, slammed him back into the formation! He was driven so hard that his hinder hooves sank into the turf enough to trip him up and make an armor clattering nine-pins strike of the whole formation!

Luna turned to the Guard as they picked themselves up. Her usually blue eyes had gone to the pale glowing light of corruption. The Guard could see the fangs in her mouth as she Canterlot Voiced, for all to hear, “FIVE PACES BACK AND SILENT! How is that too hard for you? Are you Nobles so worthless that you cannot follow the SIMPLEST OF ORDERS?”

Turning back to the shocked dancers, Luna smiled her normal sweet smile and said, “Please, forgive the interruption. Some ponies never grew up to good manners and need the occasional slap on the butt to keep them in line. A few are so utterly stupid and useless that nothing can penetrate the armor of their Place In Society.

“You wanted Carolan to play some dances for you? I do think that I would love to see and hear that!

“Here, Carolan, I almost forgot because I had to discipline these unruly idiots that masquerade as my Guard.” She dropped another two golden bits into his change box.

One of the dancers, wide eyed at the sight of gold in Carolan’s box, helped the blind lyrist to his feet as she whispered into his ear, “Five golden bits she has given you!”

He leaned on the mare for guidance. The other gathered his blanket, change box and Lyre. Luna observed, from the familiarity with which they did it, that this was a common thing for them to do.

Luna approved entirely. The able helping the less able so that those could make themselves an honest living.

She happily trotted along behind the mares and Carolan.

They came to a cleared space, staked and roped off. The mares fussed over helping Carolan to get ready. There was a drummer and a flutist already waiting.

Rom standing about tilted their heads back and emitted loud trills as the mares took the center of the dancing area. The drummer started to lead off with a sensuous beat.

One of Luna’s Guard let out a loud fart sounding raspberry. Luna spun about on her hind legs, eyes aflame, if the phosphorescence of corruption could be likened to a flame. Her horn blazed with a putrid white magic, shot through with streamers of pus like green.

Her striking forehooves crushed in Sargent Hopwell’s brestplate like tinfoil. The slime-like magic siezed his hind hooves and pulled them forward between his forehooves, flipping him flat onto his back.

The magic lifted the hapless Hopwell by his hindhooves and dropped him headfirst into a garbage bin. Her roar was not merely the Royal Canterlot voice. Her voice housed the roars of every predator ever to strike fear into a pony as she demanded, “SILENCE! I SHALL BE VIOLENT WITH THE NEXT TO INTERRUPT!”

Turning back to the Rom, she said, in the gentle tones usually associated with Princess Luna, “Pray forgive the disturbance. My Guard has made me utterly ashamed of the nobility of Equestria. Your Princess begs you to forgive the need to discipline them like the motherless brats that they are behaving as.

“Please honor me with restarting the tune and dance.”

The dancers made a quite good curtsy to Luna and hit their opening poses again. This time the only interruption was Sargent Hopwell’s hooves scrabbling for purchase as he struggled to free himself from the garbage bin.

The dancers swayed and began to spin. From some hidden place they produced long gauzy veils that swirled about as if they had a life of their own. The dancers seemed to almost float above the ground at times. At others, their stamping hooves raised small clouds of midway dust.

When the dance was done, the dancers were in a deep bow toward the Princess. All about them, the horns of the Rom tilted back as they raised their heads and trilled loudly. Watching ponies clapped their hooves.

Luna, catching that the trill was the Rom version of applause, tilted back her head and trilled too. A number of the watching ponies, seeing the Princess trill, stopped clapping and trilled too.

Luna, smiling broadly, Luna gave each of the performers, including the musicians, another golden bit. She got up and walked over to blind Carolan and gave him his bit in person.

For once, following orders, her Guard stayed in tight formation five paces behind her and silent. They were glaring menacingly in all directions.

Smiling happily she asked, “Do you have many dances such as that one?”

The dancers shrugged, “Perhaps as many as a hundred and fifty discrete dances. We also do dance medleys and some simple free form dances, just for fun.”

“That is wonderful. Would your troupe be willing to perform for me up in the palace?”

The dancers and musicians looked at each other uncomfortably. Finally it was blind Carolan who spoke. “There are laws against it, Princess. Neither Canterlot nor any other town will allow us into it, save for passage on a Royal Road.

“It is against Rom traditions too. We do not go closer to Canterlot than the shadow of its walls. It has always been so, for so long as Rom have been on the Roads of Equestria.”

The Major, hearing Carolan, began to grin meanly.

“I regret to say this, Princess, but given that the laws forbid it already, we have to say that we do not wish to break the laws.”

Luna was just starting to say, “I see …” When the Major and the Guard charged past her screaming, “TREASON! Take the Traitors! They have all defied the Princess!”

She heard the splintering crash of Carolan’s lyre being destroyed. There were the screams of injured and horrified horses. She cold hear the thud of hard bucking blows and the breaking of bones. She smelled blood …

She yelled at the Guard in the loudest Royal Canterlot Voice, “Halt! Formation, NOW!”

She saw the grinning Major look up from pummeling the blind Carolan. “Can’t, Princess! Gotta take care of this nest of traitors first!”

The next sound that the Guard heard was a roar, so loud that it dislodged stones from the cliff of Canterlot’s mountain. It left searing frost behind it as the voice of the Embodiment of All Nightmares ordered, “FORMATION, NOW!”

The Major looked up from his assault on the helpless. It was not Luna there. It was not the Alicorn Nighmare Moon that he expected. No.

Reared onto her hind legs was the True Embodiment of All Nightmares. Her eyes flamed with a color that could only be called the phosphorescence of decay. Her forehooves were glowing flame. She was so black that there was no way to distinguish details that were not outlined, like the huge bat-like wings, the fangs, the magic pale, rotting corpse like and shot through with a greenish slime, already gathered about a horn longer than the Major was tall.

Simply to look at her was to know the terror of the worst nightmare that any seeing her had ever experienced.

Most of the Guard were sprinting to make formation. Sargent Hopwell was holding two mares by force and trying to clear his armor. Without looking up, he snapped back at the voice, “Got couple of Whorses! Be there as soon as I gets a little fun!”

For those watching, it was a scene out of nightmare. A living scene in a living nightmare. Hopwell struggled with the mares and strove to get his armor out of the way of his “fun.” The True Embodiment of All Nightmares took a single stride in his direction. As in a nightmare, the stride covered all the ground between them. A hoof of flame rose and slammed down.

There was the sickening crashing crunch of failing metal. The stench of burning flesh. The stench of splattered guts. Sargent Hopwell’s back plate was level with the ground. It was glowing red hot in the shape of a gigantic hoof print. His gore and blood burst out between the plates of the shattered armor.

The True Nightmare grabbed a hind hoof sticking up at an impossible angle. She ripped the corpse from the ground and hurled it at the formation. His mangled body hit, bounced once, and came to rest exactly at his position in the rank.

The Major, whose real battle experience was nil, was frozen to the spot, straddling the blind Carolan. He was staring directly at the Monster of all nightmares and he was terrified to paralysis. He saw the monster turn his way and begin a stride.

He ran, gibbering in horror, to the formation. He got there only fractions of a second ahead of the Nightmare beast. He stood in his exact spot, rooted there, shivering. He could not take his eyes from the still glowing, shattered armor that held Hopwell’s body.

Luna’s normal and gentle voice coming from the monster that was no longer pony like at all, though it still had a horn and bat wings, caused the surviving Guard to quake where they stood. She said softly, “Explain yourselves. You cried treason. What treason was there?”

Fearfully biting a lip because he feared a trap in the simple question, the Major swallowed hard and replied, “They refused your order for a command performance at the palace, Your Highness.”

“They did? I was not aware of it. I made no such order.”

“You asked them if they wanted to perform. Your request is an order. They defied you. We gave them the punishment due to traitors.”

Flatly, Luna’s gentle voice declared, “I asked a preference which they answered honestly. You have said that my request is an order. Defiance of my request is treason subject to violent punishment before an arrest or a trial. These things you have just said.

“Since leaving the palace you have been constantly ORDERED to remain five paces behind me and NOT INTERFERE in my conversations with my subjects. You have defied me. You are traitors. You shall receive the harm that you have given!”

The ghastly form of the True Embodiment of All Nightmares reared before him. A vast flaming hoof swung. The Major flew across the Midway. He hit a tree to the crunch of smashing metal. Ribs breaking and leg bones shattering were clearly heard. The Major fell to the tree’s roots. The glowing hot hoof print on his breastplate started some of the grass there to burning but it was green and went out quickly.

The True Embodiment of All Nightmares surveyed the scene of carnage. There were the shattered instruments of the musicians. Carolan’s beautiful lyre in a shatter of fragments and tangled strings. The Lovely dancers, one with a broken foreleg, the other with two. An uninjured curved horn mare cradling Carolan’s head and weeping.

Luna’s eyes looked out of the Nightmare. Speaking with complete concern, she asked, “What is it? How bad are his injuries?”

As the mare looked up, she realized that, of all that monster, her eyes were safe to see. She wept, “He is dying. I can hear his lungs bubbling.”

Still looking the mare directly in the eyes, Luna replied, “I used to be a very good battlefield surgeon. Do not be afraid of my magic. The color is only a seeming.” Her magic, looking like the pus of a rotting corpse, settled into Carolan. Soon she withdrew it.

“If I am to save him, I will need help. It is far easier to become a Nightmare than it is to awaken from it. I will call for help now.”

Up in the palace, Celestia was in a huddle with both Guards and Regular Equestrian Army. The wide spaces of the throne room smelled of smoke. She was saying, “General, your troops are doing an admirable job. You have the list. Carry on with sealing the city and sending pegatroopers to the estates of any who you have any doubt might escape.

“We all heard my sister’s order to Formation. She cannot use that voice unless the Nightmare has emerged. She promised me, at the end of the last Nightmare War that she would never allow it again unless at the greatest need. I fear something terrible has happen …”

The roar shook the mountain. Hoarfrost formed on all the walls and the hearers were rooted with a plain to see terror.

“Celestia! Come quickly! I need you!” It was a voice freighted with the inescapable grief of a Nightmare with no awakening. It found some purchase out on the plains and it echoed back to the mountain’s side, “Celestia! Come quickly! I need you!” The grief of it reverberating back and forth from Mountain to plains and back.

Of the hearers, Celestia alone raised her head. Magic of the sun and day boosted a return call that was near equally loud. “I am coming, my Sister! I am on my way!”

General Hurricane V shivered but came straight to the point. “That was not the Nightmare Moon, was it, Princess? It was a far worse thing, I would guess.”

“You are correct, General. The Alicorn, Nightmare Moon, could never have stood against us through the ten years of the Nightmare Wars. She was a fiction to help allay the fears of the populace. This is the Embodiment of All Nightmares. She is my sister and I must go! I trust you to finish the work that we have begun.”

She spun about and sprinted for a balcony of the Throne Room, her Guards behind her. She turned to them and said, “These are your orders. Do no thing to interfere with the Nightmare or what it is doing. NO THING AT ALL. You simply find me a safe landing spot as close to the Nightmare as possible and secure it for me.

“Launch!”

The Guards leaped and began the fast stooping dive to the Canterlot Fairground, far below. Celestia was close behind them. A few hundred feet up, the big Alicorn banked off into a circle while her Guard found the safe spot and landed, forcing the few civilians there out of the way, to safety.

Celestia dropped down hard, like a striking hawk to her landing. Bunching, she jumped past her Guard, landed and jumped again. She was beside the Monster that her sister presently was.

All that she said was, “How can I help you, Luna?”

Weeping tears of blood and fire, a flaming hoof pointed to Carolan. “I need to awaken from the Nightmare and awakening will be too slow to save him.”

Not questioning her sister’s reasons, Celestia gathered her magic of many hues and enwrapped her sister in it. As her magic entered, the Embodiment of All Nightmares began to shrink and turn to a familiar dark midnight blue. In seconds, it was Princess Luna who stood there.

Her magic quickly gathered her new kitchen knife set as she sprinted for the fallen Lyrist. She told the mare, “Please keep holding his head. Keep his mouth open and tongue out so that it cannot block his breathing. I will make him sleep deeply so that he will not move. I am going to have to physically cut into his chest to fix this, but I can do it if we are in time!”

Celestia came and knelt to Carolan’s other side as Luna’s razor sharp knives began their cuts. Many hued magic reached into the cuts, alongside her sister’s midnight magic. Bleeding was stanched. The cuts opened wide to make Luna’s work easier.

Seeing the astonishment on the mare’s face, Celestia explained gently, “Luna is far the better surgeon of us two. I doubt that there is a better surgeon in all of Equestria. I do well as an operating nurse for her.” She turned back to the delicate but swift work at hoof.

Luna spoke for the first time since the cutting began. In a neutral voice, she said, “I am about to enter his chest. When I do, he will stop breathing. Do not be alarmed.

“Celestia, be very careful as you spread the wound. He has many broken ribs. Some are already damaging his lung. I need them lifted out carefully so that I can seal the injuries. Then, I have to get the blood out of his chest.

“It would help if I had some absorbent cloths to catch it.”

She continued to cut swiftly and with precision. In moments, a gaping hole opened in Carolan’s chest. Some fragments of bone lifted out with care to cause no further damage.

Luna’s normal midnight Magic reached in and damaged bits of lung came out of the wound. A towel caught them. Luna was concentrating ferociously. Sweat began to run on her forehead. A towel caught that too.

Without looking up, she said, “Cloths at the ready. There is a lot of blood in here.”

Her magic was lifting out globs of partly jelled blood. As fast as it came out, it was caught and taken away.

Luna’s magic began to pull severed membranes together all but a small part. Muscles were next. As many hued magic pulled things close, midnight magic brought them to a perfect fit and they sealed together as if never cut.

Luna leaned forward and sucked air out of the hole that she had left. As she sealed it, Carolan’s damaged chest began to heave. The mare holding his head was openly crying.

TO BE CONTINUED

<== PREVIOUS NEXT ==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

#A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ROM #Origin of the Rom part 7 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer #Part 3 of 6

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ceol-aen · 7 years ago

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☽ Meeting Nandin ☾

► Name ➔ “...Nandin-a Shulam.”

► Are you single ➔ "...Yes?”

► Are you happy ➔ “...Happy...as in, with partner? But I just said--I do not have one.”

► Are you angry? ➔ “I am becoming annoyed with these questions.”

► Are your parents still married ➔ “I think so, I have no seen them for many years.”

NINE FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “In Steppes, deep in mountains. My tribe, we never leave there.”

► Hair Color ➔ “I was told...by many people...it is called ‘pale lavender’. To me, it is simply white. ”

► Eye Color ➔ “....I guess they are...white now/ ”

► Birthday ➔ “ We do not keep track of birthdays like you do--or at least not as....as with strong energy you Eorzeans do. Usually there is celebration for first haircut...but I can not remember that date either... ”

► Mood ➔ “...Uneasy...”

► Gender ➔ “...Woman.”

► Summer or winter ➔ “ Summer, better for my work when there are plants growing. Winter does bring good roots though.”

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Mmm...Neither? Both mean same to me...“

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “....No.”

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “...I can not see very well, so this does not apply to me.”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ ”...It was neither of our choice...”

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “Possibly? I do not know, no one has told me.”

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “...Depends, on the person. On the moment.”

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ “...No? I am not a hugging person...”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ "IF there is one, I do not know and never know.”

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “...Mmh....”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ LOUD SHRUGGING NOISES.

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “Iced tea?--Ah, you mean Eorzean tea. That always confuse me. If it is not sweet--then ice tea. Never liked sugar in drinks.”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ “Mm....both....Cats and Dogs serve different uses, so one is not always better than other.”

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “....Few best friends.”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “I’ve had more wild nights out....Never had the other...”

► Day or night ➔ “Day...Though the sun still hurts my eyes, I just like the warmth it brings...”

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ “Mm...back home? No, because I never did. Could not, rather, since my ger was guarded at all times...”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “...Not until I came here, but even those times were few--I am lucky to have friends help me with going down stairs.”

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “...yes.”

► Wanted to disappear ➔ “...Yes...”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Mm...neither, It is hard for me to see both unless I am right in front of someones face...What I do like are hands, strong hands--and voice.”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Taller.”

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Would prefer both, but truthfully...I just like someone who is hard working--that is my type.”

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Before my current relationship I’d have said Hook-ups. Now, though, I have learned the value and… excitement of a real relationship. That said I am quite happily taken so neither things will be happening for me, aside with the woman I love.”

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “I haven’t seen them in so long, I can not say how we are now--but when I still lived in the Steppes, we were all close. I was closest with my mother, who was from another tribe. Both of us were quiet and preferred to stay inside, so we spent many hours together.”

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “In a way, yes? Though I am not sure how ‘messed up’ is meaning in this question.”

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “...Not by choice.”

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ “...I do not wish to discuss this.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “...There was one, I would not say ‘hate’ but...I was envious around her.”

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ “Mm...not all. Only three or four I consider close...”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “Defiant Bride. T’odd Ituha and Sarangerel--they are my three closest companion.”

► Who knows everything about you ➔ “...I think Sarangarel might be the closest...No one else comes to mind.”

Tagged by: @quills-and-rubies thanks!! :D

Tagging: @mealvaansgate (( give saran wrap some love!! )) @elegant-etienne for an alt you havent done yet! )) @veils-and-hearts @lets--make--magic (( dooooo iiiiit )) @renofmanyalts @nilimaazure and you!! if you want to!

#nandin meme #this took my three days on and off bc i kept getting distracted with rl stuff lol

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several-very-small-eggs · 4 years ago

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Tell me about your FFXIV character, please!

Apologies for the late response, I had to actually decide on a lot of stuff I'd not figured out firm ideas for! (And get a bunch of screenshots.)

Octave Marceaux Chastain, Octave Chastain ingame and often simply shortened to Oct. He is 26-28 or so over the course of the story. He is a bi trans guy, and like a lot of first rpg characters, is not so loosely based on myself. He lives on Famfrit, and is part of an FC with people I mostly consider friends.

Name lore, since you can't stop me: French, following the elezen name trend. Octave referencing his start as a bard. Marceaux, which I think I made up? from 'mars' referencing the fact that you fight everything. Chastain meaning 'chestnut' referencing his brown hair and origin in the foresty Black Shroud.

He is a Wildwood Elezen, born on the 9th Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon [ie, March 9th]. He is 6'6, and I imagine him a little more gangly than the game really allows.

Something that I can't really show ingame, he's got top surgery scars and no nipples. The no nipples thing was originally a joke about the ken doll body model, but I got attached to it. And he voluntarily had the scars not get magically healed, he's proud of it.

I would consider my main classes to be Dark Knight, Bard, Dancer, and Red Mage, not in any particular order aside from that's how they're listed in the classes list.

(I have a problem. Yes, every single class is over 50. I really needed to clear out my Armory Chest. And I still do.)

I've dipped my toes into fashion a little, here's what I've got, and I'm somewhat proud of it.

DRK - Went a little Dark Souls, with the veil and very spiky everything.

DNC - Cheerleader! I'm still not quite satisfied with the shirt though. :(

MCH - Cool biker/bad boy kind of look?

RDM - I just like putting him in suits, and I got very attached to the look of the Shire casting gear, so I kept his RDM in a suit.

DoL - Hipster Oct! He was gathering before it was cool. (Except not, since I've only been playing since November.)

Wedding! Fancy fancy boy.

As mentioned above, I started playing in late November, and I've already put over 1300 hours into Octave alone. (Help.) I've also got a bunch of alts, only one of which has really gotten particularly into the plot, and even then, he's only in post-ARR rn.

Pinning down his personality is a little difficult since he's mostly just an idealized version of myself, and I have no idea where the lines are. Generally kind and helpful, but tends to lose himself in his hero duties? Often takes on too much work and needs someone to remind him that he's a people too, not just a hero. Incredible soft spot for kids and people in fucked up situations, eagerly accepting ex-enemies as friends. But goes a little Warrior rage mode if someone threatens or hurts people he cares about. Often a Little Shit to his friends, annoying them for his amusement.

Backstory, still in development, but here's what I've got:

Born in Gridania to Miounne and Jehantel, wanted to be an adventurer when he was young, but didn't act on it immediately? Realized he was trans mid-teens or so, but didn't come out before he left home. Ended up travelling to Sharlayan around 20 or so and studying there for a while - during which time the 7th Umbral Calamity occurred - but didn't receive his Archon marks. Major undecided. Working idea is that he didn't want a fantasy doctorate, he just wanted a fantasy bachelors degree. He also transitioned physically there, because magic. But studying there brought forward his childhood desire to be an adventurer, especially after the Calamity when there was so much discord, and he could help with that! So he put down his books, picked up a bow, and moved back home to Gridania. Initially, he didn't tell his parents of his true identity, fearful of their reaction both to his transition and that he didn't tell them about it. But once things got really serious, like mid-Shadowbringers or so, he took a trip back to Gridania to set up a dinner and reveal everything to them. He couldn't handle the idea of dying before getting a resolution to the whole situation.

After first arriving back in Gridania, he got embroiled in all sorts of shit, and feels a responsibility to see it through because he's really the only person that can do it, being the Warrior of Variable Luminosity. (Read that title once and it's stuck with me ever since.) Don't get him wrong, he's happy to help, but sometimes he has to get Fray to come yell at people to give him a break, y'know?

(His original joke backstory is that he was adventuring to pay off student loans, and was also on parole, as an explanation for the Free Trial limitations. I did not decide what he was on parole for. Probably either assault or unsafe aetherial experimentation.)

Heavy ShB spoilers, skip over the blue text.

After learning Emet-Selch's story of how Zodiark and Hydaelyn came to be, he's got some serious doubts about whether he's doing the right thing, fighting for Hydaelyn and the light. Certainly, he doesn't want the Ascians to keep killing everybody, but beyond that, it's really shaken everything he'd taken as fact before then. Everything is a primal, the god who's name you've been fighting in fucked the universe, and the evil shadow figures are just trying to bring their loved ones back. (Ends certainly don't justify the means, but still.)

He is currently married to my irl bf's character, Hikaru! They're very cute together.

Miscellaneous bits, his favorite color is green, his favorite animals are furry noodles (ferrets, weasels, otters, etc), he has a weakness for trashy novels (if soap operas exist, he's into those too), and he falls a little bit in love with every hot person that becomes his friend. (I don't think I could list everybody. It's extensive. We have a lot of love to share, okay.)

#somehow getting the screenshots from my playstation to my phone was the hardest part of this #this forced me to actually think up a backstory for him so thank you! id been meaning to get around to that #ffxiv stuff #Octave Chastain #he gets his own tag now :)#other stuff: i currently plan to get 4 shb Relic weapons and get my mains iLvls up to 520-530. drk gets the 530 everything else gets 520.

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qqueenofhades · 7 years ago

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Historical People of Color in Europe (and America): “It’s Not Historically Accurate!!” and Other Nonsense

Right, so. Rather than hijacking the Black Victorians post with a lengthy addition, I decided to make a separate one to talk about something I have wanted to have a good rant on, especially given the current state of racial rhetoric, concerns about whitewashing and the representation of non-white folks in a fictional (particularly fictional historical and/or fictional historical-fantasy) setting, and all the other time-worn “I’m Not A Racist (tm) But There Weren’t Any People of Color In [Insert Your Setting of Choice Here]” arguments that appear.

If you would like to save yourself some time and get on with your day, spoiler alert: It’s bullshit. Complete and utter bullshit, and moreover, these arguments are made for a specific political reason. Narratives of past “nonexistence” are always used to try to justify present repression (or rather, these arguments represent a thinly-veiled desire for an imagined time when racial and ethnic diversity presumably did not exist, or that said racial and ethnic diversity was acceptable to discriminate against without consequences, or that a monolithic “white default” population was the only existing paradigm). Claims of a past “white Europe” (which is supposed to be superior to multicultural Europe) are always, ALWAYS right-wing, nationalist, and racially charged. The underlying assumption is that multiculturalism is modern liberal PC rubbish, that people of color are the “invaders” disrupting an imagined timeless “Aryan” ideal, and that somehow, much like gay people, they only started to exist in the 20th century when the establishment admitted they did.

(Let me just put right at the top here that the Nazi project of applied racial and religious genocide was thoroughly based in the work of the American eugenics movement, and that Hitler wrote a fan letter to one of its creators.)

You may have heard of the recent kerfuffle when Mary Beard, professor of classics at Cambridge University, endorsed a cartoon depicting a multi-racial Roman family with a black father as accurate to the diversity of Roman Britain. The alt-right trolls went all in with their determination to prove that Roman Britain (and the Roman empire in general) was white, which, if you know anything about the borders and demographics of ancient Rome at all, was completely ludicrous. (Many of the trolls freely admitted to never having studied a damn thing about actual history, but they were still convinced they knew more than, you know, a distinguished professor at Cambridge.) But as Beard pointed out in a response to her critics, this reflects the fact that any claim to historical diversity (or more specifically, the purported lack thereof) has become the realm of people who are insistent on their interpretation, don’t care about facts, and are using them for a specific and damaging political project.

So.

Let’s make some racists angry, shall we?

The idea of “Europe against the barbarians” as a political project goes back at least to the crusades and their inception in 1095, but it was conceived in its quasi-modern form by the Duke of Sully, minister to Henry IV of France, in the seventeenth century, as the “Grand Design.” It proposed keeping the peace in fractious Europe by fighting the “infidels” -- the same argument that had often been used to justify the crusades. (For a very good discussion on all this, see Anouar Majid, Freedom and Orthodoxy: Islam and Difference in the Post-Andalusian Age, esp. page 211-13.) The crusades remained a potent metaphor throughout all of Europe long after their official “end” in 1291, and were used to justify racial, colonial, and imperial projects of all kinds. Sir Winston Churchill praised the wisdom of the Grand Design in a 1948 post-war speech for the reunification of Europe -- i.e., this racial violence was exactly how they intended to move Europe forward into the modern age after so destructively fighting each other, by giving it back its old enemies. I have literally written a master’s thesis on the post-1291 intellectual and legal inheritance of the crusades and the racial construction of the Euro-American historical narrative, so I could go on for a long time here, but this is the takeaway point: the academic (and elite) practice of history, especially Western history, has always been used to justify the erasure, destruction, elimination, and removal of agency from non-white individuals and civilizations alike. So even if you’re claiming “history” as a legitimating tool for your racial fantasia of lily-white Europe, this history is an intentional and actively tailored instrument of racial prejudice that does not reflect reality.

Now that the theoretical stuff is over, let’s get into specifics.

Medieval Spain (Iberia) and medieval Sicily in particular were richly diverse societies that supported numerous distinct racial, religious, and ethnic groups, including Jews, Muslims, Greek/Eastern Christians, Latin/Western Christians, Normans, Africans, and other communities from around the Mediterranean. I have linked only a quick/initial source for each, but there is tons out there. These communities had episodes of strife and tension, of course, but also lived together for extended periods of time in essential cooperation. Spain in particular produced an incredibly rich intellectual climate in the early medieval era, such as the golden age of Toledo.

While the crusades were a project of warfare against non-Christian, non-Europeans (and sometimes also against Europeans, such as the Albigensian and Northern Crusades), they were also the first time many of the Northern European crusaders had met Arab Muslims and Africans -- encounters which were not always uniformly hostile, and which were shaped by recognizable diplomatic customs. One of my favorite examples is in the Itinerarium peregrinorum et gesta regis Ricardi, a Latin prose narrative of the Third Crusade otherwise hostile to the Muslims. See especially pages 276-283 above, where the author cannot help but be impressed by the graciousness and generosity of Saladin and his Muslim forces hosting Christian visitors in Jerusalem (after a treaty was made to end the crusade) and which includes Saladin inviting Bishop Hubert Walter of Salisbury to dinner, where they have a long and friendly chat and are both impressed. My feelings on the genuine respect and admiration that existed between Saladin, his brother, and several of his generals, on the one hand, and Richard the Lionheart, on the other, are probably well-known. (See also Thomas Asbridge, Talking to the enemy: the role and purpose of negotiations between Saladin and Richard the Lionheart during the Third Crusade.)

Even after the crusades, Elizabethan England was deeply connected to the Islamic world and its empires: Ottoman, Persian, and Moroccan. Trade between them was frequent, so many Englishmen settled in Arabic Muslim societies that there were attempted royal proclamations and incentives to lure back expatriates (see Majid, 55), and a proposed Anglo-Moroccan alliance against Spain was a key feature of the foreign policy of the later years of Elizabeth I’s reign. (It should be noted that early modern England’s fairly friendly relationship with the Islamic world, so unlike Spain’s driving hatred of the Moors, had to be jettisoned as they moved into the realm of competing colonial conquests.) Abd el-Ouahed ben Massoud was the Moroccan ambassador to England during this time, and may have been part of the inspiration for Shakespeare’s Othello. “Cinthio’s Tale,” published in 1565, purported to tell the true story of a Muslim/Moorish captain serving in the Venetian army and deceived by a treacherous ensign, which was also drawn upon by Shakespeare.

The Golden Age of Piracy was strongly black, Indian, and Native American. Famous pirates like Blackbeard, Edward England, Samuel Bellamy, William Kidd, and others had up to one-third black/Native crews, who were treated equally (this was not universal among pirates, but attacking slave ships and disrupting the slave trade was one thing for which they were principally known). John Julian, the sixteen-year-old Mesquito Indian who was the pilot of the Whydah, a former slave ship captured by “Black Sam” Bellamy, was later one of the only two survivors of its wreck in 1717. Bellamy’s crew of 150 men had between 30-50 free blacks; Blackbeard’s crew was over half black; Edward England’s nearly 300-strong cohort had over 70 black men.

There were also mixed-race captains in the Royal Navy, such as John Perkins. In his long and vastly adventurous career, he commanded half a dozen ships of the line in at least four wars, served as a spy, and nearly got sentenced to death for smuggling weapons to revolting slaves. His obituary in 1812 records, “he annoyed the enemy more than any other officer, by his repeated feats of gallantry, and the immense number of prizes he took.” (See page 373 of the pdf.) By this time, there were a considerable number of free blacks in England, who had founded the learned abolitionist society known as the Sons of Africa. The late eighteenth century saw men like Ignatius Sancho, Olaudah Equiano, and Ottobah Cuguano. All of them were literate, accomplished men who wrote letters and memoirs, including passionate manifestos against slavery, corresponded with high society, were internationally best-selling authors, and, in Sancho’s case, is the first black man known to have voted in Britain (around 1780). There were also women like Dido Elizabeth Belle (great niece of William Mansfield, author of the deciding opinion in the landmark 1772 Somersett case against slavery and subject of the 2013 film starring Gugu Mbatha-Raw) and the American poet Phillis Wheatley. There were important figures in the American Revolution like Agrippa Hull, and political radicals like William Davidson, who was part of the “Cato Street Conspiracy” in 1820.

There was Alexander Crummell, the Episcopalian preacher, theologian, and African activist who graduated from Cambridge in the 1840s. How about you check out Black Oxford: The Untold Stories of Oxford University’s Black Scholars? Or Alain LeRoy Locke, the first African-American recipient of the Rhodes Scholarship in 1907, after it was founded in 1903 (something that would doubtless terribly annoy noted white supremacist Cecil Rhodes) and who also studied at Harvard University? Oh yeah, Locke was the intellectual father of the Harlem Renaissance and was also gay.) Speaking of biopics, about Victoria and Abdul, which tells the story of an aging Queen Victoria and her deep friendship with Abdul Karim or the “Munshi,” who taught her Urdu and Hindustani, and who, yes, faced incredible prejudice from the deeply starchy and racist British court?

We can definitely mention how a majority of cowboys were black or Native American (it was a grueling, dangerous, unforgiving job with low pay and no glamour, of course they made the people of color do it -- don’t believe everything the heroic, rugged-white-man-Americana John Wayne myth tells you). The inspiration for the Lone Ranger, Bass Reeves, was black. Ira Aldridge was a world-famous black Shakespearean actor and anti-slavery activist in the 19th century. I could go on, but this post is already long enough.

(Lastly: Read Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas In America, by Ibram X. Kendi, an award-winning young African-American historian and director of the Anti-Racist Research and Policy Center at American University.)

So yes. If you’re invoking “historical accuracy” for the convenient nonexistence of people of color in a historical/historical fantasy/fictional narrative:

a) You’re wrong.

b) You’re super wrong, please stop.

c) If you don’t stop, You Are A Racist. Time to work on that.

The point is: imagine, create, and write black/POC Roman centurions, medieval scholars, soldiers, pirates, Royal Navy captains, spies, political activists, best-selling authors, public intellectuals, famous actors, talented lawmen, etc, and write them existing in Europe and the Americas at pretty much any time you like. Not only will you make a racist mad, you will be hella historically accurate, can flip the bird with both fingers, and moonwalk out of the room. Remember: denying the existence or agency of historical people of color is always tied to a desire that they didn’t exist or have agency in the present, and that isn’t how things “used to be done,” ergo they must be wrong. This is the appeal of a certain kind of history as an imagined “legitimate space” for racism, misogyny, homophobia, etc, where these attitudes used to be accepted and promoted without challenge. The people who hold them now want those views to enjoy the same kind of hegemony. And if you’ve paid any attention to the world recently, you’ll realize how dangerous and pervasive those narratives are, and how badly they need to be challenged and upended.

#history #medieval history #black history #historical poc #history of racism #long post

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whalefairyfandom12 · 7 years ago

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ALT ER LOVE

Summary: Dan is the breakout star of the newest international sensation, SKAM Britain, with the upcoming season centered around his character Isak. The only problem is that the actor portraying Isak’s love interest is enough to send the carefully labeled details of Dan’s life into disorder.

Phil had never wanted to be an actor, but peer pressure and having a film credit on his uni application was enough to make him audition. Somehow his meager talent lands him the role of Even, starring opposite one of the biggest names in the industry and his not-so-secret celebrity crush. The reality of the situation is more than he’d ever signed up for, and as fiction starts to bleed into reality the only thing anyone knows for certain is that understanding love isn’t nearly as easy without a script.

A/N: Though this certainly talks about Skam and its characters, it’s not necessary to have seen the show to understand what’s happening. It’s really just an actor au with an excuse for me to talk about the show haha. (But really, you should watch it if you haven’t already as it’s amazing.) I hope you enjoy!

Masterpost

Week One

Wednesday 10:30

The poster was hanging from the bulletin board, already wrinkled and torn in several places.

Following the success of the Norwegian hit show SKAM and its subsequent British remake we are currently holding auditions for the upcoming season! The series is an international phenomenon praised for its authentic portrayal of teenagers and focuses on telling real stories based on the hardships and pressures of being in college. We’re conducting an extensive search to find British teenagers for the cast. NO ACTING EXPERIENCE REQUIRED.

Phil Lester was not an actor. The last time he’d participated in a play was in Year Two during a retelling of the birth of Jesus, and he’d almost passed out from stage fright. He had no interest in acting, and he hadn’t watched any of the iterations of Skam. He did, however, want to get a degree in video post production, which was why he was standing in the middle of the hall trying to determine if he thought he’d pass out if he tried to audition.

Rosie came to a halt beside him, adjusting her grip on her backpack. Her hair was back to its natural blonde color, falling loose around her shoulders. “Are you going to audition?” she asked.

“Are you?” he countered.

She laughed. “No, definitely not. I can’t act to save my life.”

“I can’t either, but it would look really good on my application.” He paused. “Is it bad I’ve never seen Skam?”

Rosie’s eyes widened in horror he hoped was mock but looked fairly genuine. “How have you lived?”

“I’ve seen gifs on Tumblr,” he said defensively. “And I keep meaning to, but I don’t have time.” He was even following some of the gif blogs, but that was more because of Dan Howell than anything about the show.

“You’d get to make out with Dan Howell if you auditioned for Even’s role,” Rosie said, apparently reading his mind. “That’s reason enough.”

“I didn’t know Dan was your type.”

“He’s a little bit everyone’s type, but I know he’s yours.” She raised her eyebrows, nudging him suggestively. “You forget I’ve been on your Tumblr.”

Phil flushed. “Skam is everywhere,” he said, protest weak even to his own ears. “It’s impossible to avoid it.”

“Uh huh,” Rosie said, looking entirely too smug for his liking. “But seriously, you should go for it. You fit everything they’re looking for and I think you’d make a good Even.”

“Yeah?”

“You both like film, for one. But if you do get the part you have to bring me Dan’s signature.”

“I’m telling Rose.”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Like she’s one to talk. She’s had a crush on Hannah Witton since season one.”

“Hannah’s a little bit everyone’s type,” Phil echoed, earning himself a snort of laughter.

“Exactly.” She patted him on the shoulder, grip surprisingly firm. “Alright, I have Classical Literature but I’ll talk to you after you get the part.”

Phil shook his head, gesture fond. “It’s not going to happen!” he called after her. “I don’t even know if I’m going to sign up.”

Rosie laughed, ignoring his words in favor of a wave as she disappeared around the corner. Phil watched her leave before turning his attention back to the poster. He sighed, trainers scuffing against the floor. He stretched a tentative hand towards the paper before faltering at the last minute.

At this rate he was definitely going to be late to maths.

Signing up didn’t mean he had to go. He could always change his mind, even if he was offered the part. He’d probably end up in the background anyway, no speaking required.

Phil tore one of the paper strips off the bottom, folding it in half and tucking the URL into his pocket. It wasn’t going to hurt anything to just see what happened after all. He was sure nothing was going to come of it, and if it also presented a convenient excuse to meet Dan, well, what Rosie didn’t know wouldn’t kill her.

Wednesday 10:30

At age sixteen Daniel Howell was quickly rising through the ranks as one of the most influential up and coming English actors. SKAM Britain had taken off internationally, being praised for its loyalty to its source material while still giving it a fresh cultural spin.

It was everything six year old Dan had fantasized about: fame, recognition, finally being a real actor. But despite finally living the childhood dream sixteen year old Dan just really wanted a nap.

Unfortunately, Tyler Oakley had other plans.

Said pain in his ass whacked him in the arm with the script, jolting him awake. “Focus!”

Dan winced, rubbing the undoubtedly forming bruise. “I am!” A pregnant pause. “Fine,” he amended. “I’m trying. It’s just...it’s been a long day. Week. Life.”

Tyler’s expression softened slightly. Because unlike Chris he respected Dan’s boundaries, he kindly didn’t point out the fact that it was only 10:30 and therefore too early to really make the classification as a ‘long day.’ “Okay. I think we know the lines anyway.”

Dan exhaled, flopping back onto the other boy’s bed. His relief was probably obvious, but he was too tired to care. “Thank fuck.”

Tyler mimicked his movements, staring at the ceiling. “Any luck with casting Even yet?”

“Not yet. There are a few auditions left today and tomorrow, but I have to decide before Friday.” He rolled over and buried his face in the pillows, closing his eyes. Maybe if he was lucky he’d suffocate to death. “I don’t know. I think Nick would like Felix or a person like that. Someone who's already well-known, but nothing feels right yet. There’s a…” Dan trailed off and snapped his fingers, looking at Tyler expectantly. “You know?”

The other boy was staring at him uncomprehendingly, brow furrowed. “No, not really.”

“It’s like when you meet someone and there’s a spark or chemistry or whatever you want to call it, but you click and everything feels like it just works.”

Tyler bolted upright, holding up a hand. “Hang on. Are we still talking about acting or have we moved on?”

Dan rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why he bothered, honestly. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“Because we can totally talk about your love life,” Tyler continued, glee thinly veiled. “Or wait, you’d actually need to have a love life to talk about it.”

Dan scowled, flipping him off. He retracted any and all previous statements about Tyler being a good friend. “I told you, I’m not--”

“Interested in a relationship,” his friend finished, pulling a face. “I know. We all know. But imagine how cute it would be if you started dating whoever was cast as Even.” Dan frowned, opening his mouth to respond but Tyler cut him off again. “I know you’re not gay. I’m just saying, everyone loves a good costar romance and imagine how much hotter the sex scenes would be.”

Dan let out an undignified yelp as he tumbled off the bed, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wall in an attempt to scour the images from his brain. His face was burning as he stumbled to his feet, yanking open the door. “Bonding time’s over! Thanks for going over the lines with me.”

Tyler smirked, stretching out on the mattress. “There’s something I like about the idea of two really tall men--”

Dan jammed his fingers in his ears. “Goodbye Tyler,” he said loudly, but unfortunately not loudly enough to miss the rest of the sentence. At this point he’d give half of every paycheck for the creation of brain bleach.

Tyler laughed. “Have a good time meeting your future lovers.”

Dan picked up one of the shoes laying by the door, aiming it at his costar’s head. In his visions of fame, six year old Dan hadn’t accounted for the assholes that would become his colleagues and only friends. Which was more than a little depressing to think about, really. He wrinkled his nose as he stepped outside, heading towards his trailer.

And they say to follow your dreams.

Wednesday 17:15

The world looked a little better upside down. Phil’s mum had always been a big advocate for approaching problems from multiple angles, and though she probably hadn’t meant it literally he found it kind of relaxing to pretend he was a fruit bat whose biggest problems were surviving until the next night.

His laptop was open to the audition application, name and email already filled in which was as far as he’d gotten before panicking. If he thought he could screw his head on enough to focus actually watching some of the episodes instead of relying on Tumblr’s slightly biased opinions would probably be a good place to start.

From what he did know, Dan was playing Isak Valtersen, the main character of season three. Isak was gay and his storyline primarily revolved around accepting himself, coming out, and meeting Even. Dan was one of the original cast members, and from the numerous crying gifs on Tumblr was popular with the viewers.

Even Bech Næsheim was Isak’s love interest, and that was basically all Phil knew about him. He’d skimmed the wikipedia page once out of curiosity and seen the film connection that Rosie had pointed out and a lot of gifs of Even and Isak kissing. Like a lot. Like so many he was already blushing thinking about having to do all of that with Dan.

Phil had been an out and proud bisexual since he was twelve and had his share of boyfriends since then, so it wasn’t the thought of kissing another boy that had him so nervous. It was that the boy in question was Dan.

Who, not that he was looking or anything but from a video he’d found of Dan making out with some girl from another movie, looked like he was a great kisser.

He exhaled, puffing out his cheeks as he rolled right side up. The room spun, and he blinked a few times rapidly to try and unsuccessfully clear his head. He reached for his laptop, entering his password. The audition form loaded again, and he finished filling out his information and pressed send before he could angst about it again for another six hours. Now all that was left to do was wait.

Wednesday 19:23

Dan was ready to implode and take the rest of the world with him. He didn’t understand how it was possible to make an improv scene about hiding a body boring, but most of the actors were finding a way. He slumped in his seat, sighing loudly enough for Nick to shoot him a dirty look. The director held two fingers and Dan gave his best impression of a ‘what the fuck is that supposed to mean’ face.

Nick’s lips thinned. “Twenty two more people,” he said as Peter exited with a flourish. “And then we’re done.”

Dan groaned. “That’s twenty two too many. And then a hundred more tomorrow.”

“Have you see anyone you like?” Bertie asked before Nick could respond. Dan almost felt bad for him. The screenwriter spent a lot of his time smoothing things out between Nick and the rest of the cast. “They don’t have to be from today.”

He shrugged. “Peter was okay.” He’d wrung a laugh out of him with his improv anyway, which was more than could be said for everyone else.

“He went off script quickly,” Bertie said, flipping through his binder. “Since we’ve left casting Even five days before we start filming,” Dan cringed, sinking further into his seat. “It’s important whoever we cast can think on their feet.”

“I’m going to let the next one in,” Nick said. “Try to look less like you’re being held against your will.”

Dan rolled his pencil between his fingers, picking at the places where the wood had started to chip. Twenty two more people and he could go back to staring at the walls in his trailer. At least filming started soon, and even if everything else was going to shit at least that was something that still made sense.

Thursday 16:27

Phil had moved three meters in the past two hours. The rest of the crowd snaked around the block and into the audition building, better looking and infinitely more talented candidates making excited conversation. He estimated there were still a good few hours before he reached the door, but he was already starting to feel ridiculously anxious. His nerves weren’t helped by the fact that despite leaving the flat with plenty of time to spare, he was the last one in line. He made a face, prying his fist open and wiping the sweat against his shirt.

The crowd inched forwards.

He jumped as his phone vibrated, a thumbs up from Rose and a gif of Dan in a beanie from Rosie. He smiled, the encouragement only slightly lessening the urge to throw up. He’d never been very good at job interviews and this was a million times worse.

Then again, the application had had a lot of unusual questions so maybe the experience wouldn’t be as painful as he was anticipating. Only one of the questions asked about prior acting experience, and most of them were assessing with what he liked to do in his free time or if he had any social media accounts. He wasn’t sure how any of that was relevant to acting, exactly, but the less he had to advertise his faults the better.

The line moved forwards, three centimeters, this time.

Phil sighed, eyeing the pavement dubiously before sitting down. He had a feeling he was going to be here for awhile.

Thursday 18:43

“I'm sure that in a parallel universe there's an Isak and an Even who're lying in the exact same way in the exact same place, only, like the curtains are a different color or something.”

Mark was quiet. He met Dan’s gaze evenly, voice subdued. “So yellow curtains, then?”

“Yeah.”

A melancholy smile. “I think you’ve had enough jay now.”

“Haven’t you ever thought about that?” Dan asked, trying to keep his tone wistful. He couldn’t be the only one that spent every night wide awake and imagining the other versions of himself in realities where he regretted his life a little less.

“Yeah, but I guess I’m just starting to feel so...I don’t know. Lonely.”

“It’s interesting though,” he insisted.

Mark sighed heavily, shoulders slumping. “I don’t like it. Freaks me out.”

“It freaks you out?”

“Not freaked out like a horror movie, but like feeling alone. That sort of freaked out, I guess. That like it's your head it's you and your head and all of your thoughts.

“Alone in your head, what do you mean?”

“A ‘The Mind is Alone’ feeling.” Dan frowned. “A what feeling? The mind is alone?”

“Because the only thing that exists is you and your thoughts, right? You can't escape from your own thoughts, The only way to do that is to die.” Mark curled further in on himself, averting his gaze. Dan had a feeling he was trying to portray the heaviness of the dialogue, but he’d already started out the perfect picture of forlorn that he had limited ways to try and look more depressing.

“That's dark, though.”

“Yeah, but haven't you ever thought about that?”

He did a double take. “No?” Mark laughed, a more than a little bitter sound. “Jesus! I'd forgotten how young you are.”

Dan’s smile was more of a grimace as he dropped his script on the table. Both Nick and Bertie were nodding appraisingly in Mark’s direction, and his heart sank. It was rare that the two ever agreed on anything, and it was looking more and more like Mark was going to get the part. He retreated to his seat, rolling the pencil between his fingers as Nick gave Mark the usual speech about expecting-a-call and -thanks-for-your-time.

“Thanks!” Mark said cheerily. He shot Dan a bright smile, offering a wave. Dan returned the gestures with considerably less enthusiasm as the other boy left the room.

“I think Mark is the best we’ve seen so far,” Bertie was saying. Dan tried to pretend he was interested.

“I agree,” Nick said. “What do you think, Dan?”

He hesitated. “Fine. Yeah, he was great.”

The director and writer exchanged exasperated looks, which he thought was rather unfair. Sure he could be a little high maintenance sometimes (read, most of the time) but he didn’t have anything on someone like Jake Paul.

“What didn’t you like about him?”

“Nothing really. It’s just, don’t you think it should’ve had more lightheartedness?” Dan said in one breath. “In the beginning lines, at least. Isak and Even have spent all this time chasing after each other and trying to figure out what this connection is between them while all of these other tensions and pressures keep piling up until finally they kiss and realize that the idea of Isak-and-Even isn’t so crazy after all.”

“And?”

“And don’t you think after spending the night together and the way both of them feel free and safe enough to let their walls down that the morning after wouldn’t seem so much like someone died? And if the scene starts mellow there’s nowhere else to go.”

Nick sighed, rubbing a hand over his beard. “You’re right,” he admitted. Dan tried not to fall off his seat in shock. “I noticed that too, but there’s never going to be a perfect actor that gets everything right the first time. Not even Meryl Streep. If you keep waiting for someone like that you’re never going to be happy.”

“Maybe. I guess we’ll see.” Dan set his jaw, dropping his gaze to the table determinedly. There was a challenge if ever he’d heard one. Now he just had to hope the actor was out there that could prove him right.

Thursday 20:15

Phil’s trainers squeaked against the floor as he followed the man into the audition hall. The sound was uncomfortably loud in the silence, and despite his nerves he was relieved when they finally reached the room. The man pushed the double doors open, entering without hesitation. He could make out the silhouettes of a table and two people sitting at the head, flanking the empty seat. They looked like they were engrossed in a conversation, pausing as Phil took a hesitant step forwards.

The first thing he saw was Dan, head bent over his phone and dark curls soft where they fell against his forehead. The actor was wearing a biker jacket unzipped over a gray shirt and black skinny jeans, outfit complete with the bored and slightly tortured look on his face. Beside him was a blond haired man in glasses, and the red haired man who’d let him in.

The latter cleared his throat, stepping forward with a practiced smile, “My name is Nicholas Young and I’m the director of SKAM Britain. This is Bertie Gilbert, our screenwriter. And of course, Daniel Howell who plays Isak Valtersen.”

Phil wet his lips reflexively, trying for a smile. “Hi. I’m Phil, it’s nice to meet you.” Dan looked up at his response, and he almost wished he hadn’t because wow. He’d never really understood the whole ‘the eyes are everything’ shtick everyone was always on about in the movies, but clearly he hadn’t been around the right people.

“We’re glad you could make it,” Bertie said. He pulled one of the empty chairs away from the table and Phil took a seat, unable to resist glancing back in Dan’s direction. The other boy was still staring back and he dropped his gaze, face warm.

“As you know,” Nick took over. “Skam is unusual in how interactive it is. It’s not just a show, it’s an experience.” Dan snorted quietly, and Phil smiled despite himself. “Clips are released in real time, and filming and writing can be very intensive to meet the deadlines. The characters have real social media accounts, and pictures need to be shot outside of filming. Even doesn’t have an Instagram, but you’ll be required to be in Isak’s photos as well as some groups shots and promo pictures. The point is, this is not a commitment to be taken lightly and we’re only looking for candidates that will invest the time and effort necessary for an experience this time consuming.”

“Okay,” Phil said weakly.

Bertie flashed him what he assumed was supposed to be a reassuring thumbs up. “Just focus on the audition for now. You’ve got this.”

Actually Phil was becoming more and more convinced he didn’t got this, but he nodded anyway.

“We’ll start with a short reading of one of the scenes to warm up,” Nick said. “Followed by an improv and a final read through with Dan.” He pushed the stack of papers Phil’s direction. “It’s in order.”

Phil shuffled the stack, scanning the first page. A hotel room. EVEN is eating a mini burger. His energy is infectious, almost too much so.

“Whenever you’re ready, Phil,” Bertie said.

He relaxed his death grip where it was starting to wrinkle the script, nerves back with a vengeance. He let his eyes drift shut, envisioning the walls of a hotel building around him.

Even was feeling on top of the world, Isak sitting across from him. Affection overtook him at the sight, knocking him off his feet and dissolving his expression into a smile. After everything they were finally here, and maybe it wasn’t going to last forever but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to keep it for as long as he could.

His eyes snapped open. He met the other boy’s gaze with a smile.

“You don’t think we’ll get married?” he asked, surprise mingling with genuine fondness. It had become impossible to do anything without feeling ridiculously, stupidly, improbably in love. “We’re so fucking getting married.”

Thursday 20:45

The door slammed shut as Phil left the room, Nick taking the now empty seat across the table. Bertie had left a few minutes ago for a meeting, and Dan steeled himself for the impending interrogation. Strangely, the prospect didn’t bother him as much as it normally would’ve, black hair and a bright smile lingering every time he closed his eyes.

Fuck.

“Now that auditions are finally finished, who did you connect with the most?” Nick asked, cutting straight to the point.

Dan hesitated. (Phil, his brain helpfully supplied in the pause. You want Phil, possibly in more ways than one. He told it to shut up.) “I don’t know. They all seemed like good candidates.”

Nick released a long suffering sigh. “The original season three of Skam was what brought it to international prominence. If we want to replicate that success in any way we need to make sure you’re comfortable with whoever plays Even. I still think Mark seems like a good choice.”

The thing was, deep down he knew Nick was right. Mark had already made a name for himself and had plenty of experience. He or someone with his background would be the obvious choice. Not some gangly eighteen year old who hadn’t acted since he was six. But even though Mark was fine and his audition had been fine there was something missing.

Auditioning for Skam was one of the first things Dan had ever done for himself, and despite living the acting dream and getting to work with his friends everyday between his success and the popularity of the show his career was becoming yet another thing he was losing control over. Picking the Even he wanted seemed in some small, pathetic way like he was taking over his life again.

There was the whisper of a laugh again, tongue poking out the side of Phil’s smile as he looked at Dan. And while he knew it was just Even looking at Isak and it didn’t mean anything, suddenly he felt more real than he had in a long time and really there was no dilemma was there?

“Phil Lester,” he said. “I felt the most chemistry with him.”

He held his breath, waiting for Nick to say something disparaging, but to his surprise the other man merely looked contemplative. “Hmm. You two did have a natural connection and your chemistry was very good, but he doesn’t have any acting experience.”

“The sign up sheet said he didn’t have to,” Dan argued. “A lot of us don’t, and that’s part of why people connect with it so much. It feels authentic--there isn’t any of the polish or glamour from the industry. And it seemed like he already really understood the character in just a few hours.”

“Okay,” Nick said, expression contorted like he was making a life or death decision and he’d chosen death. “Fine. If that’s what you want and Bertie agrees, Phil Lester can be your Even.” He narrowed his eyes, finger jabbing Dan in the chest. “But you better prove me right.”

It was ridiculous how much Dan had to fight the urge to smile. “I will,” he promised. He waited until Nick had left the room before letting his grin split his face. A laugh escaped before he could stop it, relief and adrenaline coloring it slightly hysterical. He’d done it--he’d finally found an Even.

His steps were light as he ran towards the door, knocking Carrie down the stairs where she was waiting outside with PJ. Not even the fact that it looked like they’d been talking about him was enough to dampen his mood.

PJ helped the girl to her feet, giving him a suspicious look. “What’s got you so happy?”

“Can’t I smile sometimes?” he protested.

“Not like that.”

“I agree,” Carrie chimed in. “Black clothes and gallows humor is more your style.”

Dan would be more offended, but they were kind of right. He’d known PJ and Carrie since the start of Skam, as they were two of the original cast members. PJ played Jonas, Isak’s best friend, and Carrie played Vilde, one of the main recurring female characters. By this point they’d known each other so long it was impossible to get anything past them. “I hate you both.”

She patted his back. “We love you too.”

He glared at her. “I hope you both get eaten by a moth.”

“Are you going to tell us what’s going on?” PJ interrupted, looking at him expectantly.

Part of Dan was tempted to leave them guessing, but he really was excited. “I found an Even.” A moment of stunned silence.

Carrie unfroze first. “You found an Even!” she shouted, pulling him into a hug. “That’s amazing!”

PJ clapped him on the back, more reserved but smile wide. “Who is it?”

“Phil Lester,” Dan said once Carrie had released him and he could breathe again. “He’s eighteen and from Rawtenstall. He read the hotel scene and we did yellow curtains again but it just worked this time.”

“What does he look like?”

“Tall. Like, I know I’m freakishly tall but he might be a little taller actually. Black hair, his eyes are like a blue, green, yellow shade?”

“Isak and Even together at last,” PJ said seriously. “And you and Phil really sound like you have chemistry. The sexual tension is essential.”

“What color are his eyes again?” Carrie asked innocently.

Dan rolled his eyes. “How are you and Chris getting along Carrie?” he asked pointedly. “Or PJ and--who is it you’re with now?”

“You’re deflecting,” she said. “And for the record, Chris is lovely. We haven’t spent that much time together so far but I’m sure that’ll change once we start filming.” She threw an arm around his shoulders. “Seriously though, I’m happy for you. And that my job is safe for another six months.”

It was starting to become stupid how he couldn’t stop smiling, and once the shock wore off he was sure he’d revert to his usual state of dark nothing, but for once he shut off his brain and reveled in the feeling. “Yeah, well, I’m happy for me too.” It wasn’t a lie in the slightest.

Friday 15:16

Phil was trying to pretend he wasn’t staring at his phone waiting for it to ring. His English teacher was giving a lecture about the final paper that he should probably be listening too, but instead he was staring at his empty notifications. The longer the day went on the more convinced he was that he hadn’t gotten the part. It stung more than he thought it would’ve.

He’d spent the entire day fielding questions from his friends and hiding in the bathroom, hating that he was so excited. He’d even watched the first four episodes of the original Skam last night and started the first two of Skam Britain, and found that he actually enjoyed it far more than he thought he would’ve. Granted, Dan was in the British version so he would always be slightly biased towards that, but there was definitely an appeal in the original version that made him understand its success.

His phone rang on the table beside him, vibrating against his pencil and sending it rolling to the floor. Phil ducked his head, reaching to silence it. He froze.

It was an unknown caller.

His heart leaped into his throat, chair squeaking across the tiles as he bolted for the door. The pencil would have to wait. “Sorry,” he said, pausing long enough to meet the dumbfounded expressions of his classmates. “I have to take this.” His hands were shaking as he pressed answer, sinking onto one of the benches lining the hall. “Hello?

“Is this Phil?”

“Yes?”

“This is Marie from Skam Britain. I’m calling to inform you that you’ve received the part of Even Bech Næsheim in our upcoming season. Congratulations!”

The phone clattered to the ground. Phil scrambled to recover it, his cheeks starting to hurt with the force of his grin. His brain was starting to short circuit, thoughts frozen somewhere between received the part and congratulations. “Thank you!” he blurted, elation lifting his words into something nonsensical.

Marie huffed. “You’re welcome, I guess?” she said, humor lacing her voice. “From what I can tell you’ve earned it.” Phil couldn’t bite back his smile this time at her words, and settled instead for leaning against the back of the bench and listening. “Filming starts Tuesday, but we want you and Dan to spend Sunday together if you’re available?”

“Yes!” he said, trying unsuccessfully to curb his excitement and sound professional. “That works great.”

“I’ll email you the address and more information, but welcome to the cast.”

#alt er love #ael #phan #phanfic #phanfiction #skam #skam au #phan au #actor au #fanfiction #fanfic #alternate universe

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