#he met her where she was and offered a more sophisticated version of what made her comfortable

[steviestits]

I've Seen My Future, And You're It - Part 1.1

Written for a prompt dmed to me, which can be read in its entirety on this fic’s masterpost.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Rating: M (E for later chapters) Summary: Before Stevie met Mr. Henderson, a science teacher at her school, her life was simple. She was a teenage boy living in the year 2024 and didn't care about all this science crap, but not only has she turned into a girl, she's traveled back in time to the year 1986 and is now stuck there! Dustin, Mr. Henderson's younger self, comes to her aid. He promises to recreate the time machine to help send her back to when she belongs. However, it seems that some people, like the future rockstar, Eddie Munson, don't want her to go... Trigger Warning: Genderbend, Brainwashing, Electric Stimulation Eventual Trigger Warning: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gaslighting, Feminization

Sitting in the chair, Stevie tapped her fingers nervously against the armrest. There was a colander on her head, which was hooked up to a complex, bulky machine clearly made from parts that were recovered from a scrapyard. She normally wouldn’t set foot near the machine, let alone sit in a chair attached to it, but she didn’t have any other choice as this was the only way to get her back to when she belonged.

Stevie had originally been a boy from the future. She was popular for a little while, except she eventually had a falling out with her friends, realizing she didn’t like their bullying ways. That only made them bully her instead, never giving her a moment’s peace, and as a result, she befriended her science teacher, Mr. Henderson, as he would let her stay in his classroom to eat lunch whenever she felt like escaping from her former friends.

Mr. Henderson was something of a mad scientist and had hundreds of different inventions that he worked on in his spare time. One of those inventions was a time machine. He’d needed someone to test the machine, which was a more sophisticated version of the one she was sitting in at the moment. It was supposed to allow someone to travel anywhere they wanted in time after entering the coordinates in the machine, and Stevie obviously volunteered to help him test it.

What was supposed to happen was that she was to hand a set of blueprints to Mr. Henderson’s younger self, Dustin, and then travel back using the recall wristband. Only there was a blackout the day they tested the machine. Stevie made it to the right time and place, but her body had become that of an attractive woman. She also thought of herself as a woman, feeling that she wasn’t a boy any longer and that this new body was much more comfortable than her old one.

Dustin had felt bad, and after looking over the blueprints, offered to see if he could quickly recreate the machine ahead of schedule. Stevie wasn’t certain how time travel worked, but the kid seemed to know more than her, so she trusted him. They told Dustin’s mom that Stevie was their paternal cousin from Canada and had come to stay with them since she was having problems at home. Claudia was happy to host any family of her late husband, so Stevie was allowed to stay in the guest room and given Claudia’s old dresses to wear.

The two of them worked hard to collect the components needed to construct the machine. They obviously couldn’t go anywhere legitimate since that would be too expensive, meaning that they could only collect parts from the local scrapyard. It took a few trips, but they eventually had all they needed and Dustin was able to build the machine as planned, leading them to now, where Stevie was strapped into the machine that was supposed to take her back to her own time.

“Stop squirming,” Dustin hissed at her. “You’re going to misalign the helmet. You don’t want things to get even worse, do you?”

“Cut her some slack,” Eddie said. “You’ve been calibrating it for a half-hour now.”

Dustin clicked his tongue but didn’t continue to make a fuss, as he had idol-like respect for Eddie. It’d been like this even in Steve’s own time. Mr. Henderson was close with the famous rockstar and Corroded Coffin’s lead guitarist, Eddie Munson. He’d invite Eddie in for career day, and he’d talk about life on the road and how it took him away from his darling wife, who he loved more than anything. And she loved him, apparently, because she’d ruined her model figure for him in order to pop out a whole brood of babies.

This was the past, however. Eddie wasn’t a rockstar yet and was still trying to make it big while running weekly D&D games for Dustin and his friends. He also hadn’t met his wife yet as he was currently single. Stevie hadn’t told him any of this, just like she hadn’t told Dustin about his future either. She’d seen several time travel movies and knew offhand that messing with events only would only lead to problems in the future.

“Ready?” Dustin asked.

“Ready,” Stevie replied while giving the best thumbs-up she could manage.

With that, Dustin threw the switch and an electrical current buzzed through her, but she didn’t feel the same sensation of her body being plucked apart then rearranged. Stevie instead felt the electricity flow to the spot between her legs. She hadn’t touched her pussy sexually since arriving and hadn’t thought that there would be much difference between what she had before to what she had now, but this machine had proven her wrong.

Stevie’s pussy clenched as if trying to milk an invisible cock as she came then came again, mind going blank as she had one orgasm after the other. She hadn’t even realized that the machine had been shut off as she was too overwhelmed by the tingling shooting through her body. Slick had even leaked out into a puddle between her things without her notice, and she could only sit in the slick mess while rubbing her thighs together, still horny from the process.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Dustin said, not seeming to notice the current state. “I don’t know where I went wrong. Why it didn’t work.”

“It’s okay,” Stevie said. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Dustin seemed placated, so Stevie moved her attention to Eddie. She hadn’t been planning on doing anything with Eddie even though she did find him attractive. He was twice her age in the future, even if they were around the same age now, and Eddie was married. Stevie didn’t want to help anyone cheat, except she reasoned that Eddie wasn’t with his wife right now. It’d be alright if she let Eddie touch her a little, just to relieve the ache between her legs.

“Eddie,” she said, her voice low and sultry, “let’s leave Dustin to his work. Besides, I think I have something to show you back in my room.”

Masterpost ~ Part 1.2 (Coming Soon-ish)

[whocookedthelastsupper]

“In the beginning was the Word," declared St. John, "and the Word was God." In fact the word was a lie. In the beginning, God was not. But as history unfolded in different nations and at different times, it became necessary to invent him.

For the assumption of divinity and power from a purely physical base had certain crucial limitations. The human penis, even when inflated to magico-religious status, falls short of godhead. Up to a point, the rising phallocrat had carried all before him. Women's traditional power based on creation and nature had been systematically whittled away. The Sacred King had stolen from the Great Queen her selective technique of man-management on the Kleenex principle of "use and throw away," and applied it wholesale to the female sex. But brute force could only go so far. So long as women still retained their atavistic power of giving new life, they could not be stripped of all association with the divine.

Additionally, with the discovery of agriculture and the consolidation of tribes into townships, human societies became increasingly sophisticated, requiring structures, systems and administration. Once survival was assured, surplus became property, and man awoke to the glory of being lord and master. To secure ownership and protect rights of inheritance in a more complex society called for something subtler than the indiscriminate deployment of man's bluntest instru-ment. And with the increase of organizational structures came greater opportunities for subversion or resistance; every tribe, township, throne room or temple held women of ingenuity and resource eager to demonstrate that, whatever men's claim to power, it would not automatically be accepted. These women could not all be destroyed like Berenice or Boudicca, thrown to the dogs and ravens, or hurried to unmarked graves. Achieving power, man reached out for the secret of control; and as he began to look beyond the end of his penis, he found a stronger lord, a greater master—God.

Male divinity, of course, was nothing new. Isis had her Osiris, and Demeter had been forced to bow to the vengeance of the Lord of the Underworld. Indeed, as phallomania swept the world, male godhead found a new measurement in lost maidenhead; Zeus, king of the immortals, demonstrated his supremacy by the numbers of young women he raped. The new gods of power were equally aggressive and rapacious. The difference was that now each one insisted that he alone was God—he was the One God, the only God, and no one else could play.

For within the short millennium or so that separates the forging of Judaism from the birth of Islam, all the world's major religions made their debut one by one. Immediately each set about the twin tasks of carving out their own community of believers, and annihilating all opposition. Where other male deities were targeted for extinc-tion, what price female divinity? Walking in the garden that had been Eden, Mother Nature met Father God and her doom. In the duel for possession of the soul of humanity she lost her own, as the father god, in Engels's phrase, brought about "the world historic defeat of the female sex."

Not all these new religions were god systems. Judaism offered the paternalistic prototype, once it had succeeded in elevating the petty tribal godlet Yahweh into quite a different order of being after the trauma of the Exile just before 600 B.c. Islam likewise patented the slogan "There is no God but God" following the birth of its prophet Muhammad just before A.D. 600. And straddling the period between the two, lodged at its pivotal midpoint, was the reformed Judaism called Christianity formulated when the old God of the Jews gave birth to a son in whom, as a junior version of himself, he was naturally well pleased.

Equally important, though, to India and China respectively, were Buddhism and Confucianism, both of which arose with the birth of their human founders and spread far and fast from these deceptively. modest origins. Neither Buddha nor Confucius ever claimed to be divine, and their teachings are properly understood as value systems rather than as religions proper. But the foundation of their beliefs was uncompromisingly patriarchal]the founders themselves have been worshiped as gods by their followers throughout history; and the ideologies of both these systems have had a remarkably similar impact on women's lives to that of religions organized around a central con-sept of a Father God. To women, therefore, the effect was broadly the same, however the message of male supremacy came packaged. All these systems—Judaism, Confucianism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam —were presented to them as holy, the result of divine inspiration transmitted from a male power to males empowered for this purpose, thereby enshrining maleness itself as power.

Historians, both male and female, have not always resisted the temptation to see the rise of monotheism as a plot against women since the aftereffects have been so uniformly disastrous for the female sex. But attractive though the notion of a cosmic conspiracy is to women's learned feelings of weakness and helplessness, it overlooks the fact that many of the elements of these early religions held a strong appeal for both sexes, and often for women in particular. Organized religion may have been a root cause of the historic defeat of womankind —Eve did not fall, she was pushed —but it did not begin with that aim. Seen in the wider context of the struggle of human beings of different races toward a deeper understanding of the meaning of their lives and of their growing spirituality, these five patriarchal systems readily reveal why in the first instance they were so attractive.”

-Rosalind Miles; Who Cooked The Last Supper; The Women’s History of the World

[tacosaysroar]

I love them all — of course, of course — and how could anyone not hold a special, warm feeling for Jonathan, the purest of souls? But if pressed to choose, the answer would be Tan. Every time. My favorite of favorites.

[katyamorrigan]

‘Hope is the thing with Feathers’ by KatyaMorrigan

For the Grishaverse Reverse Mini-Bang 2021, run by @grishaversebigbang, and with stunning art created by @wqemzz-blog - click here for her incredible illustration of Kaz and Inej!

Captain Inej Ghafa has returned to Ketterdam for the first time in three years. In all that time, The Wraith never docked at Berth 22 for more than an afternoon, and the crew never strayed further than the harbour front.

Could she have stopped by sooner? Absolutely. Did she choose not to for entirely business-related reasons? Absolutely not. She has no idea what her friends will make of seeing her again after so long, least of all Kaz. But there is hope - hope that in that time, he will have grown as much as she has. That he will be the kind of person that she can share a pot of tea with without a thought of how he might feel about her.

Because Inej isn't done with being a pirate yet. But it doesn't mean she wants to be at sea forever.

I had the best time getting to write this fic based on the idea proposed by Emma. So much of a good time, in fact, that I overwrote it by around 4k words in the end... This is the much more civilised 2k word version - the full iteration of the story is on my AO3 ), but this significantly neater version will remain on my Tumblr for good. I really hope that you like it, and check out @wqemzz-blog for all your beautiful art needs!

Link to the fic on AO3: ‘Hope is the thing with Feathers’

And available to read below the cut here:

‘Hope is the thing with Feathers’

It occurred to Inej as she entered Kaz’s office for the first time in three years, that in the past she might have second-guessed the meaning of his offer to have tea together. They had just spent a few hours talking during dinner – mostly talking over Jesper and Wylan, who had hosted the meal and were either polite or forgiving enough to allow them to dominate the conversation with reflections on Inej’s time beyond Ketterdam. Three years was a long time when you had last been teenagers breaking into the Ice Court together, when you were now the owner of a galleon that hunted slaver ships from Fjerda to the Wandering Isle. There was plenty to discuss between them, and it seemed that Kaz had changed enough to ask her to stay with no apprehension, so that they could be in each other’s company a little while longer.

The attic room was identical to her memories of it but her gaze was drawn to Kaz, with ungloved hands, stooping to open the cupboard and bring out two tins. With a tentative look at her, he placed them on the desk and opened them. Inej couldn’t help laughing.

“When did Dirtyhands start keeping cookies in his office?” she teased. “Two kinds, as well.”

He gave a permissive smile. “Nina may have had more influence over me than I would like to admit. She sends them to me from Ravka.”

Feeling a bittersweet rush of longing for her friend, Inej reached over and helped herself to an iced biscuit with a red star on the top as Kaz took the other tin and started to make them tea. The room filled with the smell, quiet clinking noises coming from the cupboard again as Kaz fetched cups and saucers, and Inej watched him from the corner of her eye as she nibbled. He had taken off his jacket, and Inej could see the strong line of his shoulders as he prepared their drinks. Yes, a younger version of herself would have been much more flustered than Captain Ghafa, as she was now. She might have told herself stories about how invested Kaz was, about his tactics and techniques for making her trust him – for making her want to stay. Now she had no such worries. She was in the bedroom of an old friend – an old partner, in many ways – and they were sharing a pot of tea.

Inej smiled as she turned away from sneaking glances at Kaz and looked out of the window instead, at the uncharacteristically beautiful light that was shining in. The fog of the early afternoon had lifted, and Ketterdam seemed to concentrate every scrap of colour on painting the evening sky in crimson and gold. It felt like a personal display from the city, like it was finally welcoming her in. She couldn’t believe that she had been away for so long.

“Can I open the window?” she asked. Kaz chuckled.

“You have never once asked my permission to open a window.” Kaz brought over their cups and placed them on the sill, where Inej was now sitting, and obligingly opened it for her.

A gentle breeze entered the room, tickling Inej’s cheek. She closed her eyes for a second and forgot that she had ever been away. The sensation of being here – in Kaz’s office, on the windowsill, letting the fading sunlight warm her skin – made her feel so young and so old at the same time. It was like slipping into an outfit she hadn’t worn in years, feeling the ways it had always fit her, and the ways that she had grown since. Inej was nothing like the girl that Kaz had once known, but she didn’t feel so different when she was back here, just a little taller and a little more forgiving.

Kaz brought over a plate with more cookies, taking a large one heavily studded with chocolate, and leaned against the wall. It had been three years, but still they were so comfortable existing in a space like this together, breathing in the warm air. She took a sip of her tea, and tasted honey. Just the way she had always liked it.

“You look well,” he said, not breaking the silence but disrupting it, like ripples on a pond. “The sea suits you.”

“Thank you. I rather like it too. Ketterdam has continued to suit you – is that a new scar on your jaw, or have I just never noticed it?”

“It’s new. About a year ago I was very nearly shot in the face by a Razorgull. Fortunately Jesper manipulated the bullet at the last second and I was only burnt.”

She inhaled sharply in sympathy, and Kaz shrugged. “It healed quickly, and that’s all I ask for.”

“Do you ever think you’ll end up more scar than skin?” she said, half in jest and half with sincerity. As the words left her mouth, she thought of how closely her question came to the kind of Suli proverb that she had goaded him with previously. That she had tested him with.  

“Not anymore.”

His reply was unexpectedly thoughtful. Inej turned to him, and he gave a soft smile.

“The Dregs don’t get caught up in the same trouble that they used to. There’s less chance for me to get hurt.”

“I’m glad.”

She took a cookie, a chocolate one like Kaz’s, and bit into it. It crumbled instantly, scattering crumbs all down her chin and the front of her waistcoat. Kaz saw; there was a beat of silence and then laughter, Inej’s giggles muffled by the cookie.

“You pirates make our manners look sophisticated,” he commented. She swatted the air in front of him.

“My manners haven’t suffered at all, I’ll have you know!”

“My poor windowsill. I’ll have to clean it now.”

“It could probably do with a clean if you’re anything like you used to be,” she replied, and Kaz raised an eyebrow at her.

“I always cleaned the windows frequently.”

“Specifically the windows.”

He tilted his shoulder and looked out across the city. The gilded roofs stretched from the harbour all the way to the Barrel. Inej watched him as he absorbed it all, taking a sip of tea, adjusting the cup in his bare hands. He looked exactly the way she had hoped to find him – a little stronger, a little harsher, that new scar dimpling the line of his jaw like a tally on a gun barrel, but unmistakeably the same Kaz that she had left behind. He looked every bit the young man that he was – handsome, clever, mean.

“You loved to sit here and look out. I always made sure you’d be able to.”

“Oh.”

She was glad he kept looking at the view. To lock eyes with him then might have done something to her – made her feel another way. A way she had felt for a long time, that she had stifled. Inej focused her gaze on the broken pieces of cookie in her hand, crumbling it more. Everything felt quietly loud; gentle, but unrelenting.

The familiar click of claws on tiles came from a little further along the roof.

Kaz leaned towards the sound. “They must have recognised you,” he smiled, “The crows have come back.”

Inej made an elated noise and turned herself to look. There they were – a little murder of crows, with sharp eyes and sharp beaks, cawing as politely as crows could.

“I can’t believe it,” she murmured.

“They stopped visiting when you left. They knew you were here.”

“No,” she said, delighted but disbelieving. He nodded.

Inej watched them move, alert and intelligent, talking to her. She remembered Kaz’s decrial of them as mannerless and untrustworthy, but when she scooped up some cookie crumbs and held them out, they arranged themselves neatly to feed from her hand. Her hands were rough now from the years of sailor’s work, but she could still feel the smoothness of their beaks as they pecked and the trace of their feathers on her fingers.

“I missed them too.”

Kaz took another sip. “Were seagulls not friendly enough?”

She laughed. “They were friendly in their own way – they certainly ate up scraps quite well. But I couldn’t feed them like this. They didn’t wait for me like the crows always did.”

“They were always looking for you to come back.” His voice was as gravelly as ever, but Inej felt a hint of longing as he spoke. With the last of the crumbs gone, she brushed off her hands and turned back towards the room, to look at him. The expression he wore was the one that she remembered most vividly, and with the least joy; that inscrutable intensity that made her feel transparent. He was looking inside of her, and she struggled to translate what he had seen from the look he was giving her.

“Do you ever wish you had stayed here instead?” Kaz asked.

Ah. The question that she had expected to be met with – it had been avoided all evening while they were with Jesper and Wylan, but now it emerged while they were alone. It was a question that she knew the answer for. Whether it was the one he wanted or not, it was the one he would get.

“No. I love being on the sea. I love having a purpose that I can enact so clearly. Everything I told you over dinner was true – it has its challenges, but I wouldn’t have done anything differently.”

Kaz nodded, and she saw pride lock into his eyes.

“You’ve become somewhat of a legend to the sailors who come to Ketterdam now,” he said, a grin building. “Men who arrive shaken by what they saw at a distance – of a pirate queen in blue and gold invading slaver ships and leaving them to die. It has certainly damaged West Stave.”

She touched her earring. “It has?”

“Of course. The bulk of working girls in any of the brothels are stolen, and with so few slaver boats succeeding in bringing any ashore…”

Inej grinned back. Her only hope when she finally decided to leave Ketterdam had been to bring justice to those children like her, but to know that her efforts were ruining trafficking from the ground up… It was almost too much. Her face hurt from smiling, and Kaz turned away from her to look out of the window again.

“How long are you staying here for?” he asked.

Another question. So much easier.

“Two weeks. My crew have been given leave in that time, but I’m hoping that they will all want to sign on for the next stint.”

“And you?”

“I have given myself leave, yes, Kaz,” she chuckled. Kaz huffed self-consciously. “I’ll be around, is what I mean. If you wanted to have tea again some time.”

“Yes.”

Their eyes met, and she was a teenager again. Inej hadn’t thought about Kaz in that way for a long time. Hadn’t allowed herself to. She knew that the moment in which she let the thought of anything tender and vulnerable growing between them take root in her mind again was the moment in which she would have to rethink her answer to that tricky question. But Saints, it had always been hard not to.

“I can tell stories about Captain Ghafa while you’re gone, if you’d like.” Kaz’s smile was sharp. “Make sure that everyone in Ketterdam knows the name and fears it.”

Her heart betrayed her so, so quietly.

“You don’t need to,” she said.

“Why’s that, Inej?”

Three years of never letting herself near him, just in case the possibility of a dual life came back into play. Three years in which she only regretted one thing.

“I’ll be back again before too long.”

[ariel-seagull-wings]

TOP 12 WICKED QUEEN PORTRAYALS

@sunlit-music​ @mademoiselle-princesse​ @princesssarisa​ @superkingofpriderock​ @metropolitan-mutant-of-ark​ @amalthea9​ @theancientvaleofsoulmaking​ @astrangechoiceoffavourites​ @giuliettaluce​ 

Alongside the Big Bad Wolf, Cinderella’s Stepmother, The Giant from Jack and The Beanstalk, The Witch from Hansel and Gretel and Bluebeard, The Wicked Queen from Snow White is one of the most iconic fairy tale villains of all time. A lot of people come to consider her the real protagonist of the fairy tale, since is her desire to be considered the Fairest of All and her actions to keep that title what puts the narrative in motion. And today, i will rank my favorite portrayals of this fascinatingly nasty foe.

12º Miranda Richardson as Queen Elspeth in Snow White: The Fairest of Them All (2001)

Talk about being typecast: before that turn as Snow White’s Evil Queen, Richardson had portrayed an Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in Jim Henson’s The Storyteller (’The Three Ravens’ episode) and she was a wicked Sorceress Stepmother in Tim Burton’s Sleep Hollow. So it was neat for her to be called for the role of the most famous Evil Sorceress Queen and Stepmother in this Hallmark TV Movie. Elspeth is the sister of a strange, mysteryous creature known as the Granter of Wishes. Having been recently released from his freezing prison, the Granter of Wishes makes a spell to make her look beautifull for human standards, and marries her to the newly crowned and widowed King John. At first she looks content with the prospect, but as time passes, she grows more and more unsatisfied. Her source of joy is the Magic Mirror that praises her beauty, and casting spells to turn gnomes into garden statues. But when the Magic Mirror says that Snow White’s beauty surpasses hers, the unsatisfaction gets mixed with paranoia, and Elspeth slowly abuses her power in constantly harming other people, until there is no magic enough...

11º Herta Kravina in Schneewitchen (1971)

This german TV Movie is the most faithfull adaptation of the Grimm’s tale original edition, not only keeping the three murder attempts by ribbon/lace/corset, hair comb and apple, but also being the only one to show the Queen dancing to death with hot iron shoes in Snow White’s wedding. This is enough to make it worth a checkout. The other reason i find this version interesting is how the Queen comunicates with the Magic Mirror: they sing to each other. And Kravina has a really good voice (no wonder she was a voice actress for Peggy Lee in the first german/dutch dub of Disney’s Lady and The Tramp). Sometimes that is enough to get a spot in a ranking.

10º Mari Yokoo/Caterina Rochiara/Regina Reagan/Carol Jacobanis as Queen Crystal in The Legend of Snow White (1994)

From the outside, Queen Chrystal appears to be calm, regal, and sophisticated, but in reality, this collected and stately facade hides an extremely sadistic, hateful, cold and sinister person. She is ruthless, jealous and obsessive and wants nothing more than to be the fairest in the land. She also has an extreme vanity that made her utterly intolerant of rivals. Being solely focused on the idea of becoming the fairest of all, Queen Chrystal does not appear to be significantly involved in governing her husband's kingdom, though the skeletal remains of prisoners in her dungeon point to her being a villainous ruler. In the end, her mad vanity and jealousy of her stepdaughter Snow White drove her to murderous insanity. Later is revealed that Queen Chrystal is not unredeamably evil as everyone thins, but an actually kind and gentle person who is possessed by an Evil Spirit. 

09º Diana Rigg as the Queen in Canon Movie Tales: Snow White (1987)

This lady is the personification of paranoia multiplied by the double. Why? Because the Magic Mirror didn’t needed to say that the little child Snow White was the fairest, this queen just feared so much that the princess’s beauty would outgrow hers that she ordered the huntsman to kill her. Basically: run, she is bad news.

08º Jeri Arredondo as Sly Fox in Happily Ever After: Fairy Tales For Every Child (1995)

Sly Fox... What a cunning diva. People try to counsel to not use alone a Magic Mirror that is a portal to the spirit world, but who says she listens? She is just there to hear the singing of her praises, and will try to eliminate anyone who gets on her way. She even goes so far as taking the appearance of the kind hearted nurse Sage Flower to lure her stepdaughter White Snow to eat the poisoned appled. What is not to love about that bastard?

07º Kazue Komiya/Arlene Banas as the Queen in Grimm’s Fairy Tale Classics (1989)

Interestingly this encarnation starts naturally cold, calm and collected, ocasionally at the princess Snow White to see if she can ever grow more beautifull than her, and dismissing the girl with contempt. It is years later that she lets go of acting calm and collected, because after hearing some gossips in the palace, she asks Snow White if she thinks of herself as more beautifull than the Queen, and her stepdaughter reacts by exclaiming that the Queen is vain and cruel, and to her eyes that makes her ugly. So besides the desire of being considered the most beautifull, you get the feeling that this Queen pursues Snow White as a way to shut a person that dares to rebell against her, wich ads new interesting dimentions to their antagonism.

06º Dorothy Cumming as Queen Brangomar in Snow White (1916)

Brangomar was once a lady in waiting of the palace. But one day, she met the powerfull Witch Rex, who offered to give Brangomar anything she wanted. And what Brangomar wanted was to become a beautifull Queen. Wich was achieved by a faustian deal where Witch Rex would cast a spell that killed Imogene, the previous Queen, while in return Brangomar would have to find a way of getting Snow White’s heart for the Witch. Years have passed, and now Brangomar  must kill the princess to pay her debt, or else everything she got will be lost. Hey, here is a way of making a villain tragic, almost simpathetic and complex while keeping clear that she is still a villain!

05º Vanessa Redgrave as the Queen in Faerie Tale Theatre (1984)

The most loud and bombastic portrayal of the Wicked Queen ever put on screen. Bringing to television her sperience from stage, that allows some more over the top emotional reactions, Redgrave had the time of her life in that role, indulging in twirling, preening and screening as much as she could, and his Queen is all the most fun for it.

04º Gudrun Landgrebe as the Queen in Schneewittchen (1992)

What i live about Landgrebe’s Queen is her range: at first she acts all humble, discreet, cold and mysteryous. Then her husband leaves to fight in a Crusade, and she trows the white veil and gray clothing of humility to show a diva red hair and orange dress, as to say “Hey, the King leaved, i have all the power here now and you must do as i say”. Later, a knight comes, offering a magical crystal ball that connected to a mirror says all the truth, and the Queen takes posession of it to ask about her beauty. When Mirror says that the most beautifull woman in the kingdom is Snow White, she gets infuriated, than goes to carefully plan ways to eliminate the princess once and for all. The highlight is when she takes the disguise of a russian male doctor to offer the apple (where she injects poison into with her ring) to Snow White.

03º Maria Antonieta de Las Nieves in El Chapulin Colorado: Blancanieves y los Siete Churín Churín Fun Flais (1978)

This three part episode of the mexican comedy superheroe show is a loving parody of the Disney version, that stands out as an enjoyable retelling of the classic fairy tale in its own right. Interestingly, while most of the comedy in the episode is delivered in the form of over the top slapistick, de Las Nieves’s delivers a straight faced, contained performance. Wich makes her answers to the absurd situations in the story all the more funny.

02º Patricia Medina as the Queen in Snow White And The Three Stooges (1961)

This lady was a hell of a foe: she not only antagonizes Snow White for the title of the Most Beautifull, going so far as to lock the princess in a dungeon for no crime at all, but also, alongside her partner in crime Count Oga, ordered a murder attempt aggainst Prince Charming when he was a child, to prevent him from marrying Snow White, and this way she could become ruller of the kingdoms of Fortunia and Bravuria. Troughout the film, you think that she could win, since she has powerfull magic, spy and a mighty army at her comand, wich makes the viewer get all the more excited on the seat, that is how enjoyable Medina’s Queen is.

And my Number One Portrayal of the Wicked Queen is...

01º Lucille La Verne as the Queen in Disney’s Snow White and The Seven Dwarfs (1937)

The first encarnation of the character that i ever saw in my childhood, and the one that still sends chills/shivers to my spine. As a young Queen, she rarely smiles, acting cold and calculating, intidimidating who is subordinate to her with the expression of her eyes and highbrows. And as a Crone, she lowdly indulges in her cruelty, offering the poisoned apple to her pet raven to scare him, and mocking the dead skeleton of a prisoner inside the castle’s dungeons. That balance between cold calculism and loud cruelty, where both are equally unsetling and scary, is something very hard to achieve, but i think this encarnation did a very good job in achieving that balance, that every other  portrayal that camed tried to draw influence from it ever since. And that’s why Disney’s Wicked Queen is my Number One portrayal.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Addi Adamets in Schneewittchen (1955), Marianne Christina Schiling in Schneewittchen (1961) and Sonja Kirchberger in Sechs Auf Einen Streich (2009)

[fycarmensandiego]

1995 Animation Magazine article

After months of trying to find a library to supply this over interlibrary loan, I’ve finally managed to get a copy of the cover story from February 1995′s Animation Magazine, about Where on Earth. Aside from the truly cringetastic headline on the cover, the article itself is poorly written and just as poorly researched (for example, saying that Carmine appears on the cartoon), but it does have snippets from interviews with several execs at both Brøderbund and Dic.

A scanned copy of the article (featuring some concept art of Carmen, Ivy, Zack, and a nameless goon in regrettably low quality) is available in my online archive, or read the text (with some spelling and punctuation corrections) below the cut.

Lady in Red by Morrie Gelman, special to Animation Magazine

The commercial television version of Carmen Sandiego, the lady in the stylish red hat and shoes who steals national treasures such as all of the sushi in Japan is, surprisingly, the most successful program ever produced by DIC Entertainment. Maybe not so surprising, since with more than 4 million units sold since 1985, Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?, currently out in a junior version on CD-ROM, is computer software’s best-selling history and geography title ever.

Carmen is the first software character ever to make the leap to television. In addition to the DIC-produced Where on Earth Is Carmen Sandiego? educational/entertainment series for Fox, Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?, a game show, is in its fourth season on PBS.

It was four years from the time Andy Heyward, president and C.E.O. of DIC, spotted Carmen as a computer game designed by Brøderbund Software to provide young people with exposure to world geography and cultures before it ever got on commercial television.

Heyward read a story about Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego? in the business section of the Los Angeles Times. He went to the Northern California community of Novato, where Brøderbund Software is based, and met with company officials. He said at the time, “I would like to option the property,” and then took it over to CBS.

DIC had the property in development at CBS for three consecutive years. It was still in the running when Heyward had lunch with Margaret Loesch, president of Fox Children’s Network at the Big Boy restaurant in Burbank.

“CBS developed it and at the final bell decided that educational programming was too risky,” Heyward recalls.

At a NATPE in the early ’90s, Barbara Kriesman, the FCC attorney in charge of the Video Services Division, was the main speaker at a children’s seminar. The seminar was focused on compliance with the recently enacted Children’s Television Act requiring broadcasters to air programming that meets the educational and informational needs of children. Stations were told, in effect, they would lose their licenses if they did not comply.

It was clear that Fox had to protect itself. Margaret Loesch is a very competitive person. She was ready to take a chance.

Heyward told her of DIC’s developing Carmen Sandiego with CBS. She asked if it was picked up yet and he said, “No, it wasn’t.”

Loesch said Fox would pick up the series if it could have an exclusive.

According to Heyward, Loesch made “a big pitch” on why Fox would be a more competitive environment for Carmen Sandiego. Heyward listened and agreed, finally saying, “OK, let’s go.” The show made its debut on Fox’s Saturday morning line-up from 11:30 to noon last February as Where on Earth Is Carmen Sandiego?

By Heyward’s evaluation, Carmen has been more successful than any “educational” show, ever, especially because “kids don’t think of it as an educational show.”

That it be highly entertaining was DIC’s hope and aspiration from the start.

“We work very hard to get a lot of stuff in there that kids learn from,” Heyward says. “The production has not only cel animation but computer graphics, source footage and live action.”

Heyward confirms that “Carmen Sandiego is far and away the most successful program we’ve ever produced.”

For Robby London, senior vice president, creative affairs at DIC, Carmen Sandiego is the company’s “flagship” program and one of his “favorite, favorite topics to talk about.”

While London admits that everybody always says that some show or another is “unique,” that label is totally valid for Carmen.

Some of the things that make Carmen unique are the many disparate production elements not often seen on Saturday morning television.

Carmen includes regular cel animation to carry the narrative forward. Silicon Graphics Inc.’s computer animation takes characters from place to place throughout the world, allowing viewers to learn about the places. Within the SGI platform, still photos are used, such as source footage of Franklin Delano Roosevelt making a speech, along all sorts of other visuals, including graphs.

Another component is “limited animation,” which is quick, little, perhaps 5-second, images of a rather silly animation that is in a completely different style from the regular cel animation. Live action appears throughout the episodes in terms of the players playing at home on the computer against Carmen Sandiego. This is the whole basis by which DIC tells the story.

Michael Maliani was executive producer and producer of Where on Earth Is Carmen Sandiego? the first season of the show. With DIC currently working on the third season, Joe Barruso, who previously directed the show, is now producer.

Maliani, who was in at the earliest stages of development, remembers that “What we were trying to do was make something entertaining and educational. We wanted to be different. We really wanted to make it interesting to watch. That’s why we wanted to have so many elements.”

Kids like variety, Maliani contends. With that in mind, DIC decided to produce Carmen with different media, including standard cel animation, other computer graphics and some live-action added in. “We thought we could show the educational stuff without being boring,” Maliani explains. “We didn’t want to make the show a lecture. We wanted to weave the education into the plot.”

Like the computer game, the DIC series is full of visual and spoken clues about the mysteries Carmen Sandiego, her cunning cat Carmine and her gang of goofball thieves stealing such ambitious treasures as the roof off the Taj Mahal and statues from Easter Island. Viewers (players in the computer game) get help in trying to stop Carmen and her henchmen form the ACME Detective Agency. The DIC series (and now Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego? Junior Detective Edition on CD-ROM as well) features the young characters Zack and Ivy who report to The Chief. The plot of each episode (and the objective of the computer game) is to follow geography-based clues and “bag the bad guys, recover the stolen loot and put Carmen Sandiego and Carmine in the clink.”

Along the way, viewers learn such facts as the height and location of Mt. Everest, and that the Sphinx in Egypt has the body of a lion with the head and breast of a man.

“We knew we were going to fit right in the 6 to 11 age demographic,” explains Maliani, “but we wanted to make Carmen a little more sophisticated so we could get the older kids.”

A major difference between Carmen the computer game and the commercial TV series is in visualizing the capers. The computer game offers as a premise that the Eiffel Tower or the Taj Mahal is stolen. DIC’s production team had to estimate the weight of the Taj Mahal and then figure out what it would take to lift it.

DIC’s researchers established that four Russian helicopters could hoist the estimated weight of the Taj Mahal roof.

The next problem was how to accomplish the feat. DIC’s solution? Use a laser to cut off the roof. Add hooks to it and lift it off.

“We had to figure this stuff out,” Maliani notes. “It’s kind of fake but almost real.”

London explains that many shows on Saturday morning have had a degree of pro-social values. One of the things that is different about Carmen from all these other shows, according to London, is that Fox and DIC took the “conservative high road” that pro-social is not sufficient to fulfill the mandate of the Children’s Television Act.

“Carmen can’t just show good moral values and teach little lessons in living,” he points out. “It must have a measurable curriculum that actually teaches information, not just lessons in living.”

Among the consultants on Carmen is Dr. Peter Kovaric, a professor at UCLA in the Graduate School of Education, who is also director of the school’s educational technology unit. Kovaric is an acknowledged expert on using technology, such as television, to teach kids.

He reviews all Carmen scripts and helps DIC’s production team conceptualize shows. “It’s an exemplary relationship,” affirms Kovaric.

“One of the very good things about Carmen is that it is a commercial venture and is reasonably successful. That may help lower the reluctance of broadcasters to try something new and different,” he observes.

DIC also employs Barbara Wong, a teacher and principal of Baldwin Middle School in the Alhambra (Calif.) school district. Wong credits the DIC production team with being “very concerned” about having quality programming for kids. “They’re very in tune with people like myself and very open.”

Carmen, she points out, “has a lot of elements in it that readily apply to a teaching situation.”

Wong explains that while Carmen is not a “surrogate teacher,” the show does quality as “a nice addendum – a nice resource to have.”

Wong gets screen credit as Curriculum Consultant. Kovaric is Educational Consultant.

According to London, Carmen, in addition to gaining an educational seal of approval, invariably wins its time period. In the Sept. 1993 to July 1994 Nielsen data, Fox’s Saturday morning line-up, which includes Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers, X-Men, Bobby’s World, Tiny Toons, Taz-Mania, Eek the Cat and Carmen demonstrates the last is one of the top shows not only with kids 2 to 11 but with persons 6 to 17.

It averaged a 6.0 rating with kids 2 to 11 and 5.1 with the older demo, suggesting that as an educational program it’s holding its own handily against traditional animated entertainment, including action/adventure.

Another measure of Carmen’s appeal is that in the same Nielsen measured time-span, “the lady in the red hat” has more viewers than Beekman’s World and Bill Nye combined – not only with kids 2 to 11 but with persons 2 and over.

“It’s by no means a loss leader,” emphasizes London. “It’s not even number one by default. It really holds up Fox’s ratings.”

Maliani, who is senior vice president in charge of development, knows he risks sounding hokey but points out that in his 10 years with DIC he has wanted to try “to make a difference.” In Carmen Sandiego, he says, “we have a property where you could actually learn.”

In large measure, Maliani speaks for everyone connected with the Carmen Sandiego property when he comments: “This is the one show that really meant a lot to me and I gave it my all. I gave it everything I had and everything I could think of creatively. I wanted it to be special.”

————————————

Carmen Sandiego began life as a computer game – a history, geography, educational title – by way of Brøderbund Software Inc., Novato, Calif., a diversified consumer software company. Founded by Douglas Carlston, Brøderbund is one of the hottest names in educational software publishing.

For the recent holiday season Brøderbund published Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego? Junior Detective Edition, an icon- and dialog-based CD-ROM product designated for 5- to 8-year-olds.

But Carmen Sandiego isn’t just a game. The software series inspired two TV shows for kids: DIC Entertainment’s animated adventure Where on Earth Is Carmen Sandiego? On the Fox Kids Network, and the PBS game show, Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego? produced by WGBH Boston and WQED Pittsburgh.

Brøderbund constantly works at new ways to update the original product. Software titles include Where in the USA Is Carmen Sandiego?, Where in Space Is Carmen Sandiego?, Where in Time Is Carmen Sandiego? and Where in America’s Past Is Carmen Sandiego? in addition to the signature Where in the World Is Carmen Sandiego?

Brøderbund has creative input on every Where on Earth Is Carmen Sandiego? script, but not necessarily every storyboard.

Ken Goldstein, publisher of Brøderbund’s Education and Entertainment Products Group, describes his company relationship with DIC Entertainment as “very healthy.”

He was deeply involved in the first season of the DIC/Fox series, establishing the working relationship and the new ground rules. Since then he’s passed on regular contact to his staff, yet still signs off on every set of script notes (drafts of every script are read by Brøderbund staff and every storyboard reviewed).

For the most part, the DIC series scripts are different from those used by Brøderbund, but there’s some synergy. Brøderbund has introduced a new character into its most recent software, Stretch the Crime Dog, described as “a lovable, clue-sniffing, crime-busting canine” who works for the ACME Detective Agency.

Reciprocally, the software is now using agents Zack and Ivy and The Chief from the DIC animated TV series.

“Carmen is a perennial for us,” notes Goldstein. “It really is an evergreen product, a premier intellectual property. I’m delighted to manage its existence.” According to Goldstein, Carmen Jr. will probably go Gold in the software business, which is 100,000 pieces, within a couple of months.

Brøderbund, Goldstein also reports, does a lot of licensing, including T-shirts, mouse pads and backpacks, among other items. Carmen is also very much an international product. Goldstein says Carmen software is “very big” in Spain and Mexico, and also especially popular in Israel.

There’s a Japanese version of Carmen, plus a cartridge version on Nintendo and Sega, which has not done as well as Brøderbund would like. “I don’t think it’s the right venue for that product,” Goldstein remarks.

Brøderbund is stepping up to a new level of international distribution on March 1, opening its own Brøderbund Europe office and publishing localized versions of new Carmen products from that time forward.

By Brøderbund’s design and demand, there are no guns or other weapons in the Carmen Sandiego TV show or software. The Carmen character does have henchmen, but, points out Goldstein, “it’s very much ‘Three Stooges.’ They botch things and they use such things as big suction cups, funny gadgets and outlandish vehicles, but there are never any guns, no bombs, no grenades, no violence. They never threaten the detectives. It’s all a game of wits.”

Brøderbund also has been very careful not to portray stereotypes, to make sure with the software that all different types of international cultures are reflected positively. DIC is equally sensitive about portraying stereotypes and respecting different cultures.

“Computers have revolutionized the teaching world, and now classrooms will never be the same,” suggests one reviewer of Carmen software.

“Programs like Carmen let students explore their own paths of learning,” points out another.

Morrie Gelman is the president of Ventures in Media, a market research, information packaging and television development firm.

[inviouswriting]

Engagement

Inspired by @whitherliliesbloom​ s headcanons for a double date.

Aymeric x Kiya and Alphinaud x Illya

I know I have one version of his proposal. I got inspired to write a newer version of it.

Fluff - and long!

A rare chance to date, and enjoy it with friends. When Kiya was asked to invite a friend for a fancier party and to dress formal. She thought of her friend Illya and Alphinaud. Surely they would appreciate a chance to be treated like royalty for an evening. 

Now here she was fixing Illya’s hair into a neat braid carefully tucking all of her long hair into intricate braids to suit her in an elegant green dress. Kiya smiles to herself, she rarely gets the chance to spend time on others with how she runs around. She herself was dressed to turn heads, she already knows it will be a shock to Aymeric.

“There, done and looks almost as good as Jaudelain’s hand did it.” Kiya muses aloud, drawing her tiny friend’s attention.

“You sure this looks fine?” Illya glances up at the miqo’te having second thoughts about how she looks.

“You look as delicate as a flower.” They exchange a smile, knowing they needed to go meet the boys soon. Once the girls were set in their appearacnes they head out to transport to Ishgard. They were meeting in front of the Aetheryte Crystal both teleporting to it through the aether. 

Aymeric was already waiting to receive the girls with Alphinaud next to him. Talking brisk about minor politics much to Aymeric’s lack of interest in them out of office.

“The place we’re going to, it’s expensive right?” Alphinaud draws the taller elezen’s attention.

“It is a bit pricy, but nothing we shouldn’t be able to handle. Why is that?” 

“Oh, Illya is a bit modest when it comes to expenses.” Alphinaud folds his arms.

“So, you want me to handle ordering so she doesn’t see the prices?” Aymeric offers, and Alphinaud nods. They exchange a smile and Aymeric nods in agreement.

“Thank you, that would be most kind. She does like spicy things and flavor of course.”

“I’ll keep in mind.” Aymeric had his own nerves as this was a specific night for him in getting courage to ask his own beloved’s hand. He and Kiya have gotten serious, he wanted to be bonded to her eternally. Now to just ask her. Both men were dressed in similar blue suits, Aymeric’s a dark almost black vest with a white shirt. Alphinaud sporting a light blue identical looking his own level of sophistication for the evening.

Both men look up when they hear Kiya and Illya’s laughs as they land on their feet from the crystal.The girls straighten themselves up, and Kiya scans the crowd for their dates. She smiles bright seeing Aymeric. Alphinaud feels himself blushing at how adorable Illya looks. He glances at Aymeric who is awestruck over Kiya.

Of all the rare chances anyone gets to see the Lord Commander blush it was seeing how radiant his beloved looked in formal wear. Alphinaud and Illya start walking towards the place they’re going to, to give the taller two a moment.

“Illya, you look cute. That dress is very fitting on you. Did Kiya help you? I really enjoy what you did with your hair too.” He breaks the ice between them, and she smiles looking up at him.

“Yeah, she did. It’s not too short?” She raises a hand to touch the under part of her hair the way it kind of feathers out.

“It suits you, as long as you are comfortable.” They smile and he glances over his shoulder seeing how Aymeric is stunned in his spot. A light laugh from him.

Kiya brushes hair out of her face and sees Aymeric staring at her with love written in his eyes. 

“Ah, my love, you look so beautiful tonight.” Aymeric stutters just brief but catches himself. A light pink to his cheeks as he looks away bashful for a change almost losing his nerve for the evening wondering if he truly deserves this woman if she can pull off this style.

“Thank you, I take you like this?” Aymeric kneels brief and takes one of her hands to place a kiss on the back of it. Gaining his nerve again.

“I love it, blue looks so good on you.” He straightens as he stands and keeps hold of her hand in his entwining their fingers together. Aymeric leads the way to catch up to the other pair.

The place was a fancier dining spot in The Pillars. They were shown inside and to a spot that could easily fit another couple. The food that was ordered was a bit rich in taste, and when it came to eating it. They enjoyed their meals with casual conversation.

Aymeric and Alphinaud lightly bickering over recent agendas enough for Kiya to snip at both of them to keep politics out of their date with a firm glare. The woman could freeze a room figuratively and literally. Both girls could since they had met through the thamaturges guild. Kiya taking the black, while Illya took the red and white path. The twelve know, for these men have seen them in action.

“So, what made you call for a double date Aymeric?” Alphinaud was curious.

“I felt like tonight would have been better spent in company. It’s rare to get invites to places like this and even better to share it with friends and beloveds?” Aymeric worded his sentence to sound like a question but it was left as a statement. His eyes drifted to Kiya, who seemed off in her own world gazing at the dancers on the floor. Her eyes following their rhythms and a wistful smile on her lips.

“Kiya, would you like to join them?” Aymeric draws her attention, and Kiya looks down at her lap fiddling with the edge of the dress. A rich blue formal spring dress. She nods, and feels her hand lifted and tugged when Aymeric reaches across to take it and lead her out to the floor. Leaving Alphinaud and Illya time to themselves.

They two share talks of their lives, Illya going into some of the gardens around the black shroud. Alphinaud smiles knowing they will take a trip out to attend to the broken building’s plants. Alphinaud notices that Illya is staring off at the other couple seeing them engaged in a slow dance with a gentle smile. 

“Ahem, Illya.” Alphinaud clears his through as he starts to ask. He wasn’t as graceful when it comes to things like this. Not like the other pair, he was still clumsy in his approaches, still has years to reach the level of suave he has seen in Aymeric and Thancred.

“Yes?” Illya looks up at Alphinaud as he stands up to take one of her hands. Nerves writ in the poor boys demeanor.

“Would you like to dance?” He manages out, and earns a smile from her.

“I would be delighted.” She hops down and they join the other couple a little more off to the side. To not draw attention to them as much as Aymeric and Kiya have. 

The two seemed so comfortable with each other. They radiated their love for the other clear on their faces. Gentle smiles, and kind eyes directed to the other. How far they’ve come since the events of the Vault. Aymeric grips Kiya’s hands tighter when he holds them, as if he never wants to let go of her. Kiya returns his grip sensing emotions behind his touch.

They were naturals to the floor and flowed as such. Even as they made their escape off the floor, Aymeric making his love spin a few more times as he guides her back to their spot. Alphinaud and Illya joining them soon after, finding it a little crowded once the two left the floor.

The bill was presented to them, and the men almost bickered if it weren’t for Kiya’s glare the moment their voices started getting those tones of who should handle it. Instead they split the costs. The men paying their their respective dates.

They parted ways outside of the place, Illya and Kiya waving each other off. Alphinaud and Aymeric giving respective bows. Once free from the formalities of a fancy spot. Kiya gives Aymeric a mischievous look and takes off running. Aymeric follows after her hot on her heels. How she can run in heels amazes him. Let alone how fast she is.

He catches up to her at the platform to Last Vigil, she had jumped onto it with grace and he bounded after her taking advantage of her stumble to catch her around her waist.

“Gotcha~” He murmurs into an ear lifting her up with ease. Kiya laughs in joy, and Aymeric sees a genuine smile on her mouth. He knows now, he isn’t making a mistake. He feels his heart full with her like this. Seeing her let her guards down, seeing the real her without the fancy titles of warrior of light, or savior. This is his beloved, the girl he has fallen for. One he does not want to lose at his side.

“Kiya, whilst I have you. Would you entertain me a little longer? A little more mischief on my behalf?” Kiya looks over her shoulder to him, and smirks a bit, even her tail thrashes at the idea of a little more fun.

“Yes?” Kiya is set down, and Aymeric takes her hand to lead her off the platform and up towards the stairs towards The Vault. He had informed the guard their earlier of his plans, and they were let inside.

Aymeric feels Kiya tense a little walking inside the building where they lost their friend. His grip reassures her.

“Trust me.” He tugs her with him leading her towards The Quire. They walk in silence, Kiya a little behind him but her grip in his hand is tight. His guess memories were flooding her. This place meant a lot to both of them as much as Last Vigil does.

Once to the front of The Quire next to the fountain. Aymeric stands in front of Kiya, keeping her grip in his hands.

“Aymeric?” Kiya looks up at him, moonlight drifted in enough to cast a unique glow to him. Very much the knight at this moment. Very much the man she loves underneath that exterior. There is a gentleness behind the icy stare, life, hope, nervous. As if there were a thousand things on his mind and he is trying to muster them into what he wants to say.

“Forgive me... while I muster my words together. I just wanted to pause here before we go up the stairs. You truly look radiant.” He brings a hand up to the back of her hair and threads his fingers through silky soft black. He shakes his head, and leads her by her hand the rest of the way climbing the stairs slowly. The sound of their feet echo from her heels and his soft footfalls from his boots.

They pause in the center of The Quire. Both of them have their memories from different events. Hers the first time she ran in here. His, the second time. They both lost a friend to tyranny, and treachery. A dear friend they wish could witness what was about to take place.

Aymeric finally has his nerves, and kneels holding Kiya’s left hand in his own left. He places a kiss on the back of her hand on her ring finger. Kiya finally realizes the gravity of this night, the formal, the date, the mood. Her eyes go wide, and feels like her knees are about to give. Fear running down her spine, not of him, but what he was about to ask her. She keeps the emotion off her face, for fear he’ll lose his nerve if he saw that expression.

“Moons ago, we entered this place to stop tyranny. In doing so... we lost a friend, a brother. We lost Haurchefant.” He pauses and looks up to see at the edges of her eyes tears dot them. He expected it and nuzzles the back of her hand with his face reassuring. She was so close to Haurchefant, a brother she never had, in a family that showed her no racism. That accepted her after she had lost everyone she cared so deeply following the Bloody Banquet. How a family made her one of their own following Haurchefant’s death. Edmont had lost a son, but gained a daughter.

“Moons ago, we entered this place to save others. You had risked your life, over and over and over without a single care of your own well being. Just doing what needs to be done, because if you didn’t someone else would either lose life, or someone unprepared would accept that role. I for one would not be standing here if you didn’t.” He keeps his stare on her face. She did save his life, he had felt her flare rattle the entire Vault on the man who tried to kill him.

“I owe you my life for that day. I owe you many things. A debt that can never be repaid as you have given us new hope, a new future. So, I hope that you can accept mine love and be bonded to me. For eternity. Not just in Ishgard, but for the entire realm.” His hand grips hers tight as he asks her. Her eyes are wide, and tears have fallen but he notices they’re happy ones.

“Aymeric, I... love you. More than any of my words can convey.” She kneels down albeit she is a lot shorter than this elezen man. He sits on his knees as she scoots forward to him. What he doesn’t expect her to do is pounce on him and knock him backwards arms around him and her face nuzzling his.

“So, is this a yes?” He feels like his heart is about to burst from joy. Kiya raises up and looks down at him with him on his back. She reaches a hand forward and ruffles his bangs messing it up.

“Of course it is a yes! Yes! Yes! and Yes!” Kiya is pulled down and kissed. Aymeric kisses her in such a way she feels her head spin. Kiya laughs between their kiss, and Aymeric hugs her tight thankful in her agreeing. He feels elated and light like he is on a cloud and won’t come down for a while now.

His right hand cups her face, and she mirrors him leaning into his hand while he leans to hers. He pauses brief to bring out a ring he had made for her. One made of gold and sapphire. An engagement ring, he fits it onto her hand and kisses the top of it when it is settled into place.

“I promise from here on, to protect you and love you. If not to protect you physically, then your heart and all the burdens you bear. Let me be your comfort when you seek it, and your shoulder when you need to cry. Halone knows you use mine a lot. I want you to keep coming to me, now as an equal. Promise me?” Aymeric hooks his left ring finger with hers in similar to a pinky promise but made with their ring fingers. To make a pact to never break it.”

“Of course. You’re going to make me cry if you keep showing me so much love. I feel unworthy of this. You would see love in an outcast like me.” Kiya’s words makes him frown a little.

“My love. Even you are worthy of love. If it takes me years to make you see that. I hope to start now. You are worthy and worth fighting for. I love you too, Kiya.” He sees fresh tears spill over at being called worthy and loved. 

“You’ve given so much to me...” Before she can say anything more it is his turn to pounce on her, placing a hand behind her head to cushion it as he pins her down to the floor and gives her another deep kiss. His other arm around her waist holding her there, ignoring her protest to the cold on her shoulders.

He kisses her for a few minutes, nibbling her bottom lip, or small pecks to keep her from doubting or dismissing herself till he is sure her eyes glossed over from the affection. 

They descended the stairs and Kiya hopped up onto the edge to look at the fountain not getting the chance to view the place properly. Aymeric folds his arms and looks at her with a sense of amusement watching her. Kiya’s body finally catches up to all she was feeling, and missteps toppling over and into the fountain.

Aymeric is stunned at this sight, he couldn’t help what happened next in laughing. He earns glares from her, and all he does is laugh harder at how she was so composed one moment ago, and the next she lands in the fountain with her tail up. She even splashes him for laughing and they spend the next few minutes in a small water fight.

When they leave the place they stop before House Fortemps, Aymeric seeing her inside to talk to Edmont informing him of their engagement now. The older man smiling, but to his dismay, he notices Kiya and Aymeric are both drenched.

“While there was not a cloud in the sky for rain. Why are you both soaked like this?” He questions.

“She fell in the fountain.” Aymeric answers truthfully.

“And did you join her?”

“I splashed him for laughing at me.” Kiya answers and starts towards her room to change out of the wet clothes before they freeze to her. The men exchange good hearted laughs. Aymeric was about to leave when Edmont gets his attention.

“Ser Aymeric, be good to her. Dating is the easy part. Engagement and marriage are hard. They’re built on trust. Don’t do anything to hurt her.” Edmont shares his concerns.

“Fear not, I have no intention of seeing her in grief ever again. You have mine promise.” Aymeric bows, and swings by his beloved’s room to steal a kiss from her. He witnesses through the crack in her door, her excited and elated. She was dressed in warmer clothes, black sweater and tights to match.

“Kiya?” She turns at her name being called and sees Aymeric leaning against her doorframe. 

“Yes?” She walks to him, and he takes her hands in his own.

“What would it take for you to gather clothes for the morning and come with me? Would you spend tonight with me? Not for “that” but be in my arms? I think I might be too lonely without you next to me.” Kiya smiles warm seeing the look in his eyes. He is genuine in his promises. 

“Not much at all. I think I want to be curled next to you too.” Aymeric helps her gather what she needs, and they both leave the house together. By the time they got to Aymeric’s home, Kiya felt worn out from the day, it was well in the evening almost midnight. When she crawls into Aymeric’s bed she lays face down while her beloved goes and changes his own clothing to fit for sleep. When he returns he sees his cat has chosen to curl up on top of Kiya’s back at the small of it.

Kiya had already fallen asleep, and does little to help him fit into his own bed next to both his pet and his love. He moves the cantankerous one off his beloved’s back and tugs her to fit into his arms. The cat eyes him then moves to be in front of Kiya’s waist. Swiping at Aymeric’s hand.

Aymeric smiles to himself and ruffles the feline seeing he is playful naturally at night. Aymeric entertains before he follows his love to sleep.

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 52

We traveled by night to the Taffington Boathouse. A way-point for traveling Railroad agents and synth refugees from the Institute, the two-story house usually provided a safe place to rest and a meal. They were not quite equipped for a dozen people to suddenly appear at once, but made the most of it.

The sun was just coming up as we arrived with Tinker Tom and Pam. As I was known to be searching for the Mechanist, the idea was that an assaultron in my company might be less suspicious than with any agent trying to look average. Dr. Carrington, Drummer Boy, and a handful of agents had gone ahead of us, while Desdemona, Glory, and the remaining agents were behind us. Deacon had gone east, disguise in hand.

Drummer Boy stood on the porch, keeping watch as a woman worked in the thriving garden in the front yard. She stood up with a basket full of vegetables, saw us coming, and promptly dropped the basket with a yelp.

I recognized her. As her creator's son rushed out of the house, I had a horrible premonition of what was about to happen. I immediately froze, and fortunately all my companions did the same.

"Hello, Eve," I said. To the young man staring at me with shock and anger, I said, "Liam. Good morning."

"Fuck off," he spat. He stormed toward me. I held a hand out to keep my friends from reaching for their weapons. If Liam was still a pacifist, the worst I would receive would be a verbal beratement. If he wasn't, I would probably deserve whatever he did to me. "You lied to me! You destroyed my home and you have the nerve to come here and say 'good morning?!'"

Tinker Tom spoke, hesitant, "We... probably should have mentioned Patriot was staying here, huh?"

"Don't call me that!" Liam snapped.

"I won't be in your way," I told Liam, "and I won't stay for long."

"Good," he said, and stormed back inside.

I looked at Tom. He shrugged, "Glory found him after the Institute was destroyed. She recognized him. His dad… almost made it."

I winced, "That must have been terrible for him."

We continued to the house, "Yeah, man. If Glory hadn't found him, if Zachariah hadn't been able to talk some sense into him—"

"Who?"

"Used to be called Z1-14. Convinced Liam that this was the world he'd sent synths to, this was what freedom looked like, the least he could do was help them survive in it. So Glory got them set up here. I hear Eve is a pretty good cook.”

Preston had carefully approached Eve and introduced himself as she recovered the produce scattered across the garden. He offered to carry the basket for her, which she politely declined, and thanked him for his concern. She hurried inside.

"General?" Preston asked as we went inside, "The kid that chewed you out…"

I explained, "Liam Binet is responsible for a great many synths being sent to the surface. He decided that freedom in whatever world existed up here was better than slavery inside the Institute. I was going to help him free more… I was going to help him free all of them."

"And instead you showed up with a bunch of Minutemen and blew his home to hell," Preston sighed.

“Yes.”

Drummer Boy had gone inside at some point during all this, and now met us at the door, “Tom, we’re gonna give the boathouse a proper floor for you to set up shop. Carrington’s setup is temporarily in the kitchen. Pam, there's a space for you in the living room. Still not sure how we’re going to fit everyone here.”

“No sweat, Drummer Boy,” Tom said, “we’ll make it work. It’s only temporary, anyway. Hopefully. First though? I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need some breakfast.”

We agreed. Danse left his armor on the porch temporarily, mindful of the limited space inside the house. Seeing yet another Minuteman uniform did not comfort Eve as she tried to cook. "Why are you here?" she asked Preston.

"Just here for a bite to eat and a moment's rest, ma'am. Then we'll be out of your way."

This comforted her somewhat. “You came with the Railroad.”

“General Holmes wanted to warn the Railroad that the Brotherhood were planning an attack. Figured we might as well help with the evacuation.”

Eve nodded, “The doctor, he said something similar, though much… harsher.”

“I can imagine,” I said with a small smile. “Dr. Carrington is not known for his bedside manner.”

“I’m not surprised. He’s sleeping now, but I’m sure he’ll reclaim the kitchen as soon as he wakes up. I’m glad you aren’t staying long,” she continued in gentle tones, no longer scared but still concerned, “it will be hard for Liam with you here. Harder than usual.”

“Are you his mother?” Danse asked.

She shook her head, “No, I’m a copy of her.” Seeing Danse’s scowl, Eve explained, “After she died, Liam’s father designed me to be a surrogate mother. I was a social experiment, to see if a synth could integrate into a family. That’s what he always told his colleagues. I like to think it was becoming more than that. I know Liam isn’t really my son, but I've come to love him as if he were.”

“How has he adjusted?” I asked.

She shrugged with a small smile, “Not much use for a computer genius on the surface. When synths come through, some of them like to talk to him, when they find out who he is, what he did. That seems to help him."

Danse’s scowl had lessened to a frown, but was made suddenly worse by Drummer Boy’s appearance, “Hey, mind if we borrow your power armor?”

“Yes.”

“We just need to move—”

Danse stood and followed, “Show me what you’re trying to accomplish.”

Preston, Tom, and I ate while Danse assisted with construction outside the house. Tom left to find a place for his sleeping bag, and Preston and I followed his example. Liam entered the kitchen as we left, pointedly ignoring our presence, and helped himself to breakfast with a pleasant "hello" to his surrogate mother.

Danse entered after him. Liam glared at the intrusion, unwilling to leave, and Danse wasn't about to be intimidated by a teenager.

So Danse filled his plate, sat down across the table from him and said, "I understand you're good with computers."

Preston and I listened in from around the corner.

"I was better than good, back when they still existed," Liam grumbled.

"The fact that you are no longer within a safe and secure closed system does not mean there is no use for your skills. Have you ever programmed a turret?"

"Have I… what?"

"Not as sophisticated as the challenge of freeing synths, but necessary to--"

Liam sighed angrily, "That's what I hate most about this place, everything comes back to violence."

"A pacifist nature in a world where ninety percent of it wants to eat you is exceedingly dangerous and unwise."

They ate in silence.

"You've been on the surface for nearly a year," Danse said, "what have you accomplished in that time?"

"Accomplished? Staying alive isn't enough?"

"You are secure in your position here with a consistent source of food, water, shelter, and supplies. Why haven't you done more?"

Liam was flabbergasted. "Like what?!"

"You're the so-called genius, you tell me." And with that, Danse stood, thanked Eve for the meal, and joined us in our search for a space to rest.

"Damn, Danse," Preston muttered when we were out of earshot, “think you were a little hard on the kid?” Despite the words, there was no mistaking the admiration in Preston’s tone.

Danse scoffed, "If anyone had known the entire population of the Institute could be utterly demoralized simply by forcing its inhabitants to the surface, the technology could have been salvaged instead of destroyed."

We ended up on the porch, out of the direct paths of activity in the house. I lit a cigarette as Preston and Danse made themselves as comfortable as is possible on ancient wood. We managed to rest for a few hours before Desdemona, Glory, and company arrived, sparking a rush of activity as everyone tried to expand the limited amount of shelter. It was time for us to go.

“Hey, Danse?" Preston suddenly asked, "The salvaging technology thing. Do you ever miss that part?”

“Miss it?” Danse was surprised and had to think for a moment. “Not exactly. I was skilled at identifying potentially useful artifacts, and there was always a sense of satisfaction in discovering a piece, but I was also content to simply hand them over to the scribes for study." He opened his armor, "However, I think there would be great value in scavenging missions, using technology to further enhance the effectiveness of our troops and security of our settlements.”

Preston shrugged, “We'd have to figure out how to use it.”

“True, though we do have some more scientifically minded individuals among some settlements.”

Preston’s brow rose. “You want to start a Minutemen version of Brotherhood Scribes with Institute refugees.”

Danse smirked and stepped inside his armor, “It does sound insane when you put it like that, doesn't it?”

"I completely disagree," I said.

They both looked at me, surprised, "General?"

"I know precisely who I want as our first recruit," I said over my shoulder as I hurried back inside.

Eve told me he'd gone out back, which is where I found him glaring at a machine gun turret pointed at the sewer drain north across the river.

“Liam, may I speak with you a moment?”

“I’d rather not.”

“I know I’m the last person you want to talk to, but I have a proposition--”

He spun to face me, “There is nothing you have to offer me! You betrayed me! My father is dead, everyone I loved and cared about was vaporized or lost in this barren irradiated shithole, because of you. I wanted to blame myself, I thought that somehow me trusting you meant I was responsible, but you were always going to destroy humanity’s best hope for the future, whether or not we ever met. You know, I used to feel sorry for you? You lost your son, you missed out on every moment of his life, but now, I see it's only what you deserved.”

I was incensed, “I will not be lectured by a petulant child. You were perfectly willing to send synths to this world you were so ‘curious’ about, you were perfectly willing to risk your perfect comfort, as long as you never had to think about the fact that your father was still building those slaves in the first place! There were plenty of scientists who had second thoughts about the Institute's isolation, about whether or not synths were people, about whether it was acceptable to experiment just because they could, and not a single one spoke up! Those ideas were firmly beaten down by fear of the consequences, and so apathy was chosen over compassion, because it was easier. And you want me to believe generations of isolated amoral inventors were the best hope for humanity? What about this humanity? What about the very real, human lives existing in this wasteland?”

"General?" Preston spoke from behind me, wary.

I breathed, suddenly very tired. “It's alright, Preston. Nothing to worry over."

"Awful lot of shouting for nothing."

"I'll explain later." I focused on Liam, "Your father was right in his belief that science should be done with compassion in mind first and foremost, but it takes a far more patient man than me to teach compassion to those who cannot feel it toward those they do not see. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret my actions, that people died, that the science that could have saved the world was lost. But neither could I stand by and permit it to exist. I tried to reason with the Director. I tried to tell him I wanted nothing to do with his Institute, but he wouldn’t listen. I tried to tell him… so many things. He was so convinced in his vision he refused to consider his father might not share it.

"But science with compassion," I continued, "that is a vision you and your father both shared, and it is one that could still happen. No, that needs to happen."

Liam was confused, "What?"

"You aren’t the only one to get out. There are Institute refugees scattered throughout the Commonwealth. Imagine what they could accomplish if they gathered together with a simple goal in mind - make life on the surface better for everyone."

He thought about this a long moment. "We’d work for you." The prospect did not please him.

"You’d be a new branch of the Minutemen," I explained.

Liam shook his head, "I don't want anything to do with you."

"Very well. The invitation remains open, indefinitely." I turned to leave.

"Why are you here?" Liam suddenly asked.

"The Minutemen and the Railroad are allies. Did no one tell you?"

He frowned, "Allies."

Preston answered, “The Minutemen are always happy to help everyone, no matter who you are, as long as you aren't in the business of hurting innocent people.”

Liam rolled his eyes, “Sure. Unless you’re the Institute.”

Preston was surprised. “Wait. You're really serious, you don’t know? Listen, man, I get that you probably weren’t in on all the activities of the people in charge or whatever, but you have got to know the people up here have some damn good reasons for hating your home. Like, super mutants? You know the Institute made them, right?”

Seeing Liam’s disbelief, Preston continued, “The Institute used the surface as its experiment testing area and dumping ground for who knows how long. People up here were tired of having loved ones taken from us and replaced, tired of synth raids destroying homes, tired of living in fear, so we struck back. I'm sorry not everyone got out. I know a lot didn't, even with the evacuation order, and I know that the ones who did escape had a hell of a nasty surprise in store."

Preston sighed, "I know survival is hard, but it's what we've been doing our whole lives while you were living down there. And you know, I can't even blame you for hiding away. But I can blame the Institute for making the lives of innocent people struggling to survive so much harder than it already was. If you want to just keep hiding, I get it. But humanity's best hope for the future is the one we make ourselves. You decide you want to be a part of that? There's a guy at the Red Rocket station south of Sanctuary who'd love to meet you. Just ask for Sturges."

We left. I told Desdemona the Minutemen would be in touch regarding the Brotherhood, and asked her to return the courtesy. We made our way west.

I don’t know if any of us convinced Liam Binet to keep trying to make a difference, but I hope the young man continues to find a reason to keep living.

[critic-corner]

‘Made In Heaven’ Style: A Marriage of Convenience

Last post was rather short, I know. So, get ready with a drink of your liking because this time, I have a lot to talk about! Even though, this time around, there is no fashion moment that has everyone talking on social media, there is still a lot of great costuming going on here.

The episode starts with an ultra cringey contest where Sukhmani wins to get married to Jeet. Sukhmani is wearing red and gold for the Indian and Western rounds, respectively and she stands out from her fellow contestants because of the cliche color choices. Her dresses were just as filmy and orthodox as her answers were, which was smart because she knew the psychology of her ‘judges’ and what they would consider ideal. She came looking like a less-classy version of a shining trophy and that obviously did the trick. Keep these two colors in mind as they will be repeated again!

For the Sangeet, both Sukhmani and Tara are seen in blue ensembles but what adds to the irony is while for Sukhmani, the color communicates her stable future that also has a lot of freedom, for Tara it only speaks of her melancholy.

Tara’s next ensemble is interestingly a maroon top. It’s a color which is synonymous to Autumn, a season where the leaves are changing colors. This shade will continue to play it’s course for the next few scenes.

She continues that color, this time, just in a more professional manner. Maroon represents sacrifice and bravery and while I’m sure these two terms wouldn’t pop up instantly during this scene, there are undertones of them because she is the victim here.

In a flashback, we find Tara and Adil (when he was already engaged), going to his room and we already know what Tara’s intentions are here. She is wearing a soft pink shirt which is as romantic as it is sophisticated. 

I think it’s a good place to say that I really like the placements of the flashbacks in the show. It seemed effortless and helped greatly as an overall narrative device. Everytime one starts questioning why doesn’t she just leave Adil, we get a flashback that answers that question.

In the next scene, when we find Faiza, recovered after her accident, wearing (surprise! surprise!) a maroon top. Not only is it again connecting her with Tara because all she can think about is her at the moment, but it also denotes to her life changing it’s colors (like the leaves in Autumn).

Taking a minor break from Tara and her troubles, let’s just talk about Shibani and her troubles. She wants a raise and is extremely conflicted about her loyalty towards Tara and Karan and joining Made In Heaven’s rival company who are ready to give her what she deserves.

Her first look is a red printed kurta which perfectly captures her frustration from the casual sexism which is delaying the work. Then while talking to her daughter as she promises her the Paris trip, we find her in a gray outfit because that is how unsettled she is feeling. The succeeding blue kurta is screaming “I’m loyal” as she snaps at Karan for offering to pay for the Paris trip and her last look is a maroon suit as she drinks and gathers enough courage to finally send Mani a message to get on-board. Once again, maroon denotes to her changing life; even the lighting of that shot is intense.

As Jeet and Sukhmani get married, both of them are wearing colors that denote to royalty, wealth and extravagance, that sits perfectly with Punjab’s general culture of showing off. Not to mention, Sukhmani is repeating the gold color from the contest in which she was basically walking the ramp saying, “don’t you want me to be your wife”? Mission accomplished, girl!

After the wedding, Tara is in her room wearing a green dress as she finally breaks down in front of Karan in a heart-breaking scene. Green is a color that helps alleviate depression and nervousness, so her wearing this color in front of Karan, arguably her closest friend, seems about right.

At that exact moment we get a flashback to when Tara and Karan first met and it’s kinda sweet that Karan is wearing what seems like the same shirt here from the previous scene, over a printed t-shirt whose color story matched Tara’s top.

Let’s take another minor break here and check out what’s up with Jazz. She is on a search for her brother. We first see her in a sweet and almost delicate pink top, then she leads to a maroon which has all the traits of bravery and when she finally finds her brother, she is wearing a blue flannel shirt that denotes to her wisdom and depth in soul. These three tops perfectly captured Jazz’s storyline.

As for Sukhmani, for her Vidhai, she wore a classic red suit that was again, repeated from the contest but this time, there’s an intense sadness to it because of how hopeless she feels about her future with a man she can’t have an actual relationship with.

Moving on, we get a second appearance from Faiza who is wearing a comfortable set of pajamas in the shades of gray, as she and Adil decide to separate.

And that gray is continued on to Tara which obviously connects the two former-friends but also convey her restless feeling about her life and marriage. Even the production design of the last shot, where she tells Adil to get a check-up, is dominated by gray color.

Pictures - Amazon Prime/Critic Corner

[songless-siren]

The Death of Rael Kertia

Title: The Death of Rael Kertia

Summary: Inspired two Tumblr posts I found online. What happened in the aftermath of the disaster that was Rai’s first visit to Lukedonia since he fell asleep?

Inspired by:

http://ceata88.tumblr.com/post/148066501354/14-hello-fellow-noblesse-fan-i-just-want-to

http://darkicedragon.tumblr.com/post/115866349449/noblesse-canon-divergence-au

Rael Kertia was confused. In his brother’s battle against the blond modified human, he had offered Rajak his soul weapon, Grandia. And his brother refused. Rael couldn’t understand why.

In his eyes, Rajak Kertia was both a brother and father figure. He was responsible, strict, and the best family leader Rael knows. It was because Rajak was so dedicated to being the best family leader he could be that his little brother wonders why he would refuse the chance to get stronger. Granted, Rael had his own ambitions. He didn’t want to give up Grandia but he treasures his brother a lot more than himself. Still a child at heart, he took advantage of the confusion in the aftermath of the fight and ran away to sort out his feelings and thoughts on the matter.

Why had his brother not claimed Grandia?

Why did he not want to get stronger?

During his travels throughout the human world, Rael also took the chance to practice what his brother and other nobles had displayed: cool indifference, sophistication and empathy. In his attempts to be polite to humans and understand more about them, he only found himself more disgusted than ever. Humans grow only at the destruction of others and it was every man for himself outside of Lukedonia.

Why would anyone want to hurt others in order to make themselves feel better?

Why would any self-respecting noble would ever bother protecting them?

He had gone through half of North America and most of South America before traveling to Europe. It was there where he ran into his first crush and a traitor to Lukedonia.

It was late. The faint rays of sunlight were minutes away from vanishing completely and people were hurrying home to escape the cold. Rael himself was jumping from roof to roof, leisurely heading back to his hotel. He was only halfway there when he heard an explosion from a couple of kilometers away.

What did the humans do now? Deciding to investigate instead of ignoring the insignificant beings-he was bored anyways-he changed his course. Minutes later-there was no hurry-he stopped in his tracks, shock coursing through every vein in his body. “Ignes?”

The raven-haired beauty turned. “Oh? Look who’s here: Rael Kertia. What brings you to this part of the world?”

Rael was not a traitor to Lukedonia. During his escape, he did not once consider himself betraying Lukedonia in any way, shape or form. “What are you doing here, Ignes Kravei?”

“Nothing much.” She waved a hand flippantly, not at all bothered by his tone. “Just collecting some more test subjects. How’s Lukedonia?”

“None of your business.” He couldn’t, wouldn’t, tell Ignes that he had ran away. And she doesn’t deserve to know anything anyways, he thought pettily.

A plan was already forming in Ignes’ head. She could use the power of another noble and, if Rael turns out to be a disappointment, she can still use him for experimentation. “Why don’t you come with me?”

“What?” Red eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing in suspicion. “Why do you think I’ll want to associate myself with a traitor like you?”

She smiled gently, with as much care and love she could muster, a look of understanding taking place on her face. “I could help you learn more about humans if that’s what you’re after. You’ll learn more from me than by yourself. Besides, you’re lonely right? We could spend time together, just like the old times.”

It was this argument that won Rael over. The present was confusing. Everything was changing and he didn’t like change. Nobles are constant beings after all. His brother was upset at him, Seira had rejected him, the Lord was very possibly angry at him. He was barely 500 years old, too young to be dealing with all of this, and, with a nod, he agreed.

Ignes was delighted. Rael was young, insecure, and eager to please just so he’d be accepted and loved. Rajak Kertia had helped as well. His most recent encounters with Rael had left the child lost and upset. His lack of emotion, or rather, his ability to hide his emotions so well had led his younger brother to believe that he no longer cared and never cared about him to begin with. She could still remember how much time the two had spent together, how much Rael had idolized Rajak. Rajak’s approval had been everything and now that he’s “abandoned” Rael, Ignes was fully prepared to take his place.

She lavished affection on her little duckling. Despite being slightly annoyed that she doesn’t have as much time to spend on her experiments, Rael was amusing. His stealth was useful in capturing more experimental subjects and she’d only encouraged his ever-growing hatred of humans, showing him nothing but their dark side and all their faults.

Rael was content for a while. Ignes hadn’t tried anything on him and their interactions hadn’t changed much from when they were younger. He knew that spending time with a traitor was betraying Lukedonia, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Much, anyways. Compared to Ignes, who was pretty much his big sister, Rajak was nothing more than a stranger. He had changed so much since becoming family leader that Rael wonders if he’d ever truly known his elder brother at all. Perhaps he was only acting to humor him and decided to stop now that he’s a leader.

He had expressed his doubts to Ignes and the older noble had given him hugs and cooed that she cared. What Ignes gave so freely was such a rare luxury with Rajak that Rael couldn’t help but bask in the attention.

It took a few months for Rael to understand that Grandia was somehow transmitting Rajak’s emotions over to him. There wasn’t much for him to work with as what few emotions there were were rather muted.

Fatigue, stress, remorse, guilt, anger.

Rael could only contribute these emotions to the the aftermath of the battles when all the misunderstandings had been sorted out. Rajak was probably overworked and working hard to fix his mess in the human world. While there hadn’t been any human casualties, he had destroyed several buildings and caused quite a large commotion.

This only cemented the idea that his brother never cared and never will. Nothing changed except for the desire to teach Rael a lesson. Ignes had kindly kept him informed of what little news she could garner about Lukedonia and it seemed like Rajak was sent to look for him, probably to drag him back for punishment like he did ten years ago. So Rael hid on Ignes’s island, careful to cover up his tracks whenever he went out. He was determined to not suffer the humiliation of being dragged back and punished like a child again.

Yet, he was drowning in guilt. He shouldn’t have left Rajak alone to deal with the consequences of his actions. He was the one who made a fuss in Korea and tried to use underhand tactics to win. To add to his conscience, he had kept his soul weapon to himself, not allowing Rajak to gain the full power of a family leader. Rael was sure it was a crime despite it never happening before. It should be one. As far as he was concerned, Lukedonia was down one family leader and it was all his fault.

Ignes did not want Rael to return to Lukedonia. She had done so much for him when he was lost and confused and this is how he repays her?! By getting himself killed?! She didn’t spend so much time nourishing him only to lose him in the end. Deciding that it would cost too much to let him go, she prepared several drones made especially for fighting family leaders, just in case it came down to that.

“I have to, Ignes. Please understand that.”

“I don’t see why you have to, Rael. We were having so much fun together.” She smiled charmingly. “Hearing you talk so seriously, you really have grown up. So much unlike the insecure little boy I first met.” It was true. Dressed in his Lukedonia clothing, he was a shorter version of Rajak and bear slight resemblance to Rayga Kertia, his father and former family leader.

“I know. I don’t want to leave either.” His sad look grew stern. “But you’re still a traitor.”

She shrugged. “By association, you are one as well.”

He nodded solemnly. “I know, which is why I have to go back. I have to take responsibility for my actions.”

Ignes’ lips curled into an ugly sneer. It was this honor that made the nobles weak. While the rest of the world grew, Lukedonia stayed the same, relying on their original power to keep them safe. Instead of being at the top of the food chain, they were falling to the bottom. “Pride and honor won’t save you. Why don’t you let me modify you? I’ll make you stronger.”

Now it was Rael’s turn to be disgusted. “Absolutely not! I would never lower myself to being a mere human toy.”

“Didn’t you say that you and your brother fought a stalemate with a modified human? I check the Union records. He goes by the name of Frankenstein and his weapon was created by sacrificing the lives of many of his people. Don’t you want to surpass him? If he’s modified, then why can’t you be? It’ll even out the playing field.”

“Because I have standards! If you won’t let me go, Ignes, I won’t hesitate to fight you.”

“Oh?” She raised a delicate eyebrow. “But will you win, though?” She snapped her fingers and her robots came out of hiding. “I didn’t want to do this, Rael, but you left me no choice.” One of those was a match for a Union Elder. Three might be overestimating Rael but Ignes was not about to take any chances when Kertias are known for their speed and stealth. Rael will give her what she wants, one way or the other.

Rael felt betrayed. He really did think that Ignes understood him as he had confined in her and she him. But he also knew that she had her secrets and he kept certain things to himself as well. It was foolish to trust a traitor with news of Lukedonia. He didn’t think that she’d go as far as to attack him for wanting to leave but judging by the strength of these attacks, they were aiming to kill or, at the very least, maim him. Regardless of a noble’s regeneration ability, he would like to live his life without knowing that kind of pain, thank you very much. He summoned Grandia in a moment of panic and sliced one of drones into pieces.

Ignes’s original amused stare turned into an absolutely frightening glare, dark with the promise of pain. She stalked forward slowly, like a predatory cat. Rael was suddenly felt very small. “Is this why you refused all my offers, Rael Kertia? Because you’re already a satisfied pig?!”

Rael wisely kept silent. No matter how much he wants to deny it, Ignes was scaring him. She was acting like a completely different person and he wasn’t sure what was the right reaction.

“Why do you have a soul weapon when Rajak is the family leader?” She let out her aura in a show of power. “Why do you have a soul weapon when I don’t?!” She lunged forward to join the fight personally, showing absolutely no mercy. It was all Rael could do to avoid critical damage. Running away was hardly an option right now; when one retreats, the other two move forward to attack, not allowing him a single moment to catch his breath.

“How dare you harm my babies?! How dare you have a soul weapon?!” As much as Rael wanted to talk back, he knew that there was no way he could defeat Ignes even at the cost of his own life. She was older than him, older than Rajak as well, modified and better trained.

“Why so quiet? You were so talkative before. Poor little Rael. No one loves you anymore.” She cooed, sickly sweet as she managed to rip off one of his arms. Tossing the limb somewhere, she returned to glaring. “I’ll make you scream.”

Not wanting to give her that satisfaction, Rael gritted his teeth and keep quiet. Leaping back to avoid another attack from one the two remaining toys, he managed to fall into Ignes’ trap and impaled himself on her arm.

“You’ve gotten lacking, Rael.” She withdrew her arm and he crumbled to the ground as his legs gave out on him. “Is it because your brother always fought your battles for you?” She tore off his legs, sweet composure fading into uncontrollable rage as he still refused to let out a sound and had actually tried to fight back.

Nothing was fair in this world. Rael has a soul weapon when he wasn’t a family leader. Someone had done something so extraordinary while she was the genius. And to rub salt into the wound, she did not take part in any way in the process of splitting a soul weapon and neither does she have the data.

Each thought was punctuated by the removal of another limb. And Rael still wasn’t screaming! She stomped down on his ribs, infuriated at the fact that she had failed to break the child. However, Rael’s body was broken beyond belief and his own ribs had stabbed into his heart, stopping any chance of regeneration. Temper sated at last with his oncoming death and newly-gathered data, she knelt down to caress his soft cheek. “Any last words you want me to pass onto Rajak? I’ll give him a message for you.”

Rael smiled sadly, determined to stop the traitor from getting any satisfaction with his defeat. “Tell him that I apologize for disappointing the family leader of the Kertia Clan, for keeping Grandia to myself, and for constantly disobeying his orders, that I’m sorry for not living up to his expectations and for never addressing properly him as family leader and never acting like a pureblood of the Kertia Clan should.” Despite his efforts, a tear rolled down his cheek, causing Ignes to smile. “For not being the little brother he deserves to have.” The last of his body faded away and the dual daggers disappeared as well, seeking out Rajak to rejoin Kartas.

Ignes laughed loud and hard, gleeful that she’d managed to poison Rael so much that he’d still believe Rajak doesn’t love him. What a conceited child. He got away with disobeying his family leader and having a soul weapon, but still believes that he wasn’t loved. But he did die blaming himself so at least he grew up a little. What would Rajak do if he hears of this, she wondered thoughtfully, making a mental note to actually pass on the message when she has the chance just for the show. Smiling sadistically, she skipped off to collect her babies. Finding the extensive damage on them, a vein nearly popped in her temple. The data was satisfactory but did he really need to destroy her babies? They were so hard to fix. I should have kept him alive for experimentation. This data is great but keeping him alive would have been far more beneficial. Perhaps I do need to work on my temper a little.

Rajak was training with Karias when a sudden burst of sadness emitting from Kartas caused him to pause. It hadn’t taken him as long as Rael to realize that the split soul weapons created a link between their bearers. He knew as soon as he felt contentment when he was stressed. Choosing to ignore the emotions (he can’t just cancel the training session when Lukadonia’s enemies were getting stronger), he pulled back his fist for a punch.

BAM!!!

The sudden surge of power caused the Blerster family leader to fly back and crash into several trees. “Really, Rajak?” He picked himself off the ground and rubbed at his numb forearm. “How do you still have so much energy left?”

For his part, Rajak stood shell-shocked until he came to a very upsetting conclusion. He quickly summoned Kartas, noting the power and sad whisper that came with the summoning of his soul weapon. “I’m sorry, family leader.”

Karias held out his hands, attempting to placate his self-proclaimed best friend. “Can we stop for today?”

His best friend nodded mutely, quiet and thoughtful like he usually was. However, they wouldn’t be best friends if he couldn’t find something wrong with Rajak. Karias noted the way his hands tightly held Kartas and the way he walked much more stiffly than with his usual grace. He swung his arm around Rajak’s neck. “Want to eat something now?”

Rajak couldn’t hear a thing. His little brother was dead. His sweet, naive little brother who insisted on calling him big brother despite his protests. The one that would always watch him train with wide, adoring eyes and used to snuggle in with him for naps after a long day of studying when they were younger. He had failed his father, failed as a family leader to protect Rael from the rest of the world. It was only thanks to his deeply-ingrained training that he didn’t break down right there and then. No matter what happened, he also has a duty to the Lord and the rest of his clan. Shrugging off the arm, he went off as if everything was alright.

But it wasn’t.

Ignes was very quite surprised to hear the 13th Elder mention that the nobles were crawling out of Lukedonia. While Rajak’s excursions were excused because his little brother had ran away, the other little worms do not have any reason to butt into their business. If they decide to isolate themselves on Lukedonia, then they should stay that way. It was time for a little trip of her own.

Although Seira was one of the last nobles she’d expect to leave the island as she is a family leader, Ignes was ecstatic. Seira J. Loyard had grown into a beautiful young woman. Yet, she was still so weak and lack the experience that Ignes has. Sending Regis away was the only smart decision she had made in the fight. Ignes watch the young leader wield the Death Scythe with fascination and felt her anger levels rising. It wasn’t fair. She was so much stronger than both Seira and Rael. Why couldn’t she have a soul weapon as well?

But Ignes was still impressed. Seira had actually managed to survive this long fighting against the Union. However, Rael, who was not a family leader, had managed to destroy one of her drones and injure the other two and herself with an incomplete soul weapon so Seira was still a weakling. “Do you like them?” Ignes draped herself over her soldier, hugging it close. “I modified it with the data I got from Rael.”

At the mention of the other noble, Seira paused and her eyes widened. “Rael...helped you?” The moment of surprise costed her another injury.

Ignes giggled. “Of course. He was such a helpful little boy. By the way, you wouldn’t know where Rajak is, would you? Rael wants me to pass on a message.” Deciding that enough was enough, she stepped into the fight and quickly knocked her opponent unconscious. In her haste to return to her experiments, she was unaware of Regis on her tail.

Karias watched Rajak worriedly, as did everyone else. Yet, the silent noble went about putting the dishes away as if nothing had occurred, like Regis didn’t just tell them that Rael had been working with a traitor all along. That wasn’t completely true; Rajak did pause for a moment there. He conceded.

“I got it!” Their heads all snapped around to Tao’s direction. The hacker was busy tracking Regis’ cell phone signal and managed to lock on. He quickly told Frankenstein the location of the little island.

The blond man was quick to create a plan. “Master and I will go. Rajak, you-”

“I’ll come.” He removed his pink apron and gloves, hanging them in their appropriate spots.

Frankenstein moved to stop him. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. If Rael is-”

“Rael isn’t there.”

M-21 looked as if he was about to argue but decided to save his breathe at the determined stare on Rajak’s face. Karias joined the others in watching the house with little protest. As much as he would love to go along, it is true that the house may come under attack and three modified humans are no match for what the Union can dish out.

“Where’s Rael?” Regis’ head snapped back against the wall as Ignes stuck another needle into his arm.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut, Regis. At least Rael knew how to do that.” Ignes had a lab assistant roll in a cart filled with dissection tools and enjoyed the flinch from Regis. He is definitely more self-confident than Rael but she’ll break him soon enough. Ignes was just about to proceed with her plans when she realized that some of the drugs she needed were missing and left the room to get them.

Ignes had managed to escape during the confusion of Muzaka’s awakening. Rajak wished that he had been there with the Noblesse but the werewolf warrior had kept him occupied. Perhaps he should have trained harder and used the techniques his father had taught him, just like Frankenstein had advised him to, instead of being ashamed of fighting from the shadows.

Nonetheless, their visit to the island on been somewhat successful. Roctis Kravei was dead and they had rescued Seira and Regis before the scientists had been able to experiment on them. The awakening of the former lord of the werewolves only gave Rajak more motivation to train. Things were about to get a lot more complicated and he can’t expect the Noblesse and his blood-contracted to solve every single problem.

Rajak feared that someone else may possibly get to Ignes before he does and leave him forever in the dark of his brother’s passing. He wanted-no, needed-to know exactly who to blame for Rael’s passage into eternal sleep. Nobody, not even the Lord and Noblesse, can keep him from finding out once he gets his hands on Ignes Kravei. He had searched the island once more after everyone had left but was unable to find any trace of the traitor and werewolf. And as computers were not his forte, he didn’t manage to find any information regarding Rael either. Despite his limitations, he made sure to destroy the lab to keep other Union members from retrieving any information they could have stored here. Unfortunately, as he wasn’t familiar with Union architecture, Dr.Crombel’s employees had managed to retrieve some data.

Rajak walked quickly. There was no time to waste with all the conflicts with the Union. Somewhere out there, the Union were creating more modified humans that were stronger and faster than ever. Werewolves were also getting modified and the Noblesse can’t last forever. He needed to train more and learn how to control his newfound strength as well.

“Rajak.” He stopped and turned his head to glance back at the three other family leaders behind him. “Are you leaving now?”

He nodded and tensed when Rosaria Elenor asked if he was going to continue his search for Rael. He was going to look for Ignes to find out more about his brother so that counts, doesn’t it? Rajak wondered when he had started hiding information from his colleagues.

They conversed a bit more before parting their separate ways and Rajak continued on his way, until he meet Gradeus and the other traitors along with three other werewolves.

There was no way they were going to reach Lukedonia before him. He was determined to warn the Lord and the other family leaders. And there was no way he’s going to die here either. Rajak needed to know about Rael, absolutely needed that information before he died.

To his advantage, the Union thought that he was weak because he still had an incomplete soul weapon. Them looking down on him became their downfall as he hid his presence and killed his opponent before anyone of them realized what he had done and had a head start back to Lukedonia. Seeing the other family leaders again couldn’t be soon enough.

The next couple of hours passed quickly with the adrenaline rush. The werewolves and traitors were dead, the Noblesse was weakened even more and Claudia Tradio was made family leader. The truth about Edian Drosia came out and her clan was pardoned. There were no casualties on their side and Lukedonia has less enemies to worry about. Not that it really made a difference with all the modifications everyone else in the world seemed to be getting.

The next major event happened on werewolf territory. M-21 was kidnapped and probably subjected to experiments like the 5th Elder had said when she was trying to convince them all to help. Nothing remotely interesting was going on until he encountered another werewolf warrior. He might have been a challenge provided that the werewolves stopped underestimating him but apparently no one got the notice that he was fully Awakened. After that talk with Frankenstein, he was very uninclined to test his opponent and draw out the battle.

He’d arrived at Rai’s location first, not waiting. Calmly observing the situation, he began to worry as both the noble and the modified human were clearly injured and up against a monster that was a match even for the Noblesse himself weakened as he was. And there was Ignes, laughing loudly and boasting about the abilities of her newest creation. Rajak made his presence known by appearing a few steps behind Rai. Considering Titan’s strength, he held Kartas tightly and shifted so that the light caught on the sharp blades.

The raven-haired scientist widened her eyes and smiled. “Rajak Kertia,” she acknowledged. “I see that Kartas is finally complete after all these years? Are you here to ask about Rael?”

By now the other nobles had arrived and all were staring at him in varying stages of shock with widened eyes and not Ignes or her creation like they should have. Perhaps, if he survives this fight, the Lord will punish him for keeping the news to himself. He knew that Rael was dead and every cell in his body was itching to let go of his self-discipline just this once and wipe that smile off her face but she was the only one with answers. “You fought with Rael.”

“Not at first.” The others watched their interaction intently, taking the chance to take a slight rest. Titan won’t attack without Ignes’s orders. “I met him in Europe and took him in.” She giggled. “He was like a lost puppy since you abandoned him.”

Rajak didn’t react save for the tightening of his fists. Ignes took childish pleasure in watching him lose composure bit by bit. Wouldn’t it just be hilarious if she was the one to make the ever-stoic Kertia family leader cry?

“We spent a few months together but,” she pouted, “he wanted to leave. He refused all the offers I gave him and wanted to go back to Lukedonia. I couldn’t understand why. After all, I was more like an elder sibling to him than you were. So we fought and he destroyed one of my babies.” She gestured a bit. “You couldn’t understand how upset I was. I doubt you ever cared about anyone or anything besides duty. So I killed him.” She launched into a graphic description of how she did so, loving the way Rajak’s look of cool indifference turned into hot-blooded murder, narrowed eyes nothing more than mere slits and hands clenched so tightly around his soul weapon that his knuckles were white.

She thoughtfully placed a finger on her chin. “He didn’t scream at all though. Such a shame that was. He had such a lovely voice.” Shrugging, Ignes continued. “Oh well. He did give me a message to pass on to you. Can you guess what he said?” She laughed loud and hard, manically. “He apologized. For not being a good enough little brother and a pureblood who wanted to protect humans. Because he kept Grandia hidden. He didn’t think you loved him at all or ever, really. And all because you were so good with keeping your emotions in check. Such a cute little lost duckling.”

“I did get a lot of data from him though. He didn’t even realized that he was helping me. I really did want to continue my experiments on him but he made me so angry. It’s not everyday you get a pureblood to play with. Pity father stopped me from completing my experiments back on Lukedonia. Perhaps that was why he had a soul weapon to begin with. To protect him from getting taken advantage of again. Not that it helped him any.”

Ignes wasn’t sure what to expect from Rajak. Whatever possibilities her mind had generated, the dark assassin letting out an absolutely feral snarl and charging straight at her before anyone could recover from their surprise wasn’t one of them. Titan could hardly slow him down, an arm in pieces within seconds and the rest of his body quickly following.

The panic made Ignes hysterical though she still had faith in her creation. “You can’t kill him! He has the best regeneration ability there is and once he recovers, Titan’ll be even stronger than before.”

As expected of a Noblesse, Rai stepped in to help. “If he can keep healing himself, then I’ll just destroy his entire body at once.” His left eye flashed and he began his work. Thanks to Rajak’s work, Titan was severely weakened and the pieces of his body were relatively easy to get rid off. Ignes had barely enough time to scream before her body was in pieces and fading away.

Rajak knelt, head down and panting hard. He couldn’t believe his ears. Was he such a bad elder brother? Did he really neglect to show Rael how much he had mattered and still does matter? Rael didn’t disappoint him at all. He was proud of his little brother though he didn’t show it. He had thought that Rael was too arrogant and more praise would just go to his head. And was he really so neglectful as to not notice Ignes experimenting on his brother back when they were younger? How was he going to explain to his mother that her youngest son was dead at only a mere 500 years old?

Rajak was grateful that he had stopped with his back to the rest of his allies. It would have been awkward to turn away from them and rude to turn his back on the Lord and Noblesse. A single bloody tear dripped down his face and he discreetly wiped it away.

Frankenstein stared at Rajak with sad eyes. He understood what it was like to lose someone close and empathized but Kertias weren’t the type to accept comfort. Rajak pushed Karias away and asked the Lord for punishment for Rael’s behavior which she denied. Even when he was upset with his brother’s death, the family leader was still ready to obey.

Rajak walked down the halls of his home with a purpose; he was headed to Rael’s bedroom. His brother was a neat freak and no one was allowed in except to place his clean clothes on his bed. He preferred to do all the cleaning by himself and will always do it promptly, no matter how tired he was after the day was over. Rajak had respected his brother’s privacy and didn’t allow anyone to enter the room despite the large amounts of dust that were sure to be gathering on every surface.

He opened the double doors and stepped onto a surprisingly thin layer of dust. The bed was still made and everything was well-organized. Locking the doors firmly behind him, he collapsed into Rael’s bed, breathing in the dust and the faded scent of fresh laundry. He mourned there in private because he’ll never have a chance to apologize to Rael for not protecting him better and allowing him to become a family leader.

“He wouldn’t want you to be like this, you know.”

His head snapped up at the sound of Karius’ voice. The other family leader stood by the balcony, staring at him with sympathy. “Rael would have liked it better if you-”

“If I what? If I hadn’t failed him?” Grief made Rajak more talkative, it seemed, angrier too and more likely to show his emotions rather than hiding them. “I failed my father and I failed Rael. I couldn’t protect him. He didn’t even think I cared for him.” His voice began to crack.

His best friend moved closer. “At least he didn’t enter eternal sleep hating you. He still cared for you and you can tell him everything you want to say to him when you enter eternal sleep.” He gingerly gave Rajak a hug. Karius was never awkward in any situation. “That doesn’t mean you should try to get yourself killed. He most definitely wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Rael wandered around on Lukedonia, knowing that he was dead and wondering why eternal sleep looked so much like his home. Perhaps eternal sleep meant that they turn into spirits or ghosts? The halls of his home was empty and he couldn’t detect anyone within the manor. He started to inspect every room and it wasn’t until he reached his brother’s study did he find someone.

“Father?”

Rayga Kertia looked up from his book and his eyes widened in surprise. “Rael?” He bookmarked his page and placed the novel down on the table, rushing to give his youngest son a hug. “What are you doing here?” If anything, he was expecting his wife or eldest son to be here first. Despite having no sense of time when one enters eternal sleep, Rael looked too young to be anywhere close to joining him, much less actually joining him.

“I-I-” Unable to find the words to describe his own crimes, the boy pushed away his father and ran away to where he knew his room was and locking the door behind him. However, as his father was stronger and faster than him, he was already waiting inside his room. This time, Rael had no escape. “Father-”

“It doesn’t matter what you did, Rael. You’re still my son and I love you.” Perhaps it was too cheesy a line for a Kertia to use but Rael had always been insecure and needed reassurance.

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, as well as the tears from his eyes. “I went to Ignes Kravei and helped her with capturing humans for her experiments. But I wanted to go back to Lukedonia and she killed me.”

Well, that was certainly worse than what he had expected to hear. Rayga pulled his son into another embrace. He did not regret following the previous Lord into eternal sleep. What he did regret was not having his sons sooner so that he was capable of spending more time with them and for not realizing that Ignes was experimenting on his littlest. Despite accepting Roctis apologies for his daughter’s actions (he understood a father’s need to keep their child happy), he did not forgive the noble for hurting his son. He’d hoped that by giving Rael a soul weapon and making certain that Rajak was capable of watching over him was enough to protect him. Obviously, he was wrong.

Unsure of what to say, he hugged his son closer and patted his hair soothingly. It had been a while since he had done this, and he was a man of little words. Everything was going to be alright and he would hope that Rajak was going to be fine as well.

[caramelnini]

Lost and Found

Paring: Jongin x Reader

Summary: Jongin takes you under his wing after a long night.

Genre: Angst, Smut

A/N: If you feel like you’ve read this before, you probably have. It’s a remastered version of what I wrote on jingongkin. This is where I’ll be posting my stories from now on!!

You were lost. You knew where you were- you walked down the same road you did every night, leaned on the same metal post, not too far from the club, not too close. You weren’t going anywhere special.

But you were lost. Your life was empty. You didn’t live from paycheck to paycheck, but you were in spiral you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of. And you didn’t want to. Because you were ignoring how empty you were with sex.

The night was cold. Dark cars passed every so often, some slowing down even more so. It gave you some sort of exhilaration- knowing that you could be in anyone’s car, doing everything.  

“Hey!” You almost didn’t hear the slurred voice over your thoughts and the pounding music a block off.

“Hello,” you met eyes with a man in his forties. His business suit was soiled and you could smell the despair off of him. Maybe he was more empty than you.

“How much?”

You raised your eyebrow. “Do you have a car? Or are we taking the bus?”

His breath polluted your senses as he cackled hysterically. “We can’t drive, us businessmen... W-we can take a taxi… or I can just fuck you against this pole. Would you like that?”

“You look like you need the money you’d pay to fuck me against this pole,” you said, walking in the other direction. You liked the way your heels echoed against the concrete. You didn’t like the sound of his.

“Hey… can’t I get a discount? I can feel the chemistry between us, baby.” You scoffed and clutched your bag. How was it possible to feel so dominant and vulnerable at the same time?

“Hey! Don’t walk away from me!”

Your hand was shaking as it felt around for the pepper spray you always kept with you. You slowed down to make sure he was close enough to do actual damage. Just as you turned around to meet his lustful gaze you were startled by a loud honk.

The creep was just as startled as you- he could barely shift his attention to the car approaching us. A tinted window rolled down to showcase the soft concerned face of someone you had never seen before.

You would’ve remembered him.

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” you replied. The handsome face gave you a once over, twice, not forgetting the middle aged man, who was distancing himself from you as much as he could. His dark eyes narrowed in conflict before he sighed.

“Get in.”

You didn’t hesitate to enter the passenger’s seat. You would rather be kidnapped by a handsome man in an Aston Martin than spend your evening with Mr. Midlife Crisis.

“Where are we going?” He was driving onto the boulevard, right past the club with tinted blue lights. You felt as if you were underwater. You were barely breathing.

“I don’t know,” you sighed softly, putting on your seatbelt. You weren’t taking anymore chances that night. “Your house. Or mansion.”

“You’re very comfortable with a random person picking you off of the street.” He was almost scolding you; he didn’t know anything about you- if he did he’d know you did that everyday.

“You saved me… it’s the least I can do.”

“Men are such creeps, huh?” At least he knew that. The scenery around us slowed down as he stopped. “Tell me your name.” The car was alone at the intersection. He turned to look at you in the low fluorescent lighting.

You turned away, mumbling your name softly. The deep hum of the car changed it’s pitch as he sped into the night life of the city. He looked even more beautiful up close, especially as he was focused on the road.

“I’m Jongin... I- I wish we didn’t meet like this. What’s a girl like you doing out here anyway? It’s a Thursday night…”

“What do you think? I was looking for a good time.”

“And how did that work out?” You snorted.

“I have pepper spray, just in case anything goes wrong. And I’m here with you, so it turned out just fine."

He hesitated before taking a deep breath. He had pulled into a garage of one of the main skyscrapers in town. “Is this a good time?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Just take me to your room. Then we’ll have a good time.”

You thought he would take you then and there, but he just shifted his gear with an amused look on his face.

“We’ll see. There’s a catch, however: if you go to my place, you can’t leave.”

“Why’s that?”

“I wouldn't let you. It looks like you’ve drank too much to think for yourself. Maybe that’s why you’re in a car with a stranger, asking them to see their apartment for a good time.”

You were almost glad to explain yourself, raising your eyebrow. “I was in the club looking for a guy to have a good time with because that’s my job, Jongin. That’s why I’m out on a Thursday and that’s why we’re in this car. Stop playing around. You know you want me.”

His eyes widened as his breathing became deeper. You didn’t expect Jongin to punch his steering wheel, which let out a short honk. “I brought home a hooker!” You preferred escort but you felt like he wasn’t in the mood to hear that. When you adjusted yourself his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“Out. Now.”

“See you around,” you sung before opening the car door. You felt his cold hands on your wrist before you could slip away.

“Upstairs.” Jongin opened his door and was already making his way towards the dark elevator. You could barely keep up in your stiletto heels but he didn’t seem to care, a footstep and a half away.

He eventully grabbed you by the wrist once again and pulled you close to him. You loved it when he touched you but you almost fell, grabbing his side. His body was much warmer: you wanted to touch him all over.

“You smell like alcohol… and weed… and… fuck…” He closed the elevator and pressed the top number. Penthouse. Of course.

“I don’t smoke. Or drink,” you said, but it just went through the other ear.

“Were you going to have sex with that guy? Was he one of your clients?”

“You know I was uncomfortable. Escorts have standards.” You were almost falling asleep on his arm, swaying to the music you could remember on the radio.

“You look so sexy when you’re frustrated,” you whispered. “It’s-”

“Don’t. We’re not doing anything.”

“I’m already here, you might as well. I know you can afford it,” you mumbled.

“I’m trying to help you, so… cooperate, please.” There was a chime and you felt your heart sink. A sophisticate woman was at the doors of the confined space. She was wearing a fur hat and a large coat, even though it was spring. Her aura alone made you straighten up. At least your cocktail dress was less dramatic than usual.

“Mrs. Choi.”

“Good evening, Mr. Kim.”

You wished there was one of those light elevator songs to ease the heavy tension. You were stiff and embarrassed. When did you care what others thought? Maybe when they were probably rich and important. 

“How’s Rufus?”

“Okay now,” she gushed. “He’s walking.”

She smiled softly at you, exiting on what you assumed was her floor.

“Dial my apartment when he visits next time.”

“You would be a delight to have, Mr. Kim”

“As you always are, Mrs. Choi.” 

You sighed when you were met with your reflection. Jongin didn’t say anything and you didn’t dare look at him. Not even through the mirror.

Luckily it was the top floor and your eyes met slick dark wood of the double doors. You shook your head, lost for words.

Jongin pulled you along, once again. You watched the elevator go down as he fumbled with his key and opened the door. You couldn’t be more amazed. He was right: you could never leave.

Across a fireplace was one of the longest couches you had ever seen, over a fur rug you hoped wasn’t real. The dark marble kitchen seemed untouched… You figured Jongin didn’t really eat. Or clean.

Of course there were the large windows to greet and please your eyes. You could probably find the club from there. You couldn’t help but smile. It was all so breathtaking.

There was light coming from the corner of the penthouse that he walked slowly towards.

You felt like a stain. Everything was perfectly set, like he was expecting someone over. The living space was so grand and quiet- you would be scared to live in a place like that. Maybe that’s why he brought you up.

“Jongin… this is-”

“Take off your shoes,” he ordered.

You kicked them off, obediently, offering an angelic smile to him. He rolled his eyes.

“Follow me.”

And you did. He had taken off his coat and threw it on the couch, along with his emerald breifcase. You almost cringed at how out of place it was on the beige furniture.

“Jongin-”

He stopped and turned around. “You’re staying in this room tonight. I want you gone by 9.30.” He pointed at a wooden door. It was the end of the hallway, opposite a glass chamber, right next to what you assumed was his room.

“Why?”

“If anyone knew you were here, I’d be in a lot of trouble.”

You couldn’t help but feel like you were shameful. You were certain that that Choi lady seeing you ruined half of his reputation, anyway. You wondered if he was married. His eyebrows rose in empathy, in which you saw an opening. “Jongin, let me go. Please.” You made sure your voice sounded as desperate as it could.

“No.”

“Then let me shower?” It was like a hotel, which you hoped came with sex, too.

“I’m coming with soap and all that stuff; go check out the room.”

It was cold. Not only the temperature, but the atmosphere. You looked out of the window facing the city and decided to text your roommate that you were just fine, even better.

“Hey,” Jongin knocked, soft hair appearing first before you gave him permission to enter. “I brought clothes and a toothbrush, too.”

“Thanks, but sleep naked.” You smiled when he bit his lip softly.

“Well, when you wake up you can wear it. Give me your clothes when you finish your shower so I can wash them for tomorrow. I don’t really have any female underwear.”

“I figured.”

You slid your hands up your thighs, coaxing your red dress up to your hips. You made sure to moan shortly as you pulled the hugging material off of you.

“Here.” You handed the dress to the man at your door.

“Thank you,” he said. He closed the door in your face, leaving you horny and disappointed.

“Anytime.”

“Jongin!” You had an electric blue toothbrush in you mouth; you were daydreaming for so long that you ended up cleaning your drool off of the marble counters.

“What is it?” He sounded rushed; you smiled, embarrassed. You were wearing a dressing gown with paste around your mouth while he was wearing beige sweatpants, with a decent t-shirt on. Maybe you wouldn’t sleep naked, just to prove him wrong.

“I don’t know how to use the shower.”

He raised his eyebrow as you washed you mouth and wiped your arm with his red hand towel. He stepped into the tile chamber and motioned you to watch his actions. “Hold this then pull this thing at the same-”

Cold water bursted out of the shower head, making you yelp. After scrambling to open the door, Jongin shook himself off. “Yeah. I haven’t used it in forever so… It’s pretty weird,” he panted.

You pouted when you saw his dark hair.

“Now you’re all… wet. You’re gonna get sick. Your boss wouldn’t like that...”

He put his hand through his hair, squeezing out as many droplets as he could. You grabbed a towel as large amounts of water soaked his white shirt.

“Jongin,” you called. You pushed yourself off of the counter, just to lean against it. He towered over you. 

“Jongin… can I?” He nodded, grabbing your waist and setting you on top of the dark counter; it almost cooled you down. You watched him come closer, feeling your heart beat faster. You noticed how plump his lips were as he dragged his tongue across them.

“You’re so bad,” he said, pulling you into a dark kiss. You were so vulnerable. He had already had your mouth open, letting you taste him. You wished you could’ve felt his hair when it was dry but you couldn’t ask for more as he rubbed against you, shoving his tongue down your throat. He felt so good. His fingers were merely pressed against your waist but it felt better than any other guys that did anything to you.

Jongin hummed against your lips; at least you knew he was satisfied. But he pulled away, nearly as breathless as you were.

“How much does that cost?” He bit your collarbone as you sighed softly.

“That was priceless.”

ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ✍

[captainhotch]

Good Times | Veronica Lodge

Veronica Lodge x Reader

Summary; You finally meet the infamous Veronica Lodge during your shift at Pop’s, and you guys hit it off to say the very least. Veronica Lodge x female!reader

masterlist

You were a waitress at the infamous Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe in Riverdale. It was the go to spot in a town with very little to do, which is why the business was doing so well.

And you loved your job. You got to talk to your friends, many of who came by on a nightly basis, and got to keep all of your tips. It was usually only yourself, Pop, and Hermione working, the older woman giving off weird vibes so you tended to stay away from her.

Your favorite part, however, was talking to Jughead Jones. He was Pop's most frequent customer. When he wasn't at school, he was at Pop's. And he always had a burger or fries in front of him, much of his food being on the house because Pop enjoyed the boy's presence so much. He was like the restaurants personal, brooding mascot.

When business was slow or you were on break, you'd spend much of your town in the Jughead's booth, talking with him as he wrote his true crime novel. Often times he would ignore you as you rambled, but you were fine with that. It was like having a diary without the risk of someone finding it and peaking inside.

When Jughead was in the mood to talk, it was almost always about his novel. Or Betty Cooper. Jughead would sometimes run lines that he wasn't sure enough by you for his novel-or have you talk things through with him when he hit a rough patch. You were known around school as a pretty good writer, having written for the Blue and Gold before it shut down. You were one of the few whose opinion he really trusted.

You didn't talk much in school, however. Having a completely different set of classes and not sharing a lunch. When you passed each other in the halls, little more than a nod or a small smile would be sent in the other's direction. Something you were both fine with.

It was a Friday night, and Pop's was practically empty - aside from you, Jughead, and an older couple getting ready to walk out the door.

You had already wiped down the counters and locked the register, and decided to join Jughead. He was typing away on his laptop as per usual, but you weren't exactly in the mood to talk anyways. You had a splitting headache and an hour left in your shift. All you needed was a chocolate shake and a seat.

You sat down across from the beanie clad boy, sending him a small smile when he looked up from his laptop. You sipped from your shake and put your head down, praying for the ache to go away.

You lifted your head when the boy tapped lightly on it, a smirk painted on his lips. He was enjoying your suffering, you could tell. He handed you a bottle of aspirin and his half drank water bottle.

"Thank you," you mumbled, taking two of the pills and taking another sip of your now partially melted shake.

"Any time." He chuckled, taking a swig of the water, returning back to his novel.

You rested your head against the cool table, ignoring the ringing of the diner's bell. Whoever it was could wait, you decided. Hermione would be in soon anyways.

You heard the shuffle of footsteps and the distinct clank of heels stop and you an Jughead's table, though you didn't even bother opening your eyes. Maybe they would think you were sleeping if your acting was good enough.

"Who might this be?" You heard a prim and proper voice ask, obviously directing the question to the boy across from you.

You swore you heard Jughead roll his eyes. Though maybe that was just how well you knew him. "This is Y/N. She works with your mom, who I'm sure has talked about her a hundred times." He responded in a monotonous voice.

"I believe what I meant to ask was: what the hell is she doing here with you?" The obviously sassy girl questioned, and still you couldn't be bothered to open your eyes.

"What Veronica meant to ask was, do you have room for us in your booth?" A sweeter voice asked. You already knew that it was Betty Cooper. Where there was a V, B followed closely behind you had learned.

"Or is this the loner version of a date? You typing away on your laptop and y/n barely conscious. Romantic."

Jughead sent a swift and shocking kick to your shin causing you to sit up and hiss, rather loudly you might add. He was apparently done entertaining your two guests.

"Asshole." You grunted, massaging the now probably bruising skin.

"Okay, so not a date." Veronica concluded, sliding into the seat next to you. "I'm Veronica Lodge." She grinned, holding her hand out for you to shake. A hand that had more poise then your entire being in complete honesty.

"Y/F/N Y/L/N." You replied, shaking her hand with a raised brow.

You sent Betty a small smile, having talked to her a bit at school, her seeking your advice for reopening the Blue and Gold. She had even offered you a spot on the paper, but you declined in order to take another shift at Pop's. You could use the money.

You returned your gaze to your now completely melted shake, grimacing at the luke-warm drink. You excused yourself from the table, apologizing to Veronica who had to move from her seat.

"I'm gonna make myself another. Can I get you two anything?"

"One strawberry and one vanilla shake please." Veronica ordered, sending you a sweet smile. One that you'd admit did stir up a weird feeling in your belly. You dismissed it as symptoms from your passing migraine.

You walked to the counter, dusting off your skirt and getting to work. You quickly whipped up three shakes - purposefully leaving Jughead out for injuring your shin.

When you returned to the table Veronica already had her eyes on you, specifically the exposed skin that your uniform left bare. She had a devious smirk painted on her berry colored lips, her back now pressed against the window in your booth.

You placed the shakes down in-front of their rightful owners. You tossed Jughead a straw, your eyes going between him and Betty's shake with a smirk. If he wanted a drink he could share. You were petty like that.

Veronica went to hand you a twenty dollar bill to pay for the drinks. You put your hand over hers, gesturing for the girl to keep her money. "It's on the house." You insisted.

Veronica bit her lip, eyeing you then the drink. "If you insist." She shrugged, taking a big sip from her strawberry shake while watching you drink from yours.

Veronica was taken from you and you'd shared less then 100 words with the girl. The way you carried yourself was much different from anyone that she'd ever met and it intrigued her. If you could get Jughead Jones to open up to you Veronica was positive you could do literally anything.

Including making her own heart skip a few beats.

You continued conversing with the teens, grinning at Jughead whenever his eyes lit up from hearing Betty talk. You had never seen the boy crushing so hard before. It made you smile for sure.

Meanwhile you yourself were experiencing some feelings towards the brunette beside you. She was not your usual type at all. Veronica was much more sophisticated then you usually went for, and here you were blushing like a mad woman every time her gaze dropped to your lips, or her leg brushed up against yours under the table.

When Hermione entered Pop’s to take over your shift, you decided.

“I’m gonna head out.” You told the group, snapping Betty and Jughead from their little haze. You reached over and grabbed your jacket and purse from beside Veronica. Jughead sent you a small wave and Betty smiled at you.

“I’ll walk you out.” Veronica grinned, grabbing her own jacket and slipping it over her shoulders.

You waited for her to stand up, falling in step with the clank of her heels against the tile floor.

“I had a good time talking with you tonight.” Veronica said with a soft smile. “I wish we could’ve done this sooner. You would’ve been a great ally for my first day.”

You laughed lightly, holding the door open for the now blushing girl. “Well we know each other now and that’s all that matters”, you assured.

“Well maybe, now, we can get to know each other even better.” She grinned, holding out a slip of paper with her number written in a neat scrawl.

“I’d like that very much.” You replied, taking the paper from between her perfectly manicured fingers. You tucked the slip of paper in the pocket of your uniform, brushing loose strands of hair from in front of your eyes.

When you looked up Veronica’s eyes were still on you, a smile smile still painted on her berry colored lips. She leaned in a placed a soft kiss on your cheek, no doubt leaving a lipstick stain on the skin, not that you minded of course. “I’ll see you on Monday.” She giggled, walking back into the restaurant.

You could see Betty jumping up to meet the girl, having obviously watched your interaction from her and Jughead’s booth. It was the first time in a while that you were actually excited for school.

[omegaling]

Allez Cuisine! ~Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve: Malbec and Bucatini all’Amatriciana

Chapter warning: Rey has memories of when Plutt was a disgusting bastard to her when she was a minor.

Chapter Twelve: Malbec and Bucatini all’Amatriciana

In the end Rey decided to buy the wine.

It was a stupid thing to get her panties in a wad over, but in retrospect she supposed it was only a matter of time before her anxiety manifested in some form or fashion.  It certainly didn’t happen when she reported to her first shift after her meeting with Ren, where she churned out dozens of  croquetas de jamon and her   caldo gallego which was becoming exponentially popular as the weather got colder. When she discussed the nightly specials with Poe she did so without imagining him handing her her last paycheck.  When she and Finn started the new season of American Horror Story and debated what that year’s group Halloween costumes should be (Finn wanted Ghostbusters, Rey wanted the Crazy 88s from Kill Bill ) she did so without feeling sick with guilt.  Even when her phone’s calendar popped up with a reminder that her first lesson was on that upcoming Monday at five o’clock she felt remarkably calm.  In fact, had it not been for their string of emails she could almost believe that her whole correspondence with Kylo Ren took place inside her head.

It remained that way until she was halfway to his building and found herself standing in front of a corner liquor store in a strange sense of contemplation.  One of the last questions Rey asked Kylo was what she needed to bring for her first lesson.

“Only your knives,” Ren answered as he finished off his croissant.  A tiny piece of pastry clung to the corner of his lip, which he hastily brushed away with the pad of his thumb.  Rey realized she was staring and quickly averted her eyes. He must have noticed because the same corner quirked up the smallest of fractions, which reignited her blush anew.  “I’m a stoic believer that chefs should always use their own knives when they can.  Unknown blades leads to shoddy knifework more often than not.”

Rey was oddly perplexed by his answer.  “Are you sure?  I really don’t mind picking up some basic ingredients on my way over.”

Ren waved her offer away as though it was a bothersome fly.  “There’s no need for that.  I have everything we’ll need at my apartment.  I also don’t want you showing up with any preconceived notions of what we’ll be making.  I prefer teaching from the ground up.”

Rey spent the a good portion of that afternoon wondering what the home kitchen of a chef of Ren’s caliber was like.  It was not hard to imagine a pantry full of items like gold-seal balsamic vinegar, stacked jars of beluga caviar and virtually every spice known to mankind and a refrigerator stocked with prime wagyu ribeyes and tubs of creme fraise.  Surely he didn’t eat the same way he cooked at Vader and on   Iron Chef   at home, or he wouldn’t have his lean, athletic build (that she certainly had not  been admiring, thank you very much), but if he didn’t mind using his personal inventory who was she to argue?

Still, she felt strange going over to someone’s home empty handed.  She might have grown up poor, but she didn’t grow up without manners.  Bringing something to drink seemed simple and reasonable enough, but now as she stood before the store’s meager wine selection she felt her heart rate begin to increase and the palms of her hands grow slick with sweat.  At first she attributed it to stepping out of the chilly late afternoon air and into the overly warm store, but as her eyes roved over the rows of chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, zinfandels and cabernets, she was finally forced to acknowledge the feeling for the panic attack that it was.

Shit. Shit.  This was really happening.  She was less than half an hour away from being privately tutored by a chef with five stars and at least a dozen James Beard Foundation awards under his belt, not to mention the innumerable other awards and recognition from food critics, restaurant reviewers, and just about every form of printed media that covered every aspect of contemporary culture and the culinary scene.  And what was she?  A prep cook with two year’s experience and no prior education or background in the restaurant business who only got this far because of a lucky break, a sophisticated palate and the ability to learn quickly with asking minimum questions.

“Don’t even bother, kid,” Unkar Plutt grunted one day when he saw the stacks of college applications and brochures on the scarred kitchen table at his house.  Normally Rey was careful about keeping them hidden to avoid this exact type of confrontation, but Plutt was off work unexpectedly early that day, the reek of cheap alcohol already prevalent beneath the ever-present stench of diesel fuel and cooking grease.  “Those damn schools need to stop spoon-feeding you kids these delusions that a piece of paper that cost fifty grand only gets you jack shit and the system only exists to screw people over.  You want some quality advice?  Go out and get a job like the rest of us sorry fuckers.  Or if you’re looking for a real easy ride just have someone knock you up and collect welfare for the next eighteen years.  I’m sure even you can find someone desperate enough to help you with that.”

Rage had rose in Rey’s throat in acidic waves, but she made herself remain silent; she still had the bruises on her arm from the last time she backtalked him.  She loathed the tears that rolled down her face when she was in bed that night, but they helped temper her resolve and made her more determined than ever to prove him wrong.

It was exactly that brash line of thinking that put her where she was now.  Ren had challenged her and she had stepped up to it for no other reason than to defend her pride.  What if this time she was truly in over her head?  What if the only thing that came from all this was her becoming the butt of a joke between Ren and all his celebrity chef friends?

Rey turned over the bottle of malbec in her hands.  Alamos was a good wine - one of her favorites, in fact - but it would only cost her a whopping twelve dollars.  She was certain that Ren had a custom-made wine closet in his apartment full of the best wines France, Italy, and California had to offer.  Would he scoff at her attempt at being a decent houseguest? If that happened she already knew she’d flee from pure embarrassment and pray that she’d never have the misfortune of seeing him ever again.

The thought gave her pause.  A few weeks ago the Ren she thought she’s knew would have regarded anything she did with open contempt.  But now?  The image that she had previously build of him - which she admitted was largely based on the perceptions of others - was beginning to crack and fall away. The man she had met in the coffee shop who shared his croissant with her was not the same one that the other Village chefs jeered about over drinks, nor was he the force of nature on the set of Iron Chef America.

So now what she wanted to know was, which version of Kylo Ren was real, and how did it compare to the one she thought of at night?

Rey took the bottle of wine up to the cashier before she could change her mind.

Kylo Ren did not live in the gilded opulence of The Plaza, nor did he have a sweeping panoramic view of Central Park from 15 Park West.  With that being said, the Walker Tower was certainly nothing to sneeze at.  Built in 1929 by Ralph Thomas Walker in New York’s Chelsea neighborhood, the building embodied all the defining characteristics of art deco architecture: bold but aesthetically pleasing angles, handsome brick facade, and the geometric and organic ornamentation that the art style was so revered for.  The last of the wan September afternoon light reflected off the leaded glass panes that made up the front entrance, making it glow gold.  

The doorman attending the Tower’s entrance - a middle-aged gentleman with a steel-gray moustache - regarded Rey as she approached.  She could only imagine what he thought of her in her faded jeans and sweater that had seen one too many washes, her face partially obscured by a too-large scarf and ratty tote hanging off one shoulder.  It was especially hard to not feel self-conscious when he looked away from her to tip his hat to a businessman entering the building whose suit probably cost more than what she made in the month.

Several months, she amended with a touch of bitterness.

Rey could hear the echo of Plutt’s sneering voice in her head, taunting her that she was way out of her league.  Her hands tightened on the neck of the wine bottle, imagining it being his fat neck as she strode forward, her chin tilted up.  Per Ren’s instructions, Rey told the doorman her name and whom she was there to see.  She expected the same chilly reception she received at the First Order headquarters, but instead the doorman beamed at her, his blue eyes warming.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive, Miss Jakken.  Go right on up.  I’ll inform Mr. Ren that you are on your way.” He opened the door for her, bowing a bit as she crossed the threshold.

Stepping into the Walker Tower’s lobby was like taking a step back in time.  Black marble floors and pillars made the ivory-colored crown moulding and the panes of crystal-bright glass in their latticework of stainless steel practically glow in comparison.  Rey could easily imagine how this place must have looked like in its hayday, when women in elegant evening gowns and men in black tie finery passed through this very same lobby on their way out to the theater or to a prestigious party.

Maybe we can do 30s mobsters for Halloween, Rey thought idly as she stepped into one of the elevators.

Ren lived in the upper floors of the Tower, nearly twenty stories above 18th street.  After checking and re-checking his apartment number, she found herself standing outside his door.  Her heart was in her throat, but her feet remained blessedly planted to the ground.

Perhaps a little too much so.  Five minutes later, she was still standing there, her arm firmly pinned to her side.

Oh for pete’s sake, Jakken, just get it over with!   She finally brought her hand up to knock.

In the instant before Rey’s hand come in contact with the door it suddenly swung open.  Instead of rapping with enough force to be heard through the thick wood, Rey ended up punching Kylo Ren in the shoulder.  Hard.

She also discovered, at that exact moment, that there truly was no God, because if there was They would have been merciful and struck her down where she stood to save her from her own embarrassment.

Luckily, punching Kylo Ren was about as effective as punching a tree (her hand would attest to that the next morning); the only reaction she got from him was a cocked eyebrow.

“I know I don’t have the most admirable reputation, but I thought it’d at least be a little later in the evening before you started lashing out at me.”

Rey’s face burned with such intensity it was a wonder that her hair didn’t ignite.  “I… It’s not like I did it on purpose!  You’re the one who just...just opened the door without making sure someone wasn’t on the other side…!”

“Miss Jakken.”

The sound of him saying her name cut her off mid-ramble.  When she dared to look up at him, she saw that a corner of his mouth was quirked up ever so slightly.

“I was only joking.  Since I know it doesn’t take ten minutes to travel from the lobby to my front door I was starting to think you had some last-minute second thoughts.”

Ah.  She had no idea she was standing at his door for that  long before getting up the courage to finally knock.

“Nope, definitely not,” Rey said, perhaps a touch too fast.  “Not a single second thought in my head, or else I wouldn’t be here.”

A palpable silence stretched between them as they continued to stare at each other over the threshold of his apartment, growing increasingly awkward with each passing second.  Almost a full minute elapsed before Rey realized that Ren was just as much waiting for her to say something as she was for him.

“Won’t you come in?” he finally asked.

“Yes of course thank you,” Rey said all in the same breath, barely giving Ren the chance to get out of her way as she barreled past him and into his apartment.

So this is what twenty million gets you in New York City, Rey thought with a touch of bemusement as she stepped into Ren’s main living area.  Her and Finn’s entire apartment could have easily fit in Ren’s living room and kitchen, which felt even bigger by the line of floor-to-ceiling windows across two of the walls and its high ceiling. While Rey would have preferred an apartment that overlooked Central Park, Ren’s panoramic view of the New York skyscrapers already glittering in the purpling twilight was nothing short of breathtaking. His pension for black, white, and chrome-themed interior decoration evidently extended beyond Vader’s dining area, but in his home it came off as being much softer and not nearly as cold: the epitome of a high-end bachelor pad.  A handsome black leather sofas and loveseat set, separated by cut glass end tables, circled a modern gas fireplace made of steel and glass.  Gray rugs with modest geometric patterns covered the majority of the dark wood flooring, and a cursory glance at one of his three bookshelves showed Ren mostly read biographies and nonfiction of a wide variety of subjects.  There was no TV, but a buffet table set between two of the bookshelves boasted a top-of-the-line Bose speaker system and the largest collection of CDs Rey had ever seen outside of a record store.  It was all very classy, but it also felt very lonely.

Deciding that she had gawked at his home long enough, she turned toward the only reason why she was there: his kitchen.

Of course, Ren’s private kitchen was the most beautiful she had ever seen, with its dark wood cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and black granite countertops that sparkled with flecks of embedded quartz.  The only thing that suggested that it was no ordinary kitchen was the massive gas range stove and oven unit that dominated the far wall, every inch the same beast used in New York’s best restaurants.  

“Feel free to make yourself comfortable,” Ren said, every bit the formal host.  Then he said in a tone that was caught somewhere between a question and a statement, “You brought wine.”

Until that instant, Rey had completely forgotten about the wine.  Had she not, she might have tried to wrap it in her scarf as discreetly as possible and left it with her shoulder bag, but instead she had carelessly set it down in full view on the corner of his extended dining table.

“I did,” Rey said, once again fighting the urge to bolt.  “But only as a preemptive ‘thank you for the lessons and for letting me make a mess of your gorgeous kitchen.’  And I’m not technically going against your instructions of bringing anything except for my knives because this isn’t an ingredient, and if it is it’s only coincidence that I chose it.  And even though this malbec is popular at BB8 it’s nowhere near fancy enough to be a date wine, so it’s much better to share between acquaintances and coworkers and not necessarily as friends…”

Oh my god Rey, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking right now…!

She cleared her throat, which had become painfully dry during her mindless rambling.  The fine grain of the tabletop suddenly became the most interesting thing in the entire room, and Rey studied it with interest as she said, much more softly, “Besides, Alamos is from California. It’s not even true Argentinian malbec.”

“What difference does that make?  It you enjoy it, and it’s something you feel is worth sharing, then that’s all that should matter.”

It was the gentle chime of glass on wood that at last coaxed Rey to look back up when the unexpectedly gentle tone of Ren’s voice did not.  He stood a little ways down from her at the dining table with two large bellied wine glasses at his elbow and a corkscrew in one hand.  He wordlessly held out his other hand and Rey handed the wine over to him.

With expert precision, Ren cut off the foil covering the top of the bottle before shoving the twisted metal screw into the cork.  Rey didn’t even bother to hide how she watched how the muscles in his exposed arms corded as he worked the cork free, the fabric of his button-down shirt taught over his shoulders. She also noticed for the first time that the top two buttons of his shirt below the collar were undone, revealing a swatch of pale skin of his neck and chest.  Every other time she had seen him, whether it was over some fashion of media or in person, his clothing had been exceedingly modest, even to the point of being prudish: all long-sleeved and high-necked shirts and perfectly creased slacks. Seeing him now, with his sleeves partially rolled up and wearing dark, casual jeans, felt strangely intimate.

Rey scoffed at herself.   You’re reading way too much into this.  You’re only here to learn how to cook like a pro.  If it wasn’t for that, someone like Ren would never look twice at you.

The cork came free with a pop.  Ren poured the lush red wine into their glasses in equal portions, then offered one to Rey.  The rich bouquet of sun-ripened berries and heady oak tickled her nose as she raised the glass to her lips, savoring the way that the decadent, sweet liquid spread across her tongue.  It took a huge amount of willpower to not down the entire glass in one go.

“Technically…” Ren started, sounding as though he was measuring each word before speaking, “true malbec wine in determined by the grapes used, not by a specific region.  If that were the case, all malbecs outside of France would be frauds since that is where the grape first originated.  They never took well to France’s climate and were used primarily as blenders, but they thrive in Argentina and in California, which is where the majority of malbecs come from.”

“Oh,” Rey murmured into her wine glass.  “That’s... good to know.”

An awkward silence fell over the pair, the constant hum of the kitchen’s massive refrigerator suddenly aggravatingly loud.  Rey took another sip of wine, needing a few seconds to align her thoughts. Her first cooking lesson was going nothing like she imagined.  Ren may have shed most of his brusqueness since their very first encounter, but he did not let their conversations stray beyond the topic of food and preparation of it, which was something she had expected.  What she had  not   expected was not only standing around his dining room table, discussing the wine she bought on a whim, but doing so in a way that put her insecurities to rest.  It was becoming increasingly difficult to gauge what he would do or say next, and that was making her nervous.

“So,” Rey said, perhaps a bit too loudly, “What’s on the menu tonight?  Duck confit?  French onion soup?  Something stuffed with foie gras  and poached in butter?”

“I was actually thinking of starting in a different direction.  How do you feel about Italian food?”

“I love it,” Rey said, perking up.  “Mediterranean cuisine is one of my favorites.”

Ren topped off their wine and gestured for her to follow him to the kitchen.  Rey eagerly followed, feeling excited for the first time.

“Like most international cuisine, Americans have completely destroyed the idea of what authentic Italian food actually is.  The most popular variation - overcooked pasta slathered with red sauce - is nothing more than a bastardization of traditional bolognese sauce, which comes from the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy, which is only one of twenty separate regions throughout the country.  Each region has its own food culture that it is fiercely proud of.  If Americans ever took the time to learn that, every Olive Garden restaurant in the country at large would close within a week.”

Ah, there’s the Kylo Ren I’m more familiar with.

Ren moved about the kitchen as he spoke, removing various ingredients and equipment they’d be using; medium-sized oblong plum tomatoes, a wedge of white cheese with a black rind, and a hefty slab of what looked like pork belly, but even more heavily streaked.  It was not until he took out a package of fresh pasta from the fridge that things finally clicked into place.

“You’re going to teach me how to make spaghetti?” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

“Bucatini all’amatriciana, specifically,” Ren corrected.  “A specialty out of Rome.  If you want to learn what it takes to make good food, you need to first learn what makes food great.”

“Train long and study hard, you must,” Rey quipped in a raspy voice, then blushed when Ren cocked an eyebrow at her.  “Sorry.”

“As I was saying, food culture in each of Italy’s regions are heavily influenced by the ingredients produced there.  The northern regions such as Lombardy and the Aosta Valley prefer polenta and risotto to pasta and butter rather than olive oil.  Warmer climates in the south make crops like tomatoes, artichokes and eggplants plentiful.  Sicily is unique because its cuisine is an amalgamation of all the cultures that have conquered and otherwise occupied the island over the centuries and turning it into something all its own.”  As he spoke, Ren set to work prepping their ingredients for their own meal.  He wielded his knife - a beautiful eight-inch Miyabi blade - with the skill of a master swordsman; the tomatoes and the plump yellow onions on his cutting board weren’t so much sliced as they seemed to fall apart under his touch in perfectly proportioned segments.  “But they all have the same thing in common, as does every great culinary culture around the world does; they use what’s available to them, in the season when it’s available.  

“We are going to be cheating a little bit tonight; if we wanted to keep in spirit of the lesson, we would be making something far more appropriate for autumn, such as risotto with mushrooms and hazelnuts or pumpkin ravioli, but I feel that this dish will more accurately accentuate what I’m talking about.  As I said, amatriciana is specific to the Lozio region, where Rome is located.  The dish’s two main ingredients, guanciale and pecorino romano -” he respectively pointed to the meat and cheese with his knife - “originate from that area.  Today most places use pancetta and parmigiano reggiano in their place, but it’s important to always remember where something originates from, no matter how humble of a beginning that may feel like.  That, Miss Jakken, is the cornerstone of all cooking.  A chef who forgets that has lost his integrity.”

He paused, casting a glance at her out of the corner of his eye.  Rey felt her heart stutter.  He had given her that look once before, when he told the story of Hades escorting his bride to the underworld.  It was just as improbable to decipher it now as it was then, because surely Kylo Ren wasn’t, even on the most subtle level, flirting with her. She took another sip of her wine, fortifying herself before steering the conversation back to what she hoped was safer waters.

“You know you can call me Rey,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

Again, that slight upturn of his mouth .  Shit .  What would she do if he ever smiled at her for real?

“If you insist… Rey.”

[eekhaut]

M. John Harrison on Agency (The Guardian):

Agency by William Gibson review – a world in an instant

This dazzling vision of politics and power across alternate timelines is both observation and warning

M John Harrison

Wed 22 Jan 2020 08.58 GMT. The Guardian

William Gibson has never believed that science fiction predicts the future: it only ever talks about the present. His most recent novel, 2014’s The Peripheral, introduced us to an ecopolitical disaster called “the jackpot” and a world subsequently run by the loose, shadowy group known as “the klept”. Thanks to the development of massive quantum computing, these oligarchs, the history of whose money is deeply implicated with the history of gangster capital, amuse themselves in 2136 by discovering – or perhaps it might be better described as creating – their own precursors, the broken remains of alternate timelines. These abandoned pasts, stubs of futures that might have been, are recognisable as versions of the world we live in now. They’re not exactly colonies – no money is made, no extractive capitalism takes place. Instead, members of the klept run them like computer games, or meddle like the old gods on Olympus, manipulating culture and geopolitics at will. They are a leisure space for multi-trillionaires: the reference to the political meddling of our own billionaires is clear and self-explanatory.

Agency, the second novel of the series, begins with the classic Gibsonian unboxing scene. Verity Jane, “app whisperer” by trade, and new recruit to a startup called Tulpagenics, takes home some of the company’s product, comprising a pair of mysterious glasses, a headset and a phone; and, trying it out, is instantly placed in communication with a sophisticated artificial intelligence called Eunice or UNISS. “Is it real?” she asks her new boss, surprised. That, he tells her, is exactly what she has been employed to determine. Instead, Eunice bustles into Verity’s life, fixing it and messing it up at the same time, employing everyone Verity knows, from ex-lovers to ex-employers, for what seems at first to be a project of self-understanding. The AI wants to know how she knows things, why she does things, why she’s been switched on. But nuclear war is looming in Verity’s stub, which in 2016 began to diverge in two important ways from our own, and we realise that there’s a lot more to Eunice than meets the eye (even her own). Soon she has vanished, leaving Verity caught up in a carefully assembled tangle of secret operators – including “trust networks” (those ramified interpersonal connections that in Gibson’s work often maintain and extend digital cottage industries and the communities based around them), tech barons, masters of the gig economy and algorithmic sub-Eunices – in service of a plan to which none of them is privy.

Meanwhile, officials of the klept look on from 2136, led by Lowbeer, the shadowy enforcer we remember from The Peripheral – who would be played in the film by a pleasantly acerbic Tilda Swinton lookalike, perhaps, or Suranne Jones at her most commanding – and Wilf Netherton, her mild and often puzzled sidekick. From the outset the information environment is hectic. This is William Gibson, after all: a world in an instant. Across the first two pages, names of brands, places and people we haven’t yet met swirl thick and unexplained. Retrospective material about the focal character’s life and world – her new job, her typical supper, the apartment where she crashes, why she isn’t in her own apartment, what brand of sleeping bag liner she prefers for sofa-surfing – is pumped into our virtual feed via parenthesis, inside sentences that are always about something else. Or if not something else then something uneasily parallel, as if the author is used to thinking on two levels and urgently needs us to be doing the same.

It’s a sensual, remarkably visual ride, vigorous with displays of conceptual imagination and humour. There’s a man wearing a “chocolate brown terrycloth tactical bathrobe”; there’s a bar called “3.7-sigma”; there’s a shopping bag that returns itself to the shop after you’ve used it, by origami-ing itself into a butterfly. Want to eat breakfast at “The Denisovan Embassy”? The name is only Gibson’s opening bid: before you’ve been there half a page, Lowbeer herself arrives in full-sail steampunk, wearing “a Victorian lady’s riding habit, but reimagined as having been cut from nylon aviator jackets” and carrying a top hat. Almost all of the author’s interests, from the political aesthetics of technology to the technology of political fashion, are collected in this near-Moorcockian curation of images. Gibson’s ability to simultaneously destabilise and entertain is both celebrated and used to the full. But it’s also linked firmly to his signature themes, the prime one here, of course, being agency.

Along with trust, a sense of individual agency – heroic centrality in your own story, the ability to make and carry out choices of your own, the “capacity to act” – is the central offer of most Hollywood dreams, and the product sold to us by the majority of corporate ads; but it’s the least likely attribute most of us will ever possess. Like it or not – know it or not – we tend to do what nudge and soft power would prefer. From his beginnings in 1984’s Neuromancer, Gibson has offered the struggle for agency as an unacknowledged, quietly devastating war – fought by hackers, gig economy workers, off-gridders and their networks – against the algorithm, against the manipulation of our needs, our personal information and our appetites, by big data and gangster capital. If he was “prescient” back then, he’s right on the ball now, when it’s so much harder to believe in those loose human associations he imagined in the 1990s, whose combination of technical nous and cultural know-how enabled them to quickly distinguish the real from the sucker fantasy.

Agency’s author now finds himself referenced by prime-ministerial fixer Dominic Cummings

This is reflected in the novel’s narrative structures. We suspect that the kleptocracy must take final responsibility for what’s going on, but despite frank exposition in dialogue, its complex internal rivalries remain as distant and difficult to parse as they seemed in The Peripheral. In 2136, wise actors understand that you don’t have agency – you only work for one. And that one probably works, without knowing it, for another one, and that one for another. Motives, finance and goals are unclear at every scale. The text grants least apparent agency to Verity – whose name of course means “truth” and who, from the moment she meets Eunice, becomes a parcel in someone else’s delivery system, dispatched by chauffeured Harley D or Fiat 500, passed hand to hand, safely or otherwise, by algorithms derived from both military and white van logistics. (Although poor Wilf Netherton, whose positioning as a major fixer on Lowbeer’s team of digital nomads and black ops dropouts often seems ironical in the extreme, runs her close.) This is a timely, politically relevant story in which none of the central characters can fully understand what’s going on.

Hard to say whether such a gleeful act of predicting the present is observation or warning. Probably it’s both. You’re comforted by the feeling that Gibson would never write a word without at least trying to understand the primary forces, the shadow operators of our own world; but you’d be forgiven for wondering if that’s now worth the effort. And here’s where the divergence of Verity Jane’s continuum from ours becomes important: there, the UK picked remain in the referendum of 2016; the US elected Hillary Clinton. This can hardly be an accidental choice of turning points. Ironic, then, that Agency’s author now finds himself referenced by prime-ministerial fixer Dominic Cummings, who recently called publicly for “weirdos from William Gibson novels” to help him disrupt the UK civil service; and is thus caught up unexpectedly in multiple recursive real-life reflections of his own fiction.

[kirkwall-group-therapy]

City of Blood, ch 5

[Mature content warning, Act 1: cursing, adult topics, violence]

Chapter Five: Daisy

Unfortunately, the Captain of the Guard was not impressed with Aveline’s initiative. But it only raised further questions and revealed other flaws. Aveline dug deeper, and with Hawke’s help, they patrolled Lowtown one night, to get to the bottom of whatever the Captain was trying to hide. It was another ambush, and another guard would have been killed, if Aveline hadn’t stepped in. This time the guard was a handsome, sturdy fellow by the name of Donnic. After the events that night, Aveline took her findings to the Viscount, and the Captain of the Guard was arrested.

“And then he made you Captain of the Guard?” Varric asked.

“Yes,” Aveline replied heavily.

“Not happy?” Varric asked.

“I am, it’s just. Unexpected. Sudden. And even though I think I’m up to the task, it’s a big task to undertake,” Aveline said. “How is Bethany doing?”

“You wouldn’t know anything happened to look at her, or talk to her,” Hawke said. “She’s back to her old self. Maybe even more than that. She hasn’t stopped grinning from ear to ear since the night we spent at Anders’ clinic and he carried her all the way home.”

Fenris cocked his eyebrow and took a bite of nug jerky that Varric had offered him.

“So Hawke,” Aveline began. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh oh,” Varric laughed.

“Hush Varric,” Aveline scolded. “When are you going to take the amulet to Sundermount like you promised Flemeth? You are going to take it, aren’t you?”

“Bethany and I were just discussing it the other day actually. We had totally forgotten about it. Bethany found it in our trunk when she was rummaging through it trying to find something nice to wear for when she went to thank Anders,” Hawke said. “We were thinking of going in a few days. Did you want to come Aveline? I don’t think we all need to be there. I think we just have to hand over the amulet.”

“Wait, wait,” Varric said. “Flemeth? You couldn’t be talking about the famed Witch of the Wilds, Flemeth?”

“We are,” Aveline said. “The one and the same.”

“Back up. Tell me the whole story. And I do mean the whole story,” Varric said pulling out some parchment and ink.

“Haven’t we told you how we escaped Lothering, Varric?” Aveline asked.

“The version I got included running from darkspawn and catching a boat to Kirkwall. There was no mention of Flemeth,” he replied.

“Who is Flemeth? A mage I assume, by the moniker ‘Witch of the Wilds’?” Fenris asked.

“You haven’t heard the stories of the Flemeth?” Varric asked. “Does that mean you haven’t much about the Hero of Fereldan?”

“Haven’t exactly had time to be catching up on stories, what with running from Danarius and all,” Fenris retorted.

Varric waved his hand at Fenris. “Say no more Fenris.”

“The short version, Varric,” Fenris said.

“I’m wounded, elf,” Varric laughed. “But I’ll agree only because I’m eager to hear Hawke & Aveline’s story. So, the Hero of Fereldan, the beautiful warrior, daughter of the Cousland family, and now Warden Commander. Well soon after she was initiated into the wardens, the Battle of Ostagar took place. Another story that Aveline & Hawke could tell us more about since they also fought in that battle.”

Surprised, Fenris turned to Hawke & Aveline. This was the first time Fenris had heard that they participated in the Battle of Ostagar.

“No.” Aveline said shortly, refusing to speak of Ostagar.

“Anyway. As I was saying, the Hero of Fereldan lit the beacon to signal for reinforcements, which never came. They were wounded and overrun by darkspawn, and without reinforcements they surely would have perished - if it had not been for Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, who turned herself into a dragon and rescued them from the tower.”

“Who is this Flemeth?” Fenris asked.

“No one really knows,” Aveline said. “There are plenty of stories though. The dragon part, we can vouch for.”

“The stories say many things about Flemeth. Old, old mage. Long past a normal life span. They say she eats children. Some say she possesses them. But very few have ever actually met her,” Varric said. “She was mostly just a legend. A tale mothers used to scare their children into behaving. But nothing more. Until the Hero of Fereldan.”

“Whatever she is, she is very real,” Hawke said. “We … we met her just after Carver died. We had been running from the darkspawn for days. Their numbers were growing. We ran into Aveline and Wesley just a day prior. We came to a clearing. At first there weren’t any darkspawn. But then we heard … thundering footsteps. A darkspawn ogre came charging up the ravine, and straight for us. Carver didn’t even think twice. He was right - it had to be headed off quickly or both mother and Wesley would have died. Carver rushed at it. But he …” Hawke stopped. After a moment, Aveline continued where Hawke had left off.

“The ogre picked Carver up and crushed him with one hand. It was a quick death Hawke. He didn’t feel any pain,” Aveline said, putting her hand on Hawke’s shoulder.

“The ogre was still a threat, but his course had been altered and his charge thwarted, giving Wesley and mother time to retreat to a safer area. Bethany, Aveline, & I dealt with the ogre. As if that weren’t enough, more darkspawn poured into the clearing. We took them out, one after the other, but for each one we killed, two more took its place. We were outnumbered and quickly growing tired. That’s when a dragon appeared. I’m not going to lie. I thought we were done for in that moment. I figured it was the archdemon. But instead of joining the attack against us, it took out the darkspawn in one fell swoop - and landed in front of us. A moment later, the dragon was changing, transforming in glowing light, until a beautiful woman stood there.”

“Beautiful?” Aveline asked. “More like terrifying.”

“I guess I couldn’t help but be impressed by her appearance. So graceful. And her clothing was not what I would have expected from a witch. They were, sophisticated? Maybe sophisticated isn’t quite the right word. It’s hard to describe her.  Beautiful, and terrifying. Her hair though,” Hawke said laughing a little.

“I’ll give you that,” Aveline agreed. “Her hair was certainly a beauty.”

“Do tell,” Varric said.

“At first I thought they were horns,” Aveline said. “And I’m still not entirely sure they weren’t?”

“No, it had to be her hair. They were white, just like her hair, and they didn’t push aside the rest of her hair the way horns would have. Nor did they appear to be hardened like horns. I don’t know. At any rate, she had her hair fashioned into what looked like horns, and they were wrapped in ribbon. I can never do anything with my hair and there she was, just ….” Hawke said.

“Ahahaha, so let me get this straight. Flemeth lands in front of you as a dragon, taking out a horde of darkspawn, then transforms into a woman, and your first thought at the time was her hair?!” Varric asked.

“Mm, no. Her hair was a quick second thought. My first thought was how fucking cool it was to be able to turn into a dragon. Another reason why I always wanted to be a mage. I’ve always envied Bethany for that,” Hawke said.

“You wish you were a mage?” Fenris asked both shocked and disgusted.

“I know you have reason to distrust them Fenris. And I know that there are dangers with being a mage. But. I just think magic is so amazing. I idolized my father who was a mage, and next to him and my sister I always just felt so … ordinary,” Hawke said. “But it’s probably best that I’m not a mage. Haha, I would probably be a bad mage.”

“Oh Maker,” Aveline said. “I can just see it now. Thank the Maker indeed that you are not a mage.”

“So Flemeth is standing there, and …” Varric asked.

“She talked to us. She had seen Hawke take down the ogre, and was impressed,” Aveline said.

“I didn’t take down the ogre, Aveline. We all did,” Hawke said.

“Hawke, be modest all you want, but we both know that it went down because of you. We mostly just managed to distract it for you,” Aveline said.

“Anyway,” Hawke said, quickly shrugging off the compliment. “I don’t think she had initially intended to do anything more than what she had done for us. But after speaking with us, and learning where we were headed, she said that she would help us get to Gwaren - if we delivered an amulet to a clan of Dalish elves living in Sundermount.”

“And so you just accepted this witch’s help, just like that?” Fenris asked.

“Actually,” Aveline said glancing at Hawke. “The rest of us were a bit weary of her. Even Bethany. Perhaps especially Bethany. But Hawke - Hawke trusted her right away I think.”

“We didn’t have any other option. Our path was clear for the moment, but Gwaren was still a long way off and the darkspawn numbers were getting larger, not smaller. And without Carver,” Hawke said.

“We didn’t have any other option, you’re right, but that’s different than trusting her. Still a promise is a promise, and I would not want to break a promise with someone like Flemeth,” Aveline said.

“So you still have the amulet?” Varric asked.

“Yes,” Hawke said.

“To answer your earlier question Hawke, no, I don’t need to be there with you. As long as the promise is fulfilled, I will be happy. Or rather, at ease,” Aveline said.

“I would like to come along, if that’s alright Hawke,” Varric said. “I can’t pass up the chance to see how this ends.”

“We’re just handing the amulet over to the keeper of the Dalish clan,” Hawke said. “I really don’t expect there to be any fighting or anything.”

“Still, you can never be too careful,” Fenris said. “I would join as well.”

“I admit, I’m surprised anyone is interested in this little trek, but you’re more than welcome to come along. Bethany and I were planning on heading to Sundermount in two days. She has the day free from her jobs, and Anders’ clinic will be closed for the day so that he can do something or other,” Hawke said.

“You were going to invite Anders?” Fenris asked, bristled.

“No. But if the clinic was open, then Bethany would spend the day there,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes.

“So it’s a date then?” Varric said, winking at Hawke.

“It’s a date,” Hawke winked back, adding a sultry smile.

~

“Have you been to Sundermount before?” Hawke asked Varric, as they approached the road out of the city, to the mountain.

“I have not. I have no reason to. And besides, I’m a city dwarf. Honestly, if this didn’t have something to do with Flemeth, I wouldn’t even be here. All this walking and hiking and climbing is not my thing.” Varric said.

“Have you been to the mountain before, Hawke?” Fenris asked.

“No. And I’m nervous about meeting the Dalish. I know that the Dalish are not fond of humans, to put it mildly. And I don’t blame them. But I hear that they often shoot first and ask questions later, and I don’t want to fight them,” Hawke said.

“Me either,” Bethany said.

“Me three, Sunshine,” Varric agreed.

The group traveled slowly into Dalish territory, doing their best to look non-threatening, if that’s even possible for Hawke. It wasn’t long before they were stopped by Dalish scouts who reluctantly agreed to take them to see their keeper. The keeper greeted them warmly, but informed them that, unfortunately, their task was not yet done. They must take the amulet to the top of Sundermont, and there, with the help of one of their own, they must perform a funeral rite. However, as the keeper mentioned, the way to the top was dangerous. So much so that the clan had been told to stay away. Hawke was suddenly glad that she brought more than just Bethany with her.

Merrill, the clan’s First, joined them part way up the mountain. She was a thin, petite framed young elven girl. Her dark dark was cut short, and dotted with braids. She had light facial Dalish tattoos, and a beautiful green scarf that she wore around her neck. She led them up the mountain and to some caverns that wound through to the other side, and eventually to top of the mountain itself. Hawke realized with horror, what lie in store for them in the caverns, as soon as they stepped foot inside. A faint skittering noise was the only warning they had before a number of giant spiders descended upon them. Hawke shrieked bloody murder at the top of her lungs and leaped into Fenris’ arms in a single bound, still shrieking.

“Hawke!” Fenris shouted, startled and confused. He managed to peel himself free and rushed at the bulk of them. Shaking, Hawke unsheathed her sword and took several deep breaths trying to steel herself. Hawke hacked and slashed at the giant spiders erratically and frantically. One spider got past their circle of defense and tried to pull Hawke to the ground, from behind. It’s legs on her shoulders, pinchers screeching over her head, Hawke screamed again and whirled around, slicing it in half. Unfortunately, this also managed to spray spider guts all over Hawke and Fenris.

“Hawke, don’t tell me you’re scared of spiders,” Varric panted after they killed the last of them.

“Terrified,” Bethany said. “Even tiny ones.”

“Aren’t there giant spiders in the wilds near Lothering?” Varric asked.

“Yes,” Hawke said, still trembling and dripping in spider guts. “Carver used to make fun of me, but in the end he would always fight them for me. I don’t really know why they scare me when so many other things don’t. Or rather, I know exactly why I’m scared of spiders, just not why I’m not scared of reanimated corpses or darkspawn. Well, I am scared of darkspawn but it’s a different kind of fear. A manageable one, anyway.”

“Maker’s breath,” Varric cursed getting a whiff of the spider guts. “That smells awful, Hawke.”

Merrill used a little bit of magic to help clean Hawke off, as best as she could. Fenris refused the magical help, but accepted a rag from Varric which did very little truthfully. The rest of the path was littered with risen skeletons and corpses, but luckily, no more giant spiders.

When they finally reached the top, Merrill instructed Hawke to place the amulet on the alter so that she could perform the funeral rite. Varric, handsome devil that he is, knew that he would be greatly rewarded for joining Hawke. His keen sense for great adventures and stories was right. As Merrill spoke the last words, there was a small flash of shifting light and a moment later, a tall woman with white hair, horns, some sort of crown, and a truly distinguished sense of fashion stood before them. Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds.

“Aah, and here we are,” Flemeth said.

“Son of a nug,” Varric whispered.

“Witch,” Fenris cursed under his breathe.

“Andaran atish’an, Asha’bellanar,” Merrill said, bowing.

“Do you know who I am, beyond than that title?” Flemeth asked.

“I know only a little,” Merrill said.

“Then stand. The people bend their knee too quickly,” Flemeth said, then turned to Hawke. “So refreshing to see someone who keeps their end of a bargain. I half expected my amulet would end up in a merchant’s pocket,” she said.

“I keep my promises,” Hawke said. “Though I confess I don’t understand: you were in the amulet the whole time?”

“Just a piece, a small piece, but it was all I needed. A bit of security, should the inevitable occur. And if I know my Morrigan, it already has,” Flemeth said.

“You are no simple witch,” Fenris said.

“Figure that out yourself, did you?” Flemeth asked, mockingly.

“I have seen powerful mages, spirits, and abominations. But you are none of those things. What are you?” Fenris asked.

“Such a curious lad. The chains are broken, but are you truly free?” Flemeth asked.

“You see a great deal,” Fenris said, as an icy chill slithered down everyone’s back sides.

“I am a fly in the ointment. I am a whisper in the shadows. I am also an old, old woman. More than that, you need not know,” Flemeth said - making absolutely zero sense. But true to Hawke’s story, her hair was spectacular. After some more questions, and some more senseless, eerie answers, Flemeth bid Hawke good bye.

“You have my thanks,” she paused. “And my sympathy.” And she transformed into a dragon and flew off. Just like that.

The keeper thanked Hawke, glad to see that there were at least a few honorable shemlen, that is humans, left in the world. Then she asked Hawke to take Merrill, the clan’s First, back with her to Kirkwall. It was a very unusual request, since the First is the apprentice to the Keeper. A very critical position for a Dalish clan. Everyone at the Dalish camp was acting weird about it too. The Keeper didn’t explain, and Hawke had sense enough not to pry. So they headed back to Kirkwall, mostly in silence. Varric asked Merrill a few questions, and had arrived at a nickname for her before they even reached the city: Daisy.

~

“So, how did it go? And where is Hawke?” Aveline asked, sitting down at Varric’s table as the others arrived.

“It was not what I expected,” Fenris said.

“Fenris, do you live here with Varric?” Aveline asked.

“No. You know I live in Danarius’ old mansion in Hightown,” Fenris said, puzzled.

“It’s just that- oh never mind,” Aveline said.

“Hawke,” Varric started as he rummaged through some papers, looking for more blank parchment. He had been busy writing since they got back. “Hawke is getting Daisy setup in the alienage.”

“Daisy? Who?” Aveline asked, turning to Fenris.

“The Keeper asked us to bring her to Kirkwall, once we finished returning the amulet to Flemeth,” Bethany said.

“Wait, you actually saw Flemeth?” Aveline asked.

“In the flesh, or at least I think,” Varric said.

“She was in the amulet,” Bethany explained. “Or, a piece of her was.”

“I don’t understand,” Aveline said.

“Sweetheart, none of us do,” Varric said.

“’A fragment cast a drift from the whole. A bit of floxsam to cling to in the storm,’” Fenris quoted.

“Oooo,” Varric said, racing to jot it down. “Thanks Fenris. I couldn’t remember the whole line.”

“And then she turned into a dragon,” Fenris said.

“She did. She really did,” Varric said, shaking his head without looking up as he wrote.

“Sounds like I missed all the fun,” Anders said as he joined the group and sat down.

“You would say that,” Fenris said, shooting daggers with his eyes. Anders fired back.

“I for one am glad I was not there,” Aveline said. “That woman scares me.”

“Me too,” Bethany said. “She gives me the chills.”

“Me three,” Varric said. “But what a story! It was worth it just for that. A dragon!” He shook his head again.

“And so this Daisy person?” Aveline asked again.

“She is the Keeper’s First. It’s … like an apprentice, she said. It was all a bit weird, the way everyone was acting, but they asked us to bring Merrill to Kirkwall. Hawke agreed,” Bethany said.

“She’s a mage,” Fenris spat. “Who’s dabbled in blood magic.”

“That makes me uneasy as well,” Bethany confessed. “But she is, I think, the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“She’s naive,” Fenris said.

“Always glad to have another mage around,” Anders said. Fenris turned and glowered at him.

“The alienage, huh?” Aveline asked. “Poor girl sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.”

“No, she doesn’t. Poor kid. She looked so wilted when we left, to see what the alienage looked like,” Varric said.

“That place is depressing. Let us speak of it no longer,” Fenris said.

With that the table grew silent, all except for Varric’s scribbling and occasional rustling of papers, and murmuring to himself as he wrote. Fenris and Aveline called it a night early. Bethany and Anders stuck around chatting, while Varric continued writing. Hawke joined sometime later, just as Bethany and Anders were leaving.

“Those two seem to be getting along quite well,” Hawke said, watching Bethany alight with pure joy as she exited with Anders, who was escorting her home before returning to Darktown.

“Huh? Oh ya,” Varric said, looking up for the first time in a while.

“Hawke, you sure know how to stumble into some pretty crazy shit,” Varric said.

“Don’t I know it,” she replied, downing her mug in one go.

“How is Daisy settling in?” Varric asked.

“Daisy? You already assigned her a nickname, that fast?” Hawke asked.

“That fast,” Varric laughed.

“She’s …” Hawke paused. “It’s going to take some time for her to settle in.” They were silent for a moment.

“Did you know that the first time we met Flemeth, I actually asked her if she could teach me how to turn into a dragon?” Hawke said. “Pointless, I know, since I’m not a mage. But I couldn’t resist.”

“Haha. That’s pretty ballsy, Hawke,” Varric said.

“What can I say? I just want to be a dragon,” Hawke said and grinned.

“I know, and that’s why I love you,” Varric laughed.

~

Hawke checked on Merrill a few days later, to see how she was doing. Leandra had packed Hawke a basket of baked goods as nice “welcome to your new home” gift.

“Hawke,” Merrill said when she answered the door. “I … I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

“I wanted to see how you were doing,” Hawke said. Merrill invited her inside.

“Oh, you know. I’m … I’m getting by,” Merrill said.

“I have a ‘welcome home’ present for you,” she handed Merrill the basket.

“What this?” Merrill asked, pulling out a small wrapped package. She unwrapped it carefully, to discover a small carved statue of Andraste.

“Ah,” Hawke laughed nervously. “It’s a tradition in Fereldan to give new home owners a statue of Andraste. I … I realized after I gave one to Fenris that maybe it’s not the most appropriate home warming gift for everyone. I honestly don’t know what else to get someone though, in these situations. At least it’s pretty?” Hawke said sheepishly.

“It’s … thank you, Hawke,” Merrill smiled.

“Mother baked sweet rolls and a baguette, another tradition in Fereldan,” Hawke said.

“Thank you, Hawke. It’s a very sweet gesture,” Merrill said.

______________________________________________

This fanfic is based on the amazing Dragon Age games, specifically focusing on the DA2 game. Thank you EA/BIOWARE for such amazing games & characters!

I’m new to tumblr, so please bear with me as I figure out the best formatting.

[newyorktheater]

  Taylor Blackman as Emett Till, in the musical “Till”

The three shows reviewed below from this year’s New York Musical Festival are all, each in its own way, naïve…or one of the near synonyms for the word naïve, each of which offers a different spin — a different judgment — on the same quality: innocent, fresh, childlike, simple, unsophisticated, ignorant.

  Leaving Eden

‘Leaving Eden” tells the Adam and Eve story with a twist – two twists.

First,  the couple has been expanded to a threesome, adding in the character Lilith. Lilith is not in the Bible, but the Lilith legend was so popular that her image is included both in the Sistine Chapel and Notre Dame Cathedral. Lilith is said to have been Adam’s original wife, born of the same earth as he, but she refused to be subservient, so she was banished, and a far more pliant Eve was created out of Adam’s rib.

As this story unfolds, “Leaving Eden” pairs it with a parallel modern-day story of Adam and Lilith, who are a couple, and Eve, who is their lesbian friend. If I understood correctly, modern Lilith recently had a miscarriage, followed by a hysterectomy. Now, after a period of mourning and looking into adoption, Lily and Adam enlist Eve to be a surrogate mother.

The promise of the added Lilith was intriguing enough for me to see a show I normally would have avoided.  To be upfront about it: I could live a happy life free of regrets if I never again saw a new show inspired by the stories of Peter Pan, Frankenstein, or Adam and Eve. Each coincidentally – or maybe not coincidentally – focuses on naïve/innocent/ignorant characters.

I wish I could report that “Leaving Eden,” with a competent score by Ben Page and book and lyrics by Jenny Waxman, made me overcome my aversion. But the script has some awful writing — forced rhymes, unintentional howlers, awkward couplets like

  Why are man and woman in two different factions? Why are naughty bits more critical than the spirit of our actions?

And the presence of Lilith did nothing  to reduce the faux-naïve coyness that afflicts so many of these “In The Beginning” stories. Their Nautilus bods discreetly draped in Tarzan and Jane attire, Adam and Lilith sing as if they’re Dick and Jane:

And I saw some good, and I saw some bad and I met creatures that made me feel happy and sad

Together they discover rain, and fire  (“It is good… but sometimes… fire is bad. So is it good or bad?”/”It is…well, I guess it is both?”), and learn the meaning of death. For the first time, they experience dreams at night…and sex. Lillith realizes she doesn’t like being on the bottom all the time, and sings some double-entendres that are less clever than crude:

  I wanna try it on top

I’ll till your share of the crops

I’ll use your tool if you’ll drop it

You’ll beg me never to stop…

The modern-day scenes, which more or less alternate with the ancient ones, at first held my attention. I wanted to know what would happen next, and it struck me that “The Joys of Parenthood,” an ironic song in which the characters imagine their future bratty kids,  suggested what the musical could be like if the modern story were more developed. But the creative team seemed to tire of the story they were telling, and “Leading Eden” dissolves into the musical equivalent of speechifying by Ancient and Modern together, facing the audience and looking grimly triumphant.

Leaving Eden ended its run July 21.

  Till

I saw “Till” on the day that Emmett Till would have celebrated his 78thbirthday. Instead, he was murdered at the age of 14,  the victim of inarguably the most famous lynching in the history of the United States.

A six-member all-black cast sings the gospel-inflected score by Leo Schwartz, with a book by Schwartz and DC Cathro that tells the story of Emmett Till starting shortly before his visit to his relatives in Money, Mississippi.   We first see Emmett (impressively portrayed by Taylor A. Blackman) in Chicago as a church-going, fun-loving teen, something of a clotheshorse and a prankster, but devoted to his mother Mamie (Denielle Marie Gray.)

Meanwhile, Carolyn Bryant,  introduced in her husband’s General Store in Money, Mississippi, is shown talking about the Marilyn Monroe movie “The Seven Year Itch” with her sister-in-law. Later we meet her husband Roy, who’s gruff and adulterous  (All three wear odd half-masks and white gloves to indicate that their characters are Caucasian, a costume choice that feels like a mistake.)

It’s only in the last 20 minutes of the 90 minute musical that we see a version of the events (the details of which are still much disputed 64 years later) that led to his death. Emmett buys gum from Carolyn Bryant in her store, putting the money in her hand rather than on the counter, and then goes back outside to hang out with his cousins, who are playing a game of checkers. Unnerved, Carolyn goes out to her car to fetch her gun, at the same time that Emmett lets out a whistle. The other black teens panic.

“You whistled at a white woman, Emmett! “ his cousin Maurice says.

“I did not,” Emmett replies. “I whistled at the game. Besides, what does it

matter? What if I did whistle at her? She never been whistled at?”

“Not by a colored boy! It matters down here, Emmett. “

Roy eventually finds out, and, enraged, goes to Emmett’s uncle’s house, and drags Emmett away, hands bound.

Back in Chicago, Mamie gets a phone call, and collapses.

The musical ends with rousing back-to-back numbers, Mamie singing “I Want Him Back,” where she insists on an open casket to show his brutalized body, and then “Come and Follow Me,” accompanied by the ensemble in choir robes, in front of a series of projections – portraits of  Rosa Parks, Medger Evers, Martin Luther King Jr., and Barack Obama. Cast members briefly portraying each of these real-life figures recite quotes about Emmett Till. (MLK: “The

death of that child had a profound impact on my life…” )

Why is Emmett Till so important? Why does his lynching so stand out from the reportedly more than four thousand in the country over some 60 years before his?

The answer to that question strikes me as the heart of the Emmett Till story, and the reason why a stronger and more sophisticated musical could surely have been written that begins with his lynching rather than ends with it, replacing some of the mundane scenes and songs of the Tills’ everyday life (which can feel like filler) with the rich details of the aftermath.  We don’t learn in “Till,” for example, that his two killers actually went on trial – not usual for a lynching in the South — but were then acquitted by an all-white jury….and then a year later, they sold their story to Look Magazine, confessing to the killing.   We don’t see what is evident in old video footage of Mamie Till in Civil Rights documentaries — her strength, dignity and resolve as she attends the trial, and calmly, straightforwardly answers questions from unsympathetic Southern interviewers. The story of Emmett Till is really as much the story of Mamie Till as it is of her son.

Till will be performed one more time, today, Sunday, July 28 at 9 p.m. at Signature Theater Center

  Flying Lessons

Isabella, a bored, smart eighth grader, is assigned a final paper for the school year – write about an inspiring figure from history.

”Like, how am I supposed to choose someone who inspires me when I don’t even know who I want to be or what I want to do?”

Suddenly, two choices appear before her, as in a dream – Amelia Earhart and Frederick Douglass. Over the course of “Flying Lessons,” the two narrate and re-enact their respective stories, interspersed with scenes of Isabella’s fights with her mother  and her life at school with her classmates and teacher Ms. Young.

There is much that is wonderful in this show, including a soaring, eclectic score by Donald Rupe and Cesar De La Rosa delivered by a terrific nine-member cast.  I hope and expect that “Flying Lessons” will take flight in the future, in one form or another. But it needs to be rethought.

Book writer, lyricist and co-composer Donald Rupe began “Flying Lessons” in response to a grant to produce a show for the eighth grade students of Osceolo County, Florida. This is how I know that Isabella is supposed to be in eighth grade. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be clear.  The dynamics of Isabella’s tensions with her mother, as well as the hopes, fears and (G-rated) sexual awakenings of her three solidly etched classmates make the show seem geared for high school or older. But sometimes the characters are so naïve and the tone so childlike that it feels a better fit for elementary school.  At the performance I attended, I talked to the parents of a six-year-old, who loved the show so much she was there for a second time.

Similarly, the show is divided into three distinct storylines, maybe four, that are sometimes an uneasy fit. It seems just odd that the stories of Earhart and Douglass are shoehorned together. In a musical called “Flying Lessons,” wouldn’t it make more sense to pair Earhart with, for example, the real-life women from the movie “Hidden Figures” who worked for NASA, or other female aviation pioneers?   And the stories of the historical figures can feel like an interruption to the scenes in the classroom,  which are funny and touching and don’t focus on Isabella.

The best solution may be to split up “Flying Lessons” into separate musicals – one telling the story of Amelia Earhart (and possibly other aviation pioneers), another Frederick Douglass, both 30 minutes long and aimed at young children; a third about Isabella, her mother, her teacher and her classmates, aiming for a higher age group.

Flying Lessons will be performed one more time, today, Sunday July 28 at 5 p.m., at Signature Theater Center.

NYMF Reviews: Leaving Eden. Till. Flying Lessons. The three shows reviewed below from this year’s New York Musical Festival are all, each in its own way, naïve…or one of the near synonyms for the word naïve, each of which offers a different spin -- a different judgment -- on the same quality: innocent, fresh, childlike, simple, unsophisticated, ignorant.