#but if he is indeed younger. it adds even more layers to their relationship

[foxstens]

what do you mean riko is younger than kevin

[pale-silver-comb]

So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals. 

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong. 

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day. 

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.) 

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.  

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.  

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.  

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon. 

[just-char]

Hey Char, been a while. I'm curious, did you play the Snowgrave route of chapter 2 and if so what were your thoughts? I played it and it makes me think of you with the horror elements, so I wondered if you gave it a go.

Hello, Bun! Long time, no see, indeed. I’m glad to hear you thought of me as I primarily associate playing Deltarune and Undertale with you (you were the one who bought me it in the first place, after all, and convinced me to play it. Even when I listen to the soundtrack I think specifically of how you enjoyed it!)

Also, Napstablook = Krickis as far as I am concerned. Where there is Napstablook, I am thinking of Krickis. On actual serious thoughts, the Snowgrave Route is certainly an exciting one. I have not played it myself (Kris and Noelle are so young and I can barely manage to play the genocide route in Undertale) but I did watch another person play through it and my thoughts are as follows: wow!

Toby Fox most definitely has a hidden penchant for horror and it’s planted all across Undertale and Deltarune (Alphy’s lab in the true pacifist run in Undertale immediately comes to mind.) It’s a lot to do with the environment and atmosphere he’s capable of building in all areas of the game creating process, whether it be music or art design or battle mechanics (I imagine with the help of others too, but unfortunately I’m not very familiar with who works on the games) and creepy seems to come easy to him! I know you didn’t ask about Spamton, but his boss battle is another fantastic example of this. That horror element is a lot more... nightmare-y, though, I suppose? What I mean to say is, it’s almost silly. It doesn’t feel as real as what’s happening with Kris actively throughout the game, or what happens to Berdly. Part of this is because fighting Spamton doesn’t have consequences (that are obvious to the player.) The worst that happens is that Kris appears to have a panic attack afterwards and is visibly upset by what they’ve been forced by us to witness, but what I like specifically about the Snowgrave Route is that this lasts and it’s really explored. The lasting consequence it seems to have on the psyche of Noelle and Kris and the implication of the entire route is horror through and through, in a fantastic, amazing, wowza way.

And now, because I am a little bit too excited to talk about this, an unedited and possibly impossible to read ramble about horror and Noelle and Kris below the cut. The way I describe the game and the role the player has might be upsetting, so please do not read unless you’re very comfortable with body control horror etc..

Deltarune isn’t a horror game but its premise mirrors one in multiple ways and I find that very fascinating. It is almost more unnerving that such horrible experiences are masked by the fun, whacky outer layers. One could play Deltarune and never find Jevil or Spamtom’s boss fight or play the Snowgrave route and remain blissfully unaware of what lurks beneath a very normal (if occasionally dark!) adventure story.

Despite this, there is a lot to be said about Kris and the player’s control over them, as well as some choice words from Noelle about Kris’ recent behaviour and demeanour. It’s hard not to assume that Kris is possessed by us. We can force them to say things but they can react to these dialogue choices and become visibly upset at the actions we force upon them, so even playing the game as intended without discovering anything remotely below the surface, it’s impossible to ignore what actually playing the game and controlling Kris does to them. Essentially, stripping away all of the scariest parts of Deltarune doesn’t matter, because its actual premise, where you play, not as Kris, but as an entity CONTROLLING Kris, is in itself horrific! Kris is a child, at most sixteen and I certainly believe younger than that, and no amount of drawing them weirdly tall and lanky and emo-y can change that.

Possession and inability to control one’s self are heavily utilised in horror. When you consider how many times you’ve watched someone be tied down, forced to witness whatever is happening to them in real time, or the general horror and gore associated with demon possession in even current mainstream movies like The Conjuring (or even a mix of both! Media that explores being trapped inside the body without any control while being possessed and the effects it has on your mind is not common enough) it’s easy to see the connections between a lot of horror tropes and Kris’ ‘problem’. Only thing is, we’re directly perpetuating this horror every time we play. We are the demon! We are the person who is strapping someone down and forcing them to witness horrific things by our hand! I mean, it’s just fantastic. Deltarune is by no means a horror but it certainly feels like it. I suppose that’s the power of implication!

Being more specific to the Snowgrave route (I promise the previous ramble was related!) the player extends this control to Noelle, arguably the most vulnerable and ‘helpless’ character in the game so far besides Kris themselves (and even then, that’s in a much more literal way.) unlike Kris, who physically has no choice, Noelle feels as though she has no choice. She’s a pushover and unable to prevent who she perceives as her childhood friend from forcing her to do things she doesn’t want to. Her relationship with her mother seems to play into this complex. Noelle has always been one of my favourite characters— even with what little we see of her in chapter one, she makes a lasting impression and it’s not surprising that people wanted her to be a party member in this chapter. (The irony!) But this newest chapter also furthers an interesting trait of hers, namely, her fascination with fear. She enjoys being scared, she gets a rush from being in dangerous situations, feeling unsafe. She says so herself, though she uses more external situations to explain it (scary forests, etc.) It certainly explains her crush on Susie, but in the Snowgrave Route, it really works against her. Or, we use it against her. At a first glance, what we do to her in the Snowgrave route is awful, and then, the more you think about it, the worst it gets (usually a trademark of excellent horror and great writing in general, in my opinion.) not only are we playing into her deepest insecurities (because remember, it’s not Kris doing this, or us playing AS Kris, it’s just we, the player) we are actively abusing her as a person. We force her to fight. We force her to hurt people. We do all this for power. And we do all this while simultaneously doing it to Kris as well! And forcing Kris to be our mouthpiece, forcing them to hurt their friend who they presumedly love and care for! Unlike Susie and Ralsei, Noelle’s opinion of us cannot affect our journey and she is easy to control, so we do it. And once again, these are kids! They are children! We are not fighting Sans Undertale to the death, we are actively abusing and controlling children, much to the detriment of their mental health and the physical health of those around them.

Details such as the watch and the blackened “conversation” we have with Noelle in the hospital really only add to the experience. The implication that Berdly has been seriously harmed and potentially killed by what we’ve done to him (or more accurately, forced Noelle to do to him) is handled really interestingly from the younger persons perspective, where he simply doesn’t wake up. I could really go on and on, but unfortunately time is a constraint and I don’t think what I’m saying is very easy to parse anyway.

To summarise: Snowgrave Route good. Very well-written. Deltarune is a horror in disguise, but I will continue to put my hands over my ears and pretend everything is okay, just like Mr Toby Fox would like me to do. Thank you very much for the ask, I hope you’re doing well! If you have any thoughts of your own, please share them with me. I’d be delighted to hear your opinion as a writer (horror or not.) :]

[imaginedhaven]

Rules of Engagement: Chapter Eleven

Link to Masterpost

Holy crap, we’ve cleared 50,000 words of this. Things are really starting to pick up now, so if I had to guess this will probably wind up being... maybe around 75k-80k in total? It still has to be WRITTEN, though, so... lol.

Also, we’re going to start earning that warning in the masterpost for canon-typical violence from here on out. Just so you’re aware.

Enjoy!

~*~*~

“So, let me make certain I have this absolutely clear,” Aedion drawled in a way that immediately set Rowan on edge.

Rather than reply and risk growling rather than speaking, he nodded, the movement tighter and less smooth than he would’ve liked.

“Aelin came here to Rifthold fully intending not only to continue her relationship with the prince, but to apprehend a criminal—not just any criminal, but an assassin—who was originally from Terrasen and moved to Rifthold.”

Rowan gritted his teeth and gave another silent nod.

“She elected to do this for reasons you are aware of, but that she has not told me and that you refuse to tell me.”

Another nod and another clenching of his jaw.

“And so the two of you have been sneaking out at night, which Captain Westfall”—the name came from Aedion’s lips as though it were a curse in and of itself—“condoned, if not outright allowed.”

The captain spoke up then. “Given the information presented to me, I had little other choice.”

“I’m not finished,” Aedion snarled, and the captain fell silent. “While you were sneaking around the slums of Rifthold, you got into more than one brawl, and you destroyed at least one business, which as of now still has yet to recover, if it ever will.”

This time it was harder to stifle the growl, but as Aedion’s expression didn’t change he must have managed it with at least some success.

“And then last night, it all finally comes to a head when Aelin allows herself to be abducted by said assassin. And you allowed all of this to happen.”

Rowan’s grip on his temper, already tenuous due to the nature of the situation, finally slipped enough for him to snarl at the other warrior. “Do not presume to think I made my decisions lightly,” he growled, “or that I have not spent a single moment wishing it could have been myself in her place.”

The shifter—Lysandra—delicately cleared her throat, and Aedion immediately turned his attention toward her. “If we’re done yelling at each other about whose fault it is,” she said pointedly, “then perhaps we can come up with a plan for how to handle the fact that our princess is missing?”

Rowan nodded shortly, and unfurled a roughly-sketched map of the city over his desk. He watched as the captain’s brow furrowed, likely at the idea that a foreign soldier had been able to acquire this much information about his city, but Rowan chose instead to focus on the plan he had been given. “Aelin’s request was that she be given twenty-four hours as a head start,” he began, “and I see the merit in that. If she’s not able to get the information she requires now, this assassin will go to ground and it could be years before we hear of him again.”

“It likely won’t be years,” the captain interrupted, ignoring Rowan’s scowl. “I did some research on my own into the man she’s hunting. He’s too proud to go completely unnoticed for that long.”

“Be that as it may, this is our best opportunity.” Rowan tapped on a building on his map. “She was taken here. Her captors didn’t notice me following them. It appears to be a stronghold of some sort, almost a guild hall for cutthroats and killers. I think it’s unlikely that they would move her from this place.”

“Unlikely but not impossible,” Aedion retorted. “We should keep an eye on the place.”

“Once you’re satisfied with my explanations, I intend to go there myself. If you can promise to adhere to the plan, you may join me.” He had long since given up on keeping the frosty bite from his tone, but he fisted his hand at his side to keep it away from his blades.

“And how can I trust that this is actually her plan?”

It was the mark of a good soldier and guard, to be skeptical of his statements. If this were any other situation, Rowan would even be grateful that Aelin had someone such as this as family and protector. But this was not any other situation, and Rowan carefully called up a hint of the ice that swirled within him in the hope that it would cool his temper before he killed Aedion. “Whatever Aelin did or did not tell you is between you and her, and I refuse to be pulled into that fight. The only thing that matters right now is making certain that she exits that building safely. Are you going to help with that or not?”

Aedion growled, eyes glinting in a way that strongly reminded him that this male was indeed related to Aelin of the Wildfire, but nodded. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as we’re finished here. Captain? Lysandra? Anything to add?”

Captain Westfall cleared his throat. “If I may, I can’t keep Dorian from noticing she’s missing all day long. Do we have a plan for that?”

Rowan frowned thoughtfully, and Aedion and Lysandra glanced at each other. “That’s a terrible idea,” the shifter said as if in response to some unspoken question.

“It’s the best one we have,” Aedion replied. “This entire plan, such as it is, hinges on secrecy. And you had best believe I’ll be having words with Aelin about coming up with better plans later, but right now we’re stuck with the mess she left us in.”

“Have we considered just telling Dorian?”

“No, he’s right,” the captain interjected. “The less Dorian knows about this for now, the better. He’s terrible at keeping secrets like that from his expression; if we tell him everyone will suspect something is amiss.”

Rowan quickly turned his attention to the guardsman, frown deepening. He very much suspected that this was not actually true, and that the prince was far better at keeping secrets than he wanted anyone else to believe. Perhaps the raw magic that lived in his core was less well-controlled than he had believed?

Ah, of course. The magic. It wasn’t public knowledge that the crown prince of Adarlan was burdened with such a strong gift of magic. It was likely the captain was aware of the secret, and didn’t want any upset to risk a flare-up of the young man’s power at an inconvenient time.

Rowan carefully set aside the thought that Aelin’s disappearance would possibly cause an emotional disturbance in the young prince that was severe enough to unleash his magic. Better to think his control was simply a work in progress like Aelin’s rather than wonder how close they could’ve possibly gotten in a few short weeks.

Lysandra sighed, interrupting his thoughts, and when he looked up at her he froze for a moment as Aelin’s face looked back at him.

It wasn’t truly Aelin’s face, though. Lysandra was trying to adopt her usual confident smirk, but the gesture looked stiff and unpracticed. If he looked more closely the color of her eyes was ever so slightly darker as well, and the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose was in the wrong pattern. It was deeply unsettling to be looking at this face that both was and was not his carranam, and Rowan quickly looked away. “It should be close enough to fool the prince, for a short time,” he managed.

“So we’re decided, then,” Aedion declared.

“I still hate this plan,” the shifter cautioned.

Captain Westfall scowled as he stood. “It’s the only plan we have. I’ll do what I can to limit your interaction with the prince. I’m assuming you don’t want a guard sent to the building?”

Rowan nodded. “Best not to call attention to our movements. But be ready, in the event that we do not return.” He suspected all would be well, but it never hurt to have a backup plan.

The captain nodded, the motion tight and precise as he would expect from a soldier of the man’s status, and quickly left. “You can get there on your own?” Rowan asked Aedion.

The younger male stared at the map carefully, then nodded. “I can get there.”

“Good,” Rowan said. And then he flew from the room in a flurry of wings and frosty air.

~*~*~

“You take me to such nice places,” Aelin purred as Arobynn led her into another chamber, slightly larger than the previous one. Her arms and legs remained chained, but with slightly more freedom of movement she could carefully roll her shoulders and her ankles in preparation for moving quickly should an opportunity arise.

“Such a valuable player in the game should be treated with exactly the respect she commands,” Arobynn replied smoothly, though Aelin carefully suppressed a shudder at the bite beneath his words. She needed him to keep talking, to give her time to find the truth beneath the layer of lies she knew he would present.

“Well, I do believe the next move is yours. I await it eagerly,” she smirked.

She glanced at his face, focusing on the way his eyes didn’t move at all when he smiled. “I have a proposition for you, my dear.”

Oh, how she wished she could free a single arm. It was all she would need to make him regret the way he was speaking to her, as well as the bargain she believed he was about to suggest. Instead, though, she relaxed into one of the chairs as he sat in the other. “I’m listening.”

“See, we each have something the other wants,” he continued. “I have information I know you seek, and I would very much like you to stop being a pain in my ass.” Again, that undercurrent of rage slipped through his ironclad control, and Aelin hid another smirk. Riling people who claimed to have excellent self-control was a talent she had developed from the moment Aedion had come to their home from across the sea. It seemed this man was no exception.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” she replied.

“Ah, so you weren’t aware when you and your… companion… trashed the Vaults that I had a significant investment in the business?”

“One of your hulking brutes didn’t like that I beat him fair and square. I could hardly control what happened next.”

“And the safe being cracked open before you left?”

“Complete coincidence, I assure you.” She was well aware that he would have no proof it had been her who had broken open the safe, and she knew that refusing to admit to what he suspected would only make him more angry. That was good. She needed him angry enough to let information slip.

“I see. Then I presume you don’t want to know how your parents died?” Another biting remark overlaid with false sincerity, velvety smoothness underlaid with sharp fangs and claws.

Aelin went cold, sensation fading from her limbs as she stared at him. “I was there. My parents died of an illness.”

“Ah, yes,” he drawled, kicking his legs up and over the arm of his chair. “An illness no healer could cure, or so I heard. I had left Terrasen by then, of course, but word spreads quickly when rulers fall.”

Aelin bit her tongue to hold in a sharp reply before glancing back over at him, expression carefully uninterested. “And assuming I can believe you’re telling the truth,” she said, “what would you ask in exchange for this information?”

“Why, what could any man want from a lovely princess such as yourself?” he asked, and Aelin once more carefully mastered her own expression to hide any disgust. “You have power, and yet you cannot access it without aid. I have that information and more, and yet I lack the power that would ensure my own safety. I’m certain we can come to some kind of… arrangement.”

“That’s a high price you ask,” she replied. “And you haven’t done nearly enough to prove you’re worth such an arrangement. After all, it is I who would need to convince the lords of Terrasen to accept you. If you can’t convince me…” Aelin deliberately yawned, and cheered internally as Arobynn gritted his teeth, silver eyes alight with anger.

“If knowledge regarding your own parents isn’t enough to convince you,” he snapped, “then what about information regarding your former lover?”

“It’s quite bold of you to assume I did no investigating when I discovered his body,” she retorted.

“Ah, but I would wager you have yet to learn who bid me send him to Orynth in the first place, and who gave the command to cut his life so tragically short.”

The callous admission that he had passed that command along lit a fire in her veins, and she reached for it before recalling that she was bound in iron. The wildfire fizzled, mere sparks that slipped from her fingers. “And what assurance could you give me, that you would tell me and that you have proof?”

Arobynn stood, and Aelin did finally cringe as he slid two fingers under her jaw to tilt her head up. “My dear, do I look like a man who leaves anything to chance? You’ll have your proof once I have our agreement.”

Aelin jerked her head back, freeing herself from his grip. “That’s a shame, for there will be no agreement until you’ve presented your proof.”

Almost immediately, Arobynn’s casual expression melted into steely anger. “What a shame indeed,” he murmured. “Perhaps you would care to enjoy some more of my… hospitality… first.”

As the man stepped away and opened the door, someone else entered the room. Aelin carefully stood as well, but even with a single glance she knew this wasn’t a fight she would win. Not with her limbs and power both bound by the iron chains clamped around her ankles and wrists.

At Arobynn’s nod, the newest arrival to the room gave her a predatory grin and dragged her toward the wall. Her face made contact with the wall as he shoved her against it with a hand between her shoulders, and while she was stunned by the impact he attached her chains to hooks affixed to the wall. “Do let me know if you decide to change your mind,” Arobynn called, and then the door closed behind him as he left.

Aelin heard the sound of a whip cracking, and as if from a distance she heard herself screaming as fire spread along her back.

~*~*~

Lysandra finally relaxed into her role as she sat beside the prince for the evening meal. True to his word, the captain of the guard had kept him busy for most of the day, giving her time to overcome her nerves at having to pretend to be someone like Aelin. Oh, she had acted before. She had played roles for clients and courtiers alike, and she had certainly changed her face many times.

None of them had felt nearly as important as this. Everything was on the line, completely dependent on Dorian believing her performance as his potential future wife.

It’s only for one day, she reminded herself as her fingers twisted around each other. She had complete faith in Aelin’s ability to execute a plan, as well as Aedion and Rowan’s ability to keep her safe. It was up to her, now, to give them the time they needed.

Dorian’s parents seemed to be completely unaware of the swap, and Lysandra had spent enough time listening to Aelin’s tutors to be able to follow the light political conversation that was taking place. Even Dorian was engaging with her just as he would with Aelin, and when he grinned at an offhand remark she awarded herself another point for her acting.

As the meal came to an end, Dorian looked over at her again. “So tell me, did you want me to do something terribly predictable and show you the gardens? Or can we skip that part?”

Lysandra laughed in reply as Dorian grinned. “Perhaps another time. I still have to read several of the books you’ve loaned to me, if I hope to finish them during this visit.”

Dorian stood, then, and turned to face her with an ostentatious bow. “Then I hope you will grant me the honor of allowing me to escort you back to your rooms, Your Highness.”

Lysandra chuckled and shook her head in what she hoped came across as a fond gesture. “You’re impossible,” she accused.

The prince laughed in reply. “I assure you that I am not,” he said. “I am here, after all. Unless you’d care to discuss the philosophy of such a statement, of course.”

“I rather suspect we would be here all night,” Lysandra grinned back as she stood, allowing him to take her arm and lead her away.

It was easy enough to allow Dorian to escort her back to Aelin’s room after the evening meal, though she couldn’t help a moment of surprise when he followed her into the main seating area. He glanced at the book Aelin had left open on her desk, humming thoughtfully as he read a few sentences. “Ah. I thought so,” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, mimicking Aelin’s easy grin as she relaxed into a chair halfway across the room.

He turned to her then, and a chill in the air matched the frost in his eyes. “If I invited you to share my bed tonight, shifter, would you demur like the princess you claim to be? Or would you say yes, believing she’s already given into my charms?”

~*~*~

In another situation, or if he were simply an observer and not a participant in this conversation, Dorian might have been amused at the nearly-comical widening of not-Aelin’s eyes. Instead, though, he only felt a cold rage at the deception.

To the shifter’s credit, she immediately dropped the guise of Aelin and returned to her usual appearance. “I told them this was a terrible idea and we should just tell you,” she grumbled. “What tipped you off?”

“A few things,” he replied, “though the most suspicious to me was that this book is open to where Aelin left off last night when I left. She hasn’t read it today.”

The shifter—Lysandra, if he was remembering correctly—nodded. “I didn’t think you would come back here,” she confessed.

Dorian sighed. “Why don’t you start by telling me exactly what it is you’ve all been keeping from me today, and why the captain of my guard appears to be working with you.”

That was the part that was the most shocking to him, if he were being truly honest with himself. He had never once had cause to question Chaol’s loyalty, and he didn’t want to begin now. He only hoped there was a reasonable explanation for why he had been so eager to ensure he spent as much time as possible embroiled in his training and studies.

As he thought about the possibility that his captain and friend was conspiring with these people, as good as he believed Aelin’s intentions to be, he had to take several deep breaths to stop a layer of frost from forming on his hands. His control over his magic was much better than it had been when it had first manifested, but strong emotional responses still riled the power that slept within him. Unless he wanted to entrust his deepest secret to agents of Terrasen, he needed to keep his feelings in check.

The frost finally ebbed, and the shifter began to speak. “Your captain is only involved insofar as to keep you removed from all of this,” she said quietly. “We provided him with enough information to ensure your safety, nothing more.”

“That still leaves a foreign princess, her most loyal soldier, and a blood-sworn of Doranelle in my capital city, with a purpose of which I am not aware, causing an unknown amount of chaos.” Dorian fought back a sigh at the thought of the headache this would no doubt cause for him, and that was if he was fortunate enough to avoid worse fates.

“They’re… dealing with a threat that could bode ill for you and Aelin both.” The woman was clearly trying to decide how much to reveal and how much to hide, and if he wasn’t the person she was trying to deceive in this manner he would have respected it far more.

“What is the nature of the threat?” he asked.

She sighed. “A former crime lord of Terrasen, who left a few short years before her parents died. He’s created a new home for himself in Rifthold, styling himself the King of the Assassins. She’s been attempting to find him for years, to bring an end to a career that’s gone on for far too long already.”

Dorian sighed. “And I presume if I ask you’ll have absolutely no idea why a crown princess of Terrasen is involved in hunting an assassin, and didn’t simply leave it to her warrior cousin.”

“It isn’t my story to tell,” she replied, looking away.

“Of course it’s not,” he grumbled. “Apologies. I believe you when you imply that this wasn’t your idea and that you’re only involved out of necessity. But this puts me in a… delicate situation.” That was an understatement; if word of Aelin’s actions got out it could be disastrous.

“I understand,” she sighed. “Which is why I wanted to tell you what I could.”

Finally, he nodded. “And when do we expect her to return?”

“By morning,” she answered.

“Very well. I will do what I can to keep this quiet and out of the public eye. But I will be asking Aelin about this later.” It was the best he could offer, and by the look on her face she understood completely.

Without another word, Dorian turned on his heel and returned to his office, asking a guard on the way to send Chaol to him. It appeared they had much to discuss.

~*~*~

“I detest this plan,” Aedion hissed in the direction of the hawk on the nearby roof as the sun began to set. “We should be going after her.”

The hawk took flight, circling the square before landing behind a box and turning into Whitethorn in a soft flash of concealed light. “We have to trust that Aelin can get herself free,” the warrior said. “We’re foreign actors in Adarlan’s capital city. If we break into that building without cause, it puts Aelin and her prince both in a difficult situation.”

It was interesting, how a subtle difference in Whitethorn’s tone was able to so clearly indicate that he wouldn’t mind causing a little trouble for the Adarlanian prince. “You don’t like Dorian,” he realized.

The statement earned him a scowl from his Fae companion. “I have no feelings one way or the other about the prince.”

“You realize my senses are better than a human’s, right? I could hear that you don’t like him.”

Whitethorn’s response was the carefully crafted words of someone used to diplomacy. “I have no reason to dislike him. And we’re not talking about this. It’s almost time.”

Finally. He’d hated sitting in this alley waiting for something to happen. “Time for what?”

“If Aelin is going to keep to her schedule, she’s about to make her next move.”

“You think she can get out of there without us?” It wasn’t that Aedion didn’t trust his cousin’s abilities. No, he knew she was a capable fighter and a powerful magic user. But he knew that she would be unlikely to use her magic unless absolutely needed, given the possibility of a tense political situation if she were recognized.

When he turned to face Whitethorn, the other male wore a small but ferocious grin, eyes positively glowing. “It’s not her I’m worried about,” he responded. “Anyone who crosses her on her way out will deserve exactly what she gives them.” And judging from the look on his face, Whitethorn would revel in their suffering.

The house they watched over was quiet, its occupants likely asleep given that their profession meant being out at all hours of the night. Aedion sighed. “I still don’t like this,” he admitted several minutes later.

“Given that I don’t like it either, I could hardly expect you to.” For all his posturing, and for all the strange glee that had come over him when he had spoke of what Aelin would do to those who crossed her, now the warrior was tense, eyes dark with what Aedion suspected was worry.

Even though the Fae beside him was sworn to a queen that was not his own, Aedion realized he wouldn’t rather have anyone else at his side for this particular mission. He had watched Whitethorn and Aelin grow close over the previous weeks, closer than anyone would’ve suspected. He didn’t know much about magic, but he suspected that sharing it as they could was a rare gift. If he could trust anyone to feel the same urgency he did to ensure she got out of this alive and as unharmed as possible, it would be this warrior.

Suddenly Whitethorn’s head tilted and his eyes narrowed, much like Aedion would have expected in the male’s other form. “What is it?” Aedion asked, only for the other male to gesture for his silence.

Soon enough, Aedion could hear it as well. There was shouting coming from inside the house, at least two masculine voices. He couldn’t make out the words, and based on Whitethorn’s expression he couldn’t either, but something had changed. As he watched, the warrior pulled two knives from his boots and twirled them gracefully around his fingers. It was a good choice, and Aedion went for his own knife as well, knowing his sword would be nearly useless in these cramped alleys. “We stay here,” Whitethorn was saying. “Those are male voices. I haven’t heard Aelin yet, which means they haven’t discovered her. We only go in if it’s absolutely necessary. When she leaves, she’ll come this way. If anyone else makes it this far…” The grim smile on his face indicated their fate clearly enough.

Three men burst through the door of the building, exchanging panicked instructions before departing in different directions, and Aedion and Whitethorn crouched behind a cart to conceal their presence. One man ran for the alley they had chosen for their hiding place, and before Aedion could do anything the Fae warrior was already in motion, clutching the man to him in a twisted parody of a lover’s embrace before drawing a blade across his throat. “They’ll notice when this one doesn’t come back,” he whispered as he dragged the man behind their cart. “We don’t have much longer.”

A slim figure stumbled out of the door next, and Aedion grinned. “We don’t need much longer. That’s Aelin.”

She was almost unrecognizable, golden hair turned red with blood and darkened with ash, but there was no mistaking the eyes that met his, pained but determined. Then those eyes shifted away and he knew she had seen Whitethorn standing beside him. From the sharp intake of breath at his left he knew the warrior had seen her as well, and soon he had abandoned all talk of secrecy to cross the small crossing in several quick strides.

Aelin moved, trying to meet him halfway, but her motions were fumbling and clumsy. She said something to the warrior that Aedion couldn’t quite hear, smiling up at him…

And then as he watched, she collapsed into the male’s arms.

Whitethorn quickly lifted her, carrying her into the alley and out of sight. By the time they reached Aedion she was already unconscious, either from pain or from exhaustion. Judging by her face, Aedion suspected it was a combination of both. “Get her out of here and back to the palace,” he said quietly, adjusting his grip on his knife. “I’ll stay here and make sure you’re not followed.”

Green eyes met his, clearly searching for something. Aedion didn’t know what the warrior was looking for, but finally he nodded and adjusted his grip on Aelin.

Before he could get far, though, Aedion called to him again. “Oh, and Whitethorn?”

“Yes?” he replied, expression tight with concern.

“Take care of her.” And then Aedion turned his attention back to the house with a grim smile. He didn’t know what its inhabitants may have done to his cousin, but he had absolutely no problems with delivering justice to any of them foolish enough to come his way.

~*~*~

Tagging:

@ireallyshouldsleeprn @queen-of-glass @fangirlprincess09 @sassys-world @morganofthewildfire @superspiritfestival @perseusannabeth @sis-it-dont-add-up @jlinez @julemmaes @emilyoftheshadows

[agerefandom]

Forever More

Fandom: Phantom of the Opera

Words: 1,900

Characters: Christine Daaé /Erik (The Phantom)

Summary: Established relationship: a sugar sweet fanfiction exploring Christine and Erik’s life together with a focus on Erik as a traumatized age regressor and Christine’s attempts to re-parent him. 

Warnings: Erik and Christine are married as adults, but Christine thinks of adult!Erik and regressed!Erik as different parts of her life. Erik’s scars are present, and anxiety-ridden regression is mentioned but isn’t the focus. Erik calls Christine ‘Mama’ when he’s young. There is also a bathing scene with suggested nudity.

Note: Nobody requested this, I just rewatched one of my favourite stage productions of the show and the need for this fanfiction was consuming me... so here it is, brought to life! I hope at least one other regressor enjoys this ^-^ 

Christine had always known that living with Erik would be an adjustment, but there were many parts of it that she didn’t expect.

She had known that his sheet music would spread across the music room, always multiplying. She had known that he would have bad days, withdrawn or angry, that there would be nights when he wouldn’t come to bed because he was working or didn’t want to be near her. She had known that he would go back to wearing his masks sometimes, that he would leave entirely and go wandering through the catacombs or into the countryside.

Christine had also known that he would always return to her, removing his mask and kneeling at her feet, pressing his cheek to her thigh as she ran her fingers over the uneven scars on his head. This was their quiet ritual of forgiveness, marking his return as her husband.

There were other things about Erik that she hadn’t expected.

Christine was out during the day, teaching dance and singing lessons to children in the city, travelling from house to house. Erik made himself helpful, doing the chores, sewing Christine’s dresses, making their meals. Sometimes Christine felt like she had a new housekeeper instead of a husband, but she appreciated the help and made sure Erik received her thanks for every meal and new outfit.

Erik was a creature of many moods: sometimes he was playful, sometimes he was soft, sometimes angry or distant. Christine learned to navigate his emotional tempest, the times when she needed to leave before they fought and the times when she needed to wait him out.

Sometimes Erik was young. It used to happen when he woke up from nightmares, confused and afraid. He would cling to Christine, sobbing and vulnerable in a way she rarely saw. He was different in this space, but he was so different from day to day. It took her a while to realize that it was something different from his mood swings. He seemed disoriented in this space, confused by the house and even by Christine herself. He flinched at every movement but melted into her arms when she held him, clinging to her nightgown with a white-knuckled grip.

Christine asked Erik about it in the day, and he twisted his hands together, his shoulders squared. Said that sometimes he couldn’t remember that he’d grown up. Sometimes he thought he was still a child, lost and alone, but it always passed and he would come back to himself.

Christine’s heart broke for the boy that Erik had been, and what he couldn’t move on from: that abandonment, that fear that had been part of him for so long.

So she started to care more for Erik when he was young. Christine had never been very confident at sewing, but she modified a few patterns designed for children and made Erik a kilted suit, like the boys had worn when she was young. To her gratification, little Erik loved the kilt, running his hands over the fringed edges, and she ended up sewing three more from the same pattern so that he could wear them when one was dirty.

Erik started to be young more often, a few evenings a week, and they talked about it again. She assured him that she loved caring for him, that this was special to her, fulfilling a maternal spirit she’d never really intended to nurture. Christine told him that she always wanted to spend time with her husband, but she loved her little boy as well. Erik looked at her with that deep uncertain awe that he had sometimes when she told him that she loved him. It always made her heart feel like it was pressing against her ribs, like she wanted to take Erik and press him into her chest where he could be safe inside of her forever.

Christine knew that was impossible, but at least she could cradle him when he was young, teach him the love that his first mother had not given.

It became another part of their lives together, like the drawn curtains, and their country home, and Erik’s paintings scattered around the walls.

“Mama!”

“Erik!” Christine ran to embrace her little boy, wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing tight. He was so much taller than her, but he fit inside her arms perfectly. “Little one, how have you been?”

“Mama!”

Erik wasn’t very talkative when he was young, and Christine thought he was probably very young indeed. Maybe two or three at the oldest, and she always wished she could carry him.

“Have you been drawing?” There were papers scattered across the floor. Erik was very proper about keeping his art on the desk when he was working, so it was probably a result of her little boy having fun with Erik’s art supplies. “May I see?”

Erik knelt to scoop up a handful of papers from the floor and held them up to her, smiling widely. Christine loved that expression. It had been hard-earned, and the switch from the scared little boy flinching at everything to an enthusiastic trouble-maker had been a long road. Erik still had his hard days as a boy, of course, days where he wouldn’t stop crying or where he was more confused than normal, but they were far less common than they had been when Christine had started caring for him.

“Oh, thank you.” Christine accepted the papers and started flipping through them. They were all charcoal drawings, and heavily smudged. That would explain why Erik had black all over his face: she had assumed that he’d gotten into the fireplace again. She would have to clean his hands before he started climbing on the furniture.

Erik was a talented artist as a grown man, but the ability did not translate to his younger self. Christine thought she could make out a stringed instrument in one of the drawings, and a figure with long hair in another. Most of them were scribbled messes of black, covering the page. Christine carefully shuffled the pages into an orderly stack and placed them on the table.

“Those are amazing, darling. We’ll have to add them to our scrapbook.” She had come across advertisements for children’s scrapbooks in a periodical and had immediately started buying the blank books to keep her little Erik’s work and interests in. He liked to help her arrange the clippings, and she liked having a record of his younger self. She would ask him what he’d been drawing when he was older again, writing his interpretations underneath. Her husband was always embarrassed but indulgent in the face of Christine’s enthusiasm.

“Scrapbook!” Erik echoed. He liked to say words back, usually in a way that made sense, but sometimes Christine thought he just liked the sound of certain words.

“We’ll do that later,” she told him, kneeling down to join him on the floor. “Right now, we need to get you washed off.”

“No!” Erik made a grab for the papers Christine had left on the table, and she intercepted his charcoal-smudged hands, gently interlacing their fingers.

“We’ll change you into your kilt afterwards,” she told him, and Erik’s expression changed to a less defiant one. Christine tried not to smile, even though the victory trilled in her chest. “Come on, little maestro, Mama wants you to play for her before dinner and you can’t touch the piano with dirty fingers.”

After that, Erik followed her to the bathroom willingly. Christine removed his clothes, waving away his attempts to help. He had clearly not been planning to be young when she got home, and he was still wearing his usual suit. Most of the charcoal smudges were on his dark wool trousers, which wasn’t much of a problem, but she didn’t want him to get it on the white shirt he was wearing.

She kissed his cheeks to distract him while she undid the buttons, paying equal attention to both cheeks, although she was gentle when she brushed kisses around the scars on his right side. He laughed, a carefree sound that she never heard from her husband. They both had lovely laughs, but they were so different. She loved them both so much.

Once Erik was free of his suit, she laid his clothes on the railing and sat her little boy down on a stool, bringing the washbasin over to clean his hands and face. He squirmed and whined, and she kissed his face again, cleaning off the charcoal with practiced sweeps of the sponge.

When the washing was done, she led him to their bedroom and pulled out his favourite outfit, a dark green kilt with a plain shirt and a vest. They had an English storybook with illustrations of a boy wearing an identical outfit, and it was one of Erik’s favourite stories when he was young like this.

With newly clean fingers, Erik dressed himself, although Christine swept in to tuck his shirt and straighten his collar.

“There we are,” she said, stepping back to admire her work. “My handsome boy.”

Erik blinked up at her contentedly, his right eye only closing halfway because of the scar tissue that layered his eyelid back on itself.

“What do you think, Erik? Do you want to play for Mama?”

“Sing!” Erik popped up from the bed, reaching for Christine’s hand.

“Yes, darling, of course I’ll sing for you.” She drew him close and kissed his forehead, running a hand over his head. She’d convinced him to shave what little hair he had on his head, and now it was a soft surface of wrinkled scars and divots, perfect for running her hands over when they were cuddling.

“Sing!!” Erik protested, pulling away from her embrace. Things were clearly not moving quickly enough for him.

��Yes, yes, alright,” Christine relented, letting him pull her down the hall to their music room. Erik’s piano stood in the center, stacks of sheet music all around. He was much neater with his paintings because he had to be: his music wasn’t threatened by a stray foot stomping on them.

Erik sat on the piano bench and Christine sat beside him, resting her hand on his knee. “What will you play me today?” she asked as Erik placed his hands on the keys.

He didn’t answer with words, simply beginning the song when she was done speaking. Christine wasn’t sure why Erik was so talented at music when he was young, yet could hardly draw a straight line with charcoal. Perhaps it was something to do with his natural talents, or something else entirely, but Christine wasn’t complaining as he went straight into one of the most recent operas they had been learning together.

His memory for music was less jumbled than his other memories when he was young. Sometimes when he couldn’t even remember Christine, she could get through to him by singing familiar lullabies, soothing him slowly and bringing him back, helping him to remember that he was safe, that she wouldn’t hurt him, that she was safe.

Erik played, and Christine sang. He loved to hear her sing, even though he didn’t know that he was the one to teach her. For now, she was his mother, and she was proud of his music, and that was all that mattered.

She was making sure that he knew he was loved, now and always. Forever more.

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic for @legendariumladiesapril

Story summary: Findis talks with Lalwen before her departure from Tirion; and an age later, Findis talks to Lalwen's broken memorial.

Wordcount: ~2,100 words; Rating: Teenage audiences

Some keywords: sister-sister relationship, some angst, flight of the Noldor, war of wrath

A/N: What is 'canonical': Findis, Finwë and Indis' oldest child, stayed in Valinor after the Darkening, going to live with the Vanyar with Indis. Her younger sister Lalwen (Quenya names Írimë Lalwendë) was close to Fingolfin and went to Beleriand with him. The rest is made up by me. Laurefindil is Glorfindel’s Quenya name.

Warning for major character death (’offscreen’), mentions of blood and discussion of death

AO3 LINK

*

Sister of mine

Tirion, after Fëanáro's oath but before the Noldor's departure

Findis sits on Írimë's bed and watches as her sister packs. Findis herself packed for her departure to Valinor days ago, but Írimë did always tend to leave things almost too late.

Írimë pulls an astounding number of blades of different lengths from a chest. She stows some of them in her pack and one long sword and two daggers in the sword-belt which lies on a table, waiting.

'That one for my ankle', Írimë mutters as she adds another short blade on the table and surveys the weapons.

Findis has sat in silence for a long time, staring at her sister and memorising the way she moves, swift and decisive, and the tone of her voice as she speaks to herself, low but melodious. Írimë inherited their mother's gift for song as much as Indis did, though unlike Findis she never cared much to use it.

Findis hopes she will never forget the exact colour of her sister's voice, no matter how long they are apart.

That voice shakes her from her thoughts. 'You can still change your mind, you know', Írimë says. 'And come with us.'

She must have misinterpreted Findis' bereft expression.

'My decision is as steadfast as yours', Findis replies. 'I am staying. Antaro and I will take mother to Valinor, and with luck and time and the help of the Valar we shall all heal from our losses.'

Írimë's expression tightens, and Findis knows that she is restraining herself. 'That is one way to react to father's death and the slaying of the Trees', she says.

'We believe it the wisest', says Findis with equal restraint.

Írimë sighs and sits on the bed beside Findis, her riding breeches dark against Findis' cream-coloured dress. 'I am going, Nolofinwë is going, and so is Arafinwë, and all of their children, not to mention our half-brother.'

Findis looks away from Írimë. 'Best indeed not mention him', she says.

Along with all the other things Findis mourns for, she still mourns the loss of the playful big brother that she once had, long ago for a short while when it was only the two of them born of Finwë's children. It is silly to mourn for something that existed only for a scant few years, and might not have had she been a boy, she knows; but it had sent chills down Findis's spine to watch and listen from afar Fëanáro agitating the Noldor, lighting a fire in their hearts that would lead them to folly. Or so Findis believes.

There had been no trace left then in Fëanáro of the long-limbed boy that he once was, holding his sister's sticky hand and dragging her behind him all around the palace, speaking to her of everything that he was interested in which was almost everything.

Írimë never knew that boy, but she is following Fëanáro anyway, though she goes out of love and loyalty for another brother.

They are all following Fëanáro, everyone in the family but Indis and Findis and her Vanyarin husband and two of their children.

'Your son is going', reminds Írimë, and oh, that may be the greatest grief of all for Findis, almost greater than her father's death at the hands of the fallen Vala.

'Laurefindil is a man grown', Findis says with a heavy heart. 'He makes his own decisions, as did all my children. He has sworn himself to Turukáno's service, and it did not surprise me. He always admired Turukáno most of all of his older cousins.'

Írimë lays a hand on Findis' knee. She is fire-hearted, not heartless, Findis knows, though her speech can be harsh.

'I spoke to your daughter', Írimë confesses. 'Tried to convince her to come, but she laughed at me and said that she is her mother's daughter at heart though I may not be mine.'

'That was not very kindly said of her, nor kindly done of you', Findis says. She is relieved that Malwafindë had not changed her mind. It is enough – too much – that one of her three children is leaving.

Írimë laughs, though her laughter holds little joy these days. 'I have always appreciated her sharp tongue, Findis, sister of mine. She says things as they are. I tried talking to her because she made, after all, a sword for herself as well as me and many others. I thought that she might have been wanting to go but too loyal to you by first instinct.'

'She is a smith. I think forging swords was as much professional curiosity as wanting to arm herself and her family and friends.' Findis tries not to care about Írimë's half-hurtful words, and her trying to make Findis's daughter leave. There has been enough discord in their family already. Findis does not want her possibly last private conversation with her sister to turn to an argument.

'Did you try talking to Tárion too?' Findis must ask. Her younger son, her late-born joy.

Írimë shakes her head. 'He is not quite of age yet: your child still, more than the others. I would not rip him from you even if he wanted to come –'

'He does not', says Findis.

They talk for long hours until the candles in the room burn low and Írimë has to light new ones. She does it hastily, before they are left without light. Though the darkness that these days fills all rooms and streets without candles, lamps or torches is not as suffocating as the darkness that filled their land after the Trees died, Findis and Írimë are both uneasy with lack of light now.

They speak, and they embrace, and they reminisce about some things that are not too hurtful, that do not rip open any fresh wounds. There are not many such things. They cry a little.

But after many hours comes a time when Findis has to leave lest her husband and son begin worrying about her.

In the doorway of Írimë's room, the light of the single candle in Findis' hands between them, she says, 'There will be no public goodbye between us, Írimë. I will leave Tirion before you do.'

'You, leaving me behind?' Írimë's eyes are bright. 'I would not have thought it.'

'Mother has decided she prefers to leave first.' Findis swallows. 'Wherever your road takes you, sister, may the stars light your way and the winds blow behind you.'

Írimë gives a little laugh, but it is a wavering laugh, halfway to weeping. 'Thank you', she says, and embraces Findis, not very careful with the candle. 'For you, I know that they will', she says.

*

During the War of Wrath      

At the end of the next Age, Findis finds her sister's grave after a battle in Hithlum.

The grave was once handsomely marked, she can see. But the great statue that once stood there on a plinth must have been broken years ago, for moss grows on the pieces of it that lie scattered on the ground and a layer of ash covers them. And though Findis tries, she cannot find her sister's visage in the weather-worn stone face with the nose broken off.

She kneels before the plinth and wipes dirt off the worn words that are carved into the stone. But her dirty glove only adds another layer of soot and half-dried black blood, and she cannot make out the words apart from a few that she recognises as Sindarin. That much she can tell – that Írimë Lalwendë, daughter of Finwë king of the Noldor when they were still one united people, was honoured in death in the language of the grey-elves of the land where she fought her last battle.

'They told me that you fought bravely until your end', Findis says. Speaking is difficult, and not only because of the ash swirling in the air. 'In many battles by our brother's side. As valiant as any of the house of Fingolfin, as they called him here. I heard that he and his children were the most feared by Morgoth. I have so much reason to be proud of them, and you.'

Findis bows her head. 'Námo is going to give my son back to us soon', she tells her sister's grave. 'I hope and pray that the rest of you will be forgiven, too. You too gave your lives in the battle against the enemy, and you defended these lands, and you and your swords – your too many swords and daggers, I once thought, Írimë, but you must have needed them all over the centuries.'

She breathes deep the foul-smelling air. There were two Balrogs in the battle today. The air is always especially foul after Balrogs have been vanquished.

'I was saying – you and your blades protected many here. Firstborn and Secondborn both, and even Naugrim; and they fought alongside you, people who our half-brother railed against.'

Findis will not cry, she will not. Her gloves and hands are too dirty to wipe away tears.

'This is the first time that you have ever been quiet when I talked to you', Findis says. 'No interruptions, no comments. How I miss your voice.'

She takes a dagger from her belt. 'You left this at home so I brought it to you. I thought for a long time that you must have left it by accident because it was your favourite, your favourite to throw and to unnerve our father by playing with at the dinner table. Flipping it in your hands.' Findis smiles at the memory. The smile pulls at the wound on her cheek, and turns to a pained grimace.

'It didn't take many battles of my own for me to realise that you left it because it was too small and light. A plaything rather than a weapon. But I brought it to you anyway because I thought it a better thing to leave at your grave than flowers.' Another painful smile. 'You never cared much for flowers, you weren't that kind of princess. And I never thought that I was this kind of princess, one that wears armour and bloodstains and the taste of her own blood in her mouth. But I found my courage and followed in your footsteps in the end, little sister.'

Findis stabs the dagger into the muddy ground before Írimë's broken memorial. She wishes her gloves weren't so dirty because the pearl-handled little dagger made in the days of treelight and bliss would be prettier without dark smudges. Even with them, it is beautiful, a whole thing in a broken landscape.

'In any case.' Findis takes another deep breath. 'This land will be destroyed by the time we are victorious. Or on the way to destruction, at the very least. The sea will come and cover all of this, all the graves of all the Noldor who fought till they lost the impossible battle. Did you know it was hopeless, Írimë?'

Findis looks around. There are other memorials, gravestones and statues here. All are broken and dirtied, all have lost the glory they no doubt possessed when they were erected. They speak only of defeat and desecration now.

'It is better, I think, for all of this to be washed clean', Findis says with her heart in her throat. 'Your grave, and Findekáno's, and everyone else's whose bones lie here and elsewhere in Beleriand. The land is lost, though the war will be won by the might of the Valar.'

There is only one thing left to say.

'I do not regret my choice, Írimë, though I came here to help end the war you started.' With a last gentle touch to the plinth that once bore her sister's statue, Findis says, 'I hope that you did not regret your choice either. It pains me to think that you might have, and died for it anyway.'

She rises, her knees stiff from kneeling in armour and from the long day of battle. She whistles for her horse and the grey mare comes, as lovely and valiant as she was when Findis brought her over from Valinor three decades ago though her coat is made greyer by the ever-present ash that makes the battles against Morgoth's forces even grimmer.

Ignoring her stiff knees Findis mounts her steed and spurs her to a steady canter, returning to where she left her troops. They will have to find a safe place to camp for the night, and tomorrow they will ride back to Sirion and rejoin the battle there. The last of the orcs and Balrogs that had sneaked into Hithlum have been defeated.

Findis looks forward to reuniting with Arafinwë at Sirion. When the ever-raging battle allows, she will tell him of their sister's grave.

[ofcruelfates101]

“ There is no such thing as perfection.”

the courts offer bread and salt to ARTEMISIA of HOUSE MANDERLY. many say that the THIRTY-ONE year old LADY of THE NEW CASTLE ( within White Harbor ) is known to be CALM and WISE, though ill tongues whisper that SHE is SECRETIVE and DISILLUSIONED. when her name is uttered , one is reminded of beautiful but saddened, disquieting eyes, gazes that bore deep into your soul, a touch of serenity, an aura of world-weariness for someone still so young, a tiny flame that flickers in and out, an exquisite smile that was somehow built upon a foundation of hidden but great heartaches, shades of blue and green, soft pink tulips strewn in a messy path. may she be blessed and protected in this war of crowns. ( fc: alessandra mastronardi ) (( also filling freyja stark’s wc of a best friend + confidante )) * she’s also currently in freyja stark’s retinue of lady-in-waiting and her most trusted counsel *

TW (!!) : relationship abuse, violence, foeticide, death, drug abuse

the following intro below is subject to changes as I’m still plotting out ( + still open for ) connections with other muns!! <3

- she’s the eldest daughter in her family and she has two younger sisters who are twins. she also has a few-to a handful of brothers, one of which is the eldest child and current ruling lord of House Manderly. to her close friends and siblings she was known by her nickname of “Artie”

- Growing up, she was always considered the perfect child. the fillial daughter, the perfect nobleborn girl..everything most proud and lofty nobles wanted as a daughter of a powerful house was in her. This was mainly because, she was born with a natural soft personality, a naive heart and an extremely sharp mind which was very much open and yearing to learn everything anyone wanted to teach her. Spotting and sensing this in their daughter from her toddler years, her overbearing parents then were very determined to mold her into the perfect little lady. To be the one of the brightest jewels of the North that many around the whole realm of Westeros would want and admire.

- Extensively groomed, trained and educated very strictly with no expense spared, the combined efforts of the ruling lord & lady as well as their staff, paid off. She grew up to be a poised and flawlessly elegant lady, perfect in all her mannerisms, behaviour and goldenly-charming social skills. They also made sure to introduce and train her in all kinds of artistic skills and hobbies and to their delight, her ingeniously bright brains which soaked up all kinds of knowledge like a sponge were in perfect sync with her motor skills. Thus, she became very talented in all kinds of artistic ventures. Singing, playing musical instruments, dancing, painting, poetry recitation, embroidery, needlework and even cooking & baking was all nicely packaged into her. She was also well prepped to be the perfect wife and perfect lady that was able to run a large household, knowing how to be organized, pleasing to her future husband and with a knack for numbers and how to efficiently handle the staff. And to add the chery on top, Artie was blessed with insanely beautiful features, making her a lady of great beauty. All in all, it was extremely easy for her parents to receive many bids for her hand in marriage.

- Underneath all this outer layers of seemingly shining perfection, was a person who also grew to be extremely compassionate and kind. a person who always had the biggest smile on her face for everyone she met, no matter what social rank they were, and soft helping hand to anyone in need. a person who was yes indeed loyal to her family, but also couldn’t stand not helping or associating with any stranger she deemed good and was in great need. thus this girl held many secrets in her heart too. secrets that only a small circle of people closest to her knew. so many secrets: that involved helping out anyone who was a victim of her father’s ambition, greed and wrath ; that involved getting accquainted with harmless people whom her family either looked down upon/ despised/ were enemies with ; that involved helping any female which were considered a pariah to a society or suffering for some unjustified reason. She kept this secret actions of hers well, not wanting to incur her parent’s wrath or make trouble for their family name or anyone at all. It also didn’t help that Artie was a passive person and hated confrontations more than anything.

- A lot of her secretive activies was done with the help of some of the servants & staff members of her parent’s household. Eversince she was a little girl, she had long won and charmed their hearts with her patient listening skills, her natural emphathy and her ever willingness to help out in any way. There was no malice or spite or hidden agenda to be found in her, just genuine affection. ‘do unto others as you would have them do unto you’.  Artie also did not desire to do great things in life., she only wanted to do small things with great love.

- being rigidly perfect all the time was tiring. Artie often did find herself wondering, yearning even to just live the simple life of a smallfolk. her form of release and escape came in the form of horse-riding. her father, knowing the dangers of the ongoing war between the ironborn and the north, made sure that his daughters all knew how to ride welljust incase that they should need to flee for their safety. artie loved her horse immensely and she had a great affinity with that beautiful animal. galloping away hard and fast were one of the biggest joys in her life as well as interacting with the many different people who came to White Harbor’s ports. Most of the people in the city loved the soft, generous and bright girl who alwasy did her best to bring good cheer and happiness into their lives. Thus earning her titles/monikers like The Little Mermaid and The Priceless Pearl of White Harbor, etc..

- in the romance department however, it would seemed that Artie was cursed with bad luck. she was once secretly in love with one of her closests friends, a tender sweet young secret crush, but never had the courage to let him know for fear of losing their enjoyable friendship. when she was about 15/16, she would then be betrothed to a man that was good but unfortunately, try as hard as she might her affections for him, never went beyond platonic. When she was just only turning 18, her bethrothed died due to fighting in the North-Iron war and her ever ambitious father was quick to find her a new fiance. Someone not from the North and even more richer than her first fiance had been. What her parents had no idea of at first that Artie was in the midst of falling deeply in love with another man through secret meetings. He promised her freedom, great love and passion and the lovers arranged to meet in the dark of the night to elope. Doing something incredibly risky for the first time ever, had Artie feeling at her most scared and highly uncertain, and riddled with guilt. However with the sweet promises of her lover lingering in her mind, she still went though with it.

Her lover never showed up. She waited and waited, till she was chilled to the bone at one of the most hidden ports but he never came and she was eventually caught by her parents. Breaking down, repenting and begging for their forgiveness as well as that of her betrothed for being so incredibly foolish & she would take whatever punishment dealt to her nary a sound, she was then pleasantly surprised when her betrothed Lord was so quick to forgive her. He instead largely reassured her that everything was going to be alright as he had already fallen for her. As long as she stayed faithful to him and open her heart to him, he told her that he would wait for however long it takes to earn her romantic love. She instantly agreed. Thus she was very quickly whisked away from The North and to his home to be wed immediately.

The 19 year old Artie was blissfully happy with her new wedded life at first. Her husband was attentive, charming and really seemed very sincere in his efforts to make her fall in love with him. Artie even thought he could heal her heartache & he would turn out to be the dream soulmate she always wished for..... That was her first grave mistake. A few months later, she found out she was pregnant, but there was also the possibility that the child could have been fathered by her former lover. For there was not much time difference between the night she had lain with her ex and her wedding night. Filled with great anxiety and worry, Artie still trusted that her incrediby understanding husband would not be too angered and perhaps allow her to either give away the child to be adopted by a good family or take the child as his own, because there was the possibility that it was truly fathered by him instead of the other. That was her 2nd grave mistake and the final one that Artie had ever made so far in her life up till now.

Her husband was not understanding. He was not kind. In fact, that night when she told him about the whole matter, he showed her his true colours  and that was of a monster. A monster that verbally and physically abused her, and come morning, she had lost the baby.

It took a long time for Artie to heal and survive out her trauma from that horrendous night. When she finally came out of her grief and darkness, she was a very much changed Artemisia. She was no longer naive. She was no longer idealistic nor hopeful about her chances for a happy life any longer. She was no longer trusting and she had no wish to repair the broken pieces of her heart and soul any longer. She lost her liveliness and was now more content being invisible. A wallflower, no longer a radiant rose of any events.

Her husband still tried to bed her, to make her give him his heirs. But that was the main thing, she wanted to refuse him on. He had killed her precious child  and thus he would get no children from her. Finally embracing the craft of sneakiness and silent strategic planning, she found ways to prevent conception through, strange, and creative methods that she had heard from her days of interacting with the several types of people that were in White Harbor. She dared not risk her actions being found out, thus she never once drank Moon Tea, for that was easily detectable by her husband’s maester. The methods she used though highly unorthodox were sucessfull and for the next seven years of her life, she never fell pregnant.

She was the one who in fact, started the rumors that she was infertile and that she had a barren womb. She let the rumors circulate and became widely-spread, making no moves to surpress or deny those claims. She even supported her licentious husband in his taking of many paramours, and pretended that she had long forgiven what he had done. Oh to pretend! She grew to be very good at pretending over the years. The only people she never had to pretend with was several of her household staff who had been genuinely kind and caring of her when she first arrived. With her natural tendancy from her teenage years to be able to bond well with the small folk through her sincerity of heart, she then grew to be loved by them and she loved them back as well.. They were regarded to her as family and they helped their beloved mistress in turn. Being silent and fading into the background has its many perks. One of which was picking up and learning bits and pieces of information that would could be useful to her in the future.

With her long embedded, culinary skills, Artie over the years would once in a while, cleverly slip in drugs like Milk of the Poppy and dreamwine into her cooking and baking for her husband, finding creative means to disguise their flavours well, so that he would never find out. His health ultimately dwindled down as a result of his addiction....but still it would take a long time before he finally died for she couldn’t do it often and had to play it safe. His maester? She managed to find a way to blackmail the man, so that he would never betray her.

However her husband’s death came not fully by her hands but due to his own faults. He had been visiting one of his paramours at an inn where she worked and it so happened that Artie was visiting an ill relative of one of her servants who was also staying in that inn. His  paramour, a young and giddy girl, had wanted to bake him a pie. However one of the ingredients she used was something he was deathly allergic too and since she had only just recently known him, she had no idea of that fact yet. his mind being adled by copius amounts of ale which he had drunk earlier, didn’t think too much of the meal that his girl brough up to him and ate large chunks of it greedily.

Hearing a yell and a crash at one of the rooms and panicked cries just as she was passing by, Artie then burst into the room to help whoever was in trouble. Upon speedily taking in the view of the current situation, she was able to quickly guessed what must have accidentally occured. Telling the terrified girl that she would take care of the situation, Artie then pressed the girl to flee back home silently and wait for further instructions. Once the girl was gone, Artie neared her suffering husband. She had the antidiote for his allergic reaction. He had made her carry it around her being incase of emergencies such as this. However she made no move to help him. She just stared and stared at him with an austere gaze as he struggled horribly to live. Upon his final moments, she finally uttered a chilly sentence, one that he had said to her during the darkest night of her life thus far & one she had long wanted to repeat back to him.

It didnt take much convincing for the young girl to leave the city and make a new life for herself far, far away. Accident or not, his relatives would certainly be out for her blood, and Artie made sure that the girl had enough money and supplies to last her for a while. Finally widowed, Artie then made her way back home to the North, once the funeral and grieving periods were over. When her dearest and longtime childhood best friend, Freyja Stark nee Umber, asked Artie to join her retinue of ladies-in-waiting, she immediately accepted.

The now-mostly quiet young woman’s real happiness only started prickling back into her life once again, after she was reunited with her bestie whom regarded and loved slightly more than her own bliological sisters. For the past 5 years, she has vowed that she never wants to leave being in Freyja's service and side for multiple reasons. The first one mainly being that she wanted to help her queen through sage opinions and advice whenever she asked of her, and to protect Freyja as well. the second main reason...well, she's more than content ( determined in fact) to live the rest of her life as a old maid. Romantic love was never made for her and she held no more dreams of big, wonderful life and a family of her own. Here was where she could finally hold some tiny semblance of peace.

- Artie’s trust nowadays are only reserved for her family members and closest friends. Her life experiences had made her wiser and the knowledge she had accumulated all over the years of her life in different arenas were being used as she became one of the sharpest eyes and ears for her beloved queen. She believed that the real power was with the common people, not the nobles, and here was Artie’s strongest forte, for she had many loyal connections far and wide with the smallfolk.

-She was still kind but only towards children, her loved ones and people she deemed innocent enough after studying them for some time. The Little Mermaid had lost her spark for life and The Priceless Pearl of White Harbor had been crushed to dust.

[willow-of-hingashi]

A New Town’s Light [RP]

 (( Rating: PG ))

 (( Genre: Slice of Life, Drama ))

 (( Cast: Kikyo Hagane of @the-firetouched​ and Nobuyuki ‘Ichihiko’ Ienaka ))

 Maple leafs rustled in the wind outside, pitter-pattering as they landed delicately upon the stone pathway. The sleeves of Nobuyuki's layered kimono were folded over his hands as he moved towards the entrance to the onsen, mail in tow. He shifted through it as he slipped off his zori in the genkan entrance, stopping in his tracks when he found one observed one scroll-holder that stood out. It wasn't unusual that he received the occasional scroll from the Far East, but this one bore the Ichimitsu Okiya's kamon; a stylized paper lantern inside a circle.

 With tabi-covered feet, Nobuyuki shuffled into the ryokan's main foyer, halting when he opened the scroll to read over it. He only got halfway before he want to summon the resident shikomi. "Kikyo," he called as he rounded the corner where the door to her working quarters sat. ["Stop what you're doing for a while. I have a message here from the otou-san."] A long pause. ["He wants to speak with you. It's important."]

 Kikyo was humming and scrubbing the wood floors before Nobu came around the corner. She sat up at once and, once he spoke in Hingan, she nearly jumped to her feet. Her first instinct is to smile, of course, but that falters as soon as she is given word that she wishes to be...spoken with. Even at a mere 17 summers, she knew that could be troublesome indeed! Or perhaps it is a good thing?

 ["O-of course, Ichihiko-sensei. What does he want to speak with one such as myself about...?"]

 Finally, a small frown. Was she being rejected once again?

 Unfurling the scroll on its jikugi, Nobuyuki kept his gaze on the Hingan characters before him. ["It's about your career,"] he replied. ["First, I need to explain some some things to you. Let's go into the ozashiki hall."] Quite expectant of Kikyo to follow, he started to make off.

 With her carrying on, Nobuyuki continued. ["You're starting as a shikomi, and then a minarai. Your misedashi is your official debut as a maiko, where you will perform dances and serves clients. The shikomi period normally lasts a year and you spend a moon as a minarai. Your nameday changes things a bit, but. . ."] He drew a short breath. ["The otou-san wants you to start as a minarai before your nameday. You'll only spend a moon as a shikomi. There is a reason for this."]

 Just before they entered the hall, Nobuyuki paused and turned to Kikyo. ["Do you know the process of who leads an okiya? You understand the need for an heir, right?"]

 She quickly tries to store away her cleaning materials before dashing after Nobuyuki, following with her hands folded in front of her all polite and nice like. She tilts her head to his questioning.

 ["Of course, all great houses need heirs and I am sure okiya are no exception,"] she says brightly. Though it fails to dawn on her the reason for this questioning. ["But I am not sure how okiya decide this, no."]

 She watches him carefully as they go. Does Otou-san mean to pick Ichihiko-sensei as his heir? Does that mean their training will be short? She is unsure how to feel! Luckily, she manages not to frown too much.

 The shoji door to the ozashiki hall was slid open quietly. Nobuyuki allowed Kikyo to get inside and get comfortable before he continued. ["Well, in truth, Ichimitsu Okiya is not among the largest houses of Igarashi Hanamachi, but the geisha there do have many relations to more prestigious okiya. Masami Okiya and Umecho Okiya have bigger reputations in Nagoya."] The Hyur slid the door shut behind him and moved to take a seat. ["Because of this, finding an atotori is harder. Many geisha left Ichimitsu Okiya and even Masami and Umecho because of the Red Throat outbreak. Only a few among those became jimae geisha, or independent from their okiya."]

 Upon one of the cushions, Nobuyuki lowered himself into a seiza. ["The otou-san of Ichimitsu Okiya is Mitsu-no-Ichinori. His surname is based on the okiya's name. It denotes that he was selected as atotori. . . however, that was long ago. The okiya needs another atotori."] His serious gaze landed on Kikyo. ["The otou-san wants to consider you for the next atotori."]

 Kikyo listens quietly and with some intensity, as is her way. She slips in past Nobuyuki only after being given express permission via his gesture, and then sat upon a cushion with a seiza of her own. At least that was one thing she was well-practiced in: sitting in the proper way for long chunks of time for meditations. She trains her eyes on Nobu's collar to try and focus hard on what he was saying. And then...when he reaches the end...

 She can't help her mouth from popping open in shock. She tries to recover from this quickly, covering it with her small hand.

 ["M-me? But this one is...I am just..."] She looks to the table and scrambles for a polite way to go about this question. Her fingers tighten against her work shift. ["I do not doubt the wisdom of the Otou-san of Ichimitsu Okiya, of course not. I simply..."] She looks then to Nobu. ["Why are you not considered, sensei, if it is not too rude to ask?"]

 The only sign Nobuyuki gave of his reaction to being reminded he wouldn't be chosen was the purse of his lips. Not that he held any ill will towards the okiya father, as they had a cordial relationship. ["Likely the same reason other okiya turned me away,"] was his only answer. He wasn't looking forward to cluing at his heritage. ["It's nothing to worry about."] He gave Kikyo a polite smile. This was despite the clear fact most okiya picked an atotori later in a geisha's career, though it was plausible Kikyo was unaware. ["Ichimitsu Okiya is likely seeking a younger atotori because of the few number of geigi there."]

 In a rare display of visible confusion, Nobuyuki's brows furrowed. Why a Koshu-based okiya would consider an ijin was beyond him. Not that he was against it! It was rather his surprise that the otou-san cast aside previous xenophobia. Luckily, Nobuyuki's expression didn't last long. He righted it to content neutrality. ["The otou-san wants to meet you in Kugane,"] he continued. ["As you likely learned, ijin aren't allowed anywhere outside of Kugane in Hingashi. The meeting, he looks to hold at the Shiokaze Hostelry. He's never been to Shishu so he'll likely have an entourage from the okiya with him."] Briefly, Nobuyuki's expression softened. ["Don't take this as a means to be too strict on yourself, alright? Certainly put on your best show, but don't see yourself as unworthy so soon. That's for the otou-san to decide."]

 She fidgets with her hair, braiding the ends over and over again in a sight of girlish nervousness and dismay. As soon as she notices this, she squeezes her hands together upon her lap until her knuckles turn white. Well, whiter than they already are...

 She has so many questions but knows it is rude to ask. If ijin cannot leave Kugane (a lesson she DID learn the hard way), how would she ever run an Okiya? Why did she interest the Otou-san? Why did other Okiya turn Nobu away? Her young mind is awash with curiosity, but she's long since learned the dangers of it. So she nods. Even so, she cannot help but notice some of Nobu's own confusion and perhaps...dismay? No? Was she imagining it? She frowns in turn.

 ["Of course, Ichihiko-sensei."] And after a moment, she can't help but add: ["My success will be your success, too. You will be teaching me. And in Doma, there is no greater honor one can bring but to bring success to those that reached their hand toward you."] A bit of an awkward phrasing in the Hingan dialect, but hopefully the point came across nonetheless. ["Maybe we will surprise everyone!"] she adds, in a more characteristic display of optimism!

 Nobuyuki looked to Kikyo and gave a smile that reached his eyes. ["I am, of course, honored to be able to teach the possible atotori of Ichimitsu Okiya,"] he declared. ["Nonetheless, I'm happy to be teaching you in general. It is my pleasure to share the joys of gei with others. If the otou-san permits, I could be selected as your older brother. For a maiko, a relationship to her assigned older sibling is one that lasts forever. She does not stop seeking guidance from her older sibling, even when she becomes a geisha. Is it not exciting?"]

 Firmly, Nobuyuki bowed his head in agreement. ["I have no doubts we will certainly surprise a number of those within the okiya. For my erikae, instead of kurosode, I wore a white kosode with embroidered hydrangeas. I wanted to be fashionable, to emanate the styles the tayuu were wearing that summer. I think it did surprise a number that attended, to sway away from such tradition. It is likely your chance to do the same. You'd be the okiya's first ijin maiko and their first ijin atotori, above all else."]

 She listens dutifully, though her face brightens further as she sees him smile for real. She clasps her hands together before her chest. ["Oh, truly? An older brother? I have had only younger brothers all my life! I would be so excited for this! Yes!"] Her excitement can be heard in how her words become a little more sloppy in the Hingan dialect. Her eyes sparkle. Wow! The potential!

 At the talk of clothes, she turns thoughtful. She did not have a lot of opinions or knowledge about fashion, other than finding the dresses of the geisha so beautiful and refined. ["That does sound most elegant,"] she says in agreement. ["I love many flowers. I love peach blossoms most of all...I know that geisha uphold the traditions of Hingashi. But many things are changing in the world, yes?"] A surprisingly insightful bit from the young woman, if a bit obvious to any learned person. ["There must be a way to be traditional and accepting of the future..."]

 ["Perhaps this is what the otou-san is looking for,"] Nobuyuki commented, his hands folding in his lap. ["Someone new, full of bright ideas for the okiya. Yes, I can see that."] He looked down to the scroll for a moment before rolling it up. ["We'll be meeting with the otou-san in a moon. As the one responsible for your training, I will cover our boat tickets across the Sirensong Sea. After the meeting, your shikomi period will come to an end and you will be minarai until you turn eighteen. You will join me for ozashiki and tea ceremonies, watching how I do things and speaking only when spoken to.]"

 Placing the scroll back into the holder, Nobuyuki then tucked the holder up into his kosode sleeve. ["My career started somewhat outside of tradition,"] he replied. ["I was ten, not five, when I started training. It was because of my grandparents' jobs that I didn't enter an okiya at a 'typical' age."] He didn't clarify. It could have been for financial reasons, for all Kikyo knew. ["Now I'm following the newest trends of Hingan fashion and arts. The customs may stay the same, but the ijin have brought a lot of newfangled ideas. Maybe there's a new art form you will practice that others pick up?"]

 Many emotions rattle through her at once. Excitement and worry; pride and fear. She nods seriously at the description of what is next to come. ["Of course, Ichihiko-sensei. I will make you proud,"] she says. ["I will be very quiet and refined, as taught!"]

 To the rest of it, she tilts her head. She tries to copy his very fancy stance, sitting nicely with his sleeves and hands folded, but her sleeves are purposefully pinned up for cleaning purposes so she does her best, folding her hands in her lap and sitting up a little straighter. For Nobu's sake, her naivety comes in handy; she knows not what to ask about his grandparents' jobs other than perhaps to assume that money was a factor, which she certainly understood. She smiles brightly. ["Oh, like the kupos -- er, moogles! And the beautiful leather riding boots...oh...I do so like those....they seem so elegant...oh, and the paintings! I saw an ijin's painting at the market once...it was um...impressiony?"]

 She means impressionist.

 ["What is your favorite ijin thing?"] she asks curiously, before she can stop herself.

 Nobuyuki was used to sitting for long periods with his back straight, his position proper. Even his facial expressions were under control and refined, but the question about his favorite thing of ijin caught him off guard. However, he wasn't offended. In fact, he was pleasantly surprised. ["I might have to think a bit on that one,"] he admitted. ["Perhaps it is the people? Some are brash and loud and very strange, but. . . many are caring and it is very apparent they wear their heart on their sleeve. They are mindful of protecting people's face, even if their own is at risk sometimes. It's a bit endearing."] Namely, a certain Lominsan mercenary came to his mind, her kinky orange hair and freckled visage easy to envision. ["Selecting a thing is hard. . . maybe it's predictable of me, but I quite like foreign fashions. Eorzean cocktail dresses and patterned stockings and heeled boots are very lovely."]

 Considerate of his own fashion, Nobuyuki raised a sleeve to his mouth. His kosode was a fall orange colored, decorated with yellow ginkgo leaves and seasonal autumn flowers. Granted, he was largely pulling up his sleeve to conceal his small smile. ["Ah. . . and I think you mean 'impressionist.'"]

[ignissa]

During a flashback, eclipsia makes a brief comment (though a case of Ambiguous Syntax) that implies that her situation between her husband and monster lover was more complex than simply cheating on her husband and fleeing with a monster. Moon: I can't even decide which boy I like! Eclipsa: I know how you feel (I even heard a theory that the situation with tom star, and marco is a bit of a reversal of what happens with eclipsia. with tom being the royal *but demon) and marco not being royalty

This is a very good point. I feel like I’ve been much less harsh on Shastacan and much more forgiving of his actions than many other fans, mostly because I think it’s valuable to play devil’s advocate a bit in cases like these. We don’t know the nuances of the situation, so it doesn’t seem all that fair to demonise him right off the bat.

Although the way they’re presented in the box’s projection during the trial emphasises how different Eclipsa and Shastacan are visually (especially when it comes to their fashion choices), and the clip we see of him in Skooled demonstrates how different his personality, diction and temperament is from Eclipsa’s, we can’t rule out the idea that marriage and ruling the Butterfly Kingdom changed the two of them in some way. Perhaps younger Shastacan (who, it should be added, hadn’t yet been abandoned by his wife - we haven’t exactly seen him at his best) was more fun-loving, and younger Eclipsa was more serious?

So yes, while it’s fairly likely that they married for politics and power rather than love (as would fit nicely with the medieval setting the show draws influence from), it’s not impossible that there was affection between them at some point in time. Eclipsa was crowned Queen at a fairly young age, so I don’t think it was an arranged marriage (unless she was betrothed young). The “King Shastacan” that we the audience are introduced to is a man who has been left in charge of a Kingdom he cannot rightfully claim having been abandoned by his wife the rightful ruler, and left with another man’s child whose very existence threatens this position. As I’ve previously argued, we can’t look at his behaviour under these circumstances and confidently say this is how he always acted.

Indeed, Eclipsa may well have been genuinely conflicted between following the politically safe option or her heart, as she suggests to Moon. Of course, as with everything Eclipsa tells us, it’s also possible that she is lying, or at least bending the truth to garner more sympathy from Moon. Alternatively, if we look at the actual dialogue exchanged between the two of them, Eclipsa may not be specifically talking about romance:

Eclipsa:Well, it’s just you’re far too young to be queen, unless… Oh, no. Unless your mother – is she…?

Moon:[sniffles, nods]

Eclipsa:I see. I lost my mother, too, when I was not much older than you.

Moon:Ever since Mom… Um, since I became queen, everybody’s been looking to me to end the war and make all these big decisions, but I’m just a kid! I can’t decide the fate of Mewni! I can’t even decide which boy I like!

Eclipsa:I know how you feel. 

Eclipsa may be talking more about the struggles of becoming Queen at such a young age - people expecting you to know what to do, to make the right decisions under so much pressure, etc. Eclipsa is a lot like Star; imagine how Star would have felt if she had inherited the throne at the beginning of season two, around about the same time as Mr Candle Cares, where it is revealed that she is terrified of being forced to abandon her sense of self for the sake of the throne. I don’t think Eclipsa was happy in the position she was forced into, and I don’t think she had a support system to fall back on. It sorta adds a layer of bittersweetness to her interactions with Glossaryck, who would have been the only person entirely on her side throughout everything. The book and Glossaryck ended up in the hands of the new Royal Family, where he would have been forced to watch as future generations were lied to about Eclipsa and their own heritages. It’s a bit of a tangent, but I’ve previously theorised that Glossaryck wanted Eclipsa freed.

As for the parallels to the Marco/Star/Tom situation, I think there is one fairly major difference; it’s never been suggested that anyone in Mewni would disapprove of Star and Marco’s relationship. For instance, we’ve never encountered any racism towards people from other dimensions on the part of Mewmans, whereas Tom (despite Starfari introducing the idea that he is a “different type of monster”, at least politically) is still a victim of anti-monster sentiment. None of the middle class Mewmans who attended Star’s song day seemed worried at the idea of the princess being with some random person (and we know that the implication of the song got across, because both Tom and Higgs were under the impression that Star and Marco were dating). Star’s dad doesn’t seem upset about the idea that they might be dating in Camping Trip, and both he and Moon look on fondly at their awkward good-byes during Scent Of A Hoodie.

On the other end of things, I don’t think Star choosing Tom would be anywhere near as controversial as Eclipsa’s choice anyway. Firstly, Eclipsa was a married woman and a Queen - by running off with a monster she was not only breaking her wedding vows, but also demonstrating to her Kingdom that she wasn’t willing to fulfill her royal duties. Star and Tom dated (presumably for a good length of time) in the past; this was a relationship that was public knowledge and yet it’s not suggested to have been too controversial. Star even outright states in the guidebook that she feels political pressure to stay with Tom.

So yeah, I personally don’t get the impression that either choice would be too damaging to Star’s public image.

[tsgmobilebayalabama]

April Scouted Calendar

With spring in full swing, our calendars are filling up with garden-themed events, outdoor festivals, and more. Here, we’ve compiled a few of the activities in the Mobile area that we’re looking forward to in April. 

Haley Dermatology April Specials

Fillers $100 off each syringe Ogai skincare 15% off Microneedling buy 2 get 1 free

Learn More

$5 Yoga on Tap

April 2nd | 6:00pm | Fairhope Brewing Company

Soul Shine Yoga’s Hoppy Hour meets at the Fairhope Brewing Company. It’s a fun 60 minute Vinyasa Flow class for all levels. Come for the yoga, stay for the outstanding local beer! Bring a mat and a friend. (All levels, unheated) | Learn More

Art & Rug Show

April 4th | 10:00am-2:00pm & 5:00pm-8:00pm | Details Design Studio

Add that layer of color and texture your home needs with Sarah Otts Art and Oushak Chic Rugs. Learn More

La Bella Donna Make Up Event

April 4th | 9:00am-4:00pm | Haley Dermatology

Refresh your look this spring with mineral makeup that is proven to protect and nurture your skin throughout the day. Complimentary makeovers with our La Bella Donna makeup artist, Christa Ramirez. Receive a free gift with $75 purchase! Learn More

Live Music on the Patio

Reocurring every Friday and Saturday | 5:30pm-8:00pm | GrandHotel Golf Resort & Spa’s Bayside Grill

Join Bayside Grill for live music on the patio every Friday & Saturday night from 5:30pm-8:30pm  Learn More

Mobtown Mac’n Cheese Fest

April 6th | 12:00pm | Cathedral Square

United Cerebral Palsy is excited to introduce the Mobtown Mac ‘n Cheese Fest to Mobile, Alabama. Join in the endeavor to determine who has the best Mac ‘n Cheese in town! All proceeds benefit United Cerebral Palsy of Mobile. Learn More

The Marshall Tucker Band

April 6th | 7:30pm | Saenger Theatre

In the early fall of 1973, The Marshall Tucker Band was still a young and hungry group out to prove themselves every time they hit the stage. “We were a bunch of young guys who didn’t know any boundaries,” says founding member and longtime lead singer Doug Gray. As it turned out, the collective talents of The Marshall Tucker Band took them very far indeed. Learn More 

Big Walk

April 6th | 9:00am | The Bluegill Restaurant

The BIG Walk is Big Brothers Big Sisters of South Alabama's largest annual fundraiser and plays a vital role in carrying out their completely donor-supported mission year round. Your financial support directly effects their ability to professionally create new mentoring relationships in 2019. Let's take bold steps in igniting and defending the potential of the youth in our community. Learn More

Power Vinyasa Master Class

April 6th | 8:00am | Soul Shine Yoga

Join Joy and LaSarah for an intense 90 minute Baptiste style flow. Soul Shine Master's class is suited for intermediate and advanced yogis or anyone who has taken at least 10 vinyasa classes. + bring yoga mat and water + at 265 Young St. + $15 per person, not included in packages or unlimited. Learn More 

Prenatel Yoga + 3 Week Series

April 7th | 4:30-5:30pm | Soul Shine Yoga

Prenatal yoga gives a woman energy to enjoy her pregnancy, serenity to build a deeper intimacy with her own body and baby, and the presence of mind to expect the unexpected and be present. The benefits are numerous: release stress, enhance the ability to relax, boost physical strength, increase flexibility, improve balance, ease discomforts of pregnancy, open hips and pelvis, strengthen pelvic floor, build confidence, and expand a woman’s circle of community support. Take this time to foster a deeper connection to your self, to your body, to your baby. Learn More

Harvest Jewels Trunk Show

April 11th | 1:00pm-7:00pm | 207 Woodlands Ave

Shop the entire line of Harvest Jewels and fill your gift list. Easter Baskets, Mothers Day, Graduation gifts or a treat for yourself! Wine and hors d’oeuvres. Learn More

Tasting with Good People Brewing

April 11th | 6:00pm-7:30pm | Bayside Grill, Gand Hotel Golf Resort & Spa

Learn about Good People Brewing and taste a variety of beers presented by Missy Roll. Tasting includes appetizers provided by Bayside Grill. Learn More

Tasting Menu MuChaCho IPA Brown Ale Coffee Oatmeal Stout

Bay Awakening

April 12th | 11:00am | RSA Battle House

Bay Awakening is an annual luncheon benefiting Mobile Bay Keeper’s work for clean water, clean air, and healthy communities. This year's guest speakers as Julian and Kim MacQueen, owners for Innisfree Hotels, which took flight with their first hotel in Mobile in 1985. Julian is a lover of aviation and he and Kim recently flew their HondaJet from port city to port city during a trip "Around The World in 80 Stays." Their travels broke boundaries and world records while discovering new ways to be hospitable, philanthropic, and exploring the vast waterways that connect our world. Learn More 

SouthSounds Music Festival

April 12th-14th | Downtown Mobile

Founded in 2011, SouthSounds Music & Arts Festival is the first festival in the country dedicated to showcasing the best emerging and independent Southern music and art. SouthSounds is held annually on the second weekend in April in various music venues and on outdoor public stages throughout Downtown Mobile, Alabama. Watch over 84 shows in 15 different venues over a 3-day period. Musical artists spanned an array of musical genres (including Americana, indie, country, bluegrass, rock, alternative, metal, soul, funk, jazz, brass band, blues, R&B and hip-hop) and came from throughout the Southeast, with at least 9 different states being represented. SouthSounds Mission Statement: • To be the first and most successful festival in the country dedicated to showcasing new Southern music and art • To help Southern musicians and artists form professional connections to advance their careers    • To create an outstanding cultural and community-building event for Southern Alabama and the Gulf Coast Learn More

SouthSounds Arts & Crafts Market

April 13th| 11:00am | Cathedral Square

The Mobile Arts Council is coordinating an arts and crafts market with the SouthSounds Music Festival, surrounding the main music stage in Cathedral Square. This market is free to attend and will feature one-of-a-kind products created by local artisans, as well as live art demonstrations by ceramicists and glassblowers! Vendors are required to bring their own 10x10 tent, table and chair(s). Learn More

Food Truck Friday

April 12th| 4:00pm-9:00pm  | Fairhope Brewing Company

Learn More

32nd Baldwin County Strawberry Festival 

April 13th | 9:00am | Loxley Municipal Park

Family fun event with strawberry shortcake, entertainment, crafts, carnival, car show and tractor show. Come and support ARC of Baldwin County and Loxley Elementary School. Learn More

Hot Yoga 26/2

April 14th| 6:00pm-7:00pm | Soul Shine Daphne

This sequence is offered in 60 and 90 minute classes. 60-minute class is sure to get you sweating. 90-minute classes offers more instruction, meditation, time with the asanas and stillness between postures. Everyone is welcome to sweat, stretch and heal in this foundational class. There is much evidence both scientific and anecdotal to support the benefits of Hot Yoga when practiced regularly. Problems of alignment, rheumatoid and osteoarthritis, diabetes, heart disease, asthma, insomnia, high and low blood pressure, and so many other medical problems have shown much improvement for so many with regular practice. There is no doubt that practicing this amazing series 3 or more times a week has incredible results that go way beyond the physical! Learn More

Willie Nelson & Family

April 8th |7:00pm | Saenger Theatre

With a six-decade career and 200 plus albums, this iconic Texan is the creative genius behind the historic recordings of Crazy, Red Headed Stranger, and Stardust. Willie Nelson has earned every conceivable award as a musician and amassed reputable credentials as an author, actor, and activist. He continues to thrive as a relevant and progressive musical and cultural force. Learn More

Paint Party

April 16th | 7:00pm-9:00pm | Fairhope Brewing Company

Join Paint Art Live At Fairhope Brewing Co. for a step by step painting party! Start with a completely bare canvas and create a memory AND a masterpiece. All art supplies are included in the price of the class. Preregistration is suggested, as this class has a limited number of seats. Paintings will be completed on a 16x20 canvas and will be ready to take home that evening! Class is two hours and will start at 7pm, so please arrive 15 minutes early to get settled before we start to paint. Learn More

Beverage Academy: Intro to Gin

April 19th | 5:30pm-7:00pm | Grand Hotel Golf Resort & Spa

Each month, the Beverage Team at the Grand Hotel will be teaching classes at the resorts’ Beverage Academy. The classes are aimed at expanding the participants’ knowledge of beverage basics while also incorporating more advanced techniques. Whether you are a beginner or an expert, the classes are fun, hands-on experiences that will have people raving about your beverage skills. In each Grand Beverage Academy, you will receive a one- hour beverage demonstration, recipes and beverage sampling. Gin has a long and special history in the spirits world from the highs of “Dutch Courage” to the lows of “Mother’s Ruin”. Gin was the most popular spirit in the U.S. until the 1970’s, come learn how to create a few classic gin cocktails including a French 75 and a Bramble. Learn More

Easter in the Square

April 20th | 10:30am | Bienville Square

Free Family Fun in Bienville Square! 10:30am to 12:30pm (Easter Egg Hunt promptly at noon) Children's Craft Activities Balloon Art Face Painting Kids Karoke Easter Egg Hunt (for children 8 and younger) Prizes for Best Costumed Pet and Best Decorated Stroller or Wagon. Learn More

Culinary Academy: Grilling Bascis

April 20th | 10:00am | Grand Hotel Golf Resort & Spa

Each month, a Chef at the Grand Hotel will be teaching classes at the Resort’s Culinary Academy. These classes focus on expanding the participants’ knowledge of the culinary basics while also incorporating techniques that are more advanced. Whether you are a beginner or an expert, the Chef’s classes are fun, hands-on experiences that will have people raving about your culinary skills. In each Grand Culinary Academy, you will receive an in depth cooking demonstration, recipes, food sampling and a diploma. Prepare yourself for the summer grilling season. A Grand Chef will instruct you on the techniques of grilling meat, poultry and fish. Grilling can be a way to enhance flavors while also reducing calories. This is a great class for couples. Learn More

Easter Brunch

April 21st  | 10:30am-1:30pm | Grand Hotel Golf Resort & Spa

Celebrate Easter with a delicious buffet at the Grand Hotel. Reservations are required. Learn More

Leon Bridges

April 22nd | 7:00pm | Saenger Theatre

On his sophomore album Good Thing, Leon Bridges’ voice breaks into the debut single “Bad Bad News” in much the same way the artist broke into the public eye in 2015 – forcefully, honestly, and all at once. “They tell me I was born to lose,” he sings with characteristic soulfulness, “but I made a good, good thing out of bad, bad news. Learn More

Jimmy Buffet

April 23rd  | 8:00pm | The Wharf

Kenny Chesney

April 27th | 7:00pm | The Wharf

Bear with Me 

April 28th | 2:00pm-5:00pm | Fairhope Brewing Company

Bear With Me performing live at Fairhope Brewing Company.  Learn More

Taco Takedown

April 28th |12:00pm | Cathedral Square

The Mobile Arts Council (MAC) is planning Mobile’s first-ever Taco Takedown –a day filled with tacos, tequila, talent and tons of fun! For the love of tacos and a good time, this new event will highlight local food vendors for their unique take on the versatile taco. The event will take place Sunday, April 28 from noon until 3:30 P.M. in Cathedral Square in downtown Mobile. Entertainment and live music will be provided. Learn More

[caveartfair]

Once Deemed Too Weird for the 1980s Art World, Tishan Hsu Is Back

Tishan Hsu, Lip Service, 1997. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Entering Tishan Hsu’s studio, I notice, among the clutter of tools and books and notes, a rubbery ear sitting on the table. And on the walls: eyes, noses, nipples, and skins, all repeating like distorted code across a series of artworks hung on the wall. Kindly but cautiously, Hsu offers me green tea. It steeps as we walk around. The art seems to breathe. “I always felt from early on that technology was going to profoundly change our lives,” he says.

Hsu—one of the few Chinese-Americans who found success in the 1980s New York art scene—was known for his hybridic, sculptural paintings and installations, and was shown by titanic dealers of the era such as Pat Hearn, Colin de Land, and Leo Castelli. I’m here to discover, among other things, why he disappeared from public view for nearly two decades—only to reemerge this year with a series of major shows: inclusion in “Brand New: Art and Commodity in the 1980s,” at the Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden in Washington, D.C., opening in February; in March, he’ll have work at Empty Gallery’s booth at the Armory Show, followed by a solo show at Empty Gallery later in the fall; and will have work at Bard College’s Center for Curatorial Studies in June.

Portrait of Tishan Hsu, 2018.

Tishan Hsu, Boating Scene (Diptych), 2016. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Born in Boston in 1951, Hsu spent his early childhood in Zürich, Switzerland, while his father was completing his engineering dissertation. That was followed by a drastic change of scenery, as Hsu then moved to Ohio, Wisconsin, and Virginia. At the age of 10 in Wisconsin, Hsu’s mother arranged private lessons in the art department of the school where his father taught. A precocious artist, Hsu started winning awards and showing in museums while living in Virginia. “My first one-person show was at the Roanoke Fine Arts Center in my early teens, after which I began selling work privately,” Hsu says.  

While studying architecture at MIT in the mid-1970s—as well as a stint studying filmmaking at the Carpenter Center at Harvard—he realized that his deepest interest lay somewhere in the technological ether.

“Philosophically, I was interested in this technological context that I had no idea about,” Hsu says. “Conceptually, I was always interested in the object, and the change in our understanding of the object,” he adds.

This “technological context” was the one that would rise from the ashes of Fordism and manufacturing.  

After moving to New York in the late 1970s, the artist worked as a word processor at a law firm while also working full-time on his art practice. He had a solo show with White Columns in 1984, and another with Pat Hearn in 1985. “I was always doing both painting and sculpture together,” Hsu says. Indeed, the works combined not only mediums, but also probed the fusion of the body and technology. Hsu utilized the shape and spirit of screens before they were a ubiquitous reality, and rounded the edges of his sculptural, trompe-l’oeil works before ergonomic design was mass market—pieces like BlueBlood (1985), which seem to combine these features with a microbiological focus on cell-like structures swimming in waves, or Ooze (1987), an installation that resembles a lake with grids floating atop.  

Tishan Hsu, Cordless, 1990. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Tishan Hsu, Kitchen Highway, 1985-88. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Tishan Hsu, Doublebind, 1989. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Tishan Hsu, Security, 1989. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Hsu’s aesthetic is a mingling of the human body, mind and machine; the artist is a creator of biocybernetic landscapes. As we walk around the studio, he shows me some other works from this time period: There are more half-hidden eyes, or lips that seem like they’re trying to speak.

From early on, Hsu held a clinical interest in the body. He would call up hospitals for medical images and embed them in the work. Looking at these pieces, it feels like you’re staring into a chthonic, unearthly soup that’s swallowed and mutated people and objects alike. The experience is also akin to looking in a mirror that magically reveals the true but hidden nature of your own relationship with technology. “I felt that we needed a different way of thinking about our bodies in the world,” Hsu remarks, “and that images of the body, on their own, would not necessarily reflect the way that our bodies were functioning in the world.”

After a successful string of shows in New York, Hsu went to Cologne, Germany. He showed across the continent, and though he was not meteorically successful, he was able to support himself with his art. However, something wasn’t quite right. “When I was living in Europe and selling a lot, I could feel the pressure of the market, both subliminally and consciously,” Hsu tells me. He also felt that many people’s reception of the work was off the mark—perhaps because it was, simply, ahead of its time. (Hsu also acknowledges the fact that the art world was extremely white—even more so than today—which presented an additional hurdle.)

Despite the similar aesthetic of visual artists such as Ashley Bickerton or filmmakers like David Cronenberg and David Lynch (“Blue Velvet was a stunning movie for me,” he says), Hsu admits that it didn’t seem people were ready for the work. “It was a very frustrating exercise to go through,” he says, “so misunderstood.”  

So Hsu decided to self-impose a disappearance from the art world. He got a teaching job, had a kid, and spent the ’90s outside the public eye. However, this doesn’t mean he stopped making art. One such work from this decade, Fingerpainting (1994), which hangs on the wall of his studio, is a giant silkscreen work that undulates from fleshy to bluish, hands outstretched as if they’re trying to escape the art, or pull you in.  

Tishan Hsu, Blue Blood, 1985. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Tishan Hsu, Double Absence, 2016. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

Crucially, the emergence of digital technology was starting to enable Hsu to make the work he’d always dreamed of. “As technology was evolving throughout all of this, I was able to try it out,” he says with a smile. With the emergence of a very user-friendly version of Photoshop at the turn of the millennium, and wide-format printing, a new horizon appeared. “What was interesting is that [the technology] was just following what I was trying to do. It was making the work more clear, more radically what the art was trying to be.”

Then, in 2006, Hsu encountered a life-changing experience that reaffirmed and echoed his practice of negotiating the body’s merging with foreign objects: He received a kidney transplant. “When I entered the surgical theater, I thought, this is the most intense installation I have ever experienced,” Hsu says.

In much of his oeuvre, there are little to no obvious clues pointing to his Chinese heritage. However, a new piece is brewing for a show at Empty Gallery in Hong Kong later this year. The “Shanghai Project,” as he refers to it, started in 2012 following the death of his mother. “My sister and I discovered hundreds of letters written to her and her brother,” Hsu says. “Those letters were hidden from us for our entire lives because of the trauma.”

The topic of the family living through the violence of the Cultural Revolution was something that was rarely, if ever, discussed. The discovery of these letters led Hsu to reconnect with family across the U.S. and China, and he decided to visit Shanghai, where a relative of his—a doctor whose identity Hsu would rather not specify due to the political sensitivity of the subject—had his home. Around 1967, the living room of the house was converted into an office for the Red Guards.

Tishan Hsu, Interface with Lips, 2002. Courtesy of Empty Gallery.

In 2013, Hsu visited Shanghai, and would maintain a small studio there until 2016. It’s not what Hsu found in a relative’s home that shocked him, but rather what he didn’t find.

“So we start digging these [photo albums] up, and I noticed there were all these missing photos. I asked, ‘What is this? Why are they missing?’” There was adhesive residue in the areas where the missing photos had been, ghostly traces. Hsu’s relative told him that the Red Guards were responsible: “They took out pictures that had any connection to bourgeois life.”

Hsu scanned the albums, which contained images of family gatherings, some on boats and others portrait-style, and added his signature gestures: digital warping, pools of fluorescent green, cell-like sculptural structures, or drips of silicone extending out, like stalactites in some forgotten cave.  

“Because of digital imaging,” Hsu says, “I could take these photos, scan them, then blow them up and alter and edit them. The state of digital editing allowed me to work with these in a way I never would have done 15, 20 years ago.”  The works from the “Shanghai Project” are even more haunting than the body parts that populate his other works, evidence of the forced forgetting that the Red Guards tried to impose.

So, after a long period of research and work outside the public’s view, Hsu is back.

His uncommon aesthetic, too weird or layered for most audiences in the 1980s, now seems prophetic, anticipating like-minded works by younger artists such as Hayden Dunham and others. The artist—who has always mingled the technological and the human—has appropriately found new tools to explore the trauma and resilience of his own family.

from Artsy News