#hes still very good for an adolescent shepherd

[thebarkpaladin]

my boys are so good!!!!!

[privateolives]

Got the Octopath Traveler artbook but got no scanner. I'll leave someone else to figure out a pdf: In the meantime, here's a few notes I made for my roleplay group. I'm sure there's more, this was just the most relevant stuff to us it felt.

Overall:

Designs needed to be down to earth compared to other titles to fit with game themes

Care was given to how other background characters of their classes might look, but characters still needed to stand out a little.

It was very very important that the character's personality shone through in all the character job sprites, thus the custom design works for each.

The hearth seems emphasized in all the home building concepts. They're not all build for the same utilisation but they're all reflected pretty centrally. Take note.

Tomes and stories are common imagery in concepts.

There's actually a leaf in the currency symbol!

Belts and cords were used on time-inappropriate designs to make them seem more medieval (mentioned with the obsidians designs). This trick persisted into CotC

Japanese fans sent valentines chocolates to the characters? All who received are depicted in the valentines sprite spread.

Modern stage illustration took specific care to depict their personalities

Characters

Primrose:

Her visuals are meant to carry a sense of both her allure and sadness

Older-sister type inspired animations

The white dress in the end card symbolizes freedom from her burdens, reflecting a "more poignant conclusion" than the other travelers.

Olberic:

"image of a burly, diligent father figure from the Showa era"

His forehead scar also grazes his ear. Armor from the king and sword design resembles his straightforward swordplay.

"UP THE VIRILITY"

Strong and stoic nature kept in mind for animations (radiates some majesty, but not mentioned by that word)

Sprite designer was impressed by his Japanese VA and it stuck with him

Expression slightly more "gung-ho" than usual, in his ending picture sparring with Phillip.

His "Berg" persona is listed among the shepherd designs. "He makes a living bringing wool and ewe milk (sometimes processed) down from the mountain, selling them or exchanging them for goods"

Has "adjusted to life among the mountainfolk" (NOT reflective of his prior lifestyle?)

Olberic and Erhardt are notably depicted together, fighting in the valentines art.

Therion could steal apples from his basket because he lowers his guard around comrades!

Modern Olberic seems to lean towards 80's rock aesthetics (noted by artist) (He's depicted as unusually smug every time he's holding a guitar.)

He is like a full head taller than everyone else in all the group art

Alfyn:

Start image based on "adolescent youth coming home from school activities with the sun in his back. End illustration depicts him "as adult Alfyn" working with Zeph and Nina. Growing up theme implied.

Hair "like grass billowing in the wind"

Axe is a daily life tool first, weapon second. He carries it on his best, around his back, under his vest.

"The type of guy you'd see anywhere, but leaving an impression with a passionate heart."

Quick to "jump the gun", good natured and gung-ho, sometimes gets him and others in trouble.

Apothecary guild sends you a vest and bag once you're accepted. They're uniform. Also implying Alfyn and Zeph swapped Uniform pieces. Vanessa notably only wears a bag, not a vest.

Alfyn got his name from a type of dog (The one on Alfyn's head)

Miguel was originally laughing at crying Alfyn in the valentines art.

Therion:

Isn't shy to steal from friends and teammates

Barely emotes. "Cool handsome dude."

Bemused countdown smirk was made to show a hidden side of Therion that didn't get much highlight in the games.

Yeah no the apple is everywhere in his art. Not just once or twice. Even his crossover with H'aanit have an apple with an arrow balanced on his head. Seems central symbolism.

Therion is purposefully turned away in the depiction of them travelling as friends.

"Quick to draw but whiffs almost every strike"

H'aanit:

Strong and beautiful, but calm core aesthetic. At one with nature. "Natural stand that don't require movements come naturally to her."

No metal on her whatsoever. All "metallic" bits are horn and bone to avoid shine when hunting.

hair is canonically pink-golden.

She is telling her stories to Z'aanta in her ending credits. "They've got plenty to talk about"

Made Linde's tail-decoration herself and put it on her as a child. Made the decorations for Hägen too cause he seemed envious.

Tiny child H'aanit depicted with twin braids and holding a kitten Linde. Met early in life.

Cyrus:

Eyes bright and always seem to gaze off "at some dazzling scenery".

Robe is NOT worn correctly. Uniform robe is more robe-like, Cyrus wears it like a coat.

Split bangs to avoid him looking too young.

"The type of man who looks good while sitting"

Does not pay attention to where he's going. Dense to "ways of the world" (valentines drawing, did not recognize white day.) Odette laughing at him finished the piece satisfyingly according to artist.

Highly expressive but not boisterous.

Dozed over after work in his ending credit. It's definitely meant to be night, showing his continued long working hours

He plays the piano? The art depicting the group taking a load off apparently started with him playing, and everyone else deciding to relax following.

Tressa:

Core concept is her lively, cheerful energy and eloquence.

The folded blanket on her rucksack is her pop-up store blanket.

Closely discerns wares with a serious face.

Different serious face from promotional art, which is "seldom seem"

All areas surrounding her character are designed to be whimsical and adventurous.

Definitely meant to be 18, but short.

Ending credit shows "tangible growth" and her parents are meant to reflect fondness as she listens to her stories. "She won't run out of them soon"

Ophilia:

"Like a wildflower blooming valiantly from the snow-covered ground" "A proverbial guiding star - a shepherd to guide the way" "The image of a sun here suits Philia to a T."

Face and hair edited from early concept to reflect "intelligence and decisive will" to avoid airhead stereotype.

Shares the same strength in her eyes as Primrose

Depicted to thoughtfully share and lead people

turquoise colour differentiates aelfric flame from normal fire. Colour reflected in Ophilia's design for a "pop"

Dress is only not designed to be warmer 'cause it stood out like a sore thumb in warm areas

"Tidy and trim appearance, combined with dedication to her calling."

Receding winter and blooming flowers in their special place is symbolism for Ophilia and Lianna's bright future in their ending card.

Erhardt:

His design was requested ASAP so details didn't get to be brushed up on. (Analyze less literally than others)

Composed stance stands out showing his calm demeanor (Seems contested in early concepts? They wanted him imposing then, but it must've grown on them). Stance allows for MOVEMENT

(Additional notes in text reblog)

[star-baby-boy-archived]

Kenshirou Yozakura

Mildly allergic to cats. Deathly allergic to chocolate.

Of mixed Indian-Japanese descent. Mother's side is mostly Indian.

Values honesty, duty, discipline, integrity, loyalty, and honor above all.

Parents used to run an inn called Night Guardian and are currently retired. When any of his guard or police dogs retire, they are sent to live out their twilight years with his parents peacefully in a rural seaside town.

Grew up as an only child. Lost his right eye as an adolescent. Find himself wishing that he had it back so that he can wink at his cutie bf.

His first dog was a black shepherd named Roger that he adopted when he was fourteen, and Genrou Byakuya, his deputy, is descended from that first Good Boy. Kenshirou bred that line of working dogs himself with the goal of strength and intelligence.

Loves strawberries, raspberries, cherries, and red fruits in general. Loves the sweet and tart flavor combo. Mainly drinks coffee while working but also likes sakura tea, rose tea, and fruity or teas. When it comes to alcohol, he favors sake. He loves his meats and seafoods, especially loving squid and steak.

Is very involved regarding the medical treatment and wellness of his inmates. His number one priority is recovery and resocialization: making his inmates well and fit for returning to society when their whole sentence has been served.

Owns a record player and record collection of swing dancing music and jazz and a few other varieties. Samon broke it once, so he's forbidden from touching the machine ever again.

Is quite actively investigating Musashi's past, including the Man With The Scar and Elf. This investigation predated his acquaintance with Musashi and that inmate is greatly helpful with his research. He has not informed Seitarou of the details of this investigation as it is kept secret for safety reasons, but he may one day reveal the depth of the corruption that he's trying to uncover.

Is hopelessly honest and terrible at lying.

Is friendly with Hitoshi, to an appropriate amount given their work positions. They chat sometimes, and he is being careful to guide Hitoshi in good habits to keep him safe and make him an effective officer.

Once Ken stopped seeing Hajime as a romantic rival, he immediately became a bit less aggressive towards Nanba's #1 supervisor. However, they still have their differences. Hajime also continues to be tangential to his love life as Seitarou's direct supervisor. Will soon learn how to interact more amiably/neutrally with Hajime, especially with regards to Seitarou.

His closest friends outside his building are Samon and Kiji. Sometimes he dances with Kiji to help the queen break in a new pair of heels. Sometimes he drinks with Samon or spars with him. They are comfortable together and friendly, and know they can speak about personal matters if needed. Kenshirou and Kiji both helped Samon through the turmoil and depression that followed Enki's initial incarceration.

Admits to having a bit of an eye for feminine boys in the past, though he denied to himself that he was bisexual, as he is mostly attracted to feminine traits and until recently thought that just meant attracted to females. Has not told his parents that he has a boyfriend now, but is confident they will not take issue with this new expression of his sexuality.

His mother loves to sew and has made all of the covers that he wears. His father is a gentle giant, not unlike his son: intimidating in appearance, but kind-hearted.

[shirleyxian]

//One-shot//Call Of Duty//Selfshipp.

Selfshipp:Max bunny Soto x Simon ghost riley.

Riley Family.

Max and Simon always thought about how they became good parents, even though they had conflicts in childhood and adolescence with their family. Especially if someone grows up in a toxic environment and more if it is with your family, it is likely to follow the same steps and damages as they did in their childhood, such as Simon, who suffered for his father from abusing to forcing him to kiss a snake. While Max, growing up in Argentina, was different from the United Kingdom, where the treatment of children is very normalized, more so if a country is from Latin America, not nice and healthy deals, but those that a child would not like to be told. Max used to be the "black sheep" of the family, but his dad was very angry and treated him like a mental patient, even if he got something Max used to be the "black sheep" of the family, but his dad was very angry and treated him like a mental patient, even if he got it wrong in the slightest thing Max used to be the "black sheep" of the family, but his dad was very angry and treated him like a mental patient, even if he got it wrong in the slightest things, one of the punishments was the blows with the belt, sometimes he was still standing for several hours without sitting down, he did not feel sorry for his son.

Max and Simon met at the same task force base, at first they treated each other like any co-worker, but as time went by they had some close friendship that they were able to talk about private things or problems they had. Both became boyfriends on January 29 since that day at the beach they decided to confess their feelings, where all that story begins love.

Both boys, when they were ready to get married, had to go to therapy, because both had traumas from childhood and adolescence, and did not want their future children to suffer what happened to them (Max is a trans boy, so he can have children). That delayed the wedding, the couple felt anxiety and made mistakes from the past that only the two of them know, but in different experiences.

- Maximiliano, although I love you and want a family, my mind betrays me by remembering my father... It's hard not to be calm. - Simon says as he throws himself on his knees on the floor and trying to hold back his tears. -

- I understand you, my dad was the same, sometimes if I'm afraid to be like my dad... - He hugs his boyfriend while tears fall. - I just want to be the best parent like you and we can raise our children with love, no bad treatment and balanced discipline.

- It's true... We should get married in November, but if we're going to have kids... Let's make this promise. Alright? - says Simon looking hopefully at max. -

- Alright.

- If we are going to have children, there will be discipline but there will be limits, we are not going to hit them for small problems, we will teach them without violence to educate them and about respect, without threats or abuse.

- I'm willing to do it amor, I want our future children to be happy.

Already today...

Max and Ghost are at home preparing breakfast for their children, who are 2, a boy named Valentino, and a girl named Mary. Mary is 7 years old, while Valentino is 3 years old, forget to clarify, they have two pets, a German shepherd dog named "Riley" and a black cat named "Yumi", both pets of the family, equally considered as children.

- Dads we are awake, we are hungry!! - both children scream when they have just woken up. -

- Don't worry, papá is preparing his food, I'll help Valentino brush his teeth - Ghost says, taking Valentino and taking him to the bathroom. -

Ghost was called "dad" in English, while Max is called "papá" in Spanish to give him a difference.

Max prepares pancakes with a chocolate for the children and coffee for his husband.

Simon would be helping Valentino, because he is 3 years old enough to reach the dishwasher compared to Mary who used to have the same thing.

En la mesa la familia desayunando mientras las mascotas estaban jugando, en la mesa se notaba la buena comunicación que había.

- Chicuelos, I will tell you that this vacation we will go on a trip to my native country, Argentina. Of course we'll take yumi and riley.

- There are beautiful beaches there, especially in Buenos Aires, how good, there are also water parks, but we are going to decide whether to go or not depends on you babies. Papá always wanted you to go visit his country.

- Argentina are there boys like me? - says Valentino curious. -

- Sure, there are boys like you, and girls like Mary. - says Max while giving tenderness to his son's question. -

- But if there are girls like me, I won't be the only princess. - Mary says angrily. -

- Mary, you are already our princess. - Simon calms her down, but in itself, she is the princess of the house, as Valentino is the prince of the house. -

After breakfast, the children went straight to their pets to pet them and play with them.

- Max... We were able to make the promise.

- I know Simon, I'm proud that we were both able to do this.

"We're the kind of parents we didn't have..."

I had to, is let's say I'd like to have a family, well, I wouldn't want to have kids, because I'd actually like to have kittens.

And that was an inspiration for my desire to be a good dad, of course if ghost existed. But it doesn't matter.

I hope you liked it.

~Bye~

[shepherds-of-haven]

what were the ro's like as children? were some of them more lively than now or maybe some were quieter than they are now?

Good question!

Blade: he was a very proper lad, solemn, quiet, fairly similar to how he is now, but more... well-mannered?? His family would sort of equate to the Ket equivalency of nobility, and there were a lot of rigid social protocols to follow to uphold the family reputation. Like he was very stiff and formal and sober as a child. After his parents died and he became an adolescent, he did sort of pivoted into being a very rude, brooding teen who was very blunt and had no patience for manners or niceties, but some of those old habits still persist to this day!

Trouble: he was a little rebel on fire--I think I described him in a recent short story as "a sullen, cocksure young man, an adolescent with a bloody nose and a fire in his gut to give the world one back". Definitely more hot-headed than he is now, a recalcitrant little potty mouth who brooked no insult and took everything to heart! He wasn't as playful or friendly as he is now, but he did have a soft side and showed a gruff kindness to those in need!

Tallys: she was more talkative and emotionally-open as a kid than she is now. Probably still just as serious, but she was more of a rebel and emotional and kind of a defiant know-it-all, rather than the cool-headed and evaluating adult she is now! She was also very studious--kids in her clan used to make fun of her for being something of a book nerd, if you can believe that!

Shery: she was pretty much exactly the same as a kid as she is now! If anything, she was even more timid and shy as a child, and she was more easily affected by things; she would cry in her room over the smallest incidents or the insults of the other children, whereas now she's better at brushing things off (even when she probably shouldn't). A neighbor of hers used to say that little Shery wasn't born ready for the world, because as a child she was like a little trembling fawn, liable to get knocked over by the wind! She's definitely tougher and more resilient now!

Riel: he was pretty much exactly the same as he is now in personality, but he was much more sheltered and naive as a child: his parents didn't let him out of the house, for various reasons, so all of his knowledge came from books and tutors--he hardly socialized with people his own age! As an adolescent, he was notably more ruthless and cutthroat and had--eh--less scruples and more criminal tendencies than he does now! He's mellowed out a bit with age and has more perspective and compassion for the less fortunate now that he's made his own fortune for himself!

Chase: he was more carefree, light-hearted, and innocent as a kid! Just as talkative, reckless, impulsive, and courageous, but he hadn't been, uh, bruised by the cruelties of the world yet. Now he's very nonchalant, playful, and smiling, but it conceals a much more guarded and wary demeanor than the one he had a yelling kid who liked to dangle from the sail ropes like a monkey!

Red: he was a little bit quieter and more studious as a young kid than he was as a teenager and later an adult! As a very young child, he liked being left to his own devices and would just go off all day, journal in hand, scribbling field notes about, like, frogs and mushrooms and stuff he found in the hills behind his home, and he was more deferential (being the only boy with four sisters). When he became a tween/preteen, he became more talkative and charismatic, and that was when his 'social butterfly' self started to emerge!

Ayla: she was pretty much the same as she is now; a spitfire and rebel who didn't trust anybody. I guess when she was younger, she was even harder and more ferocious than she is now; it wouldn't have been as easy for young Ayla to integrate into the Shepherds and make friends, and she would have been explicitly ruder and wouldn't have cared about the feelings of others, whereas now she realizes when she messed up and feels bad about it (though whether or not she'll apologize still depends). But she was so busy surviving that she never really had time to just be a kid or make friends!

Briony: spoilers, but pre-amnesia Briony was more of a wildcat and not as sweet and sensitive as our Briony is. She was compassionate and loved her friends very dearly and felt extremely strong attachments to them, but with everyone else, she came off as a fierce, fiery, defiant little tomboy/diva who ran around in the hills barefoot in rags and refused to do as anyone told her. She was the kind of kid who could smile sweetly at you, but there was something dangerous in the glint of her teeth and her eyes were secretly saying, 'fuck you, you can't tell me what to do.' She had a harder temper and basically did what she wanted or actively rebelled against authority, whereas now she's more of a people-pleaser and overall more playful and easygoing!

Lavinet: she was a little bit more snobby as a child, like a little imperious princess who had the world at her feet and knew it! Not exactly like Prihine--she wasn't rude or spoiled towards servants--but her priorities were definitely different, like "Papa, the bows on my dress are sea-green when they were supposed to be mint-green, you can't expect me to go to the ball like this?!" So obviously more childish and diva-like and 'stamps her slippered foot to get her way,' whereas now she's more dignified and gracious and overall chill (though she still gets whatever she wants, it's just through different methods, lol).

Halek: he was a little bit more serious and obedient as a child and more willing to do things to please other people, whereas now he just doesn't give a fuck, lol. As a teen he was super edgy and liable to say really cringey, edgy things, like "why do we even bother, we're all going to die soon anyway", but then he flipped over to "eh whatever *takes the path of least resistance*" lmao

[nickjunesource]

Full article below.

Max Minghella is sitting in his backyard in the LA sunshine, his t-shirt an homage to the French filmmaker Mia Hansen-Løve, his adopted shepherd mix, Rhye, excited by the approach of a package courier.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks — the dog, not me — tenderly.

Minghella, who at 35 has dozens of screen credits to his name, is best known as The Handmaid’s Tale’s cunning chauffeur Nick Blaine, a character who it’s difficult to imagine saying sweetheart. In airless Gilead, of course, a cautious hand graze with Elisabeth Moss’ June can pass for a big romantic gesture. In a Season 1 episode featuring child separation and hospital infant abduction, Nick’s major contribution is to trade stolen glances with a sex slave while “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” pumps discordantly along. I ask Minghella about playing the series’ closest approximation to a dreamy male lead against the show’s dark narrative of female subjugation.

“I know this is not the answer you want to hear,” Minghella says with none of Nick’s hesitation. “But I like that stuff, right? In the pilot, I think Nick only had a handful of lines. It wasn't clear that this is what the character would turn into. And it's quite fortunate for me personally, because I'm not a massively sort of intellectual person in my real life. I love Fifty Shades of Grey. That's like my Star Wars. It suits me to play a character like him.”

Minghella surmises that this enduring romanticism is an outcome of nurture. His father, the late British director Anthony Minghella, made grand romantic dramas like Cold Mountain and The English Patient. And there was the young, cinema-mad Max sitting on the living room sofa, absorbing everything. “It’s taken me a long time to understand this,” he says of his prolonged childhood exposure to love stories. “My dad made The English Patient when I was 10. So it was two years of watching the dailies to that movie and then watching 50 cuts of it. And then [The Talented Mr.] Ripley he made when I was 13, and it was the same thing.” These were an adolescent Max Minghella’s alternative to reruns. “I think they did shape my perspective on the world in a lot of ways, specifically The English Patient. That was a complicated love story, and I wonder sometimes how much it's affected my psychology.”

Some sons rebel; others resemble. Minghella’s co-star O-T Fagbenle, who plays June’s other lover from before the time of Gilead, got his first job acting in Anthony Minghella’s romantic crime film Breaking and Entering. “Anthony is one the kindest, most beautiful men that I've ever had the privilege of working with before,” Fagbenle says. “And Max has his gorgeous, sensitive, open-minded soul.”

Though Minghella spent his childhood on the set of The Talented Mr. Ripley, playing an uncredited Confederate soldier role in Cold Mountain, and tooling around with a Super-8 camera Matt Damon gave him, he insists his upbringing was normal. He grew up in South Hill Park overlooking Hampstead Heath in London with his father and mother, the choreographer Carolyn Choa. (Minghella also has a half-sister, Hannah Minghella, who is now a film executive.) Yes, technically, it was London, but that’s not how it seemed. “I feel like I grew up in a very small town. Every school I went to was in Hampstead. I was born in Hampstead,” Minghella says of the small map dot of his life before university. “When I went to New York, I felt I was going to the big city.”

Despite his illustrious surname, movie-watching was far from restricted to the classics. “Beverly Hills Cop is definitely the movie I remember having an unhealthy obsession with. I think I saw it when I was 5 for the first time, and I'd watch it just two or three times a day for years. I'm just obsessed with it.”

Plenty of actors can trace their love of movies back to a love of stories, but for Minghella the relationship seems to flow in reverse. When he left for Columbia University, Minghella opted to study history for its connection, through storytelling, to film. It was during the summers between his years of college that he started taking acting more seriously. Before his graduation, he’d already appeared in Syriana, starring Damon and George Clooney. Soon, he’d make a splash as Divya Narendra in The Social Network in 2010 and be cast in Clooney’s Ides of March. As all young actors eventually must, Minghella moved to Los Angeles.

It’s been over a decade since he last lived on the Heath, but, perhaps unusually for a person who’s chosen his profession, Minghella is adamantly not a “shapeshifter,” in his words. Home for Christmas this year, he started sifting through old journals stored at his mother’s house, “just like scraps of writing from when I was extremely young up through my teenage years,” before coming to America. “It was hilarious to me,” Minghella says of staring at his childhood reflection. “My review of a movie at 7 years old is pretty much what my review of a movie at 35 will be. My taste hasn't changed much. And when I sort of love something, I do tend to continue to love it.”

Which brings us back to his enduring love of romance, born of his bloodline, which is all over Minghella’s own 2018 directorial debut. Teen Spirit is a hazily lit film about a teenage girl from the Isle of Wight — the remote British island where Max’s father Anthony was born — who enters a local X-Factor-style singing competition. (It stars Minghella’s rumored girlfriend of several years, Elle Fanning.) The story is small, but its crescendos are epic.

Minghella calls the movie — an ode to the power of the pop anthem — “embarrassingly Max.” Max loves a good music-driven movie trailer — he’s watched the one for Top Gun: Maverick “many” times. And Max loves the rhythmic beats of sports movies like Friday Night Lights. Max loves movies with excesses of female energy, like Spring Breakers. He likens Teen Spirit to an experiment, his answer to the question, “Can I take all these things that I love and find a structure that can hold them?” The result is a touching “hodgepodge” of Minghella’s fascinations, inspired by the songs from another thing he loves: Robyn’s 2010 album Body Talk (itself a dance-pop meditation on love).

Minghella hasn’t directed any films since, but he sees now how making movies fits his personality — organized, impatient — more organically than starring in them does. Directing also helped him to appreciate that acting is “much harder than I was giving it credit for,” which, in turn, has made him like it more. Besides The Handmaid’s Tale currently airing on Hulu, Minghella appears in Spiral, the ninth installment in the Saw horror franchise and, from where I’m sitting, at least, a departure.

“I do like horror movies, but the thing that was really kind of magical is that I was feeling so nostalgic, right? We talked about Beverly Hills Cop earlier. I was just missing a certain kind of movie,” Minghella explains of his new role as Chris Rock’s detective partner. He was yearning for simple story-telling, like in the buddy cop movies of his youth, especially 48 Hours. It almost goes without saying that a buddy cop movie is another kind of love story. “And then I read the script and it was very much in that vein.” He clarifies: “I mean, it's also extremely Saw. It's very much a horror movie.”

His renewed excitement for acting translated onto The Handmaid’s Tale set, too. Veteran Hollywood producer Warren Littlefield describes casting Minghella in the role of Nick as an effortless choice: “Sometimes you agonize over things. [Casting Minghella] was instantly clear to me, and everyone agreed.” Now in its fourth season, the tone of the Hulu hit is graver than ever. Gilead is more desperate to maintain its rule, and so more audacious in its violence. Perhaps it’s fitting that the show’s romantic gestures finally match that scale.

In one particularly soaring moment, Elisabeth Moss’ June and Minghella’s Nick meet at the center of a bridge and crush into a long kiss. It’s been two seasons since they held their newborn daughter together, and it’s hard to see how this isn’t their last goodbye. Littlefield, like Minghella, is here for the romance among the rubble. “It's spectacular when they come together. In the middle of all of the trauma is this epic love story,” he says. “Max is just magnificent in the role.”

For Minghella, the satisfaction is more personal. He works with good people, he likes his scenes, and he thinks Nick is a complex character. Minghella read The Handmaid’s Tale for the first time in college in 2005. Like all the things Minghella has ever liked, he still likes it. He’s as proud of this most recent season as he is the show’s first. And he watched Nick and June race recklessly back to each other across the expanse of the screen exactly how you might expect. “I watched it like a fan girl.”

[brokehorrorfan]

Interview: James DeMonaco (The Purge franchise)

James DeMonaco thought he had purged himself from The Purge. Having written and directed the first three entries in the hit dystopian action-horror franchise then writing and producing two more sequels and a TV series, he publicly declared that The Forever Purge - released in theaters in July and on home video last week - would be the final installment. "I say it's my last Purge at the end of every one, so I feel like a fool saying there's going to be another one, but I definitely thought [The Forever Purge] was it. I can't lie. That was it for me. I thought I ended America appropriately."

It was the United State Capitol insurrection on January 6 that sparked an idea for a sixth entry. "The country felt like it was coming apart at the seams, and I think the sociopolitical discord fueled something in a nightmare of mine. I woke up with this idea, and I pitched it to Sébastien Lemercier, my producer, then Jason Blum, the other producer. I don't know if they were ready for another Purge, but they liked it. We pitched it to the studio, and they liked it, so I was given the green light to write it.”

The script brings back Frank Grillo's character of Leo Barnes, who was introduced in The Purge: Anarchy and returned in The Purge: Election Year. "I said, ‘If I do another one, I’d like to do it with Frank Grillo.' People loved him, and I love working with Frank." The script is complete but production is uncertain at the moment. "I’m guessing the studio is evaluating the COVID release of [The Forever Purge], so we’ll know soon I guess... I’m hoping we get to do it. I can’t give any definitives other than it’s written and Frank’s excited to do it."

As for the plot of the proposed seventh installment, "It takes place 10 years after The Forever Purge. America has been completely remapped. The states are much different and how they’re broken down is much different, without giving too much away, but there’s a tribalized nature to the new America. [Leo] is living kind of off the grid, but he’s pulled back into the Purge world that still exists in some way, shape, or form."

Truth be told, DeMonaco never expected The Purge to become a franchise. "I didn’t see it going past one [movie]. When we had the script, I think we counted 37 financing entities that had read the script and almost all said the same thing: ‘It’s too anti-American. It’s too nihilistic.’ We really thought if we did get it made, it was going to be a small Michael Haneke film, something like Funny Games, that would play at arthouse theaters and wouldn’t have a wide release."

It was horror producer extraordinaire Jason Blum - who had optioned scripts from DeMonaco when he was an executive at Miramax earlier in his career - that recognized the possibilities of The Purge. "We didn’t see the scope of the potential release until Jason [Blum]. He read it, and he saw something in the conceit that I don’t think I saw; the bigger potential of it. We had no idea I’d be here five movies and two seasons of a TV show later. It’s been a strange ride!"

DeMonaco stepped down as director after three installments of The Purge, but he was eager to guide the franchise as writer-producer. "I was ready to move to something new. I had been Purge-ing for many years in a row. It’s a dark world to live in. I still wanted to shepherd the story. I was always afraid, if it went into someone else’s hands, it potentially could become something I didn’t want it to be. Maybe it could be even better than what I would do, but it also could be something more exploitative in a way that I didn’t want it to go."

DeMonaco found filmmakers he could trust to hand over the reins, but he's eager to return to the director's chair if the next chapter comes to fruition. "When we found Gerard [McMurray], I felt like we were in great hands [on The First Purge]. He understood the sociopolitical nature of the piece. It’s what he loved even more than the genre elements. He felt like the right guy to take over, as did Everardo [Gout] on Part 5. But for 6, I was excited to direct again when I came up with this conceit, so I do believe there’s a chance, if Frank came back, we could re-team and do it together.

Any successful, long-running franchise - particularly one as politically-charged as The Purge - is bound to have its critics, and DeMonaco takes it all in stride. “To my detractors I often say, ‘The Purge is not a subtle film.’ There’s no subtlety at all. I’m hitting people over the head with a sledgehammer with my thoughts on the current political climate in the country. I think some people think it’s too political, and I get that. They don’t want to be preached and proselytized to. Some people love it for those exact reasons. My favorite movies are usually in the 50 percentile on Rotten Tomatoes. They’re gonna piss a lot of people off, and they’re gonna make some people really happy. I think sometimes you have to be bold in what you’re doing. For the people who hate it, that’s their right to hate!” he chuckles.

DeMonaco challenges himself to make every entry in The Purge series unique. "I really take a lot of time to make sure each one is very different than the previous, so even if you’ve seen the first four, we have a mandate between us to say, ‘Let’s not repeat ourselves. Let’s really try to flip it on its head.’ I think [The Forever Purge] feels new. Even the visual palette of the film is new. It takes place in a new territory, a new terrain; it’s not back in an inner city. It takes The Purge to a new level that we haven’t seen before, and I think the characters are wonderful. These are people you truly come to care about, and you want to go on the journey with them. It’s not a rehash that I’ve seen in some franchises. It’s very hard to keep doing new things, but I think it’ll feel fresh."

The Forever Purge's original release date was delayed due to the pandemic, and then it became one of the first wide releases once vaccines were rolled out. "We still don’t exactly know how to process if it’s good or bad financially. It’s hard to know, to be honest. I’m not privy to the backdoor meetings with the adults regarding the financials," he smirks. "But they’re great partners, so I hope they’re happy. I know it was a weird time. A Quiet Place [Part II] came out of the box so big that we all thought, ‘Hey, we’re back!’ But I didn’t know anybody at the time that was going back to the movies. It was a monstrous opening, yet I didn’t know one person who saw it in the theater. It’s still confusing as to what the future of the box office is."

"My biggest fear is that the box office doesn’t return, because I think we can’t replicate inside a movie theater. It’s a scary time." The impact of the theatrical experience is the centerpiece of DeMonaco's latest film, This Is the Night. It reunites the writer-director with Grillo and Blum, but it plays like an antithesis to their work on The Purge. “I think it was something I needed to do,” DeMonaco explains. “Movies have been my guiding force in life. My religion was cinema, and it’s been my passion. I always wanted to make a movie about that love of cinema and what it can inspire. It was wonderful to do after the first three Purges.”

Set in Staten Island during the summer of 1982, the coming-of-age story serves as DeMonaco’s love letter to cinema. "It’s about Rocky III - or any movie, which is why I don’t show any of Rocky III during the screening - that can inspire people to rise up and be better people. It’s about the power of art. It was great to make. I think it’s a very sweet, good-feeling film. I think I needed that myself after making The Purge.”

DeMonaco is currently developing a new horror movie starring Saturday Night Live favorite Pete Davidson. "We’re friends, we live close together. He was a big Purge fan, so we hit it off through a mutual friend." While he's elusive regarding plot details, he does offer a few hints. "I can’t really say it’s contained. It takes place in one place but a big place, so it’s not Purge-size. It’s bigger than that; a facility of some sort."

On working with Davidson, DeMonaco notes, "Big Time Adolescence is a great performance, so is The King of Staten Island, but there’s some humor in those films. There’s almost zero humor in the one we’re doing together. I think that’s exciting for me working with Pete, in that he’s going in a very new direction. This one is much more straightforward for his character." He enthuses, "I’m psyched to work with Pete. I can’t wait."

[archadianskies]

croissant aux amandes

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs​ Saturday Day 6: Meet the Family •  Reverse AU; Mob AU RK900/Simon

Ronan supposes he should be thankful his mother is keeping this particular meeting just between them. He’d rather be uncomfortable in private than openly humiliated though he thinks there’s a degree of humiliation regardless.

“We could do with a connection to the DPD,” Amanda swipes up on her tablet and the screen fills with a detailed profile. “Gavin Reed, former detective, freshly made Lieutenant as of two months ago. Negligible age gap, questionable morals but gets the job done. He likes cats, which is in your favour.”

“With all due respect, mother,” Ronan makes a face, “I’d rather be disowned.”

“Duly noted,” she nods, swiping a new profile onto the screen. “David Allen is your senior by thirteen years, Captain of SWAT Unit 32 and wields immense influence. His team is loyal to him, and he is known to be a kind, honorable man. He likes dogs which isn’t to your favour, though he is not against cats.”

Ronan studies the profile for a few moments- it wouldn’t be a bad match but it still didn’t feel right. “Perhaps in another life?”

“I will put Captain Allen as a ‘maybe’,” Amanda notes. “If not the DPD, then we could accept Carl Manfred’s offer.” The screen populates with a new profile, lengthier and more detailed. “Markus Manfred is an excellent candidate: no age gap, powerful family, powerful connections. Kind, thoughtful, charitable, and very well educated. Not sure where he stands about cats, but he’d be cordial about it I’m sure.”

“I find the older brother far more tolerable company,” Ronan scoffs, turning away.

“Leo?” Amanda says incredulously. “Leo Manfred has nothing to offer, that son squandered his inheritance and spent half a decade high on red ice, disgracing his family.”

“He’s gotten clean and is redeeming himself. He’d be a far better companion than his pretentious, insufferable -”

“Enough,” his mother commands, and Ronan cuts himself off. “There is of course Elijah Kamski, since he is unmarried and of similar age to his cousin Reed. We already have the Kamski connection through your brother, though.”

He tries again. “Are they the only options?”

“They are the best options we have researched,” Amanda turns the screen off. “There are female candidates as a backup but you said you prefer men so these are the male candidates. The gender is of course irrelevant; your fiance must be the one who brings the most to the table.”

“Mother,” Ronan sighs miserably, and Amanda sits beside him. She rests her hand over his, and knowing she is not an overly physically affectionate person only makes the gesture more meaningful. 

“You have submitted no candidates yourself, Ronan, these men are just the ones my team have found,” she reminds him carefully. “I want you to be happy with your choice, whether it be genuine affection, or an amicable arrangement like your brother.”

He knows it could be worse. He knows she could force an arrangement and there would be nothing he could do about it. The Stern family controls this city and it isn’t out of character for his mother to want an advantageous match now he’s turned thirty and declared no intentions to marry yet. It is a kindness, doing all this for him when he has been dragging his feet the past year, knowing this was to come. 

“I can postpone the luncheon, if you would like more time,” she says gently, squeezing his hand. 

“I’ll have an answer by then, I promise,” Ronan vows, because he does not want to disappoint her and delaying it will only prolong this particular brand of suffering. 

 *

Connor finds him under his favourite tree by the pond, and Ronan scoots over to make room on the blanket.

“That bad huh?” His older brother teases, though his smile is apologetic.

“It wasn’t...bad,” he concedes with a wince, “just awkward. And uncomfortable. She suggested Reed at the DPD.”

“Oh, yikes!” Connor laughs and Ronan manages a brief smile. His expression softens as he shifts to wrap an arm around Ronan’s shoulders. “Hey, it doesn’t have to be The One, you know? I don’t- I’m not... inclined romantically or sexually. Chloe is a wonderful friend, and I treasure her company. Our marriage provides her power and influence and security, and safety to nurture her relationship with North under the guise of a bodyguard.”

“You are...happy?” Ronan asks curiously, and Connor smiles.

“I’m very happy,” he nods. “It might not be romantic love, but there’s love in our friendship. You can have that too, brother, if you want.”

 *

It’s a lot to think about. It’s too much to think about, really, and so after too many hours of being stuck in his own head, Ronan escapes to his favourite spot in the whole city: Jericho. 

The cafe is somehow in the heart of town but so hidden it feels like stepping into an entirely different world, and he’s been escaping to its bare brick walls and cosy interior for years now. It’s owned by the Lambert twins, Daniel and Simon. Though the older twin is abrasive and curt, the younger is shy and gentle and always has time for Ronan.

“You look like you’ve had quite the day,” Simon laughs, already reaching for a mug and starting to make him coffee. “Take a seat, I saved an almond croissant for you.”

“You’re an angel, thank you,” Ronan takes the corner booth and watches as Simon goes through the familiar, well practiced motions. It’s close to closing and there’s only one other patron, so Simon decides to sit opposite him with his own mug of coffee.

“What’s got you looking like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders, hm?” The blond prods, and Ronan delays answering in favour of sipping the perfectly brewed mug of coffee in his hands. 

“My mother was being a little...overbearing this morning,” Ronan says hesitantly, leaving out the big details. “With the best of intentions, of course. She means well, but I still feel like I’m being slowly backed into a corner.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, it must be difficult,” Simon frowns empathetically, earnestly, because he is a good and kind friend. Ronan thinks if he weren’t the son of a crime family, he would marry Simon. 

They would have a soft, quiet life full of love and be entirely uneventful and Ronan would manage the business side of things for the cafe so Simon would never have to worry. Maybe they could adopt a cat or two. He wouldn’t even mind a dog, honestly. He’s partial to german shepherds. 

But that’s never going to happen, and it’s with a sinking feeling Ronan realises once he marries he may have to cut ties with Simon completely as he takes on more and more of their family’s work in the criminal underworld. 

“I… am to be married,” he says no louder than a whisper but Simon hears it, Simon’s lovely blue eyes widen at those words. “Well, in the future I mean. My mother is trying to matchmake me with- with certain friends’ sons.”

“In 2038?” Simon asks in disbelief. “Your mother is trying to matchmake you in the year 2038?”

“She means well,” Ronan repeats, sighing tiredly. “She just wants me to marry ‘the one who brings the most to the table’.” He echoes her words with the same regal air and Simon laughs though not unkindly.

“Sounds intense.”

“I have a luncheon next weekend with all of our extended family and friends, and she expects me to announce an answer then.” He picks at the almond croissant, and it’s as perfect as always- buttery, flaky and fresh. The layers are light, the almond slivers paper thin, and the sweetness just right. It feels like a last supper, knowing he probably won’t be able to return. He’d never want to drag Simon into his world of blood. 

 *~*

Danny arrives in time to help him sweep and mop up. His brother is a warm, comforting presence in his peripheral, and Simon soaks it up like warmth from a blanket.

“Saw one of those supervillain black cars the Sterns use on the way here, was it Ronan again?” Danny asks as they’re putting the mops away. “You know he’s getting engaged next weekend, right?”

“How did you know that?” Simon blinks in surprise as he hangs up his apron.

“Leo told me,” Danny shrugs. “The old man said he’s pushing for Markus to marry him.”

“Oh,” Simon tries not to sound so disappointed, and he’s not even sure what for- that Markus is to be married, or that Ronan is the one marrying him. 

“Yeah, I know right? Ugh, gross,” his twin makes a disgusted face. “Poor Ronan, imagine having to marry Mr Perfect and run the criminal underworld.”

“They’re a respectable family!” Simon argues, feeling a twinge of indignant anger on Ronan’s behalf. “The Sterns have transformed the educational landscape of the city- Kara was able to open a kindergarten because of their philanthropy! Imagine having that influence- I’d- I’d completely revamp child services and open shelters and proper mental health centers for abused children and adolescents. I’d make sure no one ever had to go through what we went through.”

“You sweet sweet child,” Danny snorts back a laugh, though it isn’t mocking in the least. “They’re a necessary evil for this city because the senator is an incompetent but dangerous fuckwit. Don’t get me wrong, I like them- they get things done. It’s just the thought of the Manfreds joining that circle that gives me bad indigestion.”

“Markus Manfred is- he’s an amazing man, Danny. Ronan and he would be perfectly matched,” Simon chews his lip, feeling his chest ache. “He certainly would bring the most to the table.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s just something Ronan said,” Simon flashes an apologetic smile. “He said he has to marry ‘the one who brings the most to the table’.”

“Brings the most to the table ,” Danny repeats, stressing the start and end of the sentence. Simon looks at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think-”

“Oh I do think,” his brother’s grin falters slightly, “But only if you want to, Simon. It’s a pretty crazy idea and uh, we might mysteriously disappear only for our bodies to be found in an underpass somewhere in a couple of weeks.”

It’s a ridiculously crazy idea, Simon knows this for a fact, but it’s so crazy it might just work.

* 

The Stern estate is beautiful, even from the other side of the huge wrought-iron gates. 

“You boys must be lost,” a guard drawls, sauntering over to the driver’s side. “Best you head back down the driveway and forget you ever came this way.”

“We're catering for the luncheon you dumbass,” Danny rolls his eyes. “So best you step aside and let us through so we can set up.”

The guard falters, frowning heavily. “There’s no mention of-” he looks at the side of the delivery van, “Jericho Cafe on the guest list.”

“Because we’re not guests,” Simon tries to mimic Danny’s impatient, snappy tone. “We’re catering for the guests.”

“Hey, listen, honest mistake,” Danny shakes his head. “No harm done. Let us in and we’ll do our job and you can do yours.”

“I-I’ll run it by the boss,” the guard fumbles for his phone.

“Ask Ronan,” Simon says firmly. “He’s the one who booked us, not- not the boss.”

The stretch of time as they wait for an answer feels like an eternity, like Simon is awaiting sentencing where the outcome could very well be execution. Is he signing his own hit? Is dragging his twin into this the worst mistake of his life?

“Alright, sorry about that,” the guard apologises, pocketing his phone and waving at someone up ahead. The gates part, and Simon doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more fear. “Go on through, the service entrance is on the right-hand side.”

“Thanks buddy,” Danny salutes lazily before driving through the now opened gates. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Danny-”

“No, shut up, we’re doing this. He ran it by Ronan and Ronan okayed us to come through,” Danny exhales slowly as he brings the van to the service entrance. A couple of confused kitchen staff come out to see them. 

“Alright,” Simon swallows thickly. “We’re doing this.”

* 

They unload and designate whole delivery trays laden with baked goods to be carried by the staff. Simon leads the way, trying to will his hands not to shake as he carries the feast he and Danny spent all yesterday prepping for, and all this morning from the crack of dawn baking so it would be as fresh as fresh can be for this very moment. 

He enters the dining room and there is Amanda Stern, matriarch of the Stern family. There is Ronan Stern, handsome as can be in a sharp tailored suit, and beside him are a couple- his brother Connor Stern, given the resemblance, and a lovely blonde lady in a periwinkle blue dress.

“Simon-”

“Madam, I have come to ask for your son’s hand in marriage,” Simon commends his voice for not trembling as he sets down the tray on the long dining table. Behind him, Daniel places his tray down and soon the staff follow, more and more until the table is absolutely brimming with food. “This is what I bring to the table.”

Amanda looks at him, expression unreadable and Simon thinks oh, he’s absolutely about to be executed. “You’re the Lambert boy,” she looks him over as if taking him apart atom by atom. “That cafe in Capitol Park.” “Yes ma’am,” Simon nods, clasping his hands behind his back so she won’t see how badly he’s shaking now he isn’t holding anything. She turns her eyes to the spread on the table.

“What is Ronan’s favourite?”

“The almond croissants,” Simon answers immediately, gesturing at them. Amanda nods and he picks one up using a pair of tongs, serving it to her on one of the bread plates. He risks a glance at Ronan who still seems frozen in shock, and it’s as if everyone is waiting with baited breath as Amanda bites into the croissant. Chewing thoughtfully, she sets the plate down and looks over at him. 

“I prefer blueberry danishes, but I can see why he likes these,” she’s smiling now, an amused matronly smile. “Is he your chosen fiance, Ronan?”

“If he would have me,” Ronan replies softly, reaching for Simon’s hands. “If a life with me is what he wants.”

“Yes,” Simon smiles, “I do.”

~*~*~

{ Inspired by [this tumblr post] about the intricacies and formalities of the 'Bride Price'.}

[adrian-the-lonely-writer]

Haunting Memories: A John Constantine Story

John Constantine finds himself some where strange at the hands of the devil. Yet again. This time however, instead of charging through hell and demons, the Hellblazer has to travel through his own past to understand what they want from him. Story and plot by me, featuring DC comic's John Constantine. (I guess I just wanted to try my hand at writing the character. Hopefully updates will come at a daily to weekly basis)

Chapter 1: Arrival

“What do you mean John, you don’t like it?” With a wave of his hand, the devil gestured to the carnival glittering down below them. Children's cries welled up the grassy hills, trapped by the trees that surrounded the fairgrounds, and accented by the soft whir of the machines. Music blared, audible even to their hill top. A faint breeze was blowing but it was drowned out by the excitement. A central tent glowed faintly with the lit up rides rivaling the stars above. “And after all the trouble I went to, to make it especially for you.”

“I don’t want to play these games-” John closed his eyes, taking a long drag. A dream. Some bizarre fucked up dream. That’s all this was. When his eyes opened once more, the devil was gone. The cacophony below continued the same as before. “Bloody hell…” Taking one more peek behind him, and finding the same wall of forest at the base of the hill, he made his choice.

“Not bloody. Not yet. That’s your job, isn’t it?” Was the last thing John heard, as he descended down the hill.

The carnival was simple. A large central tent. The north side was a food court, the south side was where all the games were set up. East and west held all sorts of rides. Small scale roller coasters, spinning gravity rides, rides that took you upside down, any sort of thing you could want. The hill was on the south end, and from it you could see the thick forest surrounding everything. So dense it seemed to eat any light that reached its borders. 

John made quick work sliding down the hill, never losing his footing. He’s been in worse spots, he supposed. The crowds were mostly children and their families. Teenagers in smaller clusters around the park. Besides the fact the woods seemed to surround them, nothing appeared obviously out of place. 

“Made especially for me huh?” John took another drag as he stepped into the light.

It was daylight all of a sudden. John Constantine was 13 years old, and had run away to the carnival from school after a particularly lucrative (and not exactly fair) poker-match with his mates. 

John stepped back in a rare moment of panic and once more, it was night. He was the crumpled 30, maybe 40 year old (truthfully he had lost count) he remembered himself to be. Still the carnival continued in front of him, unbothered by the change.

“The FUCK is going on?!” His shout would go unanswered, both by the families at the event, and by the devil who brought him here. Some quieter curses leaked through his lips as he sat on the grassy mount outside of the light of the carnival. Going in was not the number one option in his mind. 

His eyes lingered back over to the trees. They were densely packed close together. Some sort of evergreen he thought. Still, even the limited empty space was filled by a thick darkness. Not a lack of light, but a true darkness. A darkness that one only truly knows when they walk a path similar to his own.

Constantine found himself approaching the tree line. More out of avoidance to whatever magic lay within the chaos of the carnival than out of any actual hope this would be the way out. Slipping his hand behind the tree line, slipped it from his sight as well. Total darkness lay within the trees. Even the light from his lighter couldn’t penetrate the darkness contained here.

With a sigh of resignation, he slipped back into the carnival.

It was September 3rd. A Friday. The carnival was set up in the outskirts of town, ready for weekend business. Like any 13 year old, John wanted to go, although his family was standing in the way.

During school, at lunch, John had gathered a few “mates” of his own for a quick game of cards. Truly they were marks more than anything else. John had learned he didn’t need friends. He needed people he could control and manipulate. These kids were rich, and full of money for the upcoming festivities. John won them over with his charm more than anything. Charm and stealing his fathers cigarettes as gifts. Didn’t take long until he was gambling with them regularly. Tanking a few bets here and there when he could afford it to gain their trust, knowing when the time came down to it, he would not lose.

 One ill-fated poker game later and John was slipping out of the boys bathroom, money loaded into his school-pack.

John remembered all of this, clearly as if his entire life passed within a blink. An innocent gesture to adjust to the lights of the rides and tent.

‘No’ John thought to himself, the boy's face slipping into a frown. Despite how he appeared now, despite the carnival who’s grounds he was entering, he knew it wasn’t back then. Too many things happened. Too many leaving their permanent marks. Maybe the ones on his body were gone, but not on his soul. He could feel those wounds wherever or whenever. Even now.

“Alright John.” He clapped his hands together, producing a smoke from his adolescent pants. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

Before him lay the rows of games. The ring toss, duck grab, balloon darts, and the balls and their bottles. Not to mention the various shooting ranges with their cork guns. Or water games. A smile flickered over John’s lips as he remembered his original run through here. Even at 13 he still had quite a bit of occult knowledge, certainly enough to ruin a few carnival games. Bit of psychokinesis timed with the throw of a baseball netted him his favorite prize. It was a large stuffed animal. A dog. Funny, he remembered always wanting a dog. 

“Step right up! Throw a ball, win an animal.” The carnie’s shout pulled John out of the memory. The carnie stood at the very same bottle game John remembered. Yet there was one detail obviously different. The stuffed dogs were gone.

“Win an animal?” John snarked, walking up to the booth, his old teenaged smirk returning.. “What animal? I don’t see any prize.”

The carnie winked, pulling back in the curtain and revealing the large cage. Inside a large black canine stared directly at John. Eyes of ruby that bore into his soul as the smell of sulfur assaulted him. A look John would recognize anywhere.

“The hell?!” John tried to run backward, but stumbled falling onto his ass. Cursing again, he scrambled up and saw the cage again. This time locked inside was a German Shepherd curled up on his little bed. 

“Scared of dogs, kid? Then this probably ain’t the game for you.” The carnie’s arms were crossed. Several parents looked at John, holding their younger kids close.

‘Great’ John thought to himself again. Not only did he not know what was going on, he was making a bit of a spectacle of himself. 

“More scared of the horrid set up of your game.” John found himself saying as he dusted himself off. “You really expect to make money with a set up that easy?”

“Oh ho ho.” The carnie replied. “You seem pretty confident.”

John found himself placing the fee on the counter and picking up the baseball. Throwing it with the same tricks as before. The bottles tumbled to the grass below. 

“They warned me about you…” The carnie winked a little. “Well, good job young man, I suppose this guy is now yours.”

John didn’t see the man open the cage, but the dog was on him in an instant.

[elmidol]

Good Work (NSFW)

Kylux (Kylo x Hux) PWP

Originally written in 2016

Word count: 2.7k

 It was the fact that he was aware of what lay concealed under that helmet that so infuriated him. General Hux had before seen the face of Kylo Ren. Such uncontrolled expressions that bespoke of poor self-control. And yet Supreme Leader praised the boy. At twenty-nine years old, Kylo Ren—in General Hux’s opinion—was simply that: a boy. Others saw him a creature, something to be feared. On some level, the redhead did house a minute amount of fear of the Force user. Yet it was just that—he feared the Force, especially when it was wielded by an unruly whelp like the darkly robed man sitting across from him in the Command Shuttle.

 The insufferable Master of the Knights of Ren appeared to be rather relaxed despite the poor outcome of their recent mission. A political affair, one that had ended in Ren stopping blaster fire before it could strike down General Hux and then killing those who had chosen to betray the First Order. General Hux felt little gratitude towards the Force user; Snoke had commanded that his apprentice protect the general, and thus the actions were to be expected. In the absence of gratitude, General Hux instead felt a growing contempt. He could sense it, the amusement Kylo Ren was brought in the wake of Hux’s failure. A minor hitch in his plans when it came to the big picture; yet Ren was often too blinded by his own personal interests to see the bigger picture.

 The moment they arrived onboard the Finalizer, General Hux stood with the intentions to leave behind the annoyance that was Kylo Ren. He instead walked shoulder to shoulder with the other, whose robes brushed and rustled against Hux’s uniform. That he would have to report his failure to Supreme Leader Snoke was frustrating enough. Kylo Ren seemed to take pleasure in watching it all unfold. The general of the First Order found it to be somewhat consoling that Snoke was capable of seeing the larger picture. He brushed off the politician’s death as an inevitability whilst questioning Hux on how the general planned to proceed. Having rehearsed his response in his mind during the return trip, he quickly rattled off the outline.

 Kylo Ren stared up at Supreme Leader Snoke the entire time General was speaking, however the redhead was not fooled. The Force user did not always use his eyes to watch. A muscle in Hux’s jaw twitched, and he then gnashed his teeth as the hologram of Snoke faded away. Ren had slowly turned his head, staring at him from behind that mask. General Hux lifted his chin as he turned on his heel and started to walk away as though he was not perturbed in the least. Unsurprisingly, the robed man followed after him—much like a dog, Hux thought.

 “If you are expecting gratitude, Ren, you will be kept waiting,” General Hux drawled when, nearly two minutes later, the other had still not left. There was a hesitation in Kylo Ren’s next step that caused the redhead’s lips to twitch as the urge to smirk arose.

 “Perhaps your life means so little,” rumbled out the modulated voice that was filtered through Ren’s vocoder.

 General Hux scoffed then released a strangled noise. He was ultimately unable to bite back his response, which he believed to be quite appropriate. “I will not praise a dog for rolling over and exposing its belly, Ren. You did what was expected of you. I would have been, perhaps, impressed had you been of any use outside of your standard skills. Aiding in preventing such actions from occurring to begin with.” He could feel Kylo Ren bristling with anger beside him. Or perhaps it was frustration.

 The redhead paused in his steps only when Kylo Ren picked up his pace and stepped before him, turning so that they were facing one another. Hux pressed his lips together to keep from reacting; normally he was the one who was forced to complete such a series of motions in order to address the Knight. “Or perhaps you should have been more capable. Failing to do what was expected of you. Your useless actions—“

 He did not doubt that Ren spoke beyond those words, and yet his mind seemed to stop. General Hux stared blankly ahead, the word useless running on repeat in his head. The glaze that clouded his eyes lifted when Kylo Ren stepped back around him. Hux remained standing perfectly still. He raised his eyes so that rather than staring at the ground he was watching the hallway, which was emptied of any other personnel. Kylo Ren was standing behind him; the redhead could feel the other man’s presence.

 Since when was Ren a man?

 Even the gloved hand that cupped the side of his ass was not sure like a man’s. General Hux stiffened at the contact all the same, inhaling deeply through his nose. The unsure manner in which Kylo Ren was pawing at his posterior was not unpleasant. If anything, it reminded him of his youth, of his time in the Academy. He closed his eyes, dipped his chin, and allowed the man behind him to explore. As though encouraged by his passivity, Kylo Ren took a step closer to General Hux. Even through the layers of clothing, Hux could feel the bulge in Ren’s pants against his ass. His lips parted at the sensation. It was solely because Hux had once observed the Force user training that he had never believed him to be gangly despite his height. And now the feel of his hardening cock, which was in proportion to the rest of him, had him realizing the assessment would have been in poor taste had he ever deigned to entertain it. Kylo Ren, though on occasion awkward, moved with a certain sense of purpose. A forcefulness, which was shown in the way that second leather hand landed on his body. His hips seized up, General Hux allowed himself to be brought backwards a step so that his ass was pressed more tightly to Ren’s front.

 He could hear the sharp breathing coming from the mask, and it nearly sounded like static in certain respects. The cool metal met the back of his neck, Kylo practically nuzzling him the very first time he snapped his hips forward to rock against him. General Hux scanned the area ahead of himself. No officers, technicians, or stormtroopers still—and yet that would change, of that he was entirely certain.

 “You have no more control over yourself than a touch-starved adolescent,” he drawled out, turning in Ren’s hands so that they were facing one another again. His eyes were on the visor, meeting the man’s gaze though he could not see those brown orbs. Kylo Ren lowered his hands so that they were no longer touching. It was then that General Hux felt a sort of nudge, a pressure, on his hip that urged him to turn around and start walking. He silently cursed the Force, yet all the same he complied. The high-ranking officer of the First Order allowed Ren to shepherd him.

 Upon entering the Knight’s living quarters, General Hux could hardly say he was surprised by the sight of Darth Vader’s helmet. He ignored it, however, and looked to the bed. Immaculate, as though the man behind him had never slept in it. For a moment, Hux entertained the notion of Ren sleeping curled up on the floor.

 “Take off your helmet,” General Hux said when the Force user ventured to trace a hand along his hip. Kylo Ren did not immediately oblige, opting to trail his hand from Hux’s hip to his ass, groping, nearly massaging. The redhead felt a stirring in his loins when he realized that Ren’s awkward movements were in no way due to inexperience. He was aiming to please Hux, seeking praise.

 To General Hux, Kylo Ren was acting in accordance with his current level of lust. There was nothing to praise. It was when that leather-clad limb left him and he could hear the telltale hissing of air that indicated the removal of the helmet that had Hux turning to regard Ren with something other than his usual contempt. He allowed a smirk to cross his features, his eyes roaming the younger man’s face.

 “Following an order without a witty retort,” General Hux began—he could see the way Kylo Ren almost flinched, his eyebrows drawing together and mouth twitching—“Good job.” The man’s pupils dilated, his posture straightening at the praise. Kylo’s eyes were on his lips. Noticing this, Hux lowered his gaze to the other’s mouth. He ran his tongue along his lips and watched the way Kylo Ren’s jaw nearly dropped. He could not help but imagine what those lips would look like around his cock.

 General Hux brought his arms behind his back, clasping one hand in the other. He spread his legs a little so that his stance was more in line with a posture he often used while giving speeches. Kylo Ren stepped forward, his mouth pressed against Hux’s. The redhead hardly responded, though he did encourage the behavior by puckering up then opening his mouth and allowing Ren’s tongue to dart inside. The dark haired man kissed lower, on Hux’s chin. His neck. Teeth nipping at his clothed collarbone. Lower and lower as the man sank to his knees. Those brown orbs were directed upwards, watching General Hux observing him. Kylo Ren mouthed the general’s cock through his pants.

 He could feel blood rushing towards his dick. Could feel his cock twitching to life. “Go on, Ren,” he said, an order though spoken softly, encouragingly. Kylo Ren opened the front of his pants, his tongue running along the material of the general’s boxers. Impatient, the Knight wasted little time with this teasing and withdrew the redhead’s cock. He began jerking the man. General Hux locked his knees to stop himself from thrusting forward, from bucking up into the touch. He grunted, however, when that wet, hot tongue traced along his slit before Ren engulfed him. “Mm… Such talent,” Hux hissed without a trace of mocking when his cock hit the back of Kylo’s throat and the Knight did not gag. Ren was eagerly bobbing his head.

 General Hux found that he could hardly keep his hands behind his back, one flying to the back of Ren’s head, urging him to continue; while the other he set on Kylo’s shoulder to help keep his balance as the dark haired man slipped a finger between his ass cheeks, prodding teasingly though not penetrating him. He rubbed circles around Hux’s rim, and the redhead found it increasingly difficult to breathe.

 Hux stared down at Ren’s plump lips around his cock, despising the moment the Knight drew backwards—the redhead’s grip on the back of the Force user’s head did nothing to prevent this. With the hand that was not groping Hux’s ass, Kylo stroked the general’s cock, lapping at the head and smirking up at the man. Kylo Ren’s expression promised much; and General Hux was growing more eager with every passing second.

 “Good boy,” he murmured, and the dark-haired man shuddered. General Hux broke away from Ren, walking over to the bed. “Do you have—“

 “Yes,” Kylo said, his voice a little hoarse given his previous activities. He moved over to his bedside table, opened the drawer, and removed a bottle of lube. General Hux nodded his approval before starting to strip. He folded each article of clothing, setting it neatly on the piece of furniture from which Ren had procured the bottle. Once naked, he climbed onto the bed, lying on his stomach with his arms crossed atop Ren’s pillow. The Force user placed the bottle onto the bedside table long enough to strip. He then straddled Hux’s thighs, uncapping the bottle and pouring lubricant into his hand.

 General Hux closed his eyes as Ren started to prepare him. The finger worming its way into him was doing wonders to help diminish the agitation and sense of disappointment he had been holding onto since the morning’s failure. A second finger slipped into him, and he sighed at the way Kylo stroked him. “Don’t dawdle, Ren,” he said all the same, wanting to feel the man pounding into him with no restraint. It was how Hux had always imagined sex would be like with Ren—and imagine he had, though he was often loath to admit to it. Kylo withdrew his fingers long enough to lather them with more lube. A third finger joined the first two, and Hux began to rock back into the thrusting digits. He groaned at the feel of Ren stretching him, swore when he could hear Kylo slicking up his cock with even more lube.

 He looked over his shoulder to watch as Kylo Ren seized hold of his cock in one hand, cupping Hux’s ass with the other and using his thumb to spread the mans’ cheeks. General Hux set one of his hands on the other side, opening himself up further. Kylo prodded his entrance with the head of his cock, teasing until Hux grit his teeth and pressed backwards. It was then that the younger man pushed up into Hux, sliding inch by inch into him. “Kriff,” Hux said breathlessly, grasping at the plush of the pillow underneath him as he was filled completely. Kylo Ren groaned, though he paused as though unsure if— “Mm. Maker, Ren.”

 At the sound of such praise, the other was encouraged to begin moving. Ren rolled his hips again, his hands running up and down Hux’s sides, as though worshipping the body underneath his own. Hux reveled in the attention, in the adoration, in the fact that the powerful man inside of him was so desperate for his approval.

 Perhaps Ren had noticed that things would not be running smoothly that morning. Perhaps he had been so eager to be praised for saving Hux’s life.

 General Hux felt his cock throbbing at the thought of it, and he raised himself onto his knees. Kylo Ren kissed the back of his neck, his tongue swirling circles on his flesh as they both reached for the redhead’s cock. At the new angle, Ren was able to stroke Hux’s prostrate, which had the man throwing his head back, allowing it to rest on Kylo’s shoulder. Kylo turned to the side, his mouth claiming the smaller man’s.

 Breaking away from the kiss, General Hux pushed at Ren. The man obliged, pulling away and obeying without question when Hux gestured for him to lie down. The redhead straddled the Knight, gripping the man’s cock and impaling himself. He stared down at those approval-seeking eyes the entire time. “Good boy,” he said heavily, riding the man with vigor. The sight of Kylo Ren biting his bottom lip was worth the death of a replicable politician, Hux decided. “Hmm…mmm…good work, Ren.” Kylo arched up off the bed, his hands gripping General Hux tightly enough that the redhead knew he would have finger-shaped bruises on him. He could not have cared less; it felt amazing having the man cumming inside him. Namely when he knew it was because of his words, the realization that he had such power over the younger male.

 General Hux dropped his hand to his cock, starting to pump himself as Ren rode out his orgasm. The brown-eyed man panted whilst regaining control over himself. His hand wrapped around Hux’s, both of them working the other until the general ejaculated on Ren’s stomach and chest. “Good work,” Hux murmured at the sight of Ren eagerly scooping up his cum without needing to be ordered to do so then shoving his fingers into his mouth. Their eyes locked, and General Hux nodded as he said, “That was a good job, Ren.”

 “General…” A whisper. His cheeks tinged pink. General Hux dragged the tips of his fingers up the length of Kylo’s chest to his lips, which puckered in a kiss then parted so that the digits could dip inside. He eagerly sucked the fingers, which Hux was thrusting in and out at a leisurely pace.

 “You wanted my attention, Ren…” The Knight blinked in mock innocence. Rather than feel anger, there was a stirring inside General Hux. That thirst for power. “Good work,” he said again, and once more Kylo Ren basked in the praise.

[hanadoesstuffbadly]

Daughter of Giants

"You should move along, Giant, we don't want your sort around here." The bartender's voice was low and authoritative, the voice of a man not easily ignored, but one didn't need the ears of a bat to make out the tremors coursing through it. Everything about him was a well made manor with good foundations, but Aravis could tell it was built on sand. Give him a little shake and everything would start slipping.

Aravis smirked and tapped her fingers idly against the bar's puckered wooden surface. A part of her cursed  how ineffective her disguise had been proving recently, even after she's taken to covering her folc markings. The last thing she needed now was to have word of a nomadic folcwoman travelling the Engle Lands like a sad silk trader. Her tankard's rim just brushed her lips as she held it there and she concentrated on the fact that the man had not moved along, still standing just out of sight behind her mustard coloured hood. If he just needed a shake, why was she feeling inclined to rattle him until the very bricks of his character were dust to be scraped off of her heel. Maybe she was too tired for this today, too done with walkers and their sloppy, indelicate ineptitude. But at the same time, her ichor was roaring through her veins, violet and rushing. It made her lungs burn like magma beneath the island's crust. Her titanic heart yearned for a fight. It had been too long.

"My sort?" Silk dropped into her tone inadvertently, turning her deep, hoarse, broken voice into an almost mechanical purr. Fear rippled through the room like ribbons. It was a cool breeze in a suffocating glare of self-importance and Aravis breathed it in.

"You're a bounty-hunter!" Not the bartender, but a nasal, underdeveloped voice called from the crowd of patrons that had interrupted their own meals to gawk like a gaggle around what had been a peaceful evening drink. Aravis didn't bother seeking out the speaker (though she suspected one of the pasty, mealy shepherds seated closer to the entrance. An easy escape, she mused, smart choice.) Her brow, however, creased at his choice of words. Bounty hunters were perhaps the lowest of the low creatures grovelling on the earth's filthy surface. Turning in fellows of your kind for the reward of others? Had they no sense of honour or kinship at all. Had a folcman or woman acted in such a way, they would be plunged beneath the clouds to the endless oceans below and ripped to shreds by the wild, Bacchic merpeople of the depths. Honour, trust, loyalty; mere dramatic concepts to be learned and forgotten by those thugs like poor poetry.

"Now what would give you that idea?" Likely her stature or lack of ladylike grace. Maybe-

"The ends of your hair. They're white." The thought died before it even took shape in her mind. A chill crawled up around her shoulders, turning the thick muscle there into cold stone. She was frozen in place, barely able to open her mouth to reply through gritted teeth, her head bowed lower toward the counter and her tankard rested against her suddenly ringing forehead.

"Why," she ground out, "would that," turning slowly like a tin doll, her eyes flashed, "mark me out?" Moonlight flashed against a bronze knife behind the bar and it set the room aflame. The man- boy really- stood and quaked like a tethered kite before the entrance like it was a headwind. He had a round, dark, unfinished face; the face of a scholar or bard, not a warrior. Nevertheless, Aravis wanted nothing more than to turn it blue with bruises.

"I've heard stories," He shuddered and searched any face but hers for help "my father's a pepper merchant, he told me about you and your kind." The idea of some miserable, slimy, slithering underwalker's tongue speaking of her ‘kind’ made Aravis' fists curl. "Your hair is dark and- and blue, right?" He was slipping, but didn't run. Yet. "He used to say, when- when what was inside your head became darker, your hair literally started paling in comparison... Making the tips turn white... And- I-I thought..."

"Tom Tom, that's enough." Hissed the bartender.

Aravis was very still. Whispers are meant to be lost in the chaos. Aravis’ words were like breaths, yet each one rang in the floorboards and out of the door like the echoes of screams.

"Your father is well-learned. Darkness seeping into every crevice of the mind, turning you into a miasma veiled in flesh? What better fits that description than a callous, underhanded criminal? What could be so dark, so evil, as to turn the tips of my hair so pale?"

With one hand she tore the hood from her head. And not a breath was drawn as their pathetic faces took in the blank, dull cascades, the colour of new snow. Cold and dead. White to the roots.

She closed her eyes when the whispers started seeping into their fear, and as always, before her there stretched a great gash in the clouds on which she, still an adolescent wrapped in sunlight, stood. Beneath that crevice she saw the island of the underwalkers. But she wasn't looking at them. Instead, all that filled her vision was the great, massive warrior lying like unwanted venison beside the hulking, grotesque, monstrous corpse of a Beanstalk. And the underwalkers were dancing. At their head, leading them on there stood a creature of pale flesh and golden hair. To others he might have looked like a child, beautiful and beaming. Aravis knew what he really was. The axe was still in his hands. That smiling, glittering face was the last thing she saw before the vision cleared and Aravis opened her eyes to the bar counter. 

Shards of metal and broken wood lay before her. Her hand was bloodied by purple ichor. Still lodged within the cut were some remains of the crushed tankard. But it was her eyes that were burning with pain.

The whispers had ceased. And so had the roar in her veins. She was ice.

Standing, she swept her cloak aside to rest both hands on her hips, her feet apart. She was taller now than she had been when she entered, and now the crest of her ringed headband just skimmed the ceiling. Everybody in the room cowered below her. It felt right.

"Indeed. I am a hunter. But what I'm after is not the reward of a slippery, stupid nobleman. It is justice. And it is mine alone." the low rasp of her voice grew full and round as pride swelled within, "as a daughter of the mighty Laestrygonians."

At the name of her folc, new horror trickled into slow running red blood all around her. So many eyes darted to the door, for escape. Many more became fixed on her lips or, more specifically, on the teeth that lay behind them. Aravis didn’t need to be a mind mage to know they were wondering how much mortal flesh had been shredded upon them. That stout bartender was the first to finish quivering.

"Who do you seek, great Giantess? I will tell you all that I know, just don't hurt any of my customers, I beg of you!" Ugh. Begging. Typical underwalkers.

"I'm hunt Prince Jack of Gaul. As I have for almost ten years." Voice rising such that everyone might hear, she let fear carry her words. "He has taken something very precious from me, many things in fact, and I intend to exact justice."

“But, he’s been missing over three years! Many young princes have been.” Aravis was well aware of that. So close. She had been so close she could see the ridiculous peak of his hair, illuminated under dragon fire. But the presence of one of the more powerful fae had forced to keep her distance. But she had him cornered. It was almost over. And then he was gone.

“Haven’t you heard? They’re back, now.” Every head turned back to the scholarly boy by the entrance. “Yeah, the entire Fearless-”

But Aravis was deaf to the world.

They’re back now. He’s back now. He’s back. Again, and again, and again. The sound of clouds being split down the middle and the shining eyes of the blonde, beautiful murderer. And dancing. Aravis’ eyes were filled with axes, ichor and dancing.

Her bident spear was in her hand one moment and whistling across the room the next. The boy- Tom Tom he’d been called- was pinned between its prongs like a fish, flailing and panicked. He grasped at the twin spikes which were twice as thick as his arm. As Aravis strode over, he just resisted going limp.

With her feelings crashing and shrieking in her head, Aravis paid no attention to the fact that the ceiling had splintered around it. She didn’t notice the splinters to timber that clawed at her waist, nor the frigid night air whipping her face as she waded through the bar like mud. People the size of dolls scurried for the exit, while the one she wanted remained pinned. Until she knelt down and gripped the long handle of her weapon, pushing it closer into his throat.

“Where?” Was all she managed. Everything inside was a storm that even she herself was becoming lost in.

“I- I don’t know! I was told by a friend!”

“WHERE?!” Her bellow ricocheted off the dark sky itself like thunder and the bident spear-head pressed harder against his trachea until he gasped for air.

“STONEBURY!” Violent sobs wracked his body but Aravis did not relent, “GLASS STONEBURY! MY FRIEND HORNER IS IN GLASS STONEBURY! HE CAN TELL YOU!”

Only then, with a grunt of dark satisfaction did she pull the spear from the wall, releasing him. With the first real, tangible feeling she had felt in years melting into her veins, she shrank back down until she was practically the same stature she had been when she had arrived. The bar’s roof was gone, allowing freezing wind to howl through. She cared not.

Aravis finished a drink that had been abandoned on a table in the panic. It was revolting, crude stuff, typical for underwalkers. But a smile was curled on her face regardless.

"What will you do once you find the prince? He's a hero, and has many powerful friends!" So the bartender had stayed, she hadn’t counted on that. She graciously turned to look at him, feeling lighter than she had in almost four years.

"Simple. I will rend his arms from his sides. I will cast his broken body across the air until each and every bone is ground into dust."

"They'll see you coming, people have already run to tell others of you."

"You speak as if I’d intended this to be a slaughter. You are wrong.” Aravis’ hood fell to the floor and her hand reached into her satchel. She sighed softly when her fingers met the gentle, rippling fabric of her cloak. Her mother’s cloak. “It’s an execution.” she pulled it free, letting it grow in size until it could wrap around her completely. Her legs and torso disappeared from sight. “And I must have him know his sentence.”

Turning, she vanished behind the concealment of the cloak and into the darkness of the night. The Engle Lands were solitary, located deep in the marshes of Fairytale Island. 

It wasn’t far to Glass Stonebury. And then all that was left was to find this Horner.

Just an intro that I couldn't get out of my head since creating Aravis (her name was Astrid originally). I kinda want to write a whole fic about this but I'm not sure since it would be pretty much all my ocs... I'm imagining basically zootopia but with a Giant princess and a bounty hunter.

Also ive already started about two big projects with no third chapter soooo.....

[felicia-cat-hardy]

Max Minghella On 'The Handmaid's Tale,' His Dad, Romance, & 'Spiral'

Max Minghella is sitting in his backyard in the LA sunshine, his t-shirt an homage to the French filmmaker Mia Hansen-Løve, his adopted shepherd mix, Rhye, excited by the approach of a package courier.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks — the dog, not me — tenderly.

Minghella, who at 35 has dozens of screen credits to his name, is best known as The Handmaid’s Tale’s cunning chauffeur Nick Blaine, a character who it’s difficult to imagine saying sweetheart. In airless Gilead, of course, a cautious hand graze with Elisabeth Moss’ June can pass for a big romantic gesture. In a Season 1 episode featuring child separation and hospital infant abduction, Nick’s major contribution is to trade stolen glances with a sex slave while “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” pumps discordantly along. I ask Minghella about playing the series’ closest approximation to a dreamy male lead against the show’s dark narrative of female subjugation.

“I know this is not the answer you want to hear,” Minghella says with none of Nick’s hesitation. “But I like that stuff, right? In the pilot, I think Nick only had a handful of lines. It wasn't clear that this is what the character would turn into. And it's quite fortunate for me personally, because I'm not a massively sort of intellectual person in my real life. I love Fifty Shades of Grey. That's like my Star Wars. It suits me to play a character like him.”

Minghella surmises that this enduring romanticism is an outcome of nurture. His father, the late British director Anthony Minghella, made grand romantic dramas like Cold Mountain and The English Patient. And there was the young, cinema-mad Max sitting on the living room sofa, absorbing everything. “It’s taken me a long time to understand this,” he says of his prolonged childhood exposure to love stories. “My dad made The English Patient when I was 10. So it was two years of watching the dailies to that movie and then watching 50 cuts of it. And then [The Talented Mr.] Ripley he made when I was 13, and it was the same thing.” These were an adolescent Max Minghella’s alternative to reruns. “I think they did shape my perspective on the world in a lot of ways, specifically The English Patient. That was a complicated love story, and I wonder sometimes how much it's affected my psychology.”

Some sons rebel; others resemble. Minghella’s co-star O-T Fagbenle, who plays June’s other lover from before the time of Gilead, got his first job acting in Anthony Minghella’s romantic crime film Breaking and Entering. “Anthony is one the kindest, most beautiful men that I've ever had the privilege of working with before,” Fagbenle says. “And Max has his gorgeous, sensitive, open-minded soul.”

Though Minghella spent his childhood on the set of The Talented Mr. Ripley, playing an uncredited Confederate soldier role in Cold Mountain, and tooling around with a Super-8 camera Matt Damon gave him, he insists his upbringing was normal. He grew up in South Hill Park overlooking Hampstead Heath in London with his father and mother, the choreographer Carolyn Choa. (Minghella also has a half-sister, Hannah Minghella, who is now a film executive.) Yes, technically, it was London, but that’s not how it seemed. “I feel like I grew up in a very small town. Every school I went to was in Hampstead. I was born in Hampstead,” Minghella says of the small map dot of his life before university. “When I went to New York, I felt I was going to the big city.”

Despite his illustrious surname, movie-watching was far from restricted to the classics. “Beverly Hills Cop is definitely the movie I remember having an unhealthy obsession with. I think I saw it when I was 5 for the first time, and I'd watch it just two or three times a day for years. I'm just obsessed with it.”

Plenty of actors can trace their love of movies back to a love of stories, but for Minghella the relationship seems to flow in reverse. When he left for Columbia University, Minghella opted to study history for its connection, through storytelling, to film. It was during the summers between his years of college that he started taking acting more seriously. Before his graduation, he’d already appeared in Syriana, starring Damon and George Clooney. Soon, he’d make a splash as Divya Narendra in The Social Network in 2010 and be cast in Clooney’s Ides of March. As all young actors eventually must, Minghella moved to Los Angeles.

It’s been over a decade since he last lived on the Heath, but, perhaps unusually for a person who’s chosen his profession, Minghella is adamantly not a “shapeshifter,” in his words. Home for Christmas this year, he started sifting through old journals stored at his mother’s house, “just like scraps of writing from when I was extremely young up through my teenage years,” before coming to America. “It was hilarious to me,” Minghella says of staring at his childhood reflection. “My review of a movie at 7 years old is pretty much what my review of a movie at 35 will be. My taste hasn't changed much. And when I sort of love something, I do tend to continue to love it.”

Which brings us back to his enduring love of romance, born of his bloodline, which is all over Minghella’s own 2018 directorial debut. Teen Spirit is a hazily lit film about a teenage girl from the Isle of Wight — the remote British island where Max’s father Anthony was born — who enters a local X-Factor-style singing competition. (It stars Minghella’s rumored girlfriend of several years, Elle Fanning.) The story is small, but its crescendos are epic.

Minghella calls the movie — an ode to the power of the pop anthem — “embarrassingly Max.” Max loves a good music-driven movie trailer — he’s watched the one for Top Gun: Maverick “many” times. And Max loves the rhythmic beats of sports movies like Friday Night Lights. Max loves movies with excesses of female energy, like Spring Breakers. He likens Teen Spirit to an experiment, his answer to the question, “Can I take all these things that I love and find a structure that can hold them?” The result is a touching “hodgepodge” of Minghella’s fascinations, inspired by the songs from another thing he loves: Robyn’s 2010 album Body Talk (itself a dance-pop meditation on love).

Minghella hasn’t directed any films since, but he sees now how making movies fits his personality — organized, impatient — more organically than starring in them does. Directing also helped him to appreciate that acting is “much harder than I was giving it credit for,” which, in turn, has made him like it more. Besides The Handmaid’s Tale currently airing on Hulu, Minghella appears in Spiral, the ninth installment in the Saw horror franchise and, from where I’m sitting, at least, a departure.

“I do like horror movies, but the thing that was really kind of magical is that I was feeling so nostalgic, right? We talked about Beverly Hills Cop earlier. I was just missing a certain kind of movie,” Minghella explains of his new role as Chris Rock’s detective partner. He was yearning for simple story-telling, like in the buddy cop movies of his youth, especially 48 Hours. It almost goes without saying that a buddy cop movie is another kind of love story. “And then I read the script and it was very much in that vein.” He clarifies: “I mean, it's also extremely Saw. It's very much a horror movie.”

His renewed excitement for acting translated onto The Handmaid’s Tale set, too. Veteran Hollywood producer Warren Littlefield describes casting Minghella in the role of Nick as an effortless choice: “Sometimes you agonize over things. [Casting Minghella] was instantly clear to me, and everyone agreed.” Now in its fourth season, the tone of the Hulu hit is graver than ever. Gilead is more desperate to maintain its rule, and so more audacious in its violence. Perhaps it’s fitting that the show’s romantic gestures finally match that scale.

In one particularly soaring moment, Elisabeth Moss’ June and Minghella’s Nick meet at the center of a bridge and crush into a long kiss. It’s been two seasons since they held their newborn daughter together, and it’s hard to see how this isn’t their last goodbye. Littlefield, like Minghella, is here for the romance among the rubble. “It's spectacular when they come together. In the middle of all of the trauma is this epic love story,” he says. “Max is just magnificent in the role.”

For Minghella, the satisfaction is more personal. He works with good people, he likes his scenes, and he thinks Nick is a complex character. Minghella read The Handmaid’s Tale for the first time in college in 2005. Like all the things Minghella has ever liked, he still likes it. He’s as proud of this most recent season as he is the show’s first. And he watched Nick and June race recklessly back to each other across the expanse of the screen exactly how you might expect. “I watched it like a fan girl.”

Get Relationship Advice Here

[anonymousanomieness]

Cheat the Church of Integrity — Strip the Sanctuary of Truth — Compromise the Cult of Society — Life is YOUR Game

The Political Game at a “Twenty-Twenty” Glance — Mavericks Want a Chance, Not a Stance

“Let your life be a counter-friction to stop the machine. What I have to do is to see, at any rate, that I do not lend myself to the wrong which I condemn.” – Henry David Thoreau (Civil Disobedience)

“Truly it demands something godlike in him who has cast off the common motives of humanity, and has ventured to trust himself for a taskmaster. High be his heart, faithful his will, clear his sight, that he may in good earnest be doctrine, society, law, to himself, that a simple purpose may be to him as strong as iron necessity is to others!” — Ralph Waldo Emerson (Self-Reliance)

(Emerson and Thoreau were essentially family — and while I have been inspired by both, here you will find a handful of quotes from Emerson, as his masterpiece, “Self-Reliance,” could not be more beneficial to the individual than it is now, in the 2020s.)

My most recent disappointment with political ideology falls within the realm of vocabulary.  Perhaps what is most disturbing is the reality that the term “liberal” has been so recklessly thrown about without any regard for its etymology.  It is derived from the Latin word liber, which literally means “free, unrestricted, unimpeded; unbridled, unchecked, licentious.”  Yet, we witness today’s so-called liberals regularly begging for State intervention and regulation with regard to personal liberty.  A proper example of a liberal should be a growing adolescent seeking to free himself from the grasp of authority…but logic is defied once we realize the actual example is that of a desperate child, seeking to be coddled.  Theorists have attempted to justify this by qualifying the term (i.e., classical vs. modern liberalism) – and new terms have arisen, such as “New Left,” in an attempt to settle confusion.  However, this is all hogwash.  I don’t need an advanced degree in Political Science to understand what “liberal” truly means.  My well-informed, logical intuition is not subservient to the convoluted academia surrounding the righteous experts.

“When private men shall act with original views, the lustre will be transferred from the actions of kings to those of gentlemen.”

While I could potentially dismantle many faulty terms at length, I will remain disciplined to focus on one additional term that particularly troubles me: reactionary.  On the widely familiar models of the traditional political spectrum, we find this adjective to be located on the far-right.  The common understanding is that people said to fall within this category have a tendency to drastically react to changes proposed by the Left.  This implies that the Left actively brings about social change – however, the truth is, the vast majority of leftists do not bring about anything; rather, they merely advocate and petition.  It is actually the State that is acting as the Shepherd and providing direction, whether it be at the democratic request of The People, or at the whim of the mighty staff He wields.  The sociopolitical stance of the State may waver at any time as it makes its own revisions, and meanwhile, both sides of the spectrum react in some way.  If the changes imposed by the State favor the Left, then the Left will react favorably and vocally support the changes, while the Right reacts unfavorably and denounces them.  The reverse can occur just as easily, where the Left will react unfavorably and criticize changes made by the State of which they do not approve, while the Right cheers on. 

“…Most men have bound their eyes with one or another handkerchief, and attached themselves to some one of these communities of opinion. This conformity makes them not false in a few particulars, authors of a few lies, but false in all particulars.”

All of this behavior, on both sides, is reactionary, if we are – once again – to pay respect to etymology and logic, rather than outmoded definitions.  If anything, “reactionary” is meant to be a replacement for both “liberal” and “conservative,” or “Democrat” and “Republican.”  These latter labels, much like a magnetic field, can suddenly and drastically flip, depending on societal circumstances and the motivations of the State.  In this instance, to introduce additional terms such as “Modern Democrat” or “New Republicans” to the mix would be ridiculous.  It would be better to simply call them all what they truly are: mindlessly reactive sheep.  Additionally, we have radical extremists on the far-left and far-right, exhibiting more potent behavior in an effort to lead in tandem with the State.  They are the rabid sheepdogs — not heroes for the sheep as many would claim, but instead, the most devout servants to the Shepherd.

Allow me to clarify my use of the word “mindless” in this context.  Mindlessness is the opposite of mindfulness, which is the ongoing practice of pure self-awareness.  Since we have spawned, we have been crafting stories about ourselves within our own minds. These stories are fiction…but more crucially invigorating is the fact that we, the egos, are the perpetual authors of this creative fiction.  You are not merely a profile of predetermined, prepackaged personality traits and qualities; you are the architect of your ongoing life experience.  This means, whether you believe it or not, you are always in control of your story.  

“These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world.  Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs.”

The mindless sheep do not trust themselves enough to fearlessly lead their own lives, so they follow a sheepdog of their choice.  Additionally, the rabid sheepdogs on both sides of the spectrum have immersed themselves in the Political Game so deeply, that they have all but lost the pages of their unique, individual stories; they have been trained effectively.  Their insistence, deliberateness, and passionate leadership seem to resemble mindful self-authenticity, especially when compared to the robotic behavior of the sheep; nevertheless, their passion is a mental addiction beyond their control.  They are but mindless slaves to their own deeply-rooted convictions, mostly due to the Shepherd’s Pavlovian tactics.

Continuing with the political spectrum…Centrists, on the one hand, are mindlessly moderate — moderate because they support a balance of social equality and hierarchy while trying to avoid drastic change, and mindless in the event that they still have faith in collectivist politics at all, while lacking faith in themselves.  They are merely undecided, and usually do not possess the wherewithal to take the plunge into pure individualism.  They would rather be provided with a narrative than write their own.  They are sheep trotting in circles.

Now, let us examine the mindful radical, who is synonymous with the anarchists and insurrectionists.  He is very much in touch with his individualism, very much desiring to denounce the contrived narratives being spewed out by the Shepherd and His dogs, and very much in opposition to the collective hive mind.  He is the antithesis of the mindlessly radical sheepdog, who is consumed by authoritarianism.  

However, deep within the grottos of his soul — as much as he despises it — even the mindful radical knows he has something in common with his arch enemy.

In the spirit of the yin-yang, the mindless radical — on one side — is overwhelmingly dependent on authority and virtue…but he still carries with him a faint memory of a time when his unyielding passion once served himself — a time he wishes to forget.  He is able to suppress this memory somewhat easily, because his efforts are positively reinforced by so many who share his position. The mindful radical, on the other side, is overwhelmingly independent…but he still carries with him a faint memory of a time when his unyielding passion once served the collective — a time when he believed the system could work in favor of all, and thus in favor of him.   It is this weakness that the other side thrives on, as they ever-so-steadily try to turn him around, and ever-so-gently guide him back to pasture.  He must be so careful not to succumb, for this would reveal to him that he is not in fact the fierce and mighty wolf he fantasizes about and so helplessly wishes to be — but only a black sheep; unique from the others, perhaps, but still a sheep.

This leaves us with the mindful moderate — perhaps the most ideal position to take, if one only has the audacity. The mindful moderate is the wolf in sheep’s clothing, and ultimately the biggest threat to the State.  The Shepherd may contend with the radical wolves at first, as they are more readily disruptive.  However, the Shepherd does not remain idle once the hunt ceases, for He is always peering into the distance — on the lookout for a wolf in disguise — which He will later detain and retrain…or destroy.  The State’s Orwellian methods of mass surveillance are living proof of this.  Much to the advantage of the mindful moderate, the general public is still grappling with him, mostly because he is hard to spot…and even when he is discovered, his Machiavellian methods allow him to escape consequences.  His peers grow increasingly suspicious of him, but he knows all too well that they’ve got nothing on him, for he has been refining his craft for years.  While all of the mindlessly reactive sheep were trotting about, trying to keep up with the crowd, and wrestling with superficial matters, the wolf in sheep’s clothing has been imitating them, keeping tabs, and machinating all along.

Why does the mindful moderate keep to himself? Why does he ride the fence, while reaping benefits from both sides? Is he mentally ill? Is he a sociopath? Is he evil?

“Perhaps he’s emotionally injured.  Yes, that’s it! He’s just depressed! If we cure him of his depression — if we shoot him up with drugs — he will be all better, and we can nurture him back to order!”

The mindful moderate has been hurt, for sure…but the same holds true for all the others.  The mindless reactionaries on both sides entertain themselves with the notion that they are “normal,” while the radicals are simply angry, and the mavericks are hopelessly lonely and depressed.  This is because sheep and dogs rule by day, when the sun is there to comfort them.  However, when the full moon rises, it is the wolves that rule the night, for the darkness does not deter them.  The herd huddles together to calm nerves as it beholds these outsiders howling from afar. When the bright and sunny illusion peters out, the sheep are faced with the horrid truth that these howls are not cries of despair; rather, these are pompous battle cries.  The mindfully radical wolf is outspoken, while the mindfully moderate wolf in sheep’s clothing is quietly confident and sly. The mindless are ultimately jealous of this self-confidence, self-prioritization, and self-reliance, no matter how much they pretend to pity it.

“Your isolation must not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation. At times the whole world seems to be in conspiracy to importune you with emphatic trifles. Friend, client, child, sickness, fear, want, charity, all knock at once at thy closet door, and say,--'Come out unto us.' But keep thy state; come not into their confusion. The power men possess to annoy me, I give them by a weak curiosity. No man can come near me but through my act.”

The wolf pups once frolicked with the curious lambs, respecting them, until they were all segregated at the hands of the Shepherd and His dogs.  The lambs were not at fault for this.  The wolf pities the predicaments of the sheep — for he knows the nature of the sheepdog better than they.  However, the hatred and fear emanating from the adult herd is far too strong to diffuse.  It has been attempted time and time again.  This hatred and fear fuels the determination of the mindful radical, who not only seeks to protect himself, but also to glorify the unbridled freedom and autonomy for which he stands.  He climbs the highest mountains to maintain his stance.  

In contrast, the mindfully moderate, Machiavellian maverick does not bother to fight for a stance; he simply wants a chance — the best chance — for personal success, happiness, and pleasure…or simply contentment. He knows his best chance will not come from fighting the current of a raging river, for even the mighty wolf cannot manage that.  No, his best chance will come from waiting patiently, and riding with the current when it suits him.  He will fight to defend his interests when necessary, but he knows that his best chance comes not from confrontation, but contemplation.  His best weapon is not passion, nor brute strength, but intelligence.  His inconsistency — his wavering is not to be mistaken for ignorance or confusion; it is his most effective self-serving strategy.

“A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day.--'Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.'--Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood.”

The maverick is not troubled — only misunderstood.  Let us not underrate him, but understand him.

[capricornus-rex]

Refuge in Sorgan (3)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Him loving to hear you talk. He could listen to your voice for hours. [source]

Summary: Still on the run after bumping into some of Greez’s old friends, you charted a course to a remote planet in order to seek refuge and replenish some supplies.

1 | 2 | 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

It was time for supper. A warden of Rodik’s approached your cottage, inviting you over to the celebration by the bonfire, both of you exit the cottage and joined the villagers. As you stepped out into the open, a few youngsters approached you and recognized you; in a split second, you realize that these youngsters were the children that you met during your first time in Sorgan. You expressed your surprise on how much they have grown from small boys and girls now into young men and ladies.

“A few more months and you could be taller than me!” you teased a young blonde boy as you patted his head.

A woman walks up to you and offers each of you a bowl filled with a generous helping of food—a combination of grains, oats, vegetables, and grinjer meat—with a complementary beverage.

The two of you found a spot by the bonfire, watching the men play music while the adolescent boys and girls dance in a circle formed by joined hands, the children were singing along with the music. When the music toned down, a little boy shyly approached and then tugged your sleeve.

“Can you tell us a story about what the Jedi do?”

You smiled, endeared by the child’s request and noticed that he had a group of friends behind him with the same request when you peeked over his shoulder. You couldn’t say no, so you tell them to gather round and find someplace to sit. Cal offered his seat to one of the kids and he sat down on the floor with the rest of them.

You gestured to the other children to come join in, when the teenagers saw the little ones huddling around you—they gathered round as well. Apparently, they all have been waiting for you to tell them about your adventures.

“Well, what do you want to hear about? Though, I’ve so much to tell!”

It was a mixture of requests—some wanted to hear about tales of fighting giant monsters in scary planets, others wanted to hear about the Clone Wars and how you fought in it. You decided to throw in a clever compromise: you narrated your mission in Onderon where you had to fight a dispatched army of droids and then eventually fighting off a nasty swarm of wild Rupings with very few men to help you.

“What’s a Ruping?” a little girl asked.

“Well, it’s a big bird but instead of feathers, it’s got scales and sharp teeth in the beak,”

You splay your arms wide to make an impression of its wings with your hands complementing as claws as you describe it to them, then you slowly lowered your arms and attacked the small boy next to you with tickles as you embraced him—pretending to be a Ruping yourself.

The giggles of the children rang amidst the crowd, Cal glanced at their smiling faces and then back to you—thoroughly enjoying your time in sharing your stories. When it eventually became more animated as you continued to use your hands for gestures, Cal’s eyes would wander over your entire person—the way you spoke, how you panned your attention and eye contact with the children including the teens at the back of the huddle, how your eyes twinkled against the flickering firelight, your interaction with them, and how you effortlessly made these kids laugh and smile at impressions, gasp at suspenseful moments, and just excite themselves over stories of grandeur, adventure, and danger.

Cal finds himself smiling at the sight of you around children.

As he too listened, he leaned his cheek over his fist while lovingly staring at you while you kept on telling stories. He could imagine the moments as you retell them—he could hear the lightsaber’s humming, the Ruping’s deafening screech, the firing of the blasters, and the muffled voices of the clone troopers underneath their helmets.

The story transitioned to how you were fighting off the creatures with your lightsaber while the clones blasted it. The children could only imagine the intensity of the battle, a few of them shifted on their seats while some intently propped their chins on their palms as they listened.

You were at the part where you jumped on a Ruping that was trying to gnaw one of the clone troopers to incapacitate it. You left out the part with that trooper already dead to spare them the trauma.

“And then what happened next!?” a child eagerly asked.

“I hit its wing with my lightsaber, I hit it many times but it kept flying, until…” you paused for dramatic effect. “It started to fall down—I had to grab on tight to it!”

The children were eager to know the conclusion to the story; when the Ruping—along with you still mounted on its back—plummeted down, you took a leap of faith when Commander Vim, the clone commander of your squad, caught up to you via the Low Altitude Assault Transport.

“He told me to jump before the Ruping could land, he told me he’ll catch me and…”

You had this habit of pausing at the most suspenseful moments, Cal saw your technique and he’d privately chuckle while seeing the kids gasp and plead for you to go on.

“I jumped.” You spoke softly, but the thrill of that memory was felt through your voice. “And he caught me!”

Half of the children sighed in relief after holding their breaths for that part, the other half cheered—rooting for you to be caught by Commander Vim safely.

“How was it? Falling from a high place?”

“Very scary, but I had to be brave. And when you are brave, you know that you can do a lot of things—even the ones that used to scare you.”

The little ones went hush, but the little “oohs” were audible to everyone else.

“Could you tell us another story? Did you ever pilot your own ship?” an adolescent boy standing in the middle of the crowd asked in the midst of the silence.

“I did,” you smiled. “We even went through a nebula.”

The idea of entering and passing through a nebula was fantastical enough for these young minds. They have never seen the outside of their planet and the vast reaches of the galaxy, but they have an idea of what these stellar elements are—during the rare nights where there are nebulas near enough Sorgan’s orbit to light up the night sky. In the backs of their heads, the youngsters could imagine the iridescence of nebulas, dotted with glittering stars like a piece of luxurious fabric; what more if they could see the inside of a nebula?

“What was it like?”

“Was it bright?”

“Is it true that there are creatures living inside nebulas?!”

The teenagers bombarded you with the questions that you didn’t know which to start with. Eventually, the parents started calling over their children, including the adolescents, lightly scolding their children that they have worked you up with the stories and that you needed rest. The little ones groaned, wanting more; you didn’t want to make promises that could be broken, so you just watched them be shepherded by their mothers and fathers, retiring to their cottages. The parents would glance to you, give you quick smiles, or inaudibly mouth the phrase “Thank you” for entertaining the children.

When the herd has thinned, Cal joined you to his original seat when the child that occupied it has left; a girl with sandy brown hair, perhaps not older than nine years old, approaches—at first she seemed shy and yet persistent to ask or tell you what she needed to. You saw that her mother was waiting way at the back, where the crowd of adults was standing earlier.

“[y/n], miss, do you think I can be a Jedi too?”

Both you and Cal were taken aback by the child’s question, you had to exchange looks with one another before answering her. You look into her eyes and realize that she does not grasp the big picture—but you don’t expect her to. Neither of you could lie to a child. You took her hand—surprisingly, a strong enough surge of the Force flowed within the small body of this little girl. Indeed, the Force flows healthily within her—a vessel pure of heart and innocent of spirit. You smiled, brushing her hair to the back of her ear.

“Yes, little one, you can,” after hearing your answer, never have you ever seen a child’s genuine smile stretch ear-to-ear for a long time. “Just remember: trust the Force, feel for it and it will guide you. Always.”

“Will I ever feel the Force, Miss [y/n]?”

“Yes, you will, but you have to be patient. When you feel it close to you, welcome it. Do you understand?”

She nodded with a smile.

“What is your name?” you asked.

“Elura, miss,”

“Such a beautiful name, Elura,” you cooed, caressing her tender cheek before finally letting her run back to her mother.

Now all that’s left is you and Cal still sitting by the fire. When most of the villagers have retreated to their cottages for the night, both of you relished the serenity of the night—the glittering stars over your heads, the crackling embers of the fire, and the chilly fresh air. Cal places his poncho over your shoulders to blanket you, but instead you shared it with him—snuggling close together with Cal wrapping his arm around the small of your back.

“Wow,” he muttered quietly.

“What?”

“I never knew you were so good with kids,”

You clicked your tongue, “There’s no big difference between younglings and village kids. They still dream of grand things and adventures,”

“Still, you managed to make them sit still for your stories. I don’t know what you did but you gotta teach me that mind trick soon,”

“I didn’t use mind tricks on the kids, Cal!”

“Hey, kidding!”

You softly thumped his chest with the back of your hand as you two softly laughed. He tightened his hold around you. Something has been running in his mind ever since the storytelling session. You sense his thoughts, they were loud but of good intentions.

[talonsandleaves]

2. Family: siblings and friends

Since that in my last post I talked about my parents (mostly my mom and a bit about my father), I guess it’s only fair to talk to you about the rest of my family and other people in my life. And yes, I am using The Lizzie Bennet Diaries to orientate myself through the first diary posts. I mean... it’s already hard as it is to reveal part of my life online but at least I am trying to cover some of the essentials right at the beginning.

And to be honest, that way, I can complain about people easily and you will have something to check every time you need to make sure who the hell am I talking about. Wow, I am being very sure that someone will actually spend their time reading my sort of diary... I don’t know. Maybe you find it interesting even though I am super shy!

And thanks to a friend of mine, I found the name I will use. My name is Nora and this is my family!

I am the oldest child. And a girl! What doom! Seriously! Just to be clear, I am a very typical girl with some nerdy hobbies. I was pretty smart in school and guess I still kind of am. I have my days and college is pretty tough... I love reading (lacking time to do so lately is another story), marvel movies, mythological creatures, long walks or go for a run and, I also have a serious crush on Ben Barnes since I was little (don’t judge me!).

I mentioned that I am an Engineering student but didn’t specify. I study Food Engineering. Long short story, I was aiming to study Nutrition but my grades were not as high as I needed so I found something similar to try and actually enjoyed it enough to have been studying it for the past 4 years of my life.

As I said, I am the oldest one and if you read my last entry, I have a brother. Yeah! A younger brother! I will call him, Lucas here. Although I can be sweet in order to please certain people and mean to protect myself from some commentaries, Lucas takes that game to a WHOLE new level! He is basically the perfect son! Although he pretty much ruined his score this year. Lucas is 19 and just got into Med School after spending a year studying to be a Vet and trying to raise his grades, he failed and got into a college far from home. His “girlfriend” got the highest score though and took his place by getting into his first option. I will go into detail about her later, but back to Lucas... He is the kind of kid who was very cute and polite but as soon as adolescence attacked him... Oh boy! He turned into this really snarky kid (not in a good way) with superiority complex which thinks being a Med student makes him better than the rest of us, mere mortals! Unfortunately, he is also my mom’s baby boy and she will protect him no matter what... even if it is from me.

We are currently not speaking and haven’t been for the past year almost. Weird I know but try to keep up. We used to accept each other at least until he got into a relationship with my ex-best friend. The girl I mentioned earlier? That’s her! Let’s call her Vicky! We were close and in a very toxic friendship. It took me the longest time to accept such thing and later had proof to show Lucas and prevent him from getting hurt... Did he listen to me? Hell, no! He actually helped Vicky upsetting me even though she distracted him enough to pass him in all classes. I am not speaking to her also although she still has her hands wrapped around my brother’s heart (and brain I guess).

Sorry, for the exposition and try not to get me wrong. I am all for my brother having a girlfriend! I mean, part of me loves Lucas. He is my baby brother still. But considering she was the main reason for us to stop talking and for him to lower his grades, I do not support him with her. Mostly because she made this happen and also because I would enjoy having some sort of relationship with my brother later on but until she stops being in the middle, that might take a long time. And also they barely knew each other and she was still dating when they got involved. Not the best start in my opinion.

And speaking of my ex-best friend... I should mention one of the best people in my life, greatest friend and part of my family in a very distant and confusing way: my cousin, Rose! She is like a best friend only better because we are kind of opposites I guess... Rose is exactly the same age as my brother but with a very different attitude towards life. She currently plays the role of my best friend in my life but poor her, she already has a best friend to keep her busy so let’s not give her the title of my BFF.

She is crazy, I am rational. She is dramatic as an artist, I am dramatic about life (just for fun of course). She doesn’t care what other people think, I tend to wonder about that a lot even though I mostly don’t mind. Opposites but always understanding each other. If only she was my younger sister...And I hope she is in my life to stay because there is no way I can survive without this lovely human.

And of course, there is my dog! A crazy beautiful German Shepherd named Alana. She is my best girl for sure! Keeping me company when I study, read and go for a run. I will talk about her a lot in the future! And about my grandma too. But this entry is already long as hell so I will mention her later as well as my father.

This is it for today. Family drama, love/hate-related issues and friendships! 

[nessataleweaver]

Noblesse Oblige

No Dungeons Just Dragons #1

For @jonsadungeonsanddrabbles event; Day 1: Love and Duty

Ranger and Lord Jon Snow needs a magic user for his Party; Sorceress and Lady Sansa Stark needs to avoid being married to Joffrey.  It's a win-win situation all around.

Note: after seeing the name of the tumblr running the fest, I couldn’t resist: therefore all my drabbles will be set in a Dungeons and Dragons-style AU. This will not be strictly to D&D canon; I’ve thrown in ideas from several similar-themed anime as well.

Also on AO3

Jon leaned back against the wall, the marble of the Red Keep still warm from a day’s worth of spring sunlight.  It was only an hour or so past sunset, and the moon was rising over King’s Landing, the fourth-floor balcony giving him an excellent view. Candlelight spilled from the open doors on his left, and he could hear the music and chatter of the guests.

Yet another boring ball.  A Ranger had no place in a palace, no matter his families’ opinion.  He had missed them all, but he still couldn’t wait to get back to the Wolfswood where he belonged.

“Lord Snow?”

Jon turned to see a tall, slim girl standing in the spill of golden light from the ballroom’s many chandeliers.  Her hair blazed auburn, gold highlights making her look like a candle-flame herself.  Her skin was ivory-pale, her face breathtaking. She looked almost radiant.

She delicately grasped the skirts of her dove-grey gown, and swept into a shallow curtsey; the exact proper degree for a daughter of a Great House greeting the son of a Great House.  “I am Lady Sansa of House Stark.”

“Lady Stark.  Good evening.”  Just because Jon loathed court socialising, that didn’t mean he had to be rude.

“May I be direct?”

“Please do.” Jon’s reply was heartfelt.  He hated the talking in circles most of the court used as a matter of course.

“I have heard that the reason for your return to the Red Keep was that your Party has lost a member.”

“Yes, my Cleric,” Jon admitted.  “Not to death; having fulfilled his duty as a child of a Noble House, Sam is retiring to marry a woman he met on one of our quests.  My magics only work in the wild, and I have no other magic-users in our Party.  I believe my Party needs to be well-rounded in order to be successful.”

Unlike some, Jon considered ‘keeping your Party members alive’ to be an essential ingredient of success.

It was only Jon’s heightened senses that let him detect her sigh of relief.  “In that case, Lord Snow, I wish to join your Party.  I am a Sorceress.”

Jon took a closer look at her face. Lady Stark looked to be only a year or two younger than himself.  Not that twenty-two qualified Jon as elderly!  “May I ask – how old are you?”

“Almost eighteen,” Lady Stark replied, lifting her chin slightly.

Younger than she looked, then, but still...

Once they reached adolescence and discovered their Class of Talents, all children of Noble Houses – especially Great Houses – were obliged, both legally and socially, to spend several years Adventuring, as only practice and experience could increase the strength of and their skill in those talents. Most Great Houses tended to send off their children early, usually after buying them a place in a well-known Company, with high-levelled career Adventurers who were experienced at shepherding novices and knew how to advance their skill levels and experience quickly and painlessly.

 “And you haven’t been Adventuring before?” Jon asked.  

He honestly hadn’t meant it as an insult, but Lady Stark’s mouth tightened slightly. “My mother doesn’t approve of Adventuring in the wild, and refused to allow me to do so until after my sixteenth birthday.  I want very much to perform my duty by my House, and I wish to gain experience and strength. However, I insisted that I maximise my cooking skills first. It’s one thing to go Adventuring in the wilderness; it’s quite another to do so while trying to survive on food that’s likely to make you sick.”

Jon grimaced, remembering what had happened the only time they’d let Grenn cook.  Everyone in the Party had spent the next two days either groaning or dashing for the latrine.  “An excellent point, my Lady.”

“Once that happened, I was invited to Court.”

Nothing more needed to be said; invitations from the King were not turned down.  By anyone. That was why Jon was at the Red Keep.

“And you feel that you’ve put this off long enough?”

Another imperceptible sigh.  “Not exactly.  Lady Cersei has decided I would make an excellent bride for Joffrey.”

Jon eyed her curiously.  He rather thought he knew where this was going.  Everyone knew that Cersei had insisted her own father more or less buy Joffrey’s way through his duty.  It was rumoured that Joffrey had been expelled from his Company at an embarrassingly low Level.  Jon knew it to be a fact.

“If I don’t act soon, I’m worried that Lady Cersei will force her husband to exploit his long friendship with my father to formalise a betrothal, and then use her position as my future Good-Mother to keep me from properly Adventuring.”

“Joffrey Baratheon would never tolerate a wife stronger than himself.”

Lady Stark smiled.  “Exactly.  But not even Lady Cersei would dare gainsay a Royal.”

Jon didn’t quite snap at her, but his voice was curt.  “I’m bastard-born.  I’m Lord Snow, not Prince Targaryen.”

“But still an acknowledged son of the Royal Bloodline, and raised as one,” Lady Stark countered calmly.

Jon looked her over thoughtfully.  She’d greeted him, correctly, as a Lord, not a Prince.  Curtseyed to him as the son of a Great House, which he was, not a Prince Royal.  Someone with that kind of grasp on social niceties would come in handy when dealing with those bloody Elves, and she was clever enough to come up with a way of manoeuvring herself out of the clutches of the greediest family in Westeros.

“A Sorceress, you say?  Show me what you’ve got to offer.”

Lady Stark smiled, and walked out of the candlelight to join him in the moonlit shadows.  She raised her hand toward him, as if expecting him to kiss it.  She had three rings on her fingers, and a bracelet on her delicate wrist, set with a multitude of stones - several shades of red, blue, and green; amber, violet and even the sparkle of a diamond.  A breath later, all the differing stones began to gently glow with arcane light.  

“A Gem Sorceress?” Jon murmured, impressed.  He gently grasped her hand, and brought it to his lips. “Throw in cooking lessons for everyone in the Party, and we have an accord.”

Lady Stark – Sansa – inclined her head, and gave a smile brighter than her gems.  “Done!”