#good and proper in the grand scheme of things of course

[orange-cheetah]

Suo Hayato (蘇枋隼飛) Character Profile

Bofurin | Tamon Unit | 1st Year Vice-Captain

School: Furin High 1-1

Height: 174cm | Weight: 66kg | Birthday: 28 March | Constellation: Aries | Blood type: AB

Image colour: Sappanwood [#973C3F - see below]

Likes: Animals (fictional/imaginary creatures OK) | Dislikes: Childish adults

Favourite food: Teacakes from all over the world [small cakes or cookies often served with tea] | Disliked food: Natto

Fashion style: Has a lot of Chinese-styled clothing. Made out of linen and silk; he likes how smooth it feels against his skin. Loose-fitting pants, likes kung-fu shoes

Hobby: Human observation

Favourite season: Winter | Favourite music genre: Folk music

Best subject: Chemistry | Worst subject: Art

Special skill: Being able to make others accept his conditions?

Person they respect, senpai they look up to: Master and brother [the words used here are 「師匠」 and 「兄弟」 respectively - might refer to blood relatives or fellow student(s) under the same master?]

Dream: Emancipation of slaves

Recent W (or L): Seal on his right eye was about to break

Favourite place in Makochi: School

What they always do in the morning: Seems to wake up at the same time in the morning to meditate

[masterlist]

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Imagine Ji teaching kitten how to make a proper nest

this has been sitting in my ask box for a while.... and i'm glad i held onto it because..... me??? writing for a pair that isn't chris x his girl???? unheard of. but not impossible.

Pairing: Werewolf!Minho x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series, but you probably don’t really need to read any other instalments to understand/enjoy this one). | Word Count: ~2k | Themes & Warnings: Supernatural/Fantasy AU · Smut · Fluff · Established Relationship · unprotected penetration [piv. no barrier method, but reader is presumed to be on birth control] · breeding kink · creampie

minors do not interact.

For someone with a condition like his, Minho was a very logical man. Sure, he had his moments of randomness and silliness, but in the grand scheme of things, your boyfriend was level headed, rational, and he’d hardly ever let his wolf instincts interfere with his human thoughts.

Which was why you hadn’t expected something as seemingly innocuous as a pile of clothes on his bed to get him like this.

Not like you were going to complain, though. Not when the feel of his thickness filling you up time and time again was this good. Not when the way he had you on your knees, bent over like a dog, deliciously ramming into you, was this addictive.

“Minho…” You weren’t really sure what you were going to tell him, you just whined when you started to feel his lips on your shoulder, when he started to kiss and nibble your skin.

“Hm?” His deep strokes had you seeing stars, and the feel of him hitting the most sensitive areas within your walls was steadily fogging up your brain.

You swallowed, blindly reaching for one of the cushions that surrounded you, holding it tightly to somehow keep yourself grounded to reality. “Love–Love you”.

“Love you, too… Missed you, kitten. So much”, his pace increased, his panting grew a bit louder next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine, feeding that pool of arousal in your belly that was just ready to spill over at any moment now.

You’d missed him, too, of course. Every week, you looked forward to the weekend simply because you’ll be able to see him. You were tired of the distance, but you supposed it was something you’d had to bear for a while.

“Need to–Shit, fuck…” Minho nuzzled your shoulder, reattaching his lips to the skin there, grunting when you started to push back harder to match his thrusts, making him move faster in response.

Before Minho came back from work, when Jisung had come to Minho’s flat to hang out and kill time after you arrived today, you didn’t exactly expect the afternoon to take the turn it did.

‘Wait, so you’re not making a nest to fuck in? Not even during his rut?!’ Jisung looked genuinely shocked, and you had simply shrugged in response because ‘Was I supposed to? I don’t even know how’.

Admittedly, you did know about nests, but only as a concept. Throughout your friendship, Jisung had made sure to give you every single detail when it came to omega reproduction–because why would you keep anything private when you could word vomit at any given time, about any given topic, right?–and just omega behaviours in general.

Making a nest was, essentially, creating a safe, soft, warm space for yourself. Although it could be done just to be comfortable while trying to wind down, it was most commonly done with reproduction in mind, meaning, to be shared between wolves. So, upon finding out you’d never done one yourself, Jisung decided to take matters into his own hands.

‘See, you’ve got to pick up items that make you feel safe. Soft items, preferably. Most commonly you’d use blankets, throws, cushions, but you could also add plushies, clothes… If you’ve got a partner, it’s usually preferable to use items that smell like them. And it’s always a nice touch to add items that smell like you, so your partner can also feel comforted by your nest’, Jisung encouraged you to try it, right then and there.

He suggested doing it on Minho’s bed, since that was his sleeping space, and a place you both spent a lot of time together in. Minho’s sleeping clothes, his fluffy blankets, the throw and cushions from the sofa out in the living room, the bathrobe you’d used not too long ago, the pyjamas you kept in his closet, the pillows that were already on his bed… Jisung and you put these items together, creating this fluffy mess on his bed that certainly looked like a nest.

‘See? So you can do one of two things… If you’re doing it on your own, you can cover yourself as much as you can, essentially making yourself a warm little cocoon… But if you’re gonna share it, then you just lay in the middle. I, uh… I know I’m incredibly biassed, but I think this is probably one of the most romantic places to have sex in’, he said it with a completely straight face, so you really believed him.

Jisung did comment on how Minho could potentially react to a nest, considering it was something he hadn’t experienced in a romantic setting. ‘You know I build nests often when I’m anxious, so he sometimes joins me to help me calm down, but it’s all platonic… A nest built by you… I’m curious as to how it’d make him feel. If it makes him feel anything at all’.

That piqued your interest.

Exploring Minho’s animal instincts was always something you enjoyed doing. It made you curious, mostly because he hardly had any, and the ones he did have he couldn’t even understand very well.

As if on cue, the obnoxious beeps of the front door resonated in the flat. You heard it even in the bedroom, where you had been standing next to your nest with Jisung, just giggling and joking about it.

After Minho went into the flat, and the customary Tired Groan left his mouth, you heard his languid steps as he made his way to the bedroom. “Who gave you two stray cats permission to come into my home?”

His perfectly crafted tone of annoyance held no real meaning to it. You knew it, he knew it, and even Jisung knew it. So you just smiled and answered. “With yours, dummy. You wouldn’t have given us the code otherwise”.

As soon as he was at the door, his poised scowl turned into a look of surprise when his eyebrows rose high on his forehead. His eyes jumped from the nest on the bed, to you, to Jisung, and back to the nest. “Are you feeling well, Jisung?”

Of course. Based on Jisung’s earlier explanation, it made sense that your boyfriend had reached the conclusion that this was Jisung’s nest. That he was probably anxious and built it because of it.

“Yeap. I’m doing great. I was just showing our dear kitten how to build herself a nest”, Jisung usually gave the impression to people that he was dumb and silly. But in reality, he was very smart. And at that moment, in just a few seconds, he was able to choose the most suitable words to get his point across.

This wasn’t his nest.

It was yours.

Built by you with your own two hands.

“Huh…” Minho stared at the bed, and you could’ve sworn the bit of skin you could see under the collar of his shirt was slowly growing redder the longer he stood there.

You cleared your throat to get his attention, and you smiled brightly at him when his head snapped back in your direction. “No kiss?”

Minho blinked a bit, but then he was scoffing. He made his way towards you so he could cup your cheeks and pull you in for a kiss. You hadn’t seen him in a whole week, and that was way too long, in your humble opinion, so that kiss was more than necessary.

The dramatic sigh next to you made you break the kiss, and you turned to see a pouty Jisung staring at you two.

“No kiss for me?”

Of course. This was Jisung’s thing. He took any opportunity he could to beg for kisses.

Your boyfriend simply sighed, just as dramatically as Jisung had, and he quickly moved to stand in front of Jisung. Cradling the back of his head, Minho pulled Jisung to him, planting his lips on one of Jisung’s round cheeks to press a loud, moist kiss on his skin.

“Ew, why is it wet! Stop!”

They jostled for a bit, all while Minho chuckled, until he finally pulled away from Jisung and ruffled his hair. “Didn’t you want a kiss? There’s your fucking kiss”.

“A peck was enough, jeez”, Jisung wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, fake gagging.

The three of you broke into laughs and giggles for a bit, bantering back and forth on the ‘essential omega needs’ Jisung had, until Minho excused himself to go take a shower, leaving you and Jisung back on your own in his room.

“Alright, listen to me, dear kitten”, Jisung held you by the shoulders, trying to get your undivided attention. “Get as scantily clothed as possible, or, even better, get naked, lay in the centre of that nest, and wait for your boyfriend to come out of the shower. You can thank me in the morning”.

“Do you really think something like this would do anything to Minho? You know how he is, he doesn’t have these alpha urges”.

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see”, Jisung cradled your face in his hands, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead before he wished you good night. 

He knocked on the bathroom door on his way out, wishing Minho good night as well, then he was gone.

So you did just as he told you.

You figured that putting one of Minho’s t-shirts on and nothing else would do the trick, and it certainly did, if the look Minho gave you once he was out of the shower was anything to go by.

Minho really wasn’t that in touch with his animal needs, not unless he was close to his rut or maybe during a full moon night, but it seemed like the sight of you, dressed in nothing but his clothes and laying on your comfy little nest did things to him.

Before you knew it you were fully naked, with his head between your legs and his fingers in your cunt, giving you a mind-numbing orgasm only to flip you on your stomach and push his cock within your walls almost immediately after.

That was how you ended up here, relishing his sounds of pleasure in your ear, and the feel of him fucking you open. He was mumbling, things you couldn’t quite make out, not when his fingers found their way between your legs to rub tight circles on your clit.

“C’mon, baby…” Minho groaned, snapping his hips harder. “Give it to me, kitten, love… Want to–Fuck…”

“You–you want what, baby?” You kept meeting his thrusts, spurring him on. You were certainly almost over the edge, but you needed just a bit more… A bit more of him. “Want to stuff me full? Want that, too. Want your–your pups, baby…”

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, shit, I’ll give them to you, kitten. All of them… Make sure I, fuck, I pump you full–”

Those were the last coherent words your boyfriend told you before you felt his warmth fill you up, before his name left your mouth in a breathless moan as your own orgasm raked through your body. He kept fucking your through it all, until you whined in oversensitivity.

When Minho peeled himself away from your back, your body slumped, and the sudden lack of his warmth almost gave you whiplash.

In an instant, his hands were on your buttocks, spreading you open just as his cum started to trickle out of your centre, and when you turned your head a little you almost giggled at the sight of him.

His chest was flushed, his cheeks as well, and he was staring at your core so intently it was almost like you could see and feel the phantom of his tail wagging in excitement. 

Before you could comment on it, he was leaning down and pressing a lingering kiss on one of your buttcheeks. “Stay right here, kitten”.

Minho left the comfort of your nest and made his way out of his room. He wasn���t gone for long, only a minute or two before he was back with a soaked washcloth to clean you up.

When he was done, he left the soiled fabric on his bedside table and dropped on his back next to you, staring at the ceiling. You just looked at him, resisting the urge to bring your fingers to his face so you could trace his features. Resisting only because he seemed to be deep in thought and you didn’t want to disturb him.

Eventually, he turned to his side, propping his head on his hand and looking at you. “That was…certainly something”.

You chuckled. “It was”.

“Kitten…” Minho scooted closer to you, draping an arm over your waist. “Do I…have a breeding kink?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Loudly. “Oh, babe. Don’t all alphas do?”

“But I didn’t, though!” Minho was pouting and everything, which only prolonged your chuckles. “Not when I’m not, you know, going through my rut. But seeing you here, like this… Shit. It’s essentially just a pile of clothes and blankets and cushions, but I think it’s altering my brain chemistry for real”.

“Mmm…” You pushed on his chest a bit so he could be on his back again and you could lay on top of him. Minho wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you close as you pressed a kiss on his lips. “It’s okay, baby. I can always build more nests so you can enjoy coming inside me. I enjoy it”.

“Eager, are we? What am I gonna do with you, kitten?” Minho chuckled, pressing quick pecks on your lips, waking the butterflies in your stomach, as if they hadn’t been wreaking havoc inside you a handful of minutes ago.

“Hopefully fuck me again, if I can have a say in what you decide to do”.

You clearly didn’t need to say anything else, just like he didn’t. The mischievous smile on his lips told you all you needed to know. 

It was definitely going to be a fun night. All thanks to that pile of miscellaneous pieces of fabric.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

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[vasito-de-leche]

I was wondering... I've been reading the self-aware au and I wonder if Manus Vindictae is also aware of the player— How does Forget Me Not even react to the concept of the player too if he's ever self-aware of it? A human who calls the shots on the story progressing (clearing levels) and also the one who beats his ass in battle (i had to insight 2 level 20 my arcanists to beat him under 10 turns in hard mode)

Can he hear the player? Can he see them? (I tend to gush over him whenever he speaks, I repeat the scenes he's in 😭 i miss him sm in the story) sorry for all these questions!!! Im so curious of self-aware aus and how they work and yours particularly was REALLY good

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - Self Aware AU

Headcanons about Forget Me Not within the Self Aware AU.

this is a very good opportunity to think about non-playable characters within the game, actually! ty for the ask o7

there was someone who commented on one of my self-aware posts saying it was kind of like analog horror and I agree lolol

I vaguely remember mentioning that the requirements needed in order to be aware of the Player's existence were to either reach a 100% bond and/or to be exposed to Vertin's constant presence.

Forget Me Not, as an NPC with little to no actual relevant weight in the grand scheme of things (he is only relevant during the 1929 arc as of now) doesn't meet any of these requirements, so I don't think he'd be aware of the player!

His self-awareness is limited to knowing the world around him is fake, which fuels his self-deprecating and self-defeating, deranged, depressing mindset. I like to imagine Forget Me Not doesn't even understand that the world he lives in is a game, he just knows it's fake and that no matter what he does or says, no one will truly remember. Things will inexplicably reset or loop, and even so, he's not aware of the many times he's been forced to battle Vertin and the others because the Player had to grind specific materials. And so on and so forth. In his eyes, the "high power" that could attempt to control this empty world would be Arcana and no one else--after all, she's the one who opened his eyes to the truth through indoctrination.

When it comes to the figure of the Player, I wanted to portray an extremely obscure and detached figure. Vertin herself can't even fully wrap her head around the Player's existence, she doesn't even know if you're human--if the protagonist, the character "closest" to the Player is still left in the dark about these aspects, imagine how it is for other characters who don't have the privilege of acting your will, of being your hands and eyes. Sonetto can't even get a proper look at the Player, she still needs an insane amount of time lingering around Vertin to become more attuned to this somewhat eldritch entity tied to her. Characters of "equal" importance to Vertin, such as Arcana, may be able to perceive the Player in their own unique ways just like her, but everyone else? They need these special cases to even notice such a presence. Vertin is your only link to this world. You're the one looking in, this is a one-way mirror and only a very select few can look into the abyss and realize that something -someone else- is out there, staring back.

Like, of course I'll make exceptions or bend the rules if people request direct interactions between a character and the Player, but if we're talking about the setting as it is, then this is how I picture it.

Can he hear or see the Player? Nope. He doesn't have the means to. He doesn't even know they exist.

Forget Me Not feels superior with his self-awareness, gloating about how he's not like the common rubble who goes on about their day, entirely blind to the horrors. And yet, he's not aware of his limited perception of the world. It's very ironic, the way he looks down on others for the very same crime he's guilty of: obliviousness. Forget Me Not believes everyone outside of Manus Vindictae is too dumb, too unworthy of the freedom that comes with self-awareness. But really, this is just the blind leading the blind at the end of the day. Within Manus Vindictae, we only have Arcana and Forget Me Not as important characters, so it's hard for me to make a proper frame of reference, but overall I think that only Arcana is fully self-aware. Everyone else's perception of reality are equal or slightly inferior to Forget Me Not.

I think this falls in line with his modus operandi, so to speak! The way he believes he truly understands how things are, while turning his back on reality at the same time because he can't take it. He's too delusional, too unstable and frail to acknowledge that he may not be right, that he may be just as lost as when he first opened his eyes, that Vertin, someone so utterly disconnected from his ideals and morals and views, is the "chosen one."

As usual, Forget Me Not prefers to live a lie an double down on his usual habits than realize he always had the chance to change for the better and he just never had the courage to take that road.

How would he react upon finding out the Player's existence and their opinion on him?

I don't know the specifics around how exactly he finds out this piece of information, but either way, Forget Me Not would probably be shaken to his core! This isn't an easy pill to swallow in the slightest. You have to understand that every single time you beat him in battle, he 100% believed it was all Vertin's prowess.

How was he supposed to know she had someone guiding her? How was any of this fair?

Essentially, Forget Me Not has to confront the fact that all of his struggles, all the constant fighting and every conscious choice he's made to further ruin his life, were predetermined, already set in stone by forces beyond his comprehension. It's both freeing and claustrophobic, especially for a character like him who revels in misery and his status as an underdog earning his vengeance. He's done so much, he's worked so hard to get to where he is, and sure, his life is far from ideal, he's still the same self-destructive man, but now you're telling him that this was what the world planned from the very beginning? He had no say in anything? Someone out there decided that he was meant to be like this, and even after gaining self-awareness, he wasn't good or strong enough to break away from the script--in fact, he played right into someone else's trap.

I feel like Forget Me Not, at this point, would continue to do the only thing he knows: he doubles down. He redirects all of his hatred and all of his feelings towards the figure of the Player, if only to justify his existence--he can't live as a free man, he can't be seen as a living being worthy of respect because the plot commands it, he doesn't know where his own conscience begins and where the script and dialogue he's meant to say ends. So he might as well keep digging his own grave.

He loathes the Player more than anything else, because if there was no one to play this game, none of this would've happened in the first place. He fully blames you for every single thing, no matter how big or small. Everything that is wrong with his life can be traced to the person booting up this goddamn game every single day.

And if he learns that you replay each cutscene that he's in, he takes that as an offense.

This is just cruel mockery to Forget Me Not--not only you're the reason he's turned into such a miserable excuse of a man, but now you've turned him into your personal little jester, to sing and dance for your entertainment.

If he finds out that you hate him? That's good, it's a mutual feeling and it makes this tantrum he's throwing much more easier to deal with. But if he finds out that he's your favorite character? It kills him from the inside. How dare you?

His voice gets sharper, more visceral--every word is drenched with such profound hatred that you, from your side of the screen, can't help but think that Forget Me Not's voice actor is doing such a great job! And the artstyle is so good, his expressions look so real!

I can also see Forget Me Not eventually struggle with the fact that the Player loves him and sees him as their favorite character. It's not as easy and straightforward as hating you anymore--he doesn't even know you. He doesn't even know what to trust anymore.

Given how depressing he can be, I think he may latch onto the Player? The rug keeps being pulled from under his feet each and every time, but your existence, as awful and mysterious and controversial as it may be, is real. You're real. I have a lot of thoughts about this specific dynamic, but I'll leave them for another post so this one doesn't end up being suuuper long lol

On the subject of finding out that the Player is a human.

This one is easy! If someone were to tell Forget Me Not that the Player, the bane of his existence, is a human, then he'll just be in denial about it!

I really just like the idea of Forget Me Not having no means whatsoever to interact with the Player, it makes things so much more frustrating for him. Of course this means that everything he does know come from third-parties. And this piece of information is an extra layer of stress that he can't physically process at the same time as everything else in regards to his self-awareness, so he chooses to ignore it. To debate it. To simply deny it.

What, is he just supposed to believe everything he's told about you now? He can't even perceive you properly, let alone understand the sort of creature you are and your influence on this world--for all he knows, the people claiming to see and talk to you are all liars! All of his informants and spies could just be dead wrong, they may have misheard something on the way!

You can't be human, because he can't take another blow to his pride like this. It's humiliating enough to be played like a fiddle in such a way, Forget Me Not doesn't even want to think about the possibility of this small, fake world being at the mercy of a human--part of the very same group that caused him so much pain over the years.

[onesidedradiostatic]

Personally I think they're both huffing a bit of copium about one another (Vox and Alastor) but Alastor is better at hiding it/maintaing his cool. We know that at least Valentino feels confident enough to goad Vox into taking the bait, that Alastor "almost" beat him last time. It's an interesting attitude compared to Vox's. Even Velvette doesn't seem all that concerned with Alastor, both her and Valentino are confident in the Vees current status and it's only Vox's personal insecurities that prevent him from sharing that mindset.

Vox's medium IS the victor in the grand scheme of things, he (along with the other Vees) ARE more relevant than Alastor/radio. And Vox is also capable of upgrading/improving himself over time in a way Alastor (from what we've seen) is not. It's so interesting seeing Vox unable to fully realize his strength/power - he can say it all he wants, but I don't think he really believes it. We the audience, however, know that visual media is king... case in point we are watching this series as a show on screens. Vox's hypnotism and electric powers are also pretty OP, he's got a good deck of cards (even though we haven't seen the full extent of how he can really leverage these yet).

And let's not forget Alasor BOOKED IT across town to get back at Vox during Stayed Gone. I think Alasor is (and should be) somewhat nervous (maybe "cautiously aware" is a better term) about the influence Vox and the Vees have regarding the future of media. He doesn't crack easily, as we've seen, but he cares enough to engage with Vox which he doesn't bother doing with outright "lessers".

In this way the dynamic is more even (in my opinion) than many give it credit for, which I personally prefer, but to each their own... for me, if it's not more equally matched, I struggle to see how the Vees will be worthwhile antagonists in the next season and that would be such a shame for characters that have so much potential. I just love the Vees!

(prev ask)

ehh I mean I do feel that they are on more equal level than some of the fandom may make them out to be but I still don't feel like they're exactly on the same level. like every time I see takes about mutual stuff between them I still can't fully agree cause to me, it's still on some level imbalanced. I do think they are of roughly equal power yes, but I think alastor being able to keep his cool is in fact a point towards him having the upperhand. it's the fact that vox is literally incapable of keeping his cool when it comes to alastor that spells more of his weakness when it comes to him I think. but yeah I mean how the vees, or rather vox will be a proper antagonist when he's so easily defeated by alastor is what I've been asking for a while LMAO.

and the thing is, we've seen instances like alastor being somewhat scared when zestial pops up, his mask slipping when starting stupid beef with lucifer (his eye is literally twitching the moment lucifer steps into the hotel LMAO), and of course with his fight with adam. we don't see any of that when it comes to the vees/vox, alastor waves them off as "nobody important" when niffty asks, easily tramples vox in stayed gone (and yes, he did immediately go back to his radio tower to bite back, but I don't think that's necessarily out of fear, could've easily just been he saw he was being insulted on live tv and HAD to bite back because he's a petty bitch), and gloated to him about having to "try harder than that" after failing to spy on him.

in my view, he doesn't see the vees or vox as a serious threat. HOWEVER, I do think that could easily be a point against alastor. his cockiness and not taking them seriously could very well come bite him in the back (JUUUUST like with adam!)

but when it comes to his current season 1 dynamic with vox, I do think he has the upperhand because of their different attitudes. if vox was able to keep his cool like alastor he wouldn't have caused a city-wide blackout over stayed gone LMAO. they're definitely more leveled power-wise though I think, the difference comes in their attitudes. if vox won the idgaf war a bit more they'd be more leveled, but he has chosen to obsess over him 24/7 so here we are.

[radiofreeilium]

Hm ok real speculation time, I know i said before that Sam's gonna die in the finale, and the ep didn't look good for him, but i think with the sheer amount of emphasis placed on alchemy and transmutation, he can't be simply dead. Now, that's not to say I think he'll be coming back in a major way - i personally do not think Sam is, or ever has been, the main character of tmagp. After all, that's the core of his entire character. Never the special one, never the one picked, never 'magnus material'. Besides, it's always been the rest of the cast that has had the knowledge and drive to actually do anything in the story - Sam has always been one (or twenty) steps behind everyone else. I think the most likely option is he will appear in a sort of micheal-esque way, as a truly warped archivist mix. I think we'll get to see a proper monster as a main character, rather than Jon's weak basically tame vampire monstrousness. Meanwhile, i expect season 2 to either focus on Alice, or Celia as a mainish character. A lot of other's seem to think alice is next up in line, which i mostly agree with, but also... doesn't it feel just a little too similar to tma? I'm not sure i'd love season 2 tmagp to just be a repeat of season 3 tma - a main character being suspicious of all their friends and steadily letting them down because of paranoia and grief. Regardless of the similarities, i do think i'd enjoy seeing Alice figure stuff out and go looking for Sam, but i think i'd enjoy getting to see Celia's side of things way more. Sure, her whole deal *could* be the end all be all big mystery of the story, but let's be real, we basically know here whole deal right now. There's some tidbits that are intriguing - when did she cross over from tma; where the fuck did jack come from and what's his deal - but in the grand scheme of things, here goals seem too short sighted to have here be like, the Elias of tmagp. So what i'd love to see is a pov more from Celia's angle where we can watch Alice's deteriorate and suspicion play out from the opposite side, and see how Celia copes with the things she's willing to do to save herself. Also of course i cannot wait to see Gwen girlbossing her way into absolute chaos. But also i do think that'll be fairly background like it was this season, i think season 3 will be the big Gwen season.

[star-going-supernova]

Gregory introduces Spring-ness to Freddy

The first prompt up there is number three of our tumblr generated prompts and comes from TheGrimRead3r on ao3! The second one came in during this event, but there was no reason not to put them together. This one is a sequel to Amongst the Dead, and the tldr of that ficlet is that Vanessa got spring-locked and possesses a white bunny animatronic now.

A Difference Keenly Felt

Vanessa didn’t know what she was doing. In the grand scheme of things, that is, because right now, she was letting a kid stand on her shoulders in order to climb into a vent. A kid she desperately wanted to save. Which meant now was not the time to have an existential crisis. Gregory’s slight weight left her, and she listened to the clunking of him scooting around up there.

“I’ll go unlock the door,” he called back to her, and then he was off. It was a good thing they weren’t trying to be quiet, she mused with a soft huff.

She wandered back over to the door in question. Her movements still felt stiff, but it was already a far cry from the absolute struggle it was to stand up. She hadn’t moved since she’d been tossed into that room like junk—as if she wasn’t a… as if she wasn’t an actual person.

A dead one, yes, but clearly death wasn’t as final as she’d once believed.

Vanessa looked down at herself, at what she thought of as her body now. It didn’t feel the same as her human body, of course, but it was still hers. There was a much duller sense of feeling, like she was touching things through a thick blanket, and she’d completely lost her ability to taste and smell. But the limbs moved as she wanted, and her eyesight and hearing was certainly improved.

It wasn’t the body she would have chosen for herself. If she could get her human one back, she would in a heartbeat. But instead, she was a fuzzy white rabbit animatronic, which was just salt in the wound.

She hadn’t known how to feel when she realized her human body had been removed. The insides of her animatronic suit were far from clean—judging by the way Gregory’s nose wrinkled when he got too close, she still smelled of rot—but it hurt a little to have lost that last piece of who she used to be. She was grateful, though, to not have to be so aware of the flesh and blood that had clogged her insides.

The door unlocked, and as Gregory pulled it open, he said, “You’ll never guess who I found! I don’t think I mentioned it, actually, but Freddy was helping me before we got separated, and that was when I met you!”

What passed for fear when one’s body lacked flesh and hormones and a brain to translate those chemicals flashed through Vanessa, and she looked up in a panic to see Glamrock Freddy standing behind Gregory. His smile faded a bit when he saw her, but Gregory didn’t notice either of their reactions.

“Freddy, this is Vanessa. She watched over me while I took a nap. Vanessa, this is Freddy. He was helping me before I met you.” He barely gave them a chance to take each other in before he was off like a shot. “I’m gonna go get a Fazerblaster like you suggested, Freddy! Be right back, play nice!”

Vanessa tensed as she was left alone with a real animatronic. He eyed her distrustfully.

“You are not like me,” Freddy said eventually.

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

“You are… different. Wrong,” Freddy said. She flinched minutely; trust me, she wanted to say, I know. “There is no ‘Vanessa’ in my files of past or present animatronic personalities. You do not exist, yet you stand before me.” His countenance hardened, and even though Vanessa wasn’t hooked up to the communication system the way a proper animatronic would be, she could nearly feel the protective rage settling over him. “If you are trying to hurt Gregory, I will stop you.”

She raised her hands and shuffled away. “I’m just trying to help, okay? The kid needs as much as he can get.”

“Who—what are you?” Freddy demanded.

“I’m Vanessa,” she said. “I… I’m…”

He moved fast for a robot, much faster than she did, as unused to her mechanical body as she was. He slammed her into a wall, looking quite ready to rip her apart if need be.

“Okay, okay!” she cried. “But you can’t tell Gregory, yeah? It’ll—it won’t help.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

She wished she could swallow or run a hand through her hair or even just breathe. But all of those little human things had been taken from her. Their absence, the difference in all the little things that made her up… she felt it deep and sharply.

But it wasn’t like she could cry about it.

“I’m Vanessa,” she repeated. “And I was a human. I got… I was tricked into this suit—it’s got springlocks, which are really really dangerous—and I. I died. In here. And now my body’s gone and this is my body now.”

The light of Freddy’s eyes flickered. She could hear the subtle clicking and whirring of his body as he processed that.

“Vanessa Anderson,” he said slowly.

Her voice box emitted static, as close to a choked breath as she could manage.

He continued, “She is in my files as a night guard who went missing a year ago.”

A year. Had she really been asleep, shut down, whatever, for that long?

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “That, that was me. And now I’m…” She gestured helplessly at herself.

Freddy backed off, releasing her. “I am very sorry, Vanessa Anderson. I… will not tell Gregory.”

“Thanks. And I mean it. I just want to help him. I, I can’t let him end up like me.”

He looked at her, then, really looked at her, and he nodded. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or a remnant of her humanity that demanded she seek emotion even in emotionless things, or maybe it was because she understood him in a way she wouldn’t have been able to as a human. But whatever it was, it seemed to Vanessa that Freddy was looking at her with more compassion than anyone had shown her in years.

[cienie-isengardu]

[MK1] Bi-Han & Kuai Liang. Good brother? Evil brother? Nah, just different reactions to trauma, part 5

<part 1 <> part 2 <> part 3 <> part 4 <>

POWER

This part will be mainly focused on POWER: Bi-Han’s character theme and - alongside gaining independence and freedom for Lin Kuei, the main goal he wanted to achieve according to Mortal Kombat 1’s storyline and tie-in material.

There are already many things said about Bi-Han’s thirst for power and from my experience, fandom identifies it as a serious character's flaw at best and a sign of evil nature at worst. However I do feel that fandom judges Bi-Han’s goal to gain power outside of proper context and this is why we first need to examine worldbuilding and what role the power - including personal might, plays within it.

To do so, let’s look at the Mortal Kombat Tournament. At the official meeting with Liu Kang and his champions, Sindel described it as a tournament founded to “foster peace among realms”:

Sindel: “Welcome, members of the royal house. Welcome, our esteemed Earthrealm guests. We gather once again to honor my late husband's legacy. To continue the tournament that he founded with Lord Liu Kang in hopes that it would foster peace among realms."

However, as we could see through the story, there is much deeper meaning to Tournament - this is a chance for each realm to demonstrate their strength, and in result, temper potential attempts at war.

Liu Kang said:

”The time draws near for the grand martial art tournament between Earthrealm and the realm of Outworld. Held once each century, it allows each realm to demonstrate its strength. While our realms are at peace, there are Outworlders who would prefer us to be at war. Our victory in the tournament will… temper their zeal.”

and

”Earthrealm and Outworld have long been evenly matched. But Outworld is gaining strength. Should it win, it’s more militant factions will be emboldened.”

and

”It is a place of great wealth and beauty. But our realms do not share goals or beliefs. We coexist peacefully because Outworld respects our strength. Should we show weakness, our rival will become our enemy.”

Thus Tournament is a way to intimidate Outworld (and presumably other realms) to keep it in check. Which works fine and works for a long time already, as Liu Kang mentioned that Earhrealm frequently is winning

"You presume them frail, General? Should you... given how frequently they win this tournament?"

And winning even at a great disadvantage, as Raiden fought against many rivals and understandably, the more opponents the more weakened he became with each duel. 

In one of the intro dialogues, we learn people of Sun Do still talk about Raiden despite how many other things happened, including betrayal of General Shao and death of Sindel. 

Li Mei: Your name is still on Sun Do's lips. Raiden: I can't believe I made such an impression.

This intro both highlights how modest and at the same naive Raiden is, because his victory won't be forgotten anytime soon there. Liu Kang’s Champion, a mere farmer who never took a part in war, came to their great and powerful realm, and beat down First Constable Li Mei, General Shao and his second-in-command Reiko, prominent fighters like Kotal, Motaro, Sheeva, princess Kitana and finally, the Empress Sindel. Of course Outworlders are intimidated by his victory, and in the grand scheme of things, Earthrealm’s power. 

Since Outworld and Earthrealm are separate realms, and their cultural contact is very limited, people of Sun Do have no idea how truly powerful are Liu Kang’s people, so of course they judge them through Raiden’s achievement. In the case of war, Raiden alone could defeat their military Champions AND Empress and he is just one of possible many other great Champions. Not to mention Lin Kuei lurking in the shadows, the warriors who do not take part in Tournament, but do fight on Earthrealm’s behalf in conflicts between realms (as seen with Vaeternians, a serious problem Outworlders themselves faced in the past).

As worldbuilding goes, Earthrealm safety relies directly on power, the personal’s might of Liu Kang’s Champions and his “secret army” of Lin Kuei. 

Bi-Han and his family was born in Earthrealm, but as Lin Kuei he was destined to be a warrior meant to defend Earthrealm from external threats, like mentioned before Vaeternians. Understandably then, his mindset about power and personal might won’t be the same as Raiden, Kung Lao or Johnny Cage because he was raised in a different environment than those three living and experiencing modern, normal life. For Sub-Zero, power is what guarantees peace and keeps him and his clan alive and safe. In that sense, “power” and “freedom” are inseparable terms, because without one, there won’t be the other.

This is best seen with Bi-Han’s ending 

"I had broken the Lin Kuei free of Liu Kang's enslavement. We were now masters of our destiny and could take our place among Earthrealm's greatest nations. But taking and holding territory would require a vast army. I needed more fighters to make our presence felt. Then I recalled Shang Tsung's dragon warriors. An army of them would be unstoppable. But trafficking in such strong magic would surely draw Liu Kang's attention. Sektor advised that we avoid detection by building our army using science, not sorcery. We've invested much time in this endeavor, and we are beginning to see results. Once again proving the depths of Sektor's genius. When we are done, all of Earthrealm will honor our desires and heed our demands. If not, they will face the Lin Kuei's wrath."

Sub-Zero understood that Lin Kuei’s independence relies on his and his men’s power. Lin Kuei needed it to secure their land and resources, to indimitate or if needed, to defeat those opposing. Ultimately, they used Shang Tsung’s concept and adapted it to their needs, but as intro dialogues imply, power was what Bi-Han showed an interest in: 

Johnny Cage: Why'd you go rogue? I could've made you a star. Sub-Zero: I want power, not fame.

and Liu Kang: You will not enter the Temple of the Elements. Sub-Zero: I will have the power you've locked away inside.

and

Sub-Zero: One should seize power by any means necessary. Rain: There must be limits, Sub-Zero.

and

Sub-Zero: You wield the power that I aspire to. Sindel: Too bad you're unfit for it, Sub-Zero. 

and

Scorpion: You defile the Lin Kuei! Sub-Zero: I seek only to make us stronger.

Though the intro dialogues do not give us the context for Sub-Zero’s fixation on power, there is plenty of source material to assume this is indeed a way to keep his clan’s freedom, especially with so few reliable allies around. 

There is however a different approach to Sub-Zero’s own battle might - it pleases him to fight and test himself against powerful opponents:

“We must find a less guarded section before attempting an ascent. Finally we face a worthy foe. Victory will bring us glory."

or

"After years of idleness, it pleases me to again face kombat."

or

"I had hoped for the chance to battle your dark magic."

or

Sub-Zero: I'm pleased to fight Outworld's foremost mage. Rain: Will it also please you to lose?

Bi-Han judges other characters through their combat power and battle experience. If his opponents do not live up to the high exceptions of his, Sub-Zero will express his disappointment, as happened in his match against Ermac

“Liu Kang was overly concerned. Your magic does not impress." 

or Shang Tsung

“I had hoped for a worthier enemy." 

At the same time, in case of Sub-Zero (player)’s losing a match, he would actually praise his opponents, 

Bi-Han to Nitara after losing a fight: “You are a superb adversary. More than worth the wait” 

and 

Bi-Han to Ermac after losing a fight: “You are as formidable as promised. Let’s continue.” 

So with no doubt we can say Bi-Han’s relationship with power is much more complex than him being just a power-hungry character. One one hand, he is confident in his abilities and Lin Kuei training, to the point he can come off as arrogant. He turned down Raiden and Kung Lao’s help by saying:

You are not Lin Kuei. You would only hinder the effort.

and in intro dialogues claimed Umgadi priestess warriors would not be able to defeat Lin Kuei

Sub-Zero: No one in your order can defeat a Lin Kuei. Tanya: A nescient boast which is easily disproven.

but at the same time, he would show an interest in Li Mei (a former leader of Umgadi) as he heard about her great skills

Sub-Zero: I hear your skills are formidable. Li Mei: As are those of all who have been Umgadi.

A similar thing may be seen with demons and Ashrah. Bi-Han is biased toward demons - as I assume, Lin Kuei's history influenced his idea of them the same way he was influenced by stories about Vaeternians - yet he will appreciate the power of a specific individual:

Sub-Zero: You will surely test my might. Ashrah: I will overwhelm it, Sub-Zero.

The contrast between power as a means to fulfill goals (securing clan’s independence and a way to expand its might) and power as a personal joy and source of respect for opponents highlight Bi-Han's complexity and influence of his upbringing. He is both ruthless and very eager to prove himself. Fighting is his way of life, and he takes great pleasure in it.

Surprisingly, despite Scorpion’s great loyalty to father’s teaching, Kuai Liang seems to not like fighting. All he wanted during the mission was to succeed

“I will be pleased when we complete our mission”

but there was no personal joy in the task

“Glory? We fight for duty”

In one of the intro dialogues, Scorpion would go so far as to even criticing (accusing?) Liu Kang for not abolishing combat

Scorpion: As Time’s Keeper, you could have abolished kombat. Liu Kang: Even a Titan’s power has limits.

 - what logically would erase the need for Lin Kuei and the duty Kuai Liang dedicated his whole life. Which is a total opposite to Bi-Han, who enjoys combat but also provides an interesting complexity of Kuai Liang and his relationship with fighting and power. 

At the same time, he took pride in being a Lin Kuei once

Raiden: Did you ever want to be an Earthrealm champion? Scorpion: I have only ever wanted to be Lin Kuei.

and has a similar to Bi-Han faith in his own abilities (former Lin Kuei training) that could be seen as arrogance.

Li Mei: Liu Kang has nothing but praise for you. Scorpion: Let me demonstrate why that's so.

or

Sindel: You performed well during the recent crisis. Scorpion: I did what I was trained to do.

or

Scorpion: Here to test the Shirai Ryu's might? General Shao: I will prove it worthless and weak.

or

Scorpion: Was it worth it, training with the Shaolin? Smoke: Let me show you what I learned.

The Lin Kuei training with no doubt shaped both brothers, but like with many other aspects of their past and personalities, they reacted differently to it. Kuai Liang is well aware of his combat skills to the point he barely pays attention to characters’ compliments. Yet he doesn’t seem to enjoy fighting and is there only to do his duty. He does not seek power or power-related support and rejects propositions of other characters - be it Shang Tsung (enemy)

Shang Tsung: Surely I can tempt you with something. Scorpion: Nothing you could offer would interest me.

&

Shang Tsung: I could teach you the secrets of shapeshifting. Scorpion: Stealth is the only tactic I need.

 or Kitana (ally)

Kitana: Weapons. Soldiers. Whatever you -- Scorpion: I have all that I need to defeat Bi-Han.

In contrast, Bi-Han is a much more ambitious man, yet his relationship with power is not one dimensional and there is a personal joy to face worthy opponents and to see how far he came in his training and combat experiences. Power is a means to fulfilling his goals, but also a reason to admire an opponent's skills, even if it's the enemy trying to either capture or murder him. 

[loz-furbies]

Ocarina of Time Zelda

For the first time in the franchise there is some actual content about Zelda and you don't have to squeeze out fanfiction from a single line in a guide book. However you probably get more out of her if you understand OoT's placement in the Timeline and what kind of role she plays in it, but I'm sorry, I really don't care about the Zelda timeline and just doze off when the exact details of OoT's main plot are discussed. So this will be written with only cursory understanding of the time travel plot.

Design

The biggest issue for me with OoT Zelda is the colour palette, I still find this kind of magenta really unappealing, and I don’t think the blue cloth with the royal crest goes well with it either. And the crest design is just a huge mess, I bet Zelda gurus can decipher each individual element but even if each scribble has a specific meaning I still think there’s far too much going on and way too many colours. Still I like when you have designs “progressing” with age like this, and overall I think the OoT design manages that well, with young Zelda’s design being softer while adult Zelda has some armour pieces and similar colours tying everything together.

Then there's Sheik, who looks perfectly adequate for the "mysterious ninja" role. The hairstyle does bother me, Zelda shouldn't be able to style her hair to bangs like that, but I suppose that is the least of issues when it comes to how Sheik relates to Zelda.

Character

A lot of Zelda's lines are still about the plot, but this time she does have an actual personality to talk about. In princess mode she has a pretty standard nice and polite princess personality, but kid Zelda does have this plucky childlike enthusiasm about her. She's so excited to meet Link that she forgets to introduce herself, and even if it's pretty subdued, she's clearly into getting a partner-in-crime in Link. The whole scene in the castle yard has delightful "meddling kids" energy, with the kids spying on Ganondorf and scheming about their grand plans that end up being way over their head.

There is also obviusly the assertive and witty side to her since she does set up quite a grand plan, though that doesn't quite make her look like wisdom incarnate and rather comes across as just a kid who thrilled about this cool thing they saw in a dream. Meanwhile her passing the Ocarina of Time to Link manages to look like a proper and meaningful plan.

Once she has grown up Zelda displays noticeable character development, and adult Zelda is much more mature, calm and englightened. She even points out how she was naive and presumptuous about her plan, and takes responsibility for the results. I really like her character development, it makes good use of the game's two times mechanic and also fits the overall melancholic tone.

Sheik is of course also an important part of Zelda's character, and it's great that she got a more active secret persona. I have some trouble reconciling Sheik as a part of Zelda's character though, since they feel so separate. Once Zelda reveals her true identity, Sheik just completely disappears and we don't get to hear anything about how Zelda felt about her other identity (other than being sorry for deceiving Link) or presumably having gone a lot of physical training. Sheik's mysterious and poetic way of speaking is gone, as is their apparent coldness towards Link who clearly wants to know more about them. And Sheik doesn't say anything meaningful that would hint about their feelings about the secret identity either. Sure she didn't want to get caught, but I still wish there was more effort in linking the two together.

Role in the story

This time Zelda has quite a lot of presence in the story, especially if you know about the Sheik thing. It's nice that the player gets to see her set up her plan instead of hearing that she did something smart off screen, and in general she makes such a charming impression in her first scene the goal of first fulfilling her plan in the child portion of the game and then trying to reunite with her later is motivating.

Sheik's existence also gives her a way more active role both in terms of screen presence and like, getting to do something else than sit in place being a princess. Granted we don't really get to see Sheik do that much, but they did help out Ruto off screen and at least I can easily believe them to be capable of defending themselves. And I dunno, maybe it's just that because Sheik is written to be believed to be male (for unspoiled first-time players), they come across much more as Link's equal than many side character girls, who usually have at least some baggage that comes with being a girl in a video game.

Gameplay-wise Sheik's appearances are also pleasant because opening fast travel locations is always useful, and making music together with an npc is fun as long as the player's controls don't suck.

Relationships

Zelda and Link are super cute together as children, even if Zelda has to carry the scene on her own since the player can't contribute much anything. But still I get the feeling of two new friends who are excited to get into some mischief together.

As adults they have a much more professional feeling relationships, with a somber aftertaste when Zelda sends her back to the past. So while she is the most prominent npc in the game, she is far from my top pick for shipping out of Link's many potential love interests. Really I think he has the most interesting chemistry with Sheik, but I already wrote about how that doesn't automatically transfer over to Zelda. But there's just something about how he chases after the mysterious stranger! Who feels like a proper peer on their own quest too.

Impa is also there, but I don't get a lot out of them outside a pretty basic combination of child-and-caretaker and princess-and-servant relationship. I'd probably like it more if Impa wasn't in on young Zelda's plan, now it's harder to see if I'm supposed to take it as her being too naive and overconfident to begin with, or if the plan was actually valid and she's being too hard on herself after its failure.

She is also supposed to be the leader of the sages, but I don't get a lot out of that since they don't interact at all and Rauru felt more fitting for that role.

[three--rings]

Watched IWTV 1x01 with my husband tonight, in an attempt to spread the brainrot, and I have Thoughts.

So first, I was struck by how violent and aggressive Louis is from the beginning. Like of course I remembered on paper, but seeing it again after S2 really hit home.

Because the show definitely seems to be pointing to this tendency of his as part of the reason why his relationship with Lestat was Like That, and I also think the Throwing Armand Almost Through a Concrete Wall is telling us that too. (No matter how much he deserved it.) This episode just has Louis barely restraining his rage through the whole thing.

Secondly ...

Yeah I had a second point but uh, I forgor it. I waited a day to see if I would remember what point I was going to make, but yeah.

Anyway, I was NOT sure if Mr. Rings was gonna like this show at first. Like, after S2 I wanted him to see it cause it's so good, but I wasn't sure if like Gothic Gay Vampires was gonna be his thing.

So we finished and he goes "Goddammit now I'm in!" So yay, he liked it.

I thought it funny that he didn't remember Jacob from GOT but did immediately know who Eric was and even remembered the name of Talk Radio AND knew it had been his one man show first. Like, okay, I know we've watched that movie a long time ago but I didn't know my husband was storing so much info about it.

So yeah, apparently my husband is an Eric fanboy. He kept just going "god he's such a good actor."

However, he doesn't like Sam. I was like, well, wait and see. I promise he IS really good. So hopefully he grows on him.

Also I commented on how good Jacob's accent is, and he said "eh yeah." and I was like "for New Orleans?" But then he's only been there like once for any time, and I've been several times. (I spent more time around Cajuns than proper New Orleans, though, in East Texas.) But anyway what I realized/remembered that's great about Jacob's accent is that it's accurate, but also a little subtle. Like a very THICK NOLA accent can sound like an exaggeration or mockery, even if people DO actually sound like that. So Jacob's is a little dialed down so it doesn't sound silly.

God I remember this one infamous cab trip I had in NOLA with this driver who was this very large white dude with the thickest damn accent I ever heard. We get rerouted through the uh, unsavory parts of town, because the president was in town that day. So I got a tour of the projects. And then there was a guy on the street who had apparently lost a finger somehow and there was blood dripping down from his hand to the sidewalk. Even the cab driver was pretty shook by that one.

I nearly went to Tulane, but it was probably good I choose New York over New Orleans in the grand scheme.

[twistedtummies2]

Top 15 Portrayals of Mina Harker

As I said in my past list, the famous Van Helsing is actually NOT the main character of Bram Stoker’s “Dracula.” He’s the leader of the team, sure, but he’s more along the lines of Merlin in Arthurian lore, rather than the main protagonist proper. It’s hard to say who the main protagonist of Dracula is, really, since the structure of the book makes it rather ensemble in nature…but if I had to cast a vote, I’d probably say that Mina Harker (nee Murray) is the best option for that role.

I say this because, in the same breath, I would also say that Mina is one of the most maligned characters in all of literature, and certainly in the long history of Dracula. And not just in adaptations, either: even the novel ITSELF shortchanges Mina by the end of the book. In the novel, Mina is intended to be Stoker’s idealization of the “New Woman,” a concept prevalent in Victorian times: a feminist icon who is still good at heart, and still able to have feminine leanings, but is also just as competent, willful, intelligent, and interesting as any of the male characters in the book, if not more so. She’s one of the most proactive characters in the novel, as she and Van Helsing are really the ones who lead the charge against Dracula. She’s even the one who helps lead the other characters to the vampire in the climactic final chapters…yet despite this, she plays almost no role in the final battle against the Count. Neither does Van Helsing, for that matter. They just…kind of watch the other characters take care of things. 

On top of that - and this is something critics have pointed out many times since the novel’s publication - this “strong working woman’s” oh-so-glamorous job is…being a secretary. And Stoker’s cast tries to build that up as if it’s something to be REALLY freaking proud of, as if Mina is the world’s coolest gal because she’s so good at this particular job. There’s nothing wrong with that profession at all, of course…but I think most can agree that’s not really the kind of work that those in favor of the “New Woman” ideal had in mind, then or since.

These flaws are fairly minor in the grand scheme of the novel, I would argue…but one could see them as portents of the mistreatment Mina has suffered in adaptations and reimaginings since. Many versions of Mina depict her as little more than a damsel in distress; a much weaker character who ultimately is only there to be saved by the rest of the cast. Others take the liberty of crafting a romantic subplot between herself and Dracula; sometimes this angle CAN be interesting, if it’s handled a certain way, but I often feel it’s a total misunderstanding of the intent behind her character. Plus, it makes things difficult, since Mina IS a married woman (or at least engaged, depending on the version you look at), and I think most of us can agree that creates some questionable subtexts. Even her NAME is subject to mismanagement: in some adaptations, Mina is referred to as “Lucy,” while the Lucy character is swapped to “Mina,” which only confuses things more. With all that said, there’s no better way to look at how Mina has evolved over the years than for me to present the versions of her I like most from all the Dracula-related stuff I’ve gathered. (pauses) Well, actually, there probably ARE better ways, but this is my technique. So, having rambled all your ears off by now, let’s waste no more time: here are My Top 15 Portrayals of Mina Harker!

15. Agnes Moorehead, from the Mercury Theater Radio Version.

Moorehead, of course, is a fantastic actress, and her performance, on its own accord, is pretty good. However, the Mercury Theater’s treatment of the novel’s plot - which had to be highly truncated for time - means that the character doesn’t even appear till I think about halfway through the entire production. As a result, a lot of what makes Mina so interesting isn’t really present in the radio show. Still, hearing future Endora as Mina makes for some interesting listening, if nothing else.

14. Kate Shindle, from Dracula: The Musical (2011 Studio Cast Recording).

Frank Wildhorn’s musical version of Dracula has a LOT of problems, not the least of which being the way it treats Mina’s character. This is one of several versions that tries to create a romance between Dracula and Mina, and in my opinion the execution of this concept here is…well…not the greatest. Tie this to some of the musical’s other flaws (there are several), and you can see why she ranks low. However, I will give credit to Kate Shindle - an actress I admire greatly, who has worked on several Wildhorn projects - for her work in the role on the 2011 Studio Cast Recording, who probably made this role work about as good as anybody reasonably could manage.

13. Melissa Stribling, from the Hammer Horror Films.

Hammer’s first Dracula film, “Horror of Dracula” (as it’s known in the states), is quite possibly my favorite Dracula movie of all time. (“Favorite.” Not “best.” I will always contend that there is a difference.) With this in mind, I’ve always felt mixed feelings about Mina’s treatment in the movie. Actress Melissa Stribling does a very good job, and I will say this is one of the first versions of Mina I think of when I think of the character’s name. HOWEVER, her ultimate role is essentially just being “the housewife,” so to speak: she isn’t nearly as proactive as in the novel, and while she does START to turn thanks to Dracula in the film, we never get far enough to see the full contrast between her true self and her half-vampiric change, which I’ve always felt to be one of the most interesting parts of her story arc. Also, it’s worth pointing out that the Hammer version (for reasons no one can explain whatsoever) swaps characters around: everyone has their names right, but for some reason Mina is depicted as Arthur Holmwood’s wife, while Jonathan Harker is instead engaged to Lucy. One of many times where characters are fiddled around with for no apparent reason, as you’ll see.

12. Maria Rohm, from the 1970 Jess Franco Film.

Rohm’s Mina is one of the stronger versions on this list, as she is counsel to just about everything the men do in the story, tries to save Lucy from Dracula, and even interrogates Renfield at one point, nearly getting killed in the process. However, much like in the novel, she’s ultimately shortchanged by having basically nothing to do with the Count’s final defeat, and I personally felt still more could have been done with the character than the film ultimately tried. It’s hard to explain, but I just don’t feel I can, in proper conscience, place her higher.

11. CindyMarie Small, from Dracula: Pages From a Virgin’s Diary.

As I said on my previous list, in this surrealist dance-based motion picture, all of the male characters from the story are depicted as…well…creeps and jerks, to put things in the kindest possible words. As a result, the two primary female characters - Lucy and Mina - take center stage as the true heroines of the story. In Mina’s case, she proves to be the stronger lady, as - after being kidnapped by Dracula and whisked back to his Castle - she is able to resist the vampire’s temptation and actually helps the men take down Dracula. In fact, one could argue it’s really Mina who is responsible for the Count’s defeat; she doesn’t drive the stake through his heart, but the men could not have done it without her help. Ironically (and intentionally so), the men take all the credit despite this, and still treat Mina like a child or a trophy in the end. Ah, the patriarchy of Victoriana…what foolery…

10. Helen Chandler, from the 1931 Film.

Chandler’s Mina is arguably one of the weakest versions of the character on the list, so it’s probably surprising for many to see her so high up. Well, the fact of the matter is that I really like the classic Universal version of Dracula (despite the fact several elements of it have admittedly not aged very well), and - much like Stribling - Chandler is one of the first versions of Mina I think about when I utter the character’s name. In the Universal film, Chandler’s Mina is very much depicted as a damsel in distress; ironically, it’s LUCY who is depicted as more of a “modern woman,” despite smaller screentime. (More on that another occasion.) Instead, Chandler is more of the typical society lady: repressed, glamorous, and idealistic. Dracula’s corruption of Mina, turning her into a vampire and causing her to become attracted to him (in here not so much a love story so much as just another way of him controlling her), is symbolic of the vampire’s influence corrupting her innocence and the order of society as a whole. While this is totally NOT what Stoker’s idea for the relationship was (this is actually more what he tried to do with Lucy than with Mina), I do like Chandler’s performance. She goes through various stages, from a prim and proper young lady to someone more playful and sensual…and finally seeing her go into vampire mode, where she behaves more like an animal than a human being with a deeply unsettling, predatory slowness that really plays into the idea of the undead. Not accurate at all, but very unique.

9. Lupita Tovar, from “Spanish Dracula.”

For those who don’t know, the “Spanish Dracula” is the colloquial reference to the Spanish-language version of the classic Universal film from 1931. Due to the technical and budgetary standards of the time, whenever a movie like this was going to be released to other countries, instead of doing dubbing or subtitles, studios would basically just make the film all over again, using the same sets and often a lot of the same costumes, but now with a different cast and crew all speaking that language. Tovar’s Mina - or “Eva,” as she’s called in the Spanish version - is honestly more interesting than Chandler’s. Tovar’s Mina is more vivacious, youthful, and has a sort of fiery quality to her performance, which becomes downright manic and feral when she goes into vampire mode, making for a more memorable character, in my opinion. It’s the same basic character, but much less “stiff.”

8. Minnie Mouse, from Disney’s Dracula, Starring Mickey Mouse.

Here’s a shocker for you: this might be one of the most book-accurate Minas, in some ways, on this entire list. No joke. One of the things I love about the graphic novel version of “Dracula Starring Mickey Mouse” is that the people who made it clearly loved the original book and gave it a VERY thorough read. A lot of the humor and intrigue in the comic comes from stuff that you will only get if you actually read the original book. Case in point: Minnie makes for a PERFECT Mina Harker, as, like Mina, Minnie - by typical default - is able to be romantic and sweet, but is also perfectly capable of standing up for herself and won’t hesitate to give somebody a piece of her mind if she needs to. She has the same role in the storybook version, which is only appropriate.

7. Greta Schroder, from Nosferatu.

It’s weird that the Mina character from the very first true Dracula film (not counting the lost film “Dracula’s Death,” which is a whole other can of worms) is still one of the best, in my opinion. In the 1922 German Expressionist classic, the Mina character is “Ellen Hutter,” the wife of Thomas Hutter, the Jonathan character. She is once again the main character; a woman pure of heart (film’s words, not mine), who is tormented throughout the film by the vampire’s powers. Yet she struggles on, determined to find a way to destroy the vampire herself, ignoring her husband’s fears. Eventually, she finds out the only way to defeat Orlok (Dracula) is to sacrifice herself, and does so to save her hometown. Admittedly, she’s also shown fainting about…five times throughout the picture, but to be fair, if I had to deal with a vampire like Orlok, I’d have trouble staying conscious, too.

6. Ellie Beaven, from the 2006 BBC Radio Version.

Honestly, not sure what to say about Beaven’s work in the BBC Radio version. (Obviously, no, she is not in costume for Mina in this image, but she certainly looks like she’d fit the bill there.) I just think she does a really good job, plain and simple. Also, this is one of two versions I’m aware of where Mina and Lucy are depicted as being sisters, instead of just being best friends. Doesn’t really impact the story, but the other one was also made by the BBC. You may now insert the “If I had a nickel” meme here, if you care to.

5. Winona Ryder, from the 1992 Film.

I really struggled with where to place Winona Ryder’s Mina in the ranks here. Some people will probably think she’s much, MUCH too high up, while others will think that, despite making the Top 5, she’s too far down. I actually used a method a friend suggested: looking at the highest placement I could put Ryder’s Mina at for me, and the lowest I felt was earned, and finding the median between them. That median just so happened to be either 5th or 6th place, and between Ryder and Beaven, I do think I prefer the former SLIGHTLY (though, once more, I'm not sure why), so fifth place it was. Ryder’s Mina tries to combine the strong, independent, capable, charming lady from the book with a raw, sexual edge and a romantic daliance with Dracula, and…in my opinion, the result is something of a mixed bag. As popular as this film is, and the way Mina and Dracula’s romance is depicted, I actually feel the writing is clumsy on Mina’s part, in terms of her motivations and the way her relationships with other characters are depicted. HOWEVER, I think that Winona Ryder gives one of her absolute best performances in this movie, and her work as Mina is probably the first performance of hers I think of when I think of the actress. She manages to maneuver skillfully through the clutter and creates an interesting character to watch as a result. Ultimately, Number Five just felt like the best balance between the pros and cons for me.

4. Kate Nelligan, from the 1979 Film.

When it comes to versions of Mina who have a romantic daliance with a more sympathetic Dracula, I think Kate Nelligan was the first…and I would also say that she was the best. I should point out, on that note, that this film is one of the ones I mentioned before where the names of Mina and Lucy are switched: Nelligan’s character is NAMED “Lucy,” but the actual character HERSELF is clearly meant to be Mina. Apparently, this change was made simply because the writers liked the name “Lucy” better, which…is a bit of a dumb reason, in my opinion, as it just makes things more confusing, but whatever. I’m going to continue to refer to the character as “Mina” here, for consistency’s sake. In my opinion, Nelligan’s version succeeds at what the Ryder version (among others) would later try to accomplish: depicting Mina as a strong and competent woman who can stand up for herself and has full agency in her life, while also creating some interesting tension by having her form a romantic attachment to Dracula, and ALSO still having her relationship with Jonathan ongoing. How did they do this? Eh, watch the movie yourself to find out and see if you agree; I haven’t got time to go through it all here.

3. Isabelle Adjani, from Nosferatu the Vampyre.

Just like our previous pick, this version once again reverses character names, with this character being called “Lucy,” even though the actual role is clearly that of Mina, and vice-versa. It also came out the same year as the previous pick, 1979. (Again, insert “if I had a nickel” meme here.) This remake of “Nosferatu” (the first of no less than three, the other two of which have yet to gain public release) expands on the version found in the original film, showing even more of the character’s struggles as she tries to combat the vampire, even having her directly confront Dracula at one point. Interestingly, Dracula is depicted as a sympathetic character in this one, but he and Mina do NOT have a romantic interest in one another; that’s very rare in adaptations. Just like in the original version, Mina ultimately sacrifices herself to stop Dracula, and since Dracula is depicted as a sympathetic antagonist as well, that makes the ending all the more tragic.

2. The Version from The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

If there’s one way to make Mina independent, it’s to completely separate her from the rest of the cast in “Dracula.” I’m talking about the comic version here, by the way, not the one played by Peta Wilson in the 2004 film adaptation. While Wilson’s Mina isn’t BAD, per say, she is…very, VERY different from the one in the Alan Moore comic series. In the original comics, Mina is actually the leader of the titular League. She has no powers in the comics, but is instead depicted as a capable and charismatic leader, as well as a surprisingly gifted strategist; after her adventures in the novel, Mina has actually become an even stronger woman than before, and shows no fear in the face of opposition from characters like Mr. Hyde or the Invisible Man. She forms a unique romantic relationship with Allan Quartermain, and has some…COMPLICATED feelings in regards to her past, and especially towards the (presumed late) Count Dracula. Again, the movie version isn’t necessarily bad on her own merits, but the comic is definitely a more interesting character between the two.

1. Judi Bowker, from the 1977 BBC TV Film.

This TV production is quite possibly the most book-faithful adaptation of the novel ever put to the screen. By extension of this same fact, Bowker’s pretty-but-not-prissy Mina is quite possibly the most accurate interpretation of her character ever put to the screen, as well. The only major change for her character is that this is the other BBC rendition I mentioned where Mina and Lucy are made to be sisters, rather than just best friends, but this really doesn’t cause a HUGE impact on the story. Indeed, Bowker’s Mina even gets some slight IMPROVEMENTS from the original, as she and Van Helsing take direct part in the final battle, instead of just watching it happen like in the novel. Easily the best Mina onscreen, bar none.

[lesawrites]

Writing Share Tag

Thank you @renasdoodles for the tag! Here's an excerpt from a short story I've been on and off working on for awhile! This is the beginning of the first scene. Not sure how good it is, but I've been having fun working on it!

Tarrent was nothing special, and he knew it. He was a balding middle-age man with a wife—Vanya—and three daughters—Elidi, Thia, and Kinsley. He had an office job that he thought was important but really wasn’t, and he earned enough to live comfortably. He thought he was doing well and that he was a good and respectable man, and perhaps he was. It didn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things. What did matter, was the handful of minutes he spent with the three Seers that resided in his town of East Gondul. He was walking home from another day of work. It was a nice day, and his office was only a few blocks away from his home. At first, he watched the scenery. To his left, cars drove past, heading home from work, just like he was. To his right, there were residential homes where kids could be heard playing inside. It was the middle of summer, and they were enjoying the lack of schoolwork, just like his daughters were. In the distance ahead of him, he could faintly see mountains covered in trees where it was well-known faeries resided. He’d always wanted to get training on how to deal with them so he could go hiking with his family there, but he never found the time. It was dangerous to go there without the proper knowledge, and it cost too much to hire a guide. He checked the time—5:12PM—and remembered it was his night to prepare dinner for the family. He pulled out his phone and searched through a list of recipes he compiled to figure out what he wanted to make. He picked one, and carefully examined the ingredients. Was this something his kids would like? What about Vanya? Did he need to stop at the store for any ingredients? He couldn’t remember—were they out of salt? What about butter? He didn’t realize he wasn’t the only one walking on the sidewalk anymore. A group of three, walking side-by-side and taking up the entire width of the sidewalk, headed towards him. He didn’t notice, too focused on the recipe on his phone. It would have been expected that the three maneuver out of his way, distracted as he clearly was. He was already standing to the side, leaving plenty of room for them to do so, but these three had no intention of changing their course even slightly. So, inevitably, Tarrent and the three ran into each other. “Oop—sorry! Wasn’t watching where I was—” He noticed the bright clothes of Felicity first. Bright, colorful, not quite matching clothes with a smile that would liven any room if only it weren’t coming from her. Then, he noticed Eula’s wide-brimmed hat putting a shadow over her deceivingly kind-looking old face and her vintage-style green dress. And Bastian, who had a pale, acne-covered face and wore casual clothes, could easily pass for a normal teenager if it weren’t for his sinister smile that struck unease and fear to anyone around him. “Seers-” he stammered. He tried to remember any other time the three of them walked anywhere near this area, but couldn’t. Why did they choose today to walk a new route? “I’m so sorry,” he said quickly. “I- I should have been more careful. Are you alright? Can I help you at all? I’m so sorry for running into you, I will pay more attention in the future.” If it were anyone other than the Seers, he likely wouldn’t have felt the need to apologize at all. After all, he wasn’t blocking much of the sidewalk. If he were any more to the right, he would have been on the grass. But because it was the Seers, he had to be careful.

Tagging (no pressure at all!): @aminovels

I'm not mutuals/friends with enough other writers to tag more than one, but here's my contribution anyway!

[reejindeed]

Would you say Art is something people are just born with the natural gift or it’s a talent you can acquire with proper dedication and resources?

The older I get the more I realize how little talent matters in the grand scheme of art. I'm a firm believer that at any stage in your life, a person can become an artist. Talent plays a very miniscule role in that.

It IS about having the focus and drive to pursue it consistently.

A person who consistently works on their craft will far surpass a person who relies solely on their talent. I've seen this happen so many times in my life... Consistency outweighs talent every time.

Intentional consistency was also something I had to learn. The only reason I draw the way that I do was because as a kid, it was an obsession for me and I knew I was good. AND I was encouraged.

But when I first got into college I still drew a lot, I just prioritized what was comfortable vs. what I could have been learning. For a little while there I just lived in what was comfortable and kept expanding that side of things. It wasn't until my professor (who became my mentor throughout college) warned me about being "naturally talented" and how, kind of like the hare, you get too comfortable and stop advancing. It took me a bit for that to really sink in, and eventually I started pushing myself to try to become a more well-balanced artist.

Even now there are things that I'm still teaching myself.

Also please don't think I'm implying because I went to college I think people need to go to college to become an artist. You absolutely do not need it. I got very lucky and really enjoyed the experience, but it's expensive, oftentimes wildly inaccessible, and definitely not for everyone.

I DO think it can be helpful to take online courses (if you can afford it) or to consistently ask for critique from people who know what they're talking about, like a portfolio review. That kind of feedback is invaluable, and I think learning how to critique your own work (and other people's work) from an unbiased position is an incredibly important skill and language to learn.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

<< Beginning < Prev || AO3 || My Website

Chapter 71: March 1998

Gerard likes to think of himself as reasonably fluent in Latin. At the very least, he can translate a good number of the texts his mother puts in front of him these days, and he’s written out his fair share, too, and they’re more or less understandable by anyone with a working grasp of the language. His pronunciation is decent and, when his mother reads aloud to him, he can usually comprehend it well enough.

He has, however, no clue what the old man in the frock coat is saying.

Well, that’s not…entirely true. He’s following along, for the most part. But it’s just off enough that it’s like the guy is speaking a different language. At the very least it’s a dialect he’s not familiar with, and does Latin even have dialects? He supposes it must have, at one point, just like every other language does—the Roman Empire was big enough, and lasted long enough, that there must be variants all over the place—but he’s never learned anything but the scholarly, textbook variety, and he’s not sure what’s going on.

He realizes he’s focusing on something supremely unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If he worries about how the man is saying what he’s saying, he doesn’t have to think about what he’s saying, or why he’s saying it. He can pretend everything is normal.

To his left, Melanie stands unusually still for once. Her black crepe dress with the white lace collar fits her way too well to have been recently purchased—Roger almost always buys things Melanie is going to grow into—but her patent leather Mary Janes must be new, since he’s never seen them before and they’re far too shiny to have been worn much; they haven’t even picked up much of the dirt. She’s taken her hair back with a faux pearl clip, silver stars wink in her recently pierced ears, and at her throat is a cameo necklace on a black velvet ribbon. Her face is drawn and pale, and she’s clutching an honest-to-God handkerchief trimmed in lace, which might have been white once but is currently the same ivory color as the cameo. She stares straight ahead, not moving, except for the fingers that keep twisting and twisting the handkerchief.

Gerard’s eyes rove over the crowd. It’s mostly older people, a few people he recognizes vaguely from seeing around the neighborhood and one or two who’ve come to Pinhole Books on occasion, but for the most part they’re all completely unknown to him. (He’s learned by now not to use stranger in a benign context.) Roger, standing on Melanie’s other side, seems to be polishing his square spectacles rather a lot, and Gerard’s not about to look at his mother, because he doesn’t want to know what she’s looking at and doesn’t want to get in trouble if what she’s looking at is him.

Unfortunately, that only leaves him two places to look.

He lets himself, reluctantly, look at the folding chair placed just ahead of them. It’s almost entirely empty, except for two figures. Aunt Lily has gained back some weight in the last year—a lot of weight—and now has to use a cane everywhere she goes; her hands, covered in black kid gloves, are folded neatly over the carved wooden handle, except when she raises one to cough discreetly into a handkerchief—like Melanie’s, except hers is trimmed in black. She honestly looks like she’s just stepped out of an Edwardian fashion plate in a magazine instructing people on proper mourning attire. For fuck’s sake, she even has a hat with a veil.

Of course Martin stands next to her, slightly behind her. He looks smaller than usual, like he’s crumpled in on himself. His black suit jacket is just a little too big for him, hanging loosely on his shoulders and covering half of his hands, but he’s finally grown into the Norfolk cap he’s owned as long as Gerard has known him. Because of where he’s standing, Gerard can’t see anything else, but he knows he’s wearing a pair of too-long trousers that cover his smart black school shoes. He can, however, see his face, and it makes his heart hurt. It’s beyond upset, beyond even devastated. Martin looks…lost.

Gerard looks away, and of course in doing so his eyes lock onto the box just behind the priest. For some reason, the box bothers him more than Martin’s face, even though it’s closed. Maybe especially because it’s closed.

He keeps telling himself the old man isn’t really in there. That it’s just a box, containing an empty shell. That they know the old man is dead and beyond the reach of the Fourteen. The body he viewed last night, dressed in a dove grey wool suit and fingers folded over the rosary his parents brought from Poland, isn’t really the man they all knew, it’s just a husk. That man is gone, somewhere they won’t see him for a long time, if ever. Gerard isn’t terribly sure what kind of an afterlife there is, if there even is an afterlife, and he’s not sure he’ll ever earn a place in the same afterlife as Alastair Koskiewicz if there is. But wherever it is, it’s somewhere better than this, it has to be.

It doesn’t help much.

It’s not just the fact of the coffin, the idea of being shut up in a box and dropped in a hole and covered in dirt forever and ever, and how horrifying it would be if he wakes up and can’t get out. Gerard’s read stories about that happening and it’s kept him up at nights sometimes, although not as often as thinking about the casual comment Martin made when they first met (why didn’t he ever tell Alastair about that, why hasn’t he told someone, is Martin still being punished like that, what if Martin wakes up in that coffin someday). It’s the whole fact of him being dead. Death is one of the Fourteen, after all, so even being dead doesn’t mean he’s completely safe. Gerard’s not sure how that works and he’s kind of afraid to ask.

Tiny cold fingers slide into Gerard’s, and he squeezes back on instinct. That’s all Melanie needs, apparently, and she clutches his hand so tight he almost expects his fingers to pop off. For a skinny little twig like she is, she’s got a really strong grip.

The priest recites a phrase, and even if it doesn’t sound exactly like how Gerard learned it, he at least knows what it means: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He then nods and gestures at the coffin.

Six men, five strangers and Roger, step forward and each take a handle of the coffin, then carry it over to the hole. A man, probably an employee of the cemetery, directs them, then signals for them to let go. For a moment, the coffin rests on a series of straps before the pallbearers lower it into the ground.

At his side, Melanie gives a low whimper and turns away for a moment, pressing her handkerchief to her lips, before straightening and facing the grave again.

At another signal from the priest, Aunt Lily hefts herself to her feet and limps forward, Martin trailing after her. She takes something from the priest and throws it into the open grave, then steps back. The priest beckons to Martin, who also comes forward and hesitantly lets something fall from his hand into the grave. Unlike his mother, though, he doesn’t stand back, just stays where he is. The priest ignores him in favor of finishing the ceremony.

Once the final amen is said, the crowd drifts away from the graveside and back towards the road, probably intent on heading back to the old man’s house, where a reception has been laid out. Roger moves over to assist Aunt Lily to her feet, and she leans on both him and her cane as she struggles forward. Gerard’s mother focuses on an awkward-looking young blond man standing off to one side, gives a sharp, sweetly poisonous smile, and heads in that direction. Martin remains where he is, staring down into the grave, even as the gravediggers uncover the pile of dirt under the tarp and begin spading it back into the hole. Gerard can hear the rattle as it rains on the lid of the coffin. Melanie flinches at the sound, then suddenly yanks her hand out of Gerard’s and rushes over to Martin’s side, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly.

He doesn’t react. Gerard’s heart constricts.

Hesitantly, he crosses over as well and puts one hand on Martin’s shoulder and the other on Melanie’s. He’s taller than both of them, for now anyway, tall enough that he can look over their heads and see into the grave as the smooth, polished wood gradually disappears under the dry, brittle soil.

“C’mon,” he says gently, trying to steer Melanie and Martin away. “Let’s get back to the house.”

Melanie starts to come without too much resistance, but she stops dead in her tracks when Martin doesn’t budge. He keeps watching as the coffin is slowly but steadily obscured.

He’s not crying. Gerard doesn’t like it. He understands Melanie—he’s never seen her cry, no matter how upset she gets—but Martin wears his heart on his sleeve, and the fact that he’s not crying for his grandfather is…worrying. As is the way he’s just…staring at the hole, and the box.

“Martin,” Gerard says, a little more insistently. He holds his shoulder a little tighter, shakes him a bit, trying to get his attention. The fact that Martin still doesn’t react scares him more than he’s willing to admit, and before he can stop himself, he slaps the younger boy across the face. “Martin!”

Martin jerks and stumbles back from the edge of the grave. Gerard takes advantage of him being off-balance to grab his arm and drag him away; Melanie loops her arm through his other one and helps, although she’s not much help. Actually, Gerard has to admit that if Martin wasn’t already off-balance, he wouldn’t be able to move him either. Martin is chubby, to put it politely, and probably weighs as much as both of them put together, and he can be quite difficult to move when he wants to be.

The village cemetery is probably a good mile from the house, but most of the cars have already left by the time they manage to wrestle Martin to the road. Gerard reckons that’s probably not the worst thing in the world—the walk will do them good—but before he can even bring that up, a woman comes over to them. She looks to be about the same age as Gerard’s mother, a sweet-faced woman whose thick braid of hair is more white than black but whose dark blue eyes shine with innocence, and she’s dressed in a black skirt suit that looks more like an everyday work outfit than something bought specially for a funeral.

“It’s Martin, isn’t it?” she says in a soft, gentle voice. Martin recoils, shrinking back, a naked terror suddenly replacing the half-blind look that was in them before, but nods once. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his fear. “I’m so sorry about your grandfather, dear. I used to work with him a long time ago. He was a very, very good man.” Turning to Gerard, she adds, “And of course, you’re Eric’s son, aren’t you? Gerard? We used to be colleagues. I was saddened to hear of his passing.”

Passing. Like it was an easy thing and not the work of his mother and a pair of hedge clippers. Gerard swallows down that response and only says, “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Turning to Melanie, the woman’s smile softens. “And who are you, sweetling?”

Melanie surprises Gerard. She looks up at Martin briefly, then back at the woman, but doesn’t answer. Gerard figures she’s just shy for some reason, or too upset to talk, and steps in. “This is Melanie. She’s our friend. Her dad was one of the pallbearers.”

“Of course, of course. Are you a friend of the family, then?”

Gerard starts to answer, but Melanie shakes her head and pulls on Martin’s arm. “Gerry, you know we’re not supposed to talk to strangers. C’mon, let’s go home.”

“Oh!” The woman gives a silvery laugh, then instantly sobers. “I’m so sorry, I forgot entirely! Of course none of you know me. My name is Emma.” She looks around the parking lot and adds, “It looks like everyone else has left already. Why don’t I give you a ride back to the house?”

“No.” That single word, laden with terror and cracked with tears, explodes out of Martin’s mouth as he takes a step back. It shocks Gerard, who suddenly realizes it’s the first word out of Martin’s mouth since Alastair died, but also because Martin is never rude to grown-ups. Or anybody, really, but especially not grown-ups.

He’s right, though. Gerard was on the verge of accepting the ride, but it dawns on him just how stupid an idea that is. They don’t know this woman, and for all she claims to know both Martin’s grandfather and Gerard’s father, they can’t prove she actually does. Did. She could be trying to kidnap them, or worse.

With that in mind, Gerard tosses a hasty, “Thank you, ma’am, nice to meet you!” over his shoulder as he heads up the block, arm still looped through Martin’s. It’s hard to say who’s dragging whom.

It takes them almost half an hour to get back to the house. The drive and street are clogged with cars, including the one belonging to the woman called Emma—so at least she’s actually here—and a few shadowy figures pass by the windows. Gerard figures they’ll slip inside, grab a plate each, and find a quiet corner to tuck into.

Martin surprises him again. He bypasses the house entirely, sliding his arms from Melanie and Gerard’s without a word, and makes straight for the grove of cherry trees, currently bare and only just beginning to think about budding; they won’t flower for at least another month. He doesn’t stop there, either, just reaches up and seizes a low-hanging branch and hauls himself into one of the older and sturdier trees. Martin might be plump, but he’s strong.

“Martin! Jesus.” Gerard looks at Melanie, who gives him a worried look in reply. Bowing to the inevitable, he goes over to the tree with her and boosts her up. Once she’s managed to pull herself onto a branch, and while she’s trying to figure out how to climb a bit higher to reach Martin, Gerard turns and heads back into the house.

For a wonder, he manages to elude both his mother and Martin’s, retrieve a few snacks he can secrete in his jacket pocket, and slip back out again without anyone being the wiser. Getting himself into the tree is harder, but with the assistance of the split-rail fence and a bit of effort he manages it. Martin has climbed as high as he possibly can before the branches won’t hold him anymore, and Melanie has managed, with some difficulty, to get just a couple branches below him. Gerard makes his way up to join them, then fetches the food out from his pocket and passes some to Melanie and some to Martin. He takes it mechanically, but doesn’t eat.

Finally, Gerard breaks the silence. “I’m sorry for telling that woman your name, Neens.”

“I don’t mind. She knew yours and Martin’s, it’s only fair she knew mine, too. I just wasn’t going to talk to her.” Melanie peers up at Martin. “You didn’t like her, did you?”

Martin shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. The sausage roll hangs from his hand, and he’s staring vacantly at something far away. He looks a lot older than nine years old and Gerard doesn’t know how to fix it.

Before he can figure out what to say, or even if he’s going to say anything, he hears voices and looks down. The woman from the cemetery is passing under the trees—which she has no reason to do, they’re not between the house and the cars—along with two other people, neither of whom look so old. Gerard can’t tell genders from this angle, only that one has curly blond hair and the other has sandy brown shingled hair. They’ve obviously all been at the funeral, or are trying to blend in with it, and are apparently mid-conversation.

“—know him?” a man’s voice asks. “I guess she must have, if you did. Shame she couldn’t come.”

“She’s very busy.” The older woman’s voice doesn’t quite have the same soft, gentle tones it did when she was speaking to the three of them, but it still sounds very sweet and pleasant. “That’s why she sent us, to pay her regards.”

“I have to say,” says a woman’s voice, “the, er, bereaved didn’t seem particularly upset.” The person with the shingled hair stops and puts hands on hips, so Gerard presumes she’s the one speaking. “Not until you mentioned the Institute, anyway.”

“I probably shouldn’t have done that,” the man says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I—I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. I mean, if her father worked there…”

“Worked, past tense,” the unknown woman points out. “Why did he leave, anyway, Emma?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Emma says, a bit vaguely. “It was so long ago—it wasn’t very long after I started working for Gertrude myself.”

“Was he in the Archives, too? Did he know Eric?” The man’s voice is a bit eager.

“Gracious, no, not the Archives. Alastair was a practical researcher. You’ll find his name on several of the catalog entries for the older artifacts, if you know where to look.” Emma sighs. “But yes, he knew Eric, too. And Fiona—you never met her, of course, she sadly passed away before your time—”

“Didn’t I get hired to replace her?”

“—he was always so patient with her. The rest of us thought she was a bit of a fuddy-duddy, honestly, but I suppose she reminded him of his own mother.”

“You must have known him well,” the unknown woman says shrewdly.

Emma shrugs. “Not very, honestly. As I said, we were in different departments. He usually brought down information for Gertrude from the other departments, and they’d chat a bit, but I was always so busy I never had much time.”

“Ms. Robinson must have been busy, too,” the man says, sounding defensive.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t, Michael dear. Only that I didn’t make the time to make as many connections as she did.” Emma sighs—a bit theatrically, Gerard thinks. “It’s something I regret in my old age.”

“You’re not old.” Michael, or at least Gerard assumes he’s Michael, touches her arm urgently. “You’re still quite young, honest.”

Emma laughs that same silvery laugh. “You’re so sweet.”

Michael sighs. “You know who I feel bad for, though? That little boy. Is that—was that Alastair’s grandson?”

“Yes, that’s Martin. I wanted to speak a bit more with him, but he’s understandably upset. He must have loved his grandfather very much.” Emma clucks her tongue. “The poor little thing.”

“His grandfather loved him, too,” the unknown woman says. “I didn’t see a single picture of his mother anywhere in that house, but that little boy was all over it.” She sighs. “Come on. We’d best be getting back. I’ve still got to follow up with a couple of people.”

They move off, and for a few moments, there is complete silence. Then something wet hits Gerard’s hand. He looks up and sees Martin, still staring fixedly ahead of him, but with big, fat tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Martin.” Abandoning safety, sense, and sausage roll, Melanie pulls herself to a standing position and lunges forward to wrap her arms around Martin’s middle before Gerard can tell her be careful. She buries her face in his side and just holds on for dear life.

“I can’t remember his face,” Martin says, his voice small and fragile and choked with tears. “I, I didn’t—Mum said, she said I wasn’t allowed to look if I couldn’t see on my own and, and I was too short, so I didn’t see him last night, there was just the picture, but he was so young, he wasn’t—he wasn’t finished. It wasn’t his face. But I can’t remember what he looked like. He loved me so much and I can’t remember his face…”

Gerard swallows hard. He can empathize with that, a little, anyway. He barely remembers what his own father looked like, and…well, he assumes his father loved him. He remembers loving his father, anyway. Martin’s had nine years with his grandfather and only just lost him. That has to be disconcerting.

He could describe it to him. Tell Martin what his grandfather looks like. He could also reassure him that even if he had been able to look into the coffin last night, it wouldn’t have looked like his grandfather, not with all the makeup and the weird slackness that death adds to a face.

He doesn’t. Instead, he puts one hand on Martin’s leg and the other on Melanie’s waist and summons up every ounce of authority and assurance he can.

“You don’t have to,” he says.

Martin blinks and looks down at Gerard. “Wh-what?”

“You don’t have to remember his face,” Gerard repeats. “Is that what’s important? Or is it important that he loved you, and you love him? You can remember what he sounded like when he told you stories or taught you poems, right? What it felt like when he hugged you? What the cherry pie he made specially for you smelled like?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then that’s what matters. Faces change. Yours isn’t finished yet either, or mine, or Melanie’s, and if you didn’t see us for years and years and then one day you saw us again, maybe you wouldn’t remember what we looked like, but you’d remember we’re your friends. Love doesn’t have to look. Love just has to be.”

Melanie and Martin both stare at Gerard, who tries not to look embarrassed. He’s almost twelve, and love isn’t a word he throws around a lot, but for these two, he’ll do it. He’s never had a brother or a sister, but he feels like he’s got one now. And Alastair treated him like another grandson. He’s, he was, a good man, and Martin deserves to not feel bad for remembering him in whatever way he does.

“Besides,” he adds, to lighten the mood a little bit. “He looks a lot like a cross between your mum and a bulldog with big dangly jowls and a walrus mustache. You don’t want that image in your head all the time.”

It elicits a tiny giggle out of the other two, and Martin starts to wipe his eyes with his sleeve before Melanie hands him her handkerchief. “He’s right,” she tells him. “Not about your granddad, not exactly, but—I don’t remember what Mama looked like either. Not really. The only picture I’ve got of her is from after she got sick, and that didn’t look like her really either.”

Martin dabs at his cheeks. “But…but what if I do forget?”

“Then we’ll remind you,” Gerard says. “That’s what family is for, right?”

At that, Martin finally smiles and nods. “Yeah. That’s what family is for.”

[toshiirou]

A Bright Spot In The Dark - Linkverse Writing

winter edition! this is set before the arc where legend confronts ravio and its seasonal! to the northern hemisphere at least. (aka its about winter not any holidays)

. . .

The next crack in time brought with it a blast of cold air. Legend took out their flame rod on instinct, the conjured fire keeping the chill at bay, and looked around. It was approaching dusk, with small flurries of white snow dancing through the air. They were not in a town, but comfortably at the edge of a forest where they could camp for the night. Now, who was with them?

That Sly Rabbit gave Legend a cheeky grin and he dusted off powdery snow from his robe. Of course.

'Cold.' Signed Feathers from the other side of Ravio, fists clenched and shoulders risen. He was already visibly shaking.

Wordlessly, Legend brought the fire closer to him.

'Thank you,' Feathers signed with a smile, relaxing. Legend found themselves relaxing at the sight of it, before paradoxically tensing up. Now was not the time to be complacent.

'We should make camp,' they said, glancing at the sky. 'It will be dark soon.'

"Good idea. Lead the way Mr. Legend!" Ravio replied with a salute.

Ravio had somehow arrived with his customary sack. He was fussing over it after the latest swap in worlds, dusting it down like a precious child. It might have had the image of a rupee on it, but Legend was sure that there were all sorts of items inside it. The Rabbit was rarely seen without it. Legend glanced at the quickly darkening sky before looking back at the sack, considering. Wherever they were, it was very late in the year, with long, dark nights.

With Feather's agreement, they set off.

With two seasoned adventures and a Ravio it was not particularly difficult to set up a camp. Whatever firewood that wasn't completely dry would soon become so under the attention of Legend's flame rod. There were minimal signs of large predators, and no insect nests nearby. They found a nice elevated spot away from any cliffs or dead trees. Despite themselves, Legend was satisfied with the group's teamwork and efficiency.

"I think that's enough rocks for the campfire," Ravio muttered, dumping a small pile of the onto the ground they cleared. Last thing they all wanted was to catch fire in the night.

'I've set up our bedding,' Feathers said, coming towards them. From behind him Legend could see their blanket had been pinned to the ground with makeshift stakes, hopefully insulating them from the cold ground below.

It wasn't proper shelter but it was passable. Legend had slept in worse places. Not that they planned on sleeping the night.

The snow flurries had died down somewhat, leaving them with a still, deep nighttime.

With a dinner of bottled pumpkin soup gently heated over the fire, courtesy of Feathers, they settled down into the night. Legend was keeping watch, ears peeled for suspicious sounds.

But still their eyes kept straying back to the warm embers of their campfire.

It couldn't hurt to ask.

'Excuse me,' Legend signed reflexively before shaking Ravio for his attention.

"What is it?" Ravio asked groggily. "Bears? Wolves? Giant bugs?"

'No,' Legend replied calmly. 'I wanted to know if you had a candle in that sack of yours.'

"What for?" Ravio rubbed at his eyes but was sounding less tired than before. "I didn't think you were scared of the dark."

'I'm not. Do you have one?'

"Maybe. Depends on what you want it for. Candles are a precious commodity these days."

Legend paused, reluctant to share. They pushed past it. The information was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.

'Where I'm from we have a tradition. On the any of the darkest nights of the year we light a candle with our loved ones and stay awake to watch it burn. They say it keeps the darkness at bay long enough for the sun to return.'

"Loved ones? I'm flattered Mr. Legend! Say no more, Ravio has you covered - free of charge even!" Ravio said brightly, rummaging through his sack to produce an off-white candle. "Transportation fees will be twenty rupees though."

Of course. Legend handed the fee over with a sigh, but happily recieving the candle in return. Ravio gleefully put away his new earnings, before closing up his sack and rolling back over to cuddle into it like some sort of soft toy. Within a few minutes he was breathing evenly once more.

Legend placed the candle a small distance away from themselves, lighting it with a little flick of the wrist. Somehow the oppressively dark night sky seemed less absolute. If they closed their eyes for a moment they could imagine that it was their uncle on the other side of them, keeping vigil together.

Instead they opened their eyes to the forest around them, and sighed deeply. Ravio was curled around his sack like an octorok. Sky was laying on his back, snoring softly.

Looking at his slack and unguarded face, Legend had to turn away, feeling suddenly like they had been granted some implicit trust undeserving.

Into the long hours of the night, the candle glowed, burning.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Earlier this year, I was having a conversation with my parents and they asked me what Taylor Swift is, because they’ve recently read that she’s the biggest artist in the world and of course they knew her name but didn’t realize she was that big. And I said you won’t get an unbiased view on Taylor Swift from me, I’ve never liked her, but I also don’t really mind who the biggest artist in the world is, it’s not on my radar, and to be fair I haven’t heard a Taylor Swift song since I was working retail in 2010 and forced to listen to the radio.

I said I really hated Taylor Swift when I was a teenager/early twenties, and her songs were on the radio all the time, and they got called country music, and they kept appearing on the lists of best country sings songs, despite being 1) shit and 2) not country. And those two factors are separate things. There are shit country songs and good pop songs out there. These were neither. I don’t know, maybe they were good pop songs, it’s not really my genre so I guess I’m not qualified to say, maybe if you like that sort of thing then it’s a good example of that sort of thing. But I do listen to enough country music to know what the parametres of the genre are, and those are definitely not country. They’re not bad country songs, they just aren’t country songs.

I also had some objections on feminist grounds. When I was working retail they kept playing this song she had about how she’s better than other girls because she wears t-shirts and sneakers while they wear skirts and, as I believe the song implied, dress like sluts. I had grown up wearing boys clothes/generally not caring what I looked like, and getting in fights with my mother because she wanted me to dress more like a proper girl, and as a child and a teenager I’d projected a lot of my resentment about that onto girls my age who did dress the way my mother wanted me to, thinking those expectations were somehow their fault because if girls would just stop dressing that way then everyone would stop expecting it from me. Then I got a bit older and got into feminist blogs and learned that actually, resenting other girls for their individual choices is just further perpetuation of sexism, so I tried hard to stop doing that and start recognizing that telling anyone what to wear is a problem. And I was right in that phase of having just discovered this when my job made me listen to a song about how Taylor Swift is better than those other girls who dress all feminine. Also I’d just learned about slut shaming and how bad that is, and the song featured a whole lot of that too. And she had another song at the same time that I believe suggested a fifteen-year-old girl’s worth is contained in her virginity.

So I didn’t like that, but looking back, those songs probably weren’t any more anti-feminist than any other songs on mainstream radio. Which is to say, pretty anti-feminist, but so is everything else, and there were a lot of male artists on the radio saying far worse. In the grand scheme of things, it’s probably fine.

I really only picked out Taylor Swift, from the litany of shitty music with shitty messages on mainstream radio to object to, because she called herself country, which made me hate her for the same reason why I hate the WWE for calling itself wrestling. If you want to make entertainment that I don’t like for people who are not me, that is fine, and I will generally ignore it. But I do object to doing that while using the name of a thing I do like, when you have nothing to do with that thing.

At some point a few years later I heard that Taylor Swift had stopped marketing herself as country, and I figured that’s fine then. I no longer spend any time in an environment where I’m forced to listen to the radio, I don’t have to listen to her anymore, she’s not clogging up the country music charts anymore, she can do her thing.

So my parents asked me about her, and I said I can’t give an unbiased opinion, I don’t like her, I definitely don’t like what she was doing in 2010, I barely know anything about her now, I hear she’s very popular. My parents said yes, but they were just surprised to learn the scope of her fame, that she’s the absolute biggest artist in the entire world. I said I guess that’s not a great sign for the state of music in the world, but people have always liked mediocre music so surely it’s not a shock.

My dad said maybe every generation has one huge music phenomenon that everyone goes wild for more than anything else, and in one generation it was Elvis and in another it was The Beatles, and Taylor Swift is that thing of this generation. And I said that to the very best of my knowledge, Taylor Swift has never raped a fourteen-year-old girl or beaten her wife, so actually, if her worst crime is some mildly antifeminist lyrics and some inaccurate genre marketing 10+ years ago (I am aware that there's also some more recent business with a private airplane), then I guess that’s actually a very good sign about the state of music and the world, that things have improved. And then my dad said that’s not an appropriate thing to say at the table at my grandfather’s ninetieth birthday party, because that is where we were. And I’ve told this story in a bit of a “pull back and reveal” style, but only because that’s genuinely how that conversation felt to me when I was having it, I’d kind of forgotten where we were and had just gotten into the conversation, and my dad mentioning the occasion was an awkward reminder to me.

Anyway, I just wanted to complain again about people who think it’s a tragedy that cancel culture means we’re erasing all these great men from history and picking on a few little things they’ve done wrong and it means we can’t appreciate their great work anymore, but the world is still full of Elvis impersonators (which specifically venerate the man and not just the music, so you can’t really use separating the artist from the art there) and people with John Lennon’s face on t-shirts. It is weird to me that people talk about how great The Beatles were like that’s a totally uncontroversial statement, rather than having to add the little “I mean, obviously I don’t condone the behaviour, but I still enjoy the work they produced” caveat that we do when talking about other famous terrible people. It’s weird to me what specific figures escape cancel culture (obviously with Elvis and The Beatles in particular it has something to do with them both being long dead, but there are other long-dead people who do get the caveat, and it seems almost random who does and doesn’t get caveated). I like Beatles music, by the way. Have a bunch of it in my music collection and I listen to it every once in a while. I like the work of lots of terrible people. But I think they should get the caveat.

I made this post because I’m listening to this radio show and just heard Elis James list his fantasy music festival, and the number one band it featured was The Beatles. He said this proudly, with no caveat, as he does every time he talks about how great The Beatles were, which is frequently. Then he continued down his fantasy festival lineup, and included The Smiths, but threw in the caveat that in this world Morrissey hasn’t spoken since 1987 – because Elis wanted to let people know that he’s venerating their music, not the man. It’s weird to me that Morrissey got (rightly) caveated but John Lennon is still considered fine.

[miniscule-meow]

Something Unexpected (16)

Writing Masterpost

Part 1

Part 15

Next part

Wordcount: ~2.3k

~*~*~*~

The party for their engagement finally rolls around. The staff around the castle had been in a dither about it for weeks. Day after day Princess Larkspur has had to sit, literally chained to a table making decisions that really have no point whatsoever. It was completely asinine. A group of ladies crowd around the table showing her different swatches of fabric, holding different gatherings of flowers. They ask millions of questions, what’s the color scheme, what type of flowers does she prefer, how should the table settings look, what color should the napkins be. They went on and on and on. It made her want to chew her own leg off so she could finally be free of the bindings and just fly out of there. She wanted to scream, “I don’t care!” at the top of her lungs, over and over again.

But she quells her frustrations thinking back to the conversation that Prince Oliver had with her. He told her to play by his rules and to be on her best behavior and that might earn her some better treatment. Do the opposite, and it isn’t hard to see how things could become so much worse. So, she figures she might be able to earn herself some extra freedoms here by playing nice. And besides, it might impress the right people if she does a good job, and that might earn her extra freedoms as well. At this point, she would do nearly anything to not have to wear the golden chain and be escorted around the palace.

The guards walk her about like some kind of dog, it is humiliating. At the very least, these ladies appear to be valuing her opinion. No matter how annoying it is, they are actually listening to her, she has to give them that. She is being treated like a proper princess, fulfilling the duties she is called to do. Apparently, if she had grown up in this cursed, backwards human society, this is the very thing any young girl would dream about doing. So, she picked floral arrangements, and she picked colors. She even entertained the subject of tablecloths and napkins for about two hours.

It takes the whole day for everyone to get her ready for the party. Her makeup is done for her, in her opinion it is entirely too detailed to be seen by any of the humans in attendance, but no one asks her. Her hair is twisted half up in an several elegant braids that come together elaborately into a neat bun, the rest is left flowing over her back in copper waves. She wears a green dress that is honestly stunning. It hugs her waist just so, and the skirts flow gently to her ankles. The front has a high halter neckline with a plunging golden mesh section that goes down nearly to her bellybutton. The back is nonexistent, allowing her wings free range of movement behind her.

Her wings shimmer with fine fairy-made jewelry that doesn’t incumber her flight, not that she imagines she’ll be doing much flying. She is absolutely dripping with jewels. The whole outfit is of course ruined by the golden band that is locked onto her ankle as she steps out of the room set aside for the fairies. Prince Oliver meets her at the door.

“Princess.” His voice is low, and formal. He barely even looks at her. He’s handed her chain and he simply attaches her to his lapel. “You may rest upon my shoulder.” He says this in a way that doesn't seem to be a suggestion.

Her stomach turns knowing that she spent all day getting all done up like this, just to be an accessory on his jacket. She’ll have to be his perfect little boutonniere. She grimaces and perches herself on his shoulder as he directed her to, unsure of where else she would even go.

This is going to be incredibly boring. She thinks dryly as Prince Oliver leads her into the grand ball room. Music is playing lightly from a string quartet across the room. So many humans are already milling about. The lady’s dresses all look heavy and dull, the men’s suits look incredibly stiff. This certainly isn’t a party for fairies. Lark isn’t convinced that this is even what a party for humans is supposed to be.

It’s so dull, everything is so rigid. Especially watching the humans perform their so-called dances. Everyone moves about like clockwork. Everything is so specific and planned. Of course, she cannot join in. She asked Prince Oliver if he wanted to dance, and he huffed a short mirthless laugh in response. She supposes she is much too small to participate, so she is stuck observing from the sidelines. At least Prince Oliver has to sit and watch and be just as bored as she is.

The night dredges on at a snail’s pace. People crowd around them, talking to the prince, and ignoring her completely. Or, they step too close to coo over her like she’s some exotic hamster with wings. Some cringe at her from a distance, as though she were some over-sized moth. She catches a group of ladies sneering over at her, then giggling and whispering to one another. Certainly they’re jealous that a “little thing” like her could have taken the prince’s hand away from them. Not that they would have had a chance anyway. Lark is very impressed that she is able to keep herself from rolling her eyes. I would gladly trade places with you, if I could. She thinks bitterly.

The monotony of the party drags on, but the worst part absolutely has to be the eating. All the humans are gathered together at one long banquet table. She is ceremoniously unpinned from her captor’s- or rather- her prince’s lapel, and she is affixed to her own place at the table. She is just on the table, level with the plates. They couldn’t be bothered to give her an elevated place, though they did make a single table her size for her to sit at. She supposes she should be grateful for that at least.

She feels an aching loneliness inside her heart. How grand it could have been, where her prince not a tyrant, where this kingdom not so monstrous. This party could have intermingled fairies and humans together in one crowd. This party could have symbolized a coming together of the kingdoms. This party could have actually been fun. But no. She is the lone fairy in the crowd, an oddity, a prize that has been won. This is only punctuated by her sitting alone in a sea of humans looking down on her, if they decide to pay any mind to her at all.

Before her is a mass of shifting hands, and walls of bodies. Everything is so loud. Cutlery scraping over plates, everyone is shouting and laughing and chewing. A hundred things are happening all at once, and she feels like she might explode.

It all comes to a head in one slow-motion moment. A glass is carelessly tipped over, spilling its contents all over her. It soaks her beautiful emerald gown with wine and the rolling glass shoves her little table clear to the floor. She flies up, out of the way of the glass, and is quickly smacked out of the air, engulfed in a palm. She is whisked up and away from the danger but the chain connecting her to the table snags taut and jerks her leg painfully. She lets out a small shout as Prince Oliver mumbles a curse under his breath.

She realizes all at once that this is the first time that he’s held her. Every other time they have interacted he has elected to touch her as little as possible. A guard would place him where he wanted her, and deal with her chains. Perching on his shoulder earlier today was the closest they had been. But now, his fingers completely surround her. He holds her just a little too tight. She feels her heart hammering against her chest, her wings pressed uncomfortably, but not painfully, against herself. She finds it hard to breathe with her face squished against his massive digits and his fingers constricting her ribs. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to pretend that she isn’t being semi-suffocated by his clumsy fingers. She supposes she should be glad that she doesn’t have to bear the weight of a table full of humans resting their eyes solely on her. Think positively Lark.

Once he gets her unchained, he holds her cupped in both hands, like a child that has just caught a firefly. He excuses himself and carries her off, away from the noise of the party.

He plops her soggy form down onto a bathroom counter, letting the chain fall limp around her. The first thing he does is not check on her. Instead, he first washes his hands, drying them before taking off his jacket and setting it neatly aside. She looks down at her dripping gown, trying to wring out some of the wine as he rolls up his sleeves. He turns the faucet on once more, testing the water temperature with a finger before he collects her in his hand. Wordlessly, he brings her under the stream of water.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” She shouts, completely soaked through. He jerks her backwards, out of the water as she sputters.

“What? Too hot?” He reaches a hand forward to check the water temperature again. She pushes wet hair out of her face to more properly glare at him.

“No! You are trying to drown me!” She shouts, all of the fear and humiliation from the night threatening to boil over in this moment

“I am not. I am just trying to help.” He furrows his brow down at her, setting her down with a wet plop and shutting off the faucet. Obviously, he doesn’t understand how being held in a loose fist and doused under a waterfall would not be helping the situation.

“You are not helping! This is so much worse! How would this not be worse?!” She flexes and balls her hands a few times, trying to calm herself down, trying not to cry. “Can’t you just take me back to the room and let me put something else on? This dress is ruined, my hair is ruined, my makeup is ruined.” She huffs, exasperated. “I’m fine, by the way. Not that you asked." She glowers a moment before adding "And my leg hurts, thanks to you and your stupid chain, but aside from all that, I guess I’m fine!” She’s shaking with rage.

Prince Oliver doesn’t even apologize. He frowns down at her, and nods. He dries his hands and collects his jacket. He picks up the end of her chain, like he’s going to walk with her down the hall like the guards to. If she were his size she thinks she would try to strangle him.

“Well?” He says, obviously impatient.

“I. Can’t. Fly.” She shoots back, obviously equally impatient.

“What do you mean you can’t fly?” He furrows his brow again. He does that a lot, she hopes he gets wrinkles.

“I mean I can’t fly! My wings are soaked, but who’s fault is that.” She sneers up at him.

“Tch. Fine.” He collects her in his hands again. It’s just as uncomfortable as it was the first time. Maybe even more so considering that she’s absolutely drenched now. It's clear that doesn’t like holding her. Well good. She thinks, because she doesn’t like being held.

She gets herself cleaned up, with the help of her ladies in waiting. They all of course want to know what happened, and after that they just want to gossip about the party. It must all be so romantic and exciting to them. She grimaces, but lets them keep their fantasy. Rose colored glasses and all.

They dry her wings, put her hair up in an attempt to mask how wet it is, and her makeup is re-done. She wears a new dress. This one is powder blue with sheer puffy sleeves that come to a cuff at her wrists. The top ties behind her neck, but the bodice is corseted below her wings. The skirt billows around her, though stops just below her knees. Oh, these humans will be so scandalized when they can see her ankles and her shins. Good, she hopes it makes one of them faint.

She is escorted back to the door, there is a landing in the human sized door where a fairy sized door is cut out. As she reaches for the doorknob she catches the tail end of a conversation.

“…A shame that you have to babysit that little insect.” It’s a woman’s voice. Prince Oliver grumbles something in response, but notably does not defend her. “You must not be having any fun at all.” She can hear the pout in her voice through the door.

“It’s not about me. It’s about my kingdom.” He says nobly, Lark rolls her eyes while she can. She clenches her jaw and quietly peaks out the door. She sees the prince and some lady that she might have met in passing at the party. She’s pressed up against him, her arms slung over his shoulders, he has his arms caught around her waist and is holding her close to him. Lark quickly retreats back behind the door, her stomach twisting itself into knots. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that her and that monster could fall in love or anything, but the realization drops in the pit of her stomach. This is how it is going to be. He will have his love, and she will be the decoration adorning his lapel. What a sorry existence.

But what he said is true for her as well. It isn’t about her. It’s about her kingdom. The sacrifice of her freedom right now is saving all of the innocent families back home from unimaginable suffering. The tension between her kingdom and the human’s kingdom was only getting worse and this arrangement brings peace.

If she was being honest, it could be worse. She could be locked in a metal cage; she could be starved; she could be dead. She’s still a princess. She goes to banquets; she wears fine gowns. So what if she’s kept on a leash and has no one to talk to. It’s for her kingdom. She nods thinking to herself, Alright. peptalk over, lets go finish this heinous night.