#i have emerged from this winter with new art at last

[sighcomics]

[ya-zz]

A Battle of Dominance

Collab with: @t3chborb!! You can find their artwork here! You can also view their post here too! Ramattra x Reader (gen, no mentions of pronouns) [AFAB Reader - has female genitalia] Word Count: 5890 A/N: This was so fun to write, regardless of the writers block hitting me towards the end... It was absolutely a pleasure to work with you ♥ I love the art as always~ !! NSFW !!

In the heart of the Himalayan mountains, Nepal was renowned for its captivating beauty and distinct seasons. As winter descended, the air turned crisp and cold, creating a picturesque landscape; the mountain peaks, adorned with a thick blanket of snow, glistened under the clear blue sky and the cold, far from being a hindrance, became an integral part of the experience, bringing people closer together and fostering a sense of community.

In the quaint villages nestled among the towering mountains, life unfolded at a slower pace. The inhabitants, resilient and warm-hearted, found joy in the simple things. The houses, adorned with intricate carvings and colourful prayer flags added a vibrant touch to the snow-covered surroundings. Then there are the villagers, clad in traditional attire, who went about their daily tasks with a sense of contentment and harmony.

As the sun began its descent, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered landscape, a sense of tranquility descended upon the village. The stars emerged in the darkening sky, adding a celestial splendor to the wintry night. The villagers, with hearts filled with gratitude, retired to their homes, seeking comfort and warmth amidst the cold.

Inside of the monastery where the monks prayed and rested, several omnics roamed the ever dimming hallways, finishing up the last of their tasks. 

Ramattra was one of the few monks in the Monastery, listening to the teachings of Mondatta, meditating to finally feel true peace and harmony. He had been there for several months now, attempting to find a place for himself within the world.

Deep inside, though, he still hated humanity, and maybe that was where things were proving difficult to him. He couldn’t get past the discord he felt inside, no matter how hard he tried to rid the feeling. His programming wouldn’t let him feel peace. 

He hated humanity for everything they have done. 

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into those long months, and Ramattra still couldn’t work around it all. Eventually, he gave up and tried to keep his emotions at bay, not letting them seep through the ever growing cracks. While meditation was hit and miss some days, he did find that it helped keep him calm. With no humans running around the Monastery, he had nothing to worry about. 

Until you came along and changed the way he thought. Ramattra thought humans weren’t welcome within the monastery, having never seen any of them around before, but when you showed up and roamed the longing hallways, he felt uneasy. He learnt that while humans were welcome, they steered clear from the omnics.

That was then.

Eventually things began changing for him.

He grew to like you, never minding if you were in his way, or seated beside him when he was meditating. Your presence was welcome.

There was never a dull moment when he was with you and he found you to be quite enjoyable to be around. As time went on, he realised there was something more to you. He found that he was staring at you a little longer than normal, admiring the way you spoke or moved. Ramattra couldn’t stop thinking about you when he was no longer around you. 

He shook it off time and time again, he wasn’t falling for a human, no, he couldn’t. That would go against everything he believed in. Humans were unnecessary, evil beings that only sow chaos.

But not you. 

He knew you weren’t like them and gradually, through consistent reassurance, he began to realise his feelings towards you. It was foreign, as with anything new, but this… This felt like fire. 

His circuits would burn up whenever your hand brushed against his accidentally. The longing look in your eyes whenever he held contact with you spoke volumes at how much you liked him, too. 

It was slow and gradual, as most things should be. He never rushed, never went any further than what you were comfortable with. He made you feel seen. Human. Ramattra made you feel like you mattered.

As time went on, feelings developed between the two of you. Days roaming the monastery halls and meditating by each other's side only made the tension grow. Ramattra was the first to break, hands grabbing your hips and nearly slamming you against the nearest wall. His body pressed into yours as he murmured how much he wanted you. 

He nearly dragged you to his chambers before the door closed behind him softly. The tension was growing as his hands met your shoulders, thumbs pressing against your collar bone. He was rough, yet he was gentle. A startling contrast from what he was; a ravager unit.

Timid hands met his chest as his hands carefully undressed you, slipping off your shirt and pants before pushing you down on the bed. He was watching you carefully, making sure that he didn’t hurt you, that he didn’t go too far.

It was shocking to you when he slipped off the privacy plate and unveiled his member; never did you think that omnics came equipped with such appendages unless they were specifically made for pleasure. You ruled it down to him being curious, never questioning him on his choices. 

The size alone was nauseating, but the omnic above you assured that it wouldn’t hurt. He took every care imaginable to make sure that he was true to his word as he adjusted himself before sliding inside of you.

Pleasure was high, senses were heightened and moans filled the room. An omnic and a human. It wasn’t unheard of for a human and omnic to be intimate, but a ravager and a human? Most would scoff.

It wasn’t something that happened the one time either. Several days went by before it happened again. The monk and the human getting closer, intimate.

If only Ramattra knew that there was something you had in mind. Him being the dominant one in the relationship was always fun, you never said otherwise, but you wanted to switch things up, or at least try to. Confidence was holding you back greatly. Perhaps another day, was always the thought in your head after such an act took place.

Nobody ever found out, and even if they did, Ramattra didn’t care. All he cared about was you. 

Timid and quiet, friendly and trustworthy. Ramattra had found a friend, a partner. A lover. 

In the realm of your relationship, you and Ramattra found the perfect balance between individuality and togetherness; supporting each other's aspirations, offering encouragement and understanding along the way. When life's challenges arose, you stood side by side, providing unwavering strength and support. It was a partnership built on mutual respect, empathy, and the belief in each other's potential.

Ramattra's metal heart swelled with happiness as he contemplated the exceptional relationship he shared with you. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring you to him. With every passing moment, Ramattra felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the profound connection he had forged with you, cherishing the memories you and him created and eagerly anticipating the countless adventures that lay ahead.

As the nights grew longer, the air grew colder. You had been doing your duties in the monastery, away from Ramattra. There was nothing to it, no ill will intended, it’s just how it was some days.

When you had finally done what needed doing, you finally relaxed, fighting to not fall asleep on the stone floor.

Ramattra had found you curled up beside the crackling fire in one of the meditation rooms as he passed by. The winter air had settled upon the monastery, enveloping everything in a bone-chilling embrace. The thin clothing you wore seemed almost insignificant against the relentless cold, offering little solace against the icy grip of the season.

Your body, huddled and shivering, radiated a palpable sense of vulnerability. Ramattra paused, his optics narrowing as he observed your limited movements. Though his exterior was often perceived as cold and unyielding, there was a flicker of concern in his gaze.

With a deliberate step, he approaches, his movements silent and purposeful. The warmth from the fire cast a soft glow upon his form, creating an almost surreal spectacle. 

“There are warmer places to be.” He states, standing behind you. 

“Beside the fire is good enough.” You don’t look up at him, eyes focussing on the flickering flames. 

The omnic shakes his head, kneeling down and hooking his arms underneath yours, lifting you to your feet as you gasp. 

“Hey!” You look at him, the soft glow of the fire illuminating his faceplate. “What was that for?” 

“I want to take you somewhere warmer.” His head tilts to the side. 

His tone makes you hesitate before you nod, agreeing to his request. 

“Then let us go.” He takes your hand in his, walking by your side through the hallways within the monastery. A breeze passes through the open widows, sending a small shiver down your spine to which Ramattra catches on instantly. 

He removes his cowl, placing the heavy fabric over your shoulders with little effort as the walking doesn’t cease. The cloak trails on the floor behind you, luckily for the daily sweeping, Ramattra doesn’t mind this happening. 

“Thank you.” Moving your hands under the cowl, the warmth from his chassis still remained within the fabric, a breathy sigh escaping your lips. “You’re warm.”

“It is my internal heating.” He chuckles.

You nod, relishing in the warmth. “I like it.” 

“I am glad you do.” 

He places his hand on your back before opening the door to his room. You could feel the heat immediately on your cheeks. 

“Why is it warmer in here than anywhere else?” You ask, stepping inside. It wasn’t the first time being in his room, but this time, it felt different. You were close beside the fire earlier, but now, just a few feet into his room, the heat was significantly hotter… or perhaps it was the ever growing feeling of lust that bubbled inside of you.

"For an omnic, I suppose I do not like the cold, either." His words carry a hint of both amusement and resignation. Omnics, being artificial intelligences, robotic in form, were not typically known for experiencing physical sensations such as cold or heat. However, Ramattra seemed to possess a unique capacity for such emotions, a testament to his advanced programming and sentience.

As Ramattra spoke, he turns his gaze towards the fireplace situated on the opposite wall. A fire crackled merrily within the hearth, the flames dancing and casting a warm glow on the surrounding area. The wood burns with a gentle roar, sending wisps of smoke curling upwards towards the ceiling.

“It’s cosy.” Perhaps it was the heat doing something to you, but there was a strange feeling settling within your body. You had something planned for when you gained the confidence to be dominant, but you figured that was far ahead in the future… Not now.

All you knew was that Ramattra never looked in places he did not need, so he wouldn’t have noticed the box you had slid under his bed a week prior. Out of sight, out of mind. 

The omnic notices you staring off into nothingness, eyes distant before he places his hand on your shoulder. 

“Is everything okay?”

The question snaps you out of the daze instantly. “Yes, sorry.” 

“No apology is necessary.” He removes his hand, adjusting his cowl on your shoulders. “Is something on your mind?” 

You blink up at him twice before answering, a sudden surge of confidence flowing through you. “Can we try something new?”

“Something new?” He quotes.”What would you like to try?” Curiosity gets the better of him. You had never been the one to suggest new ideas, usually relying on him to make the decisions, especially when it came down to anything in the bedroom.

You don’t answer him at first as your hands start gliding down his metal forearms. Ramattra watches you, optics scanning you. There was a rise in heat and not just in your cheeks.

Your hands roam his chest, one moving under the fabric of his robe and slipping it down his left arm. It pools at his waist and from there you untie the knot of his sash, folding it neatly and placing it on the dresser. The rest of his attire falls to the floor and he’s unsure of what to do. He takes a small step back before you pick it up and place it on top of the beige material. 

“You are being careful.” He states, feeling somewhat nervous at the notion. 

“You have one set of robes, I do not wish to see them ruined.” As much as I would want to tear them off, you think. 

Hands trail across his chest, fingers dipping into the spaces between metal braces. Fingertips brush over the red lights causing him to shudder, an audible sigh escaping him. He looks so vulnerable right now, allowing you to have your way with him. 

You were gentle, not wanting to scare him off. He had never let a human be so close before, never let himself be in this state. He was the one in charge at all times. It was foreign to him and perhaps it always will be.

He feels you push him backwards, his feet clanking against the stone floor before he makes contact with the bed. He sits down, now looking up at you. 

“Lay back for me and put your arms above your head.” You say and he obeys. 

Ramattra lays back, the bed dipping as his entire weight rests against it.

As he does that, you undress what clothes you had on, slipping off the robe that he had gifted you a month prior, before reaching under his bed and pulling out that box you had saved for this moment. His cowl lay against your shoulders, barely hanging on with how large it was compared to your form.

At first, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of you being on top of him, but when you pull out some rope, something shifts in his systems. Fear? No, you wouldn’t harm him, so he dismissed it. Perhaps it was curiosity? He hums quietly as you place his arms above his head, forearms touching before the rope gradually wraps around the metal. He feels every gentle touch, the sliding of the scratchy material as his sensors pick up what he cannot see. Ramattra focuses on what he can see, albeit, not very much. Had the ceiling always had that crack? The room needs dusting, I can see the particles. Wait, where did you get that box, how long has it been in here, he thought to himself.

When his arms were tightly and properly bound, he hears you move around him, fumbling with something. He didn’t move, so he laid there, watching the dust float past his vision. 

Had you always been capable of something like this? Have you been planning this for days, weeks, maybe?

The confidence only rose within you as you straddle him, leaning down to press a kiss to his faceplate where white meets gold. He feels your fingers graze his neck before something foreign wraps around it, pushing against the protected wires that resided in his neck. 

He goes to speak but is cut off by a harsh squeeze. The metal of the buckle and prong clicks against each other before resting snugly against his neck. Ramattra looks through the slits of his faceplate, optics looking up at you as the whirring of his fans get audibly louder. When you snap a leash to it, he can’t help but let out a gasp.

“What is this?” 

“I told you, I wanted to be in charge for a change.” Your tone was unlike anything he had heard before. You wrap the leash around your hand, a firm grip to signal you were in control. “Be good and lay still.”

Ramattra nods, fingers flexing before relaxing. A small tug pulls his head and neck forward, a grunt escaping his vocaliser in the process. 

“Of course.” He mutters.

The power you had over him was daunting, but you knew he trusted you. If he would trust you with his cowl, he’d trust you with whatever you had planned. You had to adjust the cowl the more you moved, however, and Ramattra couldn’t help but chuckle at the way you held it around your shoulders to stop it from slipping down. It was far too big on you, but he won’t deny that it looks good on you. 

You lean over him, his cowl dropping to expose your chest, though Ramattra’s optics were on your face. He was studying you, trying to figure out what you had planned for him. 

Fingers trail his faceplate, the other hand pulling the leash taut to bring his face closer to yours. You could hear the hum of his inner workings emanating as you press a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“You’re heating up.” There was a slight mocking tone to your voice as you speak. “Are you nervous?”

“I do not get nervous.” He lies. He can feel it himself, the way a fuzzy feeling courses through his wires, an uncertainty that he cannot place. 

A small hum escapes your throat as your free hand trails down his metal braces, eyes still watching him, ears still listening. His fans pick up speed, whirring faster with each gentle touch and trace. You can feel the heat of his body on the palm of your hand and the further down you go, the hotter he seems to be. 

“What are you doing?” Ramattra chokes back a moan, vocaliser clicking and resetting as he feels your hand push against his privacy plate. 

“It’s a shame I cannot stop you from talking.” The confidence continues to rise as the omnic makes a noise similar to a scoff. 

He knows it’s possible, but he won’t indulge you this time. 

A sudden coldness embraces his pelvic area and he shudders before your hand wraps around his cock. Slow, languid motions draw out the lowest of moans from the omnic as his head tilts back. His hips buck into your hand, wanting more friction but you deny him. 

“So needy…” You coo, pressing your lips against his left receptor. 

Ramattra is bewildered at how confident you suddenly are. From the timid nature you show almost every day to this? Something must have happened for you to be in this mood. 

“Please.” He begs, moving his head to the side when you eventually pull back. When he notices the smug look, your hand stopping at the base of his cock, does he remember that you’re in control. 

“I am sorry.” His voice drops.

“Better.” 

It’s taking everything in his power to not break free from the restraints and turn this around, to have you underneath him and begging in place of him. He feels you shuffle back before your slicked entrance lines up with his cock, another temptation he has to fight; to not thrust up into you. 

Ramattra is used to being in control. In full control. 

A steady sigh escapes him as he feels you lower yourself down onto him, cock buried deep inside of you. 

He feels larger than you remember, or perhaps it was the confidence making him feel different, either way, he felt good. 

You settle on his cock, a small grind to adjust your position which sends a wave of pleasure throughout your body. He was rubbing against your sweet spot in just that small of a movement. It wasn’t intentional, but you made sure to tug at the leash. 

Ramattra grunts, optics flicking down to you as he tries to steady his thoughts. 

Lifting your hips slowly, you draw out a low moan from the omnic beneath you, relishing in the way you saw his fists clench, arms tensing despite the metal being solid. 

You hover in that position for a second longer before slamming your hips back down onto him. Biting your lip to stifle your own whimpers and moans, you continue to bounce slowly against his pelvic plates. His cock hits deep inside of you, walls clenching around him in response. 

Ramattra wants to break free, to grab your thighs and guide you, to make you go at his pace but the harsh tugging of the leash reminds him that he has no power right now. You control him and his pleasure. 

Though the winter air was cold against your chest, your nipples peaking from the frozen air, Ramattra’s cowl continues to provide some warmth across your body alongside the ever growing heat between your legs. The omnic’s chassis was also heating up, wires burning with lust at your newfound confidence. 

The rhythmic noises of your ass connecting with his metal body rings softly in the room. Ramattra’s chest hums in ecstasy, vocaliser clicking to reset after each moan or grunt. He wants to turn away from you but every time he tries, you pull him back to face you. 

He marvels in your beauty, the confidence radiating from you as you bounce against his lap. He feels your heat, the wetness that drips onto him and down his inner thighs. What he would give to grasp you, knead into your plump thighs and ass. It was almost torture for him. 

Your moans continuously flood his receptors as you lose yourself to the pleasure at long last. With his cock driving into you at a steady fast pace, he can’t help but admire the dedication. The sheen of sweat that covers your stomach, small beads dripping down your temple to your collarbone; the firelight illuminating you entirely. You look ethereal above him. 

The grinding of your hips when you tire out only teases him more. Humans and their stamina, the omnic thinks to himself. 

Ramattra’s vision suddenly gets blinded by cooling errors. His fans were whirring loudly but were luckily hidden behind the moaning coming from both you and him. He fears they might burn out if you continue to tease him like this so in between minor refreshes, he pumps cooling fluid through his chassis. 

When you take a moment to recollect yourself, you lean over to him, pulling the leash to bring his head a little closer before your hand catches his jaw. Your thumb gently rubs against the golden metal as you plant a kiss on his faceplate, your breath ghosting over the white. 

“You look pretty like this.” Your fingers stroke the edge of his faceplate which sends an unexpected shiver down the omnic’s back cable. 

Ramattra could feel a tingling sensation coursing through his body once again. Perhaps he was finally feeling that flustered emotion he makes you experience time and time again. A simple compliment makes such a difference and now he understands your emotions that little bit more. 

You loosen your grip on the leash as you place your hands on either side of his head, pulling up his cabled mane from under him, letting them clack against his arms above his head. 

He sighs, not realising that he had been feeling uncomfortable from those cables this entire time.

“I thank you.” His voice cracks before resetting. 

You smile as you slide backwards against him, his cock still inside of you. You draw out a guttural moan from Ramattra, one that you had never heard before which causes you to smirk. 

“Oh?” 

He turns his head to the side almost as if he was ashamed but that didn’t last long as your fingers and thumb grip his chin to make him face you. 

“Don’t turn away from me.”

He attempts to move his head away again just to see what you would do and when you sharply turn him back, grip tightening, he gives in. You were not letting him go no matter how hard he may try. 

Ramattra knows his strength; he knows how easy he could turn this entire scene around, but the look on your face as you sit back up and continue to ride his cock was the only thing stopping him. 

Why should he deny your pleasure? Perhaps he could aid you, despite your domination over him. 

He waits, focussing on your features; the scrunching of your face as you chase your high, the slipping of his cowl on your shoulders that you hold up with your free hand. Oh, those collarbones shining from the sweat and firelight, he wants to trace them with his fingers. Your hips that curved perfectly, he wants to grab them as he pounds you into the mattress. 

Ramattra’s restraint was waning, a coil burning up inside of him as he hides behind static. He wants to turn his head and avoid your gaze when you slip back into the moment and tug at the leash. 

“Fuck…” You head dipped before your body fell forward, hands grasping at his metal chest braces. Your hips didn’t stop slamming down onto his cock, hitting just that bit deeper that sent sparks flying. 

He could feel you clenching around him, the telltale sign that you were close. Your breathing hitches, whimpers escaping your throat as you bite down hard on one of the tubes that runs down his neck. 

Ramattra groans out, a mix of pain and pleasure as his head tilts back, system flaring with errors. 

Saliva mixed with contact oil drips from your lips and onto the leather collar, teeth sinking into the tubing that little bit further. 

The omnic stutters your name before involuntarily thrusting up into you, head lolling back before his systems crash. The sudden push inside of you causes you to slip over the edge, almost screaming his name as you came around him. 

Spasming walls eventually relax alongside your panting after you ride your high out, though Ramattra lay motionless beneath you. 

His systems take a minute or so before coming back online, his fans whirring softly alongside the crackling of the fire. 

The subtle sting of a bruise begins to form inside of you, but that does not deter you from seeking one more whilst the omnic is still in his booting up state. 

Slow, rhythmic rolls of your hips pull another static filled moan from Ramattra. His optics calibrate as he stares up at you, fingers flexing before relaxing. System errors clear, your face and body in view.

The cocky smirk on your face after he moans once more was all he needed to turn the tables. His hips buck into you, causing you to whimper and fall back to his chest and whilst you try to collect yourself, wanting to tug that leash and scold him for his movements, his arms were broken free from your restraints. 

Padded hands grab at your hips and squeeze, which in turn makes you yelp out. You turn your head to look at him, eyes wide.

“Playtime is over.” His tone was low as he moves his leg, hooking yours with it and rolling you over. With your head landing back on the pillow with a soft thud, you can’t help but admire the sight above you. 

Pulling down on the leash, you bring him close to your face, the shock quickly diminishing. 

“I won’t go down so easily.” You tilt your head forward in defiance and Ramattra scoffs, pushing deeper into you. 

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, Ramattra chuckles, his chest rumbling as his snakes his hand up your side. 

“Is that so, pet?” Just those words alone made you clench down on him and he feels it all too well. 

He watches you, almost like he’s waiting for a reaction. Slowly, almost torturously does he slip out of you, listening to the gasp you let out from being empty. 

“Not so confident now, are you?” You could hear the smirk in his tone as he thrusts back into you. One hand was on your side, trailing over your skin before gripping your hip tightly while the other hand moves down, padded thumb pressing gently against your clit. 

Small circular movements send sparks flying as you writhe underneath him, moaning and cussing under your breath. 

“Awh, look at you.” He hums, cock buried deep inside of you as he presses his faceplate against your neck. A small vibration is felt; a kiss. “So good for me.” 

Ramattra didn’t slow down as he fucks you rough, thumb moving at a faster pace to draw out your whimpers and pleas. 

“R-Ramattra…” Despite the dwindling confidence, you pull on the leash. “Do not cum.”

“Oh?” He chuckles. “I believe you are close. Are you able to hold out that long?” 

You glare up at him, that snarky tone of his fueling the fire. “Try me.” 

“Looks like my little pet still has some confidence.” 

A subtle smirk crosses your lips. “Are you forgetting something?” You press a hand against his tubing at his hips before tugging at it which causes his vocaliser to glitch mid moan and momentarily pause his movements. “That’s what I thought.” 

Ramattra scoffs when he regains control, thumb pressed against your clit but not moving. He feels the heat, the throbbing, the way you clench down on his cock. “Perhaps you do not quite understand.”

He doesn’t wait before he slams his hips back against your body, rough motions driving you closer to the edge once more. You retaliate, squeezing the tubing, any free cable you could find before sinking your teeth back down on his neck. 

His hand moves from your hip, settling down beside your shoulder for support as he stays atop of you. The slapping of metal and skin resonates within the room, the fire still burning bright and softly illuminating the two of you as you both get lost in pleasure and fighting for dominance. 

You knew you couldn’t flip him over, you just had to do what you could from below. Biting, scratching, tugging, whatever would rouse a reaction form the omnic. 

Ramattra enjoyed the struggle, watching you writhe underneath him as he continued to abuse your aching cunt. The way your face contorts in pleasure and then a single moment of defiance causes him to move faster, harder. 

It was taking everything in you to not fall, to not give him the satisfaction that he was in control. Ramattra will not win, not this time. 

Tugging the leash again, you bring him back down, fingers grazing the golden metal as you catch his head in your hands. You stare up at him, lust crazed eyes as you move your legs, wrapping them around his back to secure him in place.

“You do not give in, do you?” He smirks, pushing that little bit further inside of you. His body heats up at the moan you let out, receptors echoing it to his systems.

“Not tonight.” You pull him down, hands tangling within his cabled mane as you trace your tongue over the underside of his jaw before sliding back down his neck. You feel him shudder under your touch, though his thrusts don’t falter. 

He wants to fight back, push you deep against the mattress and fuck you mercilessly but there was something about tonight that holds him back. The defiance that you show makes him want to see how far you’ll push.

Ramattra feels you grab at the cable down his spine, a whimpered cuss escapes from your lips as you bury your head against his shoulder, teeth grazing his frame. 

You’re slipping and he knows it. 

He slows down his tormenting movements against your clit as he speaks, tone teasing. “How long can you last, pet?” 

“Shut up…” You whimper, eyes shut tight as you hold onto the omnic, moans and whimpers warming his receptors. Every thrust, every pinch and squeeze pushes you closer. It wasn’t going to take much, but you weren’t willing to let go just yet. 

Ramattra shuffles his arm under your back, holding you against his chassis and closing that small space between him and you. He feels you tense, stuttering your whines. 

He wants to speak, but the teeth that sink into his tubing causes him to do the same, stuttered and static moans breaking through. 

“Cum for me…” You moan, biting down once more as your hand tugs at the cable in his back. He hates how sensitive he can get around you, but he loves the way you make him feel. 

Ramattra’s hand gently scratches your back as he continues to thrust into you, eventually getting sloppy as his systems overheat. Errors cloud his vision but before he has chance to shut down from system overload, he hears your cries and feels you clench and spasm around him. 

—

When he finally reboots awhile later, seemingly longer than the last time, his hold on you loosens. He hears your soft breathing, the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his, the soft thumping of your heart. 

He speaks out, as he lifts himself away from you. “Are you okay?” 

You hum in response, the mattress suddenly feeling a lot more comfortable than before. “Are you?”

He shakes his head but not in response to your question, wanting you to answer him first as his cock slips out of you, a small whine from you makes him chuckle. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes.” You smile at him. “Yes, I’m fine.” You look at his neck and the teeth marks that are deep in his tubing before noticing a small droplet of oil seeping through. “Is it bad?” 

“No.” He speaks as he cleans up, gently pressing a towel against your bruised cunt. “A simple fix.”

You lets out a relieved sigh, jerking slightly as he cleans you up, still sensitive from your climax. 

“Your confidence was surprising, I will give you that.” He states as he pulls up a blanket and rests besides you, hand trailing your stomach in soothing motions. His cowl still rests against your shoulders as you cuddle up close to him, you own fingers trailing his metal braces. 

The warmth of his body was comfortable against your bare skin, the soft humming of his inner workings lulling you to sleep. “Thank you.” Your voice was soft, almost a mumble as you try to stay awake. 

Your hand gently holds onto the leash that was still situated around his neck. Maybe he forgot about removing it when cleaning up, or perhaps he was waiting for you to do the honours of taking it off, but either way, it served as a reminder for the night you had just spent. The fire stays burning on the other side of the room as the two of you lay together on the bed, wrapped up in the blanket and fighting the exhaustion that was slowly taking over. However, it was a losing battle as your body relaxes and sleep drags you under.

His arms pull you closer to him, hand brushing against your arm as he pulls the cowl up to cover your shoulder. “Perhaps next time you will not slip.” He chuckles. 

“Next time you will obey.” A sharp yet sleepy tug on the leash causes the omnic to squeeze your arm in a startled response. 

“We shall see about that.”

[fibula-rasa]

Cosplay the Classics: Nazimova in Salomé (1922)—Part 1

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

The Importance of Being Peter: Nazimova’s Take on Wilde

With over two decades of professional acting experience behind her (six on the “shadow stage” of silent cinema), Alla Nazimova went independent. She was one of the highest paid stars in Hollywood at the start of 1922 when her contract with Metro ended. Almost exclusively using her own savings, Nazimova founded a new production company and immediately got to work on two films that reflected both a deep understanding of her own fan base and a faith in the American filmgoer’s appreciation for art.

Discourse around these films and their productions that have emerged in the century since their release are often peppered with over-simplifications or a lack of perspective. Focus is understandably placed on Salomé, as her first project, A Doll’s House (1922), has not survived. In part one of this series, I plan to contextualize Nazimova’s decision to commit Wilde’s drama to celluloid and examine the details of the adaptation. Then, in part two, I will cover how Salomé (and A Doll’s House) fits into the industry trends and the emergent studio system in the early 1920s.

While the full essay and more photos are available below the jump, you may find it easier to read (formatting-wise) on the wordpress site. Either way, I hope you enjoy the read!

Wilde’s Salomé: The Basics

Salomé was a one-act drama written by Oscar Wilde. In a creative challenge to himself, Salomé was one of Wilde’s first plays and he chose to write in French, which he did not have as complete a mastery of as of English. Wilde was directly inspired by the Flaubert story “Herodias,” which was, in turn, inspired by the short story which appears twice in the New Testament. The play was later translated into English and published with illustrations by artist Aubrey Beardsley. Wilde’s play was the basis of the opera of the same name by Richard Strauss. While both the opera and the play had been staged numerous times across Europe and in New York before Nazimova’s adaptation, Strauss’ opera was the main reference point for the story in the popular imagination of the time. The success of Strauss’ opera led to the popularization of the Dance of the Seven Veils and the accepted interpretation of the character as a classic femme fatale.

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

Nazimova’s Salomé: The Basics

When Nazimova announced her production of Salomé, she did so assured that she and Natacha Rambova, her art director, had a unique and creatively compelling interpretation of the story to warrant adaptation. Nazimova was not only the star and producer of Salomé, she adapted it from its source herself under her pen name Peter M. Winters. (Cheekily, contemporary interviews and profiles joke that “Peter” is one of her common nicknames.) Charles Bryant, credited as director, was as much the director of the film as he was Nazimova’s husband, which is to say, he is not known to have contributed much at all. It’s now accepted fact that Bryant acted as a professional beard (Bryant and Nazimova were also never legally married). The choice to credit Bryant was to offset the heat Nazimova was getting in the press at the time for “taking on too much.” Having Bryant’s name in the credits was a protective measure. Charles Van Enger was a talented, up-and-coming cinematographer who had been recommended to Nazimova following the inadequate cinematography of her Metro films.

Rambova was in charge of the art direction, set designs, costumes, and makeup. Nazimova and Rambova had become close artistic collaborators after Nazimova hired Rambova to design the fantasy sequence for her film Billions (1920, presumed lost). [You can learn more about Rambova’s career here.] Both women valued their work above all else. Both were convinced that film could be art. Both had the gumption to believe that they could make a lasting mark on cinema’s recognition as a legitimate medium of artistic expression.* (Spoiler: even though Salomé was not an unqualified box-office success, they were right.)

Photo of the Salomé crew from Exhibitors Herald, 29 April 1922. Original caption: Nazimova ordered this picture taken that she might be reminded of the real pleasure encountered in every stage of the production of “Salome.” Top, left to right: Monroe Bennett, laboratory; Charles Bryant, director; Mildred Early, secretary; John DePalma, assistant director. Second row: Sam Zimbalist, cutter; Natacha Rambova, art director; Charles J. Van Enger, cameraman; the star; R. W. McFarland, manager. Front row: Neal Jack, electrician; Paul Ivano, cameraman; Lewis Wilson, cameraman.

Nazimova’s independence was at least partly spurred on by feeling creatively bereft from her work at Metro. In a 1926 interview with Adela Rogers St. Johns, Nazimova said:

“You asked me why I made ‘Salome.’ Well—’Salome’ was a purgative. […] It seems impossible now that I should ever have been asked to play such parts as ‘The Heart of a Child’ and ‘Billions.’ But I was. And instead of saying, ‘No. I will not play such trash. I will not play roles so wholely [sic] unsuited to me in every way,’ I went on and played them because of my contract, and they ruined me. “WORSE than that, they [made] me sick with myself. So I did ‘Salome’ as a purgative. I wanted something so different, so fanciful, so artistic, that it would take the taste out of my mouth. ‘Salome’ was my protest against cheap realism. Maybe it was a mistake. But—I had to do it. It was not a mistake for me, myself.”

Given that Nazimova now had full creative freedom, outside of the confines of the Hollywood film factory, why were A Doll’s House and Salomé the first works she gravitated towards?

Initially, Nazimova had conceived of a “repertoire” concept for her productions: one shorter production (A Doll’s House) and one feature-length production (Salomé), which could be distributed and exhibited together. Once production was underway for ADH, Nazimova instead chose to make it a feature. The reasons for this decision that I found in contemporary sources are purely creative, but I don’t think it’s too much of a presumption that this may have been a financial choice, as profits from ADH (which unfortunately wouldn’t materialize—more on that in part two!) could have been cycled into Salomé’s production.

Ibsen was not popular source material for the silent screen, but Nazimova’s name and career was forever tied to the playwright as she is considered the actress who brought Ibsen to the US. (Minnie Maddern Fiske starred in a production of Hedda Gabbler in the US before Nazimova, however it failed to raise the profile of the writer.) Nazimova’s stage productions of Ibsen’s work proved that there was an audience for it in the US—both in New York and on tour. Superficially, ADH might seem like a risky proposition, but Nazimova had good reason to believe it had both artistic and box office potential. (Again, I’ll delve into why it might not have found its audience in part two.)

Nazimova as Nora in A Doll’s House

Though ADH is now lost, we know from surviving materials that Nazimova understood that by 1922 The New Woman archetype was already becoming passé to the post-war/post-pandemic generation of young women. Nazimova endeavored to translate the play in a way that would resonate with 1920s American womanhood. (How well she succeeded is lost to time unless we are lucky enough to recover a copy of the film.) Likewise, Nazimova approached her adaptation of Salomé with a keen eye for the concerns of modern independent women.

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*Incidentally, both women also had a personal connection to Wilde. Nazimova was a close friend and colleague of Elizabeth Marbury, who worked as Wilde’s agent. Rambova spent summers at her aunt’s (Elsie de Wolfe) villa in France where she lived with her longtime partner, Marbury.

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

The Adolescence of Salome

In the decade following the end of the First World War, there was a great cultural shift for women in America, who experienced and pursued greater independence in society—particularly young and/or unmarried women. This quality was emblematized in the Flappers and the Jazz Babies, but even women who didn’t participate in these subcultures lived lifestyles removed from “home and family” ideals of the past. The lifestyle change was mirrored aesthetically. As Frederick Lewis Allen describes in Only Yesterday: An Informal History of the 1920s:

“These changes in fashion—the short skirt, the boyish form, the straight, long-waisted dresses, the frank use of paint—were signs of a real change in the American feminine ideal (as well, perhaps, as in men’s idea of what was the feminine ideal). […] the quest of slenderness, the flattening of the breasts, the vogue of short skirts (even when short skirts still suggested the appearance of a little girl), the juvenile effect of the long waist,—all were signs that, consciously or unconsciously, the women of this decade worshiped not merely youth, but unripened youth […] Youth was their pattern, but not youthful innocence: the adolescent whom they imitated was a hard-boiled adolescent, who thought not in terms of romantic love, but in terms of sex, and who made herself desirable not by that sly art that conceals art, but frankly and openly.”*

Allen’s summary of youthful womanhood in the 1920s resounds so clearly in the character design and performance of Nazimova’s Salomé, it’s apparent that she and Rambova were thoroughly informed by contemporary trends around young/independent women. Belén Ruiz Garrido puts it succinctly in her great essay on the film “Besare tu boca, Iokanaan. Arte y experiencia cinematografica en Salomé de Alla Nazimova:”

“Las concomitancias con la flapper o la it girl de los felices años veinte son evidentes. Se muestra mimosa, pero su seducción es como un juego de niña. / The similarities with the flapper or the it girl of the roaring twenties are obvious. She performs affection, but her seduction is like child’s play.” (translation mine)

Nazimova was also fully conscious that her fanbase was predominantly female and that she held significant appeal for younger women. From the moment she signed her first American theatrical contract with Lee Shubert, Nazimova’s status as a queer idol was already being established.

“The women… were enthusiastic about [Nazimova]… [At the hotel, the] ladies’ entrance was always crowded with women waiting for her to return from the theatre. It is much better that she should be exclusive and meet no one if possible. They regard her as a mystery. And there are other damned good reasons besides this one.”  – citation: A. H. Canby to Lee Shubert, December 29, 1908**

While women, particularly middle-class women, were emerging as a prominent consumer group in the US, Nazimova’s popularity peaked on stage and on screen. Arriving in Hollywood, Nazimova also continued her trend of surrounding herself socially and professionally with other queer women. Profiles and interviews of Nazimova in the Hollywood press often contained coded language about her queerness as a wink and nudge, usually but not always accompanied by mention of her “husband” Charles Bryant.

This well-developed understanding of her primary fanbase led her to break from popular presentations of the character as an embodiment of monstrous feminine sensuality. Instead, Nazimova chose to present the character as an adolescent. While Nazimova was the first to put this read on the character on film, Marcella Craft chose an adolescent interpretation in a production Strauss’ opera in Munich and Hedwig Reicher was a teenager when she assayed the role and played it accordingly (also in Germany). (Maybe not insignificantly, Reicher was also working in Hollywood at the time of Salomé’s production.)***

This is the American pop culture landscape we’re talking about here, so of course women’s independence was rapidly codified for capitalization. Young women were moralized at for not conforming to traditional gender roles while simultaneously being framed as sexually desirable in order to sell consumer goods (including motion pictures!). The American way. It’s hard to not see social commentary in Nazimova’s reworking of this icon of wanton femininity for a new generation.

This isn’t to suggest that Nazimova’s Salomé glorifies the character, but rather that making Salomé a teen adds layers of complexity to the production. Considering it in conversation with her predecessors, Salomé isn’t even named in the New Testament stories. Flaubert built out the character with 19th century concerns in mind (though his story is more about Herod & Herodias) and Wilde shifted even more focus to Salomé. Nazimova continued that trend with her version of Salomé—an impetuous child too young and ill-equipped to constructively deal with the horrible environment she was brought up in. (Might that resonate with a generation of young people disillusioned by a World War and a pandemic?)

As Nazimova/Peter wrote in the opening intertitles to the film:

“It is at this point that the drama opens, revealing Salome who yet remains an uncontaminated blossom in a wilderness of evil.

“Though still innocent, Salome is a true daughter of her day, heiress to its passions and its cruelties. She kills the thing she loves; she loves the thing she kills, yet in her soul there shines the glimmer of the Light and she sets forth gladly into the Unknown to solve the puzzle of her own words——”

My cosplay of Nazimova as Salomé

As Salomé was an experiment in pantomime for screen acting, it’s worthwhile to look at how Nazimova embodies this image of youth in her performance. In the first scenes, Salomé’s facial expressions are pouty and her movements like a bored child’s. Her wig emphasizes every movement she makes with a flurry of pearls and creates a neotenous silhouette for the character. When denied access to Jokanaan, her facial expressions are imperious, but the imperiousness of a spoiled child. She swings on the bars imprisoning Jokanaan as if they are a jungle gym. As she “charms” Narraboth, her expressions and body language shift toward a scheming energy with barely concealed artifice, displaying a distinct lack of sophistication—like she’s trying to angle a second serving of ice cream not exacting a favor of a servant that could cost his life.

Perhaps most crucially, Salomé’s adolescence emphasizes the inappropriateness of men’s gaze upon her. Wilde’s drama is built around rhythmic repetition in the dialogue—a key repetition being the act of looking. Though the play is only one act, some form of “regarder” in relation to Salomé is repeated nineteen times—most often in some form of “don’t look at her” or “you shouldn’t look at her that way.” As Salomé is a silent film, to repeat this in intertitles nineteen times in intertitles would be absurd. Throughout the film, frequent close ups are strategically employed to visually recreate the rhythmic emphasis on gazing. (The purpose of this device seems to have been lost on one reviewer for Exhibitors Herald who said in his review: ”too many close ups.”) Additionally, the motif is foregrounded by front-loading the mentions of looking. As soon as the opening narration ends, we’re introduced to Herod behaving lecherously toward Salomé and Herodias telling him not to look at her. The perversity of Herod is amplified here because Salomé is not only his niece and his step-daughter, but also a child. This scene is followed by Narraboth and the page having a similar interaction, albeit with a different tone.

As Nazimova put it herself in a profile in Close-Up magazine:

“The men about her are obnoxious; they cannot even look upon her decently. She loathes them all. Even the Syrian [Narraboth] whose approach is of all the most respectful and decorous, is of his times and his love is tempered with the alloy of lust.”

In the film, Salomé’s rage against Herod is justified, and her rage against Jokanaan is a raw confusion of emotions—she doesn’t have the capacity to act constructively. When the first unfortunate man commits suicide over her, she barely takes notice, establishing Salome’s blasé attitude toward death. When the second man takes his life this time directly in front of her, Salomé only notices after almost tripping on his body. Her response is giving the body an annoyed kick for tripping her! The key phrase of the drama is “The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.” Salomé is surrounded by death, enveloped by it, but love (of any kind) is unknown to her until Jokanaan. So, when her love of Jokanaan is rebuked, she reverts to the only response that has been nurtured into her: death.

Nazimova’s Salomé is a perfect surviving example of a quality of her acting described in an uncredited review of Nazimova’s theatrical work:

“If the actress you’re seeing knows what she’s saying but you don’t, it’s Mrs. [Minnie Maddern] Fiske. But if the actress doesn’t know what she is saying and you do, it’s Alla Nazimova.”****

We as viewers understand what Salomé is going through, but she is being psychologically buffeted by fate and circumstance without ever comprehending the nature of it. The tumultuous feelings brought on by Salomé’s first brush with the spiritual (rather than the sexual), launches her into an accelerated ripening of her cruelty. This is masterfully communicated by Nazimova through facial expression and body language and accentuated by Rambova’s costuming.

As Herman Weinberg put it in his essay “The Function of the Actor:”

“The true film crystalizes action for us. ‘To see eternity in a grain of sand,’ the poet said. ‘To see a life cycle in an hour and a half’ is the modern screen parallel.”

Because of the emotional scale of Nazimova’s performance in Salomé, it has been variously described as “bizarre” or “grotesque”—though not always said derogatorily. That’s on point, as Nazimova’s performance is only one expression of her protest against realism in the film.

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*If you’re interested in the 1920s at all, I highly recommend Allen’s book. The section this quote is from has a detailed survey of changes in American women’s lifestyles throughout the 1920s.

**as quoted in “Alla Nazimova: ‘The Witch of Makeup’” by Robert A. Schanke

***Gavin Lambert’s biography of Nazimova intimates that she referenced the 1917 Tairov production of Wilde’s Salomé, which she reportedly had a detailed description of. Reading about the production for myself in Mark Slonim’s Russian Theatre: from the Empire to the Soviets, I’m not sure what precisely she would have drawn from this production. It doesn’t seem to have much in common with the ‘22 film at all. That said, in a 1923 interview with Malcolm H. Oettinger in Picture-Play Magazine, Nazimova admits that in preparing for the film, she compiled a large scrapbook of previous productions and artistic interpretations of the story and character. Unfortunately, though Lambert clearly did voluminous research for his biography, his presentation and interpretation leaves a lot to be desired. Most of the things I tried to verify or try to find more information on from the book proved to be misrepresentations or were factually incorrect. So, I’m avoiding quoting Lambert without verification, unless what I’m citing is directly taken from a primary source; like a quote from Nazimova’s correspondence.

****quotation is from an uncredited clipping held by the Nazimova archive in Columbus, Georgia as quoted in Gavin Lambert’s biography

Illustration of Nazimova as Salomé by F. Corral from The Story World, March 1923

Nazimova and Rambova’s Modernist Phantasy

The assurance that Rambova and Nazimova felt that they had something new to bring to Salomé was obviously not solely founded in a character interpretation updated for the screen and for the decade. The two crafted a singular work born of pastiche in a manner that genuinely had not been done before in the American film industry. It’s often repeated that Salomé is America’s first art film. This may have its origin in promotional materials* made for the initial release of the film. Before the film’s official release, Bryant, Nazimova, and Paul Ivano (assistant camera & Nazimova’s on-again-off-again lover) arranged preview screenings and a few reviews from those screenings mention in some form that Salomé was a direct retort to the notion that art cannot be made with a camera.

What constituted the Nazimova/Rambova strategy to elevate film to the status of art? Both women had around six years of experience working in film (twelve collectively), but both came from a live performance background—theatrical acting and ballet respectively. Salomé is a film based on a stage play (though not strictly based on any one production of that play). Salomé inherits its symbology (first and foremost the moon) from its source material, but the filmmakers found creative ways of communicating and remixing symbols for the camera. The art design is inspired by Aubrey Beardsley’s illustrations for a printed edition of the play, though Rambova pulled more broadly from art-nouveau to devise designs that are in no way unoriginal.

As for the much discussed Dance of the Seven Veils, in my opinion, Nazimova’s execution is inspired by the dance described in Flaubert’s “Herodias” rather than a previous live performance.

“Again the dancer paused; then, like a flash, she threw herself upon the palms of her hands, while her feet rose straight up into the air. In this bizarre pose she moved about upon the floor like a gigantic beetle; then stood motionless.

“The nape of her neck formed a right angle with her vertebrae. The full silken skirts of pale hues that enveloped her limbs when she stood erect, now fell to her shoulders and surrounded her face like a rainbow. Her lips were tinted a deep crimson, her arched eyebrows were black as jet, her glowing eyes had an almost terrible radiance; and the tiny drops of perspiration on her forehead looked like dew upon white marble.”

Clearly, I’m not implying that what’s described above is exactly what we see on screen. My thought instead is that Nazimova may have drawn inspiration for the dance to be provocative in an uncanny way instead of provocative in a conventionally sensuous way. What we do see on screen is a distinct lack of practiced sensuality and an element of menace. The former comes both from Salomé’s youthfulness and from the logic that, as Salomé has already gotten Herod to give her his word in front of dignitaries, there’s no need for seduction. The latter is brought on by the expression of Salomé’s fractured emotional state and feelings about Herod. In execution, the use of close-ups again serves a major purpose. Intercutting close-up reactions from those gathered at the court provides a crescendo to the motif of looking, which is then pivotally reversed in the kiss scene. Cutting to close-ups of Salomé’s face accents the ecstatic and maniacal quality of the dance. Together this variation of shots creates an effect that could only work on film.

Salomé has a significant appreciation for its non-cinematic antecedents, but filtered through the prism of Nazimova’s and Rambova’s own creative strengths and sensibilities—a melding of theater and graphic art into something not only fresh but also totally cinematic.

It speaks to their filmmaking skill that all of these ideas and influences do in fact come together as a cohesive yet wholly unconventional film. Some critics of Salomé (both contemporary and modern) will cite vague notions of theatricality, or state that the film is only a series of tableaux, or that the limited sets don’t depart enough from a stage presentation. Art is in the eye of the beholder, but I think whether those specific elements preclude Salomé from being cinematic is a matter of perspective.

The oversized, stylized nature of Salomé’ssets might at first register as theatrical, but those same sets also serve to amp up the anti-real nature of the film. It’s uncharitable to Rambova to suggest that this artificiality was not a conscious artistic decision. If you have seen the sequences she designed with Mitchell Leisen for De Mille’s Forbidden Fruit (1921) then you have seen her demonstrated understanding of how designs register on camera. The gorgeously executed lighting effects in Salomé that are employed to to sublimate tone shifts could feasibly be recreated in a theatrical setting, here, filtered through the camera of Van Enger, register as thoroughly cinematic.

To once again quote “The Function of the Actor” by Weinberg:

“In nine movies out of ten (most particularly those emanating from the film factories of Hollywood), the actors stand around and talk to each other, relieved only by periodic bursts of someone going in or out of a doorway. (Sixty percent of the action in the average Hollywood movie consists of people going in and out of doors.) […] 

“The actor going through a doorway may be a necessary device on the stage, to get him on and off. But Pudovkin has made a neat distinction between the realities of stage and screen: ‘The film assembles the elements of reality to build from them a new reality proper to itself; and the laws of time and space that, in sets and footage of the stage are fixed and fast, are in the film entirely altered.’ On the stage, that is, an event seems to occur in the same length of time it would occupy in life. On the screen, however, the camera records only the significant parts of the event, and so the filmic time is shorter than the real time of the event.”

Weinberg cites Pudovkin in an amusing but illustrative way here. People may throw “overly theatrical” or “stagey” casually, but more often than not the distinction between theatrical/cinematic comes down to how space and time is traversed. Even if the base material, a narrative drama for example, is shared between stage and screen, there should be a thoughtful construction of geography and chronology. Could Salomé have played more creatively with space? Perhaps. But, for a film made in early 1922, its creative geography isn’t all that uninventive. The majority of the action in Salomé takes place exclusively on one set, so it does rely a lot on the types of comings and goings that Weinberg identifies with theatre. That said, there are some comings and goings that forcefully pull the audience away from the feeling of stagey-ness. The most consequential occurs in the scene with the first suicide, which I previously mentioned in the context of developing Salomé‘s character and environment. The man runs to the ledge of the courtyard, beholds the moon, and leaps. Cut to a wide, back-lit shot of the figure plunging to nowhere, establishing that the city above the clouds depicted in the art titles and opening credits is the actual physical location that film is taking place in. It’s a genuinely startling moment in the film and Salomé’s most evocative use of creative geography.

The majority of legitimate critical appraisal at the time of Salomé’s release recognize it as an achievement in film art, even highlighting artsiness as a potential selling point. As art cinemas started popping up in the US, Salomé stayed in circulation. Appreciation grew. Legends emerged around its production. And, now one hundred years later, it’s safe to say that Salomé has earned and kept its place as a fixture of the history of film art. As we are lucky enough to have the complete film to watch, assess, reassess, and debate its qualities as a work of cinematic art, I’m positive that conversation on Salomé will continue. 

So, if Salomé was appreciated in its time, why did it ruin and bankrupt Nazimova? What was going on in the American film industry at the time? Find out in part two!

“If we have made something fine, something lasting, it is enough. The commercial end of it does not interest me at all. I hate it. This I do know: we must live, and I must live well. I have suffered—enough. Never again shall I suffer. But most of all am I concerned in creating something that will lift us all above this petty level of earthly things. My work is my god. I want to build what I know is fine, what I feel calling for expression. I must be true to my ideals—” — Nazimova on Salomé quoted in “The Complete Artiste” by Malcolm Oettinger

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*As of the time of writing, I haven’t been able to track down a complete copy for the campaign book for the film, so I’m relying on fragments, quotes, and second-hand references to its content.

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Read Part Two Here

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☕Appreciate my work? Buy me a coffee! ☕

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Bibliography/Further Reading

(This isn’t an exhaustive list, but covers what’s most relevant to the essay above!)

Salomé by Oscar Wilde [French/English]

“Herodias” by Gustave Flaubert [English]

Cosplay the Classics: Natacha Rambova

Lost, but Not Forgotten: A Doll’s House (1922)

“Temperament? Certainly, says Nazimova” by Adela Rogers St. Johns in Photoplay, October 1926

“Newspaper Opinions” in The Film Daily, 3 January 1923

“Splendid Production Values But No Kick in Nazimova’s “Salome” in The Film Daily, 7 January 1923

“SALOME” in The Story World, March 1923

“SALOME’ —Class AA” from Screen Opinions, 15 February 1923

“The Complete Artiste” by Malcolm H. Oettinger in Picture-Play Magazine, April 1923

“Famous Salomes” by Willard H. Wright in Motion Picture Classic, October 1922

“Nazimova’s ‘Salome’” by Walter Anthony in Closeup, 5 January 1923

“Alla Nazimova: ‘The Witch of Makeup’” by Robert A. Schanke in Passing Performances: Queer Readings of Leading Players in American Theater History

“Besare tu boca, Iokanaan. Arte y experiencia cinematografica en Salome de Alla Nazimova” by Belén Ruiz Garrido (Wish I had read this at the beginning of my research and writing instead of near the end as it touches upon a few of the same points as my essay! Highly recommended!)

“The Function of the Actor” by Herman Weinberg

“‘Out Salomeing Salome’: Dance, The New Woman, and Fan Magazine Orientalism” by Gaylyn Studlar in Visions of the East: Orientalism in Film

Nazimova: A Biography by Gavin Lambert (Note: I do not recommend this without caveat even though it’s the only monograph biography of Nazimova. Lambert did a commendable amount of research but his presentation of that research is ruined by misrepresentations, factual errors, and a general tendency to make unfounded assumptions about Nazimova’s motivations and personal feelings.)

Only Yesterday: An Informal History of the 1920s by Frederick Lewis Allen

Russian Theatre: from the Empire to the Soviets by Mark Slonim

[whencyclopedia]

Interview: French Fashion during the German Occupation (1940-1944)

In 2024, France is celebrating the 80th anniversary of the Liberation (1944), and as part of a series of conferences organised by the Société archéologique et historique de Beaugency, Catherine Join-Dieterle, Doctor in History of Art and General Curator of Cultural Heritage, gave a fascinating talk titled Fashion in France under the German Occupation. In this exclusive interview, Ms Join-Dieterle talks more on this subject to Babeth Étiève-Cartwright, revealing a subject that really is a lot less frivolous than it seems.

Dimanches de la femme, 24 April 1938

Dorvyne - Bibliothèque nationale de France (Public Domain)

BEC: Catherine Join-Dieterle, on behalf of World History Encyclopedia, I would like to thank you for agreeing to conduct this interview. When we hear about the German Occupation, we conjure up images that are far removed from the world of fashion and yet, fashion being a reflection of society, it played a sizeable role in those difficult years. Could you start by giving us some examples of how fashion evolved in France in the 1930s?

CJD: At the dawn of the 1930s, fashion had abandoned the short dress that had so marked the Roaring Twenties. Dresses and coats now reached mid-calf and the feminine figure, which had previously been suppressed, was now emphasised. Long, flowing dresses were worn in the evening, while suits and ensembles emphasised the waist. However, as the sound of boots grew more insistent, some designs were influenced by army outfits, with square shoulders, shako-inspired hats and the use of khaki. But there was also a much more optimistic trend, with designers such as Elsa Schiaparelli (1890-1973) and Christian Dior (1905-1957) proposing much more romantic and even surrealist outfits, influenced by artists such as Salvador Dali (1904-1989). We then saw the emergence of the shoe hat and fuller long dresses with vaporous sleeves were the order of the day.

BEC: So, what happened once the German Occupation was firmly established? The new political reality of course had many dramatic consequences on the lives of the French people, but what about fashion?

CJD: The German Occupation had many repercussions on fashion in France because of the conditions imposed on the French people. The occupying forces decided to take three-quarters of the country's production, so the French had to make do with what the Germans would be willing to let them have. Rationing was introduced, and the French were obliged to use ration coupons to buy supplies, including clothes. For example, this is what a woman was entitled to at the time:

two dresses

two aprons or blouses

one mackintosh

two pairs of winter gloves

one winter coat

three blouses

two overalls

three pairs of underpants

six pairs of stockings

six handkerchiefs

one pair of flat shoes (which had to last four years).

Fashion Poster, Costumes-Manteau, 1941

Nordiska museet (Public Domain)

Most women turned to sewing, their own resourcefulness (taking old jumpers apart), upcycling (believe it or not, this is not a recent innovation), and even the black market. With certain materials being extremely difficult to find (leather, for example), French creativity adapted by using new materials: wood for shoes, rayon (a textile fibre made from wood cellulose) for clothes and parachute fabric, which is extremely strong, to make men's shirts. Old fabrics lying around in stocks or attics were also reused (the tartan so popular in previous years made a remarkable comeback), and many outfits were in fact made up of different types of elegantly coordinated fabric.

From a stylistic point of view, fashion had to follow a new path; models became utilitarian, strict and responded to the harshness of living conditions. Outfits were therefore warmer (it was difficult to keep warm, and winters were particularly cold), quilted with cotton wool and more innovative to cope with scarcity. As it was difficult, if not impossible, to obtain leather, handbags became rare and we then saw the emergence of large pockets that made it possible to do without them. These could be sewn directly onto the garment or added using a separate belt. There was also a need for all-purpose clothing that could be used in all circumstances, and so the suit made its appearance, with a shorter skirt and a slit at the front to make it easier to ride a bicycle (petrol being a rare commodity, the bicycle experienced a remarkable boom at that time).

BEC: What about men's fashion?

CJD: There were also a lot of restrictions imposed on men. In 1942, suits and overcoats were no longer allowed to have gussets, box pleats or half-belts, and double-breasted waistcoats and knickerbockers were banned. Trousers were allowed only one pocket, and trouser cuffs were absolutely forbidden. All this to save fabric. Boys were no longer allowed to wear sailor collars and were obliged to wear short trousers until the age of 15.

1940s Utility Fashion

Laura Loveday (CC BY-NC-SA)

BEC: All repression eventually has a reaction. Did the French rebel against these rules? Knowing the contesting nature of the French people, I can't bring myself to believe that they accepted all this without batting an eyelid!

CJD: Definitely! The French were quick to get round the rules! You can only buy one pair of flat shoes every four years? Whatever! We'll make wooden shoes with platform soles! Can't find stockings in the shops? No problem, women could resort to stitching or dyeing their legs with walnut oil (not forgetting the thin black line for the seam) ... there were even ready-made kits for this. Large bags were theoretically forbidden; however, carrier bags (some made from the superb cashmere scarves so many had inherited) were worn across the shoulders, very useful for stuffing products bought in shops whenever supplies came in, and if possible, double-bottomed bags, so that documents or other secret messages could be safely transported.

Fashion would also become a means of taunting the occupying Germans as well as a means of propaganda: hats, even though banned, would rise, to keep heads held high, patterns of blue, white and red fabric with words or slogans like travail, famille, patrie ("work, family, homeland") here and there for good measure, buttons in the shape of patriotic Gallic roosters. And then there were the zazous. This French term was used to describe those young people who had "an immoderate passion for American jazz music and who made a name for themselves with their eccentric dress" (Trésor de la langue française informatisé). It was, in fact, an international movement (they were called ‘zooters’ in the United States). The young men would wear baggy trousers (in the face of restrictions on fabric), wear their hair medium-length in reaction to short military haircuts, and the girls, who wore excessive make-up, would have short skirts and puffy hairdos. Needless to say, these young people were frowned upon by Marshal Pétain's moralistic regime!

BEC: So far, we've mainly talked about everyday fashion, the fashion of ordinary people. What about haute couture? Did designers have the right to work in their ateliers, but above all did they have the necessary means to do so?

CJD: Unfortunately, at the start of the Occupation, some major fashion houses had to close down, such as Vionnet (1876-1975) and Schiaparelli. Chanel (1883-1971) moved to the South of France before closing her house too. Young designers who had not yet opened their own houses, such as Pierre Balmain (1914-1982) and Christian Dior, were drafted in. From 1941 onwards, however, there was a resurgence of haute couture work, and French excellence became perceived by many as a form of resistance. Haute couture was also a key sector for the French economy because of the number of people involved. France was providing fashionable outfits for the beautiful ladies of the whole world! People bought their clothes in Paris or copied Parisian models! Unfortunately, shortages and bans made it impossible to publish photos of models in magazines, so we had to resort to illustrations in fashion magazines such as Mode du Jour, Silhouettes, and Marie-Claire.

Post-WWII Paris Fashion Doll Display, Maryhill Museum

Glen Bledsoe (CC BY)

However, if there is one name to remember in connection with haute couture during the German Occupation, it is that of Lucien Lelong (1889-1958), president of the Chambre syndicale de la haute couture (Haute Couture Trade Union Chamber), who did everything in his power to prevent the Germans from moving this economic sector to Germany. At the end of the war, to ensure that France regained its position as champion of fashion, Lelong and Robert Ricci (1905-1988, co-founder of the Fashion house Nina Ricci) initiated a travelling exhibition of miniature mannequins (70 cm or 27.5 in high) dressed by the top designers. This ‘theatre of fashion’ would travel the world for a whole year, signalling the return of French stylists and proving that, thanks to the incredible talent of many artists, French haute couture still deserved its place at the top of the international fashion league.

BEC: Of course, much more could be said on this subject, including the infamous yellow star imposed on French Jews, some of the designers who publicly flaunted their support for the German occupiers, and Coco Chanel's controversial stance, but perhaps all that will be the subject of a future conversation.

Thank you, Ms Join-Dieterle, for sharing your expertise with our readers. It is a fascinating topic and we are very grateful to you for providing us with the opportunity to learn so much about French fashion during the German Occupation. On behalf of everyone at World History Encyclopedia and our readers, thank you again for your valuable contribution.

Catherine Join-Dieterle has a doctorate in History of Art and is General Curator of Cultural Heritage. A leading fashion specialist, she was head of the Objets d'Art department at the Petit Palais from 1974 to 1988 and was later appointed Director of the Palais Galliera - Musée de la Mode de la Ville de Paris from 1989 to 2010. She has curated numerous exhibitions devoted to fashion, including ‘Robes du soir’ (1990), ‘Givenchy’ (1991), and ‘Marlene Dietrich’ (2003), among many others.

Continue reading...

[shamelessliarkickapow]

Arrvatarr! The Last Arrbender!

Just a little WIP

Zutara pirate AU inspired by THIS FUN ART by singswan-springswan and also THIS SWEET PIECE from the Zutara coloring book by fabdante

I have this whole story outlined at about 8 chapters. (*desperate promises to self* This definitely won't be another 100k word story, definitely. I'm aiming for 40k this time. Max.) I'm gonna try a new thing and post parts of chapters here as I go - no backward glances. Chapters will go on AO3 and ffn as they're completed.

Rating: M for violence and sexual content

Summary:

Set four years later than the show in an AU where the Avatar never returned. Instead of finding Aang, Katara and Sokka went looking for Hakoda and had lots of adventures. Fast forward to now, they’ve gathered a few motley friends into their life of piracy. Hey, it’s a living! After seven years circling the globe in search of the Avatar, Prince Zuko finds himself beset by weird pirates. They mean to ransom him, but the waterbender is distracting and Uncle Iroh seems to have some kind of plan so, if Zuko's lucky, this could all turn out okay... But when is Zuko ever lucky? A silly but pretty grown-up story with real swears and some sex stuff. Here be knavish pirate jokes and most ignoble puns - avast ye bilge-rat-vipers! yarrr

Chapter 1, part 1/3:

It was a junky little steamer, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and pirates loved junk.

They struck when the fat waning moon was still high, sparkling off the sea. Katara brought their little ship up from the depths alongside and raised it up on a mighty platform of ice to put their decks at a level for boarding. The wave of their emergence shook the steamer like a can of bees - but that hardly mattered when Sokka swung aboard and Toph dropped off his back. All the soldiers who came running half-dressed onto the deck wound up trapped, bound with strips of steel torn from the very vessel they sought to defend.

“Surrender, ya scabby seal-dogs!” Toph cried, striking a pose and really hamming up the drama. “Or I’ll paint this tub with yer stinkin’ guts before I sink ‘er!”

Most of the time, as soon as Toph broke out the metalbending, the fight was pretty much over. Suki was quick, so she could usually knock out a couple of soldiers before they realized how incredibly out-classed they were. Sokka had drawn his sword and found himself without an opponent so many times now that he usually just posed with it while he demanded surrender. Which was a shame - because it was such a nice sword.

Katara, always watching everybody’s backs, locked the ships together with thick bonds of ice and boarded last to come down hard on any remaining resistance. Tonight, though, she was still on the deck of their vessel, reassuring their new swab that nobody was going to get seriously hurt.

“She doesn’t mean it about the guts, Aang,” she said with a shrug and a crooked smile. “Toph just misses those earthbender tournaments she was telling you about. Remember, we do this to feed our villages through the winter. The Fire Nation can afford to be plundered a little after everything they’ve taken from us.”

This last she said with the faintest measure more steel. But the little monk didn’t notice. He only smiled trustingly up at her, his lemur clinging to his head with a grip on his bandanna.

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” he growled, a kid fully sold on the game.

“And what’s the rule?”

“No airbending - yarr!”

Katara grinned. “Great, now let’s go loot the boots off these guys.”

She took a few running steps and surfed the short distance up to the other ship’s deck, landing in a ready crouch with a tight stream of water looped through the air around her. There was no sound as Aang alighted behind her, but even if there had been, she would not have noticed.

Most of the time, these fights ended quickly. Firebenders weren’t at their best at night to start with. Soldiers rushed out, found themselves overwhelmed, and surrendered. The captain made an appearance and perhaps fought briefly, perhaps tried to rally his subordinates, but ultimately admitted defeat and gave up the goods.

But tonight was apparently a special night, because when Katara landed aboard the steamer, there was one firebender shouting and persistently unleashing all manner of fury in a three-on-one match against her friends.

He didn’t wear a uniform or even a shirt, just a pair of loose sleep pants as if he’d fallen from his bed into battle. And he seemed entirely ready for that battle, based on the way he spun and leapt and kicked unrelentingly in the air, dodging a chunk of metal from Toph even as he kept Suki and Sokka back with athletic moves and bright crests of flame.

Katara noticed at once that he didn’t look like a regular Fire Nation officer. His bared torso was all taut muscle - not that that was unusual, as many officers maintained their conditioning, it was more just… interesting. Drew the eye. No, it was his hair that marked him as peculiar. It was grown long past his shoulders and it fell loose and very straight around his scarred, snarling face. Most officers only kept their hair long enough for their military topknot. It might have occurred to Katara to wonder just what kind of captain this was, but presently, she was more interested in putting a stop to him.

Her water whip cut the air with only a chilling hiss for warning.

.

.

Zuko woke when he flopped hard off the edge of his bed onto the floor. A floor, he quickly realized through the fading disorientation of sleep, that was still swaying from some massive disturbance. He scrambled to his feet and craned his head to get a look out the wide, high window.

On the deck below, something was going on in the dark - but the strange ice that jutted up around his ship shone brilliant and deadly in the moonlight.

“Uncle!” he shouted as he slammed through his door into the hallway. “Uncle Iroh! We’re under attack!”

The old man was already emerging from his quarters, rubbing his bleary eyes. “What, did we hit something?”

“They have a waterbender,” Zuko snarled on his way to the stairs. “It must be pirates.”

“Pirates!” Iroh exclaimed, following at a sedate trot. “How terribly exciting!”

Zuko had leapt far enough down the stairs that he could pretend not to hear that last bit. Uncle had grown increasingly… whiny in recent years. He complained largely of the boredom of their life at sea, constantly trying to get Zuko to do something - anything else.

Hey, maybe we take a little break from searching for the Avatar and visit the colonies! I know a most pleasant spa where the masseuses could work the tension out of a stone. I think it might really change your perspective on things, my nephew. A man needs to release his tension every now and then, you know?

It was insufferable and uncomfortable and Zuko always dismissed the notion and stormed off to scan the horizon… but the old man had a point about the tedium. Zuko had circled the globe in his hunt for the Avatar - and then did it again, and again, until what he was doing was less hunting for the Avatar and more hunting for any kind of purpose or meaning in his life.

Because the Avatar was never going to return. That much had become obvious over the course of seven years spent searching ruins and sniffing out half-baked stories. What had not become obvious was what Zuko could possibly do instead, what other path to honor might remain open to him.

He was confident, however, that such a path would not be found in some thinly-veiled whorehouse in the colonies.

In truth, Zuko was no longer entirely sure he wanted to capture the Avatar even if one did appear. The chance to return home to his scheming, ruthless family no longer inspired in him the driving desperation he had felt when his banishment began. His sister was set to inherit the crown, presumably in half a century when Ozai succumbed to the inevitable fate of the terminally evil-and-wealthy and died peacefully in his sleep.

Meanwhile, Zuko had grown into a man in exile. A bitter and angry yet philosophical man deeply schooled in the arts of firebending, Pai Sho, and longing. Because what else was there to do?

Except, thankfully, finally, thrash a pack of pirates?

The only warning Zuko had about what awaited him on the deck was Lieutenant Jee, hanging by a strap of steel that had certainly not been affixed to the exterior door last night. “Prince Zuko,” he gasped against the pressure of the band, “it’s a metalbender.”

“Impossible,” Zuko managed - but the evidence was there before his eyes.

Beyond the open door, a girlish voice was cackling.

Zuko hurriedly kicked the restraint off his Lieutenant so the man fell free to the deck, then sent him off to rally the rest of the crew. “And get my uncle down here. Now!”

Then, bold and furious, Prince Zuko leapt out the door and reignited the lost fight.

The cackler turned out to be the metalbender, a muscular but petite girl - a teenager - whose smirk and hard postures bespoke unshakable confidence. At the instant of his appearance - almost as if she had sensed him coming and was waiting to do it - she moved through a sequence and ripped a sheet of the deck out from under Zuko’s bare feet. Or she would have, if he hadn’t hurled himself forward into a flip and come down in a roaring kick that crashed down a huge gout of flames. The metalbender blocked with another chunk of the deck.

“Stop tearing holes in my ship!” Zuko shouted, punching more blasts at her to try and flush her out of her shelter. While she was under cover, he blasted the restraints off a couple of his firebenders, then quickly went back on the offensive to cover their rise and return to combat.

“Get a real ship!” the little brat shouted from behind her shield. She shot a chunk of steel at him and he was forced to dodge even though she couldn’t possibly have seen him to aim. “This clunker’s more rust and barnacles than metal anyways!”

“Rrah!”

“Finally!” A lean man with a sword darted in to beset one of the freed firebenders. Zuko didn’t see the fight, but he saw the moment his soldier toppled over the gunwale with a cry. The swordsman grinned and shouted back toward the rigging of the pirate vessel Zuko only then realized was locked in alongside - that’s what all the ice was for. “Katara, you’re missing it! Captain’s out-! Woah!”

He went staggering back from the low arc of flame Zuko kicked in his direction. Zuko turned his whole attention back to bearing down with a sustained blaze on his first opponent. The metalbender was strong, but her technique was a little slow and, if Zuko hit her shield with enough heat, he suspected she might-

“Ow!” She tumbled out of the way, holding one hand close to her chest. “Why you bilge-sucking biscuit-burner! I’m gonna mash you good for that one!”

It happened as if in slow motion. Zuko had drawn back for a knock-out blow and was initiating the punch, but from the corner of his eye, he saw a golden flash and another figure moving rapidly toward him. He redirected his punch but was too late to do more than block the fan that had been about to strike him in the side of the head. The pale, painted face of a Kyoshi Warrior was suddenly there, looming like a specter out of the night.

She was much faster than the metalbender, and came at him with a lightning-quick sequence of jabs and slashes with her fans. For a moment, Zuko was hard-pressed to evade her attacks. She drove him a few steps until he stumbled over one of the torn places in the deck and went sprawling on his back. The warrior darted in-

-but Zuko wheeled his legs around in a dazzling circle of fire that sent her leaping back, blocking with those fans. He rode the kick to his feet and took the offensive, laying down a hard, quick series of blasts that had her backing up toward the pirate vessel, where the metalbender was one-handedly locking the last of his firebenders back down.

Zuko might have been annoyed, had he not been so busy almost getting skewered. The lean guy with the sword came up from his flank. If he had led with a stab, he might have ended the fight right there, but he tried to brain his enemy with the flat of his blade instead.

Zuko didn’t give it much thought as he ducked, darted in close to grab the guy’s sword-hand, and, with a grip on the front of his vaguely Water Tribey pirate jacket, pitched him bodily at the warrior. She was charging him with her fans out to either side and barely managed to dodge out of the way as the lean guy came hurtling past.

“Waugh-!”

Zuko kicked fire to keep her diverted and simultaneously ducked out of the way of another chunk of his ship that came hurtling toward him. He was about to press the advantage when a hissing sound cut the air, he felt a hard jolt of impact, and pain bloomed from his left pectoral like he’d been stung by a buzzard-wasp. He fell a couple steps back and took in this new opponent.

“The waterbender,” he growled, momentarily stunned.

TBC

[clothyume]

The Thrill That Emerges: Episode 1

Characters: Leo, Mika, Shu

Season: Winter

Mika: Sorry I made ya wait, Anzu-chan.

Ya weren't waitin' long at all? That's good, then.

Ah, ya brough me a drink? Thanks♪

So, what did ya wanna discuss? New work?

Nnah? It's Oshisan's turn t' to a feature live!?

I see~! I finally get to see Oshisan's solo live. I'm so happy, I've been lookin' forward to it fer ages♪

Hm? ...Ya want me t' help ya come up with an idea?

Come t' think of it, when we were talkin' about the special costume, didn't Anzu-chan come t' ask me what Oshisan's costume would look like.

...Maybe this time Anzu-chan could think up a couple of stage plans and Oshisan can pick between 'em.

.........

Nnah~...But if I say selfish stuff like that it might cause trouble fer Anzu-chan.

Can't we let Oshisan make the feature live from scratch?

When it came t' the special costume. we didn't have enough time and budget, so Anzu-chan and I thought up the ideas, and Oshisan finished it?

Of course, it was real beautiful too.

I got emotional when I saw the ideas we came up with were put into Oshisan's hands, and turned out to be even more amazin' than we imagined.

But... That's why I wanted t' see a solo live that Oshisan created from start to finish all by himself.

...Anzu-chan? Do what I say?

This time we got a lotta time... And Anzu-chan also wants t' see a solo live made by Oshisan from scratch?

Then, yer hearin' out my selfishness?

I'm so happy Anzu-chan said that! Thank ya kindly...♪

Ah, 'course. If ya get in trouble I'll help, so ask me anythin', kay?

Even though we got more time than before, I think we're askin' a lot from Oshisan this time.

I think it'll be tough, but we'll leave it to Oshisan♪

Shu: Hello, girl? The information that you sent about the feature live has come through just fine.

But... Is this everything?

The special costume has been attached, but it seems there's no information to see regarding the idea.

On the contrary, the scale of the lives performed by Valkyrie in the past and the stages that could be reproduced with the expected budget were summarized.

Hm? As opposed to the special costume, with the feature live we have more time.

However, instead of proceeding like last time, I wish to discuss with you the solo live I want to perform.

I understand your train of thought. In other words, you're saying it would be better this time if I were to make the stage from scratch as I please.

Fortunately, I have no urgent work or plans for a group exhibit. It seems I can use my time for the feature live to my heart's content.

...Though even without being told, there are limits to the time and budget, that much I understand.

Ha. As I continue my career in fine arts, those two things will always follow.

...However, creating great art requires appropriate compensation.

Knowing everything, you wanted to see a feature live created by Shu Itsuki, did you not?

In that case, I will do to just that.

Let's have a detailed meeting this weekend once I return to Japan. Until then I'll collect some ideas.

...Hm? Is there something else?

Aah. I'm also aware of the pamphlet photography. I'll think of a situation for that too.

Well then, I'll get to work.

...What is it? If you're busy then spit it out.

"Please let me learn a lot this time"?

Hmph. I'm telling you I have no intention of teaching you.

If you want to learn, then watch and learn, but don't get in my way.

Yes. Alright, I'm hanging up.

(A feature live, hm. Although there are many restrictions, a solo live is valuable.)

(Also, this time she said she would accommodate my request to some extent. I can't afford to miss this opportunity.)

Kakaka, I'll start devising ideas right away.

Leo: Wahaha☆ Shu looks happy~!

Shu: Gyaa!?

Leo: Ooh! When was the last time I saw Shu surprised like that?

Ah, it's been too long since I've been this inspired! Wait a sec while I write this down!

Shu: Tsukinaga! When did you sneak in!

Or rather, if you're going to be here, don't yell! It's incredibly childish to surprise someone and enjoy their reaction!

Leo: Ah~ When I first came here, you often got angry like that! Yep, the melody is close to nostalgia...♪

Shu: You don't listen, as usual...

Whatever. At any rate, I suppose you came here again without a cause.

Leo: I do have a cause~? I came to get motivation from Shu! And now you've motivated me so I'm satisfied!

Shu: If you're done then go home. I want to concentrate on work.

Leo: Is that what you were talking about on the phone earlier, a live or something? Were you talking to Anzu~?

Shu: Not just any live, a feature live.

Leo: Hm~? Have I heard that somewhere?

Shu: You probably have. I can't pinpoint when, but your turn is yet to come.

...No, in your case, it's likely you're just forgetting.

Put simply, it's my solo live.

Leo: It's not Michael and Shu's performance, but just Shu's~!

How nice! I'm getting really inspired now!

Shu: I don't feel bad about having expectations, I'm just pursuing my own art as usual.

Leo: Yeah, I think that's a good thing. It's interesting to see the things Shu creates.

The things Shu creates have started changing this past year, I'm looking forward to seeing what the current Shu is going to do for his own live!

Shu: That's natural. Just like you, I've also received various influences in this foreign country.

My art is improving and my expression is expanding. This feature live is a great opportunity to make use of.

Leo: Yup. I'm rooting for you~

Well, it's probably harder for Anzu, who has to go through with consulting Shu. There are times when Shu can be really fickle about a lot of things.

Shu: It's unacceptable for the art I create to be even a little disorderly. I'm a very particular artist.

(...In any case, in order to go through with the plan, I need to communicate with that girl.)

(Even if it's for consolation, perhaps it's better to do what you can.)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Dancing monk icon by Marcy Hall Art

* * * *

Blessings on this eve of the Feast of St. Brigid!

I feel especially blessed to have had the joy of joining with a group of dancing monks online last Monday to celebrate Brigid's call to us as midwife, muse, and transforming fire.

February 1st-2nd marks a confluence of several feasts and occasions including: the Celtic feast of Imbolc, St. Brigid’s Day, Candlemas, Feast of the Presentation, and Groundhog Day in the northern hemisphere! (Imbolc is August 1st in the southern hemisphere).

Imbolc is a Celtic feast that is a cross-quarter day, meaning it is the midway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox. The sun marks the four Quarter Days of the year (the Solstices and Equinoxes) and the midpoints are the cross-quarter days. In some cultures, like Ireland, February 2nd is the official beginning of spring.

As the days slowly lengthen in the northern hemisphere and the sun makes her way higher in the sky, the ground beneath our feet begins to thaw. The earth softens and the seeds deep below stir in the darkness. The word “imbolc” means “in the belly.” The earth’s belly is beginning to awaken, new life is stirring, seeds are sprouting forth.

In many places the ground is still frozen or covered with snow, but the call now is tend to those very first signs of movement beneath the fertile ground. What happens when you listen ever so closely in the stillness? What do you hear beginning to emerge?

St. Brigid is said to bring the first sign of life after the long dark nights of winter. She breathes into the landscape so that it begins to awaken. Snowdrops, the first flowers of spring are one of her symbols.

On the eve of January 31st it is traditional to leave a piece of cloth or ribbon outside the house. It was believed that St Brigid’s spirit traveled across the land and left her curative powers in the brat Bride (Brigid’s Mantle or cloth). It was then used throughout the year as a healing from sickness and protection from harm.

Often in Ireland, I have heard Brigid described as a bridge between the pre-Christian and Christian traditions, between the other world and this one. She bridges the natural and human world. Brigid sees the face of Christ in all persons and creatures, and overcomes the division between rich and poor. Our practice of inner hospitality as monks in the world is essentially about healing all of places we feel fragmented, scattered, and shamed. One of her symbols is her cloak which becomes a symbol of unity. All can dwell under her mantle.

[Thanks to Christine Valters Paintner and to the dancing monks]

[somediyprojects]

The Tapestree Project is a memory cloth/tapestry stitched and designed by Rachel Samek (née Piso). This is an ongoing project in which she documents her life in cross-stitch. She stitches memories, current events, and anything that especially interests her. She keeps an online journal to recount why she chose certain motifs. The tapestree is stitched on 45ct. ivory Graziano linen with a range cotton embroidery thread. The cloth measures about three feet wide by two feet high.

[Reddit | Blog | Instagram | Facebook | Tumblr | Twitter]

Descriptions under the cut.

pics 1 & 2— I stitched these little gold scissors this week to remember the foggy, intense few months immediately following the birth of my boys. If you knew me around that time, you know that when I was just about 7 months pregnant, I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and received an emergency C-section at 31 weeks. All three guys were incredibly tiny (Charlie was 2 lb 12 oz) and as expected, they would go on to spend long (long, long) stretches in the NICU. Also expectedly, I was a wild mess. I was spending long days at the hospital in the middle of winter, feeling powerless, and as a result, I was killing myself trying to pump enough to keep up with three infants. During those delirious nights of waking up every few hours, I would collapse in front of Hulu (probably rewatching The Handmaid's Tale) and Hulu would do what Hulu did best: repeat the exact same commercial every 20 minutes. During those first weeks, that commercial was a trailer for the upcoming horror movie "Us." The score of the two-minute trailer is so unsettling that even though I would sometimes scramble to switch it off, it was also weirdly comforting to be shocked out of my weepy, helpless state of zombiehood. This came with the price of scaring myself shitless when I had to walk back to bed at 3 AM with the slowed-down, beefed up version of "I Got 5 On It" on repeat in my head. These scissors, a symbol from the movie, represent those weird, difficult postpartum nights. Whenever I hear the first few chords from the trailer, I'm immediately back in 2019, freezing cold on our old couch, fully panicked at life.

pics 3 & 4— I added more hairwork to my tapestree! Last fall, I cross stitched a tiny design using my boys’ hair. I tried again this weekend, using my own hair to make this equally tiny bird. One of the questions I get a lot with this project is whether I get burned out working on the same thing for so long. Yes, I get sick of it, mostly due to the pressure I put on myself to include things (like current events) out of obligation. This bird was one way to bring “me” back into it. If you know anything about the Victorians, you know that they loved crafting with hair. One way was braiding a lock and placing it in a book with a poem underneath—creating an ode to a person’s essence. Since it was fashionable to be sentimental, they made similar keepsakes as jewelry and other textile art. I’ve talked in the past about how much of a nightmare it is working with hair, but if you’re interested in seeing my process, you can find a highlight on my page that covers my last attempt. I also included a picture of the back of my stitching (first time ever!) so you can see the ridiculous knot it creates.

pics 5-7— I have a new tapestree addition! It's the weird little quilt at the very bottom! I have a bin in our basement with a bunch of the boys' preemie onesies. I have plans to make a quilt with them, but since that probably won't happen for another 20 years, I wanted to add something small to my tapestree. Half of the quilt blocks are snipped from the clothes with patterns that have the strongest memories of the boys being in the hospital (the white parts are fabric, for example). The rest is filled in with solid cross stitch. It's been a crazy few weeks! I recently started working full time again (from home, fortunately!) and we're starting to plan the boys' third birthday on December 14th. I can't believe it.🤍

[acacia-may]

Hi Acacia! Can I have cactus and abelia for the ask game?

Hi Greta! Thank you so much for the ask! 🥰

Questions from this "Get to Know Me" Ask Game

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)?

I wasn't sure if this question was asking about skills or information I'm learning so I've decided to answer both.

In terms of information that I'm learning, I feel like I'm always picking up random facts and tidbits and falling down the research rabbit hole without meaning to. The most recent thing I learned was about the history of wedding rings around the world. (To tell you the absolute truth, I was researching for a fanfiction and ultimately learned that, no, these characters would not have had rings 😅).

In terms of skills that I'm learning, my sister has been teaching me about digital art, and we have a bit of an art club. I'm not very good at it, but I'm learning...😅 I think I'm much more comfortable with writing as a creative medium, than with drawing, but I always try to pick up a new creative hobby in the winter. In the past, I've picked up clay sculpting, scrapbooking, knitting, old school paper and pencil sketching, and (last year) writing fanfiction on AO3, so digital art is the newest in a long line of artistic hobbies I've tried. I liked writing the best by far though and actually kept up with it. 😁

abelia ⇢ do you have a particular piece of jewelry you always wear or can’t part with?

I don't wear a lot of jewelry usually (mainly because I forget to put it on 🙈), but I do have a couple of rings I like to wear, and I always wear a golden medical bangle (which tells first responders I have a bleeding disorder in case of an emergency). Since I have to wear that one, I spent a lot of time trying to find one that I actually liked and that wasn't too "medical" (if that makes sense?), and it makes me super happy when I get compliments on it from people who don't catch the Rod of Asclepius on the side and think it's just regular jewelry. 😊

In terms of fun jewelry or jewelry that is important to me, I inherited a set of earrings from each of my great grandmothers before they passed away so those are very special to me. (I rarely ever wear them, however, because of sentimental value and fear of losing them). I have quite a few necklaces, but the three I wear most often all have butterflies on them. One has a silver butterfly with open wings, and another has four golden butterflies (I wore that one today actually). The one in the picture below, however, is my favourite because the body of the butterfly is (very subtly) a semi colon for mental health awareness. The necklace is actually tarnishing because I've worn it so much, so I’m afraid I might have to try to replace it someday. I've always loved butterflies and, to me, they have always really symbolized hope so I really like my butterfly jewelry. 🦋

[hellebore-petall]

Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you'd like to know better!

Tagged by @yarn-dragon​

What book are you currently reading?

Kith and Kin by Marieke Nijkamp! I’ve had it for over a year and have just gotten around to actually reading it lol

What’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year? 

The only movie I remember seeing in theatres this year is the Dune movie, so that one wins by default. I do have more plans in the works to see more movies next year though, namely the Mario movie, and the DnD movie.

What do you usually wear?

Jeans or yoga pants/leggings, with graphic tees in the summer and graphic sweaters in the winter, or a graphic tee with a jacket over it if the temperature is right. Most of the tops I own are merch for various dnd actual plays, most of which are Critical Role because they make good quality clothing.

How tall are you?

5′5″

What’s your star sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or historical event? 

Gemini! I found out last year that Kyle from Unprepared Casters and I share a birthday.

Do you go by your name or a nickname? 

My name irl, I go by Petall in online spaces and on the occasions where I have met internet friends irl.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be as a child? 

Growing up I was deadset on becoming a veterinarian. From the time I was 9 to the time I was in Grade 12 I seriously pursued this as a goal. I volunteered at vet clinics, looked for opportunities to watch surgeries, and took all the high school sciences I would need. Then the first week of Grade 12 I realized that becoming a veterinarian would take a lot of time and not give me much of a social life, and I wanted to be more present for the people in my life, so I decided to work with people instead. I just got my Bachelor’s Degree in Child and Youth Care and I have a job at an Emergency Youth Shelter.

What’s something you’re good at vs something you’re bad at? 

I’m really good at writing (and writing lots), I do a lot of creative writing in my spare time. I am not very good at sports, or anything athletic.

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what's your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year? 

I am insanely proud of this paper lantern that I made for a final project in an art class I took as an elective early this year! It’s meant to depict Lottie from arc 6 of Unprepared Casters, as well as her ghost friends. I still have it hanging up in my room.

Dogs or cats?

I do like both, but I probably lean more towards dogs than cats

What's something you would like to create content for? 

I would really love to be on one of my favourite DnD actual plays, but I am a cast member for a Minecraft DnD actual play podcast coming out in the new year! I still feel like joining the cast of one of the actual plays I listen to is a pipe dream, but I am excited to be entering that sphere and hope it opens up other opportunities in other smaller actual plays!

I also really want to stream myself doing a series of pokemon nuzlockes, but my schedule is too unpredictable rn to settle into a routine with that, so that’s a future plan.

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with? 

Unprepared Casters, always. Also, boy howdy, Dimension 20: Neverafter sure has a hold on me rn, the brainrot is real.

What's something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

I was really excited to get my job in Out of School Care at the same place I worked summer camp at, but while I love working with kids, working with youth at my practicum placement (and now part-time job now that my practicum is done) has lead me to see I much prefer working with an older age group. Once an opportunity for a full-time position at the youth shelter opens up, I plan on giving my notice to the Out of School Care position, but until that happens I plan to see out the school year to follow through on my contract.

What’s a hidden talent of yours? 

My middle sibling and I are really good at doing spontaneous improv bits together and I wish I could show them off, but we never plan them and attempting to film them would not allow it to happen naturally.

What's something you wish to have at this moment? 

I want my cold to go away :( I have been sick for the past several days and have had to cancel multiple fun plans as a result :(((( Let me get better so I can enjoy Christmas shenanigans!!!!!! I want clear nostrils again!!! My body faked me out yesterday and I felt better for most of the day, then I took a nose-dive in the evening and I feel worse than ever :(((((((((((

No pressure tags to @loudobjectprincess​ @jimbothy-magma​ @winter-changeling​ and anyone else who wants to do it! I would tag more but cold sick brain fog :((((

[life-in-providence-ri]

Apartments Near Brown University

I would like to live in an apartment near Brown University because I have to be at the university from Monday to Friday. I looked for nice apartments, and I found 257 Thayer to be the most convenient and comfortable living space that is tailored to the requirements of Brown University students, both undergraduate and graduate. These student apartments in Providence are designed to fit your needs for a home. You take advantage of the amenities that the apartment offers and the community amenities available. Plus, the cost of this apartment is very affordable. If you're a student who needs to economize in all aspects without compromising your home living situation, then this is a perfect location. For more information about this home, call (401) 592-2979.

Providence, RI - A Vibrant City

One thing that makes Providence, RI, interesting is that it's a vibrant city with various attractions, including the Roger Williams Park, which is home to the Museum of Natural History, as well as the Roger Williams Zoo. Also, Rhode Island's only planetarium and the RISD Museum of Art are also interesting locations. The zoo, one of the oldest in the country, is 40 acres large and showcases various animals from around the world, so it's also a must-visit in Providence. You can also take the children to the Providence Children's Museum, which offers creative experiences for children. Then, during summer, Providence hosts WaterFire nights, where torches are lit along the Providence River and attract locals and visitors to shops and food and drink stalls.

Roger Williams Park Zoo

You should never fail to visit the Roger Williams Park Zoo with your children. The zoo is a famous destination for visitors. It has features of having over 100 rare species from around the world. Visitors can enjoy activities like petting an armadillo, seeing New England's only Komodo dragon, and experiencing a zip ride. The Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular, a popular fall tradition, takes place from September 27 to November 3, 2024. The Jack-O-Lantern Spectacular – Trivia Edition, Food Truck Day, and breakfast with rainforest residents are also available.

New Specie at William Park Zoo

Roger Williams Park Zoo in Providence has welcomed Velma the serval, one of 75 felines rescued from a private breeding facility in California. Velma is the first serval at the zoo, which is known for its slender, medium-sized wild cats native to sub-Saharan Africa. The zoo had planned to add servals to its 20-year plan, but Velma arrived earlier than expected. To build her home, the zoo has been raising emergency funds. The serval, known for its spotted and striped fur and large, rounded ears, can grow to over 3 feet long and weigh between 20 and 40 pounds. The zoo has been raising money for Velma's exhibit over the last two months and hopes to have a permanent home built for her by winter.

Link to Map Driving Direction

Roger Williams Park Zoo 1000 Elmwood Ave, Providence, RI 02907, United States

Continue to Broad St 4 min (0.6 mi)

Take Aldrich St to Pavilion Ave 2 min (0.5 mi)

Take Blundell St to Thurbers Ave 47 sec (0.2 mi)

Take Allens Ave and Brook St to Thayer St 11 min (2.6 mi)

257 Thayer 257 Thayer St, Providence, RI 02906, United States

[roleplayfinder]

Rules

    1.    Age Requirement: All participants must be 18 years of age or older. This role-play contains mature themes and is designed for an adult audience.

    2.    Writing Standards: Participants should exhibit good command of grammar and spelling. Replies are expected to be thoughtful and descriptive, consisting of at least a couple of paragraphs. Longer, more detailed posts are welcome and encouraged to enrich the storytelling experience.

Far Cry 5 Plot (double-up):

The bunker ending of Far Cry unfolds with a twist – not only do the Deputy (Dep) and Joseph Seed survive the apocalypse, but Jacob and John Seed also find refuge in the same bunker. Trapped together in a nuclear winter, these four individuals navigate a tense and complex dynamic in the confined space of their shelter. As they struggle to cope with the harsh realities of their new world and confront their personal demons, an unexpected and intricate web of emotions begins to develop. The Deputy, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, finds themselves drawn to each of the Seed brothers in different ways. The role-play delves into the psychological exploration of whether these emerging bonds are a result of the intense situation, a case of Stockholm syndrome, or genuine affection born from being the last known survivors.

  GANGSTA. Plot (double-up):

In this role-play, set in the gritty and crime-ridden city of Ergastulum, you and your partner will dive into the lives of its inhabitants, where the lines between right and wrong are blurred. I would like my roleplay partner to play Worick Arcangelo and their OC, and I will play any character you’d like along with my OC. The role-play will follow the manga’s storyline, focusing on the partnership between mercenaries, their dealings with the city’s mafia, and the personal demons they face.  

  Pokemon Plot (double-up):Inspired by Monster Musume and art by Kinkymation. Set several years before the modern events of the main Pokemon storyline, when genetics is still a new science among academia. Pokemon have been suddenly turning into half-human versions of themselves! It’s a virus that’s going around that only affects Pokemon. As new scientists in the genetic field, our OCs find themselves working together to collect the genetic information of each Pokemon, while also working to find a cure. 

[roleplay-today]

Rules

    1.    Age Requirement: All participants must be 18 years of age or older. This role-play contains mature themes and is designed for an adult audience.

    2.    Writing Standards: Participants should exhibit good command of grammar and spelling. Replies are expected to be thoughtful and descriptive, consisting of at least a couple of paragraphs. Longer, more detailed posts are welcome and encouraged to enrich the storytelling experience.

Far Cry 5 Plot (double-up):

The bunker ending of Far Cry unfolds with a twist – not only do the Deputy (Dep) and Joseph Seed survive the apocalypse, but Jacob and John Seed also find refuge in the same bunker. Trapped together in a nuclear winter, these four individuals navigate a tense and complex dynamic in the confined space of their shelter. As they struggle to cope with the harsh realities of their new world and confront their personal demons, an unexpected and intricate web of emotions begins to develop. The Deputy, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, finds themselves drawn to each of the Seed brothers in different ways. The role-play delves into the psychological exploration of whether these emerging bonds are a result of the intense situation, a case of Stockholm syndrome, or genuine affection born from being the last known survivors.

GANGSTA. Plot (double-up):

In this role-play, set in the gritty and crime-ridden city of Ergastulum, you and your partner will dive into the lives of its inhabitants, where the lines between right and wrong are blurred. I would like my roleplay partner to play Worick Arcangelo and their OC, and I will play any character you’d like along with my OC. The role-play will follow the manga's storyline, focusing on the partnership between mercenaries, their dealings with the city's mafia, and the personal demons they face.  

Pokemon Plot (double-up):Inspired by Monster Musume and art by Kinkymation. Set several years before the modern events of the main Pokemon storyline, when genetics is still a new science among academia. Pokemon have been suddenly turning into half-human versions of themselves! It’s a virus that’s going around that only affects Pokemon. As new scientists in the genetic field, our OCs find themselves working together to collect the genetic information of each Pokemon, while also working to find a cure. 

-

[findyourrp]

❤️

Rules

    1.    Age Requirement: All participants must be 18 years of age or older. This role-play contains mature themes and is designed for an adult audience.

    2.    Writing Standards: Participants should exhibit good command of grammar and spelling. Replies are expected to be thoughtful and descriptive, consisting of at least a couple of paragraphs. Longer, more detailed posts are welcome and encouraged to enrich the storytelling experience.

Far Cry 5 Plot (double-up):

The bunker ending of Far Cry unfolds with a twist – not only do the Deputy (Dep) and Joseph Seed survive the apocalypse, but Jacob and John Seed also find refuge in the same bunker. Trapped together in a nuclear winter, these four individuals navigate a tense and complex dynamic in the confined space of their shelter. As they struggle to cope with the harsh realities of their new world and confront their personal demons, an unexpected and intricate web of emotions begins to develop. The Deputy, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, finds themselves drawn to each of the Seed brothers in different ways. The role-play delves into the psychological exploration of whether these emerging bonds are a result of the intense situation, a case of Stockholm syndrome, or genuine affection born from being the last known survivors.

GANGSTA. Plot (double-up):

In this role-play, set in the gritty and crime-ridden city of Ergastulum, you and your partner will dive into the lives of its inhabitants, where the lines between right and wrong are blurred. I would like my roleplay partner to play Worick Arcangelo and their OC, and I will play any character you’d like along with my OC. The role-play will follow the manga's storyline, focusing on the partnership between mercenaries, their dealings with the city's mafia, and the personal demons they face.  

Pokemon Plot (double-up):Inspired by Monster Musume and art by Kinkymation. Set several years before the modern events of the main Pokemon storyline, when genetics is still a new science among academia. Pokemon have been suddenly turning into half-human versions of themselves! It’s a virus that’s going around that only affects Pokemon. As new scientists in the genetic field, our OCs find themselves working together to collect the genetic information of each Pokemon, while also working to find a cure. 

.

[rpersearch]

Rules

    1.    Age Requirement: All participants must be 18 years of age or older. This role-play contains mature themes and is designed for an adult audience.

    2.    Writing Standards: Participants should exhibit good command of grammar and spelling. Replies are expected to be thoughtful and descriptive, consisting of at least a couple of paragraphs. Longer, more detailed posts are welcome and encouraged to enrich the storytelling experience.

Far Cry 5 Plot (double-up):

The bunker ending of Far Cry unfolds with a twist – not only do the Deputy (Dep) and Joseph Seed survive the apocalypse, but Jacob and John Seed also find refuge in the same bunker. Trapped together in a nuclear winter, these four individuals navigate a tense and complex dynamic in the confined space of their shelter. As they struggle to cope with the harsh realities of their new world and confront their personal demons, an unexpected and intricate web of emotions begins to develop. The Deputy, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting feelings, finds themselves drawn to each of the Seed brothers in different ways. The role-play delves into the psychological exploration of whether these emerging bonds are a result of the intense situation, a case of Stockholm syndrome, or genuine affection born from being the last known survivors.

GANGSTA. Plot (double-up):

In this role-play, set in the gritty and crime-ridden city of Ergastulum, you and your partner will dive into the lives of its inhabitants, where the lines between right and wrong are blurred. I would like my roleplay partner to play Worick Arcangelo and their OC, and I will play any character you’d like along with my OC. The role-play will follow the manga's storyline, focusing on the partnership between mercenaries, their dealings with the city's mafia, and the personal demons they face.  

Pokemon Plot (double-up):Inspired by Monster Musume and art by Kinkymation. Set several years before the modern events of the main Pokemon storyline, when genetics is still a new science among academia. Pokemon have been suddenly turning into half-human versions of themselves! It’s a virus that’s going around that only affects Pokemon. As new scientists in the genetic field, our OCs find themselves working together to collect the genetic information of each Pokemon, while also working to find a cure. 

-

[legends-of-time]

Thorn Bush (Doctor Who Story)

Chapter 40: Across the Pond

Masterlist

3rd April 1938 AD/CE

Kathy stands at the entryway of an apartment in downtown New York, shrugging on her coat and collecting her umbrella. 

"I'll be back tomorrow, Mrs Reading. Eight o'clock alright?" Kathy calls.

An older woman who's in her 80s emerges from around the corner into the little hallway, her feet shuffling along the carpet. Her body heavily relies on the walking frame that she clings to.

The woman gives her a warm smile. "I told you to call me Oswald, Kathy."

Kathy smiles at her tightly, her heart breaking at the sight of the woman. Yes, she had gone and found another echo of Clara's though this was accidental but she couldn't help but stick around. As far as she's aware, this Clara hasn't met the Doctor.

"I wish you'd listen to my advice and move into a ground floor apartment or a home, Oswald."

Oswald kisses her teeth, tutting. "I told you, Kathy. I'm not moving. You go now."

With one last goodbye, Kathy steps out into the cold dark night to make her way home.

She's walking along to her flat and freezes when she sees herself along with the Doctor, River, Amy and an unknown woman with light brown hair like Kathy's spring out of a building. She stands there in shock as the Doctor, River, Amy and the unknown woman (who is that?) clamber inside the car but Kathy (future) pauses for a moment and looks up straight at current Kathy. Her blue eyes twinkle as she flashes a wink at Kathy (current) before climbing into the car along with the others, who had been yelling for her to hurry up and get into the car with them – Amy in particular which, considering that her husband has been taken by the angels, is understandable.

Once future her is inside, the car is speeding off to Winter Quay. Probably before future her had even had the chance to secure her seatbelt and while Kathy knows an accident wouldn't kill her considering she's got the power to heal herself, the inconvenience of it is not fun.

Current Kathy gapes after them before she turns her gawping towards the building they had emerged from. She had been looking down that she hadn't realised she's outside Julius Grayle's home, who's an art collector and mob boss and some of his collected artefacts include Weeping Angels.

She kind of wants to slap herself on the forehead. This is the year that Amy and Rory are sent into the past by a weeping angel to and from when they'll live out the rest of their lives never seeing the Doctor again. How had she not realised this? She blames it on being too focused on the Clara echo she'd found. Though finding the echo should have been a clue as Clara is split throughout the Doctor's timeline, why wouldn't the Doctor be nearby if she is?

She freezes when a thought goes across her mind. Julius Grayle had also kept his door very securely locked for a reason. Her gaze turns to the Weeping Angels that had been standing outside the building in the form of a woman and a child. Kathy panics when she realises they're in mid-moving towards the open door. Kathy decides she should leave before she gets involved. This is her future, she can't get involved but she can wait until Rory and Amy are sent back the final time and step in then.

——

Amy gasps awake, quickly sitting up to look around frantically. "Rory? Rory!"

She realises she's still in the graveyard that she had been in when Rory got taken and Amy made her choice, a choice she believed and that was to follow her husband but now she can't see him.

Suddenly, a hand is touching her arm gently. Amy startles and yanks back but relaxes once she realises it's Kathy.

"He's fine." The part Time Lord, part Human and part Apalapucian tries to reassure her.

"Kathy, how are you here? Where's the Doctor? What about Ivy—" 

She cuts herself off when she realises something. This Kathy looks different to the one she was just with, her clothing being an obvious factor. She looks like she blends in more with 1930s New York more than the Kathy Amy had just been with. The one who had promised her that she was making the right decision. Also, her eyes somehow look younger.

"Who's Ivy?" Kathy questions frowning. "Is she the girl you were with? Who was that?"

"Uh..." Amy really should be better at this after all this time of knowing Kathy and the Doctor. How does she get out of this without spilling any spoilers? "Spoilers."

Kathy pulls a disgruntled look that Amy would normally laugh at if it wasn't for the fact that she doesn't know where Rory is.

"Urgh, I hate that River taught you that."

"Actually, you did."

Kathy blinks. "Oh yeah, maybe I did."

"AMY?!"

Rory rounds the monuments at high speed, careering towards her. Amy catches him as she keeps towards her husband.

——

Kathy opens the door to her flat, and shuffles in the tired and emotionally drained Ponds.

"You're lucky that I have a spare room and Carlyle isn't visiting." Kathy says to break the silence they've all been wrapped in on the walk over.

"Thank you, Kathy." Rory manages a small smile as he and Amy take off their shoes at the entrance.

Amy's silent, after her initial panic and then relief at finding Rory, the redhead had shut down, going into a state of shock and Kathy doesn't blame her. While she's sure that this is the right decision, Amy has to process the fact that she won't ever see the Doctor or their families again.

"Erm, yes, anyway, the room is the second door on your left as you go up the stairs," she gestures towards the stairs as they walk through the hallway, "bathroom is across the hall so please feel free to use that. There's clothes in the wardrobe for both of you though they probably won't fit you, uh, we can go shopping soon to get you some and, um—"

"Thank you, Kathy, again. Uh, we're tired so we'll just go to bed." Rory says apologetically.

Yeah, she had been rambling.

"Of course."

Rory and Amy go upstairs while Kathy stays downstairs and decides she could make them some sandwiches maybe and leave it for them to eat when they want to. When she brings it upstairs, Amy, towel wrapped around her head, murmurs a quick thank you before she retreats into the bedroom once more with Rory and Kathy goes back downstairs to cook her own food.

She's happy to see them as the last time she saw them was in Hollywood earlier in the decade where they were all confronted with the Rock Quaser films, Rick "Crusty" Cobbe and slugs and it all ending with Rory having a starring role in the last serial. It's strange to think that there are still so many adventures with Amy and Rory that she still hasn't done (on TV and off) and to think she's now seen them at the end of it all.

One last thought in her mind before she goes to sleep that night is the thought that ever since she was little, she had always wanted to call one of her children, if they were a girl, Ivy.

——

After their arrival, Kathy continues to happily support the Ponds while they set up and adapt to their new life in 1930s New York. Amy especially struggles at first, hardly going out. Kathy tries little things at first, such as going to the shops for some milk or bread but then Kathy begins to encourage Amy to help her out with looking after Oswald, Clara's echo, when Kathy gets too busy. Carlyle and Ashildr turn up briefly and pull her and Rory out with them on a double date. Carlyle tells Kathy afterwards that Ashildr held back on her scathing remarks about the Doctor.

Two months into Amy and Rory's stay, there's a knock on Kathy's door. Immediately she knows it can't be Carlyle as she would have sensed it, Ashildr doesn't normally come without him and if she did, she would send a message ahead, Jack is in Cardiff and Amy and Rory have been scooping out job vacancies to start getting them on their own two feet – despite Kathy's insistence that they don't need to rush – wouldn't have returned yet so who could it be?

She opens the door and finds—

"River?"

"Hey, honey."

River is smiling hesitantly, her arms are flexing at her sides as if she's trying to hold back. Kathy realises that she must be waiting to see what Kathy will do first. She can only imagine how it must be for River. This is only the third time Kathy has met her but River's probably met her multiple times. It must hurt.

Kathy quickly smiles to show that she's happy to see her, because she is, and pulls River into a tight hug. River relaxes into it, holding her tightly and letting out a heavy sigh as she tucks her head into the gap between Kathy's neck and shoulder.

——

"Carlyle not here?" River asks as she lounges on the settee in the living room, sipping the tea Kathy had handed her.

"Er, no," Kathy replies as she sorts the cushions on her chair to make it comfortable all while trying to balance her tea in the other hand without spilling, "he and– do you know Ashildr?"

"I do." River answers, that unreadable expression on her face which often appears. Kathy hopes that one day she'll know what it means.

Kathy shakes her head and instead takes a seat, turning to River once again. "Yes, um, they're off doing their own thing. Always seem to these days. Are you close with them?"

"Spoilers." River smirks, casually sipping her tea. Kathy pulls a face. Mother like daughter it would seem. "Don't look so disgruntled, you taught me that."

"I only say it cause you do." Kathy retorts with a laugh and River returns it.

They quieten again and River then brings out her diary, flicking through. "So, when did we last see each other?"

Kathy takes a sip of her tea, taking the chance to think over her answer. Technically the last time she had seen River was at Trenzalore with a River that had been to the library. She's not going to be telling River that.

"Pandorica."

"Ah, early days then." There's a sad smile on her face. Kathy chooses not to acknowledge it for her benefit.

"Knowing you, maybe, not my lifetime. I'm one thousand four hundred eight now." She says.

"Eh, I heard one thousand four hundred eight is the new one hundred." River retorts cheekily.

Kathy laughs, rolling her eyes. "Sure."

The conversation flows easily after that, there's hardly a pause. Kathy is reminded once again how easy it is to be around River, and how they get along so well.

"River?"

Kathy and River look over to the doorway to see River's parents standing there. River is quickly wrapped in her parents' arms. Somehow River looks like a little girl between her parents despite the fact she's physically older than them. Kathy smiles at the sight.

"Hey, mum, dad, I was just visiting– um, Kathy." River gestures towards Kathy, who'd stayed back to not interrupt. There's a look shared between the three of them, which leaves Kathy feeling like an outsider.

She shakes it off, she knows she'll find out one day, and speaks, "Uh, you guys must be hungry. River when was the last time you ate?"

River smiles at her fondly. "I know how to look after myself." She retorts but there's no heat to her voice.

Kathy blushes slightly when she realises that she was mothering a bit which really isn't her place. "Sure you do." She turns to Amy and Rory who seem to be caught in a moment of staring at her and River. "Amy, Rory?"

"Uh, yeah, let's eat." Rory quickly replies shuffling into the kitchen along with Kathy and his wife and daughter.

——

River writes The Angel's Kiss: A Melody Malone Mystery book with Amy writing the afterword to the Doctor. The book's success means that Amy and Rory can find their own place as they settle in but make sure it's nearby. They have dinner once a week at which River stops by often.

As a result of the first book's success River wrote a prequel book, The Angel's Kiss, and likewise gifted the profits to her parents. Rory gets a job at the local hospital as a nurse though Kathy encourages him to one day pursue becoming a doctor if he'd like while Amy takes over Melody Malone's books from River though one day she catches sight of a familiar-looking book called Summer Falls, a favourite of a certain Clara Oswald. Kathy smirks at that.

They'll be alright.

——

A/N: Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.