#it’s such a small theatre like that is QUITE the coincidence

[sailforvalinor]

Not me doing a double-take watching MatPat talking about how he’s co-producing a musical version of Your Lie in April in London and rapidly scrolling back through my pictures and realizing he’s at the same theatre where I saw a play when I visited London in November

[winwintea]

↬ 𝙽𝙲𝚃 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼

𝚘𝚝7

reactions ✒        first kiss (☆) ✒        walked in on you changing? ✒        bailing you out of jail ✒        helping with homework

imagines ✒        disney world boyfriend (☆) ✒        flight seatmate ✒        meeting their kid for the first time + as a parent (☆)

text reactions ✒        "let's breakup" ✒        "i'm at the hospital"

character study ✒        what they look for in a relationship (☆)

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚎

mark lee vs. the world ✒         social media au, scott pilgrim au, ongoing

↬ mark has never wanted anything in his life. the lead bassist for 'dream on', unemployed, and quite literally a loser, mark expects he's hit rock bottom from here. that is until you, the girl of his dreams quite literally skates out of his dreams and into his life. mark has never wanted anything more. but is love really worth the emotional baggage when you have seven evil exes, who each possess superpowers and are intent on defeating him?

inyun (☆) ✒         3.7k words (past lives au, fluff)

↬ when you move into a small apartment complex in seoul, your next-door neighbor, mark lee, seems like nothing more than an ordinary guy. but as the two of you get to know each other more, it suddenly feels like you’ve known him forever. then mark mentions his grandmother's belief in 인연. the idea that every encounter is woven by threads of fate. are these coincidences between you and mark really accidental or is there something deeper going on?

the last hope (old) ✒         2.8k words (angst)

↬ [part of the last love series] you've fallen in love with mark, the soldier who wishes to protect the country. His life is a brilliantly burning flame, whereas yours is nearly completely, gone. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never love another like him. even as he walks away to his main purpose in life.

𝚑𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗

the last dance (old) ✒         3.7k words (angst)

↬ [part of the last love series] you've fallen in love with the gentle painter, renjun. though the locals call you a witch, renjun doesn't seem to care. but that all changes when they come to kill you. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never regret falling in love with him.

belladonna! ✒         social media au, ongoing

↬ you've been tasked with visting and inspecting the grand rose theatre, a theatre that's been plagued with mysteries over the years. all seems well, until a string of murders follows your visit. as you further investigate, you find yourself falling for huang renjun, the beautiful male lead, and your mystery murderer who leaves you love notes and clues about who they could potentially be. will you be smart enough to be a step ahead of the killer? or will you find yourself caught within their trap?

paranoia ✒         5.2k words, (horror, thriller, supernatural)

↬ nightmares to reality. devotion to madness. can you tell what's real and what's fake? who's the true monster in the end?

pet names

𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚓𝚎𝚗𝚘

underneath the tree (☆) ✒         social media au, ongoing

↬  you’ve heard enough of the word ‘christmas’ and it was only the beginning of december! sometimes you’d wish people would just throw their cheerfulness out the window and focus on reality. unfortunately for you lee jeno has just drawn your name for the company’s annual secret santa swinter swap and he’s going to make sure you get a gift you’ll never forget. (and maybe even get you to appreciate christmas along the way?)

𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚌𝚔

perfect strangers ✒         4.0k words (smut)

↬ one night, you fell in love with a man who would come to you the next morning as your doctor. unfortunately, you were betrothed to someone else, but you wanted to feel what love really was. "whatever choices we make, just know that my heart is yours."

𝚗𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗

that's okay (☆) ✒         3.7k words (fluff, enemies to lovers)

↬ you’re determined to outshine your academic rival na jaemin, the campus heartthrob infamous for his frivolous reputation. but when a few too many drinks suddenly ropes you into a fake dating scheme with jaemin, you realize that there’s much more to him than his playboy persona. can two opposites navigate a connection that’s anything but fake?

wicked love ✒         5.4k words (horror/thriller)

↬ his love is perfect. but perfection comes with a price.

pet names

𝚣𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚎

heart to heart ✒         3.7k words (fluff, romance)

↬ what happens when you discover you have the ability to read chenle's mind?

secure that once upon a time! ✒         4.3k words (romance, fluff)

↬ inspired by one of your favorite fairytales, chenle makes you feel just like cinderella for the night. but can you live up to society's expectations as the girlfriend of one of shanghai's most elite? an enchanting night with your prince may answer all your questions.

stop posting about BALLER (☆) ✒         1.3k words (crack, fluff)

↬ maybe your boyfriend's obsession with the sport was a little more extreme than you thought.

my apology letter (☆) ✒         3.0k words, (heavy angst)

↬ chenle always thought that love truly wins all. your relationship with him was filled with joy and connection. but lately, cracks have begun form. between small misunderstandings, unspoken frustrations, and the growing sense that he’s not enough for you, chenle begins to doubt his theory. is love enough to bridge the gaps between you or is letting go the ultimate act of love?

pet names boyfriend headcannons

[6:28 a.m.]

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚓𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚐

mutual affection (☆) ✒         2.6k words (fluff, meet cute, classmates to lovers)

↬ sometimes, love isn’t theoretical—it’s proven, one note at a time.

hunger ✒         248 words (mini drabble)

boyfriend headcannons

↫ back

[reve-writes]

—rhythm lines; kaz brekker.

ʚ kaz brekker x f!reader | grishaverse | 1,8k words. ʚ from this ask. | reader is a stage dancer who catches the attention of the dirtyhands himself. ʚ ooc kaz he is so straightforward in this one; bad knowledge of stage dancing; alcohol consumption. ʚ a/n i added in a courtesan-type persona for the reader, i hope you don't mind. this is slightly long. ive been reading a couple of novels with stage dancers as part of the main cast.

The music starts, booming and loud—a cacophony of instruments that cues you and the four other dancers into a flow of eight-count movements. In your head, you're counting your steps. High-heeled shoes tap tap tapped against the polished hardwood stage. You can't quite make out most of the faces of your audience, obscured in shadows by the overwhelmingly bright stage lights, but when you stand in front of the formation, you flash a million-kruge smile.

A loud cheer erupts.

You suddenly feel very much alive.

You may have done the routine countless times since your employment at the Golden Peacock, but each time you set foot on stage, the rush of exhilaration stays the same. It makes your heart pound as your limbs move purposefully, an extension of your body as you continue to follow the counts and music.

The light dims and the music flows into a slower pace. Out of the corner of your eye, you see movement. Then, as the stage light moves away from you, you spot him. A hat casts a shadow over his face, but you know him. His head tilts up slightly and from across the theatre, your eyes lock.

Kaz Brekker is watching your show? The Dirtyhands himself?

You shoot your practised smile and turn, still following the dance routine you've practised, until you hear a booming crack and the lights suddenly die out.

It's immediately followed by shrieks of panic. A burning smell permeates the air. You feel one of your colleagues grabbing onto your elbow. This cannot be a coincidence. Brekker most likely has something to do with it, does he not? But he is aware that the Golden Peacock, the establishment he's setting his foot in, forbids any sort of gang activity. This is neutral territory.

It doesn't take a minute for the lights to come back on. Your eyes scan over the crowd and he's right there, sitting on the third row from the front, appearing as nonchalant as ever.

The manager of the shows, Madam de Vries, steps on stage with a microphone and announces that everything is under control and performance will resume shortly. Your eyes narrow at Kaz Brekker and he's staring back at you, dark eyes betraying no emotions.

As the music starts playing once more and you take position, you find yourself being unexplicably drawn to his presence—your eyes sweep over the audience, only to linger on him a beat too long and every time you catch he's staring back at you, as if he's been looking at you the whole time.

The curtains fall and you step off the stage as the claps and cheers slowly fade away. After the show, performers usually lounge around on the first floor where there's an attached bar to the theatre. The dancers socialise with their patrons, pour a drink or two to coax tips out of them. You're usually looking forward to the evening chat, but it seems the incident really caused quite a scare and festivities are dying down before it even begins.

You sigh, hauling your satchel on your shoulder and make your way out of the Golden Peacock. Your costume is stuffed in your bag as you've opted for a more comfortable casual attire. Walking out of the side door, you find yourself face-to-face with the Dirtyhands himself.

You see him, but say nothing, immediately walking past. You don't know each other, really. Ghezen, this is the first time you've seen him in the Golden Peacock.

“You're one of the dancers.”

It stops you on your tracks. Your body twists to look back at him. “And you're talking to... me?”

Your voices echo slightly in the small alley. He nods, gloved hands gesturing to the emptiness around him. “Is there anyone else I could be talking to?”

Well, not exactly. Unless he finds dumpsters entertaining conversation partners.

“Then, yes, I'm one of the dancers,” you reply, turning on your heel to face him completely. He takes a couple steps closer to you, careful not to step on the numerous puddles left by the horrible Ketterdam weather as of late.

“The performance was wonderful.”

“Thank you, Mr. Brekker.”

“Kaz is fine.”

Your head tilts slightly to the side. “Mr. Brekker is fine.”

There are implications within your reply: you are not quite at first name basis and you don't want to cross that border of professionalism with him yet. He is, after all, the Dirtyhands. An intimidating figure in the barrel with entirely too much power for someone so young. A word from him can make or break anyone in this part of Ketterdam.

Perhaps you should've been more amicable.

He raises his hands in a surrendering manner, one of them is clutching the crow-headed cane he's known for. “Whatever suits you. What about yours?”

“Mine?”

“Your name.”

You tell him your name and he helps himself to calling you by your first name. He has no regards for professionalism. Not when it comes to you.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he says. “Would you like me to walk you?”

You shake your head immediately. “I'll be alright, Mr. Brekker. Nice to meet you, as well.”

With that, you swiftly walk away. Associating yourself with gang members is one thing, but with the leaders? That has to come with a lot of downsides.

You've come to find out that a painting was stolen that evening. A landscape, they say. Worth three million kruge. You wouldn't be surprised if it's sitting nice and pretty on the wall of Brekker's office. You feign ignorance, of course. Tittle-tattle never ends well in this part of Ketterdam. Not unless one wants a target on their back.

When you enter the dressing room, you see an oversized flower arrangement by your vanity. Tess, your colleague, looks at you as if she's been eagerly anticipating your arrival.

“Ghezen,” she says. “Brekker, huh? And I thought I took risky clients.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What are you talking about?”

Her head tilts towards the flowers. A series of roses and hydrangeas and carnations stacked inside a basket that takes up the whole surface of the vanity desk. In the middle of it is a hand-written note.

Looking forward to tonight's performance. I'm not sure what your preferrence on flowers are. Perhaps we can discuss it after the show. —Kaz.

You look at Tess, mouth agape, and then back down at the note. Your eyes scanning the letters repeatedly.

“Am I reading this correctly?”

Tess chuckles. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“We don't—” You're not entirely sure how to phrase it. “We're only acquaintances.”

“It doesn't appear so.”

You look at Tess—and the flowers—and back at Tess again.

“It doesn't,” you relent.

It's a new routine—the steps are slower, music more melancholic, but the performance hypnotises the crowd all the same. When you're lounging around the first floor of the Golden Peacock, a drink on hand, many come to pay compliments for the show. You smile, entertain the small talks and crack a couple of jokes.

“Excuse me.” You give a conspiratory grin as you step back from a conversation. Across the room, sitting at the bar, is Kaz Brekker, who's practically staring holes into you. Your dress flows behind you as you swiftly make your way towards him.

“Evening,” you greet, sliding into the seat next to him. He nods at you. “Thank you for the flowers.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Don't mention it. Although I do wonder if you have any preferences? Lilies, perhaps?”

“I've never given it much thought, but i do like jasmines.”

“Jasmines, then,” he says.

“Do you send flowers to people in your free time?”

“Well, not people, only you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Charming.”

“If I were to ask you to dinner, what would you say?”

“Well, Mr. Brekker—”

“Kaz.”

“Kaz,” you relent. “I would consider it.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “I hope you do.”

With that, he leaves quietly, and it's like he was never there at all, except for the fact that you find your eyes keep darting around the room at similar silhouettes, at every curved hat and black coat. Even the drinks don't quite wash away the effects of his presence.

This is the third time this week.

On your weekend show, as you're moving across the stage, shoes clicking and arms following precise movements you've practised, you spot him again. Up on one of the private boxes, eyes drilling into you as he watches you and only you throughout the whole performance.

The flowers come every day without fail. Jasmines are the main part of the bouquet, along with a handwritten note encouraging you for your performances. The gesture is terribly sweet and you find yourself getting sentimental, starting to build quite a collection of the notes.

You've never been nervous—not when you've been doing this almost seven days a week for years, but lately, you find yourself tapping your foot on the ground, unable to settle before each performance, anxious whether or not you will find spot in the audience.

And when you don't find him, disappointment almost drowns you, making it harder to breathe in your corsets and feathery costumes.

You've never changed faster in your life, already making your way to the first floor even as Tess has barely started taking off her jewellery. Kaz Brekker has this effect on you, you've discovered. His presence calls for that giddiness—an anticipatory response to his very presence. You keep looking forward to conversing with him.

He looks dashing—usual dark coat and dark hat and dark vest over dark shirt. A couple of patrons seem to have taken interest in the Dirtyhands, perhaps clamouring in hopes of an alliance or just an attempt to make acquaintance with one of the most powerful gang leaders in the Barrell. Either way, he excuses himself immediately when he sees you.

“You're a marvel to witness on stage.”

“Flatterer.” You roll your eyes. “One of these days you'll run out of flattery.”

“For you? Never.”

“Can I take you up on the dinner offer?” You ask finally. Kaz seems taken aback, the offer has been left on the table for a little too long, but you're actually saying yes.

“Of course. When are you free?”

“Is right now okay?”

“I would've preferred it if I can make arrangements in advance,” he answers. Head already running through his plans. Restaurants. Flowers. After-dinner activities.

“We can save the arrangements for next time,” you suggest. “Spontaneous dinner can be quite lovely too, can't it?”

He bites back a smile with the insinuation of 'next time'. “With a lovely company, yes.”

He offers you his arm and you rest your hand in the crook of his elbow, skin warm on the soft material of his coat.

“Will I get to see the painting?”

He tilts his head quizzically.

“The first time you were here. You took it.” You lower your voice conspiratorily. “I want to see it.”

He gives you a small, lop-sided smile. “If that's what you wish.”

And there it is again—the anticipatory restlessness, giddy to see what he will offer you.

[ ]

[servants-hall]

All Creatures Great and Small: Samuel West on his Yorkshire heritage, meeting his fellow cast members and finding Siegfried

All Creatures Great and Small actor Samuel West talks to Stephanie Smith about his Yorkshire heritage, first meeting his fellow cast members – and finding Siegfried Farnon.

paywalled article - full article copied below

If there is a magic formula for making a hit TV drama series in the 21st century, All Creatures Great and Small has bottled and then gift-wrapped it. Values are key and, says Samuel West, the upcoming Christmas Special spreads a much-needed message of decency and kindness.

“It’s about people coming together in difficulty, to support each other, at a time when so many terrible things are happening in the world,” he says. “It’s got absent friends, people who are missing, people who won’t ever come back, just like life.”

Samuel plays Siegfried Farnon, the Yorkshire Dales vet with a short fuse and a huge heart. It is a role that he has more than made his own, even for those who remember Robert Hardy in the original BBC series that ran from 1978 to 1990.

Samuel West and Peter Wright in All Creatures Great and Small Meets The Yorkshire Vet. Photo: Channel 5

The “new” Channel 5 adaptation launched amid a pandemic-crippled UK back in September 2020, coinciding with the 50th anniversary of the publication of If Only They Could Talk, the first of the James Herriot bestsellers penned by Thirsk vet James Alfred “Alf” Wight. There have now been four TV series made (and we are talking to mark the release of a DVD box set of them).

All Creatures has been a great success for Channel 5, with viewing figures for the fourth season peaking at 3.7million. Samuel saw the show’s potential from the off. “I was already thinking about Channel 5 as a good place, because they had given up Big Brother and so they had to fill about 250 hours a year of schedule, and they started filling it with drama, which was delightful.”

When approached to play Siegfried, he was already a respected actor, with a rich and varied career mingling theatre, TV and film, radio and voiceover work. Nominated in 1993 for a BAFTA for Howards End, his film credits also include Jane Eyre, Van Helsing and Notting Hill, while his TV work includes the BBC’s Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell (filmed in York in 2015), Waking the Dead, Any Human Heart, Slow Horses, The Crown, Small Axe and four series of Mr Selfridge. He was artistic director of Sheffield Theatres from 2005 to 2007.

He learned that Golden Globe and BAFTA award-winning production company Playground was making the new All Creatures. “I had just finished watching Playground’s Wolf Hall, which I had adored, and that period stuff is hard to get right, and expensive to do well,” he says.

The treatment he was sent included a back story about Siegfried, written by lead writer, Ben Vanstone. “It was beautiful,” says Samuel. “Almost sort of Chekhovian in its detail and the cables that ran through the man. They had set a lot of things in this past that had made him layered, and I realised, just from thinking about the man, and looking at the books and remembering Robert Hardy’s performance in the 1970s, that he was going to need a lot of playing. It was going to need vocal and physical size. But I thought, if I am on the right track and I know where I am coming from, I think I’m quite good casting.”

He met Nicholas Ralph (James Herriot), Rachel Shenton (Helen) and Callum Woodhouse (Tristan) on the train from Leeds to Skipton for a couple of days’ rehearsal. Samuel says: “At the end of the journey, I thought, what lovely people, and at the end of the rehearsal, I thought, this ensemble really works, and then they cast Anna Madeley and she was the icing on the cake that was already rising.”

Siegfried is often spotted reading The Yorkshire Post. “Quite right, too,” says Samuel. “ I also love the paper. I think your editorials are sometimes some of the most sensible things I read all week.”

In this series, Siegfried is a widower, a detail not in the Herriot novels but echoing the life of the real man who inspired the character, Donald Sinclair, whose first wife, Evelyn, died of tuberculosis. He was married to his second wife for 53 years. She was called Audrey, which just happens to be the lesser heard name of Anna Madeley’s character, Mrs Hall.

Samuel discovered more about Donald Sinclair when he teamed up with real-life vet Peter Wright while making the programme All Creatures Great and Small Meets The Yorkshire Vet, which airs on Channel 5 just before the All Creatures Christmas Special on December 21. He also visited The World of James Herriot with Alf Wight’s children, Jim Wight and Rosie Page, and has incorporated into Siegfried’s portrayal some of the details they passed on. “My father says, do as much research as you can because, even if only 10 per cent is useful, the more you do, the bigger the 10 per cent is. Except he says I say that.”

Samuel’s father, actor Timothy West, is Bradford-born. Family legend has it that Timothy’s father (actor Lockwood West, known as Harry) was on tour there at the time. “It's not true,” says Samuel. What actually happened was, in pre-NHS days, he and his wife, Olive, also an actor, had been told of an inexpensive maternity home up in Yorkshire. Samuel says: “They were playing in Eastbourne at the time. She went by train to Bradford, had the baby, and Harry continued to do eight shows a week.”

Samuel - who has two daughters, aged nine and six, with his partner, the playwright Laura Wade - plans to save the All Creatures Christmas special to watch with his father and mother, fellow actor Prunella Scales. “My father, in particular, is quite cross that he’s not in it, but he can’t be in everything,” he says. “And we would have to be related - we look increasingly like each other.”

The All Creatures Great and Christmas 2023 episode will be broadcast on December 21, at 9pm in the UK on Channel 5 and My5.

[charlesandmartine]

Tuesday 31st December 2024 the end

New Year's Eve

A cloudy start once again in downtown Balgowlah, but hopes of better things as the sun climbed, as was the case. It would have been a bit of a shame if the planned fireworks on the Bridge went off like damp squibs, especially as the authorities probably went for the deluxe selection box.

Understandably, we decided to have a relaxing morning before gearing up for the excitement of the Opera, fireworks, and very late and possibly difficult journey home afterwards. The biggest problem we could foresee might be that our formal wear, slightly more appropriate for societal occasions such as the SOH, and hitherto been tucked away for the entire trip in suitcase 2, may turn out, when tried on, to have somewhat shrunk during their time of isolation and require us to lose half a stone by the evening. It happens.

Well, worry no further. The required ensembles were retrieved from their solitude, creases ironed out, and apart from the odd additional bulge, fitted extremely well. Martine looked a million dollars, and I, well, at least I wasn't wearing shorts!

The 173x wisked us away to the city where we had our priorities. One to get a meal down us, and two, not to get it 'down' us on the glad rags.

The whole of Sydney city centre up from CQ was shutting down from 15.00. Tannoy messages spookily booming down at us around the streets like something out of 1984, warning us of street closures and no possible entry to the CQ area. We found our burger bar (best burgers in Sydney) with the assurance that we would be able to get to the head of the queue for SOH.

I don't think I was quite prepared for the system designed to so strictly enable but control entrance to the Opera House. I would like to describe it as organised chaos, but that would be overstating the level of organisation. There were people absolutely everywhere; many outside of the SOH who had camped overnight to ensure a great view. Numbers were by ticket, but there were hundreds of thousands who had postioned themselves in the bars, restaurants, the steps to the House, and all around its perimeter. Somehow, alost impossibly, this was controlled by a small army of security personnel. There was a queue to go past the portals and into the Concert Hall itself, then up the normally empty stairs to join another ziggy zaggy queue that had an unclear purpose other than it was something to do and it was a queue afterall. Some were dragged away from the queue because they should have been by then tucking into their pre-show meal and were in the wrong queue entirely. Those that remained, including us, bemused, eventually found that we were there to collect our colour coded wristband, that was to indicate which location we could watch the fireworks from. I asked a member of staff if they'd done it this way before. No, she said. Eventually, we made it to the front and were presented with an envelope with a couple of lilac wristbands. A quizzical soothsayer might seek the truth by asking, couldn't some of these been issued with the tickets when they were collected 2 days ago, or even issued when your right of passage had been assured? Well, eventually, we all shuffled through this crazy process and emerged into the light of the deserted theatre bar and podium. A glass or two of fizz, standing on the western podium with the magnificent backdrop that is Sydney Harbour, and all was forgotten, watching the sun setting beyond the CBD and with the expectation of the gala show to come. We were here again, and that was all that mattered.

The gala show was amazing, with works by Mozart, Strauss, Bernstein, Puccini, Gluck, Bizet, banging out those huge arias such as from Magic Flute, Cosi Fan Tutte, Barber of Seville, Carmen, La Boheme. Fantastic, then it was out to see fireworks. There is a bit of a practice at 9 pm when they have a short display, which always coincides with the interval. But as the clock ticked, the last moments of 2024 leaked away, perhaps wasted in the anticipation of the main display to come, or maybe the desire to get home and go to bed, either way destiny was determined to mark a new chapter, the turning of the page. Consequently, as the seconds display counted down on the port bridge tower, someone, somewhere, with a shaky hand, struck the first match, on the first strike of midnight. Coloured lights spread instantly across the skies; Sydney Harbour Bridge ablaze with a myriad display of combustion and the first to herald in a new year. Whether Sydney's fireworks are any better or worse than London, Paris, or New York is a matter of opinion, but for us, this is such an iconic place that we love very much, that we would not wish to be anywhere else. The fireworks thundered around Circular Quays and I have to say, with the atmosphere of the massive crowd, the gasps of surprise, and screams of approval, explosions in front of us from the bridge, explosions above us across the sails of SOH, the golden curtain of fire from the length of the bridge, it was the best display I've ever seen, probably!

HAPPY NEW YEAR! HAPPY 2025!

[des8pudels8kern]

It's the second half of December; time for a retro-/introspective post! This one is about going to the theatre, but, really, it's about how you have to put in the work to have the (social) life you want.

I've been to the theatre a lot this year. I've also been to the cinema (we have one of the "biggest" independent cinemas in the state) more often, and to local museum exhibits, too.

I am at a point in life where I am moderately stable, have diversified my social circle to the point that I can ask in several different directions until I find someone who wants to do activity x or go to thing y with me, and earn enough to treat myself to local productions and events when I feel like it.

I'm still following my pandemic resolution of if you want to do something, don't wait for the perfect time or you'll never do it. As long as you can work it out / fit it into your schedule without undue strain, go for it. And, yeah, that includes putting myself out there and asking people I'm not that close to, but think I might enjoy spending more time with, if they want to do this or that nerdy thing with me. A+, can only recommend. Yes, not everybody you ask will magically turn into your new best friend, but some relationships will deepen.

For example, there are two people from work, where I've been for three years now, whom I got along with well, started suggesting activities of the theatre-cinema-museum variety to this year, and it turns out we really hit it off. They have told me how they appreciate my suggestions and enjoy going to things they would have missed out on otherwise, they in turn now bring their own suggestions into the group, and tbh it's also great to cross paths at work and not just make smalltalk about work as our common denominator, but properly enjoy seeing each other and take a quick mental break chatting about non-work things.

Sure, it doesn't always work out. Sometimes you go out on a limb and the person ends up not liking the things you like, not thinking the way you think, maybe even to the point that acquaintance with the potential for friendship gets relegated firmly to acquaintance, no chance of anything else. But only putting yourself out there will give you those new experiences and new friends. And new friends are so, so important, because sometimes old friendships change, people move away, groups grow or fall apart, etc etc. Half of the close circle I used to meet up with every weekend ten years ago doesn't live here anymore, and the other half has different stuff going on in their lives now to the point that we only manage to meet up every couple of weeks. Without new friends to do things with, I would be missing out on said things, and, tbh, I would be lonely.

Anyway, list of plays I've been to this year, anonymised for my peace of mind:

local university production (really good and for mind-boggling 3€ per ticket; please check out your local university theatre groups) with E and B

local professional production, open-air with W

local amateur production, open-air with L

professional big city production while visiting my sisters - by pure coincidence the same play I'd only just been to by local amateur troupe, but it was quite fun to see the contrast between those two productions

local university production with E

local professional production with L and W

professional guest performance in local venue with B

local professional production with H

upcoming: professional small-town production while visiting T

[alexracheltravel]

Final Day: The Archipelago

We saved something special for last. A trip to Sweden's fabled archipelago. Head over to Google Maps. You'll see that Stockholm is made up of a bunch of little islands. Head East (just a little) and you'll see that there's a large chain of islands off of the coast. There's no name for this chain, but it is a part of this beautiful nation. And we decided to kayak in it!

Yes, we decided to kayak in the brackish, chilly Baltic Sea.

We woke up, ate a hearty breakfast at the AirBnB, which we have begun to call "the apartment," since it has been such a wonderful home base for the past week+, and went to the City Center, where we met up with our tour guide, Daniel, over at "Stockholm Adventures." From there, Daniel, as well as two other Americans from Orange County, California (and one was a theatre teacher! Crazy coincidence) and us drove out half an hour to a beach. The conditions were windy, and the water cold. But we've braved tougher conditions than this! Once set up, we paddled past the waves and through a challenging current, and once we slipped between a few islands, it actually got a lot easier.

We kayaked for about an hour and a half before breaking for lunch. We simply parked our boats at one of the many islands and lit a small gas camping stove, and heated up some soup with fresh salmon cooked within it. Daniel also brought some Swedish hard bread, cheeses, and some syrups as well. It was all delicious!

The archipelago itself was really beautiful. You'd never guess we were paddling on the ocean! Along the way we made a few comparisons to home: the trees were not too dissimilar from Washington's Orcas Islands, which made sense, since both land masses were formed by glaciers, and the homes along the lake were mostly vacation and summer homes, which of course reminded us of the Adirondacks or Berkshires, of course built very differently. These homes were actually quite old and famous. Daniel pointed out a spot where Strindberg once lived, and wrote an entire novel about. The Islanders weren't too keen on that apparently. (Alex took notes lol).

After a good lunch break we made our way back into the water. It had gotten warmer but our arms began to get weaker. This was also the first time we worked on a kayak with pedals and a rudder, which was definitely more challenging than it looked, especially with the wind. We saw many birds, including ducks, some enormous swans, and tons of what appeared to be Piping Plovers, the same breed of birds that have terrorized two generations of both of our families in Silverpoint Beach Club. There weren't any fish we could see in the water, but plenty of kelp floated just below the surface. We wondered why more Scandinavians didn't eat kelp like East Asian people did. At the time of this writing, Alex perhaps suspected that it had something to do with the salinity of the water and that the kelp here simply didn't taste that good.

Our second break came around 2pm, and if you've been reading along, you know that means Fika time. We stopped at an island with a tremendous tower, and learned it was built in the Middle Ages as a fort for wars. The tower was tall enough to look out at so many other islands, and it was a pivotal lookout in one of the wars against Russia. Nowadays the fort isn't used by the military and instead it's a venue for weddings, of all things. Alex suggested we get married again here just to have another excuse to go back to Sweden.

After a break, which yes, included coffee and a cinnamon bun (although Rach opted for tea), we went back out onto the water. By now had been kayaking on and off for about four hours but we were so close to finishing! Luckily, the wind was on our back and we made our way home.

We thanked Daniel and Stockholm Adventures for a wonderful trip and had an experience we won't forget. Swedes value time in nature and as people who also like the "out of doors," we were happy to experience it in this special way.

All of our pictures are in other posts so make sure you take a look!

[dzpenumbra]

8/5/23

I had one goal today. Chill and have a fun day. I didn't quite accomplish that goal.

I had to do the whole "4 hours of sleep, get up, eat food, play Factorio, then go back to sleep" thing again. I hate how normal this is getting. But hey, it works... So I was up at like... 8:30? Back to sleep for a few hours, then back up around mid-day.

I stupidly got on my phone and on social media. It's never worth it, I swear. I just got sucked into a local subreddit and it's always political shit and it's always arguing. And I found myself writing paragraphs to post and then deleting them without posting and starting over... then deleting that. And yeah, it just feels like such a waste of time and energy.

Like, it was all about some young graphic designer (no small coincidence) who quit a job at a local cider brewery because she felt they were misogynistic. Which honestly? I think we're really getting to a point in society where you legit need to watch your back for a lynch mob over even making jokes. It's like people don't understand the purpose of humor as a way to breach difficult topics in a more approachable way and keep them in the social dialogue rather than hiding them... that process isn't equivalent to advocacy, if anything it's publicly shining a light on problems... Of course there's overlap, duh, there's overlap with literally everything, but the exception is not the rule. My point being... making a joke about something is very fucking different than actually doing something... and they really really cannot be treated the same.

I was referring to GWAR as an example, because yesterday I watched their old 1990 VHS they made for fans. I went to see GWAR in 2005 in Boston, I remember that show vividly as it was the only time I saw GWAR, Lamb of God, Clutch and Strapping Young Lad live. GWAR was by far the most memorable. If you don't know them... you will never forget them. GWAR is an art collective out of Virginia that, in their early days, advertised themselves as a mix between KISS, Rocky Horror Picture Show, WWF and The Simpsons. Really, they're way the fuck farther than all of that.

Their explicit purpose has been, since day one, to hold out a blunt, no-holds-barred, outrageously over the top mirror to society. To show all the fucked up things that are in the media, in humanity, but in a way that is extremely dramatized and over-the-top and cartoonish. And they do this by creating a fictional mythos behind the band - staying in character the whole time - that the band themselves are alien gods who are here to destroy humanity and merely distracted by sex/drugs/rock and roll, and the artists/musicians are their human slaves. And the gods themselves are slaves, too, to another higher diety. Which, clearly slavery is a theme at its core... and... with them being from Virginia... it's far from a coincidence, it's super intentional. It is a palatable way to keep extremely difficult concepts within social dialogue, in a way that isn't clinical or scary. In a way that is poking fun at how fucked up it is, how inhuman those acts are. How horrible of a being you'd have to be to commit such crimes. That's the entire fucking point!

And... then along comes Tipper Gore... and all the others who suddenly think that some 20-something guy in ridiculous theatre makeup "decapitating" a puppet of a political figure, then squirting fake blood all over the audience... they think that's going to like... trigger a Manchurian Candidate or something. Like uttering the Devil's name will summon him! OoooOOOoOOO! Well, if that were the case, how the fuck haven't we summoned him by blasting actual death, crimes and dismemberment all over mainstream news nationwide for decades?

See... if you frame it as "informing the public", you can literally do anything you want. If you frame is as "fictional entertainment/parody", for some reason these morons think you're... advocating? They're seriously like the SNL / South Park of metal music, and they've stood strong for 40 fucking years doing this shit and - I shit you not - they just played NPR's Little Desk. XD It's fucking great, check it out.

So this was all stemming from this chick who was complaining about how the company decided to make a light beer that was marketed to redneck men. Let's not beat around the bush here, it's targeted to the guys who go deer hunting and chew tobacco. And she was specifically analyzing their ad campaign and pointing out (with gigantic leaps of extrapolation) how it advocated for the mistreatment of women. ... By like... making a stupid poor-taste joke about how women aren't good at golf?

My point here is like... if it's not your cup of tea... just fucking change the channel. Why the hell do people have such a hard time with that? Don't buy the damn beer, you weren't going to anyway. I, personally, don't like drag shows. That's just... me. It doesn't mean I have anything against the LGBTQ community, it doesn't mean I don't like crossdressing in general, it means I don't like things that advocate explicit sexuality in public forums (I really don't like strip clubs either) and advocate for extreme forms of superficiality. It just is in a lot of ways the antithesis of a lot of things that I do enjoy, and do derive pleasure and purpose from. But my personal preference has nothing the fuck to do with their right to perform. Ever. I just... don't go to drag shows. And you know, I might even go with a friend who is into it, to stand in the back and absorb the experience, then talk to them afterwards and see what they got out of it. As a cultural learning experience. But that's not a requirement whatsoever. I have every right to not find something palatable, as does everyone else, but our personal tastes do not directly translate to permission to attack someone else's right of expression.

There's a huge difference (and this actually happened to me) between going to see a standup comedian and hearing a joke about 9/11 that really doesn't sit well with you... and just... getting up and leaving? You know? Versus... heckling. And protesting. And blasting them on social media. And trying to get them cancelled and make sure they never come back to your town. It's a gigantic leap from just showing yourself out... to trying to ruin their show or end their career. And it makes me deeply concerned how normalized this has become. People used to get taken to court over shit like this.

So yeah, I really tried to sum up my point like... "I don't like their style of humor, I don't have any intentions of buying their product, I feel like light beer is somewhat a slight against the gods... but I will defend to the death their right to tell their jokes." But, as I always do... I came to the conclusion that... it's really not going to make a difference. They're just looking for people to agree with them, so they can feel validated in their decision to quit the company a year ago. So they can feel like they're... "getting back" at the people who they felt treated them unfairly. As though... that's a "good" thing. As though eye for an eye leaves things settled up and everyone walks away happy... XD

I clearly didn't post it. And I realized I had spent nearly 2 hours typing and editing and rewriting comments. Good lord. This is what social starvation looks like.

Again, my goal for the day was to relax and have fun...

I started working on the graphic design thing. And... I stopped myself. I realized I really need to decide whether I'm actually going to do this commission before I sink more work into it. I haven't gotten paid yet, in fact... we haven't even talked prices yet... So... I posted on an art forum about this commission. All of it, including the bit about him shooting the fox during a creative consultation with a vegetarian, and how I have 18 projects on the docket right now. I got a resounding 6+ comments all saying different forms of "I would say no", "red flags", "you can walk away", shit like that. It was helpful to hear it, especially... so unanimously... like... I didn't hear a single artist actually advocate for doing this commission outside of desperation for money. So... I made up my mind. I'm not going to work on it anymore and I'm going to tap out.

Then, I had a super embarrassing moment because my post was deleted by a moderator. Apparently they have a rule - "no posts about business/social media/publicity". In an art forum. ... Which... I mean, the only reason I posted there was because I've seen tons of posts there about exactly those types of things. I guess I saw those posts before the mods got to them. Oh well. I actually handled that "you fucked up" pretty well. I got a little upset, then tried to respond "my bad" and it didn't go through, then moved on. Much better than being mortified with shame. There are still some shame shadows floating around in the background, but I've mostly moved on.

So... I got my answer. And my conversation is gone. So... I got zero feedback about pricing. So... either I make a new post where I ask the ever important question... "Is asking a fine artist to go outside of his medium something that the artist charges extra, because it's a special thing they don't normally do... or charges less, because it's something they don't have experience in?" I didn't get a straight answer on that.

Then I started to write up an invoice. I'm glad I got that set up, with my chill-but-serious solid black name up top and my seriously chill trademark light pink background. It looks official as fuck, I'm proud of it. So... here's where I am with it. I don't really know if it's good or bad, but it's a number. I decided... $200. Part of me feels like it's too low. Part of me feels like it's too high. And I think that's really the best I'm going to get. I don't think I'm going to find a number where I don't feel that way. So, I billed it as Concept Sketches - $125, Concept Design Consultation (Phone) - $75. So it's an even $200 plus tax. I think that's fair. We talked for an hour and a half, he took a woodland creature's life during the span of that, which I was tempted to charge extra for... So I just put my wages at a random number, $50/hour, and then rounded the concept sketches to fit the rest of my $200 number. I have a degree in art, I have been working in art since 2008. He was consulting me for my creative expertise, not my ability to follow YouTube tutorials. And, so far, I've sunk a total of about 3-4 hours into sketches and Illustrator prototypes... so... the $125 is actually cutting him deal. But, considering I'm not going to give him the digital prototypes, I decided against charging him full price for that. Not sure if that's the right decision.

Again, fun reminder, my one goal for today was to chill and have fun. XD

I ran through about 10 different drafts of texts to send him. I wrote one, but I didn't send it. If anyone reads this and wants to give me their opinion, I'd really appreciate it, but I really don't have expectations. I'm 90% likely going to send it tomorrow, along with the invoice to his email.

"Hey, I wish I could help out with your logo but I don't think I'm the guy for the job. I would recommend seeking out someone local who specializes in fonts and lettering: a sign-maker, a tattooist or a graphic designer would be good leads. You can feel free to use my concept sketches as visual tools for that process if you like, and we can consider this a creative consultation. I'll email an invoice over your way before the night's out. You've got a great concept, I'm excited to see it come to fruition, wish I could help more."

I did everything I could to make sure I did NOT say "I'm sorry" at any point in the message, or explain why I can't do it. That's huge fucking progress for me. Literally any time I have to break news where I feel like that person might get upset or angry, I am fucking profusely apologizing. Even if I didn't do anything wrong. It's like a survival thing, because I'm afraid I'm that messenger in fucking 300 who gets kicked down the well... and I've still got a lot of projects I'd like to complete and beautiful sunsets I'd like to see.

My only hesitation now... and please tell me if I'm being paranoid here... My fucking address is on the invoice. And by address, I mean my exact apartment number. And this guy discharged a .45 caliber handgun with hollowpoint bullets while on the phone with me. And I may likely be upsetting him. So... you know what, let me take this as an opportunity to really do a grounding exercise with this, since I don't think I've done a comprehensive one.

In my head, I am afraid that my former friend... I was a groomsman at his first wedding... is going to be mad that I backed out of designing a logo for his welding company... because I don't do graphic design, I'm a fine artist and craftsman... and I'm afraid that this is going to lead to him showing up at my apartment with a loaded handgun and killing me. Yep. I mean, when I say it out loud, it kinda sounds a bit stupid. Silly. Outrageous. Unlikely. Kinda... like Anton Chigurh in No Country For Old Men. So, am I really afraid this guy is going to somehow get through 2 sets of keyfob electric locks and get me to open my electric-locked door... then commit a violent felony in the dead center of a highly populated apartment building... then just... walk out? Good lord, I think I watched too many movies over the years.

So... yeah, I'm a bit less worried about that now. Funny how like... just writing out your fears in vivid detail can really help make more sense of them. That's a skateboarding thing, too. Like... nosemanuals, that's a big one for me that I'm overcoming right now. I used to love manuals, it was my thing. It's basically like being on a balance board outside, and I used to use balance boards all the time as a kid. But nosemanuals (manuals are "wheelies aka riding on just one set of wheels", nosemanuals are on the front trucks rather than the back ones) have always been super scary. My big fear is always... I'm going to drag my nose and it's going to catch and I'm going to go flying out of control. See, with a manual, you can drag your tail and it doesn't really do anything. If you drag your nose on a nosemanual, your board can just immediately come to a complete stop, but your body just keeps going... which is one of the worst things that can happen to you as a skateboarder, it can completely throw off your ability to control yourself midair and that's where injuries are likely to happen. So it's technically a logical fear. But the reality of it is... you can feel it before it happens. You can feel when your balance goes that far forward, and you can just hop out of it, or if you're going really fast, just tuck and shoulder roll. It's really not that bad at all. And once I really started to process that, and see it in real life? Nosemanuals started to get much less scary. But you really need to spell out your fears on that, say very clearly what you are afraid of with that trick, in order to overcome that.

The general, vague, non-specific fears? Those are the ones that can ruin your life. Because they can worm their way into fucking anything.

So yeah, I think the address on the invoice is fine, I don't think I need to pay for a P.O. Box just because of this. I hope the text is fine, I think it's super generous. I'm actually a little worried I'm shortchanging myself a bit... but whatever. It's money I didn't have and once I get this off my shoulders I can get back to my normal life. In fact, that money can go directly towards a month's rent of an art studio at the collective nearby, and nearly pay for the whole month! That's a good way of looking at it.

So yeah, once I realized I was doing that instead of relaxing... I went to fire up Minecraft. I hadn't sunk into that in a long time. My idea was to potentially... smoke weed and then play Minecraft for a while. I chickened out. I didn't smoke. I've just been too fucking anxious lately, I really didn't want to risk like... hearing bumps from the ceiling and thinking the FBI was knocking at my door or something. That shit is not recreation, it's a living nightmare. It's such a damn shame, I really wish I had a vice for days like today.

I made dinner, ramen and leftover fried rice. I watched skate videos. I prepped tofu for tomorrow, with lessons learned from last time. And... then I played Minecraft. And it was alright, but not what I was craving. I want a creative survival game where I make a home in the wilderness. But... it just wasn't scratching the itch today. I was playing the Valhelsia: Vanilla Expanded modpack, and the second I got in I just went... "I miss Dynamic Trees". And I tried to add it... but it's not compatible. And that was a big sad moment. I love feeling like the world around me is alive in a game like that. And Dynamic Trees (and other mods like it) was really good at that. All the plant life was constantly subtly changing, but the terrain topology stayed the same. So... I'm not sure what to do about that.

I ended up quitting and playing Session for a while. And now here I am.

So... day 2 of having the sole goal of having a chill fun day... and then I end up doing stressful work and only relaxing for like an hour. And lots of rain and thunderstorms both days too. Lame.

Welp, here's hoping to succeed tomorrow, I guess. Next art project is going to be clothing art, my beige pants are going to get a deer head on them, and likely a fox on the other side if I have a good orange.

If there's one thing I got out of this whole reconnection with that former friend experience? It's a reconnection with my deep love and admiration of foxes. And I am deeply driven to add in fox imagery to all kinds of work right now.

I want to do pieces that are like... a scrapbook of my memories of this place. And a lot of it has been animals. So... I was thinking my helmet could be a collage of these. I want to do the blue jay that used to visit my feeder every dawn, and a fox for this unfortunate lost soul. So... tapping into spirit animals through capturing memories, and what those memories mean to me... and bringing those memories to life through my art. I think it's a very beautiful thing... and a way I haven't really thought of animal spirits before. I always sorta thought of them in like a... conceptual... abstract... almost god-like way. Like "I'm channeling the fox-spirit, the qualities of a fox." And that kinda feels sometimes like "I'm channeling the human-spirit, the qualities of a human." And this other approach, is much more... individual. There's much more of a visceral meaning to it. Kinda like drawing a portrait of a specific person you admire, as a tribute to those qualities they embody to you... this would be a drawing of a specific animal, and the qualities it embodied and the impact it had on me. So... the same totemic symbology, but with much more individual specificity.

Oh my god, I can't believe I almost finished this without mentioning. I saw a squirrel outside my window earlier today (I live like 20-25 feet up) and it was just running around on the branches of a tree just like... grabbing leaves and tugging on them, then carrying them in its mouth. And I had never seen this before, at first I thought it was looking for some kind of specific seed pod or fruit or something? But then I saw clearly that it was gathering leaves. And I just connected the dots and went... "wait... is it making a nest? Do squirrels do that?" And I looked it up and sure enough... this squirrel is making a big leaf nest directly across from my window! It's about 6 feet higher than my window, but it's right there. :) That means there are going to be babies! Maybe. It made me so excited. I have a new neighbor! She looks pretty young, and she doesn't seem to notice or mind me hanging out by the window and watching her work. I'm so glad I have nature right here out my window, if I didn't I really don't know if I'd last here.

Okay, I think that's about it. I put off yoga until now, so I'm gonna go do that and take a nice shower and call it an early night.

[wardogsong]

Truth be told, he DOESN'T have any ability— magical or otherwise, to know when someone is in distress. Frank's not one of the enhanced running around, sharing the night gig. He's not a mutant either. The only magic he's ever known has been the transubstantiation of the body of Christ into the Eucharist. He doesn't even have whatever it is that lets the Dipshit of Hell's Theatre District hear a soldier's quiet whispers to himself from half a mile away. Finding Beth damn near the bottom of her bottle and looking to swim deeper is little more than coincidence. Rooftops might as well be highways in New York City, all the traffic they see; vigilantes, heroes, thieves, feds, and anyone else running by night. Civilians had to do little more than look UP to catch sight of their silhouettes dashing and leaping.

What's more, every idiot in mask on either side of the line seems to have a thing for carving up the city in to so-called territories. They run around pissing circles around the spots they claim, some of them even going so far as trying to run anyone else out of those neighborhoods they protect. Murdock and him have butted heads and locked horns about it plenty— with Frank always obfuscating the real reasons he doesn't give a damn about the other man's claim or rules. Frank circles the Kitchen on the regular because that's where HER clinic is; where he can get eyes on her and get a moment's relief that at least one person who matters is still safe and sound.

He makes the trip out to Brooklyn for the same reason. Nevermind that he's never gotten the official invite— not even a mention of her 'hood, let alone building and floor. There's more to being a former Marine than brawn and skill with an automatic weapon; he's a one-man army and it includes being his own intel office. Every mook he'd put down? They'd all seemed so surprised at just how much he could tell them about themselves; like he'd been their personal priest and taken every sordid confession from their own lips.

If he approaches her like she's a skittish horse, it's only because he's a man deeply wounded by loss— a man whose cup is full to the fucking brim and spilling precious beads all the time. . . and she's sitting on that rail. . . She's so small. Weighs nothing. The thought that a strong enough gust of wind would be the end of her has him by the throat. Maybe he should know better— better than to overdramatize, better than to give in to the blaring sirens always going off in his head at the slightest provocation. What'd they call it? Sympathetic storming. He'd spent the better part of that trial scoffing at the bullshit drummed up to try and keep him from a life behind bars, partying with gangsters. He barely remembers that bit— except when he's drumming into his own head that he's gotta compensate for that, sharpen his assessment of everything with it in mind so his vision is actually clear.

Sometimes he fails.

If it cuts him to hear her question the existence of their friendship, Frank doesn't show it. It may be late to the party but he's got his game face on. She's got a poison in her that needs letting out and he won't derail her or deny her the venting by looking at her like a wounded puppy that needs apologizing to. If anything, his expression invites more— not quite a taunt, but damn near. DAMN NEAR: yeah, that's right, I just use you for the free coffee and convenient health care. you give an inch? I'll take a mile. What of it?

The confession of being a Witch is a harder thing to swallow— maybe because he can't dismiss it as easily as new-age crystal-loving bullshit; not when she tags him with the fact that he has benefitted from her. . . whatever it is she has. Power? Magic? Whatever it is, she's worked it on him when he's been low and may damn well be the reason he's come back from things that maybe he shouldn't have. It's surprising to learn that he's still Catholic enough to feel a chill down his spine about it. And here he thought all that was gone from him.

And then. . . there it is. More important than his swinging pendulum of faith and faithlessness. The real thing burning her up, rotting at the core of her and trying to take her with it. A story never before heard but one he commits to heart and memory as she delivers it.

A child, he thinks at first. Remembers that superstitious feeling— like he'd just KNOW if something were happening to Junior or Lisa. When he was home he had a bit of it, that extra parental sense that told him those two��� or even just one of them, was flirting with danger, as kids are wont to do. He'd stomp off and every time find them in possession of something they shouldn't have, or climbed up on something they shouldn't be on. Except then she mentions Afghanistan and he doesn't care what she uses on her face, she isn't old enough to have a kid who served in the same places he did.

A lover. So he thinks until she names him a brother and understanding finally slots into place. Blood is blood is blood, he supposes. If he got that prickle about his kids, why couldn't she get it about her brother?

It ISN'T fair. But she knows that. He doesn't need to answer her pained question.

The rest just feels like the last dregs of grief and bile all mixed up together— not unlike the questioning he'd done of a God who had let his family be slain in the most brutal way possible and yet had let him survive them alone. He'd counted all the ways that was a waste, bitter and self-deprecating, so much less deserving of the gift of life than his innocent children, his beautiful wife. Still, he says nothing until she waves him off. . . dismisses him from his vigil over her.

"Ain't ever been credited with being smart enough to save myself trouble, ma'am. Probably ain't gonna start now. So, y'wanna take this party inside, or?" Like hell he's gonna leave her to misery and wine sickness. She can barely stand and even if it makes a punching bag out of him, Frank can't allow that to go on. Besides, it might be a kindness, keeping her angry. Wrath always felt so much better to him than despair.

@wardogsong​

Tell Me No Questions… || Accepting 

It could have been something like ‘…hey kid, what are you doin'…’ or '…Beth? Don't…’ or maybe it was nothing at all, that he just appears on the rooftop of her building, tucked into the shadows with the only thing on him not blending into the shadows being his face. What was there some kind of Bat-signal that tells him someone, somewhere, is in trouble? Who does he think he is? She doesn’t need an avenging angel. She needs peace and quiet to finish her bottle. To sink to its bottom, drown in tanins. Sink into dreamless sleep. If she’s really lucky, if she’s been really good, she doesn’t wake up at all. He of all people should understand. But as she sits on the rail, the night breeze running fingers through her hair, he takes a few steps forward. Hand held up. Slow as a winter night. The way she’d approach a stray. For whatever reason that incenses her. A grater on her nerves rubbing her raw. She feels his voice more than she hears it. She picks at the pack of cigarettes beside her. Chooses one and pulls it out before she licks her lips. Sets the filtered end against them and flicks open the trench-style lighter. A zippo though the inscription on it can’t really be made out clearly from where he’s stopped. She holds it between the first joints of her index and middle fingers. Thumb pressed against the tips of ring and pinkie ones. A deep drag makes the cherry flare at the end. Two or three heartbeats and she’s exhaling. The cough does two things. Speaks to how incredibly stale it is and that she’s not even a smoker, no matter her actions. The other hand? She points her wine glass at him. Rim stained with her lip-balm. She makes a sound in the back of her throat. Neither laugh nor grunt nor sigh. A chimera of all three, maybe. “What? Like we’re friends now, Frank? Like you care about me? Frank Castle’s little broken bird. Always opens her door. Always dere wi’ bandages and coffee and nevah aks f’ any t'ing in return.” She shakes her head and for a moment the world swirls around her in kalidescope. There’s two, three, seven of him. At least he coalesces back into himself. Thank goodness, she can’t manage just that one much less multiples. “Wha-what’s wrong? Wi’ me or everyt'ing else? Hope ya settle in cause dat’s a long list-” He tells her not to do that. “Short lis’ den. You wan me t’ admit I’m a freak? Too late, you’ve benefit from dat bit of news. How you t'ink I keep you ~or anyone~ on dey feet? I drop out of med school before my las’ year, an’ even I don’ believe I was evah dat good. People nowadays call it a lotta words, mos’ of dem unkind. But me? Simple. Full of tru’d. I’m a witch. A darn good one too. I hear…I hear people’s pain, dey bodies callin’ out. Sicknesses growin’ in dem. Poisons dey take. New life before dey fear to take tests. When dey soul is so tired, it’s ready to lay down. Alla time, every day. Yours, even.” Maybe Frank’s the loudest. “An’ for all dat? For everyone I was evah able to save? I couldn’t do f’ him.” She taps the brass lighter with her nail. “I lived his las’ moments, you know? Felt him fallin’. Could taste his terror, hear him screamin’. An den… not'ing. Called it an accident.” Full air-quotes. “Afghanistan. You know. You’re familiar wi’ dat place. Dey sent home all da parts of him dey could find. His tags. His crucifix. His leg. It’s all we could put in da family crypt, but dey nevah gave da details. Top secret Pararescue mission, wor’d a dozen posthumous medals. But my braddah was a good man. He was. He raise me. He was my bes’ friend, my confidant, da oddah half of my soul. An’ I couldn't…I no could do anyt'ing. How is…how is dat fair?” Her face twists. Lips pulled tight, eyes squeezing half shut. He’s never seen them fully closed if he thinks about it long enough. Deep lines edge her eyes. Her lips. “O-or do you wan’ me t’ admit…I really am broken? Genius intellect… but chemically imbalanced. Eiddah too happy or too sad. Stupid an’ dangerous an’ sloppy, dey say. Bipolar. Pretty word for crazy. Dey say it’s because of Turner syndrome. Goes hand in hand wi’ weak heart. Short stature. Brittle bones. Late bloomin’ an’ early menopause, linked to da kine makes me incapable of havin’ children…so da line dies wi’ us, him an’ me. An’ mebbe…mebbe it’s for da best. I can’t fix me, Frank…an’ neiddah can you…” She slips down off the edge of the building, and for a moment has to cling to the demi-wall so she doesn’t fall flat on her face; she’s had more of the bottle of syrah than she remembers.

“Jus'…jus’ go home. Save yaself trouble jus’ dis one time..”

[the-himawari]

A3! Troupe Event Translation - Sunny Blanc (11/11 Epilogue)

*Please read disclaimer on blog; default name set as Izumi

---

my treasure

Homare: Here comes the tea.

Izumi: Thank you very much. Phew~… I’m glad the run of your 9th performance wrapped up smoothly.

Tasuku: The stage was set in a flower shop this time, so I heard it was a big hit with our female guests for its gorgeous appearance.

Tsumugi: We received lots of flowers as gifts. There were a good number of guests who gave us peonies to match the contents of the play.

Homare: Our dorm is all the more gorgeous for that as well.

Azuma: Speaking of peonies, it’s wonderful that Tsumugi’s grandma remembered Flower Park.

Tsumugi: Yes. She recalled right away when I showed her my pictures the other day… She said she’d love to go again after so long. I think we’ll go and take pictures together next time.

Izumi: Yeah, it's good to leave a record like that so that you can remember it later.

Tasuku: —Isn’t it about time for our wrap-up party?

Azuma: Shall we head to Journey after we finish our tea?

Hisoka: Ah…

Tsumugi: What’s the matter?

Hisoka: I ran out of marshmallows…

Izumi: Those are the marshmallows you bought at the World Market, right?

Hisoka: I’m totally out…

Azuma: The event isn’t over yet, so I’m sure you’ll have another chance to buy some.

Hisoka: —.

Tasuku: Don’t tell me you’re planning to go right now?

Hisoka: I can’t get them anywhere else except that market… I’ll head to Journey straight after buying them.

Tasuku: Don’t fall asleep while eating the marshmallows.

Tsumugi: May I come with you? I don’t think it will take that long.

Hisoka: …Sure.

-pause-

Hisoka: Thank God they had some left…

Tsumugi: I doubt you’ll run out for a while if you buy this much. We were able to purchase some decorative flowers for Journey too, so how about we start making our way over there?

Hisoka: Yeah.

Tsumugi: You know, I didn’t expect to hear you say you wanted to buy flowers. That made me happy though.

Hisoka: Maybe it’s because I was working at a flower shop for a while…

Tsumugi: If you don’t have the habit of decorating with flowers, then you don’t usually go out of your way to pick them up, huh?

Foreign boy: 《Hey, mister. So we meet again, huh? 》

Hisoka: 《Ah…》

Tsumugi: Do you know them, Hisoka-kun?

Hisoka: We got acquainted the first time I came to the World Market. He’s someone who knows my family.

Tsumugi: I see.

Foreign boy: 《That reminds me, I had a particular customer who knew Misha the other day. 》 《While we were making small talk, they mentioned they knew someone from the town I used to live in. As it turns out, it was Misha!》

Hisoka: 《…Eh? 》

Foreign boy: 《They said they used to go to the candy shop all the time. What an amazing coincidence that we could cross paths in such a faraway country, huh? 》

Hisoka: 《I see…》 (The fact that there’s a customer from the candy shop isn’t strange. But to meet them by chance in a place like this…) (I’ll let Chikage know, just in case…)

Foreign boy: 《Oh right. Have you come up with anything you’d like me to draw? 》

Hisoka: 《Ah… I haven’t thought of anything. Sorry. 》

Foreign boy: 《No need to apologize. You don’t have to force yourself! 》

Hisoka: 《What kind of paintings do other people request…?》

Foreign boy: 《It really depends on the person… But I get asked for family, relatives, and friends quite often. 》 《Everyone says they want to preserve a snapshot of their loved ones as they were in that moment. 》

Hisoka: 《Family…》 (Come to think of it, Director told me she wanted to meet August…) 《Hey, do you remember Misha’s face? 》

-pause-

Izumi: After all, I think we have to consider our organization on-site from now on.

Tasuku: I agree. It’s necessary to relay things like that to those outside our own theatre too. It’s an issue Veludo Way as a whole should think about.

Izumi: Exactly!

Homare: UuUh… *hic*, flowers are just so beautiful… We simply cannot compete with the art that’s brought forth by nature…!

Azuma: There, there.

*door opens*

Tsumugi: Sorry we’re late.

Guy: Everyone is drunk already.

Tsumugi: Ahaha… I can see that.

Hisoka: …Here you go, Guy.

Guy: These are?

Hisoka: I thought it might be nice to decorate the shop with flowers… I chose them with Tsumugi.

Guy: I see. They look beautiful. Thank you.

Izumi: Ah, Tsumugi-san, Hisoka-san. You two sure are late.

Tasuku: Was it crowded at the market?

Tsumugi: We had an important purchase to make.

Hisoka: …I have something I’d like to show all of you.

Homare: …Something you wish to show us?

Hisoka: This…

Azuma: This person is…

Hisoka: Someone… who looks like August.

Tasuku: Huh?

Izumi: It’s not August himself, but a look-alike? Is that what you mean?

Hisoka: …I asked an artist who knew August to draw his face if he remembered it. But in the end, it was a long time ago, so it was hard to reproduce without a picture… The details might be a little off… But I wanted to introduce my family member to everyone. To all of you who kept me by your side without question since the time I lost my memories and had no idea who I was myself… And to Director too, because you said you wanted to meet August…

Izumi: Hisoka-san… thank you. Thank you for introducing your family to us…

Homare: I am overjoyed that I get to gaze upon the face of Hisoka-kun’s precious family.

Azuma: I see, this is how he was. I feel a bright and kind vibe from him.

Guy: Even if you’ve forgotten the details, I am certain his personality and aura will remain in your memories.

Tasuku: Even though it’s a bit different, someone close to him will probably recognize him if they see this picture.

Tsumugi: Still, I think creating something tangible like this will serve as a trigger to connect to a precious memory.

Hisoka: …Yeah. (…I’ll show Chikage later, too.) (I’m sure he’ll be fussy about the details though, like, “this part’s off, this part’s off too, and this part should be more like this.”)

Homare: Now then, what do you say to another toast? To August-kun and to celebrate the success of our 9th play dedicated to August-kun—.

Tsumugi: Cheers!

Hisoka: Cheers.

---

previous |

[chibimyumi]

Redesign Prompt RESULTS!

Alright, thank you everyone who has voted, the results are now in! Overwhelmingly our winner is Ranmao 🐈!

First of all, I need to insert a few caveats here. Unlike with Victorian fashion, I do not have years and years of studying of Qing dynasty-fashion behind me. So whatever results I show here are the product of a fortnight of reading up and meticulous studying of contemporary photographs. a.k.a. I am merely scraping the surface here. But! I do promise that everything shown here is done to the best of my ability to be responsible as a content provider.

Now without further ado, let us dive into Ranmao’s current design, the blatantly obvious inaccuracies, and how I propose to redes...ign... her outfit while keeping the original intact as much.... as possible????  Heck, this is not even worthy of being called a ‘redesign’, this is straight up designing from scratch!

Hair

Let us start with her bangs. Her bangs are in fact surprisingly accurate, as late Qing dynasty women would wear their bangs in a variety of Bettie bangs trimmed well above the eyebrows. Having sides of the bangs growing longer framing the face was usual too, though they would be cut slightly thicker than Ranmao’s. Though, we don’t know how much hair Ranmao has, so I see no reason to alter it.

Twin braids are very much associated with the “China doll look”, but they seem to have been branded into our image of the “Chinese Girl” because it was the go-to look for unmarried women in Republic China (which is many years later than Ranmao’s time, and also has more surviving images.)

In Ranmao’s time, unmarried girls would either wear the bottom part of their hair down, or have everything tied into a single braid behind them. Girls who preferred a more feminine look would often decorate the sides or the top with flowers or other ornaments depending on their wealth.

Yana’s notes say that the flower in Ranmao’s hair is a Chinese peony, which is also called the Empress of Flowers in Chinese as well as Japanese culture. I could find sources on how the peony was the symbol of the Empress of China, and how one better avoid wearing any type of peonies around the Empress herself for fear of being suspected of disrespect. But I could not find any evidence of such flowers being banned for other people, so presumably it was more an ‘unwritten code of politeness’ rather than fashion law.

Hence, I kept the pink peony design for Ranmao, and decorated them in the way Qing women would have.

Neckline

By far the most interesting thing I learned from this redesign attempt was that the “mandarin collar” - the thing that pops up first in most people’s minds when thinking about Chinese fashion - was in fact not at all common.

In this academic work on Chinese fashion history, Finnane writes that the ‘high collar’ was “not a common feature of costume before the twentieth century.” Instead, most costumes would have had a round neckline.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 93

The ‘high collar’ gained popularity in early 1900s in China after the Europeans brought with them the beauty standard for high collars, as well as slim-fitted silhouettes. The Chinese increasingly adopted this type of collar and the slim silhouette (the well known ‘china dress/qipao/cheongsam’), and the relatively many early photos that survived helped engrave this stereotype into our minds.

Sleeves

I do not think it requires any mention, but 19th century Chinese fashion did not include boleros... For many of the original designs of Ranmao I can sort of see where Yana got that image from, but this bolero-look truly beats me.

The sleeves worn in the late Qing period were relatively wide, though they were starting to slim down over time. Late Qing women enjoyed much more flexible clothing rules than earlier Qing women, and the width of the sleeves was in great part determined by personal preference, season, but mostly one’s wealth.

Needless to say, the larger the sleeves the more fabric and embroidery it would require, and thus more expensive. Also, the wider the more it would get into the wearer’s way.

I don’t know how much thought Yana put into Ranmao’s original design in relation to her function as elite bodyguard, but considering how the original has zero practicality and only serves to maximise Ranmao’s attractiveness, I have no qualms about giving Ranmao fairly large sleeves too. Besides, let us assume that Lau is responsible for providing Ranmao with clothes. Illegal money tends to fill the pockets quite deeply, I don’t think he can’t spare a few pounds for big sleeves.

Wider sleeves would expose much of ‘a lady’s precious skin’, as such a more fitted layer would have been worn underneath. (The sleeves under the wider sleeves obviously did not have to be orange-ish. This was merely coincidence that both my redesign and the visual source have this colour.)

Silhouette

The figure hugging silhouette x Chinese clothes was - as mentioned above - not at all a thing in Ranmao’s time. In fact, the accentuation of the “female curves” was considered very inappropriate if not downright ugly in the Qing dynasty.

Finnane, Antonia. Changing Clothes in China : Fashion, History, Nation. New York: Columbia University Press, 2008. p. 94

Yana’s notes mention that the thing Ranmao wears is just an European corset and that that is the only thing ‘English’ about her attire.

Well... I don’t know where the idea that Victorians wore corsets on the outside comes from, but I myself admittedly was fooled by this a few years ago too... I promise you all now however, Victorians decidedly did not wear their ‘bras’ on the outside. I think even now this look is considered rather ‘questionable’ by most people.

Instead, Qing dynasty clothes were mostly cut wide and straight, loosely dangling around their bodies offering maximum comfort and space. You feared Ranmao killing you in her corset? Now tremble before her now blessed with maximised agility.

Trousers

Well... I considered ‘translating’ Ranmao’s attire to 2020 standard like I did for O!Ciel, but that would not be Tumblr-filter approved. Skirts so short they could be mistaken for a belt are nothing too surprising today, but wearing one with a split that deep is probably a bit too revealing even by today’s standards.

By the late Qing dynasty, men and women, rich and poor alike predominantly wore trousers. Long robes (skirts) were definitely in fashion too, but they were reserved for those who could afford to not have much agility. If you were a farmer, robes would not have been your first option. Perhaps the way long skirts were viewed by the Qing Chinese was not unlike the way we see them now; ‘more classy’ ‘more feminine’ and ‘less convenient’, but not the only way to express femininity.

In these pictures below we can see relatively rich women, married and unmarried alike, all wearing trousers.

Ranmao is predominantly a fighter, and as trousers are plenty feminine in Chinese fashion culture, I don’t see why she would not choose to wear trousers instead of a restricting long skirt. Hence I gave her a pair of trousers.

Shoes

Like I said before, “the shoes are correct...” But the anklets definitely are not!

Golden or silver anklets are something that are worn by very, VERY young children in China. Even to this day it is customary among many Chinese people to gift newborn children at least one piece of pendant, bracelet or anklet, for it is believed to bring the child luck. More practically, this piece of jewellery will become the child’s first piece of property then, which can be sold later SHOULD they ever run into a financially difficult situation.

These anklets or bracelets would not be removed from the child unless they have outgrown them, which happens fairly quick. Ranmao who is probably full grown should have outgrown them at least ten years ago. Hence, seeing these things on Ranmao would probably make it look like she is still wearing diapers or bibs.

Chinese people would likewise not have worn shoes barefoot. Instead, they would have worn cotton socks which were mostly white.

DOUBLE HAMMERS

HERE COME THE WEAPONS! Luckily Yana wrote the following note or I would never have guessed what they are for my knowledge about Chinese weapons is next to nothing.

“These are【SUPER】heavy. They are weapons called 双錘 (double hammers) and they in fact exist. I heard these were used by power-type warriors.”

So, I googled 双錘 and it turns out that the type Ranmao is holding do indeed exist! But... only in fiction and theatre.

The hammers that were used in actual combat were either very thin and long, or short and plump. Such hammers were one of the most primitive metal weapons in China, and quickly fell out of favour among Chinese warriors when more practical weapons such as the metal spear, sword and bows were invented. The hammers mostly retained their value because of their weight in heroic tales and myths about legendary warriors and deities.

I don’t have the full details, but apparently according to some legends or myths, one of such big-ass hammers could deal a force of 200kg, and thus 400kg combined. Regardless of this being realistic or not, it sure does sound very cool! It is therefore no wonder this primitive weapon retains its popularity even today.

Nowadays when these hammers are used, they are either the blown up theatrical versions, or the smaller versions for the sake of preserving martial arts.

I had a bit of a dilemma as to which version to give Ranmao, but in the end I settled with the short and heavy ones because I wanted to keep the idea of this small and innocent looking girl wielding solid metal balls. Two cheer-leading sticks would simply not have the same weight, figuratively and literally.

Alright everyone! Did you enjoy my response to your votes? I hope you did ^^ Non-European fashion history really is not my strong suit, so my deepest apologies if I messed anything up.

Pray tell if I did, I am always happy to learn ^^

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Nice Nat (Ficmas #9)

Aight, welcome back my dudes! Okay so this is my first O’darwin (I think... wow I can’t even remember but I’m pretty sure it’s my first... anyways) so I hope it’s alright. This is not the direction I saw it going in, but someone mentioned something along the lines of this fic once and it stuck in my head since. I’ll definitely be doing more of them though so I’ll have some more... idk lively I suppose is the word? Yeah, lively content. 

Credit for characters and their world to @lumosinlove

CW: This is centred around Natalie on her period. There’s nothing graphic, there’s not even details of symptoms other than tiredness but it is the central theme 💕

Natalie sighed, turning the key in the lock, her handbag slipping off her shoulder awkwardly as the door swung open.

“Hey guys,” She called to the empty hallway, kicking off her shoes. “I’m home.”

She wandered to the kitchen, tossing her bag on a chair and grabbed herself a painkiller and a glass of water. She had gotten her period unexpectedly at work and her day just hadn’t been great. Nothing had been wrong per se, but she was just tired and a little too world weary to deal with many people.

“Babe?” She called, wandering through the house. Both of their cars had been there and their shoes were still at the door, so where were they?

“Kase? Al? Anyone home?” 

She found them in their home theatre, the walls were soundproofed so there was no wonder no one had heard her. She opened the door to see Alex straddling Kasey, the pair in a full on make out session teenagers would be proud of. Any other day, Natalie would probably have gone and joined in. Or at least have watched. Today though, she just wasn’t feeling it.

“Well would you look at what we have here.” She drawled, raising an eyebrow. 

The two boys pulled apart, looking over at her immediately, red lipped and panting.

“Hey baby.” They both said at the same time, making Natalie smile. “Wanna come join?” Alex asked, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Natalie rolled her eyes smiling, but shook her head. “Nah, I’m not really in the mood right now but you two go ahead. I’m gonna change my clothes and just watch a movie in bed maybe.”

Alex frowned, sliding off Kasey’s lap. Kasey’s face didn’t change, but Natalie could see the cogs turning in his mind. He held out his arms, “Want a hug?”

Natalie huffed a laugh even as she crossed the few steps between them, taking Alex’s spot on Kasey’s lap as she rested her head on his shoulder, Alex pulling her feet onto his thighs, stroking her calves soothingly.

“Sorry guys, I’m not trying to bring down your vibe.”

Alex looked at her like she was crazy. “What? Nat don’t be dumb, we’ve been waiting for you to come home, we just want to be with you.”

“Unless you want to be by yourself for a while.” Kasey added, kissing her hair. “That’s okay too.”

Natalie’s heart fluttered a little at how perfect they both were. “No, no I wanna be with you guys.” She said, burning her face in Kasey’s chest for a moment. He was wearing Alex’s shirt and she could breathe them both in. 

“Okay I’m gonna go get changed.” She mumbled, pulling herself reluctantly away from their warmth, but desperately needing to get out of her constricting jeans and into sweatpants.

“Alright darling, we’ll see you in a minute.” Kasey murmured softly, letting her slip out of his arms and pad upstairs. Natalie smiled as she got changed, wearing Kasey’s pants and Alex’s hoodie, letting both her boys surround her. She heard them both coming up the stairs and hid her amusement at their attempt to be quiet. Try as they might, they were also two full grown hockey players and silence wasn’t always their strongest point. But they were trying and that was all that mattered.

“Hiya,” Alex greeted softly as he pushed the door open, peeking his head in. “You still good with us joining?”

Natalie chuckled a little. “Yeah, guys I love you and I love this, but I’m just tired, not a delicate little doll. Now get in here and cuddle me please.”

The pair came into the room, both armed with supplies. Natalie laughed when she saw many of the items came from the list she had given both of them respectively when they had started dating. She called it the ‘Nice Nat’ list and contained all the tips and tricks of what she liked on her period. 

“You remembered.” She chuckled, mostly to Alex, Kasey was quite experienced with the whole situation.

“How could I forget?” Alex said, setting a mug of tea and a bar of chocolate on the night stand. “You marched up to me and instructed that once a month you were gonna need some TLC and if I couldn't deal with that then I shouldn’t bother being in this relationship in the first place.” He raised an eyebrow and met Natalie’s gaze. “That’s not something you forget very soon.”

Natalie giggled a little as Kasey slid onto the bed next to her, passing her a hot water bottle and Leaning back into the plush cushions.

“That does sound like me.”

Even so, Natalie was touched. She was actually pretty lucky in the sense that for the most part, her periods were pretty non eventful. Once every few months she felt a little more like she did today but on the whole she escaped a lot of the major pains. Plus, they hadn’t been dating Alex that long and with his training schedule, he wasn’t there a lot. His visits had only coincided with Natalie's periods once and it had been a good month so nothing had even been affected, this was his first time having to put his ‘Nice Nat’ knowledge into practice.

She curled into Kasey’s side, resting her head on his chest, glancing back at Alex once, who seemed unsure.

“C’mere sweetheart.” She beckoned, and she could see the tension leave him as he wrapped himself around her, his warm chest pressed against her back, wrapping an arm carefully around her middle. She caught his hand in hers, lifting it to her lips once before lowering it again. Leaving their fingers linked. Kasey covered them both with one of his own big hands and Natalie smiled, unable to stop herself from noticing how small her own hand looked sandwiched between theirs.

Kasey grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, scrolling until he found ‘Friends’ and flicked on a random episode in early season three.

“When Ross and Rachel are together.” He mumbled for Alex’s benefit, carding his fingers through Natalie’s hair. “They’re the best episodes.”

Natalie sighed in contentment, relaxing into her boys. It was nice with them both, different but amazing. With Kasey there was that lovely familiar relationship dynamic. Not boring, god never boring, but there was the fantastic intimacy about knowing everything about your partner. It was different with Alex - there was still the new thrill of excitement and a little uncertainty but they were all quickly learning how to adjust to this little dynamic they found themselves in and Natalie loved every minute of it.

[delicioussshame]

Okay, so my plans for this one is to publish it by itself on AO3 once it’s done, which, I hope (strangled laughter) shouldn’t be in a year, so do what you want with that info. In the meantime, have the first part of a silly modern AU.

For fuck’s sake, there is no way that’s Luo Binghe.

Shen Yuan had a very clear idea of what Luo Binghe would look like. A white lotus like him had to be a small, shy, bespectacled young man. He’d probably sit by the wall, only daring to glance up occasionally to look for Shen Yuan anxiously.

The man who is refusing a woman’s overture for the third time cannot be him. It must be a coincidence that he’s wearing something that looks like what Luo Binghe said he would have on.

That must be it. Reassured, Shen Yuan starts looking for the little sheep he’d taken under his wing. Could he be the guy engrossed by his phone sitting at his right? Meh, maybe, but-

“Shizun!”

Shen Yuan is instantly mortified. The nickname was cute when they were talking cultivation novels online, but here, in real life? That’s why Shen Yuan insisted on them sharing their real names: to save himself the embarrassment of being the kind of nerd who calls themselves by a fake, geeky name in public!

Then again, since he looks like that, Luo Binghe could be larping surrounded by a crowd while wearing a shirt with a naked waifu on it and still he’d get hit on, Shen Yuan bets. A face this stunning must act as a shield, making him impervious to embarrassment.

Shen Yuan is not impervious to embarrassment. He dashes to the table where, apparently, his disciple is waiting for him. “Luo Binghe.”

He almost flinches under the strength of the beaming smile he’s faced with. “Yes! Shizun! It’s good to finally meet you in person!”

It would be better if you were not calling me Shizun. “The feeling is mutual.” Kind of.

Luo Binghe pushes a paper bag in his direction. “Please accept these as a token of gratitude for your guidance. I know it’s not much, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway.”

Shen Yuan opens the bag with no small amount of trepidation, to discover half a bakery’s stock of desserts, sweets, cakes and other patisseries.

How did he know of Shen Yuan’s weaknesses?

Shen Yuan quickly closes the bag. It would be gauche to eat outside food in a café. “This really wasn’t necessary, though it all looks delicious. Where did you buy them? Did you find a good shop already?”

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “No. I made them, so if they’re subpart, I’m the only one to blame.”

Come on! This guy cooks? At this level? Shen Yuan can feed himself, but a glance was all it took to know how outclassed he was. How is he the shizun here? “I’m sure they’re delicious.” They smell like it, anyway. “So you’re already settled down enough to bake? Moving wasn’t too much of a hardship then?”

“No, everything went well. I’m ready for the term to start.”

He’d better be, since he was accepted at Tsinghua University. How did poor Luo Binghe, who grew up in a small village in the middle of nowhere, swing that, Shen Yuan doesn’t know, but he must be smart as hell. Shen Yuan himself is no slouch, having graduated from Peking University, but it took the “help and encouragement” of his parents and his parents’ many contacts.

Not that they’re here to talk college education, unless Luo Binghe is planning to have much more fun than Shen Yuan did during his own college years. “Still, I suppose that didn’t give you much time for reading.”

“I did read! I had nothing but time on the train, so I finished Shizun’s latest recommendation. As he said, the heroine was the best part. I really liked when…”

This. This is why they’re here: for Shen Yuan to coach Luo Binghe in the ways of decent online literature, stirring him away from complete trash and protecting his innocence from the worst of the worst. He’d known from the first comment Luo Binghe had posted that he was too pure for this world, and that it was his duty as the last bastion of criticism to keep him that way.

He likes to think he did pretty well. Luo Binghe took to his teachings easily. Before he knew it, Shen Yuan had an online friend always eager to get his recommendations and to discuss them with him.

Shen Yuan had thought that maybe Luo Binghe didn’t have that many friends, or that he was socially awkward, but that is very obviously not the case. He can hear the girls oh so coincidentally sitting nearby giggling and congratulating themselves that Luo Binghe hadn’t been waiting for his girlfriend, but only a friend, which meant they still had a chance!

Ha! As if! The only way Luo Binghe didn’t have a girlfriend was if he left her behind to come study here in Beijing. Shen Yuan is sure that won’t last. He’ll probably find someone as soon as school begins.

In the meantime, he might as well take it easy. Reading more books, discovering the cities, getting to know his neighbours; he should take some time to do all this before he is swarmed by his studies.

Still, this is nice. Shen Yuan isn’t the most sociable person ever, vastly preferring to remain indoor by himself to making small talk, but this is a good combination of both! He can talk books with someone who listens to him while drinking his bubble tea and nibbling on snacks. He could get used to this.

“Could I have your phone number?”

Shen Yuan shakes himself back to the conversation. “Sure, but why?” They’ve always written one another before.

“Now that I live nearby, wouldn’t this be easier?”

Shen Yuan swears by the written word, but if Luo Binghe wants to call him from time to time, he can probably deal. “Fine.”

His pupil looks too happy to have gotten a simple phone number. Maybe he really doesn’t have many friends? Aww, don’t worry, you’ll do great here, away from the hicks that couldn’t appreciate you.

“Now that I’m here, there are a few places I’d like to visit. The city had museums, theatres, libraries, everything! Would Shizun mind being my guide?”

Luo Binghe did not need to punctuate that request with puppy eyes. It was overkill. “Are you sure you want to go with me? Shouldn’t you go with friends your age, or your girlfriend?”

“Shizun isn’t old! He’s only eight years older than me! It’s perfectly acceptable!”

Now Shen Yuan feels bad. Luo Binghe might look like… what he looks like, but at eighteen, he’s barely an adult! He should be enjoying his youth instead of wasting his time with a jaded old man like Shen Yuan.

Anyway, he probably just doesn’t know enough people yet. “If you’re fine with me, then I’ll tag along.”

Shen Yuan is once again nearly blinded by the brightness of Luo Binghe’s smile. “I’ll prepare lunch! Does Shizun have favorites?”

“I’m sure anything Luo Binghe prepares will be delicious.” He has no idea, but the stuff he gave him looks like it, at least. At worst, Shen Yuan can definitely afford to pay for a nice restaurant for them both, just like he’ll be paying here.

“Shizun shouldn’t bother. I’m the one who invited him, I should be taking the check.”

There is no way rich, adult Shen Yuan is letting Luo Binghe, a college student on scholarship who just moved to one of the most expensive cities of China, pay for him. Ever. That’s not happening. “First, you did not invite me, I volunteered myself. Second, I’m older. Third, I have a job (kinda, but Luo Binghe doesn’t have to know that) and you don’t. I will be paying for all our expanses, and that’s not negotiable. It’s that or I’m leaving.” He could never live with himself if Luo Binghe had to skip a meal to afford going out with him. The mere idea leaves him queasy.

Luo Binghe frowns, displeased.

A chorus of sighs can be heard from the tables surrounding them.

Shen Yuan estimates there are at least fifteen women of all ages staring at Luo Binghe like he’s a choice morsel now.

They should leave before this degenerates.

Shen Yuan pulls at Luo Binghe. “Let’s go.”

(He valiantly ignores the hissed “Don’t touch him!” coming from a genuinely terrifying fifteen-year-old.)

Luo Binghe seems reluctant to part once they’re out. “We’re meeting Sunday at ten. Shizun can’t forget! I’ll be waiting for him!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” His social calendar isn’t busy enough to forget his one deliberate engagement.

_________________

Sadly, his social calendar isn’t empty. His dear parents made sure of it. Shen Yuan doesn’t quite rue the day he agreed to their conditions for funding his lifestyle, but sometimes he really wonders if the sinecure he calls his job, providing him blessed solitude and copious amount of free time, is worth suffering through the parties.

Lucky for him that the feeling is shared between all participants now.

Shen Yuan keeps his face perfectly placid as he reads a passable novel on his phone. The hero is trash, and the heroine, just as bad, but there’s a decent world being built, and he’s honestly interested in the fauna the writer created. It’s not good enough to be recommended to Luo Binghe, but few things are. Only the best for his little sheep.

No one interrupts him. They don’t dare anymore. Long gone are the times where Shen Yuan let himself be bullied. Now, he has focused his hatred of a certain character into an imitation so lifelike he’s now famous for his emotionless expression and his ability to lash out with enough venom that the wounds he leaves behind aren’t healed by their next meeting.

One does what one needs to do to survive the jungle that is the circles of Beijing high society.

His parents would weep if they could see him. “You’ll never find a wife like that,” they’d lament.

Shen Yuan doesn’t care. His two brothers are already married. He’s an uncle. His little sister is more popular than any of her siblings ever were. His parents will have all the heirs they could ever want. They don’t need him to reproduce.

There’s a commotion somewhere at his right.

Shen Yuan doesn’t bother lifting his eyes from his phone until the noise is close enough to be a nuisance. Letting none of his irritation show on his face, he looks for the cause of the disturbance in a nonchalant way that would fool no one.

His heart almost stops when he finds Luo Binghe, Sha Hualing and Xiao Gongzhu hanging off his arms like they belonged there.

What is he doing here!? This isn’t a place where his white lotus should be standing! He should still be unboxing in his apartment, not wearing this frankly obscene suit and flirting with heiresses as wealthy as they were mean!

Oh. This must be it. Shen Yuan did think Luo Binghe would get a girlfriend in no time after all. He must be here as someone’s date, and Luo Binghe being Luo Binghe, he has stolen everyone’s attention from the moment he set foot in the room.

Okay. He has terrible tastes, but whatever. No one is perfect.

Fuck, if he sees Shen Yuan and dashes over while screaming “Shizun”, he’ll ruin his new relationship! Not only will he be revealed as nowhere near as cool as he appears, but being associated with Shen Yuan isn’t a good thing. He’s made sure his disdain for this crew was well-known.

Shen Yuan tries to message Luo Binghe to warn him to stay clear, but, as expected, he doesn’t check his phone.

Fuck his parents. Shen Yuan, very ostentatiously, pretends to get an important but unpleasant message, and starts walking with a speed and certainty that cannot be interrupted.

“-Shen Yuan. Don’t bother. He’s an asshole.”

Shen Yuan doesn’t falter, but only because he’s a pro at this. So what if they’re trash-talking him to Luo Binghe? He knows better.

“I’ll have to make my own mind. Wait here?”

Luo Binghe, what the fuck? Can’t you see how obviously I’m leaving? Don’t come over!

“Hello. My name is Luo Binghe. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Shen Yuan has to answer him now. He can’t just ignore him. That would be unforgivably rude. His mother would find out, and she would never let him live it down. “Shen Yuan. I’m in a hurry, so if you would…” He’s not sure why Luo Binghe is playing along, but if he’s game to pretend they don’t know each other, that’s perfect. Shen Yuan will do the same.

The smile Luo Binghe favors him with is nothing like the one he first shown Shen Yuan, all brightness and childlike joy. This smile is, dare he say it, seductive. He smiles like he’s certain the person he’s gracing with this smile is appreciating every moment of it, as they should. “Please spare me just a moment of your time. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

It turns out Shen Yuan doesn’t know Luo Binghe at all, if he can smile like that and make it look as easy as breathing.

Shen Yuan is not enjoying this. If he had known Luo Binghe would be there tonight, they could have planned something instead of, of whatever this is. His best option right now is to leave, meet up with Luo Binghe later, explain to him his current situation, and arrange things in such a way that his disciple’s rise into power won’t be hindered by his acquaintance to Shen Yuan.

For now, that means being the jerk he pretends to be, so that Luo Binghe can be comforted instead of confronted by those women flocking to him. Shen Yuan will apologise later. “Go run back to whichever of these,” he gestures to the women, “is keeping you fed and well dressed enough to pretend to fit here. I don’t have time to waste on boy toys.” Without giving him a second look, he exits the room as fast as he can without running, inwardly mortified at what he just said.

But not fast enough to miss the mocking laughter and the elated exchanges. “He thinks Tianlang-Jun’s son is a sugar baby!”

What the fuck.

[autistocracy]

In 1669, the Count of Hanau, Friedrich Casimir, began preparations to purchase territory in Guiana from the Dutch West India Company. Initially, it looked as though this deal would fall through and the Count would be driven into bankruptcy, but before this happened, he received generous donations from various minor nobles both in his court and abroad, allowing the deal to go through. After 3 years of negotiations with the West India Company, Friedrich Casimir purchased the lands between the Courantyne and Amazon Rivers, an area of roughly 100,000 square kilometres, many times the size of the tiny County of Hanau.

After the purchase, he sent roughly 500 colonists, mainly from his county, but there included a small number of colonists from neighbouring countries, to his newly obtained colony. Originally, the plan had been to name the land the Hanauisch-Indien, or Hanauish Indies, but after several months, the land was renamed to Neu-Hanau and the capital at the mouth of the Suriname River being named Friedrichsburg, and sometimes called Paramaribo after a native word meaning “inhabitants of the large river”. As a part of the deal, the Dutch West India Company was given a total monopoly on shipping between Europe and Neu-Hanau.

Not long after the land was transferred to Hanauish authority, the Third Anglo-Dutch War broke out, and shipping to the new colony ceased. The colonists sent by the county on Dutch ships had been forced to land in the Portuguese New World territories of Brazil and take a smaller boat up the coast to the land planned for Friedrichsburg. Many believed the colony wouldn’t make it through the war, but somehow they managed to survive.

After the Third Anglo-Dutch War ended in 1674, shipping renewed, and another wave of colonists arrived in Friedrichsburg, now a small settled village. Initially, the village had some major troubles, including a number of famines, but after two decades, the colonial capital had stabilised.

On March 30th, 1685, Count Friedrich Casimir died without issue, and his nephew, the minor Philipp Reinhard, became the new Count. His reign would begin 2 years later in 1687. His reign would be a relatively prosperous one for the small county and its new colony. One of his first acts as Count was to make a visit to Friedrichsburg, and stay there for about a year, ruling from the tiny village that acted as the colonial capital. He had planned to stay longer, but was stricken with Malaria and had to return to Europe, where he recovered.

Under Philipp Reinhard, the colony of Neu-Hanau tripled in population, as he continued to offer incentives to people to move to the New World. At this time, the majority of the colony’s income was from its sugar plantations, rum distilling, lumber, and coffee. The economy of the colony existed at the time mainly on the backs of slaves, and conditions for these slaves was often harsher than in other colonies. Many of the slaves managed to escape to the jungles and establish contact with native tribes, forming their own tribes, now known as the Maroons.

During the 9 Years’ War and Spanish succession war, both the colony of Neu-Hanau and the County of Hanau were occupied several times, but both managed to recover after these wars, though it would take a while.

In 1712, Philipp Reinhard was elevated to the title of Duke, though he died shortly afterward at the age of 48 without any surviving children, and his brother Johann Reinhard became Duke. Duke Johann Reinhard ordered the construction of several churches, both at home and in the colony of Neu-Hanau, as well as founding two new towns in the New World: Philippsburg and Johannesburg.

In 1736, Duke Johann Reinhard died at the age of 70, and like the last two rulers of Hanau and Neu-Hanau, he died without a male son, and left the title of Duke of Hanau to his grandson, Ludwig, the son of the Landgrave of Hesse-Darmstadt, who was only 17 at the time.

Duke Ludwig was an admirer of King Frederick William I, known as the Soldier King, and joined the Prussian military during the War of the Austrian Succession, sending also some forces from his Duchy to support the Prussian army. The war would last 7 years, and see the colony of Neu-Hanau invaded several times, including having the city of Johannesburg razed to the ground.

After the war, Duke Ludwig began to focus a little more on the colony he had neglected, and established a number of forts at strategic places, as well as strengthening the army both at home in Europe and in Neu-Hanau. In Europe, he also chartered the city of Pirmasens, which he made the capital of his Duchy. He also constructed a number of Lutheran churches.

In October 17, 1768, Duke Ludwig’s father, Landgrave Ludwig VIII of Hesse-Darmstadt died at the age of 77, leaving the Landgraviate of Hesse-Darmstadt to his son, the Duke. Duke Ludwig would continue to rule under the title of Duke of Hanau, and would also continue his military build up of his lands, including the new land of Hesse-Darmstadt, which he incorporated into the Duchy of Hanau.

On April 6th, 1790, Duke Ludwig died at the age of 70 and left his lands to his son, Ludwig II. Ludwig II was more diplomatic than his father, and made constant trips across Europe, including to the court of the Prussian King, Frederick the Great, whose son his sister married, and to the court of Catherine the Great of Russia, whose son and heir his other sister married. He himself was engaged to the daughter of the Duke of Württemberg, but the engagement was called off when his sister Wilhelmina, the wife of Tsarevich Paul, died, and was wed instead to the daughter whom he had previously been engaged to marry. Instead, Duke Ludwig II wed his cousin.

Duke Ludwig II was also a more tolerant person than his predecessors, and ended persecution of Jews and Catholics in his lands, even establishing a Catholic church in Friedrichsburg, Neu-Hanau. Duke Ludwig II’s rule coincided with the French Revolution and the French wars, and he would several times move his court and household to live in Friedrichsburg as the threat of invasion of Hanau was always imminent, and his Duchy lost much of its land on the left bank of the Rhine, the area known as Hanau-Lichtenburg. In 1806, Ludwig II and Hanau joined the Confederation of the Rhine, and was elevated to the title of Grand Duke of Hanau and Hesse by Rhine. In 1816, after the end of the Napoleonic Wars, he was granted additional lands on the left bank of the Rhine. Outside of war and governance, Grand Duke Ludwig also established several libraries, established several scholarships, and promoted theatre and music. He also ordered the drafting of the first constitution for the Grand Duchy.

On April 6th, 1830, exactly 40 years after the death of his father, Grand Duke Ludwig died at the age of 76, leaving his lands to his son, Ludwig II. Grand Duke Ludwig II’s reign wasn’t truly very notable for either the homeland or the colony of Neu-Hanau. The colony was left much to its own devices during the 18 years of his reign, and during this time, the three cities of Friedrichsburg, Philippsburg, and Johannesburg grew quite a bit without much interference. Two smaller cities were established during this time, largely inhabited by natives and Maroons.

In 1848, Europe underwent the great Revolutions, and Hanau-Hesse wasn’t spared from this. Grand Duke Ludwig II, not feeling up to the pressure and stress that the revolution brought abdicated to his son, Ludwig III, dying not long afterward. The reign of Ludwig III was significant, for during this time, the Austro-Prussian war broke out. Grand Duke Ludwig III, wary of the Prussians, sided with the Austrian Empire. After the defeat of the Austrian alliance, Hanau-Hesse was forced to concede Upper Hesse to the Prussians, nearly halving the land of the Grand Duchy in Europe. Also during the rule of Ludwig III, slavery was outlawed in the colony of Neu-Hanau, and settlements were made with now-free slaves and Maroons, and the two cities of Neu-Darmstadt and Neu-Buchsweiler grew significantly as a result of former slaves settling in the two cities.

In 1868, Grand Duke Ludwig III married morganatically, and afterward retired from ruling, leaving the Grand Duchy to his nephew, Ludwig IV. While Grand Duke Ludwig III’s reign had been significant in its own right, the rule of his nephew was even more significant. During his reign, not only did the Franco-Prussian War break out, but the states that made up Germany united under one flag. This, however, was not something accepted by the people of Hanau-Hesse, nor by the Grand Duke and his ministers. As a result, Grand Duke Ludwig IV, with the support of his people, joined the French in their disastrous war. After their defeat, the Grand Duke, his family, court, and a vast number of his people, fled to the colony of Neu-Hanau, which had remained untouched by the war. The Grand Duchy of Hanau-Hesse abandoned its European homeland.

Neu-Hanau was renamed simply Hanau, and construction of a royal palace began in Friedrichsburg. In total, somewhere between 35 and 40 percent of the population of Hanau-Hesse fled Europe for the former colony of Hanau. Most of these refugees settled in the city of Friedrichsburg, though smaller numbers also went to Philippsburg and Johannesburg. The population of Hanau grew from a mere 30,000 to over 1,000,000 in only 4 years. At first, the colony could not sustain that many new mouths to feed, and the country nearly collapsed, but thanks to help from Brazil, the United States, the United Kingdom (Grand Duke Ludwig’s wife was the second daughter of Queen Victoria), and France, Hanau was able to survive.

In 1892, the Grand Duke Ludwig IV died. He was succeeded by his son, Ernst Ludwig. As with his father’s and great uncle’s reigns, Grand Duke Ernst Ludwig’s reign was terribly significant. His reign marked the growth of Hanau as a new, fledgling country in South America, and the growth of modern technology. In 1896, the Royal Palace of Friedrichsburg was outfitted with electricity and electric bulbs. Grand Duke Ernst Ludwig was well connected to the royal families of Europe, particularly those of Russia and the United Kingdom, and would often make visits to these countries. In 1899, he founded a colony for artists in Frierdrichsburg, and gave them great patronage. The colony of Friedrichsburg was noted as a centre of the Art Nouveau style, amongst others. The Grand Duke also established, at the advice of an advisor, a national arms factory, located in Philippsburg. The factory made mostly licensed copies of American and British designs, and still exists today, albeit as an independent company rather than a national company.

In 1914, the world became embroiled in war, and Hanau, as a result of its connections to European powers, was drawn in as well. Grand Duke Ernst Ludwig pledged support to the Allies, sending roughly 600 men to fight in Europe. The Hanauish soldiers distinguished themselves in several battles, but their efforts were largely overshadowed by the fighting done by the larger nations. Grand Duke Ernst Ludwig had hoped that fighting in the war would allow him to take back the lands of Hanau and Hesse that had been taken from his family several decades before, but in the end Hanau had no such luck, and remained a South American country. After the war, many of the monarchies of Germany were abolished, and a great number of nobility fled their countries. Many fled to Hanau, and many were given noble titles as compensation. Several new cities were established with this fresh influx of people, including Corantijn, Nikerie, and Saramacca.

Between WWI and WWII, Hanau was seldom in foreign news. After the abolition of the German monarchies, the surviving German monarchy of Hanau chose to keep much to itself, and focus on its internal politics. The government was restructured to be more modern, though the Grand Duke still retained a great deal of authority, and still does, that most other European monarchs no longer have. In 1923, the Prime Minister of Hanau was elected, replacing the older office of President-Minister; Albrecht Biedermann, of the Vaterländisch Bürgerpartei, the oldest extant party in the Grand Duchy, founded in 1891.

In 1937, Grand Duke Ernst Ludwig died, and his son, Georg Donatus, took the throne. However, his reign would be shortlived, as he and his immediate family were killed in an air accident en route to his brother and heir’s wedding in the United Kingdom. After Georg Donatus’ death, his brother assumed the throne as Grand Duke Ludwig V.

In 1939, World War Two broke out in Europe. During the war, the Grand Duchy remained officially neutral, but in reality they were sending supplies to the British for the duration of the war. The country also took in Jewish and other refugees, especially other former nobles of Germany. The Free French were also allowed to use Hanauish ports to ferry men to and from their African colonies and Europe. Many of the Jewish refugees settled in the city of Johannesburg, which historically was the centre of Jewish community in Hanau.

After WWII, the economy boomed after gold was discovered in the interior of the country, followed by the discovery of bauxite deposits that proved to be very profitable for the country in the wake of the pre-war era’s growing usage of aluminum.

‘’

List of Monarchs:

Count Friedrich Casimir: 1642-1685

Duke Philipp Reinhard (originally Count): 1685-1712

Duke Johann Reinhard: 1712-1736

Duke Ludwig I: 1736-1790

Grand Duke Ludwig I (originally Duke Ludwig II): 1790-1830

Grand Duke Ludwig II: 1830-1848

Grand Duke Ludwig III: 1848-1868

Grand Duke Ludwig IV: 1868-1892

Grand Duke Ernst Ludwig: 1892-1937

Grand Duke Georg Donatus: 1937

Grand Duke Ludwig V: 1937-1968

Grand Duke Philipp (of House Hesse-Kassel): 1968-1980

Grand Duke Moritz: 1980-2013

Grand Duke Donatus: 2013-current

List of Prime Ministers:

Albrecht Biedermann, VBP, 1923-1927

Alexander Freiherr von Philippsburg, VBP, 1927-1932

Marcus Siemens, VBP, 1932-1937

Joachim Biedermann, VBP, 1937-1947, brother of Albrecht Biedermann

Philipp Lorenz, VBP, 1947-1952

Adam Ulrich, DP, 1952-1957

Albrecht Biedermann the Junior, VBP, 1957-1962, son of Albrecht Biedermann

Ludwig, Landgraf von Corantijn, VBP, 1962-1967

Philipp Enzensberger, VBP, 1967-1972

Ludwig, Landgraf von Corantijn, VBP, 1972-1977, second time

Marcus I zu Solms-Braunfels-Nikerie, VBP, 1977-1987

Daniel Lorenz, VBP, 1987-1992, grandson of Philipp Lorenz

Albrecht, Landgraf von Corantijn, VBP, 1992-1997, son of Ludwig

Ludwig Biedermann, VBP, 1997-2002, youngest brother of Albrecht Biedermann the Junior

Lukas Augustus Freiherr von Philippsburg, VBP, 2002-2007, great grandson of Alexander frv Philippsburg

Marcus II zu Solms-Braunfels-Nikerie, VBP, 2007-2012, son of Marcus I

Thomas Biedermann, VBP, 2012-2017, son of Albrecht Biedermann the Junior

Thomas Lorenz, VBP, 2017-current, son of Daniel Lorenz

VBP: Vaterländisch Bürgerpartei; DP: Demokratische Partei (1945-1963)

[kkintle]

The Sea, The Sea by Iris Murdoch ; Quotes

One of the secrets of a happy life is continuous small treats, and if some of these can me inexpensive and quickly procured so much the better.

There will be time and motive enough to prose on about my life when I shall have generated as it were a sufficient cloud of reflection. I am still almost shy of my emotions, shy of the terrible strength of certain memories.

I always felt that we were in the same boat, adventuring along together (…) We enjoyed and craved for each other’s company. What a test that is: more than devotion, admiration, passion. If you long and long for someone’s company you love them.

Is it true however? Well, it is not totally misleading, but it is far too short and ‘smart’. How can one describe real people?

Did I face it well? I think I did. Forgiveness and money were so ready as soon as I knew that she was doomed. That sounds cynical. I always loved her; and we were rewarded. At the very end we were both perfect. Poor Clement. That is a dreadful land, old age. I shall soon be entering it myself.

The image of Hartley changed in my mind from fiery pain to sadness, but never became blank. And in a way, I did keep searching for her, only it was a different and quite involuntary kind of search, a sort of dream-search.

Oh Hartley, Hartley, how timeless, how absolute love is. My love for you is unaware that I am old and you perhaps are dead.

‘I could have told you that country is the least peaceful and private place to live. The most peaceful and secluded place in the world is a flat in Kensington.’

I confess that I went to Peregrine not only for a drinking bout and a chat with and cold friend, but for male company, sheer complicit male company: the complicity of males which is like, indeed is, a kind of complicity in crime, in chauvinism, in getting away with things, in just gluttonously enjoying the present even if hell is all around.

‘We are such inward creatures, that inwardness is the most amazing thing about us, even more amazing than our reason. But we cannot just walk into the cavern and look around. Most of what we think we know are pseudo-knowledge. We are all such shocking poseurs, so good at inflating the importance of what we think we value. (…) People lie so, even we old men do. Though in aa way, if there is art enough it doesn’t matter, since there is another kind of truth in the art’.

‘And if there is art enough a lie can enlighten us as well as the truth. What is the truth anyway, that truth? As we know ourselves we are fake objects, fakes, bundles of illusions. Can you determine exactly what you felt or thought or did? We have to pretend in law courts that such things can be done, but that is just a matter of convenience. Well, well, it doesn’t signify. (…)’

‘(…) Do you know what marriage is like? You say she’s unhappy, most people are. A long marriage is very unifying, even if it’s not ideal, and those old structures must be respected. You may not think much of her husband, but he may suit her, however impressed she is by meeting you again. Has she said she wants to be rescued?

How very convenient these cliché phrases are, how soothing to the pained mind, and how misleading, how concealing.

It is an interesting fact about jealousy (…) that although it is in so many respects a totally irrational as well as totally irresistible emotion, it does show a certain limited reasonableness where temporal priority is concerned.

I love her, I thought, just as if I have been married to her all those years and have seen her gradually grow old and lose her beauty.

You’ve lived in a hedonistic dream all your life, and you’ve got away with behaving like a cad because you always picked on women who could look after themselves. And my God you told us the score, you never committed yourself, you never said you loved us even when you did! A cold fish with clear hands! But it was just luck really if the girls survived.

She summoned up my whole being, and I wanted to hold her and to overwhelm her an to lie with her forever, jusqu’a la fin du monde, and yes, to amaze her humility with the forces of my love, but also to be humble myself and to let her, in the end, console me and give me back my own best self.

After looking at the bright candles I could at first see nothing, and it struck me in an odd way that while I was talking to Hartley I had forgotten about the sea, forgotten it was there and now felt confounded and at a loss to find myself half blind among those terrible rocks.

The formation of my love for Clement, had been one of the main tasks and achievements of my life: that love which so often almost failed but never quite failed.

Being in love, that’s another slavery, stupid when you come to think of it, mad really. You make another person into God. That can’t be right (…) Real love, is free and sane. (…) Real love is like in a marriage when the glamour is gone. (…) Love. God, how often we uttered that word in the theatre and how little we even thought about it.

‘Yes, it’s strange, but in a way I do know you, and there isn’t anyone else who’s near me like that. I support it’s just because we were young, and later you cant know people, or I couldn’t.’

‘It’s happened fast because it’s right, it’s easy because it’s right.’

‘I wish I was dead, I think I’m going to die soon, I feel it. Sometimes I felt I would die by wishing it when I went to sleep but I always woke up again and found I was still there. Every morning finding I’m still me, that’s hell.’ ‘Well, get out of hell then! The gate’s open and I’m holding it!’ ‘I cant. I’m hell, myself.’

‘You just want someone to remember things with.’

It ceased at last, as everything dreadful has to cease, even if it ceases only by death. My presence, my cries, had no effect on her, I doubt if, in a sense, she knew I was there, although also, in a sense, the performance was for me, its violence directed at me.

I remembered, as I now did whenever I awoke, with a pang of anguish and love and fear, that Hartley was in the house.

(…) and although, with her disordered grey hair she looked old and mad, she seemed in that arrested moment like a queen.

‘And you are using this thing from the far past as a guide to important and irrevocable moves which you propose to make in the future. You are making a dangerous induction, and induction is shaky at the best of times, consider Russell’s chicken –‘ ‘Russell’s chicken?’ ‘The farmer’s wife comes out every day and feeds the chicken, but one day she comes out and wrings its neck.’

‘Not to worry. Sic biscuits disintegrat.’ ‘What?’ ‘That’s the way the cookie crumbles.’

We did not dare to say much to each other. By now I wanted the whole thing to be over. I could scarcely endure the idea that she might even now say ‘I don’t think I want to go after all.’; and the impulse to cry out ‘Stop!’ was a pain which I urgently wanted to be without. Perhaps she felt much the same.

James said, ‘I hope you don’t feel that I’ve influenced you in any way against your better judgement?’ ‘No.’ I was not going to argue that point. Of course he had influenced me. But what was my judgement, let alone better judgement?

‘Time can divorce us from the reality of people, it can separate us from people and turn them into ghosts. Or rather it is us who turn them into ghosts or demons. Some kinds of fruitless preoccupations with the past can create such simulacra, and they exercise power, like those heroes at Troy fighting for a phantom Helen.’

‘I’m not calling her a ghost. She is real, as human creatures are, but what reality she has is elsewhere. She does not coincide with your dream figure. You were not able to transform her. You must admit you tried and failed.’

‘(…) It is a mental charade, a necessary one perhaps, it has its own necessity, but not like what you think. Of course you can’t get over it at once. But in a few weeks or a few months you’ll have run through it all, looked at it all again and felt it all again and got rid of it. It’s not an eternal thing, nothing human is eternal. For us, eternity is an illusion. It’s like in a fairy tale. When the clock strikes twelve it will all crumble to pieces and vanish. And you’ll find you are free of her, free of her forever and you can let the poor ghost go. What will remain will be ordinary obligations and ordinary interests. And you’ll feel relief, you’ll feel free. At present, you’re just obsessed, hynotised.’

‘(…) When you’ve known someone from childhood, when you can’t remember when they weren’t there, that’s not an illusion. She’s woven into me. Don’t you understand how one can be so absolutely connected with somebody like that?’

‘(…) I gave her the meaning of my life long ago, I gave it to her and she still has it. Even if she doesn’t know she has it, she has it.’

‘Just like even if she’s ugly she’s beautiful and even if she doesn’t love you she loves you – ‘ ‘But she does –‘ ‘Charles, either this is very fine, very noble, or else you’re mad.’

‘(…) You mustn’t interfere in other people’s lives, especially married people. That’s in a way why marriage is so awful, I can’t think how anyone dares to do it. You’ve got to leave them alone. They’ve got their own way of hating each other and hurting each other, they enjoy it.’

‘”For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.”(…)’

Some kinds of obsession, of which being in love is one, paralyses the ordinary free-wheeling of the mind, its natural open interested curious mode of being, which is sometimes persuasively defined as rationality. I was sane enough to know that I was in a state of total obsession and that I could onlythink, over and over again, certain agonising thoughts, could only run continually along the same rat-paths of fantasy and intent. But I was not sane enough to interrupt this mechanical movement or even to desire to do so.

‘(…) And perhaps I was pleased to see you. We sometimes like to see people whom we hate and despise so that we can stir them up to further demonstrations of how odious they are.’

‘Jealousy is born with love, but does not always die with love.’

‘(…) Ordinary mediocre people think that if they confess one tenth of the truth they’re in the clear. You’ve made all your words into lies, you’ve devalued your speech and – in a moment you’ve spoiled the past – and there’s nothing to rely on any more.’

There were a few clouds, big lazy chryselephantine clouds that loafed around over the water exuding light. I gazed at them and wondered at myself for being too obsessed to be able to admire the marvels that surrounded me. But knowing how blind I was did not make me see.

(…) people can be light sources, without ever knowing, for years in the lives of others, while their own lives take different and hidden courses. Equally, one can be, and I recalled Peregrine’s words, a monster, a cancer, in the mind of someone whom one has half forgotten or even never met.

As James said, ‘If even a dog’s tooth is truly worshipped it glows with light.’

‘Can you hear the sea?’

‘I think you’re nearly through out of it. You’ve built a cage of needs and installed here in an empty space in the middle. The strong feelings are all around her – vanity, jealousy, revenge, your love for your youth – they aren’t focused on her, they don’t touch her. She seems to be their prisoner, but really you don’t harm her at all. You are using her image, a doll, a simulacrum, it’s an exorcism. Soon you will start seeing her as a wicked enchantress. Then you will have nothing to do except forgive here and that will be within your capacity.’

‘The sea is clean. The mountains are high. I think I am becoming drunk.’ ‘The sea is not all that clean,’ said James. ‘Did you know that dolphins sometimes commit suicide by leaping onto the land because they are so tormented by parasites?’ ‘I wish you hadn’t told me that. Dolphins are such good beasts. So even they have their attendant demons.’

‘What after all is superstition?’ said James, pouring some more wine into both glasses. ‘What is religion? Where does the one end and the other begin? How could one answer that question about Christianity?’

‘(…) But this power is dreadful stuff. Our lusts and attachments compose our god. And when one attachment is cast off another arrived by way of consolation. We never give up pleasure absolutely, we only barter it for another.’ (…)

What was my role in this play? I felt myself being relaxed and smiling like a man in a dream who cannot remember his lines but knows he can manage impromptu.

If there’s any fruitless mental torment which is greater than that of jealousy it is perhaps remorse. Even the pains of loss may be less searching; and often of course these agonies combine, as now they did for me. I say remorse not repentance. I doubt if I have ever experienced repentance in a pure form; perhaps it does not exist in a pure form. Remorse contains guilt, but helpless hopeless guilt which knows of no cure for the painful bite.

However life, unlike art, has an irritating way of bumping and limping on, undoing conversions, casting doubt on solutions, and generally illustrating the impossibility of living happily or virtuously even after (…)

Time, like the sea, unties all knots. Judgements on people are never final, they emerge from summing up which at once suggest the need of a reconsideration. Human arrangements are nothing but loose ends and hazy reckoning, whatever art may otherwise pretend in order to console us.

But am I so exceptional? We must live by the light of our self-satisfaction, through that secret vital busy inwardness which is even more remarkable than our reason. Thus we must live unless we are saints, and are there any? There are spiritual beings, perhaps James was one, but there are no saints.

There may be no saints, but there is at least one proof that the light of self-satisfaction can illuminate the whole world.

Of course this chattering diary is a façade, the literary equivalent of the everyday smiling face which hides the inward savages of jealousy, remorse, fear and the consciousness of irretrievable moral failure. Yet such pretences are not only consolations but may even be productive of a little ersatz courage.

That time of attentive mourning for her death was quite unlike the black blank horror of the thing itself. We had mourned together, trying to soothe each other’s pain. But that shared pain was so much less than the torment of her vanishing, the terrible lived time of her eternal absence. How different each death is, and yet it leads us into the self-same country, that country which we inhabit so rarely, where we see that worthlessness of what we have long pursued and will so soon return to pursuing.

There were no trains going where she was.

I cannot now remember the exact sequence of events in those prehistoric years. That we cannot remember such things, that our memory, which is ourself, is tiny, limited and fallible, is also one of the important things about us, like our inwardness and our reason. Indeed it is the very essence of both.

The only fault which I can at all measure is my own.

Anything can be tarnished by association, and if you have enough associations you can blacken the world. (…) In hell or in purgatory there would be no need of other or more elaborate tortures.

My love for you is quiet at last. I don’t want it to become a roaring furnace. If I could have suffered more I would have suffered more. Receive us now as if we were your children. Tenderness and absolute trust and communication and truth matter more and more as one grows older. Somehow let us not waste love, it is rare. Can we not love each other at last in freedom, without awful possessiveness and violence and fear? Love matters, not ‘in love’. Let there be no more partings now. Let there be peace between us now forever, we are no longer young. Love me, Charles, love me enough.

I suppose that is right, though there is a kind of impiety involved in letting any of James’s stuff go away. Do I then suppose he is likely to come back at any moment?

It is strange to think that when I went to the sea I imagined that I was giving up the world. But one surrenders power in one form, and grasps it in another.

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

Submitted:

Last week was a dumpster fire kind of week, so I distracted myself by finishing FF before I had to return it to library.

Some thoughts: - The prologue was their engagement photocall; where Meghan was the confident one who comforted the nervous Harry before they faced the press. Intriguing scene; Harry who had known the royal rota for a long time was the nervous one? Sure, Megs. The prologue also said that Omid first met Meghan in 2015 in Toronto fashion event -All along the chapters of their relationships, reading between the lines: Harry liked & didn’t mind all those Insta posts. After they were outed, there were convos with royal aides about where/when/how to go public, H&M’s suggestions were discussed & refused until Dec ‘16 when a pap got their photo because they decided to walk out of their car to the theatre. Obvs, this was pure coincidence, as was the Jamaica photos. Meghan was painted as comfortable & knowledgeable about the press, including media attention resulting from dating the son of one of the most famous woman in the world & a member of the most famous royal family. It was KP who’s not ready for this kind of attention; because most KP staff came after Will & Kate wedding and they were not there in the crazy days of Waity Katie. The narrative: all the crazy media attention was because of Meghan, and KP was just not ready to deal with it. - Advice from Skippy & William were actually the same: slow down. But Harry of course took it like they told him to break up with her. Both advice came after Skippy’s wedding, I wonder what exactly happened in Jamaica? - They leased the Oxfordshire place before the wedding & thought to buy it (before the pap photos), and it looked like they spent most of their time there (somebody really didn’t like Nott Cottage) - Justice for Nott Cottage: first, it was cozy & cute. Then, when Meghan moved in: it was small, they had to use 1 of the rooms for her clothes, so small!! After the wedding: cramp & uncomfortable - Narrative about Meghan after the engagement: successfully hit the ground running with compliment from royal aides, until the Markles & Ninaki derailed things with their stories. Meghan was disappointed at them, but super mad with the press for publishing stories & with the palace because they couldn’t stop it / wouldn’t comment. Narrative after the wedding: Meghan was superbly received by the Queen & Prince Charles & Camilla (implied better than Kate), followed by flawless engagements & Aussie tour, until Thomas Markle derailed things again with his interview (that’s why she sent him the letter) and all those pesky leaks that started when Melissa quit -Meghan realy, really didn’t like all the criticisms about her pregnancy appearances (clothes & bump holding).I think it bothered her so much that she stopped public appearances in March, even though her due date was April 28. IIRC, this made the media frenzy because people thought her actual due date was in the middle of April -Archie was born 1 week after the due date. Home birth was considered, I would argue even that home birth was the actual plan until late in pregnancy (justice for Rebecca English & her excellent sources). Her OBGYN was a Countess

-Palace aides, including Sara Latham, didn’t know anything until 4 hours after Archie was born. Then Harry insisted that he didn’t want statement or anything, he wanted to let the public knew by himself. Basically Sara Latham had 3 hours to make the all the arrangement, no wonder the press was hella mad

-Implied about the christening:my tinhat theory is it was private because they were mad at the press about all the criticisms during pregnancy. Meghan said to a friend that she didn’t want to serve Archie in a silver platter after the press abused her so much -Apparently there was a check list in Frogmore cottage:Will & Kate visited Archie 8 days after he was born, Charles visited 3 times in the first 4 months, and the Queen visited many many times -They were thinking about renting/buying a place in London because they felt cut off from their team in BP. The precedent of course was the Cambridge with KP & Anmer Hall, LOL -There is a chapter about 'Sussex Royal’, but it was the insta acc, not the foundation, LOL. Basically the insta account was their way (esp Meghan) to have a voice again after being stiffled by the courtiers -The last chapters about the summer of private jets - Africa tour - Canada break - Sandringham summit - last engagements: basically confirmations of the stories in news (justice for all RR & their excellent sources & reporting) - The plan was to move to LA in the summer 2020, because of COVID they went to LA a week after the last engagements in UK (March 14) - Original plan for foundation was to make it have a big presence in USA, so as not to compete with other royals. I don’t know how they thought this was even possible, SMH.

Curious omission: -Nothing about Meghan’s family from Doria’s side. Like, zero mention about her black family -Only 1 line about Vogue Sept edition ('fastest selling issue ever’), and nothing about Edward Enninful -Surprisingly almost nothing about Meghan meeting Harry’s aristo circles, or them going to aristo events; and apparently no aristos (except the Van Strawberry) worthy of namedropped -Nothing about whatever was happening that they had to split the Royal Foundation -Nothing about SussexRoyal foundation, including not even a mention about the Director that the stans were most excited because she was a black woman coming from the Royal Foundation -Nothing about the nasty tweet about Archie, which was always brought up by their fans as prime example of racist abuse of H&M and how the RF didn’t do anything to defend them. I found it really strange this incident did not make it into the book, what do you think Plant? -Nothing about meeting Michelle Obama in London; or about meeting Jane Goodall -Nothing about Wimbledon incident -Suprisingly very little about the christening. They namedropped everybody; so maybe there were nobody worthy of namedropped in the christening? My tinhat theory was because there were certain requirements for godparents, probs the godparents were mostly aristo friends of Harry, not worthy of namedropped.

Sorry for this super long post Plant, just want to share my thoughts about FF.

Thank you so much, and love your blog!!

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Thank you sos much for sending this in! I also wondered about the Vogue issue. Like the cookbook, it was treated as basically unimportant and it was one of her biggest projects.

And I also noticed how Harry’s friends kind of dropped out of sight once they’d served their purpose.As to the due date, I bet they expected the baby in April. Meghan had told everyone she would work right up to her due date, lolololol.