#laur reads the warriors

[youllneverseeonascreen]

So I finally got the book The Warriors just to see how the movie deviated from it.

Tell me why these tough city guys are heading into rumble playing Beatles songs

[lucky-clover-gazette]

prince's gambit highlights & annotations

chapter 14

indented text is from the book. some quotes have commentary, some do not. some comments are serious, and some are definitely not. most of them will only make sense to people who have read the series. and, like, there are spoilers. so please read the books first if you're interested!

also: part of the reason i'm doing such a close reading is to study cs pacat's style, especially in terms of how she does romance and erotica. there are "craft notes" that might seem weird, like i'm being redundant or restating something rather than analyzing, but those are more things that i want to remember/take away from the writing!

i'm going to tag these longer posts with "sam reads capri" in case anyone wants to read them all at once.

this is a google doc i wrote with overall content warnings for the captive prince series. it's not perfect, but i do think it's important to include.

No Laurent. All signs of recent occupancy had been a handspan away from his own body, suggesting a night spent in close but not transgressive proximity: some kind of self-preservation had apparently prevented Damen from rolling inward during the night; from throwing his arm over Laurent’s torso and drawing them together to make the small tent seem larger than it was. As a result, Damen was in possession of all his limbs, and even had his clothing restored to him. Thank you, Laurent.

The embroidery came later, in the retelling, as the story was told again and again by the men, taking on its own character as it passed over camp. The Prince had ridden out, with only one soldier. Deep in the mountains, he had chased down the rats responsible for these killings. Had ripped them out of their hiding holes and fought them, thirty to one, at least. Had brought them back thrashed, lashed and subdued. That was their Prince for you, a twisty, vicious fiend who you should never, ever cross, unless you wanted your gullet handed to you on a platter. Why, he once rode a horse to death just to beat Torveld of Patras to the mark.

like how this ironic misunderstanding of the events is similar to how damen viewed laurent in book 1 and some of book 2. except now he gets the irony

He looked at Laurent’s tent of silks, the pennants unfurled in the breeze, their starbursts undulating. The distant voices of the men swelled briefly, then dropped away. It would not be like this. It would be a systematic campaign moving southwards towards Ios, building on the support he had from the kyroi factions. He would not be stealing out of camp at night to spin mad plans, to dress in unfamiliar clothes and forge alliances with rogue clans, or to fight alongside pony-riding warriors, capturing bandits improbably in the mountains. It would not be like this again.

:(

‘Keep the prisoners alive, keep the women on side, keep my men from the women,’ said Laurent, as though reciting from a checklist. ‘Come over here and talk geography.’ He came as he was bid, and took a seat opposite Laurent, across the map.

they’re so cute i can’t stand them. “come over here and talk geography” SHUT UP

Laurent did not tend to show any of the usual outward signs of fatigue. The control that he asserted and maintained over the troop was an extension of the control with which he ruled himself. A few tells existed. The words, perhaps.

“the words, perhaps” is such a funny line here. because like yeah no shit, but also how is damen supposed to know when laurent’s words actually reflect his true feelings?

Instinctively, Damen brought his hand up to squeeze Laurent’s shoulder gently—and then stopped. Laurent went very still, as Damen became aware of what he had just done, and that his grip was still on Laurent’s shoulder. He felt the locked muscles like hard wood beneath his hand. ‘Stiff?’ said Damen, casually. ‘A little,’ said Laurent, after a moment in which Damen’s heart knocked twice against the inside of his chest.

one thing i really appreciate about capri is the way that laurent is written, as a character with trauma/baggage who experiences intimacy in a way you wouldn’t expect from the love interest in a romance novel. he doesn’t make anything easy, for himself or for damen. his physical and mental reactions to things are very telling and consistent, and i appreciate pacat’s commitment to honoring that aspect of the character. that way it’s so much more rewarding when we finally see laurent let go of control and experience love that doesn’t hurt him.

i won’t do an official count for “laurent intimacy issues,” since it’s not nearly as clear-cut as “laurent leans,” but if there’s something that strikes this chord with me, i do want to make note of it. just… stuff that i personally appreciate, especially from a love interest in a romance novel, whose whole narrative job—one would expect—is to love the protagonist and have hot sex. but sensitive and traumatized people deserve love and intimacy, too, at their own pace and on their own terms. and laurent has a lot more going on than what damen perceives, or what the romance genre dictates. it’s nice to point out little moments where his issues affect his physical and emotional reactions, because it’s nice to know that those moments 1) exist and 2) don’t make him any less of a romantic lead.

He applied a gentle pressure with his thumbs. He said, ‘You brought me ice, last night.’ ‘This,’ said Laurent, ‘is a little more—’ It was a word of sharp points: ‘—intimate,’ he said, ‘than ice.’ ‘Too intimate?’ Damen said. Slowly, he was kneading Laurent’s shoulders. He did not usually think of himself as someone with suicidal impulses. Laurent did not relax at all, just stood unmoving. And then, at the apsis of his thumbs, a muscle shifted beneath pressure, unlocking a sequence all the way down Laurent’s back. Laurent said, unwillingly, ‘I . . . There.’ ‘Here?’ ‘Yes.’

a lot going on here! made even more complicated by damen’s pov!

damen takes physical intimacy much less seriously than laurent. prior to book 1, he has always enjoyed willing and enthusiastic partners (some of whom were conditioned into that enthusiasm, but we’ll deal with that later), and to him, sex is not a means of abuse or power. prior to book 1, intimacy was never used to disempower damen. laurent, obviously, is very different. pretty much all he knows of intimacy is abuse and disempowerment.

so, being aware of laurent’s trauma and also being fairly perceptive of the signs pointing towards it, i can see here that laurent is fighting a massive battle with himself. because, like, he does want this. but he doesn’t want to want this, because this is something he doesn’t have control over. the fact that he doesn’t throw damen off, and even explicitly asks him to massage a certain spot, is a demonstration of vulnerability that damen doesn't really understand.

which isn't bad or wrong of him, at all! if he did understand more about laurent’s trauma and responses, he’d almost certainly be less confident with initiating intimacy, which is something laurent needs from a partner. it's a lot harder when they're both completely terrified (which damen is, in a different way, but lesser so.) damen is afraid that laurent will bite his head off because he’s a bitch, not because he’s traumatized. and i think that’s a good place for them to be, at this stage of their relationship.

also, the “suicidal impulses” quip is great.

He felt Laurent subtly give himself up to his hands; yet as with a man closing his eyes on the edge of a cliff, it was an act of continuous tension, not surrender.

yeah

‘Like this?’ ‘Yes.’

“he likes that. do it harder.”

Laurent’s head had dropped forward a little. Damen had no idea what he was doing. He was distantly aware that he had had his hands on Laurent’s body once before, and couldn’t believe it, because it felt so impossible now; yet that moment felt connected to this one, even if only in contrast, his current caution against the unguarded way he had let his hands slide down over Laurent’s wet skin.

damen, meanwhile, has recently developed his own intimacy issues/trauma in book 1. these two are a mess

‘Is it so hard to relax?’ said Damen, quietly.

YEAH. IT IS.

‘You only have to walk outside to see what you’ve accomplished. Those men are yours.’ He didn’t pay attention to the signs, the slight stiffening. ‘Whatever happens tomorrow, you’ve done more than anyone could—’ ‘That’s enough,’ said Laurent, pushing himself away unexpectedly.

damen he’s not stressed bc of the war stuff, he’s stressed bc another human being is showing him physical affection and he actually wants it to be happening

When Laurent turned to face him, his eyes were dark. His lips were parted uncertainly. He had lifted his hand to his own shoulder, as though chasing a ghost touch there. He did not look exactly relaxed, but the movement did look a little easier. As if realising that, Laurent said, almost awkwardly, ‘Thank you.’ And then, in wry acknowledgement: ‘Getting tied up leaves an impression. I didn’t realise being captured was so uncomfortable.’

ohhhhh my god. oh my god. so fucking real, every line is so fucking real. the relief of no longer being touched, being back in control. the fuckin, phantom touch on the shoulder—an assessment of the massage, yes, but also… whose ghost is it? damen isn’t asking that question, but i am, and it’s sad. and then the awkward thanks, and the immediate snarky comment to follow up. it’s just so real.

‘I promise I’ll never tie you to the back of a horse,’ said Laurent. There was a pause in which Laurent’s mordant gaze was on him. ‘That’s right, I’m still captured,’ said Damen.

says the protagonist of the “captive prince” series

‘Your eyes say, “For now,”’ Laurent said. ‘Your eyes have always said, “For now.”’

ohhh this line is juicy. because like, yeah, there’s the melancholy yearning context of the last 10 or so chapters, but before? when they were enemies, when laurent was actively hurting and trying to disempower damen? even then, he never showed laurent submission. and laurent clearly noticed. they make me so crazyyyy

‘If you were a pet, I would have gifted you enough by now to buy out your contract, many times over.’

this is more a flaw in my understanding of the pet system, but is he saying that he’s done damen enough favors that if the favors were monetary he could afford to pay off his contract? that’s my best understanding of the line at this point.

‘I’d still be here,’ said Damen, ‘with you. I told you that I would see this border dispute through to its finish. Do you think I’d go back on my word?’ ‘No,’ said Laurent, almost as if he was realising it for the first time.

they drive me insane. the whole “suffering alone” theme—laurent is realizing that he hasn’t been suffering alone, lately, because damen is intentionally staying by his side. laurent may be great at strategic thinking, but he is so used to being manipulated and abused that he doesn’t even consider that someone could be genuinely devoted to him, as a person.

But I know you don’t like it. I remember how much it maddened you in the palace, to be bound and powerless. I felt yesterday how badly you wanted to hit someone.

another interesting re-contextualization of book 1! although it’s not quite an apology, bc i’m sure laurent was aware of the maddening and was probably like “good. this guy killed my brother”

Damen found he’d moved without realising it, his fingers lifting to touch the bruised edge of Laurent’s jaw. He said, ‘The man who did this to you.’ The words just came out. The warmth of skin under his fingers in that moment took all his attention, before he became aware that Laurent had jerked back and was staring at him, blue eyes huge with pupil. Damen was suddenly aware of how out of control he was—he felt—and called violently on his faculties to try to put a stop to—this. ‘I’m sorry. I . . . know better than that.’

“i know better than that” is an INSANE thing for him to say here, by the way. they’re both so compelled by each other and afraid of each other. the amount of work pacat has put into their arc/characterization so far means that scenes like these can have something going on between every single line. honestly i think there’s more going on here off the page, than there is on it

‘No. Wait. I . . . wait.’ Damen stopped, and turned. Laurent’s gaze was edged with indecipherable emotion, and his jaw was set at a new angle. The silence stretched out for such a long time that the words, when they came, were a shock. ‘What Govart said about my brother and I . . . it wasn’t true.’ ‘I never thought it was,’ said Damen, uneasily. ‘I mean that whatever . . . whatever taint exists in my family, Auguste was free of it.’ ‘Taint?’

fascinated by the possible reasons for laurent to say this, in this moment. he uses it on the page to then say that damen is a good and honorable person like auguste, so that’s the easy answer. but if he was just experiencing some ptsd flashbacks, i wonder if this is also something of a grounding statement for himself. because we know who he’s referring to, when he’s talking about bad people on his family tree. it’s almost like he’s trying to figure out how to frame this situation, more for himself than damen—laurent feels protected and cared for in this moment, and the last time he allowed himself to feel that way after auguste’s death, his uncle had taken advantage. so of course he’s picturing his uncle. but this statement, a reminder to himself that damen is more like auguste than the regent, and auguste would have never done anything with laurent in the way the regent had… augh. laurent your brain.

‘I wanted to tell you that, because you,’ said Laurent, as though he was forcing the words out, ‘You remind me of him. He was the best man I have ever known. You deserve to know that, as you deserve at least a fair . . . In Arles, I treated you with malice and cruelty. I will not insult you by attempting to atone for deeds with words, but I would not treat you that way again. I was angry. Angry, that isn’t the word.’ It was bitten off; a jagged silence followed.

this is a laurent apology! no “sorry” necessary. and he’s the closest to telling damen the truth as he’s ever been, but still he stops himself. i wonder if it’s partially out of shame, for how he treated damen. a refusal to make an excuse, because he understands the cruelty of his actions regardless. and of course he has cognitive dissonance to maintain and tactical reasons for keeping the lie going. but still, this is honest.

Then, with a return to his more usual tone, ‘And you don’t need to take watch,’ said Laurent. ‘You sleep prudently.’

of course he can’t just say, like, “sleep well” or “good night.” prudently means carefully, or in good judgment… so like, he’d wake up if something dangerous happened? laurent trusts that? i can’t tell if the statement is an observation or a command. it’s either, “[i want you to] sleep mindfully” or “you sleep mindfully [so you don’t need to stay awake on watch].” hmmm

Damen searched his face, but found nothing in it that he could read, which, he supposed, as he lifted his hands to the laces of his own jacket, was typical.

buddy there is so much subtext going on here it’s okay just get some rest

[uma-lesbica-com-biscoitos]

On being an incorrect woman even on a war field

I'm reading another book by Marie Laure Buisson. I don't think It's translated in english. It's called "Les combattantes" (female fighters). At the beginning of the book, Marie Laure Buisson wrote that these women fighters are bold, tenacious, animated by a desire to help their country and ready to fight. I found it very great that she reminds us that these women have reasons to use weapons, to be present in a war. However, she also wants to reassure the women reading the book. She wrote that when these women lose hope, It is with coquettish gestures that they find courage to not give up. We can be a woman warrior without giving up on femininity. She says we shouldn't erase the differences between the two sexes by writing about femininity. Be a warrior. However, do not become too much like a man in a war by not performing femininity. My question is : what about the women fighters who don't perform femininity at all and are not interested the slightest by all of it? Are they seen as trying to emulate men fighters? If the women fighters in the book are finding courage again with coquettish gestures, what about the tomboys/butches? How do they find hope again? By writing something like that at the beginning of her book, it gives me the impression that she forgets so many women... The incorrect women. The ones that would be considered "too masculine" even on a war field. When war is coming, do not forget to wear a dress and use make-up !

[shadowqnights]

So I read the fic of the seven days thing and I absolutely love it! I gotta ask, when Laurance is in the nether running the rebellion what does he do anything for Shads day? And like if so what does he do? Or does he do stuff for all of those seven days? Once again love the fic it's so good.

omg thank you so much !! honestly, i think rebellion-era laurance would have super mixed feelings on the seventh cycle as a whole. i actually don't think he would ever willingly celebrate shad's day again, even being back in the nether, but he would definitely see a lot of his peers in the rebellion still celebrating.

i think that a lot of the seventh cycle has transformed from giving thanks to the divine warriors to simply taking the opportunity to celebrate community. to the shadow knights, while some definitely still consider it a time for ceremonies dedicated to shad, its Also become a time for shadow knights to indulge, go batshit and reclaim the nether as a whole. people like garroth still consider the seventh cycle important to faith and give thanks to the divine themselves, but in a way this makes him feel far more scrutinised and ashamed of his mistakes. others are more excited for a sense of community rather than the divine itself - to go and get involved in festivities, get a break from work, have good food and just chill with their families or significant others.

i think it would be confronting for laurance to re-enter the nether and experience a seventh cycle there again, even with the altered passage of time. i don't think he would want to participate specifically because of his turning and torture all taking place during those celebrations. entering the rebellion wouldn't allow him to reclaim that pain, it would still be quite a sore spot. maybe years into the future in nether time he could be convinced, but in season 3 at least he wouldn't. he would observe others celebrating, and he would at the very least allow them the time to celebrate, but he himself isn't going to get involved beyond overseeing them and watching their backs and brooding somewhere. zenix is probably a bully about it, since its a time to indulge in blood and guts and craziness moreso than normal. the other days of the cycle don't mean Shit in the nether - those practices are worthless and a majority of shadow knights wouldn't even remember that they exist, and if they do it would be a bad idea to be caught pining for them. but if laur is aware that they're happening then its a week+ of moping. he wouldn't celebrate, but he'd be thinking Hard about it. and he would be thinking a Lot about cadenza and joh and garroth especially. it would be on his brain, but i don't think he would do anything for the cycle while in the nether.

[dinosaurtsukki]

haikyuu!! + things they were doing on the internet when they were like... 12

a/n: is this also a call-out post for myself and a way to make fun of things i did? yes

Hinata: playing those free to play weird-ass games on y8.com when he’s not fighting over the computer with his sister

Kageyama: watching ‘top ten best sets in volleyball games with slow-motion’ again and again until his sister taught him how to use youtube

Tsukishima: writing long essays that he posts on facebook about how much twilight sucks and how much he hates it. definitely had a twilight phase

Yamaguchi: secretly writing twilight fanfiction and posting them on wattpad. he got pretty famous for them but he’ll never talk about it

Ennoshita: played Feeding Frenzy a lot. like, a Lot. this man was a literal god

Tanaka: MAKING PUNK/EMO EDITS OF HIS FAVORITE CELEBRITIES. his masterpiece was punk harry styles feat. 6 earrings and a neck tattoo

Nishinoya: watching american ninja warrior compilations but the ones with ‘eye of the tiger’ edited over them to make them extra awesome

Daichi: coming up with his own inspirational quotes that are kind of terrible like ‘even though i’ve been beaten down, i’ll always get back up’ and posting them on facebook thinking that he’ll inspire people somehow

Sugawara: watching ‘Hetalia Ep. 25 VIETSUB|SPN|ENG subtitles pt. 2/28′ on youtube. either that or ouran high school host club idk this guy had a phase

Asahi: taking a whole bunch of those ‘what your fashion says about you’ quizzes until he eventually made one himself as well as a polyvore account

Oikawa: reading and writing doctor who fanfiction before eventually getting into sherlock and supernatural. yes, he shipped destiel. yes, the destiel canon thing on november ruined him

Iwaizumi: he was really into looking up random animal videos like ‘tarantula vs. scorpion fight’ and stuff like monster bug wars from animal planet and when oikawa made fun of his search history he figured out how to delete it

Hanamaki: vibing to the Phineas and Ferb songs playlist that he made on youtube (of course the aglet song is his favorite one)

Matsukawa: a true tumblr child and was there when this hellsite was first birthed. he remembers the tumblr wars between the fandom and the hipster blogs all too well

Ushijima: didn’t know what the internet was until tendou realized he didn’t have a skype so he made an account for him. until now, ushijima’s status still says ‘hi, wakatoshi here’

Tendou: watching a whole bunch of minecraft song parodies on youtube before eventually making them himself 

Semi: either learning guitar through youtube videos or looking up ‘how to play lucky by jason mraz EASY VERSION | NO BAR CHORDS’ 

Shirabu: he used only Google+ as his social media and wondered why he wasn’t getting any friends

Goshiki: this kid was blessed to be twelve years old when the lego movie came out so he most definitely just used the internet to listen to ‘everything is awesome’ again and again

Kuroo: definitely a fandom kid, one of those from the six major book fandoms (hp, pjo, hg). used to run a fricking roleplay group on tumblr and his oc’s always have a Dark Backstory

Kenma: youguysaregonnacomeformebut--- SONIC THE HEDGEHOG FANFICTION OKAY BYE

Yaku: playing Pet Society on facebook. is it such a coincidence to see him so decked out and rich now when his pet had the same lifestyle? nO

Lev: playing those papa louie games (papa’s pizzeria, papa’s burgeria, etc) and trying to force the game to crash by serving customers 500 chicken wings

Bokuto: as soon as he got a skype account, he’d pretty much voice call anyone and everyone he saw had an ‘active’ status on but his friends didn’t have the heart to switch their status to ‘inactive’

Akaashi: was the king of making ‘which ___ character would be into you (for girls and gays only!!!)’ quizzes that are very detailed. he’d even make a whole character profile with a ‘how you met them’ at the end

Atsumu: used to secretly watch episodes of ‘boys over flowers’ and ‘meteor garden’ on the computer when he was alone at home. eventually got into girl’s generation and super junior

Osamu: a master at playing poptropica and even had a whole gig making poptropica walkthroughs for other people. sometimes he’d play club penguin and get himself kicked out for swearing just for fun

Suna: looking up ‘demons by imagine dragons with lyrics’ on youtube and just playing it on loop. his desktop wallpaper says ‘don’t get too close, it’s dark inside’

Kita: didn’t know what the internet was until suna and aran took pity on him and helped him create a facebook account. until now, his profile pic is still a picture of his jersey number and he has 99+ unchecked notifications

Sakusa: his cousin introduced him to sims. except, sakusa doesn’t play ‘for fun’ but to vicariously live the average salaryman life through his virtual character (he named him steve)

▸ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ┈┈┈┈ 🎕 ◂

taglist (check out my post for details on being part of my taglist):@montys-chaos​ @miyumtwins​ @strawberriimilkshake​ @pocubo​ @sugawara-sweetheart @akaashisbabydoll @laure-chan​ @therainroguefanfiction​ @atetiffdoesart @stephdaninja @oikaw-ugh​ @charliefredb​ @dramaqueenweeb1469 @tremblinghearts @applepienation @doodleniella @haikyuu-my-love @waitforitillwritemywayout @kattykurr @atsumusdomain​ @goodfoodxoxoxo​ @ah-kaashi​ @guardianangelswings @definitely-yours @amberalisa @whootwhoot​ @liz-multifandom-hotel @kac-chowsballs​ @procrastination-lady

[alexlacquemanne]

Octobre MMXXII

Films

Les Acteurs (1999) de Bertrand Blier avec André Dussollier, Jacques François, Sami Frey, Jean-Pierre Marielle, Michel Piccoli, Claude Rich et Josiane Balasko

Histoire vraie (1973) de Claude Santelli avec Pierre Mondy, Marie-Christine Barrault, Denise Gence, Claude Brosset, Isabelle Huppert et Danielle Chinsky

Le Passager de la pluie (1970) de René Clément avec Marlène Jobert, Charles Bronson, Annie Cordy, Jill Ireland, Ellen Bahl et Steve Eckhardt

Les hommes préfèrent les blondes (Gentlemen Prefer Blondes) (1953) de Howard Hawks avec Jane Russell, Marilyn Monroe, Charles Coburn, Tommy Noonan et Elliott Reid

De l'or en barres (The Lavender Hill Mob) (1951) de Charles Crichton avec Alec Guinness, Stanley Holloway, Sydney James, Alfie Bass, Marjorie Fielding et Audrey Hepburn

La Gueule de l'autre (1979) de Pierre Tchernia avec Michel Serrault, Andréa Parisy, Jean Poiret, Bernadette Lafont, Curd Jügen, Roger Carel et Georges Géret

Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) de Don Siegel avec Kevin McCarthy, Dana Wynter, King Donovan, Carolyn Jones et Larry Gates

Simone, le voyage du siècle (2022) d'Olivier Dahan avec Elsa Zylberstein, Rebecca Marder, Élodie Bouchez, Judith Chemla, Olivier Gourmet, Mathieu Spinosi et Sylvie Testud

Adieu l'ami (1968) de Jean Herman avec Alain Delon, Charles Bronson, Olga Georges-Picot, Brigitte Fossey, Bernard Fresson et Jean-Claude Balard

Itinéraire d'un enfant gâté (1988) de Claude Lelouch avec Jean-Paul Belmondo, Richard Anconina, Marie-Sophie L., Jean-Philippe Chatrier, Lio, Daniel Gélin et Béatrice Agenin

Joyeuses Pâques (1984) de Georges Lautner avec Jean-Paul Belmondo, Sophie Marceau, Marie Laforêt, Rosy Varte et Michel Beaune

À bout portant (The Killers) (1964) de Don Siegel avec Lee Marvin, Angie Dickinson, John Cassavetes, Clu Gulager, Claude Akins, Norman Fell et Ronald Reagan

Détective Conan : Le Gratte-Ciel infernal (Meitantei Konan: Tokei shikake no matenrō) (1997) de Kenji Kodama avec Claudine Grémy, Philippe Valmont, Nayeli Forest, Gérard Malabat et Cyrille Monge

Les Guignols de l'info : La Fiction (1999) de Bruno Le Jean avec Yves Lecoq, Daniel Herzog, Sandrine Alexi, Nicolas Canteloup, Joël Demarty et François Jerosme

Les Trois Jours du Condor (Three Days of the Condor) (1975) de Sydney Pollack avec Robert Redford, Faye Dunaway, Cliff Robertson, Max von Sydow, John Houseman et Addison Powell

Le Bruit des glaçons (2010) de Bertrand Blier avec Jean Dujardin, Albert Dupontel, Anne Alvaro, Myriam Boyer, Christa Theret et Audrey Dana

Burn After Reading (2008) de Joel et Ethan Coen avec George Clooney, Frances McDormand, Brad Pitt, John Malkovich, Tilda Swinton et Richard Jenkins

Antoinette dans les Cévennes (2020) de Caroline Vignal avec Laure Calamy, Benjamin Lavernhe, Olivia Côte, Louise Vidal, Marc Fraize, Jean-Pierre Martins et Lucia Sanchez

La Soif du mal (Touch of Evil) (1998) d'Orson Welles avec Charlton Heston, Janet Leigh, Orson Welles, Akim Tamiroff, Joseph Calleia et Marlene Dietrich

Cinema Paradiso (Nuovo Cinema Paradiso) (1988) de Giuseppe Tornatore avec Philippe Noiret, Salvatore Cascio, Marco Leonardi, Jacques Perrin et Leopoldo Trieste

Séries

Doctor Who Series 13

Survivants du flux - Les conquérants - The Power Of The Doctor

Le Coffre à Catch

#84 : Chavo et CM Punk c'est la bagarre!! - #85 : Kelly Kelly fait du bon catch : Info ou Intox? - #86 : Le Nature Boy de passage à la ECW ! - #87 : Le meilleur Triple Threat de la ECW ?

Affaires sensibles

Qui a peur de Belphégor ? - 1984, George Orwell - Épisode 1/2 : L'affaire Dreyfus : au fond de la corbeille - Épisode 2/2 : L'affaire Dreyfus : l'innocent le plus célèbre de France - Farewell : l'espion qui a fait basculer la guerre froide - L'OVNI de Roswell et le mystère de la Zone 51 - L'Exorciste de William Friedkin, Belzébuth superstar - Le fantôme du château de Veauce

Graffiti 80

Le premier salon du changement (1981-1983) - Coulez le Rainbow Warrior (1984-1985) - Touche pas à mon poste (1986-1987) - A l'Est du nouveau (1988-1989)

Rex, Chien Flic Saison 5, 6, 7, 8

Le testament - Secrets fatals - Sissi - Série noire - Le secret des cartes - Le brésilien - Le faux coupable - Le cheval qui valait des millions - Plein gaz - Clichés tragiques - Héritage empoisonné - Mauvaises actions - À la dernière seconde - On n'embrasse pas les policiers - Et la mort frappa deux fois - Le petit chien - Hold-up - Œil pour œil - Les cachets

Dark Side of The Ring Saison 3

Le Procès des stéroïdes

Brooklyn Nine Nine Saison 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Halloween - Halloween II - Halloween III - Halloween IV - Halloween V

Spectacles

L'Exoconférence (2014) d'Alexandre Astier

Livres

Des rives humaines de Delphine Evano

Bilbo le Hobbit de J.R.R. Tolkien

(III) et tes soupirs entre les draps de Celle qui aimait

Kaamelott Tome 8 : L'antre du Basilic de Alexandre Astier et Steven Dupré

Détective Conan : Tome 2 de Gôshô Aoyama

Marvel, les années 2000 : Tome 3 : Black Widow de Scott Hampton et Devin Grayson

Contes et légendes mythologiques de Emile Genest

Hitchcock présente : Histoires angoissantes

[whitherliliesbloom]

lights, camera, duty commenced!

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #14 - commend ]

[ illya, g’raha & emet ] ★ [ 2,263 words ]  ★ [ actors au ]  passing mention of some friend’s ocs and illyanaud

commend: praise formally or officially

behind the scenes of the critically acclaimed long running tv show, final fantasy fourteen, g’raha tia is (almost) inconsolable after he reads the final act’s script

The not-so everlasting light shining down feels radiant and warm, but not scorching. In the distance, one can hear the push and pull of the tides from the nearby lake, as well as the rustling of the purple hued leaves that hung and swayed ever so gently upon the trees. A light baby blue canvas with dusty cotton candy clouds crowns lakeland, painting the perfect, serene vista for an uneventful day of shooting.

Though, Illya has to remind herself, as she looks up at the peaceful sky, and sighs in contentment that she was in the completely wrong headspace. Even though the sky above was bright and undoubtedly beautiful on this fine afternoon, she knows that all it takes is for a little bit of compuer-generated television effects magic to turn the tranquil landscape into a scene of naught but utter devastation and war.

Think termination. Think termination. You’re in the middle of a large-scale battle between Elidibus and the people of Norvrandt. The tone’s supposed to be somber and tense. You’re the warrior of darkness. You got this!

“Oh.... How could this be...?”

Her train of thought is rudely interrupted by the sorrowful moping of her co-actor, and she has to resist the urge to chide him for dragging his early morning sulking all the way into the afternoon. 

“G’raha, please...” the lalafellin sighs, though cannot help but to let a sliver of sympathy slip into her tone. “The next scene’s starting soon.”

“I know, I know... But...” the man heaves a heavy sigh, hanging his head low and letting his arms drop onto his lap so dramatically she’d almost thought that his flesh really was made of crystal and wasn’t just a product of the hard work of extremely talented make-up artists. “I can’t help it. I can’t believe that my poor crystal exarch is-”

Illya can say she at least empathizes - though perhaps not to the same extent. She’s been casted into roles of characters who would meet an unfortunate demise later, but to be fair, they weren’t often major characters within the narrative of the show or film she was playing a role in. 

The crystal exarch on the other hand, has played a key role as one of the many recurring supporting casts in the show. He’d lingered in the background as early as the first season, and was, to G’raha’s jubilation, finally given a main role in the fourth season they were filming. 

Only to be killed off in the final act - succumbing to the crystallization of his entire body, from head to toe, in the throne room of the crystal tower after the warrior of darkness’ battle with the ascian Elidibus. His death scene was to be an emotionally poignant one... and Illya herself has spent the last few days getting into the headspace of the protagonist - who would understandably be utterly devastated by the loss of a dear friend. 

It didn’t help that the crystal exarch was a considerably popular character within the international community of fans - and his significant increase in screen time was due in part to fan demands... though that perhaps made his long foreshadowed death even more of a cruel irony. 

And there was nobody in the world who was a bigger fan of the crystal exarch than the actor who played him himself. It wasn’t narcissistic either, in their line of work, it’s easy to get attached to the roles they play... even more so when they’ve hovered within the headspace of their character for as long as 6 years - she would know, Liliya Liya is as big a part of her as the crystal exarch is for G’raha now.

Thus, though she felt the urgent need to get G’raha back up on his feet in preparation for the remaining scenes on their schedule to film... she could not bring herself to so callously talk down his very real and personal attachment of a character he was meant to portray well anyways. 

“Oh come now... you should’ve seen this coming.” with a swagger in his step and lazy grin plastered over his expression, Emet Selch strolls over to the pair.... far too comfortable within his own role that he was speaking with Hades’ signature slur in his speech even while out of character. The man has always noted just how similar he was to the god of the underworld, and Illya wouldn’t be surprised if he’d claimed to not even be acting in his scenes at all.

“I...” G’raha pouts, looking up at Emet as his ears flatten atop his head. “I guess I was in denial of it. I thought they would maybe subvert expectations... but-”

“But that wouldn’t be a very compelling story to tell, now would it?” The older man shrugs, and Illya regrets to think that she’s inclined to agree. 

“I guess not..” 

The robed miqo’te man sighs, and she notes with an amused raise of an eyebrow as his tail that had once been tucked tightly to his side was now swiveling from side to side and puffed up in annoyance.

“Still! They could at least let him go out with more of a bang! Maybe... after he has a solo action scene... or give him a kiss scene to make things more dramatic!”

“Is defeating the big bad and saving the heroine not dramatic enough for you, already?” Emet’s voice is in part mocking as it is exasperated, his arms thrown up to his shoulders in a shrug. “Also I hope you didn’t mean a kiss scene with Liliya.”

“W-what-?? I-” Illya’s mouth hangs agape. 

“No! I wasn’t thinking anyone in particular, honest. Besides, she’s already caught in that love triangle subplot with the twins, isn’t she?” 

At the mention of the topic, the lalafellin woman’s smile fades.

“D-don’t remind me of that. I’m really not looking forward to acting those scenes out.” 

She’s already read the script for the fourth season in it’s entirety... and though she has incredible respect for the masterful writing and the wonderful character dynamics that has only gotten better with each passing season... she has never been... entirely comfortable with the romantic aspects of the scenes involving the elven twins. Scenes of the pair vying for her attention, scenes where she held hands and even got unsettingly close to kissing them... 

Though, she will admit... her own uncertainty over her competence in filming those scenes are a result of her own, very personal emotions... something of which Emet Selch seemed to be more than aware of.

“Is it not because you harbor actual feelings for one of them? Would having scenes of you being close to him not be a blessing for you, then?”

The miffed glare Illya’s shoots up at Emet rivals moments of shadow possession Liliya experiences throughout the show, and he can only shrug with a cocky grin as her star-spangled swirl with indignation. Anger aside, heat is spreading across her cheeks in the form of a burning red hue that reaches the tips of her short, pointed ears.

Please stop. 

Her expression spells out. She’s as annoyed as she her frightened about something.

Oh dear. 

“Relax. Workplace romance here is nothing new.” His words only serve to worsen the already infuriated gleam in her blazing, shimmering eyes. “Mint certainly isn’t shy when it comes to showing she’s in a relationship with Estinien. Nor your friend Laurelis for that matter. She’s still keeping in touch with Haurchefant, no?”

Illya doesn’t say anything, but her silence and the paling of her complexion speaks louder than any words she can spill from her lips. 

It’s precisely because he doesn’t know. So please, please shut your mouth.

He still cannot understand why on earth she would stay so adamant about keeping her feelings a secret anyway. For all he knows, the entire cast of actors... and the whole final fantasy crew for that matter, was fully aware of their pining - and Illya’s feelings towards her close co-worker and friend wasn’t unrequited either. 

Just like in the show, the pair are completely oblivious to their attraction to one another... something he’ll just have to fix with his bare hands then... 

But the matter is neither here nor there, and there was something of greater urgency to rectify now. 

Emet Selch turns his gaze back down to G’raha, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet... and sensing his seriousness, Illya too diverts her attention back to the sulking redhead. 

“You know... you’re a very talented actor. It’s so very rare to find someone who can capture the emotions and nuances of a character as well as you do.” Emet is the faster of them to speak, and Illya can barely believe the words she’s hearing leave his lips. 

Compliments and praise, genuine ones at that, coming from one of the cast’s eldest, most experienced actor who is not only known to be critical when it comes to the art of acting - but is a certified acting coach himself? The monumental honor is not lost to G’raha, as his ears perk up and he whips his head up with widened ruby eyes to look at Emet.

“Death is difficult to portray - dare I say, almost impossible. After all, how can we, who have never experienced death... truly capture the sorrow and despair in it?”

Emet Selch pauses, drawing in a breath before he lifts his hand up to gesture at the pair before him.

“Which is why this is your biggest opportunity to showcase your talents, to move the audience with not just the story, but your very acting! The only thing we can do, as men and women of this field, is to act as vehicles and carry the emotions of the story into the hearts of the fans.”

The man finally sighs, shoulders falling and arms flopping lazily to his side, the sentimentality of the words he just spoke tasting bitter on his tongue.

“Besides, even in death there is a beauty. The crystal exarch lived his life fulfilled and having realized his wish at the end. I expect you to remember that when you eventually see him off.”

There’s a silence that hangs and festers in the air for a moment, before the fur on G’raha’s tail stands and his chest puffs up in a show of renewed determination.

“Y-you’re right, Emet! The crystal exarch dedicated his life to finding a way to save others... There is no better way to end his legacy than to see the world he’s protected for so long finally saved!” 

Standing onto his feet, the miqo’te clenches his hands into fists and nods before casting a glance down at Illya.

“Illya! I will act my heart out to the best I can! I’ll act so hard that I’ll make you cry on set for sure!”

The corners of her lip tugs upwards into a wide smile, glowing as the afternoon sun basks down and reflects upon her snowy white hair and the blossoms of her amethyst eyes. Even with the black of the garments she wore and the eastern patterned ribbon that held the braid around her head in place, she was luminous and blinding in her radiant presence... not unlike the heroine of their story.

“Of course! And I’m sure the rest of the crystal exarch fan club will too when they watch that episode.” 

“Illya, G’raha!” A pink haired lalafellin calls out to them from a distance away, her olive green eyes wide and excited as she waves her hands high above her head. A raven haired man stands just behind her, his dark blue eyes narrowed as he reviews the script in his hands intently. “We’re starting soon! Get over here!”

“Coming! Just give us a second!” G’raha waves back with a grin before turning back to look at Emet Selch with an apologetic, yet grateful bow, his relaxed tail swaying gently from side to side behind his back. 

“Thank you, Emet. I won’t soon forget your encouragements. I’ll do my best and make sure to not let everyone down.”

“Yes, yes. Spare me the nauseating mush. I was just making sure you didn’t drag your co-actor down with your sulking.” 

The elder man now glances at the starry eyed girl with amusement flashing through his expression, and Illya can already feel her earlier lighthearted elation fade as quickly as it came. 

“By the way... I’m sure if you asked Yoshida properly.. he’d be willing to consider writing in a kiss scene with Liliya and-”

“If I were the warrior of darkness, I’d take my crescent moon cane and stab you with the end of it......”

------

Meanwhile, a little distance away from the trio, Kaye lets out a low hum as he reads and re-reads the words upon the small stacks of paper he held, expression doubtful and confused.

“You sure this is the script to Endwalker?”

“Yeah, I am! Alphinaud gave this copy and said that he got from miss Ishikawa directly! Apparently he’s playing another major role in the next season, which is why he got the script early as a heads up.”

“But... it says here that the crystal exarch gets reincarnated? Assuming that’s not gonna be changed... that means G’raha’s gonna be...”

Kaye’s head lifts and turns, eyes wide and brows furrowing in bemusement only to see an impish smile glimmer upon Lily’s face.

“Should we tell him?”

“Hm...? Nah... He’s gonna film the exarch’s death scene soon, right? I’m sure he’ll appreciate the little surprise later, anyways.”

[windup-dragoon]

In the warmth of spring

|| FFXIV write - 2020

|| Prompt #16 - Lucubration 

|| Post ShB 

|| wol x Hien

|| 1360 words

|| References - Pain 

|| With mentions of Illya, Laurelis, Arianna, and Moth’ir 

|| In which the Prince struggles with celebration 

Spring in Doma had always been his favorite season. The earthy tones of Yanxia were abruptly replaced with bursts of color. From rich scarlet hues, soft blushing pinks, to the purest of whites he had ever seen. All of these and more in full blossom this time of year. And it was for this reason that he had chosen to hold his coronation until now. 

He wanted the world to see how truly magnificent the enclave could be. Certainly it was without the charm or history of Doma Castle that now sat at the bottom of the river, but this was home now. Where his people could feel safe once more and flourish. Together, they would create a new history for Doma. 

A single blossom fluttered before him now, caught in the breeze of a brisk evening. The flame of his lantern flickered, sending shadows dancing across his parchment. Bold markings of fresh ink stretched out before him, the tiny flower, taken much too early from the branch, landing squarely on his working hand. His brushstrokes stilled while jade colored eyes studied the blossom. 

For the last week or so he took to the pavilion in the One Garden. A chance for peace and solitude as to better lucubrate over his work. While writing in the company of a certain Warrior of Light was, and has been, possible, it was simply too distracting to have her so near by. To hold her at a distance and ask for sheer silence seemed unfair to him, especially when it was their bedchamber to share. Where else would she go then so he could be at peace? Lest his mind wander and get lost daydreaming of her, so very near and far all at once. 

Instead it simply made sense to take leave for a few hours before midnight and hurriedly scribble his thoughts down on parchment before his train of thought escaped him. 

But now, in the stillness of the moment as the feather soft petals of the blossom caressed his skin, Hien staggered back into the here and now. The One River babbling at the docks had somehow grown louder at his ears, suddenly very aware just how heavy his eyelids felt. 

His work laid scattered before him, shared between hundreds of rolled parchment and hastily written ink. All of this was in preparation for his coronation. One document, somewhere among the mess, held a speech he would give to his people. He was incredibly proud of the words he had conjured from thin air that night and simply bubbled with excitement to see how well received it would be. Another was a simple list detailing events as they would occur, a timeline for his own knowing as he had never been to a coronation before nor remembered his mother or father ever once discussing the matter. But the one he struggled with the most, a piece of parchment with blotches of ink where he had fumbled with the brush or lost his concentration, the very same piece he helplessly tried to finish even now, titled only with her name. 

Hien had difficulty swallowing as he read over what he managed to produce, chewing on his lip as his cheeks flared scarlet. Another blunder. This would never suffice. His choice of words were always much too flowery, too heavy-handed or just too flat. Never could he find quite the right way to say what had been on his mind for months. Even extending inquiries to her friends seemed of little help. 

‘Say it romantically!’ Was Laurelis’ opinion. He hoped it would at least sound romantic in some way.  

‘Be honest and straightforward.’ Illya had replied. If he were too poetic, the sentiment would be lost to her, this much he knew. She often mentioned struggling to hold a conversation with Urianger after all. 

‘...Flowers?’ Arianna squeaked in her mousy way. 

‘Why are you asking for my opinion?” Emet-Selch was... certainly of no help. He was unsure why he even bothered to phrase a question to the man anyway, besides the fact that wherever Arianna went, the Ascian was close behind. 

With a sigh on his lips, Hien set aside his brush, his free hand capturing the little blossom and letting it rest in the center of his palm. Perhaps with the arrival of more of their friends and companions he could ask for more opinions. Moth’ir and Thancred were surely due to arrive any day, accompanied with their darling daughter Marmot. The two seemed more level headed; certainly they would have an answer for his struggles. 

For now, however, he would have to abandon the subject for another day. Exhaustion had crept up on him, leaving dark rings beneath his eyes and an ache in his bones that demanded the sweet comfort of sleep. But as he began collecting his parchment, it dawned on him. His stomach sunk, his heart beating with a hollow thump. 

There would be no goodnight kisses or a warm embrace beside him this night. Just as there had been none the night before. Early the day previous she had left for Eorzea with only a fleeting kiss on the cheek to remember her by. He had missed it then, too overwhelmed with decoration choices to see the urgency in her mismatched eyes as she rushed to depart. 

Perhaps something had come up with the scions. 

At least that was what he told himself all afternoon, realizing there was a piece of him missing while she was away. He felt himself drift from conversations, thinking about her and her far away adventures without him. What horizons did she see? Did they make her think of him? He could almost see it now as he closed his eyes; Kiri eagerly pointing out constellations in a foreign sky and telling him stories of her travels. He could almost hear the laughter in her voice while they cuddled close beside a fire, sharing a meal and drink in unknown wilds. 

Just as his mind began to wander from him, shouts from the pier snapped him back. Slowly he roused from his stool to look toward the docks only to see a sail of a boat folding in. A small boat, to be sure, but so late? The prince abandoned his work out of curiosity, only the little blossom still in his hand coming along for the ride. 

The little harbor of the enclave had a few fishermen helping tie the newly arrived boat down, pulling it flush against the stonework for the passengers to step out. Hien arrived in time to spy Az’hala and Isho, Kiri’s companions, help an older Roegadyn man off the boat. Isho, who had been stationed in Kugane, met Hien’s eyes with a look of ice. The Au Ra always had an unflinching, stoic expression to him, but this? This was unsettling. 

“Friends! Welcome!” Hien called out, descending the few steps with leaps and bounds. His heart was practically vibrating in his chest cavity. Was Kiri with them? Az’hala’s golden eyes faltered, his brows drawing together that had Hien’s smile wavering. “...Who is this guest of yours?” 

Even in the dark of evening, Hien could see the silvery outlines glittering in torchlight. The roe’s features were heavily scarred and sunken over time. He held his hands together, as if the evening breeze was cold and bit at his crooked fingers. The man looked between Az’hala, Isho, and then to Hien with sparkling, wet eyes. 

“A-Are you... Hien?” His voice trembled. 

The prince cocked a brow and shifted his weight. What was going on? “Aye. And who are you?” 

“My lord,” Az’hala ducked between them, “This is Eyriwolk. Kiri’s father-” 

Before his tense jaw could fall, Hien watched the roe’s features crumple and massive shoulders shake. “This young lad said you could help.... Please! I ain’t got much but... Please, my girl... They’ve got her.” 

The roe fell to his knees with Az’hala at his side. Isho, always the quiet one, crossed his arms and looked away before anyone noticed the fury in his eyes. And as for Hien... 

A tiny little blossom fell from his hand. 

[brightbeautifulthings]

MAYHEM BY ESTELLE LAURE BLOG TOUR & CHAPTER EXCERPT

The Lost Boys meets Wilder Girls in this supernatural feminist YA novel.

Available July 14th, 2020

It's 1987 and unfortunately it's not all Madonna and cherry lip balm. Mayhem Brayburn has always known there was something off about her and her mother, Roxy. Maybe it has to do with Roxy's constant physical pain, or maybe with Mayhem's own irresistible pull to water. Either way, she knows they aren't like everyone else.

But when May's stepfather finally goes too far, Roxy and Mayhem flee to Santa Maria, California, the coastal beach town that holds the answers to all of Mayhem's questions about who her mother is, her estranged family, and the mysteries of her own self. There she meets the kids who live with her aunt, and it opens the door to the magic that runs through the female lineage in her family, the very magic Mayhem is next in line to inherit and which will change her life for good.

But when she gets wrapped up in the search for the man who has been kidnapping girls from the beach, her life takes another dangerous turn and she is forced to face the price of vigilante justice and to ask herself whether revenge is worth the cost.

From the acclaimed author of This Raging Light and But Then I Came Back, Estelle Laure offers a riveting and complex story with magical elements about a family of women contending with what appears to be an irreversible destiny, taking control and saying when enough is enough.

About the Author:

Estelle Laure, the author of This Raging Light and But Then I Came Back believes in love, magic, and the power of facing hard truths. She has a BA in Theatre Arts and an MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts in Writing for Children and Young Adults, and she lives in Taos, New Mexico, with her family. Her work is translated widely around the world. 

Twitter | Instagram | Get Your Copy

Read on for a special chapter excerpt of Mayhem!

three Santa Maria

“Trouble,” Roxy says. She arches a brow at the kids by the van through the bug-spattered windshield, the ghost of a half-smile rippling across her face.

“You would know,” I shoot.

“So would you,” she snaps.

Maybe we’re a little on edge. We’ve been in the car so long the pattern on the vinyl seats is tattooed on the back of my thighs.

The kids my mother is talking about, the ones sitting on the white picket fence, look like they slithered up the hill out of the ocean, covered in seaweed, like the carnival music we heard coming from the boardwalk as we were driving into town plays in the air around them at all times. Two crows are on the posts beside them like they’re standing guard, and they caw at each other loudly as we come to a stop. I love every- thing about this place immediately and I think, ridiculously, that I am no longer alone.

The older girl, white but tan, curvaceous, and lean, has her arms around the boy and is lovely with her smudged eye makeup and her ripped clothes. The younger one pops some- thing made of bright colors into her mouth and watches us come up the drive. She is in a military-style jacket with a ton of buttons, her frizzy blond hair reaching in all directions, freckles slapped across her cheeks. And the boy? Thin, brown, hungry-looking. Not hungry in his stomach. Hungry with his eyes. He has a green bandana tied across his forehead and holes in the knees of his jeans. There’s an A in a circle drawn in marker across the front of his T-shirt.

Anarchy.

“Look!” Roxy points to the gas gauge. It’s just above the E. “You owe me five bucks, Cookie. I told you to trust we would make it, and see what happened? You should listen to your mama every once in a while.”

“Yeah, well, can I borrow the five bucks to pay you for the bet? I’m fresh out of cash at the moment.”

“Very funny.”

Roxy cranes out the window and wipes the sweat off her upper lip, careful not to smudge her red lipstick. She’s been having real bad aches the last two days, even aside from her bruises, and her appetite’s been worse than ever. The only thing she ever wants is sugar. After having been in the car for so long, you’d think we’d be falling all over each other to get out, but we’re still sitting in the car. In here we’re still us.

She sighs for the thousandth time and clutches at her belly. “I don’t know about this, May.”

California can’t be that different from West Texas.

I watch TV. I know how to say gag me with a spoon and grody to the max.

I fling open the door.

Roxy gathers her cigarettes and lighter, and drops them in- side her purse with a snap.

“Goddammit, Elle,” she mutters to herself, eyes flickering toward the kids again. Roxy looks at me over the rims of her sunglasses before shoving them back on her nose. “Mayhem, I’m counting on you to keep your head together here. Those kids are not the usual—”

“I know! You told me they’re foster kids.” 

“No, not that,” she says, but doesn’t clarify. “Okay, I guess.”

“I mean it. No more of that wild-child business.”

“I will keep my head together!” I’m so tired of her saying this. I never had any friends, never a boyfriend—all I have is what Grandmother calls my nasty mouth and the hair Lyle always said was ugly and whorish. And once or twice I might’ve got drunk on the roof, but it’s not like I ever did anything. Besides, no kid my age has ever liked me even once. I’m not the wild child in the family.

“Well, all right then.” Roxy messes with her hair in the rear- view mirror, then sprays herself with a cloud of Chanel No. 5 and runs her fingers over her gold necklace. It’s of a bird, not unlike the ones making a fuss by the house. She’s had it as long as I can remember, and over time it’s been worn smooth by her worrying fingers. It’s like she uses it to calm herself when she’s upset about something, and she’s been upset the whole way here, practically. Usually, she’d be good and buzzed by this time of day, but since she’s had to drive some, she’s only nipped from the tiny bottle of wine in her purse a few times and only taken a couple pills since we left Taylor. The with- drawal has turned her into a bit of a she-demon.

I try to look through her eyes, to see what she sees. Roxy hasn’t been back here since I was three years old, and in that time, her mother has died, her father has died, and like she said when she got the card with the picture enclosed that her twin sister, Elle, sent last Christmas, Everybody got old. After that, she spent a lot of time staring in the mirror, pinching at her neck skin. When I was younger, she passed long nights telling me about Santa Maria and the Brayburn Farm, about how it was good and evil in equal measure, about how it had desires that had to be satisfied.

Brayburns, she would say. In my town, we were the legends. 

These were the mumbled stories of my childhood, and they made everything about this place loom large. Now that we’re here, I realize I expected the house to have a gaping maw filled with spitty, frothy teeth, as much as I figured there would be fairies flitting around with wands granting wishes. I don’t want to take her vision away from her, but this place looks pretty normal to me, if run-down compared to our new house in Taylor, where there’s no dust anywhere, ever, and Lyle prac- tically keeps the cans of soup in alphabetical order. Maybe what’s not so normal is that this place was built by Brayburns, and here Brayburns matter. I know because the whole road is named after us and because flowers and ribbons and baskets of fruit sat at the entrance, gifts from the people in town, Roxy said. They leave offerings. She said it like it’s normal to be treated like some kind of low-rent goddess.

Other than the van and the kids, there are trees here, rose- bushes, an old black Mercedes, and some bikes leaning against the porch that’s attached to the house. It’s splashed with fresh white paint that doesn’t quite cover up its wrinkles and scars. It’s three stories, so it cuts the sunset when I look up, and plants drape down to touch the dirt.

The front door swings open and a woman in bare feet races past the rosebushes toward us. It is those feet and the reckless way they pound against the earth that tells me this is my aunt Elle before her face does. My stomach gallops and there are bumps all over my arms, and I am more awake than I’ve been since.

I thought Roxy might do a lot of things when she saw her twin sister. Like she might get super quiet or chain-smoke, or maybe even get biting like she can when she’s feeling wrong about something. The last thing I would have ever imagined was them running toward each other and colliding in the driveway, Roxy wrapping her legs around Elle’s waist, and them twirling like that. 

This seems like something I shouldn’t be seeing, some- thing wounded and private that fills up my throat. I flip my- self around in my seat and start picking through the things we brought and chide myself yet again for the miserable packing job I did. Since I was basically out of my mind trying to get out of the house, I took a whole package of toothbrushes, an armful of books, my River Phoenix poster, plus I emptied out my underwear drawer, but totally forgot to pack any shoes, so all I have are some flip-flops I bought at the truck stop outside of Las Cruces after that man came to the window, slurring, You got nice legs. Tap, tap tap. You got such nice legs.

My flip-flops are covered in Cheeto dust from a bag that got upended. I slip them on anyway, watching Roxy take her sunglasses off and prop them on her head.

“Son of a bitch!” my aunt says, her voice tinny as she catches sight of Roxy’s eye. “Oh my God, that’s really bad, Rox. You made it sound like nothing. That’s not nothing.”

“Ellie,” Roxy says, trying to put laughter in her voice. “I’m here now. We’re here now.”

There’s a pause.

“You look the same,” Elle says. “Except the hair. You went full Marilyn Monroe.”

“What about you?” Roxy says, fussing at her platinum waves with her palm. “You go full granola warrior? When’s the last time you ate a burger?”

“You know I don’t do that. It’s no good for us. Definitely no good for the poor cows.”

“It’s fine for me.” Roxy lifts Elle’s arm and puckers her nose. “What’s going on with your armpits? May not eat meat but you got animals under there, looks like.”

“Shaving is subjugation.”

“Shaving is a mercy for all mankind.” 

They erupt into laughter and hug each other again.

“Well, where is she, my little baby niece?” Elle swings the car door open. “Oh, Mayhem.” She scoops me out with two strong arms. Right then I realize just how truly tired I am. She seems to know, squeezes extra hard for a second before letting me go. She smells like the sandalwood soap Roxy buys sometimes. “My baby girl,” Elle says, “you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you. How much I’ve missed you.”

Roxy circles her ear with a finger where Elle can’t see her.

Crazy, she mouths. I almost giggle.

[manjehaal]

Ignite the Stars: Chapter 5

Read on A03

His first recallable memory of Laure was when he was five years old. He was standing beside his aunt in the kitchen, rinsing through a pile of tools and pulling away at the grime of years of his uncle’s work. His hands were warm under the faucet, savoring the feeling of steady running water.

“Adrien, please don’t waste it,” his aunt chided, patting his hands and motioning to the remaining tools on the table.

Etienne came to inspect his work, placing a cool hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “Good. You’re doing good.” Adrien couldn’t help but smile down at his crinkly hands, heart sailing at the praise. “Though your aunt is right. Savor the water, okay? That way you can wash up.”

Adrien simply nodded, selecting a set of pliers and beginning to scrub, when he heard a knock on the front door.

He paused, waiting for the reaction of the household.

When they remained still, keeping their eyes focused on their individual tasks, Adrien put his eyes back on his own work, assuming he had misheard.

But then, this time feeling more internal, he felt a soft tap, tickling away at his consciousness. He glanced at his uncle, and then his aunt, realizing that they hadn’t heard it again.

“Someone’s at the door,” he said softly, meeting the eyes of his aunt.

“I didn’t hear anything," she said with a shrug, glancing at her husband.

His uncle sighed, getting up from his seat and making his way to the door.

Something odd happened when he reached the doorway. His face fell as he swung it open, causing a chill to run down Adrien’s spine as Etienne looked him over, almost scrutinizing. “It’s Laure Bustier,” he said to Valerie, with eyes that said a million words.

She sighed, standing in the doorway with him, her face falling in the same way. “How…”

Adrien was confused, so he slipped himself off of the stole he was sitting on and made his way between them both, looking out at the hills of hot sand. And his eyes grew wide, confused, and nervous.

It was a woman he didn’t recognize, and she was just a speck in the distance, coming toward their homestead by a speeder. The knock had not sounded on the door, but it was in his head. In his head, sometime before Laure could have possibly been able to knock. When his aunt and uncle looked over at him, he felt as if he was in trouble.

When the woman did approach the house, Adrien was instructed to wait in his bedroom, practicing his reading as Valerie had quickly ordered. He didn’t understand why he was abruptly pulled from the other task, but he supposed they wanted him away from whatever conversation was taking place in the kitchen. The muffled chatter was enough to cause his stomach to turn, with waves of frustration coming from his uncle across the home.

But soon enough, there was a soft knock, and he knew that it wasn’t his aunt or uncle.

“Come in,” he said, putting his book to the side and sitting cross-legged on his bed.

The curtain opened and a pretty young woman stepped into his space, looking at him as if she knew him completely.

“Hello, Adrien,” she said, moving so that she was sitting below him on the floor. “Are you alright?”

He nodded quickly, still feeling tense from the hard look his uncle had given him when his aunt ushered him away into his bedroom, but Laure was soothing. She almost felt motherly, in a way even his aunt never had.

“Did you hear me coming?”

“You knocked on the door.”

She smiled, and he didn’t have to explain himself.

“You’re very special, Adrien,” she said, smiling at him kindly.

They were in silence for a moment as Laure studied him, with her green eyes peering out from beneath her bangs as if searching him for something that couldn’t be seen with the naked eye. And she smiled, and he felt something inside of him shift, as he felt how close she was, in a way far from physical. It was as if she was in his head, gently letting him know that she would always be there when nobody else could understand. Because she knew more than anyone, that his aunt and uncle feared his strange abilities. That many people might. But Laure, the strange woman that he barely knew, would accept them, and encourage them.

No wonder Etienne hated her so much.

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She looked almost the same now.

Her bangs were gone, exchanged for longer, grown out hair, braided so that it was out of her face. She was older around her eyes, and tired, but still, the same. The same kindness. The same comforting green eyes.

“Come, Adrien. We should head indoors before they come back.”

Brushing off the dust from his pants, he followed her, with Artoo trailing behind and Threepio whaling after him.

“The monsters are easily startled but they will come back in greater numbers,” Laure said, urging Adrien to move forward with a hand on his shoulder and a stranger leading the way just ahead of them. His attention was quickly drawn to the large man, feeling a wave of recognition.

“Who is he?” Adrien asked, moving as quickly as he could with his feet sinking into the sand.

She smiled, looking back to be sure the droids still followed them. “Well, he’s quite unique. In fact, he’s not exactly a man at all.”

“What is he then?”

She looked thoughtful, motioning for him to come closer as if she were to tell him a secret. “Adrien, have you ever heard of a sentimonster?”

Adrien shook his head.

“Well, a sentimonster can be something good or it can be something bad. It all depends on the person who creates it. For example, the creatures that just attacked you are also considered sentimonsters, created by the Emperor's apprentice.”

“And him?”

“I call him the Gorilla. He is a sentimonster created by your mother. She created him to look after you.”

He stopped, turning so that Laure would have to face him. “You knew my mother?”

She smiled softly, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get back to my home first. There’s a lot I must tell you.”

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Laure’s place wasn’t much different than his own. Just smaller in size. But unlike his homestead that was littered with tools and equipment for the farm, Laure’s little hut had shelves of unique looking rocks and locked up wooden boxes. She had a collection of plants despite living in the desert, with little flowery cactuses in painted ceramic pots. It was tidy, but full, with recycled bottles of liquor and colorfully decorated clone trooper helmets.

But more than anything, there were shelves and shelves of books. Books of every kind. Books that looked older than the planet itself.

"Books," he commented with a wry grin. Books were rare in the age of technology. It was a miracle to find a physical copy of any old text.

"I'm a bit of a collector," she said, with her back against the doorway, standing out in front of the orange backdrop cloth that served as a door. "I find there's always more to learn about."

"No doubt," he said, being drawn to a sitting area, where Laure had a flimsy wooden table. Based on the half-empty bowl of what he assumed was oatmeal, it seemed she had left in quite a hurry.

She seemed to know where his line of thought was heading. "You and the Gorilla are connected," she said simply. "He alerted me immediately that you were in danger."

The Gorilla stood stiffly on the other side of the orange curtain, keeping guard. Emotionless, as if it was his only purpose, but still satisfied, as if that purpose was also fulfilling.

It was strange, now that she said it, he could feel the connection strongly. It caused him to wonder if his near-death experiences were stopped due to his own abilities, or a protective stranger in the shadows.

But it wasn't only The Gorilla he could connect with. He could feel Laure even back when he was a small child, anticipating her actions and sensing her emotions. And even now, he felt like he knew her, and she knew him. She hid nothing from him.

"We're connected too, aren't we?"

Delight spread into her eyes. "How do you know that, Adrien?"

If it had been anyone else asking the question, his cheeks would have gone red with shame. But he was so relieved someone was asking. "I don't know, Laure. I can feel it…it's everywhere. All around. Like in the air, almost."

"Almost," she said softly, casually slipping into the seat by her table, motioning for Adrien to sit across. "You aren't wrong."

I'm not crazy, he thought with relief.

"I used to be a Jedi Knight back in The Clone Wars, so was your father."

His laughter was incredulous, but it was hard to tell if it was directed at Laure's ridiculous claims or his Uncle's lies. “No, my father didn’t fight in the wars. My uncle told me that he was a navigator on a spice freighter.”

She nodded, and Adrien could feel in his heart that she wasn't lying. “That’s what your uncle told you. He didn’t exactly agree with your father’s ideals. They believed him to be dangerous, and that included his power and the rest of the Jedi.” She looked away, a strange sadness drowning out her bright features. But she looked down before he caught it, trying to move past the heavy ache of the memory.

“I wish I could have known him.”

She smoothed out the fabric of her robe, coaxing a grin “He was a cunning warrior, an expert duelist,” she said, meeting Adrien’s eyes again. She breathed, offering the boy a larger smile. “And a good friend.”

Adrien turned to face her, feeling elated to know more about the mysterious father that his uncle had hidden away from him. He couldn't help but be relieved to hear something other than that old lifeless story. And to think, his father had always been a Jedi Knight, while Uncle Etienne had claimed all along that he was no more than a pilot, smuggling drugs instead of being there for his son. Getting himself killed due to unpaid debt.

His uncle had lied. His father was a hero.

Adrien couldn't help but smile to himself, glancing at Artoo with gratitude for forcing him out this far.

“A good friend,” she said again, getting distracted by her thoughts. “That reminds me,” she said, lifting from her seat. “I have something for you.”

Adrien sat up, confused.

“Your father would have wanted you to have this when you were old enough, but your uncle wouldn’t allow it. He was afraid you might follow Caline Bustier on some damn idealistic crusade as your father did.”

Laure approached Adrien while gripping a box, her hands wrapped around it as if it was delicate.

Adrien stood to get a closer look.

Dark wood and octagon shaped, with faded ancient engravings decorating it. It didn't belong in Tatooine clearly. It belonged in the ancient ruined temples in Coruscant, that the history books had claimed were the walls of a cult. It belonged somewhere sacred, not in a worn-down desert hut or in the calloused hands of a poor boy from a moisture farm.

“What is it?”

“This was your father’s Miraculous. It was the ancient jewel of the Jedi Guardians and a source of power chosen for very few Jedi Knights.”

He peeled the lid off to expose a silver ring. “It’s a ring,” he said, thoroughly confused. “I was expecting a laser sword.”

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"Hey, Adrien!" Nino had called, slowing down his speeder bike. "Want to see something cool?"

Adrien let his bag of tools clatter to the trail, discarded by the sight of his best friend's arrival. Nino had been traveling for weeks to neighboring planets, hoping to get word on the last fragment of the Republic, now the Rebel Alliance.

"You know I do."

Adrien followed after him, keeping his comments to himself about the new green jacket and the hand-made satchel that was slung over his shoulder. Adrien knew he was getting an income due to his DJ bookings at underworld clubs, but he didn't know he was bringing in enough to afford that.

"A gift from Rena," he said when he caught Adrien's eyes.  

"Rena," Adrien mused, slipping into Nino's bunk. "Is that her real name?"

"Can't say, my dude. But it's real enough for me." He was casual about the thing, but Adrien didn't miss the sparkle in his eyes. "I suppose I'll find out when I join the Alliance."

Adrien lit up. "You got a way in?"

"Took a while to decode, but yeah. Rena's a hardcore woman. She didn't make it easy."  

Adrien took a small glass of blue milk out of Nino's fridge, unscrewing the cap. "Well, I'm sure she wouldn't want to risk a whole rebellion for you, no offense. It's not like she'd just send out coordinates."

"None taken," he said with a grin. "I'm meeting one of her contacts at a neutral location in two weeks."

Adrien almost choked on his drink, his hand slipping down the bottle at his words. "Did you just say two weeks?" He asked, voice tense.

"Yeah," he said, unaware of Adrien's disappointment.

He had hoped Nino would wait a few more weeks before leaving so that maybe he could make some progress with Etienne and be able to join him.

"I almost forgot," Nino said, pulling a device out of his satchel. "This."

"Right," Adrien said, forcing a grin. "What you wanted to show me."

He nodded, turning to place a hand on his friend's shoulder. Clearly his tone hadn't been as enthusiastic as it should be and Nino noticed.

"Look, your uncle's tough. I'm not sure he'll ever let you leave"

Adrien looked down.

"But I think you'll get there someday."

He really hoped Nino was right.  

"So how about some motivation."

"I could use it," Adrien said softly, taking the holoprojector and switching it on.

"I know how you feel about the strange and unusual, and this woman is definitely that."

A woman in tattered robes lit up in front of him, slicing through the air with a pair of glowing swords. The way she moved seemed humanly impossible, and the technique of her fighting stance seemed refined and well...perfect.

"How does she do that?"

"Nobody knows," Nino shrugged. "Some say she's a ghost. Some say magic. Others say a Jedi Knight."

Adrien tilted the projector to get a better view of her swords. They looked blue, but then, so did the rest of her. It was the curse of a cheap holoprojector.

"Aren't all the Jedi dead?"

"Probably," he shrugged. "But she's on our side and she has a laser sword. Rena calls her Ladybug"

Adrien watched it play again, amazed by her movements. She was so fast he couldn't get a good view of her robe. She was just a blur of black and red. "She doesn't look like a bug to me."

Nino laughed. "Join the rebellion and see for yourself."

"Someday," Adrien said with a hopeless tone.

"Someday," Nino confirmed, placing the recording in Adrien's bag. "Meet her face to face and she'll probably fall madly in love."

To this Adrien laughed, so hard that tears came to his eyes. Because out of all the ridiculous ideas Nino had ever had, this was the most insane.

Madly in love, Adrien thought, rolling his eyes. With me.

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“I think you mean...a lightsaber,” she said thoughtfully, motioning for him to take a closer look at the ring. “Go ahead, put it on.”

He nodded, slipping the ring out of the box, with nervous energy bubbled about inside of him. He almost missed the wave of green light that exploded across the room and the black creature that floated up in front of him.

The creature levitated lazily in front of him, yawning dramatically.

Adrien’s eyes grew wide, glancing at Laure, before focusing back on the floating black cat. “What are you?”

“Plagg. Pleased to meet you,” he said, before zooming across the room and hastily discarding many of Laure’s belongings in an attempt to find nutrients, nibbling on various inedible things before turning to Laure expectantly. Laure sighed in exasperation, clearly familiar with Plagg’s antics.

Laure darted after the creature, grabbing its waist and wrapping it in her hands. “Come here,” she said, placing it into Adrien's open hands. “Talk first, food later,” Laure demanded, sending a death glare to the creature.

He sighed dramatically, resting his head on Adrien’s wrist. “I’m a kwami. Kwamis grant power and I offer the power of destruction. Understood?”

Adrien shook his head, looking at Laure desperately.

She just laughed, digging around in her pantry for an extra slice of cheese. “This will help,” she said, holding out the slice for the kwami that was now phasing through Adrien’s palm. He tried not the shriek at the sight.

“I don’t understand,” Adrien said, watching the creature eat with a guarded expression. “Why would you want to give me the power of destruction? Me ?”

Laure glanced at the kwami, who had finished devouring his food. Clearly satisfied despite the lack of expensive camembert.

“Because you’re the chosen one,” the kwami said, returning to Adrien with a much more patient expression. “Laure wouldn’t have given me to you if you weren’t.”

Adrien didn’t ask how she determined that he was capable of possessing power, but he decided he didn’t need to know. He turned the ring around in his finger, carefully placing it onto his finger all while watching Laure carefully.

“Okay, now what?”

“Repeat after me,” she said, sitting in between the boy and the kwami. “Claws out.”

Adrien listened, giving Plagg a quick nod. “Okay, claws out.”

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Adrien wasn’t sure how to describe it exactly.

It was all new to him. The fusion of human and kwami. The green light and the black material that was somehow attached to his skin. The way his sore muscles felt strong. The way his quiet persona felt unnecessary for the first time ever. He couldn’t explain how or why, but he liked it. He liked being something other than what he had always been.

He passed in front of the mirror Laure had set up for him, stopping to truly see himself for the first time.

And it was like looking at a stranger.

Two small cat ears peeked out of a sea of his messy hair, as well as an unmovable black mask that guarded the skin around his eyes. And his eyes nearly glowed in the dark room, covering his natural eyes entirely with a layer of green light. His clothing was tight but not uncomfortable, looking much looser with his eyes then it felt when he touched it. The black robes wrapped neatly around his upper half, tightly harnessed by a long belt around his waist that left a string of leather in the back that he assumed was supposed to be a tail. The robe circled a few inches below his waist, leaving his pants and boots. They felt tight against his skin, but they were just thin cloth and bits of leather at the seams. The boots fit him perfectly as if they were a part of his body, completely black despite dark green stitching by the sole and a lit-up green paw print underneath his foot.

He looked at his gloved hands, seeing that the ring was different now. The silver was now replaced with black and a green paw print glimmered back at him similarly to the print on his shoe.

Directly above his makeshift tail was some sort of staff, cold and metallic to the touch. He detached it, swinging it around in his gloved paws until he had an easy rhythm.

“You asked about a lightsaber,” Laure interrupted, placing a hand on his staff and silently asking for his attention.

“Yeah,” he said, placing his staff in her open hand.

“Well, you’re looking at it, Adrien.” She handed it back to him, showing him the way the one end could be unscrewed fairly quickly, leaving a shiny black hilt and excess staff. He clipped the staff to his belt and held just the hilt, apprehensively imagining what would happen if he let his finger activate the blade.

“Laure, I’m just a farmer. I can’t be a Jedi Knight.”

She shook her head, showing no doubt in his capabilities. “Go on, try it.”

He sighed, putting his finger over the switch, closing his eyes as he pushed down on it. His eyes snapped open as a loud hum filled the atmosphere, causing him to stumble back as he held the weapon in his clenched hand. For a moment, he just remained still, staring ahead through the fluorescent blue, fizzing and humming as he slowly rocked it side to side. Then he breathed deeply, building up enough confidence to swing it more aggressively, arching his hand upward and then slicing through the air in a circular motion.

“You have good form,” Laure told him, coming up behind him and adjusting the way his fingers wrapped around the black and silver hilt and then nudging him to keep his legs further apart for better balance. “It takes a while to get used to but I think you’ll get the hang of it.”

He nodded, releasing the switch and holding the lifeless weapon in his palm, reaching to reattach it to his staff.

He took this opportunity to practice with the staff as well, swinging it around and mimicking the defense stances that Laure was demonstrating. She showed him how he could spin it to fight the weight of gravity and how he could extend it to carry him if he needed to move somewhere fast. Though, there was only so much he could do in the tight confines of her tiny home, so they both decided to save the grander movements for another time.

He felt for the cloak hanging from his shoulders, slipping it over his hair and startling himself at the sight. The cloak shadowed most of his face, concealing him ever further than the mask did, leaving just a pair of glowing green eyes peering back through the darkness. It reminded him of the sight of the sentimonsters that took droids for profit or the ones that had attacked him earlier.

He let his cloak down, looking at Laure for approval.

She only smiled, coming to stand beside him in the mirror.

“For more than a thousand generations, the Jedi Knights and Guardians were the protectors of peace and justice in the Old Republic. Back before the dark times, before the Empire.”

She looked sad in a way he had never witnessed before, so he approached her in an attempt to offer some sort of comfort.

But she dropped her expression, giving him an easy smile. “To drop the transformation, you repeat after me.” He nodded. “Claws in.”

“Claws in.”

[ancientechos]

About Me

Birthday: December 9

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Last Song I listened to: Whatever the theme for Eden: Refulgence is. I love it.

Hobbies: Video games, reading, writing, watching anime or reading manga...

Last movie I watched: Cloud Atlas, which is my favourite movie

Dream Job: My dream job is very simple, to write my stories and be a published author. I have a book that I’ve nearly finished...but nothing I’d be comfortable publishing yet. When I was very young I wanted to be a wildlife conservationist. 

Meaning behind URL: It’s just “of the silver lining”, which is Laurelis’ canon title as a Warrior of Light. I’ve thought of changing it to something else but i’m very bad with blog names, so ofthesilverlining it stays.

Tagged by: @yumeaino ! Thank you!

Tagging: @windup-dragoon @astralyehga @ishgard @firstblesssed @sati-ffxiv @thegildenheart & whoever wants to do this! 

[sleepy-bookworm]

Trying to decide on what book I should read next... •The Graces by Laure Eve •Warrior Of the Wild by Tricia Levenseller •Red Queen by Victoria Aveyard* •A Court Of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J. Maas* *rereads . . . . #books #bookstagram #thegraces #laureeve #warriorofthewild #tricialevenseller #redqueen #victoriaaveyard #acourtofwingsandruin #sarahjmaas https://www.instagram.com/p/Bz1f8pSAYk6/?igshid=1x1470jal1j96

[douxreviews]

Outlander - ‘Man of Worth’ Review

"You dinna ken how worthy you are."

If I'm very very quiet, I swear I can hear the collective Outlander fandom starting to panic as droughtlander sets in.

I'm not mad at this finale. Not one bit. It may not have been as epic in scale as some others but it tied some things up and set some things up and delivered some exceptionally beautiful moments. I cant really imagine a better end for the season we got. Plus I now know exactly how I feel about Roger. Wins all around.

I haven't gone into it yet because I'm not sure how historically accurate it is but who ever was in charge of set design for the Mohawk village should get a raise just based on how beautiful it is. Everytime we're there I am taken aback by both the details and scale. Too bad we probably won't be seeing it for a while, if ever again.

How sad for Otter Tooth that he traveled all the way back in time to deliever a warning that he thought would save a people and a culture and they didn't even believe him. I mean, I'm not saying that running around inciting war dances and shoving scalps in peoples faces was the tact he should have taken but man. He and Geillis should start a a club in the afterlife. Maybe they already have.

The raid was an outright disaster and from what we know of people shunned by their tribes, the Native American woman that helped them isn't going to have a very happy life. I felt like Claire and Jamie should've offered for her to come back to the ridge. Or at least let her have the stone she was so desperate for. But hey, maybe they looked for her off camera and she was too good at hide and seek to be found.

The fight to get back to the river was exciting. It had me on the edge of my seat while Jamie's skill as a warrior and fighter kicked in Claire took down whoever got in her path (all while practically carrying Roger's useless body, but whatever). But it was for naught. They were severely outnumbered and surrounded and out of options. I find it hard to swallow that the Mohawk would hold on to Roger so stubbornly since he spent so much time disappointing them but can we give that Chief some kind of award for the amazing deal he struck for himself. He traded an injured fourth string nobody for an all-star that got through the spirit tunnel on his first try. Wow. Bargain master of the year.

I've stayed pretty on the fence with Ian. I liked him, I laughed at how naive and adorable he was. I even like his dog. But he was expendable as far as I was concerned. Then he traded himself to save Roger so that his uncle wouldn't have to. He even refused to run away and begged Jamie not to make him a liar. He stayed determined to honor his word and got himself expended and suddenly I miss him. Jamie is right. He really is a man worth very much. I suppose it would be silly to expect anything less. Ian has spent most of his life looking up to and emulating one of the most honorable people to exist. Of course he would have it coming out of his ears and his admiration for Native Americans has been set up from the jump. Out of everyone he could make a place for himself here. He found his clan. The whole goodbye amalgation ripped my guts out, Claire. Ian and Claire, Ian and Jamie. Even the fakeout Claire and Jamie goodbye was well done even though I was pretty sure what Ian was going to do from the second he decided it. You could feel that patented Jamie and Claire fire between them. It was beautiful and romantic and full of anguish and thankfully short lived. The emotional strikes just kept coming. Very well done all around. But that look of elation when Ian was accepted as a mohawk was worth the price of admission. He was so so happy. So I'm happy for him. It's as close to a happy ending as any other character has gotten.

Bye, Ian. I'll miss you more than I thought. Come visit soon.

And the there's Roger. I'm happy for Bree and all but I feel like she could do better. Way better. It's like when your friend gets together with their ex for the 300th time... Fine, I accept this. I knew it was coming but it's still very dumb. It's not that he's a bad person or that he hasn't been through a terrible ordeal. And hey, he did show up fir her at that the end. He's just such a whiner. He didn't even seem particularly grateful to be saved. Just slumped over and rolling his eyes and helping not at all during the attempted escape to the river but then had buckets of energy to throw into his fists at Jamie. And during his tantrum, he took no responsibility for leaving Bree alone in the freaking 18th century and only seemed to show emotion about it when he realized he couldn't cart her back through the stones to yell at her some more. Give it a rest, Rog everyone has been through terrible things. Hell, as far as Roger knows Ian just put his life in the hands of men that will be kicking the crap out of him for no reason for the rest of his life. He couldn't even mutter a 'thanks, bro'??

Bree was attacked by Bonnet? OMG, he totally forced me to sail up the coast with him. Guys a monster!!

I did very much like all the character beats sprinkled throughout that confrontation in the woods. Jamie took everything that Roger dished out because he was wrong for beating him in the first place but he wasn't so sorry that he could hide his anger that Roger didn't stick around to protect his daughter from Bonnet. It was written all over Claire's face that she was desperate for him to be the kind of husband for her daughter that Jamie is but was trying very hard to be understanding and calm.

While Ian was busy becoming a man and Roger was busy deciding what kind of man he wants to be, Murtagh and Jocasta had a slumber party. Possibly manh. The writers have been pandering to an eventual coupling since these two got on screen together and I am here for it. They did the whole thing so well, too. Even though I been waiting for them to get together i was still somehow taken by surprise when it happened. I love love love them together so much. Both opinionated and stubborn and crotchety and passionate. I loved every second of it. I loved that neither one would back down even though their words were obviously hitting nerves left and right. And the whole thing was bookended by food. At the start, they were sharing dinner and the next thing I know, hes asking her to skip breakfast. It felt like a glimpse of a domesticated life that Murtagh could've had. Or maybe symbolic of the life that Jocasta is putting in jeopardy. Or maybe they were just meals and I am seriously over reaching. It wouldn't be a finale review if I didn't make at least one mountain out of a molehill.

As Outlander finales go, this was tame as a kitten. Sure Jamie's been put in charge of getting rid of his godfather but investing in even the idea that anything could ever truly come between them is laughable. Their loyalty has been tested worse than this. It just wouldn't be believable to me for that bond to fall apart now. And now that Aunt Jocasta is on board (I think?) the rest should be cake.

It hit the beats I needed it to. There have been stronger finales to be sure but I don't how this particular season could've been tied up better. 

3.5 out of 4 ominous stone necklaces.

Bits and pieces

Jamie's instincts are still so keen that he can feel the presence of other people in the woods. Once an outlaw...

Do we understand why Otter Tooth helped Claire find Jamie after that storm earlier in the season? Are they cosmically connected?

I felt a pang of sadness for the time. Ian keeps racking up people that he will probably never see again or ever get to say goodbye to. His parents, siblings, Fergus, Murtagh, Bree. It's practically never ending. He did get to say goodbye to Jamie and Claire though.

Where did Ian get the Mohawk version of Rosetta Stone??

I wonder if I will view Ian differently when I inevitable rewatch these past seasons he was in given my new found respect and love for the character.

I wonder if Father Alexander participated in the spirit tunnel??

All Roger and Bree do is flirt and argue and somehow I hate them for it. So far Murtagh and Jocasta have followed their example but somehow I'm fully on board. What gives??

Oh, and Bree had her baby. I wonder who his godfather will be. Who is Germain's for that matter??

Murtagh certainly has a type. As far as we know hes only been serious about two people in his life. Sisters that heavily favor each other. Interesting.

I was bumming a little that we didn't get to see Jamie's relief and reaction to the knowledge that Bree forgave him. But it kind of all read in the reunion. There was an ease to the family dynamic even though crap news was getting delivered.

No Fergus. No Marsali. Did they make it to the ridge? Is the pig still alive? Is Fergus a wanted man?

Murtagh: "Thank you for the roast. It's been a long time since I had a meal this fine. " Jocasta: "I imagine it's better than whatever they were serving in the jail at Wilmington." Murtagh: "News travels fast." HA.

Jamie: "I will come back to you Sassenach."

Ian: "You once said you wished me to become a man of worth." Jamie: "You dinna ken how worthy you are." I'm not crying, you're crying.

Jocasta: "How does it taste?" Murtagh: "Like home." Jocasta: "Whiskeys hard to come by in the new world." Murtagh: "Aye and I canna drink that horse phish they call rum." Hahahaha.

Jocasta: "I'm an old woman now, my wars are behind me and you should put yours behind you as well."

Roger: "Having me beaten almost to death and sold into slavery seemed a trifle extreme even for a woman with her temper."

Jamie: "You cost me a lad that I love and my daughter doesn't need a coward. I'd rather her hate me than for you to break her heart again. So make up your mind." Roger: "I need some time." Claire: "If you need time you should take it because this is our daughter so you better be sure." Would you rather face Jamie and Claire or a tribe of angry Mohawk Native Americans???

Laure Mack

[whitherliliesbloom]

all like magic to my riddled heart

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #29 - debonair ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,415 words ]  ★ [ post-canon ]

very very indulgent domestic fic. mentions the scions and laurelis.

debonair- attractive, confident, and carefully dressed (especially men)

on the occasion that alphinaud feels confident enough to perfectly exude his charm, illya never fails to be swept off her feet.

A waft of lavender and a tone of warm spring flowers, a dimly lit entrance way with flickering flames from wax candles welcoming her home. She hears the orchestrion in the living room playing a soothing harmony of an Ishgardian ballad from a distance, as the sounds of piano and violin mingle like a euphony in her ears. It’s not exactly the sight, sound and scent she’d expected coming home from a particularly taxing mission at Raincatcher Gully.

Her hair is soaked from the evening rain, silken white strands plastered to the sides of her face and neck. Her long white robe feels heavy and cold, soaked from the weight of the storm against her fair goosebump riddled skin, and yet her face feels oh so warm as she looks up with bewildered, shimmering violet eyes at the man in front of her, dressed in his smart boulevardier’s shirt that was tucked into a tan dress pants. 

And with the allure of his brilliantly confident smile as he kneels down and places a soft, mariner cotton towel over her head to dry her head of stray droplets of the rain, the warrior of light could not help but to feel utterly grubby and repulsive in comparison.

“Welcome home, darling.” Her husband greets her, his voice low and silky smooth like the finest white wine, and the young woman could only stammer like a fool as she sets her travel pack on the floor next to the neatly arranged shoe rack. 

“T-thank you- I’m home.” 

This isn’t the first time Alphinaud has welcomed her at the door- nor is it even the first he has attempted to surprise her with some manner. But an Alphinaud who was completely within his element, confident and exuding in unparalleled charisma was something she only occasionally bore witness to- and most of the time that energy of his was directed towards negotiation tables and mixed in with a seriousness that was completely absent from him now.

She’s seen all sides of him - as he has seen all sides of her, both the best of themselves and also the worst. She thought she knew Alphinaud inside out by now, having known him for what feels like her entire life now, because he certainly knew her better than she even knew herself. 

But as Krile had once eloquently said, giggling with mischief as she and Alisaie ganged up in an effort to embarrass him at his own wedding reception, Alphinaud is ever full of surprises.

Her first surprise out of many for the night would come when she feels his arms wrap around the back of her thighs, picking the lalafellin up against his chest effortlessly as he rises up and begins taking light, careful strides towards the bathroom on the first floor.

“W-wait! Alphy, your clothes!” Illya struggles against his grip, grimacing at the way the fabric of his shirt was beginning to darken at the moisture from her own. “You’re going to get dirty!”

“It’s alright, Liya.” He reassures, his head tilting to press his lips against the side of her head and eliciting a surprised squeak from his wife. “I can clean myself up later. It’s far more imperative now for you to get washed up.”

With lips pressed tightly into a thin line as she holds back anymore words of protest, she finally leans into Alphinaud’s embrace until she hears the door to the bathroom being opened. 

There’s violet blue candles lit in the bathroom as well, some scattered about the sides of the bathtub and some lined up in front of the mirror by the sink, along with a pair of her favorite white crescent moon slippers and her nightgown neatly folded and waiting to worn upon their white console table. Illya could only wonder in silent anticipation just how much the man has prepared.

He sets her down upon the edge of the bathtub, about to bend down to help remove the girl’s combat boots when Illya quickly shakes her legs off his grip with a frantic wave of her arm.

“I-It’s okay! I can do this myself!”

Something flickers in Alphinaud’s navy blue eyes, a feigned sadness that almost has her caving in to him.

“Are you sure?”

“Y-yes! Positive!” 

Finally sighing softly in relief as she watches the man get up with a soft smile and a nod, her shoulders slump lightly when he moves to the door and turns to look back at her for a moment.

“Then, I’ll check on dinner while you get cleaned.”

Dinner? Dinner?? Alphinaud prepared dinner?

Illya was not even afforded enough time to process what she’d just heard until she hears the bathroom door lightly click close, and for several, painfully long seconds her eyes could only stare forward into space, head filled with a mixture of whirling confusion and hot air that quickly spreads to the surface of her cheeks.

What has gotten into Alphinaud? Was it an anniversary of some sorts that she forgot? It’s very unlikely, given her (usually) impressive memory, especially when it came to remembering important dates. If she could memorize entire elemental charts and a textbook about advanced aetherology that she read many years ago, then surely she’d remember significant dates that related to her most beloved.

Their eternal bond anniversary won’t come for at least another half a year, and the day of their meeting had just passed a few weeks ago, celebrated with a splendid picnic dinner under the stars in Costa del Sol, listening to the sound of the waves upon the sand and distant howls of the ocean wind as they reminisced about unforgotten pasts. 

And as far as Illya could remember Alphinaud hasn’t acted any differently the days prior to this one... if only because he seemed a lot more busy with his own work than usual so much that she rarely got to even see him - something about visitors from Old Sharlayan needing help with a new research project related to arcane invocations, something that he specialized in. 

It suddenly clicks in her head now, his insistence that he didn’t require her help and his prolonged absence from home - he must have planned and prepared to surprise her all along.

The question then remained of why.. and it was unfortunately a question she could not answer on her own.

Her head is churning with flaring curiosity, even as she’d stepped into the bath and began to wash herself free of the sticky rainwater, mud and dirt upon her skin and allows herself to relax just a little as the fragrance of the plum blossom scented soap wafts into the air. 

Illya takes her time drying her hair, soft and fluffy as a morning cloud as she stood upon her lalafellin stool to stare into the mirror. Her hands move in deliberate strokes, dabbing moisture off the silken pure white strands with the towel before running her fingers through mild tangles. 

Perhaps she felt the urge to be more attentive of her own appearance knowing Alphinaud’s own well groomed self this evening, and she takes a particularly long while combing through her hair until it finally cascades down past her shoulders and hips flawlessly like a glowing wedding veil. 

The air against the skin of her bare arms as she opens the door of the bathroom feels cool and comforting, and it doesn’t take long for her husband to hear her coming out, as he peeks around the corner of the hallway and lets out a warm smile. 

“Ah, you’re done. And looking as beautiful as ever, I see.” 

He’s going above and beyond tonight, Illya thinks to herself in mild amusement and fluster. She doesn’t resist this time when the man approaches her and picks her up from the floor. 

“Dinner is almost ready. The dumplings just need a little longer.”

Oh right- dinner- 

Not only did Alphinaud prepare dinner, but he also prepared dumplings? Illya could barely contain her expression of utter surprise as she widens her eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck and fiddling with his ponytail. 

“You...you learned how to make dumplings?”

“I got a copy of your mother’s recipe for crystal shrimp and asked Tataru for assistance with learning it.” Alphinaud’s voice is laced with clear pride, as the corners of his lips curl upwards so far that it’d almost split his face in two. “I wouldn’t dare claim to be on par with a mothers’ cooking... but I’d like to think you’ll be pleased with my efforts nonetheless.”

Illya hasn’t even tasted his food yet and she’s already thoroughly impressed, and also a tad more bewildered than before now at the sheer lengths he’s gone.

Of course, she was fully aware of his previous endeavors in the culinary arts, and the scions would vouch for his efforts by bringing up testimonies of their taste buds being used as guinea pigs for his many, many cooking attempts - some more pleasant for them to stomach than others... Y’shtola in particularly even called the pastries he baked even more dire than the dreaded archon loaf, and that comparison was something a professional chef like Illya could not even begin to fathom. 

Alphinaud was a perfectionist - sometimes almost to a fault... So if he was so confident as to be making a full course dinner for her now meant that he must have gained the approval of the others.

How many days and how many nights had he labored away to practice all for her sake? To even imagine it causes Illya’s cheeks to flare up in a bright red color. 

She doesn’t even realize he’s sat them down upon the couch until she feels him move her legs to rest against his lap and he picks one of them up, causing her to involuntarily lean back onto the cushion as she rests her hands against her sides for support.

“A-alphy?? What are you-?”

“You must be exhausted from today. Why don’t I give your feet a massage?”

“M-M-Mas-Massa-????”

The fact Illya’s head hadn’t just imploded then and there on the spot was something of a miracle... though it did not stop the rush of blood pumping through her veins as her heart rapidly increases in its pace, pounding deafeningly loud within her chest. 

“Bu bu bu!! Bu xing!! Ni- Wei-” 

Her husband merely smirks, watching her fluster cause her to devolve back into her mother tongue. 

“Please, allow me to do this for you.”

With a light press of his fingers against her feet as he began kneading at the hidden knots of the muscles in her ankle and soles, Illya watched dumbfounded, relaxed yet tensed in her shoulders, unable to shake off the heat that was begin to fill her head. 

Alphinaud’s charm is dangerous - far too much so... And if he’d endeavored to completely rid her of all her composure, it’s clearly working - almost.

“Alphinaud!” The lalafellin calls his name in full, which causes the man to pause in his movements, and she feels his hands tense just slightly.

“Is something wrong, my love?” A good half of his earlier suave fades in place of genuine concern and a softened gaze in his expression, and the gentleness of his deep blue eyes allows her to finally relax.

Seizing this heaven sent opportunity, the woman leans forward, her hands raising up to cup the sides of his cheeks, and with a faked confident smirk, she whispers in a hushed tone. 

“Alisaie showed me a copy of your final thesis from the Studium.”

Instantly, color drains from the young man’s face, and the calm collected confidence he’d carried in his posture and face dissipates into an unexpected fluster of his own, as he pulls back abruptly and his voice raises in pitch.

“W-what??? But- that-” He’s stuttering, fingers loosening their hold as she finally frees her legs and lowers it over his lap. “A-ahem... but what does that have to do with anything now?? I-I mean.. if you want to tease me about it, that’s fine but-”

“It doesn’t.” With an apologetic and gentle smile, she raises her hand up to softly brush against his face. “And I was lying about that, I’m sorry.”

“Oh thank the twelve-”

Alphinaud’s shoulders droop down in relief and his head bows, a heavy exhale leaving his parted lips. Illya cannot help but to let out a soft, melodic giggle that catches the man’s attention to finally lift his head up to look at her again.

“But why did you...?”

“I feared a casanova took over the body of my husband.” Illya laughs quietly, “I was just making sure it really was you.”

“Does that sort of charm not suit me, then? You told Laurelis that you liked it when I’m confident.” 

Ah- So that’s why... 

The revelation that her husband had overheard her speaking of him to her best friend darkens the already blistering hot blush over her cheeks and ear, but not as much as the idea that the reason he’d spontaneously decided to surprise her in this manner was because of a misunderstanding over what he heard.

Well, not entirely. The confidence Alphinaud carried that she’d mentioned to Laurelis was of a different sort - of a man who worked tirelessly towards his ideals and would not give up his dreams no matter who would aim to persuade him to. Of the man that she grew so enamored to for his undying devotion towards his goals and towards serving and protecting others. For all he has endured and all that he continues to uphold even with all that he has suffered through in life.

Where others would see a naive, idle dreamer, she saw in him someone who was capable of so much - and if anybody in the world would be able to make his far reaching dreams a reality, it’d be Alphinaud. 

That was the confident Alphinaud Illya fell in love with.

Though, she admits begrudgingly, with a light sheepish shift of her leg beneath the hem of her gown and a tilt of her head to avert her eyes from his own, that this debonair side of Alphinaud was very much welcome as well.

“No, no. It suits you very well.” With an embarrassed pout, Illya lifts her left leg slightly into the air for him to hold, leaning back onto the palms of her hands once more. “I like it. Very much.”

[windup-dragoon]

Guess who’s at it again? Me. A stupid drabble of Aymeric x Kirishimi. I’m not really sure when it takes place, probably a little bit after Heavensward. It features the Fantasy Squad; Illya, Shuri, and Laurelis. Really wish I could have written it better but I feel as if I’m forcing myself to write more than writing out of inspiration. Hopefully it isn’t too godawful to read. Anyway, enjoy. 

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕣𝕒𝕘𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕜

ᴬʸᵐᵉʳⁱᶜ ˣ ᴷⁱʳⁱˢʰⁱᵐⁱ

ᵂᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ: ¹,⁷⁰⁷

“That woman is insufferable!” An angry Estinien howled into the corridor of Fortemps manor. His heels stamped the polished floors with heavy footfalls as he marched himself back to the parlor. 

Alphinaud, Alisaie, and Haurchefant all but dropped their tea at such ferocity that bellowed. What war had they stumbled upon while enjoying fine pastries beside the fire? 

“... Do we dare ask?” Alisaie spoke in chosen quiet so only those among her could hear. 

Haurchefant, all smiles even in such turmoil, stifled a laugh. From over the back of the lounging chair the young man waved an encouraging gesture for his fellow to join them. “Pray, tell us what ails you!” Haurchefant grinned and eagerly patted the open seat at his side for Estinien. 

Before the former azure dragoon could decide his next course of action, however, another set of footfalls padded hastily behind. Estinien whirled on his heel, nearly stumbling into the parlor as his pursuer marched forth, lance in hand. 

“Insufferable? Yer the asinine bloke who walked in on me dressin’!” It was Kirishimi, radiating with annoyance and spitting venom. Her lance was raised above one shoulder, poised to be thrown like a javelin at the man before her. 

An audible gasp came from the audience. 

Estinien could do naught but duck behind a pedestal of arranged flowers to give her reason to hesitate. “Bah! I knocked, you daft girl! Moreover, you were fully clothed!” 

“I thought you were the maid comin’ back with that curtain of a dress!” Kiri hissed, “And under armor is just the same as bein’ undressed!” 

The trio at the hearth all sighed in relief. A misunderstanding at best. Everyone in attendance was aware of Kirishimi’s disinterest in wearing anything but armor. She likened it to a state of undress, no matter the layers she wore. Even now, standing at the mouth of the corridor in a woolen tunic and pants, Kirishimi held an arm around herself as if preserving herself. 

“Enough.” At last a voice of reason emerged. Count Edmont, standing at the Warrior of Lights side, dared to take hold of the lance she brandished. “If you must argue like barbarian children, then have the courtesy to do it outside.” Edmont sounded exhausted but wore a smile nevertheless. Such challenging interactions changed the pace in his life; a bit of excitement he hadn’t endured since his sons were but babes. 

“Aye!” Estinien roused to his full height, straightening his suit as if dust had suddenly accumulated. 

“Estinien, if I may?” Alphinaud set his tea aside before raising blue eyes to the dragoons. “Did you not say you came to deliver something? You made it sound urgent.” 

“...Yes.” Sighed the man, abruptly remembering his composure. “Although I wouldn’t call it urgent.” From the depths of his breast pocket he produced the trinket he had been tasked to deliver. A golden partial mask of lace and blue hued jewels. Its design was simple enough but likened to that of a dragon. 

“Since this is a masquerade you will be attending, I thought it only suitable to have one made custom.” Edmont announced with a touch of pride. 

Kirishimi, having long since lowered her weapon, found herself staring blankly at the object in question. The curves the mask made to match cheekbones held sharp edges, layered with small golden metals that looked like scales. 

Such a small but precious thing. Her fingertips gingerly held it once Estinien handed it over outright, examining the small embedded sapphires that made it spark with radiance by light of the fire. A gift... for her. Already was Edmont having a dress tailored for her and now this? It all felt too much. She had done nothing to be so deserving of such lavished luxuries. 

“You have my thanks, Ser Estinien.” Edmont continued on while Kirishimi admired the craftsmanship of her gift. 

In return, Estinien gave a nod. 

“Now that no one has a desire to harm the other, perhaps we should continue to ready ourselves?” Alisaie, rising from the couch aside Alphinaud, smiled. “It won’t be long now before we will have to make our leave. And if you have no objections, I can help assist you, Kirishimi. Although such stately parties perplex me, I am no stranger to it nonetheless.” 

--- 

Kirishimi felt like a painted doll that evening. Her cheeks weighted down with a dusting of powder, lips sticky with a tasteless paint. Despite the hours they had spent deciding the fate of her hair, they had settled to leave it down, quicksilver locks cascading over the bare slopes of her shoulders. At least little, if anyone, took notice of the way she pouted with puffed cheeks beneath her dragon inspired mask. 

Before her was a landscape of vivid colored fabric and sparkling gilded jewelry. Not a single mask among the crowd was the same as another. She spotted some as chocobo in design, another a coeurl and even a behemoth with pearls to represent the gnashing fangs of such beasts. Beautiful and striking. But was it necessary? Did any of these party goers know the reality behind their masks inspiration? What a terrifying sound a behemoth could make? How ferocious a coeurl? Though when it came to the chocobo mask that Haurchefant adorned, Kirishimi could only smile. It seemed befitting of him. At least a chocobo could not maim. 

“You have the look of a leashed wolf.” A voice at her side startled Kirishimi out of thought. She had been sitting alone upon a bench beneath a window for some time, until now. Estinien now occupied a spot beside her, a mask with a wyverns aspect in ebony obscuring his own unamused features. 

“I feel foolish.” Kiri admitted in a sigh. She had been absently picking at the sparkles that dusted her midnight blue dress, her golden mesh clad fingertips looking as if she had touched the wings of a butterfly. 

“Indeed, you do.” He mused, chuckling lightly when Kirishimi nearly hissed. “How is it that your friends can enjoy themselves yet you sit alone sulking?” Estinien gestured to the crowd. 

Here and there she could spot them. Her beloved friends, chatting and dancing, drinking in the elegance of the night. Illya and Alphinaud having a bashful conversation beside an overflowing bouquet of lively flowers. Kirishimi could practically hear Illya praising the plants for producing such exquisite petals. Shuri had struck up a conversation with Alisaie, both so lively and bursting with laughter. Laurelis being swept cheerfully away by Lord Haurchefant, eagerly occupying the floor with their dance. 

But this setting was more attuned for them. The others were well versed in such affairs as parties. They all looked so stunning in their gowns and attire; beautiful and enchanting. Comfortable. Kirishimi, meanwhile, had to enlist Alphinaud and Alisaie’s help just to attend. 

“They’re better adapted, I’m afraid.” Kirishimi closed her eyes and blew out a sigh. 

“Who is better adapted?” A familiar tone struck her ears. Warm and almost melodious. She would recognize it even in the midst of a thunderstorm. 

Immediately her eyes opened, revealing to her a recognizable face smiling down at her. Onyx hair curled at his cheeks and over his brow, his aquamarine eyes shimmering beneath a mask of painted sapphire and dusted in gold. The mask another dragon aspect, with horns that were lost in the curl of his hair. His smile, that damnable smile that made her heart flutter as if a bird, filled his features with warmth and delight. 

Quickly she glanced away, to Estinien at her side, only to discover the dragoon had long since vacated. That sly fox.

“Estinien made mention that you were alone. I apologize for not seeking you out sooner, Kirishimi.” Aymeric made an apologetic face, truly regretful. 

“No... Don’t be. I’m sure your time at social events is always spoken for.” She could see it now. The crowd of lords and ladies around him, beckoning for his attention over political or personal conversations. It had occurred to her that seeking him out was an option upon arrival, but hesitation made her falter. Instead she found herself visiting the table of decorated pastries and glittering glasses of crimson wine. 

Aymeric suddenly took to his knee, eye level with the woman before him. His gloved hand embraced hers, holding hers as if he had captured a firefly. Delicately. 

“There was not a moment I hadn’t searched the crowd for you. Imagine my fear when I thought perhaps you were not in attendance.” If anyone else had spoken such fanciful words, Kirishimi would have assumed it a lie. No one wants to spend a lavish party like this with a woman of her standard. But Aymeric had such a way about him. Every word whispered was heartfelt, true, and meaningful. She was compelled to believe him which made her heart drum beneath her chest. Such an elated feeling... To be wanted. 

“Then do you care to sit beside me?” She offered with a shy smile tugging at her painted lips. 

“No.” His answer was immediate, just as pronounced as he rose to his feet once more, her hands still clasped in his. “Rather, I have a better idea in mind. If you will indulge me?” 

Before she knew it, Aymeric had pried her from the bench. He spirited her through the throngs of people who whispered beneath decorated masks. Briskly walking hand-in-hand beside party goers who all froze mid sentence. 

The silence was deafening. All the life had faded from the crowd, even the music having hushed. She could only hear the hum of her heart and the clicks of her heels against the polished floors while trailing behind Aymeric. 

But soon they came to a stop. Lord Haurchefant and Laurelis, having had stopped mid dance, smiled brightly now that the two had joined them on the dance floor. 

Music once again started. Soft at first, a whisper over the murmur of the crowd. Aymeric whirled on his heel to again face Kirishimi, his fingers laced with hers while his other arm fastened around her waist, drawing her close. 

“Dance with me?” 

Kirishimi, feeling the sensation of a blush burning her cheeks, could only smile at such an innocent request. “Of course.” 

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